Till listens as he processes the gnome's information, then makes a broad hand gesture as he takes the word. "Fear not, my friend! We are here to solve your problems, and rescue our colleague from this situation. And from himself, if need be. By my Oath, we will do this!" His voice is slightly different from what it was before. He articulates his words more, almost as if he were on stage. His lines could have come from a play the way he phrased them. Perhaps they did... He smiles, obviously satisfied. Whether with the delivery of his lines or with the actual effect of them is difficult to say.
He first tries to put the professor at ease. "I am sure those were trying times, professor, for Olandil and for yourself. It's not easy, juggling so many personas in one's head. Believe me, I know... But you did admirably, if I may say so. It must take someone with an agile mind to keep up with all that, as you have done..." He looks around the room they find themselves in and places himself just so, where he would stand out if the place where a stage. "Now, it seems like we have some choices to make, but perhaps some practical questions are in order first."
"Can we walk around town without drawing suspicion? People will not recognize us... Will our cover as whale sailors hold, if we don't do anything brash? Second, what are the local laws regarding the possession of weapons? And do we have a way to slip in and out of here unnoticed? Lastly, you said the... Loyalists know who Olandil really is. Do you mean all of his secret identities? If so, why haven't they apprehended him yet?"
After the long explanation of, we'll, everything, he speaks up, "A noodle cart you say?"
"Best in the city!" the gnome confirms with a broad smile. "They don't look particularly appetizing, but the taste is exquisite."
"Can we walk around town without drawing suspicion? People will not recognize us... Will our cover as whale sailors hold, if we don't do anything brash? Second, what are the local laws regarding the possession of weapons? And do we have a way to slip in and out of here unnoticed? Lastly, you said the... Loyalists know who Olandil really is. Do you mean all of his secret identities? If so, why haven't they apprehended him yet?"
Poppo grins widely at Sir Edmond’s initial compliments before answering his questions. “First, I can offer you all some spare school robes! You could pretend to be academy artificers or students here at the Academy of Applied Magic instead of outsiders in a blockaded city. It’s not much less discreet, but at least less suspicious,” Poppo says, counting off on his fingers.
“Second, the city is in a state of turmoil - I’d be surprised if there’s anyone around here who doesn’t carry a weapon! If there was a law against it before, the Loyalists are probably the only ones who care and they’re certainly not trying to enforce it now. Third, yes! I’ve got a ladder to The Guts - the tunnels running all underneath the city - and it has remained secret so far. Fourth, and lastly, the Loyalists” Poppo says, continuing to emphasize his disdain for them, “essentially have apprehended Olandil. They know about all of his identities and are forcing him to work to destabilize the other factions in Pezzack under threat of imprisonment. It’s really wearing him out, which I imagine is why he confided in me and sent out that message for help.”
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Back on the boat, Niome's eyes widens as Till who was not quite Till takes her hand. A slow smile spreads on her lips, as she is impressed. "Very good to meet you sir" she plays along making idle chat about her magic and his.
---------
The trip is a nightmare of Stench. Fish and fear mix together into the stuff of nightmares. She tries very hard not to breath as much as possible, and makes a long prayer of thanks to Desna once they are out.
The rest is a whirlwind. Memorizing every little bit she can, which isn't easy in the least. Their host is excitable, and his blue beard distracting. She does exept the robe, thinking it will help very much.
The most neutral seems the best to start, so she's about to ask more about Auntie's, when Noam asks about the noodle cart, making her remember what he obviously already had. Hmmm... "I agree, noodles first? Did Olandil order anything specific?"
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Arisha tries to hide her disgust as she is ushered into the hold of the Patience, but soon after she makes a quick incantation. While she keeps wiping her hands on a rag, she doesn't look disgusted anymore and seems to be breathing quite a bit easier than Niome.
Once dumped into the Guts along with a load of fish, two half-orcs, two bravados, one goat, and a meek Osirion arcanist and greeted by a blue bearded gnome, she dusts herself free of fish bits and chants again. Fish bits fall off of her and her hair, clothes, and armor begin to slowly clean themselves (starting with her hair).
