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Kata remains in the shadowy 'cathedral' to guard the group's exit. A smooth, gray, stone corridor stretches about thirty feet ahead before it comes to an intersection. The stonework here is smooth and expertly crafted, and glowing, twisting violet runes race across the walls to light the way forward.
Kata nods and approaches, frowning. She bends down to search for traps, then starts picking at the lock.
The work takes longer than usual, close to a minute. Her brows furrow in concentration, and even after there is the click, she hesitates for a moment before looking up with a nod. "This wasn't a normal lock. It was some sort of magic trap. I barely noticed it in time, but it should be disabled now."
Broccan:
The door can be broken down, and the lock can be picked. The former will not be quiet. Alais: This place looks ancient, but you can't tell how old.
The lock remains still. It does detect as magic, however. Venelle frowns. "Maybe Kata should, uhh, take a crack at it?"
Knowledge (religion) 21 Edrukk:
You believe this to be correct, and you have some theories about what awaits you. Hextor's followers are most often militant and organized. Vecna's followers are usually paranoid and tricksome. As for Erythnul... you can only imagine brutality and blood await behind that door. No mind games, no organization, just cold steel and sharp teeth.
You doubt they get along well, at least. They probably won't gang up on you. At least not as long as they don't realize what you're doing. The door to the Vecnan temple is, anticlimactically, locked. Alais spots an inscription right under the doorknob. 'Tell me something only I will ever know.'
"So, uhh..." Venelle has her bow out and an arrow drawn, eyes fixed on the pool. "Are we, uhh, following those rules? Or breaking them? And which door's first?"
Alais: You take evil damage, and the duration of your light spells will be Concentrate while in the Dark Cathedral for the next hour.
Only flickering candles illuminate this shadowy domain. The party has descended into a vast domed hall. Black marble floor tiles glisten like oil in the faint light, and elaborate marble pillars support the tall, arching ceiling. Three short passages lead out from the chamber, one to the north of the elevator, one to its east, and one to its west. Each ends in a marble doorway. The door to the west is crudely etched with the image of a chalice. A pair of crimson banners flanks the door to the east, each marked with the symbol of a gauntled fist clutching a sword, six golden arrows set behind it pointing in opposite directions. The door to the north is free of all markings. To the south rises a stairway carved into the curved wall. It ascends to high platforms thirty feet in the air. These platforms ring a pool as black as oil. The chamber’s domed ceiling arches to a height of sixty feet over the pool’s surface, and dark mirrors, like the stained glass windows of a church, reflect no light below. Runes are carved into the arches around the elevator, facing the three doors. They seem to be carved in three distinct hands, but all in the same arcane tongue. Draconic:
The Rule of Hextor: No blood shall be spilt in the Cathedral. This feeds the Dissociate.
The Rule of Vecna: No bright light shall be spilt in the Cathedral. This feeds the Dissociate. The Rule of Erythnul: Tarry Not Close To The Pool. If Anyone Casts Light: You feel a sudden strange pressure on your mind, and the magic flickers. Something is attempting to extinguish your light spell, and it hurts. Pain squeezes you tight like a glove of needles squeezes, demanding the spell be broken. You can relinquish the spell willingly, or risk attempting to hold on.
Cranking the wheel is exhausting work, but Alais, Broccan and Edrukk are up to the task. More burdensome is having five people crowded into such a narrow space. The elevator descends into darkness—a darkness the members of the party may not depart for a long time. Perhaps it is one hundred feet. Edrukk's measure, by his enhanced dwarven senses, is about two hundred. It's a long way to fall.
Edrukk: The elevator seems solid to Edrukk. It's operated by first releasing a brake mechanism set into the wheel and slowly turning the wheel. The elevator car itself weighs 500 pounds.
The maximum amount of weight a character can lower or lift with the elevator system equals five times his or her maximum load. In this case, the elevator can be moved upward or downward at a rate of 5 feet per round. If the elevator’s weight is equal to or less than the operator’s heavy load, it can be raised or lowered at the rate of 20 feet per round. Up to three people may use the winch at once, with each additional person granting a +2 bonus to the highest Strength score among the operators for purposes of determining load. If the elevator is overloaded, it immediately loses control. Edrukk is pretty sure the winch itself will control the descent somewhat, but not enough to prevent passengers from getting injured.
The chamber is largely featureless. There is no light from down below that Edrukk can make out.
The elevator certainly seems to handle Alias's weight without a problem.
"Got it. I'll keep an eye out either way." As she pulls the secret door shut, the party lights their torches or spells and makes their way down the passage. It's not a long walk. After about a minute, the party comes to a large chamber. A big, wooden platform with a 5-foot wall built around its edges stands at the center. Struts rise 10 feet from each of the platform’s corners, joining in an X above the platform. A thick iron chain runs through the X’s midpoint to a large, wooden spool set in the middle of the platform. The platform is 10 feet wide and 10 feet long. It's another elevator, but one that can be operated from the platform itself.
