No one of reputable character would willingly go into the Bailer's Retreat, a squat, squalid tavern on the dockside of the Midland coast in eastern Korvosa. The place seems to be a halfway house for released criminals (hence the name), a port of call for the swarthy tars and stevedores from the docks, and a place of refuge for many of the low-lifes and irredeemables of the teeming city.
Hence, Billi Hardstone is here. Drinking and wallowing in self-pity, trying to hold out against his jones for more Shiver. He knows he can buy it here with a word and some coin, but there is still a shred inside him that fights against the craving. That part gets a little smaller every day, but its still there nagging and gnawing at him. So instead of a hit, he's working on dirty tankard of watered down ale listening to the barkeep prattle on to some seamen from some other place.
"Couldn't get me to sit in that chair, no sir! No Korvosan monarch's ever died of old age. None ever produced an heir either, not after bein' crowned, that is. They call it the "Curse o' the Crimson Throne, they do. And I believe it! If they crowned me, I'd run like hell t'other way, not like that's likely, eh?" He laughs and a spray of spittle flies across the bar toward the sailors, who, by the looks of it, can't understand a word of the barman's speech anyway.
Billi is just ready to order another round, when the door to the Bailer's opens, and someone quite unexpected walks in.
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Even the name Bailer's Retreat made Talindra scrunch up her nose. The poor Shiver-addicted fellow she got her directions from warned her that it wouldn't rank among her favorite places to get a drink. But she had a job to do. She needed to find Lamm. This is where her investigation led her. From what she heard, this was where Lamm conducted some (much?) of his business. Of course, from the moment she got off the boat from Absalom, it became clear that trustworthiness was in shorter supply in Korvosa than in her home. Still, this was the best she had.
Pushing open the doors to the Bailer's retreat, her sensitive ears immediately came under assault from the raucous sounds within. People talking in overly loud voices--some unwittingly bolstered by the effects of alcohol, some very deliberately shouting--the sound of glass clinking and perhaps shattering, it was all too much. She winced, but pressed on. Once inside, her eyes quickly scanned the room. Moving quickly to the bar, she avoided making eye contact with anyone and kept her cloak tight around her torso. She sat--no, slumped--over the bar, trying to shrink away from notice, and ordered an ale. She knew she was going to draw attention, both as an elf and because of her equipment, so she wanted to get herself something to take her mind off of the heartbeat that almost overpowered the sounds around her. Sipping the surprisingly strong ale, she cast her eyes once more around the room, looking for anyone who seemed like they could be helpful.
And just who could be helpful here?
There it was. The nagging self-critic had given her years of peace since she joined the temple choir, but after Elora's death, it came back, and seemed to want to make up for lost time. Another sip of her ale to focus her mind on the sensation of the fiery liquid, and she returned to peoplewatching.
Lenrelle did not much care for this place. It was a repository for desperate and angry men. But it wasn't her first time at Bailer's Retreat. She'd been here once before after a fight where someone ended up with a broken jaw that needed setting. But it was not a nice place, even she knew that. Still, she came in with a smile and a limited amount of coin in case she got robbed. Sarenrae believes all can find redemption, but only a fool thinks everyone is actively looking.
Her holy symbol carved from rosewood is on display, no point in hiding that. Sarenrae preaches honesty. Her outfit is simple but clean. And she enters to look around for a friend.
Billi could have chosen an inn with a cosy atmosphere and a nice bartender, but he chose the Bailer's Retreat because it matched his mood. It also may provide him a lead on the man that ruined his life.
WTF is Talindra doing here??
Billi moved next to the elf at the bar without making direct eye contact with her. He immediately felt better in the presence of someone else not wanting company, but then kinda wanting company. He unconsciously matched the pace at which she moved her mug to her lips. After a few drinks he noticed the frequency of drinks was not to his liking, so to keep his consumption rate to his desired level, he took bigger drinks with noticeable slurping noises.
This was not her neighborhood. But, Sable needed a drink before the long walk home. She had come to visit her family, dropping her stage name for the visit. She loved them, but, it was always the same.
"Why do you work in such a sleazy place? You know, you could play at nicer businesses." That was her father.
The sideways looks from her brothers' wives who were convinced she worked exclusively on the House of Clouds.
Her mother's constant "When are you going to settle down? I'm waiting for grandchildren."
Her own annoyed retort pointed out that her brothers were older and married.
She couldn't wait to get home. Even Bailer's Retreat felt wrong. She was used to the rocking of the boats against the dock when she drank. Sable moved to the bar, ordered whatever was on tap, then shook her head, tossing the visit and the memories aside, and became Sable once more.
One drink, then the walk home. That was the plan.
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Talindra heard Billi's heavy footsteps before he came up next to her. The two had met before, their paths crossing as part of her investigation. A familiar face, even one she didn't know well, would provide some comfort. Pausing her drinking and observing, she turned to the dwarf. He was always so difficult to read. Everyone in Korvosa is. Everyone's so closed off.
