"That, and it would be nice to be accompanying someone who probably has a better chance of noticing things than I do," Emma admits with a self-conscious shrug and smile.
”I think there is something to be said for trying to bait them back out into the open and catch a live one, now that we know they’re there and can prepare ourselves at least..."
Majara makes a pursed lip gesture. "They had the discipline and tactics to break off once they realized they were outnumbered and that the battle was turning against them. They ambushed us when there were a few of us ahead, vulnerable-- it's possible they even lured us into chasing them. I don't think they're stupid or careless enough to get ... 'baited' into coming into the open. They seem to know that their strengths lie in stealth and picking their moment. But we can hope, I suppose."
Once they regain the upper air, with the skulk body in tow, Majara looks to the others. "Alright, so how shall we divvy tasks? Someone, or someones, should take the skulk to the guard. Emma has some rapport with the guards already-- so perhaps Emma and Nerissia-- and Alocer of course-- to the constabulary? And then Roger, Hannelia, and myself to go show the scarf to Sophi? Any objections?"
"Hard to say Majara, before, we were just prey, or a threat. After taking one of them out, there may be a personal grudge now. Stay safe, you three." Roger seems to be including Alocer in his counting.
After a bit of healing, cleaning, tracking, and discussion, our heroes set their plans. They make their way slowly back toward the ‘entrance’. Their speed is limited by the difficulties of lugging a corpse while keeping eyes sharp for any hint of their nearly invisible opponents. Add to that, no one wants a misstep that sends them reeling into a river of sewage. As they move along, the sounds from the city streets filter down through the grates. There is an impressive amount of murmuring coming down from the market square area. After a moment, you recall the mayor planned to make some sort of calming announcement after the chaos this morning. And you do hear her distant voice periodically rising above the noise of the crowd but it is too indistinct to overcome the general hubbub that is echoing into the sewers.
The group continues on and emerges from the sewer without being ambushed again. If the skulks are stalking the team, they’ve gone unnoticed. Above ground, many locals (and a few visitors) are trickling away from the market square after the mayor’s speech.
The Watch Commander is a hard man to get a private word with… except when you (like our heroes) walk into the constable’s office carrying a corpse. The on-duty officers give the body a wide-eyed look then take it and the team into a meeting room of sorts. The body is placed on a table and covered with a thin blanket.
In a few minutes the Watch Commander arrives, looking more haggard than he did this morning. His gaze turns from the group to the shrouded form. He pulls the blanket back, exposing the creature’s upper body. His look is clinical. His nose wrinkles a bit. ”A skulk? Judging by the stink, you found him in the sewer.” He covers up the corpse again, turning his attention to the heroes. ”I need details. What happened?”
Meanwhile, the other half of the team navigate through the thinning crowd in the market square, heading toward the Witch’s End. It seems Sophi attended the mayor’s speech because the heroes encounter her returning to the inn. She looks at them hopefully. ”Good afternoon. I heard some of you were in the battle earlier… I wasn’t expecting an update today.”
Nerissia doesn't say much of anything until the pair (and Alocer) are out of earshot of the rest of the group. She seems a bit nervous about something before finally speaking up.
"Uh, Emma, I know we haven't exactly talked a whole lot while we've been adventuring together. I also recognize that I joined a bit later than the rest of you so I don't have the same level of camaraderie built up with the group as it were. But I, uh, appreciate you working with me on the whole, 'Asmodean' thing. I know your types, no offense of course, usually don't prefer working with 'my types', so I just wanted to show my appreciation for your cool-headedness." she says almost in a rush, as if she wasn't quite enjoying the emotional words but needed to get them out.
”I need details. What happened?”
She looks at the man dryly, not entirely convinced with his skills or usefulness. "Found skulks hiding in the sewers, killed this one, some got away. Wanted you to know they were down there." she says plainly, wanting to see his reaction to the news.
Majara makes a pursed lip gesture. "They had the discipline and tactics to break off once they realized they were outnumbered and that the battle was turning against them. They ambushed us when there were a few of us ahead, vulnerable-- it's possible they even lured us into chasing them. I don't think they're stupid or careless enough to get ... 'baited' into coming into the open. They seem to know that their strengths lie in stealth and picking their moment. But we can hope, I suppose."
"That's all fair, though the tales also say that they have no qualms about leaving their compatriots to their fate if it means saving their own skin," Hannelia replies. "So maybe there's a default level of distrust there that can be exploited in spite of their obvious intelligence in playing to their strengths. But as you say, that might just be wishful thinking. Either way, we should remain vigilant."
Hannelia considers the division of the group and has no complaints about how the two trios are arranged, even if she still has some misgivings about the wisdom of splitting up at all.
Just before they exit the sewer, Hannelia takes a moment to give the whole group a magical clean in order to appear more presentable and, she hopes, not trail too much of the drain’s stink along with them. To be on the safe side she produces a vial of perfume from a side pocket of her bag and gives herself a quick spritz before offering it to the others.
* * * * *
When they find their employer at the Witch’s End, her face lights up with anticipation. News travels fast, Hannelia thinks, though she supposes that the entire town has likely heard some version of events by this point. The attack and subsequent chaos on such a scale, and in broad daylight, well, she can’t immediately think of any comparable events in Saringallow's recent history.
”My lady,” she says, offering a small curtsey. ”Good day to you too. You heard correctly - I hope you were safely elsewhere and unharmed during the turmoil?” SHe decides that it would probably be best not to alarm Sophi from the off by giving too much information, though she concedes there’s probably no easy way to avoid her thinking the worst given what they’re about to ask her, especially once she learns where the scarf was found.
”We hadn’t been intending to make one at this point,” she continues, ”but while following up on some leads we came across something that we wanted to ask you about. I’m sorry to have to ask,” she says gently, producing the scarf and offering it to Sophi, ”but we found this and were wondering if Verno owned a scarf like this?”
Emma takes in Nerissia's words and then offers the tiefling a slight smile. "Of course, Nerissia. I'm happy to accompany you." She thinks back on her own training and experiences and how unorthodox much of it was, particularly compared to more traditional Iomedean paladins. "I suppose it's not the first time I've worked with someone who is aligned with forces that are generally against my own," she admits, thinking of Sirio. "But..." She shrugs, looking back ahead of them as they continue on. "My training was not the most traditional, nor the most complete. I'm not comfortable with the idea of militantly judging others based solely on what they worship or where they come from. I try to judge based on what someone does more than anything else." She lets out a rueful laugh. "I'm sure that makes me something of a lackluster paladin, particularly of Iomedae, but..." She trails off, not really sure how to finish that thought.
"Found skulks hiding in the sewers, killed this one, some got away. Wanted you to know they were down there."
"We were following up a lead on something," Emma adds more earnestly, not quite picking up on Nerissia's intentions or suspicions. "Hence why we were down there in the first place. Better to have the watch know of their presence as well, just in case."
Majara is happy to let Hannelia present the scarf-- her own method would have been something like 'brusquely thrusting it at Sofie and asking if it's the boy's'.
She settles for watching: watching those around them, and watching, it must be admitted, the walls. Constantine's words echo softly in her head. No longer staring...
Who is watching the watchers? she wonders.
