Dramin doesn't hear much of the mayor when his eyes land on the woman's picture. The painting gives him an uneasy feeling, one which haunts him to the core. If it wasn't for his minor prescience, he probably wouldn't have noticed Bacarov looking at him.
"This painting. I'm sure you're about to ask about this painting." His tone is unusually quiet as he walks toward it, not quite beckoning Bacarov near. Before he realizes it, his words come out and his hand starts moving on its own toward the Pearl of Power, he activates the magic and begins to continue. "Awarhi" The power of Heightened Awareness comes over him.
He slowly starts to feel the edges of it, the make and the wood.
When he reaches the canvas itself, he begins to smell the oils. To the others it may look like he is enthralled by the depicted goddess, but he is certain he can pin down an age to it.
The dilettante proceeds to look at the woman, noting the position and the way she is depicted. He has seen Desnan depictions before, but he needs to make sure it lines up, and if it didn't, where. That Ghlaunder might be connected here yet again.
He is certain of one thing despite all of this, that the woman he saw in his dreams was a twisted juxtaposition of the woman here.
"This picture. The woman in my dreams." He breaths slowly and finally turns to Bacarov and whispers. "You remember when you asked me what she was? What she looked like? How she felt?" He shudders when he gets to that word, perhaps fear or attraction driving the act. "This is the best opportunity I will have. Look at this picture Bacarov, look at it closely. That feeling you get... reverse it. The woman there... reverse her. Replace the butterflies with parasitic mosquitoes. Replace those kneeling and devoted followers with horrified and subservient thralls. The sunset and the magic blooming outward? Imagine it flowing in, sucking the very life from the air and sky itself." His eyes look hard at him, "That is what it is."
He takes a moment and relays what he learned to the detective. "The theories are no longer theories. If you can keep an eye on the world around me, I can keep an eye on the world itself and tell you what I find."
I wish today was the day I prepared that Detect Poison. I suppose we must rely on Marsh.
He turns and starts to think of something lighter. He examines any crests or telltale family signs he can find to keep his mind away from the painting. Perhaps this mayor has some interesting blood behind him.
As Kriegler starts to leave, he hears Warshawski asking about the painting, and pauses, smiling. "Ah, yes. That's a treasured piece of mine. Looks just like the Starsong herself, doesn't she? That's Iola Kriegler, my great-great-great-grandmother. Don't quote me on the exact number of 'greats' there, of course. This image represents her return to Ravenmoor after her vision quest into the Churlwood in search of a cure for the blight that threatened to kill this village. You can see the two druids that came with her, there- and those magical waves? That's the Ritual of Ripening, from what I understand, healing the crops and the maladies that had spread to the people themselves. Beautiful, wasn't she? Though I suspect the artist may have embellished her appearance somewhat; according to the stories, Iola came back as thin as a skeleton and could barely walk. The painting was made by a close friend of my father's. I have my theories on who he might have based her appearance on, but..." He stops himself and turns away from the painting. "In any case, I should get back to finding that receipt. I'll return momentarily." He seems relieved that Warshawski and Bacarov have assured him that Ravenmoor will not be held accountable for the 500 GP.
The interior of the house does match the exterior, You notice that the place seems to be under a constant state of remodeling and refurnishing.
As far as how reverent of Desna Mayor Kriegler seems to be, it's a tough call. He seems to have the right sort of tone, but he does seem a little laid-back from the lack of change in his expression when he speaks of his faith. At least he actually used the name "Desna," though.
Your examination of the painting proves that it is very fine indeed, though probably not the sort of thing you'd find in a Magnimaran art gallery. One could likely fetch about 200 GP on the market for this. You don't recognize the artist, but you notice two things of note: you're able to read the artist's signature in the lower right-hand corner, and you detect a sort of deliberate pattern in the radial burst of magic coming from the woman's hands; this same pattern is repeated in the stars in the background, in the shadowed wrinkles of the woman's dress, and even in the crops behind her.
The signature reads: Abner Dagwood.
The pattern is a sort of strange circular pattern that reminds you of a hedge maze. It seems vaguely familiar to you...
The painting is younger than it might seem. If anything, it's less than fifty years old; maybe even newer than that.
There is something familiar about the strange, swirling pattern repeated throughout the image. After a moment of reflection, you realize that it is an occult symbol- one not necessarily indicative of Ghlaunder, but it's not too much of a stretch to believe that it could be associated with his followers. In any case, it sends a chill down your spine.
As far as Kriegler's bloodline, well... the Krieglers were one of the founding families of Ravenmoor, and have often been in positions of power here. They do not have any particular family crest, but that's not surprising, considering the isolation of this village; the name "Kriegler" is likely the only heraldry they need here.
