Alessandra looks for a small piece of wood to carve a few words into with her dagger.
(Hopefully she sees something?)
She carves, along three sides: Deputy watch stakeout. A.
Then tosses it towards Draco's feet as she moves to 'browse the stalls'.
Alessandra starts to take a look around thinning the group a bit further. Taking a brief walk down the street the familiar atench of fresh pitch assails her senses. Curiously someones left a wagon fill of pots of the stuff up the atreet. The wagon looks secure enough but the flammable contents are unattended.
With the group thinned and the hour fast approaching the sheriff makes her way across the plaza and with a warm smile that all law enforcers possess she addresses Cinri.
"Cimri! How is my favorite niece doing?"
Cimri visibly winces at rhe mention of familial ties and puts on a mask of polite coldness before turning to fac her aunt. "I was just dandy Aunt Rhonda."
Seeing as the sheriff makes the first move towards Cimri, and feeling the young woman's discomfort, Falariel moves towards the two, smiling her most angelic smile.
"Ah, Sheriff, I do not think we have been introduced. My name is Falariel. It pleases me to see law enforcement being present. Do you fear that violence might erupt, or are you merely interested in keeping an eye on local happenings?"
"Oh? The people of Longacre are generally peacful I suspect there won't be any local trouble. You certainly have some interesting friends Cimri would you like to introduce us to them all?"
"Not particularly." Cimri responds.
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Jerax whips his head around dramatically to notice the local lawman.
"Sheriff Staelish! As I live and breath! How are you! You might not remember me. I'm Jerax Hellfire! Former delinquent who spent more time in your stocks than in the classroom? How have you been?"
Draco picks up the piece of wood from the ground before him, inspecting it for just a moment to see the carvings that the good inquisitor had left upon it. It seemed that their actions had attracted the local authority's attention. At least the job wouldn't be boring. Jerax approached the woman and the mercenary's grin widened a little. Boisterous personalities like his and Falariel would work well in the little group they had now.
At Jerax's approach the Sheriff smiles, "and it seems you've grown into a fine young man. At least the church has fed you well. Speaking of which what brongs you to the swordknights sermon Cimri? Never took you for the religious sort."
"Just seeing what its all about like everyone else. Cimri answers curtly.
Wow! I didn't think that would go that well, Jerax thinks to himself.
"Well, Sheriff, to be fair", the towering tiefling interjects, "outdoor sermons like this is what passes for high entertainment in our sleepy little town. I'd be surprised if the majority of Longacre won't be down here to see it."
"Hello, again Cimri." The Knight of Asmodeus gives a nod and a wink to the uncomfortable rogue. "We met up for drinks last night at The Ash House," Jerax explains. "One must make their own entertainment, from time to time, especially in such a small town."
"I'm sure many will and more besides," replied the shaeriff, [b] "speaking of last night you happen to hear about what happened at the tannery last night?"
"No, why?"
Pharice, unaware that he’s been made, continues his vigil. He keeps a crossbow trained on the sheriff, but his eyes constantly scan the gathering crowds looking for other sources of trouble.
As the conversation dies out with Cimri's stonewalling and Jerax's redirection the Sheriff eventually sees herself off. Soon, a deputy is seen in front of the abandoned shop rolling up a cigarette keeping out of line from the windows and keeping one eye on the door. Others are posted around the square a few clearly keeping an eye out on you.
The square soon fills with men on their lunch breaks, the old, the retired and the curious. At the appointed time an armored middle aged woman wearing the white and yellow trimmed cossack of her faith steps out of the temple and stands atop a box to address the crowd. Behind her holding between them a large linen wrapped box are her sons. The crowd quiet downs dutifully as she clears her throat and begins addressing the crowd proper.
“Friends and neighbors, I have wondrous tidings to share! We have all known hardships in our lives—needless sorrows, injustice, even cruelty. Indeed, such is the struggle of all who live. But many among us have known more than our share. "
"Many among us have shouldered burdens laid upon them not
by the Inheritor, but by those who would curse her name and
taunt her faithful.
“But today, I bear a missive from champions of Iomedae’s
faith, heralds of the goddess’s will, who know your troubles
and would see them end.”
With her gesture her sons step forward with the box and place it on the table in front of her. As they step aside she unfurls a parchmetn before her and continues in a louder clearer voice.
