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Lukain listens to Raikdar, pulling up his hood just before he leaves. "Technically, the city owns the house. No one is going to come reinforce that, but the locks on the doors don't work and, well, this isn't the best part of town. I wouldn't suggest it, but it's possible. Just keep a close eye on yourself."
"Yes, her home would be a good starting point. I should probably be in the group to go there; I'm more of a people person." She adjusted her cloak a little bit and added, "Besides, I don't like showing my face in The Shingles for a few weeks after I conduct business there."
"Yes, her home would be a good starting point. I should probably be in the group to go there; I'm more of a people person." She adjusted her cloak a little bit and added, "Besides, I don't like showing my face in The Shingles for a few weeks after I conduct business there."
"I would like to accompany you on that visit. One of us might see or hear something that the someone else does not."
Raikdar gives Rhiannon and Hania a slight bow. "I could accompany you if you like." Raikdar doesn't look all that impressive, unless dressing all in black counts.
"Or, I can sound out the innkeeper... Subtle questioning is really not a skill of mine though."
"Either way way, I'm at your service, ladies."
Lanny leans back against the wall. She will guard the eye candy. All is proceeding according to plan.
"The inn would best be a later venture. The longer the night draws on, the wearier any innkeep will get, and the easier any con on them becomes." She returns his slight bow with the lightest of curtsies, using the hem of her cloak in place of a dress. "Can either of you pick locks? Should diplomacy fail in either location, it's nice to have a backup plan." She smirked, peeking for the door again to make sure the lieutenant was at least no longer within earshot as she spoke.
"I have some skill with getting past locks and such If it comes to it."
Uriel guides himself and Percival towards his home area, leaving the shingles behind but the state of the area doesn't improve much. As they move into to his home the streets get busier though everyone they meet greets Uriel and gives Percy a curious look. Suddenly a woman in her late thirties speaks up, while hanging over the railing of a balcony above them, "Ey Uri. Who is that gorgeous redhead behind you? He here for some sugar?" Uriel looked up at her and smiled, "No, not now aunty. He's here on business." He waved at her before moving on and she waved back, still making non-verbal passes at Percival.
While she was the first to call them out she sure wasn't the last as while walking on to their destination several more "aunties" called them out.
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@Uriel and Percivel: You cut through Bridgefront to meet with one of your people: a boy named Petro, a thug who you convinced to work for you a few years back. He still has the cross-shaped scar on his forehead that you gave him, but now, he hides it under a cap. He sits on a barrel in an alleyway along with some of his 'boys', a few of his friends who've joined your makeshift militia along with him. Petro listens to your tale of woe and need and he nods along, 'uh-huh'ing at the beats in the story.
"Th'lass y'r talkin' about, by the way her name might not be Ari? Gone and turned a might ghostly? Disappeared, even. Aye, I know the one y'r speakin' of. Th' guard cam'in had a chat with me boys here, an' we told 'em nothin'. They were anterested in findin' her flat, and so we did a fair bit o'peekin' but it ain't go n'where and it ended up empty-handed." The street rat shrugs. "Jes' didn'e think it was worth pursuin' as in fact she weren' one o' the kin' we protect. Plus, ain't a thing if a girl wishes to skip town without bein' followed."
He stands from the barrel he was seated on and pulls his hands out of his pockets. "But if you're lookin' for us to seek out information a second time, we can see what we know." Thunder cracks overhead, but whatever deluge was in store can hardly reach you in the alleyway. Thick with planks and boards overhead, it forms a kind of canopy. "Come back in a couple'o 'ours, eh? I'll have somethin', I can guarantee that."
Him and his boys depart shortly after. Out in the streets, the storm has resumed, slicking everything over with cold rain.
Percivel stays quiet, but smiles pleasantly at the "aunties" as they call out. He listens intently as the lad talks, careful not to speak or undermine Uriel in any way.
"I'm glad to hear that. I do too, but I'm likely 'distraction' material more than not." She fiddles with her cloak some more before taking a step toward the doorway, looking at the two curiously.
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@Rhiannon, Raikdar and Hania:
As you leave 1414 Wave Street, the sky cracks in response. The mild drizzle turns into a downpour that accompanies you from Bridgefront into West Waydon Street. By the time you're in the neighborhood of the Imoroa family, however, the rain has slowed significantly again, leaving the roads half-flooded and wet.
