Lotti Qeb's page

Lotti blinks once, twice, three times before she seems able to process what Faenia and Martella are saying. "Oh! You can... Good! Yes!" A few more seconds pass before she realizes the skald had implied a question. And might be hoping for an answer.

"Oh. Hmm." She pauses yet again to collect her thoughts. "Carrius was a noble, and an important one at that." She takes a moment to sit with the understatement before continuing. "I... find it hard to believe the royal family would not have used every tool at their disposal to search for him if there was even the faintest possibility he was not - or was no longer - dead. But Dratavis? Knowing what has happened to him might let us avoid sharing his fate."

Lotti's clothes are much more unkempt than usual, with ink staining her sleeves and heavy creases in her wool skirt from sitting still for hours on end in the library, copying down as many spells as possible into the book Rose had been kind enough to find in Oppara and purchase on the older woman's behalf. She holds her teacup in one hand while the other continues stirring well past the point where any sugar added to the beverage would surely have dissolved. Her gaze is directed at Martella, but her eyes don't seem to track the noblewoman's face it moves.

"Scrying," she finally says, eyes blinking as if the word had taken much more effort to vocalize than its length would suggest. "City. Agent. Child. Scry. Yes?"

Lotti nods graciously as the princess finishes her speech. When the younger woman’s eyes meet hers, she holds them with an unflinching stare.

“Your Majesty is too kind. I have done little to deserve such praise and reward. I have endured no hardships here, built no houses here, knelt in no fields torn apart by polished hooves chasing my husband and prayed to no gods that I would not have to choose which of my children would die of starvation so those in a faraway palace might feast and dance and make merry into the wee hours of the morning.” Her voice is as flat and emotionless as her eyes.

“If anything, I have merely not gotten in the way of those who have done the work. Surely the barest minimum should elicit a similar reward - as should having given one’s everything. Any portion of this estate that would be given to me will instead be placed in the trust of Abadar’s faithful, to be invested in the community as they see fit. The profits of this investment shall be used by the people of Stachys to continue growing what they have managed, despite overwhelming odds, to plant here.”

Lotti refrains from mentioning the “juicy details” of how many of the area’s inhabitants died of starvation, homelessness, and violence and instead pushes her latest tea trolley (newly requisitioned from the palace’s kitchens) next to the desk. “Oh, the country air does wonders for one’s health,” she answers pleasantly. “Sugar?”

Linguistics vs DC 20: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (17) + 14 = 31

“Fascinating.” Lotti carefully examines the certificates, holding one after another up to the light. An expression of some sort crosses her face - surprise, glee, curiosity, worry in rapid succession. She hands two of the papers to Marius, then another two to Velvet. “Here, look at this. Put the two atop each other and look at the light through them. See how they’re almost perfectly identical?” She pauses for a moment to let the younger folks confirm her observations. “Now, if these were made by a printing press, that would be one thing - but these are clearly handwritten, so they’re likely all written in the same hand. Whose hand? Now that’s the tricky bit. And so is the next question: why would the family - or someone in the family - need these and have locked them up in a safe here?”

"The poor cried,

as if he did not snatch away the grain by his own greedy hands and create filling bread for his own overflowing mouth."

Lotti's voice is nothing like Faenia's - thin and dry, buzzing at the ears like the whine of a gnat's wings, a quiet yet insistent sing-speak sound belonging somewhere between a nursery and a deathbed.

"The poor cried,

be able to reach."

The air grows ever so slightly darker around the elderly woman. A faint flicker of sickly yellow-green light from somewhere below casts pallid shadows across her face as she takes a single step forward. One trembling hand slowly rises from her side, and her voice grows in pitch and intensity to match. A wrinkled, gnarled finger points at the count.

"The poor people

for slaughter.'"

Since Barcos hit the points I'd wanted to hit, this is just to assist him rather than acting alone.

Lotti gently swirls her wineglass rather than sipping from it - or commenting on afflictions specific to the ruling class. “The teleportation circle has me the most worried,” she says at last with a gentle sigh. “The threat of a powerful spellcaster on call at a moment’s notice is likely part of the reason why the people living here have put their heads down and endured as best they can. Bartleby knows this, and knows how it adds to his own illusion of power. Take it away, and he may become much more open to the idea of negotiations.”

