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Toilday, Gozran 15th, 4701
It's a rather dreary afternoon, doing little to help the mood of the city. The initial shocks of the recent weeks' revelations have lifted, but things have not returned to normal, and there linger a multitude of moods throughout the city, none of them good. The phantom threats that hold the city ransom may not strike during the day, but fear is not a rational creature.
In The Heights, the half-elf councilman Valiel Domine sits beside the beleagured human captain of the East Shore watch, Alandre Burton. Valiel is a well-fed man, whose elven blood is not able to fully curb the physical repurcussions of his love of food. He's let his black hair out a little longer than he should, but its unkemptness is unable to detract from the image of a lavishly dressed politcian reveling in his fortune. By contrast, Alandre is a very simply-presented man with a heavy tan, his guard uniform covering up his bulky build, and his hat in his lap showed his very closely-shaved head of brown hair.
A week ago, their letters went out, asking the strangest group ever summoned to Valiel's home to meet on that day, just a hair past midday, which rapidly approched. The tea tray sits on the table where the two men sit patiently and wait, facing the six empty chairs before them. They worry that none of the people requested would arrive, or so few of them as to render the entire exercise pointless, despite the entire fate of the city resting upon the help they asked for.
Beside the tea tray sits a stack of papers, all of them files for unsolved cases in the captain's district alone. Their guests will not need proof of anything, they're sure, but perhaps the scale of the matter could appeal to them. If not, the contracts beside the stack hopefully will.
As each person arrives, they will fill the cup of tea and offer it to them, patiently assuring them that they will begin either when the meeting time officially begins, or when all of them have arrived.
A stunning girl in her early twenties opens the door to the lavish home. The sun glistening off of her platinum blonde hair, her skin almost white in its fairness. a sturdy shield engraved with the holy symbol of Iomedae shines in the sunlight from her back.
She strides into Valiel's home, piercing sky blue eyes glaring with suspicions raised at the two men before her. Why summon me here? Six chairs? What are they up to?
Therie spends a moment concentrating on both of the individuals before her.
Not sensing any undue auras Therie accepts the cup of tea offered to her. "Therie Gorget reporting." She states succinctly, holding out the letter she had received the prior week.
"I'm not sure what this is about but you have my attention."
With that final comment she sit back in a chair, waiting on the other attendants to arrive.
Detect Evil turns up nothing.
The door opens, but for a few moments nothing enters. A voice can be heard in barely audible whispers during those moments, until a person of small stature skulks in. A gnome of pale flesh and platinum hair enters, his amber eyes darting swiftly around the room as if expecting to be attacked. He wears dirty, piecemeal clothing under a fine silvered suit of mithral, though it too is adorned with grime. He holds a letter in one hand, crumpled, and rolls up onto his toes to get a better view over the table.
"This is it, the place, yes it is...awfully bright..." He strides over to the table and tosses the letter up onto it before moving around to the side and glaring more intently at those already seated, however briefly. He looks each one up and down and his eyes raise to the corner of the room, and after a second of quandary nods to himself. He grabs a chair well away from the door and drags it a few feet away from the table, angling it so that once he clambers into it, he has a good view of the room, the current inhabitants, and the door. "Everywhere, everywhere," he whispers. "But it is quite bright hear, so they can't hide. Good idea, maybe." When offered the tea, the gnome starts slightly, shifting an inch backwards in the chair, and holds his hands up in protest. "Oh no, no no no. None for me. Oh, I am Loch, that is me, you see. But no, no and thank you."
The gnome fidgets in the seat, obviously restless from sitting in one place, but waits all the same. He periodically whispers to himself in several languages, usually Gnome and Celestial.
An approaching person is heard outside the door, then a knock.
The door slowly opens, and the room is made brighter by the light of the midday sun gleaming off of metal. A man steps into the room, once inside the bright light ceases to obscure his features.
