The page looked up from a treatise on Confederate ideology he was reviewing. Lev had seen the flier making the rounds late last week. “The Senator is out for the day. You’re welcome to leave the note with me,” the page says as he grabs his letter opener.
Lev knows it’s not unusual for pages to read correspondence and pass along the message to the Senator unless the note is personal from someone of significant status, either a donor of note or someone with enough influence to be for the Senator’s eyes only.
Lev gets the sense that this page might respond to financial incentive to consider the letter worthy of direct delivery. Too much of a bribe can result in scrutiny or culpability.
"Er... oh, dear. First day on the job and I'm already making a muck of it, aren't I?" Doing his best impression of anxiety, Lev shifts his feet. "You see, I was only hired because I could be trusted to ensure that I could deliver things directly to their recipients. With the Senator out..."
Wiping his forehead with one hand, Lev reaches into his coin-purse with the other and sets two gold pieces on the table before sliding them over. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to hand this off personally to the Senator rather than opening it directly? I know it's a bother, but you can feel free to wait until tomorrow to deliver it, no need to bother the Senator at home." The halfling does his best to look eager and worried at the page's answer.
The page deftly palms the two gold pieces, hiding them swiftly. “I’m sure this note is as important as your claim. I certainly wouldn’t want to get a courier in trouble, but do try to make sure you have everything in order next time.” The page smiles politely at Lev. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
Lev bows politely but shakes his head. "No, thank you! I'll be on my way." Lev makes his way for the exit, then heads towards the temple of Torag to deliver the second letter.
As Lev goes to exit the halls of the Senate, he pays closer attention to the signs for the offices he passes. Even on his quick jaunt out, Lev notices a couple plaques not belonging to major parties, “Julian Depuis - Courtesan”, and one that reads “Antero Ikonen - Independent”. Making his way out of the Senate, the guards wish the old courier a good day.
The path to the Temple of Torag is a bit of ways across the city, though its proximity to the Kantele should keep Lev mostly out of Vice territory. Lev makes his way to the eastern gate of Vieille Ville, opening to La Scène. The large plaza houses Margaery prominently. Gardeners are posting bulletins, no doubt announcing a new execution. Lev keeps a low profile, continuing across the plaza towards the Temple of Torag. Lev’s path crosses a board filled with several copies of the new bulletin secured: Execution 11 Gozran - Wyssal Sloboda: For the crimes of Harboring Enemies of the Revolution and Fomenting Dissent Against the Revolutionary Council.
As he leaves the Senate, the halfling makes a note of the two names not associated with parties that he’s familiar with. Nodding jovially to the guards, he leaves with a whistle, his uncaring facade on clear display. He maneuvers through La Scène and stops in shock in front of the bulletin board, paling with the realization that one of the few conspirators that could identify the location and participants was now in the hands of the hated Chairman and his reactionary regime. Grabbing one of the leaflets and stuffing it into his shirt pocket, Lev makes his way towards the Dwarven temple, intending to drop off his remaining letter before heading back to the hideout to inform the others of Wyssal’s impending execution!
Lev makes his way across Sud Riviere, hugging the Kantele. The path along the river is mostly empty as it’s too late for workers to be on lunch, too early to be done with work. Several panhandlers are seated on the building on the south side of the road, looking out over the river. Some beggars made a half-hearted attempt to ask for handouts, but many see Lev’s courier disguise and sink their heads.
Lev crosses the bridge closest to the block with the Temple of Torag, and though a pair of spotters are keeping their distance, Lev notices the Vice agents loitering on an adjacent block.
From the block of Torag’s children, Lev notices a few suspicious dwarves looking him over. Behind the guards, Lev can see down the boulevard, a scene reminiscent of Le Commune unfolds. Several workers are bustling, some working on their own crafts, and some art moving crates around. One of the two dwarf guards call out to Lev, “What’s your business with us?”. The guards are wearing expertly crafted armor, unlike the City Guard with their reclaimed armor.
Lev raises a hand in greeting to the guards, stopping in place. "Ho, there! I've got a message for Father Faldan." Holding out the envelope, to display to the guard, he inquires, "Can I go directly to the temple? Or do you have couriers to handle your own internal correspondence?" The halfling puts on his best smile in an attempt to ingratiate the guard.
The Children of Torag are a historically small and insular community, that stays out of Galtan politics. There is one notable exception to this insulation. In Kuthona 4699, at the turn of the century, when the battle to overthrow the Eye of Law took place, the Children of Torag mobilized. Viewing the hag coven as an existential threat to Isarn, if not all of Galt, the Children of Torag, lead by Lysva Brighthearth sprung to action. The battle cost several of the Children their lives, including Lysva. Next to take up her mantle was a smith and hero of the battle, Rogar Faldan. The groups trained warriors and passion in battle inspired citizen of other races to seek Torag’s wisdom.
The guards give Lev a look over. “I can can take you to Father Faldan, but stick with me. No wandering about,” says the guard on the left side of the alley. The dwarf is younger than his counterpart, only a few years into adulthood, with a well-groomed, but short beard. He motions to Lev to follow and makes his way down the alley. The various denizens all look up as Lev passes and then promptly resume their tasks. As Lev is escorted north towards the heart of the blocks, he can see a thick plume of smoke rising from the central building, and can hear the sound of hammering. As he reaches the center, the temple to Torag is evidently the source of all the noise and smoke.
The guard pushed open the door, Lev understood the hammering. Across the main entrance stood a large steel altar in the shape of an anvil, behind it was a large furnace with multiple smiths working. The air was hot from the pairs of smaller forges on each of the surrounding walls. Lev makes his way down the central center of the temple up toward the altar. “Father, a courier has a message for you.”, said the young guard, pointing to Lev.
A dwarf early in his middle age turned around. Father Faldan did not look like many men of the cloth, he was muscular and sweating profusely from the forge’s heat. “Doln, can you put the letter in my office? I’m afraid I’ll just smudge any missive I try to read now.” Father Faldan lets out a chuckle. “I can keep an eye on our guest until you return.”
At Father Faldan’s request, the dwarf escorting you, Doln, takes the missive and heads away. Leaning in, “I could use a moment from the forge anyhow,” Faldan jokes.
Father Faldan is not eager to talk, but knows it is polite to fill the silence.
Lev keeps his head down as he follows the guard, but carefully notes all that he can about the geography of the group of blocks controlled by these tight-knit dwarves, in case he’d ever need to return in less amiable circumstances. The halfling’s eyes water as the smoke grows thick, and Lev counts himself fortunate that his small stature spared him the majority of the acrid smell from the smoke.
