"Can you tell us more, Knight Burral? What exactly is this task? Where would we be required to go? And why is it something the Black Fist cannot undertake?"
“When you say it cannot be easily accomplished by the Black Fist, do you mean for reasons of jurisdiction … subtlety … or deniability?”
Aleyd Burral shakes her head sternly at the questions. "I cannot say more until you all agree to the offer. Or until those of you who do not agree leave," she says. Her gaze passes over Auriel, Hildigrim, and Hex after hearing Carl's agreement. "It is a matter of importance to me, and one that I do not wish to meet any ears that I am not on the same page with."
Hildigrim pushes his round spectacles a little higher on his narrow nose. He has no reason to believe the Black Fist's request would break the Harper Code — therefore, he can't see any reason to exclude himself. He smiles at Aleyd and nods his head. "I agree," he says simply.
Auriel frowns ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Aleyd's.
He takes a moment to consider her words before saying, "I agree—so long as the task does not conflict with that which I represent."
The Eladrin's gaze drops meaningfully to the holy symbol resting against his chest: a pair of scales balanced atop a warhammer. The design differs slightly from those worn by most paladins of Tyr, but it is still a recognizable emblem of the god of Justice.
"I trust you understand that this, too, is a matter of importance to me."
Carl raises his mug, saying "Aye, I agree." Then he goes back to his apple pie, listening, and if you looked really close, the top of his ears twitching.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Knight Aleyd takes a deep, steadying breath, looking around once more to ensure that she is alone in the common room with the party.
"I've been concerned for a while by rumors of corruption among the Black Fists. I am desperate to do something about it, but first I need tangible proof that I can present to Lord Regent Ector Brahms. He is an honorable man, and as Knight Commander of the Black Fists, I am confident that he will act decisively as long as I can gather sufficient proof," she begins.
"I've tried, before, and failed. I'd heard rumors of a secret prison where rogue members of the Black Fists were torturing and murdering prisoners instead of remanding them to the normal prison system, either for their own enjoyment or perhaps to satisfy personal vendettas. I searched for a long time, and eventually located the place beneath the ruins of the Lyceum of the Black Lord, but there was nothing there to substantiate my suspicions. If anything was there, it had long since been cleared out."
She pauses, letting her introductory context sink in.
Auriel listens in silence as Aleyd speaks, the fingers of one hand absently brushing the edge of Tyr's symbol. His expression remains unreadable, save for a tightening at the corners of his eyes when she speaks of torture and secret prisons.
There is a brief moment in which he sees himself as if from a distance—a version of himself who would have reacted more viscerally to her words. Torture. Murder. For enjoyment. For revenge. That other self would have grieved for the victims first, whether they were criminals or not.
But the Eladrin he is now thinks first of the perpetrators. What drives someone to such cruelty? Where does the chain of guilt begin—and where does it end? Do their superiors turn a blind eye, or do they participate? Either way, it must be stopped. And if there is a way to prevent more victims, it is to sever the rot at its root.
Auriel stops brushing the holy symbol. He lowers his hands to the table, the backs faintly lined with Winter's blue. His voice, when he speaks, is cold and precise.
"The Lyceum of the Black Lord. I'm not familiar with that place. Where is it, exactly?"
OOC: Oh yeah! Wow, that was a while back — right before the pandemic started. Crazy!
Hildigrim scowls at Aleyd’s words, his brows knitting beneath the rim of his spectacles. The Black Fist — Phlan’s lawkeepers, its supposed bulwark of justice — harboring dark secrets within their sanctified halls? There is, in his view, nothing more dangerous than an institution meant for good rotting from within.
He draws a steady breath through his nose, willing down the bloom of indignation in his chest. Emotion clouded judgment, and he could not afford that — not here, not now. He pushes it down, retreats inward to the familiar anchor of logic, and re-engages through intellect.