"I'm sure that makes me something of a lackluster paladin, particularly of Iomedae, but..."
"On the contrary, I think that makes you the best one I have ever met. In my opinion, anyway, I'm sure your church might disagree." she says, a sly smirk appearing on her face. "I'd like to hear about that training, if you wouldn't mind sharing a bit of your history. I could share a bit of my upbringing in return, if that's something you would be interested in." she says tentatively watching the paladin's reaction.
"Could be interesting for us to uh, compare notes, as it were."
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Emma gives Nerissia a wry smile at her comment about the church.
"I wouldn't mind," she tells Nerissia. "Every Paladin order has a code of sorts, tenets that are to be followed to be worthy of the divine gifts. And though I was taught these of course, they weren't the only tenets I was taught."
She pauses for a moment, casting her mind back to her training. "I trained with various soldiers, the watch, and of course, my mother, who was my primary teacher when it came to being a paladin, and she had her own set of tenets, I suppose you might call them."
She clears her throat, and her hand falls to her sword by pure instinct. It's been a while since she's invoked the words - perhaps not since the last time, when Constantine had started to recite them before his mind had been taken.
"Life before death, strength before weakness, journey before destination. I will protect those who cannot protect themselves. I will protect even those I hate, so long as it is right. I will take responsibility for what I do. If I must fall, I will rise each time a better person. The most important step one can take is not the first one. It’s the next one - always the next one."
She lowers her hand, then glances at Nerissia. "I don't know where she got them from - if they were words she herself came up with, or if they were in turn taught to her by someone else first. But I like them. I believe in the Inheritor. I believe in protecting the weak and innocent by eliminating sources of oppression, rather than merely the symptoms - but I also believe that situations and people can be nuanced in ways that aren't always immediately obvious."
She shrugs, then looks at Nerissia. "That's more or less it. My training was likely more isolated than most, and though my mother was certainly strict in many, many ways, she didn't have the same dogmatic approach I have seen from others of the order. Iomedae has yet to cut off my power, so I assume I am doing well enough."
She nods at the tiefling. "What about you? You mentioned your upbringing? I'd like to hear it, if you don't mind sharing."
For reference, this is the previous chat with the Watch Commander.
She looks at the man dryly, not entirely convinced with his skills or usefulness. "Found skulks hiding in the sewers, killed this one, some got away. Wanted you to know they were down there." she says plainly, wanting to see his reaction to the news.
"We were following up a lead on something," Emma adds more earnestly, not quite picking up on Nerissia's intentions or suspicions. "Hence why we were down there in the first place. Better to have the watch know of their presence as well, just in case."
The watch commander has led a number of interrogations, so the Asmodean’s ‘surprise revelation’ approach is old hat... and irritating, as is the arrogant subtext of her attempt. His gaze turns piercing, insightful, and then icy. His cold glance rakes both women, as neither of their responses is useful by his yardstick. He doesn’t bother to conceal his pique. ”I said give me details not what I already know, or was able to correctly surmise. Venator told me you were going into the sewers and why. As there is a dead skulk on my table and it reeks of sewer, I know what you fought and where. What I don’t know is: how many skulks you fought, where in the sewer this happened, how did they fight, what tactics they used (if any), their skillset (if you know), were there any other creatures down there, and anything useful that can arm my men with an advantage when we go after them.”
”Now, you can provide a full account of what happened or get out. Either way, you’ll stop wasting my time.”
Watchful, Nerissia doesn’t need a crystal ball to perceive his anger. She also detects concern about the skulk threat. She doesn’t sense outright surprise… but then again, he saw the body and identified the creature before she could hit him with the revelation about the skulks. So maybe expecting surprise wasn’t entirely realistic. She doesn’t see any signs of ‘play acting’ in him.
”Good day to you too. You heard correctly - I hope you were safely elsewhere and unharmed during the turmoil?”
”Good day. I was here, actually. I didn’t know what was happening until all sorts of people came running down the road. I thought it was safer to hide here.”
”We hadn’t been intending to make one at this point,” she continues, ”but while following up on some leads we came across something that we wanted to ask you about. I’m sorry to have to ask,” she says gently, producing the scarf and offering it to Sophi, ”but we found this and were wondering if Verno owned a scarf like this?”
Sophi’s hands shake a bit as she takes the cloth. She looks at it closely. ”This is a feminine pattern. I wouldn’t mind a man wearing it… but Verno is a traditionalist. I’ve never seen him wear anything like this. I suppose it could be a gift.” She rubs at the fabric then looks at her fingertips. ”This is expensive, but it’s wool. I don’t wear wool, it itches my skin. If this was a gift from Verno, it isn’t meant for me. Is it possible it isn’t his?”
Majara watches but sees nothing of note.
Who is watching the watchers?
"Well, that's a relief, actually," Majara says when Sophi says the scarf isn't something Verno would likely wear-- or even have bought for Sophi herself. "I doubt the owner of that scarf came to a good end, so if it's not likely his, that's all to the good."
The gnome clambers up onto a stool, mindful of Glory in the bjorn. "We've reconstructed a rough timeline of his presence in town and we know he was last... well, here, really. This inn is the last sure location we have for him. He set off, the day that he planned to leave, in the morning, towards the docks. And never reached them, apparently."
The gnome's tone is brusque. She makes a conscious effort to soften it. "I'm sorry. I suppose that's not a whole lot more information than you had to start with. We are still continuing to look."
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”I never really knew my mother or father, not that I would really ever wish to. I suppose my ‘training’ started earlier than you’d expect at about my eighth or ninth year on the streets of Senara, a small town in the eastern half of the devil-spawn-infested Whisperwood forest. Both of my parents were egregious criminals from what I’ve been told, and neither are really worth the time to speak of.” she says, her voice not betraying any scrap of care or desire to mention her family.
”We had codes to follow too, at the Asmodean orphanage I eventually ended up being dragged to out of the forest. I would wager they were quite different from your codes, as they were and are much more representative of a colder view on the world and our lives in it. But I suspect you knew that already.” she continues, laughing at her own little joke.
”It wasn’t long until I made good my escape from that awful learned place, and moved back out into the forest again. Became a guide, learned the ways and dangers of the wild, and most importantly, how to both survive and kill them. That’s where the Order came in, offering me training and gear I couldn’t hope to have access to as a civilian.” the tiefling pauses for a moment, considering her next words a bit more carefully.
”The Order of the Pike, we hold beliefs similar to yours, actually. Protect people from the monsters of the wilderness and the danger they represent. We flash around our fancy badges and holy symbols like the other Orders, but that’s usually just to get to the bottom of things when there’s a particularly tricky or invasive monster about.” her hands drift down to the crimson pentacle dangling around her neck next to a handful of other trinkets and other insignia, the second most notable is that of a dragon-like creature pierced by three black spears. Her hand grasps the prominent crimson pentacle a bit too hard but she doesn’t make a sound, as if she were used to the feeling. ”People often only understand one way of being handled, you see. Those that don’t fight the same way you and I do, anyway.”
