Yazi remembers Grau Soldado was one of his students, but they had a falling out over something, and it wasn’t clear what. Rumor was that it was tangentially related to Illeosa’s bodyguard Sabina.
She knows that he was friends with a gnome named Belzer, because the others in the party told her.
Also, he’s had a number of students in the nobility, and his fighting style is popular enough that most of the decent rapier users in the city have at least taken a class with him. From recollection, she doesn’t know which was closest to him personally.
Marcus shakes his head, confused, ”no.”
Marcus comes inside and growls at the others still talking, ”hey, there’s a guy across the street. He seemed to know me - or something, Are you done here?”
"Yes," Olenna says. She looks at the shield as Marcus retrieves it, thinking for a brief moment. "Marcus: that one may be too big for it, but maybe we should try to get one of those quickdraw shields so you can switch out quickly. I think you'd take to it."
The ex-guard encourages the party to follow up on the lead. Trap or no, a lead was a lead.
The party makes sure the bodies are out of the way, and locks the door as they slip across the street. The door is open, and though the decrepit building is seemingly slowly rotting away - it is standing. The man gestures, relieved. ”Quick! Close the door,” he whispers, and the fighter obliges. The light is faint from outside due to tape and boards on the windows, but the man doesn’t volunteer anything to relieve the problem.
He’s trembling, ”you can’t imagine how glad I am to see you again - it’s been a while, I suppose!” He bows slightly to Yazi and Olenna, ”forgive me - my name is Amin Jalento. These fine people saved me from vicious muggers just after the king died, last year.”
He turns to Marcus with an odd look, ”erm - well, so I tried to, learn some self defense. I took lessons from Master Orsini - now I am decent enough…. I suppose…” He muses, ”self reliance… anyway - he was attacked! I was there! I’ve been stuck here since the quarantine, of course, and the Master let me stay at the academy. Those dreadful red insect people came! Master Orsini confronted them but was outnumbered. I managed to get away, and have been hiding - it was sheer luck, I saw him flee but couldn’t follow.”
Amin look’s flabbergasted, ”he was like lightning. One rapier slew one before he was overwhelmed, and he still managed to get away. I saw him escape into the district but where he went, I don’t know. Those people were hot on his heels. It’s providence that they didn’t spot me. I couldn’t help - it was dreadful…” He looks legitimately crestfallen and worried.
He pleads, ”you - you all helped me before. Please find him! I flagged you down because I saw you go into his home - surely you’re looking for him too. He may have gone to speak with a friend of his, this odd painter fellow who lives in the old dock. I don’t know much about him - he’s a local to the isle - but anyway, he was introduced as “Salvatore Scream” which seems like an odd person to be friends with Master Orsini… but they met three times, and the last time the Master was upset and raised his voice, though I couldn’t hear. And he usually never yelled, ever.”
He pats the decent-looking rapier at his side, ”I was going to… well, I know where the old dock is at least, I can guess where this painter lived - maybe he would know where Master Orsini went. I was going to fight my way there if it came to it but there are these mobs roaming around - I doubt I’d get very far alone. Could we go together? Maybe?”
He’s sincere, and he wants to help - but he’s also pretty afraid. He’s also obviously still something of a novice - given how he holds his body. If he had gone alone, those thugs would have taken him easily. The assassins would have killed him even faster.
Yaziyah's eyes glaze over at the torrent of words coming from the man. The Shoanti looks at Marcus, Magda and Vera for a decision to trust this Amin Jalento or not.
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---
Olenna looks over the...house?...that they're led to, taking in just how far the city had fallen in the last year. And she had been in some terrible places before King Eodred had died.
"Eleanor Bromathan," Olenna lies, holding her hand out to Amin Jalento. It was the cover identity she was trying to maintain while in her mud-hair disguise. The name was close and the last name used to belong to her, so it almost felt true. There was not necessarily a need to lie to Amin, but she got the feeling that if he was caught it would be easy for someone to torture information out of him.
She listens carefully As Amin rattles through what he knows. So it was true that those "red insect people" had been after Vencarlo. Likely specifically him as himself, and not as Blackjack. And he got away. "They must have burned the academy down to give him one less place to hide," she says. "And staked out his home in case he came back."
It was always interesting to tease apart who knows whom. If Vera had been reading her thoughts like she was when they first met, she would note the cork board dedicated to Vencarlo rapidly rearranging with new shapes traced in red string as identities were revealed and reconstructed. But she wasn't, so Olenna was quietly digesting and making decisions.
