Osric, somewhat miffed at Ky La's uncooperativeness, resolves to go see Ms. Vellum, but only after stopping by the publisher of those newspapers.
Might as well make some trouble for the man.
Fi, you pick your way through the normal morning Mansions crowd. You see well-dressed ifrit couples, likely strolling about for no other reason than to see and be seen. Sylphs are bent forward, coaxing the wind to clean the snowy streets; the piles of snow leap forward like storm-blown waves. You also notice an unusual amount of guard activity - many are heading to the northern part of town, and others are heading to the various blacksmiths scattered throughout the district.
At the Tareasca residence, the sylph butler answers the door. He is dressed in fine black clothing, befitting a servant of the wealthy. His forehead is perpetually wrinkled, as if he is constantly being surprised. He smiles at you with tobacco-stained teeth. "Miss Incarna! It has been too long since you have graced us with your presence. Please, allow me to take your coat."
He escorts you to a comfortable waiting room off the foyer. "I do apologize Miss Tareasca cannot meet you right away - she is in a meeting right now. Would it please you to wait for a quart-candle or so? May I offer you spiced wine to shake off the cold?"
---
Odebie, Dove nods thoughtfully at your response, and says nothing else for now.
Leaving the Temple and the Dims behind, you and Dove walk through the retired military housing of north Hearth. The buildings closest to the Temple are in good repair, reserved for war heroes and officers. Farther into the heart of the district, the buildings become shorter, dirtier, and shabbier. It is like observing the decay of decades over a few short blocks of walking.
The housing abruptly ends, and you come to the barracks of current Army recruits, as well as training grounds. The stamp of Army efficiency and conformity is everywhere: all the barracks are the same design, spaced the same distance, and serve the same purpose. Were it possible, it almost seems that the very same bricks were used for each building.
Rising above the grid of squat barracks is the Commandant's Quarters. The three-story fortress is made of huge blocks of granite, perfectly fitted together. The sheer walls are peppered with arrow slits and turrets. Lookouts survey the district from the rooftop. Near the entrance, you spot Captain Greco have a heated conversation with an undine, also wearing the silver bars of a Captain. You are currently too far away to hear the conversation.
Byron nods. "The Temple is as good as any a source to manufacture weapons against the Dark but the planar disturbances do seem more pressing it seems that there must be wards remaining over the rest of the city perhaps they can be extended or maybe something can be arranged if a party could sneak in to the center of the affected area..."
Byron, Ky La's face turns blank at your continued thoughts on the arcane implications on the current situation. When you finally take a breath, he immediately says, "The enthusiasm radiating from you is enough to cause second-degree burns! You know your way to the library, yes? Crosso will help you. There's a good lad." Before you know it, you are in the hallway of the inquisitor's chambers. You hear the door lock.
Fiordelise nods and smiles at the butler, "Thank you Mr. Chamberlain." that was his name right - it really has been a while
"I would not wish to overstay my welcome though, Miss Taraesca did not seem pleased to see me on my last visit... I don't suppose she's mentioned me at all lately?"
Fi, the butler's forehead wrinkles multiply as he considers your question. "Hmm...I do not recall her mentioning you, but then again it has been such a busy time for Miss Taraesca and the rest of the family. I have certainly not been told that you would be unwelcome here, though. If you pardon my saying so, it is indeed good to see you again."
---
Osric, you find the headquarters for the Kept Coin within the Shops district. From the outside, the graceful pillars and arches put you more in mind of a bank than a broadsheet. The two-story marble facade shows the newspaper's title in tall golden letters.
Inside, there is a narrow staircase to your left leading down. You can hear the rhythmic boom boom boom of the printing presses, like a golem's heartbeat. In front of you, a mid-sized lobby is surrounded by offices and desks. All around you, waves of conversation ebb and flow, occasionally punctuated by a curse or a laugh. There is constant motion: quill-scratching, page-turning, and worried pacing.
Several strides away, there is a single point of serenity within the barely-controlled chaos. A young, smiling ifrit sits at a clean, uncluttered desk, obviously a greeter or secretary. When you approach, passing between two more tall pillars, she says, "Yes? How may I help you?"