"I... I know a little Goblin from the Bronzewood Lodge, I guess?" She nods resolutely. "I'll bring back food and bandages tomorrow, if I can. Good luck."
Edrukk:
You came to this town in search of your uncle, and all you've found are a trail of people who knew him but don't know where he's gone. The hills have yielded no clues to you. The high priestess of Wee Jas, Amariss, keeps calling you by his name by mistake. Broccan's a good lad, but he's as mystified as you on this. It bothers you, but you've got a job to do, and your uncle wouldn't want you to turn your back on people that need you for his sake.
You went into the Whispering Cairn in the hopes of answering the whispers that trail around you. You found the remnants of a great battle, a tomb left behind from the Shory Empire and the Empire of Taldor battling it out in the shadows of Earthfall. You found forgotten elementals left trapped in forgotten service by spells too powerful for lesser mages to even try to break. You found ghosts prevented from moving on by some corruption plaguing the land. You also found money. Maybe enough money to help Broccan and the others leave town. But you didn't find any answers. Over the next few days, you picked a fight with the goons of Balabar Smenk and helped your new companions defeat and capture a heinous necromantic 'scientist'. Apparently, Smenk hired this 'Filge' to investigate a worm acquired from beneath Moonmeadow Mine. Beneath the mines, you were told, lurks a disturbing order. The Ebon Triad, dedicated to binding together the three so-called Starstone ascendants--Hextor, Vecna, and Erythnul. Or by their modern incarnations, Iomedae, Norgorber, and Gorum. They want to bring back Aroden. What could these horrifying green worms have to do with it? Gorumites don't consider Gorum to have really needed the Starstone, of course. He was already as strong as a god, but the legends say that the gods shunned him, refused to let him spark conflict between them. So he took the test out of spite. Now the Triad thinks they can use his essence, combined with Iomedae's and Norgorber's, to bring Aroden back from the dead. The voice has been getting louder. It's less a voice and more a gnawing, a dull sense in your boots that there is something below, something that is waiting for you. Is it welcoming you? Will it devour you? Well, you're a tougher morsel to swallow than most. If it's an enemy, it will break its tooth. Briar Vervain:
One down. Two to go.
That's the phrase that has echoed around you since you plunged your knife into the first of the Raven Men. It's a comfort, but it's also a burden, a threat, a ring of piano wire always threatening to loop around your neck. Will they know what you did? Will they come for you? That would make things simpler, one way or another. As satisfying as the idea of them already knowing feels--the idea that they might be afraid--you know they're still dangerous. You can't stop now. You ventured into the Whispering Cairn to earn a bit of income. Things were a little desperate. Nobody knows what you did--and those who suspect don't care to rat you out--but Diamond Lake has a way of poisoning everything, or parasitizing it, like Seeker with that bird. You found the remnants of a great battle, a tomb left behind from the Shory Empire and the Empire of Taldor battling it out in the shadows of Earthfall. You found forgotten elementals left trapped in forgotten service by spells too powerful for lesser mages to even try to break. You found ghosts prevented from moving on by some corruption in the land. You also found money. Maybe enough money to get out of town and continue the search. But you also found new questions. On the remains of a follower of Norgorber, she found a scrap of writing with clearly the same code as that in the Left-Hand Raven Man's book. It certainly would not be out of character for Norgorberites to be assassins and killers. Are the Raven Men members of the Ebon Triad, or mere allies? Did the Left-Hand Raven come through town periodically because he had a connection to someone here? Over the next few days, you picked a fight with the minions of Balabar Smenk and helped your new companions defeat and capture a heinous necromantic 'scientist'. Apparently, Smenk hired this 'Filge' to investigate a worm acquired from beneath Moonmeadow Mine. Beneath the mines, you were told, lurks a disturbing order. The Ebon Triad, dedicated to binding together the three so-called Starstone ascendants--Hextor, Vecna, and Erythnul. Or by their modern incarnations, Iomedae, Norgorber, and Gorum. They want to bring back Aroden. What could these horrifying green worms have to do with it? Ravens, crows, magpies, blackbirds. Too many coincidences. Allustan, the closest thing you have here to a confidante, seemed to think there might be a link. He also seemed afraid for you. But a lucky break like this doesn't come along twice. Calistria is offering you a helping hand. It's time to take hold and start climbing. Broccan Dunchad:
The Whispering Cairn was your best chance to get some money together and make a real name for yourself. You've got the money. You're not sure you'd call yourself any kind of hero.
