"Our ride was quite satisfying, yes. All's accounted for that should be."
Sarien draws the hood of his cloak back up.
"Shall we be returning? The hour grows late."
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Hardin watches Ulvauno ride off. He says to Jocovo, "If you need the gold, hold on to it. If you can put it to good use, assisting those in need, hold on to it. If neither of those apply, I can put it to use as well."
Softly. "And for your sake, I hope he doesn't run into trouble. That Galtish horse is a significant asset to your business."
"Rauno's suggestion makes sense. Hardin, why don't you and Sarien head back together and I'll accompany Rauno and Freya." With a slight smile he adds, "Seems to me Freya might appreciate a moment or two away from Sarien."
Freya falls in with Tao and Rauno without complaint, if equally without enthusiasm. "That lech of an actor has just made the list of people who wouldn't want to meet me alone in a dark alley," she mutters.
Jacovo returns Hardin's money with a wink.
I don't need your money, father, least of all after the help you've been to us and ours. Many thanks.
When asked, Freya will cast light on Hardin's shield with a gentle smirk. "Where's your goddess now? Abandoned you already due to the company you're keeping?"
As they make their way back to the temple, Sarien muses aloud, "I wonder if it would be possible to find a way to light the streets each night. Perhaps to set up some sort of system for people to do it themselves. That'd certainly do a lot for morale in this city."
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Hardin smiles. "Thanks for the light."
"Her guidance is still with me, though I doubt that her regard for actors is any kinder than yours."
Hardin will cast Resistance and Virtue on the group of three before the ways part, then upon himself and Sarien before they make their own way.
After eyeing the dim light on Hardin's shield for a few seconds, Sarien shrugs and pulls out a sunrod and cracks it to ensure that he has enough light to see by. He keeps a careful eye on the shifting shadows around him as they walk down the street, his hand always near one of his weapons.
Tao follows Freya's instructions. He stops his movement and waits to proceed until instructed that it is safe to do so.
Hardin turns his head. "You hear that?" He gestures up ahead, and moves his shield such that it's pointing towards a wall. "Sounded like like someone saying "Halt."
Sarien slows and peers up ahead. "I didn't hear anything, but we should be wary. It's likely the Dottari, in which case there shouldn't be any trouble."
Evening, citizens. You all know that it's past curfew, right? As much as I can see that you're well outfitted with protection, (the man glances sideways at Tao's imposing figure) the streets of Westcrown are no place to be after dark. Hurry along.
Without another word, the Dottari turn and march back to their post.
The two groups arrive at the Liberator's base (as I will refer to it henceforth) without further incident, with Sarien and Hardin deftly escaping notice while moving across the main artery guarded by the Dottari.
As the party moves into the church, the junior Liberators (as I will refer to them henceforth) are again assembled in the larger common area, and are obviously grilling Arael on the circumstances surrounding his captivity. Arael is speaking:
So, as I was clearly not going to cooperate with their crude interrogation techniques, they beat me until I was half-dead and threw me into the carriage, intending, I assume, to take me to Citadel Rivad where Iomedae alone knows what might have been done to me. Fortunately, these fine people came to my rescue, along with the rest of you, he inclines his head at the party and bows deeply - he seems very much refreshed. I am greatly in your debt, my friends. Thank you again for your timely rescue.
Seeing the party enter, Gorvio hurridly asks, The horses - did you get them back? Was all well with my father?
"Yes, the horses are fine," Freya replies irritably. "So are we; thanks for asking."
Tao seeks out a quiet corner from which to observe the group.
Sarien pulls down his hood and nods a hello to the group at large before answering Gorvio. "We reached your father's stables at an appropriately dramatic time; Ulvauno, the actor, was protesting at great lengths about their absence. Fortunately, Freya was able to turn on her wit and charm to calm him down and all ended well."
He turns back to Arael. "Please, go on."
