"No, thank you for teaching me the game." Godlas slides his winnings into a pouch. "I simply had the most extraordinary run of beginner's luck! And thank you for the company. Stop by any time."
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Korva shakes her head. "No, no.... looks like us, but not the same. Still, nest-sister, you know? Not her fault she was put in our nest. We try, but we cannot control her without killing, and... we can't. Couldn't." She regards her nest-sister's body with an odd crooning noise deep in her throat. It is chorused from the shadows. "May... may we bury our nest-sister? You have her things for the trouble she gave." Korva waves a hand at Ensis' damaged leg and Ben's tattered, bloody clothing.
"It sounds like you had an eventful evening. My dear fellows, I see no reason why your most admirable plans should be spoiled by rude intruders. We can have a game right here, if you wish, while we wait for Cambino to return." Godlas' eyes glow, and he stretches to reach a box on a nearby shelf and shakes it, producing a rattle familiar to all. "Shall we have a friendly game? I'm terrible at dice, of course, but you can teach me as we play."
Korva shakes her head. "No, no. Not here. Back home. We - her sisters - were taking her somewhere else. Try to make her happy without her getting in trouble." She clacks her beak thoughtfully. "Chough was... not like us. Same nest, different egg. Thought she was tengu, but no. But still, same nest - still sister. Right? Try to help."
Godlas mops his brow with a dirty sleeve, then sighs. "Forgive me for alarming you, new friends - particularly you, my lady." He nods at Qareen, who has sat bolt upright and re-veiled. "I get so riled up. Frustration with this, you know." He strikes his truncated limb. "But the truth is, I am too old to be of use as a gardener. All I can do is fill young ears with my prattle. But it seems well to me that others know of these weeds, should I meet my end soon. I implore you all to keep your mouths closed and eyes and ears open, and do what seems right to you." Qareen gives a decisive nod. "As for those books, they have met their ends in the pyres of the Hellknights, I fear - unless others have been braver and more cunning than I, and hidden them better. But come, you have heard my tale, and Qareen's - can you not share your adventure with a bored old man? You must have a story to be trammelled here with an invalid and an alien! Perhaps it is more cheerful than mine."
There's a squawk of dismay at Ensis' information regarding the impossibility of departing by ship. A moment later, a beaked humanoid form sidles around the farthest stack of boxes and sticks a short, curved blade into the nearest wooden crate, displaying open claws. "I am Korva. Nan stopped here on way to Westcrown. Was paid to take us to Westcrown. Then ships stopped going and we got hungry and Nan... died. And Chough got angry and cruel and gator blocked us from sewers. We are hungry and angry and sad now egg-sister is dead. She was wild and strange but we were nest-siblings." "We do not want a fight but will defend ourselves! We are wronged parties!"
Goldas ponders. "Young man, have you ever seen an abandoned lawn? It looks fine for a while, if a little shaggy. Then tiny plants sprout up, plants that could be plucked by a child. Then one day, when nobody has plucked the tiny plants, suddenly the lawn is filled with noxious, stinging, tough, deep-rooted plants." "If we have learned anything from our neighbors to the north, it should be that watching and waiting and guarding merely allow the enemy to gather forces. Do you think the paladins of Lastwall can fight a Worldwound-sized war on two fronts?" He shakes his head. "I know of large threats - some of which should be obvious if you but peruse a map of Cheliax and its environs. But the smaller ones, the rumors and innuendo, the things nobody believes - those are most likely the small weeds just sprouting that needs to be crushed out. And being a proud Chelaxian, I would hate to see us ask for help from afar." An aged hand waves at his moth-eaten book collection. "The denizens of Citadel Rivaud have perused my shelves and removed all the "heretical" works. I cannot help but wonder how many of the proscribed books contain knowledge of these weeds?"
