As the priestess turned her attention to Mags and Llyrann, the half-elfs hand went unthinkingly to one of the several pouches she carried about her. Several options flashed through her mind, none of them particularly appealing. Fortunately, Llyrann, never one to find herself lost for words, spoke up and Mags couldn't help feeling for a second time that she was glad the half-orc had joined her.
For the time being she would let her friend handle the conversation. She was so much more adept at it, anyway. Sparing a brief glance behind to make sure the exit was still accessible, she focuses her attention on the ravens and the priestess.
Jervaise
Viaren's face lightens at the news. "Great, we really have to do something for them...its so cruel to make them suffer."
He offers horse tack, stable equipment, riding gear, bridles, horse bits, grooming supply, halters and leads, saddles, boots, and spurs all at fair prices. He goes on to sadly explain that all his combat ready horses have been acquired by Baron Vendikon. He also offers to groom and care for your horses and wagon while you stay, if unhappy with the arrangement at the Conquerer's Blade.
Crouched in the shadows of the tall northern wall of the keep proper, a humble shack occupies one corner of an open yard surrounded by a crooked iron fence. A row of doghouses lines the western side of the yard, while kennels occupy the space along the fence opposite them. Several mastiffs wearing spiked iron collars roam the yard, masters of their small patch of land, while younger ones pack back and forth within the confines of the kennels. A sign fastened to the gate in the southern portion of the fence reads, "Shenk's Dog Yard". A dark brown cat approaches the fence and sits calmly, cleaning itself while the dogs go crazy, which is the only thing distracting them from you. "Ay...*cough*...don't cross there or they'll getcha..." says a wiry man with a heavy lantern jaw and dark, close cropped hair. Seems he's been resting in a hammock whittling wooden animals. He lumbers over to you"Dog lover?" The dogs are still going mad, its probably quite annoying.
Mags
The door is closed but not locked. Leaving is completely possible but would be of course very awkward in the middle of this kind of conversation.
@ the Hostler's - "Well, I will have to discuss that with my colleagues, but I am tempted to get you to look after the horses."
------------------------------
@ Shenk's -Jervaise nods to the man, who he assumes is Shenk.
"I don't intend to get mauled; I know dogs don't like strangers entering their territory. I certainly have a great deal of respect for them. A well trained dog is a loyal, and valuable, companion to have watching your back. What do you have in the way of ready-trained dogs? What with this siege going on, an extra pair of eyes guarding our wares, and my back, could be useful..."
Paellat
The stocks are located just in front of the keep's main gate, 5 on each side of the rampart leading in. They look terrible, wounds are already turning black and disgusting. They seem resigned and extremely fatigued. A small guard post lazily keep watch over them, in addition to the keeps' watchtowers.
Jervaise
"All but the latest pups been trained by myself. They're 45 gold...mother comes from a Molthune special infantry unit."
Bumbo crawls out of a little shack attached to the dog kennel, apparently his home. He trips over a pile of dog crap stupidly. "What? You're a salesman?" He grins unfathomably. Shenk offers, "Eh, don't mind him...baron's nephew, I give him work here so he's not disrupting the baron. Hes a good lad, just dumb. So, how about a new friend? Bet'na! Come!" A muscular mastiff trots over and sits properly at Shenks feet.
"Hmmm. That is good stock. They look well trained and kept, too..."
When Bumbo comes over, Jervaise regards him tolerantly, albeit carefully.
The Baron's Nephew...? Interesting...
"Well, I do have wares, but I have not dropped by to sell; I came to have a look at the dogs."
"Speaking of which..."
Jervaise regards the dog fondly when it comes pounding over.
"Now, where is it. I know I have some somewhere..."
He pats down his pockets for a few moments, before pulling out some biltong, and tearing off some pieces, which he throws to the dog. He then approaches it, tearing off another piece of biltong, which he attempts to feed to it, whilst he scratches it behind its right ear...
