Leaning against a wall, Charbonardent replies to Taros's last question, "Yeah, what does she look like? Is her other half human?" Or another lesser race? he leaves unsaid.
Taros turns to Charbonardent, nodding at the half-giant's question. "Human, of half-Varisian, half-Chelish ethnicity. Lets see.. she has long, dark hair, dusky skin, amber eyes.. her clothing is common for that of Varisians. The last time I saw her, she was wearing a red headband, matching red vest with a white shirt, and leather pants, with a red band tied around one leg. She wore a red glove on one hand, a belt with a rather large ornate silver buckle, and a pair of hooped earrings. The only thing that would standout in particular would be her slightly-curved mithral shortsword with an ornate hilt-guard that she carries around."
Holding up a hand to dismiss any further thought of using up resources to secure one of the scrolls or wands in question, Valko once again leaps on the opportunity to offer praise to his considerable expertise in their task. "Expenditures with designs on arcane assistance would exceptionally superfluous. I have spent considerable time and effort becoming familiar with this city, the better part of which involving my services as an information broker. If she is in Magnimar, sniffing out her hiding place should be a simple enough affair. For the keen observer, truth will out."
Valko draws his right index finger across the map's face until it comes to rest atop the location of the illustration representing the Cypherlodge that they currently stand in. "This is where we are now," Valko says, raising his head to regard Radyx and Ferit in particular, before continuing, "the Cypherlodge. Given the three leads already provided, we need only conform to the paths of convenience initially. The Arvensoar." His finger follows the streets along the most direct routes to the enormous tower that spans both the low and high reaches of Magnimar, serving the city guard as both headquarters and prison. "This should be our first destination; it is the nearest of the three and the lead likely to result in wading through a tide of brigands, rakes, and other villainous sorts that teem along the lower reaches of the city."
"" Valko suddenly snaps across the table at his assistant, a small splotch of sticky dampness seeping through the unfolded map's western border. Renfeld's face distorts into a whimper once more before he draws a stained sleeve across his mouth to dry the dribble from his lips. He still clutches his recovered tooth in his other hand, a forlorn look settled about his face as he spares furtive glances to everyone else standing around the table.
"I apologize, colleagues. It's terribly hard to find competent assistance thanks to this damnable weather. I assure you, whatever his shortcomings as a person, he is quite astute where alchemical lab work is demanded. Regardless, we should not press the slaver lead until others have been exhausted. I think it unlikely they would target someone of her standing and so armed when there are far easier targets choking the filth covered streets on a regular basis: junkies, urchins, and Lissala knows what else."
"Sounds mint to me, F!@@o. I've done graft for a few of the Sczarni families. I know how to handle em," Ferit replies. "Yeh think one of yeh can clean up this razz with a spell?" he asks, indicating the dried vomit covering him. "The guards'll receive us happier if I don't smell of vom'."
Ferit pushes himself off the wall he'd been leaning on, and straightens his armor. "F@*~o's right though, we don't need to waste good gold on daffy magic, we can find the lass ourselves. Someone knows where she is, we find em and I'll convince em to talk."
"I know the spell you're referring to Ferit, but it is not one I prepare regularly. I would suggest a change of clothes instead." he listens to Taros' description of their target, spending a few moments repeating it to himself to secure it firmly in his thoughts. He is pleased that he need not concern himself with securing more permanent lodgings either. They would have to be careful they were followed, but he suspected Gralk and his men would be sufficient to handle that.
Ferit looks at Wilhelm uncomprehendingly. Wait....Other people have more than one set of clothes?
Hoosible shakes his head. "That's not anything my magic can do...but I do have something that might help." Rummaging in his bag he pulls out and presents some dried lilacs. "I've got lavender in my hat right now, but lilacs have a wonderful smell too, don't you think? They are two of my standards. You're welcome to either."
"At any rate, Valko's plan works for me. Before we go, if any of the burlier members of our troop would like, I'm happy to show you how to work the Blood Reservoir. I suspect you'll get more bang out of it than I will."
