Gameplay thread operational.
Westcrown has always had its dark corners.
Even in its glorious days of centuries past, the quiet alleyways and corners of the former City of Nine Stars had shadows that light never touched. These shadows were a haven for many—the downtrodden, the furtive, the criminal and dangerous. They offered shelter from the sun in the hateful summer months; shelter from the biting winter cold; shelter from those who hunted the desperate and defiant. But even when the shadows grew long, there was a semblance of dignity and pride in those they cloaked—an understanding that even the greatest achievements can happen in the darkest places.
In the modern day, the City of Twilight—especially in the wake of the ascension of the devilbound House of Thrune—is little more than a backwater. Monuments to the endless potential of humanity lie strewn about Westcrown, marred by the passage of time and the apathy of its populace. The once proud architecture of centuries past, renowned for its beauty and longevity, now crumbles from neglect and abuse—only to be replaced with styles more appropriate to the devilish tastes of Cheliax’s new noble families.
A scant forty years ago, the shadows of Westcrown ceased to be hospitable. Beasts of wisp and shade stalk Westcrown’s alleys after the sunset, and the harm caused by them has chased the smallfolk of the City of Twilight indoors. Rumours abound of what could be responsible for them… some claim that they’re here at the behest of the House of Thrune, imposing their will in their absence. Others claim that Nidalese insurgents are responsible for their presence, sent to sow discord in preparation for an invasion.
Others still claim that they’re agents of a supposedly-long defunct organization of criminals, and their purpose is to clear the board and settle old scores to that they may claim Westcrown for themselves.
Whatever the reason, the House of Thrune has abandoned Westcrown—and especially its people—to their fate. If anything is to change for the people, then it will have to come from within…
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Moonday, 1st of Sarenith, 4707 AR
The sun rises today—or, rather, looms up from behind the horizon with malicious intent. The breeze that accompanies it is anything but pleasant—combined with the humidity, it feels less like a phenomenon of nature more like the breath of a particularly hate-filled monster’s maw.
They feel deeper than you remember them being. Colder. Darker. But your martial arts training should keep you safe from anyone who makes the shadows home…
”You look like the sort of man who’s never worked an honest day in his life.” A sultry voice says as you pass by a darkened alley. The voice belongs to a violet-skinned woman with deep black hair, flipping what looks like a wooden coin between the six fingers on her hand. She leans against the alley wall in her dark grey leathers, her silver eyes focused on you.
"Am I wrong?"
His shop is located in the Rego Scripa, on Artist's Row...
Your current job is to deliver a letter to a tenement complex on Chainbound Walk, on the border between Rego Crua and Parego Spera. You know the city well enough to know where the street is...
Waldorph sits by his water dish, lapping at its contents with a despondent look in his large eyes. He abruptly raises his head as the door to your shop opens--and in steps a customer!
The new arrival is a well-dressed pale human gentleman, clad in a fine, soft brocade doublet with images of golden flowers woven into the sleeves, brown pantaloons and brown boots. Judging from the greying hair and well-groomed beard, you'd guess he's in his mid-sixties.
"...odd." He mumbles to himself, looking around the shop in confusion. "I've no memory of this place..."
"Excuse me, are you the proprietor?" He asks when he sees you.
Today WOULD be, were it not for Aunt Petronia's... insistence on you attending her today. Knowing her, she's intent on putting you in touch with some actress or opera singer or another--and you know well enough that trying to argue with her on that front would be as likely to yield favourable results as asking a river to stop flowing.
There's a sharp knock at your door.
"Sanchia! You had better be decent, young lady--it's rude to keep the visbaronetess waiting!" Aunt Petronia's sharp voice grates on your ears through the wood.
Whisper has been known to occasionally peek into the contents of her deliveries, but risking the ire of the Order of the Rack she knows is not in her best interests by far. Plan is to do the delivery as quick as possible--though of course she will always keep alert for information in passing as she goes. She just will probably pass faster than usual.
She tucks the letter carefully into one of the inside pockets of her sash, wanting to be sure not to lose it, and heads to the tenement. She tries to stay alert for trouble.
Everett set out early hoping to avoid the worst of the heat, even so going outside felt like walking into a oven and he was sweating before he'd gone more than a few streets. But Everett didn't mind, he was excited, all those hours spent chasing after rumours had finally paid off! On the grape vine he'd heard about a new art dealer in town, Jacopo di Carni's who was having trouble with a protection racket.
