Tsin studies Korgin, intent on understanding as much of the beast as she can. She takes note of the cords of muscle through his neck.
The wolf cocks his head after considering for a moment.
"You want him? So be it, I'll be well and done with him. I would normally ask for 75 gold, but as you've already helped save me some effort, you can have him for merely 50 pieces of gold."
Pems reaches into his pocket and pulls out the patch of a sack of 100 gp. He counts out 50 gp, looking regretfully at the coin as if sad to trade them for this poor servant. "And I thank you for an excellent deal. Perhaps with some mental manipulation he will be good for hauling stone."
Tsin approaches the Ulfen man, and proceeds to open his mouth, checking the quality of his dental hygiene. She looks over at Pems, and nods begrudgingly.
The wolf transforms into a man and takes the coin; as he begins to walk away, the other man, coming out of his daze gasps out, "Thank you, master. My name is Jorhan."
Ringierr looks around nervously and then turns his attention to Pems. "That was well-handled, but what do you plan to do with him now, I wonder."
Tsin watches Korgin retreat a fair ways, before approaching Pems, Owner of Slaves. "I understand that owning one slave is never enough. They become lonely when left to their own devices, and once you purchase more, they begin to procreate like... well..." Tsin gives Flash a quick look, before nodding to Ringeirr to continue leading the group, now one slave heavier.
Pem murmurs low. "I'll free him, of course, as soon as we can find him a safe place to be free. " Pems stares at Tsin for a moment before he realizes she's joking. He scowls at her. "Careful or I might need a female to match my male..."
Malavarius remains oblivious to the exchange with the winter wolf and the recently purchased slave as he and Zeno continue in a quiet argument regarding the nature of flight and whether man will ever be able to do so without the aid of magic.
As the argument hits a stalemate and each of the participants turns away from the other in frustration, Malavarius' eyes fall on Jorhan for the first time. "Oh! Oh but you're new, aren't you? I don't suppose you would know where my good hat is, would you?"
Ringeirr nods, then frowns.
"I do not think we should keep him with us, as he might slow us down. If I may?"
Assuming you give him permission, he tells Jorhan to go home, gather any of Korgin’s other slaves who might be there, and clear out the place of valuables, then go to Rimerest Cemretery where the Heralds of Summer’s Return will help them get out of the city.
"Some of wolf's wealth must go to help slaves escape, but I will see they get fair portion to help them start over," he says.
Continuing on at Ringeirr's urging, you notice a disturbance behind you , where two ice trolls in the livery of Queen Elvanna’s Winter Guard have stopped two white-haired
humans. One of the trolls is pointing up to the sky.
Ringeirr blanches.
"Ice troll and winter wolves frequently fight over who is in charge, particularly in the Howlings, but not for long. We must be fast if you wish to not have confrontation. We must get out of sight, but Mortin's home is just around corner."
Crud.
"Is being a winter wolf going to be a help or a hindrance here?" Pems mutters to Ringeirr, after approving of the slave's freedom play.
If Ringeirr says it is a hindrance, Pems removes the pelt and becomes tiny Pemsworth again. If not, he lets the others go ahead, staying at the back of the pack, knowing he at least has a chance of bluffing his way past any ice trolls with his winter wolfish look.
"I do not think it will matter," Ringierr says. "They will want papers. That mirror man and the fireworks attracted attention, I think."
Hoping to avoid the trolls while they're still occupied with the two winter wolves they're talking to, you rush to Mortin's home, where no one answers Ringeirr's loud knock. He pushes on the door, but it appears to be locked!
"By the Witch's frozen tit!" Ringeirr swears. "Can you open it? Quickly!"
"Is there a back door or window we could sneak through?" Quinn looks to Ringeirr for guidance even he steps toward the side of the building.
"Careful or I might need a female to match my male..."
Tsin smirks. "Do let me know when you purchase one, then. What you purchased was a sheep in man's clothing."
"That mirror man and the fireworks attracted attention, I think."
"Fireworks? What fireworks?" Tsin turns to Mal, as if it were necessary to confirm the source of the sparkles. "Really, Mal, we're trying to be subtle here. Next time, try to avoid attracting attentions."
"Can you open it?"
Tsin readies to shoulder the door open, should Pems fail to open it on his first attempt.
Pems moves forward and pulls his masterwork lockpicks!
Hawktir soars lower, sitting nearby to make a quick entry if the door is opened.