"That's better."
"A disguise? Excellent," she thanks the gnome. "So, do I understand that he's been working for the Loyalists," she spits, "Forced to be a double agent in the three other factions, and, tired of it, he's gone to ground somewhere and the Loyalists," she spits, "Don't know where?"
"Yes, Noam. I suppose we should see what all the fuss is about these noodles."
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Aggie spends her time in the hold curled up with her goat. Being a farm girl, fish isn't exactly her favourite thing in the world and she's pleased to be free - and absolutely delighted to meet a gnome. She listens in rapt attention, trying desperately to keep up.
"Anyone who argues against going to the noodles first is getting bit by a goat," she says emphatically. "Ahh... this is pretty overwhelming. I guess my biggest concern is tipping off these loyalists. Where should we sleep? At the inn or here or somewhere else? If the inn is run by loyalists I'm not sure I want my room snooped in. And school robes are probably the best idea I think."
Till nods emphatically as the professor fills them in on the situation. "Very well, very well." He also takes the opportunity to take a good look at their Ulfen companion, who finally seems to have stopped disappearing on him.
He accepts the scholars robes and starts undoing the bundle of trade goods that concealed his bow. "That's a positive, at least. Wouldn't want to be stuck without my trusty bow for long." He holds the bow at arm's length and admires it. "Hello, my dear. Of all the adventures we've been through so far..." He gives his companions a winning smile, as if they already knew of his skill in archery. Till then turns back to the blue-haired gnome.
"Now, if we could profit from your extensive wisdom just a bit longer, professor... We've heard it mentioned before that Pezzack is very unstable. We wouldn't want to do anything to upset this delicate balance, considering the dire consequences this might have. What is your estimate: If whatever we do here might have the unforeseen effect of spurring the White Thistles or the Galtans into action, what would happen most likely? Would the Loyalists strike back so hard as to cause a full-scale civil war, with the Strix to pick clean the bones?" He conjures a look of utmost concern on his face. That's what the Venture-Captain warned us about at least, but I'm not so sure...
When they're done, Till dusts off his robes and readjusts his bow. "So, off to noodles then. I must say the fish have spoiled my appetite a bit, but she came highly recommended and we'd be remiss to skip out on such."
"So we will have to deal with the Loyalists..." Noam grumbles to himself.
“Yes, it's likely, but hopefully as little as possible,” Poppo admits with a sigh.
The most neutral seems the best to start, so she's about to ask more about Auntie's, when Noam asks about the noodle cart, making her remember what he obviously already had. Hmmm... "I agree, noodles first? Did Olandil order anything specific?"
“Hm, I've never asked!” the gnome replies with a grin and a shrug. “Besides, it's a noodle cart, not a restaurant. There's not really any ordering to be done…”
"A disguise? Excellent," she thanks the gnome. "So, do I understand that he's been working for the Loyalists," she spits, "Forced to be a double agent in the three other factions, and, tired of it, he's gone to ground somewhere and the Loyalists," she spits, "Don't know where?"
Poppo nods. “Yes, that's basically right. Where's he's ‘gone to ground’ is here - I helped him get a message out to you Passfinders and now you're here to help him! But since then he's ‘popped back up,’ so to speak. I imagine he's still out there working as Jaks, and Jax, and Jacks, either cooking up more plans to escape or waiting for you all to find him and get him to safety.”
Aggie spends her time in the hold curled up with her goat. Being a farm girl, fish isn't exactly her favourite thing in the world and she's pleased to be free - and absolutely delighted to meet a gnome. She listens in rapt attention, trying desperately to keep up.
"Anyone who argues against going to the noodles first is getting bit by a goat," she says emphatically. "Ahh... this is pretty overwhelming. I guess my biggest concern is tipping off these loyalists. Where should we sleep? At the inn or here or somewhere else? If the inn is run by loyalists I'm not sure I want my room snooped in. And school robes are probably the best idea I think."
