Lord Commander Lundgren snorts. "Separately."
What follows is a perfunctory but still tedious interrogation, with each of you sorted into a separate side room and made to repeat your tales under the auspices of a cadre of Iomedaean priests and inquisitors. An hour goes by, then two, before you are released. You find that the Lord Commander has gone, but Second Swordknight Varvatos meets you all in the hall, an aide bearing a small lockbox by her side.
"The Lord Commander seems to have taken a dislike to you all, but he is convinced of your sincerity. As am I." She gestures to her aide, who opens to lockbox to reveal several potion vials and a slip of parchment.
"I have prepared a sending for the Watcher Lord to request his instructions, but in the meantime the Lord Commander and I have decided that it's likely we have the drop on the cultists--they are waiting for Quietus to return to the city, and while his notes were incomplete it doesn't seem like he was intending to be in Vigil in time for the festival. So we have a window of opportunity: find this Gildais and whatever other agents he has operating in the city, and capture them to prevent the activation of their weapon. Against the Lord Commander's recommendation I would like to deputize you as my agents in this matter. You would be acting on behalf of the Church, unofficially, rather than under the authority of the Watchknights of the Order of Ozem."
The high priestess raises one eyebrow questioningly. "I trust this is acceptable?" At your assent she nods and points to the folded piece of parchment, which turns out to be a name--Ranton Gandry--and an address.
"While you were indisposed, I remembered where I heard that name 'Gildais'--it was mentioned by a good friend of mine, Ranton Gandry. He's now retired but for twenty years he was the captain of the Shield Guard. I think he's set to give a speech during the festival today, but I certainly recall him mentioning the name "Gildais". I don't recall the details, but the two of them exchanged letters for time and they seem to have bonded over Shining Crusade history. I don't know that there's a connection there, but...perhaps."
The Shield Guard are a purely ceremonial honor guard that protects the reliquary that holds the Shattered Shield of Arnisant at the War College. It's an extremely prestigious position, as there are only ever twelve Shield Guards at a time; one for each of the fragments of the Shattered Shield itself.
Ketra rubs the end of her nose as Varvatos speaks, having been driven to the end of her patience by the tedious questioning, doubt, and general rudeness. These "high ranking officials" seemed to be eagerly looking for any excuse to pretend there was no issue. When Varvatos starts talking about deputizing the party Ketra holds up a hand "Wait, wait, wait. Why? We came all this way to give you a warning so people with power and resources and who know what they're doing can deal with this. People with armies and priests and all of Lastwall on their side. And you want US to investigate for you? That's like throwing a pebble into a rushing river and hoping it serves as a dam."
She crosses her arms, somewhere between infuriated and appalled by the response. Someone she was sure would put all her resources to stopping something truly existentially dangerous would just be foisting things off.
Varvatos sighs. "You have been through so much already, and it pains me to ask still more of you, but the Whiteblade Festival has already stretched our resources thin. Including visitors from outside the city there are roughly one hundred and twenty-five thousand people in the city--every Watchknight is needed to keep order, every capable hand at my disposal is occupied with security, logistics, all the many considerations that keep such a large group of people safe. My fellow leaders are in a similar state; there are still patrols and garrisons to be maintained elsewhere--the tribes of Belkzen do not rest idle merely because we are throwing a party." She spreads her hands, her tone gentle.
"What would you have us do, Miss Driscoll? Evacuate the city? We would need time to organize tents, food, wagons, draft beasts. We would have to commandeer every ship in the harbor and even that would be a fraction of our needs. Should I leave a hundred thousand people cold and hungry, frightened and angry, poorly encamped outside the capital's walls? And there is no way to do so secretly--our enemies will know why I gave such an order even if no one else does, and you cannot promise me that they won't trigger their weapon early, or just walk into the tent city and do the same."
"I meant what I said: the cult doesn't know about you, since you eliminated Quietus' cell and came straight here. You are clearly capable and committed, and best of all you are available this very second. I would lose precious hours or days I don't have recalling my best agents. Do not insult me by thinking I would be deputizing you if I thought I had better options at hand."
Ketra shakes her head in a daze at what sounds to her like a parade of excuses from Varvatos "We came all this way and the best you have is us? You can't spare anyone? We don't even know the city. If you can't investigate, what chance do we have?" Pulling herself together, she raises her gaze and glares at Varvatos. "I don't know how to lead anything, so you can do whatever you want, but I know almost everyone in Roslar's Coffer died. I hope you're going to be happy with your choices once we mess up and everyone's in queue in the Boneyard."
Her hopes and expectations for Vigil thoroughly dashed, Ketra stalks out of the room to cool off outside.
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”I’m sorry, we have been under a lot of stress lately, and we can only see a deadly threat and a vulnerable populace, with most of us totally unfamiliar with your city,” starts Garret.
”I thank you for the supplies, and we could also perhaps use your help as we purchase useful items with our own funds,” he suggests, ”As well as perhaps some formal way of identifying ourselves as deputized authorities.”
”If you have someone who can assign to us to help us find our way in the city—or perhaps a city map—that would be useful as well. Maybe even a letter of introduction to Gandry so he knows we are not merely frivolous festival attendees,” he adds.
”There is something of a more—delicate nature as well,” Garret mentions, pulling her aside if she allows and speaking in low tones about their suspicions of the undue influence of the Lord Commander’s advisor, even to imprisoning Wallace, his son.
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Varvatos watches Ketra as she leaves, the Second Swordknight's expression tinged with sadness.
