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Daen was completely disoriented by the whirl of sound and color. He'd always thought that such an environment would be most enchanting and he'd lose himself in the sensual delights, but now it just came off grating and annoying. It was like the time that his brother had given him a chocolate filled with salt. He'd expected smooth and sweet, but his lack of expectation or desire for that particular taste made him desire to spit it out.
Focus... Focus... he thought to himself as he pinched his temples. When he looked up, he saw that he wasn't the only one disoriented by the show, and nearly everyone else was also annoyed, including Cyanne. After receiving an understanding nod from Kaz while Cyanne was defending their position, Daen in vain attempted to get his thoughts to coalesce.
Upon Cyanne's declaration of the copies he held of their maps, he found a bit of clarity and was able to move forward with his part in the proceedings. "We came back to fix a malady that couldn't be done in the Greenbelt. We've already detailed half of the area, and we located and have made plans to defeat the Bandit Lord at his stronghold within a fortnight and we came here to resupply and fix the aforementioned malady. The progress is fair considering we had a forty percent abandonment rate from the original chartered members, something I'm sure none of the others you have sent out had to deal with, and the improvisation of finding the valuable members you see here. The notes of what we found are also included."
Daen's face contorted a little as he fought the urge to tell this political hack what he thought of her methods, but he couldn't deny their effectiveness. It was likely that Surtova was well aware of what they were doing down here and had sent Leo as a foil to see which of his relatives was really worth his salt. Pitting his pawns against one another was hardly above his usual machinations, and so for the time being the estranged Surtovan had to play along no matter how distatesful he found them. He had done his best to play nice and see where this whole thing was leading.
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Jamanda looks Cyanne in the eye, one eyebrow raised and glass of brandy near her lips as she gestures in Daen's direction. "Losses of forty percent are why you're signing this. Don't worry, it's identical to the old ones."
She waves a hand and one of the men at a nearby table almost instantly stops watching the stage, where a blonde-haired man is currently taking off his jacket while he sings a duet with a short, plump half-elf. She whispers with him for a moment and then unrolls the map, glancing over it before looking up again. "This is Swordlord Teodor Koenig Aldori. He's our little group's tactician and has a bit of theoretical expertise on the Stolen Lands. Teodor, this is Cyanne, Daen, Kazimir, Laliytsa, and Luthor, our agents in the Greenbelt." With that, she begins to pore over the notes and map.
Swordlord Teodor, for his part, wastes no time, cracking his knuckles and pulling up a seat around the already-tight table. "So, let's go back to the beginning of your little war with the Stag Lord. I want to know three things. First, what tactics have these bandits used? Second, rough estimate; how many men has he used, and in what ways? Third, what's your plan?"
Jamanda taps Daen on the shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "You're right. None of the other groups have reported losses quite that high. However, Varn did say his village was built mostly because he can't defend a mobile caravan from the Nomen. Further, Baron Drelev's is our most publicly-chartered expedition, and he's already ordering more stone from our cutters than needed for a keep the size his sketches say. Further, we think he's getting even more from New Stetven. That says he's taking losses on his supply train."
As she turns to the stage, Jamanda catches a glimpse of a tiny dragon-thing bent over the top of her glass so her whole head and a good portion of her bare chest are below the brandy-line. Wordlessly, she raises and eyebrow and grabs Perli by the wings, pulling him out of the glass and looking pointedly at the party. For her part, Perli sticks out his tongue at the woman and then belches loudly.
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Laliytsa has been silent as the others talk, although she does roll her eyes when Jamanda calls the Greenbelt the ‘safest’ of the grants. The show on stage isn’t very exciting, although it does make her reevaluate her exercise routine. She’s got the climbing part down, but she’s definitely not that flexible. Being able to move like that could come in handy out in the wilds. Maybe Cyanne can teach her?
The presence of the fey makes her raise an eyebrow. ”Perli. We woulda bought ya yer own glass.”
Three times Cyanne picks up the pen. Three times she puts it down again. She looks at the contract before her, and then pushes it away. "I'm sorry, Lady Jamanda. I don't think I can sign this, not with his name on the bottom." She looks pointedly at Noleski Surtova's name. "Especially not while sitting here, in the place he forced me to work by ending my career in the ballet."
"Of course not, dear." Jamanda reaches out and takes the quill, rolling up Cyanne's charter carefully. "Our spies had a hard time turning up much about you in just one day. All they found was this and an old academy, but that building was too hard to secure." She hands the rolled-up charter to the red-haired boy, who takes it and places it in a satchel. "Enrick here has been, um, 'hired' by the owners of the Riverdance Inn. He's a table-cleaner, and if you change your mind, he can get you into contact with me...without the Surtovas knowing. Noleski isn't our friend either." With the charter secured, Jamanda turns her attention to the faerie dragon. "Now, what is this, and why was it drinking from my glass? I assume it's one of the Stolen Lands' creatures?"
A sickly dawn breaks over Restov and, unlike the previous morning, the Riverdance Inn seems quiet and slow. The crowds outside seem to have abated as well, and while those on the streets bustle along, the pace of today seems more frantic and less relaxed. The party splits in two, with the men going to look for Svetlana and the women looking into the priests’ task.
Laliytsa lets out an angry huff ”WHO. Not WHAT. Perli ain’t a WHAT. Ya never have dealin’s with fey ‘fore? He’s as much a person as me and ya are. Not offical but he’s our fey representative. ” She carefully reaches out, picks up Perli and takes a good look at him. ”Heh, havin’ a drink eh? Oughta get ya some food, soak up the brandy. Can we get him somethin’ sweet to eat?”
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Kazimir is halfway through signing his own charter when Cyanne voices her refusal. He finishes his name guiltily before handing it back, staring at the table once more to avoid looking at the stage.
"I cannot speak for the entire time this group has been out, but I've seen primarily skirmishes from the bandits, with one large assault on Oleg's Outpost." Pain flares in his neck at the memory; thankfully, leaning one elbow on the table, it's easy enough to place a hand over the scar. "We've encountered some... twenty, thirty men? Along with three 'generals' of sorts, all led by the Stag Lord. We don't have an estimate on how many bandits are under his command, due to the fluid nature of the attacks. When we return, I believe we're planning an assault on the Stag Lord's fortress." He glances at the others for confirmation. "Though, we have other business in town first."
The arrival of Perlivash is a welcome distraction, and he grins as he tries to clean the wine from the dragon's head with a napkin. "This is Perlivash, one of the many colourful characters we've met on our travels. He's fond of a drink, but mostly harmless." Not to scalps, though, he adds silently. "Like Laliytsa says, he's a representative of sorts. He knows more about the forest than anyone else we've met out there."
The city's calmed down somewhat, and Kaz is grateful for that as he begins asking around to see if anyone's seen a woman matching Svetlana's description.
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Sure he was ostracized by his family, disinherited as well, but did that mean that he would never try to be useful enough to them so as to at least receive recognition? In fact, that had been his whole idea since he'd come down here. He wanted to win honor and glory and take it back and throw it in the faces of everyone back home who'd said that he would never amount to anything, that he was an embarrassment, a blight, a black sheep.
