"Please, Gwen, these men are just doing their job," Arimar then turns mid-thought to address the leader, "Though doesn't questioning citizens and visitors alike usually fall under the purview of the police or city guard, Maralictor? From what I can tell, you are neither."
The paladin holds up his hand to forestall any further assertions or aggression, "We were all at Mistress Lanvi's manor last night." The answer ist truthful enough, though it does not account for their entire whereabouts, "And later that evening, I personally was located at the Temple of Sarenrae," he adds to allay suspicions about a possible second whereabouts.
"Now, we are all headed there once again, so please do feel free to follow us and verify with the mistress herself," Arimar offers, before adding a warning, "Though I'm not sure her answers will be as warm and forthcoming as mine."
"Oh, and I'd advise you and your comrades not to call us vagrants again," Arimar adds, "Once is an honest mistake, one borne of an unfamiliarity with the word or a tendency to overuse it. A second time, and it will get downright insulting." The man knows he shouldn't make threats to a Hellknight, but they were really starting to aggravate him. This conversation was all but over. Unless they were willing to simply attack people out in the streets, he and his companions were going to move along.
"Come on, friends," Arimar calls to his companions, "This way seems to be blocked, let's go another way." With that, Arimar turns on his heel and begins to stroll off, being sure to be between his companions - save Benaiah - and the Hellknights. He also keeps an eye out for signs of physical aggression in the windows of the street and listens intently for the rapid clanking of their plate mail should they decide to attack. His right hand is never far from the angelic ankh on the hilt of his falchion.
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Benaiah nods at both Gwen and Arimar's handling of the situation and turns to leave with Arimar. His hand verily shakes while it grips his pesh box, though with continued deep breaths as they begin to walk away, the subtle shake begins to come under control.
Almost as an afterthought, Benaiah turns to the hellknights as his companions walk away, "Give Paralictor Darean Haist my regards. I've yet to repay him for his generosity at Pinches and Palming the other night when he bought me a few rounds." Benaiah touches a couple of outstretched fingers to his forehead in a polite, but informal salute and turns to continue his walk.
Name drop. Did I just name drop. Yup, just dropped a name. Don't think he is an ally, but for now it might stop these goons in their tracks. Inwardly he smiles at his cleverness.
The Hellknight orders possess a complex rank structure; the most pertinent ranks—from highest in authority to lowest—are the following.
Lictor: The general of a Hellknight order.
Vicarius: A spell-casting leader of a Hellknight order (rarely used).
Master/Mistress of Blades: A colonel of a Hellknight order, equal in rank to a paravicar.
Paravicar: A leader of a Hellknight order’s signifers, equal in rank to a master of blades.
Paralictor: A high-ranking Hellknight officer, similar in rank to a major.
Maralictor: A mid-level Hellknight officer, similar in rank to a lieutenant. Maralictors with titular concerns or duties—such as arms-maralictor, field-maralictor, or gate-maralictor—are of lesser rank.
Signifer: A Hellknight spellcaster.
Hellknight: A rank-and-file soldier in a Hellknight order.
Armiger: A Hellknight in training or a Hellknight squire.
As the Companions continue to speak with the Hellknights, on the other side of the alley they see a small group of ladies round the corner appearing to be returning from the market. The womens' expressions quickly darken as one of the Hellknights in the rear turns and begins to address them. Currently the companions are too far away to eavesdrop on the conversation but they can see the women nod between furtive glances at each other, fear creeping onto their faces. The women thrust out their bags and satchels as the Hellknight begins to rummage through them.
"Your ilk lacks severity." comes a deep voice directed at the Companions from the assembled Hellknights again.
Then the Hellknight in the lead once again addresses the Companions. "Know we will confirm your alibi. Before you depart, we need to inspect your bags. You claim to have had drinks with the Paralictor. Be wary that you do not perjury yourself with us. He is not know as a man to imbibe spirits."
The four Hellknights and Paralictor move forward to inspect your bags.
"You are quite right, maralictor," the halfling says outstretching her arms to hold both her backpack and violin out for inspection. "Paralictor Darean is not well aquatinted with the bottle... this is true for most of the year."
"There is always that one day each year when he cannot help himself though... Surely, you understand why?" she says knowingly as if to accentuate the fact they have indeed been in the presence of paralictor Darean.
"I doubt you have the authority to do this," the paladin grouses, "But I have nothing to hide."
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Nothing to hide, nothing to hide...
Do they care about pesh?
