"I have no-" He cuts himself off, glancing away. "Not quite." Is all he manages, before his smile returns. "No, they were not exactly family... merely friends, I think. The knife fight seems to have scared them off, though, so I found new friends." Ithelien smiles cheerfully. "And quite pleasant ones at that."
"Entre l'arbe et l'écorce il ne faut pas mettre le doigt. Fais ce que tu peux, si tu ne peux faire ce que tu veux," Évelyne sagely remarks.
"People can be cruel to those who don't fit their narrow-minded definition of "normal". But if you ask me, I think that you're just as cute like that."
"Mon déesse! A qui il a été beaucoup donné, il sera beaucoup demandé! Aide-toi et le ciel t'aidera."
"The tour! This little episode made me almost forget it! Let's head over there at once."
She grabs Verrill's arm and starts quickly (but not too quickly) walking towards the Quiverpike mansion.
Claire and Florence giggle absently at Ithelien's compliment.
"He's quite the charmer," Florence says.
"Oh, yes, he's so talented," Claire adds.
Ithelien smiles, nodding a little. "It's true." He says modestly, then grins at his own self-important words. "In any case... we await... two more, yes?" He scans the group, counting them quietly.
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She shakes her head and then nods and then shrugs. "T'would have been nice t'have ya jump in, but the 'honor' part I'm not too keen on.... well, let me rephrase that. If the whole dagger-dance I did dinnae convince ye, I'm hardly a lady whose honor's worth fightin' fer. Kin take care of m'self. If ye'd come in to help without the whole 'lady' thing on th'line, would have loved it, 'specially since the lovely ladies gettin' slashed on t'weren't me. But I 'preciate the thought that y'think ah have honor to protect 'r summat. Eh, forget it. I ramble on sometimes due to me brain damage."
Arriving at the house, she pats Faulkes arm-- no need to bring an argument to a crowd. Tapping him on the shoulder, she gets him to lean down so she can say "Y'earned a point for throwin' me a sword and y'lost one for not helpin' out. I still fancy you, so don't mope on me, eh?"
Fiona spots Tesia and exclaims "Oh m'gods, are y'okay? What in the nine was that pokey-headed feller on about? N'one stopped to explain things and allasudden erryone was movin' on like it was a regular Shelyus 'r' somethin! If it weren't fer the blood aida thought ah jumped intae the middle of a performance." She sighs. "Glad you're all right. Grace and glory, y'r dress looks nae perfect again. It's a miracle."
And of course, her eyes catch the same silver-haired elf now with two different women! She wrinkles her nose-- ugh, men! A tall and lanky human boy joins them again, and she nods a mirthful hello to him and the guy she assumes is in charge of the tour.
Startled a bit by Fiona's loud exclamation and still slightly caught up in her own thoughts, Tesia jumps a little at the kind Druid's expression of concern.
Tesia puts out a hand on the druids arm as she looks up at her from where she is sitting.
"Oh hey...yeah I'm alright. Quintz was kind enough to take me to the clerics at the front gate and they healed me up just fine. While I was there being tended to, Quintz went out and got the lovely Nadine to come to me at the first aid tent where she fixed my dress while I was still wearing it. She is such a wonder with needle and thread. I only wish I could be half as talented as she. That little feller was a nasty little tiefling who obviously was never taught any manners while growing up. He's nothing but a bully and I'll be happy if I never have to see him again. Although, I get a sinking feeling that we may not have seen the last of him. At any rate, it's over now and I think we should just concentrate on having some fun. I think we've all earned it. Thank you so much for everything you did back there. Everyone was just so great. And...I'm babbling again. I'm sorry."
She gives Fiona's arm a friendly squeeze before letting go. She tries to plaster another smile on her face and just have some fun.