“How to neutralize the circle though? Easier said than done, I’m afraid. I’ll continue reviewing the available literature so we can be as prepared as possible, and thankfully we have folks who are resourceful and full of surprises.” She nods to Velvet and Faenia. “But I would still suggest prioritizing that circle before pressing Bartleby to acquiesce to good sense.”

Knowledge (history): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25

Lotti stands as still as she can next to Marius and Faenia, glad that she sent her familiar to hide in the trees rather than under her skirts.

Lotti follows quietly, trying to remember if she's heard stories of intelligent wolves demanding sacrifices in the past.

Could this be a Knowledge check? if so, what kind?

"Actually Miss Qeb, if I may ask, how do you know this? You mean to say you have access to a source with regular communications with the town? Any information at all of what has been happening there might help us to prepare. There are ten months in between the start of their refusal to pay and communications with them suddenly stopping, after all. Plenty of time for something else to have taken root in the area."

Lotti tuts gently and, given the relative largeness of the table compared to her short arms, pats the tablecloth in Velvet's general direction. "Now now dear, there's a time and a place to be chasing after shadows. Tell you what - go get another set of cutlery from the drawer. Marius, we'll need another set of dishes. Barcos, could you fetch another chair from the drawing room? Make sure to bring one of the cushions as well. And Faenia, if you could move the things on the table around so there's room for another person to dine with us? I'll see if my 'source of regular communications' is willing to speak with everyone." Carefully she gets back down from the chair and walks to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she returns holding the hand of a heavily-pregnant young woman in villager's clothing. "My lords and ladies, this is Polina, and she was the one who sought us out for assistance." She guides her guest to the newly-set place at the table and pats her hand reassuringly. "Have a seat, eat something, and then tell them what you told me," she directs in a kindly tone.

In the main hall, Lotti finishes unloading her trolley by putting the basket of sweet bread rolls with raisins and cinnamon on the table and dusting her hands. "There's a situation in Sotto," she announces plainly as everyone passes around clotted cream and raspberry jam to decorate their lacy pancakes. "Letters and news haven't travelled for at least a month, maybe two. I'm surprised the baroness didn't say anything when she was here for the festival, but perhaps the troubles arrived all at once."

"It's not a perfect alignment." Lotti's tone would suggest she is speaking of trade agreements rather than overthrowing a government as she brings a plate of nutty shortbread cookies dusted with sugar from the kitchen. "Inequality won't simply evaporate if a woman sits on the throne - and there will be plenty of voices willing to throw the poor under the carriage if they think it'll help women of the nobility achieve their goal. But the optimist in me hopes that this is the opening of a floodgate rather than a bit of bread and circus. I intend to make it so." She glances meaningfully at Marius before setting the plate down next to Barcos and climbing back up into her own seat.

“Sparrows also have a habit of getting into places they’re not invited to.” Lotti’s voice is pleasantly neutral, but her eyes are serious. “I would be most interested in hearing how you invited yourself into the Stachys manorhouse, as well as what might have happened to those… trinkets, shall we say, that you liberated from the noblesse sale.” The Galtan slang flows smoothly, hangs in the air as if pinned in place by the same stern gaze that focuses on the young noblewoman.

Linguistics vs DC 20: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (16) + 12 = 28

Lotti notes the irregular syllabic stress patterns and vowel placements in the vigilante's words. An un-practiced accent. We all start from somewhere. But she keeps her face expressionless and her body motionless as Marius removes the stranger's mask, conscious of another stranger's body behind hers in the saddle.

A trace of a smile flashes across her face though as the young noblewoman's identity is revealed. We'll have to let Rose know her suspicions were correct, she muses to herself. But of course it's another young noble playing around, playing around with other people's lives without any risk to themselves that their influence or money can't get them out of. Weathered hands hold themselves more stiffly for a moment, as if being from clenching into fists by force of will, before relaxing again. But. She's young, and she may be influenceable. Perhaps Velvet would be interested in another student? She glances at the woman in question, gauging her impressions of the Swan.

Lotti puts the bottle to Bab’s lips and gently tilts it upward so its contents flow out in a trickle before sparing a glance at the darkness enveloping the not-duchess. She raises an invisible eyebrow at the sound of another explosion, but keeps her attention focused on the carriage and its occupants for the time being. “If you’re feeling up to it, drop down behind the carriage or get inside,” she whispers to the poor driver. “Keep yourself as safe as possible.”

Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
Spellcraft?: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (9) + 13 = 22

Lotti leaves the not-swan and the not-painting to her companions, trusting at least that Velvet's single-mindedness wouldn't let their quarry escape. Instead, she clambers up to the driver's seat and assesses the damage. "Babs. I'm here. Don't pull the arrow out, I've got a potion that should help..."

Move action to climb up, standard action to pull out potion of cure light wounds in preparation for feeding it to Babs next round.

Lotti almost breathes a sigh of relief at the sound the explosion outside the carriage, her nerves frayed from being trapped in an enclosed space with a strange construct that thinks itself a human for so many hours. “Excellent work, Your Grace,” she whispers to the “duchess”, choosing her next words carefully to goad her traveling companion into doing the opposite of what she was told. “Now stay here - we can’t risk your health with adventures and glory any more than we already have.” Without waiting for a reply, the smaller woman wraps herself in her familiar shawl of magic - hoping the screams of the horses outside would conceal her spellcasting - and disappears from sight.

Veils. Babs has been shot. Lotti pauses outside the carriage, one hand still holding onto the handle after closing the door behind her as discretely as possible. Her eyes dart to the ladder on the side of the carriage, then up to the driver’s seat. Uncomfortable, but possible. If they can hold out long enough for me to climb that, the emergency potion might keep them alive. Hang in there kiddo. An invisible hand pats an equally-invisible pocket where a small bottle hides.

Standard action to cast vanish, move action to exit carriage.

Again eager for an argument. Unwillingness to lose face? Possible. Marius is in agreement with course of action, so what is her objection actually to? Oh, those words do sound similar. Let’s clear that up.

“Miss Arlandt, perhaps you misunderstood Lord Erallan’s concern.” Lotti lets a cool tone weave through her words, hoping to keep the argument from growing further. “There is no objection to the proposed course of action. The word Lord Erallan used was ‘objectification’. We are not here to take it upon ourselves to determine who is and is not a person.”

She keeps her expression collected and authoritative even as her thoughts continue unspoken. Especially given the habit of the nobility to consider “lesser birth” to mean “not really a person”. And wasn’t she the one who was pushing for this distraction in the first place? If she really were so dedicated to infiltrating the palace, she would have suggested her just “knock ‘em out and tie them up in the closet” approach. Does she have something personal against the Night Swan? Perhaps Rose mentioned her and the idea caught her fancy. Oh veils, this isn’t her needing to prove herself again, is it?

If you're looking at something that buffs weapons, the weapon-song archetype (Spell Warrior) is a ton of fun! That being said, perhaps the Urban Skald archetype would make more sense with the existing character idea? This certainly feels like a campaign where that would work well.

As far as Lotti the character is concerned, anything that keeps enemies from paying attention to an old grandmother is welcome. XD

"Do you not want more than to be a servant forever, when you can obviously be more? Or no - when you are more?"

Lotti smiles with polite noncommitment. Noble upbringing more likely? Uncertain. Possible overcorrection from struggle to be seen as equal or have value. Continued observation required.

"The most logical place for someone to hide would be in the carriage," she answers. "However, given that we do not know anything certain about the trompe's motives or behavior, being alone with it is also one of the most dangerous places we can put ourselves or our allies. So I will make my way there discreetly while you two stage the argument out front." She nods firmly, brooking no argument from either of the younger folk. "If something takes a turn for the worse, I'll slip out of the carriage and rendezvous with you on the road." She leaves unsaid her mental reminder to herself to coordinate a signal to the driver of the carriage to likewise abandon ship if the situation becomes dangerous.

It is Lotti's turn to raise an eyebrow as the two young folks muse out loud. "A... fascinating idea," she finally says, crossing her arms. "I assume you'll be keeping a close eye on her then, yes? I'd hate for any secret she has witnessed to spread even more widely than it already has. And of course there's the delicate matter of advertising her presence here broadly enough to catch the Swan's attention without reaching the Bartleby's ear. What approach were you planning to take there? And what precautions can we afford to make in case this whole endeavor goes sideways."

She pauses for a deep breath, then continues with a nod to Valery. "Lastly, as you brought up before we realized we had an unexpected guest, we are working to oust Bartleby from his position. What is the balance of risk to benefit in relation to that goal with this diversion? What resources would be required to mitigate those risks, and how would their reallocation - or a possible delay - affect our chances of success with said goal?" Her tone is soft - to avoid attention, but also to soften the harshness of her words. Her expression is curious rather than judgmental, alternating between the two taller people.