As he walks, he begins to speak to Doln. "You know, I spent some time in Torvin Academy with a pilgrim of Torag. He had come all the way from the Five Kings Mountains, only to be arrested just outside of Azurestone for not paying the proper taxes. I'll never forget the parts of 'Hammer and Tongs' that he taught me- “Aim high, plan well, and strike while the iron is hot, for unpreprared metal shatters from a hammer’s blow.” A guide to smithing good works, but also to building good communities- not to mention revolutions!" As Lev orates to his audience of one, he uses spellsong to cast “Honeyed Tongue” on himself.
[dice=Perform to cast "Honeyed Tongue" unnoticed]1d20 + 22[/dice]
Reverently entering the holy forge, Lev hands off the letter to Doln and faces Father Faldan. “Thank you for your time, Father. I know you have no obligations towards me, or even greater Galt- nor should you. The dwarves have long suffered under the bloody revolutions of so-called saviors. The pogroms against Dwarven pilgrims that made their way to Azurestone, to see the handiwork of Torag himself. The continuous destruction of any semblance of order, the cessation of industry every few years.
“Galt is in tatters. But there are those who would look to the Dwarves for a solution. They see the society you’ve built here, and wish their own would look more like it- they mourned the martyr Brighthearth and would have called for her to take power, had she survived. In the coming days, I believe we may see more of one another.
“I know you are hesitant to take any action. Any disturbance to the careful equilibrium we have established could bring ruin on your community. But how long can you last against the pressure of reactionary Gossite influence? Even now, the forces in power seek to encroach, to exploit and to oppress any who refuse to supplicate themselves. The Chellish plan and scheme, infiltrate and build for the day that they will try and reclaim our homeland.
“I do not ask for you to endanger or sacrifice anything or anyone in your community- only that you consider what might be best for their own survival. How can Torag’s children best build? This is the question I pose to you. I don’t seek an answer- I only wished to convey my respects and humbly request that you review the missive.”
Faldan bristles at the reference to Brighthearth, “We will do as we have always done. We will tend to our community and let the humans play out their growing pains.”
After listening to Lev’s words Father Faldan calmly replied, “You speak your words well, courier. But nevertheless, you speak as if you understand our group and our needs. I’ll read your missive, whoever sent you knows how to pick talented people. But talent without action is naught but hot air, and this forge is already filled with plenty of it.”
Doln returns from the direction he left, as he approaches, Father Faldan adds some pleasantries, “Pardon that my words were not the most hospitable, I know you are but the messenger.”
Lev is then escorted back along the same path to the same cross-street he used to enter the block for the Children of Torag. Lev crosses the bridge back into Sud Riviere, making his way across the the still-quiet streets. He makes his way to the destitute block hiding the ruined bakery with access to the Cerulean Sanctum. Performing the secret knock, three knocks, then two, then three more raps. Lev can see a flash, indicating the arcane lock has been disarmed, and opens the hatch.
Traversing the tunnels, Lev makes his way to the boundary of the alarm spell. He speaks the passphrase Damien taught him Sunday morning, ‘The garden is full of snakes’, before making his was into the Sanctum. Lev finds himself within the meeting room for the Cerulean Council. Set on one of the tables are notes addressed to Nyx, Thisbe, and himself. He opens his note to find that it has a cypher on it. Lev quickly recognizes the pattern of the simple cypher. Taking the time to decode it, he reads: To my companions, I have some interesting information about a possible route for our upcoming trip. I also acquired some paper similar to that used by the government. I feel that we could write up some professional looking documents using the same paper our beloved government officials happen to use. Should our many faced friend stumble upon this note before I can find them please seek me out at the shop.
"Why it's the busy buzzing bee, taking a break from his buzzing to come to the hive," Le Voile appears at the north entrance. With a hand-wave, the dark room lights up from high in the center, casting dark shadows around the edges of the meeting room. "You've found your note, I see."
Lev looked up in surprise, but seemed to calm as he recognized Voile. "Indeed I have! I presume Emelien has made contact with you? If not, I am to find him out at his shop." Lev takes off his glasses and lights the paper with a firestick. "It sounds as though we may have the route along with papers allowing us to 'transfer' the prisoner to us. I'll be getting cloth for a disguise shortly, so hopefully we'll be able to rescue Pauline."
"I admit that I had a peek at the letters when I happened upon them this morning," the face is hidden behind the mask, but you hear the tone of someone smiling. "They were unsealed, after all.”
Le Voile hops off the raised platform on the north, and sits across the table from Lev. "It sounds as though you are making progress. I'd avoid finer fabrics; you could find them I'm sure, but you'd pay a premium. Then you pay another premium for the seller not to rat you out. Not to mention the complications should you be found with finery. In the dead of night, it shouldn't make much of a difference."
Lev gives an affable shrug at being told Le Voile read the note- not too surprising, and given the request inside, not anything Emilien would object to. Nodding at the advice, Lev says, "I hope I didn't endanger the sanctum by leading whoever that was back here! I'll obtain the fabric tomorrow, and begin with the modifications to the robes. Tonight, I'll be meeting with the Blood Rose to discuss a new front group- less inclined towards violence as much as transport and communication. We'll need infrastructure in place if we eventually hope to challenge Goss."
"We know when people enter the sanctum. If you led someone to the building, they seem to not have disturbed the secrecy of this place. We have many methods for those who see or hear too much, some are even painless, but they are all costly. I shall show you the north exit, if you wish to have an alternative in the future."
"I had heard about this meeting with the Blood Rose, in fact I have received a few invitations from my contacts, and was planning to attend. Only as an observer, of course. I worry that the secret of Pauline's imprisonment has made it to the streets. A word that is spoken cannot be unsaid, and I fear that her life is in danger now because of it. I hear whispers that she is being held in Litran, and while this is clearly wrong, the damage may already be done. I hope the Gardeners do not cancel her transfer, as we may not be able to predict when they will try again."
"I'm encouraged to hear that you plan to champion someone to take up the chair when we remove Goss. You are, of course, welcome to pursue your own vision for Galt's future, but I must caution you to not interweave the Cerulean Council with these plans. Our Council opposes corrupt leadership and is sworn to remain above partisanship. Your views must remain yours alone and be separate from the Council."
"Your fellow councilors may or may not agree with your new 'front group', or may have very different visions for the future of Galt. You've made your views clear, but, for example, I am certain you and Monsieur Martel will envision quite different futures. You are each welcome to work towards your own goals, however, the Council will remain neutral in whatever follows the fall over the current Revolutionary Council. Whatever befalls the next Revolutionary Council, or the next one, or the one after that, we must remain until the government of Galt truly represents its citizens. Please keep your efforts for this Council's goals insulated from your outside efforts."
