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Korvosa, the Jewel of Varisia, has long sparkled on Varisia’s southern shore. Established 300 years ago by Cheliax at the height of that empire’s expansion; the city now commands its own destiny. A line of Korvosan kings and queens emerged to rule the city, establishing an infamous seat power—the Crimson Throne. Rulers have sat upon the Crimson Throne for more than a century, and the city has flourished. Yet the monarchy always seems on the brink of disaster. The Crimson Throne is not a prize to be won—it is a curse. No monarch of Korvosa has died of old age, and none have produced an heir while ruling. Even though King Eodred II controls Korvosa more fully than any previous monarch, that control remains tenuous, and many secretly count the days until their latest king falls to what they call the Curse of the Crimson Throne.
Perhaps you count those days as well or the monarchy of Korvosa could be the furthest thing from your mind. Earlier in your lives you were touched by Gaedren Lamm and that has changed and molded you into the person you are now. Maybe you have moved past it, or maybe you secretly harbor revenge in your heart. Either way, the scars of his continued existence are still a stain on your heart, one that might not be ignored much longer.
It starts with a card. An innocuous and easily unnoticed slip of paper but this one seemed to call out for attention. On the backs of the painted cards, written over heavy scrolled artwork, are the words ” 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. Gaedren must face his fate, and justice must be done.”
The script is bold but flowing, with strong sharp lines, almost perfect in a way.
What each of you does with this note is ultimately up to you. Whether you heed the call or decide to ignore it is up to you. Either way, it is the 3rd of Pharast in 4708 AR, a red dawn rises over Korvosa, and Gaedren Lamm is still out there.
Alynbrand smiles at the odd appearance of the card, perched precariously as it is on his greatsword. He snaps the card up, examining it carefully. Its message is even more intriguing. Though Alyn is far from certain that Lamm is the architect of his woe, that name is his only lead for the moment.
Alyn dresses quickly, catching a whiff of fading perfume that is a bittersweet reminder of what's been lost. He ignores it as best he can, (there is far too much bitter and too little sweet just yet) and heads out the door quickly and quietly opting to do a little reconnaissance before this curious evening meeting, pocketing the strange card as he goes.
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Taisha awakens with a start and her vivid blue green eyes instantly fall upon the card. She leaps to her feet with a panicked yelp and pulls the dagger from beneath her pillow frantically glancing about the room for an intruder.
Seeing nothing she cautiously pulls on her boyish clothes - slightly too large for her - and then hurriedly begins to chant while tracing a rough circle on the floor with her big toe. After a minute a horse-like creature, though sharper of feature with intelligent eyes, with splayed cat-like claws.
"Early Taisha girl. Why call Dasha so soon? Look startled?" The creature says in a clipt purring rumble, tilting its head to one side to look at her.
"Someone was in here Dasha, in my room! Some creep was in here! They could have done anything..." Taisha breathes, moving forward to rest her forehead against Dasha's.
"Did not, else more fuss. What happen?" Dasha asked drumming the claws of his left forepaw upon the wooden floor impatiently.
Taisha glances about and spies the card where it fell upon her ascent from the bed and retrieves it. "A card? The cricket? Don't some people say they are lucky, crickets?"
Dasha shrugs, and points out, "Writing on back."
Taisha flips the card and scowls at the words, biting her lip thoughtfully as she proffers it for Dasha's examination.
"We go. I dog." Dasha declares, shaking himself vigorously until his fur begins to twist and writhe oddly reshaping and changing its color from sandy to golden blond.
"Yes, but there's plenty of time before sunset. We should ask around. This might be some trap of Lamm's thought if so it seems a strange way to go about it over merely cutting my throat in my sleep..." Taisha muses, as she moves over and gathers up her meager possessions before pulling on her studded leather jerkin.
By the time she is done Dasha's change is nearing its end and in place of the horse-like creature is a bulky dog covered in shaggy golden hair. He shakes himself a few more times before sitting down - smugly - and wagging his tail.
"Right then." Taisha chuckles and heads off to ask a few questions.
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With Dasha at her side Taisha heads downstairs and speaks with those staff on hand about someone entering her room. They all seems mystified, and she soon gives up on that course. She does however think to ask Mellory, one of the more talkative barmaids about 3 Lancet Street.
