Nyx grits their teeth at the misgender, but reminds themself that this woman doesn't really know them. And besides, what's the point of correcting a ghost?
Still, they can't help but respond waspishly. "She does no work now. She's dead." Even before the words leave their mouth, they regret them. It was disrespectful to Mama's memory.
But you just can't help being a disappointment, can you? The thought makes their cheeks burn.
They sit back down and force themself to unclench their jaw, but they don't release their grip on the holy symbol. They were brought up to believe undeath is an abomination. This feels wrong.
Zellara is momentarily taken aback. "Oh. I... I'm sorry."
After a moment of awkward silence, she turns back to Andakos. "Well. It is good to see you in one piece, my friend." As soon as she says it, she cocks her head at the investigator curiously, then her face falls slightly. "You have traces of death on you." Her face is empathetic. "You fell... didn't you." It's not a question.
Andakos breath catches in his throat, but he recovers quickly. "Yes. It was... unpleasant."
Golloriel reaches over and squeezes Andakos's hand.
Andakos squeezes Lori's hand back. "But I am back now, and I don't intend to be so reckless in the future."
Vexelune watches the interaction with raised eyebrows.
Now there's a story I need to get out of them.
A ghost! A resurrection! Who are these people?
Nyx blinks in surprise. Andakos died?
They feel a momentary pang of vicious jealousy, and have to wrestle the feeling down hard. The obvious questions of why you? why not Mama or Papa? are not useful, nor are they fair. Losing their parents wasn't fair either. Nothing is fair. Life isn't fair.
They feel themself starting to spiral, so they shift the topic, turning back to the ghost. "Okay. Um. Why are you here?"
It's hard to tell from the sorcerer's face if that was meant to be rude or not, but regardless, Zellara smiles. "In life, I was quite skilled at the Harrowing. Once, a strong enough Harrower could discern future events with perfect clarity." As she speaks, the polished wooden box appears from Andakos's pack onto the table, and the cards lift out from within as if by unseen hands to dance around Zellara in concentric rings around her, flipping and twirling and shifting from one ring to another. "But that was a long time ago. Since the death of Aroden, the cards are not so clear anymore." Slowly the cards begin to coalesce into a stack floating in front of her. "And yet, they sometimes catch glimpses of what might be, and they can still catch glimpses of what has been. Both can be useful in the right circumstances."
The deck drifts down to rest on the table, her ethereal hand hovering just above it. "Now, Andakos," she says warmly, "would you be so kind as to go first?"
Andakos sits with bated breath and wonders why Zellara is just sitting there motionless, staring into nothing.
Zellara draws nine cards from the deck, shuffles them, and offers them in a face-down spread to Andakos. ”Choose.” He draws forth a card with a man speaking to a cyclops who is doubled over with laughter. It is labeled THE JOKE. Zellara returns the cards to the deck, shuffles, and places a three-by-three spread on the table before him.
She taps a card depicting multicolored balls of light watching a man drown in a bog, sitting in the top left corner. ”The Demon’s Lantern. Normally it represents an impossible situation, but it is misaligned. Someone rescued you in a moment of peril, did they not?” She glances at his face, but doesn’t wait for an answer before touching the bottom left card. ”The Waxworks.” The face depicts a blindfolded figure being lowered by chains into a vat of boiling wax. ”Something happened. A moment of horror you cannot escape from. I… think I may know what it is.” She gives him an empathetic stare; if anyone understands what Andakos went through against Lady Andaisin, it’s her.
She moves on to the middle column, touching the card in the middle. A man hunched over from the weight of a ridiculously sized mask is bound in cords by two laughing goblins. ”The Idiot,” Zellara intones, ”represents blackmail, bribery, or naievety so grand as to be incapable of seeing evil; it is loss of dignity that precedes loss of life. Though I do not think it represents you. Someone close to you or that you will come to know very soon will suffer this fate.” She touches the bottom card. ”But this,” she drawls, pointing to a woman engulfed in a swirl of scarves, her movements graceful and swift even in the stillness of the drawn image, ”is definitely about you. I can sense it. The Dance is misaligned. Your adherance to law and order will be your downfall if you let it. You must let go your rigidity and accept chaos, or you will suffer.”
