Hawk finds it hard to concentrate on the musing of barristers and family trees in the overheated archive. Once he casts a cantrip that keeps a slight waft of air blowing across himself (Breeze) , research becomes far more pleasant.
He uncovers a few pieces of interesting information. ”Curious what fruits drop when you shake a family tree… Apparently, Delara Adnen is a cousin of Gistano Donato. She is a Druman Blackjacket based in Valten, which is on the border of Isger and Druma. She’s a far relation to the Irricas but her inheritance is the only record of Irrica goods being handed out. There aren’t any specifics aside from describing her inheritance as ‘minor possessions and trinkets’.”
Going through other records, he adds cheerfully, ”Apparently, Pava was honest about one detail. There are mentions of ‘demon rats’ AND ‘devil rats’ spotted in the Irrica estate over several years. Someone enjoyed sharing their dirty laundry… I’m seeing some salacious stories about the Irricas enjoying some sort of ‘supernatural aid’.” He chuckles, ”I’m sure it’s all celestials and unicorns.”
"STOP!" yells Fustifer, before breaking into a wheezing cough as he sees Hawk conjure up a magical breeze. "Don't do that. Please," he implores, looking over to the pile of unsorted papers. "That's, ah, how I got into this mess. Bad idea." He looks around for his quill, muttering, "Must add 'wind' to the list of banned items."
Constantine has remained silently observant while the others work, particularly admiring Sirio's command of legal materials and Hawk's ability to sift through reams of news and gossip and pull out interesting stories. "Yes, I suppose it does appear she has been honest enough," he says, wrinkling his brow.
When Majara is grappling with the intricacies of the Irrica family line, Constantine comes over to help. "Look," he says, "think of it as a logic puzzle. Let's start with Rutillo - he's the patriarch and the one we know most about. We've got pieces of information that tell us how he's related to a few people. We have a line of succession in his will, starting with his children, male first." He shrugs apologetically at the gnome. "But from this alone we don't actually know whether Rutillo, Jr is the eldest or indeed the youngest child, just that he inherits first. We can pencil three children underneath for now and see what else will help us order them. Over here, from Hawkren's note about the minor inheritance, we have a new name - Donato - suggesting a different branch of the family. We can infer from that the he was married to an Irrica, perhaps a sister of Rutillo, or even his wife. Cora, was it, Sirio?" he asks. "We also know that Rutillo has a nephew called Dremlut so potentially he is a child of Gistano..."
It takes a bit of time, plenty of cross-referencing, and the correction of more than a couple of provisional theories, but Constantine is fully absorbed in the task and is able to finally present a family tree for the Irricas. "Here," he says, showing Majara the finished article. "As expected, almost everyone died during the War." His eyes begin to fill with tears as he points to the name of the Irrica children among them. He is silent for a moment while he gathers himself. "There are a couple of notable exceptions though. Althea, Rutillo's youngest child, died a year earlier. She was only nineteen. And over here," he moves his finger to the other, smaller branch, "we have Dremlut. We know he survived the War but he apparently disappeared soon after and has not been seen since."
"Dead," Sirio chimes in. "Or at least presumed so beyond any reasonable doubt. Pava would have had to argue the case here and that will likely have taken a very long time. Ordinarily you would expect her to have the better claim, running directly down the bloodline, but as the will predates her birth and Dremlut is actively named in the line of succession, legally he has the stronger claim," he explains. "So either he has relinquished his claim - almost impossible given we would surely have found something to this effect - or he is dead, at least as far as the Irrica inheritance is now concerned, though likely in actuality too."
(No, Majara isn't looking at Emma. Why would she be?)
***
Emma happens to glance over at Majara at the mention of spider swarms, and let's out the slightest of sighs, seeing that the gnome is making eye contact with her. She wonders if any holy crusades have ever been declared spiders, and decides now is not the time to ponder such things.
***
It is only once you are outside and a distance from the house that Constantine, who remained stoically silent throughout the conversation, speaks up. "I don't think you I can accompany you on this," he says, shaking his head. "I'm not... you know..." He looks sadly down at his feet. "I could probably accompany you to the archives if you're thinking to not take Ms Irrica entirely at her word," he says, brightening, aware of the potential awkwardness around his situation. The weight still hangs heavily on his shoulders and the slightly distressed look on Constantine's face suggests that he, at least, probably wouldn't take Pava completely on trust.
***
"No worries Constantine - we understand," Emma tells him.
***
"I haven't visited the local archives." Hawk muses then adds too innocently, "As a visitor to town, I've heard it is a scenic spot I really should see."
"Trust but verify," Majara says drily to the concept of whether or not they take Pava at her word-- with a certain intonation that suggests she feels 'trust' may be stating it strongly.
