Hannelia smiles back. ”I’m flattered.” It’s true enough, she probably wouldn’t knife someone unless she was sure they deserved it. The answer about the name is obtuse, either because the boy is playing games or because he doesn’t want to admit he doesn’t know. What it sounds like, however, is that the name he knows this Chief by is probably not real, or a moniker. She supposes she’ll find out soon enough.
”I don’t think I caught your name either,” she says, smiling. ”I’m guessing that you haven’t co-signed the letter as well. And I won’t know if I can give you an answer now or at a later date until I’ve read it, so please give me a minute.” Then, satisfied that the missive isn’t about to explode in her face, Hannelia carefully tries to peel off the seal and opens the letter.
”I don’t think I caught your name either,” she says, smiling.
”I didn’t throw it, but it’s Kilcrist, ma’am. Nice to meet’chya.”
”I’m guessing that you haven’t co-signed the letter as well…”
This draws a loud guffaw from the teen. ”Ain’t nobody co-signs Chief.”
”I won’t know if I can give you an answer now or at a later date until I’ve read it, so please give me a minute.”
”Oh, sure. Take your time.” He stands by and watches, somewhat curious, as Hannelia carefully works the seal, trying to loosen the wax with cautious motions and body heat. Eventually, she works it free with the seal attached to the envelope’s flap. A telltale trace of wax remains on the body of the thick and clearly expensive envelope. Nothing explodes in her face. At a cursory glance, there appears to be a folded sheet of crisp white paper inside.
Before Hannelia does anything further, Kilcrist holds up a staying hand. ”Ma’am, I like your caution but I’d, uh, dis-encourage you from upending that and shakin’ it out in case there’s a Necrophage hidden in there. It’s gonna give us busy work.” Having said his piece, Kilcrist lowers his hands and waits. Out of force of habit, he glances around to make sure they have no observers.
”Likewise, Kilcrist,” Hannelia says, pocketing the seal. ”I appreciate the warning, but fine as this stationary is, I doubt it would keep any kind of slime from ruining so you’d probably already have discovered it a while back if there was anything like that in there.” She’d ideally like to check for magic but given the public location and the populace’s distrust of magic it doesn’t seem like a great idea. She opens the letter and starts to read.
Roger is enjoying the final drop of a well-earned afternoon drink at the Witch’s End. A gnome he’s only seen in passing enters the tavern, stands on a chair, and announces, ”OY! OY! OY! I need a couple hale and strapping lads to carry some goods from hither to thither. I’ll pay. Anyone interested?”
Roger rises, first eyebrows, then from his chair and smiles. "Hale and strapping lad? This must be what a lady with grandchildren feels like what when a bloke calls her a beautiful young lass. If you t'weren't a gnome I'd reckon you a flirt."
Roger follows, good for a stretch if nothing else.
The gnome considers Roger's words. ”To quote a mutual acquaintance… It need not be exclusive. Let's say both. I can be a gnome AND a flirt at the same time. But in this case, good sir, my request was relative to my circumstances. You are hale-r and strapping-er than myself. And you are, dare I say, much younger. I just wear my age very well.”
Leaving the tavern, Roger has cause to regret his decision. Awaiting them are a long coil rope along with a half dozen boxes of various shapes and sizes - from small to this-might-hold-a-wheelbarrow. It seems pretty clear that ‘hale and strapping lads’ should have been a request for ‘pack mules’.
However, Bitiborium seems to have a gift for packing and load balancing. In only a few minutes Roger has all but the smallest box strapped against his back, front, or sides by a labyrinthine set of ropes and clever knots. The pirate imagines he looks like a hunch-backed turtle made of crates.
Bit smiles at his work and picks up the smallest box himself. ”Onward, strapping lad! My humble shop is in the market square.” He keeps an eye on Roger as he slowly lumbers into motion. Roger is pleasantly surprised that walking isn’t terribly difficult once he’s in motion. His load is well-balanced and the amalgam of clever knots and ropes stringing everywhere reminds him of being shipboard.
As they walk, the gnome makes conversation. ”You’re one of Miss Pricknettle’s friend, yes? And another of the Saringallow Seekers? What’s that like – heroics, derring-dos, and such?”
The script that meets Hannelia’s eyes is elegant and precise. The lines of text are meticulously level and evenly spaced.
Ms. Venator,
Regarding your work for the Pathfinder Society, I have read your comprehensive reports as well as those of your colleagues with interest. Your thoroughness, resourcefulness, and laudable judgment are commendable. I’ve also received accounts of the actions of the Saringallow Seekers and your role with that group. Again, fine work.
I must beg your pardon… I have taken the liberty of sharing select portions of your and the Saringallow Seekers’ actions with a few trusted colleagues in organizations whose interests align with ours. Good work – even when 'discreet' – should be acknowledged. I apologize, sincerely, if this distresses you. Some larger goals outweigh our personal preferences.
Thank you for your services to the Pathfinder Society. Consider the enclosed two items as a tangible demonstration of my personal appreciation for your previous and – I hope – future efforts on behalf the Society and other interests.
Yours in service,
Venture-Captain (Retired)
Kilcrist watches her read the note, curious.
Hannelia reads through the letter a couple of times to check that she’s got everything. Kilcrist wasn’t wrong in that he wasn’t expecting a response - there’s not really a request there, just making contact and the potential of further correspondence or perhaps work in the future.
She takes the compliments and is mostly intrigued about the reference to other parties with common interests. To be honest she wouldn’t have been particularly worried but the choice of the word ‘distress’ is the thing that does - it seems to suggest that the persons it refers to may not be people she would choose to work with. Perhaps so, though in her work she has regular dealings with those she wouldn’t choose as regular drinking companions. And though she wasn’t there for it, she would struggle to describe Pava Irrica as a bastion of moral virtue.
Or maybe it just means she might be concerned about their deeds being shared in the first place. The adventures of the group were not a secret, even if they probably weren’t well known outside of those immediately affected, and thanks to her writings are a matter of public record. Hard to know and without further information probably impossible to tell.
Nor does the name give anything to go on. A retired Venture Captain is interesting - perhaps the lodge in Elidir might hold some records - but a single letter tells her nothing. Hannelia puts it away as something to pick at further should more information be forthcoming. Her suspicion is that it probably will be, though given how much the letter doesn’t say, she’s not expecting it to be any less guarded or enigmatic at this point. Which, she supposes, is fair enough and what she’d be doing while trying to understand a new person.
”Please tell the Chief thank you for the correspondence and the kind words. I’m grateful for both them and the gifts. I would be interested to learn more and to make his acquaintance if he deems it well.” Hannelia dips into her belt pouch and pulls out a silver piece. ”For the messenger,” she smiles at the boy. ”For future reference, the best place to contact me is at my office. There’s a secure box to put correspondence in but I’m there most days if you need to see me in person. Or leave word with Alcie at the Witch’s End or at the town archives and I’ll pick it up soon enough. Is there a way I can find you or contact the Chief?” she asks.
”How unintentionally charming you are. Delightful!” Bit then considers her question, one business owner to another. ”I’m new to this Isger and your less hospitable neighbors. It started out as a bit of rough sledding among the locals, to be honest. But maybe that is just how they are? Anyhoo, I’m doing regular sales and trades with your visitors and I feel like maybe I’m turning a corner with the local folk as well. Even your mayor was in my shop just a day ago.”
