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Ardoinel glowers upon learning the nature and extent of the plans.
"So this Triad would spread Droskar's blight to this place...a mockery of industriousness and an insult to the wild things...It won't happen, not on my watch!" he says sternly. His expression softens as Resa shows him what she's found.
"It's a map...to Guardian's Way, where Voz has likely holed up. Where we'll confront her and put a stop to this scheme."
When he notices Netkin's dejected response to Resa's suggestion, he tilts his head.
"If you'd like, Netkin, I can stick around. I did say I'd like to meet your grandmother if you and her would allow it. Considering how much of the Citadel we've either cleared or made friendly, it shouldn't be too hard to retrieve Calmont."
"No!" Netkin exclaims, in a voice that is just a little too shrill.
"I mean... If you want. I don't mind. Just... don't feel forced to stay behind," he says lamely. "I'm fine."
Ardoinel looks at Netkin with a raised eyebrow.
"Netkin, you've been tense as a bowstring since our unexpected return from Citadel Altaerein," he says, as gentle as he can manage. "And if a bowstring isn't released to loose the arrow, it snaps. If something is upsetting you, please, don't hesitate to share it...at least...that's the way my mother taught me. The way my father put it was if you leave your metal in the forge for too long, it makes the metal brittle, and again, more likely to break."
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Resa felt torn between the two groups, but wishing to learn more about elvenkind, went with Ellaeaanda. That did not mean she was exactly cheerful or really sure what she would do, but she did partake of the singing once she got hold of the goblin songs, and would take a turn ensuring that a certain criminal did not escape. Who better to watch but one who knew how to escape locks?
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Netkin lowers his head, suddenly absorbed in the contemplation of his toes. "I will," he says in a shaky voice. "I promise. Just... Not right now. I need... some figuring out... first."
He sighs deeply, defeated. "I guess you can... come with, then? Yeah. Let's go."
It occurs to him, morosely, that this is actually the first time he has a friend over at his house. A few months ago, he would have been overjoyed. It leaves a bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach.
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Netkin leads Ardoinel down to the Bigpots' house. As they walk, the cobblestone roads become more sinuous and narrow. Obviously, they are progressively heading to a particularly old district of the town.
One glance at the Bigpots' lodgings confirms it. The house is not dilapidated per se - certainly the half-elf has seen older buildings, and in much worse shape - but it has the distinct air of a building that has not been renovated in quite some time. The wooden shutters look functional, but from the look of it they have seen too many rains and would have needed to be changed quite some time ago. A few tiles are missing on the roof, and the façade has moss on it. The building itself seems slightly crumpled, as if it was not completely straight - resting on piles because of the nearby Creek, no doubt, but perhaps the foundations were also a bit faulty to begin with.
It is easily one of the oldest-looking buildings in the street; others look either renovated, or quite recent. Perhaps the house will simply die with Grandma Bigpot - razed and built anew, with none of the construction mistakes easily made by a group of amnesiac settlers unfamiliar with the site. More cynically, perhaps it will also give place to a house that is actually meant for bigger people - certainly, Ardoinel can see no other houses that seem built for halflings. This one is half the size of its neighbours. The half-elf has to lower his head to go through the door without bumping his head.
"Grandma?" Netkin calls out from the entrance. "I'm home!"
The inside of the Bigpots' house quite reflects its outside. It is a bit dark - heavy curtains are hung at the windows, dimming the sunlight. Thankfully, candles here and there provide some light in the rooms, which actually gives quite a subdued ambience to the place. The furniture is a bit sparse, and it looks ancient - heavy wood, in most cases. It is also, obviously, a place adjusted for old people. The stairs in particular have a strange contraption - a chair that looks as if it could move up and down on rails. One of Netkin's ideas, no doubt.
The house smells of melted wax, dust, old people, and a bit moldy - but still, it looks like it's being looked after. There are a few wedges here and there, stabilizing an old chair or chest of drawers that has lost
part of a leg. Nothing looks particularly filthy, and although there are a few patches of mold in the corners, it is certainly not out of place in a house built this close to water. The wallpaper is yellowed, but it only looks like it's been here a decade.
All in all, the house even looks in a surprisingly good shape considering its only inhabitants are a very young man and an extremely old lady. Obviously, they have received some outside help, and the house is regularly inspected and tended to every couple of years. It definitely has issues, but it does not look abandoned.
