"I hate to sound callous, but why should we care? I'm with Bree. This village has nothing left for us, and we seem to be in the habit of collecting curses, not dispelling them. Perhaps we should skirt around the town and head directly to the mine. It's probably safer."
Bree quirks an eyebrow. "We all know you hate to sound callous, Samen. Seriously though, that ele doesn't even seem to realize we're not following. Whatever weirdness is going on here could be catching. I'm a little worried about going directly to the mine without seeing if we can get a little more information from..." she sighs, exasperated, "I wish this would get easier to say... Dad's place."
Samen shakes his head and nods. "Yeah, that's why I hate to sound callous. I'm not as good as the rest of you at hiding my heartlessness, and once the facade is down it'll take years to build again. If you think we can get more information from the estate, that's fine, but if any of you go glassy-eyed, you're getting the stick."
He shakes his staff comically in the air for effect.
He looks at his brothers grimly. "And I expect the same favor from you, should I succumb."
Wamblee turns to the others.
"I do not know why she approached me, other than that I was slightly nearer. I think that if we do not act, whichever dark-cursed el is responsible for this mess will get away with murder and worse. We need information and we need it swiftly. This, Bree's family home."
He thinks on what the girl said and if her actions resembled those of the hunter in the mines previously.
As he does so, he replies to Samen.
"I believe in judgement on those responsible, and punishment. And we are the only ones I imagine in a position to deliver either. I focus on that more than what might happen. But rest assured, I would not leave any of you to stew in corruption and madness."
Samoon turns to regard Samen for a good long moment.
Then he turns to Wamblee and Albreane. "The Rentwyrth estate. And the mine. And I realized just now that there are a few things on the outskirts of town. Mar, do you have any caches in the hills we used to wander? ...I think I recall one."
Most everyone in their little group knows what Samoon is talking about; he's not one who is skilled in passing along hidden information. However, Marianne and most likely, everyone, knows that Samoon and Marianne would drop water and food caches near Samoon's former teacher, Denerele.
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”The estate first, those supplies.can wait until we have a better handle on the situation,” Marianne says breezily.
You decide to skirt the town going west, then north. It takes longer, but you keep your distance from the mines for time being. The town is still, like a pond on a windless winter day. There are only empty stalls at the farmer's market, and a few shriveled apples upon the ground. The alehouse is dark. No smoke belches from the smithies. The school bell does not ring. There are no tired, joking miners on lunch break. There are no busy, gossiping housewives on errands.
The Firenze residence can be seen to the north as you complete your circuit of the town. From this distance, is it no larger than your thumbnail. Unbidden, a dozen memories of laughing, yelling, eating, fighting, and singing flash before your eyes. You can almost hear what your siblings are thinking. The idea that a mere structure of wood and stone could house the years of joys and tears seems unreal; the spirit of your home has burned away as surely as your father's ashes.
The Rentwyrth mansion seems smaller, less impressive after visiting Forge so recently. No matter how grand the white-washed facade and hilltop view are, they still overlook a small mining town that most elens call 'Rock Edge'. There is an understated pomposity here, just as it was with Finnegan Rentwyrth himself.
Bree tries clean white door. It is locked. She takes out her key, turns it, but still the door will not open more than half an inch. "There's something behind it." She pushes harder, but with no success. Looking over her shoulder, she says, "You want a go at it, Samen? This combines your skill with heavy things and hitting doors."
Samen puts his shoulder into it and slams into the door a couple of times.
Crack. Thud. You move something heavy--feels like a bureau-- inch by inch, until you can shoulder your way inside. A second later, a dagger bounces off the door, clattering to the floor at your feet.
Krissa Rentwyrth, her eyes wide with fright, yells, "You volcing-" She stops, mid-sentence and mid-throw. Lowering her arm, she says, "Samen? What are you-?" The frightened look again, and she raises her arm again, awkwardly holding another dagger. "Are you one of them? How do I know you aren't one of them?"
