Majara snorts softly on seeing that the bandits do not even attempt to check on if their fellows yet live.... although, of course, that is a rather charred bandit leader there to be sure.
"I suggest we tell Pava that the house was this burned before we got here," she quips, nudging a scorched bit of floor with her toes and trying to determine if the charring was from her bomb or Hawkren's magic. Not that it matters.
"We should drag the corpses out of the building before we leave. Otherwise the scavengers will come in here and the building will have all new inhabitants," she observes, ever pragmatic. She puts her hands on her hips as they search the bodies of the bandits, looking up at the ceiling.
"By my mental map that's all the first floor. Back to the attic, then? Once we're patched."
Looking around the bandits’ living quarters you find four remaining sleeping bags and backpacks, though they contain little of value, just basic gear for living. More promisingly, the three dead bandits each have coinpurses and some of their weapons are well crafted. Despite some superficial marks from the heat of Hawk’s spell, the leader’s lute is also a fine piece of maple wood shaped by a skilled instrument maker. A potion of an iridescent hue, changing from electric blue to violet in the light is also recoverable from his belt.
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Hawk looks through the goods with a discerning (and Detect Magic-y) eye. He examines the potion closely before rendering his unhelpful verdict. ”Yes, well, this appears to be a magic potion of some sort.” He tosses the bottle to Majara for a hopefully useful analysis.
Majara tuts lightly as she catches the small flask.
"And by some sort, you mean, eagle's splendour-- boost's one's force of personality for a minute or three. Specifically, three. Ironically, no eagle feathers are used in the brewing."
Majara idly plucks a string on the lute but music is definitely not her forte. She helps gather the useful items up, and in passing, hands off a potion of her own to Hawkren.
"Drink this."
"Yes, well, this appears to be a magic potion of some sort," Hawkren observes, before tossing it to Majara.
"Funny," Emma says, "that's about my skill level in regards to identifying potions. Despite having spent time in Majara's shop."
"And by some sort, you mean, eagle's splendour-- boost's one's force of personality for a minute or three. Specifically, three," Majara notes. "Ironically, no eagle feathers are used in the brewing."
Emma lets out a snort at Majara's analysis of the potion. "So why is it called that, then?"
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"Because there is a common perception of eagles as majestic creatures, I suppose. I don't know. Ask a bard."
Majara looks down at the ashes of the lutist-chieftain.
"Perhaps not that one."
Majara has satisfied herself the room has nothing else of apparent interest, so brushes off her hands and turns to start the way back to the stairs.
"......peacock's splendour really would be better, wouldn't it..." she mutters to herself as she climbs.
”I can tell neither of you have seen an eagle at the top of a hunting arc, soaring higher than the trees before swooping down to swipe up some unsuspecting prey.” Nerissia says admiringly.
”Peacocks are all show, no substance, just waving their gaudy feathers around. Eagles are where the true magnificence lies, the perfect predator bird.” she insists, completely serious as she follows Majara up.
The stairs to the top floor turn in tight corners until they come back on themselves and you are standing in another corridor directly above the one you just left. It bends around, following the same layout as the floor below, though this time the corridor comes to a much quicker end, with a sagging roof support preventing you from going very far. Although you can’t see much beyond the blockage, the movement of air indicates that somewhere the part-collapsed roof is open to the sky. A single scorch-marked and scratched door to the room above the nursery remains accessible.
Trying the handle, the door doesn’t budge, though in a way that suggests it is merely locked rather than blocked from the inside.
Majara looks down at the ashes of the lutist-chieftain.
"Perhaps not that one."
Emma lets out a huff of a laugh at that. "Noted. I'll have to try remember to ask Hannelia about it when she returns."
"I can tell neither of you have seen an eagle at the top of a hunting arc, soaring higher than the trees before swooping down to swipe up some unsuspecting prey." Nerissia says admiringly.
"Peacocks are all show, no substance, just waving their gaudy feathers around. Eagles are where the true magnificence lies, the perfect predator bird," she insists, completely serious as she follows Majara up.
Emma waits as Majara and Nerissia climb up toward the attic before following them up, grunting from the weight of her armor - as heavy as it is protective, she notes.
"Did you perhaps own an eagle at one point, Nerissia? Or are you simply an admirer of the species? As far as my opinion goes," she puts in as she climbs, "eagles are quite impressive, I will admit, and are skilled hunters. But I think I'd consider owls to be both the flashier and more cunning when it comes to predator birds."
She glances down the ladder. "Of course, there's a lot to be said for the majestic parrot as well," she adds with a smile at Roger.
They head up to the door, though it appears to be locked. Emma glances around the group with a shrug.
"I could try to break it down," she muses. "But if anyone else has a key or wants to try and pick it, I would suggest trying that first."
