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Oti isn't sure that he has heard of Swift Prison before, although it does sound like a strange prison, indeed, and decidedly not to his view of equal justice under the law. (He does not say so because it is not his place - he is still very much the junior Member of the Watch he was in Greengold.)
But, being diplomatic has its advantages, and the charismatic Oti is good at asking people for information. The former junior Member of the Watch is comfortable - if a strange sight - among 'the low' places and people, respectfully getting to know them and finding out what they know, himself growing up an Outsider, an aasimar, in an elven kingdom.
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On the way out, Oti waits for a moment to talk with Svetlana, quietly confiding,
"So, the Silver Crusade wants us to do another favor for the Andorans. I'll free the mites again; I've studied Undercommon and Aklo, and so should be better able to communicate that we have a common enemy, the derro. I don't know about destroying any evidence, though: that seems to be politics and, while I sympathize with the Andoran cause, Taldor is our host."
Swift Prison’s formidable gates loom over all who pass beneath them. Out front, a gilded statue stares uncaringly at those who serve time beyond her sentry-like gaze. The wrinkled, dirty faces of Cassomir’s prisoners are briefly illuminated behind the bars of the ground floor begging cells. Their pathetic drone as they beg for coppers fills the courtyard in front of the prison.
Hestia’s man, Garver, approaches your group as you arrive. He is a tall Taldan man with a slim physique and plain peasant’s clothing.
“You made it. Good. I've arranged to escort you inside. Follow me.” Garver turns and enters the prison, marching through myriad hallways that twist and turn and finally end at a plain but thick wooden door. Garver produces a key and says, “Our captured cultist fancies himself an artist, and if you like his work, it’s all for sale. I should warn you, he's a bit... unstable. but when he’s lucid he provides good information about the cult and their plans. You're not to harm him, so probably best to begin with a friendly tactic, eh?”
Garver opens the door and leads you down several stone steps into a dingy, shadowed room with three cells. He claps the guard on the shoulder and shakes his hand as if slipping the man a coin in the process. "How's about we let the Pathfinders have some room to visit with your guest there, hmm? There's a good lad, you're due a break by now, eh?" The guard stares stupidly at his palm for a moment and then eyes the party curiously, but climbs the steps and shuts the door behind him without another word.
In the center cell stands a man dressed in torn beggar’s rags splashed all over with paint. His bare feet are shackled to the floor by a 3-foot length of chain which clinks along as he drags it behind him, maniacally throwing color onto a dirty canvas. He scrutinizes his work for a moment and then suddenly rakes a paint-crusted claw across the canvas leaving savage marks across whatever it was. He cries out in wordless delight and grasps the paining, brandishing it over his head like a prize beyond all wealth. "For you, my master! Always for YOU!" He exclaims through a toothless grin. He then lays the painting atop a small pile of apparent recent works and sets up another moldy, blank canvas, furiously attacking it with his brush. He does not seem to have noticed your entrance at all, so complete is his absorption in his work.
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On the way out, Oti waits for a moment to talk with Svetlana,
Before they got to the prison, Svetlana pulled the party aside.
"Look I know I'm not the sharpest blade in the armoury, and so I leave the heavy thinking to those with a knack for it - but when it comes to swinging steel I am more than happy so tell ya what - as people like to do it there way and use words before wounds, you lot do any talking you need - but if you want to let me know its time for a brawl all subtle like, then all you need to say is this "Geez, I could really do with some Chelish Ale" and I will smash the jaw of the person you look at or gesture to, deal? Chelish Ale."
[oo]Forwards...[/ooc]
Svetlana looks at the madman curiously, and then to the others, seemingly taking her cues from them.
Brak, however, walks confidently and brashly ahead of his niece. Approaching the cultist's cell, he nods to Svetlana. "I'm with you on that." he says gruffly. "I'm not one for words unless it's 'attack'." he says. "But I've dealt with my fair share of unreasoning savages in my day. We'll see."
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Having waited patiently Kurse decides to try and speak with the man. Before he does so he slides his hand over his face wiping the usual goofy wild eyed expression away and replacing it with bright eyes and a charming smile. "Hello my good man I could not help but notice that pile of fine art you seem to be creating, truly this master of yours is a very powerful and deserving fellow."
