| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
The fortress, and its cluster of surrounding hovels and cabins, lie on the tip a verdant peninsula. Though only a few months old, already the fort and its inhabitants have spread inward toward the mainland in a bustling frontier town. The sun is setting over the ocean to its west, and torches begin lighting as the people make ready for the evening. Soldiers bearing the black and crimson of Cheliax – a Cheliax that is imperialist and expansionist, but not yet tainted by the darkness of the Nine Hells – stand guard at the towers abutting the wooden walls.
Just outside the town’s tall, wooden walls, underbrush grows wild and thick. Sleepy-eyed guards stand a questionable vigil in towers at each corner. Unseen by their apathetic eyes, trails of movement slip through the tall grass, creeping inexorably toward the outpost. Hunkering in one of these trails, creeping forward at a steady gait, is a young Shoanti warrior. His eyes are hard with righteous fury, and he holds a shortbow low to the ground, arrow nocked. His copper skin is striped with war paint, and the hardened leather plates of his armor are marred with old battle damage.
In an explosion of movement, dozens of Shoanti spring from the grass and rain arrows upon the fort’s defenders. Screams and battle cries fill the sky as the chaos and blood of sudden and desperate battle erupts. Near the far end of the grassy patch, a wizened old Shoanti in heavy furs, his footsteps aided by an intricately carved Cherrywood staff, is flanked by two Shoanti women in battle garb. One is armed with a beautifully crafted longbow; the other wields a klar in one hand, and – impossibly – a massive earthbreaker in the other.
The archer looks to the old man (she is played by Tonantzin Carmelo) and speaks to him in Shoanti.
“Grandfather,” she says, “this is madness. We cannot hope to take these pale invaders with the numbers we have.”
The bigger woman, with the earthbreaker, snorts at the words. (She is played by Marisa Quintanilla.) “Is that cowardice I hear, sister?”
The archer looks furiously at her sibling and opens her mouth to respond, but the old man holds up a hand and pulls the hood back from his cloak to reveal heavily weathered and wrinkled skin and deep, sad eyes. His shock-white hair is pulled back in a neat bun. (He is played by Raoul Max Trujillo.) “Shala has a fair concern, granddaughter. The predator that hunts game it cannot bring down is doomed to starve.”
She begins to retort, “But Grandfather—”
He makes an impatient noise at her and she immediately falls into a sullen silence. “Enough, Nata.” He turns to his other granddaughter. “Unfortunately, we have no alternative. The clans are fractured; we bicker and fight when a greater disaster looms. If we at least had the rest of the Lyrune-Quah…” He sighs and shakes his head. “No. We stand alone. We must destroy these invaders before they realize what it is they have discovered. Go now. Honor my grandfather’s memory. Honor his sacrifice.”
With a firm nod, Shala and Nata run directly for the embattled fort to join the fray.
They fight with a level of skill and power, grace and strength, that is unmatched by anyone, even their fellow Shoanti warriors. Every arrow lands true, every blow deflected by the klar and answered with the deadly weight of the earthbreaker. As they slowly overcome the well-trained but flat-footed defenders, Shoanti battle chants fill the night sky. Their victory seems assured.
Then the doors of the fortress open.
Out pour a score of battle-ready soldiers, charging into the fray with shield, sword, and spear. Momentarily dismayed, the Shoanti warriors harden themselves and push back against this new wave. Chelish blood runs thick with Shoanti, mingling red with red in the darkening night. As the last Chelish soldiers leave the fortress, a final figure strides slowly, purposefully, out of the doors and into the blood-soaked night. His armor is blood-red, trimmed with onyx, with curves and spikes on the pauldrons giving it a demonic appearance, as if foreshadowing the future of its owner’s country. The man stands tall, imposing, thickly-built, with long gray-streaked brown hair held back in a ponytail, and a bushy goatee covering his chin. (He is played by David Harbour.)
A soldier runs up to him, holding his bloody side. “Field Marshal Jakthion!” he pants. Blood streams from his grip. “They are routing us! Even with the reinforcements, the men are ready to retreat! What do we do?”
The grizzled veteran snorts and claps the man on the shoulder. “No fear, lieutenant. You did well. Go back to the fort, get to triage. See to that wound. I’ll handle the savages myself.”
Jakthion tightens his grip on his steel kite shield, inscribed with the First Prayer of Aroden. He draws forth a sturdy flail and strides confidently into battle. His skill is immediately apparent, to the Shoanti’s detriment; every swing of his flail ends the life of a Shoanti warrior. Worse still, his very presence bolsters the resolve of the soldiers around him. “Steady, men! Hold your ground! We won’t let some backwoods savages deny us our divine birthright! For Cheliax!” Furious cheers and roars of defiance answer him.
Shala and Nata see the newcomer at the same time, and immediately turn their attentions on him. Shala unleashes a hellstorm of arrows as she steadily moves forward, step by slow step. Every arrow lands either on his shield, or deflects off his heavy plate mail. Nata steps in and brings the earthbreaker down on his shield with a ringing boom that reverberates throughout the outpost. The shield sparks and ripples with magic, but doesn’t seem to even be scratched. Nata’s face drains of color as his flail’s heavy, jagged, spiked head swings at her. She raises her klar to block, but the flail bursts with fiery energy as it hits, and the treated animal bone of the klar shatters into thousands of pieces. A split second later, the sickening crunch of shattering bone can be heard, and Nata screams in agony, holding her ruined arm.
Jakthion shows no sign of mercy or hesitation. He swings the flail overhand, and Nata’s head bursts like an overripe melon.
Shala launches another volley of arrows, screaming in blind rage at Jakthion. She does not see she is the last of her people standing, nor that she is surrounded by enemies. Jakthion bats aside her arrows contemptuously as a dozen soldiers bear down on Shala with spears, impaling her over and over. She dies with a look of rage still pasted across her face, as her bow falls into the blood-soaked dirt.
Several yards back, the old man listens to the cheers of the Chelish soldiers as they celebrate their victory. He closes his eyes and hangs his head. “Grandfather Coja,” he whispers, “we have failed you.”
He looks up, past the fortress, into the dark, imposing shadow of a massive, crumbling tiered pyramid almost half a mile back behind the fort and several hundred feet tall. It practically radiates menace, whispering of power and death.
Time passes; first dark to dawn, then dawn to dusk, to dawn, rapid-fire, as the years, then decades, then centuries pass, and the fort burns and crumbles, to reveal new buildings, sprawling across the space between the old fort and the pyramid, growing like mold on a sandwich into a bustling town and finally a city, rapid-fire and unstoppable. Scaffolding appears around the remains of the ruined pyramid, molding and shaping the skeleton of a new, grand structure. Soon it morphs into the proud visage of Castle Korvosa.