“You can sleep here!” Poppo answers with a wide smile. “We have some student quarters in the basement. They're safe, clean, and relatively comfortable. No charge, of course.”
"Now, if we could profit from your extensive wisdom just a bit longer, professor... We've heard it mentioned before that Pezzack is very unstable. We wouldn't want to do anything to upset this delicate balance, considering the dire consequences this might have. What is your estimate: If whatever we do here might have the unforeseen effect of spurring the White Thistles or the Galtans into action, what would happen most likely? Would the Loyalists strike back so hard as to cause a full-scale civil war, with the Strix to pick clean the bones?" He conjures a look of utmost concern on his face. That's what the Venture-Captain warned us about at least, but I'm not so sure...
Poppo scratches at his voluminous beard as he ponders for a moment. “Hmm… well, the White Thistles would probably stage some sort of large scale protests - lots of occupying the streets and poetry readings. The Galtans would likely do the same, but with less poetry and more trying to kill Loyalist guards and lackeys. In either case, yes, between the Chelish retaliation and the strix, the city would likely be annihilated and burned down for a third time. So,” Poppo concludes, “try to avoid that. Pezzack is unstable, and everyone is trying at subtle machinations right now to gain advantage and undermine their enemies without burning the whole thing down. If you're careful, and don't deliberately try to set off another revolution, we should be okay.”
Poppo looks at the group of assembled Pathfinders, nodding in approval. “Any more questions? It sounds like you'd like to get some noodles, and I don't blame you. However, it's very late, and nothing is open after dark except Auntie’s. Madge serves noodles from dawn to dusk, so I recommend you get some sleep after your rough journey and start the day with a nice hot cup of breakfast noodles!”
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"Mmmh...So, it seems like our only choice is where to start from", ponders Arthur. He accepts the scholar robes with a nod and smiles at Professor Poppo. "Egregious Professor, it has been an honor to partage in your wisdom. Your knowledge of this city is going to help us, no doubt about it". Arthur makes a little bow, proving that he can also able to stop being a jerk, from time to time. "Now, Pathfinders. If Professor Poppo suggests us to sleep and prepare for tomorrow, we should do so. On the morrow, we will have this hot cup of breakfast noodles and move on, hopefully with some more information. As for the best place to start from...I would suggest the Inkwell. All the other places are likely to win us some measure of unwanted attention, and that could set a timeline for our task. I mean, the thieves could sell us the information we need, but I expect them to do the same with us, if someone, the Loyalists perhaps, ask them. Anyway, I'm just too tired and foul-smelling now. Let's have some rest and we'll discuss about this tomorrow".
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The Pathfinders spend an uneventful night sleeping in the provided beds of the Academy of Applied Magic. In the morning, Poppo shows them his entrance to the Guts and bids them farewell and good luck. The twisting, cramped tunnels are a labyrinth, but it doesn't take too many wrong turns and dead ends for the Pathfinders to find a ladder to the surface. They emerge into the street and are immediately hit with the stench of Pezzack. The streets are filthy and something burning nearby wafts into their noses on a wind of salty sea air and the smell of fish guts.
Even with Poppo’s map, the streets are a jumble. Between burned out buildings, water-filled potholes, and crumbled edifices destroyed by Chelish cannons blocking off whole streets, it's an ordeal trying to move through the city toward a specific location. Not to mention the various street peddlers, passersby, and street folk who murmur to each other at the sight of six eclectic newcomers in student robes. It takes a full hour of navigating the ruined infrastructure and avoiding minor scuffles between a variety of Pezzacki citizens to reach Madge’s cart on the waterfront. It seems likely that getting anywhere in the city will take an equal amount of effort.
The Pathfinders find Madge, an old human woman dressed in a modest brown dress now reduced to patched-up rags, calling out, “Noodles! Madge got yer doodly oodly noodles! Get these crabby shrimpy noodlies in a bowl! In a cup! In yer hands! I don’t care where! Buy my dang noodles! Save Pezzack! The end is near! Save your noodles! The devil hates my noodles! Abrogail hates my noodles! Madge’s noodles!”