“I received this letter last night:
“‘People of Longacre! The time of your redemption is at hand. When the song of the Inheritor rises, you all must choose: live as complacent vassals of corruption and evil, or embrace honor and claim the glory that is your right. The Glorious Reclamation gives you a choice.’ “Signed, ‘Lencia Visserene, Knight-Inheritor of the Glorious Reclamation.’
“Friends, it is up to us to restore the worship of Iomedae to its proper place in Cheliax and reclaim our nation in the name of the Inheritor. But we have been given a sign—a sign that the ‘Angel Knight’ has come to Longacre to lead us to glory!”
As she rolls the parchment back up the sons lift the lid off the box revealing a well crafted ornamental helm with angelic features and a halo of curls set serenely in silver. As she finishes and the helm is revealed she steps down from the box and heads back in to the temple as the mutterings in the crowd start to rise.
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While the Iomedean priestess delivers her inflammatory sermon, Lucien stands silently at the back of the crowd near the merchant stalls, his face a motionless mask while his analytical mind absorbs and evaluates every word spoken.
Before Sword Knight Allamar can enter the church, he springs onto a barrel and calls out to her in a loud, authoritative voice. His sash and holy symbol clearly displayed leaves little doubt about who it is that challenges the Iomedean.
"Hold there, honorable Allamar! Do not leave your congregation so bewildered...for your words leave many questions floating in the wind, demanding answers."
Lucien pauses for a brief moment, giving the crowd time to turn and see who is speaking. He smiles warmly, arms held wide and weapons safely holstered. When he speaks again, his words drip with civility and decorum so thick you could cut it with a dull dagger.
"Pardon my slow wit, but I could not help but interpret some of your sermon as an incitement of insurrection against our rightful ruler, her Infernal Majestrix, and a challenge of the dominion of Asmodeus over our Glorious nation. But surely, no loyal citizen of Cheliax would ever suggest such a shameful and illegal act, so I must be mistaken..." he continues in a plaintive tone.
"After all, worship of Iomedae is already freely permitted here, as evident by your own church...on condition, of course, of the proper respect and acknowledgment of the dominion of our Dark Lord Asmodeus. For let us never forget that it was He who delivered us from anguish in our darkest time, when the broken promises of other Gods left our ancestors suffering under turmoil and despair."
The Asmodean Advocate turns his focus to the crowd, fully aware that he will never sway the zealots among the Inheritors faithful, but that many of the onlookers can be persuaded by fear or civic pride.
"Yes, we have suffered much, endured hardship and known betrayal. But never has our lord Asmodeus broken his promise to reward all those who are loyal to the Infernal compact that was the deliverance from chaos and grief. None know this better than the proud veterans of our military, some of which have fought alongside the devils he sends to slay our enemies. Only those who break the oath they have sworn need fear the just retribution such dishonor rightfully warrants...!"
I do not know this Knight-Inheritor Visserene, nor the so-called "Angel knight" she speaks of...Perhaps she is confused and thinks that Longacre is in Andoran, not Cheliax...but I do know that it will take more than an inflammatory letter and a shiny trinket to make any loyal son or daughter of Cheliax forget their duty."
He pauses, giving the Iomedean a chance to respond and hopefully further incriminate herself.
Jerax listened intently to Reverend Servinus as the rest of the gathered townspeople did. The tiefling couldn't help but grin a sharped-tooted smile at the asmodean's masterful refute of Allamar's treasonous claims.
Likewise, Alessandra smirks, standing out of open view near a stall.
Either due to contempt, cowardice, or some other yet unknown factor the priestess simply chooses not to engage in a impromptu debate and ignores the Asmodean as she enters the church.
Regardless the effect is real and some who seem uplifted or brightened up by the news of divine intervention are reminded of divine retribution.
Cimri fidgets uncomfortably in the sudden attention, "We should get back and report."
The towering tiefling helps the cleric off his barrel with a congratulatory pay on the back. "Beautiful speech, your Grace. You really shut her up."
Draco casually claps from where he was stationed, giving a whistle when Lucien's speech ends. The mercenary, wearing the badge of the archbaron, pushes off from where he was. It seems that the assembly was over now. Time to report back and make a bit of coin.
"Yes, it looks like our work here is done...for now. This isn't over. It has barely begun, by my reckoning." Lucien says thoughtfully after stepping down.
Pharice leaves his sniper nest and heads out the back. Seeing the guard standing there watching the back door, he shrugs casually with a smirk and asks, ”Nice little building for a tailor’s shop. Any idea whom to ask about renting it?”