"We'll definitely go," Olenna says. "But if you're coming with us, show me your stance."
The ex-guardswoman notes the way Amin holds himself and begins coaching him. "Rotate your torso more. You want to provide the enemy less surface to strike. Bend your knees--no, not that much. You're not a crab. Like a loose spring. Always keep your blade pointed at the enemy. No, no, not with your arm extended! No, not the..." She sighs, taking on her own stance and making a quick, agitated flick of her blade.
"I shouldn't be able to cause you to lose your grip so easily," she admonishes.
Olenna was not a patient teacher.
He’s disarmed, though perhaps not quite as easily as Olenna expected, and blushes, apologizing.
”S… sorry miss. Sorry. I’ve only taken about um … twenty lessons. I practice as much as I can but I have my factory to watch.” He slaps his head, ”dangit, the factory! By Abadar’s golden scales - I hope everyone is okay…”
Marcus has helped a fair number of people in the city, and couldn't remember all of them, but after the man jogged his memory he nods. "Right, right. I remember. Glad you learned how to use some steel."
Marcus drinks in the information. "This info is more valuable than another pair of hands. To us, it's better if you continue what you're doing now, keeping a low profile and slowly, safely, gathering information. Frankly you're likely to get yourself killed getting in the fights we've been, I'd rather you stay alive. Is there any more information or details about what you saw?" He raises a brow. "Factory?"
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Olenna smiles faintly as Amin shows a bit more skill than she expected and catches herself before she continues in more ill temper.
The mutagen.
Obviously Olenna's chemicals were quite different from Shiver, but they still activated some of the same chemical pathways in her body. Dulled her senses. Made her feel almost electric. And turned her into a bit of an a%&!&!#.
"No no, no need to apologize," she says. "You're well on your way." And he was. But Olenna didn't want a liability on hand: another person to protect from prowling predators. Let him survive and he might actually develop his skills. "That was..."
As the man slaps his head and recalls somewhere better for him to be, Olenna is almost relieved. "We all have our parts to play right now," she says, reiterating Marcus' point.
After he has a chance to regain his composure and answer Marcus' question, Olenna retrieves Amin's blade with a quick flick of her wrist and hands it back to him. Slowing down takes a lot of focus and attention, but she tries to show him how to take a more defensive position. "Try this. If you're fighting against a more skilled opponent, or if you're outnumbered, focusing on your defense is a good way to conserve your energy and wait for them to overextend and make an error that you can exploit. It's like," she thinks for a moment, "Well, what do you make at your factory?"
He shuffles around, ”bronze, brass, and copper fittings. Well, thinks like that. It isn’t very big, so I guess factory is being more grandiose than it deserves.”
"Better go take care of that, then, and make sure all your workers are safe, hmm?" Yaziyah is in agreement with Marcus and Olenna that it would be best not to have this nervous puppy along, dueling lessons or not.
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Olenna nods, thinking to (what little) she knows about such work to torture up a metaphor. "Well, it's like when you're trying to work the metal. You've got practiced methods, I imagine. But it's probably careful work. You can't just go hammering away, right? So..." She has no idea if this advice might help the man or be more likely to get him killed, but she hopes the former. "So take your time. Use what you know. Find the connections between your careful movements in your work and the movements you use to defend yourself."
She smiles. "Stay safe. We'll be in touch when we can be."
He looks scared, ”so should I just stay here? My factory is down south, in the heights. I left Kremnish in charge. He’s very smart, I’m trying to train him to manage things since the riots - the rest of my family is miserable about it, honestly. They said ‘he’s a tiefling and a Varisian to boot’ - and they don’t even care that the others trust him, that output and quality is the best it’s ever been since hetook a bigger role. It’s very annoying” He looks very annoyed when thinking about his family, and he scrunches his face.
He points at a button Olenna’s shirt, and some other copper filagree on Yazi’s bag, ”those are ours. Jalento’s Copper Sundries.” He blinks a bit, ”Bromathan? Oh! I knew a Bromathan, at University. He was a nice enough chap. Maybe you’re related. Jovik?”
