"Don't thank me yet, kid." Mal'undil climbed into Gertrude's saddle and grinned. "You haven't seen the kind of vomit I can churn up on a nice boat ride."
Mal's camel grunted in agreement.
"Stow it, Gertie."
Caleb patted the side of Karthan's horse and whispered conspiratorially to the elf. "When the time's right, let him know I slipped some crushed carbon in his things. There's some there for all of you should the seas be too rough."
Quick Post here... I'll get something more sizable in a little while.
For your patient consideration...
Caleb stopped his withdrawal and thought on Karthan’s request. ”I’ll see what I can do, Karthan.” He returned to the group, passing Fir’umil as the wizard departed to get the carriage ready.
The old bard interlocked his fingers across the girth of his belly and sighed. He thought on his words for a moment, frowning until his bushy, gray-white brows nearly met like joining roads. ”I won’t claim to know fully your mind, Karthan, but I will give you some food for thought. The temple here made a bold step in directly interfering in the affairs of this city, even if it was outside the walls. They lost good people in battle against a well organized and deadly foe. In addition, the city officials will want their...how is it said...their pound of flesh.”
Another pause as he sought the right words. There was a genuine sense about the old man that he didn’t want to cause friction or ruffle the feathers of Karthan’s honorbound duty. ”I think I might understand your motivations behind bringing the body before the representative of the Court who yes, by the way, does reside in Green Ridge...but your people were well aware of the Rook’s presence...of his activities...yet they did not seek to move against him. I sense there was something more to that portrait than what we see. Though I count the elder-kin close to my heart, and even though I’ve been named friend, I could never see all the perspectives or reasons why. Especially as we stand so close to the finished painting as this...” His eyes drifted to the inert Dhampir’s form.
”If I may suggest, Karthan, perhaps give this a bit of time. Bring your announcement to the representative in Green Ridge. But leave the Rook’s remains to the administration of this Temple. They will have much to answer for with regards to the authorities over Absalom for their direct action...but I think to a man and woman the servants of Iomedae believe those actions righteous and worth every drop of blood.”
He directed the elves’ attention to those in the courtyard. Even though the battle and loss were fresh, there was a deep sense of renewed purpose and honor in all their movements. ”The battles of the early morning and what just transpired have rekindled the fire in their blood for their beloved goddess’ precepts. Something I’ve not seen here in quite a while.” He looked back to Karthan and Zandra. ”It’s no accident that you are both at the heart of that rekindling.”
Another sigh, then a warm smile as he let his words crowd about the air. ”Consider it, Karthan, that’s all I ask. Now, on to telling stories to children, a favorite pastime for old men!” He spun about more nimbly than most a quarter of his age and headed towards the location of the family. ”See you at dinner!” Caleb called over his shoulder.
Caleb smiled and pointed to the workshop in the northeast corner of the courtyard. At a hum from the bard, the workshop shimmered and half of the structure disappeared. In the shadows of what remained were the family, safely guarded by the clerics who'd been administering to them earlier.
Caleb watched as the celestial eagle finished the last enemy, quietly sad for the additional loss of life, but seeing the necessity. Next to him, Karthan charged forward with his elven blades drawn...
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (20) + 12 = 32
The old bard held up a hand to the elf. "You ask the right question, young one, but your heart is tossed in a sea of anger..." He knelt down over the body of the Rook, sifting through the Dhampir's body and coming up with the object he'd seen glowing moments before. "A Ring of Chameleon if I don't miss my guess..."
With an assessment of the object, the bard handed the item over to the elven ranger. "You have earned the item, Karthan Dawnsetter. Allow yourself to feel the victory over a dark pall that had been over Coppertown for a long time. Without your intervention into his business, this day may not have come."
"To answer your question, the Rook simply sought his freedom. And he had the support of loyal servants to make the attempt. The backlash...his essence was old and his rage, however well decorated or mannered, was potent."
Karthan receives a Ring of Chameleon. It has no residue of evil, merely a magic item.
...more to come."
"These dreams you had," Caleb added, looking to the siblings. "Keep track of them. Perhaps they revolve around the changes you're experiencing here...perhaps it is the tension your paths place between you. You are on the same path, but your roads may differ before the journey's end.
"Perhaps once you're done here, visiting the Temple to speak with Sacerdos may yield the next steps, whether it is to aide him or it is to pursue information about the daggers, maybe the answers will come."
Caleb's face expressed appreciation for Karthan sharing the presence he'd encountered outside the tavern. Was he concerned that Karthan would have kept the information between himself and Caleb? Caleb shrugged off the notion, glad for the elf not wanting to manage the experience on his own.
"Indeed, Olivia is well capable of taking care of herself. Perhaps the night air and time spent at the temple will buoy her spirits."
The old bard leaned back in his chair to relight his pipe. He flicked his fingers and wrist and produced a strike stick from up his sleeve. "With the events of yesterday came lessons for all of us, I'm afraid. Our dear paladin has much to work through, and I'm sure Olivia is up to the task."
