Carnadine's impatience at making a decision on which bed to sleep is overwhelmed by his body's exhaustion. Not wanting to take the moonstone from the Alemaiden, he pulls out his bedroll from his rucksack and passes out on it. He is not unfamiliar with roughing it, but not in a town when there are alternatives. Unbelievable, but we seem to be in unbelievable times.
Upon waking, the ghost knight performs an odd kata unfamiliar outside Morgau. He limbers and tones his body from the uncomfortable table top.
As the discussion of what to do next, Carnadine contributes, "I believe our best course of action is to meet the Ambassador. We would do better understanding the game being played here as soon as possible. I don't appreciate being a pawn."
"However, if you are uncomfortable visiting a court, I suggest we check in with the Bastard to understand the state of the Watch. We need allies and an army against the fey. Then, I can find my informant who is investigating leads for the lethal lutenist. Maybe the unmerciful minstrel has something to do with this fey crazy."
Raseri feels a shiver run down her spine at Carnadine's smile. He truly was a wolf, or a leopard. A hunter that all his pray should fear. She tries to steel her nerves, but flashes of razor-like claws and the chill touch of a spectre beyond death only made the fear worse. She shrinks under Carnadine's smile as she clutches at her heart. Her words come slowly, as if even speaking them too great effort.
"My memories from before waking up in a grove outside of the city are fleeting, though silver eyes always haunt them. In six years I have not aged a day. I thought I had seen twenty-six winters, but now, I do not know. When I lay on the floor after the trap was sprung in the archives, I had a dream, I could not remember making my arms and armor despite my mark being on them. I was back home, back in the Northlands. Then I found the symbol of Thor I always wear missing from my neck. I found myself fighting myself, but my twin had a cruel smile and laughed as my arms turned to dust. She pinned me to the ice and her eyes, silver eyes looked into mine as she told me she would see me soon."
She looks away and it's clear to see that her shrinking away is more literal than most. She is visibly shorter, and her clothing doesn't fit as well as it once had. Everything about her screamed of fear and prey. this is not the same young woman that lead the charge against the fey on the wall.
"You were the only one I could think of to talk to about this. I have no trust in myself, so how can I expect others to trust me? I need to know, with no doubts, what I am, and if I could turn on all of you. If you have some of your father's skill, then perhaps you can help quiet some of my fears," she says as she looks off to the side, her eyes hidden by her hair and shadow.
"Tim the Stalwart first, then your informant," Raseri asks, making it clear she preferred this course of action over a visit to the fey ambassador.
"As was explained by my master, the realms of the Shadow Fey combine all the capricious evil of the Fey Realms with the life-destroying evil ofthe shadow realms. I can attest to what little of the kingdoms of the shadow fey that I have seen being truly horrible."
"Regardless, we're wasting time we can ill afford to waste. Let's set a meetup point for later today and be about our business."
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
"As for trust, you must give it to receive it. Trusting yourself is to trust the Thunderer, I would imagine."
"Are you asking me to taste your blood? First, I am not terribly thirsty at the moment. Second, I think you would need to tell at least the Alemaiden of your desire. There are certain expectations of my kind. I would not want our new companions to turn on me, because they they think I seduced you to drink your blood."
"I've been accused of that before, and it usually ends violently." He finishes studying her with his gray, not silver eyes.
"If only that were true," Raseri answers when asked if Thor did grant her the certainty that was practically legendary among his clergy.
"The fey are cunning. I do not fear that I will betray you or my faith of my own accord, but that I will lose myself. That is what terrifies me. I could be used as a weapon against you, all of you. I had hoped that you would be able to tell me if I am as I believe, or if there is something more," She says, turning and starting to pace. She takes a few steps before turning back.
"And yes, I believe that is what I am asking of you. I do not know why you would be accused of seducing me. The others can hardly claim that you did to drink my blood if I am the one drawing my life from my veins with my knife. I have not become so frightened as to be controlled so easily," she finishes, a spark of her usual self flashing through the miasma of uncertainty that had gripped her.
"I have to know what I am. I am not so certain I am as I appear."
A long moment passes Raseri standing straight, but still not able to look Carnadine in the face. Her inexperience betrays her as she begins to blush.
"I almost do not want to ask, but do you always seduce the ones whose blood you drink," she asks, her voice colored by her embarrassment.
Its a dull gray morning, the overcast sky simply getting a lighter and lighter shade in place of a true sunrise. The streets are fairly empty and quiet for this part of the merchant district, lacking the advertisers and peddlers that drive lesser commerce.
