Thanks to Dolgarth's expedient, the magic darkness is suddenly dispelled!
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Aldus' face lightens with the flames emanating from Dolgarth's arms. "And here I was, thinking those flames were just your master's eccentricity, Dolgarth." Taking a short breath, the Galtan enters the building, shoots an arrow at the derro and yells "Now, comrades, let us extinguish this darkness for good!"
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Nebraska draws another poisoned bolt and reloads her hand crossbow. "I'll block this doorway, try to take him alive!" Only after she says it does Nebraska start to wonder, 'What language do Derro speak again? Probably Undercommon... we might need to hold a study session if there are entire cities below Cassomir.'
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Both Aldus and Jakwin hit the derro with their respective attacks, while Nebraska closes the door behind her.
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Fiammetta, in the meantime, tries to regain her concentration and focus in order to cast another spell against the derro. Her options to just a few cantrips, Fiammetta decides to fires an acid dart at her enemy.
Sadly, her aim is poor.
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: light (Aldus, Jawkin, 3 minutes remaining), mage armor (Nebraska, 10 minutes remaining)
Fiammetta
Dolgarth
Derro
Aldus
Jakwin
Nebraska
With a mighty blow, Dolgarth kills the derro and ends the fight!
With the derro knocked out, the Pathfinders explore the building with the aid of magic lights. The room in which the derro was does not hold anything noteworthy, but the next room has several clean straw pallets covered in blankets and sleeping mats. The barrels contain water. Inside the room are stacks and stacks of cages full of normal rats. On a small table next to those cages is a small, shiny black rat statue—the jet rat. As Fiammetta points out after a quick magic detection, this artifact gives off a moderate transmutation aura. There is also evidence here—a ledger written in Undercommon—that the derro have slowly increased their slave sales over the last couple of months, with a huge surge in the last couple of weeks. Anyone who can read Undercommon finds a note in the ledger about a human woman who escaped not long ago and the mite slave that was beaten to death for allowing it to happen.
Their mission complete, the Pathfinders take the jet rat and escort the Cassomiri citizens out of Cassomir Below, following the same route from which they came. Once aboveground, the Pathfinders hand the prisoners over to the local authorities and head back to the Pathfinder Lodge.
Here, Venture-Captain Themis is very pleased to learn about your success. "I knew you were the right ones for the job. Good work. Continue this way, and the Ten will soon take interest in you, recruits!"
After a short debriefing in which the Pathfinders report everything they discovered in their mission, Venture-Captain Themis dismisses them, allowing the Pathfinders to take a break from adventuring. They spend their time in Cassomir, and a few days after their success they receive the reward for their mission. There's enough time for the Pathfinder to recover from their wounds and spend their hard-earned gold in the city.
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Jak sits at the riverside tavern that just happens to overlook the ship they hope to turn into the Thunderbucket, slowly working his way through a second pint of ale. His clothes look slept in (again), but he does sport a fancy new sword at his hip.
”I have to admit,” he says to whomever is sitting with him, ”I didn’t expect the Society would be sending us on one big rat-hunt. I thought killing oversized rats as an entry-level assignment was just a running joke.”
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Nebraska sits across from Jak with two plates of various sweets and pastries in front of her. Every time she bites into one she hands it to one of the others to try. Having never experienced much of culture or what money can buy, the blue haired girl is in love with all the different tastes she is able to find in the major city.
Her ale sits two-thirds full and is no longer producing condensation as it nears room temperature. She tastes a beignet that leaves some powdered sugar on her cheek while stabbing at a slice of cheese cake with fork in her other hand. "Hoy, O'll bo o oxtormonotor ony doy of ot poys loko thos... Here! Now try this fluffy thing!" She hands Jak the other half of the doughnut. "I feel bad for the little guys though, getting enlarged against their will and thrown into fights. This should be the end of it though, right? With the Jet all under wraps now?" As she tries to fit the entire forkful into her mouth Nebraska can help but break into a couple giggles.
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Jak laughs, shaking his head as he takes a bite of the donut. The girl was a bottomless pit. ”Remind me not to get into an eating contest with you. My pride can’t take the hit.”
He licks some sweet crumbs from his thumb and forefinger before continuing with a shrug, ”Hopefully that's the last of them. I guess I’m not complaining. You gotta start somewhere. Hopefully we’re turning some heads in the Lodge. If we can keep our skins intact long enough, maybe we’ll get to really do some moving and shaking.”