Caleb puffed his pipe to life sending smells of spiced apple tobacco throughout the room in artful smoke rings. "But be mindful young one, 'αν και τα χρόνια του γέροντα-kin εκτείνονται από ορίζοντα σε ορίζοντα, ένα μόριο σκόνης που φέρει τη σοφία της αιωνιότητας από τις ακτίνες του ήλιου το πρωί.'"
Knoweldge (history) check - 10 or higher
"No, child, the Chaplain-Protector spent her evening at the Temple." Caleb held close the troubled feeling he possessed regarding the topic. Bluff: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (16) + 11 = 27
He turned to the materials on the table. "It's good to see you both this morning. Come, eat and avail us of your observations."
”Oh, dear…” Caleb muttered. He sat down in the comfortable chair Olivia had vacated and heaved a great sigh. ”This day has been a pall upon us. If it would have prevented any of this, I’d have gladly shared all of my idiot notions with all of you. But Karthan, you’ll have to grow from this day. You’ll have to learn more discernment, must as the young paladin must also learn. I cannot change Lau’s fate, nor can I argue that those who were gathered here yesterday evening are not the solution to the problem Mal’undil described to me earlier.”
Caleb waived to the table. ”Please, I’ll see to it that these items are properly arranged for you tomorrow morning. Perhaps by then we can approach the riddle of these glass daggers with fresh eyes.”
Then the bard pointed to the harrow card in Karthan’s hand, then leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. ”You may have the right of it, Karthan. The card signifying renewal through trial is a proper definition when it is misaligned as part of the harrowing. That would be more in line with my supposition of it being an invitation of some sort.”
Feel free to continue a discussion with Caleb. He’s glad to do so, but very disturbed by the mood Olivia found herself in upon her departure.
Caleb looked down at the card on the table and seated himself again. ”The Cyclone…a force that tears through whatever it meets. A disaster that does not occur in the midst of order, but in the midst of Chaos… But in the right context, this signifies the calling of disaster from the plots of intelligent beings. War, fire, plans that destroy everything they touch.” He placed a thumb upon the card, drawing it towards him so he could pick it up and study it more closely. Caleb let his glasses drift a bit on the end of his nose so he could view the card with and without them. ”The dark red coloring in the picture, that is unique to most Harrow decks I’ve seen. I know none in my collection have such coloring…
Knowledge (history) – 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (11) + 14 = 25
Knowledge (local) - 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19
”… Achaekek….if I’m not mistaken by the markings along the border…a strange form of Sylvan. The pattern on the card appears to be an invitation of some sort.” He handed the card back over to the elf. ”Sleep on what you witnessed, when you wake, tell me more about the character you witnessed outside the Toiling Gent. I think we could all use with a good night's sleep before speaking into the wake of this day's events.”
There was much truth in the elf’s earlier words though, but Karthan approached his conclusions like a stalking cat whose focus was entirely on the prey. ”Knowledge is power, an interesting saying I've always thought. As you get older, Karthan, you’ll slowly learn that knowledge is not power, it is…knowledge. Nothing more, nothing less.” He gestured towards the pewter pitchers. ”In that mulled wine Hindre used a type of star anise from the Mwangi Expanse that if left to boil too long will release a toxin strong enough to sicken those who ingest it. Hindre knows this, and either through negligence, lack of wisdom or malice, we could all be rendered sick for the evening.”
He poured a mug full of the mulled wine and took a long sip, smiling in memory. ”A friend I once found ourselves in the wilds of the Verudan Forest, embarking on a favor for a man in Woodsedge. We were to find the person responsible for the killing of several hundred elk in the deeper forest. We were given a good deal of information ranging from how the creatures died, their wounds and even the commonality of the breed of elk.” Caleb took another sip of the wine then put it down so he could pour a half mug for Olivia who sat by in silence. ”We knew the wounds were consistent with a broadhead arrow, that the weapons used were poisoned, and that the hunter always removed their arrows after the creature’s death.”
”My friend and I hunted for nearly two weeks until we came across a small rivulet. Nearly lost, just about out of water, we were thankful to refill our waterskins and camp in a descent location for the night. But as I lifted the waterskin to my lips, my friend caught my arm and pointed to the other side of the small river. A few paces off lay the dying form of an elk, the mighty creature laboring to breath.” Caleb’s lipped turned down with sadness at the memory. ”We crossed the stream and studied the animal, trying to comfort him. But before our eyes, we saw wounds open up from the creature, carving outward from within him and letting free a thorn that resembled the shape of a broadhead arrow. Then, as soon as it touched the air of the forest, the thorn dissolved into dust and drifted away.”