But the Aldori were so sure he was on their side? Who told them he would be? Was it his teacher? He could imagine the stern man making decisions for him quite easily. And what of his father, sending him down here. There was only two reasons that fit the evidence anymore. The first is that his family knew nothing of the rebellion beginning down here and expected him to act exactly the way Daen had expected to thus far. Use the slight as motivation to try to receive recognition. The second was this: they knew of the rebellious attitudes of Restov and wanted him to be associated with the south so they could kill him when he returned, having the legal backing that he was a spy.
Suddenly it all made sense. He was sent to the south so that he would learn their style, he was sent to the south so he would make connections here, he was sent to the south because they knew he would either come back with condemning evidence against against Restov, or that they could claim their insurrection as proof of his disloyalty and have him publicly humiliated and executed. Considering the fact they didn't even bother to tell him of his mother's death told him what they thought. They'd probably use him and then kill him. And his mother would be forever remembered as the whore who spawned the traitor.
The only way he'd now be able to win any honor for his mother now was to make sure the resistance won. And then Cyanne dropped her bombshell. "Hells." He'd pay for that.
Receiving the clarity of white hot anger pressurized into the thin line of his lips, he continued the debriefing in earnest. Responding to the "The Stag Lord keeps so-called lieutenants who manage his men independently of each other. None of them know the full extent of the Stag Lord's reach, only what they have control of themselves. At the fort where he lives, he keeps approximately a dozen men as well as some kind of strange man in the basement that is rumored to actually be in charge. The Stag Lord himself is a drunkard, but is extremely deadly, keeping his rule over the rest based in fear alone.
That being said, we've convinced his second in command, by the name of Akiros, to switch allegiances. He's seen the progress we've made and knows that even if we fail, Brevoy will see to it that their banditing days will have a limit. We'll meet with him in a familiar spot, so if he double crosses us we'll be able to handle him easily there and press the Stag Lord's diminished forces at the keep. We also have recruited a fey spy to keep an eye on the place and warn us of danger. Part of the negotiation of such a recruitment was that Perli there," he pointed without slowing his words, "would come with us to the city and see if we'd be better rulers than the Stag Lord. At the very least, I'm sure he can see we have better music, which I have on good report is high on the fey priority list."
Daen's voice became quieter as his face became more intense. "Now that I've answered your questions, since we have you here, I'd also like to know why your other expeditions have been so well funded while ours had less than six hundred fifty gold in equipment between the lot of us. I can't pick out the exact numbers, but villages and castles aren't built in a month without vast amounts of manpower and wealth. Not to say I don't appreciate Kesten and the troops, but we didn't even know they were coming until they'd arrived as well.
Despite the fact you have a Theoretical expert on the Greenbelt, you've been keeping us in the dark regarding our mission that not only did we go in blind, but we had no idea that coming back to Restov was a risky idea. And we were so underfunded, we couldn't afford to even send for the Restoration scrolls instead of returning ourselves and haggling with the clerics. Those scrolls would have been much more preferable, as we would have been able to nigh on finish the maps as well as the Stag Lord in the two weeks it took us to come up here and do this. When we arrive, we're insulted, harassed, lied to, and accused of incompetence. I think the very least you could do for us is explain why exactly you want us to do this for you and what we hope to gain from doing so."
Daen was certainly planning on searching out Cyanne, but despite Kaz's body language that he wasn't used to the city and crowds, he certainly did exceptionally well in his ability to talk with anyone. Almost everyone would brighten up when he approached, give friendly advice or information, and thank him for even dropping by. Daen had never received such acceptance, and even in the midst of this trip, had even received a fair amount of dirty looks. At least the half elf knew that his time would come when it came to the actual shopping. He knew the fashion of the capitol when it came to armor, and he was hoping to find something with a distinctive flair. It wouldn't be terribly hard to fit the farmboy with suitable clothing to enhance his already natural charm. The question came down to finding something he could be himself in.
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Jamanda's revelation about the information she dug up on Cyanne, casually in a single day, hits Cyanne like a ton of bricks. This was not mere information gathering. This is a veiled threat. She has always been an open person, and not the type to blend into a crowd. Of course Jamanda would have easily found out about the Restive Rose. How many other girls in Restov would fit her description?
The academy, too. She was so proud of it. So proud of Aron and Lirpeth and the education they brought her. Much harder to find out about her birth family, since Cyanne almost never spoke her last name, but she had stayed at the Mill only a couple months before, watching over her mother when she died.
Neighbors will talk. Daen was right. Her family... all her family was at risk.
And now she'd given this woman more ammunition to use. Cyanne had been so careful to never name the King, no matter how furious she had been at Noleski for what he'd done to her and her career. Twenty years of silence. Twenty years, and she can still remember him backing her into a wall, his rough hands and rough mouth on her, expecting what he believed he'd paid for.
Then she hears Daen's muttered, "Hells."
Oh, crap. Daen will be furious at her for keeping this from him. But perhaps Daen will eventually understand why she had not told him. Oh, why couldn't she have kept her mouth shut now?
What would Jamanda do with this information? Cyanne feels sick, but she maintains her outward composure as she stares coldly at Jamanda. "I have a question to add to those that Daen listed."
She looks at Perlivash and thinks I know you're a little tipsy, friend, but I need you to listen. Can you hear Miss Jamanda's thoughts without her knowing? I'd love to hear the real answers to the questions we ask, as opposed to the answers she chooses to give us.
Cyannes asks, for Perlivash's sake, "What is the long-term goal with the Greenbelt? What does the Surtovan government want there? What do you want there? Once we clear out the bandits, what's coming in its place?"
"Lali, it's okay. I've got this." Cyanne walks up to those nice people over there, and give them a brilliant smile.
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Perlivash shakes his head at Laliytsa’s suggestion of food. ”Nope. I’m a big dragon, and big dragons don’t need food for drink!” He flaps his wings free of Jamanda’s grip and goes back to drinking.
"I see." Swordlord Teodor nods at Daen's strategy and the information from Kazimir. "I don't like your strategy, I'll say that much, but you're committed now, so if you're confident, I don't have many recommendations. I would like to apologize, though. We had no idea the severity of the bandit situation or we would have tried to allocate resources there sooner. We—”
”Enough, Teodor. Daen wants an explanation, and he’ll get one." Jamanda stops trying to keep Perli out of her brandy glass and clenches her fist instead. ”We’ll start with Baron Drelev. He’s a bastard, by all accounts, but he’s competent. His job...his only job...is to keep the East Sellen River open against the boggards and who-knows-what-else in that swamp we gave him. If that supply line collapses, it damages all of Brevoy. Therefore, he’s in the public eye, and therefore, we need to fund him like he’s using at least half our resources. In addition, his castle isn’t started yet. He’s picked out a spot and he’s waiting on shipments.
Second, Maegar Varn Aldori. His mission is to pacify the Nomen centaurs, either by making peace or making war. He’s also there to draw the Surtovas’ eyes. If the man with the name Aldori is behaving according to his charter, there’s nothing to worry about. His village isn’t anything more than a few wooden huts and a log palisade, by all accounts. He’s doing his job, both the chartered one and the one we want him to do. They just happen to be the same things.
Finally, let’s talk about you and your little, underfunded mission to the Greenbelt. Read your charters. Now, compare them to Drelev and Varn’s. It says nothing about building villages, and nothing about castles. Your only official task is to explore, and maybe to deal with any bandits you see. How would it look to your uncle if we gave you fifty men and thousands of gold to get that job done?”
