Albreane stalks up to the tall , broad oread. Speaking low and quick, hands on her hips, she says, "If you think you are walking away from your family Samen, think again. You're better than this, aren't you?" She sweeps her arm back toward your siblings. "Turning your back on your family when they need you?"
Raising her voice for everyone to hear, she says, "No one is getting caught by the guards, and we're heading out together." She continues to stare coldly at Samen; the words hold little comfort.
”Retreiving the inheritance comes first,” Marianne declares as soon as Bree reveals the key. ”I am going to the bank before we are connected to this and possibly barred from the rest of it forever. Who is coming with me?”
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”Broken, Burned, Buried Sky,” swears Samoon. ”Let’s retrieve Father’s things. We can report to the constabulary afterwards.”
Samoon goes up to Albreane, his eyes full of sympathy. ”I am so sorry,” he says. He gently lays his hand on her shoulder. ”I will follow you.” Anywhere, he says to himself. If it isn’t too late.
Seeing he's clearly outnumbered, Samen growls in frustration as he wilts under Albreane's remarks. "Keeping me around will get you all thrown in prison, and that won't help anyone, but fine. If we're going to try to make a legal case here, maybe we should at least try to patch up these mercenaries that aren't dead yet? We might be able to make a case for attacking him, but an arrow in the back is harder to explain away."
Albreane grabs Samoon's hand and squeezes, hard. "Let's go get your Father's things from the bank. We'll make the best we can of this mess."
Albreane quirks an eyebrow at Samen. "Sure! Personalized care, the Samen Firenze method!" With a casual flick of her hand, she releases a few sparks toward the dying ifrit as you make your way down. His breathing stabilizes, but he is still face-down on the metal walkway. Albreane shackles him to the railing matter-of-factly, and moves on.
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A bead of sweat drops down Samen's face. Where was she carrying those shackles? Best not to think about it.
"Let us go then. And Samen, I am glad you are sticking with us."
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Momentarily distracted by similar thoughts to Samen's Marianne quickly glances between the shackles, Albreane, and Samoon in quick succession. I wonder... no not now, she thinks, shaking herself as she follows her family, eyes scanning the crowd for threats.
Wamblee will also keep an eye out for trouble on their way.
Albreane takes the lead, walking decisively through town now that the destination is away from her father. She keeps off the main roads, where the presence of the Watch is strongest, weaving through the smoky blacksmiths of the Irons, skirting the gilded jewelry stands of Trinketon, and completely avoiding the tall stone abbeys of the Temple district. The morning has not warmed in the slightest since you awoke early this morning to take Mother to the doctor's. Mercifully, the wind is mostly calm today, save for the occasional angry gale that spouts from Marianne.
Traveling north around the Gold Hills, you again see the wealthy houses of the city, proclaiming their proud heritage on banners of bloody pogonas and other symbology. The shining mansions reflect the dull red peaklight, as if dozens of warm fireplaces already blaze within.
In the eastern Golds, you find yourself on the same street you originally contacted the family banker, Mr. Ferri. Today though, you take the opposite direction, past the giant marble columns of the Tablets, to the holding house of the Argentaria Auream. Composed of blocks of granite taller than Wamblee and Samen together, the two-story building seems impregnable. All four sides of the Auream show an image of the Warrior, with His traditional flaming sword and shield, in bas-relief. A single word in High Ifrit is carved above each image: Iuris, Inperium, Praesidium, Sospitas.
Stopping for just a moment, Albreane says to Samoon, "You should hold the key. You're the eldest, and you can spin a pretty good-sounding lie." She forestalls the usual argument by quickly saying, "I know I know, it's 'a different perspective on an ambiguous situation', that's fine."
She squeezes your hand with that same desperate strength she did outside her father's house. More quietly, she adds, "You can do this, okay Moonie?"
Not allowing you or herself to get cold feet, she leads you all inside. Bowing oreads pull the large steel doors open with well-oiled chains. You walk on a blood red carpet down a short hallway, and enter a large room filled with desks and bankers. The ceiling arches high above you, but the acoustics of the thick carpets and huge tapestries are such that the open space is nearly silent. The wall behind you is dominated by a twenty foot tapestry depicting Silver-Bringer--the genderless, metallic aspect of Volcano--showering ifrits with coins of silver, copper and gold. The els' and eles' mouths are open in ecstasy, almost as if they plan to swallow the coins whole.
