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Jubrayl
Jubrayl wakes, and thinks of his lost cousin, before even his goddess. The sun shines in through the window of his cell, as he takes to his knees to pray. The presence of Iomedae is palpable, in a way he has never felt before, and as his prayers come to an end, and he turns his mind the spells his Goddess has granted him, it is with a feeling of surprise. Even in the despicable parts of this city, and with the types of people he was planning to meet with today, he would not think to need these powers. Perhaps She can see things he cannot, and today will be the day that he frees his young cousin from whatever captor has her.
As he opens his eyes, Jubrayl has another surprise. A card, of the type the Varisians use to tell fortunes, lies directly in his sight. Another gift from his Goddess? The face of the card shows a paladin, full plate gleaming, and his mace dripping in blood. The back of the card, has a pattern of green and red, overwritten with text in a flowing hand. “I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet St at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”
At sunset, Jubrayl is stood at the door of 3 Lancet St, Armed and Armoured. His knock causes the door to swing open, letting him into a small room, he enters, closing the door securely behind. The small room is poorly, but well decorated. Brocaded tapestrys decorate the walls, almost certainly images from the Harrow Deck. Incense burns near the hearth, giving smells of flowers and strong spices. Rugs cover the floor, and a table, with 6 chairs stands in the centre of the room. On the table is a note, “Thank you for coming. I had to step out for a bit, but shall return shortly. Please, have a seat while you wait. The basket under the table contains bread and drink for you.”
After a few moments, a Shoanti woman enters, followed almost imediatly by a small man, wearing a dishevalled cloak.
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Istas
Istas stands at the door of three Lancet St, contemplating the ways in which Pharasma has intervened in her life. Twice She has brought her cleric back from the dead, the second time even giving her a message, and curing her addiction to the Chelaxian drug, Shiver. This time though, someone else is intervening. As she finished her morning prayers, and took the first bite of her breakfast in the tavern she stays in, she noticed a card slipped under her tankard. The card was some sort of Varisian fortune telling card, and the back contained a message: “I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”. Of course, there was no question of Istas not following such a blatant sign from her Goddess. The room she enters is poorly, but well decorated. Brocaded tapestrys decorate the walls, almost certainly images from the Harrow Deck. Incense burns near the hearth, giving smells of flowers and strong spices. Rugs cover the floor, and a table, with 6 chairs stands in the centre of the room. She sees a paladin, seated and taking bread from a basket beneath the wooden table. As he stands another man enters behind her, a small man, wearing the robes of the Acadamae, but worn and dishevelled.
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Malik
Malik swirls the flask, watching the fluid turn a deep crimson in the morning sun. These small, alchemical jobs are making him a small living, but are nothing compared to the the feel of magic flowing through his veins. He dares not cast spells though, not even a cantrip to clean the sweet from his brow when the hot sun and the bunsens combine to drench him in sweat. He cannot afford to have the Masters of the Acadame chasing him down again.
He transfers the corrosive fluid to a set of small vials, ready for the rogue who will pick them up later in the day. It is as he does so that he sees the swirl of colour in the bottom of the vial holder. Removing the vials, he finds a Harrow Card, turning the card he sees a message written in flowing script along the back. “I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet St at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”
Gaedren Lamm, the man who framed Malik of murder, and ended he one love, his training of a wizard. He was lucky to escape the Academe with his spellbook, and the cloak on his back that night, and had been scraping a living ever since, hiding in the darkest parts of time, and hoping for a way to get at Lamm.
The question of the cards authenticity never crosses Malik's mind, and it is as the sun meets the horizon, that he enters three Lancet street, to be greeted by the Shoanti barbarian cleric, and the Paladin of Iomedae.
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Torillan
Sunlight filters into the basement through the slats of the small street-level window. The light illuminating the thug slumped and bleeding. The thug Torillan had been trailing for the last day. The last in a line of small leads, and the least likely.
He finally caught up to the man, Corlane, in the alleyway above, six or so hours ago. A quick word, and a well aimed punch meant he could drag the man down here. It was three gruelling hours before the man would even admit to knowing of the murder at all, let alone anything else, but once that piece of information was let slip, more followed quickly. A tail of a hire, of other thugs involved, of things going wrong, confirming all of Torillan's previous leads, but always something left out.
As the only torch flickered out, the man slumped to the floor again, slumping into the sticky pool of blood.
The light is bright enough to see by now, and the thug blinks as he awakes. “Only a name” whispers Torillan, “just a Gods damned name”. “Gaedren Lamm,” whispers the man, “Gaedren Lamm,”. “Thank you” whispers Torillan, his dagger meeting the thug's heart.