Calwen felt a bit a little uncomfortable with the discussion regarding Markham. Whatever drove that man was likely a relationship with a woman, which was not something public debate.
She watched the painting but could not make a lot of sense out of it, other than that it was indeed pretty impressive, if a bit gaudy, like many human art, especially that dealing with religious icon. Did he know that they knew about Iola? He talked as though he thought they understood who she had been, but Clawen doubted that that was common knowledge among the travellers coming here. "She must have been an interesting woman." she returned nonchalantly. She did not want to be caught lying but neither admit that she had heard about her before.
It gave her a lot comfort when he referred to Desna as the "Starsong". However, she would avoid drinking anything offered.
Dalton spends his time admiring the art on the walls while the Mayor retrieves his receipt. The walls in Manaket were never adorned so beautifully.
Andretti Kriegler comes back into the room nearly ten minutes later, still staring at the paper in his hands as if unsure as to whether or not he has the right paperwork. "All right, then," he says quietly, taking a pair of eyeglasses from his pocket and slipping them on, "I do believe this should do..." He smiles and hands the paper to Warshawski.
While Warshawski examines the paperwork, Mayor Kriegler notices that no one has taken him up on his offer for a drink, and his warm expression hardens a bit. "Well, it's not poison," he grumbles, then goes to the cabinet and pours himself a glass.
At this point, Bacarov interjects regarding Mr. Dagwood and his strange relationship with elvenkind. Kriegler frowns and nods. "Yes, that Markham Dagwood does have... an unusual relationship with the lovely Lady Calwen's kin." He shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "I understand he had an elven lover some years back; two, depending on whom you ask. I never saw her, so I can't comment on that, but... if you believe Skender Cardzi, they had a bit of a row when out hunting one day, and Markham..." His lips twist in disguist as he considers how to put it. "...bludgeoned her to death, skinned her, and hung her upside-down from a tree. Mind you, I don't put much faith in that story; Markham is more than a little antisocial, but he's done a lot of good protecting this community from man and beast both. I doubt it's true. There's another story that has gotten around that claims he kidnapped a pair of elven youths that wandered into the moor one day, some years back, and that he kept them in his basement for years- ugh. Total hogwash, I say. In any case, I doubt you will run into Markham at the Festival; he hasn't attended one since we were both children. He seems allergic to fun and games." He visibly shivers. "I apologize for the graphic story, but better you hear it from me than someone who has it out for Markham."
He chews on that for a moment, then takes an overly large swig of his wine. "That said, Lady Calwen, I would recommend that you do not travel alone while in Ravenmoor."
"I'm not worried about poison mayor. I am abstaining."
Marsh let his hands find the pommels of his matching blades.
"Your brother acted like he wanted to try putting that sickle of his in me. You got a mountain man offering your shop keeper gold for my elven companion here. I know flayleaf when I smell it. It's used pretty free around here. I think sober heads are going to be needed to avoid conflict in the hours ahead."
"I didn't come here to leave bodies behind me, but I am no easy mark either. I'm gettin a vibe from your town that I don't like. I am hopin that we can resolve our business here and be on our way. I think you want the same."
"There's another matter that we need to talk to you about. Marleyna. Someone has been abusin that girl somethin fierce. Why has that been allowed to go on mayor?"
Marsh gave Sebastian glance.
Marshes eyes settle on the mayor, studying his every move and tick.
Calwen listened to the story regarding Markham and pushed the thoughts around in her head. Her expression grew colder and more distant. The elf lover in the story was hung up in a tree, just like Armand had been, but Armand had not been flayed nor did she recall him hanging upside down. Unlike the others she was no investigator, but it did occur unusual to her that if he had killed his own lover out of the heat of the moment he would do that kind of thing to her. Either the story was not true or there was a whole lot more to it. Markham was looking for a black-haired elf woman he called 'my Bel', so he considered her to be alive that she somehow belonged to him. Whether that was the same woman with which the story started was a different question, but it appeared to Calwen that way.
If Calwen found an elven skin in his possession she would kill him without hesitation, of course. “I was not aware that any of my people were missing. It appears to me that the truth can only come from the mouth of the accused. What made people think he was holding elven youths in his basement? He does share a place with his brother, does he not? And what changed that made the people of this village refer to this presence in the past?” She was also wondering, if there was any truth to the story, the youths might have been half-elves as well.
It was a pretty wild idea, but she could not get the thought that Markham might be Armand's father out of her head. “How long is it since Markham and a maiden of my people have supposedly been a couple? Do you know anything about this woman, a name for instance?”
She looked over the room, thinking about a set of comments by different people she was not comfortable with and there was for a moment something grim in her expression. She did not really return anything on the remark that the drink was not poisoned; he invited a group of armed men and women into his house which showed a great deal of trust on his side. But the truth was: Despite that she did not trust him in turn.
