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Nadia timidly nods and turns back to the Old Man. "Hmm..." Hartleby taps his cane against the commune's ground. "...I will admit that I do not possess the divine powers of Abadar's faith, so a sending wouldn't be an option." "However, I can speak with the animals of both the wilds and cities. And I believe Ortik can do so as well. They can serve as our messengers, provided they are properly fed."
Nadia sniffs and nods quietly. Hartleby rises and rubs his back with a wince. "Ortik has spoken highly of you, as have many of the Ffolk. Without your efforts, we likely would have all succumbed to the ravages of plague. I would be honoured to keep your daughter safe in return, Demitri." He looks back over at the entrance to East Shore. Quite a few wagons are gathered together there--most of them covered and with all manner of boxes stacked inside them. "Our preparations are well underway. Would you like a few minutes to say goodbye, first?"
The Old Man glances down at Nadia as she waves to him, his face softening. He lets out a sigh. "Yes... I suppose I should have foreseen this. It's a pleasure to meet you all, and I wish it were in more pleasant times." Hartleby, with some effort, crouches down in front of Nadia, one hand using his cane for support. "Hello, little kit." He looks up at Demitri. "You wish for the Ffolk to take her from here?"
"Of course, Lyla. In fact, I think you're all due for a palaver with my mentor." He approaches Hartleby with the group. "How goes the evacuation, old friend? Is there anything me or my friends can do to help?" Hartleby glances over at Ortik as he approaches, turning fully to him when he notices the rest of the party. "It's going as well as can be expected, I suppose." He sighs. "Is there something else wrong?"
The walk around the commune's homes is quiet and free of any interruptions. Unfortunately, it's a small comfort compared to the sheer magnitude of what you and Hartleby must tell them... your boots feel like they're filled with solid marble as you walk. You and Hartleby go from door to door, house to house, family to family, relaying the unwelcome news. They react with stunned disbelief, dismay, confusion; for these people, Korvosa is the only home they've ever known. To depart from it now is an act of madness in their eyes. But it's either leaving and taking their chances with a new home elsewhere, or staying and falling victim to the Queen's ironclad warriors. With varying degrees of reluctance, the Forgottenfolk begin to pack their belongings and prepare for the long journey to Harse. Hartleby puts a hand on your shoulder once the two of you finish relaying the news. "Thank you, Ortik. Now... the Old Dame needs you. Go."
The Old Man's face turns pained, and he takes off his hat. "...hm..." For a moment, he appears to be lost for words. He runs his fingers through his white hair, causing a few flakes of dead skin to cling to his fingers. "...you make a good point, Ortik." "It will be difficult, but I will remain with the Ffolk and help them however I can. But, in return, my student..." He kneels down, one hand still on his cane. "...you must keep yourself safe as well." "I couldn't be prouder of you if you were my own son."
"For much the same reason as you, my student." Hartleby rests both hands on his cane. "I can do more good for this city by helping Cressida than by leaving; more innocents than just the Ffolk are in danger from the mad queen."
Ortik thinks for a moment, nodding in agreement. "It's our best option, though one our adversary would have foreseen, if she turned her gaze towards the Ffolk. I can only hope that the plight of a handful of Korvosa's poor is beneath her notice, especially with the attention she's focused upon Old Korvosa. I'll speak with Griggs, see if he can go with you all to Harse - I can't leave the Old Dame right now, but I trust the man to do right by us." Hartleby nods in understanding. "I hope he'll be able to guide them to safety." "Alas, I will not be able to join them, I fear."
"By knocking on their doors and telling them they need to flee, of course." The Old Man quips in a half-hearted attempt at levity. He starts to chuckle, but all he can muster is a sigh. "There is somewhere our Ffolk can go... there's a town called Harse that lies to the north of Korvosa, at the junction of the Sarwin & Falcon Rivers. The journey there will be difficult for us, but easier, I imagine, than remaining here when Ileosa's madness finally begins to consume this place."
Any relief that Ortik has at seeing Hartleby is fleeting. It's not hard to read the old man's mood - he has the same fear for the Ffolk as Ortik. "She's spoken to you again?", he asks, suspecting as much. "Has she shown you any path forward for our people that doesn't end in their subjugation - or worse? What can I do to help?" The Old Man blinks in surprise and looks up when you speak. "Oh..." "...no, she hasn't. Not one that I can see, at any rate." He sighs and forces himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. "An oppressive structure hacked from screaming stone--built, brick and mortar, where our homes now stand." He looks around at the commune. "I fear we need to flee this place."