You faced elementals, ghouls and insidious traps to get to the vault's end, only to be pitted against old rivals among Smenk's employ. After besting Kullen, you feel some closure, but now there's something worse on the horizon. Filge, captured and held now by the Jasidians, was looking into something terrible for Smenk--a cult lurking beneath Moonmeadow Mine dedicated to the revival of Aroden at any cost that is apparently studying some sort of necromancy-eating worm. You've got to get down there and put a stop to whatever it is they're up to. You've also made promises to the Porters, justice for their kidnapped or murdered leader. A lot of promises, lately. As hard as everyone tries to convince you otherwise, you still have that faint voice at the back of your head telling you that you don't belong alongside such skilled, brave adventurers. But if you can put yourself between them and some horror, well, that's something useful you can make of yourself, anyways. Alaïs Thalanassa:
You ventured into the Whispering Cairn out of curiosity, an excitement for adventure, and a sense of obligation to the wizard Allustan, a scholar of the tombs who was ever-so-patient with you and your frequent impositions. There, you found the remnants of a great battle, a tomb left behind from the Shory Empire and the Empire of Taldor battling it out in the shadows of Earthfall. You found forgotten elementals left trapped in forgotten service by spells too powerful for lesser mages to even try to break. You found ghosts prevented from moving on by some corruption plaguing the land.
Over the next few days, you picked a fight with the minions of Balabar Smenk and helped your new companions defeat and capture a heinous necromantic 'scientist'. Apparently, Smenk hired this 'Filge' to investigate a worm acquired from beneath Moonmeadow Mine. Beneath the mines, you were told, lurks a disturbing order. The Ebon Triad, dedicated to binding together the three so-called Starstone ascendants--Hextor, Vecna, and Erythnul. Or by their modern incarnations, Iomedae, Norgorber, and Gorum. They want to bring back Aroden. What could these horrifying green worms have to do with it? You grow more homesick every hour you spend in the Village, this not-quite-right shadow of a true elven settlement. But whatever this cult is up to, it can't be anything good. Finding the hidden chamber still might have been impossible if the party didn't already have a friend on the inside. There's one guard here who's on the party's side, an aiuvarin named Ava. It is thanks to her that the party is able to find the secret door. Ava smiles tightly as the party works the mechanism to pull the walls apart, revealing a narrow hallway. "I think their next supply shipment is in four days. Shouldn't be anyone coming up or down aside from that. I'll be checking on this entrance as regularly as I can without making anyone suspicious--if there's anything you need from town, I can pick it up and bring it back here." She rubs the back of her neck. "I, uh, don't know how long you'll be down there, but... good luck. Any friend of Rosella's a friend of mine."
"So, we have our team, we have our destination. What's our plan?" #
Lightning flashes from above, briefly illuminating the small, wretched town of Diamond Lake. From the view on the balcony, the lake and sky are a perfect match, black, murky turmoil occasionally streaked with blinding silver light. A man leans against the wall beneath the eaves, his dirty-blond curls dripping-wet, his dark eyes glittering as he looks out over the storm. A portly fellow, he cuts an imposing silhouette at over six feet tall, dressed in an expensive but well-worn brown coat that may have been in fashion ten years ago. Balabar Smenk raises his whiskey flask in a mock-toast to the heavens. "Here's t'you, ya lot of cottonmouths. Good night for a caper." He gives a braying laugh and downs the flask. "So you heard?" He doesn't turn around as a pale woman from the darkness, like a shadow peeling off the wall. Her emerald jewelry glitters as the lightning flashes again. "Me eyes ain't closed. Any word of where Filge got dragged to, by the way?" "I didn't look." She smiles, baring white teeth. "You know, they just might solve your little problem for us." "Kyeheh! The wannabe adventurers?" He stares out across the town, his eyes lingering on the faint outline of the Village. "Worms in the dirt." "I spoke with them in the Emporium. I thought one or two of them seemed... impressive." "You know what's down there?" "Mm. I have some theories." There is a long silence. "By the way, your sheets are back from the laundress. I'm given to understand she had some questions about the... stains." He gives . "Hate to leave her guessing." He downs the flask, then tosses it from the balcony to the ground below. "Shoulda sent Goshawk's head along with 'em." - - - - - - - - - - - - The Diversion