Through the slitted windows of a parapet on Castle Korvosa, past servants, Crimson Guard, nobles and advisors, the grandiose royal bedchambers can be seen. At a desk, a man of perhaps distant Chelish descent, well past his middle years but not yet venerable, writes with swift hand across parchment. (He is played by Gary Oldman.) He pauses in his writing to massage his cramped wrist. A tremor runs faintly through his fingers, and his face is pale and sweating.
A woman saunters into the bedchamber, tall, straight-backed, with proud visage and high cheekbones. She is considerably younger than her husband. Her pale skin and dark chestnut hair and eyes mark her Chelish blood far more distinctly than her husband’s. (She is played by Sarah Bolger.) “Eodred, dear,” she chastises, “get back into bed. You need your rest. It won’t do the city any good to lose their king because he obstinately refused his physicians’ orders.”
King Eodred waves a dismissive hand as he stands to greet his wife, Queen Ileosa. “Ah my love. You worry too much. It’s simply a persistent cold, I’m sure.”
Ileosa scowls. “A cold that has rebuffed the most potent healing spells the clerics could conjure. You are too dismissive. Please, husband. I beg you, return to bed.”
Eodred chuckles. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for that old ‘curse’ nonsense, my dear. There is no curse on the throne now, nor has there ever been. Simply rotten luck.”
“I care not for any curses, husband,” she snaps, then softens her tone. “I only care for your well-being.”
He sighs and kisses her cheek. “How can I deny you anything? Very well, I shall tuck in, after I visit Venster for a quick game.”
Ileosa sighs. “You give that man too much of your sympathy.”
Eodred’s face becomes defensive. “He is family, Ileosa. What else can I do? He’d never survive on his own, with his… condition.”
Ileosa looks about to make a scathing remark but thinks better of it. “Very well, husband. One game, but then you must return to bed. I don’t want to lose you.” She squeezes his hand, and Eodred grins. For a moment, the illness wracking him fades, and his old, charming smile shines through. “My dear woman. What would I do without you?”
He shuffles out of the room, and Ileosa watches him go with hard eyes. “What indeed? Old fool.” She strides over to the desk, glances at the paper on it, and with a smirk, strides out of the room.
The parchment is a royal decree, unfinished, but the first lines can be read:
[u]BY ROYAL DECREE
IN THE NAME OF HIS ROYAL EMINENCE
KING EODRED ARABASTI II[/u]
In the interest of the safety of our beloved queen, my wife, Ileosa Arabasti,
I hereby grant her authority to formulate and enact the creation of a
Personal Guard, hereby known as the Gray Maidens, and
Do grant permissions to withdraw such funding
As is necessary for the group’s creation, from the city’s treasury, to…
As if through someone else’s sight, the bedchamber drifts away, as the eyes sweep back through the halls of the castle, then dive hard and fast into the ground, through dirt, stone, rubble, and bedrock, a vast and unknowable distance, until they plunge into total darkness. Eyes open in the void, crackling blue with fury, before erupting in electric power and fading once more into darkness.
The sun slowly drifts below the top of the city walls, drenching the busy city of Korvosa in twilight. Even at this late hour, the streets are bustling with people--though now, most of them are on their way home. To the south, the heavy profile of Castle Korvosa, hidden in shadow at this time of day, looms in the distance as you turn onto Lancet Street. You are in the Midland district, mostly the homes of well-to-do merchants and the like, and while Lancet Street isn't the Shingles, it certainly feels out-of-place here; the homes on this street are significantly more modest. A few are even boarded up, though knowing Midland, they will be snatched up eventually by some enterprising individual and flipped for a profit.
As you arrive at 3 Lancet Street, you see a small, cozy house, with candles flickering in the windows. Unlike most of the homes on this street, this one actually has some grass growing. The front door is slightly ajar.
Andakos Viden has been watching this house for at least two hours now and has seen nothing. The message that summoned him here was suspicious to say the least; he had told no one of his efforts to discover what happened to Lyse. It is possible that he bribed the wrong person or asked the wrong question or wasn't careful enough with being overheard; it's not like the militia at the Acadamae has trained him for subterfuge and stealth. He feels rather out of his depth and has only managed to uncover scraps of rumors thus far, so the timing seems awfully suspect.
However the sender of the message managed to find out about it, it was a lead, and he couldn't pass up a lead. That doesn't mean he wasn't going to be careful about it, though. So here he sits. For hours. Not even knowing if he's doing surveillance right. Finally, about an hour before dusk, he decides that he would go in there regardless of what he managed to find on this little stakeout, so there is no point in maintaining this charade any longer. Time to talk to some people.
Andakos stands up, stretches the kinks out of his knees and back from squatting in an uncomfortable position for hours, and sets off. He walks the area in a few block radius around the house, keeping an ear open for conversations, and stopping to talk to people who seem like they might have interesting things to say.
Be casual!
Adrin steps down to the running board, and then the carriage step outside the liaison office. He waves to the driver, "Thank you, Barcelus. Swift and safe journey home," he calls over his shoulder as he unlocks the door, stepping into his office on the northern end of Midland.
He waits to hear the horseshoes ring on the paving stones before quitting the office, locking the door behind him. His small leather travel case held tomorrow's important documents, but more importantly, it held that strange note.
Turning south onto Harborview Boulevard North, Adrin walks casually, but purposefully along the street. He stops occasionally to talk to someone that he knows in passing, though the streets are rapidly thinning. Nearing 3 Lancet Street, he begins to slow his walk slightly and ask more questions of those in the area. He hadn't been to this section of the Midlands often and knew all too well that caution was best in Korvosa when the sun went down.
A bead of sweat drips off of Trell Odums forehead and splashes into the ground followed by another and another. He has been at this for a couple of hours now…and it is starting to show.
Trell tightens the grip on the longsword that his he holding as he
kneels on the ground, hunched over, and trying to catch his breath.
Don’t give up yet. You can beat him.
Only moments later Trell catches the reflection of light on shiny medal from the corner of his eye. He quickly brings longsword across his body and up into the air just in time to block his combatants swing aimed his head.
The force of one sword making contact with the other knocks the attacker off-balance. Trell notices this and makes an attack of his own.
From the kneeling position Trell turns on his left heel, slides his right foot in a semi-circles as he turns, and brings the sword up in a powerful arch at the off balance opponent.
The maneuver takes too long, however, and his opponent has enough time to regain his balance. Pain shoot through Trells chest as the pommel of Vencarlo Orisini’s sword slams into him. The hit is powerful enough to send Trell backwards a ways landing on his back.
In a flash, Vencarlo’s sword is point down on Trell’s neck.