He passes into the street above, moving quickly to the fountain at the end of this block, to wash the blood from his hands. Still staring at the water, he sees, as the blood clears, a Harrow Card, the winged serpent, sitting in the bottom of the fountain. On impulse Torillan pulls the card out of the water, turning it in his hands, and notices the writing upon the back. “I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet St at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”
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Calandra
Your day starts quite normally, after dressing and eating, you collect a brush, and start to untangle the fiery mess of hair. You take a seat before Kizzy just as she finishes shuffling her cards, and begins her deal. As always she starts with the positive past, and deals face down from top to bottom. “The hidden truth,” says Kizzy, obviously thinking hard, “that must mean that we have seen past the obvious, working hard to make good what could have been so tragic?” her telling turns to a question, you nod and she continues, turning the next card. “Well, Mother always said that prophecy was true, the cards say this one is especially so.”, she says, staring at the card with a miniature theatre, play and all on the front. “Finally, the Eclipse, well, we all felt lost when Mother died didn't we?”. With a small shudder she passes onto the reading of the present.
“The Avalanche?” she says, pointing to the snow covered card in the positive present position, “but that's miss-aligned, so that means that the current disaster can be averted? That has to be good right? But what disaster?”. She frowns as she turns the next card, this time, her shudder is palpable, The sickness, “but that can only mean a disease of the body, and soul. Does that mean about the King being sick Cal? But how could that affect to you? I never like the unclear cards...The survivor, well that's a good card. Oh, but wait, it's miss-aligned, that means tragic news, or profound loss! Do we have to carry on today? I don't like this reading.”. It only takes a look to remind her of the rules you mother taught you both, the most important, “never leave a reading unfinished”.
She deals the final three cards, “Ahh the rabbit, I always loved this one, the future will bring you the Capriciousness of Combat, whatever that means! The bear, brute force reigns in the unclear future.”. Moving quickly on, Kizzy deals that last card, the negative future. “Another miss-aligned card, I wonder what so many means? Well this one means that fate is not on your side, your future is going to be difficult, with lots of battles, but with the capriciousness you will get through. How was that?”. She smiles widely.
You congratulate her, taking that final card, as a reminder of the reading for the day ahead, as usual. As you leave the house, you wonder where the other two girls are again, not home, at this hour, or out before dawn, neither a good option. Especially with a reading as dark as that one. The cards have always shown especially true for you.
It is only later, after a long day of “dancing” that you fish that card out of a hidden pocket in one of your scarves. Only, it isn't the same card, or rather, it isn't from the same deck, oh it is The Juggler indeed, but on the back is the text, “I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet St at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.” You just have time to get there.
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Istas
Istas stands at the door of three Lancet St, contemplating the ways in which Pharasma has intervened in her life. Twice She has brought her cleric back from the dead, the second time even giving her a message, and curing her addiction to the Chelaxian drug, Shiver. This time though, someone else is intervening. As she finished her morning prayers, and took the first bite of her breakfast in the tavern she stays in, she noticed a card slipped under her tankard. The card was some sort of Varisian fortune telling card, and the back contained a message: “I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”. Of course, there was no question of Istas not following such a blatant sign from her Goddess. Now, as she enters the small, brocaded room, she sees a paladin, seated and taking bread from a basket beneath the wooden table. The are six chairs, including the one the paladin sits in, none of the others are occupied, though as Istis takes a seat a small man, wearing the robes of the Acadamae, but worn and dishevelled enters behind her.
For Istas, Jubrayl, and Malik
Istas silently regards the seated man and his fine armor, noting the shield embossed with Iomedae's symbol of faith with great interest. 'A holy man,' she surmises, 'And a warrior...' She looks down at the Harrow card in her hand. 'Someone like me...' she tells herself, 'I wonder what reason the goddess of fate would have to unite in purpose with the goddess of valor? And thereby bring their two servants together?'
She senses someone entering behind her and warily shifts to a positon just inside the doorway that allows her to size up the newcomer while also keeping an eye on the paladin. She notices his robes immediately. Istas had seen similar garb worn by others coming and going from the Acadamae. 'A wizard then...' she muses, 'A student of knowledge. Also someone like me...' She wordlessly gestures for him to proceed her to the table before following behind.
Once she takes a seat, Istas lays her palm upon the table, slowly pulling it away to reveal the Harrow card. "It would seem we've been summoned," she says in a low voice, "Predestined perhaps, given the crossing of one man's fate with ours. My name is Istas. I offer you the blessings of Pharasma upon your past, present, and future."
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Atherton Dram
Atherton Dram sits atop the roof of 7 Lancet St, feet either side of the peak, crouched to the roof-line to avoid being seen. This is how he has been for hours. Poised. The note said “sunset”, but it also said “others” and nothing is to say that these “others” had had the same message.
The message was a story in itself. The lock-box had taken weeks to open. Small and covered in skulls, it has been only a specific combination of seven of the forty nine skulls ringing the rim to even release the key, and that was just the start. Twenty one locks were hidden in that beast, each opened by the same key. What was inside? Oh, a Varisian harrow Card. Not even the deck, just a single card. The card had an intricate image of a Peacock on the front, and a green and red pattern on the back. It also had a message, “I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”. Gaedren had done many things to Atherton in the past, both good and bad. Nothing sprang to mind though that would cause the deep reaction the card seemed to expect. Still, there were going to be people at 3 Lancet St who wanted to harm Lamm,perhaps there could be an opportunity in that situation, one way or another.