Jamanda takes a breath, then gently shoves Perli away from her brandy glass long enough to take a drink. ”And finally, let’s talk about you, Daen. I think you realize that your family would like you to die on this expedition. They made that abundantly clear to the Lord-Mayor. It wouldn’t be treason to offer you all the things you needed to win through, but it would be close. Instead, we gave you the task we thought you could accomplish with no resources and hoped for the best.”
At Cyanne’s question, Jamanda is silent. She stays that way for a full minute, running her fingers back and forth across the tabletop in imitation of the strutting legs on the stage, then, finally, she begins again. ”Noleski wants what the Issian lords have always wanted over Rostland: control. He thinks that if they can control the south and the north, the center will have to fold. What we want is similar.” She stops and smiles at Cyanne, but the smile offers no joy. ”Girl, House Rogarvia is gone. There’s nothing that binds Issia and Rostland together anymore, and if you think you hate the Surtovas, you should know that house was the first to tie itself to Choral; they laid siege to Restov and marched across the fields of Rostland in the vanguard. There are few who hate him as much as we do.”
Idon fink right, youknow. Zis izent like the goodstuff we stolefromthe bandits thatonetime. Perli suddenly freezes, every muscle in his body tensing, and then Cyanne is bombarded by another thought. AMIDEAD? Iz zis Heaven? Whatdid I dotodeserve this?
@Cyanne: As far as you can tell, Jamanda has been mostly honest with the party, if a bit testy.
It takes a few hours, but eventually, Kazimir finds some sort of reliable information from a trapper claiming to work the Nomen Heights and Tors of Levenies. ”Girl with a cart and a horse? Bandana in ‘er hair? Lots of rusty swords and hides? Yeah, I seen ‘er. She’s been at the Blade and Bargain these last couple of days, working through her wares.”
The Blade and Bargain, though it sounds like a tavern, proves to be nothing of the sort. A building in the old Taldan style, with domed roof and stone walls, it quickly proves to be a combination bank, pawn shop, and turning house. Even this early, a half-dozen hunters and trappers show their pelts and furs to well-dressed scribes, who jot down the number of pelts and conditions of each before making offers.
Off to the side, in an alcove, sit Svetlana and a young, bespectacled man. She glances up, looks down at what’s presumably a ledger, and then double-takes. A moment later she’s up, throwing her arms around Kazimir’s neck and giving him a hug so tight that for a moment he can’t breathe. Then her arms loosen and she grins a silly grin. ”You’re alive?! How? The last I saw of you, you were strung across Jhod’s saddle on the way to some temple. You’ll have to tell me what happened!”
Most of the morning is gone by the time Cyanne and Laliytsa find the wreckage of The Burnt Onion, which seems to have recently taken its name literally. The walls still stand, true, but the windows and doors are gaping holes peering into the blackness inside, and the roof is holed and charred. Near the building sit a pair of guards, enjoying what seems to be bread and cheese for lunch, along with whatever’s in their waterskins. One of them looks your way and then turns to say something to the other guard. They both laugh and then go back to eating.
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Being stopped by Kazimir, he looked a bit surprised by his question. "Worked up?" He asked, looking like he was processing it as he looked back at him in silence a moment. "Yeah, I guess I was." He looked almost defensive, a hint of a frown cresting his eyebrows. "And why shouldnt I? For someone returning from the dead you seem awfully reluctant to take steps to prevent it happening again." He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. "Its selfish, but I dont just want you safe for your own sake." He shifted into an apologetic look, eyes dropping to the copplestone beneath them. "Finding you like that during the siege, it sort of, I dont know, "broke" me." He said, glancing up at Kazimir. "Im ok now, but Im not sure how I would handle it if it happened again. I feel like it would be that much worse."
Scurrying out of the crowds, dodging feet and snaking her way across the floor, Rikka returned, drawn by Luthors happiness and her task being rendered rather moot as the room had filled with people. Climbing onto the table, she gave the drunken dragon a sideways glance.
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Seeing the distraught look on her friend’s face, Laliytsa reaches out and squeezes Cyanne’s hand. She looks Jamanda up and down before moving her gaze to Teodor. She eyes him for a few seconds, wondering if his apology is sincere, before turning back to the woman who is clearly in charge.
”Let’s get one thin’ straight. We ain’t chess pieces that ya can push ‘cross a board without tellin’ us why yer movin’ us back an’ forth. Ain’t gonna work for nobody what don’ tell me who they is an’ what they want. This here is yer time to spill. I’mma tell you righ’ now though, if’n ya don’ have a better reason fer all this than yeh wantin’a give Surtova the proverbial finger then I ain’t gonna be...receptive.” Her expression is stony. ”Not throwin’ m’self behin’ some revolution, not when I don’ know who ya is or what ya want.”
Laliytsa glares at the laughing men. Worry and anger churn in her gut, her feelings about Emmala’s disappearance, the Stag Lord and the meeting at the Restive Rose combining into rage and determination. She stalks over to the guards, fire in her eyes and steel in her voice.
”Somethin’ funny, eh? We amusin’ ya? Ain’t in no mood to be laugh at. See that there?” She points at the ruins of the Burnt Onion. ”The singer what worked there, she's my frien an’ I dunno where she is or if’n she’s ok. So I sure ain't in'a mood to be sassed at. Ya, yer local. What you know 'bout that place? Spill."
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"Like that?" Kazimir repeats hollowly, following Luthor's gaze. "I suppose?" he says eventually, uncertainly filling his tone. The knuckles of his right hand unconsciously rub at his chest, at the scars left by the bandit arrows. "Doesn't look too heavy..." he mutters, falling into appraising silence until Luthor suggests he'd look good in such a thing. "You think so?" he asks in surprise, before he can stop himself. "I've never worn anything so... fancy." He rolls his neck from side to side, thinking. "Never worn anything fancier than this, actually," he chuckles, tugging at the collar of his patched hides.
As Luthor begins to fidget and avert his gaze, he glances after the others. We'll catch up, he tells himself, before placing both hands on the other man's shoulders. "Listen," he says quietly. "I'm sorry that finding my- that finding me... like that was so awful for you. It wasn't great for me, either," he adds, forcing a smile in a failed attempt to lighten the mood. Reading the unfavourable reaction, he sighs, running one hand through his hair, keeping the other in place. "You're right, though. I'm... I'm being stubborn. I'm not used to thinking of myself as all that important. Back home, sure, I was the eldest son, but that just meant I'd take the farm when my father died. I was one of the strongest people I knew, but that only meant I was useful to others who needed the strength. I had purpose. But there were always people older than me, wiser than me, people who I had to defer to, and people whose needs were greater. I knew my place, and I was content in it." He stares at the ground for a few moments, taking a deep breath through his nose before continuing. "Out here, things are different. You, Cyanne, Laliytsa, even Daen... you're deferring to me. You're asking for my opinions and guidance, you're treating me not just as part of a community, but as part of a team... in some ways, a leader, and I'm not used to this."
