Russiet was staring at the third drink, slumped forward nearly to the bar as Bohrs spoke to her. His story made sense, and she bitterly wished it didn't. It meant she had to own up to her own half of the problem. Her muddled mind not providing her much in the way of assigning most of the blame to the rest of the party.
She has a similar problem with the honey gold drink before her. It looked appealing, and smelled sweet. She even really liked apples. But her head was already fogged. Well, that was the idea, wasn't it?
She pulled herself up to sitting and took the glass, trying to regain some of her good posture. Ultimately she had to settle for not spilling any of her drink as she downed it. She had to choke down the last few mouthfuls to actually stomach it all in one draw, refusing to sip anything as unsavory as booze. Though the sharpness of the drinks stayed with her stomach, and the back of her throat.
"I think ya learned sumthin fer him." she remarked with a wry smile. Unsure if she was reverting to her normal way of speaking or just starting to slur her words.
Having worked through the worst of it, she only had her ales left. She was keeping a thousand yard stare at those two drinks. Trying to focus the increasingly blurred world around her. She smoothed her hand across the bar to one. Using the assist so she could keep her hand on the same horizontal plane as the mug. [b]"Yer nice Bohrs." she reasoned as she struggled to slip her delicate fingers around the handle.
Bohrs watches Russiet start to slowly lose consciousness with each drink.
”Perhaps he needs something to wake him up,” Bohrs says to himself. He waves the barkeep over. ”Do you have any coffee or strong tea…something with a bit of kick to it?”
"This ain't a coffee house," Puglas says. "You want something like Yenchaburian, Karazhica, Keleshite, or Dragon's Blend, you can find him closer to the center of town. But you just want bog standard coffee, I got a fresh pot."
”Bog standard’s fine,” Bohrs replies with a nod. ”As long as it’s strong enough to give the lad here the jitters.”
A dark steaming mug of bitter, earthy coffee slides across the bar, and Puglas grunts, wandering off.
Whether they're ready to consider it, the specter of the reason for coming to Tamran in the first place hangs over their heads. Sobriety and in-fighting might provide impediments, but was there a timeline on this? It was unclear.
"M'not drunk." Russiet doggedly grumbles. Sliding the ale over and only spilling some of it on the way. Picking her head up properly she lifts the ale and starts to drink, but has to stop a few gulps in as it wasn't sitting right. Setting it down on the bar and taking a few steadying breaths.
It took her a while, but she finished it. Only to look at the last remaining ale like it was an ogre at the end of a gauntlet. "Hmmm thish, hmm tat." she grumbled, "Why ya hmmmm..." Her mask had slipped for a moment, and she let out a deep sigh at the realization. "...mmmm, bread and coffee." she agreed.
Russiet briefly noticed Bohrs looking her over and quickly raised a hand to her temple. First covering the side of her face, and then checking to make sure her tape and disguise was still set in place. It certainly was, but she knew it wasn't as fool proof as a piece of armor.
Bohrs does not have a good inkling of what Russiet's secret might be, in spite of the clear drunkenness that has taken her in thrall. Some efforts are taken to sober her up so that the party can get about their business once Calaithes and Nicolette come downstairs.
Russiet is still more than a little tipsy when the pair descend. Nicolette seems to adamantly refuse to look in Russiet's direction, but Calaithes comes over. "We came here to do a job. Let's at least go to the Forest Bounty to meet with Speaker Aromina."
With a few reminder directions from Puglas, who repeats his seeming-mantra of "none of my business" as the party joins back up together and then leaves, it's easy to find the Forest Bounty.
Made from enormous timbers, the Forest Bounty is a long hall, open at both the front and back, filled with wooden tables and benches. Even now, at mid-morning, dozens of people gather here, eating, drinking, and laughing. They look like a mix of travelers, trappers, rangers, guards, and common folk of Tamran. One table of patrons even carries on with a bawdy song that seems to have most of the folk smiling. There are no traces of the wedding from the night before: the employees here must have worked through half the night to get the hall ready for the next day's business.
It's not all partying, though. There are a number of official-looking types skirting the outside of the hall carrying papers, books, and other implements of business.
A serving maid smiles at the four people as she sees them enter. "Have a seat wherever you like," she says, grabbing up a presumably empty pewter mug from a table near the door. Then she does a doubletake, looking more carefully at the four people who just walked into the establishment. "Kassen, right?" Without waiting for a response, she waves for them to follow her. "The Speaker of the Heart is expecting you. There are two in her office right now. I believe you know one of them already."
The serving maid, who introduces herself as Kendra, takes the party up a set of stairs to the second floor of the establishment. They note a surprising effect as they pass through an invisible membrane--the noise from downstairs dulls significantly after they reach a particular step. The downstairs area is still entirely visible, but the sound is greatly reduced. As a result, the second floor seems like it's a reasonable place to get work done regardless of how wild things get below.
