Session 11: Rell's Log
General Summary
We were still in the courtyard at the Archives, a degree of sombreness having descended after the interlude of brandishing weapons. There was a lot of time to spare before Councilmember Chancer’s party this evening, though I quickly shoved the thought away as my stomach fluttered.
Robyn was inspecting her armour as if it were not her own and she seemed almost embarrassed as she stammered out that she had never been to an event like this before so had nothing suitable to wear. I’d already taken a half pace towards her before I forced myself to stop. As delightful as it would be to escort the Skirmisher to the Runaway Pride, I had my own business to attend to.
She did not need my attentions anyhow as both Saman and Elirith offered to accompany her. The former also mentioned heading to the encampment outside of the city, and my gaze found the cobblestones as my own ventures suddenly seemed extremely selfish in comparison.
There was no time for reconsideration as the three left Liv and me alone. She mentioned about restocking on Healing Potions, and I was quick to agree as they had saved us more than once. We headed at a brisk pace back to Varen’s Apothecary, where we were recognised with an overly pleased smile that I assumed would mean he’d be no less accommodating with the prices as less time.
Liv was quick to barter, however, and it was charming to watch her negotiate over the amount and cost. I doubted he’d budge considering he knew we had nowhere else to take our custom, so I was surprised when Liv tried another tact of asking for something amusing. Varen had seemed a little intrigued and drawn out an unknown purple liquid in a tall vial.
As we paid for both the mystery concoction plus three of the usual healing ones, I resoundingly informed Liv to try the potion back in Haven. Mainly I wanted assistance should it do anything of concern, a safety net so that my neck wouldn’t be in the noose. I was meant to be looking out for her after all, that was Otho’s command.
Next, we headed on towards the Builders Arms which both Saman and Robyn had spoken about in passing. The swinging sign displayed the store as a Blacksmith, but it wasn’t as eye-catching or impressive as some of the others I’d spied. Trusting Robyn’s judgement, I pushed inside to find a dwarf meticulously inspecting a breastplate. Clearly the owner, he found the piece unsatisfactory, tossing it to a far younger Apprentice before introducing himself as Geraint Flintsteel.
Glancing about, I copied the proprietors lead and cast my expert gaze over the weaponry and armour on display. My companions had been right; the craftmanship was exceptional; clearly this dwarf was a master at his art. Running fingers through the ends of my hair, I blew out a sigh alongside a small head shake. This was going to leave me penniless.
Approaching the Blacksmith, I immediately threw him a smile and commended him on his expertise. His gruff exterior portrayed nothing, but I hoped in some part that my flattery would serve me here. After trying to read the best tactic for negotiations as Mesh always advised, I confirmed that I required a set of daggers. His eyes had shifted to my large glaive as he made the correct assumption I needed something less ostentatious. Nodding, I stated that they would be hidden on my person and prayed that he did not care how I was potentially looking to conceal a weapon within the city. He curtly barked out that such was illegal but didn’t seem too deterred and I immediately liked him a whole lot more. Just in case, I attempted to distract him by eagerly offering my current weapon for inspection.
Watching his brow furrow, he scanned my glaive with a practised eye. Coarse fingers explored firstly the wooden shaft before he tested the keenness of the blade itself. I couldn’t prevent a toss of my head, nostrils flaring as his observations placed the glaive as well-made but certainly not as correctly weighted as it could be.
Trying not to let my irritation show, I smiled and graciously mentioned that perhaps he could be the one to make me such a weapon one day. Returning to my reason for gracing his doorstep, I asked again after a smaller blade. Allowing a wrapped bundle to tumble open before us, I was presented with a small arsenal of perfectly crafted daggers. While I searched for what I needed, Geraint confirmed that they had a special offer, if I purchased two of the blades, he would throw in the accessory to sheath them away from prying eyes.
Selecting a twin set of basic daggers, I chose ones short enough to allow full use of my arm once strapped in place, but long enough to reach someone’s vital organs. Flipping one in my hand, I asked if I could test them out around a target. An eyebrow had been raised by Geraint, but he called over his Apprentice, Dyfed who almost tripped over his own feet to get to us.
I barely registered the terrified, frozen stance he offered as I mapped a few well-honed slashes and stabbing motions around him. Daggers were certainly not unnatural for me to wield, they were familiar and reassuring, the first weapon I truly learnt — just the right size for a young girl eager to prove herself.