“Do not worry about me, I intend to clear this situation with Markham as soon as anyhow possible. I realize that Markham is a capable hunter and have no intention to let him hunt me.” While it was true that he was an impressive figure and that Calwen was a bit scared that would not stop her from doing the knightly thing about it: Confront him directly to get to the truth of all this and give him a chance to speak for himself, rather than all those rumours. “My people are not fey by the way.”
Things were off. The receipt. The strange whirls in the painting. Everything was about three inch lengths left of center. I glances over at Bacarov. I know he felt it, too. That itch at the base of your neck when an investigation's taken a turn but you're not sure where yet. I folded up the tax document and slid it into a pocket. We were going to need to examine it further, later.
"The mayor has a town-wide celebration to attend to, everyone. We probably shouldn't pester him more than this."
And we needed a chance to talk privately, away from prying ears and eyes.
Mayor Kriegler locks eyes with Marsh for a few tense moments as the big man takes his stand. Then, finally, the mayor takes another sip of his wine and smiles. "Well," he says, "I can see you're not to be trifled with. Addressing your complaints- particularly regarding the use of flayleaf in this town- I can say only that my numerous requests to Magnimar for help in setting up some sort of town guard or even a single sheriff or constable to aid in enforcing law here have been ignored. Flayleaf was introduced to this community by Shoanti traders, who likely brought it from Riddleport. The use of it has become widespread enough that I have all but given up on trying to discourage it... but, as officers of Magnimarin law, feel free to enforce it as you see fit while you're in town. As far as Leonard goes, please forgive him- he's what you might call a blowhard. Probably showing off to try and impress the ladies. He likes a good rumble, but he's fairly harmless. And as far as Markham offering gold for your elf... that is new on me. I have no idea how to respond to such an outrageous claim. Are you quite sure that is what you heard?" He takes another drink, one that you can tell from his expression he feels is well-deserved.
"Now, as far as your final point... regarding the lovely young Marleyna Bartley, I assume? Yes, I have seen the bruises, the bloody lips... Again, there is fairly little I can do without the aid of a proper law enforcement entity in Ravenmoor, though I have had Leonard pay him back with a few closed fists in the past, as I'm sure he would love to brag to you about. Robb Bartley is a strange man with a strange past; I have heard rumors that he was a Sczarni thug at some point in his past, and that young Marleyna herself engages in witchcraft, and he frequently rewards her arcane dabblings with... creative and unfortunate punishments. What would you propose we do about the situation, sir? I would like to see the poor girl delivered from Robb's hands as much as you do."
Turning to Calwen, Kriegler allows his smile to broaden. "Markham Dagwood lives with his father, actually. Abner Dagwood. A good man, though he seemed old even when I was but a boy. I doubt he is all together in the head, and his health is apparently poor enough that he seldom comes out of the house. Markham goes to great pains to care for him, from what I understand." He shakes his head. "I don't know where these stories came from, and in any case, I never saw any elves in the presence of the Dagwoods, much less shackled in his basement. Likely they came from the same place as our Night Creepers or Dreamer's Moth- the imaginations of children or overly superstitious townsfolk. Perhaps under the influence of a bit too much drink..." He casts a glance toward Marsh. "...Or a certain less-than-legal leaf. As to when this happened, I would imagine it was a bit over a decade ago, maybe twenty years at the latest, though I did not start hearing the rumors until sometime later. As far as a name... no, I fear I've never heard that come up. I'm sorry." He nods and adds quietly: "And I apologize if I overstated your people's ties to the fey. I suppose an elf's ability to entrance the human mind is difficult to separate from, say, a nymph, or a dryad. In my own interactions with your people, I have found elves to be most... vexing. In a good way."
"In any case, I will happily answer any further questions you have on the matter," he says, "but Inspector Warshawski is correct. I do have a Festival to attend to. If you wish to ask me anything further, then please walk with me to the grounds; otherwise, I bid you farewell for now. I should not be difficult to find, should you have further need of me."
He makes a show of shaking each of your hands again, then starts to make his way to the door, holding it open in order to show you out. Accommodating though he may be, he isn't going to leave a bunch of strangers alone in his home unattended.
That sounded like what Markham had bought in the Lupesco shop was not drugs at all, but actual medicine. Or... whatever he thought was medicine. In a town like this it might as well be a drug to silence an inconvenient voice.
"The situation of Miss Bartley was what I wanted to talk to you about in a more private setting." she sighed, because it was disgraceful to cut this short, but by now she was a little worried for Marleyna and Dio. "In short, have taken her under our wings for now to ensure nothing like this ever happens again."