Kendra leads the party down a hallway to an office, knocks on the door, and ushers the group inside. Inside is a blonde half-elven woman with angular features. She is dressed in muted tones, and there is a faint scent of perfume in the air. The office is a bit cluttered, with three full floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, including one half-covering the room's only window. A trio of lanterns hang from the ceiling, giving a warm glow to the room. A bow rests on the wall opposite from where the door opens along with a few plaques and medals. A sextet of chairs waits for the party, two of which are already filled.
"Please, come in, sit," the woman says, gesturing you in. "I'm Aromina Yasgon. And you are," she points a finger at the different members of the party in turn, "Bohrs, Calaithes, Nicolette, and Russiet. I understand from Captain Westiron here," she pauses briefly as one of the men in the chairs turns around revealing himself as the Lastwall soldier that the party had met in Crowstump, "That your local tomb was raided and you're looking for the culprits here in Tamran. I've had my agent here, Senrin Sher, keeping tabs on you since you arrived in Tamran." The other seated man, an elf with a shaved head, turns to acknowledge the group. "Please--tell me everything you know." She draws out a quill and holds it above a sheet of parchment on her desk, looking at the Kassenites.
Calaithes digs out the couple of items that they'd carried, the iron mask that had been on one of the bodies, and the handbill advertising for the meet at the Ranger's Lament. "There were only a couple of survivors from the crypt that escaped before we got there. We found these on the other bodies. The men that were killed and re-animated appeared to be hirelings from Tamran. The amulets that were stolen from the crypt appear to have activated a curse, releasing necromantic power in the area."
"When the Everflame was lit, the spirit of Ekat appeared to us. He provided names of his other companions, Iramine and Ithanual. One or the other, or both may be behind this, trying to get all of the parts of the complete amulet. Apparently it is a key to a huge treasure. Iramine I don't know. I believe Ithanual may be my father, although I really don't know him either. I thought I knew 'of' him, but the details I've learned have dispelled that belief."
He stops, apparently caught up in thought about the last statement.
Senrin notes the names, "Iramine and Ithanual? Still alive after so many years. Elves I assume? Did your spirit of Ekat provide any details about either of them?" You notice that his skin is a dusky grey unusual for an elf. His eyes are also a dark grey.
Captain Westiron offers a grave nod of greeting to the adventurers, though nothing more than that at first. His expression is inscrutably stoic as he regards the group, or at least some of them, that he remembers from the alley. His eyes linger a moment on Bohrs in particular, but he diverts his gaze back to the half-elf who explains more of the group's history to date.
He stays silent however, at least at first-- letting them tell their own story-- and letting Senrin Sher speak too. He has a small leatherbound journal held in one gloved hand, and every so often he writes down something that someone says.
By the lighting of the office his features are more clear than the night before: a human man likely on the other side of fifty, a scar across his face, short-cropped gray hair testifying to the pragmatism of a career soldier.
Though his last meeting with the group was somewhat fraught, he doesn't seem inclined to address that past tension immediately.
Russiet was having a hell of a time making herself presentary. The booze still making her world a haze. She kept silent as much as possible, making a point to offer a faint and forced smile to the woman who offered them seats at the lodge. But then it was quickly up to meet their point of contact in the city. As Calaithes explained she frowned. She had neither first hand knowledge of the incident in the tomb, but now that captain from the previous incident was here.
She cast a look over this agent, an unusual elf. This was the only one she did not know.
It did occur to her that she might be forced out of the group. If the newcomers were to join, or if there was to be more people discrediting her. Ugh, was this day going to get even worse?
Bohrs can't help but give an eye roll and chuckle when he sees Captain Westiron in the room. He stifles a much louder laugh by raising his tankard in salute and taking a long sip.
"That's us. Ending curses, resolving ancient grudges and betrayals, fighting river pirates, and ridding society of cannibal demons... or at least, trying to."
Westiron doesn't respond to Bohrs' pointed comment other than a slight twist of his lips-- possibly displeased, possibly wry. He settles back in his chair, eyes raking the others who are present.
The dusk-hued elf is new to him beyond the short period of time they spent in the office before the arrival of the Kassenites. A full elf, and two half-elves in the room as well.... he thinks of Dael. How can he not?
He shakes himself from the thought and leans forwards, elbows resting on his knees. "As you said in the alley, Mister Calaithes-- you believe it is Razmirans who were responsible for the crypt raid, yes? That's of direct interest to me, and to the honored Speaker. They've been active here in Tamran, of late."
Calaithes flips the map over to show the message on the back. "The amulets are entombed with Ekat Kassen and Asar Vergas." "The man that was wearing the iron mask was in grey robes. He was killed by Asar Vergas as he rose from his tomb. His equipment, spellbook, wand and such indicated that he was a mage. I don't know how the church ranks its people, but the iron mask looks like a Razmiran mask to me. Being a mage I'm fairly certain that he wasn't just hired 'muscle'."
The grey-skinned elf picks up the mask. "This does look similar to the masks that they wear when they come out of the temple." A look of disgust crosses his face as he sets the thing back on the table.
