Torsten regenerates as Usawoti blasts the ashmede once again. It's battered and bloody but remains defiant. Swooping in quickly, the devil swipes at Usawoti with its deady scythe!
Torsten frowned. The creature was flying around and he didn't see a way that he could get his hands onto it. Not wanting to leave Usawoti to fight alone, he picked up one of the barbed devils and threw it at the Ashmede Devil. He didn't know if he could hit it, but he was fairly certain that if he managed it, that the barbs on the corpse would leave a mark.
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Usawoti fires another blast of energy as the fiend swoops in, but it's deflected by the devil's natural defenses. On a more positive note, Torsten's improvised projectile is surprisingly effective.
Impaled by hundreds of barbed spikes, the ashmede plummets to the ground and is swiftly beaten to death.
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Watching as Torsten picks up the mutilated barbed devil and throws it at the Ashmede devil, Usawoti smiles as the thing falls. "And you say you don't have any way to attack at range." Smiling at his friend, Usawoti wonders if the imps are still in the room, waiting to regain their hearing. Not taking any chances he quickly commands the ring "ഡീപ്പർ ഹീലിംഗ്" using his deeper healing ability on himself.
Torsten managed a smile. That fight had been exceedingly painful, with even the act of throwing the corpse having been quite unpleasant. ”And yet I think that it be best to defer to ye on such matters. Dumb luck like that isn’t something I’d rely on.” Already the signs of battle were fading from his body, leaving his torn and bloodstained clothes as being the only evidence of the brutal fight they had just engaged in.
”Thinking that wasn’t the last anchor.” He said. ”Don’t feel anything different here. Gods, I hope there aren’t any more of those barbed devils…”
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Softly commanding the ring "ഡീപ്പർ ഹീലിംഗ്" he again uses his deeper healing ability on himself, chuckling at Torsten's observation. e adds "I don't feel any different either, maybe we should return to the chained spirit and try to break the curse?"
He shrugs, "Then if we want to we can finish searching the fortress."
He looks down at the dwarf, "Did we ever figure out what was up with the two undead mimes?"
"Aye, let's return to the chained spirit. If we can break the curse, we can leave this place. Fooking mimes can rot for all I care. Creepy bastiches." He said, as he walked alongside Usawoti. "Can't wait to put this place behind us."
Returning to the room where you found the chained spirit, you see that it hasn't moved from its previous position. It also appears fully recovered from the beating you inflicted earlier.
As soon as you enter the room, it lashes out with its spectral chains.
Torsten grimaced as the chains dug into him, tearing out large chunks of his flesh. He was 'fortunate' in that his enchantments allowed him to damage the spectral creature. "We did this before. We can do it again." Torsten said, as he moved in.
The spirit lashes out with a chain as Torsten surges forward. Usawoti's blast strikes it in the chest as the dwarf lands a pair of punches. The undead immediately begins healing, but it'll take time to fully recover. In the meantime, it strikes out again with the deadly chains.
Throwing caution to the wind, the dwarf didn’t even both defending himself. Rather he went right for the spirit, seeking to destroy it as quickly as possible.
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Working together, you defeat the chained spirit for the final time. The spectral undead wails and shrieks as his body twists and spirals as if caught in a vortex. A heartbeat later, he is gone. After a few moments, the walls of the castle begin to shimmer and brighten as the shadows that cling to every inch of the cursed structure fade. The sound of countless sighs whisper in the ear, and the oppressive sense of menace overlying the structure fades.
A few moments later, a small luminescence forms before you. It rapidly increases in brightness until a figure manifests of a confused-looking human man in early adulthood. He wears finely-cut, if long-out-of-style, clothing and is clearly a noble of some sort. As the figure looks around and notices you, his ghostly flesh strips away, revealing raw muscle and bone below as if he's being flayed by invisible knives. However, after being reduced in this horrible fashion, his skin reappears, only for the process to start all over again. The ghost seems to hardly notice his continuing mutilation, with only the occasional flinch as a particularly tender bit of skin is tugged away.