Lotti catches Marius’s eye and silently beckons him over to her chair. “I know I really shouldn’t bother your lordship with such trivialities at this time,” she murmurs under her breath, “but I finished looking into that accounting issue you brought up this morning and I’m afraid it’s a simple case of artificial inflation. Phoebe likes to paint a pretty picture of things in the kitchen, but sometimes her story gets away from her and next thing you know it’s taken on a life of its own. Please, use your station here to let everyone know the truth of the matter.” Her eyes flick meaningfully to Konstiantina, Lisa, and Velvet before catching the nobleman’s again. She nods, then begins to climb down from her chair.

Bluff, Charlatan (lvl 2 slot): 1d20 + 15 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 15 + 2 = 29

“Your Grace, perhaps the rose gardens would suit your fancy?” She walks to the door and gestures invitingly to the stranger. “They cannot hold a candle to your own beauty, of course, but their scent has been known to be… heady.” She winks broadly and lowers her voice before continuing, “And of course, such a garden offers many places for… dalliances, if you know where to look. I’m sure you’ll find a use for them here during your stay.”

Lotti bends down to scratch Wobblekins' chin as her familiar returns to her. The two seem to share a brief conversation before both turning their attention back to the duchess. Oil and paint? No scent of fabric, no perfume - and no servants. That last one suggests not a projection of the duchess. Not a spirit, or she would have no scent at all. What might she be then?

Lotti suspects this is not the duchess, but some type of creature - and she'd like to try to identify it. I have no idea on the skill needed, so I've rolled once and given results for all of them below. XD

1d20 ⇒ 12
Knowledge (dungeoneering, engineering, geography, history, nature, nobility, religion): 12 + 9 = 21
Knowledge (planes): 12 + 10 = 22
Knowledge (arcana): 12 + 13 = 25
Knowledge (local): 12 + 16 = 28

So she is not familiar with spellcasting herself, Lotti reasons, puzzling over the noblewoman’s sudden appearance even as she keeps a neutrally-pleasant look on her face. One hand pets her familiar as if this were a normal occurrence and not something that could spell her death. And a transmutation, not a conjuration. Is she really here? Is it really her? She doesn’t seem to be surprised, so this was likely not an accident. Nor is she concerned about being in a room with people who were moments ago discussing whether or not to kill her nephew. Confidence in a quick exit? Or in not really being present perhaps?

“We would of course be honored by your presence here, your grace.” Carefully she lifts Wobblekins off her lap and sets him on the floor, ignoring his accusatory look at her.“I can have one of the guest bedrooms made up for you tonight, but do you wish see them right away? And of course your ladies-in-waiting and servants will be looked after as well. Will they be arriving shortly in the same manner as you?” She smiles innocently, doing her best not to betray how much attention she is paying to anything the noblewoman says in response.

“Perhaps?” Lotti looks at the painting as well and begins her familiar divination for auras. “I would not be surprised if such magic for painting things exists, though it would likely be limited in what it could create by the skill of the caster.” She deliberately does not answer the following question about spying - not yet.

Knowledge (Arcana) or Spellcraft: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (9) + 13 = 22

Lotti raises an eyebrow at Velvet’s questions, but says nothing as she sips her tea. She glances down to her hands, notices them shaking ever so slightly and makes a conscious effort to still them before the clatter of cup on saucer betrays her. She tries to listen as Lisa speaks, but the words pass through one ear and out the other without leaving more than a soft impression.

Don’t make any sudden movements. The scene plays out yet again in her mind’s eye - townsfolk pressed up against each other in the newly-built public house, the manslaughtering mule penning her in on the other side, and Marius standing before her. Between her and the door. Trapping her. She tries to calm her thoughts, but the most she can do is just keep repeating to herself. Stay still. Don’t make them suspicious. The magic locks her jaws, her tongue, her thoughts with inexorable iron. They could ask me anything. I don’t have to answer to them. But they’ll become suspicious. So don’t make them suspicious. Don’t make them ask questions.

