On the second floor, you find the bedroom with a closet. Under a floorboard in the closet you find a small slim volume of 25 blank pages giving off a faint aura you can't identify. Beside it are 25 pieces of paper with various, apparently mundane writings on them. They speak of purchasing flour, travels to nearby towns, dinner parties on certain nights of the week, and contain poems about flowers. The pages also radiant magic but Mel can't identify them either.
Near the bedroom is a wash room with a chamber pot, pitcher of clean water, and linen towels. Down the stairs is a nice sitting room at the front of the house with two modest chairs and two chairs that are extravagantly carved and probably quite expensive. Behind the sitting room toward the back of the house is a linen closet and the kitchen. There is no back door. Aside from the find under the floorboard in the closet, you don't detect any magic or traps.
Harold shrugs in acceptance.
A few minutes later, hair damp, face scrubbed and a clean, almost presentable cloak hiding his robes Harold somehow looks like a slightly disreputable scholar and is ready to try his luck with the Dripping Quill's doorman.
Finding nothing else of great interest, she debates. Should she steal a few valuable items to give the impression that this was a mundane robbery? Or leave everything as-is, forcing Davis to continue behaving normally after discovering that his secret papers have gone?
The latter, Char decides. In fact, let's turn up the heat.
Locating a quill and some paper on Davis' own desk, she uses her left hand to write a single word in all capital letters:
She tucks this into the spot where his papers had been hidden, and then exits, using a different window on the opposite side of the house and waiting until she can be reasonably sure of leaving unobserved.
With Harold's appearance altered, you step into the Dripping Quill, a well-lit tavern with a dozen finely carved wooden tables and a dozen booths. The place is only about one-quarter full right now as it's too early for most people to take their evening meal. A man of thirty dressed like a butler steps up you and inquires "Table for three, sirs?"
You slip out of the house without incident, a rubbish-collector walking down the street away from you in view but he doesn't hear a sound and never turns around.
Seeking out a spot in the shadows of an alley where she is out of easy view, Mel lets the illusion of "Char" slip away, and resumes the mien of Melia Elman, wool merchant's daughter.
That was ... exhilarating, she thinks. I mustn't get into the habit of robbing people's homes. Still, in this case, it was for a good cause. Now ... what was that place Fyrtor mentioned?
Oh, yes. The Dripping Quill. Let's see ...
She consults her trade book and map, and finds her way to the Dripping Quill.
Upon entering Fyrtor scans the room looking for a booth or table in a quiet corner that will still allow them to keep an eye on the room. Picking the best he can Fyrtor points, "Yes thank you, that one there will be fine." After they have been seated and their food ordered asks Harold. "So what would you like to know of me? I have plenty of questions for you, but I've asked many already. I suppose it's fair that you be able to ask yours first."
Harold confidently orders four courses from the menu; a soup, entree, main and desert - The fact each item is the third in its respective category surely an accident. He does touch his coin pouch when the waiter has moved on.
He pauses for a few moments at Garick's question, his voice slower and words clearer as he emulates the sort of accent a man dressed as a scholar would be expected to have. "I do have questions, but given my experience with the individuals who recommended you I am prepared to take a great deal on faith." he glances around at the other patrons as he continues "One question stands out, though - on your faith. 'Know a man's Gods and you know the man', as the saying goes."
"True words, though I find many people claim gods but give only token homage. Myself I am a Sarenrite. I am also a druid of sorts. I do not follow the green faith, but I do agree with many of it's teachings . There are other gods that I respect as well, but the Dawnflower is my guiding light. What of you Harold, who do you worship? As you said a man's faith tells a great deal of a man."
"Oh, I'm afraid I'm all about the 'token homage'." Harold grins cheekily "Though I'd say 'honour', instead of 'token homage'. See, I'm a polytheist. A dedicated one."
Harold takes a second to keep control of his accent. "Out there in the world, travelling alone, honour is very important. Show some honourin' and most everything'll let you pass through. Couple of words, little gift, and respect. Sarenrae's a powerful Goddess, and I've a great deal of respect for her. But that ain... is not going to stop me propitiating some little dark glade god if that stops me getting et."
"See for you, it's a bit like fealty. You pick a Lord, you serve just them. For me, it's more like shopping. I get my needles from a different shop than I get me thread. Horses for courses."
Harold rummages around in his pockets producing a number of beautifully carved wooden holy symbols, one after another. "I'm carving, I'll honour Shelyn. Travellin' cross country then it's Gozreh and the Old Faith."