"They're decent archives," she answers in response to Hawk. "For a town of Saringallow's size, anyway. Good records for gatherers. I think I'll start there, with anyone who hopes to have some history to mitigate the mystery. Hawkren- welcome to being provisionally a Seeker, it seems. I can assure you, they let anybody in here."
”I think you are underestimating the binding nature of our agreement,” Sirio snaps, a note of temper in his voice. ”Contracts are something we take seriously in the church. Yes, she may test its limits and meanings but that is simply part of the game. Whatever else she may be, Pava Irrica is no fool so let’s not be foolish ourselves. But the point remains that the contract itself – remuneration for services rendered – is solid.” He touches the holy symbol worn around his throat and a little of the stiffness in this hard man softens, as he adds, ”It would certainly be wise to see if we can verify what she said. Or, perhaps more likely, discover what she has omitted to tell us – Ms Irrica is under no obligation to disclose any more than she wants to, even if it may aid us in the completion of our tasks.”
***
"Not all of us are as familiar with how contracts work in your particular church, Sirio," Emma reminds him, holding up a hand. "And in almost any organization, there are always those who might operate outside traditions and regulations, for a whole host of reasons - not to say that's the case here, but there is generally a good reason to verify things. I wouldn't even suggest that followers of Iomedae are infallible. Either way - the archives sound like a good bet to me."
Emma catches Hawkren's eye and shrugs, a slight smile on her face. She'd thought it was stuffy in here too, though of course, she can understand why blowing dust around fragile archives would be a bad thing.
Between Majara, Hawkren, and Constantine, they manage to find out a good deal of information regarding the family tree and other tidbits that could prove useful on their mission.
It's good to hear Constantine speaking as much as he is, even if Emma herself has a bit of trouble following it. There's an awful lot of names and mentions of Isger families and history, which she is not very familiar with. Her family tree was rather simple - she knew her Mom, heard a bit about her grandparents on her mom's side, and that was it. There was no lineage of her family dating back hundreds of years. As far as Emma was concerned, she rather liked it that way. It seemed simpler - easier to manage.
"STOP!" yells Fustifer, before breaking into a wheezing cough as he sees Hawk conjure up a magical breeze. "Don't do that. Please," he implores, looking over to the pile of unsorted papers. "That's, ah, how I got into this mess. Bad idea."
Hawk banishes the spell like he's brushing away a fly. As he is new in town, he doesn't want to make a bad first impression, he does his research while sweating unnecessarily.
Majara frowns steadily through the tangled recounting of the Irrica family tree, and at the end of it, she shrugs.
"Impressive deductive work. But here is one Chelish proverb I've heard: Possession is nine-tenths of the law. This Dremlut might have the stronger claim on paper-- but as far as we know, he is dead. Do we expect him to materialize during our exploration?" she says bluntly.
"Because if we don't, I imagine this is all somewhat irrelevant. Pava Irrica is alive, has a pulse, a presence in the city, and she isn't paying us to determine the legal strength of her claim. She's paying us to make sure there's nothing nasty living in this estate and to kill it if there is. The only way that I perceive Dremlut to be of significance to our pay-pouch is if he shows up halfway through it."
Majara pauses, then smiles thinly. "Of course, if he's a ghoul or something dwelling in the ruins-- then, I suppose the lawyers really will have to get involved to determine ownership."
Sirio listens and weighs up his words before replying. ”It seems clear enough to me that any claim Dremlut may once have had has now been superseded by Pava’s. So, as you so succinctly put it, he is irrelevant to the mission.”
Having exhausted the archives’ material on the Irricas you bid Fustifer farewell and head back up to the surface, where it may not be any cooler but at least it is not enclosed and there is the suggestion of moving air. It is moving towards mid-afternoon and various options offer themselves up, starting with addressing immediate needs with a late lunch. You could also hit the road now, pick up any supplies in light of the new information you have learned, or indeed something else entirely.
The tattooist chimes in, referencing the family tree, ”I’m curious about the Delara Adnen inheritance. She is a distant cousin on the Donato side that doesn’t even appear in the family tree. And, somehow, she gets an inheritance. Why?”
”You know… Valten, Delara’s home, might just be a river ride and a bit of a hike north-east of Elidir. It isn’t necessary to the job, but am I the only one who’s curious?”
”This is only really an extract for the close family related to Rutillo and his will,” Constantine explains. ”Technically I suppose a family tree could go on forever as you get further and further from your starting point. I guess what matters here is the fact that she is so far removed. This suggests to me a lack of any closer family line. Anything else would be pure speculation.” He shrugs at Hawk’s second point. ”I am certainly intrigued a little, though in fairness I usually am. I don’t have a real voice in the matter though as I’m not able to accompany you.”
"My curiosity is restricted to the natural world," Majara says drily. It is not entirely true-- but it is true enough that she is not that interested in the byzantine plots of Chelaxians. They scheme and plot and backstab one another; yes, and?
