Túrion raises an eyebrow, then looks both ways in the alley. That...was a veritable treasure. A human peasant could live the rest of his days in modest luxury and have enough over for his children...not the kind of item you'd expect to find stashed away behind some bricks at the corner of an alley.
"Stuffed peppers," Mel says, pulling a baking dish out of the oven with a pair of wash cloths from her kit to protect her hands. "I forgot to get pot-holders, though. Fyrman, could you please set the table while these cool a bit? Cutlery's in that cupboard there." She points at one in the back.
"So, what have you two been up to?"
Turion has to wait a moment to be sufficiently alone but then he summons an earth elemental. He directs the elemental toward the wall but it isn't exactly sure what he wants.
Fyrtor stands and moves to do as requested. "Wow, smells great. Well we went to the fighting ring Khaz had heard about and see found Viscount Turick there. We spoke to him and after proving were were capable l he took us back to his residence. He's in interesting man the Viscount. Nothing if not a genuine patriot. Anyways, I'd given him the impression that as a great hunter I can accomplish things unseen. So he hired me for a job trailing a clerc he believes is stealing from the crown. He wants to know who the man is working for. Gave me five hundred gold and a letter up frount. He said I could work with others too, so now we've all got a job. It should be a good lead to follow up, and getting paid to do it is just icing on the cake."
Reluctant to involve his companions, Túrion does his best to swiftly communicate the idea of retrieving an item to the Earth Elemental using props, gestures and motions that would make sense to someone from it's home plane.
Turion very creatively explains his desire to the elemental, who glides into the wall and re-emerges shortly with the cloak, which it hands to Turion. It then waves its hands up and down, points to its eyes, and draws some marks in the dirt.
It saw the marks inside the patched over wall.
These marks look unimportant but are actually part of an old code used by the Handle of the Reaper.
Túrion watches the message the Elemental gives him, and understands exactly. He thanks the creature for it's service, packs away the cloak, and hurries back to Melia to share this new information.
Turion re-enters the party bearing a cloak.
"What about you guys?" Fyrtor says while setting the table,"Did you have any luck Mel?"
Mel glances at Túrion, who gives a nod and indicates the cloak.
"All right, I think we can talk freely," she says in her normal voice. "The place is free of magic. But keep your voice down, there are neighbors sharing the walls."
She brings a steaming platter of peppers in. "I have some leads, but nothing as solid as yours. The Reaps are active in the area -- I saw some of them in an alleyway the day before yesterday, but did not attempt to make contact or observe them any further."
"Duke Beaumont is apparently getting ready to hold a large gathering of some sort in another five days from now. His wife placed an order for fancy decorative plates from the plate-seller in the marketplace. I don't know what the occasion may be. It could be a political gathering of some sort, or it could be an innocuous dinner party, or anything between."
"Lastly, but not least, it seems that certain factions have been stirring up prejudice against non-humans. There have been a number of new restrictions placed on them of late, justified primarily by the presence of a few non-humans among the troops of the Lakeburner Rebellion. I met a gnomish bookseller -- Alexander Mumblethunder the Third -- who evidently ran afoul of official censors who impounded some of his stock and blacklisted his shop, apparently for selling subversive materials having to do with non-humans."
"Finally, there is some kind of organization assisting non-humans in need. I am uncertain whether they are a political resistance of some sort, or if they're focused entirely on -- ah ha! -- inhumanitarian aid."
"Regardless, their leader is a woman named Isabella. I haven't been able to track down a way to get in touch with her. Mr. Mumblethunder saw through my disguise and became alarmed, so I backed off, and all I've been able to learn since is that she recently helped a family of gnomes down near the docks." She frowns. "That's something to note. Don't depend entirely on magical disguises -- they can be seen through if you interact with someone long enough."
She sighs. "After that, I spent today shopping for domestic supplies. Partly because we need those sort of things if we're going to be here for any length of time. Partly because it fits our cover. It would look odd if we 'moved to the city' but never made any attempt to settle in."
”Prejudice against non humans? Seems pretty daft. Well, unless it is to rile the populace up for a war, I suppose.” He said, as he stirred his tea. ”Wonder if the elves have tea as well. Bet they make good ones, given that it’s just boiling leaves.” He mused to himself.
"Of course," Mel assured him. "It's common enough. I'm not a connoisseur by any means, but I gather there are some who've devoted centuries to breeding tea plants for specific qualities, and perfecting various blends. I once heard tell of one Master Rorinth, an elven tea master whose brews were supposed to confer magical benefits on the drinker. Those may be apocryphal, but that didn't stop some enterprising young smith from producing a line of Rorinth brand tea pots that heat water to boiling on command and keep it there for the perfect length of time to brew, then cool down again."
