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The others continue the conversation. Arimar agrees with Malgrim, though he remains only dimly aware of which words he used to do so. The group discusses and decides to go shopping in preparation for the party. He nods and mentions that he can go himself to the Temple of Sarenrae to let Khania know of their decision. Again, he isn't conscious of the words he used. Then he knows only darkness as he passes out on the cot.
"I belong to no-one! Wha...?" Arimar starts. The room is deserted. It seems everyone left before he passed out. "Good," he notes, "Wouldn't do to have too many questions... at least not before I have answers."
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"Peace. Arimar, how good it is to see you again? Care for some marinated dates? Brother Rafiman has this scented oil that he gets from ... honestly he won't tell us. But at first, the dates taste oh so sweet and the longer you let the flavor linger you can feel a faint heat build up at the back of your throat. Amazing really." she pushes the bowl towards him. "What can we do for you today. Oh my, what is the matter?!" she exclaims as the assimar teeters on his feet. Reaching out a steadying hand. "Are you ok?"
The Companions leave the lofty heights of the Alabaster District and make their way past Seacleft to Dockway.
In Dockway resides The Bazar of Sails. A destination for traders the world over, the Bazaar of Sails is the largest free market in Varisia. Anyone with merchandise to sell is welcome to set up a tent, booth, or wagon among the hundreds of other ever- changing shops that fill the dockside plaza. Crops from local farmers, Varisian artifacts , Osirian spices, Chelish finery, Andoran quartos, and more exotic goods from a hundred foreign ports fill the market, with each day's offerings varying with the season, trade winds , and tides.
The Companions look for, but don't spy, the famous Princess of the Market, Sabriyya Kalmeralm. The daughter of the first Prince of the Market, Nazir Kalmeralm, who disappeared nearly 28 years ago, Sabriyya is well-loved by most of the bazaar's regular traders and her "court"-a sizable gang of toughs and money collectors.
"Quail eggs. Quail eggs from Taldor. Harvested fresh this week. Only five gold!" cries one hawker from their makeshift stall.
Arimar reaches for the dates, until Khania mentions fiery heat down the back of his throat. A nearly seven decades old memory comes unbidden into his mind. Suddenly, he is a small child again, screaming in pain as the Pharasmins sear his mouth and throat with white hot coals.
Arimar returns to reality, finding that he is leaning heavily on Khania. "Thank you for catching me," he says gratefully, spraying blood that had dribbled from his nose and over his lip onto her robes, "My mouth is so much better than it was. I am so thankful for that. You cannot imagine how it feels. It's like the world is that much brighter now that my senses have opened up.
"There are other odd effects, though. Do other recipients of the spell experience acute headaches? My body also seems to be getting stronger. Do you think that my... ah... adoptive family was doing more than not healing me? Do you think that this regeneration could also be restoring my body? I know a lot about religion, but I've never heard of such a thing before. Is that even... is it even possible?"
Producing a scarf, she dabs at the small trickle of blood from his nose. She cups his head in her hands, closes her eyes and once again reaches out to her goddess.
"Oh sweet Sarenrae, like the rays of light from the sun give life flowers of the plains, please heal this man of his affliction."
Immediately the blood ceases to flow from his nose. Looking closely at him, she responds, "Your body is getting stronger you say? That is odd. Maybe because because your appetite has increased and you are actually eating food, more than just what you need to sustain you. That might be having an affect. Something seems different with you. Not quite the same.
"Headaches you say. I may need to pray on this. But again I digress, what can I do for you today?" she ends her worried frown with a forced smile.
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"Thank you, that feels much better," Arimar smiles, "Still, it feels like two knights are jousting inside my head. One wants to save me, the other wants to kill me... and to the victor go the spoils. But - oh, yes - I am also getting physically stronger. Much stronger than could be explained by half a day's extra input."
Arimar vows to meditate long and hard on what was happening to him. First, though, he had something to admit, "I was a cleric of Urgathoa you know. Right up until last night." Arimar rubs off the make-up and alchemical skin covering his tattoo as though he needed to show proof. A skeletal and decaying fly with blood-soaked wings, the unholy, profane symbol of Urgathoa permanently stains his arm. "This morning, though, I prayed... I prayed to Sarenrae, and I think she answered. My spells are... different... but they are there."
The confused man shakes his head, trying to make sense of it all - but he cannot.