The buildings here are shorter than in Bridgefront by the virtue of not having been expanded upon vertically by the city's poor. However, their general state is hardly improved-- many of these buildings date all the way back to the founding of Korvosa, and some haven't been repaired in more than a hundred years. Many of the buildings have grassy alleys inbetween them that lead to uneven wooden fences, and in some places, trees shadow the street from them. The sound of rain slipping down rain gutters along rooftops into barrels or onto the street permeates the entire area.
After querying some passers-by, you eventually find your way to the Imoroa household. A narrow two-story building with a now half-flooded gutter entrance pressed into the base of it, the Imoroa family home is in as ill repair as the rest of the district. A light shines inside, from behind simple cloth draperies, and the second story window is slightly open. Stairs lead direct to the door.
@Uriel, Percivel, and Lantana: You return to the house on Wave Street, braving the chill rain to find that the others are missing-- only Lantana, the tiefling, remains. It seems they've set out already.
.
"Ready to go speak with the actress' crew?"
Rhiannon walked proudly and swiftly through the run-down streets, trying not to linger too long in any one spot. She moved with purpose and tried to keep herself obscured in her cloak, lest she be spotted by somebody who knew who she was. She kept quiet for the most part, not going to great lengths to maintain conversation with the strangers she'd come to work with, as the night had worn on her and the rain only eroded more of her exterior away, leaving her contemplative.
Before Hania leaves with Rhiannon & Radikar:
"Excuse me for a few minutes. I need to change clothes and a few other things."
She heads upstairs into the bedroom and shuts the door.
She actively listens for anyone that might come in.
Hania changes into her pickpocket's outfit. She also changes her appearance to that of a average looking young woman of about 18.
She heads downstairs, winks at Rhiannon and Radikar as she pulls her hood over her head, and says playfully:
"Shall we?"
And then steps out into the rain and begins heading to their first stop.
Rhiannon raises a brow at Hania, her lips curling into a smile as she followed wordlessly after her. Her sudden change in appearance just made things far more interesting.
Raikdar is supprised by tne change in Hania, and it shows.
"Well... You sure are full of suprises aren't you Hania?"
Raikdar wonders if she is a mage, shapeshifter, or just a master of disguise, but he doesn't ask. It's not polite to pry.
Trusting to his cape and hood, to keep most of the rain off, he follows along with Rhiannon and Hania, as they make their way to the Imoroa family home.
"It's still some time before we get any results from their forays, so yes, lets." Uriel nodded at Lantana and waited for her at the door, "Ladies first."
Lanny looks at the man quizzically, shrugs and walks out the door.
Barring complications she heads towards the theatre.
"So how do we want to do this?" Hania asks in a voice so only Riannon and Raikdar can hear.
"We go in and try to ask them questions, I suppose. We're clearly not guards, and likely more charismatic and approachable." She reached a hand up, flicking her wrist and catching the dagger that sprang up from her sleeve. "It also means that, should it come to it, we'll be perfectly able to convince them we're not making a social call."
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You set out west across Old Korvosa, seeking out the Firenze Theater. The afternoon rain seems to have slowed by the time you navigate the corridors and lanes of the crowded island, eventually coming to a district of town that just seems simply more expensive than others. Two story buildings and shops with wide windows sit rain-streaked under the clouded sun, and in the midst of it all sits a gaudy red brick building, damp banners and pennants hanging from the spires on the wide black roof. Painted deftly on the brickwork is an image of an enormous flower opening up to reveal the masks of comedy and tragedy; underneath is written "THE FIRENZE THEATER".
A half-finished marquee across the entrance to the venue proclaims Coming to the Firenze Theater, this 15th of Lamashan: THE SIX TRIALS OF LA. The A is streaked, ran wet from rain. A ladder stands idly nearby, and under the overhang of the building sits a young boy with a paint bucket looking ruefully out into the rain.
