Constantine smiles at Emma. She did not need his help after all.
"Well done," he says. He hears blows still ringing on the other side of the mausoleum and hustles around counterclockwise to serve as backup.
"Aye, that's the spirit, let's squish some bugs, Sirio!" Roger nimbly sidesteps the ant, to place it such that it cannot easily defend itself against both his and Sirio's attack.
Roger proves there's MUCH more to him than simply sea yarns. His blow cleaves the ant into so much twain, as it were.
You stand there panting a few moments, collecting yourselves. The raven that drew you here is visible as well as audible-- it's flapping around on the roof of the mausoleum, and with the ants felled, it divebombs one of the corpses and pecks furiously at it, before wheeling away again. It flies jerkily away if you try to approach it. Its croaking sounds almost like a parody of human speech-- the same pattern cawed over and over.
As you look around behind the crypt, you can note a few things of interest: there is some disturbed earth here, suggesting some signs of a struggle, as in the orchard.
A mundane ant-hole that tunnels away under the base of the anthill is still disgorging normal-sized ants, but instead of filing off in the orderly lines typical to the creatures as they retrieve foodstuffs for the hive, the creatures seem to wander about, mostly in the direction of a few tombstones a dozen feet away from their anthill. Here, there are patches of the same sticky, purple-black, resinous ooze that you found in the orchard-- in spots, you can see dozens of ants encased in the slowly-pulsing goo, seemingly in the process right now of being changed, as they range from normal-sized ants to ones the size of your thumb, the size of a mouse, the size of a rat, etc. They squirm slowly in the goo, lethargically writhing.
There is distinctly clear spot in the goo as well-- a patch untouched by the ooze, neatly surrounding a morningstar that lies in the grass. Close inspection reveals that the weapon is-- surprise, surprise-- cold iron. It looks brand new, as if its owner had never gotten a chance to wield it in battle-- no nicks or dings, no wear on the leather grip.
"Haha! It'll take more than a few buggoes to best us... ooh, sorry there Sirio, think I got some of it on you." Roger leans back to laugh triumphantly, before noticing the inevitable aftermath of cleaving the bugs apart with quite this much gusto.
"There's a pouch with a few things 'neth this stone!" Roger points out an interesting find.
"Seems like we've got a new tool, and maybe should get around to some more sundry extermination. Don't suppose you can do that thing what some cleric do where they hold the symbol aloft and everything around 'em dies thingie?" Roger inspects the ants and the other cold iron weapon, before proposing to Sirio the perhaps unwise path of unleashing a wave of negative energy in a graveyard.
"Anyone injured?" Constantine asks as he sees Roger end a stunning final blow. He blinks a few times as he rounds the corner of the mausoleum. What is that thing?
Now that they are close enough, Constantine looks up at the raven. The cawing is a bit unnerving, and yet...
"This may be someone's familiar," he reveals. "It is no mere animal." He listens carefully to its pattern, tapping it out on his coat.
"Yellow-foot?" he says, the pitch of his voice lilting up in a slight question. "Who or what is yellow foot?"
He sheathes his blade, dry as it was when he entered the graveyard and looks around at the others. "I have an idea."
"Come, little one," Constantine says, offering his hand up for the raven. He knows that he would have an easier time if the two shared a language, but that's not a trick Constantine has figured out.
While Constantine is focused on communing with the bird, he misses most of the other cues that Roger and the others pick up on. He does offer someone else his cold iron dagger if they want to manage the abyssal bile wile he entreats with the raven.
"I'm quite alright." Sirio sniffs with a hint of disgust. He retrieves a handkerchief and wipes the ant goop from his clothes.
He does regard Roger with a newfound respect. "One should note your strength, Roger. You fight well in spite of your age. One would be glad to have you in one's company."
"Yes, I can..." he muses as he inspects the cold iron morningstar, "but that particular power might be better saved for another time sir Roger. This weapon however... is not bad. A gift from the Dark Prince perhaps. No one should have any objections I hope if I replace mine." He made it a statement as much as a question.
"I've never been particularly gifted at this, but that is clearly an instrument of Erastil's" Sirio provides regarding the rod. "The others, I'll try to take a look at as well.
He murmurs a phrase in an arcane language, Infernal, as many folk in these parts may know. His pentagram takes on a shift in color and then back to red as he analyzes the various contents of the pouch.
Though Sirio studies the wooden stick and the two potions intently-- and can confirm that all three are magical-- he is not able to identify what they might be.
Constantine, you think a moment and realize you misheard the bird-- it's not 'yellow-foot' at all, but rather, 'red-foot', that the bird is shrieking about.