She shrugs all the same. "I could write to people I know in Elidir," she offers. "To ask if they know anything of Valten, or Delara. But I doubt I'd get a response in a timely fashion. It would also take us rather longer to go check out Valten than it will to just go where our job is, yes?"
Majara stands outside the archive entrance and rolls her neck a little, side to side, stretching tendons and hearing the occasional vertebral pop. "If there's something that remains unsolved when we've cleared the manor then perhaps we might then look into it. For now, I suggest the following: lunch. On Wealday, Alcie does a walleye bake that shouldn't be missed.
"After that: prepare ourselves for the trip to the manor, rest well, and set out at dawn? Objections?"
Hawk mulls momentarily, "To be clear, as I'm the newcomer, I didn't mean we should prioritize a visit to Valten over the job. I just have a nose for salaciousness and I think I hear the faint rattle of a skeleton in the Irrica closet. Also, I hate loose ends and errant threads. And Delara is a thread waiting to be pulled... That said, I'm for baked fish and a bit of adventure."
"Your voice, and your vote, still matter, even if you're not coming along Constantine," Emma tells the man. "For what it's worth, I agree with Majara. We should look into the job we've been hired to do - once that's been done, we can see about looking into anything else, should the need arise."
When the subject was later broached at the walleye bake, Roger would weigh in.
"No harm in a letter, and no harm in the job. Remember, the deal we made was to return to her any property that is 'rightfully' hers, so if we do a bunch a hullaboo, find a bunch a secrets, and find it doesn't rightfully belong to her, well, the escape clause is already baked in." He says with a beard full of crumbs.
In the Witch's End, Majara barks an appreciative laugh at Roger's point.
"I think, Master Roger, that you could give our Asmodean a run for the money when it comes to letter of the law. Here's to the devil being in the details, hmnn?" she says, and toasts the table with her wine.
***
After lunch, Majara starts back to her shop and home-- but pauses, recalling the sight of earlier. She saunters to where the traveling gnome merchant has set up his unique shop, and nods cordially.
"Ezzised, regresso whyforespy alloogots. Tradesnamenshape? Quid vendl?"
***
Instructions are given to Gellion who pales a bit at the idea that he'll be in charge of the shop, again.
"Oh wipe that look off your face and fortify your face, boy," Majara sighs. "I shouldn't be gone as long this time, and you did manage to keep the place standing. Besides, you learned a good deal last time and you'll manage better this time. If you have any more questions, ask them without delay, for I must be packed and soon away."
She fields the boy's nervous questions even as she checks her armor for any spots of rust, packs potions in batting for safety, and confirms her other traveling gear. If she's a bit distracted while she answers his queries, oh well: the tingle of gnomish excitement is building again at the thought of more journeying. Truly, she's spent too long in Saringallow...
The morning will find her ready to go, Blue-the-mule's dye job retouched so he is a bright bold cerulean companion.
It seems the gnomerchant has been waiting for Majara’s return because his smile grows improbably wide as she approaches.
"Ezzised, regresso whyforespy alloogots. Tradesnamenshape? Quid vendl?"
He holds up a ‘one moment’ finger then addresses the town in a voice pitched to make dogs howl and carnival barkers jealous:
“Ladies and Gentle-persons of all ilk – be you fair or foul - my name is Bitiborium and before you stands my Item Emporium! I bring you the rarest, strangest, mundane-iest, zaniest, whole-grainiest, and scientificy…est, and otherwise unforgettable baubles anywhere in the worlds! Sometimes my cart is packed with gems and treasures, sometimes magic, and sometimes mule turds… Yes, that happened once. Never try to beat a sphinx in a riddle-battle when you are both speaking a language in which each of you has only passing familiarity - lesson learned! BUT that is not why I am here TODAY. TODAY I am here to offer you goods of surpassing interest and some of no value whatsoever. Yes, indeed, Bitiborium has rare offers for you today… for trade or purchase. All reasonable (and some unreasonable) offers WILL be entertained! Come forth and see my wares! The best wares anywheres ‘cept underwears!”
His pitch concluded, Bitiborium turns to Majara and his voice returns to a normal pitch. ”Lovely to see you again! Unlike so many, I don’t have a standard line of goods. Mostly I carry bric-a-brac from here and there, some rare oddities, and the occasional hidden gem. If you have a particular area of interest or a specific need that you’d be willing to speak of… I might be able to direct you to items of possible interest. Or you can simply peruse my shelves. In fact, let me show you my Perusalug!”
From a dark corner of the tent, he rolls out a 5’ tall step-ladder, on axled wheels. The rear axle goes through a box that forms the base of the ladder. The front axle attaches to a steering column and a small brass rudder handle set near the top of the ladder. ”For appropriately-sized folk, I find this helps. Care to try?”