Fyrtor shakes his head. "That's what I'm talking about. Token homage such as that may serve well in this life, but when you pass into the next as all men must, then what? What God will have claim on your soul? Will any? It is better to chose one God and serve them with diligence to ensure that you will be with them in the next life.
That's not to say you should go about offending gods, but you should think carefully about which in particular you would like to join when you pass on."
Harold looks disturbed "Well, never really planned beyond bein' dead. Only god might've really had a claim should've lost it a long time ago. Guess I was figurin' on reincarnation." He shrugs "I mean, what do they want all those souls for?"
Fyrtor takes a long drink, then shares a small sermon. He is obviously practiced at sharing these teachings."When we die our soul, goes to those one of the relms beyond this one. Which realm we go to depends on the ideals that our innermost person embodies. There are places for those who have been good, and there are places for those who have been evil. The celestial realms, are places where the souls of good beings live in harmony. Hell and the Abyss are where the souls of those who have given themselves to evil are sent, to be oppressed and tormented, each preying on those it can and being preyed upon in turn.
The gods that rule in these relms are forever fighting for the ideals of the kingdoms they govern. They search for strong souls that have proven themselves, that they trust to aid them in their quest. There is a war that is being fought everyday by the gods. The forces of good seek to preserve life and the forces of evil seek to destroy it. Sarenrae stands in opposition to the forces of evil. Whether we realize it or not are a part of this eternal conflict. Each day the war is fought, small amounts of power being gained or lost by each baised on the choices we make here in this life. Lie, steal, kill and your soul becomes tainted giving power to the forces of evil. Sacrifice for good, be generous, be kind and your soul is refined becoming more celestial. Sarenrae, she is one of the greatest of the gods. She fights against evil when that must be done, but she unlike many of the others activley seeks to redeem mankind. She offers mercy and healing to those who would change. Through following Her we can be cleansed of our sins, of the evils we've done, and become pure. Peace fills your life when you know that after this life instead of going to the nether planes you will be joining her and her angels."
Harold looks nervous. "Oh, I reckon it'll be Sarenrae I turn to, when I get to retire." he reassures Garick "I've heard she offers redemption only once - and I've a lot of dark deeds still to go if I am to stop the... my old crew." he burrows through his backpack, producing a cloth wrapped large book "Carry my copy of the Saliharion everywhere. Now, anyway."
"May I?" Fyrtor asks. Upon carefully leafing through a few pages he returns the book to Harold reverently. "That is a precious treasure my friend. But Harold, I don't think that is the right way to go about things. You can't live your life doing ill and expect to repent for it when it becomes convenient, but maybe we should speak more of it later tonight. I'd like to underatand better. Do you have any other questions for me?"
Harold nods, hands twitching and eyes locked as his companion leafs through it. "Had it from me teacher, who got it from his. Coverplate says five gen'rations, an' somewhere alon' the line someone did somethin' to stop it fallin' apart. Planned on givin' it to me own apprentice one day." Harold shrugs "Din't plan on fifteen years in a cave."
"I suppose" Harold makes an effort to bring his accent back in line with his diguise "... that most urgently I need to know what we're planning in the immediate future. Prayers and propitiations - my 'token homage' - have left me with a few small tricks I can call upon, but it takes some time to prepare them properly. Knowing what is needed in advance is quite useful. I suggest, rather than me trying to lay all my cards on the table, if you can tell me what you need I can try to think on how I can best be of use."
He looks down, sourly "Also, I'd really like you to talk our mutual friend into getting that cloak cleansed as soon as possible. I've no idea why she's taken such a liking to it. I'm happy to buy her another, and the tailor I bought it from is not far from here."
He turns to his other companion. "And you sir? You mentioned you might have some tricks of your own?"
"Yes, I doubt anyone would plan on such an ordeal. Plans will have to wait until we can all get together again and discuss what we've learned so far, probably this evening I'd guess. As far as the cloak goes I trust my friend's judgement, but we have another friend who after a look ayy change her mind." Fyrtor does a casual scan of the room to make sure no one is listening before going on. "As far as my tricks go, as I said I am a druid of sorts. I spent some time in a druid Grove in my youth and learned how to draw on nature's magic. I can't take the forms of animals as many of my brethren can, other than by the power of spells, but I did learn how to combine various herbs, fungi and other such natural elements into mixtures that will take my magic and hold it for later use, much like a potion. The don't taste nearly as good, but they do the job well enough."
