Session 7 - Anxiety Attacks Starting at One Thousand Gil

Previously… With Orrey, Bast, and Linnet absolutely not breaking into the Valles Estate to plant false messages in ancient texts, Isa and Yves traveled south along the rails to Kinneas Station, where the fighter and black mage were faced with that most perilous of foes: a street festival.
Isa’s reason for being on this journey was to pick up a sword for a friend of hers, Art Covus, as he had ushered her out of Cardia to pick up a sword he purchased for a girl, in return for his acquiring her spear from the Dravanian Academy before it could be given as a graduation present to someone not even at the top of her class.
After a few false starts and one broken stage inspection, they found renowned blacksmith Artemicion, who did know Art, did not have the sword, but DID have something else.
A letter.
The contents of this letter were for Isa, and Isa did not share them with Yves.
The letter did come with a present — Isa’s own spear, already acquired and safely tucked away from Cardia.
With spear in hand and letter in pocket, Isa and Yves returned to Bernier, meeting back up with the group to spend a day at leisure before the auction, and to spend a night out under the stars, since circumstances had led to them not being allowed back at the Estate beforehand.
With but an hour now remaining before the auction’s listed start time, we join our heroes as they have a quick meal at the Velvet Sundown…
“Just tuck them into the hat, Yves,” Isa says. “It’ll be fine if you pull the brim down far enough.”
Linnet keeps getting up from the table to gussy up a bit at the mirror on the wall. Despite her best efforts, she still has twigs in her hair.
Yves peers out from behind… quite a lot. It is not entirely clear where he got a domino mask, enormous pointy hat, gloves, and voluminous robes. (The boots are still his own, but they kinda go with this aesthetic, being already black.) Perhaps such things spontaneously manifest in the presence of black mages. “…I feel like a turnip,” he says, trying to shove an ear upward into the hat.
“Good. Turnips haven’t been banned from Valles,” Isa says diplomatically.
“Not /yet/,” Yves points out.
“Just don’t shove any heirloom turnips at grieving relatives, and you should be fine,” Linnet remarks.
Ingrid has had a two-hour case of the giggles, ever since seeing the start of this outfit.
Yves snorts from within the depths of the Very Traditional Outfit, shoving another ear into the vast confines of the hat. “My /grandmother/ would have worn something like this if she ever had to walk among non-viera.”
Orrey looks up from his sketchbook. “Your grandmother was a Black Mage, too?”
Bast, looking somewhat pained, tears his eyes from Yves and looks around for someone In Charge at this place.
There is someone wearing the traditional different-colored Manager Vest, currently going through the bottles behind the counter to make sure the labels are all lined up.
“…yes, but it was mostly a way to avoid being seen by people who weren’t viera. She was very old-fashioned. She only left the forests twice a year for the big clan archery tournament and the arson convention.”
About to rise, Bast slides back into his seat, paying attention once more. “…the what again?”
“Big clan archery tournament? See, a lot of the different viera villages would send their archers around to a tournament every year—it was a big thing back in the day when villages were still gender segregated, then it sort of stuck as an excuse to meet up with people who weren’t your cousins, you know how it goes—and she went every single year. Even though she could barely draw a bow. I think she just liked the excuse to get away for a while and still call it tradition.”
“Right. And the arson?” Bast presses.
Yves blinks behind the domino mask. “You know. When property confiscated as harmful to the community gets brought together to be set on fire by visiting black mages, to do the controlled burn to keep the forest healthy. Do they not do that where you come from? I mean, we didn’t in the city, but you don’t really need controlled burns in an urban area.”
“You lived in a forest, and you intentionally set it on fire?” Linnet, wind sylph and city kid, is very, very confused.
“No, no,” Yves explains, “my /grandmother/ did. I only visited occasionally.”
“Is that like gunning a mountain? Controlled destruction to prevent a much larger disaster?” Isa asks.
Yves considers this. “I didn’t get very far in geology, so… probably?”
“…you don’t get an awful lot of either one around universities,” Linnet says. “Though I suppose weeding might be an analogue?”
“Sure, magical weeding…” Yves sighs a little wistfully. “Grandma was xenophobic and cranky, but she really loved setting things on fire.” Ingrid, ever attentive, shifts to look at Bast. “Did you need something from the manager?”
“Yeah. Be right back.” Bast reins in his itch to ask about things “harmful to the community” and picks up his toolbox, lugging it over to the counter and rapping his knuckles on the counter to get the manager’s attention.
