The man chuckles at some of Janus' more audacious questions. "More or less points at the judge's discretion. The only thing written out is more points for bringing it back unharmed. Doesn't matter if its awake or not." Watching the other matches, Janus notes that the hares almost always hide in a patch of bushes. Also, the judge has one of his assistants make sure the hare doesn't hide in either of the two patches of bush immediately next to the entrance.
The man with the disciplined dog does quite well. His hound follows gestures perfectly. It takes his dog four of the hourglasses to bring the hare back but it is alive and unscathed.
"I'm fine, Fyrman. Don't worry about it." Mel assures him.
To Hal, Mel shakes her head sadly. "I'm afraid Perrin is not with us. He ... had some personal business to attend. We parted ways not long after getting you out of that mirror, in fact, and I have not heard anything from him since."
"The person I plan to have look at your handiwork is a more recent acquaintance -- currently going by the name of Janus Eden. He had a previous engagement today."
Túrion and Nelly enter the tent, where Túrion makes sure to review things with Nelly the moment after gifting her with additional intelligence, to make sure she knew what this was about and what was expected of her.
Harold turns to Mel "Sorry to hear that. Hope he's just busy."
"Me too," Mel says.
Nelly seems to understand. After a few minutes, you are let out from the tent to the gate. The judge declares "Begin... Now!" The first hourglass is turned over.
You notice a short, balding, middle-aged man standing outside the fence and watching. He is dressed well and surrounded by a couple of tough-looking men as well as some fancily-dressed men and women. No doubt this is Baron Cust, the sponsor of the haring and one of your targets from Count Aral. After the man with the capable hound performs well, the baron calls him over and talks to him. The man keeps his eyes low and seems to respond very deferentially to the baron.
Harold coughs into the sudden silence in conversation. "You talkin' 'bout Davis? We were talkin' before 'n' looks like the Reaps are dealin' with your ring-man."
"Might be I could give you a hand." Harold looks to Mel and Kaz "Get a chance ta pay off some debt."
"Yes, I think that sounds like a good idea," she says. "Let's go investigate Mr. Davis' place. Fyrman, perhaps you can learn something from his neighbors. And perhaps you two --" she gestures at Khaz and Hal -- "Might be good enough to provide a distraction so that I can slip into his house and search for evidence while he's at work."
She activates her Melia disguise.
"But don't worry, I promise not to judge him if he's got dirty dishes in his sink. It's the dirty laundry we want to find!"
"That is a good plan. I did do some asking around earlier this morning and I found out he goes to a pub called the Dripping Quill often. We might be able 5onfind him there if we want to speak with him without arousing suspicion." Fytor says. He then takes a moment to cast the spells required and reassumes his disguise.
"A distraction?" Harold looks thoughtful "I could do that." He strokes at his beard, somehow impossibly leaving both hand and beard dirtier. Apparently coming to a decision he speaks again "If its not too disturbin', there's a trick I know what lets me chat real far. Good trick for a lookout." he coughs a little "It is, uh, not entirely natural, if that's a problem?"
"What do you mean? Does it make us sprout antennae or something?" Melia asks. "Because that would be funny, but they would make it hard to wear a hat."
Harold coughs "Well, it's... in the nature of bein' a spell." He indicates the others "what with all this, figured you'd be good with that?"
You head to Jonathan Davis's home, disguised and avoiding most notice. You find a modest home set between closely between two other homes. From watching the house for a few moments, you learn a woman of Jonathan Davis's age dressed in a fine green dress and a woman of about thirty in a rougher dress are currently in the residence. The small street in a residential area is about twenty feet across, cobblestone, with small alleys. The back of the house abuts the back of another house. There are generally about a half-dozen pedestrians within line of sight at any given point while you are subtly observing the home.
”This is so far from my line of work that it isn’t even funny. But I can teleport us in whenever the time is right. Just need a private place to do so. If there be two girls in there, then we just wait till they be gone, aye?”
Harold coughed a little "Sadly, it is my line. Not now, o'course. Back in the old days. I can get you in without a spell. Trick is gettin' 'em ta leave. If they're not even buyin' food, they're likely not leavin'."
Harold looks thoughtfully at Kaz. "Now, if a man'd had too much ta drink and started weein' on the side of the house near a windah, I reckon we'd see some movin'. Trick'd be to handle the first couple broomin's, so's they both turn up. Need to be a tough man, though."
Melia giggles. "That could work," she says. "But I think Khaz has been trying to keep away from the bottle."
