"Korvosa's undesirables?" Gregor questions. "And no, I am not part of their 'merry band', as you put it." He states plainly while contemplating what the face that goes along with the melodious - if predatory - voice and alluring body must look like.
"Back-alley shenanigans fall below the dignity and reputation of an organization such as yours, does it not? Surely none of those down below has angered someone powerful and wealthy enough to hire out the Red Mantis, right?"
Pip followed the children and encouraged them and taught them funny songs as he assisted on another rescue operation. It felt good to be rescuing prisoners and reminded him of the Bellflower Network days.
He fully trusted the paladin to lead them, and often stopped by for tasks to help ease the burden of leading them all safely.
Leading is not for me. I can inspire, but probably shouldn't lead!
Shrike absorbs in silence the news that the Korvosan Guard and Sable Company have made progress but also they are to expect many more Hellknights on the streets soon. Since it is already early evening, she expresses support for beginning to return the children whose families are known and in secured neighborhoods on the following day, and asks Brother Theolan what arrangements will be made for those who have no families to return to, or worse, that have only relatives who do not want or cannot afford to take them back.
Before six months ago, she would not have believed that any could feel that way. By now, if there is just one thing she can agree with her haughtier relatives about, it is that the human race's treatment of their children is, too often, unconscionably shameful. Mentally, she counts up the coins that have come to her as a result of their looting of Lamm's hoard of stolen treasures. It is a wrench to even consider parting with any of that sum, which is a promise of security and safety she has not had in many years, and which she has already begun to think of as her own. But it is not hers. Not while any of these children are in any danger of going hungry or sleeping rough.
Shrike decides to avoid the problem of Audria's mentor's suspicion by simple expedient of not being there if and when he arrives. She leaves the Sanctuary soon after the conclusion of the impromptu meeting.
The fact that the Red Mantis woman had known so much about her had deeply alarmed Lania. Though she has no way of knowing if she has an invisible tail, and there is every likelihood that the gang does not consider it important to find out where she lives, she takes an extremely circuitous route home that involves, among other things, going from the Shingles-connected roof of a particularly warrenlike flophouse into its labyrinthine passages, down into the tunnels below it, and back up to street level two buildings over.
Mamma and Isi have gone to bed when she arrives, but the faithful Junie is still waiting in the kitchen, balancing the household accounts by candlelight. Lania, maskless, comes down the stairs from the bedroom by whose window she entered the house and pauses unnoticed on the threshold for a moment. Had Junie always had so many strands of gray? Had the lines by her mouth been so deep? Her stomach twists.
Then it growls loudly, and Junie looks up, and it is time once more for the dance of scolding and questions and food pressed on her. Lania gives evasive answers between bites of bread and lem, and wonders despairingly how she is going to tell Junie that she may not be home every night from now on. Or ever again.
"While you can never know just how petty someone with influence and wealth can be, I'll admit that isn't the purpose of our little back alley spectacle this afternoon." She steps closer to the edge and sweeps her gaze across the area. "Hmmm, it looks like they might need me, so I'll have to cut this little chat short."
She turns back towards Gregor. "If you're not with the hero team after all, then remember to stay out of the game," she warns softly. Then her feet lift slightly off of the ground, so that she floats a few inches and she simply hovers along the edge of the rooftop before heading out over the alley and descending nearby to the one wearing the bird-like helmet.
The Red Mantis are active in Korvosa! It might be best to let someone know as soon as possible.
Brother Theolan assures they have a good working relationship with one of the four orphanages built by King Eodred during his reign, Budding Roses, and he will bring them there. He trusts the administrator there, Min Marie Renoit. He describes her as a no-nonsense woman who's dedicated to protecting children and has very exacting standards of care and oversight for any children adopted from her facility. The Sanctuary of Shelyn offers continual support during the required transitionary period from orphanage to home for any adopters. While he won't say no to donations, he encourages the party to keep their money as the fund for the orphans is currently well-funded due to the temple's parishioners.
Abella is happy that whole business with the prisoner is concluded. Moral quandaries have never been of particular interest to her, and they tend to get everyone all worked up anyways, so why bother that much?
She is still rather gobsmacked that she has over 350 gold? She is actually…comfortable? On money? What the devil should she spend it on? Cainabeth burns through money like a fireball through paper walls, so Abella always has to be the responsible one. As she will be meeting the Queen, the responsible, smart choice is in fact a fun one: clothes shopping. She starts looking at that lovely shop they stopped in just other day, the one that Butcherbird did not appear to care for.
There are many fine options at Von Heller's. Unsurprisingly, most are rather risqué or borderline scandalous, however many appear to be quite normal. Upon closer inspection, one may discover that even the more modest offerings appear to have extra seams, vents, removable panels, mesh, etc. in unexpected places which may offer tantalizing teases of flesh. Other outfits are indeed fully covered but the wearer will find the cut emphasizes and enhances the shapes of the figure destined to draw the eye.
There is no doubt however, the styling is fresh and the clothing will be considered fine—if one doesn't mind the extra attention they're sure to receive.
While I suspect Shrike will not continue to be cautious and a little paranoid,...
Audria hands the children off with a sheepish grin and a promise that this is the last of the children Lamm had under his thumb. She feels good, satisfied and content in a way that she didn't after helping to end his reign. She hums to herself as she watches the children begin their new lives, free from the streets and free from Lamm.
She finds Olga shortly after, and learns that Bartholomew should be around this evening. Before she can offer any help, she's shooed out the door with some rolls and sandwiches and finds herself at a loss for what to do. Shrike has disappeared and most of the others seem busy with their own dealings. There is one person she finds herself curious about, and seeks him out.
"Hello, Dal," she says when she finds him. "Hungry?" She holds out a sandwich while trying to not lose her grip on the rest of the foodstuffs.
Audria finds Dal with Silver Sven. The oread looks lost and little confused standing in the Sanctuary of Shelyn but otherwise doesn't appear to be in distress. "There is so much wonder and happiness here...are they not aware of the horrors that lie beyond these doors?" the homeless beggar asks Audria when she approaches them.
Audria is immediately reminded that Sven may benefit from a chance to bathe and perhaps some mouthwash.
"Yes, which is why this is a sanctuary from said horrors," she says before realizing she's saying exactly what Brother Theolan told her when she asked a similar question. "You look like some food and a bath would do you a lot of good, Mister Sven." She offers Sven a sandwich as well.
Sven takes the sandwich with wide eyes and stares at it for several seconds. Then he clutches it to his chest like a beloved treasure then looks at Audria. A single tear rolls down the oddly grainy skin of his face.
"Have I told you the moon is dead? She saved us." His gravelly voice is barely a whisper.
Gregor watches the obviously dangerous woman descend to the alley floor, staying to observe the interaction between the Mantis and the would-be heroes.
The Red Mantis active in Korvosa...that can't be a good sign for anything. the investigator thinks to himself. The Guard needs to be aware of this...seems like my next stop is to have a chat with Hammond.
Gregor continues to watch and is shocked by the graceful, brutal efficiency of the woman as she fluidly beheads the one referred to as "Green".
"Definitely have to talk to Hammond...and damned soon at that. he says to himself as he slips away from the scene to do just that.
Gregor is quick to notice a significant increase of Hellknights and their armigers marching in file through the streets. He is fortunate to possess a writ (thanks to Hammond) allowing him past the mobile barricades at The Line allowing him to keep his weapons through the tightly controlled areas. He is challenged several times by different groups of Hellknights, who view the writ and then dismiss Gregor easily as they move on to persecute question those without lawful papers.
Upon arrival at his destination, one of the other constables in the precinct, a tough looking female with orcish blood, nods at Gregor in recognition and simply throws a thumb over her shoulder indicating one of the interview rooms. Gregor enters seeing it has been temporarily converted into a small office and Hammond sits next to a mountain of paperwork at a small fold-up table. A second table and an empty chair suggest Hammond has been sharing the space with someone else, but they are presently not in the room.
Hammond looks up at Gregor's arrival and grunts.
"Why do I get the feeling I already regret hearing whatever you're about to tell me, Trevian?"
[Hammond's] once-handsome face bears the marks of a few years of service, displaying a few subtle scars earned in the line of duty. Hammond's hair, graying at the temples, is kept meticulously trimmed, showcasing his commitment to discipline and professionalism. His eyes, a warm shade of hazel, possess a discerning gaze that reflects his attention to detail and ability to assess situations quickly. His uniform, though slightly worn from daily wear, is always clean and neatly pressed, reflecting his respect for the role he plays in upholding the law.
I'm going to have to ask Brother Theolan about that, Audria thinks to herself when she hears Sven tell her about the moon saving them, and apparently dying in process. She smiles as she sees the man tearing up, and wonders how long it had been since he'd had a decent meal.