Your rush through Korvosa's suspiciously empty streets is met with an unusually cold wind at your back. It seems even Nature herself understands the severity of the situation, and is speeding you on your way however She can. The Forgottenfolk commune is just as desolate as the rest of the city, though you can see activity happening in the houses that ring the commune square through their windows. From the looks of things, most of the Ffolk are trying their best to go on living, despite the pall of despair and fear hanging over their heads. In any other circumstance, it would seem admirable. Now, such persistence may spell their doom. You find the Old Man sitting on the steps of the meeting hall. He has a haunted look in his eyes, and he seems to have aged at least ten years since you last saw him. He's leaning on a cane with shaking hands.
"I do not know yet. The Orvens may not have been the only ones to receive coffers with silver in them--or silver that came from them. Ortik, Griggs, look around the commune and see who else has been exposed to the coins." The Old Man snatches up the coffer and starts out the door after Lyrie. "I will have to put these coins in a safe place until we find a way to cleanse them." Griggs looks at you and nods.
Griggs takes off after you and the Old Man. "Wait--what's he getting worried about now? Don't tell me someone's--" His words stop at his lips when Hartleby throws open a door to one of the houses in the commune. He storms inside and starts bellowing. "LYRIE! Where are the coins?! You need to get rid of them! NOW!" A disheveled-looking woman stumbles out from a side room, carrying a small coffer. You can see the beginnings of a rash on her neck. "Hartleby? Yes, yes, they're all here. What's the problem--" "Where are the Orvens? Do they still have their coffer?" Hartleby's words come in a strong, desperate flurry. "Er--last I saw, yes. They haven't spent any of it, what of--" "Good. You handled the contents yourself, did you? Then get to the meeting hall. Get to the meeting hall and get one of my acolytes to treat you. Don't argue with me, just go. GO!" He points a finger out the door and steps aside, sending Lyrie scampering. She drops the closed coffer on the floor as she does so.
GM Rolls:
The streets seem to have gotten worse as you make your way to the Forgottenfolk commune. Men and women racked with open, weeping sores and wracking coughs are slumped against buildings in alleys, and the odour of filth and sicknesses pervades the city's once clean air. Patrols of Korvosan Guardsmen can be seen making the rounds, looking harried and strained as they move. All of them are wearing scarves over their mouths that shake as they breathe. Making your way along the High Bridge, you pass through East Shore and enter the commune. You're greeted by the sight of Corporal Griggs & Old Man Hartleby conversing. The Old Man doesn't look like he's taken ill, but a quick glance at the surroundings show that may not be the case soon--some of the Ffolk are beginning to show signs of the disease, scratching at the backs of their necks and coughing. "How bad are things here, sir?" "Not as bad as they could be, Griggs." The Old Man wipes his brow on his sleeve. "But that's certain to change if we don't quarantine the sick ones now..."
Hartleby pats you on the shoulder. "You have done nothing to apologize for, Ortik." His tone is trying to be reassuring, but there's a wavering in his voice. "But now that this sickness is here, we must all do our part in fighting it." "I will tend to Ruck, and see if I can get him to say anything more about how he caught this disease. In the meantime, please take care of yourself--if the fish are truly the source of this blight, I will ensure that the Ffolk take all measures necessary to stay away from the fish..."
Ortik winces as the Old Man mentions where he'd be housed, but he's not entirely surprised by the answer either. "One of my friends is a healer - she's forgotten more about tinctures than I'll likely know. Perhaps the two of you can confer and help figure out what's going on." "That would be a good idea, I think." The Old Man nods as he leads you and Ruck to his home. Hartleby is a practical man, and his home reflects that--it's a simple, two-story affair that could easily be mistaken for any other house in East Shore were it inside the city walls. He opens the front door with a *creak* and shuffles inside. A plain wooden table large enough to seat six people sits in the middle of the ground floor's one room, surrounded by chairs in various states of disrepair. The house's hearth is cold, with a black iron pot hanging over it. "Now, Ruck, if you would kindly follow me upstairs, I'll see about getting you settled in. Watch your step--these stairs can be the very devil of my existence some nights." The Old Man guides the ill Ruck up the steps, and they *groan* with each step they take. After a minute passes, he comes back downstairs and sits at the table. "Now, Ortik--since you're here, I need to ask you something. Have you any insight as to how this is spreading so quickly?"