It was only after two hours sitting on that roof, watching the sun sink through the sky, that Atherton wondered how the card could possibly be connected to him, and how it could possibly fall into his possession on the correct day. That thought is cut short though as a Paladin, full plate gleaming in the deep crimson sunlight, steps up to the door of number three. Four more characters follow, inter-spaced by minutes at a time, before the sun finally sinks. Next is a Shoanti barbarian girl, followed swiftly by an out of luck man who can only be a mage. A gang thug strolls to the door, and in. and finally a Varisian girl runs down the street as though the daemons were after her. As darkness finally falls, Atherton gives in to curiosity, drops down the front of the building holding the over hanging tiles until the limit of his arms allows a swift kick, a back somersault and soft landing.
Torillan, his mind racing, absently shakes the water from the card, and reads it again.
"Lamm...but why? He's a nobody; a bum. Doesn't make any sense...." he thinks to himself.
He blinks, and realizes that he has just gone four city blocks. He looks up and sees a street sign...Lancet Street.
He turns, counting numbers on buildings...
"Seven...Four...Three. Number three Lancet..."
He studies the front of the building, hoping to glean some information from the nondescript building. Nothing....
He slowly approaches the door, listening briefly before turning the latch and stepping inside...
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Torrillan:
You are greeted by a small room, warm and cosey, and smelling of flowers and stong spices. The walls are covered in tapestries, images that bear more than a passing silimarity to the card still in your hand.
Arranged arround a table are 6 charis, and 3 other people. The tallest is a paladin, amour gleaming. The next a shoanti priestess, lean and strong, and carrying the symbol of Pharasma. The last is a msall man, wearing the cloak of the Acadame, though it obviously hasn't been washed in a while.
None of these people appears to know each other, and have the air of people who have only just seen each other for the first time.
Moments after the door closes behind you, another human female enters. this time a varisian woman, out of breath. She stops short as she sees the assembled group.
Eyes wide as she reads the message on the back of the card she leans against a wall for support as she allows the information to settle. 'Gaedren? Now? Is this the capricious battle that has been laid out for me?'
Never one to rebel against the cards, that only served to ensure the negative future would become certain, she watched the sun slowly sink for the briefest of moments before setting off at a brisk pace, this could be her only chance to find out for certain what happened to her mother.
Making her way towards Lancet Street, she keeps her wits about her, not one to be too trusting, keeping an eye on door markings to find the number three.
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Calandra
The door of 3 lancet St is green and faded, obviously not repainted in a number of years, much like the rest of the street. The door is just swinging shut as you reach it, and it thuds back open a crack as the latch misses its place.
As you enter you see you are not the first, most recently, there appears to be a Chelaxian gang member stood just a few feet infront of you. To one side is a small Wizard, his robes faded and stained. Near the back of the room is a paladin of Iomeade, his armour glinting in the candle light. Finally there is a Shoanti priestess carrying the holy symbol of Pharasma.
The room iself is furnished with tapestries of the images of the Harrow Deck, both on the walls and the floor. The symbols on the wall mirror those of your reading this morning, worryingly, those concerning the battle of the future. The room smells of a mixture of flowers and strong spices, a difficult to find, and expensive incense combination, you mother used for the most important of harrow readings.
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Atherton:
If you enter the door, see the spoiler below... :)
As you enter the room you see a table, 6 chairs, and 5 people, all standing.
The room is furnished in nice, though poor tapestries, and smells strongly of incense.
The people in the room are all those you saw entering, though it is obvsious they don't know each other, there is an obvious tension between such disaperate personalities.
Entering the room quitely, Atherton leans casually against the wall near the door, taking stock of the others. A Varisian, lives in the city probably. Judging by the tatoos, an arcanist or shaman of some kind. A knight of Iomede, best stay clear of that one. A Mage maybe, looks a little worn for wear; probably not with the Acadamae. A...Shoanti maybe and a priestess of Pharasma. And a brother, a thug probably. What in the name of the Nine Hells do I have in common with these people?!" Atherton stays near the door with a hand on his rapier and says nothing, waiting either to run or to listen to our mysterious (and absent) host's proposition.
Calandra looks around the room, taking in the details of the walls and floor before giving a weak smile of greeting to each of the people in the room. 'Eclectic grouping much? It seems Gaedren has been a busy man' She muses before returning her attention to the decoration in the room, worried eyes surveying wall tapestries as though searching them for any sort of deeper meaning.
Istas notes the quiet tension and auras of distrust seeping from the more recent arrivers. To set their moods at ease, she pulls out a chair and sits down...confident that divine providence has brought them together. She does not, however, partake of the basket of food.
"There's six chairs," she suggests, her words breaking the strained silence, "May as well take one if we plan to stay."