”Our little expedition managed to locate a small pool upstream where several creatures had been lured to the only watering hole in the area. Within that watering hole was a Viper Vine; a plant that poisoned its prey by reaching its roots to the surrounding area and draining all the standing water. Then it created a pool about itself to lay its trap. My friend and I had entered that forest with an assumption. All the information from the locals had been very accurate based on their understandings, but no one had accounted for a species of plant life that hadn’t seen the light of day in that region.”
”Perspective, Karthan. Maintain perspective. Would it have been better to fill your heads with my lack of understanding of the knowledge I’d gathered or to truly see why fate had brought you here to Absalom? I mourn the loss of our friend, but I’ve witnessed Lau Fu Shan hold a giant at bay.” He looked to Olivia and smiled with a since of sorrow. ”I knew the Chaplain-Protector and Fir’umil shared a secret of some portent, but I also trusted them enough to know such a secret was not held out of malice. There were reasons that I, in knowing their natures, I could trust.” He sighed and looked down at his hands, they were eager to play the lute, something for them to do. ”Am I free of blame in Lau’s death? I don’t know. Perhaps yes, perhaps no. I’m sure there will be accounting at the end of my life on such a topic.”
”I’ve expressed my reservation earlier with regards to Mal’undil visiting the Rook this morning. I thought it unwise given his history. But Mal learned more about himself in the encounter and for that I cannot fault him.” Caleb focused on Karthan. ”Now my question for you Karthan is this; knowing the nature of the Rook, why would you open yourself to any measure of trust in gathering information from him? Would you seek the poisoned well if you think it is the last water in the land? Are you so discerning that you could stake your life upon the truth or lie in each and every word from the Rook’s mouth? Are any of us wise enough?”
”The gods have funny ways of revealing the pathways of our lives. I think they make their best effort to ensure we’re ready for what we need to hear…and they have their agents to deliver such information…but we must decide how best we ready ourselves to receive it. Perhaps the track of your life had to include all of these events in order to provide you with the best way to decide to follow or decide to turn away.”
“Fir’umil has many faults, Karthan Dawnsetter, but he carries much in the way of obligation.” Caleb stood, glancing over towards Mal’undil and Lau and then Olivia. They were still hanging on the pronouncement that Fir’umil was blood to these two elves.
Mal’undil braced his elbow on the table and waggled a finger towards Caleb. “And how did you orchestrate this, Scroll? Four Grey Elves in Absalom, all of blood relation?”
“Fate played a hand in the boarding of the voyage, but the wind in the sails has been Fir’umil all along.”
“He’s not putting any wind in my sails, old boy.” Mal’undil leaned back and crossed his arms, obviously irritated he’d not been brought in on the full picture. “The only thing being put any where by anybody is a pain in my arse by you.”
Lau and Olivia remained silent, digesting the information and the potential ramifications. The paladin went so far as to reclaim her seat.
“Rump-pa-pah-pa-pah…” Caleb sung in two alternating notes, low in register. The fire in the hearth, having been dying down, brightened and grew until it licked at the small iron cauldron. Moving slowly towards the fireplace, stretching his back as he went, he said, “Let’s have some tea to end the evening.”
“I think in one shape or another, we’ve known Fir’umil for 6 years.” Caleb smiled towards Karthan and Zandra, then reached for a towel above the mantle so he could lift the lid to the cauldron. “Not long by elven standards, I know, but a significant period in human thinking. Long enough to know his story and to better understand his motivations.”
Mal’undil still had his dander up. “Here’s me hoping these two are more akin to Hal’dorel than Fir’umil.”
“You should reconcile with the young wizard. After all you know the pain he suffers.” Caleb opened the box also on the mantle, a small, oaken rectangle that held his tea leaves. As he moved, he set a rhythm to the process…a tap here, the cauldron’s lid clanking, the sound of the chain from which it was suspended over the fire.
Mal’s mouth opened then shut again. Sighing with closed eyes, the half-elf waived for Caleb to continue.
“There is no great mystery to Fir’umil Osseus once you know his story.” Caleb grabbed a chair near the fire so he could watch over the water. “Hal’dorel told us as much when they arrived, even if Fir’umil was unwilling to share initially. Point of fact, I actually heard the tale of Hal and Fir’umil from an old friend in Greengold. You remember Oleron don’t you? How we helped him with that trouble in the north?” He looked to Mal and Lau, continuing the subtle rhythm of his movements.
Mal’s face broke into a grin as he shook his head. “No, I remember you talking a clan of Minotaurs out of killing us and I remember me wondering if I’d brought an extra pair of breeches.”
“I lost my quarterstaff that day,” Lau mentioned wistfully.
Olivia chuckled a bit. “Didn’t one of them gnaw it in half?”
Caleb cast a net over his memory, enjoying the change in tone and tempo of the conversation. “Well, it was Oleron who contacted me 8 years ago regarding Hal and Fir’umil’s situation. He wanted someone he could trust conducting the young wizard into Tabir the Grey’s care. He also told me of how Fir’umil witnessed his father’s abduction.”