"I wonder when Davis' house is likely to be empty?" she says.
A peculiar sensation sweeps over Mel, and she clutches at her hidden holy symbol of Ostara as a babble of voices rises around her.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
”I’m not-I mean, I won’t...are ye actually going to...?” Kazador said, completely perplexed at the scheme. It sounded like it would work, but it also was so degrading. It appeared that Harold wasn’t a man to cross, as he would stoop to anything to achieve his goals.
"Sounds like it might work, but what is there to make sure they don't just tell whoever does the deed to love off and head back inside?"
Harold coughed again "Sadly, me I'm an old man. Gettin' broomed's a young man's game."
He looks with concern at the young lady "You alright Miss?" he asks, waving his empty hand in front of her face and then putting it on her shoulder.
"We don' have ta." he reassures her, fumbling for his flask "I think she needs a drink"
In the midst of the chaos of voices, someone grabs Mel's shoulder; and she feels an unfamiliar magic attempt to impose itself on her. She pulls away from the touch, resisting the spell, and lashes out at the unseen person.
Mel hears a merchant's wife mentioning something about having the Davises over for dinner then she's interrupted by the touch on her shoulder!
Túrion is too focused on the competition to pay attention to the man with the capable hound, or who he is talking to.
Túrion remains silent, not shouting anything, only pointing in a direction - with Nelly looking back at him every couple seconds.
They were used to nonverbal communication...if you hunted - prey or other hunters - you did not want to give your position away by shouting.
Nelly rushes right in at full speed - after stopping and looking back to Túrion, she circles around the bushes near the southern end of the lake, and, if no luck there, then rushes towards the northwestern end of the arena, checking the undergrowth there.
Mel shakes off Harold's spell and whirls around, clocking him lightly on the chin. She then snaps out of her spell and sees what is happening.
Nelly rushes swiftly through the course, sniffing carefully for her quarry, but does not pick up any whiff of the scent.
Mel focuses on Hal, rubbing his chin in surprise. "Never cast a spell on me without my permission," she says, eyes snapping with anger. "Is that clear?"
Hal nods abruptly. "Yes miss. Ma'am. Fair enough. Tryin' ta help, I swear."
"Good," she says.
"Apparently they have a dinner engagement," she says. "I didn't catch what day, but if we're lucky that's tonight. I doubt they'll take the maid with them, but perhaps she'll take the evening off. Even if not, it's easier to deal with one person than many."
"For now let's most of us leave then. We can take turns having someone watch the house, but four stranger hanging around is going to be suspicious." Fyrtor says.
When they begin walking Fyrtor pulls Harold aside. "Don't worry about Mel, Hal. She can be a bit touchy when it comes to magic, bad experience in the past I think. Just next time give her some warning."
"I'll stay here and keep an eye on the place, then. Perhaps the rest of you can see what you can learn by talking to people in the area."
Mel looks for an unobtrusive spot where she won't attract too much attention and can keep an eye on the place.
Túrion is fully in his element. When working with his pack, he was used to directing a dozen wolfs, sometimes more - and not all of them as experienced or smart as Nelly.
This - this was easy...Nelly could do it by herself, but he needed to put on a show all the same to get noticed. Using gestures, subtle hand waving and a bird call at one point, he continues to direct Nelly along an optimized search pattern.
Nelly breaks into a sprint, sniffing the air while running along the outer border of the area.
She paid attention to Túrion, but this was a hunt. If HE felt at home, to her it felt natural. She would not be allowed to kill the prey, but that was just a necessity anyway.
Hunting was a thrill by itself, and she was not lacking for decent food.
After Nelly is most of the way through the second hourglass, she scents the hare!
When they begin walking Fyrtor pulls Harold aside. "Don't worry about Mel, Hal. She can be a bit touchy when it comes to magic, bad experience in the past I think. Just next time give her some warning."
Harold falls back with Fyrman "It's fair. Gi'en who I used ta be with. 'Special gi'en..." he trails off. "Might be this chat should happen somewhere more out'a the way, 'n we've not really met. Want ta grab some grub?"
"That sounds like a great idea." Fyrtor says. "Let's go to the Dripping Quill. I'd like to check the place out. You coming Khaz?"
"Sure. Bit fancier'n I'm used ta. Might be we'd need to look a tad more cohesive?"
Harold looks thoughtful, rummages around inside his robe and pulls out a small pristine book, bound in blue leather. "Might be in here, if you want to wait while I look it up."