Odebie follows a step behind Dove, even though he has to shorten his steps. The sheer soullessness of this place, with its smooth-cut stone and perfect symmetry, makes him shiver.
He glances longingly at the Dims behind him.
"Well, tensions have been high all around lately. I would certainly prefer not to lose a friend over it, I can wait a quarter-candle well enough"
Osric smiles amiably at the young lady. "Good morning to you! I enjoyed reading your paper this morning, as usual, but there are some details about a particular story that are either missing or incorrect. As a direct witness of the events, I would like to share a statement to help clear up any misunderstandings and preserve the Kept Coin's reputation for accurate and incisive coverage."
Osric, she looks at you more closely and says, "Which story was it? And you are...?" Her face is neutral with professional courtesy.
"Ah, my apologies." He extends his hand courteously. "I am Osric Ferret, private investigator of the former steam slums, and freelance assistant to High Inquisitor Ky La. As for the story, it's probably in reference to a few of them, though I admit, I didn't make it past the errors on your front page. You may or may not have connected the dots of the events, but I can provide some connective tissue, as it were. Specifically, I am referring to the grisly undine sightings, the weather, the steam disappearance, the imp infestation, and the accessibility of Old Fret's statue. Things are changing in Hearth, and I believe it is the right of the populous to know how and why."
Her eyes widen. "I thought you looked familiar! Page one a few weeks ago, right?" She smiles, and hooks a thumb over her shoulder. "Corner office, all the way back on your right. I'll let Mr. Agostini know you're coming. He'll be the tall gentlemen pacing and drinking." She smiles again, with a hint of mischief. She leans over to a small silver cube, presses down on one corner of it, and speaks softly into it.
You traverse the main floor, walking around teetering stacks of paper and avoiding a few near-collisions with frantic-eyed youngsters on the way. You hear arguments, jokes, and recitations of numbers, all of which blend into a chaotic--but not wholly unpleasant--background murmur.
The oak door is open a crack. Inside, the office is dominated by a cluttered desk, upon which rests notebooks, stacks of files, several cups of quills, and a dark glass bottle. The walls are bare, save for a few framed newspaper clippings.
True to form, Mr. Agostini is restlessly pacing the back of the room, ten or so feet away. In his hand is a glass of brown liquid. He does not give you a chance to speak. "Corrections, Mr. Ferret? I've taken it you've never worked at a newspaper before. You won't get into a reporter's good graces leading with the word corrections."
The ifrit has a dusting of ash-gray around the temples of his otherwise black hair, and laughter lines around his eyes. A rumpled suit hangs upon his chair, and his white shirtsleeves are rolled up. He gives you a wry look. "The proper way to start is with a drink, and a story." He pushes the bottle closer to you, then sits down at his desk, crossing one leg over the other. He waits for your reply with unguarded interest.
Fi, it is closer to a half-candle rather than a quart, but soon enough Isabella sweeps into the room, her arms wide. "Fiordelise!" She kisses the air next to your cheeks in an affectionate manner. She is wearing a dark green, sleeveless dress with a few tasteful ruffles to raise it above a simple house garment. Her hair is down, which is unusual for her. The brown-and-red waves give her a youthful, innocent expression. "I do so loathe drama, don't you?" She takes your hands in hers, and pleads, "Let's just put the whole brutta episode behind us, shall we?"
Business-like, she says, "Eccellente! So, it seems you're making a career of that sword of yours, eh?" She nods toward your blade.
Odebie, Dove does not seem to notice--or perhaps care--about the tone of the Captain's conversation. Greco is finishing a sentence in a low, dangerous tone. "--on you, after all we've been through?"
The undine Captain looks unmoved by Greco's anger. In unaccented Hearth Common, he says, "What you can count on, Hanska, is retribution for those who vote against the Temple. I would recommend composing yourself before coming inside." The undine strides away.
Greco rubs his eyes with a broad hand for a moment. Turning away from the Barracks, he looks surprised to see the two of you. He quickly recovers and says, "Lietenant. Sergeant. Good."