Please forgive me, you're absolutely right. It has indeed been a long day - for me, the excitement of being free again has somewhat abated my fatigue, but I imagine the same cannot be said for you. Come, Fiosa has prepared some food - please, eat. There will be time enough for talk later - I'm sure you'll want to see to your own business and families if you have them tomorrow - and soon, I have some good ideas about how we might start to turn the hearts and minds of our fellow Wescrani against the diabolical influence of the thrice-damned House Thrune and toward the betterment of our common condition. Indeed, we'll start small, but I think our actions will snowball quickly.
Fiosa and Mathalen serve the group a tremendous meal of stew along with some sort of game bird. Any specific questions for anyone during what is a delicious supper?
"'Thrice-damned House Thrune,' eh?" Freya repeats with a smile. "Maybe he was worth the trouble of saving, after all." She fills her plate with appreciation, determined not to waste a rare opportunity at a hot meal, then takes a seat next to Hardin while trying to appear as if she hadn't noticed who was sitting there. "So how's your sister?" she asks carelessly. "Your family marries for money, as I recall. Did they get a fair price for her?"
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Hardin arches a brow. "She's still unmarried. Cedric and Father are trying to save up for a dowry for her. Given that she'd rather ride than sew dresses, and is quite capable of punching someone in the groin to get what she wants, her dowry is putting gray in Cedric's hair.
"Cedric hasn't married yet either, so there's less pressure on her. Albin is Cedric's master of horse, and trains the levees.
"Mother is of failing health, Father's hip was smashed in a horse accident and he has to be carried around in a litter. Hurnell and Janet have built a house on the far end of the estate and run the cider press."
"And how is your family?" He is very careful to ask this last just as she's taken a sip of wine. Turnabout is fair play.
Hardin arches a brow. "She's still unmarried. Cedric and Father are trying to save up for a dowry for her. Given that she'd rather ride than sew dresses, and is quite capable of punching someone in the groin to get what she wants, her dowry is putting gray in Cedric's hair.
Freya smiles with genuine emotion at this bit of news. For a moment, her demeanor loses its bitter, defensive edge and she looks more like the teenager she actually chronologically is than the tough-as-nails menace she usually seems to be.
"And how is your family?" He is very careful to ask this last just as she's taken a sip of wine. Turnabout is fair play.
Despite this being a question she should have seen coming, she still chokes momentarily on her wine. Any softening she might have undergone disappears in an instant, as her face turns hard and guarded once more, her fingers tightening on the stem of her goblet. "I wouldn't really know," she replies. "I haven't seen them in three years, ever since they sold me to the Asmodean sisterhood in exchange for a House-Thrune-approved husband for Novennia." She turns to Hardin and, with an effort, forces her lips into a wan smile. "My family marries for prestige, you see."
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"Asmodean sisters, hmm?" He shakes his head. "That, pardon the reference, was a contract that wasn't thought out well. At least I got the choice to go take up orders at the Temple. Albin was talking about becoming a border rider at one point - he and Cedric had fallen for the same girl, and her family decided that they could do...better. He took it pretty hard."
He shrugs. "Status and wealth are secondary to happiness." He looks Freya in the eye. "At some point, we should head out and visit Tristan and Cedric and Albin. It would do you...she's like that, I think. And I haven't been there in a year or so myself."
He looks at how rapidly you're eating your stew. Then, without being prompted, stands and brings you a second bowl. He does touch your shoulder once, reassuringly. Or perhaps to see how little flesh clothes your bones.
Freya tosses her head noncommittally at the suggestion of visiting Hardin's family, but she accepts the stew without comment. When Hardin's hand touches her shoulder, a shiny brown centipede runs out from under her shirt and waves its legs in his direction in a threatening manner. "Oh, lay off," Freya mutters to the vermin without looking up, shrugging the shoulder it's perched on, and the multipedal chaperone retreats beneath her clothing in a huff.
Looking up from the stew, Ermolos gestures absently to Freya with his spoon.
Got a bug on 'ya. , he says, with his mouth full.
Sarien takes a seat far from Freya and Hardin, finding a place amongst some of the other liberators, and spends much of the meal telling stories and jesting amongst them. He does eat heartily even as he speaks, describing the scene of their encounter with the Hellknights in Arael's rescue and mocking the actor Ulvauno's pompous behavior.