"Thank you, Goodman Fallows, that's a good thought. I'll make sure you're given pins marking you as inquisitors of the Sancta Iomedaea--they should be more than enough for our purposes, though legally you won't have the authority to command any of the Watchknights. As for a letter of introduction for Ranton and a map, that can easily be arranged."
She allows herself to be drawn aside with a puzzled look that quickly turns serious as Garret outlines the group's suspicions. "I'm not sure what to say here, Goodman Fallows; I believe that your concerns are earnest and well-intended, but it doesn't sound like any kind of crime has been committed--marital indiscretions, if that is what's happening here, are certainly unworthy of a paladin of Arqueros but not illegal. It may be that some mundane but inappropriate influence is being exerted over the Lord Commander, but at present I cannot help but table this until after the current crisis has been resolved." She gives the halfling an assessing look. "Your discretion on this matter is appreciated, of course."
”Of course, and thank you, high priestess. We have no proof other than our own direct experiences and Wallace’s treatment. In case this is a subtle cultist plot, we wanted someone in authority to be alerted, but as there is no direct proof, speculating further now that we have conveyed the concern to you would be…inappropriate,” assures Garret.
Ketra loiters outside the Swordknight's Office, her despair-tinged anger fading now that she's not listening to Varvatos's excuses. A pit of dread builds in its absence. Everything was being left to the five of them, and maybe Wallace too. It seemed impossible. And if she couldn't find Gildais and whoever else is working for him, then all of Lastwall could be put in the grave. She'd been counting on people in Vigil being smarter, more capable, more heroic. Somehow they were worse than lazy drunks at the tavern, leaving everything on the tab day after day.
Varvatos makes good on the pins and letter of introduction, her demeanor still kind but more formal now. Armed with Ranton Gandry's address and your deputization, you leave the Sancta Iomedaea behind and brave the crowds that are already thronging the city's streets.
As you pick your way through the crowds you pass by plazas where performers are putting on morality plays and historical dramas involving major evens of Lastwall history--the evens of the Whiteblade War itself are common, but major battles against the orcs of Belkzen and the Shining Crusade are only slightly less frequent. One plaza in particular is abuzz with excited citizens--it seems a speech by Field Marshal Ceto Malderra is set to begin shortly. A rising star in Lastwall's military, Madlerra's exploits in battle are the subject of songs and stories all around the country and those gathered here are practically vibrating with excitement at the chance to see their hero.
A raised platform for some performers has been cleared, and a roar of approval goes up from the crowd as a broad-shouldered woman with platinum-blonde hair and an elegant but functional suit of full plate armor steps up onto the platform.
Handing off his shopping list and the majority of his funds, Garret suggests, ”Perhaps some of us should hear this man out while the others get our shopping done?”
"It shouldn't take too long to at least hear the gist. And if this Malderra is as big a hero and public figure as they say, it'd be good to have her on our side in case convincing the Lord Commander to act properly gets complicated. At the very least we'll learn something." Ketra agrees to stay awhile and listen.
Field Marshal Malderra proves to be a tall and powerfully-built woman with the weathered face and scarred, calloused hands of someone used to taking direct action. The crowd roars its approval as she takes the stage, but quiets as she raises her hands for silence.
"People of Lastwall!" she booms out in a voice clearly used to shouting orders on the battlefield, her worlds clipped and clear even across the whole square. "We are gathered today for the Whiteblade Festival, to honor all those who have chosen to serve Lastwall and her people with skill, courage, and honor. Yet in its ori--" Ceto pauses here as a chant of Ceto! Ceto! starts up in part of the crowd closest to her, but she waves them down with a self-deprecating smile.
"Thank you, thank you friends. But I am far from the only hero to have given her all for our proud and noble country. It has not always been so, sad to say, for the festival we are all gathered here to celebrate has its origins in shortsightedness and strife, when Jesca Malvaney sought to put herself before her people. Though Lastwall survived the coup and came through stronger than ever, we must be ever vigilant against the dangers within, not merely those without. Myopia, despair, ambition--these are poison, as deadly as any blade to our strong, proud country."
The speech continues for another ten minutes, the Field Marshal emphasizing themes of vigilance and duty--and apparently including a few oblique swipes at rivals, though nothing identifiable to your group. As the speech ends the crowd erupts again in cheers and presses forward to shake the Malderra's hand. She descends from the stage to shake hands and accept well-wishes; the press of bodies around her doesn't look like it will be easy to get through.
"Well hello again!" A red-cheeked dwarven woman stomps up, a tankard of ale in one hand and the other extended towards Zsofia, inviting a shake. "Long time no see--Zoffi, wasn't it? How did the shield go over, lass? Did it impress your beau?" She waggles her eyebrows suggestively and laughs at her own joke. "Ha, after all the work that went you it, it damn well better've! Let me a buy you a drink and tell me all about it!"
Ketra cranes her neck looking for an opening to talk to Ceto, but when it's clear how big the crowd pushing in toward her is, she steps back "Maybe we catch her when there isn't a thousand souls clamouring for her attention..."
When a random dwarf directly addresses Zsofia, Ketra does a double take, before looking to see how Zsofia and Sanduro will respond. "Friend of yours?"
Garret’s eyes narrow as he sees the dwarf approach, and he tries to assess her intent…perhaps a new ally wishing to make any onlookers think she is just and old friend of the party’s? She certainly knows at least the name of one of them.