A moment of silence passes before Vencarlo begins laughing. He is an aged man who has seen many fights in his day so his laugh is a rough one and interrupted by short fits of coughing. ”You are getting better, my boy, but you are still far to slow. That move you attempted. It was too slow and it was piss poor timing. His laughter dwindles slowly as he offers a hand to Trell.
Trell ignores the hand. He sits up and crosses his arms. Trell hates loosing. Without another word Trell stands up and pushes past his father. ”I should be get going. It is getting later than I wanted.
”Quit your pouting, Trell. You are acting like a child that just had his sweet cake stolen. You will improve with practice. You have potential. You can be a great swordsman if you’d stop trying to be so flashy all the time.
”I am NOT pouting. I am leaving. I will gone until late tonight. Do not worry about making food for me and there is no need to wait up.” Trell sheaths the longsword and starts to walk out. He stops with one foot out of the door. Trell’s sighs and then walks over to Vencarlo. ”I love you, old man He gives his father a big hug “I will see you tomorrow morning.
He then leaves, grabbing his cloak as he walks out and throwing it over his shoulders, and makes his way through the only city he has ever called home, with the cloak hood up…of course. The route to 3 Lancet Street is a long one and it takes him even longer because he makes several stops to visit friends, buy a piece of fruit, or stop by a favorite shop. Eventually, though, he makes it to his destination just before it starts to get dark out.
As he approaches the home and immediately notices the shard contrast it has against the background of the neighborhood that it is in. This one has grass and looks like a nice place to live. This could not be said with the rest of the neighborhood.
Trell notices that the door is slightly opened. Without much hesitation, he has always been a little more confident than his current skill would suggest he should be, he pushes open the door to the house a peeks his head in.
”Hello? My name is Trell Odum…I have a letter…?
Andakos and Adrin: As you return to/arrive at the house, you spot a hooded figure slipping inside.
Trell: The interior of this small, humble home consists of a single cozy chamber filled with a fragrant haze of flowers and strong spice. The aroma comes from several sticks of incense smoldering in wall-mounted burners that look like butterfly-winged elves. The smoke gives the room a dreamy feel. The walls are draped with brocaded tapestries, one showing a black-skulled beast juggling human hearts, and 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, holding a flaming sword in a skeletal hand. Several brightly colored rugs cover the floor, but the room's only furnishings are a cot, a dresser, a wooden table covered by a bright red throw cloth, and five elegant, tall-backed chairs. Four slightly dusty glasses and a small piece of parchment sits atop the table, and a basket covered by blue cloth sits under the table.
The note on the table reads:
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 all.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Adrin watches a suspicious-looking figure enter the house. Adrin frowns slightly, concerned about an ambush, or some kind of setup. He waits a moment longer, his casual air marred by his furrowed brows. He runs his fingers along his carefully waxed mustache.
Be careful, be cautious, be discreet, Adrin tells himself, as he slowly draws the dagger from the sheathe on the back of his belt, palming the pommel, and letting the blade rest against his forearm[color=green]*[/color]. Walking up to the door with a few quick glances around he enters the now mostly opened doorway, stepping just inside before seeing the hooded figure, grip slightly tightening on his dagger.
Adrin is careful not to make any aggressive moves as he glances around the room, stepping to the table to scan the note as he watches the other person through his peripheral vision.
"Well met, friend," he says genially, trying to determine who, or what this person is before taking a further course of action.
[color=green]*[/color][color=gray]I'm trying to conceal the dagger I'm holding, if that's even possible. I'll roll a Bluff, and Sleight of Hand in case either are relevant. Edit: Nope, Sleight of Hand isn't trained, and it can only be used untrained to hide a weapon on my person, so just a Bluff check, I guess, lol.[/color]
Maelis hurries along the streets of Korvosa, eager to catch up. He finds himself more easily winded these days, and his thin arms aren't yet used to carrying so much as this. Still, he quickly makes for the house listed on that strange card, and feels the excitement growing inside. That's strange, the door is ajar Maelis thinks to himself. He looks around for signs of foul play or that the situation might be some kind of elaborate trap. Seeing nothing abnormal but the door he cautiously approaches and goes up to the door, and with a light tapping, calls out, "Hello, is someone in here?"
Andakos rounds the corner into view of the house just in time to see the hooded figure enter. He stops and backs into an alley. Oh, what now? He watches as the figure enters the house, leaving the door ajar. While he is considering what this could mean, he sees another figure enter the house, this one dapper and smooth, but with something vaguely threatening about it. The two people didn't seem to be together, and both seemed cautious and hesitant. Like me. Hmm. Maybe they were all here for the same reason?
As he is gathering the courage to head to the house, he sees a third figure approach. This one is thin and tentative, and less threatening than the other two. Well, if he can do it...
Decision made, Andakos strides purposefully to the house. He hesitates ever so slightly at the door, which is still cracked open. For Lyse. He opens the door and proclaims in (what he hopes is) a commanding voice: "Acadamae Militia! State your names and your reasons for being here."
Trell read the note that is on the table explaining that whoever this mysterious entity is that summoned him here has left for him. He partakes in the bread and drinks within the basket, setting it on the table after taking what he thinks is his portion of it. He sits down in one of the chairs, puts his feet on the table, and tips the chair back little as he waits.
A few moments pass before someone enters the house. Trell makes no movements and just casually nods at the newcomer without saying anything. He does, however, gesture to the note on the table.
Trell continues to relax in his chair, feet still up and chair still tilted back, when he hears someone at the door. He looks to the first person that entered, shrugs, and continues eating without saying anything as the 2nd newcomer enters.
Suddenly, a loud voice from the doorway proclaimes that they are with the militia. The suddenness of this gives Trell a jump. He loses balance and falls backward in the already precariously tipped chair.
He lays there for a moment and just stares at the ceiling Well...this is not a good way to start he thinks.
He slowly stands up, puts the chair back upright, and then sits back down...this time NOT tipping the chair. He still says nothing and if anything is even more non-social than before.
Adrin stares at the elf sitting in the chair for a moment, eyebrow slowly quirking up as the sitting person nods vaguely, but says nothing. Does he not understand me? Is he mute? Is he stupid? Adrin opens his mouth to say something more when a thin man steps in. Taken aback, he turns about to address this clearly not mute man, when an instant later a tiefling steps through the door, demanding compliance.
A moment of panic grips Adrin. I knew it. What is father going to say? Where will I go now? He licks his lips, a familiar taste recalled in his mind that makes him flinch for a moment. Wait, Adrin's thoughts finally caught up with the words spoken, did he say Acadamae milita? Adrin's eyes narrow dangerously. Suddenly the idiot in the chair falls over backwards, diffusing Adrin's tension a little.
