Talienda, remembering the vision at the start of this horrible night, nods slowly and turns away, beginning to sob for all that had happened and for the lie of her childhood that had been revealed to her.
Talib sighs deeply. As much as he would like to, there is little sense in attempting to convince the undead of their iniquity, twisted as they are by their rage and bound as they are by their metaphysical chains. Fighting is not an option either—even with his new mace, he is already wounded and worn out after hours of struggle. Instead, the inquisitor moves to assist Rissi, dragging Alistir up by his armpits to get the noose into position. He utters no prayers for the magistrate. No doubt Abadar would frown upon this injustice, but it is He who vested Talib with the power to work outside the law as needed.
"This needs to end here."
Jarbin Mord bows to Rissi and Talib, then raises a hand. The rope tightens around Alastir's neck and begins to slowly lift his body; Malena, her shape once again that of a dark ghostly woman, flies in circles around him, screaming with the purest rage anyone in the room has ever heard, but still refraining from tearing the man's body apart.
After a few moments, the rope zips up with great speed. Alastir seems to come back to some state of consciousness as his arms weakly grasp at the rope. He whimpers and flails for what feels like ages until, with a last spasm, the barrister's life finally leaves his body once and for all.
At the same time, a gust of air that sounds eerily like someone exhaling after a long time holding their breath puts out all the torches that had been bathing the room with sickly grey light, plunging the whole building in complete darkness. The giant doors from the main hall are opened by some invisible force; sounds from outside creep in and moonlight illuminates the exit.
Rissi notices the open exit and realizes that she was holding her breath. The tension flows from her and she glances around. "Should we look around for any other survivors? Somebody might be hurt and hiding, or needing help to get out...." She stares at the exit though, not moving to act on her words. Her expression obviously states that she wants to leave!
Talib follows the execution with grim stoicism. Given his line of work, this is not his first time watching someone get hanged—however, even without the supernatural element, this instance leaves a bad taste in his mouth. "The only thing I can do now is to ensure the case gets cleaned up properly..."
Only after Alistir has perished and the apparitions have vanished does he close his eyes, breathing a deep sigh of relief. He touches the key on his lapel and mutters a short prayer, causing it to shine a warm, golden light into the sudden darkness. There is no time to dwell in hindsight.
"Should we look around for any other survivors? Somebody might be hurt and hiding, or needing help to get out...." She stares at the exit though, not moving to act on her words. Her expression obviously states that she wants to leave!
"We are not in any condition for rescue operations," says Talib, shaking his head sharply. "We can alarm the Post Guard in Eastgate—I know a sergeant there who owes me a favour. Of course, it would be wilful negligence to leave without at least a token attempt..."
The inquisitor fills his lungs—wincing slightly—and bellows,
He then limps over to Trabe, grabbing the judge by the collar. "You are coming with me."
Talib pauses, looking to Talienda with a thoughtful look on his face. "Do you have a place to go, Miss Blackhorn? As a key witness, the Vault of Abadar can ensure you are protected from any unlawful threats, and I can personally vouch for your innocence in any investigation that may follow..."
"My home, if I can see it as such after tonight, is in the Petals," Talienda answers sorrowfully.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, there is no answer to Talib's call. It is a jarring experience: whereas just a few moments ago the courthouse seemed almost like a sentient and otherworldly creature ready to respond in often gruesome ways to one's every action, it was now just a sad, derelict empty building, seemingly deprived of most manners of life (and un-life).
Sinésiel and Mylok are the first to exit, battered and bruised. When Mord made his final appearance, both of them were dazed and paralysed by the powerful aura of madness and fear that surrounded the spectre; now they seemed to have regained some control of themselves.
"Constable, can you take care of those brave ladies for me…? Reckon Mord did a trick or two on Siné and myself…I'll take her somewhere safe and then pass out." He hands Talib a slip of paper with directions to where he's staying. "'case you need me tomorrow to sort out the mess". With that, he and the half-elf slowly make their way out of the district.
Meanwhile, Trabe stares at Talib and pleads on his knees. "Please, have mercy! I will do anything!"
"Constable, can you take care of those brave ladies for me…? Reckon Mord did a trick or two on Siné and myself…I'll take her somewhere safe and then pass out." He hands Talib a slip of paper with directions to where he's staying. "'case you need me tomorrow to sort out the mess". With that, he and the half-elf slowly make their way out of the district.
The inquisitor pockets the slip and nods. "Stay alert. The Precipice Quarter is dangerous, even without the walking dead."
Meanwhile, Trabe stares at Talib and pleads on his knees. "Please, have mercy! I will do anything!"
Talib silences the judge with a glare.
"I shall ensure you receive a fair trial," he says coolly, "which is more than you afforded to Mord."
"My home, if I can see it as such after tonight, is in the Petals," Talienda answers sorrowfully.
Talib nods. With no other survivors forthcoming, he shakes his head and looks between Rissi and Talienda.
"I suggest both of you come by the Vault," he says. "You can give your accounts, and I can turn in Trabe. We can make further plans once we are safe."
The inquisitor shoves Trabe towards the exit, motioning for the others to follow. "Move out."