"Firenzes? You always seem to be, eh, popping up where I least expect you! Keeps one on one's toes, I suppose!" It is Ferri, squinting through his gold-rimmed spectacles to read the candle-time above the doorway. "Is there something I might help you with then? Have you decided to settle with Mr. Rentwyrth? I am told he can be a most reasonable el."
Wamblee does not even try to hide his distaste at the mural.
Gold-hungry nonsense.
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Samoon suddenly feels all of seventeen again, holding Albreane's hand, and is lost in a reverie for a moment. "Anything to get us through, Bree," he says, forgetting his much more thorny, recent nickname for her that he used post-breakup and settling on the same one everyone else uses. Vaguely, he has a realization that he's been a stubborn git for several years...but now he's on the stage again.
He puts on a broad, professional smile. "Mr. Ferri, good day. And why yes, we have met with Mr. Rentwyrth, although the outcome was slightly different than you would expect. When we presented him with evidence that the mine was clearly tampered with in what was certainly criminal activity, he set armed thugs against us, one of which remains for questioning. I am terribly sorry to report that Mr. Rentwyrth was slain in the melee by one of his own mercenary employees. As Albreane Rentwyrth, our associate, is Mr. Rentwyrth's heir, she has agreed to help settle the matter--with the appropriate paperwork, of course--to pass the key on to her and allow us to inspect my father's valuables." He indicates Albreane with a compassionate sweep of his arm, extending a kindly look her way that is not entirely feigned, although it is hammed and polished to a degree.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and gives a slightly embarrassed chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I do apologize for the circumstances. We were not expecting Rentwyrth to resort to such crude tactics."
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Ferri opens his mouth to respond, but Albreane cuts in. "I can attest to everything Mr. Firenze has said," she begins, keeping a professional tone. Reaching into her satchel, she produces one of the copies of her report. "Briefly, you or another designated party can see the conclusions drawn on pages two, ten, and twenty-three."
Overwhelmed, Ferri again attempts to interject, "Yes-well-quite irregular--"
"Mr. Ferri, I would be happy to go over these details with you another day, but for now you have before you the heirs to the Firenze inheritance, and the heir to the Rentwyrth estate officially absolving Hotah Firenze of any wrong doing, complete with evidence to corroborate. And, on a more personal note," her voice catches, "I just saw my father brutally killed this morning, and I would ask for a bit of forbearance for both myself and the still-grieving Firenze family." She ducks her head, a single strand from her ponytail falling across her face. A tear rolls down her cheek. She quickly wipes it away, but with a long enough pause for Ferri to see it.
Ferri, clearly uncomfortable with the tears, pats her on the back with an outstretched hand, staying far away from her. "Well...err...let's get down to our business so you can...take care of your business afterward." He still keeps his pretentious accent in full force, pronouncing it ahfterwuhd.
The banker readjusts his suit, and beckons you to follow him. Past several groups of desks and partitions, you receive a few curious glances from other bankers, mostly ifrits and the occasional sylph. Their soft hands caress coins and deeds; their round mouths whisper of figures and investments.
You come to a shallow alcove, flanked by tall statues of the Warrior crossing sword and shield. Turning sharply, you see a set of stairs, heading steeply downward. The air becomes chill and damp, and you have to watch yourself on the stone stairs to keep from slipping. Judging from the incline and the number of steps, you are now fairly deep underground. Ferri drones on about the various structural and magical defenses the vaults contain, and what a fine choice your father made in trusting the Auream.
At the bottom of the stairs, Ferri turns right at a T-intersection. A few more turns through halls of stone, and you arrive at a thick hardwood door with a golden 49 emblazoned upon it. Ferri sorts through his keyring, finally locating the correct one. The heavy door glides open on well-oiled hinges. Inside, the carpeted room is cool, but not cold, and seems completely absent of humidity. The walls are covered with locked steel cabinets.
"Your strongbox is located in the corner there, has your father's name on it. It is your discretion whether you decide to take it with you, or continue to employ the Auream to guard your possessions. I will be outside the door, but if you are going to be here an extensive period of time, please let me know. I grieve with you, of course, but I have appointments that need tending, yes?"
Marianne says nothing, barely preventing Ferri from noticing her excitement as she impatiently waits first for him to let them into the vault and then leave. As soon as she thinks she is out of earshot, the ranger turns to whoever was given the key and impatiently demands that they open the strongbox. "Let's open it and get the rest of it already!"
