"Clive, charmed as always," says Velas, entering Clive's domain with a swirl of robes. "...What interesting decor you have. Very well, then, we need a fellow named Michael ruined?
That seems easy enough. Rumors can be spread; better yet, if the fellow in question is seen with his doxy of an assistant...." . Velas spreads his hands and smiles. "I do enjoy a public spectacle."
"And the trick is to first secure the foodstuffs, and then ruin him," says Velas with another smile. "He has an eager replacement, yes?"
"Most likely. Gathering information is not my strong suit."
You meet with Michael in his office after hours. He seems at ease, that cocky attitude of someone who thinks himself untouchable.
Thanks for dealing with the cave trash for me. Jono would be a significant problem to our continued operations. Tebthym is...more controllable, I think.
He rolls out a set of plans. Laroche planned to divert some of the fruit shipments downspire, disguised as mushroom deliveries. I stamp the boxes on their way out, no one will inspect them. There's a freight elevator that connects the Works to Red Row, and from there out to the Fruit Market and beyond. I have a few Drow delivery boys who I can trust to get things to the right places. You...three he arches an eyebrow at Velas Have any issue with that? Any better ideas?
I have both issues, and better ideas concerning you, filth, Thusiax thinks to himself, his face betraying nothing. "That all sounds reasonable to me," he replies smoothly. He turns to Clive and Velas. "Comments? Issues? Ideas?"
Velas meets Michael with a flat, unreadable expression; he's met far worse hecklers before, and isn't fazed.
"Who guards the freight elevators? What's the guarantee that no one inspects the deliveries? And you keep your stamp well hidden, yes?"
Michael scoffs. We stamp the outgoing food as inspected, so they don't have to search it on the way down. I don't think the Aelfir could even imagine that we'd ship fresh food and charge fungi prices. They won't hassle it, believe me.
Clive choses to allow those who are better with words to do their job.
"Hmph," says Velas, when all is said and done, "I prefer something a little more spectacular. We should double back to him at a later date, with some chorus girls to help his eye wander."
Trying to subvert the ironmonger would be a powerful blow for the Ministry, but it’s largely self-directed. There’s no intelligence to aid you. You’ll have to research, discover leverage and sway him on your own.
Here’s what you do know. The ironmonger is named Phardorl Deviir. He’s the only Drow forge supervisor in the whole Spire, a position gained through hard work and demonstrated loyalty. He lives in a cramped apartment just outside the ironworks. He has a brother who lives near the Fruit Market and a sister under Durance to a tailor of slight renown named Callum Cuts-By-Sight.
Beyond that...you’ll need to do your own heavy lifting.
"I'm always partial to visiting tailors," says Velas with a swoop of fabric.
Velas snaps his fingers. "We should celebrate. I can throw a party, in the Works. We'll invite Phardorl and his siblings. They'll be putty in our hands after we dazzle them a bit."
Thusiax nods. "I like it. I'm not one for revelry, but parties are perfect for quiet conversations in plain sight. I might do best disguised as one of the help."
"Worst comes to worst, a party is a great place to drop a body. You get a whole lot of conflicting stories and scared people."
Clive is probably kidding.
"Well, then!" Velas claps his hands. "Does anyone know of a good spot at which to throw this throwdown? A noir-day soiree? Or we can go search the Works to see what...works." Velas winks.
"Also, it's settled. Thusiax will be our bartender. Can you dance on a bar, Thusie? En-thusi-ax-tically?" Velas is quite amused with himself.
Thusiax curls his lip in amusement. "I'm more a conversationalist than a dancer. As for location, I'm acquainted with a senior journalist at the Torch, Havin Ebenstar - we could use any sort of pretext for holding a party on their premises. He's a fan of yours, too. And I'm sure he'd like to hear Phardorl's story; drow boy makes good, and all that."
"I'll just keep an eye on things from above and step in when the time is right. Just let me know where in the city the party will be and I'll be sure to be in position before then." offers Clive, who then begins digging through a box of parchment that turns out to be basic maps he has made of each of the districts.
Velas' eyes go wide. "The Torch! How deliciously working-class! I love it. I shall make this happen forthwith. We'll have gears...oil...laborers in overalls!"
