8 Gozran, 4718 AR; Sunday
Le Voile leads those using the north exit. The passage off the basement is fairly long, and comes to a ladder that descends into the catacombs below. "I use these tunnels quite often," Le Voile remarks, as she leads the descent. "There are certainly dangerous places down in Le Vide, but this stretch is not one of them."
Le Voile moves quickly ahead, the small ragged bundle making leading the way easily in the dark and cramped passageway. The smell of rot and mildew grows stronger as you pass well under the Kantele. Finally, when the rank smell fades, Le Voile stops at a ladder. The passage continues on from there.
"The shop upstairs is abandoned. Come and go as you wish, but not if you're being followed. And don't get lost down here," the mysterious small figure bounds off deeper into the tunnels.
You exit the old furniture maker's shop, the east side of the Theatre Quarter. The sun rises higher in the sky, but the southern wind has picked up, and promises to keep the air cool.
Emilien follows Le Voile quietly through the tunnels, covering his nose and mouth with a handkerchief as they pass through a particularly foul smelling section of the catacombs. On one hand Emilien knew that the catacombs beneath the city held countless secrets and mysteries within them, but on the other hand it was a wretched smelling warren of dangerous tunnels and dead ends as well. He had never really spent much time down there, though every time he did pass through them he was reminded of a faint desire to send a mind’s eye probe to scout around some. If he would have to be passing through them to get back and forth to the meeting place perhaps it would be useful to gain some understanding of the surrounding tunnels, just in case he needed to break off of the path La Voile showed him for some reason. When they came at last to the ladder and Le Voile departed Emilien simply stood staring after the figure for several moments before shaking his head and making his way up the ladder. He was so very curious about what was under the cloak, but if things went well for them this week he imagined he’d have more chances to try and find that out.
Before passing out of the furniture maker’s shop Emilien reached into a pocket and pulled out a single coffee bean--his own stock--and popped it into his mouth. As he did so he focuses his mood and channels his mental energies towards improving his focus. He wanted to make sure that he was careful on his way to the Clerk of the Cork, ensuring that no one was following him. He would take his time since it was still early for him to be in. Noel opened the store on Sundays. As it was a rest day there were a decent number of people coming in early for the coffee and to simply relax. Most weekdays Emilien wouldn’t show up until sometime around noon but on Sunday’s he often came in earlier to help out when it got rushed and generally just soak up any gossip from the patrons on such a busy day.
He took a circuitous route through the Theater Quarter, to ensure he’d have every chance of noticing any tails. Since they emerged on the eastern side of the Theater Quarter he considered just heading into the Industrial Quarter to visit the Old Taldor Paper Company to restock his supplies, but decided he would want to do a proper inventory beforehand. As he went he couldn’t keep a grin off of his face entirely. The task still seemed difficult and he frankly didn’t have the greatest confidence that they would succeed, but it was a fascinating challenge and a chance to learn of a secret society that had until now completely escaped his notice. Emilien was thrilled. Even having to wait to start investigating until later tonight wasn’t much of a dampener on his spirits. After all he loved his time at the Clerk of the Cork, he looked forward to seeing what the rumor mill was churning out today. So it was with a smile on his face and the slightest spring in his step that he made his way into the Clerk of the Cork.
---
Emilien is on high alert as he moves from the hidden furniture shop across the Theatre Quarter. The wind carries distinct scents of those south of his position, and his route takes on a more right turns as a result.
As he nears the Clerk, he spots a familiar group of ruffians, the ones he's very familiar with from the neighborhood. As they play (a sort of athletic 'sport' with a sick and a rock) Emilien easily spots them signal one another about his appearance on the street. He easily picks the leader, a little tiefling boy, who waves off other children with a subtle signal: that Emilien is protected. The shift from carefree youths, to pickpocket team and back would be invisible to some, but the half-elf was naturally observant and the coffee was helping.
The healthy crowd in the Clerk of the Cork was evident before Emilien even entered. Dany was on a perch near the entrance. He gave Emilien a friendly nod, a signal both that he was watching, and that there was nothing of note to report. Inside there was a line of patrons waiting on their morning coffee, but not many seated in the ambiance; a typical business pattern for a Sunday morning.
Diving into the Clerk's day to day, within an hour Emilien has each customer served, all the supplies tidied up, and a clean common room. A few customers seated in the common room chat among themselves. Eavesdropping as he works Emilien is unable to pick up any rumors that he hasn't heard before, and the coffee bean is wearing off soon.
"Boss" Noel raps on the office door and enters as Emilien is wrapping up the inventory update. "Monsieur Sharp is here to see you."
Thaddeus Sharp could maybe be described as a regular of the Clerk of the Cork. He was a older man, a squatter in the Theater Quarter who learned long ago that he could turn a late night observation into a daily meal. While he was rarely a man with significant insights, the occasional observation of his had led to significant discoveries. Best of all, he could be paid in bread.
Noel waited for his boss to confirm if he should bring the homeless gentleman into the office, or if Emilien preferred to see him in the common room.
Emilien nodded his head almost imperceptibly towards the Tiefling boy in passing. It was understandable that he’d be a potential target. His clothing wasn’t silk or satin but the wool was high quality and impeccably styled, he looked like someone willing to spend good money on his clothing--because he was. But it would have been a mistake to assume he was an easy mark because of that. Most groups of pickpockets in the area were connected to the Vice in some form. Independant thieves often didn’t last long operating on the Vice’s turf, they were generally either absorbed or they were eliminated. Emilien worked with the Vice often enough to be guaranteed protection from having to worry about their pickpockets. Even if he hadn’t, anyone picking his pocket would very quickly regret their actions. He wondered idly how his working with Thisbe through the Council might affect his connection to the Vice. It was always good to have friends in positions of influence. He had never really gotten to know Thisbe in any capacity beside his occasional connection to the Vice in his area, he would have to see that changed. But that was a problem for later. He had a busy day ahead of him.
After quietly acknowledging Dany he headed inside and got to work. Time passed relatively quickly and Emilien was able to knock out most of the mundane necessities at the Clerk. He made small talk with regulars and familiar people as they came in for coffee or gossip. Unfortunately nothing new stood out to him but as he was finishing up the inventory Noel knocked on his office door. Emilien smiled at the woman, she had been with him for several years. Originally one of the Starving Artists, she had learned a little about Emilien’s willingness to trade for information early on and he appreciated both her discretion and wit. She and Philippe were frankly the only way he was able to keep the Clerk running while he juggled all his other projects.
“By all means bring him in with a plate of food and another cup of coffee for me if you please. Oh and after this meeting I will be making a trip to see Armando for some supplies, after I return as long as Philippe is here you should be good to take the rest of the day off,” Emilien says before straightening the papers he’d been looking over and filing them away in his desk. He drained the last of his current cup, black and sweet as sin. Sugar was one of a number of luxuries he was happy to splurge on. Thaddeus Sharp was a curious case. He rarely provided earth-shaking information but occasionally, and often unintentionally, something he said might lead to surprising discoveries. Besides it was an interesting distraction and Emilien could appreciate someone doing whatever they could to fill their belly. It would be interesting to see what the man had for him today.
---
Noel opened the office door wide to allow Thaddeus Sharp in. The old man shook slightly as he entered the office, his eyes darting nervously as he smiled and nodded. Mr. Sharp, like a lot of Le Caroussel's residents, suffered from addiction to alcohol. If he wasn't drunk, he got the shakes, and it was clear that this morning he'd not had anything to drink stiffer than the breeze blowing in from the south.
"Calistrian, if you please," Noel gave her boss a knowing grin, that she'd be adding the cheap whiskey to the old man's morning cup. Despite the shakes, Thaddeus was always kind and polite, which is why he was tolerated in respectable establishments. He hunched as he sat, Noel entering again behind him. She set the plate down in front of the shakey man, and handed Emilien a warm mug of coffee, prepared to his liking.
"I saw them again," Mr. Sharp leaned in to whisper as Noel closed the door. "Saw them down the street here, seven or eight blocks away....or maybe nine or ten. Dozen people, looked like Vice to me, one of them covered head to toe in blood."
Sadly, this was not new news at all. It was evident that the Vice was engaged in combat bouts that they held underground, literally. They would often exit the catacombs from random, hidden places in the early morning hours. Thaddeus Sharp, despite his proper manners, was actually sadly dull-witted, and had given this same piece of gossip to Emilien several times over. Emilien had carefully noted each location Mr. Sharp had reported, and although he’d collected over a dozen of these reports from the man. Emilien estimated perhaps three or four of them were actual catacomb entrances, but Thaddeus could hardly be counted on as accurate.
Once the report was carefully recorded, Thaddeus thanked Emilien politely. With a bow took his plate out to the common room to finish the meal he’d earned.
The trip to the Paper Company was uneventful, but made for a warm and pleasant mid-day stroll. As Emilien crossed the Kantele he exchanged glances with the nearby Vice spotter, and traded nods with the city guards stationed on the bridge over the river. The South side of the river was outside the Vice territory, but the Caydogs that claimed all the territory in the south as theirs were rarely seen in the Industrial Quarter. This was especially true in the daylight hours, although citizens of Isarn could never be too careful.
The sawdust smell in the air is strongest near the river where lumber mills still operated, even on a Sunday. Emilien arrives at Old Taldor Paper Company, a tall building with a recessed storefront flanked by larger lumber mills. As usual, he finds himself alone at the counter.