"Indeed. I am quite impressed with everyone's willingness to jump into combat to protect someone whom they did not know..." He arches a silver brow at the men, save Vinccenso, half mocking, half amused. "Especially when unarmed." He grins at Tesia and Évanlyne . "Nevertheless, I am rather curious as to how those who weren't unarmed managed to get their weapons in. Perhaps I just had an unusually perceptive guard..." He muses absently, then graces the entire group with a breathtaking smile. "I am just glad that no one was seriously hurt. Well, except maybe the tiefling... I almost feel bad for him, cast as a villain simply because of his heritage." The bard tilts his head, then goes silent, contemplating this.
Did that mean the drow were similarly unfortunate? In tales, they might be, and all life is based on tales (or the other way around, but that hardly matters)... He blinks, not entirely comfortable with the directions his thoughts are taking him, though his smile remains as bright as ever. He lets the thought go, and relaxes, waiting patiently for the tour to start.
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She gives the elf a worse glare after he insults Faulkes all back-handed like over somethin' she'd just forgiven him for.
"Dinnae he like cuss an' such and be a jerk? Then the Gwydion-lookin' feller gave him a sock in the face, right? Aye, that kinnae makes it grey and muddled. Oh, but then he drew a knife and came at a lady an' the feller. That's the act makes him the villain, not his horns."
Tesia listens to Ithelien nodding occasionally, until he gets to the part about the tiefling being a villain is simply due to his heritage. At that point her features slightly change to that of a questioning nature and she frowns slightly as if in deep thought.
After a moment she replies to Ithelien.
"Actually he's the villain because he attacked someone that was unarmed with a magical dagger and would have most likely killed him without any thought or remorse, had we not stepped in. A persons actions can make them a hero or a villain, their heritage has very little to do with it."
Tesia looks to Fiona and nods her agreement.
Évalyne and Verrill show up as the group finishes their discussion about the tiefling. Vinccenso alone does not recognize the bloody man in ragged clothes.
"Pardon me if I'm a little under-dressed for the occasion," Verrill says. "And I hope you all accept my apology for getting you dragged into that mess. I brook no rudeness, especially from one who bowls you over with not even a 'pardon'."
Dewell sighs, grateful that everyone has shown up at last. He goes around collecting the tickets from everyone, before going to the front door, a ring of keys in his hand.
"Now that we're all here...thank the gods...Welcome to the historic home of Bill Quiverpike. It was built about 10 years before the bard's death, a few years after he moved to Valania from East Alarion."
He unlocks the front door and waits for everyone to enter the home. You all enter into a large sitting room, the back wall lined with books. A great portrait of Quiverpike hangs on the east wall. His expression in the painting is dour and his mustache and pointed goatee make his face look even more miserable. On the opposite wall, a collection of dusty skulls, knives and an unidentified stuffed animal.
"Here's the portrait of Bill Quiverpike commissioned by the Baron LeVoux. This was when Bill was sick and he said he never liked it. I'm inclined to agree with him, but there's very little in the way of pictures of of him. Bill enjoyed his privacy when he was out and about, free to do as he pleased. He didn't care for recognition or the headaches that brought."
Dewell stops for a moment to answer any questions.
Ithelien shakes his head. "You misunderstand. I am not saying that I forgive him, nor that he was right, merely that I pity him... because he's a tiefling, so of course he would be the one to attack someone with a magical dagger. His race will do him no justice when or if it should come to a trial. Unless, of course, he's clever enough to make it seem like racism..." He smiles a little, then shrugs, moving on. He was in Quiverpike's home, and he peers curiously around the room, fascinated.
Évelyne (very quickly, so he doesn't get any funny ideas) taps Ithelien on the shoulder to get his attention. "Hey... You're a bard, right? You know, I once saw a bard use some kind of spell to clean his clothes, any chance you would be able to do something similar? Not that "Covered in blood" isn't a valid style of dressing but I think it might be just a tiny bit unappropiate for this occasion," she says and nods towards Verrill.