Lexi's acquisition from the archives is a parcel plot map showing a road called Alchemist's Folly, with the old spice house around a corner at the end of a little cul de sac. In those days, it was part of the market district but has since been subsumed by the borders of the Collegium. Finding it should be trivial from campus.
Considering the Watch, Tim was sent away to his mother's house for protection last you recall...you would have to track that residence down to followup on him. Or perhaps you could contact his regiment.
A glance outside the window just in front of the brewery doesn't reveal any immediate danger. Although there is the strange sight of a woman who seems to have lost all the color from her skin, pale ghostly eyes and even her clothes seem to have the pigments drained from them. She seems to be pan handling at the intersection.
"Well, if I can't convince you to not meet with the ambassador, we should probably pick a place to meet this evening and share what we learn. Good luck, and don't get dead." says Lexi.
After the group picks a spot, she dresses in the robes of the faithful of Ninkash then leaves out the door while Kjeta's out of the room.
Deimus looks at the other and shakes his head. He wishes for the group, already small, to remain together; a clutch, but it seems taller folks have not yet learned the ways of the oppressed.
Yet.
"Tzk." he makes, as Ras calls him 'Drakken.' Then adds: "More like Drake-can..."
He picks up his cloak and wraps it around his shoulders, ready to head out: "Right, Evil, mad, shadow fey. Let's see if we can talk reaszon..." he says, deadpan, as he reaches the door and starts to open it for the others, but then he sees the pale woman and closes the door.
"Is there a back door?"
"If you want me to have any chance to compare the taste of your blood, you won't be drawing your blood with a knife. I drink warm, flowing blood through a bite. So, I do think the others will have an opinion if they find out."
"You keep speaking of the fey impacting your life. You cannot believe that the past few days has impacted you. What has so affected your life? If the Thunderer cannot provide you certainty, have you considered another divine patron who can save your life and death?" Carnadine asks in genuine interest.
Carnadine studies the map and tries to plot a course to the Winter's Kiss that passes by a Watch barracks where he could ostensibly understand their state and discover Tim the Bastard's current location, in addition to discovering the name and location of the owner of the special tipstaff.
"Can anyone detect if that strange woman is anything but an unhealthy beggar?" The noble dhampir asks clarifications.
Raseri's cheeks burn red hot at Carnadine's answer, and her obvious discomfort grows as Carnadine continues.
"As ever, you are astute in your observations. No, it has not been the past few days. My memories are fleeting and rarely do I glean more than a detail or two before they slip away again. I remember fire and screams, then strength-sapping cold. I remember silver eyes and agreeing to something for shelter, though I cannot recall what. I remember being in the fey woods, and a curse. There is no god that can tell me of my fate because I do not have one. I am fateless, unlucky. Now, I am not even sure I can trust what little of my life before waking up near this city I do remember. I need an answer I can trust, and if I have ot explain why I let you drink my blood, then I will, but I do not want to have to explain all of this to the others. It is hard enough with just one knowing how weak I truly am."
Raseri gives a snort of laughter at Deimus' pun, a welcome, if brief, moment of levity in a dire situation.
As Lexi goes to leave, Raseri grabs her by the arm.
"Lexi," she says, using the young woman's name instead of the nickname she'd bestowed on her, "we should stay as one. Especially if we are to visit this ambassador. You know more about the shadow fey than any of us. We need your help."
Seeing the glimpse of the colorless woman before Deimus closes the door, she shivers and looks to Lexi again and lets go.
"Please, my friend. Do not go alone."
Turning to Carnadine, she looks to the others, seeming a little embarrassed.
"No, it is a curse," she says, "one that someone tried to put on me a few nights pass."
"I agree, we should stay together, and far away from this obvious trap, but since I can't talk you all out of it, I think it's better that at least one person not be at the meeting, so if the worst happens, they can potentially try and rescue you."
"Then we should send someone who is better at sneaking around than I am with you. If it is a trap, then we would do well to have you with someone watching your back."
"Now, I'm confused with your logic, but we need to start the day. When we continue this discussion later, please start by answering this question: if you are so uncertain about what happened to you with silver-eyed fey in the woods, why are you so certain that you are fateless?"
Raseri starts at Carnadine's rather simple question. She looks up at him, at first puzzled, then worried.
"I was hoping this conversation would have done more to quiet my fears. Now I have more," she says as she looks away.
"Thank you, anyway."
she says before walking off.