Majara watches with a certain bit of professional appreciation for the other gnome's hawking shpiel. When he concludes it, she gives him a light little clap of respect.
"Well, well. My particular area of interest is primarily alchemical, but at the moment I am interested in your Perusalug. Let's give it a spin!"
Majara looks especially gnomish as she clambers on to the ladder and immediately sets to manipulation of the guidance mechanisms. Wheeeee!
Bitiborium watches the other gnome mount the ladder and start handling the single control lever. "Left on that handle takes you left, right goes right... obviously." With some effort he pushes the Perusalug around so it is facing the square, not his 'shop', then climbs up behind her on the device, settling on a step lower than hers. His arms are bracketing her and grabbing onto the ladder's handrails. He says quietly, "To go forward, say 'Mush, doggies!' To stop say 'Woah, doggies.' To go backwards say, 'Back, doggies.' And you want to say it pretty loud so they hear you."
He leans back, still circling her protectively with his arms but staying out of her space. He smiles, "Ready when you are."
Majara quirks a brow at Bitiborium clambering on behind her. "Don't trust me not to trash it?" she challenges wryly. Then she adds mischievously: "Or are you just looking for a pretext to get proximate, Master Bitiborium?"
The fact that he'd been perfectly respectful of her space has no bearing on her smirking statement. But without giving him a chance to answer, Majara calls clearly, "MUSH, DOGGIES!" (She also doesn't bother asking who, or what, 'they' are. They are the creatures that fuel the machine, obviously; why spoil the mystery and the fun?)
Bitiborium clearly majored in ‘inscrutable smiles’ in finishing school because his reveals nothing of his motives. The Perusalug squeaks and rolls forward at a very leisurely, practically glacial, pace. The gnomerchant waits until disappointment registers on Majara’s face. His smile grows, ”It is designed to maneuver around my small shop, after all… but I suspect you want to see how fast it can go. Hold on.” Once his and Majara’s grips are tight, he says, ”RAMMING SPEED, Doggies!”
The device lunges forward, the front wheels almost coming off the cobblestones briefly until Bitiborium leans forward to ground them. Whatever the ‘doggies’ are, they build speed with impressive rapidity. The breeze pushes against the gnomes’ faces. Majara estimates they are traveling about the speed of a running man. The alchemist has little time to consider this as she is racing headlong into the marketplace with its array of stalls, pedestrians, horses, and mundane vehicles.
Bitiborium hums a little ditty, enjoying the ride and leaving their fate entirely in Majara’s hands.
"AHA! Yes! Adequate acceleration!" Majara announces to the world at large as they start zipping forward and nearly upend. She helps add her own slight weight to the forward lean to ground it, and grins somewhat ferally as they zip forward towards booths, animals, and other such barriers to progress.
"SCIENCE COMING THROUGH!" Majara shouts. It is a truth universally acknowledged that two gnomes are not merely twice as dangerous as one, but rather, that shenanigans will scale via a square. One gnome is manageable, but two gnomes are four times as likely to engender a certain chaos. Ergo, the Saringallowers who duly look up to see two gnomes racing their way on a contraption do their best to scatter.
Steering, steering, hmm, Majara sticks her tongue out in concentration as she tests how well the Perusalug can handle a corner...
They zip past a fruit seller, a fish cart, a florist's. Majara is cackling with enjoyment of the ride-- right up until a stolid draft horse backs up uneasily into their path.
Fortunately, her time dealing with volatile substances has given Majara the ability to react quickly. She jerks the rudder swiftly to the left, and the ladder veers, totters, nearly falls over, doesn't as both gnomes throw their weight to the other side, and they slide past the startled wide-eye of the horse close enough to feel its mane brushing their cheeks.
Onward! Majara does not decelerate despite the close call. Somewhere behind them the draft horse is rearing but she's busy avoiding a cartful of cabbages. The second turn is smoother than the first, now that she has some sense of how it will handle a sharp corner.
Being inquisitive as all gnomes are, Majara ponders the further possibilities of the device. Being rather more wise than the statistical gnomish average, she waits until she has steered them back to a clearer and more open space before she tests out what happens when she goes from 'ramming speed' to "BACK, DOGGIES!" without any intervening slow or halt command...
Bit laughs during their pell-mell race through the market, echoing Majara’s rallying cry of ”SCIENCE!” along with (at appropriate moments) ”FISH FRUIT!” and ”CABBAGES!”
"BACK, DOGGIES!" without any intervening slow or halt command...
For all its wonder, the Perusalug cannot defy common physics. Within the box around the axle, breaks are clamped… judging by the squeal of stone dragging against metal. The contraption slows quickly then comes to a brief stop before it begins to reverse direction at a leisurely pace.