"You have done a great thing today. You have accomplished the conclusion of a legend. What has festered in Scarwall is no more, and in saving us all, you have returned honor to Tamrivena after these long years of shame - a shame I created, and a shame I was unable to lift. I sent Kazavon into Belkzen so many ages ago. Eventually, when even my coward's soul could no longer bear to hear tell of his cruelties, I came here to Scarwall to attempt to undo what I had done in asking for the Midnight Lord's aid in defending Tamrivena. Yet again I fails. My general, Kazavon, had me skinned alive and ate the strips raw before my dying gaze. And when I did die, my soul remained trapped here as surely as any prisoner.
"There came a time soon thereafter when Kazavon was finally slain, along with many of his cruel minions, by a powerful blade borne by a hero named Mandraivus. His blade Serithtial brought an end to Kazavon's rule, yet could not quench his spirit, for Kazavon was one of the Midnight Lord's chosen. Mandraivus wisely ordered the dragon's relics taken away, then remained behind to watch over the castle. His faith, his strength of will, and most of all, Serithtial kept the spirits of the dead quiet, yet these did nothing to protect him from a baser threat. The orcs came down from the mountains and murdered him. As he fell, his soul became trapped in these cursed walls. Without his presence, the light of Serithtial went dark, and the spirits of Kazavon's legacy took hold. This is the blasphemy you have righted today, and now Scarwall will be left to crumble to dust as the ages march on.
"Yet I sense that your quest is only partially complete. I have dwelled in Kazavon's echo for too long not to feel his strength, his influence, take root in your queen, so far away. Strange names that I do not know are in my head. Korvosa. Ileosa. Sabina. Your own. Kazavon quickens in your home, and you must restore Serithtial if you are to cast him down as surely as you have cast down his presence here.
"Now, with my time here at an end, your time shall at last begin."
The end of this speech coincides with the completion of one of the figure's ghostly mutilations, except this time his form does not rejuvenate. Instead it crumples and slowly fades from view.
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Breathing a sigh of relief as the 'chained Spirit' screams in it's death throes Usawoti turns, hearing the ghost a split second before he sees it. Keeping his weapons at the ready he listens to the, previously trapped, ghost's story. Nodding as it indicated that Kazavon was at work in Korvosa. As the ghost disipates, he takes a moment and commands the ring "ഡീപ്പർ ഹീലിംഗ്" using his deeper healing ability on himself. Turning to Torsten, he nods to where the ghost had stood. "It seems refabricating the weapon is in order, shall we make sure this place is purged of evil before we leave?"
Torsten watched as the spirit spoke. He was glad that there was some exposition on what had happened to the castle, and it certainly was interesting to know that much of the problems they were facing were due to orcish aggression. Turning to Usawoti, he replied "No. From listening to the ghost, this place will be swarming with orcs within the month. If we thoroughly purge everything, all that it will mean is that they'll have a secure base of operations to attack your people. A few wandering ghosts or the like might well keep them from moving back enmasse. Plus, we still have the demiliche to destroy. I'd like to get back to the city as quickly as possible. Both to reforge this blade, and to ensure that the monster in our pack won't be returning."
"So, lad. I be thinking." Torsten began. "We've got two things to do right now." He said, as he looked around at the ruined castle they were in. "Destroy the demiliche, and fix this blade. And time is moving on both. It will also take ten to eleven days to walk back to Korvosa." He a shake of his head he continued "So what I think we should do is this. Let's head back to your people. I've got a scroll which can teleport me directly back into a safe house within the city. Let's see if any of ye people can replicate it, so we can both head back together. If not, then we break the skull, and ye ride back while I teleport in. I can take the blade directly to me parents and begin the process of remaking it. And when ye get back, we can work together on the rest. Which isn't ideal, so I hope we can find someone who can make another scroll. What do ye think?"