Everett was sure there was more to this than met the eye, but the first step was to offer his services to deal with the gang as a champion of the arts. So he set off to the Rego Scripa, on Artist's Row.
Once he was close he asked around to see if anyone could help him, find Jacopo di Carni. With a cheery smile he asked several people "Hello! I'm looking for an art dealer called, Jacopo di Carni. Do you know where I could find him?"
The white-haired gnome was running a finger along a small magical compass, under the counter, fidgeting and thinking, when she was interrupted. She shoots her 'guard' dog a look that said 'you are supposed to make a fuss alerting me, you good fo--' her admonishing thoughts dispelled by the loopy grin that responded 'PERSON! I AM GREAT!' making her sigh with a gentle warmth, and promise him, mentally, a biscuit.
Looking then at the pale human, NIta responds as she straightens while adjusting her waistcoat. "Yes, I am the Cobbles of Cobbles, Bobbles, and Bows. Can I be of service in some way?"
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He gives the woman a small smile and a raised eyebrow.
"That depends on what you call 'honest work.' To the farmer it is a well-tended field and a bountiful harvest. To the merchant it is a profitable deal and the status that profit can buy them. To the warrior, it is surviving each battle, and making sure their enemy does not. What is an honest day's work for you?"
The violet girl flips her wooden coin into the air.
"Why, an honest trade, of course. A shift at the docks--" She catches her coin with a flick of the wrist. "--a smith with a grand forge, perhaps even a courier, were I more fortunate." She wrinkles her nose.
"You look like you're new here, so I've got to warn you--if you're looking for acceptance, you're in the wrong place." She looks you in the eye, her expression at once despondent and resentful. "It's something those 'above' us--" She makes little air quotes with her fingers. "--will never do for people like us."
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The man's expression changes to one of relief. "Ah--good. I was directed to this shop, and I was worried I lost my way."
He stoops and gives Waldorph a much-appreciated scratch under the chin. "My name is Aidonis--it's been several years since I was last in Westcrown, and the streets seem to have changed around on me. I understand you sell maps here?"
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Your questions swiftly yield results. A boy of twelve summers directs you to Jacopo di Carni's art shop, two streets down. "He's a bit of a twitchy one..." The boy says, wiping his pale brow on his ragged sleeve. "...but he does good paintings and stuff."
"Look for the golden sign with a sun on it. If ya can't find that, just look for the big blokes comin' 'round with coshes. They'll lead ya straight to him."
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Your trek to Chainbound Walk goes smoothly--or, at least, as smoothly as a humid day like this allows. Though the smothering heat barely fazes you, you do notice there's a strong undercurrent of anger and frustration among the people you pass--and strangely enough, it's not directed at you, for a change. Still, better to not give them a reason to redirect said frustrations.
You reach Chainbound Walk and soon spy the rundown tenement complex you were directed to. Like most of Westcrown, its aging wood is slowly but surely succumbing to the twin threats of neglect and abuse--its weathered facade is cracking and splintering in multiple places, and its once decent oaken doors look like they're one good hit away from falling from their hinges.
Sitting on the front stoop of the complex is a man in a dark black metal helm and grey cloak--hardly the most appropriate attire for such a hot day. As you approach, his eyes find yours and stay locked on them. He appears to be expecting you to approach.
"That is correct. Nita hops off her tall stool. She finds that the taller folk like this gentleman preferred to not want to stoop too low to conduct business, hence the stool she sits on.
But he asked about maps, which is not a simple question, so the small woman had to get down and move to a shelf lined with wooden frames, all settled in vertically "Area of question and level of detail?" she asked flatly, sparing a single glance at her dog, who beamed I LOVE HIM to his mistress, all from a simple scratch.
After giving her pup a small frown of betrayal, she pulled a frame out, revealing a map stretched out on cork. A map of this block with each building painstakingly detailed down to tiny cobblestones. Sliding it back in, she slid out the next, showing the same area with outlines of buildings and lines for streets.
Her gaze looking over the second was one of resigned irritation, knowing it is what most people wanted but 'Ugh Gag Rumble' her mind filled in various sounds that she did not vocalize, then she turned back to him and raised an eyebrow.
Whisper files away her observations of the collective bad mood. Could be the heat. Could be tax collection shenanigans. Or someone's riling folks up. Might be worth digging into afterward.