The merchant continues their previous conversation, ”I don’t believe I have any curious reagents at the moment, but I have a plant that may pique your interest.”
"Oh? Really? Hmn," Majara says as if they hadn't just braked in a shrill, perhaps-dangerous fashion. She cranes her head backwards to watch their progress as she reverses towards the booth-tent. Once there, she gives the 'doggies' a firm 'woah', then turns about to face Bit.
"What sort of plant? Not, I trust, a red-capped mushroom," she says lightly.
Majara careers round the square, managing to swerve and avoid both people and market stalls, though it’s not entirely clear if this is by luck or judgement. Either way, she still leaves a trail of chaos in her wake as people jump out of the way and animals rear in fright. Slightly taken aback at actually having something to do, the Gallowguard startles into action and blows his whistle. It doesn’t take too long for half a dozen guards to arrive. Surveying the scene, the captain is signalled by the Gallowguard and he explains the reason for the state of disorder. Nodding, she gestures her squad to Bitborium’s stand.
”That will do, thank you sir. That’s quite enough excitement for one day.” She looks at Majara with disappointment on her face. ”It would appear that nobody has been hurt, thanks to Ms Pricknettle’s skills but perhaps not everyone will be able to manage such a thing and it is only a matter of time before somebody gets hurt.” One of her men points at the contraption with a querying look and she gives a curt shake of her fair head. ”This machine is not to be operated within the town itself or within sight of Saringallows’s walls. If you want to cause yourself serious injury then that’s your lookout but do it far from here where you can’t hurt anybody else. You are welcome to trade still but please restrict yourself to standard methods only. Consider this your first and only warning.” She removes her hat and runs a hand through her hair, damp with sweat from the heat. ”Thank you, good gnomes,” she says, bringing the conversation at an end. With that she joins the rest of the guards in checking the other stallholders and customers are ok and order has been restored.
Bitiborium raises his hands in surrender, the smile never leaving his face. ”As you wish, good Constable! Henceforth and forthwith, you shall not see it again. I am a proponent of law and order. I just got a little carried away.” Literally. Ha!
Seeming chastened, Bit pushes the vehicle back into the dark corner of his stall. He makes a slight motion with his chin to have Majara follow him. It takes Majara’s eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. In that time, she hears what sounds like a piece of metal drop, a complicated series of taps on wood, a loud thump, and whirring… along with maybe a buzzing and a bolt sliding?
Her vision returned, she sees the other gnome half-way inside a compartment built into the side of his cart, searching for something. He shimmies out of the compartment carefully cradling a small plant in a ceramic pot lined with glyphs. He shows the delicate purplish flower to Majara. She quickly notes the head of the flower emits a warm glow but the edges glow pure white, as if the flower is outlined.
”I’m glad to hear it,” the guard captain returns the smile and is definitely not mentally adding Bitborium’s Emporium to any kind of watch list of known troublemakers.
"Tch," Majara mutters to herself when the guards appear. It's not as if anyone had been hurt. It's paranoid authorities like these who stand in the way of progress.
More loudly, however, she says, "Understood," to the guard. The disappointment washes off her like water off alchemically-treated canvas.
As soon as the guard leaves, she is happy to turn her attention to the flower, it being intriguing enough that she doesn't even make a comment about 'humans' to her fellow gnome.
"--now how did you happen to come upon this specimen, Master Bit? It's rather far from home, isn't it," she says, admiring it openly. "Certainly more attractive than a cythnigot, when it comes to things from other planes."
She sucks her lips a moment. "Dare I ask how much you're asking for it?"
Given the balmy temperatures, you hit the road early next morning to try and get as many miles under your belt as possible before the sun reaches its peak. The grass as you leave Saringallow by the north road is yellowing and crying out for rain. It’s been almost two weeks since the last thunderstorm, which brought much needed precipitation and a clearing of the air, at least for twenty four hours. As you work up a fair sweat simply from walking, it feels like the next one can’t come soon enough.
As you travel on the right bank of the Conerica, away to your left the land undulates and climbs into the woods, where Talon’s cabin and the abandoned fort lie. Blessed relief in the middle of the day comes from a small pond at the bottom of a shallow dip where you can bathe your feet and cool off under the shade of the overhanging trees for a couple of hours, avoiding the sun’s most powerful rays. It’s a pleasant rest but you have a job to do and the break isn’t getting you any closer to your destination. By early evening you have passed where the river forks off towards Elidir and before too long you come to a halt for the night. It’s warm in your tents, though Hawk is able to conjure a breeze, this time without the complaints of any ageing halflings, which definitely helps. Apparently it’s also too hot for anything much else to be out and about and the night passes uneventfully.
