Cressida shakes her head sadly. "Unfortunately, I don't even have a way to get myself access to the trial. They say its to prevent outside factors from affecting the impartiality of the jurors because this is such a high-profile event. I have my doubts, though, and wouldn't be surprised if a verdict is reached very quickly."
Yhrrilka looks worried as Cressida relays this unwelcome state of affairs. "Is there anything that can be done to save this girl?"
"I have to have faith in the justice system and that the truth will come out. If she's innocent, I hope that she'll be released. And if she's found guilty, I hope that it will be based on the evidence against her."
”If ye say so.” Torsten replied, sounding unconvinced. ”Well, if ye need us for a job then ye know where to find us, aye?” He got up and started going to the door. ”Everyone done here? Best nay to think too much about the lass. Ain’t anything we can do about it.”
Highly disappointed in this turn of events, Yhrrilka gives the Marshal a bitter stare. "We brought that girl here because like you, we believed the truth would help her. I would be shocked if anything that happens to her in there has anything to do with Truth."
"Best nay to think too much about the lass. Ain’t anything we can do about it.”
Ril snorts derisively and rolls her eyes. "Ah yes, that makes me feel so much better about this," she glowers.
[be]"I know we have our hands tied"[/b] Maca tells Cressida, "but if you know about something or find out something that we can try for help, please, let us know."
Maca leaves with gloomy mood - only the good die young, and it seems there's nothing humble people can do about it.
"I'll be trying to advance a bit my orphanage project" she tells her friends.
"Aye, have fun with that!" Torsten said, waving as Macaria took her leave. "Ril, what say we find a buyer for the clothing and jewelry we came across, aye? Mayhaps the Church of Pharasma will even buy the robe off our hands." He said with a smile. "What with removing necromatic tools and all." He motioned for her to come, recognizing that they weren't going to get anywhere sitting in Cress' office, worrying about the fate of someone outside of their control.
Having worked herself into what the Taldan vernacular called a 'snit fit,' Ril acknowledged Torsten's call, and got up. "Fine," she groused at Torsten. Before she left, she took a deep breath, and with as much cool as she could muster, said to the Marshal, "Please Marshal, as Maca said, if you see any way we can be of service in helping that girl, please send for us."
"I'll be trying to advance a bit my orphanage project."
Ril's mood snaps suddenly at the mention of this. Turning to Macaria, she says, "Maca, I know Torsten and I have been terribly busy getting our shop up and running, but if there is anything I can do to help, you know you can ask anytime, yes?"
To Torsten, she says, "If we are to conduct business, even if it is not directly about the shop, I should bring along Sage, yes? Let her get a feel for how negotiations are done."
"Thank you" Maca says with a warm smile. "For now, all I'm doing is planning how to organise all - visiting other orphan houses to check how they do it, keep the sound ideas and discard the terrible ones, you know. That's why I called it a project." She shrugs. "I want to have all of this set up for when I have funds to rebuild the place, hire personnel, etc. It's a long run, not a rush, but you've got to be aware when opportunity shows up!"
Changing the subject, she comments on something Ril and Torsten have mentioned. "If you're going to deal with the Church of Pharasma, I might be able to help you. You usually get a better deal if a priest of the proper faith comes with you" she winks.
"If you're going to deal with the Church of Pharasma, I might be able to help you. You usually get a better deal if a priest of the proper faith comes with you."
"Of course, we'd love to have you come with," Ril says, her mood shifting away from the grim news the Marshal had given them. "If we're not taking you away from anything with the orphanage, that'd be great."
It was odd, going from a life-and death situation where he was literally wading through body parts, to being back in his shop crafting tattoos. He was not at his best working the day after, given what they had gone through. His mind kept on wandering back. To tables of corpses sewn together. Of innocents kept in filthy pits, waiting for their turn with the hack-saw. Of carrion eating monsters and the feet of his fist hitting rotting flesh. It made concentrating hard. But he told himself that the gold was worth it, and that without such experience how could he truly hone his craft? Far too many artisans peaked because they did not field-test their work. He resolved not to be like them, even if it did mean trouble sleeping.