”I think I’d still be back along with my Order brothers and sisters in the Whisperwood, were it not for this land having suffered so much during the Goblinblood wars.” her voice doesn’t stop here so much as just stumble a bit, obviously avoiding some topics she doesn’t want to share quite yet. ”I owe a lot in my life to my Order, but war? War is a nasty business. I hope you avoided it the first time, and never truly experience it.”
She remains quiet the entire rest of the trip there, unless spoken to.
Nerissia isn’t impressed with the captain’s bluster, but she does have to admit that perhaps he, specifically, is not in on whatever is happening in this town.
”Look, huff and puff all you want, but something isn’t right here. And you know it. The ‘big deal’ attack earlier, now the things skulking around in the sewers and trying to stab us to death before trapping me down a pit of refuse. It’s been a rough day. You can either continue posturing, or understand that perhaps we can’t one hundred percent trust everyone we meet right away, and then we can start on actually solving the problem. Your choice.” she says, a thin smile appearing on her lips as she leans against a door frame (or something similar).
”Now, I trust you. To answer your question more in depth, we followed the trail of the shadow mastiff back to where it emerged from in the sewers. We were investigating down there, following some tunnels and founding a few things that may or may not be related or important, we’re unsure on the connection quite yet, when we were ambushed by the four skulks. If you know anything about them, you know how well they can hide in places you wouldn’t expect and stab you most effectively when you’re not looking at ‘em. Should you decide to head down, you’ll need to be extremely careful and stay in groups; never be alone, that’s when they’ll strike and try to get you one by one.”
”We managed to kill this one, but the other three scampered away into the sewers too quickly for us to follow effectively. At least one of them is a spellcaster, they’re the one that succeeded at tossing me into a conjured pit. They’re tricky too, used the sewers to cover their tracks at a couple of points. So don’t expect them to be easy to follow either.” she finishes, looking over at Emma to see if she missed mentioning anything.
"Well - first of all, I'm still sorry you didn't have parents around. Relationships with parental figures can certainly be..." She thinks of her own mother. "...complex," she finishes. "I wish I had known my father better."
She considers the rest of Nerissia's story. "I came here to answer a summons from the mayor, partially as a way of seeking out my own path, and partially as a way of getting away from home. Too many memories, too...cloistering. I wanted to figure out who I am without the shadow of those that know me hanging over me. Or the memory of my mother's death." She pauses for a moment. "I'm glad you're here with us, at any rate. It's good to have varying viewpoints and disciplines, I think. And for what it's worth - I hope so too. I'm happy to lend a hand where I can, but I think I would be ill-suited for a full on war."
She thinks about it for a moment. "I just hope saying that isn't going to come back to haunt me," she adds with a laugh. "Thank you for sharing that with me."
***
Emma winces at the watch commander's tone, and realizes a bit too late that there had been something unsaid between Nerissia and the commander. The commander's criticism is a fair enough response, though she does feel a bit of annoyance at being chewed out when they had been the ones going down in the muck and figuring it out in the first place.
She listens to Nerissia's statement, then looks at the commander. "Forgive me - you're right, the information I gave was vague. I suppose I didn't wish to immediately launch into an assessment. Clearly, that was a mistake. Nerissia covered most of what happened, but I can elaborate at least a little on how they fought against us, and what you might do to counter some of it. They were smart - they used disciplined, coordinated tactics against us. When it comes to handling them, you may want to consider having a way to immobilize them, because they began to break off as soon as things started turning against them - it ended as quickly as it began. They use a silent form of communication system - using hand gestures and painted marks that we saw down in the sewer system. Blinding them could certain help cut them off from being able to communicate as silently." She pauses, then looks first at Nerissia, then at the watch commander. "Is that sufficient?"
The commander brushes aside the insults and the errant assumptions. ”So, your theory is that someone up here, in a position of authority I assume – since you targeted me – must somehow be connected with either the skulks, the shae and mastiff, or a combination of both. What evidence do you have that one of us is in league with either group?”
She pauses, then looks first at Nerissia, then at the watch commander. "Is that sufficient?"
”We can work with that. Thanks. One thing more, do you know where you were in the sewers when you fought them? Did you hear something from street level or see something in the sewers that could give us a rough position.”
The gnome clambers up onto a stool, mindful of Glory in the bjorn. "We've reconstructed a rough timeline of his presence in town and we know he was last... well, here, really. This inn is the last sure location we have for him. He set off, the day that he planned to leave, in the morning, towards the docks. And never reached them, apparently."
The gnome's tone is brusque. She makes a conscious effort to soften it. "I'm sorry. I suppose that's not a whole lot more information than you had to start with. We are still continuing to look."
Sophi’s eyes go damp. She barely dares to utter the question, ”What do you think might have happened to him?”
:(
It is a relief to hear that the scarf is unlikely to have been Verno's, but Hannelia can't help but feel a slight pang of guilt for whoever it did belong to. Given what they know of the skulks, it seems to her that the most likely scenario is that they probably fell victim to them. They'll need to keep hold of it and report another missing person.
She sighs silently, as that only seems to add to their problems and, as Majara said, hasn't really got them any closer to their goal.
Sophi's question isn't one Hannelia particularly wants to answer, but it is at least one that can be played straight, primarily because they currently have no real idea. "Honestly," she says gently, meeting the young woman's eye, "I don't know. Much as I hate to say this," and it really is starting to eat away at her, "I really don't. I'm sorry. As Majara said, we're still working on things but we don't currently have any strong theories or evidence to back them up." She reaches into her pocket and offers Sophi a handkerchief. "Therefore I don't want to add to your worries with wild speculation that I can't support. I know that's not what you want to hear and I'm sure you're worried sick already and playing through all kinds of scenarios in your mind. I wish we had something that could ease that burden but I definitely don't want to unnecessarily add to it. Rest assured, we are working on it and we will keep you updated as and when we have something worth sharing." If her hair was still longer Hannelia would certainly be pulling at it right now.
"I hope you don't mind me asking but do you have any friends or family Saringallow?" she asks. "Going through something like this is always going to be hard, but that much harder if you're doing it alone."
So, your theory is...What evidence do you have
"I said neither of those things, nor did I 'target you'. It pays to be cautious and perceptive in my line of work, as I am sure you can understand."
The watch commander notes the non-answer.
Nerissia leaves the guard station and is back on the streets.
"…we're still working on things but we don't currently have any strong theories or evidence to back them up." She reaches into her pocket and offers Sophi a handkerchief. "Therefore I don't want to add to your worries with wild speculation that I can't support.”
Sophi is about to retort that she wants to hear any theories they have because she’s convinced her imagination is far worse. But Hannelia’s point is strong. Any theory would simply send her down a spiral of new anxieties. She clutches at, almost strangling, the offered handkerchief. She nods. ”I see, yes. But I would like to hear immediately when you have a theory that seems likely – evidence or no.”
"I hope you don't mind me asking but do you have any friends or family in Saringallow?" she asks. "Going through something like this is always going to be hard, but that much harder if you're doing it alone."
She shakes her head emphatically. ”My family is in Elidir. Papa wouldn’t be… helpful… here. He would be, what’s the phrase…” A ghost of a smile crosses her face, ”…’up the mayor’s ass’ even more than he is already. The mayor has sworn, and I believe her, that her office is doing everything possible to find Verno.”
