Many years ago, Trollskull Manor was the site of an orphanage, run by a hag who took many of the children under her care as well as various unlucky runaways to her private demiplane for unspeakable horrors. She was ultimately unmasked by a group of brave orphans and killed by a collection of the children, neighbors and the Red Gauntlets, but her sanctum and many of the children were never found.
About thirty years ago, the Manor was reopened as a successful tavern and inn. A half-elf named Lif was its proprietor and barkeep, the Teabrook siblings, Rey and Varko, performed and waited tables, and Cynog Pumphrey served as bouncer and handyman. Times were good for several years until one night when Lif disappeared (he stumbled into the demiplane and was murdered by the hag’s final atrocity, three undead children trapped there as guardians, but nobody knows that). Under suspicion from the City Watch, the remaining staff drifted away— the Teabrooks returned to their family in Lowhills, while Pumphrey is now working as a bouncer at The Mermaid’s Arms in the Dock Ward.
The property changed hands several times over the past 30 years but no one has actually done anything with it until recently. Local blowhard, writer, gambler, drinker, and general unsavory man about town Vordik Gaebler recently acquired the deed for a pittance at auction with loud plans to open a tavern there but he apparently either sold it to a rich young nobleman (Illendur) or lost it to a bunch of ruffians (Ash, Jixel, and Zander), depending on who you listen to. However they got it, they've renovated the building and acquired permits and contracts to run it as a tavern.
[Outside Trollskull Manor]
It had been perhaps months since Skylar Naïlo had made her return to Throneport.
This time, she felt very differently from when she had first come to this place. That, and she now had Declan Corvus beside her. Two of a kind, she had reflected, as the sense of familiarity and strangeness had settled about her like a mantle. She canted her head to take her companion into her periphery, and a fond half-smile tugged at the corner of her lips. How they had changed since their first encounter almost three years ago!
She had returned to this place on her terms. She was not a child seeking to sever the tethers of her past life, or grapple with her trauma. She had established a life of her own now, still relatively young, but on much steadier footing. She had been sure to reach out to Theon Valdez through her old contacts, extend the courtesy of notifying him of her return. She would not be rejoining the ranks of the Duskrunners, but she would assist them with jobs if she and Declan had consensus. The news was received warmly, and they spoke of old times. He told her that he was proud. He took a shine to Declan, too, and that had won a smile from her.
As for Declan-- well. Whatever they were to one another, she was grateful for his presence at her side. With him, Throneport was spilling with possibility, chasing away the remnants of old ghosts and ragged memories.
Theon had asked a favour of her-- to seek out Goggh with a magical item to fence. They'd split the profit at a percentage. So, perhaps less of a favour and more a gesture of goodwill, not that she would ask that of Theon. And now, they were stood in front of this recently-renovated mansion that almost looked in place within the North Ward.
Goggh was no longer the bouncer at the Keelhauled Dwarf, Theon had said; he was now a manager at a tavern in the mansion itself.
Her cowl sat about her shoulders, vibrant indigo hair a splash of colour against a world awash with browns and greys. She was toying with her thick braid, allowing it to settle over her shoulder like a cat. She rolled her shoulders back to the creak of hide and leather, adjusting the strap of her curve blade and bow and alleviating the stiffness that was starting to settle in from hours of walking about with it.
"It used to be an orphanage," she was explaining to Declan. "Terrible place. Awful things went on. A hag had her way with it. She'd take the children to some demiplane of hers." She shook her head, wearing a disgusted countenance. "It was orphans that did away with her. They had help, of course. Neighbours, the Red Gauntlets. They never found her sanctum. Or some of the children."
She folded her arms across her ribs, and continued: "Was a tavern for a spell. Thirty years. Some half-elf, Lif, ran it with the Teabrook siblings, Rey and Varko. Fellow named Cynog Pumphrey did all the repairs and watched the door. Ended when Lif disappeared. The Watch did some sniffing, but turned up nothing. The rest scattered. Pumphrey you saw at the Mermaid's Arms. Scuttlebutt is that some lout named Vordik Gaebler had it in his hands. Lost it to either some noble squib or streeters. Whoever has it now, Goggh's working for them. And Goggh will have work."
She lightly touched his back, hand falling away after brief but meaningful contact. It would work. Karrnath needed to stay behind them for a while.
Decaln, however, was a stranger in Throneport. His home turf, whatever that might be now, wasn't this. He had never stepped foot in the city before, and so was dependent on Skylar to show him the ropes. Luckily, she was an excellent guide, and seemed to know a disturbing amount about the various buildings. The Trollskull Manor included.
He was horrified by the story she weaved about it. "One wonders why it remains, with that history. If I owned a dilapidated building within which such a horror took place, I would demolish it and build new."