"What can you do for me?" Arimar snaps out of his reverie, "Oh, right... yes... my companions and I have been thinking long and hard about Keoki's predicament, as well as our other friend's. My companions and I would like the opportunity to discuss restoring the Fountain of Bethesda with you. Our sick friend would also like to discuss matters, and we all would like to meet with you. She believes she has a strong case to bring for why she should healed first," why am I telling her this? "And it may be that my friends will refuse to help if she is not guaranteed some place in line - beyond a generalization that 'all shall be healed' - but..." what are you doing, man? "... I want you to know..." don't say it you idiot! "... no matter what they decide..." are you out of your f!$@ing mind? "... I personally will do all that I can to help restore the Fountain." Fool.
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When the group has some time to themselves, the halfling gathers the others around her. Producing a large sheet of parchment and a quill with ink from her bag, she nods to a nearby table, an unspoken request for Benaiah to clear its contents and make room. Once a wide enough space is revealed on the surface, Gwendolyn unrolls the parchment with one flick of her wrist, the sheet unrolling itself as it skitters and bounces across the table. Using a few empty bottles from Benaiah's already consumed concoctions, the corners of the paper are secured and the halfling sets to quickly sketching.
A large blocky shape begins to form, roughly the shape of capital 'A', only with its top-most peak severely flattened.
"This..." she begins, nodding to the rouch sketch. "Is the Versade Villa. Here's what I know so far from paying vagabonds, roustabouts, and street urchins for information on the place..."
Along the underside of the shape, basically what would be up inside the crotch of the 'A', the halfling quickly scrawls a few stars. "This is the entrance to the Villa. I'd expect four bouncers at the door..." she begins, then adds one final star-shape which is much larger than the rest. "And their captain to also be stationed here, probably checking invitations. This captain, he's a tough son of a b#*&~, named Dalton, so please don't fool yourselves into thinking we should fight him at any cost."
"Now," she continues, pointing to both the left and right sides of the structure as drawn. "On both the west and east side of the house there will be four guards patrolling. They'll be split into teams of two. Each of their loops will take about two minutes to walk. And I mean two minutes tops. So that leaves a maximum open window of one minute before their patrol covers the same ground again."
"Next, on the north side of the Villa," Gwendolyn now motions toward the flattened peak of the 'A' shaped structure on the parchment. "Along the north edge of the building there will also be two guards on patrol, but... their path should take them about five minutes to complete a circuit. This means even if they split up, there is a worst case open window of two and half minutes. And best case scenario... closer to five minutes."
"One trouble point, though, I don't know if there are any points of ingress near the ground level... So, if we chose a stealthy approach, we may have to scale up and enter the building through the top. Plus, even though their rounds may take them a bit to complete, I'm not sure what cover is offered that close to the house to hide within or behind..."
"Lastly, the Versade Villa seems to be divided into about seven wings... and I'm sorry to say I don't yet know in which wing the party will be taking place, or if its the spread throughout the entire villa."
"As my little, flighty birds see more and report back, I'll let you know..."
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"Hmmm, the stealthy approach would appear to be the least favorable option, then," Arimar muses, wiping blood from his nose with the back of his sleeve, those damn headaches are back, "I say we forge the invitations and go in through the front door. That way, they'll direct us to the party location once we're inside.
"As for disguises, shall we go magical, mundane or a mixture? I think I'll be okay with a mundane disguise - been doing it most of my life - and that way, at least one of us won't have to continually chug down potions. Either way, I would suggest a mundane backup disguise for all of us. The only thing we need to achieve is to not look like ourselves.
"How long do you think we need to stay at the party for, Gwendolyn?"
Fido continues along his ponderous journey. It has been over a day, and Magnimar is still very distant, but the zombie bunyip is tireless. The clinging Raim is definitely slowing Fido down, but this does not concern him. The only thing concerning Fido is food.
A scavenger fish pecks at the bunyip, clearly smelling dead flesh and assuming it had a meal. Fido quickly disabuses the fish of that notion by tearing it to pieces and swallowing it down. If Fido minds also swallowing the small chunk of his own flesh that the fish had dislodged, it does not show. Food is food... but it is sentient food that Fido craves.
Onwards he swims.
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With a stunned look on her face, the cleric embraces Arimar in an enveloping hug. Lingering a few seconds too long, she finally pushes him back. With tears streaming down her face, she begins, "By the Dawnflower, what a fabulous transformation." She picks up Arimar's forearm, and places her other hand over the tattoo of Urgathoa. "This is nothing. This is not you, not any more. Our heart still grieves that we could not save Keoki, as for all we cannot save.
