Samoon, Albreane seems to bite back something she is about to say, then takes a deep breath. "What injustice?" Still cold, but merely frigid rather than frostbitten.
"Sounds like a nice place to get some research done in peace. Any particular way in which it would kill me? Any known successful preventative measures?"
She laughs, a high, tinkling sound. "Umm unless ink and maps are a good way to help you breathe where there's no air then I think you should talk to an alchemist or magus or something!"
Marianne’s eyes widen when she hears that the points represent Breathless Valleys. ”Samen!” she exclaims, clearly excited. ”This can’t be a coincidence! Dead-“ Marianne cuts off, glancing at the girl. ”There must be some connection.” she finishes, unwilling to say more with the girl nearby.
Marianne, the girl fidgets, clearly not used to standing still for so long. "Not to be rude but are you buying a map or...well buying a map? otherwise I have other commissions I have to get back to."
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"There's a claim against Hotah's property. A man named Rentwyrth; I don't recall his name, don't know if you do. He's blaming our father for loss of revenue from the tunnel collapse that killed my father--something like it was Hotah's own negligence, which you and I know is preposterous. Rent-fellow must be a new supervisor or something; they're always shoving in some middle management types to muck things up."
Samoon places one slender hand on her desk. "In the back of my mind, baseless or not, I have some strange idea that there's foul play in my--our father's death. I don't think that's what's going on right now, but I'll be damned if this man robs my father's savings based on his own death."
He sighs. "Hotah always felt you were right, so if you want me to feel like he's slapping me from the grave, I do." He doesn't bother saying what exactly Albreane is right about--everyone knows.
Wamblee nods.
"Albreane, it is as Samoon says. This is an attempt to slander and rob Hotah even after his death. Or to cover someone else's negligence."
”Unless Samen has any more questions, we can let you get back to your work. I think we have learned what we needed. Thank you.” Marianne says politely.
"Your father has a claim against Hotah's property. He's blaming my father's death by tunnel collapse for decreasing his income." Samoon blinks. "This is probably three levels of conflict of interest for you. However, it bears investigation. Will you help?"
Samoon's plea has little effect on Albrane, but Wamblee's flat declaration of the stakes makes her clench her jaw. She sighs. "Fine. Better for me to be out of town right now anyway. Just let me gather my things."
"Uh, no, thanks. You've been very helpful."
Once out of the shop, "So that's interesting, but without a way to survive the journey, not terribly helpful. Just as well I suppose, since we already are focused on getting back to grandfather's tribe."
Uncle dodges between a throng of elen, seemingly as uncomfortable in the city as Samen is. "Well, I would consider that a success of sorts, yes? Perhaps we can stop by a tavern along the way for lunch and beer before heading back to that dreadful banker's office."
Albreane packs lightly and efficiently, only taking seals, wax, and parchment in the way of tools. "I'm not going to lug all my heavy stuff for two days when I know there are practically more mining tools than elen in Rokerenge. I'm ready. Tell me more about all this as we go."
I suppose you are correct, for now,” Marianne admits, clearly disappointed. ”Let’s go back to the Helm and see what Samoon and Wamblee have found.”
Ding goes the helm as the two halves of the family are reunited. Uncle immediately orders two beers for himself. The husband, as quiet as his wife is loud, nods and serves Uncle, as well as anyone else who orders.
Albreane greets Marianne warmly - they are still on good terms, being friends before any romantic troubles with Samoon. She makes sure to sit near Mar and away from Samoon.
”Albreane!” Marianne exclaims, hugging the other woman happily. ”What a pleasant surprise, especially considering who you came with!” she pauses, and the smile slips. ”How much did you tell her?” the ranger asks, looking at Wamblee and Samoon over Albreane’s shoulder.
"We don't know much more. Did you hear word of my father's death? Did...your father speak of anything? We're somewhat in the dark," says Samoon.