Though Constantine tries to lure the bird, it eyes his hand without any trust and continues to hop around on the mausoleum roof. Perhaps someone might assist him?
Talon takes Constantine's dagger with a thoughtful nod and experiments with touching it to the patches of bile. They shrivel away to nothing, and the ants themselves expire that were held within it-- twitching feebly, but ultimately perishing. "Perhaps a bit easier than summoning negative energy," the half-elf says deadpan.
Constantine ruffles slightly at Sirio's words, but lets him do his work in peace. He might serve a liar, but he was good at what he did. On the other hand, he smiles at Talon who makes good use of the next bit of cold iron.
"Wait, no, it's red-foot," he self-corrects. Translating bird speech was not something he was used to.
He looks at the raven and back at the others. "Did anyone grow up with a pet bird, perhaps?"
"Ahaha! Gift from the Dark Prince or booty and plunder, either way you're getting into the pirate spirit of things! Go right ahead and keep it, good lad." Roger gives Sirio a clap on the back and urges him to keep the morningstar.
"Mmm, I recognize 'em. Potions of Sneaking and Seeing, right they are all respectably they be. Canny good for an ambush."
"Nay, never had much luck but eh, give it a shot why not. Oy, polly wanna be friends?" Roger pulls from somewhere in his vast coat pockets an extravagant stuffed parrot and waves it over Constantine's shoulder to... help? Somehow?
Waiting for her breathing to calm back down after the fight, Hannelia carefully puts the next arrow she had drawn back into her quiver. She picks up her bag, gives it a once over and shrugs it back over her shoulders. "Excellent, well done everyone," Hannelia calls, nodding approvingly at the division of the items and Roger's eye for the potions.
She feels a small swell of pride watching the team starting to work together so well, almost as if she'd been the one to assemble it. I hope they think I'm adding some value here, so far it doesn't feel like I'm doing my best work. Not usually given to self-doubt like that, she shakes the idle thought away, and refocuses to take in the surroundings properly now they weren't just chasing down their foe.
"Impressive swordsmanship too," she compliments the pirate, who is now waving what appears to be a work of taxidermy at the raven. As he does so, she mouths to Constantine, "Sorry, not sure I have much to offer here. Nice translation, by the way."
Hannelia looks over the wooden stick as she speaks... ...but sadly can't speak to its nature. Though if it came from Erastil's faith, maybe the priest that she and Sirio spoke to knows?
Meanwhile, Roger somehow helps aid the bird's approach. The stuffed parrot must do SOMETHING to catch the raven's eye, because it circles several times and then cautiously comes closer.
Once it's near enough to examine, the bird appears injured-- it hops crookedly around, still skittish, and there are spots all over it that appear burned? Or as if it had been splashed with some caustic substance.
Talon lends his skills to try and coax the bird closer, after looking askance at Roger's somehow-success with the stuffed parrot. He elects to use some crumbled trail-bread instead. Between the three of you, the bird is still none-too-eager to be handled and jumps back a few feet if you try, but you feel it will at least be willing to accompany you, if you want it to do so, at least.
Hannelia likely recalls that Father Ruvarra had mentioned Nolaria's pet raven.
Constantine blinks a few times, thinking back on the clues so far. Then he turns to Hannelia as she complements him on the translation.
"Thank you. Red-foot...didn't Drummady mention that her son had given Gellion a pair of dyed-red boots?"
Constantine turns to the raven, then once again to Hannelia. "And you mentioned that the Erastilian priest commented about Nolaria's pet raven. Gellion and Nolaria like to spend time in the graveyard, yes? So..."
Constantine begins putting things together. "This may be Nolaria's raven, and the raven is cawing out about Gellion. Smart corvid."
Given the signs of struggle here, potions around, and more abyss-tainted vermin, Constantine wonders what state they will find the youths in. Will they, too, be encased in the resinous bile? And if so, could they be saved? "We should hurry," he says. He looks at the mausoleum, and eyes the other, worried how they might respond to his next suggestion. It's not grave-robbing to enter a free-standing burial chamber?
Is it a mausoleum or a cenotaph, I wonder? Would that the spirits were more willing to speak.
"We should search the mausoleum before we go back to town"
Emma wipes her sword off on the damp grass, wrinkling her nose at the remains of the ant beast. At least this time she had managed to put down the creature without being injured, though she felt embarrassed about her outburst earlier. Even so, she nods gratefully at Constantine for his compliment.
Sheathing her sword, she walks over to where the others are gathering, and nods to Roger. "Well fought Captain Roger," she said genuinely. "I caught the tail end of that there and you made short work of the beast. That was some very impressive footwork, and I would definitely not wish to cross blades with you!"