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"Owls are among the more stupid of the larger birds," Majara says crisply. "Corvidae are the most intelligent-- your crows and ravens and such. Which is why fox's cunning really ought to be crow's cunning, foxes aren't particularly intellectually advanced. See also: owl's wisdom."
The mention of the lock earns a frown from Majara. "My skills at this are rather rusty. But unlike the question of avian nomenclature, the lock cannot wait for Hannelia's return. I'll try."
Rummaging in her many pockets produces her picks, and the gnome looks the mechanism over before beginning to work....
After a minute or two of fiddling, Majara exhales and withdraws her lockpick, and selects a different one, and tries again.
Majara continues to hunch over the lock, manipulating the tool back and forth as seconds tick by... and by... and by...
Emma clears her throat and says, "Er... do you want me to try to just bash it--"
"Engineering isn't quick!" Majara snaps. More fiddling goes on.
....Eventually the lock opens. Majara shoots Emma an insufferable look, before opening the door.
Hawk quaffs the potion, because drinking it would be pedestrian. His face screws into a grimace.”It tastes like rutabaga and failure. Bleh!” But as his wounds vanish, he amends his judgment. ”That said… it is wondrously effective. Thanks.”
He doesn’t offer an opinion about eagles vs peacocks as he follows along up the stairs.
”But I think I'd consider owls to be both the flashier and more cunning when it comes to predator birds."
She glances down the ladder. "Of course, there's a lot to be said for the majestic parrot as well," she adds with a smile at Roger.
”I daresay the hawk deserves an honorable mention…” mentions the less than honorable Hawk.
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Emma throws a grin in Hawkren's direction as he comes up to the attic. "That's fair," she admits. "I'm rather fond of the red-tailed ones myself."
She crosses her arms as Majara fiddles with the lock. Owls, stupid? Emma isn't sure she can buy into that. They'd have to be at least a little clever to be such talented hunters at night. Sure, crows and ravens were undeniably smart. Now, doves, sparrows, they were dumb. Well, dumb by bird standards, anyway. And the chicken wasn't exactly the brightest creature around either. Not that she'd had much experience with any of the aforementioned birds. Nor was she sure how one would determine a bird's general intelligence anyway. Were there aptitude tests for birds? Is that how chickens had become a commonplace food item? 'Sorry, your intelligence score is a bit low, and you're tasty. Unfortunate combo for you. I'm afraid it's out of my hands now.'
Emma scratched at her nose to hide her grin.
Majara's fiddling continues... and continues... and continues some more. At a certain point, Emma raises her brow and clears her throat. "Er... do you want me to try to just bash it--"
"Engineering isn't quick!" Majara snaps.
Emma holds up her hands and lets the gnome get back to work. Eventually, the lock clicks open. Majara shoots her a glare and then opens it.
"I bet an owl could have opened it quicker," Emma mutters as she follows.
Did you perhaps own an eagle at one point, Nerissia? Or are you simply an admirer of the species?
Nerissia laughs, seemingly reminiscing older times. ”Currently own several eagles and hawks, yes. All back at the citadel, but when I’m there for a short week or two I use them while hunting. I do miss falconing while in the field, but Alocer serves as a suitable replacement, on the ground at least.” she says, giving the fennec a scratch down the back.
”I find owls don’t serve as well as hunting companions as the eagle and hawk do, actually. Too independent, and they can’t be trained to not eat too much of the game. Altogether unsatisfactory, if you ask me.”
I daresay the hawk deserves an honorable mention…
A quick snicker escapes her lips before she catches herself, coughing in an attempt to cover her tracks. ”I, uh, did mean to ask about that. You aren’t actually named after the hawk, are you?”
She doesn’t get involved in the ‘spar’ over the door-opening, not quite understanding the dynamic between the Paladin and the gnome just yet. Or the party as a whole, for that matter.
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"Certainly didn't know we had so many folk knowing bout birds about. I always figured parrots among the smarter birds, what with the talking and all."
He gave his own parrot a bop on the nose. "Though I suppose mine's got a bit of wool brain."
”I, uh, did mean to ask about that. You aren’t actually named after the hawk, are you?”
"I'm not. My name is actually Hawkren. It's a family name... my thrice-great grandfather's."
Eventually Majara’s tinkering with the lock succeeds, even as her temper starts to rise. You enter a relatively spartan bedchamber, dusty and cobwebbed, though what furniture there is looks to be of good quality. Aside from a single bed with chunky bedposts there is an oak writing desk and a high-backed chair carved in the same style. A wardrobe is hung largely with practical but well-cut clothing, now ravaged by mildew and time.
A whetstone and a small mirror sit on the desk and a dusty lamp perches on a small bedside table but there are few personal items or accoutrements on display. A bundle of letters in the desk drawer reveal the room’s occupant to have been Dremlut Irrica and that he was a member of the Order of the Rack Hellknights. The communications are all basic instructions and bland correspondence, however. Anything more important or clandestine has clearly been either removed or destroyed.
