Bringing his hand to his chin, Arc would ponder bringing others into the mix. The concern over his father's plan with the military was concern...but then again maybe beginning to inform others of the matter might prove beneficial, especially now that he was distancing himself from his family.

Arc locked eyes with Thia, his eyes still beaming with excitement to the extent that even his mark trembled, "Alright. Feel free to bring her around...though, and I'll explain why later, please let me know if she behaves...strangely, or beyond how she normally would."

Arc having locked eyes with her, it was hard not to notice his excitement. It was almost infectious, until he'd add the last bit. Immediately her expression drops, brows knit and her head starts to tilt. Her mind was exploding with a myriad of demands she wanted answers to, but she'd clench her jaw and take a deep breath. Trusting that the man would 'explain why later', Thia would ask the only question she cared most about at this point. "Is Corti in danger?"

Tarian, the way that the two individuals held themselves, with none of the bravado of the typical street toughs but instead with a quiet confidence hidden poorly underneath their bored expressions, likely due to their current task, you are fairly certain that both of the men outside of Villamov's shop have seen active combat or at the very least are seasoned town guards. You don't recognise the language they spoke, so you're ready to conclude that they didn't speak Brelish and you're almost certain that the brief exchange didn't sound like anything you heard in Arcineaux's camp either. Given VIllamov's connections though, it'd not be a huge leap to conclude that they were Zhivargo.

After your introduction, VIllamov allows a hint of a smile to creep onto his face. "Splendid! And what can I help you with today?"

"Sure. Let's get to work." 

Corti's smile widens at the other warforged's excitement, although she notes the unit's controlled language. If the unit doesn't say anything else she'll start making her way towards wherever it looks like warforged are lined up to register.

"...." Shoulders would drop as Arc would sigh, bringing a hand to his face as he rubbed away some mild annoyance that sprung to his mind. It wasn't Thia's fault, but even then, the very nature of the subject and the cause of it brought him much distress, even now, "...yes...I would rather not repeat every detail until she's here, but in short...part of the reason I took part in the expedition last month was due to my distress of a plan my father and the Ministry of War have formed. Specifically, it is a plan to rob all of...well, they view it as something else, but the essence is that they plan to kill the souls of all Warforged and return them to being mindless obedient machines." Arc again spits out the last few words and doesn't even bother to hide the scowl on his face as he explains what he knows. He closes his eyes a moment before looking back at Thia, a serious demeanor plastered on him once more, "While I doubt they've managed to develop the means on a mass level yet I still fear they might be attempting to prepare a means to do so...so, when you go find Corti, keep your eyes open and try to check on her..."

Milo beams with a wide smile: "I'm glad- otherwise this next part would have been quite awkward..." With that, he throws open the door to his makeshift office and leads you back into the main hall, where you see a motley crew of about three dozen goblins, duergar, snirvfeblin, and three towering half-orcs and a handful of street urchins gathered before you. "This here is the Free Dockers Crew- some of the boys are on loan from the Skinners, but they have a vested interest in seeing this done, just like you and me. There's Mack", indicating a half orc with a broken tusk and a good dozen scars covering the visible parts of his body, "this is Arnander", pointing out a stocky duergar with terrifying burns across half his face and spreading down his neck, shining a matt grey on his dark skin and leaving tufts of white hair amids the ruined mess of his scars, "and that lady over there is Ajax", indicating an androgynous drow in a simple west with short cropped silver hair and a wicked grin as she plays with two throwing knives. "The others follow their lead, but of course, you're welcome to make your own assessment of them all. As I've said, I'm no warrior by trade, that's what I have you all for". With that, Milo steps back and leaves Brandt at the centre of the room. Ajax's grin widens: "So, how 'bout it then- commander?" You feel the term is about equal parts respect and mockery, as she, and likely everyone else, still has to decide which will be fitting for you.

