Westcrown, Lamashan 10th, 4710AR
A man watches as "The Invincible" leaves the port of Westcrown. The sails profit from a light wind, a breeze that gently removes the long black hairs from the face of the spectator and thereby reveals he is crying. From the galley, a woman and a child wave at him, he replies as enthusiastic as he is able to, trying to hide his sadness from his daughter. Slowly the ship disappears in the vague border of sea and sky, behind him the sun does the very same thing.
Sadness is a dangerous councilor in times of eminent danger, a fact the man realizes when light makes way for shadow. After the statue of Aroden reflects a last sunbeam, his will to survive urges him to make haste. He hurries through the streets and starts to distinguish figures in the shadow. Just a bit further, just... Escape routes race through his head. Doors are closed with many locks in Westcrown, but if he can make it to his brother’s house... The thing is behind him. It's definitely there... But there is a safe place just around the corner. Just a bit further…
The man knocks on the door. Nothing. He tries again, using all his might now, but the only sound he hears seems to be a hissing laughter from behind him. Names are being called, the brother’s name, his own name, names of the gods and later on curses, but the door remains closed. Desperately, the man tries to make it for his own home, but he is tired… That night many screams echo in Westcrown, but the Wiscrani have grown used to it. No door will open at night.
Westcrown, Lamashan 11th
When the sun reappears, a man sits on the floor with his back against the threefold locked door, his hands over his head, repeating the same phrase over and over again. “May the Devil take them… May the Devil take them… May the Devil take them…” At the other side of the city, the corpse of a woman is discovered.
'I don't like your kind, but you seem decent for your race and perhaps we can help each other out.'
Mazon mulls over these words while making her way back to her small room, located over her employer's warehouse. She washes thoroughly, checks her weapons and goes through a series of kata, the stances of the Dragon and the stances of the Snake. She spends a time in meditation, muttering prayers to Irori and Qi Zhong under her breath while she attempts to balance her spirit.
The human woman's words continue to tickle her, though, disrupting her attempts at establishing inner peace. Mazon is slightly more testy than usual when making her way downstairs and into the warehouse -- more testy, but nevertheless impeccably on time. There are several Half-Orc and human workers already milling about, getting some freight out of storage and onto wagons, and other freight off other wagons and into storage. Most who see the surly, taciturn -- and above all, armed -- Orc approach give her room.
'I don't like your kind.'
If Mazon had more of a sense of humour, she might have smiled, and the workers would have given her even more room. She was not overly fond of pinkskins either, but what this particular pinkskin had said to her was still one of the friendlier conversations she had ever had with a human.
Without saying a word, Mazon walks through the warehouse until she finds Terrence Oldman, her employer.
"Boss. There is a thing I wish to say. Today, I must leave early," she announces as soon as she finds the human. "I can work for you until the fourth hour."
Regardless Terrence's response, Mazon makes her way to Vizio's tavern well in time. If at all possible, she arrives half an hour early and settles down in a nearby alley's shadows, hiding and watching the movements surrounding the tavern. While she waits, she ponders. A dead tiefling, probably murdered by whatever stalks Westcrown at night. The thing or things that Mazon has been hunting since she got to Westcrown. And just when she was looking at the scene of the death, the pinkskin woman came to see her.
Now Mazon smiles, baring her tusks and her other, equally sharp teeth.
Despite the grogginess still in Maxis' eyes from a disturbed sleep schedule, he lights up at the introduction of someone new, feeling a smile emerge at the need of his talents, but finally furrowing his brow at the mention of an afternoon meeting.
that late in the afternoon? I hope it's not a long meeting. she must know about the shades, so it's probably an order for some supplies. But then, why not just ask? Oh wait, she's late for something. But wait, she needs Father too? He's not an alchemist, Hmmm... By this time, Maxis had gotten lost once again in the labyrinthine web of thought processes that so often got him behind on projects. thankfully, Edwin recognized the racing eyes that belied the boy's intense concentration and managed to snap him back to attention.
Hoping to finish a few projects before his meeting, Maxis retreats to his lab after a hearty breakfast and sets about finishing several doses of antitoxins and antiplagues ordered by a previous customer.
Can't be just chemical supplies... He almost seems to lose focus on the vials in front of him, brewing and mixing almost reflexively as he ponders the possibilities.
Probably not anything for the church; Father said she was a good woman, and she didn't look mean to me. Minerals are ground, heated powders liquefy, and colorful fumes waft out the nearby window.
They talked about my 'talents,' and not just my alchemy skills; did they need a translator? Scents of salt, herbs, proteins and enzymes shift and flux; scales are balanced, portions measured.
Maybe they need a consultant? I'm not a wizard, but I know a few things about magic. No, that can't be it... Dusts, fluids and 'other' substances dance about the lab, filling beakers, bags, and vials in number.
Maybe they need ALL those things? Surely there's someone more qualified for those areas; I'm no specialist. but if they want me, then...wait... Maxis' eyes snap back to clarity; his hands freeze in their movement as his head jerks around to the desk drawer below his right arm. No...that can't be it...
Upon mixing his current volatile ingredients, he pulls the drawer open to gaze at the battered and worn trinket. A wayfinder. The Pathfinders...No. No, no, there's no way it's them. It was just luck back then, and there's better people for that. They wouldn't pick me. he closes the drawer gently, and exhales a deep breath before returning to his work.
I need to finish up. Don't want to leave things undone before I go.
rushing to make his morning deliveries, collect the payments, and return the profits to Father Edwin for counting, Maxis finds himself done with all his work for the day with hours to spare, yet almost finds himself late after turning the wayfinder over in his hands for awhile. Gods! I HAVE to stop losing track of time! Grabbing his essentials for the day and making sure he was halfway presentable, he bid Father a rushed goodbye and sprinted out the door to Vizio's Tavern.
.
Ozer forces himself up from the floor and drags himself across the room to fling back the shutters. The intense light indicates he is up early, just past noon. Got a job to do...what? His memories are a thick fog, scurrying to the dark recesses of his grey matter despite the efforts of the bright light to illuminate them. After a quick moment at the chamber pot, he pulls his thread bear tunic over his head and tugs on his beer stained breeches. The women, she had a job for me. Did I accept? Ozer runs one hand through the mop of hair on his head, the other through his corse beard before grabbing up his gear and heading down the narrow flight of stairs from his attic flop space. Strapping his sword onto his belt he heads out into the street, the suns glare forcing him to squint to see just a few feet in front of him. I need a drink.