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On the way to the prison, Oti converses with a few citizens and comes away with an even more grim view of the prison. Oddly, he pleads patience and ducks into a tavern and emerges a few minutes later with an awkwardly-large bag of coins, with the partial explanation that the ground-floor 'begging cells' - dank cellars known to the prisoners as 'Stavian's Fair' - are for those too poor to pay for their release, who often succumb to disease and death unless they are successful in the pitiable endeavor.
Oti takes another time at the prison, distributing coins to the hapless and hopeless in begging cells, thinking angrily about what, exactly, Cassomir deserves...
~~
Hearing Kurse's soothing words, Oti decides to leave the negotiations to him (or the both of them), merely aiding with a respectful posture and interest in the paintings. He tries his best to discern the subject and purpose of the mad paintings.
Never having an eye for art (or detail), Oti is further distracted by still-strong emotion.
Try as he might to steel himself against their suffering, the plaintive cries of those lowest of the Swift's prisoners pierce Otiophon deeply. Desperate for some sense of understanding for their plight, he reaches out with his senses, almost hoping to find the taint of evil among their tortured souls. But he is disappointed time and time again. Those strong enough to speak rattle on their sad tales of losing their freedom for the petty crimes or assaults or being even simply being unable to pay their debts... a strained "Thankee kindly." is all some can muster.
But to their credit, once the money hits their trough, the Swift's guards are quick to respond and get busy unshackling and delivering the more humane treatment Oti has purchased for them. Some even give him grateful glances for the leave to be merciful.
Having waited patiently Kurse decides to try and speak with the man. Before he does so he slides his hand over his face wiping the usual goofy wild eyed expression away and replacing it with bright eyes and a charming smile. "Hello my good man I could not help but notice that pile of fine art you seem to be creating, truly this master of yours is a very powerful and deserving fellow."
The painter straightens from his work and squints through the dim lighting to see the speaker. "You know my master, friend?" He shuffles toward the bars dragging the heavy chain behind him, his staggered steps halting as the chain pulls taut against his shackled ankle, stopping him short a full foot back from the bars. His eyes held a terrible awareness as he ran his gaze over his many visitors before he locked his gaze again on Kurse, now with an eager manner. "Yes! Of course, he has sent you to me... I see the shadow of death that stalks you even now, holy one. His patience knows no bounds. He beholds us all under his watchful gaze until the last life falls. Praised be He who ends the days! Do you seek my secret, friend? Soon enough — but in return I ask something from you. The vision is not yet revealed and I need it to complete my collection." He points to two paintings hung in a shadowy corner of his cell. A third canvas hangs next to them but is blank.
“Outside this very prison, you’ll find a statue covered in gold. You may have already seen her! Describe this statue to me as best you can - do not spare any detail - and I will be able to complete the vision. Only then can I tell you all I know.”
"A statue? I'll have a look too." Brak says.
Marla follows along and assists with the details by writing notes.
The statue sits just outside of the prison’s gates, its golden form shining brightly in the sun. It stands just over 7 feet tall and rests atop a 3-foot-tall stone base. The statue depicts a curvy Taldan female with short hair and wearing flowing robes open at the neck. Her face is beautiful to behold but she regards you with a blank, uncaring expression. One gilded hand lifts a blindfold from her eyes while the other extends toward you with an open palm, demanding to be filled. Faint moons decorate her flowing robes, and she crushes a set of scales beneath her left foot.
Frindlikh and Brak notice a small detail that most might miss. The sculptor apparently left his mark on this work of art — a small letter “I” embossed into her left foot.
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"Hmm. That seems to encompass, in one form, all that is wrong with Swift prison and, perhaps, with the Taldan justice system."
"Except ... why the moons? That is not a symbol of justice that I know, although moons or a moon seems associated with the end days 'god' Groetus..." Oti continues, aloud.
Oti looks at the statue and attempts to detect if it is evil, even though it is - perhaps - only a statue.
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"There was that rumor, 'the tale of lost love reunited and a dark wedding somewhere in the depths uniting the Teppish and Ismacco families forever'. When first we started this sordid expedition, it was Luscilia Ismacco who was the slaver and cleric of Groetus (she was called Luscilia and Ismacco both by the half-orcs, you'll remember), and the love note from Dalirio Teppish led us to the warehouse, where he perished. But, it seems that even dark love may 'conquer all'."