"And please do not be sorry, I am not insulted by the comparison with fey, certainly not with nymphs or dryads. May the stars shine bright upon you and the festival tonight, Mister Kriegler." She says as she leaves and the response sounds light hearted at first, though it is accompanied by an intense look upon him.
Kriegler nods to Calwen in understanding. "Ah. Well, perhaps that is for the best; I have no doubts that you would make better guardians for that poor girl than her father. I would advise, however, that you do not do this without advising Mr. Bartley; otherwise, I fear he could cause a great deal of trouble. You have my full support in this matter, of course." He smiles and says no more.
"We will make sure that any loose ends will be tied up, we shall deal with this tomorrow, though it may be helpful to discuss means to persuade this Mister Bartley during the festival." She needs to swallow but there seems to be a frog in her throat for whatever reason: "I am going to make him an offer he cannot refuse."*
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》 (boom)
Bacarov gives Marsh an barely perceptible nod. There isn't much else for it considering he pressed into the situation. But the big fighter had a good instinct when it came to questioning witnesses. ...and suspects. Bacarov adds as he tightens his jaw.
The tale of Markham only firms Bacarov's resolve at uncovering more about the man. Someone passing rumors of that sort back home earned every bit of Watch attention thrown their way. Ravenmoor is no different.
And we'll need to be quick about it before Calwen decides to get it into her foolish elf head to challenge him one on one. Of all the members of the group, she's gonna be the wild card. He spares a peripheral glance Dramin's way. Yeah, even over knowledge farmer over here.
He returns his focus as the the conversation shifts. There's a simple flash of emotion that crosses Kreigler's face that gets the Inspector's attention. A look given by the mayor to Marsh. Hmm, don't like your skills getting questioned do ya, Mr Kreigler? I'll have to keep that in mind. Bacarov brushes a finger along his nose and then taps his right brow. A message back to Vinnie. The soft and hard trick worked like a charm, mate.
The mayor mentions Robb Bartley and the belief he's a former Sczarni. Thing is, there's only two ways you get out if the 'family'; dead or running away. The latter usually resulted in the former. Our little child beating chummer, Robb... I'll need to get a look at his face but...if he is a runner, might be I can hold that over him. Threaten to out him to the Sczarni's if he pursues Marleyna. I can always toss the Rook into the mix. He thinks in the mayor's indication that the Shaonti had originally bright the flayleaf to Ravenmoor. Convenient way for a Sczarni to make a living, facilitating the movement of the drug...plus you have a pliable mayor...
Bacarov refocuses from his ruminations, hearing Calwen go back and forth regarding Markham he's thankful Warshawski steps in with her sensibilities. That and he'd about had his fill of elven perspective for the time being. And if I don't miss my guess, Warshawski and Dramin both have some interesting observations to share.
They make their way to the door and Bacarov steps aside as each files out in turn. He extends a hand to Kreigler and says in a sort of confidentiality (that the others can hear), "I'm sorry the city hasn't been responsive to your pleas for assistance, milord. It makes me wonder at a hunch I felt in my gut upon leaving my commander's office. I thought to myself, 'he's got a deeper reason than just bandits and taxes to send me here. A nobler reason.'" Bacarov looks him in the eye and concludes. "Bandits, blight in the Churlwood, flayleaf rampant among the people you love so dearly. I've the distinct feeling Magnimar is listening. You'll be seeing more of our assistance very soon."
》 (Convince him that our little company isn't the last visitors from Magnimar he'll be getting)
To Dalton's mind, the mayor is a reasonable man in a tough situation. Still, he tries his best to maintain a level of suspicion about his character. When he comments about the drinks after coming in, he comments, "Were I not working..." then concedes the floor to Marsh's interrogation.
Bacarov's insistence that Magnimar will send aid to Ravenmoor on his recommendation is so ardent that even the monk believes it. Good then, he thinks to himself. Aloud, he adds, "After all, your people deserve the defense of the crown you're paying taxes to. It's only due to your town's isolation that this was so. It is my hope that that isolation can change."
You're making him nervous. You're not sure if it's the ever-increasing indication that you all suspect him of something or your hints that the eyes of Magnimar are on him, but he is starting to get a little hot under the collar.
Andretti Kriegler continues to smile in as friendly a manner as he can muster, and waits until everyone has exited before closing the door behind him and locking up. "So you'll be staying until the morning, then?" he says in response to Calwen. "Well, my guest beds are open, in the event that you choose to use them. I must cede to your authority as enforcers of the law in however you choose to tackle these matters, but please do let me know what you intend to do. I'm the only real law this town has; I would prefer my authority not be totally circumvented if at all possible. One has a reputation to uphold, after all." He smiles and pats Bacarov on the shoulder awkwardly. "It is good to know that Magnimar will be taking a greater interest in the affairs of this town. We could stand to have a little more order here." He nods in appreciation of Dalton's thoughts. "Of course. We must all be open to change; a place cannot stagnate forever, now, can it? Maybe the good people of Ravenmoor are a little too caught up in their traditions. In any case, I am heading down to the grounds now- please come and find me if you have any further business."
