"Tikroch, can you break it open?" Mum asks, feeling annoyed at herself for her inability to pick it. The woman inside of her promises herself to spend a little less time ruling a kingdom and a little more time practicing with her locks.
"I can certainly try. Let's see if this works." Tikroch takes the box to examine it to find a place to grip and pulls.
With a snap, the hard wood splinters and breaks, the metal clasps deforming slightly, scattering the contents everywhere on the floor.
A locket tumbles out, along with another round metal object which snaps open when it hits the ground. This seems to break the object, which had an illustration under now-cracked glass nestled in the cover, as well as many tiny gears and springs. There is a heavy crystal vial which cracks when it spills out, becoming unstoppered, spilling the contents - a fine dust- across the table and floor.
Tikroch looks to Mum with a sheepish look and shrugs. "I guess that was more effective than necessary. What's this picture here? I don't think anything else here is salvageable. Maybe next time around we can be more delicate."
Mum tried to grab the round object but fails miserably. The extra flesh on this body is still too hard to get used to. "We'll open it over a pillow." Mum agrees.
"Well take some of the dust for Sootscale to look over, and..." she picks up the locket and looks at it, seeing if there is a latch.
The latch pops open, though it is stiff- as if it hasn’t opened much, and it appears to be a startlingly lifelike black-and-white picture of a handsome woman with a kindly expression, seemingly painted while watching the artist.
Mum doesn’t know what the dust is.
The device seems something like a clockwork, but extremely fine and intricate. Brushing away the glass, Mum finds another black-and-white picture, this time of two children of similar age, though the paper is more faded - the image is scratched as well from the impact, it’s her to make out much detail.
Mum shows the locket and picture to her companions "His wife, Hatice, and his children, Devin and Jolie. I'd assume at least. Greatest way to get hurt is to love." the last statement holds wistful fear.
"Let's take the pictures back with us. First, to see if we can retain them, second, we could attempt to use them, as horrible as it sounds, to find some bit of humanity left in him."
Tikroch is surprised at the hesitancy to use the pictures. "These are only images, not the people. We shouldn't resist using any tools we can to get out of this place and back to our objective to 'Liberate' the fort. I'm loathe to use the bond of an animal but the horse outside isn't real either. We can cut the head off the thing and use that as well. It is a risk that it will only anger the gunman though. We would probably be better off appealing to his memory of family with the pictures. Hopefully we keep the pictures after the reset or else we'll have to hurry back and forth. Speaking of, we should get back to the inn"
Chrysa agrees of course. It was Mum that was supposed to be good. the dark haired woman, Mum, flashes the druid a look "We will do what is needed, of course." she scoops some sand in her hand, and then agrees to head back.
"Sootscale don't know what is happening. Except that you have killed Sootscale before. And probably you kill Sootscale again. And again. As long as you kill, you stuck here. Killing Sootscale doesn't work."
He closes his eyes tightly and clenches his fists, bracing for the painful execution.
Sootscale braces but it doesn’t come. The Bandit puts away his weapon, though the other guards don’t. He growls, ”not much of an answer, son, though I have had the strangest feelings for the last few minutes. If what you say is right - I’m going to tell you something - a word - and if everything repeats anyway, tell me the next time you see me, son. Okay?” Without waiting for acknowledgment, he says ”Palomin-“ but is cut off as time reverses itself, Tess rewinding the scene again, and everyone finds themselves back at the inn - without any of the materials they found.
Instead of a quiet place, the tavern floor is alive with activity. Servers move back and forth. The tavern keep is a jovial older man, and he’s chatting with some patrons seated at the bar. Tables that moments ago had nobody, have patrons seated in quiet conversation. The booths at the edges have patrons in quiet conversation. Some have faces shrouded in shadow by broad hats, others wear veils and masks. The windows appear to be open instead of shuttered now, but there is no light from outside, other than dim lamp light at most. There is a stout iron steeple above the bar. The smell of roasting potatoes and meat comes from the open kitchen, where a number of folks are working on preparing a meal.