Benaiah begins to sweat a little bit as his mind races. The voice in his head was thankfully quiet for the moment, but should things turn south he knew that wouldn't stay the same.
Perhaps he was ok with that part of the beast inside his mind.
"Just a bunch of holdover adventuring gear in here. Guess it's hard to let go after spending so much time on the road." Benaiah offers, holding the bag open with one hand while his other clutches the wooden box holding the pesh-infused, powdered versions of his spells, pulling it closer to his side and out of plain view.
It was the first time he had cut his extracts this way. Where before he followed his formula and simply left it in it's liquid form, now he took small bits of the powdered pesh and boiled the extracts down, leaving a powdered form with what he hopes is an equally potent version.
Malgrim looks around to the party, mentally cataloging his meager possessions for anything that could potentially be viewed as contraband, then shrugs and opens his pack full of adventuring gear, rope, and various sundries. The only item that could potentially be questionable is his Thieves Tools, but given how common they would be among adventurers he decides that it is worth the risk to allow the hell knights to find them.
The only item that he pays particular attention to is the sample of stone they were given, as it is wrapped up next to a few of his artisinal tools.
More importantly he stand back a step while the strangers rummage through his belongings so that they might pay more attention to the items, and not his race.
The Hellknights begin to rummage quickly through the companions' satchels and packs. Though they have no real regard for the companions, their possessions, or their opinions of them, the lawful knights are generally careful with their search.
Ending their makeshift investigation, they form once again behind the lead Hellknight.
"You are free to continue your ... whatever it was you were doing. Remember to obey the law." As the other Hellknights move further down the alley, the lead Hellknight turns to leave, then turns back to the companions. Only the knight's helmeted visage can be seen, but the more emotionally astute companions note a slight change in the knight's voice, and body language.
"I will inform the Paralictor that I had the privilege of meeting some of his acquaintances and I will share with him the stories that you claim to know about him."
With that the knight turns to leave.
From inside their heads, all the companions can hear the soothing voice of Mistress Lanvi in their minds. Activating her message spell, 'Be careful. The Versade family has hired the Hellknights to look for their missing items. Bookkeeper under watch. Need to smuggle him out of city.
Everything is a threat.
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Get out of my head. Benaiah chastises the voice in his head, though he knows it holds no weight. His fingers suddenly tingle where his skin grips the box of pesh in his hand, a subtle reminder that he is, in many ways, powerless.
When the voice of the seductive Mistress Lanvi enters his head, he is momentarily distracted before the urgency of her request hits him. Wordlessly, he looks at each of his companions and begins a controlled walk back to the Alabaster district and the Lanvi estate.
A skinny, sniveling man paces frantically back and forth across an exquisite carpet, threatening to wear a hole down the middle. He lets loose a horrific sneeze before asking in a quaking voice, "Who am I meeting again? Where are you sending me? How long. Are the hellknights going to kill my family? You've got to keep them safe. Oh dammit to the eighth hell, why did I ever start working for you again?" he says, referring to Lanvi, but directed at no one in particular.
"Sorry, my allergies act up when I get nervous. It's not every day you find out a cadre of hellknights is looking for you because of your choice in jobs. I should've taken that government accounting job. Oscar is my name." Oscar, when not rambling on, chews on his nails while worriedly staring at the floor immediately in front of his next nervous pace.
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Benaiah pushes himself up from the deep, plush armchair he was lounging in while waiting for Oscar to gather his things. He brushes some crumbs off of his chest from the cheese and crackers he had just been munching on, courtesy of a scantily clad serving girl, no doubt a new acolyte in the lustful ways of Lanvi's goddess.
"Calm down little mouse." he says with a smile, staring down at the tiny man. A few more crumbs escape his mouth, arcing across the air to land on Oscar's shoulder. Benaiah reaches a leathered hand up to wipe the crumbs from his chin, subtly brushing a bit of white powder from the side of his nose.
"Everything is going to be just fine. The hellknights don't know who you are, or why you would possibly be important to them. You are just going to go for a little stroll with us outside the city and spend a little vacation time away from all this stress for a bit. You're family will be joining you in a few days. Nothing to worry about."
Benaiah flashes a worried glance to his companions when Oscar is otherwise distracted.
This is going to be fine, right? his furrowed brow seems to say.
"We ready? Lets not panic just yet. Plenty of time for that..." he says with an underlying tone of urgency. "Mistress Lanvi. When we have more time we should discuss your quick communication network. The bums and beggers on the street are meticulously placed, but the short hand whistles and signals are occasionally contradictory. We are going to need them to help guide us to the first safe house, and all I can think about is I hope I don't accidentally ask where the fake house is."