Elves are commonly believed to be crepescular beings, waking primarily during the twilight hours. This is a slight simplification, but it's close enough. Elves are quite capable of handling themselves in darkness, provided there's enough light to squint by, and they're good at shifting their sleep schedules when needed. Naturally, this means the mines don't close at night. Unintuitively, this might be to the party's advantage. A large hand-cranked elevator brings miners and supplies to and from the work area down below, since the cave entrance requires too lengthy a walk for the deepest levels of the mine. Two brawny guards usually man the aboveground winch when needed, but when not needed, they're usually drinking in the shack nearby. Earlier in the evening, a traveling elven noblewoman gifted the miners a lovely vintage--elven wine imported from Crying Leaf--and they are quite deep in checking to be sure it's safe for the diggers down below. Thunder cracks overhead, briefly revealing the figure of a woman in black with a purple cloak and the sacred symbol of Pharasma hanging around her neck. She lingers next to the winch only briefly, knowing that even this downpour won't conceal her forever--she had to resort to an invisibility scroll gifted by a friendly wizard just to get this far. Luckily, the winch is a simple mechanism compared to what she's dealt with in the cairns. She's good at what she does. With her work done, she bounds around the hill at top speed to start picking the lock at the cave entrance. The miners will be sending loads of rock and debris up the elevator any minute now--or at least, they'll try to. When the elevator lets out loud, concerning grinding noises, chaos erupts as the guards above and below start arguing over how to handle it. One of them runs off to find an engineer while the other paces, fuming. A lone guard is easy pickings for a rosy-haired elf and a tall woman in a red riding habit, both adept at keeping to the shadows. They quickly and silently dispatch him and leave him unconscious next to the mechanism. The elf hastens to strip away the guard's overcoat and hat and hand them over to the woman in red, who is already tying her hair up in preparation for the deception. In a storm like this, nobody will notice her human ears or more feminine features, and she's just about as tall as the elven guards. Her goddess expects her worshipers to be skilled at all forms of deception, and she's good at what she does. Back at the elevator shaft, the pink-haired elf ties a rope off and drops it down the shaft, making it look like someone has climbed down. Then she runs off. The disguised 'guard' races off to the front of the stockade, shouting to the patrol--there's been an intrusion! Someone knocked out her partner and made their way down the shaft! She'll happily relieve these guards and keep an eye on the gate, just in case. As soon as they're gone, she waves in her three less-stealthy allies, who'd wisely decided to hide well out of sight. It's pandemonium at the elevator entrance. The guards at the gate are arguing with the guard at the winch. The guards stationed at the various floors of the mine are arguing amongst each other, all insisting that they didn't see anyone climb onto their level, they surely would have noticed. These guards are paid to break unions and push around layabouts. They aren't paid for their social skills. The Break-In
--to the very surprised faces of a pair of guards who were just a little bit cleverer than the rest. A moment later, one of them is sent flying by the charge of a heavily-armored dwarf. The guard slams into a wall and slumps to the ground. The dwarf nods in professional approval as the other guard is knocked to the ground and pierced through the side, a flesh wound that causes the man to black out from pain. A slender, finely-dressed elf woman smiles and daintily wipes her thornblade clean, then flicks her head for the group to proceed. The Infiltration
The party does encounter a handful of miners as they go. It's a long walk. Most miners tactfully ignore them, while others are persuaded--by bribery, by silver tongues, or by simple common solidarity with their fellow miners. There is no further resistance as the party descends. By the time the guards at the entrance are discovered, the party is already at the third floor down. This also means, of course, that there is now no turning back.
Venelle hesitates, then nods. "Then I, uhh, guess I'll... keep following along for now. Hopefully I can do a bit more good than I did just hovering in that dusty old store. And, uhh... thanks. I appreciate it."
Before the group departs to commence preparations for the break-in, Venelle calls them all back. She fidgets with her bowstring, her face streaked with nerves. "Listen, uhh... so, originally, I only signed on because Caith needed my help. Those were my words, you know? Until Caith's soul could be at peace, I'd stay by your sides. Only she's not at peace, and maybe, uhh, never will be?" She swallows. "At least not for now. My point is, I, uhh, my... I only said I'd stay with you all for her. And now that's done. "Only." She bites her lip. "Only there's still trouble, y'know? And it's way, way above my pay grade. Heck, maybe it's above yours, too. It scares the anything out of me, all this talk about... about worms, and ends of the world, and picking a fight with my landlord and people my landlord's scared of. But I feel like you still need my help." Her eyes linger on Kata. "And I'm not letting you... that is, I'm not leaving you to go down into another dark cave without my help. If you still need me, you'll have me. It's up to you."
Venelle's eyes are wide as she fidgets with her hair, leaning against the doorframe of the old mine office. "So you're breaking into Moonmeadow Mine? If he's, uhh, working with these cultists, he's gotta have better security than just some tired night guards, right?"
The goblin forewoman considers the hand, then shakes it briskly. "Wise tha cuts be, thence."
The party reconvenes at the abandoned mine office outside of town and fills each other in. By this time, it is 5pm, and approaching suppertime. The adventurers have been trying to figure out the location of this cult all day, though it feels like it's been much, much longer--particularly when one's stomach is empty.
Merovinn's eyebrows arch, and he takes the fruits with a nod. "Then I be much obligated, marm. Good luck with whatever 'tis you've gotten yourselves into, an' hopes I do that I never finds out what."