The early morning sun combined with the stickiness of a night in a tent means that again you’re eager to be away early. With luck at this pace you’ll probably reach the Irrica estate not too long after your midday meal. At one point, still pretty early, Majara and Hawk both have a strange sense that you are being watched but the land either side of the river is pretty open and you are unable to pinpoint anything. Still, the experience is mildly unsettling.
Your estimate of time is good and not too long after lunch you can see a large building set back away from the river. As you reach your destination, the land gently rises towards the estate. It also becomes increasingly apparent as you near it that it is in a state of some disrepair. There is patchy evidence of a previous boundary and grounds but over the past couple of decades the land has either been stripped bare or grown wild. Remains of broken statues and other miscellaneous debris lie scattered and there is evidence of hedges or bushes having been razed to the ground and never regrown. In other places large thickets of weeds and brambles have sprung up and block direct passage, though these can be easily circumnavigated.
The house itself is a two-storey gothic structure and also appears to be in fairly mixed condition. As you look at it from the front, the building seems solid enough, though any windows you can see look to have been boarded up from the inside. More of a concern is the fact that the roof has dipped and, in places, fallen in. Twin curving staircases of broad stone steps gently ascend to an open-air veranda and small vestibule containing the main entrance. Judging by its current state of dilapidation, your sense is that Pava had better hope that the family name still means something as it is obviously going to take a lot of gold to fix up the house.
"--now how did you happen to come upon this specimen, Master Bit? It's rather far from home, isn't it,"
Bit’s look becomes intense, discerning, and gauging. One eyebrow raises slightly, ”Is she? How far has she come?”
She sucks her lips a moment. "Dare I ask how much you're asking for it?"
The gnome chuckles. ”She isn’t for sale so much as adoption. To the right person, she could be affordable. To the wrong person, there is no offer I will accept.”
Hawk regards the house critically. With a minor gesture, a nearly invisible shield of energy forms around him. ”We should advise Pava to buy a broom. She’s in for a lot of sweeping. So… shall we circle the house to see it from all sides?”
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (7): x
Dancing Lights (3):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
Majara side-eyes Bit, her own eyes narrowed in turn. "Do you truly not know what you have, or are you testing me?" she asks archly, before looking back to the flower. "It's from Elysium. An orchid touched by celestial energies. As for being the right person..."
Majara sighs and takes a step back. "I'm going on a journey. I wouldn't trust my apprentice to care for it properly, nor could I take it on the road. That alone would disqualify me, whatever your other criteria are."
At the manor:
"It certainly looks as though it's seen better days," Majara agrees with a squint. "Here, before we go further:"
She rummages in her pack (loaded to an impressive level of bulging; most of what she had previously carried on the mule she is, apparently, now carrying herself, thanks to a potion she chugged that morning that smelt of cinnamon and bitters) (although the mule is still there, carrying some saddlebags and tent supplies) and pulls out a number of potions, passing them around to the others.
"Miss Blackford, I've noticed in our past misadventures that your armor often slows your progress towards a fight. This tincture will last about four minutes upon drinking and make you a bit more fleet of foot, as well as slightly more able to dodge blows. If you don't wish it, I can certainly give it to someone else. Right. Now we can circle the house."
Majara plants her fists on her hips, surveying the structure. "Widderhins, or deosil? Widdershins, I think."
Taking up Blue's halter, Majara starts to make her way around the perimeter, scanning the ground for any signs of tracks-- animal, personal, or otherwise-- to see if something has been coming and going with any frequency.
Majara side-eyes Bit, her own eyes narrowed in turn. "Do you truly not know what you have, or are you testing me?" she asks archly, before looking back to the flower. "It's from Elysium. An orchid touched by celestial energies…”
”Only a poor merchant doesn’t know what he carries. Of course, I’m testing you.” Bit smiles, ”…and you don’t disappoint. I haven’t met many who could identify her so quickly.”
”As for being the right person...I'm going on a journey. I wouldn't trust my apprentice to care for it properly, nor could I take it on the road. That alone would disqualify me, whatever your other criteria are."
Bit cocks his head at Majara’s response, finding something curious in it. ”She’ll be a fine traveler when she’s grown. But she isn’t ready for adoption, her stamen aren’t in yet. Give her maybe… two or three weeks – if you’re truly interested – and we can talk about her again.” He places the flower gently in the compartment in the side of his cart and shuts the wooden panel. There are a battery of quiet sounds then the gaps that indicate the compartment seem to vanish.
He proffers a bow. ”Best of luck on your journey and thank you for visiting my humble shop.”
Hawk places the potion in his bandolier. ”Thanks! Hopefully, I won’t need to use it.” After the gnome decides their course, he follows along, keeping one eye on the grounds and another on the house itself. Perhaps not all the windows are boarded up.
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (7): x
Dancing Lights (3):
CLW (1):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
She inclines her head lightly at the compliment. "Well. I've made a study of both plants and planes, I suppose. And I see regarding the timeframe."