Finally, in the third column, she points to the middle and bottom cards. The middle card shows a black-clad assassin with a poisoned kris skulking; the card beneath it shows a resting unicorn with a bitten pear speared to her twisting horn. Zellara frowns. ”This is… difficult to interpret,” she murmurs. ”I… I think you will meet someone dangerous, someone who feeds on suffering, yet they will be a potentially powerful and helpful ally. Yet you must be cautious. Treat with them the wrong way and you may earn their betrayal.”
Andakos feels subtle power flow into him, and his thoughts feel sharper and more precise than ever.
----
Zellara smiles warmly at Lori. ”It is a pleasure to see you again, sister of Sarenrae. Please, choose.” She holds out nine cards face-down. Golloriel draws a card depicting a mighty being reaching down to touch the skull of an elderly man, shocking terrible revelations into his mind. The card reads THE VISION across the top. Zellara nods, then shuffles the cards and lays out her spread.
In the left column, the past, she taps the bottom card. A woman with a snake’s tail for legs holds a bouquet of dead flowers. ”The Liar,” Zellara says. ”You or someone you know fell victim to obsession. But this” she taps the card above it, showing a wizened old man pointing to a hefty tome before him ”is the Hidden Truth. That obsession may lead to your downfall, or it may reveal greater knowledge and understanding. It stands upon a knife’s edge.”
Moving to the middle column, the present, she frowns. ”Mm,” she grunts thoughtfully. The cards, from top to bottom, show a blue dragon clutching an orb so hard his claws are bleeding; it is titled THE TYRANT. Below it, a figure in chains and dark red robes points accusingly at Golloriel from the face of the card; THE INQUISITOR reads above it. Finally, the bottom card depicts a humanoid cricket performing a card trick in a tophat, sitting next to a giant peach; it reads THE CRICKET. ”The present is difficult to decipher,” she says irritably. ”This one is simple enough,” she adds, pointing to The Tyrant. ”Misaligned as it is, it is a person of power who has or will reveal themself as a tyrant.” Her lack of instant understanding means she clearly must not know aobut Ileosa, and leads to a bigger question: exactly how much awareness does the woman have within the haunted Harrow deck? ”These two though. The Inquisitor represents immutable reality, and the folly of acting against it. Like throwing yourself against a mountain. Something has occurred that you wish to change, yes? But if you keep trying...” She taps the Cricket. ”This is misaligned. You will lose a great treasure at the end of this attempt.”
In the right column, the future, she taps the top and bottom cards. ”Both misaligned. This is important.” The bottom card is a giant juggling many objects, including a clock tower and an elephant. Unsurprisingly, it is titled THE JUGGLER. ”He represents gods, fate, or people who meddle in the lives of others for their benefit. This could be you, or it could be a greater entity, I do not know, but misaligned, this meddling will be a force of destruction in other’s lives. This” she taps the top card, depicting someone being battered by many zombified hands rising from the ground ”is The Beating. You will suffer an assault, either physical or mental, that will result in a dissolution of your strength. Yet it is misaligned; it will show you new strengths you did not know you possessed.”
Golloriel feels understanding trickle into her mind; she doesn’t know what it all means yet, but she feels like she will, with time.
----
Zellara gives Nyx a polite but strained smile, which makes the sorcerer shift uncomfortably. They can tell they’ve already put themself on the wrong foot with this spirit, but they still take a card when the nine suit cards are profered to them. The accusatory finger of THE INQUISITOR points at them from the face of the card. Zellara makes an interested noise at the back of her throat, then takes back the card and shuffles the deck, spreading out the three-by-three reading.
She points at a cockatrice rearing its head, with the somewhat counterintuitive title of THE PEACOCK. ”You made a change in your past, yes? A life-altering one.” The sorcerer shrugs awkwardly, but Zellara doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, she is peering at the top left card suspiciously. ”Hm. The Twin. This card is… difficult. It could mean duality within an individual or group in your past. Or it could mean that the entire bloody meaning of this reading is the opposite of what the rest of the cards say.” She huffs.
She shakes her head and moves on to the middle column, representing Nyx’s present. She gently touches the bottom card, revealing a bodak wailing. ”The Lost,” she murmurs. ”It signifies madness and loss. You grieve your parents. This much is obvious.” She cocks her head at the top middle card. ”This, though...” Just as in Golloriel’s reading, this spot is taken up by The Tyrant. ”It is an omen that this card shows up twice in the same place. I take this to mean you know who it refers to. Do not doubt yourself on this; if you believe you know to whom it refers, then it does.” She moves on to the final column.