Rissi falls in with Mort. Her business here was concluded, sort of. She hadn't actually found the body, but was fairly certain of her Gran's fate. Someone from the family would be sent to pick up the business. Someone a lot more.... well, actually a lot less forgiving than she was. She had time to kill before she had to be anywhere else. Maybe she could see some more of the city before moving on.
"Further plans? Sure."
Talienda nods, too numb and too tired to feel much of anything at the moment save the powerful sorrow of learning that her lifestyle had been supported on a lie. She holds Rissi's hand, leaving both of Talib's free to handle Trabe.
During the long walk to the vault, she is quiet, but finally works up the courage to speak again.
"Talib, do you think the sins of the parent pass on to the child," she asks softly.
"Please! I'm an old man. I have done a terrible thing, yes, and I'll pay for it, but can we keep things discreet? My family does not deserve the shame!" Trabe says, looking back at Talib, pleadingly.
"Please! I'm an old man. I have done a terrible thing, yes, and I'll pay for it, but can we keep things discreet? My family does not deserve the shame!" Trabe says, looking back at Talib, pleadingly.
The inquisitor remains impassive. "That is the Executive Taxmaster's decision, not mine. Save your pleas for them."
Ironically, they might well decide to keep the case quiet—not to save Trabe's kin the indignity, but to have a head start in the follow-up investigation. Assuming the conspiracy to frame Mord had not been an isolated case of misconduct, but a symptom of wider corruption in the justice system, it would not be wise to give the lawbreakers a chance to act. Diago's involvement certainly implies an element of organised crime, but to what extend had he and Alistir been collaborating?
"Talib, do you think the sins of the parent pass on to the child," she asks softly.
Talib mulls over the question for a moment before answering. "No, but we do often inherit the consequences for their actions..."
Working through his mental checklist, he finally comes to a piece of information that had, until now, been a low priority: her grandmother's involvement. Had she been culpable, or simply misled? Talib barely remembers her, more a construct of her mother's admiration than a flesh-and-blood human. A part of him wants to go to his mother, to press her on issue. Of course, that will be impossible, at least until the investigation calls for it—but it does bother him more than he would like.
"Be that as it may," muses the inquisitor, "while the world is unjust, our souls will ultimately be weighed against individual action, not inheritance."
Strolling along with the group Rissi hears the exchange between Talienda and Taking. She thinks for a moment and adds a comment. "Talienda, While none of us are gods or really know how they think, I'm certain that you are only responsible for the sins of your own life. And depending on the Diety you worship.... Well, some of them may actually reward a worshipper for actions that are terrible by our standards."
"It's okay Rissi. I follow Shelyn, though I think she would be ashamed of how I acted tonight." Talienda falls silent for a little while before adding, [/smaller]"Thank you, both of you. I would have died or worse in that place if not for you."[/smaller]
Shortly after that exchange, the three descendants of Mord's jurors arrive at Abadar's vault, accompanied by Silman Trabe. Their coming at such a late hour is met with much less than a warm welcome, but, due to Talib's insistence and high standing with the taxmasters, they are finally admitted for an audience.
To some surprise, it is the Executive Taxmaster themself who receives the group in the same office where, years ago, Talib had first been introduced to the inquisitors of Abadar. A few beeswax candles illuminate the room and the desk on which a figure veiled and robed in light yellow silks sits and writes.
They dart a judging glance at the group before continuing writing. "Talib. If it had been anyone else I'd have them thrown in a cell for appearing unannounced at this hour. You and your entourage look wounded and dishevelled. Any critical wounds? State your business while we wait for a healer." Their voice is impassive.
At the high clergyman's judging gaze, Talienda scoots a little further behind Talib while trying to hold the split in her dress closed. She realizes that she's lost the dagger she'd been carrying, and was only more grateful that Talib and Rissi are with her.
She begins to feel the long night wearing on her as she waits and has to keep fighting the temptation to lean on Talib and close her eyes. Part of her wonders what would become of her after tonight. Patrissa was still out there, and there was the bounty on her head. Only the gods knew how many crimes her father had committed before he died. She wants to weep as she remembers poor Halgrak. What is she going to say to his widow and children?
As the wait drags on, she looks down and begins to sniffle as she tries desperately not to cry.
"Shelyn? I know a little about all of the common religions, but I think you judge yourself harsher than your deity might. Many that work the arcane arts barely acknowledge a power higher than themselves."
As the group follows Talib in to the office Rissi is startled by the unfriendly greeting. She glances around and thinks, but then realizes the time and accepts that the business day has long since closed. Perhaps that is sufficient reason for rudeness? It certainly would be at her families trade houses, unless the 'intruders' were bringing some potentially very profitable business....
Noticing Talienda's sniffles Rissi reaches up to the lovely girl, offering a hand to hold. She whispers, "You can lean on me. And once we're done hear we can both work on repairs to your dress. Just a couple of spells and it'll be as good as new again! Tomorrow we can both check in on our family issues."
"Executive," Talib says, bowing curtly. "My wounds are manageable. I will provide you with a full written report as promptly as possible. For now, this is the crux of the matter: I have uncovered a criminal conspiracy including, but not limited to, a grave miscarriage of justice. This man..."
He points at his captive. "...Silman Trabe, is a judge guilty of wrongful conviction. However, the main culprit was a magistrate named Alistir Wade, whose crimes this judicial murder was meant to obfuscate. By his design, the jury was pressured into providing a false verdict, which led to the execution of an innocent man—and more presently, acts of vigilantism resulting in the deaths of former jurors at the hands of a vengeful spirit."