”Aye, let’s get going.” Kazador nodded, glad that nobody was urinating in public.
Nelly sniffs the air, spending a moment to take in the scent, trying to see from which of the nearby bushes the scent comes - but does not risk revealing herself, instead preparing to move if her presence alone prompts the hare to try and run.
Mel conceals herself very capably in an alley across the street from the house. She watches carefully for two hours but doesn't see any signs of pets. Then the middle-aged woman, presumably Mrs. Davis, leaves the house on foot in a fairly nice frock. Half an hour later, the plainer-dressed young woman also leaves.
Harold determines that the Dripping Quill is the kind of establishment that members of the middle class attend when they want to feel like they are richer than they are. The atmosphere is rather affected while the fare is a bit over-priced. But nothing is truly that high in quality. The three of you make your way to the tavern, which stands in a respectable neighborhood with a sign of a dripping quill hanging outside.
2. They are very close to each other. There's probably about a four foot opening back there.
3. The maid did lock the door.
4. No side doors.
5. The ground floor windows are barred. Upper floor windows are not. With decent K local, you can probably guess they are not locked.
Nelly determines that the hare is in the furthest northeast bush.
Mel debates internally a few minutes after the maid leaves, wondering whether to wait for the others to return or take this clear opportunity. She eyes the place.
I have no lockpicks, she thinks. And I wouldn't know how to pick a lock if I did. This, from a locksmith's daughter! I really should have tinkered around in Dad's workshop more...
But as the moments tick by, her eye falls on the upper windows. Those'll do, she thinks, and goes into a rapid series of preparations.
She tugs on her sleeves, and her clothing shimmers and adopts a new form. The "cursed" cloak adopts a dark brown color. Beneath it she appears to be wearing form-fitting leather armor, all adorned with belts, buckles and pouches.
She whispers the command word to her hat; her hair and skin darken, and her face rounds out slightly, eyes shifting from blue to brown. Her hair darkens likewise, from Melia's gleaming blonde to a dark walnut brown. On whim, she adds a mask over her eyes.
With a moment's concentration, she invokes her ability to understand all languages. I wonder if my eyes have changed? she thinks. Usually my eyes go grey when I do this ... but I've never done it while wearing an illusionary form before.
Dismissing the question, she reaches into her handy haversack -- now disguised as a large belt pouch -- and pulls out a vial. She pulls the cork and tilts it back. She chews and swallows its contents (mostly liquid, but with occasional crunchy bits in). She grimaces as she recaps the bottle and shoves it back in the bag.
Someone really needs to introduce Fyrtor to the concept of "added sugar," she thinks.
Gauging her moment, she waits until there is no one in view and she cannot hear anyone approaching, then taps her heels together and swiftly makes her way out of hiding and over to the side of Davis' house.
Reaching the edge, she grasps the stone gently, then kicks off the ground and floats up into the suddenly thicker air. She swims upward as quickly as possible, reaching the closest second-floor window on the right side of the house.
I hope I'm right about this, she thinks, and wedges a dagger in under the frame and shimmies it about, trying to open the window.
The thief quickly and quietly makes her way up to the window and pries it open, slipping inside to find an odd bedroom. It seems it was modestly-appointed some time ago but has since been upgraded with several ill-fitting luxury goods. The double bed has coarse linen sheets but a large, expensive-looking mirror is hung on the wall opposite. The wooden chest at the foot of the bed is roughly made but a fine painting hands opposite it. The door to the hallway rests open. There is another door, presumably to a closet, that stands closed.
As they approach the dripping Quill Harold hesitates. "Not goin' ta get in to a swish place like this wi' me lookin' like this." he rubs a grimy hand through his beard in thought. "I'm goin' ta need ta wash m' face, at least. Anyone see a rain barrel?"
"Also, if we're gunna talk in there, one of you gents gaoin' take care of listeners, or d'you need me ta? Or are we just going' ta stay sly?"
Harold finds an obliging rain barrel nearby.
Char silently invokes her ability to sense magical auras. Concentrating, she slips quietly from room to room, scanning for magical signatures and learning the layout of the place.
"I can speak with anyone how bothers us. It shouldn't be a problem though. We have coin and they'll not turn us away so long as we don't bother anyone. I just want to sit and chat, we can keep our eyes open for Johnathan and if he visits are who he's associating with.
Besides, as you said we need to get to know each other. This is as good a place as any for that so long as we keep our voices down."