He gives a wistful look at the run-down boat bobbing in the water. ”Shame our plans have to wait, but that’s the job, right? They say frog, we jump.”
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Aldus sits by Nebraska's side, already on his fifth pint of ale. Born a peasant in a small village, he is as oblivious as the half-elf to the luxuries of life in big cities; thus, he cannot bring himself to refuse any of what is offered to him. Each éclair and cake slice is received with mixed feelings, however. 'This is all so soft and sweet and delicious…am I becoming some sort of pampered noble, who thrives on debauchery whilst people starve in Galt?' the Galtan thinks whilst wiping some cream cheese from his beard.
"I doubt that was the last of them, actually. That derro, it wasn't working alone, and I'm sure we haven't seen the last of these Teppish," he takes another swig, trying to drown some of his thoughts. He muses a bit on Jak's last comment and replies "As long as it's just jumping, yes. But let's see what else they will be asking us if we start turning some heads."
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"Ha, yeah. We're like the frogs in the pot of water that don't notice it start to boil slowly." Nebraska brings about the unsettling thought with an oddly pleasant tone and look on her face, almost carrying an assurance with it like if it was a good position to be in...
"Hopefully we're start to travel soon." She continues dreamily as her gaze scans the boats along with Jak's. "I'll take the risk to find some answers, it's such a werid world. What's even real? Do either of you know of any philosophy on that? Like, if this is all a dream or something?" She swipes some jelly off the plate that is a delicious mess of half eaten treats.
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Dolgarth silently listens to the conversation, flaming accoutrements under wraps for the time being. He has just begun his second tankard of ale as he is more distracted by the talk and the treats. Such desserts and delicacies in Magnimar are usually savory, liberally salted, but these sweet confections have struck his fancy.
At Nebraska's latest statement, however, he bursts out laughing, nearly choking and falling out of his chair. 'Finally, another who thinks in that way! At least, one who doesn't happen to think he's a goblin. But I didn't know it sounded so silly outside of one's head!' Out loud, he composes himself slightly and replies, "What is real, is life a dream? I've asked myself those ones before, to no effect. The facts are that we live in a large and certainly weird world, which is but one of many, and the collection of those innumerable planets, just one of the infinite Planes. Not much way to know what's real, it just is. But we may find that out, among other mysteries. That, as well as start a band and a tavern business. I don't know about you, but I'm excited. Still a long way to go, but dreams'll take us farther."
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Aldus' reaction to Nebraska's comment is a quick and unfiltered: "Real? Gods, I really hope not," he says with another large gulp of his drink. "What are the questions you're looking answers for? I remember reading something by a Chelaxian heretic once on how the world is actually Asmodeus' nightmare. Most of the book was on what will happen when he wakes up: will we all disappear or will we finally be free to live reality?" The Galtan chuckles for a second, looking into the distance for a few seconds.
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Nebraska breaks into laughter with Dolgarth. " Gods you have to tell me about them, all the books I find are in languages I can't read. It's infuriating!" She sits back full of a new energy and picks up her aged beer for the first time in a while. "Gosh, do you think they'll ever send us to a plane?!" she takes a sip with wide dreamy eyes staring off into the amber liquid.
Putting the glass down she answers Aldus, "I was teased by this old a!!*#@@ growing up, he said we were from another time, or reality, in the future or something, his narrative was never consistent except for the 'none of this is real, we're trapped outside the bounds of logic in a past that never happened, we must return home Nebraska!' Funny thing is it started to make more and more sense as time went on. I think he was a wizard and just playing with some evil tricks, but even now that he's long dead I still can't shake the intuition that part of what he said is right."
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Aldus gives out a hearty laugh at Jak's comment: "I thought exactly the same thing. Dropped the book halfway through and never thought about it till today. Which was probably a good thing; I'd have a couple of fingers less if the Grey Gardeners had found out I was reading that type of thing."
The Galtan asks for another pint whilst listening to Nebraska's story. "Were you his apprentice?" Aldus pauses for a second, starting to feel somewhat inebriated "Did you share masters with Dolgarth, by any chance? It sounds like something he could have said."
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"I don't know much, I must admit," Dolgarth chuckles at Nebraska's enthusiasm. "I can tell you what I know, although I'm sure we'll experience more things from beyond this plane the farther we go. Should be fun, eh, unless they decide to try and kill us."