While Harold and Garick are discussing religion, Melia arrives at the Dripping Quill and sees them in a corner booth.
Melia walks straight in with a carefree whistle. Fyrtor bounces slightly as Mel plops herself down on the booth seat next to him.
"Hi!" she sparkles. "Got my errand all taken care of! What's for dinner? I'm starving!"
She grabs a menu and peruses it, then orders something called "King Stephen's Delight" from the rather depressed-looking waitress.
"I hope it's good," she remarks. "I could eat a horse!"
"Melia! Glad you could join us. How'd your errands go?"
"Oh, fine. I think I got what we were after. I'll show you later. Have you boys been getting to know one another?"
"Yep, we were just discussing one of the topics that most people avoid, religion."
"Sounds fascinating," she says.
"King Stephen's Delight" turns out to be a chicken pot pie with the image of a crown worked into the crust. It's filling, but a bit gluey.
Kazador approached as well, coming to take a seat at the table. He had gone in search of a non-alcoholic drink, and had returned with but a glass of water. He figured that if this was his worst problem then things were alright. ”Seems ye two are getting along just fine.” He said, having missed most of their conversation, but having noticed that it seemed animated.
While Mel isn't very clear in her attempt to discourage further conversation on the topic Fyrtor is astute enough to realize what she is doing anyways and moves to change the topic. "How's the pie?"
"Gwuey," she says, her speech muffled by a mouth full of food.
She swallows. "But filling," she adds. "I've had worse meals."
Melia fills the remainder of the dinnner with happy, inconsequential chatter regarding the weather, the restaurant's decor, and the relative merits of hair brushes versus combs.
Once they have paid for their rather-overpriced meal, they troop through the darkening streets back to Melia and Khaz's rental.
Once safely ensconced therein, with the curtains shut, Melia takes a seat and sighs. "Here," she says, extracting the book and papers from her haversack and setting them on the dining table. "I found these hidden under a loose board in his bedroom closet. The pages look mundane, but they've been enchanted. I'm pretty sure it's a Secret Page spell, only he failed to hide the aura. On the times when I've hired this spell cast, there was a pass phrase that reveals the true contents of the page. I wonder if there is any way to determine what it is? I suppose we could start reciting words and hope one of them works, but that seems like something of a stab in the dark."
"The book is also magical -- I suspect it may be a communication device. Like this one." She pulls another book from her haversack; Fyrtor and Khaz recognize it as the book that Count Aral gave the party.
"I wonder if Janus is done with that haring yet? He'd be a good person to take a look at these ..."
While you are sitting at your table, you are able to hear snippets of conversations at other tables.
You sort the noises for relevant information and determine that two middle-aged men at a table nearby are talking about Jonathan Davis. "He'd normally be here, alright. But he had to go to a dinner party tonight. Normally, he couldn't be bothered with that, missus or no missus. But he said a new friend insisted. Something about being seen by plenty of folks tonight, just in case."
Kaz and Garick certainly recognize the book from Count Aral while Harold is relatively aware of such books.
Harold's etiquette improves when Melia joins, but his conversation wilts away in the face of her formidable ability to chat. He eats his enormous meal politely, has a few glasses of wine, does his best not to wince at the price, and steers clear of religion.
When Mel stops speaking Harold whistles softly. "Not cheap. Takes a fair sorc'ror to mess with writin' like that - let alone the book. Gi'en it's hidden at his house, 'n not his work, guessin' he got it from the Reaps, or bought it ta keep track of" he waves his hand "Accountin' thievin'. Ledgerin'?"
"Now, if it was the Reaps, likely was something ta tie him ta them. Somethin' they'd want him repeatin'. Otherwise, look for a phrase written down - people can have trouble with rememberin'."
"You want to break the magic we might be able to see it, but there's a risk the page'll have sort of other trick."
He rubs at his beard again, the water barrel's influence already wearing off. "Ointment to see through glamour, and a cypher-sorcerer's spell might do it. Expensive though. Your man up for it?"
"I imagine he is," Mel assures him.
At the Quill Fyrtor gets drawn in by Melia's chatter inspite of himself.
Later after she shows her findings he is impressed. "Is there any way we could use the book to trace the location of the other one? Our real goal, at least according to the Viscount, is to find who Johnathan is working with."
"Possibly," Mel says. "If I recall my Elementary Arcana class correctly, divinatory magics tend to become easier when you are in possession of something that is intimately connected in some way to the object or person you are divining."