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Giving a wolfish smile as Torsten recomends leaving what undead are left for the orcs, Usawoti nods in agreement, "Good idea." He gestures towards the great chair carved of oak and studded with iron rivets sitting on top of the wide dais. "Having considered the nature of the Demiliche and the spells needed to rid ourselves of it, I realized some of the things my mentor taught me would work, I would just need to use them in a different fashion than I had considered."
Sheathing the hammers handle and hanging his klar on its belt hook, Usawoti approached the throne. Taking the skull out of his pack he set it on the chair. Resting his left hand on top of the skull to hold it steady he pressed the bone ring against the skull's forehead. Taking in a deep breath he concentrated for a second, exhaling he spoke the first spell in necril "ദിവ്യശക്തി" as he exhaled a divine force flowed into the skull filling the center of the throne with cosmic power. Releasing the skull he takes another breath, as he exhales, he turns and nods to Torsten. Placing his hands back on the skull he took another deep breath, uttering the word "ശത്രു." The enmity between his own nature and that of the demiliche became almost palpable, as he held his hands firmly on the skull it began to shake, a darkness rippled through the room swelling then waning. As the darkness receded the skull exploded into dust. Shaking the black dust off his hands, Usawoti let out a sigh and turning he looks at Torsten again. "It is done."
As they headed towards the exit, he turned and asked, "So this scroll, is there any fine print?"
Torsten watched in awe as Usawoti went about destroying the demiliche. A true smile grew on his face at the sight. "Well done lad! Well done." He said, feeling a sense of true joy at the sight.
Turning to the scroll, he opened it up. "Good question. Let's see." He held it up and began reading carefully, a look of concentration on his face. "Oh?" He said, apparently to himself. "Ye want to see it?" His helm rose from his side and hovered next to his head. "What do ye mean?" He asked it. "Are ye *sure*?" He continued, having a conversation only he could hear. "Well, if ye say so..."
Looking at Usawoti, he said "Put yer hand on me shoulder, lad. Me friend here says that the scroll will teleport both of us to the city."
You read the scroll and immediately find yourselves back in Blackjack's safehouse in Old Korvosa. Each of you is holding a Harrow card - a gift from Zellara. While you know that Serithtial will need to be repaired, you know that there's more that needs to be done. Things have undoubtedly happened in your absence - especially as the last time you were here, you inflicted a grievous wound to both the Gray Maidens and the Red Mantis.
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Having returned to Blackjack's safehouse, Usawoti tucks the odd 'unicorn' card in his pocket and makes a mental note to ask Torsten about the 'blackjack' fellow, but right now they had more important things to worry about. Pausing for a moment he turns towards the dwarf, "We have faced a lot of evil these past couple of days and it got me thinking. The 'tattoo' you offered, to extend my life. I believe there is still much evil to deal with and more time to do so would be beneficial. I accept your offer and trust we will be able to call on each other after the queen is dealt with."
Removing his pack, he begins to sort out all the magical weapons he'd picked up. Setting the weapons on a table, he Moves Serithtial to the forefront. Looking again to his friend, "Your family can mend this? It looks like it was a lovely weapon, though a little big for me to use one handed. Should we ask them to shorten it slightly or leave it long?"
Torsten was in the process of looking at the card which had appeared in his hand as he materialized at the safehouse. 'The Courtesan' it said. He thought it odd, as there were many things that could apply to him, but that was not one. He was still trying to figure out what it meant when Usawoti spoke. Any such concerns vanished as the man took up his offer. A huge grin split his face, as he slapped Usawoti on the back. "We'll get it done right proper." He said. The idea of sharing his craft, and the notion that his friend would not wither and fade like so many humans, brought joy to him.