Majara answers the initial compliment with a little sketched bow, one hand dipping in mid-air. When she straightens up, her head quirks to the side.
"Ah, Trinelli? And was the good mayor purchasing goods, or ensuring you weren't a threat to the dignity of the marketplace? I suspect I did your reputation no good with our little joyride last time," she says with another sharp smile.
"Have you got anything for sale to tempt me today, on that subject? Or.... the flower, perhaps?"
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"Ah, Trinelli? And was the good mayor purchasing goods, or ensuring you weren't a threat to the dignity of the marketplace? I suspect I did your reputation no good with our little joyride last time,”
”Perhaps, it might have been better if she had come to protect the marketplace from incorrigibles like me. She was here to buy but, alas, walked away unsatisfied. As for my reputation…” he shrugs with calculated theatricality, ”so long as I’m able to buy, sell, and trade – I consider a little scandal a tangential benefit.” His wink is quick, as is his quoting of Majara, ”SCIENCE COMING THROUGH!” He chuckles heartily, shaking his head. ”Delightful!”
"Have you got anything for sale to tempt me today, on that subject? Or.... the flower, perhaps?"
Bit claps his hands, ”Yes, thank you for jogging my memory! The Celestial Orchid is ready for adoption and she is looking favorably on you and most of your friends.” He scurries into his shop and emerges lugging a large, rickety, ladder which he sets precariously against the stall wall. The gnome deftly climbs the shaking ladder. He pulls the potted Orchid off the roof of the stall and comes down the ladder cautiously.
He holds the orchid in the rune-scribed pot out for Majara to appreciate in the fall sunlight. ”Now, she has no reservations about you. Certain of your colleagues, however, well… a plant is affected by the soil in which it lives. I’m going to have to make a curious request of you. I need to meet with and your colleagues to ensure she’s being planted in the right ‘soil’, then I can name her adoption price. And, of course, there are care and feeding instructions to discuss.”
”Please tell the Chief thank you for the correspondence and the kind words. I’m grateful for both them and the gifts. I would be interested to learn more and to make his acquaintance if he deems it well.”
Kilcrist pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and the stub of a blackened quill then dutifully transcribes Hannelia’s words in some sort of code or other language. He pauses only briefly at something the bard says.
Hannelia dips into her belt pouch and pulls out a silver piece. ”For the messenger,” she smiles at the boy.
Kilcrist looks at the coin with the same caution Hannelia displayed when offered the letter. After a moment, he takes the coin and pockets it with a nod. ”Thanks. You didn’t need to tip me.”
”For future reference, the best place to contact me is at my office. There’s a secure box to put correspondence in but I’m there most days if you need to see me in person. Or leave word with Alcie at the Witch’s End or at the town archives and I’ll pick it up soon enough.”
The teen chooses his words with care. ”If I was on official Pathfinder business, that’s how I’d do it.”
”Is there a way I can find you or contact the Chief?”
He considers then digs a piece of blue chalk from a pocket and hands it to her. ”Walk out of your office, go right. Keep your hand at your side and drag a line on the doorframe of the second door down with that chalk. It may take some while but someone will contact you.”
Kilcrist seems to be weighing matters. ”Chief ain’t too social. If you got questions, I can speak to some of them… or we can part right here.”
Hannelia feels a deadly earnestness in the boy’s response, like she’s on a cliff’s edge. She can take the rewards and accolades that have been offered, turn from the cliff, and walk away. OR she can sort the jigsaw of curious words and hints dropped in the letter, Kilcrist’s odd approach, and his words, and ask for a few more pieces of the puzzle. Maybe she’ll get enough to see the jigsaw’s picture… but that would require her to step off the cliff, if she is reading Kilcrist’s veiled warning correctly.
"Perhaps not," Hannelia agrees, "but I wanted to." She looks the boy up and down, a strange sensation twanging at her as she considers the offer. "I usually have questions," she says lightly, "but I have nothing immediately. Thank you for the offer though, Kilcrist, you're free to go. And remember: a warning word before you get too close to people means you're less likely to end up with a bloody nose or worse."
After that night at the Witch’s End, Nerissia has spent the last several days moving into her room at Sarini Manor and cleaning up the shrine to her Dark Prince. She welcomed the work. Her visits to Saringallow itself have been perfunctory. After her relatively solitary monster-hunting existence and strict training regime with the Order, dealing with the myriad social interactions and pleasantries that happened in a civilian town was a bit daunting. So having tasks at the manor that kept her busy allowed her to cautiously tip her toes in the social pond instead of diving in.
Nerissia’s eyes snap open abruptly. Nothing is menacing, but something feels wrong.
It had been a benign dream. She was in Saringallow, for some reason, and she was chatting pleasantly with some locals – which was odd. But then it seemed to make sense as she recognized the faces of the locals as members of the Order she trained with. Although, even this had a tinge of strangeness because there wasn’t much smiling or laughing during their training in the Dark Prince’s service. And seeing the uncompromising face of the Order’s Mistress of Discipline on the body of a stick-thin, washer-woman was both jarring and slightly amusing, if Nerissia were being honest.
She vaguely recalls sitting on a bench underneath a tree and sharing lunch with Alocer. She’s not sure how the fennec managed to use a knife and fork, but it seemed trivial at the time. The meal was pleasant. They were chuckling together about something. Then it struck her… Alocer’s eyes were wrong. They weren’t unfriendly or dishonest. They weren’t suddenly a goat’s eyes. They were the fennec’s normal eyes but their colors were wrong. One was grey and the other was a light brown with almost a pink undertone. As she puzzled on that, she realized the same was true for all the other people in the dream. Their eyes were mismatched colors – one grey and the other in some hue with an undertone of pink. Suddenly concerned, Nerissia races to a nearby bird bath. She needs see her reflection. Are her eyes no longer her own? She looks into the water… and blinks awake.
"Perhaps not," Hannelia agrees, "but I wanted to." She looks the boy up and down, a strange sensation twanging at her as she considers the offer. "I usually have questions," she says lightly, "but I have nothing immediately. Thank you for the offer though, Kilcrist, you're free to go. And remember: a warning word before you get too close to people means you're less likely to end up with a bloody nose or worse."
The teen nods, ”I’ll keep that in mind, ma’am. Have yourself a pleasant day. Oh, have a look in the corners of that envelope before throwin' it out.” He turns and exits the street as they entered it, then turns toward the center of town and disappears around the corner.
Hannelia watches the boy go, the encounter playing back in her mind. In and of itself there’s nothing that strange about it. A message delivered and one which on the face of it makes sense.
And yet there was something slightly odd about Kilcrist, a boy scarcely into his teens who can move like Zuke and is trusted with at least some secrets and critical information from a powerful master. It’s not that social awkwardness or just being a touch weird are unusual or things she’s unused to, nor the youthful braggadocio of offering himself up to answer questions, but the meeting put Hannelia on edge in a way she can’t quite pinpoint and she trusts her senses.
Perhaps partly it’s that the boy, and presumably his master, knows where she lives. It’s not exactly a secret and one could find it out, but neither is it something she advertises. Through her questioning she also confirmed that, as she suspected, he also knows where she works as he didn’t need to ask the location. And if they know of her living arrangements they should also know that she doesn’t work out of her home so the offer to come by and not cause a disturbance was a little jarring. Still, she’d rather attribute that to lack of thought than malice. Either way, it’s clear that whoever is behind the letter has taken an interest in her, or the Saringallow Seekers more widely, and has done their research pretty thoroughly. From a professional point of view she is impressed, if a little unnerved to be the subject of such scrutiny.