Unbidden, the teachings of Shelyn came to her mind. A closed heart is an empty heart. An empty heart has no love to give. Those teachings never made sense until this moment. Most people in Korvosa were different from the people she knew back home. They weren't open to love... because they hurt. And Billi was hurting more than most.
Even beyond getting him the help he needs, gaining his respect was important; he could be a useful ally. Or if nothing else, he knew more about Lamm than she did. She turned to him and tried to start a conversation.
"Definitely stronger stuff than I've typically had back home. What do you reckon?"
While taking a long draught from her glass, she looked over his shoulder. She spotted another familiar face: Lenrelle, the Sarenite cleric she'd met earlier. The two had bonded over a shared love of music, a shared hatred of Lamm, and similar religious beliefs. In particular, they both valued redemption. Talindra waved her over, turning to indicate the empty seat behind her.
Turning, she saw the seat now occupied by a young human woman with long, dark hair and green eyes.
"Talindra," She smiles kindly and moves to her to join her and her friend, "Be careful, this place doesn't have the nicest rep."
She looks over to see Sable, "Sable doesn't work here. that's odd."
Sable gets her drink, and then she notices Lenrelle. She is as shocked to see the cleric as Lenrelle is to see her. She carries her drink down the bar. "Hi, Lenrelle. Fancy meeting you here." she says, in a playful tone.
"Well," She says looking about, "Fancy isn't the word I'd use for this place" she admits in a softer tone but smiles, "but it has character? Good to see you again too. I thought you'd be at your usual place at this time."
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Seeing more familiar faces, Talindra's shoulders visibly relax. She lets out a quiet sigh. A vague trace of a smile almost graces her face. "Nope, it's not fancy, but," lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level, "I'm here for information, not leisure. Hoping to find some information. Have you heard anything?" She asks this question of the assembled group.
Despite being relaxed, Talindra still keeps looking around the room, not making eye contact but more looking to see if anyone is watching her or the group.
As the 4 of you chat at the bar, a tall, lithe Varisian woman cones out of the back room. She looks out of place in this setting, so it stands out to you. Her hair is tied back with a bright yellow scarf, her dark eyes set. She walks with visible purpose to the door of the tavern and exits without looking back.
"About that horrid man? Bits and pieces.Oh, Talindra, have you met Sable? Sable, this is Talindra." She does not intentionally leave the dwarf out but Talindra knows him better so if anyone should introduce Billi, it should be himself or her.
"I was on an errand in this part of town. I decided to get a fast drink before the walk home." Sable explains. "It's not a short walk home after all." She smiles and then she looks over to Talindra. "It's a pleasure to meet you." Billi is also given a smile but, like Lenrelle, she lets the dwarf introduce himself.
Her eyes do flicker to the Varisian woman for a moment, before turning back to the group at the bar.
Billi turns and looks at the ladies gathered in this establishment. After it seemed rude not to introduce himself, he began....
"Billi son of Arnag..." It was the first time he introduced himself without a father, and it was too much. He shakes, either from emotion or withdrawal, he doesn't know or care. He starts again in a flat tone. "I guess I am just Billi now, but at your service."
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Talindra's eyes follow the Varisian walking out the tavern, but her attention is broken when she hears her name.
Turning her glance to Sable, her brow furrows. Sable, I know her! But from where... Then her eyes light up and her eyebrows shoot up.
"Oh, Sable, you were at that Festival of Shelyn, right? Yes, I remember, you're quite the dancer! I was part of the choir, though I'm not sure if you got a good look at me." And I hope you didn't, my voice hasn't been at all the same recently...
"I'm looking for any information you have on Gaedren Lamm. I'd like to--" Looking around herself, Talindra pauses for a moment, considering her words. "I'd like to arrange a meeting." She finishes her ale and orders another.
"Good to meet you, Billi." She had heard some interesting stories about the dwarf, and gambling, but probably not wise to mention it until they knew each other better.
"I'm looking for any information you have on Gaedren Lamm. I'd like to--" Looking around herself, Talindra pauses for a moment, considering her words. "I'd like to arrange a meeting." She finishes her ale and orders another.
She nods at that. She wouldn't mind being in on that meeting too.
"A lot of people seem to be looking for him lately," Sable says as she finishes her drink. "If I hear anything, I can send word to your temple, but I wouldn't hold my breath on him agreeing to a meeting. Anyway, it was nice to meet and talk to you all, but I have a long walk home, so I better get started.
Sable rises from her chair and heads out of the tavern.
"Thanks, Sable." She waves, then looks at the others, "And I've lost track of time already. I need to go to a house nearby to see how an expecting mother is doing." She rises to go then says to Talindra "Well find that monster. We will." then she heads out.