When Auriel raises the question of the Lyceum of the Black Lord, Hildigrim narrows his eyes in thought. The name rings no precise bell. Still, the epithet “Black Lord” leaves little room for doubt. Almost certainly a temple — or worse, a fortress — dedicated to Bane. If so, it stands to reason that fanatics might gather beneath it to engage in cruelty.
He tamps down his general disdain for organized religion — especially of the tyrannical variety — and raises his voice, calm but edged with scholarly scrutiny.
“How do you know the rumors are true?” he asks. “By your own admission, your first investigation yielded nothing.” He taps his ink-stained fingers lightly on the table’s surface in thought. “Have you discussed this with anyone else inside the Black Fist? Or — if I may be frank — from whom are you hearing these rumors?”
His gaze sharpens, not out of hostility, but clarity. “The integrity of your source matters, Knight Burral. As does your isolation in this pursuit.”
Hex frowns as Aleyd talks about the prison, not because of its disturbing nature but because she feels like she's heard about the place before. It takes her a few moments of digging deep into her mind before it all clicks. "Ah, wait! I think I remember this. Zelra. She was a... friend of mine. And of Sylyra as well, actually. They worked together before I joined the group. She told me a bit about some of the jobs she had done before she left town. One involved a gnome girl who was kidnapped and taken to a secret prison."
She leans back into her seat and crosses her arms. "It's weird though... I don't remember all the details but I definitely remember that they reported the prison to the Black Fist. The Order of the Gauntlet was involved as well, I think. There's no way you wouldn't know more about this. It should be more than a rumor. There should've been a whole investigation into this place."
Carl stops eating and sets his fork down. He looks in puzzlement, meeting Auriel’s eyes. “Black Lord…” he says, trailing off. “Yes, I have no idea about this, where it is.. can you tell us more?” He keeps his voice low. Squirt keeps scrubbing and cleaning in the background. Carl looks around the room to make sure no one else is listening to their discussion.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
"The Lyceum of the Black Lord. I'm not familiar with that place. Where is it, exactly?"
“Black Lord…” he says, trailing off. “Yes, I have no idea about this, where it is.. can you tell us more?”
"Ruins of the Lyceum of the Black Lord," Aleyd corrects Auriel. "It was once a temple to Bane in the Nobles' Quarter, but it's fallen to ruin since followers of Bane were outlawed many, many years ago."
“How do you know the rumors are true?”he asks.“By your own admission, your first investigation yielded nothing.”He taps his ink-stained fingers lightly on the table’s surface in thought.“Have you discussed this with anyone else inside the Black Fist? Or — if I may be frank — from whom are you hearing these rumors?”
"It's weird though... I don't remember all the details but I definitely remember that they reported the prison to the Black Fist. The Order of the Gauntlet was involved as well, I think. There's no way you wouldn't know more about this. It should be more than a rumor. There should've been a whole investigation into this place."
Aleyd's face grows bright red, though whether it is anger or embarrassment, or perhaps a mixture of the two, is unclear. "That report never made it to my desk, if it in fact existed," she says. "The rot grows deep, I fear, and intersects with your particular area of concern."
She directs her next words to Hex. "It is my understanding that you were part of the group that tracked down and slayed the dragon cultist known as Spernik, who stole from Mantor's Library and fled into the Temple of the Scale. What I am about to tell you is closely guarded information," she says.
"Your concerns about the Cult of the Dragon have not gone unheard. We recovered Spernik's body, and enlisted the aid of a powerful cleric from Mulmaster while he was in our town." She pauses to let the weight of her next sentence sink in. "Spernik was resurrected. This kind of divine magic is known to only a few of great power, and does not come cheaply."
"Spernik has been thoroughly interrogated and is soon to be tried for robbing the Library of Mantor. However...I am concerned. His trial has taken far too long to complete, and he has been permitted an unusual number of visitors. Some that have met with him have even brought him gifts, something that should not be possible."