"Alb...you need to know that we're being followed by agents. Do you have a weapon?" Samoon is the usual cold water thrown on a warm reunion.
Samen remains quiet during dinner, not wanting to get involved in any drama.
Albreane shakes her head, "No, I didn't hear about your father, and I haven't seen Dad for..." she shrugs, "at least a week. I've been busy, and I think he has been too." Somewhat reluctantly, she lays a hand on Samoon's shoulder. "I'm sorry about your father. He was a good el." She takes her hand away.
**
The sylph sarcastically opens her hands, waiting for more. "Agents...of war? Of change? Fortune? Volcano? Anyway, Mari and I used to shoot together every once in a while, but I got pretty sick of losing all the time. Are you saying I should go grab my bow before we go?"
”Get the bow, if you come at all” Marianne says flatly. ”It’s up to everyone as a family to decide if we say what kind of trouble we are in, but we have already been attacked, and they have less reason to keep you alive than us. We need the help you can provide, but you should know what you are getting into before you decide to help.”
Wamblee nods so the others can see.
"It is as Mar says. We are in danger."
He looks around at the others.
Your serious faces leave Albreane quiet for a moment. "So, danger. You've already been attacked...for some reason. By...someone. And you're not exactly being open with the details." She sighs. "I don't think-"
The inn's door opens forcefully, but not recklessly. Four ifrits, dressed in shabby cloaks over well-made armor, quickly make their way inside. One stays by the door, the other three march forward. The foremost ifrit, an uptilted scar across his face giving him a grinning aspect, says, "Albreane Rentwyrth, you have business with us. You weren't thinking of leaving town, were you? Come quietly, and there won't be any trouble."
Samen arches an eyebrow and breaks his silence. "Expecting company, Bree? It might be we're not the only ones in danger. You've clearly been followed. The next question is whether or not you knew it."
Wamblee turns to the ifrits, looking them up and down.
"Who are you, and what business do you have with Albreane?"
The scarred ifrit smiles, keeping a relaxed hand on the pommel of his sword. "Just a representative of the v'Borio family. Ms. Rentwyrth-"
Albreane interrupts, "Spelunk, actually."
The ifrit rolls his eyes. "Right, Ms. I-Like-Caves is a public servant, and she hasn't made herself available to the v'Borios after submitting her report on some of their holdings. Now, you are...?" He addresses the whole family, with a tone of indifference.
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"... general ruffians and thugs. We're staging an abduction to extort money from her father. You can have her when we're done. We have, as the people say, 'dibs'."
"I'm terribly sorry, but she's simply unavailable at this time...didn't catch your name there. With regards to your client, we have simply taken precedence, good sir. This concerns out of town consortia that aren't your concern."
Samoon is careful to control his hands and not fidget, while appearing aloof.
= 1 - 3 = -2
No longer smiling, the ifrit says, "Pugliesi will do." His faint ifrit accent grows sharper with his irritation, stretching the vowels of his words. "Since you are claiming out of town business, it will truly only be the matter of a candle or two for our in town business, then you can be on your way. If your old el there had the chance to drink two beers already, you cannot tell me you are on an urgent matter. As I said - come with us, no trouble."
Taking a step forward, he is just on the edge of infringing on Samen's personal space. Quietly, he says to the group, "Will we have trouble?"
"You're awfully quiet, Bree."
Albreane is holding herself, slouching, trying to maintain a low profile. As she shoots a hateful glare at Samen, you see a tear rolling down her cheek. "You're an awfully terrible elen, Samen."
Samen nods unsympathetically. "I get that a lot. Do you want to go with these guys or not?"
"Of course I don't-!" she starts.
Samen, a hand is now on your shoulder, crisscrossed with scars. The grip is hard. "You ask this question like it matters, boy." All three of the other guards have their weapons half-drawn, waiting for Pugliesi's signal.