"That's understood, Lady Menzor" Hannelia agrees. "I'd want to know as soon as possible if I were in your position. I will say that any theory we develop will probably have something to base it off, so it's pretty much a given that it would have some kind of evidence to support it, otherwise there wouldn't be much of a theory in the first place, if that makes sense." She trusts that Sophi will follow the logic of her statement.
She raises an eyebrow at Sophi's description of her father; certainly Hannelia has heard some tales of Elidir's nobility from Aemilia, though she'll have to pick up some more information - or gossip - about the family next time she's in the capital. Hopefully when all of this is satisfactorily resolved, she thinks, though that still seems some way off right now.
"For what it's worth, I do too. Mayor Trinelli has always seemed fair to me, and she's definitely concerned about the wellbeing of Saringallow's citizens," Hannelia adds.
"There is one other thing I wanted to ask you about," she says to Sophi, taking out a sheet of paper and an inkpen from her backpack. After dipping the pen Hannelia carefully sketches out a witchmark. She's much more of a scribe than an artist but it's a relatively straightforward image so she hopes it's at least passable. "Have you ever seen this symbol before?" she asks, showing the young woman.
Majara pats Glory in a hopefully-comforting way (lightly, on the stem) at the flower's sadness. The gnome assures the orchid, "We're doing all we can to help her."
Glory makes a series of gestures with her stamen and leaves then points at Sophi, trying to convey something beyond simple emojis. Frustrated (you imagine) she tries to simplify her thoughts.
She points leaves at herself, then signals: :|
She points leaves at Sophi, then signals: :(
"Roughly, sir," Emma responds. "We were able to determine that we were north east of Gunty’s and slightly north of the Witch’s End."
Glory makes a series of gestures with her stamen and leaves then points at Sophi, trying to convey something beyond simple emojis. Frustrated (you imagine) she tries to simplify her thoughts.
She points leaves at herself, then signals: :|
She points leaves at Sophi, then signals: :(
Majara observes the plant's communication attempts. "Yes, she's very sad," she agrees. "Perhaps I ought to buy a ouija board for you."
Since that isn't on the menu at the Witch's End, however, Majara settles for getting another eggshell or two to crush finely and add the calcium to Glory's soil. She inspects the damaged stamen from earlier in the day, as well as the chip in the pot, with a little frown.
"--Venator, do you know that cantrip for mending broken things?" she asks, a bit of a non sequitur to the attempted consoling of Sophi that is happening.
Taking her focus briefly away from Sophi, Hannelia replies, ”I don’t actually, but I think we’d be able to source a written copy and I should be able to cast it from that. Alternatively I assume you would be able to create an adhesive that would do the job? Either option is a small price to pay for the honour of working with her. I suppose it depends whether she would prefer a clean fix that looks as good as new or one that showcases the break. Kind of like a battle scar or memory of the adventure.” She looks over at the orchid. ”I suppose we should ask if she has a preference. Glory, would you prefer us to fix your pot with a spell,” she leaves time for the plant to reply, ”or some alchemist’s glue?”
Hannelia then turns her focus back to their employer, wondering what she makes of the pair of them conversing with the potted plant Majara is holding.
”I suppose we should ask if she has a preference. Glory, would you prefer us to fix your pot with a spell,”
The plant considers for a moment before: :)
she leaves time for the plant to reply, ”or some alchemist’s glue?”
She takes less time before replying: :)
You come to believe that Glory is a pragmatic plant who would be happy with either solution... assuming she understands exactly what you are asking.
Sophi watches the orchid carefully and realises it is communicating. She blinks in wonder. She stares, fascinated by the intelligent plant. It seems like a good distraction from her personal woes at the moment.
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Roger tries his best not to look like a hired thug while the others are talking.
Hannelia watches Glory's movements. "I think she's fine with either option," she says to Majara. "If you have some glue to hand then that's probably quicker and easier than trying to track down a scroll seller. Depending on how long it takes to dry," she adds, wondering whether that changes things back in favour of the other.
She registers the surprise on Sophi's face, nodding to her to confirm that she is not imagining things regarding the orchid.
What bar are you headed to? Willita’s? Witch’s End? Something not on the map – if so, how rough of a place are you looking for?
Sophi is confused by the talk of ‘witch marks’ and has to ask for clarification on what they are. Her privileged life in the capital of Elidir has limited her exposure to such ‘quaint habits’. Witch marks are generally found in rural areas where superstitious practices are a substitute for clerical presence.
Emma and Nerissia question a cross-section of locals in a number of taverns. The results are mixed, at best. Has anyone definitively seen some nearly invisible or gray-skinned and bald creatures creeping around? No. Has anyone felt watched, possibly followed, or felt they weren’t alone when they should be? Yes. Are some of these folks possibly a touch paranoid due to Saringallow’s checkered past and the shadow of the Sarini legacy? Yes, some people have over-active imaginations. But others seem like sober individuals who genuinely felt ill-at-ease at some point.
The team hits the local spots trying to track down the identities of any missing persons… and finds none. While a few locals have died, vanished for a time (one having gone on a two-week bender), or been murdered in lovers’ quarrels… they have all turned up eventually, one way or another. Currently, there are no open missing persons cases in town. Locals have not been disappearing, with any frequency, since the old days of the Sarini.
Having pursued their latest leads as far as they can, our heroes take some time to wash the stink (they assume) and grime from the sewers off themselves, eat, and attend to whatever other tasks they need to accomplish in Saringallow this day.
Majara fusses over Glory as Hannelia shows witch marks to Sophi. They're a rural, folk magic, which means that if Sophi doesn't know about them, then it's unlikely that Verno did either. Another bit of a dead end, but they must explore them all, it seems. Just like in the sewers.
"It might be worth trying to ask the businesses that abut Witch's End about if they saw a fellow of Verno's description leaving here, that morning," she says to nobody in particular. "The early risers, the ones who'd be doing the opening work of their shops, and such. There wouldn't have been so much foot traffic that time of the morning- he might have stood out enough for someone to remember him. The closer we can pinpoint precisely where he failed to move towards the docks as he planned, the likelier we are to find something."
"Thank you," Hannelia says, before explaining the witchmarks to Sophi. "They have been appearing all over town recently. I can't see any connection to Verno but I wanted to check. Should there ultimately prove to be one I think it's safe to assume it's not one of his own making."
She looks over to Majara as she speaks. "That makes sense to me. I suppose we should make a start." She rises, stifling a yawn as she does so. It might only be early afternoon but it's already been a long day.
Turning back to Sophi, Hannelia says, "Unless you've anything else for us now, we'll take our leave. And please," she adds, "take good care of yourself," a look of concern on her face.
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Despite their fatigue from the battles, our heroes press on to question as many of the ‘early birds’ as they can find between the Witch’s End and the docks. They have some success… but the absence of certain successes is even more telling. And, thankfully, Verno cut enough of a figure that folks remember a traveler that passed through nearly two months before. What might not have been learned if he had a forgettable face?
A fishmonger carting in her early morning catch to the market square spotted Verno. He walked past Pricknettle’s Potions, on the eastern side of the square, and exited the market by the road that leads directly down to the central part of the docks. From there, he would have had to turn right, as his boat was at the north end of the docks.