Praise Iomedae, she thought silently. She must be watching over us for us to still all be in one piece after two attacks.
"I'm afraid that when it comes to identifying potions and interpreting arcane messages or bird familiars, I'm not particularly useful," Emma says, shrugging slightly. "However, I will take that dagger, Constantine, and ensure there's no abyssal corruption left in the area." The abyss was a blight, it's mere presence an insult to Iomedae. She begins by cleaning up around where the ants had died, and then scanning the area to see if there are any more obvious signs of corruption.
"Aye, and the ants were all going to a few specific graves? Maybe just cause a the goop, but maybe there's a cause of the goop to those graves. After we clear it, let's see if the ants keep going to those graves." Roger seems to agree with Constantine's thoughts that there is yet a little more to investigate amongst the dead.
Despite the sound logic behind the notion that specific graves here, or the crypt itself, might be relevant, some searching reveals nothing of particular note. The crypt's 'door' is sealed with mortar that shows no signs of recent disturbance-- it's likely been years and years since the front marble block was last moved to allow for fresh interment. The bulk of the crypt would block line of sight to the area you are investigating, however, and perhaps that is what made it a site of interest for the young people.
Talon and Emma pass the dagger between them and set to on the tedious if grim business of eradicating the patches of bile. They feel they have gotten all of it that they can see, though perhaps in days to come the mayor would be well-served by sending guards to check by daylight. Still, it's considerably better than when you arrived.
With the bile withered away to nothing, the remaining mundane ants seem aimless and without a particularly compelling destination... a metaphor, perhaps, for your group having exhausted the most obvious two leads.
"Well, stand corrected I do, can't find much else here." Roger scratches his head.
Feeling mildly disappointed, Constantine shrugs. "It is late. I don't know if the Mayor is awake and awaiting a report, or if she has gone to sleep. But we could stop by her office to see if she is working late."
Perhaps Nolaria's bird would even consent to join them. Or perhaps...
"Is the Temple of Erastil open at all hours? Perhaps attended by an acolyte instead of the head priest."
"If we're all just reporting back in or checking clues, mayhaps we all split up again and each do one. Meet up one last time, then head to bed unless someone's got a clue that says act all now like. If they're all asleep then we do it again in the morning." Roger suggests.
”I agree with Constantine,” chips in Hannelia. ”The mayor and the temple are probably our best bets at this time, though I’m not certain on either of them. I’d prefer to have something more to report to any of the parents, unless we’re expecting what we’ve found to trigger new information from them.” She sighs, ”Otherwise it feels all we’d be doing is increasing their worry. I’m happy to try but other than the fact they’re still missing, is there any urgency to doing this tonight, or something we couldn’t achieve in the morning?”
"While it would be ideal to rescue the younglings post-haste, we would all function at top form with bed rest." Sirio says. "With the town being asleep, there isn't much to do until morning. We could wake the mayor and the temple keepers, but it would be more sensible in one's mind to simply wake as early as we can and resume our investigation in the morning."
"Aye, mayhaps that's more wise. Hope those kids can hold one more night." Roger shakes his head.
After some debate, resting for the night seems to be the better part of valor. Some of you have homes and family in town, others can take advantage of the hospitality of the inn, should you wish to contribute a few coins the local economy, or even returning to the town hall and presenting the Mayor's letter to the barracks for a night's spot in the guardhouse bunks... not the most comfortable, but free, at any rate.
In the morning, you meet at the town hall at first light, as the town stirs with some grumbling and yawning around you. Talon is standing on the hall's porch leaned against a pillar and a sack that smells aromatically of bread with him. He also seems to have appropriated Nolaria's raven, which is perched on his shoulder pecking at bits of bread that he offers up to it.
"I decided Gunty might sell us some more bread," he says when the first of the others approach, "and I was right. Fresh roll? They're still warm..."
***
The mayor seems surprised, but not displeased, to see you all so very early. She is still yawning over a hot beverage as she bids you be welcome in her office. "My clerk said you wanted to see me as quickly as possible. That sounds both dire, but also promising, since I assume you must have learned something for such urgency to be merited. I'm all ears."
***
Following the debriefing, it's judged that a visit to the temple of Erastil might be useful, if for nothing but to get the wand identified.
The raven seems to clearly recognize the priest, and flutter-hops from Talon's shoulder to Father Ruvarra's, earning a wry look from the half-elf. "So now I'm chopped deer guts...? Thanks..."