Much to Taisha's astonishment, and Dasha's brief alarm, Mellory grabs her by her slender half elven shoulders and jumps up and down while exclaiming, "Oh yes, oh yes! You must go to Zellara, she tells fortunes! I've wanted to go for weeks ever since she told Felise about meeting that handsome guardsman of hers. Do you think you could ask for me?"
Taisha smiles, pointedly ignoring Dasha's rolling eyes. "I did not know she was a fortune teller, thank you Mellory that is very helpful. I might just go and see her after all. Who knows, she might have a handsome husband lined up for me to. I need to run, but thank you again."
Turning she strides out into the city with Dasha beside her and heads for Lancet Street.
Kur-Awk stares at the card as another cheap jug of ale slowly disappears into his gut. He doesn't even taste the drink any more, not since Leah died. An hour passes, and a new mug is brought. The owner was a friend of Leahs, and serves the big barbarian the cheap stuff in return for the occasional help bouncing a rowdy drunk or carting off the refuse.
The card remains. A lead, after weeks of combing the dirty misbegotten hellhole. A lead, after weeks of getting close, then drinking himself into blackouts to avoid the guilt and the pain. A lead, after spending days in the jail for breaking someone's ribs or destroying property. A lead to the whereabouts of the murderer of his only love.
Kur-Awk pushes back the ale. He belches loudly. Outside, the sun is sinking, afternoon already, another day pissed away in service to the drink. Not today. Not again.
Kur-Awk stands, grabs his enormous hammer and shoulders it. Today. Today, he gives Leah her rest. Today, he kills Lamm.
He staggers from the bar and begins walking toward the address.
Diplomacy:
Diplomacy
Richter is just returning to his quarters after a long night of celebration in the shrine and an even rougher morning of clean-up after the revelers have headed home.
He collapses into bed, reaching up to pull back on his holy symbol from the nightstand, left here for safekeeping during the festivities when he feels something odd beneath it. He pulls his hand back quickly as if he had pricked it on something sharp, but when he looks his finger is fine.
Slowly, he sits up and squints at the nightstand, picking up the card gingerly. Reading the note and inspecting it. He frowns slightly before pulling back on his holy symbol and tucking the card into a pocket of his outfit and laying back down. It looks like he's only going to get a short rest before he needs to be up so he can find out what he can before walking into whatever is in store for him. Just because it may be a trap doesn't mean he won't go, if this person can get into his quarters unknown its best to confront them face to face.
After his nap, Richter gets up and begins to ask around about where this location is and perhaps who may be there. Learning what he does only confuses him more, however. He meets many different types of people going about his duties, but he can't imagine why someone like this would have any interest in his past unless they are quite skilled at their trade.
Not seeing anyway he can learn more without simply going and finding out who the person is and what they want, shortly before sunset he makes his way to the building.
Byron feels a sudden chill as the breeze whips up out a nowhere, and a shiver goes down his spine... He has the sudden premonition that something important is happening, and he reaches outward, trying to grasp the subtle nuances of the web of Fate, but the moment passes, and the feeling slips through his fingers.
Sensing a sudden light weight in his breast-pocket, he pulls out what is clearly a Harrow card, smiling a little at the choice.
The Juggler? How appropriate. We must all walk a fine line, pleasing too many masters in the subtle dance of power that is life in Korvosa; it can at turns be difficult, innocuous, and dangerous...
Turning it over, he notes the first the style of penmanship, and then the content of the message, which causes him to first be angry, and then become filled with curiosity.
So, this person knows something of Lamm? I will have to meet with her. Feldryn my friend, it looks like justice may be one step closer for you than it has been for quite some time..
He then carefully packs away the card in his pocket again, and continues his rounds, seeing his regular customers, and keeping an eye out for likely new recruits; as he does so, he casually spreads around a few questions regarding the address he has been directed to...
Hmmm... Curiouser and curiouser. This could indeed be a night to remember!
The morning son shines through the tiny window of Rolan's upper story appartment room. His right hand shades his sandy eyes against the brightness as a groan escapes his lips. Shaking his head from side to side he breathes in the smells of the street below. Jenna the baker must be hard at work already as the scent of rolls and loaves being prepres wafes through the air. Of couse this mixes with the wet smell of the fishmonger bringing the day's find back to his shop after a quick trip to the harbor district. His a growl of frustration he heaves himself off of his cot and lands on his feet.