A truly filthy man walks by, whispering to whichever of the group is furthest from the bar, "Place is too public for this conversation. You'll attract the wrong attention . . .." He continues moving, out the door and into the night.
Billi nods to Talindra and gets up from his chair and bows.
"After you my lady!! The game is afoot."
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Seeing everyone depart, Talindra realizes she's not going to get anything done, at least not now. She makes a note to keep an eye out for the woman she saw leaving the tavern. Probably nothing, but she did stand out--rather like Talindra herself, that is. She keeps in mind the yellow scarf, something that should stand out among the brown that seems to coat everything in this city.
She nods to Billi, raises from her chair and heads out. She keeps an eye on the dwarf, though, more to make sure he's okay than out of suspicion.
Where to now?
Now, though, it was itch you couldn't quite scratch. Chasing the feeling of euphoria nearly all the time, even though he knew it was slowly killing him[but dying is better than facing THAT isn't it?]. He had spent all his money, he had lost any job prospects, he had scared off any friends[what do you need friends for, you have ME] but still he took it. And it took him. As hard as he was[is...no was, you're right] turns out Shiver is harder. Insidious. A creeping thing that came to rule his entire life[some life].
Today[what day is it anyway]he was set to score another batch and was sitting in a dive bar listening to someone prattle on about the Shoanti, and how they may come to negotiate a treaty[who cares, where's the goods] but really meant to invade the whole city. Billi only half listened, when the man came, he reached into his purse and paid the cost[no free lunches Billi, no free anything] slightly worried about the paucity of silver sails left in his possession, just two or three. "Gonna have to do something about that", he thought[Sure Billi sure, you ain't doing nothing without me] before opening the poke to make sure it was in there. [I'm here Billi whenever you need].
But when Billi looked inside, he found something unexpected. A little note folded up neatly sitting on top of his smaller than he needed[it's never enough is it Billi]doses of Shiver. His hand shaking with need (and maybe some apprehension) the dwarf opened the note and read it:
"I know what Gaedren has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Lamm must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Billi blinked and read the note again[ignore it Billi, it doesn't mean anything] but somewhere deep inside, it did mean something. The man responsible for [we don't think about that remember] whatever. Someone had sent him this note and maybe, just maybe, there was a means to get back at the murdering bastard. To put all these feelings away and ACT.
Billi felt something he hadn't felt in a long time[no Billi no, just take a hit, take it now]. So long, he'd forgotten what it was. With this anonymous letter, Billi, despite all odds, felt HOPE.
Now, walking down the streets of North Point at midday, Ioca gazed up at the walled castle, and his daydreams took another direction. Blackjack, the fabled hero of the downtrodden in Korvosa, righting wrongs, protecting the innocent, and dueling the evil king's men with his rapier, that's who Ioca wanted to be. He already had the rapier after all, tucked safely in his belt. But mastery of the blade, and the freedom to be an adventurer. That's what he longed for. He shook his head to clear it from such nonsense. It had been years since anyone had seen or heard from Blackjack and things were so bad in Korvosa these days. If Blackjack ever was real, he must be retired, or maybe the Queen's men had him killed. Who knew.
He'd never be like Blackjack, who was he kidding? He couldn't even find Mela, or any trace of her. Mela was his kid sister, only 10 years old. She was taken off the street one day, like some other of the Shingles kids, here one minute, and then gone the next. Ioca had done some inquiring and knew that a bad man named Gaedren Lamm might be implicated but he had not gotten close to Lamm or his outfit, despite a number of attempts.
The over-loud sound of a drunken exchange brought Ioca back to reality. There, on the street in front of him, where two drunken men, upper class types with fancy shoes and silken trousers. He felt the holes in his own pants in comparison, and his anger burned. Sizing up the situation, he noted one of the drunken dandies had failed to tuck his purse into his waistline, and it dangled and danced, nearly calling out to Ioca, as the man drunkenly staggered against his mate and down the cobbled street.
Deftly, and with long practiced skill, Ioca crept behind the man, snatched at the bobbing prize, and was rewarded with the clink of coins as he snagged the purse. Turning the corner into an alleyway, he opened the strings of the wallet, and found five or six silver sails (not much, but enough for rent money at least) and also a small scrap of paper, neatly folded.
Curious, the young man unfolded the paper and found a simple letter (actually addressed to him!) scrawled in a neat, precise hand: Ioca, I know what Gaedren Lamm has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Wondering how on earth this note got in that purse with his name on it, Ioca shrugged. Fate worked in mysterious ways, and if Blackjack wasn't going to appear to help him find Mela or Lamm, then maybe whoever this note was from could.