Emilien dutifully wrote down the approximate location that Sharp mentioned to him and nodded, smiling at the man as he enjoyed his own cup of coffee. Given the inexact nature of it there was a good chance nothing would come of it. But as he had just been thinking, it might be beneficial to get to know some of the entrances and exits to the catacombs. In fact, it had not occurred to him at the time but the catacombs might be the perfect way to remove Pauline from harm's way should they actually managed to pull off securing her in the first place. As Thaddeus left the room Emilien smiled and waved goodbye. He was a good enough man for his limited faculties, frankly Emilien was pleasantly surprised to see that he had lasted as long as he had. Isarn could be a deadly place to those not sharp of wit. At least he was polite to his betters and attempted to pass off information when he thought it useful. Emilien quickly scanned through his little black book to see if he knew of any entrances in the areas either near La Scene or near the safehouse in the Foreign Quarter. He also checked to see if he had the names of anyone who might have more information about the catacombs, particularly access to them in those areas. Even if they couldn’t find a route between the two using them to navigate through the city might help them evade patrols. If he could find anyone he thought worth visiting he could always do so either after his trip to the Paper Company or later on in the evening, depending on how out of his way they were likely to be.
Emilien left the Clerk of the Cork, smiling at the patrons and nodding once again to Noel on his way out. As he passed Dany he gave a signal that he’d be returning shortly. The trip was relatively unremarkable, not overly surprising since it was still rather early in the day on a Sunday, not the Industrial Quarter’s busiest time for people to be out and about certainly. The fact that it wasn’t night also meant he had less risk of running into Caydogs. He didn’t have an especially bad relationship with the gang, but his connections to the Vice could be a potential source of tension that he would prefer to avoid if at all possible. Thankfully though it was not especially busy the mills and the Old Taldor Paper Company remained open. Given the unique clientele who needed his products Emilien didn’t actually know if the man ever completely closed things down. He made his way inside to the counter and took a look around before announcing his presence. As he waited he mentally prepared himself for how he was going to approach his order. He was essentially looking to talk in circles about the government and Korran Goss in particular and attempt to discover if they used paper and products from the Old Taldor Paper Company. He assumed that they would but he wasn't certain. If he could gain access to the same materials while obscuring the reasons for his interest and bluffing his way past any suspicion Armando might have about why he wished to use similar quality materials as the Chairman.
"Signore Moreau!" Annette de Modesto appeared with a smile after a few minutes, wiping her hands on a rag. Emilien knew the girl well. She had been helping her father at the counter of his shop since she was tall enough to reach. She was nineteen years now, and still unmarried. A raven haired beauty, she was older now and helped her father much more on his paper production. ON workdays, her younger sister Maria worked the counter, but she was nowhere to be seen today. "I hope you haven't been waiting long. You're too polite. You should have shouted." She'd apparently failed to hear him.
Annette took the order list from Emilien, and went to the back room. Moments later, Armando appeared at the counter. "Signore Moreau," he greeted the half-elf with his distinct Chelish accent. "Good day to see you again. Annette will have your order filled shortly."
Minutes later when Annette set the order on the counter, the two men had only just begun chatting. As a small business owner himself, you've traded stories with Armando often. You know the man as one of the hardest workers in Isarn. He has a tall but sturdy build, and his dark complection that left little doubt about his nationality, even before his thick accent could be Heard. Armando is stern man, with a deep voice and a concise way of speaking. But you know how to get him talking: business.
Rare is the Galtan that has no opinion of a Chelish citizen. Derided as diablorists or imperialists, a Galtan who might be indifferent or slow to judge individuals based on the actions of their respective governments is still slow to come to a Chelaxian's defense. But Emilien knew exactly how indispensable Armando’s trade was to the city, as he had been in negotiations with him since the Clerk was only an idea. Customers almost always prefer to deal with Annette, and her father does not mind.
Isarn's loss of talented craftspeople over the years meant a decline in the availability of almost all high-quality goods. The city had adjusted to the slow degradation of fine clothes, food, wine, jewelry, woodcrafts, painting, sculpture, songs, architecture, and all the finer works only remembered by grandfathers and grandmothers, and longer lived races. Universally missed among scholars, spellcasters, barristers and magistrates was well-made paper. When Old Taldor Paper Company opened, Armando and his girls begrudgingly became the most popular Chelish nationals since the Iomedae, at least where Galt was concerned.
You easily direct today's conversation from the struggles of a business owner, to the Paper Company in particular, then to what different paper stocks Armando produces. Concise, but well spoken, within ten minutes, Armando has half a dozen varieties of paper stock on the counter, two of which he is indicating government magisters and barristers. He has few in stock, as they are in constant demand, but he is able to part with a few of them for his favorite customer.
”Ten gold for your order signore, another five if you are interested in the highest qualities. And then I must return to work.”
Emilien smiled and didn’t bother to correct the girl about the fact that he had indeed called for help upon arriving. He knew that he wasn’t being purposefully snubbed or ignored, so it seemed pointless to get upset over it. Besides, Annette was quickly learning her father’s trade and their products were an important part of Emilien’s work. Emilien was the kind of person who appreciated the finer things. Unfortunately in Isarn, especially over the last few decades, finery and aesthetics were in short supply. Despite his maneuvering Emilien had not yet managed to gain access to the exemption required to purchase the silks and styles of the Louis Vauquelin Clothing Company. The fact that Armando and his girls were able to provide a bit of quality and craftsmanship in a starving city far outweighed any hesitation Emilien might have about a Chelish citizen. Emilien liked the man, anyone who worked hard to produce something of real quality was a treasure in the city. Galt had so much history, such much art and artistry to value. But it would be a sad state of affairs if Galt could not continue to be a source of inspiration to the world. Emilien didn’t want to see the city he had been born in consigned to the worn pages of historical records. He supposed if he wanted to put a positive spin on his motivations that would be it. He wanted to see people like Armando protected, preserved and prosperous in Isarn. And if he counted himself among those who offered a valued service, well he never claimed to be self-less.
“Always a pleasure to drop and and see you Master Modesto, although as always please feel free to call me Emil. I would be at an absolute loss without you and your daughters when it came to keeping my scribing work of a respectable quality,” Emilien said reaching for his money and laying out fifteen gold, taking it from the courier’s secure pouch he had been given earlier, “You know me too well, of course I will take the best you can spare and appreciate your time deeply. Give my best to Annette and little Maria. Good day Master Modesto.”
Once he had his purchases properly wrapped and secured for the trip back to the Clerk of the Cork Emilien made his leave. He would likely remain at the Clerk for several hours and sometime late afternoon or perhaps that night he would set out to see about investigating the leads that he had been accumulating with Sharp’s information. If he could find some paths through the catacombs it might give them all an edge in executing their plans.
---
Armando wraps up the fine paper stock in its own envelope and adds it to the Clerk's normal order. He wishes you well, and disappears into the back as you leave.
Your walk back to the north side of town is thankfully as uneventful as your walk to the Paper Company. As you come back to the Clerk, you spot Kasim and Gabrielle, who are speaking to Dany over at their usual spotters post. Gabrielle gives a friendly wave when she sees you, they appear to be changing guards, as they usually do in the afternoon.
The Clerk is far busier upon your return, but the lackeys have also arrived to keep things running smoothly, and you're able to retreat to your office. Noel pops into your office roughly an hour after your return, letting you know she is leaving for the day. She assures you that Philippe and the lackeys have things under control. As your afternoon work continues, you're suddenly interrupted in your office.
"Madame! Bonsoir!" you hear a shout from outside your door. As you begin to listen more closely, Gilles enters your office in a hurry. Ledgers in his hands, he looks worried. He sits at your desk and leans in close.
"The woman from the Vice is here," he whispers. “The collector, Thisbe!”
Emilien had just gotten everything settled away when he heard the shouting outside his office. He was on the verge of standing up to go and investigate when the door opened and Gilles almost stumbled in. The somewhat frantic man took his seat and explained the source of his anxiety--their Vice collector was here. Emilien made an effort to frown rather than smile. He had been wondering how quickly he’d be seeing some of his fellow Councilors now that they were to be working together. This was a good chance to let her know about his success getting access to some government quality paper stock. He drummed his fingers on his desk and looked at Gilles, “Well that is curious isn’t it? It’s not quite collection time yet and Im sure our last payment was completed on time. I suppose Ill just have to go see what it is we can do for her in person. Don't fret so much Gilles, you’ll get wrinkles before your time if you keep worriedly pinching your brows like that. As long as we are good for the Vice the Vice will be good to us.”
That last part was generally true. Emilien didn’t really agree with the Vice on a number of things. They tended to use brutality when subtlety could work far more effectively. And the underground combats they had been engaging in lately weren’t good for the area. If a drunk like Sharp could get spooked by them then so could honest customers. The Clerk needed to be able to operate both sides of its business. It would rapidly become fairly suspicious when certain types of people came in for information without the more mundane coffee shop customers filling the place out. Anything that would scare away his clientele was a bad thing as far as he was concerned. He wondered if he might be able to use his connection to Thisbe to create some beneficial pressure on such issues. Straightening his coat and casting one last look around the office to make sure everything was in its proper place he left Gilles in his office and moved out into the common room.
He smiled broadly, hamming it up as he was known to do around the Clerk. It was generally for the benefit of his customers. To them he was the eclectic, flamboyant and eccentric shop owner who never let the neighborhood he was in bother him. That was the part he would play in public whenever he was working here. Only in back rooms was he ever his every so slightly more serious self. He’d greet her with a smile and go from there, deciding whether they’d be talking in riddles publicly or retire to the back to discuss things more privately.
---
You exit your office just as a pair of customers hustle out the door. The other customers whisper, and look nervous. Alone, Thisbe sits at a table.
The cup Gilles had left went untouched, the coffee quickly cooling. Thisbe never drank the stuff. Why drink coffee when you could precisely tune an extract to serve a specific need? Plus, she hated how jittery a single cup of the Clerk’s house blend made her.
Thisbe stood from her seat convivially, extending a hand to Emilien in greeting. Her tone was light, welcoming and a few decibels louder than needed for the benefit of their hushed audience.