Atherton remains standing, eyeing the bearer of Pharasma's device with distrust. He looks around the room again, impatient to get on with this mysterius buisness "What did I sit on a roof for three hours for? This smells of a trap..."
After a moment he speaks in a soft voice that still manages to carry a steely undertone "Why are we here?"
Atherton remains standing....After a moment he speaks in a soft voice that still manages to carry a steely undertone "Why are we here?"
"For three reasons," Istas answers, holding out her holy symbol of Pharasma. The silver medallion depicts a comet whose tail spirals into the unknown. "If you know anything of this...then one reason could be that fate, or the gods themselves, brought us here."
She notes the distrust in Atherton's eyes and then continues. "Or, if you prefer a more mortal influence...we're here because the acts of Gaedran Lamm and how they've impacted the lives of others...including us...have led to this moment."
She pauses once more to look at the others, wondering what path led them to become involved with Gaedran Lamm, before her eyes eventually return to Atherton. "Or, lastly, if you still prefer more of an individual explanation within your personal control...all of us are here quite simply because we chose to be here."
"Take your pick. Each reason is just as valid as the other...though I suspect we'll each cling to the one that gives us the most comfort in accordance with the lives we've led to this point in time."
A slight scowl comes over Atherton's face. Irritadly he snaps "I know I'm here because I chose to come here. Why I did I'll never know. I merely wished to know whether any of you...fine people had any further insight."
After his outburst, Atherton returns to quitely leaning against the wall, seething with irritation at this mysterious meeting and wondering how Lamm has wronged him "What the devil has Lamm ever done to me? Sure he's a tight-fisted evil old bastard but he's always been decent enough to me. Short changed me on the Redhand job sure, but buisness is buisness and it did go sour but that's nothing to ruin a perfectly good buisness arangement over. He's been more decent than some of the other idiots who've hired me." Looking around the room impatiently he sighs, thinking "Maybe I should just leave. The day's getting old and I've crime to do."
OOC
Jubrayl's gaze took in the other five people who had apparently been summoned as well. Within the folds of his tabard, he had hidden the card. A Harrow card was not exactly fitting for a man of his calling to be carrying around, but the disappearance of his younger cousin had almost driven him to the point of despair and only his unwavering faith in Iomedae had kept him from doing things to himself that he would regret later.
Affording the talkative woman some attention, Jubrayl listened to her with interest. Once she had finished conversing with the other man, Jubrayl spoke up.
"You appear to be quite knowledgable on the subject," he rumbled, his voice a deep baritone that could carry across a room with a commanding air. "Would you happen to travel in the same... social circles as our absent patron?"
Jubrayl's words seemed plain enough, but there was a trace of suspicion in his tone. Obviously, it seemed Jubrayl did not put as much stock in the Harrow deck as other citizens of Korvosa. Indeed, it seemed as though his accent was tinged with a hint of Magnimar.
"I am Jubrayl Mellachi, Paladin in service to her Holiness, Iomedae. I am here in connection with the disappearance of some children, my own cousin amongst them. If any of you have information regarding their whereabouts, I suggest you divulge this information immediately," the Paladin lets his voice reverbarate throughout the room. Whilst his words do not say anything about the subject, the way that his hand rests on the pommel of his longsword suggests that he has little problem with using martial force to deal with a problem.
A slight scowl comes over Atherton's face. Irritadly he snaps "I know I'm here because I chose to come here....I merely wished to know whether any of you...fine people had any further insight."
Marking the irritation in Atherton's voice, Istas consciously withdraws from further conversation with him...not wanting to upset him further. After all, if fate did indeed draw all of them to the tiny home at Number 3, Lancet Street, it did so for a variety of reasons according to everyone's past. And Istas is wise enough in Pharasma's faith to recognize some people will have a rockier past than others...and suspects that might apply doubly to the moody man by the door.
Affording the talkative woman some attention, Jubrayl listened to her with interest. Once she had finished conversing with the other man, Jubrayl spoke up. "You appear to be quite knowledgable on the subject," he rumbled, his voice a deep baritone that could carry across a room with a commanding air. "Would you happen to travel in the same... social circles as our absent patron?"
"Social circles? Of whoever summoned us here?" Istas asks, "No. I don't believe so." She places her Harrow card once again on the table, with the message face up, "I don't put my faith in the randomness of cards in the hands of a mortal fortune-teller. But I also don't believe things happen for no reason at all. So, for my own reasons, I see a divine purpose in this card finding its way to me...in meeting all of you...and, in whatever happens next."
"I am Jubrayl Mellachi, Paladin in service to her Holiness, Iomedae. I am here in connection with the disappearance of some children, my own cousin amongst them. If any of you have information regarding their whereabouts, I suggest you divulge this information immediately," the Paladin lets his voice reverbarate throughout the room.
"I'm sorry for your loss..." Istas replies, "And sorrier still that I have no insight into the disappearance of your cousin. Not yet anyway."
Calandra looks around the room, taking in the details of the walls and floor before giving a weak smile of greeting to each of the people in the room....before returning her attention to the decoration in the room, worried eyes surveying wall tapestries as though searching them for any sort of deeper meaning.