She takes in the tenement square. Normally my clients wouldn't even think of associating with someone in this neighborhood, let alone deliver a letter. But if she has any true disdain for the place she doesn't show it.
Whisper lifts her chin in disinterested greeting to the black helmed man. She reaches for the letter in her sash. "Delivery. If there is a name on the letter,she speaks it aloud to see if the man answers.
Everett thanked the boy and gave him a couple of coppers saying, "Here go get yourself a treat from that pastry shop down the road."
He had a good feeling about this lead as he followed the boy's directions. Sure enough he spotted a shop with a golden sign emblazoned with a stylised sun.
Surely this must be Jacopo di Carni's shop, but what was that the boy said about big blokes with Vosges? Well there was one way to find out, he tried the door and called out, "Hello?"
Aidonis touches the more detailed of the two maps you bring out. "...yes, yes this one will do nicely, Miss Cobbles." He smiles. "I must say, this is very well-detailed; how long ago was this one made?"
Waldorph blinks, then sniffs around before looking somewhere behind you. The air seems to have cooled a bit... but there's no real breeze to be felt.
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As you approach the helmed man, you notice that he isn't sweating like the others you've passed on your way here--he doesn't even seem to notice the day's heat.
He rises. "You address Shanwen, Contractus Scriptor of the Church of Asmodeus. You are the courier I am waiting for." He states, holding his hand out.
The sound of a sharp whimper comes from inside the tenement's doors--the noise sounds like it belongs to a child.
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The door opens easily, and a little jingle from the bell above it heralds its opening.
The interior of Jacopo's shop is as finely decorated as one would expect an art dealer's place of work to be. The walls are lined with paintings of beautiful landscapes, abstract mixes of colour and shade and images of decidedly mundane items. The man himself stands behind a counter of unadorned mahogany, the simplicity of its design highlighting its fine construction.
Jacopo is an olive-skinned, curly-haired man clad in deep blues evocative of a calm sea. His expression is a mix of worry and curiosity as you enter. "Ah--kind sir, be welcome to my humble domain of artistry!" He gestures to the paintings surrounding him.
"Eh... you look a bit finer armed than my usual clients. You have come to buy, yes? Yes?" He asks, anxiety pulsing beneath his every word.
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The violet girl flips her wooden coin into the air.
"Why, an honest trade, of course. A shift at the docks--" She catches her coin with a flick of the wrist. "--a smith with a grand forge, perhaps even a courier, were I more fortunate." She wrinkles her nose.
"You look like you're new here, so I've got to warn you--if you're looking for acceptance, you're in the wrong place." She looks you in the eye, her expression at once despondent and resentful. "It's something those 'above' us--" She makes little air quotes with her fingers. "--will never do for people like us."
"Oh, that's something I know all too well. I grew up in the Cader, but I have been away from the city for...what, over ten years now, I think?" Cassynder replies. Her choice of response had been interesting...most times it slid into a sob story about how their kind were forced to claw and scrape to survive and how the thief's work was honest because they at least admitted what they were, unlike the nobles who were allowed to grab coin from the pockets of their lessers by law every Taxfest, neglecting the fact that only the best thieves stole from the rich, while everyone else stole from people with much less money and thus less means to protect it. Perhaps this woman wasn't recruiting for a gang after all.
You mentioning that you grew up in the Rego Cader causes the young woman to blink in surprise. "You... did?"
She tilts her head at you. "And you were lucky enough to make it out? Why would you ever come back?"
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"Because I felt I was needed here. Iomedae has taught me how to kindle a small, small light within my darkness, and I now seek to spread that light in her name, stoke it into an illuminating flame. And what better place to start than where I began?"
Cassynder makes the sign of the sword, touching his forehead, heart and two shoulders in sequence.
Your words cause the young violet woman's posture to tense up.
"Cass...?"
She starts, but she's cut off by another voice, this one deeper and growling.
"Well, someone's got some nerve, coming back where he ain't wanted." Emerging from deeper within the alley is a red-skinned tiefling with pitch-black eyes, the sun gleaming off his bald head as he steps into the light. He twirls a sharp dagger around one finger and flicks a wooden coin between the fingers of his off-hand.
The violet girl lets out a whimper and shrinks away, practically flattening herself against the alley wall.
As you approach the helmed man, you notice that he isn't sweating like the others you've passed on your way here--he doesn't even seem to notice the day's heat.
He rises. "You address Shanwen, Contractus Scriptor of the Church of Asmodeus. You are the courier I am waiting for." He states, holding his hand out.
