"No offense taken, sir. I want to be certain we all understand one another. You have the courage to set your limits and ask the right questions." Remaio smiles and raises his glass in Thaddeus's direction. "I salute you."
Dawnilea raises her glass again, before saying, "I find that plain talk is best between friends. Dueling is something best saved for enemies, whether with blades or words."
She says, "As for limits, I should be clear - when I said I was Arshae's blade, I meant it. I'm a paladin - I can't be breaking in and stealing the rightful property of others."
Remaio nods. "I do not anticipate anything of the sort." Then he breaks into a laugh, showing fine, even white teeth. "Nor can I picture going before the Court and testifying 'I hired people to break into a museum and steal Honoria's medals.' I feel that would not win many to her cause!"
Emil eyes the second course with a smile. Although he has more wine first.
The cleric takes surprisingly dainty bites for a man should already be at least on the way to being 'snookered'.
"I do not,... enjoy, the 'games' of politicians and court-climbers. And I appreciate the opportunity to speak frankly and honestly about, well, anything!" Emil laughs.
"As best I can tell, Cayden is more concerned with RESULTS than the means. Although he prefers that we face our foes head-on as opposed to 'sneaking around', he hasn't forbidden ME from, shall we say, 'creative problem-solving'. Yet." The cleric snickers at his own joke, but only briefly.
Auguste smirks. ”I confess I am more adept at creating problems than solving them. This promises to be a welcome change of pace.” He finishes the last of the wine in his glass. ”I hate to sound dreadfully mercenary, but this sort of travel comes with expenses. You have mentioned payment, but we ought to have a bit more detail on how these expenses will be covered.”
Remaio nods. "A practical man. In short: entirely. I will arrange transportation and, if needed, lodging on your behalf. In order to keep everything transparent and legal, I will leave a note with my agent for your payment, to be paid out upon when she receives my receipt for the items you were sent to retrieve."
"That will establish a paperwork trail to warm the hearts of the strictest Taldan scribe, and it will prove you were hired to bring back certain items, not to find only positive news of Honoria. The diary and papers, for example, will show what they will show. Their content is irrelevant, and you are paid regardless. This establishes your independence in case anyone asks during the proceedings at Court... if we get that far."
Remaio uncorks another couple of bottles. "We will let these breathe, if they are fast enough with this crowd!"
"I anticipate a minimum of two missions, possibly more if the first results are good and we find clues to more evidence."
He drains his glass and fills it. "Bring on your questions. I am quite fortified."
Dawnilea asks, "I suppose I have two.. One, of all of these items and evidence exist and are in the hands of people friendly to your family, then why is all this necessary? Two, won't it seem terribly... convenient .. I guess we'll say, to have a partisan of change suddenly regaining power at a time when the political situation of y at a crossroads... Which brings up a third question, actually, which is: what is our opposition? I mean, given that the evidence exists, the fact clearing Honoria's name wasn't done decades ago suggests someone doesn't want it to happen... something that the new political reality would likely heighten, if anything."
She then finishes her glass and holds the empty out to be refilled before adding, "I suppose I might sound a little paranoid, but I've seen too many times where powerful people took steps to prevent even small things from happening -- and this.. is not a small thing."
Remaio chuckles. "You are a true Taldan, seeing wheels within wheels. And it is wise to be so, even in this matter. But my romantic notions perhaps overstate my possible influence in the succession. The reasons for doing what I am doing, right now, are simple. If I tell the tale in order, it would be far less confusing than my rambling!
"Several years ago, I wished to marry and start a family. I spent my available cash on a large purchase, trying to corner a market, when the market crashed and I was left with worthless inventory and no cash. I did not have enough funds to run my business, much less woo the daughter of any respectable family, merchant or noble."
"At what seemed a gods-sent time, a Qadiran trader visiting my office took a fancy to a beautiful sword I had hanging behind my desk. This was passed down to me as a powerful sword, Honoria's own, but I saw no evidence of its power when I tried to use it. Also, I favor a scalpel to a meat cleaver, so, when the Qadiran made a generous cash offer for the blade, I... I sold it." His voice drops on the admission and he grimaces in regret.