Old Madge goes on and on about her amazing noodles as a particularly knobby-headed goblin wearily pushes her creaking, rickety cart along the waterfront.
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"Do you see? They're keeping their frustrated eyes on us. Very closely. We should pay attention to whatever we say, and especially to where we go, because that could make them believe we belong to a specific faction...Namely, the one we pay visit to first."
Arthur navigates the streets of Pezzack without being able to conceal his disgust for the strong smells and the crumbling sights that the city has to offer.
Once the Pathfinders find Madge, Arthur grins. This woman hides something...Wait, is that a goblin? Woah! The Pathfinder from Taldor tries to conceal his surprise with a quick and not too elaborated bow to the old woman. He gives her his best smile. "Good day, ma'am. And good day to you, little fellow. We would like to have a hot cup of breakfast noodles, s'il vous plaît."
For the moment, Arthur refrains from asking questions. He just want to make a good impression on the old woman and her goblin. In the meantime, he will also keep an eye on his surroundings, in order to determine whether someone is paying close attention to his group.
__________________
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Some of the nervousness of travelling the ruined streets bleed away when she sees the noodle cart. Mainly because Niome has never seen a goblin before and is quite interested. She considers asking if she could draw it, but figures that could be quite rude.
If the elderly woman looks her way she'll give a hopefully pleasant smile, which is hard in the stench. Otherwise she'll listen trying to get an overall impression of the woman.
Madge looks over as she's addressed, snatching a wet ladle from the side of the cart and brandishing it in preparation for noodle delivery. “Whatcha got to trade to Madge’s noodles, huh?” she challenges, pointing the ladle at Lord Arthur. Taking in the sight of the Pathfinders, she looks surprised, turning and pointing her ladle among them with wide eyes and a stunned expression. “Academy students!” She drops the ladle, which clatters on the cobblestones, and jams her hands into her pockets to root around for something. She produces a few crumpled sheaves of paper and aggressively shoves them into the arms of whichever Pathfinders will have them. “You're all students at the Academy! You have to take my poetry to Poppo! For critique! Otherwise my writing will never get as good as my noodles! Take them, I beg of you!” she cries.
Even a brief glance at this poetry (which the Pathfinders get as Madge shoves the papers in their faces) is enough to dismiss it as gibberish. Mostly it contains a number of variations on themes of noodles, with many refrains of “noodle oodle oddle noddle all day.”
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Niome will quickly gather any scraps of poetry that may have escaped anyone's hands or any the others discard in disdain. I will see them to our... teacher, Mam. And thank you, I'm sure he'll be delighted. Um... I have salt... Niome will fish around in her pack to pull out a sack, showing her. How much for all of us?
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Aggie walks out into the streets with wide eyes as she takes in the devastation over the rebellion-torn town. Used to be ignored, she is also distinctly uncomfortbale with the attention paid by strangers, and keeps her head down.
"Every choice we make may be the wrong one. We should be confusing."
Upon seeing the noodle cart lady, Aggie gets properly excited to try some of the local cuisine. Or ominous metaphors. Perhaps both.
"Your poetry sounds lovely," she says with a sweet smile.
Till sleeps well enough, and is up early the next day for some more vocal exercises. He's still in the character of Sir Edmond, right from waking up. When they make their way up to the surface, Till is a bit intimidated by the state of the town, despite his efforts to hide it. "What a terrible tragedy, that people should be so at odds, as to destroy their home like this."
Till follows the others to Madge's noodle cart and holds his peace for a moment. He looks around, checking whether their visit has drawn anyone's special interest. At the mention of poetry, he joins the conversation. "Poetry? We'd gladly take it to the professor of course, good madam, but wouldn't it be more appropriate for the Inkwell? That is where those skill in the arts come together, don't they?" He tries to ignore the fact that the writing could hardly be called poetry. What are we hoping to learn here? Is she even sane enough to realize what's going on? He tries another avenue of approach. "So, with a noodle cart like this, you must get a lot of people passing by each day. All kinds of people, I suppose, just chatting while they enjoy their lunch or dinner. You must know a lot of what's going on in the town..."