The sound of a sharp whimper comes from inside the tenement's doors--the noise sounds like it belongs to a child.
Whisper is nonplussed at the not sweating; she's not sweating either. She also knows through her mother there are many simple spells that contribute to comfort.
She likewise has little reaction to the introduction. She places the letter in his hand, and likewise then, her own hand now empty, holds it out a bit as though to suggest he might fill it with something else.
When the child's cry (or cat's meow, or bird's call) resonates, she jerks up an eyebrow. Not an unusual sound to hear in a place like this, though what the Order of the Rack in particular might be doing with a child in a tenement house is questionable and possibly (though only possibly) not lawful. So she opens her hand wider, perhaps filling it would encourage her to not ask questions.
Nita's cloudy blue eyes blink slowly, as her mind absorbs his words. "This one..." the mapmaker starts, the words lilting toward a question before she catches herself and finishes "... was completed yesterday. The Boiling Bob had a boiler go Pop. A surprising and irritating situation which shattered---" Waldroph's reaction distracts her, making her look behind her, adjusting her glasses trying to see into the blurry mess her vision becomes after thirty or so feet. "Do you feel a shift in the temperature?"
"You have come to buy, yes? Yes?"
Everett smiled as he replied, "Indeed good sir I might, Shelyn willing there is something that catches my fancy! I'm also something of an amateur painter myself, I'm sure I don't hold a candle to the greats but I've had several people complement a water color of the harbour I painted last summer and they suggested I get it valued..."
Everett engaged Jacopo with small talk, completing the various art works on display and showing his water color if Jacopo seemed interested. He then tried to steer the conversation towards his goal, saying "A lovely shop sir, it's unfortunate that Westcrown itself is letting you down. My own family have had problems with protection rackets and I've heard a gang is now making demands of you. As one devoted to The Eternal Rose I find this outrageous and I feel it's my duty to do something about it. Please Mr di Carni, could you tell me about this gang and Shelyn willing, perhaps I can help clean up this ugly business..."
Sanchia starts at the loud rapping on her door and her aunt's voice. She immediately shakes off her toper and scrambles to finish dressing. As she does so she calls back after a half-minute at most, the small delay buying her just a little more time.
"Just two moments Aunt Petronia! I'm fixing my hair, the moisture in the air is making it difficult to tame!"
Last of all, she quickly buns her hair and fixes it in place with a couple of matching hairpins. One last breathless look in the mirror, then she opens the door.
"Oh, you've finally learned how to die, then?" The bald tiefling growls, bringing his knife to bear.
"Nikrus--" Quirri chokes out.
"Shut up." Nikrus growls in reply. "I'm sure Palaveen would just love to hear how you've been chatting up someone who's supposed to be a dead slave boy."
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"...yes..." Aidonis mumbles, standing up. "It's... did it also get darker in here?"
In fact, it really does seem to have gotten darker. The parts of the shop that you could see in colour have since faded to the grey shades of darkvision.
Waldorph whimpers and starts padding towards the back of the shop. The increasing darkness seems to be coming from there...
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Shanwen sneers at you as you hold your hand out. "You expect a form of compensation from Shanwen, Contractus Scriptor of the Church of Asmodeus. You will understand that for one as misbegotten as you, continued existence is compensation enough."
The sounds from within the tenement get louder.
"NO! LEAVE ME ALONE! I'VE DONE NOTHING WRONG! SOMEONE HELP!" The child's voice yells, getting closer to the tenement doors.
"Dammit, stop him! Don't let the brat escape!" Another voice yells, a man's voice with both authority and ruthlessness.
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"Eh..." Jacopo's face falls.
"...yes, the... the gang." His formerly-jovial demeanour reverts to its old anxiety. "They--they accosted me not long after I moved in here. They--they call themselves the Bastards of Erebus--they're mostly tieflings."
He wrings his hands together. "I had hoped the dottari would do something, but they haven't even sent a single man--"
The shop's bell jingles. Jacopo's face pales.
"...oh no..."
"Mr. di Carni." A smug drawl fills the air. "Sorry, were we interrupting something?"
Standing in the shop are a pair of human-looking men, dressed in grey leathers and carrying lengths of wood in their hands. Their skin is deathly pale and their greasy black hair does little to hide the stubby horns on their temples.
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Aunt Petronia's face is an annoyed frown when you finally emerge from your room. "Finally. Come now, you've kept Visbaronetess Aulamaxa waiting long enough."
