Livvi barely noticed as her companion did a quick but thorough look about the store. Bilina’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the nobleman and before she could give Livvi a quiet warning look the Half-Elf had rushed off to try on the red gown, soon followed by one of the shops servants who was having a hard time keeping up.
Stepping out of the dressing in the dress - which fit her surprisingly well for coming off the mannequin, Livvi caught the eye of a tall, aristocratic man in intermediate age dressed like a noble and oozing charm that sent a warm tingle down her spine. Or perhaps it was the chill air on her exposed flesh. Either way, when he looked at her and smiled - not the pleasant smile of a day in the courts or the fake smiles of administrators and politicians, but the hungry smile of a man who desires a woman - Livvi knew that this was the dress for her.
"Lina - Please?” Think of the mischief I can have in this dress. And those shoes..." she says as she whisks towards a pair of delicate black shoes with a steep heel and intricate straps. Livvi picked up the shoes and turned towards the tall man, looking for his approval. Only then did she notice the young woman speaking with him. Upon closer examination Livvi could see that the young woman in the worn, gray street cloak, talking to the noblemen had a natural beauty and the poise of one who truly did not understand just how much natural charisma she possessed. The pair were discussing some Elvish made slippers sitting on display. The young woman – a mere girl, judging by her size and looks – was flushed, shaking her head and explaining something to the noblemen as if whatever it was should explain…something. her action bringing her close to where Lilita and the noblemen stood.
“But such cost, Livvi,” Bilina said from the other side of the shop where several servants were preparing to follow her into a private room to take measurements.
“But Lina, look – “Livvi picked up the shoes and turned towards the noblemen, seeking his approval. She peered at the handsome, yet older man and used a well-practiced mixture of coy young woman and vampish Elvish tease, at the same time, she directed part of her desires towards her friend who, having invited her to attend the Royal Masquerade, surely would want her to be properly presentable.
"Lina - Please?
Intrigued by this young girl, Livvi tried to listen in from across the room. What was she trying to explain? Was she looking for a new pair of shoes? She obviously needed a new dress, too - those elvish slippers would totally be out of place with her plain homespun sack dress! It's like the girl had no sense of fashion at all!
“Surely you want to at least see if the slippers will fit your feet,” the nobleman was saying in the sort of tone men – powerful men use on impressible young girls. A mixture of the patient fatherly figure and expectant master.
Livvi was even more interested in the girl now. You see, Livvi was a student of intent, motivation, action, and drive in people. She had learned years ago how important these were to get what she wanted. If she knew what motivated someone, either desires or fears, she could manipulate their impressions to get them to act in her interests. But she also had learned to spot incongruities in actions and appearances. In fact, these little seams between appearances and inner realities were the best to observe - although not always to exploit. It was in these dissonances that Livvi knew were true motivations. And Livvi saw in this girl a huge chasm between appearance, style, actions, and her presence in this high-end mercantile. Why she was looking at the elven slippers was perplexing. Livvi's initial propositions to explain this were that 1) the girl had wandered in here by accident and the man was trying to work an impressionable young customer into buying one of the most expensive items in the store; 2) the girl was actually noble and dressed this way to present an image of lowly stature and barely adequate means, looking to score a discounted price on slippers she had noticed previously; or 3) this girl was the decoy for another in the store who was at this moment hiding something or another and intended to walk out without paying for it - a classic ruse for shoplifting. Livvi scanned the other customers quickly to see if she could notice anyone acting secretively or hustling out of the store. Perception: 5 <oooff...completely distracted by the fancy clothes and hot older guy!>
Not that she hadn't done this exact ruse in her younger days, and not that she wanted to turn the pair in, but she did want to keep tabs on up and coming grifters in the city, because you never knew when you might need help pulling a caper...
“Nonsense,” the Nobleman was saying, “is this not the whole point of visiting such places as this but to sample the merchandise?” Gesturing towards a nearby, thickly padded bench, the aristocrat picked up the slippers and held them out to the beautiful young woman. “Go ahead, try them on. I think that you will find that they fit. It’s part of the nature of their magic.”
Obediently she accepted the slippers and as Livvi watched out of the corner of one eye while openly posing in front of a nearby mirror to see how the gown fit her curves, the woman walked, almost reluctantly, over to the padded bench and sat down. She slowly nods her head politely her voice falling to a barely audible whisper as she looks up at the nobleman in wide-eyed innocence:
" yes, m'lord but only to please you... I have no desire to cause offense when you have only shown me kindness. Thank you." Livvi took the show all in. If it were some sort of performance, then this woman was a master. With slow and careful motions, she positioned the slippers close to her feet as if they were made of delicate crystal and were fearful that she might somehow accidentally damage them. Small delicate hands trembled as they gently slid one foot and then the other into the slippers. Such was the demonstration, even Livvi found herself drawn into the drama on display.
The Nobleman beamed with obvious pleasure, his stare at the young woman almost obscene from where Livvi stood. There was…something else there, some sort of hunger. One that was familiar to her and yet something entirely else was going on in that man’s eyes. I cold shiver went down her spine. Even as Livvi gave a spin, still verbally appealing to her friend’s largesse and since of fashion the Half-Elf felt, ever so briefly, the man’s cool, amused seeming stare. It was soulless.
As if sensing an opportunity that Livvi’s display had presented the young woman made one swift motion to slide out of the magical slippers. Without pausing to put back on her own shoes, the young woman made a mad but stealthy Dash barefoot out of the shop leaving both the magical slippers and her own old and well-worn shoes behind. By the time the nobleman had noticed the young woman’s exit, his expression flared into anger. Without another look, at Livvi, or anyone else, the man turned and stalked out. It was a distinctively predatory move if the Half-Elf had ever seen one. Insight: 8
Livvi froze. She had personally witnessed, on several occasions, lustful stares from mean-spirited boys and men, but what she saw in that nobleman's look was something entirely different. Something cold and vicious and utterly without a soul. Something not human. There was now one more thing Livvi was afraid of - and she immediately hated him. Then she thought of the poor innocent girl that monster set off to pursue. "Lina, we have to go. Now. Dresses can wait!" Livvi grabs the plain shoes of the girl from the floor, runs to the dressing room to get out of the (beautiful!) red dress and back into her everyday outfit as quickly as she can without tearing anything that wasn't hers.
Head’s all over the shop turned her way. She barely heard Bilina’s voice calling out from the fitting room. “Yes, yes, of course you may have the dress. We’ll figure out some way for you to pay me back.”
Mostly dressed (she was carrying her corset and stockings - it would have taken too long to get those back on...) Livvi rushes out the door after the girl and the man/monster. She glanced once to see if Bilina was following but didn't wait for her if she didn't. Her friend did have another appointment, after all. But Livvi felt a tug in her very soul that forced her to try and find the girl before that nobleman did - to try and protect her from the creature he was on the inside. Thoughts of all those missing people suddenly came to mind. Was there a connection here somehow? One thing for sure, she had no doubt that the young woman was in terrible danger.
A half empty bottle flew past Smee’s head to smash against the wall behind him. Another whizzed past, heading the other way. Shouts, curses, and bodies flew in equal measure as the brawl intensified. Just another night at the Drunken Crow. Smee liked the place and made a point to stop in at least once every five day. Considered a dive by most, the Drunken Crow had its charm. Located near the east pier in the Sea Quarter, the tavern served anyone from any race, if they had coin. And while not officially a licensed brothel, the owner – one Carbard Kosta – had a large, mostly female family who worked the tavern, night and day. One never to turn down coin, Kosta was known to pimp out all of them, especially his lush, overripe wife whose exotic features were rare but not unheard of. Omi Kosta had been brought to the city onboard a far merchant from a land beneath two moons. Smee, like most Taratian’s, had never been there, but everyone knew that the land was across the endless sea and not far from where The Edge was reported to be.
Deftly snatching a wine bottle from the air as it arched past – no point in letting good, cheap wine go to waste – Smee watched as Carbard, a tall, skinny, bearded man with Northern blood club some unruly Tiefling over the head. As the half-demon collapsed Gorde, the tavern owner’s oldest son – a brute of a man – grabbed the Tiefling by the ankle and dragged him towards the door leading to the street. Nearby, Trini, Carbard’s third daughter by Omi, rode the back of a bearded pirate, tearing at his hair and trying to bite off an ear. The ear, Smee noted, that was decorated by several gem-studded earrings.
Smee was greatly enjoying himself as he leaned his head back and drank deeply from the bottle of wine he had just snatched mid-air with his unseen Mage Hand preventing a tragedy... a tragedy had it continued on its path and smashed against the wall like the one before it did. For a drunkard like Smee, the worst sin one could commit was wasting good drink... even cheap swill that passes for wine served at the Drunken Crow counts! At least to Smee's way of thinking... Draining what was left in the bottle Smee had rescued before casually tosses it aside!
' By the gawds,' he thinks to himself, 'an evening at a dive like the Drunken Crow is a holy place for a devout drunkard pilgrim like myself, I really need to start squirreling away some of my hard-earned coins towards my old age fund and one day buy old Carbard out!'
Laughing, Smee gently rubs his pot-belly with one hand as his greedy piggish eyes stare intently at the ear Trini seems to be doing her best to bite off, noting that it is decorated with several gems that glitter and gleamed, whispering to Smee. With a few words and a simple gesture, the portly half-man once again calls forth his unseen Mage Hand Sleight of Hand [9] attempting to snatch the gems away from them both... while Trini and the bearded pirate are otherwise distracted... their attention focused on each other as they brawled! Hoping to pocket the stones for himself unnoticed amidst all the ruckus...
“In yer dreams!” the short, busty girl retorted back at him as her shapely fingers snatched the glittering tidbit from thin air as it started to float away. Her eyes flashed, greed and triumph even as the earring disappeared into her ample bodice. Then the pirate riding wench was lost in the crowd of roaring, fighting, screaming tarks. Oh, but what dreams they were, too. Trini was the snottiest of her five sisters, the hardest to ‘impress’, though wave a gold crown at her and she suddenly sung a different tune.
Yes, it was Enday (Last day of a typical five-day week) at the Drunken Crow. The typical late-night revelry was tempered only by the numbers. Smee had heard that three more ‘privateers’ had put in that day, bring the total to over a score with more to come. In two five days it was the Festival of Silver, the city’s largest celebration, next to Altar the Lion’s nameday. For an entire five day, every Noble House and Merchant clan; every bar and feast hall would be full tilt, from sunset to Dawnfest.
'Mmm, the Festival of Silver,' Smee thinks to himself... 'a time to celebrate, but also a time to line one's pockets!' Always a busy for men like Smee... and Smee intended to milk it for all that it worth and who knows, maybe a real job will fall his way. He had not heard from the Window in some time, nor from any of his other regular employers. It has been something of a dry spell for him but perhaps with Waukeen's grace and favor with the festival his luck will change, and the long dry spell will, at last, come to an end! If not, then Smee would have to be content to celebrate and make do with whatever scraps he could manage to scrounge. Still all those privateers... a rough lot to be sure, but some make for tempting, easy targets! At the right of course. In Smee's line work it was all about timing!
The half-man's eyes fell upon Trini once more admiringly, lustfully... oh, how he liked the snotty ones, the arrogant and haughty ones, the ones who felt a twinge of humiliation when in the private company of someone like Smee... most looking down at him, reviled or disgusted by him, often treating him as if he was a loathsome toad or a poxed leper! But Smee was used to it, to him it was just added motivation and a lazy man requires constant motivation... and inspiration! Women like Trini were muses that inspired Smee to greater heights!
Omi peeked her head above the bar for a moment, cleaver in one hand. Her almond shaped eyes, olive skin and lush yet petite build made her beauty still evident, even with three decades and a half dozen children later. Nose wrinkled at the carnage, the Tavern keeper’s wife sniffed.
“Dey gonna wreck the place…again!”
Smee slouches down in his chair as he watches and listens to Omi as she draws closer, hoping she will not spot him sitting alone with an invisible Tinker-Belle lurking under his table, as usual, keeping a close protective eye on her master. Hoping to avoid Omi's gaze... the Dwarf isn't sure but vaguely remembers that he owes her money for his last ride, and what a ride! Omi looked half her age, something in the woman’s foreign heritage he assumed, but was very knowledgeable in the arts of pleasure, so good, that he had promised her extra for another bounce. He’d hoped that she has forgotten or hasn't noticed him or just too busy with all the brawling going on around them to deal with collecting a simple debt!
He found himself the target of a well-handled cleaver waving in his direction. “You no pay fer last boomboom, big-little man, hee!” She sniffed again than yelped, ducking as one of the cheap stools sailed over the bar to crash into the wall behind, sending dozens of ‘painted’ wooden mugs raining down on her. What followed was a poetic string of curses, assuming one spoke Two Moons.
Smee leans back in his chair and groans... more a whimper, silently under his breath cursing his foul luck. He looks up and meets her gaze with a wide innocent smile, "oh, really?" He asks, "I am certain I paid you in full for my last ride. I mean isn't it your rule? Your golden rule... no credit, no free rides? I mean, I respect you far too much to ever take advantage of your kindly trusting nature. But where are my manners? You look tired... come sit on my lap and join me in a drink and tell me about your day. How is that no-good husband of yours treating you? You could do far better you know?" Smee says giving her sly wink, hoping to distract a bit... away from the topic of who owes who, what!
Omi launched another string of the sing-song language of her land of birth in his direction. Both anger and a bit of lust. They didn’t call him little-big man for nothing. It wasn’t that he couldn’t pay his bill, he’d made a few small fortunes in his day, then spent them even faster. No, there was always coin laying around for a savvy mind and clever fingers. Perhaps not devote enough to enter the priesthood, Smee loved his Goddess because she always provided for him, especially when he needed it the most. Just than one of the pirates, Captain’s Hardbrigde’s crew, he noted, staggered backwards past, holding his head where blood was gushing from some sort of cut. Suddenly, as if tripping over some invisible obstacle, the pirate landed with a crash on the floor beside Smee’s chair.
Priesthood Smee laughs to himself pushing the thought out of his head as quickly as it came into thinking him lacking the fortitude necessary for monastic or clerical life, enjoy his freedoms of an independent life blowing like a leaf in the breeze. Besides the Widow's connection to the temple left him a bit cautious in his dealings with temple proper itself for a reason he was unable to finger on but something a bit about it. His devotion is to the goddess, not so much to her temple. Lost in his thoughts the crashing pirate quickly brought back full awareness sensing Tinker-Belle skittering about underfoot unseen he called to her under his breath, a whisper rather than a shout knowing her keen hearing would not miss his call.
An answering squeak came from under his chair. Feeling the weight of the pouch, the Dwarf couldn’t help but belch and grin in application. As foul and hard as Captain Hardbridge was, the pirate captain kept his crew well paid when in port. Without looking inside or counting the booty, he flitched a silver crown from inside and deftly flicked it over the bar where Omi had ducked once more. The responding sing-song sounded both smug and coy, perhaps even inviting another, for future considerations
Smee belched again bringing fist up to pound his chest as he struggled to contain a belly laugh, at least the debt had paid to wench enjoying the sound of voice knowing well its hidden meaning and looking forward to the possibility of another go. Turning his lustful gaze towards the bar.
As the almond-eyed wench peeked over the bar at him, a suspicious look turned his way, that feeling of approaching trouble hit the back of Smee’s neck. Cuing into his emotions, there was a warning hiss from beneath his chair. Someone near the front of the bar yelled, ‘Basher’s Comin’!”
Basher’s was the local slang for a specialty group of City Guard devoted to breaking up riots, bar fights, or when the authorities at large wanted to leave an impression somewhere. Behind the bar Omi groaned, cursing, “Dey gonna wreck the place!”
Smee groans his fun evening quickly coming to a rather abrupt end, another go, another time he thought as he grabbed his pack and jumped to his feet heeding the well-timed warning without delay!
True to form, Smee and his ‘pet’ gained the rear exit ahead of the rest of the dash. Pirates, dock workers, the odd Joy Toy, all were keen on avoiding a chance of winning a grimy spot on the floor of the quarter’s lockup, not to mention all the costs of fees, fines, and bribes it took to get out again. The alley went two ways, one looped back towards the street in front of the Drunken Crow, the other winded it’s way deeper into the quarter. Like all evenings, the sea mists were flowing in, blanketing the city.
Figuring the main street would be crawling with Basher Smee whistled for the unseen Tinker-Belle to follow him as he darted down the alleyway leading deeper into the quarter itself and hopefully away from the bulk of the city's guard's brute squads, but nothing was certain. Moving faster than Smee the unseen giant rat familiar Tinker-Belle took the point scouting just head for hidden dangers or possible opportunities. The night was just beginning...
Keeping far enough being the fleeing thug, Erandal could hear the man’s careless flight, knocking things over, crying in fear or crying out in pain with each encounter. Unless one really knew an alley, running blinding wasn’t a good idea. Then he heard the thug cry out in pain as he crashed to the ground. As Eran reached a point where he could see a few strides ahead of him, he noted that the alley entered an area where several alleys met. The thug scrambled to his feet, leaving the rusty sword behind, fled into an alley on the right. On the ground lie two bodies. One was cut deeply through the hip, to the point that his leg was bent at a grotesque angle. The amount of blood pooled around him left little doubt that he was dead. As was the second thug. After all, a gaping chest wound would do that to a fellow.
Erandal notes the bodies, the obvious injuries, and makes a fleeting check of the carnage. Only sparing a few moments before continuing his chase...
The half-orc knows his craft, that's for sure. Doesn't look like he was taking prisoners. I'm definitely not going toe to toe with him until I have a half dozen bolts inside him... Actually, maybe make that a full dozen, just to be safe. Damn that thug for rushing me, a golden opportunity missed to end this chase! Investigation: roll]18-1=17] Perception: roll]12+4[16]
A cursory examination revealed that wounds had been dealt by a heavy bladed weapon, probably the glaive that he had seen the Half-Orc wearing on his belt. One body showed where the weapon had been wiped off to clean it quickly. Everything was fresh, which matched all the screaming of a minute ago. Looking around in the dim, foggy junction, Erandal counted four alley or alley-like openings, not including the one where he had just come.
Eran tries to recall the direction he has been travelling and guess at where the alleys may lead (see wanderer feature below), not trusting that chasing the fleeing thug is the correct course here, wanting to stay on the trail of Hadara and his half-orc companion. He quickly scans the roofline and each alleyway, including the one he came down, for signs of passage, or persons cloaking themselves in shadow.
About to head into the center alley, Erandal heard a not so distant curse of pain. It was not the alley that the surviving thug had fled down.
Trying to make out the source of the curse, whether it sounded like the half-orc, Hadara, or some new player, then checking again for any signs of flight in the direction that the curse came from, Erandal alters his course and heads towards the curse. Perception: roll] 1+4[5]
It was more difficult that he’d hoped it would be. Unfamiliar with the warren of narrow streets and even narrower allies of Tarantis’ Poor Quarter, Eran also had to contend with the confounding fog. It was thick in some places, nonexistent in others and often in ways that seemed to contradict itself. He also noticed that in the larger streets the fog moved – flowed would be a better word, flowed like a black and gray river. Other floobs came and went, most mere shadows as he followed the few clues and his gut feelings. It was obvious that the Half-Orc wasn’t making any effort to hide. With the wounded fugitive in hand, Eran would bet most of his meager stash of coin that the Half-Orc had a destination in mind; possibly a healer. A street healer most likely, since any open House of Healing would be an obvious place to stake out. Surely others were out for the bounty on Hadara’s head, and not forgetting the City Guards interests, those BOLO’s would make it difficult to move between city quarters. They had to still be in the Poor Quarter.
Pausing for a moment to take his bearings Elan spotted one of the hundreds of homeless children roaming the streets, a common tread shared by every city of decent size. This one squatted next to a door leading to a tattoo parlor, picking his nose and staring back at Elan.
This chase is going no-where... I wonder if I can get ahead of the game. Checking his purse and taking a quick glance to make sure this urchin isn't bait for a gullible passer-by, Erandal approaches the boy and calls out "Lad, come o'er 'ere." Changing his dialect and accent.
The street urchin was typical of his sort. Small, wiry, and dirty with wary eyes. “Oy, wha’ you want?”
"Earn yersel' a copper or two if'n youz gots some knowin I be wantin?"
“Two coppers, eh?”
"One if yer can be tellin me the closest healer's stoop in these 'ere parts, I has been try'n catch upta my injurd pal but gots me turned about. An there be anuvver if you can tell me the fastest way to be about getting ter it?" Eran reaches into a pocket and flicks one copper to the scrawny youth. He draws out a second but holds it, waiting for the reply.
Biting the coins as if to assure himself that they were real the kid nodded. “Probbly wanna’ Lil’ ita, he is. She’s always healin’ an’ never askin’ questions or for coin…weird, tha’.”
"Aye, bein strange folk is them leeches. 'Ave them their uses though. I still gotz a second copper fer the knowin o' the quickest route there."
“I ken take ya, if’n ya wan’”
Eran tries to get a read on the lad, and whether he is going to end up at the healer's home or meet with a billy over the back of his head the moment he turns a corner. (Insight: roll]1d20+2[/roll]). Judging the lad to not be after causing him much trouble, Eran decides to take the offer. "Yer'd best be a runnin' like the wind then lad. No time to tarry, and if'n we gets there 'fore my pal, then there'll be a third copper crossin yer palm!"
Wisdom beyond his years, the lad looks coy, “Maybe youse ‘ake it three?”
"Aye lad, so long as ye gets me there 'fore me pal. 'Eez a big fella, so if we come by 'im on the way, dun be scared and just stay outta tha way."
With a laugh the boy feigns ducking a swing than trots down a side street. “Dis way, ‘an keep up, hey?”
Eran takes off at a run to keep up with the surprisingly quick lad. His natural agility serving him well as he ducks a few low hanging obstacles and slips past poorly stacked crates. The urchin only occasionally checking back after particularly awkward moments for Erandal, the size different between the two making Eran reconsider asking for the fastest route, worried that he should have specified that he needs to fit through it!
Following the boy’s self-assured path, they entered the worst part of the city. The buildings looked centuries old and ready to crumble. In the dark and fog, everything was gray and poorly lit. An occasional fire burned, some marked shanties or slapdashes, as some called them. Bits of whatever was handy to create a dubious shelter. Faces, many curious, just as many hungry, watched them as they passed through.
The images that fleeted through Erandal's vision showed him the same story he had seen in many of the cities on past travels. The dilapidated areas of large cities are like a slow illness eating at them from inside. Buildings here were packed closer together, many overhanging the streets as they rose to three or four stories. The demand for roofs by so many, all crammed into these dark and run-down areas, showed the basic desire for survival that kept people going even despite all their setbacks. He'd always found that you can could judge the caliber of small communities by how they treated the worst off amongst them, and city's exemplified this. The rich and nobles controlled most of the wealth in the city, whilst most folk lived on meager earnings, struggling to survive. He knew firsthand the effects of families falling into debt, of how there were always predators trying to get what they could out of the desperate and needy. The scenes that he passed showed Tarantis to have plenty of those. His thoughts wandered towards the boy, who had gained a little ground on him as Eran's thoughts had wandered. Quickening his pace, he considered the lad.
Like most street urchins his age, the boy was well versed with the quarter’s streets, probably the same when it came to the rooftops and sewers. He was also smart enough to know that a couple easy coppers meant a meal and a corner in some flop house, or several days of meals, if he was careful. Living on the streets, keeping one’s belly fed was a serious challenge. They moved along at a fair pace, using the quarters narrow but less winding streets. Twice the boy diverted down an alley. Once, he said, to avoid ‘Gapper’s’ territory, the other because it was a ‘sure short cut’.
All these twists and turns were difficult for Eran to keep track of, he knew they were heading in largely the same direction that they had set out, but to trace out the route on a map would have no doubt seemed like a crazed scribble with no logical reason. Though they were not using logic here, they were using speed, and though they had only been running for a goodly number of minutes, it had seemed like an age longer, and as they rounded a corner onto a slightly longer, wider straight, Eran closed the distance to the boy and found the breath to ask, "How far?"
“Keep yer knickers on, bub, tis der!” The boy pointed across the street.
Elan saw an old, worn-out looking Vardo wagon tucked in between a collapsed ruin and several multi-tenant houses. The vacant lot looked more like the ruins of yet another house, but there was a different aura about the place. He could smell herbs growing in the dark and could make out several small bushes growing on either side of a much-repaired wooden stair leading up to the Vardo’s door.
Erandal approached the cabin, taking long slow breaths to recover from the flight. He looked around eyeing the shadows and taking in the wagon - was the door ajar? was that a light on inside? As Eran closed the distance, and the scents of herbs grew stronger, he looked for any signs of blood on the floor and listened for sounds from the Vardo or nearby streets. Remembering that Hadara had been shot by an arrow, and would be in a bad way, unless the orc had stopped to dress the wound, or they had gone somewhere else entirely... that was a risk, but he had gone with what he thought best at the time, and it was a decision that he would kick himself over later if it had proven wrong again. He tried to take in the whole, rather than focusing on specifics. Looking for cover, for anything to hide behind...
Realizing that the urchin still hovered nearby, he stopped and turned back to the scamp and flicked two copper pieces over to him. "A deal is a deal, I see not me pal, lest he be inside already, but you gone dun right by wha' yer sed yer wud. I be thankin ye boy!"
Grinning, the boy snatched the coin, “ank’s, Mister. If’n ya ever need ‘elp, ask ‘round for me, I call’s meself Garion.” The boy turned and melted into the shadows, leaving Erandal alone, but not for long. Half a moment later he spotted a large, odd looking shadow emerge from an alley a block down the street. As it passed in front of a cook fire Elan could see it was the Half-Orc and the man worth, either twenty-five gold crowns or fifty, depending on who one asked, it seemed. From where he stood, Hadara looked in bad shape. More corpse than living floob. Stealth: 24 Insight: 19
Gotcha! Eran closes the gap to the Vardo in a few strides. He gathered up a hefty looking flower pot and hid to the side of the wagon, hand bows and hatchets ready at his side should it get messy. As the orc and Hadara approach, Eran waits and listens, patience keeping him hidden until their backs are towards him. Intending to use the Tusker’s knocks on the door to cover his movement, Elan raises the pot up and moves into a position where he can attempt to break it against the half-orc's head. Just then, several things happen. Out of the corner of one eye Elan notices a slender figure seem to melt out of the foggy darkness. Dressed in a gray cloak, it was a young woman.
Spotting him, she cries out ((screams rather)) a warning, "don't hurt him." Bringing her hands together ((Action)) a mote of energy shoots from the space between her palms and flies like a bolt, striking him once in the left arm, followed by a second that hits squarely in the chest. Elan staggered backwards a step and loses his breath. Whatever it was the energy seemed to ignore his armor. ((Hit Roll)) 24 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location 23 -left arm((Bonus Action)) ((Hit Roll)) 16 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location – Stomach + stun (1 CR; -1 to attacks/actions for duration of this encounter)
She called out again in fear and distress, "Tulip, come to me!"
The girl rushed forward, her arms outstretched, reaching for her bushy friend. From the pot, much to Eran’s shock and surprise, the bush becomes animated. As if reaching for the girl, the small bush’s branches lean in her direction before leaping out of the pot and running to meet her. As if hoping to forestall any further violence, the girl calls out in a friendly yet passive tone,
"I am here... I am Lilita... the healer you seek. How may I be of assistance gentlemen?"
A stunned look on the Half-Orc’s face showed that Elan had gotten the drop on him, hadn’t it been for the girl’s warning and attack. The Tusker came down from the wagon’s stoop and nearly dropped Hadara’s still body on the ground and said: “My companion and I were jumped in the alleys. I got away with a scratch, but he took an arrow to the gut. The bleeding has gone thick and dark. He's almost dead."
With another cry, the girl rushes over to kneel beside the body, hand’s outstretched to cast some sort of healing magic onto the fugitive.
"Thank you, so much, Ms. Lilita," The Half-Orc states. "My name is Mordecai and the man you're saving is Hadara. It was his idea to see you - to be honest, I'm rarely by this side of the city unless work requires it."
"Excuse me, miss," Mordecai says softly. He then turns to the blue berry bush and eyed Elan as he loosens a single hand axe from his belt and brings it under the pot throwers chin.
"Mm nghhh mmm mm muuhh" Eran mumbles 'I can't move my mouth' without moving a muscle, not even blinking, knowing he must sell this subterfuge or be in an even worse predicament. He gently flexes his toes, making sure that whatever he just got hit with has worn off, as the half-orc meets his eye.
The Half-Orc looks Elan in the eye. "You look familiar to me - who are you, what do you want, keep your hands to the side and best if you not answer so loud... The kind Miss doesn't need to be distracted."
Eran brings the pot down with all the force he can muster, at the same moment using the now taught muscles in his legs he pushes up with his feet, tilts his head back, and hopes to avoid the cut of the axe blade as he attempts a flip kick. To get some distance between the half-orc and himself... [Acrobatics: 14 (14) attack roll for pot (GM) 5+3=8 > miss]
The Half-Orc blocks the flowerpot with his free hand, and then twists the axe in hand and swings with the blunt end, muttering, "Can't kill the man if I want him answering my questions." [Attack: 18 vs AC 16 - hit Subdual Damage: 6 Location: 100 Lower Torso]
Taking the back end of a hand ax to his belly (and just missing the groin) as his flip carries him backwards, Eran lands and says "That was for the chair! Now stow your weapon, and we can talk this out whilst the lady attends to Hadara.". Said whilst standing with arms clearly away from the weapons at his side.
The one called Mordecai kept his weapon in hand and barked, “You have no right to tell me to do anything, given you tried bashing my head in an ambush with the young lady's pot - and her bushy friend! You're lucky I used the butt of my axe rather than its edge. And you and your lot deserved the chair! I was trying to leave with my bounty peaceably - you and your lot had your weapons pointed at our backs. Dishonorable behavior earns such actions!"
Lilita speaks to everyone in a low passive tone, almost a whisper imploring them, "please both of you, I do not require... names or payment, nor need or want to know the whys and whereas of any dispute between you all! But here and now the violence ends. I beg you both, please. I can do nothing to stop you but know this. If either of you seeks my continued healing now or ever in the future, then you will not do violence further. So please call a truce between you or take your pain, violence, and death somewhere else... far from me, far from my home and do as you will. Anywhere but here."
The young woman than hops up and rushes over to kneel down before Elan on the ground, on her knees, humbling herself, tears welling up in her eyes as she speaks again as before, low and soft, almost a whisper, "please forgive me, I meant no harm, the energies I struck you with were a result of my own fear and panic. I have not skilled in the ways of violence and it pains me greatly to inflict pain or harm upon anyone for any reason. My powers cannot truly harm or kill in any event, at most render one unconscious but never is there a danger of death, not my hands nor anyone else' if there anything that I can do or say that will prevent it. I am sorry I acted rashly but I was frightened so I ask your forgiveness, please."
"Nay lady, you got me good with a sucker punch. Ain't nothing fairer than that when the one you're punchin is doin the same. Though this whole thing would have gone a lot easier on me if you'd just let me crack that old pot."
Giving a slow nod, the young woman gets up and goes to open the door to her Vardo Wagon. Glancing at the large Half-Orc, she asks, “Can you take your friend inside? He’ll be more comfortable than laying on the ground and I can further examine him.”
Mordecai responds, "You're right, Miss Lilita. I apologize for having to commit violence in your presence, but I was only returning this scum the favor” – jerking a thumb in Erandal’s direction – “he tried TWICE to give me. You shouldn't apologize to such a dishonorable character. Twice he tried attacking me with your pot and earlier tonight he had his crossbows pointed at our backs."
Without waiting for a response, the girl went inside to make her bed to be made more comfortable and prepares everything so she can continue her examination in better light and conditions than outside in the darkness. The animated bush seems to glower up at Elan for a moment before hustling inside, after it’s mistress.
Eran gets to his feet, dusts himself off, and checks his weapons are all still safely attached, then looks over to Hadara. "Best be seein to him now missy, I seen puncture wounds a plenty." He says, tapping his handbows, "An they can be right messy things that'll kill a man after you gone sewed him up. And he looks like he's in a bad way already."
The half-orc's voice softens, saying to the girl, "Out of respect for you, Miss Lilita, I'll stow my weapons. I wouldn't turn my back on him though." Mordecai stowed his hand axe, but as he did, Elan noted that the Half-Orc unbuckled the strap that kept his maul from unsheathing.
"What do you say big guy? Wanna talk about this like men rather than runnin' away again?" Eran's tone is clearly ironic but he knows the half-orc got lucky, and Erandal's taken pretty equal amounts of beats and gifts from the Goddess of Luck before, so knows to roll with them now, cos so long as there is a next time then he can still come out ahead. "Name's Erandal by the way, since we're all buddied up now."
Mordecai points at the Erandal and states, "If you truly want to talk, you'll earn some trust by staying quiet and staying put until Miss Lilita has stabilized this poor man." The Half-Orc backed away, never turning his back on him as he went to Hadara’s side. To the girl, he adds, "Of course."
The Half-Orc easily picks Hadara up from the porch, and, finally, after giving Eran a long look, entered the Vardo.
Eran sticks his tongue out at the bush. "Hey, lil twiggy, can you grow me some magic bolt shafts?" Chuckling to himself, Eran starts to follow the girl into the Vardo, but not before taking a look around the streets.
The wound in Mordecai’s shoulder ached a little but was nothing worth worrying himself about now. The fugitive’s wound, however, was getting worse. The blood loss had slowed and what blood that was seeping out was dark and thick, a bad sign.
"Damn street vermin - you'd think they'd see me and go after easier prey... Damned city is losing its mind," Mordecai thinks. He notices the thick blood slowly oozing from Hadara’s wound. He tells the dying man, "Come on Hadara, focus. That'll keep you alive - focus on the goal. How much further?" It was as if Mordecai was trying to assert his will on the man's actual lifeblood.
Hadara seemed lethargic compared to a few minutes before and took a moment to respond. “It’s close, I think – “
"Good! Good!" Mordecai states, false hope in his voice. Mordecai, desperate nearly shakes the man as he pulls him in the direction Hadara seem to indicate. "Where to, Hadara?"
“Well, by Gorda’s hairy beard, I’ve never been there myself, how in all the hells am I supposed to know!?” The man coughed and Mord noticed a tinge of red foam at his lips. “Her place’s supposed to be some sort of ***** wagon, parked in a vacant lot.”
"A ***** wagon?" Mordecai says somewhat bewildered. Then, thinking to himself, "She better have more to her than just a few parlor tricks and useless trinkets, or I'll be on the lamb with nothing to show for it."
By this point, Mordecai is literally carrying the man. The pair looks as if they had left the reddest of weddings. Still Mordecai plods forward, muttering, Damnable city."
Under the fugitive’s shaky directions, they entered the worst part of the city. The buildings looked centuries old and ready to crumble. In the dark and fog, everything was gray and poorly lit. An occasional fire burned, some marked shanties or slapdashes, as some called them. Bits of whatever was handy to create a dubious shelter. Faces, many curious, just as many hungry, watched them as they passed through. Twice Mordecai saw a tail. He couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, not without stopping and confronting whomever it was, but he had feeling in his gut that someone had tracked them from the Eight Star.
Mordecai pushes forward, his own breath labored. Exhausted and meeting every hungry face in this shit neighborhood with a ferocious scowl.
"He's going to live. I'm going to find out what's so Damned important. And I will leverage it," Mordecai instructs himself.
The pair make it out to an open space. Mordecai looks desperately around, Hadara in his arms.
“There…I think.” Following Hadara’s shaking finger, Mordecai saw an old, worn-out looking Vardo wagon tucked in between a collapsed ruin and several multi-tenant houses. The vacant lot looked more like the ruins of yet another house, but there was a different aura about the place. He could smell herbs growing in the dark and could make out several small bushes growing on either side of a much-repaired wooden stair leading up to the Vardo’s door.
"I think you're right!" Mordecai responds. With a renewed sense of energy and urgency, the half-orc sprints towards the Vardo. Gaining the door with both hands holding Hadara, he headbutts the door in lieu of knocking, then starts kicking the door making it rattle.
Nothing happens. The door shook and the wagon creaked as if it were half a moment away from collapsing in on itself. Thinking quickly, Mordecai half yells, "Healer! Help! We were jumped in the alleys! My companion is bleeding out - he doesn't have much life left in him! Help us!"
Through the knocks and yells, Mordecai glances back. Someone was following them. It's time to find out who and was greeted by a slender figure seems to melt out of the foggy darkness. Dressed in a gray cloak, it was a young woman.
"Blessed be Nintinugga, you are here,” he starts to say but is taken back when the mere wisp of a girl screams.
"Don't hurt him!"
"Yet again my tusks are used to profile against me," Mordecai admits to himself sadly.
Mordecai holding up Hadara with his forearms, opens his palms towards her in a gesture of peace, saying, "I'm trying to save him!"
Ignoring him the girl brings her hands together ((Action)) and a mote of energy shoots from the space between her palms and flies like a bolt past him and striking a figure looming up behind him, large potted plant in hand and striking the man once in the left arm, followed by a second that hits squarely in the chest. The stranger, whom looked vague familiar, staggered backwards a step and let out a gasp of pain. Whatever it was the energy seemed to ignore the stranger’s armor. ((Hit Roll)) 24 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location 23 -left arm((Bonus Action)) ((Hit Roll)) 16 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location – Stomach + stun (1 CR; -1 to attacks/actions for duration of this encounter) In his shock, Mord
She called out again in fear and distress, "Tulip, come to me!"
The girl rushed forward, her arms outstretched, reaching for her bushy friend. From the pot, much to Mord’s shock and surprise, the bush becomes animated. As if reaching for the girl, the small bush’s branches lean in her direction before leaping out of the pot and running to meet her. As if hoping to forestall any further violence, the girl calls out in a friendly yet passive tone,
"I am here... I am Lilita... the healer you seek. How may I be of assistance gentlemen?"
Mordecai thinks to himself, "I don't know what just happened, but this girl should be charging for whatever she does - I've never seen that sort of magic... And I swear that bush ran to her AND has a name."
Mordecai stands in shock for a brief second regarding what just occurred. He finally manages to stutter out, "My companion and I were jumped in the alleys. I got away with a scratch, but he took an arrow to the gut. The bleeding has gone thick and dark. He's almost dead." Mordecai gently places Hadara on the ground.
With another cry, the girl rushes over to kneel beside the body, hands outstretched to cast some sort of healing magic onto the fugitive.
"Thank you, so much, Ms. Lilita," Mordecai states. "My name is Mordecai and the man you're saving is Hadara. It was his idea to see you - to be honest, I'm rarely by this side of the city unless work requires it."
Then a thought, "Speaking of work..."
"Excuse me, miss," Mordecai says softly.
He then turns to the blueberry bush to check out the would-be attacker. "Don't want to fret the girl," Mordecai thinks, he loosens a single hand axe from his belt and brings it under the pot throwers chin.
The man from the Eight Star with the hand crossbows mumbles something as he stands, momentarily frozen, empty pot still raised above his head. His eye blink and focus on Mordecai as the Half-Orc looks into the face of his ambusher, "You look familiar to me - who are you, what do you want, keep your hands to the side and best if you not answer so loud... The kind Miss doesn't need to be distracted."
The man brings the pot down with all the force he can muster, at the same moment using the now taught muscles in his legs he pushes up with his feet, tilts his head back in hopes of avoiding the cut of Mord’s axe blade as he attempts a flip kick.
Mordecai, blocking the flowerpot with his free hand, thinks, "The fool. Impressive acrobatics, however."
He twists the axe in his hand and swings for the man with the blunt end, saying to himself, "Can't kill the man if I want him answering my questions." Attack: 18 Subdual Damage: 6 Location: 100 Lower Torso
Taking the back end of a hand ax to his belly (and just missing the groin) the man’s flip carries him backwards where he lands and says "That was for the chair! Now stow your weapon, and we can talk this out whilst the lady attends to Hadara.". The man says whilst standing with arms clearly away from the weapons at his side.
"The chair?" Mordecai thinks, he sees the hand crossbows on the man's side and the memory dawns on him.
He keeps his weapon in hand, barking at the man, "You have no right to tell me to do anything, given you tried bashing my head in an ambush with the young lady's pot - and her bushy friend! You're lucky I used the butt of my axe rather than its edge. And you and your lot deserved the chair! I was trying to leave with my bounty peaceably - you and your lot had your weapons pointed at out backs. Dishonorable behavior earns such actions!"
Lilita speaks in a low passive tone, almost a whisper imploring them, "please both of you, I do not require... names or payment, nor need or want to know the whys and whereas of any dispute between you all! But here and now the violence ends. I beg you both, please. I can do nothing to stop you but know this. If either of you seeks my continued healing now or ever in the future, then you will not do violence further. So please call a truce between you or take your pain, violence, and death somewhere else... far from me, far from my home and do as you will. Anywhere but here."
The young woman than hops up and rushes over to kneel down before Elan on the ground, on her knees, humbling herself, tears welling up in her eyes as she speaks again as before, low and soft, almost a whisper, "please forgive me, I meant no harm, the energies I struck you with were a result of my own fear and panic. I have not skilled in the ways of violence and it pains me greatly to inflict pain or harm upon anyone for any reason. My powers cannot truly harm or kill in any event, at most render one unconscious but never is there a danger of death, not my hands nor anyone else' if there anything that I can do or say that will prevent it. I am sorry I acted rashly but I was frightened so I ask your forgiveness, please."
"Nay lady, you got me good with a sucker punch. Ain't nothing fairer than that when the one you're punchin is doin the same. Though this whole thing would have gone a lot easier on me if you'd just let me crack that old pot."
Giving a slow nod, the young woman gets up and goes to open the door to her Vardo Wagon. Glancing at the large Half-Orc, she asks, “Can you take your friend inside? He’ll be more comfortable than laying on the ground and I can further examine him.”
Mordecai responds, "You're right, Miss Lilita. I apologize for having to commit violence in your presence, but I was only returning this scum the favor he tried TWICE to give me. You shouldn't apologize to such a dishonorable character. Twice he tried attacking me with your pot and earlier tonight he had his crossbows pointed at our backs."
Without waiting for a response, Lilita went inside to make her bed to be made more comfortable and prepares everything so she can continue her examination in better light and conditions than outside in the darkness.
The archer got to his feet and dusts himself off, and checks his weapons are all still safely attached, then glances over to where Hadara lay, breathing easier.
"Best be seein to him now missy, I seen puncture wounds a plenty." Eran taps his handbows, "An they can be right messy things that'll kill a man after you gone sewed him up. And he looks like he's in a bad way already." From the top of the steps of the now lit Vardo the animated bush seems to glower up at Elan for a moment before hustling inside, after it’s mistress.
The half-orc's voice softens, saying, "Out of respect for you, Miss Lilita, I'll stow my weapons. I wouldn't turn my back on him though." Mordecai stows his hand axe, but as he does, he unbuckles the strap that keeps his maul from unsheathing.
"What do you say big guy? Wanna talk about this like men rather than runnin' away again?" Eran's tone is clearly ironic. "Name's Erandal by the way, since we're all buddied up now."
He points at the pot thrower and states, "If you truly want to talk, you'll earn some trust by staying quiet and staying put until Miss Lilita has stabilized this poor man." He backs away from the potter, never turning his back on him, returning to Hadara’s side.
Mordecai obliges the young lady, saying, "Of course." The Half-Orc easily picks Hadara up from the porch, and, finally turning his back on the man who threw pots, enters the Vardo.
Eran sticks his tongue out at the bush. "Hey, lil twiggy, can you grow me some magic bolt shafts?" Chuckling to himself, Eran starts to follow the girl into the Vardo, but not before taking a look around the streets.
Mordecai thinks to himself, "With my luck, there's a pot flying at the back of my head, right now."
Still a little shaken by her encounter with the nobleman, Lilita crossed the city like a fugitive, always moving and yet, keeping to the shadows and making use of alleys and the narrower side streets. In this, her light gray cloak was an old friend. In the night, blanketed by mists and fogs, she was nearly invisible. The loss of her shoes had even worked to her advantage as her bare feet made little sound on the damp, often mucky cobblestones. Passing the last gate, she navigated the narrow streets of the Poor Quarter with the knowledge of one whose lived and worked there most of her life, she was comfortable letting her mind dwell on what had just happened. There were a limited number of nobles, but she couldn’t have figured any one aside from Altar the Lion and the Chief Adviser, after all they had statues around the city and were on many broadsides and signs. It was as if the man somehow had been drawn to her; that she had known him all her life, and yet, not at all.
As she paused to rest a moment, she looked down at her poor bare feet mourning the loss of her best pair of shoes as other thoughts creep into her mind as out of nowhere. Upon reflecting she felt as if the strange nobleman had been drawn to her and some way, she to him but she was at a loss to admit that to herself let alone seek to explain it. He was, of course, handsome and a noble... for most women, especially those of her station, that is enough but for Lilita she craved something more tangible. Something that many people laugh at and tell her such a thing is the stuff of fairy tales and that she must accept the real world as it is!
Lilita had never had a lover, a least not a real one... with feelings of love and attachment but rather just the cruel humiliating sort that one of her low birth and station was time to subjected to and required to tolerate without complaint. Luckily Lilita has been fortunate with only two such encounters knowing that number could have easily been greater or at any time the number could tick upward without warning. And such was her primary concern with the nobleman in the shop and why she had chosen to risk all by fleeing before things went any further.
Thankfully he was drawn to the Half-Elf who had worn that red gown as if it were painted on. Such an open display of wantonness that it mottled the mind a bit, even hers. A hidden part of her mind kept taunting Lilita with images of herself, dressed similarly and being escorted by various dashing sorts that often reminded her of Amlack, the City Guardsmen.
Still, she felt a deep sense of guilt, in fleeing she had left the beautiful fey maiden in the nobleman's clutches, left to take her place should his intentions prove to be evil or unsavory. If so then Lilita would share in the blame for deserting the poor woman. For Livvi's sake, Lilita prayed that the nobleman was not such a man and that the half-elf maiden would not suffer in her place. Lilita hoped that the noble would perhaps purchase the gown the maiden had been trying on. Lilita could only hope for a happy ending. As well as hope by fleeing she had not angered the nobleman so much he would attempt to seek her out and punish her... worried that the magic she had sensed coming from him that he could prove extremely dangerous to her should he so choose. If so, not even her friend Amlack, the City Guardsman could help her against such a threat! Lilita Perception 11
As she neared home Lilita felt a slight prickle at the back of her neck. It wasn’t uncommon for her to come home and find someone waiting for her, seeking help or asking her to help a loved one elsewhere in the Quarter. It happened frequently enough that she had developed a sense, of sorts, when it came to the little Vardo wagon and the narrow lot it occupied. Over the past year, Lilita had been gifted with the odd seed or plant, as often as not as an insisted upon payment. Because of that, she had started a pair of small herb gardens. Later, a grateful sailor who’d claimed to have sailed half the world, had brought a small sapling from a rare and exotic bush whose berries had healing properties. Her mentor, not to be outdone, had visited the Vardo unannounced. When the Druid had left, several more bushes had sprouted, and the vacant lot had taken on an almost peaceful aura, if one was receptive to it. <GM’s Note: I’m guessing the Druid blessed it or purified it somehow>
Lilita having grown used to unannounced visitors requiring healing is not alarmed by the sensation of awareness but rather begins to feel a growing sense of urgency. Worried that if someone is ill or injured, she best not dally about. As Lilita draws closer she smiles as she looks upon the welcoming sight of her small herb garden feeling its peaceful aura wash over her calming her somewhat after a rather eventful evening. She is happy to be home now far from the shop and the mysterious nobleman that she had encountered.
‘Tulip’ had sprouted fast, faster than anyone would have guessed after that. The exotic bush from a land beneath two moons, had awakened in some way. ‘Tulip’ could move and talk to her, though to others, all they ever claimed to hear was the rustling of tiny leaves. A five day later, much to her surprise and delight, ‘Tulip’ had tried to follow her to Pencelot’s. It had taken a mental discussion of sorts, to get the plant to understand that it was safer at the Vardo, than wandering the city. The old Druid, upon hearing her wild seeming tale, had come and communed with the plant. A few hours later, the old man was amused as he was confounded.
“It’s very rare, but special. You sure you didn’t miss your calling my dear? You would make a supreme Druid,” he had teased.
Lilita approaches Tulip pleased to find her well and that she seems to be still growing, like a weed... she often teasingly tells her best friend in all the world... Lilita would never have thought as a child she would ever have such a friend and guardian as Tulip has proven to be. But she also senses agitation and concern from her Fauna friend. Tulip she felt, was about to go from annoyed to violent.
Lilita feels a wave of fear wash over her, having gotten used her home and lot here... being a safe haven for her, a sanctuary. Her stomach tightens as a feeling of tension builds up inside her... her eyes dart quickly about looking at what may be causing Tulip's anxiety and hers...
From the safety of the shadows of a flop house across the narrow street, Lilita investigated the little, not so vacant, lot that she called home and saw several figures. One, a huge, muscular Half-Orc was pounding on her door so hard the wagon rocked. He then bellowed, “Healer, come out!” or some such. On the ground was the form of man, one who looked too still. A third figure rose up out of the shadows beside her wagon home, a large potted plant in hand. It was a slow, deliberate motion, as if he meant to dash it against the Half-Orc’s head.
Her base instincts kick in and take hold of Lilita as she cries out ((screams rather)), "don't hurt him," a warning to the Half-Orc in obvious danger from the assailant emerging from the shadows behind her wagon. Not wishing violence in her home, in her sanctuary, Lilita feels there is no other option open to her. Bringing her hands together ((Action)) Lilita creates a mote of divine energy in the form of a Bolt of Radiance and hurls it ((Hit Roll)) 24 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location 23 -left arm directed at the third figure with the potted plant in hand followed a second mote ((Bonus Action)) ((Hit Roll)) 16 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location – Stomach + stun (1 CR; -1 to attacks/actions for duration of this encounter) as she calls out to Tulip in fear and distress,
"Tulip, come to me!"
Lilita quickly moves forward towards them, her arms outstretched, reaching for her bushy friend. The animated plant leaps from its favorite pot even as the stranger she had hit with her divine energy staggers and reels slightly. Hoping to forestall any further violence Lilia calls to them in a friendly yet passive tone of voice she says, "I am here... I am Lilita... the healer you seek. How may I be of assistance gentlemen?" Realizing that one the strangers was on the ground and very still Lilita moves more quickly towards him.
While the Half-Orc and man glare at each other, distrust and unease openly radiating from them, she immediately begins her examination of the man on the ground right then and there. As a precaution smelling blood possibly from a wound or injury of some sort, she immediately touches him to cast Spare the Dying followed by Cure Wounds 10 in order to attempt to stabilize him giving herself more time to examine [Medicine 21] him more closely. Lilita is much too busy and focused to speak to the injured man's companion so does not ask any questions... rather Lilita just goes straight to work.
The spells work, drawing the man back from the brink of death. Another minute and he would have been beyond her abilities. Upon careful examination she locates the wound in the back and deduces it was caused by an arrow, further damaged when someone forcefully ripped it free.
"Thank you, so much, Ms. Lilita," Mordecai states. "My name is Mordecai and the man you're saving is Hadara. It was his idea to see you - to be honest, I'm rarely by this side of the city unless work requires it."
"Excuse me, miss," Mordecai says softly. He then turns to the blue berry bush to check out the would-be attacker. He loosens a single hand axe from his belt and brings it under the pot throwers chin.
The Half-Orc looks into the face of his ambusher, "You look familiar to me - who are you, what do you want, keep your hands to the side and best if you not answer so loud... The kind Miss doesn't need to be distracted."
The man brings the pot down with all the force he can muster, at the same moment using the now taught muscles in his legs he pushes up with his feet, tilts his head back in hopes of avoiding the cut of Mord’s axe blade as he attempts a flip kick.
Mordecai blocks the flowerpot with his free hand, then twists the axe in his hand and swings for the man with the blunt end.
Taking the back end of a hand ax to his belly (and just missing the groin) the man’s flip carries him backwards where he lands and says "That was for the chair! Now stow your weapon, and we can talk this out whilst the lady attends to Hadara.". Said whilst standing with arms clearly away from the weapons at his side.
Lilita speaks to everyone in a low passive tone, almost a whisper imploring them, "please both of you, I do not require... names or payment, nor need or want to know the whys and whereas of any dispute between you all! But here and now the violence ends. I beg you both, please. I can do nothing to stop you but know this. If either of you seeks my continued healing now or ever in the future, then you will not do violence further. So please call a truce between you or take your pain, violence, and death somewhere else... far from me, far from my home and do as you will. Anywhere but here."
The ambusher, the one she unleashed her bolts upon Lilita kneels down before on the ground, on her knees before him, humbling herself, tears welling up in her eyes as she speaks again as before, low and soft, almost a whisper, "please forgive me, I meant no harm, the energies I struck you with were a result of my own fear and panic. I have not skilled in the ways of violence and it pains me greatly to inflict pain or harm upon anyone for any reason. My powers cannot truly harm or kill in any event, at most render one unconscious but never is there a danger of death, not my hands nor anyone else' if there anything that I can do or say that will prevent it. I am sorry I acted rashly but I was frightened so I ask your forgiveness, please."
The man shakes his head and smiles slightly. "Nay lady, you got me good with a sucker punch. Ain't nothing fairer than that when the one you're punchin is doin the same. Though this whole thing would have gone a lot easier on me if you'd just let me crack that old pot."
Successful in stabilizing her patient, Lilita got up and went to open the door to her Vardo Wagon. Glancing at the large Half-Orc, she asks, “Can you take your friend inside? He’ll be more comfortable than laying on the ground and I can further examine him.”
Without waiting for his response, she went inside to make her bed to be made more comfortable so that she can continue her examination in better light and conditions than outside in the darkness. It was clear that the arrow wound would fester if she didn’t treat it properly, plus the man would be weak for some time. She could expend more healing magic, but too much, it was said, could cause long term problems. Besides, expending her Bolt of Radiance to protect Tulip weakened her pool some and, in truth, Lilita didn’t like being completely exhausted of magic because she never knew when another emergency could arise. Traditional medicines and care worked, if allowed to. In a world where most floobs went their entire lives without seeing magic, herbs and careful tending sufficed.
She heard the Half-Orc say from outside, "You're right, Miss Lilita. I apologize for having to commit violence in your presence, but I was only returning this scum the favor he tried TWICE to give me. You shouldn't apologize to such a dishonorable character. Twice he tried attacking me with your pot and earlier tonight he had his crossbows pointed at our backs."
Tulip scrambled up the stairs and turned, momentarily shaking several branches at the men outside.
"Best be seein to him now missy, I seen puncture wounds a plenty." The one called Elan says, "An they can be right messy things that'll kill a man after you gone sewed him up. And he looks like he's in a bad way already."
The half-orc's voice softens, "Out of respect for you, Miss Lilita, I'll stow my weapons. I wouldn't turn my back on him though."
"What do you say big guy? Wanna talk about this like men rather than runnin' away again?" Eran's tone is clearly ironic. "Name's Erandal by the way, since we're all buddied up now."
"If you truly want to talk, you'll earn some trust by staying quiet and staying put until Miss Lilita has stabilized this poor man." She heard Mord add, "Of course,” outside the one called Hadara gave a low moan of pain. The Half-Orc easily picks Hadara up from the porch, bringing him inside and setting him on the bed as she directed. At the door, Lilita caught Eran sticking his tongue out at Tulip. "Hey, lil twiggy, can you grow me some magic bolt shafts?" The man chuckled.
Half walking, half staggering, Smee made his way from the Dock’s to the Poor Quarter where his home – lair, some would say – was hidden. A nice hideaway beneath the ruins of a long-forgotten bar and not far from a nagging guilt that haunted his dreams, when he was sober. Passing by the old Vardo wagon, a warm light leaking out of the closed shutters, his mind wandered a bit.
Smee looks at the Vardo with interest cursing himself in a low whispered tone for being a sentimental fool... a fool to keep checking on the little silver-haired brat as he has been doing regularly over past... what is it up to now? A decade or two, who can keep track, halfway into his first century to approach the next he was starting to get old by anyone's standards.
The half-man stops to water the shrubs along a surrounding wall. Groaning, as he leans against the wall... a strong frothy yellow stream... a good sign knowing that some half his age have terrible troubles there. The poor ignorant sods giving up the drink because of it, but not Smee, no sir, Smee was still going strong! Just look at it, he thought to watch it with a bit of admiration and pride!
Standing now in a puddle, the half-man peeks through a hole in the wall... his mind thinking back on the day he was tasked to leave silver-hair there on the steps of the Healer's Guild. A mere swaddling babe, who would have thought the wee thing from years gone by would turn out to be such pretty plum piece of cottontail... in the full bloom of womanhood! Licking his lips, the lewd and lascivious little pot-bellied dwarf imagined of a hidden treasure... lined with a bit o' silver fluff. "Mmmmm," he hummed with devilish delight! Almost tempted to do something else, here and there but fighting off the urge.