"That cash revitalized my business, the inventory was sold in another country for at least some of its value, and last year, I was again in a position to add a wife to my household. Yet the sword haunted me. Not literally, but I wondered if it really was Honoria's. If so, how could I meet my ancestress in the afterlife having sold her sword? I have been thinking for some time now of reclaiming it, for I know the family that bought it. They are decent people, even though they are Qadiran."
"I also hesitated to seek a wife, because... if Honoria could be restored, I might find a wife of a higher station. I began researching the family and Honoria's history. This took some time, for there are centuries between us."
"Last month, I received a letter from the distant cousin in Andoran. She is elderly, and runs a farm with her two childless daughters. The family there will be extinct when her daughters die, so she wished to return Honoria's posessions to the family in Taldor. She asked me to come for them, since she could not make the journey and did not trust post or messenger."
"This gave me hope that Honoria could be restored, if the documents prove her worthy and noble and innocent of the misdeeds she was charged with. I spoke to friends knowledgable about Court, and they recommended that I not retrieve these items directly, but hire neutral parties to retrieve them, certify their provenance, and be prepared to testify to such before the Court."
He claps his hands for the next course. Two waiters whisk away the used dishes while two more roll in a cart containing a roasted gazelle and platters of pasties, which turn out to be filled with a savory mushroom mixture. The halfling showily carves the succulent meat and places it on a platter before the waiters bring the dishes to table and serve the company.
Once they have retreated, Remaio continues his story (having requested more red wine for this course). "As for Honoria's advocates and opposition, I believe I am the only one concerned. She is six hundred years dead and gone and, by most, forgotten except as a bumbling fool." Anger tinges his voice.
"I doubt anyone works against me in any real sense, but, with the succession question becoming more relevant every day our Grand Prince ages and leaves the matter undecided, open partisans like myself are becoming more visible. I am by no means of any importance, but a horseman will slap a horsefly as well as spit a lion, no? It seems prudent to keep this effort quiet until I am ready to bring evidence before the Court."
"As for my ability to support the Princess, it is uncertain even if Honoria and the family are restored. I do not know if I would be granted lands or seated in the Senate... or even if the effort will succeed. I do know that I can at least marry better and advocate for the Princess to the nobility with a noble title, while, as a merchant, I cannot even gain access to them." He pauses for a bite of gazelle, then continues. "I know the fall of a tiny pebble can start an avalanch, but the cold truth is, many more pebbles fall without any impact in the world. Chances are high that this will come to nothing in the succession. I am not likely to be a pebble of import."
He empties his wine, then sets the glass aside. "I have been talking rather than eating, and this wine is strong. Go ahead with discussion or questions while I ensure I remain somewhat sober." And he tucks into the gazelle and pasties with a vengeance.
Emiliano nods sagely at Dawnilea's questions, and Remaio's reply.
(Nodding sagely is somewhat expected from members of any clergy. Even those as 'unorthodox' as Cayden's priesthood. And he had already consumed enough GOOD wine to make even the infamous Cayden a teensy tipsy.)
Still. Cayden taught that one should never shy from a challenge. Especially one that involved drinking. He held his own glass forward for a refill of the wonderful red to go with this delicious-smelling new course.
The cleric enjoys the new course, (the pies went amazingly well with the gazelle!) and found his temporary happy-balance between listening to the tale as he consumed wine, pasties and gazelle with equal relish.
Emil dabs his lips once Remaio declares himself a vocal-break. The cleric salutes their host with his glass before speaking.
"I believe I see now sir. Your intentions are both personal AND patriotic. Even the most noble, self-sacrificing of men would find it difficult to assist the princess from your current social position. A tragic shame and no fault of ones own, but such are the times in which we live."
Diego raises his eyebrows requesting permission, then refills his own glass, allowing Remaio to continue eating.
"If I may opine? It IS probably as you say. There is most likely no direct, active, attempt or intention to prevent you from restoring Honoria's honor, and your own family's station, to their former glory. Buuuuut,... As you pointed out, this IS Taldan. And I learned long ago that 'Just because I'm paranoid, doesn't mean that they aren't out to get me!'"
Emil salutes the table in general, and takes another appreciative sip of the red wine.