Samoon uses a steel key to unlock the cabinet. The strongbox, big as an oread's torso, is very heavy, and it takes both Wamblee and Samen to slide the chest out successfully. Using the iron key Albreane took from Rentwyrth, Samoon opens the gleaming strongbox.
Inside, you see neat stacks of gold coins; a large, bright-blue stone; a journal, old but well-kept; four cloaks made of sewn vulture feathers; and a few personal items - an arrow, and some loose pieces of paper.
Lots of stacks of coins, easily more than 2000. This makes up most of the weight of the strongbox - over 100 pounds.
A lapis lazuli, bright blue and shot through with shining yellow veins. On one side of the stone is a hand print, approximately the size of Wamblee's hand.
Letters to and from Mother
Marianne's first bullseye arrow, kept by Father
Samoon's first attempt at homemade litmus paper (partially successful)
Samen's first multilingual essay, which consisted of one sylph word, then oread, then ifrit, then undine, repeat.
And an old cast, possibly for someone's hand.
When opened, Samoon's cross-staff lets off its gentle white light, illuminating the page. The text says, "The staff will not work in the presence of peaklight. A deep mine or cave will do."
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Marianne quickly jostles Samoon out of the way. Instantly, her hand reaches for a cloak, but stops short of grabbing it. "Four here, four siblings. They're obviously intended for us, but probably too conspicuous for now..." she trails off, eyeing the feather cloaks longingly. "If I touch one, I am putting it on and not taking it off, someone else grab mine for now," she says, a bit of mother's brisk command slipping into her voice unnoticed as she hurriedly pulls out the journal. Upon seeing Samoon's staff revealing it though, she pushes the journal onto him without reading it and keeps moving. Finally, Marianne grabs the arrow, and in drawing back to identify it, eager zealot finally gives her siblings the opportunity to peer inside themselves.
Marianne, there is a small note in Father's handwriting on the side of the arrow with the date, and the inscription, My little girl already does amazing things with a bow
After her performance with Ferri, Albreane looks ready to fall asleep or collapse on the floor. "I get that you're excited about this stuff, Mari, but I think Samoon's...light...thing is enough proof that this is what we want. We're pressing our luck as it is - someone with big shoulders strap that box to your back and let's get going."
"Muscle, murderer, and mule, at your service."
Samen follows her instructions without further comment or inspection.
Wamblee was drawn to the blue stone, lost in thought.
"I ask the same as Mar. This stone would fit my hand. As perhaps would that cast..."
"Samoon, you should take the journal but I will instead."
Wamblee, Samoon seems distracted by Albreane, so he says, "Hmm? Oh, it's fine if you carry for now." He slides the journal across the desk as Samen straps the strongbox across his back.
Flipping idly through the pages, you see one passage that stands out to you. Wamblee, I don't know much about your monastery training, but I believe that some of your Root forms and stances could be used to enhance the effect of the crystal. Just be careful not to break through the floor!
Albreane opens the door. A split-second later, you hear a harsh voice say, "The alchemist, there!" and four arrows shoot past her toward Samoon. Fortunately, his breezes deflect two of them, but the other two graze his shoulder and face.
Beyond the door, Pugliesi stands with three of his men. His scar and his face share a grin. "Word of advice Miss Spelunk, don't give a well-connected bloodhound a personal item. Nice perfume, by the way."
Speaking to the rest of you, he says, "Same deal as before, Firenzes. Just lay down and let us have the girl and you can walk away. I'm relatively certain she will even survive her meeting with Signore v'Borio."
Marianne whirls, bow raised, nocking and firing an arrow at Pugliesi.
Samoon aims for the nearest ifrit with his bow, then drags Albreane with him over by the tapestries. "Many dead els have issued similar confident boasting, Pugliese," he calls out.
Wamblee says nothing, but his hand almost instinctively slips onto the blue stone as he launches himself forward at the nearest Ifrit, stone first. His other hand seizes his sansetsukon.
Albreane draws her bow
and hits the eastmost mercenary.
Wamblee misses the westmost ifrit, who allows the hard shoulder of his armor to take the blow.
Marianne administers the potion to Wamblee as he advances upon the enemy.
Two of the mercenaries drop their bows and draw their longswords to flank Wamblee.