Father Ruvarra is delighted to see the raven, scritching the bird under its beak and looking hopefully around in case Nolaria is also found. When the news is shared that only the raven thus far has been located, he sighs and nods.
"Not surprising, but still, the sight of the bird gave me hope. Thank you for that. Is there any further way I can assist your investigation?"
Should the wooden stick be presented, his brows arch with some recognition. "Oh-- yes, I remember this. Occasionally worshippers of the God of the Hunt with more power than myself leave objects of faith here, for tending to the community, or to help bolster those who go out into the dangerous wilds-- for a suitable donation, of course. This was given to the temple months ago, I think. It contains the essence of a prayer to bless one's weapons, against evil... it was partially used when I got it, but not since-- it's a rather specialized prayer. Hmnn. I hadn't known it was missing. Heavens, Nolaria, did you take that? Surely she couldn't have used it..."
In the morning, you meet at the town hall at first light, as the town stirs with some grumbling and yawning around you. Talon is standing on the hall's porch leaned against a pillar and a sack that smells aromatically of bread with him. He also seems to have appropriated Nolaria's raven, which is perched on his shoulder pecking at bits of bread that he offers up to it.
"I decided Gunty might sell us some more bread," he says when the first of the others approach, "and I was right. Fresh roll? They're still warm..."
Emma had opted to sleep in the guardhouse bunks - though she wasn't opposed to spending some coin for the inn, the bunks were more or less what she had been used to back in Piren's Bluff. All she needed was a decent cot and she could get a full night's sleep. After the day she'd had yesterday, falling asleep was no issue, and her arm at least felt a little better with the coming of the morning's light.
"I knew I liked you Talon," Emma said with a friendly nod, taking some of the bread. "I'll never say no to fresh bread."
Constantine feels uncomfortable about going to bed, but also realizes that wandering around town by himself at night would be inadvisable. He goes to the inn to patronize the local economy. He spends a significant portion of the night staring up at the ceiling, but eventually drifts off and sleeps...rather fitfully.
Morning comes and Constantine goes just outside town to find a secluded place where he can meditate. He holds the sword and shield both across his lap and seems to enter a trance. Nothing much seems to happen, if any passers-by observe him, but he comes out of the trance after nearly an hour feeling refreshed, invigorated, and deeply focused. There was nothing much different about his preparations today from usual, and yet he felt like something significant could happen today.
The smell of fresh bread is welcome after the hour's meditation. "Thank you, Talon," Constantine says, echoing Emma. He raises his eyebrow at the bird's affinity. Must be a half-elf thing. Or a woodman thing.
***
With the mayor, Constantine joins the others in relaying their findings so far, leaving no detail unexamined. "We are still examining our leads, Lady Mayor," he assures her.
***
With Father Ruvarra, Constantine offers a thought.
"I don't suppose that Erastil has blessed you with the ability to commune with this bird, or know a druid who could. I feel as though the raven may have been a witness to whatever may have occurred with Nolaria."
"Aye, we're running a mite short on leads. We'd be happy to pitch if'n it's a donation you'd need to ask the raven what's what." Roger seems a bit worried there wasn't more they could learn from this lead.
The mayor listens somberly to the news that, whatever else, the bugs are no mere rumors-- they are decidedly a real problem, connected somehow to the kidnappings, and a problem that has the Abyss itself behind it. She looks very concerned, taking a few notes and asking clarifying questions here and there.
When that's done, she shakes her head slowly. "I'll instruct the guards to start carrying at least one cold iron weapon in each unit when they go on patrol, and to watch for this 'bile' you're speaking of. In lieu of a sample, let me get a very clear description of it. I'll set the guards to clearing any patches they find, though I hesitate to make a general proclamation lest it cause a panic. But it might be necessary if the problem keeps growing.
"You're doing a good job thus far earning your pay, I must admit. Please keep up your efforts in finding the missing young people."
****
Father Ruvarra muses on the idea of speaking to the raven. "I can try, yes."
He sits down with the bird, giving it some more treats, and engages in a short session of what sounds like cawing. It may pose an unintentionally comic picture-- the priest somberly croaking at the raven, staring into its face from inches away. It's a short conversation, and he turns back with his brows knit.
"Sootfeather here-- I didn't know he had a name for himself-- Sootfeather confirms that he was with Nolaria... she went to the graveyard with weapons, he says, and fought with her friend, and he overcame her. Sootfeather says he tried to help and the boy threw acid on him and smashed him against a gravestone. He says that is the last he remembers for a bit-- he woke up with giant bugs around, and then after some time you came."
The priest strokes the bird's glossy head with a deep frown of concern. "This really does seem a nasty business. I wish I could tell you where to go from here. It seems it's young Gellion at the heart of all this trouble. Are you certain you've plumbed the depths of every lead regarding him?"