Ozer walks the few blocks to the Bell of the Sea with his head down, his feet know the way and people along the lane tend to leave the grouchy man alone and let him pass. He tuned out their pitying remarks years ago and the locals have since grown accustomed to ignoring him too. Steeping through the door of the tavern, into the dim light, brings Ozer a sense of calm. "Elden, a stout one friend," Ozer calls out as he sits at his well worn spot at the bar. He jams his hands into his pocket and pulls out some silver coins...and a note. "And a crust of bread with a slice of cheese if you have it." He distractedly orders some food as he turns the piece of paper over in his hand. We must have talked awhile, Janiven and I...who else? Ozer can't seem to recall her face, and wonders what the depths of their conversation had lead too. Celibacy is probably the only vow he took that is still intact so he tries to recall the job she had for him since that would be the only reason he would agree to meet with her.
When the dark beer appears in front of him, Ozer smiles and takes a quick gulp. Wiping the foam from his beard he says, "Thanks Elden, I needed that. He takes another long drink as the barkeep scoops up the coins. "Say friend, do you recall the woman I was talking with last night? She goes by the name Janiven I think. She claims to have some work for me...know anything about her, or about what she and I talked about?" It wasn't the first time he had asked Elden to fill in the bank spots of his memory, a task the barkeep didn't seem to mind doing.
Ronwn pulled the door shut behind her and shot the bolts, just as Westcrown's hazardous night closed in. She checked herself - staff, clothes, cauldron, supplies, and Hessedher. Her young thrush had already left the comfort of her breast pocket and darted up in the shop to explore his favorite crannies.
'I do hope that other gent didnt' have far to go. Something tells me tonight is going to be deeper and darker than normal.' Then to herself, assertively, 'I am glad I didn't waiver and spend the night offshore. I made it with time to spare, even if something had held me up a bit.' With a final brief prayer of thanks to Valani for a successful homecoming, she set aside the flutter in her stomach, and turned to domestic affairs.
Ronwn greeted her cousin Faed, and took the message he conveyed. She patted his arm lightly, and graced him with a reassuring smile to soothe his worried frown.
She wondered briefly about the customer inquiring about her in particular. 'I hope that she isn't Bellflower. I'm a willing participant in the occasional relocation, but they can't presume to put my cousin at risk. The drops we use at the docks and islands in the harbor seem just fine.' Putting her own worry aside, Ronwn straightens up the workroom to her satisfaction, and airs the sheets of her cot in the corner, and assembles a small platter of bread, cheese, apple, and onion. Hessedher echoes Ronwn's actions as he explores all the corners and ledges of the familiar space, rearranges the twigs of his nest. Then he fluttered down to table to share Ronwn's supper.
Settled in her cousin's shop, and her sometimes-home, Ronwn prepares materials for the morning's meal, which Faed would expect her to ready while she was in residence. She banks the fire, douses the lights, and settles comfortably, if tiredly, for the night, barely registering Hessdher's sleepy chirp and cluck as he settled into the familiar surroundings.
~~~
Rising early the next day, Ronwn settles rapidly into her routine - fire stoked, morning meal on to simmer, reviewing her magics with that odd aspect of Hessedher that was not entirely him, nor entirely her, but something greater than either of them. Ronwn chats brightly with Faed, she inquires after mutual acquaintances, familiar customers, and happenings in the city. Ronwn regales Faed with some of the latest goings-on in the Fens, and conveys Breleth's greetings. Faed nods politely, with little regard for the news of the Fen he never plans to have anything more to do with than Ronwn's light conversation. Ronwn knows this, but also knows he would be concerned if she didn't pass on the news, and both are content.
Ronwn picks up her morning with usual errands - delivering some unusual herbs to a seller in the market, using the proceeds to acquire the silver for Janiven at the Street of Silver, delivering a potion from Breleth to an old customer, and a batch of Faed's tindertwigs to a general store.
'Someday, Faed will need to take an apprentice for these errands. he can't close the shop to perform them, he can't just hire someone off the street, and I'm not always available, and should be compounding in the workroom. I won't hurry him though - what a joy to see the city so alive. I would dearly miss the opportunity to walk abroad if someone else were to do this, and me shut into the workroom.'
Ronwn returns to Faed's shop, settles his accounts, and then sets about powdering the silver she'd acquired from the silversmiths. As she focuses on the repetitive, but still demanding, task, Hessedher hops from shoulder, to shelf, to the other shoulder. He regards her handiwork carefully, contributing an occasional thoughtful chirrup.
Ronwn shares a small stew with Faed at lunch. They talk briefly about the business, and whether they might want to invest speculatively in some sickness paliatives for the Dhaen, or if vermin repellant or silver blanch for sale in the city might be a better alternative.
Ronwn spends the balance of the afternoon setting a batch of vermin repellant. Shortly before 4:30, she assembles her out-and-about clothes and the packet of powdered silver, Ronwn whistles Hessedher to her shoulder, and steps through the shop on her way out.
Ronwn tells Faed she's away to make her delivery. She responds to Faed admonition about sundown with an assurance that she should not be that late, but that in all events she would find shelter either with this Janiven, or at one of the small islands in the bay. Taking her leave, Ronwn makes her way out into the streets for the second time that day.
As Ronwn walks the street towards Vizio's tavern, she looks discretely at a vase-shaped downspout on the next block, but saw no blue flower stenciled on it, 'Well if this is the Bellflower folk, this is entirely a departure. Ah well - it may just be a standard customer delivery, and no great conspiracy involved. More's the shame - because someone's got to take up for the city. Halflings fleeing cruel bonadage, last night's fatalities, it's too much. The city should be different from the river and the fens, but its cruelties and struggles shouldn't stink of willful evil. We can be better than that.'
Ronwn's gathers herself back from her thoughts as Hessedher seeksshelter in his pocket, and she surveys the the entrance of Vizio's.
This night is a cruel mistress.
But what would I know of having a mistress?