These all appear to be personal notes rather than anything from the Hellknights with half a dozen from Dremult’s mother, Silera, and the other two from somebody named Jaustinia. The context suggests the latter is some kind of potential romantic partner. Most of the letters are not particularly interesting to you, but one note catches your attention:
“Dremlut,
I pray this letter finds you safe. I know your duty to the Hellknights will put you in the path of danger, but yours is an honourable path, and I do not begrudge it. What concerns me is your faith in your own family. We are a jealous lot, and I fear my sister’s ambition does not rest easy alongside your rapid promotion. I worry that her peace will be bought with nothing less than your life. You do not believe me, but I know my sister better than you know your aunt. I pray you take care and to keep close the signet ring - should my sister try to command the Wrathful Angel against you, it will keep you and your companions safe. Remember to always wear it on your left hand; it was dearly crafted to shield you, my only child.
- Your Mother”
"Dremlut? Boy, if ever there was a dryer name, I've not encountered it. Roger gets distracted by how poor the name's mouthfeel is.
Majara flips through the stacks of old correspondence but finds nothing detailing alchemical formulae, which means the papers are by default not terribly interesting. She shrugs and hands over the letters to anyone else who wants to look at them.
Roger's comment makes her tap her chin. "I once knew a dwarf whose name was Hworng. In Dwarven, apparently, it sounds nice."
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"Well, Hworng isn't even that bad. Say it right- HWOORNG, and it's like an angry swan, which sure, isn't nice, but it's got some spice! If you've ever been chased by a swan, you know they've got fire in those beady little eyes. Dremlut just doesn't have anything."
”Perhaps with a little divine aid we could all concentrate on the task at hand?” Sirio suggests. ”You first, Ms Pricknettle, then you, Roger.” With a practiced, almost bored, gesture he gives a touch of help from Asmodeus to first one and then the other of them to encourage their search.
”You are correct, however, it is not a name to delight the senses.”
"Ah - now I see something. Hail Asmodeus," Majara says pithily. In short order she turns up a dagger... coins... a badge... a gem... and papers. More papers!
Majara spreads them out on the old desk to look through them.
"That's a handsome opal. Magic, do you suppose? Someone can check. Here, this note from Dremel, I mean Dremlut's mother.... interesting. The signet ring protects against the 'Angel' we've seen mentioned."
"Dremlut Irrica was a member of the Order of the Rack?" Emma says, frowning down at the correspondence. Her eyes shift over to Nerissia, though she doesn't say anything. Was she familiar with the order herself? "Not exactly a popular order, to say the least," she continues, tossing the letters contemptuously back onto the desk. "Downright loathed in some places, and for good reason. For those who aren't familiar, they have a nasty reputation of raiding homes of people who speak out against any kind of 'status quo', and for breaking up groups of what they consider to be 'malcontents' before they can become guilds, unions, whatever." Emma shakes her head. It's clear she doesn't think well of the order. "Self-righteous thugs, in other words."
Hawk is deeply considering the worst first names he's ever heard and misses, well, pretty much everything else. "With a name like 'Hworng', how could his life possibly go hright?"
Belatedly catching on to the conversation and the discoveries, Hawk examines the opal.
As Majara suggested, you work to remove the corpses and the remaining traces of the bandits. Fully cleaning and restoring the house is going to be a far bigger job, even with magical aid, so you suppose that your patron’s pockets must be deep. The sun has dipped lower in the sky by the time you’ve finished, not that you would know it from inside given the boarded up windows let in minimal natural light. Chances are your stomachs would let you know that it was dinner time though, given your exertions removing the inhabitants. You probably have sufficient light to hit the road for an hour, maybe two, or you could choose to stay in the house and at least have a roof over your heads for the night.
Emma wipes her brow after the job is done and regards the others in the light of the setting sun. "Not sure about the rest of you, but I could do some food, and we're not going to have much light left in the day." She glances off into the distance. "Do we want to try and set up here for the night? Not sure I'd fancy spending time in a house where we were attacked from all directions, but I'll go along with whatever you all decide."
Hawk doesn’t have an opinion on whether they should stay in the house or camp in the wild this evening. He does have a strong commitment to dinner as soon as Emma mentions it. He takes supplies (his and whatever else is offered) into whatever space could be best be used as a kitchen and gets to prepping, spicing, and cooking… ”Leek and Potato au Gratin smothered with Rations Gravy.”
"Well, there were still tracks about to follow, so I figure we stay here for the night then follow them in the morning."
Not sure I'd fancy spending time in a house where we were attacked from all directions, but I'll go along with whatever you all decide.