Two sets of doors flank an empty ticket office, and one of the four are ajar. A soft light comes from within, and inside, it's warmer and much more dry-- the antechamber to the theater is large, dim and utterly empty save for a smattering of wooden seating and a lonely drooping potted plant in a corner. The light eminates from behind a curtain that covers the doorway into the theater-- another door propped slightly ajar. The sound of people speaking echoes through the door, and on the other side, the theater itself stands-- a bit ragged, empty and avante garde.
On the stage you can see six people-- a pale man with the gentle appearance of a wizard; a very attractive half-elf; a portly man wearing commoner's clothing but an ornate costumed helmet which sits upon his head with a comical tilt; a stern-faced man with a short-cropped beard; a young girl carrying a script; and finally, a man in an executioner's hood carrying a whip.
You can identify the people on stage by role-- Dentris, Larazod's fatherly companion; Larazod himself, in the process of being tortured; Tybain the paladin, the comic relief; Haanderthan, the traitor to Asmodeus; What seems to be Ilsandra; and finally Drovalid, in the process of torturing Larazod. In this scene, Haanderthan is having Drovalid torture Larazod so he'll recant his allegation that Haanderthan is a traitor to Cheliax-- Ilsandra, Dentris and Tybain stand with him as a kind of character witness and lend Larazod's accusations weight. By the end, Drovalid will have exhausted himself and, given the choice to admit he could not torture the truth from him or throw his lot in with Larazod, will become one of Larazod's followers.
As you enter, a thin man in the front row snaps his fingers and announces "More torture." The man with the whip obliges, making whip-crack noises with his mouth as he swings the curled whip in his hand at the attractive half-elf-- who reacts with melodramatic agony as if the weapon were scouring his flesh.
The half-elf speaks through his line with dramatic intent: "Had enough, Magistrate? Can you withstand it any longer? Please give in and recant, for the only torment I cannot bear is your continued duplicity. Recant, Magistrate! Recant your own lies, and Asmodeus may have mercy on your slimy soul."
The portly man interjects to the audience-- scanning it, you can see that there is almost no one in the seats save for the front row, and, surprisingly, directly beside you. A gnome with ridiculous blue hair and a short goatee watches the rehearsal, a look of consternation on his face. "Ha! Even in the face of soul-crushing pain, he taunts this ridiculous Magistrate of Hell. Hear me, Aroden, if Asmodeus has such as Larazod in his employ, all our efforts are doomed. Would your white fist command such steadfast loyalty as this one here, who laughs at death and grins at the grimmest pain."
The girl, taking a sudden step forward, begins to read from the script-- to the untrained eye, it's simply painful, but her dry and dull reading of the page is excruciating to the actors on stage-- who all seem to shudder with pain as she speaks. "Such a sweet voice. I long to hear his screams more-- ah. But to elicit them myself, with a soul burning kiss. And an aching embrace. This torture is most stimulating? Though I do hope the Tormentor doesn’t mar the tiefling’s choicest parts. Leave off those. They belong to me alone!"
As the man in the executioner's hood makes a play of being exhausted, the thin man in the front row stands up and holds up his hands. "Enough, enough-- please. Stop. Just-- just stop! Elana, dear, may I speak to you for a moment? Everyone else-- you were interesting. Take a moment and reflect on that." The young girl joins him at the base of the stage where he quickly enters a whispered conversation to her that blossoms into a hissing argument.
The gnome beside you all sighs. "This brings a new meaning to trial by torture, don't you think?" he says, receding into his seat.
The actors begin to shuffle off stage, collecting into groups-- the theater is yours to peruse.
The door looms. You can hear someone moving about inside, and the door opens-- a young man in commoner's clothing carrying a bucket full of water swings back to empty it into the street.
He stops suddenly, almost losing his balance on the backswing and slopping rainwater over the sleeves of his shirt. Short with blonde hair and a thin build, he regards the small group with an interesting look. It's unsure if he sees Rhiannon's knife, but it looks like he's prepared to douse everyone with the bucket if they make an ill move. "Evenin'," he says simply and quietly.
"Hello there! We are here investigating the disappearance of a talented actress named Iszanna Imoroa. My name is Jadzia. Who might you be?"
She says as she holds out her hand.
Rhiannon quickly hides the knife in her belt, not meaning to actually intimidate anybody. She waves a hand and strikes up her most jovial appearance possible. "Good evening," she says, raising her hands to show she had nothing in them. "We're not here to hurt you, I promise. We'd just like to ask some questions about Izsanna."