Hex nods along as Aleyd brings up Spernik. She still remembers the disappointment she felt when they failed to keep him alive. When the knight reveals he was resurrected, she almost jumps out of her seat with a look of bewilderment. "What!? Why would you... for Spernik?? I mean... I guess he could've had some info on the Cult but to go so far as to bring him back from the dead..." She slumps back into her seat and scratches the back of her head. "Damn... well now I feel even worse that we failed to keep him alive. A spell like that... I can only imagine how expensive it was."
As Aleyd continues to explains her suspicions, Hex chews at her bottom lip. "Looks like things are starting to come to a head. Is his trial what you want us to look into?"
Auriel listens quietly, trying to follow the thread of a conversation rooted in events that took place long before he joined the group. Events involving people he's never met, with the exception of a single name. Still, Hex's explanation fills in enough of the gaps.
"I hope whatever Spernik told during his interrogation was worth it," he says at last. "Because I fail to understand what long-term good can come from bringing back a servant of the Cult of the Dragon."
The paladin looks to Aleyd, then to Hex, watching the Tiefling's reaction to the news that an old enemy has returned. And not through dark magic or strange chance, but by the decision of Phlan's own lawkeepers.
"It's not the cost of the spell that I found troubling.It's who that price was paid for. A cultist. A fanatic. Resurrected while better souls lie dead."
Auriel shakes his head, disbelief showing behind his otherwise controlled expression. He doesn't even flinch at the mention of Bane—the god of tyranny and fear, the antithesis of the god whom the paladin has sworn his oath.
Carl has a dark look come over his face as he hears the story about Spernik. His eyes go wide as he hears of the resurrection for the purposes of interrogation. “Trial is taking too long, and many visitors… what do you suspect? An attempt to free him? And the gifts … of what manner, and for what purpose? I agree with Hex, it sounds like things are coming to a head. Something is about to happen…” Carl is intrigued by hearing these events, looking to Hex who has direct knowledge of them. He pushes the last little bit of his pie away, appetite affected by this news. Carl says, “So, what is our next step?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Hildigrim folds his arms tightly, the parchment-thin skin around his knuckles whitening as he grips his sleeves.
A prison scrubbed clean. A cultist resurrected. Visitors bearing gifts. Whispers of corruption inside the Black Fist itself … He narrows his eyes, more thoughtful than accusatory.
While not as thorough as he would have liked, Olisara Lightsong had briefed him on Watcher Sylyra Wasathi’s reports upon his arrival in Phlan. These names and events had been mentioned, yes — but his orders had pointed him toward the Cult of the Dragon outside of Phlan, not the Black Fist.
Now, it almost seems he’s been barking up the wrong tree.
The Harpers are sworn to root out tyranny — especially when it festers inside institutions of power. And this, this is starting to smell like tyranny wearing the mask of law.
He leans forward, voice low but precise. “You say you interrogated Spernik. What did he say? Did he offer names, locations — anything that might connect the Cult to this rot inside your own ranks?”
His fingers tap once on the tabletop. “And these visitors — who authorized them? Nobles? Black Fists? Clergy? Or were they perhaps operating under forged credentials and polite indifference?”
He glances at his companions before fixing his gaze back on Aleyd. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like someone is protecting him. Someone with power. And they’ve had time to bury every trace of your last attempt.”
"Looks like things are starting to come to a head. Is his trial what you want us to look into?"
"Not his trial, no. It is clear to me that there is some sort of bribery going on at Stojanow Gate, but I do not have the time or the resources to prove it. It could simply be that someone is simply trading favors for information. That is legal, but outright bribery is not, and I would know which it is that we are dealing with," Aleyd answers.
“Trial is taking too long, and many visitors… what do you suspect? An attempt to free him? And the gifts … of what manner, and for what purpose? I agree with Hex, it sounds like things are coming to a head. Something is about to happen…”
“You say you interrogated Spernik. What did he say? Did he offer names, locations — anything that might connect the Cult to this rot inside your own ranks?”