”Monsieur Monreau, pardon my intrusion this afternoon. I meant your Master of Accounts no distress. Poor Gilles even managed to serve me coffee instead of your lovely herbal tea. I swear if you keep allowing your staff to imbibe that concoction, their nerves may never recover!”
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Emilien kept the falsely large smile on his face as he sidled up and leaned against the bar near where Thisbe was sitting. His eyes darted quickly around, assessing how much her mere presence disturbed his business. People who lived in this area knew about the Vice of course. But it was one of those things that they prefer to keep to the backs of their mind. When someone like Thisbe and her enforcers rolled up on one of their businesses it was impossible not to notice them. He managed barely to keep the smile on his face as he saw two customers hustle out with backwards glances towards Thisbe. When she extended her hand he took it, bowed over it and kissed the back of her hand rather theatrically. While he did it he triggered the memory of his meeting at the Old Taldor Paper Company, sharing the moment when Armando told him that two of the stocks he was buying were the same used by the government. He then mentally pushed the memory towards Thisbe. Everyone recieved memories differently but if she trusted him enough to allow it she would be able to remember the memory as one of her own. Trading information was so much easier when he could reach into the minds of the willing and simply extract the memory himself. It was also easier to pass on memories to those purchasing them. He gave her a moment to process the memory before grabbing her coffee cup and handing it over to one of the lackeys.
“You are right of course Madame Cormorant, any nerves on Giles’ part are no doubt due to the fact that I keep him working till the wee hours of the morning far too often. I fear I would find him asleep over my books if I didn’t keep him properly stimulated,” he said as he reached across and took the coffee cup from in front of her. He handed it back to the young man tending the bar. Then he spoke up rather loudly, calling to his manager, “Phillippe I think perhaps Madame Cormorant and I will retire to my office to speak a little in private. Would you be so good as to prepare some herbal tea mixes. Don't worry about the premade mixes, just bring the leaves. I believe you prefer to mix your own isn’t that right Madame?”
---
Emilien’s memory of the Old Taldor Paper Company filled her mind in a flash. While she already knew Emilien’s whereabouts earlier today, the memory gave her intel a color that couldn’t be replicated by a hasty spotter’s report. She found Emilien’s politeness and reverence to the honest, hard working Annette de Modesto to be quite refreshing. Perhaps his air of joviality isn’t all for show, Thisbe considered. Though trust came often with a price, she felt that perhaps Emilien could be one she could lend it to. He would have to be if we are to get this job done.
With a candid nod and a knowing moment of eye contact to signal that she’d received his memory, Thisbe replied, “Quite right, Monsieur. My preferences for my blend are very exacting. Phillippe has much more important work to do than fiddling with my tea.”
Thisbe made to follow Emilien to his office with her hands folded neatly in front of her in an attempt to appear less threatening to those watching. There was little benefit to Thisbe in being a known Vice agent. When collection time came, sure, a little fear struck in the hearts of her charges was motivating enough to keep her interactions civil. Yet, Thisbe was very aware that she wasn’t free in this City. Not free to enjoy a cup of tea in public, or take a Springtime stroll in the Nord Riviere. It was a price that she would willingly pay to undermine this feral organization. And, she suspected, she was not yet done paying. Not by a long shot.
“Monsieur, lead the way.”
The customers settle a bit when Emilien emerges and greets Thisbe in the common room. Gilles smiles and bows to you each in turn before leaving through the front door. Philippe hastily fetches a cup of hot water and a bag of tea, joining you in the office just after you both enter.
“Anything else that I can get for you?” he asks politely before leaving the office and closing the door behind, leaving just the two of you in the office.
“Of course, I can appreciate anyone of exacting taste,” Emilien said as Thisbe mentioned her specific preferences in her tea blends. She seemed like the kind of person who didn’t often eat or drink things handed to her without inspecting them first. Which, all things considered, was probably a safe bet living in Isarn and being involved in Vice business. Certain people were stupid enough to take offense to such association. Emilien dismissed Philippe with a careful nod and a hand motion that indicated there was nothing to worry about. He had worked with Philippe and Noel for years now. If there had been an issue there were certain signs he could subtly give to imply such and they would see that the Clerk was cleared out. Neither of them knew all of Emilien’s secrets or tricks but between the two of them and Giles they knew more than most.
Emilien was glad to see people going back to their various conversations when he made his appearance. Still he thought it would be best to conduct their conversation in private as much as possible so he led the way back to the office, pulling the seat out for Thisbe. Once they were alone he let out a rather coy smile, “I must say it's a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon. I must say I am exceptionally curious as to what has brought you to my shop. This room is about as private as I can manage without taking us somewhere else, which would be rather conspicuous. If there is anything information you know that you’d wish to pass along more subtly I can pull it from you just as I passed the memory to you earlier."
Thisbe sat in her seat across Emilien and began preparing her tea. First, she put a pinch of spiced tulsi in her cup, to color and enliven the tea, as she replied, “Frankly, I didn’t expect I’d find myself here today, yet a poignant thought struck me as I finished my route in La Lumiere Rouge this afternoon. I’ll only take a moment of your time.”
She paused a moment to add a spoonful of hisbiscus and rosehip meant to focus and balance the mind.
“As an intelligent man, you’re aware, certainly, that the Vice has eyes everywhere North of the river. So you won’t find it surprising that, even before your shared memory, I was made aware of your trip to the Paper Company and of your purchasing government-grade stock. I also heard about Loudmouth Sharp stopping by.”
Thisbe grinned as she crushed a few rose petals between her thumb and forefinger before dropping them on top of the herbs resting in her cup. She looked for Emilien’s reaction before continuing.
“Now, you’ll have to forgive me for my line of work. As everything in Isarn, my professional choices go deeper than it may appear. My job, when I get intel from a spotter, is to figure out how the Vice can exploit it. Let’s consider this, shall we?”
After a sprinkle of elderberries, Thisbe filled her cup with the hot water Philippe had left for her. She let the brew steep, waiting for the loose tea to drop to the bottom of her cup.
“The Vice will likely suspect you’re creating forgeries for one of your clients. They may even task me with shaking out a few more pieces of gold from you in a few weeks expecting that you had a larger than average payday. Most importantly, however, they will be on the lookout for who your client may be and why they needed forged documentation.”
“I don’t wish to alarm you, as at this point, this is all merely educated speculation. Yet, I suspect you may like to live your life as I do in accounting for multiple possibilities. The question I come to pose to you is this: how will you evade the Vice and… how can I help you?”
Thisbe takes a long sip of her tea, keeping her dark eyes trained on Emilien’s.
Emilien leaned forward, his fingers knitted together and his chin resting on them, seeming almost comically at ease in front of Thisbe. Part of it was how Emilien was, his movements over the years had slowly become more and more dramatic and flamboyant. He found that it distracted people when he was doing something else and made people underestimate him. And although he saw Thisbe as someone he could potentially use, he didn’t think he was ready to give up all his advantages in front of her. So he would happily let her see him as a foppish man. No doubt she would see through at least some of the obfuscation of his intelligence, she knew what services he provided to the Vice, picking up various information that was beneficial to them and passing it on. It was also his job to inform the Vice if anyone started sniffing around about ways in which the Vice might be weak or vulnerable. And for the most part he followed through on that end of his deal with them. So Emilien smiled jovially as he listened to Thisbe speak, surreptitiously keeping track of what she was putting into her tea. Very little escaped his notice, he wasn’t one to let information, no matter how seemingly inconsequential, slip him by. You never knew when a stray, innocuous fact might prove valuable.
“Well I can essentially guarantee that no spotter saw what I purchased while in the shop. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d bought stock similar to government issue and I visit quite often. I always leave with an envelope of my purchases tucked away and tend to visit when no one else is in. Unless the Vice happens to have someone running some rather high level magical surveillance on me,” he said quirked an eyebrow, as if asking her to offer up a confirmation of such a point. He frankly doubted it. He made himself useful to the Vice but did not really inform them about the full extend of his talents or personal operations. To his knowledge he doubted that the Vice had the kind of information gathering capabilities that he did. Although if it did and Thisbe could give him some confirmation about that then well, that would change a number of things and Emilien might have to look into reevaluating his relationship with the Vice.
“But if they did somehow get word of what I had purchased, perhaps looking into dear Master Modesto’s records, then I think the best lie would be the truth,” he said reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a rough draft he had been writing up. It was essentially a very basic draft of an allowance to purchase and own fine clothing. It was written on simple paper, not the government issue he had just purchased of course, “I’ve never hidden the fact that I wish for an exception to the rule against owning finely styled garments. I intend to use some of this paper to create a mock up of one of the exemption notices. I will almost certainly never use it unless I can obtain an exemption to copy exactly but as a distraction and reason for why I might need government quality paper stock I feel it would be suitable. You certainly know your superiors better than I do though. If you feel as though letting them onto hints of this would be beneficial then by all means Im open to suggestions on how to go about it.”
“Ah, don’t you love a simple solution, Monsieur Monreau?” Thisbe smiled wanly. She was hoping she’d unsettle the unassuming shopkeep and was somewhat unimpressed by his desires to simply own elegant fashions. She did make note that he didn’t decide to share what information he’d received from Loudmouth Sharp. Yet, secrets were his bread and butter. Thisbe couldn’t fault him for keeping some. Besides, it’s likely the beggar had nothing useful to say.
Thisbe couldn’t help but prod Emilien. His facade of pomp and spectacle was so tight that she felt impelled to discover what lurked beneath the surface. She needed to know if he was loyal to the Vice and, this small test of sorts, unfortunately only provided a small glimpse into his true intentions. It rubbed her the wrong way to have to trust that the Cerulean Council chose her comrades with precision. Like an itch she had to scratch. Yet, it seemed that for now, she would have to.