Thalachi stands just over six feet tall, with hazel eyes and medium-length dark brown hair. Dressed in his full regalia, he wears relatively nice, though slightly battle-scarred, breastplate over a simple white tunic and trousers. Draped heavily over his shoulders is a fine crimson stole with elaborate gold embroidery in the known Sarenraian motif. If the stomping sound of his thick-soled leather boots doesn't alert one to his approach, the clatter of his heavy steel shield (replete with sunburst) and masterwork scimitar will. The scimitar is of especially fine craftsmanship, the hilt designed as a sunburst and the curved blade styled to appear as a gout of flame.
"you all the ones that sent the letter?" He asks, surveying the room. His hand, on the pommel of his sword, does not shift.
Theodosia Escominate, just another face in the crowd, lounging, leaning against the wall of the building outside this politician Valiel's manse, could hardly hide her fury. She refused to let it show, though, watching the front door from outside. She wore her armor, the last of her few outfits she had left. She was tired, exhausted and cranky. Being on the run from the law did that. She brushed away the white hair from her amber eyes and stared malevolently at the opposite building's facade. It was the day of this supposed rendezvous and the request had set off every single warning bell in that paranoid head of hers.
Ees eet a a trap? she thought to herself. Eet smells like a trap. Eet has every symptom of a trap. They want me there, in that building, to come to some secret meeting about some elusive "phantom threats," about some eediotic notions of preserving the public good. No, eet sounds preposterous. Yet why go to such lengths? They sent me a letter, me, in hiding. Eef they could find me, then why did they not try and capture me? Eet is too convoluted, too mysterious. Eet is a letter that seems designed not to provoke me, but to send me into hiding. Why?
She watches the first three enter the building. The first, some kind of holy warrior, next a strange looking... what she thought was a gnome. Then some impressive looking warrior. None of it added up.
Theodosia toyed with the idea of using up some of her last potions to disguise herself, or perhaps entering wearing her courtesan's garb, but none of it could fit, and she could use the added mobility her armor provided if she needed to make a quick getaway. She searched the floors, getting a semblance of the building's layout from her position on the ground. It wasn't much, she could only count the floors and windows on each floor, but from what she could see, anything higher than a few stories would be deadfall, literally. If it were a trap, she'd be forced to fight her way down to a more reasonable level. She had no doubt the meeting would be taking place on one of the higher levels.
Waiting for a bit longer, Theodosia decides, "Screw eet." and heads into the building, not bothering to knock on the door and moving as directed to the room where the rest of the group waits.
She moves in purposefully and over to the windows, hand on the pommel of her rapier. "I am here," she says, watching over the rest of the room. "Now, might somebody tell me what eet is I am doing here?"
A large and dour man enters the room without knocking and rather quietly for his size. His bulk is enveloped in a large grey brown cloak and smoking a crude wooden pipe. His features are weathered by age, experience and likely a too great a familiarity with strong spirits. He could be a badly aged mid thirties to a well aged mid forties.
He stops and fowns, looking around the room - briefly looking directly at each of you. His brown eyes are bloodshot but are alert.
Grigor Vachkov, he says in an accent slightly foreign to Korvosa, I have been called for.
He stumps out his pipe with a brown calloused pipe.
I have come.
As each of the people they called for arrives, they offer tea where it isn't refused and insist that questions will be answered once everyone has arrived. It surprises them that given the disparate walks of life they come from that all of them assembled as they did. Once all seated, Alandre leans back in his chair and Valiel offers his hand to shake to each othem. Once that is done, he clears his throat and begins to speak.
It surprises them a little that all of their requested guests arrive, given their wide variety in lifestyle. Once everyone is settled in and greeted, Alandre leans back slightly in his chair and Valiel stands, offering his hand to shake each of theirs in turn. Then, he clears his throat and begins to speak.