Looking at the blade, he nodded at Usawoti's question. "Me father, Alaric, he be as skilled a smith as any dwarf ye can find in any mountain. If he puts his mind to it, he could make it so that ye'd think the blade was an extension of ye arm. And me mother? She can bring the magic in this back to life." The joy in his voice had vanished, replaced by a serious tone. He was confident in their skills. He had no doubt that they were up to the task. And if they were not? Then he didn't think anyone in the city would have the skills. "The question is not if they can do it, but will they." He added, followed by a sigh. "Let's see if Blackjack is around. This be his place. Nay be his name of course, just a title. For the past two hundred years different humans have been donning the mask and taking up the name. Swordsmen who protect the city. If he be here, he can fill us in on what's been happening in the city. It would be good to know that before we head out, as I am sure that the Queen has not been sitting idle."
Blackjack, as it turns out, is in the other room of the safehouse. Hearing your voices, he steps out to see who's there - and looks very glad to see you. "Welcome back, friends. Much has happened while you were away. Did you find what you were seeking?"
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Not entirely sure what happened between Torsten and his parents that might cause them not to help, not just Torsten, but the whole city of Korvosa as well, Usawoti only nodded, realizing now was not the time to talk about it.
As he continues taking the items they'd collected and putting them on the table he heard Blackjack enter and ask about the blade. Turning and smiling he gestures towards the bastard sword, "We did find what we were looking for, but it will need repaired."
Pulling the celestial armor with Lastwall iconography out of the rucksack he holds it up, "If I understand the spell on this armor correct it will allow the wearer to fly."
Distracted for a second, interested in testing the armors ability, Usawoti realizes they need to hear what has been going on in the city. Turning back to Blackjack he lowers the armor and asks, "Please, tell us what has been going on."
"Aye. But to jump in." The dwarf said. "This is Usawoti, of the Shoanti. Apprentice to Thousand Bones. When Ril and I made contact with the Shoanti, she joined their shamans and be working with them. Usawoti here joined me in cracking open some skulls. Oh." He motioned to Blackjack. "And this be Blackjack, who I mentioned earlier. Anyways." He said. "Now that introductions be out of the way, aye, what's happened?"
Blackjack nods in greeting to Usawoti before telling you the current situation. "Since your raid on Deathhead Vault, things have gotten bad. The city's under martial law, and Ileosa's sequestered herself in her castle. She's made no public appearances, and nobody knows what she's doing inside. The citizens are uneasy, and tensions are extremely high. Crissida, myself, and the others have been slowly gaining supporters, but we aren't strong enough for a full-scale rebellion yet.
"We have a legal option that we want to pursue: revealing that seneschal Neolandus is alive. His testimony about the attempted assassination will hopefully spur the noble houses, arbiters, and magistrates to our side. I fear making an announcement of this nature will bring things to a head, though, and there's no telling how Ileosa will react - but I doubt she'll just passively allow herself to be deposed.
"Rumors abound, and it's difficult to know what's true and what's mere hysteria. We've heard that a black dragon has taken nest in Castle Korvosa, that Red Mantis assassins secretly control the building, and that Ileosa's struck a devilish bargain and transformed into a monster. There's also a rumor that a cabal of Shoanti shamans is rallying their people in the Cinderlands to go to war with Korvosa - I'm assuming that's not true, so perhaps you can help quell it."
Vencarlo gives you a few moments to process everything he's told you before continuing. "Ultimately, rebellion is coming, but we're not ready yet. We need accurate information, not rumors. We also need to know what support Ileosa has so we can undermine it. Leadership is the key to control, so the more we can chip away at it, the weaker Ileosa's position will be. Once she's weak enough, we'll reveal Neolandus and hope the resulting chaos will be enough to force her out."
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Chuckling at his friend's need for a formal introduction Usawoti extended a hand, "Torsten has spoken about you. So I feel like we are old friends already." He listened as Blackjack spoke about 'city' things: martial law, uneasy citizenry, legal options and guild troubles. Even the mention of a dragon moving into the castle, after what they had seen, seemed nonplussed. But the local hero mentioning a 'cabal of Shoanti shaman caught his attention.
