Samen gives Samoon and Mar a pained look that says "If one of you don't field this, I will, and nobody wants that."
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Wamblee also appears discomfited. It is hard to tell whether he is thinking of himself or Samen speaking.
Samoon sighs and stands upright. "Firenze family, headed to Forge. We're in a hurry," he says.
The el takes a few steps forward. Marianne and Samen recognize him as a son of the Neri family, another group of hunters from Rokerenge aside from the Birottas. "We were dispatched from the town on word of thieves stealing brass from a mine. No word on who exactly it was, but Mr. Rentwyrth is eager to find out. Have you seen anything on the road?" His look is one of curiosity rather than suspicion.
Albreane surreptitiously pulls her warm winter cap over her eyes, concealing more of her face.
Wamblee decides to leave Samoon continue speaking for them.
"Brass from a mine? That's odd...brass comes from a forge, after some careful metallurgy...it's not removed from the ground," says Samoon, in an intellectual tone. "You must have misheard the instructions--we know Rentwyrth well, and do send our regards--but hmm, it has to be something else. In any case, we haven't seen anyone."
"...Although...we did hear about some suspicious pogona riding to the south. Wagons pretty laden. Maybe that's your thieves?"
The hunter nods, content with Samoon's confident explanation. "Hmm, better check it out then. It's only been you and one other el, no one else on this road for candles." As he passes by the wagon, he frowns and pauses for a moment, glancing at Albreane's downturned face.
But he shrugs, and carries on his way. "Safe journey Firenzes. I was sorry to hear about your father,"
”Your father is becoming more suspect by the moment,” Marianne whispers to her friend once the hunters are well out of earshot. There is an odd sadness to her voice that is difficult to place. ”First he makes claims against father with the clear intention of acquiring holy and potentially powerful relics that appear to be part of some great secret, and now he is sending the hunters after us, hunters with orders to recover stolen brass. If he knew there was brass in the mines, it stands to reason he knew what form it took.”
Albreane glances over. You are surprised to see not sorrow but fear in her eyes. "You're right. And it's taking everything I have not turn this cart south to Hearth, or River. Dad always gets what he wants." She turns her gaze straight ahead, staring at ghosts of the past.
Wamblee rejoins the others in the cart, knocking first as he can hear murmering:
"We should consider if there is anyone we can call upon before revealing our findings. Anyone in Forge who might aid us. I know not the city."
Albreane shrugs. "I...think we can trust my boss. He's never asked me to turn a blind eye to any corruption or safety violations I've ever come across. He's kind of a jerk, but not completely rotten." She gives a Samoon a brief, sidelong glance as she says this.
"If you want to appeal to the highest 'court' in the land, that would be the Forge Mining Authority. My office is only one of several that survey the mines around the city and beyond. They take things pretty seriously, though - we could end up with fines, or even jail time, if we're suspected of wasting their time." She coughs, sheepishly. "And I have no idea how to get a meeting on short notice."
"Do we really have anything worth reporting? We have a brass statue, wild tales, and a missing uncle. I expect that even if someone did happen to believe us, there would be nothing to be done about it. If ol' Rotworth is willing to go to these lengths to take Father's property, what won't he do? We're on the run from Darkspawn, right? Do we have time to get bogged down in a legal dispute we can't win?"
"...we need to speak to some Fallen Sky-be-damned authorities and..." Samoon is silent. "Is it actually safe in Forge, Albreane? Should we get ourselves elsewhere?"
In a quiet voice, Albreane says, "You're asking me, the ele who almost got ambushed by thugs because my report made a volcing noble unhappy, whether Forge is safe?" Unlike Marianne, Bree rarely swears, and hearing the curse escape her lips brings home again how much stress she is under.
"We might be best off to quickly and clearly state what we know and then leave Forge immediately. There are too many enemies in this city."
Marianne shakes her head at Wamblee. ”They wouldn’t believe a thing if we left town in such a hurry. Politicians are like predators, they’ll pounce on any sign of weakness, and they would most definitely see running as weakness or admission of guilt. That said, don’t forget why we are doing this. Dad’s inheritance likely has invaluable information on these artifacts, which we need, and can’t afford for these Dark-worshipping pagans to have it.”