But not today. Today she was working in the infirmary of the Temple, where those sick and wounded came to the receive the Dawnflower' s mercy in the form of healing and sunlight. The infirmary was unusually busy today, and she bustled from patient to patient. The first, a young man with a large bite wound on his abdomen, writhed in pain and cried in the Varisian tongue that was so musical to her, but now sounded so mournful. His wound was likely mortal despite the healing grace of Sarenrae, just too massive to be closed easily. The other said the young man was attacked by a tentacled creature from the sewers, but Lenrelle didn't know about that. Sounded pretty fanciful to her sensible nature.
Her other patient was also dying. It was a woman of about Lenrelle's own age. Her eyes were sunken and dim, and her face pock-marked with the signs of addiction. Her body was wasted, and brittle thin, but she had not quite given up on life yet. Lenrelle prayed over the addict, but it didn't really seem to help much. She cursed Shiver and those who dealt it, especially the horrible Gaedren Lamm, a crime lord of some ill repute who was said to traffic in narcotics, prostitution, and other petty crimes. She had encountered Lamm once before, but with the many shiver-addicted souls that came to her infirmary, her hatred of the man and his reputation grew even more. Hatred was something she tried to keep at bay, but this time she failed.
Leaving the infirmary in a red rage, she went to the temple's sanctum, to take time to kneel and pray, and ask the Dawnflower for forbearance for all that Lamm stood for. As she knelt in the chapel, she grabbed her prayer book and turned to the familiar pages -- the words already forming on her lips. But this time, something unusual happened. A small slip of paper, neatly folded, was inside the book, marking the page.
Curiously, Lenrelle unfolded the paper, and let out a low curse under her breath, immediately asking for forgiveness for defaming the chapel. This is what she read:
"Lenrelle, I know what Gaedren Lamm has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, but cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Lamm must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Lenrelle read over the note again. Perhaps, her prayers had been answered at last. Sarenrae stood for righteous vengeance after all. And now she was poised to deliver some, perhaps to Gaedren Lamm himself.
But now, she had to get back to her patients.
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But not today. Today she was working in the infirmary of the Temple, where those sick and wounded came to the receive the Dawnflower' s mercy in the form of healing and sunlight. The infirmary was unusually busy today, and she bustled from patient to patient. The first, a young man with a large bite wound on his abdomen, writhed in pain and cried in the Varisian tongue that was so musical to her, but now sounded so mournful. His wound was likely mortal despite the healing grace of Sarenrae, just too massive to be closed easily. The other said the young man was attacked by a tentacled creature from the sewers, but Lenrelle didn't know about that. Sounded pretty fanciful to her sensible nature.
Not for the first time, she wished she had learned Varisian. Maybe she still would. Mind you, the language of pain she understood. It was one she hoped to help replace with a gentler language of comfort.
Tentacled creature in the sewer? Well, I suppose he didn't see what did it and in the dark one can imagine all sorts of things.A spell of curing would help here.
If only it would help others.
Her other patient was also dying. It was a woman of about Lenrelle's own age. Her eyes were sunken and dim, and her face pock-marked with the signs of addiction. Her body was wasted, and brittle thin, but she had not quite given up on life yet. Lenrelle prayed over the addict, but it didn't really seem to help much. She cursed Shiver and those who dealt it, especially the horrible Gaedren Lamm, a crime lord of some ill repute who was said to traffic in narcotics, prostitution, and other petty crimes. She had encountered Lamm once before, but with the many shiver-addicted souls that came to her infirmary, her hatred of the man and his reputation grew even more. Hatred was something she tried to keep at bay, but this time she failed.
There were miracles for poisons, miracles to aid in restoring lost vigor, but such were beyond Lenrelle. Here she had to rely on what she had learned and hope and pray. But it was hard to focus on the positive when hate for the man who did this was devouring her from the inside.
But she kept a gentle voice for the woman even as she stewed inward, "You're being very brave. Just hold on.. hold..."
She did what she could and left the infirmary. She wanted, no NEEDED to pray.
Leaving the infirmary in a red rage, she went to the temple's sanctum, to take time to kneel and pray, and ask the Dawnflower for forbearance for all that Lamm stood for. As she knelt in the chapel, she grabbed her prayer book and turned to the familiar pages -- the words already forming on her lips. But this time, something unusual happened. A small slip of paper, neatly folded, was inside the book, marking the page.
Curiously, Lenrelle unfolded the paper, and let out a low curse under her breath, immediately asking for forgiveness for defaming the chapel. This is what she read:
"Lenrelle, I know what Gaedren Lamm has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, but cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Lamm must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Lenrelle read over the note again. Perhaps, her prayers had been answered at last. Sarenrae stood for righteous vengeance after all. And now she was poised to deliver some, perhaps to Gaedren Lamm himself.
But now, she had to get back to her patients.And so she did. Her goddess wanted to give redemption to all who would accept it. So did Lenrelle, but some men spat upon it, and clung to evil like a bloated tick. I have an ally. Thank you, Sarenrae for this chance. I will try to turn it into action.