The Old Man listens quietly, then nods. "Of course. Come this way." He walks next to Ruck and gently takes the beggar's hand. "Please follow me, Ruck. Everyone, do not worry about me--please see to yourselves for now. Take precautions against this disease--stay as clean as you can, and offer aid where you can." Hartleby leads you and Ruck from the meeting hall down the streets of the commune. "I thought we would have more time to prepare before this struck... I'll have to treat him at my home."
Entering the commune's meeting hall, you walk in on what appears to be an emergency meeting of sorts. The Old Man is standing on the platform at the back of the room, trying his best to calm the attendees. "People of the Forgottenfolk, I understand your worries about the sickness sweeping through Korvosa's streets. I do not know how it is spreading, but rest assured I will not allow any of you to come to harm because of it." Hartleby paces back and forth on the platform. "Until this disease has run its course, please, I implore you--return to your homes and do not go outside. If anyone does fall sick, tell me as soon as you possibly can--" Then he notices you enter, followed by the diseased Ruck. "--Ortik?" He steps down from the platform and walks over to you, the crowd parting for him. The crowd eyes Ruck with fear and disgust. "Who is this? Why have you brought him here?"
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The old man just quirks an eyebrow at his dwarven student. "Really, now?"
"It's concerning, definitely," he nods. "Maybe it was an overreaction by a new monarch. Maybe it's something more sinister. Or maybe it's nothing. I've questions without answers, like how the bluehands connect with a noble house, or what deep dwarves are doing this close to the surface. You're right, old friend, something rots in Korvosa. I just don't know what it is yet." Hartleby blinks. "Hmm... I haven't been keeping as close an ear to the ground as I thought. Was there anything else I might have missed, Ortik?"
"One last thing, old friend. Blackjack. He was quite outspoken of the Queen when he appeared a few days ago. I've no great love of her, but his words could fan the flames of rebellion. That's a fine thing if you suffer under a tyrant, but I haven't seen much to suggest that Ileosa is any worse for Korvosa than her late husband. I may need to speak with him in the future. If you could have the Forgottenfolk keep an eye out for him, I would very much appreciate it." "I could do that, certainly." Hartleby shrugs. "Admittedly, I've seen little to suggest Ileosa's any worse than Eodred myself. She didn't object to the Forgottenfolk moving through her city... although that business with the Hellknights was perhaps over the line for most."
Hartleby shakes his head. "She didn't show me how it may be stopped... only that it is coming, and sooner than I thought."
"No...no, I can't say that I have. I take it the city's been whispering to you? What does she say?" "Well, she doesn't so much say anything to me, so much as she shows me." Hartleby wrinkles his nose. "You remember when I spoke of the dream I had about crows, yes?" He clasps his hands together. "It came to me again, even more clearly than before." He looks at his feet. "Sometimes, I feel that the 'gift' of foresight is... more of a burden." Hartleby looks back up at you. "But, perhaps it's merely a sign of my age catching up to me."
The Old Man arches an eyebrow in surprise. "Really now?" He stretches a leg out and shakes it, trying to work the kinks out of it. "He had been absent for so long, I thought he decided to hang up the cape for good." "But... I'm beginning to fear that even his heroics won't be enough in the days to come." His eyes take on a faraway look. "Tell me, my student, have you been experiencing... visions, as of late?"
Hartleby looks up at you as you approach. "Oh... Ortik, you didn't miss too much, I'm glad to say." He chuckles. It's not a mirthful sound. "I've just been having... difficulties sleeping." His troubled demeanour reasserts itself. "I feel that a storm is coming..."
Your question is met with silence. Either Zellara is no longer in the house, or she is just as puzzled as you are. The trip to the Forgottenfolk commune is uneventful, for once. You pass a couple of patrols on the way to the commune--unlike the other times you've seen them, these ones are more alert and intent on actually doing their jobs. The streets of the commune are emptier than they normally are--there's a few kids playing here and there, but otherwise there's no one else around. Reaching the commune's meeting hall, you see the Old Man sitting before the speaker's podium in the back. He has a troubled look on his face...
Hartleby returns Ortik's hug. "Good. I know his work means a great deal to him, but he could stand to at least say hello to his Old Man once in a while." "Now, is there anything else you need?" He asks the party, one hand disappearing under his hat before returning to his side.
Hartleby shrugs. "No one else comes to mind..." He gets a pensive look in his eye. "Although, I do wonder how Griggs is doing these days--he never drops in to say 'hello'." Marius lies on the straw mat as one of the nurses starts tending to his injuries. He looks on with a degree of disbelief and a measure of... guilt? "Now, I think Cressida would like to hear how well you've done your jobs, wouldn't she?" The Old Man says with a twinkle in his eye. "Don't worry about him--" He nods at the noble. "--I'll have him up and around by tomorrow." Heimskr eyes Karri with a measure of concern, but doesn't say anything for a bit. He eventually steps closer to her. "Er--how are you faring, miss?" He says, trying to straighten up his posture as he does.