He shook his head though as it seemed the new ownership was sprucing it up. "Indeed, our coin is about exhausted. Host knows we can't go back right now. Getting work in the interim will be of priority. And perhaps a place to stay?" The latter accompanied a raised eyebrow as he took in the exterior of the upper levels of the establishment.
At her touch, Declan smiled down to Skylar, but it was mostly hidden by his gaiter, save for the corners of his eyes. He reached over and squeezed her opposite shoulder in solidarity. Whatever the future held, they'd tackle it together.
"Shall we?" he asked rhetorically as he stepped up to the door and opened it.
She flashed a smile at him, a slight nod indicating her agreement. She was wearing a different face, now-- the smile had vanished, and she was wearing a mask of seriousness. Her working face.
Inside, Skylar's gaze swept the vast taproom past the entrance. If it had been dilapidated, it certainly wasn't so now; all the wood had the glossy sheen of a carpenter's labours. Her gaze was caught by the grotesque trollhead mounted on the wall.
That, and someone seemed to really like swords as decorative accents.
The room's occupants would have witnessed thus: two half-elves, the woman a hand-span shorter. She had the ambered skin of one who'd spent time in the sun, head crowned by hair a violently bright shade of indigo, tamed into a fat braid that trailed over the front of her shoulder. Her gaze was intense, watchful; she seemed to drink in the room's every detail. She wore a distinct scar beneath her left eye. Her trappings were fairly unremarkable, except for the fact that leather and hide were generously in evidence. A dull cape was visible between her shoulder and hip. The hilt of a long blade rose up from behind one shoulder, as did the tapered wood of a shortbow.
She had a sense of stillness to her, like the surface of a lake, in the peaceful moments preceding something scaly bursting forth. With teeth.
Her companion's face was hard angles, what part of it was visible; the lower half was concealed beneath a black gaiter. His eyes were hard and blue; his hair, dark and subdued comparative to the woman's, cut at a middling length. He was lanky, seemingly much taller than she, and appeared to shop at the same leatherworking outfit. He also appeared to have good reason to be heavily armed, wearing a bow and a sword, and apparently, some sort of string instrument, the pegs rising from behind his shoulder.
In short, they were armed, young, wearing leather, and had a very businesslike air to them.
"We're looking for Goggh," she announced to the room, chin slightly tipped up, head canted as she stared languidly down her nose.
Jixel had quite visibly grimaced at Idrassa's mention of the Boromar clan. A shiver went down the ratfolk lass's back. At least they were leaning the conversation towards "recon" though. At first, she didn't know what they meant, but then it just kind of clicked.
"Oh! Some sneaky sneaky? We're getting quite good at that. Let's all go inside to discuss!"
It seemed to Jixel that the group had big plans... but no actual plan. The concept of starting some kind of newly erupted gang war was a touch horrifying too.
"Umm, friends, is there no other way? I guess our recon... thing... will help us chose? A peaceful solution would be, you know, refreshing. Can we make these Brands a deal of some kind? Could they not benefit from some free clinical healing from time to time? Anyway, we're hardly a big gang or anything, just a small, happy family, yes?"
It was then that there had been a tap at the door, and upon opening it, she was surprised to see another two strangers had decided to visit them this day!
"Umm, hello there? I'm afraid our bar isn't quite ready for business yet. Can I help you two? Goggh? Oh! You know the big guy, eh?"
A short and dark haired individual had greeted them. Clearly a ratfolk of some kind, her furry face quite friendly with an honest grin and all...
Declan took in the ratfolk with calculating eyes. He hadn't run into many in his time, perhaps the last was at the Academy in Sharn. "No, not as such, he answered. "We know of him. And we are hoping he has work." His eyes flashed to Skylar briefly. "Is he about?"
His manner of speech had the air and formality of education and nobility, though it was clear he was trying not to show it.
The aforementioned minotaur was at that very moment receiving an order of beer at the kitchen's back door. The group in the main room could hear street noise filtering in from the south, where Goggh was unloading by himself full barrels off a cart that took two deliverymen to lift and carry into the kitchen as a team.
The plumbers were almost done, just needing to do one last test and get paid before getting their work signed off on and leaving.
The tall armored half-elf looks up from the papers he was flipping through with his boots on the table, rocking back in his chair. Goggh's out back, unloading. he indicates over his shoulder with the papers, appearing to be some sort of accounting ledger. He peers from the lone human, to the two other half-elves, back to the human, and back to the half-elves.
Quite a few unexpected visitors this morning, if'n your looking for work, maybe we can help with that. And I assume you aren't here to help the plumbers. taking in the clothing and demeanor of the two he asks, You just get to Throneport? Come in, pull up a chair, and let's discuss. I'm Illendur D'Phiarlan, this is everyone... he gestures at the others to introduce themselves as he motions the two other half-elves to find seats around the large table. He stands, deftly manuevering his two blades around the chair as he walks to the bar, pouring a trio of ales for the newer arrivals. Bringing the mugs to the table.