"Feel free to eat as much as you like, Mr. Sven" Audria says, "Mrs. Olga gave me more than I can eat by myself."
Part relieved and part aggravated by the increased presence of law enforcement in the city, particularly in the case of the Hellknights that have shown up in force, Gregor makes his way through the city toward Hammond's precinct.
When he is stopped by the Hellknights, he is more than just a bit thankful for the writ of passage Hammond had provided him.
Arriving at the precinct, he returns the nod to the large half-orc female. "I trust things are going as well as they can be under the circumstances, Helga?"
Moving the direction Helga indicated, Gregor sees Hammond busily shuffling through mounds of paperwork. Taking note of the empty chair, the investigator has a seat.
When Hammond grunts and gives his customary not-so-warm welcome to Gregor, the investigator feigns a hurt look on his face before shrugging and admitting, "Because that is generally the case when I'm meeting you here instead of bar."
A moment later, Gregor starts in, "I know you are busy and already have more than enough to worry about, but I felt it was important someone else know this...the Red Mantis is active in our fair city, Hammond. Two of the assassins I know of and apparently they are recruiting. I happened upon them while tailing another group of interest to an ongoing investigation."
Knowing full and well Hammond was about to admonish him for his unoffical investigations, Gregor adds, "This one is of personal interest to me, not anything that would be interfering with Korvosan Guard business. Anyway, like I said, thought someone in the Guard should know about the Red Mantis presence."
Pip stops in his tracks as he moves to Sven. He repeats in shock
"The moon is dead??"
He approaches Svens and sits down, any time is a good time for a snack. Pip fulls out a 'snack pack' that contains and entire roasted chicken and pulls of legs to offer to Sven as he eats the wings, his favorite part.
"Tell me more after you have had plenty to eat."
The priest had mentioned sending the children to Budding Roses. And when he called Renoit “no-nonsense” Dal almost choked on his own spit. Dal had never had more than a passing interaction with the woman and it had been enough to convince him that she did not exactly approve of how he helped those in need. But he had never heard a negative word about the woman in regards to how she cared for her wards and that was enough.
The children were safe. Knowing that most of them would never be called a Lamb again…
Pockets rubbed against Dal’s leg.
Joy…no more than that…
Exultation
”Me too, bud. Me too.” Dal took a seat against the wall and the feline took the opportunity to climb into Dal’s lap.
"Hello, Dal," she says when she finds him. "Hungry?" She holds out a sandwich while trying to not lose her grip on the rest of the foodstuffs.
Dal looked up, “Always. Thanks.” He took the sandwich and, using one knee as a table, pulled a strip of meat from between the bread which went straight to the purring creature currently kneading its own loaf on Dal’s thigh. Dal put the sandwich back together and took a large bite.
Sometimes the little things or actions reminded Dal just how rough so many Korvosan’s had it nowadays and how he had not done enough for the people. It had only been a few hours since he had sat with Sven in a cafe while the oread devoured a quarter of a chicken with some side and a mug of ale. And still, the sandwich meant so much to Sven.
"Tell me more after you have had plenty to eat."
Dal nodded and suddenly felt self-conscious. “Please, eat your fill first.”
Pockets licked his lips and looked up at Dal then to Pip.
Jealousy
“Nope. You can ask,” Dal took another bite and purposely avoided the cat’s gaze until he hopped up to pester Pip. But not before Pockets dug in his claws one last time.
There are many fine options at Von Heller's. Unsurprisingly, most are rather risqué or borderline scandalous, however many appear to be quite normal. Upon closer inspection, one may discover that even the more modest offerings appear to have extra seams, vents, removable panels, mesh, etc. in unexpected places which may offer tantalizing teases of flesh. Other outfits are indeed fully covered but the wearer will find the cut emphasizes and enhances the shapes of the figure destined to draw the eye.
There is no doubt however, the styling is fresh and the clothing will be considered fine—if one doesn't mind the extra attention they're sure to receive.
Abella picks out some white leather pants with side vents down the side strung together. For the top, the material is a little too shear, but the gold woven vest in the middle keeps it more tantalizing than scandalous.
The eroticized effect is somewhat dulled though when she actually wears them. You see, her skin is white, too. Not white in the colloquial sense, but actually horribly, sickly, palely, white. So the vents on the legs look like they might just be showing off leggings underneath them, and only by really leaning in close and staring can you see that the white of her skin is different from the white of her shirt. She herself does not notice this effect on either piece as she can tell the difference between her skin and the white of the clothes, so why shouldn’t everyone else be able to? Cainabeth would always have been there to point out such problems with clothing, to the point Abella learned not to even consider them. In fact, she cannot remember a single time she shopped for clothes without Cainabeth. Probably as she would have had to fight off Cainabeth to keep her from coming.
So satisfied with her purchases, she heads off to a bookstore. There are several subjects that she would like to read some surveys on for her own edification.
Audria sits next to Dal and Sven, then balks when she sees Pip pull a whole roasted chicken out of his pack. She shakes her head then tears into her own sandwich, only now realizing how hungry she is after the long day.
She chuckles as she sees Pockets begging for food, though a part of her feels a pang of... something, loneliness, perhaps, without Talanaliel there with her. The bird had flown off after seeing where Audria was heading, though Audria couldn't blame her. Talanaliel is a little bird, and Pockets is a cat, however intelligent.
But she has come here for a reason, and not just to enjoy Dal's, Svens' and Pip's company.
"Dalmano, yes," she asks, confirming what she heard earlier. "Do you mind me asking why you were looking for those children, too?"
Pip smiled at Dal as he seemed to have manners, something lacking in assassins and street thugs and imps he had run into recently. He realized there was a hungry cat too. He reached into his pack and removed the baked rolls he always saved with a jar of fresh plum preserves. He slathered the rolls with preserves and offered them to everyone.
"They say these preserves are good for keeping your innards working. I don't know what that means, but it must be good."
He reached in and found a jar of pickled fish and popped that too. He didn't know if cats like that, but he got hungry as the smell of onions, brine, and garlic hit his nose. He spoke to the cat as if expecting it to understand his words.
"You can just eat out of this jar. Cats are cleaner than most people I know. Yes, its got funny stuff in it to make it last."
His eyes narrow slightly emphasizing the crow's feet which have started to form. They dart towards the open door and those at outside of it. He rises quickly and shuts the door to the interview room. He turns back to Gregor who can see the concern in his eyes.
"Whatever you're about to tell me, tell no one else, even other members of the Guard, unless you can trust them one hundred percent." Hammond peers at the investigator intently as he retakes his seat. "The...organization you mentioned are usually ghosts. Most people would never even see them when they operate. Unless they are the target. If you witnessed them and lived...that's concerning. I mean, I'm glad you're alive, of course, it's just..." The constable raises a hand to his lip, fingers curled. His eyes dart around as if trying to piece something together. "Their appearance right on the heels of the king's death? The organization refuses all contracts on the lawful heads of government, but it can't be a coincidence."
He raises his eyes back to Gregor.
"Now tell me everything you saw."
Pockets had run out of the room and down the hallway. He sure is a fast little bugger. Dal did his best to keep up as Pockets raced around the building where Dal lived. Eventually, Pockets stopped, looked at Dal, and then leaped out of an open window. Shocked, Dal raced over to find Pockets looking at him from a narrow landing as if waiting and then jumped up higher. Then he waited gazing down at Dal with the thin envelope? card? something flat still in his jaws.
Dal realized Pockets was trying to get him to follow, and despite any fears, he found himself following and carefully climbed out on the ledge and up as Pockets then led him into The Shingles, the unplanned causeway above the streets below. Once there, Pockets again resumed his zooming only leaving himself visible long enough for Dal to see him before running off again. Suddenly, the cat dropped off the side of a building, causing Dal's stomach to do flip-flops worried the nimble kitty had finally lost his footing. As he leaned over, he saw Pockets sitting comfortably on a balcony so compact it surely was only decorative licking his paw to clean his face. The large window attached was open with the curtains pulled back. The item Pockets had been carrying now rested beside him. Clearly, Dal would not be able to reach either the cat or what appears to be a card of some type with words scrawled on the back without climbing down.
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Just as the winds calm before a storm, so to was the odd silence of the preceding days akin to the Hell Night as 11 Desnus would soon be called. The roar of the riots and the activity of the mobs explodes as the moon rises; Korvosa burns with an angst as maligned citizens take to the streets to violently protest the ascension of a ruling queen who openly despises the lower classes. Surprisingly well-coordinated attacks on those guarding The Line (the area considered under control) approaching City Hall, the Acadamae, and Castle Korvosa erupt around the city. And in the face of the mob, the Korvosan Guard and the Sable Company are vastly outnumbered as well as hampered by knowing these are their neighbors, friends, perhaps even family who fight against them hoping for change. Can the natives of Korvosa truly prevail against their own kin or will they fall without the heart to maintain the status quo...?