"Excuse me, sir," Adrin drawled, condescension dripping from his most pretentious voice. He draws himself up a little straighter before continuing, "you are well outside any possible Acadamae jurisdiction - which I assume you well know. Moreover," the condescension decreases slightly in favor of an imperious tone, "you must not know whom you are addressing. I cannot speak for these... individuals, but I'll have you know that I'm Adrin Laecus. Yes, Domir Laecus's son," Adrin pauses for just a moment I think it's safe to say they will be adequately impressed. "Now you will stand down, or I will haul you to your superior by the ear!" The smug, confident smile is tinged slightly with a natural sense of superiority as Adrin watches for the reactions of the other men.
Trell looks up as the man, who he now knows is named Adrin, talks to the loudmouth that just walked in.
Under his breath, Trell says, "Psh. Noblemen." and shakes his head slightly.
Andakos lowers his spear. "Well, I don't know who Domir Laecus is, but I presume that he is very important. In any case, I meant no offense. I was summoned here by messenger and the details are somewhat suspect, so I am quite on my guard. Were you all brought here under similar circumstances? Where is our host?" Andakos notices the note on the table and reads it. "Ah, well it seems we must wait. Might as well get to know each other. My name is Andakos Viden, and as I mentioned, I am a member of the Acadamae Militia. I don't know why I am, but the message I received was quite compelling." He turns to the thin man. "So we all know who I am, and we all know who he is. And who are you?" He extends a hand to Maelis, and as he does, you all notice just how scaly his red skin is. Living in a large city like Korvosa, everyone knows at least a few tieflings, but Andakos is the tiefling-est one you all have seen. His skin is deep red, scaly, and leathery. His horns are prominent and his eyes are red and almost seem to glow. His hair is long and inky black. His long tail moves as if it were another limb.
This unsettling person is currently smiling and offering a hand to Maelis. It is an odd dichotomy to say the least.
Pale and thin though he might be, Maelis is not the type to scare easily, and having been in the slums of the city his fair share, he had seen more than a few Tieflings. He shakes the man’s scaly hand and flashes him a bright, charming, if crooked smile. "Maelis Dorso, good Sir, but simply Maelis will do. I am also here upon the summons of a messenger," his eyes moved to the room beyond and the other men inside ”though we seem an odd group to have been brought together."
Upon extending his arm, Andakos can see a tattoo on Maelis’ left forearm, a bright yellow circle with 3 daggers, their hilts meeting in the middle and points radiating outward in a tri-pointed star. He nods his head and greets the other men, reads the note upon the table, and sits upon a nearby chair to wait for their host.
Andakos, being closest to the door, sees a figure walking up the path to the house. She moves into the slightly crowded house with the familiar ease of one who lives there. She's a striking middle-aged Varisian woman, tall and statuesque. Her cheeks, which appear they would be pale even on normal occasions, are even paler, and drawn. She gives the room a tired smile, and draws from her smock an aged harrow deck, its faces almost worn to the point of being blank. It is clearly very old, perhaps one-of-a-kind. And she clearly handles it tenderly, as if it has deep sentimental value.
"My name is Zellara Esmeranda. Thank you for coming, my friends, and for putting up with my unconventional method of contacting you. I have reason to remain hidden, you see--a vicious man would see great harm done to me if he knew I was reaching out for help. This man has done something terrible to each of you as well. 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. When Lamm's pickpockets stole it, my son Eran tracked them down and returned my deck to me. But Gaedren had him followed, and soon after he left my home, Gaedren's thugs murdered him.
"I sought help from the Korvosan 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 abducted children to be pickpockets and counts his stolen treasures.
"But I need your help." At this point, she sits in one of the five chairs, looking even more tired. "I cannot hope to face this man on my own, and the Guard moves so slowly that if they were willing to help, Gaedren would certainly know of their coming well in advance. And even if they arrested 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."
She makes a small, sweeping gesture. "So there we are. It is time for him to pay."
She looks relieved, as if getting all that off her chest has lifted a burden from her.
As Zellara is speaking, Andakos sneaks a glance at the man in the chair, who still has not introduced himself. What's his deal? Is he shy or just an a***%+%? If we're going to be working together, he's going to need to speak up occasionally. At the mention of Lamm, Andakos's jaw clenches and his hands tighten into fists.
Calm. You're no good to Lyse if you're a raging lunatic.
Still listening, he closes his eyes and wills his hands to open, his jaw to relax. It takes several moments but he manages. His eyes open and he sits in the nearest chair to listen to the rest of what Zellara has to say. After she finishes, the room is silent. Andakos looks at each of the strangers in the room in turn. He can see the same conflicted emotions in each of them. What did Lamm do to you?
He takes a deep breath. "Thank you, Zellara. Your methods certainly are strange and, truthfully, they set me quite on edge. But I understand your need for caution, and it does give me comfort to not be alone in this any longer. Still, I have questions. First, how did you know my association with Lamm? I tried to be discreet in my investigations and I would know where I made a mistake. Second, I want Lamm to pay as much as anyone" (his red eyes flash at this) "but I am no murderer, and, pardon me for saying so, but none of these people seem like murderers either. Would you have us kill him? How then would we 'avoid reprisal', as you say he is so skilled at? Third, why us? If this man has hurt so many, why did you seek us out specifically?"
"Finally, what kind of resistance can we expect to find surrounding him at the fishery? How many people are we going to have to kill to get to him?"
With a furrowed brow, Adrin scowls towards Trell until Andakos explains the situation. Adrin’s surprise is plain. Was he not the only one to receive such an ominous summons? Watching the tiefling lower his spear prompts Adrin to drop the dagger’s pommel from his palm, and replace the weapon in its sheath at the small of his back.
As Andakos proffers his hand to the thin man, Adrin gets a good look at exactly how scaled his skin is. Adrin’s mouth turns downward in disgust for a moment as the two lock grips. He recovers quickly, genial smile returning to his face, though his eyes still carefully scan the scene before him. Something about this Maelis is a little too cheery, What does he hide behind that veil of openness and friendship? Adrin wondered. The man wasn’t without charm, but he looked like he grew up in the streets. Adrin had known plenty of streeters, the few with charm and grace needed to be watched twice as hard. He notices a yellow tattoo, but his brief glance doesn’t show him enough to really see what it is.
Without thought, Adrin found his hand tucked slightly into his travel case running along the harrow card. Was everyone else’s note so interesting? What bizarre game are we being set up for? Adrin opens his mouth to inquire about the message the others received when Andakos reacts to something outside. Before Adrin can draw his dagger again, judging the room to be a little too tight to properly wield the swept-hilt rapier hanging easily at his hip, he sees a tall woman enter. Adrin judged that she was a native Varisian, and looked like the proprietor.
