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[4e|FR] IC: Scions of Splendor, Afternoon Mirtul 15
Arivia
I Like A ChallengeEarth-1Registered User regular
I Like A ChallengeEarth-1Registered User regular
This is the in-character thread for the 4e Forgotten Realms game, Scions of Splendor.
Table rules:
-I don't care how you roll, where you roll, or why you're rolling. But I trust you to do it fairly.
-The out of character thread is: http://forums.penny-arcade.com/showthread.php?t=101984 Use it for rules questions and other chatter.
-Game discourse assumes you've read the Waterdeep section and chapter 6 of the Forgotten Realms Player's Guide. Glossary spoilers describe other terms not detailed therein.
Glossary:
Table rules:
-I don't care how you roll, where you roll, or why you're rolling. But I trust you to do it fairly.
-The out of character thread is: http://forums.penny-arcade.com/showthread.php?t=101984 Use it for rules questions and other chatter.
-Game discourse assumes you've read the Waterdeep section and chapter 6 of the Forgotten Realms Player's Guide. Glossary spoilers describe other terms not detailed therein.
Glossary:
Alu'Tel'Quessir: The name the sea elves use for themselves. Note that elves in the Forgotten Realms includes both eladrin and elves; see the Player's Guide.
Auril: Evil goddess of winter and frost.
Cooshee: An elven dog, quick and quiet, with an unusual spotted coat not unlike a lynx's.
Goldenfields: An agricultural center and religious temple to Chauntea, located just outside Waterdeep.
Greenspire: A flowering perennial plant common in most of Luruar, often used in teas and winter dishes due to its evergreen qualities.
Starberry: A rich, red, tangy berry common south of Saradush.
Auril: Evil goddess of winter and frost.
Cooshee: An elven dog, quick and quiet, with an unusual spotted coat not unlike a lynx's.
Goldenfields: An agricultural center and religious temple to Chauntea, located just outside Waterdeep.
Greenspire: A flowering perennial plant common in most of Luruar, often used in teas and winter dishes due to its evergreen qualities.
Starberry: A rich, red, tangy berry common south of Saradush.
Arivia on
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Posts
Waterdeep, the Gem of the North, is no exception. Unlike now-gone Neverwinter, its harbor does freeze over in the depths of Marpenoth and Uktar, a sheet of ice as thick as a halfling that locks away travel and trade in kind. Once upon a time, the Alu'Tel'Quessir that lived deep in the harbor called the winter the "Days of Silver Twilight", their world cast by the ice sheet above into a wonderland of pale streaming silvers. Or so Khelben Arunsun, perennial archmage of Waterdeep once said.
Now the sea elves are gone, and while Waterdeep's harbor holds many secrets still, the magic in sorts is gone from the frosted harbor, a window to the sea closed and locked for months. But, the first cracks in the ice and the churning blocks and peaks that break it down into smaller floes and then nothing but a chill dip are cause for celebration: a strong sign of beautiful Tethyrian roses in the noble gardens to come, fresh lettuce from Goldenfields, and the hum and song of birds (both normal and magically-inclined) in the morning sun.
Towards this end, then, Waterdeep's nobles, although perhaps diminished in stature and gilden overture, have made it an event of celebration, both youthful and indulgent. At the crack of dawn, the nobles assemble at the edge of Goldenfields, dressed in - well, a social event calls for appearance, not utility - loose pants and light shirts. They receive gleamings as rings that keep them warm during their run, and then set off at the cry of someone's dove, cooshee, or once, a "raptor" imported from Chult. (The run was delayed, not started by the raptor's cry - many of those attending were far more concerned with putting young lordling Thann's bits back inside of him.)
The nobles run down the High Road towards the city, passing by many turned out to watch, gawk, laugh or cry, rushing through all of the Gem of the North into the Dock Ward and down into Deepwater Harbor. There, labourers and tradesmen have found a cut or crack into the ice and widened it - perhaps at the end of Keening Ghost Way, or Caladorn's Cut - and the nobles, after tossing off their rings, dive right in. The water is far too cold to be truly abided - Mirt the Moneylender's response to it, after an unfortunate fall, called "the Waters of Waterdeep, when in rime, are like the droppings of a thousand white dragons" - and few of the nobles stay in for more than a second. They clamber out, house servants wrapping them in bolts of fur and wool for warmth (while silently pocketing the gleamings for themselves), and are ushered off to a festhall or tavern for fire, drink and song.