"I honestly wouldn't be surprised if Forlorn dressed up as a beggar or a wizard and gave such arcane advice to whomever would listen. Once while I was training at the Lodge, maybe a year or so back, I met some creature from Heaven, it looked like a big floating lantern. It had a grievance about some Pathfinder's actions leading to it getting cursed, and I calmed it down and talked to Forlorn about fixing it. It wasn't much, just an ordinary negotiation, but it was with an otherworldly creature, and it sort of passed through me and poof, I knew some strange language. Just another reason why I'm so interested in magic and such things."
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Aldus gives out a hearty laugh at Jak's comment: "I thought exactly the same thing. Dropped the book halfway through and never thought about it till today. Which was probably a good thing; I'd have a couple of fingers less if the Grey Gardeners had found out I was reading that type of thing."
"Smart man," responds Jak with a grin for Aldus, "Great minds think alike." He winks, " ... and so do ours, apparently."
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"Oh man! Wouldn't that be something! Who knows, l don't assume anything is like it seems anymore, like, take Norgy. That's not a donkey, that's something evil pissed it's stuck as a donkey. I mean, Jak were you cursed recently and stuck with him? Maybe we should try an exorcism.." Nebraska turns around and eyes the animal, just in time to see it kick a stranger walking by and then aggressively honk at them. The poor man just limped away in fear and confusion.
"Pretty soon we might come back to him tied to a spit, one wrong kick at the butcher..." She trails off.
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At mention of his four-legged foe, Jak's ale sours in his mouth. "We can only wish," Jak answers grimly, glaring at Norgy. "More likely to come back to find the butcher roasting on the spit."
The young man shrugs, still considering the evil-incarnate-mule. "So I was on a caravan job over in Galt, and we circled up one night next to a halfling river trade outfit. Safety in numbers, swap information, make some trades ... all that. Well, the halflings had some gambling going at one fire, so naturally I jumped in." He shakes his head with a laugh, getting into telling the story, "I was having rotten luck, but finally my hand comes in. So I play it smooth, drive the pot with a low opening bid. Ya know, slow-play it. Well, this older halfling, ya know, one who'd been around a bit. He takes the bait and drives up the pot." Now Jak has the bit in his mouth, fully in story-teller mode. "After some back and forth, and baiting a few of the others into dropping a few more gold in before folding out, he calls. That little bastard was running aces over crowns! Unbeatable, right?" Jak's smile already indicates that it is NOT, in fact unbeatable. "'Wow, old-timer,' I says, 'not many hands can top that.' I toss my own cards out by the fire. Everyone leans in to take a look. Four queens are looking back at them."
Jak slaps the table-top in delight. "You should have seen their faces. But the Old Coot. He's pissed. He leans in and mutters some halfling gibberish, and I swear to the gods that it was a curse he put on me." Jak shrugs indignantly, -"Can you believe that? Some folks just don't know how to lose. Then, he calls me a cheat and refuses to pay up. And what am I going to do? I can't start a fight in their camp. I was on the job."
Jak sits back, remembering the moment, then concludes his story. "So, naturally, I stole his donkey. Worst move of my life."
After their last adventure, in which they managed to recover the jet rat, a powerful artifact the derro were using to turn normal rats in much more dangerous dire rats, the Pathfinder agents have spent a few weeks in Cassomir. They recovered from their wounds, but also had the time to familiarize with the city and perhaps even to work on their own crafts for a while. After the first week, Fiammetta was summoned to Cheliax, her aid explicitly requested by Paracountess Zarta Dralneen for an important mission about which you were not told the details. The Pathfinders had to bid farewell to their valuable ally, but their lives in Cassomir went on, until they were summoned by Venture-Captain Themis for a new task.
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Venture-Captain Hestia Themis, a petite, raven-haired, black-eyed Taldan beauty, paces her office within the Pathfinder lodge in Cassomir and addresses the group of Pathfinder gathered there, among which there's a new recruit: “I am perplexed. A new kidnapping spree plagues my beloved city. It seems our citizens make easy prey to those who profit from such exploits. While this disturbs me, I am more troubled by reports that some of those kidnapped return to the city as undead monsters who accompany this Cult of Nature’s Cataclysm plague, a plague that I can’t seem to excise from my beloved city.”
