As Sister Ismene talks, Jemmy calms down somewhat. By the end of her speech she's barely even sniffling. It's hard to say just how much of it is sinking in to her young mind, but her attention seems undivided. When she's handed the gold piece is the first time she actually looks up and into the Asmodean monk's face directly. Based on the look in her face, the stark black-and white worldview of a child appears to be crumbling fast as she tries to reconcile all the things she's seen and heard with the way she's actually been treated. She's still a little frightened, though, and when told to scram she quickly beats feet, tucking the gold piece into a pocket of her dress.
When Muziel finally catches up to Ismene, he sees a little girl scampering off. "Was that all? Time to go back to bed." He quickly snoozes once more.
In the morning he is ready to get going. "I'm off to see Teagan to identify some of our magic items."
-Posted with Wayfinder
Penelope listened, feeling pretty impressed and a little guilty at the ease dropping. Muziel nearly made her jump out of her skin when he caught up. Quickly she retreated back to her makeshift bunk and did her best to go back to sleep.
The next day has her a bit grumpy Food first? she asks the gnome. She is strangely starving. I'll go with you if we find breakfast, is what I mean.
"Sure. Nothing like a visit to the old Arch and Lark to grab a bite." Muziel had to admit he was feeling pretty hungry too!
-Posted with Wayfinder
Cimri is pretty eager to get some breakfast as well. Upon arriving at the Arch and Lark, you're quickly seated and your breakfast orders are given top priority in the kitchen. Madame Cembers hangs around your table. She's clearly still fairly rattled by the the events of the previous day, and is eager to ingratiate herself by providing as much news as she can, barely pausing for breath. Most of it sounds to be idle gossip, however some bits stick out a little. Doctor Gerya Rohalendi was seen with an unknown 'gentleman caller,' and rumors suggest that more people than usual have been touring the 'armory museum.'
Once out of earshot of prying eyes, Muziel brings up the news. "Lots of visitors to the Armory, eh? Well damn, just what I'd been expecting. Is it time for us to tour the armory museum? Or should we wait for a night tour?"
I always prefer night tours. The sun is a bad bad thing. Penelope admits while pushing her food around. She's hungry and all but this stuff is barely edible. But it doesn't hurt to give it a once over if we're lacking anything else to do. Hey, didn't we get some mail about the good doctor. Her being broke and begging to someone else to just stay up and running.
After finishing up with Jemmy, Ismene returns to the Jail with Muziel and accompanies the others to the Arch and Lark.
"Next time, I'm ordering off the menu," she complains, nonetheless forking mouthfuls of food and chewing with her mouth open. "Steak and eggs, how hard should that be?"
She listens to the gossip without paying it much attention. That stuff wasn't really that interesting to her; she never expected Cembers to turn up any real dirt. She almost misses the part about the doctor. "The doctor's having a hard time, huh? Can you find that letter? I want to read it myself. There's opportunity here, I can smell it!" Punctuating the point, she inhales deeply through her nose, but immediately regrets taking such a strong whiff of the Arch and Lark's oddly perfumed interior. "I gotta go see the notary today, but hitting up the Armory sounds like fun."
"Oh yeah, the letter!"
Muziel quite conveniently takes out a folded up letter, already fraying on the edges from wear and tear. He shows it around for all to see once more:
I hope you and your family are doing well, and that Remesiana is proving to be a more peaceful place to live than Longacre has become. Who could have forseen that when I moved here all those years ago to escape the pressures of big city life that it would be you folks in the big city who would get to be more relaxed? Forgive me for venting, dear cousin, but things here keep going from bad to worse on a daily basis. Just the other day our local sheriff -- a woman well liked and respected by everyone -- was dismissed without explanation or even a replacement appointed. This news came at the same time as a curfew was instated, making the town streets entirely off limits after sundown. Fortunately I've been assured by some of the Archbaron's agents that my medical practice can grant me an exemption to the curfew in the case where I have to deal with a sudden and unexpected emergency -- something which is a real and ever-present possibility in a community made up mostly of retired veterans. I don't know why the Archbaron is so paranoid. Surely this tiny, geriatric town can't be of any strategic value to anybody, no matter how discontented it might be.