She ushers you down the hallway to the estate's sitting room. Seated on opposite ends of Aunt Petronia's favourite couch are two women, one curvaceous and plump and the other decidedly leaner. The larger of the two is dressed extravagantly and has a face immaculately clad in makeup, while the smaller is clad in simpler, but no less well-made noble garb.
"Sanchia Corvus, meet Visbaronetess Delour Aulamaxa of the Chelaxian Opera." Aunt Petronia waves to the larger woman before glancing at the smaller one. "And her... assistant?" She tilts her head. "Lady-in-waiting? I'm afraid I didn't quite catch."
"Er--it's--" The smaller woman starts before the larger woman dismissively waves a hand.
"Her name is Calseinica. And if you must know, Madame Corvus, she is my understudy." The word leaps from her tongue with an undercurrent of contempt and a knife in its hand.
Whisper shrugs, tucks her hand back in a pocket, and gives Shanwen a smile, with the full look at gnarly,jagged sharp teeth to go with it. She turns and walks away swiftly.
She heads down the block, turns left to go out of sight of the Asmodean, pulls her hood over her head, and turns left again into the alley behind the tenement. She hops up on a fence behind the worn house next door, then slowly sneaks toward the tenement to listen to the kerfuffle. She is curious. Why such a fuss over a child in a place like this? Surely they could find another expendable soul if one escapes?
Nita takes off her glasses and cleans them even though she knows the draining of color is nothing to do with them. Before Waldrop can get past her, she slides her hand through his fur into his collar "not without me" she says to his worried What? gaze.
"Sir, I think Cobbles, Bobbles and Bows might be closing early, you can consider your purchase overnight and come again." Waldrop starts moving again, and Nita lets herself be pulled behind him. She does hope they make it to the counter, where her morning star is leaning behind.
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"Oh, you've finally learned how to die, then?" The bald tiefling growls, bringing his knife to bear.
"Nikrus--" Quirri chokes out.
"Shut up." Nikrus growls in reply. "I'm sure Palaveen would just love to hear how you've been chatting up someone who's supposed to be a dead slave boy."
Palaveen. Cassynder stiffened immediately upon hearing the name. So he was still here...still alive...still ruining lives like he did Cassynder's all those years ago. Even in the heat of this day, he felt himself warm as his expression hardens from sternness to genuine anger. Before he can think a second thought, his body starts on its own, moving towards Nikrus, fist closing, rising and aiming at his jaw!
"Sorry, were we interrupting something?"
Everett didn't like bullies so in the blink of an eye his demeanour changed. His friendly smile was replaced by a glassy stare as he stepped in front of Jacopo to shield him bodily if needed. Casually he moved his cloak to give him free access to his rapier if needed and to make it abundantly clear he was armed as he replied rather coldly, "As it happens, yes you are interrupting. We were talking about, well, almost certainly about you... Now that you've rudely interrupted, what do you want?"
Sanchia's heart is beating fast by the time she enters the room, just short of thudding in her chest. She abhors these situations where the entire point is to be judged for unknown qualities by unknown people.
She plays the odds because there is no other basis for a choice. It will be mild pleasantness and a veiled defensive strategy, no questions for them unless prompted to ask, and only the most anodyne answers will be given. She smiles at both the Visbaronetess and her understudy, then executes a precise curtsy before them.
"It is my great pleasure to make you acquaintance Visbaronetess Aulamaxa. I am pleased to meet you as well Miss Calseinica."
The visbaronetess curtly nods while Calseinica gives you a smile and nod.
"Yes, yes, yes. How do you do and all that." Visbaronetess Aulamaxa sniffs and rises to her feet. "Now, Madame Corvus told me you have an interest in the performing arts, yes?"
Calseinica blinks and looks between the visbaronetess, Aunt Petronia and you.
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"Er--" Aidonis starts to say something but you don't catch what it is as Waldorph drags you away.
As you walk into the shop's backrooms, the shadows around you seem to get deeper and deeper. Waldorph whimpers and comes to a stop when you reach your destination--a corner just beyond the shop's backroom entrance.
The corner is completely shrouded in darkness and the air around is cold and still. The nearby wall is covered in a thin layer of shadow--it feels filmy and fragile, like a bubble waiting to burst.