Majara sucks her teeth a moment, reaches out to lightly touch the air near the blossom though not the blossom itself, then nods. "Perhaps I'll be back, then. If I don't, I probably concluded that great final experiment upon the road, so to speak. May the rest of your business today be profitable, Master Bit."
Majara matches his bow with one of her own, then exits the stall to go see to her preparations.
****
"Better to have it and nod need it than the corrollary," Majara observes in response to Hawkren. "Tell me, do you have any other fun tricks aside from the ability to call on intense conflagrations, as aboard the ship?"
A circuit of the manor reveals another pair of small staircases towards the rear, one on each side of the house. The doors into the house at the top of them both have also been boarded up from the inside. From an initial inspection you reckon that with some time and effort you could probably dismantle the barriers and force your way inside via this route. Hawk's keen eye notes that the windows in the upper storey towards the front left of the house have not been boarded up but these are the only ones. Around the house as a whole there are numerous black marks on the brickwork, more concentrated around the doorways and windows, that are suggestive of historic fires.
The most notable other feature is a well at the back of the house near one of the sets of steps. A stone statue of a handsome angelic figure with feathered wings rising up behind it looms over the well.
The dry weather means that it's difficult to see any signs of passage in the vicinity of the house. However, your inspection has been thorough and Hawk points out that the grass at the bottom of one of the front staircases has been flattened and worn away far more than on the other one. Looking closer, you are also able to pick out subtle indents in the hard ground, suggesting that some kind of creature has been using the steps fairly recently.
"Tell me, do you have any other fun tricks aside from the ability to call on intense conflagrations, as aboard the ship?"
Hawk says cordially, ”Why, yes! I’m a passable cook.” He stops briefly at the back entrance and points to the trodden grass and several depressions. ”Not my field of expertise…. But it looks like we have several ‘man-sized’ humanoids going back and forth along this path. I’d call it a gaggle, not a swarm of them.”
The tattooist smiles at Majara, and continues with the previous topic. ”I have some magical tricks as well… revealing invisible things, making allies invisible for a short time, and making things slippery. I even have a more pinpoint (and less disgusting) version of that web spell used on the ship.” He shivers unconsciously, recalling the stink of the sickly seaweed.
After they finish reconnoitering the house, he muses, ”So, front door or shall we go for one of the unblocked windows?”
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (7): x
Dancing Lights (3):
CLW (1):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
"Mmm, let's see, were they about human weight too-" Roger takes a few steps beside the other footprints him self to see if his imprint was about the same depth.
"On this potion Majara, should it be a drink it before we go in thing or if'n we're in a bind?" Roger asks about his potion.
"And I'm not sure what's the value in a spot so remote and in such poor shape, but well, if people were still interested in Sarina land, can't see why they wouldn't be interested here."
Majara pauses, gazing at the winged statue that looms over the property. It puts her in mind... ah, yes. She snaps her fingers.
"Amusing. That angel there is actually an erinyes, a devil. The Sarini estate has one rather like it. I remember seeing it when I visited it after you all cleared the house. If we needed further proof, the Irricas likely converted to devil worship early." (Not quite looking at Sirio as she says it.)
Majara nods thoughtfully at Hawk's mention of his various gifts. A useful fellow to have around. She stands with her hands on her hips while he and Roger analyze the tracks, her lips pursed thoughtfully.
"When to drink it is up to you, Roger. It will last, oh, four minutes. So not incredibly long, but if we know we're about to hit danger, possibly worthwhile.
"As for front door versus windows, I vote door. We've not been subtle, tromping around. If anything inside is hostile, it already knows we're here, and doorways are easier to get in and out of than windows."
Majara ties Blue off to a small shrub a little bit away from the entrance, then starts towards the aforementioned door, though is certainly willing to let Roger and Emma precede her.
As you approach the vestibule, it's clear that it has seen better days. The bricks on both sides have taken a battering and are heavily chipped and scarred. Entering, you see more blackened scorch marks around the heavy double front doors and a thin film of soot clings to the base of the wall. Barring a few small charred remains, perhaps from some ancient furniture, there is nothing else in the antechamber. There is no discernible lock on the door, only a heavy wrought iron handle.
Hawk regards the interior of the vestibule as if he was considering the purchase of a summer retreat. Then, out of an abundance of caution, he weaves a spell to detect any traces of magic in the area, specifically around the door.
2nd Spells (4):
1st Spells (7): x
Dancing Lights (3):
CLW (1):
Effects:
Mage Armor = +4 AC/FF for 4 hrs
Hawk turns his attention to the door but his spell does not find any trace of magic about it or anywhere else in the entrance chamber.
"A gaggle?" Emma questions with a smile. "I suppose better a gaggle than a swarm. Jokes aside, that sounds like a very useful set of skills."