Benaiah strides out the door, a swagger in his steps as he feels the narcotics pulse in his veins. He takes the point position, his head on a swivel as he looks from one end of the street to the other.
"We'd best cover you up a little," Arimar notes, "They'all be looking for someone wearing your current attire. I will lend you my old necromancer's robes. It will be a slightly tight fit, but should help you avoid detection upon casual inspection."
Oscar is no doubt completely befuddled as to how such a massive man as Arimar could ever have owned such small robes. As for why a man who is so obviously a holy warrior carries necromancer's garb, he can only wonder as the grinning paladin shoves the robe over his head.
Before their eyes, Arimar manages to thrown a robe over the slender bookkeeper, and a little make up here and there.
The group holds their collective breath as they pass dwarf from the Office of Tax collection. Arimar has to squeeze the bookkeeper's arm to keep him for tipping his cap and uttering a "G'day."
As the group proceeds down the avenue, and the halfling notices Arimar holding the book keeper's arm tightly, she begins to step away from the others. While her feet carry her a few paces away, she turns and whispers to her friends, "Keep moving and parallel me. I'm going to switch to the other side of the street and... hopefully... keep as many eyes off of you all, as possible."
At that Gwendolyn unslings the delicate musical instrument from her shoulder. Placing the chinrest in position, she pinches down gently with her jaw and draws up the bow. As she finally crosses the street, allowing a passing throng of clustered, hunched over folks lumbering down the boulevard to partition the street and divide the halfling from her friends, the bard then steadily drags the hair across the strings.
A festive melody launches into the air and Gwendolyn spins and twirls, releasing peppy notes that bounce off the surrounding buildings and fall upon those gathered in the area. She keeps her motions exaggerated and the music lively, smiling at those that pass and even attempting to draw the random citizens into her luring dance.
"If there is one thing I am accustomed to, it is avoiding hostile attention while making my way through a city." While the rest of the party goes to ready the accountant, Malgrim cases out a safe vantage point slightly ahead of the party to observe any potential interference while avoiding alerting the opposition to his position. He chooses a nearby pile of crates by a warehouse that provides more accessible access to the roof and an alleyway behind should either avenue become necessary, then sinks inward into the stone wall behind(both figuratively and literally) to lower his profile.
Facing an unknown strength of adversaries, at this time stealth will confer more benefit than speed.
As the merry halfling strings a catchy tune, passerbyers turn to see where the melodious music is emanating from. They see her dance and twirls and are captivated giving the other companions the time to sneak forward with the bookkeeper.
Meanwhile, Malgrim tries to sneak ahead, casing out a place behind some boxes. A laborer in tanned hides with a large burlap sack slung over his shoulder sees the sneaky hobgoblin. "Hey. Out of the way!" as he slings the sack back over his shoulder and onto the street which lands with a loud 'THUMP'
After a time spent playing the violin, the halfling takes a moment to stow the instrument, though it does disappoint a few in the crowd stationed nearby to her. With a fluid motion she swings the violin once more over her shoulder, the bow also secured amidst the neck and strings. She takes an extra moment to thank those who implore her to continue, shaking their hands and nodding in gracious acceptance of their praise. Then, she continues along the street, still keeping some distance from the others while moving her position out in front of her companions.
Keeping a watchful eye out, the plucky halfling walks to and fro before the group, being sure to approach any persons garbed in clothes that relect official intent or obvious officers of law enforcement. With town guards, hellknights, and city officials alike Gwendolyn approaches and does a small bit of chin-wagging in order to get the strangers talking, all the while her keen eyes watch their movements, studying the glances of those she speaks with, and using her practiced ability to cold-read people's intentions she monitors if those she passes are hiding any unsavory or ulterior motives.
Gwendolyn primes a few questions and comments for those she passes, happy to let people's preconceived racial stereotypes toward halflings explain her oddly inquisitive and direct nature.
"How are you on this fine day?"
"Thank you for your services to this great city."
"What brings you to this area of town?"
A passing wagon is complaining about just being inspected by a group of Hellknights. "They're closing in!" Arimar's first thought is to run. Suddenly, though, an idea strikes him, he turns and says quietly to his companions, "If they have just been inspected, they won't be inspected again any time soon. Let's stow away a little."