After listening to her tale, and her request Adrin thinks he understands how she knew about his thirst for justice. He glances at the harrow deck in her hands, suspecting that it may have played a deeper role than merely being a convenient surface to write his note on.
Adrin straightens his back, and in an officious voice he warmly declares, “Madam, I am deeply sorry for the loss of your son, Eran. It is quite unacceptable for the Guard to be so unresponsive. I may not be much myself, but I pledge my service nonetheless. As a noble in this city, it is my duty to ensure that justice is carried out. I have too many engagements to see to it personally - and again, no particular skills in the matter - but I travelled here with a hired man who is quite capable. Assuming that these good folks are willing, I will dispatch my man with them.” The beneficent smile on Adrin’s seeming slightly over-the-top.
Hmm.
To Andakos, Zellara turns hard eyes. "I know killing him seems excessive, Master Viden. But you must understand this man is beyond vile. Countless children have died either at his hands or by his command. He has ruined scores more lives with his drugs and thievery. And he has escaped justice for over thirty years. He is slippery."
She sighs and looks down at the deck in her hands. "But I cannot force you to kill him if that is not your wish. As to avoiding justice, I cannot imagine the guard would drudge up any more sympathy for his death than they have for his victims; they might even see it as doing them a favor. But perhaps I am being overly optimistic. Regardless, the cards give me the sense that his death will not cause quite the stir you imagine." She shrugs, then shakes her head. "But it is your choice, not mine. I have no power to see justice done myself, or I would not have reached out to the four of you. I only hope that if you arrest him, it sticks." She taps her fingers on the harrow deck in an absent gesture. "As to your question, my harrowings are... special. More potent. They do not predict the future, if that is what you are wondering. They simply give directions toward a particular possible outcome. But in the present, such readings are much stronger, but no more predictable. I had need of allies, and the cards showed me the way. It is... complicated."
At Adrin's words, a small, knowing smile plays on her lips. "I am sure your man will be quite useful in the endeavor."
She cocks her head at Trell, watching him curiously for several minutes, before she begins shuffling her deck. "I will read your fortunes, Master Odum. I suspect we will find it quite interesting. And you may need the power such a reading grants in your task to come." She doesn't ask permission, simply pulls nine cards from the deck, shuffles those nine, and holds them out to Trell, splayed out in her fingers, facedown. "Choose," she says. Something in her voice holds authority, but not tyrannical authority. A gentle but potent pressure to do as told. The voice of a mother.
Trell sits in his chair resisting the urge that rub his head in pain and watches as everything unfolds in the room.
When he is asked who he is he simply says, "Trell"
It has been a long time since Trell went anywhere without his father. Vencarlo normally did the talking and Trell just...listened...and did what he was told. Even when he was training that Academy he would not speak with much of anyone besides his teachers and the rare individual that he accepted as a friend. Trell does not TRY to be an a$%@++*...he is just really awkward in social situations.
Trell remains silent as Famke explains what they are all doing here but at the mention of Lemms name, Trell stiffens visibly in his chair. He still says nothing but as soon as Famke is done talking Trell looks her dead in the eyes and says "I will do this thing you ask. With or without the rest of these people. This...man...deserves nothing more than death for what he has done to me and to the children he has in his employ." He looks to the others. I do not know your reasons for being here...but I know first hand the things that this many is guilty of...and if you were to know the things that I know...killing him would not feel like murder. It would feel like justice."
Trell has to fight every nerve in his body to not stand up and walk to the fishery that instant. He does so successfully while the rest continue their discussion.
Trell looks at the deck of cards with a bit of suspicion, at first, but decides that it wont harm anything to give it a shot. Anything that will help lead to the end of Lamm is worth a try.
Trell draws his card. A picture of a skulking figure in a green hooded cloak is stamped on it. The figure holds several severed fingers with keys attached to their tips. "The Locksmith," Zellara says thoughtfully. She considers this a moment, nods, and shuffles all the cards back together again.
In one smooth motion, she shuffles, splits, shuffles, splits, and shuffles once more, before flipping out nine cards from the deck in three rows of three.
She points at the bottom left card. A gnome in a strange, ballroom-esque mask whips a large creature, possibly an ogre or hill giant, whom he rides like a mount. ”The Teamster,” she says, tapping the card. One could swear that dust just puffed up from it at her touch. ”A driving force. Someone with some sort of hold over you, physically or mentally, that propelled you on even when you thought you could not go on. This is not always an evil force. And for you, I do not think it was.”
She purses her lips as she looks over the cards, finally touching the bottom middle card. A cricket in a white tophat and coat plays with a deck of cards. A battered rapier is jammed into a massive peach next to him. ”Hmm.” She frowns. ”The Cricket, and he is misaligned. Be warned; normally the Cricket promises a speedy passage or trial, with great reward at the end. But in this position…” She shakes her head. ”You may lose more than you gain. Be on your guard.”
Next she touches the middle-right card. A man with a rabbit’s head stares out, holding a broken sword with an ornate gold hilt. His dress is jaunty, and he bears an hourglass around his neck. Zellara smiles. ”Ah. The Rabbit Prince. Yes, that suits you. He is battle personified, in all its capriciousness. He is a master swordsman, but as his broken blade shows, any can fall in combat. If this is not your fate, you will rise to great skill at arms."
Then she points at the bottom right card, and Trell recognizes it immediately. It looks exactly like the card he found in the envelope. A crocodile-headed man sits serenely drinking tea, his hands facing the wrong way. He sits cross-legged on the back of a slave. Zellara seems unperturbed by the card’s appearance. ”And of course, the rakshasa. Something in the future will try to take hold of your mind. Something powerful. Yet…” She taps the card thoughtfully. ”This will not be so terrible a thing. I sense it will be a weal to you, in the end.”
With a grand, dexterous gesture, she sweeps up the cards and begins shuffling them. ”That is all the cards have to say, friend. But they have said much, I think. I pray this will prove useful in the days to come.”
Trell can’t explain it, exactly, but feels as if he has brushed up against something large, warm, and electric. His fingers and lips tingle slightly, but it is not an altogether unpleasant sensation. Zellara turns to the others. ”Who is next?”
Andakos listens intently to what everyone has to say and watches Trell's reading. When Zellara finishes the reading, he nods. "Thank you for your insight, Zellara. I have much to consider. And I will happily take a reading if it is quite all right."
As Andakos states his hesitancy at killing Gaedren, Adrin speaks up, This man is a destroyer of lives. A taker. I have no compunctions about his life ending, where the law will not. This is the true mark of justice. Although I will concede that we may be left with a better option than simply killing him. When the time comes, if he must die let either my hired man finish the task, or Trell. Your conscious can remain clean. If there is an alternative to his death, I will help you enact that. As he finishes he gives Andakos a warmer smile than any he's shown yet this evening.