Malavarius frowns deeply at Tsin, "Perhaps if you dunderheaded fools could avoid swinging your swords about every time someone looks at us a second time I wouldn't have to create dazzlingly clever distractions!"
You all dive into the home lacking any but the most basic “gingerbread”
wooden trim as soon as Pems manages to get it open with a quick flick of his wrist, Ringeirr closing the door just in time as you catch a glimpse of the trolls turning down the side street.
An inconspicuous little man inside, completely bald and wearing eyeglasses, looks astonished at your sudden entrance but relaxes momentarily as he spots Ringeirr.
"What is going on here?" he asks, eyes wide.
"Sorry, Mortin," Ringeirr responded. "We had no choice. Trolls were coming close. These people need papers."
"Trolls?" the forger gasps. "You led them to my house! How could you!"
"We had no choice," Ringeirr repeats. "We must help these people."
The two men continue to argue back and forth, veins throbbing along Mortin's forehead.
Hawktir swoops into the door, seeking a safe place to land and eventually settling on Flash's tender back Tsin's shoulder.
Realizing the time for birding is over, Hawktir concentrates again on his manhood, his strong sense of self, and, well, his dingaling.
Hektir returns, and spits.
"Yeah, we need papers. Good papers."
"Yea, good papers, we don't need anymore trouble like that dogging our footsteps! Let me take a look at what the trolls and wolves are doing out there."
Quinn presses his hands against the front wall that faces the street and concentrates until his senses reach past the boards.
Malavarius strides up beside Ringeirr and Mortin and bends forward, leaning on his staff, "Excuse me, but if those trolls and wolves do knock on this door in a few moments, how will this arguing help us, hmmm?"
Pems, feeling flushed and slightly panicked, suddenly feels a surge of wolfishness. He grabs the little man and lifts him to his face, snarling, "Stop talking and get to work. If the trolls come, we'll distract them. But if they come, we better have some papers, right?"
Malavarius raps Pemsworth atop the noggin with his staff, "Just because you look like one of those wolfy wolfs doesn't mean you need to be rude like one, master Pemsworth!" He shoots Zeno an exasperated glance to which Zeno simply shrugs his wings.
Tsin moves to the door, and listens closely to what Quinn reports. "How far out can you see, Quinn?" She turns back to the cowing of the forger.
"If this endangers us all, we could try and lead the trolls away from here to give you time to create papers. It won't do if the door is bashed down, and your security compromised."
"If anyone has to lead them away it will be me. Cayden will enhance my already fleet feet and grant the ability to watch them through walls, no sense in us all being in jeopardy if one of us can turn their attention away from this good man's home."
"I would not have our most valuable teammate running about alone. Remember that I can speed my pace, and have no hindrance should we hit snowdrifts, thanks to the snowshoes."
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"That's very kind of you Tsin, but I mean to stay right here. It wouldn't do well for a man my age to run about on his own now, would it?"
Tsin turns to Mal, a hint of frustration crossing her brow for an instant, before the thought changes. She marches up to Mal, and tweaks his nose. "This is a youthful nose, Mal. No illusion here. I would assume the rest of you is equally less wrinkled. I would imagine you'd feel right at home, running with Quinn, no?" She remembers to let go of his nose with her question.
Hektir gaffaws.
Got his nose.
Malavarius swat the offending hand away, "I say, madam! Though it may appear to be a nose in the prime of its youth, I can assure you it just an appearance and nothing more. I am, and shall remain, a grumpy old man. And I never did 'feel at home' running." He stamps the butt of his staff on the floor as if that settled the matter before once more beginning to stroke a beard that was no longer there. "Confound it all, Zeno! When will this blasted spell end? I'm all out of sorts without a beard."
"Bah!"
Pems carefully puts the forger down, before turning and glaring at Mal. "One day someone is going to hit YOU with a stick and I'm going to laugh at you. Then I'm going to kick you in the shins." He turns back to the forger. "Listen, the sooner we get the papers, the sooner we get out of your hair forever."
"I used to hear that quite a bit at court, about men uncomfortable to be seen at court without their beards." Tsin allows a light smile to touch the corners of her eyes.
"Fine, fine," Mortin says, apparently cowed, though your tactics draw a disapproving frown from Ringeirr. "It will take me several hours. How shall I make them up? Do you wish to be slaves or stilyagi or their guests or something else?"
Quinn, outside you can see the trolls give a look at the door, but then they shrug and seem to turn aside and continues down the other direction.