Jervaise then turns to Shenk with a smile.
"I would be happy to take one. You said this one's name was Bet'na?"
Illorian stands in the street corner eating a piece of jerky, watching the prisoners in the stocks. Well at least the didn't get executed, but some look like that would a been a cleaner death than what awaits them through infection. May happs this can help spawn a revolt? I wish I knew more about the local populance's view on the Baron, the only way a revolt could work is if nearly all citizens participated, and even then it would likly lead to a massacure.
He knells down and gives Spurger a good rub and a scratch. Nah, I will just kill that damn Baron and his new Chelish friends, then let the General sort it out. Illorian chuckles and shakes his head,"Times comin soon aint it boy. Lets get us somethin ta eat before our meetin."
"Calistria?" The priestess and the crowd laugh briefly. "You mean Savored Sting? I'd say lust and revenge are the antithesis of wit and freedom...But come, clearly anyone born of another following will have a difficult time accepting anything from a foreign faith. Perhaps your doubts can be negated. What would make you feel as if you were serving Calistria better? Its obviously important to you. Come, share with the community your humble nature, please." Others chime in "yes, yes, please" and "tell us". It seems they are asking what you envision to be a fulfilling service to your god.
Llyrann's half-orc heritage came to the front as her nostrils flared and she let out a most-unladylike snort, which quickly developed into a fully belly-laugh. "Humble?" she managed to get out between laughs, "Me?"
After getting her laughter under control she apologizes, "I'm sorry, but I am not humble in any way, shape or form, except perhaps in my upbringing. What I am is free.
Oh, I know my movement is restricted by that army out there and I may die horribly in the fighting, my beautiful body mangled by cruel weapons of war, but I will die free. I have been a slave in my life, and have resolved to die before it happens again. I owe no man anything beyond what I choose to bestow; you may call that lust, if you choose. I have nothing to prevent me from protecting myself and my interests against any who seek me ill; you may call that revenge, if you choose.
My goddess values freedom even more than I. No mortal or god shall ever be able to tame her. End her, perhaps. But not enslave. From what little I know of your lord, he does nothing freely, but always seeks to secure contracts that last no small amount of time, and neither the Savored Sting nor myself shall ever take part in that."
Jervasie
You get the feeling something isn't right with Bumbo...like he's acting. Maybe its just his good looks from his noble heritage that make it odd he is a stone cold retard.
Bet'nas ears fold back tight against her body and she glances at Shenk as your biltong plops in front of her. She refuses to eat from your hand until Shenk gives her a "go on...". Then, "That's right, Bet'na...I'm sure she'll warm up after she knows youre the new owner..." He produces a leash for you. The other dogs are still going wild at the orage cats' presence, Bumbo failing to shoo it away.
Llyrann/Mags
One of the audience offers confusedly "...knowing what to do isn't slavery...", another "yes...the pact gives us at last a solid direction in life...". Obviously convincing them otherwise would take time. The priestess says to you "Its ok, you don't have to answer if you can't. I don't want to rouse you here." Bizarrely, for just a flash of an instant the image of a snarling devil enters your mind. The bell rings.
Seeing Ilorian, Jervaise will walk up to him, and casually whisper (making sure no-one can overhear).
"The herbalist was quite helpful; apparently, the Baron has been stocking-up on herbs used to preserve dead flesh, so chances are, he may have some undead on staff. The hostler knows nothing, and the same with Shenk at the dogyard - however, there is something about Bumbo (who lives at the dogyard) that troubles me - he is apparently the Baron's nephew, and he is too stupid - I think it is an act, and if so, that is troubling... We should be very careful regarding what we do or say around him, and may wish to have a... chat... with him later."
"There was one other place that I wanted to visit before heading across to the Almir Estate, and that is the other tavern - would you care to join me?"
As they are walking, Jervaise will ask:
"Did you find-out anything useful?"