"I'm not native to Tamran, but I call it home now. My previous home.... Well, I have no parents now because of them. Tamran welcomed me. Now any enemy of Tamran is an enemy to me as well. The Molthuni of course. And I keep a watch for new groups that enter and act.... strange. The Razmirans? Definitely strange. Too good to be true? Seems to be. They don't like any other Gods." He fingers a silver butterfly on an old necklace. "It almost seems like they are somehow magically creating gold. Helping people. Building their temple really quick. Even donating to the military. But with that they seem to have more money than the Abadarans!"
Tamin clears his throat. "I assure you nobody has more money than the Abadarans," he says very drily, lifting a hand of his own to touch the key that hangs around the neck as an emphasis of the point. "But yes, the Razmirans seem to have been very free with their wealth in very short order. Nothing buys faith in the short-term like the appearance of generosity.... Razmiran is not, as a rule, so eager to give gold to Lastwall when we have asked for aid. It's suspicious, and the only way to get to the bottom of their current largesse may require.... well, let's say a delicate touch. Information gathering. Observation."
Westiron crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. "Possibly from the inside.
"You say you and your friends are skilled at ending curses, resolving grudges, fighting pirates-- and so forth. How are you at infiltration, Mister Kreegan? Or any of you who wish to answer, I suppose."
"We haven't done it yet, but it doesn't mean we can't," Bohrs replies, taking another sip from his tankard. "We have made it this far."
"Hmnn," is Westiron's dry answer to Bohrs' confidence. "Well, by that logic, anything at all might be doable, no?"
He shifts in his chair, leaning forward again, eyes flicking between the Kassenites, Senshin, the speaker, then back to the Kassenites.
"I have a bit of experience at getting into such situations. And my own interest in the Razmirans. I propose a joint operation, if the four of you would allow my presence."
He pauses slightly. "I recognize we last saw each other in a moment of some disagreement. And that you might consider me, mm-- inflexible." The trace of a smile briefly etches the older man's scarred face.
"I will only say that during our last encounter, not all was perhaps exactly as it seemed. I had... certain questions for the ginever that its immediate death would have made it impossible for me to gain answers to. The explanation I gave at the time for why I stayed your blade, Mister Kreegan, was... how shall I put it? People see the armor of a Lastwall knight and they have certain preconceptions. It generally benefits me to play to those expectations.
"But I assure you that I can be a bit less rigid than you might be thinking, if you four will consider an alliance."
He pauses, then looks over to the Speaker and to Senshin Sher, with a quasi-apologetic nod. "Or perhaps it might be five of us? I believe that the Speaker may wish her agent present-- if I am not speaking out of turn, ma'am."
Senrin nods at Westiron's words. "Infiltrating the temple might provide information on them that we haven't been able to get outside of it. If the Speaker allows, definitely count me in. But we'd have to leave... certain things behind." He touches his silver butterfly again and glances at Bohrs and Westiron. "Obviously they won't allow priests from any faith other than theirs to enter. This is, was my mother's. I wear it to honor her and her faith. But if we're pretending interest in joining them...."
Thinking about details he pulls out a Wayfinder. "Likewise anything that they might consider a tie to another organization, real or otherwise. Obvious wealth might also be a concern...." He looks hard at the weapons of the group, Russiet's sword, Nicolette's hammer. "And if you all have anything that could tie you back to Kassen? Definitely need to leave that behind."
He turns to the Speaker, "If this is your wish ma'am? Six new initiates for Razmir?"
"Cayden Cailean doesn't demand his followers announce their allegiance to him at every turn. If I hide my symbol, and pose as a disaffected former believer for the sake of a covert mission against evil, he will not forsake me. He values deeds above words."
Russiet listened carefully. As a cornered person would to any chance of escape. The haze of alcohol being sweat out in the anxiety of the moment.
"One of us..." Russiet said with force behind her words to interject, "Is capable at infiltration. I could pass myself off as almost anything with my skill at disguises. A skill I could provide to the rest of the group as well, though I have no means to pass on talent making the disguise work."
She let a pregnant pause hang before she abruptly decided to explain herself. "I disguise myself daily. It's rather old hat." she added.
"One of us..." Russiet said with force behind her words to interject, "Is capable at infiltration. I could pass myself off as almost anything with my skill at disguises. A skill I could provide to the rest of the group as well, though I have no means to pass on talent making the disguise work."
She let a pregnant pause hang before she abruptly decided to explain herself. "I disguise myself daily. It's rather old hat." she added.
Westiron's grey eyes flick back to Russiet at his (or at least, 'his' in Westiron's perception) abrupt admission. The wiry warrior hasn't spoken much yet compared to the Caydenite and the half-elf. He studies the young man for a moment, then nods, with one corner of his mouth quirking up in a crooked smile. Tamin raises gloved fingers to touch at the scar that zags noticeably across his face.