She scowls into her empty tankard. "Naught but this: Two blazes' hind, wheelworkt us alleywise under thum scant-eggs. Becamen us scattersome, and woverly under became Us's Eaten, Laktri. Went it home figuren us, but ghostlike it since." Her emotion seems to take hold of her as she suddenly pounds the table, causing one of the porters' drinks to spill. "Sphacelaterly Winters! Thum calumnious tetanical tailings-taster! Maggots inviten us betwixt thum ears!" Goblane: "Only that a week ago, we were doing a couple of ordinary deliveries in town--not ones for Smenk. We were separated into small groups, and there was a time, it seems, when nobody had eyes on our leader, Laktri. When we gathered back up, Laktri was not there. We assumed it had gone home. But we have not seen it since. I am discontent with Parrin's conduct!"
"Right," he grumbles. He opens the door wider and heads back into the cramped four-person apartment (there are exactly one and a half beds). On his way to the nicest chair in the room, he picks up his weasel from his shoulder and tosses it unceremoniously onto the top shelf of a mostly-barren cupboard. "Candy, Rascal," he says to it. He has a seat. "So, I ain't much more informed than you, an' if anyone asks, I didn't know shit. I'm only tellin' you 'cause you seem to already know most've it yourselves. But alright, ma'ams, I'll bite the hook, if'n only it means you quit botherin' us. Gods know I ain't forgotten the last time I tried givin' the answers ye asked for." He rubs his jaw. "We handle the shipments. Those porters brings 'em to Smenk's house, an' we picks 'em up, see? Only we take 'em to different spots each time. Mostly churches." He sneers. "Dunno why old Pit Spider bothers tryin' to curry favor. You an' I both knows where he's bound." The weasel comes clattering onto the counter, now gripping a tin in its teeth. It scurries over and leaps into his lap, and he opens the tin and starts snacking on raisins as he talks. "So, here's the funny thing. Skutch, my... well, our rogue, the one as got gobbled by the bear-owl, 'e always was a mite too curious for his own skin. They don't always seem to take the goods into the churches at all. We mostly deliver to the Iomeda--nah, sorry, the Heironeans, that's right. Same thing. We mostly deliver to them, and one time, that dumb bastard actually followed the folks what took the goods off us." He giggles, tossing an extra-fat raisin into the air. The weasel springs up and snaps its jaws down on it, swallowing it in one bite. "Skutch said they took the food out to the hills. An' as long as we're spinning tales, he said--an' Skutch always did dream a little too much while he was awake, mind you, marm--that there was hulking hooded figures as took it. 'Great big hairy men'. They scared him shitless. Even he didn't have the balls to follow them. Some tough muscle, I guess. I never thought much of it." He grins. "But since you asked, they was headed straight towards that, uh, what's it?" He gestures to Alais. "Your little home away from home, it seems. The domain of the Good Prince Marshmallow 'imself, marm."
Skreet's eyes narrow. She rubs her chin, her eyes looking up and down the two miners. "Truthsome tha speaken; worken us harmwise, thum wretchly beanmongers." She spits to the side. "Ah, twoeggsome! Learnswaddled becomen tha, an' actionly persons becomen tha encirclewise. An' mirrorsome, fairwise keepen his pursekeepings thum with wheelmagi dealen. Wearin' swordfeathers, tha longshanks? Fair company keepen us." "Now, campfirelings becomen tha:" And the old goblin begins to tell her tale. Taldlin: "You speak truth; those unpleasant bosses do us great harm. Very well! I will tell you what I know, and you will do something about it. But in return, you will owe the porters a debt. You are warriors, aren't you? We will have need of such people.
Now, what we know is this: Our main client has been Balabar Smenk for the last two years. He has been buying a great deal of nonperishables, and paying us well. I don't believe he has been using all of it, because his warehouses cannot hold that much food. He must be selling it to someone else at a great profit. We drop it off at his estate. If he is pawning it, he has someone else handle that delivery. "I lingered late after a delivery some weeks ago. My back was aching, so I sat down behind a boulder and... must have fallen asleep." She rubs her chin. "It was the dead of a moonless night when I was awoken by our leader, who had come looking for me. The shipment had already been carted off by whoever Smenk has do it. "But it was such a funny thing. They must have thought that nobody out by Smenk's house would see them, of course, but we goblins see just fine in the dark. We saw three figures come to Balabar Smenk's door. One was small, like a halfling, with a harp slung over its back and a large hat on its head. One was tall, like you," she nods at Broccan, "and had the bearing of a soldier. And one was quite ordinary in size and shape, and hooded and cloaked, so that I could see nothing. The last knocked three times, and I saw Smenk himself answer the door and quickly usher them inside. "It was a most queer thing, though, because I recognized that second man, the Soldier. It was that priest, Theldrick, of the Church of Heironeous. Our leader was quite curious about this, but me, I paid it little mind. It isn't our concern. What is is that recently, our leader has gone missing." Her voice fills now with fire. "We believe it was that woman, Luzane Parrin. She had been probing us, offering bribes, asking questions about the schemes of Balabar Smenk. Parrin hates Smenk, you see, for they say he had her husband killed. Maybe she wants to know the same things you do. What a paranoid person. We do not take bribes, though, and it seems she became impatient. "Balabar Smenk stonewalled us when we brought this matter up. We don't know why she is holding him, but we don't appreciate becoming pawns of the rich and powerful." Her eyes glitter. "There was a time when this town would be in flames right now. But my kin among the Bronzewood Lodge are too busy chasing the dead to worry about the living, and we porters are too few. I'm an old woman. So I leave it to you." She finishes her drink and gives a sharp-toothed smile. "I hope that this information helps you. When you are finished with your investigations, you will get our leader out of her custody. I will trust you, because I can see that you are honorable working men. If you are not honorable working men, I will match you tooth for tooth, and our workings will be most dishonorable indeed. I hope we can be honorable together instead."