Velas rubs his hands together. "Come, Thusiax, Clive. Off to The Torch we go. Let us meet with Ebenstar."
Looking up at Velas' comments, Clive will say "What is delicious about the working class? are you saying that you eat people?"
"I'm not wearing overalls..." Thusiax mutters as they depart.
The Torch is appropriately "rustic" for your needs. It's a cramped office with a sizable lobby, perfect for the little party. Unlike many of the buildings in the forge area, the Torch is lit by Magelight, giving the room a warm orange glow and comparably clean air.
How are you getting in touch with Phardorl to invite him to the party?
Thusiax prepares to visit Phardorl and extend a personal invitation from Velas, but before he does he turns to his fellows. "So tonight we must try to determine Phardorl's general orientation, and therefore our strategy in recruiting him as an asset. Is he loyal to his people, but adept at playing the aelfir's game? Or does he genuinely admire our tyrants, and think that he can actually prosper due to his hard work and skill? Will we be able to tap into what he must know in his blood, that the only future for drow is to throw off the bastards' shackles, or must we tighten the screws, blackmail or coerce him into playing his part? We must make sure that we have our minds focused on these matters, and not," he adds with a lowered eyebrow to Velas, "get caught up in the revelry of the night."
Velas looks lofty and vaguely offended. "I'm perfectly capable of doing five things at once. Let me know when he's responded in the affirmative. Now, I'm picturing a chocolate fountain here...and caged fireflies..." He begins to bustle through the space.
With that iron-clad guarantee from Velas, Thusiax gives a sigh and leaves to see Phardorl.
Clive will follow Thusiax, having no interest in helping to plan a party. He will stick to the rooftops whenever possible.
Don’t forget, you can insert yourself into a scene after the fact. No roll needed!
You arrive at Phardori’s office in the forge. He’s a nervous drow, with a thin ring of hair circling an enormous bald spot.
Mmm yes? How may I help you?
Thusiax bows to the ironmonger. "Greetings, sir. I am here on behalf of the artist, Velas, who invites you to a social gathering he is hosting tonight at the Torch offices. It is a chance for the luminaries of drow artisan society to meet and discuss their respective industries with each other, and with the journalists of the Torch. Your presence has been requested, as your recent successes serve as an inspiration to many drow who wish to prosper in Spire. May I inform Velas of your intention to attend tonight? The night officially begins at 7.30."
He seems taken aback. An artist party? Me? I can’t imagine why!
Give me a roll to convince him.
Thusiax senses Pharldorl's disbelief but continues on smoothly. "Velas himself is a classic example of a drow success story, a boy from nowhere who has made it against all odds, through hard work and talent. He wishes to pay it forward, as it were, and help others both celebrate their success, and shine a light on those who may serve as examples to other young drow. He believes that though we drow are disadvantaged in many ways, there are still plenty of opportunities for those who are disciplined and determined enough to flourish in the world of the aelfir. We drow are strong, and we must understand that to be able to find our gifts and harness them. The world is a hard place, but not entirely unfair. That's where drow like you come in. Word has spread of your success, even to the ears of those such as Velas. Will you honour him with your presence tonight?"
He nods slowly. Yeah...I guess...that makes sense. I'd be happy to attend. And who are you exactly? Do you work for Velas?
He's skeptical, but not necessarily suspicious...yet.
Thusiax tilts his head slightly to one side, the typical mannerism that replaces a polite smile when one is wearing a mask. "I am a professional acquaintance of Velas, another drow who has found some measure of success, though not so publicly. My master has me working for him as part of a favour to his patrons. I'm quite sure I don't understand it all, but here I am. Thusiax, at your disposal." He bows, not too deeply, as a courtesy rather than a show of subservience.
He's a little uncomfortable, mostly at the idea of attending a party. Still...it's a compelling idea.
Ok. I'll be there.Should I bring anything?
"Just yourself, and a guest or two if it pleases you. I'm told the theme is somewhat industrial, so there's no need to fuss over fineries and fashion, unless you want to, of course. Is there anything in particular that you like to eat or drink? We will be providing refreshments for the evening."
He discusses some details around preferred food and drink and then asks to get back to work. From your brief conversation at least, he seems to be sincere about serving the Aelfir, but there may be leverage that you've yet to find.