However, the trouble sleeping was a problem. The nightmares were not something that he felt like he could talk to anyone about, lest it show weakness. And a day of fatigue was proof enough that not sleeping well would cause long term problems. So he decided to do the most practical thing possible. He emptied out much of his savings. He had been planning on using the gold for rare ingredients for a system of tattoos that he had planned, but he reasoned that gold could be replaced. What he did was buy a ring which would allow him to function on only two hours of sleep! It was perfect, for it meant that he wouldn't even get to the point where the nightmares began. And it had the added benefit of taking away his need for food and water. So as the decades went on, he reasoned that it would eventually save money. He was quite proud with himself for thinking of such a solution.
Ril took a moment away from her own work with a customer, noting that Torsten seemed a little agitated. I wonder what's wrong, she thought to herself. She looked across the young lady in her chair at Sage, watching, taking everything in. Might be a conversation for later.
"I don't understand this recent fascination Korvosan women are having with a leering catfolk face," she tells her customer, "But if that's how you want to pay my bills, I won't object. Sage, the red ink, please."
Later she tries showing Sage the proper technique with the needle. "Nyet, Sage. You aren't using a pencil on paper here." She sees the girl deflate a little, and quickly moves to reassure her. "Don't be discouraged. You already have the gift of making what is up here," she taps the girl's head*, "Come out here," and she taps her hand. "You just have to adjust to the medium. Different tools require a different technique."
Later, after they've closed for business and Sage has been safely escorted back to Dawnflower House, Ril helps Torsten clean up. "If you had actually been in the Darklands, you couldn't have been farther away than you were today," she says to Torsten. "You okay?"
Torsten looked up and forced a chuckle. "Aye. Jus'...tired. That's all." He said. For a moment he thought about discussing what was bothering him, but decided against it. His pride would not allow it. "Having trouble sleeping. Decided to head out and get one of them rings, y'know? Expensive things, but should take care of the problem. But 'sides for that, I'm just fine." Deciding to change the topic, he said "Strange, isn't it? Somedays we're fightin' for our lives. Bringin' back hundreds and hundreds of gold. Bein' bloody adventurers! Then the next it's tattoos for shillings." With a slight smile he added "How'dya think Mac does it? From killin' to dealin' with wee children."
The three of you aren't the only ones who are busy. Each of you finds a Harrow card stashed amongst your belongings courtesy of Zellara's ghostly powers....
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With Torsten’s declaration, Yhrrilka decided the matter of his well-being was settled. Little point in asking a dwarf to let you help carry the stone.
"Strange, isn't it? Somedays we're fightin' for our lives. Bringin' back hundreds and hundreds of gold. Bein' bloody adventurers! Then the next it's tattoos for shillings." With a slight smile he added "How'dya think Mac does it? From killin' to dealin' with wee children."
Ril ponders the question, her face crinkling up in thought. "Best thing would be to ask her. But where I come from on this, Torsten, is that the one gives meaning to the other. It keeps you… steady? Is that the word? Back in Belkzen, Chief Mahja, she did her best to make sure everyone had a..." She pauses, seeming to struggle to find the right word, finally shrugging. "A meaning? A purpose? She would constantly send members of the tribe out on quests, make this crossing safe, destroy the undead plaguing this area, that sort of thing. The ones who had nothing but the fight, nothing else to live for, they would end up burned out, kind of hollow inside. Chief called them the 'Dead Wanderers'. We honor their great deeds, and their sacrifices, but really, as much as anything, they are a cautionary tale."
"We live these lives of everyday doings," She picks up a stray feather left behind by Mister Quackers, shaking her head and giving an amused snort, "So that we are anchored when the need arises to be, well, our full selves."
At this talk of Belkzen, and her Chief she adores so much, Yhrrilka feels the weight of having left home, and her loss, looming. She does her best to dispel it. "Anyway, that's what this girl from the sticks thinks about that." Ril tosses the feather in the trash, then as she turns back to her workspace, she sees the corner of a Harrow card under a tray of inks. It's one of the cards from Zellara's deck. "I didn't have these out, did you, Torsten...?" She pulls it from under the tools and turns it over. "The Desert?" Her face turns into a frown of concentration as she eyes the sphinx on the card. "Life in this city is rarely full for long..."
