GM Matt's Night of Gray Death

Game Master ChesterCopperpot

Aphotos finally works his way over the campsite and drops his pack down. "Perfect. I had a feeling you'd do us proud finding a great spot to rest for the evening."

He begins pulling out a bedroll, leaving space for others to gather closer around the fire since he has always been more used to the cold compared to most others he has met topside. "It's not quite daybreak and we could all use the rest. Even a few hours of travel can take a toll so let's all at least try to get in some rest before the Dawnflower's rays reach us. And if we end up having to wake up a bit later than usual, well, I doubt the Herbalist will mind us not coming by first thing in the morning anyway."

You pass the rest of the night peacefully in the sheltered grove that Fiorré has found. Woodland sounds are the only interruption of the night's quiet.

In the morning, everyone has ample time to make their preparations from the day and rest after the journey through the Shadow.

It's clear in the morning that Fiorré located one of the few spots in the area that would have been truly private. Most of the land outside Litran is under cultivation. The small woods you are in likely marks the boundry of some property.

From a perch atop a tree, Fiorré can appreciate how Litran sits where the flat, fertile Horun Plain meets the Stormflood River. The terrain throughout Litran is mostly flat, with the singular exception of the dark thrust of rock at the river’s edge, upon which a large, gray building looms over the city like a grim tombstone. The Stormflood River makes a sharp turn to the east as it flows north to the Sellen River, its flow appearing steady and strong but not dangerous.

Nearly all of the land within miles of Litran is under cultivation. Most of it is devoted to raising grain, but grassy pastures for grazing livestock, enormous orchards in long rows, and fields of colorful flowers also march to the horizon. Tall rows of trees or dense hedges
screen the major roadways leading away from the city and demarcate old property lines, giving the region a patchwork look.

Judging by the city's size, it's likely home to about 5,000 people, though even in the early morning you can see that wagons are streaming into the city from outlying villages.

Soul Mother Herbs is located in the southwestern quarter of the city, not far from the west or south gates of Litran.

As they are making their morning preparations and after Chance has offered her prayers to her two ladies she pose a question to the group. "If we are going to enter separately, perhaps we split up a bit and use different gates as well? We don't want to act too suspiciously yet a little bit of caution is always useful."

Funmi praises Fiorré for a job well done before settling in for the night. She is a light sleeper, but she rests easily enough. Perhaps she finds some comfort in travelling with capable companions, or perhaps she is just too tired from the long journey to be wary. Either way, she allows herself much needed sleep.

In the morning, she picks over a meager breakfast as she makes notes in her book. After taking a few bites, she dumps the leftovers into her bag, which starts to squirm around happily. "I am not opposed to the idea. We would certainly draw less attention to ourselves as a pair and a trio than a we do as a quintet. We can reconvene at the apothecary."

Before heading to bed, Aphotos sits in silence in reverence to the dark sky above before bedding down and falling asleep almost instantly. The long day going well into the night along with the travel finally takes effect.

In the morning Aphotos quickly eats his traveler's breakfast and pulls on his gloves, then stores his trusty pair of daggers in either sleeve. His full cover face mask he stares at for a few moments in contemplation before placing it inside his bag and pulling his backpack over his shoulders.

"Hmmm...It's often a greater risk to split up but I think I do agree with the idea. It's not only more subtle but also keeps more eyes in more places at once, as well. In case we need to gather any sort of information about the town. It helps us see more places faster this way."

That Night:
Unlike the others, Fiorré doesn't lay out a bedroll or the like. When her bedtime comes, the Iobarian girl undoes her braid and lets her hair unwind; released, it's long enough to brush the grass when she walks. Then she steps away from the fire and kneels, clasping her hands and delivering a short litany of prayers to the night sky.

When she returns, Fiorré surveys the campsite with an air of intense consideration, carefully choosing a spot as close as she can to Kuthek and Funmi without being so close as to discomfit either. (Whether she succeeds in that regard is another matter, of course.) The beastblood girl then retrieves a well-worn plushy—modeled, to nobody's surprise, after a snow leopard—from her scholar's satchel, curls up in her soft fluffy cloak with the satchel as a pillow, and is quickly fast asleep.

Particularly light sleepers among her companions may notice Fiorré occasionally rising to tend the fire or wander in the night.

The Next Morning:
Fiorré sleeps in a little, letting the others start their day without her (though any scent of breakfast quickly rouses the ever-hungry lass). The beastblood girl rebraids her hair as she listens to the others' proposals and discussion; while she's still hesitant to join in, the previous day's events have clearly helped her shyness around the group.

When a lull presents itself, Fiorré speaks up. "I've no objection to dividing the group. Presumably 'tis to be I and the gentlemen again? A noble girl and her escort?" She eyes Funmi and Chance uncertainly. "Though that does leave you ladies on your own, with no-one to protect you. And that sits ill with me, it does." From her history with Fiorré, Funmi knows full well just how protective the beastblood girl is of her friends.

"Also, um..." The young woman hesitates, clearing her throat anxiously. "I've a special infiltration technique. For times like this. Should it be necessary, I can sneak about alone. Even into wee little places." Fiorré holds her hands about a foot apart.