His ill temper is caused by yet another night spent in feverish dreams of that darn Lamm fellow. Taking the form of both bogey man and the target of his rage in equal parts the unknown form of the man seemed to change and fluctuate as Rolan's subconcious attempted to put a face to the name of the man he knows is responcible for Rolan's fall from grace. His fists clench once more as he forces himself to stand and walk over to his spell book. Maybe he doesn't have the full honors of a graduate, but he still knows how to do a thing or two. Rolan sits at his desk and opens his spell book to the well thumbed page detailing Read Magic. The spell was almost a meditation now and... hold on?
Rolan's right hand reaches out and picks up the Harrow card nestled close to the spide of his book on that same page. The crow stares back at him from the surface of the card and the wizard finds a sardonic laugh escaping his lips. So, someone has been in his room? Or perhaps a spell has been cast to place that card in his book. Turning the card over he reads the text while another hand reaches out the stroke the feathers of Munin. The raven looks at the card too with one eye and then speaks a few words in Rolan's father's tongue. "Don't like it! Don't like it! Where come from?"
"Relax my friend." Rolan replies as his mind picks over the possibilities. "If this was sent by an enemy we would already be kneed deep in trouble. No a friend sent this. The only question is who. Not too many people know me well enough to send this by a spell. Perhaps one of my friends from school has found something out." Setting the card down he shakes his head. "Either way, I might as well get some work done for the shop. isolde will have my head if I don't have those tinder twigs ready to go for that order."
Taking some time to memorise the spells that he might need, and doing his best to ignore the slowly building sense of excitment in his stomach, Roland goes about his usual activities, and makes sure to avoide his father. He didn't want to deal with yet another lecture about morality and duty. Lamm stole his future. Rolan would havee revenge.
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The day winds on as each of you begin to plan and work through your day. The city streets bustle about with the poor and middle class of the city making the best of another day in Korvosa.
Standing outside 3 Lancet Street, Byron feels that he is on the cusp of something important. He pauses for a moment, savoring the sensation, before knocking on the door.
After stopping by a familiar Varisian bakery to break his fast with a hard roll and tea (and learn a bit about Lancet street from the talkative baker), Alynbrand meanders through the city. He visits no less than a dozen shops, doubling back on his course frequently to visit shops he missed earlier. He watches the crowds, looking for anyone following him. He passes Lancet street a few times, getting a feel for the neighborhood.
If anyone is following him, Alynbrand doesn't spot them. He really isn't expecting a tail or to spot one, if one exists. Anyone who had the skill to sneak into my room while I'm asleep, pull my sword, and leave a note on it could have killed me in my sleep... If this is a trap, it's ridiculously elaborate.
As evening approaches, Alyn wends his way back to the Lancet street and approaches the house without hesitation.
"Not from school. Not from school." Munin speaks into Rolan's ear as he makes his way down the street. Rolan shakes his head and reaches one hand up to still the agitated bird. "Hush Munin. I know that."
His eyes take in the structure that the card has brought him to and a furrow appears upon his brow. He had been unable to learn anything about the person who dwelled within the building. Still, he had no memory of any of his old companions residing in this area. That means that either someone is being even more sneaky than he thought, or a new player has entered the game. Rolan fights down a wave of frustration and disappointment. He was really hoping to find an old colleague here, maybe even Professor Ulfred.
The dark haired wizard almost turns back, but his hand slides into his pocket and brushes the card hidden there. Squaring his shoulders he takes a deep breath and marches towards the door. His left hand reaches into his rune pouch and fingers several rune tiles as he prepares to cast a spell should the other side of the doorway prove dangerous.
(OOC: Ready spell, sleep.)
Meandering along the streets, Richter squints against the afternoon sun. After receiving the card he found his sleep troubled with dreams of his past and he awoke unrested, his head splitting after the reverie the night before and the lack of real rest to follow it.
When he nears the docks his nose wrinkles, not just from the smell but from further memories. Time in the poorer districts on the docks has always represented bad times for him.
Not long before sunset he arrives to the building. By this point he's simply decided to find out what all this nonsense is about rather than puttering about any longer so he simply walks into the house, blinking at the varied gathering of people there. "Did I walk in on a party?"
Richter is tall and slim in his early 20s with straight brown hair that is just long enough to pull back and tie up. His face is attractive, even with puffy sleep deprived eyes. The tired gray orbs gaze out observantly though. He's dressed in simple clothes with a rapier at his side, the only sign he is anything but a well armed peasant is a basic holy symbol hanging on a cord around his throat.
Kur-Awk's stumbles finally prove fruitful as he sees light through the door of the address. He hits the door, throwing it wide and blinking furiously into the room at those gathered there.