Illorian starts walking besides Jervaise, "Anytime Boss,'long as youra buyin."
"Did you find-out anything useful?"
"You could say that, I made a friend at the lodge that made a dang near pretty drawing of a keep for me. He may be a use latters on. He also said sumthin 'bout some hunters got run off tha road by a large Chelish caravan on tha way tha keep. Said under the cover of their wagon was something huge and smelling dead. That might match up with what that pertty little lady told ya bout em stockin up on them 'erbs. "
Illorian looks at the sun then spits into the dust.
"Well I saw that'n you be a callin Bumbo last night near that all-chemist shop right before them there pertty fireworks. Lookin like he might have said somthin to Miss Llyrann, I don't be thinkin she took to kindly to it 'cuase she let out a yell that'd curl yer hair. Like ya said looks like we might need to be pay 'em a visit laters, just ta be sure."
"Nice dag by tha way."
Wild Empathy:
Illorian slowly reaches his hand out towards Bet'na.
The Dead Well
A 2 story construction of stone and timer towers above the rooftops of nearby buildings and rivals the watchtowers for prominence. A sign near its entrance depicts a stone well surrounded by weeds. Bronze letters affixed to the sign above the picture read "The Dead Well".
Long-railed hitching posts frame a wide stoop and tall, narrow pine doors providing entrance to the inn. Wood smoke wafts from stone to chimneys rising from the steep, wood-shake roof, carrying the promise of warmth and a hot meal within.
Upon entering, the place is packed. A fit old man wearing an ornate dagger and wearing an apron weaves in and out of the tables, slapping drinks here and there. A quick gaze signals affirmation of your presense. In the back room, you can see some drunkards throwing coppers down a real well and laughing. From the hollars of the regualars, it seems the patrons name is "Lucky Ben".
A half-elf sitting alone in the corner grinning sports a yellow ribbon on his ridiculously fancy suit. Jervaise, you notice he is also wearing a standard issue short sword of the Andoran army.
Regarding Wild Empathy check
Bet'na visibly warms to Ilorian.
Sense Motive:
When Ilorian expresses an interest in Bet'na, Jervaise gives a quick smile.
"Yes, I picked her up from Shenk over at the Dogyard. Her name is Bet'na. After what happened to Spurger, I thought it might be useful to have a back-up guard, so that it was more likely that an alarm might be raised in the future..."
Entering the tavern, Jervaise takes a moment to scan the patrons, trying to get a feel for the clientele...
Once he is satisfied with his 'reading' of the crowd, he will mosey over to the Half-Elf to have a chat.
"Greetings. It is nice to see someone else with a bit of Elven blood around here. That's a nice sword you have at your belt. I think the yellow ribbon you have there also contrasts well with the rest of your outfit. My name is Jervaise - and you are...?"
Llyrann was saddened at the reaction of the crowd. Some will always choose slavery, she reminded herself, but she had been as persuasive as she could. At least she and Mags were able to walk out of there intact.
"Well, Mags, I think I see Jervaise out there. Might as well see if there's anything we need to do before our appointment."
Jervaise nods the Llyran and Mags as they approach.
"Ilorian and I have found out a few interesting things..."
"Have you learned anything useful?"
He pauses briefly to give the ears of the dog at his feet a friendly ruffle.
"We were just on our way to The Dead Well to have a look around there, before heading over to the Almir Estate. Would you care to join us?"
Tavern
You get the feeling somethings not right with a certain pair in the crowd...they seem to be watching everyone subtlely from different locations and communicating with each other using signals.
He smiles. "You know good things when you see them, as do I. I killed many people to get these nice things...they're mine now." He takes a drink. "Names are a funny thing in this town--dangerous, I mean. When you write one down lots of things can happen. I know yours now." He points at you.
Mags/Llyrann
Jervaise gives the Half-Elf an odd look.
"Why are names dangerous in this town? I agree, you now have a name, but only a first name - it is not the sum total of who I am, merely an identifier that I find useful."