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Corti, just before you leave to complete your registration, the large unit grabs your hand and you feel them slip you a piece of paper, but otherwise doesn't seem to change their tone or demeanor in any way. "I would like to share some war stories with a fellow unit, if you have the time, come find me at the barracks, or we could go to a place you prefer."

You palm the slip and then carry on to complete your registration. The clerk is a spindly gnome who ensures you that you should receive further notice within two or so weeks and that your service compensation and citizenship papers will arrive soon thereafter. Thanking them, you make your way out of the ministry. Only once outside of the ministry do you dare to read the note. It's written in a shaky hand, likely with a pencil stub:

"My Corti, I'm still alive. If you receive this note, you can trust Pip. I have. - Aida"

“A job. I’m going to be gathering information about ships at the docks, and probably working with the magistrate. I suspect the investigation might turn the Broadsters’ attention toward very specific ships not out of Zhivargo.”

Tarian’s eyes flicked toward the back room where the two strangers fled. “That much information should hopefully pay you back for having that piece appraised, and if you’d like more information as I get it, I’d appreciate more about the piece if you can find it, or at the very least some assurance that no one has or will hear about what I showed you.”

Corti starts a little as the warforged grabs her hand, already on edge, but regains her composure quickly enough, "Of course, my friend, it would be my pleasure! I'll find you at the barracks." Corti gives the large unit another smile, and pockets the slip, buzzing with curiosity.

She carries out the rest of the registration feeling jittery, but is reassured when she isn't immediately labeled a traitor and arrested. As she exits the building, she feels the tension in her joints unwind and shakes her arms to dispel the rest of it. Once she is a block or so away from the ministry she'll pull out the note and read it. When she reaches the signature she nearly drops the note, crumpling it and pressing a hand over her mouth, yet another gesture she'd picked up from her organic friends. She pulls herself into an alley, looking for some privacy, and smoothes the notes out again, chastising herself. When she is able to compose herself enough not to cause a scene, she'll reread the note, fold it gently, and tuck it into a pocket in her skirt before setting out at a brisk pace towards the barracks, barely containing her desire to run. 

Thia's eye twitches.

The redhead takes a firm step forward to put no gap in between them. "You." Although she did not come face to face with him exactly, her eyes pierced Arc's like daggers. "Knew. This. WHOLE TIME!" She swiftly lifts her hand up a flicks him hard in the scar on his forehead. "You self-centered!" Looks him up and down expression dripping with disdain. "Self-serving! Selfish-" Thia shoves him aside to show herself to the door. "Privileged nobles!" She seethes under her breath. She then whips open the door to storm out, "I will be back." and slams it shut behind her.

Fists clenched, Thia's feet hit the ground taking her forward. She was way too furious to worry about the ramifications of her outburst or to concern herself with how it could affect Arc. And no, she didn't know where Corti was, or where to look for her exactly. But damnit, he better hope I don't bump into Brandt first. The artificer continued to steam on ahead. Eventually she'd run out and find a clear head. When that time would come, she'd listen and look with a more logical mind.

Arc sits stunned, both in shock from the pain to his head and ears, as well as a strange feeling born from Thia's outburst towards him. Blinking, he reached out as she slammed the door behind her, "W-....." For once, he was at a loss for words. Offering a defeated sigh to no one in particular, Spark coiled up against his creators and tried to comfort him. Rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand he lightly mummers, "...didn't even give me a chance to explain myself."

Villamov gave a slight smile that didn't reach his eyes: "Miss Rydderch, I like doing business with you! But if this is how it is, I like to do you one better and see to it that you make sure to keep the investigators busy for the time being. I did do some diggin, and I think I can tell you a little more about the item. If I may?"