Dawnilea chuckles, "My esteemed colleague has the right of it. I wouldn't be surprised to have someone pushing back against this, either from an old family grudge, or for having a family that profited from her disgrace... Or, I suppose, only to not dilute their own power."
She shrugs, "I mean, I'd rather find out that I'm wrong about all that -- but I'm not going to count on that, especially when the number of invitations I've gotten from beating down a single drunken lout makes it quite clear that political games are always in fashion in Oppara."
Auguste finishes a mouthful of gazelle before chiming in. "Does anybody else know about this gamble? Have you discussed this with anyone, or is anyone else aware of your cousin's bequest? As you say, a matter like this is best conducted quietly, but word travels fast in this hive of wasps."
Thaddeus watches and eats, content to let the others ask all their questions. He's already made up his mind, but he figures it doesn't hurt to listen to whatever the others come up with to ask.
Remaio sets down his fork and wipes his mouth. "A trusted friend - also a backer of the Princess - knows I intend to seek evidence. She recommended you, though how she knows of you, I do not know. And I will not tell you who it is, for I gave my word of honor to keep her out of this."
He gestures around the room. "This meeting place - while indulging my childhood dreams of being a dashing, heroic agent - is truly as secure a public place as possible. It is probably more than we need now, but it seemed wise to take precautions... as you say, word travels fast."
"Fortunately, the high ones are engrossed in gossip and maneuvering around the Succession and are not watching the lowly merchants carefully." He smiles wryly, then claps his hands for the next course. "Security is why the wait staff does not enter this room until called."
The next course proves to be lighter as the feast winds down: young grape leaves stuffed with lamb meatballs drizzled with lemon-dill sauce, served with placounta.
"My first missions for you would be outside Taldor, at any rate. That should help dispel suspicion in the unlikely occurance anyone is watching.
Dawnilea holds out her empty wineglass again -- blasted thing must have a leak -- and nods, "Fair enough. Wasn't going to say no either way, just wanted to know what I -- er, we, I guess -- are up against. Though just 'cause the brash paladin's onside doesn't mean that the others are. At least one of them's got to be less mercurial than I am."
Auguste grins openly. ”Oh no... I knew I would be accepting before I even knew what the mission was. The invitation had ‘delicious intrigue’ written all over it, and, frankly, a matter like this demands a fellow of a certain charm and wit. I would not see your fellowship thus lacking.”
”However,” he turns back to his host, ”I do have a request regarding a certain matter. Should a disgruntled landlord come along, could said landlord’s grievance be satisfactorily settled?” He looks to ensure that Remaio has taken his meaning. ”I would not ask, but if I am to spend time abroad, I’d like to ensure that my affairs here in Oppara are attended.”
Emil laughs heartily, Not entirely from the wine, as he holds up his own 'leaking' wineglass for a refill.
"Hah! Then I shall also confess,... You had ME at 'Fair Damsel in Distress'. Although even without consulting via my daily meditations, I feel fairly certain that Cayden would never forgive me if I turned down the opportunity to restore the honor of a noble warrior! To Honoria!" The cleric stands, salutes their host, and then the table, and drinks. Somehow without spilling a drop despite his obvious inebriatedness.
Thaddeus grins at the others' antics, then seems to catch himself and merely smiles politely at Remaio. "I shall of course be delighted and honored to aid in this endeavor, good sir. When do we begin?"
Remaio nods, pleased. "I'm glad to hear that you are interested! Though I am not certain I ever used the phrase 'fair damsel in distress' or implied Honoria was any sort of fair damsel!"
"To avoid the appearance that you are being paid to produce favorable results, I spoke to my legal agent regarding payment arrangements. She suggested I place your fee in escrow with her, with the condition attached that the money can only be disbursed when a receipt from me is presented. For the first mission, I would place 1,000 gp in escrow. When you return and deliver the diary and papers, I will give you a receipt, and you can withdraw and divide the money however you agree among yourselves. If anything should happen to one of you, the disposition of that person's gold is up to you, not me. I suggest you agree amongst yourselves how death will be handled... pay for a funeral and split the remainder among the survivors? Split the money equally among all and pay the gold to an heir? That is up to you."