"Perhaps, but I think that heading out on the road and camping without the protection of the house is an even worse idea." she says, attempting to remain non-confrontational.
Leek and Potato au Gratin smothered with Rations Gravy.
Nerissia is obviously surprised by the quality of the food offered, but covers it well. "I've certainly had worse rations on the road, that's for sure. If you'll have me, that is." she jokes before sitting down, motioning for Alocer to rest beside her. "Don't worry about him, I have dried meat sticks that he eats."
Well, there were still tracks about to follow, so I figure we stay here for the night then follow them in the morning.
"Weren't those tracks heading into the house? Just evidence of the bandits infesting the place."
"Ah, well, if that's all they were, that's alright then."
"I feel we've had this discussion before," Majara says drily to the question of whether they should stay in a defensible house that might be assaulted, or hit the road as dusk encroaches. "Yes. Let's stay here. At least we don't have a quasi-hostage village around."
She's about to consider cooking when Hawkren rises smoothly to the challenge-- ah, that's right, he'd said he was a cook. She trails after him to watch his work, occasionally cutting something up or helping to measure, seeming far more impressed with his skill at leek-wrangling than his skill at immolating monsters.
"Alchemy is less about making things taste good than making them effective... as you observed when drinking my earlier extract," she says drily. "What's this you're doing with the butter, then?"
She peppers him with a handful of questions as dinner is prepared-- before remembering there's something else she wants to work on. Out of courtesy to the dinner being made, she relocates to another chamber to work on the portrait of Asmodea Pavica.
"We found a talking portrait, but it's damaged," she explains to Nerissia. "I'm going to try and get it all the way sorted... But I need my full gear, which is on Blue. --and Blue's still outside."
A detour to bring her long-suffering mule inside-- not as if the house can be made much the worse for a mule's hooves-- and then Majara sets up her full, fancy alchemist's lab, which in its own right takes a good while to get all the beakers and tubing sorted. With that, she's able to distill a few solvents and cleansing agents. The gnome is as happy as she ever is, surrounded by the eye-watering smell of vinegar-based liquids, and hums to herself as she devotes two hours to the painting.
"What's this you're doing with the butter, then?"
Hawk nods his thanks as Majara helps with the prep work. As he constantly stirs the butter in the pot, he replies, ”It’s called browning the butter. It’s very alchemical which I think you’ll appreciate. We heat the butter carefully until it becomes a rich golden-brown. If we do it right, the butter takes on a nutty flavor which will improve the roux – the base of the gravy. If we over-cook it, it becomes bitter and gross. Then I throw it out and curse my lack of skill or the fickle nature of the cooking gods.”
Out of courtesy to the dinner being made, she relocates to another chamber to work on the portrait of Asmodea Pavica… The gnome is as happy as she ever is, surrounded by the eye-watering smell of vinegar-based liquids, and hums to herself…
While the potatoes boil, the sorcerer/cook follows his nose into Majara’s alchemical lair. He wafts air over a couple of vials, sniffing until he finds the right one. ”Plain white vinegar, right? Do you mind if I steal a dram?” Assuming he receives permission, he palms the vial and scampers back into the kitchen to improve his ‘rustic’ meal.
”I've certainly had worse rations on the road, that's for sure.”
He smiles, finding her understated compliment funny. ”Ah, the high praise we cooks live to hear!”
With patience, care and no small amount of skill, Majara is able to clean up the painting to a standard pretty close to new. The face of Asmodea Irrica is now fully revealed, having been shifting around to watch the gnome at work, an added distraction that she could probably have done without. The set of her face and features are very similar to Pava’s so even if you didn’t know it was her mother, the family resemblance is obvious.
Majara waves a hand at the question of vinegar, considering she'll still have enough for cleaning the painting unless Hawkren really takes a lot...
Two hours of work later-- work that might be tedious to some, but Majara doesn't seem to mind it-- she gazes with some satisfaction down at the woman's animated likeness.
"Hello there, Asmodea. Let's get you in with the others."
Carrying the painting, she goes in search of the others, brandishing the portrait rather like doomsayers brandish signs proclaiming the end of the world.
"Lady Irrica is rather cleaner. What shall we ask her? Lady Irrica, I don't suppose you know where we might find a hellfire rod, a signet ring, a mace, or a locket? We are looking for them for your daughter. Pava."
At the mention of her name, the painting responds with the same line you have heard before, "I am Asmodea Irrica, daughter of Rutillo and heir of the House of Irrica." Her voice is at least clearer now, no longer muffled and distorted by the graffiti all over the canvas.
The portrait is rather large for the gnome to carry but Majara manages it without incident or appearing too comical in the process. She places it propped up against a wall so Asmodea faces the group.
"The Hellfire Rod is a symbol of the power and status of the House of Irrica. It is my father's prized possession," she responds to Majara's first question.