He looks absentmindedly, around, ”erm, what was I saying? Oh bother…” He drums his fingers on his chin, ”right - er, three of you are asking me to do different things - but no matter what - if you want me to help I guess I’d ask if you can at least get me a message to Kremnish? Plus, if I’m going to stay here - could I have some food too? I can pay you back. This house is horrible but those bands of thugs seem to give it a wide berth. I could stay here for a while I suppose.”
He looks up hopefully, ”or perhaps if you’ve time, could you get me back to the mainland?” He looks at Yazi, ”if that dreadful quarantine is over, I would love to just get across a bridge if you can find the time.”
Olenna smiles at the recollection of her cousin. Not a close family member, but still one that--hopefully--Enzo would be able to look up in Magnimar. At least that's where she thinks he moved. "I haven't seen him in several years, but yeah--I know Jovik."
Olenna idly thumbs one of the buttons on her shirt, appreciating the craftsmanship as Amin continues. Her face falls as she realizes the man's false hope. "Oh," she says. "The quarantine is still in place, I'm afraid." She realizes the confusion of having three different voices giving conflicting instructions, even though they had wrongly assumed it was possible to link them together. Damn.
It was possible to transport messages, of course. They had the means and methods. But getting people out...well, that was half of why they had broken into Old Korvosa in the first place.
"But we're working on that. Let's see..." She turns to the other four. "I don't want to get anyone else involved more than they want to be." She nods at Amin. "You've already been helpful, but we're in no position to give you orders. And if we're making requests, then," back to the others, "We should be clear."
He was a factory owner, not a spy. Not a guard. An amateur duelist in it for defense of self and family. His job was to survive so he could get back to his work and family. Not to feed them information. But if they could have both...well, Korvosa needed all sorts of heroes.
Yaziyah clears her throat and looks away. "I had thought... No matter." She turns back to regard Amin Jalento, offering her waterskin and a pouch of dried fruit and nuts, together with a wedge of hard cheese wrapped in flatbread.
As for relaying messages... she looks for Majenko, hoping one of the house drake's many cousins could be entrusted this favour.
"I recommend you get back to your normal life and stay safe, for your family." Marcus states clearly. He passes the man some of his own rations as well.
"That's," Olenna begins, looking at Marcus, "Not possible. He's trying to get to the Heights." She shakes her head and then resolves. "We have a safe place. We'll take you there. It'll be better there than here."
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Magda looks back and forth as the jabbing bounces around the house. A house that whispers "i think i'm a good hourse" soft as a kitten. Mags runs her hand down one of the remaining support beams, petting it accompanied by a low soothing clucking.
When the others came to the right conclusion, the shaman whispers "after I'll come back to help you." she promises the house, then ghosts out in front of her pack to scout for bad sorts.
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Amin sighs in relief, ”oh, okay, great. Great!” He looks as if a weight has lifted off his shoulders.
The trip back to the community center is not uneventful, but it isn’t far out of the way compared to the home of Salvatore Scream, Amin’s “lead” for where to go next. Amin meets up with some house drakes and gets his message sent, and as a measure of thanks, offers to help guard the Varisians as well, once a vague explanation is given. He seems to relish being given a task, and takes it seriously. It’s obvious that he wants to have the respect of the Shoanti, who are generally quite large compared to his frame, so it might not work but the party leaves him to his devices.
The artist, Salvatore, lives at 140 Wave Street. It’s clear that the old dock is under the “Emperor’s” control. Guards seem to be following the party when they approach the district at a significant distance, and they’re much the same as those who accosted the party before.
Before he’s dropped off, Amin’s tells of some of the rumors about the emperor—that he’s a cannibal, that he’s beheaded more people than died to blood veil, that he’s a devil hiding in the flesh of a man, and that his minions are almost as bad as he is. He notes that these were only current since Orsini went missing, very recently ago, and that things may have changed since then.
You know Salvator Scream is a notorious artist whose gruesome and often scandalous art is held in relatively high esteem by several of Korvosa’s nobles. His popularity is even greater among the lower classes, who are most familiar with his work at the Old Dock playhouse known as Exemplary Execrables, where his paintings served as grisly backdrops to that venue’s notoriously violent entertainments. Salvator himself isn’t a public figure, though, and beyond his name, few folk can say they know him.
Salvator’s home is a leaning, decrepit building located along the Narrows, not far from one of the many now-ruined bridges that once connected Old Korvosa to the mainland.
Marcus frowns at the building and the rumors. "Odd reputation for somebody we're going to for help. We just knocking on the front door?"