Hektir opines immediately.
"I ain't no slave to anyone. Best make me one of them stillyucky ones."
Quinn reports on the trolls stomping away, even as he continues his vigil.
Malavarius relaxes at Quinn's news. "There we are, crisis averted." With a smile he extends his hand to Mortin, "Sorry for all the hubbub, my good man. Ringeiir here speaks very highly of you. You'll forgive us our uncouth first impressions, won't you?" Zeno pecks his wizard sharply atop the head when it becomes apparent he's forgotten to introduce himself. "Ouch! What was that fo- oh! Oh yes of course. I am Malavarius. The impatient loon above me is Zeno. You'd do well to ignore him."
It takes him several hours but Mortin sourly finally hands over papers identifying all of you as stilyagi.
"Good luck," he says, "I think you will need it."
Leaving, you follow the winding streets of the Howlings to an intersection of broad thoroughfares that lead to other districts of Whitethrone, where the buildings continue to improve in the quality of their construction and the exquisite detailing of their woodwork. In the distance, the sounds of more active neighborhoods can be heard, but Whitethrone is generally somber and muted.
A white signpost, painted with neat black writing, stands at the crossroads. Written in Skald and Giant, it points the way toward “Two Hills” to the northeast, “Merchants’ Quarter and the Floes” to the southeast, and “Porcelain Street and Frosthall” to the south.
Pemsworth, Quinn and Tsin all notice a pair of mirror men standing in the shadows beneath the eaves of a nearby home, watching the passing traffic.
Pemsworth, now back to his non-wolfish form and with Flash safely stowed, keeps his eyes down, acting servile to the humans.
Hektir looks at Ringeirr, looking for the man to tell them where to go.
"Which way, Ringyears?" Hektir asks with a spit. "I'd like to get to the “Merchants’ Quarter and the Floes”, I suppose. Got to sell some stuff. We got lots of stuff to sell."
Tsin murmurs to Mal and Hektir, pointing out as casually as she can the location of the mirror men.
If there is a way of bypassing them, taking a side alley, and regaining the main road, she encourages the others to do same. If this is a chokepoint, she assesses different crowds of people, and drops back a bit to stagger the group, as to avoid appearing as a full five-person troupe. Also, she finds herself gravitating towards the other side of the street, not knowing exactly how far away they can still be detected. Finally, she tosses the Cloak's hood over her head, seeking to obscure her face.
Quinn follows Tsin's lead, also covering his head with his cloak and seeking to avoid the mirror men.
Malavarius, with papers in hand, remains unflapped by the presence of the mirror men.
"We need to go to the Floes," Ringeirr replies to Hektir, "but our path will take us through the Merchant's Quarter."
He adds nervously, "I suppose we can stop -- quickly -- there if you must."
As you near -- the checkpoint being the only apparent way out of the Howlings other than back the way you came in -- the two mirror men step out of the shadows. One of them gestures toward you, holding out his hand.
Papers, you hear a voice in your head order.
Tsin doesn't delay in producing hers, sparing a moment to look at the hands that accept them. She doesn't look up and into the mirror itself, well aware of its capability in combat.
Still beside Tsin, Quinn also produces his papers while keeping his eyes downcast.
Hektir picks his teeth using the mirror of the man, after handing over his papers.
Is that a pimple? I should pop that.
Malavarius waits for the others to finish tripping over themselves before he produces his set of papers. "A fine day today, isn't it? I say, you pair wouldn't happen to have seen my good hat anywhere about by any chance, would you? It's a very fine hat. Very fine indeed."
The mirror men look at the papers you provide, but despite the disruption of the fireworks, it still seems more cursory than close examination.
After an agonizing minute, one steps back into the shadows while the other nods and returns your papers to you.
As you begin to walk by, you again hear a cold voice in your head: Remember, public dancing remains strictly prohibited.
You walk by and Ringeirr lets out an explosive sigh of relief.
"Follow me," he says. "We must go through Merchant's Quarter, to Floes."
He leads you through the city into a nice section of town, the buildings heavily laden in wooden gingerbreading, while signs in Common advertise restaurants, taverns and inns, among other shops. The crowds seem almost entirely human here, the several monsters -- mostly ice trolls and occasional snow goblin or ice giant -- you saw on your way seeming to fade to a more normal assortment, along with the occasional gnome.
"If you must shop, do so quickly," Ringeirr says, looking around nervously. "We must get to safe haven."