Lev shrugs sheepishly, acknowledging the chastisement, then looks towards the north exit.
Nodding, Le Voile beacons you to the north exit from the sanctum. The passage off the basement is fairly long, and comes to a ladder that descends into the catacombs below. "I use these tunnels quite often," Le Voile remarks, as she leads the descent. "There are certainly dangerous places down in Le Vide, but this stretch is not one of them."
Le Voile moves quickly ahead, the small ragged bundle making leading the way easily in the dark and cramped passageway. The smell of rot and mildew grows stronger as you pass well under the Kantele. Finally, when the rank smell fades, Le Voile stops at a ladder. The way continues on underground, but Le Voile points the way up.
"The shop upstairs is abandoned. You can access the catacombs here too, but don't get lost, okay?"
You exit through an abandoned wood shop, once a sprawling furniture maker. Outside, sun is has begun hiding behind clouds that roll in from the east.
Lev squints at the setting sun, then his face changes to surprise and panick. "Strike me, I'm late again!" He immediately turns and sets out, running full speed through the streets towards Le Commune. Arriving at the community kitchen, Lev ducks his head down to avoid notice, hoping he could slip in without attracting the ire of the Chef for being late again.
Once inside, Lev finds his usual stool near the carrots and potatoes where he grabs a skinning knife and begins to work through the pile, dunking the vegetables in a pale of water as he slices off the skin and places the clean produce in a bucket for the kitchens to use.
The kitchen is moving quickly as Lev arrives. Without being noticed, he gets a few dozen carrots peeled before Gertrude, the kitchen marm, finally came to the back to fetch a rasher of bacon, and finds Lev seated at work.
“Where ye’ been all week,” the hefty woman puffed up suddenly, setting both fists on her hips as she prepared to unleash a scolding. Her dusty brown hair was tied up under a scarf and her apron bore stains from hundreds of past meals. The smooth skin of her face was locked into a glare. “We gots people te’ feed every day, whether ye’ be here or not, don’tcha know!”
When Lev had first come to the capital, he faced a hard week on the streets before finding a community he could belong to. Happy to volunteer in the kitchens, Gertrude’s constant scolding came off brash and off-putting. She seemed to not care for him from the start, perhaps because of his size or the fact that he’d spent time in prison. However, he discovered that the large woman not only motivated her kitchen workers by berating their every effort. Over time, it became clear that Gertrude simply had a twisted way of showing her affection. She was loud, proud, and she constantly demanded the best from her workers.
Both Gertrude’s father and her husband were part of the leadership of Le Commune, and her sons were both part of the Young Deadeyes. Although Lev’s kitchen duties had been cut down drastically over time, within Gert’s Pantry, no one dared speak out against the marm. The would joke, in fact, that if Citizen Goss himself were to step over the threshold, that the old marm would take his chair right out from under him while he churned the butter.
“That’s enough carrots I think,” she continued. She typically left her scoldings sit in her workers’ minds and moved on to giving them more duties. “We’re going to need two dozen potatoes for the stew, and you need to wash a few cabbages as well.” She would surely increase those numbers as the dinner bell grew closer.
Lev smiles at the cantankerous cook, who moves on before he can explain himself- just as well, he wouldn’t want to involve Gertrude in any of this machinations. While he trusted her to tolerate his flakey schedule, he wasn’t sure how she’d feel about real political engagement. Grabbing potatoes, he continues peeling as he looks around at the other scullery workers. Busy with work to keep his hands occupied, Lev begins to occupy his voice by speaking on the potential for bettering lives that Goss wastes every day;
“I wonder how many thousands of hours these countless chores collectively known as “housework” – cooking, washing dishes, doing laundry, sweeping, sorting etc. – consume from our lives? Even worse, the housework is virtually invisible! No one notices it until it isn’t done – we notice the unmade bed, not the scrubbed and polished floor. Invisible, repetitive, exhausting, unproductive, uncreative – these are the adjectives which most perfectly capture the nature of housework.
“But! One of the most closely guarded secrets of advanced Golarion societies involves the possibility – in fact the reality – of radically transforming the nature of housework. A substantial portion of domestic tasks can actually be incorporated into an Arcane Economy. In other words, housework need no longer be considered necessarily and unalterably private in character. Teams of trained and well-paid specialists, moving from dwelling to dwelling, utilizing magically advanced cleaning machinery, could swiftly and efficiently accomplish what the present-day scullery worker does so arduously and primitively.
“Why the shroud of silence surrounding this potential of radically redefining the nature of domestic labor? Because the Chellish economy (descended from Taldor) is structurally hostile to the mitigation of housework. Socialized housework implies large government subsidies in order to guarantee accessibility to the working-class families whose need for such services is most obvious. Since little in the way of profits would result, arcanized housework – like all unprofitable enterprises – is anathema to the Chellish economy. Another world is possible!”
The kitchen staff seemed divided over Lev’s words. Some listened intently, even slowing their work to pay great care, but others seemed to dismiss his words. Lev assumed those not listening subscribed to the Erastilian idea that not doing the work separates you from your community. When Gertrude notices that Lev’s speech was getting in the way of preparations, she spoke up. “The Cabinet of Skulls were promisin’ all tha’, too. Not ta mention many o’ yer kin put food on the table with housework. They’ll need somethin’ ta do in this new utopia. Now get back to work, you lot!” Those who were listening intently still offered Lev their ear, but focused again on the task at hand.
The rest of his cooking shift went rather uneventfully. Before his departure, all the other workers done with their hours were making their way across the street to the dining hall to eat their dinner.
As the dinner prep draws to a close, Lev is sent to get the service side ready. Long wooden tables with benches attached form three rows, enough to seat about half of Le Commune. Mealtime was drawing near, and folks had started to mill about the hall. After a few trips to the kitchen and back, Lev spots Le Fiston, the eldest son of Pierre Pasquier, standing at the prep table. Seeing Lev, he gives nod toward the end of the table.
Pierre Junior, or Le Fiston as he was generally called by Le Commune’s residents, was no longer a young man, but a father of four in his own right. Still, his childhood nickname clung to him. Tall with a thick brown beard, Le Fiston wore no badge of office on his simple earth-colored clothing, but everyone seemed to know the man wherever he went.
“We’ve heard there is to be a meeting,” Pierre Junior sits down to chat with you, checking over his shoulders for any eavesdroppers. “The Milanites have some issue to discuss, and extended an invitation to us to mediate, one that we may still decline. Still, we would like to be aware of anything that could affect our community, and since you are most connected outside Le Commune, I seek your counsel. Do you know what this meeting might be about?”