Almost falling over Smee laughs at himself, doing his best to keep on his on his feet. But by the gawds, he cracks himself up sometimes... with his lewd, crude thoughts and behavior. That's the reason why so very few tavern wenches could not keep their greedy hands off him and his wee-willy-winkie, they all loved it and him, Few could resist his charms, his dry wit, the ladies loved a good laugh from time... and Smee, a professional jester, he knew just how tickle fancies, an expert one might say. The secret is all in the tongue... the best opening act if there ever was one. Smee, after all, was a fellow infinite jest... with an extremely dexterous tongue.
But then too, deep down Smee was a fellow soft in the head and sentimental. He knew better than to tempt fate... fate only goes so far before she bites you in the bum! HARD like a rabid dog.
From where he stood, Smee could see that the young woman had visitors. Probably poor sods in desperate need of the free healing the girl’s growing reputation was known for. Part of him chastised his need to ‘keep a distant eye’ on Lilita, another part laughed and taunted him for his sadness.
Silly wabbit, giving it away for free, a rare silver fleece like that... young and nubile, a flower like that could earn a small fortune at the Black Rose Healing House. Part of him chastised his need to ‘keep a distant eye’ on Lilita, another part for even learning the name the guild had given the foundling child... he laughed as he continued to tempt fate by coming around as regular as ticking clock... but hell's bells what was he to do... they were neighbors after all!! Funny... fate is truly a fickle *****!
Avoiding the ‘healer’s yard’ proper, Smee skirted what was left of the bar’s back wall to reach the concealed access to the sewer below. From there, he could slip into the deep cellar, which was the only part of the bar remaining. It was also home. A fitting place for a sot like him, his conscious moaned. Beside his feet, Tinker-Belle nudged his leg, rather to urge him on from the place or to stop tormenting himself over past events he could not change. Just then a quiet qork sounded from above. Tinker-Belle hissed disapprovingly as Smee glanced up at the Raven. Unlike most, which were glossy black in color, this one had a single patch or red feathers on its left wing. The Widow’s messenger. He was being summoned, again.
Smee grins at the black demonic creature and he starts to talk to it as he would a person, "come to see me at long last have ye?" Opening a box with some greasy pig jerky the dwarf pulls off bits and feeds the raven always seeking to stay on good terms with it... and its mistress, the Widow. Though Smee could not be certain, he suspected the raven was but one of its several forms. Though the Widow was a stylish and elegant noblewoman, a witch-smeller like Smee is not fresh off the boat and knows the scent of a warlock, especially one with a raven that somehow manages to make its way underground to his wine cellar lair... perhaps shifting into rat form then back again. No, through Smee could not prove his suspicions he had a theory that the Widow was a witch and the raven no mere beast but shapeshifting imp familiar! One such as he was careful around it, the Window was a smart one to be sure, he would do well not to underestimate her, or it!
Looking at the Raven, "are we all full now are we? Let me fetch a cloak and we'll be off... is it the temple again or does the Window wish me to follow you to see something special? A surprise perhaps, ol' Smee likes surprises he does!" The raven was well versed in communicating with Smee without words... for the most part, keeping up the ruse. Smee was used to his sweet loving Tinker-Belle a nice plump rat... so he was used to dealing with a witch's emissary. A walk in the park... reading the ques and the movements, following the bread crumbs between a stray cackling word here and there... Smee made do without complaint. He was well paid to and the Widow was a prime piece of fluff in her own right! A few carnal dreams and a few nocturnal accidents... well that's to be expected and what's the harm?
Grabbing his cloak and whistling for Tinker-Belle, Smee sets off to follow the raven...
Expecting a long trek across the city to the Temple Quarter, Smee followed the Raven’s directions and headed for one of the ‘private gates’ connecting the Poor Quarter from it’s neighbor, the Laborers Quarter. The nearest ‘gate’ was a rusted cover leading into the labyrinth of city sewers.
Smee is rather curious about what the Widow has up her sleeve but goes along with it. Somehow, someway he is confident that this little trek will play into the task the witch needs doing. The thing that nags at him is not being able to haggle over his fee or getting a chance to leer at her wonderful bosoms she seemed to enjoy showing off in those low-cut gowns of hers, such a wicked tease he thinks as he giggles giving his trousers a quick tug. Disappointed as he is... for the moment at least he will reserve judgment and wait to see if things will bear fruit in the end.
“Stink! Stink!” cried the Raven, shifting it’s weight on the Dwarf’s thick shoulder as he scrambled down the foothold bored into the rough stone. The decent was only ten feet, which was really a poor depth for proper drainage as it meant the various smells could escape to the surface through cracks and holes. In better parts of the city the main sewers were twenty feet and just below the waterline for the bay. That way, the rising tides swept in and out, helping to clean out the refuse. At least in the major tunnels and passageways. It took both moons at full to flood the rest, which only happened two or three times a year.
Smee laughs at the raven as it lands on his shoulder and jokes, "remember the deal, any bird dropping, and you'll be paying the cleaning bill or rather your mistress will in your stead!" The jester heads down the hole and follows the tunnel thinking at least this way he avoids the city watch and the risk of flooding water should be nil... so some consolation at least, avoiding potential trouble and keeping out sight usually tends to work in his favor.
Coming around a corner, Smee and the Raven were confronted by a swarm of rats larger than his foot rushing at him. “Blood! Blood! Corrp!”
Smee curses upon seeing the swarm heading his way and telepathically calls to his unseen familiar Tinker-Belle warning her off picturing fire to give her a heads up of what is coming before he summons a Chromatic Orb [Hit 15 Damage 14] and tosses a 4-inch-diameter sphere of energy (-fire-) into the midst of the swarm, killing a over a dozen and singing a score more. The sudden burst of resulting heat and flame sent the rest into a chaotic panic. Rats he well knew, hated fire, scared to death of it. Those in the lead charged straight for him, either meaning to attack or flee through his legs, that was until Tinker-bell materialized and let out a snarling hiss that brought up the remaining swarm like a crashing wave a few strides away. Easily two or three times the size of the largest rat, Tinker-bell could easily dominate the pack in a fight, but the Widow was waiting.
Smee smiles proudly looking at his now visible sweet baby-girl, the apple of his eye. "You got this Tink, I don't want to keep the Widow waiting so I will continue on, deal them and catch up to me as soon as you can."
The dwarf confident in her ability to track by scent continues on his way...
Hogg Bagdar was known as the best Alchemist in Tarantis. His shop sat on Black Rose Lane, not far from the market and across from the Black Rose House of Healing. An accomplished master of his craft, Hogg’s laboratory took up several floors of the four-story shop. The top floor held rooms for the various apprentices and a couple of guards Hogg kept on retainer. Hogg himself, lived in a nice (but shabby and small by Noble standards) townhouse in the Merchant Quarter. Cadrian DuFlynn knew all of this because he had made it his business to know. After all, as much time as he’d spent on various errands to the Chemist it only made sense. Someone of Cadrian’s standing simply could not be seen doing business with anyone less than the best. Not unlike Illienna, who was known as a kook, whose potions and elixirs were quite unstable. Something Cadrian had commented to a few of his peers. Or Stedihan, whose shop had only been open less than a year, certainly not long enough to have established a suitable patrons. Cadrian was positive that he would not be the first. After all, a family as old as the DuFlynn’s did not offer patronage on a whim.
Cadrian eyed Hogg appraisingly, assuring himself that the man was worth his reputation. The workshop was impressive, yes, the articles genuine, but it still paid to be certain.
“No, I can attest to it’s purity,” Hogg was saying as he tapped a carefully sealed jar of a rust colored powder. “I bought it from a trusted merchant captain last five day. He sailed from the Balisk Isles, in the deep south? He bought it from a broker in Fairisisi, who will vouch that the adventurers who harvested it, brought a scale and part of a head as proof.”
"I believe the veracity of your statement of its origin and purity, just as much as I believe you are not such a fool to waste fine steel when common will do. I am certain the costs of your analyses have found their way into the price you have set, in the age-old fashion of merchants. Yet the price is not the item of concern, but the potency of the latent powers within, that I may channel into my workings most smoothly. Your seals appear adequate, and your reputation assures me that all will be satisfactory. My family will continue to patronize you, of course, my dear Mr. Bagdar."
As he spoke, Cadrian turned the jar over and over, looking for the tell-tale detritus released in a sloppy seal, but, finding no flaw, he held it lightly but securely in his hands.
"I trust the usual payment is to be taken upon the family account? And if so, I assume we are finished with this bit of business?"
The Alchemist nodded and gave a bow that was somewhere between subservient and barely adequate. “As per the usual arrangement. Thank you for your business, M’lord.”
Cadrian left a half-smile playing out in his face, but his eyes were distracted taking in the mechanisms and trappings of the alchemy trade around him, certainly a bit more completely-equipped than where he had taken his training. He inhaled the scents and scanned the worktops discretely for some indication of the projects that Bagdar was working on. One could learn a great deal of the fortunes of one's clients by noting the work they handed down.
The nose, his mentor had instructed, could be a powerful tool of discovery. Through the sense of smell, a trained nose could detect variances of components, quality, even help to deduce what a substance, magical or not, might be. In the air were hints of sulfur and dragons’ blood, red dragons’ blood, which might mean someone was brewing potions of Fire Breath. From another corner he detected a hint of medicinal herbs of the sort healers often used. Perhaps Potions of Healing. As he walked towards the stairs leading to the front doors Cadrian passed an apprentice sitting at a table, sprinkling some powder that, upon contact made a portion of his finger fade from view. Dust of disappearance had many properties, but this batch was truly formable.
Cadrian's half-smile followed him out of the alchemists' workshop. It seems the wealthier patrons of Bagdar were either ne'er-do-wells or adventurers with those items. Good to know...
The apprentice glanced back to where his master stood. Hogg nodded and shrugged. The vial would be added to the family’s bill, much to the annoyance of Cadrian’s older brother, no doubt. The family was old, sadly, its fortune was not. In the not so distant past several of the DuFlynn scions had made some poor investments, others had squandered the family coffers instead of increasing them. One, it was rumored, had gone mad and still haunted the family’s ancestral estate out on the far side of the province of Ganzier-Galad.
He knew he would be late into the night cantripping metal bits back into shape to pay for the crystalline blood, but between his income and the savings he realized for the family manor's upkeep, his usurer brother Ambrogius, who sat on the small trove of his family's fortunes, had no legitimate points to grumble upon. Had Ambrogius only been more like Delphinus, who had earned his spurs and was ensconced in another lord's retinue of knights. Delphinus shared Cadrian's sense of right and wrong, service to others, and serving the family by doing good works to restore its prestige, rather than the pinching of pennies as Ambrogius did. But it was bad enough that their father the Baron distrusted magic and was NOT pleased in Cadrain's profession. Had his master charged for his tutelage, his father would have quashed it, but Master Cignis wanted to spend those last years of his life on one last apprentice he saw potential in.
Outside, it was late, and the sun having set several hours before. Now the thick mists were rolling in from the bay, promising further to blanket the city. Having grown up here, Cadrian was used to it and strolled confidently up the street, towards the distant gate separating the shopkeeper’s quarter from the merchant quarter where Hawker kept his weapons shop and forge. A retired foot captain, Hefton Hawker was reputed to be the best weapons smith in the city. Hawker’s Weapons also specialized in restoration and repair of both master work and magical weapons, it was the later part that had drawn Cadrian into approaching the old yet hale ‘Captain’ Hawker.
Cadrian hustled to reach Captain Hawkers' shop. Cantrips were tedious exercises in magic, so simple that there was nothing left to learn from the practice. Still, Hawker appreciated the savings on his time, and though he payed a pittance compared to the value given, he had flexible hours, discretion, and he kindly answered questions as the young wizard tried to wrap his head around the fusion of metals and the potential to add enchantments into the process. Hawker did appreciate the help, as his arm was growing stiffer, and he counted the number of strokes his arm had left for the crafting of fine products. Tonight, he was looking forward to working on an adventurer's lance. The crown of it was cracked down the stem of the weapon, and the enchantment was in danger of leaking out. This was a new challenge that he was looking forward to.
It was nearing the moonfest hour (midnight) and yet there were still some about. In a city the size of Tarantis, many shops and businesses remained open at all hours, though in Hogg’s case, the Alchemist would have likely gone home after Evenfest (6pm), if he had not been expecting Cadrian’s visit.
Cadrian walked among the closing shops, passing pleasantries with the merchants and departing laborers. Many of the people greeted the young noble warmly, for he was known as a young man with a good head, a decent spirit and, while noble of birth, a way of drawing others to him without seeming superior. His expansive mind flawlessly brought up names to greet each of the familiars in a respectful and sincere manner. As he did, he catalogued each encounter in his mind, canvassing the neighborhood for trouble which might be lurking.
Passing by entrance to an alley behind the Black Rose House of Healing something caught the wizard’s ever observant eye. A woman had seemed to materialize out of the darkness to stand beneath a lone crystal lamp above a door in the back wall of the Black Rose, had she not been naked, he might never have noticed her at all. Long, silver blonde hair barely covered her ample breasts and her feet were bare. The door opened without her prompting, as if someone were waiting for her arrival. [GM Roll: Perception check (+2) 3 = 5]
As he passes the alley that forms the back of the Black Rose, Cadrian thought quickly. Setting his hand writing within his glove, he slipped the coin he kept nestled in the palm of his hand out of the glove. Using the shadow of his body to conceal his actions. He casually cast the familiar light cantrip upon the coin, setting it flaring with light before banishing it back inside his glove. He turned back into the alley, moving quickly to catch the action before the woman was lost to sight. As he approached the pool of light from the lamp, he struck the butt of his staff against the ground, making a sharp crack to announce his presence. Looming out of the darkness, the young aristocrat boldly strode forward toward the doorway. "I say, has the business of the Black Rose changed to less-savory acts without my knowledge? I hardly think the weather supports such attire!" He slips the coin into his fingers, setting the pale blue light to illuminate the alley better, standing proudly and confidently. (Let's see what happens now, I guess? This is based a bit on this not being a natural thing to see behind a healer's, based on the knowledge as requested)
The young woman, barely past her twentieth nameday, glanced at him with seeming lethargy, as if half asleep. There was a nagging feeling in the back of Cadrian’s mind that he knew her, or at least, knew of her. The thought was fleeting as just then a figured appeared from inside. Another woman, one dressed in a red dress with a form fitting bodice. Dark hair flowed around her shoulders as her head turned to smile at him.
“Ah, good sir, goodly manners bring you to check on our patient. Be at ease that your duty is done. There is no harm here, to those who patron the Black Rose.” As she spoke the silver blonde strolled, unbidden, inside.
“I am Melinia, of the Black Rose,” the woman replied with a patient smile. There was some sort of mocking humor behind her blue-gray eyes. “And I do assure you, that the young miss is in good hands. She – she went for an evening stroll and must have run afoul of one of many undesirables plaguing our beautiful city.”
Cadrian frowned at Melinia's address and explanation of the young woman's condition. "Do you often allow addled patients to wander on an evening stroll, especially comely young women, unsupervised in this city? Your lack of concern for the abuses she may have undergone do you ill credit, "Mistress" (twisting the word "mistress" as he took in her attire, more for a night on the town or a madam for a brothel than a healing house) Melinia. Rest assured I will be looking into how you treat those unfortunates in your care." This is all said in the quiet menace a person used to being obeyed can do.
At that, Melinia frowned and seemed to consider his comment before giving a slight shrug of her bared shoulders. “Yes, you are most correct Mi’lord. Our charge should not have left the safety of our house or the garden without a suitable escort. I shall speak most sternly about such things, meanwhile, I bid you a good evening.” Even as she spoke the door began to swing shut without a sound or a visible means of motivation.
He allowed the door to shut, turning on his heel as the door closed and striding back into the street, sliding the coin back into his glove. This smelled of bad business, to be sure, and the haunting familiarity of the woman gnawed at his mind. [15 History].
Cadrian slipped into a tavern along the way to the Captain's. Perhaps a glass of spirits might help him to jog his memory. Some middle-class drinking house..."The Swan and Billet"? Perfect. Not too rough, where his slightly-shabby yet fine garb would not raise too many eyebrows. A nice sherry, perhaps...
The Swan and Billet wasn’t overly crowded, as the tavern wasn’t known to be ‘overly lively’ as many of the rougher establishments in the dirtier quarters of the great city were known to be. A slender lass met him at the door.
“Hello, m’lord, my name’s Callista, would you like a table by the fire? Or one along the wall?”
Cadrian smiled charmingly at Callista's polite address, smoothly sliding the now softly-glowing silver from his palm and placing it in her hand. "Thank you kindly, my dear. A table near the wall would be welcome, it's not so cold that the fire is needed." He followed her to the proffered seat, noting idly the other patrons while he dredged his thoughts.
As she led him to the table, Callista asked, “What would m’lord wish from the bar?”
"Sherry in a clean glass, please. Last years' vintage, if you have any; otherwise, something light and dry."
The barmaid beamed then turned with a flounce and glided off. Across the way, near the fire, a plump Halfling Bard was playing a Dulcimer, striking the cords with felt-tipped hammers while humming a tune that was somewhere between lively and relaxing. With the approaching Festival of Silver, Cadrian had noted an increased number of entertainers of all sorts flocking to the city. The same was said about merchants and traders as well as pirates and adventurers. A moment later Callista returned, setting a sherry in front of him – in proper glass, no less – than laid out a small platter with a mixture of cheeses, pickles, and salted crackers.
When she returned with his drink and the snacks, she said, “Compliments of Lasar, the owner.”
He smiled warmly to her, reaching over and raising the glass to his generous host. He still took a gold coin from his purse and laid it down on the table, then gently took Callista's hand and placed it palm-down on the coin.
"Many thanks for your kind welcome, my fair Callista. This will more than suffice. Please give my compliments to Master Lasar." He raised the glass to his lips and sampled it, for just a moment testing his alchemist's discernment on the drink before returning to his thoughts.
Left in peace, a slight spicy flavor on the tip of his tongue, Cadrian’s scholar’s mind began to dissemble that little bit of drama in the back alley behind the Black Rose. First, the unclothed girl – well, young woman. Silver-blonde hair. He’d seen her, somewhere…but where. While part of his mind searched memories like a sage might search bookcases, he took another sip of sherry and savored the flavor. While no Elven vintage, the maker had used some very good white grapes. It tasted like grapes from the Silvarso linage. That would be from – a mental click occurred. Silver…Silver-blonde…. Silversmith… A Silversmith whose shop his family favored – Karigaon… Rocco Karigaon was a true master when it came to silver. Among the city’s wealthiest merchants with aspirations to nobility. He had a daughter of twenty summers or so. What was her name? Pithini.
Callista returned, taking care to let him see her approach, a rare consideration when it came to barmaids, less so with wenches, he noted. “Would m’lord care for a refill?”
When Callista returned he smiled distractedly. "I'm fine, thank you again. I just wish to be left alone for a few moments more."
Even during the brief exchange Cadrian’s mind was still churning; searching; mulling the brief encounter. What did he know about the Black Rose? Oh, he’d heard a few rumors over the past few years; that the House of Healing was a cover for a highly placed bordello, a rumor that didn’t fit with the facts that the house had been providing healing for centuries. Another rumor was that the owners, the Maigrinstaff’s, another ‘old blood’ line of nobles who dated back to the establishment of Tarantis, were in league with demons, among other things. That was a common trope used by one house to discredit or burnish another. Only, if his master was right, there was far more of that sort of thing going on than the commoners knew.
After a few moments, it hit him: the first steps to adventure often meant acting like an adventurer! And if one wanted to know about anything untoward happening in the neighborhood...
Cadrian leaned back and pondered some the more recent ‘news’ that the city criers had been disseminating to the masses. There had been a recent rash of adductions, assaults, and even a few deaths among the wealthy and prominent of late. Oh, a few went missing or were discovered dead, usually from poison or a well-placed dagger, but lately? How many ‘had’ gone missing, anyway? The bureaucrats serving Altar the Lion were probably concealing the real truth.
He gestured with a dexterous fingertip towards the serving girl. "My good Callista, I approve of both your discretion and the charms of this establishment. Would you mind asking Master Lasar if he'd do me the honor of having a drink with me?" As he spoke, he fanned four gold pieces in his fingertips, laying them down in a glittering arc on the table.
“Yes, of course, m’lord,” Callista said with a sincere smile. “I am sure Master Lasar would be more than happy to join you.” She turned and left, a practiced trained sway to her hips.
While he waited, watching her skip off, his mind mulled darker matters. Fallen nobility, demon incursions, missing people and murder - not a spice for life that one such as Cadrian appreciated. He favored puzzles that could be assembled in the mind.
A few moments later a short, stocky man dressed in the fashion many moderately wealthy shops owners had affected this year. A savvy man, Laser had brought along a bottle of sherry that was equal to or perhaps a little better than what he had been served.
“A touch from my private stock, m’lord?” the man offered.
"You are most kind, Master Lasar! You are truly a tribute to your peers. I shall of course accept!"
Cadrian toasted his host (no, not with a fire spell har har) in recognition of his kindness, smiling and seemingly at ease.
At a sure gesture from Laser, Callista arrived with a pair of fresh, clean glasses and the tavern owner poured before taking the open seat across the table. “It is a rare pleasure, m’lord, to share a table with a one of Tarantis oldest nobilities.” As Callista left them alone Laser gave a slight shrug and smiled in her wake.
“My youngest daughter. She’s made a serious study of the subtleties of the grape, you know, and though it costs me plenty a silver crown, she attends Matron Matherlies Studio for Young Ladies. To better serve her betters. But it would be my guess that you didn’t request my pleasantries nor to discuss my family’s modest bloodlines. How may I be of assistance, m’lord?”
"You have a fine daughter, and your investment in her comportment has been well-rewarded. You are a fortunate man, good sir! Your hospitality is well-appreciated, and the gods blessed you with such an adornment in your home. Tonight, however, I hoped to ask a few idle questions, as I've been out of touch with some of the local news with my apprenticeship, and you seem to be a man to have the pulse of the neighborhood at his fingertips."
Cadrian waits for the effect of his flattery and the sherry to loosen Lasar's lips. Without seeming too eager, he'll pepper him with questions, innocuous at first, just chitchat about the goings-on of the neighborhood and refilling his glass as needed while only sipping lightly from his own. Through the conversation, he'll try to get any information about rumors about the Black Rose, inferring that he has heard "a rumor that scantily-clad women were slipping in through their back door". He'll turn it to "his old acquaintances the Karigaons", specifying to the state of the daughter if his drinking partner doesn't come to the point straight-away.
The tavern owner nodded sagely and shook his head at the rumor. He also shook his head, looking surprised when Cadrian mentioned the name of the young woman that he had seen. Laser refilled both glasses and replied with several base rumors about the Black Rose that even he acknowledged was probably nothing more than hot wind. It was when Laser brought up an obscure observation that reignited the wizards’ interest.
“Well, everyone knows that Lord Basha Maigrinstaff owns the Black Rose and that he’s also a senior physician within the Healer’s Guild. He’s the seventh of his name which isn’t odd, considering the age of many older families, Noble and Common alike, but the topic comes up, everyone and then when my customers are deep into their cups. You know, that there would be seven consecutive Basha Maigrinstaff’s, all senior physicians and all owners or administrators of the Black Rose?”
"Odd that a noble family long given to the healing arts would not be more beloved, with the scurrilous rumors swirling around them..."
After a little more prompting, it was clear that he would get no more information of use in the current line of conversation he nodded and thanked Master Lasar, pay the full price of the bottle of sherry, and leave, kissing the hand of Callista smoothly with a charming smile as he departs.
Heading out into the cool night air, Cadrian mulled over what Laser said. That most noble families reused popular or particularly heroic names over the centuries was not in question. It was true even in his own family. He had been named after an ancestor who had, if one believed the old stories, dabbled in piracy and had increased the families fortune some five hundred years ago. While thinking Cadrian’s feet took him in the direction of the Captain’s smithy. He could check at the university in the morning, perhaps look at some of the older family catalogs in the heraldry section where detailed listings of the cities noble births were kept. He also probably should pay the master silversmith a call, perhaps inquire discreetly about Miss Pithini’s health.
Cadrian wasn’t sure why he was drawn to digging into affairs that were not his and, most likely, would lead to nothing but an irresponsible daughter and somebody within the Black Rose House of Healing dabbling in some nefarious business on the side. It was an old story, that, which made him wonder if Lord Basha would be aware of it. That too, was a possible kernel. He could simply approach the other noble and ask. It could also be dangerous, if there truly was something sinister going on there. The air was a bit stuffy as the sea mists swirled and flowed like a stream at knee level up the street. Here and there other citizens went about their business and once he heard the tramp of a night patrol of the City Guard. The quarter wasn’t known for having too many dangers at night, but he still took care as the city was filling with outsiders of all sorts, drawn in to the Festival of Silver. For a moment the history of the ancient festival danced in his head. It had started as a series of block parties, meant to reclaim the city streets after dark during a time when the city had been infested with the undead. Now it was an excuse for wealth and poor alike to mingle socially and to celebrate.
Arriving at the Captain’s, Cadrian begged off for the night and promised to mend double the items for the next night, and maybe throw in one or two mendings for rush orders before setting off once more.
All but ignoring the two men crowding her home she focused on the wounded man, Hadara, who, only moments before, had been at death’s door. He had lost so much blood that it was a miracle that her magic found anything to take hold of. Now he was breathing better, the bloody wound had stopped oozing. She could only hope that any damage done to his delicate innards had also begun to knit and heal. During her studies with the Healer’s Guild, Lilita had learned how the human body worked. She had also studied some of the other goodly races, and a few not so goodly races, in order to better understand how to apply her magic, when to do so, and when to trust on traditional, more mundane methods. With care, the man would survive but would also probably need to remain for some days in her bed. Moving him could, in theory, reopen the wound and return him to the path of the dead.
Lilita learning all her life at the feet of the venerable guild masters and then at the small shop of her current employer she has seen and treated a wide variety of wounds, injuries, and ailments... a vast range in fact but since starting her little crusade to treat the city's poor and downtrodden, she struggles to deal with all the pain and suffering of those that manage to find their way to her. Most of which are inflicted upon one another. Her home lay in the middle of a vast battlefield as an unending war was waged around her with the city's nobility wealthy merchant class as spectators enjoying the show. Lilita does what she can with what she has but knows there are limits to her skill and knowledge and that she has yet much to learn.
Her duty is to serve those who suffer, Hadara's injuries are severe and he needs to stay with her for several days at least if not more until he has healed sufficiently enough to be moved. This happens from time so Lilita has grown used to adapting to such circumstances depending on the need doing what is best for her patients so that they may fully recover. Until he is well enough to be moved, he is welcome in her home under care as long he conducts himself in the manner of a guest under the rules of hospitality. Given his condition, she does not expect him to be much of a bother and will most likely spend much of the time in the valley of dreams. This she will relay to the other two gentlemen later, at the proper time.
Eran gave her an impressed look. "Can I see the arrowhead? Might be nothing, might be something to it."
Without a word she handed him the arrowhead, wiped clean and partially wrapped in a thin, clean rag.
There was another groan as her delicate fingers probed at the wound, attempting to discern how much of the mutilated flesh had been restored by her magic. Suddenly the girl grimaced and bit her lower lip slightly as one hand went to her lower back. At the same time Hadara mumbled something.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." He looked towards Mord, Eran adds " You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
Mordecai looks equally concerned at Lilita, Erandal’s comment drew a sour look. The Half-Orc quips back, "Despite my tusks, I'm not your errand boy." Mordecai returns to observing Hadara and Lilita. Despite Hadara initially being a job, Mordecai had come to respect his resilience and tenacity.
As if echoing the fugitive mumbles, “Raven, Raven splotched with blood!”
Lilita turns to Mordecai feeling a bit light-headed after such a long day of healing... coupled with the pain she had taken from the old woman at the shop earlier. Lilita paused to take a deep breath and steadies herself before politely responding, "yes thank you, I'm fine... nothing to worry about. Its just been a long day for me is all." Attempting to hide her weakness and deceive him... but not skilled in such so her response and manner are easily seen to be rather flimsy and transparent to the experienced battle-hardened warrior.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Ignoring Mord's 'suggestion' that he stay put, Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." Looking towards Mord, Eran adds "You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
"Aww hell, now he's just actin plan weird. You take a seat girlie and I'll get you that tea. Hope you're takin' notes big man!"
"Raven?" Mordecai asks aloud, moving closer to Hadara so he can hear him better.
Hadara’s eyes were unfocused, his head bobbing as if about to pass out from a hard bought of drinking. “No! No, no my swee – What?! Yes, yes, it’s set….all set. Garbel will die…. silver dance, hee”
Erandal appeared to be listening as he rummaged around in the wagon until he found her slightly battered tea pot, meager supply of tea – a gift from a patient, then started a small fire in the Vardo’s ancient stove.
"What is he going on about?" asks Mordecai aloud this time. "Have you done anything funny with him while you were stitching him up? Maybe he's talking all crazy from the blood loss - because he don't seem the type to be acting this way. Square head on his shoulders since I met him."
As he does not seem to be in pain, she ignores his mumbles and doesn’t press him. Lilita had a standing rule that she does not question her patients, continent only to have a name to call them by whether it is their own true name or not. Their business, their troubles, and intrigues are left outside her door. Lilita knew in order to exist in this oasis of hers she must treat all equally, and not take sides. In order to accomplish this Lilita found it best to remain ignorant with regards to their petty squabbles and intrigues. So, she does her best to ignore any fevered words unless they are a sign that he is in pain or discomfort.
So, she would only press him for the meaning of any words spoken as they related to his health and her care and treatment of him. In which case she will provide him with additional attention as needed to ensure he is to rest comfortably. Anything said otherwise as a healer she treats as confidential. Nothing said is meant for her ears or for her to speculate upon or pass on to others. Lilita had a low tolerance for idle gossip considering such childish, rude and impolite.
Still trying to pull herself together, she says, "what do you mean funny? I did only what was absolutely necessary... he lost a lot of blood and his wound was deep, very deep. He was in a great deal of pain, so I also gave him something, mostly healing herbs and a special ointment mixed with the milk of the poppy... from my garden. Such things besides helping with the pain can also dull the senses and the mind. Ramblings such as his are not uncommon and to be expected! I tried to warn you both that he is in no condition to be questioned and that you should be patient and wait till the morning."
Mordecai checks in on Erandal, as he is still does not trust him, and notices his investigative actions, remarking in a whisper to Lilita, "And here I thought he was making tea."
While the water starts to boil, the man turns and grinned. "So, sounds to me like there's gonna be a killin' at a dance. Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the picnic, but that sounds to me like a long story that might be the reason for the price on our man's head there. Now Mord, buddy, I know you know I ain't just a civic-minded like, and you know I know you see gold coins floating over that their gentleman's noggin. This girlie obviously performed something close to a miracle in bringing him back from the brink of death, so maybe we can find out whether her efforts area worth something more?"
Lilita tries her best to ignore their speculation and discussion but at last chimes in, "the city's nobles often hold grand elaborate parties and dances, especially during the larger festivals, or so I have heard. You may be reading too much into his words given his current state. He could be dreaming or merely remembering a dance in his past that he had attended."
Mordecai looks at Erandal up and down stating, "For someone not of Tarantis, you sure make quick judgments of us without knowing a damn thing, don't you?"
"Don't get you're breeches all twisted there, I'm from all over the states and you ain't nothing I ain't seen before. When you see things, you get to thinkin certain things is what they looks to be. Now you can tell me I'm wrong, which wouldn't be a first though I don't think I am, or you can tell us the score."
Mordecai looks at Lilita and explains, "Hadara is my bounty. I was able to get the scoop on him before the reward was posted publicly, and that's likely the only reason he's alive right now. The guard, who that idiot decided to stand behind with crossbows pointed at me, took an unnatural interest in him. Guards get no bonuses for bringing in a bounty, so they typically rather we do the dirty work, but that group was even drumming up false charges of murder that I knew, for a fact, were not on the BOLO. That just means to me they wanted him bad, and without a fight - which I took to mean that Hadara was never meant to see the light of day once taken in. So, I threw a chair at the lot of them and that bloke took the brunt. There are other interested parties, parties much better informed than even the most connected guards, so Hadara definitely knows something of importance. I mean to find out what - then decide the poor lad’s fate. Although after tonight's events, I may help him out of the city - he's shown grit and tenacity that's admirable. In the meantime, let's see if Hadara can heal up enough that we can find out a bit more. His ravings stir more questions than provide answers."
Then turning to Erandal, the Half-Orc adds, "And by the way, the more often you call yourself 'civic-minded' the less people will believe you. So, admit to what you are and be done with it."
"If'n these bows were pointing at you and I didn't pull the trigger, maybe that tells you something that you ain't paid any attention too yet? An you're ears might not be catchin, what I be suggestin that you an I both know. For the benefit of all those present though, we play at the same games Mordecai, on occasion anyhow. Right presently I'm not formally engaged in any contracts, just happen'd across them there guards that you be missin with your chair. Happen'd to overhear their chatter after that pleasant eye candy of a crier been up on her stage announcin' her bits to the assembled. Followed 'em in as they were roundin' on you, maybe could gone different, but it went how it did. Overheard that drow chewin the cud with some silver-haired old fella, an then there was that fine lassie you politely introduced me to as I nearly bumped her offa her seat. Caught up with you in the alley, then turned three o' them thugs back down the way they came before you took off again. Then a kindly boy named Garion showed me how to head you off at the pass. Just guess the dice rolls weren't goin' my way when I tried clobberin you with the pot. Reckon you might know the rest of it, though Hadara ain't lookin in no fit state to be collecting on tonight. Ain't that right Girlie?"
"your companion, Hadara I believe you said was his name needs sleep and rest,” Lilita says. “As I briefly stated before, his injuries were great and rather extensive. I have done all I can, for now, he is lucky to be alive and so requires time to fully mend. He will need to remain here in my care for several days at least or he risk re-opening wounds, and of course, there is the danger of infection and death if my advice is not followed that he be restricted to bed rest and not be moved. For now, I have given him herbs to ease his pain and discomfort, he is not in any condition to speak again further to either of you until morning and then only if I deem that he is able to so, briefly." Lilita shook her head, eyes turning with pity on the muttering Hadara.
Erandal glances sideways at Mordecai and says, "You're holdin the cards big guy. Now we both know what we're about, I ain't gonna fight you for the gold, but I figure an extra pair o' hands might be worth your losses and splitting your prize a third way." Eran continues as Mord starts to object, "Don't have to be equal, but I figure you'll be cutting girlie in for some after she just saved the man, and if'n you're wantin' my help, if ain't free. Better something than nothin', an' with the heat on this chump, someone watchin yer back don't get to lookin like a pin cushion seems a mighty nice offer."
Lilita still struggling to tune them out as not to be drawn too deeply into their affairs catches snippets of their conversation here and there, in the confined space of the Vardo, it's a bit difficult not to. The petite healer turns to Erandal offers him a respectful smile as she speaks in a low whispered tone, "good ser, please excuse me, I do not mean to interrupt but when you mentioned something about cutting in the girlie, were you by chance referring to me? If so then you should be, you should both be happy to know that I want no part of blood money, whatever your intentions... myself, my part in this whole affair is only in regard to the health and wellbeing of my patient here. So, if your intent is to make money from him then more for the both of you, I want none of it, no part it in. I am a simple healer, no more, no less. Your business is your own as is mine. Hopefully, this ease tension between you two since both of you seem more concerned about earning a fat reward and how to split it. Without me in the mix then you both should be able to come to a peaceful agreement, at least I hope so."
"It's not blood money, miss. I'm hired to find people, typically on behalf of the local authorities, but really for anyone who signs a fair contract. I'm no assassin and, frankly, I take offense to your assumption despite naivete being its source. In fact, I in all likelihood saved this man by not allowing those guards to take him," responds Mordecai firmly but politely.
"Given the circumstance, it would only be fair to split any reward, after netting out the finders fee for the one who gave me the jump on Hadara, if that's the route we take. However, time is something we don't have. Tomorrow morning they'll officially release the BOLO and every bounty hunter in the city will be looking for Hadara - they might even throw in a description of me for good measure." Mordecai looks over at the pale looking Hadara who mutters something
"So, we have three options - 1) turn him in to the guards, who will likely kill him before he makes it to court, 2) take him to the docks to the ship called the Winged Crow per Stax's request, or 3) let Hadara heal up some and see if we can leverage what he knows to our favor. I favor the latter two options."
"Stax likely has his own contact to get Hadara out of the city, we'd be getting paid for delivery to the ship."
"If we go for option three, it'll get... complicated. Both Hadara and I will need to change our appearances some. Luckily, we of orc lineage look all the same to everyone else, so shaving my head and beard, along with a change of clothes might be all I need. Hadara isn't too well known so if we remove some of his more defining features, starting with a cut and shave, we might get lucky."
"You may both stay here as well... as Hadara mends but as you can see my home is very small just the one bed that your companion occupies. I shall sleep on the chair beside the bed but there is no room inside for either of you. So, you must either take a room in a nearby inn if you like, if so, then I can recommend something nearby. Or you can choose to sleep outside, in a tent or other temporary structure but must provide your own. I am sorry but I not have to means to provide such."
"That be a right nice offer Girlie, but I'm told I snore, and I wouldn’t want to be wakin' yous up." Eran looks at the girl, a mixed look in his eyes. "I'll go lurk nearby in a shadow, maybe with something other than a plant pot this time. Big man, you can catch some shut eye under the wagon, I got a bed roll in my pack. If something comes up, I'll come wake you... or you can pretend to sleep and stay up tryin to watch me an gettin all worried. I promise though, that If I was to ever draw on you with a meanin' to be hurtin' you, you'd be awake, armed, and facing me."
Lilita bows respectfully to Erandal, "as you wish... but may I ask if you are injured? If so please put away any stubborn male pride and allow to attend you. Though my magic is nearly exhausted I am still a trained healer with my herbs, ointments, salves, and bandages." Lilita pointing to her Healer's Kit, "at least let me attend to any injuries before you go back into the night? It the least I can do to make for injuring you earlier."
Then pointing at an empty clay jar covered in cobwebs she says, "I do not charge a fee for healing, but all are welcome to leave whatever they will, or not to help pay for bandages, miscellaneous supplies and such. As for food, I do not consume the flesh of animals. I usually make a pot of vegetarian gruel consisting of oats, wheat and rye flour with rice boiled in goat's milk for my myself, patients and guests. It is not much but you may partake as you please. If this is not to your liking or insufficient then you must make other arrangements to secure yourself fare of your own choosing, at your own expense of course for yourselves as well as Hadara when he is able to consume solid food. I also ask that if you consume strong drink on the premises that it is not to excess, if you do so I will have to ask to leave and take accommodations elsewhere."
"That's sold me on the shadows Girlie. Ain't no night for drinkin, but that breakfast is turnin' my guts just listening to it."
Lilita nodes to Erandal, "my apologies that my simple fare is unsuitable. I do the best I can with what I have. Should you change your mind once morning comes and wish to partake of a hot meal even if just to warm you I hope that you please consider before departing. You will, after all, need to be at your full strength and nutritious meal is a good way to keep your strength up even if or I can offer you something else." Lilita moves to Tulip and picks a single berry from her and offers it to Erandal.
Mordecai places two of his gold pieces into Lilita's clay jar. He says, "Regardless of what we decide, you've earned my thanks and respect for both your demeanor and your skill. If there's anything I can ever help you with, I'll be happy to do so."
Mordecai looks at Erandal and deadpans, "We're obviously not there yet."
Mordecai then concludes, "So, what'll we do. Docks now. Or docks after questioning? Miss Lilita, by keeping him here you put yourself at risk, too, moreso than either of us two - so it's fair if you have the final say. Do you still want to keep him here until he heals up sufficiently?"
Lilita looks at the half-orc torn as to how to respond able more than one side of the matter but in the end whispers, "it against my better judgment, I don't wish to be involved in your business any more than I have to but I fear you are right, if he is not taken from here then he will found out and, I with him... no doubt to be made to suffer my part in this and for helping him. So, I am willing to go with you to ensure my patient's wounds do not open up and if they do bet there do something about to make sure he gets to where he is going. But I seek no part of blood money as I have made perfectly clear. Nor do I want to be privy to specific details... as the less I know the better. When you are ready, I will find my shoes and get my things and accompany you, but I am not sure if he can walk even assisted by the pair of you or need a stretcher, which I don't have. Though I can fetch an herb... a stimulant that for a short period should boost his energy a bit, but I dare not give him too much so must only do such just prior to our departing."
“Two for tha party, three for tha Lady, an’ o wee piglet that’ll have ‘em all doin’ the watermelon crawl!” cackles Hadara, and then wagging a finger at Mordecai, he says, “You, me fine frien’, don’t eat tha swine!” The man appears to be trying to focus his eyes. Half grunting, half giggling, he makes a poorly aimed grab for Lilita’s backside, only ending up with air instead. “Piggy!”
Lilita ignores words thinking them wholly the result of herbs she has given him, then when Hadara moves to grab her bum, she is all too used to such and does not comment on it, perhaps too it the milk of the popper or just a male response even when half unconscious. Then looks at him placing her hand on his forehead to check to see how warm it is and whispering, "naughty boy, I am sure you used finer and more willing than my almost non-existent posterior so rest yourself, shortly your companions will be taking you on a little trip and who knows maybe they will tarts there where you are headed." She does to Mord and Elan to make sure they are not getting any ideas that she is some sort of tart starting to feel a bit uncomfortable in such a small confined space with them used to just having to with a patient alone. Hopefully, this will all be over soon...
"He seems likely to bring unwanted attention to us if we move him, if he keeps babbling on like that," comments Mordecai. "If he keeps behaving like that, I don't think we'll make it to the docks - at least not without unwanted attention. We might need to hole up until tomorrow and his babblings pass. This side of town there are always a few vacant buildings or homes, anything like that nearby so that we can hole up for the night? If both Hadara and I change our appearance tomorrow, we might even be able to get a move on in the morning, before the BOLO gets out and the town cries start giving up MY description."
Lilita looks at half-orc, "well I think I do something to manage his wagging tongue with a bite harness I laying about for unruly patients to stop them from biting but also keeps them talking that I can put him before we leave to keep quiet. As for disguises, how about this. I am pretty well known by the watch and the thieves alike as a healer so let's use that. I want to disguise all three of as poxed lepers, you cut up some burlap bags to cover yourself as primitive cloaks and an apply some mud, horse dung and other bits to help you all three looks like poxed lepers, enough for casual inspection to know they don't want to get close and risk infection! I can tell them you are three patient and I looking to take and arrange transport to the leper colony." [A distant island by the name of ‘Isle of the Damned’ works]
"You know, I had a nice easy plan for today. Plans never hold up for long," laments Mordecai and then a grin spreads slowly across his face.
Turning to Lilita he says, “Give him those herbs that will wake him up. We're going to use them to question him NOW. Then, before dawn, after we shave the man, cut his hair and put him in different clothes, we'll take him to the docks. It'll give him the night to physically rest under your care, but we should still have him out before his bounty is widely known. No objections, now. We all want this night to be over, but let's be honest - I think we all want to know what he knows. I've never seen so much interest in one person before."
Despite her mental warning to herself to very well leave enough alone the puzzle that was Hadara’s disjointed comments her analytical mind couldn’t help itself. Well, the watermelon crawl may be just coded for them to keep quiet and go on the sly to not attract attention to literally craw low on the ground to sneak past someone or someone, she mused silently. The don't eat the swine may be a thing for Mord to trust Elan or someone else, not eat them, i.e. not kill them or fight, again not sure totally at this point. As I said I can be slow on the uptake sometimes. Or, she thought, working through the possible meanings behind the disjointed words, it could be a warning not to eat pork, or maybe some specific pig. She recalls that the wounded man had mentioned a possible murder was in the works. Her eyes blinked. So, the reference to crawling could also be a clue perhaps? [Wisdom check 12+2=15]
There were too many unanswered questions that needed answers, and possibly a helpless girl in danger. The neighborhood the Karigaons dwelt in would be well-patrolled, as wealthy as they were, especially with the Festival approaching, and safe for a late call from a family friend, come to inquire about someone he had chanced to see in passing at a Healing House. No need to mention her state of undress; decorum must be maintained, of course. If someone had taken advantage of Miss Pithini's illness, if that was what truly had addled her, something must be done about it. The wizard cursed his foolishness at not casting a detection spell to determine if the girl had been enchanted - another possible explanation of the woman's dazed state, certainly. Cadrian's boots and staff clicked on the streets as he briskly strode to the silversmith's house (unless taking a carriage would be faster, due to distance?)
Cadrian arrived after brisk transit to the silversmiths. Taking a few moments to compose himself (one must preserve decorum, of course), he strode up to the doors and pulled the chain. He unconsciously struck a pose to present himself in the best light from the lamps. When the servant opened the panel, he saw a distinguished-looking gentleman standing expectantly, leaning on his walking-staff in the shadows. "Good evening. May I ask if your master is home this night? If he is, please inform him that Cadrian, son of Baron duFlynn wishes to pay his respects, if he would receive me."
While Karigaon’s shop and smithy were in the Noble’s Quarter the wealthy merchant kept a townhouse on the western end, close to the Golden Gate (Gate between Noble’s and Merchant’s Quarter) by way of the Golden Avenue, one of three such large thoroughfares and ending at the central marketplace for the city. Four stories and covering a block, the merchant’s home was backed by a small, walled garden and a carriage house with stables. The windows at street level were shuttered, as was common at night, but the main entrance was well lit by a pair of crystal lanterns mounted above the doors. Made from a rare black oak, the doors showed carvings depicting various silversmiths hard at work. On the left side of the doors hangs a brass chain and handle.
Cadrian arrived after brisk transit to the silversmiths. Taking a few moments to compose himself (one must preserve decorum, of course), he strode up to the doors and pulled the chain. He unconsciously struck a pose to present himself in the best light from the lamps. When the servant opened the panel, he saw a distinguished-looking gentleman standing expectantly, leaning on his walking-staff in the shadows.
A few moments later a small panel opened inwards, revealing the eyes of an older man. “Yes?”
"Good evening. May I ask if your master is home this night? If he is, please inform him that Cadrian, son of Baron duFlynn wishes to pay his respects, if he would receive me."
There was an obvious change in tone of voice as the doorman replied, “Yes, the Master is home.” The small hatch closed than there was a heavy sounding clack as the man pulled a sliding lock, then opened the door to admit the visitor. “Please, come inside while I will announce your arrival to Master Karigaon, m’lord.”
As he entered, Cadrian noted an armed guard standing nearby. While wearing new armor, the Half-Orc’s weapons and expression displayed many years of experience. In all likelihood the silversmith employed more. A servant arrived and offered to take any cloaks or weather wear that he might wish to remove while another appeared, carrying a tray with a warmed brandy, incase the guest required something bracing against the night’s mists.
Declining the brandy politely, Cadrian gave a polite half-bow and taut smile in response to his host's greeting. "I deeply apologize for disturbing you on your private time, good sir. I assure you, it is not your peerless skills that bring me hither this evening. May we talk in private? I have a matter I would speak to you of."
“Ah, Cadrian. When Opher said that a Lord DuFlynn wished to pay a visit I became puzzled, as your brother rarely deigns to visit a mere artisan, such as myself,” Chasit Karigaon said with a bow suitable for Cadrian’s status and social rank. “You honor my humble home. Are you in need of my shop or my artisan’s services?”
“No, but I do have a few questions.”
Karigaon frowned slightly but gave a nod. “Please, allow us to retire to my study.”
Upon being escorted to study, Cadrian launched into the thrust of his query. "I was walking along the streets in the Tradesman Quarter, when I spied someone that, unless my eyes deceive me bitterly, was your daughter Pithini, who I remember fondly from my youth before my apprenticeship. I trusted my eyes, as her lovely silvery hair is not common in the city. She was standing near one of the healing houses, yet I was not aware that she was unwell, and i wished to offer my sympathies. Your family has long been held in the esteem of mine, and if I was in error, I felt there might be no harm in paying you a courtesy call. If she is unwell, I wished to offer any services I may offer, good sir." The young man waits patiently, hoping he has not made a colossal mistake.
A ripple of surprise crossed the silversmiths face, quickly replaced by one of resolve. “I suppose it is not surprising that word is going around about Pithini’s misfortune.” Walking over to where a pair of plush leather chairs sat before a lit fireplace, Karigaon made a gesture. “Will you join me? This may take a bit of telling.” Taking a seat himself, the silversmith stared at the small fire, more for light than heat. “Three nights ago, Pithini went out in the company of friends. A proper chaperone and escort were also present, of course. She was bent on spending too much coin in preparations for the various parties and masquerades being planned for the upcoming festival.” The man smiled at the thought. “After all, what else is chests of gold crowns and bags of jewels if one’s loved one’s cannot dream of being princesses?”
Cadrian listened patiently, his face set in a composed mask as he thought. He nodded sympathetically as Karigaon mused about the trials of parenthood. He absorbed the story as related, committing it to memory.
Picking up a silver bell, Karigaon gave it a ring and within moments the older man who’d met Cadrian at the door appeared. “Gisp, bring a decanter of <?> please. Thank you.” Once the butler had left, the silversmith continued, “It was my understanding that the ‘incident’ took place at Avgrat’s.” Cadrian was familiar with Avgrat’s Fine Clothing. While his brother was content on having the family’s extensive wardrobes of mostly outdated clothing tailored to fit, he had a reputation to cultivate and that meant new. Rail Avgrat was also famed for his imports and exotic attire that included Elvish made, some of which came with magic imbued in them.
“Her friends say that Pithini drew the attention of a man, a nobleman at that, and that they had drifted off to one side of the main floor in conversation. The chaperone, Dame Toriniti, whose been in the employ of the Sandersans (another upper end merchant clan I’m assuming) for four decades now, insists that she never took an eye off my daughter. Even so, her friends say that they merely turned away, briefly, only to look back and find that Pithini and the nobleman had disappeared. I questioned the Sandersans guard who had stationed himself just outside the main entrance and he swears that she never left the establishment. “
At that moment Gisp returned and set out the decanter and two crystal goblets before withdrawing again. Standing to pour himself a drink, he offers Cadrian a pour.
When the dusk-wine, an expensive import from the elven lands, was proffered, he sipped sparingly. A rare treat, which offered a warm euphoric numbing to humans, would not help his considerations.
Karigaon sipped his dusk-wine and barely seemed to taste it. The silversmith’s eyes were distant. “I went and questioned Rail, the clothier? I got rather hot under the collar and all but accused the man of running some sort of nefarious operation. Things went downhill from there.”
He confirmed that the escort and chaperone were utterly trustworthy. Cadrian asked a few leading questions, looking for tell-tale signs of a baleful drug or potion (using his Alchemy skills) or enchantment (using his Arcana skills). Considering his backgrounds, magic seems to be a likely option for the disappearance, and alchemy or magic as a means to befuddle Pithini. The silversmith kept shaking his head, baffled by his daughter’s behavior after the incident. Karigaon stood and went over to retrieve the decanter and bring it closer to where the two men sat.
Returning to his seat, Karigaon said, “I came home and called in many favors, even hired a few ‘questionable’ sorts, and had them turn out the streets. Even offered a substantial reward for Pithini’s return but before things got too far into motion, she was found in the City Gardens. Though she seemed unharmed physically, she was in some sort of daze or state of confusion. She didn’t know her name or recognize me. That was when I took her to the Black Rose House of Healing for help.”
"I must ask, Master Karigaon, what led you to choose the Black Rose to try healing your daughter?"
For a moment Karigaon looked surprised, and then nodded slightly. “Lord Basha is reputed to be the finest physician in the city. His house of healing has a very prestigious reputation for being able to cure most ills. It is said that he has more knowledge of illnesses of the ‘mind’ than anyone else in the Guild of Healers.”
It was becoming clear that Cadrian was not going to gleam much more from the Master Silversmith at that moment. When he made motions to take his leave, Karigaon stood and walked him to the door where he seemed to struggle to say something. Finally:
“While it is not my intent to offer insult, m’lord, but the safe return of my daughter is my only priority, after that – “the Merchant shook his head as if not sure what else to say – “after that, well. Anyway, you are the first to come asking about Pithini who wasn’t groping for coin. It’s both a boon and a curse, coin. And it may be crass but if you find out who’s behind her attack – and I know in my gut that it was an attack, despite what many say, then I will compensate you generously. Five hundred gold crowns, double that, if you can bring someone to The Lion’s justice. If this will help to keep you invested, I offer it.” Karigaon pulled a slim poke from a pocket and offered it to Cadrian [10 Platinum]. “Investigations may require fragrant grease, as those who live beneath Two Moons like to say. Please, take it…”
"I can reassure you, my good Master Karigaon, that I will strive with diligence and determination to find out the truth about what may have happened to your daughter. If it is possible, I shall bring to bear the full might of justice upon any guilty party. Let us pray that we are merely leaping at shadows and all is well, but I have much work to do before I can rest."
A brief pained expression passed over the wizard's face as he was given coinage for the work ahead. "I am loathe to accept payment to do the work a decent person should, but I am grateful, sir. It is true that I do not enjoy making demands of the family coffers, even in the service of good men such as yourself."
“Consider it a contribution towards finding and putting a stop to whoever or whatever it is that has good people going missing, m’lord” Karigaon extended his hand.
Cadrian shook the much older man's hand gravely, in the matter of a formal agreement, offering a curt nod of thanks for the generosity of his host before walking out the door as the servant opened it. This was a briefer visit than he had feared, and he had a chance to dash back to the Captain's forge to defray some of his workload
Slipping into the forge in the shadows using the key the smith had entrusted him with, he went to work swiftly and quietly, spending around fifty mending spells in the pile of twisted metal, cracked wood and ruined cloth. This magic was so simple that it did not slow his mind as he cast out hypothesis after hypothesis. It was clear that he did not have enough information to make any accurate theories. It seems like he would have to try to glean some information tomorrow at the City Registers about Lord Basha, trying to trace anything sinister there. Certainly, the woman he encountered at the Black Rose might have a history he might clean - a family member, perhaps. Finally, noble honey may pry more information from the tailor than the silversmith's choleric interrogation. Avgrat's should be the next stop on his investigations, after the Registers.
After doing the work of ten hours in the span of a half hour, Cadrian noted the work he had done, itemized it on a scrap of paper, and locked the door behind him, hoping he could finally get at that mace tomorrow night. If everything would just be convenient and fall into place, that is.
Climbing up from the sewers, Smee passed through the sub cellar of a warehouse. At this level, it was mostly discarded goods, old junk, and bits and pieces of furnishings put away for storage. A stairwell linked the sub-basement with the main floor and a side exit opening into an equally, junk filled alley. By the time Smee gained the street Tinker-bell had scampered up to join him, pausing only to let out a low belch. On the Dwarf’s shoulder, the Raven shifted its weight and let out a slow croak.
Smee pauses for a few minutes to look and poke [Investigation 9+6=15] around a bit, mostly just seeing old junk and the like, 'but one never knows, does one,' he thinks to himself! 'Have drop again sometime and take a closer look and do some digging..., after all, one man's junk is another man's treasure,' he smiles to himself before he continues to move on along not wanting to keep the Widow waiting.
The alley met one of the larger streets. Mostly warehouses and seedy looking offices lined either side with the closest light being a smoky lantern hanging above an equally smoky tavern. Though it was late, they’re was the sounds of muted music and bad singing oozing out from an open window. But the tavern didn’t hold Smee’s attention for long. The six wheeled, ebony coach did. Pulled by a six-hitch team of matching pale mares, it was guarded by a quartet of Minitour mercenaries and a pair of human footmen. Lounging on the driver’s bench was a skinny, mixed eyed wench with short cropped green hair. Jesesa was a competent rogue, but one of the best drivers in the city. She competed each spring in the coach races during Altar the Lion’s birthday festival and had won three out of the past four years. Another product of the meaner streets of Tarantis, the woman had come to be in the Widow’s employ after she stole the Widow’s last coach five years before.
Gazing down at him from her perch, Jesesa said, “Took ya long ‘nuff, Smee. Tha Widow’s ask’d ‘bout ya twice now.” The woman shook her head and let fly with a tobacco laden spit that hit a nearby mug sitting beside the wall. “Donno wha’ she sees in ya, ya drunkin’ excuse o’ a man? Dwarf? Dog?” Jesesa cackled at her own wit, which wasn’t much.
Smee just grins and responds sarcastically, "it's good you too Jesesa, someone didn't knock you up did they? Your skinny broke-ass frame is looking a tad thicker now around the middle since I last laid eyes on you, but I digress. Can't keep the Widow waiting but then I am always fashionably late, mostly because my skills, especially during the time of the festival, are in such high demand so I keep pretty busy with my finger in so many pies! Is her ladyship inside or are you just taking me to her?"
Smee as walks closer to the coach he grins rather enjoying the banter with haughty dames like Jesesa, and looks up at her with a wide grin, "drop by my office at the Drunken Crow sometime and I'll buy you a drink or two and show you I am not a bad fellow after all. A drunkard perhaps but I have a certain appeal... even if you don't want to admit it."