Wamblee pauses for a time.
"You are right, Mar. I relish the idea of getting out of Forge very much, but we have matters to attend to there."
"Right, then. They won't dare attack us in the street, I suppose, although the influence Ser Rentwyrth can wield may make things difficult."
Samoon shakes his head, thinking bitter thoughts. "Alb...with the aid of hindsight...can you think of reasons why your father is doing this? Or what he's up to?"
"If only there were some way to get the Darkspawn chasing him instead of us. Of course, we don't even know they're not working together."
Samen ponders a moment. "I guess we could confront him directly and offer him our tokens. If he would take them to drop the case, then he knows what they are and cares about them. If not, then we could try to leverage our adversaries against each other."
Bree answers Samoon's question. "So, we know that he fabricated the idea that your father was to blame for the accident. He's covering something up...or maybe your father found something he wasn't supposed to, at the end of that tunnel." She closes her eyes for just a moment, shaking her head to clear it.
"There's all this weird stuff about efreet and brass, but as far as I know dad's never been into that mystical junk. He likes money, and control. Whatever he's protecting or hiding, it's worth a lot." She shrugs. "I don't have any guesses beyond that."
”The old tales are full of greedy men who turn to the Dark for more,” Marianne says quietly. And not always directly. Ser Rentwyrth is not necessarily in league with the Dark, although that seems the most likely explanation. The alternative is that he is trying to harness Dark powers for his own gain. In the stories, that has one of three outcomes: death, corruption, or utter madness.”
On that somber note, the wagon takes a final, long bend, and Forge's hills, mines, and smithy-fires lie before you, down the twisting road. Even from this distance, you can hear the roaring of a crowd; the week's end brutbreve tournament--a point of honor among the soldiers of Forge--is in full fervor, despite the late candle. The playing fields are simply shallow depressions in the hard-packed earth surrounding the city. A mass of elens surrounds one field in particular, but others wander about, presumably drinking and partaking of other such soldiering pastimes.
"We can try to sneak in separately, but that is risky if any of us are caught."
"Blast it all, Albreane, you should be able to get us back in...we didn't break any laws, technically. I can try talking with the guards as well."
To everyone and no one in particular, "I'll follow your lead on this."
Albreane looks over at Samoon. "That's your father talking, Samoon. My father taught me, in his own way, that money matters more than the law."
Approaching the gate, you all see a sour-looking guard who is craning his neck to try and get a better view of the brutbreve match. He scowls as your wagon blocks his view. "Yeah, what? What've ya got in the wagon?"
Albreane smiles sweetly. "Not much, sir. I'm a mine inspector from town, and-"
"I didn't ask for your life story. Make it quick, or I'll just impound your wagon and take a look after the match is over."
In a subtle gesture, Albreane takes the guard's hand with both of hers, brushing the top with her fingertips while slipping something into his palm. She whispers something none of you catch.
The guard laughs gruffly, and jerks his thumb toward the gate. After you are past the guard, Albreane gives Marianne a small wink. "So where to now? Everything is closed, unless you want to sleep in my office."
Wamblee grimaces internally at the necessity of the bribe, which surely Bree just had to pay.
Wamblee, you notice an ifrit male leaning against a building, about fifty feet away, intently watching the gates. He is obviously looking for someone, and he is looking down at a piece of paper and back up at your group, as if making a comparison.
Wamblee whispers to the others:
"About fifty feet away, an ifrit leans against that building, watching the gates carefully. With paper in his hand, which he is checking. I believe he seeks us."
”If he is truly looking for us, then he represents both a major risk and opportunity,” Marianne whispers, careful not to look at the el. ”Our enemies already have a great advantage in information. If we catch a spy, we might be able to even the scales a little. I say we either follow him back to whom ever he reports to, or catch him now without ever allowing that to happen.”
"Follow, or snatch? I say snatch."
Wamblee looks at the others.
"I don't think we're competent enough to tail someone unnoticed. I say snatch too."
