Vokrin's missiles scream in and pummel Jabral, who continues screaming and pushing himself into the corner of the building, though there is less vigor in his babbling.
Rolling her eyes at the tanner's histrionics, Rurisa attempts to rap the man on the head to silence his gibbering.
Seeing Rurisa's rather...enthusiastic blow, Kayal seems to inhale his shadows, feeling them claw back from beyond the office door. It is exceedingly obvious he has no interest in taking the tanner's life--his tongue, perhaps, to render the man mute for all that unpleasant noise--but the Fetchling has not forgotten their purpose here, and to succeed in their task takes more of his attention than the mutilation of a beaten man, however tempting.
Though some of their party may still be deafened, the Oracle's intentions are made obvious by the working of rogue shadow-puppets in the torchlight: all grasping hands and open boxes as he skulks his way past Azrael and into the office, to scan the room for whatever valuables might serve their purpose.
Jabral's eyes roll to the back of his head and he crumples to the floor in a heap. The sound of glass shattering and metal falling to the floor accompanies his drop. Rolling him over reveals a smashed vial with the wood soaking up whatever liquid was within and a ring with two keys on it.
Several antique tanning tools and a pair of patterned leather tapestries decorate the walls of this small, rustic office. A well-gnawed pig’s foot lies in the corner. A small lockbox is stashed under the table and is opened using one of the two keys found on Louslik. Inside are numerous small leather purses, each branded prominently with the letters L.T. The coins in each purse vary between 10 for the smallest, 20 for the middle sized, and 50 for the largest. Each coin is silver and a quick calculation shows there is about 800gp worth of coin here. The box with all the purses weighs about 20 pounds, but is easy to carry otherwise.
Cimri looks rather pleased with everything. "Looks like we found it! We've got the goods and didn't kill anyone. I suggest we beat feet out of here while we can."
"Should we leave a lasting memento, a reminder of his place? Or should we simply depart." Vokrin asks, seriously. He doesn't want to let the man off too easy. If they only took what they were actually owed, how would people learn? He supposed at least there would be the matter of the window and door to remind him not to screw around.
With a quick mental tally taken and a nod to Cimri, Vokrin's comment draws an unsettlingly warm smile to the Fetchling's face.
"While I agree it would be pertinent to make our escape," he starts, as if to concur with a prompt departure from the scene...but a shady hand seems to grab at the scissors at his belt, lifting them up and onto his open fingers. "Taxes are taxes, sir; and skimming from one's superiors is really quite an offence..."
That said, the Kuthite holsters his morningstar and moves over Louslik's limp body, a tight grip on the tanner's jaw and the claws of his shadows wedging the mouth wide. Contrary to his intentions, Kayal seems only quietly enthusiastic--as one might be about an upcoming performance or social event--while he considers how best to hack a man's tongue from his skull.
He does of course want to leave Mr Louslik alive. To do otherwise would impair their deal with this..."Razelago" fellow. Kayal is a sadist, yes; but to disavow an agreement? Now that would simply be monstrous.
Putting up her hammer, Rurisa hefts the chest onto her shoulder and heads for the door. "Both his dogs are dead, what more do you want? He's just some damn fool tanner who doesn't know enough to know when he's outclassed. We should withdraw, we've got what we came for."
"A fool should be taught, dear lady; and pain is a most persistent teacher," Kayal preaches, still preoccupied as he is with Louslik's jaw.
Cimri shrugs, "If you're doing something, best make it quick. I'd rather be back at Razelgo's before someone comes back to investigate the noise."
"Do it quickly, then. We must be gone from here." Vokrin agrees with both Kayal and Cimri, in that they must send a message, but must also depart. On the way out, however, he does check the dogs to see if either is merely downed and not dead.
"Gladly." He stiffens his grip, pustule eyes glittering. "Abandon your tears and learn, Jabral."