With arms outstretched, Arimar approaches the wagon driver, "Those Hellknights are indeed a surly lot. We'd also rather not be inspected by them - again - and we're wondering if we might find cover in your wagon? As a Sarenite, I am bound to heal all who need it, but if you do need some extra attention, you may consider yourself to have a favor of a paladin if Sarenrae. In return, we sit under your canvas until you get as close to the docks as you were going anyway. What say you?"
This time the merry halfling users her extensive knowledge of the hundred plus tells a person has to look for oddities in the crowd. A raised eyebrow, a quick turn, and she is able to correctly steer the party away from any possible pursuit.
Meanwhile, Arimar engages a passing wagon driver with a plea to help a neighbor out.
"Can't do it holy man. Wife is waiting on me as it is. Be careful of those armored thugs, they will search you until their black heart in content. He-ah" the man flicks the leather harness to spurn the donkeys down the road away from the Hellknights.
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Benaiah looks around frantically for a way around an upcoming checkpoint. With the wagon that Arimar tried to recruit rumbling away, and a bull-ish hellknight making his way up the street, it appears as if time is short. No way to hide the ledger now. If they are searched, the jig will be up.
Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of a portly man wearing a spotted apron, sweeping the dust from his well-appointed storefront. Havert's Cheese Emporioum can be read on the sign that hangs above the door. A woman comes out of the front door wearing a similar apron, holding a tray of sandwiches that she brings to a table of guests on the sidewalk. On her way back in, she gives the portly man a kiss on the cheek and the two share a smile.
"I know that guy. He is a regular at one of Lanvi's Brothels. Come to think of it, so is the lady... I wonder if they know about each other..."
Benaiah decides to play on the chance that the happy couple has no clue of the other's sins. Approaching the man he lays on a thick smile and wraps a burly arm around the portly man's shoulder.
"Say friend, I know a guy who knows a lady who knows a girl who says she knows you. Chains, leathers, and Gerbils right? She says she never forgets a loyal regular." he says with a wicked grin. Before the man can react, Benaiah continues. "Don't worry buddy. No one can here us talking." He says, pointedly looking and waving at the man's wife, who is now inside the shop pulling a fresh tray of bread from an oven.
"Me and my friends just want to pass through your shop and out the back door while that friendly hellknight heads up the street here. Really simple exercise, actually. The funny thing is, I am positive that if I walk through your front door and out the back without that hellknight ever knowing we were here, my memory of your indiscretions will be completely wiped from my brain! It's magic really. On the flip side, I am sure if you don't help, and that hellknight finds us, my mouth will be nearly uncontrollable, and there is no telling who might hear about the things I know..." Benaiah emphasizes his point by gripping the man's shoulder tightly.
Malgrim scrambles to the top of the nearby building to try and keep ahead of the group in hopes of finding a path outside of the control of the Hellknights. With a spinning kick he launches up from the crates up to the roof...
...only to have the entire set of crates collapse under him and causing him to fly spectacularly into the side of the wall in a large cloud of dust and even larger clamor. Slightly stunned and battered he forces himself up from the side of the building and considers the poor life choices that have brought him to this point.
Gods... are you punishing me for the drink the other night? If so, I have learned my lesson.
With Benaiah once again in the lead, the group makes it way into the pervert's front door with hopes to exit the pervert's back door. The man quickly steps aside as the burly man barges past him.
The spry hobgoblin, however, manages to topple a crate of boxes drawing a Hellknight guard over to him. The Companions can hear sounds of more Hellkights coming closer and know that to push on is folly.
"Open your bag, hobgoblin." comes the hollow command from inside the armored visage of the Hellknight.
Once again Malgrim is subjected to a rough search before being allowed to leave.
The companions decide to retreat and try again another day as there are just too many observer's on the street. Once back at Mistress Lanvi's manor, the disappointment can be seen on her face.
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Benaiah doesn't hang around the villa very long. Mistress Lanvi was a lustful sight to behold, but she was also a notoriously dangerous mob queen. She wasn't very much fun to be around when she was angry.
I need some relief...
"Catch up with you boys.. *ahem* and lady, later." he says as he walks back out the door. The overcast sky finally lets loose the rain it was holding, saturating the man and his clothes. After a few miles of walking in the steady downpour, Benaiah finds himself in front of a dark door in a forgotten alley.
He pounds on the door until a slat chest high slides open. It quickly slams back shut, followed by a creaking sound as the full door opens on it's weathered and rusty hinges. In the distance a blonde haired, buxom lady waves him into a private room down the hall before disappearing with a sly smile.