Funmi chuckles softly as she finishes her preparations and closes her book. It’s been long enough since someone has been concerned about her safety that the idea of needing protection is novel, though not unwanted. ”I appreciate your concern dear, but I’m sure we will be fine. After all, Chance has the gods on her side, and I will be standing very close to Chance. If I am lucky, they will get confused enough to give me their protection by mistake.”

Funmi is going to cast a 7th level Contingency as a part of her daily preperations. If she takes damage today, she will automatically cast Time Jump as a reaction

Funmi takes a few steps out of their cozy little glade, shielding her eyes from the morning sun as she looks out over Litran. “Our destination is on the far side of the city. I’d like to look around before we meet up again and see how the people here live firsthand. And perhaps I’ll find out what the shopping is like while I'm at it.”

Aphotos shrugs. "I'm fine with whatever group, really. I've already seen Miss Ozinichi's command of illusions first hand with that Invisibility the other day, so I trust any group she is in to be in good hands. Myself, personally I'm best at dealing with people. I think I might see if I can learn anything from the local populace. I wish to see if anyone can enlighten me as to why the Gardeners are planning this whole soiree..."

Aphotos reaches into his bag, pulling out a dark blue hooded cape made from a thick fabric. He throws it on over his shoulders, and pulls the hood up covering up most the top of his head and face with the obviously expensive fabric. "I'll make sure I don't myself become too suspicious though. I'll do my best to blend in." He nods to Fiorré, ready to make their way towards the far side gate.

Fiorré nods in response to Funmi, the elder Magaambyan's gentle amusement heartening the young woman, and her comment about 'divine protection' elicits a giggle from Fiorré. The beastblood girl trails obediently along as Funmi emerges from the glade.

"Oh! Yes, I also should very much like to learn of daily life here," Fiorré replies, nodding eagerly. "Rain-Scribe duty, and all," she adds, a little self-consciously. "I confess I'd not thought of visiting the shops, but... I suppose it does seem just the thing for a noble lass to do." Fiorré clears her throat awkwardly as the realization catches up with her. "Though 'twould rather defeat the point of splitting up, one supposes."

In turn, Fiorré listens to Aphotos quietly, her finger tapping against her lips as she ponders. "Well, sir. As I wish to learn what I can about the local culture—for in truth my mother was of Galtan extraction, and 'tis no lie in explaining my curiosity thus—then perhaps I will give good cover for your own inquiries. And should you need cover to move unseen..." The beastblood girl smiles shyly. "Sure that I can place all eyes on me, if I like."

Fiorré will, as she says, be learning about local culture, perhaps picking up some useful facts along the way. I decided that her Legendary Performer feat should be for singing/lyre music/dancing as well as dueling, since her "social identity" is that of a bard; nevertheless, this seems like the time for that to come up. She'll also try to assist Aphotos and Kuthek in their inquiries or actions; if necessary, Fiorré will use Distracting Performer to try to Create A Diversion on their behalf.

She may also try to sneak in some shopping—while she's pretty self-reliant gear-wise, Fiorré loves all things shiny, silky, sparkly, or slinky, and will happily expand her collection of jewelry and fancy clothes—and will take any excuse to show off her performing skills or her dueling skills. Fiorré may be shy face-to-face, but she's also a natural exhibitionist showboat who loves an audience, and her combat style is specifically designed to be flashy, over-the-top, and crowd-pleasing.

As you browse Litran's shops and socialize, as best you can, with the locals, you notice the town has an overall atmosphere of paranoia. While several people are open to talking to you, they are more reticent than normal, and even Funmi has some trouble making small talk with the townsfolk, who seem to be constantly guarding their words and casting sidelong glances at passers-by.

Despite the feeling of unease, anyone you rope into conversation seems to make a point of mentioning how happy they are with Galt's currently leadership, and how safe they feel living so close to the protection of the Gray Gardeners.

After conducting your business in town and taking the temperature of its citizens, you meet outside of Soul Mother Herbs, where Camilla Drannoch indicated her agent would be expecting you.

Kuthek spends the morning attending to Fiorré in his 'disguise' as a servant. He's surprisingly good at the particulars, foreseeing most needs - or faux-needs, as is likely in this case - before they arise.
The presence of so many agrarian types draws his particular interest. While Fiorré is browsing shops or engaged with merchants, he makes pretenses of 'overseeing the mistress's gardens' to talk with farmers and similar vendors about local soils and growing seasons and the like. He also expresses sincere disappointment at the Harvest Jublilee's repeated postponement: "A person puts sweat and love into their crops, and it's a shame not to share that pride with others. Shame most city-folk don't appreciate the work that goes into what they eat."

Once the group reconvenes, he shares what he's learned - quietly and discretely, given the obvious tension in the city.
"So, this year is the Harvest Jubliee. Litran's the epicenter of food distribution throughout the country, and they mark that contribution with a festival most years. It's a big enough event to make the farmers and ranchers swallow their distrust of urbanies for a time. Particularly since they should've held this Jubilee four years ago to mark the 50th anniversary of the Red Revolution, but Galt was too tumultuous." He plucks at his neckline near the pendant beneath his tunic. "Could be useful information. Particularly if we plan to sneak in to the gala, or something of the sort. I expect I can pose as a food delivery easily enough."

Chance does her best to keep a low profile. A challenge for any gnome. As she moves about the city with Funmi on their shopping trip she does her best to observe the people. The perpetual gloom and paranoia cannot be good. She also tries to catch glimpses of how open or hidden any faith is.