*=*=*=*=*
Later, Yhrrilka meet Macaria at a tavern for supper. After the other woman arrives and they've been served, Ril says to her, "Maca, I have something for which I need your advice. Some of the money we've made with our exploits, I wanted to see it put to good use beyond us using it to blow things up. I figured I can give it to you to help get your orphanage project up and running. Or, if I donated it to the Dawnflower House, it could help children that are in the system right now. Or I could split the money up, use it for both things. I'm not sure what to do, and I was hoping for some guidance from you." She tosses a small purse on the table, a few coins clink inside when it hits the table. Shrugging, she says, "I know it doesn't sound like much; I went and had it converted to crowns to make it easier to carry."
"Oh, well..." Maca says, speechless, "I guess in any case you're heloing, so all choices seem fine." And she means it. There are so many orphans running the street, you just can't help every one. It's good to see someone else cares.
"Even if you invested the money in buying gear for yourself, that would be good, because you - and I guess we three - do important things for the wellbeing of the people, and make a good asset in the task to really make the difference." She's taken a bit too much momentum, but once said... "I trust you will use it with wisdom."
"I trust you will use it with wisdom."
Yhrrilka ponders the other woman's words, a small frown of concentration on her face. Then she looks up. "Okay then, I'll give this to Dawnflower House," she picks the purse back up off the table, "And we'll figure it out all over again next time!" She nods firmly, and swallows most of the ale in her mug at one pull. When Ril brings the mug down, there's a moment where she's got a bright gleam in her eyes, and it almost looks like she's about to throw the mug against the wall. Catching herself, she puts the mug down on the table. Grinning a little sheepishly, she says, "Sometimes at home, after a toast or when a promise is sealed on a drink, you can't use that mug for a lesser purpose, so KSSSH!" She slaps the table. "You break it. But I kind of like this place, and don't want them throwing me out." She shrugs her shoulders, then drains anything that might be left in the mug.
"I won't lie, when I'm low, the black voice in my head tells me that I am alone in this world. But that's not true. Yes, I am far from the home I grew up in, and I've lost Zohruk. But I make a new home here, with friends like you and Torsten, and showing children like Sage how to make a new life. The Burning Mother brings the dawn every day. It's up to us to greet it." Yhrrilka catches herself, briefly flashing a little self-consciousness. "Okay, that's it! No more talk today where I sound like Chief at Dawnspeak."
"Life has strange turns and even stranger straightaways. I'm home here, technically, but I feel like I was away."
She empties her mug as well, to show empathy.
"Let's see what these cards we found brought us for the future!"
Torsten held up his card and looked it over. It had a sphinx on it. He didn't quite understand the significance, but then again, there were many things he did not understand. One such thing was why Macaria had gotten the card with the dwarf on it and not him. It annoyed him how fortunes just didn't make sense. It was why he preferred things that could be seen. Like tattoos, or good friends. He raised his mug and emptied it in a toast.
"Y'know." Torsten said, an idea coming to him. "Seems to me, Ril, that our shop is now yer home. But from how ye talk, ye haven't made it yet. Place has little to nothin' in the way of decoration, aye? So, been thinkin.' What we need for the walls is somethin' to bring customers in. Get them thinkin.' Sample tattoos and the like. So thinkin', put these sayin's of yers up there. Simple ones, in yer tongue. Can't read it meself, but seen it before. Think that they'd make fine tattoos. A good way to stand out in the city by bein' unique, and it would certainly be somethin' to see some of these sailors leavin' with symbols and prayers to the Burnin' Mother on their backs! What d'ye think?"
Yhrrilka thinks about Torsten's suggestion. "You might be on to something here, Torsten. Maybe some teachings of the Mother, yes. Gotta be done respectfully, of course. Hmm, some of the wildlife from home might look compelling as a tattoo… hey, maybe some landscapes!" She's becoming more animated as the idea picks up a little momentum with her. "I've never done a landscape in ink before. Well, gives me something to get better at, eh?!" She stabs the table with a finger. "And this would be good for Sage as well. She can do the art for it that we hang on the walls; that might play to her strengths, give her confidence in what she's doing."
The young woman looks at her friends. "I've sometimes wished I could just go home. Or maybe… like I could live two lives, one here and one there. But this might be the next best thing, to bring some parts of my old home here." Ril normally tries to preserve boundaries with Torsten, but she risks it this time, grasping his hand in hers. Bozhe moi, she thinks as she feels the dwarf's arm, it really is like he's made out of rock. "Thank you, my friend," she beams.
