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"Tancred seems to have left the party rather quickly. I hope he's just headed to the jakes, rather than planning to disrupt the festivities a la Bedard. Does anyone know anything about this 'manor of Ostergarde'? I certainly hope the Blakroses haven't just gotten something else they'll want our assistance with. From what I've heard, the Museum is bad enough."
Alan shares what he knows of the history of Ostergarde with the rest of the party-- a long-standing connection with diabolism seems to be its primary feature of note.
It definitely sounds like the sort of place Pathfinders might get sent to.... and hope that they are not, etc.
Damian Blakros is obliging the Paracountess with a dance. She whispers something into his ear; he flicks his eyes in the direction of the now-empty Chelish table and smiles smugly in answer.
Kardak, you were going to go ask pretty Michellia for a dance, right? ...hmm, where is she, anyway? Filios and Maps also notice that the guest of honor at these festivities seems to no longer be in evidence.
Damian Blakros, née Kastner, seems to be also looking around the room, his brows furrowed slightly.
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Saki will gladly chat with Jeon Raeng-Woo, although she has no idea whatsoever what he means by her 'brothers' or why he would be so indebted to the more dour-faced of the Pathfinders here today. That bit of information she gradually attempts to coax out of him, using a mixture of teasing questions and an ounce of the Shelynite charm (big smiles go a long way!)
Of course, the 'honour' of rescuing a lost and quite inebriated Raeng-Woo causes Saki to laugh quite profusely, no doubt much to the embarrassment of the poor young man.
"I'm not sure if that falls in the normal spectrum of Pathfinder duties, but if you appreciated what they did, then all's well," she adds with a grin, wiping away a tear from her eye. "Try drinking a glass of water after every glass next time, okay?"
Saki remains oblivious to the goings-on of more Perceptive types than herself.
Maps and Filios step outside, passing Shafar, who gives them a small nod. It is mid-morning, getting close to the noon hour.
Michellia Blakros is not currently visible. The several paths wind away from the central pavilion, a few servants bustling along them. Tancred Desimire is also not to be seen, if you are looking around for him.
----
Jeon Raeng-Woo would have told you regardless, although he probably would have crouched it in terms trying to mitigate his embarrassment. But yes, you figure out what he's talking about.
"Oh, yes, my lady, I will be. I, ah, I appreciate you and your friend's-- discretion! Perhaps you'd honor me with another dance--"
Jeon Raeng-Woo's hopeful query is cut off by a mailed hand landing on his shoulder. Damian Blakros fixes the young Tian with a white smile.
"I don't suppose I could persuade you to grant me a few words with the lovely devotee of Shelyn, first?" the former Hellknight asks. Raeng-Woo swallows and ducks his head.
"But of course, sir. I, ah..."
Damian keeps the smile fixed on Jeon until the young man backs away to another table. Then the groom gives those still at the table a brief nod.
"Good afternoon, sirs, lady. I was wondering if I might have a moment of your collective time."
Damian smiles thinly at Saki's words, standing with his hands clasped before him. If it bothers him to be standing around, and dancing, no less, in his ceremonial armor, he does not show it, which is a nice trick if you can pull it off.
"No, although I am certain you would be able to advise me in matters of the heart with the same-- expertise-- you have displayed already, my lady.
"I actually have a slight favor to ask of you," he says, slightly reluctantly, eyes darting around those present at the table.
As you take a few minutes to pace around the perimeter of the tent, your eyes are drawn by distant motion-- there are several ships moored at the quay, downhill from your current location, and on one of the smaller ones sailors are busy with the rigging, as if they were readying the ship to depart. Hmn.
As you turn back the other direction, possibly to share this observation with Filios, a gleam of light catches your eye. Your experience in the Mana Wastes and a hundred other wildernesses has taught you that light reflects off few things that are not either bodies of water, or manmade, and you're pretty sure that there's no bodies of water right here.
You stride along the uphill path that you had taken yesterday to the ruins of the Blakros summer manor, and about fifty feet from the pavilion you find the source of the gleam: a tiny flake of worked crystal. It looks to be one of the many such flakes that had been sewn, like sequins, onto Michellia's wedding gown.
Damian inclines his head slightly at Kardak's words, although his thin smile turns ironical. "Ah yes, Pathfinders being known for discretion," he begins, and then shakes his head.
"--my apologies. I've grown far too used to the bickering of politics. To my knowledge, we have no rivalry between us, and I do not desire such, so I shall speak frankly.
"Michellia stepped out a few minutes ago-- she told me she wished a quick visit to what had been her childhood home, here on the island. At the time I did not object, but... well, call me paranoid, but the longer I think on it, the less I like it. Why could she not wait for such a nostalgic visit?"
The former Hellknight takes a slow breath, and looks with a steely, dark gaze over to the now-empty Chelish table, where Desimire had once sat. He does not voice any suspicions he may have, but perhaps he does not need to. His hand drifts subconsciously in the air to where his sword hilt would be, had he not surrendered the blade to the Lictor.
