Dawnilea's smile fades as the kobolds casually mention killing the previous inhabitant. "Killing other people for their homes, especially defenseless ones, is not honourable -- and goes against what the Andorans claim as liberty. The 'king' -- as you call him -- should have been free to live his life at his home without being murdered. Or, worse, starved to death."
She sighs and turns to the others, "Their deeds mark them as evil. That said, they seem to want to learn - so then the question becomes whether or not they can. Having seen -- and experienced -- the damage that comes from being written off, I think it may be worth giving them a second chance -- but I also think teaching them is going to be a full-time job on its own -- and know that they'd not last 20 seconds in Oppara. So, I'm suggesting a compromise. Let's take them with us back to the city and hand them off to a bleeding-heart Sarenraen who'll want to take the time and effort to try to redeem them -- while also babysitting them to avoid any more casual murder."
”Minding kobold urchins was not a term of my employment, such as it is,” Auguste says. ”If we must take them anywhere, I am in agreement they should be handed off at the first opportunity.”
The kobold's spokeskobold shakes his head vigorously, looking up at Thaddeus pleadingly. "Not kill! We understand hostage and ransom. No money if hostage killed. King stand up and fall into dinner, like this!"
He demonstrates by rising to his feet and falling bonelessly forward onto the floor, peeking up at his captors from the floor and rubbing his nose where it impacted the wood planks.
Auguste narrows his eyes. ”You say he just dropped dead while eating?”
The creatures nods vigorously. "We want ransom for him, but no. Very sad."
Emil rubs his chin thoughtfully.
”What food was he eating?” Auguste asks.
Thaddeus frowns. "Does it matter? The old woman was properly buried and there were no signs of violence, or poison. I am of the opinion that they're telling us the truth, and we should bring them with us — for now, at least, or until we have some assuredly better disposition for them."
Emil shrugs again.
"The man could have choked when he was surprised by the 'little knights'. OR he could have had a heart attack. Or a stroke. I cannot tell from that,... description."
"I DO believe him, however. He seems, very sincere. In both the telling of his tale, and his desire to become a Knight."
"Eating food from table when we came in. Human food. In other room. Smells bad now." The kobold shrugs.
"Or it could have been poisoned," Auguste says. "I doubt we have a good way to tell with the amount of time that has elapsed."
Dawnilea shrugs, "Could be anything from needing medication, to eating spoiled food, to a heart attack from the stress of it all. Without being able to speak with dead, we'll likely never know... But it doesn't seem to have been explicit murder, so I think we can work with that."
"Agreed." Emil nods to Dawnilea.
To hsi companions he whispers,
"Does anyone know the actual oath of knighthood? Or anything similar? IF they are sincere, and we intend to take them with us, seems we should begin by instilling what lessons we can sooner rather than later. And avoid any further,... misunderstandings."
Thaddeus ponders for a moment, then comes up with something vaguely resembling a knight's oath and administers it solemnly to the new "squires".
A second kobold is found to be alive. The two survivors are rather adamant about burying their companions since that is "how Eagle Knights are supposed to be honored." They will do that work as well as reburying the old lady (if you like). Kobolds, it turns out, are efficient with a spade. The job doesn't take long, if you allow it.
When you return to the coach, the driver (once he wakes up) is surprised to see his new passengers and to hear the news about the old woman. As it is late, he insists on driving to the nearest town, where he has contacts and trusts the people. He points out the inn and tavern where you can get a bed for the night, drops the carriage and horses at the stable, and reports the old woman's death to the sheriff (who is at the inn getting ale foam on his impressive moustache). The sheriff grimaces at the news. "I'll send word to her daughters. They usually visit once every week or two... I suspect the loser takes the week's visit."
He asks about your business there and asks, with quiet and courteous yet firm authority, to see your credentials and the material you found and intend to remove. He examines your credentials (which are in perfect order), verifies with the coachman that you had arrived that day from the city - without any kobolds. He finds a letter the old woman had written to your employer with a list of items she intended to send him, which include the material you found and intended to return to Taldor.