Suddenly self-conscious about how this display might make Torsten feel, she lets go, grabs her mug back and raises it. Just then remembering it was empty, she still pretends to take a drink from it.
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Torsten smiled, seen mostly through the movement of his beard. It was good to see Ril animated. He reflected then, how little he had gotten along with his family. Years and years of walking on egg shells, squabbling, guilt and acrimony. Many a time he had wished to have had a sibling, to get his parents' attention off of him and to have someone to care about without the stress of Clan expectations. Who would have thought that he would have found in that in the company of a Varisian and a half-orc? His father had complained endlessly of his decision to leave the mountains. But where else but Korovosa could this have happened? "Ha! Let's refill that cup of yers then. Mine too while we're at it." Life was good. He hoped that it would stay that way.
Maca wishes life woulñd get stuck at these moments... though she knows there's a lot of business wo be solved out there.
But tomorrow.
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Ril beamed at her friends as she signaled the service for another round. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it, not alone, but with her friends. Until then, she would persevere, just like the fiery fellow on the card that had found its way to her this time.
Life was good. He hoped that it would stay that way.
Life was good, and it stayed that way ... until the next morning. That's when the announcement was made that the Trinia Sabor's trial had concluded. She was found guilty of assassination and sentenced to be executed at midday in Castle Korvosa's public courtyard. Nobles, military officers, and anyone of any real import is invited to attend.
Yhrrilka was devastated when the news spread of Trinia's fate. Mostly angry at herself for her role in the woman's capture, and her inability to save her life. A small side measure of deep disappointment in Marshal Kroft for her faith in the trial, and a good general dose of youth's "pissed off at the system" vibe.
Ril does her best not to take it out on anyone else but there are a lot of alternating scowls and bummed-out faces on her part, with a few pieces of kicked furniture for good measure when she thinks Sage isn't around to see.
For his part Torsten took the news in stride. It was expected, afterall. The world just worked that way. So what was the use of getting too upset about politics? He was a little person, so to speak. The affairs to state were not something he had the power to change. Still, he kept this to himself. He knew Ril enough to know that the logic wouldn’t sway her.
Shortly after the announcement, you receive a message from Marshall Kroft.
"I presume you've heard the news. It doesn't sit right with me. A trial of this import should take longer than a day. My gut says there's more to this. I can't offer payment, but I would greatly appreciate it if you attend the execution and keep your eyes and ears peeled for anything that seems unusual. We'll compare notes afterwards."
Upon seeing the Marshal's note, Yhrrilka is overcome with mixed emotions. Turning to the others, she makes a grim attempt at humor. "May as well see our failure all the way to its bloody conclusion, eh?"
She eyes the clothes she's got on. "What does one wear to the execution of a wrongly convicted regicide? It's my first time."
"One wears white." Torsten said. "Though don't hold me to that." He hoped that this would lead to getting paid again. "Can't say it's too kind of her to have us do this. Unless, of course, she expects for somethin' to happen."
"One wears white." Torsten said. "Though don't hold me to that. Can't say it's too kind of her to have us do this. Unless, of course, she expects for somethin' to happen."
"White, huh? Okay, I'm sure I've got something with less ink stained on it. If not, not like I can't afford new clothes now," Yhrrilka says. "Whether the Marshal asked or not, I'm going, Torsten. It's our fault Trinia got tried, if I have to bear witness to her execution, I will." She starts pondering an outfit that'll have room enough to hide her new silver knife somewhere under it.
"Well, it seems they got their scapegoat." She shrugs. "I don't know what can the Marshall expect us to do, but yes, I'll be there and keep an eye open."
"Well, it seems they got their scapegoat." She shrugs. "I don't know what can the Marshall expect us to do, but yes, I'll be there and keep an eye open."
"Sure," Ril says, clearly a little annoyed. "It was easy enough to get their scapegoat, after all, we just about hand-delivered the woman!"
The young woman seems to catch herself, takes a breath, and starts over. "I'm sorry, I just... I don't like how we all got played here. Not just us, but also the Marshal. For us, this will be a mistake we have to live with. For Trinia, not so much." With that, she stalks off to find an outfit to wear. "How did Zoh manage to do this? I swear, it seemed like he had six knives hidden on his person all the damn time."