With a weight seeming to hang on each of their shoulders, the group walks, silently for the most part, back toward Mistress Lanvi's villa. For a long part of the journey from the deeper reaches within the city to the Lanvi estate, Gwendolyn's thoughts are preoccupied with the disappointment and frustration she feels, that she was not able to help her companions more in escorting the bookkeeper safely away. When at last the halfling realizes where she is, and how close a proximity her feet have carried her to the villa, she stops dead in her tracks.
"I'm sorry, my friends," she stammers an apology. Looking back and forth, Gwendolyn seems to be looking out for inquisitive eyes that might be spying upon them. After a moment, when she is at last satisfied they are not being observed, she continues. "I cannot join you at the Lanvi estate. After I was not disguised at the party, I promised the Mistress that I would not return to her home for some time. I do not wish to further link her to my dealings."
"Though she and I previously discussed my not returning to the villa as a way to further protect our partnership," she then sighs and seems disappointed in herself. "In this case, it feels like my not returning has more to do with cowardice."
"Please convey my deepest apologies to her for letting her down," turning then the halfling walks back in the opposite direction. "I'll be in my room at the Frumpy Duchess and am available whenever you need me," Gwendolyn's voice calls out as she retreats and disspears around a bend in the road.
After their failure to extradite the bookkeeper from Magnimar, and Gwen's sequester at the Frumpy Duchess, it is inevitable that the sour turn of events leaves the companions in a foul mood.
Days have passed and they have received no word from the Quarriers' Guild and Balastar et Mindurian.
Taking matters into their own hands they walk back to the Quarriers' Guild to check on the progress of stone identification. Upon entering, the Guild looks much the same, a large high ceiling warehouse with a perpetual cloud of dust in the air. Workers can be seen with hammer and chisel in hand, some firing rays of magic chipping off flakes of stone, while charchol drawing litter the floor and walls. Tools hang in ordered rows along the walls as each rock working station is a flurry of activity.
They walk back to the desk in front of the bookcase and once again Balastar is there to greet them. He is also dressed much the same, fine clothes covered by dust covered work overalls. His coal black oiled beard is a majestic as ever; yet something is different.
Before he had a twinkle in his eyes and the companions arrival was greeted with a warm smile, this time his face is as stoic at the rock he works with. "Can I help you?" comes the cold greeting delivered in a flat tone.
Malgrim looks over the man with some amount of concern. While his experience with social matters is somewhat limited, there clearly is grave difference in the manner they were greeted before, and now.
He makes a small bow, and says, "Scion of Stone, we have returned to inquire about the building project we discussed previously. Based on our talk previously, we had expected a response, and worry that some form of complication has arissen. Is this the case?"
His eyes scan the room for any change, and the dwarf's face for any reaction.
"Return? I don't know what you're talking about. I've never met you all before. My name is Balastar et Mindurian, and this is the Quarriers' Guild. Are you interested in commissioning a sculpture or need a kitchen redone?" comes the dwarves' unemotional reply.
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"..."
Benaiah looks at the man, dumbfounded for a few moments. He looks left, then right, at his companions, not entirely sure what to make of the strange greeting from a dwarf whom they very clearly met only a few days prior.
"Ahem" Benaiah clears his throat. "Right. A Sculpture. Yes. I believe we sent word ahead of us that we were on our way. Commission for someone with lots of money and the need for privacy." the large man eyeballs the busy workers in the room to highlight his point. "Should we go into another room to continue the discussion?"
Benaiah tries to match the dwarf's flat delivery, but it is halting and slightly awkward.
Gwen or Arimar would have nailed that...
Arimar looks as puzzled as the rest at Balastar's turn about. He eyes the shadows and the other guild members suspiciously. Balastar was being watched, or at the very least he was worried that he might be. Arimar nods along absent-mindedly to Benaiah's line of reasoning while he continues his scan.
"If another room doesn't suit, perhaps you can somehow get a message through to Arimar at the Temple of Sarenrae," he says more quietly, "I'd like to know more about what is going on here... I mean, what you do here." The cover up of his true question was weak at best, but he was hoping no-one overheard him.
"Actually, I was thinking about going to the golem fights a little later on," Arimar says more loudly, "Perhaps we will see you there. I hear the shield golem will need some improvements before the wizard in charge is ready for a proper showing."
Knowing not what else he can do to offer Balastar a chance to divulge his issues or delay such a revelation, Arimar awaits a response.