In the upper right, she taps a card bearing the image of a man with a large sack collecting refuse; it reads THE WANDERER. ”In the future, you will find value in something others see as refuse. Trust your instincts.” She then taps the middle card, familiar from Andakos’s Choosing: The Joke. ”You will be faced with an obstacle that cannot be overcome with brute force; you will need trickery and guile. And it will need to be you. If handled indelicately, the joke will be on you—and you may not like the punchline.”
She then puts her hands on her hips. ”Or this could all mean the opposite of what I have said. I despise the Twins. It makes the reading so much muddier.”
Despite her words, Nyx feels a subtle invigoration of their mind.
----
Zellara beams when the small ghoran settles herself in for her reading. ”I have never given a reading to one of the fey,” she says with a bow. ”You honor me. Choose, if it pleases you.” She offers the suit cards in a face-down spread to Lune, who plucks one up. Zellara raises her eyebrows as the familiar old man with the heavy tome greets them. ”The Hidden Truth. Interesting. Its recurrence suggests many secrets will be revealed to you all in the days to come.” The cards float back to the deck, which she shuffles and lays out her spread.
Zellara frowns at the cards, her pale visage paling slightly more. ”Your past and present are… of powerful significance. But your future is… clouded.” She looks up and clears her throat. ”I suppose I should not be surprised that a reading for one of the fey would be so… interesting.”
She points to the card in the top left spot. Once again, The Hidden Truth stares back at them. ”There is a great secret from your past that you must uncover. Doing so will bring deep understanding, and perhaps greater gifts. It is imperative that you do so. The Tree of Knowledge is not always forthcoming, but the fruit it bears can bring much nourishment.” Zellara then blinks, as if she’s mildly surprised she said that last part.
She then points to the central card. A crocodilian creature sits atop the back of a faceless slave. The words THE RAKSHASA grace the top. ”This… this card is important to all of you. It represents enslavement, not of the body, but of the mind. It is dominance, mind control. And I know—I know—it is also literal, here. Or at least partly. Perhaps a true rakshasa, or perhaps simply a fiend of the Outer Planes of another variety. But something stirs and plots against you as we speak.”
She then turns back to Vexelune and cocks her head. ”But it also has special meaning for you, I think. Its placement suggests it also refers to you, to a lesser extent. You have the power to shackle minds, yes? Bend them to your will? Be careful with this power, little one. Its use has consequences.”
Finally, she turns to the final column, representing Lune’s future. ”These are less clear.” She points to the middle card, showing an angry mob with torches and pitchforks, with a great conflagration behind them: THE UPRISING. And to the card below that, showing an emaciated woman holding dying plants: THE SICKNESS. ”It is hard to say, but I think it means you will be caught up in forces greater than yourself, and it will lead to your corruption. Whether of your body or your mind, I cannot say.” She looks irritated, though judging by how she sweeps up the cards and not so much floats them as telekinetically shoves them into the wooden box, it’s clear she’s frustrated with the deck and not Lune. ”I am sorry I could not be clearer there. But the cards of your past and present were very clear.”
What secret could her past possibly hold? What do these cards know about her?? Regardless, she feels a sharp clarity afterwards that is almost painful, as if her wits are so sharp they could cut her own mind.
----
After she finishes her readings, Zellara looks more pale and translucent than when she arrived, and her shoulders slump. ”That is… taxing. But I hope I have given you something here, a light in the dark of ignorance perhaps, or a shield against your enemies. I pray to Desna you make it through whatever ordeals await you intact.”
She places a hand on Andakos’s. The investigator doesn’t feel the warmth of flesh pressed against his own, but he does sense… something there, like the memory of a feeling. It’s lonely, but also comforting, in a way. ”It was wonderful to see you again, my friends,” she says with a tired smile to Andakos and Golloriel. She turns and bows again to Lune. ”It was my distinct pleasure to meet one of the Fey Folk.” She turns to Nyx and makes a gesture with her open palm from her chin down in an arc. ”You bear the purple sash for your mother, yes? I think she would be pleased. I pray you reach the other side of grief, and your love for those you have lost is stronger for it.”