She smiles at the mention of her daughter. "I have three children, Venifico, Pava and Thera. They bring me joy and in time will bring strength and honour to the family line."
"A fine cook makes for happy travels, true on land as on sea-"
He smiles, finding her understated compliment funny. ”Ah, the high praise we cooks live to hear!”
Nerissia is clearly flustered by the realization of what she said, sputtering a bit before replying. "Ah, that's, uh...not what I meant..."
Thankfully, Majara saves the situation by...bringing in a talking painting?
"I sense that I have stumbled into something that I don't have all of the facts on. Someone care to explain what's going on?"
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"I'll be honest, I was here the whole time and I don't really get the talking painting either."
Majara strokes her small chin with one finger as she regards Asmodea.
"Portrait of Asmodea Irrica, the mother of our employer for this job," she says offhand to Nerissia. "Animated, though I'm curious as to the purpose of it- if there is any beyond the vanity of the nobility."
She nods slowly at Asmodea's mention of the rod-- not that it tells them much new-- then addresses the painting again.
"We are agents of your daughter, Pava. She has sent us here to recover your family's possessions and bring them to her. Do you know where the signet ring is? The mace? The locket? Can you describe them to us?"
Majara doubts it will be as easy as 'the painting then tells us exactly where they are', but figures it's at least worth a shot.
"Pava will likely be glad to have you, your painting that is, back in her possession at least," she muses.
After waiting to see if the painting has anything more to say, Majara nods to the others. "Right, I have to pack UP all the stuff I just unpacked and get it back on Blue. I think our plan is: rest, keep watch during it, set out in the morning's light back to town, and tell Pava our findings so far. I don't think the house has any secrets we haven't found yet. If the children all scattered to the four winds, who knows where all these items could be hiding."
When Majara mentions Pava's name again, the painting repeats "I have three children, Venifico, Pava and Thera. They bring me joy and in time will bring strength and honour to the family line."
Asmodea remains silent in response to the other question, before smiling at Majara's comment about returning her to Pava and once more repeating the line about her children.
The night in the house passes quietly and uneventfully. No more devils, no more bandits, and nothing else untoward crawls out of the woodwork.
It's hard to tell due to the lack of light inside but as day breaks, in the early morning silence you get a slightly better feel for the attractions of the Irrica's summer estate and what it could be when fully restored. The late summer sun is not high in the sky when you hit the road but it's already warm enough and the day looks set to be another scorcher.
The journey back to Saringallow over the next day and half is leisurely, as you try to avoid travelling during the midday heat, and pleasantly uneventful. When you enter the town through the north gate, a gangly youth of around thirteen, clearly still growing into his body approaches you. He stops for a second and does a very obvious up and down look to check you out, before continuing nervously, glancing warily and without subtlety at Nerissia and Alocer. "You're... you're the Saringallow Seekers?" he asks.
Majara picks up her pace a little as they enter town-- she has to go check on her shop, of course-- but slows reluctantly when they're addressed.
"We are," she says simply, giving the boy a once-over of her own. "Message, I assume? I certainly hope so rather than threat."
The boy nods, an exaggerated nervous movement. "Yes. A message. That's right... Er, can you please go to the Venator's house when convenient please?" Job done, he turns to start moving away before stopping and asking. "You know where you're going>"
The night before:
Nerissia retreats back to the room she had holed up in with an apologetic smile. "You understand we just met, no hard feelings. We'll see you all in the morning." she explains, petting Alocer before retiring. She locks the door as best as she is able and resets the bear trap she has set up in front of the door.
The next morning she is up an hour before sunrise, gear packed and waiting politely a comfortable distance from where the rest of the party decided to sleep. Don't want to be creepy (although she doesn't entirely succeed obviously. "Good morning, how did you sleep?" she says stiffly, obviously not used to traveling or dealing with others. Seems like she hasn't in multiple months, at the very least.
On the trip back to town (and she does stay with the party) she is quiet unless spoken to, a look of strange concentration on her face as the party makes its way out of the house and back towards the town. She's tense the entire way, staying a little bit back from the main group and keeping an eye on not only them but also the land around them.
Back in town:
When met with the expected reaction from the children, she doesn't back down or cower, instead stepping forward and allowing both her Hellknight crest and unholy symbol to show itself. "Yes, we are." she says, grinning widely to expose her sharpened teeth before throwing her head back and laughing. "Don't worry, little one, I won't bite. Run along now."
"Well, wonder if another clue or something is asking us to head to it's doorstep." Rpger seems fine with the plan to visit Venator.
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Satisfied that you know where you’re going, the boy wastes no time in scurrying off as fast as his long legs will carry him. Emma takes point, as she regularly does in considerably more dangerous situations, and leads you through the streets of Saringallow to your destination.