A tear starts to well in her eye as Marius speaks, declaring in a loud - too loud! - voice that there will be no murder. She fights back the urge to brush it aside - What if someone sees? They’ll ask if I’m crying, and this damned spell won’t even let me say it’s just the dander from the mule, and then they’ll be concerned, and that’ll lead to more questions, and then- She cuts off the thought. The only control she has left, after surrendering it all to someone she hasn’t known for even a year who could ask her anything. The feeling of powerlessness is hardly unfamiliar, but never before has it held her so rigidly and unyieldingly. She tries not to panic as voices rise, tries to will the tear back into its source, tries to take a breath without screaming -

- and sets down her teacup on the table. “On a less personal note, teleportation circles are quite the advanced enchantment,” she states, nodding towards Velvet. “A permanent one even more so - and more expensive than a lord’s holdings. I cannot speak for this one specifically, but if I had made such an investment I would not want it easily ruined. I would expect it to be warded, guarded, and very likely carved deeply into ir- stone.” She catches herself, changes the last word before it can fully escape her lips. “It might be possible to persuade Bartleby to show us, as part of a tour through the estate. I would suspect, given its cost, that he would be rather proud of it.”

“Where might the offending mule be?” Lotti asks, a perfectly innocent expression on her face. Wobblekins likewise looks perfectly innocent sitting at her feet.

Once introduced to the beast of burden, Lotti clears her throat and begins gently brushing its coat. I’m told you like turnips,” she says, pitching her voice lower and smoothing out the harsher consonants. One hand slowly dips into her pocket and produces a sugar cube remarkably similar to those served with tea at Marius’s manor. “What happened to you yesterday? Your two-leg, what about him?”

Using that once-per-day speak with animals. Feel free to assume any reasonable follow-up questions.

Lotti watches the nobleman with her divinations, looking for a change in the auras surrounding him. "Indeed..." she murmurs distractedly.

Using detect magic - I don't know if a curse would have a lingering aura, but it's a permanent effect rather than an instantaneous one (like flesh to stone), so maybe?

"First we need to make sure Araig is safe for you to approach - either because he's aware enough to recognize you or subdued. I trust Lord Erallan and Lady Mokei to take the lead on that, should it be necessary." Lotti smiles encouragingly at Arabella.

Lotti reaches forward and pats the young woman’s hand gently. “If there was no hope for your brother’s recovery, we wouldn’t be here,” she says simply and softly. “We are doing everything we can to keep him and everyone around him safe.”

When the tea is served, the old woman thanks both maids by name before turning her attention back to the noblewoman. “Your brother has been cursed, transformed and his reasoning taken from him by a coven of hags. To cruelly taunt him, they gave him a way to break their enchantment that they thought would never happen - a kiss from one who loves him truly and without reservation. In his transfigured state, they reasoned such a person would never approach him, or that he would not recognize them and enact violence upon them.”

“This is the crux of the matter, and all of us working together are the key to your brother’s chains the coven thought lost. Lord Marius can guarantee the safety of both your brother and anyone meeting with him, but we are all too recent of arrivals in the area to love him in a way that would end the spell. That’s where you come in.” With her explanation of the magic at work here complete, she nods to her taller colleagues to continue and sips her tea.

“Contaminated, yes - but if ghoul fever could be transmitted through drinking water, every large city with a sewer system would have either had their entire population turned or have documented methods of preventing such transmission.” Lotti frowns in thought. “I agree though that the pumphouse is very likely the vector for spreading this disease and warrants another investigation. I did not notice other magical effects and I believe Konstiantina did not sense any further undead in the area, but it’s always possible something changed or was overlooked.”

“As for Anllel’s campsite, I not certain what you hope to find there Miss Arlandt. We already have evidence of an unusual disease that supports what she has told us. Or are you looking to corroborate what Marius and I found at the farms?” Her voice is brisk and neutral.

“As to a timer, I’m afraid I also don’t understand. Are you suggesting that the Night Swan has a schedule to keep? My understanding from our discussions earlier was that they were most likely an opportunist, and as such reactive rather than proactive. Do you have evidence that would imply otherwise?”

Doesn’t sound like spellcraft - much easier to put something poisonous in the water and let it pass from field to livestock to farmer. Lotti finishes her knots and reviews the idea knitted into the scarf in her lap.

“Given the decisions we’ve made in the past, people will be expecting continued mercy,” she explains to her companions. Her fingers touch each “dropped” stitch as they roll up her handiwork, making sure she doesn’t forget to say part of her thought process out loud. “So they’ll be unhappy if that expectation is unmet. But they’ll also be upset if what they view as a crime is left unpunished. I’ll sow some counter-rumors to this witchcraft story - perhaps she’s very shy and wanted to clear out poisonous plants from her neighbor’s fields, perhaps she was placing a protective spell over the farm to mitigate the worst of the illness. Precise details are less important than general confusion over the narrative and less agreement between folks on what to do.”