You spend a few hours casing the district border Watch leading into the Collegium, and find nothing particularly out of the ordinary compared to what you have seen on other days. The gates are still posted, watchtowers still manned, and tired sentinels retiring for a drink as their shift expires.
You witness a robbery...oddly, not a jeweler or silver tinker, but a nurseryman. The Watch is nearby and just grits their teeth as the young plants and seed stores are plundered by an adolescent group of fey who, for lack of a better description, are riotous.
A tour about the town indicates that mostly just the Citadel district seems to be affected...its inhabitants still show that strange sort of mind control you saw the night before. The governmental mechanus is stalled and no tacos are being sold.
Fear reigns. Everyone you talk to has a story about someone speaking out against the fey, and getting cursed as a result...often without any direct contact with the fey or a spellcaster. They believe an antagonist divine force is at play, as Rava and Volund have become harder to reach in prayer. The curses run the gamut, strange geas forcing people to commit acts they never would, humiliating bleachings and hair loss, shadow assaults beating the victim to within an inch of murder. There is also talk of new and rapidly spreading diseases which slowly wither with ashen skin.
You press a few of your contacts, the poison vendors and the fixers who can make even the biggest messes disappear. The word is money, money, money. As established order breaks down, opportunities are springing up all over...and it seems as long as the fey are not crossed, its even easier than usual to get away with stuff. One avenue that is not so prosperous is information, many locations have gone dark and eyes and ears are impossible to keep open in the sweetest spots.
Twice you witness a black clad herald appear and disappear proclaiming odd edicts in populated areas. The commands are simply silly: 'Only frog meat may be consumed on Volsdays.' and 'Odorous cheeses may only be consumed indoors.' but carry the penalty of death.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The Watch seems determined to keep order despite the odd incursion of the fey. Without a statthalter named, there is no direct threat to mobilize against...beyond the corruption of the Council, and the fey's fleeting appearances. Still, even that is suspect given the strange enchantments gripping those in the Citadel. Some discuss anti-teleportation tactics but seem at a complete loss, others run away at the mere mention of countering the fey.
You then spend a few hours tracking down Tim. Most of his fellow Watchmen, even outside his regular patrol company are unwilling to divulge the location of his family's residence, at best pleading with you to stay away for his own protection. But you find at last Captain Edelstein, the frustrated guard in charge of the storming of the barbican who recognizes you and reluctantly agrees to steer you there, as a matter of your honor. It is the 4th floor of the Dayshyn Highrise in Upper Zobeck...suite 8.
You remember from the archives the target of your wine-scapade is a certain Watchman Hendryk who operates an independent roving patrol in Lower Zobeck. You could case that district or perhaps do something to get the attention of the patrols there.
"I would suggest that we leave Tim the Stalwart alone until we need a dependable ally. As the captain implied, our alliance with him might endanger him and his family." Carnadine offers.
"Time to go meet the Ambassador. I still think we are better off knowing more about this situation than we do, even if it is a trap."
Ever feel like you're being watched? That tingling on your neck, a whisper from a shadow though nothing is there. A hand sensed inches from your shoulder, but turning...nothing there. Watched though not watched the party marks the familiar path into the Arcane Collegium campus, and stops dead in its tracks when a black raven *caws* sentinel sitting atop the street sign 'Alchemist's Folly'.
The seriousness of the group is met with some odd looks from the students, raising a few eyebrows...though none dare challenge the seemingly experienced interlocutors. Adventurers on campus usually meant some professor or specialist had them under hire for a pet project, and a few intimidating looks at the doe-eyed kids sent them gazing back down to their books.
Disappearing around the corner, you make your way to the end of the cul de sac. The parcel plot indicates Winter's Kiss should be right in front of you, but all you see is the old cobbles blending into a patch of dirt. Myzi I's mice companions told him it would be hidden from the eyes of men...
Before leaving the brewery, Raseri dons her armor and puts her warhammer in her belt, wrapping her other weapons in a bundle to hide them from plain sight. She wears a cloak that hides the shining mail and helps muffle the sound a little, while also hiding her hair, now done up in a braid. She carries everything of value with her, not knowing when or even if she'd ever return to the Hero of the Hops.
She nods when Carnadine suggests leaving Tim and his mother be, and while she agrees with him on it being better to know what is going on, she can't help but feel afraid. Her fear is only enhanced by the paranoia that comes from the feelings of being watched and shadowy hands reaching out for them at every turn. By the time they arrive at where Winter's Kiss should be, her head is low and her hood pulled lower in the hope of hiding her nerves from those that are watching.