At the Venators’ house, you knock on the door and Shel opens it. She is, despite the heat, for some reason dressed in a one-piece outfit made to look like a black dragon, complete with tail. A hood in the shape of the dragon’s head is pulled over her own, with fabric fangs hanging down to form its ‘maw’. ”Uh, hi,” she says, colouring slightly. From inside comes a giggle and it is apparently contagious as Shel, too, joins in. Peering inside you see Jhessa sat on the edge of the kitchen table, similarly attired except her costume is red.
”Um, I had a dream about dragons,” Shel says in between peals of laughter, an explanation that explains very little except perhaps the fact that they are teenagers. ”Come in, anyway.” She taps her wrist and her outfit magically changes, giving you a glimpse of something pale blue and gauzy for a second. ”Oops.” She repeats the action and is now attired in a long dress of spring green, belted at the waist. Jhessa performs a similar action and is now dressed more normally in the well-cut robes of an acolyte of Shelyn. The girls make eye contact with each other and start giggling again.
”Sorry,” Jhessa says, slipping down from the table.
Shel pats her hair down, the dragon costume was clearly quite warm and rather impractical in the heat. ”Yeah, sorry. I had a message from Hannelia for you. I knowed you was out of town so we’ve been keeping an eye out for you.” She disappears off to her room and returns carrying a number of parcels of various sizes. Jhessa goes to help her, taking the topmost package that is balancing somewhat precariously and placing it on the table. Shel is then able to put the others down beside it. Judging by the outfit-changing magic the two girls have been experimenting with, it would appear that they too received presents.
Shel offers you a small scroll, carefully bound and sealed with wax. Unfurling it, you are greeted with a message in Hannelia’s neat script:
“I can’t give any real details now about what I’ve been doing but let’s just say that I and my associates unexpectedly came into a great deal of coin that we were not supposed to. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to get rid of a lot of gold in a hurry while trying to remain discreet but it’s not as easy as you might think. I was already planning on getting you all some presents - honestly some of the things I’ve seen here are incredible, almost anything seems to be for sale if you know who to talk to - so this seemed like a good way of disposing of my share. I’ve been more rushed than I’d like so I hope they’re ok. - Hannelia”
There’s a short addendum on a separate note written in a different hand. Presumably Shel has transcribed this:
“When these were delivered Shel said that you were out of town on some kind of job. I hope you’re all alright and that these are of use if it’s not too late by the time you get them. I gather Hawk has been travelling with you too, and I’m glad. Hawk - I’m really sorry that I didn’t pick anything out for you specially but the dark wine-coloured prize in the chest will suit you well, I think. Besides, maybe the dice will be in your favour… H”
It is clearer what this last point refers to when you open the first package addressed to “The Saringallow Seekers”. Inside are several sets of polyhedral dice in a variety of colours. Each bag has a name written on it. There is a note on the top that reads “Look what I found! Apparently they call them “Shackles dice”. Maybe you’re not as excited about this as I am but I couldn’t not buy everyone a set. Remember the game we played in the manor? There are a few things here that I think could be useful to anyone so perhaps you’d like to play again.”
Lifting out the various dice sets you can see that there is a small wooden box, maybe six by eight inches. It has perhaps seen better days but looks to be sturdy still. A tiny key has been neatly tied around the box and a note on the top simply reads “Treasure”.
Shel and Jhessa start handing out the dice sets according to the labels, a deep red set with black numbers for Sirio and bleached bone numbers on black for Roger. Emma receives a silver set with white numbers and Majara’s are lurid purple and green inscribed in blue. Shel sets aside one marked “Constantine” and takes a look at the additional sets - naturally Hannelia sent spares. She passes one in a vibrant orange with black numbers to Hawk. ”These are for you, Mister Hawk,” she says.
”I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Jhessa says politely to Nerissia, looking over at the tiefling and down at the remaining dice a couple of times, ”but this is a time for gifts and I think these would suit you well - they’ll compliment your tones.” She hands the newcomer a violet set of dice inscribed with cream numbers.
Shel offers the chest to Roger. ”Mister Roger, would you like to open it?” Despite its somewhat marked exterior, the key slides nicely into the lock and the lid flips open smoothly on its hinges. A note addressed to Roger is on top and lifting it up reveals the chest is divided into half a dozen sections, with a coloured fist-sized stone of varying shapes and hues occupying each of them.
”Ioun stones!” Shel blurts out. At the looks of surprise that the young woman seems to know what they are, she explains, ”When I was little a travelling singer came to the village for the Founder’s Feast and he had one just like that,”[b] she points at one of the stones, [b]”that would fly around his head while he played. It was the first time I ever seed magic so I’ve never forgotten it.” She suddenly puts a hand to her mouth and goes quiet, perhaps wondering what may have happened to the singer now she has a better understanding of how the darker underbelly of Ravenmoor’s politics worked.