Bluff: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (7) + 15 = 22

“You mean to culinarily test me with a trick question? Very well, I accept! Then I say: it depends on the brew and strength. Are the leaves oxidized? I mean, black or green? Local or oversees? How long has it stood? In general, stronger, black teas go with milk and cream whereas weaker ones go best with sugar. So which are we working with?”

Lotti’s eyebrows remain motionless - only internally does she sigh in exasperation. Demonstrates tendency to view things as a challenge or contest. Self-confidence seems more likely. Possible cover for insecurity or need to prove herself. In someone supposed to be a teacher. Due to age? Possible. Wonderful.

“No, ma’am, no trick intended. Perhaps… I’ll fetch the service so you can decide for yourself?” Carefully she stands up from her chair and heads towards the kitchen.

Lotti smiles pleasantly at the newcomer even as her thoughts race. Her teacher. Young - looks to be similar age to Rose, if not younger. Still possible to be retired, but less likely than not. Enough safety net to disregard potential consequences of a stunt like that. Possible sources? No noble title given. Withheld? Possible. Connections to the Talbot family? Possible. Insider information from Rose? I would hope she would know better than to discuss security measures with anyone. Self-confidence? Dangerous to be around someone when that confidence suddenly isn't enough. Ignorance? Very unlikely. Too many veils surrounding this one.

"Can I get you some tea?" she asks politely, smiling and meeting the taller woman's gaze. "Any sugar or cream?"

Lotti checks in with all the staff and domovoi and Sepsinia, making sure nobody was hurt in the night before letting herself sink into a chair and think about the message in more detail. “I heard something, but didn’t think anything of it,” she admits softly, looking into the cup in her hands. “But perhaps I should have.”

Alright, you’ve had your time to wallow in guilt. Now off to work with you.

She takes a deep breath and straightens up. “Now, about that note. The night swan is a logical author, but that might be an attempt to distract or deflect attention. Whoever wrote it also is likely aware of Rose’s departure, which would imply an awareness of who lives here and who is using the roads to travel where - though that may very well be a lucky guess on the author’s part. Caution would not be amiss.”

“If we take this at face value, we’re looking at someone who doesn’t believe the system can be changed except through violence - there’s no request for dialogue or compromise. Peeling back a layer would suggest the author is trying to reduce resistance in preparation for said violence. However, there’s no time frame given. From the tone of the message, the author appears to be trying to create a sense of urgency and alarm. Peeling back another layer from that would suggest an opportunist, which in itself suggests a small group if not a single individual that can respond quickly to changing circumstances. The haphazard theft of items with high value density also supports the opportunist idea - though the fact that they either knew exactly where to find such things or had enough time to check everyone’s rooms without being noticed is worrisome.”

She pauses and takes a sip of tea, both to calm her nerves and to give the others a chance to speak.

Lotti nods and smiles gently. "Does your teacher have a name that we might know her?" she asks calmly. "Rest assured we'll take care of things here - and your teacher - until you return. You are planning on coming back, yes?" The twinkle in her eye makes it very clear the older woman is teasing Rose. "Do you need us to check in with anything in the shop while you're out? Do you have a method of communication in mind should the worst happen? Just let us know if there's anything else we can do to make things easier for you." She reaches out and pats the noblewoman gently on the knee - pretending that, for a moment at least, their stations did not come between them.

Veils know she's not the only one to think she has to take care of everything herself, eh? Lotti grins ruefully to herself, though she can't keep her mind from turning over the details of Rose's announcement. Odd that her teacher is available on such short notice. Retired perhaps? Or was she hoping to leave earlier and this was the soonest she was available? Considerate of her to wait if that's the case.

"Veils hide you from unfriendly eyes," she whispers.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (17) + 16 = 33

"Is that so?" Lotti has made it to the child by this point and has a handkerchief in her hand. "Your mamas are probably just as worried, so let's not keep them waiting a moment longer. Do you see that lady over there pouring the drinks?" She points to where Onora is supervising the beer garden. "Let's go over there and you can tell her who your mamas are and what they look like, and she'll tell us if she's seen them and where that was. Does that sound like a good idea to you?"