She tilts her head once more, whispers, ”Zha ande pacha,” and vanishes. The faint glow around the wooden box fades away, and the four are once again alone in the room.
"Go in peace."
Andakos twitches almost imperceptibly when Zellara describes the Waxworks card. He can tell that Zellara noticed and is thankful she doesn't mention it.
My "adherence" to law and order? Isn't defying the Queen literally the opposite of that?
He isn't sure what to make of this reading. In a world where magic and ghosts and gods literally exist, it is a foolish thought to have, but he still isn't completely convinced what Zellara does is legit. He isn't naïve enough to dismiss it outright, and he will try to keep it in mind as they progress, but he doesn't intend to let it influence his decisions. Not consciously, at least.
Golloriel should've known that her father would come up. If Zellara notes his absence, she doesn't mention it, nor does she seem to make the connection that the Liar and the Hidden Truth refer to him. Her jaw clenches and she can feel her teeth grinding; it takes a conscious effort to relax her face and silence the furious screaming in her head so that she can hear the rest of the reading.
The Queen's reign of terror and her father's inability (or unwillingness) to change: again, predictable. She isn't loving being so angry with her father, but it does make it easier for her to accept that he will never change.
Like Andakos, Lori isn't sure how much stock she puts in anything that claims to be prophetic or foreshadowy; everyone knows the story of Aroden and what his death represents. However, she has learned that Zellara is wise, and that the cards don't matter as much as her interpretation of them. She won't forget this, and she nods her thanks to Zellara when the reading is done.
Vexelune watches the others' readings intently, but she fails to pick up anything by way of reactions from either of them.
Then her turn comes. She claps her hands in delight and moves opposite Zellara, sitting cross-legged right on top of the table (if she sat on the chair, she wouldn't be able to see!).
"I have never given a reading to one of the fey. You honor me."
Lune laughs. The sound is lilty and almost melodic. "And I've never met a ghost before! I'm excited!"
A secret from her past? Lune has no idea what that might refer to. It wasn't super fun growing up in a tree, and there also wasn't a lot happening that could create secrets! Maybe something from Kyonin? Oh wait, she's still talking!
"Shackle" is probably an unfair word to use. People just seem to want to do what Lune wants them to do! She's likeable! And things usually work out anyway. She was in jail for like a day and now she's going on adventures with the most interesting people she has ever met. Consequences shmonsequences.
And as far as corruption? She will never betray herself. The ghost probably just read it wrong.
When Zellara departs, Lune waves, smiles, and says, "Goodbye ghost lady! Thank you!" Then she turns to the others. "You people have crazy lives. How did you die?"
Andakos chokes on the sip of water he was taking. "Um." He looks at Golloriel, who shrugs. "It's kind of a long story. But, uh, I was killed by a child of Urgathoa while trying to stop the blood veil."
"A child of Urgathoa? I don't know what that is! What's the blood veil?"
Golloriel snorts a laugh, then holds up a hand to rescue Andakos. "A child of Urgathoa is a cruel and powerful undead, chosen by the goddess herself. She led the cult that spread the blood veil, which was a terrible plague that killed a lot of people in Korvosa. We stopped her, but we lost Andakos in the attempt." She pauses, as if suddenly realizing the insane things that she and Andakos have been through, then looks at Vexelune. "Are you sure you want to join us? Andaisin was just the beginning. Ileosa will throw everything she has at us."
To her credit, Vexelune actually seems to consider Golloriel's warning, but then she smiles. "I'm sure. Killing people with a plague on purpose is kinda messed up. Plus, if I help, I get access to the Acadamae!"
Andakos pointedly ignores Lune's mention of the Acadamae. He just... doesn't want to know.
"Okay. We are flush with cash right now. I don't really need a boat, but if we can get one and find somewhere to hide it, then we should be able to come and go to Old Korvosa as we please. Hiring someone to ferry us makes that much trickier. Thoughts?"
Golloriel nods. "Sounds like a good investment. I'd much rather sleep here if it takes us longer than a day to track them down."
Vexelune looks back and forth between Andakos and Golloriel a few times, then realizes they are actually waiting for her opinion. "Oh. Yeah, that sounds great! I have a few gold to chip in."