“And these visitors — who authorized them? Nobles? Black Fists? Clergy? Or were they perhaps operating under forged credentials and polite indifference?”
"All great questions, all to which I do not know the answers. I've not been involved in the interrogation myself, and am only witnessing it from afar. I would like to know the answer to all of that, which is why I come to you today with all of the funding I can provide." Aleyd answers. To accentuate her point, she unclasps a pouch from her belt and drops it onto the table, a few of the two hundred gold pieces within spilling out with a rattle.
“So, what is our next step?”
"Look into the rumors, find any evidence of corruption, and gather the proof I need, if it exists at all. Go wherever the investigation might take you, but I would steer clear of Stojanow Gate today. Security has been unusually tight today, which is typical of important occurrences. I know not what event is causing it, but it will likely clear up on the morrow," comes Aleyd's response.
She clears her throat and pauses before continuing. "As much as I find it distasteful, this investigation is not sanctioned by the Black Fist. There is little I can do to protect you if you break any laws or otherwise run afoul of the less than scrupulous members that we speak of," she warns.
"You say we shouldn't visit Stojanow Gate today," Hildigrim says, eyes sharp behind his spectacles. "But there are still plenty of stones in Phlan left unturned — and more than a few under which your fellow Black Fists tend to crawl, march or drink."
He raises an ink-stained hand, fingers twitching with energy, and begins ticking them off as though reviewing an inventory of suspects.
"First, here — the Laughing Goblin," he says, tapping his index finger. “I've seen off-duty Fists drink enough ale here to drown a lesser man’s secrets. The louder ones forget they’re not in uniform. The quieter ones are worse — they listen.”
His middle finger joins the count. “Then there’s the Cracked Crown. A little more polished, a little more gold on the plates. I’ve seen officers meet there with well-dressed types who don’t belong in the Quarter — and they always leave separately. Curious.”
He flicks up the next finger. “Podol Plaza — chaos wrapped in commerce. Black Fists stroll through like gods in a pantheon, but watch closely and you'll see who's shaking hands ... and who’s being shaken down.”
Fourth finger. “The Bathhouse District. Now, that’s a place where uniforms come off, conversations flow, and no one thinks they’re being watched. But someone always is.” He smiles faintly.
Finally, he grabs his thumb. “And while we’ve been warned off Stojanow Gate — and, by proxy, Valjevo Castle — I’d still wager a quiet watch outside would prove fruitful. If something is happening there today, the comings and goings may speak louder than any confession.”
He lets his hand drop and leans back, the faintest creak coming from his leathers.
His mind is still spinning through possible leads when 50 gold is pushed toward him. At first, he blinks, as if the gesture doesn't register. Then a smile curls across his lips, slow and wry.
“Ah. I forgot the part where we’re being paid to do what we’d be doing anyway.”
With practiced ease, he scoops the gold into his purse and pats it once — not greedily, but appreciatively — before glancing to his companions with an arched brow.
Auriel pockets the gold with a brief nod to Aleyd. Then, folding his arms, he considers Hildigrim's suggestions.
"We can start with what's closest. The Goblin first—no uniforms to peel off, no gold to chase, just loose tongues and heavy mugs. If the Fists are leaking anything, it might drip here first." He glances toward the door. "Podol Plaza might be a good next step. The more people, the more chances we spot something unusual." He pauses briefly. "And I agree—a quiet watch around the Sojanow Gate and Valjevo Castle could prove useful."
The paladin waits to see what the others think of Hildigrim's plan. Then, as if recalling something, he reaches into his pocket and produces a small bottle, offering it to the Halfling. "Keep this. We should all have something to heal the rest. I have that part covered."
Hex is surprised when Aleyd drops the bag of gold onto the table, not expecting up front payment. It would seem the knight was a lot more desperate than she initially thought. She leans forward to take her part of the gold before falling back into her seat. She barely gets a word out, just about to ask Aleyd a question, when Hildigrim suddenly lists off a barrage of potential leads. She's sits with her mouth slightly agape, momentarily stunned at the speed the halfling's mind moves. She barely even has half a potential lead in her head and yet there he is, listing off five fully formed ideas.