The captain takes a deep breath through his nose, and releases it. "We're prancing on pine needles today, boys. Sergeant, when you are asked for your testimony on the recent events, take care not to cast the Temple in a negative light." A hint of his earlier anger colors his words. He takes another breath. More calmly, he says, "We don't have time to go through all the details. If you have any questions, make sure they are vital."
Osric pours himself a drink as he sits down comfortably. "Perhaps I'm not making friends, by I at least got your attention, no?"
He tells the story of going to the haunted basement, banishing the efreet, and how that ties to the missing mist and the mephits.
He leans forward, swirling his drink and enjoying its aroma. As he continues his tale. "And that's when things got interesting. On our way out of the slums, we encountered a group that was hunting Ky La, led by the reanimated undine referenced in your story. It was accompanied by three out-of-town elens coming from the temple; one young sylph girl named Inam, one cranky oread woman named Kallik, and one inquisitive but distracted sylph fellow named Ibinu.
Apparently, and Ky La confirmed this, these folk are resistant to darkspawn corruption and could be the weapons that change the course of the war. Unfortunately, they're not the first. Our dead fellow was a member of a group of four former blessed elens, who were tortured, cursed, and murdered for some defiance of the temple. They were all eager to slay Ky La, as Inam had earlier that day slain So Khong. Apparently this curse, or perhaps power in general, induces rebellion. That was the cause of the alarm bells you heard yesterday.
Ky La was saved due to the loyal service of watchman Odebie, among others. Ky La mercifully spared the rebels, hoping to contain the situation. They are housed in the temple. To the best of my knowledge, there are currently three living elens and three undead ones bent on murdering inquisitors. I do not think they are a threat to the people in general, but if inquisitors are under attack, life will become unpleasant for everyone. They honestly believe they're doing Volcano's work by hunting folk, which perhaps makes them more dangerous.
Sadly, I have no physical evidence to back up my story, but the truth always seems to have a way to rise to the top. Hopefully this will corroborate some of your own investigative work. Are there any questions I can answer at this time?"
"Agreed"
Fiordelise smiles warmly, "As much as it seems I may, I don't seek out conflict Isabella. But I can handle myself in battle when needs be. And I've always been too headstrong to run away."
She considers asking about what v'Manco was doing before they met, maybe he had boasted of a fancy gem before realising it's significance... but she holds her tongue, some things are better left for another day.
"I am sorry for arriving unanounced, I just did not want to leave things on the sour note we last parted on, and could not did not want to leave our friendship in the hands of something as clumsy as a letter."
"But enough about me, I trust life has been treating you well?"
Osric, Agostini watches you with interest during your tale. The only piece of your story that seems to truly catch him off guard is when you mention the nature of So Khong's death. He nods to himself as you finish. "Plenty of questions, Mr. Ferret, but only one that truly matters. Why come forward with all this? Why take the risk?" He holds up a hand, grinning. "And please don't say 'for the good of the city!' or some such cliche. I've in the game too long to tolerate that."
---
---
Fi, Isabella's brow creases, and she looks down for a moment. "Well enough. Daddy's been a little under the weather lately, and I've had to step in for a meeting here and there. But life is busy, si?" She walks quickly over to the fireplace, where the small pot of mulled wine still simmers. "Do you want another glass? Chamberlain has such a good recipe."
Isabella comes back over to you, her face composed once more. "I was wondering if you were free. Not tomorrow night, but the night after. I'm holding a little soiree - you know, a few friends, maybe a few vees. A simple meal, a little wine, a little music, that kind of thing. What do you say?" She tilts her head and gives you a bright smile.
"You want the honest answer, eh? I understand. Never trust someone whose motives you don't understand. I wish I could pass it off as something as noble as all that, but the truth is far more petty.
I just finished a conversation with our beloved high inquisitor. He's been controlling information, manipulating us, keeping us in the dark, and operating in the shadows. I asked for a simple piece of information, and he refused on account of not being able to bear losing his grasp on even a morsel of it.