He rubs his forehead with his free hand, closing his eyes briefly, the other hand squeezing Luthor's shoulder gently. "You're right, though. I haven't been too focused on avoiding another... incident," he says finally after fumbling for the words. "I don't want to go through that again - it probably wouldn't have the same ending it did this time. And I wouldn't want anyone else to go through it." Clasping the other shoulder again, he finishes, "I suppose it is time for something new. Even if I won't need it much longer, it'll be useful. The simplest tools won't work forever."
As the conversation turns to the other chartered groups, Daen's family, and Laliytsa's chess metaphor (which he kind of understands; he'd heard of chess, after all), Kaz tries to follow, but finds himself mostly lost. He focuses primarily on watching Perli's brandy intake while slowly working through his own drink, trying to make sure the faerie dragon didn't overindulge. Luthor's nudge comes just as he's considering a second drink, briefly drawing his attention to one particular person instead of his previous "anywhere but the stage" direction.
"Yeah. Really something," he mumbles, red-faced and turning his attention instead to ticking Rikka under the chin. Feeling out of his depth, he focuses on the party critters instead, trusting the others to handle the conversation.
As the day wears on, Kazimir finds himself losing hope. Wandering the city, asking around, trying to describe Svetlana as best he can with his memory fogged from death - it's a frustrating experience, and while Luthor and Daen are able to help somewhat, the process takes far longer than he'd have liked.
After the trek to the Blade and Bargain, he's well and truly flustered from the efforts and forced interaction, but he can't help a grin when he sees Svetlana, waving as he approaches. The hug catches him off-guard, and he staggers slightly under her added weight, but quickly stabilizes and returns the hug with a broad grin.
"It's a long story," he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, "but to make it short, it was a miracle. Erastil has need of me here, so..." He shrugs awkwardly. "I'm back. But, well... it's been decided that I need some new armour to stop such a thing happening again." He digs a finger into one of the holes over his chest and tugs gently. "Has the trip treated you well?" he adds hurriedly, realizing how rude he must sound.
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@Laliytsa: So far as you can tell, Teodor isn’t trying to hide anything. He seems to be processing the information Daen and Kaz gave him quickly, but he did say he was a strategist, so that could just be normal.
”Miss Iansoh, you’ve been working for us this whole time.” Jamanda’s expression matches Laliytsa’s as she taps the table impatiently with her fingers. ”You grew up in Rostland just like I did, I thought you’d be more than sympathetic to the cause of freedom and independence, but I suppose not.” She rolls up Daen’s map and notes, gestures to the red-headed boy, and hands them off before standing. ”You all will keep to the charter, since it is a contract and you’ve signed it. After that, what comes next is up to you. Miss Miller, you are free to abandon this task at any time. Good night.”
There’s a popping sound in the party’s ears as the Zone of Silence collapses and Jamanda leaves, followed by almost every “patron” in the building. It takes less than two minutes before Cyanne, Daen, Kazimir, Laliytsa, and Luthor are alone, with the exception of a few serving girls and a young blonde of perhaps 19 who sings a slow, sad love song while wearing a translucent slip and lacy underclothes.
Perli belches loudly. ”CanI get anotheroneof zose? Delishus!”
Svetlana finishes her hug with Kazimir, turning to Luthor and Daen and offering quick embraces as well. ”You’ll need to tell me more later, of course! You do need some better armor. Maybe something like Kesten’s outfit?”
The man who’d been sitting across from her clears his throat. ”Ahem. If you’re quite finished, I still have about a dozen swords, half a dozen shortbows, and a few hundred pounds of furs to document. It’ll take all day, probably. I’ll write you a promissory note if you’ll just leave me to it, okay?” He proceeds to fill out a form with the seal of the Blade and Bargain on it, coupled with his signature. ”This should be honored most places around Restov. If not, come back and we’ll make it work.”
The first guard looks over toward the nearby Eastgate, then back at Laliytsa. ”Now look here. We weren’t on gate duty when it burned, Mikael was. If you’re looking for that singer, though, she got out. I don’t know if she’s better off where she is or not, though. Last I heard, she was working Peddler’s Alley and living in some ruin in Tumbledown Town. Might check there.”
The other guard grins a sycophantic grin. ”You can poke around the building if you want, no skin off our backs. We ain’t guarding it, just having a lunch before duty calls again.”
Cyanne looks in her eye. “You spoke to me more of hate than you did of ideals, and that’s a classic mistake. You want us as allies in your cause, but you go about it the wrong way. Do you see this club? You chose it just for me. To show me that you knew exactly what I was and the circumstances from which I came. But take a look! You just filled the place, depriving it of its real customers. Those girls serving? The girl singing by herself on stage? They’re all Rostlanders! Poor girls in need of the money they can bring in, and you’ve deprived them of some of tonight’s wages. Turn around, and leave a tip. Make your men do the same. Show them you support the common people!”
Cyanne would like nothing more than to yell at this young self-satisfied bureaucrat. But it would do Daen and herself no good. “As for Daen, he’s well aware of the danger he’s in. He’s struggling to do an excellent job in horrid circumstances; his honor requires nothing less for him. He could be your best asset. We could be your best assets. Instead of approaching us with veiled threats, insults and distrust, approach us as the friends and allies we could truly be.”
Then she turns to Lali. "Before we head off to Peddler Alley, shall we look around?"
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But if Restov rebelled, would they forget about him? Not likely, but it would put him lower on the priority list. Were the Rostlanders planning to ally with others from the north? It may be others do not wish for there to be a Surtovan on the throne. Considering the enemies they had, and their lack of might compared with other noble houses in the area that civil war was inevitable. Could Daen slip out of the Surtovan's sight by leaving the country? But would that bring honor to his mother? Were his family trying to demonstrate their love for her by going against her wishes and making sure that he died and the thing that brought her down would be gone from this world? Was mother against her own honor?
Of course such questions couldn't be answered. He'd be seen as the problem from the Surtovan standpoint, and they'd be seen as the enemy for nearly everyone else. Where it was some consolation to see how many others wanted to see them humbled, it remained that his mother did want them to get along. It seemed that the only way that could happen was from a seat of power. He would have to force them to acknowledge him. There wasn't going to be any escape. He knew this was his best chance.
What he wanted was for them to answer his questions, but they weren't interested in that. Cyanne addressed it better than he could have, as he was still angry, he likely would have said much more offensive things than Lali just did, and he needed to calm down. It was difficult with things concerning his family, and his immediate life, but rage was not how he was able to accomplish things. That avenue wasn't left to him.
"I will finish the job, as I agreed." He stated flatly as the Aldori left, not really caring if they heard or not. He was finally calming down a little, even if it was likely from fatigue more than anything else. "I am tired now, I hope it wouldn't offend anyone if I went to bed a little early."
He glanced down at the drink in his hand. Somehow his glass had gotten empty, and he didn't remember drinking it, either he was drunk or Perli was making her rounds again. He slowly pulled his hand off of the glass, as he had been so tense, his hand was sticking a bit to the tumbler, as if his hand didn't want to let go. He was definitely feeling the fatigue now, and he stood up to leave.
”Miss Iansoh, you’ve been working for us this whole time.” Jamanda’s expression matches Laliytsa’s as she taps the table impatiently with her fingers. ”You grew up in Rostland just like I did, I thought you’d be more than sympathetic to the cause of freedom and independence, but I suppose not.
