As soon as they enter the Watchful Blade, Tiknesr waves down the barkeep, ordering a bottle of Sargavan rum for the table and a plate of his favorite mutton dish. "After that...awkward turn of events, I suspect we need something stronger than the local ale, eh?" He shakes his head with a slight chuckle.
When Abigail asks about the mace, Tiknesr starts pouring glasses all around and says, "Oh deary, I don't know anything about it myself. My Patron likely knows a thing or two...and Aroden has the ability to commune with the Patron."
Sticking his scrunched up man-face out of Tiknesr's sleeve, Aroden grins. "In other words, the Patron won't say a word to The Great Tiknesr, but he speaks to me."
Tiknesr rolls his eyes at his familiar. He opens his mouth to reply...and then seems to think better of it, simply saying a flat ”Yes..."
Turning back to face the rest of the party, Tiknesr explains. "We can talk about what exactly we want to ask over lunch. We can only impose on the Patron for six questions, once per week. The Patron answers any yes/no question, assuming it knows the answer...and that we don't take too long between questions."
Tiknesr's mutton arrives at the table and he pauses to take a bite. "I'm not actually certain how much we need to learn about this mace. It sounds like it's the property of the Order of the Nail. If we play our cards right, we might get some reward out of it, or a favor we can exchange. That said, it sounds like you'd like to ask something, maybe 'Does this mace belong to the order of the nail?' Personally I'm more curious about two things: One, you've attracted the interest of at least two powerful parties, those demonic giants and that swamp witch. Both seem to have kept tabs on you at some point or another. Is one spying or scrying on us here in Kenabres? Two, any questions we can think of that'll help us gain advantage against the giants. If you were to go against them tomorrow, what would you do? Is there any information you can think of that would give us a leg up against them?"
Sucking on a bone, he adds, "We can plan now, over lunch, and then retire to somewhere private to actually Commune with the Patron. It's not the kind of thing to do in the common room of a tavern."
Turning back to his familiar, Tiknesr adds, "And yes, I remember how hungry communing makes you. I have a treat ready in our room to replenish you."
Crissor ate the mutton and chewed on the bone, breaking it open and eating the marrow, a look of pure frustration melting to one of resigned contentment. "Perhaps a question if this mace is returned to the order...will it be used to harm innocent people?" he spoke through the crunch of bone.
"Problem is, that spell ain't gonna give us answers 'bout things that ain't happened, or things that might change because'f our actions. Back when I was in trainin', they talked 'bout divinations n'stuff. Though a'bet that Vi," she wags one hand in Viorel's direction, "can probably talk circles 'round me on that."
Settling down at the table with the others, Liette rests her hands on her hips and exhales a slow sigh before leaning forward and folding her hands on the tabletop. "How 'bout we ask if the mace belongs t'the Nail, a'like that one. We don't really need t'know if'n they're lookin' for it, really. I think we can pretty much say it's gon' be valuable. Now on them giant questions Abigail posed, I like'm both."
Rubbing her gloved thumbs together, Liette gazes down at the table and furrows her brows. Then, looking up with one raised she asks. "Where's Barek, anyway?"
Then, grimacing, she adds, "Uh, that ain't one'f the questions fer ol' Spookyface, neither."
_________
Except for his brief appearance with the prostitute, no one has seen Barek in weeks.
Still on the floor of his room where he had collapsed hours earlier, Thaddeus lay clutching his knees against the wall, fetal, eyes wide and unblinking lest he close them and see with his eyes what his mind was already seeing far too well without.
What have I done what have I done what have I done...
He reached for his pride as he had done so many times before, trying to wrap it around him, to wear it like armor against everyone and everything else; it fell through his fingers the tighter he held it, falling into piles of dust on the wooden floor beneath him. He bent over with a cry, trying to gather up the remains of his old and bitter pride and righteousness, pooling it in his hand. He brought it close to his face, staring at it; all he could see was her, was Kelha, Kelha before he returned and found her addled, Kelha staring into him the way she always had... He had been strong enough to bear her gaze once before, strong enough to ignore anyone's eyes, but now... Thaddeus looked through her eyes at himself, at everything he had said and done and believed... and wept.
What have I done what have I done what have I done...
Through Kelha's eyes he saw everything again. His mother, whose strength was her pride, her honor... and how it had twisted and aged around her, making her bent and gnarled, a dead oak tree. Irina, beautiful and kind, who one day would take a high place in House Surtova... had he ever felt anything for her, and not her bloodline? Ever?
What have I done what have I done what have I done...