His demeanor softened, Mal’undil spoke. “Look, I know I beat on the guy a bit too often. I get why he’s so driven. But don’t you think Karthan has something? Perhaps it’s not so much his desire to rescue his father we should be focusing on, perhaps it’s the elf’s methods.”
“I would like to disagree with Karthan’s observation,” Caleb admitted. His brow drew down briefly, anguish and regret. The bard looked to the two elf siblings. “My understanding of Fir’umil is that the Council of Elders would not aide him in his research of the Shadow Plane due to his youth and the speed at which he wanted to learn. This led to him seeking the aide of Tabir the Grey.
“All his life now is a charted course towards his father. So long as he breathes, he will not stop until he can bring his father back or be assured of his demise. Every ounce of motion and effort is a step along that path.” Caleb looked to Olivia. “Even the assistance he provides to your Temple is not without some element to further his work.”
He stopped long enough to check the cauldron’s contents, then slipped back into his chair. He directed his attention to the siblings. “Are there further insights you would like to share?”
Quarrelsome as always, Fir’umil Osseus, Caleb thought to himself. Always the same with that one, a never ending duel between the elf’s pride and propriety. Not for the first time, Caleb wondered at Tabir’s choice of pupil.
“Perhaps I should accompany him,” Olivia rose from the table, looking into the shadowed hallway behind Hindre. “The hour is late and Misery Row is no place for a pit viper, much less…”
“There is no need, for I have a feeling I know the man who came calling for our esteemed wizard.” Caleb raised a questioning eye-brow towards Hindre.
A squeeze of the forehead and a stiffening of the shoulders in his assistant’s bearing told him all he needed to know. There were few people who troubled his old friend; fact was you could count them on the bad hand of Linkah Four-fingers.
A gentle touch on Olivia’s arm and the Bard offered his insight. “It would seem that Tabir’s bondsman will be accompanying Fir’umil this late evening.”
Olivia looked to Hindre, “Alaric?”
Hindre nodded, snorted his own derision for the name and turned back to the front of the shop muttering about egotism and men of hardened natures. Not all of the old man’s words were fit for children.
“Never understood why Tabir suffers his company.” Olivia returned to her chair and took up her quill once more, notating in a corner of a sheet that the lead on LB would be followed.
“Who, Alaric or Fir’umil?” Mal’undil seemed to have relaxed a few measures with the wizard’s departure.
“Both.” The right side of Olivia’s lips turned upwards in a grin. The gesture cut a mischievous facet in her normally serious beauty.
Caleb saw Karthan and Zandra sharing a brief word and smiled warmly in apology. “Fir’umil takes some getting used to, that’s for certain, my new friends. But he is a quick study and has an acute sense of things which has been an aide to us all on several occasions.”
“Not bad in a scrap, either.” The paladin offered. “Only a few of the higher level mages I’ve seen are faster at spell-slinging than that one.”
“But it comes at a cost.”
Caleb held up a hand towards Mal’undil before the half-elf continued. “Now, now, Mal, the wizard has been through a lot. A little latitude is necessary when dealing with one such as him.”
Mal’undil shrugged, not quite sold on the Bard’s words but willing to accept them out of loyalty. “Guess he’s better than Alaric the Grim.”
With a wink, Caleb returned his focus to Karthan and Zandra. “I believe you asked if we would embark upon this hunt tonight.”
Karthan nodded.
“I think a few hours sleep will do us some good. At first light, Mal’undil and Lau will most assuredly benefit from you accompaniment to Copperwood.”
In a matter of moments, the paladin had gathered her materials into her satchel and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ll make my report to the Temple this evening, then return tomorrow morning. Lord Caleb, perhaps you’ll join me in paying a visit to the Ta residence then?”
“It would be my pleasure, Chaplain-Protector.”
A touch of amusement swam behind the paladin’s eyes. She bid her farewells to the others and made her exit.
“For you two,” Caleb said to Karthan and Zandra, “I have a wonderful room awaiting you directly above this one. It’s sizeable, with two beds for you and a comfort bed for Thorandil here.”
Caleb waited for any questions from the two elves before summoning Hindre to show them the way upstairs.
If you have some questions or observations prior to us setting off in the morning, go ahead and post them. Also, if you have any interplay between the siblings once they head up into their room, go ahead and play that out. I want to get a further feel of how the characters interact.
Caleb nodded his thanks to the elf’s kind words, plucking absently at his lute. The tranquil tone of the room had been his goal for the day. A welcoming place for the pair of long-traveled guests and a way to ease their transition to the city of Absalom. There were other songs to sing, other stories to be told, but the old bard had chosen only a few to pass the time into evening. He sang of Heinrich the Kettle, a stubborn dwarf who’d faced down a minotaur chieftain in a battle of stonewalling. Then he recited the tale of Darnier dhel Ofrinio dhel Rojas, a peculiar Halfling who’d swindled the mayor of the Ivy District out of a prized family watch while at the same time, the Halfling’s brother had been stealing wine out of the cellars. The former a cautionary tale on willfulness, the latter a funnier story to caution those who portray themselves as someone they’re not (both Halfling brothers were captured during the grift as a result of their more and more complicated layers of lies).