As they arrive at their destination she apologizes that she was not able to pick up much.

Aphotos accompanies Fiorré and Kuthek. While he may not be a "musician" quite in Fiorré's caliber he does play the part of a fellow performer as well and tries to play off his interests in the masquerade party as purely a professional curiosity, which seems to ease the suspicions from a few residents of the town. He makes sure to stop and entertain some children around with some simple little footwork and some cane spins once or twice just to help keep up their cover, as well.

As he arrives in front of Soul Mother Herbs he listens in on Kuthek's report and nods. He then makes a show of reaching for the clasp of his cloak and fiddling with it. "Ah I do say, could you lend me a hand with this clasp here, it appears to be stuck in some way I would like to look my most presentable before we make our way into a place of business." His fumbling is obvious enough as a ploy to the ones standing around him, as he pulls at the clasp like a man who has never dressed himself before. He turns and waits for Kuthek to step over in front of him before speaking in an equally low voice again.

"Sorry, I figured this would give us both an excuse should anyone see us whispering. Just trying to adjust some finery and the like, yes? Anyway, I asked around about the masque and it seems everyone is excited because the center piece of it is a final blade known as Silent Lenore. It seems the folk around town have a deep macabre interest and curiosity in the thing, but no one really knows any details about it."

"I also learned that the party is taking place directly at the Gray Gardener's Headquarters, The Gray Monastery. That will likely be useful should we want to attempt to find a way to scope it out ahead of time or something."

As soon as Funmi enters the city, a vague feeling of unease washes over her. She tries to ignore it, but each shop keeper and townsperson she speaks to worsens her discomfort. The reluctance to speak paired with too friendly smiles, the thinly veiled fear behind their eyes. It's all the worst parts of being back in Mzali.

By the time she meets up with the group again, her mind is obviously elsewhere. The locals' paranoia is rubbing off on her, and she catches herself glancing over her shoulder more than once. "Yes...that's useful information. Good work.

Fiorré's enthusiasm decreases markedly with every too-cheerful word of support for the Gardeners and each wary glance, the girl's trauma-forged senses picking up on every flicker of paranoia and distrust. Saints preserve us, but 'tis a grim place we've found. The beastblood runs hot in her veins, rich with temptations of blood and justice, and more than once Fiorré is tempted to don her mask and let the Sibéal-spell take her; but she restrains herself with a predator's patience. Nor is the irony of unleashing bloody justice in Galt lost on the insightful girl.

Though she does a passable job of masking her mounting dread and righteous ire from strangers' eyes, Kuthek and Aphotos easily notice how carefully the beastblood girl draws each breath and the way her muscles tense in wary readiness. Fiorré is long accustomed to hiding her inner turmoil, too; but her companions, having seen how she interacts with her other selves, can pick up on the little glances, the twitches of mood, that reveal the influences from within.

Still, all this is but a hidden layer within the young woman, and Fiorré does her best to listen and learn; though her tension makes her more wanderwise than normal, her attention flickering about now and again. When the trio finally arrives at Soul Mother Herbs, Fiorré observes the lads' surreptitious act with an inward sigh. Still, she attempts to lend a hand, stepping in to help Aphotos look properly presentable. "That's fine knowledge, that is. The perfect place to scout our foes' stronghold and see one of their bloody relics." Her voice is a breathy whisper, carefully modulated.

The Iobarian girl turns her attention to Kuthek, smoothing out the stout fellow's vest. "And that too. I loved the harvest festival of St. Erastil when I was but a wee lass. Sure as not the only way 'tis reminding me of home, though better than the other." Fiorré leans up to straighten his cloak upon his shoulders. "Though 'tis hard to imagine me passing for a menial. Not like you, Sir Eventide." Out of nowhere the beastblood girl smiles a mischievous smile up at Kuthek, her whisper a teasing purr. She suddenly seems far closer than she was an eye's blink earlier. "What with all that... 'twas it you said? Tending to your mistress's garden?"

Fiorré elegantly brushes a little dust off Kuthek's shoulder. In a normal voice, she adds, "You lads are in ever such a state. Can't take you anywhere, 'twould seem." The beastblood girl flashes a playful indigo wink at Kuthek as she settles back down upon her heels.

As Funmi and Chance arrive, Fiorré greets her teacher with a smile, though she immediately notes the elvish woman's air of unease. 'Tis going around, fair to say. When the opportunity presents itself, the beastblood girl draws close to her teacher and murmurs, "I know just how you feel, Miss Ozinichi. I feel certain that all shall be right in the end, though." Fiorré supplements her words with a sweetly encouraging smile.

With the full group present, Fiorré lets the boys share their findings first before presenting her own. "Information is passing rare, and guarded tighter than the Vault. So I've little to share myself," she murmurs, casting a reassuring glance at the apologetic Chance. "But this place... it recalls my childhood home, it does, with Lord Wintrelle. Keeping ever quiet, knowing the wrong word could have... consequences." Again the Iobarian girl leaves the details of her upbringing vague, not wanting to disquiet the others nor beg for sympathy.