The last significant blood of the Rhys family toiled in a cloud of misery throughout the night, swaddled in the heavy linens of a canopy bed three times his size. Despite the fact that the month of monsters and cold sweat was in full swing, the cool spots on the bed were fleeting, and just as he found them, their chill went too deep. He listened to what might have been a rat scurrying in the wall. Later, it found the stitched seat of one of the last remaining paisley setees that had not been seized by creditors and Shannon lay wide-eyed listening to the pizzicato of its teeth on the thread.
His mind wandered like a troubled vagabond through the streets of Westcrown and its oppressive darkness that forced him to shutter every window in his spacious mother's home against the otherwise beautiful moonlit night. He drew pictures on the wooden floor with a listless finger. He tried breathing exercises to regulate his anxiety. He tried counting sheep but it reminded him too much of the family cottage in the Chelish countryside.
Finally he resorted to a draught of laudanum, but he underdosed and instead became distressed, his body demanding sleep but his mind refusing.
Is this how mother's last night went, knowing what would happen the next day?
That was all he could think about until the morning birds sang, heralding dawn. That and the past. Shannon started to drag himself from the bed, but surrendered and collapsed in a malaise for two hours of light rest. Hunger and need for the privvy got him moving. His throat was raw, his eyes crusted, his nose bone dry; symptoms typical of Lamashan and staying the night in a terribly dusty house, he concluded.
So Shannon bathed. And more than bathed, he lounged until the scalding water became hot, then warm, then lukewarm. He scrubbed the sleeplessness from his face with a Gemcrown sponge, filed down and polished his nails, washed his hair multiple times, and then struggled to drag a lounger onto the veranda to let his golden hair dry to a soft and silky sheen in the morning sunlight. Fiodor was late, but Shannon did not mind. He did not have the stomache this morning to decline his eager request that Shannon perform a street piece he'd laughably dubbed Miau. An opera sung by two cats, one scored soprano and the other tenor. It was a ludicrous idea, an insult to the theater, and a shameful engagement, but Fiodor had put so much effort into the composition...and the music was good.
Worried that the impurities in the air contributed to his poor breath and strained voice, Shannon wiled the rest of the morning away dusting. At first he used the peahen feather duster left behind by his mother's former houseservant, but soon became sore from the repeated reaching and swiping and shaking. He finished much of the upper floors, and it wasn't until he had come in from the veranda after dumping pursefuls of dirt onto the street below that he noticed Fiodor waving to him from the street.
Shannon answered the door in a cotton and silk S-weave bathrobe of scarlet fabric with canary yellow detailing, his hair woven into a protective mesh to keep the dust out. The young castrato squints against the bright sunlight, but welcomes Fiodor inside, and sasheys along barefoot in front of him towards the kitchen. There, they catch up, and Shannon removes a loaf of dark pumpernickel, offering Fiodor a slice for breakfast. Shannon butters one side of his own bread from a fresh crock, but pauses before buttering the other side. As Fiodor tells him about the female inquisitor, Shannon looks at a nearby standing mirror (his mother had one in every room!), lifts the thigh-high skirt of his bathrobe and pinches a roll of soft, milky-white skin at his midsection. He frowns a frown to break hearts.
"This Janiven woman is probably just one of the creditors I've been putting off who knows you're a friend of mine. Pretty face, maybe, but a heart as black as coal. Goodness, Fiodor, one would think my mother hadn't paid her debt in blood alone."
Fiodor's sad envy made Shannon all the sadder, and he massaged his friend's ego by adding that he'd put in a good word with her about him. "And I'll make sure she thinks you're poor as a pauper. Won't be gold she's digging in your trousers for."
He then agrees (reluctantly, but he hides the reluctance as best he can) to pretend to be a cat and sing for a bunch of drunkards.
Five bells of the afternoon is a little too close to dusk for my comfort...
Shannon slips out of his bathrobe and into an undershirt before buttoning up a stiff white overcoat with champagne ivy detail and a high, closed collar and matching leggings and cream-colored boots. At first he starts to add lace collars to his sleeves, but then considers the tavern he is going to, and not wanting to have them stained with ale or red broth, leaves them at home. He then travels to the district and finds himself a single night hostel before heading to Vizio's Tavern. He pays to rent a room for the evening in the anticipation of this Janiven woman keeping him until sundown; better to have a safe place to get to before dark in this district rather than get caught with all doors closed between the tavern and home. He did not relish the prospect of being propositioned to settle his mother's affairs with yet another creditor, or maybe one of her mother's working girls who feels jilted because she had the stupidity (or temerity) to be caught up in a political pogrom.
On his way to the Tavern, he passes the fenwoman, gives her quiet smile that is in reality admiration for her dress but could be mistaken for sexual interest, and then enters.
Ozer, you really should try not to drink too much when having this kind of conversations... Didn't hear a damn thing you two said, but you were having difficulties keeping it quiet. That woman had to remind you every two minutes to keep your voice down. She came here looking for a person to trust for a special job, and I asked you to hear her out. For what it's worth, I have heard about this Janiven. She's quite known as a bodyguard, sometimes a caravan guard. Excellent reputation, never disappointed a merchant. So if she's looking for help... Well, I'll let you conclude for your own. For now I suggest you go take a look. She might help us in the future in return. As I told you yesterday before... Ah, nevermind. Think you can do this?
As you arrive in the Rego Pena, where Vizio's Tavern is located, you notice the contrast of this quarter with the rest of the city. The "Coin Sector" houses several succesful merchants and fine establishments. Vizio's tavern, located close to the docks, is an exception to that. As if more in tune with the rest of the city, it looks a little old, with a few minor repairs covering the otherwise poor state of the building. The door is closed, but every now and then a tavern guest walks in or out.
Last customer who walks out is a halforc with an awkwardly large scar on his face and a huge axe on his back. He quite loudly slams the door, but apart from his behaviour, nothing seems to be out of order. A few seconds later Janiven opens the door and calls the orc.
Hey! You paid too much, it was only 6 silver pieces for an ale!
The orc turned around, and Janiven gave him his change. She bids him a good day, and then notices your arrival. She invites you in.
I hope you haven't had dinner yet? I prepared something. Not that I'm the greatest cook, but haven't got many complaints either. And yes, I expected all of you, there's food enough for everyone.
She looks around.
Almost everyone is here. But come in and have a seat, it's not the time of the year to keep waiting outside. What can I offer you to drink?