The docks are the busiest area of Saringallow on any morning – with fisherfolk coming and going, hauls of fish and goods being handled by stevedors, and passengers coming to board for early morning journeys. So, after an hour of questioning folks, the team learns that no one recalls seeing Verno at the docks that morning. It seems he disappeared before making it to the waterfront.
While our heroes sit down to dinner, they notice a slightly elevated level of vigilant intensity in the city watch as they go about their duties. And there are more pairs of watchmen patrolling the streets and far fewer triads than normal. Any attempt to chat up the watchmen is greeted with a brief stare and a clipped, ”Go about your business, citizen.” which is pretty much the watch’s way of saying: F@!* off and mind your own business.
As true darkness falls over Saringallow, exhaustion finally wins and all our heroes return to their various residences and head to bed…
Majara dreams about fun alchemical experiments. Glory watches and nods her approval as the gnome is perfecting a potion of Speak with Plants. But the potion suddenly goes wrong and a choking, acrid smoke starts billowing from the vial!
Majara wakes up in her dark bedroom, coughing on the smoke beginning to flow in from the cracks in the floorboards. Between the floorboards, she sees the flickering light of a fire coming from her shop below!
Hannelia gets up and pads to the kitchen where her disheveled and grumbling father is making a spartan breakfast of eggs and toast. He turns around and Hannelia is instantly startled. For a moment, she thinks his throat has been cut because there is a bright crimson line of something crossing his throat from ear to ear.
Errand boys arrive at Sarini Manor and Emma’s home bearing identical notes from Father Ruvarra. They read:
Constantine is fine. But someone thought it would be funny to scare one of my novitiates half to death by drawing a red line across his throat with… lip paint I think? She thought he’d killed himself for a moment. Thankfully, he is no worse from this prank.
Regards,
Father Ruvarra
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Majara dreams about fun alchemical experiments. Glory watches and nods her approval as the gnome is perfecting a potion of Speak with Plants. But the potion suddenly goes wrong and a choking, acrid smoke starts billowing from the vial!
Majara wakes up in her dark bedroom, coughing on the smoke beginning to flow in from the cracks in the floorboards. Between the floorboards, she sees the flickering light of a fire coming from her shop below!
Smoke. What the devils did she add wrong to the potion to make it smoke like that...
No. Wait. This isn't... something...
Majara sits up in darkness, only to realize it is not all as dark as it should be. Light, flickering through the chinks in the boards. Smoke stinging her eyes and throat. Fire!
Snarling a curse in the dwarven tongue that she's been studying lately, Majara throws back the sheets. She touches her toes to the bare boards testingly, quickly, assessing for heat before putting her full weight (however slight) on them.
Six months ago, she might have wondered if her apprentice Gellion had done something foolish, to light a fire in the shop. That was before he had done something else very foolish, however, and gotten himself demon-possessed. The possession has been dealt with, but Gellion has taken to going home each night, back to his parents' house, rather than sleeping in the shop-cot on the ground floor.
Which is one thin blessing. She doesn't have to worry about rescuing the silly boy. So then.... other priorities.
As she works on her evacuation, Majara grimly ponders the skulk that had pointed significantly at her. Is this revenge? It can hardly be ruled out.
"Well Glory, we can wait to burn to death, or risk an ambush! Onwards, eh??"
The plant's leaves and stamen reveal her mood at this turn of events.
>:(
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Nerissia doesn't spend much time with Emma after their task is done, needing to both recover from her wounds and prepare for the next mornings' work. "This hunt is long and complicated, friend, we must be sure to have everything in its place. I'll see you tomorrow."
Goodbyes said for the moment, she makes her way out of Saringallow into the surrounding woods (or other suitable hunting ground) and lets Alocer hunt a little for his own food before tasking him with the capture of a small prey animal suitable for her purposes.
Turning to the space on the floor before the altar, she glances down at the all-too-new crimson stains before grabbing her bowl and ruby red knife. Drawing the blood out of the small critter and into her ritual bowl is easy and thoughtless for Nerissia; she was going to roast and eat it anyway, no point wasting the blood. She then takes her hand and paints a crimson archstar on the floor beneath her. Each side of the star is made alongside a line of a prayer she knows well.
"Asmodeus, see your sign, this ground is mine tonight."
The first line is made, starting from her left side arching up to the north point.
"Lord of Hell, hear my words. Guide the hunted where you will; tangle their luck, not mine."
The second side is formed, slashing down to her right side to form an A-frame.
"Archfiend, heed my desires. Steady my hand, sharpen my eye, keep doubt quiet."
The third line cuts through another for the first time, bringing the star into shape.
"God-Fiend, I keep my word and follow yours. Repay my obedience."
The fourth line slashes horizontally, cutting through both the first and second.
"Prince of Darkness, as the star is closed, so let the hunt be clean, and the glory yours."
The fifth line finishes the star, connecting the points and finishing the prayer.
Nerissia kneels in the center of the freshly-painted pentagram for a full hour after finishing the prayer, concentrating and meditating on the hunt she shall resume tomorrow. After that, she retires to bed without washing the star away, letting the blood dry on the floor once more.
Nerissia is walking the manor grounds with Alocer an hour or two after waking when the letter arrives with the errand boy. She takes it without saying a word or tipping the kid and reads it over a couple of times before heading back inside to find Emma.
"What do you make of this?" she asks, showing the letter to the paladin.
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Majara tests the floorboards with her toes. They aren’t hot, yet. It seems the poor chinking between the boards is a benefit, providing her with a smoky wake-up before her store is a raging inferno. The gnome quickly throws her window open, casts a spell into the sky, choking only a little on the accumulating smoke. Then she shouts ”FIRE!” a few time before turning back to collect Glory and her most treasured belongings while maintaining her fire mantra.
The shouting has its intended effect. Sleepy heads poke out of nearby windows, candlelight starts to appear in windows sporadically around the square, and the calls of ”FIRE!” are parroted by others.
By the time Majara is climbing down the outside of the building in her thin nightgown (warmed only by the backpack and bjorn carrying Glory) a few bystanders and a couple guardsmen are arriving on the scene. As the wall grows a bit too hot for climbing, Majara drops the final five feet to the ground. No skulk blades comes out of the darkness to take her life.
Within five minutes, more guardsmen and the volunteer fire brigade are on-site, breaking through the front door, and attempting to combat the fire. A sergeant comes trotting up. ”Miss Pricknettle, are you alright? Is there anyone else in the building… a cat, anything?” Regardless of her answer, he looks her over for injuries. Noticing her bare feet and state of relative undress, he adds, ”Do you need a blanket or something?”
"This hunt is long and complicated, friend, we must be sure to have everything in its place. I'll see you tomorrow," Nerissia says.
"Truer words," Emma responds with a half-wave as they part ways at Sarini Manor.
Tired though she is, however, Emma spends a bit of time taking care of a few tasks before allowing herself to sleep. Namely, she discards her gear and begins to clean it. Her clothes are washed twice for good measure, and she scrubs the armor clean as best as she can in the light of a fire she stokes.
Ah, would that I had a squire of some kind, Emma thinks to herself as she does so.