Taking the medallion from your hesitant hands, he inspects it closely and starts fumbling for a watchmaker's loupe with his other hand, while he starts to prattle on: "As I told you the last time, the initials are those of Nathanael Theocaris Lorren. I have learned in the meantime though, that a few of these medallions were made in 75 AW, to celebrate the Duke of Ganovar's wedding. Medallions like this were a favourite gift tobureaucrats and functionaries close to the Imperial court. I have another example here, and as you can see, they usually come with an empty space for a small portrait." He looks up briefly, checking whether he could open the medallion and look at the portrait inside, but he doesn't really wait and quickly places the blank medallion next to the containing the picture of the young child with a striking resemblance to Tarian. "I think, any answers this medallion could give you are tied to the image of this toddler" you notice that he says this to hide that it is an image of your from the two men in the back room and to honour your conditions, "I have the necessary equipment to determine what was used to paint it, and that might help glean additional information. I would need to remove a small piece of the portrait for the analysis though." He looks at you again, this time waitin for your answer.

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Corti, you sprint the entire distance to the barracks, drawing a few concerned looks. When asking for the other warforged, the human guard looks a bit amused, as if he finds the idea of warforged hanging out together funny. They accompany you to the smithy, where you see PIP being cared for by a burly gnome with a shock of dyed hair in a thick braid down to her shoulders and cropped sides, the warforged's mid-section open and giving free access to their core crystal. "Pip, I swears you gotta stop wi'this! I can't keep chippin' away at your core, you know it's dangerous- "She stops as PIP looks to you and the guards. In their baritone, the unit says: "Raven, leave it be for today and close me up. This here's Corti, a... friend I made today." The unit waits a bit, until the soldiers leave. "I'm glad you came, Tanweer told me great things about you, I'm very happy to see they were true. Do yu mind if we stay here? Raven's a friend to our kind, and as you've just seen, I trust her with my very being. I'm sure you have questions. What can I help you with first?"

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Thia, in your anger, you don't realise that you've walked most of the way to the Eastfields ward and the Veiled Valour hospital. Since Gyselle and Othmar helped them out, you had been able to spend more time on your own research. The money and official support from the Magistrate had helped them set up a proper infrastructure, and with the help of the many volunteers, thankful for the fact that they had managed to serve their families and loved ones, the roof had been patched and the interior was now more in line with an actual hospital, rather than just a makeshift one. Even the sign on the door was now a finely carved wooden sign, rather than the chalk marks. It pains you to have to drag Gyselle away from this home away from home, but she also deserved to know that Corti was in trouble. Getting her, you quickly fill her in on what Arc told you, but between the two of you, you quickly realise that you didn't know where Corti was and although you may have no inclination to talk to him right now, Arc might at least be able to point you in the right direction.

“Sure. Take as much of it as you need.”

Tarian was surprised at herself. Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I could’ve just defaced the infernal thing, and tossed it in the sea. Or smashed it, ground the engravings off and sold the pieces for scrap. I’m sure a jeweler could melt it down and make use of it.

Tarian turned her back to Villamov and looked out of the shop into the rest of the Souk. But then there’s the matter of the dead dragoons, and that portrait connects me to them. So getting rid of it might not even matter. Eh, stay the course, keep up the investigation until the trail goes cold, then try something else.

Tarian turned back to Villamov. “I’m just a freelancer, so I don’t get a say in where the investigators go, but I’d dock away from any Khalashtari ships for a while. Berths on entirely different piers, if you can convince the harbormaster without letting him know that’s what you’re doing. I have a feeling that the magistrate will soon be very interested in what’s coming and going on Khalashtari ships.”

Corti hardly slows to ask directions, ignoring the human guard's amusement at her questions and making a mental note to find more warforged to hang out with. She had been a scout in her time as a soldier, so she was well made for running, but it had been a long time since then and by the time she makes it to the smithy she feels disheveled and unprepared. Her eyes jump from the gnomish woman to the room of the smithy to Pip's exposed core. She finds herself at a complete loss for words, saying nothing until the unit finishes speaking.

"No— er, yes, sorry, staying here is fine—" Corti kicks herself and starts again, "It's nice to meet you, Raven, I like your hair. Pip, I... Tanweer..." Corti trails off, a thousand questions filling her mind. She had nearly fallen over when Pip had said Tanweer's name. Now, flexing her fingers around her lute strap she asks the only question she can put into words just now, "Tanweer's alive?"