The innkeep looks up, ”well - hello! Welcome to the Iron Steeple - the finest inn in the slough. What can we do for you? A room maybe? A drink? Or maybe you want to tuck in some meat and potatoes?” His plump, ruddy cheeks glow with cheer as he smiles, belying the wrinkles around his eyes. The question is directed at the four in the party - all of whom are alive and gathered together near the piano.
Finding himself back in the Inn, Tikroch looks to Mum to see if she is still holding the picture or the dust. Realizing the reset happened quicker last time, he asks, "Mum, do you want to try getting to the hut and back again? It seems with so many of us out of the inn, the magic didn't last as long." He proceeds to explain to the good Governor what they found in the gunman's hut.
Mum looks at her own hands to see if the pictures and dust still remain.
Annoyance flashes across the woman's face. Quickly she mentally maps the path to and from, considering her flight and minor teleportation ability. Does she think she can make it there, back, and with the lockbox?
Mum sighs, "No. We can try and talk. I know time is slipping away but... I'd rather try, then fail..." again.
"Maybe I can separate the gunman from the guards. He'd probably take it as a threat though if I came out the door casting a spell. Fighting him isn't going to work but the other guards might influence him against us." Tikroch is frustratingly out of his element. He's used to Fey tricks but this is beyond anything he experienced.
"Bandit tried to tell Sootscale word, but was cut off. He said 'Palomin-'. Mean anything to you?"
"I think that is a kind of horse." Mum explains, and thinks...
"Like Mum says, it's most likely a type of horse. He seems pretty attached to his current mount. I don't think he would be mentioning the elvish word for being annoyed and hungry as he likely hasn't enjoyed food for a while. Governer, what was the context for the word? We may be thinking too hard about this. It may be just a word."
"Palomino? Kind of horse? Okay. Bandit wanted us to say 'Palomino' next time we see him. Not sure why, but we can try."
"Unless it's a malapropism for 'palindrome' or something similar like that," says Donovan. "But really we don't have anything else to go on."
Time marches on a little bit, and for some reason, The Bandit doesn’t enter the tavern at the same time, being slightly delayed. The door to the outside opens and some dust comes in with it. Some of the mercenaries from the town come in, wearing masks that cover the bottom part of their faces. One of the more well-armed is a guard wearing two of the pistols that are similar to those found on the Brevoy spy that Tickroch and Donovan found. He looks emaciated, almost skeletal, but his expression is grim, with cold blue eyes. He doesn’t seem to be bothering with a mask.
He speaks slowly, but with authority, ”Iron Steeple,” he growls. The mercenaries with him seem intimidated as well. He points a bony finger at the adventurers in the inn dismissively, and stares at them in turn, adding, ”I have words with the innkeep, on account of his failure to pay taxes. Lord Drelev is patient, but his patience has been tested, and then some. Leave town and forget tonight.”
The “adventurers” flee outside, though the zombie guard looks confused, and whispers to another guard, before being cuffed on the shoulder. The Bandit squints and looks at the party, ”well? You’re feeling brave?”
Chrysa slips her swords out of her sheaths SLOWLY and sets them on the table behind her, then turns back to him. A calm smile on her pretty face. "I just want to talk. If that would be okay?"
Tikroch stands with a protective hand on Luca as Mum tries to converse with this new being. Did we mess something up when we broke that box or the contents inside it? Say the word Mum!
"Palomino," adds Sootscale, stepping forward alongside Chrysa. "You came here before, and you said that the next time you are here to say the word. Palomino."
"This..." she gestures to the tavern "... is a loop, somehow, someway, we keep going around and around. We fight, some of us die, then it all starts over again. We can leave you alone to do what you came here to do, but it still resets."
The dark-haired woman still has her hands out "As my friend says, you told us that word, Palomino" She slips into an antiquated Taldan accent
She winces as her overly fleshy tongue stumbles over the rolling L, but at least it isn't insulting. "We assume you are talking about the type of horse, but we don't know how it is meaningful to you. Clara isn't that breed. Was it special to your late wife, Hatice, or your children, Devin and Jolie?"
She pauses to see how he reacts to bringing them up.