But even my medical practice -- ever a source of joy and comfort to me -- has been fraught with bad news these days I'm afraid. Just yesterday I was informed by a courier from Scarlet Crown that I apparently owe three hundred gold pieces in back taxes. I'm not sure how that could have built up so quickly, and there's no way I can afford to pay it. As it is, I barely have enough money saved up to keep my little hospice going for another two or three weeks at most. Most of the people in my care have been abandoned by their families and abandoned by the government they once served, and my pleas for support from the Archbaron repeatedly fall on deaf ears. If I can't afford to keep my patients, there's no place for them to go. They're already nearing the ends of their lives, so without my care I'm sure their new residences would be the church graveyard within days, if not hours, to say nothing of those who aren't in my care yet, but will surely need to be soon.
Oh, my dear cousin, I don't know what I shall do! It breaks my heart to have to ask for aid from anybody, but if anyone would understand I would hope it would be you. Perhaps your husband's estate could see fit to underwrite me a small loan? Anything to help would be so greatly appreciated.
With love and hope, your affectionate cousin,
- Gerya Rohalendi
"So, I guess we could offer the Doc a loan if she'll tell us what's up? Not sure she'd buy it, though."
Muziel gets off his chair. "I'll check in at the office again after seeing Teagan. If you want to go see the notary, go for it!"
The gnome sends a whispered message over the wind to Koliah to inform him of the latest gossip before departing.
"The Armory you say? There is no doubt some interesting things to be seen there."
Off to see the necromancer than. Catch up with you later Ismene. Penelope gets and follows their gnome.
Tealan opens the door for you, dressed as always in his comfy robe and slippers. "Good morning, good morning," he says, sounding cheerfully. "I have to thank your for that display yesterday. I saw, not one, but three Nosoi. I haven't seen that many in one place since..." he trails off, thinking. "Well, it's been a while, at any rate. What can I do for you today?"
The notary is a fairly unimpressive building, even for Longacre, until one goes inside. The inner walls of the main room are lined with shelf upon shelf of ledgers, maps, and other codices. A very angular, uncomfortable-looking set of table and chairs sits in the far corner of the room, while an enormous desk sits just to the right of the entryway. The desk is incongruously both covered with all manner of papers and inks, while simultaneously remaining impeccably organized.
Sitting at the desk is a lean, balding man with thick, blonde mutton chops extending almost to his chin. A bell rings as Sister Ismene enters, causing him to look up from copying information from loose sheets into a thick ledger. He holds up a finger to the Asmodean monk while he checks a small, silver fob watch in his vest and returns it.
"Do you have an appointment?" he asks, eschewing pleasantries.
I'll stick with Penelope.
"Yesterday was quite the show!" agrees Muziel. "Too bad that so-called Angel Knight cut and ran. She's not what folks think she is."
Making his way inside, Muziel shows off some items. "Newfound loot - a few trinkets really, nothing more." Muziel shows off a wand, a scroll, and a satchel. "First two are magical. I'm not sure what that satchel is, but maybe you recognize the symbol?"
As the necromancer starts inspecting the goods, Muziel mentions, "Heard any interesting rumors lately? We've been hearing about folks gathering in the armory. Maybe the resistance is arming itself with some antiques?"
Penelope welcomes the company. At the wizard's house she picks at their favorite hobgoblin zombie while the magic types talk shop. Oh Tealan, we left a manticore corpse at the fort, if you are interested in its bits and parts. Only a day old, just a little hacked apart.
Sister Ismene cocks an eyebrow at the stuffy-looking man. "Yup. Right now. Official business on behalf of Archbaron Fex," she retorts. Clearly, Mr. Wenbrade Brackenbole hadn't been properly informed of their authority, so she'd have to do it herself. "Sister Ismene, with the Sinister Seven. Maybe you've heard of us?" Shuffling in, she flops down in the chair in front of Brackenbole's desk. "I've got some questions, and I hear you're the man with the answers," she says, getting straight to the point. "What can you tell me about the Court of Spears?"
"I get few visitors to my home, and hear fewer rumors," says Tealan, idly, as he identifies the presented loot.