"This comes off with a bit of hot water and whiskey, as it happens," he says, deadpan. "But the more of us that know how to disguise distinctive features-- or invent them-- the better, certainly. I'm curious as to your disguise, of course, but I expect you've little reason to volunteer the truth of it to me when we barely know each other." (It doesn't occur to Westiron that Russiet's own companions might not know of the disguise.)
Senrin's words of leaving valuable weapons behind are fully accurate, but make Westiron grimace slightly, just the same, his hand straying from his face to the hilt of the clearly well-made sword at his side. He frowns a moment, then shelves that problem as a later one, and looks instead back to the Speaker to see if she has further words.
Senrin focuses on Russiet. "That could be useful. If you have some way to adjust the pallor of my skin? But it would have to be something that would last. They might take your disguise kit away. Maybe if you disguise yourself as a girl though.... You could tell them that you need your make-up."
"Actually, Prestidigitation might work for me. I've never tried it though. If it does maybe you could help, advise me as I make changes. I'm no expert but I've always understood that the best disguise is the simplest. I may be the only Dusk Elf in Tamran and don't want to be recognized."
Aromina Yasgon sits placidly while the six in front of her meet, greet, and discuss potential plans. Every time that there seems to be an opening for her to interject, someone else chimes in, promoting theories, conjectures, and offers of collaboration. When there is well and truly an opportunity for her to take control, she does so with gusto.
"As you have all made abundantly clear, we have aligning interests regarding the Church of Razmir here in Tamran. Lastwall and Nirmathas, and here in Nirmathas at least Kassen and Tamran. Who knows where else these Razmirans have become involved?" She pauses and leans forward on her desk with her chin resting on her hands, a sly grin playing across her face. "Well, I do. But we'll get to that in a moment."
Aromina taps her fingers on her desk. "I agree that a joint operation infiltrating the Temple as initiates would be appropriate, but I have some additional information for you all to consider that may determine who goes and how. Senrin is right about at least appearing to abandon prior allegiances. I'll hold safe anything that you want to leave with me. Holy symbols, treasured items, that sort."
Turning to Russiet, Aromina raises one brow. "Unless you have made yourselves known directly to members of the Church of Razmir, I don't know that disguises are necessary. You can be yourselves. Concealing your intentions may be more important, however. And who knows, disguise could come in handy. I believe Senrin and I have been careful, but counterintelligence is a tricky business."
The Speaker turns back to center and closes her eyes. "Let me provide some context to get us all up to speed. The Razmirans arrived here in Tamran about two years ago. It was originally just a small band of missionaries, but within a few months of proselytizing, they had raised enough funds to build their temple, which was finished about a year ago. They've just been growing ever since."
"Like Senrin, I want to believe that they're just doing good work in this city: feeding the poor, helping cut down on thievery, that sort of stuff. But...it's hard to ignore the darker rumors. I don't mean to cast aspersions on an entire religion, but at least this church has been accused of some nasty things. Blackmail. Extortion. Kidnapping. Maybe more."
"I'm not responsible for the city guards--that would be Speaker Mayslen Torgun--but I asked him to increase patrols around the Temple and investigate them. He insists that he did, and the guards all deny that they've seen anything, but..."
She pauses, frowning. "About two weeks ago, Senrin saw a cobbler near the temple get accused of stealing from the Razmirans. They dragged him inside, claiming he needed to be rehabilitated. No one has seen him since, and according to Senrin his shop has been empty." She shakes her head. "I asked Mayslen about their charter and whether that was permitted, and it is. I don't like it, but it's not considered kidnapping. We've apparently given the church significant leeway in dealing with theft."
Aromina clicks her tongue and sneers. "He seems enamored with them for some reason. Whenever I raise concerns, he insists that everything they're doing is above board, that they're a force for good in the city, for all of Nirmathas. It makes me wonder if they have something on him." A long sigh. "Mayslen is a good man, but I can't help but feel like he's got blinders on just because we've had to spend less on law enforcement and keeping our people fed, which means more funds can go towards fighting Molthune." Her brow furrows.
"So I don't have any concrete evidence of breaking laws or doing anything else untoward. But I've tried. The temple is heavily guarded, and the only people allowed inside are members, so the only way to get in is to join the religion. They interview prospective faithful at the Ranger's Lament. I asked two people I used to serve with to go interview two months ago. They got in after the initial interview, but...they didn't get past the initiation. Apparently, it's grueling. They both quit before they got their masks, so I got no intel. And despite Senrin's best careful efforts outside, we're hard-pressed."
"Now your story answers a question that I had. A few months ago, Senrin saw a group from the temple leave to head north--on foot. It's not entirely uncommon for small groups to leave Tamran, but they usually board boats, probably to get to Razmiran. Anyway, this group returned about a month later, but there were fewer of them than had left. It's hard to prove, but that's probably the group that went to Kassen. And since you found at least one dead Razmiran, that might explain their reduction in force. When they got back, Senrin told me that they hurried back to the temple. One week later, another group left the temple and boarded a boat. They were led by someone in blue robes and a silver mask. If I recall, Senrin, you had never seen that person before. We think that person might be the Temple's leader, but we can't be sure."