Venture-Captain Themis shakes her head and bangs her fists on the table. “This ends now! For a third time we battle Groetus-worshiping dogs and there will not be a fourth!” Taking several deep breaths, Hestia regains her composure. “I am sending you to Swift Prison to interrogate a cultist we captured who was trying to kidnap a local engineer. Meet my man Garver out front—he’ll take you in to see the Nature’s Cataclysm fool. Find out where the other cultists hide, where they’ve taken their recent victims, and how they’re turning them into skeletons. Free as many Cassomir citizens as you can—the good publicity never hurts. Any questions?”
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From his relatively restful weeks in Cassomir (excluding one drunken brawl), Dolgarth has picked up a layman's knowledge of the city and the inner workings thereof. "From what I know, inmates of Swift Prison are treated pretty well. They can pay for better privileges, not to be chained up, even go outside in some cases. Is our cultist friend one such person, or is he confined to the prison?" Forgetting his manners, the half-elf turns to the newcomer. "Hello, my name is Dolgarth. Pleasure to meet you, Mister...?"
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Aldus, familiar with the place due to his reading on imperialist repression, shakes his head at Dolgarth's comment "You are right it's not the worst prison to be in…if you have the gold. The rich can pay for their freedom and whatever favour they wish, whilst the poor are sent to the begging cells where they get sick and die. Why was the cultist sent to this prison in particular?" Before Hestia replies, Aldus jumps in to give a quick run down of the Swift Prison, pre-empting questions his companions might have about it.
A bearded lean Galtan dressed in very unassuming dark clothes with a red armband on his left arm follows Dolgarth's lead and greets the newcomer: "And I am Aldus The Supplicant. Nice to meet you as well."
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"Hey, skeletons are better than rats," Jak says brightly. Then he realizes where he is ... and in front of whom. His tone sombers, "I mean, that's terrible and we'll take it seriously."
Jak nods along with the combined revelations of Dolgarth and Aldus. ”This place sounds totally legitimate,” he says sarcastically. ”I can’t imagine an upstanding place like that creating any problems for the locals at all.” He considers what they've heard, then his face screws up in a look of curiosity. "A local engineer, huh? That sounds ... possibly problematic. Is the engineer available to chat? What do we know about them? It'd be good to find out why an engineer was targeted."
Jak—a tall, athletic, handsome-in-a-wild-and-roguish-sort-of-way young man dressed in a stylishly mismatched set of adventuring gear—greets the newcomer with a casual wave. ”Hey. I’m Jak." He gives a welcoming, lopsided grin, "Welcome to the party.”
Gandros tilts his head back slightly and offers his fingers, palm down, to each Pathfinder in turn, "Prince Gandros Skytower of Augustana. I trust that my advisors have chosen well, and that you four are all capable bodyguards and investigators."
Gandros gestures to the air beside him, "Eachthighern is a trusted ally from the Seelie Court and protector of the royal blood. He presents himself only to those with Skytower lineage, as his magnificent radiance would blind lesser creatures such as yourselves." The prince looks to his left and nods, "But know that so long as your mission coincides with his, he shall endeavor to protect you as well."
After accepting the service of his new bodyguards, Gandros continues, "These kidnappings are undoubtedly the work of the usurpers. They have identified some of my loyal followers in hiding, and are endeavoring not only to remove them from my camp--but to turn them into undead and thus tarnish the good name of Skytower!" Gandros slams his fist on the table, "What is your plan for stopping them?"
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"This should be fun," Jak responds flatly.
He steps forward and grabs Gandros's offered hand, forcing the intended gesture into a firm handshake. One thing he'd learned while growing up surrounded by Pathfinders was that the calling often attracted people with unique ... quirks.
"Good to have you with us." He cuts his eyes to the vacant spot next to Gandros, "And your buddy," he finishes, doing his best not to offend.
He steps back, shrugging to the rest of the team as he waits for the answers to their questions to the VC.
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Nebraska wrinkles her nose as Aldus tells them more and more of the lore he has picked up concerning the prison. "Well, getting in should be easy as long as we grease a couple palms. Will the Society aid us in that VC? A stipend or something of that sort for making the faculty agreeable?"