She eventually snaps her mouth shut and clears her throat, taking a moment to ponder all their choices. "Hmm... well, considering whatever's happening at Stojanow Gate is only happening today, it couldn't hurt to just have a little peek from afar, right?" She pauses to give Aleyd a curious glance. "Unless you have a suggestion of where to start first, Knight Aleyd?"
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Aleyd Burral shakes her head sternly at the questions. "I cannot say more until you all agree to the offer. Or until those of you who do not agree leave," she says. Her gaze passes over Auriel, Hildigrim, and Hex after hearing Carl's agreement. "It is a matter of importance to me, and one that I do not wish to meet any ears that I am not on the same page with."
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Hildigrim pushes his round spectacles a little higher on his narrow nose. He has no reason to believe the Black Fist's request would break the Harper Code — therefore, he can't see any reason to exclude himself. He smiles at Aleyd and nods his head. "I agree," he says simply.
Auriel frowns ever so slightly, his eyes fixed on Aleyd's.
He takes a moment to consider her words before saying, "I agree—so long as the task does not conflict with that which I represent."
The Eladrin's gaze drops meaningfully to the holy symbol resting against his chest: a pair of scales balanced atop a warhammer. The design differs slightly from those worn by most paladins of Tyr, but it is still a recognizable emblem of the god of Justice.
"I trust you understand that this, too, is a matter of importance to me."
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Hex nods. "I agree as well."
Carl raises his mug, saying "Aye, I agree." Then he goes back to his apple pie, listening, and if you looked really close, the top of his ears twitching.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Knight Aleyd takes a deep, steadying breath, looking around once more to ensure that she is alone in the common room with the party.
"I've been concerned for a while by rumors of corruption among the Black Fists. I am desperate to do something about it, but first I need tangible proof that I can present to Lord Regent Ector Brahms. He is an honorable man, and as Knight Commander of the Black Fists, I am confident that he will act decisively as long as I can gather sufficient proof," she begins.
"I've tried, before, and failed. I'd heard rumors of a secret prison where rogue members of the Black Fists were torturing and murdering prisoners instead of remanding them to the normal prison system, either for their own enjoyment or perhaps to satisfy personal vendettas. I searched for a long time, and eventually located the place beneath the ruins of the Lyceum of the Black Lord, but there was nothing there to substantiate my suspicions. If anything was there, it had long since been cleared out."
She pauses, letting her introductory context sink in.
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Auriel listens in silence as Aleyd speaks, the fingers of one hand absently brushing the edge of Tyr's symbol. His expression remains unreadable, save for a tightening at the corners of his eyes when she speaks of torture and secret prisons.
There is a brief moment in which he sees himself as if from a distance—a version of himself who would have reacted more viscerally to her words. Torture. Murder. For enjoyment. For revenge. That other self would have grieved for the victims first, whether they were criminals or not.
But the Eladrin he is now thinks first of the perpetrators. What drives someone to such cruelty? Where does the chain of guilt begin—and where does it end? Do their superiors turn a blind eye, or do they participate? Either way, it must be stopped. And if there is a way to prevent more victims, it is to sever the rot at its root.
Auriel stops brushing the holy symbol. He lowers his hands to the table, the backs faintly lined with Winter's blue. His voice, when he speaks, is cold and precise.
"The Lyceum of the Black Lord. I'm not familiar with that place. Where is it, exactly?"
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
OOC: Oh yeah! Wow, that was a while back — right before the pandemic started. Crazy!
Hildigrim scowls at Aleyd’s words, his brows knitting beneath the rim of his spectacles. The Black Fist — Phlan’s lawkeepers, its supposed bulwark of justice — harboring dark secrets within their sanctified halls? There is, in his view, nothing more dangerous than an institution meant for good rotting from within.