"You lot hate Lamm, too?"
Kur-Awk is tall and broad, almost filling the door and forced to stoop a little. He's shaven bald and his dark skin is covered with fading tattoos of skulls, bones and graves, done in white paint. He wears homespun pants, a dirty, stained shirt made of some sort of hide and a studded leather vest over top of it. He reeks, positively reeks, of alcohol and when he talks, there's a slight slur to his voice. His eyes are mad, wider and more intense that they ought to be. He carries one one weapon, a huge stone hammer that features four studs on one end of the head. He looks young, but not a good young. The years, probably the recent ones, have not been kind to him.
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Taisha watches the house from the other side of the street exchanging uncomfortable looks with Dasha at the amount of activity, "Well it was always going to be risky finding Lamm. I suppose we have to take this chance." She says thoughtfully.
"Yes." Dasha says succinctly, earning a few startled glances from passers by. "I mean woof."
Rolan raises a hand to his nose at the smell of the youth who just entered the house. Taking a step back he grimaces. "Kindly take yourself to the other side of the room boy." He says as he tries to keep a hold of his dinner. Rolan's other hand reaches up and draws back the hood of his robe. His raven black hair is long and disheveled looking, and in need of a good barber. His face, sporting the stubble of several days of growth, is hard and sharp looking. His dark brown robe flows about him slightly as he moves away from the offending smell and the light picks out strange runes along the cuffs and hem.
Reaching a safer distance he lowers his hand from his face and looks sharply from one person to the next with eyes full of suspicion. "I don't recognize any of you." His mind quickly goes through the possibilities. A barbaric youth. Probably hasn't been out of his cups in weeks by the smell. He is incapable of sending the message. Here, a man with a rapier? Elegant weapon, but still used for the application of violent force. A holy symbol? He is either a very religious want-to-be duelist or a cleric of some kind. There is a possibility there. Rolan frowns as he thinks and his eyes move on. Another fighting man. Probably a thick skull to compliment that big sword and chained weapon he carries. At least he's not drunk. And an Elf? No, Half Elf perhaps. Hard to tell, but he's wearing a fancy blade. Better keep an eye on him.
Roland’s left hand, which has slowly returned to his rune pouch, emerges and he feels the familiar shape of several rune tiles in his palm as he waits. It seems like the sender is not yet here. He is beginning to suspect that the sender isn’t involved with his school at all. They are normally pickier about company.
Slight of Hand check to hide rune tiles.
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When Byron first knocks on the door, there is no answer for several long drawn out minutes. Having decided he had waited long enough. Byron opens the door and steps inside to find a cozy chamber within this small home. The quaint home is filled with a fragrant haze of flowers and strong spice.
The haze comes from several sticks of incense smoldering in wall-mounted burners that look like butterfly-winged elves. The smoke itself seems to soften edges and gives the room a dream-like feel.
The walls are draped with brocaded tapestries, one showing a black-skulled beast juggling men’s hearts, another showing a pair of angels dancing atop a snow-blasted mountain. A third tapestry on the far wall depicts a tall hooded figure shrouded in mist, a flaming sword held in a skeletal hand. Several brightly-colored rugs cover the floor, but the room’s only furnishings are a wooden table covered by a bright red throw cloth and several elegant tall-backed chairs. A basket covered by blue cloth sits under the table.
Sitting upon the table near the basket is a quickly penned note on a scrap of parchment in the same style of the writing on the card.
Thank you for coming. I had to step out for a bit, but shall return shortly. Please, have a seat while you wait. The basket under the table contains bread and drink for you.
The food, for any who choose to sit at the table and sample it, is adequate. The bread is a little stale but filling, and the wine, while not fine, tastes good enough. Observant people would notice that one of the chairs at the table is slightly more worn down than the others, as if someone had spend long hours day after day sitting in it, leaving six other chairs for guests to sit around the table with, though there are only five people in the house as of yet. A few moments after Byron walks in, Alynbrand comes up to the door as well and steps in. The gently swish of robes announces Rolan’s presence a minute or so after that. Bringing up the trail end of the current gathering is a man wearing the holy symbol of Cayden Cailean and a pair of red-shot eyes. Several moments after the religious man walks in, Kur-Awk boisterously makes his appearance. Kur-Awk nearly crashing through the weakened door hinges as his large frame steps through the door.