The manager, a moogle with light sienna fur and a permanent scowl, clambers down from the tiered chairs and then gets up on a third. “Yes?”
“Beg pardon, but would you have a storage room I could put this in for the day?” He briefly lifts the battered and scratched toolbox above the counter with both hands. “My friends and I have business at the Valles estate, and I’d rather travel light.”
He holds his hands out. “I can store it back here, sure. Name?”
“Bast. And, ah – I don’t expect this to become relevant, but I do hope no one tries to open it. I’m working on a new clock model, and there’s an unpleasant surprise or two for anyone who doesn’t know the trick to it. Perfectly safe to move, but competition can get rather underhanded, I’m sure you understand.”
He gives Bast a resigned, weary look. “Of course. I’ll make sure no one tampers with your special toy.”
Bast gives him a lopsided smile and slides two gil across the counter. “For your trouble, with my thanks.” After a moment, he adds three more. “…and maybe a drink or two for our thespian friend over there.”
The gil vanishes into a pocket, but the nod Bast gets in return is a little brighter.
The Valles Estate is very, very tense.
You can feel it as you approach, in the strained smiles the staff give you, the way you are steered well away from anything approaching the rest of the grounds, the sidelong glances the staff give each other, and how decorative latticework is in place to perhaps hide from where a herd of chocobos may or may not have charged through hedges.
Fortunately, the mood is such that no one bats an eye at the ambulatory hat you’ve brought with you, and if anyone recognizes you among the staff, they are hiding it well.
The auction itself will be taking place in the Main Hall, in the same room you saw Enrico hurtle out of.
No member of the Valles family is greeting visitors.
Linnet glances around for Kulin, one anxious hand on her lumpy messenger bag.
Yves ambles hatfully, sticking close to the rest of group. And not just because this has done terrible things to his peripheral vision.
A familiar moogle is around the back of the staircase, attempting to bolster the spirits of a teenaged girl. She disappears into one of the doors, and he turns, rolls his eyes, and starts to head for one of the other doors.
Linnet sidles up close. “Everything all right with her? Need a bit of girl time?”
His eyes squint, taking you in, stray to the twigs as his mouth quirks in curiosity, and then recognition dawns and the tension ripples across his shoulders. “Ah. Of course. No, she’s fine, just a double shift and learning on the job. I take it you have a delivery? Your friend safely away from here, I hope?”
“There will be no more incidents.” She glances around to make sure nobody’s paying too close attention to her, before sliding the wrapped package out of her bag.
Kulin looks decidedly uncomfortable for about two seconds, and then takes the package.
The very large hat bobbles in faint relief.
“Bless you.” Linnet glances back over her shoulder. “Just…come tap me on the shoulder if you need an extra voice on anything, yeah?”
“Sure thing.” He holds the lantern warily. “Let me just go, uh… put this with the other one, I guess… KugaNEPO, I don’t get paid enough for this.” Kulin exits, grumbling the whole way.
The auction awaits.
Orrey scans the crowd for any familiar faces.
Isa hangs back with Yves, in Retainer Mode.
Yves tries to look like a retainer and/or giant but very normal hat. Like black mages wear. All the time. Around here. Surely.
Linnet returns to her party but is keeping an eye out for upset teenage girls. Or Liga. Or anyone who looks like they’re about to do something stupid. Stupider.
The murmur in the room dies as you all are seated, as Dearica Valles walks up from the back of the room, looks at and speaks to no one, and drops into a chair in the front row, fanning herself and gripping her own lantern. She looks Unwell.
Another door opens, and then that same girl — perhaps 17, light brown pigtails, wearing a dress that’s quite nice and also definitely fitted for someone else — steps up in front of the assembled crowd of roughly 60 people.
She clears her throat, and then does it again. “On behalf of the Valles Estate and the late Master Sindarius Valles, we here at the Valles Est— we welcome you to an auction to celebrate his life and… sell things for charity.”
In the front row, Dearica stirs.
The girl’s eyes snap down, and then back straight ahead, toward the incoming train of disapproval. “A-as we all know, Master Sindarius was a traveler of world renown and his adventures took him all across the great land of Ducorde,” she rushes. “What we have here today are just a few of his many treasures, that he wishes to share with the world at large.”