Through the doorway to the left, Ardoinel can see what looks like to be a living room. There is an old rug in front of a couch, which is currently occupied. Two slippers poke out of a comfy plaid, and there is a walker by the couch's armrest. The feet look very wrinkled.
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Ardoinel can't help but look at the Bigpot home with a critical eye, the same eye that looked over the crystals in the shop, on every piece of metal he's hammered or piece of wood he's shaped. But he doesn't say anything, seeing that despite it clearly being built with function rather than form in mind, it was not some ramshackle hovel that might blow over with the wind, but a home that had been built well and had endured much, imbuing it with the same nobility any elven bower or dwarven redoubt might have. He smiles a bit and bows his head to enter the door. He notes the device on the stairs.
"Shave my beard and call me a human!" he mutters. "That's ingenious!"
He walks towards the living room, bowing somehow even lower as he approaches its occupant.
"Gods be with you, Madame Bigpot!" he says warmly. "It's an honor and a pleasure to meet you. I am Ardoinel, of the Clan Oreflame. I answered the Call for Heroes with Netkin the other day."
“Wisdom comes to all,” Ellaeaanda responds to Calmont. “Does the food displease you as well?” she asks between slow mouthfuls. “Greens and reds had I—more can we offer in Breachill.” She had given her plate of half-eaten salad and pickled beets to Ardoinel to take to Netkin’s grandmother.
After much coaxing, Ellaeaanda eventually joins the goblins in her own gracefully awkward dance. With gently swaying arms she slowly shuffles in place, tilting her head every now and then to gaze up past the ceiling, in an oblivious trance.
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"Everything went fine, grandma, really," Netkin suppresses an eyeroll, but a soft smile, despite himself, tugs at the corner of his mouth. "I ate my proteins like you asked. And we did manage to clear the Citadel." He leans in to adjust the pillows that support the old woman's back.
Grandma Bigpot looks almost impossibly old, and there is no need for an Ellaeaanda to guess that she is nearing the end of her life. She has the frail, shriveled air of someone whose muscles have atrophied - although she must have been quite thin to begin with. Her skin is wrinkled, like an apple that's been sitting in the sun for too long. Her grey hair is pulled up with a hair clip, giving her something of a strict yet elegant air. Her pale eyes seem a bit glassy, yet the gaze that unhesitatingly settles on Ardoinel's face is almost surprisingly sharp for a lady of that age. It leaves no doubt that she is in possession of her full wits.
With some difficulty, she uses her walker as support to rise up, waving away Netkin's concerns. "It's fine, my boy. I am not so incapacitated as to be unable to greet a new friend." She offers Ardoinel her hand to shake. The grip has strength to it. Obviously, the lower half of her body is more impaired than the rest - yet, she does not immediately sits back down. Something akin to iron sits deep within these brittle bones. Suddenly, it seems entirely plausible that she should live another decade or so - if not bury the whole town of Breachhill long before she goes.
"Do you want some tea?" she offers the half-elf. "I can put the kettle on."
This time, Netkin does roll his eyes. "I'll get it!" he exclaims, and rushes to the kitchen. "Has Mrs Harper come by already?" He calls out. "Did she make you your herbal tea?"
"She left some time ago," Grandma Bigpot sits back down with a wince. "Always running, this one," she says to Ardoinel alone. "Can't figure out who he got this from." There is a gleam of amusement in her eyes, as her gaze briefly flicks to her legs.
The kettle whistles. "" Netkin calls out from the room on the right of the entrance. ""
Ellaeaanda awakes with dawn, though it can be hard to tell the difference between her waking moments and sleeping ones—she spent the night sitting upright with her legs crossed and eyes open, stock still in either a meditative trance or exotic slumber. Before departing, she informs Chief Helba of all they’ve discovered in the basement below, reassuring the goblin that all threats have been removed, save for the slime around two doors and the skeletons guarding the crypt, though neither poses any danger should they be left alone.
For the journey back to Breachill, she leaves securing Calmont in Resa’s capable hands—the half-elf seems to have a knack with ropes, so she trusts that the halfling’s hands will be securely tied. Along the way she calmly asks him “How did your fate cross that of Voz Lirayne?”
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Ever the book worm, Cerrus adds some quick notes to his tome on goblin dance techniques and their music of choice. Before too long, he joins in with Ellaeaanda and the goblins in the dancing, following Ellaeaanda's lead and adding some of his own flourishes.