"Another one of my contacts--a spy in Caliphas--sent me a missive that this group with the blue-robed, silver-masked Razmiran recently arrived in Caliphas. I suspect that they're looking for this other person--Ithanual. If so, they have a head start on us. Ustalav is far outside my jurisdiction, but it may behoove us to follow them there as well as here."
Aromina looks very serious. "I just don't have enough information yet. If I had concrete evidence of the Church's wrongdoings, I could take it to Mayslen and confront him with the reality. Break him out of this love affair he's got going on." She takes a deep breath. "You're outsiders--unknown to the Church. It feels like an opportunity dropping in my lap to have you all come into my office."
The Speaker waits for a moment to gauge the party's reactions before continuing. "Any of you who decide to infilitrate the Temple should learn as much as you can about what's going on. Play along. Play the part of interested prospective adherents, even if they treat you terribly. Maybe it's all nothing and all of the rumors are unfounded. Maybe they're upstanding citizens. But I'd rather know one way or another. So for now, don't take any needless risks. There are too many cultists to just fight your way in, and I'm almost certain that the city guards would protect them if you engaged them openly."
The half-elf leans back in her chair once more and seems to be coming to the end of her speech. "I don't want to commit you to this for a long time, either. Let's check in in a week and see what progress you've made. Do you have any questions?"
"Thank you, Speaker, that sums it up well," Westiron says thoughtfully. "The two that attempted the initiation already-- can they tell us anything of what to expect? Mr. Sher is right that especially valuable weapons may draw attention-- or greed-- yet all the same..."
A rueful smile flicks briefly across the soldier's normally-stoic face. "--I'd prefer to keep my blade with me if possible, I suppose. Wouldn't we all. But if your previous infiltrators were stripped of weapons, or similar, that would be good to know."
Tamin surveys the others a moment, seemingly about to ask more questions, but holds his tongue for now.
"Mmmm, yes, of course. All initiates are required to donate their worldly possessions--or at least what they're carrying with them--to the Church. They must--oh, how did they put it?--approach Razmir purified. They were locked in a dark room with a small bowl of water and told to fast and meditate. So, deprivation of sensation, sleep, social interaction, and sustenance."
"My disguise is necessary for my peace of mind. Russiet admitted, "I'm just being honest about the fact I have it so I'm not suspect."
There was an amused huff at Senrin's comment about disguising oneself as a girl. Russiet looks about as the speaker finished. "Perhaps it would better serve us to start with the mayor. she reasoned, "If the Razmiran faithful have something on him, or are using some other means of coercion it could implicate them without trying our luck at the temple."
Aromina shakes her head. "I'm afraid I must insist that you avoid investigating Speaker Mayslen outside. Let me focus on him. If you aroused suspicion, it might jeopardize the rest of your infiltration." She shrugs. "Once you're inside, though, who knows how quickly you'll be able to access secrets?"
Another thought occurs to the half-elf and she adds a point. "You don't have as much time as you might like besides. The next meeting at the Ranger's Lament is this evening."
Senrin nods at Aromina's words about Matslen's possible motivation. Any additional funds to fight Molthune would be a powerful motivation. Almost enough to ignore the rumors of evil about the temple....
"As much as I've watched the place I never saw anyone with a silver mask. The blue robes might be important too. We just don't know, yet."
Senrin glances at Tamin when he addresses him formally. "If we're going to do this I think we all should keep it informal. My casual name is Senrin. A hundred years ago if I heard 'Mr. Sher' I would have looked around for my father."
"Good point though about the others that tried. If we know where they failed. ?? As to other equipment that we don't need to bring? Keep in mind that we aren't going on an overland trip. I'll secure my pack, bow and arrows and other weapons, along with most of my coin and special things. If they take my dagger and the few coins, it'll be a small loss. I do plan to bring my book and component pouch since I am a mage. Plenty of wizards can be down on their luck and dispirited, willing to join with a group like the Razmirans."
Calaithes is shaken when Aromina mentions the silver-masked Razmiran stopping in Caliphas, possibly seeking Ithanual? "Six may be too many for the, 'infiltration' to not be suspect."
"If the blue-robed. silver-masked Razmiran stopped in Caliphas, possibly seeking my father Ithanual? That would almost certainly make that person Iramine. She is probably seeking the fourth part of the key. If so, well, there are too many possible answers to that question!"
He glances at Nicolette. "I think Nicolette and I should see if we can catch a ride with Captain Walren and Ewem. We probably won't catch up with Iramine. But if we locate Ithanual, or any that know of him, we might find additional information. Whatever we find we can send information back through the network." He glances at the Speaker with the last statement. He would talk with Nicolette after they left. They might also find information about vampires and possibly her corruption in Ustalav?