--
Madge beams with joy when Niome takes her poetry. “All of you academy students are so dang polite! What a nice change from my usual fare!” She snatches the ladle off the ground and wipes it off on a dirty apron before dipping it into a pot of noodles in the cart. They appear thick, gray, and slimy, with a decent helping of shrimp, small crabs, and other small seafood. A whole cooked mussel falls from the ladle and splits open on the ground, which the cart-goblin rushes to pick up and shove in her mouth, shell and all. “Salt is good for trade - half a pound for a bowl. But I'll give you one on Old Madge, to take the poetry to Poppo! Now, present your vessel. Do you want the noodles in a cup? Gotta bowl? In a pocket for later, maybe?”
Lord Arthur and Sir Edmund keep their dashing eyes on the lookout for spies and interlopers. Sir Edmund doesn't notice anything out of place - it's early enough on the waterfront that there aren't too many people about yet and most of them keep their heads down. Lord Arthur notices a pair of small, red horns poking out from behind a shipping crate. The head attached to those horns pokes out from behind them, and he sees a dirty, emaciated tiefling girl with black hair and blacker eyes. She stares at him unabashedly once she realizes she's been spotted, only breaking her gaze when her head turns toward the noodles. She licks her lips hungrily with a forked tongue. Other than that, he sees nothing particularly suspicious.
Once Madge has sold her noodles to those interested in purchasing them, she starts to answer the “students’” questions. She shakes her head at Arisha. “Jacks? He a friend of yours? ‘Fraid I only got one kind of noodle! ‘Cept for the one up here,” she says, tapping her temple knowingly. She then turns to Sir Edmund. “Pah! The Inkwell is all revolution this, resistance that. They don't appreciate noodles! Besides, I'm looking for critique - I need a professor, not a bunch of rowdy revolutionaries who take noodles for granted!” She smirks at his implications that she might know a few things. “Oh, sure, I hear lots of things - mostly noodle requests, though. You know why? Because I sell noodles, not information! If you want to buy a snitch, go to Gold Street.”
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Niome will fish out her bowl for Madge, thanking her greatly for the gift. To the others once they are away she mummer I'm not entirely sure what all this is, but I guess I shouldn't waste. she'll take a bite as she listens to Arisha. "Madge did seem very intent on getting them to the headmaster, more than one normally would expect. I trust her... strangely enough."
Niome will pick out a noodle for Jesher, who is currently nestled on her shoulder.
Till's eyebrows shoot up when he hears the price of a cup of noodles. If those are the best in town, things are dire indeed... He digs a pewter plate out of his mess kit and holds it up for Madge to fill. "My good lady, I have brought you salted meats in trade for this meal. No doubt your patrons wouldn't mind the change of flavour?"
When they have the opportunity to converse among themselves, Till shrugs at the suggestion that they return to the professor? "Really? It just seemed like a lot of junk to me..." He thinks for a second. "We've just crossed half the town just to get here. Going back already would be a lot of hassle, for what's probably a wild goose chase." He makes a slight nod of his head to the north. "Why don't we hit up the Inkwell? We're halfway there already, and I think we need some solid leads fast. The longer we stay here, the more people will grow suspicious."
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Arthur takes a mental note about the tiefling he has spotted. "My fair lady, may I ask you another for me? One in a cup and one in a pocket for later, thanks." Arthur smiles politely to Madge and lets his companions lead the conversation while he pulls out his diary from his backpack and starts scribbling down something. When he's done, he tears out the piece of paper on which he has written.
When Arthur's attention goes back to the conversation, Till is suggesting to hit up the Inkwell. "I agree with you, sir", confirms Arthur with a nod. Before leaving, though, he whispers something in Madge's ears. "Ma'am, did you happen to sell your noodles to someone named Jax Telandril recently? We're looking for him. Oh, and we're also looking for Jaks Arunai, Jacks Falger, Roy Steanson, Roger Falkner, Lewynn Aroldt and a man named Olandil. I don't want to buy your information, I'm just asking for your help. And be sure that I would reward it."