"Welp, I imagine her daughters'll be happy getting the farm and being rid of all this stuff. I reckon half the reason they married was to get away from hearing about their Taldane past... no offense," he adds, eyeing your martial cutlery. "I'll have the clerk make a copy of the letter for the record of what you took and the contact information of your employer, then you can be on your way. She can easily finish tonight, so it won't hold you up."
"As for these little fellers," he turns to examine the banged-up pair of kobolds in their overlarge Eagle Knight finery, "That's a bit of a pickle." He drinks another glass, thinking, while the tiny creatures try to remember their draconic heritage and their proud Eagle Knight status and stand before him without slinking and quailing. He attempts to question them and receives the same jumbled story that you did, looking to you for confirmation of the parts involving the brawl and your decision to spare them.
"Tell you what. I'm gonna keep them overnight in the jailhouse, until me and my men can get out to the farm and look around, examine the old lady. Our priest'll come too, make sure she's interred proper. If everything is like you and they say, I'll turn 'em over to the nearest Eagle Knight outpost, who can train 'em up proper - if they can be trained." He chuckles. "Can't wait to see the Marshal's face when she sees her new recruits. Might test her philosophy a little."
He grows somber as he regards the little creatures. "Besides, I'd like a chat with 'em, find out where they're from and what the situation is with their clan. Not like I can send spies in there. They seem to be purty fed up with their kin. Might be willing to help out, like real patriots." He crouches down to their level. "Sounds good to you? You'll stay with me until the Eagle Knights get here and can start training you to join them? We'll be at the jail tonight, until we check out the farmhouse, but I'll be staying there, too. You'll get food and beds. No tricks, I swear on my honor. If you didn't kill the old lady, you'll be free to go become real Eagle Knights."
After much discussion that includes you and seems to tire out the sheriff a great deal, the kobolds are sorted out, fed, and led away to their secure lodgings.
The sheriff sighs deeply. "Well folks, you've done me a favor. I'm sorry to hear about Old Lady Vereena, but it's time younger folk took over that farm anyway. And this lot should go back to Taldor. It's none of our business." He gestures to the pack full of papers and items pertaining to Honoria Alcasti. "Who knows what woulda happened when her kin came to visit, with a pack of kobolds in the house. You mighta saved some lives. Dinner's on me... well, on the town. You're free to go once we've copied your letter and credentials so we can get in touch if there's anything more... and I doubt that'll happen. Safe travels back home. Don't worry about your little friends. Don't know if they'll really become Eagle Knights, but if they've done no murder, they'll be well treated." He shakes hands with each of you before hustling off to organize his clerk and tomorrow's expedition to the farm.
Your coachman is pleased to find he's included in the free dinner, so you get off to a rather late start in the morning. Still, you're back at the docks in plenty of time to board your ship for home, before the tide turns and the ship departs.
A young messenger boy is lounging on a post at the base of the ramp when you disembark, eying passengers as they walk down the ramp. He scrutinizes your group, then dashes up with a sealed letter. "From Merchant Alcasti," he announces, then shoves it in the first hand he can reach before dashing off to his next assignment.
The missive says little more than you are invited to dine that night "in the same place as last time." Remaio has been uncharacteristically brief.
Dawnilea chuckles, "Seems that the Andorans really do live up to their ideals, instead of just paying lip service. Thank you, Sheriff." During the evening, she does her best to not take advantage of the hospitality where wines are concerned... and so probably only drinks about twice what the Sheriff had expected.
---
Dawnilea looks at the invitation for a moment and frowns, "Not the same tone... so now I'm wondering if this is a trap... or if it's just that our employer's feeling a sudden need for secrecy."
She stops, surprised a little that she gave voice to her concerns, then looks at the others, "What do you think?"
Auguste does little to hide his disdain for the jail's foodstuffs, but he remains generally well-behaved.
Back at the docks, he raises an eyebrow to Dawnilea. "My first thought was he's in some sort of trouble, but a trap is possible - and just as we were due to be paid. It's always amazing that something is suddenly amiss when it is time to pay the bill."