Fiorré's voice returns to a somewhat more normal level. "People are well eager for the Masque upcoming. I was told of a shop where the finest fashions are traded, the Oval Mirror by name." The Iobarian girl smiles shyly at her friends new and old. "I thought we might all visit together..."

Funmi returns Fiorré's smile, though it lacks some of the sincerity of the younger girl's. She places a hand on her shoulder and gives a light squeeze. A quiet moment of sympathy passes between them, but it is not the time or the place to dwell on such things. "Then the Oval Mirror shall have to be our next stop. But business first."

"Ah finest fashions? That sounds like exactly the kind of shop we should step into. Especially if we want to look our best here in Galt."

"After all, if we fit in better maybe the people around town won't give us quite as big of a suspicious stink eyes as they are doing now."

Aphotos turns his attention to the building before them. "Well... shall we go introduce ourselves and take a look into this medicinal cure, then?" He steps towards the door to the Herbalist's shop and looks over the signage above it. "Hopefully the Pharasmin will be less hostile than the rest of the townsfolk. Or at the very least maybe he'll have something to help with the stress of dealing with all of their hostilities and suspicions. We could probably use it..."

"Apologies, Lady. I should not be so concerned with your appearance that I neglect my own - it reflects poorly on the House." Kuthek seizes the opportunity of Fiorré's vest-brushing to murmur a rebuttal. "Yes, the mistress's garden. When harvesting some produce, it's best to go straight up the stem to the fruit at the top. Season permitting, of course." His chagrined servant's facade does not falter in the slightest.

"If we're not tending to the gardens, maybe we'll have an opportunity to see to the master's forge. Snap this final blade and turn it to plowshares."

He does take a moment while maintaining his act to pat Funmi or Fiorré's shoulder, or to give them a brief look that says I see you're struggling, and I appreciate that you're working through it as best you're able.

"Masters'" outfits seen to, he steps next to the herbalist's door, standing straight and impassive, ready to open the door should others wish to enter.

Chance pulls her thoughts away from what she might have missed and focuses them forward to what they might learn. Normally bright and cheerful gnome she seems quit uncomfortable in a place so mournful and guarded. She springs a little less when she walks and the mischievous smile has faded. Her complexion has darkened, her hair dulled. Even her clothes have shifted to take on a more somber hue and cut. As she rejoins her companions she realizes the change with a bit of shock and sadness. She privately wonders how hard it is to stave off the bleaching in such a place

"Yes, let us enter. Perhaps our shared mistress will give our cause some legitimacy?

She takes in her companions talk of shopping for balls, espionage, and their banter. It brings a smile to her face. After all sometimes the little things are the most exciting. "I am not going to have to worry about bleaching in my time with all of you."

"The Oval Mirror? There's something about that name... I think i could do with a new dress. My last ball was quite some time ago. I tend to prefer less fancy shindigs.

Chance pauses as she remembers that ball and why she was invited. But, that is a story for a different day

Things chance was pondering as she walked through the city:
Religion: 1d20 + 27 ⇒ (16) + 27 = 43 to observe how religion exists here, how is it viewed, what is the dominant faith, etc.
Perception: 1d20 + 25 ⇒ (6) + 25 = 31 to see if she notices anything or anyone.

At a rap on the door, a voice calls from within. "Welcome! Please, come in. My hands are quite full."

Inside, you see a tidy shop where many furnishings bear repeating spiral patterns. A fashionably dressed tengu is behind the counter grinding away at a collection of herbs in a mortar.

“Greetings,” the raven-headed tengu caws, setting down his pestle and extending his hand in welcome. “Keznin Nevarmo, herbalist, at your service. I suspect you’ve come a long way. Please, come in and close the door behind you so we can talk about what you need.”

Kuthek's reply brings a little color back to Fiorré's cheeks, and the Iobarian girl giggles softly. 'Twould seem that our kayal friend is no stranger to the dance. And sure that he knows how to treat a fair lady. Well, I'm game if you are, my lass. Fiorré's blush deepens slightly, and she makes a little show of checking her own appearance. Now, now, Miss Sibéal. Just a bit of a game between friends, 'tis all. No need to go asserting things. She gives a noblesse-oblige nod to her "servant" as he opens the door for her.

Within the shop, Fiorré lets her light-sensitive eyes adapt to the relative gloom before setting her sights on the shopkeeper. Dear me. First fish, now birds. 'Tis a hard time to be feline. Still, she's here on a mission. The beastblood girl clears her throat, folding her hands in front of her and putting on her politest noble-girl smile. "Good day, Master Nevarmo. Fiorré Braska Wintrelle, Rain-Scribe Attendant and scholar-lyrist, Winterveil and Princess of the Pale Moon. I and my retinue are sent here by our mutual acquaintance, Camilia Drannoch. She mentioned that you, ah, might be able to assist in dealing with her... illness." The young woman's voice wavers only slightly as she alludes to their true purpose.

"Also, I may need a fresh supply of... um." Fiorré clears her throat, blushing as her gaze flicks among her friends. "Catnip." The beastblood girl studiously avoids meeting her companions' eyes. "For, um, medicinal purposes."

Aphotos steps through the doorway and walks up towards the Herbalist, but waits until Kuthek shuts the door behind the group of them before doing much else. He let's Fiorré introduce the group as he watches the Tengu at his work.