Skylar arched an eyebrow. That Illendur hadn't even blinked was well worth her consideration. She gently nudged Declan, and lifted her hand casually to her cheek, then lightly scratched at her jaw. She subtly folded in one finger, and straightened another.
Opportunity? Investigate? She signalled to him.
If Goggh was working in this lot's company, they likely ran in the same circles. A tavern was oft a front for many things. But, they would see.
She openly met Declan's gaze, seeking agreement, and then said to Illendur: "Not entirely. But we'll consider work. We'll still need to chat with Goggh."
She considered the Rat-kin and even hazarded a half smile. Hers was the friendliest countenance they had encountered in Throneport since her return.
"Well met. I'm Skylar. This is Declan."
She crossed over to the table, gaze wandering over the arrayed crew.
Seems about right.
Once the visitors were inside, Jixel just knew she could count on Illendur to take care of the hospitalities! He was a good talker and negotiator, and the ratfolk presumed he was rather good at drawing reasonable first impressions about people too.
The ratfolk, on the other hand, had proven a tendency to remain on the outskirts of any prominent or diplomatic negotiations. Maybe one day, with a little self-analysis, she'd realise that this kind of summed up her whole way of dealing with... and facing... the world. A pinch of denial. A dash of optimism. A crust of fear around the edges.
Once the visitors were seated and comfortable, with the screech of a chair-leg dragging along the floor, she pulled up a place to rest her hairy behind too. There was some effort involved in hopping on, but rather than clambering or scratching at the task, there was a certain grace to it. A little bending of the knees, and hop! She was up!
Her grin continued, though she didn't say anything until the time for introductions arrived.
"Jixel, at your service! Maybes when we all know each other better, I might read your fortunes?"
Then a strange clucking sound came from within Jixel's backpack.
"Oh dear. Out time? Really? Right now? You watch out for that cat though. Don't stray."
A few moments of rummaging, and well-feathered chicken came into her grip. She set it on her lap, only its beady-eyed head at table level... peering at these new faces from across the timber expanse.
Cluck! Cluck!
The ratfolk chuckled.
"Mmm, that sounds like a good omen!"
Idrassa had been standing with Illendur and Ash as the newcomers came in, and her larger companions had blocked her from sight. But the sound of half-elf's voice drew her attention, and she stepped into view.
"Skylar!" She called. "I thought that was you. How have you been?"
Despite her tension, Idrassa threw Skylar a wide smile. The sight of the young woman brought a happy memory to Idrassa's mind, though technically, it was not Idrassa's memory.
"Hi," Declan said to the arranged group. His eyes glanced to Sky and he wiggled a ring finger while flipping his other hand and canting an elbow.
Agreement, Interest.
"We were told to speak to Goggh specifically, he said, "But we'll hear what you have to say."
He blinked at Idrassa's sudden appearance. He looked back to Sky and made a C with his hand before opening it palm up.
?
Illendur paused in setting down the ales for a moment, looking at Idrassa, before finishing and returning to his own seat. Friends of yours Idrassa? Well, the Host be praised I suppose. Come Skylar, Declan, let's speak, and I'm sure Goggh will talk with you once he's done his day job. We've recently come into this place he gestures expansively around them to the construction site after an 'acquaintance' was too intoxicated to pay us in the coin promised for some side work. So we're making the best of it as we can. The idea is to bring a sham dive bar to the Ward, overcharge the new money here for ale and music, and line our pockets. Which gets back to sort of what we've been doing, which is the odd job here and there, and trying to help out those who don't have the 'skill' to help themselves, or the will to try.
The half-elf pauses, drinking from his pint, We're currently trying to work out how to protect a poor clinic in the field ward from being robbed so it can minister to the less fortunate - a colleague of ours asked us to look into it. Or Zander just rescued a friend from servitude. he indicated the warforged with his mug. Its not strictly merc work, but its not strictly charity either, although we've definitely done both. I've known Idrassa a while now, and I think she's going to be helping us out. Can't promise any regular rates, or that it might not be dangerous, but here we are. And if Peekee thinks you are swell, that's a good read by me.
"Idrassa," Skylar breathed, her mask of stoicism slipping. "Traveler's Bones--you're a welcome sight!" The smile she wore was genuine, and she closed the space between them before pulling the teenager into an unexpected hug. "Idrassa and I ran together when I was in Throneport last," she said, drawing back at arm's length. The explanation appeared to be for the room at-large, but her eyes met Declan's, conveying meaning enough behind her words.
She had no need to sign to him that this was friend.
"Well," she continued, fingers closing about the back of a seat, "Far be it for me to keep Goggh from his day job." There was a glimmer of wry humour in her eyes, the suggestion of it in her more subdued smile as the joy of seeing Idrassa quieted. "Well. I trust Idrassa. That's well enough for me if it is for Declan. We work as a team."