Constantine offers a veritable lecture to the mayor, detailing everything he knows about abyssal bile. "If you are intent about gathering a sample, I would highly recommend avoiding touching it. The very essence of the substance is corrupting. If we encounter any more, I'll be sure to put some in a vial and bring it back for analysis. Perhaps Ms. Pricknettle could provide additional details."
***
Sootfeather's translated-by-way-of-a-priest story is much more disconcerting, but ultimately elucidates more of the occultist's theorizing. "I was afraid that was the case," he says, "Judging by the signs of struggle, scattered weapons, and broken bottles."
Petrellano had called Gellion a troublemaker. Pricknettle had called Nolaria mischievous. Sirio had gotten the impression that Gellion was the ringleader, which Drummady more or less confirmed. Based on Sootfeather's story, Gellion could have been affected by the abyssal bile and become violent. The described behavior wasn't necessarily characteristic of a typical small-town troublemaker, but rather one gone too far. Twisted.
"Not every lead," Constantine says, bowing his head gently. But this was the next most likely place to check. Thank you, Father Ruvarra."
Constantine looks at the others. "I would venture that the apothecary would be a reasonable place to go next," he offers, "Unless the rest of you have questions."
As she has a bed and home to go to nearby, Hannelia bids the others good night. She continues to turn things over in her mind, looking for patterns explanations, things she may have previously missed. Upon arriving, she sinks swiftly into an exhausted sleep.
In the morning she meets the others at the mayor's, feeling ready to meet the challenges of the day, especially after breaking fast on Talon's tasty supply of warm bread.
****
Playing her part in the telling and chipping in where needed, Hannelia is pleased the mayor is taking things seriously by equipping the guard. With the first update done, she readies herself for the potentially tougher conversation at the temple.
****
Listening raptly to the information Father Ruvarra relays from the raven, a grimace fixes itself to her face at the mention of acid throwing. "A nasty business indeed," she concurs. "There must be something we've missed or an angle we've not come at things from; it's not like Gellion is some kind of mysterious outlander."
"Problem is, least ways I see it, is we could know exactly who's to blame, and that doesn't tell us where to go next. Missing kid is still a missing kid whether they've had a fight or not."
"I didn't get a good read on Majara Pricknettle, but I've never been particularly effective at reading people," Constantine admits. He glances over at Sirio, almost imperceptibly, but then returns. "I still think that the apothecary is the best place to go next. We can report what we have found--concretely, without upsetting the alchemist--and see if she has anything further to say."
Constantine shrugs. Perhaps the apprentice had gotten interested in some particular, peculiar application of the abyssal bile. They had much more knowledge than they had the previous day upon visiting the gnome's shop. But would it be enough?
"Well.. Suppose so. I'm just worried is all." Roger hems before committing. Seems he's not too excited about reporting to more people rather than having a lead to track the kids down. But the latter simply isn't an option.
Sirio for his part gives a bemused look at Constantine. Smug. Not for any longer than would be couth. He's a man of etiquette after all.
"As one should be, Old Roger." Sirio replies. "It would appear that this is our primary lead, however. We should attempt to discover more about the boy to find out where he might lead them. What we've learned from the raven might suggest that the boy may be holding the other children captive. Or what remains of them in any case."
He gives Roger a nod and suggests they continue on to the apothecary for further leads.
Sirio speaks what Constantine fears, especially the latter conjecture, and he sighs. "Sirio is...right." There is a slight hesitation, and the occultist acknowledges the smug look with pursed lips and a raising of the eyebrows. "There is every reason to worry..."
With few other obvious leads to pursue, the group makes it back to Majara Pricknettle's. The gnome's shop is open for business, and her professional welcoming smile dies a bit at seeing six of you enter.
"It's you two again. And you've brought a number of friends. Though not my apprentice," she says with a frown.
"Well, good morning. Have you more questions? Or-- I hope not bad news," she says, looking slightly alarmed. "Are there any developments? Any news?"
"Well, see, a little birdie told us some strange things..." Roger begins.
Constantine does feel a bit strange crowding their half-dozen into Majara Pricknettle's shop.
"I don't mean to cause alarm with our numbers, nor our reports, but you asked to be kept apprised of any developments. We have a few."
After Roger starts with what they had learned from Sootfeather, Constantine tries backing up. "Before we get to the bird, we have other clues. In our investigations, we discovered a substance that I identified as Abyssal Bile. Demonslime, colloquially. Are you familiar with it? It can be quite dangerous."