"Right. Yes we're here on business to help our dear Miss Drannoch. She mentioned you might have something to assist us in helping her get rid of a grave and potentially disastrous illness." He says, pointedly, while making sure to watch Keznin's reaction and expression.

His eyes turn back to Fiorré for a moment, glowing with their eerie blue light momentarily until he blinks and the effect disappears again. He takes another step towards Keznin and continues in a slightly softer voice. "Though if you have a way to help ease the constant anxiety we get going through town here that may be equally as helpful in our efforts getting this assistance back around to her."

He smiles sincerely, though he holds his suspicions of the Tengu behind that facade. Drannoch trusts this man, but so far this town has been full of people expecting eyes everywhere. "The need for double-speak has yet to be disproven..."

"What troubles this town is beyond my medicine, but perhaps I have something in the back of the shop which would help you with our mutual friend's ailment."

The tengu careful slides the crushed herbs from his mortar into a small envelope, labels it, and tucks it into a prepared cubby behind his workbench. He pulls a few stoppered jars down and sets them on the counter, exchanging looks with Fiorré and Aphotos "So I don't forget your requests!"

"Will you follow?" Keznin ushers you through his greenhouse into a spacious sitting room, closes the curtains, and begins bustling around a formal tea set, hanging a kettle to boil on a hook in the room's fireplace. "Apologies for not having a welcome prepared, but you have arrived sooner than I would have expected." Though he is fussing with a huge tea chest, he gestures to you to sit.

"Should be something for everyone in here. Oh! And I'd be happy to sample whatever you choose before you drink. This is Galt, after all. Poisoning has been out of vogue for a few years now, but paranoia is always in season." He leaves the tea chest open for you to choose from and continues to talk as he leaves place settings. The tea chest has a dizzying array of carefully-labeled varieties to choose from.

"You are an august company, and I'm certainly glad you've come to our aid here. What do you know already of the situation in Litran? I certainly don't want to waste your time."

Reviewing the selection of teas Chance finds herself a herbal tea with cinnamon and cloves.

"Thank you for the tea Mr Nevermo. It has been a while since I have had good spicy herbal blend."

Funmi idly thumbs her way through the box and settles on a cardamom tea with a pleasing aroma. ”I’m sure we have no need to fear poison. At least one of my overly cautious companions is going to wait until five minutes after I drink before taking his first sip. And if I start to seem ill, it will take him far less than five minutes to subdue you and force you to procure an antidote.” Funmi smiles as she speaks, her tone so calm and matter-of-fact, it sounds more like a textbook recitation than a threat. ”Aside from that, you seem like a very lovely fellow with excellent taste. I doubt you would collect such lovely teas just to spoil them with poison.”

“On to more pressing business, we only know of the city in generalities and hearsay. Whatever information you have to offer would be much appreciated.”

Aphotos takes a seat and looks over the list. He has grown to like tea, though at first the concept of drying out leaves then re-soaking them didn't make sense to him. It took a while to understand what the point was. He has since changed his opinion on the stuff but still finds himself preferring milder teas, though, and pulls out a tea made of mint and white tea.

"Well after all, we got here a few days early to throw off any plans like poisoning anyway. It would take a lot of dedication to poison all of these flavors and it certainly wouldn't be something someone could do ahead of time without risking his entire business. And besides, I think you'd need something stronger than what you could fit into a tea to deal with our lot anyway." While his tone is rather playful, Aphotos briefly puts up a grin with an intimidating air to it, as if to lend more credence to his elven companion's words.

Then the expression is gone a second later. "Dear Herbalist Nevarmo, I agree with Miss Funmi here, we really haven't learned much from the denizens of town. And it seems our mutual friends expects something very great of us in coming out here, I would like to know more about the details of this whole "masque" being planned, if you know anything. And if you know anything of this fascination with Silent Lenore that everyone seems to have."

Kuthek grunts at a small packet in the tea chest, impressed. "Greenpetal asp scales - you do know your business. Not many folks who stock snakeskin teas." He wafts the aroma toward himself; grassy, astringent, musty. Lovely!

The stocky man sits cross-legged on the floor and removes his own tea equipment to begin steeping the strange brew. He's content to let his companions ask their own questions, for the moment, as they've all got good heads on their shoulders. Though he can't help but slip in a comment about Funmi's manners. "She is apparently a diplomat, if you'd believe it." His entirely gray eyes drift lazily up from his work. "She's also entirely right about the subduing. But I think you know that, and aren't liable to find out anyways, being a friend of Miss Drannoch's." He says it with a slightly conciliatory air.

Nevarmo pauses slightly at Funmi's statement, but his hands don't shake on the teakettle. After hearing you out, he continues, "You're right of course! I'm used to the everyday paranoia of my fellow Galtans. It is exhausting, I can tell you! New comers to town often assume that Our Lady of Graves wants me to hurry off my neighbors into the Great Beyond." The herbalist lets out a wheezy squawk of a laugh, "I'm more interested in lives as they start the cycle."

The tengu taps a pendant shaped like a pair of shears that hangs on a thin chain around his neck. You all recognize it as a symbol of Pharasma in her aspect of goddess of birth.

"Your timely arrive in town will be very useful. The Gray Gardener's masque is an invitation-only event that will be held in 6 days. Arriving in town early will throw off any agents looking for friends of Miss Drannoch and allow you to find out more of what is planned for the event. It's terribly out of character for the Gray Gardeners to be holding any event that isn't a public trial or execution, and the door of their monastery have never been opened to those outside their order."