Which is part of the reason she declined the boy’s offer. Already a little off guard, her natural caution kicked in and she felt better about leaving things where they were. Besides, the main questions she has of “Who is the Chief?”, “Who are these ‘aligned interests’?” and “What do you want?” were unlikely to lead to any definitive answers and right now all she has to go on are “Don’t know”, “Don’t know” and “Nothing - yet”. Kilcrist had already admitted that he doesn’t know who his master really is and if he had more information to share than was in the letter, he would potentially be playing a dangerous game by sharing more than the Chief wanted, else he would presumably have said as much in the letter. He wouldn’t be the first cocksure teenager to get in over his head, something Hannelia can attest to from personal experience, and not everyone would have looked out for her in the same way Zuke did.
She reflects on the few other things she does know. A retired Venture Captain and one working outside of Pathfinder Society business are of interest but don't give any easy threads to pull at. She has a couple of ideas but nothing she has high hopes for. Hannelia is used to uneven balances of power and information though - it comes with the territory in her line of work - and she finds these things tend to either reveal themselves further in time, or simply go nowhere. In this case, the letter is designed to make contact and set things up for future work or opportunities and she suspects it will be followed up on if what Kilcrist reports back is satisfactory. Then again, whatever goals being obliquely referred to in the letter may change or other ways of achieving them may arise and this will be the first and last she hears from the mysterious “A”.
Making her way a few streets over to her office, she discreetly checks for tails and for any signs of interference or anything out of the ordinary outside it before unlocking the door. Only when she is inside and away from prying eyes does she turn her attention to the two enclosed items mentioned in the letter. Before removing them from the package, Hannelia works a minor spell to check for dweomers.
At a certain point, Nerissia attempts to drag the party together for a little get-together. While she'd prefer to have any meetings in a place as secret (and secure) as her little shrine to the Dark Prince, she understands the rest of the group wouldn't be as comfortable as she was down there in the dark. She still tries to have it at their manor, or some similar private space.
Once gathered and with the small talk out of the way, the huntress takes a deep breath before exhaling, obviously not comfortable with opening up the way she's about to.
"I think something isn't right here, in Saringallow. I don't know if any of you have been having strange dreams lately, but I've had a few unsettling ones. Eyes, mismatched eyes, wrong eyes. Alocer using a fork and knife, if you can believe it!" she says, laughing nervously as she tries to get her thoughts together. She doesn't mention the people from her past, former hunt mates that should certainly not be in Saringallow. They couldn't possibly be, some of them she hadn't seen in years. Some of them she couldn't ever see again.
"And not only that, that night in Witch's End...I heard some women discussing an extremely strange topic: buying children's shoes. They called them 'booties'." she laughs, looking over at Roger pointedly. "One seemed to meet a man who offered some of the desired shoes in exchange for...a smile." she continues, shaking her head. "I don't know what it all means, or if it means anything, just couldn't keep the knowledge rolling around in my head for too long." she finishes, letting anyone else speak up on if they've had any of the dreams.
Making her way a few streets over to her office, she discreetly checks for tails and for any signs of interference or anything out of the ordinary outside it before unlocking the door. Only when she is inside and away from prying eyes does she turn her attention to the two enclosed items mentioned in the letter. Before removing them from the package, Hannelia works a minor spell to check for dweomers.
Hannelia arrives at her office without incident. If she was being followed, it was so discreet as to go unnoticed. Her office (once opened) shows no signs of disturbance either and the envelope (along with the contents therein) show no traces of magic that she can detect.
Hannelia pushes the ends of the envelope toward one another and looks into the widening gap. She sees nothing. Working the corners of the envelope as Kilcrist suggested, she finds that the thick envelope has scraped out depressions in the corners, each holding something glittery. With a couple deft twists of the heavy paper, the objects come free. Hannelia pours them carefully into her palm. A pair of tiny, but nearly flawless, diamonds greet her.
Tipping the diamonds into her hand, Hannelia inhales sharply. She’s not an expert but they certainly look legitimate - or at least aren’t obvious fakes. But this is a small fortune! Hardly a minor token of appreciation. It certainly puts a different complexion on things. As a straight up gift, it seems insane to part with so much wealth, unless perhaps her deeds had somehow led her benefactor into an even larger amount of money. Still, it’s incredibly generous even if that is the case, especially with no real explanation. And it does give her another piece of information: the letter writer is clearly very wealthy. It does also - whether that was the intention or not - make her feel indebted to the gifter and increases her supposition that a request of some kind will be forthcoming.
For now Hannelia stows the diamonds away extremely carefully and decides not to sell them at this point. Being in a position where she can return them if necessary seems prudent. She makes some notes and jots down some ideas, then pushes the encounter out of her mind - she needs to focus on the meeting she has later in the day. She’s prepared for it, of course, but always good to go over her notes and double check things.
* * * * *
The following day Hannelia pays a call to several of her contacts, including Alcie at the Witch’s End, Halmam at the docks, Lupia at the town hall and a few others, asking if any of them have been approached by or seen anyone matching Kilcrist’s description. She doesn’t have a lot to go on - early teens, no particular distinguishing features, slightly awkward manner but moves like a ghost - but figures it’s worth a shot. Also, given his words about what he would do if he was on official Pathfinder business suggests, it seems likely that he hasn’t spoken to any of them. Exactly what difference it makes whether he’s on official business or not she doesn’t know - chances are nobody would ask and it’s an easy lie that is unlikely to be followed up on - but it does at least suggest something a little clandestine.
She also heads over to the temple of Erastil. She says hello to Jhessa and calls in on Constantine but primarily she’s here to see Father Ruvarra. Hannelia says that she is planning a trip to Elidir and offers to take any messages or goods to the sister church in the Isgeri capital. Father Ruvarra gladly takes up the offer, giving Hannelia cover - not that she really needs an excuse - to visit the temple. She has one contact in the Pathfinder Society there, Asala Pirasi, and she knows the group use the temple as a meeting place, being forced underground by the politics of Cheliax. Again, she’s not hopeful but perhaps there will be some records or some internal knowledge that might point her in the direction of “A”.
Before she sets out, however, Hannelia pays the Saringallow archives a visit too. She lets Fustifer know that she’s looking for anything on prominent Pathfinders. There’s not a strong presence in the country, and for all she knows, her mysterious benefactor could originate half the world away, but she would rather be thorough and check. She settles into what is very much her natural habitat in the expectation of a few hours of searching and reading.
* * * * *
At the manor that evening, Hannelia is glad of company. She admires the work Nerissia has done to clean the place up, though there’s still a lot more to do. She can’t imagine Constantine - or indeed the townsfolk, if they were to find out about it - would be thrilled that the shrine to Asmodeus is in use again, but he has promised Sirio to leave it and presumably their lawyerly friend didn’t just want it for the aesthetic.
She listens to the tiefling’s tales with interest. ”That,” she says, ”is a very strange dream. I’m no expert but I don’t know that it necessarily means anything, especially something so outlandish as Alocer using cutlery. Having said that, you have just reminded me. I did have a strange dream of my own a couple of days ago. I can’t really remember anything of it, but the sense of things not quite being right remains with me, which does seem to match yours a bit at least. It might just be a coincidence,” she says, but it’s not the only unusual thing to have happened to me either. Hannelia then details the meeting with Kilcrist and the letter. ”Have a read of it if you like,” she offers to Nerissia and anyone else interested. ”See what you make of it.” She doesn’t mention exactly what the enclosed gifts were at this juncture, still feeling decidedly uncomfortable about them, though knowing that sharing will probably make her feel a little better.
