As you don them, the robes shift slightly, adjusting for your builds and armor. It looks as if they were tailor-made for you.
The clerk sighs and produces several plates of a rice gruel. 'We usually leave it up to the apprentices to flavor it as they please."
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It's a half hour before dawn when you step outside the side doors of the Academy. At first glance, Pezzack is a crowded-in city center, but then you start to notice more telling details. Several of the buildings are burned and gutted, with no repairs made for years. The Menador Mountains come flush up against the town from the south and east, giving the place a more claustrophobic feel to it than it might naturally deserve.
The streets are, remarkably, not deserted. You spot at least a dozen figures, heading this way or that, or standing on a street corner, waiting for someone. As you watch, a wooden board slides a couple of feet and a woman crawls out of the hole it reveals in the sideway, followed by two young children. As soon as they are clear, the woman replaces the makeshift "manhole" cover and goes about her business.
Sense Motive
It seems clear to everyone -- somebody needs to point this out to Frissa -- that one cluster of three people is walking briskly, with purpose, but always walking within a block of the Academy.
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"Good to know, let's just keep going."
Frissarose has re-donned her plate armour and is very conscious of the robes maybe not concealing things as well as she might hope so she hopes they will just move along so they don't get questioned. She isn't much good at these sorts of intense investigations anyway and so she seamlessly returns back to innocent people-watching.
Before you head to Gold Street, Pavanna takes a look down the hole that the family emerged from. Looking down, she sees rickety stairs leading down to an underground tunnel going east-west. In the distance, Pavanna can hear a dozen or so footfalls, echoing along the corridor.
It would appear that you have an entrance to the Guts.
It takes you about an hour to make your way yo a string of once-prosperous shops. The path is riddled with burnt-out tenements and shattered paving-stones. There are times when the simplest path takes you through one of the gutted buildings.
A faded sign identifies a jagged cobblestone streetas "Gold Street", lined with storefronts looted to the buildings’ bones. Entire walls have been hauled away, stripped not just of stone and wood but also the nails that secured them, and anything remotely valuable was picked clean years ago.
One shop stands relatively intact, however— Torandril’s Finery. Its windows are boarded shut, though lights inside appear to shine between the planks.
The building is two stories tall, with a short staircase leading to the main doors.
Rayne, you can't really be unseen from the passers-by, but you can try to stay silent as you move around the place.
The building is no larger than 15' by 20'. You can hear the silhouettes of muted conversations from inside. Mostly brief exchanges between men, but there's a woman's voice once in a while, too. It's not that the people inside are yelling; the walls are just that thin.
You don't see any other than the one entrance, but there might be a way in through the Guts.
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"I'm not gonna wait outside like some kind of guard or servant, that'll make us stand out if anyone's watching or separate us if something bad does happen and we don't want either of those things...I don't mind watching our backs from inside though, so I'll do that instead." Frissa bats her red eyelashes, the very picture of casual noncompliance.
The party climbs the stairs and knocks A man opens the door, and he looks like he's dressed for trouble: well-fitting leather armor over a black shirt, and a dagger sheathed on his hip. In the second or so it takes him to look you over, you get a better view of the man himself, thin then some,his features are pinched and his cheeks are sallow. He sniffs the air about you and calls back into the room "It's either a bit early for Trick-or-Treatin', or else the academy's got a sale goin' on with apprentices."
He turns back to you. "State your business here."
The man returns Alden's stare, but blinks after fifteen seconds and turns away, back towards the company inside, with a noticeable shiver in his voice. "There's a party here to see the guild about some information." He opens the door wider and steps to the side.
Inside, you can count at least a half-dozen enforcers, each in his or her own armor -- some cobbled together from contrasting bits, others whole and of a Chelaxian style -- and armed. They appear relaxed, leaning against the wall or straddling chairs. Seeing you, they each stand at a greater level of attention. No one has drawn steel, but they seem to be on their guard.