Showing polished teeth, Kayal wastes no further time with debate. Three cuts and a quiet prayer later, there's the sickening noise of an organ being half-ripped from Louslik's mouth, with a small waterfall to fit the wound. To his credit, the Fetchling does hold up his end of the bargain, ensuring as best he can that the tanner does not outright die from the affair, but rather that it endures: a constant, painful, bloody reminder of tragic disobedience.
Done with his work, Kayal leaves Louslik where he falls, and would abandon the hunk of bloody tongue-muscle as well if not for a stray shade clawing up about limbs, curling his fingers about the torn flesh. True; it is something he should report on, and proof is worth more than words, however honest.
Sheathing his scissors and coughing a little into vermilion hands, the quickly Oracle composes himself, marching with his half-limp towards the previously discovered breach in the Tannery fence--directing others if they themselves have not yet found the way. Kayal forces his ribbon-reed body and gear through the passage with only a passing amount of discomfort, ready as he is to be free of this place and its filth.
Cimri nods and with a quiet, "Follow me" leads you back east towards Longacre. She brings you nearly up to Castle Gate, but turns north following the wall just outside the torchlight. Fairly soon a break in the trees allows you to see your destination, Ash House, just as the sun begins peaking over the horizon.
What remains of this manor looks like it could collapse at any moment. Bearing the scars of a decades-old fire, the house is blackened and sags under the weight of its collapsed third floor. Shattered windows pose no barrier to the riot of ivy scaling each gable and invading every cavity. Bent pillars and a cracked granite porch lead to a warped door bearing a rusty doorknocker shaped like a boar’s head.
The front door seems to be wedged into its frame. Cimri circumvents this by popping through the broken windows leading into the parlor. Pieces of battered furniture lie here amid the choking scent of dust and ashes. Beneath a mantle crowded with empty whiskey bottles, the fireplace shows evidence of recent use. The scorched, broken visages of curious cherubs leer from atop archways leading deeper into the house. Cimri drags you upstairs with a grunted, "Come on," leading you into an office on the right of the stairs.
Toppled bookshelves, a table, and some chairs half-covered in ivy suggest this room was once a library. The ashes and pulp of burned, waterlogged books lay heaped amid fallen furniture, creating a large nest of sorts against one wall. A set of folding paper screens divides the room. A lantern flickers on the opposite side, projecting the silhouette of a desk and high-backed chair upon the thin paper.
Lying in a nest of ash and books in the corner is an enormous panther-like creature which growls as the silhouette of a person rises from the desk as you enter. After a moment of slow shuffling, a high-pitched voice, sounding as though it could belong to someone either very young or very old, wheezes from behind the screen: “Cimri. Is it done?”
Cimri plops down in a chair and kicks her feet up on the table. "Yep, all done boss. When we were planning this thing Kayal here found out that Louslik's lackeys would be in tonight and the group, very wisely, decided to wait until they had come and gone. We jumped the fence, unfortunately one of Louslik's dogs was waiting for us on the other side. Massive thing, big as old Gaurig here," she says indicating the panther-thing. "It jumped us and nearly ripped out Kayal's ankle, but Azrael here put a stop to it right quick, took it down in a single swing, with some off the side help from myself of course. Then Louslik and his second dog, just as big as the first, come rushing out of his office. They thought they had us, but Rurisa there knows how to use that big hammer of hers. Took out the dog, the door Louslik barricaded himself behind, and was able to knock him out without lasting damage! Quite a catch! And Vokrin, whom I haven't mentioned yet, is probably a stronger wizard than we gave him credit for! He was able to fire off two of those magical bolts at once, and he wasn't scared to use his magic. I like this group, professional, good at what they do, and never afraid to get their hands dirty."
Razelgo occasionally nods during the telling, but is silent throughout the tale. When Cimri is finished he finally speaks, "“Excellent. You’ve done well, Cimri, and your associates sound like individuals of rare potential. You’ll all find your payment waiting in the parlor below, along with a gift for each of you. Go, enjoy, celebrate. You deserve a reward for your impressive work. We’ll talk more in the near future.”