Hannelia’s luck runs colder than a northern wind for most of the day. Though she searches exhaustively, the Saringallow archives contain scant information on the Pathfinder Society. She does learn that the haystack in which she hopes to find the needle of 'Venture-Captain A' isn’t quite as large as it might otherwise be. She discovers a Chelaxian/Isgerian study – no doubt prompted by Thrune paranoia – that investigated the Society as a potential threat to their rule.
The conclusions that seem relevant to Hannelia’s search are that:
1. Venture-Captains are valued in the Society and tend to have long tenures, i.e. there are few of them. It isn’t a transitory posting. For most Society members, it is a ‘pinnacle’ they will never reach.
2. Because of the value of their experience and hard-earned knowledge, the Society keeps records related to the stints as Venture-Captains, decisions they made, and important memoranda. There are even ongoing records (though less thorough) of retired V-Cs, in case their knowledge ever needs to be called upon again.
3. The writers of the report apologize profusely for being unable to ‘locate’ any of these files but they strongly believe that various lodges have access to, at minimum, an archival list of all the Venture-Captains past and present.
Hannelia’s canvassing of Saringallow for people who noted (and remember) Kilcrist are equally scant. There are a couple people who share some relatively useless version of ”I might have seen him. He sounds familiar but he didn’t stand out…”
She finally has a bit of luck when she speaks with Halmam at the dock. The teen probably wouldn’t have registered to anyone until something odd happened. As Halmam reports, ”… so Bridger comes up to me as the boat to Elidir is about to board. Bridger’s on her way to bring the little’uns to visit her sister up Elidir way. She does that every so often. I think with her husband being so…”
The look on Hannelia’s face brings the Halmam quickly back to the subject, ”Right, not the point. She’s looking all queer-eyed at me. So I says ‘Bridger, what’s to do?’ An’ she says this boy asked her for a strange favor. An’ I asks ‘what sort of favor?’ An’ Bridger she tells me that he offered her a gold wheel… to take a silver coin with her to Elidir and spend it in town. Ain’t that the damndest? Paying gold to have someone spend silver? So I says ‘Bridger, where’s the fella at?’ She points at a boy - sounds like the one you’re talking about - and he’s walking away along the dockside.”
"Oh aye, don't doubt yer the elder, but I doubt I've but a summer or two left by how you wear your years. If not for the age, for all the adventurin' business. Plenty of close shaves already." Roger agrees with the age.
Still, Roger wears his own years quite well at least in the realm of fitness, accepting the pack mulery surprisingly well. A man perhaps of not titanic strength, but exceptional.
As Majara is brought up, he answers. "Oh aye, and I'm glad that Saringallow Seekers was the name what caught. One of our first ideas was Fellows of Saringallow or something like that. Ghastly."
”Fellows of Saringallow?” Bitiborium muses, ”I hate to be critical but that lacks… panache. ‘Seekers’ is better. Every title is better with a dash of alliteration! Hence, Bitiborium’s Item Emporium is far superior to Bitiborium’s Item Shop. Never underestimate the power of panache, strapping lad.”
In a bit more than short order, they reach the gnomerchant’s shop. Bitiborium ceremoniously yanks on three different bits of rope lashed around Roger (each leading to a clever knot) and the entire conglomeration of boxes falls away from the pirate into a disordered ring. The gnome hustles – and struggles – to drag a few of the boxes into his stall and onto various shelves. ”Thank you so much, kind sir! I do appreciate the help! You never stated a price but it will never be said that Bitiborium avoids his debts.”
Guided by instinct, the gnome slips into a dark corner of his stall looking for fair compensation. There are some oohs and ahhs, then a clatter and a muted clanging thump of something bouncing from a gnomish skull to the floor. Bitiborium emerges with two things, one tucked under an arm (a bottle) and the other carried on his back – something like a dark and dusty breastplate.
He hands the bottle to the pirate first. There is no label on it and the clear glass reveals a golden colored liquid. ”I believe I’ve seen you bend an elbow in the Witch’s End enough that you may appreciate this. This is Dandelion Wine. Don’t let the name fool you, if wine is a minnow, this beast is a black-mawed reef shark. It’s very rare. If you see another bottle in your lifetime, you’ve traveled far. It’s more commonly called ‘Dandy 188’… because it is 188 PROOF . Despite that, the flavor is soft as your first kiss. Word to the wise, when drinking it… start with a shot glass until you’ve taken its measure a time or two.”
With the bottle out of the way, the gnome puts down the armor with a muted metallic thunk. ”Since you understand the value of panache, I think this might suit you.” He weaves a quick spell that Roger has seen a time or two. The dust and dirt fall off the armor.
It appears to be a breastplate made of black leather until Roger glances at the inside of it. Beneath the dark leather, which is cunningly attached, is shining mithril. Adding the ‘panache’ to the black leather chestplate is an embossed image of a kraken, tentacles waving.
Bit looks to the pirate, ”Have I guessed your interests rightly? Fair compensation?”
Bit claps his hands, ”Yes, thank you for jogging my memory! The Celestial Orchid is ready for adoption and she is looking favorably on you and most of your friends.” He scurries into his shop and emerges lugging a large, rickety, ladder which he sets precariously against the stall wall. The gnome deftly climbs the shaking ladder. He pulls the potted Orchid off the roof of the stall and comes down the ladder cautiously.
He holds the orchid in the rune-scribed pot out for Majara to appreciate in the fall sunlight. ”Now, she has no reservations about you. Certain of your colleagues, however, well… a plant is affected by the soil in which it lives. I’m going to have to make a curious request of you. I need to meet with and your colleagues to ensure she’s being planted in the right ‘soil’, then I can name her adoption price. And, of course, there are care and feeding instructions to discuss.”
Majara admires the bloom again, taking a little more time than the first time as she'd been in a hurry then. "It really is a superb specimen! ......ah, the others? Hrmn. Well, I'll see what I can do-da-dee-do. In the meantime, I'll browse the less particular of your wares..."
***
At the meeting at the manor, Majara fiddles with a length of string while Nerissia and Hannelia bring up dreams-- tying and untying knots in it in a pattern that, if it is not random, is at least known only to her. One might think she wasn't listening to the conversation, but eventually she chimes in without looking up:
"No odd dreams making their way to my bed. Not that I recall. Unrelatedly, I want to ask a contact up here tomorrow-- he wants to meet with all of you. He says it's to take your measure. Possibly. Perhaps there's prospects private provoking his prying? When is everyone free tomorrow? It's the gnome who sets that traveling booth of his up in the town square, perhaps you've seen him. If everyone agrees, I'll let him know tonight when he can come by tomorrow. If everyone doesn't agree, I might just show him around the manor myself-- he might like the garden...."
Majara enters the stall as she hears Bit climbing the ladder to put the orchid back in her sunning spot. She makes a circuit of the few aisles, taking stock of the other gnome’s… stock. The shelves are now half empty and it seems Bit has done a number of local trades. There is a worn and cracked wooden Witch’s End door sign that Alcie replaced 15 years ago, a set of woven hats that were displayed at the Stitch and Sew last month, and even a bottle of gaudy lip-paint (with tiny application brush) that must have come from one of the ladies at Willita’s House of Rapture. Aside from that, there are a lot of mundane things – glassware, jewelry, an impressively large ball of pink yarn, kitchen utensils, dusty books, and various knick-knacks. Majara wouldn’t call it junk… but nothing really impresses her.