"After we bring Calmont to town and deal with whatever comes next, I'm sure we will be back here, at which point we can deal with the slime. And maybe the skeletons. I'm not sure those things will be friendly neighbors."
Cerrus tries his best to make sure the that goblins feel comfortable with their current circumstances.
As the group journeys back to Breachill, Cerrus listens intently to the conversation with Calmont, but lets Ellaeaanda lead.
Resa keeps an eye on the ropes, but stays out of the way of the others as they talk. They knew the area better than her, and that made more sense they could focus on talking while they walked. She did keep an eye out for any other signs of problems, like if there was some one following them, but that was not that much of an issue or deal. Surely no one was.
Ardoinel smiles as he shakes Grandma Bigpot's hand, recognizing the patient strength in her grip as almost dwarven in its solidity. When she looks him in the eye, he blinks a bit. It reminds him of his mother's keen gaze. The moment of weakness is enough for the ash to flare in his lungs.
"Oh *COUGH!* herbal, please," he calls back to Netkin. "Truly, one of Yuelral's greatest gifts to us."
"As for what brought me to answer Breachill's Call...Would you believe me if I told you it came to me in a dream?"
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Netkin startles, and some herbal tea spills out of the mug. "Oops," he chuckles nervously. "Sorry. My clumsiness..." He goes to fetch a napkin to clean up the mess, aware of Grandma's gaze boring into him the whole time.
"I don't think you've ever told that story before, grandma?" he inquires.
It sounds pretty innocent and conversational.
Citadel Party
Upon reaching Breachill, the guard greets you and leads you towards the council. They are still operating out of the town hall, but they have settled temporarily in a smaller room on one side of the building.
Greta meets you with open arms.
"Is this the culprit who started the fire? It seems like you were successful in your task. What of the Bumblebrashers? are they save?" she inquires after formalities.
Cerrus gently pushes Calmont forward. "Yes, this is Calmont. He is responsible for the fire. We haven't yet uncovered the full truth, but we will report back when we know more."
He continues to answer Greta's second question. "Yes, the Bumblebrashers are safe. The basements underneath the citadel were teeming with dangerous creatures. Thankfully, we were able to dispatch of most of them and will finish the job soon."
It is clear to Ellaeaanda and Resa that Cerrus has decided to truthfully the council's questions without divulging the full details, at least now.
Ardoinel takes the tea Netkin offers and takes a sip.
"We...had some questions about Voz, now that you mention it," he says.
" Can you tell me anything about this discount? What can they do? What all can this buy? Does everyone take this coins?" Her questions give away just how much she had missed not being able to be her own person growing up. She clearly was not sure how to spend her money nor what the best method of saving was, and seemed out of place when it came to even placing it on her body.
“Gratitude we bear,” Ellaeaanda thanks Greta and collects the coins on behalf of the party, “and questions too.” She glances at Resa before adding a question of her own. “Know you Guardian’s Way? Abandoned or occupied, can you say?”
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"We believe she was really involved with what happened at the Citadel, grandma," Netkin sits down with his cup. "It appears she got paid by a slaver organisation known as the Scarlet Triad to open up ancient magical portals that would allow them to move... well, people... around."
"But we couldn't find her in there, grandma. We have no way to know if she succeeded."
Netkin watches his grandma's face very closely as he explains.
Ardoinel nods and takes a quaff of his tea.
"The firestarter at the Town Hall, who we caught up with and captured at the Citadel, worked for her. He was in on the conspiracy, and though he betrayed Voz to do so, it was only because he believed she was going to betray him. Droskar's way...to cooperate with those you aren't able to exploit, only to cut them out of the deal at the last moment to claim all the benefits for yourself. It wouldn't surprise me if Voz was indeed making those plans, and even if she didn't, it no longer matters as her partner's panicked attempt to beat her to the prize blew up in his face, leaving her in sole control of the enterprise..."
Ellaeaanda gently bobs her head at Greta’s reply. “What news of Voz Lirayne? Has she returned since hiring Calmont? Dismay will she feel when informed of her employee’s arson.”
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Ardoinel raises an eyebrow.
"Yes we do, Netkin. According to her map she'll be headed to Guardian's Way, where there's easy surface access to Alseta's Ring."
"We found notes written by her that suggest otherwise," Ardoinel replies gravely. "And she had some rather unkind things to say about Breachill's people and founder to boot."
Cerrus nods appreciatively at Greta and the rest of the council. "The reward and discount is certainly appreciated."