Malgrim's visage becomes stony, looking almost hurt at the deception of a fellow stone crafter. He is about to make a larger reaction, but awaits a response to Arimar's request.
Balastar et Mindurian listens to Benaiah and Arimar speak. All can tell that he is struggling with something. He looks at each man in turn, eyes wide.
"We have no private room. Sorry, sir. But if you leave your plans with me I am sure that we can figure something out.
"And you would like a message sent to an Arimar? At the temple of Sarenrae? I think I might manage that once things settle down a bit here. As you can see we are quite busy."
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Benaiah studies the dwarf's face, hiding his own confusion at the stonewalling happening in front of him.
heh. Stonewalling....
The big man shrugs his shoulders, unable to ascertain anything else from the conversation, and feeling like he has hit a wall.
"Golem fights? Now that sounds like some fun. When and where are those?"
"Golem Battles?" Benaiah can overhear a passing worker question. "Ain't no official Golem Battles until spring. Now you wanna see some fighting, Gladiatorial Battles is where its at. Some fools insist that is a fake, but us wise ones know that these monthly events put on by the city watch are the real thing. Should check it out at Serpent's Run. Only a week away." The worker continues lugging the stone on a makeshift wheeled crane.
Malgrim misses the subtlety of the dwarf's words, and he doesn't try to hide his displeasure at the fellow stoneworker. Clearly something is trouble here, but I had hoped to seek acceptance in this place of work He looks to Arimar, then the man, and makes an audible sigh. "It seems the honor of your clan has been overstated." He doesn't sense overt aggression from the rest of the party, so he awaits a call to leave or press their case.
'Your clan has no honor."
"What?!? The ... you ... dog f#@$ hobgoblin ... my clan has no honor?!!" Seeing emotion for the first time since entering the Quarriers' Guild that day, Balastar et Mindurian vaults over the counter and swings at Malgrim.
The dwarf lands a solid blow to the hobgoblin's chin, grinning like a madman.
The Companions see a flurry of motion behind them as groups of workers disengage and start to run over.
Malgrim's words were perhaps rash, intending to provoke a reaction from the reticent dwarf. And a reaction he received. Unflinching, Malgrim accepts the blow to the face, adding it to the litany of strikes he had suffered in his long, troubled past. There is stillness in that moment, and he is on the verge of swallowing this insult, before the events of the last few weeks roar down upon him in an avalanche. The deceptions, disappointments, the failures he could take, but this treatment in a place that he thought he perhaps could find brothers hammers a blow far stronger the punch.
Malgrim throws back his hood in a snap of fabric, displaying the pointed ears and blue skin of his goblinoid heritage.
Disappointment, pain, and outrage are swallowed up into a mask of impassiveness that has served him so well in the past, even as anger burns in his eyes. In a flat voice, Malgrim utters a single word, as he raises his open hands. In a riotous swirl of entropy he triggers a sudden spasm of dust, dirt, and stone in a small circle around him, even shaking loose particles from the dwarf's beard in a small poof. As the dust settles, Malgrim's entire body has hardened into granite, his eyes shinning opals that regard the dwarf cooly.
"Scion of Stone, is this your honor then? Deception, striking the unarmed, assaulting a fellow builder!? A hobgoblin I am, but that is simply the raw stone from which I am carved; I sculpt my own honor! We came as friends. Do not make us enemies."
"That was your doing. You say that the Mindurian Family, the greatest family in Magnimar has no honor!?" he spits to the side, his arms still shaking violently with anger.
"Hobgoblin, chimera bugger, or whatever I care not. But speak ill of the Mindurian Family again and you will find yourself with a larger problem than some Sarentire fountain.
Now turn on your heals and if I see you lot in here again, you won't come out alive.
Make you enemies?" he laughs to himself, "You already are. And will forever be. Lads if they tarry help them out the door."
A score of stone workers clothed in leather work aprons and holding various stone carving implements form up behind Balastar and glare at the Companions.
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Benaiah watches the strange scene unfold in front of him, devolving from civility into hostility in a mere matter of seconds. Somewhere inside, he sighs a heavy sigh, knowing full well this has happened many times before because of his friend's race.
$%*&#ing judgmental #$%*s
The reaction is automatic and involuntary. Before he even realizes what is happening he has brought the pendant that hangs from a chain around his neck up to his nose and taken a small sniff. Pesh instantly hits his bloodstream, and his eyes go bloodshot. His muscles clench and flex, and his face shoots red, as if steam might come rolling from his ears at any moment.
