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The fleeing assassin ducks under a pair of blades, bowls over a brand-new initiate, and rushes into the sword-works. There, his luck runs out. An untimely spray of sparks from a grinding wheel sprays blinding white-hot slivers that catch the assassin square in the face. He raises his arm reflexively to shield his eyes, and runs directly into a roof support. He rebounds off the pole and sprawls on the floor. Moments later, you are upon him. You have a pretty good idea what he's going to do next...
"Hold his mouth open! Don't let him bite down on his teeth!"
The chased person has to end their turn behind you. You went first, the assassins get a chance to go too. Sorry Sera, I meant to say that bystanders got their act together and restrained the fallen thugs. I seem to have not managed to move those words from MSWord to the paizo forums. You're good to go.
The moment they were beyond on-lookers, Seraphina's claws came out. Maja's armor might slow her down here, but she had no such impediment. Six Seras plunged down into the depths with abandon, skittering along on her bootheels and her sturdy jade claws cutting through the muck on the sides of the tunnel to slow her descent.
Her voice roared out as she drew nearer, echoing through the underground warrens as if she had truly split into six beings. "Should have known you'd retreat to the sewers like the filthy rat you are! What's wrong, 'Big' Shaw Halfthorn? Do you fear to face even a woman one on one?"
Milo grabs at the fallen man's mouth, attempting to help Idris force it open. "We should do the same thing with this one as we did with the last one we caught." Milo tells Idris and Kivan, alluding to Anders, who they captured and turned in to the Restov city guard.
Kivan advances behind Irdris and Milo, but they already caught the assassin so Kivan feels no need to rush.
Pretty lost time organizing the party and Sera went ahead of her, but the rogue was right on her heels. The darkness was no problem for her, but every eye needed time to adjust. So she jumped inside the sewer, but only after holding on the ledge for less then a second, so the fall would be lower and her eyes would be adjusted to the darkness.
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Pouncing on the fallen assassin, you manage to overpower and restrain him before he has the chance to crack his poison tooth. Idris and Milo pry the man's mouth open, and there is no shortage of volunteers to pile on the assassin and keep him from moving his arms and legs. In short order, he is bound and gagged, a length of flat iron bar stock preventing him from escaping to the afterworld.
A few minutes afterwards, Pallasar DeCierre bursts into the sword-works, flanked by a pair of Restov Guardsmen. Count Brokav trails behind.
"What in the nine hells is going on here in my academy?"
The assassin is swift - but Seraphina, in her rage, is faster. Six Seraphinas are hot on the heels of Big Shaw as he desperately flees through the twisting tunnels. He rounds a tight corner, boots throwing muck against the wall, and finds his head at the perfect height to receive a direct hit from a gout of foul fluid spurting from a feed pipe. Splattered with filth, the burly assassin wipes at his face and doubles over heaving sewage from his mouth. Seraphina rounds the corner a mere moment after, slamming into the distressed assassin with her shoulder and sending him flying against the tunnel wall. His head cracks against the masonry, and he slides unconscious to the filthy floor.
"Sir! This son of a b$&%% dared to interfere with my test with the Master of Initiates, and I could not allow him to escape. He's an assassin from Daggermark, and has actually tried to kill me and my friends before, but this time the Count seems to have been their target."
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Milo nods, backing up Idris's testimony. "He and his friends snuck up on Idris, Count Brokav, and some of us who were watching the test. We captured another of his associates about a week ago and turned him in to the city guard."
Pretty looks impressed by the sorceress' precise strike, and figures she could also try that one of these days. She looks at the man's big body with some concern. "Well, when I came after him I wasn't expecting to carry him back, you know.... Perhaps one of you girls has a levitate or reduce person spell?" She smiles.
Pretty searches his filthy mouth and tries to obtain the fake teeth with the poison, so he could not try what the last one did.
Sera loomed over the unconscious man as her friends caught up. "I ought to leave you to drown in a pool of your own sick, you foul bastard!" She summoned strength into her limbs with bull's strength and flipped the ruffian onto his back as Pretty arrived. She used prestidigitation to clean him off some so she would not have to touch his vomit and then cast detect poison to help find the false tooth.