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Darkspawn. Death. Thugs. Curses. Mercenaries.
These are the things that had become Samen's 'normal' over the last week. If anything, he was expecting some monstrosity to be inside, not his childhood crush.
Completely flabbergasted, he winces and scratches his neck uncomfortably, unsure what to say. True to form, he says something sub-optimal. "Oh, uh... If I was one of them, I probably wouldn't tell you erm... I uh, had to kill your father? Bree was there. She uh... she saw it, so you know I'm not lying. How have you been? Oh, and I can fly now."
Krissa just stares. Her second dagger finds the floor, dropped from nerveless fingers. She cranes her neck past Samen, and sees Bree. Arms spread wide, she says, "What the volc, sis?"
Bree says, "Cut out the swearing and let us in, Krissy. We're not not leaving this door open for any longer than we have to."
After some shuffling and squeezing, you are all inside. Wamblee and Samen push the large bureau back in place. While the two oread brothers are occupied, Krissa loudly whispers, "Is he joking, or what?"
Bree refuses to meet Krissa's eyes. Nothing needs to be said. The younger sister runs to the imperial staircase, quickly ascending the left-hand flight and slamming a door, presumably her bedroom. You are in a large foyer, the floor scuffed by the recent movement of furniture.
Looking over at Samen, Albreane says, "Is the next bit of self-alteration going to be sewing your lips closed? And can I help? I have very sharp needles for repairing tack."
"Y-yeah, that's fair. Maybe you should have told her instead... Look, I panicked. Sorry." He shrugs, hoping to gain something with a placating gesture. "It's best she knows, right?"
In the likely event that this doesn't help, "I'll, uh, go check the defenses."
Wamblee steps in only once his siblings have. He speaks as he closes the door.
"Hello Krissy. It has been a while. Are there any others who escaped what has happened to the others?"
Wamblee's words follow Krissa up the stairs, and meet a slammed door. The youngest Rentwyrth does not appear to be in the mood for talking after Samen's ill-chosen greeting.
Wamblee shrugs, and looks around, checking that the house is secure.
"Well, then," says Samoon, visibly nervous to be back in the Rentwyrth home. "Your father's office and er...the master bedroom, first?"
"Samen, can you use that wonderful strength of yours to bar the door again, so that our search of my beloved's slain father's possessions isn't interrupted by mind controlled residents of our fair city?"
With that, Samoon begins to look around.
Samoon bruises his head on a dresser. "I, er, I may need a drink before searching more closely," he says to the floor.
Wamblee and Samen go to check on the security of the lower floor. There are two dining rooms, a large kitchen, a larder, a drawing room, smoking room, and a handful of others, all done in whites and off-whites with the occasional splash of color. Upon closer inspection, the house is not merely boarded up - all the windows are designed to allow heavy boards to slide into place, without the need for nails or other untidy solutions. Finnegan Rentwyrth apparently planned ahead for many eventualities.
Wamblee, you notice one window that is slightly off true, and correct the placement of the board.
Bree sighs, looking toward Krissa's closed door. "No point in bothering her right now. She'll come out and yell at me when she's ready to talk." She sighs again and shakes her head. Looking back, she says, "Feel like sorting through some illicit paperwork with me, Samoon? There will probably be a drink on the way to soothe your head. You're welcome too Mari, but I understand if you'd prefer to keep watch by a window instead."
She takes the right-hand staircase up, then follows the hallway past several doors. At the end, a pair of double-doors with gold fixtures and trim obviously leads to the master bedroom. Bree unlocks it with the keys she took from her father's corpse.
The room is fastidiously clean, to the point of sterility. Something about it is impersonal - the work of a servant, not the love of a wife. A purple-canopied four-poster bed in honey-colored wood dominates the middle of the room. Closets and dressers, all painted white, are arranged around the perimeter. No personal items are present.
In the back corner, Bree leads you to a heavy desk, ancient and dark in this mansion of modern whiteness.