She had inclined her head in acknowledgement to said warforged. She had not yet sat, but instead, had draped her hands over the back of the seat, keeping careful balance and pressure so as not to send it tipping over.
This felt altogether too serendipitous, but there were no agreements or promises between them yet. Idrassa was young, but had a good mind on her, and a kid had to be savvy to survive in Throneport. Illedur's straightforward proposal to rob rich folk of their riches had the sort of rogue's honesty she valued, and stood by herself. To be trusted in the murkier circles of society, it helped to be known for your honesty.
She glanced at Declan once more, pressing her fingers against the back of the chair.
Let's see.
She would have to explain her connection to Idrassa later. She was not yet ready to share any fragments of her past with the gathered party; her trust would need to be earned.
Declan nodded once. If it was good enough for Sky, it was good enough for him. He instantly understood her connection to Idrassa. At least the broad strokes, which is all that mattered in this moment. He'd ask specifics later, if she was amiable to explain.
"Inconsistent work is not unknown to us," he said, "We've experience in merc and charity, and the spectrum between." He glanced around the state of repair and construction, "Manual labor notwithstanding," he added.
Noting Sky's hands on the chair, he looked to her before canting his elbow again. Yes.
"We are amiable to acquiesce, assuming Goggh agrees. What are the next steps?"
Idrassa returned Skylar's hug with unfeigned pleasure, relieved to be reunited with her friend. The half-elf's description that they had "run together" gave Idrassa a generous amount of credit, as the human teen had been new to the city and unskilled in its ways. Skylar had been a valuable mentor.
"We are amiable to acquiesce, assuming Goggh agrees. What are the next steps?"
Idrassa felt this was moving very fast, but resisted the temptation to pull back. It was better for her if this moved fast. Getting everyone on the same page on focused on *what* they should be doing and not *if* they should be. She felt a twinge of guilt at the manipulation, but pressed on.
"We're...having some trouble with the Brands," she said bluntly, softening it with an embarrassed smile to Skylar as the latter released her embrace. "They're threatening a clinic over in Dock Ward. They're also scapegoating me for their own problems," she added. "We're trying to figure out how to get some leverage to get them to back off on both counts."
[ooc] Idrassa would feel (and I think at player level) that she's not the right person to go reconnoiter in person. Right now, she's the only one the Brands actually have a reason to bother. Idrassa's preference would be to get some kind of escort so she can move around more securely and ask questions from her contacts.
For the time being, Jixel decided to remain quiet unless spoken to. The newcomers were waiting for Goggh, and she was rather curious what their take might be on this "Brand" situation. Alas, the ratfolk hadn't been in these parts a terribly long time, and knew little of the complex ins and outs of gangs, their numbers and weaknesses. One of the benefits of remaining a pawn. Plausible deniability. Whatever they agreed on though, she'd be ready to lend a helping paw.
It was more than a few minutes but less than an hour before Goggh finally saw off the plumbers, sending them away out the kitchen door with a few hearty slaps on the back and yet another draft on the Trollskullers' dwindling reserves in the Kundarak vaults. Finally the minotaur manager came in from the kitchen, intending to pour himself the first real beer ever served, but he pulled up short when he saw his employers talking to a couple of his contractors and a stranger.
The huge, horned fixer grinned at the assembled group and took his place behind the bar, looking like an adult playing with childrens' furniture. His smile was full of sharp fangs like you'd never see in an actual bovine's mouth but he'd learned how to dull the impact of his predatory features just like he'd learned how to hide the intelligence in his eyes. "Oho! So the gang's all here!" Goggh slapped the bar and the dark Brelish hardwood rang like a drum.
Looking at Declan and Sky, he gestured with his horns at the Trollskullers. "So you all... met?" And since everyone there but Idrassa knew him they all knew he meant 'how much did you tell them'?
Jixel got a few glances from the Peacekeepers as they entered the Ward but no one stopped them, content to let a couple of pedestrians walk by without bothering them. The Peacekeeper presence was heavy on Net Street, even- especially- at night. The Brelish soldiers were no Karrnathis but they meant to keep the peace and were doing a fine job of improving the docks' unsavory reputation for being a high crime Ward.
That said, there were still more poor folk here than any place but Field Ward and while there were new homeless shelters, poor houses, refurbished tenements, soup kitchens, and orphanages there were just too many to get them all off the street in a few years. And it wasn't too late to be out just yet- it would be a few hours still until the Peacekeepers started presuming ill intent for those wandering the streets.
So Jixel and Illendur were passing a number of drinking establishments and eateries with people enjoying the cool night air, along with many others clearly getting ready to bed down in the many crooks and alleys offered by the old buildings and twisty streets. The intersection with Dock Street was a big one, with several taverns facing the unplanned square made by the two large streets coming together.