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With a frown Taisha starts forward, though Dasha trots to get in front of her. Together the two enter the house and gaze definatly upon the company therein.
"Right which one of you thinks it is okay to sneak into a ladies bedchamber? I am here to ensure Lamm gets what he deserves, and that is all, so do not be getting any funny ideas! I may be small, but I assure you I can handle myself! Well what is all this clandestine card nonsense in aide of?" Taisha says loudly, he voice becoming a tad squeaky with nerves towards the end and her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink.
Dasha merely glowers at the villainous looking group.
Byron carefully steps into the house, and with a sweeping glance, takes in the major details. He then steps over to the table, quickly reads the note, and then makes himself comfortable in one of the chairs (not the one that has obviously seen a lot of use).
As more and more people start to arrive, Byron sizes up each new recruit.
Hmmm... This is certainly an interesting bunch of people; a motley collection of warriors, priests, and, apparently, arcanists... It truly shows that Lamm has tainted the lives of a great many people.
When Taisha enters and makes her blustery accusation, Byron raises an eyebrow, and calmly replies:
"I do not believe that our host has arrived yet. I have never met Lamm, but I know those who have been destroyed by his vileness, I would see his reign of terror brought to an end."
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Taisha deflates and bites her lip, "Oh, ah, well sorry then, its just, ah, a bit, well... A bit worrying when someone waltzes into your room while you sleep and leaves a playing card with a cryptic message. Are we waiting for this fortune teller then? Zelara? All I know about my future is it involves decidedly painful things happening to a certain Gaedren Lamm."
Dasha gives her an exasperated look, so much for an intimidating demeanor.
Kur-Awk looks long at the man with the bookish look. He slowly sniffs himself, shrugs and stands closer to the man. He looks at him, studying his face from an uncomfortably close distance. "You send the card? You tell me where Lamm is?
Alynbrand eyes the far taller bald tribesman and his gear, remarking "Nice hammer."
With two fingers, he casually holds up the card he received to emphasize his next point, before pocketing it again. "I don't know Lamm, save by his name alone."
The Shoanti peers at the armored man with the big sword. "Lamm's a dead man. Killed my girl. He's gonna die. Soon as I find him."
Rolan attempts to maintain some dignity while moving away from the ever-approaching barbarian and his dragon breath. He raises a hand to his nose and speaks in a scathing voice. "I did not send the cards lummox. Even if I did I wouldn't send one to you."
Taking his gaze away from the big brute his eyes are drawn to the newcomer. For a moment he is quiet as his pupils dilate from the shock of her appearance. Closing his eyes he shakes his head for a moment and then lets out a harsh chuckle as her statements register on his mind. "Be assured woman. There was no ruffian in your room last night. It is painfully obvious that these cards were distributed by magical means. I myself can think of several spells capable of accomplishing such a feat quite easily. The only question is who sent them and how did they gain a connection to us strong enough to allow for such an effect. You didn't lose something important to you recently did you? Something shiny perhaps?" His lips move into a smirk as he imagines such an obviously wealthy woman mooning over some lost trinket.
Since the others seem intent upon talking about their connections to Lamm Rolan draws forth his card, only to have Munin pluck it from his fingers and fly over to the table. The raven places the crow card face up on the table and then looks around quickly before speaking in Ulfen, "Crow for death. Crow for Death. Lamm! Lamm shall die." Rolan's face is slightly surprised as he waves his hand at the raven. "Hush Munin." he growls as the raven flies back to Rolan's shoulder and gives him a light peck on the ear. Rolan winces at the slight pain. "Yes Lamm shall die. I have something special saved up for him. He shall be squashed like the insect he is."
Richter stays silent as the others speak, his normally outgoing nature quelled a bit by the thoughts brought up by the situation as well as his splitting headache. Still if we are all here and obviously brought together for some purpose, there is no reason to fight among each other.
He dips his hand into his pocket, bringing out his own card as if it were painful to touch, the stylized demon's face seeming to peer out at everyone in the room from within the confines of its lantern prison. Dropping it on the table, he looks around to the others.
"I too know Lamm. Better than most, I imagine. I spent most of my childhood as one of his slaves. Each of you seems to know of his villainy first hand, but I don't think you can imagine how far his cruelty reaches. Take the stories we share and add them to countless others. I have tried to ignore the man for years, ignore the fears of my youth, not to give him that sort of hold on my life any longer, but I know that was the cowards path. He must be stopped. I don't know how our host discovered our pasts, but it seems that there must be some goal to that end."