The agile girl looks to Gandros from under long blue hair with a spacey smile and light blue eyes staring through him dreamily. "WOW! You're really a Prince?! What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be tending to your Kingdom or.. wait is that just Kings? What do Princes usually do?" As Nebraska confuses herself she looks to the Venture Captain and nods to Gandros, "So we're to protect him too? I think your usurpers have fallen in with the Cult of Groetus, Sir. But don't worry, we've dealt them some blows already, you'll be safe."
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Initially taken aback by the man's proclaimed title, Aldus relaxes 'Ah, right. First a Chelaxian devil worshiper, now a poor delusional sod who thinks he's royalty. What's up with these wizards?' He can't avoid subtly facepalming when Nebraska takes Gandros seriously. "It's an honour to have your assistance, Gandros."
Venture-Captain Themis seems to be eager to see you start your mission, and her answers somehow mirror her feelings. "Your man is...well, let's just say that he's confined in the prison, and for good reasons...He's a painter, a quite lunatic painter at that. But he shouldn't be dangerous. I don't know why he was sent to Swift Prison, but since that's the only prison in Cassomir and our man was captured in this very city...Well, you can easily guess why he's kept there. But please, keep in mind that although he’s a bit…unstable, when he’s lucid he provides good information about the cult and their plans. He could potentially provide us with future information and serves us better as an ally, alive and unharmed".
Turning to Jawkin, Hestia shrugs. "I think you should ask that directly to our crazed painter, field agent Jawkin. Maybe he will answer your questions better than me. Which is not a difficult task, since I don't know much about the whole thing, and I'm sending you there for this precise reason. As for the engineer, he should be safe, but as far as I know all our attempts to make contact with him failed. He appears to have left the city."
After answering your question, Venture-Captain Themis bids you farewell and you start making your way to Swift Prison.
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Swift Prison’s formidable gates loom over those who pass beneath them. Out front, a gilded statue stares uncaringly at those who serve time beyond her sentry-like gaze. The wrinkled, dirty faces of Cassomir’s prisoners are briefly illuminated behind the bars of the ground floor begging cells. Their pathetic drone as they beg for coppers fills the courtyard in front of the prison.
Hestia’s man, Garver—a tall Taldan man with a slim physique and plain peasant’s clothing—approaches. “You made it. Good. Follow me.” Garver turns and enters the prison, marching through myriad hallways that twist and turn and finally end at a plain but thick wooden door. Garver produces a key and says, “Our captured cultist enjoys visitors, and if you like his work, it’s all for sale.”
Gandros slowly shakes his head side-to-side, then stares at the floor a moment before gifting Nebraska with his attention, "My new advisors promised to deliver better briefings than the last bunch--alas, I will have to replace yet another set of advisors."
"My father, Emperor Relios, was assassinated when I was still a child, forcing me into exile. My loyal subjects eventually found me, and slowly they gathered to retake my throne. Unbeknownst to my first set of advisors, my enemies gathered their own forces on another plane. They teleported in at the final moment, eradicating my army in a surprise attack."
"I was gravely injured during the battle and forced to flee yet again, but Eachthighern remained ever faithful. He led me to a stronghold of my followers," Gandros points to the glyph of the open road on his lapel, "Those brave men and women closed the portal, cutting off many of my enemies' supporters. Since then, I have been living and working among my followers--I know, it pains you to see your Emperor-to-be in such straits; it pains me too. Such sacrifices are necessary though, if I am to retake my throne and avenge my father's murder."
I really must find more capable advisers. How did my father do it? Exhausted from delivering the history lesson, Gandros takes a seat. "As to this painter of yours, does he take commissions? I am certain the guards could be persuaded to release him into your custody for my portrait. It would be pure scandal for royalty to sit for the artist in his prison cell!"
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Jak pauses, looking around them at the prison conditions. ”So, where is this painter usually kept? Is he able to pay to have a nicer experience? And how has he acted while inside? Has he made any friends? Is there anything you know that he’s really wanted? I”m sure anything you could provide could go a long way to making the Society VERY appreciative of your efforts, Garver.”
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Nebraska listens intently with her arms crossef and brow furrowed. "Yeah, that makes sense. I have some questions on the nature of the Planes as well, I don't see why we can't solve this issue together."
She double takes at Aldus' expression and makea a mental note. She then salutes the Captain and heads out without anymore questions.
At the door Nebraska removes her hood and shakes out her hair. She doesn't have makeup of anything, but does her best to make a good first impression. "As a painter I assume he likes pretty things.. maybe this will help? Ready when you guys are."