"I suppose we need to present our invitation," she says quietly to the others before looking at Carnadine, knowing the man wouldn't forget something so important.
Carnadine nods at the Thorsdottie and then to the Alemaiden who opened the invitation and presumably carries it.
I'm no man... thinks Deimus, wondering if the place would appear to him. He concentrates his gaze on the hole.
Silent up until now, Hrungnir was dressed as he was when he first met the group. He wore his armor, with a hooded cloak pulled around him. At a distance at least it masked him...almost. It was a poor disguise by any measure. But he refused to walk into a trap unarmored.
”Why does it feel like they’ve already won?” He muttered to himself, somewhat amazed at how quickly the fey had taken control of the city.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Deimus doesn't budge, but says to Hrungnir: "The Stross too taught they had won. Nothing is ever won in Zobeck, just contested."
Hrungnir placed his hand in the illusion. As he did so, he replied ”Some make houses out of wood. Easy to tear down and build anew. I prefer stone. Do it right the first time, and it stands against both time and your enemies. It seems like all of Zobeck is made of wood.”
Hrungnir's hand stops short, feeling an old splintery shingle of wood. As he focuses, he realizes that the patch of dirt was just a trick of the angle, and moving his head slightly the light adjusts as if within a thousand prisms, revealing a house of the old Zobecker style.
As () he points this out to the others, they see the play of angles and light too...it was hidden from their eyes, but after all hidden things can be found.
A warm glow comes from the windows and a polished brass doorknocker juts out patiently from the red door: a nightingale grasping an overlarge ring in its tiny talons.
After pointing it out, the dwarf said ”Get ready.” If nobody stops him, he will knock forcefully on the door.
Theres a sound like clattering of tableware inside, then a screech of a chair and the quick steps of high heels on a wooden floor. The door opens (it was unlocked) and you are surprised to see a male elf whose high heels are actually the least remarkable thing in his extravagant (some might say ridiculous) attire. He has the eerie beauty of an elf, but a pair of thick ram's horns sprouting from the middle of his forehead...their crevasse filled with a glistening silver metal.
He looks you all over, down his nose at you, one by one slowly...then again. Seemingly at a loss he perseveres "*ahem* Yes? I am Canderminne Tallowglass, servant to his Excellency, the Ambassador-In-Extraordinary of the Shadow Realm. If this is a chance visit I'm afraid I must ask you to turn your way...you may inquire in writing via hand delivered vellum (only) each Orielsday of the month, in the hour after noon. We thank you for your understanding...adieu..." he bows slightly and starts to close the door.
Kjeta clears her own throat.
"Actually, Master Canderminne," she holds out the invitation, "I believe we are invited guests."
With a slight bow, she adds "Kjeta Strongbrew, at your service. Would you be so good as to let the Ambassador know we've arrived?"
Raseri tries not to let herself be distracted by the spectacle before them, but it was hard. She had always thought the fey had a wild quality to them, something almost feral lurking beneath the beauty and grace, but she had to suppress the urge to giggle, and it would have been a very girlish giggle, at this one's attire. She keeps her head down and hopes that he doesn't notice the slight smile curling her lips. Foppish attire or no, all fey were quick to repay insults with deadly efficiency.
At least recalling that helped her banish the ghost of a smile.
The fey's eyebrows raise and a look of genuine delight fires across his face as he confirms the invitation "Indeed?! Well, come right in, distinguished guests! Forgive my manner, it has been some years since we've had noble visitors. Please, make yourselves at home in the foyer as we attend to registering your names and ranks." his lips make a pursed shape and a little kissy sound pinches out "Tibbles? Some spiced wine, my girl...and the tiny tarts, I think?"
The house is old, but warm and colorful and full of refined beauty. The foyer has comfortable green velvet sofas and a skylight partially covered with hanging moss. Wafts of air smelling like apples and cinnamon suggest themselves from the main hallway.
Tibbles, a teenage girl (perhaps the youngest elf you've ever seen) of a more conservative dress, but nearly iridescent features like a newly sprouted verdure, appears at your service. Her horns have not yet broken skin on her forehead, being naught but two little nibs above her fair brow. She pours a steaming hot spiced wine and serves all little dainty plates of tarts, always with her head bowed respectfully...but from the corner of your eye you can catch her stealing curious looks with a slight grin.