Sailors, entertainers, drinkers, diners, gawkers, and grifters all wandered from establishment to establishment or stood talking (or sitting) in the relatively empty street. It was almost enough to be called a crowd- it might be kind of hard to find a single tiefling girl sleeping in a box in all this.
Jixel was really looking forward to getting a certain handkerchief out of her possession. As much as she liked to imagine a future without the need for this kind of paid work, it would be a while before the Trollskull business was self-sufficient. Until then, she presumed that every little side job would help. At least this one hadn't been too bad, thanks to Ash. Actually, without him, she'd be walking these streets empty handed!
The ratfolk had told her companions what she knew... which wasn't much. Find a tiefling girl at the corner of Net Street and Dock Street. Couldn't be that hard, right? Wrong! This place was buzzing!
She narrowed her eyes, and tried to scan around the nearby walls, doorsteps and cranies, but damn it, no crate! If her friends had similar luck, they'd be forced to find and ask someone who looked kind of local...
Illendur uses his height to look for the teifling girl in the box at the appointed address, scanning the crowd he looks...
barring that, he'll approach someone nearby and ask, Pardon me friend, my associate is looking to return something directly to a young teifling girl who's supposed to reside in this area. Any directions would be appreciated... he leaves the last out, hoping his birthright will carry the implication of coins in exchange for information.
Jixel/Illendur/Zander, Dock Ward - Evening
Barring that, he'll approach someone nearby and ask, Pardon me friend, my associate is looking to return something directly to a young teifling girl who's supposed to reside in this area. Any directions would be appreciated... he leaves the last out, hoping his birthright will carry the implication of coins in exchange for information.
The crowd proved too chaotic for Jixel or Illendur to peer through, and it turned into more of an investigatory exercise than they'd thought.
The young sailor- one of a pair who looked like they were crossing the square from a tavern to a brothel- turned and frowned at Illendur. At first he looked almost ready to slug the man who'd tapped him on the shoulder but on seeing the young Phiarlan's clothes he contented himself with the frown. "Uh... I think there's some tiefling girls around at diff'rent places, milord. I don' sail tha' way meself but I've a friend who likes the tail, he says. Um..." He looked at his friend, who shrugged. No help there.
Illendur's sailor friend gestured at the building the pair had been heading toward. A pair of women in very scanty clothing leaned on the second floor railing, calling to passers by. "You could, uh, ask there?"
Field Ward was overcrowded at the best of times, and the cool night air had a lot of people out doing their business after the hot, humid day. Ramshackle food stalls blended the smells of a dozen different cuisines and people brushing shoulders in the streets blended just as many languages. The shops here were too poor to afford good lighting, so it was smoky torches and fire barrels that lent their flickering, inconstant light to the crowded streets.
The Brands territory wasn't hard to find. Go out into the Trollyard, ignoring the City Guard's warning that only citizens with papers would be allowed back through the gates until morning, and take a right down the Fieldway. Just don't mistake Boltspring Alley for Burnt Inn Street if you wanted to keep your coins in your pocket.
Declan mostly followed Skylar's lead as the pair found their way into the labyrinthine ramshackle huts that made up the Field Ward. She was much more acclimated to this environment, he just did his best to hide his "fallen noble" status. Even so, he had left most of his gear behind at the Trollskull. All he had on him was his thornblade, and his coin purse tucked underneath his long coat. His gaiter was pulled up under his eyes, so he looked every bit the mysterious rogue. Hopefully that worked well enough.
Declan kept his ears to the crowd, though. While the pair wound their way through the district, he tried to catch snippets of useful information.
Ah, yes... Illendur says peering forward at the Lacy Belaying Pin, Perfect thanks lads... he waits for the sailors to move on ahead, before turning back to Jixel and rolling his eyes. Maybe you should ask around, I suspect I'll keep getting directed to brothels all day he goes to check his coin purse, only to discover it missing...Great... another fabulous top to today's mess. Win some, lose some I suppose. Now we really need to get paid soon.
Dock Ward Evening
Jixel was starting to get a bad feeling about all this. Maybe they should come back later when it was quieter? Quieter... but more dangerous? She felt like she was being tested, as though stealing the nose-wiping cloth was only half of it!
Her hairy face moved to look downwards, a little dejected, when Illendur didn't get far with some sailor types, and then looked to be searching for his coins. Immediately, Jixel's hand went into a pocket, hoping to dear god that the handkerchief was still there! Then again, who would want to steal a nose-dribble collector? You'd have to be extremely desperate to do that...
"Me? Ask around? Ummm, mmm..."
She clearly wasn't too comfortable about the idea.
"Wings n' legs and clucky heads, give me strength for this, I beg."
Jixel appeared to be whispering to herself, trying to pluck up some courage. Then she looked around for someone who might appear to be a bit more... local. That long-legged lady over there maybe? She looked friendly. Kind of saucy too.