The answer is to remain unknown. Enter the Order of the Nail. As if waiting for these very events of disorderly and savage actions by the citizens (perhaps precisely that), the Hellknights march into Korvosa in astonishing numbers. And where the other law enforcement bodies held back, Hellknights do not even remember how. With brutal efficiency, the mobs are quelled and scattered; their spilled blood and broken bones a testament to the terrible and powerful doctrine maintained by the Order of the Nail.
By dawn, the sounds of riots and the mobs and fighting are gone, leaving only the wailing of mourners, the smell of smoke and blood, and the sound of a thousand marching feet.
This is not required if you do not wish as usual, but since you all seem to enjoy flexing those creative muscles, I figured most of you will do it. :)
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“If you want us to play with some new toy, you have to actually give it to me first.” Dal called down to Pockets. The quaver in his voice belied his attempt to appear calm. When the cat showed no signs of acknowledging him, Dal sighed and started the descent to the tiny ledge below.
As a kid, Dal had been one of the better climbers in the Lambs but, once he left that life behind, Dal’s climbing skills had atrophied. The last time he had been up there, Dal’s foot had caught on a loose brick and he had nearly plummeted to his death. Combine that with the fact that the Shingles brought back some of the worst memories and he had more than enough cause to keep his feet on the ground as much as possible.
Dal lay flat on his belly and shifted his weight so that his legs hung over the edge of the rooftop. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt around for the ledge with one foot. “A little…help…please…” Dal grunted.
Dal watched with curiosity as Pockets put on a show of being a sweet kitty for Pip. “Other cats might be cleaner but I’ve seen him eat his own vomit right before licking his whole body.”
Pockets’ tail curled around Pip’s arm and the purring was audible even to Dal a few feet away. Such a sweet boy.
Offended
Dal chuckled and took a bite of the roll, getting a large chunk of plum in the preserves. He chewed before answering Audria’s question, “Shurr, Ah wush-” he gulped down the bite, “Sorry…sure, I was looking for them because I heard that someone took out Gaedren and, unless whomever offed the bastard was kind enough to take them in, I knew that they’d all be completely alone.” He took a second, smaller bite and watched as Pockets shoved his face into the jar of pickled fish before continuing.
"Plus, I wanted to apologize to all of them. Tell them all that I’m sorry for not doing more sooner. That all my little schemes and ploys to undermine Gaedren meant nothing when they were still trapped in his clutches.” Dal forced himself to meet Audria’s gaze, “Sorry that no amount of kind words or coins ‘accidentally’ dropped in the market could make up for the fact that I got out and I was too scared of a sick old man to protect them.”
Audria worries her bottom lip as she tries to think of what to say. It wasn't as if she and the others had been successful in getting of those children to safety in the Sanctuary that night. Nor is it as if Dal is the only one feeling guilty about their indecision and hesitancy when it came to dealing with Gaedren Lamm. If it hadn't been for Talanaliel pushing her, she'd never have gone to Zellara's.
"Kind words and a few coins did a lot more than you think," she says, remembering how he had complimented her on her hair. "And it isn't Lamm that you had to worry about, Yargin and Hookshanks were spiteful and cruel, and Giggles, well, he almost took my head off when I fought him." She shivers as the memory of getting hit by that wicked flail of his comes back to her. "Then there was the dog, Bloo. He was always a mean one, though I heard someone from the Academae say that familiars and pets take after their masters once."
She looks over to the section of the church that'd been converted into a dorm for the children while things are being sorted out and relatives of the children found.
"But if you really want to apologize, I'll go with you. They're all right over there," she says as she nods her head in their direction.
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"Uh, who are you?"
Turning, Dal sees a young woman with very short blonde hair, brown eyes wide with surprise sitting at an easel. She's fairly attractive and dressed in comfortable clothes covered by a smock currently splattered with a great deal of color.
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"Mister Sven, I don't think Misses Olga, Brother Theolan, or Sister Jenelyn would let that happen as long as you're here," Audria assures the man. "There's no reason to go hungry tonight. Please, eat. You've more than earned it."
But when Pockets starts making eyes at Pippip's chicken, she not-very-inconspicuously snags a small strip of roasted skin from the fowl and tears it into small bits before kneeling down and offering it to the clearly well-nourished cat, piece by piece. She stays still and patient, with her head turned away from him, to let him approach in his own time once he catches the scent of it in her hand.
Though Audria's suggestion confuses her. The man looks too old to have known any of the current Lambs. Why would any of the children care about an apology from a strange adult? Coin's worth more than words. But she doesn't say that. Her plans to make sure even the ones returned to their families have a little rainy day funds are her own, and what the others plan to do with the money isn't her business. Instead she says quietly, "Not too late to help take them home."
Audria sighs as pushes one of the sandwiches into Shrike's hands anyway.
"You don't have to eat it here or now. I just can't eat everything Misses Olga gave me." She smiles at the masked vigilante. "Besides, I don't think I've seen you eat anything all day."
She's about to add more when the doors at the entrance of the Sanctuary slam open, drawing everyone's attention.
Even though things seemed to be calming down, Bartholomew Holdt silently thanked Iomedae that his children had moved to the town of Harse when they had married each morning since King Eodred's passing. In all of his years serving as a Sable Company Marine, he'd never seen the city fall into madness and chaos like this. He could understand, even sympathize, with the protestors and revolutionaries calling for Queen Illeosa to be deposed or to abdicate, but ultimately he was a man of order and the rule of law. The riots, violence, and looting were inexcusable in his eyes, and he'd gladly stood up and agreed when his friends and comrades within the Sable Company and the Korvosan Guard asked for his help. As much as Olga, his wife, might wish otherwise, he couldn't have done anything else and be the man she loved.
Evening is falling now, and despite the progress the Guard and marines have made in restoring order, he still feels an itch he can't quite scratch. Bartholomew shifts uneasily as he listens to a young lieutenant discuss the day's events and progress with his more seasoned sergeants. Paranoia is not a part of his personality, and it bothers him that he feels can't shake the feeling of something building below the seemingly calming surface.
"Armor too heavy for you, Mauler," a marine in his late thirties teases. "Surely you haven't gotten soft in the years since you retired."
"No, it's--" Bartholomew replies, but finds it hard to put his concerns into words, or at least words that wouldn't make him look paranoid. "I dunno, Geralt. There's something off and I can't put my finger on it." His gray beard and mustache bristle as he grimaces. "It feels like there's a storm brewin', but I can't find a darn thing to tell me why."
Geralt's grin fades as he listens. He'd know Bartholomew ever since the older man had taken him under his wing nearly twenty years ago, and this uncertainty from his one-time mentor and friend bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
"Are you sure it's not just nerves? Last I heard the Sanctuary's safe enough. They've organized some sort of militia and are defending the area around it from what I've heard."
"Maybe. They have managed to keep things calm in their part of North Point, but The Line hasn't reached them yet," Bartholomew explains. He ponders the possibility for a moment, and the tales his wife has relayed to him about a certain young Shelynite in particular that she's overheard. He isn't worried overly much about Audria. With Talanaliel keeping an eye on her, he is certain that she should be able to keep out of trouble.
Then again, she's been looking for the Lambs that appear to have scattered the night King Eodred died, and there's Gaedren Lamm's own murder and the death of his little gang. Audria never told me much about her time before coming to the Sanctuary, and Olga never got anything from Eliana, either. It can't be a coincidence that she shows up with several strangers and a gaggle of kids in tow the same night Lamm appears to have been killed and partly feed to that overgrown lizard he kept as a pet.
"Maybe," Bartholomew says again, his hand wringing the haft of his eponymous maul. "But we both know Korvosa's been getting wound tighter and tighter ever since the rumors of King Eodred's health declining started cropping up. For that matter, ever since he married Queen Illeosa and couldn't seem to produce an heir."
Before Geralt can reply, a young woman in the uniform of the Guard bursts into the tent.
"Lieutenant Jeggare! There's a mob running riot in Midland! The Field Marshal doesn't think she can hold them and is requesting that anyone able come aid in suppressing and dispersing the rioters."
Geralt turns to look at Bartholomew who only nods grimly. It seems his hunch was right, unfortunately.