Ril comes out of the back room, wearing a long black skirt and a loose-fitting white halter top. She looks a little ill at ease in this outfit, if the frown on her face is any indication. She looks down at herself, "There, this should do, yes?" As rapidly as she can, she reaches into one of the folds of the skirt and comes out with her kerambit. However, it's far slower than she'd like. Exasperated, she exclaims, "Ugh, I swear I don't know how Zohruk did it! Well, if it gets to serious business, here's hoping I can deal with it with magic and don't have to pull the knife out."
The execution is not an affair to be missed. The toast of Korvosa is in attendance in garish gowns, fine capes, and enough jewels to blind the common citizen. The overall feel of the event is that of a grand ball or party, not an assassin's public execution.
Queen Ileosa emerges amid a great flourish and pomp as heralds announce her arrival with a fanfare of music and drums. She wears a green and white silk dress and is attended by a small army of guards clad in shining full-plate armor and closed helms sporting flowing crimson plumes.
The queen takes her seat in a high throne-like chair at one end of the public courtyard, while a guillotine stands ominously at the other. The executioner is a towering, muscular man wearing an executioner's hood and idly holding an immense axe. Whispers ripple through the assemblage - admiring comments on the queen's attire, predictions regarding how the traitor Trinia might comport herself, and gossip about the Hellknights of the Nail's recent plans to leave the city.
Looking at Ril, Torsten could not help but feel underdressed. He was wearing a simple pair of wool pants, one of his few shirts that was not stained or ripped, a vest and a sturdy belt to complete the outfit. The tattoos on his head, face, neck and arms were plainly visible. He had thought himself quite fancy until he saw Ril. "Huh. Mayhaps I should invest in some better clothes." He mumbled. "Ach. What does it matter. How fancy could it be there?"
"Huh. Mayhaps I should invest in some better clothes." He mumbled. "Ach. What does it matter. How fancy could it be there?"
"What? You're fine. Don't worry yourself over that on my account," Yhrrilka says, gesturing to her clothes. "I just figured it's easier to hide a weapon in here, and a guard might be a little less likely to get grabby if I'm dressed like this." She holds out her left arm, with the silver bracelet on the wrist. "It does look good with this after all," Ril sighs, her mood dropping a bit. "Before Zohruk... shortly before the fire, he'd scored a big win at a card game against, in his words, 'some ridiculous know-it-all kid from the Academe'. This," she holds up the arm, "Was part of the other fellow's losses, along with a decent number of gold sails. I'd bought this outfit at Zoh's insistence; he wanted to do some big night out together. Neither piece was ready yet, the girl was tailoring it for me, so I didn't have it the night of the fire. Just picked it up a week or so back."
She tries her best to pull herself out of this mood, but all Ril can do is flash a bitter smile, as she says, "This can be the outfit of my failures. Bought by my lost love, first worn to the execution of the innocent woman I captured."
*=*=*=*=*
On their way to the execution, Ril says to her friends, "Should we split up, or stick together? I'm thinking the best plan is not to get the closest, but find a spot with the best overall view of the whole square."
When they arrive, Yhrrilka scans the crowd as the square fills in. So many people with no real stake in this, all screaming for blood, she thinks to herself. No one on either side would want to admit it, but green skin instead of pink, and there’s not too much to make this mob any different from one in Urgir, at least what I saw of it. As much as she'd like to, Yhrrilka understands her job isn't stopping the execution, but to heed the Marshal's request and keep an eye on things.
The woman does her best to find a vantage point that best fits that criteria. If anyone tries to horn in on the spot, Rill will hold to it tenaciously.
Maca keeps thinking about what will happen now. At Ril's question, she looks at her and answers frankly. "I don't know. I've never tried to rescue someone from execution." It may sound rough, but she truly means it - she has zero idea what to do.
"Rescue someone?" Torsten said, a bushy eyebrow raised. "Nay even our friend in the watch could help us if we tried that. It would be treason, in front of the who's who of the city." He did his best to keep his voice level, lest they draw attention. "Get the idea out of yer head, lest we be on the choppin' block next." He shook his head, a tight feeling in his chest. "Let's stick together. Nay way we can communicate if we split up. See what happens, act accordingly. But let's nay do anythin' rash, aye?"