"Good evening Miss! Sorry to bother you, but have you seen anyone around here who lives on the street, in a crate of some kind?"
There had been a large alley cat trailing after them, staying to the general vicinity as they walked, dodging passers-by and disappearing now and then, but always showing up again before long. Now it stood sniffing the air on a nearby wall, trying to get an idea of where the tiefling might be.
Ash/Jixel/Illendur/Zander, Dock Ward - Evening
Jixel appeared to be whispering to herself, trying to pluck up some courage. Then she looked around for someone who might appear to be a bit more... local. That long-legged lady over there maybe? She looked friendly. Kind of saucy too.
"Good evening Miss! Sorry to bother you, but have you seen anyone around here who lives on the street, in a crate of some kind?"
The woman, wearing a top the size of a handkerchief and a piece of clothing that could only very generously be called a skirt, was leaning up against the corner of a building leading down a dark, narrow alleyway. She didn't look particularly enthusiastic to be talking to someone who clearly wasn't going to be interested in whatever services she might provide. "Take your pick, sweetie." In truth there were many, many homeless folk around, only the luckiest of whom had even a crate to live in.
"Why are you lookin' for someone that down on their luck, sugar?" She flicked a glance in Illendur's direction, seemingly more concerned about his obvious weaponry than his well made clothing. "You get robbed or something?"
There had been a large alley cat trailing after them, staying to the general vicinity as they walked, dodging passers-by and disappearing now and then, but always showing up again before long. Now it stood sniffing the air on a nearby wall, trying to get an idea of where the tiefling might be.
The alley cat could smell that someone clearly lived in the dark alley behind Jixel's new friend. Their scent was all over it. And while Ash knew the smell of humans well enough- and elves and halflings and even dwarves and orcs- this one smelled... different. Oh there was certainly some of the normal body odor of a human who didn't bathe regularly enough, but there was also something off about it.
It smelled like... it didn't smell exactly like the mind flayer they'd met underground a couple months back, but it did sort of remind Ash of that creature's scent. There was just something alien about the scent, mixed in with the human. It wasn't bad, per se, but it wasn't good. It wasn't natural. That was it- it wasn't natural. It didn't belong out here with the smells of food and sea and sex and excitement and birds and street and all the other myriad other smells Ash expected to find in a city.
Could that be how a tiefling smelled? Maybe. He'd just have to go and see.
Declan/Skylar, Field Ward - Evening
Declan mostly followed Skylar's lead as the pair found their way into the labyrinthine ramshackle huts that made up the Field Ward. She was much more acclimated to this environment, he just did his best to hide his "fallen noble" status. Even so, he had left most of his gear behind at the Trollskull. All he had on him was his thornblade, and his coin purse tucked underneath his long coat. His gaiter was pulled up under his eyes, so he looked every bit the mysterious rogue. Hopefully that worked well enough.
Declan kept his ears to the crowd, though. While the pair wound their way through the district, he tried to catch snippets of useful information
Nobody gave Declan a second glance, either not caring about yet another mysterious rogue winding their way through the night market crowd or else knowing how to mind their own damn business. But that attitude also kept him from overhearing anything useful. He heard tons but anybody talking about anything of significance kept it to themselves. Lots of snippets of gossip about people he didn't know, lots of talking about food or yesterday's match at the Field of Triumph, lots of irrelevant, every day discussions that meant nothing to him.
Ash/Jixel/Illendur/Zander, Dock Ward - Evening
"Why are you lookin' for someone that down on their luck, sugar?" She flicked a glance in Illendur's direction, seemingly more concerned about his obvious weaponry than his well made clothing. "You get robbed or something?"
Zander, on the other hand, had simply been following along, being uncharacteristically quiet as he listened to J'r V'zz catalogue every humanoid within a 40' radius. The catalogue changed consistently, but Zander simply let it flow through him, trusting his psi-crystal companion to update the visual display behind his eyes. Zander kept his vision focused out beyond the 40' radius, though aside from "female tiefling-humanoid, possibly in a crate," he really didn't know what he was looking for.
The alley cat could smell that someone clearly lived in the dark alley behind Jixel's new friend. Their scent was all over it. And while Ash knew the smell of humans well enough- and elves and halflings and even dwarves and orcs- this one smelled... different. Oh there was certainly some of the normal body odor of a human who didn't bathe regularly enough, but there was also something off about it.
It smelled like... it didn't smell exactly like the mind flayer they'd met underground a couple months back, but it did sort of remind Ash of that creature's scent. There was just something alien about the scent, mixed in with the human. It wasn't bad, per se, but it wasn't good. It wasn't natural. That was it- it wasn't natural. It didn't belong out here with the smells of food and sea and sex and excitement and birds and street and all the other myriad other smells Ash expected to find in a city.
Could that be how a tiefling smelled? Maybe. He'd just have to go and see.