A gaggle of the workers approach, bristling and snarling, egged on by their hot-headed dwarven leader.
Daggers fly from his eyes and his snarl promises death to whoever decides to press their luck.
"We came to you for business, and what we get in return is your xenophobic, racist judgement by attacking us UNPROVOKED!" If you think throwing punches is the way to defend a perceived slight on your honor, then get your puny @#% over here and come at ME!" Benaiah's chest and shoulders heave as he fails to contain his rage, anger, and confusion at the sudden outburst from the dwarf.
"We did NOTHING to cause you to label us as enemies. That is on you. You said it yourself, you've never met us before. So in 2 minutes of conversation we go from complete stranger, to mortal enemy of your house? You are as dense as the stone you claim to work."
Mmmmmm, your hate feels so good to me. Let it flow. That stupid dwarf won't be able to resist, and then we can rip his head off and show it to his family...
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Malgrim feels a flush of emotion as Benaiah comes to his aid. In his lifetime so filled with pain and loneliness, Comradery and acceptance had been in short supply... even if in this case thie display of over-enthusiasm may have made a bad situation worse, far beyond the point Malgrim had intended to make. He holds up his arm to his companion in a quick motion, his eyes not leaving the Dwarf, as he attempts to calm Beniah. "Thank you, friend, but allow me to resolve this."
He takes a breath, then another, his own face an stony mask in stark contrast to the nearly crazed dwarf. For long seconds he doesn't blink even as he is surounded by a growing number of workers. Finally he speaks with determination, slightly softer than before and incredibly uncomfortable in being the focus of so many eyes. "Scion of stone. I have absolute respect for your craftmanship, your family. I apologize for any insult I may have given to you or yours. I have no family bedrock from which to draw honor; mine has drawn from my own circumstances, so my words may have betrayed my intent. Yet I would merely remind you that Honor is defended or assaulted in actions, not mere words. In honoring promises made."
He lets that last drop, hoping his words get through to the man, before continuing, "We has come as pilgrims to this temple of stone seeking knowledge. There are things we would wish to learn, that I would wish to know." He hesitates a moment.
"Perhaps..." he maintains his stance of holding his arm up towards Benaiah, but then draws a stone about stone weight about 25 pounds from the shelf towards his free hand. "There is." In the time it takes to say that he stretches the levitating stone into a sheet five foot tall and an inch thick. "Understanding." He collapses the sheet into a rough hammer shape in his hands, before he flings it towards the shelf forcefully, "I could share." The flung missle stops mere inches from the shelf and settles gently back in its original form and place.
He cups both of his hands, and makes a small nod to the dwarf. "For now, however, we should follow your request, and leave." He allows his skin to turn from grey granite to blue. Reflexively, his hands make a motion to his hood as if to draw it back in a practiced motion. Just as quickly though it stops, and he lowers both hands to his side.
The small halfling stumbles back in shock at the turn of events which has transpired, unable to process the escalation of promised violence. At last gathering her wits, Gwendolyn springs forward and interposed herself between the towering form of Benaiah and the gathering crowd of dwarfs. "Gentleman, please!" her calming voice rings out, and though minuscule when compared to the booming shouts of angry men, still holds its own weight of authority.
"Please, calm yourselves," she continues, holding both arms wide to symbolize her act of helping call an end to the brewing aggressions.
"Malgrim seems to have the right of it, for having our group step away. We do not need to fight one another. Truly we are not enemies. There has been a misunderstand... of obviously vast proportions. And I think it best if we part ways first, then once we have all calmed, work on rebuilding some semblance of trust and mutual respect, second."
Taking a moment, she steps to Malgrim and places a tender hand gently upon the hobgoblin'a face, gently coressing the place where he was struck. Her eyes gaze long into his without a word exchanged between them, though Gwendolyn's glance carries its own expression of thanks and admiration for Malgrim's calm demeanor.
"We will take our leave, to be sure no further conflicts arise between us," she explains, then tries in vain to push the stoic form of Benaiah toward the door. The halfling leans at an incredible angle, pushing fully as hard as she can, but moves the heretic none.
Please, you oaf, her eyes plead with the enraged man. Walk away.
Turning back to the dwarfs, Gwendolyn proposes a peace offering while moving to Malgrim's side. "In order to help bury the hatchet, would you allow me to buy you all a round of whatever beverage you choose, and have a barrel of it delivered here? And if it would be acceptable, could you meet with at least some of us... at the very least one... to share such a drink?"