That assessment is not shared by the other customers in the shop. Robertius the handyman seems almost transfixed as he gazes at a fishing pole made from a curious wood. And a woman that works at city hall – Majara thinks her name is Luddy – is meticulously searching the shelves for something.
Bitiborium ghosts around the corner from the next aisle to amble up beside Robertius, admiring what he’s admiring. ”It’s from Minkai.” He adds helpfully, ”63 years old and made of a grass that grows like a tree, if you can believe it, called ‘bamboo’. It also comes with a set of six authentic Minkaian flies, though I’m not sure if they will attract fish here. Still, one never knows, eh? Would you like to buy it?”
Almost in a daze, the handyman nods and starts reaching into his coin-purse.
Bit stays the man’s hand with a gentle tug on his sleeve. ”Trade, not coins. You’re a workworker, yes? I have a project that could use your help. On your way to work, I expect you’ll see a ladder or two. The very first one you see, make a point of replacing the three worst rungs on it. Three rungs for the rod, are we agreed?”
Robertius nods. ”Rungs for the rod... Yes.”
Bit smiles, ”I’ll pack this up for you then.” He takes the rod and the small box of flies to his work desk to bundle them up. As soon as the gnome steps away, the handyman blinks, takes a moment to orient himself, and then follows, his voice far more normal. ”Ya don’t need to wrap it. I’ll take’em just like that.”
The gnome seems a little surprised. ”Really? It’s no bother… but as you wish, sir. The customer is always right except when he isn’t! Ha ha! Thank you for purchasing at my humble shop.” He hands the rod and box over then escorts Robertius to the doorway.
Majara quirks a brow as she observes the townsfolk and their state of ... 'fascination,' which seems to be selling it cheaply. She silently watches the negotiation over the ladder, eyes narrowed slightly, and once Robertius is on his way she moves to stand closer to Bit.
"Now why do you need those rungs repaired? And should I expect that the adoption price for the orchid will mean some sort of trade of an equally mysterious task, perhaps by my coworkers and I? You're a puzzling man, Master Bit." She is smiling a bit as she says it. Puzzles are, of course, intensely intriguing.
Majara doesn’t sense anything overtly magical or smell or see anything alchemical in the air that would explain Robertius’ behavior. If this is some sort of magic, it’s a form the gnome has never encountered.
"Now why do you need those rungs repaired?”
Bit chews on the question for a moment, eyes gazing upward left then right. He debates between a trite and a nuanced answer. ”The truth is… I could use my ladder repaired, not the one he is likely to fix. But I’ve seen workmen using that ladder a lot and several rungs are in poor shape.”
”And should I expect that the adoption price for the orchid will mean some sort of trade of an equally mysterious task, perhaps by my coworkers and I? You're a puzzling man, Master Bit." She is smiling a bit as she says it. Puzzles are, of course, intensely intriguing.
Bit smiles, ”Those are all very good expectations and conclusions, Mistress Pricknettle. I appreciate being called ‘puzzling’. ‘Vexing’ is what I hear more often. For instance, observe…”
The gnomerchant steps away to serve Luddy as she scours the shelves for a second time. ”May I help you find something, madam?”
Luddy seems almost sheepish. ”Uh, maybe. I’m looking for something I saw the other day. It’s old and made of leather, sort of round, with feathers hanging off like tassels. And in the circle there’s like spider-webs…”
Bitiborium nods, ”Yes! I have something like that but I’m at a loss to recall where it is. If you’ll look at the high shelves, I’ll look low and I’m sure we’ll find where it has traipsed off to.” He stalks the low shelves and rounds the corner to the next aisle. With Luddy fully engaged in the search, he pulls the item from his pocket and gives Majara a look.
”Ah hah! I’ve found it madam!” He exclaims as he holds the object up like a prize and brings it to her. ”This is a rare piece. Very old. Doeskin over a birch frame. Deer sinew makes up the ‘webbing’ and the thongs holding – as you see – bird feathers and minor gemstones. It’s called a Dream Collector. Are you having bad dreams, perchance?”
Luddy is taken aback by the question. ”No. Well, my dreams are pleasant, generally.”
Bit offers a briefly puzzled expression, ”Really? Then I suppose you simply appreciate the piece for its beauty or story?”
Luddy pauses and clutches the heavy coinpurse ladening her belt, trying to speed up the transaction. ”How much is it?”
The gnome frowns, ”Well, madam, there is another party interested in it and I would hate to sell it out from underneath her. However, if you can meet the price, I’ll sell it to you. I should caution you, that may be a hurdle.”
Luddy says something that surprises Majara, ”I have gold crowns… and even platinum.” As a long-time resident, the alchemist is quite certain there is no common city hall worker with platinum coins.
Bitiborium is quick to respond, ”Madam leads a fortunate life, clearly! Perhaps my price will be within your easy grasp then. How fortuitous! For the Dream Collector, I’d like an item in trade… the mayoral desk.”
Luddy’s hand stops on its path to the coinpurse. ”What? But…”
Bit continues smoothly, ”I apologize for my eccentricity but money – in this case – is of no interest to me. My price was and is the mayor’s desk. But perhaps she’d be willing to sell it to you and then I will happily trade you the Dream Collector for the desk. Is that agreeable?”
The civil servant looks perplexed and unsure of herself. ”Well, I’ll need to… think on that.”
”Of course, madam, of course.” Bitiborium is consoling and placating while walking the woman from his stall, ”It’s a decision you should weigh appropriately. Your negotiations with the mayor will doubtless be extensive. Be assured, I have no immediate plans to leave town, so you have time. And do pass along my very best regards to the mayor. Thank-you-please-come-again-soon.” He doesn’t quite push Luddy out of the stall. When she’s well on her way back to city hall, he turns around with a sigh and puts the Dream Collector on his work bench.
Once again, Majara watches her fellow gnome through slightly narrowed eyes... then sighs. Reading people-- be they tallfolk, gnomes, or other-- has never been her strong suit. It's ironic, that alchemy has a reputation of being unpredictable. Alchemy involves ingredients that can be measured, precisely, and their interactions documented, and if something happens that one does not expect, well, there IS a reason for it, and one can repeat experiments over and over until isolating the new variable that has led to a new result.
People are much, much, much more unpredictable.
She gives Bit a wry look after Luddy leaves. "Yes, you vexed her, certainly. The experiment is unresolved as to if you also hexed her. How much did you know about her-- or me-- before we e'er entered your enterprising emporium, I wonder?"
It may be a rhetorical question, as Majara doesn't precisely seem to expect he'll answer. She turns back to the shelves, absently straightens something that was rendered crooked by another townsperson's rummagings, and files away Luddy's unexpectedly deep pockets as a thing to muse on. And a reason to upcharge the woman should she come to the apothecary any time soon.
"In any case. As I said, I'll broach your interest to my colleagues, and, if they're amenable, I'm sure we'll see each other again, soon, my puzzling purveyor of potpourri."
Majara can’t get a read on Bit’s reaction but, at a guess, there was some amount of feigning on his part.