With a final glance at the others to make sure they didn't run off without him, Ash hopped down off the wall to cast about and see if he could pick up that weird smell again, maybe stronger this time.
+1 to track
Declan/Skylar - Field Ward - Evening
Field Ward felt like home. Almost.
She wore Throneport like a second skin. Rough and dilapidated though Field Ward was, Skylar was comfortable in knowing it was exactly what it appeared to be. Poor and proud, like the poor districts of so many cities, folk drew themselves up and carved a hostile living however it was afforded to them. There were no illusions about Field Ward.
The Brands. Another snot-nosed gang of youths looking to make a name for themselves. At least, that was how Theon had described them, and how she had come to see them. She hadn't bothered with them much; they had nothing of interest to offer her.
She masked a smile, because it didn't do to smile here. That marked you easily. She wanted to, though, because with Declan and his gaiter, he almost fit in. Not for the reasons that he might have thought; folk here didn't want to be seen, were looking for ways to hide themselves, or wear a face that they wanted to be feared. A face that said, "bloody well leave me alone".
As she always did, she stretched out her awareness-- not keenly listening, as such, not focussing, but much in the way that some stars became visible when looking at the darkness in between points of light, so it was with conversation for her.
Idrassa Quill - Castle Ward - The Singing Sword
Idrassa knew Throneport well. In her three years in the city she had made it her business to learn its streets and its people. It had been a matter of survival, always finding another angle or her next hustle. But more than that, it was a passion of sorts, a desire to understand the grand workings of the strange machine the city represented.
She had taken the occasional risk in her ventures through the streets, but she had never let her curiosity make her a fool. She had been warned off many of the city’s hazards, and she had respected those warnings.
Now, though, she had no choice but to transgress one of them.
She was standing on the second floor of the Singing Sword. Its first two floors were busy and perhaps a bit upscale, but it was otherwise an unremarkable bar. It was close to the Bazaar and several major thoroughfares, and its clientele were generally traders of one kind or another. Most were merchants looking either to relax over a quick drink or cut a deal over a longer one, while others were grifters or simply tourists seeking to watch the sea of traders flowing over the streets outside. In truth, it was only the third floor that made the tavern unique, and it promised an assault any sensible person would dread.
Idrassa ascended the stairs.
Where the lower floors incorporated the comfortable adornments of a businesslike tavern, the hall into which she emerged was a garish, tasteless nightmare. The walls were silver with gold trim, and the brightly-colored wall hangings depicted grand scenes from Gallifar’s history that were rendered in a style so flagrantly dramatic that they were almost unrecognizable. The wooden tables were at once ornately carved and falling apart, somehow accentuating their own shabbiness. The overall effect was surely intended to be one of baroque grandeur, but Idrassa could not imagine anyone mustering the necessary suspension of disbelief to experience it.
The assault on the senses was completed by a song that dominated the room and made one long for the relaxing strains of a dagger scraped over slate. It emanated from an unsheathed sword that had been hung behind the bar on a silver chain. The blade was nicked and scratched and the pommel showed years of wear, and while Idrassa supposed any sword was capable of committing a war crime there was nothing to suggest this one had been enchanted for the auditory nightmare in which it bathed the room.
“Toss a coin to your Shifter…”
The young woman steeled herself, understanding why this was a desirable meeting place. It was far more sparsely populated than the floors below, offering plenty of space and adequate – indeed, excessive - background noise to permit a private conversation. The clientele who were present were mostly drunk tourists there for an experience that was surely once in a lifetime, in the sense that few would ever make the same mistake again. And Idrassa could not imagine any crimelord or House scion would lightly test the loyalty of a spy by placing them here.
She drifted over to the bar, where a tiefling woman took her order and passed her a goblet of wine. Then the human slipped over to a booth against the wall and sat, splitting her attention between the room and the throngs in the street outside visible through the window. She was regretting her decision to arrive early, and hoped her contact would not be late.
She took a sip of her wine, once again feeling the pang of Tweety’s absence. The comfort of her familiar was exactly what she needed right now, and Tweety would probably have loved the novelty of the sword even if she would have found its music painful. But Idrassa was still trying to move around the city without drawing too many eyes, and the enormous serpent was distinctive, to say the least.
The song ended, and Idrassa was offered a brief moment of hope. This, however, was dashed as the sword began to speak in the wake of the drunken applause.
“Thank you! Thank you!” It said. The voice was male and seemed quite pleased with itself. “You may be wondering how it is that a sword should sing so well. Well, that’s my mother’s influence – She was a tuning fork!”
There was a smattering of laughter that drowned out Idrassa’s whispered prayer to the Host for mercy. “Of course,” the sword continued, “My father was not musical. He was a farm tool, real salt of the earth. But I’ll say this for him, when he tossed a hay bale it was always perfectly pitched!”