"That said, let's not get ahead of ourselves. I speculate that it might be a communication device, but I don't really know. As Hal pointed out, there could be tricks. It could be that this is a normal book except that it has some kind of magical trap on it. That's why I haven't opened it yet. It might incinerate itself, or trap the reader somehow, or, well, blow up in our faces. I want Janus to check it out before we go opening that cover."
You meet up with Turion after the Haring and he is able to determine that Melia was able to steal a book of secrets. As you suspected, this is probably how Jonathan Davis has been communicating with those he works with. It may be difficult to read the pages without the password to unlock their secrets. But Davis will certainly be startled by this development. Based on what you know of him, he's far from a professional and will want help and reassurance from whatever professionals he is working with. However, he will be unable to reach them by his usual, covert means.
Mel nods at Janus' confirmation. "I thought as much," she said. "Now, listen -- I left a little present for Davis: a message. I took a bit of his own paper and wrote the word 'naughty' on it, and stashed it in the cubby where he hid these. My hope is that when he checks on them and finds them missing and that message in their place, he'll panic and try to contact his handler by mundane means. If we're attentive, we can follow him to find out where he goes, which should be informative."
"The problem is we don't know when he'll discover it and leave. For all we know, he might already be on his way. We need to keep a close eye on him -- without being obvious about it ourselves."
"We may need to work in shifts. I'm perfectly happy to do one, of course -- I can avoid attracting attention pretty well, and I can wear any face I like thanks to my hat. Fyrman, you are a druid. Am I correct in thinking that you can take the shape of animals? Because that would be a nicely inconspicuous way to discover where he goes. There are plenty of animals living around here. A bird would be a good choice -- mobile, inconspicuous. Or a bat if he goes by dark."
She looks at the others. "Not sure about how the rest of you might approach it -- though I'm sure following a man through some city streets is well within your abilities."
"Oh, and Fyrman -- I had to use one of those concoctions you made for me to get in. The one that lets you swim through air. It was very helpful for getting in the second-floor window. Could you maybe make another one of those for me when you get a chance? I'd appreciate it. Uh, and if it wouldn't spoil the spell ... maybe add some sugar?"
"I can make another one in the morning, but I'm sorry Mel, it's still going to taste like a cross between dirt and something worse. I've found if you hold your nose and kinda open your throat up you can poor it down all at once. The taste fades faster that way.
As far as Turing into an animal, I can do a little of that through spells, but the transformations don't last long, a few minutes at best. I never did learn the are of try transformation. I'm not really a very good druid. I do have a few spells I could use to help with watching without being seen, but most of them last an hour or two before fading."
"Hmmm. If we can find a quiet place, I'm happy ta try out a few of my old crew's standard phrases." Harold shrugs "Maybe we'll get lucky... And if it's traps... well, I learned a few tricks back in the bad old days. Reckon I c'n tell if there's a trap, enough I'd put m'self in the line of fire."
He hesitates a moment "I... I like that none of you have suggested just kidnappin' him and torturin' him for the information. Refreshin' change."
"Ya reckon ya could get back in, miss? Maybe get the book back?"
Mel looks around. "Well, we're in the house I rented," she says. "I don't think we have anyplace much quieter. There's an attic upstairs that seemed pretty dusty when I checked it out -- that's probably the quietest place in the building."
"And no, torture is not something I'm willing to countenance. It's repugnant. Not to mention ineffective -- people just tell you whatever they think you want to hear, to make the pain stop. General Tullian goes on about that for some length in De Bello Spineto Segundo. After losing three platoons based on faulty information obtained through torture, he banned it because it wasn't reliable."
"I could get back in again, sure. But why would we put the book back?"
"Not complainin' about your standards. One of the people I used to work with swore by it. Your Tullian'd had that bi... woman on staff, might've had a different take." Harold shivers "Lovely woman. Polite. Generous. Even kind, by all accounts, just... dead inside. Whole personality was an act." He looks off into the distance. "Nice ta be around people who don't just say "just business, nothin' personal" 'fore they turn on their friends."
"Well, guess I might as well start in. Mind if we use your table?" Harold looks uncomfortable "Want ta make it clear, I'm just lookin' for a password."
"Was just thinkin' if we could get it back, and keep an eye on him, we could catch him usin' the password. Or, we could put some sort of... signal thing on the board, at least. That'd tell us when he goes for it."