Rizzardo, seated across from Tao, engages the half-orc in something resembling conversation.
So, Tao, was it? That's a pretty big sword you've got. Word seems to be that you know how to use it. Think I might be able to take a look at it sometime? My father was a clan elder, and he never let me live down my ineptitude with the implements of war. Now that I'm a bit older, it strikes me that maybe I didn't have anything worth fighting for. Now, I'm not so sure.
His eyes flit briefly to Janiven, an almost imperceptible gesture.
Sarien takes a seat far from Freya and Hardin, finding a place amongst some of the other liberators, and spends much of the meal telling stories and jesting amongst them. He does eat heartily even as he speaks, describing the scene of their encounter with the Hellknights in Arael's rescue and mocking the actor Ulvauno's pompous behavior.
The Liberators all revel in Sarien's description of the rescue, taking special pleasure in the burly Hellknight Cleric's fall from the carriage and gasping in astonishment when told about Tao being restrained by clerical magic. Several of them ask what such a thing felt like. When Sarien describes popping the lock on the armored carriage, Yakopulio looks at him like somethign approaching a hero.
I've always wanted to be able to do such a thing, she says, her eyes shining.
Following Hardin's conversation with Freya, Fiosa meets eyes with him and asks,
So, your entrance into the priesthood of Iomedae - it was your choice? How did you know that you were called to the faith?
Looking up from the stew, Ermolos gestures absently to Freya with his spoon.
Got a bug on 'ya. , he says, with his mouth full.
Freya looks up at the burly man with a tight-lipped smile. "Thanks, I'll take care of that." She turns her attention back to her meal.
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Hardin turns to Fiosa, "I was the backup to the backup heir, and subdividing what we had wasn't going to leave enough for anyone. So I went to the Temple on my 16th name day. My father and grandfather had professed faith to Iomedae; my great grandfather to Aroden. So the Temple was willing to take me in, given that I'd already had some training with a blade."
"I knew the faith had called me after seeing a vision of Her, during a prayer vigil. Now I sense Her guiding my actions, and my sword arm."
The Liberators all revel in Sarien's description of the rescue, taking special pleasure in the burly Hellknight Cleric's fall from the carriage and gasping in astonishment when told about Tao being restrained by clerical magic. Several of them ask what such a thing felt like. When Sarien describes popping the lock on the armored carriage, Yakopulio looks at him like somethign approaching a hero.I've always wanted to be able to do such a thing, she says, her eyes shining.
Sarien smiles as he pulls out his lockpicks and flashes them. "It's not really that difficult." he says. "You just need a very steady hand and a little patience. Perhaps I can show you sometime."
Hardin turns to Fiosa, "I was the backup to the backup heir, and subdividing what we had wasn't going to leave enough for anyone. So I went to the Temple on my 16th name day. My father and grandfather had professed faith to Iomedae; my great grandfather to Aroden. So the Temple was willing to take me in, given that I'd already had some training with a blade."
"I knew the faith had called me after seeing a vision of Her, during a prayer vigil. Now I sense Her guiding my actions, and my sword arm."
Next to Hardin, Freya stifles a snort of laughter. "Sorry, but gather up a bunch of teenaged boys, stick them in a temple, and tell them to stay up all night 'meditating' on Iomedae? Were there any of you who hadn't had a 'vision' of her by the wee hours of the morning?" She leans closer and whispers huskily. "Was she taking her clothes off?"
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Hardin, seeing how Fiosa has reacted at Freya's comment, answers for both people listening.
"No, no. This is Iomedae we're talking about, not Calistria. Disrobements are the recruitment method of fertility cults." His grin is faint. "And they, for some reason, don't accept teenaged boys as acolytes. Probably some logic about preaching to the choir, or carrying water to the well."
"Comparative theology has always made my head hurt, anyway."
"Her vision to me was of a woman in armor, bearing a radiant shield, the light of the sun at her hand, a sand-table before her, like generals use in planning battles."