"I see the tooth. Hold his head and I'll get it out." She gripped the tooth firmly with her claws, being extra careful not to shatter it, tearing the man's gums instead, if need be. She wrapped it in a cloth and kept it... such a strong poison might come in handy someday.
"Maja, is he stable? Let's bind him and then I think I can manage his weight."
Kivan seems content to let Idris and Milo explain since he seemed more focused on trying to look through the assassin's pockets to see if there was any indication of what they were after this time.
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"A likely story" scoffs Brokav. "My lord, this Initiate so feared the humiliation of being reminded her place that she arranged for my murder. She has not passed her test, and will remain an Initiate for a further year of study."
DeCierre crosses his arms and takes a breath, letting it out slowly as his gaze flicks from Brokav, to Idris, to the unconscious assassin.
"You make a serious charge, Master Brokav. Words like that are like to see the dueling grounds booked again, but not to first blood."
Brokav smirks at Idris. "My lord, as you know, Initiates are not allowed to challenge their instructors to affairs of honor!"
"Hmm, quite. Tell me, Master Brokav, why the Initiate bears but a scratch yet you seem rather worse the wear?"
"I was beset on all sides by foes, my lord. The Initiate called upon her allies to aid her, yet I fought alone."
"And there lies in that tale a lesson fit to teach the Swordlings, Master Brokav. A duelist, however mighty, cannot stand alone against the world. We of the Aldori must be true to our allies. Had Mivon not fled like the yellow dogs they are, like as not Rostland would yet stand free. Initiate, step forward and deliver me your sword."
DeCierre takes Idris' sword and considers it for a moment. "Idris Gormun, Initiate of the Fireblade Academy. For your performance against many foes in the Ring of Honor, I judge your training here complete. Go from here, Initiate no longer, with honor as a Sword-Peer."
DeCierre reverses his grip and proffers the sword back to Idris. Brokav stares daggers, but knows better than to protest. His smouldering glare burns into you - this won't be forgotten.
Claws are not the best implement for delicate surgery. A set of finely crafted dental tools would perform better, or at least a pair of pliers and some gauze. Still, claws are what you have on hand and they must serve. Your removal of the assassin's poisoned tooth will not appear in the annals of heroic surgeries, but in short order the assassin is less one tooth, and you plus one. The bloodflow slows after awhile, and by the time you've hauled him out of the sewer with your magically enhanced muscles he's pretty much stopped leaking blood from his face.
By the time you've returned to the dueling grounds, the two surviving thugs have been thoroughly bound by the bystanders.
"Thank you, my lord," Idris says to DeCierre as she takes the sword and sheathes it. "I shall bring nothing but honor to our school."
Idris returns Brokav's glare, scowling at the man, and says, "I will remember well your words. This is not the last time we shall cross blades."
She turns to her friends. "So, Kivan, anything of note in this misbegotten turd's pockets? Let us return to the others and see if they've captured his fellow."
Pretty is a little disappointed when they returned to the academy grounds. She kinda expected Idris to give the man a serious beating, but this way was less risky, of course. She already proved herself in the stolen lands, and that was enough, she thought. "Congratulations Idris. You deserve it." She gives the woman a hug, and inspects what else they have to do.
"So, here we are with some assassins in custody, again. I don't think we're going to obtain any extra information from them, but it's worth the shot, right? It would be interesting to know why they attacked at this moment."
"It was not a fair contest. Brokav was right about one thing -- they were targeting him, not me. Let's see if we can figure out why."
"Congratulations, Idris!"
Surveying the group of unconscious prisoners, Milo expresses his doubts. "Pretty's right, I don't think they'll spill the beans. But it's worth a try."
Despite his misgivings, Milo distances himself from the excitement of Idris's promotion, and focuses on the anger he'd felt when the assassins ambushed them for a second time. Once Maja roused the thugs, Milo leans over the one Seraphina removed the tooth from. The one whose name he knew. The one who attacked and fled before. Yanking the man upright by his smelly, blood-stained shirt, Milo growls "Why are you here, Big Shaw? Why attack Count Brokav? Tell me, or you'll wish I'd let you run back to your boss in Daggermark with your tail between your legs and explain your brilliant plan to ambush well-armed nobles in public at an Aldori dueling school."