Wamblee attempts to sneak away using the shadows and circle the ifrit without being seen by him.
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Samoon snorts at Wamblee's attempt. Winds floating dust motes around his boots, he slips past his brother, cuts over to where the ifrit is, and takes the paper from his hands. "What's the latest bulletin, friend?" he says, grinning. "Don't move and play along, or you won't be moving at all," he says a little quieter. "You are surrounded."
After seeing his brothers slink off, Samen abandons all pretense and just walks up to the guy. "Hello! You're looking for someone and we're tired, irritable, and paranoid. If it's us you're looking for, we'd like to know why."
Wamblee circles around to emphasise with his folded arms and presence that the ifrit is, in fact, surrounded.
The ifrit, black hair drooping into his eyes, looks over as Wamblee approaches. He attempts to turn away, and runs into Samoon, then Samen. Up close, he appears to be about Samen's age. "Oh! Uh, listen, I don't want any trouble, ok? Guy said you owed him money, it's none of my business, but he just gave me a silver to watch the gate. I don't sleep so good at night anyway so I figured why not? I didn't do anything!" His head swivels back and forth as he looks for a way to escape, but he is backed up against the wall.
Upon hearing that Pugliesi is still pursuing her, Albreane's face tightens, and she turns away from the group. Her arms are wrapped around her body, shoulders tense.
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”We don’t have time to deal with this!” Marianne snaps, the wind picking up menacingly for a moment, before subsiding with a sigh, both from the wind and the woman. She stands, revealing the readied longbow from behind the seat as she puts it back over her shoulder. She hops off the wagon, and walks up to the ifrit, stepping casually between her (mostly) large and threatening brothers. ”Look, you’re in way over your head here,” she addresses him with a friendly smile. ”That guy is bad news, and as you may have noticed, we’re not exactly meek either. There’s also a lot more going on here than a simple debt, stuff you don’t want to know about, both for how nasty it is, and because it would drag you in. You’re better off just walking away, and telling that el you never saw us. No threat, just friendly advice, take it as you will,” she finishes, watching him carefully to see if he will do as she asks.
"Umm, ok! Like I said, I don't want any trouble. We all just walk away, right?"
He is nervous, and lying. He is likely planning to go straight to Pugliesi.
"A silver to watch the gate, eh? Well, here's two silvers to forget about us. If we hear you didn't forget, we'll come back, take the silvers and with interest accrued--continually compounded," says Samoon, to an el who probably doesn't understand compound interest. He places the coins on the fellow's hat.
Wamblee watches closely and silently.
He sees and hears nothing to make him break his silence.
His eyes light up at the additional funds. "Great! Well, bye, uh elens I never saw!"
Marianne’s face hardens. ”It wasn’t a threat. I was really hoping you’d just walk away. But you’re also not going to fool me that easily. Wamblee, Samen, he’s not going anywhere.”
”Don’t bother struggling, you’ll live unless you prove to be completely unreasonable, and you’re not in much position to survive if you are. But we’re a lot more reasonable than that thug. But if you are reasonable, you could walk away with a fair deal of money from this whole exchange,” she says, producing two more silver coins.
"Merde! Ok, ok, what do you want me to do? Like I said, no trouble, please! That scar guy is bad news!"
Marianne scowls a little at the use of Fritan to beg her for mercy, but then returns to the friendly smile. ”Same as before. You go back to your scarred el and tell him you didn’t see a thing. Collect your payment, and walk away. Swear it to me, by whatever name you revere, and you get your freedom, plus two more silver.”
He pauses for a moment, his eyes glancing first to Samen, then to Wamblee. The tall, muscular oreads remain impassive. Then, the ifrit nods, resigned. He makes the sign of Volcano's triangle over his heart (with a little difficulty from still being held by Samen) and says, "I swear by the Warrior's honor. I didn't really like that guy much anyway."
Samen rolls his eyes at the whole exchange. "I spent painstaking years practicing the delicate intricacies of language and script, and it turns out my true calling is to be a block of meat. Thanks Mar."