The old half-elf sighs. "Tales?" He broods into his cup for a long time, until his listeners are unsure he plans to speak, before he heaves another sigh. "I am an old man. Yet life is still sweet, and I have enjoyed and treasured it. I had thought to..." He suddenly sets down his cup and pushes himself upright, settling more comfortably in his chair. "Very well, gentlemen, a tale I will thee tell. And you, my guest, may also benefit from this tale. Your master, as well." He looks intently and significantly at Qareen. "Once upon a time, a great nation was torn by civil war. Do you know this nation? Of course not. It was torn by war, as I said, and this war was long and harsh because neither side could gain an advantage, both being equally matched. The leader of one side, with great wisdom, saw how the war was destroying the country and was determined to gain a final advantage over the other. So she made a bargain with the inhabitants of another plane - oh, shall we say, the elemental plane of water? This bargain allowed all the water spirits and elementals access to her country should she win the war with their unstinting aid. And win she did. The country became settled and lawful again, and prospered. Yet the elementals gained what some felt was undue influence within the country. Still, they honored the boundaries of that country and did not pass outside of it, through whatever means the Queen had negotiated in her agreement." Godlas blows out a breath that puffs his sunken cheeks, runs his hands through his grizzled mane, and swallows before continuing, hair now awry and wild-looking. "The elementals managed to corrupt much of what they encountered in this country. The WaterKnights, originally founded to combat their influence, became little more than servants to these intruders. Neighboring countries, though uneasy, saw that the aquatic influences remained within the country, and grew easier in their minds that the influence of the Plane of Water would remain controlled." The scholar's hands shake as he reaches for his cup and tosses off the contents. "Yet it was not so," he quavers, a stray rivulet of wine wending its way down his wrinkled chin, "For what the casual watchers failed to realize was that the incursion of the Plane of Water to this one had been long planned and plotted. It was merely the first step of campaign to annex this plane to the Plane of Water. And every spring and well in this plane became a place of... of thinness of the barriers between the planes. Indeed, great gates were built between the planes, unbeknownst to the denizens of this plane. And they were named with names that made their purpose clear, such was the arrogance of the devils... I mean, water elementals!" He drops back into his chair, having risen half out of it in his wrath. "Yet the only ones who knew of this were those in league with the elementals, and a few weak scholars who only recently had their fears confirmed. Though some areas of, er, drier land seemed to be reclaimed from the damnable aquatic influences, those gains were small and most likely temporary." Godlas drops his face into his hands, then looks up at Qareen. "Tell your master this tale, ifrit, if you would not see water overflow the land, drowning all in its path. But attacking the country openly will give the elementals leave to unleash their powers outside their bounds... do you comprehend?" Qareen, who has been staring past the walls of the room, turns her fiery, alarmed gaze upon the old scholar. "Are... are you certain of this... fairy tale?" He nods, then looks to the assembled Guards. "Forgive me. You ask for a tale and I give you an apocalypse. Yet, of course... it... it is just a story. Still, a story that the mere telling could bring death to the bard who tells it. Forgive me."
Qareen waits a beat, then two, then nods ever so slightly. "It is sometimes so," she replies, an odd hiss mingling with her musical foreign accent, "Some meetings are fated, and some are chance. The gods alone can grant us the wisdom to know the difference. But there is nothing sinister or difficult about my task here." Her glowing eyes flicker dark for an instant as she blinks. "Not in normal lands, anyway. Cheliax is difficult for those of us in other lands to fathom. The law is strict yet... opportune? Is that the right word? Convenient? Yes. Convenient for those in authority." She pauses for a drink then continues, musing as if to herself. "Have you never wondered why the great presses of Cheliax churn out revision after revision to this great land's history? It is not unnoticed elsewhere. My master has an interest in history. He heard Westcrown had changed and might be safer than the rest of Imperial Cheliax. So he sent me here to consult with his old friend - if he still lived - and learn more." She pulls back her hood, revealing flaming hair and two deep, red-black horns trailing from her temples back into her hair. "My kind are often unwelcome here, but no more so than other races. And it may be that people confuse me with the rulers of this country. My master felt it was safe for me to come. And I am not in a position to refuse the request. I have found my master's friend, as directed." A graceful hand indicates Kelvyre, who is gazing somberly into his cup as if lost there. Qareen shrugs one shoulder. "So I have no problem, gallant swordsmen. I have come here as commanded and have found the one I was commanded to find."
Godlas shakes his head. "You've made no trouble for me, though I don't know what trouble you might have made for yourself, friends. I am merely a port in a storm. The dottari, while sometimes as troublesome as stirges, do not tend to linger where they are not needed. Your visit, while enjoyable to a housebound old man like myself, will likely be short. And there is nothing I need assistance with." He regards Qareen thoughtfully for a moment. "Yet. It might be handy to have able legs to run, er, errands if need be, now that my pupils has found a more active master." He shakes a threatening fist in Cambino's direction, smiling. Cambino bows, returning the smile.
"You are mistaken, sayidi. You are quite bold enough to ask a woman personal questions when you've just met. My hair is at least as real as yours. As to its nature, one who is blessed by the gods with quick wits might notice its effects on my cloak or hood or veil." The smoky voice is laced with crackling edges and the flame of her eyes grows redder. Qareen makes no move to accept the flask.