Laliytsa snaps at the woman. ”Bein’ symapthetic don’ mean I’ma follow ‘long with blinders over m’eyes. Yer vision ofa ‘Free Rostland’ an’ mine migh’ not be the same. Yeh canna trust us with yer plans, says to me we canna trust ya.”
After the group leaves she gently scoops Perli up ”I got somma my drink left if’n ya wan’ it” The drink in question is just juice, no alcohol involved, but she doesn’t mention that.
”This Mikael, where can we find ‘em?” she asks the men. After they answer she pokes around the ruins with Cyanne
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Cyanne turns back to the dancers and the girls serving, left bewildered in an empty Rose. "You were all wonderful, and they were jerks!" She disappears into hugs and conversation with all her dancer friends, until some of them ask when she's coming back to the stage.
"I'm not." Her voice is gentle but firm. "I've fallen in love, and I'm leaving the stage to help him and my new friends with the work they have to do on the frontier. But since it's just us left tonight, maybe I could perform with you and for you, one last time?"
She kneels down by Lali, Luthor and Kaz. "You've never seen me dance here. If you're still uncomfortable, you could wait in the lobby. But I would love it if you stayed and you cheered for me and my friends." The she turns to Daen, putting a hand on his knee. "I know you said that you didn't want to see me dance. If that is still true, I... I will try to understand. But here's a chance to see and understand my past, my art, who I am and where I've come from. Will you stay with me, Rulanir? Will you watch my very last show?"
She wears her regular clothes, but borrows some sparkly scarves from one of the girls, kicks off her boots, and dances barefoot. She does her favorite hits, starting off with the 'Misbehaving Mongoose' number, where Tango pretends to be the pet she cannot catch, and the two spring and do acrobatic flips as she attempts to chase him hither and yon. Eventually, she catches him and they do a cute little shimmy together. It's a comedic number that is designed to show off her acrobatic leaps and her long legs, and make the audience laugh.
She moves into the whip dance, where she swings all over the stage, balancing upside down and spinning. Playfully, she catches her fellow dancers in the loop of her whip, then lets them loose again. Then she parades up and down the tables, snapping her whip and swinging her hips until she dances up to Daen, and grins. "You are paying attention, right? The next time I dance like this, it's going to be just for you."
Finally, she pulls out her ukulele. "I've got one last song. It's new. Would you all like to hear it?" She sits on the stage, the staff of the Rose gathered around her, and she starts to strum the melody.
She was born in the ruins of her lost ballet career
Coming home to a place she’d never been before
She left yesterday behind her, you might say she was born again
You might say she danced as she never had before
When she first came to the Rose she ached for the ballet
On her toes and hanging by a song
But she reached for life with both hands, she learned to dare
The steps change so fast and they don’t last for long
And now it’s time to bid the Rose goodbye
We’ve seen it raining girls from on high
The glitter and the show lights as the dancers flow on by
Bid the Rose goodbye
(Such sweet sorrow)
Bid the Rose goodbye
(Not coming back tomorrow)
She invented the whip dance, the spinning stage below
She made her own rules choosing to live free
And they say she got crazy once when she slapped away the sun
Locking away the secret and the memory
Now she rides with companions through forests and the streams
Seeking grace in every step she takes
Her sight has turned inside herself to try and understand
The Star Count she never will forsake
And now it’s time to bid the Rose goodbye
We’ve seen it raining girls from on high
The glitter and the show lights as the dancers flow on by
Bid the Rose goodbye
(Such sweet sorrow)
Bid the Rose goodbye
(Not coming back tomorrow)
Now her life is full of wonder but her heart still knows some fear
Of a simple thing she cannot comprehend
Why they try to tear her love down and start their little war
More anger, more scars upon the land
And now it’s time to bid the Rose goodbye
Open the curtains toss those flowers high
I know she’d be a poorer girl if she’d never tried to fly
Time to say goodbye
And now it’s time to bid the Rose goodbye
Friends around the tables and everybody’s high
Bid the Rose goodbye
(No time for sorrow)
Bid the Rose goodbye
(wave from the first row)
Bid the Rose goodbye
(Don’t try to follow)
Bid the Rose goodbye
(It’s last call - oh)
Bid the Rose goodbye
(No more tomorrow)
Bid the Rose goodbye
(O how I loved you)
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Jamanda stops as the various would-be patrons of the Restive Rose file out and fixes Cyanne with a hard stare. "You really have no idea, do you? For the price the Lord-Mayor paid to rent this building for the night and for the staff's silence, we could have bought it. I took great pains to ensure that none of these girls or boys will go home hungry. We're not monsters, just at war." With a dismissive shrug, she turns to Laliytsa, smiling. "The Lord-Mayor doesn't even trust me, deary, and I'm his second. When you play games of state, secrets are best shared as little as possible, and incompletely when it's needed."
Svetlana beams at Daen, clearly happy to see friends again. "Of course you'll get what coin you have coming to you. Oleg and I have been doing business at the Blade and Bargain for...um, since we moved out here. So, two years. Heirren has never once cheated us of what our goods are worth, and his reputation is sterling around Restov." She pauses long enough to look at the promissory note the clerk gave her, then whistles before poking dubiously at Kazimir's hole-ridden armor. "I think it would really be a good idea to visit a smithy, and as luck would have it, I know a good one. He's a bit old, but he works well with steel. I'll take you to his forge while Heirren finishes up here."
The forge Svetlana leads Daen, Luthor, and Kazimir to is tucked away toward the safe end of Peddler's Alley, near a baker's shop and a few clothiers. It doesn't seem like much; just a small building big enough for to cover the flames and a porch for the anvil. Neither does the big, grey-haired man working there, at first. Though broad-shouldered and bare-chested, he nevertheless takes a moment to readjust his grip on he's swinging after each blow as he crashes it onto a wide, flat bit of metal. He finishes, squinting at it, and then without a moment's waste, dunks it into a wide trough of water, where it hisses and sputters. Only then does he look up.
"'Lana! You're back!" The big man stands, sets the hammer down carefully, and then rushes over to envelop Svetlana in a big hug, which she dutifully returns.
”Yes, I’m back, but only for a week or so. This is Kazimir, Luthor, and Daen.” She points to each of you in turn before continuing. ”Friends, this is Marzell Obriensk. My father.”
”Mikael? He has the late-night shift at the gate, Moondays, Wealdays, and Stardays. Oathday today, so I’m not sure where to find the bastard.” The guard offers a quickly-sketched-out and very shallow bow to Laliytsa and Cyanne before going back to his sandwich.
Inside the building, Laliytsa is confronted by dozens of smashed and half-melted bottles and steins, charred and blackened furniture, and dangerous footing. It seems the floor of the Burnt Onion was spanned over an extensive basement, and as she continues, she hears an ominous *creak* and then a popping sound as one of the supporting beams gives way.
Cyanne, for her part, remembers Peddler’s Alley from her days at the academy; a double row of shacks and stalls stacked atop each other against the back of nearby tenements. Despite the location, the upper-crust of Restov sends its servants to shop there, for many exotic and high-quality bits of merchandise can be found there. Also present is a certain baker Cyanne knows... Mikal Miller’s Mikal’s Delights.