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Kayal looks rather unfazed by the state of the Ash House. If anything, he appears more at home in the soot and cinders than the earless cat-creature across the room, and for most of the discussion the Fetchling finds himself staring distantly at the beast, breaking eye-contact only to offer a brief bow of the head at Cimri's introduction. It is quite clear that Kayal would very much like to pet the sizeable panther-thing. Not so much that he would risk losing an arm for it...though he is obviously conflicted on the idea.
It's only when Cimri mentions the Oracle's wounded ankle that he recalls the once gaping hole in his leg, and he looks down with narrowing eyes as his shadows once again tug the underlying muscle back into line.
With Razelgo's dismissal Kayal offers another bow, this one much more proper in stature; he does not care if the screen obscures vision, for it is the act itself that matters. "Your praise is too kind, sir. But please: do remember us. I am sure we would all be glad of a second opportunity to assist. Or earn a proper wage, as the case may be," he finishes, glancing to the others with a short laugh.
"Ah, before we depart...you should know not to expect vocal complaints from Mister Louslik," he explains, tossing the red-stained remains of the tanner's tongue onto the library's table and wiping his hands against his shirt. "That is unless tongue-less whimpering qualifies."
With a grunt of irritation and effort, Rurisa levers herself through the window with the lockbox, glancing about the two-thirds ruined structure with distaste. A front then? Familiar territory for our employer, but not a location that would lead back to him. Solid precaution, but crawling around this dump wasn't what I had in mind when I signed up.
Throughout Cimri's description and Razelgro's response, Rurisa stands at ease, not commenting on the mission or the conversation--she is eager to collect her coin and start the "real" work, as she sees it, with the Hellrazors. While recognizing the catllike creature as a krenshar, Rurisa declines to comment. "Knowledge is a weapon as surely as a spell or sword," the Commander always said. When Razelgro dismisses them, Rurisa salutes sharply and follows Cimri downstairs.
Vokrin knows what that is, and knows well enough to be afraid of it. At least marginally. If their boss wasn't pleased, it would not be unheard of for that creature to tear them limb from limb. "As you will." Vokrin gives a nod of acknowledgement of both the praise and the payment, before heading downstairs for payment.
Cimri leads the group downstairs into the parlor. The table has a smattering of weapons and a large wooden chest on it. Inside the chest are 5 purses, each labelled with one person's name. Cimri's is about twice the size as everyone else's. In addition there is a note on each bag indicating which weapon on the table is theirs, all given as a bonus for a job well done.
Cimri - Dagger
Vokrin - Dagger
Rurisa - Greatsword
Kayal - Light Crossbow
Azrael - Longbow
Each weapon is of the highest quality and bears the arms of Cheliax somewhere upon it. Looking past the parlor into a small kitchen there sits eight bottles of a fine Wiscrani barbera wine, several loaves of fresh bread, garlic-flavored butter, and a variety of smoked fish and boar’s meat.
Cimri whistles at the food and the payment. "This is the type of thing I can get used to." She begins testing the balance, heft, and sharpness of her new blade as she sits down. "This was a job well done. How about everyone stay a while? I can't finish all this food on my own, and we'll be able to get some of the sleep that we weren't afforded last night. And we can get some rounds in for Drunken Bulls-eye too!"
Hefting the heavy blade and testing its edge with her thumb, Rurisa grins. "I don't gamble, and I'm not hungry. But I'll take a bottle for the road, I've got a room here in town."
"I will enjoy the hospitality of the house, no need to give offense, but I will rest this night without making a fool of myself." He looks at Kayal briefly. "Are you yet harmed?"
Azrael grins at the spectacle of Kayal cutting the tongue out of Louslik's skull, as he makes his way from the building and back out into the night. After sheathing his sword and clambering back over the wall, he follows Cimri back to town without another word.