Mazon takes in the inn's interior before passing through the door.
"I have not eaten since lunch," she says, nodding to Janiven. "I will take tea. Jasmine, if you have it. No sugar. No honey. Just a little skimmed milk."
There is a slight catch in Mazon's voice when she names the beverage of her choice, and anyone paying very close attention to her face may notice a brief spasm of disgruntlement. It passes, however.
Ronwn follows Janiven into the tavern, marking the rest of the assembled crew. She notes Shannon, meets his eyes briefly and blushes, then starts briefly as she relizes she recognizes him from the stage. She also notes Maxis as a member of the community of alchemists in Westcrown - her eyes are drawn to him as a halfling. Her mind races faster as she recognizes Ozer from the Bell of the Sea - an establishment she has been avoiding, to prevent direct associations with the Bellflower Network.
Standing by the bar as Janevin begins serving, Ronwn says, "Many thanks for the offer, ma'am. I'd like to conclude our business and get back to the shop before dark. The daylight is fading. Would you prefer to take delivery here, or perhaps somewhere more private?"
Ronwn looks around meaningfully, "I'm not sure why exactly you've brought together a group like this. Any ties I've had with... sub rosa... organizations has been very carefully indirect. I don't know any names, faces, or roles, and I think that's a good thing. So if you're about to make introductions, I'd like to conclude our legitimate business and depart."
The bard stands with one arm akimbo, one knee locked, listening with a demure turn of the head to Janiven's address after her complimentary treatment of the orc. She clearly didn't fear it, so that told Shannon she wasn't any ordinary city woman. Once invited in, he cants his head in a nod and enters, taking in his surroundings.
And trying his best to appear graceful and completely at ease.
"Thank you," he says to Janiven's offer of a drink. "Something warm?"
Mazon asks for tea, and Shannon stares at her. Then looks back to their host.
"That sounds satisfying. Though with sugar, honey, and cream." Pause, redact. "On second thought, no sugar, and just milk skim."
When Ronwyn begins talking about organizations, and clearly one with clandestine ties with which she appears to want no ties with, Shannon's brow furrows, clearly puzzled.
"I am not certain, either," he adds in echo to Ronwn, "but I wager we are about to find out. I take it this means you aren't a mere moneylender looking to collect on old debts, then, Miss Janiven?"
Maxis feels the size and atmosphere of this place weighing down on him, and does his best to put on a steady face, though it's apparent he's excited. Whether from fear or anticipation is anyone's guess. Making a point of giving all traffic a wide berth as he maneuvers between furniture and people, Maxis almost seems to pop right up from underneath the table between Shannon and Ronwn, like a puppet in a show.
"Hope I'm not late. Did I miss anything? are we starting?"
oh she offered a drink. what should I get? what does she have? should I ask for something strong? No, father will be furious if I'm home drunk. Tea? it's what they're all drinking. hmm, should I try to stand out more? Maybe I should see if she has any Rumboozle, or dragon punch whiskey! That's got to make an impression!
"Some tea would be good, thank you."
Coward!
"Is this really okay, meeting so close to sundown? Father said you needed people with talent, but you didn't say why you wanted to meet so late."
I just hope I'm not gonna have to sprint home. It's a bit farther than usual. I might have to use that formula I made...
After another long swallow of the stout Ozer nods his head, "Yeah, I can handle it. You have done no wrong by me so if you say to hear her out, I will." Ozer then turns inward, as usual, and munches his bread and cheese, finishes the beer and then has another. God's what have I gotten myself into now? Vizio's Tavern, seems familiar... The afternoon slips by and when Elden clears away the third mug suggesting that the hour is close to five hours past the noon, Ozer curses himself.
He pulls himself away from the bar and heads for Vizio's, stopping by his rented attic space to strap on his Hide and gather up a few more things. If it's going to be a late night, I guess I should be prepared for anything. A swig of warm beer from a skin at his belt and he heads back out on the street. His late start from the Bell, and his stop at home makes him late and the last to arrive at the meeting.
Odd, I am not the only one meeting...maybe this is a bad idea. The mention of food, and then the scent of it cooking helps him to decide to at least sit and eat. "I will have a tankard of ale, whatever you have is fine but I prefer the dark." He finds a spot to sit near a wall and eyes the others Janiven has assembled. Have I seen him before, she looks familiar too, an orc...she can fight, best be wary, and a halfling...hope he does not end up in somebody's chains, what is this women up to?
When his tankard arrives he lifts it to the others, "Well here is to meeting strange folks, in dark places, for dark purposes."
When her guests come in, Janiven points at the table that has been set for seven people and serves every one the drink they asked for. She cannot help but smile lightly when Ozer raises his ale, but quickly puts up her neutral face again.
To Ronwenn, she says:
No need to hide it, we can conclude that here if you wish. But I would prefer you stayed for a moment.
She directs everyone with a small speech.
All of you have been invited by me, a personal reason, for a common purpose. My goal was to put you together. I put my trust in you because you have been spoken for by people who have become a rarity in Westcrown nowadays: common, hardworking and honest people. The kind of people who form the backbone of a city, but who don't have a voice in the battles between nobles, soldiers or politicians in their struggle for power. I believe we all have something in common. From the orc to the halfling. I could explain why I believe every single one of you is here. But I would rather have it you tell us a little about yourself during this meal. It's nothing too big, so don't worry about getting home. We have two hours left, if we use them wise you'll be home at sunset. If anything goes wrong, you can stay upstairs, it wouldn't be the first time one looses track of the daylight.
Anyway... I'll be serving some food now, perhaps you might want to tell each other who you are and what you do?
She turns to Maxis...
Does that answer your question?
then to Shannon.
And yours?
"I am Mazon," Mazon says, her voice soft for an Orc, but confident. "Mazon Blacksun, of a sub-clan of the Blacksun tribe - a sub-clan that is no more. But I remain. I seek perfection of the self. Battle is the anvil on which I hammer weakness out of the alloy that is formed of my flesh, my spirit and my soul. I came to Westcrown to hunt the shadow-things, the ones who leave all of you... Wiscrani in such terror."
"Terror, HA! Westcrown stinks of evil...a devilish stench from its sewer stones to its palace stones. There maybe those who think there is still goodness here, I may have even been such a man...once. BAH! Hunt the shadows if you like, you will only find darkness there, a foul darkness that will consume your soul."