"Easy become tha. Unseekin' a fight us." She lets Broccan buy them drinks, though, and the tension dissipates slightly. "But something to chitter has tha, an' all sunspin haven't us. Tha words concisen tha." Goblin-Varisian: "Put yourselves at ease. We aren't looking to fight you. But you have something to say, and we haven't got all day. Get to the point."
Skreet's clawed fingers rapidly tap the side of her chair. "Ugly thing Smenk, aye, doubtless us's mind on that. But fairwise keepen his pursekeepings, an' us's favoren dealen wickedly with wicked straightsome an' quickerly." She fixes Broccan with a wary glare. "Tha words concisen tha."
Goblin-Taldane Dialect:
"I share your contempt for Smenk, but his credit is good, and if I must deal with evil, I prefer the evil be quick and honest about it." She fixes Broccan with a wary glare. "Get to the point."
Well, 'happy' might be gilding the goblin. The jowly old goblin woman they meet with seems anything but happy. The leader of the porters introduces herself as Skreet, shaking the adventurers' comparatively massive hands before climbing up to sit on the back of her chair. The common room of the inn is quiet this time of day, with most of its patrons already having had their breakfast and left to explore the town. It's just Edrukk and Broccan, Skreet, and two other porters (one goblin, one human) backing her up. Sense Motive 15:
There is an unmistakable air of paranoia about the porters. Skreet's companions are armed. If they catch you in a lie, they might walk out on the spot--or worse. If 20 or higher:
Skreet's mannerisms give the impression she's in a role she's not comfortable with, like someone who's unaccustomed to leadership and lacks practice at it.
After Broccan and Edrukk secure their appointment, the rest of the team ventures to find Kullen and his team. They have to ask around a little before they learn that the band is currently split up. Kullen and the nonverbal ranger Rastophan are working at one of Smenk's mines keeping miners in check, while the ill-tempered Merovinn Bask and his little weasel familiar are at their home in Jalek's Flophouse, and the brutish warrior Todrik is in the Feral Dog losing bets.
As a recap, your original meeting with Amariss.
Alais's investigations at the General Store have mixed results. Taggin is characteristically reluctant to gossip--his reputation in Diamond Lake is one of pristine discretion--but Alais is good at wheedling information out of people. At one point, he lets slip that the Able Carter Porters, who handle much of the goods transport around town are seeing plenty of business between the local farms and the mine managers. She's able to run into a couple porters stopping by his store, though, and they don't seem to be in good moods. Although friendly enough, they're clearly on-edge, and the second they realize she's asking questions, they disappear into their work. The Able Carter Coaching Company connects Magnimar to its satellite towns via fleet of horse-drawn coaches and an inn positioned at every leg of the journey. It's a nice place, as places in Diamond Lake go, and the frequent place of lodging for newcomers.
Interestingly, across their investigations, nobody has yet heard of similar food shortages or cutbacks among the other managers. Granted, nobody's investigated Parrin or the rest as closely. Broccan hasn't exactly noticed bread prices rising in the markets, though. It seems mostly contained to long-term cutbacks from Moonmeadow and more recent price hikes from Smenk. It's possible some of the market vendors would know more, although the market won't be open again until tomorrow. Certainly Taggin, the general store owner, would have heard about it if there was some unexplained famine, but one would think the party themselves would have, too.
"Uhh." Venelle clears her throat. "I... could be wrong, here. But the timing is only off if we assume the cult is... new to town, right?" She takes a deep breath. "But what if they've been here for, uhh, longer? Like, months longer? Maybe years longer, even? What does that say about our chances, if they're entrenched like that?"
Alais:
What Ilthane seems to mean with that answer is that her employer doesn't know as much about the "bright, green things" themselves, but does know something about where they are, or perhaps where they came from. Smenk brought Filge in to investigate the worm, after all. He knows where he got it from--what metal the emerald is set into--but not the nature of the emerald itself. At least, that's what she says. Ilthane glances back at Alais's parting shot and laughs. "I'll pass along your well-wishes."
