Delroy shrugged once, "Not exactly like me…" he says to Cealach, "Her manner of speech tells me she's on the road toward Ordainment? Or she is just uncommonly pious. I'm simply a witch finder. Trained by the church, yes, but my investiture is State granted."
"So, are you members of a caravan? Or protecting someone as they make their way across the countryside? Or a group of well-meaning people set about on tasks to help the people of these lands?" Javiera asked as she stepped inside. She'd done some work for friends of the order and given all the proceeds back to the church, so they could continue their good works.
"None, we are investigating some recent attacks is all."
"Well-meaning? No. I protect no one. I help those who pay me to do so. I am here to find out what is keeping my current employer from doing his business. When I find out, I get to rip them apart with my claws. Then, I go home."
"My family has asked me to look into this problem," Natalia adds. "It is a business, and not altruism that motivates us I'm afraid."
"Recent attacks, people prevented from doing their business. That sounds rather serious. If you need help with it, please let me know. Besides myself, I know some people who might be of assistance in whatever matters might trouble you in these areas." Javiera replied, having forgotten about the snacks with this development. It could be any number of things plaguing the area, but still, for the safety of those in the town, she would risk her life if needed.
"You want to help, fine. You know your way around the Cutach? Take me there. Got something to deliver, and somebody to find."
"While I'd certainly love the company of a light of S'Allumer's justice while moving among heathens, I must warn you our business involves some rather unsavory characters, and we may need to parlay before getting to the justice bit." Guillaume de Laurraine was quick to the point, as often he was, and adjusted his hat with the fastidious manner of one quite used to waiting long periods.
"You mean you do not want me to smite every unsavory character who comes along?" Javiera asked with a slight chuckle. "I doubt I could keep up with such a tall order. I know I cannot smite them all, and some just need to be redeemed and watched, rather then slain outright."
She turned to Ceallach "Who are you looking for? I may know of them."
"Don't know. He hasn't told anyone who, only that he is looking."
"A slave woman, a Phelan like myself. Knows a friend, supposed to find her, deliver something. Eamonn told me that she wears manacles around her neck, hands, and feet. I suppose she's a slave, though I figured they'd be kept closer to their masters." Ceallach speaks plainly, and it's obvious he's irritated. One would get the feeling that he doesn't like people being kept in bondage.
"Well, then we will find this woman. Do you know her name, or other then she wears manacles on her neck feet and hands? Still, that is a bit odd. So, I will help you in your search, and we should be able to find her with some effort." Javiera Replied, as she smiled at Ceallach. Snacks and rest could wait for the moment, while this person is found.
Ceallach starts to respond, then narrows his eyes and growls. "Damn you Eamonn, ya didn't tell me her name! How the hell am I gonna find her without that? Bastard." He continues growling and grumbling under his breath.
Cutach, or "The Stumps" in Calabrese, is not a traditional slum. It's certainly still a slum by any measure of reckoning, especially when compared to the majesty of Harrowgate right next door, but most slums don't sit in the middle of a massive clear-cut wood with no walls or landscape to protect themselves, and most city slums have at least ramshackle shanty towns going for them.
The Cutach has none of those things. Just lots of huts, tents, and a few more sturdy reinforced sod buildings, the lumber necessary for "real" housing all taken by the city. More surprising is that the place is distinctly (and incongruously, given the surroundings) Phelan. Though half the inhabitants are certainly not wolves, many of them bear various markings in the woad common to the tribes, and all of them are speaking a smattered mix of Calabrese and Berla Feini.
The inhabitants of the place seemed wary, even hostile at first, but as more catch sight of Ceallach the hostility diminishes, and when it's plain Javiera is escorting the bunch everyone goes back to their work or play as though you weren't even there. Clearly someone is a known quantity here.
Winding your way to the slum center takes time, but the tour stops in front of what Ceallach clearly recognizes as a chieftain's home. Voices from inside are raised and hushed at the same time, clearly arguing about something, culminating in an angry male wolf storming out, and correcting his course to move away from the group immediately. By his collar he would be Fiann, but he seems ill disposed to speak to anyone, especially outsiders.