Regardless of the outcomes of his attempt with Madge, before the group leaves for the Inkwell, Arthur makes a gesture to the party as to invite the to wait for him. He then moves to the exact point where he spotted the tiefling. He puts the pocket of noodles on a nearby crate with a note attached to it. Then, he leaves.
Arthur Neckham,
Academy of Applied Magic
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"It may look and sound like nothing to us, but Olandil mentioned her poetry in his message, so it may mean something to someone with the correct cypher," Arusha explains, "And it will take time nonetheless, so better to get Poppo started on it. Also it keeps it out of the hands of any faction should we be accosted."
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Aggie looks greedily at the noodles and is about to buy some when she realizes that they have a mission here. With a heartfelt sigh, she quietly nabs a bit of scallop from someone else's as the group coalesces to talk.
"We're in the centre of the city - Inkwell is quite a ways. Gold Street is near us and frankly... if we need to buy information let's do so now before I spend all of my provisions on those noodles. Maybe that tiefling knows something about it - we just fed her and all."
With professional excitement, Madge plops a generous helping of noodles onto and into whatever plates, cups, bowls, or hands are offered to her once she receives payment. Despite their gray and slimy appearance, the noodles are actually delicious. Their texture is perfect with just the right balance of well-seasoned noodle to seafood.
Madge shrugs at Lord Arthur’s whispered questions. “That sounds an awful lot like selling information to me,” she comments. “In any case, I can’t help you. I don’t ask for names, I just ask for payment for my noodles.” When the lordling moves on with his noodle meal for the tiefling girl, she scurries away and watches him approach from behind a pile of rubble that used to be a house. Soon after he walks away, the girl scurries back, takes a brief look at the note, then starts to shove handfuls of noodle into her mouth. What was a mound of seafood noodles is reduced to nothing in just a few seconds.
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Niome will pass her bowl on to Aggie once she had a couple of bites and fed a noodle to Jesher. It is delicious, but she doesn't want to be greedy. She embarrassed enough as it is. As they walk to wherever the group is deciding to go, she'll read the poetry. Written words being her preference to potential verbal disagreements.
As they discuss, she'll let out a surprised "Oh!" then hushing the others as politely as she can. "I'm not great at..." she whispers once she has their attention, eyes darting around "... clandestine whatnot. Is anyone spying on us at the moment?"
If someone gives her the all clear, she'll relate what she believes the poetry really is about. Whispered of course.
"This “poetry” actually appears to be a coded message from Olandil. It describes his plan to escape the city. He has planned a poetry reading at the Manukirt Trading Co. Warehouse at noon on Wealday. (It is currently Moonday, and Wealday is the day after tomorrow, which is Toilday.) He plans to interrupt his own show by an unspecified magical means that should sow enough confusion in the crowd to allow him to escape into the Guts. He then plans to emerge from an entrance to the Guts located at Whaler’s Point in order to secure transportation out of the city."
Till holds out his bowl of Noodles for Aggie to nab something out of. In he very quiet whisper, he quips "Explore. Report. Cooperate. Share. Right?"
When Niome related the information she gleaned from the poetry, Till is genuinely impressed. "Bravo!" he whispers, choosing a word that seem a bit out of place again. "That is quite an important find. Maybe that means that Madge just plays the fool. Or our colleague managed to play her just right. Regardless, it seems like he is going to give us a great opportunity."
The Pathfinders make their way to the Inkwell. A former fortress on the north seafront, the stonework Inkwell inn is home to rowdy, defiant, impassioned revolutionaries who fill its commons while making plans to harry the town’s Loyalists and discourage the Chelish navy. Chankings, the inn’s noisy iron golem bouncer, keeps watch at the open doors. There is a small pile of weaponry in a basket next to the golem, but Chankings doesn’t stop the Pathfinders to make them surrender theirs.