Adrin listens with rapt attention as Zellara reads from her harrow deck. As soon as she asks he provides his enthusiastic interest in having his fortunes read.
She points first to the top left card, and the one that immediately grabs Maelis’ attention. It is an exact replica of the card that came in an envelope just this afternoon, with Zellara’s strange invitation on the back. ”Yes, I thought you might recognize it. The Carnival. It represents illusions and false dreams, but ones which can be harnessed to increase one’s powers of deception. Such forces are fickle, however, and using them thus can be dangerous.”
She points to the bottom left card. An aging cyclops pours ale from a black stein to a white stein. Zellara frowns, then considers Maelis. ”The Publican. And he is misaligned. Somewhere in your past, a great lie was told to you. Its danger may have yet to come to fruition.”
She taps the top middle card. A bear in a comical hat balances with a staff while riding a unicycle. Despite the broad smile on her face, Zellara looks infinitely sad. ”The Bear. This was Eran’s favorite card when he was a boy. He liked his hat.” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. ”The bear represents pure strength, unshackled by good or evil, or ideals of order or chaos. It cannot be tamed or harnessed, though many try.” She looks pointedly at Maelis. ”The task ahead of you requires much more force than you are used to. You must get used to it, I am afraid. You will be seeing much more of it in the days to come. Though the price for its use may be severe, use it you must.”
She points to the bottom right corner, where a shambling corpse in battered scalemail holds a down-thrust sword. ”The Lost,” she says. ”A time will come--perhaps not tomorrow, or even a year from now. It is impossible to say. But a time will come for you when all seems madness. Your whole world will be uprooted, and common speech will seem as a foreign tongue.” Then she points to a card in the top right, where two withered souls in broken chains greet a bright blue horizon. ”But this is The Big Sky. It is the slaves of a nation being freed. Whatever burden The Lost places on you, you must persevere. If you do, you shall be freed of that which binds you.”
She looks up at Maelis and smiles. ”I don’t know if it will be as helpful as Trell’s reading. But I hope it does help in some way.” Maelis does not get any strange physical sensation after his reading.
She points to the middle-left card. A stern man in red and black robes, covered in chains and holding an ancient tome, points accusingly at Andakos from the card. ”Mm,” Zellara says with a smirk. ”The Inquisitor. Quite fitting for you, I think. Your past was marked by an immutable force. A person, perhaps, or an experience. It shaped you into the man you are today, whether you realize it or not. Just like the Inquisitor, you accept nothing but the truth, and it is difficult to fool or sway you. Just remember ‘difficult’ does not mean ‘impossible.’ You must find this event in your past, and use its lessons to gird you against deception. There will be much of it in the days to come.”
She points to the bottom left card and frowns. A woman riddled with plague holds dice in one hand and leeks in the other. ”The Sickness. Strong magics from this one. Something has happened in the past--the recent past--that will decide the future of many. Something terrible.” She stares for several moments at the card before shaking her head and moving on.
She points then to the card next to it, in the bottom-middle. A unicorn lounges in the tall grass, a half-eaten pear speared to its long, twisting horn. Its soft eyes are filled with a gentle blue hue. ”The Unicorn, and misaligned. There is a betrayal happening to you, right now, though you are unlikely to discover it in time. It… will not end well for you.” She gives Andakos a piteous look. ”I am sorry.”
She points to the middle right card. A strange man in colorful garb and a monkey on his shoulder holds out golden riches. ”The Foreign Trader. He is the patron of both spy and peddler. He, like you, barters in information. Such information will come at a price, but will be worth it for you, in the end.”
Finally, she touches on the card which likely grabbed Andakos’ attention first, but she had yet to comment on. She taps the top right corner, where a great serpentine mouth ringed with tendrils drops shrieking humanoids into its gullet. It is the same card she sent to him in an envelope that afternoon, or very much like it. ”This is very interesting. The Fiend, and he is misaligned. A great calamity comes for us, and you will be at the center of it. But because of your influence, true disaster may yet be averted.”
She gathers up her cards. ”I am sorry it was not better news. But, I hope it will help in some way in the days to come.” Andakos does not feel any strange tingling as Trell did on the completion of his reading.
She points first at the top left card. A blue dragon holds an azure orb in bloody claws. ”The Tyrant. There is a great despot somewhere in your past that shackles you even now. This could pertain to… recent events. Or, it could be a more literal tyrant. It may not even be in your past. The echo I feel is faint, as if it comes from far away in history. But why would it show in your harrowing..?” She frowns, studying the card, then sighs in frustration. ”Rarely do the cards vex me, but this is absolutely one of them. You are something of an oddity, Lordling Adrin.”
She points to the card below it, the middle-left card. A large ant in resplendent furs wears a crown. ”The Queen Mother,” Zellara says. ”You, like the queen, have been raised to expect a certain amount of fealty from all you meet. But a time will come--and soon, I think--where you will need to learn to bow before those who know more than you, whether they are above your station or not. If you fail to do so, it could be disastrous.”
In the middle center, a skulking figure in a green hooded cloak holds a ring of fingerbones with keys attached to their tips. Adrin recognizes it as the card Trell first drew during his reading. Zellara smiles broadly and nods toward Trell. ”Your ultimate destiny hides somewhere in young Master Odum’s past. Your fates are heretofore intertwined.”
She points at the card below it. A striking woman with flowing blue hair and tattoos holds a man’s severed head. The blood from his ragged neck stump pours down over grapes she holds in her other hand. Zellara makes a slight face. ”The Betrayal. It represents envy and a jealous heart. Someone in your life covets that which you hold dear. Be on your guard.”
She indicates the three cards in the right-hand column. ”Now we finally reach your future, my lord. It is most interesting, and has implications for all present.”
She points to the top right, where a massive giant is toppled over in laughter as a small man in a green coat speaks jovially. ”The Joke. A great difficulty is to come that cannot be overcome by brute force. Trickery, guile, or cleverness will win the day.”
She points at the bottom right. The card is instantly recognizable to Adrin; it is the card that came in the envelope this afternoon. A ghostly figure kneels before a somber monument. ”The Empty Throne, and misaligned. Spirits of the past are enraged at the future, and must be put to rest, lest great calamity fall on you and yours.”
Finally, she points to the middle card. An aged craftsman stumbles as his head is struck by a terrible bolt of blue lightning. Zellara shakes her head. ”Strange. The Vision has shown up in each of your readings, but never in a place of significance.” She looks intensely at Adrin. ”Except for you. It often pertains to an encounter with a madman. But for you, I suspect it will not be so blatant a thing. You will encounter a terrible power. Something that breaks men’s minds. But through this horror, you will find needed insight.”