"Agreed," Olenna says. She had had some informants with dislikable quirks, but Salvatore was a category unto himself. Whatever Vencarlo--Blackjack--saw in him, hopefully it was worth all this trouble. "I'm not looking forward to this."
She also counts the number of tagalongs and other tails keeping tabs on them. They hadn't demonstrate their prowess on the street, yet, but was their reputation rolling along fast enough too avoid gathering moss?
Let them try.
"I find knocking generally useful," Olenna says. She takes a gander at the door before giving it a few taps.
Yaziyah stands guard outside, watching their tails and projecting her best "don't even think about it" energy.
"Not sure what Vencarlo found in this painter, by all accounts his art is rather... deranged. Hopefully he can give us some answers."
Marcus stands ready to be on the wings of who wants to lead the approach. He does not want to be the first face they see, but he does want to be the second face they see.
There is no response - until there is. There’s the sound of a little shuffling, someone bumping into something, and then the door opens. In the doorway is a pretty, pale elven woman wearing form-fitting black chain armor. She has a wicked, vicious-looking spiked chain draped around her neck, and she’s fiddling with one end, spinning it a little bit on the end. The chain seems to cut into her flesh slightly, both at her neck and her hand, drawing a few pinpricks of blood.
She’s scarred in a few places on her face and arms, though they seem generally shallow. She seems surprised anyone else is here. She exclaims, ”oh, goodness! Hi.” She smiles cheerfully, and it’s obvious she was startled by the presence of others.
She looks around, and then realizes, ”oh, how silly of me. Come in, please! It’s not safe out there. Maybe we can talk a moment.” She steps back and seems to allow everyone into the small building, should they want to enter.
Walking the streets, Magda appears like a shadow in the midst of her friends, right before the building. Her big eyes are focused unblinkingly on the tailing-oners. A firm hate is on her face, an expression only seen once before, by those that saw her go after Lamm.
But she doesn't say anything. After the door opens, and they are invited in, she finally turns around, with promises about what she will do to those buying young women like iron nails hammering in her heart.
"Who are you?" the half-orc woman asks, still on the street. While letting the wall into close quarters is insanity for a foe, the Yazi's pole hammer thing needs room, so questions are important.
She blinks, "oooh, a good question. I'm different things, to different people." But she grins a bit, and says "Laori Vaus is my name. Will you come in? I have some tea, if you'd like."
She's either a skilled liar, or is just actually being friendly.
Magda blinks.
"I... I think... okay?" the honesty confuses the young woman out of her hate. Judging based on appearances... shame on her. She looks quickly around her friends and shrugs. "I like tea" she offers as an explanation. Tea is given in poverty. Soaking anything that grows and dries into water to get some flavor other than copper and dirt, is just something you look forward to. And it turns out most other people do it as well, even the richeys. So tea in Mag's eyes is one of those Things that makes us all a bit alike.
So she moves into the house. "I'm Magpie."
She chirps, ”yay!” and seems delighted, ”hi Magpie! Come on in. I’ll explain why I’m in this house while I make it for you. And anyone else who wants some, don’t be a slowpoke.” She moves towards the back room area, and Magda follows tentatively.
The smell in this entryway is of must and mildew, much of it coming from the mud tracked over the floorboards, as if a small army had marched through the room. To the south stands a single empty set of shelves. The woman gestures at the footprints - ”careful - that’s evidence I think. For you maybe? I know who you’re looking for.” She hums to herself as she ushers Magda into what must have been Salvatore Scream’s studio.
Both of this room’s windows are tightly shuttered, yet the air inside seems strangely fresh and scented, no doubt because of the six large candles that burn within. Each candle has been affixed by a glob of melted wax to the crown of a gleaming, polished skull, and each of these impromptu and grisly candleholders has been placed atop an otherwise clear desk to the west, arrayed in a gentle arc. A chair sits before the desk, and a careful stack of papers and scrolls sits inside the arc of skulls. To the south stands a nearly empty cabinet, its shelves barren save for a few paintbrushes and a cracked pottery urn.
