"Together, but not, huh?" Eradessa wonders aloud. She grins. "So, what's an eligible bachelor no-title-necessary-lord like yourself doing with a bunch of hoodlums like us? You disgraced or something? Hoping for favour from Fex? Or you just looking for some excitement?"
"Not every young noble is willing to sit around indolently, living off of the family income. Some seek to better their station, and that of their family.
Raising in station requires the notice and benefaction of higher ranking nobles, like the archbaron. My family name is extensive and renowned, but my branch is rather remote from the important members and our family estates are small and remote."
He gazes at Eradessa questioningly. "How about yourself? I admit that I have not met any gnomes before. From the little that I know, mercenary work is not the usual path your race follows. What brings you into the archbaron's employ?"
"Cold hard cash, darling! A girl's gotta eat, and merc-work pays the bills better than most other trades I could ply around here -- if you know what I mean!" Eradessa gives the newcomers a wink despite being behind them.
Wolfgang growls under his breath. "Mass of anxiety my ass. I'm just cautious, that's all." The tiefling glances back over his shoulder, then takes a couple of quick steps to get a little further ahead of the terrifying sorcerer at the party's rear.
Turning to Cimri, he says, "So... we've been working for a devil all this time, and you didn't think to mention it? It explains the condition of the former library he uses as his room at Ash House, though."
Sicaria snickers. ”’Cautious.’ Suuure. But Razelago being a devil—the curtain thing was weird, but I’d rather have stayed with that over seeing something crawl right out of my worst nightmares,” she shudders. ”But Wolfgang’s got a point, Cimri: you were the one that introduced us to Razelago. How the hell did you find the guy, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure you didn’t know yourself that he was a…whatever that was.”
”Hey, I didn’t know he was a gross devil bug baby!” Cimri replies, throwing her hands in the air defensively. ”I got a note a while back saying that if I needed gold, come to the Ash House. And, well, I try to never turn down gold. His work was doable, the pay was good, and eventually he started offering work I needed help for. So I made sure he was willing to pay for a team and, well, here we all are.” She shrugs, absentmindedly rubbing her burn mark with her thumb. ”Well, almost all of us.”
”Speaking of which, we have a small problem. When Nomed didn’t show back up after that refreshing morning of errands, he also didn’t drop off his sash, meaning we’re one short of a full set.” Cimri frowns. ”And our new employer also didn’t happen to remember to give us an extra. Unless he gave you one before we arrived?” The last question is pointed at Marcianus.
Marcianus groans. "No, he didn't. I didn't even know about the sashes until the very end of that conversation. By then, it was too late.
I suppose we can ask Razelago when we see him again."
”So then there’s five of us and four sashes.” Cimri’s frown persists for a few more yards in the mud and cold until she stops and starts digging through her pack. ”Here.” She tosses Marcianus a length of scarlet cloth decorated with badges of both the cross-in-circle of Cheliax and twin stags of Fex.
”You work with the rest of the group. You’re a public face, and the rest of ‘em can’t go more than a few minutes without stabbing themselves or trying to start a riot. I’ll...” Cimri sighs heavily. ”...I’ll take care of things from the shadows, try to make things smoother for you all. I do my work, you do yours, we all get paid.” She looks at each of the miscreants with steel in her eyes. ”But don’t you dare think this means you can cut me out of my share of the take, got it?”
"Wouldn't dreeeeeeam of it, darling!" Eradessa replies immediately. Despite her words, you get the feeling she just might -- if it weren't Cimri.
"So, Nomed's... what? Dead? Missing? Are we going to bother looking? Or do we think the he ran off while the going was good?"
Reacting slowly, Marcianus attempts to grab the scarf clumsily and misses. He stifles a groan as he bends down to pick up the scarf and attempts to brush off the dirt.
"Thank you, Cimri, though I hope we can still get another one from Razelago." Folding the scarf, he tucks it into his jacket.