"Last I saw her, yes." the large unit responds. "And I'm afraid, given her discovery with you, she will endure much, but she will be kept alive. But let me explain. After my.... miraculous... awakening, the powers that be took note, amongst the most eager the Canniths. I was recalled from front line service to serve as a propaganda tool in the city, no doubt also meant to avoid me inspiring any others... if only they knew. I petitioned my superior officers almost daily to be allowed to return, to do something I'd actually been made for, something that would allow me to keep my companions safe. When the posters went up for registration, the ministry had me posted here to be a face to any others of our kind to make their way. But eventually, I did get a mission. I was to support a capture operation. I didn't ask what exactly we were meant to be doing, since I was assured that my presence there would be vital for the success of the mission and I was happy to help. Only once we were outside of the apartment, a civilian apartment, did I realise what this mission was, and what my role in it had to be- I was the hostage they'd use. Upon seeing me, Tanweer didn't offer any resistance as she was manacled and led off. We brought her to a coach, and I sat inside with her. She told me a few things about you and handed me this note to give to you. She didn't know whether you had made it, but she hoped you'd come here and would find me eventually. We brought her to the harbour, were she was led onto a ship. I don't know where she was taken from there, all I know is that there were several dragoons on board the ship, and the prow and keel seemed to be reinforced by iron plating. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

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Villamov eagerly scrapes some of the paint off into a small glas vial and also takes a snippet of the portrait at the edge, with the experience of an antiquarian used to restaure and authenticate antiques and priceless art pieces. He humms and haws as you pretend to browse the store, but keeping your senses trained on the back room. It strikes you as odd that Villamov showed no reaction to the revelation of Khalashtari shipping being the target of upcoming investigations, when otherwise he seemed happy to share information.

After about fifteen minutes, he clears his throat: "Well, there's two interesting things about this piece, though I'm not entirely sure about how old the paitining really is. Based on the varnish and the aging though, I'd say this is about fifteen to twenty years old, dating it to somewhere in the range of 80 AW to 85 AW." At that, he quickly gives you a scan. "How old are you now? The child in this picture looks to be between three and five, would that match?" Seeing you nod in the affirmative, he continues. "There's two odd things about this: 

The first thing I noticed is that the portrait isn't painted on the usual starched canvas that comes with the blank model. As far as I can tell, this was painted onto far more pulpy sketching paper, like the kind used for illustrations or water colours. Canvas is usually readily available and often cheaper, so the only reason for this I see is that someone either wanted to base the picture off an existing sketch, or otherwise wanted to cover something up that was hidden underneath the portrait. 

The second thing, which again seems puzzling, is the paint used. This paint uses high quality vegetable oils as emulsifiers to keep the compound together. to me, that makes these paints probably Brelish, as Cyre lacked the oils from 81AW onwards, after Cypress Hill and the beginning of the sieges. For my guess about the age of the portrait, that's about right." He hands you the medallion back. "I hope that earned me your gratitude at least."

Corti listens to Pip's story, finding a seat on a bench in the workshop and wrapping her arms around her torso, leaning forward in fascination. She had never been able to talk to another warforged honestly like this— even when a warforged was willing to talk they were often being monitored too closely. Corti finds herself falling into the story and takes a moment when Pip finishes to put her thoughts in order.

"I don't blame you for any of this," Corti is surprised to find herself sounding bitter, "I am so sorry for what they put you through, Pip." Corti pauses for a moment and thinks, her mind whirring, "I have to keep looking for her, this is—" She quiets, speaking mostly to her self, "Well, this is the closest I've ever gotten," Speaking up again she says, "A friend of my has dealt with the Dragoons before, I'll start there. And I have to go down to the dockyards anyway... I'll have to be careful..." Catching herself trailing off again and changes the subject, bringing herself back to the moment, "Pip— I don't know what you'll think of me for this, but I deserted the army after I heard that Tanweer disappeared." She looks down at her hands, a little afraid of Pip's reaction, "I've been able to lay low, but I'm worried they'll find me now. Do you know anything about this registration?"