" Thank you all for coming. No doubt, you're all aware of what has occured these past few weeks. You've seen things that go back much, much further, but let's dwell on the present. Two months ago, news broke that a nest of vampires had set themselves up in The Shingles, attacking the poor and draining them of enough blood to leave them alive, but deeply shaken.What everybody believed to be the bizarre work of a deranged street gang was in fact something more sinister. Three days later, the Acadame suffered a break-in, and several lycanthropes escaped. They'd been held without anyone's knowing, allegedly to research an easily distributable, non-divine cure for lycanthropy. Since then, attacks have happened regularly, and several townsfolk have been quarantined with contracted lycanthropy themselves.
"These two acts have shaken Korvosa, but by themselves they could be dealt with. The problem is, other forces that everyone has denied exist have grown emboldened amidst the chaos. Creatures of darkness strike without fear of being caught because the guard is too thinly stretched to investigate even half of what is put in front of them. What few successes we've had are met with a great deal more failures, and the careful balance of civilization is at risk. If allowed to continue, we shall surely find chaos.
"The City Guard cannot do anything to help. They try, and many of them are good at their jobs, but they aren't trained for this. Some parts of this city could hardly be called orderly before this, and now there's little chance. We need something better than the guard, and we've decided on an initiative of calling in experts to form small, close-knit teams to investigate and deal with these newly admitted threats. You've all skills that few possess, specialized in your fields, and capable of bringing to an end things that threaten all of us.
"We understand this is unconventional, and that some of you come from backgrounds that may not even find working for the city to be conscienable, but we beg you to please consider doing some good. This is not revolution, and this has no sympathetic origin. These are monsters, and if allowed to thrive, they will surely threaten this city, and all who live in it that you hold dear.
"We are prepared to give you salaries for your work, and they will hopefully be adequate; the equivalent of a vetern guardsman of 20 years. You will be called upon when needed, and when a case is done you can return to whatever you wish to, until such time comes that we need you again. I cannot promise there will be many breaks for you, but if you do well and this city returns to normal, you may find the job more liesurely than you would think.
"Are there any questions?"
Grigor lights his pipe again, puffing away thoughtfully through out the 'pitch'.
Ja. One Question... just how far are we allowed to take things? I want the minimum of oversight from potentially corrupt officials.
The Salary? This is not a problem but I must insist on a sum for consumables - potions and the like. They are not cheap and this is dangerous work
.
Grigor's remarks make both men shift a little in their chair, having expected some suspicion from the Ustalavan, but not having expected remarks so freely from him. "You answer primarily to me, with Alandre being the intermediary with the Watch proper," Valiel says. "And unless you see fit to begin breaking a great number of laws and leaving civilian casualties, it ought to stay that way. I trust that won't be a problem for you, Mister Vachkov? As for additional funds, perhaps if your work proves good, then there would be a bonus included, but for fresh hirees, the money we offer you is already the best you could find anywhere."
Again, the money isn't a problem, resupply is but this can be discussed later as you said. My concern is around corrupt officials interfering. If we find them aiding this flood of evil, we can inflict judgement? Without the need for sham trials that lets them twist and turn?, he says utterly focused.
"There are already those who feel that this is made to undermine the Watch and is a ploy to gain more power, personally. As a result, I would greatly appreciate it if you did not go out of your way to challenge the city's authority, and that you would bring any in alive. I am only one man, and if you go creating chaos throughout the city I will not be able to keep you out of prison by my own influence."
Grigor falls silent, puffing at his pipe and waiting on the others.
Each time someone enters the building, Loch's traveling eyes art directly to the door and his flesh tenses. He watches those who arrive until they are seated, and only then does he relax.
At the first mention of vampires and monsters, Loch ceases his fidgeting and sits stone-still in his chair. His eyes stop shifting and his gaze focuses on a spot on the floor as he listens. His hands slowly curl into fists and his expression is one of both concern and anger. When the man finishes his monologue, Loch's eyes slowly rise from the floor to focus on him, and dart swiftly to Grigor as he speaks. He takes a long look at the ranger before closing his eyes for a few moments and when he reopens them he is again looking at Valiel.