With her gear squared away, she turns to cleaning herself, knowing there's no way she's going to crawl into bed in her current state. Trudging through the sewers had been unpleasant even before those creatures had turned up, and even beyond the muck, her wounds needed cleaning regardless.
Eventually, however, she prays to Iomedae at her beside and retires for the evening.
***
Once she'd awoken and performed her morning exercises, Emma returned to her room to grab some of her stores of bread from Gunty's - a proper way to start the day if you didn't want to trek into town for a full breakfast.
Not long after, she begins to wander the manor, stretching out her muscles after the previous day's battles.
Soon, however, Nerissia and Alocer appear, Nerissia bearing a letter in her hand.
"What do you make of this?" she asks.
Emma looks down at the letter.
Constantine is fine. But someone thought it would be funny to scare one of my novitiates half to death by drawing a red line across his throat with... lip paint I think? She thought he'd killed himself for a moment. Thankfully, he is no worse from this prank.
Regards,
Father Ruvarra
Emma's brows rise up in surprise.
"I think we ought to make our way into town and visit Father Ruvarra. Constantine is fine as per the letter, but I'm wondering if there's perhaps more to it than Ruvarra might realize. After all, Constantine's wanderings and rantings the other day turned out to be unknowingly relevant to what we found ourselves facing. This could very well be something similar. Even if it's not, I'd like to check on him, and thank him for providing a clue, even if we didn't realize it at the time." She glances up at Nerissia. "It might be a good idea to bring the others in on this as well. And to touch bases on what they may have found out."
A sergeant comes trotting up. ”Miss Pricknettle, are you alright? Is there anyone else in the building… a cat, anything?” Regardless of her answer, he looks her over for injuries. Noticing her bare feet and state of relative undress, he adds, ”Do you need a blanket or something?”
"I need to know who did this to my shop," Majara says, her small hands planted on her hips as she scowls at the flames licking out the windows. "No, no pets to consider. 'WARE POTION GLASS BREAKING FROM THE HEAT, ALL OF YOU!" she calls to the brave souls trying to battle the blaze.
"Shoes would also be helpful, but I doubt you have any in my size," she adds crisply to the sergeant. "And the blanket would best be used by soaking it and beating the flames. Thank you though. Now I'll need to take my spot on the bucket brigade- can't let others be trying to save my shop while I stand here and glare."
She suits action to word, making a careful way over the cobblestones to help pass buckets from the nearest well, assuming that the fire brigade has gotten that going. If not, she'll certainly yell at people to start forming such.
The gnome very much wants to look for clues - but if there were any footprints of an arsonist, the feet of the brigade will have already obscured them. There's no point racing blindly down alleys (alone), hoping she picks the right one to encounter a fleeing foe.... that hardly worked out well last time. Prudence dictates staying on site, with guards around.
She doesn't have to like it, though.
As she passes buckets, the physical exertion keeping her warm enough at least for now despite her thin night-garb, Majara does at least look around for..... street cats. There's always alley strays in a town of Saringallow's size. Perhaps there's some lurking near enough for notice.
She also keeps an eye on the flames, trying to use her intellect to judge if they seem to be spreading faster than mere accident. Was an accelerant involved?
Majara joins the already formed bucket brigade and pitches in. From the outset, the fire is slowly winning. Having started in the workroom of the shop, the fire fighters have to cope with the smoke and encroaching flames in the front of the shop to bring their buckets to the source of hottest flames. Other teams throw water through the now empty window frames of the workroom or sloshing water on the walls of the building, hoping to prevent the fire from spreading to other buildings. Nevertheless, again and again the brigade members rush into the smoke-shrouded doorway trying to save the building.
It all seems a slowly losing campaign for the brigade… but it does give their and the guard’s casters time to arrive. Then the buckets are one-upped by spells like Create Water cast by half a dozen arcanists. A steady, heavy rain begins to fall in each room of Majara’s business and home. Other casters create rain on the exterior of the building – snuffing out any sparks or hot ash before they can spread.
A woman hesitantly offers Majara a set of her youngest daughter’s shoes. They fit the gnome well… but their style stands in stark contrast to Majara’s mien. While donning the footwear, Majara looks for local strays – dogs or cats – but it seems the fire and noise have likely scared them off.
In an hour, the fire is well and truly out. The streets around Pricknettle’s Potions are a network of puddles. The building still stands and Majara along with the fire marshall and the guard sergeant enter the building and assess the damage. The workroom still has walls, and a couple tables are still recognizable, but otherwise it is a charred (and soaked) wreck. Credit to the bucket brigade, the front room of the shop is largely in one piece. There’s smoke damage and a few spots where the fire took hold, but it is workable. They proceed carefully up the stairs to Majara’s personal space. Again, smoke and water have done some damage, and roughly half the floorboards are charred and will need to be replaced. On a good note, one of her chests with clothing is untouched and the smoke didn’t penetrate it badly. So she has more than nightclothes to her name.
The trio returns to the workroom at Majara’s request. She wants to look for signs of arson… and finds them. Between the marshall’s knowledge of how fire behaves, the damage pattern and origin point, and the traces of alchemical ingredients that Majara examines, the results seem clear. Someone set a chemical fire on a central table and added some of Majara’s own chemicals and combustible materials on the table to make sure it burned well. The chemical used was similar to alchemist’s fire but it was less reactive… taking longer to heat up and ignite. The brigade had to break her locked door to enter the building. So, the arsonist had the time to release the chemicals and lock the building before the fire started. The sergeant dutifully notes the conclusions for his report.
As they head toward the front door, one of the remaining panes of intact glass in the store draws their attention. Some sort of greasy substance has been wiped on the window. It feels like bee’s wax or something similar. Naturally, smoke particles are sticking to it, even after being washed with rain. It’s a finger-painted figure of a…
The fingerprint’s shape is odd, like a human fingerprint but stretched, reminiscent of the gangly fingers of the skulks.
The sergeant scribbles more notes before looking at Majara. ”Got a place to stay Miss Pricknettle? I'll escort ya there... looks like you have a fan. ”
no
"Thank you," Majara says, a little taken aback, to the woman who offers her small shoes. And some time later she finds herself saying it again, somewhat awkwardly, to the brigade of helpers. Majara is not the most social of creatures-- but she is grateful. Her shop still stands. It could easily have gone the other way. To some extent, fighting a fire is a communal enterprise, of course - nobody wants a fire to spread to THEIR homes and shops-- but still...
"I'll be back in business before you all know it," she says to the sooty and wet fire-fighters. "Because of your efforts. There will undoubtedly be some potions on the house, for those here tonight."
The awkward speech is made more awkward by the fact she's delivering it wearing childrens' clogs and a nightgown, with a plant in a bjorn over her shoulder, but.... hey.
****
The investigation, once everything is a wet, smoking mess, is grimly conclusive. Majara's scowl achieves legendary proportions as she ponders that her OWN supply was used to help spread the fire further. Insult to injury!
She retrieves some of her spare clothes and a few other ends and odds, only to come to a stop near the glass window. She tches sharply, narrowing her eyes at the mocking message. "Hmmmff!"