Istas notes Calandra's look of concentration as the woman looks around the room. "Do you know this place?" she asks her, "Or what these symbols mean?"
Torillan listens intently to the others, then steps up to an empty chair. Before sitting, he looks at each of them. He speaks rather intelligently, despite his ragged look. He gives off the aura of one who can take care of himself.
"Clearly we are all here because Lamm has wronged us in some way. I believe he either knows who, or is the one who killed my wife."
He sits, laying his flat palms down on the table.
"My name is Torillan, and I am here for revenge. If my being here is part of some Gods whim, then so be it. But if aiding all of you will help me find who was responsible for my wife's murder, then I will do my part.
Calandra tenses visibly as the other woman comments on the 'randomness of cards', a distinct frown wrinkling her forehead as she places her hand on one of the tapestries on the wall with a soft, sad sigh.
"There are many great powers at work and to think the fall of the cards is random is pure foolishness. The alignment of the cards often falls down to the will of both the arcane and divine"
Slowly her gaze turns to cleric. "I don't know this place, but I do know the symbols. The blood of many skilled Harrowers runs through my veins and I'd thank you not to think so lightly of the cards. An important reading has, or will be done in this room and will undoubtedly link to the reading I had this morning. If you all stay then there will be battles and they will be capricious, impulsive, unpredictable and will lead to both the good and the bad." She comments certainly, her gaze returning to the decoration of the room.
"From what I've seen so far, I'm guessing you all received invites on cards, and your cards will give you insight into your perceived role in the future that will stem from this fated meeting" She comments to the room at large although her gaze does not leave the walls.
Without a word said, Jubrayl reaches into his tabard and retrieves the Harrow card that he had been given. With a sharp flick of his hand, the card sails through the air and flutters to a stop not far from Istas'.
"From what I've seen, Harrow readings are for the weak of mind, looking for direction in life," Jubrayl rumbles, "I put my own faith into the will of Iomedae." When he finishes speaking, Jubrayl raises his silver symbol to his lips and kisses it gingerly.
"So, we are gathered as people who have been wronged by Gaedran Lamm. It looks as though he has made many enemies."
"There are many great powers at work and to think the fall of the cards is random is pure foolishness. The alignment of the cards often falls down to the will of both the arcane and divine."
Slowly her gaze turns to the cleric. "I don't know this place, but I do know the symbols. The blood of many skilled Harrowers runs through my veins and I'd thank you not to think so lightly of the cards. An important reading has, or will be done in this room and will undoubtedly link to the reading I had this morning. If you all stay then there will be battles and they will be capricious, impulsive, unpredictable and will lead to both the good and the bad."
"From what I've seen so far, I'm guessing you all received invites on cards, and your cards will give you insight into your perceived role in the future that will stem from this fated meeting" She comments to the room at large although her gaze does not leave the walls.
"If I think lightly of the cards, it is only because they are an object. As such, I'll be much more concerned about the forces that move them...whether arcane or divine," Istas attempts to explain, but before she can even launch into a theological examination of the subject, one of the other newcomers interrupts...
"Clearly we are all here because Lamm has wronged us in some way. I believe he either knows who, or is the one who killed my wife." He sits, laying his flat palms down on the table. "My name is Torillan, and I am here for revenge. If my being here is part of some Gods whim, then so be it. But if aiding all of you will help me find who was responsible for my wife's murder, then I will do my part.
"It would seem this Gaedran Lamm creates a great many ripples upon the turbulent waters of life," Istas comments, "Missing children, murder, and all manner of illicit activities. Perhaps the turbulence he creates has at last rebounded to capsize his own life's journey?"
"From what I've seen, Harrow readings are for the weak of mind, looking for direction in life," Jubrayl rumbles, "I put my own faith into the will of Iomedae." When he finishes speaking, Jubrayl raises his silver symbol to his lips and kisses it gingerly. "So, we are gathered as people who have been wronged by Gaedran Lamm. It looks as though he has made many enemies."
Istas glances at Jubrayl with approval of his spiritual faith in the divine, then looks around the room at everyone else. "In what manner has Lamm wronged the rest of you?"
Calandra's upset and anger at the turn of the discussion was obvious on her face. "Weak of mind?" She repeats in a low, annoyed growl, her hands clenching into fists as she turns her gaze to the paladin. "You are in for a very rude awakening if that's the way you think."
"I do not question your symbol that links you to your god, I do not speak ill of it or tell you it's a sign that you're weak, so you would do well to mind your tongue. The cards link me to both Desna and the spirits of my ancestors.. I'm sure Iomedae herself would find speaking so badly of something that holds the faith of many people lacking a little in honour" She remarks solidly, purposefully ignoring the cleric's question, not wanting to go into details right now.
Calandra's upset and anger at the turn of the discussion was obvious on her face. "Weak of mind?" She repeats in a low, annoyed growl, her hands clenching into fists as she turns her gaze to the paladin. "You are in for a very rude awakening if that's the way you think."