While I do believe the people of Hearth have a right to know what's going on inside the temple and their city, I am mostly motivated by spite and coffee this morning. I'm simply hoping to give him another headache."
"Understood, sir." That shouldn't be hard.
Fiordelise almost declines the glass, "Maybe one more? my compliments to Mr. Chamberlain."
"I'd be delighted, your gatherings are always memorable, and I'm sure it wouldn't hurt to show my face around polite society again." she reaches for Isabella's hand, concern on her face [b]"Are you sure you're alright, I am here if you need me, we've been friends too long to be too fussy on proprietary."
Osric, the reporter take a long drink from his glass. After a short ahh, he says, "Well, that's a motive I can appreciate, at least. You understand I would have to name you as the source, right in the story? This kind of stuff won't get printed otherwise. Are you willing to take the heat?"
---
---
Fi, Isabella squeezes your hand. "I appreciate it. Truly, I do. But if I start talking now, I'll be a wreck for a candle or more, and I have more duties. What about you and Enzo? And Karina, for that matter - how are things in the Incarna household after all the terrible things that happened?"
Osric finishes his drink in one gulp and laughs at Agostini. "That snake has been following my every move for the last couple of weeks. I'm sure there's a wide-eyed message boy scurrying back to the temple this very moment. As I've said nothing false, and revealed no official secrets, having my name in the paper actually protects more than it harms. He'll never trust me again, but then, he never did, did he?"
"Karina is vulnerable, she's been spending most of her time around us. I can understand not wanting to spend much time in her house... I saw what happened there. Enzo and I are closer than we've ever been, I guess horror and tragedy really build bonds in a family"
Fiordelise smiles trying to make light of the situation, but the humour doesn't reach her eyes. She takes a deep drink of her wine, "Sorry, I didn't come here to burden you with more misery, we're recovering. Doing what we can."
"I'm not keeping you from anything am I?"
Fi, Isabella looks thoughtful for a moment. "It's been so long, Fiordelise. I hate to cut our time short. Say, I have a little lunch meeting coming up...would you like to come with?" She beams at you.
---
---
Osric, Agostini nods, either to you or to himself. He picks up a small picture frame from his desk, and looks at it for a long moment. You cannot see the picture from this angle. Putting the frame back down again, he says in a brutbreve announcer's voice, "Then let's write a story, shall we?"
...as you tell your story in more detail, Agostini writes feverishly, hardly stopping to flip a new page. When you are done, he insists--with grim satisfaction--that it will make the afternoon special edition. "This is front page news, Mr. Ferret. I'll owe you a bottle of Tareasca wine if we sell the whole run."
Byron, you look up, wondering what candle it is. The priests and scholars Ky La spoke so highly of seem to have left you to your own devices, unable to follow the leaps in logic between your fast-flowing sentences. Confident you have gotten a good start on the issue of the planar rift, you decide to call it a day.
As you walk home, eyes dry from a long day of staring at small text, you bump into someone. The matronly ifrit sniffs in your direction, but quickly turns away. You realize there is a whole crows of elens, making a wide ring around something of interest. There is excited murmuring, and plenty of open-mouthed gawking.
Your mind was wandering again. How close are you to home? Did something happen at the 'lady house' next door - maybe another drunk making a scene? No, it smells like there has been a fire...
And then you see it. Your lab is...no longer there. The roof and front wall have collapsed. Your home, your sanctuary of discovery, has disintegrated--literally, your mind notes-- into chunks of rock and split beams. Small fires still lick at the jagged pieces of wood. Small wisps of steam rise where snow gently falls upon the smoking ruin.
Odebie, the interior of the Barracks is a maze of narrow stone hallways and sharp turns, ideal for defense during the turbulent times in which it was first built. The side doors you pass are all locked tight, thick wooden frames standing straight and tall. Imposing portraits of past Commandants and grim tapestries of legendary battles are the only concessions to aesthetics.
Entering the large conference room, you see that most of the Captains have already arrived. The room is dominated by long tables of polished dark wood that sit upon a raised stone floor. The tables are arranged in a U pattern, with the Commandant in the middle on the far side of the room. Shields hang on the walls, emblazoned with the symbols of the Watches.