He draws a steady breath through his nose, willing down the bloom of indignation in his chest. Emotion clouded judgment, and he could not afford that — not here, not now. He pushes it down, retreats inward to the familiar anchor of logic, and re-engages through intellect.
When Auriel raises the question of the Lyceum of the Black Lord, Hildigrim narrows his eyes in thought. The name rings no precise bell. Still, the epithet “Black Lord” leaves little room for doubt. Almost certainly a temple — or worse, a fortress — dedicated to Bane. If so, it stands to reason that fanatics might gather beneath it to engage in cruelty.
He tamps down his general disdain for organized religion — especially of the tyrannical variety — and raises his voice, calm but edged with scholarly scrutiny.
“How do you know the rumors are true?” he asks. “By your own admission, your first investigation yielded nothing.” He taps his ink-stained fingers lightly on the table’s surface in thought. “Have you discussed this with anyone else inside the Black Fist? Or — if I may be frank — from whom are you hearing these rumors?”
His gaze sharpens, not out of hostility, but clarity. “The integrity of your source matters, Knight Burral. As does your isolation in this pursuit.”
Hex frowns as Aleyd talks about the prison, not because of its disturbing nature but because she feels like she's heard about the place before. It takes her a few moments of digging deep into her mind before it all clicks. "Ah, wait! I think I remember this. Zelra. She was a... friend of mine. And of Sylyra as well, actually. They worked together before I joined the group. She told me a bit about some of the jobs she had done before she left town. One involved a gnome girl who was kidnapped and taken to a secret prison."
She leans back into her seat and crosses her arms. "It's weird though... I don't remember all the details but I definitely remember that they reported the prison to the Black Fist. The Order of the Gauntlet was involved as well, I think. There's no way you wouldn't know more about this. It should be more than a rumor. There should've been a whole investigation into this place."
Carl stops eating and sets his fork down. He looks in puzzlement, meeting Auriel’s eyes. “Black Lord…” he says, trailing off. “Yes, I have no idea about this, where it is.. can you tell us more?” He keeps his voice low. Squirt keeps scrubbing and cleaning in the background. Carl looks around the room to make sure no one else is listening to their discussion.
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Hildigrim all but drops his jaw in response to Hex's words. His scowl deepens as his head whips back to look at Aleyd. What is going on here?
"Ruins of the Lyceum of the Black Lord," Aleyd corrects Auriel. "It was once a temple to Bane in the Nobles' Quarter, but it's fallen to ruin since followers of Bane were outlawed many, many years ago."
Aleyd's face grows bright red, though whether it is anger or embarrassment, or perhaps a mixture of the two, is unclear. "That report never made it to my desk, if it in fact existed," she says. "The rot grows deep, I fear, and intersects with your particular area of concern."
She directs her next words to Hex. "It is my understanding that you were part of the group that tracked down and slayed the dragon cultist known as Spernik, who stole from Mantor's Library and fled into the Temple of the Scale. What I am about to tell you is closely guarded information," she says.
"Your concerns about the Cult of the Dragon have not gone unheard. We recovered Spernik's body, and enlisted the aid of a powerful cleric from Mulmaster while he was in our town." She pauses to let the weight of her next sentence sink in. "Spernik was resurrected. This kind of divine magic is known to only a few of great power, and does not come cheaply."
"Spernik has been thoroughly interrogated and is soon to be tried for robbing the Library of Mantor. However...I am concerned. His trial has taken far too long to complete, and he has been permitted an unusual number of visitors. Some that have met with him have even brought him gifts, something that should not be possible."
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Hex nods along as Aleyd brings up Spernik. She still remembers the disappointment she felt when they failed to keep him alive. When the knight reveals he was resurrected, she almost jumps out of her seat with a look of bewilderment. "What!? Why would you... for Spernik?? I mean... I guess he could've had some info on the Cult but to go so far as to bring him back from the dead..." She slumps back into her seat and scratches the back of her head. "Damn... well now I feel even worse that we failed to keep him alive. A spell like that... I can only imagine how expensive it was."