"Her questions were about my judgement. She does not demand blind obedience to the letter of a contract like Asmodeus does, but a willingness to aid, even when that aid is not simple or easy."
"Some are not called. Some appear to be relieved when the call does not come, to be honest. It is a great responsibility to be Her agent. It means yielding a part of yourself to a higher power, which does not come easily, to accept that you're a vessel - a pawn, almost - to someone that has her own agenda."
He leans back in and whispers back, lightly.
Freya looks at him sourly. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not exactly husband-bait for the nobility anymore," she says, holding up her left hand; the centipede emerges from her sleeve and coils itself briefly around her ring finger, "to the extent that I ever was. I suppose I was always just a fall-back position anyway, in case something unthinkable like leprosy or warts ever happened to Novennia. At any rate, I think you're excused from the social niceties. All that's left are the business negotiations, like how much and which alley. Take some lessons from our actor friend; he can tell you all about how to sweep women off their feet."
Looking up and seeing the centipede again, Ermalos gestures with his fork again.
Bug's still there.
He returns to his stew.
Tarvi, she of the quick wit, excuses herself from the table and wanders over to a small table where a game of stones is laid out in the starting position. She catches Rauno's eye, and waves him to come over - ostensibly a challenge.
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Hardin tilts his head. He twitches at the centipede appearing and disappearing, then goes on.
"Are you so bitter at being your own person, rather than a bartered good? Your sister has less freedom than you, even if she eats more regularly. She can't have learned the niceties of Asmodean pieties any more thoroughly than you - yet if she ever slips what she really feels, it will cost her dearly, and your parents more."
He pours both of them another measure of wine, and waters his. He offers the water dipper to her to set her own.
"For what it's worth, what little impression I had of your parents, they saw you and your sister as bargaining chips first, and children second. You were seven or eight, and already your father was sizing up betrothals."
"I'm sorry for that."
"I'd like to think there's room in the world for care, and consideration, as well as duty and obligation."
Freya laughs, but without malice. "I don't think you could handle me, holy man. The whole time you'd be thinking," she leans closer with a smile that seems genuinely friendly, "'...Where's the centipede?'"
As the game starts, he'll ask You seem quite observant. What is it that you've seen or heard that's made you believe this is the place for you?
A good question, without an answer I can truly place my finger upon. I come from a family where I am so much chattel - a pawn to be married off into the nobility if all should go well, or at worst to a rich or up-and-coming member of the merchant caste. Countless times I've thwarted my father's efforts to do so. My perception is that there's more for me to do in this life than cook pheasant pies and keep a household, although doing so would surely be the path of least resistance. Truth be told, I have always been intrigued by magic. I must confess, I study it incessantly, but I can't gain my father's support to enter a school, and without schooling I cannot truly learn.
Since my true passion is denied to me, I have found other ways to get the better of my father - Arael's group being one worthy example. Arael is a good man, and in Janiven I suppose I see a woman who is able to pursue her own desires without fear of a father or brother's disapproval - which I admire, I'll admit. Their goals are admirable, if somewhat ambitious, and I have designed to be a part of the solution in Westcrown rather than part of the problem, as Arael so often puts it. In short, the situation in Westcrown grows untenable, and doing something is by definition better than doing nothing. Does that answer your question?
Turning to Fiosa. "Are there any questions of Her faith you'd like answered?"
The personable halfling blushes furiously.
Well, it's not so much a matter of having questions about the goddess's tenants, as much as a matter of knowing how to know when one has received the calling. I'm faithful to Her - ever since Arael saved me from the day-to-day work of a house laborer, which I used to be, anyway - but I don't know whether or not I have truly been called into her service. You say that a dream gave you the knowledge that you needed - how can I know?
From his place at the tables Sarien stands and hails the half-orc. "Tao! Come on over and share some company with these fine people. They're eager to hear of your experiences in our valiant rescue." To the others he says, "Tao is more the strong silent type than I, but I'm sure he can do with some good conversation, even if he needs an outright invitation."