-------------------
After dinner draws to a close, you are approached by a young runner, one of Jean-André’s boys, brought to you by one of Le Commune’s stout watchmen. “The boy asked for you,” the watchman announces, “wouldn’t say what for.”
Incredible! They didn't even throw any rotten vegetables at me this time, Lev thinks as the kitchen goes about its work. A few more months of this and I might even convince a few of them!
As he washes up and cleans his clothes of any peels or stains, the older halfling spots an old acquaintance. Lev continues to clean himself and the work area as Pierre sits, knowing that leaning in and whispering conspiratorially will cause much more suspicion than a casual, quiet conversation between friends. "Well, now, I'm glad you asked. Before I answer, I think we can agree that Goss, the Gardeners, and most of the Senate all agree that true power comes at the tip of a sword. But those who worship the Everbloom and Old Deadeye know better- we know the basis of power is community, our ability to subsist and thrive through our own production!
“What if there were a way to- without violence of any sort- shift the balance of production? To empower and enrich communities seeking to provide for themselves, unconnected to the Government parasites or the Abadarian leeches? I have a plan that could do just that. It’s not without risk, but no where near the risk that would be incurred by open rebellion. My goal is to convince those at the meeting to lend their assistance, in the hopes of creating a less bloody path to change.”
Lev meets Pierre’s eyes as he speaks, trying to implore his cooperation.
--------------------
Lev nods solemnly and steps forward, assuming the child will lead him towards the meeting.
Pierre Jr matches Lev’s gaze, finally breaking his glance and looking down with a sigh. “We’ve had as peaceful a time as anyone in Isarn as we carved out Le Commune, and even that came with its share of bloodshed. With Galt the way it is, I’d be surprised if there could be any change without bloodshed. I’ve read your polemics about production, don’t think the Revolutionary Council will let your vision come to pass easily.” Pierre Jr then looks directly at Lev, and adopts a stern tone, “We sympathize with your desires, Lev, and if you have plans, our leadership would be interested in hearing them. But whatever your plans for this meeting, tread carefully. Our leadership are not fans of Goss, but we seem to have a detente. We’ve enjoyed a few years of relative quiet, and are not looking to upset that. Do consider our position before you get the Milanites all up in arms over taking production, especially if you wish to avoid bloodshed.”
---------
Lev follows the runner out in the the dark of night, following the boy east. Outside of Le Commune, the streets of Isarn are dead, with only a few strategically placed lamps to light the streets. As Lev follows the boy, the light of guards’ lanterns makes them easy to avoid. After miles of ducking into side alleys and slowing their steps, Lev clears the Wine Quarter and crosses into the Industrial Quarter.
Traveling north, past the entrance to the Cerulean Sanctum, the boy points to a catacomb access hatch. Pulling out a crowbar, the boy pries it open with considerable effort. “Follow this tunnel west, it will hit a tunnel confluence for the meeting.” The boy then dashes off into the night. Descending the ladder into the catacombs, making out a soft light off to the west. As Lev follows the tunnel, it opened up into a nexus with 4 other tunnel accesses, and a slightly higher ceiling, a full seven feets compared to five-and-a-half to six feet in most tunnels. The nexus was quite full, with approximately fifty humanoids filling the area, mostly grouped around the wall, leaving room in the center for speakers.
In the center of the room, a few figures stood apart from the crowd. First and foremost was Jean-André, standing closest to your tunnel’s access. In another side was an elderly human with her pure-white hair raised in a tight bun. She wore robes conspicuously emblazoned with Milani’s rose, and stood in them with a stoic poise. The conspicuousness of the holy symbol would suggest that she served as a representative of the Sisters of the Everbloom. The last figure in the center was a human in her late twenties, wearing chain armor and armed with several daggers and other blades on her person. The eyes of each of those in the center turned to Lev as he entered.
After exchanging a greeting with Jean-André, the smith informs Lev, “You’ll need to open the debate by offering your intel yourself. But first, let me fill you in on your audience. That old gal over there is Chantel Couture. She was the original head of the Sisters, and has stepped back into the light since Pauline’s disappearance. Even though the relationship between the Blood Rose and the Sisters is tense, no small number of us have been healed by her personally. The other one,” he said nodding towards the armed human, “ Eva Bhannon, is an agent of the Courageous Council. I don’t believe she’s an actual counselor, but they keep their leaders fairly insulated, so I can’t say for certain.” After a brief pause, Jean-André leans back in, “I don’t think you’ll be able to win over the Sisters, nor the Courageous Council themselves. We’re hoping to win over their supporters.”
The grumpy old halfling is cantankerous as the boy leads him through the Wine and Industrial districts, grumbling along the way. “Ah, these old bones are too worn for all this sneaking. Murder on a back, I say,” he mumbles, silencing himself within earshot of the clanking guards, their hooded lanterns warning of their presence far before they posed a threat. At the access hatch, Lev releases a belabored sigh as the boy struggles to pry it open. “This does not bode well for my arthritis,” he grumbles as he peers down and kneels down to hook a foot into the ladder, descending cautiously before proceeding into the nexus of tunnels.
”Now this is a crowd,’ Lev thinks, stunned at the size of the onlookers. That’s how these things always went, though- he should have expected it. Everyone wants a say, and all interests should be represented. ’Good. Let them hear the alternative to complacency- let them hear the revolution has not died under the heel of Goss!’
Listening to Jean-André while keeping his eyes forward and face friendly and nodding as he absorbed the information, Lev takes his time to observe the two women across from them. His eyes dart to the daggers around Eva’s person, but the Courageous Council wasn’t known for wanton violence so he quickly disregarded the threat. Nodding to the women, he steps forward into the center and begins to speak.
”Thank you all for coming. Most of you know me- and my loud mouth!” Lev smiles, doing his best to lighten the mood. “There’s a rumor going around that someone very important to our cause hasn’t been martyred after all. I won’t mention her name, because I’ve already done enough harm to prevent her rescue- I pray that you’ll keep it to yourself in the coming weeks so that Goss doesn’t get word that we know. I spoke hastily when I discovered that our comrade lived- hastily because I felt that something must be done- but that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about. No, I don’t come asking anyone to take up arms or to raise a mob, but to propose an alternative for cooperation.”
Turning to meet as many eyes in the crowd as he can as he speaks, Lev implores them, “Most of you in this room are tired of the violence, the bloodshed, the unscrupulous use of force. Many of us refuse to take part again in upheaval, and the rest recognize that we are powerless without unity- divided we are disarmed. So what, then, should we do? Should we simply wait, and allow Goss to reign unquestioned, kidnapping and executing our greatest leaders at his convenience? No! There is another way.