"These two," says the inquisitor, indicating Rissi and Talienda, "are key witnesses to the events. Either through happenstance or the guidance of Abadar, the case is also connected to my investigation of the late Diago Blackhorn. He appears to have been an accomplice of Magistrate Wade, and I have reason to believe the transgressions I have described are only a symptom of a wider proliferation of corruption and organised crime in the districts."
Talib looks meaningfully at Talienda. "Relatedly, Miss Blackhorn would benefit from the Vault's protection. We have reason to believe her life is in danger."
Talienda takes hold of Rissi's hand and nods. When Talib calls attention to her, she tries to stand a little straighter, but she's not fooling anyone. She's tired and scared and has very clearly had a harrowing night.
The high inquisitor listens in silence to the report, nodding at the mentions of the names of Blackhorn and Trabe. "Do the witnesses confirm that which inquisitor Talib has just said?" Though they continue about their business, it seems the taxmaster is asking for Talienda and Rissi's confirmation.
Once it is given, they put down the pen and look again at the people in the room. "And you, judge Trabe, what do you have to say in your defence?"
The magistrate looks around himself, brings his hand to the back of his head and sighs. "The…inquisitor speaks the truth. I was convinced, under the threat of violence, to…overlook certain details of a case, ten years ago. Now that my blackmailer is dead, I can freely speak and I…shall pay the price of my crimes–I am ready to pay the price of my crimes, but I beg for you to spare my family–"
Without malice, the high inquisitor interrupts Trabe. "Then you are not ready to pay the price of your actions. The price of one's crimes can easily fall on the shoulders of those one loves. But it does not matter, justice will be served."
They stand up, an imposing figure taller even than Talib. "Inquisitor Talib, you are responsible for the safety and well-being of your witnesses. Take them to one of the guest chambers and see that they are comfortable -- they are clearly in no condition of returning home so late at night. Tomorrow a taxmaster will take your testimonies, after which you will be free to resume your investigation. I take it from your words that the district guard should be involved or at least notified. See that it is done and make sure they send you a report -- use our messengers, if necessary."
The Executive Taxmaster bids them farewell, opens the door and instructs the men stationed at the door to take Trabe to a cell.
Talienda agrees with what Talib had said for the benefit of the Taxmaster, and is all too grateful when she hears that this night is, finally, almost over.
Rissi gives her confirmation of Talib's statement, then just stays with Talienda. When they mention guest chambers she relaxes some. They wouldn't have to walk further to find a room.
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Once out of the dirtied and damaged dress and into a nightgown provided by the Abadarians (with the appropriate charges made to the savings account she had inherited,) Talienda felt a little closer to normal. She watches as Rissi mends and fixes her clothing. It was then that the weight of everything hit her. The tears started slowly, but soon, she was wailing and hugging Rissi as emotions too complex and powerful for her to sort through overwhelmed her. After a while, when she'd finally cried herself out, she sits on the floor clinging to Rissi.
"How can I live with myself. I've been blind and... and my life is built on a lie! On other's suffering! I... I can't... I don't know what to do!" Her sobs wrack her body again, but she doesn't have the energy to sustain another fit and goes quiet as she slumps against the ratfolk.
"I'm sorry," she mutters, but whether it is an apology for her father's actions, her breakdown, or some misplaced sense of guilt, she cannot say.
Rissi works on Talienda's dress while the pretty human girl settles in to something more comfortable. She notices as the tears start to flow and she does her best to comfort her as she releases her control of her emotions.
Rissi waits, listening to Talienda's words, not interrupting or judging, just letting her speak. When she regains control but then starts to apologize Rissi just waves her hand in dismissal. "You've no need to apologize. You are responsible only for your actions, your life. And so far I haven't seen anything indicating that you have malice or criminal intent in you. Give yourself a chance to forge your own record in life, without an unfair burden from your ancestors. You are already a powerful sorceress, responsible with your friends for righting a wrong that had years of history. That's a pretty impressive start! Just imagine what you can do, what we can do, if we just continue working together."
Once she is done talking she continues working on the dress, using both Mending and Prestidigitation to try and make it like new again. "Do you have these spells too? We could both be working on your beautiful dress. Working together makes time pass so much nicer!"
They stand up, an imposing figure taller even than Talib. "Inquisitor Talib, you are responsible for the safety and well-being of your witnesses. Take them to one of the guest chambers and see that they are comfortable -- they are clearly in no condition of returning home so late at night. Tomorrow a taxmaster will take your testimonies, after which you will be free to resume your investigation. I take it from your words that the district guard should be involved or at least notified. See that it is done and make sure they send you a report -- use our messengers, if necessary."
Talib nods and does as he is bid. This was not exactly what he had wanted, but he knows better than to bargain with the Executive. Once the inquisitor has escorted the others to their chambers to and been tended to by a healer, he spends a few hours in a nearby study writing a report. He also prepares a message to his contact in the Post Guard—the Dock Guard is close to the Precipice as well, but far less reliable overall—and a trustworthy accountant. With the knowledge of Diago Blackhorn's and Alistir Wade's partnership, it might be fruitful to cross-reference their finances and look for repeated patterns and shared external connections.