-----
Emma frowns over at Majara. "I don't tromp," she protests, as her heavily armored boot clunks down. She looks down at her armor and lets out a sigh. "Well... never mind."
Emma gives Hawk an appreciative nod as he seems to reach out with his senses, though she keeps a hand on the hilt of her sword, just in case she needs to make a hasty draw. The entrance chamber isn't exactly the most welcoming place Emma has seen, though, nothing has leapt out at them just yet either.
Reaching out with her own senses, Emma stills, then holds up a hand.
"Hold," she murmurs to the group. "I'm getting a sense of... it's not absolute evil, but it's still something I can detect. I'm getting a sense ahead-" Emma, facing the door, points forward, "-and another group... three perhaps?... to the north east." She shakes her head. "Obviously, I can't read intent, but, it's safe to say we're not alone either. It's likely they know we're here, though."
"Well, I see no trace of dangerous magic on the door. Shall we go encourage the locals to leave? How exactly does one 'hero' in a situation like this? Kick the door in? Proceed cautiously?" The tattooist seems genuinely interested in their approach, even while making light of it.
"Enter, find out who's here, if it's the sort of people who can be persuaded to leave without violence, try that. If not, well." Majara shrugs. "If not, then violence. You see? A simple equation."
The gnome nods with her chin towards the door. "Miss Blackford? Or Master Roger. Would either of you care to see if that will open, or shall I?"
Trying the door, it doesn't budge. It would appear to be barred from the inside. Despite its age and the superficial damage, it's still pretty solid so would take a powerful blow like a shoulder charge to force it open, or you could simply hack it down.
Looking back out at the unboarded windows as a possible alternative, you realise that the position of them roughly corresponds to where you can see the roof has fallen in. It's quite possible that nobody has sealed them because they are inaccessible from inside the house.
Emma glances at the door. It looked to be a fairly solid door... as far as doors went, anyway. There was a chance she could try to ram it open, but she wasn't sure it would work.
Still...
Even though it was very likely whatever was inside knew they were coming, they might not be expecting someone to come bursting through the door, either. And well, wasn't it time she gave her new armor a bit of a test run?
Emma sighed.
"Alright. I think I'm going to try and burst this thing open," Emma tells the others. "I could probably use some help on this," she adds to Roger and Hawkren.
Sirio grunts and throws his shoulder at the door in time with Emma.
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Majara's stature might not suggest her as the most obvious door breaker, but, you see, it's all about distributive force-- multiple impacts both high and low.....
Whunch!
”Right! It’s big, damn, hero time…” Hawk cracks his knuckles and puts a shoulder into the door, determined to break it down. Unfortunately, he throws most of his weight against the doorframe instead. He comes away rubbing his shoulder. ”Ow.”
In a fit of pique, or perhaps intelligence, he weaves a spell and sends a glob of acid at one of the hinges. He hopes that melting the hinge might make the task easier.
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"Aye- we just going to bust it down? Not the most genteel way of starting parle-" Roger hesitated for a moment too long about their method of entry to help, before the others busted down the door with team effort.
After Hawk tries to tamper with the hinges, Emma, Sirio and Majara collectively thump into the door with such force that the bar holding it shut snaps with a loud cracking sound. The heavy wooden doors swing open but there is no further sound nor immediate reprisal. As Roger notes, it is perhaps not a particularly subtle entrance but certainly an effective one.
Stepping inside, you find yourselves in a huge room that runs the length of the house. This once-grand hall now lies in ruins. Marble pillars support a painted high ceiling above an ornately tiled but bloodstained floor. Broken glass, debris, and no small number of bones lie scattered around. Everything is coated with a thick layer of dust.
Stern portraits of Irrica family members line the walls on both sides, looking down from gilded frames hung above the reach of goblin invaders. The corridors to your immediate left and right lead towards doors at either end. To the rear, a wrought-iron spiral staircase, its railings evoking the fires of Hell, leads up. A pair of sweeping staircases also ascend from the back of the room, though the one on the left as you look at it is choked with debris and probably impassable. The rear exterior doors are ornately carved and barred from within.
There is no immediate sign of either movement or life.
Majara smirks thinly, whether at Roger's words or Hawkren's pique being up for debate. She peers down the just-revealed hall.
"Genteel? No. But I'd rather parley, if we're going to, from within rather than without where we are possibly about to be shot at by persons on the rooftop, or something."
Majara cracks her fingers, rubbing her thumb briefly against her tattooed moth, then glances up at Emma in particular.
"Miss Blackford. If anyone's here, they certainly also know that we are. We could announce ourselves, and offer to let anyone here depart in peace if they're willing, and give warning that if not we will be moving through and conducting an eviction. You might be the best at being heard?"