The man frowns at the response, ”thought we could do some trade, have a bit of fun. Oh well… then drop your weapons and come with us. The Emperor will sort you out.” He’s not armed at the moment but the scars on his fists show he’s been in plenty of brawls.
Magda ignores him completely. From a girl that listens to everything, even the quiet whining of a doormat So tired of seeing only Feet from the world, that should say something to what she thinks of Him and his lot.
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The first words that the man speaks cause Yaziyah to frown. Pilts? Get permission? They had been given permission, if Kroft held any authority in these parts still - which Yaziyah doubts.
Then what he says next almost sends her into a rage. The disparaging tone, the way he said 'Varisians and Shoantis and half-breeds', speaking of the girls like chattel, to be treated like mere possessions of men...
She holds herself very still, the rage still trembling inside her, bubbling, waiting for the merest sign to erupt - because Magda was asking for something. And Magda had more right to the worthless lives of the scum before them, somehow Yaziyah knew that.
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Marcus raises his brows in surprise at the man's choice of words. He was not naive, he knew some men spoke this way in some environments. But so boldly, with both the woman as well as a hulking armed male figure they didn't even know (not to mention half the women were heavily armed as well)...
Ah, he's trying to rile them up. Based on the women's reactions, it was working. The man was a slimeball, sure, but it was a calculated approach.
Marcus gives a small, nearly imperceptible nod to Magda, and steps forward. Marcus is keenly aware of the space he occupies and how his quiet looking presence is a civilized threat. A well trained fighting dog who doesn't need a leash. So when he steps forward to take point in a social situation, the air takes on a sharp, brittle quality. Like your senses pick up more details, and everything moved a bit slower, and the lack of violence was but a fragile idea being openly considered.
In other words, before he even opened his mouth, he caused adrenaline to spike.
"Five of you. You, the talker, and four more circling around. Armed, but not well. Been in scraps, more than a few. Enough to be better with a blade than common folk. But skills better suited to skulking and shakedowns, not serious fights. No threat to me on my own, I'd come out with a few more cuts, but nothing I'm not used to. And that's just me." He steps uncomfortably close to the man, eyes boring straight through him. "And I'm not even the most dangerous one in this group."
Marcus lets that hang in the air a moment, then points to Magda. "She doesn't want you to ask anybody that question again. My interpretation is that I break your jaw so badly no physicker can repair it. But I'm also pressed for time today, so maybe you have another idea that would keep me on schedule." It was phrased like a question, but it certainly didn't come across as one. It was an invitation to save his own skin (or in this case his jaw).
Like blinds falling from their eyes, four of the five back away, hands raised. One calls out, ”I know him, them! Thems the one that killed the cult!”
The main guy curses, ”f#!!. Okay.” He quails a little in his voice, ”okay, no sudden moves, alright? We’ll leave you be - but the Emperor will learn about you all and he won’t take kindly to your presence.” At that, they break apart and run away.
"If the Emperor catches word, I'll know who talked. I've got a good memory for faces. And the broken jaw offer stands." He snarls as they flee.
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Olenna hadn't heard that epithet--half-breed--in a long time. And considering the effort that she had put into her disguise to appear as a Chelaxian human, she's doubly offended. Magda makes her plea to Marcus even as Olenna has her hand on the hilt of her blade, ready to shove it through the throat of the disgusting brute who dared speak in such a way.
But Marcus steps up, using his considerable presence to back up his words. They're pissing themselves running before she even has a chance to contribute. The anger welling in her throat almost urges her to speed along behind one, but she decides to avoid the overt violence these cretins were begging for. It would be...unbecoming of a woman of her station.
So instead, she adds another barb as they flee. "A broken jaw will be the least of your worries if we ever hear again that you're peddling in flesh."
She looks at Marcus and nods appreciatively. He was a good man.
Magda can't bring herself to smile, since the situation is one of the worst of the horrors the desperate on the street face. No smiles but when the Wall turns away from the thugs, he finds himself in a brief but tight hug. The half orc girl is not weak, not short, but she does like child like for a moment.
Then she lets go, wordlessly nodding her thanks, then resumes her place in the marching order.
Her ears open back up to the city, hoping it doesn't mind being lonely for a moment.