"You mean like this?" Vinccenso interjects as he lightly brushes two fingers over the soiled garment. In moments, the bloodstains have vanished, although unfortunately the rips & tears remain. "Sorry about that. Didn't commit that one to memory this morning. If it's any consolation, I'm regretting it myself."
His good deed done, Vinccenso turns back to the knick-nacks about the room, frequently craning his head back to look attentively to Dewell in invitation to continue.
Ithelien smiles at Évanlyne, nodding. "You are quite correct, though the good fellow over there seems to have beaten me to it." He nods at Vinccenso with a small grin. "But I do happen to know the spell, and I will use it should we ever need more cleaning as such. Thus freeing you to memorize something else, good sir." He adds, speaking to Vinccenso directly.
Fiona notices that the stuffed animal sitting on the bottom shelf is a wolverine, though much of it looks like it had been gnawed on by moths.
Dewell pounces on Fiona's question. "In his youth, Bill was an explorer and enjoyed collecting things he found in his travels. He especially enjoyed exploring savage jungles, though he never explained why. He told many stories of the northern jungles of Lakkara, where many vanara tribes live."
He goes and picks up a crude knife with a jade hilt from the shelf. "Bill said he won this in a duel against an orc. Don't know if that's believable, but here on the hilt..."
He turns the knife over for Fiona to see the carved orcish letters. "It says, 'For a free land' in orc. Bill said he felt bad about it, but could never find its owner."
Ithelien ponders upon the phrase but comes up with nothing.
Tesia is quiet through the explanation of the room and it's contents. She wonders around looking at this and that. She peruses the various books on the shelves, interested in what volumes he might have been interested in while living here.
She seems content to just spend time with Quintz and their new found companions. Her face gives little away as to what she's thinking about as they tour through the house.
Verrill makes a polite bow toward Vinccenso. "Merci beaucoup, mon bon monsieur."
As Dewell begins to move the tour to the next room, Faulkes asks another question. "So was Quiverpike part of one of the Explorer's Leagues?"
"No, he just grabbed a couple friends or local guides for his travels. Despite being a teacher before his writing took off, those trips were for his own benefit," Dewell explains. "Protocol was one of those things he couldn't stand."
Faulkes nods silently as the group enters into a smaller room with several paintings of unknown people and a writing desk with a stuffed raven sitting on top. "This where Bill did a lot of his writing. These paintings are people he knew and adored. I never understood why he put that raven on his writing desk."
Dewell's eyes go to a painting of a lovely brunette halfling in a forest green dress.
Ithelien absently slips an arm around Claire's shoulders, letting Florence do as she pleases. His sapphire eyes go to the painting, which he smiles at, then to the raven. "A most curious creature, the raven... Perhaps it served as some sort of inspiration for him?" The bard muses absently. His flirtatious grin returns, though, as he looks to the women of the group. "Myself, I prefer the inspiration brought on by the people of the world around me." His eyes go to the men. "After all, all life is a tale..." He breaks off. "But I'm sure you're not interested in my philosophizing." Ithelien resolves to keep an eye on that, make sure he doesn't start spewing his personal beliefs. After all, he's no evangelical, to require others to believe as he does. Instead, he stares at the room, in silent awe of the true master of his craft. Looking to the picture, he sighs, retreating within his memories.
Claire shivers at the sight of the raven. "Such a horrid little creature..."
Florence takes a few steps away from Ithelien gazing at the picture Dewell focused on. "So who's that?"
"Ahh, this woman was the love of Bill's life, Hanna Athelway. Though he never told her as much," Dewell says, slipping comfortably into the role of tour guide better than that of mediator. "He wrote her a great deal of letters, but never received a single reply. Some historians, and I use the term loosely, have tried to find her or even the painter who did this portrait. Yet, nothing has come up."
She wonders through this room as well quietly observing everything and the others around the room. She walks quietly along with Quintz looking at the various paintings before coming to the portrait of the halfling.
"Is there any way of knowing for sure whether she was actually a real person or not? Maybe, like so many of his stories she was just another figment of his imagination? Perhaps another source of inspiration for so many of the different romances he wrote?"