He continues to fill teacups as he talks.

"Even learning that they had a ballroom was a surprise to me! It's an unprecedented opportunity to pry into their secrets, and to learn more about the leadership of the organization. There are also rumors that the leadership will make some special announcement at the masque, but I don't know how much credit to give them. The details of the masque's logistics are all shrouded in secrecy."

With all of your cups filled, he finally chooses a spicy black tea for himself, fills a cup, and settles in to wait for the brew. He looks at you expectantly for questions.

Funmi smiles and gives a gracious nod of thanks as Keznin fills her cup. She allows her tea to steep while he speaks, and after a few minutes, removes the bag from her cup. She drinks without any hint of worry or hesitation.

"While I hope the need for paranoia will pass soon, I must apologize, for I will have to exhaust you a bit further still. The masque is almost certainly a trap. What better way to draw out your enemies than to expose such an obvious vulnerability? This party is an antlion pit, and if we are not careful, we will be caught inside of it."

She pauses to take a sip, considering their next steps. "Our only legitimate means of entry is to use Ms. Drannoch's name and attend in her stead. I believe that some of us shall need to enter through less legitimate means to avoid drawing undo attention. That will require a great deal of reconnaissance and planning."

"I suppose simply scrying on the monastery is out of the question?"

Your host bobs his head as he considers Funmi's questions.

"Certainly it is a trap, which is why Miss Drannoch is sending you. If you are careful, the Gardeners will think that they have trapped some little mice, but find that their prey is much more formidable. Yes, they'll be trapped in there with you!"

Nevarmo gives a satisfied grin at the thought.

"If you want to further avoid suspicion, you may be able to find someone in or near town that would sell you their invitation. Most people who have been invited are keeping the invitation under their hats, but there are likely some citizens who are somewhat familiar with the guest list. Madame Rallaree, at the Oval Mirror, is likely costuming the local guests, so it may be worth your time to speak with her."

"As to magical observation, the problem would be finding a suitable target, I assume. The Gardeners hide their identity scrupulously, so I'm not sure how you would target one with your divinations. I am no expert, though, so perhaps you can find a way!"

Chance, who has busy looking like she is lost in the enjoyment of her tea, looks up, obviously enjoying the current banter and diplomatic threats of violence. The soothing nature of her tea has calmed her mind and she at least seems to trust their host. For now at least.

"Not all forms of magical surveillance require a specific target. ANd for those that do, there are tricks we could use. My companion here," she says with a glance at Funmi "is quite a skilled practice of the magical arts. But I do like the idea of not all entering as one retinue. While our dear princess here would fit right in as a VIP some of us would stand out I think. Tell me Nevarmo, do you know if all the night's entertainment is set? A ball just isn't a ball without some games of chance."

Chances eyes sparkle at the possibility of setting up games at the ball and perhaps serving both of her dieties in the same mission. "Tell me, are there any games of chance unique to Galt? I would be remis if i did not learn at least one.

The gnome returns to enjoying her delicious tea.

Fiorré has been quiet since her herbal request, following obediently along to the sitting room. The rich blend of scents from the tea chest is nearly overwhelming, but she eventually manages to settle on one; a familiar Thuvian blend of mint and rose. After thanking her host, Fiorré lets the tea steep, closing her eyes with a soft sigh and letting herself get lost in the rich scents. Mint tea. Far too long 'twas since last I had such a thing.

So lost does she get, in fact, that only a nudge from one of her companions gets the beastblood girl's attention back on the mission at hand. Fiorré glances around at the others sheepishly, mentally replaying the last few moments of conversation and striving for a reply that won't make her seem wholly lost. "I expect I could pass for a proper attendee, aye. And might that I could get one of those invitations once we find a bearer. I have plans to pay Madame Rallaree a visit, as it happens, so let us hope that lady is agreeable."

Meantime, Fiorré attends to her tea with all the ceremony of her strict upbringing. Dainty sips, proper posture, correct use of saucer and spoon; all the right ingredients to spare a forgetful girl the birch rod. After some consideration, Fiorré augments the tea with a rather generous helping of milk—real milk! another long-absent pleasure—and a touch of sugar. In the fine sitting room, teacup in hand, she seems wholly in her element... at least, to those who have not witnessed the vivaciousness which the wild inspires in the beastblood girl.

"Ah, the Council outlawed lottery games years ago, but if the high society is in attendance you'll know doubt find a few tables of cards. Baccarat and Hellknight's Stake are the favorites, I think."

You host nods at Fiorré, "I imagine my lady is a fine hand at whist, though partnering with a potential Gray Gardener might give you a turn!"

"I like to think I might be able to convince a few folk to part with their invitations. At the very least get a few of us in that way. Tell me, are they looking for other staff or other non gambling entertainers? That might also be a method by which we could get ourselves inside."

Aphotos sips the tea now that it has brewed for a good few minutes. The scent of the mint and young tea leaves waft into the air around him. "I also appreciate your hospitality here, Mr. Nevarmo. If you have any other tips on others like yourselves that might be agreeable to talking with us about things, it would be further appreciated. Trying to learn anything in a town so full of lies does certainly make people less inclined to trust us, after all."