Oh, the name of the run? Auril's Goodbye Kiss.
-Vajra "Blackstaff" Safahr, Pennants and Polearms: Waterdeep, High And Low, Mirtul 15, Year of the Dark Circle
====================================================================
So, you ran the Goodbye Kiss. Frost and fire, is how you now feel, bundled up in furs and gathered around a table in the Golden Dragon Festhall, located just off the Caravan Court. You and some forty-odd other nobles are all jammed in here, the kitchen running at far more than capacity to turn out hams, rothe roasts, boar heads and the traditional starberry and dried greenspire salads. Of course, some scion is picking up the bill for all of this, likely drawn up on paper on trade note instead of a stack of harbor moons. The thick dark wood - likely from Amn's forests to the south - is pitted and worn, the dark iron brazier on top piled high with warm burning coals. A serving-girl wanders by, her clothes drawn up tight in blues and greens - approprate for the season, but not for wandering hands - depositing thin flutes of Moonshae clover wine, draughts of Vilhon grape juice, and huge tankards of Old Sage's Dragon Ale. Some distance away - on a lighter inset tray of elm from Silverymoon in the darker table-wood - a stack of broadsheets sits.
Glossary:
Auril: Evil goddess of winter and frost.
Cooshee: An elven dog, quick and quiet, with an unusual spotted coat not unlike a lynx's.
Goldenfields: An agricultural center and religious temple to Chauntea, located just outside Waterdeep.
Greenspire: A flowering perennial plant common in most of Luruar, often used in teas and winter dishes due to its evergreen qualities.
Starberry: A rich, red, tangy berry common south of Saradush.
As the waitress comes round, Soren grabs her - lightly, only to make himself known - by the arm. When she responds, Soren looks up at her, and, smiling says, "Another round of the ale for table, if you don't mind, my dear." He finishes his request with a slight wink before she turns to bring their drinks. Turning back to the table, he brings up a hand to draw his black hair out of his eyes, joking with his tablemates, "Not too bad a run, if I say so myself!"
The wine is a bit too sweet and syrupy for a Dezlentyr palate, ill-suited to the heat of the room and the occasion, but Calwyn's stomach isn't quite up to ale just yet after last night's revelries.
It never takes long for Calwyn to become surly after the Goodbye Kiss. The first few minutes out of the water are his favorite - not only are there often stray valuables left out in the open, but for a short period, while everyone is still soaked and shivering, EVERYONE talks like him. As the lordlings warm up, the status quo reasserts itself. Calwyn has never liked the status quo all that much. He takes another sip of wine and grimaces slightly as an overserved young Phulbrinter lady staggers and elbows him from behind, giggling away without so much as an apology.
Off in a corner of the Festhall, chattering away with her sisters about the event, Keira notices Siobhan at a table. Deftly grabbing a glass of fine wine off the tray of a passing manservant, Keira begins to make her way towards the table, to chat with her friend, not seen for some time. As she gets closer, weaving through richly dressed and overweight nobles, she notices the rest of the table. "What an unusual group," Keira thinks, as she approaches. The sight of Amelia is enough to put her off her drink, or perhaps drink more, but Keira also notices Septimus and Calwyn, and a smile crosses her lips.
"Siobhan! By Sune, it's been too long. How have you been?" Keira says, as she takes a seat at the table (as far away from Amelia as possible, whom she studiously ignores). "And Calwyn! What a pleasure to be in such handsome company as yourself." Keira smirks and bats her eyes.
"Not sure I know you yet friend," he used the term lightly, friend. Taking a quick sip of the ale, he continues, "Name's Soren, how bout yourself?" It was just at that moment that Keira walked up to the table, making sure her presence is known. Soren knows her face, but the name won't come. Looks like the introduction might have to wait...
"Well well well, and who do we have here? Don't believe we've met!" Soren's exclamation is turned to Keira.