Brother Theolan hurries from his office to the entrance of the temple. Talanaliel rides on his shoulder, her update on what Audria has been up to interrupted by an ill omen, a premonition of blood and fire that has so disturbed Shelyn's emissary she still shivers as if freezing. The commotion only adds to his haste. The normally pleasant and serene smile on his face has been replaced by a grim expression. He had hoped that things would calm down and return to normal soon, that the temple to his goddess he'd been entrusted to protect and care for, the parish he'd been blessed to minister to, would escape the worst of the storm blowing through Korvosa.
He'd hoped in vain, it seems.
He pushes through the crowd beginning to gather to see what is happening and finds Bartholomew Holdt, armed and covered in blood, giving orders to the men watching the doors.
"Don't just stand there! Get runnin'," Bartholomew growls to the two men before turning to face Brother Theolan. The men sprint out the door on whatever errand Bartholomew has sent them on.
"Bartholomew, what's going on. Are you hurt?" the priest asks, dread forming in his belly as he sees the grim set of the man's face. He'd known Bartholomew for years, and he'd never seen the man look this way.
"There's a mob comin', burnin' and pillagin' whatever gets in there way. The Guard and the marines can't hold it. We're on our own. Where's Audria?"
"What? No! She's not ready for this," Brother Theolan protests, guessing what Bartholomew intended for the young woman.
"We're goin' to need everyone who can hold a spear and stand in a line to protect the people in here," Bartholomew says, biting off the words like ice. "Besides," he adds, his voice turning even deeper and more gravely as he pins the priest where he stands with a basilisk gaze, "that didn't seem to keep you from lettin' her run around these past few days."
Brother Theolan sighs, withering underneath that dread glare.
"Get every able body you can spare," Bartholomew told the priest, his expression and voice softening, but still grim. "From what I've seen, this lot don't much care who they kill. We can't let them past the barricades."
He turns to Audria, feeling some relief at seeing her unharmed, as she pushes through the crowd and sees him.
"Grab your blades, girl," he tells her, "The Hells are comin' and we need to hold them back."
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Knowing the problems inherent in any organization the size of the Korvosan Guard, at least in terms of those who would seek to benefit themselves regardless of whomever else those actions might harm, Gregor nods and begins to speak to Hammond in a hushed tone. "There is a small group, possibly a gang that I have been investigating for a personal matter. It would seem those individuals encountered a pair of Mantis recruits in the alleyway in the Warehouse district who were harassing a pair of locals. The targets of my investigation did what they could to help the locals - their motive unknown to me. While I was watching, I felt a blade at my neck and turned to see an alluring woman, well would be alluring save for the mantis-head mask she was wearing." Gregor explains.
The investigator continues, "She did not give a name, but did refer to the targets of my investigation as 'would-be-heroes'. She claimed to watch a game...a recruitment test of sorts. Outside of that, I do not know why they are here, but they are here nonetheless."
Audria stands beside Bartholomew as he looks over a hastily drawn map of the area the Sanctuary sits in. The smell of blood, smoke, and death stings her nose as the cries of dying or terrified people cut through the murmuring roar of the mobs rioting throughout the city. She has not seen combat yet, but the mob Bartholomew warned about had tried breaching the barricades twice. A dozen of them lay dead on the streets before those defenses. Several of the men and women manning the barricades had been injured as they fought off the mob, two badly enough that Brother Theolan was not hopeful about their chances of living through the night.
Her belly twists as she hears a crescendo of violence not far off. Talanaliel had been tasked with scouting out beyond the barricades, and the young paladin is more nervous than she thinks she should be without the thrush on her shoulder. One of her hands tightens around the hilt of one of her swords as she tries to steel her nerves.
"It's not close enough to be at our lines," Bartholomew tells her without looking up from the map and the various items on it depicting the defenders and the barricades that had been set up. Audria flinches at the sound of his voice, and despite the chaos and death of the night so far, the former marine chuckles.
"Relax, Audria," he says. "You're more nervous than a drakelin' in an imp den." He looks her in the eyes as the moment of levity passes. "You're only gonna wear yourself like that. Take a deep breath and try to put the worry out of your mind."
Audria nods and takes a slow, deep breath to fill her lungs. The knot of worry she feels melts away as she lets it out in a long, slow sigh. The worry is still there, but it is manageable now. She starts to thank Bartholomew for the advice, but a runner from one of the barricades arrives with a report. Two rival gangs trying to take advantage of the rioting were fighting only a few dozen yards from the line of defense.
Over the next fifteen minutes, more runners, one from each barricade, arrive and give a report on what is going on. As the last one runs back to the one she'd been assigned to, Bartholomew frowns. Five minutes pass, then ten.
"Audria, go see what's going on at the Andoran Blue Street line. They're late with their report," Bartholomew tells her.
She nods and hurries off. The Andoran Blue Street barricade was the furthest of the barricades from the Sanctuary of Shelyn, and the fastest route to it was through a winding set of alleyways. She misses Talanaliel's eyes more than she cares to admit as she hurries down the dark alleys between the buildings.
Audria: 24/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 16/16 HP
Thug 1: 16/16 HP
Thug 2: 16/16 HP
A sound, the scuffle of a boot on cobbles, the rustle of fabric, or the clink of mail, comes from up ahead. Audria skids to a stop and draws her longsword. The hair on the back of her neck rises as every instinct she has screams that something is very, very wrong here.
"Show yourself," she demands, putting as much steel into her voice as she can muster. Part of her notes that at least it doesn't crack, even if it lacks the authority and hardness that Bartholomew could manage.
The arrow comes streaking from the shadows, glinting red in the dim light reflecting off the smoke above, creating a hellish sky over the city. Without thinking, Audria reacts, cutting the arrow from the air with cat-like quickness. She cannot make out the features of the figure she now sees grabbing another arrow from a quiver, but she recognizes the voice as she gives a command.
"That's her! Kill the b#@+@."
Audria moves back, putting as much distance between her and her attacks as she can without taking her eyes off of the woman from The Embercat's Fancy. She holds her sword ready and adopts a defensive stance, readying a counter should anyone come charging at her.
Audria: 24/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 16/16 HP
Thug 1: 9/16 HP
Thug 2: 16/16 HP
She needn't wait long; two burly men wielding crude daggers charge at her. Despite being surprised and outnumbered, Audria parries the first attack and gashes the thug's arm before taking a step back, turning to face the other thug, and knocking his attack aside. A loud crash and a vile curse come from the woman's position, but Audria loses track of her with two enemies occupying her attention. She's outnumbered and slower, thanks to the armor she wears. They intended to kill her and may have even killed others this night, and she cannot just run away, even if she had a hope of escaping.
"I guess asking for your surrender isn't going to work," she says, sparking a cruel laugh from the two men.
"Shame we can't have fun with this one," the uninjured thug says. Audria's eyes flash with iridescent color as she strikes.
Audria: 24/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 16/16 HP
Thug 1: 9/16 HP
Thug 2: 16/16 HP
Audria's swing misses, eliciting another bark of laughter from the thug as he dances back out of the way. She backs away from the thugs and puts her back to the alley wall, hoping to make it harder for the woman to get off a clean shot and for the two thugs to surround her.
The first thug snarls at his partner.
"Get behind her, asshat!"
The second thug laughs, and Audria realizes her error too late when he skirts around her, just out of reach. She should have stayed in the middle of the alley. Now she has one of them at her back while the other comes at her front. She bats the first thug's dagger out of line and nearly takes his fingers. She ducks and twists as the second thug comes at her back. Wretched steel squeals as the backplate of her breastplate turns the blade aside.
Audria: 24/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 16/16 HP
Thug 1: 0/16 HP (Staggered)
Thug 2: 16/16 HP
Audria knows that she might be opening herself up to attack, but she also knows that she's certain to be killed if she doesn't get out of the flank. She reverses her turn, steps out into the middle of the alley, and stands next to the first thug. She lunges forward as he tries to turn to follow her movements, and the point of her sword dives into the thug's chest, piercing armor, flesh, and his lung. He goes pale as shock hits him like a sledgehammer. The second thug's eyes go wide as he realizes how dangerous Audria truly is.
Just as she expected, another arrow comes flashing out of the shadows further down the alley. Her sword once again flashes as she knocks the arrow aside. Before the second thug can take advantage of the momentary distraction, Audria turns to face him. The first thug coughs up blood as he shakily shuffles away from Audria, looking at her with a mixture of fear and hatred.
"'Thoa's bloody tits, Ember! You said she'd be a f!~$in' easy mark," he screeches, his voice a falsetto thanks to panic. He curses and rants at both Audria and the woman, Ember.