Andakos nods. "Okay. Nyx, any objections?"
Nyx was somewhere else, ruminating on everything the ghost said. They're not so quick to dismiss the power of the Harrowing; they've grown up around Harrowers their whole life. While most of them practice it as a way to fleece a few coins off hapless tourists or entertain nobles, there are those whose readings hold power. They've seen it before. Auntie Tonya could do it, they know that. Mama called it her "gift." But then Auntie Tonya died. Their parents never talked about it, but the Karelas stopped coming over after that. Papa started referring to them as "ilk."
Now two of them are dead from the blood veil, last Nyx heard. That gods-cursed plague took so many.
Too many.
And now maybe more? Gods, what is the world coming to...?
About twenty seconds after Andakos spoke, Nyx realizes someone asked them a question. "Huh? To what?" Then the rest of the conversation registers in their brain. "Oh! No, that's fine. It's a short trip, right? On the boat? I get seasick." They try not to think about the trip to see Mama's sister in Absalom, think about it anyway, and shudder.
Acquiring a rowboat turns out to be quite easy. Depressingly so; many fishers died in the plague, and there are estate sales aplenty. The party acquires a gently used skiff for the bargain of 40gp .
A few questions remain: where to hide the boat, and when to push off to best avoid Maiden patrols?
Andakos knows enough about his city to figure out patrol patterns rather quickly.
Golloriel isn't really a "stakeout" kind of gal, but she doesn't think she made anything worse.
Vexelune uses her diminutive size to squeeze into tiny nooks and help Andakos watch the Maiden patrols.
Nyx is small and lanky, but they are also ungainly and have no experience being sneaky.
Ducky and Lori know that night is the best time to go; fewer patrols and the cover of darkness will help immensely. While Lori's armor does make her a walking oompah band, her teammates manage to help keep her quiet(er) while moving, and her and Andakos's time in the guard helps them properly predict the Maiden patrols along the north shore. At one point, Nyx stumbles on a loose stone, and everyone freezes, but thankfully the patrol was already walking back toward Northwatch and not within earshot. Soon the party is in the rowboat and rowing south toward the isle of Old Korvosa.
While the passage is uneventful, the tension quickly begins to build as they close in on the isle. Even in the dark of night, smoke can be seen billowing from buildings toward the center of Old Korvosa, and occasional clusters of torches can be seen in the slits between buildings. In addition, the high, rocky north shore means the party will need to row southeast and enter via the docks. It's rather public, but there aren't a lot of choices at the moment.
When they finally arrive at the Old Docks, it's eerily quiet. The only noise is the faint, muffled drift of voices from a tavern down the street. It sounds raucous, even for a dock tavern. You're pretty sure you heard someone scream, but if it was real, it's drowned out by laughing, hollering voices. The rest of the street is dreadfully empty.
The party now has to decide where to go. Ducky and Golloriel have a vague notion of the direction of Vencarlo's home, but it's behind the walls of Garrison Hill to the west, meaning the party will have to pass awfully close to where the fires seem to be lit. Otherwise, there's always that tavern .
"Vencarlo's first. Let's go."
Lori leads the way west along the northern coast. The street is mostly deserted, but after about ten minutes of walking, the party hears incomprehensible shouting from up the road. Rounding a bend, the shouted words become clearer--though no less incomprehensible.
One of the taller houses' top windows is open, and an elderly man leans out, one hand on the sill and the other a fist shaking at the night sky.
"--and stay out, ye scarlet heathen witch! Ye bring plague! 'n murder! An' ye don't even have a third nipple! HEATHEN, I say! Yer no queen o' mine! Yer kin keep yer so-called 'maidens,' we all know they're secretly werewolves! My mother's got less hair under her garments, an' she's dead!" The tirade is momentarily broken by a fit of giggles.
Someone whisper-yells from a cracked window, "Shut yer yap, Olmere! Ye'll bring tha Emperor's hooligans down 'ere again!"
"Oi, that's right!" Olmere shouts, shaking his fist at the night sky once more. "What're ye doin' bout the mobs 'round 'ere, lady?! Nothin'! Not a blessed thing, ye useless wad of old knickers!" He emphasizes the point by spitting out the window, which lands on an alleycat below. The cat yowls and sprints off, which elicits more cackles from the old man.