Godlas pauses a moment before favoring Domenico with a tight smile. "Indeed, young Domenico. Sometimes spectating is forced upon us, despite our wishes. You, though, do not look like one to stand idle for long." He absently rubs the stump of his leg as Cambino returns with a bottle and begins decanting a deep, rich, red wine into rough goblets. Godlas turns his attention to Theo. "And you must be Sieur Baskin, the gentleman my Cambino is so attached to. It is a very great pleasure to meet you after all this time. I hope we can be friends; I crave to know more of this wastrel who too seldom comes to visit." He waves a hand to the shadows. "And this is my friend from far away, come to visit and discuss business. But that will wait while we have a glass and wait for the streets to clear." The figure hesitantly advances from the shadows and bows with hand to breast in a foreign manner. "Peace and blessings on you all. I am... Qareen." The smoky voice lays the expectation of the dusky woman's face revealed when she drops the veil, her eyes and hair both alive with wavering flames. With an uncertain glance at Godlas, she continues in her low voice, "I am no devil and have no wish to bring harm to you, be assured."
Godlas bows at the waist from where he sits. "Believe me, the pleasure is mine, Vittorio. It's much more exciting being a spectator in interesting times than a participant, I think. Less dangerous, anyway." He eyes their assortment of well-used steel. "Somehow, I don't think you are spectators."
"Forgive me for not rising." The seated man holds out his hand for Diego to wring, then accepts a swig from his flask, wiping his mouth on his sleeve while he returns Diego's potion. "Whew! Good! And no worries about Cambino. He simply went from one good-for-nothing company to another. I'm glad to make your acquaintance. It's very kind of you to visit. I don't get out much." Knowledge(Local) DC 10: The Chelaxian government, and thereby Chelaxian society, is very pro-human, with devils considered second-class citizens and other races below that. Halflings are typically assumed to be slaves. The bottom of the social ladder is reserved for teiflings, who symbolize lust gone out of control, hence humans losing control to devils - unacceptable to a regime that prides itself on the forces of Hell being its servant, not ruler. Elves and half-elves are rarely seen and generally stay hooded to keep from drawing attention to themselves. It is not surprising that a disabled half-elf would avoid the streets, particularly on the island.
Vittorio ... opens his eyes, focusing on Thaddeus, feeling a sudden insight into his foe, then lunges forward with the unnatural swiftness his bloodline grants him. Thaddeo stands for a moment staring at the blade in his chest, then drops to the ground, unmoving. Captain Mola's eyes narrow as she sees her man fall. She draws her own blade and steps towards Vittorio, pulling her hand from her tabard and raising it behind into the en guard position. Even in the flickering torchlight, Vittorio can see that her hand and forearm are shrunken and withered. "First blood to you, sir, and with no contest. Care for another bout?"
"From up here, we can see the entire Ballroom!" Diego laughs over his shoulder, grabbing the ladder with one hand. He motions for Teresina to join him with his blade. Teresina: "Follow you and get a blade in the face for my trouble? I think not!" Teresina calls back to Diego, dashing for the other ladder.
Laria: When the party descends in the evening and notifies Laria of their readiness, she leads them into a pantry/storage closet behind the kitchen, unlocking the sturdy pantry door first. "Close the door," she says softly, threading her way through the shelves full of stores and random crates and casks scattered around. She rolls a couple of barrels aside - having no problem moving them herself - and presses a hidden stud at the back of an adjacent shelf. A panel pushes back. She shoves it aside, revealing a dark stone stairway leading down. "Down there," she whispers, "Do you want me to go with you?" Rexus:
Thaddeus: Thaddeus moves forward to engage Vittorio, tapping Vittorio's blade with his own but not attacking. Instead, he seems to be focused on watching Vittorio and anticipating his attacks.
Liborio: At the captain's call, after being assured Domenico is ready, Liborio darts forward with a brutal beat at Domenico's blade, trying for a quick disarm:
Bettino: As they move to a clear area in the courtyard, Bettino says softly to Theo, "We're supposed to fight, right? I mean, there's no music?" Arabela: The Captain's command clarifies the matter for Bettino. "Ladies and gentlemen, on your guard. Ready? Begin." She has the clear, practiced tone of one accustomed to projecting for a group, and the assurance of one accustomed to being obeyed.
Laria: "Hmph. Take care of this and I'll start recommending you to friends as an extermination service." Laria winks and patters to the door. "Food as usual it is, good sirs and mesdames. And coffee is on the house. I'll let Caprice know that you're honored guests and to treat you well."
Laria: The halfling can't suppress a burst of laughter at the last remark. She turns to Dee and Valexia. "There's a second room with beds if you feel safer..." she eyes Ensis "... sleeping separately from the gents. I'm used to all my transient friends taking beds as needed, sometimes in family groups. One room is easier to clean, but use the second as well if you prefer." A smile still tugs the corners of her lips. "And now I need to get back to the customers. Rest up, shop if you need to, and let me know when you're ready to go downstairs. I keep the door locked unless I'm delivering meals. Shall I put the food there this evening as usual, before you venture down? See if they're still there? Or skip it for the evening, though they might suspect something's wrong if I do that." She cocks her head at the group, waiting for an answer.