He pauses to consider Sicaria a moment. "How about you, Sicaria? Cimri mentioned financial interests quite plainly, and Eradessa also professes a quest for riches, but that doesn't seem right for you.
I will admit that I am not overly familiar with the Red Mantis Assassins, though I have heard the name. Mostly from other members of the Church of Norgorber upset that they don't honor the god of murder.
I must imagine that, if you needed money, you would be plying your trade through that organization."
Sicaria rolls her eyes as she listens to Marcianus. ”I’ll forgive you for that one because of your ignorance. Norgorberites—particularly adherents of Father Skinsaw—are fanatic about the concept of murder, rather than the act. They revel in wanton killing for the sake of killing, and do it when the urge overtakes them, leading to killing over petty things like race or gender, whether they know it or not. We of Achaekek do not discriminate against the living, for in death we are all equal.”
The woman shakes her head as her fingers move over her sternum where her holy symbol lies under her armor. ”But I know that wasn’t your question. Simply put, I was sent here for a potential client; I didn’t expect to get wrapped up in all of this, though. But a little extra coin doesn’t hurt.”
"Murder for hire is still murder.", he responds but does not follow up. Yes, I believe this one is a fanatic. That bears attention. I may have to learn something about this Achaekek that she reveres if this group is going to function.
Turning to Wolfgang, he continues his questioning. "Wolfgang, you asked the archbaron multiple times about acquiring a position of authority, specifically within the ranks of law enforcement.
Forgive my assumption, but you do not come off as one who is overly interested in the enforcement of the law or in the orderly running of the nation.
What is your interest in the law?"
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Wolfgang flinches at Marcianus's reference to "other" members of the Church of Norgorber, then recovers a semblance of calm.
"With one hand I give," he growls. Wolfgang shrugs casually, but his tail whips back and forth, suggesting some agitation. "My primary interest in the law is avoid its application against me. My primary interest in the office of sheriff is to avoid someone else filing it, and to take advantage of whatever opportunities for ... advancement the title might bring. Nothing that would be adverse to the interests of the Archbaron, of course. Or the Crown. But the self-righteous bastards who make up a big part of the population in this town, on the other hand..."
With One Hand I Give: Used as a salutation, this is also a warning—the speaker’s true motivations remain secret, and a gift in one hand may be offset by a threat in the other.
"What about you, Marcianus, since we're having question time? Looking for a powerful patron sounds innocent enough -- probably qualifies as the national pastime for you bluebloods, right? But that's not exactly a 'delicate situation,' is it? Not something that would require the Archbaron to 'study your case' for more than the half a minute it would take him to decide whether helping you or your family has anything in it for him, right?"
The tiefling's nervous grin turns feral. "So what's the real story? Did you spend a night -- or a month -- with a half-succubus gal who gave you a very special 'profane gift' and now you can't bestow your charms on anyone else until you get it cured with some powerful magic or a diamond the size of your face?"
"Oooh, that sounds fun." Eradessa remarks, twinkle in her eye. "Yes, do tell, Marcianus. Better yet, Zeke! Tell us all your partner's sordid stories."
Zeke grunts in a way that almost sounds nervous. He looks like he is about to say something when Marcianus lays a hand on his arm.
"Very perceptive, Wolfgang. You are correct, the dots don't line up do they? Well, I suppose I'll have to peel back the mask a bit, though I would have appreciated the archbaron not revealing my secrets so openly."
Marcianus stops in the street, and begins taking off his left glove. The process takes a long time and is obviously extremely painful. As his forearm and hand are exposed the party can see that they are charred. The skin is completely black and cracked. Blood oozes through places where skin became attached to the glove and ripped off.
On his forearm is the same arrow shape that forms the tattoo on Zeke's arms, though on Marcianus, the brands appear to be limmned in blue flame.
"This is what happens when you touch magic items that you discover in a secret study. It would have been nice if my family had mentioned that a cursed item was stored there that destroyed my grandfather - a powerful sorceror. The downside to a family that reveres the Reaper of Reputation, I suppose.
