Dashki stand around awkwardly. "Dashki go back to princess." he mutters and leaves.
“Give her our love!” Aithaloessa calls cheerily after him, quite unable to maintain a dignified front as her emotions whirl in the wake of the receding surge of adrenaline and the relief of a rather close call.
Well, that should make getting the news out, and consolidating our gains here, easier, the guardswoman reflects. And maybe Garavel can come to us, for a change. Or Zastoran. Gods know we could all use some patching up.
Suddenly weary, she tries not to let it show as she considers how best to secure the ground floor of the battle market, report to Undrella, and maybe even badger the merchants again while the adventurers wait for the rest of the caravan to show up, or at least to catch their own breaths.
Still in the land of dreams, Tariq suddenly starts to have visions of nice and hot brownies. With vanilla ice cream. So yummy!
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Antarah cleans his sword of Kardswann's blood. He moves to the large genie and watches him carefully.
He also pats Kardswann's body looking for anything out of the ordinary. As he does so, he realizes he is treating this legendary figure with disrespect.
As Antarah finishes searching the body, he says to the others "What have we done?" Kardswann was once a beloved follower of Sarenrae. Have they become executioners? He trembles looking at the body.
The only gear on Kardswann is his masterwork breastplate and the large axe.
The 'crowd', which consists of Kurrelak and the three merchants, listens to the speech and then moves over to the bar to get somthing strong after this unappreciated excitement due to Kardswann's death threats.
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After seeing the not-so-cathartic reaction by the merchants, Antarah comments "Well then. It seems they won't mind the princess then." He turns to the others and says "I don't know about you, but I think we just took Kelmanare." He walks off the middle section and puts the large axe on his shoulder.
Meaning to go to the next floor, he says to the others "I think now we only have to claim the city, no?"
Yasmeena, seeing that everything seems to be settling down, goes to Haleen's side. "I'm so glad you're all right, Haleen. That was touch and go for a few moments," she says to her quietly. "What will you do now that the city is liberated?" she asks.
Haleen runs over to the stalls and ruffels through the goods until she finds what she is looking for some of those red healing potions. She rushes back to Tariq and feeds him the fluid.
To Kalyx, who looks suspiciously as her stall gets raied she calls "No worries, the boss woman will pay for that." pointing to Aithaloessa.
She sits down besides Tariq and stares at Yasmeena. Still full of adrenaline she asks "Sorry, you lost me, what?"
Aithaloessa is gratified by the trust Haleen seems to concede to her, but not best pleased about the sort of dickering that it seems to call for. As she faces the unimpressed features of the merchants, the guardswoman thinks, I might have known. This whole stretch of desert is dominated by Katapesh already, whether they like it or not. The only thing they’ll appreciate is coin.
Which the group is short of, so she prepares to haggle. Kardswann’s armour will make a nice memento once it gets polished up, and then… She moves dispassionately to strip it before the body stiffens, her hard Smokeside childhood peeking through her mask of civility and playfulness. She answers Antarah’s first question: “What have we done? Stopped a madman? He didn’t deny anything, or even hesitate. Enchantment’s one thing, but if he was gone long and far enough to be trusted by this ‘Carrion King,’ I think he might have started to believe in him.”
Anyway. To start off with, Aithaloessa mollifies the druggist with a handful of coins and the garnet found beneath the old monastery for Haleen’s potions and a few doses of herbs that will allow her to restock her healer’s kit, before nodding in Antarah’s direction. “Put him on my slate too. I’ll be right back.”
Proceeding to the tinker / dealer in odds and ends, she announces briskly, “I’ve changed my mind. If you’ve got any pewter – cups, bowls, whatever – I’ll gladly take it, and a fair bit of coin, off your hands for the tyrant’s armour. It should clean up nicely, and it will come with a story for anyone who wants it once more trade starts coming through. And take a look at this!”
Tariq slowly wakes up, grabbing his head in a futile attempy to ease the terrible ache inside.
"It seems we won, right?"
He smiles at the sight of Haleen, who's been having some kind of convo with Yasmeena. "I'm so glad you're well, though I'm sorry that we ruined your plan of fighting in the arena. We'll talk to Almah about you and see what can be done to help you."
Antarah checks Ugruk too and to his delight finds a potion.
retreat, masterwork breastplate, masterwork flindbar, 5 daggers, ring of feather falling.