"You could also try not rolling around in the stuff, Sickle."
Radyx leans forward from his chair, still visibly tired from the work earlier, and says, "But I gotta agree with Elfie. Before you guys try and spend any of my money just because your too lazy, I say we hit the streets to find this skirt. If she's toting a blade as shiny as the Bossman claims, somebody has surely seen her around."
He then leans back and puts his arms behind his head, a smug look on his face as if he had settled the matter entirely.
Having been looming on the periphery of the discussion after his request for supplies was denied, Isroth has watch silently the proceedings. Eventually, having looked down at the map of the area, the masked arcanist turns his attention back to Taros and stares at him with those pale, white eyes for a few uneasy moments. "Does she have any... family?" The intimate question is rasped out in Isroth's normal whispering cadence. "Someone of importance she cares for?"
Taros, seeming to get almost uncomfortable around Isroth's eery presence, shakes his head in response to the masked-arcanist's question. "If she has any, I'm unaware of them - from what I've heard, she's originally from Riddleport. Her name, Vancaskerkin, was a surname shared by a minor crimelord there a while back. One.. ah what was his name.. Saul? Saul Vancaskerkin."
He shrugs a sad shrug, unable to offer any more assistance on finding her whereabouts. He then picks up a piece of Isroth's broken glaive-guisarme and examines it a second. "Now, let me see about getting this glaive fixed so that you may be on your way, Hm?"
"Thank you Taros. I will then excuse myself to make myself more presentable." Wilhem excuses himself and makes his way out of the building. He waits until Gralk finishes his circuit of the house and then leads the man to his new lodgings, talking as they go.
He emerges a few minutes later in fresh--though equally worn--clothes, returning to the manor house to receive the advance and rejoin the others before they leave.
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Satisfied enough, Isroth dips his head into a nod and shifts his posture to regard the others. He is silent, observing them the way a craftsman would examine his tools for damage or imperfection before setting out to use them. Ultimately, Isroth folds his arms and steps back from the foreground, acknowledging that he has no more to contribute to the conversation. Instead, he chooses to loom in wait for his glaive to be repaired while contemplating the future of this journey and the nature of the paradox box that had brought them all here.
Hoosible shakes his head. "That's not anything my magic can do...but I do have something that might help." Rummaging in his bag he pulls out and presents some dried lilacs. "I've got lavender in my hat right now, but lilacs have a wonderful smell too, don't you think? They are two of my standards. You're welcome to either."
"At any rate, Valko's plan works for me. Before we go, if any of the burlier members of our troop would like, I'm happy to show you how to work the Blood Reservoir. I suspect you'll get more bang out of it than I will."
Ferit takes a handful of the lilacs offered to him by the gnome, sniffing at them a bit. "Thanks, mate. We was getting a tad peckish." The orc then shoves the handful of blossoms into his mouth, scarfing them down like a hungry pig. He licks his tusks and lips experimentally before frowning and says, "They smell better'n they taste, don't they?" He passes an experimental wind, then sniffs his own odor. "Don't know that it's made much difference. What dae yeh think?"
Taros, grimacing at the orc’s display of his gaseous bowel movements, tries to wave away the smell with his hand before quickly conjuring up a spell to clean up the vomit-encrusted orc, as well anyone else who ended up slipping in the grimples’ vomit. Satisfied that his new recruits are at least clean for their eventual meeting with the city watch, he moves onto repairing Isroth’s glaive-guisarme, the casting of which seems to take ages as the ten minutes crawls by. What had remained of the weapon previously were nothing more than shards of metal and splinters of wood; upon completion of the spell, however, all of the weapon’s gathered pieces reassemble themselves right before the group’s eyes. Taking the newly repaired weapon off of the table which it now lays, Taros respectfully hands the weapon back to its rightful owner, good as new. Then, as an added bit of assistance, he rolls up the map that they were using and handing it to Valko before seeing them off.
----
As the group leaves the manor, they are quickly joined by Wilhem’s guards, who immediately take positions to rear of the group, maintaining relatively silent vigil for their charge and his group. Leading the group through the massive city is none other than Valko, having the best knowledge of the city amongst the group.