"There are many dark creatures in this place, yes...We..I see them." Just as with his mannerisms, the gnome's voice is different from before. It is low, grim, bearing some weight. Still, it seems slightly, ambiguously distracted. "Their eyes peer out from the darkness everywhere, and I am told to stop them. But I am only one, and the eyes are many, yes. I..." he closes his eyes and nods slowly, and mouths the word "yes" in Celestial. "It seems this path is approved, to hunt for you, with them. The strength in many is noted, and it is believed that more of the dark eyes will close this way. This is what is said, and I have long learned that what is said is what must be." Loch eases back in his seat and closes his eyes again, and upon close inspection one could see his eyes moving quickly behind his eyelids.
Anger boils within Therie as the men in front of her discuss the failure of the city guard to protect it's citizen from the threats they were supposed to be there to defend them from.
She had heard rumours of the vampires within the shingles, but with no deaths there had been more pressing issues, more deadly vermin to cleanse from the world. An admission from a captain of their failure to deal with them however shocked her.
How could the city wait so long before finally recognizing the problem? The poor are just as deserving of life as the rich. If the city guard cannot solve this problem, then I suppose it is up to us.
"You have my blade and my shield captain. We will clear these monsters from Korvosa. " She states assuredly, standing up from her chair.
"Where do you direct us to first?" She asks.
"I, too, will aid you in this" Thalachi says. "if we are to work together as a small unit, then allow me to introduce myself. Thalachi Tremeris." he says, expercting some realization to dawn on the others.
Theodosia shows not even a hint of recognition as Thalachi announces his name. "Excellent. What an honor it ees to meet a man of such... high esteem... whatever it ees you do."
Theodosia stares back at the politician and his silent guardsman crony. She wracks her brain, trying to recall word of their exploits.
"Pft, eet was only a matter of time 'afore somebody realized just what kind of corruption really existed in thees city. Creatures of darkness, though? Please, could the man be any less of a common salesman? They're creatures, yes. Evil and malign? For the most part, yes again. But if he would have me believe he has the public conscious as he sole motivator, then I'm afraid we might have a conflict in the matters of truth."
Theodosia scoffs and turns to the fat politician. "And so, you choose a bunch of misfits from all walks of life to serve as, how you say? Close knit teams? Experts? Yes, drag een and round up the criminals and the psychotics and send them against your other, more belligerent enemies. Pay them a small salary and have... how ees it said in common? The two birds kill each other with the same stone? So what ees the catch? You've brought us all here to offer us a job. So tell us, who would our first target be?"
Grigor snorts but nods approvingly.
"This isn't about removing society's undesirables, or I wouldn't have a cleric of Iomedae present, would I? There are few members of the watch knowledgeable about even one of the things lurking in the shadows, and that doesn't mean they can apply that knowledge into dealing with those threats. We've called upon you because of your experience and unique skills. Yes, you are a wanted criminal, Theodosia, but you didn't arrive to a group of guards overwhelming you and carrying you off to prison, do you? There is no trickery here."
Alandre finally leans forward in his chair. "I feel the need to stress that you are not members of the Guard. While this does include the obvious, such as not being required to answer any calls during disasters--though such help would be appreciated--there is also no guarantee you will be afforded the same protections or considerations in higher courts. This initiative is a rather controversial one among the council and even in the guard; I make no promises than any guardsmen you have dealings with will be particularly warm to you. A great many of them resent the initiative, and feel that you're stepping on their toes, that the city believes them unable to do their jobs.
"If you're willing to do this, sign there. I can't divulge the details of an ongoing investigation until then." He places down a stack of six two-page contracts, detailing in legalese a summary of what both men have said so far.
While we have no status as guards, we do have something of official status, controversial as it may be, Ja?