Above Absalom, the clouds finally gave up the last of their water, wringing themselves dry upon the city and leaving behind the cold chill of the autumn twilight. In the west, the sun’s rays poked out from the clumping cloud cover to bid farewell to the day. Until we meet again…
Their bellies full and their jokes all but told for the day, the clan of gnomes stood and gave thanks for the day – a rare turn for even the nicest of them! – and made their way back to the Clockwork Cathedral. As Caleb attempted to explain, if they were not back by nightfall, the rooms and doorways would shift and change preventing their admittance.
“There are divine magics at work in the walls of this Cathedral?” Zandra inquired.
Down the hall, the front door slammed as the last of the gnomes departed in a cacophony of clanking tools and gadgets and continuing insults. Caleb made a mental note of a particularly good jab to use at a later date.
“No, my dear.” He hefted himself from his comfortable chair, making it look easier than it felt on his old knees. He strolled to the main table, grabbing up his lute case as he went. “The Clockwork Cathedral is a mystery of engineering and technology with secrets dating back to when the Assembler first arrived a century ago. It is a school of sorts to teach the art of technology. A marvel to be sure…but quite enigmatic in its workings and culture.”
“Sir?”
Caleb looked up to see Hindre standing at the entryway to the great room. “Yes, my friend?”
“Guests, sir.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow at Hindre’s tone, a bit of warning to the announcement. Not danger, but… The old bard nodded for his assistant to show them in to the room.
Hindre turned slightly and waved his hand down the hallway. Two figures entered, both of which were familiar to Caleb. Behind him, he heard Mal’undil shift in his seat. Earlier, he and Lau had sat down to a game, entreating the elven ranger to join them. The half-elf ceased his explanation of Absalom’s version of Stones for the time being.
The first figure moved with grace and confidence, the plain-spun cloak a contrast to the array of dark hair cascading over her shoulders like descending ravens. Her piercing blue eyes, like glaciers hewn down to blue ice, matched the blued steel of her scale mail. Just under the cloak glistened the starbursting sword sigil of Iomedae. The woman paused a few steps inside the room and rested a hand upon the hilt of her longsword, bowing with a small smile.
“My sword serves Iomedae and will always gratefully defend your house, Lord Caleb.” Her voice was like smooth liquor, carrying in her breath the depths of her honor and confidence.
Caleb closed the lute case before him and moved forward to embrace the paladin, a laugh in his voice. “Olivia, such a wonderful surprise, my dear Chaplain-Protector!”
The woman probably in her early twenties, smiled back, a disarming beauty made potent by the honesty of her bearing. “I am always home when I am under your roof.”
“Am I no less welcome?” the rasping and familiar voice came from the second figure to enter the room. Garbed in dark robes of blacks and midnight blues, delicates hand drawing back his hood to reveal the wry grin of a fair-skinned elf. Fir’umil Osseus nodded his own greeting. In his right hand, he grasped a finely made wooden staff, carvings in several languages running the length of the wood to the very top where a milky white stone was grasped in a brass fitting.
The room filled with the smells of spices and unguents, the components of a well-equipped wizard’s bag. Fir’umil’s gaze swept over the inhabitants of the room, brief nods of acknowledgement for Mal’undil and Lau, a hand gesture of greeting for Karthan and Zandra. ”Greetings under the suns and stars,” he spoke casually towards them and turned his attention back to Caleb.
“We are not here for pleasantries, I’m afraid,” the elven wizard intoned, a sigh of disappointment laced with subtle mockery and impatience. Caleb had never known Fir’umil to be one for pleasantries.
The paladin’s smile faded, her brow furrowing ever so slightly in reaction to Fir’umil’s tone. Olivia was wise beyond her years and recognized the elf’s condescension.
The Bard turned his own attentions to his guests, not forgetting protocol. “Introductions are in order before we cast what promises to be a gloom upon the early evening.” He made way to wave towards Karthan & Zandra.
“Karthan & Zandra of the Kyonin Wood, I would like you to meet Chaplain-Protector Olivia Duneheim, dedicated paladin of Iomedae, may She bring light to our darkest nights.”
Olivia stepped forward and bowed respectfully to the new faces in the room. Then stepped to the side to stand next to Mal’undil and Lau, both for whom she shared a forearm grasp of greeting.
“…and this is…”
The wizard interrupted him. “I am Fir’umil Osseus, also of the Kyonin Wood and disciple of Tabir the Grey to whom I am pledged in the Arcanamirium.” He nodded shallowly, sparing a glance over their shoulders to Thor who was watching Fir’umil intently.
The big cat had already drawn his conclusions about Olivia, but was still assessing the wizard.