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Billi red the note, and three words hit him hard: 'Lamm', 'fate', and 'justice'. Lamm was worse than the horrible addiction he spread. Lamm was source of his problems, and will be the source of death and destruction of many others. Before Lamm could face his fate, Billi had to face his fate.
He gulped and realized that he was responsible for his own horrible spiral, but others did not have the inner strength to cope as he had. His trials were nothing compared to the weaker ones, those he had seen that were in poor health and poor spirit. Then justice, the note closed with justice must be done. The author had a better idea of the critical finale and endgame than Billi had--justice must be done.
Billi went to the crappy privvy in the bar, another reminder of how bad he had fallen, and dumped the remainder of his drugs into the poorly maintained privvy and ceremonially added a top layer.
He did not want to go alone. In fact, he did not want to be alone anymore. A dwarf alone with no family, kin, or clan is a dangerous thing. He was going to start a new clan, the Justice to Lamm Clan.
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Now, walking down the streets of North Point at midday, Ioca gazed up at the walled castle, and his daydreams took another direction. Blackjack, the fabled hero of the downtrodden in Korvosa, righting wrongs, protecting the innocent, and dueling the evil king's men with his rapier, that's who Ioca wanted to be. He already had the rapier after all, tucked safely in his belt. But mastery of the blade, and the freedom to be an adventurer. That's what he longed for. He shook his head to clear it from such nonsense. It had been years since anyone had seen or heard from Blackjack and things were so bad in Korvosa these days. If Blackjack ever was real, he must be retired, or maybe the Queen's men had him killed. Who knew.
He'd never be like Blackjack, who was he kidding? He couldn't even find Mela, or any trace of her. Mela was his kid sister, only 10 years old. She was taken off the street one day, like some other of the Shingles kids, here one minute, and then gone the next. Ioca had done some inquiring and knew that a bad man named Gaedren Lamm might be implicated but he had not gotten close to Lamm or his outfit, despite a number of attempts.
If he found some luck, maybe Ioca could met out a touch of justice; come close to doing one of the things Blackjack should be doing if he was still here: being the hero the people need. Blackjack or not, someone needs to find this Lamm and sheer him for the final time.
The over-loud sound of a drunken exchange brought Ioca back to reality. There, on the street in front of him, where two drunken men, upper class types with fancy shoes and silken trousers. He felt the holes in his own pants in comparison, and his anger burned. Sizing up the situation, he noted one of the drunken dandies had failed to tuck his purse into his waistline, and it dangled and danced, nearly calling out to Ioca, as the man drunkenly staggered against his mate and down the cobbled street.
If they learned, our lives would be even harder. Shame his partner's purse is tucked away. Take what's given, Lad. Even Calistria only gives so much at a time.
Deftly, and with long practiced skill, Ioca crept behind the man, snatched at the bobbing prize, and was rewarded with the clink of coins as he snagged the purse. Turning the corner into an alleyway, he opened the strings of the wallet, and found five or six silver sails (not much, but enough for rent money at least) and also a small scrap of paper, neatly folded.
Curious, the young man unfolded the paper and found a simple letter (actually addressed to him!) scrawled in a neat, precise hand: Ioca, I know what Gaedren Lamm has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others will be there. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Wondering how on earth this note got in that purse with his name on it, Ioca shrugged. Fate worked in mysterious ways, and if Blackjack wasn't going to appear to help him find Mela or Lamm, then maybe whoever this note was from could.
I don't know which god would deliver this to me, or why, but there are things a man can do and things he can not. I can not leave Mela to Lamm's mercies. I've got a couple of hours. Let me give this place a quick look now, and then go back closer to sunset . . ..
Sarenrae will forgive Lenrelle her less than perfect focus today, the deity is an exceptionally good sport. But Lenrelle tries to do her part, focusing as much as she can and resisting the urge to tap her fingers while she listens to the sermon. She is strong willed and that helps.. some. Still, as soon as she gets a chance, she'll ask a fellow priestess to please cover for any duties she might have at sunset (She doesn't think she does, but best to be sure) and then gathering her gear, she'll rush to the meeting locale.
It occurs to her this could be a trap. But she thinks on that poor woman who she cannot help, and decides the risk will be worth it.
The search for Graykos had taken him physically away from the Acadamae as well of late. He missed several classes of Abjuration and more than a few sessions of Magical Theory this term as he followed up on clues and leads, chasing down Gaedren Lamm, the man he thought responsible for his brother's disappearance.
Turns out Lamm was a bit of a ghost in the wind, and try as he might Perivolt could never pin down his exact location, or learn enough about this organization to expose him. He knew about the narcotics, he knew about the women and the smuggling, and he suspected the child slavery or trafficking was also part of it. Over the weeks, his frustration over getting nowhere closer gnawed at his exceptional mind. Gnawed until he could no longer focus.