Gorundal gladly welcomes the business. The wares offered are of higher quality than the stuff he has. But there is one issue... "I'll take those standard breastplates and offer you 350 gold for them."
"That magic hammer and small breastplate of your's I have no customers for. And no coin, but that he doesn't tell. But his confidence that any goblins will show up for business also is very low right now.
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Antarah holds on to the potion and asks "Any of you want any of these?" He is interested in the ring of feather falling, but he is already keeping the healing potion. He also suggests the potion of expeditious retreat stay with Tariq, since his armor prevents him from moving faster.
After Aithaloessa has finished her dealings, Anatarah gathers the group and asks "So, what's our plan next? Continue checking the battle market?"
"I guess so" Tariq nods. "Dashki has gone already and he'll theoretically tell Almah. We should make sure there are no nasty surprises around."
He hesitates, as he feels he's asking too much, but finally his words come out. "Anything we should be wary of, Haleen?"
"I don't know if someone was hiding up there all the time. But everyone I know lived up there lies now dead here."
"But you look like you'd need rest first and foremost."
Aithaloessa finishes haggling with the merchants, and collects her herbals and bandages in time to see Antarah being dangerously adventurous even after Haleen’s advice.
She exchanges a look with the other woman that wobbles between long-suffering and apologetic. Is this what being a big sister is like? At least Tariq and Yasmeena seem to be behaving themselves. What she settles on saying, though, is, cheerfully, “Sorry. I’m afraid we are always like this. At least, for such time as we’ve been travelling together.”
“Antarah!” she fusses, calling after him, waving her healer’s kit menacingly in his direction, “Let’s listen to the warrior who just made sure none of us lost our heads, hmm? Especially since we’re all low on proper spells, and there’s probably a limit as to how many potions we can wheedle from our fine purveyors here.”
Catching up, she offers, more calmly, “If you like, we can camp out on the stairs, try to make sure nothing gets past us until tomorrow when we’ll have a bit more energy. Comes to the same thing, in terms of securing the area, with the advantage of not blundering into any traps Kardswann might have set in his inner sanctum. And we can swap spells, try to identify what’s what off the riff-raff…”
The corner of her mouth twitches upward in a hint of wickedness before she straightens her expression. “Or you could go and report our victory to your admirer.”
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Antarah stops in the middle of the stairs to take Aithaloessa's words in. There is wisdom in her words and he turns back to her and says "Very well. Let us rest. For now, we should just guarantee the princess's smooth installation here." He doesn't seem hurt by the reprehension and starts gathering the heavy equipment they looted during the fight.
“Thanks. It’s just – there are limits to the extent that even I would care to tempt fate,” Aithaloessa says with a smile, to soften her bossiness.
With that, she settles on a bench to prepare the more merciful tools of her trade. She hums and occasionally sings in an undertone as she works, even though she’s no magic left to enhance her healing for the day.
“There’s no place like home,” she murmurs, as her work takes her back to magic-deprived Alkenstar. And thank goodness for that. Otherwise, it would matter which side of that river we were on for our spells to work, at best.
One tedious morning and an alarming amount of blood later, Aithaloessa is finally able to rinse the last of the gore off herself, and wanders off to make sure her fellow mage isn’t getting too bored.
“Anything interesting?” she asks, as she folds herself comfortably to clean her old pistol – which reminds her. “Especially with Kardswann’s axe. I mean…” She bites her tongue before she can betray the more unsettling tendency of her thoughts. If Vardishal left his pistol here, for whatever reason, and if Kardswann has fallen – well, not to be pessimistic or anything, should we start worrying about the other Templars?
Tariq smiles, indicating with his face that there's no ill will just because Aith's bandages weren't the most precise. He tries to adjust them, and apply his expert hands to the wound as well.
"Is anyone in need of any more surgery?"
Yasmeena laughs. "Your hands have been blessed by Sarenrae, Tariq!" she says.
Tariq puts his hands to work, knowing he can stitch faster.
After being patched together again Antarah can't resist to take a quick look on the second floor. And it is indeed emtpty.
First there is the guard station, complete with card table and chairs for lounging, that watches over the interior stairs to the battle market’s uppermost floor. But it is lacking guards.
Next to that to the left and right open arches lead to what must once have been a permanent shops. Empty shelves line the interior walls, and numerous partially collapsed and destoyed crates lie heaped on the floor.