Ozer takes a long drink of his ale, "Miss Janiven, I think you must have confused me for someone else, I am sure there are better men you could call upon. Folks that might actually give a care about this place, or themselves." A rumble from his belly betrays he hasn't had a full meal in a good while. "I will thank you for the meal, and this drink, but whatever you have heard about me...is a man already lost in those shadows."
Ozer takes another long drink having never mentioned his name to Mazon or the others.
Maxis quickly glances around the table before standing in his seat to better present himself. "My name is Maxis Molderbin. I'm an alchemist; I can make all sorts of devices, mixtures and potions, and I've done a lot of studies on various topics, both mundane and arcane. I know some medicine, and I'm pretty good at figuring out how things work, be they magical or mechanical."
Maybe she means for us to fix the city? It's a weird group, but maybe with the right planning we could actually change something? Okay okay, let's not get too crazy here. Let's just wait and see where this goes. but wait, what did she mean 'if anything goes wrong?' Uh oh...
tuning out his internal monologue once again, Maxis realizes he is standing completely still and starting at the table in front of him. Hoping to play off the awkward silence as purposeful, he gives a cursory glance around the table, an approving nod, and confidently resumes sitting.
Yeah, good job there, public speaker. Either you look like an imperious official waiting for applause, or you look like a dope who forgot where he was standing.
Mazon casts a long, slow look on Ozer. It is remarkable that such small, red eyes can seem so cold.
"It might be interesting to hear the man speak, himself," she says. "Rather than what seems to be about a barrel's worth of ale. Orcs do not fear shadows or darkness. Unlike humans, we can see in them just fine."
Does that answer your question?
"Yes," the young man answers. "And raises even more. I do not recall the last time I was ever said to be hardworking or honest. Or common," he adds afterwards as a breathy stage whisper. "But I shall take you at your word, Miss Janiven. In your eyes, we all share something in common; but I must confess, I know not a one of you."
If there is bread at the table, Shannon takes it in both hands and breaks off an end, first handing one to Mazon.
"Yet not knowing provides an opportunity to learn. Specifically, learn what it is that Miss Janiven sees that binds us all together. I am thankful that you have come to spare us from the monsters in the night, even though you do not do it for me. Others like myself would pressure the Dottari or the Hellknights to dispatch them, if we had a voice. Where our words fail, I believe you see where your actions can succeed...will succeed."
He breaks another piece and offers this one to Ozer.
"I have heard nothing of you, or this man whom you claim is better than you. But it is a show of humility to acknowledge that there are those better than yourself, and humility is one sign of a good man."
A third piece is broken and offered to Maxis.
"You must be a free man, then, to have the benefit of such an education. To the layman, the alchemist extracts impurities to create a pure product, and works in gold and silver and chemicals and powders. But what of the alchemist who applies his process to ideas, to cities, to the hearts of men? I once read that was the origin of alchemy, the desire to extract that which was undesirable from the self and purify what remained. Now that I am in the company of an expert in the field, I can ask: is that true?"
Shannon allows Janiven the time to tend to dinner while he becomes very conversational with those who are gathered...all the while saying nothing about himself.
Looking around the table cautiously, Ronwn joins in, most directly addressing Shannon, "Very well spoken, friend diva. Please allow me to follow suit. I am from the fens and the city - I split my time between and among. I have no horse, but I find my punt less temperamental. I am an herbalist and a healer, an apothecary and compounder. While our friend halfling here understands mechanisms, I have an understanding of that which breaths and crawls."
"Some of you I have seen - our friend halfling at the stalls attractive to chymists, and some alchemists shops about town. M'lord diva is familiar from the stage. Our senior tablemate I have some experience with from the far side of a tankard, at an establishment where I have some friends, but neither face nor name. M'lady shadow hunter I have not had the previous benefit of encountering. In this place, for this discussion, I have no face, and less a name."
Lady Janivan here, I also have never met before. Though she knows my home in the city. And my family. Herself visited my family and my residence in her own name, in her own skin. I might be interested in having a discussion using my name and likeness, if there was little or no link between me and my family. But now there is, so I can neither have a name or a memory of yours."
removing impurities...mixing and purifying chemicals is easy. Purifying people is as easy as giving them an antitoxin or alkali salts. But that's not what he means. Fixing a whole town...is Janiven really asking us to change this whole city? Just the five of us? I don't even know where to start with something like that...
Maxis munches on the bread absentmindedly as he observes the talk at the table.
A heavy drinker who used to be some kind of hero. A healer who seems to know about nature and magic. An orc who's crazy enough to actually hunt the shadow beasts. An actor who can sing. And...me? I just mix ingredients. How do I fit into all this? Is this what I keep hoping will happen? Is this how real adventures start?
At the thought of that word, Maxis reflexively reaches between the folds of his apron, laying a hand on the battered compass that kept his mind racing at night.
Why did I bring you? What am I really hoping for here?
With the expectant look he gives Maxis, it becomes clear his question of the halfling alchemist was not intended to be rhetorical.
Shannon offers a fifth of the bread to Ronwn.
"Another expert in the company! And Miss Janiven paid you a personal visit? I believe that is what they refer to as a house call in your profession. If I am reading between the lines of this libretto correctly, you have been called to the city to make a diagnosis. What would you say is Westcrown's illness? And more importantly, what would be the cure?"
A smile creases his pert lips.
"And how should I call you, physician? The world is your stage now and you can adopt any title and any character you choose."
He breaks the last piece in twain, and leaves half of it on the table. Maybe for Janiven.
"I am a child of Westcrown. I was born and raised in this city, and for me, Westcrown is memories, and not merely my own. It was by no means a glorious place in my youth, though it was my youth that made me see it that way. But once upon a time, it was. Before I was born."
Here he pauses, and looks as though he may wax into a more ferocious diatribe, but he humbles his tongue, mostly out of fear that it'll traipse into treason.
"The history and the innocence of youth is not all that I've lost in Westcrown."
Now positioned at the head of the dining table, Shannon spreads his arms outward like an unfurling flower, suddenly both satisfied with how slender they look in the long sleeves of his coat and disappointed that he didn't wear the lace cuffs. Under any other circumstances, he would not offer his voice for free to the common people in the street - it had been hard enough for Fiodor to convince him to perform for tips and a house fee in his Libertine Librettos - but the impromptu composition that had occupied his mind for the past few sleepless nights seemed appropriately intimate for what Janiven had intended to be a very intimate gathering.