“As I said, I simply prepare for many possibilities. Perhaps my own memory is mixing with the one you’ve provided. Indeed, now that you mention it, I don’t recall Kasim mentioning the specific stock! It is likely this order of yours will go unnoticed, so I will only share what you’ve told me if asked directly.” Thisbe noted. She sipped the last bit of her tea and set down her cup on the saucer before continuing.
“You have shown me nothing but courtesy and hospitality, Monsieur Monreau and I only intend to return the favor. I do hope my brief intrusion hasn’t kept you from your work. As I have my own to attend to, I’ll take your leave.”
“Your visit was hardly an intrusion, if anything it simply made my day a bit livelier. It was good to get a chance to talk some. I figure that we are going to have to work out ways to communicate outside of the Council itself now on. It will be more convenient than simply leaving messages there in the hopes they’re noticed in a timely manner. In that way, you being able to ‘check up on me’ for the Vice is a lovely excuse to meet and compare notes moving forward. I may very likely see Lady Nyx and Lev before our scheduled meet up but if you happen to run into them before me and can pass on what I shared with you I would be in your debt; particularly to Nyx,” Emilien said rising up from his chair and opening the door for her, once he was certain that they were past saying anything that needed to stay behind closed doors.
As they walked out into the common room he cranked his performance up once again so that any of his customers who were listening in could easily hear, “So good to see you Madame Cormorant, please be sure to stop by a little more often. I'll make sure that we have fresh ingredients ready for your herbal teas in the future. I think I might have some books you would enjoy borrowing as well if you find yourself with a bit of free time. Certainly, our relationship need not only be about business.”
With that he smiled and awaited any reply she might have. He wanted to give her plenty of excuses to stop by again in the future if she didn’t want to use her position as a Vice collector as the reason. Anything to establish a relationship between them in the eyes of anyone who saw them together would make any sightings while on Council business far less remarkable.
Thisbe followed Emilien out into the common room. She didn't extend her hand out of fear of being kissed again, but nodded warmly before stepping out of the shop without much fanfare, "Always a pleasure, Monsieur. I will certainly not be a stranger."
As Thisbe exits your office, you see the late afternoon business beginning to pick up in the common room.
Emilien bid goodbye to Thisbe and then turned his attention fully back to the Clerk. It seemed as though things were starting to pick up. It was likely to be a fairly busy day and he would stay around to focus on that for now. Although a part of him yearned to leave and start investigating the catacombs immediately he wasn’t willing to abandon the Clerk during the busiest part of the week unless he absolutely had to. He had put a lot of time, energy and coin into the Clerk to turn it into what it was today. He’d navigated the cutthroat native gangs like the Vice, he had carved out his own little place of peace in the chaos that was Isarn. He would do quite a lot to protect what was his. There would always be time to investigate the unknown in the catacombs, he still had several days worth of preparation ahead of him. He could go out tonight to start investigating in the Theater District using Sharp’s tips.
As he worked he always kept an eye and ear out for any rumors. Anyone coming in who seem to make any effort to have private conversations he’d likely lip read from across the room. As always he’d lose interest if it didn’t seem like information he could exploit but it paid to keep abreast of what people were chatting about in the town. In particular, he was always on the lookout for information on any of the city’s many vigilantes, especially his own districts resident masked mischief maker La Maupin. As the day goes on he’d also be on the lookout for anyone bringing him word of people looking for information. Though generally he is happy to let people come to him he will occasionally seek out people who seem as though they’d be willing to pay for hard to obtain information.
---
Running the Clerk on the busiest night of the week comes easily to you. People have mostly benign conversations at their tables. The only fact that catches your eye is about a barrister the Grey Gardeners brought in late this morning.
You see a pair talking about La Maupin, but sadly it's a story you heard (a few times) Starday morning. The couple has a few details of the story wrong: the fight was in front of an abandoned villa instead of on the rooftop, but the red feather the storytellers added to her hat is a nice touch.
As the sun goes down and the customers begin to head home for the day, a rather suspicious man enters alone. He orders, and fidgets alone for a few minutes before another young man arrives. The nervous man has his back to the room, but you're able to read the young man's lips as he responds.
“Of course, mon frere, how can I help?”
“Is something wrong?” the young man looks worried.
“Who?” The young man asks. The older gentlemen writes on his sheet of paper, something short.
“No, that can't be right. How can that agitator know something like that?”
“Litran,” he ponders the response for a moment. “They're going to want to meet.”
“Soon, I think. This is serious,” he rests his chin in his hand.
“Of course,” the young man nods.“Be careful.”
The nervous man leaves while the younger man sits and finishes his coffee.
Emilien’s night passed mostly uneventfully. He certainly perked up a little when he heard that the Grey Gardeners brought in a barrister. Any action on behalf of the Grey Gardeners was worth paying attention to given what they would be doing very shortly. Unfortunately he heard nothing about La Maupin that he had not already heard a dozen times with slight variations. When the fidgeting man came in it caught Emilien’s eye quickly. He personally didn’t approach or talk to the man, instead keeping his distance but keeping an eye out as best he could. When the young man spoke to him Emilien did his best to note what was being said. Having only one side of the conversation made things difficult to parse out. But Litran being brought up seemed curious. The Grey Gardeners currently seemed to be juggling a number of balls at once. He didn’t have much to go on though and it wasn’t appealing enough to risk getting entangled in something tangential right now. If it hadn’t been for the upcoming mission he might have risked seeking the thoughts of the young man still in his shop. The likelihood of something positive coming from it was too low to justify at the moment. Still, all of this was certainly something to keep an eye and ear on. For now he would simply focus on waiting till it slowed down enough that he felt comfortable leaving the shop to Philippe. He could let Philippe close things down and take the extra time to start scouting out the possible catacomb entrances.
As the day draws to the close you and Philippe get The Clerk tidied up. He bids you good evening as he locks the door. He typically spends an hour closing and preparing for the next morning. As you exit your shop for the day, you nod at Kasim up the block, who will walk Philippe home after curfew.
Emilien checked in to make sure that Gilles wasn’t in fact running himself ragged by staying out too late pouring over the paperwork. Thankfully the man had apparently headed home a little before close. After that he and Philippe got things ready to lock up for the night and Emilien made his way out, nodding to Kasim as he passed him by. He considered the time and decided that he would take a detour on his way home and passed by the burnt out Golarion Global Theater. He didn’t see Rosa around but he went to a back corner of the small stage area that had been cleaned up somewhat and pulled a small packet from his cloak and set it under a small pile of rocks near the edge of the stage. There was always a small chance that it would be noticed by someone else but if that was the worst that happened so be it. In the end someone would wind up a couple gold richer. He liked to donate to Bohneur although doing it in person made him feel strange. It wasn’t so many years ago that a few extra gold would have seemed a very hefty sum. Rosa did her part to bring a little bit of joy to the lives of people who normally lived with very little to look forward to in Isarn. That was to be appreciated as far as Emilien was concerned.
After that he made his way back in the direction of the Isarn School of Fine Arts. Over the years he had raided the halls multiple times, looking for books of interest in the many times picked over ruins that remained. It had been on one of those little expeditions that he had first met Noel many years ago. He knew the area extensively around the Isarn School of Fine Arts since he had started living only a street away some years back. As he made his way through the streets he was careful not to attract too much attention to himself. If he had a choice of passing by Vice or city officials he would take the Vice. Though he had no wish to spend any more time conversing with Vice today than he already had, it was better than drawing any attention from Grey Gardeners or the like at this point. Emilien made his way towards a somewhat rundown looking building and nodded to the Vice squatter around the corner. After ensuring he received the signal that no one had tried to break into his home while he was away he entered the building. He wove his way through a mostly empty room that looked almost like the former reception area to a small shop--which was precisely what it had been before Emilien took up residence. At the back of that small room was a fairly sturdy looking door, lacking the same rough and worn appearance of the rest of the front room. Emilien reached out and placed his fingertips against the door, then he summoned an invisible scrying sensor just inside the room and scouted out his living area. Once he was certain that nothing was hiding in wait for him he reached up and removed the necklace he worse bearing the key to his rooms. He unlocked the door, stepped inside and lit the candle on the table just inside the door.
The room that greeted him was fairly incongruous with the room that had to be passed through to reach it. Unlike the other room there were no windows in this room, his late night candle light wouldn’t be drawing any attention behind closed doors here. Originally it had been some sort of wood working shop. Perhaps they had at one time made props for the School of Fine Arts, the back room was quite spacious. Over the years Emilien had smoothed the floors and softened them with throw rugs. The entire back wall of the room was covered in bookcases that were filled with books. These were the books he either treasured too much to put on display in the shop or simply the newest finds that he hadn’t personally read through. The benefit of running a bookshop was always having first claim to any new novel, also the benefit to braving the burnt out husk of the various schools, colleges and institutes of once great Isarn. To the right corner was a massive rosewood desk that wouldn’t have fit in his small office back at the Clerk of the Cork. At his home it served as a workspace and a table. Currently an empty wine glass attested to that, standing beside a pile of books with tabs and bookmarks decorating them liberally. Against the opposite side of the room was a comfortable if small bed with a bedside table, likewise stacked high with books. Next to the bed was a rather large dresser, one door opened up revealing a variety of carefully and expertly crafted jackets and suits. Between the dresser and the bed was a small door leading to what had probably been a storeroom at one point, but which Emilien had painstakingly turned into a washroom. He dipped a hand towel in the cold water sitting in the basin and cleaned his face and wet his hair some before he slipped out of the clothing he had been working in. Then he slipped into something a bit more casual, clothing that made him look a little more like a Vice street tough than a well off businessman. He mussed up his wet hair a bit and checked himself in the extravagant, if slightly cracked at the top, mirror he had above his wash basin. It would have to do, he didn’t have Nyx’s skill with disguise by any means. He simply wished to minimize attention drawn to him while he was out and about tonight.