When he stops speaking, he takes a moment to brush his hands over his face and back through his hair, pushing away the darker thoughts with them and refocusing himself as he has learned to do in his time at the shrine. When he looks back to the others the sorry isn't visible in his tired eyes any longer and a small smile shows on his face. "Now then, while we may be here on serious business, there is no reason we shouldn't be cordial. My name is Richter Denezio. Lay priest of Cayden Cailean, at your service."
Alynbrand notes the vehemence of the responses from the people around him, and finds them oddly amusing. "You know more of Lamm than me. I don't know for certain that he's wronged me; he could be just another link in the chain. Before you squash, pulp, or kill him in some creative way... I'd appreciate a chance to ask him a couple of questions first. Questioning him after death is more problematic."
He nods at the lay priest's introduction, "Alynbrand." He taps the hilt of the greatsword slung over his shoulder as a fit answer to the question of his profession.
Byron inclines his head in Richter's direction, and gives a brief smile.
"Well met. I am sure that our host will be able to provide us with some specifics about Lamm; at least, that was the impression I received from my note...
Now, it would probably be best if we introduced ourselves whilst we wait; Richter and Alynbrand have introduced themselves, and I am Byron Radanavich, a humble Harrow Reader, who learned to survive on the streets a long time ago... Who are the rest of you?"
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Taisha frowns, but nods, "A fair enough question I suppose I am Taisha Arkona, a former student at the Acadamae thanks to Lamm framing, my... Me for the murders of a couple of my dearest friends. This is my faithful companions Dasha." She pats the big dog on the head fondly.
Turning to address Byron specifically she pulls out her card and hold it up to him revealing the Cricket, "If you are a Harrow Reader do you know why we all seem to have received different cards? Is there some significance to that? Or is it just our absent honst's peculiar sense of fun do you think?"
Byron thinks for a moment...
"It is possible that the card selected may have some personal resonance for the recipient...
...For example, the Cricket comes from the Suit of Keys, which, broadly, symbolises agility, trouble, children, and entertainment. The Cricket himself, represents a positive outlook on present events, and symbolises quick travel, and the reward at the end of the journey."
He then shrugs.
"Whether that has any personal resonance for you, I know not - I would have to conduct a proper reading, involving nine cards. Nonetheless, I think that my card was... appropriate."
"I am Kur-Awk, warrior of Skoan-Quah." The big guy seems to think this answers everything.
Byron smiles faintly.
"Ah, but the trick with Harrow is that it is all about the interpretation. For example, you have had recent trouble, as a result of the machinations of Lamm. The summons you received offers you a quick trip to your goal, which will be successful..."
"Furthermore," he says, the faintest tracery of a smile playing over his lips, "The Cricket is a fey trickster; what is visible at the surface is not always the whole truth...."
He then shrugs.
"Whilst I am a practitioner of the Art, Korvosa is quite large, and there are quite a number of Devotees. I am afraid that I am not acquainted with our host, although I imagine that she too has suffered at Lamm's hands..."
Finding no reaction to his words Rolan frowns, and then smirks to himself. Finding a seat near the worn down one he pours himself a portion of wine and pulls off a hunk of bread from that in the basket. Sitting down he crosses an ankle over his knee and watches the others. After listening for a moment and sipping the wine, decent enough vintage, he speaks. "Well, if we must go through this social ritual... I am Rolan Anguson. I was a student of The Art before Lamm decided that nobody likes the son of an Ulfen outsider. One botched trial later and here I am."
Munin hops down from Rolan's shoulder to his wrist and pecks at the bread. Rolan frowns and turns his grumpy expression up towards Alynbrand, "You want to ask the man question eh? What could be so important that we should risk trying to take him alive?"
Alynbrand seems unperturbed by Rolan's sour look. "We?" He shrugs and looks at the mage levelly. "I don't recall asking anyone to risk their ass or help with Lamm's capture. Just your forbearance in not killing him until after I can ask him a question or two. Of course, I may get what I need from his underlings. If so..." He smiles, "kill him in your own good time."
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After several minutes have passed since each of you has entered the house of Zellara, the door opens for a seventh time as an attractive middle-age Varisian woman with long dark hair steps into the house. Her dark brown hair is tied back in a red and green bandana and she wears a more subdued dress than younger Varisian women would typically wear. She smiles gently and steps over to the table as she says, “Thank you for coming.”