PIP looks at you, their face unchanging: "Corti. I don't judge you for choosing your own path. Nor would I choose to judge any of our brothers and sisters. None of us were asked whether we wanted to fight, we were created for the battlefield and left to our own devices. I swear, sometimes I get the feeling that they wish we hadn't been so successful. I honestly can't tell you what to think about this registration. I'd like to think that it's an honest attempt at integrating us into Duskrock society, now that the fighting has come to an end. But if battling bleeders for nigh on a decade has tought me anything, they never do anything without an agenda." Raven interjects, playfully hitting PIP on the arm "Hey, we're not all like that!" PIP acknowledges her point, before continuing: "I don't know how much trouble you're in. Could be they take weeks to find out you left your last post without permission, could be they already know. But even if they did, I wonder what they can do- imprisoning us is a rather meaningless punishment after all, since we can outlive the building they house us in. I guess they could decommission you or force you to hard labour - but I doubt they'll do so officially, since that would mean admitting they don't have control of us anymore. But just in case, I'd try to stay low with friends of yours, if possible."

Brandt looks up at the assortment of individuals in the main hall. "So how did Spudster get you all to join his crusade against Borrick? He give you the same speech about his vision and fighting for the common folk of the city?"

Mack speaks first: "Aye, me an' mine're part o' the Forger crews. Milo's promised us that 'e's buildin' 'ouses forrer famlees. Better uns than what we got an' at lower cost, too. An' heell get the rent, insteada sum scum noble." You see several of the duergar and drow nod at that. Ajax speaks up next, pushing herself up to stand, still twirling a throwing knife. "Wha' Mack says is all real nice, yeh? Well, I ain't in it fer that. We's Skinners, an' Mr Spudser 'ere came to me boss with a bisness proposition that'e coulnt refuse. So- we're on loan, to take care of a mutual problem." You see that Arnander nods at that: "An' for sum of us, it's both. 'Fore me accident, I worked down at the forge too, an' I know what the houses be like. When I burnt me face off, there's nuffin the comp'ny paid, just left me fer dead. Well, a man's got 'is pride, an' when he ain't got that, 'e's got a grudge. The skinners took care a me an' me clan. They been good to me an' I'll follow'em to th'ends o' th'earth, bu' I'm also 'appy ta follow Milo in providin' fer the families o' the workin' poor." You see a few dwarfs, duergar and snifverblin nod along with that. It seems that there's a pretty even split between the three groups.

Judging by what you heard, the skinners are similar in outlook to yourself- in it for the money and their own benefit. You can tell that Ajax seems to enjoy the task at hand though, so there might be more to the story than that. At any rate, they'll likely bring the most experience to this sort of operation. But they might push their own agenda, if not supervised. Arnander and his folk are stout and hardy, made tough by the gruelling work. Likely a bunch of toughs that could dish out some hurt, if under proper guidance. Mack and the workers seem primarily in it for the hope of a better future they can help create. Judging them, they are a very diverse bunch with likely just as diverse a set of talents. They do seem very determined, but you recognise the look of the green soldier before their first battle - while willing, they are still green, and not just their skins neither.

Tarian shot Villamov a dubious look and a low chuckle. “Not sure what you intend to do with the gratitude of a mere Docklands freelancer. I’ll keep you informed about the Broadsters, that’s probably worth more.”

She turned the locket portrait-side down and gave it a little shake, but nothing came out. “But if you think there’s something behind the portrait, maybe you could pull it out and see?” She snapped the locket shut. “I won’t insist. You’ve been treating this thing like a precious antique. I won’t make you ruin something just because you and I have a different opinion on its value.” Tarian looked carefully at the NTL initials. “But I am curious now.”