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The young man looks over 'Jadzia's' hand, then sets down the bucket with a start, slightly embarassed. He shakes it with a gentle grip. "I'm Kayle. Iszanna's brother."
He looks them over. "I don't remember the last folks to show up being as suspicious as you all, neither did they stand silently on the doorstep for so long. But, well, if you're with the guard, you might as well come inside."
Kayle waves you into the home-- it's a low-lit low-class home, but comfortable. Once you're inside, he tosses the bucket into the street and closes the door. Situating the pail back under a steady drip in the middle of the kitchen floor, he turns to the group.
"And you are with the guard, right?"
"In a sense, yes. We've been hired by the guard to conduct an investigation about your sister's disappearance, and her link to several other women who have disappeared. We may appear a shady lot, but I promise you, we were hired because they believe we can do the job they're currently unable to."
Rhiannon watches looks a round whenever he's turned away, looking around for anything of interest or curiosity.
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The house appears normal-- nothing sticks out or is out of place. A few trinkets from a Varisian bazaar sit across the mantle along with a sword.
"I already told the others what I found, and they weren't too interested in the rest. I'll tell you what I told them-- it's that boy, the Varisian one, that clambers about the rafters in the stage and adjusts the weights and pulleys. He's the one who left the note-- creeper, he is, and a stalker as well. My mother'd tell you the same if she weren't out."
The young man crosses his arms and sits on a lonesome stool in the room, looking to the others. Kayle's not one for hospitality-- a pair of ragged seats sit nearby. "The only question is why hasn't someone done somethin' about it?"
The concept that other women have disappeared doesn't seem to register, and he doesn't address or even seem to notice it was said-- until now. "Other women?"
Raikdar puts on his dour face. "Someone is doing something about it. This is not a social visit. We have been retained to find your sister, and so we shall."
Completely ignoring Kayle's question Raikdar plows on."We are aware of your sister's connection to the theater. What we need to know is: Who else does she spend her time with? Perhaps she has a best friend? Or a boyfriend?
Does she have a favorite tavern?"
Raikdar lapses into silence, both to let Kayle answer the questions and to allow Rhiannon and Jadzia to ask any questions they may have.
Lantana has neither acting, history nor local knowledge as skills, so she eschews comment. Instead she clears her throat and looks pointedly at each of the two men with her in turn.
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"Good, more people who ignore what I say." He shakes his head exasperatedly and then puts a hand to his forehead. After a moment, he continues: his tone is less aggressive and he lapses into a dull spout of information. You have a feeling he might have said some of this before. "You want every name of every person she whittles away time with? I can't tell you that. She's got friends, and most of them are people who work at that little theater. The guy I see around here, walks her to the theater, his name is... Zyras. He's a big round guy who plays a paladin in the play or something."
"As far as courting? I don't think my little sister's had any 'gentlemen callers.' To be fair, men stare-- like the little geek who draws my sister in his spare time-- but mother wouldn't allow it. She says Iszanna is too young."
He pauses a moment. "The Laughing Waves-- it's this run down beat up shack of an inn. Historic? I don't see history in rotted wood and leaning balconies. She's talked about going there once or twice."
Rhiannon gives him a weathered smile and decides to answer his questions, hoping it will improve his demeanour a little. "The city guard is currently under the faulty assumption that royal weddings take precedence over justice. But don't worry sir, we're here to make sure your sister can rest in peace, and intend to do something about it. I lost my sister as well, and there was no justice for her, and I promise you here and now that I am not here to pretend to listen to you; I want to find out what happened to your sister. I swear it."
"And yes, there's other women who've gone missing. Four in fact,[b]" she said with a little lie to introduce a sense of higher stakes, [b]"And only your sister among them has any ties we can find to the theater company. Which is why we need you to step back a little bit and think about any possibilities other than Zyras. Little details there may be that would lead us in another direction. There may be something important. Otherwise, I would like permission to look in her room, to see if anything stands out."
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"If you'd like to look, go ahead. Hopefully my sister won't be resting in peace, but, honestly... Iszanna's young. She had no enemies. It's difficult... perhaps impossible for my mind to find any alternative. The creep's name isn't Zyras-- that's her friend. Affable. Fat. Jolly. The creep is thin and wiry, swarthy and a bit... mouselike. No clue what his name is."