Finally, even Talib is forced to admit he is too tired to go on, and he retires for what is left of the night.
Talienda nods, not saying anything as she processes Rissi's words. It takes her longer to get into the rhythm that Rissi has, clearly unpracticed with her new found power. Still, the act of fixing up the dress seems to dull the edge of pain she feels.
"You're a good friend Rissi," she says sleepily as they finish. "Do you think we met by chance or fate?"
Before Rissi can answer, Talienda is passed out on one of the beds in the small room.
Rissi considers Talienda's question, then notices that the girl has fallen asleep. As she finishes up her work on the dress she considers the question for a while. 'Could be either.... I wonder if there's any way to know?'
She quietly moves to her own bed to sleep the night.
The following morning, Talienda, Talib and Rissi wake up sore and tired after a night filled with nightmares they could not recall and dreams permeated by the oppressive smells and sounds of the courthouse. Whatever vestiges of the night terrors remain, none of their shapeless fears are confirmed during the morning, when one by one they are called to give testimonies of the recent events to a taxmaster, nor in the following days as they find themselves returned to the everyday world.
Though the ensuing investigation was held under some secrecy, each one of them received a generous bounty for rendering the derelict Precipice Quarter safer and putting the souls of the condemned at rest.
---
Talib’s first few days kept him busy, often till late at night, as he oversaw the investigation of the courthouse and took care of all the inevitable bureaucracy when collaborating with another law-enforcement organisation whose standards are not always up to Abadar’s liking. He passed on some of the more relevant findings to Rissi and Talienda:
- Ebin, Malgrim, Halgrak, Madge and Tablark’s corpses were retrieved in the places and conditions the group had left them;
- Patrissa was found dead in courtroom A, having apparently opened a gash on her own belly with her hands. Her intestines were strewn all over the room and looked like tentacles. Some stretched almost the whole length of the courtroom;
- The investigation found Reckart’s body in the same room, with one of the intestine tentacles burrowed deep within the base of his skull;
- There was no sign of the fourteenth juror, Killian Paltrick anywhere within the courthouse. Further investigation revealed that Paltrick had died of natural causes more than a month ago;
- Likewise, there was no trace of Skurly Geddinloe anywhere in the courthouse or its vicinities.
---
Talienda, advised and helped by Rissi, examined the documents on the office her father had in the manor before contacting his legal advisors and accountants, not knowing which, if any, she could trust. There wasn’t much of interest there: receipts, invoices, letters and other documents that all pointed to fairly legal dealings, most of it concerning real estate. They did reveal, however, that there were three residences her father wasn’t renting: one nearby, in Eastgate; one between the Docks and the Merchant’s Quarter; and one in the Puddles. She also found an envelope which contained an unreadable letter, with scrawls that Rissi quickly identified as obscured by magic — and a fairly potent one at that. When she asked her most trusted servants about these things, none knew much about any of it.
---
Ever since they left the Vault, Rissi had been by Talienda’s side, but she did not forget to visit her family a few times. Though the elders agreed with her that Rikki was dead, they were shocked to hear about the invoice regarding his services to Alastir, as nothing in the family’s vault of memories spoke about such a collaboration. It was known that old Rikki’s thirst for knowledge could trump his honour, but to hide it from the family was a sin almost unheard of. “Why would he do that? What could be worth something so disgraceful?” was the unanswered question that was repeated time again those days.
---
Before the others are released, Talib pulls them aside for a briefing in one of the unoccupied meeting rooms in the Vault—an ostentatious yet tastefully decorated chamber used for both financial and legal counselling for affluent parishioners.
"You are still in danger," he says to Talienda, "and the Executive has put me in charge of your safety. Obviously, it is neither appropriate nor convenient for me to accompany you around the clock, or vice versa. Unless Miss Than has other engagements, I would request that you remain with Miss Blackhorn. Avoid unnecessary traffic, and do not go anywhere alone. Use runners when possible. If you have access to your father's funds, I suggest investing some of it on security for whatever domicile you decide to inhabit—mercenaries, warding magic, and so forth. I can recommend a few trustworthy professionals..."
The inquisitor pulls out his notebook and scribbles down a few names and addresses. He tears out the page, folds it, and hands it to Talienda. "I will visit as often as I can, and keep both you updated on the investigation. We all have a personal connection to the case, and I may yet need your assistance."
Rissi stays to the background as Talib warns Talienda, only adding one comment to the words. "Other than notifying my family I've little to do anymore. I could stay on with Talienda if there's room for me. I'm small so I won't need much space!"
"Thank you, Talib. I'll be careful, and I will take your advice to heart. I think I shall be moving soon, and hopefully those after me will not expect me to. And thank you Rissi, I think there'll be more room than you know what to do with at my father's manor."
This item does not seem to be a magic scroll — instead, it looks like a letter that was written with some sort of magic that obscures its contents. Rissi has rarely seen such a document, but she heard the elders speaking of certain tomes of secrets that could only be read under certain conditions, such as the completion of a ritual or the possession of a specific item.
Interestingly, Rissi is fairly sure that the writing itself is magic, meaning that, in the case someone successfully dispelled it, the message would be lost.