Satisfied, I ceased my flurries, turning back to the Blacksmith with a grin plastered across my features. As I did so, Dyfed scurried away, and I had a sudden flash of shame that I’d unintendedly caused him such fear. I muttered an apology despite him already being out of earshot.
Carefully slotting the daggers away into the leather sheaths already ready and waiting, I took another rapid glance around the shop. I really shouldn’t but; and the words were already falling from my mouth as I asked after the possibility of ordering a set of plate armouring for myself.
Geraint’s eyebrows had almost reached his hairline as he looked at me with fresh eyes. I was still in my tailored clothing, fine custom fabric that had been cut only for me. They had not been cheap. His gaze then measured Liv who had been lurking behind me, likely also guessing the weight of her purse.
Urgently I tried to recall any of the copious amounts of training I’d received on negotiation techniques, not only from Mesh but the other Diplomats also. I didn’t have enough coin but that wouldn’t have stopped Mesh, and I would not let it stop me.
Liv even offered to lend me some gold but I refused, needing this to be my own exchange, proof that should I really utilize the skills of my trade, I could haggle for anything as well as any other Diplomat.
In the end, we settled on a deposit of 220g, and I displayed an enigmatic smile rather than a laugh. I couldn’t wait to tell Mesh. The dwarf was offering my threats should I not make do on the rest of the payment, but I barely cared, let alone heeded his warnings of every blade in his store being turned on me. Flippantly I gave Shepherd’s Rest as where I could be found, knowing a dwarf would consider that the most obvious. It didn’t matter anyway; I would easily make that coin.
The next two hours were some of the longest of my life as I was intimately poked, measured and what might have been called caressed along every avenue of my body; some of it far more enjoyable than others. The urge to fidget had been insurmountable, and I was sure I added a good extra fifteen minutes to the session from my restlessness.
One more stop before we headed home, I wanted to stock up on ink and paper. This time I did graciously allow Liv to gift me both, though she voiced the necessary for tattoo ink for herself, which she wouldn’t find here. The Diplomats often received such requests from her, ones that were quickly acted upon given her favour within Haven, sometimes to muttered misgivings that I was always quick to rebuke.
Speaking of our home, I had to return my glaive and at least freshen up a little before the loathsome party. As we headed to the portal, I cast my mind back to how the woven chains of my armour clinked and jangled when I’d been at the Waterworks. In the Wastelands, I’d always wore leathers, but even then I’d never really perfected the art of moving silently.
The thought crowded my mind, and after Liv retreated to her room, I safely stored my large weapon in the armoury before seeking out someone I knew to be an expert in subtly and stealth. Hekess was training, and on noticing my presence, the gnome attempted a backflip before misjudging and stumbling on the landing. I smirked a little, hoping it had been my outfit that had distracted him.
Knowing his blade preference, I let my new daggers fall from their hidden compartment. He inspected them with a sly smile, letting me know that such a practise was prohibited, but he certainly didn’t discourage me. If anything he sounded pleased. He praised the blacksmith, mentioning that he’d visited their establishment a few times via a glamour and I was once again glad I’d entrusted my coin to the brusque dwarf.
Niceties complete, I offered as enticing a glance as I could manage and asked Hekess if he could assist me in practising to move a little more quietly. Suddenly in his element, the gnome rapidly exited the large room, heading into the barracks and to my bed. The few rude Gnomish words I knew were colourfully exclaimed as he tore into the sheets there. My concerns soon faded as he took the chainmail I’d discarded after my drunken escapades and began using the linen to pad the interlaced metalwork.
After his work was done, I’d changed into the newly lined armour and been forced into a training session that I had received multiple times before, only now I actually paid attention and attempted to enact the technique. At least these days I was far too quick for Hekess as he’d attempted a blow when I made a mistake. It worked overall, and I felt far more confident in the placement of my footfalls, in controlling my breath and twisting my body in such a way to remain undetected.
A thorough wash and my hair re-braided, fine clothing once again laced in place, I studied myself hard in the tiny mirror. My silver eyes revealed no alternative motives; my sleeves held no weaponry. I was simply a Freelancer, a servant of the Council. My palm shot out to steady myself against the wall, but I kept the wave of nausea down.