Their half-mile journey through the upper half of Magnimar, known as the Summit, takes them primarily through pristineNaos - the primary merchant’s district of the city. A district that, even in such hard times, appears to be living as comfortably as it did prior to Karzoug’s return - a district that even does its best to maintain both its well-kept and welcoming state, no matter the city’s recent troubles. Here, guards patrol regularly, aided by numerous neighborhood watches, and the paved stone road that cuts through the district is kept surprisingly clear of snow.
It is here, upon nearing the towering structure that is the Arvensoar, that the group passes by two points of interest. The first is what used to be the district’s Temple of Iomedae near one of the city’s entrances. Upon the city’s capitulation, the priests that resided in the almost-fortress-like temple were either run-down or captured by Karzoug’s followers. Since then, the temple has been reestablished as Karzoug’s embassy in the city - the fortress-like design of the temple ensures that his minions are well guarded and that they have a prominent location within Magnimar. The second point of interest resides right next to the temple - one of the city’s many monuments: The Founder’s Flame. This magical fountain of flame is ever-alight, causing the near-constant snowfall to sizzle as it drifts towards the burning bronze bowl filled with green oil. The fire itself changes color, cycling between four different colorations to an arcane rhythm that none alive understand. As the group passes by, the flame changes its coloration from orange to violet in a quick whirlwind of flame.
After passing the spectacle that is the Founder’s Flame, the group then sets their eyes on the Arvensoar, directly in front of them. The tallest building in Magnimar, a wonder itself in a city full of them, the Arvensoar is a massive structure built right into the Seacleft that separates the lower and upper halves of Magnimar. Four-hundred feet tall from the base of the Seacleft, the tower continues up until it towers about one-hundred feet above Naos itself. The tower itself acts as the base of operations for the City Watch, as well as the city’s small military - a military that has been mostly sent off to aid in Karzoug’s numerous wars.
Shuffling along after half an hour since leaving the manor, thanks in part due to the armored gnome slowing the group down, the group finally arrives at their destination - in front of them, two guards maintain vigil outside of the building’s massive wooden doors. Though the group is let into the building, they quickly find that no watch officer is available at this time to answer their questions - a clerk who greets them tells them that they would have to wait three hours until he can get one of the officers to meet with them, though he offers to let them wait in a nearby room should they wish to wait.
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Wilhem thanks Taros for saving him the effort of changing, then sits back as the man begins to cast the spell necessary to restore Isroth's blade. It is then that he notices the unlabelled jar and small pilel of Onyx still sitting by the box where Valko placed them.
He glances at Hoosible before picking the stones up, surprised the gnome had not already tried to claim them given his purported profession. Holding them up to the light, tapping them on the edge of the table and generally just eyeballing them, trying to put a value to them. He was normally pretty good at it, though a good set of scales or an eyeglasss would certainly help. He sets down the stones then and picks up the jar, giving it a similarly thorough treatment, finishing by cautiously opening the jar and sniffing the contents. "Does anyone have any alchemical experience?"
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The Onyxs are worth between 20 and 30 gp each.
Ferit mutters a "Thank yeh." to Taros when the Cyphermage cleans the vomit off of Ferit's clothes. In fact, the spell has got the garments looking cleaner than they have in years. The removal of the orc's grime makes him look a good deal more presentable, though he's still ugly, savage and smelly.
Having lived in Magnimar for a while he's not as taken with the sights as he was the first few times around. Instead he spends their journey mentally and verbally cursing the cold. Once the arrive at the Arvensoar and are told that they will need to wait for hours, he looks very angry. "Why waste our time? We kin probably find the bint if we go lookin' for three bleedin' hours!"
When Radyx hears the clerk state they would have to wait three hours to possibly meet with someone, Radyx grunts frustratedly, "Hell naw," and forces his way to the clerk.