"I'm not sure how we'd get close enough to hear him utter the password anyway, even if we were able to return these things before he discovers them missing. And by all means, use the table -- if you can discover the pass phrase, we'll get a great deal of useful information, I think."
"I'll take first watch on Davis -- I found a good spot for observing the place this afternoon. Would one of you please come relieve me in, oh, four or five hours? Thanks." She describes the location clearly so they can find it without too much difficulty.
"Don't worry too much about the taste of those concoctions, Fyrman," she adds. "They get the job done, and that's the important part."
With that she makes preparations -- visiting the loo, filling a bottle of water, grabbing some bread and cheese -- and departs for Davis' house, wrapped in her new, cursed cloak on to keep the evening chill off.
Harold nods, and waits for Melia to leave.
Once she has gone he turns to the others "Well, I feel better she's left. Rather she didn't see me writin' this stuff." he sighs "I'll need at least one person with eyes on me at all times - Ideally someone with enough of the sight to see if I'm fallin' victim to somethin', and good enough in a fight to step in if somethin' pops out that needs fightin'."
"If one a you gentlemen has experience in this sort'a stuff, I wouldn't say no to some help. Been a while, and this is a job you don't want ta do rusty."
"Mel, before you go I want to cast a spell us, yourself included. It will let us feel somewhat of what each of these who are a part of the spell are feeling. That way if you become alarmed or scared we will know to come and help."
"I don't know too much about the making of spells and such" Fyrtor says, "but I have a good eye for people acting strange and I've prepared several spells that should work to subdue rather than kill. I'll stay here with you Harold." With that he draws the large skining knife from his belt and after a muttered word it morphs and grows into a dull grey cavalry saber.
"Ok, I'm ready. You can begin."
"Hm...we do have a number of options, I believe. I could turn into some street urchin delivering an urgent message to him - coupled with a suggestion to contact his allies in 15 minutes ... then watch and listen remotely - or in person, invisible, for that matter - but for him to even try, there needs to be a book there to use - we could use a visual copy of this one, then cover it with a glamour making it appear magical. Then we tune in when he attempts to activate it."
Túrion shrugs: "Workable, but many moving parts, and several what-ifs. Simpler would be better, but I am not sure if we have time. If he is to be seen tonight, then likely something is about to happen for which he needs an alibi. So we're working on a timer."
He ponders a moment:"Of course, we could also try and brute-force things. With all command words, there are some strands of magic that can be...unwoven to some extent. Just enough to unravel them, make them visible. I'll need a scroll of a low-level spell to do that, however. I'll look into acquiring one - while you try this."
Mel slips through the darkened streets.
It is a somewhat odd sensation, feeling the emotional states of the others in the back of her head. She keeps glancing back, sure she's heard someone behind her, only to realize that the "sound" was Túrion puzzling over something, or Fyrman feeling protective, or Kazador feeling bored.
As for Hal, well ... he doesn't come through so clearly. Perhaps I don't know him well enough yet to follow his emotions, Mel thinks.
Banishing the thought, she settles in to watch the Davis' house from cover.
The absurdity of it all catches up with her. Her? Sitting in the alley of a human city staking out a felon? Melira Elenariel? She laughs silently to herself, inadvertently sending a wave of dry amusement to the others.
As the minutes stretch out, her amusement fades. She sits, arms clasped loosely about her legs. This is all so roundabout, she thinks. Here we are investigating this man for embezzling funds from the treasury -- but he isn't even our real target. All this is just to get a foothold with Turick so we can investigate him. But humans move so fast ... have we got time to find what we need before the King decides to start this war? She worries a bit, sending jagged little spikes of fretfulness back.
Easy, Melira, she thinks. You're doing everything you can. Quite unconsciously, one hand rises to the holy symbol tucked under her shirt. Ostara, anna minulle kärsivällisyyttä. Jos tästä kaikesta on tullut jotain tosi hyvää, olen tullut lähemmäksi sinua.
As usual, the ritual of prayer brings comfort. Entirely without realizing it, Mel sends a great swell of love to the others -- the sensation of your mother's warm embrace at the end of a cold day playing in the snow.
Harold nods "I'm happy ta take my time. I think I could even take a guess as ta which scroll you're seekin'. Hour enough?"
Harold starts setting up. First he places a white cloth (liberated from the linen cupboard) on the table, and places the captured book in the middle.
Next he proceeds to pull a plethora of tiny tools much like those a clockmaker would use from his person. Carefully he sets them up in a precise order, and it becomes obvious these tools are both old, and designed for less than legal purposes. Tools laid out, he dons a pair of thin leather gloves with reinforced pockets for the tools built into them.