"But look what has come of it. Sweet Sarenrae guide this man as he runs to your open arms. Show him the path of the righteous, pick him up when we falls, and use him for your mighty works.
"Arimar, I could not be happier for you. And know that all here will help you in any way. But we don't want to overwhelm you at first. Know we are here for you.
"What a glorious day!" she beams at the man.
Arimar is taken aback at the ferocity of the woman's joy. He still cannot come to grips with what is happening to him. He manages a smile, but the insincerity of it must surely show. Khania seems not to notice. Confused, Arimar says his goodbyes in a daze. Before he leaves, he adds, "Please do still look into what is happening to my body. It is good, yes, but disconcerting nevertheless." Why can't I share her joy? Is it because nothing good ever happens to me? Or is it because this feels like a precursor to something very, very bad...
"And I shall bring my friends to meet you on the morrow regarding the Fountain of Bethesda," somehow he remembers what he came here for, "And my apologies in advance for the negotiations that will follow."
The man wanders the streets of Magnimar. He almost makes it back to his companions' room before being crippled by another headache.
"We also have a meeting with the church tomorrow," since when did the Temple of Sarenrae become 'the' church? "And we should not forget that we need to bring Lanvi with us to the first meeting. She should have the opportunity to state her case."
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Benaiah nods along in agreement with the invitation forgery, clearly willing to do his part in that. He looks to Gwendolyn in anticipation of her response to Arimar's question.
As he studies the map, taking in the halfling woman's details, he eventually adds, "Assuming there is ingress somewhere near the ground, this could definitely be a good back up, in the unlikely circumstance that my forgeries do not work. Even if we had to *ahem* put one of those guards to sleep for a few minutes, we should be able to make it in without causing to much of a ruckus."
"So lets start with the basics of what that invitation looked like Gwen, and then we can get to the nitty gritty details..." Benaiah looks at her with a smile as he begins fishing through his pack for his materials.
"One trouble point, though, I don't know if there are any points of ingress near the ground level... So, if we chose a stealthy approach, we may have to scale up and enter the building through the top. Plus, even though their rounds may take them a bit to complete, I'm not sure what cover is offered that close to the house to hide within or behind..."
Malgrim takes in the plan, mulling over the various complications, then, and raises his hand. "I may be unable to blend into a crowd or climb a social ladder. Blending into the shadows and ascending a stone wall, however, that is nothing new for me. This second story entrance... that is something which I could reasonably access." To demonstrate, he takes a piece of stone from his pack, and slowly sinks his fingertips into the hardened surface. He makes a motion to draw his fingers like the they were passing through still waters of the stone, then with a second he digs his fingers in as if they somehow carved shallow furrows. Then he sets the piece down, revealing the unbroken exterior, with a simple affirmation: "The stones will render me aid."
He looks to the others. "While splitting up adds complexities, if there was anything we required to bring in or out unobserved, that would be an option. I leave it to you all which course is best to follow.
"Okay, so Malgrim will sneak in while Benaiah and I try the back door with Gwendolyn," Arimar smirks at the double-entendre, "Benaiah can disguise himself well enough with some extracts and I will use my disguise kit. Up to you what you want to do, Gwendolyn. I can help you out if you like with something non-magical."
The Companions, deciding on a course of action, they feel no need to head to the market for any additional supplies. A nervous nod, and a few chuckles and the Companions leave Mistress Lanvi's lush estates. It is a short walk across Serpent's Run. This sprawling hippodrome is easily Magnimar's most popular public venue, and is also the city's largest modern structure. As they walk down the Champion's Walk, a statuary-lined avenue decorated with images of the field's greatest champions, they reflect on this section of the Alabaster District. Well appointed townhouses, small villas, and even the walled estates of several old Magnimarian families provide majestic views atop the Fogwall Cliffs. This stretch of fine houses is known as the Marble District, named for the constant presence of facades built from the fine stone quarried from
nearby escarpments.
In no time they reach Versade Villa. No one in the Magnimarian aristocracy gives better parties than the Versades. True to form, the Companions quickly realize that all of Gwen's information was spot on. Pairs of guards stroll pleasurably along the perimeter of the noble villa.
The front entrance is roped off, a quartet of guards stand subserviently to Dalton, the major domo, with archers loitering behind.