"Trouble? Oh, it's not any trouble to take out the trash," says Samoon. "It's worth getting our hands dirty, even." He pulls back his coat to reveal a bandolier of small vials with inert ingredients, that, when combined, spell dangerous bomber to any el with half a brain.
”Sir, we are all clearly well armed, and all of us have at least a touch of magic, plus two are true spellcasters, and my idiot older brother is a lot more competent at creating and throwing those bombs of his than he is at showing them off. You are not equipped to handle us as it is. Furthermore, we truly do need her help. And all of that aside, Albreane Spelunk is our friend, and even if we were all unarmed, you would still be at the very least bloodied before you dragged her away from us against her will.” Marianne states gently, but firmly. Her tone is calm and matter-of-fact, and she never raises her voice once. The sylph woman simply lays out facts for the el to take whatever conclusions he may from them. She makes no move for the powerful bow sitting next to her, or the arrows at her hips. Even her winds are serene, blowing about her with barely enough force to shift her hair.
I am *never* unarmed. But I am not pedantic enough to point that out here and now.
Wamblee levels his gaze at Pugliesi.
"She has laid out the facts quite clearly. There are surely other public servants who can handle your business for you."
Uncle adds his own small threat - "Have you ever heard the tale of Pogona-Full-of-Teeth, when he tried to eat every vulture in the Sky? It did not end well for him." Small movements of his hands give off a dull green light. There is no apparent effect, just a show of magic.
Pugliesi takes his hand from Samen's shoulder, and steps back two paces. He slowly reassesses the situation, seeing several armed and determined elen set against him. "My people the ifrit are known for their compassion and their ability to compromise. Ms. Spelunk, you need only hand over your inspector's license. Call it a promise that you are coming back. You take care of your out of town business, then we have our conversation, and we all leave happy. Eh?" He holds out his hand on the last syllable. His eyes still scan the rest of the group for movement.
Albreane practically snarls, "Fine! Just get out!" She throws the license, encased in heavy leather, at Pugliesi's head, and he catches it smoothly.
"Buona fioco."
Pugliesi walks out of the inn, his subordinates trailing. The instant the door slams shut, Uncle stands up. "We must go! Surely they will be back with more soon. I will shadow our movements, and we must get out of the cursed city!"
"Yes, we should get any items we need and leave straight away."
He turns to Albreane and quietly adds.
"For what it is worth Bree, we will do our best to keep you safe."
"I am sorry, did he just say ifrit are known for compassion and compromise?!" Marianne asks, clearly offended. "Albreane, who were those cretins? And why did you give them your license?"
Samen brushes off his shoulder. "They seemed even more ham fisted than me. Maybe V'Borio can't afford good help these days. It's just as well we get back on the road. The darkspawn are far more hospitable."
"She can get another license," says Samoon briskly. "We need a wagon. Alb, do you have access to livery around here?"
With a distracted look on her face, Albreane walks past Wamblee without saying a word. Her red-yellow eyes focus on some distant point as she wanders her own thoughts. A beat or two goes by before she looks up at Samoon's question. "What? Oh, yeah, I have a guy I use for hauling my heavier equipment when I travel."
She takes the road northeast from the Gold Hills, then northwest toward the Ranches. The northern part of Forge is conspicuously absent of hills - it is the largest piece of flat land you have seen in days. There is, in fact, a large hole in Forge's city walls, where the fields continue their northern trek.
The unfortunate combination of tanneries, smoke houses, and reptiles greets as you near. You cannot see very far- it is strange to have your vision so reduced after getting used to the altitude of the rest of the city. About a brutbreve field away, you see the edge of the district: there are stalls selling smoked meat and stables advertising pogona teams for-hire dotting the border.
When there is no one within earshot on the road, Albreane says, "So what should I tell Joellie when he asks why I have a wagon of elen instead of a wagon of equipment? I'm not great at spur-of-the-moment lying."
Wamblee looks to Samoon and Mar.
"Perhaps Bree requires additional hands for a task?"
”That sounds as good as any options I could think of.”