He leans over the man's desk and glares him in the eye and says, "Listen here, boy. I'm tired, been workin' all morn', and not in the mood to be told to wait around when I got shit to do. You tell your boss to get off his rump and get down here, cause the Cyphermages want to have a word with him. And I recommend ya do it quick like."
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Charbonardent follows the gladiator to the clerk and appears to be in rare agreement with him. Over his shoulder, he glares at the clerk and growls, "Hurry Human, or there will be hell to pay."
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Hoosible flinches several times when Ferit starts to eat the Lilacs. A soft "But-- wait-- pretty flowers..." escapes his lips before he transitions from shock to fascination, finally relaxing and enjoying the show.
When the orc laments the taste, the ashen gnome chuckles and explains, "Well, I rather thought you might wear them in your hair, to help with the vomit smell, but your strategy was...rather more amusing. At any rate, it sounds like Taros is able to clean us up."
While their sponsor's prestidigitation clears the diarrhea and fairy dust off of him, it doesn't have any effect on the gnome's aroma of a corpse starting to decay. Hoosible seems perfectly pleased by the spell's effect though.
Seeing Wilhem glance at him and then at the onyx, Hoosible shakes his head. "I've heard that many necromancers need the power of such stones to animate the dead. That's not my path. My master was a Wendifa, who taught me the Words of Power that underlie death and life, and blur the boundary between them.
I confess I haven't yet mastered even a small fraction of what he could do. I haven't yet succeeded at bringing a Wendo into a corpse to animate it, merely at commanding those that are already active in this realm. That said, no pile of onyx will help me get there. Instead, I listen each night to the Wendo, and offer them my prayers, that I might soon guide them into a dried corpse, as a hand enters a glove."
He sounds a bit wistful and dreamy as he talks of spirits and the undead.
As they head out the door of the lodge, Hoosible dawdles a bit, cutting flowers from Taros' garden. He weaves them into a simple wreath as they walk.
When informed that they'll have to wait, the gnome huffs and harumphs. Hearing Radyx and Charbonardent do their best to speed things up, Hoosible decides to lend his support as well: leaning in close and exhaling the smell of rotting corpse up toward the clerk's face, he says "I think you'll find it's in your best interest to speed things up, eh?"
Seeing the others putting the squeeze on the clerk Ferit shrugs and adds his own malicious grin. "What's yer name there lad? Ah, Jarraka. I'd be a right shame if somefin were to happen ta missus and baby Jarraka wouldn' it?"
The clerk, a grizzled, middle-aged Chelish man at first taken aback by the group's aggressiveness. However, he quickly regains his posture and lets out a sharp whistle to the guards stationed nearby, who approach to investigate - each guard is clad in a fine suit of scalemail and carries a halberd, all emblazoned with the blue that represents the city's colors. The clerk himself wears an old, though very well maintained, suit of chainmail, with a pair of blades strapped to his belt. Standing up, the clerk responds to the group in an angry, gruff voice. "Who are you calling 'lad' and 'boy'? The Cyphermages have no jurisdiction in the Arvensoar - who are you to come in here, acting all high-and-mighty, and think you can simply intimidate me in the middle of the City Watch's headquarters? You're damn lucky I don't simply have you arrested! Get out of my sight before I decide to change my mind!"
With that, the four guards who are present lower their halberds a bit to escort the group outside - though certainly, four guards would have a difficult time apprehending the group as is, there are dozens more guards readily available, and a confrontation would likely end poorly for the group should they wish to push their luck.
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Watching how his comrades handled this questioning, Isroth had been waiting by the door when the guards escorted them out. Leaning on his glaive, the masked emissary of Xin-Shalast lets his seemingly blind stare drift across each of them on their exit. Finally, he steps in front of the group and slams the butt of his glaive down on the cobblestone to call their attention.
"Now reason leads." The Shalasti arcanist raises a gloved hand and motions in the direction of the shore. "We will investigate a problem two-fold. The shadow-nation of Nidal has no claim to flesh in the new empire of Shalast. While we are not requested to dispatch the followers of Zon-Kuthon, solidifying our Lord's control over the trades of these lands is an additional boon."