Standing before the paper screen, Azrael stands in contrast to Rurisa, stiff and upright, eyes forward. As they are dismissed, he gives a short bow t the screen, "It was my pleasure, sir. Though I do hope the next time is for something more straightforward."
After speaking, he executes a sharp about-face and marches through the door and downstairs. Once away from their employer, he loosens up considerably, smiling and lounging in one of the chairs while eating. He takes his purse and checks it quickly while eating.
When Rurisa goes to leave, he gives her a nod, "Good work out there tonight, m'lady. I look forward to working with you again in the future."
Feeling in a good mood, Rurisa throws the other warrior a wink. "Azrael, was it? I imagine Razelgro already has something else in mind, tonight's job felt like a test." Grabbing a bottle of wine, and, after a second thought wrapping up a loaf of bread with a bit meat, she shoulders her equipment (including the coin bag) and departs.
They'll all be asleep right now, but that's okay.
Without a proper reason to decline the company, Kayal simply flashes his teeth. With the dawn rising, the Fetchling seems to gain some colour back in his skin, and before too long he has the dusky complexion one might better expect of a Varisian man.
Pulling up his crossbow for a proper appraisal, smiling as a thumb passes over the Chelish marker, he ultimately places it beside a seat with the rest of his gear and hobbles towards supper--led not all that subtly by a particularly ravenous shadow that plucks up a bottle before the oracle has time to do so himself.
"Your supplier has good taste, Cmiri. However did you meet?" he mumbles, looking for a knife for the butter. Not a moment later the thought is interrupted by Vokrin's query. Kayal seems to stop for a moment, his free hand pinching magic, attempting to properly suture the injury. "Nothing I have not suffered before, and won't again; though your concern is most appreciated."
Seeing Rurisa take her leave, Kayal does not attempt to halt her, and instead offers a bow in kind. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Thelvarn. May our experiences continue to meet."
Cimri cheers and uses her new dagger to pop open a bottle of wine. "All right! Let's get this party started! If anyone needs help taking off their armor let me know!" She promptly strips out of her leathers and begins feasting while chatting about inane things. Why come to Longacre? Who'd you plan to contact? What mercenary work have you done in the past? All similar conversations.
"Now we're gonna play drunken bulls-eye, whoshe in? Rules 're simple, get drunk, throw a knife at the bullseye. 3 rounds of this, closest to the center wins. If the knife fails to stick even once you're outta the game"
You enter a small residential area, houses and shanties on every corner. It is not long before you find yourself in front of the home you were raised in. Not much seems to have changed, the garden outside is well kept, the wood and stone seems a bit more weathered, and the chimney is emitting fresh smelling woodsmoke. The key to the front door is where it has always been and you quickly enter the familiar residence.
Vokrin does not choose to partake of the festivities, though he does enjoy seeing Cimri shimmy out of her leathers. "I'll just watch from over here. If I threw, I'd probably embarrass myself or injure someone, so better to just watch."
Azrael does take the offer of assistance with his armor, leaving his mail in a neatly stacked pile near the wall, along with his sword and pack.
When it comes to drunken bullseye, Azrael is quick to agree, "Sure, let me finish this bottle. If someone would be so kind as to lend me a dagger..."
Edit:
Azrael lands two shots solidly within the second ring, though his final attempt misses the target entirely and embeds into the wall. "Oh well. Never said this was my specialty. I think I did pretty well."
"We have a taker! Let's line this up just right now..."
Cimri's first dagger hits the bulls-eye dead on to her own cheering. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" Unfortunately her celebrations are a bit premature and cause her to miss her second throw entirely. Realizing what she's done she takes better aim, but the alcohol really hits her before her last throw, only allowing her to hit the edge of the target. Smirking she drinks some more wine, "Still got the bulls-eye."
Azreal snorts at Cimri's proclamation, but smiles at her and takes another drink, himself, "Lucky shot, is all that is. What do you say to one last throw, winner-take-all? Unless anyone else wants to get in on this?"