Hartleby's eyebrows arch in surprise as Demitri hands over 300 gold pieces. He takes them and divides them into six groups of 50 before waving into the meeting hall. The six people tending the sick and injured come over and are quite surprised when the Old Man hands the money out; they take it with expressions of great gratitude. He turns back to Ortik with a chuckle as the nurses return to their work. "You choose your friends wisely, Ortik." He then takes a patch of moss in his hand, crushes it and kneels in front of Lyla. "Now, hold still please." He sits Lyla down on a straw mat and rubs the moss on her bitten thigh. GM Rolls:
The moss does its work almost immediately. Lyla feels a sharp coolness enter her thigh and spread throughout her body... it's as if she's stepped into a pool of crystal clear water. She feels cleaner than she's ever felt before!
Hartleby stands up, his face alight with a smile. "Am I correct in assuming your donation was for both Miss Lyla and Marius?"
"About 180 Crowns." Hartleby says, leading the party into the plain meeting hall. To be honest, it would be charitable to call it 'plain'--the entire building seems to consist of one room with an elevated platform in the back. Straw mats line the floor on either side of the room. Several people are resting on the straw mats, with others feeding them, changing their bandages, or otherwise tending to them. Hartleby leads Marius over to a free mat and gently lays him down. "I think our noble friend here should see how we live for a day or two. Perhaps it'll help clear his mind, if not his body."
Hartleby looks over at Lyla and notices the filth on her thigh, left over from the otyugh's bite. "Hmm... I could, certainly. But, please understand that I can't do so for free--the Forgottenfolk live in harmony with Nature and Civilization's cradle, but we still need to eat." He looks between the noble and the hobbit. "I only have one spell of disease removal prepared today. I've always been of the belief that the body should be able to withstand illness on its own--but, in dire cases, the gifts of Nature can--and should be--used to give the body a fighting chance." He looks over at Demitri, his aged eyes twinkling with a quiet mirth suitable for a man half his age. "I don't suppose you'd care to make a donation to our humble commune?"
"Gotta say you are doing better than he made us believe. What happened there?" Heimskr bites his lip and looks down at his feet. "Well... see, I lost my symbol of the Eternal Rose one day. I turned practically the entire city upside-down trying to find it. Unfortunately, I could not find it, and to make matters worse, I learned that I had contracted leprosy during my search." He scuffs the sole of his boot against the stones. "I was at the end of my rope and on the verge of tying it into a noose when he returned my symbol to me." He glances at Demitri before turning back to Lyla. "Anyway, your wound may be healed, but I'm afraid you might have caught something from the otyugh's bite anyway--you really should get that looked at." His face turns slightly pink. -----------The Old Man looks over the half-digested noble with a serious eye. "Hmm. Being eaten by an otyugh is never a pleasant experience, especially from someone who talks too much." He digs some moss out of a pouch in his sackcloth clothes. "Did you scream the whole time you were in the beast's stomach? Because that's what you're spitting up--the otyugh's insides." He moves to help the man into the meeting hall. "I suppose I can do a little something for him. That is, if he's not going to be picky about how he's healed. He strikes me as being a little more sensible than that now. Aren't you, Marius?" He looks the noble in the eye, who only weakly nods.
Hartleby turns away from the group he's speaking with to address the party. "Oh?" He eyes the maimed Marius with an arched eyebrow. "Ah. I thought I heard a ruckus not too long ago..." He turns back to his other group. "Excuse me." The others shrug and leave, but not before giving the noble a critical look. "Now, what happened to him? He looks like Life swallowed him and spat him back up."
The Old Man has dark circles under his eyes as Ortik speaks with him. "Truth be told, Ortik, anything could be possible." He leans against the side of the commune's 'town hall'. "The Eodred I remember was a spry man, even in his twilight years." "Perhaps Pharasma called him to her court at his appointed time, perhaps he was forced there." He sighs. "In the end, I find that listening to rumours is less important than keeping the Forgottenfolk safe and sound." His trademark smile appears again. "You've been a remarkable help in that regard, I must say."
Hartleby returns Ortik's hug. "When you see Cressida again, say hello to her for me, would you?" As Ortik crosses the bridge over the St. Alika Narrows leading back to the rest of the city, a familiar face catches his eye. Griggs is walking along the bridge, clad in simple studded leather and with Lyla tagging along with him.