Having just been at sea, Arimar is no stranger to the things a sailor wears. He rummages through his disguise kit to retrieve a formal sailor's garb. As he does so, he partakes in the cured meats that the waitress brought up earlier. A few satisfied moans at the flavor has everyone surprised. None have ever seen Arimar eat more than a few bites, and certainly they have never seen him express appreciation for food before.
"I guess I can be the captain," Arimar notes, "But I'll need a tan and some extra padding." The man wipes makeup all over his face, turning the visible portions of his dull silvery skin into a ruddy, sun-kissed tan. As he arrives at the point for padding, he realizes that he fits very nicely into the long johns. His muscles are now visibly much larger than before... without an ounce of extra fat. Shaking his head a little in disbelief, he adds a little cotton wool fat for good measure and retrieves two small discs from his kit.
"I hate putting in contacts," he notes as he changes the color of his eyes to match a human's, "They rub and chafe." Blinking the pain from his eyes, Arimar drops in a salty solution. He then gets into some pants, a fine shirt, and hangs some false medals on his large-buttoned jacket.
"Remember, the key to a good lie is to lie as little as you can," Arimar tells everyone, whether they are listening or not, "The more you say, the more you are forced to lie, so remember that silence is your ally - especially regarding the subject of yourself. Let people assume and give a half-truth rather than a lie if possible. Above all else, make it sound believable." Decades spent keeping himself hidden in a city filled with thieves and liars have left a permanent mark on Arimar. He doesn't even realize he has launched into the full speech until its conclusion.
The captains hat and wig cover Arimar's slightly pointed ears and complete the captain's disguise. "Oh, and practice your voices. We should start now, and don't vary your natural voice too much, just a little - in case you slip up," Arimar adds, dropping his voice in pitch. Oddly, it feels natural for him, almost more natural than his usual voice.
As an odd final touch, Arimar adds the twin holy symbols of Sarenrae and Gozreh to his neck chain.
Two of his companions in tow, Arimar confidently strides up to the front door, waiting his turn behind the other patrons. He keeps his face stern as he passes the functionary at the door their forged invitations for his perusal. Don't say anything unless you have to, he reminds himself and hopes his friends remember too.
Captain Reginald Romsky,
You are hereby invited to....
Urgathoa fumes as she paces across the wastelands of Abbadon. The Citadels of the Four are visible in the far distance, and daemons scurry out of her way. Any who stray to close are hewn in two with a mighty blow from her scythe.
"The audacity of that bloody whore Sarenrae!" she screams, "Protecting one of my gifted and claiming him as her own! Well, I am not beaten yet. The eyes of the dead see all. You think you have suffered, Arimar? Well, let us redefine the meaning of that word."
The half-woman, half-skeleton waves her scythe before her and a brightly reflective pool of purest blood appears on the ground before her. She kneels down, defying physics as her skeletal half somehow holds her in position with no muscles there to stay her legs. A blurry image of a necromancer dressed as a ship's captain appears in the pool and the Lad of Despair smiles an evil smile. She dips her scythe in, causing ripples to originate from the man's head. She pulls the scythe out and a string of rapidly coagulating blood connects the weapon's tip to the man's head.
With a yank, Urgathoa jerks hard upon the string and tugs it free of the pool.
Just as he passes the guard his invitation, Arimar nearly falls to his knees in agony. HIs mind is clouded, but painfully so. It is as though someone has ripped part of it away, leaving nothingness behind. He reels back a little and is only barely aware that the guards have stopped him from falling. Just as suddenly as it came, the pain is gone. Concerned faces peer out at him from the crowd, as well as more than a few disapproving ones.
Maybe this distraction will work in our favor, Arimar hopes, "Thank you for your help, I think I just need to sit down." He looks hopefully at the room beyond the threshold. Agony wracks his body yet again.
Seeing the ship captain stumble, the guard reaches out a steadying hand. "Are you ok ... umm?" he glances at the invitation. " ... Captain Reginald?" Seeing the man get back to his feet, the guard passes the invitation to a immaculate well dressed man.
Standing just below six-feet, the Companions can see that he is well muscled, but not the type that goes along with a burly man who consistently weight lifts. More like the toned body of a dancer. His shoulder length wavy hair twists in the nighttime breeze, as he examines the invitation under a lit medallion.
"Don't remember seeing you at any of these parties before, Captain Reginald. And exactly who are these that accompany you?" Dalton ends in a not so friendly tone.
