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You spend a very quiet night in the hideout, muffled in the protective cocoon of magic that obscures you from any prying eyes or scans of magical surveillance.
Funmi spends the next morning shut in one of the side offices with Quill, studying the scrolls she acquired the day before. It's not that learning them really required so much of her attention - her grimoire was always hungry for new magic. But she did need the time to think. Every day in Litran, she felt like she was one step behind, that there was something obvious she was missing.
She glances up at the perfect black sphere orbiting her head and let's out a sigh. Her meeting with Amberin is still days away, but she's sure he must have answers. As tempting as it is to contact him again, that would certainly just scare the man off.
"What do you think, Quill? Would it be too reckless to go hunting for Gardeners? Just let the river take all their toys away until they promise to play nice?"
The familiar doesn't dignify the question with an answer, only pausing to give the mage a withering look before going back to his own writing.
"Yes, yes, I'll be patient. I just hate the feeling of not knowing. Always have."
Aphotos lets his tea sit on the table cooling as he paces back and forth in thought.
"Perhaps we should stay out of the eyes of the public too much. I, however, shine through as a performer who quite likes to have himself seen... during the day anyway. I think I shall make a round about the plaza and put on a minor performance for the people. See what I can learn from rumors about in highly populated areas. That and, I should like to think one or two of us should check on the area near the river at least once each day until the masque. If we truly were followed, someone may try to reclaim that awful thing. I'll make sure I at least do since I can easily get down into the river to check on it."
He finally nods, looking satisfied and picks his fine cloak up from where it hangs on the chair then swings it around his person. He quickly downs the cup in one long gulp and turns to the door. "I promise I won't be long and I won't draw any attention beyond that of a simple entertainer. We best be as informed as we possibly can be. But any of us who need to lay low should still do so."
He quietly steps out into the streets of Litran.
After a morning of quiet study (and a small amount of private brooding) Funmi rejoins the others to weigh their options.
"Lying low might be in our best interest for now. Since we arrived, we have already thwarted two assassinations and eliminated several of the Gardener's agents. I considered spying on the monastery itself, but that's what got our friend Mr. Amberin into so much trouble. Right now, any move we make carries a great deal of risk.
"But, I am willing to lend my strength any plan you all come up with. I will check on the blade once this afternoon, since I can guarantee I won't be followed, and rely on Aphotos to do so once tonight."
For once Fiorré awakens at a decent time; rarely does she sleep without some restless midnight wandering, but the trials and travels of the previous night have seen to that. So she sets about preparing a hearty breakfast—and it is unambiguously that; Fiorré doesn’t know what ‘cholesterol’ is, but one gets the impression she’d be all in favor of it if she did—involving eggs with cheese, meat, and scallions, as well as potatoes and thick-cut pork and beef, all pan-fried in butter and garlic. The overachieving young woman even whips up some sort of buttery fried tart, sweetened with cinnamon and sugarcane powder. Conscientiously, Fiorré makes certain to knock on Miss Ozinichi’s door with two plates (one for her and one for her familiar).
Once she has seen to all of that, though... remembering her solemn promise of the morning previous, Fiorré slyly slips out of the safehouse, turning her hair panther-black again and returning to her maid’s outfit before seeking out the constabulary. Having put out some subtle inquiry of her own during yesterday’s wandering, the alleged maid comes equipped to weave a tale that will satisfy the constabulary without putting anyone’s neck on the line. Fiorré does a bit more shopping for fresh foods in this guise—doing her best to establish her false face in town—before surreptitiously returning to the sanctuary. Truth be told, the beastblood girl is a wee bit jealous of Sir Upwell; but he knows how to keep a secret better than she.
Back at the safehouse, Fiorré contents herself with practicing her dueling forms, reviewing what the group has learned and taking careful notes, and threatening her comrades with the eager promise of a hearty supper. Chance’s question pulls the Iobarian girl away from fussing over one of the group’s acquired invitations, and Fiorré eyes the priestess suspiciously. “I do believe, Miss Chance, that you are attempting to lead me into a lifestyle of hedonism and debauchery.” A thoughtful look crosses the young woman’s face, and after a moment of pondering she nods sagely. “Aye, that sounds fine with me.”
Funmi’s advice draws another sage nod from the Iobarian girl. “Aye, I think for the moment ‘twould be wisest not to antagonize the authorities further.” Fiorré smiles brightly. “Besides, ‘tis quite welcome to have a rest from bloody battle and muddled mystery.” Certainly she seems rather more perky today. As for Miss Chance... Fiorré isn’t precisely sure whether dice houses count as ‘lying low’, but the young woman quite clearly intends to find out.
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The most obvious thing that Aphotos and Fiorré notice while out on the town is that the authorities seem to have been plenty antagonized. Guard patrols of the city have visibly increased, and people hurry to their destinations, wary of tarrying in the street for idle conversation or even a few moments of Aphoto's performance.