Audria tries to follow the woman's movements out of the corner of her eye, but she dares not take her eyes off the two thugs. As hurt as the first one is, he is still armed and on his feet, and the second is uninjured. She weighs her options. She could try making a break for it, but she has no idea what they might do then, and then there's the missing runner. Did they have something to do with that? No, she can't run. They're behind the perimeter of the barricades, and they're too dangerous to just let roam free.
"You hear me, you 'Gug-rutted cunt! You owe us triple," the second thug hollers as rage begins to overcome panic.
Audria: 24/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 16/16 HP
Thug 1: -1/16 HP (Dying)
Thug 2: 16/16 HP
Audria steels her nerves and goes after the first thug, intending to knock him out. She has to dance back as he gives one last desperate lunge at her. The strain proves too much, and he coughs up more blood—a lot more blood—before collapsing to the cobbles. The second thug, rage burning through his fear, comes at her and wildly swings his dagger at her face. She twists out of the way, then spins out of the path of another arrow as some sixth sense warns her of its coming. It skips along the cobbles, just barely missing the dying thug.
Audria: 24/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 16/16 HP
Thug 1: -1/16 HP (Stable)
Thug 2: 9/16 HP
Audria loses track of the woman as she turns her focus on the remaining thug. He screams as her counter to his clumsy attack opens a shallow cut from hip to opposite shoulder. It's not life-threatening, the blade hasn't bitten that deep, but it is painful. The thug spits and swipes at her with the dagger again with as little effect as before.
"F%&~in' hells! Embercat! You ain't payin' enough for this 'Gug-damned gob-shit!" He steps back, his face twisted with pain, hatred, fear, and anger. No reply comes from Ember. Audria's voice nearly causes the thug to wet himself.
"Do you yield," she asks, her voice cold as winter and her eyes flashing with the colors of the rainbow.
Audria: 17/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 16/16 HP
Thug 1: -1/16 HP (Stable)
Thug 2: 2/16 HP
Audria's eyes narrow, and her voice goes colder still as she tries to force the man to give up.
"Yield."
The thug screams in defiance and fear as he rushes her; the dagger is batted aside easily enough, and her counter as he runs past her leaves him grievously wounded. His attack was distraction enough for the woman, Ember or Embercat from the thug's ravings, to finally score on Audria. Even so, the arrow only gashes her in the shoulder as she reacts just a second too slowly to dodge or intercept the missile. The attack is enough to let the thug get away. As much as she loathes letting him run free, he is no longer a threat to her, but the woman with the bow certainly is.
Audria: 17/24 HP
Kaitlyn "Embercat" Enbresi: 12/16 HP
Thug 1: -1/16 HP (Stable)
Thug 2: 2/16 HP
Audria's sword clatters on the cobbles as she grabs her bow and nocks an arrow. The woman's eyes go wide as she sees Audria take aim and realizes that range isn't promising the safety she thought it would. She flinches as the arrow slices her cheek open. With her two fellow assailants now either running or incapacitated, the woman finds her heart gone from the fight. She runs down the alleyway and turns to follow the running thug down a side lane.
Audria stands there, breathing heavily, as she realizes the fight is over. She turns to the thug who had fallen and sighs. She hadn't wanted to kill him, and his death weighed on her conscious like the other two people she'd killed.
She looks around the alley and hears a groan from further up. She sees a young man, only a year or two older than her, in the robes of an acolyte of Shelyn. He stirs and hisses in pain as he comes to blood stains the robes dark, but it seems that his wounds are less serious than they first appear. She rushes over to him, grabbing her sword along the way.
"Audria," he asks weakly. With his voice, she's able to place him. Zacharias Terrecchio, a level-headed poet who had joined Shelyn's Clergy after abdicating as the heir to his family's admittedly minor titles when he realized he didn't have the talent nor the drive his younger brother has where the family business is concerned. Bartholomew had assigned him as a runner for the Andoran Blue Stree barricade, thanks to his athleticism and lack of martial training.
"We need to get you to the healers," she says as she wipes off the blade of her sword and sheathes it. She helps him to his feet, and walks beside him to help him maintain his balance. "What happened, Zach," she asks as they pass where the fallen thug lies.
"Not sure," he mutters. "I was comin' to give the report, nothin' much was happenin', and then I felt this burnin' pain, then nothin'."
Audria listens for a moment but can't hear any signs of combat.
"I think they're safe enough for the moment. You, on the other hand, look like you're half-dead," Audria tells him. Zacharias chuckles and gives her a weak, but genuine, smile.
"Perhaps I should pen a poem 'bout it. The Epic of Audria the Valiant Canary, I think I shall call it," he tells her, laughing a little too hard as he coughs and grimaces in pain a moment later.
"I think you can worry about that later," she says, worried that he might reopen some wound. "Just focus on not dying, please."
"I'll try," he promises her.
A few minutes later, she arrives back in the square where the Sanctuary of Shelyn sits. Bartholomew looks up from the table where he'd been placing a piece as he listens to another report as two of the men in the reserve run over to help Audria with Zacharias. Bartholomew hurries over as well.
"What happened," he demands.
===
Audria sits on a cot in a tent that has been set up as a makeshift infirmary. Her injury, though deeper than she first thought, is minor compared to the stab wounds that Zacharias suffered. She knows he is lucky to be alive.
Bartholomew had sent four men to find out what was happening at the Andoran Blue Street barricade after listening to Audria explain what happened. They'd found the thug who'd fallen, and she was shocked to discover he was still alive. The revelation that she'd left an injured and possibly dying man, no matter how wicked he may be, behind shook her even more than she had when she thought she had killed him. Bartholomew sent her to the healers then, and promised to talk to her once this night was over and things had calmed down some.
Thankfully, the two who had run don't seem willing to stick around and cause more trouble. Nor had they attacked anyone else. The mobs, it seems, are not yet ready to brave the barricades a third time.
She lays down, though she wants to be useful and to help. Bartholomew had ordered her to stay put and half-jokingly told Sister Jenelyn that she was free to give Audria something to knock her out if she caused trouble. The tension in the air ratchets up more as the Sanctuary's unnatural reprieve from the death and destruction filling the city continues into the night. With nothing else to distract her, Audria's mind inevitably turns to Eliana and Trinia. Are they safe from this night of chaos and madness? Eliana is safe behind The Line, she tries to tell herself, but that does nothing for the worry, and Trinia is not so lucky. Her apartment is in a part of Korvosa that hasn't yet been brought under control.
She starts when one of the acolytes serving as runners bursts into the tent.
"Sister Jenelyn," the half-elf calls in a panic. "H-hellknights! Hellknights are coming!"
Talanaliel flies in behind her, and lands on Audria's knee.
"It's bad, Audrie! They're killing anyone that gets in the way!"
Audria looks at the little thrush and tries to quell the rising panic. She prays that no one at the barricades falls under their iron boots, but inside, that part of her still haunted by Lamm and his lackeys, whispers that to hope such a thing is vain. She can see Lamm's condescending sneer as she wonders what will happen to the people she's come to love and care so much about.
As hundreds of Hellknights storm the city, and the contingent tasked with taking control of North Point marches through the barricades around the Sanctuary of Shelyn, Kaitlyn Embresi, better known as Ember or Embercat to most, hides in a dark alley and curses Audria with all of the venom she can muster.
"You f#++in' cunt! You stupid, f%*$in', 'Gug-whorin' b++&!! You said this job would be a damned milk run!" The surviving thug she'd hired to help her snarls as his fear dies away, leaving only his rage and anger. "That little whore nearly gutted me and ran Alvo clean, f#&#in' through! 'Thoa's bloody titties, that was no little bird, that was f+*~in' monster in a girl's body!"
"Shut up," she says, her voice ice cold. She'd underestimated the little Lamb—no, a wolf-b!+%& in sheep's clothing. She'd only been hit once, and even then, not badly enough to slow her down. She'd almost done in her hired "help" as he ran like the spineless coward he and his buddy are, or were in the other thug's case. She's certain that he died before he even hit the ground.
No, she has to be honest with herself. That girl's skill and instincts scared her. Not only was she able to fight off two brutish men without taking a scratch, but she'd also proven that she was just as deadly with a bow. Had her aim been just a little better, Kaitlyn would have joined her other useless patsy on the cobbles of that alleyway. Luck may have played some part in the failure of the ambush, but Kaitlyn has spent long enough in Korvosa's seedy underbelly to know that luck was only a part of why it failed.
"She's still only human," she growls.
"Like f##+in' hells she is! You didn't see her eyes flash with some magic light shit! She's some kinda monster! A devil! A 'Gug-f~**in' succubus! You ain't payin' me enough for this shit, Ember! I'm gonna tell Chault about this and you'll be lucky if he only fixes you ass, 'Gug-ruttin' bit--"
His last words are cut off as a dagger dives into his throat. He stares in horror at Kaitlyn as she glares at him.