All he was taking with him was his Black Book, a couple gold worth of silver pieces, his handy haversack--that looked rather like a messenger’s satchel--some ink and an inkpen. The Black Book had all the most promising sounding locations for possible entrances to the catacombs based on what he knew of the area and what he had heard from Sharp. The silver he probably wouldn’t need but it was always useful to have some bribe or shake down money just in case. With a quick gesture he made the invisible scrying sensor follow along above him. He intended to personally get a look at and verify some of the spots on the west side of the Theater District tonight. He would simply ascertain whether or not they granted some way into the catacombs, then he would scout them out very briefly with his sensor eye to ensure that they didn’t immediately dead end. Once he discovered a few that seemed promising he could investigate further, later. For the most part tonight was to be a mission to confirm whether anything Sharp had given him would prove useful or not.
- - -
Using the locations given by Thadeus Sharp, you walk up and down the streets and assess the different buildings in your notes. There's eight such buildings on the western side of the district, more than the eastern side. Making your way to the first cluster, you cautiously check for squatters at each building. The first building, a moderately sized home, doesn't appear to have any underground access. The second, an abandoned butcher shop, has a grate in the alley just outside the back door that can be lifted. The scrying eye descends and reveals an underground passageway.
As you conclude the underground tunnel does lead pretty far to the south, you also have a look up and down the alley. It seems all the buildings Sharp had given in this cluster connect to this alley. Presumably the Vice exit from different places to confuse onlookers. You exit by the last building in the cluster for prudence's' sake, the old apothecary shop does not have its own access, but it does have easy access to the same alley.
"Hey!" you hear a call as you make it back to the main road. You're past curfew now by two hours, and as you look, you see a couple city guards approaching.
Emilien made meticulous notes in his little Black Book as he went, each time writing he would secret it about his person again and move to the next promising location. It was good to know that many of these passages seemed to connect with each other if they went anywhere at all. That meant it was more likely that they would be able to utilize them if they chose to move Sister Pauline through them to avoid notice. Still it would require some more scouting at some point. Particularly near the areas where one section of the city transitioned into another, he had no reason to believe that the tunnel systems were that intricately connected yet. Perhaps he would have to try and meet up with Thisbe again sooner than he thought. If the Vice were using these tunnels frequently enough to know multiple entrances and exits, then perhaps they were a source of information on them that could be beneficial. Certainly, questions on Vice activity would seem like suspicious coming from Thisbe than they would from Emilien.
As he was considering how he might go about that he must have let his attention slip. He cursed quietly under his breath as he heard the shout of someone taking notice of him. Really, he wasn’t good at this skulking around thing, it was why he so often simply paid others to do it for him when possible. But this was not a task he could easily delegate for obvious reasons. Instead he looked up and considered who was approaching. It was city guards, which was infinitely better than being approached by Grey Gardeners in Emilien’s opinion. Most guards were just glorified thugs, not so much different than the gangs like the Vice. He considered his options carefully and decided that he would be best off composing a lie on the spot and talking his way out of the situation if possible, he was generally quite good at talking. While they were approaching he silently composed himself and channeled his focused will to heighten his senses somewhat. He took a good look at the two as they approached him and started to try and get an idea of their intentions from their demeanor. If he had to bribe his way out of the situation he would but he’d prefer not to waste money on guard bribes. He didn’t have any weapons on him currently which was probably for the best, really. He had no intention of fighting these two unless circumstances outside his control forced his hand. He waved as they approached and called out, “Evening gentlemen. So good to see you out and about, keeping our stunning city safe.”
---
The guards are a decent distance from you, three or four doors approaching from the northeast. They've spotted you in an empty intersection at the beneath the light of one of the districts few burning lamps. There's plenty of places to make a run for it, but you can't see any alleys from your position. Surely, you might find one if you need to make a a run for it.
“It's late sir,” the one on the left calls out. It's a deep voice for a woman, and she sounds stern and a bit anxious. Her left hand casually reaches down and grips the top of her scabbard, tilting it slightly to allow for an easier draw.
Twenty paces away, the one on the right who holds a Torch high between them gives the woman a tap. “Hang on. I know this guy.” he moves the torch behind their faces, and you notice the woman relax her stance. “You're the guy that owns the coffee shop!”
The two continue to approach, but very relaxed. The woman is middle-aged, with short dark hair beneath a helmet. Her gear is far nicer than the young man's. Marc, a regular customer of your shop, is a pudgy, boyish guard with a thin mustache. You recognize him from stopping in the Clerk of the Cork where he often orders coffee and ungrounded beans to help keep him awake.
“These streets are dangerous after dark, monsieur,” the woman says in a much more friendly tone. “Can we help you get somewhere?”
Emilien actively suppressed the sigh of relief when he heard the man’s voice and got close enough to really take notice of the young looking guardsman. The name came to mind relatively quickly. You didn’t become an information broker by making a habit of forgetting names and faces after all. And it was just good business in general to remember your regulars. He smiled as they approached, glad to see the woman become almost instantly less cautious. Part of him was curious what would make her so on edge in the first place. He hadn’t missed her positioning herself to easily draw her weapon. Perhaps he could get some information out of these two before he broke away to head home. He wasn’t especially close to his home at this point but he was certain Marc had no way of knowing that, “Ahh, Marc, I did not know that you patrolled so close to home. I must say it's reassuring to know someone so vigilant keeps his eye on the streets so close to my front door. I was simply going out for a walk to burn off some excess energy before I went to sleep. The Clerk only closed a short while ago and I fear I have a nasty habit of drinking my own product when I close so I’m left with an overabundance of restlessness.”
He then quirked his head as if just noticing that the female guardsman had commented on the danger of walking the streets, as if he wasn’t well aware of the kinds of ruffians and rakes that prowled the nightly streets of Isarn. He quickly hopped over to the new topic, talking just a bit quickly to distract from anything suspicious he might have already said. He was good at weaving his words in a way that hid any falsehoods inherent in almost anything he said, “Is it really so dangerous in this part of the theater quarter though? Surely there hasn’t been anything too threatening happening lately has there? Dreadful gang violence like the Vice brawls and such aside I mean. Ahh but I’ve been so rude! Madame I have not introduced myself. I am Emilien Moreau, as dear Marc here has rightfully mentioned, I am the owner of the Clerk of the Cork several blocks from here.”
- - -
"Oh, all sorts of dangers," Marc says, almost bragging. "Robbery, muggings, stabbings. Skulks that follow people home from La Lumiere Rouge and stick them up in their homes. La Malheur," he modulates his voice in a creepy way.
"There is no La Malheur," the woman rolls her eyes before extending a handshake. "Louise." she introduces herself simply before wandering away from you and into the middle of the intersection to have a good look down each direction.
"Don't listen to her," Marc retorts, jokingly. "Why it was the end of Neth, just this past winter, Louise and I are out. It was deathly cold I remember, the kind of night where us guards gather up in the morning and compare the number of frozen bodies we've found. Up north, in the old pottery block, we're walking by and we hear a loud BANG! And a bright flash! Like a big alchemist bomb."
Out in the middle of the light of the lamppost Louise looks back and forth down each street, but is listening and nodding along with Marc's tale. You remember this night yourself, having heard the noise from your home, as well as a cheap randition from Mr. Sharp. But Marc and Louise are speaking like eyewitnesses.
"We take off running, probably five blocks of running in the cold," he continues. "The pillar of fire was three times as tall as the tallest man. We come around the corner of Clay Street, and people are just wailing in the street. At least a dozen, not to mention the other dozen inside, covered in the purple flames. We covered the victims, but the blankets caught fire."
“Twenty-seven souls,” Louise says soberly as she rejoins you. Having walked about the square, you're between the two guards.
“I talked to one lady who lived down the street,” his voice got low, as people tended to do telling a secret. “Said she watched people trickle into that old pottery workshop over several hours. Said the kiln was lit up hot, it drew in a large group. Tell me that doesn't sound like the work of La Malheur,”
“I’m sure that monsieur Moreau can distinguish between a tragic coincidence and the work of a tale meant to scare children,” Louise scoffs. “No need to worry, monsieur, we’ll get you home safe."
The pair look at you, inquisitive and expectant. They seem to assume that you're about to tell them where you live so they can walk you there themselves.
Emilien listened passively to Marc chatter on about the various problems in the district. Sure enough all of that happened but it was more or less a part of daily life in Isarn. In his youth he had been one of those skulks following people out of La Lumiere Rouge at one point. You did what you had to get by. At the mention of La Malheur Emilien was initially dismissive. It seemed every notably violent incident within Isarn was blamed on La Malheur. Parents used it as a threat towards misbehaving children, he was the boogie man of Isarn to many people. But as Marc continued to talk he brought up the incident from Neth. He’d heard of the incident but had never spoken to someone who actually witnessed anything of it. He also hadn’t heard an accurate number of the people killed in the incident. Sharp had exaggerated things as he usually did but not as much as Emilien had expected, twenty-seven was quite a lot. Emilien made a mental note of the comment about purple flames, it stood out as strange and not something that Marc would embellish pointlessly. The pillar of fire three times a man’s height maybe, but purple blames that caught and spread rather than be smothered? That was curious indeed.
At Louise’s comment about getting him home safe he allowed himself to shiver slightly as if disturbed by the tale--which wasn’t honestly far from the truth. Whether it was the work of La Malheur or someone else, that incident was a rather staggering tragedy for the Theater Quarter and especially hearing these details it was too much to believe it merely a freak accident or coincidence. But he allowed himself to play up his fear a little so that he could more easily sell the lie he intended to tell. There was no way he wanted the guards following him home at this point. He didn’t make a tremendous effort to hide where he lived but he wasn’t about to lead some guards up to the front door if he could avoid it. Louise seemed quite vigilant, more so than Marc and he figured he might be able to use that to pull their focus away from getting him home.