I gained a guardian, and magic powers, but I live in constant pain and my prospects with noble daughters disappeared overnight. I believe that a powerful devil can cure my disfigurement. The archbaron, as you saw has contact with devils."
Marcianus shakes pieces of skin out of his glove, grits his teeth, and begins the process of putting it back on, restoring his mask.
"Girls don't like him anymore and he is denied the use of his hands. Could there be a worse punishment?" Zeke laughs loudly, but it seems forced.
Sicaria listens to Marcianus’s story with interest, though she tries—and fails—to hide it, and for the briefest of moments a tinge of sympathy flashes across her eyes. This is blatantly interrupted by another’s voice:
"Girls don't like him anymore and he is denied the use of his hands. Could there be a worse punishment?" Zeke laughs loudly, but it seems forced.
Sicaria stops in her tracks as she looks down at her feet—any sorrow in her eyes is gone and replaced with a fiery anger that burns as fervently as her own crimson locks.
”Oh yeah,” she spits through gritted teeth. ”Being horribly disfigured and instantly judged because of it,” In one swift motion Sicaria snaps her head up to stare Marcianus in the eye, swiping her finger along the length of the prominent scar that streaks across her face. ”No one else could possibly know what that feels like!”
The woman raises her arms above her head and spins dramatically, as if making a proclamation before an invisible crowd. “Everyone weep for the man born with the silver spoon in his mouth, unable to get any girl he wants to f*ck to bend over at his leisure because he can’t properly play with them! Such a tragic figure! No one could know anguish on such a scale!”
Sicaria turns and spits on the shoes (which likely cost more than what most commoners make in a year) of Marcianus and looks the man dead in the eye with a scowl on her face. ”Boo. F*cking. Hoo.”
She turns and walks ahead of the group toward the Ash House, her crimson-and-white, fur-lined cloak leaving a trail of contempt in her wake.
”When you can see the corpses of your friends covered in the muck and grime of the battlefield from within that posh lifestyle of yours,” she says without glancing back. ”Then you can have my pity.”
"Oooooooookaaaaay, let's all take a deep breath here," Cimri interjects quickly. "You can both have sucky lives - there's misery aplenty in this world." In an obvious attempt to create a distraction, she points at the building emerging from the trees. "Marcianus, let me be the first to welcome you to the Ash House."
As the miscreants approach, they see that what remains of this manor looks like it could collapse at any moment. Bearing the scars of a decades-old fire, the house is blackened and sags under the weight of its collapsed third floor. Shattered windows pose no barrier to the riot of ivy scaling each gable and invading every cavity. Bent pillars and a cracked granite porch lead to a warped door bearing a rusty doorknocker shaped like a boar’s head.
Marcuanus shakes his head as Sicaria storms off. "Nice, Zeke. As usual, your warped humor hurts people and I take the punishment."
As they reach the Ash House, Marcianus looks around for another building. "Ok, where is the inn? I'd like to make arrangements for a private meal and someone to clean my boots."
Wolfgang looks from Marcianus to Sicaria's retreating back. That was not what I expected. From either of them.
As they reach the Ash House, Marcianus looks around for another building. "Ok, where is the inn? I'd like to make arrangements for a private meal and someone to clean my boots."
Wolfgang shakes his head. "Did somebody tell you there would be an inn? This is Ash House, right here. I know it doesn't look like much, but believe me, it is far worse on the inside."
The tiefling pats Marcianus on the shoulder with his tail. "We have only been here a few days and have not had time to even begin fixing it up. Not that I think any of us realized before tonight that we would be staying here for long. Also, I got the impression early on that Razelago likes it this way. Seeing as he is half fly, that makes a strange kind of sense."
Marcianus laughs, attempting to go along with the joke that he doesn't understand.
After a moment with nobody else joining in, he stops and looks at the others. "You... sleep... in.... THERE?!?"
He looks around. "Are you sure it wouldn't be better to just camp outside?"