Canderminne quickly returns with his register, a long vellum parchment with an almost as long peacock feather quill "Yes, the Ambassador is nearly ready to greet you in his solar. Eh, forgive this formality but you understand matters of state often carry such embellishments. How do you find the tarts?" he awaits your declarations of name and rank.
Kjeta says with pride, "Kjeta Strongmalt of Kubourg, Hero of the Hops, sworn cleric of Ninkash."
”Hrungnir, speaker of the rune.” He said, not touching the food or drink. He fully expected this to end in violence, though he assumed that being poisoned or charmed was more likely.
Canderminne is taking down the long titles and seems all smiles. He executes that robotic form of pleasantry highborn nobility is so great at...
Deimus replies with a steady voice, though with some pregnant pauses: "I am Deimus. Tzk. Shop owner and... Tzk. Kobold representative."
"Thank you for your gift freely given." The ghost knight attempts to protect himself from fey deals sealed with food. "I am Carnadine of Bruvik, Captain of Arms of the Knights Incorporeal."
Near the end of Deimus' declaration the gracious host looks to the tiny tarts, then to Deimus, then back at the tiny tarts...and a look of complete and utter horror crosses his face which flushes a bright red under his white powdery make-up "Good lord! What am I thinking?! Tibbles, the kit, girl."
She cocks her head to the side, curious yet wholly confused...which only embarrasses the host further.
"..." he tries not to burst. "The automaton accouterments, at once!" with a gentle double clap of his hands, and the girl flies down the hall with head bowed. "My most sincere and humble apologies, lord Deimus of the Kobolds. It is rare indeed we entreat a gearforged...but more importantly I must reassure you of the kobold's special place in this matter. Please do not let my eternal foppishness sour your negotiations with the Ambassador on that matter!" he bows low.
"Now...the invitation was for two more, but I only see one...?" looking at Raseri. About that time Tibbles returns with a fine and handsome little set of maintenance tools, containing vairous oils and brushes for mechanical refreshment.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
As Kjeta introduces herself, Raseri notices Canderminne reaction and decides it is better to not divulge her faith if she can help it. At least her cloak hides her holy symbol as well as it hides her armor.
The stranger and more harmless seeming the fey, the more dangerous they are.
She starts as she realizes that Canderminne was looking at her and she was the last one to give her name. She hadn't even noticed the refreshments being offered and feels the color draining from her face.
"R-raseri," she blurts out as she notices she's been quiet just a bit too long. Her voice cracks, and she looks down at the floor as she blushes in embarrassment. "M-m-my name is Raseri Whitescale. I-I am just a h-h-humble smith."
She takes a step back and to the side, hiding more behind Carnadine, for all the good it will do her. She tries to get past her timidity, but she only feels the Wraith's cold touch, again, as she tries to gather her courage.
"Our friend c-could not make it. Sh-she had other appointments she had to attend to," Raseri manages to get out. Her voice sounds higher and much more brittle than it had. It is pretty clear that she's not comfortable here, and she is certainly not comfortable with their host's lieutenant.
The servant leads you down a long, carpeted hall to the solar, the way being dimly lit by a few candles. You pass a chamber with a number of (6) giant fey hounds relaxing by a fire, looks of dumb doggish satisfaction on thier goofy faces as their eyes follow you past. Another holds a number of armed fey at a table playing at some kind of game, their stares blank as you pass...but one gives a simple nod in greeting.
The solar is a large chamber full of devices for intellectual recreation. A small library, drawing table, mathematics set, apparatus for natural philosophy (science) set the comfortable skylighted space.
A (normal sized) white owl sits on a perch at the end of a long table, snow white and almost glowing even in the dull overcast rays of the day. A single chair stands in the room, and seated on it is a fey with black hair, a thin nose, and pointed ears almost as long as a goblin's. His clothes are pure black and heavily embroidered in more black; his leggings are pure white and embellished with hexagonal designs. He holds an ivory wand idly in one hand, while the other offers the owl tiny morsels of food...but the owl has a face of complete disgust and wants nothing of it.
The servant says, "Visitors, Your Excellency..." proceeding to recite word for word the names and ranks of the party with a few notable omissions and changes. First, and not surprisingly to Raseri, he omits that Kjeta is a cleric of Ninkash. Second, Raseri's title is simply 'attendant smith'.
The shadow fey noble ignores you long enough to be rude, then turns and speaks to Carnadine, in a corrupted version of Elvish
"Mankoi uma lle rashwe amin? Oh, uma, amin Lotesse caela lle, nan'amin ume il-duila lle san-amin de no'i'ofer. Sai-n'ner a'brien yassen lle..."