"Otherwise, I would not feel well about us parting ways on such poor terms, unless we have at least some semblance of a plan to meet later and make amends."
As Benaiah presses forward, his towering form creates a sense of slight panic in the ranks of the stonecrafters. Artisans they are, but their well sculpted arms now hold weapons meant to craft in threatening, violent positions anathema to their purpose.
Then come the eloquent words spoken first by Malgrim, then Gwen. The dust covered laborers' eyes turn to Balastar et Mindurian. Some even go so far as to nod their head in agreement before uttering.
"Sounds great little lady. Some barrel aged stout sounds perfect right now." and "Take your head out of your ass Balastar. Seem like a good lot to me."
The entire time Balastar et Mindurian turns shade after shade of red before purple splotches can be seen above his meticulous beard.
"" he roars. Then he looks down, and barely utters his next command in an ineligible tone. "The time for talking has ended. Please. Leave now." he turns to walk back behind the counter, fists still balled up.
"So about that barrel. We still getting it?" comes a unknown voice from behind as Balastar et Mindurian changes course and charges the cluster of laborers yelling for them to get back to work.
"So about that barrel. We still getting it?" comes a unknown voice from behind as Balastar et Mindurian changes course and charges the cluster of laborers yelling for them to get back to work.
Standing looking to the crowd of gathered dwarfs, Gwendolyn nods and smiles. Then her voice calls out clearly to the cluster of workers as they return to their duties. "Of course," she confirms, keeping her voice reassuring. "I'll have some sent over straight away."
Looking now to Balastar et Mindurian, she can see their host is still stricken with anger as he stands behind the counter, with his fists clenched. Her gaze softens as she regards him, waiting for his own eyes to meet hers. When at last the two look upon each other, she adds in a somber and apologetic tone.
"Perhaps one day soon, when things have calmed down a bit for all of us, a few of us can meet up and figure out exactly how this conversations turned so sour."
"Good day to you all..." at that Gwendolyn turns to leave.
"I want you to know," the halfling says, pausing to place a hand gently upon the hobgoblin's wrist. "None of what happened with Balastar and the Quarriers' Guild is your fault."
"There is something going on with Mr. Balastar," she adds. "Something we do not understand. But something that caused him to react the way he did..."
"You see, I think he was trying his best to hint that we should leave and not divulge why we were actually there. It may have been to protect himself, or even, protect us..."
Balastar's Sense Motive check, DC 13:
He is pleading with you to stop asking questions
Her gaze continues to soften, and the halfling then uses the moment to take his hand in both of hers.
"No matter his reasoning, his reaction toward you was beyond unjustified. Your own comment was point in fact, true. It is not your fault in the slightest what happened. We can only control what we do and what we say. We cannot control how others react. You should take pride that your comments to Balastar were true, because he was acting in a less than honorable way."
"You are a principle member of this party," she continues, even smiling now toward her companion. "Even more so than I am."
"You are valued. Benaiah and Arimar, and me too-- we stand behind you always. Do not lose heart, my friend."
Arimar can barely register what is going on until it is far too late. "Your honor is unimpeachable, Balastar et Mindurian," he adds amid the clamor, "My sincerest apologies, and we will not bother you here again. It is clear you do not want our business, and so we will take it elsewhere. I will check at the temple to see if I can find anything else out there."
"Well, that could have gone better," Arimar tries to diffuse the tension that his companions are obviously feeling, "We'll send them a barrel of ale to apologize properly."
The big man slaps Malgrim and Benaiah on the back, "Don't take it too harshly, boys. Balastar is clearly being watched by someone or some group. They were likely in the Guild while we were there. He had to distance himself from us. He's likely very stressed out, and that comment about his honor allowed him the perfect opportunity to prove to whoever is surveilling him that we are not friends. Don't take it personally. Hopefully, he'll get me a message at the Church. For now, though, I think we should lay low, and maybe get Lanvi to put out some feelers as to why anyone would be putting pressure on Balastar or the Quarrier's Guild regarding this Fountain or doing business with us specifically."
Arimar sighs, "I really hope this hasn't got anything to do with our uninvited attendance at the party."
A barrel is delivered to the Quarrier's guide for the attention of Balastar. Inscribed upon the barrel for all to read, is written:
'Balastar et Mindurian, please share with your workers. Our apologies for the misunderstanding upon our first meeting you earlier today.'
Arimar considers emphasizing 'first meeting', but thinks that might be a bit too obvious. Whoever was watching Balastar would hopefully notice it.