"Luscilia Ismacco may also not be the first Ismacco to be a follower of Groetus - though one letter and a few moon images on a disturbing statue are hardly proof."
The crazed painter nods, staring into the space Kurse indicates. "It's form shifts, but I will try. It appears to enjoy shuffling 'round your gear. Wait... I think it's posing now."
While the others are observing and discussing the statue, the painter works on Kurse's request, looking at the end result strangely for a moment.
He then presents the portrait proudly.
"It wouldn't put down that strange garment. I have no idea what it means but it looks like an ill omen to me." the painter shrugs.
'Hmm... looks like someone's been paying attention... Why are you giving me that look? That's nonsense, good GM's don't play favorites... Well, I don't know how so many clever players all ended up at the same table, just lucky I guess... Now SHUDDUP Slips!!!'
Otiophon is convinced this lunar imagery on the statue's robes is indeed some secret homage to Groetus. Perhaps the Ismacco family are not new to the worship of The God of the End Times. He thinks back on religious lectures on the subject...
'Groetus hangs in the form of a bloated moon above Pharasma's Boneyard in the Outer Sphere, silently watching. Only the other gods know whether the moon itself is the god, or merely his dwelling place, and they have proven reluctant to discuss the matter. Adventurous folk who have braved the surface of this place are either never heard from again, or are discovered soon after as the newest of the god's insane faithful.
It is said that He looks down upon the Boneyard and waits for the last living soul to die. When Pharasma judges the last soul after the last living body dies on the Material Plane, Groetus will descend to the Boneyard to do something to it and Pharasma before he moves on to the Material Plane to "clean up" and pack the dust away for another reality. No one really knows what Groetus is going to do once the last soul is judged, but it is generally accepted that it will not be pleasant.'
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Oti relates what he remembers about Groetus, quietly, so as not to disturb the citizens, or to further disturb the disturbed.
"Marla - or Brak," Oti isn't sure whom he should be addressing, "Would either of you be able to tell if this statue is magical? It does not seem to be evil - as something alive or undead is, at least."
"I do believe it may be a love story, or a story of something that can be confused for it: Love, or hate, or mutual hate of two for a third, such as for Taldor or its justice - or, like Groetus, for all existence. Passions can be complicated and confusing ..." Oti drifts off, trying only to stare at the statue.
After the others are done with their notes and observations, Oti says, "Now, back to the cell to see what his mind makes of this. Good things and bad things are said to come in threes, and this will make the third."
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Frindlikh listens to the Paladin, in awe of his acumen. [i]Here I am, prowling the alleys, noticing every nook, cranny, window, rooftop. Vantage point, ambush site - I notice them all. But do I keep track of the big picture? No, the moment has it. Spot, stalk, kill, that is all.[/b]
Unconsciously, Frindlikh fiddles with his knife. A teppish then, this statue? Created by an Ismacco?
Who would've put it here?
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"Who put it there and why, and who allowed it and why? Those are good questions. Perhaps it was from ignorance (they are only our suspicions, and the clues would not be known to everyone), or perhaps there is a dark vein running through this society. We should first see what the artist makes of it, then compare with the other paintings, which may give us an indication of its role and importance."
"After that, there may be records - or even just lore - as to who placed the statue where it is, who its patron was, and what it means."
Though not very 'heroic' - not battling demons - Oti did try to learn something as a Member of the Watch, appreciating that justice was best served by careful collection of evidence, and that being forewarned means being forearmed. Unfortunately, he was often too focused on 'the big picture', missing the smalls details to be seen in the here and now.
As he hears the description of the statue, a strangely placid look comes over the painter's face. His eyes roll back in his head showing only yellow-whites orbs in the sunken sockets. His body shakes and for a moment, his eyes seem lit from within by a pale, bleak light. "Yes, I see it now." is all he says before rounding on the blank canvas on the wall. He attacks with brush and fingers in artistic frenzy, splashing paint wildly about his cell. A few minutes pass as the image unfolds rapidly before the stunned Pathfinder's eyes. Once he is finished, he stumbles to his bunk, exhausted and panting, the strange light now gone.