She moves towards the desk and reaches down into a travel bag resting against it, and retrieves a small black box. She shakes it a bit, and it certainly sounds like loose leaves. ”See? Black tea - from Nidal.” She waggles her fingers as if to say spooky, right? She retrieves a little kettle, and sits down in the middle of the room, and places it there, and then waggles her fingers more deliberately towards the kettle. It’s obvious that water now is inside, and she opens the top, and with a small spoon, she ladles in some inky black leaves. She waggles her fingers a bit, and the little kettle wiggles. She looks up, and says ”there. A few minutes, only. So. You’re looking for Salvatore too, right?”
Magda smells deep in the scents, an interest tugging at her. The skulls though make her weary, bodies are bodies and meant to stay bodies not holders of wax. Though rats and street dogs would disagree. This bobbing spike lady isn't either.
Still tea... "Artist guy, yes. You are too? Why?" she raises a dark brow in question, while reaching into her magic pack for a tin of cookies that seem to scream eat me with tea. She opens, then places, the tin out "Shortbread... with dried pear."
In the doorway is a pretty, pale elven woman wearing form-fitting black chain armor.
"That cannot be practical." It slipped out before Marcus could even think about the wisdom of speaking or not, and after it does he immediately snarls at his own impulsiveness.
The woman's chipper demeanor clashed so outrageously with her ensemble and obvious masochism that Marcus felt physically uneasy around her. Perhaps because the clash resembled the trickster mage that was so devastating with her attacks.
Leaves from Nidal? It seems so obviously like poison that I almost think it isn't. Marcus was off balance from the entire encounter. He keeps himself in a corner, protecting his blind spots, eyes and ears peeled on the room. He was used to being on edge, but at the moment he seemed closer to nervous.
She giggles at Marcus’ statement. The tea gets warm soon, and the small building begins to smell of fragrant black tea - Magda can tell it’s probably strong, and bitter, but there’s not a hint of poison (at least in the smell). ”I like to let it steep as long as I can.”
She puts a spiked finger on her chin, and unconsciously shivers a bit, ”well - why. Hmm. I have reasons that are complicated and reasons that are simple. The simple reason is - well, his art has a lot of themes related to the god Zon-Kuthon.” She shudders a bit, and then inhales, ”I want to speak to him. Find out why he painted what he painted.”
She gestures at the skulls, ”they wouldn’t tell me. And don’t worry, I didn’t kill them.” She retrieves a few ceramic cups and sets them out, then pours herself and Magda some tea. Graciously, she thanks Magda for the cookie and pear, and takes a bite, and breaks into a smile. ”Delightful! I love pears! Did you make these yourself? If you did you are a true artist.” She dips it into the tea and takes another bite, then lifts it up to her lips, and takes a sip. She winces slightly. ”Why are you looking for him?”
[dice=survival]1d20+16
[dice=perception as they moved through the room, and scents]1d20+24
Magda guesses a half-dozen people trudged through the room, and retrieved a seventh person who was dragged out, probably unconscious.
She also smells the smell of mold in the area coming from the kitchen.
"I did" the baker admitted and brightened a little at getting the compliment. "Zon-Kut-Hon? Don't know that one? Is he the art one?" she asks since she has never been good at keeping the many gods/goddesses straight.
At the question about the artist she shrugs "He knows a guy we know and we want to know if he knows where he might be."
"What's the complicated reason?" she brings up the tea, smells deep and sips.
While it was refreshing to not be attacked on sight, the strange elf woman raises Yaziyah's hackles immediately. But Magda seemed to like her, so for the girl's sake she is coolly polite, even accepting a cup of the dubious brew.
The skulls on the desk are concerning, as is the woman's statement that she spoke to them. Speaking with the dead is not in itself a crime, but this Laori Vaus seems to have an unhealthy interest in... something.
She has a lot of questions, but first things first. "Did you see what happened to the painter who lives here?"
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Laori shakes her head at Yazi’s question, ”nope, if I had been - it might have gone differently.” She winks at Yazi, and Yazi realizes that she’s probably not exaggerating. For all of her oddness, Laori is obviously extremely formidable with her chain. She moves with trained grace and precision, and she is obviously both strong and nimble - much stronger than a typical elf. She must have dedicated herself to substantial training.
She chortles at Magda’s first question. ”the art one? In a manner of speaking, though the canvas is not what most people would be used to. You may be thinking of his celestial sister - but I am obliged not to speak much of her.” This last statement is very cheery still, but there is an edge to her voice that indicates she will not be discussing that matter. She scampers over to her bag and rummages around, retrieving a folded piece of paper, glossy and black. On the front page are stamped the words in Taldan, So, You’re Interested in Zon Kuthon. Below is a spiked chain in the form of a question mark. It smells pleasantly of black licorice. She hands it to Magda, ”here. I made these - you can keep it. It’s easier to read about him than for me to explain everything.”