“Unfortunately, Fir’umil is right, my lord.” Olivia’s demeanor and tone tensed minutely, her right hand moving to unsling a messenger bag from across her body. Her fingers looked as if they did not wish to touch the bag.
She stepped to the large dining table and began removing objects from the bag, talking as she went. “The temple has need of yours and master Osseus’ talents.”
A small jar, thick liquid of translucent brown and flecks of black flakes floating within…
A document tri-fold, bound in a worn leather strap and a clasp bearing the symbol of Iomedae…
What looked to be a broken manacle, small enough for a halfling’s wrist...
A folded bit of cloth, perhaps a bit of tunic or breeches…
A leather pouch, big enough for perhaps 10 coins cinched closed…
“There had been more disappearances before the temple was informed, not sure how many but the evidence points to six.” The paladin took at a seat at the table and nodded for the others to gather around. Fir’umil stood behind her, leaning against a wall, his staff close to hand, as he watched the group and listened.
Mal’undil placed a foot on one of the bench seats so he could rest his elbow on his knee and get a closer look at the items on the table. Lau slid down from the other end of the table where he’d been seated in front of the Stones board.
“Some were children, others of an age closer to my own. All were human.” Olivia’s eyes drifted over the items, lingering briefly on the broken manacle. “Had it not been for Cellen Ta’s brother going missing, the Watch wouldn’t have even been alerted.”
“Cellen Ta?” Caleb was familiar with the sundries shop owner. Cellen was a nice man, his brother a bit on the lazy side and not very helpful around the shop. “Julian is missing?”
Olivia nodded. She reached for the document tri-fold and unbuckled the clasp. “We have descriptions and drawings of the missing, including some of those who’d disappeared a few weeks ago but had gone unreported.”
“Unreported?” Karthan inquired.
Caleb sighed, saying a single phrase. “Misery Row?”
Olivia nodded, face plainly showing the desire to curse.
He turned to Karthan and Zandra, “Misery Row is a slave trading district on the south end of the Merchant’s Quarter. This explains why the missing people went unreported.”
“A commodity is a commodity, Caleb.” Fir’umil added, his voice given a reedy tone before he coughed into his a silk handkerchief produced from a sleeve. “It is not lack of caring that they were not reported, it is the lack of local authorities not respecting that the people reporting the theft of property should be accorded response.”
It was a wise observation, but the tone made it seem somehow too practical.
“Be that as it may, we find ourselves here to seek your assistance.” The paladin glared at Fir’umil, daring him to speak again. She turned back to the documents before her, spreading out the vellum and parchments to show drawings of various individuals, notations scrawled in the available spaces of each sheet. “Master Osseus can leverage his talents with chemicals and magical intuition...and perhaps I can lean upon your…”
“Perhaps some of your vaunted insights can illuminate the investigation.” Fir’umil interrupted again, his voice breaking as he coughed further. He dipped his hand within the folds of his robes, retrieving a small dropper from his wizard’s pouch and squeezing its contents on the back of his tongue. The cough subsided. He adjusted the scarf about his neck and pulled his robes close.
“I would be honored to assist the temple in any way.” Caleb rested a hand upon Olivia’s, concern in his eyes as he studied her demeanor. There was a weight upon her shoulders.
“Karthan, Zandra, you have been listening, but I have need of your eyes.” The old bard motioned his guests closer. “Look upon these items and tell me what you see.”
OOC
Included in your response, be sure to describe how you look over each of the items on the table. Then do your perception rolls (or whichever skill you’d most likely use) for each item in the response. I’ll respond quickly with what your rolls discover.
Caleb the Scroll watched through window of his shop as Lau Fu Shan nimbly leapt from the driver’s bench and landed steadily despite the rain. Caleb resisted the urge to head out the door and greet the newcomers, but he wagered the Steambaronwhirl clan would be keen to retain that honor.
“Marishalanda, my guests have arrived.” He headed down the hallway leading from the front of the shop to the kitchen.
“Our guests, you old book-peddler!” the gnome matriarch huffed. She turned from the cook-pot and hopped down from the step stool. “Boys!!”
All five arrayed themselves in front of the shop near the door, each holding the gifts they had prepared for the new arrivals. As the front door opened, they shouted in unison, “Creoso a'baramin!!! (Welcome in elvish).
But it was Mal’undil through the door first. Nicolo cursed in gnomish, pulling a small pen-looking device from a hip pouch, blue sparks and snaps emitting from the end to goad Mal out of the way of the two elves.
“Creoso a'baramin!!! The gnomes cried again in elven.
Endrestormar and Nicolo bustled forward to stand before Thor, their bright, purple hair flouncing along with the tools and gears festooning their utility webbings. One held out a wreath of perfumed garlands while the other held out the grizzly shank-bone of the buck killed for the lunch festivities.
”Welcome and peace in the highest for one of the mightiest felines of the land!” They greeted in Sylvan, kneeling respectfully in front of the spectacular beast.