"Ugh, thanks for driving away that scum," says Vera, watching them go. "You leave for a little while and someone names himself Emperor? What a joke."
The way her voice quavered, it was not hard to tell that her joke was an attempt to cover up how shaken she was by the encounter. The way they looked at her. What they wanted. It was a troubling reminder of a time in her past which, though not the same, was no better. She bites her lower lip as she dreams up what she might do to the ogling leader if he looked at her that way again.
The party moves into the inner ring of the city, past the walls, quickly escaping the watchful eyes of the various people that are lurking in the shadows, just out of sight. Cowed, they make no threat towards the party, but some people at least are watching - even if the thugs have fled. Chasing down the watchers proves fruitless as they disappear into alleys, or into buildings,
The party heads towards the academy, with at least a few familiar with Vencarlo’s training center. Rounding a corner, they see a shell of a building.
Vencarlo Orsini’s academy has burned to the frame - and is still standing in places, somehow, but is utterly unusable. It seems to be smoldering still, in places, but it doesn’t look like the fire came close to spreading anywhere else, and the recent light rain must have extinguished all but a small trickle of smoke coming from the ruins.
The door stands ajar in the frame, but the beautiful fencing academy within that the party remembers is no more - and the tapestries and carpets are ruined and scorched, or little more than soot.
There is no sign of the fencing master here.
The solemn expression on Magda's face is accompanied with a slow shake of her head and a tightening of her hand around the shaft of her spear. "We should ask around if anyone knows any... anything." the half orc girl doesn't move toward the neighboring buildings, but instead starts to move through the wreckage looking for any anything.
That Pilts? No, it couldn't be. He had just been a second-rate actor keen on bringing the spirit of Chelaxian deathplays (if not the actual death) to Korvosa. Well, an appointment at Exemplary Execrables seemed almost inevitable at this point.
As they walk the streets, Olenna shares what she knows. "Pilts Swastel--an actor turned producer of plays at Exemplary Execrables, if you've heard of it. A fan of the macabre, as I recall. If he's this Emperor, then he may have taken his penchant for violence from the stage to the streets."
If he was keen on a final bad review, Olenna could provide her services. Enzo probably wouldn't mind after Pilts had published a nasty review of his last book. Artists.
---
Olenna notes Vera's discomfort and understands where she's coming from. With any luck, Vera would hopefully have never experienced something like that before. She isn't sure, though. Vera could certainly take care of herself--that had become eminently clear--but physically safe and mentally safe were different.
"Scum can be scraped off a shoe," she offers. "And with the way Marcus knocks skulls together, that might be all that's left of this Emperor when we're done with him."
She hopes it's a comfort.
---
The burnt-out shell of Orsini Academy is a shock to the former guardswoman. She takes a few steps toward it before her eyes flit around to take in information about the cause. She was no arson investigator, but read enough reports (and work enough with the city's lamps) and you start to pick up on a few things.
"Ask," she repeats as she approaches. "Sure. If anyone's willing to talk."
"I have heard of it," replies Yaziyah through gritted teeth to Olenna's question about Exemplary Execrables. It would have been difficult not to, the place was practically a landmark in Old Korvosa. And plenty of people from outside the district came there, not just to see the plays, but also to 'slum it' a little, reveling in the poverty and desperation.
As they reach the place where the fencing academy had once stood, her stance shifts immediately - her body more upright, eyes darting over the ruins as well as nearby streets and alleyways, up to the roofline, turning in place to take in the surroundings.
"This is not good. Someone did this on purpose, more likely than not."
At Magda's suggestion, she starts towards the nearest dwelling, knocking at the door - moving to the next house if there is no response, until she finds someone willing to talk.
The burnt-out shell of Orsini Academy is a shock to the former guardswoman. She takes a few steps toward it before her eyes flit around to take in information about the cause. She was no arson investigator, but read enough reports (and work enough with the city's lamps) and you start to pick up on a few things.[dice=Knowledge (engineering), burnination; HA, T2W, Inspiration]1d20+8+2+2+1d6
"Ask," she repeats as she approaches. "Sure. If anyone's willing to talk."
Olenna grimly notes the arson and tells the others what she found. It was the sort of thing that could have easily been spotted, but the effort put in probably meant that anyone who had witnessed what had gone on would have probably been bullied or paid into silence.