“Truly you think it was La Malheur responsible for that horrid incident and they could still be plaguing the Theater Quarter?” Emilien said looking over his shoulder towards the alleys that he had been inspecting for routes into the Catacombs, “I confess I did not think much of it at the time but now it worries me and I feel I should better mention it. I saw someone ducking into one of the more run down looking buildings over there. When I'm out I generally try to stay away from them, I know the Vice tends to make use of those buildings and the tunnels underneath. But this person didn’t look like a Vice thug and he was alone. Perhaps I had best make my way home quickly, but I confess it would give me a little comfort if you two could look into it. I live just a short way from here and can make it on my own. It's probably nothing of course, too much coffee and stories of La Malheur making me jittery. But just to be safe perhaps you two could look into it?”
- - -
Before you even finish describing the figure, Marc and Louise are exchanging serious looks. Wordlessly, Marc pulls out a torch from the bundle hitched to his belt and lights it off the one he has. Louise steps away a few steps in the direction you've pointed out, and Marc hands you the freshly lit torch. The three of you sit in the silent intersection for half a minute before Louise turns back and gives Marc a nod.
“Take care then, monsieur,” Marc says. The two guards head off to investigate your ruse.
Emilien nods to the two guards and then proceeded to depart back towards his home. Once he had gotten out of sight of the guards he dismissed the torch the guard had given him. Two guards holding torches let people know not to interfere with them. A lone man on the streets at night dressed as he was could prove to be an invitation to a mugging. Emilien’s eyes were keen even in the dark and he knew the area quite well. He made sure to keep an eye out as he proceeded back towards his home. He’d darted around the guard’s easily enough but if he had run into a gang instead of guardsmen things might have proved tricky. It had been too long since he’d gotten out and about himself, he felt out of touch after having been caught unaware by the guards. Especially if he was going to be working with the Council from now on, he would need to be exceptionally observant and circumspect in his activities.
For now he intended to stop by the Council’s hidden room and leave a message for his companions about what he’d found. He’d also include his desire to meet with Nyx, hopefully she could stop by and see it. Though if she didn’t he would simply have to go and visit her shop the next day. They knew a number of the same people so it shouldn’t be too difficult to reach out to her. He composed the note he would leave in his head.
“To my companions, I have some interesting information about a possible route for our upcoming trip. I also acquired some paper similar to that used by the government. I feel that we could write up some professional looking documents using the same paper our beloved government officials happen to use. Should our many faced friend stumble upon this note before I can find them please seek me out at the shop,” Emilien writes.
He sees no reason to keep it vague but his lack of caution had almost caused him problems tonight. So he would make every effort to make sure that should the note somehow be intercepted it would be difficult to understand. Having left his note folded and standing up on a central table he decided to depart for home and call it a night well spent. Upon arriving at his home he would repeat his usual procedure of inspecting the building with his invisible sensor before entering. After a brief period at his desk cataloging his findings in his Black Book, he folded it up and went to sleep for the night.
---
After your run-in with the guards, your trip from the west to the east side of the Theater Quarter is very slow going. Block after block of peering around corners, walking near the buildings, stopping at each little crash in the distance or chittering raccoon, brings you to the sewer exit you'd used in the morning almost two hours after leaving the guards.
Once you return to the old furniture shop, and descend into the catacomb entrance, you find your way quickly and easily to the secret door that Le Quatrième Voile showed you this morning, and speak the password to bypass the Alarm spell: ‘The garden is full of snakes’. Beyond the door, another long passage takes you south to another Alarm, one you don't know the password to, but that Le Voile had explained lets them detect an authorized entry before the thick fog of the Mage's Private Sanctum.
The chamber inside is starkly empty, the chairs at the big table are pushed in and the feast set out on the long tables from this morning is gone. You sit and take down a few notes from your journey through the dark streets, and write out a note for your fellow council members. With your work done, you make your way home again, thinking carefully on how best to communicate with these companions in the future.
9 Gozran, 4718 AR; Moonday
The sun rises on the first workday of the new week.
------
Sleeping in would be a luxury, but though he loves comfort Emilien could never be called lazy and sleep is often one of the few luxuries he will forgo. Thankfully he did not have to be there to open the Clerk of the Cork since he had been with Philippe closing it down the night before, Noel was most often the one handling opening. Still he intended to drop in earlier in the day and let her know that he would be out most of the morning and afternoon. Most of Moonday was relatively slow once the initial rush of people getting a quick cup of coffee to start the day died down. Noel and the various staff employed by the Clerk of the Cork should easily be able to handle the store for the day. Emilien’s main goal today would be attempting to set up some kind of meeting with Nyx if he could. Once he’d made his appearance at the Clerk of the Cork and made sure everything was in order he would likely head over towards the Unchained Melody in La Lumiere Rouge, around noon perhaps.
After getting dressed and focusing his intent into his equipment he left his home and headed towards The Clerk of the Cork. Provided nothing stopped him along the way he would spent at least a couple of hours, until noon, working at the Clerk of the Cork, socializing with those few regulars who do make the time to time and have a cup of coffee. He would catch up with Noel and ensure that he hadn’t missed anyone wanting to meet privately with him. Usually such people tended to come in the late afternoon or at night, but sometimes something came up earlier. As he was leaning against the bar during a lull he explained his plans for the day to Noel, “I’ll be leaving the Clerk in your hands for a few hours as I head over to La Lumiere Rogue. I have a few errands I would like to take care of. If anyone comes calling for me unless its vital just tell them I'll be back shortly. If it is important I should be at the Unchained Melody if you absolutely must send someone to fetch me. Oh and if Marc, that rotund but cheerful guardsman, or a guardswoman named Louise happen to stop by offer them a free cup of coffee on my behalf as thanks for their ‘assistance’ last night. Be sure to pass on that I made it home fine.”
"The Melody?" Noel asks suggestively. "Are you looking to spruce up the Clerk, or the clerk?" The raised eyebrow makes it clear that he's referring to both the coffeeshop and its proprietor, respectively. While he is teasing now, he has spoken before about hanging some art on the wall. He has also teased before, during long slow days, about how you work too hard and should perhaps pursue a more active social life.
The morning goes by quick and easy. You are flagged down by a patron who offers last week's tale of La Maupin again, and you note the absence of Thaddeus Sharp as well. As is typical coming off the weekend, you hear plenty of general gossip: the always rising price of bread, the indicted attorney, the cruelty (or sometimes, the necessity) of the gangs.
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When the morning rush has truly come and gone, Dany and Yvon stop in, as they often do during the slower hours. While both are known agents of The Vice, they are the local spotters. Since the team’s primary focus is keeping down random violent crimes, they don't shed the same aura of fear as Thisbe. Dany pulls you to a quiet corner while Yvon gives Noel their order.
"The Sisters are in an uproar about something," he whispers in close. Out of the watch team, Dany had been with the Vice the longest. The team requires little supervision, at least from what you can tell, but he is considered the team leader. He was quite tall and broad for a native Galtan, but his dark hair and pointy nose marked his heritage. The man didn't really make eye contact as he spoke, instead he was constantly looking about for eavesdroppers.
"Some big buzz out of the Foreign Quarter," he continued. "For all the noise, we're not really sure what it's about, but it apparently is something all the Milinite groups are a part of. I know the Gardeners picked up a halfling yesterday: some barrister that was worshiping Milani pretty openly. No one I've talked to is sure if the two things are connected though."
"YOU, don't know anything about this, do you?" Dany asked. He sounds hopeful, as though he is simply turning over stones for a clue. He does not seem expectant, as he has come to know your aversion to controversial rumors. If the many Milanites shared a common trait, it was controversy.
“Perhaps both, who knows, as you always say the place could use a bit of art and freshening up. Our regulars love it and that’s well and good but if we could get something eye catching on the walls that might draw some people in. I’m hoping I can work out some kind of deal with someone over at The Melody actually,” Emilien says as he and Noel work. The teasing was something he treasured from her. She and Philippe were his most trusted associates, the only ones that he didn’t simply generate a lie to out of habit when he spoke to them. That didn’t mean he was always entirely honest with them. As he had just proven with Noel, half truths were often better for everyone involved. He did hope to work out a deal with someone at the Melody, but it wouldn’t be art he was hoping to trade in, nor was it their more sensual services. It was a slow morning and he chatted with customers as well as Noel as business picked up.
When things began to slow down and Dany and Yvon dropped in he noticed Dany indicating he wanted to speak privately. He greeted the man and they moved to their own corner to speak. Things were slow but Dany was vigilant about eavesdroppers nonetheless. Emilien could appreciate such precautions. When Dany mentioned the Milinites getting up in arms about something Emilien didn’t think too much of it. But at the mention of a halfling he felt his stomach clench in a surge of anxiety. Sure enough Dany continued on saying it was a barrister openly worshiping Milani who got dragged in by the Gardeners. Emilien kept his face smooth and laughed when Dany probed him for information, “You know I love gossip as much as the next man Dany but seriously who can keep track of what the various Milinite factions are shouting about at any given time? I’m not sure I could even name all the divisions there are of them at this point. Still the Gardeners rarely trouble themselves with pulling someone in over it, they like to seem above the squabbling of ‘religious fanatics’. If it was something more intriguing now that would be one thing, but the halfling was probably just getting too vocal to allow to continue. If you hear something more interesting feel free to pass it on, I'll keep an ear out myself. But I don't expect much, Im sure its just Milinite nonsense.”