Dead Well
"Some would argue there...some would say it is exactly the sum total of who you are. Me, I don't see the point in arguing." He takes another long drought. Its hard to gauge this strange man, he is obviously unstable and perhaps insane. He's mentioned killing people; who knows if they were innocent or not. "What is the power of language? Of symbols, like names? The answer is obvious...its like asking why bad taste is ridiculous." He grins and brushes the sweat from his brow. You notice on his middle finger a signet ring.
Local:
Edit: Guess not.....
"Well, Mags, I think I see Jervaise out there. Might as well see if there's anything we need to do before our appointment."
"Gladly," she replies casting a final, concerned look about the place. In a hushed voice she adds, "Too bad this place didn't blow up."
Joining Jervaise and Ilorian, she listens to their tale, and fills them in on what they've seen in the temple. "They're making bargains for souls in there, and it has somethin' to do with that scroll. Not certain that it has aught to do with why we're here, but if we should come upon the opportunity, we should see about getting our hands on that piece o'parchment."
She is particularly excited by Jervaise plan to ease the suffering of those held in the Baron's stocks. "Why didn't I think of that," she mumbles to herself.
"We were just on our way to The Dead Well to have a look around there, before heading over to the Almir Estate. Would you care to join us?"
"Aye. But let's not leave them thats suffering in the stocks for too long. My hands're feelin' bloody enough." Mags didn't feel particularly comfortable leaving those poor people for later, but the temple had unsettled her and right now she at least felt safer in a group. "They'll be fine, I have no doubt," came the quiet response from the pack upon her back. Plague had an uncanny ability to sense her feelings, and his reassurance at least eased the young half-elf somewhat.
"I killed many people to get these nice things...they're mine now."
She didn't care for the sound of that, but as he went on to mention the power of names Mags mind flashed back to the scroll at the temple. Was that what he meant?
Mags
When the doors opened for the priestess to come out, you noticed a small living quarters in the back. You might consider it possible to break in when no one is around, or fight the priestess when she is alone.
You didn't get a chance to closely inspect the writing on a scroll, but it was likely some sort of blood pact, and pacts often involve names. His roundabout way of speaking might suggest he is trying hard not say something he wants to say.
Dead Well
The two suspicious characters continue to eye both your party and the half-elf at the table, pretending to be casual drinkers. The signeted half-elf glances from them to you. "Shy people make me angry...so weak." He shifts his seat, his demeanor electric.
Jervaise continues to eye the Half-Elf in a neutral manner.
"Well, you are clearly not shy! One who was would not be drawing so much attention to themselves, in a place where there is clearly surveillance. I agree, true names do hold power, especially in... certain circles... Circles which I have no great love for. I would be happy to have a debate with you on the relative merits of bold and dashing plans; would you care to go for a walk? Clear air is good for you..."
He pauses briefly.
"Tell me, is that your ring, or is it another of your trophies?"
Dead Well
"Are you proposing an outing? But I think your boundaries scribe a smaller area than mine...after all, you all are alone." He seems to be talking about the party. "...or is there a reason I should care about you?" His blue eyes never leave the other two, his quick fingers tap a strange rythym on the underside of the table.
Jervaise raises an eyebrow.
"I am not expecting altruism. However, hypothetically, if one encountered someone who was intent on removing certain... complications... that were potentially bad for health and business, and made life a little more full of paranoia than usual, assisting such a person could prove personally beneficial."
Jervaise gives a quick smile.
"Hypothetically, of course."
Jervaise
The half-elf smoothly jammers "Never altruism, no. You won't get it...even 'hypothetically'... Life is about sacrifice, what within yourself you are willing to destroy to move on. Common trade is so impersonal and burdensome...there's a greater transaction." He adjusts the ribbon. "This one gave up loyalty for the sake of family." He shifts his sheathed shortsword. "Here, noble ambition crumbled under fate." He at last directs more attention to you. "Everything about you can be taken or controlled, except those things which you alone must willingly let go. Thats sacrifice...thats what gods appreciate...desire, even. After all, its not theirs." He pauses. "So what was it again that you are offering me?"