The inside of the structure is more welcoming. A middle-aged male wolf, still hale and hearty and clearly still fit for fighting, (though bearing a clear mark of exile upon him) eyes your group warily, but chuffs an assent as he sees the Phelan and the Paladin leading everyone inside. He sweeps aside his robes, noble even in their threadbareness, and sits on a tall wicker chair near a firepit. "You'll be wanting to see that one, I think. I'd offer greetins proper, but the longer I'm away from my home the less I find 'em leaving my muzzle in good taste."
Standing on the other side of the firepit is a rather curvaceous and comely she-wolf, braided and twisted locks sprouting from her head almost like a mane, held back by leather cords. Much of her fur is dyed in sinuous, sharp woad, the small amount of clothing on her barely avoiding sky-clad-ness (a crime in Bisclavret cities). This is the concession the powerful Atavist makes to decency...should they care to.
Manacles clank on her ankles and wrists, though no chains bind them, and a curious thing rests on her neck: a Fiann's collar, but made of Bisclavret steel. Intelligent honey colored eyes dance with amusement at the sight of the large and unruly group piling inside. When she speaks, it's with a voice of authority that is harsh but smooth, like a well-aged whiskey poured from oak barrels on an isle.
"Och, and ye'll be the interlopers that sparra gabbled on-all-the-day about. Well, I suppose I'm ta "vet" ye and send ye on your way...and seein' as ye got one o' the few decent folk in that city with ye, I think ye'll pass. But g'awn, say ya piece. Folk luv ta talk."
Resigning to the fact that introductions are easily skipped over in this land, Quinn looks to her wolfen companion figuring he could better explain what they were here.
"Aye, the bird does love his words. I prefer my fist, but he said I shouldn't go about hunting trouble. I don't figure myself dumb enough to take on the whole of the kilters here, so I play it safe for now." Ceallach looks the she wolf over again, eyes dancing to her curves.
"A fine one you are. No wonder Eamonn likes you." Ceallach goes digging for the locket, and after pulling it out of what little pockets he has, presents it to the she wolf.
"From Eamonn, lady. He says he still remembers you. Ceallach Mac Seitheach am I, fighter and Atavist. I am glad to see that some still heed the wild call out here."
Javiera stood back, and let Ceallach do the talking, since he knew what they wanted, and why they were here. She'd brought him here, and now she would wait to take him back to his friends. If they had business that she could help with, perhaps she would find out now. They seemed decent folk, a bit more mercenary than she knew, but that was the adventuring life, she supposed.
"Prefer yer fist? Aye should think it would leave too many behind your path. Would that the claws were sharper, I say. But mayhap ye haven't seen enough to need 'em..." she trailed off when presented with the locket. One of a very few Phelan things made from metal that wasn't a weapon or a home-stuff, it bore the shape of a fairy's tear in gold so burnished and dark it was hardly recognizable as such.
As she read the message her eyes got wider and a snarl started deep in her chest. "Eamonn, ye damned fool! What fairyfloss ye get in twixt the rowan and the ash..." suddenly seeming to realize that she was among company, the lady stuffed the message in her cleavage and addressed Ceallach once more. "Right, good a place for it as any. And all-the-day Eamonn fed ye little about me but what yer own nut drew up, aye? Aye that's his way and never will his river be diverted. Certainly he don't value me for my looks as much as you have; rather I think it be the blood betwixt us two that calls him on so earnestly. I thank ye for playin' the runnin' boy for us, it pains to have family gone so far ye cannae even howl to them."
Dangling the locket from one finger, she peered at it pensively and continued. "Know then that the People here call me Taisheah-in-Chains, though me fortunes make them mostly chains of air and deed rather 'an steel, but yer peerin' may have kenned that I still make a token attempt at the letter of the Bianfaels' law. When you've trained half a life at the Fenechas, the "Bisclavret" legals are simple. But ye're not here to here me tale. Yer business calls and rightly so."