As she sweeps up the cards and shuffles them back together, Adrin feels a slight tingle in his lips and fingers, as if brushing against something with a great deal of static electricity built up in it. Zellara shrugs. ”I am not surprised such an auspicious harrowing held power for you. Use it well.”
After everyone’s harrowings are completed, Zellara says, ”Thank you again for this. I hope these readings will prove useful to you. But now I tire, and it is getting late. Remember, Westpier 17, the old fishery. I do not know how long he will remain there, so you had best move quickly. I ask, when it is done, that you come see me again. I may be able to be of further help to you, as thanks for helping me avenge my Eran.” Her cheeks look just a little more gaunt, and her eyelids a little darker, than when you arrived an hour before. The sun has fully set, and darkness rules outside.
Adrin listens attentively, watching as each card is revealed and explained. He narrows his eyes whe she explains Maelis’s The Lost card, trying to understand the implications. He had always been fascinated by the reading of harrows, the casting of runes, and other such methods of divining one’s fortunes. Only a few minutes later Adrin is listening to the tiefling’s harrow reading. When The Unicorn is explained, his hand unconsciously pats Andakos’s shoulder for a moment before Adrin awkwardly withdrew it. So wrapped up in the events was he, that he forgot for a moment that these three men were all strangers to him. As the readings went on, they felt more strongly bound, one to another.
As The Tyrant is revealed, Adrin again licks his lips, once again tasting the ghost of that dreaded, delicious flavor. Could that be his tyrant? Or his obligations to his family’s name? Something as yet unseen? But Zellara did not stop, so his time to ponder was cut off by the arrival of The Queen Mother. His back stiffens slightly at the notion of bowing to one below his station, but these cards are so often figurative. There will be time to understand that card more in the future. As The Locksmith appears, Adrin looks over to Trell meaningfully, the wondering in his eyes clear. Suspicion taints his expression when The Betrayal appears, his hand drifting to his rapier. As she reveals his future he gets a contemplative look. It is too hard to know when you are dealing with an unknown madman, or how to anticipate many great calamities. He will leave the future to the future.
With the Harrows all complete, Adrin feels a sense of tiredness set in. He was so invested in the Harrows that he didn’t even notice the lateness of the hour. Adrin looks at his three would-be companions, and says ”Of course I think Zellara is correct. I think it is time that you departed to deal with Gaedren. I will presently leave to summon my hired man, standing guard nearby, he ought not be but a minute. Unfortunately I have much important business to take care of in my office, and I will rest there for the night. My man acts in all ways on my behalf. He has earned my fullest trust. I will go now, to summon him here, and be on my way. I wish you all a fond farewell, and hope that your task is a resounding success,” he finishes with a jovial attitude.
Adrin begins heading for the door.
Andakos tries to make sense out of Zellara's reading, but all the allegory and metaphor is counter to his understanding of the world. He prefers things to be straightforward and unambiguous and so this frustrates him. Still, he is intrigued; when he began studying alchemy, the notion of a chemical extract that could double his height nearly instantaneously was simply ludicrous. Over time, though, as he studied the science and the process of it, the ambiguity coalesced into understanding. He makes a silent decision to spend time studying Zellara's craft when this is all over; is it really the tool of frauds and cheats as everyone says, or is there some science to it?
"Zellara, thank you for the reading. I will keep its results in mind. Before we go, you didn't answer my question about what kind of resistance we should expect at the fishery. Do you have any information on this?"
Zellara shakes her head. "I do not. Eran refused to talk of what he saw when dealing with Gaedren's men, though he mentioned the name 'Yargin' as the one he confronted about my harrow deck. He did not even say where they were. I had to use other means to discover that."
She seems to read something more in Andakos's face. "I can see your doubt. It is understandable. The magic of the Harrow can be a fickle creature, but I promise you it is quite potent when it works. I felt strong energy emanating from your reading, though not the kind your friends did. Yours was more... personal. Painful." She frowns, then rubs her throat absently. "Again, I do wish the news was better. I only hope it helps you somehow."
Trell perks up again at the sound of Yargin's name.
"That son of b**!% is still alive, huh? We should talk to him first. We might be able to to...convince him...to help us. He is as guilty as the old bastard Lamm himself...but he just did what he was told. Yargin's crimes are because of his silence to what Lamm was doing more than anything else. His life can be spared"
He looks around at everyone in the room. He is surprised that he has spoken this much...
Thats because you know you can use these people to get your revenge
It is strange to him that he has these thoughts. It was not until he got the card with the note that he realized he even wanted revenge...but since then...it's consumed him. It's all he wants now.
Andakos turns his head in surprise when Trell says more than a few words. "Ah, he speaks!" He tries to flash a disarming smile Trell's direction to set him at ease...
... but it probably has the opposite of his intended effect. "Tell us, Trell, what do you know of this Yargin? How is he associated with Lamm? I understand your desire for discretion, but whatever you know could be helpful to us. I fear that Lamm will have more protection than we are prepared to deal with and the more advantages we can give ourselves, the better our chances of succeeding."
Adrin glances over his shoulder on last time as he ducks his head out, letting the descending night swallow him just before the door finishes closing behind him.
A man steps in from the night only a couple of minutes after Adrin stepped out. Broad shoulders filling a chain shirt. His bald head reflects only a little of the flickering candlelight in the room because his hood is pulled up. As he takes in everyone around him, a gloved hand stroking his clean-shaven face.
He briefly meets everyone’s eyes before speaking. ”Greetings,” he says in a thick northern accent, you can call me Destriant. I am Lord Adrin’s man. He is sending me with you on his behalf, to settle a score that I admit to having some personal interest in myself. This Gaedren Lamm is no stranger to me, and I have my own reasons for wanting to see his ring of crime come to an end. Let us discuss the plan for our approach. Lord Adrin mentioned that he was by the piers to the north, no? The man gives an intense look around the room, his hard eyes stopping at everyone else in the room, and glittering as they pass over the Harrow deck. He wears a rotella strapped to his left arm, with a rapier hanging on his left hip, noticeably not concealed by his cloak.
”Do any of you have a working knowledge of the northern piers?” Destriant inquires, ”I confess that my own knowledge both of this man, and his chosen area of town are not intimately known to me. Do any of you know of a good approach to this Westpier 17 that will give him the least warning of our arrival?”
Maelis immediately perks up at the mention of Gaedren, feeling his excitement grow and unable to stop a small smile from spreading across his lips, but at the mention of her son’s murder, his heart drops and he unconsciously touches the tattoo on his arm and whispers a soft prayer.