Now with exams due soon, and his missed classes not really made up. And with sweet Evangeline less than foremost in his thoughts, he wondered if this what failure tasted like. He ruminated about dropping from the Acadamae and spending his full-time pursuit chasing down Lamm and avenging Graykos, but he quickly shook those thoughts away.
Time to hit the books, he thought, flipping back into the vellum pages of the his textbooks. When he looked down, he saw something odd there. A folded piece of paper marked the page he last read, but he hadn't left it there Unfolding the paper, he found, scrawled in a thin but neat hand, a note addressed to him:
Perivolt, I know what Lamm has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, but I cannot strike at him. Come to my house at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Lamm must face his fate, and justice must be served."
But the studies, and the exams, he thought at first, but he knew it was a losing struggle. He'd spent this much energy and time pursuing Gaedren Lamm, one more evening's excursion surely wouldn't hurt.
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Perivolt slammed the book shut. Not a single word of whatever he'd just been reading, no looking at, had even penetrated his thoughts. As soon as he'd seen that note, his mind had once again fallen deep in the spiderweb of ever crisscrossing coincidence related to the search for Graykos. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with a slight frown crossing his features. Perivolt knew he had to get his scholastic studies back on track, but he felt so close. Something was just outside of his vision that would bring this all together.
This meeting might be a trap. There's no doubt his activities had been noticed. He'd heard some whispers that other folks may have either been on the same hunt...or perhaps hunting those who hunt Gaedren Lamm. It was hard to say. Perivolt was rather wary of those down in the poorer quarters. Who to trust had been a big issue in the beginning.
Thank goodness for Evangeline. She'd happened to be a fellow student, but one from a different life, a different Korvosa than one Perivolt had ever been exposed. Their meeting had come from his inquiries around the Acadamae on how to even break through the almost impenetrable fog of misinformation surrounding The Shingles. Evangeline had approached him one day having heard of his desire for information. A casual sort friendship had formed, all at once very confusing for Perivolt as he couldn't quite sort out how he felt about the pretty yet mysterious young woman.
Perivolt reached for a stylus and dipped it in ink. He quickly scrawled on a blank parchment two separate notes, tore them off, and tucked them into two books on pages only the recipients would know to check. He summoned a servant of the Ornelas household and bade them to deliver the books to Redwella his sister and to Evangeline, his...friend. The notes advised where he was going so they would know where to start looking if for some reason, Perivolt did not return.
The wizard gathered some supplies and a bit of money. Not too much, just enough to get by, but the supplies were enough to cover him in case he somehow wasn't able to return swiftly. Weapons, spellbook, backpack. He had to take this note seriously, but not be foolish and be caught unprepared. He felt a tingle on the back of neck. There was something different about today. Perivolt couldn't put his finger on it, but for the first time in a long time, hope flickered to life.
Her own fault, she told herself. Taking those last longshot bets, laying down more than she could afford, and getting in debt to the Spider King. Devargo Barvasi was no laughing matter. She'd seen him, or his enforcers, break the kneecaps of grown men, and stick a stiletto into a drunkard without a second thought. So she took the extra day shifts just to keep from owing that guy money. Bad enough he ran the place, but to actually owe him....that would be bad. True enough some of her fellow dancers had either gotten in trouble with drugs or lost money enough that now they plied their trade in the House of Clouds rather than here on the main deck. She was not sure she could stomach that idea either honestly.
As she danced, she tried to let her mind wander. Wander away from this den of sins and crime, and back to a time and place when she was happy. Before Lamm and his goons ended the life of her true love. She recalled the times they had, the wild and crazy times, and how she loved him so deeply. But now he was gone, and she was alone. And when she was alone, she invariably ended up in trouble -- usually gambling, an escape from her not so great reality. But perhaps in other ways too.
Finally her song was done, and she grabbed her robe, and started to gather the coins that had been tossed on the stage. Not bad for a day shift, she thought dropping the coins in her robe pocket. That's when she noticed it, a paper folded up in her pocket. She hadn't left it there, she was sure.
Unfolding the slip, she saw a neat, handwritten note that said: "I know what Gaedren Lamm did to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, but cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Lamm must face his fate, and justice must be done."
Sable frowned at the note, then a wry smile crossed her face. Night time might be busier and better for tips, but tonight, she had other plans it seemed.
Here, where she used to commune with the love goddess, and see her own version of love in the flesh and hear the beautiful music they made together. Now to come to this place -- it just seemed a mockery of all that she held in her heart. She didn't want to betray the Eternal Rose, but she couldn't get her mind back to the place where that devotion was most important.
She came to the choir rehearsals regularly, she was too disciplined ot miss them. but she rarely sat with the choir, and even when she did, she hardly sang at all, at least not without breaking into weeping. Maybe never having loved was better than all this remembrance, and how everything she held dear now came with a terrible price of memory. If she steeled her mind and heart, and focused only on the music, she could perhaps sing a few bars, maybe even get through a verse, but eventually she would just trail off, lost in the grief and loneliness and anger.