"I said, shut up," she tells him as fear and panic fill his eyes. She holds him up for a moment as he begins to choke on his own blood. His thrashing after sliding off the blade and falling to the ground is quiet, save for the occasional bloody gurgle, and it does not last long.
Kaitlyn spits on the thug's corpse. For all his prattle and false bravado, he did have a point. Chault would not be happy to learn that two of his boys are now dead and that one of them has been killed by her. She pushes the thought away. That would be for later. Now, she has to avoid the hellknights swarming the city like ants. She isn't too concerned, however. Chault wouldn't have agreed to let her hire these two if they weren't disposable, and she has many years of experience evading the law in Korvosa.
No, the real problem is that Lamb. Kaitlyn will have to learn more about her and how to best deal with her. Twice she'd humiliated her, and she'd killed her lover. It's only fair that she pays the little wolf-b%@#* back in spades.
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Abella takes one look at the rioters, recognizes several people from her time here on the streets, and heads back inside. Nobody has asked her, specifically, to man a barricade, so she will not. Given a choice between fighting her neighbors and fighting her new friends, she will happily choose neither. The hellknights will probably make the whole ordeal moot, anyways. There are plenty of people out there who are paid to care about enforcing the law, so why should she do it for free? If people somehow get inside, she can worry about defending herself then, though she highly doubts it will come to that. Besides, she has new books to read and new clothes she does not want to ruin.
Now, it might seem strange to think that she can concentrate to read with such a ruckus outside, but one has to remember that she was first a slave to a Nidalese noble family and second has only ever been able to afford flats with walls that left few auditory stimuli to the imagination. If she can remain focused while some inbred pale putz with needles in every joint clips 121 clothespins to her, a little shouting and a few things breaking is hardly cause for concern. She has a new—well, used—copy of Dire Tidings: A Bestiary of Nature’s Most Angry Animals and Ferocious Fey by Aloisus Althussian. Used textbooks are always superior, as they are more likely to contain useful notes from previous owners. The notes in this tome are not particularly useful, as whoever previously owned the volume was apparently a complete novice taking a survey course, but then she gets to read the amateurish scribbles and feel superior, which has its own worth to her.
"The Red Mantis would only be here if someone with real money, real power requested them. A recruitment? That almost suggests they expect to be here for awhile...which is very concerning."
His hazel eyes refocus on Gregor's face, and he nods sharply as if making a decision.
"Gregor, we can't trust anyone with this." He raises a hand to forestall any objections. "I know the instincts which led you to come here scream this must be known, but since most of the people we would need to inform could very well be the ones responsible for the Red Mantis' presence, we might just be signing our own death warrants if we aren't careful to whom we speak."
Hammond chews his lip for a moment. "I...have a contact that I can consult, and I feel I can trust. I beg you to trust me on this as I'm confident this person would not be involved. I will relay that I trust you. I expect you will likely receive contact and some instructions from them on how to proceed. You will know them because they will leave you a card. Once you've seen it, you will know precisely what I mean."
When he woke up that morning, Dal had not anticipated that his day would see him chase Pockets across the Shingles, or climb off a roof, or balance on a uncomfortably narrow balcony, or hear someone call to him from the room attached to the…sill, it was an overgrown window sill.
All of it added up to Dal nearly losing his balance when he turned to look at the girl sitting at the easel. The paint on her smock probably meant she was either really talented or not talented at all.
“Whoah!” Dal exclaimed as he grabbed the window frame, nearly dropping the card in the process. He steadied himself and looked down at Pockets to make sure the cat hadn’t fallen.
“Uh, Dalmano. My name is Dalmano. Actually, nobody really calls me Dalmano anymore. Dal is fine.” He glanced over the ledge. Mistake. “Could I possibly come in? I’m not a burglar, I promise. I was just trying to catch my cat.” Though he had righted himself, Dal’s hand refused to release the window frame and his knuckles were beginning to turn white in protest.
Dal could not believe that the mob had descended on the Sanctuary. “This place, of all places?” Dal thought, “I’m willing to bet a majority of these people have come here for healing in the last month alone.” Luckily, he still had some spells ready from earlier in the day.
Disappointment
He looked down at Pockets, “Yeah..I know.”
Dal scanned the approaching rioters for the perfect target. He shivered when he spotted a large man in the middle of the crowd. The man held a square shovel in two hands above his head. Judging by the size of the man’s arms, one swing of that shovel could knock Dal’s head clean from his shoulders. And, judging by the fervor in the man’s eyes, that was exactly what he intended to do.
Dal locked eyes with the brute and drew a pattern in the air before flicking two fingers toward the man.
A moment later, the man slapped one hand at his neck as if he had been stung by a wasp but did not falter in his attack. “Right…he’s probably had worse for breakfast,” Dal chided himself for his poor choice in spell.
Dal darted to one side in order to keep as much distance between himself and the big guy as possible. He hissed a string of syllables and punctuated it by growling “Retreat!”
Dal smiled as the big man all but spun on his heel before making a mad dash in the opposite direction on the Sanctuary. Either out of confusion or fear of being trampled, the mob cleared a path for the man though the gap quickly filled in with new rioters.
"Well, you successfully stopped one guy. Now do that another thousand or so times," Dal thought.
“Should be easy. Given I just used up so much energy dealing with him,” Dal replied to his own thoughts. He sighed and started casting as many of his dazing trick as he could, sprinkling in his hex every now and then just to switch things up, leaving some in a daze while others were wondering why their noses suddenly looked like that of the family pig.
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Dal nearly choked on the last of his roll. "Wait! You all..? he nodded slowly as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. "I'm sure you all had good reason to send that monster to meet the Lady of Graves. Believe me when I say that I owe you all. You've taken a huge weight from me without even realizing you were doing it."
And he truly felt that way. For years, Lamm had felt like a dark shadow lurking around every turn, a ghoul waiting to pounce as soon as Dal let his guard down. But now...now it was over and he had these strangers to thank for it.
"So, then why do you feel that drop of remorse over his death?" Dal asked himself. Now that was a thought he did not feel like delving into at the moment. Dal shook his head and looked in the direction of where he had last seen the kids, "I think it's best if they are given time to try and put this all behind them. Though, I can't promise I won't check in once in a while."
Audria squirms as Dal blurts out his surprise. She didn't like the memories of what happened that night, even if she did come to terms with it. More, it isn't something that she wanted to discuss with most of the other clergy and acolytes in the Sanctuary.
Thankfully, Dal moves on to other topics.
"I think they'll bounce back pretty quick. I overheard Sister Jenelyn telling Brother Theolan about some of the games they've started to play. From what she said, they've taken a shine to Rook, almost as much as he has to them."
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Lania seizes her dark-painted chain shirt and throws it on over her head with her hands straight up, wriggling her shoulders to settle it as she runs for Isi and Mamma’s doors. She pounds on them. “Up! Now!”
Even as she darts back into her room and seizes her weapons, mask, and the coil of rope she bought at Barrels of Goods, Lania pulls her loose hair out of her armor one-handed, losing several strands along the way.
Junie is coming up the stairs with her candle and a stout rolling pin, looking as terrified as she ever does, which is to say mildly alarmed.
“I’ve barred the doors and windows, but—”
She shoves the rope into Junie’s hands. “Get Mamma and Isi up into the attic. Tie this to a rafter. Stay quiet and block the trapdoor. Do not come down for anything. Not even if someone is in the house. If it burns, you break the attic window, slide down behind the house and run for the Maceros' root cellar. Only if it burns. Understand?”
Junie just looks at her for a moment, stunned. Lania actually sees the moment that she accepts that this is happening and the steel stiffens her spine. She marches straight into Vita’s room and Lania is just able to hear her brisk, business-as-usual voice saying, “Let’s get you up, my lady. Yes, in your dressing gown will be fine—” over Mamma’s wavering protests before she whirls on her heel and makes for her boots beside the bed. She shoves stockingless feet into them, pulls her mask on one-handed and is crouched on her windowsill when a quiet voice from her doorway asks in Elven, “You’re going to kill them, aren’t you?”
The shrike mask turns back to Isi. His blond hair is tousled with sleep but his small white face in the darkness looks somehow much older than his ten years. In one hand he holds his favorite stuffed hippogriff; in the other is her dagger, the hilt too big for him still.
“Go with Junie, sprout.”
“Will you come back?”
“Always,” she promises recklessly in the same language, and Shrike leaps out the window and swarms up her pitons to the roof.