Moving to the well worn chair she sets herself down in it and produces her Harrow deck from a pocket and idly shuffles the cards. Her skill with the deck is obvious to anyone who watches how the cards seem to float and dance over her hands and the table.
”My name is Zellara and I hope you will forgive me for my unconventional method of contacting you.”
Zellara’s voice is soft spoken but clear and there is no hint of a Varisian accent to it, indicating a woman who has most likely lived in or near Korvosa most of her life.
Once the woman comes in and takes a seat, Richter finally lowers into a chair of his own. He gives a small nod of his head as he tries to get a read on their host.
When Taisha speaks, he gives a small smile to her and nods his head "I would suspect that you have reason to dislike Lamm all your own, but how does that involve us?"
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Zellara holds her smile, taking one of the nearby glasses and pouring herself some of the wine before she begins speaking again.
"I have reason to remain hidden, you see—a terrible man would see great harm done to me if he knew I was reaching out for help. I speak, of course, of Gaedren Lamm, a man whose cruelty and capacity to destroy the lives of those he touches are matched only by his gift for avoiding reprisal. You see, a year ago, his thieves stole this, my Harrow deck, from me. It is important to me, an heirloom passed down through a dozen generations, and also my sole means of support."
Zellara continues to shuffle the deck around on the table, not even aware she is doing it anymore the motions have become so natural to her.
"When pickpockets stole it, my son, Eran, tracked them down. The thieves were in the employ of Gaedren Lamm, and in reward for finding them, Gaedren murdered my son."
Zellara's voice chokes for a moment with repressed tears before she gulps them down and continues with her story.
"I sought help from the Guard, but they turned me away. And so I asked around. I paid bribes. I consulted my Harrow deck for advice. And recently, I was rewarded—I found out where Gaedren dwells. He can be found in an old fishery north of here at Westpier 17, where he trains his abducted children to be pickpockets and counts his stolen treasures. And now, I need your help. I cannot hope to face this man on my own, and the Guard moves so slowly that if I were to go to them, Gaedren would certainly know of their coming well in advance. Even if they did arrest him—what guarantee would I have he would be punished? This criminal has evaded the law for decades. But you know of these frustrations as well, for word on the street has it that Gaedren has wronged each of you, too. So there we are. It is time for him to pay.”
After the well spring of her words runs out, Zellara looks at each of you in turn, expectantly, perhaps desperately. She has stopped shuffling the deck of Harrow cards and her face is slightly flushed.
Kur-Awk listens to the story until Zellara gets to the location of Lamm. Then he smiles a frightening grin and seems to shake off his drunkenness. He stands, nods at the group, and walks to the door. He pauses for a moment, hand on the door. "Which fishery?"
Rolan smirks at Alynbrand's words, "Well then, I guess we shall have to find you an underling to wring out like a dishrag. Tell you what. You hold him and I'll make him wish he was dead."
The entrance of their hostess stops any further conversation and Rolan watches her from the chair as he sips his wine. His expression remains unchanged through her explanation and story, although his eyes harden at the mention of the murder. When her eyes turn towards him he looks away with a pained expression and sips the wine which now tastes like ash. Setting the glass aside he points towards the card Munin deposited upon the table. "The Crow is ready to do his part in this.” His eyes turn towards the departing barbarian, "Leave now if you must. I would rather make a plan and seek more information. We'll only get one shot at this. Best get it right."
Byron nods politely at Zellara's greeting.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame. Your method of gaining my attention was certainly intriguing."
As Zellara's story unfolds, Byron's mood progressively darkens.
Ah, Feldryn. Truly, you are not the only one to have suffered at Lamm's hands....
When she finishes, Byron stands, and bows slowly.
"It would be my pleasure to render whatever assistance I can."
He smiles faintly at Kur-Awk's eagerness.
"I agree, we should approach this carefully; a little scouting before hand, to identify the lay of the land, should enable us to turn this into a surgical strike, in one foul swoop taking out Gaedren, and freeing the poor children that he currently holds in thrall."
He then gives a self-deprecating bob of his head.
"I have some small skill at observation, and passing unseen, so I would be happy to conduct the initial foray..."
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Taisha nods slowly and sighs, "I am sorry to hear about your son Madam Zelena, you have my commiserations. I find myself in reluctant agreement with you assessment of the watches likely failure. Me and Dasha will join you in your endeavor."