Though he takes great efforts to hide it, Kayal is quite obviously tipsy as he quietly lines up a mark. "If I must," he answers, lips around a bottle as he launches the first of his three rather haphazardly at the target.
As might be expected, the blade jams itself somewhere in the Ash House wall, and Kayal visibly frowns as he takes up another, this time bothering to settle down his wine and sneer a prayer--The Lord would not make a fool of his pawn twice, no?
...Apparently not. Kayal's dagger flies free from his hand and jams itself quite thoroughly into the centre of the bullseye. For the sake of posterity, he tosses the third...but does not care in the slightest where it lands.
That done, he promptly collects the blades and offers them back to their respective owners.
"No thank you, Master Rahab," he slurs, hunkering down not into a seat but a somewhat dusty corner, eyeing the surrounding ash with a look that suggests if he were more drunk, he might yet dare to clean it. "But I appreciate the offer."
Cimri grins foolishly, "Ah'll have you know I never back down from a challenge!"
With her dagger quivering in the bulls-eye Cimri's grin stretches further, "And that's why I don't take guff from a challenge!"
"Masterful stroke, Ms. Staelish!" Kayal himself may not be clapping, but his shadows silently mime an audience as he mage-hands his bottle of wine back into his grip. "If I find myself terrorized by rogue targets in the dead of dawn, I shall remember who best to call."
Azrael give Cimri a mock bow and a grin, "I admit defeat. And now, I shall succumb to sleep. Goodnight, dear compatriots."
Azrael finds himself a comfortable chair to rest in and is soon snoring away.
Vokrin also chooses to rest after the festivities.
Kayal remains in a pose of relative ease for however long it takes him to fall unconscious, and his hand remains firm around the bottle of wine in his grip until well after he falls asleep. Eventually though, the shadows hungrily pull at his fingers, peeling them off until they are able to toss about the empty container of their free own will. One particularly zealous shade suggests, painted against the wall, that the object be smashed and its remains jabbed unceremoniously into the oracle's neck. Alas they fail to follow through with the notion, eventually placing the object down and pulling Kayal's dead limbs back over the bottle, as if nothing had happened at all.
Everyone is roused after getting a good rest by Cimri. She even nipped out to the Thelvarn residence to collect Rurisa. "Second job came quicker than even I expected, Razelgo wants to see us immediately."
Cimri leads you back upstairs to find Gaurig still lying in her nest of ashes and destroyed books and the image of Razelgo in full force. He begins explaining when everyone gets settled. “With the number of veterans who live in town, it’s not surprising that there’s a church of Iomedae in Longacre. But there might not be one much longer if Tileavia Allamar, its priestess, does what she has in mind.”
Razelago’s silhouette clasps shadowy hands. “There’s growing unrest in the empire, and not just in Pezzack and along the Hellcoast. Many of Iomedae’s faithful have begun speaking more boldly of the monarchy’s vices and the rights of citizens. They seem to believe this is Andoran and that the people have only to reach out to seize power. But they are wrong. This is Cheliax, not Andoran, and we know where true power lies.
“Fifth Sword Knight Allamar is gathering all who will listen for a sermon in front of her church this afternoon—only two short hours from now. I don’t know what she has in mind, but I suspect some revolutionary claptrap that can only sow the seeds of confusion and frustration among Longacre’s citizens. That is contrary to my wishes. So I’d like you to attend the rally. In the box are sashes marked with the insignia of Archbaron Fex. Wear them, remind people that the lord of this town is not without supporters, and see what transpires. Afterward, Cimri will report back to me. In return, you will all receive double what you did last night.”
Cimri agrees quickly and reaches for the box, but looks to the rest of you before heading back down to the parlor for questions or concerns.
Kayal jumps to attention on awakening, and brushes himself down as best he can, seething a little at the sight of sunlight. Still, he makes himself at least somewhat presentable for their employer, but the Fetchling still stands to rub the sleep from his squinting eyes as Razelgo speaks.