Yhrrilka nods glumly. "I hate to say it but Torsten's right. That's not an option unless either of you has a lot more tricks up your sleeves than you've been letting on. We'll just have to keep our eyes peeled, like the Marshal asked." Is there any chance that she's got something planned to stop the execution? Ril wonders to herself, then dismisses the thought as wishful thinking.
"Of course, Torsten," she continues, "If I didn't believe in rash action, Gadren Lamm would still be alive today instead of in whatever pit Hell had him in, rotting."
"But..."
Maca doesn't even bother to finish the phrase. She knows they're right. And even if they weren't... what can she do? As Torsten says, they'd be branded traitors and be the next ones at the gallows.
She puts all her attention towards the scene, trying to notice something strange, and also trying to focus on anything that's not the feeling of failure.
Macaria's supernatural senses don't detect anything out of the ordinary.
As an ominous drum beating begins, the gawking crowd falls silent. The drum sets the pace for Trinia's procession to the executioner's block. As they reach the block, a guard removes Trinia's shackles and hood, revealing a very frightened woman who bravely holds back her tears. She is led up to stand before the guillotine, her arms bound behind her back by a leather cord as Queen Ileosa addresses the crowd.
"Fellow Korvosans! You have suffered greatly these past few weeks. Homes have burned, family members have died, and fortunes have been lost. I feel your suffering, for not only have I lost a beloved husband, but with each act of anarchy that followed, my heart bled more. This has been a trying time for us, yet the torment is at an end. Before you is the source of your anguish and pain. Do not be deceived by this murderer's timid nature - she is a black-hearted assassin. I offer you her death as a salve against the hatred and hurt you have suffered. And so, without further delay, let us usher in this new dawn with justice! OFF WITH HER HEAD!"
...
Just before the executioner forces Trinia into the guillotine, the man cries out in pain as a hurled dagger embeds itself in the back of his hand. As the executioner's grip on Trinia falters, a MAN DRESSED IN BLACK springs up to the woman's side. Using a dagger, he cuts the bonds on Trinia's wrists and then throws the same dagger down to pin the executioner's left foot to the platform. "Yes indeed, my queen! Let us usher in justice, but let that be justice for Korvosa - not this shambles you call a monarchy! Long live Korvosa! Down with the queen!"
Yhrrilka recognizes the mysterious man. It's Blackjack! This masked hero is legendary among the people of Korvosa. Stories of his moves against corrupt politicians, cruel nobles, and greedy merchants have been part of the city's culture for almost 200 years, but he hasn't made an appearance for over a decade ... until now.
As the crowd erupts into chaos, Queen Ileosa stands stunned for a few moments before fleeing into Castle Korvosa under the protection of a dozen guards. The remaining guards in the courtyard move to apprehend the man, but the gathered nobles, thirsty for blood, make movement difficult. Seemingly distracted by the queen's ignominious exit, the figure doesn't appear to notice the executioner recover from his wounds and prepare to swing his axe....
It's all Ril can do to not jeer at the queen's words. I can't believe I ever felt sorry for this woman. She forces herself to look at Trinia, both trying to maybe provide some solace to the girl in knowing she's not alone, and as some act of penance to herself, not allowing herself to look away.
She's so focused on the girl that Yhrrilka almost misses what happens next, but when she does see it, she's amazed.
"Nikhera sebe..."
When she and Zohruk had first come to Korvosa, she'd heard the tales, but since he hadn't been seen in years, she assumed they were tall tales. And now, those tall tales were cutting Trinia's bonds and freeing her.
Ril watches in amazement as the scene unfolds. When she sees the executioner about to make his move, she points and calls out, "Blackjack, behind you!"
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Torsten watched in shock, and then horror. Not so much because of what the man had done. Saving an innocent woman wasn't evil in any sense of the word. But rather he was horrified at what sort of influence this would have on young Ril! And Mac for that matter, who was already far too eager to do the right thing. What would such a role model have on the two of them? He shuddered to think where it would lead them.
Ril stands there; for a moment that feels like forever, she's paralyzed with indecision. Is this what the cards had in store for me today? She's not sure if Blackjack heard her, but she won't stand by and let this legend of Korvosa be struck down from behind.
"Nyet!" A fire bolt streaks out to the executioner's axe, as Yhrrilka desperately hopes to knock it out of the man's hand.
vs touch
Fire