Tonight she sat away from the choir, listening, but not really hearing. She held her songbook, she tapped along with the rhythms of the songs, but she was mostly in her head, as she spent most of the time these days. One of her acquaintances had shared a story about how old King Eodred was sick, they said. On his deathbed maybe, they said, but she didn't really hear that either.
By chance she glanced down at her songbook, not really looking, but she saw something odd. A carefully folded slip of paper was stuck in the book, just visible over the pages when it was closed. She'd never seen this note, and certainly didn't leave it there. Curiously, she opened the book, it was marked on Elora's favorite song, and before the emotion could take over, she looked at the note instead. Scrawled there, in a spider-thin hand, where these words: Talindra, I know what Gaedren Lamm has done to you. He has wronged me as well. I know where he dwells, yet cannot strike at him. Come to my home at 3 Lancet Street at sunset. Others like you will be there. Lamm must face his fate, and justice must be served."
She sat bolt upright, and the flourish of the music finally reached her, her heart swelling with hope for the first time in a while. She knew where Lancet Street was, near the West Docks, not terribly far from here. Maybe, she would go see what this was all about. Maybe there was a chance for her to finally strike a blow at Lamm, and protect those beautiful things that she had always loved.
While he lurked around outside, he saw no one come or go from the home. He saw no real movement inside either, thought it was hard to tell from the street.
There was some foot traffic along Lancet Street: deliverymen, dock workers coming home from a long day, a housewife coming back from market, but no one seemed to pay the youth any mind, and nothing he say in his reconnaissance, seemed out of line. So he waited. What else was there to do anyway.
Curiosity
"It's my fault. The odds were just a little against me in that last bet," she thought. She didn't like Spider. She didn't have to like him. She had made her choices, there were consequences, and she was ok with that. She always had been. If she wanted safe, she'd be married to a shopkeeper or someone like that. She was not. She had the life she wanted, at least for now.
After finding the note, she pursed her lips. "Well, isn't this interesting? It could be a trap. It probably is. Talindra was free with his name the other day, and word might have gotten to him. Still, if it's a trap, I might as well walk into it with eyes open." She was not thrilled someone had gained access to her robe during her routine, but that was something to push aside.
Her course decided to her satisfaction, Sable changed and then burned the note. If it was a trap, the note would not matter, the Watch would not look for her even if she was reported missing. If it was not, then it might be a lead for someone else, and again, there was no need to leave it to be found.
She would head home for a little nap before the meeting, but before she did, she took advantage of it being the day shift. Back onto the floor, talking to a few of the more lecherous patrons, accepting the touches while asking about Lancet Street. After that, she went to her small apartment, had a late lunch, and got a cat nap before heading out.
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Talindra's mind was not on her journey as she made her way to 3 Lancet Street.
I hope the rest of the clergy don't get too upset that I was ruining the harmony... I just can't. They've come to depend on my voice and I failed them.
Who left this note in my book? She turned it over again and again, trying to identify the handwriting, trying to learn something about this mysterious potential ally. Too transfixed by the small, mundane piece of parchment to feel self-conscious about how ridiculous she looked as she walked down the streets of Korvosa, her thoughts continued to aimlessly meander.
Are they an ally? Is this some kind of trick?
But what if they are? Look at all the hurt Lamm has caused in this city. Even an ally of Lamm is going to know something.
And if they're an ally... if... then I can bring him to justice. But I can't bring Lora back... unless...
If they're an ally... then we punish Lamm. Do we get the city guard involved? She let out a long, heavy sigh. That's probably the right thing to do... but what if they don't do anything? They probably won't, look at all of this, it's clear they don't care.
What will the Temple think? She knew what the clergy will say. "To redeem the wicked is to refill an empty heart. There is no greater beauty and love than that birthed by a heart long empty. Her uncharitable response to that reminded her of the Trial of Self: this Trial examined a champion's faith in the face of adversity, and was one of the pillars of her training. It is a simple matter to forgive a minor kindness, for there is little wrong to redeem. Forgiving the truly heinous (yet still repentant) is the challenge the Eternal Rose set for her true faithful.
Talindra was always a passionate person. She didn't have a bad temper, per se, but her strong will had gotten her into some trouble over the years. She was quick to judge, something she was working on with Elora. Redeeming Lamm... forgiving him...
I can't. I won't.
... But Lora would be so proud of me if I did.
The thought shocked her, leaving her motionless mid-stride. She almost lost her balance, leaning on a nearby building and catching more than a few glances from passerby who just saw a young, healthy elf stumble in her gait for no discernible reason. Yet she didn't see them, she couldn't; her eyes wet as all the emotions finally overpowered her. A few moments later, she stood upright with a newfound resolute conviction. She would make her Eternal Rose proud.