Constantine waits for Majara's response, and then continues.
"Near where we first found the bile in the orchard, we also found your maker's mark on several broken bottles. Unfortunately, the mixture with mud made it difficult, if not impossible, for me to identify what had been contained in the vials."
Constantine waits to gauge the gnome's reaction before he reveals the story directly involving Gellion.
Sirio unsurreptitiously watches Pricklenettle for a reaction as he pretends to inspect her wares. He has nothing he wants to add to disrupt Fioritura's line of questioning.
Emma gives a polite nod to Pricklenettle, not wanting to upset her. She glances around the shop while the others speak, not having much to contribute herself. However, she does keep a close ear on the conversation, trying to pick out the woman's tone. Some of her training from her mother as a paladin had involved working with and around various people. Sometimes just by listening to how a person spoke, and their mannerisms when doing so, could reveal clues about what they were feeling, or if they were concealing something, or even if they were getting ready to flee or fight.
Majara Pricknettle listens with an initially impassive expression other than a slight furrow line between her blue eyebrows as Constantine relates what's been learned already. This deepens into a small frown at the mention of demonslime, and then into a pursed-lip tightness at the mention of missing vials.
"Gellion, Gellion, what did you get into, you foolish boy...."
The gnome shakes her head once, then says, crisply, "Yes, some of my stock went missing not too long ago-- sedatives, such as I brew for the locals to keep an animal under when it needs stitching, or to help a sickly child sleep. I hadn't wanted to think Gellion might have taken it, but logically that appears to be the chain of events in play. Disappointing.
"As for demonslime-- he'd asked me several weeks back if I had any texts on it. I think I directed him to the standard reference work-- asked him where he'd heard about it-- and he said he'd just run into a mention of it in some of the books I set him as assigned reading. I didn't think anything else of it at the time. Worrisome."
She turns her vividly blue eyes on you, her face back to its small, impassive state, her words clipped and flat. "Where will you look for him? And the others, I suppose?"
The gnome's manner is difficult to parse-- she seems annoyed more than anything, although Roger, watching her closely, detects an unhappy swallow and a sad look in her eyes.
So Majara does know more than she initially let on. Or at least she had certain suspicions. Smart, not jumping to conclusions.
"Well as I mentioned, we looked at the Orchard. Then the graveyard. We found more demonslime there, and signs of struggle. There we found an injured raven: Nolaria's. He had an interesting story to tell."
Constantine purses his lips and looks at the others, wondering if one of them wants to pick up the story from there.
"Given what looks like signs a scuffle and blood, if we had a solid lead on the kiddoes, we'd be rescuing 'em this second. Every second what passes could make us too late." Roger shakes his head.
At Constantine's look, Hannelia inclines her head and steps to the fore.
"Good morning, Ms Pricknettle," she says, picking up the story's thread."I'm not sure there's an easy way to say this and I'd rather not sugarcoat things. You've been honest with us so it's only fair that we're straight with you."
She takes a deep breath, maintaining the control of her voice and looks directly at Majara, Hannelia's hazel eyes meeting the woman's own. "I'm sorry to tell you this but according to the bird – Sootfeather – Gellion and Nolaria had gone to the graveyard, armed with weapons, and for reasons we're not clear on they fought and the boy overpowered her. He then threw acid on the raven when he tried to aid Nolaria and dashed him against a gravestone, knocking the bird out for a period." Unconsciously she flicks her head slightly to adjust her ponytail. "When the bird regained consciousness there was no sign of the pair of them, only evidence of the struggle. In their stead were a pair of oversized ants, which was how we came across Sootfeather some time later."
Hannelia softens her expression but continues to maintain eye contact with Majara. "It seems from this that Gellion is at the heart of it but I'm sure that we're not seeing the complete picture. The children are still missing, at least one has been injured: is there anything else you can think of that could help us to find them?"
Majara's small, serious face grows longer yet as you speak, but when Hannelia speaks something seems to shift behind her expression. Her brows draw together and she appears to be having some sort of internal conflict, before she finally shakes her head with a long sigh, her shoulders slumping.
The gnome goes to the counter and rummages for a piece of paper, and a quill.
"Gellion," she says as she unscrews an ink jar, "didn't precisely disappear so much as.... I sent him home. His performance at work was terrible-- very unlike him. After the fourth dropped vial I told him to return when his mind was less distracted.
"When he still hadn't returned by the third day, I went to his home-- he lives with his parents-- to check on him. There wasn't any answer. The door was locked. I've checked a few times since and it's been the same thing."
She finishes writing, and proffers the scrap of paper over. "His address. I have no better lead for you to follow."