"Though, I can't blame them. Some of them probably shouldn't trust us given our current mission." He decides to keep that last thought to himself.

Kuthek lifts the snakeskin pouch from the water and twists it to strain the remaining liquid into his cup. Even so, little flecks of gray-green float atop the brew. He shivers slightly at the first sip, like someone's just taken a shot of whiskey and forgot how strong it was.

He nods at Aphotos's question, wiping his mouth to chip in. "My companion has the same line of thought as I do. Any ability to blend in with serving staff or other working-class folk is likely my best means of entry." He taps his chin with a thick thumb. "Or sneak in on my own during the night and wait somewhere 'til the event starts. But I expect there's more useful information to be gathered by mingling with the staff."

"This is shaping up to be a very nice plan." Chance muses as she sips her tea. "Perhaps we should continue our planning elsewhere? While I am quite enjoying the tea and conversation we should probably not linger here too long. I would hate to draw attention to our host. We can of course return if needed."

"I appreciate your consideration, but please come back any time. I'm sure I can even accommodate you if you decide you need somewhere to rest."

The tengu swirls his tea thoughtfully as he talks. "If you do infiltrate the monastery before the event, do be careful. There are more Gardeners around than usual and I'm sure they are on alert, whatever their plans are. You may run into some out in town as well--they certainly don't keep their activities confined to the monastery."

"Looking at our group we might be able to manage to get at least a few of us hidden under the cover of the night to scope the place out. I agree that we should be careful but it might be worth it. I'm generally quite good at sneaking around unseen. But we should definitely make sure if we do go that we cover our faces well or something. Just on the off-chance someone does manage to spot us."

"I appreciate your hospitality, Dear Nevarmo. Please let us know if there is some measure we can take to show our thanks and keep the heat off of you, if need be." Aphotos pauses, drinks the last portion of his tea and takes a moment to contemplate the taste.

Then he pushes his tea cup and saucer away and looks back to his companions. "Still, even if the company is sweet we should get to work on gather some more information. If there is no further information you have to share with us at this time, Nevarmo, we should visit this fashion maker. Then, we can reconvene and think about a plan to scope out the Monastery one of these evenings if we end up lost for leads after all that."

Funmi finishes her cup as well, placing it demurely back on the saucer without so much as a clink. "I would thank you as well, Mr. Nevarmo. You have been very welcoming. However, I must make one more request before we go. It is rather...macabre, but time is too short for more tasteful methods, I'm afraid. I'm sure there are a number of empty buildings in a city like this. If you could provide me with a short list of those that have been abandoned for long enough that they would be largely ignored, that would be of a great deal of help."

She doesn't elaborate any further if pressed, except to say, "Just as an added precaution."

Nevarmo scratches his beak at Funmi's question. "I haven't thought about it much, but there are surely some empty buildings in town. Let's see: There are surely a few abandoned warehouses in West Mills. Oh, the Spite Mill on the east side of the river is abandoned as well, though rumor is it's haunted."

"If you are in search of privacy, there's also the abandoned Shrine of Pharasma. The Gardeners drove out all of the priests when they came to town decades ago. All of the leaders of my faith were accused of sedition and executed. The shrine has sat empty for ages. No one dares to reclaim it--they say it's cursed,"

The West Mills are in the southeast corner of town on the West Bank of the river. Spite Mill is across the water from them. The abandoned shrine is in the south-central part of town.

Chance finishes her tea gently places her cup on the table and stands. She steps over to Nevarmo and takes his hand in hers. "Pharasma knows you keep the faith good friend. Perhaps it is her hand that has led me here. As they say, All must face her judgement, but I think you have a lot more good to do before you see her." Chance says a small prayer and gives Nevarmo a small blessing of Pharasma in gratitude for his assistance.

Turning to Funmi, "Perhaps, if needed, my presence her can be the excuse we need for visiting such an abandoned place."

Chance grows angry once again at the thought of all those trapped souls, but the anger has intensified knowing how many servants of her goddesses must have been taken.

"Well my friends, I am ready to depart when you are. We have a ball to prepare for I suppose. and may some artifacts to destroy"

Kuthek raises his eyebrows at Funmi's question, but merely drains the last of the pungent, musty brew from his teacup. "Yes, let's make sure we look the parts. To the Oval Mirror, and perhaps to the professor's site of interest afterwards."

Aphotos looks somewhat knowingly at Funmi and nods. "Ah, a cursed Pharasmin temple. Sounds like a lovely place to hold up without anyone bothering us."

"Thank you again for the tea. It's time we got a further lesson on fitting in in this little town. I suspect we'll find our way back here soon enough."

With that, Aphotos picks up his cane that he had leaned against the table and stands up to bow to their host. He then turns around and takes a deep breath, and clears all expression from his face entirely before heading back out to make their way to the Oval Mirror.

Ever the shy young woman—and in many ways the least experienced of the five—Fiorré has had little to add, listening with an attentively blank expression as her companions discuss and inquire. She does her best to stay attentive, bolstered by the exquisite tea, but the Iobarian girl is still a little surprised by the speed with which affairs conclude.

Finishing her own cup of tea and setting down cup and saucer with elegant grace, Fiorré rises to her feet, folding her hands demurely in front of her and favoring the tengu with a shy smile. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, good sir. And your assistance with the, um, matters at hand. If we are of use, please, hesitate not to call upon us."