"But head up to the room if you wish and see if you can't find anything I didn't. I handed that note written in the devil language to the guardsman who came asking-- found it on the street outside her windowsill. Nothin' there that I could find, either."
"But, I suppose your eyes may be better trained than mine..."
"It's possible your sister isn't the victim of a grudge or the enemy of anyone. However, if you could give us some information on, say, the man who draws your sister, that could lead us in a good direction. " Rhiannon nods slowly, trying to appear as engaged and attentive as possible. "I think I will look upstairs. Hania, can you join me? Two sets of keen eyes can do more good than just one."
"Of course." Hania heads upstairs with Rhiannon and looks around.
Before Hania and Riannon go upstairs she mulls over the description of the creep. "Sounds like someone with whom I should be familiar. Let's see, who are you and have I seen you before?"
Once upstairs Hania looks for anything concealed while softly humming to herself.
Uriel looks at the play thinking he should know what was being depicted but unable to make any sense of it at all. Instead he steps forward to the small man and the woman who seem to discussing her lacking performance. The man must be the director and as such the best point to start.
"May I interrupt for a moment?" He waited for both the man and the girl to look at him before proceeding,"Good day, both of you. Me and my colleagues here were hired to investigate the disappearance of miss Imoroa, who I think is supposed to play the role you do now." He nods at the young woman, "We would like to know whatever it is you and your crew can tell us as to her normal whereabouts and behaviour."
Percivel nods to the gnome with a slight smile. The poor girl was obviously not gifted in acting, though with training, who knew? Even a lump of stone can become a work of art with time and patience.
Percivel watches the other actors as Uriel begins his questioning, watching how they react to the man's questions, particularly looking for anyone who is trying hard not to react.
Rhiannon enters the room and takes a slightly more active approach by going through the girl's things as she looks.
Raikdar decides to keep Kayle company, down in the main room. "This nameless stage hand. You describe him as quiet and mousy. Mousy is not the most threatening description, is it?"
Raikdar throws back his hood and cape, there is no need for it inside. This incidentally exposes his armor and weapons. (His bow case and quiver were of course never hidden.)
"Winter is coming, you can feel it in the rain."
With a bland expression on his face Raikdar comments: "Varasians. Kind of shifty aren't they? Links to the Sczarni no doubt."
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@Hania: Unfortunately, you can’t place anyone by that description—they must stick to themselves or are simply sliding under the radar if that’s the case.
@Hania and Rhiannon: Kayle directs you—”First door on the left,” he says, before turning back to Raikdar. ”The last person to touch it was mother, so…”
The first door on the left opens up into a small bedroom. A meager carpet covers the floor and a small threadbare bed stands along the wall. A dresser and a vanity sit in the room as well, and they both have multiple nick and scrape marks-- likely salvaged from outside a noble’s home. The Imoroa family is hardly well off, and the furniture shows. A quilted blanket is folded on the corner of the bed, and numerous feminine decorations such as paper flowers, dolls, stuffed animals and such sit around the room. A paper copy, handwritten, of the Six Trials of Larazod sits propped on the vanity’s mirror.
Glancing around, it’s difficult to find anything. Rhiannon notes that there are two windows in the room—one facing the street, locked tight, and one facing the alley. A tree branch hangs just out of reach of the window, and you note that it would be easy to scale it from the street below to beside the house.
Hania takes stock of the place in an instant-- with a strange sense of clarity, you notice that one board in the floor underneath her bed leg has a number of deep scratches on it. The board sits unevenly, like the leg is holding it down.
With the same odd clarity, before you stand, you note that something is wedged into the frame under the bed—something dark, at least two feet long or more.
Finally allowing yourself to experience the mundane details of the room, you discover that there are a number of colorful pieces of cloth and carnival prizes scattered through the room under the guise of a young girl’s decorations. They would be at home at any small carnival or Varisian marketplace in the city.