Llyrann did not like this half-elf at all, but kept quiet. She wasn't here to argue with every single idiot in this besieged down, no matter how badly they needed straightening out. She kept telling herself that. Maybe if she told herself that often enough she'd believe.
I don't like shy people, she mimicked in the privacy of her thoughts, temper rising. Shy people usually have good reasons for being so, much more so than bullies who prey on them. Still what he had said did make sense, at least with the little that she knew of the gods.
Illorian continues to drink his ale in silence and listen to the exchange between Jervaise and the half elf. I wonder if i am going to need to to kill "this one". He sounds crazier than an out house rat.
Finally getting the hint that this gentleman, albeit largely insane, probably would not have Jervaise's best interests at heart, Jervaise gives him a curt bow, and bids him adieu.
"Well ,I should probably get going. As I said, I have not seen too many people with Elven-blood around here, so I thought I should stop by for a chat. It has certainly been an... interesting experience."
As he turns to go, Jervaise pauses thoughtfully, and, with some effort, removes the signet ring from his hand.
"However, since you seem to like collecting things with a certain... resonance... you might like this; it is symbolic of nobility lost, and heritage abandoned. May you find it more useful than did its previous owner."
Jervaise will then head to the door, whistling for Bet'na to follow him.
An orange cat promptly jumps on the table and snatches the ring. They both retire to the back.
A tall estate made of timber, red bricks, and silver-flecked granite, oddly out of place both in its elegance and design, rises into the air like an enormous needle. Narrow stained-glass windows depict mountains and dragons, and leering gargoyles peer down from perches over the eaves. Stone-shingled roofs rise one atop another, tapering to a stark peak surmounted by an iron spike ending in a horizontal crescent moon cradling a nine-pointed star. A shadowy old man patiently opens the cold iron door. "...thank you for your interest in the Almir estate. Unfortunately Master Almir is overtaxed with managerial affairs at the moment, and is expected to be so entwined during the current "siege"... He pauses, producing a fine piece of foreign paper and quill. "Perhaps youd like to offer a message for his perusal...?"
Mags offers the old man a brief glance from the back of their small entourage. While she saw this as a necessary stop, she couldn't get her mind off those suffering in the stocks. And she had a growing fear that time may be running short for them.
Using the group to obscure the view of the old servant, Mags unshoulders her pack and kneels as if rummaging about for something. "Ease my mind 'n' go take a look for me, will ya?" she says beneath her breath to the rodent still tucked away in her pack. "And for the love of the gods, stay out of sight." Plague climbed nimbly from the pack, sniffing at the air for a moment. "Straight there and back, quick as you can."
The rat stares at the half-elf for a moment, his nose twitching. Then, with what may have been a nod, moves through the forest of legs and along the wall toward the stockades.
Dressed to capture any man's attention, Llyrann steps forward slightly and inclines her head to the old man.
"You may inform Master Almir that Llyrann Stormbrow and her caravan are here to discuss business matters with him, especially as concerns the importing and duties of certain luxury goods, and are ready to wait upon his convenience to entertain such sensitive transactions," she rattled off quickly and imperiously.
Then offering him a smile, she adds, "I confess, however, that if a place were provided for us to wait in some comfort, I would be most appreciative."