"Not too bad," he asserts upon the completion of his concentration. "You've got a relatively weak scroll of summon monster. Second level stuff, you know, useful as a distraction for a few seconds. Might be a good one to copy if you keep up your practicing and it pays off." He offers a smile with a hint of pride.
"The wand is much nicer, if you have someone who can use it. I've seen a shield of faith make the difference between life and death on more than one occasion. This one's got a solid thirty-three charges remaining on it. The satchel's just a bag, but the icon is actually a whip feather token. Toss that on the ground and it transforms into a big dancing whip that can even grapple people. It only works once, and wears off after an hour, but it's pretty impressive while it lasts."
He rubs his hands together enthusiastically. "Is there anything else you needed? Perhaps I could have an unseen servant brew us up some tea?"
Brackenbole turns red in the face and begins to sputter, seemingly trying to decide where to even start with this unexpected intrusion.
"Heard of you? Of course I've heard of you," he finally starts, sounding quite annoyed. "As if anyone in this town hasn't even heard of you. Preposterous!" He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down before continuing.
"Just because we work for the same individual, however, doesn't give you the right to just walk right in here like you own the place. There's protocol to be observed. Decorum. Etiquette. Appointments. I can't be expected to just drop everything for everyone that drops in from the street to make a demand on my time. Honestly, among the bunch of your group, from what I've heard, I would have expected that you'd best understand the necessity of a well-oiled bureaucracy. Relish it, even."
He takes another few steadying breaths, then smooths out his enormous sideburns and adjusts his starched collar and sleeves.
"But," he says finally, "you've caught me on a slow day, and we do ostensibly work for the same team, so I'm prepared to make an exception, this time, in the interests of good will. I can't say I recall anything at all called the 'Court of Spears' off the top of my head. I'm not an encyclopedia, you know. That's why I keep records of everything. One never knows what might be important later."
He carefully puts away his inks and quills, then stands up and pulls over a ladder affixed to a set of tracks that runs around the room. "What sort of thing is this 'Court of Spears'? Person? Place? Object?"
"I bet Koliah could use that wand. Seems like the sort of thing a worshipper of the God of Pestilence could pull off."
As Teagan invites them for some tea, Muziel sits down. "We can stay, but only for a little while, agrees the gnome. "Let me tell you, that manticore we fought really laid into us - it was an epic battle! We've learned that the rebels have a hideout in some tree fort called the Court of Spears. Ever heard of it?"
After chattering about some events and maybe some magic for a little bit, Muziel remembers something else. "Hey, I should get that angel corpse from you finally. We could bring it over to the tanner."
Assuming there's nothing else, Muziel will hope that Penelope helps carry the body to Louslik tannery for processing.
Sister Ismene, satisfied, sits up a bit straighter in her chair. Now that proper authority has ostensibly been established, they can get down to brass tacks. "See, now that's the kind of cooperation that keeps you in the Archbaron's good graces. You're alright in my book, Brackenbole, I don't care what they say about you."
Standing up, she follows him around to his tall, dusty shelves full of what are no doubt incredibly dull books. "Place, I'm pretty sure. We think the Glorious Reclamation is using it as a hideout. We found a message for one of their operatives at old Fort Estanzo where they had a base."
Penelope frowns at the tea, but will carry the dead body for Moziel.
With Sister Ismene's supposition that it's a place, and one big enough to be a hideout, the search through the records begins in earnest. After a few hours of searching through dusty tomes and rolled-up maps, eventually Wenbrade thrusts his finger at a passage in a text he's holding, Brigands Of Note.
"Aha! Here we go," he clears his throat, and proceeds to read aloud. "Following his success in convincing the town of Haugin's Ear that he was the son of Cheliax's King Gaspodar, and the subsequent appropriation of three years of uncollected taxes, the bandit leader Lairsaph adopted the new title of 'The Feign Prince.' He next set out to establish a new base of operations worthy of his assumed station.
"While traveling through the Whisperwood, the Feign Prince discovered a stand of rare Titan Aspen trees, and decided that he would construct his redoubt amongst the high boughs. Construction proved difficult, and two bandit-engineers fell from the trees with pale arrows piercing their skulls. This prompted Lairsaph himself to climb the massive trunks and investigate.