She takes a bite of steaming hot pepper. Oh, that turned out well, she thinks to herself.
"But returning to the topic at hand, I believe that riling up the populace for war is exactly why they're stirring up anti-human prejudice." Mel looks down at her plate, and suddenly the food lacks appeal.
"Why are there so many people so eager for war?" she asks bleakly. "It's not a thing to seek out! All that violence and death ... for what?"
"Most people never see the fighting though, they don't pay the price, not directly anyways. It's easy to push for a war you aren't fighting, just financing.
I'm not sure, but I don't think that the Viscount is one of those typess of people though. He's seen fighting, and he seems genuine. He's worried that the Concordat is a threat to Iustia. I don't know if he's the type to go and pick a fight, but if he already thinks a fight is inevitable...." Fyrtor leaves the words hanging.
"Well ... be that as it may. I devoutly hope we can find a way to forestall this war -- but even if we succeed, we will not have changed mortal nature. That is for the gods to worry about." She raises a hand and presses it to the holy symbol of Ostara that she still wears beneath her shirt.
"This job from Viscount Turick seems like the best lead we've got at the moment. Hmm ... I wonder. How did Jonathan Davis get so much money all of a sudden?"
Suddenly, the table and her companions vanish from sight, and a confusing welter of images and sounds assault her senses. She sees glimpses of a balding middle-aged man with a mole under one eye, and hears snatches of voices. The word "Jonathan" comes up frequently. She struggles to make sense of it.
Mel hears a middle-aged woman speaking "Well it used to be black bread and cheese most of the time with meat only on special occasions. But after that night-time visit from the man with the falcon ring, it's been meat every night for Mr. Davis!"
Kazador was about to inquire more about elven tea when Mel began to cast a spell. At least, he thought she did. It *felt* like she was, but he wasn’t really qualified to say definitively. He just used runes, afterall. He wondered if all elves could perform some magic naturally, if this was a trick she knew, or if he was wrong. It seemed impolite to ask, so he waited patiently to see what would happen.
Fyrtor is about to respond to Mel's question when he notices she's starting oddly, and there's a surge of magical energy. "Mel, are you ok?"
Feeling faintly dizzy, Mel raises a hand to her head. "I ... yes, fine. I just ... it was a man with a ring. A falcon ring. For Davis, I mean."
Seeing the blank expressions around her, she backs up. "I was wondering how Jonathan Davis got so much money, and suddenly I could hear ... voices, and see things, all jumbled together. What I remember is a woman's voice saying that Mr. Davis used to eat mostly black bread and cheese, but it's been meat every night since he was visited one night by a man wearing a falcon ring."
Hesitantly, she adds "I think ... I think it might have been a vision from Ostara."
"Well, you are more devout than most priests I've met." Fyrtor says as he lets out a relieved breath. "It shouldn't be too surprising that Ostara hears and answers your prayers.
So, a man with a falcon ring. Hmmm."
Fyrtor grows pensive as he tried to remember if he's hear anything that might be helpful.
Túrion arrives a bit later, having decided that showing up without wine, after all, would be bad form.
Having arrived and being brought up to speed, he seems - well, not shocked, but surprised:"That is a LOT of information you managed to acquire, and in such short time, no less. I am afraid I have nothing useful to report, so far. I did manage to set up one channel that may bring me Information we can use, but for the safety of my source, I'll not say more."
He looks at the others, pausing a moment, then adds:"I trust all of you, but we must also be careful. One of us may be found out, and they may use magic, extortion, torture, or a combination thereof to learn what we know. So we should be cautious, or we might find ourselves short of allies because one of us did not notice someone read their mind."
____
Placing the Wine and Cloak on the table, he indicates the item:"That's the aura you noticed. There were Symbols of the Handle of the Reaper in the hidden compartment, some code. I did not see myself what exactly it said. The cloak has strong protective enhancements. Very strong ones."
____
Shortly after, Melia spaces out as magic floods from her:"A vision, you say? You truly are gifted, it seems, and never fail to surprise.", Túrion smiles and cocks his head slightly, a gesture mirrored by the size-reduced Nelly at his feet: "Unconscious, wild use of powers. You're beyond the age were sorcerous powers usually manifest, but I did hear especially devout followers are sometimes granted boons by their patrons. I suppose that means your Goddess is with us, at least-"
"Also, Mel, I am in need of some specific Books - if you could direct me towards your book-selling new acquaintance, that would be greatly welcome. I'll also keep my ears open during the haring tomorrow for anything regarding that Falcon Ring you mentioned - speaking of which, I would prefer if you could find time to attend with me, Fyrtor - if any problems arise, you could probably be very helpful. That said, I will spend the night trying to find a way to glamour magic so that any traces of spells on an individual are sequestered to common means of detection. I am almost certain Nelly may need such shielding for the competition, if she is to remain her current size."