Councilmember Chancers house was just as I’d expected, a three-story extravagance. Every shuttered window looped by a balcony, marbled pillars marking the entrance like stoic guardians, it screamed wealth and prosperity before even setting foot inside.
What a reflection of the human populace he represented.
Elirith, Saman and Robyn were already waiting for us, and as we nodded our greetings, I couldn’t help but take in Robyn. She was in a stunning navy dress to match the streak in her hair, cut to show her figure far more than her armour ever could, it made her look quite the beauty. If only she’d un-slump her shoulders, not be so obviously self-conscious. Shaking my head, I looked back to Elirith who was mentioning about a code word; architecture? Trying to argue that the High Architect might be at the party fell on death ears, and I rolled my eyes a little as I trailed at the back of our group to enter.
My muscles contorted and I was ready for anything as we gave our names to the guards and were ushered inside. Although Elirth once again gave up her weaponry, we were not searched. Chancer was either confident or stupid.
The interior confirmed the wealth the outside eluded to; pastel wallpaper, soft furnishings and exquisite plaster moulded ceilings, plus chandeliers supporting dozens of candles. It was all a status symbol, all very much the style of the city’s elite. Did he even like his own home? The thought was fleeting as I realised the harmony that drifted around us was emanating from an elegant elven women. I knew her.
Spinning to Liv, I saw her eyes were dead set on the singer though slightly gazed as if she couldn’t quite focus. Half a pace closer and my arm was around her waist, palm offering a soothing rub to her side. I only relented when she muttered a confirmation that she was okay.
The melody was that of tragic love, a popular piece but sombre and melancholy, too downbeat for the atmosphere in my opinion. A pang touched my heart, but there was little I could do.
At that moment, Chancer approached us, gowned in a luxurious grey robe that once again displayed his station and inclination towards splendour. Perhaps I was a little envious. He greeted us warmly, complimenting us all in turn and extremely grateful for our attendance. Noting the absence of my glaive, he joked that he wouldn’t have to worry for his light fixtures. My frivolous reply had been unwarranted and foolish, EIirth even throwing me a worried stare. I had to control myself here.
After being offered food and drink, we were guided from room to room, seemingly as another lavish treasure of Chancers to be displayed for the guests. Stoneshield had been in the library, smoking a large pipe and already drunk beyond any meaningful conversation on whiskey. In the dining room we met Ceri Craghammer once again, alongside her husband Iwan. She gestured to Saman and eagerly asked if she could speak with him in more detail later on. Before I could think about what she might want with the Warforged, we were already moving along.
Next, I correctly recognised the tall women in the sophisticated red dress to be Natasha Nakarumi, owner of the gambling establishment Tasha’s Place. Her eyes measured me keenly, and I received a compliment that I graciously thanked her for. Then there was another face I couldn’t quite place until the name Malora Rockwell was offered, and I immediately realised she was the doctor at the free clinic in Shepherd’s Rest. I could feel my blood pulsing, suddenly louder to my own ears as I took in her tired eyes, lines evidence as though she never got much sleep. She helped so many, those that needed it the most. She was probably the most charitable person here. She had seen things Chancer never would.
Once again we were moving, through the bustling kitchen where Liv helped herself to an uncharacteristic brandy, whereas I tried the sparkling wine. There was a door leading it a courtyard and possibly a garden, which I craned my neck to try to see more of as we passed by.
Our next introduction caused my eyebrows to raise, a half-elf; though slightly taller and far darker skinned than myself with her head shaved to the scalp. She was flaunting beads of every colour, and large looped earrings which almost reached her shoulders. Her name was Solundar, the owner of the theatre within Bastion and she asked after our thoughts on the strains of the song that continued to reach us. Liv piped up then, mentioning her fondness of the music and of the singer Odreana. Solundar had offered an introduction, but even though Liv had swiftly declined, the possibility remained open.
Another ostentatious woman greeted us with a heavy but not unpleasing accent. In her mid-forties, yet still quite beautiful, she flaunted a stunning green dress, set off with a dazzling gemstone of the same shade. She introduced herself as Madame Chatté and gave us the label of heroes. While the others shuffled, seeming unsure, I stepped forward with a slight bow, agreeing with the title. The smile reached her eyes as though she was pleased with my forwardness and I noticed her flick a measured, almost professional gaze down my figure.