Seraphina was a disheveled mess by the time they had drug the unconscious assassin back through the sewers. Blood crusted on her hands and her dress soaked with sewage about the hem and sleeves, but no part of her was befouled more than her mood. She lifted the brute up from the tunnel and tossed him down with a sneer. Having heard the Count's accusations and still without a proper outlet for her rage, she stalked over towards him, stopping only a foot away and then cast her prestidigitation, sluicing the sewage and muck away from herself to splash directly upon Brokav's boots.
"You should be careful who you impugn with your slander, sirrah! It was Idris' honor that preserved your very life today. If you fought alone, pray tell who healed your wounds as your lifeblood soaked the ground? Idris is not the same nameless orphan that you dismissed out of hand because she had no patron for you to ingratiate yourself to. She has earned a noble name for herself with nothing more than her sword and her honor. And a family born in battle who will stand by her, come what may. Remember that the next time your bigotry leads you to humiliate someone without status or kin!"
She then bowed her head respectfully to DeCierre and joined her friends as they prepared to interrogate the assassins. She backed Milo's play, unwrapping and displaying the extracted tooth, still moist with blood and meat still partially attached. "I could always remove the rest for good measure." She grinned with clear malice.
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Brokav narrows his eyes at Seraphina's words, but doesn't venture a response. The Count does an abrupt about-face and stalks off, leaving a trail of muck in his wake. The watching initiates talk in low tones amongst themselves after his departure. Pity the fool who gives Brokav a chance to vent his anger the next few days!
Magical examination of your attackers reveals that only the two assassins who ambushed you before bear suicide poisoned teeth. The rest of your assailants appear completely ordinary - just street toughs bearing the usual assortment of tattoos and scars. As Maja channels Erastil's might to mend wounds and ease hurts, the attackers come to. The Assassins look darkly at their captors, while their new help blink and look around, disoriented.
"Big" Shaw Halfthorn spits a gob of bloody saliva at Milo's face. "Put two an' two together, half-breed! We're after th' orc wench, need t' go through you lot t' get her. Cain't take you down short handed in th' city, need you run outta town t' get'cha alone. Set th' duelist b%$~% up, have 'er clapped in chains and th' rest o' you lot hauled out, easy pickins. Cor, not much rattlin' between yer ears, innit?"
"More than there is between yours, jackass," Idris growls, giving the big man a kick in the ribs. "We bested you once, and I killed your leader one-on-one -- what made you think we wouldn't do it again? Pretty sure you'll get the rope for this, or the sword -- however they want to do it. Too bad this isn't Galt, where we could send your soul to be trapped in the Final Blades. Dying's too good for scum like you."
Although Pretty knows that the message won't hit Daggermark, it's still worth a shot. "Several of your fellows died on the other day, and the rest will perish today. The orc is under our protection now, idiot, as are the lands close to this place. You couldn't even kill a single one of us, imagine the whole group. It's not worth your guild's trouble, if you care to know." It should be enough for a message, she thought.
"Well the plan was a good one. If it succeeded not only would we be dealing with assassins without any of restov's help, but they did come fairly close to their objective. They simply should have attacked differently."
Kivan then looks back at the assassin, and he starts giving a lecture since he's in a mood to.
"First you should have had two men stay in cover with bows and they should have had arrows drawn and ready to fire if any of us magic users tried to cast a spell. One thug should be sent to fight defensively against Idris to distract her. Another one should have prevented Pretty from getting any flanking. Then have two men attack the caster's in melee while keeping the archers and have the rest go and murder Brokav. Milo and Nix would most likely have tried to stop some of the archers which would have bought time, and if they didn't then have an assassin attack Milo from behind. Nix being a loyal companion would have most likely come back to defend him. Keeping people apart would have also kept me from blinding so many of your attackers at once because they wouldn't have been so close together. Also, with arrows striking anyone trying to cast a spell it would have been difficult to keep casting. Of course actually having a mage of some sort or magical support would have been invaluable."
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Pretty punches Kivan in the ribs before he has a chance to go much further in his lesson.
"Let's discuss that later, Kivan -- discuss how to go about such ambushes, and how to defend against them."
Kivan winces as Pretty punches him in the side.
"Oww."
Kivan rubs his side absently where Pretty punched him as he addresses Idris.