When the cold truth of every false or misunderstood thing he had based his life on had burnt through him, when he felt he had reached his lowest... Thaddeus saw himself. He saw himself arriving at a village, meeting Kelha, feeling his pride melt away in her presence, wooing her... he saw himself returning to find her mad and his bastard child his beautiful child with his face and Kelha's ears and eyes motherless, and saw himself leaving the child there amidst the hostile faces amidst the unseeing eyes of Kelha amidst the cruel world his son would find himself in, the cruel world his father gave him to... He saw himself returning, paying the youth who was his flesh his blood no attention, no care, checking that his son was growing up harsh was growing up prideful like himself. He felt he was being a good father oh gods oh Thaddeus dry-heaved suddenly, trying to vomit out an empty stomach, his throat burning as his body writhed back and forth with pain and tears ran out of his eyes.
What have I done what have I done what have I done...
Reaching out with a shuddering fingertip, he shakily drew a pattern on the inn floor, curving and arcing. Finishing, he pressed his hand against it, and out of a low burst of smoke emerged a hawk-headed woman clad in armor, silver against her bronzed skin. She turned, and looked down at him, her master. He whispered to her everything, everything he had felt everything he had just learnt... and looked up at her. "What... what do I do?"
What do I do what do I do what do I do what do I do...
The hawk-headed woman bent down carefully onto one knee, and reached out, cupping Thaddeus' cheek. He reached up reflexively, squeezing her hand. With a silent puff, she vanished, his hands grasping against nothing. He fell back, eyes still open and lay there for a long long long time, before they closed and he slept.
oh gods, what I have done...
oh gods, what I am...
oh gods, what must I do... no. no gods.
Kelha... you cannot help me now.
Queezle... not you.
Nathaniel... my son... you. I will ask you. I will ask you. My son...
Thus he slept, visions of the brave summoner warrior described by his companions dancing before his eyes, filling Thaddeus' heart with pride then squeezing it dry with horror and self-realization again and again and again.
My son
This long night ended for Thaddeus two weeks later. After learning of his son's death, his first few nights were spent drunk and insensible on the bed, his last few all too conscious. But by the end he was decided; destroyed, but decided. And, arising with just a little of his previous stiffness, his previous strength, he set about his business. He wrote copious letters and passed them to merchants, to travellers to deliver for him for the price of a few gold. He vanished and reappeared back in Brevoy, where he made arrangements for a longer absence among old friends, old acquaintances, other old companions, other business partners, before returning to make the trek back to the inn. He avoided the sight of Nathaniel's past companions; he could not yet bear to see them. He wrote more letters, cancelling some debts he now felt unfairly owed and calling in some others that he might fulfill he own. He visited churches and libraries, seeking knowledge of the taxonomy of divine spirits and creatures. At night, to focus his mind, he bound fragments of his power into ashen rods and gave them to his silent companion, Queezle. Eventually, a week or so before the date the paladin had said they would be in Kenabres for, he returned to the inn, and his son's friends.
Thaddeus enters the inn, ever so slightly changed in his appearance. More color in his cheeks, less iron in his back, more steadiness in his eyes. He looks for the table and the party, and walks to them. "Hail, crusaders." He speaks with more respect than before, though a little awkwardly. "It has been some time since I spoke, and I hope I do not disturb, but... I notice your numbers weakened by the loss of my son, and the bold-faced warrior who sat her last we met. If you'd have me, I would bolster your numbers next you ride out with myself, in place of my son. As... as his father, I feel myself responsible for his death, his vengeance, and his post. I would satisfy these by joining you on your mission and battling demonic forces as did my son."
Personal matters dealt with, his formality reasserts itself. "I could not ask you to accept me on pure sentiment, however. While I am not the warrior my son was, I possess considerable arcane skill and am able to supplement my number with others from the outer planes. I bear the experience of many years spent with and against the warriors, monstrosities, bandits and adventurers of Brevoy. The Worldwound is new to me, but I will die before I allow my spells to shudder and fail due to cowardice or weakness." His last words spoken intensely, Thaddeus pauses and looks at his hands for a few moments before speaking again, softly, eyes averted. "I would protect others, as my son did, if you will have me."
Crissor nods and extends a hand to Thaddeus. "Hold no blame for his lost sir, he would be honored to see you here eager to join us. And for that I would gladly venture beside you." The gnoll smiles big sharp teeth gleaming in confidence. The moment of having a new ally, replacing at least for the moment the trepidation and concerns he had involving the hellknights, the mace, and their current plans of action.
Tiknesr smiles, "I hardly deserve a vote, having just joined this party myself...but I'll say that you clearly have arcane might that would be a great boon in the Worldwound. If you are serious about your offer -- and I see that you are -- we'd be fools not to work with you."
"Son?"