Viorec Korzha is still waiting outside, and waves in greeting as the party emerges from the Kriegler house. He and the Mayor exchange polite nods, but Kriegler quickly looks past him, as if he has nothing to say to the simple farmer. Thinking nothing of it, Viorec shuffles close to the party and asks, "Well, how'd it go? Y'all gettin' yer business squared away?"
Dramin feels this place, and that painting has settled his mind for him. If he was capable of convincing the group, he would stay there overnight. If it is perhaps a center, these dreams may become more vivid and allow us a dowsing of the area. To the normal person, his thoughts would be less than sane, but it was all perfectly reasonable with him.
He was thinking of how to bring it up and decided that perhaps he should just wait for someone else to speak up. He had some time to think of what he would do if this place was a deadly as he thought.
Dalton's eyes flick over to glance at Marsh, assuming the man had his own plans for what to do next. In answer to Korzha, Dalton smiles again. "I hope so. We received a receipt, and Warshawski is examining it to ensure that it contains all the information that we need. If so, our journey may take us far from here once again." the monk falls silent, gazing at the road leading out of Ravenmoor. The feeling that it wouldn't be so simple kept nagging at him, and his expression is troubled.
I kept quiet. There was a lot to think about. A lot of information and a lot of gut feelings and I needed to sort through them all. The great thing about saying nothing is you can't let anything slip that way. Once we were outside, I waited. You learn patience in the investigation trade. We'd have our chance to talk soon enough.
Dalton continues after his momentary lapse into silence by saying, "Perhaps we could make use of the space in your barn, Mr. Korzha? We'd like to discuss matters in private before we lose all daylight."
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(Bacarov) ”Tomorrow, after the festivities, I’d like your assistance on scouting a location.”
(Mayor) ”A location for what?”
(Bacarov) Lean in close, making a show of not letting the others hear and then whisper, ”A garrison, milord. Your communications to Magnimar were heard. I sent word to them that Wolf’s Ear is far too lax an outpost and the distance between it and Ravenmoor, while short, is separated by forest and banditry and other evils.” He rests a reassuring hand on the mayor’s shoulder, voice turning tones of sympathy. ”You’ve had the bear the weight of law & order on your back for far too long, milord. It ends now.”
Bacarov nods agreement to Dalton’s observation and suggested course. ”Indeed, Master Dalton. Let us retire and gather our bearings.”
To Viorec, he adds, "Our business with the mayor bore fruit, Master Korzha." He glances over the farmer’s shoulder, watching as the mayor strides towards the center of town. Seeing the briefest of interactions between the mayor and Viorec told him much of their supposed relationship. Much.
The Investigator stands in the dirt path leading from the mayor's house and gives himself a moment to collect his thoughts. ”If it’s no trouble, Master Korzha, we’d like to make use of your barn as a central location for the night. I’ve some matters to discuss with my company and…” Bacarov shifts from his procedural tone to a more affable one. He smiles as though he’d forgotten he isn’t in his offices back in the city. ”We’re at the mercy of your hospitality, kind sir, and I seek not to trouble the mayor with putting up my group for the night. He was, of course, kind enough to offer the same, but I think it might be more trouble than he lets on.”
His hands clasped behind his back, mind a flurry of mental note taking and sifting, Bacarov asks the farmer. ”I hope it will be alright? We’ve been on the road for quite some time so we require nothing special, but your barn would be a pleasant change from staring at the canvas of our tents.”
Viorec smiles broadly and nods. "Oh, o'course. My property is open to you. Me, Brekka, an' Orni'll be at the Festival for most of the day- we're probably gonna head over to the grounds in just a li'l bit here- so you'll have the place to yourself. Barn's all yours, if y'want it. Just lemme know if there's anything y'all need."
As you cross the creek and begin making your way back to the Korzha farm, you see a man sitting on the porch of the Bartley residence. In his late thirties, he remains a darkly handsome sort, with short-cropped hair and a lean but muscular build. He is shirtless, and you can see that his chest and shoulders are covered with tattoos. He affords your group a curious stare as he puffs away at his pipe, and the stink of flayleaf quickly tugs at your nostrils. He shoots Viorec Korzha a cold look as he spots him amidst the party, then sneers. "Ey, Korzha!" the pipe-smoking man calls. "Havin' fun brown-nosin'? Maybe one'a them can lend you a set'a balls." He snickers to himself as Viorec sarcastically smiles and waves, but the hate in his eyes is plain to see.