“The basis of Goss’ reign is not force. He uses force to destroy any competition or threat, surely, but the basis of his regime is one of economics. By providing peace, housing and bread he ensures that the people look to him, see his administration as legitimate and are rewarded for obedience to it. But was Goss the one who made the bread? Who built the houses? No! And by organizing the elements that build our society, we can change it from the base up.
“Of course, Goss will respond with violence. That is why we must organize the laborers of Isarn in secret. I propose we form a council of revolutionary workers, whose intent is to organize those in Isarn who make society’s wheels turn! We’ll start with smaller reforms won through strikes and political pressure, and as we develop our approach we’ll be able to exert more and more influence- all without raising arms!” Lev steps back to gauge the crowd’s reaction and await the response of the women opposite them.
Chantel’s face wrinkles as she begins to speak, an edge in her voice, “Monsieur Bronstein, this meeting was called under the pretense that an old pillar of our community may yet live. But now you seek to turn this meeting into an excuse to peddle for your own secret society? This summit is not your personal soapbox. Is there even information that Pauline lives, or was this merely an excuse to gain audience?” This type of severity seemed to catch several audience members off guard.
Following the scolding, Eva coldly added, “I’ve come to discuss the Courageous Council’s position on Pauline Delarus. I’ve neither the authority nor the interest to pursue some new revolutionary ideal.”
Jean-André kneels and pulls Lev aside into a huddle, whispering. “I also expected this meeting to be about Pauline. They’re think you’re playing them, and I must say, I understand how they’re feeling right now. Since you have SOME information on Pauline, you should make a statement about that. If you can connect her plight to your goals for reform, then more people might stay and hear you out."
Patting his friend Jean-Andre on the arm reassuringly, Lev turns towards Eva Bhannon. “Oh indeed? And should I take for granted the Council’s position as favorable? Should I trust that you will not plead with Goss directly, and reveal what little information we have?” Turning to Chantel, his voice rises, “And should I trust that the Blood Rose won’t rashly resort to mobs and riots? Trust that not one overzealous member will mistakenly release information that could prove pivotal?”
Turning now to the crowd, he again raises his voice. “Yes. Pauline Delarus is alive. Goss holds her and plans the worst- and she’s not the only prisoner of Goss, not the only good patriot set to have her soul forever stolen by a Final Blade. What can we do about it, without preparation and cooperation? Nothing! But what basis can our groups cooperate under?
“You belong to disparate groups with clear programs and strict internal discipline. After assuring themselves of the complete independence and ideological homogeneity of their ranks, the various groups fight for influence over the majority of Galtans. This struggle can be accelerated or retarded depending upon objective circumstances and the expediency of the tactics employed- but it is perfectly evident that oppression by Goss is not suspended while this struggle occurs. During this oppression the Galtan masses sense the need of unity in action, of unity in resisting Goss' onslaught. Any party which mechanically counterposes itself to the need of Galtan patriots for unity in action will unfailingly be condemned in the minds of the masses!
“The question becomes- what basis can we cooperate on? Even sharing information is an act of cooperation which, if you are interested in, needs coordination and oversight,” Lev says more to the crowd than to those in the spotlight. “Which can then be used for the benefit of others as well. Surely you wouldn’t refuse to assist Pauline Delarus simply because I seek to ensure her safety before divulging vital information?”
[Change "“And should I trust that the Blood Rose won’t rashly resort to mobs and riots? Trust that not one overzealous member will mistakenly release information that could prove pivotal?”" to "And should I trust that the Sisters will not see a better route to protection through going to Goss and pleading for her life directly?"]
Chantel was the first to respond to Lev, “You’re not the first to propose that Milintes unite and work towards revolution once more. If you would have the followers of the Everbloom engage in politics once again, you will indeed have your work cut out for you.”
“Few here have grandfathers and grandmothers who can speak to them of the horrors of the First Revolutionary Council: about how they banded together to stand up against tyranny, only to be betrayed by the man they lifted up.” Chantel speaks to the crowd now. “They put Courage Heart to death, and Milani herself has condemned this bloody revolution. Do you truly mean to propose a bloodless coup? We have shed blood for this country time and time again, and history has given us no reason to believe change will come without more blood.”
“It’s true,” Lev says, nodding gravely, “The revolution, in its youthful exuberance, failed. There is no excuse for this failure.”
“It is often said that ‘the germ of violence was in revolution from the beginning’. Well, I have no objection. Only, the revolution also contained many other germs, a mass of other germs, and those who lived through the enthusiasm of the first years of the first victorious council ought not to forget it. To judge the living man by the death germs which the autopsy reveals in the corpse – and which he may have carried in him since his birth – is that very sensible?
“We can ensure we don’t carry this plague, but only before taking power. When else should we address these issues, if not now? Who else will even make the attempt, if not us?”
The crowd take in Lev’s words, and he sees a few of them whisper between themselves, but it was not the strong reaction he’d hoped. Chantel and Eva have a brief huddle to react as well, and when the murmurs die down, Chantel turns to face you with an eager smile.
“Fancy words,” Eva pipes up. “I would expect nothing less from one as well read as yourself. Many of us have read your polemics as well. You speak well and write well, which I’d imagine to be the areas of expertise for a graduate of Torvin Academy.” Eva punches out the last part of this sentence, and a the crowd falls quiet, instantly understanding the implication.
“That’s right,” Eva expertly reinforces her point. “For years, Monsieur Bronstein spent his days in cell, a very tiny cell, I would think, in Edme’s famous former University. Despite his lengthy time away, Monsieur surely has prepared some lofty words about how it is he knows what is best for our fine capital.” Eva and Chantel both cross their arms to await an answer as a wave of whispers wafts through the onlookers.
“I see.” Lev’s deadpan voice responds, ringing clearly out among the whispers. “So, in your twisted perspective, the sacrifice of revolutionaries that are imprisoned by reactionaries is somehow a liability?” His voice raises as he speaks, growing more bold. “You would dare disparage those willing to endure imprisonment? You, who claims to abhor the imprisonment of souls in the Final Blades? Need I remind you, Courage Heart herself was imprisoned. Upon her release from the Final Blade, did Milani castigate her for her imprisonment. No! She was elevated to Herald of Milani. Any real revolutionary spends time being imprisoned, and it is nigh blaspheme for you to deride such noble service.”
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“We were not trying to say being imprisoned is not part and parcel with our faith. It certainly is, and many of our heroes have been imprisoned or worse. But it is rare for any of them to come out and try to lead.” Chantel mentions, conceding the point.