"The Iomedaean?" Kayal grumbles, brows furrowed as he strives to recall the local priestess in his memories. Nonetheless, if Cimri didn't possess such quick reflexes, Kayal would have gladly taken the container himself. The offer of payment is kind enough, but the thought of thwarting an uncooperative Sword Knight is a cause worth volunteering for.
Taking his leave with little more than a bow and nod of agreement with Cimri, the Fetchling does what he does best and promptly follows in her shadow.
"And how does one suggest we remind the masses?" He muses to the room, eyeing the box with increasing curiosity. "The Inheritor's clergy are not known for their sense as of late."
Iomedaeans. Those bastards. Fighting to contain her sudden surge of anger, the young woman manages to maintain her professional composure. Once certain that her voice won't betray her roiling emotions, she snaps a smart salute at Razelgro's silhouette. "Rules of engagement, sir? Are we observing, or taking a more direct role? Can we expect any backup from the Archbaron's official agents?" Despite her otherwise cool, detached demeanor her right hand clenches and unclenches with excitement. Larram, brother, with a little luck the Iomedaeans will give me an excuse. I can finally start paying them back for taking you from me.
"Avoid confrontation if you can. While I expect 'official agents' to be in the vicinity they have always been rather...soft-hearted." The sneer is evident when Razelgo says "official agents".
Azrael doesn't bother donning his armor for this meet, instead straightening his soldier's outfit before accompanying the others upstairs. Again, he stands at rigid attention as Razelgo delivers the next job.
The aasimar's teeth grind at the mention of the Iomedean Church and the Sword Knight sowing the seeds of revolt.
"It would be a pleasure to take the Iomedeans down a peg. Given the opportunity, I would raze the church to the ground, in Asmodeus' glory."
"Should I assume a show of force is acceptable, so long as any open conflict is initiated by the Iomedeans?"
Razelgo puts his chin in his hand, humming in thought. "Yes, that does seem acceptable. I don't think the Inheritor's people will start anything mind you, but such a show will not be looked down upon should it come to that."
Cimri takes everyone back downstairs to the parlor and opens the box. Inside are five sashes with Archbaron Fex's house arms. A pair of fighting stags with bloodied antlers grace the badge just beneath the symbol for Cheliax.
Cimri scoops her sash up and wears it proudly across her breast. "What do you say we head down to the church square and scope the place out before anything starts happening? We've got about two hours to spare."
"That seems best. Lead on, Cimri." After running a quick gear check, Rurisa signals that she's prepared to go.
Having properly brushed himself down and reversed his shirt to hide the telling stains, Kayal gladly fixes one of the sashes about his front, giving the archbaron's badge a quick shine before he loads and holsters his new crossbow into place. Not that he imagines he'll need it, but for the sake of appearances...better to be properly armed than not.
"Indeed," the Fetchling concurs, grabbing a comb from his gear and smoothing his hair back to fit. It has been a while since he has worn a proper coat of arms, not since his diplomat days on the streets of Ridwan, but with a bit of work he pulls off the look of a dashing Chelish bureaucrat rather well. Without saying much more, he takes off through their window-exit and out towards Longacre proper.
Vokrin follows the rest of the group, taking his sash and affixing it around himself. He has the dagger that was gifted him secured at his belt, and more importantly he prepared spells again this morning in case things get rowdy.
Azrael nods to Cimri's suggestion and makes his way to his little gear pile, "If someone would be so kind as to assist me with my armor."
Once fully kitted out, Azrael stores his new bow across his back (with a mental note to pick up some arrows to go with it at some point). He then drapes the sash over the chestplate, being careful not to catch it on any spikes.
On the way, Azrael goes over his Iomedean training and upbringing, trying to work up pain points that he can hit in debate to incite the devout to violence. Or just break their ability to argue back.
Despite being years past it, he does seem to be able to recall his training with remarkable ease...
-Posted with Wayfinder