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"Now what is..." her voice trails off as her eyes travel over the taunt liquid-like shadow. Curiosity low in her voice, while worry tightened her grip on her pup's collar. Shadow dislikes light, she assumed so she reached for that trinket they sent to her.
"Dingle berry drat" she cursed without heat when she realized it was under the counter. "Waldroph, come" she tries to pull him to where she left it.
Sanchia finds herself in a bind. She doesn't consider herself a particularly talented liar, but only one answer will be acceptable to the people in the room. She does her best to tread the needle. Maybe an indirect answer can do it.
"I have training as an actor, private tutors. I've also auditioned for some parts..."
As you return to the front of the store to retrieve your wayfinder, you notice that Aidonis is gone--and there's a pouch sitting on the counter along with a note.
I know of the letters you have sent to the Society, and I've been sent to help. The shadows here creep too far into the day--and I do not know why. Meet me at Vizio's Tavern at noon--if all goes well, either I will meet you there, or a friend will in my stead.
There's a more recently scrawled line at the bottom of the note:
I hope the money I left will cover the cost of the well-detailed map.
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"Yes yes yes, as expected of a lady of your pedigree." Visbaronetess Aulamaxa dismissively waves a hand and looks away. Calseinica slides a book out of her pocket and hands it to you--it's titled The Winter Of White Roses.
"Miss Nymmis, explain to the young Corvus just what that lovely book is about, will you? The Lady Petronia and I have more pressing matters to attend to." The haughty actress sashays out of the room, and Aunt Petronia follows suit, leaving the two of you alone together.
Calseinica awkwardly clears her throat. "...so, um... you've now met the Lady Aulamaxa." She says with a very strained smile.
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Nikrus' head abruptly snaps back as your fist connects cleanly, causing him to stumble backwards as dark red blood stains the brickwork. You feel something dislocate under the force of your strike--there's a harsh-sounding *CRACK* from his jaw. It's followed by a surprised and agonized snarl of pain.
With a mix of hate and fear blazing in his eyes, Nikrus jumps back, cupping his jaw--and Quirri interposes herself between the two of you. "NIKRUS! Damn you, leave Cassynder alone! He's not part of this anymore--"
Nikrus makes a furious noise that sounds like an approximation of language, mangled by a broken jaw as he runs away. You're not entirely sure just what he said, but you're fairly certain there was at least one attempt at saying "Palaveen!" in his retreating whining.
Quirri winces. "Oh... oh by the Powers, this is going to be unpleasant..."
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The two tieflings blink and take a step back in surprise--they certainly weren't expecting someone of your demeanour to stand up to them.
"Oh..." One of them starts, his hand tightening on the grip of his club. "...there's just been a matter of debts owed and to be repaid, that kind of thing. Nothing a civvie like you needs to get stuck in."
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"...there's just been a matter of debts owed and to be repaid, that kind of thing. Nothing a civvie like you needs to get stuck in."
Everett's eyes narrowed as he asked with a dangerous calm, "How much do you think he owes you and for what exactly? Protection?"
Noticing the man's hand tightening on the club he half growls, "Unless you intend to find out how that stick of yours fares against steel I suggest you keep your hands where I can see them."
The two thugs abruptly freeze when you speak. Evidently, they're used to bullying traders, peasants, farmers and other folk of limited ability to fight back--the presence of an armed man who's trained in the use of his weapon has them on the back foot.
"Eh--" The thug starts, but Jacopo's voice cuts through the muggy air.
"A quarter of my profits, when I'm struggling enough to begin with!" The art dealer snarls, a mix of excited bravado and indignation fuelling his speech. He points an accusing finger at the two ruffians. "You have no right to accost good, hard-working men like me and steal their livelihood for yourselves! NO! RIGHT!"
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You slink into a nearby alley and crouch behind a rain barrel--just in time to hear the tenement doors fly open with a *CRASH!*
The sound of a pair of little feet running pell-mell against dirt catch your ear--followed by the more plodding footsteps of armored boots. They're approaching the alleyway you're hiding in!
Whisper stays in her hiding spot behind the barrel. She pulls a bag off of her sash. After the little feet pass by, she spills the contents onto the ground in front of the approaching armored boots: a bag of marbles.
You deploy your marbles just as a small, fleet-footed young boy dressed in filthy black peasant's garb races past you. Barely a second behind him come two hard-faced men in chainmail armour--and Shanwen at their back!