Chantel then continues, “While your own qualifications are still not off the table, I’d like to ask a more fundamental question. You said..”. Chatel looks over to an aide with her who has been furiously scribbling notes, after taking a moment to confirm, she continues, “That we can win ‘reforms won through strikes and political pressure’ and that ‘we’ll be able to exert more and more influence- all without raising arms.’ That’s a nice promise, one the Sisters would be interested in. However, we’ve come across your polemics before, and we had some of our followers gather whatever writings we could find to prepare for this meeting.” Chantel whispers something to another aide who digs through her sack and pulls out a piece of paper, handing it to Chantel. After a moment, she continues, “You’ll pardon me my delays, I do not wish to put words in your mouth. In one of your writings on Goss you state that Goss believes ‘the current Council, in order not to render its task more difficult, must by all means try to stop social reforms and the extension of democratic institutions.’ I agree that Goss is suppressing such institutions, but what reason do you have to believe that he will not take interest in this group of subversives? Goss has not chaired the Revolutionary Council for eight years letting people do as they please. How can you promise the things you do?” Chantel’s voice remains even as she tries to poke holes in Lev’s idea.
As Chantel reviews her notes, Lev leans in towards Jean Andre to whisper, “Don’t let them instill fear in the crowd Jean-Andre! If ever there was a time to bolster their love of freedom and the courage of the revolution, now is the time.”
After Chantel speaks but before Jean Andre has a chance to respond, Lev scoffs and says, “As if Goss doesn’t hound our every step already. Have you forgotten the lawyer Wyssal’s impending execution?!” Lev then steps back to let his partner speak.
"Good thinking," Jean-André whispers his reply and gives you a smirk. "They've pried some fear out of these folks, maybe we can bring in some hope."
"Fellow Galtans," Jean-André calmly lifts his open palms to the crowd, quieting the nervous murmurs. "These fine women are right to be cautious, to question motives and qualifications. Lev and I are in agreement with these two, that moving forward with a plan to organize deserves to be vetted thoroughly," he hits the last word hard."
"What we posit to you is the same position the Blood Rose has been behind for years: No matter how we go about seeking reform, inaction is still a choice. Win or lose, our duty as Milanites is to stand against tyranny, to bring positive change. Will it be bloodless? Not in Galt. Will it solve all our problems? No. Not all of them." Jean-André lets the silence sit in the crowd's minds for a moment.
"A chance at a better life is just that: a chance. But Lev is fighting for that chance," he points confidently at Lev. "The Blood Rose is fighting for a chance. And we want you to join us. We want to fight for meaningful change that uplifts us all, and we need everyone to come to the table."
“Stand up to? More like run from,” Eva jumps into Jean-Andre's point.
A majority of the crowd seems to remember a recent Blood Rose protest where the guards got the better of Jean-Andre's boys, and they erupt into laughter, the weight of his words deflated.
“Those who fight and run away live to fight another day!” Lev exclaims flippantly, hoping to turn the jovial mood to his advantage and undercut his oppositions previous point so as to allay fears about avoiding repercussions from Goss.
The chuckles from Eva’s joke begin to die. Just as Lev feels everyone can hear him, but before Eva’s jest has faded, Lev’s wit hits the audience. “Ooooh,” the crowd roars. Every head in the room turns to the two women, expecting their retort.
“But those who fight and run, are also ones who haven't won.” Chantel calmly replies. The crowd, distracted by the counter lost track of the initial exchange.
Chantel then continues, “Many Milanites in this room, I’m sure disagree with Pauline’s and the Sister’s interpretation of Milani’s will. We are a fractured faith, but there is no doubt that she is a respected figure for many Milanites in this city. We’ve entertained some of your discussion of mobilizing again, but now I’d like to get to the whole reason you called this meeting in the first place. We can continue that discussion after we hear more about Pauline’s fate.” Several members of the crowd murmur their assent.
“Ah, but if we discuss Pauline’s fate without first establishing a framework for us to discuss safely, we run the risk of becoming a wilted rose in Goss’ garden," Lev quips with a grin and a nudge to Jean Andre, "No good in the bed, but fine up against a wall!”
Chantel’s face contorts, she turns towards a different tunnel out of the confluence, then pauses before taking another step. You’ve heard of Chantel’s calm demeanor, but there is an edge in her voice. “You’ve come in bad faith, Monsieur Bronstein. You called this meeting with rumors of Pauline being alive, and with an execution in the near future, and now you hold the information, if it even exists, hostage. You’re using an icon of our faith as a hostage for a platform to keep pushing your own discussion. I will not have it!” Her anger and cutting tone have caught the audience off-guard. There are several slack jaws in the crowd. You catch glimpse of even Eva’s visible surprise. “I see little reason to indulge such demagoguery.”
"Calm yourself madame!" Chantel's passion surprises a wide eyed Lev, who raises his hands and takes a tentative step backward. "Very well, if you insist- I'll tell you what I know."
”Pauline is being held by Goss as we speak. He’s kept her hidden for years, and has recently decided that the risk of her discovery outweighs any potential benefit for keeping her alive. I’d ask for your help in moving to save her, but we are unprepared and undisciplined. Like untrained soldier demanding to be in a phalanx, we would pose more of a risk than we could justify. But- if we prepare now, combine our forces and function as one, we would have options available to us!” Lev implores the crowd with a military metaphor.
Chantel composes herself again, once again presenting her trademark stoic but gentle demeanor. As she’s gathering herself, Eva jumps in. “At least we can agree on a topic of discussion now. I look forward to it. Since you’ve been privy to knowledge we are not aware of, we would be more than happy to hear your suggestion on how to approach ‘moving to save her,’ if we could only know a bit more.”
“It’s too dangerous,” someone from the crowd answers Eva’s question preemptively.
“Her life is on the line,” shouts a woman, and the crowd agrees, their murmurs growing louder.
“Citizens, please,” Chantel raises her hands to calm the crowd. “We have been clear that we wish to hear Mr. Bronstein say his peace. I think even he would admit to loquaciousness. We only wish to keep our conversation to the subject at hand.”
”Remind them of the consequences if we divulge sensitive information to the wrong source, Jean-Andre!” Lev whispers under his breath, nudging his friend as he grabs his water skin from his belt to whet his whistle.
With a smirk and a knowing nod, Jean-André turns to address the masses.
“Fellow Milanites,” Jean-André steals the attention away from Chantel. “It is our sincere desire to see Pauline returned safely to her Sisters. Indeed, that is why we bring this discussion to bear. But not one of you fails to understand the implications of failure in the endeavor. Our hope for the evening is to establish the good faith required to disclose this most sensitive of intelligence. But time is of the essence!”