Inside, the place is clearly full of rebels, poets, and writers. There are even a few clear Loyalists among them, wearing Chelish patriotic fare, all argumentative but not overtly trying to cause trouble. A genial Chelish man stands at the open door, handing out freshly printed flyers to everyone who enters. “Hello!” he greets as the Pathfinders enter. “Hello, and welcome! My name is Lorrin Meese, and this is the Inkwell. I am the proprietor of this fine establishment. Please, take a flyer and make yourself comfortable! Can I help you with anything?” Meese asks.
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Arthur observes with curiosity the small pile of weaponry in the basket at the entrance of the Inkwell, and his doubts are multiplied when the party isn't asked to surrender their weapons.
The Taldan lord immediately waves back at Meese. "Well met, sir" Arthur listens to Meese with attention, then takes the flyer and reads it. Ahah! Here's the explanation for the weapons in that basket... With an expression of triumph, Arthur raises his eyes to look to his companions and immediately realizes his lack of seriousness. OK, I should focus on the mission...
The Pathinder takes some time to carefully consider the information the group has acquired so far.
"Mr. Meese, would you mind to tell me more about this Author, Poet, Writer, Orator and Performer?" The young lordling grins. "You know, milord, I'm quite fond for poetry and this flyer of yours has piqued my interest. Unfortunately, I already had plans for Wealday...I'm trying to decide whether to give it up and come at the Manukirt Warehouse instead."
"It seems like the folk here does know something more about him, isn't it?" adds Arthur, blinking at Agdamakha.
Till feels right at home in the noisy common room full of artists. He soaks up the atmosphere as he takes the flyer and listens to the gossip. Like Lord Ockham he notes the bucket of weapons, but draws a somewhat different conclusion. So, the Thistles have the power to make demands of Loyalists, and they agree. That says something about the power balance. Despite not appearing to pay attention, he nods at Aggie's statement. "Yes, we're on the right track," he agrees.
He waits for Arthur to speak with Lorrin, then points at his own flyer and adds. "Indeed, seems interesting. Actually, I'm a quite a poetry admirer. Do you think Miss. Wraxton will be in attendance? I've heard of her, but never had the opportunity to meet her."
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The iron golem Chankings stands about twice as tall as a human, and resembles a massive, animated suit of armor. As Noam and Aggie marvel at it, it turns toward them with the sound of metal squealing on metal. It raises a huge hand and slowly waves with a noisy clanking sound.
Lorrin Meese gives Lord Arthur and Arisha a warm smile as he replies. “Yes, lots of folks are excited for a live poetry reading from Jaks Arunai!” Turning to Arthur, he gently corrects the lordling. “No need to call me ‘milord,’ friend. It’s always a pleasure to meet a fellow lover of the arts, and there’s no reason we can’t enjoy poetry on an equal footing. Anyway, yes, Jaks Arunai. He’s relatively new, as a poet, so I don’t know that much about him. I believe he’s aligned himself with the White Thistles. Of course, I’m sure all will be welcome at his show, as the flyer says, same as here at the Inkwell. All are welcome! Even the Galtans and the, shall we say, misguided Loyalists. They’ve sealed their own doom, coming in here, though,” Meese says with a sly twinkle in his eye. “For you see, the White Thistle employs the greatest weapon of any movement: the written word! Their poetry has a heart that’s more impenetrable than any wall or shield; they’ve got wits and words sharper than any sword. It’s quite inspiring, really.”
Still smiling, he turns his attention to address Anisha’s question. “I’m afraid I haven’t seen Jaks Arunai lately. Unless you mean someone else…?”
He chuckles good-naturedly at Till’s question. “Few have had the honor of meeting Amalia Wraxton as of late. You students must be quite focused on your studies not to know that she vanished after she premiered her play Abrogail I. Not that the folks here don’t love to speculate about where she might be hiding. I doubt she’ll make a public appearance just for a new poet’s debut reading, though.”
Within the tavern, the hubbub continues. Wild haired writers and poets as well as gray-clad revolutionary-looking folks murmur and shout according to their proclivities. Many of them seem to buzz with excitement when they see the “Academy students,” gesturing animatedly as they continue intense conversations.
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