On the far left, the Net Watch's crocodile-and-net sigil hangs. Continuing dextral, the fire-and-fist emblem of the Tall Watch sits over an empty chair - the wardens of the city walls almost never come to meetings, even a Calling of the Captains.
Directly to the left of the Commandant's seat, the Temple Guard's sword-pierced pyramid leers like an ill omen. To the right, the Ardere Watch shows a golden V. Second to last on the right, the East Watch displays its curious icon - a cauldron stirred by a spear.
Finally, above the rightmost seat, far from the Temple and the Commandant, is the Dims's candle-and-snuffer. It may just be your imagination, but the shield seems slightly crooked upon the wall.
The Commandant reminds you of the snow falling outside - white ice and black ash. His jet-black skin and piercing eyes are sharply contrasted by the white hair surrounding his bald pate and drooping from his mustaches. In a raspy but commanding voice, he booms, "And here is the Dims Watch. Take your seat, Captain and Lieutenant. Sergeant Odebie, you will present your findings in your own words." He sweeps his arm toward the center of the room, where you will be in the middle of the U, surrounded by the Captains of all the Watches. Greco and Dove look surprised by this request, but do not protest as they take their seats.
All eyes are upon you.
Byron stands, looking on in incomprehension, for a long moment. Nothing he had left active should have been capable of such destruction. It simply should not have been possible. And yet it had happened. Had Eldon...
"Eldon?" he calls out weakly, as he reaches that thought. As if in a daze, he steps forward, looking back and forth for signs of his fellow sylph. "Eldon?"
The crowd reluctantly parts for you. They stare at you as if this were nothing more than a street-corner puppet show. Stepping between piles of wreckage, you see Eldon's legs, and the lower half of his body. The rest is obscured by a ceiling beam that must weigh several hundred pounds. The pools of frozen blood quickly inform you that Eldon is dead.
Amidst the rubble, you see something that chills you: a dozen or so headless pigeons are strewn about scene of destruction. Their small, singed bodies look pitiful.
Byron stands, looking without seeing, for several long moments. Then he wheels and walks away quite purposefully. He's not quite sure where he's going at first, other than away.
Slowly his brain re-engages. There was a decent chance that whoever had done this meant to kill him, too. Why? It didn't make any sense! But what could he do about it?
Wouldn't it be the Watch's job to investigate this? Yes, yes... but would they?
Ah, Odebie. Or perhaps Osric. Yes... he should find one of them. One or the other of them would probably be at the Dims Watch. His pace quickened now that his destination was determined.
Fiodelise considers a moment, she didn't really have anything she needed to do, not until later tonight anyway, and she did just ask if she could do anything to help.
"I'd be delighted, as long as I'm not intruding, who are you meeting?"
Isabella smiles radiantly. "Splendido! I'm meeting with Signore Locatelli. He's interested in finding a new partner for weapons manufacture with the Temple."
Osric, by the time the article is finished to both your and Agostini's satisfaction, you realize lunchtime has come and gone. The exuberant ifrit offers you a stale but serviceable sandwich that he claims he is too jittery to eat. He thanks you again for your time, and hurries downstairs to the mechanical heartbeat to make sure his story gets in to the afternoon edition.
You make a brief stop at the Whisperer's Guild, only to find that Vellum is not working today. The messenger you question, a sylph boy, assures you she will be in tomorrow.
Bah, figures. That's what I get for allowing myself a diversion.
Osric will spend the rest of his day researching an idea that occurred to him whist looking at the architecture of temple. He's not sure if it's feasible or not, but he'd like to find out.
These grand sculptures and buttresses couldn't have possibly been lifted into place without a great deal of power. Or perhaps a modicum of power precisely balanced. If the boundaries between us and the Volcano plane are weak, perhaps we can also weaken the boundaries with the River plane. Balance and counter balance. It should theoretically be easier to bypass them toward each other than 'lifting' one on our own.
We would probably lose that section of Hearth again, and there would almost certainly be steam as a byproduct. It's possible we might be able to restore the status quo.