"Mmmm, yes, of course. All initiates are required to donate their worldly possessions--or at least what they're carrying with them--to the Church. They must--oh, how did they put it?--approach Razmir purified. They were locked in a dark room with a small bowl of water and told to fast and meditate. So, deprivation of sensation, sleep, social interaction, and sustenance."
Westiron grunts impassively, less than thrilled but not surprised. As the speaker addresses Russiet's suggestion-- which Westiron has to admit is a good one-- he busies himself standing from his seat to unbuckle his sword's scabbard from the main leather of his belt.
"I'll leave my blade with you then, Speaker. I am too fond of it to risk losing it to a worshipper of Razmir. Should I not return alive, I charge you to see it returned to Lastwall, to the Westiron family."
A bit reluctantly, he places the sword on Aromina's desk. Senrin's words make him glance sidelong at the elf.
"I... take your point, Senrin. I admit, I'm considerably more used to being addressed by my surname and rank these days than my personal name. But it is Tamin. On the plus side, nobody among the Razmirans will have heard the name Tamin bandied about either," he says drily. "Regarding your -- slightly unusual coloring-- Dusk elf, you said?-- I do own a selection of pigments, paints, and so forth, but it sounds like Mr. Teloda..."
Westiron pauses. "--Russiet, I suppose-- also has such to help you. If your attempt at magic doesn't work. Either way, I'll assist if I can."
The soldier falls silent a few moments, conducting a mental inventory of what he'll need to take with him versus what would be best left behind at his lodging in town. And there's the matter of his hands, should they take his gloves, he supposes... He's broken from his mental inventorying by the half-elf's words, which make him arch a brow. So they will be four, then, rather than six.... well, a smaller group has its benefits.
Nicolette squeezes Calaithes' hand and nods. She had been uncharacteristically quiet during the meetings' proceedings, but she speaks up now. "I'll go with you, Calaithes." She glances over at Bohrs for a moment before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Aromina smiles. "Give Walren my best. He's a stalwart dwarf and a good friend."
She also grins at Senrin. "Going to have to start addressing you as Mr. Sher, old man."
Senrin glances at Aromina with a grin. "Don't you dare! I'm only a hundred and fifty. For an elf I'm barely past being considered a young adult. I've at least another century before I approach being old!"
"Maybe I should leave my good spellbook behind and take a little one with just a few spells. How much time do we have?"
Tamin remains impassive during the light teasing and the slightly emotional parting that is taking place. At Senrin's question, he answers, "It's middle of the morning now, and we must be at the Lament tonight-- I should say you have a good nine hours, Mr-- Senrin. I myself have some preparations to make, and equipment to reconsider. I would suggest that we don't admit to knowing each other in advance-- we're a rather motley group, after all-- and just pretend that Senrin and myself are strangers to Russiet and to Bohrs? Which, well, we practically are...."
Tamin hesitates a moment, then says, "What should I expect from each of you in a fight? We won't have the benefits a full squad would of past practice with each other, but it's important to at least have some idea. I.... oddly, I can remember very little of that encounter with the gin devil. My head was clouded for much of it. I know that Bohrs is a man of faith, of course, and I seem to recall a rapier, but...
"By your words, Senrin, you clearly have some magic at your command. So shall I assume you are second line rather than first? And you, Russiet?
"For myself, I have some skill with a blade, and I've learned how to disarm a man or drop him to the ground without killing him. I can be quiet as I need to be, or good at talking my way out of trouble."
"Might I ask a favor?" Bohrs pipes up. "I do not want to be without a holy symbol, and there is no way that they will let me keep this." He holds his silver tankard up, and takes another sip. "It is my understanding that holy symbols can be tattooed on the skin by a skilled artist. I would like Cayden's Tankard tattooed on my skin, preferably surrounded by other symbols that might give the impression I am a sailor, or at the very least from a port town: anchors, ropes, ships, seabirds and such. The problem is, I only have about a dozen gold coins to my name. I'm not an expert on tattoos, but I'm guessing this wouldn't be enough. Would it be possible to advance me enough coin to get these tattoos? I will certainly promise to pay back the cost, both in coin and in the access to my deity, and the powers he bestows upon me."
Westiron considers Bohrs' request with an assessing gaze. "I could spot you some of the cost, but I am afraid not all of it-- they are rather expensive, are they not? But up to seventy-five golden crowns, I have on hand. Perhaps consider it a goodwill gesture after, ah, our first meeting."
Senrin gives and almost evil grin to Tamin. "I've learned a bit of magic since coming to Tamran. But my father taught me his trade before the bastards of Pangolais took him to the gallows."
He holds his hands out and shadows stretch out quickly forming a scimitar. Once the blade is formed he moves through a whirl of mock attacks with it, spinning occasionally in almost dance-like movements. "Anyone fool enough to think my dagger is my only weapon won't last long." He stops and lets the scimitar disappear. "I can make any melee weapon, but I've mastered the style with a scimitar better than any other. I can stand the front line with you if needed, or second rank to target any spellcasters or archers that we may face. I am an evoker, but I have a variety of other spells to draw on."