After sorting through her father's things with Rissi's help, she packs up some of her things, selling what she won't be taking with her, and moves into the small house in Eastgate. The garden is much smaller, but in much more dire need of care than the ones around the manor in the Petals. No servants have prepared the house for her arrival, indeed, she has even beaten the guards she hired to the place. Only she and Rissi had known where she was going, and it felt odd to be...
To be what? Free? On her own? She couldn't place why she was feeling the knot in her belly, but it wasn't long before she finds herself wanting to hide.
"Rissi, do you think I'm making a mistake," she asks, her question and tone giving away how nervous she feels.
Rissi helps with what she can as Talienda chooses a small house to move in to. There is work needed but most of it is pretty simple. She keeps a watch on anyone moving around the property, perhaps focused on Talienda's perceived dangers....
When Talienda asks about making a mistake Rissi takes some time to think before replying. "I think that once you have made your decision you need to stick with it. Second guessing things only makes you delay making a decision, perhaps until someone else makes the decision for you. You can always look back on your life and berate yourself for decisions made that MAYBE could have been better a different way. But unless you have the power to back up time and 'take the path un-taken....', that is all just water under the bridge."
"What specific decision is worrying you?"
Talib keeps to his word and shows up intermittently to make sure Talienda is settling into her new home, but he does not fuss over the matter. By this point, the inquisitor trusts Rissi to be sensible enough to guide the girl in her first steps toward independence, and he mostly uses the visits to pass along relevant information about the ongoing investigation. He also takes a look at the curious scroll, but finds himself just as stumped as the bard.
- Patrissa was found dead in courtroom A, having apparently opened a gash on her own belly with her hands. Her intestines were strewn all over the room and looked like tentacles. Some stretched almost the whole length of the courtroom;
- The investigation found Reckart’s body in the same room, with one of the intestine tentacles burrowed deep within the base of his skull
The news about Sir Reckart’s fate genuinely trouble the inquisitor, and he makes sure to personally notify the relevant parties at the Seventh Church about the paladin’s death. Patrissa’s demise is also unfortunate, for more practical reasons—she might have possessed relevant information about the conspiracy. Talib considers requesting access to the body, so that a priest might attempt to converse with her spirit. However, based on the report, he already anticipates this will be a dead end, for the spirits of those corrupted into undeath are quickly swept away to Pharasma’s courts, and seldom remain in the reach of such prayers...
- There was no sign of the fourteenth juror, Killian Paltrick anywhere within the courthouse. Further investigation revealed that Paltrick had died of natural causes more than a month ago
Quite a mystery, one which Talib—in less pressing circumstances—might take as a challenge. The most obvious solution to the dead man’s presence in the courthouse is that someone, for some reason, must have assumed his identity, perhaps in order to infiltrate the group of kidnapped jurors. Based on the evidence, the only person with the motive for the kidnapping and the overseeing of thereof is the “Sveth” named in scrawlings on the wall of Mord’s cell. Rather than dwell on the enigma of the dead juror, Talib petitions the district guards to put out separate bounties for Sveth, using the premise of the jurors having been kidnapped from different parts of the city to pressure them into action. A misdeed worthy of punishment, certainly, but merely a symptom of a disease in need of administering.
The inquisitor’s initial approach is three-pronged.
Firstly, he launches a directed inquiry into Wade, specifically. He focuses on the man’s legal career and looks for patterns in the cases he has handled, such as his repeated intercessions in Malgrim’s favour. Additionally, he attempts to compile a list of known colleagues going all the way back to the magistrate's education.
Secondly, he attempts to go through all the resources at his disposal—the Vault’s archives, Diago Blackhorn’s books, and whatever he can get on Alistir Wade—in order to draw relevant connections between the pair: he focuses on joint business ventures, such as the debts at Lucky Harpy, as well as any common associates.
Thirdly, he begins to interrogate his ground-level contacts for information Malgrim’s gang, and their primary operations in relation to the previous two avenues of investigation. Wade had obviously made extensive use of the hobgoblin and his cronies, but for what, exactly? Anyone who has been previously extorted or threatened might be an especially valuable source of information. Any unexplained killings of such people attributable to Malgrim could also point in the right direction.
Talib uses the money from the bounty to re-equip himself for the task ahead. As for his sparse moments of recreation, Talib spends them by meticulously cleaning his new flail, and begins reacquainting himself with its use—it has been quite a while since his basic arms training, and the falchion has always been his weapon of choice. For one reason or other, he now finds the brutal implement more to his liking. Fabulously well-crafted and bearing useful enchantments, it also serves as a fitting reminder of his failures. He spends many an hour in prayer over the weapon and meditating on its baleful associations, and rededicates himself to his quest for justice.
When Talienda asks about making a mistake Rissi takes some time to think before replying. "I think that once you have made your decision you need to stick with it. Second guessing things only makes you delay making a decision, perhaps until someone else makes the decision for you. You can always look back on your life and berate yourself for decisions made that MAYBE could have been better a different way. But unless you have the power to back up time and 'take the path un-taken....', that is all just water under the bridge."
"What specific decision is worrying you?"
"I guess everything isn't very specific, is it," Talienda chuckles, but the moment of mirth is short lived. "I've never really made any decisions for myself before. I was always told what to wear, where to go, what to do. I suspect that I would eventually have been told who to marry as well. But now... I'm free to make my own choices, and it's terrifying. It's like looking at a blank canvas for the first time and seeing all of the possibilities for failure. It's tempting, very tempting, to walk away and give up. More so when you don't know if you're cut out for being in the position you find yourself in."