"C-c-calwyn Dezlentyr. Be c-c-c-careful with this one. She b-b-breaks hearts f-for sport."
Responding to Calwyn's remark, Soren turns to him, now sitting. "And Calwyn, pleased to meet you too," Soren extends a hand to Calwyn, taking his remarks in stride.
"Keira, Keira, one of these days I'm going to drag you into those waters with me so you can appreciate the whole of Auril's kiss." Siobhan teases with a wink.
A hint of annoyance cross her face when yet another serving girl wanders by with a tray of only drinks. She'd been keeping an eye out for the platter of meats for the last ten minutes, keen to fill her stomach with some proper food before all the wine gets to her head, but it seemed those platters never made it further than ten steps from the kitchen before turning back for more.
"Hey Calwyn, do me a favor and see if you can get one of those girls with the food to stop by this table?"
And that was largely why the shifter participated in the run, just to prove she still could. That she could drop her horrible job at any time and trek off into the wild. Not that it took much skill (or even intelligence) to jump into the lake, but it was a good distraction, for a while. Amelia had found her way to a table of some friends and acquaintances to warm up and think of something else to do.
"He's not going to get her over here for a long while Siobhan." Growled the shifter through chattering teeth. "No disrespect meant to you, Calwyn, but that oafish man from Roaringhorn over there has been tipping massively with every plate."
The Eirontalar's attention shifted to her copy of the Vigilant Citizen in an attempt to shut out the chill in her bones and Keira's annoying chatter.
As Keira joined the table, he gives Soren a subtle nudge with his foot and leans in, "Calwyn aint kidding about this one, Soren. You better watch out or you'll lose some toes like ole Kehlann." He allows Keira to meet his gaze and throws her an easy smile as he turns in his seat and takes out his briarwood pipe, chewing on the tip while perusing the latest issue of the Mocking Minstrel.
A quick scan of the room is all it takes for Calwyn to realize that food service has virtually disappeared, buried under the overwhelming demand for alcohol. Sensing a chance to briefly escape the heat and press of bodies at the table, Calwyn decides to take matters into his own hands.
Calwyn subtly shakes his head at Septimus and, flashing a quick grin at Siobhan, nimbly extricates himself from the table and heads for the kitchen. Upon reaching the kitchen doors, he adopts what he assumes to be the downtrodden demeanor of a lowly server. It's not difficult - all he has to do is imagine how he would feel if forced to wait upon the drunken whims of a Thann or a Rhoznar.
Inside the kitchen, it is just as Calwyn expected. A line of servers waits near the ale barrels, swearing and looking furtively over their shoulders as they frantically refill tankards and wine flutes. Meanwhile, on a table near the ovens sits a wide array of steaming meats lying untouched. Calwyn grabs a platter and begins helping himself, deftly slicing off bits of everything in front of him. As he settles the fully-laden platter onto his shoulder, a serving girl catches his eye and flinches. With a quick wink, Calwyn lugs the feast back out into the noise of the Festhall. Ignoring the hungry cry that goes up from a few of his fellow lordlings, he shuffles back to his place at the table and deposits the plate in front of Septimus and Siobhan with a flourish.
"So, where's my t-t-t-t-tip?"
"Thank you, Calwyn! Here's your tip," Keira says, as she leans over and places a light kiss on his cheek.
Knowing that the noble clientele is cold and hungry, the cook has opted for quick service over elegance: thick bone-in rothe steaks and whole chickens are impaled upon thick elm skewers, blackened and juicy. The meat smells of strange, obscure spices from places like the Chultengar and Var the Drowned, little more than paintings in your mind.
Under the great stack of meats is a bed of greenspire sprouts, and thick slices of a yellow, pungent fruits. Lemons, they're called in the Arnaden, where they come from. Exotic fruits and vegetables exported from other places in Faerun have been all the rage over the long winter at noble balls and gatherings, as Goldenfields has been producing little fresh greenery itself.