Nicolo draped the garland about the big cat’s head, careful to move slowly and speaking soothing words in the tongue of Druids. Endrestormar, stood back with the bone and gestured for Thor and the two elves to follow. “Come, come, we have a gift for your wonderful companion.” He turned and skipped further down the hall, leading away from the front of the shop and past the kitchen and into the large back room.
The rest of the clan, lead by Marishalanda, followed behind to usher them forward. She noticed right off as Mal attempted to lean into the kitchen to grab a morsel. It earned a swat from the clan matriarch. “No cheating! Lunch is not ready, but will be soon!”
The smells of the meal permeated the shop’s lower floor, mixing with the musty & warm scents of scrolls and books and vellum and bindings. The heavy oak shelves lined the front room of the store, stretching upwards 10 feet and down the hallway leading to the back.
Caleb watched it all with a smile, happy to stand to the back as the gnomes played host. The old Bard rested his body against the shop’s main counter, spectacles balanced precariously at the end of his nose. He waved greetings to the two elves, eyes softening on the small female who’s own eyes were wide as saucers but more beautiful than a sunset. His fatherly instincts kicked in momentarily, igniting a small flame of worry for the poor girl when she would eventually have to set foot outside the confines of his shop.
As the group moved down the hall, Caleb stepped to the front door and saw Hindre coming around the side of the building from where he’d put the carriage to rest with Aric the groomsman.
“I’ll see to the front," Hindre mentioned as he doffed his coat and hat and hung them from the rack on the other side of the door. He moved his old frame to the counter and took a seat at the stool, waving off Caleb to head to the back.
Caleb gestured thanks to his assistant and headed down the hall. Good and loyal, Hindre… he thought to himself. The old human, 10 years older than Caleb, had been a trusted aide for nearly 12 years. Long enough for Caleb to know the old man wouldn’t particularly subscribe to the elvish feast about to take place. More of a porridge and stew man he was, and a happy consumer of Caleb’s culinary experimentations.
He ambled down the hall, sniffing at the wonderful aromas of Elven Cuisine wafting from the kitchen. Most likely, Marishalanda would take credit for the cooking…but they were using Caleb’s recipes. But that was alright, the gnomes did love the work. Past all the friendly insults and jibes, the Steambaronwhirl clan was more an extended family to the old Bard. The years since Caleb had saved Marishalanda’s son Guten from being sold into slavery had seen them growing closer and closer to the point Caleb swore he saw a familial resemblance.
In the back room, Mal’undil and Lau had already found themselves pushed to the far side and into a small couch while Karthan and Zandra were given the comfy chairs near the fireplace. Endrestormar and Nicolo were arguing with Kalshantero as the maintainer tweaked with the tiger’s gift.
“Off of it you useless tinkerer!!”
“You left this spring loose; it could come up and twist the poor thing’s tail!”
“Nonsense!” Endrestormar and Nicol exclaimed indignantly.
Thor, for his part, seemed to wait patiently at the guidance of his mistress, sniffing contentedly at the garland about his majestic neck.
Nicolo coaxed the tiger to take his rest on the Platformicusrestfulbandontonatualisfelisgiganticus, speaking gently but firmly in Sylvan. Wisps of steam came from the assorted pipes leading from automated billows to the platform where the tiger sniffed. There were piles of furs and a rather voluminous pillow waiting for him. Whatever he sensed, the warmth of the platform called to his desire for comfort.
Caleb politely moved to his chair, removing the lute that rested there so he could take his seat. He began to pluck absently at the instrument, forming a song as his fingers moved of their own accord. The gnomes began to calm themselves, Marishalanda directing them to go to the kitchen and begin bringing the food. As they clanked away, they began humming to Caleb’s tune. For his part, the old Bard began to sing in Elven.
I breathe the lands of my ancestors,
I drift amongst the trees,
I long for days when my feet were bear
And my eyes could count the leaves…
And through the woods, I reach my stride
The earth beneath me rolls
The clouds above, they flow and glide
The moon shines through the folds.
My homeland grows
It always grows
I feel it in my blood.
The morning sun, shines on us all
And brings life to the wood…
You can roll a knowledge check – target no. 18 – to recognize the tune. It's a tale of Queen Telandia Edasseril in her youth when she first left the Kyonin Wood to learn of the world outside.
There was little magic in the music or his voice other than to convey the feeling of peace and welcoming. It was an old tune…one learned, point of fact, from Mal’undil’s mother and further refined by another elf who’d recently called his shop home for a time. Caleb guarded a silent thought of prayer for Hal’dorel and his barbarian companion.
As the song came to a close, those in attendance seemed to blink as though awakening from a restive afternoon nap. Caleb gestured towards the area of the room behind the gathering of comfy chairs and couches to a long, oak dining table where the gnomes had already set places for an early lunch.
Caleb took the seat at the head of the table and hoisted a porcelain wine goblet upwards in toast. “My heart sings greetings to our new guests, and prays that their time under my roof is one of peace, learning and fellowship.”