I soon realised why as she confirmed she ran a brothel in the Garden district, the Subtle Smile and invited us there should we ever wish. A whore house was certainly a viable place for gossip and as though reading my thoughts she offered some; there was talk that someone was planning to run against Chancer.
That piqued my interest, Chancer had not had a rival delegate for the human council seat for the nineteen years or so he’d held the position. My thoughts raced, and I pressed her as to whether she knew more. My slight desperation must not have shone through as she gave a nonchalant shrug to the contrary.
We spoke further as more joyful, upbeat music reached us. The Madame replied to one of my cheeky comments, claiming that she thought me mischievous, and I refused to stop a flirtatious smile light up my features. When she offered me a job, I’m not even sure if she was joking, but although I boasted to being skilled, I politely refused. Even still, a Madame offering me a position, it was nice to know I was both attractive and entertaining enough to be considered.
After the exchange, we decided to head our separate ways, and although I would have found it the utmost of entertainment to flirt with Bastion’s elite, this was an opportunity not to be missed.
Slipping back to the library, I approached the firmly closed door that I hoped led to an office or storage place. I was so focused on the doorknob that I caught my foot on the expansive rug, tripping to a loud curse that caused the snoring Stoneshield to splutter awake. Luckily he’d simply called for another drink, and I took the whisky glass, backed away slightly and placed it gently on the floor as soon as his breathing indicated sleep.
Spinning on my heels, I carefully twisted the door open and found myself in the semi-dark of Chancer’s office. Perfect. A quick search of the desk revealed nothing of interest, though there were some terrible campaign slogans that caused me to smirk. If I hadn’t had been pressed for time, I’d have added my own suggestions. I even resisted lifting the ink well, something I’d have happily pocked should I’d have found it out in the Wastelands. Instead, my attention was pulled to the shelves lines with heavy ledgers and stifling a sigh, I pulled one down at random. Flicking page after page only revealed calculations and budgets, so it was soon replaced, and another drawn down, but that one was even less interesting. I wanted some information on who might be running against him or failing that… perhaps…
The heavy book a had in my hands was slipped back into place as I skirted around the desk. Here. I tried the first drawer, locked. Second, locked and of course the third followed it’s predecessors footsteps. Hekess’ lessons on lockpicking flashed through my mind, and though given enough time I could certainly work the basics, it was not my speciality, nor did I have any tools on my person. Fuck. Gritting my teeth, I bowed my head slightly as I braced myself again the desk.
It came to me in a flash. Robyn. She would likely have tools on her; I’d seen enough of her trade, the way she’d approached the traps set by the Goblins. She was a human, after all; she’d have been touched by the Uprising. It was a risk, she was a Skirmisher and oddly didn’t seem to find me that agreeable. There was only one way to find out.
While I didn't see Elirith, I spied Saman with the Craghammers, and at a glance he was looking at pictures offered by the husband whose name I’d already forgotten. Hurrying on, I came across Robyn in the kitchen, as though she’d been outside moments before. Speeding through the necessity of asking how she was finding the party, I half interrupted her answer to enquire on what she thought about Chancer. Peculiarly enough she mentioned she’d just been speaking with him, though when I asked what about she didn’t want to answer. She seemed restless though, uneasy and I hoped to The Shepherd I’d read her correctly.
As casually as possible, even throwing in the nickname Blue, I enquired on her willingness to help me search his office. Intrigue, realisation and then eagerness graced her features in quick succession before she smiled and agreed with no further questions.
Finding it a little bizarre but not one to ruin a good turn of luck, I led us back to the library. On the way, we meet Madam Chatté once more, and she offered us a sly wink as though we were paramours on our way to make love. Happy to play along, I gave her a nod and half bow of thanks.
Once back near the office I almost stumbled in my haste once again on the ridiculous rug, but this time Robyn caught my arm and steadied me. I granted her a somewhat guilty grin, and surprising received a smile in return. Perhaps the party had loosened her intolerant mood for once.
Agreeing to guard the door, I kept one eye on the snoring dwarf and another on the kneeling Skirmisher as she set to work on the drawers. The jangle of metal was a familiar one, and I caught the sound of the lock being freed, certainly faster than I could ever have managed. Either it was a poor mechanism, or she was extremely skilled, I guessed the later. Two more locks were opened, and then there was a scrape of wood, the muffled, almost silent sound of Robyn searching and then another scrape, and so on.