“Donno, Omi keeps squakin’ I owe ‘er o’ brace o’ silver crowns,” Jesesa said with an amused, self-inflicted snear. “Dem ‘Two Moon’er’s sere know o’ trick or three, hee. Dem tricksy tongues, hee.” She let fly with another spit, this one splattering against the wall a stride wide of the mug.
At the sight of the coach the Raven took wing, only to land on top and stroll towards a partially opened vent on the elaborately carved roof. And as if that was a que, the door opened, beckoning Smee’s entrance.
Walking through the huge vaults of the cities Hall of Records was comforting in many ways. The air was full of smells from ancient scrolls and tomes as well as aged cedar, speckled with odors such as oils and wax. A small host of librarians, scribes, and clerks kept the place bustling, all supervised by a trio of Senior Sages. The cities records went back nearly nine centuries, when a fire raged through the old library and hall of records, destroying a large percentage of the contents. Tarantis was over two thousand years old, so adding the portion that survived, made it a considerable collection. Even more could be found on the city’s royal university, but the parts interesting Cadrian now were here.
Having spent considerable time within the Hall, Cadrian didn’t need assistant to locate the section pertaining to the city’s nobility. With forty-seven surviving noble families, it was a considerable collection. The records also included another score or so of defunct noble families. Bloodlines that had been wiped out, disenfranchised, or simple failed added even more. Besides huge book and scroll cases there were many family banners, donated heirlooms, busts, statues, and much more. Central to the whole collection is the massive books. Some weighing ten stone or more, each contained the ancestry and blood lines of a given noble house. Many houses, like his own, contained matched versions, and the older the blood line, the more books there were. Within the covers, some made from metals, others exotic hides or leathers, a few, simple carved wood, were lists of births, deaths, marriages, and any major civic or social achievements as recognized by the historians.
Making use of one of several large, marble tables, Cadrian spent most of the morning working his way through various volumes and assorted scrolls and books marked with the Maigrinstaff Black Rose and Ivy crest. He learned a few things of interest but little that would make anyone take serious notice. Unlike his family, which was among the first twenty houses established at the time of the city’s founding, the Maigrinstaff’s date back further, as one of the barbarian clans that had roamed the region. According to the records, their nobility came several generations after the city’s foundation was first laid as part of some attempt to gain control of the provinces. There were several later noble lines that had come to their titles in similar ways. Others had, it was said, purchased them. Still more were recognized as offshoots of other noble lines from distant city states or petty kingdoms. Through a series of scrolls Cadrian discovered that the Maigrinstaff’s owned considerable land and estates as well as several dozen merchant ships, which wasn’t uncommon.
One of the items Cadrian was particularly interested in was linage. So, when he got to that section, he took care to look up the number of births and family members in the Maigrinstaff line. He's especially interested in the relationship, if any, of Melinia; if she's a relation to Lord Basha, and when the current Lord Basha was born. What he uncovers left more questions than answers. Parts of the record, he noted, had gone missing. He could see where several pages pertaining to the past century had been removed. With care Cadrian duly wrote down what was left. The birth Lord Basha the Twelfth of his name was seventy-four years ago, during the Festival of Silver, it was noted. On a second thought, Cadrian flipped back, looking for other Basha’s and noticed a trend. That each one of that name, it seemed, was born roughly seventy-five to a hundred years apart and always on the last day of the Festival of Silver. Of Melinia, there was nothing. If it was there it would have been on one of the two missing pages. He tucks the piece of vellum he's notating upon into his spellbook when the ink is dry. [Investigation 12+3=15]
As noonfest drew close Cadrian was putting the latest tome away when a thick, metal leafed book caught his eye. Within its metallic pages lay engraved pictures of various Maigrinstaff personages. Such book was not uncommon, only expensive and this one more so than most. The metal was some sort of alloy that Cadrian recognized as aluminum. Rare as it was difficult to smelt, the substance was noted for never rusting and for being light. The book was bound by rings suggesting that more pages could be added as needed or desired.
Flipping through each paper-thin page he was greeted by names and faces with dates from centuries ago. About to close the book a name catches his eye. Basha Maigrinstaff, the second of his name and dated from 1200 years ago. Taking out another piece of vellum Cadrian also does his best to sketch the picture of Basha Maigrinstaff for future reference. Returning the various books and scrolls where he found them, the wizard stood and went in search of an old friend.
Grasidian Seawind was the youngest of the three Sages in charge of the Hall of Records. Born seventh into the Seawind noble house, it was known by those in certain circles, of his passion for history. As Cadrian approached the elder man’s desk near the front entrance, he was greeted by a smile and curious eyes.
“Ahh, it’s the young Cadrian DuFlynn. I understand that you have taken up with the arcane arts.”
The young wizard smiled in greeting to Sage Seawind. He always liked Seawind, but he had worried that their relationship had taken some damage when he left his studies of sagedom for his arcane studies. "Greetings, Master Seawind. I'm doing a bit of research for a friend, but don't worry, I'll be no trouble."
Sage Seawind’s smile faded slightly, turning more into a grimace. “It’s best to avoid meddling in the Maigrinstaff’s dealings, young lord. Yes, best…”
Cadrian nodded in response to Seawind's grimace regarding the subject of his studies. "Come now, it is most often the subjects that carry the most danger that offer the greatest rewards. So many suspicions and an actual historical demon mends well with my research and observations that all is not right in that house. Something may have to be done, and soon, to avoid real tragedy. I trust that I can count on your discretion in this matter?"
Giving a loud sigh the Senior Sage’s dark eyes flicked past Cadrian, making sure that they were alone. While doing so he made a particular gesture and rubbed a ring on his hand, causing its embedded gemstone to flicker with an inner magic. The gesture, Cadrian knew, was tied into several magics that could induce silence.
“One can never be too cautious as to who’s listening in or scrying, but I imagine that you know this,” Seawind rubbed the bridge of his nose. “To answer your question, I can only say that there are many, many dark rumors linked with the Maigrinstaff house. Most, I am sure, are just malicious attempts from jealous rivals to stir up hate and discontent, yes. A few are even tied to their prestigious healing house, the Black Rose, but nothing that I would take seriously. However, there was an…recorded incident back, oh, about three hundred years where a demon devastated a goodly portion of the Maigrinstaff’s townhouse here in the city. It took several War Mages and a group of stalwart adventures to drive it back to whatever pit it came from. Ever since whispers continue cropping up about devil worship, undead mastery, blood drinking, you know the sort of thing.”
"Is there any way, outside of asking the Maigrinstaffs themselves, who has been admitted to their care over the past, say, year?"
“Yes, of course. The Guild of Healer’s should have records. It is my understanding that all the licensed Houses of Healing, both in the city and from the provinces, are supposed to submit regular listings of births, deaths, suspicious illnesses’, that sort of thing. How accurate they are, one can only guess.”
When he is finished with the Hall of Records, the heads next to a moneychangers. He needs to turn a few platinum coins he received from Karigaon into something more spendable, silver and gold. He then turns his stride to the tailors for more investigation.
This was far from his first time visiting the Widow’s rolling mansion so Smee knew what to expect when he climbed inside. While the Jester didn’t have a clue how much loot went into crafting such a conveyance, he knew that it was most likely enough to have purchased a major castle and half a counties worth of land. Large on the inside than on the outside, The Coach had enough floor space to give most Merchant’s townhouses a challenge. The Coach was two floors plus a lower one, which included a very well stocked wine cellar and a single cell ‘dungeon’. Both of which, Smee had spent considerable time in at one point or another since coming to work for the Widow. The foyer was small and looked very much like the interior of a posh coach. Passing through he pushed open the opposite door and instead of exiting out the other side, Smee walked into the Widow’s salon.
“Greeting’s Smee, I hope that you are doing well,” a sultry voice greeted him from the middle of the room. The Widow stood on top of a small stool, surrounded by her personal servants. One was hemming the Dryad’s costume that the Widow currently wore, which showed so much leg that it would have been indecent in proper company. Another entered the room carrying a black gown made from a rare spider silk that gave it an almost transparent texture. He had seen her wearing once in preparations to attend a private party at County Cornadald’s townhouse. Every time she had moved it gave tantalizing glimpses and yet, never truly seemed to reveal what the eye thought it saw. It was Drow make, so magical too, he assumed. A third servant glided over from a covered bar, carrying a large tankard of an imported Dwarvish mead and presented it to him. Another ostentatious display because the vintage was rare and hideously expensive – and yet, to his booze cultured palette, no better than the average mead served at the Drunken Crow.
Smee upon seeing the Widow and hearing her greeting, pauses and gives a polite respectful bow, "thank you m'lady, I am here as you requested. How may I be of service to you this fine evening?" As he speaks, he walks and half-staggers around a bit as if nervous or just partially inebriated but in reality, it is a ploy to move ever closer to her without it seemly being construed as a conscious effort on his part. Even though the Widow is his superior in every way, she is a looker, extremely fetching and the half-man always finds her presence a distraction but a welcome one for his leering lecherous eyes to drink in deeply!
Appearing to ignore his antics the Widow gazes at a nearby mirror, inspecting her seamstresses work. “A number of things have come to my attention recently. Aside from the usual backstabbing and maneuvering going on, a few of them require some actions on my part, and that’s where your services come in.”
Smee accidentally drops a couple of ball bearings to give him a plausible excuse to come even closer and press between her attendants and bend down to attempt to retrieve them before someone trips on them. All the while taking his own sweet time about it since this was yet another ploy to allow to sneak a peek under the Widow's very revealing Dryad costume, hoping for a closer look underneath!!! Of course, this is out of scientific curiosity in order to determine if the carpet matches the tapestry, he mused. Ever the lewd, lascivious schemer... he struggles to keep his lips held tightly shut not allowing them to form a leering grin to give himself away.
“While I am sure that the politics of Altar the Lion’s inner circle are high enough on the tree to miss your interest, Smee, but it behooves me to keep my fingers in that sticky, deceptive pie.” She sighs dramatically, nose lifting higher as if the mere thought of politics was offensive. “
His sneaky little ploy succeeded, and when he is gazed upon her most holy of holies, pun intended, only to have his anticipation shorted when he discovered that she is wearing knickers. The dwarf said as if a schoolmaster speaking to a student:
"I fear m'lady your costume is not entirely accurate... I would think one such as yourself would strive to be true in all ways possible in your portrayal of such an enticing and enchanting creature... and we both very well know that Dryad's do not wear any knickers." This deadpan statement followed with a slightly amused chuckle on his part.
The Widow snorted than glanced down at him. “Well, of course it isn’t accurate. I am only too familiar with your antics, Jester.” She snorted, several of the servants smiled and shake their heads. All of them had been targets of Smee’s lascivious behavior in the past.
The Widow’s servants, all women of varying ages, had exotic beauty and grace, if not born into it, very well coached. Each was different, one had all the visual ques of being a Wood Elf, only that Smee had learned several years before, it was all cosmetic. Another, the one who had just served him appeared to be a waif, and yet, he suspected that she was far older than she appeared. The seamstress had ebony skin, burnt by the endless suns of the far south. So endowed was this one, it was hard not to keep from gawking. The thin, deeply cut dress she wore didn’t help. With just a bit of concealing magic or the right kit, the woman could easily pass herself off as a Dark Elf. It was a theme with the Widow, Smee had come to know (probably one reason why she keeps him around).
Finally noticing the servant with the rare imported Dwarvish mead, Smee’s grin changed, suddenly in one swift agile motion he leaps up to his feet to partake of the sweet ambrosia of the gawds making a full miraculous recovery!!! The girl squealed slightly at the speed the Dwarf had shown in retrieving the mug and putting it to his lips. Foam splashed onto the front of his shirt in his haste.
“By all means, Smee, make yourself comfortable,” the Widow said with a slight roll of her eyes. “And yes, it’s for a party, of course. Baron Taragasi’s household is going to host a costume party on the opening night of the Festival of Silver.” Her hand languidly waved to a small table half covered in expensive looking envelopes. “So many events, so many opportunities,” she sighed so artfully that Smee almost believed the woman’s dismay.
"Of course, I remember hearing tell that the good Baron will be hosting another one of his fabulous and legendary soirees, no doubt to be the talk of the city for months to come. A pity that the messenger must have somehow lost or misplaced my invitation, sad that really I was looking forward to it this year!"
It earned him another ‘look’ from the Widow.
"But tell me of this little task that you have a mind for me... I breathless with anticipation and you know my curiosity knows no bounds!" The dwarf meets her gaze trying hard not to stare once at her lovely delicious and inviting bosoms...
“I am hearing some stirrings on high, some whispers that there may be a serious plot in play. Of course,” The Widow waved a languid hand and turned in place at the bidding of her seamstress. The action brought her profile into Smee’s view. The Dryad’s costume had a slit in the already short skirt, one that gaped open to show her plain knickers to her hip. He could only envision what, if anything, the ravishing beauty planned to wear beneath the costume. “Much of it seems to be coming out of the Head Sage’s office. Kanizan is a savvy one, and only too well knows our beloved ruler’s habit of dismissing his ministers. All but Monach the Canny, of course. As Chief Adviser to the Lion, and his friend, Monach has kept his seat while the others seem to be constantly changing. It has long been suspected that it is Monach who instigates those changes, whispering innuendo or out right lies into The Lion’s ear. It doesn’t help that Monach the Canny also controls the Blue Cobras (The cities secret police), giving him a virtual private army within the city proper.”
Smee though in his usual state of being halfway to being three-sheets to the wind pays close attention to the Widow's every word... very much admiring and appreciating her keen intellect at work. After a pause, he nods trying hard to swallow a belch forming in his throat as he responds, his toad-like voice slightly slurred, "makes sense m'lady, I concur with the conclusions you've drawn but if true... are you certain you wish to risk the possibility of drawing Lord Monach's gaze in your direction. I mean with all due respect he has a bit of a reputation, a dangerous one... if the rumors are true. Though he has worked very hard to go out of his way to appear otherwise. I am sure your canaries, whisperers, and agents such myself are highly skilled and loyal to you but there is still always a risk of our being fingered and pinched no matter how lightly we tread. Misfortune, as they say, can be a fickle *****! So, if our esteemed Lord Monach catches the slightest hint of your finger in his pie he will assume you may be looking to oppose him and seek retribution... and nobody, least of all I want to see that happen."
When the Widow laughed it sounded like bells ringing a salutation to spring in the distance over some rustic town in the provinces. “Yes, there is always risk in our lives, is there not? Ah, but my dear twisted-tongued go-fer, of course we must tread, even if it is to tread lightly. Only fools and the blind are not willing to at least look in on our neighbors, from time to time, leastways we become sidelined by inattention.” A hand absently pushed back a long strand of red hair. “and your assessment of the rumors about Lord Monach is correct, as usually, which, I must say, always somewhat amazes me considering your usual libation-soaked mind. How much more…dangerous…could you be if you learned to abstain.” Her green flecked eyes sparkled in amusement. “But then, we have stuck our noses into the Chief Advisers business before and I imagine, will continue to do so. Monach, you can bet, dose his level best to peek between my blinds.”
The half-man takes another gulp, spilling a few precious drops of his drink as he sits pondering the possible ramifications of it all and what exactly the Widow wishes him to do exactly before he finally asks, "and what would you have me do for you exactly m'lady? Such news trickles slowly down to my ears in the gutter and back alleyways but high-society is not really in my regular stomping grounds. Sure, I get invited to some of the parties and such, mostly knowing I will end up crashing them anyway and make a complete ass out of myself but that is part of my irresistible appeal. My connections with the knob hill crowd and the elite of this fair city is few and far between to be of much use to you, M'lady. Unless that is you have someone in mind with access and contacts, someone new to the game perhaps? Is that it, do you wish for me to act as a go-between to someone that you have in mind, so that said individual will not see your hand in pulling the strings?"
“Our current Head Sage, Kanizan Karigaon, is proving to be a rather resourceful fellow. He’s formed his own ‘secret police’, or so my informant in his office is whispering.” The seamstress made a gesture and the Widow didn’t miss a beat. With one deft pull, she pulled the costume over her head and handed it over. The heavily bosomed servant from the far south reappeared, carrying a silk robe for her mistress. Stepping down, the Widow stretched briefly before slipping into the robe.
Smee nods, "yes I have heard the rumors but nothing of any importance just enough to be wary of the Blue Cobras, I am not all that fond serpents you well know." The dwarf lets out a low whimper, almost a whine as his beady little eyes watch with delight, catching the brief moment as the Widow slips into the offered robe. The dwarf feeling a throbbing deep within himself as thinks to himself, one of the days, one of these my luck will change, and I will have the means to do more than leer. Giving a hard tug to constricting trousers the half-man fidgets trying to get comfortable again as he patiently waits for Widow to continue and tell him specifically what she wishes him to do though already has a theory, that if correct he then wonders who it is that the Widow has in mind should she desire to make him a bagman, a go-between... to make contact with a birdie, hopefully, someone he knows which would make his job all the easier but somehow sensing it will be someone new to the game, in which case that would make his job all the harder and riskier but with great risk come greater rewards..
“Yes, I have similar disgust for serpents, too.”
The homely disgusting little dwarf takes another gulp and pauses again...
“Monach and his serpents are no friends of ours, to be sure, my good Smee. No, not at all. But the good Archmage? Kanizan has shown considerable talents and insight in his dealings with The Lion’s foreign enemies as well as developing his own spy network.” That melodious giggle sounded again. As she turned, Smee could see just how well the white and red silk robe clung to her points and curves. “Funny, isn’t it? Just how many competing networks there really are? It’s important, as you know, to know what our peers are doing and just as importantly, be able to adjust their plans or interfere with their plots and one such tool that I find so convenient is by dissemination. Something that you consistently display a knack for, yes?”
Smee grins... "you honor me and are most kind to voice such m'lady, but then you do know how to properly stroke a male's fragile ego to get in a more pliable state. I so appreciate how you operate... always managing to tickle my fancy. Perhaps I do have small knack but nothing that compares to your own talents in regard to our shared tradecraft!"
Crossing the room, the Widow stops at a small writer’s desk to pull a bit of gilded paper from a cubby, her manicured fingers were flawless, like every inch of her. Sometimes too flawless. Brining the folded note to him, she smiles down at Smee.
“Spread these tidbits around, hmm? Work that nasty tongue of yours in the taverns and bars that you frequent. The more that hear them, the more tongues will wag and even those on high will be hearing some version of them. Ah, but isn’t it grand how a few phrases and simple words can cause so much chaos?”
The half-man watches every movement closely, as if very life depended on it, at beautiful and as sensual as the Widow is her moniker, her alias rather suited her way of doing things so as much as Smee might enjoy his time in her presence.... the distractions, and the flirting he knew better than to totally lower his guard around her but that does not stop him from enjoying it all.
“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of tidbits, it’s come to my attention that a nice bit of Elven sweetmeat has gained employment in the office of internal communications as a city crier. I hear tell that she goes by the name of Livvi, which may be a cover” – The Widow shrugged, causing her robe to pull tighter across her ample breasts – “for something else. It’s been whispered that she is a potential recruit for the Blue Cobras, considering her choice of champions, that may be true. If you get a chance, feel her out…find out her politics, you know the sort of drill
Smee grins again, "a half-elf, you do know well my weakness for fey maidens, so Livvi is her name, I wonder it short for? No family name or is her family not of sufficient pedigree and lineage to do her any good, or simply a name that will only lessen her rise in the ranks of the bureaucracy."
“Rahl, I believe is the surname she is going under, but of course, what is in a name, hmm?” The Widow tapped one perfectly polished fingernail against her chin thoughtfully. “That was the name registered with the Bard’s Guild, so I suppose it’ll work for a start.”
The half-considers her words, "true she could a potential recruit for them but then can also be a ringer... put for us and those like us as bait to draw us out into the open. Always risky business trying to recruit someone new without someone to vouch for them, but I like a good challenge as much like a tasty sweet fey tart."
As usual when Smee exited the coach he found a small pouch waiting for him on one of the plush leather seats in the outer foyer. Not for payment of services, the Widow never paid him, he’d noted more than once, but for expenses. Drinking and buying other drinks was expensive, as was the need for the occasional bribe to gain access to the better establishments that often refused him admittance. Hefting it he knew without looking that there were fifty gold crowns inside and what felt like a few small gems. Probably rubies, as was the Widow’s calling card. Rubies finely cut and magically embedded with her sigil. A crow.
A glance at the note, written in perfect penmanship, were the following rumors. Whether or not they were true, didn’t matter, not really:
There once was a man called Hadara, who plots to kill a king, so grandiose is this plot, that the Serpents value his head’s weight in gold.
Monach is so canny that he often plays in the rain, dancing and prancing and twirling all about, tossing out silver and gold, much to the admiration of the crowd.
The Silver Festival is nearly upon us, it is known, but few know its origins or the reason that the city adorns itself with so much of such a base metal. It’s magic, of course, and a ward…
The Head Mage is so handsome, a true Archwizard of fame. Young and h – handsome, so wise in his way for he knows the true enemy of the serpent is the Great Owl.
Smee pockets the pouch, gold, gems and all, it will prove very useful in the coming days. The gems with a hint of magic he will have to examine more closely later as time allows, for now, he reads those note committing it to memory thinking on its contents...
Livvi woke with a start, her heart pounding and breathing heavily. The dream quickly faded from memory - the only thing she remembers is a pair of haunting eyes that seemingly stared into her soul. She wanted to drown in the soft warmth and animal attraction in them, yet she was terrified of the man to whom these eyes belonged. Knowing she could not go back to sleep, Livvi begrudgingly rose from her bed, took care of her morning rituals, and did her training stretches. Slowly moving from one position to the next, she concentrated on her breathing and her form, feeling the taut muscles beneath her skin relax. By the time she was done, Livvi had a sheen of sweat covering her, but the nightmare was well in the past and she was ready to start her day.
Based on the events of the past two days, the young bard dug her combat leathers out of the wooden foot locker at the end of her bed. She didn't want to walk around town in the form-fitting red leather armor alone, so she left the shoulder and neck piece in the chest and put on the rest. The she found a slightly-too-big dress and slid it over the armor, tugging and shifting to try and hide the leather under the cloth. Livvi checked her reflection in the mirror and was satisfied that she could pass a casual inspection. Before she left, Livvi strapped her daggers in place and several throwing darts - the armor had some clever straps installed that held these items in place, and they fit under the dress well enough.
Livvi went over the previous day in her mind. She wanted to warn the Grey Lady, as she started thinking of the girl, but doubted that she would be able to find her in the city. "I'll look for a barefoot young lass in a plain gray dress, but the chances of just running across her are pretty slim. Still, I'll keep the shoes in a bag and carry them with me." Her thoughts turned next to Bilina and the nobleman they had encountered - and she had blindly chased. Livvi knew better than to press Bilina for information about him - she would tell Livvi when she was ready. Besides, Livvi valued Bilina's friendship more than the knowing this, so she wouldn't push Lina for more information about the nobleman. As for Pithini and the Black Rose, Livvi isn't stupid enough to directly confront one of the oldest families in Tarantis directly. No...better get all of the facts first - then determine if it was worth the political fallout to pursue her suspicions! So today, she would start researching and continue investigating the Silversmith's daughter's abduction and recovery.
Still running early, Livvi takes a little detour through the Scholar's, walking the silent and empty streets in the twilight before the sun was above the horizon. But instead of walking towards Atar's Library of Exceptional Knowledge, or the University's Stacks, she walks through the Greens, an open area in the center of the University that students frequented on warm, sunny days to study, lounge, or walk with their love interests. It was about 5 acres in total, with several old trees providing shade along the pebbled walk that meandered through the park. Bisecting the grassy area was a small stream, somehow kept clean even in the middle of the city. Livvi stopped on the footbridge that crossed the stream, looking out over the stream towards the east. She pulled a lavender-colored ribbon from her dress pocket and tied it to the second post from the southern bank on the eastern side of the bridge, forming an intricate knot. It had been almost a year since she had left a mark here - almost a year that she had managed to avoid needing her reliable and trustworthy contact who acted as a liaison to a network of other criminals. She wasn't sure if Bilina knew of this network - Livvi didn't talk about it, but Lina knew an awful lot about a lot of things - but Livvi wanted to crack the missing merchant case and find out who was responsible for the Silversmith daughter's abduction before the Silver Festival! Her contact would probably see her signal today, and she expected a note with a location and time to be at her room when she returned tonight - in code, of course. This is how she set up a meeting...
Arriving to the Sub-Minister of Internal Communication's office a half-hour earlier than usual, the bard decided to try and do some early research on the Black Rose and the Maigrinstaff family in the Administration records. Although Flander wasn't in yet, the ever-present form of Quig sat in his chair - well, practically consumed his chair, the fat overflowing the edges - by the door. Livvi had struck a friendly relationship with the clerk. Although a beast of a man, he had more manners that Flander and could at least keep his eyes off of her boobs. SHe respected him for that, although she knew that he still looked - he was just more circumspect about it! "Good morning, Grumpy! Would you mind if I hang out in here until you get the messages sorted out? You won't even know I'm here, I promise!" Livvi will wander around the Sub-Minister's office, quietly humming a catchy tavern tune she thought the big man might like. She casually ran her fingers lightly over the many volumes of books and scrolls stacked everywhere in an almost haphazard manner, looking for property or family records. Yes, the tax and property ownership records would be her best bets for now.
Once she had the metal tube with the day's announcements, Livvi quickly moved to the Witches' Brew Café for her usual pastries, kafe, and chat with Nephele. "Good morning, Effie! What's good today? Oh, you know I'll take whatever you recommend! You have such good taste. What's the news around the Quarter today? Hey, have you seen a little wisp of a girl, wearing a plain grey homespun dress around here? She lost her shoes last night and I happened to pick them up and I want to return them. You know how valuable a good pair of shoes are to a girl!"
Livvi wanted to visit the Silversmith at his shop, trace Pithini's steps and see where she was abducted and returned today, today. Livvi knew she could give her announcements anywhere, if it was within the quarter’s bounds, so she was not as concerned with time and returning to the same exact spot. Despite her meditations and activities, the incident last night still ate at her. The Gray Lady. Livvi had her shoes, if for no other reason than they represented a possible clue to the young woman and who she was. She also hoped to return them as somehow, Livvi somehow knew, they were the only pair the Gray Lady owned. However, finding one lone, girl in gray in a city the size of Tarantis was near on impossible. Well, impossible for anyone but her, perhaps. She remembered seeing the girl passing through the market every morning but had yet to see her today. Hopefully that didn’t mean the worst. And she had her 'eyes' looking out for the girl now, too.
The morning news was a repeat of the usual propaganda and warnings from Atar the Lion, although how much of that came from the High Lord of the city or from his underlings, was anyone’s guess. From her chosen perch Livvi was able to keep an eye on the Black Rose House of Healing as well. Aside from several deliveries of sundries and foodstuffs the House had been quiet all morning.
Finishing the announcements for the morning, Livvi was about to hop down when she spotted a short, stocky Dwarf with no beard, wearing a jester’s hat and bits and pieces of colorful clothing that wasn’t quite the sort of outfit jesters were mandated to wear by their guild. H was standing twenty strides away, towards the center of the marketplace where he juggled two bottles of wine. With every other toss the Dwarf took a swig than sent the bottle upwards again without spilling a drop. Finding an entertainer in a public arena was nothing new. She had seen dozens of various sorts every day, working the crowds. Some legitimate, others only a clever cover for shadow associates engaged in pickpocketing and other nefarious scams. But this one, she noted, had been watching her from the moment she arrived from the crier’s office with something more than idle curiosity. Well, Livvi was no fainting doe - if that bastard nobleman had sent a lackey to find and trail her, she would show this little jester her claws. Of course - he could be just what he seemed to be - an entertainer looking to make some coin. And drink it away by noon based on his current performance. Livvi jumps to the ground and casually wanders over to the dwarf. She tosses two coppers at his feet, then proceeds to clap her hands and start to sing a popular tavern drinking song in time with his juggling. There was something…off, about the Dwarf, aside from his lack of a beard. Watching his open, lust filled antics, Livvi noted that his eyes were constantly on the move, braising past her charms to take in the crowd around them. He was also showing more interest in her presence than someone surreptitiously plotting a casual meeting between them. No, this one was here on purpose, for her. But to what end?
When Livvi's tavern song was finished, the dwarf deftly drops the now empty wine bottles gently to the ground. Without taking his eyes off her the half-man bends down and picks up two copper, kissing one and then the other. Giving Livvi a wide grin and a wink, he pockets them then reaches into a pouch and tosses two gold pieces at her feet. Grinning even more the beardless Dwarf sits down and pull out a Lute and starts to play another popular tune, one more challenging but perfectly suited to the bard's voice. Livvi smiles at the unexpected surprise of a talented performer and their impromptu performance! She picks up the melody and together they work through several songs - some tawdry and suggestive, some bawdy and fun, and one sad and longing ballad that normally brought women to tears and men to silence. The Dwarf gives Livvi a sly grin as he stares up at her like some religious zealot gazing upon a goddess. Then with a wave of his hand he produces a freshly cut red rose as if by magic, well sleight-of-hand magic. Then, with a wink, the rose begins to float in the air gracefully moving towards her until it hovers waiting just before her...
Livvi curtsies to the dwarf, taking the rose from the air. A smile on her face, she tosses one of the gold coins back and tucks the other in her sash, then gathers any coins the crowd may have tossed and shares them with him. "Well played, sir. From whom did you learn to play? You have hints of Pizatte and Giselle, combined in a unique manner perfectly suited for your fingers. Are you performing anywhere? Perhaps I shall come to see you one evening." All the while she is watching him, looking for any signs that he is perhaps spying on her or means her harm.
Again, the half-man watches closely but lustfully, and then speaks with a low toad-like croak and whispers, "I hear you are one with contacts in high places, while myself... I tend to specialize at the other end of the spectrum. I was thinking perhaps we might do some business together if are in the market. But first, if you please would you tell me your going pillowing rate so we can get that out of the way and I can determine if I have sufficient funds in my coin purse for an hour or two," his large bulbous eyes wide... roaming up and down her fair fey form, caressing her every curve with a leering gaze...
Anyone who lived near the sea knew what a summer squall was. It could be a perfectly beautiful day - warm sun shining brightly down on the azure water, waves softly roaring as they came ashore and returned to the deep. And then a squall would blow in - sudden - harsh - deadly. Winds will pick up, clouds will suddenly rush in from the horizon, the waves change from a gentle rolling to a vicious monster crushing and dragging you out to the sea's eternal depths. Cold rain comes pelting down, like a vast swarm of angry insects stinging and biting, with lightning striking in rapid succession up and down the coast.
The dwarf was doing so well, a fellow performer with some skill. She thought he could have possibly been a good source of information in her quest. And then he called her a whore. The cold lightning in Livvi's eyes came on suddenly and without mercy. A summer squall was like a lover's warm embrace compared to her face in that moment. She stood silent for a three-count, the muscles tensing throughout her body - the darkening skies before the full fury of the storm arrives.
"You are, indeed, at the other end of the spectrum, sewer-kissing tub of vomit. You dare to insult me here in the open, beardless dirt worshipper? You have no chance of bedding me, stump. Leave, and do not foul this square with your presence again." (Casting Vicious Mockery - DC13 WIS save or take 1 psychic damage.) Her words slashed into the half-man’s sense of wellbeing, enough so that his face displayed a hint of emotional pain and causing him to take a step back and cringe as if expecting a blow.
The half-elf bard spins on her heel and walks away from the market square and the dwarf, headed to the Silversmith's for any other information and to trace Pithini's steps to see where she was abducted and where she was returned. People parted before her, the rage still evident in her fiery eyes and tight-lipped face.
All but ignoring the two men crowding her home she focused on the wounded man, Hadara, who, only moments before, had been at death’s door. He had lost so much blood that it was a miracle that her magic found anything to take hold of. Now he was breathing better, the bloody wound had stopped oozing. She could only hope that any damage done to his delicate innards had also begun to knit and heal. During her studies with the Healer’s Guild, Lilita had learned how the human body worked. She had also studied some of the other goodly races, and a few not so goodly races, in order to better understand how to apply her magic, when to do so, and when to trust on traditional, more mundane methods. With care, the man would survive but would also probably need to remain for some days in her bed. Moving him could, in theory, reopen the wound and return him to the path of the dead.
Lilita learning all her life at the feet of the venerable guild masters and then at the small shop of her current employer she has seen and treated a wide variety of wounds, injuries, and ailments... a vast range in fact but since starting her little crusade to treat the city's poor and downtrodden, she struggles to deal with all the pain and suffering of those that manage to find their way to her. Most of which are inflicted upon one another. Her home lay in the middle of a vast battlefield as an unending war was waged around her with the city's nobility wealthy merchant class as spectators enjoying the show. Lilita does what she can with what she has but knows there are limits to her skill and knowledge and that she has yet much to learn.
Her duty is to serve those who suffer, Hadara's injuries are severe and he needs to stay with her for several days at least if not more until he has healed sufficiently enough to be moved. This happens from time so Lilita has grown used to adapting to such circumstances depending on the need doing what is best for her patients so that they may fully recover. Until he is well enough to be moved, he is welcome in her home under care as long he conducts himself in the manner of a guest under the rules of hospitality. Given his condition, she does not expect him to be much of a bother and will most likely spend much of the time in the valley of dreams. This she will relay to the other two gentlemen later, at the proper time.
Eran gave her an impressed look. "Can I see the arrowhead? Might be nothing, might be something to it."
Without a word she handed him the arrowhead, wiped clean and partially wrapped in a thin, clean rag.
There was another groan as her delicate fingers probed at the wound, attempting to discern how much of the mutilated flesh had been restored by her magic. Suddenly the girl grimaced and bit her lower lip slightly as one hand went to her lower back. At the same time Hadara mumbled something.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." He looked towards Mord, Eran adds " You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
Mordecai looks equally concerned at Lilita, Erandal’s comment drew a sour look. The Half-Orc quips back, "Despite my tusks, I'm not your errand boy." Mordecai returns to observing Hadara and Lilita. Despite Hadara initially being a job, Mordecai had come to respect his resilience and tenacity.
As if echoing the fugitive mumbles, “Raven, Raven splotched with blood!”
Lilita turns to Mordecai feeling a bit light-headed after such a long day of healing... coupled with the pain she had taken from the old woman at the shop earlier. Lilita paused to take a deep breath and steadies herself before politely responding, "yes thank you, I'm fine... nothing to worry about. Its just been a long day for me is all." Attempting to hide her weakness and deceive him... but not skilled in such so her response and manner are easily seen to be rather flimsy and transparent to the experienced battle-hardened warrior.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Ignoring Mord's 'suggestion' that he stay put, Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." Looking towards Mord, Eran adds "You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
"Aww hell, now he's just actin plan weird. You take a seat girlie and I'll get you that tea. Hope you're takin' notes big man!"
"Raven?" Mordecai asks aloud, moving closer to Hadara so he can hear him better.
Hadara’s eyes were unfocused, his head bobbing as if about to pass out from a hard bought of drinking. “No! No, no my swee – What?! Yes, yes, it’s set….all set. Garbel will die…. silver dance, hee”
Erandal appeared to be listening as he rummaged around in the wagon until he found her slightly battered tea pot, meager supply of tea – a gift from a patient, then started a small fire in the Vardo’s ancient stove.
"What is he going on about?" asks Mordecai aloud this time. "Have you done anything funny with him while you were stitching him up? Maybe he's talking all crazy from the blood loss - because he don't seem the type to be acting this way. Square head on his shoulders since I met him."
As he does not seem to be in pain, she ignores his mumbles and doesn’t press him. Lilita had a standing rule that she does not question her patients, continent only to have a name to call them by whether it is their own true name or not. Their business, their troubles, and intrigues are left outside her door. Lilita knew in order to exist in this oasis of hers she must treat all equally, and not take sides. In order to accomplish this Lilita found it best to remain ignorant with regards to their petty squabbles and intrigues. So, she does her best to ignore any fevered words unless they are a sign that he is in pain or discomfort.
So, she would only press him for the meaning of any words spoken as they related to his health and her care and treatment of him. In which case she will provide him with additional attention as needed to ensure he is to rest comfortably. Anything said otherwise as a healer she treats as confidential. Nothing said is meant for her ears or for her to speculate upon or pass on to others. Lilita had a low tolerance for idle gossip considering such childish, rude and impolite.
Still trying to pull herself together, she says, "what do you mean funny? I did only what was absolutely necessary... he lost a lot of blood and his wound was deep, very deep. He was in a great deal of pain, so I also gave him something, mostly healing herbs and a special ointment mixed with the milk of the poppy... from my garden. Such things besides helping with the pain can also dull the senses and the mind. Ramblings such as his are not uncommon and to be expected! I tried to warn you both that he is in no condition to be questioned and that you should be patient and wait till the morning."
Mordecai checks in on Erandal, as he is still does not trust him, and notices his investigative actions, remarking in a whisper to Lilita, "And here I thought he was making tea."
While the water starts to boil, the man turns and grinned. "So, sounds to me like there's gonna be a killin' at a dance. Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the picnic, but that sounds to me like a long story that might be the reason for the price on our man's head there. Now Mord, buddy, I know you know I ain't just a civic-minded like, and you know I know you see gold coins floating over that their gentleman's noggin. This girlie obviously performed something close to a miracle in bringing him back from the brink of death, so maybe we can find out whether her efforts area worth something more?"
Lilita tries her best to ignore their speculation and discussion but at last chimes in, "the city's nobles often hold grand elaborate parties and dances, especially during the larger festivals, or so I have heard. You may be reading too much into his words given his current state. He could be dreaming or merely remembering a dance in his past that he had attended."
Mordecai looks at Erandal up and down stating, "For someone not of Tarantis, you sure make quick judgments of us without knowing a damn thing, don't you?"
"Don't get you're breeches all twisted there, I'm from all over the states and you ain't nothing I ain't seen before. When you see things, you get to thinkin certain things is what they looks to be. Now you can tell me I'm wrong, which wouldn't be a first though I don't think I am, or you can tell us the score."
Mordecai looks at Lilita and explains, "Hadara is my bounty. I was able to get the scoop on him before the reward was posted publicly, and that's likely the only reason he's alive right now. The guard, who that idiot decided to stand behind with crossbows pointed at me, took an unnatural interest in him. Guards get no bonuses for bringing in a bounty, so they typically rather we do the dirty work, but that group was even drumming up false charges of murder that I knew, for a fact, were not on the BOLO. That just means to me they wanted him bad, and without a fight - which I took to mean that Hadara was never meant to see the light of day once taken in. So, I threw a chair at the lot of them and that bloke took the brunt. There are other interested parties, parties much better informed than even the most connected guards, so Hadara definitely knows something of importance. I mean to find out what - then decide the poor lad’s fate. Although after tonight's events, I may help him out of the city - he's shown grit and tenacity that's admirable. In the meantime, let's see if Hadara can heal up enough that we can find out a bit more. His ravings stir more questions than provide answers."
Then turning to Erandal, the Half-Orc adds, "And by the way, the more often you call yourself 'civic-minded' the less people will believe you. So, admit to what you are and be done with it."
"If'n these bows were pointing at you and I didn't pull the trigger, maybe that tells you something that you ain't paid any attention too yet? An you're ears might not be catchin, what I be suggestin that you an I both know. For the benefit of all those present though, we play at the same games Mordecai, on occasion anyhow. Right presently I'm not formally engaged in any contracts, just happen'd across them there guards that you be missin with your chair. Happen'd to overhear their chatter after that pleasant eye candy of a crier been up on her stage announcin' her bits to the assembled. Followed 'em in as they were roundin' on you, maybe could gone different, but it went how it did. Overheard that drow chewin the cud with some silver-haired old fella, an then there was that fine lassie you politely introduced me to as I nearly bumped her offa her seat. Caught up with you in the alley, then turned three o' them thugs back down the way they came before you took off again. Then a kindly boy named Garion showed me how to head you off at the pass. Just guess the dice rolls weren't goin' my way when I tried clobberin you with the pot. Reckon you might know the rest of it, though Hadara ain't lookin in no fit state to be collecting on tonight. Ain't that right Girlie?"
"your companion, Hadara I believe you said was his name needs sleep and rest,” Lilita says. “As I briefly stated before, his injuries were great and rather extensive. I have done all I can, for now, he is lucky to be alive and so requires time to fully mend. He will need to remain here in my care for several days at least or he risk re-opening wounds, and of course, there is the danger of infection and death if my advice is not followed that he be restricted to bed rest and not be moved. For now, I have given him herbs to ease his pain and discomfort, he is not in any condition to speak again further to either of you until morning and then only if I deem that he is able to so, briefly." Lilita shook her head, eyes turning with pity on the muttering Hadara.
Erandal glances sideways at Mordecai and says, "You're holdin the cards big guy. Now we both know what we're about, I ain't gonna fight you for the gold, but I figure an extra pair o' hands might be worth your losses and splitting your prize a third way." Eran continues as Mord starts to object, "Don't have to be equal, but I figure you'll be cutting girlie in for some after she just saved the man, and if'n you're wantin' my help, if ain't free. Better something than nothin', an' with the heat on this chump, someone watchin yer back don't get to lookin like a pin cushion seems a mighty nice offer."
Lilita still struggling to tune them out as not to be drawn too deeply into their affairs catches snippets of their conversation here and there, in the confined space of the Vardo, it's a bit difficult not to. The petite healer turns to Erandal offers him a respectful smile as she speaks in a low whispered tone, "good ser, please excuse me, I do not mean to interrupt but when you mentioned something about cutting in the girlie, were you by chance referring to me? If so then you should be, you should both be happy to know that I want no part of blood money, whatever your intentions... myself, my part in this whole affair is only in regard to the health and wellbeing of my patient here. So, if your intent is to make money from him then more for the both of you, I want none of it, no part it in. I am a simple healer, no more, no less. Your business is your own as is mine. Hopefully, this ease tension between you two since both of you seem more concerned about earning a fat reward and how to split it. Without me in the mix then you both should be able to come to a peaceful agreement, at least I hope so."
"It's not blood money, miss. I'm hired to find people, typically on behalf of the local authorities, but really for anyone who signs a fair contract. I'm no assassin and, frankly, I take offense to your assumption despite naivete being its source. In fact, I in all likelihood saved this man by not allowing those guards to take him," responds Mordecai firmly but politely.
"Given the circumstance, it would only be fair to split any reward, after netting out the finders fee for the one who gave me the jump on Hadara, if that's the route we take. However, time is something we don't have. Tomorrow morning they'll officially release the BOLO and every bounty hunter in the city will be looking for Hadara - they might even throw in a description of me for good measure." Mordecai looks over at the pale looking Hadara who mutters something
"So, we have three options - 1) turn him in to the guards, who will likely kill him before he makes it to court, 2) take him to the docks to the ship called the Winged Crow per Stax's request, or 3) let Hadara heal up some and see if we can leverage what he knows to our favor. I favor the latter two options."
"Stax likely has his own contact to get Hadara out of the city, we'd be getting paid for delivery to the ship."
"If we go for option three, it'll get... complicated. Both Hadara and I will need to change our appearances some. Luckily, we of orc lineage look all the same to everyone else, so shaving my head and beard, along with a change of clothes might be all I need. Hadara isn't too well known so if we remove some of his more defining features, starting with a cut and shave, we might get lucky."
"You may both stay here as well... as Hadara mends but as you can see my home is very small just the one bed that your companion occupies. I shall sleep on the chair beside the bed but there is no room inside for either of you. So, you must either take a room in a nearby inn if you like, if so, then I can recommend something nearby. Or you can choose to sleep outside, in a tent or other temporary structure but must provide your own. I am sorry but I not have to means to provide such."
"That be a right nice offer Girlie, but I'm told I snore, and I wouldn’t want to be wakin' yous up." Eran looks at the girl, a mixed look in his eyes. "I'll go lurk nearby in a shadow, maybe with something other than a plant pot this time. Big man, you can catch some shut eye under the wagon, I got a bed roll in my pack. If something comes up, I'll come wake you... or you can pretend to sleep and stay up tryin to watch me an gettin all worried. I promise though, that If I was to ever draw on you with a meanin' to be hurtin' you, you'd be awake, armed, and facing me."
Lilita bows respectfully to Erandal, "as you wish... but may I ask if you are injured? If so please put away any stubborn male pride and allow to attend you. Though my magic is nearly exhausted I am still a trained healer with my herbs, ointments, salves, and bandages." Lilita pointing to her Healer's Kit, "at least let me attend to any injuries before you go back into the night? It the least I can do to make for injuring you earlier."
Then pointing at an empty clay jar covered in cobwebs she says, "I do not charge a fee for healing, but all are welcome to leave whatever they will, or not to help pay for bandages, miscellaneous supplies and such. As for food, I do not consume the flesh of animals. I usually make a pot of vegetarian gruel consisting of oats, wheat and rye flour with rice boiled in goat's milk for my myself, patients and guests. It is not much but you may partake as you please. If this is not to your liking or insufficient then you must make other arrangements to secure yourself fare of your own choosing, at your own expense of course for yourselves as well as Hadara when he is able to consume solid food. I also ask that if you consume strong drink on the premises that it is not to excess, if you do so I will have to ask to leave and take accommodations elsewhere."
"That's sold me on the shadows Girlie. Ain't no night for drinkin, but that breakfast is turnin' my guts just listening to it."
Lilita nodes to Erandal, "my apologies that my simple fare is unsuitable. I do the best I can with what I have. Should you change your mind once morning comes and wish to partake of a hot meal even if just to warm you I hope that you please consider before departing. You will, after all, need to be at your full strength and nutritious meal is a good way to keep your strength up even if or I can offer you something else." Lilita moves to Tulip and picks a single berry from her and offers it to Erandal.
Mordecai places two of his gold pieces into Lilita's clay jar. He says, "Regardless of what we decide, you've earned my thanks and respect for both your demeanor and your skill. If there's anything I can ever help you with, I'll be happy to do so."
Mordecai looks at Erandal and deadpans, "We're obviously not there yet."
Mordecai then concludes, "So, what'll we do. Docks now. Or docks after questioning? Miss Lilita, by keeping him here you put yourself at risk, too, moreso than either of us two - so it's fair if you have the final say. Do you still want to keep him here until he heals up sufficiently?"
Lilita looks at the half-orc torn as to how to respond able more than one side of the matter but in the end whispers, "it against my better judgment, I don't wish to be involved in your business any more than I have to but I fear you are right, if he is not taken from here then he will found out and, I with him... no doubt to be made to suffer my part in this and for helping him. So, I am willing to go with you to ensure my patient's wounds do not open up and if they do bet there do something about to make sure he gets to where he is going. But I seek no part of blood money as I have made perfectly clear. Nor do I want to be privy to specific details... as the less I know the better. When you are ready, I will find my shoes and get my things and accompany you, but I am not sure if he can walk even assisted by the pair of you or need a stretcher, which I don't have. Though I can fetch an herb... a stimulant that for a short period should boost his energy a bit, but I dare not give him too much so must only do such just prior to our departing."
“Two for tha party, three for tha Lady, an’ o wee piglet that’ll have ‘em all doin’ the watermelon crawl!” cackles Hadara, and then wagging a finger at Mordecai, he says, “You, me fine frien’, don’t eat tha swine!” The man appears to be trying to focus his eyes. Half grunting, half giggling, he makes a poorly aimed grab for Lilita’s backside, only ending up with air instead. “Piggy!”
Lilita ignores words thinking them wholly the result of herbs she has given him, then when Hadara moves to grab her bum, she is all too used to such and does not comment on it, perhaps too it the milk of the popper or just a male response even when half unconscious. Then looks at him placing her hand on his forehead to check to see how warm it is and whispering, "naughty boy, I am sure you used finer and more willing than my almost non-existent posterior so rest yourself, shortly your companions will be taking you on a little trip and who knows maybe they will tarts there where you are headed." She does to Mord and Elan to make sure they are not getting any ideas that she is some sort of tart starting to feel a bit uncomfortable in such a small confined space with them used to just having to with a patient alone. Hopefully, this will all be over soon...
"He seems likely to bring unwanted attention to us if we move him, if he keeps babbling on like that," comments Mordecai. "If he keeps behaving like that, I don't think we'll make it to the docks - at least not without unwanted attention. We might need to hole up until tomorrow and his babblings pass. This side of town there are always a few vacant buildings or homes, anything like that nearby so that we can hole up for the night? If both Hadara and I change our appearance tomorrow, we might even be able to get a move on in the morning, before the BOLO gets out and the town cries start giving up MY description."
Lilita looks at half-orc, "well I think I do something to manage his wagging tongue with a bite harness I laying about for unruly patients to stop them from biting but also keeps them talking that I can put him before we leave to keep quiet. As for disguises, how about this. I am pretty well known by the watch and the thieves alike as a healer so let's use that. I want to disguise all three of as poxed lepers, you cut up some burlap bags to cover yourself as primitive cloaks and an apply some mud, horse dung and other bits to help you all three looks like poxed lepers, enough for casual inspection to know they don't want to get close and risk infection! I can tell them you are three patient and I looking to take and arrange transport to the leper colony." [A distant island by the name of ‘Isle of the Damned’ works]
"You know, I had a nice easy plan for today. Plans never hold up for long," laments Mordecai and then a grin spreads slowly across his face.
Turning to Lilita he says, “Give him those herbs that will wake him up. We're going to use them to question him NOW. Then, before dawn, after we shave the man, cut his hair and put him in different clothes, we'll take him to the docks. It'll give him the night to physically rest under your care, but we should still have him out before his bounty is widely known. No objections, now. We all want this night to be over, but let's be honest - I think we all want to know what he knows. I've never seen so much interest in one person before."
Despite her mental warning to herself to very well leave enough alone the puzzle that was Hadara’s disjointed comments her analytical mind couldn’t help itself. Well, the watermelon crawl may be just coded for them to keep quiet and go on the sly to not attract attention to literally craw low on the ground to sneak past someone or someone, she mused silently. The don't eat the swine may be a thing for Mord to trust Elan or someone else, not eat them, i.e. not kill them or fight, again not sure totally at this point. As I said I can be slow on the uptake sometimes. Or, she thought, working through the possible meanings behind the disjointed words, it could be a warning not to eat pork, or maybe some specific pig. She recalls that the wounded man had mentioned a possible murder was in the works. Her eyes blinked. So, the reference to crawling could also be a clue perhaps? [Wisdom check 12+2=15]
Unless there is further discussion, Erandal will stalk out into the night and look for a suitable perch. Ideally looking for a rooftop that he can see the surrounding area from (I'll leave any rolls to you) GM Notes: I’m going to insert this line at this point and push forward with the game. If “Erandal’s” Player resumes he’ll have to catch up.
The young girl seemed to ignore her two guests as she focused ib the wounded man, Hadara, who, only moments before, had been at death’s door. He had lost so much blood that it was a miracle that her magic found anything to take hold of. Now he was breathing better, the bloody wound had stopped oozing. As he watched, Lilita’s delicate fingers pulled some sort of paste from a cedar box and worked it into the arrow wound.
" I'd like to think I've seen worst in the pits," Mordecai thought, "but if I did, then it's not by much."
Eran had an impressed look on his face as he watched the girl work. "Can I see the arrowhead? Might be nothing, might be something to it."
Without a word the girl handed Eran the arrowhead, wiped clean and partially wrapped in a thin, clean rag.
There was another groan as her delicate fingers probed at the wound, attempting to discern how much of the mutilated flesh had been restored by her magic. Suddenly the girl grimaced and bit her lower lip slightly as one hand went to her lower back. At the same time Hadara mumbled something.
Clearing his throat Mordecai says, "Apologies for the hack job I did on that wound, we were short on time and under duress - I didn't have a moment to treat it properly."
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Ignoring Mord's 'suggestion' that he stay put, Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." Looking towards Mord, Eran adds "You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
Mordecai looks equally concerned at Lilita, but the comment from Erandal draws from Mordecai a sour look. He quips back, "Despite my tusks, I'm not your errand boy." He returns to observing Hadara and Lilita as if echoing the fugitive mumbles, “Raven, Raven splotched with blood!”
"Aww hell, now he's just actin plan weird. You take a seat girlie and I'll get you that tea. Hope your takin' notes big man!"
Lilita took a deep breath and steadies herself before politely responding, "yes thank you, I'm fine... nothing to worry about. It’s just been a long day for me is all."
"Raven?" Mordecai asks aloud.
"What is he going on about?" Mordecai thinks to himself. "He didn't seem the type to fill his head with nonsense."
Hadara’s eyes were unfocused, his head bobbing as if about to pass out from a hard bought of drinking. “No! No, no my swee – What?! Yes, yes, it’s set….all set. Garbel will die…. silver dance, hee”
"What is he going on about?" asks Mordecai aloud this time. "Have you done anything funny with him while you were stitching him up? Maybe he's talking all crazy from the blood loss - because he don't seem the type to be acting this way. Square head on his shoulders since I met him."
"What do you mean funny? I did only what was absolutely necessary... he lost a lot of blood and his wound was deep, very deep. He was in a great deal of pain, so I also gave him something, mostly healing herbs and a special ointment mixed with the milk of the poppy... from my garden. Such things besides helping with the pain can also dull the senses and the mind. Ramblings such as his are not uncommon and to be expected! I tried to warn you both that he is in no condition to be questioned and that you should be patient and wait till the morning."
Erandal appeared to be listening as he rummaged around in the wagon until he found a slightly battered tea pot and a meager supply of tea. With a frown, the man starts a small fire in the Vardo’s ancient stove.
Mordecai checks in on Erandal, as he is still does not trust him, and notices his investigative actions, remarking in a whisper to Lilita, "And here I thought he was making tea."
While the water starts to boil, Eran says, "So, sounds to me like there's gonna be a killin' at a dance. Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the picnic, but that sounds to me like a long story that might be the reason for the price on our man's head there. Now Mord, buddy, I know you know I ain't just a civic-minded like, and you know I know you see gold coins floating over that their gentleman's noggin. This girlie obviously performed something close to a miracle in bringing him back from the brink of death, so maybe we can find out whether her efforts are worth something more?"
Mordecai looks at Erandal up and down, taking in his dress, his look and his mannerisms, then stating, "For someone not of Tarantis, you sure make quick judgments of us without knowing a damn thing, don't you?"
"Don't get your breeches all twisted there, I'm from all over the states and you ain't nothin I ain't seen before. When you see things, you get to thinkin certain things is what they looks to be. Now you can tell me I'm wrong, which wouldn't be a first though I don't think I am, or you can tell us the score."
Mordecai looks at Lilita and explains, "Hadara is my bounty. I was able to get the scoop on him before the reward was posted publicly, and that's likely the only reason he's alive right now. The guard, who that idiot decided to stand behind with crossbows pointed at me, took an unnatural interest in him. Guards get no bonuses for bringing in a bounty, so they typically rather we do the dirty work, but that group was even drumming up false charges of murder that I knew, for a fact, were not on the BOLO. That just means to me they wanted him bad, and without a fight - which I took to mean that Hadara was never meant to see the light of day once taken in. So, I threw a chair at the lot of them and that bloke took the brunt. There are other interested parties, parties much better informed than even the most connected guards, so Hadara definitely knows something of importance. I mean to find out what - then decide the poor lad’s fate. Although after tonight's events, I may help him out of the city - he's shown grit and tenacity that's admirable. In the meantime, let's see if Hadara can heal up enough that we can find out a bit more. His ravings stir more questions than provide answers."
Then turning to Erandal, "And by the way, the more often you call yourself 'civic-minded' the less people will believe you. So, admit to what you are and be done with it."
"If'n these bows were pointing at you and I didn't pull the trigger, maybe that tells you something that you ain't paid any attention too yet? An you're ears might not be catchin, what I be suggestin that you an I both know. For the benefit of all those present though, we play at the same games Mordecai, on occasion anyhow. Right presently I'm not formally engaged in any contracts, just happen'd across them there guards that you be missin with your chair. Happen'd to overhear their chatter after that pleasant eye candy of a crier been up on her stage announcin' her bits to the assembled. Followed 'em in as they were roundin' on you, maybe could gone different, but it went how it did. Overheard that drow chewin the cud with some silver-haired old fella, an then there was that fine lassie you politely introduced me to as I nearly bumped her offa her seat. Caught up with you in the alley, then turned three o' them thugs back down the way they came before you took off again. Then a kindly boy named Garion showed me how to head you off at the pass. Just guess the dice rolls weren't goin' my way when I tried clobberin you with the pot. Reckon you might know the rest of it, though Hadara ain't lookin in no fit state to be collecting on tonight. Ain't that right Girlie?"
"your companion, Hadara I believe you said was his name needs sleep and rest. As I briefly stated before, his injuries were great and rather extensive. I have done all I can, for now, he is lucky to be alive and so requires time to fully mend. He will need to remain here in my care for several days at least or he risk re-opening wounds, and of course, there is the danger of infection and death if my advice is not followed that he be restricted to bed rest and not be moved. For now, I have given him herbs to ease his pain and discomfort, he is not in any condition to speak again further to either of you until morning and then only if I deem that he is able to so, briefly." Lilita shook her head, eyes turning with pity on the muttering Hadara.