She gives Bit a wry look after Luddy leaves. "Yes, you vexed her, certainly. The experiment is unresolved as to if you also hexed her. How much did you know about her-- or me-- before we e'er entered your enterprising emporium, I wonder?"
Bitiborium leans against the bench. ”Truthfully, I knew nothing of either of you before we met. I didn’t even know the lady’s name was Luddy. But – having been attentive in Saringallow for nigh on a month – allow me to tell you some of what I know and a bit of what I suspect. I know Miss Luddy has passed my shop on many occasions and seemed curious to enter but never did. Perhaps it was because something bothers her about my storefront, or she didn’t want to be tempted to purchase, or she felt she didn’t have the money to buy any of my wares. I also know she works in city hall in proximity to the mayor who was very interested in the Dream Collector just yesterday but was unhappy with my named price. And, I know that a woman like Miss Luddy with shoes she’s clearly repaired herself more than once, does not carry around her own bag of gold and platinum. I don’t think Miss Luddy left vexed. I think she left frazzled. The mayor will be vexed when she returns empty-handed.”
The gnome stands up and tugs at his vest to straighten it. ”I also know you are a good enough person that a Celestial Orchid regards you well. And I am a decent enough person to have raised an orchid. I don’t hex customers. That would be unethical. But I grant you there is a strange alchemy in my work that could be mistaken for hexcrafting.”
"In any case. As I said, I'll broach your interest to my colleagues, and, if they're amenable, I'm sure we'll see each other again, soon, my puzzling purveyor of potpourri."
Bit’s ready smile appears accompanied by a formal bow, ”I look forward to it. You are welcome in my shop at any time.”
"No odd dreams making their way to my bed. Not that I recall. Unrelatedly, I want to ask a contact up here tomorrow-- he wants to meet with all of you. He says it's to take your measure. Possibly. Perhaps there's prospects private provoking his prying? When is everyone free tomorrow? It's the gnome who sets that traveling booth of his up in the town square, perhaps you've seen him. If everyone agrees, I'll let him know tonight when he can come by tomorrow. If everyone doesn't agree, I might just show him around the manor myself-- he might like the garden...."
"The one who seems to sell anything and everything?" Hannelia asks. "I think I know the one you mean. I'm suppose I should be flattered that someone thinks we're worthy of that but again it feels like a bit of a coincidence that someone else has taken an interest in us at the same time. You didn't get anything more specific out of him?" She looks to the gnome.
"Anyway, I can definitely do tomorrow evening." She wrinkles her nose, thinking through her diary. "I could probably make late morning work as well at a push - though whether this meeting outweighs peak trading hours is his prerogative. I'm planning a short trip to Elidir in the next couple of days to speak to a contact and see if they can help shed any light on my letter. More than happy to run any errands if there's anything you need."
As Bitiborium displays his uncanny, or simply gnomish mastery of the packing and unpacking arts with his quick unknotting trick, Roger remarks "If you hadn't already a career, I'd wager the finest traders up and down the Vanji River'd pay a triple share for a packmaster of your talents."
Taking the bottle in hand, Roger smiles and turns it over, listening deeply. A keen eye would tell that Roger wasn't even considering the other thing Bitiborium was carrying. A fine liquor to make friends with local hero and repay a bit of work? Seemed reasonable and friendly to him. He wasn't considering the other item was also for today. And so he was taken with a measure of surprise as the armor was set down, that only grew as he reaches out to feel the weight of it after the dust and dirt is cleaned away.
"Sell my soul to Besmara- If you've treasures like this about, you've no need of a packmaster's triple share. Fairer compensation any man shy of Cayden's never received. Surely there's more to this than a simple hauling job, if my hands don't deceive an' this is mithril."
"If you hadn't already a career, I'd wager the finest traders up and down the Vanji River'd pay a triple share for a packmaster of your talents."
The gnome chuckles. ”A very astute observation, strapping lad! Earlier in my career, I was a teamster and packmaster. Very handy skills at times.”
"Surely there's more to this than a simple hauling job, if my hands don't deceive an' this is mithril."
”Your hands are correct, sir, it is mithril.” As to the rest, he shrugs. ”There are no ‘strings’ attached. I don’t deal in equipment of war often because there’s a responsibility in putting a blade in a man’s hand. So that armor has been gathering dust waiting for the right owner. You have the temperament, and seem to have the nautical interests, of a man that wouldn’t put it to ill use. Unless I misjudge these matters, you will appreciate each other. Its pedigree might also appeal. Its former owner was one of the last Merchant-Princes of Vir-Az with true sea-legs.”
"The one who seems to sell anything and everything?" Hannelia asks. "I think I know the one you mean. I'm suppose I should be flattered that someone thinks we're worthy of that but again it feels like a bit of a coincidence that someone else has taken an interest in us at the same time. You didn't get anything more specific out of him?" She looks to the gnome.
Majara purses her lips a moment, then shrugs. "He's considering a transaction with me, but feels the item should only go to a person of suitable moral integrity." Her tone is rather dry with that, leaving unsaid her own thoughts on the matter. "And that my colleagues should also be of the same general stripe. He is certainly a... uniquely discerning merchant. I don't suspect anything untoward on his part, precisely, but I'm sure there's a great deal he's not yet saying. In any case-- I'll pass on to him that we'll host him here on the morrow. As it seems no one has objections."
”I’ll note you said ‘suitable’ moral integrity,” Hannelia smiles, ”not ‘good’. But yes, fair enough. That’s fine with me and hopefully we’ll find out more tomorrow.”
In another part of town, a grumbling porter with a modest load on his back trudges toward Emma. He stops and looks her up and down, noting her armor and holy symbol. He pulls out a scrap of paper and squints at it a bit before reading off it, ”You, uh, Emma Barkfurt?”
After a brief exchange, the porter is satisfied that Barkfurt equals Blackford and Emma is the recipient of his package. With a grunt (followed by a sigh of relief) the porter drops a sturdy leather bag at Emma’s feet. It thumps and clinks like metal. The porter, feeling considerably lighter, heads down the street without a backwards glance.
Emma opens the bag to see a pile of gold, silver, and copper coins along with some random silver objects, a couple small pieces of carved sculpture, and a scattering of small gemstones. There is also a crumpled letter, somewhat worse for having been sloshing around amid a pile of coins. The letter is simple in sentiment and a brief taste of home.
Dear Emma,
Word has reached us through the mother church of your good works in valiant service to Our Lady Iomedae against ghastly creatures and all manner of evil. While you are far away… know that we are thinking of, praying for, and very proud of all that you are accomplishing. Our parishioners along with your sword brothers and sisters took up a collection to give you something more substantial than just our heartfelt wishes. May Iomedae ever watch over you.
Faithfully,
Ducet Abberath
Rector, Church of Iomedae at Piren’s Bluff
And so, at the appointed hour…
of the specified day…
on a hill above Saringallow, where squats Sarini Manor…
A lark-like whistling precedes (by some distance) the approach of a ‘discerning’ gnome merchant carrying a basket holding, principally, a potted plant not born on the material plane.
After summiting the hill, he stops for a moment to collect his breath and appreciate the mansion’s faded grandeur before dashing onto the porch to greet his potential customers. He introduces himself to each one – even those he’s already met – with an enthusiastic handshake and a friendly ”Greetings! Greetings! I’m Bitiborium who runs the Item Emporium in the market square! How are you this fine day? I, myself, am bubbling with optimism.”