He sings in mezzo-soprano, sounding for all the world like a genuine fraulein of the theater.
♪ Ariel! Mama! Called for sighs
From my sad bosom rise
And grief hold dominion o'er mine eyes.
The River Adivian ran red with thy blood
but ne'er once with thy shame.
No tomb! No urn! Whom is to blame?
Alas, Mama, rest. Rest. Rest.
And know that I am my mother's child. ♪
The melancholy adagio closes with a loon-like warble in his voice, an intentional emotion rather than a loss of control.
Swallowing the last bite of bread, Maxis once again stands in his seat, this time a more thoughtful confidence in his eyes.
"The origin of alchemy has always been up for debate. Who discovered it, how and when, will probably be questions for some time. But you're right about its purpose. Alchemy is the science of transformation. I want to use it to purge all the weakness and illness from my body, but I never thought it would be of use to purify a whole city."
Maxis looks down at his pale hands, furrowing his brow for a moment. A grin then shoots from cheek to cheek as he looks up with brighter eyes.
"Then again...if Westcrown is supposed to be a glorious place...if all it takes is some knowledge, some purification...then we'll just have to mix up an experimental batch of experts until we get a stable social reaction, then throw our little vial of glory right at the heart of this city's illness!
Wow. that was...ungraceful. like a bad pun, but in run-on sentence form. Didn't even manage to keep the same line of analogy throughout. On a roll tonight, it seems.
While serving everyone dinner, Janiven observes the conversation. After Mazon's short explanation, she nods approvingly. She is visibly angered by Ozer's words, but remains silent, even after Mazon put him back in place. She smiles lightly after seeing Maxis introduce himself, and notices later on he is playing with something.
When she sees what it is, she raises an eyebrow, but keeps the information for herself. Meanwhile, Shannon finds the time to sing a song with his opera voice, tough the words don't sound familiar. Would it be something personal?
Ah of course, his mother... How could she forget, it was the talk of the city back then. She nods in understanding, and then adresses everyone again. While she lets everyone eat, she takes the word again. She takes a deep breath before doing so, but then speaks without hesitation.
I understand that my mysterious visits may have caused reason for distrust, and for that I am sorry. But it was the most sensible way to get you here without too much attention.
In any case... thank you again for agreeing to meet with me here. I have chosen each of you for a singular reason—everyone here, myself included, has suffered, whether we realize it or not. I have lived in Westcrown my whole life, and although I love this city, I must admit, as must you, that despite our peace and prosperity, we continue to suffer. Fear should not be an expected part of life, and yet each night brings fear to our doorsteps. Yes, Westcrown has been safe from war and famine for nearly seventy years, and yes, our businesses has prospered—but this safety and prosperity has been bought in the coinage of fear and prayers to Hell. Other lands live free from tyranny. Other cities do not fear the night. Other governments do not cede the streets to monsters of the infernal shadows. Westcrown was once such a place, and she wants to be such a place again. Westcrown is not only her buildings and canals and docks and history—she is also her people. Westcrown is our friends and neighbors, our mothers and fathers, our siblings and cousins, our sons and daughters! With but a small group of supporters and dedicated brothers and sisters, we can earn the trust and admiration of those people. A Westcrown free of these shadowy beasts that stalk our streets is one step closer to a Westcrown free of the devil that is the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune!
She holds her breath at the end, to increase the impact of that last word.
You weigh your reaction carefully. These last words are certain death if heard by some people...
"Fear is a part of life. To be rid of fear, you must grow stronger. But if your city's laws do not serve the purpose of giving stability and security to the people they restrain, then they are bad laws," Mazon says, shrugging. "Laws should bring benefits to balance the limits to freedom that they bring. You should kill your chiefs and make better laws."
Mazon's brow wrinkles in sudden thought, and she casts a dubious look on Shannon. "I think you look like a man. Why do you squeak and chirp when you sing instead of growling and roaring?"
He looks between Janiven and Mazon in turn, and finally observes, "Stated at length or in brief," he indicates Janiven followed by Mazon, "you each speak treason..."
A soft, womanly smile to Mazon. "For the same reason a gelding whinnies like a mare and never rears like a stallion."
The Orc shrugs. "I obey the law if it is a good law," she says. "One that makes sense. If the law does not make good sense, it is not law. Then it is a club, being wielded by the chieftain to make himself big and everyone else small."
Mazon's brows knots in consternation at Shannon's reply. "Hrn! You were caught by enemies of your clan and they mutilated you? Bad business. Men should roar or die roaring."
"It might be interesting to hear the man speak, himself," she says. "Rather than what seems to be about a barrel's worth of ale. Orcs do not fear shadows or darkness. Unlike humans, we can see in them just fine."
Ozer tips his mug back again, Mazon's words might have stung if he cared what anyone thought of him now...or before.
He takes the singers offer of bread with an even glare, but no comment is offered back.
Quietly he takes his ale, and fills his belly as the others talk of the city, of right and wrong, of treason ...thinking his thoughts once echoed the words they all mumble in hushed tones here.
... to a Westcrown free of the devil that is the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune!
Ozer scoops up his tankard and loudly says, "Now that I will drink to." He empties the ale down his throat and slams the mug soundly on the table.
"Wait a second. I think I see where this is going, but are we sure we know what we're talking about? I mean--"
Maxis rapidly scans the room for other ears and eyes before continuing. "I don't really care for the house of Thrune either way; they're never really done anything to me, but I do get nervous around those knights, even though they're supposed to be protectors of the law and people. that's not right. And the shadow creatures just don't belong here. I don't have lots of proof, but I feel pretty sure that they tie back to Thrune, too. Still, we're basically talking about making war on the ruling house of a whole city. Father taught me that it's not wise to boast unpopular opinions when you're surrounded by critics, and the knights are really critical about this kind of thing."
"I mean, I'd like to see a better Westcrown, too, but...are we sure this is a good idea?"