Erandal glances sideways at Mordecai and says, "You're holdin the cards big guy. Now we both know what we're about, I ain't gonna fight you for the gold, but I figure an extra pair o' hands might be worth your losses and splitting your prize a third way." Eran continues as Mord starts to object, "Don't have to be equal, but I figure you'll be cutting girlie in for some after she just saved the man, and if'n you're wantin' my help, if ain't free. Better something than nothin', an' with the heat on this chump, someone watchin yer back don't get to lookin like a pin cushion seems a mighty nice offer."
The petite healer turns to Erandal offers him a respectful smile as she speaks in a low whispered tone, "good ser, please excuse me, I do not mean to interrupt but when you mentioned something about cutting in the girlie, were you by chance referring to me? If so then you should be, you should both be happy to know that I want no part of blood money, whatever your intentions... myself, my part in this whole affair is only in regard to the health and wellbeing of my patient here. So, if your intent is to make money from him then more for the both of you, I want none of it, no part it in. I am a simple healer, no more, no less. Your business is your own as is mine. Hopefully, this ease tension between you two since both of you seem more concerned about earning a fat reward and how to split it. Without me in the mix then you both should be able to come to a peaceful agreement, at least I hope so."
"It's not blood money, miss. I'm hired to find people, typically on behalf of the local authorities, but really for anyone who signs a fair contract. I'm no assassin and, frankly, I take offense to your assumption despite naivete being its source. In fact, I in all likelihood saved this man by not allowing those guards to take him," responds Mordecai firmly but politely.
"Given the circumstance, it would only be fair to split any reward, after netting out the finders fee for the one who gave me the jump on Hadara, if that's the route we take. However, time is something we don't have. Tomorrow morning they'll officially release the BOLO and every bounty hunter in the city will be looking for Hadara - they might even throw in a description of me for good measure." Mordecai looks over at the pale looking Hadara who mutters something
"So, we have three options - 1) turn him in to the guards, who will likely kill him before he makes it to court, 2) take him to the docks to the ship called the Winged Crow per Stax's request, or 3) let Hadara heal up some and see if we can leverage what he knows to our favor. I favor the latter two options."
"Stax likely has his own contact to get Hadara out of the city, we'd be getting paid for delivery to the ship."
"If we go for option three, it'll get... complicated. Both Hadara and I will need to change our appearances some. Luckily, we of orc lineage look all the same to everyone else, so shaving my head and beard, along with a change of clothes might be all I need. Hadara isn't too well known so if we remove some of his more defining features, starting with a cut and shave, we might get lucky."
"You may both stay here as well... as Hadara mends but as you can see my home is very small just the one bed that your companion occupies. I shall sleep on the chair beside the bed but there is no room inside for either of you. So, you must either take a room in a nearby inn if you like, if so, then I can recommend something nearby. Or you can choose to sleep outside, in a tent or other temporary structure but must provide your own. I am sorry but I not have to means to provide such."
"That be a right nice offer Girlie, but I'm told I snore, and I wouldn’t want to be wakin' yous up." Eran looks at the girl, a mixed look in his eyes. "I'll go lurk nearby in a shadow, maybe with something other than a plant pot this time. Big man, you can catch some shut eye under the wagon, I got a bed roll in my pack. If something comes up, I'll come wake you... or you can pretend to sleep and stay up tryin to watch me an gettin all worried. I promise though, that If I was to ever draw on you with a meanin' to be hurtin' you, you'd be awake, armed, and facing me."
Lilita bows respectfully to Erandal, "as you wish... but may I ask if you are injured? If so, please put away any stubborn male pride and allow to attend you. Though my magic is nearly exhausted I am still a trained healer with my herbs, ointments, salves, and bandages." Lilita pointing to her Healer's Kit, "at least let me attend to any injuries before you go back into the night? It the least I can do to make for injuring you earlier."
"I'll sleep on a chair next to Hadara, if we're going with the third option, or even if it's just to allow him to rest some until we move him to the docks. You could accompany us if you are that concerned, Miss Lilita," replies Mordecai.
Then pointing at an empty clay jar covered in cobwebs she says, "I do not charge a fee for healing, but all are welcome to leave whatever they will, or not to help pay for bandages, miscellaneous supplies and such. As for food, I do not consume the flesh of animals. I usually make a pot of vegetarian gruel consisting of oats, wheat and rye flour with rice boiled in goat's milk for my myself, patients and guests. It is not much but you may partake as you please. If this is not to your liking or insufficient then you must make other arrangements to secure yourself fare of your own choosing, at your own expense of course for yourselves as well as Hadara when he is able to consume solid food. I also ask that if you consume strong drink on the premises that it is not to excess, if you do so I will have to ask to leave and take accommodations elsewhere."
"That's sold me on the shadows Girlie. Ain't no night for drinkin, but that breakfast is turnin' my guts just listening to it."
Lilita nodes to Erandal, "my apologies that my simple fare is unsuitable. I do the best I can with what I have. Should you change your mind once morning comes and wish to partake of a hot meal even if just to warm you, I hope that you please consider before departing. You will, after all, need to be at your full strength and nutritious meal is a good way to keep your strength up even if or I can offer you something else." Lilita moves to Tulip and picks a single berry from her and offers it to Erandal.
Mordecai places two of his gold pieces into Lilita's clay jar. He says, "Regardless of what we decide, you've earned my thanks and respect for both your demeanor and your skill. If there's anything I can ever help you with, I'll be happy to do so."
Mordecai looks at Erandal and deadpans, "We're obviously not there yet."
Mordecai then concludes, "So, what'll we do. Docks now. Or docks after questioning? Miss Lilita, by keeping him here you put yourself at risk, too, moreso than either of us two - so it's fair if you have the final say. Do you still want to keep him here until he heals up sufficiently?"
Lilita looks at the half-orc and whispers, "it against my better judgment, I don't wish to be involved in your business any more than I have to but I fear you are right, if he is not taken from here then he will found out and, I with him... no doubt to be made to suffer my part in this and for helping him. So, I am willing to go with you to ensure my patient's wounds do not open up and if they do bet there do something about to make sure he gets to where he is going. But I seek no part of blood money as I have made perfectly clear. Nor do I want to be privy to specific details... as the less I know the better. When you are ready, I will find my shoes and get my things and accompany you, but I am not sure if he can walk even assisted by the pair of you or need a stretcher, which I don't have. Though I can fetch an herb... a stimulant that for a short period should boost his energy a bit, but I dare not give him too much so must only do such just prior to our departing."
“Two for tha party, three for tha Lady, an’ o wee piglet that’ll have ‘em all doin’ the watermelon crawl!” cackles Hadara, and then wagging a finger at Mordecai, he says, “You, me fine frien’, don’t eat tha swine!” The man appears to be trying to focus his eyes. Half grunting, half giggling, he makes a poorly aimed grab for Lilita’s backside, only ending up with air instead. “Piggy!”
The girl seems to be ignoring the babble coming out of Hadara as she places her hand on his forehead to check to see how warm it is and whispering, "naughty boy, I am sure you used finer and more willing than my almost non-existent posterior so rest yourself, shortly your companions will be taking you on a little trip and who knows maybe they will tarts there where you are headed."
"He seems likely to bring unwanted attention to us if we move him, if he keeps babbling on like that," comments Mordecai. "If he keeps behaving like that, I don't think we'll make it to the docks - at least not without unwanted attention. We might need to hole up until tomorrow and his babblings pass. This side of town there are always a few vacant buildings or homes, anything like that nearby so that we can hole up for the night? If both Hadara and I change our appearance tomorrow, we might even be able to get a move on in the morning, before the BOLO gets out and the town cries start giving up MY description."
Lilita looks at half-orc, "well I think I do something to manage his wagging tongue with a bite harness I laying about for unruly patients to stop them from biting but also keeps them talking that I can put him before we leave to keep quiet. As for disguises, how about this. I am pretty well known by the watch and the thieves alike as a healer so let's use that. I want to disguise all three of as poxed lepers, you cut up some burlap bags to cover yourself as primitive cloaks and an apply some mud, horse dung and other bits to help you all three looks like poxed lepers, enough for casual inspection to know they don't want to get close and risk infection! I can tell them you are three patient and I looking to take and arrange transport to the leper colony." [A distant island by the name of ‘Isle of the Damned’ works]
"You know, I had a nice easy plan for today. Plans never hold up for long," laments Mordecai and then a grin spreads slowly across his face.
It doesn't happen often, but it seemed that an idea flashed across Mordecai’s face.
He tells Lilita, "Give him those herbs that will wake him up. We're going to use them to question him NOW. Then, before dawn, after we shave the man, cut his hair and put him in different clothes, we'll take him to the docks. It'll give him the night to physically rest under your care, but we should still have him out before his bounty is widely known. No objections, now. We all want this night to be over, but let's be honest - I think we all want to know what he knows. I've never seen so much interest in one person before."
Mordecai gets his newly acquired dagger, cleans it, and begins cutting off his own hair, followed by his beard. He'll stop whenever Hadara regains consciousness. Upon the first careful scrap of the dagger Mord nearly slices off a hunk of skin. Upon close inspection it was clear that the blade was very fine and very sharp. After experimenting with a wet stone, he discovers that, despite the former owners use and using it to cut his thick, wiry hair, the blade held its edge. <Consider it a +1 magical weapon though I cannot officially confirm this without Mordecai seeking out a weapons smith or mage>
Erandal will stalk out into the night and look for a suitable perch.
Finding that the silversmith was out on business for the day Livvi returned to Avgrat’s Fine Clothing. There were unanswered questions lingering in the shop and she meant to have answers. Surely the shop kept records, possibly detailed ones, on their clients. If they didn’t have information on the Grey Lady, then they should know who the dead-eyed nobleman was. Approaching the upscale shop, she brushed past a distinguished looking man, possibly a noble by his attire and charged into the shop. Almost immediately several servants converge on her. One bowed slightly and gave her one of ‘those’ smiles as his eyes flickered over her leathers and day attire.
“May I help you miss?”
"Yes, you may help me - the question is can you help me. First, I was in here last night, shopping for a gown for the Silver Festival, when I met a nobleman and a young woman. Is there anyone working now that was here last night? The matron I saw, perhaps? You see, the young lady left her shoes behind in her hurried exit, and I wish to return them to her. Also, the man fairly radiated an attractive charisma - and I would like to know who he was for...future reference." Livvi didn't bother to explain all of the details to the man - they would have meant nothing to him if he wasn't there. After all, she doubted the Grey Lady had been here before nor would return again. Not after that monster, or nobleman, had tried to do something to her.
"Second, I am investigating the disappearance of a young woman from near here several nights ago. The young lady and her friends were shopping along Iltutmish, properly escorted to prevent such a problem from occurring, but she apparently disappeared at some point, for her friends said she was with them, and then wasn't. Did you hear anything about this incident - a young maiden going missing? If no one here now was working either of the nights in question, then perhaps I can speak with the store owner - I am sure he is aware of the goings-on in and around his store."
“Master Avgart? Well, yes, but he only see’s customers by appointment,” the servant sniffed, looking down his nose at her. “He’s very in demand these days.” [GM Note: These servants work days so would not have been present during her evening visit the night before]
"I am sure that he is - his outfits are the absolute best in the city for the Festival! But this is a matter of some urgency. Young, pretty women may be in danger - and girls disappearing in the area can be bad for business. Especially this close to a festival known for elaborate masquerade balls and parties. So, you see, Master Avgrat will want to see me." Livvi really worked her charms on the attendant, using all of her natural abilities to bend him to her will and get her to Avgrat. Persuasion: 17
“Yes, well” – the man’s tone changed to something sounding more helpful – “I am sure that the good master can make time for you, m’lady. Please, just a moment.”
When the store attendant ran off to fetch Master Avgrat, Livvi returned to the shoe display where the Grey Lady was talking to the noblemonster (her new nickname for the man – nice;p). She focused on the area - the wooden table and stands, the elven slippers placed back on display, and the stool where the girl sat and tried on the slippers - letting her mind settle and bringing the memories from last night back to mind. She examined each thought, recalling as many details as she could. Sounds, colors, smells. Even the feel of the silken red dress on her skin, and the chill night air where the dress revealed her form. Who was the older lady who had met her gaze with disapproval? Who were the staff members working - where were the other customers? All these things she did in an effort to recall something new, something she may have missed. (Passive Perception roll: 14]
She couldn’t recall having ever seen the matron or the younger girls before, and none of the servants working that night appeared to be in the shop. There was one thing that came back to mind, it was a slight odor, one that she wasn’t familiar with. She couldn’t be sure if it had come from the grey lady or the noblemonster, but it was herbal in nature.
"It's been a while since I've seen an enchantment thrown that effectively and smoothly over the unsuspecting like that, my lady. I daresay a weak mind such as his would have succumbed without exercising such control, but it is a pleasure to see someone so skilled in action."
Livvi curtsies in return, obviously practiced being courteous but not subservient - more of two equals acknowledging each other. "It wasn't too hard to persuade the fellow to go fetch the shop owner, as your appreciation of my...enchantments..." she starts to say, then takes a breath to flash a bit of cleavage at the man, "...proves, Lord du Flynn. And what, exactly, is your interest in missing women?" Livvi eyes the man distrustfully, trying to get a read of his motives and intentions. Insight: 10
When Livvi turns she realizes that it was the man who had been window shopping outside. A smile quirks the corners of his mouth upwards. "It seems we might share an interest in missing women, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself - Lord Cadrian du Flynn, meddler and do-gooder, at your service." He makes a deep bow, classically perfect yet keeping his eyes on her posture and body language.
"I am looking into the mysterious disappearance and disability of a young woman from this very shop. Perhaps our interests overlap? If so, perhaps an exchange of information is in order, after the interrogation of the merchant, of course. Perhaps over a drink?"
"It seems that they may. Are you saying that the Silversmith's daughter disappeared from this shop? I knew she was in the area, but not that she was in here. That will aid in my questions to Master Avgrat. Ah - I think that is he coming out of the back! I defer to your lordship to begin the questions..." she finishes before Avgrat gets within listening range. Livvi wanted to give the stranger a chance to talk first and reveal what he knows about Pithini. Another trick she had learned in her bard training - it was always better to listen first before giving away information lest you tell the other person something they didn't already know. And she thought playing the deferential maiden to a noble was sure to stroke his ego and get him to take the bait and reveal what he knew while talking to the shop owner...
Just then a tall, older man going bald in the middle while attempting to disguise it with a questionable comb over comes out of a back room and approaches. “Bandr there tells me that you have some questions about one of our customers?”
Cadrian bows at the waist a fraction, his smile never failing, but his eyes giving away his disapproving opinion of the clothier’s snobbery. "We do, Master Avgrat. I am Lord Cadrian du Flynn. Perhaps we can continue this conversation somewhere other than on your sales floor?"
A brief frown crosses Avgrat’s face as if he’s attempting to place Cadrian and decide if the wizard is a noble or connected to anyone of importance. “Yes, of course.” He leads them into a well-appointed salon meant for private fittings.
"Master Avgrat, I am investigating the strange disappearances occurring in the area. I am trying to discern the events regarding the disappearance of Miss Pirini Karigaon from your store some days hence. Master Karigaon's exchange with you was regrettable, but I trust such a discerning gentleman as yourself may look past any umbrage remaining to assist me in helping these poor unfortunates? Any details that you can remember might be immensely useful."
“Yes, Karigaon all but accused me of complicacy,” Avgrat said with another frown. “I wasn’t even in the shop that night so I can only relate what my store clerks and servants told.”
"The young woman was seen in the company of a nobleman, another patron of your store, perhaps? Do you know the identity of any men who were in her company?"
The clothier looked confused for pregnant moment and then replied slowly, as if struggling with something. “We get so many noblemen in my shop, do either of you have a description of the man in question?”
She watches Avgrat, then remembers Bilina's similar difficulty focusing on the man. How was it she could remember every detail about the man, but others had a hard time focusing on their memories? Perhaps he just needed some inspiration...
Livvi speaks in a confident, soothing voice. "I am not certain if it is the same man, but I was in here last night and I encountered an older nobleman who went stalking after another young maiden. Listen, and picture my description in your mind. Concentrate on him and nothing else. This man had grey hair to his shoulders, and a grey beard. He wore a blue turban with a jeweled golden fob. The strange thing was he exuded charm - almost magical in nature. He was trying to convince the girl to try on a pair of elven slippers, the ones on display near the side door. When she suddenly left, he was visibly angry and went after her, like a big cat hunting its next meal. I had the feeling that this man is here often." <><Livvi is giving Avgrat [ability]Bardic Inspiration[/ability] to help him remember the man and his name and any other details he can dredge up.><1d6=1>
Avgrat rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking truly fatigued, as if the effort to remember was very taxing. “I – I remember the blue turban, it’s from Exdr-droan, a city from the deep south. Not so rare, but uncommon. H – he’s been here before, I seem to remember.” The clothier paced, muttering slightly and shaking his head. “I am sorry, but I cannot remember any name having been given or asked for, which is strange. Yes, very strange” – Avgrat was talking more to himself at this point – “and I know most of the great houses, but there’s so many nobles” His eyes flicker towards Cadrian as a grimace creases his face. “I don’t remember ever seeing the girl before, either. She was asking one of the servants about a blouse. No, not the blouse, but the thread patterns. It was one of mine, yes, but made for one of the cities Houses of Healing. The Black Rose, I believe.”
Carian frowned a bit. "The turban is unusual, is it? Did you perhaps sell it to him, and if so, there might be a bill of sale, yes? Or perhaps, one drawn up for something else this nobleman might have purchased?"
“Wait, I don't recall selling a turban to anyone,” the clothier said after a long, thoughtful pause. “I cannot tell you the man in the blue turbans name, but I do remember the first time that he set foot in my shop. It was six five-days ago, he was accompanied by Lady Maigrinstaff. Melinia, I think, not her sister. I’m positive of that.”
Livvi nods as Avgrat recalls what he can about the noble. "Yes, thank you for your time and assistance, Master Avgrat. As I am sure you are aware, the possible serial abductions of young ladies and merchants around the city is a delicate matter and one The Lion's Pride takes very seriously. Please keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the usual or suspicious. And if you recall any other details about last night, this nobleman, or the Silversmith's daughter who apparently disappeared from your store several nights ago, please send word to me at the Sub-Minister's office."
"If that is all you can remember, my good sir, I thank you for your troubles,” Cadrian says, “You have my thanks and gratitude. I shall be back tomorrow to select a new garment for the Festival, and I shall be even further in your debt if you could offer me some of your expert advice on what suits me the best. Good day to you, Master Avgrat!" He then strides to the door to hold it open chivalrously for the bard. As she walks past, he whispers, "We need to compare notes, my dear. Fancy a drink and conversation?" He smiles invitingly, but far from lewdly.
"Yes, I think comparing notes would be most beneficial. I am Livvi, by the way," she says, shaking the young Lord's hand in the manner appropriate to the courts. "Circumstances precluded me properly introducing myself earlier. I have heard of the du Flynn's, of course, but have not had the pleasure of meeting any from your family. I must return to the Market to complete my assignment but wish to discuss this matter with you this afternoon. There is a small café there I find to be quite pleasant. It is called The Witch's Brew, and they serve a wonderful iced kafe. If you go there, look for the green-haired waitress, Nephele. She knows me and will ensure you get the good table. Meet me there in an hour or so?"
Cadrian smiles, releasing her hand and bowing. "My pleasure, Miss Livvi. I shall speak with you then." Like most men, he watched her go.
After changing out the platinum coins for more sensible coinage, Cadrian went to Rail Avgrat's store. Window shopping a bit, he eyed the current fashions and styles for the Festival, since he'll need his own new clothes for the event. About to enter the shop he’s nearly ran over by a fast walking Half-Elf. The young woman strolled in like she owned the place and setting upon the first servant she saw, asking to talk to Mr. Avgrat. From where he stood in the doorway Cadrian heard her say:
“May I help you miss?” Judging by the expression on the servants face he was less than impressed by the Half-Elf’s leathers and mixed attire.
"Yes, you may help me - the question is can you help me. First, I was in here last night, shopping for a gown for the Silver Festival, when I met a nobleman and a young woman. Is there anyone working now that was here last night? The matron I saw, perhaps? You see, the young lady left her shoes behind in her hurried exit, and I wish to return them to her. Also, the man fairly radiated an attractive charisma - and I would like to know who he was for...future reference."
"Second, I am investigating the disappearance of a young woman from near here several nights ago. The young lady and her friends were shopping along Iltutmish, properly escorted to prevent such a problem from occurring, but she apparently disappeared at some point, for her friends said she was with them, and then wasn't. Did you hear anything about this incident - a young maiden going missing? If no one here now was working either of the nights in question, then perhaps I can speak with the store owner - I am sure he is aware of the goings-on in and around his store."
“Master Avgart? Well, yes, but he only see’s customers by appointment,” the servant sniffed, looking down his nose at her. “He’s very in demand these days.”
"I am sure that he is - his outfits are the absolute best in the city for the Festival! But this is a matter of some urgency. Young, pretty women may be in danger - and girls disappearing in the area can be bad for business. Especially this close to a festival known for elaborate masquerade balls and parties. So, you see, Master Avgrat will want to see me." At this point her demur seemed to change, Cadrian noticed, watching the girl worked her charms on the attendant. It would have been obvious, even to a first-year apprentice, that she was employing both training in tone and body posturing but some sort of magic to gain what she wanted.
Cadrian walked into Avgrat's store with a brief thrill. Even noble-born as he was, his family was not wealthy enough to patronize this place often, and the remaining platinum pieces in the small purse he had been given burned in his pocket. Especially with the upcoming Festival...
He was nearly trampled by a half-elven woman, young, strikingly pretty and clearly determined (always a combination that meant trouble) as he lingered in the doorway. His impeccable manners prevailed, and he swept his hat from his head in a half-bow as she moved past him (Perception +2: 14). Noticing that she too was after his quarry for interrogation, he thought to himself, "This might be interesting..." and followed discretely. Even somewhat shabby, his fine clothes fit into the store, and he counted on that to blend in unobtrusively.
As he lingered Cadrian thought he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Across the street was a shop selling perfumes and other products meant to enhance one’s physical presence, the light from the shop’s windows and single lamp above the entrance cast varying degrees of shadow that gives way to darkness where an alley was probably located.
The wizard took one last look at the shadows that had disturbed him, but the scene that awaited him in the shop was too good an opportunity to miss. Composing himself, Cadrian squared his shoulders and glided up behind the half-elf as the servant hurried away.
"It's been a while since I've seen an enchantment thrown that effectively and smoothly over the unsuspecting like that, my lady. I daresay a weak mind such as his would have succumbed without exercising such control, but it is a pleasure to see someone so skilled in action."
When she turns to address him, Cadrian holds the half-syllable of the shield spell in his mind as his self-assured smile quirks the corners of his mouth upwards. "It seems we might share an interest in missing women, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself - Lord Cadrian du Flynn, meddler and do-gooder, at your service." He makes a deep bow, classically perfect yet keeping his eyes on her posture and body language.
Livvi curtsies in return, obviously practiced being courteous but not subservient - more of two equals acknowledging each other. "It wasn't too hard to persuade the fellow to go fetch the shop owner, as your appreciation of my...enchantments..." she starts to say, then takes a breath to flash a bit of cleavage at the man, "...proves, Lord du Flynn. And what, exactly, is your interest in missing women?" She eyes Cadrian with open distrust, looking at him as if one who is calculating another’s true intentions.
"I am looking into the mysterious disappearance and disability of a young woman from this very shop. Perhaps our interests overlap? If so, perhaps an exchange of information is in order, after the interrogation of the merchant, of course. Perhaps over a drink?" He rights himself and allows her to take the lead on questioning the tailor, readying his queries for himself.
"It seems that they may. Are you saying that the Silversmith's daughter disappeared from this shop? I knew she was in the area, but not that she was in here. That will aid in my questions to Master Avgrat. Ah - I think that is he coming out of the back! I defer to your lordship to begin the questions..."
Just then a tall, older man going bald in the middle while attempting to disguise it with a questionable comb over comes out of a back room and approaches. “Bandr there tells me that you have some questions about one of our customers?”
Cadrian bows at the waist a fraction, his smile never failing but a hard edge comes to his eye at the curt address. "We do, Master Avgrat. I am Lord Cadrian du Flynn. Perhaps we can continue this conversation somewhere other than on your sales floor?"
A brief frown crosses Avgrat’s face as if he’s attempting to place Cadrian and decide if the wizard is a noble or connected to anyone of importance. “Yes, of course.” He leads them into a well-appointed salon meant for private fittings.
"Master Avgrat, I am investigating the strange disappearances occurring in the area. I am trying to discern the events regarding the disappearance of Miss Perini Karigaon from your store some days hence. Master Karigaon's exchange with you was regrettable, but I trust such a discerning gentleman as yourself may look past any umbrage remaining to assist me in helping these poor unfortunates? Any details that you can remember might be immensely useful."
“Yes, Karigaon all but accused me of complicacy,” Avgrat said with another frown. “I wasn’t even in the shop that night so I can only relate what my store clerks and servants told.”
"The young woman was seen in the company of a nobleman, another patron of your store, perhaps? Do you know the identity of any men who were in her company?"
The clothier looked confused for pregnant moment and then replied slowly, as if struggling with something. “We get so many noblemen in my shop, do either of you have a description of the man in question?”
The Elf-elf watched Avgrat closely, looking thoughtful before speaking in a confident, soothing voice. "I am not certain if it is the same man, but I was in here last night and I encountered an older nobleman who went stalking after another young maiden. Listen, and picture my description in your mind. Concentrate on him and nothing else. This man had grey hair to his shoulders, and a grey beard. He wore a blue turban with a jeweled golden fob. The strange thing was he exuded charm - almost magical in nature. He was trying to convince the girl to try on a pair of elven slippers, the ones on display near the side door. When she suddenly left, he was visibly angry and went after her, like a big cat hunting its next meal. I had the feeling that this man is here often."
Cadrian will discretely cast a detect magic spell and canvas the sales floor, hoping to see some lingering aura of an enchantment that might explain Perini’s enthrallment. [Cast Detect Magic] Everything within thirty feet took on a slightly sharper appearance in Cadrian’s eyes. Lingering magic was everywhere, not unexpected considering the wealthy and powerful patronizing the shop. Avgrat himself glowed strongly. A ring on one finger, his vest, the fine gold necklace around his neck, but it was an aura clinging to the man that was most interesting. Rail Avgrat has had a moderately powerful enchantment placed upon him. The slight tint of red in the aura suggests that it was done so unwillingly. As his gaze took in Livvi’s, Cadrian could see that she wore nothing magical, nor was magically protected or appeared to be using magic at the moment, but from years of study of many different avenues of learning, it was clear that the Half-Elf was manipulating her voice in such a way as to encourage Avgrat to focus and listen to her words. It was similar to a number of Bardic schools that trained their students how to use words, facial and body posturing, and soothing tones in order to manipulate those around them.
Avgrat rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking truly fatigued, as if the effort to remember was very taxing. “I – I remember the blue turban, it’s from Exdr-droan, a city from the deep south. Not so rare, but uncommon. H – he’s been here before, I seem to remember.” The clothier paced, muttering slightly and shaking his head. “I am sorry, but I cannot remember any name having been given or asked for, which is strange. Yes, very strange” – Avgrat was talking more to himself at this point – “and I know most of the great houses, but there’s so many nobles” His eyes flicker towards Cadrian as a grimace creases his face. “I don’t remember ever seeing the girl before, either. She was asking one of the servants about a blouse. No, not the blouse, but the thread patterns. It was one of mine, yes, but made for one of the cities Houses of Healing. The Black Rose, I believe.”
Carian listened intently to the tailor's testimony. He frowned a bit. "The turban is unusual, is it? Did you perhaps sell it to him, and if so, there might be a bill of sale, yes? Or perhaps, one drawn up for something else this nobleman might have purchased?" He runs through his mental files for anything he knows of Exdroan (History roll 21). A small nation-state situated on the Pharsai river, south of the sea of grass. Exdroan was known for its spices, rare gemstones, and exotic luxuries. A journey of several months by sea and river, or most of a year by merchant caravan, Exdroan also has a dark reputation, a land dominated by Necromancy and other dark arts.
When Avgrat mentions the Black Rose, the young wizard nodded his head sagely as pieces began to fall into place.
“Wait, I don't recall selling a turban to anyone,” the clothier said after a long, thoughtful pause. “I cannot tell you the man in the blue turbans name, but I do remember the first time that he set foot in my shop. It was six five-days ago, he was accompanied by Lady Maigrinstaff. Melinia, I think, not her sister. I’m positive of that.” When he mentions Melinia, Cadrian glances over at the half-elf's face, looking for sparks of recognition or reactions but if there was any, she was very good at concealing them.
Livvi nods as Avgrat recalls what he can about the noble. "Yes, thank you for your time and assistance, Master Avgrat. As I am sure you are aware, the possible serial abductions of young ladies and merchants around the city is a delicate matter and one The Lion's Pride takes very seriously. Please keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the usual or suspicious. And if you recall any other details about last night, this nobleman, or the Silversmith's daughter who apparently disappeared from your store several nights ago, please send word to me at the Sub-Minister's office."
The clothier nods, looking troubled.
"If that is all you can remember, my good sir, I thank you for your troubles,” Cadrian says, “You have my thanks and gratitude. I shall be back tomorrow to select a new garment for the Festival, and I shall be even further in your debt if you could offer me some of your expert advice on what suits me the best. Good day to you, Master Avgrat!" He then strides to the door to hold it open chivalrously for the bard. As she walks past, he whispers, "We need to compare notes, my dear. Fancy a drink and conversation?" He smiles invitingly, but far from lewdly.
"Yes, I think comparing notes would be most beneficial. I am Livvi, by the way," she says, shaking the young Lord's hand in the manner appropriate to the courts. "Circumstances precluded me properly introducing myself earlier. I have heard of the du Flynn's, of course, but have not had the pleasure of meeting any from your family. I must return to the Market to complete my assignment but wish to discuss this matter with you this afternoon. There is a small café there I find to be quite pleasant. It is called The Witch's Brew, and they serve a wonderful iced kafe. If you go there, look for the green-haired waitress, Nephele. She knows me and will ensure you get the good table. Meet me there in an hour or so?"
Cadrian smiles, releasing her hand and bowing. "My pleasure, Miss Livvi. I shall speak with you then." He allows her to walk away, watching as she departs (and, let's face it, enjoying the view; he's a young man). He follows her after a few minutes, wondering what her business might be, keeping a discrete distance.
As he begins to cut his hair, he comments to Lilita, "And Miss Lilita, I wouldn't be so quick to judge your posterior that way."
Lilita looked a bit dazed, then noticed Mordecai cutting himself and in a commanding voice, well at least for her she, snatches the dagger out of his hand, and commands, "SIT! If you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
She then gives the half-orc a shy look and whispers, "you are polite then, thank you... it is my understanding that males tend to prefer the more scantly and expensively dressed ladies. You may not be quick to judge me kind Ser but such as myself would prove a mere appetizer, not a full meal fit for a great warrior such as yourself. Men tend to grow weary quickly with one such as I... finding me rather boring, and well uninspiring," she says simply... blushing slightly.
Lilita blinks. After Mordecai cuts himself she gasps and says in a commanding voice as she snatches the dagger out of his hand, "SIT," she commands, "if you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
"I trust you with that blade fine enough, but I don't think we need to keep my hair so uneven.... Making my hair short all around should suffice for our ruse - and let's not start creating bald shots... Please," Mordecai halfheartedly comments, not wanting to break her concentration.
Lilita quickly goes to work first doing what she can to make him look like a leper/beggar then turns to shave him and cuts his hair but as part of the disguise and as discussed, applying bloodied/dirty (disguised) bandages, using his own blood from his new self-inflicted wound, to Mordecai‘s head and face to complete the look. Lastly, she binds his wounds and injuries using her Healer's Kit as best she is able and then finishing up the job he had started before cutting himself but allowing minor scratches and bruises to show even working to make appear all the worse, like puss covered sores.
Mordecai comments, "This should do the trick. Thank you."
After she finishes up, she turns to ask Elan and asks, "may do the same for you m'lord?" When there was no response Mordecai realized the archer had gone outside.
Lilita gave a small frown but moves on to cut Hadara's hair, etc. before giving him some herbs to try to wake him a bit so that the Mordecai can try to question him for any additional information, also handing him the bite bit to put on the patient (Hadara) once the questioning is done if it becomes necessary.
Tulip shook slightly than moved over to the door. A moment later there is some shouts coming from the street.
A patrol of City Guard – a rarity in this part of the quarter – was shouting at a dark figure who suddenly turned and ran across the street, disappearing into an alley. However, one guard lingers a moment, his head turning towards the Vardo for a long moment before rushing off to join his fellows.
Lilita turns to Mordecai, "the city watch is about, and they don't usually come here, well except for one young man, Amlack who keeps a special eye on me to protect me. He is a good friend and a good man... and a patient of my master. Please don't kill him or his fellows... if it comes to a confrontation... please let me try talking to them first and convince them you are lepers I am treating escorting to a colony, so don't speak or say a word." She pauses and wipes away tear in her eye.
"I'm not a cold-blooded killer, Miss," Mordecai replies quietly.
Take deep breath she continues, "know if you hurt them, I will do all my power to stabilize and not let anyone die. I don't know you well... but I suspect, I hope that deep down you are a man of honor and not one to wantonly butcher anyone under a Healer's care, as try to assist them. If you do such a horrid thing while I am doing my sacred duty... then know you may as well butcher me too because if you won't allow me to my duty then we are done... and I will no longer help or cooperate with you... and you take Hadara where you will without me!"
Mordecai says nothing, but disappointment is clearly showing on his face.
Lilita bows to the towering half-orc respectfully, "I am sorry if I have caused you pain with my words, I did not intend to be so harsh, but you are a warrior after all and warriors deal in death, please forgive me. I do sense that you are an honorable man, but even honorable men can... through circumstances be forced or find themselves doing dishonorable things." Lilita bows before him on her knees and kisses the inside of the palm of his right hand and looks up at him sadly and says, "were you not an honorable man then this hand would have struck me for such insolence... again I offer you my sincere apologies m'lord, I intended no disrespect or to question your honor but surely looking at me you can see why one such as I is somewhat wary of you... given your size and profession. I just have friends in the guard, and I worry for them."
Lilita looks Mord and says, "with the watch about we best not delay any further, whenever you are ready we should be off and take your friend Hadara where he needs to be and I will help you as best I can if you remain honorable, I swear upon Eldath Goddess of Peace and that after all is said and done, I will keep my mouth shut."
"No," replies Mordecai, "we leave closer to the dawn. For starters, the closer to the morning we leave, the more drunk the thugs out there will be - it should make it easier to avoid any serious confrontations. Also, those guards just swept this area, if you suddenly appear with us in tow, them having just spotted Erandal, it might arouse suspicions. And lastly, I still need to talk to this bugger."
Lilita gazes at Mordecai considering his words, "yes, of course, dawn it is then... that makes sense, that is we not found before or someone from the watch comes to visit in which I will do my best to turn them away without a search if possible and hope for the best with your disguises if they press the issue. In such matters, and of combat m'lord I will, of course, defer to your judgment as you experience in such things far exceeds my own, which I fear is non-existent so be warned if there is trouble I am not very proficient in the way so violence" so will sadly be of little help to you."
On the second beat of the word 'bugger' Mordecai reaches over to shake Hadara awake, then saying, "Alright, it's time you and I talk before we put you on Stax's ship to take you home - well, I assume. There are rumors that Stax's on friendly terms with your home city-state, but in the end, coin is his biggest sway."
“Gods but my head hurts,” groaned Hadara as he stood shakily. Leaning against an inner wall of the Vardo the man peered out the window toward the street. “Must ‘ave been one hell o’ a party.” His eyes were dilated and unfocused. “Gheez, Mardiat, told ‘ya we shouldn’t drink till after you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”
"Yes," replies Mordecai, "the party this evening nearly killed you."
Mordecai takes a bit of scroll he had in his pack and a small ink and quill set he kept with him for his bounty contracts. He begins to take down names, starting with "Mardiat."
“Why ya asking me? Yer knowin’ your own name, you muskrat of a Dwarf” – Hadra’s eyes blink as he sways forward to stare at Mordecai – “da party ain’t done you no good, either. You look like o’ diseased tark from Tariga.” There was a sound that could have been laughter or the prelude to a series bought of nausea.
"So, Hadara," Mordecai begins quietly, "what don't you tell me about the party tonight? I had lost track of you and want to know how it all went down for you. And did you know half this city's after you, why do you think that is?"
Leaning back, the man rubs the back of his hand on his mouth. “Why else? Tha whole place be full of paranoid spitscum, you know that. ‘course, our little scheme isn’ gonna change tha’, you can be sure o’ that. No sir, not at all…
And so, with Lilita listening, Mordecai questions Hadara through the rest of the night, hoping to learn something of importance before they make their dawn run to the docks....
At several points Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, the fugitive mentions the name Bilina who worked for some widow lady on the side while in the employment of one of the cities ministries, someone Hadara only referred to as ‘fuzzface’, insisting that if the bearded man had another name, he wasn’t aware of it, and Garse the Gaffer. Garse works for a baker who, Hadara had said, provides bread products to the palace when the palace kitchens are unable to meet the palace needs. Usually during large events, such as the approaching week of parties, balls, and the royal masquerade. Hadara didn’t confirm rather or not that Stax was at the heart of sedition in the city but did hint that the tavern owner had many ties at all levels of the city, and that as many or more of those loyal Tarantian’s tapped the man’s knowledge and resources for their internal politics.
“…and so tha’s how we end’n up stormblitzed,” Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, half leers at Lilita across the narrow space of the Vardo.
"You know, that drink got me brain addled,” he said to the fugitive, “I wanna make sure our bargain is struck perfect, tell me again what you wanted me to do for ya so that it's done perfect." Hadara snorts than begins retelling the tale as best his muddled brain allowed, “Bilina, who we think’s works for the widow lady on the side, is also in the employment of one of the cities ministries, not sure which cause I dinna’ want to ask, you know?” Hadara ran a shaky hand over his head, trying to focus his eyes as Mordecai follows up, "I don't remember this Bilina woman - what does she look like? And what's her part in the plan? Remember where that old lady lived?"
“She’s got raven-black hair, you’se remember? A figure tha’s worth ten platinum, easy. Old lady – “Hadara looked confused until the Half-Orc added, “Widow?”
Hadara coughed then winched in pain, one hand reaching for his back. “Gods tha’ hurts it does. Na’, never saw her place. The Widow calls on you, not tha other way ‘round.”
"What's Garse doing? In case I need to check in on him, seeing as you may be going home soon," Mordecai inquires.
“Proboly whorin’ an’ drink up tha’ bag of silver crowns I gave him,” Hadara nearly laughs again but catches himself. As if for the first time he notices Lilita and smirks. “Speakin’ of – “
Mordecai interrupts before the man can say something nasty to the healer girl, "Do you trust that Strax will get you safely out of the city? Or do you think his boat, the Winged Crow is a trap for us?"
“Strax? Who knows, eh?” Hadara rolled his shoulders slightly then frowned, his head turning towards the window where the sound of tramping feet echoed in the darkened street. “Mighty busy out there, eh? Don’t suppose they’re looking for us, eh, Mardiat?” Another confused frown creased the man’s eyebrows as he looks sideways at Mordecai, “You ain’t lookin’ so good, either. Kinda like you got the plague. All swollen a lumpy looking.”
"Right, this girl made us look like lepers because they are looking for us. You spoke out a little too much yesterday now they're hunting us. But we'll get to Strax's ship and get you home okay," Mordecai replies.
Hadara merely groans, hand reaching for the wound in his back again.
"I'll go look for Garse to make sure he isn't wasting the bag of silver you gave him - what is he supposed to do... Has to do with the baker and the parties and balls, right? I forget."
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yea, Garse is a bugger, no question,” mutters Hadara. He blinks and yawns, looking as if he’s about to pass out. “’e better do wha’ we paid him to do…tha’ ground glass won’t get into the gorse berry pie by itself.”
Not far away several roosters start to stir in the darkness. In the street beyond, a few poor slobs can be seen moving about, some heading off for a day of labor, others heading towards the temple food kitchens in hopes of getting there early enough for Dawnfest.
Mordecai will look to Lilita and say," Time to go - let's hope the thugs and guards about recognize you and leave us be."
Lilita wakes up sleepy-eyed and nods to the Half-Orc, "yes, alright, I am ready... let us be on our way then. Not everyone knows me, but this area has been my home for a long time, so the regular watch patrols and people around the general area will know me but the watch who patrol further afield may not know me on sight... but perhaps by reputation. I can make you no promises so we shall see. I pray we will find no violence waiting for us!"
"Okay, Hadara... Steady yourself and keep quiet - we have a ship to get you to," Mordecai instructs.
Checking them all and then putting on her spare pair shoes sadly in need of cobbler's touch, her eyes growing watery as she looks at them. Lilita grabs her cloak and a couple healer kits to go with them and strokes Tulip's pedals picks some berries and tells her, "I am going to leave now and help these men, I will lock up as I am leaving so please take care and guard our little home as best you can, I will see you when I return, stay safe."
Tulip’s branches reached out for Lilita, the bush moving closer, than waving two branches at the door.
Lilita whispers some suggestions, "keep your weapons hidden under your dirt covered cloak and rags and hunch a bit to appear shorter and drag a foot or something... always keep your eye downcast to your betters, you a leper, the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low as everyone will see you. That is what we want to see so no proud warrior looks or stares, save for the tavern tarts." She smiles and winks at him, "even as a leper, you a just way too handsome, let's hope there are no female watchwomen to swoon over you."
Mordecai slings his weapons low so that the cloaks and robes and tattered cloths he wears covers them. He keeps his handaxes and new dagger more easily accessible along his belt just covered by the outer cloak. He applies some dirt to the dagger so that it's shine doesn't stand out in the small hours of the morning before dawn. As suggested, he keeps the hood of his cloak up, and his head down - but his eyes stay up keeping aware the best he can of his surroundings.
He chuckles at her last comment, "Thank you for the compliment, Miss, but no one in the watch will be interested in me lest they find out my role last night at the tavern. Then, their interest will be too great."
He slowly moves behind Lilita supporting Hadara as he goes and feigning a limp as he does.
The street is clear for the moment and there was no sign of the archer since he’d gone out in the middle of the night. There was no knowing if the shadow being pursued by the City Guard was Erandal, either. They had a bit of walking to do, to get Hadara to the docks before the morning tide went against the shipping in the bay, plus there was the Seward Gate to get through to reach the Dock Quarter.
Mordecai pulls out a very fine-looking dagger. Upon the first careful scrap of the dagger Mord nearly slices off a hunk of skin.
Lilita lost a daze considering Hadara's ramblings comes out of it quickly relays her thoughts to both men. After Mordecai cuts himself and in a commanding voice, well at least for her she snatches the dagger out of his hand, "SIT," she commands, "if you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
As she works, the Half-Orc comments, "And Miss Lilita, I wouldn't be so quick to judge your posterior that way."
Lilita gives the half-orc a shy look and whispers, "you are polite then, thank you... it is my understanding that males tend to prefer the more scantly and expensively dressed ladies. You may not be quick to judge me kind Ser but such as myself would prove a mere appetizer, not a full meal fit for a great warrior such as yourself. Men tend to grow weary quickly with one such as I... finding me rather boring, and well uninspiring," she says simply... blushing slightly, not understanding why males seem to take notice of her attributes, with her overly large nose, short dead-white hair, pale skin and dressed in frumpy second cloths decades out of style is beyond her understanding in comparison to the grand exotic ladies that roam about!
Lilita lost a daze considering Hadara's ramblings comes out of it quickly relays her thoughts to both men. After Mordecai cuts himself and in a commanding voice, well at least for her she snatches the dagger out of his hand, "SIT," she commands, "if you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
"I trust you with that blade fine enough, but I don't think we need to keep my hair so uneven.... Making my hair short all around should suffice for our ruse - and let's not start creating bald shots... Please," Mordecai halfheartedly comments, not wanting to break her concentration.
She then quickly goes to work first doing what she can to make him look like a leper/beggar then turns to shave him and cuts his hair but as part of the disguise Sleight of Hand 10, as discussed also applying bloodied/dirty (disguised) bandages (using his own blood from his new self-inflicted wound) to Mordecai‘s head and face to complete the look. Lastly, she binds Mordecais wounds and injuries using her Healer's Kit 7 HP back as best she is able and then finishing up the job he had started before cutting himself but allowing minor scratches and bruises to show even working to make appear all the worse, like puss covered sores.
Mordecai comments, "This should do the trick. Thank you."
After she finishes up, she turns to ask Elan a question to find that the man had gone outside a few moments before. She moves on to cut Hadara's hair, etc. Sleight of Hand 9, then gives him some herbs Herbalism 20 to try to wake him a bit so that the Mordecai can try to question him for any additional information, also handing him the bite bit to put on the patient (Hadara) once the questioning is done if it becomes necessary.
After she finishes Mordecai up, she turns to ask Elan and asks, "may do the same for you m'lord?" When there was no response Mordecai realized the archer had gone outside.
Tulip shook slightly than moved over to the door. A moment later there is some shouts coming from the street.
A patrol of City Guard – a rarity in this part of the quarter – was shouting at a dark figure who suddenly turned and ran across the street, disappearing into an alley. However, one guard lingers a moment, his head turning towards the Vardo for a long moment before rushing off to join his fellows.
Lilita thinking that she recognizes the watch guards and who the one guard (thinking it may be Amlack) lingering and looking her way she sighs not wanting any harm to come them turns to Mordecai, "the city watch is about and they don't usually come here, well except for one young man, Amlack who keeps a special eye on me to protect me. He is a good friend and a good man... and a patient of my master. Please don't kill him or his fellows... if it comes to a confrontation... please let me try talking to them first and convince them you are lepers I am treating escorting to a colony, so don't speak or say a word." She pauses and wipes away tear in her eye, feeling a bit worried and emotional at how serious this all becoming to someone like her.
"I'm not a cold-blooded killer, Miss," Mordecai replies quietly.
Take deep breath she continues, "know if you hurt them, I will do all my power to stabilize and not let anyone die. I don't know you well... but I suspect, I hope that deep down you are a man of honor and not one to wantonly butcher anyone under a Healer's care, as try to assist them. If you do such a horrid thing while I am doing my sacred duty... then know you may as well butcher me too because if you won't allow me to my duty then we are done... and I will no longer help or cooperate with you... and you take Hadara where you will without me!"
Mordecai says nothing, but disappointment is clearly showing on his face.
Lilita bows to the towering half-orc respectfully, "I am sorry if I have caused you pain with my words, I did not intend to be so harsh, but you are a warrior after all and warriors deal in death, please forgive me. I do sense that you are an honorable man, but even honorable men can... through circumstances be forced or find themselves doing dishonorable things." Lilita bows before him on her knees and kisses the inside of the palm of his right hand and looks up at him sadly and says, "were you not an honorable man then this hand would have struck me for such insolence... again I offer you my sincere apologies m'lord, I intended no disrespect or to question your honor but surely looking at me you can see why one such as I is somewhat wary of you... given your size and profession. I just have friends in the guard, and I worry for them."
Double checking them all and then putting on her spare pair shoes sadly in need of cobbler's touch almost wanting to cry looking them, it took so long to save up for the new pair she left behind at the clothes shop, but it could not be helped. Turning to Tulip as she lets Mord mull over her words to him, Lilita grabs her cloak and a couple healer kits to go with them and strokes Tulip's pedals picks some berries and tells her,
Lilita looks Mord and says, "with the watch about we best not delay any further, whenever you are ready we should be off and take your friend Hadara where he needs to be and I will help you as best I can if you remain honorable, I swear upon Eldath Goddess of Peace and that after all is said and done, I will keep my mouth shut."
"No," replies Mordecai, "we leave closer to the dawn. For starters, the closer to the morning we leave, the more drunk the thugs out there will be - it should make it easier to avoid any serious confrontations. Also, those guards just swept this area, if you suddenly appear with us in tow, them having just spotted Erandal, it might arouse suspicions. And lastly, I still need to talk to this bugger."
Lilita gazes at Mordecai considering his words, "yes, of course, dawn it is then... that makes sense, that is we not found before or someone from the watch comes to visit in which I will do my best to turn them away without a search if possible and hope for the best with your disguises if they press the issue. In such matters, and of combat m'lord I will, of course, defer to your judgment as you experience in such things far exceeds my own, which I fear is non-existent so be warned if there is trouble I am not very proficient in the way so violence" so will sadly be of little help to you."
On the second beat of the word 'bugger' Mordecai reaches over to shake Hadara awake, then saying, "Alright, it's time you and I talk before we put you on Stax's ship to take you home - well, I assume. There are rumors that Stax's on friendly terms with your home city-state, but in the end, coin is his biggest sway."
“Gods but my head hurts,” groaned Hadara as he stood shakily. Leaning against an inner wall of the Vardo the man peered out the window toward the street. “Must ‘ave been one hell o’ a party.” His eyes were dilated and unfocused. “Gheez, Mardiat, told ‘ya we shouldn’t drink till after you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”
"Yes," replies Mordecai, "the party this evening nearly killed you."
Mordecai takes a bit of scroll he had in his pack and a small ink and quill set he kept with him for his bounty contracts. He begins to take down names, starting with "Mardiat."
“Why ya asking me? Yer knowin’ your own name, you muskrat of a Dwarf” – Hadra’s eyes blink as he sways forward to stare at Mordecai – “da party ain’t done you no good, either. You look like o’ diseased tark from Tariga.” There was a sound that could have been laughter or the prelude to a series bought of nausea.
"So, Hadara," Mordecai begins quietly, "what don't you tell me about the party tonight? I had lost track of you and want to know how it all went down for you. And did you know half this city's after you, why do you think that is?"
Leaning back, the man rubs the back of his hand on his mouth. “Why else? Tha whole place be full of paranoid spitscum, you know that. ‘course, our little scheme isn’ gonna change tha’, you can be sure o’ that. No sir, not at all…
And so, with Lilita listening, Mordecai questions Hadara through the rest of the night, hoping to learn something of importance before they make their dawn run to the docks....
At several points Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, the fugitive mentions the name Bilina who worked for some widow lady on the side while in the employment of one of the cities ministries, someone Hadara only referred to as ‘fuzzface’, insisting that if the bearded man had another name, he wasn’t aware of it, and Garse the Gaffer. Garse works for a baker who, Hadara had said, provides bread products to the palace when the palace kitchens are unable to meet the palace needs. Usually during large events, such as the approaching week of parties, balls, and the royal masquerade. Hadara didn’t confirm rather or not that Stax was at the heart of sedition in the city but did hint that the tavern owner had many ties at all levels of the city, and that as many or more of those loyal Tarantian’s tapped the man’s knowledge and resources for their internal politics.
“…and so tha’s how we end’n up stormblitzed,” Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, half leers at Lilita across the narrow space of the Vardo.
"You know, that drink got me brain addled,” he said to the fugitive, “I wanna make sure our bargain is struck perfect, tell me again what you wanted me to do for ya so that it's done perfect." Hadara snorts than begins retelling the tale as best his muddled brain allowed, “Bilina, who we think’s works for the widow lady on the side, is also in the employment of one of the cities ministries, not sure which cause I dinna’ want to ask, you know?” Hadara ran a shaky hand over his head, trying to focus his eyes as Mordecai follows up, "I don't remember this Bilina woman - what does she look like? And what's her part in the plan? Remember where that old lady lived?"
“She’s got raven-black hair, you’se remember? A figure tha’s worth ten platinum, easy. Old lady – “Hadara looked confused until the Half-Orc added, “Widow?”
Hadara coughed then winces in pain, one hand reaching for his back. “Gods tha’ hurts it does. Na’, never saw her place. The Widow calls on you, not tha other way ‘round.”
"What's Garse doing? In case I need to check in on him, seeing as you may be going home soon," Mordecai inquires.
“Proboly whorin’ an’ drink up tha’ bag of silver crowns I gave him,” Hadara nearly laughs again but catches himself. As if for the first time he notices Lilita and smirks. “Speakin’ of – Mordecai interrupts before the man can say something nasty to the healer girl, "Do you trust that Strax will get you safely out of the city? Or do you think his boat, the Winged Crow is a trap for us?"
“Strax? Who knows, eh?” Hadara rolled his shoulders slightly then frowned, his head turning towards the window where the sound of tramping feet echoed in the darkened street. “Mighty busy out there, eh? Don’t suppose they’re looking for us, eh, Mardiat?” Another confused frown creased the man’s eyebrows as he looks sideways at Mordecai, “You ain’t lookin’ so good, either. Kinda like you got the plague. All swollen a lumpy looking.”
"Right, this girl made us look like lepers because they are looking for us. You spoke out a little too much yesterday now they're hunting us. But we'll get to Strax's ship and get you home okay," Mordecai replies.
Hadara merely groans, hand reaching for the wound in his back again.
"I'll go look for Garse to make sure he isn't wasting the bag of silver you gave him - what is he supposed to do... Has to do with the baker and the parties and balls, right? I forget."
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yea, Garse is a bugger, no question,” mutters Hadara. He blinks and yawns, looking as if he’s about to pass out. “’e better do wha’ we paid him to do…tha’ ground glass won’t get into the gorse berry pie by itself.”
Not far away several roosters start to stir in the darkness. In the street beyond, a few poor slobs can be seen moving about, some heading off for a day of labor, others heading towards the temple food kitchens in hopes of getting there early enough for Dawnfest.
Mordecai will look to Lilita and say," Time to go - let's hope the thugs and guards about recognize you and leave us be."
Lilita getting a little rest wearing her shoes and wrapped up in her cheap cloak wakes up sleepy-eyed and nods to the Half-Orc, "yes, alright, I am ready... let us be on our way then. Not everyone knows me, but this area has been my home for a long time, so the regular watch patrols and people around the general area will know me but the watch who patrol further afield may not know me on sight... but perhaps by reputation. I can make you no promises so we shall see. I pray we will find no violence waiting for us!"
"Okay, Hadara... Steady yourself and keep quiet - we have a ship to get you to," Mordecai instructs.
Double checking them all and then putting on her spare pair shoes sadly in need of cobbler's touch, her eyes growing watery as she looks at them. Lilita grabs her cloak and a couple healer kits to go with them and strokes Tulip's pedals picks some berries and tells her, "I am going to leave now and help these men, I will lock up as I am leaving so please take care and guard our little home as best you can, I will see you when I return, stay safe."
Tulip’s branches reached out for Lilita, the bush moving closer, than waving two branches at the door.
Lilita makes sure Mordecai stays in character with his disguise offering suggestions whispering, "keep your weapons hidden under your dirt covered cloak and rags and hunch a bit to appear shorter and drag a foot or something... always keep your eye downcast to your betters, you a leper, the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low as everyone will see you. That is what we want to see so no proud warrior looks or stares, save for the tavern tarts." She smiles and winks at him, "even as a leper, you a just way too handsome, let's hope there are no female watchwomen to swoon over you."
Mordecai slings his weapons low so that the cloaks and robes and tattered cloths he wears covers them. He keeps his handaxes and new dagger more easily accessible along his belt just covered by the outer cloak. He applies some dirt to the dagger so that it's shine doesn't stand out in the small hours of the morning before dawn. As suggested, he keeps the hood of his cloak up, and his head down - but his eyes stay up keeping aware the best he can of his surroundings.
He chuckles at her last comment, "Thank you for the compliment, Miss, but no one in the watch will be interested in me lest they find out my role last night at the tavern. Then, their interest will be too great."
He slowly moves behind Lilita supporting Hadara as he goes and feigning a limp as he does.
They will travel on slowly trusting their cover and disguises and hoping the healer will be recognized and handle the talking with the guards at the gate...
The street is clear for the moment and there was no sign of the archer since he’d gone out in the middle of the night. There was no knowing if the shadow being pursued by the City Guard was Erandal, either. They had a bit of walking to do, to get Hadara to the docks before the morning tide went against the shipping in the bay, plus there was the Seward Gate to get through to reach the Dock Quarter.
Livvi's Story Continues (Part 2)...
Livvi barely noticed as her companion did a quick but thorough look about the store. Bilina’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the nobleman and before she could give Livvi a quiet warning look the Half-Elf had rushed off to try on the red gown, soon followed by one of the shops servants who was having a hard time keeping up.
Stepping out of the dressing in the dress - which fit her surprisingly well for coming off the mannequin, Livvi caught the eye of a tall, aristocratic man in intermediate age dressed like a noble and oozing charm that sent a warm tingle down her spine. Or perhaps it was the chill air on her exposed flesh. Either way, when he looked at her and smiled - not the pleasant smile of a day in the courts or the fake smiles of administrators and politicians, but the hungry smile of a man who desires a woman - Livvi knew that this was the dress for her.