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Before departing, Malgrim submits to Arimar's attempts to disguise, at least hiding the fact that he's a hobgoblin. With some effort with makeup and mild adhesives his wiry body and elongated ears aid in the deception that he is of elven descent, at opposed to goblinoid. Not something that will hold up to a determined check, but at least enough not to call down the city guard immediately if he is observed.
As a final thought, he dresses himself in clothing fit for a party, yet covers them up in his typical dark-toned robes. "I have never felt comfortable in another's skin, yet this will have to do."
Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Malgrim breaks with the rest of the party, relying on his caveborn instincts, familiarity with the dark, and Gwen's intelligence to make his approach towards the estates. From a hidden vantage at the wall surrounding the estate grounds he marks the time of the routine movements of patrol around the villa, using an old trick that he learned from his stint in the Pathfinder Society from an excitable halfling. As his moment approaches, he prowls silently along the villa greens towards the sanctuary of shadow... nearly losing everything when he stumbles over a divot on the green some grounds keeper apparently hid. Cursing to himself, and hoping that he wasn't completely blown, he continues his course.
I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone
He presses himself into a pool of shadow along the villa wall just as the guards turn, literally sinking into the stone exterior slightly, producing an improbably narrow profile, not daring to even take a breath as the guards continue their pace. Even as his senses scream awareness, he maintains the metered progression in his head.
I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
While the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone
His moment of opportunity presenting itself, he turns to the stone villa wall and feels the surface of it, willing his fingers into whatever openings it has, forcing temporary passages where needed. With surprising swiftnes he ascends towards the second story windown.
"They are my crew," is all Arimar says between painful winces. He reminds himself not to provide no answers to questions he has not been asked. Then he recalls that he can add something without lying, "And I have been out of Varisia for quite some time. We sailed in to port only a few days ago."
Arimar waves off the burly man helping him, "I appreciate the help, but I should be fine now. The healing that they provided for me at the Temple of Sarenrae seems to have worn off. I will have to be careful not to exert myself." For all the world like he has answered the man's questions to a satisfactory degree and been given the say-so, Arimar walks forwards, intending to go into the party. Only those with something to hide await the results of their lies. Besides, I have not lied. Yet.
"Easy Captain," says the soft, feminine voice of the lithe woman who stands to Arimar's side.
"'Aiah is my name, here is my invitation." she says with a charming smile as she hands over the fancy document and bends down to assist the reeling 'captain'. Shortening my name? Genius right? Right. Making myself a woman to tantilize the men in the room? Definitely Genius. Hrmm... I wonder if Lanvi's daughter is into women? Wouldn't this be an interesting turn of events...
Benaiah's female eyes twinkle in the light despite the sour attitude of the door man. Don't answer questions that aren't asked, don't ask questions that aren't asked... the large man repeats to himself, now magically disguised as a light-footed, buxom woman wearing the gear and standards of a first mate.
In this womanly form, Benaiah's long hair is tied up in a high ponytail. Ribbons, lace, and shiny brass buttons give a distinctly feminine appeal to the soft leather that wraps her body tightly and shows off the type of curves that Benaiah loves in the women he beds. He dips into a polite curtsy as her invitation is inspected.
When you've been on the run from the order of the godclaw as long as me, you find ways to not look like biggest man in the room. Or the city for that matter. Disguise self and vocal alteration. I swear, there is a chemical answer for all of life's problems. And if there isn't a chemical answer, its just because I haven't concocted one yet...
"How long do you think we need to stay at the party for, Gwendolyn?"
"I wish I knew," the halfling admits with an apologetic tone. "I think it will depend entirely on the handmaiden. We'll be doing our best to keep an eye on her, once she shows up. After that, the time we have to remain will all depend when, or if, she meets with a member of the Versade family and discusses anything of interest our prying ear can eavesdrop."
"Hopefully that will happen within the first twenty minutes... but I doubt we'll be that lucky..."
Gwendolyn shuffles her feet along with the others, waiting for the cluster of party goers, filled into a line, to have their turn with the guards inspecting their invitations. Without speaking much to her companions while waiting in the line, she watches the guards ahead and notes how diligently each inspects the documents passed to them. Fortunately, or perhaps, unfortunately, the lines moves quickly and Gwen is unable to fully process the guards' protocol nor have enough time to let her fretting nerves send her into a panic.