No one at the constable's barracks is available to speak with Fiorré. "We've bigger fish to fry than one wayward servant. Count your blessings, my girl, and mind you find some gainful employment before we run you in for vagrancy," the desk sergeant warns the ersatz maid.
Overall, the atmosphere in Litran is tense--even more so than when you arrived in the city.
The most obvious thing that Aphotos and Fiorré notice while out on the town is that the authorities seem to have been plenty antagonized. Guard patrols of the city have visibly increased, and people hurry to their destinations, wary of tarrying in the street for idle conversation or even a few moments of Aphoto's performance.
No one at the constable's barracks is available to speak with Fiorré. "We've bigger fish to fry than one wayward servant. Count your blessings, my girl, and mind you find some gainful employment before we run you in for vagrancy," the desk sergeant warns the ersatz maid.
“Aye—um, yes, sir!” Fiorré, such as she is, gives a crisp nod. With a sweet smile, she chirps, “Already asking about becoming a lady-in-waiting to some of the noble ladies.” The Iobarian Galtan girl doesn’t wait around to let this lie grow out of control, hastily getting out of the guards’ way. She concludes her shopping with the same wary haste that other folk display, and puts some extra effort into returning to the safehouse unseen.
She flashes Fiorré a quick glance and sighs in relief.
Fiorré, for her part, takes it upon herself to act as impromptu barmaid to the dicehouse’s lads and lasses (and nonbinary classes). It is, if nothing else, a good opportunity to practice her Galtan accent some more... not to mention some flirtatious fun. It’s been all too long—weeks, even—since last she had opportunity to be the innocent tease that caused such havoc at the Magaambya. And dallying makes for a welcome break from the seriousness of the mission.
For all her masquerading, Fiorré cannot even begin to match her compatriots’ skills at espionage and intrigue; but she’s out on the town, and more to the point, on the job. So as she plays her kittenish game and enjoys the night life, the young woman puts out a few inquiries of her own; nothing incriminating or even specific, but simply the innocent questions of a girl new to the city. In particular, however, she keeps her ears perked for any mention of the Gardeners’ plot or the final blades... and her nose keen for any hint of the previous night’s haunting scent.
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Aphotos returns to the safehouse after a few hours of his act. Not too productive of an investigation, but at a certain point the only step left in any score is action. He returns to his preparations, quickly checking his gear, and being sure to double check on the clothing ordered and its fit and tailoring.
"Well, we may need the help of our other selves, yet. I'll make sure to pack my other mask just in case we have a moment to step away and call in the experts... so to speak."
Midnight's costume gets stored away, but within reach, as well as last night's Gardner's outfit. Certainly the good judge doesn't need to catch wind of what they're up to just yet.
He makes sure to save time to check on the blade in the river by night, but otherwise sticks to laying low in town, going out once or twice more just to dance on the streets briefly to sell his cover.
Chance and Fiorré are able to wheedle more information out of some citizens with more desire to sound knowledgeable than sense.
The masque at the Gray Monastery will have a highly distinctive centerpiece: the final blade known as Silent Lenore has been brought into the monastery for the upcoming masque.
The Gray Gardeners have been notoriously secretive about their identities—until now. The highlight of the masque will be the Midnight Unmasking, when the guests unmask simultaneously and reveal all at once the Gray Gardeners’ identities. The person revealing this information also tells the heroes that an elderly, one-eyed human was his source of information, and he asked that anyone with further knowledge should seek him out at the old shrine to Pharasma in town.
Venturing from your safehouse the night before the masque, you head to the rendezvous location. With your keen observational skills, you quickly spot a figure loitering around the square, a hood pulled low allows only the tip of his nose to be visible.
Funmi approaches the meeting place with her own hood raised, scanning her surroundings for invisible enemies or divination spells as she makes her way through the dark streets. When she sees the man she assumes must be Nellibet Alberin, she steps into his line of sight. After Chance makes the appropriate greetings, she speaks.
"We saw your handiwork at the temple. You protect yourself well for a priest. Something we can certainly appreciate, don't get me wrong." Her voice is friendly and casual, despite the seriousness of the occasion. Still, she doesn't lower her guard. Litran is a city of paranoia, and Alberin is not short on reasons to be paranoid.
"I won't waste your time with small talk. We have a common enemy, and I believe you have information that could help us. So what can my friends and I do for you?"
The man grunts appreciatively at your forthrightness. "So, did you see my prisoner? What do you know of terrors that peer from the Ethereal Plane?!" The old man's lone eye seems to blaze with zeal, though he keeps his voice pitched low. "Fiends of fear, they are! Sahkils have joined with the Gray Gardeners, harvesting the fear their terrible authority sows in the land. In turn, the Gardeners learn new ways of terror from them. It is a dread symbiosis, but a symbiosis is all it is. They are allies, but neither group is the master. Some inhuman force is behind it, I’m certain! Something is pulling the strings from behind the scenes, making the sahkils, the Gray Gardeners, and all of Galt dance."