"What followed was a running duel over leaf and bough between the Feign Prince and a being that bounded between the branches as though they were the open plains. In the midst of the furious battle, however, a truce was called between the two combatants and a deal was struck between the Feign Prince and the tree's protector. No record of the terms of this deal proved forthcoming from my source, but the result is that Lairsaph was allowed to construct his fort, which he named The Court of Spears in honor of the massive trees which hold it aloft.
"For a time, the Court of Spears flourished. The Feign Prince and his followers grew in wealth and infamy, which in turn demanded the attention of the Chelish government. The army, along with a band of mercenary bandit-hunters, eventually tracked the Feign Prince back to his hidden base. The attack to scour the Whisperwood commenced at dawn, only to find the structure empty. Only concerned with the extermination of the bandit threat, the Chelish army withdrew to pursue their quarry and the Court of Spears remains empty."
Brackenbole then slides a folded piece of parchment from the pages. "There's even a map to find the place."
"Ah, yes," Tealan says about the altered corpse. He claps his hands together imperiously. "Stinky, the merchandise," he calls. The zombie corpse of Zaggar of Vulture Crag shuffles into another room, returning carrying what appears to be a dead calf in its arms.
Coordinating together, the small dead cow is transferred from the Zombie to Penelope. Ruckleer bids you all a pleasant day, and you proceed onto the Louslik Tannery with Muziel's prize.
Approaching the building where your first association with Cimri took place, the first thing that strikes you is just how bad the stink of the place really was. There are sounds of work being performed inside, but the main gate is closed.
Oh, I had forgotten the beauty of this smell Penelope sneers. Pounding on the front gate she'll yell loudly. OPEN UP! YOU HAVE CUSTOMER'S!!
"Anxious ones at that."
"Strange, how come the main gate's closed during daytime? Seems a little suspicious doesn't it?"
Summoning a small breeze to try and keep the stink at bay, he approaches the gate with the others.
Sister Ismene waits patiently for the first ten minutes or so, but after that she gets bored and starts helping with the search. After about an hour of that, she gets really bored and starts "checking" whatever book looks most interesting. She starts with a book on the Goblinblood Wars, but quickly has to put it back when the memories get too intense. When Brackenbole finally finds something in Brigands of Note, she breathes a sigh of relief.
"The Whisperwood, huh?" That was going to be a bit more than a hop, skip, and a jump away. She grabs the offered map and takes a gander. And there it is, marked plainly to find. Which is good, because the Whisperwood is big. "If I had known how long it was gonna take, I would have made an appointment. Next time, I will." Placing the map carefully in her robes, she pulls out a gold piece. "The Empire thanks you for your service," she says, handing it to Brackenbole. Damn, that feels good to say! "While I'm here, there are a couple of other small matters I'd like your help with. First thing, you henceforth have special permission to grant any permit that the Kemmaino family applies for. Second thing, I'd like to see recent records for Rohalendi's Hospice. My understanding is that she's facing an interesting tax situation that we have taken an interest in."
Brackenbole takes both the thanks and the tip in stride, focusing instead on the question regarding the hospice. "Now that is recent enough that I can recall the circumstances a bit more directly than this business with the Court of Spears," he says as he pulls out a much newer ledger from inside his desk and flips to a section indicated by a cloth strip of a bookmark.
"'Interesting' isn't exactly the word I would choose. The simple explanation is that Doctor Rohalendi hasn't paid her taxes for several months. I discovered the failure several days ago during my usual, recurring bookkeeping on the Archbaron's behalf. It's an extensive and comprehensive process, but it's helpful for situations like these.
"Anyway, I served her a notice about her delinquency the next day. She tried to claim that she had secured tax-exempt status from the Archbaron, but if such a thing was ever agreed to, it was never put into writing. I would know, obviously, as the document wouldn't be official without my official signature on four copies. One for her, one for the Archbaron, one for the Crown, and one for my own files. This is all quite standard, of course. Based upon the date she was served, she has until the end of the week to either submit the required amount in full, or else come to some sort of other arrangement with the state."