As the silver platter slides onto the table, Amelia plucks the Vigilant Citizen out of the tray. Broadsheets like the Citizen were introduced to Waterdeep by the great diaspora of refugees from sinking Lantan. The Lantanna brought the technology they believe Gond gifted them to Waterdeep, and now most noble houses have one or two minor mechanical knickknacks shoved in corners.
The broadsheets, on the other hand, are produced by great numbers of Lantanna toiling in rundown warehouses in the South Ward. The "presses", as they call them, belch and spark smoke into Waterdeep's sky day and night. None other than the Lantanna are allowed into these warehouses, even the Waterdeep "natives" that often act to write the news that covers both sides of the broadsheet. While the machinery is unknown, what is known is that the Lantanna use huge amounts of wood and other plants in these "printings," having converted several old tanneries into shops for some arcane method they learned from the Shou. The resulting broadsheets are ivory-white, with thick black block letters that stink faintly of ash and bone. It's not vellum or parchment, but thinner, almost translucent when held up to the sun. You also know from reading them that some sort of copying process must be involved - all the letters are alike in form, if not function, an "a" copied, not scribed. Something like the minor amanuensis cantrip many magelings learn in their training.
Each tradesheet, although largely written in the lower Chondathan (Common) script for mass appeal, does feature a small running line of the dense, blocky Lantanese alphabet on the bottom of each page. Different from day to day, and broadsheet to broadsheet, it is known that the Lantanna read all of the broadsheets every day voraciously, as if the two to four lines a sheet were part of some greater narrative or message.
Amelia:
Pennants High! --- Lorael Mathrontil
It is my honour to present to you, the esteemed, fine readers of the VIGILANT CITIZEN, a guest column today by none other than Dagult Neverember, the very Open Lord of Waterdeep himself! Of course, the VIGILANT CITIZEN would never look to inflame or curry opinion or favour - no, we have given the Lord a full-half page for him to explain and muse as he sees fit, to hold forth on the goings on of the City of Splendors.
You know, and trust our motto, dear reader - that the VIGILANT CITIZEN will always tell THE TRUTH. Not “our TRUTH”, but THE TRUTH as it comes and lives amongst us all, the citizens of Waterdeep. Our other contributors to today’s edition are no less esteemed - Lady Esveene Moonstar writes to us about the goings-on in the Sea Ward this past tenday, and Ornath the Steel Hawk, now settled in as Grand Armorer at the Halls of Hilmer, has a historical piece on the local traditions of chain in and around the Gem of the North.
As always, may Tymora treat you well and Waukeen give you gold,
Lorael Mathrontil
Wordcaptain for the VIGILANT CITIZEN
THE VIGILANT CITIZEN: YOUR TRUTH IS OUR TRUTH
Stamped into the paper below Lorael’s “signature” and the motto is the holy symbol of Oghma:
Words From The Open Helm --- Dagult Neverember
Good day to you all, citizens of Waterdeep. Mathrontil offered me this trifle of space (exclusive to the VIGILANT CITIZEN) and I have gladly accepted, so that I might bring you the news of Waterdeep’s greatest concerns and issues. Rest assured, good man and woman alike, that I and the other Lords are doing our best to protect and serve you both here and abroad.
First, you must all have heard about the bandits plaguing the Trade Road, both north and south. While we remain deeply concerned about this intrusion into Waterdeep’s commercial interests, I feel obliged to remind you that with the coming melt in Deepwater Harbour, much of our trade - the lifeblood of the City of Splendors - will come from the sea once again, rather than the muddy roads. We are well-supplied, and soon Goldenfields will again be providing fresh vegetables to the city, by caravans guarded by mercenary company or the City Watch, if necessary. Now, we are doing our best to strike back at these predators - recently, the Lords have authorized a bounty of 5 taols for each bandit scalp brought to the Palace of Waterdeep. (Specific task-bounties are also available there, and from the Lord of Daggerford.)We have also contracted the Red Wyverns, a company of sellswords based in Scornubel to clear the bandit camp at the Boareskyr Bridge.