His pistol was cocked in his hand when Mum started to speak, but he lowers it when Sootscale says the word. His jaw twitches, and he looks at the kobold, watching the smaller man, and then Mum speaks again.
He listens to her, and when she says the names, he tilts his head, ”you've piqued my curiosity.” He uncocks the pistol and gestures for the guards to stand down, which they do with confusion, and reluctance. He gestures towards a table, ”sit. You have five minutes, or until my curiosity is exhausted.”
He was extremely surprised at the mention of the people and the word. He was also extremely good at hiding the surprise.
He takes off his hat and pulls out the chair, sitting down. ”That was Jolie’s horse.” He adds, ”a palomino - we got it for her seventh birthday. Your turn.”
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Mum inclines her head and moves to a chair at his table, not bothering to go back and get her swords. She rests comfortably, leaning forward on her elbows "I heard of you when I was growing up, about that same age as Jolie then. A legend whispered around campfires." she smiled, remembering Kam and his stories of The Bandit. "A man I considered a father would tell them with a mix of wonder and dread. I was always unsure if he wanted them to scare me away from the life or give me something to go toward if he couldn't do so."
Taking a deeper tone, she gave a Kam-ism "Rule number 83, if you mean to do something DO it, or don't bother."
No one else really appreciated his rules, but a lonely horned outcast of a little girl had loved them.
"But that is me wasting time." she nods toward the inn "You come in here, declare Drelev has sent warnings, that theres new blood in town, and that this isn't their first warning. You take whats in the till, which isn't much, you order Tess there to keep playing... declaring it Sweet to your ears. And then you kill everyone, not willing to suffer any disrespect." she corrects, not wanting to lie "Well almost everyone."
She gives him a moment to process. "We were not here for that, not the real event, but have been caught up in the loop since, and we'd like to stop it. I think you would like it to stop as well, to stop the ache in your bones, to remember... those you've lost."
"That man that told me the stories, he was taken from me, and then raised by the worst kind of filth, made to shamble about, dead, but not, and worse than that, Controlled." the cold anger in her voice is apparent, a wound that will never heal, ever.
He watches her carefully and listens. At the end he asks, ”did you kill them? The one who did that?” His voice is like a knife being scraped over a stone.
Mum's dark eyes lift up from where she was reliving the past. The cut across the hags neck and then kicking her into the fire in front of everyone.
"Yes." The pain was not lessened by that fact.
He looks at his hands, ”did it bring them back?” he states, though it’s almost not a question. He looks up, ”did it fix … anything?”
"No." that pain was worse. "He did not come back."
"He got to rest... which I know, is best, but back then... and still now, I miss him. So much."
Others might tear up at a time like this, but not Chrysa Surtova.
With effort, she softens "What it did accomplish is that it let me live. Not move on, never move on, but find more."
He considers things for a while.
Finally, ”Say I believe you. What’s y’all’s interest in all this?” he gestures towards the tavern. Tess has continued playing, but the tune is mournful. The barkeep and others in the tavern watch and say nothing.
Chrysa considers, and Mum answers "Most would say it is because ending this would simply be the right thing to do. That it would stop these deaths from having to be repeated countless times, and for you, and your men." the disdain for the 'men' part seeps in her voice, not a tone that she was using for the bandit. "to face the justice you all deserve."
She shook her head though "But that is not my reason." the dark-haired woman leans forward a little "Most of what happened here doesn't bother me. But some..." she looks at the silent barmaids, then at the 'men' "... things shouldn't have to suffer through over and over. I don't know if these husks have any connection to the lives they once were, but someone at least is still feeling pain from it."
Chrysa leans back again "That's my reason. Trying to let someone move on. Now the next question should be, What is it that you want?"
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As Chrysa and the Bandit have their special moment together, Sootscale just watches. They seemed to understand each other well. Maybe a little too well. Who knew what death she had wrought for the sake of love, power, and vengeance?
It was fortunate that the kobold was on her good list.