"But we're not the ones who need to learn how to ambush people the assassins are the ones who need teaching. I could talk more on how to start and how to avoid ambushes if we want to have a discussion about ambushing people though."
"That's alright. Our friend won't be planning anything from jail. Any other questions for Shaw, or shall we take him to the Guard?" Glancing at Shaw, then looking back at Idris, Milo adds "Too bad his plan didn't work. If we were outside the city, we could've just killed him."
Later, Milo comments "Kivan and Idris, you both make good points. I'd like a lesson in how to avoid or defend against ambushes too. They'll keep sending better assassins after us until they get what they want. Not all of them will be as stupid and poorly trained as Big Shaw."
Sera shook her head in disbelief. She thought she really ought not be, but somehow the elf always managed to surprise her.
"Goodness sakes, Kivan! While your commitment to knowledge is admirable, you do recall that it works to our benefit for these blackguards to remain ignorant and inept, do you not?" We must get the man some proper students before he educates our doom!
She turned back to the assassins, "What did you do to persuade these fellows to assist in your attack on the Count? And where might we find the three that fled? Surely you don't want those who abandoned you to get away with that?"
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But now that your people are arriving at a place of safety, have you thought about getting help for yourself? You're too quick to assume that Iomedae has withdrawn her gifts to you and the Westwinders entirely. I think Iomedae would look favorably on what you've done to save innocent lives. Perhaps you should find a temple to Iomedae and seek forgiveness. Find a penance to atone for what you've done."
"You know, there's one thing you said in your story that stuck with me. You said that you don't regret your choice, and that you'd do it again, even though Iomedae disagrees. I admit, that might be the sort of thing I'd do as well, if I were in your situation. I've not always agreed with all of the specific teachings of Erastil, even though I believe in faithfulness to hearth and home. But sometimes, it is simply necessary to obey. To surrender to the will of your god, even if you disagree.
Azur shakes his head and sighs. ”There is yet much work to be done. The immediate danger has passed, but I must next turn my hand to labor. For the sake of my people and to honor my oath to you, our new lords, I will toil until stout walls defend a fat larder and warm fire. I must perform my duty and only then attend to myself. I will not place myself before my people, now or ever. You need not worry on my behalf. Taking us in is as great a service to me as can be done.”
The library of the Repository is indeed quite well-stocked with knowledge.
Cyclopes were a race of primeval giants similar to modern giants save for their singular eye, set centrally in their face. Before the great empires of men and demihumans ranged across Golarian, Cyclopean empires sprawled across vast swaths of the surface. Fancying themselves masters of the world, they subjugated all they encountered and made slaves of all. Their cities and empires grew mighty and rich on the back of endlessly toiling slaves, leaving the Cyclopes free to indulge themselves in philosophy, magic, music, and arts. The rise of the empires of man heralded the end of Cyclopean domination; Old Thassalon in particular hotly contested the Cyclopes’ claim of magical supremacy and laid low many of their works. Today the Cyclopes race is presumed extinct, for no concentrations of the fearsome giants are left. If some remain, they presumably shelter in extradimensional fortresses of extreme secrecy and plot their return to power. One cyclopean empire stretched from the modern nation of Taldor to Iobaria, and some ruins remain to the southeast of Restov in lands now lost to civilization.
Ashardalon was a chromatic red dragon of ferocious temperament and brutal physical prowess matched only by his magical abilities. At the height of his power, the great wyrm ruled immense lands and possessed unimaginable wealth from the seized hordes of countless draconic challengers. Rather than accepting the inevitability of death at the end of his millennia-long reign, Ashardalon turned to researching foul magic to ward himself against death. Ashardalon rejected the terrible process of becoming a Dracolich, desiring to retain his awe-inspiring physical body. To that end, he performed unspeakable experiments involving the elemental essence of life itself. Alarmed, a confederation of his enemies including druidic circles, demigods in service to deities of life and death, rival chromatic dragons, mages who desired the secrets of his power, and those who desired Ashardalon’s wealth arose to bring the legendary dragon down. In a titanic battle at the heart of Ashardalon’s volcanic lair, the wyrm laid his assailants low with claw and spell. The arch-druid Dydd managed to strike a blow directly at the great wyrm’s heart, mortally wounding Ashardalon before being slain herself. Ashardalon was never seen again, and the location of his lair and treasures has been lost to time.