"Pathfinders and Hellknights have little enough in common, but in one thing we are similar: we often fear the worst, in the name of vigilance. If you could walk to the ruins and simply... check on her, escort her back... I should be--" he grits his teeth slightly through the next words, "--grateful."
"I would go myself, but Hamaria expects me to be ingratiating myself with every contact the Blakros family has. Appearances dictate I remain present-- and forestall any awkwardness over my lady having left her own reception.
"Well? What say you?"
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Looking down at the ships, Maps points out a smaller vessel preparing to sail and gives Filios a curious look.
A short time later, on the path to the ruins he stops, kneels down , and picks up something from the ground. Squinting at it for a moment, he then shows it to Filios - a tiny flake of worked crystal. "From Michellia's dress."
Looking back towards the pavilion, he adds, "Break your peace bond. I think it's time to get the others."
There is almost a smile on his face as he starts back.
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Krunch's heavy brow wrinkles.
"Michelia did get a secret note from someone", the big tiefling reveals. "Krunch didn't say anything because because it didn't look important."
"Let's go find the pretty Blakros girl."
Krunch covers his mouth when he realizes he's being too loud again and then departs for the ruins.
Damian's brows draw together sharply when Krunch mentions the note. "What note? Who gave it to her? How long ago?" he asks in a staccato interrogation-- Hellknight habits die hard-- but then he visibly restrains himself from stepping towards Krunch.
"--that is to say, it seems that would have been relevant info, but I suppose there is nothing for it now. This only makes me worry the more, though.
"Please. Proceed as quickly as you can. And if Desimire has anything to do with this... bring him back to me alive," Damian says with teeth gritted, and turns on his heel.
The Pathfinders quickly make what arrangements are necessary with Lady Gloriana and the Trade Prince, and step outside to reconvene with Maps and Filios.
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Saki nods politely to Damien. "Of course, sir. I must admit, my sense of paranoia has been acting up for some time now. I convinced myself it was nerves borne of dungeons and bandit lairs, not the house of a noble family... but perhaps I would do well to listen to that paranoia even here."
She pats the groom on the hand comfortingly and offers him a gentle smile. "Don't worry, I'm sure she's fine. Focus on trying not to make enemies within the Blakros social circle on your wedding day. ... You have the rest of your life for that much." That comment is accompanied by a teasing wink.
Of course, for all her soothing words to Damien, as soon as they are out of sight of the ex-Hellknight Saki becomes all business. "I have a feeling we're going to run into danger here, but I don't know if I have time to get my armor on. I'll have to make do without for now."
"Let's get to the docks as soon as we can."
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"Please. Proceed as quickly as you can. And if Desimire has anything to do with this... bring him back to me alive," Damian says with teeth gritted, and turns on his heel.
Kardak grins, as if to say "I'd love to bring him back alive".
To the two faction heads: "Damien wants us to run an errand for him. It shouldn't take long, but could you make excuses for us if anyone wonders where we are and why we left suddenly?"
At some indeterminate time during the ensuing chaos, probably after the party is out of earshot of the guests: "If anyone is weaponless, I've got a sap you could borrow. Do we have enough time for me to run and get Amsi?"
Morilla smiles at Kardak. "But of course. Having the groom owe you a debt of honour seems too good a chance to pass up. Do go on, I am sure Aaqir and I will think of some amusing story."
Then it's out into the bright noon sunlight, quickly planning and deciding where you are headed.
Double-time down the path to the docks, hurrying along the decorative paths with no eye now for their luxurious appointments. Ah, things to do! People to kill! I mean rescue! Pathfinders in their element, or something.
You break free of the treeline and are standing on the beach by the quay where you arrived yesterday afternoon. There's the rough guardhouse (really more of a hut) where the guards have been storing the gear of those who brought weapons to the island and refused to peacebond them, or hostile wands, etc. A few guardsmen are present here, standing out on before the front door and rather uncertainly watching the activity on the one ship.
The pier itself extends far out into the water, with the larger yachts docked in the deeper water. Close to shore, only those smaller, personal craft are moored, including a light boat decked out in Chelish colors. Five sailors are currently hurriedly unmooring her from the dock, and scurrying over the rigging, tying things down, etc, etc.
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Unspringing his wand of shield, Maps waves it across his chest to activate the magic within and moves towards the docks. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Krunch running as well and notices the tiefling's face thinking hard. Did he just flounce?
All of the festivities and rich food must have affected his brain, and he shakes his head clear the odd thought.
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Saki follows the main group down to the docks, hurrying as best she can in the not particularly combat worthy silk kimono. She moves over to the guardhouse, waving at those standing outside to grab their attention.
"Hello! Sorry, we've no time for niceties--who are those Chelish sailors there, and have you seen Michellia Blakros?"