A few paces ahead Arimiar suddenly drops to the ground and the halfling his roused from her introspection, and to her relief watches as the aasimar in disguise rights himself and answers their question. Following behind Beaiah, or Aiah, as she is now called, the bard follows suit and passes her invitation to the guard awaiting her with an outstretched hand.
"Are you alright?" she calls to Arimar, her voice filled with genuine concern. As she speaks, she looks around the bulky frame of the man toward her friend, and is careful not to use his name. "Please let me know if there is anything I can do to hel--" Suddenly, the halfling cuts off her offer of aid, realizing she is ignoring the guard stationed directly in front of her.
"I'm with them, sir," she says, her voice morphing seamlessly into a pleasant, soothing tone. "This is my invitation... I'm dying to hear what's going on inside," she adds. Turning slightly, she produces a small, dark case that had previously been held behind her back. Opening the case for the man, the lid slowly reveals a faded brown violin, almost holding a golden hue.
"I didn't know if there would be a band..." she admits sheepishly, lacing her tone with a practiced pinch of embarrassment and ending the comment by lifting her shoulders and almost immediately lowering them once more, as if the motion itself said, "I can be so silly sometimes."
Looking up to the man, Gwendolyn showers the man with a disarmingly innocent grin.
As Malgrim scurries from the shadows to ascend the wall the Compions and their eloquent conversational tones try to work their charm on Dalton.
Forgery requires writing materials appropriate to the document being forged. To forge a document on which the handwriting is not specific to a person, you need only to have seen a similar document before, and you gain a +8 bonus on your check.
Dalton looks askew at the invitation and moves over to a side table. A shallow bowl of sands sits next to a tallow candle. Using a slender f@++%*, Dalton brushes aside some sand and lights the end with the still smoldering ember in the bowl. Lighting the candle with the twig he holds the invitation up to the feeble light of the candle and looks over the document.
He moves back to the companions and nods. "Welcome to Versade Villa." Dalton begins. "If you would follow me."
He ushers the Companions into the first western room. There liveried servants wait with silver platters of hors d'oeuvres and bubbling drinks in long, galas tubes.
"Through those doors north is music and dancing. One of the best bands you will ever hear. To the east are the game rooms, and smoking lounge. Should you need anything, servants will be found scattered throughout. Just flag one down and ask.
"And upstairs. Off limits. Always. For everyone unless your last name is Versade. Which it is not." Dalton ends in a no nonsense tone. "Have a good time Captain."
The burly man in vixen form smiles a sparkling smile and takes the captain's arm as they walk into the party. Once far enough away from the guards, 'Aiah separates and begins to scan the crowd. "Perhaps we should have done some more recon..." she laments in a low voice, not recognizing anyone at first glance. "So this is the power elite in this city? What kind of secrets can we find in this jungle?"
The soft notes of mingling music float through the air from the other room and the din of conversation provides a gentle backdrop as the woman turns to the captain and the performer. "Well, shall we make our way around and look for someone we recognize? The handmaiden is surely here somewhere. I wonder if she would feel the need to be disguised as well?" she muses. "For the little lady's sake, what say we try the music room first?"
Captain Reginald Romsky recovers well from his little turn. "Capital idea, my dear," Reginald nods and puts his arm out to receive Aiah's. When they walk arm-in-arm towards the dance floor, he leans in close to Aiah and whispers in her ear, subtly activating message.
A message is relayed to Malgrim. It seems to the hobgoblin that Arimar is whispering directly into his ear. "Malgrim, we are inside. North wing is the dance floor, eastern wings are gaming and smoking rooms. Upstairs is off limits. Perhaps you could try that way. We're heading north to the dance floor."
The captain scans the room to see if he can see anyone he recognizes, or any sign of some kind of deals being made. For the most part, he will avoid making new friends, preferring to drink quietly on his own - being careful to stay sober by taking only small sips that look like big gulps - and acting like an awkward sea captain who is unsure of what to do at such an affair.
Reginald runs a hand through his long brown hair, being careful not to knock his wig off kilter (even glued down, they can still move) and puts on his best false smile beneath his false goatee. The awkwardness need not be feigned.
At last remembering herself, not because her own wits had returned but instead because Arimar's whisper sounded calmly in her ear as if the aasimar's lips had been poised an inch away, their true objective at the party came flooding back into her mind. Stopping her slow spin, Gwendolyn's eyes begin to search the surrounding room for signs of the handmaiden.