As the floor creaks under her Laliytsa has a moment to reflect on what a bad idea it was to stomp around on the burnt floor
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----------
When his angel asked him to stay, how could he refuse? Though the venue was public, she basically was demonstrating her love for him through dance. She was saying goodbye and at the same time was affirming that she felt he was better than that life. Though she found it useful, and good at the time, she was willing to cast it all aside to help him. He was so filled with a feeling he couldn't quite describe. It was so warm, so honestly refreshing and beautiful that all the former fatigue melted away like butter in the forge. He smiled despite himself.
She loved him desperately, and she was telling her entire world. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops, she wanted to let everyone know. This was the kind of love that his mother held for his father. The kind of love that would undo her if he did not allow it to be fulfilled. If he understood it correctly, he would be a fool to let it pass, and just as cruel as his unforgiving father. What did it matter if she had something in her past that he was ashamed of? Her life would be just as in peril whether he loved her or not, possibly more so in case of the latter as he wouldn't be around to protect her at all.
Suddenly it all became clear. To honor his mother was to do for a love like hers what her love longed for. To finish her greatest heartache with a reversal of the same. He couldn't now help but fall completely, utterly, irreversibly in love with his blue-haired beauty that was leaving no one with any doubt whom she loved. He would be the envy of all, and the hero of his own ideals. He did not have to deny his passions and ambitions in this anymore.
One who had known Daen before this day would find it strange that such a serious young man would have such a display of joy on his face. And in truth it really began to hurt. But in his own mind, nothing else even mattered. She was dancing for just him, right then, and his countenance so thoroughly displayed his appreciation for everything that she was, regardless of what anyone would ever think. He was going to let her know what was in his own heart, and set her free from the prison of doubt though it cost him his own life. He would be to her what he always thought his mother needed, what the bards would sing about, and the satisfaction of her heart for as long as he lived.
His mind began to whirl into plans and machinations. He had to let her know in such a way. He had to express his own thoughts and feelings in his own method, a way that she would understand that her love was met with equal fervor. And the ideas began to flow in a powerful torrent through his mind and heart. He would sweep her away, together with him, over the horizon.
Upon their movement to a smithy, Daen noted the utilitarian atmosphere and no nonsense feel of the place, recognizing an appreciation and familiar spirit here. The hometown and intimate feel should also be of use to Kazimir, and suddenly he had little doubt they'd do well here. That doubt all but vanished when he realized they were dealing with Svetlana's relative. It's even possible they'd get a good deal out of it, but even if they didn't he could be assured of good service.
"My friend here is in need of a more useful armor. We'll be getting into a few more scuffles in the near future and he'll need some good protection. Do you have anything we can take a look at?"
"Hey Lali! I know someone on Peddlar street. My brother's bakery is..." Cyanne breaks off as the floor crashes beneath her friend. "Lali?! Lali, are you okay?"
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Marzell frowns and grabs Svetlana by the hand, pulling her into the sweltering little smithy. A heated conversation follows, with the words “harlot”, “a+&$$+$”, ”pregnant”, and “bastard” thrown around heavily. By the end of the conversation, which lasts a full three minutes, both emerge, covered in sweat and soot and Marzell looking much chastened. Svetlana speaks first. ”He’ll do it. Won’t you, daddy?” The glare she shoots him is almost enough to give chills, and he turns his head away and looks at the ground, sullen.
”You know I hate doing this, right?” He pleads with Svetlana, who shoots him another glare, before deciding to do his job. ”Okay. Armor. You’re not a Gorumite, are you? I can’t stand Gorumite armor. Look, there’s not much call for small smithy armor in Restov these days, so I don't keep much in stock. Got an old breastplate that'd be about right for sizing, and I remember the measurements, but I hope you're not looking for a big rush job.
Falgrin Golushkin, he’s got a trip-hammer that can do a breastplate in two hours. It’d take me all day for a decent one, and longer for something with the articulated joints you’d want. A full suit of plate? I’d need to hire some assistants, and that’d increase the cost, unless someone here wants to do it. But that someone...she’d need experience.” He looks at Svetlana pointedly, smirking as she looks away and crosses her arms across her chest. ”That’s what I thought.”
Map Here, Not Above!
With one last *pop* sound, the Burnt Onion’s floor gives way, opening a ten-foot-wide hole in the tavern’s floor right under Laliytsa. Fortunately for the ranger, something breaks her twenty foot fall to the basement’s stone floor. Unfortunately, it’s a full-sized barrel of pungent Rostlander ale, which breaks under her weight, dousing her in the bitter brew.
As she recovers from her fall, Laliytsa is able to take in her new environment. Dusky at best, the only light trickles in from the hole she seems to have created in the floor, which is further disrupted from what’s left of the thatch roof above. The floor below her seems covered in shattered boards, complete with a cracked beam that must have taken a dozen men to push into position, now cracked neatly in half. Its descent broke a dozen other barrels, and the floor is sodden with beer. Other barrels lie in racks, stacked nearly to the ceiling twenty feet above, but any torches that were lit have long since burned out, plunging the far corners of the room into a murky darkness.
If it looks clear, she sings a solid note into existence to anchor herself, whips it, and then swings in to join Lali and help her get out. "Hang in there, Lali!"
A thought then struck him, a partially absurd one to be sure but there'd be no reason not to at least mention it. "If you find you are short on help, I have some experience, but not much." He pulled his sword from it's sheath and displayed it before the appriasing eye of the smith. "It's not junk, but it's no masterpiece either. I learned from Corianos Aldori the art of the sword, and part of that was knowing how they are made and fixed. One cannot always count on having the proper personnel to get things done and a certain amount of experience is always useful. So I was taught my way around a forge. If it makes the difference between the two armors, I'll gladly give my service for the greater protection if you think it would be useful."
The impact drives the air from Laliytsa's lungs. She gasps for air and the smells makes her cough even harder. "BLRGH. Gonna hafta get new clothes.” The ranger staggers to her feet, shakes her hands to get the beer off, and then gives Cyanne a look that’s part gratitude and part annoyance. ”Ach. Didn’ hafta jump down too. Don’ wanna get ya hurt too. I’ma okay, justa little bruised.” Her expression flips to despair ”Yeh think this stuf’ll come outta my armor?”
As she talks she’s looking around for a way out.
"I'm not after anything fancy," Kazimir says awkwardly, not entirely sure who he should be looking at after the little spat but eventually deciding on Marzell. "As my friend says, I'm not in service to someone so... bloodthirsty," he finishes weakly, after taking a moment to search for the word. "Really, something simple will be fine."
"Don't fret." Cyanne grins and waggles her fingers. "Once we get back upstairs, I can get all the stains and smell off, no problem. As for getting out of here, that's easy." She points to her whip, still hanging off her beamed eight note in the key of C. "So long as I concentrate, the note will stay. I can't do any other spells, but we have a way to climb out, see? I climbed everything as a child. Lirpeth said I was part monkey, though she said it in the semi-disapproving tone that she used whenever I climbed somewhere I wasn't supposed to."
Map is Here
As Laliytsa’s eyes adjust slowly to the darkness, she notices that the beam that broke doesn’t seem to have splintered in the middle as one might expect a burnt-out beam to do. Instead, its line of breakage is nearly straight up until the very top. A few feet away is a small, rusty hacksaw and a gold-and-silver emblem with the swan and sun of House Lebeda embossed on it.