Osric, the crowds around the Temple start to wane after the last scraps of ashbread are handed out for the day. The cold and snow keeps everyone walking quickly, and most bend slightly forward to lessen their profile against the wind.
Your trained eyes dart toward an outlier - an elen walking slowly, head slightly raised, as if in a daze. Now that your conscious mind is focusing on the courtyard, you immediately recognize the elen as Byron. He is trudging east, most likely toward the Dims Watch. He seems completely unaware of his surroundings, even moreso than usual.
...That will all have to wait.
"Hello Byron! You look like you've seen Sky's ghost! I meant to catch up with you and see how your negotiations with Ky La went. How are things?"
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Odebie stepped to the center of the arch, squared his feet. He'd never been especially skilled at public speaking, but he'd had to watch his father preach often enough to learn the basics.
He took a moment to clear his throat and order his thoughts before he started talking.
"I would ask you all first to take a moment and think on what theological lessons you remember about the efreet." He pauses.
"This began with an investigation into gasp dealers in the Steam Slums.
Myself and some companions, including a noted alchemist, had just finished investigating a gasp distributor - an investigation which indicated that sylphs were being abducted from the Brightfield Arena to be used in gasp production. On our way there, we were attacked and our mister was targeted first. For those unfamiliar with the Steams, the Mister's Guild provide- had provided their services as guides. They are a neutral party necessary to the functioning of the Steam Slums, and to attack them was unthinkable. We escaped, and stowed our guide somewhere safe while we raced to the arena."
"When we arrived, we found food stalls drugging sylphs and abducting them. We followed underneath the arena, and found a gasp production lab. It was booby-trapped, and though we managed to arrest the alchemist running the lab one of the booby traps started a fire, the results of which are doubtlessly well-known to you all."
"Initial interrogation of the alchemist proved unhelpful, and the next day we escorted our mister guide back to his guild headquarters. We were ambushed by a fire elemental, along with a hidden archer. A reminder, none but the misters were known to be able to see through the mists, though old tales have the efreeti as being able to do so."
"We killed the elemental and the archer fled. When we arrived at their guild headquarters, we quickly found ourselves under siege. By fire elementals and misguided sylphs, implanted with rubies."
"We escaped, though the Mister's Guild was burned to the ground. The only surviving mister gave us a name - Corazón - and we quickly realized that this was an alter-ego of Temple Guard Cadet Macario v'Manco. Acting on a hunch from a well-learned friend, we approached the statue of King Fret, using a solution prepared using the ruby to avoid immolation. There we found Corazón, who was most certainly an efreet. We fought, and we believed we had killed him."
"When we returned to the Watch, we found that the Temple had been conducting its own investigation into these matters under the auspice of Inquisitor Ky La. He invited us to join him as he explored what remained under the statue. There, we found that Corazón was not as dead as we had hoped - with the inquisitor's help, we ended him for good. We also discovered a darkspawn infector and, with the blessings of the Grey Father, Volcano, and clever sylph alchemy, killed it."
"A ritual to cleanse the area destroyed the statue, and appears to have removed the steam from the Steam Slums. Those strange creatures, which I believe are called mephits, appeared soon after."
"This concludes the tale."
Nodding, Odebie stood in place and waited for the inevitable barrage of questions.
Know:Nobility
Byron starts as Osric speaks to him. He'd missed the other sylph, not even noticing him in his narrow focus on walking.
"Osric I would... I need... you need to investigate a murder and arson... my lab... Eldon," he rambles, gaze as unfocused as his sentence structure.
Osric's eyes widen in surprise. He was expecting him to be lost in his formulae, not shock and grief. He grabs Byron by the shoulders, partially to help him focus, and partially to offer a comforting touch.
"I will do what I can, friend. While this may be normal thuggery, I need to know right now how much of the white obsidian formula you gave to Ky La. If he has it, he doesn't need you anymore."
Odebie, the Commandant nods with approval at your succinct telling. "What of these rumors spreading about town - dead elens that walk? Have you seen any evidence of these? Are they connected to the efreet?"