The sergeant's well-meant statement earns a glance up from the gnome. She sucks her teeth a moment before answering, and nods her head to the side to indicate to the sergeant that they might want to step a few feet out of hearing range of the rubber-neckers.
"It's a thoughtful offer, Sergeant ...?" she says quietly, with an inquisitive look for if he has a name stitched upon his tabard as some do. "But that might endanger you. If my suspicion as to who that 'fan' is is correct, I feel the two of us might be outclassed.
"For your notes: I suspect it's the work of at least one skulk, possibly more; the other Seekers and I encountered some in the sewers today (well, yesterday now) and killed one of them-- we reported it to the Commander. Anyway, one of them made a threat towards me as she withdrew. Have you much experience fighting non-human monsters, Sergeant? Demons, outsiders, shape-shifters, that sort of thing?
"I am not asking to insult your skills. I genuinely want to know. Two guards died yesterday in the market square, due to their sense of duty. I'd rather you weren't honored at the same memorial."
By the time she gets home Hannelia’s head is beginning to hurt. It’s been a testing day, physically and mentally, and she is more than ready for a rest. Before that, however, she sits down to write, recording what happened during the day - a straightforward task - and drawing possible connections - considerably more complex. It still all just feels like scraps of information with no central narrative strand and various asides that she’s not sure are even part of the same story.
She sighs in frustration and rises from her desk. In the kitchen she pours herself a mug of whatever tea Shel has been brewing from the kettle on the hob. It smells strongly of mint and something she can’t immediately place and she breathes in the pleasant aroma as she cradles the mug in both hands. Hanelia smiles. Shel’s natural flair and enthusiasm for cooking has been augmented with an understanding of the principles of flavour and technique and she has undeniably improved. She takes a sip. It’s good; the initial crisp profile giving way to a cool aftertaste and she can feel her headache begin to recede a little.
Back in her room she sits again and tries turning the problem on its head. In this way she takes the core problem, that of Verno’s disappearance, and ignores all the surrounding noise. When looked at this way, at least on one level, they have actually made some reasonable progress. They knew his start point, his destination and have traced his movements to what seems to be a fairly accurate degree. Unfortunately, bar eliminating the possibility that he went missing of his own accord, that’s where they seem to have hit a wall. No means, no motive, and nothing that connects any of their other mounting problems back to the vanishing of Verno Aculla. Hannelia runs hand through her hair, gathering it together for a moment before letting go and shaking it back into place.
Turning from her notebook, she looks at the maps of Saringallow, one of the town above, the other of the sewer network beneath. Having pinpointed the last place he was seen, relatively speaking, that’s where she thinks they should pick up tomorrow and where she leaves things for the night.
Hannelia tidies away her writing materials and then turns her attention to the rest of her room. Given that everything is meticulously organised anyway, there’s little to do. She washes and dresses for bed, hangs her clothes and picks up a book entirely unrelated to their current work and reads until she falls asleep.
* * * * *
”Morning, Dad,” Hannelia says as she enters the kitchen the following morning, instinctively aware of whose familiar presence is at the stove. As she takes in his appearance - the bold red line across his neck jumping out - her eyes widen in alarm and she rushes over to him. ”Dad! Are you ok? What’s happened?” Somewhere in the back of her mind she logically realises that it surely can’t actually be blood - there would be far more of it and her father would be slumped on the floor rather than casually making breakfast. Still, in the heat of the moment it looks real enough and it is certainly shocking.
The sergeant listens silently as Majara lays out her thoughts. He jots only a couple notes.
”Ma’am, seeing you to safety is the job. It doesn’t matter if I’m overmatched.” He puts the notebook away, taking a moment to think through the rest of his response. ”I know about the skulks and what you did in the sewers. It’s all in the Watch Log… except that bit about one of them threatening you. As to my experience with skulks… I’ve had plenty since sunset. We took it to them. We got a couple casualties; they lost more. I shouldn’t tell you that but since you had a piece of it, I figure you oughta know. Now, where am I taking you? If you don’t have a place, we can set you up at the station until you find something better.”
As she takes in his appearance - the bold red line across his neck jumping out - her eyes widen in alarm and she rushes over to him. ”Dad! Are you ok? What’s happened?”
Hannelia’s father is confused by his daughter’s sudden onslaught of attention. He takes a step back. ”What?! I’m fine. I’ve got the usual crick in my neck. Pretty sure I need a new pillow… or to wake up 20 years younger. What are you on about?” As she pokes at his neck, the older man tries to half-heartedly bat her hands away. ”What is up with you this morning?”
Hannelia sees no evidence her father is behaving oddly or that he is injured. He is totally unaware of the stuff on his neck until she brings attention to it. In that regard, after a brief examination, it looks like a thin line of crimson lip paint was drawn across his neck. Most women in Saringallow don’t use such makeup on a daily basis. It is limited to special occasions (if even then), elegant out-of-towners passing through, or doxies (male or female) trying to look striking, elegant, younger… or all three.
Satisfied her father is healthy, Hannelia looks around the house… and finds the front door is unlocked. While they don’t always remember to lock up at night, it is the norm nine times out of ten. Just to be sure, she checks both her father and the house with her occult powers – and finds nothing abnormal.
”Ma’am, seeing you to safety is the job. It doesn’t matter if I’m overmatched.” He puts the notebook away, taking a moment to think through the rest of his response. ”I know about the skulks and what you did in the sewers. It’s all in the Watch Log… except that bit about one of them threatening you. As to my experience with skulks… I’ve had plenty since sunset. We took it to them. We got a couple casualties; they lost more. I shouldn’t tell you that but since you had a piece of it, I figure you oughta know. Now, where am I taking you? If you don’t have a place, we can set you up at the station until you find something better.”
Majara smiles a little at the man's answer, and gives a small nod. "Very well. You've assuaged my conscience, then, if you are my escort and we are attacked! Lucky you. Your sense of duty does you credit, at any rate."
The gnome ponders a moment, debating which of her colleagues she feels like imposing on at this hour of the morning. Dawn will be here shortly... and she doubts she'll be able to get back to sleep, not with so much new to think about.
"If you'll see me to the Witch's End, you'll have more than done that duty. I'll take a room there until I've gotten things repaired around here."
Majara grabs the last of her things that she's likely to need, nods once to the marshal, and sets out in the company of the sergeant.
"What is your name? And I'm sorry to hear the town guard had more losses to-day. Or to-night. A busy night for you, between that, and this. There must have been a proper colony of the damned skulks."
In the first instance Hannelia is just relieved that her father is ok. She tries not to overtly make a fuss of him, knowing that he won’t particularly enjoy it, especially as there doesn’t actually seem to be anything wrong. ”You don’t remember it happening? Or anything else?” she asks.
The relief ebbs away quickly, however, at the chilling knowledge that somebody was able to enter their house with impunity. The actions were clearly a warning, and on the basis of the fact she cannot find any trace of the intruders, physical or magical, they are clearly a capable foe. Well-informed too, in that they knew her living arrangements. It’s not a secret, but nor is it something that Hannelia advertises and either they keep tabs on a lot of Saringallow’s citizenry or they were able to identify her quickly as part of a group working against them. Neither option is reassuring. She assumes that the message was meant for her, anyway. It seems considerably less likely that either her father or Shel would have made powerful enemies like that and it would be extremely coincidental timing following on from yesterday’s events.