Sighing, his head droops. "Fine. Just show me where my room is. Let's get this over with."
Sicaria glances back at Marcianus with a smug smirk on her face.
”We don’t have ‘rooms,’ you have to find a comfy-looking place on the floor and deal with it.”
The human turns and moves into the Ash House and begins taking off her cloak and swords as she gets ready to sleep.
Eradessa raises an eyebrow at Sicaria's outburst. "Hey, plenty of guy's dig scars, Sicaria! Trust me. He's got it way worse! Did you see that hand?! Ouch! Besides, it's not your looks that are the problem, dear -- it's your attitude!" Eradessa grins, apparently happy to have sorted everything out appropriately. She doesn't seem disturbed by tales of dead friends in the muck.
As they arrive at the Ash House, she smiles, and elbows Marcianus gently.
"Don't worry, Marcianus! There's plenty of room beside me for you and Zeke." She waggles her eyes at him, apparently unconcerned about horrible disfigurements and wayward curses.
Wolfgang slumps along the path into Ash House, trying his best to stay in the shadows as the rest of the Miscreants abuse each other and (mostly) leave the tiefling alone.
As awful as it is to consider, I wonder if Razelago would mind if I bunked in the library with him? I think I might be safer with the devil.
"Ha Ha! Sorry to disappoint you, Eradessa, but I won't be joining you in that pile of wreckage."
He slaps Marcianus on the back and smiles with a cruel light in his eye. "I think that for once I'm not going to mind our sleeping arrangements. Maybe spend some of that gold buying a bed."
Laughing again, he crosses his arms and gives Marcianus a look.
Taking Zeke's pack, Marcianus sighs and waves a hand. As he does so, Zeke's form becomes misty as it elongates toward Marcianus.
The scent of sandalwood and patchouli that follows Zeke becomes stronger as the mist begins to spiral like a small tornado and begins begins flowing into Marcianus. Body going rigid, he quivers and flames envelop his hands.
In a few seconds, Zeke is gone and Marcianus slumps, panting.
When he recovers, he looks around at the others. "Stay here as long as you want. For me, as soon a I can find another room to stay in, I'll be gone.
There must be an inn in this town somewhere. I've no idea why anyone would choose to stay in this wreck."
Moving into the house, he finds a corner where he isn't likely to get rained on, sets up his bedroll, an tries to find some sleep.
"Right. Well..." Cimri leads the way through a broken window into what looks to have once been a parlor. Pieces of battered furniture lie amid the choking scent of dust and ashes. Beneath a mantle crowded with empty whiskey bottles, the fireplace shows evidence of recent use. The scorched, broken visages of curious cherubs leer from atop archways leading deeper into the house.
"Door's stuck," she offers by way of explanation. "And you spend your gold how you want. Some of us got better uses for their coin." Cimri's eyes flicker over at Eradessa for a split second. "And don't come crying back to us when you get fleas from their fancy 'mattresses' - don't want none of that nonsense in my bedroll."
Pulling out a flint and steel from her belt pouch, Cimri quickly lights the half-burned branches in the fireplace before also lighting a lantern. A dented iron pot pulled from the rubble is filled with water from a canteen and some dried meat before being set to simmer on the fire. Cimri pulls out a round loaf of bread and starts carving slices of pale cheese off a waxed block as the rest of the miscreants settle down.
"So, what's the plan for tomorrow evening's entertainment?" she asks with a wicked grin.
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Guess we’re talking about that now, then.
Sicaria grunts as she rocks up into a standing position and walks over to the fireplace and settles onto the ground. Her hand hovers over the bread and cheese as she glances at Cimri. ”May I?” Assuming she allows it, Sicaria rips off some chunks of bread and slices of cheese as she makes herself a sandwich. She takes a large bite out of the sandwich and swallows. She lets out a sigh.