The Repository has no mention of the Cult of Ashardalon.
The Church of Pharasma holds no love of necromancers, and routinely sends teams of faithful to hunt down and eliminate undead and their creators. Listing the history of every necromancer brought to heel or fruitlessly attacked would take the entire career of a scholar, but a multitude of examples exist. Necromancy is sure to attract attention from the faithful; lesser spells mostly go unnoticed, but creation of undead will surely bring down the wrath of the Church.
There’s not much of a humor section to the Repository, although many of the cultural pieces preserved are humorous. Well, they would be humorous to you if you were a human from those places, presumably.
Show me what you have managed to bring with you and I will make notes on what else we must acquire. Tell me, do any of you possess a specialized skill? How about making clothes or tanning hides? If you've a mind to try your hand at a particular craft or trade, now would be a good time to branch out.
Most of the Westwinders are simple farmers, though calling a farmer ‘simple’ hints at ignorance of the multitude of skills one must have to scratch a living from the soil. Simple and hearty folk, the surviving Westwinders all have experience with planting and harvesting, animal husbandry, stitching clothes, treating ills, constructing structures, thatching roofs, preserving food, and countless other small tasks. Two of the Westwinders earned coin as caravan guards between harvest and planting seasons. A weaver survived, skilled in spinning wool and linen into string and weaving the string into cloth. Azur himself is a fair hand with a smith’s hammer from his training in maintaining arms and armor. None of the survivors have anything but the clothes on their backs and a few personal mementos that survived the trip.
DeCierre looks on with amusement at Kivan’s antics. ”Pity you’ve not a sword-arm,” the duelist comments. ”You’d be welcome among the Blade and Word then. Ah well, it’s for the better for me – don’t have to worry about the competition. Idris, you seem to have the situation in hand. Dispose of this lot as you see fit.” With that, the leader of the Fireblades takes his leave.
The skinny assassin simply looks at Maja and gives no answer. Big Shaw is more talkative.
”Coin an’ drink. What, you think Daggermark pays in flowers an’ smiles? ‘ere, let me loose an’ give me a quill. I’ll write down fer ya everywhere t’ find a bunch o’ s~%&-fer-brains muscle in this town. Make sure t’ bring yer bloodhounds, don’t want t’ ‘ave criminals in yer city! ‘Struth, I’ve changed me ways! Fer now on, I’ll be yer bounty ‘unter – scourin’ th’ underworld! Justice fer all! Cain’t ‘ave criminals what get away, can we? You’ve th’ right o’ it, I cain’t stand th’ thought o’ those useless rat-f%#@ers getting’ away with it!” The big assassin rolls his eyes and spits another gob of blood.
The three surviving attackers, who don’t bear poisoned teeth, exchange glances but venture nothing.
Arvin Jantle, Sellemius’ squire, meets you by the main gates of Restov to see you off. ”My Lord sends his best wishes with you, Ladies and Lords. I am instructed to take any notes you wish to make to the Lord-Mayor. For the sake of the cartographer, I am also instructed to learn what name you have selected for your holdings.”
For some reason Pretty is suddenly bored with so many lies and weird accent. "You're right, Shaw. We don't want criminals in our city. You haven't told us anything worth letting you live, sorry." While the others are still absorbing her words she approaches the man and sinks one of her daggers deep into his chest, finishing the man without letting him suffer for long. She turns to the other captives. "Now, let's see if some of you really want to live."
Pretty wants to prepare for every possible situattion, and as that is impossible she lets things develop as they always did, by preparing for nothing. She is ready to cross the bridges when she gets to them. She does talk to Jantle, tough. "I'm worried about having a trustable messenger to keep in touch, Jantle. Do you have anyone? Also, can you update me on the status of the other groups and their holdings? What have they decided to do?" She will insist in this, since there's the need to know. The rogue can certainly make good arguments about it, if necessary.
Kivan takes extensive notes on all the subjects though he makes a mental reminder to go visit the ruins.
Kivan just looks disappointed in Pretty, but says nothing.
Kivan gets a few supplies for his journey back the most important of which is materials to create Healer's Gloves, along with a journal, and another two spellbooks as he will be running out of room soon for his spells.