"Some ideas I think are good, but not wise. Most of those ideas only flourish when held by large numbers of people." Looking at Janiven, "Right now the numbers, and the fear, are on the side of the knights. All of the demonstrations of power - including, I fear, the beasts of the night. Public and unpleasant executions are a great disincentive to traitorous activity. That's why they are performed. What you just said, m'lady Janiven, some would call an inspiring act of courageous defiance. Most would call it suicide." With a brief glance at Ozer, "Some might sell your words for a jug of wine."
Looking at Marzon, "Your thought about how to replace bad leaders implementing bad laws is also suicidally defiant - but has the virtues of boldness, brevity, and specificity."
Rounding rapidly on Shannon, "Though lovely as a nightingale, and heartrending as the thorn the pierce the nightingale's breast, your words haven't helped me understand our circumstance here."
...and back to Janiven, "Why, exactly, do you trust all of us here with your life? And how can we trust, that knowingly or not, you aren't inviting us to speak treason in front of some paid informer?"
Mazon grins at Ronwn. "I am Orc," is all she says.
Her eyes narrow at Ozer again, and the grin slips from her face. "There anything left you won't drink to, barrel-man?" she asks.
Turning back to Ronwn, she shrugs. "Plenty of those Dotter-men in the neighbourhood, but they weren't patrolling near this street when I saw them. If there's a traitor, we'll know soon enough."
Shannon is about to respond to Mazon when Maxis commands the stage and Ronwn expresses his own doubts.
"Public and unpleasant executions are a great disincentive to traitorous activity."
Though he has been standing since he arrived, at this statement, Shannon sits down, his head lowered and staring at the table.
Those doubts he does have a mild answer for, however. "I believe Miss Janiven sees that we all have a motive to want to live in a better place, and for that better place to be Westcrown. Disparity may lie in the methods one might employ to do so..."
"I mean, I'd like to see a better Westcrown, too, but...are we sure this is a good idea?"
"If you want to get yourself stretched on the rack, though I suppose you could use a few inches." Ozer snarls at his own bad joke.
"Most would call it suicide." With a brief glance at Ozer, "Some might sell your words for a jug of wine."
Ozer looks about for another tankard of ale. "At least you have sense about you, this folly will only get you killed. If you know someone offering coin for the driveling's of a a washed up soldier, point me at them I could use some silver or at least another drink."
"There anything left you won't drink to, barrel-man?"
"The silly notion that anyone, much less a foolish band of misfits like yourselves thinking you can take on the establishment. Do you think the gods are on your side? This place is cursed and you think you might be the cure?" Ozer stares down their host, "Did you think you could induct us into some secret over through House Thrune society? A glory seeking orc hunting the shadows, she would do better just to stay in the shadows. A miniature mixologist, you think he can concoct an elixir that will wipe the blight of Westcrown away? An apothecary from the Fens. What? Is she supposed to bring an outsiders view, tell us the grass is greener and all that. Bah, and a singer so well kept, you think he can stomach the foulness of what you are suggesting? You are wasting your time, the devil stainded rulers have their deals...the gods have left this place to rot into shadow."
This isn't good. everyone's starting to argue and belittle each other like kids. This could get ugly. Think, Maxis. there's got to be something to say here to bring this group together before they start fighting each other...
I know what it's like to be afraid. I've been a fragile boy among a fragile race. I've had to watch my step, still my tongue, and mind my health like a hawk ever since I was born. Only by some miracle did my father even find me in the woods as a newborn. All the tyranny, all the monsters, all the suffering I've seen has been a fact of life. I've never known anything different. It's always been this way for me. for all of us, really.
But it doesn't have to be.
We all know what it means to defy the house of Thrune. We know the risks. We know exactly what we face if we make a misstep or a slip of the tongue. And yet, here we are. I think, deep down, honestly, we all knew why we were coming here, and even if we didn't, we all knew why we wanted to.
The halfling looks to Shannon, his sympathy plain in his eyes. You lost everything, didn't you? Before you even had a chance to call it your own. You were wronged and you know it. Now there's nowhere left to go but down. You deserve a better chance--a fairer chance, and I think you know it's here.
He then turns to Mazon. You saw there was something more than the primitive fate you were born to. You see new strength, a new path. You know there's a better way than what you were stuck with, and you have every right to walk that path, regardless of who tells you not to.
Ronwn next receives an empathetic countenance as maxis closes his fists. You know something's wrong. I can tell. You just know that the way things are right now is just not right. And I can tell there's part of you that just can't sit still in the face of it. A big enough part that you came here today, and haven't yet left. You want to change it too.
A downcast gaze reaches Ozer. You wanted to help. you wanted to prove that you were one of the good guys. I wasn't there to see what you faced, but if it wore you down like this, then that just means it was a challenge worth facing, and an evil worth overcoming. But I think you and I have figured out your only mistake...
His last words hanging in the air for just a moment, Maxis' eyes drift downwards to the table as he completes the thought that is surely on everyone's mind.
You tried to do it alone.
The young halfling pulls out the battered wayfinder and gazes at it longingly. I came here because I know what to expect if I continue on with my life. Hiding indoors, filling orders for potions and salves, running home before dark, hailing Asmodeus when the clergy walk by, and bowing out of the way of those bullies in their spiky armor while this city gets poorer, sicker, and more afraid of itself.
As his words continue, his face twists into dissent and something resembling anger. Finally he slams the wayfinder down on the table.
Maxis folds his arms, casting a steely gaze towards his host. I won't be a timid boy all my life. I will change something for the better, come hell or high water. Whatever plan you've got, Janiven, I want in."
Mazon stares at Maxis, frowning, her lips moving as she repeats his words to herself... and then she grins.
Orc grins are not pretty by anyone's standards but those of another Orc, but there is enthusiasm there.
"You talk too much, but I like what you say," Mazon rumbles. She rises and extends her right hand to Maxis. "We're not too different. Both of us, trying to find perfection by purifying away the flaws."
The Orc snorts at Ozer's words, then shrugs. "Hrm. Glory means nothing to me. I hunt to become stronger, not for praise. But that's not important, either. If good words don't sway you, I suppose I can give you some money. Will you do as I say, then?"
Bah, and a singer so well kept, you think he can stomach the foulness of what you are suggesting?