Another woman, with darker skin and browner hair than the Chelaxian style, sits behind a small, weathered desk in the corner, filled with a ledger and writing equipment. She looks up over her small glasses and sets down a quill pen.
"Well? Come in and give answer for yourselves. You've sought the Guild, during working hours, and you stand before the Guild Master. Introduce yourselves, ask your questions, or just glower in the corner. But quit giving Davan the hairy eyeball, good Knight. He gets nervous, and then everybody else has to take time out of their day to make fun of him."
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Alden grins and gives a short bow.
"You definitely have me at a disadvantage and I'm sure We are at the right place with the level of professional greeting given I would not have expected to see in this quarters. I am Alden Darkcrown Thelas, my companions will speak for themselves. Greetings to you Guildmaster. May we have the pleasure of whom we are speaking with?"
The woman gestures an invitation to enter.
She introduces herself in a professional manner. "That one's free, of course. My name is Cessia Florianthus, and I run the Guild here. If there's anything you need, my associates and I can help you find it. Including things you never thought possible to find in Pezzack. Now, state your concerns or find someone else to bother. We have a shipment of ... odds and ends to appraise, and you're keeping us from it."
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Pavanna looks around the inside of the guild, taking note of the enforcers, their weapons and armor, wondering how much these men would enjoy the lash of Asmodeus' love...
"Greetings to you Mistress. Allow me to introduce myself, Pavanna al-Azario conduit of the Dark Prince. We come to this difficult situation in Pezzack in search of many things, however we bring with us gifts and goods which I am sure will bring much power and prestige to those wise enough to trade for them. It is the wisdom of the Prince of Laws that you have been selected first to be allowed to enter into a contract with us which we will find to be mutually beneficial. Yes?"
Pavanna takes out a bottle of the brandy, sets it down, then gestures to one of the enforcers. "Please, bring this brandy to your mistress with my complements."
The guard looks astonished at Pavanna and the bottle, and delivers it across the room. The other woman takes it, looks it over, and nods in appreciation.
"You must be new here. Why, that itself is quite interesting. What can the Guild help you find?"
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"As a fair and just agent of the Prince of Laws I will offer you 2 pounds of trade goods for each question you can answer for me in a manner I deem helpful. At the end if I feel you have lived up the spirit and letter of this agreement, I will leave you a bottle of wine which is of higher quality than the brandy. Do you agree to these terms?" Pavanna smiles a genuine smile of joy, others may call it wickedness.
The guild master returns the smile, closes her ledger, and offers Pavanna a seat across from her.
"Of course not. As the party offering services, it is our decision to set their price. The Guild will consider each question for two pounds of usable goods. For that price, you have my assurance that your questions -- however revealing, naive, potentially lucrative for anyone else, or seditious -- will not be repeated, transcribed, or discussed outside this room. For that consideration, we agree to work for you.
"Answers run a bit more.
"Off the cuff facts, information you could garner from, say, speaking with Snapjack, are worth another pound of goods. More obscure answers are more valuable, and therefore more costly. Say, upwards to 10 or 12 pounds worth for something like the Peacock's defenses. I'll present the price first. Then, if you decide it's worth the cost, the answer. If we need to conduct any research, that is our cost, not yours. You shouldn't have to pay because we have to look something up.
"On the other hand, we charge whether the answer is 'helpful' to you or not. If our answers don't advance your agenda, you need to start asking better questions.
"As for the wine, our thanks, but no." She looks around, making sure that none of her thieves try to argue the point in front of you. "We will, however, be glad to pass along that bit of information to whichever party ends up buying the brandy.
"Those are the terms under which we serve our clients. Present company included."
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With a look of something like admiration in her eyes, Pavanna sits down across from the guild mistress. She sets the wine down on the desk in front of her and gestures to one of the guild thugs, "Please bring us two glasses."