Chantel looks at Jean-Andre calmly, but coldly, “Then what are we doing here? If you question our fidelity, why did you call this meeting in the first place? If you don’t want to speak in front of the crowd, you could have asked rather than engaging in this needless pageantry. Shall we meet in private to mitigate the number of observers?”
"Ah, but you know my politics well enough to answer that, madame- our strength begins and ends with the people, not individuals in leadership. That said, the people have spoken- Pauline cannot be endangered though our reckless actions! I accept your generous offer- let us proceed in private, away from so many ears," Lev says, doffing his cap and bowing in acquiescence. "Shall we retire to Jean-Andre's smithy, or do you have another preference for our privacy?"
“Very well,” Chantel says with a smile and a bow. “We thank you all for your support this evening, and we shall be happy to keep you all appraised of the situation. In the meantime, it is late so please everyone take care in returning to your homes.”
Chantel and Eva share a few words and handshakes with their people as the crowd disburses. Likewise, many folks make their way past you and Jean-André, whispering stoic words of congratulations and gratitude. There’s a notable lack of excitement for the climatic tongue-lashing that didn’t happen, but the when the crowd finally disburses, you stand in a now very quiet meeting-room.
“Let’s take a walk,” Jean-André suggests. Eva and Chantel both nod in agreement. Six of you, the four duelists and a guard for each side, take a short stroll down a side passage. Only fifty or so feet away, they stop, and the two guards move away to protect the tunnel from both directions.
“You had me worried, monsieur Bronstein,” Chantel begins, “and if I’m honest, that worry has not been completely assuaged. You are a talented orator, I will admit.”
“Let’s not give too much away,” Eva puts her hand lightly on Chantel’s arm, giving you a friendly smirk. “Monsieur Lev has some things he’d like to tell us first.”
Lev bows slightly to Eva and smirks before speaking in low tones- more than a whisper but quiet enough that only the four of them could hear. ”Yesterday I was informed that Ms. Delarus is alive. The rumor I started says she’s being held by the Gardeners in Litran, but the truth is that she’s being held here, in Isarn. Her execution is scheduled after a transfer from the Monolith on Wealday after curfew. I’d like to make sure she never arrives at the transfer point, and may have allies who are interested in assisting. I doubt this will be the last time a prisoner of Goss with Milanite sympathies will need to be rescued, either. Why not pool our resources? We can establish an underground network of sanctuary from the violent repression of Goss and other counter revolutionary forces.” Lev implores the two leaders in earnest, ready to answer questions.
"She's what?!" Jean-André tries to jump in when you mention Pauline being in Isarn, but Eva raises a hand, allowing you to finish. He hangs his head and folds his arms, letting the two ladies respond.
"You're not half as foolish as you seem, monsieur Bronstein," Chantel says, her slight grin betraying her previously steely demeanor. "The whispers I had heard also mentioned Litran as Sister Pauline's location. When the rumor arrives back at Goss' doorstep, as I am sure it will eventually, he may still proceed thinking we have faulty information." She purses her lips and taps her chin, deep in thought. “If you seek greater unity among the Milanites, executing this rescue will be paramount. Pauline’s rescue and return will certainly spark more discussion among the Milanites going forward, not to mention the immediate morale boost from such a bold act.” Chantel then sighs and continues, “The Sisters are unable to provide you any people for whatever operation you may have in mind. The action is sudden, and few of us are trained for combat. If we act too too carelessly, they would certainly be felled by the Gardener’s axes. Furthermore, it would almost certainly compromise our standing in Isarn, and we cannot risk a hospital closure and failing those in our care. That said Monsieur, you can expect some material support from our group delivered to the Freedom Smithy tomorrow. With short notice, it won’t be much, but we’ll see what we can put together.”
"Wealday is not far away," Eva chimes in after a moment. "I'm afraid the Courageous Council simply can't help in any official capacity on this. Dispersing information and reaching a consensus on anything can take a week, sometimes longer. I'm afraid even if a desire to support you could be reached, it would be too late." After a brief pause, Eva then continues, “However, I would be willing to assist in organizing such an attempt. This is a personal decision, not one for the Courageous Council; and please do not mistake it for approval of your means of calling this meeting.”
"I would love to volunteer our some hands," Jean-André says curtly, "but they have been mobilized to the south. Our leadership will want an explanation."
"Leave it to the Blood Rose to act quickly, and completely on impulse," Eva scoffs.
"Please, you two," Chantel throws her arms up, preempting a potential argument. "No matter what anyone decides to do, it is only myself who knows Pauline, and could perhaps speak to her desires." She sighs deeply, addressing Lev directly. "It is my sincere belief that Pauline would not want this matter to divide Milani's faithful, even if that means her death at the hands of those sycophants. I will offer this: should you and those who support you decide to act on this, and manage to get Pauline away, you can bring her to us. We will care for her, and hide her well.”
Lev grimaces as his friend’s exclaimation and expression. “Jean-Andre…” he starts before he’s cut off by Chantel. Nodding as she deduces his plan to disguise the gossip enough that Goss (hopefully) won’t jeopardize the rescue, and smiles as both Chantel and Eva offer what assistance they can. “I appreciate your candor- and your offers to lend what aid you can. This is precisely why we ought to work together- to find mutually agreeable actions and be prepared for whatever Goss tries to throw at us!
“I appreciate the offer to gather your forces quickly, Eva- I know it was not made lightly, and what an undertaking it would be. But no- I believe we have a better chance of rescuing Pauline the fewer of us that are aware of the rescue attempt. Perhaps we can prepare a plan for rapid action in the future, but I understand that will be a much longer discussion- and for another time.
“Chantel, Pauline may very well take you up on the offer of hospitality. I will discuss with her once she’s safely away from the Gardeners. I thank you both again for your time and I hope we can discuss future cooperation in a less… contentious setting.” Lev grins and bids the ladies good night after inquiring how he can quickly and secretively reach them. He motions to Jean-Andre, leading him away from the dispersing group and once they’re alone, Lev turns to give his most recalcitrant expression.
“I truly apologize, my old friend. I hope you understand why I had to give a half-truth. I hope I can count on your discretion… and I may need another favor. Are there any members of the Blood Rose who know the streets impeccably, and can outrun the law? They can’t ask what they’re needed for, but they should know it’s dangerous. I don’t know for sure they’ll be needed yet, but if we do I want to be ready.” Lev steps back and waits for his friend’s reply.
Calling the guard watching the far end of the tunnel, the group makes their way back to the catacomb confluence. Chantel and Eva leave with their guard to the north.