With greetings exchanged, Bitiborium surveys the room. He moves to the nearest table then proceeds to wiggle the top a bit. He knocks on the surface while listening intently then gives it a small amount of side-eye. His quiet hrmph says it won’t do. He hustles over to another table and performs the same random acts (or series of tests). This table apparently passes muster. He takes the basket off his arm and moves to place it on the table. His ”Do you mind if I…?” is strictly pro forma as he only waits a fraction of a moment for a reply before setting the basketed plant down in the table’s center. He rotates it a half-turn and steps away, satisfied.
Hands quickly brushed against one another to get rid of any dirt, Bit turns to regard the team. He bows, ”It’s a pleasure meeting all of you.”
"Master Bit. Welcome to Sarini Manor. I wonder if they're planning on renaming it."
Majara waves the other gnome into the manor, and from thence into the library, which has turned out to be one of the most comfortable rooms for a spacious meeting. She hums in satisfaction at seeing the orchid placed onto the table, even if it is the second table, and pulls up a footstool in order to sit close to it and examine it while Bit says his bit.
"Yes yes, we're glad you're here, courtesy, polite rejoinder, and so forth," she says, rather absently. Perhaps others will take over the conversation with more panache.
In another part of town, a grumbling porter with a modest load on his back trudges toward Emma. He stops and looks her up and down, noting her armor and holy symbol. He pulls out a scrap of paper and squints at it a bit before reading off it, ”You, uh, Emma Barkfurt?”After a brief exchange, the porter is satisfied that Barkfurt equals Blackford and Emma is the recipient of his package. With a grunt (followed by a sigh of relief) the porter drops a sturdy leather bag at Emma’s feet. It thumps and clinks like metal. The porter, feeling considerably lighter, heads down the street without a backwards glance.
Emma opens the bag to see a pile of gold, silver, and copper coins along with some random silver objects, a couple small pieces of carved sculpture, and a scattering of small gemstones. There is also a crumpled letter, somewhat worse for having been sloshing around amid a pile of coins. The letter is simple in sentiment and a brief taste of home.
Dear Emma,
Word has reached us through the mother church of your good works in valiant service to Our Lady Iomedae against ghastly creatures and all manner of evil. While you are far away… know that we are thinking of, praying for, and very proud of all that you are accomplishing. Our parishioners along with your sword brothers and sisters took up a collection to give you something more substantial than just our heartfelt wishes. May Iomedae ever watch over you.
Faithfully,
Ducet Abberath
Rector, Church of Iomedae at Piren’s Bluff
In another part of town, a grumbling porter with a modest load on his back trudges toward Emma. He stops and looks her up and down, noting her polished armor and the sunburst holy symbol of Iomedae gleaming at her throat. He pulls out a crumpled scrap of paper and squints at it before reading off it, "You, uh, Emma Barkfurt?"
Emma pauses, glancing at the porter with her brows slowly rising. Her mouth quirking into a half-smile, she crosses her arms over her breastplate. "Sorry, who exactly?"
The porter frowns, scratching at his stubbled chin and glancing at the note again as if willing the ink to rearrange itself. "Says here, Emma Barkfurt." He taps the paper with a dirt-stained finger.
Emma lets out a soft laugh, stepping forward to relieve him of his anxiety. "Blackford. Paladin Emma Blackford." She enunciates each syllable with exaggerated patience, eyes twinkling with amusement rather than offense.
"Eh? If you's say so." The porter shrugs. "Got a package for you. From, uh…" He squints harder, turning the paper sideways. "Pure And Blood? Huh…"
"Piren's Bluff, perhaps?" Emma suggests, feeling more amused than annoyed now.
The porter's eyes widen with relief. "Yeah, that's it! Piren's Bluff." He fumbles the bundle off his back, careful not to drop it despite his weathered hands. "This is for you, then. Sorry about the name. Handwriting's terrible."
Emma can't help but chuckle as she takes the package. "I've been called worse," she says, hefting the parcel and noting its surprising weight. The wax seal on the side—a sunburst stamped deep into crimson wax—confirms it: straight from the chapterhouse at Piren's Bluff.
The porter lingers a moment, shuffling his worn boots expectantly, gaze flickering between Emma and the cobblestones.
"Oh! Of course," Emma says, digging out a silver coin from the small pouch at her belt. His grin widens, revealing a missing tooth, and he tips his frayed cap before ambling away down the lane, whistling a tavern tune.
Emma retreats to a quiet corner near a stone fountain and opens the leather bag to find a gleaming pile of gold, silver, and copper coins along with several random silver objects, a couple of small pieces of carved sculpture, and a scattering of small gemstones that catch the afternoon light. There is also a crumpled letter, somewhat worse for having been sloshing around amid the treasure. The letter, written in a familiar hand, is simple in sentiment and a brief taste of home.
Dear Emma,
Word has reached us through the mother church of your good works in valiant service to Our Lady Iomedae against ghastly creatures and all manner of evil. While you are far away… know that we are thinking of, praying for, and very proud of all that you are accomplishing. Our parishioners along with your sword brothers and sisters took up a collection to give you something more substantial than just our heartfelt wishes. May Iomedae ever watch over you.
Faithfully,
Ducet Abberath
Rector, Church of Iomedae at Piren’s Bluff
For a moment, Emma is at a loss for words. Her first instinct is to send the money back—surely the small parish needs these funds more than she does.
But as she turns the letter over in her hands, the edges growing softer beneath her thumb, Emma pauses. She can picture them—Ducet's careful penmanship, the parishioners' earnest faces as they pressed coins and trinkets into a battered offering bowl, the rough camaraderie of her fellow knights gathered around the training yard's fire. To refuse this, she realizes, would be to refuse their faith in her.
She gathers the coins and tokens into their pouch and tucks it securely at her side, making a silent promise to use the funds in service to Iomedae's cause. The carved sculptures—a sparrow in mid-flight and a tiny sword with its crossguard etched with miniature sunrays, lovingly whittled by hands she can almost recognize—she lifts out for a closer look, then nestles them atop the letter in her pack. A smile lingers on her lips, warm and wistful, as she rises to continue her journey, her steps somehow lighter despite the added weight.
”Mister Biborium,” Hannelia greets the gnome, ”it is a pleasure to welcome you here too. I’m Hannelia Venator, though I suspect that given you asked to meet with us, you probably know that. Sadly Constantine, our host, remains indisposed but I know he will be glad to have you here too. Certainly your reputation precedes you - it appears that you have caused quite the stir in town on the days you have been in Saringallow. “Anything and everything for sale” as gossip would have it.” She nods towards the other gnome. ”Majara vouches for you and that’s good enough for me.”
She moves around the table where Bitborium has placed the peculiar purple plant. Keeping a respectful - or perhaps just safe - distance from the plant she peers at it. ”This is an impressive specimen. My botanical knowledge is much more theoretical than practical. What can you tell me of it?”
Bitiborium bows politely to the pathfinder. ”I’ve only heard your names and the deeds of the Saringallow Seekers among all the back-fence chinwagging that happens in any town. And the chins here are a’wagging about you folks. Reputations are such curious things. As for mine…” He pauses briefly, ”I dare say your neighbors have me somewhat wrong. I don’t sell ‘anything and everything’. I trade many specific things to people who desire them most.”
”My botanical knowledge is much more theoretical than practical. What can you tell me of it?”
As he answers her question, his hand makes a flourish toward the plant. ”This is a Celestial Orchid from Elysium. Difficult to export, harder to raise to maturity outside her natural climes, quixotic in temperament, and – if you choose to adopt and she accepts you – she will probably save some of your lives.”