As Aleyd continues to explains her suspicions, Hex chews at her bottom lip. "Looks like things are starting to come to a head. Is his trial what you want us to look into?"
Auriel listens quietly, trying to follow the thread of a conversation rooted in events that took place long before he joined the group. Events involving people he's never met, with the exception of a single name. Still, Hex's explanation fills in enough of the gaps.
"I hope whatever Spernik told during his interrogation was worth it," he says at last. "Because I fail to understand what long-term good can come from bringing back a servant of the Cult of the Dragon."
The paladin looks to Aleyd, then to Hex, watching the Tiefling's reaction to the news that an old enemy has returned. And not through dark magic or strange chance, but by the decision of Phlan's own lawkeepers.
"It's not the cost of the spell that I found troubling. It's who that price was paid for. A cultist. A fanatic. Resurrected while better souls lie dead."
Auriel shakes his head, disbelief showing behind his otherwise controlled expression. He doesn't even flinch at the mention of Bane—the god of tyranny and fear, the antithesis of the god whom the paladin has sworn his oath.
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Carl has a dark look come over his face as he hears the story about Spernik. His eyes go wide as he hears of the resurrection for the purposes of interrogation. “Trial is taking too long, and many visitors… what do you suspect? An attempt to free him? And the gifts … of what manner, and for what purpose? I agree with Hex, it sounds like things are coming to a head. Something is about to happen…” Carl is intrigued by hearing these events, looking to Hex who has direct knowledge of them. He pushes the last little bit of his pie away, appetite affected by this news. Carl says, “So, what is our next step?”
A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.
Hildigrim folds his arms tightly, the parchment-thin skin around his knuckles whitening as he grips his sleeves.
A prison scrubbed clean. A cultist resurrected. Visitors bearing gifts. Whispers of corruption inside the Black Fist itself … He narrows his eyes, more thoughtful than accusatory.
While not as thorough as he would have liked, Olisara Lightsong had briefed him on Watcher Sylyra Wasathi’s reports upon his arrival in Phlan. These names and events had been mentioned, yes — but his orders had pointed him toward the Cult of the Dragon outside of Phlan, not the Black Fist.
Now, it almost seems he’s been barking up the wrong tree.
The Harpers are sworn to root out tyranny — especially when it festers inside institutions of power. And this, this is starting to smell like tyranny wearing the mask of law.
He leans forward, voice low but precise. “You say you interrogated Spernik. What did he say? Did he offer names, locations — anything that might connect the Cult to this rot inside your own ranks?”
His fingers tap once on the tabletop. “And these visitors — who authorized them? Nobles? Black Fists? Clergy? Or were they perhaps operating under forged credentials and polite indifference?”
He glances at his companions before fixing his gaze back on Aleyd. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like someone is protecting him. Someone with power. And they’ve had time to bury every trace of your last attempt.”
"Not his trial, no. It is clear to me that there is some sort of bribery going on at Stojanow Gate, but I do not have the time or the resources to prove it. It could simply be that someone is simply trading favors for information. That is legal, but outright bribery is not, and I would know which it is that we are dealing with," Aleyd answers.
"All great questions, all to which I do not know the answers. I've not been involved in the interrogation myself, and am only witnessing it from afar. I would like to know the answer to all of that, which is why I come to you today with all of the funding I can provide." Aleyd answers. To accentuate her point, she unclasps a pouch from her belt and drops it onto the table, a few of the two hundred gold pieces within spilling out with a rattle.
"Look into the rumors, find any evidence of corruption, and gather the proof I need, if it exists at all. Go wherever the investigation might take you, but I would steer clear of Stojanow Gate today. Security has been unusually tight today, which is typical of important occurrences. I know not what event is causing it, but it will likely clear up on the morrow," comes Aleyd's response.