Andakos is pretty sure the old man is just referring to Queen Ileosa, who tends to favor shades of red and green in her clothing when making public appearances (especially red, because it matches the royal throne). Certainly no deities or extraplanar entities spring to mind. As to 'witch,' while it's likely the queen is embroiled in some form of sorcery or esoterica--especially considering how she survived Endrin's assassination attempt--he's pretty sure Olmere is just calling her a witch as a pejorative.
Andakos chuckles. "I like this guy. Golloriel, work your magic?"
Golloriel gives Andakos a side-eye, but she thinks she sees what he's going for here. She creeps up to the window. "Sir! Is your name Olmere? We would treat with you if you have a few minutes to share what you've seen of the heathen"--she puts extra emphasis on the word that he himself used--"and her maidens. We can make it worth your while." She pulls out a couple of gold pieces and holds them up to the flickering light of a nearby lantern.
Lori hears a very loud grunt of disgust from one of the neighbors before the window's shutters slam shut. Olmere, on the other hand, lights up like a bonfire. "You gots it, missy! Hol' up." His window shutters also snap shut, and there's loud but muffled sounds of crashing and cursing from his house before the front door opens, spilling light into the darkened street. "C'mon, get in here! Ruffians about, don't ye know."
Nyx shrugs, their face contorted in a mix of displeasure and curiosity. As they pass the threshold, they mutter, "Smells weird in here."
The party piles into Olmere's cramped living room. Nyx isn't entirely wrong; the room is inundated both with the pleasant scent of woodsmoke, and the acrid tang of unwashed clothing and spoiled food. The space itself was barely built for two people, let alone five, but on the bright side, Lune is very small so she takes up less space.
Two short sofas and two rickety wooden rocking chairs ring a small firepit in the middle of the floor. Shelving holds dusty plates and cups that clearly haven't seen use in some time; in one corner, a water basin stands next to a wood stove with a single cup and plate in it. A thin layer of dust covers just about everything, and the brown-and-orange afghan draped over one sofa is threadbare and fraying in spots. A half-broken stairwell leads upstairs, and a pile of firewood is stacked in the open space beneath it.
The firepit currently crackles merrily, and Olmere hobbles over to the kitchenette to fill a teapot with water from a battered water pump. Now that you can see him more clearly, he looks as if he aught to be a little over six feet tall, but the spectacular hunch in his back makes him significantly shorter. His long, wrinkled face is highlighted by his puckered lips and bushy, furrowed brows that makes it seem like he's sucking on a lemon.
He hangs the teapot from a spit across the firepit before settling into one of the two rocking chairs. He lifts a pipe and pouch from the small side table next to him and begins tamping fresh tobacco into it. "I kin tell yer ain't from Old Korvosa. Yer too well-armed, fer one. Plus ye don't smell like burnt buildings an' sewage. It's good ta see new blood 'round here. Ain't been new folks since them were-maidens blowed up the bridges. I don't s'pose yer here ta bring some order 'round here?" He looks up hopefully, pausing in his pipe preparation.
Vexelune speaks up before anyone else can answer. "That's exactly why we are here! The Queen and her lackeys are overstepping and it's time the people fought back. There are way more of us than there are of them. But we have to be careful, at least at first. That's why we're here at night, recruiting. We have a couple of friends who were supposed to meet us here, but we've lost track of them. Maybe you know them?"
Andakos gives a description of Rey and Vencarlo, avoiding giving their names, just in case. He doesn't think that Olmere is anything more than he seems, but he watches the man closely all the same.
"Pah! Vencarlo, that uppity youngster with the school? I remember when 'e useta pull pranks on Miss Weatherby 'cross the street! Long time ago, now, I 'spose, but still. I 'member the smell o' them burnin' rutabegas. Well, he is handy with a blade, I'll give 'im that."
It takes him several seconds to realize he'd been asked about their whereabouts. "Now I recall, he were askin' round about young Salvator. Don't remember 'is last name, but 'e calls hisself 'Salvator Scream' nowadays." Olmere spits in the fire to show what he thinks of the name. "Real dour young fella, always mopin' round an' actin the tortured aritst. Right ghastly paintings he makes too, an' no mistake. All that talent and he makes the most frightful images ye kin imagine! Damn shame. Anyways, 'e were askin' round about Salvator some time ago. Two weeks mebbe. Ent seen 'im since. You try 'im at home yet? I don't git out much these days. Things're gone from bad te worse! Ent seen a guard in nigh on a month now. Jes shameful."