After Penelope shouts there's a stoppage in the sounds of the work, then the crunching sounds of boots on gravel approaching the gate from the inside of the compound. Shortly thereafter there's the sound of the Tanner himself calling back over the gate.
"Look, I told your people yesterday. The recent robbery didn't just make off with your goods, which was ready to ship I tell you, but also left me without most of my tools, materials and capital. So it's going to take some time to make the replacements all myself, since I can't afford any help at the moment. You'll have to be patient. It'll be done as soon as I can."
Muziel remembers how Ismene went on a little rampage during the robbery, destroying quite a lot of things at random. Was that how she got her name?
"No, you've got NEW customers, 'Slik. And an easy job--all it takes is a good skinning knife."
And we can pay well. Penelope will point out with a grin. So you can get that help you need.
There's a pause for a moment as Louslik considers. Then the gate begins to slowly swing open to reveal the tannery himself brushing his hands off on an apron.
"Sorry about all that," he says hurriedly. "I thought you were... someone... else.". He starts to trail off as his eyes go wide with recognition. Almost instinctively, his hands go up to protect his head.
"Please don't hurt me, he pleads. "You already got everything of mine the first time!"
"Not hardly. I notice you still have kneecaps and are breathing. You should thank the gods for such small favors."
Penelope sighed Listen, last time wasn't personal. Don't be making it such and we won't either. We have coin and a job for you. You never know it might help get you back in the good graces of the powers that be.
Muziel just admires the mechanics of the gate once more, holding no particular grudge against the tanner. "By the way, you did a nice job rigging these gates. Did you do that yourself?"
Sister Ismene frowns. "I see. That's definitely a problem. Obviously, she couldn't have obtained tax-exempt status, since you'd have the paperwork if she had," Ismene agrees. At first it had sounded like somebody was putting the squeeze on Rohalendi, but with the new details it was looking more like she had just been careless with her taxes. It was pretty clear that Brackenbole was a team player, and he'd been doing good work. Ismene figured it would behoove them to make sure it stayed that way. "People want to act like it's your fault they don't pay their taxes because you didn't remind them. And then all they do is b&+!~ when you do, am I right?" But it doesn't matter in the end. The Devil always gets his due. "Still, the Hospice is a strategic asset and the community seems to value it, even if all Rohalendi does is prolong the suffering of a few bitter old dogfaces. Are there any official procedures for securing these 'other arrangements' you could tell me about?"
"Nothing specific," Brackenbole admits. "And largely it would have to depend on the mercy of Archbaron Fex the the one who holds the dept. But one idea that pops up, off the cuff, would be some sort of installment plan. With interest, of course. I'm not privy to Ms. Rohalendi's personal finances, so I couldn't say for sure, but I would suspect paying a larger amount in smaller installments would be more palatable to her than a complete forfeiture of all assets and prison time. I likewise suspect, though again without complete certainty, that Fex would be able to afford to pay the crown the current amount out of pocket immediately, and thus be able to keep the accrued interest as personal profits." He gives Sister Ismene a wry smile.
"You might know better than I, but the last several days have left me with the impression that our fearless leader is not in a particularly accommodating mood at the moment. He may be more inclined to serve her with the same sort of 'other arrangements' as he devised for our local tanning house."
Louslik folds his arms and frowns. "It felt pretty personal when you killed my dogs, mocked me and bashed me over the head." Then he lets his arms down, slumps his shoulders and signs. "But it's not like I've got many other prospects these days, and most of my work is just trying to catch up to where I was, not even treading water. So, even though I'd really like to tell you all to go to Hell, I'm just too desperate. So I'll hear you out."
And, responding to Muziel's interest in the gate, the tanner shakes his head. "Nah, I got no head for pulleys and weights and such," he admits. "Ol' Dilly got one of his sons to put it together for me. Said he based it mostly on the Castle Gate, I think? I dunno, it's been a few years."
Muziel admires the gates a moment longer. "Dilly, huh? I'll have to pay a visit sometime. Trade some tips."
Turning back to Louslik, he claps his hands together, ready to do business. "Okay, like I said, simple job. We want this calf skinned and made into some nice leather. We'll even pay you the regular price. You do this, the Archbaron and his fine folks are on your side again. Whaddya say?"