But before you can even think of responding he stops you "Of course, I would be foolish to think you might speak a civil tongue. Why do you trouble me? Oh, yes, I may have invited you...but I did not expect you to take me up on the offer. Much less to bring minions with you." he seems to direct the 'minions' statement at Raseri.
"Am biodh an teanga seo nas coltaiche riut," Raseri asks, curious if this one knew the Sylvan tongue of the fey she knew. She bristles a little at being called a minion, but she figures that was better than the alternative, and hopefully the knowledge that she knew a fey language might cause them to wonder what other talents she has chosen to hide.
Her tone is polite, even cordial, but there's still an undercurrent of fear to it that she can't rid herself of.
The servant at the back of the room nearly topples over, with a cutting scoff stuck in his throat "Aggh! You were not spoken to--!!" startling the owl that releases a little hoot.
But the ambassador raises a hand to try and settle things back down "Enough...we must forgive the foreigners some transgressions of etiquette, my friend. You see, this one...she at least has some learning of the ancient tongue, though she doesn't realize Sylvan is relegated mostly to the cultural backwaters of Margreve these days...the druids teach their animals this still, yes?...surely she does not mean to offend directly." he relaxes a bit and takes an expository posture, as a father might approach a daughter "No, that language does not possess the required nuances to express certain motions of heart and other official titles, you see. Elvish is the best we can do here in your world...though we have another Umbral tongue yet more evolved for our courts across the Divide. That one is considered bad manners to speak outside our world, else used for a hot insult...the air here does not hold it with the same resonance if you catch my meaning."
Raseri looks up in shock, not at her breach of etiquette, she was certain that she would do something sooner or later that would cause a fuss, but in hearing that these fey didn't speak the Sylvan tongue.
"Pardon my impropriety. I was merely hoping to make these talks more comfortable for you. I can speak with a Sylvan tongue better than with the tongue they use here in the Southlands," she says, "I learned it when I was a young girl. The fey that taught me said that all of the fey, elves included, spoke in the Sylvan tongue. I had not realized that this was no longer true."
Raseri looks away, feeling foolish after causing such a ruckus.
"Be that as it may, I apologize for my rudeness. I was only trying to help," she says while not meeting the other's eyes. She wasn't lying, but neither was she telling the full truth. She only hoped that the fey wouldn't press her on what she ha left unsaid.
The servant at the back stomps his high heel once, but holds his tongue.
"..." the ambassador pauses, clearly on edge, and tries to say as calmly as possible "I did not say I could not speak my ancestral tongue...that would make me an idiot, attendant smith. Only that I choose not to. Pixies, nymphs...mmm...fomorians, hags...some of the first fey refuse change there in the wildest of places. Yes, I believe they still form their houses out of sticks. Or perhaps time simply flows differently there?" he brushes the thought, and his irritation, away instantly. "But no matter. Surely you did not come to discuss linguistics."
"Nor did I mean to imply that you could not," Raseri snaps, her temper getting the better of her for a moment. "But some of the fey on the walls did not seem to understand me when I spoke it to them the other day. Perhaps you should not be so quick to take offense at slights that do not exist."
A spark of lightning flickers in her eyes, but vanishes as she closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath.
"We know that the fey from the shadows claim this city and its lands as theirs based on an agreement made with the long dead Clan of Stross. We do not know the terms of this agreement or if it is still valid after the death of the Strosses. We had hoped that you would have a copy of the agreement that we could see."
Deimus partakes in the offered oils with reserve. He doesn’t wish to offend the host, plus he finds it interesting that preparations were made for special guests. As they walk through and pass guards, he notes that they were also prepared for all sorts of visitors.
All this, and the recent events in the streets of Zobeck, reminded him not to underestimate the shadow fey. For all he knew, they’d been preparing for centuries.
As Raseri spoke, Hrungnir looked around, trying to find a good place to put a coin. He wondered if he could scry on the place, but it was certainly worth a shot. He’d need to find a spot with good vision, but where the coin would also not be moved.
Once he had found his place, he held up his hand, to signal that he had something to say, and began to walk towards his chosen location.
”So this tongue is rude? What I find rude is that we were invited here only to be insulted by you. And that is almost as bad as the shades that were sent to murder us not too long ago. But we are all civilized people, in one way or another. And civilized people keep their word, do they not? My comrade here is correct in that it would only be proper to provide us with this agreement. For without proof of that, what you are doing here would be justifiably seen as an unprovoked invasion.”