Before departing, Fiorré pauses to conclude her apothecarial business with their host. When the time comes to pay the bill, she hands Keznin twice the named price with a distinct air of self-satisfaction, refusing any attempt to make change or otherwise deny the offered charity. Her inexplicable smugness—curiously unlike that of the average rich girl flaunting her wealth—lasts her all the way out the door.

Tucking her purchase away in her satchel, Fiorré steps out into the bright sunlight, shading her eyes against the glare. As the group sets off toward the Oval Mirror, she sidles up to her teacher as if to ask a question. But the question never comes, and the beastblood girl remains quiet (for the moment) as she leads the way, though with the occasional shyly curious glance in Funmi's direction.

In addition to the purchase by Fiorré, your host won't let you leave empty handed. He used an honorarium from Camilia Drannoch to purchase materials for four four major elixirs of life, which he hands over to you as you leave.

The Oval Mirror is in the northwest corner of town, and when you get close you can see that the business is prosperous and well-maintained. In the shop's front window a mannequin displays an ostentatious outfit: an alabaster volto mask attached to an elaborate feathered hat, along with a coordinating doublet sewn with gold thread to accompany a pair of deep-yellow pants and gold-colored shoes.

As you approach, a customer laden with packages leaves out the front door, a sweet-sounding bell tinkling as the door swings open.

Aphotos's eyes ever so slightly glance from his own pack to the mask in the display. He wishes he could pull his own mask from his pack and compare the craftsmanship of the two, but that would be too much of risk for other denizens to see him with. Instead he just stares at the volto on the mannequin in contemplation for a few moments.

"Charming style they have here. Can't say yellow pants are really my style but if that is the fashion here, I'd best get used to it."

He pulls up his hood, once again trying to cover some of the top fin of his head such that no one gets too much of a view of his heritage without really looking him over. Just an extra precaution to not be easily picked out in a crowd.

"A bit flashy for my taste, but it certainly appears to be well crafted," Funmi says, leaning close to get a better look at the display through the glass. Without turning to look at her companions, she adds under her breath, "Let us be careful not to give away any more about ourselves than needed. I doubt we will be the only ones hoping to pry some information out of the tailor."

There is another ring of the bell as she steps through the door and into the shop. She lays on her accent a little thicker than usual as she says "Ah, how marvelous! What a charming boutique!"

Chance eyes her companions and with a mischievous tone says "I heard a story once, but I think that involved brown pants..." She refrains from telling the story in such esteemed company.

She follows Funmi into the Oval Mirror. With hopes that she will not have to dress as a child as has been the case far too many times. Chances mind wanders to the last time she attended such an event and it was not part of a mission or some other charade. She realizes with some dismay that it was in her youth when Lirgen last stood above the waves.

Fashion changes quickly. She ponders what a fine line one must walk in a place such as Galt. To be high society and look the part, while not being too burgious.

"You'll have to tell me that one sometime, Chance. It sounds hilarious." Aphotos says with a grin before also entering the Oval Mirror.

Aphotos follows the two into the shop and quickly follows Funmi's lead calling out like an over enthusiastic tourist. "Oh the fashion in the window is so well made, we had to step in and take a look, wouldn't you say?" He does try to keep his face subtly looking downward as he does so, clearly trying to be noticed yet unremarkable.

He also takes a good survey of the room as they all step inside, slowly moving across the room and grabbing various pieces of clothing and cloth with feigned interest. He turns his vision left then right trying to catch stock of whether there are other customers inside and how many of there are. He also looks to see if there are any immediate other routes out of the shop.

Having hesitated uncertainly at the Oval Mirror's door, Fiorré watches helplessly as Funmi and Aphotos take the lead. Sure I thought 'twas I who did the introductions here. Trying not to be too put out—though she can't help pouting just a wee bit, as is a noble lass's privilege—the Iobarian girl steps demurely into the shop after them, meeting the shopkeeper's eye with a shy smile before turning her attention to the wares.

It's hard for Fiorré to stay out of sorts for long here, at least. The beastblood girl delights in the sensory banquet, the vibrant hues and the clean scents and the soft feel of fabric beneath her fingertips. While her behavior is outwardly delicate and refined, befitting a lady of her upbringing, Fiorré isn't above picking out a few choice items to surprise her companions with.

Still, there is a job to be done here. Fiorré lingers uncertainly for a few moments at the edge of the shopkeeper's domain, her curiosity about the upcoming masquerade in pitched battle with her shy nature. Finally the Iobarian girl steps up to the counter with her chosen articles in hand and clears her throat shyly.

"Um. Hallo." While Fiorré is careful to heed her teacher's advice about revealing information, her improvised greeting leaves something to be desired. Still, ice broken, she presses on, smothering her shyness in her favorite trick: the charm offensive. "I've to this city come for the upcoming event—I'm certain you know the one, of course—and I'm ever so excited. Though I'm afraid I'm new to Litran, and quite out of the loop. So pray tell me, what have people been saying? Who must I meet, what should I wear?" Leaning on the counter with her chin in her hands, indigo eyes ashimmer, the beastblood girl exudes a distinct air of innocent-but-maybe-not-that-innocent curiosity.