…meanwhile, back at the shop, Caleb readies his shop and home for visitors…
“No, no, no, Nicolonhost…the pressure gauge is useless there…”
“I don’t think so, Endrestormar, it should go right there if he wants to see it…”
“Rubbish, just like your designs!” The little gnome, Endrestormar Steambaronwhirl shook a heavy iron wrench at his brother and rubbed a dirty hand across his purple-hued face. A proper trail of black oil and soot wound its way across Endrestormar’s nose and cheeks. “He’s a cat, how will he know when the pressure is too high?”
Nicolonhost Steambaronwhirl shook his pair of ‘drivers right back at his brother. “Rubbish is the stink your breath emits all day!” His skin was a little lighter than his brothers, causing his appearance to halo when he stood in front of the fireplace.
Both of them began chattering away in gnomish, if for anything to make sure they got their insults properly voiced.
Caleb the Scroll sat back in his easy chair within the resting room and smiled. A long-armed pipe was clamped in his molars, hanging out the right side of his mouth like a wooden brazier. In his hands, he gently gave the tuning gear a turn to bring the E string to rights. His smile broadened when he heard a wonderfully scathing remark come from Nicolonhost. How he did love it when the Steambaronwhirl family stopped by the shop! The old bard loved gnomes in general, a wonderful people after his own heart.
“I think Endrestormar is correct, Nicolo. The cat will have no use for the gauge…” He cut in to the two’s contest of wills. “Besides, I think the Platformicusrestfulbandonton works just as it was billed by Steambaronwhirl & Company.”
Endrestormar spun on his heels and pointed his iron wrench at Caleb threateningly. “That’s the Platformicusrestfulbandontonatualisfelisgiganticus, curse your old human eyes!”
His brother chuckled as he slipped his ‘drivers back into his utility belt. “You have to admit, brother, his eyes are still functional if he can see through the cloud of your stink to the genius of my design.” He puffed up his chest and rocked forward on the balls of his feet.
One brother pushed the other but they couldn’t help ultimately laughing, the tools and trinkets of their trade jingling and clanking away.
Caleb chuckled along with them; a long-armed pipe was clamped in his molars, hanging out the right side of his mouth like a wooden brazier. In his hands, he gently gave the tuning gear on the head of his lute a turn to bring the E string to rights.
The Steambaronwhirl family was peculiar, even by the standards of the gnomish race. They held a proper love of nature and all things fey-born, but they’re true passion lay in their fascination with steam. Caleb had been quite thankful upon their arrival earlier in the day. No sooner had Mal’undil and Lau had departed for the docs then Marishalanda, the matriarch of the Steambaronwhirl clan had bounded into the shop.
“We’ve come to town to see if our only human friend is still alive.” Her long blue locks bounded about her precocious eyes as they had flickered mock sympathy at the sight of Caleb behind the front counter. Her lip puckered out as she called out to the rest of the family clanking their way up the shop’s entry path. “Leave the haversacks, boys & girls, he’s not dead yet.”
Endrestormar had been the next through the door. “Ah camel dung! I wanted to lay claim to his collection of pots and pans!!”
Before long, all 5 of the clan had been dirvishing their way through his shop, piling hugs and gifts his way as they had greeted their Bravicount Deadenemies. It had been at least 2 years since they’d last met in Absalom. Too long by Caleb’s reckoning, but they were gnomes.
“No more twisting my nuts!!” Endrestormar’s exclamation brought Caleb back to the present.
Nicolo was had grabbed his brother’s wrench and had proceeded to tighten down the pressure gauge on their latest invention.
“I think I hear Marishalanda calling, you two. Better get back to the kitchen before she starts spicing the vegetables without you.”
The two looked doubtful, but they weren’t taking any chances. Spicing, along with proper device procedures, were at the top of their list of responsibilities. They turned and darted for the kitchen, a parting insult over the shoulder in gnomish that accused Caleb’s elder nature of slowing their own faculties. In their wake, the smell of oils and metal work mixed with the aromas coming from the kitchen.
He heard the swinging door to the kitchen shifting, just barely since Kalshantero had gotten to it with his oiling can and cloth. From a recessed pocket in his coat he brought out the slip of paper from Oleron. Caleb’s old contact in Greengold had told him of the arriving guests…elven siblings, a tiger and their potential.
Oleron wanted guidance for the two younglings. But there had been something else in the note, a message of warning…
“I’m getting too old for these sorts of things, Oleron,” Caleb spoke to the paper as though it would conduct his voice the thousands of miles to Greengold. “But I’ll do what I can.”
He replaced the note in his pocket and began strumming a tune on his lute, puffing away at his pipe and smiling with anticipation for new arrivals.
“Oh yes, my old friend, I’ll do what I can.”
Caleb the Scroll, present...
Betsy has not participated in any online campaigns.
|