Looking over the team, Isroth considers their strengths and weaknesses. "Wilhelm will seek information in regards to the slave trade and attempt to discover its source. Ferit and Al'cazar shall accompany him under the guise of servant and slave to be sold, respectfully." Looking to Ferit, Isroth lingers in silence before adding, "Duplicity, this one presumes, will not be difficult for you."
Then, to the others, Isroth has different instructions. "The remainder of us will wait for word from these two with information. Then, we will devise a plan of action."
Finished with his orders, Isroth looks to the group one by one and grips his glaive tightly before pointing down the street, wordlessly instructing, go.
Wilhem bears silent witness as the rest of the muscle-bound members of the group pile onto the attempt to force their way into a meeting with the watch. He sighs softly, but saves his voice, waiting until they are ejected. Isroth beats him to the punch however, declaring a plan and nominating Wilhem as the one to pull it off. His silence changes to a thoughtful one as he considers the plan.
"It seems a fair plan, but perhaps choosing a more appropriate 'slave' might be better than one branded with Karzoug's own mark. I am no actor and doubt I could convince anyone that I had managed to subdue and control one of the newly formed legionnaires."
"I'll use my own men. Harl and Misha have been slaves, they know how to behave and work well together should it be required."
Valko considers Isroth's plan while absentmindedly stroking his chin. His countenance during and following the debacle that unfolded within the Arvensoar betrays no small amount of incredulous dismay. "Such a ploy might indeed bear fruit, assuming the tree that supports it is not itself rotten." The half-elf's eyes flash a deliberate look to some of their number, the reason why no doubt plain as day.
"Perhaps we should rehearse this stratagem more fully, considering how horribly the simple task of requisitioning an audience with an officer of the watch went awry. Botching so simple an undertaking does not bode well for subterfuge of this order, I think. Lissala take them, they'd likely demand the release of all the slaves in a slaver compound!" His unwanted reprimand accomplished, Valko manages to stifle his sharp tongue long enough to give consideration to Wilhem's amendment to the task.
"Wilhem speaks truly; without disguising the nature of his station, he would prove too much a risk. Perhaps those capable of discrete behavior could shadow our pretend-slaves, whoever they may be? Slavers so brazenly abducting citizens from a city belonging to one so powerful as Runelord Karzoug might not bother with pleasantries before attempting to abscond with both salesman and merchandise. Having nearby support will help deter such an outcome. Alternatively, assuming such a foul turn, there will be a pair of eyes to follow and determine where they are headquartered before informing the rest of our number."
"Well unless you're volunteering I think anyone else following is more likely to draw attention. Ferit and Al'cazar or perhaps Radyx should be sufficient to discourage any such actions. If my 'guards' can carry Harl and Misha's weapons then they should be able to participate should the need arise also."
With a plan made Wilhem leads his men off a ways from the Arvensoar until they can find a suitably private spot to 'get into character', informing them of their part in the plan. Gralk seems less than pleased when they return but doesn't voice his concerns where they can be heard.
"So, who are my guards going to be then? No offense Al'cazar but your presence is likely to draw more attention than it's worth. So... Charbon, Radyx, Ferit? Shall we go?"
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Radyx shrugs at Wilhem's question. He was tired, both in body and of the lack of respect he had received so far. "Sure, why not? Nice stroll on The Shore is JUST what I wanted to do today. Let's move Fancypants."
Ferit grunts in acknowledgement.
When Wilhem and the bruisers head out, Hoosible sits on the curb and focuses intently on weaving the flowers he clipped from the lodgehouse into a wreath. Several times he takes it apart and methodically begins again, trying to get just the pattern he wants. He's surprised that a whole hour has gone by when the crew returns to their meeting place.
Hearing that they haven't learned anything yet, he asks "OK, why are you back so soon then?"
Without waiting for an answer he says "See you again when you do," and then he turns his attention back to his flowers. They never fully satisfy him until they're dried, but this wreath is getting pretty good. After one more tweak he digs in his bag for what appear to be small finger bones and starts to carefully add them into the weave.