"I do not question your symbol that links you to your god, I do not speak ill of it or tell you it's a sign that you're weak, so you would do well to mind your tongue. The cards link me to both Desna and the spirits of my ancestors.. I'm sure Iomedae herself would find speaking so badly of something that holds the faith of many people lacking a little in honour" She remarks solidly, purposefully ignoring the cleric's question, not wanting to go into details right now.
"I admire your courage, young miss", Torillan smiles. He turns to the paladin, his smile lessening somewhat.
"And you would do well to heed her words, holy man. Your faith in your god is one thing, but the Harrow is not something I would dismiss so easily. Give it time, and I think you will see." He smiles again, and sits back in his chair.
"...you would do well to heed her words, holy man. Your faith in your god is one thing, but the Harrow is not something I would dismiss so easily. Give it time, and I think you will see." He smiles again, and sits back in his chair.
In an effort to change the subject, Istas clears her throat. "Back to Gaedran Lamm," she suggests, "Regardless of the spiritual source from which we all take guidance, the very tangible reason for our presence here has wronged us all in some way. So, in an effort to understand the path your lives have taken, I'm curious to know how he has affected you. Only then will I know Pharasma's will for me in this matter."
I take a seat opposite of the cleric and look into her face, then I toss the Harrow card onto the table. "I have been burning to find a way to repay this bastard what he has done to me. Wronged you say. Wronged deeply, dearly and deathly, that's more like it. Took my heart, my love and my future. Fate? Fate can be a very harsh mistress."
I take a seat opposite of the cleric and look into her face, then I toss the Harrow card onto the table. "I have been burning to find a way to repay this bastard what he has done to me. Wronged you say. Wronged deeply, dearly and deathly, that's more like it. Took my heart, my love and my future. Fate? Fate can be a very harsh mistress."
Istas soaks in Malik's emotional bitterness, as if sampling it for the depth of the impact Gaedran Lamm had on his life. When she speaks, her voice is purposefully soft this time, with a note of understanding.
"Fate can turn cruel sometimes," she agrees, "But take comfort, friend. By my observation, you still have your heart...for your passion confirms it. Fate may have taken your love away from you, but love is a many-layered thing. As long as you draw breath, it can return to you...and even if it doesn't, once you die, you can return to it. Lastly, I believe fate never takes away our future...only our lives. If you're still alive, you still have a future...even if it only serves to avenge yourself upon the man you believe wronged you."
"If you call my life a future worth living for, pity thee. My future was golden. I was an apprentice in the Acadamae... not even that, no. I was one of the grantees of the Stipendiae. Future was like golden path, then I found love, a female bard. And her heart also sang to me. That is what I call a future. That was six months ago." I take a deep breath, as if savoring the bouquet of the past. "Now?" My voice sounds harder, like flint. "Now I am thrown out of the Acadamae, pursued by ever vigilant watchdogs, my girl is dead, and for me are still warrants issued, as her murderer..."
Jubrayl shrugs, but shows no sign of backing down.
"I've yet to see a Harrow reading that I could not replicate myself without asking the same questions. I once had a reading by a traveller during my childhood in Magnimar. He claimed that my life would be obscured by shadows and that that I would kill a loved one. Obviously, this traveller was a charlatan. Shortly after the reading, I was inducted as a Paladin and I've lived my life in the glorious light of Iomedae ever since. Granted, I do not frequently seek out... those who perform such things. However, I have seen tangible proof of the connection between Iomedae and this world, and have seen none that a pack of cards may influence anything," Jubrayl's speaks plainly, without a hint of malice.
"If you call my life a future worth living for, pity thee. My future was golden. I was an apprentice in the Acadamae... not even that, no. I was one of the grantees of the Stipendiae. Future was like golden path, then I found love, a female bard. And her heart also sang to me. That is what I call a future. That was six months ago." I take a deep breath, as if savoring the bouquet of the past. "Now?" My voice sounds harder, like flint. "Now I am thrown out of the Acadamae, pursued by ever vigilant watchdogs, my girl is dead, and for me are still warrants issued, as her murderer..."
"Your future...no matter how dark you may have come to view it...will still be filled with a series of choices," Istas encourages him, "That means you hold the key to how golden it remains. So don't allow depression to pull you away like the receding tide. You have to kick against it if you're to change things for the better. Otherwise, you may miss the opportunity to join a swifter current that can sweep you to a better place in your life. Tonight's gathering may give you such a chance. So my advice to you is to keep an open mind..."
"Kick against it? I'd rather kick against the dead body of Gaedren Lam. He was the one who set me up. She was coming too close to his secrets. Killed her, and put the blame on me. Even had some stooges in the watch change a testimony I had given, that plus a witness account sealed my fate. I was lucky to escape the Acadamae alive and with my spellbook, before the guards tried to 'capture' me, those were his cronies, too."
Jubrayl shrugs, but shows no sign of backing down.