As he spun his lies around each other his mind was racing. He was talking perhaps a bit quicker than he normally would and emphasizing his points with more rhetoric than necessary to cover over any suspiciousness in his replies. This could be catastrophic for them. The Gardeners capturing one of the members of the organization that now knew Emilien’s face as well as that of his compatriots? He immediately thought over everything he’d said in the Council meetings, trying to dig up memory of anything incriminating he said. Everyone had been relatively vague in that meeting but they had all disclosed more than they would to just anyone. He and Nyx were especially at risk, although Lev was a worshiper of Miliani as well he was fairly sure and the potential connection there worried him. Could they perhaps kill Wyssal before she could say anything? Was that too far? No certainly not too far but perhaps not necessary. He was getting ahead of himself. But it made his approaching meeting with Nyx much more important. They would also need to get in touch with the rest of the Council to ensure that the damage was minimized as much as possible.
He talked a bit more with Dany as they walked over towards where Yvon was getting their drinks. Before they left he leaned in and said simply, “Oh and before I forget, you lads watch out around the alleys on the west side. You know the area near the old Apothecary’s shop? I heard that the City Watch is patrolling that area more lately for some reason, so keep an eye out if you boys are on the west side at night.”
For the most part Emilien didn’t care about the Vice thugs who were involved in the underground fights. They were stupid enough to beat each other bloody for sport, so they weren’t worth looking out for. But he had known Dany and Yvon for a while at this point. Yvon was a decent kid and Dany was respectful for a gang member. He didn’t really expect the guards to cause them any problems but it was a good faith gesture to pass on info like that. And little things like that also helped encourage people to share tidbits with him. You never knew with some small piece of info like that could come in handy after all. He was happy to chat with Dany and Yvon for a bit but if they looked to be staying for a while he was perfectly willing to make his goodbyes. After hearing about the capture of a halfling barrister worshiping Miliani he was chomping at the bit to get out to The Melody and try to meet up with Nyx.
Yvon interrupts your conversation for a moment. She hands Dany his coffee, and goes out to her post for the afternoon. Dany sits and dives in, talking like an old friend. You talk of the neighborhood, the strife of years past. You know that Dany is married with two young children because he occasionally borrows books on their behalf. When you mention the apothecary shop, he responds with a chuckle.
“They don’t bother us much, they make too much money. We run the gamblers for the Arena through a sewer access over there, so shutting that down would hurt the precinct captain from too many sides. Have you ever been to the Arena? I don’t usually go, because it lasts until dawn, and ma chérie gets upset. If you would like to attend, there’s a match every Toilday and Starday. You can gamble if you like, or just watch the fights, drink, and have a good time. Just mention it to anyone from the team and I’ll set it up.”
Dany chats with you for a few more minutes. When the mid-hour bell rings, signaling noon is coming soon, you both agree that it’s time for you both to be moving. With a bow, Dany leaves and you grab your belongings from the counter to go, when you hear a familiar voice burst through the door.
“Emilien! Bonne journée,” the deep lilting voice of your most flamboyant regular rises booms across the Clerk from the door. As you look to see Terance Beauchemin, so does the entire common room. He is dressed in a typical Moonday outfit: his shaved head was covered by a pink hat instead of a wig; his custom-made golden engineer goggles with dark lenses kept the sun out of his eyes; a colorful silk mumu with a busy pattern under a dark matte robe; and enough attitude to make a Calistrian blush. Terance came to use the Clerk’s back room each week on Moonday afternoon, where he writes theatrical reviews for the Voice of the Revolution.
“I hope you had a better weekend than I, mon chérie,” he gives each of the patrons sitting in the common room a big smile and a light pet on their shoulders as he glides over to you and Noel at the counter. He gives Noel a kiss on each cheek before turning to you and doing the same. “I swear, there’s hasn’t been a decent playwright in this town in a decade. Bleagh! They should all be given a date with Margaery. Oh, were you leaving love? Oh don’t let me keep you! I need to write the Chairman a letter about a few actors that need to be put to death for crimes against the theater. I shall be here until curfew, if you plan to return. Noel, if you please.” Friendly, but completely self-absorbed, Terance takes your compliments, but moves with the uninterrupted boldness of the Kantele and flows into the back room.
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The streets before noon on Moonday are nearly as empty as they were on your midnight stroll. You get nods from a few spotters and messengers, but you know that noon bells will fill the streets again. If you weren’t already in a hurry, you’d be hustling just to make it before the hugry crowd erupts.
The architecture in La Lumière Rouge is not so different than the Theater Quarter, but the decor is aggressive. Scantily clad barkers and multi-colored banners assault your eyes in a bid for your attention, and hopefully your coin. Two of the barkers have even thrust a flyer into your hand.
Margaery’s Playhouse presents: The Third Crusade, which has a simple drawing of dancing knights and boasts music and dancing girls in armor.
The Frisky Feline, this tiny slip is little more than a menu of food, drinks, and available courtesans.
Arriving at the Unchained Melody is a relief. The four story building dominates the block, and has an elegant and inviting facade. When you enter, you’re immediately greeted by a tall woman with dark hair and soft features. She wears a flowing blue dress without sleeves but a modest neckline.
“Bonne après-midi, monsieur,” she sets her charcoal and stack of papers to greet you with a kind smile. She wipes her hand clean as she comes around the counter to greet you. The bottom floor is quite open; a dark wood floor, bright white walls, and little furniture. Many paintings hang from the white walls. Several white pedestals display pottery, while other pedestals stand empty. A tapestry hangs near the front, intricately woven to depict a scene.
“Je m'appelle Sabine,” the welcome to Unchained Melody.”[/b]
Emilien takes careful mental notes about the Arena and when its operational. Emilien didn’t really know much about the Arena, he had basically no interest in such things personally. But while the information wasn’t immediately useful to him it could very well prove beneficial at some point, either to him or someone willing to pay for it. A match tomorrow and then another in five days. It was probably for the best that there wasn’t one on Wealday since if they had to use that section of tunnels there was less chance of running into anyone on the Vice. He smiled genuinely as Dany offered to get in into the Arena though.
“I appreciate the offer. With the hours I keep at the shop I think cavorting till dawn might be something Im somewhat out of practice at, but perhaps one day I’ll take you up on that. While I have you hear I neglected to mention, I found an old book that I used to love when I was a boy. It's a historical fiction, based on a character that near as I can tell is imaginary it actually has some good historical information about Galt. It's an interesting book with a young protagonist, I think your children would love it. If you'd like to borrow it I had Noel put it behind the counter by the door, just grab it from her,” he offered. Emilien had never really seen himself as the parental type. Family was easy leverage against you in a place like Isarn. But despite that he had a fondness for kids, so spoiling the children of his regulars and of people like Dany was always something of a treat for Emilien. That was also why he made his occasional anonymous donations to Rosa and her work at the Golarion Global Theater.
“Salut monsieur Beauchemin, I see you have once again decided to push the cutting edge of fashion,” Emilien calls out jovially as the man enters. After all this time Emilien couldn’t quite decide how he truly felt about Terance Beauchemin. He was a self-centered, proud as a peacock, theater snob. The fact that he seemed to enjoy flaunting his access to wear finery sparked a bit of jealousy in Emilien. It didn’t help that not only was he wearing haute couture but he was wearing the most excessively extravagant garments possible. Emilien would kill for the right to wear something half as fine and even a quarter as lavish. But he did know people and sometimes gossip from his circles proved quite interesting. And for someone who hid so much of his life there was something almost respectable about how unabashedly Terance Beauchemin lived his life.
“I should be back in time but if not you simply must leave me a copy to read. It's a morbid fascination of mine to follow along on your quest to see if theater can be redeemed in Isarn or if we have truly slipped from grace,” Emilien said with a chuckle. Reading and music were his artistic indulgences when he found the time, so while he wasn’t actually especially interested in theater for its own sake it was nice to see someone who appreciated it. The decline of the arts in Isarn was one of the many worrying things about the city Emilien had grown up in. Living was about more than just surviving. Without something more, whether that was theater or reading or music or fine clothing, without something to enjoy for the sake of your own interest and joy in that thing, life would not be worth living.
- - -
While working through La Lumiere Rouge Emilien tries not to grimace as he was handed the flyer for Margaery’s Playhouse. It was a joke of what it had once been. Emilien’s own mother had performed at Margaery’s back when it was a rather renown opera house. But that was decades ago now and changes in owners and direction had turned it into something very different than what it once had been. It was a sharp reminder of the decline in artistic appreciation he had just been thinking about after seeing Terance earlier. Say what you will about the man, at least he held art to a certain standard. If only more people did.
As he enters the Unchained Melody he take a look around, appreciating some of the artwork. His knowledge of painting was even more lacking than his knowledge of theater unfortunately, but even to him it was clear that there was some real talent on display here. He also knew all too well that said talent was also used to hide things of even more interest to him. He bowed his head to the young woman, “Bonjour, je m’appelle Emilien. I am seeking out to commission something for my shop the Clerk of the Cork, would she happen to be in at the moment?”
- - -
“Je suis désolé, monsieur,” the corners of Sabine’s mouth turn down a little. “The Madame Illisha is out at the moment.” She pauses you for a moment with a gesture and retreats to the counter. She has a look at a ledger on her desk, and after a moment, she reaches out to a row of metal hoops hanging from the wall. She tugs the hoop thrice quickly, and you can imagine the bell in someone’s private room ringing in response. She jots down a quick note before giving an an innocent smile.
“The madame has an appointment later on today, and she should be returning at some point,” Sabine rounds the desk, and folds her hands lightly as she rejoins you. Like any businesswoman, you get an immediate sense that the woman is trying to assess you. “I would very much like to show you our collections. The Melody is a trove of visual arts”
Sabine elegantly directs your eyeline to a series of sketches hanging on the wall just near the door. Nine pieces in all, off-white paper two hands tall, each holding a rough sketches of a figure, a deity. Each such page bore two simple, full body depictions of the god, with the margins lined with smaller detail. As your eyes begin to shift focus, Sabine glides slowly behind you, an obvious but non-intrusive attempt to be enticingly secretive.