"That charmer's the one an' only Robb Bartley," Viorec grumbles. "Only a matter'a time 'fore he showed his face. That's the bastard who's always puttin' his hands on Marleyna." You can almost see the chill go down his spine. "Scumbag. Scares the hell outta everybody, 'ceptin' maybe Leonard Kriegler an' the Dagwoods, an' I figure they're every bit as spooky as he is. I'd rather spend a night at the Chenowitz house than tangle with that man."
Viorec goes inside to meet his wife and son, leaving you to the barn. Marleyna and Dio await you inside, the young drake's head still resting in the girl's lap. Considering how comfortable Dio looks and Marleyna softly stroking his scales, they seem to be getting along nicely. She smiles at you as you approach. "Hey hey," she says. "Everything go all right? Are we, uh... squared away?" After a moment, she climbs to her feet and brushes some hay off her lovely new dress. "Y'all lemme know if you need privacy. I can make myself scarce if need be."
Dalton feels protective of the simple farmer. At the sneering tone from the man on the porch, his hand goes to his sword. "I couldn't quite make out your words, friend," he calls out to the boor. "Come closer and repeat them, so I may address you properly! Unless it is you that is lacking any balls?"
Robb Bartley rises to his feet and makes a show of "stretching"- in reality, clearly an excuse to show off his muscles and menacing tattoos- but upon taking a closer look at Dalton, even he can catch a hint. Bartley is clearly in no rush to face a monk. Instead, he continues to sneer and puff at his pipe. "Buy me a drink first, twinkle-toes," he says, only just loud enough to hear. "Maybe I'll dance with you then." A good show, but he's clearly not going to make a move.
Seeing that Robb is unwilling to approach him, Dalton takes a few more steps forward, hand still on his sword. "Where I come from, it's considered foolhardy to challenge someone and back down at the first sign of resistance. My sensei taught me, 'Commit yourself wholly to your first word, or the entire story is pointless.'" speaking as he walks, the monk finishes his sentence within arm's reach of the brute.
The monk looks Robb carefully up and down, making a show of sizing him up. Robb is taller than Dalton, which does little to diminish the monk's confidence.
He lowers his voice, speaking directly to Robb in a quiet tone. "I'm going to say this one time, and I'm not going to repeat myself, so listen closely. Threaten Korzha's family or touch Marleyna again, and I'll put you in the ground."
As a final gesture of disrespect, Dalton turns his back on Robb and casually makes his way back to where the farmer Korzha and his friends were walking.
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(face & tattoos)
(id the tattoos & face)
Still at a distance, Bacarov watches the interaction between Dalton and Robb. Sooner than I'd like but it'll due.
To the others he moves casually among them (outside of Dalton) and whispers in turn. "I've the evidence and warrant to arrest this man...let's subdue if possible. He'll be good leverage...he's dirty, I know, but let's keep the emotions in check."
"Warshawski, eye the surround, attentions gonna come so watch our backs...
"Vinnie, Calwen, flank out and be ready to back Dalton's play...or to chase Bartley down if he rabbits...."
"Jodare, tell me what you see; Bartley, the house, the surround....". Bacarov says knowingly, hoping the implication of Dramin's magical talents is evident.
"Master Korzha stay close..". Bacarov puts himself between the farmer and the situation. Then he proceeds to study Robb's face and tattoos trying to verify if the markings are those favored by the Sczarni...and if his face rings any bells from other cases.
Then Dalton turns around and walks away. Oh yeah I like this kid's style. Bacarov watches and waits. C'mon, dirt bag give us a reason to blackbag ya... If it's not now, it's going to be tonight.
Robb Bartley's eyes flash angrily, and his lips twitch as he weighs whether or not he's insulted enough to warrant risking a fight. His fists clench and un-clench, especially at the mention of Marleyna's name. "Since when do you know my girl, an' who gave you authority to tell a man how an' when he can handle his own flesh an' blood? Where's that li'l harlot at- " He shouts the girl's name over his shoulder as if expecting her to come running. When she doesn't, he spits. "She mus' have y'all all seduced, I'm bettin'. Y'all don't know that girl like I know 'er. Y'all think she don't like how I treat her? She tell you to save her from her big bad papa? Y'all don't know nothin'. That girl's every bit the liar an' deceiver her mama an' her sister were. She gon' get you all twisted 'round her finger, an' you ain't gon' see the truth 'till it's too late. You jus' remember that, tough guy."
As Dalton walks away, he calls after him: "You ain't puttin' me in the ground! An' I ain't gonna forget you disrespectin' me! Nobody disrespects Robb Bartley! I put people in the ground, not the other way 'round! I do!"