"I also have studied an extensive range of topics and have over a century of experience. I tend to know a bit more than most people on any topic." While that might sound like bragging, Senrin's tone indicates that he is just stating it as fact in case it helps the others to understand his capabilities.
As Calaithes is starting to leave with Nicolette he hears Bohrs' request. He digs in his coin pouch and holds 10 platinum pieces out to Bohrs. "Accept my donation to Cayden Cailean, for the friendship and healing that you've had for me and Nicolette. Hopefully this will help, and your healing skills will make the tattoo fully healed."
- 1 CP to 20 GP?
Russiet was immediately suspicious of her idea being shot down. Her head already filled with insecure and paranoid thoughts, she found herself scrutinizing Aromina. Surely her reasoning that it would be easier to investigate the speaker than an entire secretive cult was corrent.
As Tamin handed over his blade Russiet protectively clutched at the clasp of her dueling sword. Not foolish enough to put her hand to the blade itself, but not by much. "I think Teloda would be the better choice. My proper name is often fumbled by the dim witted." Russiet explained. Pointedly trying to ignore Calaithes and Nicolette as they made their exit from their overall duty in favor of more individual ones.
"As to not knowing each other, I am not the friendliest to newcomers. It would be better to work if we came as a group... with a properly rehearsed story. Otherwise I might prove a liability." she explained with carefully chosen words. The sting to her pride showing.
She did give a wry smile at Senrin's comment of his age. Compared to a dragon, he was but a babe. "I have very little magic." Russiet admitted, "But I can provide simple armor of force and enhancements. My skill is primarily with a blade and shield. Both of which I can replace..." She gives a look to Bohr as he contemplates a tattoo. Would she regret it if she helped him with another purchase? She considered where her purchases had put her current funds...
"Teloda, then, if you prefer that," Westiron says gravely to Russiet. "My apologies if I mispronounced your personal name. And if you feel it's better that we approach as a group, I won't gainsay it-- but the two of you," a nod at Bohrs and Russiet, "have experience that Senrin and I won't, of acting as a group. But then, I suppose we needn't seem like the most practiced group. Perhaps we all found ourselves at drink together, in a tavern, and found we all mutually intended to present ourselves to Razmir? I'm of the understanding that many motley groups started out in taverns, for some reason." Tamin shrugs.
He notes that the young man seems especially attached to his sword, but doesn't comment aloud on it.
As Calaithes is starting to leave with Nicolette he hears Bohrs' request. He digs in his coin pouch and holds 10 platinum pieces out to Bohrs. "Accept my donation to Cayden Cailean, for the friendship and healing that you've had for me and Nicolette. Hopefully this will help, and your healing skills will make the tattoo fully healed."
- 1 CP to 20 GP?
Bohrs accepts the coins from his friend, and pulls him into a hug. he then grabs Nicolette by the hand and pulls her into the embrace as well.
"Safe journey, my friends. May the Drunken Hero's luck be on your tongues, your finger tips and your heels in times of peril and need. If Cayden wills it, we will see each other again, perhaps back home in Kessen."
He releases the two from his grasp, and wipes a tear from one eye.
Aromina shrugs, grinning back at Senrin, allowing the planning to continue. When Bohrs requests funding, Aromina sighs. "Unfortunately, if I provide you funding directly then I need to log it with the city. Otherwise I'd be in violation of several statutes. I'd as soon avoid that for now, if we can." As the others pony up, however, she nods approvingly. Financial things always seemed to work out reasonably well when you had an Abadaran around.
"All right, then. I wish you all the best of luck. If there are no further questions, then I pray I'll see the four of you in a week, no worse for the wear. And to the away team--may our paths cross again under fruitful circumstances. Good luck to you all."
"Any recommendations for tattoo artists capable of doing the work I'm looking for?" Bohrs asks.
"As a matter of fact, I do," Aromina says. "Emerald Bough in the druidic shrine next door should be able to provide what you're looking for. She actually helped to provide the structure of the main hall of this building--the timbers around here are all alive. So if you need assistance, she's someone else to look to."
Tamin glances away out of courtesy during the emotional farewells as the group of Kassenites part ways. They seem ... young to him, or perhaps he's just getting old; he remembers many such farewells now. He busies himself with fishing out a pendant from beneath his tunic-- a smaller and subtler one than the gilt-painted key that hangs around his neck. A moon no bigger than his thumbnail is bisected by a stylized blade. This, too, he places with his sword.
"I have shopping to conduct and other preparations; I may return later, Speaker, to add a note to those items you are holding for me. For now, I'll take my leave, and see the rest of you this evening. I wish you a pleasant... tattooing, Mr. Kreegan."