Sabine’s sketches are indeed beautiful. You see Iomedae with a hound standing upon a staircase, defending the high ground from faceless creatures clawing at them from below. Irori sits in a simple meditation pose, but the flow of his robes are highly detailed. The water flowing over the feet of Gozreh has amazingly creative and realistic lines. The depiction of Brigh you notice for its intricacy, and also that the charcoal markings have faded the least.
“My series on the gods has been quite popular,” she speaks softly. “Each sculpture is one of a kind, the sketches I keep here as a matter of pride. We have several more collections on display today, that we ” You hear some footfalls descend the stairs nearby. A male half-elf, perhaps a decade younger than you, lithe and fair-haired with rosey cheeks. He smiles.
You can feel as Sabine steps away from the edge of intrusion. She circles you again, framing your view of the wide gallery perfectly between herself and the young elf, now seated at the counter. “Gaspard could watch the front if as we peruse the gallery, or if you instead prefer song, Gaspard is happy to show you around. It is our pleasure to curate any creative expression you wish to pursue.”
Intentionally delicate and clear in her offer, Sabine or the Gaspard will happily show you around the gallery, but they delicately hint at their more sensual services.
Emilien stops himself from letting his anxiety show on his face as he’s told that Nyx isn’t currently available. Given everything that was happening at the moment he was eager to speak to someone else from the Council. Still, the news was relatively new and he’d heard nothing implying that it was necessarily as bad for them as he feared it could be. Instead he decided that he would make the most of his trip out here. He hadn’t been completely lying when he told Noel that he was looking to find something to spruce the Clerk up a little bit. She had often teased him about the fact that just because they catered to historians didn’t mean that everything in the Clerk had to be ancient and out of touch.
He pays close attention as they move over to the wall and pulls on the hoops before writing down a brief notation, though he doesn’t risk getting close enough to read exactly what she’s writing. As she moves with him towards the sketches, her every step and pass a silent but poignant promise and offer, Emilien smiles slightly. Truly he wasn’t here for that kind of entertainment. Not at all because he thought himself in any way beyond paying for that particular kind of company. He had been raised by a mother who took great pride in her membership within the Calistrian church, sensual pleasures were not something he had been raised to feel shame for. No his focused worry simply prevented him from wishing to indulge at the moment.
At the entrance of Gaspard though Emilien found himself sorely tempted. At times when he allowed himself to be that intimate with someone he had to admit that Gaspard was closer to what he would search out. He had never been especially picky about such things. Just because one enjoyed one dish didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy something different at times. But the male half elf was certainly the more tempting offer, in a way he was impressed at the Melody’s varied offerings. Deciding that he might as well make the most out of his time here while he waited he smiled politely to Sabine and said, “Well I will happily wait for Madame Illisha, but would hate to take up much more of your time personally. Your artwork is lovely but at the moment I’m looking for auditory stimulation rather than visual, you could say.”
The implication was likely extremely obvious to the two, just as they were being with him. Not insulting to Sabine of course, whose art he did truly enjoy and frankly he might look into either her art or sculpture for the Clerk of the Cork later. But his own interests currently were covered far more closely by Gaspard so he figured he might as well make the best of his wait for Nyx, “Monsieur if you would be so good as to show me around I would be in your debt. I don't know that I have as much time as I would like today but I grew up around the opera and have not had the chance to hear fine singing in quite some time. Perhaps I will make time to indulge in an appointment later on.”
Gaspard's expression turns, very subtly, from feigned interest to genuine excitement. Completely unflapped, Sabine takes a step back.
"Gaspard, monsieur here is the proprietor of a shop," Sabine introduces the younger elf who gestures politely, somewhere between a bow and a curtsy. "We have been tasked with keeping him company until I can speak to the madame. I've assessed that he may be interested in some visual art for his place of business, but I think he might respond better to your more melodic descriptions." With a wink Sabine retreats to attend to the counter.
"T'would be my pleasure monsieur," Gaspard gently takes your hand and leads you past the entrance into the gallery proper. As you cross the gallery to the first piece, your keen eye detects that the dark, hardwood floors were swept very recently.
The gallery floor is quite spacious, perhaps the same size as the Clerk if you were to knock down all the walls. In the center of the room sits a metalwork sculpture surrounded by a half-dozen white pedestals. Three of the pedestals display vases of creative forms and colorings, the other three are bare. Whatever was on display has been removed recently.
"The previous madame, Paige Ouilette, has quite a wide selection of artful pottery. If you prefer less traditional sculpture, you may be interested in Valentine's work." Carefully, Gaspard steps between the pedestals encircling the metalwork in the middle of the floor
The central sculpture is made from reclaimed Isarn City Guard armor (formerly imperial armor) and depicts broken manacles thrown at the feet of a pit fiend wearing Queen Abrogail II’s regalia. "I love Valentine, but this is not my favorite work," he sneers at the devil. "His last piece, made of broken door signs, that was truly inspired. That ugly queen makes my blood boil, even if it is a statement" Despite the snide remarks directed more toward the subject of the art than the piece, Gaspard patiently waits while you take in the sight of Valentine’s work.
Demanding your attention from the far wall hangs a large colorful tapestry. "This was sold at our show last night," Gaspard sighs, he stands ever so slightly closer to you as he very gently strokes the fabric. "Nikita is also quite talented. I never thought much about weaving being artistic before I came to the Melody. She really captures the hardships of her family life, escaping Cheliax to come to Galt." He waves his hand from left to right, the landscape tapestry tells the story of a journey of escaping slavery, hiding from captors, fighting back, and gaining freedom. You notice how very fine the threads are woven together, brilliantly detailed changes in color bring the story of tieflings in Galt to life in a way you never saw before.
After viewing in silence for a minute or two, Gaspard begins to hum lightly to himself. Rhythmic at first, he keeps changing the tune and then starting over. He seems to be experimenting with a tune as you take in Nikita’s piece.
When you’ve taken in the tapestry, Gaspard moves to a pair of paintings on the next wall. The painting on the left is of the Arodenama in Westcrown with a crowd gathered beneath it. The painting on the right depicts the famously public execution of Galt’s last Chelish Archduke, and Madame Margeary’s first victim.
As you examine the brush strokes, which appear to be the same artist at work, the bell rings at the front door. You look to the dark-haired half-elf madame enter through the front door. She and Sabine exchange a few brief nods, and she looks to you and your new friend standing in the gallery.
Emilien smiles as Gaspard leads him into the main gallery. The space itself was beautiful. Emilien had heard that in some larger cities space could become something of a premium. In Isarn it was always more complicated than that. There were sections of town that were incredibly run down, large buildings with open area that had once been shops or homes or something else entirely that no one maintained any longer. Emilien lived in a run down shop converted for his use. So while having a large building wasn’t necessarily by itself an achievement, maintaining one was often a sign that someone put in a great deal of time and effort. It was clear that the Melody was kept alive and active by a number of talented people who cared a great deal about their work.
Emilien inspected the pottery, while beautiful he didn’t think it would be a good fit for the Clerk. Although the majority of their clients actually came in for the coffee these days, they were still a bar. Drunk or tipsy patrons and fine china rarely mixed well. He leans over to inspect one as he voices his thoughts on it to Gaspard, “They’re gorgeous. While the Clerk is hardly a dive bar I fear that I'd be asking for tragedy by putting fine pottery on display. The coloring on them is exquisite though.”
As they are lead over to a sculpture Emilien stands a few steps back to take it in. It was a very impressive piece. He was surprised to hear disgust in Gaspard’s voice as he talked about it, but it was quite clear that he had nothing against the work, merely the subject matter. Such opinions were neither rare nor surprising to see. There was so much mistrust, if not outright hatred, towards Cheliax. While Emilien obviously had no love for ‘Her Infernal Majestrix’ he also didn’t have as much passion about the subject as some people did. Isarn had enough of its own problems to not borrow more worrying about Cheliax. And his association with one of the few Chelaxians in his city was easy proof that just like any nation Cheliax had good people within it as well as bad. He nods towards the suits of armor, “I like the use of the armor particularly. This piece is a little large for what I need but given the historical significance of the armor and the meaningful implications of its use I think thematically this would be wonderful. But I do fear it's simply too large to not risk displacing something else. Some painting or hanging might be more appropriate I feel.”
Gaspard seemed to instantly respond to that as he led him over to see a beautiful woven tapestry. It told an incredibly compelling story. Emilien was interested to see how much of the art was inspired by tensions towards Cheliax. Thinking about it though some of the most beautiful operatic works had been inspired by tales of conflict and strife. It was hardly surprising that Cheliax riled people’s passions. As he stood close to Gaspard, the man hovering not unpleasantly nearby as they moved about the gallery, he smiled as Gaspard toyed with a light tune. Shame that the tapestry had been purchased. After looking at it he was led to the paintings, “Ahh I regret that the tapestry was purchased already. Please give my compliments to Madame Nikita, I think I may be interested in working with her in the future. But this painting of the execution might fit in the Clerk of the Cork quite well. It certainly has historical significance and while somewhat grim the piece itself is incredibly detailed and impactful.”
He was lingering closer and closer to Gaspard when he heard the bell ringing. He turned his head and spotted a familiar face looking back at him. He turns with a grin to Gaspard, “I regret our time together is being cut short but I really do have pressing concerns with Madame Illisha. I hope you won’t mind me calling on you in the future. Although far too short this tour has been pleasant and quite helpful. Next time I think I’d enjoy a song or two in private.”
With a small bow of the head and a promising grin Emilien moves off to talk to Nyx, doing his best to keep his body language relaxed despite a number of contrary impulses.