Once she is satisfied that no fell magic is afoot, and equally dissatisfied that there is yet again nothing to go on, she leaves her father in the kitchen and knocks softly on Shel’s door. ”Shel,” she calls softly, ”are you awake?”
"What is your name? And I'm sorry to hear the town guard had more losses to-day. Or to-night. A busy night for you, between that, and this. There must have been a proper colony of the damned skulks."
The sergeant escorts Majara to the Witch’s End at a leisurely pace, always steering her to the center of the road, eyes alert. ”It’s Swan, ma’am. You know, like the bird?” He chews on her dangled bait for a moment before taking a nibble. ”Hard to say how many they had and how many they got left. At least a few escaped the net – even without the fire proving that. A prepared enemy is the worst kind.”
Majara and Swan make it to the Witch’s End without incident. The sergeant waits for her to make arrangements and then escorts her to her room. He glances into the room as she opens the door. ”Be sure to lock your windows, ma’am.”
”You don’t remember it happening? Or anything else?” she asks.
Her father is as puzzled by how he got makeup on his neck as he is by Hannelia’s questions. ”I’m old but my mind isn’t gone, yet. No, I don’t recall anything. I went to bed, like usual. And I woke up, same as any other day. What’s going on here?”
”Shel,” she calls softly, ”are you awake?”
There is a long moment before Hannelia receives an answer, ”I am now. Are you and your Da fighting or something?”
Hannelia comes up with some pretense to see Shel face-to-face. She is relieved to see no marks on Shel’s neck. She is also acting normally and recalls nothing unusual from the evening before. It seems the skulks have left Shel alone… for now.
Majara tenses fractionally at noticing other figures -- then registers these are protectors, more than likely. She walks somewhat easier the rest of the way to the inn, though still on edge-- after all, her home was just attacked.
When she parts from Sergeant Swan, it's with a nod and the attempted tip - of three gold crowns, not just one. "I will - though the shop was also locked," she says drily. "Good night, Sergeant."
****
In her room, after another few coins have left her purse to the sleepy night clerk of the Witch's End, Majara paces. It's not a large room, but her legs are short, so it works out. This is really quite.... quite... annoying.
She's gotten soft, she supposes. Adventuring with the Seekers has been a thing one goes OUT to do, not trouble that comes to your door at night in a town you had largely come to regard as safe. But all of that aside: why the devil is she still breathing?
A foe skilled enough to enter the shop, make an unhurried and deliberate fire-set, scrawl the nasty little message, and lock the door again before leaving.... could have slit her throat. Almost certainly. She's under no illusions about her senses-- relatively keen-- but not a match for the stealth of those they fought below, and certainly not while she's asleep.
Why all the nonsense with the fire, and doing it in such a way that she had a chance to wake and escape? Why not a dagger to the ribs, a pillow to the face, while she slept? It only makes sense if they want to scare her. But why scare and not kill?
She would like to talk it over with the others, but despite what some might think of gnomes she does have SOME sense of tact and won't wake the others needlessly. Sunrise will come soon enough. Majara paces another circle of the room, then says an emphatic "Bah!" and turns to her formula book, her traveling kit. Much better to focus the mind with chemicals and action rather than fretting and gnawing.
She settles Glory on the interior windowsill to get some sun, once it's up, and sets to work.
An hour later, Majara makes sure to don her armor and situate Glory in the bjorn before heading down to break her fast in the common room.
"First order of business is to debrief the others," she says conversationally to the plant as she spears a kipper with a small fork. "I suppose if I take some of Gunty's butter rolls with me it might soften the news, eh?"
Her head swirling with ideas and her heart beating with worry, Hannelia takes to the streets. As she leaves, she locks the door behind her. It might have been bypassed last night but it will at the least slow down anybody trying to enter the house again. She will, of course, be going to purchase the best lock her money can buy once the shops open. While she had a good answer to her father’s question of why the intruders didn’t just kill him - to mark him like that was a warning to make her back off, killing him would surely have had the opposite effect in terms of keeping her sights firmly fixed on them - she has no such answer for why they didn’t kill her. It would be a way of definitively ensuring she is no longer able to investigate and skulks, presuming that’s what they were, have a reputation for violence and ruthlessness to go with their incredible stealth.
Any allies who might seek to avenge her death are already working with her on the case so there’s no obvious retribution she can see that they would be looking to avoid. And at this point the authorities are already informed and on alert so it’s not like they could avoid detection by not drawing attention to themselves. Perhaps the Pathfinder Society would look into it, wanting to preserve their reputation and to warn off others who might like to attack their members, but she’s far from convinced. She is, after all, a new recruit so lacks the importance, influence or clout. And those who sign up to the Society are hardly unaware of the risks involved. She shakes her head, extremely doubtful and unable to come up with anything she finds any more convincing.
Her father had taken the warning and advice on the chin, at least as far as he himself is concerned. She knows that he went through worse during the Goblinblood Wars and their aftermath, even if he’s never been keen to share details, though it is undoubtedly a nasty reminder of darker days. She knows too that he is understandably worried about her, but he is also used to trusting her to sort things out.
Shel’s reaction was harder to gauge. When she first came to Saringallow, locks on dwellings were just one more thing she had to adjust to. She’d explained that they were unnecessary in such an isolated place as Ravenmoor and also that the Krieglers always preached the virtues of community - and that they expected hospitality to be available to themselves and their guests at any time of day or night. Hannelia understands that even had they wanted to, nobody would have gone against Mayor Kriegler. Certainly Shel’s initial reaction was one of fear - preventing unwanted entry being literally the entire point of a lock - but there was resolve there too. Shel had to keep parts of herself buried growing up and given what she’d said, was probably far more used to people coming or going from her house than Hannelia herself, something far more sinister in hindsight knowing what they now know of how things in Ravenmoor really operated. Hannelia considered suggesting that Shel see if she could stay with Jhessa for a bit, or perhaps Father Ruvarra would have room at the temple, but decided against it for the moment, not wanting to put anybody else in danger as a result.
Hannelia is certainly feeling the pressure though. Shel, too, seems to be assuming that Hannelia will put things right, despite her trying to get across the point that currently the group are not making a lot of headway and after last night are clearly on the defensive. This thought is further compounded when she catches wind that Majara’s shop caught fire last night. Based on her own experiences she would wager a very large sum of gold that it was arson. Even if she does have some typically gnomish tendencies, Majara has always been careful and is highly accomplished in her work so Hannelia finds it very difficult to believe it was an accident, especially in the circumstances. She’s able to gather easily enough that she survived, which is an enormous relief, even if her current whereabouts are unknown. While she would like to see the shop with her own eyes and have a look around, she assumes by this point the watch will have been all over it and she pessimistically doubts that she would find any trace of the firestarters. Not least because fire can be a pretty effective way of covering your tracks.
Instead she heads to the Witch’s End to rouse Roger. There’s strength in numbers and she muses that once again they have perhaps not learned this lesson. Upon arrival she asks the first employee she sees if Roger is awake and if he’s not, politely but firmly requests that his presence is required downstairs so he needs to quickly get himself shipshape.