He looks to Auguste. "As far as landlords go, I could assure them that you have paying work that should be settled soon, but I could hardly pay on your behalf... unless you would like to borrow the back rent from me and pay me back from your share of the reward?"
"And, as I said before, your travel, lodging, and food will be arranged and paid for by me. Personal needs - like weapons, potions, or wine - would come out of your own pockets."
"Naturally, anything you find beyond the specific material requested from a trip would be yours to keep or sell.. I only ask right of first refusal, in case you find something unexpected related to Honoria."
He rises from the table. "Unless you have questions, I will go see to our final course and leave you alone to discuss arrangements." He pauses a moment, waiting for questions.
Dawnilea says, "Given that there's not much profit in turning down offers to engage in bad political games, I'm wondering if it would be possible to access a fund for equipment before we leave? Just to ensure the success of our expedition."
Remaio frowns. "I had understood that you were already equipped. And I am hardly sending you to war, merely on a coach ride to pick up a diary and papers from an old farm woman. I am sorry, I must decline. But after this mission, you will have 250 gold - assuming you decide to divide things evenly - for whatever further equipment you need, and more at the end of each mission."
He bows and retires from the room, allowing free discussion before the next course.
Dawnilea watches him leave, then raises her glass to the others, and asks, "Each mission? And I thought I was confident."
Emil grins.
"Confidence is not a crime my lady. Else Cayden would still be merely one of us! And I must admit, I like the idea of a fairly steady supply of work. And travel appeals to me!"
The cleric goes to salute Dawnilea, notices his glass is empty yet again, And frowns petulantly at the offending glassware.
"WHY is the darn thing always empty?!?"
He stands up to reach for the bottle to refill his glass, and teeters precariously sideways for a moment.
"Ah. THAT'S why!" Emil grins cheerfully.
The happily tipsy cleric refills his glass and holds out the bottle, offering to refill others. Again, somehow without managing to spill a drop.
Remaio re-enters the room with wait staff in tow, bearing plates of kuneve and ayva tatlisi, along with a magnum of dessert wine. He deploys the wait staff to clear, serve, and pour with a wave of one hand and waits for them to leave before addressing the table.
"Well, have you decided? Are you all on board?" the prospective nobleman asks, smiling. "And if you are, can you be on board a real ship the morning after next to sail with the tide?"
Thaddeus nods as he savors the desserts (and more wine). "Which ship? I'll certainly be there!"
Dawnilea nods, "Well, I certainly am. Though... how early that morning? I seem to recall, from my time in Cassomir, that sailors have a ridiculous attachment to being active at dawn." Might be better to just stay up and sleep on ship..
Auguste delicately samples the ayva tatlisi as it is offered.
"Oh, I am certainly on board," he says. "And as for the landlord - I am sure I can tide him over with the promise of a nice bonus... or the opportunity to sell off some of my antiques if I should find myself at the bottom of the sea. Either way, there is profit in it for him." He smiles and takes a sip of the dessert wine. Despite the copious amounts of alcohol he has consumed, he seems to be keeping his composure.
Emil salutes their host with his again-newly-refilled-glass.
"I'm on board! Or, I will be on board,... The ship,... Wait, are we talking present or future tenses?"
Emil blinks heavily, (a 'sure sign' of drunkenness) and pops a bite of kuneve into his mouth. He grins in absolute bliss at the combination of flavors of the cheese pastry and the dessert wine.
"Travel by ship, restoration of a warriors honor, all to help a princess?!? Sounds like a tale of Cayden himself. If I'm not careful, I'll make the other clerics jealous!"
Remaio laughs with delight. "Outstanding! I've had the captain of the Water Strider hold four berths. I'll pay him the remainder of the fare first thing tomorrow morning and have the tickets messengered to your lodging."
He stands, tops up everyone's glasses. and raises his high. "A toast! To your safe voyage and successful endeavor! And to the restoration of the memory of a great warrior!"
Remaio has a carriage ready to drive you to your lodgings at the end of the evening.
Midmorning the next day, messengers arrive at each of your quarters bearing a packet sealed in red wax with an impression of a Pegasus.