Not initially believing it could be true, Usawoti wondered if this might be the reason his mentor sent him hear. Shifting nervously, Korvosa crumbling in on itself into nothing, would be a pity. Dragging his people into death with it was something entirely different. Asking, "This 'cabal of Shoanti' What more have you heard." He looks back at Torsen, "I'm happy to help with anything here in the city, but if some of our people are planning something, we should not ignore it."
"It's just one of the many fantastical rumors spreading among the populace. Like the others I mentioned, I've been unable to verify its accuracy."
If there's a 'cabal of Shoanti shamans' in the city, you haven't heard anything about it. Of course, your contact with the other Quahs has been limited since you've joined Torsten, and this is one of the only times you've visited Korvosa, so your knowledge of the city is quite sparse.
"Seems to me that we will have our work cut out for us. Let's head towards me folk's home. See if they'll fix the blade. Once we drop it off, we can head out and find some more information on these Shoanti shamans, whomever they be. It also seems to be that finding Neolandus is going to be a priority. V-...eh...Blackjack." Torsten said, catching himself. "While we do this, can ye help figure out where the seneschal be? We can help with a prison break, but we'd have to know where the prison is."
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Nodding in agreement with Torsten, Usawoti, stirring his memory, remembered Torsten telling him about the seneschal. It would be important to learn where he was so he could be free. "Yes, drop off the sword then we go speak to the Shoanti Shamen." Turning towards the vigilante, "If you could learn the seneschal's location we will see that he is freed."
Turning towards Torsten, he gestures towards the door, "What part of town are your folks from?"
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"Midland." Torsten replied (following Blackjack's reponse and after they had walked out the door).
"Ye first time here? Well, Korvosa has seven districts." He continued. "When people think of Korvosa, they think of Midland. It be in the Southeast of the city, and it is where most of the shops, merchants, and anything financial be. The guard and the sable company be there. Well, maybe. Heard that the Queen has been consolidating power at their expense. But we can expect a heavy presence there. It'll be right good to head there first. May well find some information about the Shamans there as well. We can sell whatever we don't need at the Gold Market there. And merchants love to talk if they think that it will help them with a sale or a purchase."
As they walked, he continued "Nobles tend to live in the Heights, and East Shore. So up high and across the river. There be magical colleges in both places. Haven't gone to either meself. Don't quite fit in." He said with a smile. "People who want to be nobles, and have the coin to pretend, but don't have the name, they live in South Shore. And most government buildings, along with the Temple of Adabar, they be in North Point. The temple of Pharasma be at the Gray." He said, dismissively. "Likewise, I never went to those places much."
As they pushed their way through the bustling streets, he said "I have a shop, ye know. It is in Old Korvosa. Oldest part of the city, it be the most populated to." He almost said that it was one of the poorest but withheld the information. He'd see for himself, and it reflected poorly on him that his business was located there. Living in Old Korvosa was not exactly a source of pride for anyone, unless you were calling someone soft. "And above Old Korvosa be the Shingles. Because Old Korvosa be so overcrowded, people built up. It be where the poorest of the poor are. Can often see pseudodragons up there fighting imps, summoned by the fools at the colleges of magic. Nay anyone seems to really care when the poor get caught up in those. Oh, and that reminds me, underneath us be the Vaults. Nay just sewers down there, but ruins of old settlements."
He stopped, a smile spreading over his face. "Look!" He said, pointing to a food stall. "Reefclaw pastry." He said, as he motioned his friend to follow. "Now that ye be here, best to get a taste of Korvosa too, aye? Mashed reefclaw meat, deep-friend into a ball. Dip it in thileu-bark sauce. The sauce tastes like...a cross of cinnamon, nutmeg and mint. Nothing quite like it." Then to the merchant he held up his hand "Two!" He said.
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Following along with Torsten, Usawoti listened has his friend introduced him to the city. He'd not been there before his mentor asked him to help Torsten. He'd heard of a few of the 'parts' of Korvosa, but sinse his time in Kaer Maga, he'd not wanted to visit another city. Raising an eyebrow at the proffered pastry, Usawoti slips out a coin and puts it on the counter, "But only if you let me pay for it."