The gnome crosses her arms, staring down at the floor. "I imagine you feel I should have been more forthright with this earlier, when the two of you arrived. Or even taken this information to the Mayor's office.
"Gellion is.... I'm fond of the boy. I see much that is admirable in him. Great potential as an alchemist. But the same things that I see as his gifts-- they are not always things recognized as such by you humans? Were he a gnome, he would be a fine gnome. His own kind-- your own kind, by and large-- judge him as odd."
The gnome looks up from the floor to stare at each of you with her vivid blue eyes. "I didn't notify anyone because I feared people would rush to judgment, to condemn whatever experiment he is conducting. Dangerous? Perhaps. My people have a different metric for that. The idea of his intellect judged by human standards, well-- I suppose I let my personal biases color things. If that was miscalculated, so be it."
Talon clears his throat after she falls silent. "Only half-human here, actually."
Pricknettle shrugs. "Close enough. Anyway, I know nothing further I can tell you."
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Constantine listens intently to Majara's explanation, and with a good deal of empathy.
Constantine knows what it is to be judged as odd.
** 4702 Absalom Reckoning, 1 year after the end of the Goblinblood Wars **
"You children will never turn out well if you do not obey."
The sound of flesh impacting flesh impacting the cold hard stone of the gothic orphanage is sickening. In the room are two young, dark-haired boys and two red-robed blonde women. One of the women is giving the older boy a brutal beating, while the other devil nun has her hands on the younger boy's shoulders.
"Watch closely," she whispers. "If you turn away or close your eyes, I'll know. And you'll get it worse than he is."
"Yes, Sister Nero," the boy says, holding back a sniffle as a tear rolls down his cheek. But he winces with each blow and wishes that he wasn't being forced to watch. He didn't even know why the other boy was being punished. But it sure made him want to obey.
"Clean him up, make sure he eats his supper, he'll need it for tomorrow," the other Sister calls out, turning towards the unscarred boy.
He nods fearfully, "Yes, Sister Leyva," and goes to the other boy's side as commanded. He looks awful, his eyes basically swollen shut. His face and much of his body was a mix of yellow, green, and purple, all in various states of bruising, mixed with crusted blood. The two sisters walk out of the room and leave the boys together.
"I'm sorry," the younger boy says, not sure why he was apologizing. "I'll take care of you." He pulls out a fine-looking silk cloth with the faded image of a jester on it and starts dabbing at the blood. "What's your name?" he says, hoping that the other boy could still hear him.
It takes a moment, but the injured boy finally responds. "Sirio."
"I'm Connie," comes the response, and young Constantine helps Sirio to his feet to go get properly cleaned up.
** 4705 Absalom Reckoning, 4 years after the end of the Goblinblood Wars **
Footsteps echo faintly through the halls of the orphanage as the red-robed Sister Eiseth Leyva makes her evening rounds to ensure that the children haven't tried to sneak out after curfew. She thinks she hears a voice coming from the chapel, and stops. Yes, there's definitely someone out of bed. Even if one of these ungrateful brats was keen on offering obeisance to Asmodeus at this hour, they knew better than to sneak off into the locked chapel. Someone was in for a sound beating.
She swings the door open and flies through the air before even registering which one of the ingrates she was about to teach a lesson. She delivers stunning roundhouse to the boy, who crumples to the ground. A moment later, Sister Leyva has her hands around the boy's throat, and picks him up like he weighs nothing. It's Connie. He was probably going to claim that he was sleepwalking, or some other nonsense, but she knows better. Though he is still unconscious, the Sister punches him several times in the gut. Let him feel the pain once he wakes up.
The initial stunning wears off after a moment, and Connie comes to.
"Sister Leyva," he chokes out. "Wait! I'm here because Sister Nero knocked on my door and told me to come with her. She had something important to tell me!"
Punch. "Liar!" she seethes. "Sister Nero died last year. If you're going to lie to me, at least try to make it convincing."
"But it was her!" the boy insists, tears and blood streaming down his face. "She's standing right there!"
He points his finger behind the pentagrammed altar, where no one stands to Sister Leyva's keen sight. She snarls and punches Connie again, slamming him to the ground and dragging him over to the baptismal font. She thrusts his face into the unholy water and holds him down while he screams.
"You're either a liar, an idiot, or possessed," she says over his water-logged pleading. "But I'll beat any of the three out of you, child. That's the only way you'll learn."
** Present Day **
Constantine sighs. "Thank you, Ms. Pricknettle. I don't want to judge young Gellion, nor harm him. Just help him and the other children. Thank you for being forthright with us."