With little wlse happening thw sons take the helmet back inside and the crowd starts to disperse. The guard who waited by the door to the abandoned shop looks confused but stammers out a quick reply, "the archbarons court handles all matters of land leasing sir. You would have to check with one of his secretaries."
Business handled, the group heads back to thw ash house where Razelago is waiting. Cimri reports and the figure leans forward thw shadow moving stiffly and jarringly with each motion, "“That’s a more dramatic move than I’d expect from a country priestess—I’m impressed. Tileavia Allamar might be more interesting than I’d thought. It’s the helmet and this ‘Angel Knight’ I’m curious about, though. I’ve heard rumors of the Glorious Reclamation. An overzealous mob of Iomedaean fanatics calling for a nationwide revolution, as if there was any hope of that. Still, Archbaron Fex might find this information valuable. “In any case, you’ve done well. You’ll find your payment in the parlor. I shouldn’t have any more work for you today, but I suspect that might change tomorrow. I’ll send word.”
"The Glorious Reclamation sounds fanatical indeed.
Aside from rumors of their goals, has there been anything concrete, that we should take precautions for?"
"Nothing so far. But we are far from the borders here. To think they have made their influence felt all the way here..." Razelago trails off not speaking the rest of his thoughts.
Jerax walks down with the rest of the group to collect his reward. Turning to Alessandra, Cimri, and Falariel, the red-skinned tiefling asks, "So, ladies, can I convince either of you to go into town with me and have some drinks with this 'handsome devil'?"
Draco listens in as Razelago talks to themself, it seemed that the Iomedeans weren't sitting quietly and just letting the devils have the country for free. With a quiet smirk, Draco leaned against the wall and simply listened. Conflict was brewing and that meant that business was going to pick up. It was fortunate that he had already found himself in the pocket of a big spender, one with a connection to the archbaron in the region. Never had he had the chance to connect to such a power political figure. With business concluding, Draco would move out into the hallway and give a small stretch.
"Easiest coin I've ever made. Never a good sign..." The human mutters as Jerax works his best charm on the women. There was a quiet snort but no other mark of derision as the mercenary's dog saddled up alongside his master before they reached the parlor and their reward.
"We certainly have not seen the last of this. Even in a remote place like this, such a direct challenge against both the church of Asmodeus and House Thrune by association is outrageous. The Iomedaeans certainly would not dare make such a move unless they felt certain they had someone powerful backing them. And while my speech reminded most of the audience of their rightful duty, the treacherous words did not fall on barren ground. We should be prepared for their next move - or strike first to show that such insolence does not go unpunished." Lucinen states, his composure calm and measured.
"That will be for the archbaron to decided. Leave me. There will be more to do soon enough. Much more I suspect."
Down in the parlor the chest is there again. Though this time there are bags with 200 gold a piece within them. Though no feast and no extra tools are there this time.
Lucien spends the evening reflecting on what his religious training has taught him about angels, while enjoying a modest amount of food and wine.
Jerax walks down with the rest of the group to collect his reward. Turning to Alessandra, Cimri, and Falariel, the red-skinned tiefling asks, "So, ladies, can I convince either of you to go into town with me and have some drinks with this 'handsome devil'?"
[dice=Diplomacy (for Cimri's sake)]1d20 + 9
Alessandra nods as acknowledgment and thanks, then takes her leave to pick up the payment.
As Jerax asks that question, while she stashes it away, she strokes back some hair to behind her ear.
"I'll go for one or two. Not going to carry you anywhere if you get too hammered to stay conscious, though."
As Jerax asks that question, while she stashes it away, she strokes back some hair to behind her ear.
"I'll go for one or two. Not going to carry you anywhere if you get too hammered to stay conscious, though."
"No ma'am." Jerax said with a fanged smile. "Besides I'm used to people leaving me where I lay. Well, that's one for the bars. Any other takers?"
Draco moves towards one of the bits of broken, but still manageable, furniture. Settling into a seat, he grins at the others.
"Pick me up a bottle of something nice to drink and something for Rufus and me to eat, yeah? Don't get too crazy out there, kids." Draco says with a touch of sarcasm in his voice, gesturing for the hound to hop up onto his lap.
The stoic, somber elf, nods in agreement at coming for some drinks, whether he was invited or not.
The stoic, somber elf, nods in agreement at coming for some drinks, whether he was invited or not.