Drawing out the named stone, you can see it’s a rose colour and shaped into a hexagonal prism.
”Mister Hawk, this one’s for you,” Shel says, probably relieved that the conversation has moved on, as she points at a deep raspberry coloured stone.
The other four stones consist of a pair of spheres, one swirled in green and pink, the other a solid blue, a forest green coloured medallion, and a squat triangular prism in a vibrant publish-red.
With these first gifts out of the way, you are able to turn your attention to the stack of packages and focus on the ones addressed to the rest of you. One marked “Everyone” appears to be a fairly nondescript sack, sturdy enough and bound with thick cord at the top. In smaller letters the note reads “Look inside…”. Opening it you are presented with something unexpected: a well-made wooden rocking chair that clearly should not fit inside the bag. As you pull it to take it out, the neck of the bag widens to allow you to remove it with ease. A note on the chair reads “This is for Dad, the bag is yours. Should be pretty self-explain what it does!”
The one labelled “Majara” is small and also has a note marked “Fragile, please handle carefully”.
Unwrapping the outer wrapping of the package reveals some carefully bound padded material wound several times around the actual item. Removing this in turn reveals a square-bottomed flask, with its sides tapering upwards to a stopper. The glass actually looks to be fairly sturdy but any glassware probably ought to be looked after with care.
Emma’s parcel is roughly a foot square and very thin. It is surprisingly light as she picks it up, whatever is inside must be almost weightless.
The note, in Hannelia’s orderly hand, is not as brief as you may have been expecting. “Emma, my friend - I think I owe you an apology. I came across an enchanted brooch that would allow you to slice through any swarms or plagues as easily as you strike down other foes. Unfortunately, the vendor was clearly a less than honest lady and was demanding an eye-watering fee for it. I almost parted with the money anyway but I wanted more time to think as I wasn’t entirely convinced it was legitimate. As it happens, the matter was taken out of my hands as by the time I came back the next day, our honest broker had been hauled away by the authorities for selling damaged and dangerous magics. So sorry about that. I then remembered the attack on the Mermaid’s Klivanion - which I apologise for reminding you of - but you mentioned how frustrating it was to be constantly chasing the spellcaster, weighed down by your armour. As I understand it, this garment can’t do it all the time but it can help you get where you need to be. No doubt that means leading from the front, which is what you do best. Anyway, please forgive the self-indulgent musings, I just miss talking with you. - Hannelia.”
Sirio helps himself to the parcel addressed to himself, scans the note and turns away to open it. Standing in a corner of the kitchen with his back to you, it is unclear what the priest has unwrapped before he stows it away, but judging from his comment of “Well played, Ms Venator, that will do very nicely indeed,” he seems pleased with it.
There is a small package left over labelled “Constantine” to go with his dice set. Obviously Hannelia didn’t know whether he would be able to join the party again but had sent a present anyway, perhaps in hope more than expectation. ”We can take it to him,” Jhessa says, picking up that there is a sadness around the situation.
”Yeah of course,” Shel echoes. ”We’ll be at the temple later anyway.” She looks slightly flustered and a little relieved, probably at a task successfully completed. ”I don’t know if you got other things to do but you’re welcome to stay for a bit if you ain’t busy. I been brewing some dandelion tea.”[b] She look over to the hob where a large pan is gently steaming. [b]”With milk, honey and a little bit of this stuff I got at the market - cinnamon, it’s called - it’s very nice,” she adds, a touch defensively, lest anyone should choose to question her drink-making skills.
After rapping upon the door, Emma isn't sure what to expect. Had Hannelia returned early for some reason? It didn't seem like, but perhaps something had happened--
The sight of Shel, wearing a crudely made dragon outfit, gives Emma pause. Slowly, her brows raise, and she finds herself at a loss of what to say.
"Uh, hi," Shel says.
"...Hi?" Emma responds, still unsure of what exactly to do. What on Golarion...?
A giggle erupted from behind Shel, and Emma looked past the bizarre sight to see Jhessa, sitting upon the edge of the kitchen, wearing a similarly crude costume, save for the fact that her costume is red.
"Er, you... I...?" Emma starts to say before trailing off.
"Um, I had a dream about dragons," Shel explains, which doesn't really explain a thing at all. If anything, it only makes them more confusing. Emma racks her memory for some kind of story involving a black and red dragon, but can't really recall anything in particular. "Come in, anyway."
Given their last few interactions, Emma figures that it's probably not her place to inquire as to what the costumes are about. Were they just having fun? Was this some kind of... were they together? Emma quickly shoved that thought aside. It wasn't any of her business... even if she is rather terribly curious. She glances at the other, shrugs in Majara's direction, and follows Shel within.