Now, as for concerns inside Waterdeep proper, I have heard much concern among the populace about the murders in the Old Temple Square. Rest assured, the Watch has put many of its finest minds to the case, including the esteemed Nongolin of Arabel. All of the killings have been of itinerant, seasonal workers and sailors, and the reports of the corpses being found with no blood in their bodies are untrue (despite the statements otherwise by one Valamathar, who calls himself the Fang-Witch.) I can also dispel the sightings of strange pale blue and green fires that link the Old Temple Square and Mistshore; these are simply the after-effects of alchemical experiments at Uldrin’s warehouse nearby.
Rest well, citizens. I am watching out for you.
Dagult Neverember
Of Skirts and Daggers - Lady Esveene Moonstar
Now, I petitioned Lorael for this “column” so that I might refute certain...accusations made against me and the other members of the House, and he was pleasant enough to allow me this placement in the public space.
Certain...windhawks have made allegations against me, which neither myself or the VIGILANT CITIZEN are uncouth enough to reprint. Suffice it to say, that any “revelations” about the supposed origins of House Moonstar are just falsehoods and fables, that any suspicions about a “split” in the House’s ranks are also untruths. All members of House Moonstar remain committed to our social and political journeys, including making full appearances at the balls to come. Similarly, any sightings of alleged House Moonstar relics and house accoutrements retrieved from below Downshadow - they are mere forgeries. Especially the candlelabra.
However, Lorael did extract a promise for me to pass along some other notes from the Sea Ward. I can confirm that House Thann has been seen importing an unusually high quantity of glass balls over the last six tendays, at volumes never before seen in the City of Splendors, certainly not outside of driftglobe creation. Additionally, someone has been breaking into outlying noble buildings, often taking one or two gardening tools or other trinkets. I bring this to the VIGILANT CITIZEN’s attention, as the Watch is giving us quite the cold shoulder over this.
Ring and Mail - Ornath The Steel Hawk
Might and wealth to you all, good readers. Now, I’m not that good at words, so forgive me my small mistakes and misuses - and blame, if you will, the VIGILANT CITIZEN instead! Quite obviously, as anyone knows who has glanced at Savengriff’s works on the city, the first chain armor to be found in and around what is Waterdeep today would have been part of the elven empire of Aethalindaar, now left in pieces like Ardeep Forest. Elven chain, as many know, is light and thin, famed for its silvery sheen as much as its protection of body. Often made for both mage and warrior, it is a simple shield to wear - certainly simpler than heavy plate or the constricts of leather banding. Now, by Savengriff’s estimates, Aethalindaar was some twenty thousand years ago, and I wouldn’t think any adventurer would be lucky enough to find a shirt of their make in a closet down, say, the Bloody Maid’s Street.
However, the elves of Ardeep have kept creating chain shirts for some time now. Many have come into the city and stayed - this resulted in some of Waterdeep’s local legends, like the ghostly elf maiden who floats the streets of the Dock Wards, passing through door or wall as if they were not there, holding a chain shirt out in her hands as if to place it upon her paramour. Certainly no one saw her before the Spellplague (as she is not accounted for in Mythoril’s Ghosts and Spirits of Waterdeep), so maybe her body - and the shirt with it - rest undisturbed to this day.
Now, human chain, such as relics from Nimoar’s Hold or other proto-Illuskan settlements, might be coarser than its elven equivalent, but no less valuable. Certainly, some mages might not want to avail themselves of it to the same degree, but any self-respecting swordswoman or battlepriest would find a shirt like Polorin’s Longcoat to be of use.
Who is Polorin, you ask? Well, the man was born in Nesme sometime in the late 1370s, and became a priest of Tyr, undergoing his battle-trial against the trolls that continually besieged his hometown. When Tyr himself fell during the events of the Spellplague, Polorin was accompanying a caravan of refugees out of Luskan, before it fell to the fire that would thrust it into chaos. When a red dragon attempted to eat his flock, Polorin called down Tyr’s might upon the crazed marauder. When his god did not respond, the priest held his ground, and sought battle armed with little more than his mace, which quickly broke against the dragon’s thick scales. Of course, the dragon sought revenge against its attacker, and breathed flame upon the cleric - who proceeded to turn into a pile of ash quite quickly. Yet, his coat of chain was unharmed, and when one of then refugees touched the chain, it exploded with light that struck the dragon dead. It is said that the coat caught a minute part of Tyr’s dying essence, that gives it its magical qualities.