This wasn't good.
"I pray to the ancestors that Vencarlo wasn't inside when his school burned." Returning from a fruitless round of knocking on doors, Yaziyah gazes at the charred ruin. "Let's go to his house. Hopefully that one still stands..."
"That seems the best course of action," Olenna concurs, silently praying the same thing to her own gods.
Small whimpering screams whisper from the wood. Wood that was once proud, standing shining against the world, and now was charred and defeated. Mags hand touches as many of the boards as possible, wishing them peace, before standing with soot-stained fingers and nodding to the others that the plan makes sense.
Vera searches the area for any signs of magic.
"Vencarlo would never have allowed himself to be caught--I'm sure of it. But this academy was such a beautiful place," she concludes with sadness.
The party departs the ruin and moves towards where they think Vencarlo’s home is. It still stands, nestled in the southern section of Fort Korvosa, and this is lucky - because the residential buildings are set close to each other in Old Korvosa - especially near the fort.
Like with the academy, it doesn’t sound like anyone is in the building - though obviously it’s harder to tell here than in open ruins. The only door into Vencarlo’s home is closed but after a brief examination - not locked, and nobody finds any traps.
Olenna looks at the others, then to the door. "Better knock first. Just in case."
She raises a hand to knock, and then looks over to Magda. "If you want to take a walk around to see if there any other possible doors or windows, I can delay."
When the voice of the city is wherever she wants to be, Olenna knocks.
Magda had already been slipping away when flame hair spoke, but the looks back and gives a slight nod then disappears.
Mags will quietly move around the building mapping windows and doors, lights on if any, people hanging around, so on.
Yaziyah takes a few steps back from the front door, to be visible from the windows, in case Vencarlo was home and was being cautious of visitors. Her eyes are roving along the other houses on the streets, seeking movement or anything of interest.
Marcus stays with Yazi and watches the street, trusting Magda to do her work.
Olenna takes a breath and knocks once more, listening carefully for any possible response within.
Mags comes back, and waits a moment for people to notice her, which Marcus almost did, but then gives a little cough to draw enough attention. "Nothing." she announces, then waits to see if the knock produces more this time.
There is no response to the knocks.
"Well," Olenna says in that all-too-common, unnecessary filler, "I can't get a warrant anymore. So let's do this the old-fashioned way."
Olenna opens the door, waits for a beat to see if she set anything off, and then moves inside. Part of her considers drinking a draught of something, but a larger part hopes it will be unnecessary.
Vera wonders if they would be mistaken for common thieves as Olenna works to enter Vencarlo's home.
Here, an elegant and colorful Vudrani throw rug covers much of the floor of this otherwise empty front room. There is a closed door across the room from the entrance, and at the end of the room on the left, what is probably a hallway.
No traps or anything else goes off.
Olenna holds a finger up to her lips as she treads trepidatiously inside.
If there was anyone within, they already heard the knocks. More deliberate announcements now could only be counterproductive.
Olenna points ahead, nodding, and begins moving around the walls of the entryway to the right, so that she has the best view of the probable hallway from as far away as possible before she approaches the door.
Olenna moves up to the first door and tries it.
Marcus follows behind Olenna.
Loudly.
This is a well-stocked workshop for decorating and repairing bladed weapons. Several partially repaired daggers and rapiers lie on the table. None are particularly valuable.
A home workshop? Well, it wasn't unusual. Olenna had a modest alchemical lab in her home with Enzo, but the Guard's labs were even better-stocked. But it certainly showed a certain dedication to the whole craft more than a mere practitioner of the art of dueling. Surely students broke their weapons all the time.
Olenna continues canvassing, looking for something--anything--out of the ordinary. She does a pass through the workshop. If she finds nothing of interest there, she continues her careful counterclockwise circuit, keeping the wall closest to her right--and the outside of the house--on her right.
If the smell of ash wasn't still in her nostrils and she hadn't been uncouthly reminded of the brutality visited upon the disadvantaged of the city, she'd almost chuckle at how loud Marcus was being behind her. She could almost hide in his sonic shadow, with the average person clearly aware that someone was there, but never expecting her to be there as well.