On the opposite side, four rows of raised wooden bleachers are positioned to offer an excellent view of the battle stage on the ground floor, about twenty feet below. A thin walkway bisects the stalls, separating what must have been general seating to the east from seating designed to accommodate a small orchestra. A few large drums with weathered skins stand at the forefront of this section, the only signs of the music that must once have filled the battle market.
An then there is the largest storefront in the second floor arcade. And this strange shop is the only one currently in use. A bizarre alchemical apparatus against the west wall - the infusium - is a maze of glass beakers connected by rubber tubes. Seven of these tubes project from the apparatus, ending in syringe-like needles.
After being patched together again Antarah can't resist to take a quick look on the second floor. And it is indeed emtpty.
“Take that as a no, then,” Aithaloessa says wryly, though she takes her time to finish clearing her weapon of fouled powder before moving to follow.
She gives the abandoned shops only a cursory look: it might be worth giving them a look-over since the wreckage will have to be cleared out anyway, but that’s hardly what interests her most. The acoustics of the space, considering the small orchestra, are a bit more engaging, from an architectural and engineering perspective, but the sight of a tangled nest of alchemical apparatus attracts the lunatic mage like a moth to a flame, complete with an infatuated hum of excitement.
Her delight evaporates abruptly, though, when she realizes just what Undrella understands as an infusium. What do those … things go into? And do they do so all at once? Aithaloessa wonders, trying not to dwell on the rumours about more sinister sides of the great work, like the labs in Nex that she didn’t see on her way up to Katapesh. Anyway, remembering the harpy’s unsavorily bubbling cauldrons when they first met, Aithaloessa begins to worry that she may have made a mistake in cutting a deal with the creature, but it’s too late now.
She approaches the infusium as tentatively as if it were a huge glass scorpion, but in fascination nevertheless, trying to figure out what it was used for, based on how the needles might attach and any residue in the beakers.
The sharp needles suggest that these pointy end are going where no alchemical apparatus has gone before - an application directly into the flesh, or bloodstream. Actually there is no residue, but seven full doses of whatever the apparatus is loaded with.
Tariq stays in the lower store, finalizing his auto-treatment. That way, also, he can have a look at the merchants, that they don't start plotting right when the party turns it's back away.
Yasmeena accompanies Antarah.
Antarah sees the apparatus but isn't drawn by it at first. He actually prefers knowledge to engineering and goes through the mess . He also casts Detect Magic to try to find anything hidden.
After, he notices Aithaloessa analyzing the apparatus and approaches worried, asking "What did you find?"
“I don’t know, and – believe it or not – I’m not sure I want to know,” Aithaloessa says, turning away from the sinister arrangement. “Whatever it is, it looks like the same substance in all the needles, and with the way it’s set up, it would – or at the very least could – be injected all at once.”
She lifts her chin as if bracing herself to take responsibility. “I’ll have a candid little chat with Undrella as soon as we’re feeling a bit less fragile.”
She resolves to at least try to stop teasing Antarah about being, apparently, a handsome, smooth-scalped specimen of masculinity, under the circumstances. “So, what else have we got?”
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Antarah shows Aithaloessa his new flute and muses a few tones.
However, he still needs to get used to this new high quality instrument. Afterwards, he comments "I heard someone mention a third floor. Any ideas of how to get up there? I could try climbing, but I'm sure there's a more.... elegant way to do that?"
...
First there is the guard station, complete with card table and chairs for lounging, that watches over the interior stairs to the battle market’s uppermost floor. But it is lacking guards.
...
Yasmeena bows to Antarah, and half-closes her eyes listening to him play. "Wonderful, Antarah!" she exclaims. "You have talent that will only improve with practice!"
“Lovely! And it’s certainly luckier than what I’ve found,” Aithaloessa says appreciatively, with a slightly nervous glance over her shoulder. “Not that I have any objections in principle to alchemical … enhancements, as such, but one hears almost as many horror as success stories.”
She peers over the edge down towards the stage and gives a wave to Tariq. “Come on up! There’s plenty of room, and cozier seating!”
With that, she follows Antarah and Yasmeena up to the last floor.
Tariq looks up to find Aith calling him. "Thank you" he kindly rejects, "but I'll stay here and see that no one loses their good temper. Also, it still hurts a bit."
The stairs lead up to a large room that is the headquarters of the market guard.