Whatever arcane secrets the energy of the world contained came easily to one so magically gifted as Perivolt, but the haphazard layout of the streets and alleys of Korvosa's less economically blessed regions outside of The Heights, East Shore, and Northpoint were as mystifying to him as how a spell is formed to the average street urchin.
He grudgingly asked some locals and passersby for some directions, but most provided information Perivolt knew to take him to places he may get mugged or worse. He sighed and glanced at the scrap of paper with a rough drawing that an urchin had called a 'map' for five copper.
Maybe this is a bridge? he said reevaluating one part of the image. He sighed again as he eyed the sun on its descent. He was pretty sure he was going to be late unless he just got lucky somehow. Perivolt gathered his things and trudged down the dirty street peering at every grimy sign or scrawl on a building wall to finally indicate he has found Lancet Street.
It took Lenrelle questioning a patient, of all things, to get the best directions to Lancet street. That said, once she gets there she seems... hesitant.
Nerves, more like
I didn't even know we needed initiative. But just in case.
In order to get the information she needed, Sable endured the pinches and pats receiving only partially useful directions towards Lancet Street, in return for the indignities. When she got to the area around West Dock the tangled streets and waterfront traffic slow her down to the point of frustration.
Perivolt gets led astray by street urchins whose "directions" are perhaps a bit suspect. Out of the more exclusive areas he usually travels in, the rest of Korvosa kind of all looks the same to him. Eventually through trial and error, he believes he is on the right path
Billi does not find Talindra at the sanctum of Shelyn, she just have left on her own a few moments ago. Shrugging he sets off confidently towards West Dock, mapping in his head as he goes. He pauses briefly as a wave of nausea and sweating hits him, the first early stages of withdrawal perhaps, but his dwarven heartiness allows him to plow forward, and the location, he thinks, is right around the next bend.
Lenrelle has a pretty good idea where to go. The Bailer's Retreat, a place where she met some other victims of Gaedren Lamm a few days back, isn't far from her destination this time, so retraces those steps, and with a little luck, has no trouble along the way.
Talindra leaves early, and might be the first (ok second) one there, but along the way, she freezes. Some sort of panic attack overtakes her, and she stops to take a several minutes to recover. She knows the way, though, so once her anxiety ceases running her mind, she gets back on teh track again.
Thinking about his location, Ioca moves to a spot in the shade where he can watch the front of the house and street, if possible, setting himself up as a beggar, pulling his left arm into his shirt and pretending to have lost it as the disability to sucker in some donations here or there while he waits. Obviously, the blade has to be hidden from view as well.
The apparent beggar slumps behind the broken cup set out as a collection plate. "Alms? Alms for a cripple? Coin or bread. I'm so hungry! Anything would help." He sounds too tired to restrict emotions over even how hungry he is.
The truth, of course, is that he is more concerned about keeping his image as a broken man than he is in talking anyone out of a few coins. Though the coins are always welcome.
Perhaps not the exact right neighborhood for a destitute beggar, but its not too far out of the norm here. Ioca sits and watches the house. About an hour before sunset, a doughty dwarf ambles down the street, seemingly looking about for street numbers. The dwarf has purpose, but also appears to be ailing. He is listless and sweating more profusely than the weather calls for.
Ioca watches as Billi approaches 3 Lancet Street.
Billi, you approach Lancet Street. There are few others walking purposefully on an errand or home from a day's work. A beggar calls to the passersby, but they mostly ignore him. A small, neatly kept cottage with brightly colored shutters and door stand at 3 Lancet Street. No one is outside to greet you, but the place looks safe and inviting enough.
Not far behind the dwarf, comes Lenrelle dressed in her acolyte robes, her holy symbol of Sarenrae clearly visible. She also approaches the cottage, but she can see the dwarf already near the house, and perhaps pauses a moment. Nearby, a one-armed beggar calls out for "alms for the poor"
Billi continues to walk toward the cottage not slowing down as if he is not interested in the cottage in the least. He continues until reaches the next building after the cottage and performs a right turn after passing it. He again continues two buildings farther to the right of the lit cottage. Stopping he makes another right turn and goes once again two buildings further. After making a complete square around the cottage he firms a picture of the arrangement of nearby buildings to the lit cottage and confidently approaches it. Throughout this circuit the sound of clinking chain mail clearly echoes down the quite streets.
He then enters the cottage quickly and closes the door, satisfied that he has maximized the amount of information he could gather while drawing the least amount of attention and dwarf armed for battle can bring.
Tucked carefully in his pocket is his new talisman, the card with the paladin on it. Maybe I should have been a paladin?? Naah, too many manners required!
"Billi is that you..." Lenrelle starts to ask, but it's too late, the fellow has gone in. Taking a breath In for a copper, in for a gold She follows him. If it is a trap, at least I won't be alone.
The Midwife card that had come with her note was a bit ominous to her. The devil child born of a Midwife's doing? Sounded a bit non positive to her.