Scanning the docks reveals... the five sailors, busying themselves with the nautical duties. The ship itself is a single-masted cutter, designed for speed and short trips around the Inner Sea, rather than extended ocean voyages. Michellia Blakros is not visible on its deck, nor on the decks of the other boats in the immediate vicinity. The cutter does have a small cabin, the door to which is currently shut.
The guards look from the sailors to you. They're not quite sure if they have to salute you, and decide not to, but they do stand straighter.
"Ma'am," one says, giving Saki a nod. He's a young man, who seems perplexed by her question. "Who are they? Why... the crew of that rig, ma'am. They arrived with her last night. That's Lord Desimire's ship."
The second question makes him look even more perplexed. "The Lady Blakros? No, ma'am-- isn't she at the reception?"
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Kardak eyes the sailors suspiciously. He doesn't expect that Tancred has told them anything, though, or that this isn't just a distraction.
Kardak decides that since the guards don't seem to know anything, he isn't going to further damage their ignorance, so he turns to the party and says, "Just Lord Desimire leaving in a huff, is it? Shouldn't we have started looking back up towards the ruin, where the clues pointed?"
"Hey, uh..." the younger guard says in a mumble when Krunch walks past them right up to the sailors, but... he says it softly. Krunch is big, and there's no orders saying 'keep big tieflings off the dock,' now is there.
The guards just shrug at the wary look Kardak fixes them with. As far as he can tell, they are not lying.
One of the sailors starts when Krunch comes up right behind him, taking several steps back with his arms windmilling as he teeters on the dock's edge before finally catching his balance. This sailor, a stocky, muscular man with stubble and a thick walrus mustache, squints up at Krunch warily. Sweat is beaded on his bald pate and flushed cheeks.
"Devils do you want, mate? I'm working here!"
The sailor gives Krunch an incredulous look. Then he looks to the other sailors, who are watching the exchange but not pausing in the busy work of their hands, as if to ask them with his gaze Is this brute having me on? Another sailor shrugs at him.
The weathered seafarer looks back to Krunch. He notes the size of Krunch's muscles, and decides to answer politely.
"No, mate, I've seen no girl, pretty or otherwise, in more days than I like! Beg pardon now, I've gear to stow!"
He flips the last rope from the dock back onto the cutter's deck, then edges away from Krunch, jumping the few feet back onto the cutter.
He seems too nervous about Krunch's big fists to concoct a lie.
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I would not be so sure.
Filios walks to the remaining line still attached to the dock, assuming there are two, motioning for Krunch to follow. He stands in front of it so that it cannot be disengaged from the dock. he yells to the cutter.
Ahoy, the boat! Lord Tancred, you would not be leaving without saying goodbye to your new friends, the Pathfinders, would you?
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Kardak shifts his weight, uncertain what to do. He nudges Saki and says in a low voice, "We should do something before they," he indicates Krunch and Filios with a sweep of his head, "cause some sort of incident." Total lack of subtlety, he thinks. Next thing you know, they'll insist on searching the ship, by force if necessary.
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Saki shrugs helplessly, responding to Kardak in a whisper. "We need to make sure there's no foul play afoot. I don't think there's any way to be subtle about it, unfortunately."
She moves down to the dock, nodding to the guards as she passes them, and calls out to the Chelish ship. "We're just making sure there's nothing wrong here," she adds, hopefully helpfully. "You aren't in trouble." ... Yet.
To a man, the sailors cringe when Filios calls out Tancred Desimire. The one who Krunch had asked his questions of gives Filios a white-faced glare.
"Are you tryin' to get His Lordship to feed us all to devils?" he hisses, before the cabin's door bangs open.
Tancred Desimire stands up from the small 'belowdecks' if it can be called that. He presents a different image than he had at the pavilion, where he had been largely cool and collected-- now, sweat beads his forehead and one eye tics with barely controlled anger.
When he sees the Pathfinders, and hears Saki's words, the Chelaxian takes a deep breath, smoothing down the front of his ornate robes with his hands, which are currently smudged with ink.
"I do beg your pardon," Tancred says brusquely. "But new friendships, alas, take second place to business concerns, especially when we have yet to even be of service to one another. Should time permit, some other day, I should be delighted to spend a god's hour in courtesies of farewell, over tea perhaps."
One lip curls at Saki's words that he's not in trouble.
"How courteous of you to tell me what I already know, since, were I in trouble, presumably the Blakros guard-dogs would be charging towards me. To my knowledge, Pathfinders have no executive mandate in the territories of Absalom. Am I wrong?
"And what should I be in trouble for, exactly? Being financially ruined?"
The last is practically spat, like a curse, and Desimire says a short "Good day," before wheeling on his heel, intending to return into his cabin. He gives a curt, impatient gesture to his sailors to get on with it, re: the disembarking.