A very few seconds later, she is crouched three houses away, watching and listening as six men slip and scramble over a place in the barricade where a table has been broken roughly in half and pushed aside. The larger mob is moving and eddying beyond the stack of sandbags, bricks, firewood and furniture, pushing restlessly against it like the tide but not quite able to roll over the top like the individuals. Something about it reminds her of the swarm of rats, propelled up the drainpipe by a combination of terror of what lay below and mindless group movement. This is well off the main avenues, and could not have been their first choice: they have been driven here. Screams starting up from the back of the mob confirm it. Almost simultaneously, Shrike begins to hear the clatter of many iron-shod hooves against cobbles and the heavy rhythmic marching of hobnailed boots.
In a breath the scene turns to sheerest pandemonium: clubs thumping, halberds cutting into flesh, the screaming of people and horses being crushed and orders being shouted over the din. In the commotion, three more men and a woman manage to scrabble over the barrier and throw themselves flat next to the first six, apparently without being noticed. Then the bulk of the mob has turned and fled further toward Field Marshal Avenue, with the Hellknights following in grim, inexorable pursuit. There is quiet except for the groans of the injured and not-quite-dead.
For a minute or two she thinks that will be the end of it. These people have had a close call and will be grateful to have kept their lives. They will come to their senses and disperse for their homes. She does have enough time to readjust her armor to lie more comfortably. But while the woman and two men melt away, a burly man with a lit torch in one hand and a club in the other fires up the rest again, gesturing at the nearest house — a large three-story affair with crossed hammers over the lintel and sturdy boards nailed over the windows and shutters. A dwarven merchant from Janderhoff lives there with his large extended family, who are often in and out on trading trips. She doesn’t know their names or if anyone is inside it now. But the boards argue that probably someone is.
The group tests the house’s defenses to no avail. The door creaks but holds under their makeshift ram. Shrike stays hidden, crouching almost flat on the rooftree with the crossbow readied. If she must intervene, the element of surprise will be crucial. But finally her hand is forced: one of the men pulls out a flask of oil and throws it at the door in frustration, where it shatters on impact and drips down the wood. The torch-wielding man approaches to light it.
She looses before he can reach the door, aiming for his heart and getting his upper arm. He yells in shock and pain, spinning around and dropping the torch to the ground. Shrike’s attempt to slide behind a chimney to keep them from determining her location is seen through immediately as one points right at her with a shout of anger and alarm, and then a hail of stones come clattering up to the rooftop. They have no ability to hit her between the distance, the angle and the cover of the chimney, so she ignores both stones and unintelligible insults and instructions to each other. She takes her time to re-crank and re-load the crossbow. There is no easy way up to the Shingles here, but that means there is no easy way down either.
Shrike pops out again, expecting the shower of stones that indeed comes her way. Several hit her, but none with enough force to truly hurt her through her armor. She aims at the leader and squeezes the trigger. This time her bolt takes him through the chest and he falls with a gurgle. She stares down at them and croaks, “Run home, rats.” A breeze catches and bells out the wide white sleeves of her nightgown under her dark chain shirt as she puts the crossbow behind her back again and spins the guisarme out and around in her grip.
“Come down here and say that, knife-ears!” one of them shouts, his face a twisted mask of rage. Another looks between the guttering fallen torch and the house and starts to mutter something to the others.
Shrike turns and bounds up and over the rooftree, then slides down for the lowest edge of this roof, where it has a neighboring house with only a narrow alley between them, and leaps. It is a drop of at least twenty feet, but she is able to use the opposite wall as a springboard to absorb some of the force and then gets a hand briefly on a window ledge to slow herself more before hitting the ground. It is still a jarring impact on her ankles and knees when she lands, but she pushes herself up and circles silently around the other side. When she peeks around the corner, they are all still looking up at the roof, but the one with the bright idea has picked up the torch and is also waving it threateningly near the Janderhoff merchant’s door.
Shrike charges past the other rioters toward him in silence. Her spearpoint finds its mark, driving through his body with such force that it lodges in the wood and she feels something finally give in the haft. His mouth opens in surprise and his hands scrabble at the shaft for a moment before going limp. His blood drips down and mingles with the oil wetting the door. Shrike leaves the spear, pulls her dagger from her boot sheath and spins around to face the other five men. Her foot finds the torch head and deliberately stamps on it, leaving the street lit only by the light of the crescent moon.
“I said. Go. Home.”
Two of them break and run immediately. The others are wavering, but she will never know what they would have chosen, because at that moment another squad of Hellknights attracted by the noise and screaming begins hacking and shoving their way through the barricade in earnest with axes, and all of them scatter. Shrike hesitates only a moment longer than the rioters to take to her heels: just long enough to tug at the guisarme and determine it is firmly lodged and would take more time to free than she has. She isn’t sure what the Hellknights saw through the barricade, but she loses them easily enough before taking to the roofway paths where they cannot follow and sheltering in someone’s laundry shed for long enough that their clanking boots have faded away into the distance. She does not think about the fact that she left a dead man on the ground and another impaled by a spear into a wooden door for them to find until later.
"You are traveling with a hobbit, food is never a concern when that happens. I have plenty where that came from. And then there is my emergency supplies, they don't taste as good a fresh chicken, but they are better than the dried stuffs you typically get."
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"Well, Mr. Dal, you certainly have your hands full with this one, I'll bet." She cocks her head to the side. "My name is Trinia, and this is my flat." Trinia gives Dal a crooked grin. "Well, obviously."
Then she looks thoughtful and glances at the ceiling. "Hmmm, maybe it's not so obvious. I guess this could have been someone else's flat or even just an art studio." Dal can see the one-room flat is filled with several canvases of finished and work-in-progress paintings scattered throughout. Also, many of the flat surfaces have piles of papers covered in sketches and notes.
Quite prominently, above the small messy bed against the wall opposite the easel is a painting of two attractive women in simple acolyte robes bearing the symbol of Shelyn. They face one another with their far hands up clasping the other's with their fingers interlaced, but their faces are turned towards the viewer. Perhaps they were dancing. The one on the left has strawberry blonde hair held back in a tail with a length of ribbon. Her eyes are bright blue and and she appears to have been caught in a moment of laughter. The other has a small shy smile, her eyes seem squeezed shut in a moment of pure happiness. Her hair is pale with traces of a light green throughout like the color of sea foam floating on the edge of a retreating wave. It is the only painting actually hanging anywhere in the room, and the skill of the artist is quite evident. The light on the women's faces and the shading of colors prove the painter has talent.
While Dal had had been observing the room, Trinia continues speaking. "It probably does seem more like an art studio now that I really look at it. I mean it is, but it's also where I live, so I guess it's more of an art flat? Anyways, I usually just call it a studio. I'm not really sure why I called it a flat when you came in since that's not typically what I say, but I suppose I was just surprised to see you. I wasn't sure if I should I scream or not, but I haven't seen or heard anything about a killer who brings his cat to the crime scene, so it all felt much less threatening once I knew this is your cat—" Trinia directs her attention at Pockets again and without looking reaches for a sketchpad on short table nearby and pulls a charcoal pencil that had been behind her ear the whole time. She begins making marks on the page which Dal cannot see. "—and well, I have a feeling you're not really all that dangerous yourself since you had the decency to be embarrassed and all. I mean, if you were a killer or rapist or some kind of thug, I doubt you would have repeated your name three times only to settle on a nickname in the end. When anyone asks for my name, I just say 'I'm Trinia!' and that's that. My friends are a bit more shy though, and sometimes Audrie cannot even look a body in the face half the time, but she can say her name with a little stammer. Ellie will just freeze up entirely while staring the person down, her eyes getting wider and wider. It's pretty funny, actually, so I like to make sure I introduce them to a lot of people they don't know. They are quite the pair; one looks you in the eye and shuts up while the other looks away and stammers and stumbles over her words but gets it out in the end. Mirror opposites in the ways they are exactly the same. Does that even make sense? Ha ha! Sorry, that's just my artist brain trying to make sense of those two in a way I can explain it to others. Oh, don't get me wrong, they are great. Super great. My bestest-estest friends in all the world. When we're together, they aren't shy with me at all. They like to sing and dance just like I do. That's them right there!" The blonde woman gestures to the painting on the wall above the bed with the charcoal pencil.
Trinia continues to make marks on the page of her sketchbook while looking at Pockets and occasionally glancing at Dal. Her continuous chatter is almost without any pause, and she sounds cheerful and affable.
The following morning is hazy with smoke and filled with the sounds of of the city's defenders trying to clear the streets of the wounded or dead. This is punctuated by the measure of marching boots and the clip-clop of the Hellknight maralictors on their horses passing by. The defenders of the Sanctuary still man the makeshift barricade outside, but the "gates" have been opened and a small squad of Hellknights and armigers stand at attention outside.