Ismene nods, again agreeing with Brackenbole. "Point taken. I'll see to it personally that the situation is handled. For now, I think I've taken enough of your time unscheduled." Bowing at the waist, Sister Ismene takes her leave of the notary.
Brackenbole was right - it would probably be more profitable for Rohalendi to pay installments, but the Archbaron didn't seem to be a particularly merciful man. But unlike Louslik, Rohalendi probably didn't have anything to make up the difference if they sacked the place. Luckily for Rohalendi, Brackenbole had given Ismene an idea. But before they could do anything, they needed to know more about Gerya's mysterious patron.
Leaving the notary, Sister Ismene makes a beeline for Rohalendi's Hospice.
"Just leather, huh?" Louslik asks, confirming. "That is pretty easy to squeeze in. It's still got to cure for two days before it'll be ready, though. Just want to manage your expectations.
"This is a really small calf, so you're only going to get about three square yards of usable material from it. How much that costs depends on the thickness of the leather you're looking for. Armor-quality leather is much thicker, and costs three gold per square yard. The thinner stuff is easier to cut, so that's only five silver per square yard, but is really only suitable to for making art or crafts-y projects."
It only takes a few minutes to walk from the notary to the hospice. If it weren't for the sign above the front door, it would appear to be like most of the other homes in Longacre, or perhaps a little bigger. A small placard by the door reads "Please ring bell. Knocking is hard to hear from inside."
"Got it. We'll take the armor quality leather for 9 gold. Payment on completion of your fine work. Deal?" Muziel offers his tiny hand for a shake.
"Hard to hear knocking, huh? We'll see about that." Cracking her knuckles, Sister Ismene raps hard on the door.
Sister Ismene hammers on the door with extreme force. The door isn't exactly cheap wood, but it isn't built to handle that kind of onslaught either. There's an unpleasant rending sound as the highest hinge pulls free from the wood, leaving the door hanging slightly askew.
Despite the ruckus and the damage, nobody appears within the first few moments.
Louslik looks for a moment like he wants to haggle for some portion of the money up front. Then he glances at Kolaiah and apparently decides that he doesn't want to press his luck and ruin an opportunity to start putting his life back together.
"That works for me," he says. "I'll get this started right away so it can get curing. Check back the day after tomorrow."
"I guess they're not kidding." Admitting defeat, Sister Ismene pulls the cord.
Their business concluded, Muziel has another item on his mind. "I want to pay a visit to Dilly, the guy who made and repaired Louslik's gate. Remember how that gate was rigged when we fought the manticore? It took a smart engineer to do that. Could've been Dilly. Or not. Maybe we'll just get to trade some engineering tips! I think we can show up, ask him if he knows about the old fort and see how he responds. If we get suspicious, we can search his place for evidence of rebel involvement."
Um... I'll take your word for it, Muziel. Penelope looks vaguely depressed at the prospect of swapping engineering tips. Sure, we can see what he knows, or knows anyone else that might know, or... she lets the words wander off as she wonders about food along the way. She's still very hungry from the lack of breakfast.
A few moments after Sister Ismene rings the bell, it creaks open to reveal Gerya Rohalendi. She looks harried, and less well kept than the first time the Asmodean monk interacted with her in the church square the day the group posted notices. As Ismene points out the damage to the door, her shoulders slump even more and she groans.
"Riots and vandals," she suggests. "I don't need this right now." She looks like she's barely holding it together. "Excuse me," she says turning her attention to Ismene.
"I'm sorry you had to see the place in such a state. Ismene, right? What brings you to my humble hospice?"
The Jackdaw Stables is a small building attached to a large, mostly-open stables building and a fenced-in yard. Horses exercise in the yard or stand in their stalls in the stables being washed or fed. A sign with a deep purple, painted bird hangs above the door to the main building.
Going inside, the room is divided into two distinct areas. There's riding supplies on shelves or on hooks to one side, while the other contains a long desk behind which sits a row of cages, most of which contain one of the birds for which the establishment is named. Behind the counter stand two people talking to each other. One is a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a conspicuously dark walrus mustache. The other resembles him facially, but is much younger and female. They both turn to the sound of the bell which rings as the door opens.