As Greta describes Guardian’s Way, Cerrus writes more notes in his tome. "It seems our journey takes us northwest to this abandoned outpost. We need to find Ardoinel and Netkin soon to decide our next actions."
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""Yes we do, Netkin. According to her map she'll be headed to Guardian's Way, where there's easy surface access to Alseta's Ring."
"We found notes written by her that suggest otherwise," Ardoinel replies gravely. "And she had some rather unkind things to say about Breachill's people and founder to boot."
"Look, grandma," Netkin passes her the note they found - and her glasses. "The Scarlet Triad asked Voz for the ring."
Ellaeaanda nods her gratitude to Greta and takes her leave. To Cerrus and Resa she warns “Rivers have rapids and roads are rough. Danger awaits. Fated is this gold—forewarned is forearmed. Come.” She beckons the awkward half-elf who doesn’t seem to know anything about shopping, and offers to carry her for money for her.
The dreamy seer takes Resa on a shopping trip, stopping in at various stores and slowly perusing their wares. She purchases more arrows for her quiver and a repair toolkit, which she uses to attach the potency crystal to her bow.
While wandering the streets of Breachill and teaching Resa how to shop, Ellaeaanda eventually finds herself in front of the Breachill Archives. “Friends for your tome,” she remarks to Cerrus, then heads inside.
“Clear visions and untangled threads,” she greets the half-orc archivist with stately politeness. “Have you books on Guardian’s Way?” It might be useful to learn more about their future destination. Remembering Lirayne’s theories uncovered at the bookstore, she adds, almost as an afterthought “And on Lamond Breachton, founder of your town?”
Reas does not in fact know what to get, outside of some hardtack and other rather mundane supplies, ensuring that if they needed something on the way, she would be ready. " Never know when rope would be needed. And a block and tackle can move items... we may have to move heavy things." Each purchase was odd, but with her pack filled, it seems she has planned for everything and anything that could be had.
Grandma Party
Upon hearing Netkin’s words, grandma Bigpot looks as pale as Netkin himself.
”I knew they were bad news. It was all too convenient. Voz has known about Alseta’s Ring for a long time. She was intrigued by it, and she spent a lot of her time researching about it. You see, my boy, she wanted money to start a guild of like-minded people, so she started looking for someone who would pay for her research. After sending some offers to her contacts, she received a letter from the Scarlet Triad. They promised to fund her guild if she could secure the ring, figure out how it works and report it all to the Triad. Voz agree to help them, even knowing their reputation.
‘But Calmont was never supposed to be involved. He was there to run the shop. He must have seen Voz’s research and attempted to secure the ring before she did.”
"That was exactly what Calmont tried to do. As I said, he suspected Voz was planning on cutting him out of any deal resulting from this, and he panicked," Ardoinel replies with a nod. "I'm sorry she involved you in this. Thankfully, you grandson stepped up to help stop it. He even saved my life a couple times at the Citadel."
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"I'm sure they've saved my life more times than I've actually helped them, Grandma," Netkin confesses. "You know I'm not really that much of a fighter."
Though pleasant and warm enough, he sounds ever-so-slightly more distant. The fact that his Grandma could have known part of what was going on at the Citadel, and not shared it, absolutely guts him.
And she had kept so many secrets while he was growing up. What else was she keeping from him?
That night, even in the comfort of his own bedroom and his comfy bed, Netkin doesn't sleep well at all. He tosses and turn; even Ardoinel's slightly over-exaggerated praise plagues his thoughts. He ends up spending several hours rummaging through old sketches, and in the morning, when he finds himself alone with Ardoinel at the breakfast table, he pushes some paper sheets towards him.
"I was thinking about everything we've encountered, and everything we're going to encounter, and, well... I just thought I might need some extra help if things get dangerous in the future," he explains, keeping his voice low so Grandma doesn't hear from the next room. "I already have a couple of ideas, but I think I could use your help. Um. If you want, that is."
The old, yellowed sheets display scribbled drawings of what look like automatons. The more ancient are lacking in detail and seem frankly unrealistic. A couple models look like they could actually be forged, with some practical adjustments, and a lot less care to aesthetic design - unless Netkin and Ardoinel had literal months to carefully craft each piece to make the result visually appealing.
"Yes, of course, of course. Anything to encourage knowledge of our great founder, and our tragic, yet heroic, history during the goblinblood wars. What are you looking for exactly?"