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Dawnilea laughs, "Oh, you're jaded. I assumed the man might be in trouble, as opposed to just trying to get out of paying us -- if only because we still have what he wants."
Thaddeus smiles at the kobolds' good fortune, and makes the sheriff promise him (repeatedly) that the little fellows will not end badly. That done, he formally releases them from their vows, paying no attention to the stares and pointed fingers that the spectacle attracts. Finally he bids the lizard-men farewell, wishing them success in their endeavors.
Thaddeus laughs aloud at Dawnilea and Auguste's comments. "Ha! A trap because he doesn't want to pay us! That's rich!"
After Dawnilea's second comment, the young man blinks. "You... you mean you weren't joking about the trap or trouble? But what trouble could someone be in, just for... well, you know?"
"Oh this is serious business," Auguste says to Thaddeus. "People have killed for less. I once heard of a dowager who poisoned a fellow gentlewoman's drink for wearing the same dress to a ball. It is easy to imagine the motives of someone opposed to our dear patron."
Dawnilea nods, "For trying to gain political power? I imagine that a fair number of people with power - and likely as many who are close to it and want it - might object enough to take some sort of action."
She shakes her head, "This is Taldor, after all. "
The burly fellow blinks a few times before a slow blush creeps up his cheeks. "I er... I mean I suppose you're right," he replies, "I've heard of that kind of behavior, of course, but always far away as if in some fae tale."
*-*-*-*-* That evening, the Porthmos Club *-*-*-*-*
The Porthmos Club is much as you found it last time, including the grave and barely-short-of-snooty staff. You are again led down the ornate little spiral staircase to the private room. This scene, however, is different from your first visit.
The set table is still in evidence - set for only six this time - and a side table holds a large assortment of dishes, hot, cold, savory and sweet alike. There are also a large number of wine bottles - full - on the table, some chilling, some open and breathing.
Your host is eagerly awaiting your arrival, already started on a glass of wine while he paces nervously near a large, empty table. When you arrive, he sets the glass down and approaches with open arms.
"Ah, my friends! Welcome! I am glad you are all safely returned from abroad. And how is my cousin? Did you meet her and hear her stories? Did she turn over the diary?" He interrupts himself suddenly. "Ah, Remaio, manners! Who wants wine? Feel free to start in on the food if you are hungry. I'm sorry to have rushed your dinner on the same day you arrived back, but I am so eager to see what you brought - you can set everything on the empty table, just there. Come, have a drink!"
With an effort of will, he leads the way to the side table and offers to pour some wine, as you prefer. "I had them stock the room with a number of bottles this time, so we need not be interrupted while examining your finds. You see, I learn!"
Auguste gives his host a guarded smile. "I must say, your missive this time around was... terse. I respect that - brevity being the soul of wit and all that - although never my forte. All the same, it gave some cause for alarm. What need was there to be so circumspect in your communication?"
Remaio laughs. "I am a well known merchant sending a rascally messenger boy to the docks. Do you know how often dock messengers sell their information to competitors looking for pricing, sources, cargo manifests and the like? I usually make messages to my traders as cryptic as possible... habit, I suppose. But I didn't need anyone knowing about your cargo either, to be quite frank. This simply isn't anyone else's business."
He shrugs. "I did not mean to alarm you. I beg your pardon if I did. Wine?"
Dawnilea nods, "Makes sense, I suppose. I guess using more reliable messengers would attract too much attention," then takes a bottle and a glass. "I think, given what we have, it's probably best that we did this today -- so don't worry about rushing us."
She pours a glass and takes a decent gulp, keeping the bottle in her other hand. She says, "Regrettably your distant cousin passed a few days before our arrival... However, our mission was still a success."
Emil is delighted that the sheriff is actually willing to take in the kobolds and set them up with an actual, proper, Eagle Knight to train them up. And he says so in no uncertain terms, And in no shortage of words. (If not as flowery as Auguste would have done.)
When the sheriff mentions also getting the kobolds to share information about their home tribe, the Dandy's smile falters and he gives the others a 'I KNEW it wasn't something for nothing' look.