Before taking the Harrow card Maelis catches her gaze for a moment, his eye hard and all earlier mirth gone, “I am not surprised that you have known of my past with Gaedern, or of my desire for revenge" he touches he tattoo unconsciously again, "it would please The Lady in the Room to help bring us both vengeance." After his reading, Maelis simply nods, he has always persevered and knows that he will continue to do so.
Maelis greets the hired man with his usual smile, his normal jovial nature returning, but the name rings oddly to him with his Chelaxian heritage.
Trell perks up again at the sound of Yargin's name.
"That son of b~*@+ is still alive, huh? I figured he would have gotten himself killed by now. Trell sighs as he stands up, clasps his hands behind him, and begins explaining what he knows. Yargin is as depraved and evil as Lamm himself...well...maybe not AS evil, but certainly he is an evil man. One does not stay in the employ of the likes of Lamm for as long as Yargin unless they are the worst of the worst. Even the most awful of people could not stand to work with Lamm for 1 year and Yargin has been there for at least 20 years. I do not know how much you all know about what goes on behind Lamms locked doors...but assure you...it is beyond whatever you might be imaging.
He looks around at everyone in the room. He is surprised that he has spoken this much...
That's because you know you can use these people to get your revenge
It is strange to him that he has these thoughts. It was not until he got the card with the note that he realized he even wanted revenge...but since then...it's consumed him. It's all he wants now.
"I know a bit about Westpier. The buildings are relatively far apart, so approaching surreptitiously will be difficult or impossible. The waters in the area are full of jigsaw sharks, so sneaking in from the water is too dangerous to be worth trying."
He sighs. "I dislike going in without a plan. Should we try to scout the place first? It will be difficult in the dark and without being seen. I admit that subtlety is not what I am best at, but I think it may be required for what we must do. I am eager to hear your ideas."
"Maybe we could try to find Yargin first. If we can...convince him...to rat out his boss...we might find an easier way in. Whatever we do... let's get one with it...standing here is not going to accomplish anything.
Trell has very little experience with laying out plans such as this but he is starting to enjoy this already.
"While I have not been near Westpier in some time, having avoided the area in recent years, I could navigate it again if needed. I fear that I am not the most stealthy, and you can see I am not a strongarm," Maelis chuckles at his own absurd joke and pinches the lack of muscle on his small frame before continuing on, "but I do bring the guidance and divine retribution My Lady Callistria, and, with Her Grace, an ability to help minister to wounds if such a need should arise. I shall follow your lead gentlemen, and though I may not be the strongest with a cudgel, I do have the Sting of the divine on my side." Maelis touches his tattoo again while speaking of his goddess, always seeming to do so unconsciously. "I agree with, Trell was it?" Maelis states with a questioning look, asking permission to refer to the man in such an informal manner, "We should set out promptly, and seek Yargin first."
Maelis tightens the belt at his waist holding his whip, and feels somewhat silly with the heavy mace hanging there. He may not have much experience swinging it, but he'll be damned if he will let himself he caught off guard by one of Gaedren's men ever again.
Destriant arches an eyebrow at Trell, quietly staring at him for a moment before turning to Andakos and offering, ”I am unknown in that part of town. I am not particularly sneaky, but if strangers can walk through the district without fear, then perhaps a casual stroll might be profitable. Unfortunately, I am not convinced that the streets near his enclave will be so friendly. Are you, tiefling, a sneaky man?”
Destriant watches Maelis’s peculiar gestures openly. Trying to discern the measure of the strange thin man.
Turning back to Trell, he gives the elf another moment of consideration that takes in Maelis as well before addressing them, ”Do either of you have a specific proposal? I do not know this Yargin. Do you know where he is? An underling could provide much useful information, but we would need more concrete information to act on first.” As Destriant is finishing his questions he begins moving toward the door, ready to get underway as soon as a plan is suggested.
Trell shakes his head no to Destriants question.
"It has been 20 some years since I last saw the bastard. I know not where he might currently. My gut tells me he would not far from Lamms..."Flock"...but that is only a feeling. No hard evidence.
Andakos sighs and motions to himself. "I'm afraid that I stand out in just about any crowd. Subterfuge is not a skill I possess. It seems that sneaking around is somewhat of a non-starter for this group. Maybe there is a tavern nearby the pier that we can visit to chat up the locals, grease some palms if you will."
"Seems like Bailer's Retreat might be the way to go, yeah?"
"Bailer's Retreat it is then." Maelis agrees heartily, rubbing his hands together and gesturing for the door, eager to be starting out, but not wanting to lead.
”I have not been there personally, but I have heard of it. I’m prepared to deal with any rough treatment, if you would like to stay behind my shield,” Destriant says to other three men making ready to leave. He advances to the door, letting anyone take the lead if they wish. If not, he presses on in the direction of West Dock.
Night creeps on as the party heads north to the Bailer's Retreat. The place is about as one would expect: filthy, with dingy light flickering in through the windows. The place is clearly packed, however: raucous sound comes from within the building, and tables on rickety patios outside are filled with patrons as well. Harassed-looking servers bustle in and out from the building's main entrance to the south, while a stable can be seen in the back. A few of the patrons look up at the four with suspicious glares before returning to their cups. From inside the building, the light, staccato sound of percussion and an accompanying basso voice thrum in unison.
As they approach, the quartet are witness to a body ragdoll-flying out of the front door and tumbling to a stop at the foot of the steps. A massive half-orc in a filthy apron and what one can only assume was once a white shirt and pants dusts off his meaty paws satisfactorily. "Come back when yer sober, ya sorry piece o' girallon shit." The unconscious woman can faintly be heard to be... snoring? Several of the outdoor customers laugh viciously at the passed-out woman's current condition.
The half-orc notices your group, eyes you warily, and storms back into the Bailer's Retreat.
Destriant steps into the Bailer’s Retreat, deliberately trying to leave everyone behind. He sneers a little at the woman passed out on the walkway. He looks for a table with patrons dicing, but failing that will find a fairly crowded table at which to sit.
Destriant produces a battered silver piece, and lays it on the center of the table. ”For the next round,” he says gruffly, scratching at his face, and licking his lips. The actions bring the memory of an old taste, unbidden, to mind.
Over the course of several rounds of drinks, or games of dice, Destriant tries to find out where he can get some Shiver, surreptitiously pursuing any hint of a mention of Gaedren, or any intermediaries that Gaedren might have - especially if Yargin’s name comes up.
Andakos turns to his remaining companions and shrugs. "I guess he's got it. Might as well have a drink while we wait. First round is on me." He finds an empty table or a spot at the bar and buys ales for the three of them.