"Welcome, folks," says the man with a slight bow of a nod. "How can the Jackdaw serve the empire today?"
Outside in the stables, Muziel spends a few moments admiring the horses. "Maybe we ought to buy ourselves some of these. Would be a quick way to get around town, kind of like that carriage that Gluttony likes to ride around in, only more practical." Muziel's comment is more an idle fancy, though, than a serious suggestion. Soon enough, though, he enters the shop.
"I'm looking for someone in town who knows a thing or two about repairing gates. I heard it's a specialty of yours." He pauses to give Dilly a moment to agree or disagree. Regardless, he carries on.
"Well, you see, there's a gate at old Fort Estanzo that seems to have stopped working. The darn thing wouldn't open. You wouldn't happen to know anything about how that might happen, would you? Ever gone there to take a look?"
Muziel gazes questioningly at Dilly, trying to sense any response to his words or feeling that he's hiding something.
I've never ridden one before. I was a foot soldier in the army, with an emphasis on Foot. she says with a smile. As Muziel starts discussing with the locals, Penelope will lean just outside the door watching for any busy bodies or troublemakers.
"Yeah, it seems things are going to Hell in a handbasket in a hurry around here," she agrees.
Someone's got a case of the jitters. More so than usual... Ismene pays no mind to the damage that she had caused as she focuses on Gerya. "Yes, I'm Sister Ismene," she says, bowing slightly at the waist. Let's play it nice for now. Bad cop worked on Madame Cembers, but this required delicacy.
"I'm here on business. Don't worry, it's nothing like that," she says, quickly holding a hand up to placate any of Gerya's fears. Better to play the generous benefactor. "You're having problems with your taxes, as I understand it. I came here to see if there was something I could do to help alleviate the situation. Maybe we could discuss the matter inside?" Normally, Ismene would have blown right past Gerya and invited herself in, but throwing her weight around wasn't going to help the situation. Rohalendi was on edge. Maybe it was a good thing after all that she hadn't heard Ismene's pounding on the door.
Dilly looks confused for a moment at the mention of gates, and then starts putting it together with the mention of Fort Estazano. "I dunno who told you gates were a specialty of mine," he shrugs. "I've also never been out to Fort Estazano, as far as I can recall. Hasn't it been abandoned for years? If you're here to talk about gates, or fixing gates, I think you want my youngest son Telas." He turns to the young woman with him on the other side of the counter.
"Rianne, would you be a dear and fetch Tel for me?"
She shrugs and heads leaves the room, returning a few moments later with a tall, lean, young man with the beginnings of his own mustache. He's still wearing a stained apron and elbow-length gloves with soap suds on them, and an expression of mild trepidation.
"Someone has a broken gate?" he asks, sounding unsure as to whether he had heard correctly.
Gerya unconsciously begins to fidget with the collar of her dress at the mention of taxes. "Yes, I suppose we'd better," she agrees. "Please, this way to my office."
She leads you into what must have once been the living room, but instead of the normal sitting-room furniture it hosts a handful of beds with elderly men and women lying in them. Most are napping, or otherwise not very responsive.
The doctor continues on to a set of stairs, and heads up to what has become a combination of master bedroom and office space crammed into one. All of the walls have been covered with thick blankets, with a bell labeled 'front door' sticking out through them.
"I know it probably looks odd in here," she begins. "But my patients with dementia can get pretty loud most nights. I had to try to soundproof the room to make sure I could get enough rest to take care of them." She takes a deep breath as she closes the door for some privacy.
"I guess there's no non-embarrassing way to ask this, but how did you hear about my, uh, situation?"
Muziel starts to think he's barking up the wrong tree. But gives it a go anyway, trying to collect some information. "Hey Telas, are you the one who fixed up Old Louslik's gate? He was talking about your good work. Where'd you learn that from?"
He then peers in once more and asks his setup question. "So, we've been having some problems with this gate at Fort Estazano. The gate shut closed and wouldn't open. You ever see that gate before? Do you have any idea why that might happen?"