-------
Emma reads over the note that Hannelia had written for them all, smiling as she does. She can practically hear the bard's voice in her head as her eyes dance down the letter. Leave it to Hannelia to be thinking of them even when she was off on a mission.
She laughs when she gets her set of dice. She opens her own set and takes out one of the dice within and gives it a quick roll on the table.
As the various packages start getting sorted to their party, Emma overhears as Shel offers the chest to Roger. "Mister Roger, would you like to open it?"
Standing where Shel can't see her, Emma glances over at Roger with an amused smile. 'Mister Roger?' she mouths.
-------
The parcel that Hannelia had sent to Emma is roughly a foot square and very thin. When Emma picks it up, she almost tosses it up, caught off guard by how weightless it seems.
Interesting.
Opening the parcel, she finds what looks to be a light blue undershirt, decorated with pairs of tiny winged feet picked out in pale cream. The fabric was very thin (making Emma raise her brows at that, and her cheeks flush a bit) and practically weightless. It was clearly well made, but...
It wasn't exactly the sort of thing she would normally wear.
She turns next to the note, wincing slightly at the memory of the fight on the Mermaid’s Klivanion. It occurs to her after she reads it though, of what this item must be. She had heard of something akin to it before, but taking a look at it now, she's sure of what it must be.
A quick runner's shirt!
"Oh, Hannelia," Emma breaths, looking at it anew. "This is incredible." This would be very useful indeed. Limited uses, yes, but even so, potentially enough to turn the tide of a fight if used at the right moment. She sets it down and reads the rest of the note.
I miss talking to you too, she thinks. And she's surprised - not to admit that she misses her, but how much. Of all the party members of their group, Hannelia was the one she was closest to. The one she could always go to if she needed to talk, or just spend some time with. The party dynamic felt weird without the bard there with them.
She was close with Constantine as well, but it wasn't quite the same, especially not since... well, the whole incident that had taken place in Ravenmoor.
”I had a dream about dragons…”
Hawk puts a pin in that, interested in hearing what sort of dragon dreams the young woman was having. ”It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Shel. Those are fine dragon costumes.”
” These are for you, Mister Hawk”
”Gifts? For me?” Hawk is surprised and delighted by both the dice (which he places in his bandolier) and the ioun stone which he holds and concentrates on before releasing it to orbit tightly around his head. ”Well, this is extraordinarily thoughtful of her. I can’t recall the last time I received a gift from a lady I haven’t…” He thinks quickly, ”tattooed.”
Majara is intrigued by all the bundled items and looks rather like a child on a feast-day as Shel and Jhessa sort out who gets what. She takes her package, notes the 'fragile', and opens it.... then lets out what can only be called a squeak, really.
"Oh, it's the new Alkenstarite glass model of the Preservationix! I was saving for one of these! Ah look at the workmanship! The brass stopper! She dropped a pretty penny on this..."
Majara hums to herself in delight as she inspects Hannelia's generous gift, turning it over and over and holding up to see the light through it. Those nearby can detect a stream of muttering about 'clarity of the glass' and 'alchemically treated for inertness' and so forth. Eventually, Majara shakes her head, looking wry.
"And she obtained the coin for this-- and all these other goodies-- via the Pathfinder Society, was it? I think we should consider switching employers," she quips. "--oh. Dice too, I see. And ioun stones..."
Majara is actually not much of one for gambling, but she does admire the gleaming, loud vibrant colors of her own set with some satisfaction before rolling the largest of them, the twenty-sided one, on the floor.
The gnome grunts at what is essentially a middle-of-the-road roll, and tucks away her much-more-important prize inside her gear, carefully. "Well, let me know if anyone rolls higher," she says, then bounces back to her feet and beelines for the kitchen.
"Smells excellent," she says off-hand to Shel. Majara is already clambering on a stool to serve up cups of the tea. "Add a pinch of nutmeg next time."
Determined to avoid any prolonged awkwardness with Emma, Shel keeps to simple pleasantries and greetings. She is grateful to Hawk’s hello and responds to the compliment. ”Thanks Mister Hawk, Hannelia got us some presents and we was just having some fun to see what they could do,” before tapping her wrist and changing - with one minor mishap - into more normal attire.
Hawk’s comment about the gifts seems to fly over both girls' heads, though Jhessa looks slightly quizzically from the man to the sunflower prominently displayed on Shel's forearm.
While Majara has already busied herself serving tea, Shel beams at her words and sidles over to the gnome. ”I will,” she promises at her advice to improve the recipe. ”Um, Miss Majara, I know you’re busy at the moment but when you ain’t, I was wondering if you might be able to teach me a bit? I been learning how to make potions and remedies and I think it’s a lot like you making your alchemical mixtures. So I’d be real grateful if you could find some time for me to learn from you.” She smooths her hands down her dress, an unconscious nervous motion.