"I've yet to see a Harrow reading that I could not replicate myself without asking the same questions.
"I meant no offence, sir. There are many things in this world I don't understand, and I take things at their face value. Your faith is strong, and I do admire that, as I have faith in only myself and these", he points to the sword hilts jutting over both shoulders.
"Kick against it? I'd rather kick against the dead body of Gaedren Lam. He was the one who set me up. She was coming too close to his secrets. Killed her, and put the blame on me. Even had some stooges in the watch change a testimony I had given, that plus a witness account sealed my fate. I was lucky to escape the Acadamae alive and with my spellbook, before the guards tried to 'capture' me, those were his cronies, too."
"I see," Istas nods, absorbing the additonal information revealed by Malik's rant and completing yet another piece of the puzzle in defining the character of Gaedran Lamm. A satisfied sense of peace begins to fill her as she understands exactly why Pharasma guided her life's path to intersect with these people. It must be because of how harshly Lamm's life had intersected with so many others, too. And the ebb of fate had at last turned for Lamm...even moreso now that she would become involved.
Her eyes dart once more towards Atherton and then Calandra again. "What of you? How does Gaedren Lamm intersect with your lives?"
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A small cough interrupts the somewhat heated discussions, a small middle aged Varisian woman stands in the entrance way, waring traditional Varisian garb.
As she speaks she pulls a chair you didn't notice at first from an alcove to the table, and takes a seat.
"Welcome to my home, and thank you all for coming. Please take seat, and have some bread and wine. Let me first apologise for the unique form of contact, you see I have a need to remain hidden, as you will see.
"My name is Zellera, and I have been a Harrow Reader for my entire life.
"A month or so ago, my Harrow Deck, my sole income, and way of providing for my family, was stolen, by one of the young thieves knows as Lamm's Lambs. The children Geadron Lamm uses for petty theft, as some of you will know.
"My son, foolishly, tried to get the cards back, and became food for Lamm's Aligator.
"I myself cannot strike back at Lamm, I have neither the skill, nor the body for it anymore, so I have sought out thouse who have.
"Lamm has harmed each of you, as much, or more so than myself, though some of you" She looks pointedly at Atherton "do not quite know the extent of that harm, I believe. I have brought you together so that you have the tools to defeat him, where I have not, and I have the final piece of information you will need. Lamm is located in an old fishworks North of here, at Westpier 17.
"Will you help me?"
Sensing that the cleric would not give up her irritating questioning until she knew how everyone was tied to Gaedren, Calandra turned to face the other woman, actually glad of a small distraction from the paladin and his sharp, hurtful words.
"My mother, was a Harrower of considerable skill, her readings could sway the hearts and minds of even the harshest of critics of the art" She starts to explain, throwing a small pointed glance at the follower of Iomedae before focusing on the cleric once more. "She was a gentle soul and never wronged anyone, then, when I was twelve she was killed.. beaten to death in an alleyway.. orphaning me and my younger sisters.. I have reason to believe Gaedren was involved, possibly the culprit" Her voice a little shaken she sits herself in the seat beside Torillan and lowers her gaze to the tabletop, trying to shake the memories of seeing her mother's body.
Caught up in her own thoughts she almost misses Zellera's appearance, torn between the desire to cry and to just try to punch someone; possibly the paladin for his slurs on her late mother's craft. Just about catching the Harrower's words she nods her head slowly at the older Varisian's question.
"Of course" She replies in a small voice, empathising fully with Zellera's situation.
A small cough interrupts the somewhat heated discussions, a small middle aged Varisian woman stands in the entrance way, waring traditional Varisian garb.
As she speaks she pulls a chair you didn't notice at first from an alcove to the table, and takes a seat.
"Welcome to my home, and thank you all for coming. Please take seat, and have some bread and wine. Let me first apologise for the unique form of contact, you see I have a need to remain hidden, as you will see.
"My name is Zellera, and I have been a Harrow Reader for my entire life.
"A month or so ago, my Harrow Deck, my sole income, and way of providing for my family, was stolen, by one of the young thieves knows as Lamm's Lambs. The children Geadron Lamm uses for petty theft, as some of you will know.
"My son, foolishly, tried to get the cards back, and became food for Lamm's Aligator.
"I myself cannot strike back at Lamm, I have neither the skill, nor the body for it anymore, so I have sought out thouse who have.
"Lamm has harmed each of you, as much, or more so than myself, though some of you" She looks pointedly at Atherton "do not quite know the extent of that harm, I believe. I have brought you together so that you have the tools to defeat him, where I have not, and I have the final piece of information you will need. Lamm is located in an old fishworks North of here, at Westpier 17.
"Will you help me?"
"Explain then. Explain how this is my problem." Atherton states cooly, eyeing the newcomer with distrust. "How as Lamm wronged me any more than any other man has? Be quick; I have buisness to attend to elsewhere."
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"Explain then. Explain how this is my problem." Atherton states cooly, eyeing the newcomer with distrust. "How as Lamm wronged me any more than any other man has? Be quick; I have buisness to attend to elsewhere."