"That's correct. You are still defending the city, and may act accordingly. Entering homes with just cause, for instance."
The hulking man puffs away at his pipe, agitated, then stands and takes a contract back to his chair. He begins reading, glaring at the page as if daring it to lie to him.
Therie walks upto the stack of contracts takes the top one, looks at the two men before her for any signs of deception, and signs the document with a flourish.
"If even part of what you say is true then it is my duty to help you cleanse this town. I have no worries about the guards resentment, people have looked at me with suspicious and prejudice my whole life, this will be nothing new."
"I'm sure the guards will come around the first time we take something out that coyld have wiped out their whole family."
Thalachi takes a contract and reads over it. Assuming he finds nothing ridiculous, then he signs it.
The contract contains no strange or suspect articles. Grigor finds that, save for the differences in status as Alandre explained, it reads like a generic contract the guard of any respectable city or company would be expected to sign.
Sylas walks up to the big house. Kinda pretentious, ain't it? Walking up the steps he scrapes the mud from his boots.
Entering the room everyone sees Sylas, an average height tiefling with a muscular build. His black horns covered in paint that makes a flowing white script. They appear to be magic wards of some kind. From under his shirt fine chainlink is visible at the neck and cuffs of his coat which is a rich and well worn in red leather trench coat. His black trousers are stuffed into knee high black leather boots. A bow at his back and two swords at his waist.
Nodding his head slightly, he accepts the tea and downs it like a shot, he was cold after all. Sitting in the remaining empty chair he takes out a pipe and starts puffing away, listening to the conversation.
"The predjiduce of some guards is of no concern to our super ensamble of moster hunters. Buy 'em a drink and they'll cheer up right quick."
Loch closes his eyes as the others speak, listening intently as his eyes flutter behind his lids. Then he speaks. "I have met guards before, yes. Though I think at those times there were other things on their minds than what degree of warmth they should have to me. Things....different now, yes. Oh ho, the Mad Gnome being called in to do things that they cannot. Oh yes, different, different...but when it is the darkness-eyes closing and not theirs, might be the pitch of their tune will change, yes."
The gnome hops of the of the chair, the small scabbard of his kukri knocking against the edge of it as he does. He immediately grabs the hilt and looks left, right, and behind him, as if some force were trying to rob him of it. He waits a second, and then whirls around, staring at the empty air behind him. He stares for a good few more seconds, holding his breath, until he sighs and releases his hand from his belt and turns back around, heading to the table. He stops at the surface and frowns, returns to his chair, drags it back to the table, and clambers into it once again to get a better look. He looks down and snatches a sheet of parchment and sets his amber eyes to scanning it.
After looking it over for any curiosities, Loch grabs an inkpen and stares at the page in quandary for a moment. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself short and merely shrugs instead, jotting down his name in Common, Gnome, and Celestial.
"Hm. Never worked with anyone before. Not like this. Take care not to stab me in the back. I always look behind me first."
Grigor again moves to the table and signs the contract with a heavy handedness seen in those who are forced to write things for a living but are more comfortable with physical labour.
Done.
Thalachi signs his simply, looking at the disparate group arrayed before him.
Theodosia hurumphs and snatches the documents off the table. She leafs through them, making sure to read through the pages extensively.
Finding nothing untoward about the contracts, she picks up a pen and holds it, twirling it around her fingers. "Oh, I'm not so sure, tiefling. The guards, they can be a whily bunch, grabby, cat-calling She frowns and grasps her papers more tightly. Theodosia turns her head to stare at Alandre Burton. "But they quiet down quite easily with a boot betwixt their precious jewels."
She sighs and walks over to two men. "I will tell you what. Let us make a deal. I will agree to join thees... team. I will sign the contract. I will follow your demands. Een exchange... I want my named cleared. I want all files on me destroyed. I want my name name removed from the list of wanted criminals in Korvosa. I want all arrest warrants dropped. If you can handle that, then we may well have a deal."