***
An hour of Westiron's day is spent in Tamran's market stalls, primarily in obtaining a much plainer longsword than the one he has left behind in Aromina's office, but also in getting some lunch for himself-- simple street food from one of Tamran's stalls, spit-roasted fish from Lake Encarthan served on a stick with butter and herbs dripping off it. Westiron walks as he eats, the replacement sword slung over one shoulder, his eyes raking the crowd as he works his way closer to the new temple of Razmir. He pulls his cloak's hood up as he gets nearer and tucks the Abadaran key away; now he could pass for merely another soldier in a city that sees many of them come and then go again.
He settles with his back against the wall of a building that is still some distance from the temple-- he can see the building, but is too far away for monitoring entrance and exits. His goal isn't to see the actual priests come or go-- just to converse with the locals.
The fish now a memory, he buys a few apples from the fruit vendor he's wound up next to, and nods with his chin at the temple. "What do you think of the new temple? Seems to me they're doing a lot more than you see the other gods bothering with."
Tamin spends what is probably a frustrating four hours whiling away the afternoon. Finally he resigns himself that he won't learn much of anything new. Evening is creeping slowly closer, and he has preparations to make back at home. The tall soldier wanders back out through the street traffic, as watchful as when he came.
Tamin approaches the Temple of Razmir near the center of town, generally asking around and getting answers he seems unhelpful. The general tenor of responses are indeed about how much good the Razmirans are doing: injuries healed, a decrease in crime, beggars fed, and that sort of thing.
But the afternoon, for someone looking into more nefarious claims, is not completely for naught.
First, he makes a few observations. It is clear that this is a more prosperous district overall. In addition to the temple and local businesses, there are some wealthy residences lining the streets. The city guard presence here is also higher than outlying areas of town, further evidence that the councilmember Aromina Yasgon had mentioned had at least carried out on his promise to increase their numbers (for better or worse). He also catches his first glimpse of Razmirans moving around in groups. They all wear identical iron masks. The groups number five to seven, with most of their number wearing white robes, but one or two in the group wearing gray or black robes. Two to three of the members of these groups are seen carrying baskets of bread and vegetables, and Tamin watches the groups approaching homeless people and offering them food from their baskets.
Occupying an entire city block, the temple of Razmir itself is an imposing structure. Built of solid stone walls, the building stands two stories tall, with towers positioned every thirty feet along its circumference. These towers rise above the temple itself, each crowned with statues depicting the Living God. The temple has almost no windows, aside from a tall, stained-glass window on the east end depicting the mask of Razmir. The west end of the structure contains a courtyard, only accessible through a sealed barbican. Masked priests patrol the wall tops surrounding the courtyard, watching those below on the busy streets below through their implacable, identical iron masks.
It also looks like the group won't have to look far for the evening destination either. The Ranger's Lament sits in the shadow of the Temple: a simple one-story establishment made from solid wood timbers
Near the end of his fourth hour downtown, Tamin notices that a crowd has gathered in front of the Temple, perhaps waiting for something.
"My thanks Speaker," Bohrs says with a polite bow, and he heads over to the nearby Druidic Shrine.
"Hello? Excuse my intrusion. I'm looking for Emerald Bough?"
When the party splits up for private work Senrin makes his way to the local market. He knows where to go to get the simple items that he needs, an old dagger and a beat up looking traveling spell book. Heading to his home he picks up a meal that he enjoys. Probably won't enjoy whatever food the temple forces them to eat while they are proving themselves.
He gets to the little apartment that he calls home and starts removing the equipment that he won't take. Taking his regular spellbook he sits down at the table to copy spells in the new one. He deliberately ignores the cantrips. He won't be able to change them but it makes more sense that he'd want the spells that he has to recover after casting. Six spells is less than he'd like, but make his story more believable.
Once the book is complete he packs it into his pack. He hangs his sash, silken ceremonial, and cloak of resistance. Stows the rest of his valuable equipment in the small chest by his narrow bed. His traveler's outfit has been mended many times over years and the color adjusted numerous times with his magic. He straps on his belt with the dagger and his spell component pouch. He shrugs at the items in the pouch. The only components that applied to the spells in his lesser book were colored sand and the strip of cured leather. The other components, well, they applied to spells that he supposedly had lost when his equipment had been stolen.
He pulls a hooded cloak on and flips the hood over his head. He wonders how many of his neighbors could describe him. Anytime he came or went he kept his walk casual, neither slow nor fast and apparently ignoring anyone around. Hiding in plain site like he'd been taught.
Getting to the street across from the temple Senrin settles to the ground in a corner to enjoy the food. He can see the people around the temple and Ranger's Lament. He slowly enjoys the food as he watches the area. He'd spent a good number of hours in the area recently, chatting with merchants and common folk. Opinions were mixed. So many of the people had nothing but praise for the obvious good deeds done by the people from the temple. Tamin was right, free food, clothing and such did buy the pretense of faith from the common folk. The preaching? Well, nobody but the actual faithful of any temple liked listening to the proselytizing of the priests.... He'd have to focus hard to keep himself from yawning.