Mel believes the signet is probably a family symbol of some sort but she doesn't know specifics.
"Mel, would you mind painting the signet as you remember? It may be a crest, a heraldric symbol, something of the sort..."
Mel shakes her head. "No. I didn't see it; I heard a woman talking about it."
As the evening grows later, and the dinner comes to an end, the bottles of wine ending, and the guests making ready to depart, Túrion finds Melira when bringing some more dishes into the kitchen.
Waiting a moment for her to notice him, he clears his throat, then speaks:"Mel. I wanted...well...are you free in the evening 4 days from now? I appreciated your invitation to dinner, and want to return the favor. I got a table at a nice restaurant...well, a table for two, and I hoped that maybe, if you had nothing else planned...", he looks down at the dishes in his hands, before making eye contact again, clearly nervous.
You split up and return to your rented residences and rest fairly well. In the morning, you ready yourself for a new day.
Fyrtor will begin investigating Jonathan Davis. First by trying to discreetly ask questions of people who might now the man while under his guise as Garick Fyrman.
Mel hesitates, her hands covered in soapy water. The silence quickly grows uncomfortable. "I think," she says, "That right now I would like to focus on what we're doing here. I am ... not looking for romance at the moment. Sorry."
"I...yes, nevermind.", Túrion responds, places the dishes on the side, and makes an exit from the room.
You decide to wrap up after the dinner and Mel begins cleaning up. Garick and Janus return to their temporary residence. Then there's a knock at the front door, and a quick peek shows an old man in a dirty robe leaning on a staff outside. He looks around a little as he waits, looking at the windows of other houses.
You wake up in the morning without incident and prepare for your investigations.
"Fyrtor, could you give me one or two of your special concoctions with a size reduction magic for animals in them? If I have to explain how Nelly got to her present size, I would rather be able to present a plausible story, rather than fail to give an answer at all."
Mel comes to the door and takes a moment to get into Melia's head space before opening it.
---
Melia flings open the door. "Hello!" she emotes. "What can I do for you?"
"Miss Elman? I hear you've been askin' some questions I might be able ta help ya with. Not the sorta thing to talk 'bout out here, though." He looks around again, face moving into profile as he does.
The clothes are different, and the pack and staff are new, but the man is unmistakably Harold Donaldson.
"Oh, I see!" Melia bubbles. "Do please come in."
She stands aside and gestures him in, shutting the door and escorting him to the kitchen. She draws the curtains over the windows into the back alley, and ensures the doors are closed.
Still at the house, Kazador watched the man come in with a wary eye. But deciding that Mel was smart enough to know what she was doing he shrugged and went back to eating his toast.
"Of course, here. And let me see take a look at your disguise. Maybe I'll notice something."
Fyrtor shakes his head, "I don't know how Mel does it. Your as good as I think we can get you. Before you go to the hearing let's swing by Mel's place. I have a spell I'd like to cast on us that will let us have a sense of how each other at doing."
Later after having adjusted his skin color and applying his disguise Fyrman begins his investigation.
The old man gives a half-bow, walks in, then nods to the dwarf caught mid-breakfast. A moment later he does a double take, eyes narrowed, then shrugs to himself, shakes his head, and turns back to Melia. "Safe to talk here, then?"
"Yes," she says. "Though you should keep your voice down so the neighbors can't hear through the walls. Harald, is it?"
”I with her.” Kazador said, wiping the crumbs from his beard.
"Khaz, you may remember Harald from ... ah, the Cozy Badger, where he was a guest for many years."
At Melia's first sentence Harold's face goes white around the staff, and the knuckles round the staff go a lighter grey and he growls the word "Reaps".
He hesitates, though, as she continues. "D'you say Harold?" confusion reins a bit more "Hallus?" Before he turns decisive, and spits on the floor "Bloody hallus."
"I ... err ... agree wholeheartedly," Melia tells him. "Bloody hallus."
"You mentioned you have some information?"
Harold sighs, looks away and apparently dismisses both Mel and Khaz. "Get'a hold man. There's bloody Reaps here and you're chattin' with Hallus. Right. Look around, or set another trap?" he mutters, then nods to himself "Look around"
Mel takes a seat at the dining table.
"Uh ... so ... why are you here?"" she asks.
Must be a relapse, she thinks. He was much more cogent the last time I saw him.