They regard the catfolk, then turn to each other, nodding and sighing in unison. "Complete this first case for me, and I'll see what I can do," Valiel says.
Alandre goes to the desk where a group of papers lie. "Your first quarry is a strange creature that has been terrorizing The Shingles in the past few days. It's gutted victims nightly, disemboweling them with his knife in a matter of seconds, and then leaping up over rooftops and evading any attempt to chase it. It's alleged to have black skin and breathe fire, but there are a lot of conflicting stories about it."
Sounds like some sort of Thrune called Devil, Grigir says, making a spiral over his heart.
"what can you tell us about the shingles?" Thalachi asks, pouring himself some tea.
"The Shingles are sort of an unofficial district built on top of Old Korvosa. They build rough buildings on top of rooftops and connect them by planks and makeshift bridges to create their own distinct area. Because of its inaccessibility and general poverty level, it's a very dangerous place full of bandits, and there are not as many patrols run up there as on the ground. Generally, those bandits don't leap forty feet vertically, though."
Sylas laughs at the catfolk's comment. "Oh yes no one understands cat-calling better than I, a regular cat summoner I am." he reads the papers briefly before signing in an elegant flowing script.
"Calm down there silver spike" he says at the gnome's odd behavior. "I'll be sure to stab you only in the front, which since you always look behind first is ironically your back."
"So mission one, fire breathing black skinned gut slicer? Sounds like a delightful fellow."
"Regardless of what it is, if it is hurting innocent people, then we'll kill it." Therie states factually.
"has anyone noticed any pattern to its attacks yet?" she enquires.
"Gutting people and leaping over buildings once a night for consecutive nights is a pattern." Sylas remarks off the cuff as he puffs on his pipe.
Grigor grunts in the affirmative.
Loch looks over to Sylas and stares at him for a moment. "Or maybe that's just what I want you to do."
"A dark creature in flesh and deed, yes. Fire and black flesh? Some devil, may be. I have been through these Shingles, I think. Some time or another. I might have slept in a corner there once. The planks sound familiar."
After Sylas makes his remark, "Yes, a pattern. Hmm." Loch taps his temple, trying to pick out images from the many in his mind.
"hmm, is there any pattern to its victims? A profile? Just going in there and staking the place out won't work, but if we have bait... "
Grigor sits quietly and watches his new companions plan as he runs through a list of contacts or people hes' heard of in the Shingles he may be able to talk to.
"We can't see a pattern. Its victims cross all boundaries, at least as far as common folk around the Shingles go. Sometimes he attacks lone wanderers, sometimes drunkards, sometimes groups of very armed people, leaving half of them eviscerated and the others fleeing for their lives. Whatever this is enjoys killing and mayhem more than it does fulfilling some bizarre interest."
Loch's attempt to think about magical or extraplanar creatures turns up nothing.
Loch opens and his and shrugs. "I don't know. 'They' don't know. I suppose the only way to know is to see, yes. If a walk by night in this Shingles is all it takes, then the next step seems obvious." The gnome's eyes dart from person to person in swift succession.
I've a few ladders I can shake as well though my business tends to be in other parts of Korvosa.
He rises.
I've heard all I need to. I am for heading over now after I head home to get my kit. Any who would come with me, meet me here in an hour. Eat before you come - you may not eat again for some time if the chase leads fast and long.
"Sounds good to me. I suppose I will head to the nearest place to grab a bite to eat."
Let me see who I can remember in the meantime - I know some people...
"I will get my things, then, yes. I will be needing my hammer if we are to smash those of the darkness." Loch heads for the door and watches behind him out of the corner of his eye as he exits the building.
Tamping out his pipe Sylas follows out into the street. "Well, tavern until nightfall then?" he asks the group.
Grigor can think of one person he might be able to find in The Shingles, a petty thief who lingers in major taverns at night looking for cheap work for hire, or someone with a large purse despite their heavy night drinking.