I am pleased to announce, then, that Polorin’s Longcoat has been recovered and is available for spectacle at the Metalmasters’ Hall. Admission is only one taol for the next tenday, upon which it shall be put to good use.
Glossary:
Though she ravenously consumed every word on the leaf of paper, it was the words of Lord Dagult Nerverember that caught her full attention. There must have been many more murders in the Old Temple Square for the lord of Waterdeep to address the matter. Come to think of it, wasn't the body of great uncle Jerard, the man who's death had brought Amelia back to Waterdeep, found near Old Temple Square? He still had all of his blood, but there was no clear indication what had killed poor old Jerard. Very strange indeed. Perhaps there was a connection? It was worth investigating.
The shifter cleared her throat and extended her long hand, offering the broadsheet to the others to read. "Looks like Neverember's playin' the peasantry again. Anyone know anything more substantial about these murders he's talking about, perchance?" She asked idly.
"Doesn't seem like anything too important, though with the melt we'll be in need of all the dock work we can get. The news about the Trade Road is... troubling though. I don't much like to hear about bandits in general."
Soren stands up to grab another of the broadsheets and then sits back down at the table. He takes a moment to glance through his publication of choice, The North Wind.
Trade Report - Mirtul 15
Weather
Today is the day where Waterdeep’s harbor officially “melts.” We predict that the harbor will not be open enough for caravel travel, let alone galleys, for at least another tenday. Smaller longboats and rafts, with a strong or adept enough hand, may be able to make their way through today.
By the request of our readership, we have added a survey of conditions along the Sword Coast north to Luskan. Luskan’s harbour is perennially frozen and treacherous (of course, sea travel out around and north of the Spine of the World is never recommended), but will be passable as we trend towards Flamerule.
The Whalebones, Gundarlun, and Ruathym are choked with icebergs, but the larger survey of the Trackless Sea is sailable. Of course, caution is advised, but the sailings marooned at the ruins of Neverwinter for the winter may now proceed south.
In terms of land travel, the roads coming out of Waterdeep will turn to early-spring mud soon, so any land caravans are highly recommended to depart within this tenday. However, land travel itself should be relatively hazardless (excepting the bandits; for an examination of this issue, see THE SWORDS ON THE ROADS, on the back.) The wildlife is relatively quiet, and the weather has been stable - while packing wool or fur blankets against the cold is still recommended, there will be no more snow. At least one caravan has arrived at Silverymoon, signifying the beginning of the trading summer.
Leavings
The Shining Sun Coster is currently gathering sellswords and gold-mages for a caravan trip east to Loudwater. The caravan will be transporting luxuries and exotic goods that have wintered in the City of Splendors; the high quality and quantity of goods means the Coster will be looking for experienced, dauntless guards. Preference and better pay given to members of the Watchful Order of Magists and Protectors. Virgins need not apply. Applicants please report to the Shining Sun Tower in the Trades Ward.
Raaldeen’s is looking for strong men and women interested in sailing the seas. The priakos deals mainly with trading between Waterdeep and lands south of Baldur’s Gate, specializing in goods that might be confiscated or “detained” by the Flaming Fists in the Gate. Apply at Snakeward House in the South Ward.
THE SWORDS ON THE ROADS
Many of you have surely heard the news - Bandits control the Trade Road encircling Waterdeep, cutting off trade north and south. They hold large camps at the Boareskyr Bridge and around Kryptgarden Forest, raiding Soubar and Red Larch as they see fit. These bandits do not seem to be organized by some larger force, the dead holding no common trade marks or common marks of grace. No, they look to be two separate forces, Waterdeep’s current state nothing more than a “blessing” from Beshaba.
The northern group is irregulars and vandals from Luskan, the hive of thievery that it is. Left with little opportunity in their own city, they have decided to leech off our vibrant, growing trade. These Luskanite bandits are ill-equipped, wearing little more than patchwork mail and using discarded, rusted blades from years ago. Traders traveling north of Waterdeep, then, are advised to show full force: shined mail and glowing staves should dissuade the vagrants from attacking a superior force.