The incredulous word comes from Liette as she looks over from a conversation with one of the inn's servants. The white-haired gunslinger gives the serving girl an apologetic look, then waves her off as she approaches Thaddeus. "You're--" expression shifting in mercurial fluidity, Liette seems unable to know exactly which emotion to feel when presented with Nathaniel's father. Drawing in a sharp breath, she interjects a sudden vomit of feelings across the older man.
"I'm sorry," are the first things out of Liette's mouth. She has no frame of reference regarding Thaddeus, no knowledge of how Nathaniel and his father interacted or their past. She only knows that -- in her eyes -- she failed Nathaniel in the most profound way possible. "I'm--" her voice cracks and she looks unable or unwilling to form the remainder of that sentence. "I'm so sorry." Tears have welled up in her eyes faster than the words came, ones that are fought back with difficulty.
Liette never says one way or another whether Thaddeus is welcome. In her mind that isn't even her place to say. Instead, she's up and away from the table, away from Thaddeus, kneeling beside her backpack and rifling through it like a madwoman. Eventually, she produces a dusty piece of tattered black cloth and stiff backing, looking like it had been trampled and gnawed upon. Hands shaking, she rises from her backpack and walks it back over to Thaddeus, teeth biting at her lower lip.
Nathaniel's hat.
"It's-- all we have left," is croaked out barely more than a whisper.
With the list of preferred questions in hand, Aroden retreats to his and Tik's room to perform his dark ritual. He crawls under the bed and into the corner before doing whatever mysterious thing he does to contact his patron. The area under the bed is quickly cloaked in the deepest darkest shadows, and the temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
He emerges a few minutes later looking self-satisfied and hands the paper to Tiknesr. "You owe me a fresh baby elf for this. My nips are freezing!"
1)Does the mace in our possession belong to the Order of the Nail? Yes.
2)Have the fiendish desert giant followers of Lamashtu in the Worldwound spied on us since we've returned to Kenabres? Unclear.
3)Have the nymph Sibyle or her minions spied on any of us since we've returned to Kenabres? Unclear.
4)Are the desert giants expecting us to return? No.
5)Is the desert giants' lair located within the area represented by the hexagram marked on our map in which we previously encountered them? No.
6)Do the giants have allies we haven't encountered yet? Yes.
Tiknesr takes the paper from Aroden, glancing over the answers and nodding. He grimaces a bit at the answers to the 2nd and 3rd questions and then puts it on the table for the rest of the crew to read.
"You owe me a fresh baby elf for this. My nips are freezing!"
Tiknser rolls his eyes at Aroden. "You know the deal. No elves, no halflings, no gnomes. Especially not babies. Your treat this time is the same as it was last week: a kitten. Here's the key to their cage, but you only get one."
Aroden scrinches his face at Tiknesr, "You better hope I don't ask you to Commune yourself next week."
"And you can see if you can find someone else out here who'll buy you scrolls to eat! Or kittens for that matter." he snaps back.
Thaddeus recognizes everything in Liette's face, her voice, her shaking frame; everything he saw in himself not so long ago. He shakes slightly, pressure being placed upon a previous wound; but his patch, his cauterization holds strong. He meets Liette's gaze, letting her see in his eyes what they both feel, and replies shakily- "I know. I am sorry as well."
After Thaddeus has been accepted (presumably) and sits at the table with the rest of his new comrades, he looks up to see Liette, presenting him with the black, extremely worn hat. He takes it wonderingly and lifts it up for inspection, turning it around. Laughter breaks out of his throat painfully as he tries and fails to cry. "My... my gods. My... her hat." He makes a practiced gesture with his fingers and the hat glows for a moment ever so slightly (detect magic). "Still... still functional. Good. Good." He pulls it close against him and lets a weak smile appear across his face. "I gave this as a present to his mother once, a lifetime ago... I thought it taken by the others in the village."
He looks down at the hat, away from Liette. "This was his...? This was his. Huh. Heh. Heh." Thaddeus wipes his eyes, then looks up at her. "...thank you for bringing this back. Thank you." He grips the edges of the hat gently but firmly. "Thank you."
He takes a deep breath then stows the hat away carefully in his bags, wrapping it up safely. Standing, his composure regained, he looks around the group. "As your newest, I must demand the honor of buying drinks for you all. Name your pleasure, sirs and ladies."
Swallowing hoarsely, Liette waves off Thaddeus' offer with a gloved hand. She sweeps her tongue across the front of her teeth behind her lips, brushes the heel of her palm over one eye repeatedly, and puts some distance between herself and Nathaniel's father. "We don't have time to drink," is the gunslinger's harsh answer. "I need to try and find Barek."