Hartleby's look returns to its normal, genial state. "Oh, I think we'll manage, Ortik. But it is always kind of you to offer." He starts walking back to Old Korvosa. "Indeed, I hope, in this case, distance may be used as a shield. Had we more resources, I'd take us further away from here, but... well, it should suffice for now." He looks back at Ortik as he walks. "You need not worry about us overmuch, Ortik. The Forgottenfolk are a hardy people; we've been through much before me, and will endure much more after I'm gone."
Hartleby looks over at Ortik before walking again. "See... while I was warming Cressida's jail, I had visions. Or perhaps they were not visions, but a persistently returning dream." He shrugs. "I really should change the locks on my mind." The Old Man crosses the bridge over St. Alika's Narrows, walking through the streets of North Point. "I saw a flock of crows descending on the corpse of a hippogriff, picking its flesh clean. Normally, I wouldn't pay that sort of thing much thought--after all, that is the crows' sacred duty, as ordained by Nature herself." He pauses in his walk. "It was the hippogriff's corpse that caught my eye. Covered in weeping sores and pustules, lying in a pool of its own blood--and the crows looked up at me. They looked at me with... malevolence in their eyes." He looks over at Ortik again. This time his eyes have taken on a haunted look. "I do believe that was the first time I ever saw a crow smile. I have no wish to see it again."
"Certainly." Hartleby spreads his arms. "Me." "We've been planning this for some time; we've scraped together enough supplies to move across the Jeggare River--" He nods in the direction of Korvosa's harbor. "--and build ourselves some new homes. If nothing else, they'll provide us with safety, free of charge." The Old Man gets a faraway look in his eye. "And... there's another reason for us to move on."
Harker takes Ortik's offering of food with gratitude. He goes around, handing some of his food to some of the less successful beggars. Hartleby chuckles. "Certainly, Ortik. Though, Pharast's mornings ought to be more accommodating than this." He looks around at the people packing their things. His expression changes from one of good humor to a more serious look. "Well, depending on how one views fortune, you could say that. I plan to move my people from this place to... somewhere with cleaner air. And less thuggery." He looks down at Ortik and chuckles again. "Oh, there's no need to be so worried. I'm simply making a new home for us across the river."
The walk to Old Korvosa is mostly quiet for Ortik. There aren't many people out and about on the streets today; then again, it's still rather early in the morning. Crossing the bridge into Old Korvosa, the tidy buildings of Midland & North Point give way to the ramshackle tenements & shanties of Bridgefront. Beneath the bridge, in the narrows of St. Alika, several scavengers poke around in the detritus of the city above for food or salvage. Several beggars line both sides of the bridge, looking for a handout or two. The way to the ghetto of the Forgottenfolk isn't hard to find: its just a street down, on St. Alika Street. Most of the people here are just beginning to wake up, but Ortik can see signs of people packing up indoors. The Old Man is out and about today, whistling a tune. He holds his head high.
Ortik: Kroft shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. Her plate mail *clinks*. "Hey, it's my job to keep Korvosa's citizens safe."
Hartleby steps out of the cell and stretches. "If I may, I wish to say that your accommodations could stand some improvement, Miss Kroft. Why, the stiffness of the bed alone is enough to drive a man to escape!" He says with a small chuckle. It's at this point that he takes a closer look at you and notices how injured you are. "Did you fall down some stairs?" He asks as he digs around in his robes for something. Under his breath, Griggs mutters something along the lines of "Didn't notice a difference." Hartleby produces a small pouch with moss, opens it up, and takes a bit out. "Now, just hold still for a bit and I'll clear this up." He says, crushing the moss in his hand and rubbing it on your forehead.
Ortik: The Old Man looks up as he hears your footsteps coming. Griggs follows behind, barely holding back tears.
Hartleby appears to have weathered his time in the Citadel's jail with good health; he's still clad in brown robes tied at the waist with a cord, and his brimmed hat is never far from his head. His grey beard has bits of food still stuck in it. He lets out a chuckle as you approach the bars. "I knew I could count on my two best students." "Hartleby... you've no idea how glad I am to hear you're alright." Griggs says. From the sound of things, this is likely the first time he's been allowed to visit him. "Oh, believe me, I'm more than alright." Hartleby says, standing up from his bed. "Now, if Miss Kroft would be so kind as to let an old man out from his cell?" He asks, calling out down the corridor. The *clanking* of footsteps behind you signal's Kroft's arrival in front of the cell. She hands the key off to you. "Go ahead." She says. |