Rissi is glad to see, and hear, her friend chuckle even if only for a moment. When she returns to her serious attitude though the little ratfolk girl seriously listens and thinks about her words before replying.
"I understand and agree with your temptation, and your thoughts show that you are taking serious consideration with your life. You are a beautiful girl, even if your whiskers are too short and your legs too long for my kind. And you have shown the aptitude to become a great sorceress in time. I don't really know what choices you had before, but the work you've done so far has displayed a resolve that doesn't match with giving up and walking away. You faced the problems and stood with friends against evil that we faced and escaped. A wrongly convicted spirit has been freed and the guilty are now facing the consequences, and we all worked together to that end. Think back to what we faced, and your part in it. Neither of us is powerful in a toe-to-toe scrap. But we were able to help out, each with our unique abilities. There's more that needs to be done, and without your help we might not be able to face our next challenge."
"Take that blank canvas, and start coloring it in with broad, bold strokes! Define the new Talienda Blackhorn not by what you can't do, but rather by what you will do, and not by your family or history, but by who you are now! The portrait that you will create will only be a masterpiece if you accept any failures that you might make and work to fix them as you can."
Talienda can't help but laugh at Rissi's comparisons. She found the ratfolk cute, but in the same way one would find any furry critter cute. It was something of a relief to know that Rissi looked at her in a similar light.
"Thanks, Rissi. I needed that," Talienda says as she looks back at the house with a more thoughtful expression. "I think I want this place covered in flowers. All kinds of flowers. Can you see it, Rissi? Rich vibrant hues in spring, the verdant and bright colors of summer, and the warm colors of autumn just before the pale of winter comes. I think it'd be a very soothing place to be."
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The house lists like a ship. When storms come barreling in off the Inner Sea, the entire edifice groans like an old man on his death bed. Perched on the edge of a cliff in the Precipice District, the three story tenement teeters precariously.
Sekla knows one day the whole wretched building will slide in a cacophony of shattering timbers and rattling tiles into the ocean far below. She wonders, sometimes, if she'll be in it when it goes. Wonders if she'll fight to get free.
The salt tang of the ocean does much to neutralize the odor of rotting wood and mildew, but not enough. Stains spread across the walls like fantastic maps of continents that have never been. At night, the bio-luminescent mold that spreads across the ceiling lights up in pastel hues that - when seen with the right eyes - could even be said to be beautiful.
At night, Sekla stares through that glow into harsh memories. Wrestles with her past. Seeks to entomb her ghosts behind formidable gates in the recesses of her mind, and fails.
Gold comes easily enough. It never lasts long, though. The fault, she knows, lies with her; she simply doesn't care to retain what she earns. Her prices are high, pride demands she set top rates; but once the gold lies in her palm, she forgets why she wanted it.
Spends it freely, gives it away, loses coins in the cracks between the treacherous floorboards of her room.
There's always more work to be had.
Always a knock at the rotted post outside her front door. Someone seeking to leverage her reputation for ferocity and reliability. To set her in her gleaming, infamous Irorium armor before their woes, and will them away.
She knows that for most, that's all they see. The formidable presence, the dread reputation, the sculpted bronze plate, the brutal helm. Few care to look beyond that, and those that do balk at the being beneath: a hobgoblin warrior born in the wastelands of Belkzen, hewn from primordial stock, her body supple with muscle and fluid strength. The slate green skin streaked across the shoulders with liver spots. The bald pate, the angular, bat-like ears, the crimson eyes, the fangs that protrude from behind her lower lip.
Hobgoblin. A word that's more curse than nomination.
But that suits her fine. She has the ocean to rock her to sleep at night, the gold to waste in the evenings, her armor to polish to a mirror-like perfection in the bright dawns. Her life can be measured by contracts, by soft murmurs of appreciation, the long shifts on guard duty, the brief, near ecstatic moments when violence finally breaks out, blood is spilt, when men scream and blade flash and then turn sanguine.
The house lists like a ship. One day it will slide in a cacophony of shattering timbers and rattling tiles into the ocean, and Sekla doesn't really wonder if she'll fight to break free. But until then she'll take contracts and satisfy timid and avaricious men.
There's a peace that comes with resignation.
Until.
A knock at the door. The salt air has swollen it shut again. Sekla sets down her throwing ax and whetstone, considers the portal, then rises when the messenger knocks again.
Anybody who knocks but the once isn't worth attending.
With a savage jerk she tears the door open, and glowers down at the clean cut clerk who blinks up at her.
Abadaran. A rarity, but indicative of a better kind of contract.
"Excuse me, Lady Sekla, but I - ah - have a commission for you, and - well - if you're not too busy, a client would appreciate your services. She put in word with us, and we promised to contact you."
Sekla watched the man lose his composure, inch by sagging inch.
"Name?" she asked, voice little more than a rasp.
"A Lady Talienda Blackhorn. She, ah - nevermind. Inspector Talib Abd al-Abadar referred you to her."
Sekla sniffs. The sound causes the man to flinch.
Talib.
"Very well. Standard rate."