For Cyanne’s part, her trip down into the basement is uneventful, but as she swings in, her darkvision picks up the shape of a small child at the back of the western row of barrels. Clad in rags and obviously filthy, it sobs a few times and then takes a step back before gasping as it falls down a hole in the floor.
”Armor’s different than weapons, boy. What do you know about post-forge work?” Marzell walks over to Daen, looking him over. ”It’s a lot of intricate stuff, very tedious, and that’s just to make the plates move with the body. Get it wrong and it’ll seize up. Lots of joints and rivets. You’ll be punching holes in what I forge, then dropping pins into ‘em.”
While he does that, Svetlana sits down on one of the workbenches, determinedly not looking at her father. After a minute of rubbing her belly, she stands, walks quickly behind the smithy, and disappears from sight. A few minutes pass before she comes back, looking decidedly unwell and holding a rope with a dozen bits of string tied onto it at even intervals. She makes her way over to Kazimir, tosses the rope on the ground, and begins working the straps and buckles that keep him in his armor. ”Measuring time, Kaz.” As she runs the rope around his chest and waist, she grumbles to herself about her father, making sure the old man can hear bits and pieces of it as she goes.
Cyanne's eyes widen. "Lali, there's a kid down here, and I think she's hurt!"
Leaving her note hanging in the air along with the dancing lights she'd previously cast, Cyanne attempts to walk softly down the row of barrels, but between the stickiness of the beer and scattered debris crunching underfoot, she's the loudest she's ever been.
"Ow!" She gives up on the stealth as a particularly large piece of barrel snaps under foot, whacking her ankle. Hopping on one foot, she takes deep breaths and then calms herself. The kid is scared. She needs to be calm, friendly and confident.
"Hey kid! Are you okay? My name is Cyanne, and my friend over there is Lali. I saw you fall. My friend Lali fell too, but I just swung down here like a silly person." She relies on her beautiful azata voice, hoping that it will calm the child. "What can we call you? And is it okay if we help you out of here, and maybe get you some food and clean clothes?"
Cyanne doesn't want to offer to try to find the kid's family, at least not until after she has a better idea of why this child was hiding in a burnt out ruin.
It doesn't surprise Laliytsa to find evidence of sabotage. She picks up the House Lebeda symbol, stuffs it in her pocket, and is staring at the hacksaw when Cyanne spots the child. The ranger hustles over as quickly as she can in the dim light. "A kid? How'd ya get down here? Gotta get ya out."
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His eye caught Svetlana beginning the measurements, he brought to bear his final thoughts. "I am interested in success, Mr. Obriensk. If I'll be of use, you have my services. If not, I will be working just as hard in other ways to give my crew the best chances of success. You're the expert in this though, so I defer the decision to you."
"Four or five days?" Kaz asks suddenly, turning to where Daen is discussing business with the forgemaster and disrupting Svetlana's measurements. "It'll take that long?" Suddenly flush with embarrassment, he realizes he shouldn't be surprised; after all, how many hours had he spent with his grandmother, piecing his old hides together? "We only have a week here, and I'm sure there's more you want to see. You shouldn't spend most of the stay cooped up in a forge on my account." After a beat, he sighs, muttering, "I don't have a leg to stand on, do I?" He succumbs to Svetlana's clucks and pokes, obediently holding his arms out at shoulder-height.
*Kof...kof kof*
From down in the hole in the floor of the Burnt Onion’s basement, which seems to go down at least twenty feet, the unwashed, rag-clad child seems to be trying to regain its breath from its fall. After another minute or two, it starts sobbing again, whining piteously. ”Ooooow...I think I b-b-broke something. I c-c-can’t move my arm!” After a minute, the voice calms down enough to talk about something besides her pain. ”I’m...I’m Erinat. I’ve b-been stuck down here since...s-since the fire…Can you help me? There’s m-monsters, and th-the m-men with the black bear patches keep throwing th-things at me. And now I’m h-hurt!”
”You seem competent, but to be honest, I was hoping for someone else.” Marzell looks at Svetlana pointedly. In response, the girl cinches the measuring rope around Kazimir’s waist, looks at the number, and then throws the rope down on the ground in anger.
”See, this is why I ran away! This is why I went to the wasp-ladies at Cinnamon House! Why I became a doxy and why I had to leave Restov!” She rounds on her father, arms raised above her head, and then lowers them in exasperation. ”Fine! Fine, I’ll take your son you never had’s place in your forge, but just for this week, and just until this job’s done. He’s 8 ropes, 6 ropes, 5 ropes, 5 ropes, 8 ropes. Now, what do you want, Kazimir? He can do a very well-made breastplate, or a suit of something heavier.” Svetlana’s face is flushed and her chest heaves as she sucks in deep breaths in an attempt to calm down.
Though something about the nature of the kid''s outlandish statements should have tipped her off, Cyanne has always had a soft spot towards kids. "Monsters? What sort of monsters?" Clearly, not the type that eat injured children right away, still Cyanne dutifully looks around with her darkvision.
"Also... Men with black bear patches?" Cyanne wonders if she remembers any political group that bears that symbol as an affiliation.
"I guess it doesn't matter. I'll climb down to you, okay? Do you like animals? I have a mongoose named Tango who's very friendly." Distractions often work well with scared kids, and nothing works better at distracting kids thank cute animals.
Cyanne secures the rope as well as she can before climbing down. "Lali, can you hang on to the rope?"
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"Ah, of course." He smiled at the two family members with a bit of a pained smile, particularly settling on Svetlana. "It is better to have a father-figure who wants to work with you than one who wishes you to have never been born. I sincerely envy more than pity you."
Turning to Kaz, he swiftly gave his opinion. "I'd recommend the full plate for superior protection as well as so that Svetlana and her father can spend more time together. Though she'd likely not admit it, that should happen and it would give her a good excuse to complain about it."
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Unsure of what to make of the apparent spat between Svetlana and her father, Kaz clears his throat nervously and places a hand on the woman's shoulder before speaking. "If you're sure you want to do this, I think I'd prefer the plate. Daen's right; the more protection I have out there, the better." He briefly wonders if he's asking Svetlana to do something she doesn't want to; in an attempt at self-reassurance, he reminds himself that she wouldn't have brought them here without expecting something like this. "Don't work too strenuously, alright?" he adds, glancing quickly at her belly. "I'd hate for you to hurt yourself."
Erinat clings to Cyanne as she arrives in the cavern below the Burnt Onion's basement, sniffling occasionally. Sure enough, one arm hangs limp at her side. "C-can we go up n-now? It's dark and scary down here, and the m-monster's going to get me!" She reaches into her pockets, pulling out a finely-embroidered emblem depicting a swan flying before a sun, which she presses into Cyanne's hand. "P-please? I'll give you this. I found it down below!"
"Of course, Kazimir. It would be downright rude not to help. Besides, I'm sure Daen has things he'd rather do than slave in the forge for four or five days." Svetlana nods in Kazimir's direction, then again at Daen. "I'll find you when it's done. The bill of sale from the Blade and Bargain should cover it."