One in particular with splendid black plate armor designed to have sweeping points any place which could have an edge breaks off from the group. He removes his helmet and approaches the door. His light brown hair is longer than most soldiers and is cut so the bangs curve around and frame his face. Surprisingly, he has a small smile and brown eyes filled with mirth as if he just had a happy thought. He knocks on the door of the Sanctuary politely and waits until it is opened then hands an envelope to the acolyte who nervously answers. It is addressed to Brother Theolan.
Shrike lurks several rooftops away from the Sanctuary, watching the goings-on outside and waiting for either someone she knows to emerge from the temple so that she can follow and meet them; or for the attentive squad to leave so that she can feel secure enough to make the jump across the street and enter the temple's atrium from above, as has become her habit. To avoid the many Hellknights currently out on the streets both on foot and ahorse, she used the Shingles for the entire journey. She was not the only person or creature with that idea this morning, and had to take pains to avoid finding any trouble on the way. This circumstance made necessary several hair-raising leaps she would not normally attempt. By now she is wishing a virulent foot fungus on the entire clanking company and all their relations.
Once the Hellknights have swept through, driving the mob away, Audria's arm is patched up and she's been sent off to bed. Exhaustion, more mental and emotional than physical, hits her as she makes her way to her room. She barely manages to shed her armor and change into a nightgown, hardly even noticing Abella as she sits on Eliana's bed reading. Abella may have even noticed the scars on Audria's back or the fresh bandage she wears on her left arm, just below the shoulder.
When Audria does realize Abella is in the room, it's a testament to the fatigue the young paladin feels that she doesn't even blush. She mutters something that could have been a good night, but is slurred beyond all recognition. She climbs into her bed as Talanaliel settles into her nest. A few minutes later, the are both fast asleep.
===
The next morning, Audria looks for Bartholomew. She needs to talk to him, to learn from him and how he handles the blood guilt and what to do about the assassin she and the others had left tied up in an abandoned warehouse near the Bailer's Retreat. She found him sitting by himself and leaning on the haft of his maul. She's surprised to see him looking tired, haggard, and old.
The realization sends a stir of something uncomfortably like panic through her. She's always known Bartholomew as a stalwart, tireless man. Even though his hair is gray and his face creased from years of laughter and service, he never seemed old to her. The thought that old age is catching up to him sends a chill down her spine that no warmth can chase off.
Talanaliel notices her hesitation and feels the icy spike of fear piercing her. The little bird begins to say something, but as she takes in a breath, Audria steels her nerves and walks up to the man.
"Mr. Bartholomew, I... I need to talk to you about something, several somethings," she says, her hands wringing each other as she waits for his answer.
The others find Audria in a somber mood. The laughter that would show through at times as she got more comfortable around everyone is notable in its absence. Her hair is tied back with a black ribbon, unlike the blue or green ones she normally wears. Her blue eyes are dull, and dark circles appear under. She has her hands wrapped around mug of something warm and spiced as she sits at one of the tables where meals are served.
Abella lazily waved as Audria entered the bedroom. ”Ah, Canary! Looks like the coal mine was a little rougher than usual today.” She speaks as much to herself as to Audria. She gives her a quick once over. ”Nothing a good night’s sleep shouldn’t fix.” It is an assurance as much to herself as to Audria.
She arrives on the scene for breakfast looking smartly dressed in her new day-to-day clothes. They are a mixture of orange and brown leather with a white tunic. The ensemble is rather body-conforming and looks designed more for visual appeal than function. She looks something like this. ”Luckily they had a good selection. You cannot even imagine how hard it was to find a set that coheres and did not have any bare skin or oversized heels. I saved those for the other outfit I got.” She grins with pride.
Audria nods in agreement with Abella as she sheds the armor.
"You look nice," Audria says quietly as she looks Abella over. She turns back to her drink and takes a sip, then raises an eyebrow as she processes the rest of what the mage said. "Wait, other outfit? What other outfit?"
”Why, something to meet the queen in, of course! Were you planning on just meeting her in your street clothes? Besides, I have never had anything nice to wear. Better to shell out for the high-end pieces, as the increased durability makes them worth more in the long-run than the cheap stuff.” Abella had, at one point, been a bit of a cheapskate, but Cainabeth successfully used that very argument and brought Abella over to her side.
She waves a hand over Audria. ”So what’s with…all this. Worse than you expected at the barricades, I gather? Shall I need to go hurt someone for you, little Canary? Or are you just sad because you had to do the hurting?”
“Nice to meet you, Trinia.” Dal said as he climbed through the window. “I truly am sorry for inter-” he bumped his head on the window frame and she wasted no time in filling the silence.
Dal took a few steps further into the room. Occasionally he would mutter something like “a lot of paintings” or let out a low whistle. She didn’t seem to notice. Hell, most of what she said drifted into the background as Dal’s eyes settled on the painting of two girls…dancing? Or in prayer? Whatever they were doing, it didn’t really matter. Dal furrowed his brow, the neurons scrambled to make connections between the art in front of him and some elusive memory. He was tired and it was a stressful day. Cut him some slack, okay?
One of those neurons must’ve found something because it clicked into place.
“Hey! I’ve seen these two before!” Dal blurted out. “They’re pickpockets for some gutterslime named Gaedren Lamm.”
Dal turned his attention to Pockets. “You didn’t lead me here by coincidence, did you?” he thought. For the first time Dal took a good look at the card. “It has something to do with this, doesn’t it?”
Dal groaned and opened one eye, the other fluttered open a moment later with some convincing. He turned his head to one side and muttered, “Pock, bud, rise and shine.” The feline had always preferred to sleep between Dal’s arm and his chest with his forelegs sprawled across Dal’s chest and his head nestled against the man’s face. Despite whatever the feline may imply, he was clearly attached to the man.
“Wake up time. Sun’s awake,” Dal rubbed the white spot above Pockets’ eye - the one meant to appear like a false eye - with one finger.
Tired…cozy
Pockets pushed his head up and back, forcing Dal to sit up in order to breathe. “I know, But until Korvosa is settled, we don’t get to sleep in.”
Annoyed
A short while later, Dal pulled on his boots, and took a quick glance at himself in a polished mirror. The once wine color of his attire, which he had been assured would not fade for many years, had begun to do just that, turning an almost brown hue. Combine that with the mud caked on the bottoms of his boots and how both the scarf and sash around his waist were beginning to go threadbare in places, and Dal was looking, well, rough.
Dal sighed and patted the side of his thigh, “C’mon bud, let’s see if we can find something to eat.”
Audria's cheeks turn pink as she works through where Abella probably got her clothes. She's wondering just how much skin Abella's going to be showing when Abella starts asking her about what happened last night.
"I--" The words catch in her throat. Opening up to Bartholomew had been hard enough, and she feels exhausted.
"I don't need you to hurt anyone, Abella," she says, trying to by time and silently praying that Talanaliel will stay quiet.
Pip had shared some and eaten some of his emergency provisions. He headed to a bakery to procure a new supply of rolls. He was going to see how much fruit and cheese they could bake in this time. And, he was going to need some cream. Maybe a pie would be nice too, but only one.
It was hard to eat just one pie sometimes.
“Hey! I’ve seen these two before!” Dal blurted out. “They’re pickpockets for some gutterslime named Gaedren Lamm.”
Trinia pauses her sketching to look at Dal. "Hmm? Oh, you know about that? Yeah, that was a while back before I knew them. They ran away from that guy Lamm and joined up with the Shelynite church. From what they say, the man sounds like some kind of bad. Like maybe he was the Keylock Killer kind of bad. They haven't been near him for years now. I don't think they know where he is or what he's up to anymore. I don't really ask about it because they both get pretty upset. Their time as a Lamm's Lamb sounds pretty traumatic."
Dal looks at the card and sees it is a card from a Harrow deck, specifically The Cricket. In tidy handwriting written in bold ink across the card's back is the following message.
"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Dal realizes that due to the time taken chasing after Pockets he will be late to the meeting listed on the card if he tries to attend.
As if somehow reading his mind Trinia suddenly sits up as she sees the fading light of the afternoon through the window.
"Oh! Look at how late it is! I need to drop something off at...uh, well, somewhere else." Trinia suddenly seems a bit flustered and evasive. "Thank you for stopping by, um, but you'll have to excuse me now." She nods at her door but then blinks. "Unless you'd rather...?"
Trinia makes a vague gesture towards the open window.
The acolyte who answered the door nervously invites the handsome Hellknight inside, but he politely declines and remains just outside the door and says he will wait for a reply. The young man rushes off to find Brother Theolan to deliver the letter.