The bandits south of Waterdeep, however, are more organized and brutal. Many of Baldur’s Gate’s mercenary companies have fallen on hard times as of late, and it seems to be remnants of these companies that now fill the camps. The sellswords have brought plate, mounts, and even a handful of siege engines with them, and have developed some organization under a leader who calls himself “the Teregant.” No mere show of force will do here, and we advise that traders stay away until the Red Wyverns clear out the camps.
A note on the Red Wyverns themselves: while our connections say that the Lords have held them to a duty-bond, taking their lands and charter if they are routed or fail in their task, the Wyverns have often been known as mercenaries above and beyond the usual grade. The duty-bond does not cover the recovering of any goods or caravans, and no merchant should expect to have any goods he or she lost to the camps returned.
"Personally, I don't know too much about the murders in the Temple Square. But I would like to see these bandits on the trade road disposed of. Hopefully the Wyverns take them out soon enough."
Giving it a quick once over, Septimus notes to the others, "Nongolin of Arabel is on the case apparently."
Septimus had crossed paths with the larger-than-life genasi on several occasions. The constant mention of his high profile work in the broadsheets had made him somewhat of a celebrity, and he was easily on his rise to the top. Keeping him indebted to the Cassalanter was more profitable than simply collecting on him; as the precious information he provided was usually worth more in city politics than simple gold.
"I wonder if there is a pattern or if its just senseless violence from some depraved individual."
"Why worry about bandits on the road, Soren? Thinking about doing some travelling outside of Waterdeep?"
She takes a long draw from her flute of wine, welcoming the warmth that alcohol brings with less worry now that she had some food in her stomach. Pursing her lips, she blows the her blonde hair out of her eyes.
"Anyways the bandits come and go, we'll never be rid of them all. Squish a band here and next year another roving band will take their place. Have their attacks been on any of of the Dezlentyr caravans, Calwyn?"
"They already have." Replied the shifter with a dry tone as she shot Keira a very pointed glare. "My great uncle was found dead in the Temple Square."
Amelia's gaze dropped to the battered oak table, tail thrashing in careful thought. Those who had grown up with Amelia as their tormentor would know that it meant she was up to something. "No discernible cause of death, but he could have looked like a target." She muttered huskily. Her house couldn't afford all the fancy cloths and gleamings that other houses could.
The Eirontalar's head snapped up, and her lips peeled back to her ears in an unnatural, massive, predator smile full of wicked razor sharp teeth. Her yellow eyes flashed as she looked at her childhood companion. "Hey, Siobhan," she practically purred. "Wanna get into some trouble? For old times sake?" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Do you have your gear handy?"
She pats the bundle beneath her seat, "I have my blade Fortune here, the rest of my gear is stashed somewhere close enough."
Her eyes flash over the others sitting at the table before she leans in closer to Amelia. "What are you thinking of, Amelia?"
"...We hunt down this killer and gorge on his remains!" Snarled the shifter triumphantly, body shaking with pent up energy.
Realizing what she said, Amelia leaned back and hid her disturbing smile sheepishly. "And... by that I mean bring him to justice. Of course." Remarked the noble, idly picking at one of her furs with a clawed finger.
"I suppose, if you need help finding your great uncle's killer, we could go with you," Keira proclaims, magnanimously volunteering the entire table. "After all, if someone targeted him, we could be next!" Her voice rises up in pitch through the last sentence.
"If you w-w-w-want to tackle this al-lone, I understand. B-b-but I'd love an exc-c-use to g-g-get out of here."
"Now now, let us not be hasty and start some Fang-Witch hunt. Though I am sorry for your loss, Amelia Eirontalar; the last thing we want to do is show up down in Old Temple Square with weapons flourished, lest we get accused of being the murderers ourselves."
He takes out his dagger and slices off a sliver of roasted steak, pressing the meat between his thumb and the blade and bring it to his mouth. Between chewing the meat and his pipe, his words are nearly indecipherable to anyone more than three feet away from him.
"Though I am curious why the Cassalanter haven't heard more about these murders. Despite what Neverember says, there must be something more to it if they feel the need to assign the famed Nongolin of Arabel to investigate. If you are going to investigate further, allow me to lend my expertise."