Contained therein is:
* A voucher for passage on the Water Strider the next morning and return passage three days after arrival in Almas;
* A map of the region of Andoran where his distant relative farms, with your route marked from Almas (the port city) to the farm;
* A voucher for a carriage ride to the farm;
* A sealed letter of introduction for Remaio's relatives;
* One fourth of a voucher for 1,000 gold to be drawn from his factor, valid only when accompanied by a receipt;
* A note wishing you a good voyage and giving you the address of Remaio's import/export business in case you have questions before you leave - now that you are sober. Though he expects no trouble, he urges you to take the means to protect yourselves, since travel can always be dangerous, and he is unfamiliar with Andoran and Almas.
After Remaio departs, Auguste hangs back for a bit of brandy. According to him, ”A proper evening is never complete without brandy.”
When all is said and done, he makes his return to his rooms. This talk of “mid morning” sounds worrisome. He dashes off some suitably vague notes to acquaintances to explain that he is “off pursuing new intrigues”, and arranges a few coins for the landlord with promises of a great more to come.
Between all this activity and some rather hasty packing, he arrives at the harbor looking a bit sleep-deprived, but his eyes are alert with the adrenaline of a new venture. A stuffed pack carries a variety of traveling gear, and his rapier is, as always, ready at his side. Now let us see. Will any of last evening’s companions fail to attend this morning?
The Water Strider sets sail with the tide, lining up with other ships departing that morning, and getting underway with a fair wind.
The voyage lasts a full nine days, with the ship docking in Almas the evening of the ninth. Beyond a couple of slightly choppy and drizzly days, the voyage is uneventful. Almas is large, bustling, and oddly egalitarian, with a large number of free halflings wandering happily through the streets on their own business, or enjoying the fare at taverns. The capital of Aldoran as well as its major port, Almas is quite the cosmopolitan city.
Remaio has included directions to a dockside inn for the night, and to the livery stable the next morning, as well as a contact in the city (one of his best, most trusted trading partners) in case of emergency.
The next morning, the hired carriage rattles through the city and out the gates, into the countryside of the province of Freeland. Farms and villages dot the rolling countryside, but the coach does little more than slow for them for several hours. A basket of provisions is stowed under the seats for the noon meal.
Just past noon, the coachman pulls over next to a narrow track.
"This is as far as I can take you. Your farm's down that track. Damned if I know how they get their wares out, unless it's with handcarts. I for sure can't get the carriage in there. Looks like you'll be on shanks mare for the rest."
"I'll wait here until dark, then go back to the last village we passed. I'm not staying here longer than that. But I'll stop back in the morning before I go back to Almas."
The dirt track leads away from the road through a young wood. It is barely wide enough for a horse to travel. The countryside is quiet in the early afternoon sun, just a few bird calls, the rustling of leaves, and the jingle of the horses' harness as they shift breaking the silence.
The coachman sets the brake, pulls a basket from under his own seat, and climbs atop the coach to enjoy his luncheon.
Dawnilea shrugs, "Could be mules. They have solid footing, and train of them would allow cargo." She disembarks, stretches out, cracking her neck and joints and giving herself a good shake, before checking her weapons. "From what we were told, we shouldn't need more than that," she agrees, before turning away to take in the area.
She eyes the path, then smiles and says in a tone dripping with false optimism, "Well now, it's a good thing this is a delightful, happy simple courier job.... because that path looks like an excellent place for an ambush."
Stepping down from the cart, Auguste looks warily at the path. Once out of earshot of the driver, he says quietly to the others, ”I must say, I rather imagined Honoria’s descendants residing in a stately country villa - the sort of place where one might expect to encounter a lively soirée or quaint garden party. By the state of this trail, I cannot imagine they do much entertaining here. Perhaps they have fallen on hard times.”
The band of woods next to the road is narrow, and you can soon see out of them quite clearly. A good-sized homestead appears, with fields surrounding a tidy, squat little farmhouse house about 50 yards down the road, which ends at the farmyard. A pair of clay pots filled with cheery yellow marigolds flank the front door of the house. A small privy stands behind the house and what looks to be an small animal hutch or coop beside it. Oddly, the windows of the house are shuttered. There's no sound of activity from the farmyard that you can discern.