Turning to the others she raises an occasional eyebrow at their words but says, "I agree a plan is called for, but I am not so sure scouting alone is sensible. We should at least be near at hand on the off chance you are spotted. What are we to do with the children by the way? I know life with Lamm is about as far from idyllic as one could get, but surely we cannot simply abandon them to the streets? We should have an idea what we might do with them after shattering what little stability they have."
She glances to Dasha and bites her lip, "I should also ask, ah, are you all familiar with eidolons? Dasha is my eidolon, I summon him, he is intelligent and..."
"Talks, fights, hides, disguises." The dog says in a clipt purring rumble nodding to the group.
Tasha nods, "Yes, so we need to incorporate him in any plans."
Rolan smirks at Alynbrand's words, "Well then, I guess we shall have to find you an underling to wring out like a dishrag. Tell you what. You hold him and I'll make him wish he was dead."
Alyn returns Rolan's smirk with a wintry smile of his own, "I can live with that arrangement."
"But you know of these frustrations as well, for word on the street has it that Gaedren has wronged each of you, too."
Casually leaning against a wall, Alynbrand frowns with disappointment. "Ah. I was hoping perhaps your harrowing skills, not street whispers, had led you to me. So far, I know only that Lamm sold some jewelry I prize. How he got it is the answer I need before I'll know if he crossed me personally... though I suspect, from the tales being told and the hard looks around this table, that Lamm is mired in this as far more than a fence who doesn't mind selling blood-smeared goods. Whether he's wronged me or not, he sounds like he's been breathing for far too long."
Alyn quietly proffers his opinion, "Reconnaissance is a good idea. If Lamm is this slippery, he'll probably have a backdoor out. To snare a rabbit, you need to know where it might run and trap its routes. Regardless, scouting will be safest with faces Lamm doesn't know. It would be best if our scouts were either well-disguised or totally unfamiliar to Lamm."
As Kur-Awk starts to leave, Richter raises a hand to slow him. "Hold, friend. We all need to do this together. That is how we will succeed. I am afraid that Lamm does know me from my time there, but I can still speak to some of the locals and learn what I can about him. I have developed Cayden's blessing, but I was born with the gift of gab."
He pauses a moment before adding "I would ask that we be careful that no harm comes to the children. They may be used as petty thieves for the man, but used is what it is. Its not a willing service as I can attest. If the children have grown and chosen to stay with him then there is little that can be done I suppose, but I wouldn't have any fighting we need do splash over to cause damage to the younger ones."
Kur-Awk looks around the room at the strange assemblage. True, he hasn't been as successful as he might have been. Thinking, planning, these are not things that Kur-Awk knows. But maybe, maybe these people can get him close enough to kill the vile man and pay him back for his sins.
The big man grunts. "Plan. Plot. Not too long. Then kill." Kur-Awk slides down to sit with his back against the door, ensuring no one leaves without him.
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Dasha nods in agreement - an odd motion on a "dog" - and rumbles, "No children hurt."
Taisha smiles shyly, "Well, um, I can usually get people to talk. I don't know if I have the gift of the gab, but it is easy enough to get most people to talk." Her expressions darkens, "Mostly because every muscle brained idiot thinks I need protecting, or saving. Which I hopping well don't."
Alyn raises an amused eyebrow at Taisha's assessment then glances over his own build and that of Kur-Awk thinking muscle brained idiots? He notes drily, "No doubt 'present company excepted' was just resting on your tongue."
Rolan nods when Kur-Awk sits down and then returns his attention to the rest of the group. Sipping his wine once more he frowns and wrinkles appear upon his forehead. His voice is quieter when he speaks. "So we have a scout and two people willing to dig up information. The best thing we can do, if there is nothing else you can share with us Ma'am, is to head out and observe this place from a safe distance. I would advise against a water approach. Too problematic and easy to detect. Still, he may have a boat for a quick exit. Richter, what can you tell us about his defenses? Anything special that sticks in your mind? I'd hate to be surprised by something."
As he speaks Rolan's mind mulls over what he knows about the area that they have been directed towards. Surely there must be something that can help them.
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"I was not suggesting you were an idiot," she grins shyly, "we need to work on your self esteem. Just don't try to wrap me in wool. I may not be good at inserting pointy metal things into people, but I can handle myself and..."
"Teeth groin level." Dasha interjects, showing an impressive array of glistening fangs.
"Dasha fills in when I cannot."
"Nothing rest on her tongue long." The eidolon adds, sniggering to himself.