"Go up yonder to where the lake becomes the river, and ye'll find more tunnels than ye ever cared to. If ye seek to parley, speak the words "The laterose comes not in spring, but blooms through the winter of the year" when they ask ye to halt and be dead and all that nonsense. I hate to cut Donovan's folk out o' the carvin' now considerin' all the good they done us, but somethin's takin' 'em mighty strange in recent days, and they be foul now like never afore, and they take look at the Cutach like a ripe fruit for eatin'."
"I hope you understand that. I can some ways tell it was calabrese, or is it some kind of special...form? Related language?" She looks at Ceallach inquiringly.
Delroy seemed confused by the talk as well. He'd been away from home for far too long, and the dialect here is different than the Müire, though the 'coon would be hard pressed to even notice.
"Focus on the words you do know, Quinn. That is what I do."
Delroy's voice was very similar to one you might hear explaining their crazy uncle in the attic.
"Och, an apology ta ye. Long a day and I see one o' me kin walking through the door and I ferget manner entire. That were the Berla Feini yer ears dished up to ye, tongue o' the Phelan. I 'spect ye'll be more appreciative of the Calabrese one tho? Not much to say about the whole situation. Donovan's gang hiding in the caves nearby are yer targets. Give 'em the pass-phrase I tossed ta yer friend here and they'll let ye inside for jaw-flappin'. What ye do after that...is up to ye."
From outside a few voices approaching drifted in. It seemed Taisheah's counsel was desired by more than a few in this neighborhood.
"That's all well and good, I think we shall start there. Thank you." He nods low to Taisheah, "We've taken enough of your time, I suppose you'll know soon enough if we've failed. Fare ye well, Taisheah." Being close to the Muire has begun to unschool Delroy's accent, letting it peek through.
"I think the 'coon has the right of it. We'll leave yer fur for now, Brehon. Let us meet again some moonlit night. We'll sound the howling call to our distant brethren."
"Aye, we should do that. Not many o' the wildin' folk in these parts, and fewer still amiable sorts." She circled around the group and led them out, pointing out the direction of their quarry before leaving to resume her activities.
The sun was still high, and they had a lead. Did they forge ahead?
The shores of Lake Muire were pleasant enough, though the specific business of the day soured the jovial mood otherwise engendered by the grand loch. It had taken the group the better part of an hour to find the cave as pointed out to them by Taisheah-in-Chains, and the opening appeared like the deformed nostril of a sleeping titan, roots and lichens adorning the walls haphazardly as a warm, muggy breeze from some underground byway wafted lazily out to the assembled bravos.
The reddish-white stone around them would take on the hue of flame in a few candle-marks' time, and it was likely to be full night by the time they exited if things went like many expected them to. Or hoped them to. Torches for any not capable of night-sight were easy to acquire, and they made handy improvised weapons if necessary.
No guards had been posted outside, and no torches lit the inward path for those not blessed by night. The steady drip of some far off water source pinged the party's ears repeatedly, but for a long minute nothing stirred.
And then out of the blackness, a near-serpent-like whisper came. "Who stands at the gate to this abyss? What creatures seek and see in the gloam of unlit vaults?"
The voice disappeared almost as soon as it had come, and the echo of normal speech came up the passage, a wheezing sort of voice, as though its owner lived with chronic respiratory problems.
"Roight, roight, who goes there and all that s$@&! Come now, haven't got all even! If you're the ones to parley from that git in 'skellian speak your passings. If you're an idjit who wandered out here, go 'way before I loose this crossbow on ye."
Delroy was about to answer the sinister voice with "The late rose comes… Uhm…" Then with the change of tone, if not speaker, the 'coon spoke up, "We're the berks from the git, aye. I might speak for all of us when saying we'd rather exchange names than violence, I know I would much rather talk."
Delroy looked back at those assembled with him, and asked in a far more quiet manner: "So which one of us is leading this little expedition?" In other words; Who's doing all the important talk?
Mind d8, Observation d6
Race: Listen and Race: Forest
If there's no guards that are visible, some might be hiding.
Quinn facepalms after the expected talker decides, very loudly, to not be the talker. She then looks at Rosza.
"Oh, for the love of all...!" Natalia bursts out, having been quiet and almost unnoticed up until now.