Accepting the pastry he takes a bite, then dips it in the proffered sauce. Nodding his head in agreement, "I does taste good." He gestures towards the neighborhood, "Did you grow up near here."
"Unless something's changed since yesterday, Neolandus is secure at the rebel headquarters in the Dead Warrens. We've kept him close ever since you and Yhrrilka rescued him from that labyrinth."
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Usawoti and Torsten talked and ate as they walked, a welcome distraction from what was to come. The crowds grew thicker as they went through Midland, and as the crowds grew, so too did the shadow over Torsten's head. He had faced much as of late. From crime lords to a literal dragon and a demiliche, death, and worse, had been before him. And yet the sense of dread that he felt was now as great as when they had fought their way through the cursed castle. At length, the conversation died, and the two stood before his parent's shop. It was obviously a well to-do business just from looking at it, even if the name "Runeforger" was unimaginative. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "If ye don't mind, lad. I'll be walking in alone for this one. If ye could ask around with the merchants here about the Shoanti shamans while I face this, I would appreciate it."
He walked into the shop, hearing the bell on the door 'jingle' as he did. While looking outside of the window clearly showed that the building was in Korvosa, his parents had designed the shop to make it look and feel like they were back in Janderhoff.. Weapons and shields lined the walls and display cases, all of which were made to his father's standards. Which is to say, that they were all *clearly* dwarven, and had been made exactly as his ancestors would have made it. He didn't care one jot if a purchaser wanted a weapon to look a certain way. He made his weapons *correctly* and if someone couldn't appreciate that, then he didn't want their gold. This made their shop into something of a tourist attraction, as was clear from the crowd within. A guard stood by the door. A burly dwarf armed and armored as if though he were back in the mountains. Torsten recognized the dwarf and the feeling was mutual. He could see the guard stiffen, knowing what was to come. The two exchanged small nods in recognition.
Alaric Runeforger was in the process of haggling with a human over an axe when Torsten had walked in. While his beard and hair were white, there was still enough orange within to show that he was clearly Torsten's father. Where Torsten was almost pure muscle and tattoos, his father had the proper girth of a well-to-do dwarf. He looked in every way respectable. Torsten stood in silence in the middle of the shop until his father saw him. Despite the chatter and the din it seemed as if though time came to a halt. The two of them locked eyes, with Alartic stopping in mid sentence. Finally, as if though a switch had gone off, he shouted "OUT!" The poor man that he was talking to took a step back, surprised by the outburst. "I say, do you mean me? My good sir, I-" "OUT!" The dwarf bellowed. "EVERYONE, OUT!" The crowd of people looked at him in confused. With practiced ease the guard began ushering people out, going so far as to pull people by the arm if they hesitated. Alaric was left glaring, his face flushed red, as he stared daggers at Torsten. His son merely stood there, waiting for the inevitable. Finally, the store was empty, leaving a horrible silence. The guard, knowing what was expected of him, turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.
The two stared at each other for what felt like minutes. This went on, with neither side willing to talk, until Alararic broke the silence. The two spoke in dwarven to each other. "Ye look ridiculous." He said, sneering at Torsten's tattoos. Torsten sighed, as he weighed his words. Deciding against speaking, he pulled his backpack off and opened it up. He pulled out the hammer Banudor. Striding forward, he handed it to his father. Alaric had a bemused expression on his face, as he had expected an argument, not a hammer. "What is this?" He said, as the hammer was passed to him. He lifted it up, examining it. "Solid worksmanship." He said, as he looked it over. "Made in the style of Highhelm." He added. "I recognize the enchantments." He said. "Whomever did this took a smithing hammer and turned it into a warhammer." He said, his anger giving way to professional curiosity.