The man in the lead steps on the marbles--
"--S!#@!--"
--and tumbles to the ground in a CRASH of metal and leather. The second man is following too closely to stop--
"--GAH! ASMODEUS--"
--and tumbles right after him, an envelope spilling out of his pocket and right next to your hiding place. This one isn't the one you previously delivered.
Shanwen skids to a halt and growls in frustration. "You are both incompetent fools, unworthy to serve Shanwen, Contractus Scriptor of the Church of Asmodeus."
"F#~# you, you f~%+ing mange-bearded t#~%!" The first armiger yells back, flailing about in an effort to get to his feet and failing. "Why didn't YOU do anything to catch the damned kid?! You're the one with Asmodeus' magic!"
Shanwen flinches and his eyes blaze. "Shanwen, Contractus Scriptor of the Church of Asmodeus, believed that the Order of the Rack's newest armigers were chosen for their competence and composure! But clearly the choice demanded more oversight!"
It looks like there's an argument fixing to kick off!
Everett raised his eyebrows, "A quarter! Nice racket you've got there, shame if something happened to it... Why don't you boys run along now, you're not welcome here."
To underscore this he lightly held the pommel of his sword.
Too tempted by the opportunity, Whisper's tail slips from beneath her cloak to snatch the envelope.
She otherwise holds stock still, hoping they'll just leave, but she has one or two backup plans just in case...
Nita adjusts her glasses, and peers at the message. She gives a sound like a hurumph, which is mullified once she sees the gold... somewhat. "If he is one of Them, why did he leave?" she doesn't expect an answer, though she does get a small whine with his nose pointed back at the shadows. "Okay, let's go look." Nita doesn't know why she is whispering at all.
Back in the back, she takes out the wayfinder, whispering the command word and a pure light shines out of it, which she points at the darkness to see how it responds.
The two thugs glare at you, their lips starting to quiver before their eyes dart towards Jacopo.
"...this isn't over. We'll let your debt slide--this time." The one in the back growls. "But next time, we'll come back with more." He shoots that last sentence at you before running out of the shop. The other follows suit not long after.
Jacopo slams his hands on the counter. "AND GOOD RIDDANCE!" He yells after the retreating tieflings.
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You pluck the envelope from where it fell with ease, stowing it away.
The two armigers get to their feet and start verbally laying into Shanwen, Contractus Scriptor of the Church of Asmodeus.
"More oversight?! The only thing demanded here was you doing your f#~@ing job!" One yells.
"Believe me, your boss will be hearing about this!" The other growls. "You'd better hope the Iomedaean talks, or your pretentious, paper-pushing ass will be looking for a new job!" The other retorts before grabbing the first armiger and storming off.
Shanwen seems to have been taken aback by that last threat, and can only watch the two leave. His hand grabs his beard as he turns to leave as well.
"Mange-bearded--the sheer audacity--" Shanwen seethes as he stalks off.
----------------------
Your wayfinder spins for a moment before light beams forth from the device. The shadows recoil from the pulse of light--retreating to a large mirror frame in the corner, its body covered in a black shroud where glass used to be.
Engraved at the top of the mirror frame is the name Kortukin Bobbles.
Waldorph lets out a high-pitched whimper of mourning and fear.
"It does not like light. See Waldorph, we have discovered something. Though, yes I agree, a shadow not liking light is not a relevation. But... why the mirror's glass? And Kortukin's..." a sliver of loss escapes from her bleaching.
The gnome woman moves closer, despite her companion's fear, trying to look into the mirror, a tiny bit of hope in her normally calm heart.
The mirror shows no reflection--not any longer. What little glass remains has been tarnished to the point of uselessness.
But there is a hole in the middle of the mirror's body--and that is where the shadow sits, unmoving and filmy. It seems to be contained for now.
The question still sits in your mind, sticking. Why Bobbles' mirror?
Whisper waits until she is certain they are gone, then slips away. She goes a good several blocks, into another neighborhood, before she retrieves the envelope. She examines it.
If it's already been opened, she opens it and reads it.
If it's sealed, she checks for mundane or magical protections against opening it.
You pop the letter open after making sure it's free of wards (which it is).
It reads as follows...
From Paralictor Ajakis of the Order of the Rack,
In pursuant of your mission to ferret out suspected traitors to the government of Her Infernal Majestrix, your new orders are as follows:
--Interrogate the suspect known as 'Arael the Swordbearer'. This man is a known rogue element who maintains staunch devotion to Iomedae the Inheritor--his charisma and persuasiveness are such that leaving him unaccounted for is not acceptable.