@Raikdar: In the meantime, Kayle looks at you. ”It’s not that he’s Varisian, it’s that he’s creepy. I heard he stares at her, and his roost up in the netting of the theater or however you call it has nothing but drawings of her. If she was here, this would…“ He buries his face in his hands, taking in a deep breath. ”Desna’s sweet laughter, why? What in the hells happened to my sister?”
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@Uriel: The small argument continues as you approach—”I’m sorry, you told me that Iszanna didn’t need an understudy—“ ”Well, what do you think you’ve been doing all this time?”—”Sweeping the theater, Mister Chevoski, like you told me to do—“
They pause when Uriel interrupts, looking at him. The director, Chevoski, raises a thin eyebrow. Up close, it’s easy to see that he’s as Chelish as an Asmodean star, his skin pale and his hair dark. His whole body is thin and wrinkled, and in his worn finery and Galtian cap, he appears almost… ridiculous. The girl—Elanna-- is very pretty, with wide doe-like eyes and stringy blonde hair. She looks almost fearful when you begin to speak.
The director looks at the stage, and then, bringing fingers to his mouth, whistles. Everyone on stage stops completely to stare—a head or two pop out from behind the curtain. ”Listen, everyone!” he announces. ”This is… what was your name? Nevermind,” he asks, and then continues: ”This is a representative of the Korvosan Guard, here to speak about Iszanna’s disappearance!”
The larger, portly man beams and moves to the edge of the stage quickly, addressing Uriel. ”I told you they would come! Have you heard anything? Do you know where she is?”
”Apologies, Kyras, but it seems that they’ve come to ask questions, not give answers. Give them your utmost attention and respect!”
With a nod, he turns back. Glancing up, he sees Lantana and he blinks several times before returning his gaze to Uriel. ”My sincerest apologies, old boy, but, ahem, your name seems to have slipped my mind? How can we help you? Iszanna's disappearance has been hard on us all.”
Elanna nods, exasperatedly, beside Chevoski.
@Percivel: The larger portly man, Kyras, seems genuinely glad someone has come to investigate the disappearance—and not like some of the others. Some of the others actors don’t care or are also glad, but you get the sense that it’s not glad for the more positive outcome for her, but glad that they don’t have to deal with Iszanna’s understudy.
The gnome next to you looks delighted and jots something down on a small piece of paper in his lap. Glancing over, it appears to be a collection of notes.
The lead, the attractive half-elf, seems worried, though also genuinely worried about her wellbeing-- you can detect something there more than that, however, in the expression on his face, and your gut tells you he may know more.
Catching motion through the curtain, you note that in the backstage, atop what appears to be a rickety lever and pulley station that manipulates the stage and curtain is a young Varisian man, thin and ratty looking in a cap and dirt-colored clothes. He hangs of one of the rafters, listening intently. His expression is one of utmost interest, and he clambers out of sight when the proclamation from the director has finished.
"Can I trust you to leave the room untouched?" she asks Hania jokingly. "Not that there's much here of value. Normally it could tell us what the motivation was, for the valuables to be present or missing. There aren't many valuables to be found here."
Rhiannon looks curiously at the tree. She opens the window up and takes a look at the tree, trying to see if anything would suggest someone had been up there recently.
With that determined, she moves over to the vanity and picks up the book, beginning to rifle through the pages for any notes of scrawlings on the page, hoping its link to her disappearance would mean her own copy would be of us.
Lanny goes in slow pursuit after the stagehand.
"Oi, you, come down here. We wanna talk to you."
"My name is Uriel Felar. We have come here as we have some clues that suggest miss Imoroa's disappearance might be related to other disappearances in the area." He smiles as Lantana moves off to secure the stage hand, he had missed the fellow.
"Is there a room where we could talk to you all separately?" He motions for Percival, "We need to make sure we know every detail in order to have the highest chance of success. We'd like to start with you sir, if you please." He turns to the director as he speaks. The man seemed very much in charge and could be offended if he wasn't questioned first, something he'd rather avoid.
Percivel makes a note of the half-elf, in order to question him further shortly. He follows Uriel's lead and stays silent, for the moment.
"First off is the fact that the carnival items here are cleverly disguised as a young girl's decorations. Subtly done too. It seems like they would be more in place at a Varisian market than here."
"As for the bed, let's see what's wedged in the frame." Hania says as she inspects the item closely and then begins pulling out the wedged item in the bed frame.