"Lina - Please?” Think of the mischief I can have in this dress. And those shoes..." she says as she whisks towards a pair of delicate black shoes with a steep heel and intricate straps. Livvi picked up the shoes and turned towards the tall man, looking for his approval. Only then did she notice the young woman speaking with him. Upon closer examination Livvi could see that the young woman in the worn, gray street cloak, talking to the noblemen had a natural beauty and the poise of one who truly did not understand just how much natural charisma she possessed. The pair were discussing some Elvish made slippers sitting on display. The young woman – a mere girl, judging by her size and looks – was flushed, shaking her head and explaining something to the noblemen as if whatever it was should explain…something. her action bringing her close to where Lilita and the noblemen stood.
“But such cost, Livvi,” Bilina said from the other side of the shop where several servants were preparing to follow her into a private room to take measurements.
“But Lina, look – “Livvi picked up the shoes and turned towards the noblemen, seeking his approval. She peered at the handsome, yet older man and used a well-practiced mixture of coy young woman and vampish Elvish tease, at the same time, she directed part of her desires towards her friend who, having invited her to attend the Royal Masquerade, surely would want her to be properly presentable.
"Lina - Please?
Intrigued by this young girl, Livvi tried to listen in from across the room. What was she trying to explain? Was she looking for a new pair of shoes? She obviously needed a new dress, too - those elvish slippers would totally be out of place with her plain homespun sack dress! It's like the girl had no sense of fashion at all!
“Surely you want to at least see if the slippers will fit your feet,” the nobleman was saying in the sort of tone men – powerful men use on impressible young girls. A mixture of the patient fatherly figure and expectant master.
Livvi was even more interested in the girl now. You see, Livvi was a student of intent, motivation, action, and drive in people. She had learned years ago how important these were to get what she wanted. If she knew what motivated someone, either desires or fears, she could manipulate their impressions to get them to act in her interests. But she also had learned to spot incongruities in actions and appearances. In fact, these little seams between appearances and inner realities were the best to observe - although not always to exploit. It was in these dissonances that Livvi knew were true motivations. And Livvi saw in this girl a huge chasm between appearance, style, actions, and her presence in this high-end mercantile. Why she was looking at the elven slippers was perplexing. Livvi's initial propositions to explain this were that 1) the girl had wandered in here by accident and the man was trying to work an impressionable young customer into buying one of the most expensive items in the store; 2) the girl was actually noble and dressed this way to present an image of lowly stature and barely adequate means, looking to score a discounted price on slippers she had noticed previously; or 3) this girl was the decoy for another in the store who was at this moment hiding something or another and intended to walk out without paying for it - a classic ruse for shoplifting. Livvi scanned the other customers quickly to see if she could notice anyone acting secretively or hustling out of the store. Perception: 5 <oooff...completely distracted by the fancy clothes and hot older guy!>
Not that she hadn't done this exact ruse in her younger days, and not that she wanted to turn the pair in, but she did want to keep tabs on up and coming grifters in the city, because you never knew when you might need help pulling a caper...
“Nonsense,” the Nobleman was saying, “is this not the whole point of visiting such places as this but to sample the merchandise?” Gesturing towards a nearby, thickly padded bench, the aristocrat picked up the slippers and held them out to the beautiful young woman. “Go ahead, try them on. I think that you will find that they fit. It’s part of the nature of their magic.”
Obediently she accepted the slippers and as Livvi watched out of the corner of one eye while openly posing in front of a nearby mirror to see how the gown fit her curves, the woman walked, almost reluctantly, over to the padded bench and sat down. She slowly nods her head politely her voice falling to a barely audible whisper as she looks up at the nobleman in wide-eyed innocence:
" yes, m'lord but only to please you... I have no desire to cause offense when you have only shown me kindness. Thank you." Livvi took the show all in. If it were some sort of performance, then this woman was a master. With slow and careful motions, she positioned the slippers close to her feet as if they were made of delicate crystal and were fearful that she might somehow accidentally damage them. Small delicate hands trembled as they gently slid one foot and then the other into the slippers. Such was the demonstration, even Livvi found herself drawn into the drama on display.
The Nobleman beamed with obvious pleasure, his stare at the young woman almost obscene from where Livvi stood. There was…something else there, some sort of hunger. One that was familiar to her and yet something entirely else was going on in that man’s eyes. I cold shiver went down her spine. Even as Livvi gave a spin, still verbally appealing to her friend’s largesse and since of fashion the Half-Elf felt, ever so briefly, the man’s cool, amused seeming stare. It was soulless.
As if sensing an opportunity that Livvi’s display had presented the young woman made one swift motion to slide out of the magical slippers. Without pausing to put back on her own shoes, the young woman made a mad but stealthy Dash barefoot out of the shop leaving both the magical slippers and her own old and well-worn shoes behind. By the time the nobleman had noticed the young woman’s exit, his expression flared into anger. Without another look, at Livvi, or anyone else, the man turned and stalked out. It was a distinctively predatory move if the Half-Elf had ever seen one. Insight: 8
Livvi froze. She had personally witnessed, on several occasions, lustful stares from mean-spirited boys and men, but what she saw in that nobleman's look was something entirely different. Something cold and vicious and utterly without a soul. Something not human. There was now one more thing Livvi was afraid of - and she immediately hated him. Then she thought of the poor innocent girl that monster set off to pursue. "Lina, we have to go. Now. Dresses can wait!" Livvi grabs the plain shoes of the girl from the floor, runs to the dressing room to get out of the (beautiful!) red dress and back into her everyday outfit as quickly as she can without tearing anything that wasn't hers.
Head’s all over the shop turned her way. She barely heard Bilina’s voice calling out from the fitting room. “Yes, yes, of course you may have the dress. We’ll figure out some way for you to pay me back.”
Mostly dressed (she was carrying her corset and stockings - it would have taken too long to get those back on...) Livvi rushes out the door after the girl and the man/monster. She glanced once to see if Bilina was following but didn't wait for her if she didn't. Her friend did have another appointment, after all. But Livvi felt a tug in her very soul that forced her to try and find the girl before that nobleman did - to try and protect her from the creature he was on the inside. Thoughts of all those missing people suddenly came to mind. Was there a connection here somehow? One thing for sure, she had no doubt that the young woman was in terrible danger.
Smee’s story…
A half empty bottle flew past Smee’s head to smash against the wall behind him. Another whizzed past, heading the other way. Shouts, curses, and bodies flew in equal measure as the brawl intensified. Just another night at the Drunken Crow. Smee liked the place and made a point to stop in at least once every five day. Considered a dive by most, the Drunken Crow had its charm. Located near the east pier in the Sea Quarter, the tavern served anyone from any race, if they had coin. And while not officially a licensed brothel, the owner – one Carbard Kosta – had a large, mostly female family who worked the tavern, night and day. One never to turn down coin, Kosta was known to pimp out all of them, especially his lush, overripe wife whose exotic features were rare but not unheard of. Omi Kosta had been brought to the city onboard a far merchant from a land beneath two moons. Smee, like most Taratian’s, had never been there, but everyone knew that the land was across the endless sea and not far from where The Edge was reported to be.
Deftly snatching a wine bottle from the air as it arched past – no point in letting good, cheap wine go to waste – Smee watched as Carbard, a tall, skinny, bearded man with Northern blood club some unruly Tiefling over the head. As the half-demon collapsed Gorde, the tavern owner’s oldest son – a brute of a man – grabbed the Tiefling by the ankle and dragged him towards the door leading to the street. Nearby, Trini, Carbard’s third daughter by Omi, rode the back of a bearded pirate, tearing at his hair and trying to bite off an ear. The ear, Smee noted, that was decorated by several gem-studded earrings.
Smee was greatly enjoying himself as he leaned his head back and drank deeply from the bottle of wine he had just snatched mid-air with his unseen Mage Hand preventing a tragedy... a tragedy had it continued on its path and smashed against the wall like the one before it did. For a drunkard like Smee, the worst sin one could commit was wasting good drink... even cheap swill that passes for wine served at the Drunken Crow counts! At least to Smee's way of thinking... Draining what was left in the bottle Smee had rescued before casually tosses it aside!
' By the gawds,' he thinks to himself, 'an evening at a dive like the Drunken Crow is a holy place for a devout drunkard pilgrim like myself, I really need to start squirreling away some of my hard-earned coins towards my old age fund and one day buy old Carbard out!'
Laughing, Smee gently rubs his pot-belly with one hand as his greedy piggish eyes stare intently at the ear Trini seems to be doing her best to bite off, noting that it is decorated with several gems that glitter and gleamed, whispering to Smee. With a few words and a simple gesture, the portly half-man once again calls forth his unseen Mage Hand Sleight of Hand [9] attempting to snatch the gems away from them both... while Trini and the bearded pirate are otherwise distracted... their attention focused on each other as they brawled! Hoping to pocket the stones for himself unnoticed amidst all the ruckus...
“In yer dreams!” the short, busty girl retorted back at him as her shapely fingers snatched the glittering tidbit from thin air as it started to float away. Her eyes flashed, greed and triumph even as the earring disappeared into her ample bodice. Then the pirate riding wench was lost in the crowd of roaring, fighting, screaming tarks. Oh, but what dreams they were, too. Trini was the snottiest of her five sisters, the hardest to ‘impress’, though wave a gold crown at her and she suddenly sung a different tune.
Yes, it was Enday (Last day of a typical five-day week) at the Drunken Crow. The typical late-night revelry was tempered only by the numbers. Smee had heard that three more ‘privateers’ had put in that day, bring the total to over a score with more to come. In two five days it was the Festival of Silver, the city’s largest celebration, next to Altar the Lion’s nameday. For an entire five day, every Noble House and Merchant clan; every bar and feast hall would be full tilt, from sunset to Dawnfest.
'Mmm, the Festival of Silver,' Smee thinks to himself... 'a time to celebrate, but also a time to line one's pockets!' Always a busy for men like Smee... and Smee intended to milk it for all that it worth and who knows, maybe a real job will fall his way. He had not heard from the Window in some time, nor from any of his other regular employers. It has been something of a dry spell for him but perhaps with Waukeen's grace and favor with the festival his luck will change, and the long dry spell will, at last, come to an end! If not, then Smee would have to be content to celebrate and make do with whatever scraps he could manage to scrounge. Still all those privateers... a rough lot to be sure, but some make for tempting, easy targets! At the right of course. In Smee's line work it was all about timing!
The half-man's eyes fell upon Trini once more admiringly, lustfully... oh, how he liked the snotty ones, the arrogant and haughty ones, the ones who felt a twinge of humiliation when in the private company of someone like Smee... most looking down at him, reviled or disgusted by him, often treating him as if he was a loathsome toad or a poxed leper! But Smee was used to it, to him it was just added motivation and a lazy man requires constant motivation... and inspiration! Women like Trini were muses that inspired Smee to greater heights!
Omi peeked her head above the bar for a moment, cleaver in one hand. Her almond shaped eyes, olive skin and lush yet petite build made her beauty still evident, even with three decades and a half dozen children later. Nose wrinkled at the carnage, the Tavern keeper’s wife sniffed.
“Dey gonna wreck the place…again!”
Smee slouches down in his chair as he watches and listens to Omi as she draws closer, hoping she will not spot him sitting alone with an invisible Tinker-Belle lurking under his table, as usual, keeping a close protective eye on her master. Hoping to avoid Omi's gaze... the Dwarf isn't sure but vaguely remembers that he owes her money for his last ride, and what a ride! Omi looked half her age, something in the woman’s foreign heritage he assumed, but was very knowledgeable in the arts of pleasure, so good, that he had promised her extra for another bounce. He’d hoped that she has forgotten or hasn't noticed him or just too busy with all the brawling going on around them to deal with collecting a simple debt!
He found himself the target of a well-handled cleaver waving in his direction. “You no pay fer last boomboom, big-little man, hee!” She sniffed again than yelped, ducking as one of the cheap stools sailed over the bar to crash into the wall behind, sending dozens of ‘painted’ wooden mugs raining down on her. What followed was a poetic string of curses, assuming one spoke Two Moons.
Smee leans back in his chair and groans... more a whimper, silently under his breath cursing his foul luck. He looks up and meets her gaze with a wide innocent smile, "oh, really?" He asks, "I am certain I paid you in full for my last ride. I mean isn't it your rule? Your golden rule... no credit, no free rides? I mean, I respect you far too much to ever take advantage of your kindly trusting nature. But where are my manners? You look tired... come sit on my lap and join me in a drink and tell me about your day. How is that no-good husband of yours treating you? You could do far better you know?" Smee says giving her sly wink, hoping to distract a bit... away from the topic of who owes who, what!
Omi launched another string of the sing-song language of her land of birth in his direction. Both anger and a bit of lust. They didn’t call him little-big man for nothing. It wasn’t that he couldn’t pay his bill, he’d made a few small fortunes in his day, then spent them even faster. No, there was always coin laying around for a savvy mind and clever fingers. Perhaps not devote enough to enter the priesthood, Smee loved his Goddess because she always provided for him, especially when he needed it the most. Just than one of the pirates, Captain’s Hardbrigde’s crew, he noted, staggered backwards past, holding his head where blood was gushing from some sort of cut. Suddenly, as if tripping over some invisible obstacle, the pirate landed with a crash on the floor beside Smee’s chair.
Priesthood Smee laughs to himself pushing the thought out of his head as quickly as it came into thinking him lacking the fortitude necessary for monastic or clerical life, enjoy his freedoms of an independent life blowing like a leaf in the breeze. Besides the Widow's connection to the temple left him a bit cautious in his dealings with temple proper itself for a reason he was unable to finger on but something a bit about it. His devotion is to the goddess, not so much to her temple. Lost in his thoughts the crashing pirate quickly brought back full awareness sensing Tinker-Belle skittering about underfoot unseen he called to her under his breath, a whisper rather than a shout knowing her keen hearing would not miss his call.
An answering squeak came from under his chair. Feeling the weight of the pouch, the Dwarf couldn’t help but belch and grin in application. As foul and hard as Captain Hardbridge was, the pirate captain kept his crew well paid when in port. Without looking inside or counting the booty, he flitched a silver crown from inside and deftly flicked it over the bar where Omi had ducked once more. The responding sing-song sounded both smug and coy, perhaps even inviting another, for future considerations
Smee belched again bringing fist up to pound his chest as he struggled to contain a belly laugh, at least the debt had paid to wench enjoying the sound of voice knowing well its hidden meaning and looking forward to the possibility of another go. Turning his lustful gaze towards the bar.
As the almond-eyed wench peeked over the bar at him, a suspicious look turned his way, that feeling of approaching trouble hit the back of Smee’s neck. Cuing into his emotions, there was a warning hiss from beneath his chair. Someone near the front of the bar yelled, ‘Basher’s Comin’!”
Basher’s was the local slang for a specialty group of City Guard devoted to breaking up riots, bar fights, or when the authorities at large wanted to leave an impression somewhere. Behind the bar Omi groaned, cursing, “Dey gonna wreck the place!”
Smee groans his fun evening quickly coming to a rather abrupt end, another go, another time he thought as he grabbed his pack and jumped to his feet heeding the well-timed warning without delay!
True to form, Smee and his ‘pet’ gained the rear exit ahead of the rest of the dash. Pirates, dock workers, the odd Joy Toy, all were keen on avoiding a chance of winning a grimy spot on the floor of the quarter’s lockup, not to mention all the costs of fees, fines, and bribes it took to get out again. The alley went two ways, one looped back towards the street in front of the Drunken Crow, the other winded it’s way deeper into the quarter. Like all evenings, the sea mists were flowing in, blanketing the city.
Figuring the main street would be crawling with Basher Smee whistled for the unseen Tinker-Belle to follow him as he darted down the alleyway leading deeper into the quarter itself and hopefully away from the bulk of the city's guard's brute squads, but nothing was certain. Moving faster than Smee the unseen giant rat familiar Tinker-Belle took the point scouting just head for hidden dangers or possible opportunities. The night was just beginning...
<>
Erandal's story continues...
Keeping far enough being the fleeing thug, Erandal could hear the man’s careless flight, knocking things over, crying in fear or crying out in pain with each encounter. Unless one really knew an alley, running blinding wasn’t a good idea. Then he heard the thug cry out in pain as he crashed to the ground. As Eran reached a point where he could see a few strides ahead of him, he noted that the alley entered an area where several alleys met. The thug scrambled to his feet, leaving the rusty sword behind, fled into an alley on the right. On the ground lie two bodies. One was cut deeply through the hip, to the point that his leg was bent at a grotesque angle. The amount of blood pooled around him left little doubt that he was dead. As was the second thug. After all, a gaping chest wound would do that to a fellow.
Erandal notes the bodies, the obvious injuries, and makes a fleeting check of the carnage. Only sparing a few moments before continuing his chase...
The half-orc knows his craft, that's for sure. Doesn't look like he was taking prisoners. I'm definitely not going toe to toe with him until I have a half dozen bolts inside him... Actually, maybe make that a full dozen, just to be safe. Damn that thug for rushing me, a golden opportunity missed to end this chase! Investigation: roll]18-1=17] Perception: roll]12+4[16]
A cursory examination revealed that wounds had been dealt by a heavy bladed weapon, probably the glaive that he had seen the Half-Orc wearing on his belt. One body showed where the weapon had been wiped off to clean it quickly. Everything was fresh, which matched all the screaming of a minute ago. Looking around in the dim, foggy junction, Erandal counted four alley or alley-like openings, not including the one where he had just come.
Eran tries to recall the direction he has been travelling and guess at where the alleys may lead (see wanderer feature below), not trusting that chasing the fleeing thug is the correct course here, wanting to stay on the trail of Hadara and his half-orc companion. He quickly scans the roofline and each alleyway, including the one he came down, for signs of passage, or persons cloaking themselves in shadow.
About to head into the center alley, Erandal heard a not so distant curse of pain. It was not the alley that the surviving thug had fled down.
Trying to make out the source of the curse, whether it sounded like the half-orc, Hadara, or some new player, then checking again for any signs of flight in the direction that the curse came from, Erandal alters his course and heads towards the curse. Perception: roll] 1+4[5]
It was more difficult that he’d hoped it would be. Unfamiliar with the warren of narrow streets and even narrower allies of Tarantis’ Poor Quarter, Eran also had to contend with the confounding fog. It was thick in some places, nonexistent in others and often in ways that seemed to contradict itself. He also noticed that in the larger streets the fog moved – flowed would be a better word, flowed like a black and gray river. Other floobs came and went, most mere shadows as he followed the few clues and his gut feelings. It was obvious that the Half-Orc wasn’t making any effort to hide. With the wounded fugitive in hand, Eran would bet most of his meager stash of coin that the Half-Orc had a destination in mind; possibly a healer. A street healer most likely, since any open House of Healing would be an obvious place to stake out. Surely others were out for the bounty on Hadara’s head, and not forgetting the City Guards interests, those BOLO’s would make it difficult to move between city quarters. They had to still be in the Poor Quarter.
Pausing for a moment to take his bearings Elan spotted one of the hundreds of homeless children roaming the streets, a common tread shared by every city of decent size. This one squatted next to a door leading to a tattoo parlor, picking his nose and staring back at Elan.
This chase is going no-where... I wonder if I can get ahead of the game. Checking his purse and taking a quick glance to make sure this urchin isn't bait for a gullible passer-by, Erandal approaches the boy and calls out "Lad, come o'er 'ere." Changing his dialect and accent.
The street urchin was typical of his sort. Small, wiry, and dirty with wary eyes. “Oy, wha’ you want?”
"Earn yersel' a copper or two if'n youz gots some knowin I be wantin?"
“Two coppers, eh?”
"One if yer can be tellin me the closest healer's stoop in these 'ere parts, I has been try'n catch upta my injurd pal but gots me turned about. An there be anuvver if you can tell me the fastest way to be about getting ter it?" Eran reaches into a pocket and flicks one copper to the scrawny youth. He draws out a second but holds it, waiting for the reply.
Biting the coins as if to assure himself that they were real the kid nodded. “Probbly wanna’ Lil’ ita, he is. She’s always healin’ an’ never askin’ questions or for coin…weird, tha’.”
"Aye, bein strange folk is them leeches. 'Ave them their uses though. I still gotz a second copper fer the knowin o' the quickest route there."
“I ken take ya, if’n ya wan’”
Eran tries to get a read on the lad, and whether he is going to end up at the healer's home or meet with a billy over the back of his head the moment he turns a corner. (Insight: roll]1d20+2[/roll]). Judging the lad to not be after causing him much trouble, Eran decides to take the offer. "Yer'd best be a runnin' like the wind then lad. No time to tarry, and if'n we gets there 'fore my pal, then there'll be a third copper crossin yer palm!"
Wisdom beyond his years, the lad looks coy, “Maybe youse ‘ake it three?”
"Aye lad, so long as ye gets me there 'fore me pal. 'Eez a big fella, so if we come by 'im on the way, dun be scared and just stay outta tha way."
With a laugh the boy feigns ducking a swing than trots down a side street. “Dis way, ‘an keep up, hey?”
Eran takes off at a run to keep up with the surprisingly quick lad. His natural agility serving him well as he ducks a few low hanging obstacles and slips past poorly stacked crates. The urchin only occasionally checking back after particularly awkward moments for Erandal, the size different between the two making Eran reconsider asking for the fastest route, worried that he should have specified that he needs to fit through it!
Following the boy’s self-assured path, they entered the worst part of the city. The buildings looked centuries old and ready to crumble. In the dark and fog, everything was gray and poorly lit. An occasional fire burned, some marked shanties or slapdashes, as some called them. Bits of whatever was handy to create a dubious shelter. Faces, many curious, just as many hungry, watched them as they passed through.
The images that fleeted through Erandal's vision showed him the same story he had seen in many of the cities on past travels. The dilapidated areas of large cities are like a slow illness eating at them from inside. Buildings here were packed closer together, many overhanging the streets as they rose to three or four stories. The demand for roofs by so many, all crammed into these dark and run-down areas, showed the basic desire for survival that kept people going even despite all their setbacks. He'd always found that you can could judge the caliber of small communities by how they treated the worst off amongst them, and city's exemplified this. The rich and nobles controlled most of the wealth in the city, whilst most folk lived on meager earnings, struggling to survive. He knew firsthand the effects of families falling into debt, of how there were always predators trying to get what they could out of the desperate and needy. The scenes that he passed showed Tarantis to have plenty of those. His thoughts wandered towards the boy, who had gained a little ground on him as Eran's thoughts had wandered. Quickening his pace, he considered the lad.
Like most street urchins his age, the boy was well versed with the quarter’s streets, probably the same when it came to the rooftops and sewers. He was also smart enough to know that a couple easy coppers meant a meal and a corner in some flop house, or several days of meals, if he was careful. Living on the streets, keeping one’s belly fed was a serious challenge. They moved along at a fair pace, using the quarters narrow but less winding streets. Twice the boy diverted down an alley. Once, he said, to avoid ‘Gapper’s’ territory, the other because it was a ‘sure short cut’.
All these twists and turns were difficult for Eran to keep track of, he knew they were heading in largely the same direction that they had set out, but to trace out the route on a map would have no doubt seemed like a crazed scribble with no logical reason. Though they were not using logic here, they were using speed, and though they had only been running for a goodly number of minutes, it had seemed like an age longer, and as they rounded a corner onto a slightly longer, wider straight, Eran closed the distance to the boy and found the breath to ask, "How far?"
“Keep yer knickers on, bub, tis der!” The boy pointed across the street.
Elan saw an old, worn-out looking Vardo wagon tucked in between a collapsed ruin and several multi-tenant houses. The vacant lot looked more like the ruins of yet another house, but there was a different aura about the place. He could smell herbs growing in the dark and could make out several small bushes growing on either side of a much-repaired wooden stair leading up to the Vardo’s door.
Erandal approached the cabin, taking long slow breaths to recover from the flight. He looked around eyeing the shadows and taking in the wagon - was the door ajar? was that a light on inside? As Eran closed the distance, and the scents of herbs grew stronger, he looked for any signs of blood on the floor and listened for sounds from the Vardo or nearby streets. Remembering that Hadara had been shot by an arrow, and would be in a bad way, unless the orc had stopped to dress the wound, or they had gone somewhere else entirely... that was a risk, but he had gone with what he thought best at the time, and it was a decision that he would kick himself over later if it had proven wrong again. He tried to take in the whole, rather than focusing on specifics. Looking for cover, for anything to hide behind...
Realizing that the urchin still hovered nearby, he stopped and turned back to the scamp and flicked two copper pieces over to him. "A deal is a deal, I see not me pal, lest he be inside already, but you gone dun right by wha' yer sed yer wud. I be thankin ye boy!"
Grinning, the boy snatched the coin, “ank’s, Mister. If’n ya ever need ‘elp, ask ‘round for me, I call’s meself Garion.” The boy turned and melted into the shadows, leaving Erandal alone, but not for long. Half a moment later he spotted a large, odd looking shadow emerge from an alley a block down the street. As it passed in front of a cook fire Elan could see it was the Half-Orc and the man worth, either twenty-five gold crowns or fifty, depending on who one asked, it seemed. From where he stood, Hadara looked in bad shape. More corpse than living floob. Stealth: 24 Insight: 19
Gotcha! Eran closes the gap to the Vardo in a few strides. He gathered up a hefty looking flower pot and hid to the side of the wagon, hand bows and hatchets ready at his side should it get messy. As the orc and Hadara approach, Eran waits and listens, patience keeping him hidden until their backs are towards him. Intending to use the Tusker’s knocks on the door to cover his movement, Elan raises the pot up and moves into a position where he can attempt to break it against the half-orc's head. Just then, several things happen. Out of the corner of one eye Elan notices a slender figure seem to melt out of the foggy darkness. Dressed in a gray cloak, it was a young woman.
Spotting him, she cries out ((screams rather)) a warning, "don't hurt him." Bringing her hands together ((Action)) a mote of energy shoots from the space between her palms and flies like a bolt, striking him once in the left arm, followed by a second that hits squarely in the chest. Elan staggered backwards a step and loses his breath. Whatever it was the energy seemed to ignore his armor. ((Hit Roll)) 24 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location 23 -left arm ((Bonus Action)) ((Hit Roll)) 16 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location – Stomach + stun (1 CR; -1 to attacks/actions for duration of this encounter)
She called out again in fear and distress, "Tulip, come to me!"
The girl rushed forward, her arms outstretched, reaching for her bushy friend. From the pot, much to Eran’s shock and surprise, the bush becomes animated. As if reaching for the girl, the small bush’s branches lean in her direction before leaping out of the pot and running to meet her. As if hoping to forestall any further violence, the girl calls out in a friendly yet passive tone,
"I am here... I am Lilita... the healer you seek. How may I be of assistance gentlemen?"
A stunned look on the Half-Orc’s face showed that Elan had gotten the drop on him, hadn’t it been for the girl’s warning and attack. The Tusker came down from the wagon’s stoop and nearly dropped Hadara’s still body on the ground and said: “My companion and I were jumped in the alleys. I got away with a scratch, but he took an arrow to the gut. The bleeding has gone thick and dark. He's almost dead."
With another cry, the girl rushes over to kneel beside the body, hand’s outstretched to cast some sort of healing magic onto the fugitive.
"Thank you, so much, Ms. Lilita," The Half-Orc states. "My name is Mordecai and the man you're saving is Hadara. It was his idea to see you - to be honest, I'm rarely by this side of the city unless work requires it."
"Excuse me, miss," Mordecai says softly. He then turns to the blue berry bush and eyed Elan as he loosens a single hand axe from his belt and brings it under the pot throwers chin.
"Mm nghhh mmm mm muuhh" Eran mumbles 'I can't move my mouth' without moving a muscle, not even blinking, knowing he must sell this subterfuge or be in an even worse predicament. He gently flexes his toes, making sure that whatever he just got hit with has worn off, as the half-orc meets his eye.
The Half-Orc looks Elan in the eye. "You look familiar to me - who are you, what do you want, keep your hands to the side and best if you not answer so loud... The kind Miss doesn't need to be distracted."
Eran brings the pot down with all the force he can muster, at the same moment using the now taught muscles in his legs he pushes up with his feet, tilts his head back, and hopes to avoid the cut of the axe blade as he attempts a flip kick. To get some distance between the half-orc and himself... [Acrobatics: 14 (14) attack roll for pot (GM) 5+3=8 > miss]
The Half-Orc blocks the flowerpot with his free hand, and then twists the axe in hand and swings with the blunt end, muttering, "Can't kill the man if I want him answering my questions." [Attack: 18 vs AC 16 - hit Subdual Damage: 6 Location: 100 Lower Torso]
Taking the back end of a hand ax to his belly (and just missing the groin) as his flip carries him backwards, Eran lands and says "That was for the chair! Now stow your weapon, and we can talk this out whilst the lady attends to Hadara.". Said whilst standing with arms clearly away from the weapons at his side.
The one called Mordecai kept his weapon in hand and barked, “You have no right to tell me to do anything, given you tried bashing my head in an ambush with the young lady's pot - and her bushy friend! You're lucky I used the butt of my axe rather than its edge. And you and your lot deserved the chair! I was trying to leave with my bounty peaceably - you and your lot had your weapons pointed at our backs. Dishonorable behavior earns such actions!"
Lilita speaks to everyone in a low passive tone, almost a whisper imploring them, "please both of you, I do not require... names or payment, nor need or want to know the whys and whereas of any dispute between you all! But here and now the violence ends. I beg you both, please. I can do nothing to stop you but know this. If either of you seeks my continued healing now or ever in the future, then you will not do violence further. So please call a truce between you or take your pain, violence, and death somewhere else... far from me, far from my home and do as you will. Anywhere but here."
The young woman than hops up and rushes over to kneel down before Elan on the ground, on her knees, humbling herself, tears welling up in her eyes as she speaks again as before, low and soft, almost a whisper, "please forgive me, I meant no harm, the energies I struck you with were a result of my own fear and panic. I have not skilled in the ways of violence and it pains me greatly to inflict pain or harm upon anyone for any reason. My powers cannot truly harm or kill in any event, at most render one unconscious but never is there a danger of death, not my hands nor anyone else' if there anything that I can do or say that will prevent it. I am sorry I acted rashly but I was frightened so I ask your forgiveness, please."
"Nay lady, you got me good with a sucker punch. Ain't nothing fairer than that when the one you're punchin is doin the same. Though this whole thing would have gone a lot easier on me if you'd just let me crack that old pot."
Giving a slow nod, the young woman gets up and goes to open the door to her Vardo Wagon. Glancing at the large Half-Orc, she asks, “Can you take your friend inside? He’ll be more comfortable than laying on the ground and I can further examine him.”
Mordecai responds, "You're right, Miss Lilita. I apologize for having to commit violence in your presence, but I was only returning this scum the favor” – jerking a thumb in Erandal’s direction – “he tried TWICE to give me. You shouldn't apologize to such a dishonorable character. Twice he tried attacking me with your pot and earlier tonight he had his crossbows pointed at our backs."
Without waiting for a response, the girl went inside to make her bed to be made more comfortable and prepares everything so she can continue her examination in better light and conditions than outside in the darkness. The animated bush seems to glower up at Elan for a moment before hustling inside, after it’s mistress.
Eran gets to his feet, dusts himself off, and checks his weapons are all still safely attached, then looks over to Hadara. "Best be seein to him now missy, I seen puncture wounds a plenty." He says, tapping his handbows, "An they can be right messy things that'll kill a man after you gone sewed him up. And he looks like he's in a bad way already."
The half-orc's voice softens, saying to the girl, "Out of respect for you, Miss Lilita, I'll stow my weapons. I wouldn't turn my back on him though." Mordecai stowed his hand axe, but as he did, Elan noted that the Half-Orc unbuckled the strap that kept his maul from unsheathing.
"What do you say big guy? Wanna talk about this like men rather than runnin' away again?" Eran's tone is clearly ironic but he knows the half-orc got lucky, and Erandal's taken pretty equal amounts of beats and gifts from the Goddess of Luck before, so knows to roll with them now, cos so long as there is a next time then he can still come out ahead. "Name's Erandal by the way, since we're all buddied up now."
Mordecai points at the Erandal and states, "If you truly want to talk, you'll earn some trust by staying quiet and staying put until Miss Lilita has stabilized this poor man." The Half-Orc backed away, never turning his back on him as he went to Hadara’s side. To the girl, he adds, "Of course."
The Half-Orc easily picks Hadara up from the porch, and, finally, after giving Eran a long look, entered the Vardo.
Eran sticks his tongue out at the bush. "Hey, lil twiggy, can you grow me some magic bolt shafts?" Chuckling to himself, Eran starts to follow the girl into the Vardo, but not before taking a look around the streets.
<>
Mordecai's story continues...
The wound in Mordecai’s shoulder ached a little but was nothing worth worrying himself about now. The fugitive’s wound, however, was getting worse. The blood loss had slowed and what blood that was seeping out was dark and thick, a bad sign.
"Damn street vermin - you'd think they'd see me and go after easier prey... Damned city is losing its mind," Mordecai thinks. He notices the thick blood slowly oozing from Hadara’s wound. He tells the dying man, "Come on Hadara, focus. That'll keep you alive - focus on the goal. How much further?" It was as if Mordecai was trying to assert his will on the man's actual lifeblood.
Hadara seemed lethargic compared to a few minutes before and took a moment to respond. “It’s close, I think – “
"Good! Good!" Mordecai states, false hope in his voice. Mordecai, desperate nearly shakes the man as he pulls him in the direction Hadara seem to indicate. "Where to, Hadara?"
“Well, by Gorda’s hairy beard, I’ve never been there myself, how in all the hells am I supposed to know!?” The man coughed and Mord noticed a tinge of red foam at his lips. “Her place’s supposed to be some sort of ***** wagon, parked in a vacant lot.”
"A ***** wagon?" Mordecai says somewhat bewildered. Then, thinking to himself, "She better have more to her than just a few parlor tricks and useless trinkets, or I'll be on the lamb with nothing to show for it."
By this point, Mordecai is literally carrying the man. The pair looks as if they had left the reddest of weddings. Still Mordecai plods forward, muttering, Damnable city."
Under the fugitive’s shaky directions, they entered the worst part of the city. The buildings looked centuries old and ready to crumble. In the dark and fog, everything was gray and poorly lit. An occasional fire burned, some marked shanties or slapdashes, as some called them. Bits of whatever was handy to create a dubious shelter. Faces, many curious, just as many hungry, watched them as they passed through. Twice Mordecai saw a tail. He couldn’t be a hundred percent sure, not without stopping and confronting whomever it was, but he had feeling in his gut that someone had tracked them from the Eight Star.
Mordecai pushes forward, his own breath labored. Exhausted and meeting every hungry face in this shit neighborhood with a ferocious scowl.
"He's going to live. I'm going to find out what's so Damned important. And I will leverage it," Mordecai instructs himself.
The pair make it out to an open space. Mordecai looks desperately around, Hadara in his arms.
“There…I think.” Following Hadara’s shaking finger, Mordecai saw an old, worn-out looking Vardo wagon tucked in between a collapsed ruin and several multi-tenant houses. The vacant lot looked more like the ruins of yet another house, but there was a different aura about the place. He could smell herbs growing in the dark and could make out several small bushes growing on either side of a much-repaired wooden stair leading up to the Vardo’s door.
"I think you're right!" Mordecai responds. With a renewed sense of energy and urgency, the half-orc sprints towards the Vardo. Gaining the door with both hands holding Hadara, he headbutts the door in lieu of knocking, then starts kicking the door making it rattle.
Nothing happens. The door shook and the wagon creaked as if it were half a moment away from collapsing in on itself. Thinking quickly, Mordecai half yells, "Healer! Help! We were jumped in the alleys! My companion is bleeding out - he doesn't have much life left in him! Help us!"
Through the knocks and yells, Mordecai glances back. Someone was following them. It's time to find out who and was greeted by a slender figure seems to melt out of the foggy darkness. Dressed in a gray cloak, it was a young woman.
"Blessed be Nintinugga, you are here,” he starts to say but is taken back when the mere wisp of a girl screams.
"Don't hurt him!"
"Yet again my tusks are used to profile against me," Mordecai admits to himself sadly.
Mordecai holding up Hadara with his forearms, opens his palms towards her in a gesture of peace, saying, "I'm trying to save him!"
Ignoring him the girl brings her hands together ((Action)) and a mote of energy shoots from the space between her palms and flies like a bolt past him and striking a figure looming up behind him, large potted plant in hand and striking the man once in the left arm, followed by a second that hits squarely in the chest. The stranger, whom looked vague familiar, staggered backwards a step and let out a gasp of pain. Whatever it was the energy seemed to ignore the stranger’s armor. ((Hit Roll)) 24 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location 23 -left arm ((Bonus Action)) ((Hit Roll)) 16 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location – Stomach + stun (1 CR; -1 to attacks/actions for duration of this encounter) In his shock, Mord
She called out again in fear and distress, "Tulip, come to me!"
The girl rushed forward, her arms outstretched, reaching for her bushy friend. From the pot, much to Mord’s shock and surprise, the bush becomes animated. As if reaching for the girl, the small bush’s branches lean in her direction before leaping out of the pot and running to meet her. As if hoping to forestall any further violence, the girl calls out in a friendly yet passive tone,
"I am here... I am Lilita... the healer you seek. How may I be of assistance gentlemen?"
Mordecai thinks to himself, "I don't know what just happened, but this girl should be charging for whatever she does - I've never seen that sort of magic... And I swear that bush ran to her AND has a name."
Mordecai stands in shock for a brief second regarding what just occurred. He finally manages to stutter out, "My companion and I were jumped in the alleys. I got away with a scratch, but he took an arrow to the gut. The bleeding has gone thick and dark. He's almost dead." Mordecai gently places Hadara on the ground.
With another cry, the girl rushes over to kneel beside the body, hands outstretched to cast some sort of healing magic onto the fugitive.
"Thank you, so much, Ms. Lilita," Mordecai states. "My name is Mordecai and the man you're saving is Hadara. It was his idea to see you - to be honest, I'm rarely by this side of the city unless work requires it."
Then a thought, "Speaking of work..."
"Excuse me, miss," Mordecai says softly.
He then turns to the blueberry bush to check out the would-be attacker. "Don't want to fret the girl," Mordecai thinks, he loosens a single hand axe from his belt and brings it under the pot throwers chin.
The man from the Eight Star with the hand crossbows mumbles something as he stands, momentarily frozen, empty pot still raised above his head. His eye blink and focus on Mordecai as the Half-Orc looks into the face of his ambusher, "You look familiar to me - who are you, what do you want, keep your hands to the side and best if you not answer so loud... The kind Miss doesn't need to be distracted."
The man brings the pot down with all the force he can muster, at the same moment using the now taught muscles in his legs he pushes up with his feet, tilts his head back in hopes of avoiding the cut of Mord’s axe blade as he attempts a flip kick.
Mordecai, blocking the flowerpot with his free hand, thinks, "The fool. Impressive acrobatics, however."
He twists the axe in his hand and swings for the man with the blunt end, saying to himself, "Can't kill the man if I want him answering my questions." Attack: 18 Subdual Damage: 6 Location: 100 Lower Torso
Taking the back end of a hand ax to his belly (and just missing the groin) the man’s flip carries him backwards where he lands and says "That was for the chair! Now stow your weapon, and we can talk this out whilst the lady attends to Hadara.". The man says whilst standing with arms clearly away from the weapons at his side.
"The chair?" Mordecai thinks, he sees the hand crossbows on the man's side and the memory dawns on him.
He keeps his weapon in hand, barking at the man, "You have no right to tell me to do anything, given you tried bashing my head in an ambush with the young lady's pot - and her bushy friend! You're lucky I used the butt of my axe rather than its edge. And you and your lot deserved the chair! I was trying to leave with my bounty peaceably - you and your lot had your weapons pointed at out backs. Dishonorable behavior earns such actions!"
Lilita speaks in a low passive tone, almost a whisper imploring them, "please both of you, I do not require... names or payment, nor need or want to know the whys and whereas of any dispute between you all! But here and now the violence ends. I beg you both, please. I can do nothing to stop you but know this. If either of you seeks my continued healing now or ever in the future, then you will not do violence further. So please call a truce between you or take your pain, violence, and death somewhere else... far from me, far from my home and do as you will. Anywhere but here."
The young woman than hops up and rushes over to kneel down before Elan on the ground, on her knees, humbling herself, tears welling up in her eyes as she speaks again as before, low and soft, almost a whisper, "please forgive me, I meant no harm, the energies I struck you with were a result of my own fear and panic. I have not skilled in the ways of violence and it pains me greatly to inflict pain or harm upon anyone for any reason. My powers cannot truly harm or kill in any event, at most render one unconscious but never is there a danger of death, not my hands nor anyone else' if there anything that I can do or say that will prevent it. I am sorry I acted rashly but I was frightened so I ask your forgiveness, please."
"Nay lady, you got me good with a sucker punch. Ain't nothing fairer than that when the one you're punchin is doin the same. Though this whole thing would have gone a lot easier on me if you'd just let me crack that old pot."
Giving a slow nod, the young woman gets up and goes to open the door to her Vardo Wagon. Glancing at the large Half-Orc, she asks, “Can you take your friend inside? He’ll be more comfortable than laying on the ground and I can further examine him.”
Mordecai responds, "You're right, Miss Lilita. I apologize for having to commit violence in your presence, but I was only returning this scum the favor he tried TWICE to give me. You shouldn't apologize to such a dishonorable character. Twice he tried attacking me with your pot and earlier tonight he had his crossbows pointed at our backs."
Without waiting for a response, Lilita went inside to make her bed to be made more comfortable and prepares everything so she can continue her examination in better light and conditions than outside in the darkness.
The archer got to his feet and dusts himself off, and checks his weapons are all still safely attached, then glances over to where Hadara lay, breathing easier.
"Best be seein to him now missy, I seen puncture wounds a plenty." Eran taps his handbows, "An they can be right messy things that'll kill a man after you gone sewed him up. And he looks like he's in a bad way already." From the top of the steps of the now lit Vardo the animated bush seems to glower up at Elan for a moment before hustling inside, after it’s mistress.
The half-orc's voice softens, saying, "Out of respect for you, Miss Lilita, I'll stow my weapons. I wouldn't turn my back on him though." Mordecai stows his hand axe, but as he does, he unbuckles the strap that keeps his maul from unsheathing.
"What do you say big guy? Wanna talk about this like men rather than runnin' away again?" Eran's tone is clearly ironic. "Name's Erandal by the way, since we're all buddied up now."
He points at the pot thrower and states, "If you truly want to talk, you'll earn some trust by staying quiet and staying put until Miss Lilita has stabilized this poor man." He backs away from the potter, never turning his back on him, returning to Hadara’s side.
Mordecai obliges the young lady, saying, "Of course." The Half-Orc easily picks Hadara up from the porch, and, finally turning his back on the man who threw pots, enters the Vardo.
Eran sticks his tongue out at the bush. "Hey, lil twiggy, can you grow me some magic bolt shafts?" Chuckling to himself, Eran starts to follow the girl into the Vardo, but not before taking a look around the streets.
Mordecai thinks to himself, "With my luck, there's a pot flying at the back of my head, right now."
<>
Lilita's story continues...
Still a little shaken by her encounter with the nobleman, Lilita crossed the city like a fugitive, always moving and yet, keeping to the shadows and making use of alleys and the narrower side streets. In this, her light gray cloak was an old friend. In the night, blanketed by mists and fogs, she was nearly invisible. The loss of her shoes had even worked to her advantage as her bare feet made little sound on the damp, often mucky cobblestones. Passing the last gate, she navigated the narrow streets of the Poor Quarter with the knowledge of one whose lived and worked there most of her life, she was comfortable letting her mind dwell on what had just happened. There were a limited number of nobles, but she couldn’t have figured any one aside from Altar the Lion and the Chief Adviser, after all they had statues around the city and were on many broadsides and signs. It was as if the man somehow had been drawn to her; that she had known him all her life, and yet, not at all.
As she paused to rest a moment, she looked down at her poor bare feet mourning the loss of her best pair of shoes as other thoughts creep into her mind as out of nowhere. Upon reflecting she felt as if the strange nobleman had been drawn to her and some way, she to him but she was at a loss to admit that to herself let alone seek to explain it. He was, of course, handsome and a noble... for most women, especially those of her station, that is enough but for Lilita she craved something more tangible. Something that many people laugh at and tell her such a thing is the stuff of fairy tales and that she must accept the real world as it is!
Lilita had never had a lover, a least not a real one... with feelings of love and attachment but rather just the cruel humiliating sort that one of her low birth and station was time to subjected to and required to tolerate without complaint. Luckily Lilita has been fortunate with only two such encounters knowing that number could have easily been greater or at any time the number could tick upward without warning. And such was her primary concern with the nobleman in the shop and why she had chosen to risk all by fleeing before things went any further.
Thankfully he was drawn to the Half-Elf who had worn that red gown as if it were painted on. Such an open display of wantonness that it mottled the mind a bit, even hers. A hidden part of her mind kept taunting Lilita with images of herself, dressed similarly and being escorted by various dashing sorts that often reminded her of Amlack, the City Guardsmen.
Still, she felt a deep sense of guilt, in fleeing she had left the beautiful fey maiden in the nobleman's clutches, left to take her place should his intentions prove to be evil or unsavory. If so then Lilita would share in the blame for deserting the poor woman. For Livvi's sake, Lilita prayed that the nobleman was not such a man and that the half-elf maiden would not suffer in her place. Lilita hoped that the noble would perhaps purchase the gown the maiden had been trying on. Lilita could only hope for a happy ending. As well as hope by fleeing she had not angered the nobleman so much he would attempt to seek her out and punish her... worried that the magic she had sensed coming from him that he could prove extremely dangerous to her should he so choose. If so, not even her friend Amlack, the City Guardsman could help her against such a threat! Lilita Perception 11
As she neared home Lilita felt a slight prickle at the back of her neck. It wasn’t uncommon for her to come home and find someone waiting for her, seeking help or asking her to help a loved one elsewhere in the Quarter. It happened frequently enough that she had developed a sense, of sorts, when it came to the little Vardo wagon and the narrow lot it occupied. Over the past year, Lilita had been gifted with the odd seed or plant, as often as not as an insisted upon payment. Because of that, she had started a pair of small herb gardens. Later, a grateful sailor who’d claimed to have sailed half the world, had brought a small sapling from a rare and exotic bush whose berries had healing properties. Her mentor, not to be outdone, had visited the Vardo unannounced. When the Druid had left, several more bushes had sprouted, and the vacant lot had taken on an almost peaceful aura, if one was receptive to it. <GM’s Note: I’m guessing the Druid blessed it or purified it somehow>
Lilita having grown used to unannounced visitors requiring healing is not alarmed by the sensation of awareness but rather begins to feel a growing sense of urgency. Worried that if someone is ill or injured, she best not dally about. As Lilita draws closer she smiles as she looks upon the welcoming sight of her small herb garden feeling its peaceful aura wash over her calming her somewhat after a rather eventful evening. She is happy to be home now far from the shop and the mysterious nobleman that she had encountered.
‘Tulip’ had sprouted fast, faster than anyone would have guessed after that. The exotic bush from a land beneath two moons, had awakened in some way. ‘Tulip’ could move and talk to her, though to others, all they ever claimed to hear was the rustling of tiny leaves. A five day later, much to her surprise and delight, ‘Tulip’ had tried to follow her to Pencelot’s. It had taken a mental discussion of sorts, to get the plant to understand that it was safer at the Vardo, than wandering the city. The old Druid, upon hearing her wild seeming tale, had come and communed with the plant. A few hours later, the old man was amused as he was confounded.
“It’s very rare, but special. You sure you didn’t miss your calling my dear? You would make a supreme Druid,” he had teased.
Lilita approaches Tulip pleased to find her well and that she seems to be still growing, like a weed... she often teasingly tells her best friend in all the world... Lilita would never have thought as a child she would ever have such a friend and guardian as Tulip has proven to be. But she also senses agitation and concern from her Fauna friend. Tulip she felt, was about to go from annoyed to violent.
Lilita feels a wave of fear wash over her, having gotten used her home and lot here... being a safe haven for her, a sanctuary. Her stomach tightens as a feeling of tension builds up inside her... her eyes dart quickly about looking at what may be causing Tulip's anxiety and hers...
From the safety of the shadows of a flop house across the narrow street, Lilita investigated the little, not so vacant, lot that she called home and saw several figures. One, a huge, muscular Half-Orc was pounding on her door so hard the wagon rocked. He then bellowed, “Healer, come out!” or some such. On the ground was the form of man, one who looked too still. A third figure rose up out of the shadows beside her wagon home, a large potted plant in hand. It was a slow, deliberate motion, as if he meant to dash it against the Half-Orc’s head.
Her base instincts kick in and take hold of Lilita as she cries out ((screams rather)), "don't hurt him," a warning to the Half-Orc in obvious danger from the assailant emerging from the shadows behind her wagon. Not wishing violence in her home, in her sanctuary, Lilita feels there is no other option open to her. Bringing her hands together ((Action)) Lilita creates a mote of divine energy in the form of a Bolt of Radiance and hurls it ((Hit Roll)) 24 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location 23 -left arm directed at the third figure with the potted plant in hand followed a second mote ((Bonus Action)) ((Hit Roll)) 16 ((Damage Roll)) 3 Location – Stomach + stun (1 CR; -1 to attacks/actions for duration of this encounter) as she calls out to Tulip in fear and distress,
"Tulip, come to me!"
Lilita quickly moves forward towards them, her arms outstretched, reaching for her bushy friend. The animated plant leaps from its favorite pot even as the stranger she had hit with her divine energy staggers and reels slightly. Hoping to forestall any further violence Lilia calls to them in a friendly yet passive tone of voice she says, "I am here... I am Lilita... the healer you seek. How may I be of assistance gentlemen?" Realizing that one the strangers was on the ground and very still Lilita moves more quickly towards him.
While the Half-Orc and man glare at each other, distrust and unease openly radiating from them, she immediately begins her examination of the man on the ground right then and there. As a precaution smelling blood possibly from a wound or injury of some sort, she immediately touches him to cast Spare the Dying followed by Cure Wounds 10 in order to attempt to stabilize him giving herself more time to examine [Medicine 21] him more closely. Lilita is much too busy and focused to speak to the injured man's companion so does not ask any questions... rather Lilita just goes straight to work.
The spells work, drawing the man back from the brink of death. Another minute and he would have been beyond her abilities. Upon careful examination she locates the wound in the back and deduces it was caused by an arrow, further damaged when someone forcefully ripped it free.
"Thank you, so much, Ms. Lilita," Mordecai states. "My name is Mordecai and the man you're saving is Hadara. It was his idea to see you - to be honest, I'm rarely by this side of the city unless work requires it."
"Excuse me, miss," Mordecai says softly. He then turns to the blue berry bush to check out the would-be attacker. He loosens a single hand axe from his belt and brings it under the pot throwers chin.
The Half-Orc looks into the face of his ambusher, "You look familiar to me - who are you, what do you want, keep your hands to the side and best if you not answer so loud... The kind Miss doesn't need to be distracted."
The man brings the pot down with all the force he can muster, at the same moment using the now taught muscles in his legs he pushes up with his feet, tilts his head back in hopes of avoiding the cut of Mord’s axe blade as he attempts a flip kick.
Mordecai blocks the flowerpot with his free hand, then twists the axe in his hand and swings for the man with the blunt end.
Taking the back end of a hand ax to his belly (and just missing the groin) the man’s flip carries him backwards where he lands and says "That was for the chair! Now stow your weapon, and we can talk this out whilst the lady attends to Hadara.". Said whilst standing with arms clearly away from the weapons at his side.
Lilita speaks to everyone in a low passive tone, almost a whisper imploring them, "please both of you, I do not require... names or payment, nor need or want to know the whys and whereas of any dispute between you all! But here and now the violence ends. I beg you both, please. I can do nothing to stop you but know this. If either of you seeks my continued healing now or ever in the future, then you will not do violence further. So please call a truce between you or take your pain, violence, and death somewhere else... far from me, far from my home and do as you will. Anywhere but here."
The ambusher, the one she unleashed her bolts upon Lilita kneels down before on the ground, on her knees before him, humbling herself, tears welling up in her eyes as she speaks again as before, low and soft, almost a whisper, "please forgive me, I meant no harm, the energies I struck you with were a result of my own fear and panic. I have not skilled in the ways of violence and it pains me greatly to inflict pain or harm upon anyone for any reason. My powers cannot truly harm or kill in any event, at most render one unconscious but never is there a danger of death, not my hands nor anyone else' if there anything that I can do or say that will prevent it. I am sorry I acted rashly but I was frightened so I ask your forgiveness, please."
The man shakes his head and smiles slightly. "Nay lady, you got me good with a sucker punch. Ain't nothing fairer than that when the one you're punchin is doin the same. Though this whole thing would have gone a lot easier on me if you'd just let me crack that old pot."
Successful in stabilizing her patient, Lilita got up and went to open the door to her Vardo Wagon. Glancing at the large Half-Orc, she asks, “Can you take your friend inside? He’ll be more comfortable than laying on the ground and I can further examine him.”
Without waiting for his response, she went inside to make her bed to be made more comfortable so that she can continue her examination in better light and conditions than outside in the darkness. It was clear that the arrow wound would fester if she didn’t treat it properly, plus the man would be weak for some time. She could expend more healing magic, but too much, it was said, could cause long term problems. Besides, expending her Bolt of Radiance to protect Tulip weakened her pool some and, in truth, Lilita didn’t like being completely exhausted of magic because she never knew when another emergency could arise. Traditional medicines and care worked, if allowed to. In a world where most floobs went their entire lives without seeing magic, herbs and careful tending sufficed.
She heard the Half-Orc say from outside, "You're right, Miss Lilita. I apologize for having to commit violence in your presence, but I was only returning this scum the favor he tried TWICE to give me. You shouldn't apologize to such a dishonorable character. Twice he tried attacking me with your pot and earlier tonight he had his crossbows pointed at our backs."
Tulip scrambled up the stairs and turned, momentarily shaking several branches at the men outside.
"Best be seein to him now missy, I seen puncture wounds a plenty." The one called Elan says, "An they can be right messy things that'll kill a man after you gone sewed him up. And he looks like he's in a bad way already."
The half-orc's voice softens, "Out of respect for you, Miss Lilita, I'll stow my weapons. I wouldn't turn my back on him though."
"What do you say big guy? Wanna talk about this like men rather than runnin' away again?" Eran's tone is clearly ironic. "Name's Erandal by the way, since we're all buddied up now."
"If you truly want to talk, you'll earn some trust by staying quiet and staying put until Miss Lilita has stabilized this poor man." She heard Mord add, "Of course,” outside the one called Hadara gave a low moan of pain. The Half-Orc easily picks Hadara up from the porch, bringing him inside and setting him on the bed as she directed. At the door, Lilita caught Eran sticking his tongue out at Tulip. "Hey, lil twiggy, can you grow me some magic bolt shafts?" The man chuckled.
<>
Smee's story continues...
Half walking, half staggering, Smee made his way from the Dock’s to the Poor Quarter where his home – lair, some would say – was hidden. A nice hideaway beneath the ruins of a long-forgotten bar and not far from a nagging guilt that haunted his dreams, when he was sober. Passing by the old Vardo wagon, a warm light leaking out of the closed shutters, his mind wandered a bit.
Smee looks at the Vardo with interest cursing himself in a low whispered tone for being a sentimental fool... a fool to keep checking on the little silver-haired brat as he has been doing regularly over past... what is it up to now? A decade or two, who can keep track, halfway into his first century to approach the next he was starting to get old by anyone's standards.
The half-man stops to water the shrubs along a surrounding wall. Groaning, as he leans against the wall... a strong frothy yellow stream... a good sign knowing that some half his age have terrible troubles there. The poor ignorant sods giving up the drink because of it, but not Smee, no sir, Smee was still going strong! Just look at it, he thought to watch it with a bit of admiration and pride!
Standing now in a puddle, the half-man peeks through a hole in the wall... his mind thinking back on the day he was tasked to leave silver-hair there on the steps of the Healer's Guild. A mere swaddling babe, who would have thought the wee thing from years gone by would turn out to be such pretty plum piece of cottontail... in the full bloom of womanhood! Licking his lips, the lewd and lascivious little pot-bellied dwarf imagined of a hidden treasure... lined with a bit o' silver fluff. "Mmmmm," he hummed with devilish delight! Almost tempted to do something else, here and there but fighting off the urge.
Almost falling over Smee laughs at himself, doing his best to keep on his on his feet. But by the gawds, he cracks himself up sometimes... with his lewd, crude thoughts and behavior. That's the reason why so very few tavern wenches could not keep their greedy hands off him and his wee-willy-winkie, they all loved it and him, Few could resist his charms, his dry wit, the ladies loved a good laugh from time... and Smee, a professional jester, he knew just how tickle fancies, an expert one might say. The secret is all in the tongue... the best opening act if there ever was one. Smee, after all, was a fellow infinite jest... with an extremely dexterous tongue.