That done he pulls a number of books from his pack - including the Saliharion. Leafing through the pages he consult numerous margins, scrawling notes in chalk on the nearby wall, then looking over to the book in the middle of the cloth. This continues until the allotted hour is done. At that time he carefully packs the books away, moves his pack to the far end of the room and returns.
He rinses a number of teacups as well as the teapot, fills the teapot with a measure from his flask, hooks it with his staff and holds it over the fire. Soon the smell of warm honeyed mead fills the air, and he carefully pours a measure into the teacups, offering one to each person present and one to the hearth with ritual words of welcome in warped sylvan. His confrontation with Mel still so close he warns the others "It's Old Magic" and does not push the issue.
He proceeds to use a number of divination methods - card reading, bone-casting, and even (from notes scrawled on the wall) astrology.
Motioning for the others to back away he finally sets to, carefully casting effects subtle enough to be barely called 'spells', and noting the way the various magics twist in the much stonger aura of the book.
Harold determines that this is one source book and one set of pages from another sourcebook, the necessary ingredients for two-way communication.
You see Davis and his wife get home a little after dark. Everything seems quiet until, about an hour later, Davis comes rushing out of his home, his coat buttoned improperly and countenance frantic, and begins walking quickly down the street.
Nelly waits patiently a moment then the hare's patience seems to break. It sprints quickly from its bush and Nelly rushes to intercept. Frantic, the hare keeps running.
Mel, having once again taken on the persona she has chosen to call "Char", gets to her feet and pursues him. She tries to keep him in view, but at sufficient distance that she won't attract his attention.
"Alright, goin' ta 'concur with my learned colleague'. Far as I can tell this is a number of magical pages bound together. Each page has a mirror page. Write on one of these pages, and nothin' happens till you write a codeword, then it shows up on the mirror - but a spell mixes up the words. Usin' the codeword you can make either page switch between real words and fake."
"Each page has an effect that stops detect spells workin' right, but odds are a decent mage who knew what they were lookin' for could find the book - so sand's fallin' in the timer for us. Might be that we can use that ta find the other book, though."
"Some of these you can say the codeword ta reveal the page. Some of 'em you need ta write it. Writin' it is a pain 'cos you can't see what you're writin' over."
"They work out we're doin' somethin', they can throw their book into the fire, or rip it up, and our book'll do the same."
"In a moment I'm gonna open this thing up. I've put up all the countermeasures I can, but I might have missed somethin'."
"Usual, that'll be the book blows up. Might summon somethin'. Might be a curse - subtle that. Might be somethin' bound in here ta control me."
"Book blows up, you need ta save me, then it. I'm fine with y'r'reverence castin' at me if I'm not in a good way. Somethin' summons I'm gunna try ta grab the book 'n' run. I'll run upstairs, so if it chases me you can hit it in the back. Book curses me - well, I'll be askin' you to check, but I got a good hex nail, so I'll take my chances. Somethin' controls me, I got no weapons, but you'll need ta go hard." he looks somewhat nervously at Fyrtor "Not too hard! Been more'n a decade since I last took a hit. Tie me up after 'n wait till you're sure I'm good."
"Ready?"
Fyrtor accepts the tea mead from Harold, though he crinkles his nose before his first sip. They had already trusted this man a great deal, he may as well go all the way.
After taking a deep breath he says. "Ok, let's do this."
Together, Harold and Turion determine the codeword for the book is "mint jelly." Harold says the codeword and begins opening the book. Then a flash of light and a stench of sulfur fills the room. Apparently there were some countermeasures in place for tampering such as this, though they aren't subtle. An oddly human-like form appears on the table you are gathered around. On lean limbs the color of spilt blood creeps a being of sinister grace. Eyes like embers and a sneer full of needle-thin teeth gleam from an unmistakably fiendish visage. A pair of crimson wings sprout from the back of the hairless humanoid form, fluttering silently like an assassin’s cloak, while in one hand it clutches the twisted, dagger-like horn of some infernal terror. But Harold's cautious preparations keep you from being entirely surprised by this.
Still, the creature moves with blistering speed, lashing out at Harold twice with it's dagger-like horn and once with his horn.
Char slips through the night quietly and quickly until she sees Jonathan Davis knock on the back door of a linen shop at the base of the Palatine Hill. After a quick, whispered conversation through the door, he's pulled in quickly.