Paellat
Llyrann
The old man's voice cracks a bit under the weight of your presence, behind him a just-as-old woman scowls menacingly. "Well madame, you can sit in the waiting room or wait in the sitting room." He gives an old man chortle yet the solid black scowl behind continues. "But please, you mustn't bring in those weapons...its a matter of ettiquette." He leads you to a large ornate rack suitable for most arms and armor. The inside of the estate is surprisingly minimalistic and done in good taste despite the obvious wealth. Precious metals form a kind of banister leading to the chamber. After a brief wait in what you would call neither a sitting or waiting room, but rather a library, a middle-aged human softly turns the corner carrying a book and ledger. "Llyrann Stormbrow. You must be either a very foreign merchant or a wild upstart, I've not heard of your party. I would assume the former by your most-startling attire...Thuvian would be a struggling assumption. I believe you gifted Mr. Hartleby with a few more years. I'm Dreyxnor Almir. What is it you came here to talk about?"
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Paellat
Pae stows his gear in his haversack, except his jackal headed cane and the mithral armor her wears beneath his clothing.
"I am Osirioni actually Lord Almir, I am one, Paellat Silvertongue, though you may call me Pae. I'm here exploring the area for sites of interest to the Society, I met these fellows on the road here, bit cold here is it not?"
Paellat
Dreyxnor turns his attention to you. "Ah, is that so? I have read of the Osirioni thanatopic and threnodic spell preparations...I don't suppose you are a pursuer of those arts? I would be delighted to hear your foreign knowledge... In exchange, indeed I do have many ancient records of this area...we've found many interesting things digging in the deep over the years...the Black Claw kobold tribe...subterranean fey...the expanses of Nar'Voth...yes, it would seem the Aspodell mountains hold passage to the Darklands."
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Paellat
Dreyxnor turns his attention to you. "Ah, is that so? I have read of the Osirioni thanatopic and threnodic spell preparations...I don't suppose you are a pursuer of those arts? I would be delighted to hear your foreign knowledge... In exchange, indeed I do have many ancient records of this area...we've found many interesting things digging in the deep over the years...the Black Claw kobold tribe...subterranean fey...the expanses of Nar'Voth...yes, it would seem the Aspodell mountains hold passage to the Darklands."
"While I can't cast those spell preparations, I wasn't born into the right family to become a priest. However, I have studied much of Osirion knowledge. I would be happy to exchange information."
Mags
Through your empathic link with Plague you sense a great anxiety...he might be getting into trouble again. It suddenly turns to a twisted form of delight. Upon his return, and in his own words, he explains that the men in the stockades are somehow hanging on...and that there is a funny old elf disturbing everyone there with his craziness.
Paellat
"Wonderful, Pathfinder. Such an appointment will have to be postponed, however, for right now I'm having trouble with the Andorans blocking my routing efforts...not to mention throwing off our predicted trollish migratory patterns. At least they can not block magical messages, it seems. Now, was there something else?"
"A funny old elf, ay?" A thoughtful look passed over her face as she helped Plague back into her pack. She had no idea what this portended, or even wether it was good or bad... She was anxious to find out, however.
It seemed that this little side track was going nowhere. Not that Llyrann or one of the others might not still pull it off and gain an audience with this Almir fellow... They had a knack for that. All the same, she couldn't help put give several concerned glances down the street toward where she knew the stockades to be.
"Well, if thats all...thank you for the introduction. Mr Hartleby will see you out." He pauses, giving an amused scholarly look over you all. "But...perhaps one more thing...recent geological surveys, particularly seepage rates, show signs of a large tunnel being formed recently under the keep. If a certain strong group of Andoran sympathizers were interested in taking the keep, that might be a path worth investigation..."
Jervaise raises an eyebrow at Master Amir's comments about a tunnel, and potential Andoran sympathisers. He then chooses his next words carefully.
"If the keep were taken, and the Baron captured, that *would* probably save a lot of lives, and coincidentally re-open the territory for trade again. It would certainly prove beneficial to a lot of people..."
He pauses briefly, before continuing.
"Since you seem to have a strong entrepreneurial bent, and are a consummate businessman who simply wishes to be allowed to continue trading, I do not suppose you have any supplies that could prove beneficial to those seeking to exercise discretion in their movements?"