To the south, the tunnel where Lev and the Blood Rose had entered from, stands a sour couple, a pair of humans Lev had seen during the duel in the audience at his back. Now standing conspicuously in front of the exit is a tall, middle-aged man with dark hair and crossed arms with a pair of short swords at his side. He stands sternly and expectantly at Jean-André like a leader, but with eyes too saggy for a man so young. His hands are dirty and calloused. A thick layer of paint and dust are worked into simple, but well-made clothes.
Behind him with a torch in her hand, a fair skinned human woman with long lashes and jet black hair cropped short pacing furiously in a circle. The tiny flame flickered atop the sconce as she moved, casting angry shadows all about the dark and empty chamber. Dressed in a baker’s garb, a frog hangs off her left holding a fine morningstar and a thick-bladed fighting knife rests on the other. Smaller blades sprout out the top of her boot cuffs. She stops short as the two of you approach, staring daggers down her nose at Lev. Unconsciously, or perhaps not, she rests her hand on the handle of her morningstar.
"I'm not the one you have to ask," Jean Andre sighs. "Wait here."
Jean-André and the Blood Rose guard both approach the couple, and the man dismisses the guard promptly with a wave of his hand. The three of them huddle close; the woman stands half a step out to listen as the other two whisper, staring down the halfling the whole time.
“WHERE?!” the woman’s fierce gaze finally breaks Lev’s to whip around at Jean-André, who flinches. The tall man steps in between the woman and your dueling partner, holding her both firmly and gently, betraying the nature of their relationship.
After a few calming whispers, and another minute of whispering, the man calms his fiery lover off the ledge, and approaches Lev with the woman half a step behind.
"Monsieur Bronstein, je m'appelle Pasqual Peltier." Up close, the man looked barely old enough to grow a beard, but carried himself like a young Père Pierre. He extends his meaty hand down to Lev. "This is my lovely wife Silvia, who is also the 'head agitator' within the Blood Rose."
Silvita offers and angry smirk as introduction.
"I must say, we very impressed with your ability to debate those hard-nosed pacifists. Jean-André didn't weigh you down in the slightest.”
“You should have CRUSHED them,” Silvia scowl returns. She roughly bats her husband's hand away as he reaches out, and walks away to pace near the tunnel again.
“I admit,” Pierre collects himself, “I also would have been delighted for you serve those ladies their just desserts. However, I do respect your decision to choose amicable discourse over verbal despoliation."
"But now, I am given to understand that we have been fed some falsehoods.” Pasqual's expression darkens and he crosses his arms again, and Isabella’s pacing stops to scowl at Lev once again. “Despite that, I hear that you have another request for us. Perhaps your can convince me it’s worth granting you such a request. Or, perhaps you have something else to convince me..."
Lev waits with trepidation as Jean-Andre speaks with the young couple, cringing at Silvia’s outburst. ’I guess Jean-Andre told her, Lev thought with a grimace, hoping these two knew how to keep a secret- for Pauline’s sake, if nothing else.
Grasping Pasqual’s hand in a firm and friendly gesture, the halfling smiles up at the man and realizes how youthful the two really are. “Lev Bronstein. A pleasure.” The older halfling smiles and nods to graciously accept Pasqual’s compliment before Silvia’s interjection gave him pause. “Ah, yes… about that. I hope you both understand the necessity of my deception. Goss cannot be alerted to our plans- even revealing as much as I did was a risk- one I only took in the hopes of goading the masses into action!” Lev implores the two revolutionaries, hoping his explanation will make them less hostile.
Regardless of whether it seems Lev has won them over, he continues, “If we are to rescue Pauline, we’ll need people who are fleet of foot and know the Sud Riviere like the back of their hands. Do you know of any trustworthy comrades that can be tasked with escaping capture? We’ll need a distraction, but I don’t want to risk the capture of good Milanites if none of your cadre are fast and familiar with the streets.”
A long stillness fills the room. Not ten minutes ago at the height of the duel, Lev thought the crowd might bring the city guard down into the sewers. In stern silence, Pasqual and his wife coldly regard Lev. Jean-André stood nervously to the side, trying to stand deeper into the corner of a round chamber.
The first break in the long minute is a look of eager surprise from Pasqual, as if he were expecting a good deal more by way of Lev’s explanation. He turns to Silvia, who picks up his expression immediately.
“That’s it?” the fierce woman rages. Her hands fly about wildly in a circle, making fists as she screams. “You sought to goad the MASSES into action based on complete misinformation. Action in Litran, at the Gardeners’ doorstep?! Was that your plan all along ancien élève?!” Jean-André winces at the insult.
“That was it, wasn’t it?!” Silvia stomps, resuming the furious pacing that you saw before, only now she waves her angry fingers at Lev. “You knew we’d send some rousers down to Litran to put the Gardeners on edge down in the south. You threw the duel so that we HAVE to use our boys to rescue that damn Sister, just to save face.” She then turns to Pierre and snaps, “And WHY are YOU smiling?”
Indeed Pierre was indeed grinning, beaming really. Lev could see he was holding back in an attempt to not enrage his wife further. “ ‘In tactics, information is most sacred. Act where you can [u]before[/u] tyranny can strike at the roots that it will surely discover in time." '
"Merde," Silvia sighed. The tension in the room immediately aired out. Jean-André looking on from the back, grinned. Pierre's quote from The Light of Hope was always hotly debated, even among Milanites of similar dispositions, but these two were of a mind on the matter. Silvia's assertion (correct or not) that Lev had used them as pawn in his scheme seemed to fall under their shared interpretation of the Everbloom's instructions: act before the tyrants can react. Silvia's rage didn't subside, really, but it no longer found a target in the room. She laced her fingers together to set her hands atop her head, and began breathing deeply as she continued to pace.
Relieved, with a strange look of pride on his face, Pierre regarded Lev once again. "Well then, tell us what you have in mind."
Lev waits patiently, mimicking his friend Jean-Andre until Silvia’s hot temper has a chance to cool. Knowing he could only make the situation worse, he holds his tongue and avoids eye contact just before Pasqual’s question. Sheepishly, knowing his tenuous footing with the revolutionaries, he begins to speak with his voice lowered, only just above a whisper.
“I know where the Gardeners will take Pauline from and where they’ll be taking her to. Somewhere along the way,” he says, leaning in and making eye contact with the two, “I’ll try to intercept them dressed as a Gardener, with false papers to transfer her and using magic to try to distract and decieve them. As they examine the papers, I want someone to ‘stumble’ upon us and call out- I’ll tell the others to pursue them while I ‘escort’ Delarus. By the time they realize they’ve been deceived, I intend for both of us to be gone- fled into the city, to a sanctuary that cannot be scryed upon.” Lev gauges their reactions, assessing if they seem to believe escaping the gardeners on foot is possible for one of their members, or a fool’s errand.