But then too, deep down Smee was a fellow soft in the head and sentimental. He knew better than to tempt fate... fate only goes so far before she bites you in the bum! HARD like a rabid dog.
From where he stood, Smee could see that the young woman had visitors. Probably poor sods in desperate need of the free healing the girl’s growing reputation was known for. Part of him chastised his need to ‘keep a distant eye’ on Lilita, another part laughed and taunted him for his sadness.
Silly wabbit, giving it away for free, a rare silver fleece like that... young and nubile, a flower like that could earn a small fortune at the Black Rose Healing House. Part of him chastised his need to ‘keep a distant eye’ on Lilita, another part for even learning the name the guild had given the foundling child... he laughed as he continued to tempt fate by coming around as regular as ticking clock... but hell's bells what was he to do... they were neighbors after all!! Funny... fate is truly a fickle *****!
Avoiding the ‘healer’s yard’ proper, Smee skirted what was left of the bar’s back wall to reach the concealed access to the sewer below. From there, he could slip into the deep cellar, which was the only part of the bar remaining. It was also home. A fitting place for a sot like him, his conscious moaned. Beside his feet, Tinker-Belle nudged his leg, rather to urge him on from the place or to stop tormenting himself over past events he could not change. Just then a quiet qork sounded from above. Tinker-Belle hissed disapprovingly as Smee glanced up at the Raven. Unlike most, which were glossy black in color, this one had a single patch or red feathers on its left wing. The Widow’s messenger. He was being summoned, again.
Smee grins at the black demonic creature and he starts to talk to it as he would a person, "come to see me at long last have ye?" Opening a box with some greasy pig jerky the dwarf pulls off bits and feeds the raven always seeking to stay on good terms with it... and its mistress, the Widow. Though Smee could not be certain, he suspected the raven was but one of its several forms. Though the Widow was a stylish and elegant noblewoman, a witch-smeller like Smee is not fresh off the boat and knows the scent of a warlock, especially one with a raven that somehow manages to make its way underground to his wine cellar lair... perhaps shifting into rat form then back again. No, through Smee could not prove his suspicions he had a theory that the Widow was a witch and the raven no mere beast but shapeshifting imp familiar! One such as he was careful around it, the Window was a smart one to be sure, he would do well not to underestimate her, or it!
Looking at the Raven, "are we all full now are we? Let me fetch a cloak and we'll be off... is it the temple again or does the Window wish me to follow you to see something special? A surprise perhaps, ol' Smee likes surprises he does!" The raven was well versed in communicating with Smee without words... for the most part, keeping up the ruse. Smee was used to his sweet loving Tinker-Belle a nice plump rat... so he was used to dealing with a witch's emissary. A walk in the park... reading the ques and the movements, following the bread crumbs between a stray cackling word here and there... Smee made do without complaint. He was well paid to and the Widow was a prime piece of fluff in her own right! A few carnal dreams and a few nocturnal accidents... well that's to be expected and what's the harm?
Grabbing his cloak and whistling for Tinker-Belle, Smee sets off to follow the raven...
Expecting a long trek across the city to the Temple Quarter, Smee followed the Raven’s directions and headed for one of the ‘private gates’ connecting the Poor Quarter from it’s neighbor, the Laborers Quarter. The nearest ‘gate’ was a rusted cover leading into the labyrinth of city sewers.
Smee is rather curious about what the Widow has up her sleeve but goes along with it. Somehow, someway he is confident that this little trek will play into the task the witch needs doing. The thing that nags at him is not being able to haggle over his fee or getting a chance to leer at her wonderful bosoms she seemed to enjoy showing off in those low-cut gowns of hers, such a wicked tease he thinks as he giggles giving his trousers a quick tug. Disappointed as he is... for the moment at least he will reserve judgment and wait to see if things will bear fruit in the end.
“Stink! Stink!” cried the Raven, shifting it’s weight on the Dwarf’s thick shoulder as he scrambled down the foothold bored into the rough stone. The decent was only ten feet, which was really a poor depth for proper drainage as it meant the various smells could escape to the surface through cracks and holes. In better parts of the city the main sewers were twenty feet and just below the waterline for the bay. That way, the rising tides swept in and out, helping to clean out the refuse. At least in the major tunnels and passageways. It took both moons at full to flood the rest, which only happened two or three times a year.
Smee laughs at the raven as it lands on his shoulder and jokes, "remember the deal, any bird dropping, and you'll be paying the cleaning bill or rather your mistress will in your stead!" The jester heads down the hole and follows the tunnel thinking at least this way he avoids the city watch and the risk of flooding water should be nil... so some consolation at least, avoiding potential trouble and keeping out sight usually tends to work in his favor.
Coming around a corner, Smee and the Raven were confronted by a swarm of rats larger than his foot rushing at him. “Blood! Blood! Corrp!”
Smee curses upon seeing the swarm heading his way and telepathically calls to his unseen familiar Tinker-Belle warning her off picturing fire to give her a heads up of what is coming before he summons a Chromatic Orb [Hit 15 Damage 14] and tosses a 4-inch-diameter sphere of energy (-fire-) into the midst of the swarm, killing a over a dozen and singing a score more. The sudden burst of resulting heat and flame sent the rest into a chaotic panic. Rats he well knew, hated fire, scared to death of it. Those in the lead charged straight for him, either meaning to attack or flee through his legs, that was until Tinker-bell materialized and let out a snarling hiss that brought up the remaining swarm like a crashing wave a few strides away. Easily two or three times the size of the largest rat, Tinker-bell could easily dominate the pack in a fight, but the Widow was waiting.
Smee smiles proudly looking at his now visible sweet baby-girl, the apple of his eye. "You got this Tink, I don't want to keep the Widow waiting so I will continue on, deal them and catch up to me as soon as you can."
The dwarf confident in her ability to track by scent continues on his way...
<>
Cadrian's story begins...
Hogg Bagdar was known as the best Alchemist in Tarantis. His shop sat on Black Rose Lane, not far from the market and across from the Black Rose House of Healing. An accomplished master of his craft, Hogg’s laboratory took up several floors of the four-story shop. The top floor held rooms for the various apprentices and a couple of guards Hogg kept on retainer. Hogg himself, lived in a nice (but shabby and small by Noble standards) townhouse in the Merchant Quarter. Cadrian DuFlynn knew all of this because he had made it his business to know. After all, as much time as he’d spent on various errands to the Chemist it only made sense. Someone of Cadrian’s standing simply could not be seen doing business with anyone less than the best. Not unlike Illienna, who was known as a kook, whose potions and elixirs were quite unstable. Something Cadrian had commented to a few of his peers. Or Stedihan, whose shop had only been open less than a year, certainly not long enough to have established a suitable patrons. Cadrian was positive that he would not be the first. After all, a family as old as the DuFlynn’s did not offer patronage on a whim.
Cadrian eyed Hogg appraisingly, assuring himself that the man was worth his reputation. The workshop was impressive, yes, the articles genuine, but it still paid to be certain.
“No, I can attest to it’s purity,” Hogg was saying as he tapped a carefully sealed jar of a rust colored powder. “I bought it from a trusted merchant captain last five day. He sailed from the Balisk Isles, in the deep south? He bought it from a broker in Fairisisi, who will vouch that the adventurers who harvested it, brought a scale and part of a head as proof.”
"I believe the veracity of your statement of its origin and purity, just as much as I believe you are not such a fool to waste fine steel when common will do. I am certain the costs of your analyses have found their way into the price you have set, in the age-old fashion of merchants. Yet the price is not the item of concern, but the potency of the latent powers within, that I may channel into my workings most smoothly. Your seals appear adequate, and your reputation assures me that all will be satisfactory. My family will continue to patronize you, of course, my dear Mr. Bagdar."
As he spoke, Cadrian turned the jar over and over, looking for the tell-tale detritus released in a sloppy seal, but, finding no flaw, he held it lightly but securely in his hands.
"I trust the usual payment is to be taken upon the family account? And if so, I assume we are finished with this bit of business?"
The Alchemist nodded and gave a bow that was somewhere between subservient and barely adequate. “As per the usual arrangement. Thank you for your business, M’lord.”
Cadrian left a half-smile playing out in his face, but his eyes were distracted taking in the mechanisms and trappings of the alchemy trade around him, certainly a bit more completely-equipped than where he had taken his training. He inhaled the scents and scanned the worktops discretely for some indication of the projects that Bagdar was working on. One could learn a great deal of the fortunes of one's clients by noting the work they handed down.
The nose, his mentor had instructed, could be a powerful tool of discovery. Through the sense of smell, a trained nose could detect variances of components, quality, even help to deduce what a substance, magical or not, might be. In the air were hints of sulfur and dragons’ blood, red dragons’ blood, which might mean someone was brewing potions of Fire Breath. From another corner he detected a hint of medicinal herbs of the sort healers often used. Perhaps Potions of Healing. As he walked towards the stairs leading to the front doors Cadrian passed an apprentice sitting at a table, sprinkling some powder that, upon contact made a portion of his finger fade from view. Dust of disappearance had many properties, but this batch was truly formable.
Cadrian's half-smile followed him out of the alchemists' workshop. It seems the wealthier patrons of Bagdar were either ne'er-do-wells or adventurers with those items. Good to know...
The apprentice glanced back to where his master stood. Hogg nodded and shrugged. The vial would be added to the family’s bill, much to the annoyance of Cadrian’s older brother, no doubt. The family was old, sadly, its fortune was not. In the not so distant past several of the DuFlynn scions had made some poor investments, others had squandered the family coffers instead of increasing them. One, it was rumored, had gone mad and still haunted the family’s ancestral estate out on the far side of the province of Ganzier-Galad.
He knew he would be late into the night cantripping metal bits back into shape to pay for the crystalline blood, but between his income and the savings he realized for the family manor's upkeep, his usurer brother Ambrogius, who sat on the small trove of his family's fortunes, had no legitimate points to grumble upon. Had Ambrogius only been more like Delphinus, who had earned his spurs and was ensconced in another lord's retinue of knights. Delphinus shared Cadrian's sense of right and wrong, service to others, and serving the family by doing good works to restore its prestige, rather than the pinching of pennies as Ambrogius did. But it was bad enough that their father the Baron distrusted magic and was NOT pleased in Cadrain's profession. Had his master charged for his tutelage, his father would have quashed it, but Master Cignis wanted to spend those last years of his life on one last apprentice he saw potential in.
Outside, it was late, and the sun having set several hours before. Now the thick mists were rolling in from the bay, promising further to blanket the city. Having grown up here, Cadrian was used to it and strolled confidently up the street, towards the distant gate separating the shopkeeper’s quarter from the merchant quarter where Hawker kept his weapons shop and forge. A retired foot captain, Hefton Hawker was reputed to be the best weapons smith in the city. Hawker’s Weapons also specialized in restoration and repair of both master work and magical weapons, it was the later part that had drawn Cadrian into approaching the old yet hale ‘Captain’ Hawker.
Cadrian hustled to reach Captain Hawkers' shop. Cantrips were tedious exercises in magic, so simple that there was nothing left to learn from the practice. Still, Hawker appreciated the savings on his time, and though he payed a pittance compared to the value given, he had flexible hours, discretion, and he kindly answered questions as the young wizard tried to wrap his head around the fusion of metals and the potential to add enchantments into the process. Hawker did appreciate the help, as his arm was growing stiffer, and he counted the number of strokes his arm had left for the crafting of fine products. Tonight, he was looking forward to working on an adventurer's lance. The crown of it was cracked down the stem of the weapon, and the enchantment was in danger of leaking out. This was a new challenge that he was looking forward to.
<>
Cadrian's story continues...
It was nearing the moonfest hour (midnight) and yet there were still some about. In a city the size of Tarantis, many shops and businesses remained open at all hours, though in Hogg’s case, the Alchemist would have likely gone home after Evenfest (6pm), if he had not been expecting Cadrian’s visit.
Cadrian walked among the closing shops, passing pleasantries with the merchants and departing laborers. Many of the people greeted the young noble warmly, for he was known as a young man with a good head, a decent spirit and, while noble of birth, a way of drawing others to him without seeming superior. His expansive mind flawlessly brought up names to greet each of the familiars in a respectful and sincere manner. As he did, he catalogued each encounter in his mind, canvassing the neighborhood for trouble which might be lurking.
Passing by entrance to an alley behind the Black Rose House of Healing something caught the wizard’s ever observant eye. A woman had seemed to materialize out of the darkness to stand beneath a lone crystal lamp above a door in the back wall of the Black Rose, had she not been naked, he might never have noticed her at all. Long, silver blonde hair barely covered her ample breasts and her feet were bare. The door opened without her prompting, as if someone were waiting for her arrival. [GM Roll: Perception check (+2) 3 = 5]
As he passes the alley that forms the back of the Black Rose, Cadrian thought quickly. Setting his hand writing within his glove, he slipped the coin he kept nestled in the palm of his hand out of the glove. Using the shadow of his body to conceal his actions. He casually cast the familiar light cantrip upon the coin, setting it flaring with light before banishing it back inside his glove. He turned back into the alley, moving quickly to catch the action before the woman was lost to sight. As he approached the pool of light from the lamp, he struck the butt of his staff against the ground, making a sharp crack to announce his presence. Looming out of the darkness, the young aristocrat boldly strode forward toward the doorway. "I say, has the business of the Black Rose changed to less-savory acts without my knowledge? I hardly think the weather supports such attire!" He slips the coin into his fingers, setting the pale blue light to illuminate the alley better, standing proudly and confidently. (Let's see what happens now, I guess? This is based a bit on this not being a natural thing to see behind a healer's, based on the knowledge as requested)
The young woman, barely past her twentieth nameday, glanced at him with seeming lethargy, as if half asleep. There was a nagging feeling in the back of Cadrian’s mind that he knew her, or at least, knew of her. The thought was fleeting as just then a figured appeared from inside. Another woman, one dressed in a red dress with a form fitting bodice. Dark hair flowed around her shoulders as her head turned to smile at him.
“Ah, good sir, goodly manners bring you to check on our patient. Be at ease that your duty is done. There is no harm here, to those who patron the Black Rose.” As she spoke the silver blonde strolled, unbidden, inside.
“I am Melinia, of the Black Rose,” the woman replied with a patient smile. There was some sort of mocking humor behind her blue-gray eyes. “And I do assure you, that the young miss is in good hands. She – she went for an evening stroll and must have run afoul of one of many undesirables plaguing our beautiful city.”
Cadrian frowned at Melinia's address and explanation of the young woman's condition. "Do you often allow addled patients to wander on an evening stroll, especially comely young women, unsupervised in this city? Your lack of concern for the abuses she may have undergone do you ill credit, "Mistress" (twisting the word "mistress" as he took in her attire, more for a night on the town or a madam for a brothel than a healing house) Melinia. Rest assured I will be looking into how you treat those unfortunates in your care." This is all said in the quiet menace a person used to being obeyed can do.
At that, Melinia frowned and seemed to consider his comment before giving a slight shrug of her bared shoulders. “Yes, you are most correct Mi’lord. Our charge should not have left the safety of our house or the garden without a suitable escort. I shall speak most sternly about such things, meanwhile, I bid you a good evening.” Even as she spoke the door began to swing shut without a sound or a visible means of motivation.
He allowed the door to shut, turning on his heel as the door closed and striding back into the street, sliding the coin back into his glove. This smelled of bad business, to be sure, and the haunting familiarity of the woman gnawed at his mind. [15 History].
Cadrian slipped into a tavern along the way to the Captain's. Perhaps a glass of spirits might help him to jog his memory. Some middle-class drinking house..."The Swan and Billet"? Perfect. Not too rough, where his slightly-shabby yet fine garb would not raise too many eyebrows. A nice sherry, perhaps...
The Swan and Billet wasn’t overly crowded, as the tavern wasn’t known to be ‘overly lively’ as many of the rougher establishments in the dirtier quarters of the great city were known to be. A slender lass met him at the door.
“Hello, m’lord, my name’s Callista, would you like a table by the fire? Or one along the wall?”
Cadrian smiled charmingly at Callista's polite address, smoothly sliding the now softly-glowing silver from his palm and placing it in her hand. "Thank you kindly, my dear. A table near the wall would be welcome, it's not so cold that the fire is needed." He followed her to the proffered seat, noting idly the other patrons while he dredged his thoughts.
As she led him to the table, Callista asked, “What would m’lord wish from the bar?”
"Sherry in a clean glass, please. Last years' vintage, if you have any; otherwise, something light and dry."
The barmaid beamed then turned with a flounce and glided off. Across the way, near the fire, a plump Halfling Bard was playing a Dulcimer, striking the cords with felt-tipped hammers while humming a tune that was somewhere between lively and relaxing. With the approaching Festival of Silver, Cadrian had noted an increased number of entertainers of all sorts flocking to the city. The same was said about merchants and traders as well as pirates and adventurers. A moment later Callista returned, setting a sherry in front of him – in proper glass, no less – than laid out a small platter with a mixture of cheeses, pickles, and salted crackers.
When she returned with his drink and the snacks, she said, “Compliments of Lasar, the owner.”
He smiled warmly to her, reaching over and raising the glass to his generous host. He still took a gold coin from his purse and laid it down on the table, then gently took Callista's hand and placed it palm-down on the coin.
"Many thanks for your kind welcome, my fair Callista. This will more than suffice. Please give my compliments to Master Lasar." He raised the glass to his lips and sampled it, for just a moment testing his alchemist's discernment on the drink before returning to his thoughts.
Left in peace, a slight spicy flavor on the tip of his tongue, Cadrian’s scholar’s mind began to dissemble that little bit of drama in the back alley behind the Black Rose. First, the unclothed girl – well, young woman. Silver-blonde hair. He’d seen her, somewhere…but where. While part of his mind searched memories like a sage might search bookcases, he took another sip of sherry and savored the flavor. While no Elven vintage, the maker had used some very good white grapes. It tasted like grapes from the Silvarso linage. That would be from – a mental click occurred. Silver…Silver-blonde…. Silversmith… A Silversmith whose shop his family favored – Karigaon… Rocco Karigaon was a true master when it came to silver. Among the city’s wealthiest merchants with aspirations to nobility. He had a daughter of twenty summers or so. What was her name? Pithini.
Callista returned, taking care to let him see her approach, a rare consideration when it came to barmaids, less so with wenches, he noted. “Would m’lord care for a refill?”
When Callista returned he smiled distractedly. "I'm fine, thank you again. I just wish to be left alone for a few moments more."
Even during the brief exchange Cadrian’s mind was still churning; searching; mulling the brief encounter. What did he know about the Black Rose? Oh, he’d heard a few rumors over the past few years; that the House of Healing was a cover for a highly placed bordello, a rumor that didn’t fit with the facts that the house had been providing healing for centuries. Another rumor was that the owners, the Maigrinstaff’s, another ‘old blood’ line of nobles who dated back to the establishment of Tarantis, were in league with demons, among other things. That was a common trope used by one house to discredit or burnish another. Only, if his master was right, there was far more of that sort of thing going on than the commoners knew.
After a few moments, it hit him: the first steps to adventure often meant acting like an adventurer! And if one wanted to know about anything untoward happening in the neighborhood...
Cadrian leaned back and pondered some the more recent ‘news’ that the city criers had been disseminating to the masses. There had been a recent rash of adductions, assaults, and even a few deaths among the wealthy and prominent of late. Oh, a few went missing or were discovered dead, usually from poison or a well-placed dagger, but lately? How many ‘had’ gone missing, anyway? The bureaucrats serving Altar the Lion were probably concealing the real truth.
He gestured with a dexterous fingertip towards the serving girl. "My good Callista, I approve of both your discretion and the charms of this establishment. Would you mind asking Master Lasar if he'd do me the honor of having a drink with me?" As he spoke, he fanned four gold pieces in his fingertips, laying them down in a glittering arc on the table.
“Yes, of course, m’lord,” Callista said with a sincere smile. “I am sure Master Lasar would be more than happy to join you.” She turned and left, a practiced trained sway to her hips.
While he waited, watching her skip off, his mind mulled darker matters. Fallen nobility, demon incursions, missing people and murder - not a spice for life that one such as Cadrian appreciated. He favored puzzles that could be assembled in the mind.
A few moments later a short, stocky man dressed in the fashion many moderately wealthy shops owners had affected this year. A savvy man, Laser had brought along a bottle of sherry that was equal to or perhaps a little better than what he had been served.
“A touch from my private stock, m’lord?” the man offered.
"You are most kind, Master Lasar! You are truly a tribute to your peers. I shall of course accept!"
Cadrian toasted his host (no, not with a fire spell har har) in recognition of his kindness, smiling and seemingly at ease.
At a sure gesture from Laser, Callista arrived with a pair of fresh, clean glasses and the tavern owner poured before taking the open seat across the table. “It is a rare pleasure, m’lord, to share a table with a one of Tarantis oldest nobilities.” As Callista left them alone Laser gave a slight shrug and smiled in her wake.
“My youngest daughter. She’s made a serious study of the subtleties of the grape, you know, and though it costs me plenty a silver crown, she attends Matron Matherlies Studio for Young Ladies. To better serve her betters. But it would be my guess that you didn’t request my pleasantries nor to discuss my family’s modest bloodlines. How may I be of assistance, m’lord?”
"You have a fine daughter, and your investment in her comportment has been well-rewarded. You are a fortunate man, good sir! Your hospitality is well-appreciated, and the gods blessed you with such an adornment in your home. Tonight, however, I hoped to ask a few idle questions, as I've been out of touch with some of the local news with my apprenticeship, and you seem to be a man to have the pulse of the neighborhood at his fingertips."
Cadrian waits for the effect of his flattery and the sherry to loosen Lasar's lips. Without seeming too eager, he'll pepper him with questions, innocuous at first, just chitchat about the goings-on of the neighborhood and refilling his glass as needed while only sipping lightly from his own. Through the conversation, he'll try to get any information about rumors about the Black Rose, inferring that he has heard "a rumor that scantily-clad women were slipping in through their back door". He'll turn it to "his old acquaintances the Karigaons", specifying to the state of the daughter if his drinking partner doesn't come to the point straight-away.
The tavern owner nodded sagely and shook his head at the rumor. He also shook his head, looking surprised when Cadrian mentioned the name of the young woman that he had seen. Laser refilled both glasses and replied with several base rumors about the Black Rose that even he acknowledged was probably nothing more than hot wind. It was when Laser brought up an obscure observation that reignited the wizards’ interest.
“Well, everyone knows that Lord Basha Maigrinstaff owns the Black Rose and that he’s also a senior physician within the Healer’s Guild. He’s the seventh of his name which isn’t odd, considering the age of many older families, Noble and Common alike, but the topic comes up, everyone and then when my customers are deep into their cups. You know, that there would be seven consecutive Basha Maigrinstaff’s, all senior physicians and all owners or administrators of the Black Rose?”
"Odd that a noble family long given to the healing arts would not be more beloved, with the scurrilous rumors swirling around them..."
After a little more prompting, it was clear that he would get no more information of use in the current line of conversation he nodded and thanked Master Lasar, pay the full price of the bottle of sherry, and leave, kissing the hand of Callista smoothly with a charming smile as he departs.
Heading out into the cool night air, Cadrian mulled over what Laser said. That most noble families reused popular or particularly heroic names over the centuries was not in question. It was true even in his own family. He had been named after an ancestor who had, if one believed the old stories, dabbled in piracy and had increased the families fortune some five hundred years ago. While thinking Cadrian’s feet took him in the direction of the Captain’s smithy. He could check at the university in the morning, perhaps look at some of the older family catalogs in the heraldry section where detailed listings of the cities noble births were kept. He also probably should pay the master silversmith a call, perhaps inquire discreetly about Miss Pithini’s health.
Cadrian wasn’t sure why he was drawn to digging into affairs that were not his and, most likely, would lead to nothing but an irresponsible daughter and somebody within the Black Rose House of Healing dabbling in some nefarious business on the side. It was an old story, that, which made him wonder if Lord Basha would be aware of it. That too, was a possible kernel. He could simply approach the other noble and ask. It could also be dangerous, if there truly was something sinister going on there. The air was a bit stuffy as the sea mists swirled and flowed like a stream at knee level up the street. Here and there other citizens went about their business and once he heard the tramp of a night patrol of the City Guard. The quarter wasn’t known for having too many dangers at night, but he still took care as the city was filling with outsiders of all sorts, drawn in to the Festival of Silver. For a moment the history of the ancient festival danced in his head. It had started as a series of block parties, meant to reclaim the city streets after dark during a time when the city had been infested with the undead. Now it was an excuse for wealth and poor alike to mingle socially and to celebrate.
Arriving at the Captain’s, Cadrian begged off for the night and promised to mend double the items for the next night, and maybe throw in one or two mendings for rush orders before setting off once more.
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Livvi's story continues...
All but ignoring the two men crowding her home she focused on the wounded man, Hadara, who, only moments before, had been at death’s door. He had lost so much blood that it was a miracle that her magic found anything to take hold of. Now he was breathing better, the bloody wound had stopped oozing. She could only hope that any damage done to his delicate innards had also begun to knit and heal. During her studies with the Healer’s Guild, Lilita had learned how the human body worked. She had also studied some of the other goodly races, and a few not so goodly races, in order to better understand how to apply her magic, when to do so, and when to trust on traditional, more mundane methods. With care, the man would survive but would also probably need to remain for some days in her bed. Moving him could, in theory, reopen the wound and return him to the path of the dead.
Lilita learning all her life at the feet of the venerable guild masters and then at the small shop of her current employer she has seen and treated a wide variety of wounds, injuries, and ailments... a vast range in fact but since starting her little crusade to treat the city's poor and downtrodden, she struggles to deal with all the pain and suffering of those that manage to find their way to her. Most of which are inflicted upon one another. Her home lay in the middle of a vast battlefield as an unending war was waged around her with the city's nobility wealthy merchant class as spectators enjoying the show. Lilita does what she can with what she has but knows there are limits to her skill and knowledge and that she has yet much to learn.
Her duty is to serve those who suffer, Hadara's injuries are severe and he needs to stay with her for several days at least if not more until he has healed sufficiently enough to be moved. This happens from time so Lilita has grown used to adapting to such circumstances depending on the need doing what is best for her patients so that they may fully recover. Until he is well enough to be moved, he is welcome in her home under care as long he conducts himself in the manner of a guest under the rules of hospitality. Given his condition, she does not expect him to be much of a bother and will most likely spend much of the time in the valley of dreams. This she will relay to the other two gentlemen later, at the proper time.
Eran gave her an impressed look. "Can I see the arrowhead? Might be nothing, might be something to it."
Without a word she handed him the arrowhead, wiped clean and partially wrapped in a thin, clean rag.
There was another groan as her delicate fingers probed at the wound, attempting to discern how much of the mutilated flesh had been restored by her magic. Suddenly the girl grimaced and bit her lower lip slightly as one hand went to her lower back. At the same time Hadara mumbled something.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." He looked towards Mord, Eran adds " You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
Mordecai looks equally concerned at Lilita, Erandal’s comment drew a sour look. The Half-Orc quips back, "Despite my tusks, I'm not your errand boy." Mordecai returns to observing Hadara and Lilita. Despite Hadara initially being a job, Mordecai had come to respect his resilience and tenacity.
As if echoing the fugitive mumbles, “Raven, Raven splotched with blood!”
Lilita turns to Mordecai feeling a bit light-headed after such a long day of healing... coupled with the pain she had taken from the old woman at the shop earlier. Lilita paused to take a deep breath and steadies herself before politely responding, "yes thank you, I'm fine... nothing to worry about. Its just been a long day for me is all." Attempting to hide her weakness and deceive him... but not skilled in such so her response and manner are easily seen to be rather flimsy and transparent to the experienced battle-hardened warrior.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Ignoring Mord's 'suggestion' that he stay put, Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." Looking towards Mord, Eran adds "You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
"Aww hell, now he's just actin plan weird. You take a seat girlie and I'll get you that tea. Hope you're takin' notes big man!"
"Raven?" Mordecai asks aloud, moving closer to Hadara so he can hear him better.
Hadara’s eyes were unfocused, his head bobbing as if about to pass out from a hard bought of drinking. “No! No, no my swee – What?! Yes, yes, it’s set….all set. Garbel will die…. silver dance, hee”
Erandal appeared to be listening as he rummaged around in the wagon until he found her slightly battered tea pot, meager supply of tea – a gift from a patient, then started a small fire in the Vardo’s ancient stove.
"What is he going on about?" asks Mordecai aloud this time. "Have you done anything funny with him while you were stitching him up? Maybe he's talking all crazy from the blood loss - because he don't seem the type to be acting this way. Square head on his shoulders since I met him."
As he does not seem to be in pain, she ignores his mumbles and doesn’t press him. Lilita had a standing rule that she does not question her patients, continent only to have a name to call them by whether it is their own true name or not. Their business, their troubles, and intrigues are left outside her door. Lilita knew in order to exist in this oasis of hers she must treat all equally, and not take sides. In order to accomplish this Lilita found it best to remain ignorant with regards to their petty squabbles and intrigues. So, she does her best to ignore any fevered words unless they are a sign that he is in pain or discomfort.
So, she would only press him for the meaning of any words spoken as they related to his health and her care and treatment of him. In which case she will provide him with additional attention as needed to ensure he is to rest comfortably. Anything said otherwise as a healer she treats as confidential. Nothing said is meant for her ears or for her to speculate upon or pass on to others. Lilita had a low tolerance for idle gossip considering such childish, rude and impolite.
Still trying to pull herself together, she says, "what do you mean funny? I did only what was absolutely necessary... he lost a lot of blood and his wound was deep, very deep. He was in a great deal of pain, so I also gave him something, mostly healing herbs and a special ointment mixed with the milk of the poppy... from my garden. Such things besides helping with the pain can also dull the senses and the mind. Ramblings such as his are not uncommon and to be expected! I tried to warn you both that he is in no condition to be questioned and that you should be patient and wait till the morning."
Mordecai checks in on Erandal, as he is still does not trust him, and notices his investigative actions, remarking in a whisper to Lilita, "And here I thought he was making tea."
While the water starts to boil, the man turns and grinned. "So, sounds to me like there's gonna be a killin' at a dance. Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the picnic, but that sounds to me like a long story that might be the reason for the price on our man's head there. Now Mord, buddy, I know you know I ain't just a civic-minded like, and you know I know you see gold coins floating over that their gentleman's noggin. This girlie obviously performed something close to a miracle in bringing him back from the brink of death, so maybe we can find out whether her efforts area worth something more?"
Lilita tries her best to ignore their speculation and discussion but at last chimes in, "the city's nobles often hold grand elaborate parties and dances, especially during the larger festivals, or so I have heard. You may be reading too much into his words given his current state. He could be dreaming or merely remembering a dance in his past that he had attended."
Mordecai looks at Erandal up and down stating, "For someone not of Tarantis, you sure make quick judgments of us without knowing a damn thing, don't you?"
"Don't get you're breeches all twisted there, I'm from all over the states and you ain't nothing I ain't seen before. When you see things, you get to thinkin certain things is what they looks to be. Now you can tell me I'm wrong, which wouldn't be a first though I don't think I am, or you can tell us the score."
Mordecai looks at Lilita and explains, "Hadara is my bounty. I was able to get the scoop on him before the reward was posted publicly, and that's likely the only reason he's alive right now. The guard, who that idiot decided to stand behind with crossbows pointed at me, took an unnatural interest in him. Guards get no bonuses for bringing in a bounty, so they typically rather we do the dirty work, but that group was even drumming up false charges of murder that I knew, for a fact, were not on the BOLO. That just means to me they wanted him bad, and without a fight - which I took to mean that Hadara was never meant to see the light of day once taken in. So, I threw a chair at the lot of them and that bloke took the brunt. There are other interested parties, parties much better informed than even the most connected guards, so Hadara definitely knows something of importance. I mean to find out what - then decide the poor lad’s fate. Although after tonight's events, I may help him out of the city - he's shown grit and tenacity that's admirable. In the meantime, let's see if Hadara can heal up enough that we can find out a bit more. His ravings stir more questions than provide answers."
Then turning to Erandal, the Half-Orc adds, "And by the way, the more often you call yourself 'civic-minded' the less people will believe you. So, admit to what you are and be done with it."
"If'n these bows were pointing at you and I didn't pull the trigger, maybe that tells you something that you ain't paid any attention too yet? An you're ears might not be catchin, what I be suggestin that you an I both know. For the benefit of all those present though, we play at the same games Mordecai, on occasion anyhow. Right presently I'm not formally engaged in any contracts, just happen'd across them there guards that you be missin with your chair. Happen'd to overhear their chatter after that pleasant eye candy of a crier been up on her stage announcin' her bits to the assembled. Followed 'em in as they were roundin' on you, maybe could gone different, but it went how it did. Overheard that drow chewin the cud with some silver-haired old fella, an then there was that fine lassie you politely introduced me to as I nearly bumped her offa her seat. Caught up with you in the alley, then turned three o' them thugs back down the way they came before you took off again. Then a kindly boy named Garion showed me how to head you off at the pass. Just guess the dice rolls weren't goin' my way when I tried clobberin you with the pot. Reckon you might know the rest of it, though Hadara ain't lookin in no fit state to be collecting on tonight. Ain't that right Girlie?"
"your companion, Hadara I believe you said was his name needs sleep and rest,” Lilita says. “As I briefly stated before, his injuries were great and rather extensive. I have done all I can, for now, he is lucky to be alive and so requires time to fully mend. He will need to remain here in my care for several days at least or he risk re-opening wounds, and of course, there is the danger of infection and death if my advice is not followed that he be restricted to bed rest and not be moved. For now, I have given him herbs to ease his pain and discomfort, he is not in any condition to speak again further to either of you until morning and then only if I deem that he is able to so, briefly." Lilita shook her head, eyes turning with pity on the muttering Hadara.
Erandal glances sideways at Mordecai and says, "You're holdin the cards big guy. Now we both know what we're about, I ain't gonna fight you for the gold, but I figure an extra pair o' hands might be worth your losses and splitting your prize a third way." Eran continues as Mord starts to object, "Don't have to be equal, but I figure you'll be cutting girlie in for some after she just saved the man, and if'n you're wantin' my help, if ain't free. Better something than nothin', an' with the heat on this chump, someone watchin yer back don't get to lookin like a pin cushion seems a mighty nice offer."
Lilita still struggling to tune them out as not to be drawn too deeply into their affairs catches snippets of their conversation here and there, in the confined space of the Vardo, it's a bit difficult not to. The petite healer turns to Erandal offers him a respectful smile as she speaks in a low whispered tone, "good ser, please excuse me, I do not mean to interrupt but when you mentioned something about cutting in the girlie, were you by chance referring to me? If so then you should be, you should both be happy to know that I want no part of blood money, whatever your intentions... myself, my part in this whole affair is only in regard to the health and wellbeing of my patient here. So, if your intent is to make money from him then more for the both of you, I want none of it, no part it in. I am a simple healer, no more, no less. Your business is your own as is mine. Hopefully, this ease tension between you two since both of you seem more concerned about earning a fat reward and how to split it. Without me in the mix then you both should be able to come to a peaceful agreement, at least I hope so."
"It's not blood money, miss. I'm hired to find people, typically on behalf of the local authorities, but really for anyone who signs a fair contract. I'm no assassin and, frankly, I take offense to your assumption despite naivete being its source. In fact, I in all likelihood saved this man by not allowing those guards to take him," responds Mordecai firmly but politely.
"Given the circumstance, it would only be fair to split any reward, after netting out the finders fee for the one who gave me the jump on Hadara, if that's the route we take. However, time is something we don't have. Tomorrow morning they'll officially release the BOLO and every bounty hunter in the city will be looking for Hadara - they might even throw in a description of me for good measure." Mordecai looks over at the pale looking Hadara who mutters something
"So, we have three options - 1) turn him in to the guards, who will likely kill him before he makes it to court, 2) take him to the docks to the ship called the Winged Crow per Stax's request, or 3) let Hadara heal up some and see if we can leverage what he knows to our favor. I favor the latter two options."
"Stax likely has his own contact to get Hadara out of the city, we'd be getting paid for delivery to the ship."
"If we go for option three, it'll get... complicated. Both Hadara and I will need to change our appearances some. Luckily, we of orc lineage look all the same to everyone else, so shaving my head and beard, along with a change of clothes might be all I need. Hadara isn't too well known so if we remove some of his more defining features, starting with a cut and shave, we might get lucky."
"You may both stay here as well... as Hadara mends but as you can see my home is very small just the one bed that your companion occupies. I shall sleep on the chair beside the bed but there is no room inside for either of you. So, you must either take a room in a nearby inn if you like, if so, then I can recommend something nearby. Or you can choose to sleep outside, in a tent or other temporary structure but must provide your own. I am sorry but I not have to means to provide such."
"That be a right nice offer Girlie, but I'm told I snore, and I wouldn’t want to be wakin' yous up." Eran looks at the girl, a mixed look in his eyes. "I'll go lurk nearby in a shadow, maybe with something other than a plant pot this time. Big man, you can catch some shut eye under the wagon, I got a bed roll in my pack. If something comes up, I'll come wake you... or you can pretend to sleep and stay up tryin to watch me an gettin all worried. I promise though, that If I was to ever draw on you with a meanin' to be hurtin' you, you'd be awake, armed, and facing me."
Lilita bows respectfully to Erandal, "as you wish... but may I ask if you are injured? If so please put away any stubborn male pride and allow to attend you. Though my magic is nearly exhausted I am still a trained healer with my herbs, ointments, salves, and bandages." Lilita pointing to her Healer's Kit, "at least let me attend to any injuries before you go back into the night? It the least I can do to make for injuring you earlier."
Then pointing at an empty clay jar covered in cobwebs she says, "I do not charge a fee for healing, but all are welcome to leave whatever they will, or not to help pay for bandages, miscellaneous supplies and such. As for food, I do not consume the flesh of animals. I usually make a pot of vegetarian gruel consisting of oats, wheat and rye flour with rice boiled in goat's milk for my myself, patients and guests. It is not much but you may partake as you please. If this is not to your liking or insufficient then you must make other arrangements to secure yourself fare of your own choosing, at your own expense of course for yourselves as well as Hadara when he is able to consume solid food. I also ask that if you consume strong drink on the premises that it is not to excess, if you do so I will have to ask to leave and take accommodations elsewhere."
"That's sold me on the shadows Girlie. Ain't no night for drinkin, but that breakfast is turnin' my guts just listening to it."
Lilita nodes to Erandal, "my apologies that my simple fare is unsuitable. I do the best I can with what I have. Should you change your mind once morning comes and wish to partake of a hot meal even if just to warm you I hope that you please consider before departing. You will, after all, need to be at your full strength and nutritious meal is a good way to keep your strength up even if or I can offer you something else." Lilita moves to Tulip and picks a single berry from her and offers it to Erandal.
Mordecai places two of his gold pieces into Lilita's clay jar. He says, "Regardless of what we decide, you've earned my thanks and respect for both your demeanor and your skill. If there's anything I can ever help you with, I'll be happy to do so."
Mordecai looks at Erandal and deadpans, "We're obviously not there yet."
Mordecai then concludes, "So, what'll we do. Docks now. Or docks after questioning? Miss Lilita, by keeping him here you put yourself at risk, too, moreso than either of us two - so it's fair if you have the final say. Do you still want to keep him here until he heals up sufficiently?"
Lilita looks at the half-orc torn as to how to respond able more than one side of the matter but in the end whispers, "it against my better judgment, I don't wish to be involved in your business any more than I have to but I fear you are right, if he is not taken from here then he will found out and, I with him... no doubt to be made to suffer my part in this and for helping him. So, I am willing to go with you to ensure my patient's wounds do not open up and if they do bet there do something about to make sure he gets to where he is going. But I seek no part of blood money as I have made perfectly clear. Nor do I want to be privy to specific details... as the less I know the better. When you are ready, I will find my shoes and get my things and accompany you, but I am not sure if he can walk even assisted by the pair of you or need a stretcher, which I don't have. Though I can fetch an herb... a stimulant that for a short period should boost his energy a bit, but I dare not give him too much so must only do such just prior to our departing."
“Two for tha party, three for tha Lady, an’ o wee piglet that’ll have ‘em all doin’ the watermelon crawl!” cackles Hadara, and then wagging a finger at Mordecai, he says, “You, me fine frien’, don’t eat tha swine!” The man appears to be trying to focus his eyes. Half grunting, half giggling, he makes a poorly aimed grab for Lilita’s backside, only ending up with air instead. “Piggy!”
Lilita ignores words thinking them wholly the result of herbs she has given him, then when Hadara moves to grab her bum, she is all too used to such and does not comment on it, perhaps too it the milk of the popper or just a male response even when half unconscious. Then looks at him placing her hand on his forehead to check to see how warm it is and whispering, "naughty boy, I am sure you used finer and more willing than my almost non-existent posterior so rest yourself, shortly your companions will be taking you on a little trip and who knows maybe they will tarts there where you are headed." She does to Mord and Elan to make sure they are not getting any ideas that she is some sort of tart starting to feel a bit uncomfortable in such a small confined space with them used to just having to with a patient alone. Hopefully, this will all be over soon...
"He seems likely to bring unwanted attention to us if we move him, if he keeps babbling on like that," comments Mordecai. "If he keeps behaving like that, I don't think we'll make it to the docks - at least not without unwanted attention. We might need to hole up until tomorrow and his babblings pass. This side of town there are always a few vacant buildings or homes, anything like that nearby so that we can hole up for the night? If both Hadara and I change our appearance tomorrow, we might even be able to get a move on in the morning, before the BOLO gets out and the town cries start giving up MY description."
Lilita looks at half-orc, "well I think I do something to manage his wagging tongue with a bite harness I laying about for unruly patients to stop them from biting but also keeps them talking that I can put him before we leave to keep quiet. As for disguises, how about this. I am pretty well known by the watch and the thieves alike as a healer so let's use that. I want to disguise all three of as poxed lepers, you cut up some burlap bags to cover yourself as primitive cloaks and an apply some mud, horse dung and other bits to help you all three looks like poxed lepers, enough for casual inspection to know they don't want to get close and risk infection! I can tell them you are three patient and I looking to take and arrange transport to the leper colony." [A distant island by the name of ‘Isle of the Damned’ works]
"You know, I had a nice easy plan for today. Plans never hold up for long," laments Mordecai and then a grin spreads slowly across his face.
Turning to Lilita he says, “Give him those herbs that will wake him up. We're going to use them to question him NOW. Then, before dawn, after we shave the man, cut his hair and put him in different clothes, we'll take him to the docks. It'll give him the night to physically rest under your care, but we should still have him out before his bounty is widely known. No objections, now. We all want this night to be over, but let's be honest - I think we all want to know what he knows. I've never seen so much interest in one person before."
Despite her mental warning to herself to very well leave enough alone the puzzle that was Hadara’s disjointed comments her analytical mind couldn’t help itself. Well, the watermelon crawl may be just coded for them to keep quiet and go on the sly to not attract attention to literally craw low on the ground to sneak past someone or someone, she mused silently. The don't eat the swine may be a thing for Mord to trust Elan or someone else, not eat them, i.e. not kill them or fight, again not sure totally at this point. As I said I can be slow on the uptake sometimes. Or, she thought, working through the possible meanings behind the disjointed words, it could be a warning not to eat pork, or maybe some specific pig. She recalls that the wounded man had mentioned a possible murder was in the works. Her eyes blinked. So, the reference to crawling could also be a clue perhaps? [Wisdom check 12+2=15]
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Cadrian's story continues...
There were too many unanswered questions that needed answers, and possibly a helpless girl in danger. The neighborhood the Karigaons dwelt in would be well-patrolled, as wealthy as they were, especially with the Festival approaching, and safe for a late call from a family friend, come to inquire about someone he had chanced to see in passing at a Healing House. No need to mention her state of undress; decorum must be maintained, of course. If someone had taken advantage of Miss Pithini's illness, if that was what truly had addled her, something must be done about it. The wizard cursed his foolishness at not casting a detection spell to determine if the girl had been enchanted - another possible explanation of the woman's dazed state, certainly. Cadrian's boots and staff clicked on the streets as he briskly strode to the silversmith's house (unless taking a carriage would be faster, due to distance?)
Cadrian arrived after brisk transit to the silversmiths. Taking a few moments to compose himself (one must preserve decorum, of course), he strode up to the doors and pulled the chain. He unconsciously struck a pose to present himself in the best light from the lamps. When the servant opened the panel, he saw a distinguished-looking gentleman standing expectantly, leaning on his walking-staff in the shadows. "Good evening. May I ask if your master is home this night? If he is, please inform him that Cadrian, son of Baron duFlynn wishes to pay his respects, if he would receive me."
While Karigaon’s shop and smithy were in the Noble’s Quarter the wealthy merchant kept a townhouse on the western end, close to the Golden Gate (Gate between Noble’s and Merchant’s Quarter) by way of the Golden Avenue, one of three such large thoroughfares and ending at the central marketplace for the city. Four stories and covering a block, the merchant’s home was backed by a small, walled garden and a carriage house with stables. The windows at street level were shuttered, as was common at night, but the main entrance was well lit by a pair of crystal lanterns mounted above the doors. Made from a rare black oak, the doors showed carvings depicting various silversmiths hard at work. On the left side of the doors hangs a brass chain and handle.
Cadrian arrived after brisk transit to the silversmiths. Taking a few moments to compose himself (one must preserve decorum, of course), he strode up to the doors and pulled the chain. He unconsciously struck a pose to present himself in the best light from the lamps. When the servant opened the panel, he saw a distinguished-looking gentleman standing expectantly, leaning on his walking-staff in the shadows.
A few moments later a small panel opened inwards, revealing the eyes of an older man. “Yes?”
"Good evening. May I ask if your master is home this night? If he is, please inform him that Cadrian, son of Baron duFlynn wishes to pay his respects, if he would receive me."
There was an obvious change in tone of voice as the doorman replied, “Yes, the Master is home.” The small hatch closed than there was a heavy sounding clack as the man pulled a sliding lock, then opened the door to admit the visitor. “Please, come inside while I will announce your arrival to Master Karigaon, m’lord.”
As he entered, Cadrian noted an armed guard standing nearby. While wearing new armor, the Half-Orc’s weapons and expression displayed many years of experience. In all likelihood the silversmith employed more. A servant arrived and offered to take any cloaks or weather wear that he might wish to remove while another appeared, carrying a tray with a warmed brandy, incase the guest required something bracing against the night’s mists.
Declining the brandy politely, Cadrian gave a polite half-bow and taut smile in response to his host's greeting. "I deeply apologize for disturbing you on your private time, good sir. I assure you, it is not your peerless skills that bring me hither this evening. May we talk in private? I have a matter I would speak to you of."
“Ah, Cadrian. When Opher said that a Lord DuFlynn wished to pay a visit I became puzzled, as your brother rarely deigns to visit a mere artisan, such as myself,” Chasit Karigaon said with a bow suitable for Cadrian’s status and social rank. “You honor my humble home. Are you in need of my shop or my artisan’s services?”
“No, but I do have a few questions.”
Karigaon frowned slightly but gave a nod. “Please, allow us to retire to my study.”
Upon being escorted to study, Cadrian launched into the thrust of his query. "I was walking along the streets in the Tradesman Quarter, when I spied someone that, unless my eyes deceive me bitterly, was your daughter Pithini, who I remember fondly from my youth before my apprenticeship. I trusted my eyes, as her lovely silvery hair is not common in the city. She was standing near one of the healing houses, yet I was not aware that she was unwell, and i wished to offer my sympathies. Your family has long been held in the esteem of mine, and if I was in error, I felt there might be no harm in paying you a courtesy call. If she is unwell, I wished to offer any services I may offer, good sir." The young man waits patiently, hoping he has not made a colossal mistake.
A ripple of surprise crossed the silversmiths face, quickly replaced by one of resolve. “I suppose it is not surprising that word is going around about Pithini’s misfortune.” Walking over to where a pair of plush leather chairs sat before a lit fireplace, Karigaon made a gesture. “Will you join me? This may take a bit of telling.” Taking a seat himself, the silversmith stared at the small fire, more for light than heat. “Three nights ago, Pithini went out in the company of friends. A proper chaperone and escort were also present, of course. She was bent on spending too much coin in preparations for the various parties and masquerades being planned for the upcoming festival.” The man smiled at the thought. “After all, what else is chests of gold crowns and bags of jewels if one’s loved one’s cannot dream of being princesses?”
Cadrian listened patiently, his face set in a composed mask as he thought. He nodded sympathetically as Karigaon mused about the trials of parenthood. He absorbed the story as related, committing it to memory.
Picking up a silver bell, Karigaon gave it a ring and within moments the older man who’d met Cadrian at the door appeared. “Gisp, bring a decanter of <?> please. Thank you.” Once the butler had left, the silversmith continued, “It was my understanding that the ‘incident’ took place at Avgrat’s.” Cadrian was familiar with Avgrat’s Fine Clothing. While his brother was content on having the family’s extensive wardrobes of mostly outdated clothing tailored to fit, he had a reputation to cultivate and that meant new. Rail Avgrat was also famed for his imports and exotic attire that included Elvish made, some of which came with magic imbued in them.
“Her friends say that Pithini drew the attention of a man, a nobleman at that, and that they had drifted off to one side of the main floor in conversation. The chaperone, Dame Toriniti, whose been in the employ of the Sandersans (another upper end merchant clan I’m assuming) for four decades now, insists that she never took an eye off my daughter. Even so, her friends say that they merely turned away, briefly, only to look back and find that Pithini and the nobleman had disappeared. I questioned the Sandersans guard who had stationed himself just outside the main entrance and he swears that she never left the establishment. “
At that moment Gisp returned and set out the decanter and two crystal goblets before withdrawing again. Standing to pour himself a drink, he offers Cadrian a pour.
When the dusk-wine, an expensive import from the elven lands, was proffered, he sipped sparingly. A rare treat, which offered a warm euphoric numbing to humans, would not help his considerations.
Karigaon sipped his dusk-wine and barely seemed to taste it. The silversmith’s eyes were distant. “I went and questioned Rail, the clothier? I got rather hot under the collar and all but accused the man of running some sort of nefarious operation. Things went downhill from there.”
He confirmed that the escort and chaperone were utterly trustworthy. Cadrian asked a few leading questions, looking for tell-tale signs of a baleful drug or potion (using his Alchemy skills) or enchantment (using his Arcana skills). Considering his backgrounds, magic seems to be a likely option for the disappearance, and alchemy or magic as a means to befuddle Pithini. The silversmith kept shaking his head, baffled by his daughter’s behavior after the incident. Karigaon stood and went over to retrieve the decanter and bring it closer to where the two men sat.
Returning to his seat, Karigaon said, “I came home and called in many favors, even hired a few ‘questionable’ sorts, and had them turn out the streets. Even offered a substantial reward for Pithini’s return but before things got too far into motion, she was found in the City Gardens. Though she seemed unharmed physically, she was in some sort of daze or state of confusion. She didn’t know her name or recognize me. That was when I took her to the Black Rose House of Healing for help.”
"I must ask, Master Karigaon, what led you to choose the Black Rose to try healing your daughter?"
For a moment Karigaon looked surprised, and then nodded slightly. “Lord Basha is reputed to be the finest physician in the city. His house of healing has a very prestigious reputation for being able to cure most ills. It is said that he has more knowledge of illnesses of the ‘mind’ than anyone else in the Guild of Healers.”
It was becoming clear that Cadrian was not going to gleam much more from the Master Silversmith at that moment. When he made motions to take his leave, Karigaon stood and walked him to the door where he seemed to struggle to say something. Finally:
“While it is not my intent to offer insult, m’lord, but the safe return of my daughter is my only priority, after that – “the Merchant shook his head as if not sure what else to say – “after that, well. Anyway, you are the first to come asking about Pithini who wasn’t groping for coin. It’s both a boon and a curse, coin. And it may be crass but if you find out who’s behind her attack – and I know in my gut that it was an attack, despite what many say, then I will compensate you generously. Five hundred gold crowns, double that, if you can bring someone to The Lion’s justice. If this will help to keep you invested, I offer it.” Karigaon pulled a slim poke from a pocket and offered it to Cadrian [10 Platinum]. “Investigations may require fragrant grease, as those who live beneath Two Moons like to say. Please, take it…”
"I can reassure you, my good Master Karigaon, that I will strive with diligence and determination to find out the truth about what may have happened to your daughter. If it is possible, I shall bring to bear the full might of justice upon any guilty party. Let us pray that we are merely leaping at shadows and all is well, but I have much work to do before I can rest."
A brief pained expression passed over the wizard's face as he was given coinage for the work ahead. "I am loathe to accept payment to do the work a decent person should, but I am grateful, sir. It is true that I do not enjoy making demands of the family coffers, even in the service of good men such as yourself."
“Consider it a contribution towards finding and putting a stop to whoever or whatever it is that has good people going missing, m’lord” Karigaon extended his hand.
Cadrian shook the much older man's hand gravely, in the matter of a formal agreement, offering a curt nod of thanks for the generosity of his host before walking out the door as the servant opened it. This was a briefer visit than he had feared, and he had a chance to dash back to the Captain's forge to defray some of his workload
Slipping into the forge in the shadows using the key the smith had entrusted him with, he went to work swiftly and quietly, spending around fifty mending spells in the pile of twisted metal, cracked wood and ruined cloth. This magic was so simple that it did not slow his mind as he cast out hypothesis after hypothesis. It was clear that he did not have enough information to make any accurate theories. It seems like he would have to try to glean some information tomorrow at the City Registers about Lord Basha, trying to trace anything sinister there. Certainly, the woman he encountered at the Black Rose might have a history he might clean - a family member, perhaps. Finally, noble honey may pry more information from the tailor than the silversmith's choleric interrogation. Avgrat's should be the next stop on his investigations, after the Registers.
After doing the work of ten hours in the span of a half hour, Cadrian noted the work he had done, itemized it on a scrap of paper, and locked the door behind him, hoping he could finally get at that mace tomorrow night. If everything would just be convenient and fall into place, that is.
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Smee's story continues...
Climbing up from the sewers, Smee passed through the sub cellar of a warehouse. At this level, it was mostly discarded goods, old junk, and bits and pieces of furnishings put away for storage. A stairwell linked the sub-basement with the main floor and a side exit opening into an equally, junk filled alley. By the time Smee gained the street Tinker-bell had scampered up to join him, pausing only to let out a low belch. On the Dwarf’s shoulder, the Raven shifted its weight and let out a slow croak.
Smee pauses for a few minutes to look and poke [Investigation 9+6=15] around a bit, mostly just seeing old junk and the like, 'but one never knows, does one,' he thinks to himself! 'Have drop again sometime and take a closer look and do some digging..., after all, one man's junk is another man's treasure,' he smiles to himself before he continues to move on along not wanting to keep the Widow waiting.
The alley met one of the larger streets. Mostly warehouses and seedy looking offices lined either side with the closest light being a smoky lantern hanging above an equally smoky tavern. Though it was late, they’re was the sounds of muted music and bad singing oozing out from an open window. But the tavern didn’t hold Smee’s attention for long. The six wheeled, ebony coach did. Pulled by a six-hitch team of matching pale mares, it was guarded by a quartet of Minitour mercenaries and a pair of human footmen. Lounging on the driver’s bench was a skinny, mixed eyed wench with short cropped green hair. Jesesa was a competent rogue, but one of the best drivers in the city. She competed each spring in the coach races during Altar the Lion’s birthday festival and had won three out of the past four years. Another product of the meaner streets of Tarantis, the woman had come to be in the Widow’s employ after she stole the Widow’s last coach five years before.
Gazing down at him from her perch, Jesesa said, “Took ya long ‘nuff, Smee. Tha Widow’s ask’d ‘bout ya twice now.” The woman shook her head and let fly with a tobacco laden spit that hit a nearby mug sitting beside the wall. “Donno wha’ she sees in ya, ya drunkin’ excuse o’ a man? Dwarf? Dog?” Jesesa cackled at her own wit, which wasn’t much.
Smee just grins and responds sarcastically, "it's good you too Jesesa, someone didn't knock you up did they? Your skinny broke-ass frame is looking a tad thicker now around the middle since I last laid eyes on you, but I digress. Can't keep the Widow waiting but then I am always fashionably late, mostly because my skills, especially during the time of the festival, are in such high demand so I keep pretty busy with my finger in so many pies! Is her ladyship inside or are you just taking me to her?"
Smee as walks closer to the coach he grins rather enjoying the banter with haughty dames like Jesesa, and looks up at her with a wide grin, "drop by my office at the Drunken Crow sometime and I'll buy you a drink or two and show you I am not a bad fellow after all. A drunkard perhaps but I have a certain appeal... even if you don't want to admit it."
“Donno, Omi keeps squakin’ I owe ‘er o’ brace o’ silver crowns,” Jesesa said with an amused, self-inflicted snear. “Dem ‘Two Moon’er’s sere know o’ trick or three, hee. Dem tricksy tongues, hee.” She let fly with another spit, this one splattering against the wall a stride wide of the mug.