“What’s wrong dear?” Lotti doesn’t wait for the stepstool to dismount from the carriage, nor does she wait to finish the process of climbing down before calling out to the child.

Knowledge (history) to Influence vs Adella: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27

"It's rather like Lord Plecket's 4687 vintage." Lotti lazily swirls the wine in her glass as she sits with Konstiantina, Parthena, and Adella and tries to hide her nervousness. Given how many times I put my foot in my mouth around her last time, I'm lucky she didn't get up and leave when I sat down. "Rather sour up front and doesn't sit well in the stomach if imbibed too rapidly, but I suppose it makes anything you follow it up with much more enjoyable if only by comparison. I prefer Lady Vinkol's 4703 myself - it's a younger vintage, but well-balanced. How about you?" She leaves unspoken what happened to Lord Plecket and how his poor management of his estate forced the county's residence to revolt, replacing him with to avoid starvation. But if Adella was as much of a historical scholar as reputation held her to be, she'd catch the second meaning of her words - and why she'd chosen Lady Vinkol as a comparison.

Once everyone has given their opinion, Lotti takes the lead again. "Of course, some places are not meant for growing grapes. You can plow perfectly straight lines, mix limestone and ash into the soil, irrigate daily, and even pay exorbitant amounts for weather druids to change the local climate, but sometimes you just have to give up and try something else." She pauses for a sip from her glass. "Take Lotheedar, for example. The water table is simply too high for good root drainage, so you'd constantly have to import sand from Qadira or Osirion and then dredge it out of the lake if a rain cloud so much as glances in the general direction of the county. You'd have to be the sole supplier of wine for all of Oppara to recoup those costs - and nobody's managed that since the Zikit's monopoly broke, though not for lack of trying. Absolutely ridiculous!"

Knowledge (geography) to Influence vs Adella: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27

Linguistics vs DC 25: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (2) + 12 = 14

He's dancing around something, but I can't quite tell what. Without any proof beyond her hunch (and experience with folks having a modicum of power) that this man would take a cut off the top of whatever he collected, Lotti quietly stands next to Marius with her hands folded in front of her.

"Yes, Mistress, how can we help?"

Lotti smiles gently. "Ydych chi i gyd yn gwneud yn dda? Neb yn eich poeni na dim byd felly? Oes rhywbeth diddorol wedi digwydd yn ddiweddar?" she asks, waiting to hear from each of the domovoi before continuing. "Mae’n siŵr eich bod chi wedi clywed yn barod, ond fe fydd yna ŵyl dros y dyddiau nesaf. Llawer o bobl yn ymweld o'r tu allan i'r dref. Ac mae llawer o bobl yn golygu llawer o siarad."

She pauses, evaluating each fae's reaction. "Nawr, mae'r bobl uchel yn tueddu i wylio'r hyn maen nhw'n ei ddweud o gwmpas pobl eraill. Ond nid ydynt yn tueddu i weld pobl yn fyrrach na hwy eu hunain fel pobl eraill, ac yn sicr nid ydynt yn gweld anifeiliaid fel pobl eraill." She clears her throat meaningfully. "Rwy'n ymddiried ynoch chi i gyd i gadw'ch hunain yn ddiogel a pheidio â'ch rhoi eich hun mewn unrhyw berygl, ond cadwch eich clustiau ar agor tra byddwch chi allan yn mwynhau'r dathliadau a gadewch i mi wybod os nad yw rhywbeth yn ymddangos yn iawn i chi." Her expression lightens with a grin. "Ac yna gadewch i ni gwrdd yma wedyn er mwyn i mi glywed popeth am eich anturiaethau."

Lotti is happy to let Rose take the lead with assisting the farmers. Perhaps it'll help endear her to them, give her the approval she so desperately wants.

Knowledge (nature) to Aid: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22
Knowledge (nature) to Aid: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25
Knowledge (nature) to Aid: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21

But in the evenings, when the barley has been reaped and the gleaners have picked clean the stray stalks of wheat on the edges of the fields, the old woman traces a now-familiar path from the servants' quarters to the kitchen. Practiced hands carry four bowls, a cup, a pitcher of milk, and a plate of cookies seasoned with cinnamon tea around the side of the manorhouse to the garden fountain. She finds a patch of grass large enough to share, sets out the crockery, reminds His Grace that the milk is not for him alone and thus it would be terrible manners to drink it straight from the pitcher, and waits for the domovoi to arrive.