Taking a few steps closer to her companions, she begins to whisper and activate the spell, but wanting the groups close proximity to give credibility to her words. Following Arimiar's comment to the unseen, and so far silent, Malgrim, Gwendolyn follows suit.
Gwendolyn's voice sounds in all the companion's ears.
"Malgrim," her voice begins. "We'll search for signs of the handmaiden and keep you posted. Let us know the situation upstairs..."
"... and good luck. Remember to say the pass-phrase we agreed on, if you are about to be discovered and we need make a distraction for you."
- Luma Derexhi, half elven female bastard of the Derexhi Family. They are know as the highest priced and most skill 'mercenary' organization in Magnimar. That's right, full blooded noble mercenary for hire.
- Balastar et Mindurian. Male dwarven emissary for the Mindurian family. They are know for their stone masonry.
- Zakon Vanderale, male human. He is young and very good looking. The Vanderale family is the most successful in Magnimar and controls the merchant guild.
- Ioana Versade, female human. A younger member of the Versade family (the family throwing the party) and the only one you see.
As the Trio enter the music room, the cacophony of music assails their senses. For a moment, Arimar is completely lost in the music and makes a bee line for the dance floor. Once there, he grabs the nearest female and begins to twirl her around the dance floor.
Aiah and Gwen are left dumbfounded by the assimar's sudden departure.
Malgrim whispers a silent prayer to a litany of various gods he isn't particularly faithful to culminating in reverent thanks to elemental forces that he wasn't discovered crossing the greens in spite of his perilous fumbling. Taking in painfully quiet, small breaths, he continues his ascent knowing that discovery might be mere minutes away. With a deliberate mixture of speed, stealth, and care he maneuvers along the wall towards an open window, the stone of the wall melding around his fingertips as he springs to a second story trelis.
He specifically avoids any obvious sounds of commotion from the upstairs, and maneuvers towards a suitable ingress. Pausing outside the window, he takes a moment to ensure he isn't intruding some manner of dinner engagement or tryst before he attempts to make entry into the building.
It would be just my luck to get all this way to interrupt some couple... Benaiah would never let me live it down.
Malgrim scurries up the side of the stone wall, his hand sinking in the stone like soft butter. Quickly pulling himself in an open window, he lands in a normal looking bedroom. Bed, wardrobe, a few chests. It is currently unoccupied and the door to the hallway beyond is closed.
Looking around a bit more, Gwendolyn's eyes the embracing forms of Zakon Vanderale and Ioana Versade. Gwen'a face scrunches up into a slight scowl until she realizes the outward manifestation of her inward feelings. In a moment her smile returns and she begins speaking to her now female companion once more.
"So far as we know, the Versade family is looking to collect information on the Vanderales, and this was the reason for paying the handmaiden," her voice is naught but a whisper to 'Aiah. "But these two families seem very close already..."
"Or is their embracing dance one of friendship, an act, or simple civility?"
"From the little I heard, it seemed the stranger was inquiring about the procurement of information on a particularly well known family in this region... the Vanderale family. The Vanderale family is one of the oldest and most successful in Magnimar. And based on that meeting, I think the handmaiden is going to this party with an aim to fulfill this request."
"Why does this matter to us?" she asks now rhetorically. "Because when this chance meeting ended, I followed the stranger away and not the handmaiden. In the end, I was able to learn that this stranger was in fact Ioana Versade. Now this is important, because as far as the information business is concerned, the Versade family is one of Lanvi's chief rivals."
"The Versades are throwing a party, and the handmaiden is invited, and they seem to looking to gather information on a powerful family in Magnimar. Why they want to know about the Venderale family, I don't know. But the Versades seem to be using the daughter of their chief rival as a source."
The feminine form turns to the real woman in the group and favors the halfling with a smile. "Isn't this the same Ioana who was paying the handmaiden for information on the Venderale family? It appears she is doing some information gathering on her own. You also mentioned that the Versades are experts in "entertainment". Did you mean that literally?" 'Aiah asks, waving her hands towards the frolicing Arimar, "Or were you talking about a more horizontal form of entertainment?" 'Aiah's sheepish smile gives away her slight embarrassment at not catching whether or not it was an innuendo.
Leaning in a little closer, 'Aiah's lips get uncomfortably close to the halfling maiden's ears. She whispers in such a way as to activate the message spell so all can hear.