His latest masterpiece is the first of the series, judging by it's position of the wall. The painting appears to be of Swift Prison itself, but it shows a terrifyingly skewed perspective. The once-beautiful statue stares back transformed, her visage twisted into a demonic snarl. Small, grey humanoids with large, white eyes prowl among the cells tormenting cowering prisoners in the painting’s background. In the foreground, a lone figure brandishes a radiant holy symbol as he falls before a horde of the grey creatures at the foot of the sinister statue.
The second painting depicts a stately, white stone building surrounded by three-foot-tall bas-reliefs which circle the building’s outside walls at ground
level. The same small grey creatures stand atop the halls steps and punish men bound in chains — all of whom appear to be wearing the robes of Taldan government officials. At the southwest corner of the building, the bas-relief glows a bright white where the same lone figure from the first painting attempts to sooth a group of frightened children by playing a flute — the notes of his music are actually painted above him on the canvas in striking detail.
The third painting depicts a retaining wall that shores up parts of a ruined district. It shows dozens of the angry grey humanoids smashing brightly painted urns against the retaining wall, while the same lone figure from the other paintings frantically attempts to push down an obviously barred door in the middle of the
wall, presumably to escape the rows of small menacing shadows that seems to pursue him.
With a strained voice, the man begins to speak;
"Even mighty Gods make use of tools,
my master's reside in the Crypt of Fools.
Beneath Old Cassomir, hidden away
he waits until the blessed day.
They will invade the Hall of Wonders
in search of plans that must be sundered.
But our Champion must be tested,
for in the past he has been bested.
And so, here now, on your arrival,
Dalirio begins the final trial."
Garver shifts uncomfortably, seeming unnerved by what he has seen. He clears his throat and says,
"As I mentioned the painter's works are for sale. The profits will allow him more, uh... comfortable living conditions here. The three you are looking over are 1 gold apiece and the others are all 5 silver each."
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Watching the scene unfold before his eyes, Oti first recognizes the derro, having helped show them to be so much more than stories to scare disobedient children. "The slavers have great plans indeed. A mad race in service to a god of madness."
"I think I remember this place, but I can't make out too many of the other details..."
He then works to copy down the prophet's hideously-inspired words as best he can - "... Crypt of Fools ... Hall of Wonders ..." - feeling a growing sense of pity for the mad artist, just another tool of the most uncaring of gods.
"We will buy the poor fellow's paintings, even the lesser works," Oti quickly responds. "We can always ask someone what they mean," Oti then explains quietly to the group, "and it might be wise to keep them out of the sight and hands of others."
"Mr. Graver," Oti then asks, hoping that a mutually-beneficial relationship has been established, "Would you know anything of the statue in front of the prison? Or know someone who would?"
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The final words of the poem make Frindlikh feel uncomfortable
But our Champion must be tested,
for in the past he has been bested.
And so, here now, on your arrival,
Dalirio begins the final trial."
Delirio... he says askingly to Otiophon, isn't that the man we killed after the kidnapping on the boat?
Frindlikh clearly remembers his raging stab at the man after calling him out, striking a killing blow, despite orders to keep him alive.
Then he inspects the painting:
What would that be? Undead, or under dark creatures breaking the prison. The second painting: overthrowing the government. That third painting... Frindlikh shudders. Shadows, undead, horrifying.
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Svetlana sees Oti go for his coin pouch and shakes her head "Nah I got this one, you already paid your bit to charity today" she fishes out 5gp, "Reckon that should do you eh?" she looks at Garver with a smile and hands the money forward, but there's a steely look in her eyes. "Five gold is a decent sum of coin for a man in such a place, even after you take your fat cut. See that if I come back and visit here without my well wishing happy clapping friends that this poor nutter has warm meals and decent bedding" She smiles once again and hands over the money.
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"Yes it was, friend Frindlikh, but hold yourself blameless for the heat of battle," Oti puts his hand for a moment on Frindlikh's shoulder, reassuringly, then confides deprecatingly, "If you were as slow as I am the results of the battle may have been different!"
"Dalirio, remember, had that strange, undead companion. So, we should expect him again in some form."
"We will buy the poor fellow's paintings, even the lesser works," Oti quickly responds. "We can always ask someone what they mean," Oti then explains quietly to the group, "and it might be wise to keep them out of the sight and hands of others."