Nodding, Hannelia says, "That makes sense. I understand why some people are happy to shout praise about the miraculous things they have got from you."
"She's beautiful," Hannelia agrees, "and my understanding is that anything is harder to raise outside its natural environment. I can only assume it's even more so on a different plane." She looks up again at the gnome curiously. "You are offering her for adoption? Is such a plant in line with one of heart's desires? Or is it that you feel we would be good custodians?" She looks back to the plant. "Or is the decision hers to make?"
"That makes sense. I understand why some people are happy to shout praise about the miraculous things they have got from you."
Bit points out the flip side of that particular coin. ”And others are irked at my prices or unwillingness to sell. It is the balance point of my work.”
"You are offering her for adoption? Is such a plant in line with one of heart's desires? Or is it that you feel we would be good custodians?"
The gnome looks at Majara for a long moment before responding, puzzling on the answer. ”Miss Pricknettle’s heart is not on her sleeve. She doesn’t seem enraptured with the orchid but she does appreciate her… So, I don’t think this is a matter of heart, per se. And I’m here because you are potentially the right custodians. It may not be a ‘love match’… but your work as adventuring heroes and the orchid’s desires could complement each other.”
She looks back to the plant. "Or is the decision hers to make?"
”The decision is hers. My role is advisory and quasi-parental.”
~End of Bitiborium Solo Scene~
"Well, kind as ye be, I'd say I feel a string ought to be attached for something like this. I'll say you've got one drake sized favor owed you, whether you like it or not. Better to hurry to call it in, before I get eaten by a proper dragon on me next adventure." Roger offers a favor at least
~Bitiborium Group Scene~
"Well, plants adopting people, or people adopting plants... Either one's a story I haven't told before-" Roger is a bit confused by the plant
Hannelia looks at her alchemically-minded companion. Yes, she can definitely see why Majara would be interested in such a plant. What she doesn't entirely understand is how their work and the plant's inclinations intersect. "Ok," she says, speaking to both Bitborium and the plant. "What does the orchid desire? And how does that fit with the work of an adventurer?" While she's not expecting the plant to reply, she does watch to see if it reacts in any way to her questioning.
To Roger's comment, Bit laughs. ”I’ll do my best to call in that favor before you get et, strapping lad. But, if I don’t, assume the favor I ask is that you give that dragon a terrible case of indigestion.”
Bit’s eyes light up at Hannelia’s question. ”She’s of Elysium. Compassion is her nature as is the desire to do good – not in some organized ‘save the world’ fashion but through small personal acts of benevolence and aid. As a flower her reach is limited. Heroes, such as yourselves, do good deeds on a grander scale than a flower can achieve. So, if she helps you… and you help others… she believes her reach is greater.”
Hannelia watches the plant closely… there might be some movement among the stamens, a configuration of the anthers (not caused by the flow of air) along with a subtle change in shading along one leaf.
Hannelia shifts slightly uncomfortably. "I'm not sure 'hero' is quite right, I think that applies more to stories and songs, to history." She turns to Emma, smiling, always happy to talk up her friend, "Or to those whose deeds are righteous. But the creed I can align with and I strive to help where I can." She studies the plant as it appear to subtly shift. "A symbiotic relationship then. I could get on board with that. Maybe a trial period while we get to know and understand each other?"
Bit’s nearly ever-present smile fades. His voice takes on an edge of being affronted. ”I may have misjudged you. To be clear, this isn’t a house-plant. She is a sentient, good-hearted being. Would you walk into an orphanage and ask to take a child home on a ‘trial basis’ only to return her the first time she breaks a plate? What message would a child take from that?”
He looks to the orchid’s swaying anthers, petals, and shifting colors for a long moment before returning his attention to the team. ”We’re certain you have other questions. Ask them... and we’ll see where this path leads.”
Hannelia winces at the potential misstep and tries to smooth things over. "My apologies. The fault is mine - I'm guilty of erring on the side of caution and given the Chelaxian love of contracts, I'm wary of entering into agreements where the terms are unclear. I was viewing this as a partnership of equals rather than a more uneven one of parent and child. Even so, to continue your analogy, in my opinion at least it would not be a great situation for an adopted child if they found themselves trapped with a poor or abusive new parent with no recourse." She wonders if the gnome has chosen this example deliberately. It does feel a little on the nose given the nation's recent history and she is, in this if nothing else, glad that neither Constantine nor Sirio are present. "And absolutely I would - indeed do - trial other opportunities to ensure that both parties are happy with the arrangement and have a way to end things amicably even if it does not turn into something longer term. I see this as good business practice, though this is clearly a different kind of partnership."
She pauses, giving a little time to digest her words. "I do, though I do want to allow others to speak. We don't have a group spokesperson so I don't want anybody to feel I'm speaking on their behalf on something they disagree with." She smiles slightly. "What exactly does she aim to do in terms of good deeds and spreading compassion and how does she go about it? Relatedly, though perhaps this will be clearer with the answer to the first question, how can we help to achieve her aims?"
”I expect to be in Saringallow for several more weeks – particularly if she is adopted – to ensure she feels at home and in case ‘recourse’ is needed. My reputation relies on satisfied parties, on all sides.”
”What exactly does she aim to do in terms of good deeds and spreading compassion and how does she go about it? Relatedly, though perhaps this will be clearer with the answer to the first question, how can we help to achieve her aims?”
”She would like to go on some of your adventures. In exchange for your care and protection, she will assist you according to her gifts. Have you ever had honeysuckle? It’s a marvelous plant. You can pull a stamen to receive a drop or two of the plant’s nectar. It’s sweet, as the name implies.”
Bit continues, ”Celestial Orchids are similar. A mature stamen provides a single drop of nectar… which carries magical properties - a gift of Elysium.”
"I see," Hannelia replies. "For my part I think that sounds reasonable and would be open to an arrangement, with two caveats. First, I don't know when we may find ourselves off on adventure, they aren't necessarily something we have sought out and it's hard to know how big some kind of problem may turn out to be. Second," she says drily, thinking of her write-ups for the Pathfinder Society, "I don't know how familiar she is with heroic tales, but trust me when I say that the stories you hear don't always match the reality of events."
”We’ve been traveling companions for some time. Admittedly, a merchant’s ‘adventures’ aren’t the same as what you do, but she isn’t unschooled in the realities of this world. She understands the risks. To continue her growth, she needs to experience more than what my company provides.“
Majara has been taking the opportunity to make a dozen half-scribbled notes pertaining to the orchid. Such is her focus that she barely listens to the discussion happening around her-- much more interesting to jot down her observations on its color, size, leaf shape, scent, and all the other intriguing physical characteristics of the bloom.
She glances up in time to catch the last bit of the exchange. "We have an Iomedan in our number," she says with a little chin jerk at Emma. "If nothing else, she won't stand for evil acts. I would think that might count for something with the bloom."
Her blue-haired head dips down again to her notes-- then after a little pause, lifts once more to look curiously at Bit. "Does she have a name?"
A look of disappointment crosses the gnome’s face. ”Unfortunately, I’m not fluent in her tongue. We’ve worked out a mish-mash language of sorts but it’s more of an approximation. I wouldn’t try to translate her name because I know I can’t get it right. She doesn’t mind nicknames so, if you choose to adopt her, I’d suggest you pick a meaningful name.”