Still, he gives the kobolds an enthusiastic sendoff with the sheriff, exhorting them to do their best. And at dinner he also restricts himself from over-indulging in the offered drink. (He can and does fill refill his own mug with Caydean's blessing. Several times.)
Emil looks thoughtful, then shrugs.
"Well, as Caydean says, 'Worry not about the troubles of tomorrow. There are plenty of troubles looking for you today!' We shall answer, and if it IS a trap, for whatever reason, we shall prevail. Caydean Commands it!" he declares cheerfully.
"Ah. I am glad to find that you are so discreet. I am told I should consider trying it myself." Emil waggles his eyebrows suggestively as he helps himself to a bottle and takes a drink. He blinks in surprise, and looks at the bottle closer. "Oh, this is GOOD!" He murmurs, filling his cup to the rim.
"Cousin Vereena is dead?" Remaio sobers at Dawnilea's words, looking thoughtful. "I understood she was older and did not know her outside of our correspondence, but that saddens me. She left the materials, I take it? And... are her daughters well and taking care of the proper rites? The family has had enough indignities to let more be heaped on. My cousin deserves a decent burial."
"Yes, her daughters were informed and should be making the necessary arrangements," Auguste says. "If I may ask... When did you last see your cousin? Or the condition of her estate?"
"I have never met her; we only corresponded. We shared an interest in family history and mutual goals: to restore the family relics to Taldor and the good name of Honoria. She seemed a very well-spoken and amiable lady. I would have been happy to meet her, but my business is just getting back on its feet. I cannot afford to leave it yet. She also said she would not leave her farm." Remembering the last dinner, Remaio deftly twists the corks from two more bottles of wine to let them breathe before their demise. "Why do you ask?"
Dawnilea shrugs, "A matter of interest, I imagine. From what we understood from the local Sheriff, it seems that her heirs are less interested in holding the property -- such that it's likely to pass outside the family."
Remaio shrugs. "That is the heirs' affair. The Andoran lands were purchased after the family was degraded and some fled Taldor entirely. They are not historic family territory. My concern is Honoria's diary and any other of her artifacts you may have been able to find? I hope?"
Thaddeus nods along with the conversation. Deciding that now is the time to speak up, he strategically finishes chewing and swallowing his current bite of roasted chicken with currant glaze. "We were indeed! It does seem that your beliefs about your ancestor were largely correct, at least from her own perspective. Of course, what one says about oneself isn't exactly proof..."
The young man pauses, realizing he may have let his tongue get ahead of his thoughts. "Ahem. The items you requested."
Realizing he himself can't produce the documents, he smiles at Remaio and gestures for Dawnilea to bring them out.
"Very interesting reading." Emil adds as he hands Dawnilea one of the papers he had been reading to add to the rest of the stack. He grins.
Dawnilea shakes her head at Emiliano, then passes the package to Remaio, "As I said, our mission was successful, despite the circumstances."
Remaio takes the package with a look of delight and spreads the contents on the empty side table, fanning them out and searching first for the diary, which he flips through intently, wine and food forgotten.
After a few moments, he smiles and withdraws a folded piece of heavy paper from his doublet. He hands it to Dawnilea.
"As promised, a bearer note drawable on the Merchant's Bank near the marketplace. Well done! It will take some time to peruse these documents and find more clues, but I do have another mission for you, should you choose to take it?"
He gestures to the dining table.
"Please, fill your plates and glasses and sit! You deserve a respite from your journey. Shall I tell you of the next task, or has the trip to Andoran slaked your thirst for adventure?"
Dawnilea looks over the note, "I suppose the paladin would be the one who could be trusted to divide this up evenly," she says only a little skeptically. She raises the bottle that she claimed to refill her glass, then says, "Can't speak for the others, but if you're still working toward the same goal... in a way that a paladin can agree with... and still willing to foot the bills, then I'm in."
"This one was interesting enough," Auguste agrees. "I'm interested to see where this goes."