Smiling to Cessia and locking eyes, Pavanna continues, "Your terms are acceptable. I see information on a disgraceful daughter named Phelerosa Ciucci. Specifically what can you tell me about her noble father?"
"About theCiucci patron, a pound would get you the information that you could use to keep up with gossip in one of our taverns: two failed marriages, the disappearance of an investigator who was looking into his dealings with a halfling-supply consortium based further south in Cheliax, Phelerosa's younger sister causing scandal by wearing green to a poetry reading at the governor's house. That sort of thing.
"More pertinent information, say blackmail worthy indiscretions, might run anywhere from five pounds for accurate but unsubstantiated information, upwards to ten, for documents, proof, and explanations that even the governor's men could understand.
"But you began by asking about Phelerosa herself. Three pounds is the price for her location. Oh, her family would be so very proud of the way she's making by."
And she takes a sip of her wine. She raises an eyebrow in admiration.
"I hear that the little lost sheep has taken up work at Auntie’s, a recreational establishment over in Docktown. Between the striped curtains and the, ah, enhanced figurehead, it's rather hard to miss."
At the second name, Mistress Florianthus looks puzzled. She accepts a large notebook, covered in faded red leather, from one of her associates and pages through it slowly. "“I’m afraid that name doesn’t ring a bell. Should it?”
The woman raises an eyebrow at Alden, and the atmosphere in the room grows a bit more tense. "Come now, man. If anyone's told you that the Guild knows everything, you've swallowed a mouthful of hagfish. We keep tabs on people and events in town. Perhaps this Olandil is out of our jurisdiction?
She turns towards Rayne. "As for Arundi, yes, we know of him. This is where he bought some of his best speeches. Eight pounds of goods for his location."
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Pavanna also gives Alden a bit of a sideways glance, and says "Be polite, we are the ones here paying for information, after all."
"Very interesting, that little scamp doesn't even write his own work? I suppose that would stand to reason. We'll take his location for eight pounds please. One other individual, if you please, a one-eyed Galtan man named Falger.
Mistress Florianthus smiles and stands from her seat. The floorboards creak as she steps across the room. One of her men opens the door for her and a half-dozen rag-worn children stand revealed just a few feet outside, listening for scraps of conversation. They scatter like rats.
"I thought as much," she mutters. "Do you want my men to hunt them down, or will you be content that my answer is private, even if those scamps overheard the question?"
"“That two-bit poet Arundi steals his best lines from books put out elsewhere in the last five years. I’d know, because I sold them to him. Still, he’s done enough to get into someone’s good graces as he’s got contacts in the Thistles that seem to protect him from the Loyalists.
" Take a look over there. You see that warehouse, two blocks down, on the right side of the street? He’s got some event this week at the old Manukirt warehouse that I’ll attend just to see who he’s ripping off now.”
One of the men volunteers, "I saw a flyer posted up at the Inkwell, advertizin' something there, ma'am. You think it's the same?"
Mistress Florianthus turns and beams at him. "Why, Lissett! I'd not taken you for being one of those poet-types!"
"I'm not, ma'am. I was spying on those poet-types. Although I suppose I did learn some thyming words."
"There'll be enough time for that later this morning, I think. What was the other ... oh, Falger? Another six for him."
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"Do the rats bring you cheese my dear? Or perhaps you need some poison to rid yourself of them?" Pavanna coos as she ponders setting the thugs loose on the ragamuffins. She then waves her hand dismissively and sneers, "Children are less trustworthy than halflings. Leave them."
Pavanna drains her wine glass, indicating she is finished. "Another six for Falger, agreed. Though I may call again before our business in town is complete. You have been a gracious provider, and I expect I will be pleased with the quality of your product."
"You are most kind. Let us hope your prediction is correct.
"Ah, Falger: the Galtans’ famous problem-solver. He’s a wily one, but I know he’s looking for something specific from the Throne Defiant—a gem they use there in interrogations to modify memories. I don’t have a name for it, but if he sells it to me, I’ll keep you in mind.”