Knowledge (local) vs DC 20: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (4) + 16 = 20

Lotti makes a mental note to speak with her companions later about the possibility of replacing the seneschal with the archbanker, and how they might want to spread the idea at the upcoming festival to make folks feel like they’d come up with it themselves. Softly she sips the tea, careful not to make a sound as she does so.

Diplomacy vs DC 17: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

“She’ll be much better when she’s not out in the open for everyone to see.” Lotti’s voice is full of confidence and authority - and distinctly lacking in any nonsense. “Come Marius, help this soon-to-be father take these cushions from the carriage. Bring the curtains too, then find branches to hang them from to make a proper tent. Quickly now, don’t dawdle.” Deftly she continues to find one more thing for the men to do as soon as they finish each task.

Lotti slowly accepts the mask with both hands from the swan maiden. "You honor me with this memory, Atratus," she says at last. "Boed i chi ddod o hyd i'ch gilydd eto wrth ymyl dyfroedd clir." She bows, then retreats behind her taller companions so they may continue their discussion.

With one ear on what they say, she turns the rest of her attention to the porcelain ornament. Even without her divinations, she can feel an old, weathered power pulsing against her fingertips. Softly she utters the familiar incantation.

She frowns. Something is there, flickering around the edges of her vision when she doesn't look at the mask directly. Focusing on it reveals only a few subtle enchantments.

A glamor, to hide the mask from others.

An enchantment, to unveil the motives of others.

A divination, to understand the words of others.

She closes her eyes, opens them again, looks over at Atratus and wonders if the swan maiden knew what she had given away so freely even as her hands tuck the mask away safely into her pocket.

Knowledge (nature) vs DC 16: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17

“Fair maiden swan, we mean no harm to you or this lake under your wing.” Lotti dips her head and bobs, somewhere between a bow and a curtsey. “I ask you, on the basis of our shared connection to the First World, to tell us what has happened here.” She clears her throat, then continues, “Mae'n dda eich bod chi yma i warchod y lle hwn. Byddwch yn dawel eich meddwl na ddatguddir eich presenoldeb i neb arall, ac ni fydd eich clogyn byth yn gadael eich ysgwyddau wrth inni dynnu anadl.”

Diplomacy to Aid: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12

Use of singular tense - could be intentional deception. Seems unlikely, but possible. Someone skilled with both magic and bow, unless multiple people acting together. Rose might’ve had the right idea of a bandit. Not outright hostility yet - Marius’s speech likely had something to do with that. Lotti’s thoughts race as she scoops Wobblekins up into her arms.

“An illusion. And a nice one too.” Lotti can’t help but let a touch of admiration creep into her voice. “A good deterrent for most folks, but it also attracts attention of those most likely to see through it. Risks and desired outcomes.” That part seems to be directed more towards Rose with a gentle smile before she continues, “Be careful even if it is not the apparition it appears to be - the mundane has teeth just as sharp, and someone clever enough to make this may very well be clever enough to anticipate someone seeing through it.”

That being said, there was still the matter of how the illusion had been created. It might be possible to have such a spell designed to wait for someone to approach, but a simpler explanation would be a simpler spell and a hidden caster.

Spellcraft to ID spell effect?: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (16) + 13 = 29

With Konstiantina unharmed, Lotti follows Rose’s lead and studies the apparition as well with a critical eye. Visual, audible, don’t have to worry about touch if it’s supposed to be a ghost, but how to get it to appear with nobody around to create it? Rather than trying to see through such an illusion, she instead mutters a by-now-familiar incantation to reveal magical auras.

Casting detect magic.

Lotti snaps her book shut and moves back from the gelatinous mass. “Don’t endanger yourselves - do what you can from a distance and keep moving. You’ve seen how slow it is.” She leaves out the part about how she herself is not much faster as she weaves words that stink of lamp vapors into a tight, spongy ball. With a snap of her fingers, a spark lights the mass ablaze. A wave of her hand sends it bouncing across the boggy ground to strike the ooze with a dull thwap.

Fire damage: 3d6 ⇒ (3, 5, 3) = 11 Reflex DC 17

Move and cast flaming sphere, using a reservoir point to bump the caster level up to 7 (so we get more duration out of it).