At the sight of the coach the Raven took wing, only to land on top and stroll towards a partially opened vent on the elaborately carved roof. And as if that was a que, the door opened, beckoning Smee’s entrance.
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Cadrian's story continues...
Walking through the huge vaults of the cities Hall of Records was comforting in many ways. The air was full of smells from ancient scrolls and tomes as well as aged cedar, speckled with odors such as oils and wax. A small host of librarians, scribes, and clerks kept the place bustling, all supervised by a trio of Senior Sages. The cities records went back nearly nine centuries, when a fire raged through the old library and hall of records, destroying a large percentage of the contents. Tarantis was over two thousand years old, so adding the portion that survived, made it a considerable collection. Even more could be found on the city’s royal university, but the parts interesting Cadrian now were here.
Having spent considerable time within the Hall, Cadrian didn’t need assistant to locate the section pertaining to the city’s nobility. With forty-seven surviving noble families, it was a considerable collection. The records also included another score or so of defunct noble families. Bloodlines that had been wiped out, disenfranchised, or simple failed added even more. Besides huge book and scroll cases there were many family banners, donated heirlooms, busts, statues, and much more. Central to the whole collection is the massive books. Some weighing ten stone or more, each contained the ancestry and blood lines of a given noble house. Many houses, like his own, contained matched versions, and the older the blood line, the more books there were. Within the covers, some made from metals, others exotic hides or leathers, a few, simple carved wood, were lists of births, deaths, marriages, and any major civic or social achievements as recognized by the historians.
Making use of one of several large, marble tables, Cadrian spent most of the morning working his way through various volumes and assorted scrolls and books marked with the Maigrinstaff Black Rose and Ivy crest. He learned a few things of interest but little that would make anyone take serious notice. Unlike his family, which was among the first twenty houses established at the time of the city’s founding, the Maigrinstaff’s date back further, as one of the barbarian clans that had roamed the region. According to the records, their nobility came several generations after the city’s foundation was first laid as part of some attempt to gain control of the provinces. There were several later noble lines that had come to their titles in similar ways. Others had, it was said, purchased them. Still more were recognized as offshoots of other noble lines from distant city states or petty kingdoms. Through a series of scrolls Cadrian discovered that the Maigrinstaff’s owned considerable land and estates as well as several dozen merchant ships, which wasn’t uncommon.
One of the items Cadrian was particularly interested in was linage. So, when he got to that section, he took care to look up the number of births and family members in the Maigrinstaff line. He's especially interested in the relationship, if any, of Melinia; if she's a relation to Lord Basha, and when the current Lord Basha was born. What he uncovers left more questions than answers. Parts of the record, he noted, had gone missing. He could see where several pages pertaining to the past century had been removed. With care Cadrian duly wrote down what was left. The birth Lord Basha the Twelfth of his name was seventy-four years ago, during the Festival of Silver, it was noted. On a second thought, Cadrian flipped back, looking for other Basha’s and noticed a trend. That each one of that name, it seemed, was born roughly seventy-five to a hundred years apart and always on the last day of the Festival of Silver. Of Melinia, there was nothing. If it was there it would have been on one of the two missing pages. He tucks the piece of vellum he's notating upon into his spellbook when the ink is dry. [Investigation 12+3=15]
As noonfest drew close Cadrian was putting the latest tome away when a thick, metal leafed book caught his eye. Within its metallic pages lay engraved pictures of various Maigrinstaff personages. Such book was not uncommon, only expensive and this one more so than most. The metal was some sort of alloy that Cadrian recognized as aluminum. Rare as it was difficult to smelt, the substance was noted for never rusting and for being light. The book was bound by rings suggesting that more pages could be added as needed or desired.
Flipping through each paper-thin page he was greeted by names and faces with dates from centuries ago. About to close the book a name catches his eye. Basha Maigrinstaff, the second of his name and dated from 1200 years ago. Taking out another piece of vellum Cadrian also does his best to sketch the picture of Basha Maigrinstaff for future reference. Returning the various books and scrolls where he found them, the wizard stood and went in search of an old friend.
Grasidian Seawind was the youngest of the three Sages in charge of the Hall of Records. Born seventh into the Seawind noble house, it was known by those in certain circles, of his passion for history. As Cadrian approached the elder man’s desk near the front entrance, he was greeted by a smile and curious eyes.
“Ahh, it’s the young Cadrian DuFlynn. I understand that you have taken up with the arcane arts.”
The young wizard smiled in greeting to Sage Seawind. He always liked Seawind, but he had worried that their relationship had taken some damage when he left his studies of sagedom for his arcane studies. "Greetings, Master Seawind. I'm doing a bit of research for a friend, but don't worry, I'll be no trouble."
Sage Seawind’s smile faded slightly, turning more into a grimace. “It’s best to avoid meddling in the Maigrinstaff’s dealings, young lord. Yes, best…”
Cadrian nodded in response to Seawind's grimace regarding the subject of his studies. "Come now, it is most often the subjects that carry the most danger that offer the greatest rewards. So many suspicions and an actual historical demon mends well with my research and observations that all is not right in that house. Something may have to be done, and soon, to avoid real tragedy. I trust that I can count on your discretion in this matter?"
Giving a loud sigh the Senior Sage’s dark eyes flicked past Cadrian, making sure that they were alone. While doing so he made a particular gesture and rubbed a ring on his hand, causing its embedded gemstone to flicker with an inner magic. The gesture, Cadrian knew, was tied into several magics that could induce silence.
“One can never be too cautious as to who’s listening in or scrying, but I imagine that you know this,” Seawind rubbed the bridge of his nose. “To answer your question, I can only say that there are many, many dark rumors linked with the Maigrinstaff house. Most, I am sure, are just malicious attempts from jealous rivals to stir up hate and discontent, yes. A few are even tied to their prestigious healing house, the Black Rose, but nothing that I would take seriously. However, there was an…recorded incident back, oh, about three hundred years where a demon devastated a goodly portion of the Maigrinstaff’s townhouse here in the city. It took several War Mages and a group of stalwart adventures to drive it back to whatever pit it came from. Ever since whispers continue cropping up about devil worship, undead mastery, blood drinking, you know the sort of thing.”
"Is there any way, outside of asking the Maigrinstaffs themselves, who has been admitted to their care over the past, say, year?"
“Yes, of course. The Guild of Healer’s should have records. It is my understanding that all the licensed Houses of Healing, both in the city and from the provinces, are supposed to submit regular listings of births, deaths, suspicious illnesses’, that sort of thing. How accurate they are, one can only guess.”
When he is finished with the Hall of Records, the heads next to a moneychangers. He needs to turn a few platinum coins he received from Karigaon into something more spendable, silver and gold. He then turns his stride to the tailors for more investigation.
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Smee's story continues...
This was far from his first time visiting the Widow’s rolling mansion so Smee knew what to expect when he climbed inside. While the Jester didn’t have a clue how much loot went into crafting such a conveyance, he knew that it was most likely enough to have purchased a major castle and half a counties worth of land. Large on the inside than on the outside, The Coach had enough floor space to give most Merchant’s townhouses a challenge. The Coach was two floors plus a lower one, which included a very well stocked wine cellar and a single cell ‘dungeon’. Both of which, Smee had spent considerable time in at one point or another since coming to work for the Widow. The foyer was small and looked very much like the interior of a posh coach. Passing through he pushed open the opposite door and instead of exiting out the other side, Smee walked into the Widow’s salon.
“Greeting’s Smee, I hope that you are doing well,” a sultry voice greeted him from the middle of the room. The Widow stood on top of a small stool, surrounded by her personal servants. One was hemming the Dryad’s costume that the Widow currently wore, which showed so much leg that it would have been indecent in proper company. Another entered the room carrying a black gown made from a rare spider silk that gave it an almost transparent texture. He had seen her wearing once in preparations to attend a private party at County Cornadald’s townhouse. Every time she had moved it gave tantalizing glimpses and yet, never truly seemed to reveal what the eye thought it saw. It was Drow make, so magical too, he assumed. A third servant glided over from a covered bar, carrying a large tankard of an imported Dwarvish mead and presented it to him. Another ostentatious display because the vintage was rare and hideously expensive – and yet, to his booze cultured palette, no better than the average mead served at the Drunken Crow.
Smee upon seeing the Widow and hearing her greeting, pauses and gives a polite respectful bow, "thank you m'lady, I am here as you requested. How may I be of service to you this fine evening?" As he speaks, he walks and half-staggers around a bit as if nervous or just partially inebriated but in reality, it is a ploy to move ever closer to her without it seemly being construed as a conscious effort on his part. Even though the Widow is his superior in every way, she is a looker, extremely fetching and the half-man always finds her presence a distraction but a welcome one for his leering lecherous eyes to drink in deeply!
Appearing to ignore his antics the Widow gazes at a nearby mirror, inspecting her seamstresses work. “A number of things have come to my attention recently. Aside from the usual backstabbing and maneuvering going on, a few of them require some actions on my part, and that’s where your services come in.”
Smee accidentally drops a couple of ball bearings to give him a plausible excuse to come even closer and press between her attendants and bend down to attempt to retrieve them before someone trips on them. All the while taking his own sweet time about it since this was yet another ploy to allow to sneak a peek under the Widow's very revealing Dryad costume, hoping for a closer look underneath!!! Of course, this is out of scientific curiosity in order to determine if the carpet matches the tapestry, he mused. Ever the lewd, lascivious schemer... he struggles to keep his lips held tightly shut not allowing them to form a leering grin to give himself away.
“While I am sure that the politics of Altar the Lion’s inner circle are high enough on the tree to miss your interest, Smee, but it behooves me to keep my fingers in that sticky, deceptive pie.” She sighs dramatically, nose lifting higher as if the mere thought of politics was offensive. “
His sneaky little ploy succeeded, and when he is gazed upon her most holy of holies, pun intended, only to have his anticipation shorted when he discovered that she is wearing knickers. The dwarf said as if a schoolmaster speaking to a student:
"I fear m'lady your costume is not entirely accurate... I would think one such as yourself would strive to be true in all ways possible in your portrayal of such an enticing and enchanting creature... and we both very well know that Dryad's do not wear any knickers." This deadpan statement followed with a slightly amused chuckle on his part.
The Widow snorted than glanced down at him. “Well, of course it isn’t accurate. I am only too familiar with your antics, Jester.” She snorted, several of the servants smiled and shake their heads. All of them had been targets of Smee’s lascivious behavior in the past.
The Widow’s servants, all women of varying ages, had exotic beauty and grace, if not born into it, very well coached. Each was different, one had all the visual ques of being a Wood Elf, only that Smee had learned several years before, it was all cosmetic. Another, the one who had just served him appeared to be a waif, and yet, he suspected that she was far older than she appeared. The seamstress had ebony skin, burnt by the endless suns of the far south. So endowed was this one, it was hard not to keep from gawking. The thin, deeply cut dress she wore didn’t help. With just a bit of concealing magic or the right kit, the woman could easily pass herself off as a Dark Elf. It was a theme with the Widow, Smee had come to know (probably one reason why she keeps him around).
Finally noticing the servant with the rare imported Dwarvish mead, Smee’s grin changed, suddenly in one swift agile motion he leaps up to his feet to partake of the sweet ambrosia of the gawds making a full miraculous recovery!!! The girl squealed slightly at the speed the Dwarf had shown in retrieving the mug and putting it to his lips. Foam splashed onto the front of his shirt in his haste.
“By all means, Smee, make yourself comfortable,” the Widow said with a slight roll of her eyes. “And yes, it’s for a party, of course. Baron Taragasi’s household is going to host a costume party on the opening night of the Festival of Silver.” Her hand languidly waved to a small table half covered in expensive looking envelopes. “So many events, so many opportunities,” she sighed so artfully that Smee almost believed the woman’s dismay.
"Of course, I remember hearing tell that the good Baron will be hosting another one of his fabulous and legendary soirees, no doubt to be the talk of the city for months to come. A pity that the messenger must have somehow lost or misplaced my invitation, sad that really I was looking forward to it this year!"
It earned him another ‘look’ from the Widow.
"But tell me of this little task that you have a mind for me... I breathless with anticipation and you know my curiosity knows no bounds!" The dwarf meets her gaze trying hard not to stare once at her lovely delicious and inviting bosoms...
“I am hearing some stirrings on high, some whispers that there may be a serious plot in play. Of course,” The Widow waved a languid hand and turned in place at the bidding of her seamstress. The action brought her profile into Smee’s view. The Dryad’s costume had a slit in the already short skirt, one that gaped open to show her plain knickers to her hip. He could only envision what, if anything, the ravishing beauty planned to wear beneath the costume. “Much of it seems to be coming out of the Head Sage’s office. Kanizan is a savvy one, and only too well knows our beloved ruler’s habit of dismissing his ministers. All but Monach the Canny, of course. As Chief Adviser to the Lion, and his friend, Monach has kept his seat while the others seem to be constantly changing. It has long been suspected that it is Monach who instigates those changes, whispering innuendo or out right lies into The Lion’s ear. It doesn’t help that Monach the Canny also controls the Blue Cobras (The cities secret police), giving him a virtual private army within the city proper.”
Smee though in his usual state of being halfway to being three-sheets to the wind pays close attention to the Widow's every word... very much admiring and appreciating her keen intellect at work. After a pause, he nods trying hard to swallow a belch forming in his throat as he responds, his toad-like voice slightly slurred, "makes sense m'lady, I concur with the conclusions you've drawn but if true... are you certain you wish to risk the possibility of drawing Lord Monach's gaze in your direction. I mean with all due respect he has a bit of a reputation, a dangerous one... if the rumors are true. Though he has worked very hard to go out of his way to appear otherwise. I am sure your canaries, whisperers, and agents such myself are highly skilled and loyal to you but there is still always a risk of our being fingered and pinched no matter how lightly we tread. Misfortune, as they say, can be a fickle *****! So, if our esteemed Lord Monach catches the slightest hint of your finger in his pie he will assume you may be looking to oppose him and seek retribution... and nobody, least of all I want to see that happen."
When the Widow laughed it sounded like bells ringing a salutation to spring in the distance over some rustic town in the provinces. “Yes, there is always risk in our lives, is there not? Ah, but my dear twisted-tongued go-fer, of course we must tread, even if it is to tread lightly. Only fools and the blind are not willing to at least look in on our neighbors, from time to time, leastways we become sidelined by inattention.” A hand absently pushed back a long strand of red hair. “and your assessment of the rumors about Lord Monach is correct, as usually, which, I must say, always somewhat amazes me considering your usual libation-soaked mind. How much more…dangerous…could you be if you learned to abstain.” Her green flecked eyes sparkled in amusement. “But then, we have stuck our noses into the Chief Advisers business before and I imagine, will continue to do so. Monach, you can bet, dose his level best to peek between my blinds.”
The half-man takes another gulp, spilling a few precious drops of his drink as he sits pondering the possible ramifications of it all and what exactly the Widow wishes him to do exactly before he finally asks, "and what would you have me do for you exactly m'lady? Such news trickles slowly down to my ears in the gutter and back alleyways but high-society is not really in my regular stomping grounds. Sure, I get invited to some of the parties and such, mostly knowing I will end up crashing them anyway and make a complete ass out of myself but that is part of my irresistible appeal. My connections with the knob hill crowd and the elite of this fair city is few and far between to be of much use to you, M'lady. Unless that is you have someone in mind with access and contacts, someone new to the game perhaps? Is that it, do you wish for me to act as a go-between to someone that you have in mind, so that said individual will not see your hand in pulling the strings?"
“Our current Head Sage, Kanizan Karigaon, is proving to be a rather resourceful fellow. He’s formed his own ‘secret police’, or so my informant in his office is whispering.” The seamstress made a gesture and the Widow didn’t miss a beat. With one deft pull, she pulled the costume over her head and handed it over. The heavily bosomed servant from the far south reappeared, carrying a silk robe for her mistress. Stepping down, the Widow stretched briefly before slipping into the robe.
Smee nods, "yes I have heard the rumors but nothing of any importance just enough to be wary of the Blue Cobras, I am not all that fond serpents you well know." The dwarf lets out a low whimper, almost a whine as his beady little eyes watch with delight, catching the brief moment as the Widow slips into the offered robe. The dwarf feeling a throbbing deep within himself as thinks to himself, one of the days, one of these my luck will change, and I will have the means to do more than leer. Giving a hard tug to constricting trousers the half-man fidgets trying to get comfortable again as he patiently waits for Widow to continue and tell him specifically what she wishes him to do though already has a theory, that if correct he then wonders who it is that the Widow has in mind should she desire to make him a bagman, a go-between... to make contact with a birdie, hopefully, someone he knows which would make his job all the easier but somehow sensing it will be someone new to the game, in which case that would make his job all the harder and riskier but with great risk come greater rewards..
“Yes, I have similar disgust for serpents, too.”
The homely disgusting little dwarf takes another gulp and pauses again...
“Monach and his serpents are no friends of ours, to be sure, my good Smee. No, not at all. But the good Archmage? Kanizan has shown considerable talents and insight in his dealings with The Lion’s foreign enemies as well as developing his own spy network.” That melodious giggle sounded again. As she turned, Smee could see just how well the white and red silk robe clung to her points and curves. “Funny, isn’t it? Just how many competing networks there really are? It’s important, as you know, to know what our peers are doing and just as importantly, be able to adjust their plans or interfere with their plots and one such tool that I find so convenient is by dissemination. Something that you consistently display a knack for, yes?”
Smee grins... "you honor me and are most kind to voice such m'lady, but then you do know how to properly stroke a male's fragile ego to get in a more pliable state. I so appreciate how you operate... always managing to tickle my fancy. Perhaps I do have small knack but nothing that compares to your own talents in regard to our shared tradecraft!"
Crossing the room, the Widow stops at a small writer’s desk to pull a bit of gilded paper from a cubby, her manicured fingers were flawless, like every inch of her. Sometimes too flawless. Brining the folded note to him, she smiles down at Smee.
“Spread these tidbits around, hmm? Work that nasty tongue of yours in the taverns and bars that you frequent. The more that hear them, the more tongues will wag and even those on high will be hearing some version of them. Ah, but isn’t it grand how a few phrases and simple words can cause so much chaos?”
The half-man watches every movement closely, as if very life depended on it, at beautiful and as sensual as the Widow is her moniker, her alias rather suited her way of doing things so as much as Smee might enjoy his time in her presence.... the distractions, and the flirting he knew better than to totally lower his guard around her but that does not stop him from enjoying it all.
“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of tidbits, it’s come to my attention that a nice bit of Elven sweetmeat has gained employment in the office of internal communications as a city crier. I hear tell that she goes by the name of Livvi, which may be a cover” – The Widow shrugged, causing her robe to pull tighter across her ample breasts – “for something else. It’s been whispered that she is a potential recruit for the Blue Cobras, considering her choice of champions, that may be true. If you get a chance, feel her out…find out her politics, you know the sort of drill
Smee grins again, "a half-elf, you do know well my weakness for fey maidens, so Livvi is her name, I wonder it short for? No family name or is her family not of sufficient pedigree and lineage to do her any good, or simply a name that will only lessen her rise in the ranks of the bureaucracy."
“Rahl, I believe is the surname she is going under, but of course, what is in a name, hmm?” The Widow tapped one perfectly polished fingernail against her chin thoughtfully. “That was the name registered with the Bard’s Guild, so I suppose it’ll work for a start.”
The half-considers her words, "true she could a potential recruit for them but then can also be a ringer... put for us and those like us as bait to draw us out into the open. Always risky business trying to recruit someone new without someone to vouch for them, but I like a good challenge as much like a tasty sweet fey tart."
As usual when Smee exited the coach he found a small pouch waiting for him on one of the plush leather seats in the outer foyer. Not for payment of services, the Widow never paid him, he’d noted more than once, but for expenses. Drinking and buying other drinks was expensive, as was the need for the occasional bribe to gain access to the better establishments that often refused him admittance. Hefting it he knew without looking that there were fifty gold crowns inside and what felt like a few small gems. Probably rubies, as was the Widow’s calling card. Rubies finely cut and magically embedded with her sigil. A crow.
A glance at the note, written in perfect penmanship, were the following rumors. Whether or not they were true, didn’t matter, not really:
There once was a man called Hadara, who plots to kill a king, so grandiose is this plot, that the Serpents value his head’s weight in gold.
Monach is so canny that he often plays in the rain, dancing and prancing and twirling all about, tossing out silver and gold, much to the admiration of the crowd.
The Silver Festival is nearly upon us, it is known, but few know its origins or the reason that the city adorns itself with so much of such a base metal. It’s magic, of course, and a ward…
The Head Mage is so handsome, a true Archwizard of fame. Young and h – handsome, so wise in his way for he knows the true enemy of the serpent is the Great Owl.
Smee pockets the pouch, gold, gems and all, it will prove very useful in the coming days. The gems with a hint of magic he will have to examine more closely later as time allows, for now, he reads those note committing it to memory thinking on its contents...
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Livvi's story continues...
Livvi woke with a start, her heart pounding and breathing heavily. The dream quickly faded from memory - the only thing she remembers is a pair of haunting eyes that seemingly stared into her soul. She wanted to drown in the soft warmth and animal attraction in them, yet she was terrified of the man to whom these eyes belonged. Knowing she could not go back to sleep, Livvi begrudgingly rose from her bed, took care of her morning rituals, and did her training stretches. Slowly moving from one position to the next, she concentrated on her breathing and her form, feeling the taut muscles beneath her skin relax. By the time she was done, Livvi had a sheen of sweat covering her, but the nightmare was well in the past and she was ready to start her day.
Based on the events of the past two days, the young bard dug her combat leathers out of the wooden foot locker at the end of her bed. She didn't want to walk around town in the form-fitting red leather armor alone, so she left the shoulder and neck piece in the chest and put on the rest. The she found a slightly-too-big dress and slid it over the armor, tugging and shifting to try and hide the leather under the cloth. Livvi checked her reflection in the mirror and was satisfied that she could pass a casual inspection. Before she left, Livvi strapped her daggers in place and several throwing darts - the armor had some clever straps installed that held these items in place, and they fit under the dress well enough.
Livvi went over the previous day in her mind. She wanted to warn the Grey Lady, as she started thinking of the girl, but doubted that she would be able to find her in the city. "I'll look for a barefoot young lass in a plain gray dress, but the chances of just running across her are pretty slim. Still, I'll keep the shoes in a bag and carry them with me." Her thoughts turned next to Bilina and the nobleman they had encountered - and she had blindly chased. Livvi knew better than to press Bilina for information about him - she would tell Livvi when she was ready. Besides, Livvi valued Bilina's friendship more than the knowing this, so she wouldn't push Lina for more information about the nobleman. As for Pithini and the Black Rose, Livvi isn't stupid enough to directly confront one of the oldest families in Tarantis directly. No...better get all of the facts first - then determine if it was worth the political fallout to pursue her suspicions! So today, she would start researching and continue investigating the Silversmith's daughter's abduction and recovery.
Still running early, Livvi takes a little detour through the Scholar's, walking the silent and empty streets in the twilight before the sun was above the horizon. But instead of walking towards Atar's Library of Exceptional Knowledge, or the University's Stacks, she walks through the Greens, an open area in the center of the University that students frequented on warm, sunny days to study, lounge, or walk with their love interests. It was about 5 acres in total, with several old trees providing shade along the pebbled walk that meandered through the park. Bisecting the grassy area was a small stream, somehow kept clean even in the middle of the city. Livvi stopped on the footbridge that crossed the stream, looking out over the stream towards the east. She pulled a lavender-colored ribbon from her dress pocket and tied it to the second post from the southern bank on the eastern side of the bridge, forming an intricate knot. It had been almost a year since she had left a mark here - almost a year that she had managed to avoid needing her reliable and trustworthy contact who acted as a liaison to a network of other criminals. She wasn't sure if Bilina knew of this network - Livvi didn't talk about it, but Lina knew an awful lot about a lot of things - but Livvi wanted to crack the missing merchant case and find out who was responsible for the Silversmith daughter's abduction before the Silver Festival! Her contact would probably see her signal today, and she expected a note with a location and time to be at her room when she returned tonight - in code, of course. This is how she set up a meeting...
Arriving to the Sub-Minister of Internal Communication's office a half-hour earlier than usual, the bard decided to try and do some early research on the Black Rose and the Maigrinstaff family in the Administration records. Although Flander wasn't in yet, the ever-present form of Quig sat in his chair - well, practically consumed his chair, the fat overflowing the edges - by the door. Livvi had struck a friendly relationship with the clerk. Although a beast of a man, he had more manners that Flander and could at least keep his eyes off of her boobs. SHe respected him for that, although she knew that he still looked - he was just more circumspect about it! "Good morning, Grumpy! Would you mind if I hang out in here until you get the messages sorted out? You won't even know I'm here, I promise!" Livvi will wander around the Sub-Minister's office, quietly humming a catchy tavern tune she thought the big man might like. She casually ran her fingers lightly over the many volumes of books and scrolls stacked everywhere in an almost haphazard manner, looking for property or family records. Yes, the tax and property ownership records would be her best bets for now.
Once she had the metal tube with the day's announcements, Livvi quickly moved to the Witches' Brew Café for her usual pastries, kafe, and chat with Nephele. "Good morning, Effie! What's good today? Oh, you know I'll take whatever you recommend! You have such good taste. What's the news around the Quarter today? Hey, have you seen a little wisp of a girl, wearing a plain grey homespun dress around here? She lost her shoes last night and I happened to pick them up and I want to return them. You know how valuable a good pair of shoes are to a girl!"
Livvi wanted to visit the Silversmith at his shop, trace Pithini's steps and see where she was abducted and returned today, today. Livvi knew she could give her announcements anywhere, if it was within the quarter’s bounds, so she was not as concerned with time and returning to the same exact spot. Despite her meditations and activities, the incident last night still ate at her. The Gray Lady. Livvi had her shoes, if for no other reason than they represented a possible clue to the young woman and who she was. She also hoped to return them as somehow, Livvi somehow knew, they were the only pair the Gray Lady owned. However, finding one lone, girl in gray in a city the size of Tarantis was near on impossible. Well, impossible for anyone but her, perhaps. She remembered seeing the girl passing through the market every morning but had yet to see her today. Hopefully that didn’t mean the worst. And she had her 'eyes' looking out for the girl now, too.
The morning news was a repeat of the usual propaganda and warnings from Atar the Lion, although how much of that came from the High Lord of the city or from his underlings, was anyone’s guess. From her chosen perch Livvi was able to keep an eye on the Black Rose House of Healing as well. Aside from several deliveries of sundries and foodstuffs the House had been quiet all morning.
Finishing the announcements for the morning, Livvi was about to hop down when she spotted a short, stocky Dwarf with no beard, wearing a jester’s hat and bits and pieces of colorful clothing that wasn’t quite the sort of outfit jesters were mandated to wear by their guild. H was standing twenty strides away, towards the center of the marketplace where he juggled two bottles of wine. With every other toss the Dwarf took a swig than sent the bottle upwards again without spilling a drop. Finding an entertainer in a public arena was nothing new. She had seen dozens of various sorts every day, working the crowds. Some legitimate, others only a clever cover for shadow associates engaged in pickpocketing and other nefarious scams. But this one, she noted, had been watching her from the moment she arrived from the crier’s office with something more than idle curiosity. Well, Livvi was no fainting doe - if that bastard nobleman had sent a lackey to find and trail her, she would show this little jester her claws. Of course - he could be just what he seemed to be - an entertainer looking to make some coin. And drink it away by noon based on his current performance. Livvi jumps to the ground and casually wanders over to the dwarf. She tosses two coppers at his feet, then proceeds to clap her hands and start to sing a popular tavern drinking song in time with his juggling. There was something…off, about the Dwarf, aside from his lack of a beard. Watching his open, lust filled antics, Livvi noted that his eyes were constantly on the move, braising past her charms to take in the crowd around them. He was also showing more interest in her presence than someone surreptitiously plotting a casual meeting between them. No, this one was here on purpose, for her. But to what end?
When Livvi's tavern song was finished, the dwarf deftly drops the now empty wine bottles gently to the ground. Without taking his eyes off her the half-man bends down and picks up two copper, kissing one and then the other. Giving Livvi a wide grin and a wink, he pockets them then reaches into a pouch and tosses two gold pieces at her feet. Grinning even more the beardless Dwarf sits down and pull out a Lute and starts to play another popular tune, one more challenging but perfectly suited to the bard's voice. Livvi smiles at the unexpected surprise of a talented performer and their impromptu performance! She picks up the melody and together they work through several songs - some tawdry and suggestive, some bawdy and fun, and one sad and longing ballad that normally brought women to tears and men to silence. The Dwarf gives Livvi a sly grin as he stares up at her like some religious zealot gazing upon a goddess. Then with a wave of his hand he produces a freshly cut red rose as if by magic, well sleight-of-hand magic. Then, with a wink, the rose begins to float in the air gracefully moving towards her until it hovers waiting just before her...
Livvi curtsies to the dwarf, taking the rose from the air. A smile on her face, she tosses one of the gold coins back and tucks the other in her sash, then gathers any coins the crowd may have tossed and shares them with him. "Well played, sir. From whom did you learn to play? You have hints of Pizatte and Giselle, combined in a unique manner perfectly suited for your fingers. Are you performing anywhere? Perhaps I shall come to see you one evening." All the while she is watching him, looking for any signs that he is perhaps spying on her or means her harm.
Again, the half-man watches closely but lustfully, and then speaks with a low toad-like croak and whispers, "I hear you are one with contacts in high places, while myself... I tend to specialize at the other end of the spectrum. I was thinking perhaps we might do some business together if are in the market. But first, if you please would you tell me your going pillowing rate so we can get that out of the way and I can determine if I have sufficient funds in my coin purse for an hour or two," his large bulbous eyes wide... roaming up and down her fair fey form, caressing her every curve with a leering gaze...
Anyone who lived near the sea knew what a summer squall was. It could be a perfectly beautiful day - warm sun shining brightly down on the azure water, waves softly roaring as they came ashore and returned to the deep. And then a squall would blow in - sudden - harsh - deadly. Winds will pick up, clouds will suddenly rush in from the horizon, the waves change from a gentle rolling to a vicious monster crushing and dragging you out to the sea's eternal depths. Cold rain comes pelting down, like a vast swarm of angry insects stinging and biting, with lightning striking in rapid succession up and down the coast.
The dwarf was doing so well, a fellow performer with some skill. She thought he could have possibly been a good source of information in her quest. And then he called her a whore. The cold lightning in Livvi's eyes came on suddenly and without mercy. A summer squall was like a lover's warm embrace compared to her face in that moment. She stood silent for a three-count, the muscles tensing throughout her body - the darkening skies before the full fury of the storm arrives.
"You are, indeed, at the other end of the spectrum, sewer-kissing tub of vomit. You dare to insult me here in the open, beardless dirt worshipper? You have no chance of bedding me, stump. Leave, and do not foul this square with your presence again." (Casting Vicious Mockery - DC13 WIS save or take 1 psychic damage.) Her words slashed into the half-man’s sense of wellbeing, enough so that his face displayed a hint of emotional pain and causing him to take a step back and cringe as if expecting a blow.
The half-elf bard spins on her heel and walks away from the market square and the dwarf, headed to the Silversmith's for any other information and to trace Pithini's steps to see where she was abducted and where she was returned. People parted before her, the rage still evident in her fiery eyes and tight-lipped face.
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Lilita's story continues...
All but ignoring the two men crowding her home she focused on the wounded man, Hadara, who, only moments before, had been at death’s door. He had lost so much blood that it was a miracle that her magic found anything to take hold of. Now he was breathing better, the bloody wound had stopped oozing. She could only hope that any damage done to his delicate innards had also begun to knit and heal. During her studies with the Healer’s Guild, Lilita had learned how the human body worked. She had also studied some of the other goodly races, and a few not so goodly races, in order to better understand how to apply her magic, when to do so, and when to trust on traditional, more mundane methods. With care, the man would survive but would also probably need to remain for some days in her bed. Moving him could, in theory, reopen the wound and return him to the path of the dead.
Lilita learning all her life at the feet of the venerable guild masters and then at the small shop of her current employer she has seen and treated a wide variety of wounds, injuries, and ailments... a vast range in fact but since starting her little crusade to treat the city's poor and downtrodden, she struggles to deal with all the pain and suffering of those that manage to find their way to her. Most of which are inflicted upon one another. Her home lay in the middle of a vast battlefield as an unending war was waged around her with the city's nobility wealthy merchant class as spectators enjoying the show. Lilita does what she can with what she has but knows there are limits to her skill and knowledge and that she has yet much to learn.
Her duty is to serve those who suffer, Hadara's injuries are severe and he needs to stay with her for several days at least if not more until he has healed sufficiently enough to be moved. This happens from time so Lilita has grown used to adapting to such circumstances depending on the need doing what is best for her patients so that they may fully recover. Until he is well enough to be moved, he is welcome in her home under care as long he conducts himself in the manner of a guest under the rules of hospitality. Given his condition, she does not expect him to be much of a bother and will most likely spend much of the time in the valley of dreams. This she will relay to the other two gentlemen later, at the proper time.
Eran gave her an impressed look. "Can I see the arrowhead? Might be nothing, might be something to it."
Without a word she handed him the arrowhead, wiped clean and partially wrapped in a thin, clean rag.
There was another groan as her delicate fingers probed at the wound, attempting to discern how much of the mutilated flesh had been restored by her magic. Suddenly the girl grimaced and bit her lower lip slightly as one hand went to her lower back. At the same time Hadara mumbled something.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." He looked towards Mord, Eran adds " You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
Mordecai looks equally concerned at Lilita, Erandal’s comment drew a sour look. The Half-Orc quips back, "Despite my tusks, I'm not your errand boy." Mordecai returns to observing Hadara and Lilita. Despite Hadara initially being a job, Mordecai had come to respect his resilience and tenacity.
As if echoing the fugitive mumbles, “Raven, Raven splotched with blood!”
Lilita turns to Mordecai feeling a bit light-headed after such a long day of healing... coupled with the pain she had taken from the old woman at the shop earlier. Lilita paused to take a deep breath and steadies herself before politely responding, "yes thank you, I'm fine... nothing to worry about. Its just been a long day for me is all." Attempting to hide her weakness and deceive him... but not skilled in such so her response and manner are easily seen to be rather flimsy and transparent to the experienced battle-hardened warrior.
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Ignoring Mord's 'suggestion' that he stay put, Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." Looking towards Mord, Eran adds "You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
"Aww hell, now he's just actin plan weird. You take a seat girlie and I'll get you that tea. Hope you're takin' notes big man!"
"Raven?" Mordecai asks aloud, moving closer to Hadara so he can hear him better.
Hadara’s eyes were unfocused, his head bobbing as if about to pass out from a hard bought of drinking. “No! No, no my swee – What?! Yes, yes, it’s set….all set. Garbel will die…. silver dance, hee”
Erandal appeared to be listening as he rummaged around in the wagon until he found her slightly battered tea pot, meager supply of tea – a gift from a patient, then started a small fire in the Vardo’s ancient stove.
"What is he going on about?" asks Mordecai aloud this time. "Have you done anything funny with him while you were stitching him up? Maybe he's talking all crazy from the blood loss - because he don't seem the type to be acting this way. Square head on his shoulders since I met him."
As he does not seem to be in pain, she ignores his mumbles and doesn’t press him. Lilita had a standing rule that she does not question her patients, continent only to have a name to call them by whether it is their own true name or not. Their business, their troubles, and intrigues are left outside her door. Lilita knew in order to exist in this oasis of hers she must treat all equally, and not take sides. In order to accomplish this Lilita found it best to remain ignorant with regards to their petty squabbles and intrigues. So, she does her best to ignore any fevered words unless they are a sign that he is in pain or discomfort.
So, she would only press him for the meaning of any words spoken as they related to his health and her care and treatment of him. In which case she will provide him with additional attention as needed to ensure he is to rest comfortably. Anything said otherwise as a healer she treats as confidential. Nothing said is meant for her ears or for her to speculate upon or pass on to others. Lilita had a low tolerance for idle gossip considering such childish, rude and impolite.
Still trying to pull herself together, she says, "what do you mean funny? I did only what was absolutely necessary... he lost a lot of blood and his wound was deep, very deep. He was in a great deal of pain, so I also gave him something, mostly healing herbs and a special ointment mixed with the milk of the poppy... from my garden. Such things besides helping with the pain can also dull the senses and the mind. Ramblings such as his are not uncommon and to be expected! I tried to warn you both that he is in no condition to be questioned and that you should be patient and wait till the morning."
Mordecai checks in on Erandal, as he is still does not trust him, and notices his investigative actions, remarking in a whisper to Lilita, "And here I thought he was making tea."
While the water starts to boil, the man turns and grinned. "So, sounds to me like there's gonna be a killin' at a dance. Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the picnic, but that sounds to me like a long story that might be the reason for the price on our man's head there. Now Mord, buddy, I know you know I ain't just a civic-minded like, and you know I know you see gold coins floating over that their gentleman's noggin. This girlie obviously performed something close to a miracle in bringing him back from the brink of death, so maybe we can find out whether her efforts area worth something more?"
Lilita tries her best to ignore their speculation and discussion but at last chimes in, "the city's nobles often hold grand elaborate parties and dances, especially during the larger festivals, or so I have heard. You may be reading too much into his words given his current state. He could be dreaming or merely remembering a dance in his past that he had attended."
Mordecai looks at Erandal up and down stating, "For someone not of Tarantis, you sure make quick judgments of us without knowing a damn thing, don't you?"
"Don't get you're breeches all twisted there, I'm from all over the states and you ain't nothing I ain't seen before. When you see things, you get to thinkin certain things is what they looks to be. Now you can tell me I'm wrong, which wouldn't be a first though I don't think I am, or you can tell us the score."
Mordecai looks at Lilita and explains, "Hadara is my bounty. I was able to get the scoop on him before the reward was posted publicly, and that's likely the only reason he's alive right now. The guard, who that idiot decided to stand behind with crossbows pointed at me, took an unnatural interest in him. Guards get no bonuses for bringing in a bounty, so they typically rather we do the dirty work, but that group was even drumming up false charges of murder that I knew, for a fact, were not on the BOLO. That just means to me they wanted him bad, and without a fight - which I took to mean that Hadara was never meant to see the light of day once taken in. So, I threw a chair at the lot of them and that bloke took the brunt. There are other interested parties, parties much better informed than even the most connected guards, so Hadara definitely knows something of importance. I mean to find out what - then decide the poor lad’s fate. Although after tonight's events, I may help him out of the city - he's shown grit and tenacity that's admirable. In the meantime, let's see if Hadara can heal up enough that we can find out a bit more. His ravings stir more questions than provide answers."
Then turning to Erandal, the Half-Orc adds, "And by the way, the more often you call yourself 'civic-minded' the less people will believe you. So, admit to what you are and be done with it."
"If'n these bows were pointing at you and I didn't pull the trigger, maybe that tells you something that you ain't paid any attention too yet? An you're ears might not be catchin, what I be suggestin that you an I both know. For the benefit of all those present though, we play at the same games Mordecai, on occasion anyhow. Right presently I'm not formally engaged in any contracts, just happen'd across them there guards that you be missin with your chair. Happen'd to overhear their chatter after that pleasant eye candy of a crier been up on her stage announcin' her bits to the assembled. Followed 'em in as they were roundin' on you, maybe could gone different, but it went how it did. Overheard that drow chewin the cud with some silver-haired old fella, an then there was that fine lassie you politely introduced me to as I nearly bumped her offa her seat. Caught up with you in the alley, then turned three o' them thugs back down the way they came before you took off again. Then a kindly boy named Garion showed me how to head you off at the pass. Just guess the dice rolls weren't goin' my way when I tried clobberin you with the pot. Reckon you might know the rest of it, though Hadara ain't lookin in no fit state to be collecting on tonight. Ain't that right Girlie?"
"your companion, Hadara I believe you said was his name needs sleep and rest,” Lilita says. “As I briefly stated before, his injuries were great and rather extensive. I have done all I can, for now, he is lucky to be alive and so requires time to fully mend. He will need to remain here in my care for several days at least or he risk re-opening wounds, and of course, there is the danger of infection and death if my advice is not followed that he be restricted to bed rest and not be moved. For now, I have given him herbs to ease his pain and discomfort, he is not in any condition to speak again further to either of you until morning and then only if I deem that he is able to so, briefly." Lilita shook her head, eyes turning with pity on the muttering Hadara.
Erandal glances sideways at Mordecai and says, "You're holdin the cards big guy. Now we both know what we're about, I ain't gonna fight you for the gold, but I figure an extra pair o' hands might be worth your losses and splitting your prize a third way." Eran continues as Mord starts to object, "Don't have to be equal, but I figure you'll be cutting girlie in for some after she just saved the man, and if'n you're wantin' my help, if ain't free. Better something than nothin', an' with the heat on this chump, someone watchin yer back don't get to lookin like a pin cushion seems a mighty nice offer."
Lilita still struggling to tune them out as not to be drawn too deeply into their affairs catches snippets of their conversation here and there, in the confined space of the Vardo, it's a bit difficult not to. The petite healer turns to Erandal offers him a respectful smile as she speaks in a low whispered tone, "good ser, please excuse me, I do not mean to interrupt but when you mentioned something about cutting in the girlie, were you by chance referring to me? If so then you should be, you should both be happy to know that I want no part of blood money, whatever your intentions... myself, my part in this whole affair is only in regard to the health and wellbeing of my patient here. So, if your intent is to make money from him then more for the both of you, I want none of it, no part it in. I am a simple healer, no more, no less. Your business is your own as is mine. Hopefully, this ease tension between you two since both of you seem more concerned about earning a fat reward and how to split it. Without me in the mix then you both should be able to come to a peaceful agreement, at least I hope so."
"It's not blood money, miss. I'm hired to find people, typically on behalf of the local authorities, but really for anyone who signs a fair contract. I'm no assassin and, frankly, I take offense to your assumption despite naivete being its source. In fact, I in all likelihood saved this man by not allowing those guards to take him," responds Mordecai firmly but politely.
"Given the circumstance, it would only be fair to split any reward, after netting out the finders fee for the one who gave me the jump on Hadara, if that's the route we take. However, time is something we don't have. Tomorrow morning they'll officially release the BOLO and every bounty hunter in the city will be looking for Hadara - they might even throw in a description of me for good measure." Mordecai looks over at the pale looking Hadara who mutters something
"So, we have three options - 1) turn him in to the guards, who will likely kill him before he makes it to court, 2) take him to the docks to the ship called the Winged Crow per Stax's request, or 3) let Hadara heal up some and see if we can leverage what he knows to our favor. I favor the latter two options."
"Stax likely has his own contact to get Hadara out of the city, we'd be getting paid for delivery to the ship."
"If we go for option three, it'll get... complicated. Both Hadara and I will need to change our appearances some. Luckily, we of orc lineage look all the same to everyone else, so shaving my head and beard, along with a change of clothes might be all I need. Hadara isn't too well known so if we remove some of his more defining features, starting with a cut and shave, we might get lucky."
"You may both stay here as well... as Hadara mends but as you can see my home is very small just the one bed that your companion occupies. I shall sleep on the chair beside the bed but there is no room inside for either of you. So, you must either take a room in a nearby inn if you like, if so, then I can recommend something nearby. Or you can choose to sleep outside, in a tent or other temporary structure but must provide your own. I am sorry but I not have to means to provide such."
"That be a right nice offer Girlie, but I'm told I snore, and I wouldn’t want to be wakin' yous up." Eran looks at the girl, a mixed look in his eyes. "I'll go lurk nearby in a shadow, maybe with something other than a plant pot this time. Big man, you can catch some shut eye under the wagon, I got a bed roll in my pack. If something comes up, I'll come wake you... or you can pretend to sleep and stay up tryin to watch me an gettin all worried. I promise though, that If I was to ever draw on you with a meanin' to be hurtin' you, you'd be awake, armed, and facing me."
Lilita bows respectfully to Erandal, "as you wish... but may I ask if you are injured? If so please put away any stubborn male pride and allow to attend you. Though my magic is nearly exhausted I am still a trained healer with my herbs, ointments, salves, and bandages." Lilita pointing to her Healer's Kit, "at least let me attend to any injuries before you go back into the night? It the least I can do to make for injuring you earlier."
Then pointing at an empty clay jar covered in cobwebs she says, "I do not charge a fee for healing, but all are welcome to leave whatever they will, or not to help pay for bandages, miscellaneous supplies and such. As for food, I do not consume the flesh of animals. I usually make a pot of vegetarian gruel consisting of oats, wheat and rye flour with rice boiled in goat's milk for my myself, patients and guests. It is not much but you may partake as you please. If this is not to your liking or insufficient then you must make other arrangements to secure yourself fare of your own choosing, at your own expense of course for yourselves as well as Hadara when he is able to consume solid food. I also ask that if you consume strong drink on the premises that it is not to excess, if you do so I will have to ask to leave and take accommodations elsewhere."
"That's sold me on the shadows Girlie. Ain't no night for drinkin, but that breakfast is turnin' my guts just listening to it."
Lilita nodes to Erandal, "my apologies that my simple fare is unsuitable. I do the best I can with what I have. Should you change your mind once morning comes and wish to partake of a hot meal even if just to warm you I hope that you please consider before departing. You will, after all, need to be at your full strength and nutritious meal is a good way to keep your strength up even if or I can offer you something else." Lilita moves to Tulip and picks a single berry from her and offers it to Erandal.
Mordecai places two of his gold pieces into Lilita's clay jar. He says, "Regardless of what we decide, you've earned my thanks and respect for both your demeanor and your skill. If there's anything I can ever help you with, I'll be happy to do so."
Mordecai looks at Erandal and deadpans, "We're obviously not there yet."
Mordecai then concludes, "So, what'll we do. Docks now. Or docks after questioning? Miss Lilita, by keeping him here you put yourself at risk, too, moreso than either of us two - so it's fair if you have the final say. Do you still want to keep him here until he heals up sufficiently?"
Lilita looks at the half-orc torn as to how to respond able more than one side of the matter but in the end whispers, "it against my better judgment, I don't wish to be involved in your business any more than I have to but I fear you are right, if he is not taken from here then he will found out and, I with him... no doubt to be made to suffer my part in this and for helping him. So, I am willing to go with you to ensure my patient's wounds do not open up and if they do bet there do something about to make sure he gets to where he is going. But I seek no part of blood money as I have made perfectly clear. Nor do I want to be privy to specific details... as the less I know the better. When you are ready, I will find my shoes and get my things and accompany you, but I am not sure if he can walk even assisted by the pair of you or need a stretcher, which I don't have. Though I can fetch an herb... a stimulant that for a short period should boost his energy a bit, but I dare not give him too much so must only do such just prior to our departing."
“Two for tha party, three for tha Lady, an’ o wee piglet that’ll have ‘em all doin’ the watermelon crawl!” cackles Hadara, and then wagging a finger at Mordecai, he says, “You, me fine frien’, don’t eat tha swine!” The man appears to be trying to focus his eyes. Half grunting, half giggling, he makes a poorly aimed grab for Lilita’s backside, only ending up with air instead. “Piggy!”
Lilita ignores words thinking them wholly the result of herbs she has given him, then when Hadara moves to grab her bum, she is all too used to such and does not comment on it, perhaps too it the milk of the popper or just a male response even when half unconscious. Then looks at him placing her hand on his forehead to check to see how warm it is and whispering, "naughty boy, I am sure you used finer and more willing than my almost non-existent posterior so rest yourself, shortly your companions will be taking you on a little trip and who knows maybe they will tarts there where you are headed." She does to Mord and Elan to make sure they are not getting any ideas that she is some sort of tart starting to feel a bit uncomfortable in such a small confined space with them used to just having to with a patient alone. Hopefully, this will all be over soon...
"He seems likely to bring unwanted attention to us if we move him, if he keeps babbling on like that," comments Mordecai. "If he keeps behaving like that, I don't think we'll make it to the docks - at least not without unwanted attention. We might need to hole up until tomorrow and his babblings pass. This side of town there are always a few vacant buildings or homes, anything like that nearby so that we can hole up for the night? If both Hadara and I change our appearance tomorrow, we might even be able to get a move on in the morning, before the BOLO gets out and the town cries start giving up MY description."
Lilita looks at half-orc, "well I think I do something to manage his wagging tongue with a bite harness I laying about for unruly patients to stop them from biting but also keeps them talking that I can put him before we leave to keep quiet. As for disguises, how about this. I am pretty well known by the watch and the thieves alike as a healer so let's use that. I want to disguise all three of as poxed lepers, you cut up some burlap bags to cover yourself as primitive cloaks and an apply some mud, horse dung and other bits to help you all three looks like poxed lepers, enough for casual inspection to know they don't want to get close and risk infection! I can tell them you are three patient and I looking to take and arrange transport to the leper colony." [A distant island by the name of ‘Isle of the Damned’ works]
"You know, I had a nice easy plan for today. Plans never hold up for long," laments Mordecai and then a grin spreads slowly across his face.
Turning to Lilita he says, “Give him those herbs that will wake him up. We're going to use them to question him NOW. Then, before dawn, after we shave the man, cut his hair and put him in different clothes, we'll take him to the docks. It'll give him the night to physically rest under your care, but we should still have him out before his bounty is widely known. No objections, now. We all want this night to be over, but let's be honest - I think we all want to know what he knows. I've never seen so much interest in one person before."
Despite her mental warning to herself to very well leave enough alone the puzzle that was Hadara’s disjointed comments her analytical mind couldn’t help itself. Well, the watermelon crawl may be just coded for them to keep quiet and go on the sly to not attract attention to literally craw low on the ground to sneak past someone or someone, she mused silently. The don't eat the swine may be a thing for Mord to trust Elan or someone else, not eat them, i.e. not kill them or fight, again not sure totally at this point. As I said I can be slow on the uptake sometimes. Or, she thought, working through the possible meanings behind the disjointed words, it could be a warning not to eat pork, or maybe some specific pig. She recalls that the wounded man had mentioned a possible murder was in the works. Her eyes blinked. So, the reference to crawling could also be a clue perhaps? [Wisdom check 12+2=15]
Unless there is further discussion, Erandal will stalk out into the night and look for a suitable perch. Ideally looking for a rooftop that he can see the surrounding area from (I'll leave any rolls to you) GM Notes: I’m going to insert this line at this point and push forward with the game. If “Erandal’s” Player resumes he’ll have to catch up.
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Mordecai's story continues...
The young girl seemed to ignore her two guests as she focused ib the wounded man, Hadara, who, only moments before, had been at death’s door. He had lost so much blood that it was a miracle that her magic found anything to take hold of. Now he was breathing better, the bloody wound had stopped oozing. As he watched, Lilita’s delicate fingers pulled some sort of paste from a cedar box and worked it into the arrow wound.
" I'd like to think I've seen worst in the pits," Mordecai thought, "but if I did, then it's not by much."
Eran had an impressed look on his face as he watched the girl work. "Can I see the arrowhead? Might be nothing, might be something to it."
Without a word the girl handed Eran the arrowhead, wiped clean and partially wrapped in a thin, clean rag.
There was another groan as her delicate fingers probed at the wound, attempting to discern how much of the mutilated flesh had been restored by her magic. Suddenly the girl grimaced and bit her lower lip slightly as one hand went to her lower back. At the same time Hadara mumbled something.
Clearing his throat Mordecai says, "Apologies for the hack job I did on that wound, we were short on time and under duress - I didn't have a moment to treat it properly."
"Whoa there girlie, are you alright?" Ignoring Mord's 'suggestion' that he stay put, Eran moves to support the girl's weight. "You best be makin' sure o' your own health before you do much more for him. Can't be good for you to be missin' something 'cos you're a hurtin'." Looking towards Mord, Eran adds "You know how to make some tea? Or you hopin' to catch a snippet o' something useful from those mumbles?"
Mordecai looks equally concerned at Lilita, but the comment from Erandal draws from Mordecai a sour look. He quips back, "Despite my tusks, I'm not your errand boy." He returns to observing Hadara and Lilita as if echoing the fugitive mumbles, “Raven, Raven splotched with blood!”
"Aww hell, now he's just actin plan weird. You take a seat girlie and I'll get you that tea. Hope your takin' notes big man!"
Lilita took a deep breath and steadies herself before politely responding, "yes thank you, I'm fine... nothing to worry about. It’s just been a long day for me is all."
"Raven?" Mordecai asks aloud.
"What is he going on about?" Mordecai thinks to himself. "He didn't seem the type to fill his head with nonsense."
Hadara’s eyes were unfocused, his head bobbing as if about to pass out from a hard bought of drinking. “No! No, no my swee – What?! Yes, yes, it’s set….all set. Garbel will die…. silver dance, hee”
"What is he going on about?" asks Mordecai aloud this time. "Have you done anything funny with him while you were stitching him up? Maybe he's talking all crazy from the blood loss - because he don't seem the type to be acting this way. Square head on his shoulders since I met him."
"What do you mean funny? I did only what was absolutely necessary... he lost a lot of blood and his wound was deep, very deep. He was in a great deal of pain, so I also gave him something, mostly healing herbs and a special ointment mixed with the milk of the poppy... from my garden. Such things besides helping with the pain can also dull the senses and the mind. Ramblings such as his are not uncommon and to be expected! I tried to warn you both that he is in no condition to be questioned and that you should be patient and wait till the morning."
Erandal appeared to be listening as he rummaged around in the wagon until he found a slightly battered tea pot and a meager supply of tea. With a frown, the man starts a small fire in the Vardo’s ancient stove.
Mordecai checks in on Erandal, as he is still does not trust him, and notices his investigative actions, remarking in a whisper to Lilita, "And here I thought he was making tea."
While the water starts to boil, Eran says, "So, sounds to me like there's gonna be a killin' at a dance. Now, I'm not the sharpest tool in the picnic, but that sounds to me like a long story that might be the reason for the price on our man's head there. Now Mord, buddy, I know you know I ain't just a civic-minded like, and you know I know you see gold coins floating over that their gentleman's noggin. This girlie obviously performed something close to a miracle in bringing him back from the brink of death, so maybe we can find out whether her efforts are worth something more?"
Mordecai looks at Erandal up and down, taking in his dress, his look and his mannerisms, then stating, "For someone not of Tarantis, you sure make quick judgments of us without knowing a damn thing, don't you?"
"Don't get your breeches all twisted there, I'm from all over the states and you ain't nothin I ain't seen before. When you see things, you get to thinkin certain things is what they looks to be. Now you can tell me I'm wrong, which wouldn't be a first though I don't think I am, or you can tell us the score."
Mordecai looks at Lilita and explains, "Hadara is my bounty. I was able to get the scoop on him before the reward was posted publicly, and that's likely the only reason he's alive right now. The guard, who that idiot decided to stand behind with crossbows pointed at me, took an unnatural interest in him. Guards get no bonuses for bringing in a bounty, so they typically rather we do the dirty work, but that group was even drumming up false charges of murder that I knew, for a fact, were not on the BOLO. That just means to me they wanted him bad, and without a fight - which I took to mean that Hadara was never meant to see the light of day once taken in. So, I threw a chair at the lot of them and that bloke took the brunt. There are other interested parties, parties much better informed than even the most connected guards, so Hadara definitely knows something of importance. I mean to find out what - then decide the poor lad’s fate. Although after tonight's events, I may help him out of the city - he's shown grit and tenacity that's admirable. In the meantime, let's see if Hadara can heal up enough that we can find out a bit more. His ravings stir more questions than provide answers."
Then turning to Erandal, "And by the way, the more often you call yourself 'civic-minded' the less people will believe you. So, admit to what you are and be done with it."
"If'n these bows were pointing at you and I didn't pull the trigger, maybe that tells you something that you ain't paid any attention too yet? An you're ears might not be catchin, what I be suggestin that you an I both know. For the benefit of all those present though, we play at the same games Mordecai, on occasion anyhow. Right presently I'm not formally engaged in any contracts, just happen'd across them there guards that you be missin with your chair. Happen'd to overhear their chatter after that pleasant eye candy of a crier been up on her stage announcin' her bits to the assembled. Followed 'em in as they were roundin' on you, maybe could gone different, but it went how it did. Overheard that drow chewin the cud with some silver-haired old fella, an then there was that fine lassie you politely introduced me to as I nearly bumped her offa her seat. Caught up with you in the alley, then turned three o' them thugs back down the way they came before you took off again. Then a kindly boy named Garion showed me how to head you off at the pass. Just guess the dice rolls weren't goin' my way when I tried clobberin you with the pot. Reckon you might know the rest of it, though Hadara ain't lookin in no fit state to be collecting on tonight. Ain't that right Girlie?"
"your companion, Hadara I believe you said was his name needs sleep and rest. As I briefly stated before, his injuries were great and rather extensive. I have done all I can, for now, he is lucky to be alive and so requires time to fully mend. He will need to remain here in my care for several days at least or he risk re-opening wounds, and of course, there is the danger of infection and death if my advice is not followed that he be restricted to bed rest and not be moved. For now, I have given him herbs to ease his pain and discomfort, he is not in any condition to speak again further to either of you until morning and then only if I deem that he is able to so, briefly." Lilita shook her head, eyes turning with pity on the muttering Hadara.