He peers closely at Chance and Funmi, "Who are you, and what do you know of sahkils, and these Gardeners?"
"You may call me Funmi. I admit, I know less about the Gardeners than I would like, but I have faced their ilk before. Tyrants who rely on fear to manipulate the people they claim to protect. I'm not surprised that they would collaborate with such monsters, but who would have the power to manipulate two dangerous factions that way?"
"Oh yes, how well you know it! Sahkils traffic in fear and are vulnerable to holy weapons and effects. They can slip easily into the Ethereal Plane and back, making them hard to pin down.” Nellibet is nodding enthusiastically. "There’s a rare type of sahkil called a tumblak that embodies the fear of being buried alive. I hope to confirm this, and to vanquish one for further study."
To Funmi he says, "Who indeed?! “It’s commonly believed that the director generals are the leaders of the Gray Gardeners, but they’re merely highly positioned administrators relaying orders from an inner circle. All I know is that the true masters are powerful and they are stirring. Doom is at hand! Perhaps tonight! Perhaps tomorrow! But soon."
Funmi knits her brow. The longer Nellibet speaks, the more she worries that he is just a paranoid eccentric. But even if he is telling the truth, they've merely replaced one unknown enemy with another. It's hardly helpful information so far.
"Well, we have reason to believe that whatever they are planning, it will take place at the masque tomorrow. They've invited all of their allies and enemies from all over Galt. I know that you were watching the monastery and their movements. Did you see anything that might give us a fighting chance of stopping them?"
"They've moved a final blade named Silent Lenore into the headquarters. I wasn't able to get close to it, but I think it is more enchanted even than most. Mark my words, it's the center of whatever they are up to, and bears close examination." Nellibet confides. "I'm too busy hunting sahkils, or I'd check it out myself. I daren't blow my cover by getting too close to it."
"Sahkils serve only their own hunger for fear, but they will ally with any evil if they see it serves their own ends. As for the blade itself, I could not get close enough to examine its enchantments. A close examination might show more."
The priest attempts to be reassuring, "If you are fighting the sahkils and Gardeners, I will find a way to help you, do not worry. You have heard about the gathering the Gardeners are holding tomorrow?"
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"Yes, we shall be attending. I don't suppose you have an invitation of your own?"
Suddenly a thought occurs to Funmi. They have a blade for the prest to examine. She would have to confer with the others before telling him, but if he has the grasp of the occult that he claims, this could be the lead they needed. "By the way...can you swim?"
The preist answers eagerly, "I stall have no problem entering the masque. My path winds where I will." To the second question, he adds, "Our Lady governs the waters, so I have no fear of the depths."
Funmi nods in agreement, though in truth, the dead of night is when she is least wary of nosy townsfolk. This is a city where poking around after dark can only lead to trouble. She's certain that most have shuttered their windows for the night. As for the Gardeners...well if they choose to fight an illusionist in the dark, that's their folly.
"We'll meet you at the water, Father. I trust you'll have no trouble finding your way."
The mysterious priest melts out of the night as you approach the docks. "Down here in the river, is it? Interesting!"
The men shambles down the pier and walks right off the end, his cassock flapping in the wind of the drop. You see a bubble of air form around his face as he submerges.
The river is quiet for a moment, though you see flashes of light in its depths. The gurgle of water against the piles of the pier is the only sound to break the stillness of Litran at night. Even night birds appear the avoid the paranoid city.
With a burst and a gasp, Alberin surface from the water and shimmies quickly up on to the dock. He runs a beringed hand over his hair and clothes and the water disappears from them.
"Well, the river has not damaged it at all, as I suspected. How long has it been down there? Ah, it is a perversion, and it makes me sick."
The priest indecorously spits onto the boards. "I was happy to finally examine one up close. The unmaking of it is beyond my art. Only the fiends in that Gray Monastery know the how of that." Alberin nods to Chance, "And our Lady, of course, though she hasn't whispered her secrets in my ear."
"One thing of note, however, there was something different about the blade brought into the monastery. I'll have to get a closer look at it. Tomorrow, perhaps."
Aphotos pops his head up from the river and slinks back onto the dock area. "Either I or the Lady Funmi can escort you back to see this Blade's form at any time. I have already chosen to make it a habit to check on it each day, regardless. It would be a problem for all of us involved were it to be moved now that we've managed to remove it from the picture, briefly."
He takes a long wander around the area, still paranoid in that back area of the mind about the previous night. "Who could possibly have seen us, and why won't they just act on it already? Now the poor priest's life could be at risk if he comes along with us too often as well..."