Jerax looks to the silent elf. "Excellent. That makes a group of three." The towering tiefling then looks to the aasimar and the human rogue. "Well?"
Cimri looks briefly at Draco for a moment as if considering something while the dog happily overwhelms Draco's lap with his immense doggy bulk. Then she turns and joins the other three for the bar.
Leaving Draco to his own devices the other three go down to the local tavern.
The bar itself is a fairly dreary affair. Full mostly of men having their evening meal or settling in for drinks and a few hands of cards. There's not really any song or merriment aside from those private joys that come from a quiet drink and good conversation. Upon your entrance the bartender takes note and nods in your direction while a few others take that as their cue to leave for the evening. Some tipping their hats as they leave, others just avoiding eye contact and doing everything just short of spitting at Jerax's feet.
If Jerax noticed the threatening behaviors, he didn't acknowledge them as his hooves clopped heavily across the barroom floor.
"First rounds on me!" The towering tiefling smiled his razor-sharp grin, loud enough for the barman to hear.
Pharice scans the crowd, looking for the most obviously dangerous person there. Once identified (as far as he can tell), he looks deeper to find the face of the person not as obvious, but subtly more dangerous. He’ll spend a quarter of his time watching that person, and the rest scanning the room as a whole. There’s no sense of ease about the sniper at all.
The human, half-orc, tiefling, and elf sit down at a cozy table. As the drinks are delivered and first sips are taken, the sociable Jerax starts some conversation.
Jerax corrects according to the half-orc's preference. "So, what has been the latest news in the eisethan faith? Asmodean politics often takes up the bardcycle, so any news about any other Pit Lords or Ladies get swallowed up, I feel."
"Any interesting inquisitions you've taken part in recently?"
At the table,
Alessandra drinks hers with moderation.
At Jerax's question, her attention shifted from watching the crowd to that instead.
...and remember, my child. Unless they have proven a trustworthy ally, or friend, people should address you with inquisitor. In the least with Miss before your name.
The words of lady Venici still were clear in her memory.
"Miss Venici will suffice. It's mostly the populace i can show membership to, if needed."
"As for developments, not in the nearby region, as far as i know.
But i believe i've heard say another chapel in The Queen's honor, has been established in the south. The wronged seem to find solace in her teachings. As do those scorned by devotees of 'heaven realm' followers."
Heaven is home also to Iomedae.
She looks past you with a faint grin, briefly somewhere else in thought.
Back at you.....
"I haven't yet joined in big operations, but the branche i belong to, works with 'persuasion', in its many forms. My mother is particularly skilled in it. I aim to get there too."
"It is good to know more sanctuaries from Heaven's Sting are being built. Those are virtually unheard of outside the country." Jerax raises a glass to the half-orc. "May those who can, find solace in Eiseth's embrace."
"I guess I need to work up to Alessandra", Jerax smiled with a sly grin.
Alessandra raises her glass in response.
"And may others find their satisfaction within the order of the Dark Prince."
I guess I need to work up to Alessandra
"You'll be spending quite some time.", faint grin in return.
While the others leave, Draco seems content on resting on the couch until the place is full vacated. Only then does his eye open to peek around the room before he sits up and whistles for Rufus to follow him. Stepping out onto the streets of Longacre, it doesn't take long for him to find a courier making their way from the small settlement here and towards the major cities. With an envelope in hand, he hands it to the man and places the coin in his palm.
"...Now like I said, deliver this not to their mother but the oldest child, Gabriella. She'll make sure everything is split up just fine. Do this for me and I'll make sure there is more work for you in the future, yeah?" He gives the courier a tip to hopefully ensure the man's loyalty and sends him off towards the capital with a gift to his sister and his nieces and nephews. Seems like Longacre wasn't that bad of a workplace after all.
It doesn't take long for the tavern to return to something resembling it's normal quiet when the group settles in at it's table. It seems the likely troublemakers have already left and those left were either too tired or too expert at minding their own business to care about the intimidating group coming in. Only the bartender lingers on you for longer than a moment perhaps waiting for some grand gesture or the threat of violence from Jerax. But when none comes he resigns himself back to the upkeep of his customers. Soon some drinks are produced. Not as watered down as you fear but more akin to the ale of the average laborer, heavy, and only mildly alcoholic almost a meal in and of itself.
To Jerax's questions Cimri merely shrugs, "Just a busybody of a relative. She only took care of me because my ma and pa left me here to rot. Has too much of a massive stick up her arse to leave me be and I don't have the connections yet to move to a bigger pond."