--Investigate the place of commercial business known as Vizio's Tavern. Suspect Arael the Swordbearer is listed as partial owner of the premises; determine its likelihood of being a recruitment ground and stop such efforts.
--Enlist the aid of the criminal element known as The Bastards of Erebus. With House Thrune demonstrating considerable reluctance to exert any authority over Westcrown, a new means of establishing control and order must be developed.Contractcus Scriptor Shanwen will accompany you as a consultant and liaison to the Church of Asmodeus. In the event of mission failure, placing blame on the interference of Contractus Scriptor Shanwen is acceptable.
Nita bites her lower lip, working it in thought before asking, the shadow of all things, "Kortukin... is that you?"
When the door shut behind the pair of thugs, Everett let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding and he whispered, "Shelyn be praised I thought that was about to get ugly."
Turning to Jacopo, Everett says, "Unfortunately Mr Di Carni, I believe them. They're going to have to come back with more, or they'll be a laughing stock and nobody will pay up. I'll do what I can to help, but I may not be enough depending on how many of them there are. Do you know much about them? Forewarned is forearmed and all that..."
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Nikrus' head abruptly snaps back as your fist connects cleanly, causing him to stumble backwards as dark red blood stains the brickwork. You feel something dislocate under the force of your strike--there's a harsh-sounding *CRACK* from his jaw. It's followed by a surprised and agonized snarl of pain.
With a mix of hate and fear blazing in his eyes, Nikrus jumps back, cupping his jaw--and Quirri interposes herself between the two of you. "NIKRUS! Damn you, leave Cassynder alone! He's not part of this anymore--"
Nikrus makes a furious noise that sounds like an approximation of language, mangled by a broken jaw as he runs away. You're not entirely sure just what he said, but you're fairly certain there was at least one attempt at saying "Palaveen!" in his retreating whining.
Quirri winces. "Oh... oh by the Powers, this is going to be unpleasant..."
Cassynder follows the punch through and is about to follow up with another strike before catching himself and stopping while Nikrus scrabbles back and Quirri jumps between them. He returns to a neutral position, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening them again and watching Nikrus run, like the cowardly bully he'd always been.
"You're right. It...is not the way of melekatha to strike first. The warrior must watch and let the opponent make the first move to best determine how to turn their aggression back on them. But...I let my anger get the better of me, and became the aggressor. And in doing so, I have put you in danger. I am sorry, Quirri."
The mirror-shade is silent... for a moment.
A cold breeze blows through the room--and you could swear you heard your name on it.
Waldorph sits next to you.
---------------------
"The Bastards? They're a bunch of tiefling thugs who go out of their way to prey on honest, hardworking folk. I have no idea where in Westcrown they operate from, but I know they must have connections!" Jacopo pounds his counter again. "Why else would the dottari not lift a finger to stop them?!"
His hands start to shake. "...now... now I owe you a drink or two, I think." The art dealer forces a smile onto his face. "The Bastards come every week, at the same time--and they're creatures of habit, if nothing else. I think I can breathe a little easier today."
---------------------
Quirri purses her lips and nods. "...yeah, Palaveen's not going to be happy to learn you're back. But he's not a happy person in general lately, so that means little."
"Cass, I'm trying to get out of the gang. I don't know how you managed to get away from Palaveen--but the fact that you're here now means it's possible. We need to talk again." She whispers, her silver eyes starting to brim with tears.
"Do you remember Vizio's?"
Whisper commits the details to memory, tucks the letter back in the envelope, and loses it in a convenient stormdrain.
She rolls around in her mind to whom this information might be valuable. Presuming she has no other duties today, she heads first to a sundries shop to buy more marbles, and then toward Vizio's Tavern (provided what she knows about it does not suggest it would be foolish to go there), curiosity sufficiently stoked to find out more.
Nita's heart gives a thump louder than it has in years. She pats her pup's head and tells him to "stay" then moves in her slow measured way to the mirror. She holds the wayfinder to her side, blocking most of the light behind the fabric of her day coat. Slwoly she reaches out to the shadow, saying the name again "Kortukin, I'm here, how can I help."
"Why else would the dottari not lift a finger to stop them?!"
Eliott nodded, "Someone's on the take or is protecting them, will be interesting to find out who..."
"...now... now I owe you a drink or two, I think."
Eliott smiled, "I may have to take you up on that!"