He's clearly chomping at the bit, but doesn't make a move. After a few tense moments, Bartley thrusts his fist into the nearest wall, then storms inside and closes the door. You hear it lock.
Dalton's only acknowledgement of Robb's bluster is a conspiratorial wink at his friends as he rejoins them.
It would have been better to confront Bartley on our own terms. I hadn't wanted to tip our hand so soon. But here he was, being an ass, and it was possible we'd have to arrest him. Or put him down. Neither was a good option right now.
"We don't know how long we're here for Bacarov, and we don't have the resources to take a prisoner, guard him and conduct an investigation. Let him walk away."
And he did. The man was like every thug I'd seem in my life. All anger and bluster, happy to pick on someone when he knew the odds were in his favor and deflating when he knew he was in over his head. Not that he wouldn't be back. He would. We'd need to keep Marleyna with at least one of us at all times.
Calwen steps a little closer to the group. "Marleyna is human, so I leave this matter to you." She nods to Warshawski. "But consider that he is her father. People can be strange, people can be cruel, but in the end, parents love their children, even though they sometimes forget it. She must be taken out of his influence, but in ten or fifteen years, when she is an independent woman, who can say whether he does not realize that he loves her when he looses her, who can say he would not repent? I am not saying it is likely, I am saying the possibility exists. I would strongly recommend to we solve this as peacefully as anyhow possible. We do not need to punish him, we are already taking a child away. We cannot absolve him or decide over his guilt, only Marleyna can do that. So Shelyn help me."
"If it is money what it takes you can gladly have my share of the bounty back, but please do not let Marleyna know." She holds out the two bundles that Bacarov has given her a few days back.
♤
♢
♧
"Oh I don't know, Warshawski," His arms are crossed as he stares at the closed door. "Most of the town seems to dislike the guy. He's got a chip on his shoulder, drug-addled brain..." He turns from the house, his thoughtful expression turning to a smile in her direction. Then he turns to walk back in the direction of the Korzha farm, gripping Dalton's shoulder along the way to express his appreciation. "I think we have all the resources we need. Besides, he just threatened duly appointed officers and deputies of the Watch." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "..and an elvish knight to add salt to the wound. Along with witnesses and what amounts to a confession, I've got all I need...but it can wait. "
To Viorec he says, "Much obliged for your hospitality, kind sir."
To the party, he waves towards the road, "Shall we?"
As the group continues their progress he clasps his hands behind his back, face contemplative as he sings a tune.
"♬...Don't alter my altar
don't desecrate my shrine
My church is the moon-shined water
and my home is underneath the empty sky
Don't underestimate the spine in a poor man's back
when it's against the wall and his future's black...♬"
He glances over his shoulder and chuckles. "Oh I've a mind to use Mr Bartley to our advantage..."
"I agree, people are somewhat superstitious about my kind at times here, my presence might make it worse. However, we must be even more careful with Dio. We should also be careful with... arcane skills." She guesses that a river drake on her lap might look like more bad influence on Marleyna than an elf could ever be.
"Hello, Marleyna, Dio." she says with a smile. "Have you given him something to eat? He is a lovely young drake, but I am not sure whether I want a hungry young drake on my hands." She looks into her backback for leftovers. "I hope that will do... would you like this Dio?"
"To answer your question: I would prefer if you stayed, so to make sure you are safe. If the others do not mind. Otherwise... well, have you made yourself acquainted with Windmane yet?"
Marsh licks his lips. His blood is obviously up.
"Shit, well good or bad it's started now. I'm not likin that he shut the door on us. If he's connected in town we are gonna find out right quick. Nothin more dangerous than a girl's father."
"Dramin, get eyes on the rear of the house in case he tries to rabbit out the back, but stay where we can see you."
"You girls confirmed that this guy put all the wounds on that girls body right? We aren't just takin the girl because of speculatin, right?"
Marsh looks ready to do something.
Dramin looks at Marsh when he requests him of such a thing. "I am not much for lookout but I doubt he can be that sneaky. I will be in contact via Message."
Before he departs he asks Marsh a simple question, "Do I pull out the magic on him if he tries anything dangerous?" He doesn't smile when he asks about potentially dealing lethal damage to the man, his question is clinical like many of his others.
♤
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"He shut the door on us, Vinnie, because he knew he was licked. Dalton made a point without a single punch." Bacarov says to Marsh and Dramin. "If you're bound and determined to do this now, we take him alive. The evidence against him is solid, but doesn't warrant death. Subdue him." He focuses on Marsh. "As far as him being connected, he's no Sczarni. And as others have said, he's not beloved in this town. An arrest will most likely be welcomed. But such an abuser will have information. His kind normally do."