Pharice shrugs but doesn’t stop watching the room. ”There are always threats to be concerned about in a public place such as this. I don’t sense anything particular at the moment, but it never hurts to be careful. Feel free to continue with your mating ritual—I’ll watch your back.”
At the elfs casual mention of Jerax's activities Cimri nearly spits her drink and is forced to swallow hard causing hoarse choking laughter to force itself from her as she holds her chest painfully, "no, no definitely no!"
In the dark you catch the briefest hint of movement on the third floor that sets your senses ablaze and you pause on the walkway waiting for more movement or the arrows to fall. Your eyes glue to the spot and for a long time you hold your breath in anticipation of whats to come.
But nothing happens. Your dog sits loyally next to you nipping at some unseen irritant on his flank only marginally aware of your anxiety. The smell of ozone and distant thunder rocks you out of your daze and you wonder if its not an old soldiers paranoia making you see enemies where there are only rats. Making your way back into the house it's not long before the thunder makes good on its promise and a torrential rain starts battering the ruined mansion. Getting a sudden chill you look to the remains of the fire catching a glimpse of Cimri's personal things while you poke at the dull embers trying to get the fire back up.
Nothing came. No arrow, no sudden spell, no ambush. Rufus scratches at his side idly as a distant rumble of thunder shakes him from his thoughts.
"By the Nine Hells, keep yourself together Draco." The mercenary murmurs to himself as he makes his way inside of the house properly. Too much time on the road had left him anxious, too ready for something devious to occur. The string of good luck was rubbing him the wrong way as well.
A heavy downpour began outside, bringing in a chill that soaked into the house's wood as well as his bones. Shivering for a moment, he moved towards the dull embers and grabbed whatever firewood and broken planks there were to try and bring the flame back to life. As he did so, his eyes looked over at the assorted things that Cimri had brought with her. Taking just a moment to consider himself, he'd whistle for Rufus and give a quick command for the dog to stand guard at the door. The canine would bark if someone approached, giving Draco enough time to hide his little investigation as he checked through Cimri's things.
At the elfs casual mention of Jerax's activities Cimri nearly spits her drink and is forced to swallow hard causing hoarse choking laughter to force itself from her as she holds her chest painfully, "no, no definitely no!"
Jerax wipes the small spittle from his. cheek from Cimri. "You're loss." The towering tiefling smiled through the exaggerated rejection.
Good. I know who to focus on now, Jerax thought. The Knight of Asmodeus smiled at Alessandra and continued his conversation. "So is your worship of The Erinyes Queen a family tradition? I heard a rumor Queen Abigail has an erinyes advisor in court. It would be amazing to meet one of Hell's Furies in person, yet not be the target of their wraith."
"As far as i could tell, it is."
"From what i am told, not being the target of their fury entices showing respect, dutifully doing your job and, something not all know how to do, keeping one's mouth shut if one of them is angry."
She smiles faintly.
"I heard of one igniting someone who tried to calm them down over something. Foolish."
Cimri giggles at Allesandras anecdote, "the court must have ruled it suicide by telling an angry woman to calm down. Auntie did something similar when Habbershaw caught the Corrlizai's boy with his daughter in the sawmill. He was beat so bad the snotty little f~&! was laid up in bed for three weeks after the priest visited. Aunt was so angry about the paperwork and hell she was catching from the Corrlizais she gave him piece of her mind so bad he made the mistake of talking to her like he does his daughter. He told the judge that he fell down the hill and tripped into and out of the jail cell. Should've left his arse gutted alive in the woods." Cimri finishes bitterly taking another draught as if to wash the memory away.
Venturing a little further through a much smaller book falls out. This one has a title in a language you don't know. On its thin cardboard cover is the image of three daggers laid 45 degrees from each other point outwards atop a pair of concentric circles. Thinking this must be another fighting manual yoi take a quick look at the incredibly thin oages to find illustrations describing activities that are very much a different kind of vigorous activity. While the language is indecipherable to you, the intent of the instruction is not.
It's then that a loud crash upstairs catches your attwntion and your dog is up on his feet instantly and barking as he stares up at the ruined ceiling. The clash of thunder and the creaking of floorboards set your instincts on edge and you identify it immediately as coming from the third floor.
Heh. I'm on to you, big Red.
Inquisition training includes reading between the lines.