"Mr. Graver," Oti then asks, hoping that a mutually-beneficial relationship has been established, "Would you know anything of the statue in front of the prison? Or know someone who would?"
"Hmm... not much, I'm afraid. It's stood there since the Swift Prison was built, as far as I know. The only people who might know more would be those of the Engineer's Guild. That would be at the Hall of Wonders the poor bloke mentioned."
Svetlana sees Oti go for his coin pouch and shakes her head "Nah I got this one, you already paid your bit to charity today" she fishes out 5gp, "Reckon that should do you eh?" she looks at Garver with a smile and hands the money forward, but there's a steely look in her eyes. "Five gold is a decent sum of coin for a man in such a place, even after you take your fat cut. See that if I come back and visit here without my well wishing happy clapping friends that this poor nutter has warm meals and decent bedding" She smiles once again and hands over the money.
"Aye, that'll do it. You've no need to worry about me, Miss. Cap'n Themis keeps me in enough coin to make me comfortable and too much work to find time to get into trouble. Swift Guards are mostly a decent lot too. If you saw how they're made to bow and scrape to those criminals with enough family money to put them up in the penthouse, you might not look on them so harshly. Swift Guards who steal soon find themselves permanent guests." He met Svetlana's icy glare with a wink, hoping to warm her disposition.
He calls the guard back and settles your account so that you may leave with all of the paintings, if you are done here.
Looking over the images, Otiophon and Frindlikh immediately recognize the grey creatures as the Derro. Frindlikh also correctly identifies the second painting as being a government building, specifically Cassomir’s Imperial Hall of Records. Svetlana recognizes it as well, having passed right by it on the way to Swift Prison.
The third locale remains a mystery, but Marla is certain the the lone figure shown in each scene is a representation of the deceased god, Aroden, as he has special significance in Taldan history. Often his image is used in Taldan lore to represent the spirit of heroism that may come forth in anyone as he walked the world under so many mundane guises.
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Kurse slides his hand over his face as they leave returning the goofy blank expression everyone is use to. He opens his mouth wide and shifts his bottom jaw back and forth as if stretching it out. "I'm glad that'ss over, never had to hold my talking face that long before." He looks at the third painting for a moment.
"Sslipss ssayss that iss where my mom livess, but it lookss nothing like the place I grew up. Perhapss we sshould try someone who livess here." Kurse takes the painting over to a street corner asking people that pass, "Do you know what building this is, I am rather concerned about it as a mad man painted this."
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The eerie song of the madman starts making slightly more sense to Frindlikh. Raid the hall of wonders - they need some kind of engineering plans. To break the prison? To find a weakness in the hall of records?
Frindlikh tries to put the pieces in place, but can seem to gets breakthrough.
We mustn't be late. If this Delirio is involved... he's a dangerous man. The thought of being late - again - is clearly disturbing to the man. A nervous twitch betrays a discomfort, stress building up, trying to reach a decision.
Should we head over to the hall of records, try to catch them as early as possible? As long as we're not running after the facts...
Garver speaks up when he notices some confusion among the Pathfinders. "The Hall of Wonders and the Imperial Hall of Records are two different places. I can guide you to either, once you're done speaking with folk."
Kurse and Otiophon take some time gathering the word on the street. Eventually they locate a midwife from the Abbey Green about her marketing. "Oh Aye, there's only one place in Cassomir such as that. 'Tis the ruins of Quickfall Abbey. You'll want to beware of that place though, they say 'tis haunted." She looks again at the painting again and shudders despite the humid warmth.
Garver leads the Pathfinders through the streets of Old Cassomir, his step hesitating as you come within view of an odd looking building with a more modern look than most of the surrounding architecture.
"Huh... They must be awfully busy today..." He scratches his head, seeming puzzled at the scene.
Smoke and steam pour through many openings of this misshapen building. Gears and gizmos can be heard clicking against one another in a rhythmic cadence. A loud "ka-chunk ka-chunk" sounds as several pistons churn up and down, powering some unknown machine. A cacophonous symphony of clinking, clanking metal plays on, punctuated by the occasional scream of an errant grinding of metal on metal. A huge, impressive sign, nearly the entire width of the building, declares it to be Cassomir's Hall of Wonders.
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