“Our first item is a painting of Sindarius’s airship The Brilliance, painted by Sindarius himself, the day after he completed his Memoria. It captures the majesty of his journey, represented in his magnificent craft, in front of the setting sun, showing that his journey was nearing its end, and he was coming home.”
She steps to the side, and then takes two more as two more staff members rush out with a painting. It’s really, really quite nice, and not just the kind of nice people say about rich people’s efforts when they want their money.
“Bidding begins at 2600 gil.”
A few bids start, people dotted through the small crowd. 3000, then 4000, then 5000…
“…14,000… going once…. going twice…”
She raps a gavel against a podium, and is clearly startled by how loud it is. “14000 to the gentleman in the burgundy hat. Thank you so much, sir.”
Dearica looks pleased.
The painting is moved to the side.
“Up next, we have… This map of our beautiful world of Ducorde shows how it was before the Shattering of the Great Crystal, though there are doubts as to the accuracy of this— I mean, it’s an incredibly old map and it’s good.”
Dearica looks displeased.
“The bidding starts at 2500 gil for this rarity.”
The assembled crowd looks less excited by an old map.
Linnet raises her hand after a second of glancing around to scope out the competition.
The girl points. “2500, do we have 3000?”
A beat passes, and then another tonberry, this one in an old brown cloak, gestures.
“3000! 3500?”
Linnet again.
“3500!”
The room is quiet.
“Going once…”
“Going twice…”
The tonberry starts to move their hand, and then does not.
“Sold to the sylph with the delightful hair!”
Dearica looks displeased.
She smiles gracefully and whispers to Orrey, “I assume we pick up the stuff later?”
“I think so, yeah,” he replies.
The next item makes its appearance, and it is a work of art.
“This dragon-winged spear is said to be blessed by the Azure Dragoon herself, wielded in defense of the Kingdom of Cardia. Sindarius gained it during his travels to the Forgotten’s hidden city.”
There are a few appreciative murmurs.
“Bidding starts at 2500 gil.”
Linnet puts on her best sotto voce act. “Ooh, shiny. Do the fancy poky bits make it more dangerous?”
Isa looks impressed. “They’re decorative, but forged with utility in mind. You don’t want to go too deep on landing, or you’ll have a hard time recovering for a follow-up attack.”
The first bid of 2500 comes in, and then a few more do as well. “4000 gil for the spear, going once…”
“Do you need another spear?” Yves asks, keeping his voice so quiet as to be nearly inaudible.
“No,” Isa replies.
“Going twice… Sold, to the red-haired woman by the east wall.”
The woman makes an effort to break parade rest and nod in appreciation.
“If her family has a connection to that spear, she got an excellent bargain,” Isa notes.
The girl announcing the auction clears her throat and looks at her paper. “Up next, we have a collection of ten swords, said to be—”
Someone appears to bump very hard into a bookshelf, and Kulin, apologetically rubbing his shoulder, shakes his head slightly.
The girl looks at her paper, and back at Kulin. Kulin shrugs.
Dearica looks Unwell.
Yves tries to adjust an ear inside his hat. “Weapons are so expensive. I thought they were more like farm tools, but they’re priced like lab equipment.”
“If your shovel breaks, you get a new shovel. If your sword breaks, you die,” Isa says calmly.
A book is brought up to the forefront. “Padjal’s White Magery is a tome that covers the history of White Magic, from the dawn of the Alternan Empire through modern day. At one thousand, two hundred and thirty-seven pages, it is an exhaustive look at a subject many find dry, but this isn’t like that, I promise.”
Dearica looks very angry, and the girl shrinks back. “Bidding begins at one thousand gil!”
From behind your row, you hear someone mutter, “What happened here?”
Linnet raises her hand.
1500 comes from the right side of the room.
Yves might be inclined to argue the point in favor of farmers during a bad harvest, but it’s hard to tell beneath all the hat and cloak and so forth.
Linnet bids 2000.
2500 answers.
Linnet ups it to 2800.
Another bid brings it to 3300.
Orrey cranes his neck to see the other bidder.
Undaunted, Linnet pushes it to 3500.
The other bidder is dressed in shimmering silver pants, shining black shoes, a glittery purple shirt, and a long blue coat ringed in chocobo feathers of many colors. He wears his pale blonde hair slicked back, and his mustache is thin and wiry. His bidding method is rapping the bottom of his cane on the floor, sending jolts through the people seated next to him. The large set of armor you saw earlier is standing next to his seat.