She clears her throat and pauses before continuing. "As much as I find it distasteful, this investigation is not sanctioned by the Black Fist. There is little I can do to protect you if you break any laws or otherwise run afoul of the less than scrupulous members that we speak of," she warns.
OOC: Added 50 gp to each character's inventory.
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"You say we shouldn't visit Stojanow Gate today," Hildigrim says, eyes sharp behind his spectacles. "But there are still plenty of stones in Phlan left unturned — and more than a few under which your fellow Black Fists tend to crawl, march or drink."
He raises an ink-stained hand, fingers twitching with energy, and begins ticking them off as though reviewing an inventory of suspects.
"First, here — the Laughing Goblin," he says, tapping his index finger. “I've seen off-duty Fists drink enough ale here to drown a lesser man’s secrets. The louder ones forget they’re not in uniform. The quieter ones are worse — they listen.”
His middle finger joins the count. “Then there’s the Cracked Crown. A little more polished, a little more gold on the plates. I’ve seen officers meet there with well-dressed types who don’t belong in the Quarter — and they always leave separately. Curious.”
He flicks up the next finger. “Podol Plaza — chaos wrapped in commerce. Black Fists stroll through like gods in a pantheon, but watch closely and you'll see who's shaking hands ... and who’s being shaken down.”
Fourth finger. “The Bathhouse District. Now, that’s a place where uniforms come off, conversations flow, and no one thinks they’re being watched. But someone always is.” He smiles faintly.
Finally, he grabs his thumb. “And while we’ve been warned off Stojanow Gate — and, by proxy, Valjevo Castle — I’d still wager a quiet watch outside would prove fruitful. If something is happening there today, the comings and goings may speak louder than any confession.”
He lets his hand drop and leans back, the faintest creak coming from his leathers.
His mind is still spinning through possible leads when 50 gold is pushed toward him. At first, he blinks, as if the gesture doesn't register. Then a smile curls across his lips, slow and wry.
“Ah. I forgot the part where we’re being paid to do what we’d be doing anyway.”
With practiced ease, he scoops the gold into his purse and pats it once — not greedily, but appreciatively — before glancing to his companions with an arched brow.
“Well. Where shall we begin the unraveling?”
Auriel pockets the gold with a brief nod to Aleyd. Then, folding his arms, he considers Hildigrim's suggestions.
"We can start with what's closest. The Goblin first—no uniforms to peel off, no gold to chase, just loose tongues and heavy mugs. If the Fists are leaking anything, it might drip here first." He glances toward the door. "Podol Plaza might be a good next step. The more people, the more chances we spot something unusual." He pauses briefly. "And I agree—a quiet watch around the Sojanow Gate and Valjevo Castle could prove useful."
The paladin waits to see what the others think of Hildigrim's plan. Then, as if recalling something, he reaches into his pocket and produces a small bottle, offering it to the Halfling. "Keep this. We should all have something to heal the rest. I have that part covered."
Peindre l'amour, peindre la vie, pleurer en couleur ♫
Auriel | Shenua | Arren | Lyra
Hex is surprised when Aleyd drops the bag of gold onto the table, not expecting up front payment. It would seem the knight was a lot more desperate than she initially thought. She leans forward to take her part of the gold before falling back into her seat. She barely gets a word out, just about to ask Aleyd a question, when Hildigrim suddenly lists off a barrage of potential leads. She's sits with her mouth slightly agape, momentarily stunned at the speed the halfling's mind moves. She barely even has half a potential lead in her head and yet there he is, listing off five fully formed ideas.
She eventually snaps her mouth shut and clears her throat, taking a moment to ponder all their choices. "Hmm... well, considering whatever's happening at Stojanow Gate is only happening today, it couldn't hurt to just have a little peek from afar, right?" She pauses to give Aleyd a curious glance. "Unless you have a suggestion of where to start first, Knight Aleyd?"