When Magda mentions that Salvatore knows a guy, her dark eyes glisten, ”oh! I can help you find him. I know where he is. I also looked around a little and catalogued my findings pretty well. I’d like a chance to talk to him, if I can - but I can’t go alone. If you’re going I’d like to come along.” She seems to be hinting that she can share more if you agree to let her tag along.
It’s extremely high quality, with a deep, rich flavor. It’s bitter - probably the most bitter tea that you’ve had, but the flavor is intoxicatingly good. It’s so bitter that the drinker involuntarily shudders when they first sip it.
Before anyone has a chance to respond, she adds, ”my complicated reason is just an extension of the simple reason. I’m not allowed to say more, except that I am opposed to that miserable b%#*% Andaisin, and to the red mantis. And I wouldn’t hurt Salvatore, I just want to talk to him.” She seems sincere, and has been sincere throughout the conversation.
Marcus does not reach for the tea. He continues to get more uneasy by the minute. But this was their only lead. After a time he comes over and takes one of the packets. "Why can't you go looking alone?"
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The ex-guardswoman had anticipated one of three outcomes as the most likely when she knocked: 1) No response, 2) A violent response (from someone other than Salvatore), and 3) an appearance (and nonviolent response) by the sallow painter. She was unprepared for the variation on number two: a nonviolent response from a fan. Olenna is almost stunned into silence as she takes in the obvious Kuthite.
But this one, Laori, seemed...benign. Warm, even. Not malicious like she expec...
Ah, stereotypes. Useful nonsense to lead folk astray unless employed appropriately as one of many potential heuristics in a decision-making tree. And tea? Olenna agreed with Magpie: tea was nice.
Olenna wrinkles her nose at the smell and leaves the immediate looking for tracks to Mags. Olenna would try to piece together what she could about the clues after the young half-orc had found them. She instead takes in the conversation, assenting to tea. A bit of caffeine sounded...nice. So too did Mags' cookies.
Well, Enzo's novels hadn't sold particularly well in Ustalav or Nidal, while the more gothic pulp from authors like Ailson Kindler flew off the shelves with each new printing. Every artist had their niche. Clearly Salvatore had his admirers. Olenna wouldn't pretend to understand, but she got it, as it were.
She holds in a laugh at Magda's innocent question about whether Zon-Kuthon is "the art one," almost word-for-word anticipating Laori's "in a manner of speaking" response. She actually does smile when the Kuthite pamphlet is brought out. She didn't take Kuthites for being particularly evangelical, but why not?
The tea is good. Good is an understatement. It reminded her of a Tien tea (from which country she wasn't sure) called Zhengshan xiaozhong. Bitter, earthy, and a bit smoky. Her already-dilated pupils stretch so that there is almost no pupil visible. She wonders if it's purely Nidalese or if there's a blend. Oh gods it was good. And with the shortbread pear? Olenna's senses flutter.
It distracts her until she hears the names Andaisin and red mantis. Her pupils contract a bit and the thought the enemy of my enemy is my friend flashes through her mind along with half a dozen other proverbs.
Her skin feels almost itchy as the conversation continues. She wants to take Laori up on her offer now. To go find Vencarlo and Salvatore now. Let's go. Yes!
But she was curious about that last statement. Can't was a strong word. What exactly did she mean? Olenna leans in to await the response.
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She smiles at Marcus, coquettishly ”maybe I was lying. Maybe I just don’t want to go alone.” She holds his gaze, long enough that it’s hard for him to look away. She continues to watch him, and then looks back to Magda.
”Because I’m just one girl! Of course. Where he’s being held - I’m badly outnumbered. With five cuties like us, and one huge cutie like him, we should be able to hold our own.”
She tilts her head, ”unless all your magic items and other things are just for playing with.” She reaches out to touch Magda’s weapon, then restrains herself and reflexively touches her own chain. She winces a bit, but shudders, somehow pleased. ”Sorry, sharp things are so keen.” She takes a moment to let the pun settle in, and follows up, ”mine are dual-purpose.” She doesn’t follow up with details, but her eyes twinkle merrily.