Knowledge (local) DC 10:
Absolutely nobody generally holds feasts aside from Moonmeadow. It's Moonmeadow's own eccentricity. If 20 or higher on the above check: The feasts are widely known to be a necessity for Moonmeadow's employees, not a gift. His professional ties to farmers in the surrounding region allow him to provide wonderful banquets--well beyond what any other manager could manage if they tried--but he's the only mine manager who pays his employees entirely in scrip, without any actual coin except for special tasks beyond the basic work.
“Oh, hello, Kata! Any joy of things this morning?” she says cheerfully, before turning to the stranger. “I beg your pardon, I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Alaïs Thalanassa. I hope I’m not interrupting. But you know how bards gravitate together in a room, as if to form a spontaneous band of waits. Are you also musical?” Ilthane gives a rueful laugh and a shake of her head. She offers her hand to Alais. "Oh, no, no. I'm no musician. I suppose copper is the most resonant metal, and green gems do look pretty set in copper. But myself, I'm more of a chemist." She toys with a jade earring. "And I prefer gold." To Kata's question, Ilthane only smiles. "You know as much as my employer about the gem. We just know more about the metal the gem's set into." Kata:
Ilthane seems to enjoy people being afraid of her, but you don't think threatening you is her main goal here. Whether she sees you as some sort of ally is hard to tell, but she definitely doesn't see you as an enemy--although maybe that's just because you do not come across to her as a threat. "Anyways." She taps her nail against the glass of her own drink. The note rings out clear and cold. "Speaking of dear old Balabar, I should really get back to my work. And I'm sure you had better get back to yours." She winks. "I'm staying in his guest house. If you learn more about the bezel, feel free to stop by." She finishes her drink and turns to leave, but pauses and glances back. "Oh, and please take good care of that guest of yours." Unless called back, the strange woman takes her leave.
Venelle hesitates, then follows the pair to the bar. In a low voice, she says, "Yeah. She's the one who came when it was time to renew my lease, too. She scares the crap out of me. Kata may have, uhh, possibly accidentally referenced her in a song about the Pit."
All three servants seem startled by Alaïs's offer. "W-Well," Aerel stammers, "there's usually... I suppose about eighty guests? You have the miners, and their families, and the rest of the staff. It helps people tighten their belts the rest of the season and save their scrip, knowing the next feast is coming up. Not to mention that there's usually enough for everyone to take home a little leftovers for soups and the sort the next day. We have the staff to handle the cooking and the seating, but it's a lot of food to come up with at short notice." After her conversation, Alaïs exits and meets back up with Briar, who isn't quite done with her own line of inquiry around the Village. Briar has a stop to make after this, and it's a busy time of day with plenty of safely public space, so she encourages Alaïs to head over to the Emporium and meet up with the others. So it is that Alaïs enters the Emporium and sees the scene set out before her.
"There's nothing to help with. And nothing to gossip about." Aerel shoots the maid a cross look. "He's canceled the last two season's end feasts. They're something of a tradition, especially the Autumn's End Feast. The miners look forward to them." "Depend on them," the male elf says, though he seems to have the sense to keep his voice down. The maid huffs. "Harvests have been weak this year. And the feasts have always been a gift, not negotiated pay. Anyway, it's not as if anyone is starving." "Of course, Faunra."
Later, as Alais speaks with Moonmeadow's employees, the older elven man gives a slow nod. "I suppose you could see it that way, my lady. Winter comes earlier every year, and one must have a roof over one's head." "Pity about the feast, though," his partner murmurs. "Hush, Aerel. We shouldn't bother the lady with such matters. Times are lean. I'm certain His Highness's own plate will be just as bare." There is a glint of wry amusement in the man's eye. "What are you two gossiping about?" The maid appears at the foot of the stairs, scowling as she carries a large stack of folded blankets. "Honestly. You're worse than the busybodies at the Emporium."
Venelle seems reluctant to leave Kata to face Ilthane alone, but she nods quickly at Broccan's suggestion.
"I'm buying you a drink, Kata Coszma." Her eyes narrow in an amused half-smile. "I'll just order you what I'm getting, though. And as for reopening the Pit... well, you do hear things, don't you? A charmer like you must be good at finding things out. Now, myself, also being very charming, I hear all sorts of things." After placing her orders with Tim and waving him off, Ilthane takes a step forward, leaning in so she can still be heard as her voice lowers. "I heard one rumor about the Old Observatory being left vacant in a hurry, and another about Kullen with a black eye and a bloody nose and a story about people who asked too many questions. I heard a rumor about bright, green things crawling in the earth. Isn't that interesting? Ilthane's head tilts from side to side. She seems to be inspecting Kata, though for what, Kata can't guess. "I love your curiosity, you know. But the Pit is a dead end. People are just trying to make sense of Balabar's movements, but they know less than smart girls like you and I, don't they? If you're really curious, and anything I just mentioned sounds familiar, think about this instead: Many living underground means many, many mouths to feed. Look for where food is disappearing into the earth. "But be careful, Catmint." She twirls an earring around her finger. "You know what they say about curiosity and ca--" Ilthane the Black goes silent, eyes glittering, then takes two steps back. Kata turns to see that Broccan and Edrukk have just joined her and Venelle. Ilthane smiles at the new arrivals. "Oh. You have quite a few admirers, don't you?"