Septimus falls backward into a seated position and reaches for his tankard of Old Sage Dragon Ale.
"I don't hold any you to of House Eirontalar's obligations, but if you want to come along with my hunt, I suppose I couldn't stop you." Said the shifter, which was as close to consent as they were going to get.
"And we're not going to go out murdering people at random. We're just going to poke around a little. See if the Guard missed anything." Remarked Amelia to the short man. She pushed away from the table, getting to her feet. "I'm going to track down the 'Fang-Witch' first. Neverember wouldn't have mentioned him if he wasn't significant."
"Worry not Amelia, Tymora bids us to take risks and aid the daring. I will gather my things and meet you in front of the Golden Dragon in a half hour. Til then.." She gave a brief curtsy and walked towards the exit. Siobhan did not revel in the opportunity to rub elbows with mostly spurned suitors, this gave her a reason to escape the muggy atmosphere of the festhall.
Pressing her way though the other nobles, some still in their soggy clothes, she stepped out of the Golden Dragon Festhall and quickly made her way down the line of waiting carriages. Eventually locating the carriage with the emblem of the black stallion on a golden shield, she stepped into the velvet lined cabin with the help of the chauffeur. Pulling out a trunk from under the seat, she stripped out of her furs and green dress and began pulling on pieces of red and gold armor.
S'not like anything exciting is happening here...
"If everyone else is headed out into the streets to find a murderer, that just sounds like too much fun to pass up."
"Unless one of you know who this Valamathar is, we're going to need to talk to Nongolin of Arabel first. He's no wall-flower at events like these, so keep an eye out for him. I will bring him by the table if I find him first."
Septimus climbs down off the table using Siobhan's vacated chair and makes his way around the festhall, determined to get some more information out of Nongolin before they go confront this Fang-Witch.
As you approach, the genasi turns in your direction, the bright lights reflecting in his crystalline "hair" and washing over his pale silver skin. Underneath a strong brow, the vein-like elemental lines that criss-cross his face flare a minute blue, a striking contrast against the pale red lip-powder Nongolin is known to affect for a little warmth in his otherworldly face. Nongolin smiles broadly, revealing bright white teeth and outstretching his arms to embrace the small man. "Septimus Cassalanter! How does the day find you?"
Knowing that his gaze is fickle, a moment of irritation crosses the Thann girl's carefully prepared face, before she turns away in search of another ear.
"Ah, Nongolin of Arabel! I hope the evening's festivities find you in good spirits. You might want to stay away from the Thann women; being in the business of wine, rumours are abound that they know how to bind a man into premature matrimony using the effects of alcohol, dim lighting, and inebriated passion."
Septimus musters up his best belly laugh with a wink and clanks his tankard of ale against Nongolin's.
The small Cassalanter beckons the genasi closer, "Listen friend, it seems I may have come across some information that may be favorable in your investigations down in the Old Temple Square. There is a girl from one of the noble houses claiming she knows of another victim that has perished under the same mysterious circumstances. I could introduce you, provided the favor of disclosed information is someday returned.."
While speaking into Nongolin's ear, Septimus casually positions himself and Nongolin facing the table and begins leading the genasi towards the rest of the group.
Glossary:
Always aware of the presence of other watchful eyes, Septimus adds, "Might, I suggest we find a more secluded and private location before we speak of such sensitive matters."
Bah, with their luck that's probably Nongolin of Arabel himself and they are already being questioned for suspicious behavior before we've even left! Best to keep a low profile.
She keeps on hand clasped around the fur cloak at her neckline to keep it drawn closed, snags a draught of Vilhon grape and approaches a friend from the Thann that looked anxious not having someone to talk to. Issenda Thann instantly began to spill tidbits of gossip from the events earlier that day, "Did you see what she was wearing.. I ought to have thrown my drink in his face.. I can't believe she thought that would be opaque when soaked.. hate that Cassalanter boy... though he is cute for a half-halfling or whatever.." It was all Siobhan could do to nod, sip her drink, and not roll her eyes while attempting to listen in on the conversation at the table.