Once the item is out, Hania begins checking the suspect floorboard.
"Mr. floorboard, what do you offer me today?" Hania curiously asks to nobody in particular she begins to move the bed and pry the board up.
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@Rhiannon: Glancing over the bark, you can tell it's been used to ascend to the window before in the past-- the tree isn't exactly healthy looking.
Each one of Ilsandra's lines in The Six Trials of Larazod has been marked with a star or underlined. One line in the rear has been underlined with red ink-- Sounds just like good ol' Asmodeus.
@Hania: From underneath the bed, you manage to pull a dagger free from its hiding place. Unsheathing it reveals that it’s of fantastic craftsmanship-- both of you (Rhiannon and Hania) recognize it as a dagger a noblewoman might carry to defend herself, and, in the worst case, end her life before experiencing a fate worse than death. It doesn’t appear to have been used.
Pushing the bed back so the leg of it isn’t holding the board down, it rises up-- lifting the board reveals a number of scraps of paper and letters, written in a strange language, one you recognize from the one that Lantana translated at 1414 Wave Street. It’s easy to see that there are at least fifteen, maybe more, notes and letters. Mixed into the papers is what seems to be a cipher or translation matrix of some sort-- each scratch aligned with a letter of the common alphabet. It’s written in the same handwriting as the letters.
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@Uriel: "Of course, of course! Follow me if you so please." He turns to the assembled actors and stage hands-- "Everyone, be patient and answer the questions of these fair..." The director spies Lantana walking up the stage and pauses briefly before continuing. "... gentle investigators. This way."
@Lantana: To pursue with any chance of catching, you need to clamber up the stage and approach the curtain. As you do, the actors give you a wide berth.
With the hiss of rope on steel, the ratty Varisian descends from the rafters above, hanging on a rope that bounces taut back into the ceiling as he lands steady on the ground. His maneuver looks akin to a rigger's descent to the deck of a ship. He cocks his head at you and his eyes brighten. "This is a lucky day if a beautiful woman is shouting after me in with that kind of tone. No, allow me to apologize; I was simply descending from my world to the stage. No need for such a scowl."
@Uriel, perhaps Percivel, perhaps Lantana:
Director Chevoski steps up the stage, walking behind the curtains into the backstage. An enormous prop of a coiled serpent stands as well as an enormous wheel of pain, complete with straps and a faux lever. A silver cage, a massive Asmodean star, a portcullis... many of the props here are wooden, but masterfully carved. He leads you between another pair of props, a tall judge's bench and a lecturn-- perhaps a courtroom?-- into a small hallway. Producing a set of keys from his pocket, he lets himself into a narrow, small dressing room, furnished thinly yet livable. A large costume pair of wings hang from a mannequin in the corner, fleshy and pale like a bat's.
"Iszanna's dressing room. Technically Elanna's now, but, in Shelyn's good grace, perhaps not for long."
He turns to face Uriel prepared to answer any questions.
Percivel starts to follow, then turns toward the half-elf. "I would like a word in private, please." Leading him apart from the others, he stares steadily at the man. "I think you know more than you wish others to know about the missing actress. I believe it is best for everyone if you tell me everything you know."
Rhiannon scanned the lines a few times, shuddering. "This sounds ominous," she noted, placting the book back down.
"And this just became interesting." She pulled an empty bag from her pack for the papers to be placed into for the moment. "The dagger is far more interesting than untranslated notes could be, though. We should take it with us, should you not mind technically robbing a dead woman."
"My associates, and myself are dedicated to finding your sister, and the others that are missing. We will find them."
Raikdar gives Kayle a reassuring smile.
"When do you think your mother will be back? We will need to talk to her as well. It may seem redundant to you, Kayle, but the key to any investigation is collecting all the facts."
Uriel grins and shakes his head as the man bends his words from fair to gentle. He follows the man to the dressing room. "Could you tell me all you know of miss Imoroa's actions and whereabouts on the day she disappeared? Did she behave like normal or?"
"Indeed. I will hang onto this dagger for now."
Hania puts the dagger in her backpack.
"This is very ominous. We need to regroup with the others. I feel they need to see this."
"Unless you feel that there is something else we can find?"