Sirio purses his lips for a moment. He suppressed his instinct to vent his frustration at the gnome for wasting their time. One would be uncouth to do so of course. He gives her a tight smile and nods along with Constantine. ”Ahh. One hadn’t thought to check whether the boy’s parents were alive. The haberdasher might have led one to believe the boy was a war orphan.” Sirio muses.
He adds, ”Thank you for the information Ms. Pricklenettle. Should you require any legal defense in the aftermath, I am a practicing barrister. Provided, of course, that I am not already occupied.”
He gives Constantine a funny look, then to the group he offers, ”Shall we?”
Constantine considers the parentage question as well. He hadn't asked about the youths' parents, as it hadn't seemed necessary. But this did pose a problem: there were conflicting accounts in the reports around town about whether Gellion was a war orphan or lived with his parents. There were, what, some 2000 people in this town? Too many for everyone to know everyone else's business. But which was true? Was he an orphan, or did he live with his parents? Or were his parents adoptive? Or had he lied to Majara? Any were possible until the evidence bore out the truth.
He arches his eyebrow back at Sirio and then smiles at the gnome. "Thank you again. We'll be in touch, hopefully with good news."
He also inclines his head towards Hannelia, mouthing 'well done' as they go to vacate the shop.
Closer to Sirio, Constantine leans in and actually addresses the cleric directly, perhaps for only the second time in the last two days, and certainly the first without being spoken to first.
"I guess obedience lessons in Saringallow pale in comparison, mm?"
Majara only arches her brows at the implication she might need legal assistance. She shuts the door after your exit, and the last glimpse you have of the gnome is of her tidying things on the counter in a fretful manner... but you have a solid lead to investigate.
Talon scrutinizes the slip of paper the address is written on, and nods. "Yes, I know the way to this street-- so do Roger and Hannelia too, I wager, but anyway-- this way..."
There's time for Old Reminisces-- welcome or otherwise-- en route to the modest street full of small, white-washed houses with exposed wood beams that Talon leads towards. The half-elf makes his way down the lane, comparing numbers with the parchment slip in hand, then stops before one that seems no different than the rest. Two stories, a steep shingled roof, a solid wooden door in the front, two visible ground-level windows-- though their shutters are drawn and shut, despite the pleasant spring day, unlike the windows of the neighbors.
A narrow gap on either side of the house leads to behind it. Neighboring houses crowd fairly close on either side, leaving just the little walkways to the back. There is no front garden to speak of.
Talon lightly balls the parchment up and tosses it, to catch one-handed.
"So, friends, shall we knock? Or try a.... different approach inside?"
Emma frowns over at Talon. "I can't say I'm overly fond of the idea of openly breaking in, if that's what you're suggesting," Emma admits. "Apologies if that's not the case. But it may be prudent to have some of us go in, perhaps those who are already familiar, and leave some of us outside to keep a watch on the perimeter in case anything goes awry." Emma turns back to the house, narrowing her eyes slightly at the shuttered windows. Perhaps it's simply innocuous, but there is a slight sense of foreboding at the sight of the closed windows and a lack of a garden. "And if there is a problem that occurs inside, whoever stays outside would be close enough to hear a scuffle and intervene." Emma shrugs. "I don't really know this town all that well, so I'll defer to the judgement of those who have been here longer than I."
Emma hesitates to volunteer herself to knock on the door. All things considered, she still considered herself an outsider here, and she's not sure how most of the townsfolk regard Iomedae or her Paladins. As a servant of the order, she knew that Iomedae was a righteous and just patron, but she knew that outsiders sometimes saw her order as an overly zealous one. Without really knowing more, she couldn't be sure if it would help, hinder, or simply be irrelevant in this particular case. "I think I preferred fighting the bugs," she muttered to herself.
Roger shakes his head at the issue with Majara, muttering to himself as they depart. "Ran away to become a bloody pirate as a kid and they think I'd tell?"
"I say that's a canny way about it. A few of us round the back in case something goes off when ya knock." Roger nods and begins heading round the back alley to keep watch on those entries, and of course, exits if someone didn't want to be found.
"A somewhat more familiar face, at least someone the boy might have seen around town, could be preferable to glimpsing a total stranger. But if we need to get in--" Constantine produces a lockpick from his pocket "--I could give you plausible deniability with your goddess."
Constantine joins the perimeter team, just in case a knock produces a less-than-desired response. He looks at the herb garden, too. Was it wild on purpose, allowing nature to flourish unimpeded instead of abiding by the absurd manicuring standards of those nobles who flaunted their wealth and abundance by allowing land to lie permanently fallow? Or was it wild from neglect?