"Well, I'm afraid I won't be much help in finding this Barek -- I just saw him once, and briefly. I doubt I'm the best negotiator to try to get a reward from the Order of the Nail either. What I can do is go heads down at the library to see if I can find any leads as to where to search next for our friends the giants.
"That said, a little something to warm my innards will only help my research...and far be it from me to refuse a new swarm-mate's offer to share a libation. I'll take a Lusty Pegasus, if you would, on the rocks."
"I am sure I can sweettalk a good price out of the mace, even without it's status as a religious item, it is rather valuable just for the sheer amount of magic it holds. The real question is what do we want for it?" Viorel notes on the subject.
Crissor rakes his claws on the table, still not liking the plan to give the mace up to any hellknight. " I don't think we can ask a price for it Viorel, we are going to have to play this by the seat of our pants with them...and after that business is done with, we can go about working out where these giants are, and how to strike them."
Tiknesr and Aroden will spend a day in the library, researching, looking for clues to lead them to the giants' base of operations.
After discussing his plan with the party, Thaddeus spends a day talking with other crusaders in the bar and in the city, learning about the hellknights and their dealings with other crusaders and churches. He also asks if any other crusaders have encountered a tribe of desert giants, and where their bases might be in the Worldwound.
Thaddeus hears the same name over and over, Erebus Vance. He is a Paralictor and the leader of the Order of the Nail in Kenabres. He already lead one expedition of twenty or so knights to the Fort of the Nail to try and recover the fortress. Only he and his personal assistant made it back, all the rest were killed.
He's been in Kenabres since then, gathering his forces, and seeking allies within the crusaders to aid the Order in their holy quest.
Tiknser gets a bottle of good whiskey and two glasses from the bar, and ambles over to the table where Morann is currently eating a late breakfast of eggs and bread. "Room for another oldster on this bench? I'm pouring, if it's not too early." He says, setting out the glasses and filling each with whiskey.
"Tiknesr Th'th'th'th'slifp, crusader. You're Balbeck Morann, yes?"
After a drink he adds, "I'm in pursuit of some fiendish desert giants, followers of Lamashtu, and trying to track down leads about where they operate out of. I hear you're a scholar yourself, and I was hoping you might be able to help me out."
Morann is dozing light in his chair as Tiknesr approaches, his hand gripped loosely onto a mostly empty tankard. As the rat man sits down, Morann awakes with a start, spilling some of his drink onto his hand.
"Hmmpf...yes..what? Drink you say?" his breath is heavy with the fumes of ale, and his cheeks are covered in rosy broken veins. He gulps the whiskey greedily. "Desert giants you say?....How intriguing...Can you show me where you encountered them on a map? Ah, and more whiskey please."
"Of course," Tiknesr smiles, showing his yellowed teeth, and pulls out the party's map. "I encountered them once here, and my new compatriots encountered them here."
As Morann looks at the map, Tiknesr pours him another glass.
Balbeck empties the glass before harumpfing over the map for a few seconds. "The only thing I know of out that way is the old mining town of Varriksberg. It was founded by Ulfen immigrants shortly before the First Crusade to exploit a large vein of mithril they'd discovered there. The town never got very big before the Wound opened, but the caves system and mine there were deep. If that whole area is a desert now, that's where I'd look for someone. There was an underground lake in the caves there, fed by deep streams. That's what made the Ulfen stop there in the first place to notice the mithral. I mean, there's no guarantee what it's like now after all this time and abyssal influence..." Morann trails off, drinking the rest of the flat warm ale in his tankard. He struggles to focus on Tiknesr, probably wondering if any more whiskey would be forthcoming.
Tiknesr raises his glass to the drunk, and then pours him some more. "Thank you, kind scholar. Varriksberg. It sounds worth investigating at any rate, and having it marked on our map will be a big help. Do you know if there are any old maps of it around, perhaps in the library? Or the surroundings?"
“I’ve got some. What are you looking for?”
Tiknser's eyes light up. "You DO! Marvelous." His tail switches back and forth on the floor behind him. "I'd gladly look at anything you think might be helpful, but I'm particularly interested in records or maps of the mines and caves, and of the town itself."
”Sorry, I don’t have anything like that. Just more general stuff. Any maps of the mines would have been kept sefret by the owners. The town itself never got big enough to need mapping far as I know.”
Morann looks to finally be feeling a bit of effect from the whiskey. He smiles relaxedly.
"Far as I know, nothing, unless you count Drezen. It used to be tribal lands, who knows what it's like these days. I haven't met anyone whose went up that way and come back. The hordes of demons generally discourage that sort of thing," Balbeck replies to Abigail.