"That question is not mine to answer Atherton Dram. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let it be enough for now that your skills will help the others, that this act will rid the world of an evil, and" with a small grin and a wink, " that Geadren Lamm is not a poor man. If nothing else, you will reduce the number of your competitors."
"If those reasons are not enough, you are free to go. I would ask you not to warn Lamm and I would have to ask you to leave now, before the others speak."
"That question is not mine to answer Atherton Dram. You probably wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let it be enough for now that your skills will help the others, that this act will rid the world of an evil, and" with a small grin and a wink, " that Geadren Lamm is not a poor man. If nothing else, you will reduce the number of your competitors."
"If those reasons are not enough, you are free to go. I would ask you not to warn Lamm and I would have to ask you to leave now, before the others speak."
"If I may?" Istas interrupts Zellara, and then turns to Atherton, "If what these people claim is true...that Gaedran Lamm has murdered loved ones, abducted and mistreated children, and managed to bribe or trick others into thinking it wasn't his hand that commited such deeds...then perhaps he's misled you as well about something?"
She hesitates only slightly before continuing, obviously willing to risk Atherton's anger in pursuing the conversation if only to make a point she feels is more important. "You seem to know him. Perhaps better than the rest of us," she says, "But do you truly know him? He strikes me as the kind of person who brings evil into every life that intersects his...and if Pharasma's faith has taught me anything, it's to trust the consistency of such behavior as it touches one life after another."
"So, if I may be so bold," the priestess finishes, "It would seem entirely possible that Gaedran Lamm may have wronged you when you completely thought otherwise. Is there nothing in your past where his life touched yours that you might view differently, knowing now what he's done to these people?"
Moving with subtlty and grace Calandra quietly pulls her card of invitation from within the folds of her scarves, studying it again as she listens to the others speak. As the priestess and the impatient man she quickly lifts her gaze, as though seeing the man who had arrived last in the room for the first time. 'Less competition?' she questions, her eyes narrowing as she tries to recognise him, she'd run afoul of a few other petty theives, 'dancers' in her supporting her sisters but his face wasn't ringing any bells. 'Is he in deeper than that? Maybe he should leave if his only reason to stay would be for him to become the next Lamm' She thought bitterly as she twirled the tarot card between her fingers, the one she was sure would help her find her role in all of this, The Juggler.
Atherton laughs slightly "You seem to misunderstand much about the situation madam. Gaedran Lamm is not a competitor. True, I've had dealings with the man and have no illusions that he's a good man or that he has my best interests at heart, but while he may have wronged me, so too have many other men. If I had revenge upon each of them; than the streets would be stained red. Why should Gaedran Lamm deserve a special hatred amongst them?" he says with a shrug, glancing briefly at Istas but not voicing whatever response her words elicited.
He looks shrewdly at the woman and steps forward, dropping his Harrow card on the table before before returning to his place near the door "Speak your piece. I'll judge whether I'm in or not after I know the proposition."
Atherton looks shrewdly at the woman and steps forward, dropping his Harrow card on the table before before returning to his place near the door "Speak your piece. I'll judge whether I'm in or not after I know the proposition."
Istas nods and keeps quiet for once in respect to Zellara and Atherton.
"If you have been invited, I am sure, Gaedran Lamm will have crossed you, too."
Whilst the newcomer spoke, Jubrayl listened intently. As she spoke the address of where Gaedren Lamm could be found he had to restrain himself from turning and leaving immediately to apprehend the cretin. Instead, he remained within the confines of the room and listened a little more. As Atherton and Zellera spoke, a scowl appeared on Jubrayl's face when it became apparent that Atherton was less than legitimate.
"Criminal," spat Jubrayl, although it was under his breath. Regardless of this new-found target of disgust, Jubrayl remained where he was. If needs be, he could always bring the criminal to justice once they had left the woman's home. It was doubtful she would appreciate a fight here. As the woman spoke, Jubrayl tried to discern whether she was omitting any information.
"You have given me hope, Zellera," Jubrayl speaks when there is a break in the conversation, "You present an opportunity that I can not afford to pass over." Jubrayl bows his head slightly when he finishes speaking.
Requested Roll (1d10=4)
Sense Motive (1d20+6=15)
DM
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Zellera collects the cards that are on the table and shuffles them into the deck that she has been handling for the last minute or two.
She smiles at Atherton, refusing to be drawn any more by his questions, he has all the answers he will get from her for now.
"Lamm spends almost all of his time now a days below the fishworks, in order to get to him you will need to get past his lackeys and his Lambs, I am afraid that is about all I can tell you."
"I would though perform a harrow reading for you beofre you leave, it may give some insight into the task at hand, regardless of the Paladins views. My readings do not include leading questions, I can assure you."
"My readings also differ a little from the norm, I would ask you to take a card at random from this selection, if it comes up in the reading, you can be sure that a small extra fortunme will befall you."
Torillan eyes the others, not speaking.