Yaziyah follows behind Marcus, senses alert for anything magical. She peers into the workshop, watching Olenna methodically search the space, and keeps glancing at the unopened doors and the space at the end of the hallway.
Where was Vencarlo?
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The next door counter clockwise is a restroom. It contains a freestanding bathtub and toilet. The party is reminded that they are grateful for internal plumbing, and the associated fixtures - things which did not exist in the time of their grandparents.
Just west of the entrance to the bathroom is a staircase which ascends to the second floor. There are two doors on the left, or southern side of the hallway. A quick check of the two doors finds they are similarly unlocked and untrapped.
A single leather chair sits at a desk, while two tall cabinets filled with books about sword fighting and philosophy stand to the east. There are a number of papers on the desk.
Food and water are stored here, although the perishable food has gone bad. Vencarlo had no kitchen to speak of, as he generally has prepared food brought in and takes his meals in the living room or in his workshop.
Getting closer to the living room, the party is able to see the room past the end of the hallway.
Two large comfortable and well-used sofas face a brick fireplace. A fire burns brightly inside the hearth, though there doesn’t seem to be anyone at home so far - or they are deep asleep upstairs or something.
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Marcus checks the bathroom to see if he can figure out how recently it may have been used.
He also skims through the papers on the desk in Vencarlo's study, seeing if anything can be gleamed from them.
The perishable food is bad, and the fire is burning...squatters?
The papers on the desk are mostly accounting documents and ledgers for Vencarlo’s academy. It appears that up until the death of King Eodred II, Vencarlo’s academy was doing rather well, but then business turned bad as students failed to show and Vencarlo took an increasing number of breaks from teaching.
There are no signs the restroom has been used recently (such as water splashed on the edge of the toilet, etc).
Magda uses her sense of smell to track anything out of the ordinary. In the kitchen, she inspects the spoiled food, with nose and tongue to guess how long it has been untended.
She also sets a small alert trap in the hallway behind them, wire and a bell.
At the fire she looked for scuffs on the wood or rug, and anything moving even an inch, smelling deep in the air.
Clearly Vencarlo was not at home, or if he was, he was already... No. No use in thinking like that until they had proof. One foot on the lowest step of the staircase, Yaziyah waits for her companions to finish their investigations, while cocking an ear to any sounds that might come from upstairs.
A fire in the fireplace? It was incongruous with everything else observed so far that demonstrated a home seemingly abandoned. They weren't exactly being subtle themselves either. If Olenna's knocking had alerted an occupant, there ought to be more signs of sudden egress, right? Tea or food still warm, recently made. Something amiss that couldn't be hidden in the rush to get out. Or to hide.
The ex-guardswoman joins Yazi on the steps to start making her way to the upper floor. "Ready?"
The building hasn’t seen much traffic for quite some time, since around when Kroft last received his letter. However, Magda, with a second look also notices a few smears in the dust or fresh scratches in the woodwork, suggesting that someone very stealthy has been in the building at least once in the interim. Whomever they were, they barely made their presence felt.
Magda’s senses are also so spectacularly well attuned that she smells a sharp chemical smell coming from upstairs. The barest hint of a smell that she can smell from the first floor. She would need to go upstairs to get a better sense of how to describe it to the other PCs. They can’t smell it at all from the first floor.
The bell jingles a bit, quietly, when Magda sets the trap, but she quiets it with a touch.
"Someone's been here." Magda whispers, showing a scratch in the woodwork, recent and shallow, a smudge in the dust as well. Of course she does feel a bit foolish since there is a fire going so of course someone has been there. "someone a lot better at shadowing about than by lighting up the place." she explains, wondering if the two bits mean two different folk.
"Also a stink, like in the purr-fume shop, before the nice stuff went in. Upstairs." thats all the description she can give to the chemical smell until she can get a better sniff.
Olenna pauses at Magda's whisper. "A stink?" Smell was an underappreciated sense that every chemist worth their salt tried to either develop or at least maintain, especially since there was a tendency to have the hairs in one's nose that facilitated scent burnt out through accidents. But barring her own ability to detect such things, once it was pointed out she would hopefully have an opportunity to investigate. "Where?"
If Magda can point her to an example, she tries to identify it.