"Of course, of course. Shall I, ah, tell them you'll... come around...?"
"Yes. Tell them. Where can Blackhorn be found?"
"Here. I have her new address." The man proffers a slip of paper.
Sekla takes it without glancing at its contents. Levels her flat stare at the man till he shrinks back.
"Yes. Ah. Haha. I'm sorry, I don't know why I just laughed there. Thank you. That's what I meant to say. And. Good day?" With that, the human turns and hurries down the skewed steps, one hand extended for balance but not quite touching the rotting walls.
Sekla closes the door. Glances at the paper, then drops it on the head of a barrel. Turns to regard the only object of real value in the room.
Her gleaming bronze armor, meticulously arranged on rusted iron frame.
The hobgoblin stands in silence for a spell, old memories stealing forth to assail her. Hot sands under the summer sun, the tang of blood in the air, the screams -
With effort, she forces the memories away, and then sets to donning her plate.
There was work to be done.
Rissi grins at Talienda, glad to see her mood lifted. While she doesn't have the same facial expression capability as the human, she hopes her grin is understood the same. "Flowers? I like the smells of fresh flowers. Well, most of them anyway. There are some rather wierd flowers that.... stink? might be the right word. But how about some artwork as well? Maybe we could take a couple of hours to find a market for local, young artists? I've always thought that young artists try harder and need the support of a few coins for their efforts."
She looks around the room and points to a couple of places, "Just need to get the sizes right so you don't purchase something too small, or too large. Maybe a small painting over there, and a larger one here?"
"Oh yes, that would be great, but what about outside? Think we could find some young sculptors who'd be willing to let their works grace the garden," Talienda replies, coming more out of her shell than she has in almost a month.
Rissi nods at the idea of some artwork outside of the house, thinking of how much Talienda had changed. "Yes. Maybe a couple of pieces. But unless you're thinking small sculptures you'll have to pay to have them hauled here for display!"
She glances outside for a moment, obviously thinking about something, "While we're out there's a couple of things I'll need to look for, adventurer type supplies that I'd like to have if we get into trouble again, or if we possibly go looking for it. And, you know, I've heard a lot of stories about this city and the lands around it. Some of it is just the thing that bards look for, the stuff of legend and such. At the very least I'd like to see the Ascendant Court and the pit of the Star Stone."
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Alastir had been a very active man, Talib discovers, and it takes him the better part of the week to start scratching the surface of the deceased villain's recorded activities. Wade’s time at Beldrin’s Bluff courthouse had been a short, mandatory two-year stint to pay off debts he had incurred during his studies at Absalom Academy of Law (something in fact a bit unusual for a man of his station), followed by years working as a solicitor to private clients, the most famous of whom had been Diago Blackhorn.
Between suspicious cases, colleagues and other acquaintances, Talib lists three names that grabbed his attention:
1) Zultana Kermés: a magistrate who works at the Coins District court and who studied with Alastir at the Academy. Also, a faithful of Abadar and a friendly acquaintance of the inquisitor;
2) Torfeeq Zader: according to the suspiciously few records Talib could find about the infamous gambling house, this five-year-old boy is the most recent owner of The Lucky Harpy. He lives with his father, Tareq, in a bunkhouse in the Puddles;
3) Hadgandaga Ego: together with Malgrim, this conman who preys on recent arrivals to the city is one of the few amongst Alastir’s clients who were neither rich nor powerful. The man is always on the run, but his occupation makes the Docks a natural hunting spot.
It is the morning of 14th Saresnith and Talib, after days digging through stacks of documents, contracts and transaction records, leaves a boarding house in the Puddles with two tasks for the day: first, see what information he can gather on Malgrim; second, personally check on Talienda and Rissi.
For his first task, he meets an old contact of his, a local healer called Yenet Axirion whose mere presence can open many doors and loosen many tongues in the district. This time, however, with the tension of an imminent gang war breaking out, people are reticent and suspicious. Most refuse to say even a word about the Grindle Street gang, whilst others simply run away the moment they hear Malgrim’s name.
It is with some weariness that they knock on the door of an elderly Varisian woman, Rodina Tatia. The door opens promptly and the sprightly woman inside beams at the sight of Yenet. “But look who’s here! Enter, enter, quick. Just in time for some tea.” She ushers the two men inside a minuscule room furnished with a small wood stove, a cot and a chest as well as all sorts of decorations hanging from ceiling and walls.
”Sit, sit! What can this silly old woman do for you?” She says and pushes two stools with her foot towards them whilst tending to the fire.
Talienda, a petite human girl with raven black hair and blue eyes, is sitting on her new house’s drawing room, located on the top floor of the two-storied building, discussing last night’s little adventure with Rissi, a small ratfolk woman with reddish fur and bright black eyes, when someone knocks on the door. Before either of them can reply, it opens.
At the threshold is Alina, a servant Talienda’s butler had insisted would come to at least clean the house. “Mistress Talienda?” She looks even paler than usual and nervously looks behind her shoulder whilst speaking. “There’s a…person here who wants to see you…with a letter from the Abadaran. Something about a bodyguard?”
The girl then moves her lips without making any sound, clearly mouthing “Run!”