Eventually, she stood, hands empty though I couldn’t read her expression. I had to know for myself, and we exchanged places. The first drawer was stuffed with paper, as chaotic as the desk itself, though a rummage displayed nothing of note. There was a beautiful pearl inlaid box, which upon opening revealed a multitude of coloured sweets. They smelled of fruits, and I placed one on my tongue, enjoying the vibrate flavours that only the rich could afford.
The middle drawer held a row of vials, and I carefully left them alone. The final drawer, however, held a bound journal or diary, and I lifted it up in the half-light to study it better. Flipping it open to the first page displayed the same hand as the rest of the office and my pulse raced as I skipped ahead, desperate for any answers.
Pages upon pages, upon pages, greeted me. Comments about his business, about his grievances with his father, even some romantic interests, but nothing about what I wanted. Nothing about his political rivals, no secrets about the Council or his true thoughts on the population he was meant to represent.
Nothing on the Uprising… nothing on… I closed the book, palm resting heavy on the cover. Should I take it? All my training and experience screamed at me not to, but yet there could be something in here that I’d not seen.
Enough. Behave like a Diplomat should, pup.
She was right of course, as always and the book was replaced exactly as I’d found it.
Slightly downhearted, I plodded back to the entrance hall alongside Robyn and gave our goodbyes to Chancer. He was still as excitable as the start of the night, and I assumed he’d considered the party a success. As we moved outside, Leith headed passed us and into the house, I hoped dearly it was her job to wake up the inebriated Stoneshield.
Moving a few metres away, we paused to regroup. Robyn revealed that Chancer was indeed quite worried about a challenger to his position, that he’d approached her and attempted to win her vote, describing all the good he could still offer the city. My jaw clenched as I took a step forward, hands forming fists to avoid raising an accusatory finger. My words were snappish as I voiced that I felt it was right he finally had an opposing candidate, that he’d been in power too long, that he knew nothing of the suffering in Shepherd’s Rest. My chest was heaving, and my face felt heated as I fumed, both angry and passionate all at once.
He had had his time; if he had unfinished business, he should have completed it in the twenty years he’d had in office. I paused, heart racing as I realised I’d rambled perhaps more than I should. Shit.
Before I could speak again, Robyn’s head snapped up, and she was off, hurtling into the night. I had not upset her, that was a hunter after it’s prey.
I gave chase, houses and streets hurtling by as I tried to keep the flash of blue in sight. Finally, I caught up to her in an alleyway, both of us gasping in short sharp pants. She was glaring at the rooftops, and I just glimpsed a figure disappearing into the night. Bizarrely she called out that they didn’t have to run, that she was happy to converse with them and I didn’t stop a grin. Maybe Robyn wasn’t so bad after all.
Yet who was that mysterious figure and had they overheard my fiery ranting on Councilmember Chancer? My lack of caution often landed me in trouble, and I hoped that I hadn’t said too much. That was attention I did not want under any circumstance.
Previous: Session 10: Rell's Log
Next:Session 12: Rell's Log
50 Acadi
- Robyn, Elirith and Saman head to Runaway Pride.
- Rel left a deposit for some plate armour and picked up some daggers from the blacksmith (Geraint).
- Met for Chancer's party.
- Met Natasha Nakarumi (Tasha) at the party
- Malora Rockwell, doctor of the free clinic at Shepherd's Rest.
- Solundar, half-elf woman, owner of the theatre. Liv mentioned her fondness of the singer Odreana.
- Madame Chatte, owner of the Subtle Smile.
- Learned that there was possibly someone going to run against Chancer - for the first time in decades.
- Rel and Robyn snoop in Chancer's office, Rel read through Chancer's diary - nothing of note.
- Find a shadowed figure following us, who runs when spotted.
Report Date
22 Apr 2019
Original Disclaimer: Written from Rell’s PoV and any opinions on character’s or npcs are her own and may not be a true reflection of a character’s intended actions or intentions. Any missing content is due to Rell’s selective hearing or poor memory. Although I have attempted to keep information on Rell to a minimum, please note that you may read some content/opinions that aren’t common knowledge to your own characters and therefore it should not influence your interactions with her.
Additional Disclaimer: This article is ported frpm old blogspot articles for reference, and pertinent bullets and dates added to timelines.
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