Despite lacking the v' honorific, the Locatellis are an influential family. Signore Locatelli has two sons. Diego is Captain of the Temple Guard. Mauro is the head of the Inquisition of Imprisonment, which is in charge of the arrest, trying, and containment of criminals and heretics. As implied by the careers of the sons, the Locatelli family has close ties to the church.
You also recall that this is the same family that had a falling out with Karina's family when the v'Riccis produced low-quality weapons that were to be sent to the front. (which reminds you - what has happened to all those active v'Ricci contracts, resources, and lands, with everyone but Karina dead?)
Signore Locatelli is a serious, religious-minded ifrit. The only thing you ever remember hearing that he enjoys is music, but only hymnals and other weighty songs.
Fi, Isabella whisks you out the front door into the cold afternoon air. You are thankful for the lingering warmth of the mulled wine in your veins. Even though it is a bit late for lunch, you notice the crowds around the local eateries seem quite sparse. Your friend glances east, where the steam used to rise, and shakes her head. "That's just too strange for me to look at." She hugs her perfectly white arctic-fox coat more tightly to herself.
You follow her to Tonio's, a simple bistro that serves simple fritan meals with exceptionally fresh ingredients. You have not been here in years - the prices are high, as are nearly all restaurants in the Mansions and the Shops. Isabella has already assured you, however, that this will be her treat.
As you enter, the fireplace and ovens make the room wonderfully warm. The smell of tomatoes, oregano, and basil makes your stomach growl. The bright red and white patterns on the tablecloths and chairs are inviting. There are currently no other patrons, save for a dour ifrit - Locatelli. Signore Locatelli is seated near the back of the restaurant. Though he is facing the entrance, he seems absorbed in the newspaper he is reading. He is wearing a severe gray suit and a frown.
"Saluti, Signore!" Isabella says in a bright--slightly fake-sounding--voice. She gives a small curtsy before sitting down. "This is my good friend, Fiordelise Incarna."
He nods to the two of you. "I already ordered. You'd best do the same if you want to eat at the same time." A waiter is at the table, seemingly come from nowhere.
Signore Locatelli seems like one to stand on tradition and ceremony. Fiordelise slips into the rote and role of politeness, following suit and curtsying as she is introduced.
Unsure of why Isabella brought her along, as it seems Locatalli's prescence would stifle conversation between the two of them, she contents herself to observe for now, ordering a a Gnocchi Pomedoro - a simple dish that should not take too long to prepare - and a small glass of wine.
Byron stares uncomprehending at Osric, unable to follow his reasoning at present. "None yet... there were headless pigeons..."
Fi, Signore Locatelli nods, seemingly placated by the formality of the greetings you and Isabella present, despite the informal surroundings. He continues to read his paper as if the two of you are not there, and Isabella's body language makes it clear that you should not be the one to break the silence.
The meal comes, along with the wine. The dishes are steaming, and practically glowing with freshness. The tomato sauce tastes fresh off the vine, despite the winter season. The spices and mozzarella balls tasty, without being overwhelming, and the gnocchi has been perfectly cooked.
Without preamble, Locatelli asks Isabella, "So what do you know about weapons, eh? Ever even pick one up?" His tone is cold, not precisely confrontational. Bored, perhaps. Before flustered Isabella has a chance to answer, he turns to you. "Is that sword by your side supposed to impress me? Just your father's, or your brother's, I'll bet. Ever even used it?" Again, there is no real animosity in his statements; you get the feeling he could just as well be commenting on strangers passing by. He takes a slow sip of wine.
Isabella looks to you, struggling to figure out what to say. This is obviously not the beginning she hoped for.
"Good. If you can stand it, take me there. Anything you can show me that is out of place will aid in gathering clues. I know this is hard, but we must not delay. Once the watch gets there, things will become more muddled."
Fiordelise feels more at home with his derision than she would have done had he been complimentary, with a slight smile she anwers "The blade was my grandfathers and I have put it to more use than either my father or brother would have." she glances around.
"This is not the place for it of course, but I would be happy to demonstrate my skill some other time, if you can arrange a suitable partner to spar with."