There was more laughter. “But I think it’s time for a local favorite, a song for our own little corner of the world. ‘The Rains of Castle Ward!’” The crowd offered a cheer and the sword launched into an unforgivable rendition of the folk song.
Idrassa was considering fleeing the scene when a half-elf matching the description of her contact entered the bar. The khorovar was tall and thin, carrying a battered leather satchel and wearing a long coat and a pale yellow cravat. His angular face was bordered by slicked down black hair and accessorized by a pair of dark eyeshades that were becoming popular in some circles. He strode confidently over to the young woman’s booth.
She nodded as he approached, shifting her posture into a “businesslike” mode. She knew she could not bring off “tough girl” without a 12’ snake backing her, and in any case she was here to talk.
“The famous Idrassa Quill, I presume,” he offered, extending his hand. His accent was a badly suppressed Dock Ward.
“Famous?” She asked, shaking his hand and pretending to be intrigued. In truth, it was just a reminder that she was becoming too high profile for the documents game. It did not do to become one of the usual suspects, and she was reaching that level.
He smiled, perhaps a little condescendingly. “Well, it seems you have a lot of friends. Danna Blondfoot sent a runner saying she was calling in her marker with me and I should do you a solid. And Throg Spittlespine dropped by to tell me he owed you one. And they both said you wanted something on the Brands. But where are my manners,” he added. “The name is Jack Straw.”
“Charmed,” replied Idrassa. Her tone was not cold, but it was cool enough to make clear she was not.
The half-elf sat, and reached into his satchel to produce a large parchment envelope. He placed it on the table and patted it.
Idrassa eyed the envelope carefully. This was not how most of her contacts did business. Even the ones who could read preferred to put little on paper. But the pieces did fit together after a fashion. Everything about Jack Straw screamed dressed-up grifter, a lowlife pretending to be something more grand. The envelope completed the pattern. He was clearly expecting her to believe he was a Medani operative.
That, she reflected, seemed unlikely. But Blondfoot and Spittlespine had vouched for him, and they were sensible. Whatever he was, the odds were he could deliver the goods.
“Alright,” she said, holding out her hand for the envelope. Straw shook his head.
“Your friends put up their markers, which gets you most of the way,” he said, holding up the envelope to demonstrate its heft. “But there’s a lot here. I need a little more from you.”
Idrassa frowned, eyes narrowing. For all she knew he was waving a stack of blank pages at her. But she decided to press on. “What do you want?”
“I want to ask you a question, and you have to answer it honestly. If you don’t, I walk. And you can’t lie to me,” he added. “I’ll know.”
The human regarded him. That last point might or might not be true. But she did not like this. It was too easy to get cornered in a game like this. “You ask me three questions,” she offered. “I’ll choose one and answer.”
Straw’s mouth quirked up, as if enjoying this reply. “Agreed.
“First question,” he began. “Is Tweety a Couatl?”
Idrassa’s gut twisted. She had been wise to demand a choice. She was not going to sell out Tweety, and the truth – that neither Idrassa nor Tweety knew the answer to that question – was revealing in its own way. “Next,” she answered flatly.
“Second question. Was it you who prepared the Bill of Lading for the Bull of Thrane last month?”
The human kept her face neutral. She knew the incident. Captain Thornhull had been deported to Thrane in irons for smuggling religious artifacts, and was probably facing execution. He had been a client of hers once but she had stopped working with him years ago, feeling he was taking too many risks. Still, she knew the answer she had to give.
“I don’t discuss clients,” she replied, trying to remain poker-faced. “Give me your third question.”
“OK,” he said with satisfaction. Idrassa wondered if she had been maneuvered into this. “Are you Katra d’Orien?”
The young woman did not let her breath catch, and did not let the acceleration of her heartbeat lead her to tense her muscles. There was an easy out here, a simple denial. And it felt like a trap. No, she concluded. Play it straight.
She took a quick glance around the tavern, but the crowd had taken up the final refrain of the song, drowning out the sword in an act that was both a great mercy and good cover for their conversation. “I am not Katra d’Orien,” she replied, staring the khorovar directly in the eyes. “But I am a woman who could be killed for claiming to be.” It was the first time she had said the name in years, she realized.
Straw nodded and gave her a satisfied smile. He slid the envelope over to her. “A pleasure,” he offered, standing and rising. Idrassa sat and watched him go, utterly motionless, her mind hundreds of miles from the applause that ended the sword’s performance.
He was Medani, she concluded. No one else would put enough threads together for that. But he was a Medani who did not want most people to know he was a Medani, and so played at a cheap impersonator. She shook her head. Medani knowing who she was was probably both unfortunate and inevitable.
She tucked the envelope away and rose to go, consumed by churning thoughts and emotions that left no room for the prosaic agonies of a talentless cutting implement or its worthless serenade of “The Dragonborn Comes.”