Pretty is pretty happy that her pretty bracers of pretty dexterity are pretty finished.
Also, the rogue tries to sell the spare items they got:
- +1 Keen Kukri (4154)
- +1 Rapier (1160)
- +2 Bracers of Armor (2k)
- Bravado's Garb (2100)
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Big Shaw is still mouthing off when Pretty's blade plunges into his chest. He gasps in surprise, bravado turning to silence accompanied by the ragged sounds of lungs filling with blood. After a few moments, the burly man expires on the ground. The other assassin looks on without reaction, but the other three survivors react with horror at the summary execution.
"What in the hells do you want us to say, lady?" one of them manages.
Jantle nods to Pretty. "Messages sent by the Lord-Mayor will arrive in a manner you cannot mistake. As for the others: Drelev has selected a site on the western shore of a large lake in his territory, to be named Fort Drelev. Varn has indicated a valley in the foothills of the mountains which separate your realm from his, which he names Varnhold."
The squire coughs politely. "Good folk, I have duties to which I must attend. A name, should you be so kind?"
Pretty reacts as if there was reason enough to play that little game. "I want you to say who were you hired to kill. You were too focused on the instructor and I want you to tell me why."
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"The Lady of Graves shall not soon have me," replies Sellemius dismissively to your concerns. "I'd just as soon old Noleski tries his luck with a strike at me. I haven't had a proper fight within recent memory, and it would give me an excuse to drown him in Lake Reykal without provoking his allies against Restov."
When you outline your thinking to him, Sellemius raises an eyebrow. "You think to reduce your enemies by inviting me to court you? I do not think the accounting bears you out. And what will be said of Lord Sellemius, that he courts a Lady by exiling her to the Stolen Lands?"
The Mayor looks straight into your eyes, clearly calculating and gauging your reaction. "I cannot say what ripples will spread from your actions, but it will at least be interesting. Should you wish, tie a favor around my arm."
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The assassin remains silent. The attacker who spoke up before throws up his hands as best a bound man can. "Yes, we were t' kill Brokav. They had coin an' drink, an' I didn't need much convincin'. That son of a b!$*+ had me thrown out of 'ere near ten years ago. Ain't been much work or luck fer me since. I owe that bastard a knife in th' ribs fer what he's done!"
Idris nods in approval of Pretty's summary execution.
"So you were a Fireblade initiate, hmm? Pretty bad that you've fallen this far."
Idris switches into Draconic and mutters to Seraphina, though loud enough for the others to hear, "Maybe we should conscript 'em. We'll need fighting men and I think they owe me more than taking their pitiful lives would be worth for f~@@ing up my Proving. How about offering them a chance to be our bondsmen for a term of some years in Haven?"
Pretty does not seem too please by that. "I think they pose a danger to the free folk that would join us. Send bandits and outlaws to populate a place, and for a thousand years or more you're gonna regret it."
Milo nods at Pretty in support of her intervention. Not understanding draconic, he says "I guess turning them in to the Guard is the right thing to do, though Pretty's solution will mean they won't bother us anymore."
Pretty looks at Milo as if there was something he did not understood about the guards in this city. "Both paths lead to the same destiny, Milo. Just deliver them to the guards and the problem is solved."
Idris drops the idea of recruiting the thugs when it seems that everyone else wouldn't support it.
The remaining time in Restov is spent restlessly, impatient to get home. "Home? When did the Stolen Lands become home to me? Was it when Bara and I became lovers, or was it before that?" she questions herself, when she realizes she is homesick for the greenbelt.
"The Lady of Graves shall not soon have me," replies Sellemius dismissively to your concerns. "I'd just as soon old Noleski tries his luck with a strike at me. I haven't had a proper fight within recent memory, and it would give me an excuse to drown him in Lake Reykal without provoking his allies against Restov."
When you outline your thinking to him, Sellemius raises an eyebrow. "You think to reduce your enemies by inviting me to court you? I do not think the accounting bears you out. And what will be said of Lord Sellemius, that he courts a Lady by exiling her to the Stolen Lands?"
The Mayor looks straight into your eyes, clearly calculating and gauging your reaction. "I cannot say what ripples will spread from your actions, but it will at least be interesting. Should you wish, tie a favor around my arm."