Shannon had heard far worse, from people whose opinions meant far more to him, so Ozer's discouragement had the same effect on him as oil upon water. But even so, from his seated position, he looks away towards the windows and the door, both engaged and disengaged from the conversation. He does make clear eye contact with Maxis when the halfling addresses him, his lightly painted eyes seeming like they are trying to draw Maxis in and drown him in their depths, until Maxis is done, and he crosses his arms, pouts his lips, and stares at the empty spot on the table where the promised dinner would soon be.
Maxis was right, after all. Shannon had lost his birthright. The Rhys family was technically of noble standing, but they were and had been of a laughable stock since even before Shannon was born. Any sort of inheritance had been claimed by creditors instead of the last scion of the family, and he was having doubts that he would even be able to keep a hold on the family home in Westcrown.
None of that mattered very much to Shannon, however. He had never expected it; in fact, had never much wanted it, knowing how many Asmodean knots were tied in the strings that bound most every Chelaxian noble house.
But even still, the halfling was right. He had lost everything that was important to a man, and at an age before he even had a chance to take ownership of it. But how can you get that back? It was lost not only to nature, but to the eyes of the people, the same ones who, on the post outside the tavern where his eyes now alight, had brazenly mocked him by altering the title of his most recent theatrical leading role, The Gilded Prince. The "i" of "gilded" had been blackened by boot polish, and a cruel "e" scrawled above it with the same black marking.
"Given what you say is true, and I were interested in seeing change," Shannon speaks up, far more subdued now than before, and clearly choosing his words carefully, "the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. There is nothing I could do to affect any change. If you are thinking to capitalize upon my family's finances, I am sorry to disappoint: there are none. And with those losses, so too have dissolved any connections that remained between the Rhys name and people in positions of authority. She could break a man over her knee and still use the other to break two more. He was a career soldier, so he suggests, before he started doing battle with sobriety. You have a great deal of knowledge and insight, and likely more courage than the rest of us put together. And our friend from the fens, aside from being handsome, knows medicine."
His expression is dubious, but not uncompromising.
"I can entertain at a dinner party. Or mend your coats." He takes the pitcher and dotingly tops off Ozer's tankard of ale. "Fill your cups with mead when they run dry, maybe..."
"You are weak," Mazon says, shrugging. "We all are, at first. Become stronger in one way or another." She holds out her hand to Shannon, too. "I can help you get stronger, if you let me. I welcome all good challenges."
Janiven nervously awaited everyone's reaction. She had put a great deal of trust in these people, and with a soft sigh of relief she learned no one walked away. Yes, difficult questions, but this was to be expected. She would reply to Ronwn, but then Maxis held a speach that made her eyes twinkle. The courage of a young halfling... At the end of it, he slammed the object she had seen earlier on the table. Quickly she said:
Maxis, by the gods, be careful with that!
She immediately realised that this shout was too fast, too... Then she looked at everyone.
Well, let's answer a few of your questions... Starting with why I put my life in your hands. The truth is, I didn't intend to. Normally Arael tells you all this. I am the one who looks for possible recruits and, as such, I have gathered information about all of you, thanks to my contacts in the city. The honest citizens of Westcrown have spoken for you, as you might remember from what I told you earlier. It was Arael who made the call to invite you tough. He is the leader of our group, I am his right hand. We are a group of Wiscrani, all as concerned as you are. I was expecting him here, but he did not show up, which worries me.
I do not wish to start an open rebellion, nor to oppose our governement directly. I wish to win the hearts of the Wiscrani. We can achieve this by doing good deeds, without appearing as rioters or rebels. We can do good for this city by getting rid of the shadow creatures, for example. But first we should get organised and perhaps find other groups who would do this with us.
But if I am not mistaken, perhaps we have already found another group to support us. Or why are you smashing a Wayfinder of this table, Maxis? I admit, I didn't know this and I'm especially surprised they have sent you without saying so directly... You are part of the Pathfinder Society?
Shannon nods to Mazon. "I believe you could achieve it. Whether I believe I could or not..."
He trails off, now more interested in the wayfinder he had overlooked that Maxis had brandished before them. "You don't strike me as the adventuring type," he says to Maxis. "And besides, I don't think a Pathfinder has been in Westcrown for ages."
Maxis sits down, retrieving the wayfinder in both hands and returning to a more thoughtful gaze. "No, I'm not actually a pathfinder, much as I'd wish otherwise. I received this with a letter from someone in the society who found out I'd been looking at Delvehaven, the run down lodge they used to run here in Westcrown.
I don't know who they are, but they wanted me to use it. Maybe it means the Pathfinder Society really is looking to help, or looking to return. I don't know. But this thing is a reminder of everything I want. I've never been the adventuring type because I wasn't taught to be adventurous. I've been too slight and fragile to endure the rigors of adventuring, or so I'm told, at least."
turning his eyes down from the wayfinder to his pockets, however, his expression grows slightly more bold. "but maybe with my alchemy, and with 'our' alchemy, I just might have a way past that.
"If you are big and strong, you can use it," Mazon says, shrugging. "If you are small, talky and quick, you can use it. You can use anything. Anything."
"Janiven - that is a specific approach, and one that I can support. Suicidal charge into the teeth of hell has little appeal. Improving the lives of the people of Westcrown. As you say, by nourishing their hearts and their courage by example. By beating back and fending off the iniquities afflicting the city. As Maxis says, operating together we could have a positive impact."
"Confronting the authorities directly, or attracting their wraith by broadcasting treasonous intent, will put a rapid end to any good we can do. And put all of our loved ones at terrible risk."
"So let's hear more about indirect, oblique action to improve the condition of the Wiscrani."
"Ha! You are no better than the oppressor you claim to want to subvert. Spying on folks, trying to to identify potential agents to run about Westcrown doing random acts of kindness. Like that will overpower the taint of Asmodeus. Perhaps you are a fool or maybe you have been driven mad by the stench of all the devil worship around you."
"Ozer, I did not hear any coercion. We may see opportunities to make larger changes. I am a believer that doing something is better than nothing. You say you came here once to make a change, but that things decayed faster than you could correct them. Can you find it in yourself to try again?"
"She's right, Ozer. You couldn't do it alone, but now you have backup. Surely the lot of us can make a bigger dent in this city's problems?"
"Bah." Ozer scowls and stalks off to the bar to badger the bartender into poring another drink. Young upstarts what do they know.
He takes the pitcher and dotingly tops off Ozer's tankard of ale.