Open arches lead from the market guard hadquarters to these small chambers, bedecked with bunks suitable for up to eight resting gnoll guards. A small wardrobe in each room contains a variety of worthless personal gear.
The construction in this part of the battle market is of markedly higher quality than that found elsewhere in the building. An elaborate mosaic traces an intricate geometric pattern on the floor, and frescoes of slaves harvesting pesh fields adorn the walls. A huge open arch in the middle of the inner wall leads to the observation platform and the passage terminates at an ornate door.
Three thrones are perched at the edge of this wide observation chamber. A short railing protects observers from toppling off the platform and falling 40 feet to the battle stage below.
Behind the ornate door is decadently decorated chamber. It is part of the residence of the battle market master. Three chairs sit next to a blazing fireplace, and a curtain hides a private bedroom.
Behind the curtain is this opulently decorated bed chamber.
“Charming,” Aithaloessa manages before her lips purse in disapproval at the choice of decoration of the highest level of the battle market. The sooner you get out of a place where slavery is just taken as a fact of life, the better.
Within Kardswann’s sanctum proper, she searches for any papers detailing his or the Carrion King’s plans. They might not be as overelaborate as a bookish investigator’s, but … Surely it wasn’t entirely haphazard. Unless they did everything by heralds and messengers. Illiterate as well as brutish, if that was the case. Her inner voice despairs in the judgiest elven way: oral and literary traditions have different strengths, but neither should be entirely neglected.
After a minute, she plops herself and anything she finds in one of the thrones overlooking the stage below. Well, for certain values of. Rather, Aithaloessa seats herself with ironical propriety and correctness as she considers the day’s events and findings. So that’s that, then? A genie and a gnoll, both deceased, and a mad alchemist? And a sealed temple, some corrupting influence, and some horde-master plotting warlord-y things, presumably.
She feels a headache coming on to top off the pain of her wounds.
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Antarah comforts Aithaloessa on the reminder of slavery. He says to her "This is a temple to evil practices. Come, friend. We should find out how our boss reacts to it and decide whether we want to continue to endorse her."
Thinking there is nothing else to do here, Antarah suggests making sure everything is reasonably arranged for the princess Almah's arrival.
Once Aith and Antarah have done the coin splitting, Tariq takes his share and goes to Haleen.
"When I was in need, you helped me. You are my friend. Now, you're in need, and I didn't contribute much by destroying your planned source of money." He presents her the bag of coins and jewels. "It's my time to help you."
Antarah comforts Aithaloessa on the reminder of slavery. He says to her "This is a temple to evil practices. Come, friend. We should find out how our boss reacts to it and decide whether we want to continue to endorse her."
Thinking there is nothing else to do here, Antarah suggests making sure everything is reasonably arranged for the princess Almah's arrival.
“A pact is a pact,” Aithaloessa rejoins , “but there’s no reason we can’t keep a closer eye on her, I suppose. And … these things take time, I know. Our best is probably to do what we can to make things better.”
While she speaks, she turns an eye and a cantrip to the more portable treasures recovered so far, finding comfort and wonder in even the most basic spells. Accepting bathos and trivial self-evidence, it’s just magical.
Duly soothed, when Aithaloessa turns back to Antarah, there's a twinkle in her eye again. "Watch this!" she says, slipping on the ring he found before launching herself off the edge of the viewing area into the arena below.
Floating down lightly, she removes the ring to offer to any of the others who wants it. She's almost ready to report back to Garavel and Almah, but first she hoists Kardswann's axe experimentally. "Would you mind if I borrow this for a minute, Tariq? I think you'd be the best fit for it - but just when we let Undrella know that Kardswann won't be bothering her any longer, before we head back to the monastery. Beats dragging genie heads around to add to snake."
"Where you got that money from?" Halleen inquires from Tariq much like a mum would inqiure her child if she'd be worried her little one had stolen something.
"Eh... It was just there..." Tariq feels again like a kid who's done something bad.
"If it's the loot from this victory, I'd be willing to take a share of that. I saved your asses after all. But it would have to be a fair share. Not your share."
"You're a good boy, and you've done a good thing here. I can't earn more money with bloody fights. But other options will open up. And better ones. You shouldn't blame yourself for ending that 'source of income'."
"And with you around, maybe we make a fortune together."
Halleen pulls Tariq close into a hug. After a while she releases him. She gives him a kiss on the forehead and that smile, that tells everything will be ok.