”Before we get to that, I’d like to apologize about my outburst before—it was just a…touchy subject. If we’re going to work as a team then we need to act like one, otherwise we’re going to tear each other apart,” She looks down at the circle-and-cross burned onto her hand. ”We’re not just a group of no-name miscreants anymore—we took the Hellfire Compact, so we’re part of something bigger now. We need to be able to trust one another—even if it’s only as far as we can throw one another. Who knows what this thing will do to us if we fail the Archbaron. We’re agents of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and they haven’t maintained the crown for a century by insulting one another and only looking out for themselves. We need to put our differences aside and work together—and I mean really work together, not just working parallel to one another.”
Sicaria lifts her head to look at each of the individuals gathering around the fireplace.
".... We need to put our differences aside and work together—and I mean really work together, not just working parallel to one another.”
"I'm in!" Wolfgang barks, almost before Sicaria has finished speaking. "Are you kidding? I plan to ride this pony as far as it will carry me."
He pauses for a moment, then says quietly, "I thought I screwed up a good thing back in ... back home a while ago, and all I could do was run. Now I have a chance -- we have a chance -- to be an important part of something more. If that means I have to stop running and take orders for a while, and work with all of you, so be it. There are worse trade-offs I could make for a big score."
Marcianus looks up from his spot in the corner, but does not bother to get up and join the group. "We don't have enough information to make a plan yet.
Tomorrow, after I find a bath house -- perhaps some of you should join me on that search -- I am going to make my way through the inns in town looking for a place to stay. My mask as a newcomer and a noble should allow me to gather information on where Kels is staying.
It is universal that minstrels love to talk, especially if someone is buying them drinks. Approaching him with honey first could garner more information than simply using the stick later on.
Perhaps others of you can put on the masks of your normal personas and see what information your underworld contacts have about Kels and the Angel Knight.
We should reconnect for dinner and make a better plan once we have more information."
Sicaria snickers.
”For ‘not having enough information to make a plan,’ that sure sounds like a plan being made. Joking aside, I do agree that we need to get some intel—but what we do know is that this minstrel will be at the Last Stand tomorrow evening, which is enough information to decide how exactly we want to approach this: sneakily or with force.”
”Well, you said you are an assassin,” Cimri chimes in as she passes around the bread and cheese. ”If someone was paying to silence this minstrel forever, how would you go about it?”
Sicaria takes another bite as she ponders.
”I’d stake out the place to see what we’re dealing with. Keep an eye on the guy until he’s alone and then strike when there’s no witnesses,” She sighs. ”But we’re extracting information, not killing him, so that’s not much help.”
"Anything I can't figure out from talking to him will probably be part of the lyrics of his songs.
We should listen for a while at least, then break it up when he nears the end."
"Good plan, Marcianus! You make nice with the minstrel, and we'll do a bit of rumourmongering."
"Perhaps others of you can put on the masks of your normal personas and see what information your underworld contacts have about Kels and the Angel Knight."
"I believe you just met our 'underworld contact'," Cimri replies, complete with air quotes. "And I think you heard what he had to say on the matter."
"Now as far as an inn," she continues between bites, "there's really not much in Longacre. Most folks don't stay here unless they live here. Hell, most folks don't visit unless they live here. You could try asking at the Arch and Lark, but it's far more likely this Kels is either boarding at some family's house or sleeping on the road." She pauses, frowning. "Razelago did seem pretty certain he was going to perform again tomorrow. Let's hope he's right and we're not going to be tasked with tracking down a lone traveller on the road next."
"Now, Marcianus is unlikely to be recognized by Bolgart and his regulars, but the rest of us... Well, let's say it was a less-than-friendly introduction." The scoundrel pauses, looking at the other three miscreants. "We could try for some disguises, I guess. But they won't hold up to repeated looks, so you'd want to use them to slip in and seize the advantage." She shrugs. "Or maybe you want to just waltz in like you own the place? I'd bet a silver that the last thing Bolgart expects after today is for you to just show up at his establishment as if nothing had happened. Or maybe someone has a better idea?" Cimri looks around the room, then shakes her head. "Let's talk about it in the morning - I can't keep my eyes straight."