Samoon has never, ever been in this room. There was a jovial forbiddance emanated by the elder Rentwyrth that lingers after his death. He sighs and crosses the threshold.
"I'll watch, you search," Marianne says shortly, clearly still upset over Bertrude's disappearance.
Wamblee begins a patrol of the house, through the halls and via the stairs, his ears and eyes ready.
Samoon, Bree gives you a sympathetic smile, seeing your discomfort. "We'll be out of here soon. Just help me grab a stack of papers and we'll take a look over some ashbread or whatever is handy." No less than three keys are required to unlock the behemoth of a desk; it creaks and groans as the tumblers shift, loathe to give up its secrets.
With your help, Bree makes quick work sorting through the more legitimate papers--the accounts for the houses and businesses Rentwyrth owned--to find the more interesting files. Each of you carry a satchel's worth of scrolls and books downstairs, finding a table to work. True to her word, Bree finds both ashbread and a small whiskey, served undine.
There are three separate items of interest.
The first: reading between the lines, you have proof that Rentwyrth ordered the sabotage that led to Hotah's death. There are mine locations outlined that match Bree's report precisely in terms of damage and dates. Included in these outlines is a scrap of paper in Hotah's handwriting, detailing the ominous things he had seen in the mine - mutilated animals and mysterious blue lights.
The second: precious little about the 'dragon', save a crude sketch of what looks like a pogona with copious birth defects and a cryptic note not to wear or hold brass while in Rokerenge. Rentwyrth seems more concerned with plans of what to do with the beast, whether to make some kind of circus, sell it to alchemists at Light, or start a breeding program with the Army, etc.
The third: a series of letters with Rentwyrth's brother, Emmett. The brother asks repeatedly to 'write to your lawyer immediately'. After some resistance, Rentwyrth capitulates. The letter has an obsequious tone to it that you would not normally associate with Finnegan Rentwyrth.
Marianne, through a small crack in one of the window-boards, you see the same ifrit ele from the edge of town, wandering around the grounds. She is looking directly at the ground, and you swear she is following the exact path you took here, despite the fact you left virtually no trail on the cold, pock-marked dirt road. She waves at the front door.
Wamblee, you are carefully checking your weapons as you patrol. You feel a small prick, like the thorn of a rose. bringing your finger close to inspect, you see the same yellow sliver of brass from Bertude's hut, now embedded in your finger. But how did it get from the floor--?
Ridiculous! No one can see out of boarded up windows! Time to slide these boards off. In fact, throw them out the window - we could use a breeze in here!
Samen checks the kitchen to see if there's anything better for the group than the rations they're carrying.
Samen it takes a bit of looking, but you find an assortment of rocks, and even some potter's clay for dessert. These are all located in a space that is clearly designated as the servants' portion of the larder.
"Ow., says Wamblee, momentarily confused at the splinter in his finger.
With his other hand, he draws a pair of shruiken and carefully use them as tweezers.
He then says out loud:
"The brass splinter was on my weapons and I had to remove it from my skin. I know not how, but the ele may be responsible."
He then begins to look for Samoon, the brass splinter held away from his skin.
"She's back, and I think she is tracking us somehow!" Marianne calls into the house. "She's following our exact path, I think that whatever is happening has invested more than a touch of magic into its victims!"
"I can run off with the splinter, maybe that is what she is following."
Wamblee begins to make for the nearest door, unless stopped.
Samen drops the rocks on the floor and puts a hand on Wamblee's shoulder.
"Hold on, brother. Going out there alone seems like a real bad idea. Samoon, do you have any chemicals on you that could react with the brass? Perhaps if we get it in a solution, it will be sufficiently denatured to not hold any power."
Samen's idea seems sound. If you take 10 on an Alchemy check, you can make a sulfuric acid compound, with a few extra reagents to allow for the alloy's apparently magical nature.