"I have two ideas for your next contract. One is to retrieve Honoria's sword from the Qadiran traders I sold it to. The other is to investigate Honoria's tomb, which was placed far from Oppara because of her disgrace. I am hoping her honors were placed there by friends or family to safeguard them."
Remaio flips through the diary. "Just wonderful," he breathes. "I hope to find more places to look for evidence here while you are gone. But both missions are to remote places. The caravan is currently in Qadira. I have contacted them and they are willing to sell back the sword. The tomb is somewhere near the World's Edge mountains, northeast of here and on Taldor's border."
He looks up and smiles. "Any preference? Warm desert or cold mountain?"
”How are we to retrieve this sword? Are you funding its repurchase?” Auguste asks.
"Of course," Remaio says, "Transportation, lodging, meals, and purchase of the sword. Same as before."
Thaddeus swallows his current bite of food and nods enthusiastically, before his expression sobers as he realizes that enthusiastic nodding is likely somewhat undignified.
Having recovered his composure, he smiles cordially. "I believe a warm desert would be just the thing... perhaps after a warm dessert?"
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Dawnilea shrugs, "Each is unpleasant in its own way. Personally, I think I'd rather dress for the cold, since that and warm baths undo the worst of it. Sadly, it's more of a challenge to dress against extreme heat... and I'm told sand gets absolutely everywhere"
She takes a pull from the bottle, then remembers the flute and refills in with a slightly apologetic look, "But whatever everyone agrees to should be fine. I imagine this is more a matter of which we do first in any case," she adds, though her tone makes the last sentence a question.
Emil tops off (another) glass of wine, and pops another morsel of food into his mouth before sipping it thoughtfully.
"Well, Either way, the weather of the second will make us grateful to be done with the first. At least until IT becomes miserable, in which case I'm sure we'll gripe and complain as mortals are known to do!" The cleric expounds.
The young priest grins,
" I guess it depends, do you want to go from wrapped like a fur turban, to nearly undressed? Or do you prefer the other way around?" He chortles,
(Although the keenness of his gaze as he takes his next sips belies his actual interest in the answer,...)
”I suppose that depends on who’s looking,” Auguste says with a pointed look at Emiliano. He gives a faint grin and takes a swig of his wine.
"I am not certain, but it sounds like general interest is in exploring the tomb? It is in the World's Edge Mountains, near to the Pergamin Pass." Remaio removes a folded parchment, a key, and a vial from his belt pouch and slides them across the table.
"I have managed to confirm that she was buried in the family mausoleum. Her enemies could not deny her that, nor could they strip her of her medals and honors. While I hate to disturb her rest, a presentation of those honors along with my other evidence will lend weight at court." Remaio grins. "Everyone is impressed by bright ribbons and shiny medallions."
"One of my friends trades with Katakuru, which is up the river from Oppara and nearly due south of the tomb. He has agreed to take you on his boat, which should be a comfortable enough trip. I recommend you try the baths while there. There's a good reason all the nobles and wealthy - which are not always the same thing, haha! - visit Katakuru. It can be very relaxing."
"The tomb's location is marked on the map. The key will open the door, but the keyhole will only be evident when holy water --" He pokes the vial. "-- is poured on the lock plate. Otherwise, it looks like a handle without a keyhole."
Emil points back at Auguste with a grin, and salutes the man with his own mug before taking another swig.
"Ah. An ingenious protective measure. I find that most scoundrels avoid Holy Water. They're afraid it might be contagious or something." The young cleric chortles at his own joke.
"Worry not good sir! I shall endeavor to ensure the interred that we are not there to desecrate their resting places, but to ensure they are remembered with the honor they deserve."
"Oh, I am DEFINITELY trying the baths while we are in Oppara!"
Dawnilea nods, "Oh, I know of the gap between the nobility and the wealthy, I've lived it my whole life." She starts to raise the bottle, but then reaches for her glass instead, "But are these two things actually mutually exclusive? Surely we're better to do both? Sword, and.... whatever mysterious things we can find in the tomb, that is."
Thaddeus smiles politely — if a little confusedly — at the others' banter, then nods along in agreement with the merchant's description of the tomb and mission.