"Are we going to kick his door down? Perhaps it might be best to relocate Master Korzha first." He looks Warshawski's way and nods to the farmer. "If thing so south..."
"We are gettin too many pokers in the fire here Sebastian. We're gonna have to pull a few out and get em cooled down or we got big problems comin. Bein on the defensive here is gonna be a mistake. This isn't our turf. We're kickin over hornets nests everywhere we go."
"Did the girl say the scars on her body come from her dad here or not,Warshawski?"
"If she did and you believe it, let's pick em off now before he has a chance to make plans and make good on his promises. It's not just us we gotta worry about now. We've got others in harms way."
I felt a headache coming on.
"Think this through, boys." I said, "There's a festival tonight. We've got a mystery to solve. Several, in fact. We don't have the manpower to guard a prisoner and solve the cases. We can't ask anyone here to guard a prisoner. They have the festival to deal with, crops to tend to, jobs to do and we don't know who we can trust. I'm telling you. Let this go. Accept that we've got Marleyna safe and let's move on. We can deal with this scumbag after we're done. Priorities."
♧
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♢
"Mr Korzha, if you'd be so kind as to let us know what sort of weapons this fellow favors? And that answered, please head on over to your farm and secure your house and ensure Marleyna does not approach." Bacarov shifts the quiver on his shoulder so his blunt arrows are at the ready, then slips his bow from his shoulder. "Mistress Calwen, if I could implore you to be the shield for them while we conduct this arrest, I would be in your debt." He smiles her direction but she can tell he's already shifting his plans to adapt to Marsh's pressure on the situation. "As for the money, keep it for now. We may have need of it in the future. Thanks for the offer, but the evidence stacked against Bartley is enough for an arrest. You're right, the absolution must come from Marleyna. But he still has to deal with the consequences of his fists. That's the law of the land."
"Vinnie, I'm not sure you were listening here or back at the barn, so I'll say it more thoroughly, we have the first hand account of Marleyna, which Warshawski and Calwen provided, along with the supporting statements of Mr Korzha and now the mayor." Bacarov begins surveying the grounds for solid approaches and means of escape and for those watching their actiins. He continues speaking. "If this were the city, I'd be standing before my commander seeking the warrant for entry."
》 (checking the property)
》 (checking the surround for observers)
"I had thought it thru, Inspector Waeshawski," Bacarov responds. "As Vinnie so astutely pointed out, I've been kicking hornets nests...but I think it wiser to call it an ant pile. My reason was to stir things up and the observe where the ants run." He looks back to Warshawski. "But Vinnie here wants to move up the timing a bit. It might be the right call too. I'll say this again, we've also got accounts that this man is not beloved in town. That's to our advantage."
He looks to Dalton for a moment. "I'm assuming those fits of yours can subdue instead of kill, yes? You'll be first contact with the man. Engage him and put him to sleep." He pats his hip pouch where he keeps his manacles and fetters. "Then I'll make him nice and comfy."
"Vinnie, if I can convince you of anything, let it be this; leave your bloody' devil-faced flail at your hip. The girl can see us from the barn. I'll lend you a sap if you need one." He speaks evenly and with the subtle note of a plea in his voice. He takes a breath and continues. "You're going to be in charge of the door and then moving in on the bastard's flank. But please let Dalton do his work."
"Dramin, if you've got something that will aid in knocking Bartley unconscious, great, but let's have you head around back to watch the rear. I'll be along the side of the house. If I've got a clear line of sight I'll attempt to subdue as well."
"Once he's in custody, I'd like to make sure Marleyna doesn't come over here until we've had a chance to survey the house. I'm curious on a few things regarding this man and don't want her..influence in the area." To Dramin, "You're knowledge will be invaluable in this regard."
He pauses and looks to the others. "If there's no other arguments, let's get this over with."
"I won't kill him very much," Dalton promises. His grasp of certain expressions is tenuous but you get the idea.
"Have no Dazes but I can use this sap just as well as a bow. You find what you want to know, point it to me and we shall go." The rhyme was unintentional but he went with it. Perhaps Bacarov was rubbing off on him.
"I will head back though. Listen for my updates via Message. I will shout if I sense any danger."
Dramin heads on back and sits watch, knowing full well that his enhanced awareness and speed will allow him plenty of opportunities here if someone does sneak out.
He waits and decides to take a quick look around. Perhaps he can find some simple flatstone to make blunted arrows with later. He very much dislikes being in arms reach and they might prove useful.
Calwen looked seriously uncomfortable with this. "I will assist you arresting him, if that is what you are going to do." She cast a glance to Warshawski. "But do not hurt Marleyna."
It was obvious that Calwen was seriously uncomfortable about all this. She put the money back into her pack and watched Warshawski for a reaction.