She looks at Quintz and then Dewell before shrugging her shoulders as a way of saying she's just taking a guess.
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Fiona paces the room, looking at the paintings with a kind of childlike wonder. "These are absolutely beautiful. I wish I could get m'self painted like this."
Turning back to the discussion on the halfling woman, she interjects: "I think I prefer that she was a real woman, y'know? Unrequited love is kinnae beautiful in it's own way, an' it's better to think he wasn't loopy an' sendin' letters t'his imagination, eh?"
Faulkes leans into Fiona. "You know, there's supposed to be a portrait painter coming in on Abadus next week. Are you staying that long?"
At Fiona's statement she chuckles. Then without warning starts thinking about her own past. She shakes her head trying to rid herself of the memories that keep haunting her.
"I guess so. I...wouldn't really know much about all that. I guess an unrequited love is better than no love at all."
Ithelien's expression tightens as Dewell speaks. She had been like that, in the ways that mattered most. Writing letters with no answer, singing songs without end. Was it something about bards, that prevented them from finding happiness? After a few moments, his smile returns, and he shakes his head. "I believe she existed. Whether she still does or not, is a different question. Well," He corrects himself, "We all ponder her, so she surely exists somewhere."
At Fiona's words, he grimaces. "Yes, there certainly is a sort of beauty to unrequited love..." A note of quiet self-hatred and bitterness is clear in his voice. However, he grins after a moment. "But regardless, to him, she was real. Perhaps she was simply his ideal. As for 'loopy', my dear lady, that is what we are. We live in a world of concepts and words, as well as in the same world as everyone else. Or at least, I do. Perhaps he was simply worshipping the ideal of a woman he could love." He smiles, sadly. "Yet I know some things are best left for mystery."
Tesia seems to get a pained look on her face at the mention of love, but she tries to cover it quickly with a smile.
"I'm sure he led a very interesting life."
Tesia looks down and closes her eyes for a moment.
"Yes, you do seem to have some good points there my dear bard. So, I'm wondering what other interesting things we will learn about Quiverpike here in his home."
She tries earnestly to change the subject from this strange one of love. Anything to try and rid herself of the memories from her past and the closest thing to love she would allow herself to feel.
Vinccenso's attention flits, bird-like from item to item & person to person, as each speaks; nodding in slightly smiling acknowledgement of Verrill's thanks, his naturally expressive face an unspoken commentary on the other guests & their comments.
Évelyne listens silently, (but attentively) paying extra attention on anything that may have some kind of religious significance. Or anything that may have something to do with undead, for that matter; After all, Quiverpike could have used a ghost writer.
Vinccenso recalls the struggles in the orc territory for autonomy, but knows little about the specifics. He also recalls the tales of Quiverpike chasing after Hanna Athelway, a noblewoman who had many prospective suitors, but she was a private person like Quiverpike. One of those suitors, Ansel Deward, had commissioned the painting in this room of her. It was painted in the town of Corfingham, just a few miles from Strotfeld. Quiverpike had gone to Corfingham to make his appeal to Athelway, but she slipped away in the middle of the night after Deward attempted to propose to her. She had not been seen since and Quiverpike ended up buying the painting for a handsome sum. Unfortunately, the rest Vinccenso's knowledge and suspicion of Dewell reveals nothing else.
Dewell leads the group down a hallway to a set of ornate double doors, he unlocks them ushering the group inside. The magnificent office within is filled with maps, stacks of papers, and blueprints. A half-finished globe stands at the center of the room. Two statues which appear to be incomplete iron golems stand against the opposite door. A miniature of an airship sits on a shelf on the wall, beneath a large map of the world. The room looks neatly organized, but you get the suspicion that it wasn't that way before Quiverpike's death.
"This is Quiverpike's private study. He was involved in more than just writing as you can tell. He was an aspiring inventor and sought to revolutionize how some things were made. The airship, for example, was modeled to run on steam instead of the usual binding of an elemental. Unfortunately, he was unable to finish that project before his death."