Suddenly, everyone's ears crackle for a moment, and the magically disguised voice of Benaiah fills their heads. "We must try to start with finding out why Ioana Versades wants to know more information on the Venderale family. What is the relationship between the two families?" The words cut off as 'Aiah finishes her thoughts, leaving everyone to ponder the potential answers to that question.
After a few moments of lively footwork, the two ladies close the distance and sweep Captain Reginald into their circle. Trying her best to guide the group, she moves the dancing trio closer to Ioana and the devilishly handsome Venderale boy to see what they might be able to hear.
Reginald appreciates the ladies' company on the dance floor, sweeping first one then the other into his arms and twirling them around.
"Ioana, you say?" Reginald smiles as he eyes off the woman, "Consider it done."
The captain times his moment as well as he can, spinning around his adversaries with a grace none have seen him exhibit before. His moves are inexpert at best, but that shining smile of his seems somehow to make up for it. As Ioana's partner let's her go to land a move requiring a solo stance, Reginald sweeps in and carries Ioana off into the crowd.
"I was beginning to wonder if my journey from Absalom was going to be worth it," he smiles in as disarming a manner as he can muster, "I am so pleased to see that my doubts were unfounded. They call me Reginald, Captain Reginald Romsky, but you can call me whatever you please. What do they call you?"
To emphasize her point, Ioana stomps on Captain Reginald's foot before sulking off towards a liveried servant holding a tray of drinks. The pain radiating up his leg is enough to wake him from his revelry. Watching her exit the dance floor, Captain Reginald notices that the servants are wearing ear plugs in their ears, probably to drown out the suggestive music.
"Looks like I struck out, girls," Captain Romsky carefully runs his hand through his locks, "Any ideas on how to proceed? Perhaps they'll be more receptive to some female chatter?"
Reginald tries to find someone more willing to dance and steers them in the direction of Zakon and Iona where possible, listening for any conversational nuggets that might be relevant to their mission.
The plucky halfling looks across the dance floor and watches as the captain runs his hand through is locks. The next moment she takes a deep breath, straightens her dress by pulling down hard about her waist which in turn slightly lowers the hem of delicate fabric a little further down her slender shoulders.
Setting off across the dance floor, Gwendolyn watches out for the twirling, lunging, and prancing figures moving about her on all sides. The quadruple sets of shifting, flailing legs belonging to the conjoined pair that is each dancing couple give her a brief moment of pause, as she cannot help but envision herself kicked or stepped on, and drawing all kinds of unwanted attention.
A few quick steps later, and Gwendolyn is on the heels of Ioana Versade and her gaggle of servants. "Wow?!" the halfling exclaims to Ioana's turned back. "Do you know who that was you were dancing with?" he voice is brimming with excitement.
"That was Zakon Venderale! He's as dreamy as his family is rich," she begins, her voice still overflowing with the flowery cuteness of a young woman in love. "His family basically controls the merchant guild here in Magnimar...."
"I can't wait to speak to him about the guild, when I dance with him next. Any pointers for me?"
Satisfied that he would find nothing else in the room, he softly pads towards the darkened door, pausing by it a moment to allow Gwen to respond and listening for any motion on the other side that would betray a patrol or other guests. If he doesn't hear anything or receive a message back in two minutes from Gwen, he'll quietly crack open the door.
[spoiler=Perception]1d20+8[/dice]
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Arimar, you have so much yet to learn, Sarenrae views him from the crystal clear waters of one of Nirvana's many vast and pure lakes, But it will not do to have Urgathoa causing you such pain and confusion at the same time. You have chosen me, it seems, but she will not let you go so easily. The beautiful blonde goddess strokes the pool gently with a finger and sends a gentle ripple out to one who might yet be saved.
The Dawnflower then sits cross-legged and meditates long and hard, sending her consciousness ever downwards... down to a place where she was not welcome... down to the apocalyptic wasteland of Abbadon.
"Urgathoa!" she shouts when she knows that she will be heard, "We have business to settle. No more shall the mortal known as Arimar be a pawn for us, ripped from one side to the other. We settle this, and then the matter will be done. We meet," Arimar would not like this if he knew, "At Pharasma's Spire in Axis. Abadar shall bear witness."
Having delivered her message, Sarenrae's consciousness drifts back to the heavenly realm. She hugs herself in a comforting gesture as though to rid herself of the vileness of Abbadon. She stands and makes for her Realm to prepare. Urgathoa will have heard her message, and she was never one to back down from a challenge.