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"Breaking it down into parts is a good idea. Let me try a sulfuric acid solution--that should react with the zinc in the brass, if not the copper--it will generate sulfides--and there's something else in that brass that I'll require more esoteric reagents for." Samoon begins to rummage. "A table, or desk," he says to the air, looking for a place to work.
Samoon extracts a pair of proper forceps. "You're holding it away from you, Wamblee. Tell me exactly what you experienced when it was embedded in your skin."
He places the brass splinter in a sturdy ceramic crucible, preparing to transfer it to a small alembic and retort.
Samoon works quickly and efficiently. The small splinter dissolves into its base components, no longer recognizable as a metal.
Marianne, you see the barmaid stop in her tracks. She is about the length of a brutbreve field from the house. Her head turns left and right, confused.
"She stopped!" Marianne calls. "She looks rather confused!"
"Keep your eyes on her. If I had to guess, this 'dragon' is exerting influence through the brass. It's probably some sort of elemental, perhaps related to the one in Bree."
"I was carefully checking my weapons during my patrol of the house. I felt a small prick in this finger."
Wamblee brings the finger closer to Samoon for inspection.
"In it, I saw embedded the same yellow sliver of brass from Bertude's hut. Or perhaps one just like it."
"We must find that dragon. I suspect that it is either a pawn in this corruption - or an instigator."
The maid, after looking around for another minute or so, slowly heads back down the hill, toward the center of town.
"That was fortunate. Hopefully she lacks the wits remaining to report where she was nearing. We need to plan soon regardless."
Bree looks up briefly at the Samoon's alchemy, but goes back to the papers when she is satisfied he has things in hand. "Hmm, there's a pretty good schematic of the mine here, too. Looks like they've added a few extra entrances farther up the hill in the past month or two."
"Then we'll get in that way," says Samoon. "We should wait until dark, though."
Samen coughs. "Ehm... Someone, " he looks at Bree pleadingly. "Someone other than me should debrief Krissa before we do anything. She'll know more about how and when the people started changing. She had the sense to board herself in, and she might have intelligence beyond what's written in those reports."
"Wise. We need to find out the story here. Bree, you and I can do that."
"Samen." Samoon stops to regard his younger brother. "Thank you for the sound advice."
Bree nods, smiling a bit at Samen's plea. She starts up the stairs, stops, then turns around. Her face is serious now. "Samen, I don't know you that well, and part of that is my fault for not bothering to do so over the years. I don't know how to say this the right way to you, but I don't blame you for what happened back in Forge."
She follows your eyes, forcing you to make eye contact with her. "At. All. He was the one that made all these awful choices and forced an ugly confrontation. Now I'm going to go up there and try to smooth things over, and I hope you believe it when I say there are elens in this world who aren't against you." She points to your siblings, and lastly to herself. She heads back up the stairs with Samoon.
Wamblee looks upon the conversation without butting in. At least until afterwards.
"That *was* a good suggestion, Samen. And as for Finnegan, you know as well as we do what a greedy, selfish piece of Udoti he was. You did the right thing, not one doubt."
Marianne takes her attention from her vigil for a moment to blink at Wamblee and Samen. "Was this ever in question? He needed to be put down, Samen put him down. I wasn't aware anyone had or felt there would be an issue with that," Turning away without waiting for a reply, Marianne yawns and stretches. If we are heading to that Sky-forsaken hole in the ground tonight, I need to get some rest now.
Samoon taps on the door where Krissa has sequestered herself.
"Krissa? We just want to talk. We got rid of the brass-watcher person for now."
Samen begins tearing up at the unexpected positive affirmations. "I... thank you, all of you."
Unsure how to respond further, he runs off to be alone. Not to brood, as usual, but to weep in appreciation of the love and forgiveness he's just undeservedly received.
Regardless of whether Mar stays or not, Wamblee will say something.
"Sometimes the obvious is not so obvious. Master Yuma was rather fond of that saying during training."