Verrill marvels at the globe, while Faulkes takes it in, but remains quietly by Fiona's side. Quintz separates from Tesia to look at some of the blueprints near the model airship.
"Hey!" Quintz exclaims. "There's fresh ink on this blueprint!"
Dewell quickly goes to the large map, pushing Quintz aside. "And finally...what you've all come to see. The Stone of Verona!"
He moves the large map revealing a safe. Quickly working his fingers to open it, he extracts a small glass display case. His smile turns to a look of utter shock as he looks down and sees that the case is empty.
"N-No, t-this cannot be..." Dewell stutters. "The Stone of Verona has been stolen."
You hear a heavy thump from behind the doors "guarded" by the statues.
How intriguing...
"Curator Dewell, where do those doors lead?" Oddly enough, Vinccenso presents more as someone who is enjoying the second-act plot-twist, rather than a person shocked by recent turns of events.
Vinccenso appraises the scene, relying on his vast intellect and keen sense of deduction. The statues appear to be mechanical in nature, relying on connections and a power source to move, which they seem to lack, rather than an inhabiting spirit. The airship, looking at the model alone, seems like it would work. Quintz seems honestly surprised by the discovery of the ink, though Dewell's reaction is too quixotic for Vinccenso to gauge. Among the gathered crowd, Vinccenso cannot assess the combat prowess from those gathered. The sound of the thump sounds like a heavy weight falling a short distance.
"Those are Bill's quarters. The tour has never included his bedroom," Dewell says, slowly recovering from the shock.
Ithelien frowns, eyes widening as he sighs. Of course the stone was missing. He quickly scans the area for any clues as to where the thief might have come from, chanting a quiet spell as he does so. After a few moments, he glances at Dewell. "How well guarded and warded is this area?"
He makes his way towards the door from behind which he heard the thumping noise, listening at it carefully.
Évelyne sighs loudly when the elf and grinning human start asking questions about and listening at the door instead of just opening it. Maybe the tour doesn't include the bedroom but she is quite confident in that it neither includes someone stealing the fabled Stone of Verona.
"Make some way, will you?" she says to Ithelien and tries to pull open (or failing that, push) the door.
Failing to find any traces of a crime, Ithelien listens at the door and hears some muffled grunts. Èvelyne tries the door, both pushing and pulling, and finds that it does not give.
Tesia quickly goes over to Dewell and tries to snap him out of his shocked state.
Dewell, snap out of it. Can you get that door open? We have to get in there to see whats going on. We can't just stand around here idly while someone makes off with the stone if they haven't done so already."
"I-I can't," Dewell pleads. "The bedroom key was never given to me. It was in Bill's jacket when he was buried."
Tesia sights to herself. Oh brother, why do I not believe that?
She looks at Dewell for a moment before responding. Regarding the others in the room, she looks about for a heavy object.
"Well," looking back at Dewell "I guess we'll just have to break the door down then, won't we?"
She looks at everyone in the room before continuing.
"Can anyone give me a hand with this? Maybe we can use one of those golems to bash it in?"
"I'll give you a shoulder instead," Évelyne says and charges the door like knights in bygone centuries used to charge windmills.
That is to say, ineffectively.
Ithelien arches a brow. "Is there any other way someone might have gotten in to the room?" He asks Dewell, already cursing the lack of a weapon.
Èvelyne runs towards the door full speed, her face making an ineffective battering ram. To Ithelien, Dewell is telling the truth about the key, but something seems amiss. He did not detect any magic about the room.
"Ow... Stupid door!"
Ithelien carefully draws his wand, preparing himself mentally.
Not being one to give up easily, Évelyne assaults again the stubborn door.
Of course, I have nothing directly useful in this situation memorized...
"Please that!" Vinccenso snaps as Evelyn slams, even less effectually, into the door once more.