Cyanne looks at the emblem of the swan flying beneath the sun, for a moment. Perhaps it, like the black bear, is a symbol of one of the noble houses.
She raises an eyebrow. House Lebeda and Medvyed? Maybe there's something to the girl's stories of monsters. "It's real pretty, but let's get you up, okay?" She tucks it into her blouse to look at later.
Cyanne lifts the girl securely over her shoulders. "I've got you, Erinat. Now, hang on!"
Tango chitters from Cyanne's other shoulder. "Yep. My. Shoulders. Good. For rides!" The words are tougher to get out as she climbs hand over hand up the rope, pulling both the girl and herself out of the hole.
y
y
y
y
Erinat looks at Cyanne, confused, for just a second before her face brightens and she climbs aboard. As the blue-haired woman climbs, the girl chatters away. "I've b-been living in Tumbledown f-for...well, as long as I can remember. I came here *kof* because Harry said there'd be good stuff here, and that I was light enough to make it around. Hey! You'd like Harry. He's my cousin, and we've been doing everything together. Maybe someday I'll show you to him. He'd probably think you were fun!"
When the two climbers (three, with the mongoose) make it to the top, the little girl looks up at the floor above apprehensively. "C-can I have a minute alone before w-we climb that? I'm nervous."
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Meanwhile, Daen, Kazimir, and Luthor leave Svetlana and her father and find themselves on one end of the bustling street people call Peddler's Alley. The dozens of businesses there cater to seemingly every need, from simple leather tack for horses to a shop claiming to sell genuine Tien silks in all sorts of styles.
In the shadows between shops, a strange creature, insect-like but for its hands and feet and with a lobster-like head, peeks out. It looks either way, then begins sawing away with a rusty old hacksaw at a supporting strut.
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Laliytsa leans her full weight back, trying to steady the rope as Cyanne climbs back up, but her mind’s elsewhere. How has this girl been down here for a week? Why hasn’t she been calling for help? Those guards outside, they would have heard her cries wouldn’t they? If she’s been here since the place burned down, wouldn’t that mean she was here when the fire started?
Just because somebody looks like a child doesn’t mean they….it….are what they appear to be. Or, they could still be a young girl, but that doesn’t mean they’re innocent. That small hacksaw back there, somebody the size of the girl could use that. If you were a giant %(@&%(#*, the kind that would hire somebody small and easily dismissed to sabotage a building for you, would you want the girl you hired to get away to spread the tale?
Maybe she’s overly suspicious, maybe she’s not. Either way, she’s not letting the kid out of her sight. ”Nope. Not if’n there’s monsters down here. Ya can take much time as ya want once we’re outta here.”
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As they went their way, Daen took a moment to appreciate the finer things the peddlers had to offer. Growing up in a noble house did have it's downside other than the company. It left him with expensive tastes.
Distracted and bored from the actual sales, he spots something truly interesting out of the corner of his eye. Wondering if he's seen something like this before, he racks his brain trying to think if he'd read anything on the subject.
Seeing as it was definitely up to no good, he made sure of what he saw, then nudged Luthor and Kaz, giving them a look that put them on alert. Then he took off toward it at full sprint, drawing his sword as he went. Hopefully he could catch it by surprise. If it was busy at work, it may have not even noticed that he saw it.
Lali's comment makes Cyanne raise an eyebrow. She glances up at the girl.
The girl looks and feels like an ordinary girl, but under all that dirt, who can tell?
"Erinat, I can think of two reasons why you loved climbing with me to the basement but don't want to climb to the top floor. The first reason is that you see my whip hanging off a piece of magic floating in mid-air, and that makes you nervous. If so, know that I put that piece of magic there. It's staying put until we get out."
"The second reason I can think of is that you and Harry were casing this place. You're old enough, and have the right build, for second story work. And you're no longer favoring that arm. Either you don't want to face your handler empty-handed, or you're afraid the law will spot you. I'm not going to turn you in, and I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you either if I can help it."
"You want to tell us what's really going on? No matter what, the offer of food and clothes still holds. Plus, you'll get to play with Tango, and learn more about what Lali and I were doing here. I know you're curious about that, right?"
Back in the open air, Kaz takes a deep breath through his nose, centering and calming himself. It had been a stressful experience, and he was still uncertain if he'd made the right choice. Turning to Daen, he hesitantly says, "Thanks for your help in there. I'll admit, I didn't quite know how to handle it." Noticing the half-elf seemingly not paying attention, instead watching something else, he follows his gaze with a frown, seeing nothing out of the ordinary - or at least, what he assumes is the ordinary for the city. When Daen breaks into a run, though, he takes a moment to glance back at Luthor inquiringly, before following, easily keeping pace in his old armour.
As Cyanne finishes talking to Erinat, the girl starts to cry again. "I've...I've never b-been to the s-second story, I promise! I just w-want to leave." Suddenly, she freezes in apparent terror, though Laliytsa senses something off about it, and points. "Monsters! Aaaaaaah!"
The "monsters" Erinat's speaking of prove to be a trio of hideously-dirty, smelly men smaller than her. One of them shouts something in a string of harsh language, and Erinat flinches away, sobbing.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Screams of ”Aaaaah! Madman! He’s got a sword!” and ”Keep it at the Square of Blades, fool!” accompany Daen’s charge across the busy street. Citizens scatter, with the exception of a 20-something singer, who stops singing and stares with wide eyes as the half-elven swordsman runs right at her.
For the thing’s part, it spots Daen through the chaos and saws more quickly, rusty sawteeth digging into the wood surprisingly quickly, ripping and tearing at the strut until…
*CRACK*
The strut snaps, and the shingled awning it supported begins to give way, careening dangerously over the oblivious singer.
The way that thing’s yelling at Erinat….it seems to know her. It’s interesting, but Lali pushes it to the back of her mind; right now she has to focus on the overt enemies.
Laliytsa moves aways from Cyanne, strafing left to force the creatures to choose between two targets. She’ll pull out her bow and fire at the nearest creature. Grimples. Covered in lice 'an can projectile vomit."
Noticing Daen's beeline towards the bizarre saboteur, Kaz turns his attention instead to the collapsing awning. "Look out!" he calls, watching as the singer continues staring at the charging half-elf. Muttering an apology to no-one in particular, he rushes the stage, lunging at the woman in an attempt to push her out of harm's way.
"Grimples! The only fey lower than mites... What do they want with you, Erinat? A bheil thu fey*?"
Since the Grimples were thoughful enough to clump themselves together like that, Cyanne glitters them with pretty, pretty sparkles.
Somewhat distracted by looking at all the stalls while talking to kazimir and Daen about innane topics, Luthor took a fair few long moments to catch on to what was going on. Following Daens heading, he spotted the creature a moment before it finished its work. "No, no, not madman, just an, uhm, concerned citizen...coming through!" He shouted as he gave chase, almost being bowled over by fleeing civilians.
"Vexgit, a sort of gremlin. Likes traps, avoids combat, should be easy!" He shouted at Daen, his voice trailing off somewhat at the end as he stopped to gape at Kazimirs heroics. He clenched his eyes shut as strut and paladin both rushed towards the singer.
Even so, with Rikka watching Daens progress and cluing Luthor in, his eyes opened again, cloudy and eerily white as he almost reluctantly dragged his attention away from Kazimir.