Pugliesi lines up another shot against Samoon,
which hits!
Samoon barely misses the eastmost mercenary.
Unfortunately for that mercenary, dodging Samoon's arrow distracts him, which gives Samen the perfect opening to knock him out cold with a crack to the temple.
Declare actions!
Samen takes a 5 foot step around the sword guy to get to pugliesi and tries to thwack him.
Wamblee crashes to the ground from the heavy blows.
Samoon takes a moment to drink a Shield extract. He makes sure to cover Albreane and nudge her into the corner of the room. "Got any ideas before we all collapse from our wounds?" he says, a slight smile on his face despite the painful arrow wounds slowing him down. "Perhaps we could have dinner after this."
Albreane smiles a little at your grim joke. She replies with a matching deadpan voice. "A little snack on the hill, or are you actually referring to food?"
She steps out from behind your cover as one of the mercenaries moves to finish Wamblee off. She shakes her head, the long auburn tresses blowing in your breeze. "Not today, though." She closes her eyes.
Albreane Spelunk goes through a small change. Her hair becomes streaked with white, and her skin becomes much paler. She opens her eyes, which are now an airy, translucent gold. Holding up her right hand, a thick spear of air blasts toward the two ifrits.
Both fail to hold on to their swords against the surprise onslaught on the wind. The blades are carried several feet away, out of their momentary reach.
Unseen to you before now, Mr Ferri has been lying in the ground west of Pugliesi. He takes what appears to be a large, wicked-looking letter-opener, and and stabs it directly into the back of Pugliesi's knee, where he has no armor.
Limping and distracted, Pugliesi does not react in time to Marianne's attack, earning him an arrow to the left shoulder.
Now with an angry Samen swinging in his face, Pugliesi stills, and appears to make a decision.
Pugliesi mutters a single word, then disappears from sight.
The two remaining mercenaries are eyeing their swords, several strides away. They seem unsure what to do with their boss fled.
Marianne gapes at her friend. ”How did—? I don’t— That wasn’t— she babbles incredulously for a few moments before composing herself, slightly. ”What?”
Samen waves his stick menacingly at nobody in particular.
"What the volc! Is everyone around here cursed now?
The air-touched girl smiles at Marianne. "She said she would pay a 'considerable price' for such aid as was rendered." With an enigmatic smile, she turns her attention back to the ifrits.
The posture of the ifrits relaxes, and they put their hands by their sides. They seem to be waiting for one of you to speak.
Ferri lies in a pool of his own blood, slightly dry on the carpet as if he were stabbed several minutes ago.
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Wamblee remains hard to kill.
Samen ignores the guards, now that they've calmed down and directs his attention at Albreane. He stares into her alien golden eyes.
"Gyda pha bŵer a wnaeth hi'ch galw, a alla i dalu'r gost iddi?"
"By what power did she summon you, and can I cover the cost for her?"
Samoon stands there, swaying slightly from loss of blood, and snarls at the two mercenaries. "Down on the ground, and toss your weapons away from you. Marianne, I'm no good with medicine--can you look to Mr. Ferri and see if he will survive this?"
Samoon takes the healing potion he has and feeds it to his brother.
He grins up at Albreane, wincing at the arrows in his shoulder and side. "Looks like it will be earthly food and not spirit food today. I don't really want to eat anything skewered, though, for some reason."
Samen, Albreane's back is turned to everyone but you as her face twists in a mocking, eye-rolling manner. Her voice is perfectly sincere as she says. "That's so sweet. He thinks he can talk like real people. Well, she is the cost, so no making some warlock's bargain here, kid. Nice try though!" She turns away.
The white aspect of her hair disappears, and she seems a little surprised. Although it takes her a moment to reply to Samoon, her wit is quick as ever. "Vegetable stew it is, then. Have you become any better of a cook in the last several years?"
"Good. Now stay there, blast you. Samen, can you tie them up?"
Samoon turns to consider Albreane, hand on his chin. "...an alchemist is always good at combining ingredients and heating them," he says a little distractedly, "And I've found a clean mortar and pestle makes for a fine spice macerator..."
He pauses for a brief moment. "Bree. You channeled winds at those ifrits. Now, Marianne and I do that, but...did you notice that your hair turned white? Do you recall saying words just now? 'She said she would pay a considerable price?'" His lips flatten into a frown. "I'm concerned you may have picked up a rider."