Susanna: The serving girl hustles off after Vittorio agrees to food and returns with a large tray laden with heaping plates. She circles the table, setting down a platter before each person with a steaming pile of sliced roast, sautéed vegetables, and bits of pasta tossed with olive oil and cheese. She also sets a board with a crusty loaf and small dish of butter in the center of the table. "Anything else you need to satisfy your appetites, gentlemen?" she asks with a wink, apparently beginning to recover some of her normal saucy attitude.
Laria: "My... my kitchen!?," Laria sputters, "Where I make coffee and tea for my customers? You're going to poison them with your chymist tricks? I think not! Drag that upstairs. There's a spare room - with a window - so do your sorcery there."
Susanna: Susanna expertly dispenses a foaming mug as she whispers into Diego's ear (under cover of a flirtatious nuzzle). "Not afraid, exactly. They're strangers, they wear the red and black, and they display HIS symbol. You don't wear the Ruler of Hell's symbol lightly. I'm a good Asmodean, but they make me nervous. Never seen any like 'em before." She fingers her Archstar pendant, then straightens up. "Dinner, gents?"
Susanna: The serving wench bustles over with a pitcher of foaming ale and a flat board which she sets in the middle of the table. "Fresh drawn, gentlemen. Who needs a fill? Anybody need something else? Dinner to ruin a fine evening's drinking?" The board holds a half-loaf of bread, serrated knife, and a wedge of cheese that the regulars know from experience is very salty. The waitress tosses Deigo a quick wink as she fills his stein. "Thirsty, Diego?" Though she tries to keep up a cheerful, sassy banter, the effect is ruined by the frequent flick of her eyes to one of the private room doors and her strained smile.
Laria: "The cellar is not terribly deep. It connects to the storm sewers, which are a ways underground in this part of the city. I can hear noises from there in the night, so loud noises might attract some attention. I'd be careful dong that." The halfling shakes her head slowly in response to Dee. "I know the shipment came in from Riddleport. Part was to be sold here and part was to move on the next ship to Westcrown. Because the port was closed, everything is still down there, including Nan himself - if he still lives. I'm glad you three are willing to help," she says, apparently taking Dee's question as an affirmation of her interest and involvement. Moving to stand before Valexia and Bertom, the smuggler tells them, "I understand if you don't want to be involved. My offer to stay here if need be still stands. After all, you may change your mind later. Still, I think the more that tackle the downstairs, the better."
Laria rises and wrings Ensis' hand, a delighted smile on her face. "I knew you folks wouldn't let me down. Well, I didn't, not really. If this was your first foray, it's the time a lot of folks quit. I hoped you'd help, though. But if you're not in, please keep quiet, at the very least."
Laria: "Well, sounds like you lot can handle yourselves well enough. Here's the deal: I have a storeroom and some tunnels under this place. They're not in the architect's drawings, if you get my drift. I let a friend use them - nothing unusual. He gets his cargo stowed and is ready to sell part here and get the rest on a ship for Westcrown when everything goes to hells. The buyers go to ground, ships are stranded, and he bolts back to his cargo in a big hurry. I ain't seen him since." She leans forward and lowers her voice. "I thought he'd come back, but he hasn't. The first evening, I leave him supper at the top of the stairs. That night, I hear laughing from downstairs - but it ain't him. And it ain't human. Kinda hoarse, strange. I peek in the next morning and the food's gone. So I keep putting it there and it keeps vanishing." She shakes her head, face pale and taut now that her smile is gone. "I can't go to the guard. My associates have all vanished. I've got no one to look down there, and I'm sure as hells not going down myself. I'm a thinker, not a fighter. I put a lot of food out and it goes, but how many are eating? I don't know! What if they run out of food? What if they break down the door? I keep it bolted at night, but I can barely sleep for the worry." She nods decidedly. "So we're in a position to help each other. You clear out - chop to bits or make friends with or set free or fry with magic, I don't care - whatever is down there, and you have use of the place for as long as you need. I've a feeling my usual associates are going to keep their heads down as long as Barzillai is around. If you have plans to get rid of him, that's fine by me." She takes a deep breath and rolls her eyes to the ceiling. "And now I've said enough that if you yell for the guards, it's excruciation or the stake for me. But I've known Rexus' mother forever, and he's always had a good heart, just like her. What say you? Partners in this? My business is just the coffee shop until this place is put right. May as well throw in with you." |