Erandal glances sideways at Mordecai and says, "You're holdin the cards big guy. Now we both know what we're about, I ain't gonna fight you for the gold, but I figure an extra pair o' hands might be worth your losses and splitting your prize a third way." Eran continues as Mord starts to object, "Don't have to be equal, but I figure you'll be cutting girlie in for some after she just saved the man, and if'n you're wantin' my help, if ain't free. Better something than nothin', an' with the heat on this chump, someone watchin yer back don't get to lookin like a pin cushion seems a mighty nice offer."
The petite healer turns to Erandal offers him a respectful smile as she speaks in a low whispered tone, "good ser, please excuse me, I do not mean to interrupt but when you mentioned something about cutting in the girlie, were you by chance referring to me? If so then you should be, you should both be happy to know that I want no part of blood money, whatever your intentions... myself, my part in this whole affair is only in regard to the health and wellbeing of my patient here. So, if your intent is to make money from him then more for the both of you, I want none of it, no part it in. I am a simple healer, no more, no less. Your business is your own as is mine. Hopefully, this ease tension between you two since both of you seem more concerned about earning a fat reward and how to split it. Without me in the mix then you both should be able to come to a peaceful agreement, at least I hope so."
"It's not blood money, miss. I'm hired to find people, typically on behalf of the local authorities, but really for anyone who signs a fair contract. I'm no assassin and, frankly, I take offense to your assumption despite naivete being its source. In fact, I in all likelihood saved this man by not allowing those guards to take him," responds Mordecai firmly but politely.
"Given the circumstance, it would only be fair to split any reward, after netting out the finders fee for the one who gave me the jump on Hadara, if that's the route we take. However, time is something we don't have. Tomorrow morning they'll officially release the BOLO and every bounty hunter in the city will be looking for Hadara - they might even throw in a description of me for good measure." Mordecai looks over at the pale looking Hadara who mutters something
"So, we have three options - 1) turn him in to the guards, who will likely kill him before he makes it to court, 2) take him to the docks to the ship called the Winged Crow per Stax's request, or 3) let Hadara heal up some and see if we can leverage what he knows to our favor. I favor the latter two options."
"Stax likely has his own contact to get Hadara out of the city, we'd be getting paid for delivery to the ship."
"If we go for option three, it'll get... complicated. Both Hadara and I will need to change our appearances some. Luckily, we of orc lineage look all the same to everyone else, so shaving my head and beard, along with a change of clothes might be all I need. Hadara isn't too well known so if we remove some of his more defining features, starting with a cut and shave, we might get lucky."
"You may both stay here as well... as Hadara mends but as you can see my home is very small just the one bed that your companion occupies. I shall sleep on the chair beside the bed but there is no room inside for either of you. So, you must either take a room in a nearby inn if you like, if so, then I can recommend something nearby. Or you can choose to sleep outside, in a tent or other temporary structure but must provide your own. I am sorry but I not have to means to provide such."
"That be a right nice offer Girlie, but I'm told I snore, and I wouldn’t want to be wakin' yous up." Eran looks at the girl, a mixed look in his eyes. "I'll go lurk nearby in a shadow, maybe with something other than a plant pot this time. Big man, you can catch some shut eye under the wagon, I got a bed roll in my pack. If something comes up, I'll come wake you... or you can pretend to sleep and stay up tryin to watch me an gettin all worried. I promise though, that If I was to ever draw on you with a meanin' to be hurtin' you, you'd be awake, armed, and facing me."
Lilita bows respectfully to Erandal, "as you wish... but may I ask if you are injured? If so, please put away any stubborn male pride and allow to attend you. Though my magic is nearly exhausted I am still a trained healer with my herbs, ointments, salves, and bandages." Lilita pointing to her Healer's Kit, "at least let me attend to any injuries before you go back into the night? It the least I can do to make for injuring you earlier."
"I'll sleep on a chair next to Hadara, if we're going with the third option, or even if it's just to allow him to rest some until we move him to the docks. You could accompany us if you are that concerned, Miss Lilita," replies Mordecai.
Then pointing at an empty clay jar covered in cobwebs she says, "I do not charge a fee for healing, but all are welcome to leave whatever they will, or not to help pay for bandages, miscellaneous supplies and such. As for food, I do not consume the flesh of animals. I usually make a pot of vegetarian gruel consisting of oats, wheat and rye flour with rice boiled in goat's milk for my myself, patients and guests. It is not much but you may partake as you please. If this is not to your liking or insufficient then you must make other arrangements to secure yourself fare of your own choosing, at your own expense of course for yourselves as well as Hadara when he is able to consume solid food. I also ask that if you consume strong drink on the premises that it is not to excess, if you do so I will have to ask to leave and take accommodations elsewhere."
"That's sold me on the shadows Girlie. Ain't no night for drinkin, but that breakfast is turnin' my guts just listening to it."
Lilita nodes to Erandal, "my apologies that my simple fare is unsuitable. I do the best I can with what I have. Should you change your mind once morning comes and wish to partake of a hot meal even if just to warm you, I hope that you please consider before departing. You will, after all, need to be at your full strength and nutritious meal is a good way to keep your strength up even if or I can offer you something else." Lilita moves to Tulip and picks a single berry from her and offers it to Erandal.
Mordecai places two of his gold pieces into Lilita's clay jar. He says, "Regardless of what we decide, you've earned my thanks and respect for both your demeanor and your skill. If there's anything I can ever help you with, I'll be happy to do so."
Mordecai looks at Erandal and deadpans, "We're obviously not there yet."
Mordecai then concludes, "So, what'll we do. Docks now. Or docks after questioning? Miss Lilita, by keeping him here you put yourself at risk, too, moreso than either of us two - so it's fair if you have the final say. Do you still want to keep him here until he heals up sufficiently?"
Lilita looks at the half-orc and whispers, "it against my better judgment, I don't wish to be involved in your business any more than I have to but I fear you are right, if he is not taken from here then he will found out and, I with him... no doubt to be made to suffer my part in this and for helping him. So, I am willing to go with you to ensure my patient's wounds do not open up and if they do bet there do something about to make sure he gets to where he is going. But I seek no part of blood money as I have made perfectly clear. Nor do I want to be privy to specific details... as the less I know the better. When you are ready, I will find my shoes and get my things and accompany you, but I am not sure if he can walk even assisted by the pair of you or need a stretcher, which I don't have. Though I can fetch an herb... a stimulant that for a short period should boost his energy a bit, but I dare not give him too much so must only do such just prior to our departing."
“Two for tha party, three for tha Lady, an’ o wee piglet that’ll have ‘em all doin’ the watermelon crawl!” cackles Hadara, and then wagging a finger at Mordecai, he says, “You, me fine frien’, don’t eat tha swine!” The man appears to be trying to focus his eyes. Half grunting, half giggling, he makes a poorly aimed grab for Lilita’s backside, only ending up with air instead. “Piggy!”
The girl seems to be ignoring the babble coming out of Hadara as she places her hand on his forehead to check to see how warm it is and whispering, "naughty boy, I am sure you used finer and more willing than my almost non-existent posterior so rest yourself, shortly your companions will be taking you on a little trip and who knows maybe they will tarts there where you are headed."
"He seems likely to bring unwanted attention to us if we move him, if he keeps babbling on like that," comments Mordecai. "If he keeps behaving like that, I don't think we'll make it to the docks - at least not without unwanted attention. We might need to hole up until tomorrow and his babblings pass. This side of town there are always a few vacant buildings or homes, anything like that nearby so that we can hole up for the night? If both Hadara and I change our appearance tomorrow, we might even be able to get a move on in the morning, before the BOLO gets out and the town cries start giving up MY description."
Lilita looks at half-orc, "well I think I do something to manage his wagging tongue with a bite harness I laying about for unruly patients to stop them from biting but also keeps them talking that I can put him before we leave to keep quiet. As for disguises, how about this. I am pretty well known by the watch and the thieves alike as a healer so let's use that. I want to disguise all three of as poxed lepers, you cut up some burlap bags to cover yourself as primitive cloaks and an apply some mud, horse dung and other bits to help you all three looks like poxed lepers, enough for casual inspection to know they don't want to get close and risk infection! I can tell them you are three patient and I looking to take and arrange transport to the leper colony." [A distant island by the name of ‘Isle of the Damned’ works]
"You know, I had a nice easy plan for today. Plans never hold up for long," laments Mordecai and then a grin spreads slowly across his face.
It doesn't happen often, but it seemed that an idea flashed across Mordecai’s face.
He tells Lilita, "Give him those herbs that will wake him up. We're going to use them to question him NOW. Then, before dawn, after we shave the man, cut his hair and put him in different clothes, we'll take him to the docks. It'll give him the night to physically rest under your care, but we should still have him out before his bounty is widely known. No objections, now. We all want this night to be over, but let's be honest - I think we all want to know what he knows. I've never seen so much interest in one person before."
Mordecai gets his newly acquired dagger, cleans it, and begins cutting off his own hair, followed by his beard. He'll stop whenever Hadara regains consciousness. Upon the first careful scrap of the dagger Mord nearly slices off a hunk of skin. Upon close inspection it was clear that the blade was very fine and very sharp. After experimenting with a wet stone, he discovers that, despite the former owners use and using it to cut his thick, wiry hair, the blade held its edge. <Consider it a +1 magical weapon though I cannot officially confirm this without Mordecai seeking out a weapons smith or mage>
Erandal will stalk out into the night and look for a suitable perch.
<><><><><><<><>
Livvi's story continues...
Finding that the silversmith was out on business for the day Livvi returned to Avgrat’s Fine Clothing. There were unanswered questions lingering in the shop and she meant to have answers. Surely the shop kept records, possibly detailed ones, on their clients. If they didn’t have information on the Grey Lady, then they should know who the dead-eyed nobleman was. Approaching the upscale shop, she brushed past a distinguished looking man, possibly a noble by his attire and charged into the shop. Almost immediately several servants converge on her. One bowed slightly and gave her one of ‘those’ smiles as his eyes flickered over her leathers and day attire.
“May I help you miss?”
"Yes, you may help me - the question is can you help me. First, I was in here last night, shopping for a gown for the Silver Festival, when I met a nobleman and a young woman. Is there anyone working now that was here last night? The matron I saw, perhaps? You see, the young lady left her shoes behind in her hurried exit, and I wish to return them to her. Also, the man fairly radiated an attractive charisma - and I would like to know who he was for...future reference." Livvi didn't bother to explain all of the details to the man - they would have meant nothing to him if he wasn't there. After all, she doubted the Grey Lady had been here before nor would return again. Not after that monster, or nobleman, had tried to do something to her.
"Second, I am investigating the disappearance of a young woman from near here several nights ago. The young lady and her friends were shopping along Iltutmish, properly escorted to prevent such a problem from occurring, but she apparently disappeared at some point, for her friends said she was with them, and then wasn't. Did you hear anything about this incident - a young maiden going missing? If no one here now was working either of the nights in question, then perhaps I can speak with the store owner - I am sure he is aware of the goings-on in and around his store."
“Master Avgart? Well, yes, but he only see’s customers by appointment,” the servant sniffed, looking down his nose at her. “He’s very in demand these days.” [GM Note: These servants work days so would not have been present during her evening visit the night before]
"I am sure that he is - his outfits are the absolute best in the city for the Festival! But this is a matter of some urgency. Young, pretty women may be in danger - and girls disappearing in the area can be bad for business. Especially this close to a festival known for elaborate masquerade balls and parties. So, you see, Master Avgrat will want to see me." Livvi really worked her charms on the attendant, using all of her natural abilities to bend him to her will and get her to Avgrat. Persuasion: 17
“Yes, well” – the man’s tone changed to something sounding more helpful – “I am sure that the good master can make time for you, m’lady. Please, just a moment.”
When the store attendant ran off to fetch Master Avgrat, Livvi returned to the shoe display where the Grey Lady was talking to the noblemonster (her new nickname for the man – nice;p). She focused on the area - the wooden table and stands, the elven slippers placed back on display, and the stool where the girl sat and tried on the slippers - letting her mind settle and bringing the memories from last night back to mind. She examined each thought, recalling as many details as she could. Sounds, colors, smells. Even the feel of the silken red dress on her skin, and the chill night air where the dress revealed her form. Who was the older lady who had met her gaze with disapproval? Who were the staff members working - where were the other customers? All these things she did in an effort to recall something new, something she may have missed. (Passive Perception roll: 14]
She couldn’t recall having ever seen the matron or the younger girls before, and none of the servants working that night appeared to be in the shop. There was one thing that came back to mind, it was a slight odor, one that she wasn’t familiar with. She couldn’t be sure if it had come from the grey lady or the noblemonster, but it was herbal in nature.
"It's been a while since I've seen an enchantment thrown that effectively and smoothly over the unsuspecting like that, my lady. I daresay a weak mind such as his would have succumbed without exercising such control, but it is a pleasure to see someone so skilled in action."
Livvi curtsies in return, obviously practiced being courteous but not subservient - more of two equals acknowledging each other. "It wasn't too hard to persuade the fellow to go fetch the shop owner, as your appreciation of my...enchantments..." she starts to say, then takes a breath to flash a bit of cleavage at the man, "...proves, Lord du Flynn. And what, exactly, is your interest in missing women?" Livvi eyes the man distrustfully, trying to get a read of his motives and intentions. Insight: 10
When Livvi turns she realizes that it was the man who had been window shopping outside. A smile quirks the corners of his mouth upwards. "It seems we might share an interest in missing women, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself - Lord Cadrian du Flynn, meddler and do-gooder, at your service." He makes a deep bow, classically perfect yet keeping his eyes on her posture and body language.
"I am looking into the mysterious disappearance and disability of a young woman from this very shop. Perhaps our interests overlap? If so, perhaps an exchange of information is in order, after the interrogation of the merchant, of course. Perhaps over a drink?"
"It seems that they may. Are you saying that the Silversmith's daughter disappeared from this shop? I knew she was in the area, but not that she was in here. That will aid in my questions to Master Avgrat. Ah - I think that is he coming out of the back! I defer to your lordship to begin the questions..." she finishes before Avgrat gets within listening range. Livvi wanted to give the stranger a chance to talk first and reveal what he knows about Pithini. Another trick she had learned in her bard training - it was always better to listen first before giving away information lest you tell the other person something they didn't already know. And she thought playing the deferential maiden to a noble was sure to stroke his ego and get him to take the bait and reveal what he knew while talking to the shop owner...
Just then a tall, older man going bald in the middle while attempting to disguise it with a questionable comb over comes out of a back room and approaches. “Bandr there tells me that you have some questions about one of our customers?”
Cadrian bows at the waist a fraction, his smile never failing, but his eyes giving away his disapproving opinion of the clothier’s snobbery. "We do, Master Avgrat. I am Lord Cadrian du Flynn. Perhaps we can continue this conversation somewhere other than on your sales floor?"
A brief frown crosses Avgrat’s face as if he’s attempting to place Cadrian and decide if the wizard is a noble or connected to anyone of importance. “Yes, of course.” He leads them into a well-appointed salon meant for private fittings.
"Master Avgrat, I am investigating the strange disappearances occurring in the area. I am trying to discern the events regarding the disappearance of Miss Pirini Karigaon from your store some days hence. Master Karigaon's exchange with you was regrettable, but I trust such a discerning gentleman as yourself may look past any umbrage remaining to assist me in helping these poor unfortunates? Any details that you can remember might be immensely useful."
“Yes, Karigaon all but accused me of complicacy,” Avgrat said with another frown. “I wasn’t even in the shop that night so I can only relate what my store clerks and servants told.”
"The young woman was seen in the company of a nobleman, another patron of your store, perhaps? Do you know the identity of any men who were in her company?"
The clothier looked confused for pregnant moment and then replied slowly, as if struggling with something. “We get so many noblemen in my shop, do either of you have a description of the man in question?”
She watches Avgrat, then remembers Bilina's similar difficulty focusing on the man. How was it she could remember every detail about the man, but others had a hard time focusing on their memories? Perhaps he just needed some inspiration...
Livvi speaks in a confident, soothing voice. "I am not certain if it is the same man, but I was in here last night and I encountered an older nobleman who went stalking after another young maiden. Listen, and picture my description in your mind. Concentrate on him and nothing else. This man had grey hair to his shoulders, and a grey beard. He wore a blue turban with a jeweled golden fob. The strange thing was he exuded charm - almost magical in nature. He was trying to convince the girl to try on a pair of elven slippers, the ones on display near the side door. When she suddenly left, he was visibly angry and went after her, like a big cat hunting its next meal. I had the feeling that this man is here often." <><Livvi is giving Avgrat [ability]Bardic Inspiration[/ability] to help him remember the man and his name and any other details he can dredge up.><1d6=1>
Avgrat rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking truly fatigued, as if the effort to remember was very taxing. “I – I remember the blue turban, it’s from Exdr-droan, a city from the deep south. Not so rare, but uncommon. H – he’s been here before, I seem to remember.” The clothier paced, muttering slightly and shaking his head. “I am sorry, but I cannot remember any name having been given or asked for, which is strange. Yes, very strange” – Avgrat was talking more to himself at this point – “and I know most of the great houses, but there’s so many nobles” His eyes flicker towards Cadrian as a grimace creases his face. “I don’t remember ever seeing the girl before, either. She was asking one of the servants about a blouse. No, not the blouse, but the thread patterns. It was one of mine, yes, but made for one of the cities Houses of Healing. The Black Rose, I believe.”
Carian frowned a bit. "The turban is unusual, is it? Did you perhaps sell it to him, and if so, there might be a bill of sale, yes? Or perhaps, one drawn up for something else this nobleman might have purchased?"
“Wait, I don't recall selling a turban to anyone,” the clothier said after a long, thoughtful pause. “I cannot tell you the man in the blue turbans name, but I do remember the first time that he set foot in my shop. It was six five-days ago, he was accompanied by Lady Maigrinstaff. Melinia, I think, not her sister. I’m positive of that.”
Livvi nods as Avgrat recalls what he can about the noble. "Yes, thank you for your time and assistance, Master Avgrat. As I am sure you are aware, the possible serial abductions of young ladies and merchants around the city is a delicate matter and one The Lion's Pride takes very seriously. Please keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the usual or suspicious. And if you recall any other details about last night, this nobleman, or the Silversmith's daughter who apparently disappeared from your store several nights ago, please send word to me at the Sub-Minister's office."
"If that is all you can remember, my good sir, I thank you for your troubles,” Cadrian says, “You have my thanks and gratitude. I shall be back tomorrow to select a new garment for the Festival, and I shall be even further in your debt if you could offer me some of your expert advice on what suits me the best. Good day to you, Master Avgrat!" He then strides to the door to hold it open chivalrously for the bard. As she walks past, he whispers, "We need to compare notes, my dear. Fancy a drink and conversation?" He smiles invitingly, but far from lewdly.
"Yes, I think comparing notes would be most beneficial. I am Livvi, by the way," she says, shaking the young Lord's hand in the manner appropriate to the courts. "Circumstances precluded me properly introducing myself earlier. I have heard of the du Flynn's, of course, but have not had the pleasure of meeting any from your family. I must return to the Market to complete my assignment but wish to discuss this matter with you this afternoon. There is a small café there I find to be quite pleasant. It is called The Witch's Brew, and they serve a wonderful iced kafe. If you go there, look for the green-haired waitress, Nephele. She knows me and will ensure you get the good table. Meet me there in an hour or so?"
Cadrian smiles, releasing her hand and bowing. "My pleasure, Miss Livvi. I shall speak with you then." Like most men, he watched her go.
<><><><><><><>
Cadrian's story continues...
After changing out the platinum coins for more sensible coinage, Cadrian went to Rail Avgrat's store. Window shopping a bit, he eyed the current fashions and styles for the Festival, since he'll need his own new clothes for the event. About to enter the shop he’s nearly ran over by a fast walking Half-Elf. The young woman strolled in like she owned the place and setting upon the first servant she saw, asking to talk to Mr. Avgrat. From where he stood in the doorway Cadrian heard her say:
“May I help you miss?” Judging by the expression on the servants face he was less than impressed by the Half-Elf’s leathers and mixed attire.
"Yes, you may help me - the question is can you help me. First, I was in here last night, shopping for a gown for the Silver Festival, when I met a nobleman and a young woman. Is there anyone working now that was here last night? The matron I saw, perhaps? You see, the young lady left her shoes behind in her hurried exit, and I wish to return them to her. Also, the man fairly radiated an attractive charisma - and I would like to know who he was for...future reference."
"Second, I am investigating the disappearance of a young woman from near here several nights ago. The young lady and her friends were shopping along Iltutmish, properly escorted to prevent such a problem from occurring, but she apparently disappeared at some point, for her friends said she was with them, and then wasn't. Did you hear anything about this incident - a young maiden going missing? If no one here now was working either of the nights in question, then perhaps I can speak with the store owner - I am sure he is aware of the goings-on in and around his store."
“Master Avgart? Well, yes, but he only see’s customers by appointment,” the servant sniffed, looking down his nose at her. “He’s very in demand these days.”
"I am sure that he is - his outfits are the absolute best in the city for the Festival! But this is a matter of some urgency. Young, pretty women may be in danger - and girls disappearing in the area can be bad for business. Especially this close to a festival known for elaborate masquerade balls and parties. So, you see, Master Avgrat will want to see me." At this point her demur seemed to change, Cadrian noticed, watching the girl worked her charms on the attendant. It would have been obvious, even to a first-year apprentice, that she was employing both training in tone and body posturing but some sort of magic to gain what she wanted.
Cadrian walked into Avgrat's store with a brief thrill. Even noble-born as he was, his family was not wealthy enough to patronize this place often, and the remaining platinum pieces in the small purse he had been given burned in his pocket. Especially with the upcoming Festival...
He was nearly trampled by a half-elven woman, young, strikingly pretty and clearly determined (always a combination that meant trouble) as he lingered in the doorway. His impeccable manners prevailed, and he swept his hat from his head in a half-bow as she moved past him (Perception +2: 14). Noticing that she too was after his quarry for interrogation, he thought to himself, "This might be interesting..." and followed discretely. Even somewhat shabby, his fine clothes fit into the store, and he counted on that to blend in unobtrusively.
As he lingered Cadrian thought he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Across the street was a shop selling perfumes and other products meant to enhance one’s physical presence, the light from the shop’s windows and single lamp above the entrance cast varying degrees of shadow that gives way to darkness where an alley was probably located.
The wizard took one last look at the shadows that had disturbed him, but the scene that awaited him in the shop was too good an opportunity to miss. Composing himself, Cadrian squared his shoulders and glided up behind the half-elf as the servant hurried away.
"It's been a while since I've seen an enchantment thrown that effectively and smoothly over the unsuspecting like that, my lady. I daresay a weak mind such as his would have succumbed without exercising such control, but it is a pleasure to see someone so skilled in action."
When she turns to address him, Cadrian holds the half-syllable of the shield spell in his mind as his self-assured smile quirks the corners of his mouth upwards. "It seems we might share an interest in missing women, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself - Lord Cadrian du Flynn, meddler and do-gooder, at your service." He makes a deep bow, classically perfect yet keeping his eyes on her posture and body language.
Livvi curtsies in return, obviously practiced being courteous but not subservient - more of two equals acknowledging each other. "It wasn't too hard to persuade the fellow to go fetch the shop owner, as your appreciation of my...enchantments..." she starts to say, then takes a breath to flash a bit of cleavage at the man, "...proves, Lord du Flynn. And what, exactly, is your interest in missing women?" She eyes Cadrian with open distrust, looking at him as if one who is calculating another’s true intentions.
"I am looking into the mysterious disappearance and disability of a young woman from this very shop. Perhaps our interests overlap? If so, perhaps an exchange of information is in order, after the interrogation of the merchant, of course. Perhaps over a drink?" He rights himself and allows her to take the lead on questioning the tailor, readying his queries for himself.
"It seems that they may. Are you saying that the Silversmith's daughter disappeared from this shop? I knew she was in the area, but not that she was in here. That will aid in my questions to Master Avgrat. Ah - I think that is he coming out of the back! I defer to your lordship to begin the questions..."
Just then a tall, older man going bald in the middle while attempting to disguise it with a questionable comb over comes out of a back room and approaches. “Bandr there tells me that you have some questions about one of our customers?”
Cadrian bows at the waist a fraction, his smile never failing but a hard edge comes to his eye at the curt address. "We do, Master Avgrat. I am Lord Cadrian du Flynn. Perhaps we can continue this conversation somewhere other than on your sales floor?"
A brief frown crosses Avgrat’s face as if he’s attempting to place Cadrian and decide if the wizard is a noble or connected to anyone of importance. “Yes, of course.” He leads them into a well-appointed salon meant for private fittings.
"Master Avgrat, I am investigating the strange disappearances occurring in the area. I am trying to discern the events regarding the disappearance of Miss Perini Karigaon from your store some days hence. Master Karigaon's exchange with you was regrettable, but I trust such a discerning gentleman as yourself may look past any umbrage remaining to assist me in helping these poor unfortunates? Any details that you can remember might be immensely useful."
“Yes, Karigaon all but accused me of complicacy,” Avgrat said with another frown. “I wasn’t even in the shop that night so I can only relate what my store clerks and servants told.”
"The young woman was seen in the company of a nobleman, another patron of your store, perhaps? Do you know the identity of any men who were in her company?"
The clothier looked confused for pregnant moment and then replied slowly, as if struggling with something. “We get so many noblemen in my shop, do either of you have a description of the man in question?”
The Elf-elf watched Avgrat closely, looking thoughtful before speaking in a confident, soothing voice. "I am not certain if it is the same man, but I was in here last night and I encountered an older nobleman who went stalking after another young maiden. Listen, and picture my description in your mind. Concentrate on him and nothing else. This man had grey hair to his shoulders, and a grey beard. He wore a blue turban with a jeweled golden fob. The strange thing was he exuded charm - almost magical in nature. He was trying to convince the girl to try on a pair of elven slippers, the ones on display near the side door. When she suddenly left, he was visibly angry and went after her, like a big cat hunting its next meal. I had the feeling that this man is here often."
Cadrian will discretely cast a detect magic spell and canvas the sales floor, hoping to see some lingering aura of an enchantment that might explain Perini’s enthrallment. [Cast Detect Magic] Everything within thirty feet took on a slightly sharper appearance in Cadrian’s eyes. Lingering magic was everywhere, not unexpected considering the wealthy and powerful patronizing the shop. Avgrat himself glowed strongly. A ring on one finger, his vest, the fine gold necklace around his neck, but it was an aura clinging to the man that was most interesting. Rail Avgrat has had a moderately powerful enchantment placed upon him. The slight tint of red in the aura suggests that it was done so unwillingly. As his gaze took in Livvi’s, Cadrian could see that she wore nothing magical, nor was magically protected or appeared to be using magic at the moment, but from years of study of many different avenues of learning, it was clear that the Half-Elf was manipulating her voice in such a way as to encourage Avgrat to focus and listen to her words. It was similar to a number of Bardic schools that trained their students how to use words, facial and body posturing, and soothing tones in order to manipulate those around them.
Avgrat rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking truly fatigued, as if the effort to remember was very taxing. “I – I remember the blue turban, it’s from Exdr-droan, a city from the deep south. Not so rare, but uncommon. H – he’s been here before, I seem to remember.” The clothier paced, muttering slightly and shaking his head. “I am sorry, but I cannot remember any name having been given or asked for, which is strange. Yes, very strange” – Avgrat was talking more to himself at this point – “and I know most of the great houses, but there’s so many nobles” His eyes flicker towards Cadrian as a grimace creases his face. “I don’t remember ever seeing the girl before, either. She was asking one of the servants about a blouse. No, not the blouse, but the thread patterns. It was one of mine, yes, but made for one of the cities Houses of Healing. The Black Rose, I believe.”
Carian listened intently to the tailor's testimony. He frowned a bit. "The turban is unusual, is it? Did you perhaps sell it to him, and if so, there might be a bill of sale, yes? Or perhaps, one drawn up for something else this nobleman might have purchased?" He runs through his mental files for anything he knows of Exdroan (History roll 21). A small nation-state situated on the Pharsai river, south of the sea of grass. Exdroan was known for its spices, rare gemstones, and exotic luxuries. A journey of several months by sea and river, or most of a year by merchant caravan, Exdroan also has a dark reputation, a land dominated by Necromancy and other dark arts.
When Avgrat mentions the Black Rose, the young wizard nodded his head sagely as pieces began to fall into place.
“Wait, I don't recall selling a turban to anyone,” the clothier said after a long, thoughtful pause. “I cannot tell you the man in the blue turbans name, but I do remember the first time that he set foot in my shop. It was six five-days ago, he was accompanied by Lady Maigrinstaff. Melinia, I think, not her sister. I’m positive of that.” When he mentions Melinia, Cadrian glances over at the half-elf's face, looking for sparks of recognition or reactions but if there was any, she was very good at concealing them.
Livvi nods as Avgrat recalls what he can about the noble. "Yes, thank you for your time and assistance, Master Avgrat. As I am sure you are aware, the possible serial abductions of young ladies and merchants around the city is a delicate matter and one The Lion's Pride takes very seriously. Please keep your eyes and ears open for anything out of the usual or suspicious. And if you recall any other details about last night, this nobleman, or the Silversmith's daughter who apparently disappeared from your store several nights ago, please send word to me at the Sub-Minister's office."
The clothier nods, looking troubled.
"If that is all you can remember, my good sir, I thank you for your troubles,” Cadrian says, “You have my thanks and gratitude. I shall be back tomorrow to select a new garment for the Festival, and I shall be even further in your debt if you could offer me some of your expert advice on what suits me the best. Good day to you, Master Avgrat!" He then strides to the door to hold it open chivalrously for the bard. As she walks past, he whispers, "We need to compare notes, my dear. Fancy a drink and conversation?" He smiles invitingly, but far from lewdly.
"Yes, I think comparing notes would be most beneficial. I am Livvi, by the way," she says, shaking the young Lord's hand in the manner appropriate to the courts. "Circumstances precluded me properly introducing myself earlier. I have heard of the du Flynn's, of course, but have not had the pleasure of meeting any from your family. I must return to the Market to complete my assignment but wish to discuss this matter with you this afternoon. There is a small café there I find to be quite pleasant. It is called The Witch's Brew, and they serve a wonderful iced kafe. If you go there, look for the green-haired waitress, Nephele. She knows me and will ensure you get the good table. Meet me there in an hour or so?"
Cadrian smiles, releasing her hand and bowing. "My pleasure, Miss Livvi. I shall speak with you then." He allows her to walk away, watching as she departs (and, let's face it, enjoying the view; he's a young man). He follows her after a few minutes, wondering what her business might be, keeping a discrete distance.
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Mordecai's story continues...
As he begins to cut his hair, he comments to Lilita, "And Miss Lilita, I wouldn't be so quick to judge your posterior that way."
Lilita looked a bit dazed, then noticed Mordecai cutting himself and in a commanding voice, well at least for her she, snatches the dagger out of his hand, and commands, "SIT! If you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
She then gives the half-orc a shy look and whispers, "you are polite then, thank you... it is my understanding that males tend to prefer the more scantly and expensively dressed ladies. You may not be quick to judge me kind Ser but such as myself would prove a mere appetizer, not a full meal fit for a great warrior such as yourself. Men tend to grow weary quickly with one such as I... finding me rather boring, and well uninspiring," she says simply... blushing slightly.
Lilita blinks. After Mordecai cuts himself she gasps and says in a commanding voice as she snatches the dagger out of his hand, "SIT," she commands, "if you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
"I trust you with that blade fine enough, but I don't think we need to keep my hair so uneven.... Making my hair short all around should suffice for our ruse - and let's not start creating bald shots... Please," Mordecai halfheartedly comments, not wanting to break her concentration.
Lilita quickly goes to work first doing what she can to make him look like a leper/beggar then turns to shave him and cuts his hair but as part of the disguise and as discussed, applying bloodied/dirty (disguised) bandages, using his own blood from his new self-inflicted wound, to Mordecai‘s head and face to complete the look. Lastly, she binds his wounds and injuries using her Healer's Kit as best she is able and then finishing up the job he had started before cutting himself but allowing minor scratches and bruises to show even working to make appear all the worse, like puss covered sores.
Mordecai comments, "This should do the trick. Thank you."
After she finishes up, she turns to ask Elan and asks, "may do the same for you m'lord?" When there was no response Mordecai realized the archer had gone outside.
Lilita gave a small frown but moves on to cut Hadara's hair, etc. before giving him some herbs to try to wake him a bit so that the Mordecai can try to question him for any additional information, also handing him the bite bit to put on the patient (Hadara) once the questioning is done if it becomes necessary.
Tulip shook slightly than moved over to the door. A moment later there is some shouts coming from the street.
A patrol of City Guard – a rarity in this part of the quarter – was shouting at a dark figure who suddenly turned and ran across the street, disappearing into an alley. However, one guard lingers a moment, his head turning towards the Vardo for a long moment before rushing off to join his fellows.
Lilita turns to Mordecai, "the city watch is about, and they don't usually come here, well except for one young man, Amlack who keeps a special eye on me to protect me. He is a good friend and a good man... and a patient of my master. Please don't kill him or his fellows... if it comes to a confrontation... please let me try talking to them first and convince them you are lepers I am treating escorting to a colony, so don't speak or say a word." She pauses and wipes away tear in her eye.
"I'm not a cold-blooded killer, Miss," Mordecai replies quietly.
Take deep breath she continues, "know if you hurt them, I will do all my power to stabilize and not let anyone die. I don't know you well... but I suspect, I hope that deep down you are a man of honor and not one to wantonly butcher anyone under a Healer's care, as try to assist them. If you do such a horrid thing while I am doing my sacred duty... then know you may as well butcher me too because if you won't allow me to my duty then we are done... and I will no longer help or cooperate with you... and you take Hadara where you will without me!"
Mordecai says nothing, but disappointment is clearly showing on his face.
Lilita bows to the towering half-orc respectfully, "I am sorry if I have caused you pain with my words, I did not intend to be so harsh, but you are a warrior after all and warriors deal in death, please forgive me. I do sense that you are an honorable man, but even honorable men can... through circumstances be forced or find themselves doing dishonorable things." Lilita bows before him on her knees and kisses the inside of the palm of his right hand and looks up at him sadly and says, "were you not an honorable man then this hand would have struck me for such insolence... again I offer you my sincere apologies m'lord, I intended no disrespect or to question your honor but surely looking at me you can see why one such as I is somewhat wary of you... given your size and profession. I just have friends in the guard, and I worry for them."
Lilita looks Mord and says, "with the watch about we best not delay any further, whenever you are ready we should be off and take your friend Hadara where he needs to be and I will help you as best I can if you remain honorable, I swear upon Eldath Goddess of Peace and that after all is said and done, I will keep my mouth shut."
"No," replies Mordecai, "we leave closer to the dawn. For starters, the closer to the morning we leave, the more drunk the thugs out there will be - it should make it easier to avoid any serious confrontations. Also, those guards just swept this area, if you suddenly appear with us in tow, them having just spotted Erandal, it might arouse suspicions. And lastly, I still need to talk to this bugger."
Lilita gazes at Mordecai considering his words, "yes, of course, dawn it is then... that makes sense, that is we not found before or someone from the watch comes to visit in which I will do my best to turn them away without a search if possible and hope for the best with your disguises if they press the issue. In such matters, and of combat m'lord I will, of course, defer to your judgment as you experience in such things far exceeds my own, which I fear is non-existent so be warned if there is trouble I am not very proficient in the way so violence" so will sadly be of little help to you."
On the second beat of the word 'bugger' Mordecai reaches over to shake Hadara awake, then saying, "Alright, it's time you and I talk before we put you on Stax's ship to take you home - well, I assume. There are rumors that Stax's on friendly terms with your home city-state, but in the end, coin is his biggest sway."
“Gods but my head hurts,” groaned Hadara as he stood shakily. Leaning against an inner wall of the Vardo the man peered out the window toward the street. “Must ‘ave been one hell o’ a party.” His eyes were dilated and unfocused. “Gheez, Mardiat, told ‘ya we shouldn’t drink till after you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”
"Yes," replies Mordecai, "the party this evening nearly killed you."
Mordecai takes a bit of scroll he had in his pack and a small ink and quill set he kept with him for his bounty contracts. He begins to take down names, starting with "Mardiat."
“Why ya asking me? Yer knowin’ your own name, you muskrat of a Dwarf” – Hadra’s eyes blink as he sways forward to stare at Mordecai – “da party ain’t done you no good, either. You look like o’ diseased tark from Tariga.” There was a sound that could have been laughter or the prelude to a series bought of nausea.
"So, Hadara," Mordecai begins quietly, "what don't you tell me about the party tonight? I had lost track of you and want to know how it all went down for you. And did you know half this city's after you, why do you think that is?"
Leaning back, the man rubs the back of his hand on his mouth. “Why else? Tha whole place be full of paranoid spitscum, you know that. ‘course, our little scheme isn’ gonna change tha’, you can be sure o’ that. No sir, not at all…
And so, with Lilita listening, Mordecai questions Hadara through the rest of the night, hoping to learn something of importance before they make their dawn run to the docks....
At several points Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, the fugitive mentions the name Bilina who worked for some widow lady on the side while in the employment of one of the cities ministries, someone Hadara only referred to as ‘fuzzface’, insisting that if the bearded man had another name, he wasn’t aware of it, and Garse the Gaffer. Garse works for a baker who, Hadara had said, provides bread products to the palace when the palace kitchens are unable to meet the palace needs. Usually during large events, such as the approaching week of parties, balls, and the royal masquerade. Hadara didn’t confirm rather or not that Stax was at the heart of sedition in the city but did hint that the tavern owner had many ties at all levels of the city, and that as many or more of those loyal Tarantian’s tapped the man’s knowledge and resources for their internal politics.
“…and so tha’s how we end’n up stormblitzed,” Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, half leers at Lilita across the narrow space of the Vardo.
"You know, that drink got me brain addled,” he said to the fugitive, “I wanna make sure our bargain is struck perfect, tell me again what you wanted me to do for ya so that it's done perfect." Hadara snorts than begins retelling the tale as best his muddled brain allowed, “Bilina, who we think’s works for the widow lady on the side, is also in the employment of one of the cities ministries, not sure which cause I dinna’ want to ask, you know?” Hadara ran a shaky hand over his head, trying to focus his eyes as Mordecai follows up, "I don't remember this Bilina woman - what does she look like? And what's her part in the plan? Remember where that old lady lived?"
“She’s got raven-black hair, you’se remember? A figure tha’s worth ten platinum, easy. Old lady – “Hadara looked confused until the Half-Orc added, “Widow?”
Hadara coughed then winched in pain, one hand reaching for his back. “Gods tha’ hurts it does. Na’, never saw her place. The Widow calls on you, not tha other way ‘round.”
"What's Garse doing? In case I need to check in on him, seeing as you may be going home soon," Mordecai inquires.
“Proboly whorin’ an’ drink up tha’ bag of silver crowns I gave him,” Hadara nearly laughs again but catches himself. As if for the first time he notices Lilita and smirks. “Speakin’ of – “
Mordecai interrupts before the man can say something nasty to the healer girl, "Do you trust that Strax will get you safely out of the city? Or do you think his boat, the Winged Crow is a trap for us?"
“Strax? Who knows, eh?” Hadara rolled his shoulders slightly then frowned, his head turning towards the window where the sound of tramping feet echoed in the darkened street. “Mighty busy out there, eh? Don’t suppose they’re looking for us, eh, Mardiat?” Another confused frown creased the man’s eyebrows as he looks sideways at Mordecai, “You ain’t lookin’ so good, either. Kinda like you got the plague. All swollen a lumpy looking.”
"Right, this girl made us look like lepers because they are looking for us. You spoke out a little too much yesterday now they're hunting us. But we'll get to Strax's ship and get you home okay," Mordecai replies.
Hadara merely groans, hand reaching for the wound in his back again.
"I'll go look for Garse to make sure he isn't wasting the bag of silver you gave him - what is he supposed to do... Has to do with the baker and the parties and balls, right? I forget."
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yea, Garse is a bugger, no question,” mutters Hadara. He blinks and yawns, looking as if he’s about to pass out. “’e better do wha’ we paid him to do…tha’ ground glass won’t get into the gorse berry pie by itself.”
Not far away several roosters start to stir in the darkness. In the street beyond, a few poor slobs can be seen moving about, some heading off for a day of labor, others heading towards the temple food kitchens in hopes of getting there early enough for Dawnfest.
Mordecai will look to Lilita and say," Time to go - let's hope the thugs and guards about recognize you and leave us be."
Lilita wakes up sleepy-eyed and nods to the Half-Orc, "yes, alright, I am ready... let us be on our way then. Not everyone knows me, but this area has been my home for a long time, so the regular watch patrols and people around the general area will know me but the watch who patrol further afield may not know me on sight... but perhaps by reputation. I can make you no promises so we shall see. I pray we will find no violence waiting for us!"
"Okay, Hadara... Steady yourself and keep quiet - we have a ship to get you to," Mordecai instructs.
Checking them all and then putting on her spare pair shoes sadly in need of cobbler's touch, her eyes growing watery as she looks at them. Lilita grabs her cloak and a couple healer kits to go with them and strokes Tulip's pedals picks some berries and tells her, "I am going to leave now and help these men, I will lock up as I am leaving so please take care and guard our little home as best you can, I will see you when I return, stay safe."
Tulip’s branches reached out for Lilita, the bush moving closer, than waving two branches at the door.
Lilita whispers some suggestions, "keep your weapons hidden under your dirt covered cloak and rags and hunch a bit to appear shorter and drag a foot or something... always keep your eye downcast to your betters, you a leper, the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low as everyone will see you. That is what we want to see so no proud warrior looks or stares, save for the tavern tarts." She smiles and winks at him, "even as a leper, you a just way too handsome, let's hope there are no female watchwomen to swoon over you."
Mordecai slings his weapons low so that the cloaks and robes and tattered cloths he wears covers them. He keeps his handaxes and new dagger more easily accessible along his belt just covered by the outer cloak. He applies some dirt to the dagger so that it's shine doesn't stand out in the small hours of the morning before dawn. As suggested, he keeps the hood of his cloak up, and his head down - but his eyes stay up keeping aware the best he can of his surroundings.
He chuckles at her last comment, "Thank you for the compliment, Miss, but no one in the watch will be interested in me lest they find out my role last night at the tavern. Then, their interest will be too great."
He slowly moves behind Lilita supporting Hadara as he goes and feigning a limp as he does.
The street is clear for the moment and there was no sign of the archer since he’d gone out in the middle of the night. There was no knowing if the shadow being pursued by the City Guard was Erandal, either. They had a bit of walking to do, to get Hadara to the docks before the morning tide went against the shipping in the bay, plus there was the Seward Gate to get through to reach the Dock Quarter.
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Lilita's story continues...
Mordecai pulls out a very fine-looking dagger. Upon the first careful scrap of the dagger Mord nearly slices off a hunk of skin.
Lilita lost a daze considering Hadara's ramblings comes out of it quickly relays her thoughts to both men. After Mordecai cuts himself and in a commanding voice, well at least for her she snatches the dagger out of his hand, "SIT," she commands, "if you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
As she works, the Half-Orc comments, "And Miss Lilita, I wouldn't be so quick to judge your posterior that way."
Lilita gives the half-orc a shy look and whispers, "you are polite then, thank you... it is my understanding that males tend to prefer the more scantly and expensively dressed ladies. You may not be quick to judge me kind Ser but such as myself would prove a mere appetizer, not a full meal fit for a great warrior such as yourself. Men tend to grow weary quickly with one such as I... finding me rather boring, and well uninspiring," she says simply... blushing slightly, not understanding why males seem to take notice of her attributes, with her overly large nose, short dead-white hair, pale skin and dressed in frumpy second cloths decades out of style is beyond her understanding in comparison to the grand exotic ladies that roam about!
Lilita lost a daze considering Hadara's ramblings comes out of it quickly relays her thoughts to both men. After Mordecai cuts himself and in a commanding voice, well at least for her she snatches the dagger out of his hand, "SIT," she commands, "if you keep that you are going to cut your nose off which help you disguise but... please sit down so I reach and I will finish the job for you and shape it like beggar with bald patches, etc. with long strands hanging here and there to help with your disguise so I am going to butcher your hair just a bit... I fear... but at least I won't cut you, I hope. The healer's guild also provides us with training as barbers you know, so I hope you will trust me with a blade at your throat?"
"I trust you with that blade fine enough, but I don't think we need to keep my hair so uneven.... Making my hair short all around should suffice for our ruse - and let's not start creating bald shots... Please," Mordecai halfheartedly comments, not wanting to break her concentration.
She then quickly goes to work first doing what she can to make him look like a leper/beggar then turns to shave him and cuts his hair but as part of the disguise Sleight of Hand 10, as discussed also applying bloodied/dirty (disguised) bandages (using his own blood from his new self-inflicted wound) to Mordecai‘s head and face to complete the look. Lastly, she binds Mordecais wounds and injuries using her Healer's Kit 7 HP back as best she is able and then finishing up the job he had started before cutting himself but allowing minor scratches and bruises to show even working to make appear all the worse, like puss covered sores.
Mordecai comments, "This should do the trick. Thank you."
After she finishes up, she turns to ask Elan a question to find that the man had gone outside a few moments before. She moves on to cut Hadara's hair, etc. Sleight of Hand 9, then gives him some herbs Herbalism 20 to try to wake him a bit so that the Mordecai can try to question him for any additional information, also handing him the bite bit to put on the patient (Hadara) once the questioning is done if it becomes necessary.
After she finishes Mordecai up, she turns to ask Elan and asks, "may do the same for you m'lord?" When there was no response Mordecai realized the archer had gone outside.
Tulip shook slightly than moved over to the door. A moment later there is some shouts coming from the street.
A patrol of City Guard – a rarity in this part of the quarter – was shouting at a dark figure who suddenly turned and ran across the street, disappearing into an alley. However, one guard lingers a moment, his head turning towards the Vardo for a long moment before rushing off to join his fellows.
Lilita thinking that she recognizes the watch guards and who the one guard (thinking it may be Amlack) lingering and looking her way she sighs not wanting any harm to come them turns to Mordecai, "the city watch is about and they don't usually come here, well except for one young man, Amlack who keeps a special eye on me to protect me. He is a good friend and a good man... and a patient of my master. Please don't kill him or his fellows... if it comes to a confrontation... please let me try talking to them first and convince them you are lepers I am treating escorting to a colony, so don't speak or say a word." She pauses and wipes away tear in her eye, feeling a bit worried and emotional at how serious this all becoming to someone like her.
"I'm not a cold-blooded killer, Miss," Mordecai replies quietly.
Take deep breath she continues, "know if you hurt them, I will do all my power to stabilize and not let anyone die. I don't know you well... but I suspect, I hope that deep down you are a man of honor and not one to wantonly butcher anyone under a Healer's care, as try to assist them. If you do such a horrid thing while I am doing my sacred duty... then know you may as well butcher me too because if you won't allow me to my duty then we are done... and I will no longer help or cooperate with you... and you take Hadara where you will without me!"
Mordecai says nothing, but disappointment is clearly showing on his face.
Lilita bows to the towering half-orc respectfully, "I am sorry if I have caused you pain with my words, I did not intend to be so harsh, but you are a warrior after all and warriors deal in death, please forgive me. I do sense that you are an honorable man, but even honorable men can... through circumstances be forced or find themselves doing dishonorable things." Lilita bows before him on her knees and kisses the inside of the palm of his right hand and looks up at him sadly and says, "were you not an honorable man then this hand would have struck me for such insolence... again I offer you my sincere apologies m'lord, I intended no disrespect or to question your honor but surely looking at me you can see why one such as I is somewhat wary of you... given your size and profession. I just have friends in the guard, and I worry for them."
Double checking them all and then putting on her spare pair shoes sadly in need of cobbler's touch almost wanting to cry looking them, it took so long to save up for the new pair she left behind at the clothes shop, but it could not be helped. Turning to Tulip as she lets Mord mull over her words to him, Lilita grabs her cloak and a couple healer kits to go with them and strokes Tulip's pedals picks some berries and tells her,
Lilita looks Mord and says, "with the watch about we best not delay any further, whenever you are ready we should be off and take your friend Hadara where he needs to be and I will help you as best I can if you remain honorable, I swear upon Eldath Goddess of Peace and that after all is said and done, I will keep my mouth shut."
"No," replies Mordecai, "we leave closer to the dawn. For starters, the closer to the morning we leave, the more drunk the thugs out there will be - it should make it easier to avoid any serious confrontations. Also, those guards just swept this area, if you suddenly appear with us in tow, them having just spotted Erandal, it might arouse suspicions. And lastly, I still need to talk to this bugger."
Lilita gazes at Mordecai considering his words, "yes, of course, dawn it is then... that makes sense, that is we not found before or someone from the watch comes to visit in which I will do my best to turn them away without a search if possible and hope for the best with your disguises if they press the issue. In such matters, and of combat m'lord I will, of course, defer to your judgment as you experience in such things far exceeds my own, which I fear is non-existent so be warned if there is trouble I am not very proficient in the way so violence" so will sadly be of little help to you."
On the second beat of the word 'bugger' Mordecai reaches over to shake Hadara awake, then saying, "Alright, it's time you and I talk before we put you on Stax's ship to take you home - well, I assume. There are rumors that Stax's on friendly terms with your home city-state, but in the end, coin is his biggest sway."
“Gods but my head hurts,” groaned Hadara as he stood shakily. Leaning against an inner wall of the Vardo the man peered out the window toward the street. “Must ‘ave been one hell o’ a party.” His eyes were dilated and unfocused. “Gheez, Mardiat, told ‘ya we shouldn’t drink till after you’ve held up your end of the bargain.”
"Yes," replies Mordecai, "the party this evening nearly killed you."
Mordecai takes a bit of scroll he had in his pack and a small ink and quill set he kept with him for his bounty contracts. He begins to take down names, starting with "Mardiat."
“Why ya asking me? Yer knowin’ your own name, you muskrat of a Dwarf” – Hadra’s eyes blink as he sways forward to stare at Mordecai – “da party ain’t done you no good, either. You look like o’ diseased tark from Tariga.” There was a sound that could have been laughter or the prelude to a series bought of nausea.
"So, Hadara," Mordecai begins quietly, "what don't you tell me about the party tonight? I had lost track of you and want to know how it all went down for you. And did you know half this city's after you, why do you think that is?"
Leaning back, the man rubs the back of his hand on his mouth. “Why else? Tha whole place be full of paranoid spitscum, you know that. ‘course, our little scheme isn’ gonna change tha’, you can be sure o’ that. No sir, not at all…
And so, with Lilita listening, Mordecai questions Hadara through the rest of the night, hoping to learn something of importance before they make their dawn run to the docks....
At several points Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, the fugitive mentions the name Bilina who worked for some widow lady on the side while in the employment of one of the cities ministries, someone Hadara only referred to as ‘fuzzface’, insisting that if the bearded man had another name, he wasn’t aware of it, and Garse the Gaffer. Garse works for a baker who, Hadara had said, provides bread products to the palace when the palace kitchens are unable to meet the palace needs. Usually during large events, such as the approaching week of parties, balls, and the royal masquerade. Hadara didn’t confirm rather or not that Stax was at the heart of sedition in the city but did hint that the tavern owner had many ties at all levels of the city, and that as many or more of those loyal Tarantian’s tapped the man’s knowledge and resources for their internal politics.
“…and so tha’s how we end’n up stormblitzed,” Hadara nearly passes out again but between bout’s coughing and grimaces of pain, half leers at Lilita across the narrow space of the Vardo.
"You know, that drink got me brain addled,” he said to the fugitive, “I wanna make sure our bargain is struck perfect, tell me again what you wanted me to do for ya so that it's done perfect." Hadara snorts than begins retelling the tale as best his muddled brain allowed, “Bilina, who we think’s works for the widow lady on the side, is also in the employment of one of the cities ministries, not sure which cause I dinna’ want to ask, you know?” Hadara ran a shaky hand over his head, trying to focus his eyes as Mordecai follows up, "I don't remember this Bilina woman - what does she look like? And what's her part in the plan? Remember where that old lady lived?"
“She’s got raven-black hair, you’se remember? A figure tha’s worth ten platinum, easy. Old lady – “Hadara looked confused until the Half-Orc added, “Widow?”
Hadara coughed then winces in pain, one hand reaching for his back. “Gods tha’ hurts it does. Na’, never saw her place. The Widow calls on you, not tha other way ‘round.”
"What's Garse doing? In case I need to check in on him, seeing as you may be going home soon," Mordecai inquires.
“Proboly whorin’ an’ drink up tha’ bag of silver crowns I gave him,” Hadara nearly laughs again but catches himself. As if for the first time he notices Lilita and smirks. “Speakin’ of – Mordecai interrupts before the man can say something nasty to the healer girl, "Do you trust that Strax will get you safely out of the city? Or do you think his boat, the Winged Crow is a trap for us?"
“Strax? Who knows, eh?” Hadara rolled his shoulders slightly then frowned, his head turning towards the window where the sound of tramping feet echoed in the darkened street. “Mighty busy out there, eh? Don’t suppose they’re looking for us, eh, Mardiat?” Another confused frown creased the man’s eyebrows as he looks sideways at Mordecai, “You ain’t lookin’ so good, either. Kinda like you got the plague. All swollen a lumpy looking.”
"Right, this girl made us look like lepers because they are looking for us. You spoke out a little too much yesterday now they're hunting us. But we'll get to Strax's ship and get you home okay," Mordecai replies.
Hadara merely groans, hand reaching for the wound in his back again.
"I'll go look for Garse to make sure he isn't wasting the bag of silver you gave him - what is he supposed to do... Has to do with the baker and the parties and balls, right? I forget."
“Huh? Oh, yeah, yea, Garse is a bugger, no question,” mutters Hadara. He blinks and yawns, looking as if he’s about to pass out. “’e better do wha’ we paid him to do…tha’ ground glass won’t get into the gorse berry pie by itself.”
Not far away several roosters start to stir in the darkness. In the street beyond, a few poor slobs can be seen moving about, some heading off for a day of labor, others heading towards the temple food kitchens in hopes of getting there early enough for Dawnfest.
Mordecai will look to Lilita and say," Time to go - let's hope the thugs and guards about recognize you and leave us be."
Lilita getting a little rest wearing her shoes and wrapped up in her cheap cloak wakes up sleepy-eyed and nods to the Half-Orc, "yes, alright, I am ready... let us be on our way then. Not everyone knows me, but this area has been my home for a long time, so the regular watch patrols and people around the general area will know me but the watch who patrol further afield may not know me on sight... but perhaps by reputation. I can make you no promises so we shall see. I pray we will find no violence waiting for us!"
"Okay, Hadara... Steady yourself and keep quiet - we have a ship to get you to," Mordecai instructs.
Double checking them all and then putting on her spare pair shoes sadly in need of cobbler's touch, her eyes growing watery as she looks at them. Lilita grabs her cloak and a couple healer kits to go with them and strokes Tulip's pedals picks some berries and tells her, "I am going to leave now and help these men, I will lock up as I am leaving so please take care and guard our little home as best you can, I will see you when I return, stay safe."
Tulip’s branches reached out for Lilita, the bush moving closer, than waving two branches at the door.
Lilita makes sure Mordecai stays in character with his disguise offering suggestions whispering, "keep your weapons hidden under your dirt covered cloak and rags and hunch a bit to appear shorter and drag a foot or something... always keep your eye downcast to your betters, you a leper, the scum of the earth, the lowest of the low as everyone will see you. That is what we want to see so no proud warrior looks or stares, save for the tavern tarts." She smiles and winks at him, "even as a leper, you a just way too handsome, let's hope there are no female watchwomen to swoon over you."
Mordecai slings his weapons low so that the cloaks and robes and tattered cloths he wears covers them. He keeps his handaxes and new dagger more easily accessible along his belt just covered by the outer cloak. He applies some dirt to the dagger so that it's shine doesn't stand out in the small hours of the morning before dawn. As suggested, he keeps the hood of his cloak up, and his head down - but his eyes stay up keeping aware the best he can of his surroundings.
He chuckles at her last comment, "Thank you for the compliment, Miss, but no one in the watch will be interested in me lest they find out my role last night at the tavern. Then, their interest will be too great."
He slowly moves behind Lilita supporting Hadara as he goes and feigning a limp as he does.
They will travel on slowly trusting their cover and disguises and hoping the healer will be recognized and handle the talking with the guards at the gate...
The street is clear for the moment and there was no sign of the archer since he’d gone out in the middle of the night. There was no knowing if the shadow being pursued by the City Guard was Erandal, either. They had a bit of walking to do, to get Hadara to the docks before the morning tide went against the shipping in the bay, plus there was the Seward Gate to get through to reach the Dock Quarter.
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