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Tikroch similarly stands by as the two converse. He considers the story "Mum" is telling in light of his self appointed task and his reason for being here. Dead and raised mentor? Slayed the one that raised him? I think it's a good thing Sophiel introduced us, though maybe not best for the Lady. If her name is what the governor let slip earlier, she may make a better ally than that whole nation of fey sympathizers.
Negotiation was never his strong suit so he lets Mum's question hang in the air, adding nothing himself.
Donovan slowly and cautiously removes his helm (very deliberately, so as not to alarm anyone) and rubs his temples and mutters something about a "time knife."
The Bandit is thin-lipped, ”a hundred and fifty years ago I wanted revenge on the people who took my family.” There is acid in his words, ”a hundred years ago I wanted to punish every bandit on the planet. Fifty years ago I wanted to bring order to lawless places.” He looks down and clenches his fist.
He looks up, ”now.” He looks mum in the eyes, ”I don’t know. But I do know Golarion has no peace. It has no hope. Almost every country has more scoundrels than can be counted - and they go all the way to the top. Butchers. Bandits. Scofflaws.” He points at Sandyfoot. ”he deserves it. This punishment - if what you say is true - we deserve it. Both of us. All of us,” he adds, though he only gestures to the guards, ”justice.”
Chrysa crosses her arms as she studies the man. "Justice..." she looks at the silent faces, the tortured piano player, her scaled friend, and then at the bandit's 'men'
"In Taldor, they have books of laws and punishments, in Geb the blood lords's whims are the law of everything..." she recites a few others from memory. Chrysa had never cared about laws until she had to come u with some of her own, and understand Sophs.
"So Justice is defined in a hundred different ways, each depending on the land you are standing on at the moment." she paused, then sighed, a long one, stretching over several seconds.
She took a moment to rub her side. The little one inside moved. Or so she thought, it was still so little, she wondered if most of these movements were just in her head, but they sent her hormones bashing around inside her like cannon balls either way.
"That was to point out, By that definition, the decision of whether this punishment satisfies Justice, would be up to the only people here at the moment. The real people. She gestures to the people moving in anyway other than scripted, which includes his 'men'"
Another logic ploy, and another rumble inside her, makes her voice turn into a real attempt.
"Don't you want it to end?"
His mouth is a line, and he watches Chrysa with an unblinking stare. ”Yes. What do you propose?” He has not drawn his weapon. The undead guard panics and screams,
He draws his weapon, fumbling, and The Bandit seems to draw it quicker. With a resounding *click* The Bandit’s gun is cocked but he does not fire. He keeps it in his hand, obviously ready to shoot the guard. He says in a low voice, ”I am tired of fighting.”
The guard looks terrified, and he sheathes his longsword. The Bandit hadn’t taken his eyes off of Chrysa, and he wordlessly waits for her response.
Tess has slowed her playing, and it is less fervent, taking on something of a dreamlike quality, but the sound is mournful. Sandyfoot stays behind the bar, and the guards move to sit at one of the tables, giving fervent looks at the party and The Bandit.
The Bandit listens to the piano quietly as it plays.
Luca takes a step as the guard fumbles for his weapon before the gunman handles his own lackeys aggression. There is a low chirp as Luca let's his opinion be known. Tikroch strokes the large lizard to keep Luca in check letting the scene play out without interfering.
Chrysa shared many things in common with this man, she was self-aware enough to know that most wouldn't see that as a good thing. Plenty in common, but NOT that last statement.
Still "First I have a few questions. We were searching for answers in the loop, and saw the contents of your lockbox. If you got back everything will be back in place. But the dust, and the clockwork device, what are they?"
He doesn’t answer for a moment, though there is a coldness to his eyes. The same look that precluded an angry response during one of the loops. ”A watch. For keeping time.”
He looks at her, ”my children’s ashes.” His eyebrow twitches.
Chrysa nods slowly, answers that would only be known at this point with the question, since they were out of time "Everything was returned, I promise." That is all she can offer for the invasion. And a "Thank you for answering."
Sootscale looks to Tess as the music changes. Was she trying to match the Bandit's moods? It was curious that in loop after loop, the Bandit never chose to slay Tess.