The paper is interspersed withillustrations with a few extremely cute, extremely chibi versions of Laori explaining things. If Laori drew these, she’s talented.
The pamphlet starts: “So, you’re interested in Zon-Kuthon…” and continues:
The Story of Zon-Kuthon
Dol-Brau and his half-sister Shelyn were the deific patrons of art, but Shelyn sought to hoard the portfolio and their followers for herself. She didn’t appreciate his talents, and his skill - and he began to travel the planes, seeking a way to gain his sister’s favor again.
In the process, he uncovered a space between the planes. A place of beauty, and transcendent comfort - but only for those who were willing to endure. Dol Brau accepted the suffering so that he could know more, create better art, to finally live up to his sister’s standards.
When he returned to the celestial realm, she rejected him. She attacked him and called him a monster. She cast him out, forced him to wander endlessly. He took the name, “Zon-Kuthon”.
The tyrannical god Abadar grew resentful of Zon-Kuthon’s popularity and sought to imprison him. In lieu of eternal punishment, Zon-Kuthon was banished to the plane of shadow in exchange for a single item from the first vault - where a version of everything that’s ever been crafted, ever, was stored. He was to stay there until the “sun no longer hung in the sky”. The age of darkness was such an event, and Abadar was forced to honor his agreement - and his presence returned to the world after an age away.
Why choose Zon-Kuthon?
Zon-Kuthon asks his followers to dedicate themselves to understanding pain, and loss, because he himself has experienced more than any other in the universe. He knows that true understanding of the nature of existence only comes from knowing pain, and accepting it. He knows it is a part of life, and a part of death, and that strength and wisdom only come from experiencing pain.
His followers seek to spread this wisdom, so that all may know the truths of the universe - so they can find happiness. People suffer so much, and for no reason, when most suffering can be avoided by simply having a different perspective.
What do I have to do to join?
Talk to the person who gave you this! You may already be on the path to enlightenment. Ask yourself - maybe you get a thrill from spicy food - that’s pleasure from suffering. Maybe you drink black coffee - the bitterness is addictive, right? Maybe you long for your partner to do something special for you, you know, in bed. but can’t express yourself to get it, or if you long to do something that they might not understand for them, but are too embarrassed to ask. Maybe you love the sensation of exercise - as your muscles tear and rip to make you stronger. Maybe you deprive yourself of impulsive wants so that you can get what you actually need. All of these things - they are signs that you may feel the touch of the Midnight Lord. Explore, search yourself. You can only truly know Zon-Kuthon if you want to know his teachings. If you open yourself up to it, then maybe he will speak to you. Unlike many other gods and clergy, he’s honest and we can teach you how to thrive in a tough world.
Olenna's lips twist into a close-mouthed smile of her own, lips lightly puckered, in amusement and enjoyment of the moment. "I assure you: they're not merely for play." Her words are faster than usual, almost tripping over each other instead of deliberately paced.
She tilts her head to the side. "Say we six cuties go together. May we have your assurance that we will remain allied at least until the mission to retrieve Mr. Scream and our friend is completed?"
She didn't expect Laori to agree not to kill their enemies. Olenna wasn't sure that she'd be able to hold back either, especially not after seeing what they had done to this part of the city.
She looks a little taken aback, ”well, I don’t know who your friend is, so I can’t say I have the time to help look for them, but after we find Salavatore - I mean, why wouldn’t we remain allies? I wouldn’t betray you. Even as a practical matter - that’d be a silly billy thing to do.” She gestures as if to say , right?.
She sighs ”if it would make you feel better - you have my word I won’t turn on you after we find Salvatore.”
Yaziyah snorts a bit of tea out her nose as she hears Laori describe them all as "cuties". The drawings in the pamphlet snag her attention, and she finds herself reading over Marcus's shoulder. There was some wisdom woven through the blatant propaganda - there certainly was pain in life, and her own experience showed that you can grow through experiencing it, although that growth mostly stemmed from the agonies of the heart and soul, rather than the flesh.
The Shoanti looks rather pensive as she watches Laori Vaus, her thoughts running in a similar direction to Olenna's - the enemy of my enemy... could be, if not a friend, then an erstwhile ally.
"Tell me, Laori. What is the worst pain that you have ever experienced?"
Laori’s eyes shine, inky dark, and she replies, ”I think I’ve lived longer than everyone here, combined - right?” She looks around, and points at Majenko, ”except maybe that little guy.” Majenko is a little confused at being mentioned, and doesn’t respond.