"I should have the head of the man that said you were worth something!" She continues as she pushes her way to the front.
"The laterose comes not in spring, but blooms through the winter of the year," she recites. "Now where can I find 'that git in 'skellian', as you bluntly put it?"
The air around Natalia stirs her dress, and stirs up a slight cloud of dust at her feet.
"Find 'im? I don't know where the hell he is, why don't you? You came from 'im after all!"
Into the fading light came a middle-aged, plump looking brown rabbit pointing a crossbow of unlikely size and unwieldy girth at the party.
"Roight, yew said yer passins', shouldn't question, shouldn't ask. Follow me and-" His voice abruptly cut off as his dark eyes darted rapidly between the assembled group. "Ye've got some of means among ye? And...a child? Ah hell, keep on yer guard then. Like as not Brimley'll decide you're worth more in chains, and ye'll not like that, 'specially the lasses. Not that the gang ain't equal opportunity in slave-dealing just...well I think ye know what I mean and I'll shut me jaw and lead ye to yer parley."
With that the rabbit bravely turned his back on many armed people and started back into the tunnels, calling out reassurances to unseen people.
"Child? Child!?! Did he just call me a CHILD?!?" Natalia's voice jumps an octive, and her wand is florished about. "I'll show you child...!"
The wind around her picks up, and the smell of ozone is in the air. Natalia begins to utter arcane words...
"Calm yourself, anger leads only to ruins." She puts a calming hand on Natalia's shoulder.
"M'lady, Please let's not do anything regrettable yet. I feel they have one learned in the Green and Purple here, somewhere." While Delroy wasn't one for wrestling someone to the ground to keep them from casting, he did have more subtle ways to control a Magic user.
"And I'm sure our new friend would not have said something so blatantly undiplomatic if he had known better."
The rabbit turned and popped his head back out of the cave. "Are ye not a child then? Sorry, sorry, shoulda known better, me cousin Percy no taller than a willowreed hisself. Well, not literal-like ye unnerstand just..." he paused and visibly stopped himself from rambling by putting hand over his own mouth. "I'll just stop while I'm ahead. 'pologies, madam. We really do need ta be goin' though. Who knows what dances at the loch be-nights?"
The rabbit glances fearfully about before scurrying back into the relative safety of the cave, waving the group to follow quickly.
Natalia takes several deep breaths, and then mutters, "Apology accepted." between gritted teeth. She lowers her wand, although the errant gusts of wind around her do not die down.
Then she bursts out, "Get to following him!" and heads in after the rabbit.
Quinn follows right behind Natalia.
The 'coon bit his lip while trying to keep a straight face. While what happened wasn't at all funny, the relief Delroy felt was threatening to give rise to a nervous chuckle. Once he had composed himself, he followed Natalia and Quinn into the cave.
The cave mouth stretched away into darkness. Yorick the rabbit pulled a rhomboid stone from a pouch, and immediately the surrounding were lit up as though he carried a torch in hand. Such a thing was certainly beyond mere bandits, as it was also beyond the ken of the wisest sages of the era. What strange things had these hoodlums unearthed here below the sunlight's reach?
The dark brown-yellow stone didn't seem hewn by sentient hands, though if it had been eroded naturally it just happened to be very uniform. As the corridor dropped steadily downward the air rapidly became chilled from the lack of light and heat, prompting Yorick to voice his hope that everyone had brought warm clothes and underthings in a rather silly, nasal voice. Finally after many minutes of walking with nothing but the steady drip of water from stalactites, voices echoed down the passageway.
"Roight then, this be tha place. I warn you, don't make any sudden moves for weapons, and whatever you do, don't upset the boss. He's been a bit...ravin' like of late and we don't need none of that today. Clear?"
Without waiting for reply Yorick stepped into a grand cavern filled with light sources by which to see something that could only be described as a thieves' market. Stalls, tables, and benches filled with colors and all manner of goods were being hawked to interested parties of all shape, size, and pelt, not the least of which were well-dressed Bisclavret and their minor house counterparts.