Seraphina was calmer now, relieved somewhat by his flippant manner. "If you worry over what might be said of your sending me off to brave the wilds on my own, just imagine what they must say of you courting no Lady at all." She laughed lightly, shaking her head to show how little she though of such talk. "If they question it, you could explain that this Lady can take care of herself. If they know anything of House Medvyed, they will likely not be surprised. We are known for preferring the deep woods to sprawling cities, after all."
Finally satisfied at the turn of the conversation, Sera's argumentative expression gave way to a gratified grin. "Well, never let it be said of me that I am anything less than interesting, my Lord. Hmm..." She had not come with any prepared favors and now paused, tapping her lips with her fingertip as she contemplated how she might improvise one. She reached a hand to her hair, coiling a long ringlet around her finger. With just a drop of acid, she pinched the strand between her fingers with the other hand severing it from the rest of her coiffure and tucked away the ragged end. She stretched the bouncy curl in her hands, working a prestidigitation charm to alter it into a ribbon of shining copper exactly the color of her hair. She then wrapped it around his arm and fastened it carefully. "This will only remain in it's current form for another hour and then revert back, unless I refresh the enchantment. You are welcome to keep or dispose of it after the Ball. But if you do away with it, destroy it completely, if you please. It would not do to let pieces of myself fall into the wrong hands."
Their dance now done, Seraphina took Ioseph's hand in both of hers as she returned his gaze. "Do not be a stranger, my Lord. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I should go drink to Lord Numesti's health and long life." She squeezed his hand gently and dipped her good night curtsy, sashaying back to the tables to do just that.
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Later that night, she found some time to speak with Pretty privately. "So I have an assignment for you, my Lady Spymaster." She beamed happily, clearly enjoying calling her friend by her new noble honorific, "The Lord Mayor has invited us to inquire into his acquaintances and associates. I would suggest beginning with Arvin Jantle, his gifted young Squire. I suspect there may be more to that story."
Idris nods in approval of Pretty's summary execution.
"So you were a Fireblade initiate, hmm? Pretty bad that you've fallen this far."
Idris switches into Draconic and mutters to Seraphina, though loud enough for the others to hear, "Maybe we should conscript 'em. We'll need fighting men and I think they owe me more than taking their pitiful lives would be worth for f++&ing up my Proving. How about offering them a chance to be our bondsmen for a term of some years in Haven?"
Sera considered Idris' words, but the look on her face was telling even before she replied in Draconic, "We have not had the best luck trying to manage wild dogs. I fear our dear Bara is the exception rather than the rule. " She shook her head sadly and then switched to common so all could understand her. "These honor-less dregs leaped at the chance to profane a ritual of the Aldori tradition and sought to murder a single man at the odds of nine to one. It is Restov's law they have broken and it is Restov's law they should face. Perhaps justice will be merciful if they inform upon their co-conspirators who escaped us."
She locked her stare upon the remaining Daggermark assasin and spoke through gritted teeth. "But we will not gamble on seeing this face lurking in the crowd ever again. Let it be known that all Daggermark's failed assasins who move against us will share your fate." She summoned her corrosive power into her hands and went for the man's throat not even giving him the benefit of a quick and painless death.
When that business was done, she agreed that they should turn the rest of the hired thugs in to face Restov's justice.
Jantle nods to Pretty. "Messages sent by the Lord-Mayor will arrive in a manner you cannot mistake. As for the others: Drelev has selected a site on the western shore of a large lake in his territory, to be named Fort Drelev. Varn has indicated a valley in the foothills of the mountains which separate your realm from his, which he names Varnhold."
The squire coughs politely. "Good folk, I have duties to which I must attend. A name, should you be so kind?"
Seraphina giggled over hearing the names the male leaders had chosen, "Well, that's telling, isn't it? I always thought vanity was more of a feminine vice. We have been referring to our territory as the Salvaged Lands and we have agreed to call our first community Haven." She clasped the young man's hand in a warm farewell. "Take care, Master Jantle. I hope we will have the opportunity to welcome you to our new home some not too distant day."
Kivan seems shocked at Sera's behavior.
"I can understand killing them even if I don't like it, but why did you have to make it so brutal? Is this the famous human mercy that I have heard so much about? It seems that I overestimated humans once again."