She leans forward, ”what do you think?” and looks at Yazi in response.
A moment later, she straightens up, ”but anyway, if you agree to let me help, I mean, I should know who you all are. Or what you want me to call you. You know, so I don’t say things like ‘hey, tall cutie’ when we’re pummeling goons. I know Magpie already,” she winks at Magda, ”but I don’t know anyone else yet.” She grins, ”I won’t use it against you, and I promise I won’t bite, unless… you know.” She giggles to herself.
Holding herself very still, Yaziyah narrows her eyes at Laori. After a few moments, she speaks again.
"You can call me Yaziyah."
Mags is enthralled with the glassy pamphlet, leafing through it wide eyes, growing wider with every sip of the tea. She finds herself nodding along, though parts of it confuses her.
At the age bit, Mags looks up and cocks an eyebrow. "We'll help, since you know where he is and we'd be going anyway." she says, knowing that they need to do so and not waste time.
I have never seen such a mixture of overt female performance combined with such deviant desires. Say what you want, she's living authentically.
Marcus tucks away the pamphlet. He was regaining his balance. "Marcus Havel. Some folks call me The Dog. Lead on."
Olenna realizes almost too late that she had inadvertently insulted, or almost insulted, Laori by implying that she wasn't trustworthy. And, well, she did deft Olenna's expectations. Those expectations weren't especially charitable towards Kuthites. So Olenna rattles through an argument in her head that she offers as a non-apology apology.
Since the others were using their real names, but hadn't disguised themselves, Olenna considers whether to offer hers. She decides in favor of it.
"Olenna," she says, reaching her hand out. "And I appreciate you formalizing your word. I have no interest in Asmodean contracts or anything untoward like this, but let's just say...I used to be much more familiar with the work of the Dowager of Illusions. Of course, that was after childbirth." She pauses. "Giving birth and overdosing were both painful in different ways, though. A lot of women probably say the former, though."
"So where are we going?"
Vera is a little wary of the situation, but she eventually responds ”Vera.”
She claps her hands as they agree and leaps up, obviously pleased, ”so: Vera, Olenna, Yaziyah, Magpie and… Marcus. And a little dragon.” Majenko flits around, ”Is Majenko, spike lady.” Laori repeats, ”Majenko - right.” She salutes the little dragon and reaches out to let him land on her arm, which he obliges, avoiding the spikes. Vera seems to disapprove, but Laori scratches him under the chin.
She’s positively effervescent when she continues, ”so. I found this.” She retrieves from her bag a scrap of crimson fabric. She explains that she discovered and kept a fragment of the sleeve that slipped down between the bed and the wall. She recognized the scrap as coming from a government official’s uniform, but has not yet deciphered its significance. She assumes a bloodstained fragment of a politician’s uniform is of interest to the party, though. She hands it over to Magda.
With a mischievous smirk, she continues, ”now, where is he? I figured out that he’s with someone called ‘the Emperor of Old Korvosa.’” She shrugs, ”I don’t really know who that is, but since you’re all locals, I’m sure it makes more sense to you. I even know where that is, generally.” She moves to pack up her stuff and blows out the candles, grabbing the skulls and stuffing them into her obviously magical bag.
Olenna involuntarily lets out a string of epithets in Elven, sure to be easily understood by her new associate. She blushes furiously and shakes her head. "We've been hearing rumors of the Emperor of Old Korvosa since we got here," she says, "And by all accounts he's a real--" Olenna reaches into the depths of her memory and summons the nastiest Elven word she can think of, dredging along millennia of star-faring experience appropriated by her ancestors to convey the idea of someone whose very existence is anathema.
She shakes her head and shrugs. "If we step outside, his minions will find us."
She wonders if one of the others will be able to use the fabric as a component for a spell. She hopes.
Without any effort, Olenna knows the scrap is obviously from a high-ranking Korvosan official, since the city’s coat of arms appears on the fragment, in fact, she knows with certainty that the fragment is from the uniform of the seneschal of Castle Korvosa.
Magda brings the cloth up to her nose and smells deep. She can't follow people through the streets like a rat would, but she'd know this person when they found them.
Magda's hand tightens around her spear shaft "We should talk to them." she knows that they could find the Emp without roughing up the toughs, but it would help the city to teach these leeches lessons.