Torsten replied with a single word. There was no word in common that got across the meaning of it. The closest would be "recompense", but even that did not get the meaning across. In the dwarven tongue, there were several words for the concept, just as there were several for gold that described the different hues, composition, and location. The word Torsten used signified a gift given when both sides felt aggrieved, but one side wished to speak without a grudge standing in the way. It did not signify forgiveness, or even the admitting of fault. It was just a way of clearing the air so that discussion could be had. The hammer was clearly an artifact of great value and Alaric saw that. It was worth enough to open the type of shop that Torsten had left to make several times over, and then some. It was the kind of gift that would get the attention of the most powerful of nobles. And it had gotten his attention.
The two stared at each other. Alaric put the hammer down and turned to his son, his face looking like it could have been carved out of stone. "So why are ye here, if it isn't to apologize for make all of me and your mother's sacrifices in raising ye pointless?" He asked. Even when speaking in dwarven, he had a thick accent, to show the world that he had never truly left the mountains. Torsten returned the look, doing his best to not rise to the barbs.
"I have returned." Torsten began. "Because I have something that can't be done by anyone outside of the mountains." He looked at his father and said "I have a sword here, that was nay made by any mortal hands." The stone that his father's face was carved from cracked at that sentence, his anger and disgust for his son giving way for the only thing that mattered more to him, his craft. Torsten opened his pack and pulled out Serititial, which was wrapped in cloth. He walked over to the counter, laid it down, and unwrapped it. He watched as his father's face went pale.
"What-?" Alaric said, completely forgetting about the entire world outside of the blade. "What? How did YE get this?" He turned, rounding on Torsten and pointing an accusatory finger.
Torsten sighed. "It is a long story. Lost a piece of me soul getting it. But this blade? It was made by Iomedae to combat Zon-Kuthon." He said, looking his father in the eyes. "And I need it reforged. If it cannot be reforged, then..." He took a deep breath and said "This city will fall to the Midnight Lord." He hoped that his father would show a small shred of concern at that. He watched his father's face, expectantly.
There was a long silence. Alaric was many things. He was loud. He was rude. He was opinionated. But he was not a fool. "I have been traveling with a human." Torsten said. "Like Iomodae he is a true hero. Together we will finish this. I need...the entire city needs...ye and mother to do this. There isn't any smith better than ye. It will take a true follower of Torag to reforge a blade made by a goddess. It will take a runesmith like mother to bring the power back out." His father had his back turned to him, as he looked at the blade, a glint in his eyes. He didn't look at Torsten as he responded.
"Ah, that makes sense. I should have known that ye would be a sidekick to someone of actual worth." Alaric said, his words stabbing into Torsten's heart. "But at least ye finally did something right, knowing your limitations, and that it is the old ways which is the right way." Torsten's lips tightened, as did his chest. He almost had to literally bite his tongue to keep himself from responding. "Ye can leave." Alaric continued. "Tell, Kharak out there that the shop is closed until further notice, and that he needs to tell Brundrika that she is needed here now. Have him tell her that our entire lives have led up to this point." As he spoke there was a sense of awe and reverence in his voice, as he lost himself staring at the blade. "This is our destiny. This is where we are proven right. Everything. Every sacrifice. Every disappointment. All of it has led to this. Ye did well bringing this to us." He said, the first compliment he had given to his son in over a decade. "Even slag from the forge has its uses, it seems." He finished, turning the compliment into an insult. "When we are done, we will have Kharak go to your hovel and tell ye so it can be picked up. And bring the hero with ye so we can give it to him."
Torsten stared at his father's back as he took it in. For all of his great strength, for all of his arcane might, he felt completely powerless. He wanted to snatch up the shards and to march out, to find someone else who could help. But he knew that there were none in the city who could do so. At least, none that he or Usawoti had access too. This was the only way that he could save his city. Unable to bring himself to say 'thank you', he instead forced out "It will be done." He turned to leave. He reached the door and glanced behind, seeing that his father's back was still turned to him. With a sigh, he closed the door, the bell 'jingling' as he did so. He would tell Kharak and then share the good news with Usawoti.