“Light of Truth and Draw of Destiny,” Ellaeaanda responds enigmatically to the half-orc. “A mystery is Lamond’s fate beyond Breachill. What knowledge do you specialize in?” The elf leafs through various tomes, scanning for information related to their quest.
Cerrus joins Ellaeaanda in the archives - to no one's surprise. "Good thinking, Ellaeaanda. I nearly forgot these archives were here."
Cerrus looks for anything related to Lamond Breachton's life before Breachill. He also looks for a pattern in the various creatures from Mwangi Expanse that they have encountered so far, maybe narrowing down specific area of the expanse they could have come from.
Resa checks out the library with her group, but due to her lack of clear reading ability, she just wanders the area, trying to look and see what she could find that would be interesting. Maybe a secret hidden door? Who knew what libraries had? She certainly didn't
Cerrus shares a summary of his research on Lamond Breachton and the non-native creatures they found roaming the citadel basements.
Cerrus stands up and stretches his back before speaking to Ellaeaanda and Resa. "As much as I'd like to continue my research, it's getting late and I need to be fresh when we venture out again. I'll spend the night at my grandfather's house. It's still in disarray since his passing, but I could make up another bed or two if you'd like."
Ellaeaanda likewise shares what she has discovered about Guardian’s Way, as well as her hypothesis that Lamond may have known about and used the aiudara, given that he left to the northwest, where Guardian’s Way is located, and then abruptly vanished. She nods gratefully at Cerrus’s offer of a bed, but demurs at the idea of retiring so soon.
“Rest alone cannot win a war—prepared must we be. Excused are the blind, but those with sight are fools to ignore what they see. Know you not the way of elves? Three raised platforms in the trees, held by mercenaries—arrows fly far, eyes see further. Will you throw your sword at them? Prepared must we be.” The elf stands up, ready to head out for more shopping. “Like people, coins do more united than apart. Choose a weapon—magic runes we must inscribe.”
Even Resa blinks at the mention of rest, for even she does not sleep like others do. She waits until a more private moment to inquire about learning to read, hoping the leader of the library could point her in a direction to start. She wanted to be more helpful to the group, and it seems her upbringing left some gaps in her skills.
Like knowing what to buy for her future adventure out. All she could do is make sure she had everything covered, but when it comes to what she really needs, that was a mystery. Everyone else knew more. She did get a sling for range attacks, and traded out her dagger and shortsword for a blade the owner said was for her kind. She did keep her starknife.
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Netkin clears his throat while Ardoinel studies the drawings at length. "So, um... What do you think? Do you want to build... a construct, I guess?"
"Resa, I think you should have the magic rune first. You often attack quickly whereas I attack less quickly. The magic rune will be more effective on your weapon. Maybe I'll be next in line?"
Ardoinel graciously accepts Netkin's invitation and spends the night on the Bigpot home's couch, knees folded to fit as he lies on his back and stares up at the ceiling trying to fall asleep. Mercifully, the nightmares are only vaguely upsetting and hold no real portents of doom, and there are no singe marks on the couch the next morning, though Ardoinel's back and knees make some noise.
He takes a seat at the breakfast table, knees up to his chin without complaint as he enjoys the food Netkin and his grandmother have graciously provided.
When Netkin discretely show him his idea, a little light returns to his tired eyes as he pores over the notes.
"Interesting..." he murmurs. "I saw the device you've made for the stairs...Seeing these now, you clearly have a talent for engineering. Talent that could sprout into skill and then blossom into mastery with enough practice! It'd take a bit of work to get something...functional out of these designs...and it would take even more time to get it to a point where it's stable...time we may not have...but...yes, you're on to something here! I would be honored to help you make this a reality, Netkin. Who's the local smithy here? Would they be willing to rent us out the use of their forge?"
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Netkin's face turns rosy pink. "Oh... Thank you! That's very kind!"
"I guess we could try Fadelby Vusker's forge. I believe he will have everything we need."
In his impatience to go, Netkin wolfs down his breakfast, and rushes back upstairs to cram his backpack full of spare metal parts, collected over the years, and whose immediately usefulness would probably strike Ardoinel as doubtful. He makes actual clinking noises when he returns.
"Grandma," he sticks his head in the doorway that leads to the living room. "We're going for the day. I'll tell Mrs. Harper to pop by on my way out, okay?"
He turns to Ardoinel. "Ready when you are!"