Olmere trails off, staring morosely into the fire, and quietly mutters, "Too quiet now. Ent no clicky-clack."
Andakos senses no falsehoods in any of the man's words, but there is something... off. It takes a moment to realize Olmere is suffering a mild psychotic episode. Considering the state of things, it's not surprising.
With his keen eyes, Andakos notes that next to the rocking chair across from Olmere, on another small side table, is a set of knitting needles and a barely-started piece of gray wool knitting. The needles are slightly rusted, meaning they've been untouched for at least a month.
The kettle whistles, and Olmere hauls himself up with a grunt to grab some cups from the shelf. He has the good grace to blow some of the dust out of them, but not all. He pours tea for anyone who wants some. "I thought I 'member hearin' somethin' bout Salvator hangin' with th'Emperor's crew nowdays, but I don't recall fer certain. I don't mess 'round with those rapscallions. I don't like pigs, y'see. Too loud, too dirty. If'n it ain't on a plate, I don't want nothin' ta do with it!" He puffs sagely on his pipe, the image of which is somewhat ruined when he starts giggling again. "Anyhoo, boy's got an apartment 'round here somewheres."
Golloriel takes some tea with one hand and squeezes Olmere's hand with her other. "Did you lose someone in the Troubles, Olmere? I am so sorry. I recently lost someone too." She blinks away the unbidden tears. "Thank you for the information on Salvator; that's going to be very helpful. Any sign of our other friend, the woman?"
Olmere pats her hand absently but doesn't answer the first question. The second question takes a moment to register, but then he purses his lips in thought, making his already-puckered lips look like a meaty rosebud. "Now I think on it, 'e did have a lady with 'im. Didn't look nothin' like you described, though. Dwarf lady, kinda fuzzy on the cheeks like dwarfs get. And blonde. Didn't even know dwarfs kin be blonde! Wonder if the carpet matched the drapes?" he ponders nonchalantly.
You recall Reyhan used a hat of disguise to hide her tiefling heritage. It's entirely possible this 'dwarf lady' was Reyhan in disguise. Considering her very unpleasant family, the Arkonas, could recognize her face, it would make sense to hide it.
Nyx frowns, chewing their lower lip for most of the conversation. Nobody mentioned a dwarf...
... but two people have mentioned an emperor, now. If it had just been the crazy old man, they'd have passed it off as gibberish. But his neighbor lady mentioned it, too.
"Excuse me sir," Nyx pipes up. "Who is this 'emperor' you mentioned?"
"Eh?" Olmere stares blankly for a second, then his eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, ye mean the so-called 'Emperor of Old Korvosa.' Pah!" He spits disdainfully into the fire again. "Just another gang boss, in my opinion. 'e started takin' over tha center o' th'island not long after we got quarantined. Nuttier'n a fruit salad" (wait does fruit salad have nuts in it...?) "but I reckon 'e gots that charismaticness. Cult o' personality, or whatever. Buncha thugs follow that little weasel 'round lightin' fires an' beatin' on folk what speak up. 'e don't mess with ol' Olmere though! 'e knows I'd knock 'is teeth right out 'is arse end!" He raises one palsied fist threateningly. He then sips his tea and goes back to staring into the fire. "Damn shame though. Took the Old Town Hall as 'is, uh" he makes air quotes "'palace.' Ha! That building was fallin' 'part before that dumbass took over." His eyes get distant. "An' the squealin'... I don' like pigs..." He shudders.
Andakos sighs. It's always the same thing: the people should be banding together against the greater threat, and instead they turn against each other. He remembers a story... how did it go? Something about leopards eating people's faces? Eh, not important right now.
Yeah, that's probably Rey.
Andakos stands, pulls twenty-five gold coins from his pouch, and hands it to Olmere. "Thank you for your time, Olmere. You have been more helpful than you know. Please don't give up hope." He looks at the empty rocking chair. We will avenge your loved one." He gestures for the others to leave.
Once outside, Golloriel gives Andakos a look. "Did you just give him 25 gold?"
Andakos nods. "I did. Do you think I should give him more?" He starts to head back inside.