The group settles in for the night, laying out bedrolls and banking the coals.
The dawn arrives eventually, light peeking through the broken windows of the Ash House. As the miscreants prepare themselves for the day, Cimri slices a few apples and more cheese onto a chipped porcelain plate. "So, what's the plan?" she asks with all the charm and grace of a bear woken early from hibernation.
Marcianus groans as he rolls out of his bedroll and stretches, trying to work the knots out of his muscles. After rolling up his blankets and brushing out a set of clothes, he sighs, grits his teeth, and sits with his back against the wall. Closing his eyes as if to meditate, his body soon starts quivering.
A minute later, a violently swirling cloud of smoke if ejected from his body. The smoke solidifies in the form of Zeke, looking refreshed and clean, with his hair and beard oiled and scented.
Zeke stretches, posing as he does so. "Oh, I had just the best night of sleep ever! I haven't felt this well rested in weeks. How was your night, Marcianus?"
Looking around, he grins down at Marcianus. "Oh, right... I guess I forgot about your accommodations." He laughs as Marcianus attempts to ignore him and stands up. "Plus, all of your plans are for nothing as the mark isn't even going to be staying somewhere you can find him." He snickers some more, "Looks like you picked a wonderful town to start this adventure in."
Grumbling, and shooting a vile look at Zeke, Marcianus gets out some food to eat. "The search may be short, but it is still worthwhile, even if it gets me nothing more than a room to stay in and a bath."
He gestures to the rest of the miscreants with his utensils, "As for the actual arrests, I still think there is value in listening to the songs to see if there is information in them. If the rest of you want to try sneaking in through the kitchens or something, perhaps we can work out a signal."
Wolfgang rises early and studies his spellbook. He is surprised to find the rote memorization comes to him more easily this morning, and he seems to have a bit more capacity.
Maybe it was the oath last night, that Hellfire Compact had some magic in it for certain. I prefer to think that I am getting better from practice, though, just like learning to pick a lock.
When the Miscreants assemble for breakfast, Wolfgang nods at Marcianus's suggestion, then gives him a toothy grin.
"Kitchen, root cellar, second story window - yes, I prefer to do my work unseen of I can help it. But you are avoiding the most interesting subject of the morning. For all of your complaining, you managed to get yourself a bath last night right here at Ash House, didn't you?"
Sicaria wakes up earlier than the other miscreants, going off on her own to the back of the Ash House to pray.
Once she meets back up with the others she begins mindlessly chewing on apple slices.
”I agree with Wolfgang—unseen is better. I’d rather not have a bowl of soup dumped on my head to go with the chili.”
"What in the world are you talking about, Wolfgang? I respect my life too much to explore this... structure."
Wolfgang scowls, puzzled. "Well, somebody woke me up with their splashing into and out of a tub. I thought you would be the only one desperate enough to go looking for one, but if it wasn't you, then who?"
Zeke glances upwards and hefts his hammer. "You did say Razelago stays here as well. Do devils bathe?
Perhaps we should make sure that we don't have unexpected guests."
Hell's Bells, he may be right! There could be some terrifying creature - more terrifying than a half-baby, half-fly devil - hiding out somewhere.
"I think that is an excellent idea. We should start looking right away. I, um, I will be right behind you."
Hell's Bells, he may be right! There could be some terrifying creature - more terrifying than a half-baby, half-fly devil - hiding out somewhere.
"I think that is an excellent idea. We should start looking right away. I, um, I will be right behind you."
Sicaria stops eating as she turns to Wolfgang.
"You know, now that you mention it, I was awoken by something similar the night before. I was so beat from the tannery that I honestly thought that I was dreaming, but now I'm having second thoughts...”
Cimri scowls. "I didn't hear anything last night - you all better not be trying to be funny. You want to go explore, be my guest."
Sicaria stands on the second floor as she stares at the rubble before her.
"Well, this is the only place that it could feasibly have come from—though it’ll take some elbow grease to get through…”