The name Blackhorn raises some eyebrows when Sekla starts asking around. Diago Blackhorn was a rich man and patron of the arts who probably owned half of the city before he was murdered not long ago. But Talienda Blackhorn? No one ever heard anything about her.
Rissi pays attention to the girl's words as well as her body language. Both get her alert quickly. She runs quickly to where her gear was stowed and digs out her rapier, just in case. "Abadaran? You mean Talib? He's an honorable man, but stay behind me Talienda. This might be a ruse to get close enough to attack you!"
”Sit, sit! What can this silly old woman do for you?” She says and pushes two stools with her foot towards them whilst tending to the fire.
The inquisitor takes a seat and mumbles a thank-you, letting his gaze sweep through the modest domicile. He glances sidelong at Yenet and raises an eyebrow.
"An excellent question," he thinks to himself.
Talienda does a fair job of not panicking, but she can only manage to nod he head as she grabs Alina and pulls her to the backdoor.
"Find someplace safe to hide," she says before turning back to follow Rissi.
If it was someone here to attack her, she didn't want someone to die for her sake. Especially not Alina, she'd grown to like the young woman as she got to know her.
Eastgate was only a stone's thrown north of the Precipice District, but it might as well have been another world. Ordered streets, clean, sober homes, and regular guard patrols imparted upon the quarter an almost surreal normalcy.
Sekla couldn't have felt more alien. A few years ago she'd have visited such a locale only at the front of a horde intent on burning it. Now?
Now she clutches a contract in one hand, holds her bronze helm under the other arm, and stalks forward stiffly, expecting at any moment to be hailed by a passing patrol.
But Absalom surprises her. Nobody does more than stare, but even so, by the time she reaches the front gate of the given address she feels like she's run a gauntlet.
A moment to consider the property. To evaluate its defensive qualities. If possible, she walks around it once or twice, eyeing the walls, gauging how isolated it its, how dark sidestreets might be in the middle of the night, where an opportunistic attacker might choose to break in.
That done, she looks for a way to announce herself. No bell hangs at the front gate, so, after a moment's hesitation, she pushes it open and walks through the wilderness of a garden to the entrance, where she knocks firmly three times then steps back so as to not intimidate whomever opens the front door.
Her intention proves fruitless. The wisp of a human servant girl blanches at the sight of her, stammers something, and runs inside.
Sekla purses her lips over her fangs and considers following the woman inside. But no. This wasn't her domicile. She had yet to be formally engaged. So, though she hears voices filtering down from the stairwell within, she resigns herself to wait, helm under one arm, offered contract nearly scrunched into a ball in her gauntleted fist.
"Thank you, Ms. Tatia," Yenet says with a broad smile as he enters, ducking low to avoid the decorations from the ceiling. "It is lovely to see you again. I trust your foot is doing fine?"
The Mauxi man with short-cropped hair, dressed in simply working clothes that fit the weather this time of year, sets down his backpack near the stool and seats himself. "How lucky we are, to be right in time for tea. Don't you agree?" He catches Talib's glance and gives him a reassuring smile.
"I've brought a friend today. Please let me introduce Talib Abd al-Abadar," he starts once they are comfortable. "Like me and many others, he is worried about the recent events in the neighborhood. The fire a while ago, and more and more activity of criminals. You know what I talk of, yes?" He pauses for a sip of tea, then pauses just a bit longer before another smile of optimism break out on his face. "We are all worried, but in one aspect Talib is different from us: he is actually in a position to do something about it." Thoughts of the Shining Falcon do not cross Yenet's mind as he says this. He is simply a humble inhabitant of the Puddles who tries to help people and stray animals with his modest healing skills.
Yenet continues talking. "I have said to Talib that there is little I could do to help him, of course. But what I can, I will do... I promised to show him around the Puddles, speak to some people and see if they saw or heard something that may interest him. Yes?" He leans back a bit and brings the cup of tea to his nose to small the fragrance, giving Rodina time to think over his words and respond in her own time.
"People are understandably fearful," he adds to Yenet's explanation, "but what they dread is a serpent with no head. For the good of the community, we have to act soon. These criminals have recently lost their leader, but it will be only a matter of time before someone else solidifies their position."
Rodina’s smile disappears as Yenet speaks. She turns silent, looks from one man to the other, then to the ground where it lingers for a second, thinking. Finally, the old woman shrugs.
“To the hells with it. Not like I have that much time to live. If Yenet is right about you…” Out of stools, she sits down on her bed. “We’re not supposed to talk to people about it. Word on the street is that the Shades will kill anyone who talks.”
Her voice is almost a whisper now.
“My neighbour’s niece — lovely little girl — runs errands for them. She’s terrified, wants to quit, but is scared they’ll come for her. Especially now. Says a big shot died — guess that’s the leader you’re talking about. Then there’s the fire, they’re furious about that. Thinks the Croakers did it, she does. Ooh, the things the girl’s told me.”
Alina refuses to the leave the house, but instead hides in the kitchen. ”If things get ugly I’ll run to get the watch, mistress. ’S not right to leave you two here alone.” She leaves the door slightly ajar, no doubt standing very close to hear everything that is being said.
After exchanging a look and a nod, Talienda and Rissi go to the front door. There, a few paces away from the threshold, stands a huge hobgoblin woman wearing full plate. She holds her helmet under one arm, a crumpled sheet of paper on the other hand and waits.