The bearded man seems to be arguing with Tirra, looking extremely frustrated.
Kata realizes Ilthane is gesturing over a member of the waitstaff, the bespectacled anadi Ten-Eyed Tim.
Earlier, Venelle's Response: "Uhh, I've seen her, yeah." Venelle's cheeks redden slightly. "Smenk's my landlord, and she's, uhh, I guess she's his go-between lately. She's a lot nicer, and a lot friendlier, and a lot more diplomatic, but talking to her makes me feel like I'm turning my back on a catamount. I dunno what she's getting out of working for Smenk. She sure doesn't respect him."
"Well, nothing like Dourstone's draconian punishments or Smenk's oafish cruelty. A gentle but firm hand is the key." He smiles thinly. "I am the provider. I provide them housing, food and fair recompense for what they can offer. I ensure they are taken care of when they fall ill. We have our own stores, our own separate housing, even a separate building and paid staff to care for the sick and injured. I keep my employees separated from the corruption of Diamond Lake. I am the hand that feeds them, Miss Moonmeadow." His hand pats his chest in a light display of modesty. "But, you know, a hand can't feed wild dogs, can it? Those who mistreat--who poison the community I've worked so hard to build may promptly find themselves seeking somewhere else to live. It's as simple as that."
Kata's song echoes across the Emporium, and she can see it in people's eyes, that light that enters them, the way they start to move to the rhythm. There is power in her words beyond the power of any bardsong. People don't often play such songs in the Emporium, and rarely with such power, such personal feeling. Even Venelle stares in wonder, although she gets it under control quickly. When the song ends, there is thunderous applause. Zalamandra, appearing across the hall, claps delicately. Her restrained smile marks wariness, though who can say whether it is of the radical message or of being seen to applaud such a message in public? Ilthane the Black, though, just smiles. Her smile sparkles in the moody light as she makes her way over, and once again the crowd quickly parts to make way for her. She barely seems to notice. "You have a beautiful voice," she says. Her own voice has an easy melody to it, flowing from syllable to syllable without roughness or break. It's pleasant to listen to, but also a little unnerving, a little too casually perfect. "Should I be flattered to have graced it in such a charming little song?"
GM:
Tirra holds Broccan's gaze for a long moment. Her shoulders slump, and she looks away. "Right. That... makes sense. My mistake, then." She empties her tankard, then abruptly slams it on the counter, not bothering to conceal her disappointment. "Well, guess that serves me right for jumpin' to conclusions. Sorry to trouble ya, doc." A gold sail falls rattling upon the bar counter as she rises to her feet. "Next drink's on me. And for your pal, if he comes back." Tirra lingers a moment. "An' sorry 'bout your friend, by the way. I wasn't lookin' to dig that up." The elf takes her leave. "This f@+~in' town..."
"Oh, right! Kullen, yeah?" Her brow furrows. "Didn't hear anything about that bein' a paid match. More sounded like you were pickin' a fight with that, uhh, Babalar Skink guy." She seems a little less confident, though. She rolls the handle of a throwing knife against the wood grain of the counter in a repetitive motion. "Anyway, it ain't in me to snitch, so rest easy on that. I just wanna know where you got what you got an' if there's anything left. This trip's been a real shitpit so far. Think of it as professional courtesy to a 'colleague'."
Tirra chuckles. "Oh, yeah, I neglected that, haven't I? Name's Tirra, of Auric's Raptors. We're delvers ourselves, y'see. Of a somewhat professional nature. So it straightly is my business." She smirks, and Broccan might get the sense she's playing with humble understatement. "Now, I don't see a lotta members of the Profession in small towns like this. I hear 'bout a little crew of locals 'round these parts playing in the Cairns? 'Course I'm interested. 'Specially if we're digging in the same area! And while we come up with stirges and nothing else, you..." She shakes her head ruefully. "Well, you're keepin' close. That's smart. But you might say it's my job to find things out, an' you don't usually take this many days off. An' when you do, folks don't catch you at bars, do they? You save for bread. 'Cause you can't feed your Ma if you're spendin' it on booze, now, can you?" She takes another drink. "You ain't stupid. You found somethin', an' you ain't tellin' me 'cause you're scared of poachers." She snorts. "Or that I might tell whoever owns that land 'boutcha." Broccan: Sounds like they've been at the Stirgenest Cairn, a somewhat infamous old cairn long since emptied. |