Above all the commotion, hustle and bustle stood a...well, to call it a dais would be like calling a pyramid a small structure. Upon the king of all daises sat a chair carved from what appeared to be white marble, and upon that chair sat a one-eyed black-furred wolf dressed in rather gaudy, almost circus-like colors, particularly his kilt, which is almost kaleidoscope like in its weaving. Upon seeing Yorick enter he stands and roars a stentorian voice out over the crowd, who pay attention or not as suits their temperament.
"AAAAAHHHHHHH! Yorick returns with our guests! Friends, customers, liars and cheats all, I bid you welcome our friends from Triskellian, who's fabled markets we can only dream of emulating. Tell me guests, why have you come? I can only assume something is wrong on poor Cedric's end, else why would he muddy the waters sending you all out here and risking the discovery he so fears, and which I have just inadvertently revealed, assuming no other has done it before my grand self?"
Will
Supernatural
Javira luckily, had enough sense to hold her tongue while dealing with such people. Sure, she would have loved to instruct them about the virtues of living a life of goodness, and thumped a few who wouldn't listen to her, but in this case, she was outnumbered, even if these people would help her.
So, she bit her tongue, and followed along, ignoring the stares she would get from some of the rogues.
Mind:
Will:
Supernatural:
You can't tell where it's coming from (other than everywhere) nor who may be responsible yet, however.
Ceallach looks over the whole assemblage gathered here, trying not to sneer in disgust. Cheats. Liars. Thieves. Slavers. They are all vermin. Rolling his shoulders he pops them, along with his whole arms, as he mentally prepares for a fight.
"I don't suppose ye'd be so kind as tah explain that remark further, eh?"
...
Quinn looks around warily, whispers "I didn't like how that felt, strange local magics."
"Cedric has had some middle man trouble, and we are here to find him. Easier to work from this end to find him and we can also be the show people to ease the robbery concerns of his less involved business partners."
As you respond to the wolf, it doesn't take sharp eyes to notice a number of bandits wielding crossbows sidling up behind other more conspicuous revelers. The whole cave seems to be smaller, cramped all of a sudden. Astounding detail stands out from every corner as the animal part of your minds instinctually find danger and prepare to fight or flee. The booming voice and echoes easily smother the sounds of bolts being cocked, but it's clear the next few moments hinge on the words relayed between you.
"Nothing so complicated really. Cedric the git and his mercenaries had a good game running for a while, but we've found a better way to make more coin...and Cedric of Launts ain't a part of it. Why? You want me to sing like yer songbirds back home? Fat chance o' that. I got a better idea: you all turn around n leave real quiet like, my boys escort you out of these lands, and you go back to 'Skellian without peeping about us. Otherwise...well, I think the nobles around town could use some new "criminal" slaves for their houses. Foreigners and bairns always bring in such good coin!"
Natalia watched as the danger around the group increased. 'If we can quietly get out of this trap, we can come back later...' she thought.
And then the wolf made his final threat.
Again the winds begin to swirl around Natalia, despite the closed air of the cavern.
"Bairns? Bairns?" she muttered in a low voice just loud enough for her companions to hear (she hadn't meant to speak at all).
Delroy rested his hand on Javiera's shoulder. Nine times he squeezed lightly. As soon as the message was given, Delroy stood back a little, "I think the wisest course of action is for us to leave and never speak of this." He then looked at Natalia, "And I'm the green one." While pointing to hims own head he drew a little version of the Green School's symbol with a claw-tip.
"Aye, bairns. Ye would not believe the coin that comes in helping these status-obsessed idiots destroy each others' succession lines. And foreigners of course have no rights at all! But these lords sure do love those stripes..." As the wolf continued to speak, a low, ruddy glow began to emanate from his remaining eye. "And I think mayhap I've let ye speak long enough. Ye haven't left yet, so I take that to mean you object to my operation, and I will summarily dismiss you in the manner I'm accustomed to. That is, I'm going to have you all shot and dumped in the river."
With a loud crack like a half-second peal of thunder, the crossbowmen hidden in the crowd worked their levers in perfect unison, and took aim.