”So, where is this painter usually kept? Is he able to pay to have a nicer experience? And how has he acted while inside? Has he made any friends? Is there anything you know that he’s really wanted? I”m sure anything you could provide could go a long way to making the Society VERY appreciative of your efforts, Garver.”
"Woah, sir, I knew Pathfinders were skilled interrogators, but...", the guy widens his eyes, "These are like five questions in less than five seconds!" Garver giggles, shrugs and tries to answer to Jakwin to his best. "Well, let me think about it...I need to recall your question, sir. Unsurprisingly, the painter is usually kept, since he has not got the money to pay for the Liberties of the Swift. He's an eccentric. It's very hard to guess what he really wants, sir...".
Then, turning to Aldus, "No, I wasn't there when he was captured, and honestly...I don't even know his name! Now let's go, follow me!"
The Pathfinders are led through the door and down several stone steps into a dingy, shadowed room with three cells. Garver gives the two guards there some coins and they head back up the stairs, closing the door behind them. In the center cell, covered in paint, a man dressed in torn beggar’s rags, his feet shackled to the floor by a 3-foot length of chain, throws color onto a dirty canvas. The man stops painting when the Pathfinders arrive, looks through the bars, and exclaims with a toothless grin: “For you, my master, always for you!” He then lays the painting atop a small pile of recent works and sets up another blank canvas, madly attacking it with his brush.
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Nebraska turns around and gives everyone a blank look, saying 'we've come here for nothing, this man is insane.'
Though, trying her best, Nebraska approaches and attempts to strike up conversation. "Wow, I haven't seen technique like that before! It's good to see you have fresh materials, I was worried you wouldn't have access in here. My name is Nebraska, would you be willing to answer some questions for us sir?"
Gandros carefully stands in the middle of the hall and keeps his hands to his sides. Once all of the Pathfinders have entered the cell, he stands in the doorway. How well can they negotiate? Let this be the first test for my new guards!
The crazed painter ignores the initial interactions from the Pathfinders—instead, he shouts, “For you, my master!” at odd intervals and continues to furiously paint.
Then, as though suddenly coming back to his sense, the man raises his eyes to Nebraska. “Friends! Did the Master send you? Yes, he must have. Praised be he who ends the days! Do you seek my secret? Soon enough—but in return I ask something from you. You must give it to me as I need it to complete my collection.” The crazed painter points to two paintings hung in a shadowy corner of his cell. A third canvas hangs next to them but is blank. “If you go outside this very prison you’ll find a statue covered in gold. You may have already seen her! Describe this statue to me in exquisite detail and I will tell you all I know.”
Garver nods to Nebraska. "As long as you don't create trouble, yes. I have an agreement with the guards".
"I am not trusting the posterity of my royal likeness to that crazy person. You will simply have to find me another artist."
“The guards won’t let him out of the cell, unfortunately”, Garver explains, “but you can easily find the statue. It is right in front of the entrance, and we’ve already seen it while we came here. Follow me, I’ll lead you there”.
---
The statue sits just outside of the prison’s gates, its golden form shining brightly in the sun. It stands just over 7 feet tall and rests atop a 3-foot-tall stone base. The statue depicts a curvy Taldan female with short hair and wearing flowing robes open at the neck. She regards the Pathfinders with a blank, uncaring expression. Faint moons decorate her flowing robes, and she crushes a set of scales beneath her left foot.
Returning to the prison cell, the Pathfinders provide the statue’s description to the painter. When they do, the crazed painter appears to ignore the Pathfinders for a short while and furiously paints the blank canvas on his wall, splashing paint wildly about his cell. Upon completing the painting, he shows it to the Pathfinders. It shows a twisted perspective. The once-beautiful statue stares back transformed, her visage twisted into a demonic snarl. Short humanoids with large, black eyes torment cowering prisoners in the painting’s background. Brandishing a radiant holy symbol, a lone figure fails to fight them off.
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Nebraska takes in the golden statue for a moment, "Hm. Ok, I can dig it. Looks like the sculptor left their mark too... a single initial, an 'I'."
Once back in the cell she listens to the Bards decipher the fresh painting. Damn! That statue is of a Groetus follower?! I hope no one remembers that I kind of liked it...' She has a question about the significance of the initial 'I' for the painter, but waits to hear who is master is first.