He hoped that his friend had managed to get a lead. He wanted to get his mind off of his family reunion as quickly as possible.
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Finishing his Reefclaw pastry as they walked, Usawoti wanted to ask more about Torsten's folks, but didn't know how to breach the subject. As they approached the building he saw the sign, finally he was going to see what had his friend so worried. Stopping on the corner, he turned, just as Torsten asked him to wait and talk to the merchants. Nodding his head he agrees, "OK."
As Torsten heads to the shop, Usawoti watches then starts looking for someplace to start. Just as he approached a small shop that sold Varisian scarves he sees an over armed and armored dwarf funneling folks out of the shop. Usawoti blinked as the fellow turned and locked the door behind him then stood there and guarded the door. As the 'customers' spread out away from the shop, he considered asking one of them what happened. As the dwarf shoed away more customers, Usawoti considers walking up to the fellow and ask him what's going on. Just as he begins to walk across the street, Torston exits. Seeing the look on his friends face, Usawoti realizes it would be better left unknown.
Nodding over his shoulder towards the Varisian shop, "A few curious things going on out here, but I've not gotten any leads yet. Let's start with that shop over there."
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People are understandably reluctant to divulge information of that nature to someone who's obviously a Shoanti shaman, but you eventually find someone who's brave enough to share what he knows. Strange chanting has been heard inside a shop in Old Korvosa, and cloaked figures have been seen entering and leaving at odd hours. The name of the shop: Zellara's Mark.
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Finally finding a local who was deep enough in his cups to slur some information about a shop, Usawoti crosses the tavern where Torsten was watching, he nods towards the exit. Once they get back into the street, he tells his friend, "Fellow said there is a shop called Zellara's Mark in old Kovosa. Folks have been hearing chanting and seeing cloaked figures moving about at odd hours." He shrugs, "Seems like we're headed to Old Korvosa."
"Thank Torag." Torsten said, taking a deep breath. Despite being in the middle of the city it felt like a breath of fresh air. "Old Korvosa it is. Have me business and home there. Had an extra room there." He said. It had been used by Ril when she was with him in the city. Not for the first time he hoped that she was doing well in her work with the actual shamans of the Shoanti. "Should be safe enough for us to stay there as we ask around. Got plenty of good people over there that warrant catching up with. I'm sure someone has some more information that we can build off of. Has to be someone there who can tell us more about odd cloaked figures. That isn't the kind of thing which gets ignored."
After asking a couple of the neighbors, you learn that the cloaked figure sightings have happened inside the shop. Based on what you figure out, it's been a nightly occurrence since your raid on Deathhead Vault.
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Nodding, Usawoti follows Torsten to his 'old stomping grounds.' As questions get asked and answered, it became apparent that they 'shoanti' were meeting in a particular shop nightly. Not having any other solutions, Usawoti gestures towards the shop, "No reason not to head on in, right?"
Waiting until a little later in the day, Usawoti walks up to the door of Zellara's Mark and opens the door, quickly taking in the surroundings.
"Would be rude not to." Torsten agreed, his mood brightening as the day went on and as they found themselves on the right track.
...when it dawned on him that the shamans were meeting in *his* shop, Torsten's face darkened. He had been having a rough day already, to put it mildly, and this was coming close to pushing him over the edge.
"Lad." Torsten growled, trying to keep his rising anger in check. "It is time that we go to me shop and home. I'll refrain from going in swinging. And ye she be the one who starts talking to them, because I don't want to kill any kinsmen if it turns out that they meant nay harm. But by Angradd, if they've..." He let it trail off, lest he make an oath that he wasn't ready to fulfill. With his fists clenched in rage, he began to lead the way.
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Surprised that any shoanti would be using Torsten's property as a meeting place, Usawoti wondered if they'd heard about him and were waiting here for him. It would be the only reason that made sense. Realizing how frustrated his friend is, Usawoti nods, "I will speak with them." As he opens the door.