Emil hops down from the carriage and stretches himself. He offers to fill the driver's mug with 'Cayden's Blessing' before moving of with the others. (Filling his own mug whether the driver accepts or not.)
The cleric stands with the others as they speak and look at the trail, sipping his mug.
"Well Auguste, They ARE the descendants of a 'dishonored' general. One can hardly expect them to be living in the lap of luxury after all."
Dawnilea shrugs, "Could be mules. They have solid footing, and train of them would allow cargo." She disembarks, stretches out, cracking her neck and joints and giving herself a good shake, before checking her weapons. "From what we were told, we shouldn't need more than that," she agrees, before turning away to take in the area.
She eyes the path, then smiles and says in a tone dripping with false optimism, "Well now, it's a good thing this is a delightful, happy simple courier job.... because that path looks like an excellent place for an ambush."
"Hm. I find myself agreeing with the Lady. It looks like a trap."
Emil finishes draining his mug, and looks at the others with a mischievous grin on his face.
"Let's go poke it with a stick, and see what happens!"
"Hm. Actually,... it doesn't look so much like an 'ambush' as 'Abandoned'. The place is boarded up."
"No garden parties indeed," Auguste agrees as he takes in the view of the house.
"We should approach carefully," he cautions.
"When did Remaio say he received that letter from this cousin?" asks the young man, striding confidently toward the house. "There's some writing on the boards — let's have a look, shall we?"
"I,... Don't recall if he said WHEN he received the letter."
Emiliano admits as he follows the dashing ranger forward.
Dawnilea laughs, "Obviously, this was all too good to be true. All right, let's go. But let's remember that something looking abandoned doesn't mean it is."
The chicken flees as you approach. Though it flaps heavily, it cannot take off, so its wings are still clipped. As you approach the house, you notice some weeds growing up along the road and at the edges of the farmyard.
The house itself looks very old, but very well cared for, with relatively fresh shakes on the roof. Its looks are marred by the old, broken boards which have been nailed across the windows and the front door. The marigolds, while still determinedly cheerful, are beginning to wither.
There is indeed odd, scratchy writing on the boards across the door.
The stillness is broken only by the occasional chuckle of a chicken.
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Thaddeus squints at the chicken scratch on the walls, then at the fleeing chicken. "But that's not possible..." he mutters, looking around as if to see what other impossibilities this place may hold.
”Hmm. Let’s see what’s written...”
Dawnilea says, "This must be recent, if the flowers are still in bloom... and, for that matter, farm chickens that haven't been eaten."
Emil looks curiously over Auguste's shoulder as the bard deciphers the 'writing'. But when glanced at, Emil shakes his head slightly, indicating he has nothing to add to a translation.
”Draconic,” Auguste says. ”I think it’s a warning of some kind. Warning off trespassers? Or looters? Or those who would follow in the occupants’ footsteps? Whatever the case, a rather erudite person wrote this for only other erudite personages to read. If they really wanted to scare off trespassers, they’d’ve written it in the common tongue.” He seems pleased with his deductions. ”Fortunately, since it would seem none of us reads Draconic, the warning was not intended for us, and we may therefore enter freely.” He grins at his own humor.
Dawnileas smiles, "I like that logic.... Let's go see." Despite her upbeat tone, however, her hand tests the draw on her blades, making sure they could be drawn at a moment's notice.
"Faint hearts never have fun or glory!" Emil chimes in cheerfully.
The cleric pauses to actually draw his rapier from its scabbard.
"What? I follow Cayden to be brave, not foolish. 'Well-Armed is Well-Prepared'. Cayden's Maxims Number Twelve. Well,... It's not OFFICIAL yet. I'm still writing it. 'Cayden Cailean's Rules for Living Life to the Fullest and Book of Prayers. By Emiliano Diego Thanos the Second'."
Dawnilea shakes her head, "Didn't think your lot read much more than the bar menu. But, if we're talking about being well-prepared, anyone got an eye to find little nasty surprises? I mean, I could probably roll out of the way, but I'd hate to lose any of the rest of you."