He thinks this over.
“3500, going once…” “Going twice…” “Sold to the sylph with the fantastic hair!”
Linnet scribbles down some quick notes on a sheet of paper, then stashes it back in her bag. (She’s budgeting.)
Orrey pulls out his handy sketchbook and draws both of them.
The book is set aside. It seems quite heavy.
The next set of items takes a large number of people to move. “Sindarius’s own harp, paired with the double-stringed harp of his instructor, Myrl Faren, which she presented to him two months ago at her retirement ceremony. Their duet of ‘Hikari’ brought audiences to tears on multiple occasions. Bidding begins at 15,000 gil."
The murmurs on this one are loud and appreciative — a conversation starts behind you, remembering one of the performances. Bids start quickly, and keep going.
“We have 45,000 gil going once…” “Going twice…” “…sold to the moogle in the top hat!”
Dearica looks Quite Pleased.
A particular sylph musician looks quite sad.
Another book is brought to the forefront — the second of three very important books for Orrey’s mission. “The Fiendish Way of Fighting, a study on Blue Magic and how it has been adopted by Monks over the years as a way of better communicating with nature. There are passages from Geomancers, Beastmasters, and Animists, plus knowledge passed down from the last Druid. Bidding for this important book begins at 1200 gil."
Yves looks faintly disdainful of Blue Magic. Not that anyone will be able to tell.
Linnet looks doubtful and does not raise her hand. (Academics on the whole would prefer to communicate with each other and let nature stay outside.)
The bids are slower to start — 1200, 1500, 1600… but then a small run starts, mostly between the top-hatted moogle and the man tapping his cane. “2600 gil, going once…” “Going twice…”
Might as well not buy up every book at the auction. Linnet studies the gent tapping his cane.
“Sold to the gentleman with the chocobo-feather coat!”
He barely acknowledges this, looking almost bored.
Dearica looks displeased. She must not be a reader.
“Six — five jeweled daggers, passed down through the Valles family. Unparalleled craftspersonship on display.” The girl bites her lip, trying not to listen to the very tense murmurs coming from the crowd again. “Bidding begins at 8000 for the set.”
“Can you still call it a set?” Isa wonders quietly.
“I mean, what do you do with six daggers anyway? Most people only have two hands,” Yves says.
“Juggling,” Orrey provides.
Linnet steps lightly on Isa’s foot without looking at her, and then slightly less lightly on Yves’ foot.
Isa, thanks to the power of Big Stompy Boots, does not seem to mind.
Yves also wears large boots, but rather less stompy ones, and the hat twitches with his wince.
No bids come.
The mood at the front of the auction hall is very tense. The mood in the back, in the crowd, is the “can I speak to your manager” mood.
After five minutes of very uncomfortable silence, the daggers are removed, and no one speaks of them.
Another painting is brought forth. “This portrait, by Mogult Kuponensa, shows Sindarius and King Jessamine Dravanor on a peaceful visit.” She lowers her voice. “The day after they stood for this painting, King Dravanor exiled three familes in her own court, and… and that’s just hearsay. Bidding starts at 600 gil," she says, drawing a furious snort from Dearica.
With a shrug, a cane taps for 600.
Yves waves a hand to bid for whatever the next number up is, because, hey, art. Classy people appreciate art, right?
“800 gil! Do we have a thousand?”
Amanda/Linnet09/04/2019 Linnet knows she’s supposed to be paying attention, but the atmosphere is so stiff that she’s started looking around for a coffee urn or something, just to break the tension.
The cane does not reply.
“800 gil, going once…” “Going twice…” “…sold, to the… black mage in the fifth row?”
Yves waves a cheery, anonymous acknowledgment, and leans over to whisper to Linnet, “If I give you the gil for it, will you pick up the painting for me? I guess I’m an art collector now.”
“Sure thing,” Linnet says.
The painting is set aside, and a book comes out. A very unassuming book. “Green Study Volume 1, a study of Green Magic, I think, though that doesn’t— ahem. Green Study Volume 1 is the first in the Green Study line, and… and it’s good.”
Behind her, Kulin groans.
“Bidding starts at 850 gil.”
Linnet raises her hand, but only after about five seconds’ delay. “900,” comes an almost immediate counter. “Nine fifty.” “A thousand.” “Eleven hundred.” “Thirteen hundred.” “Fourteen hundred.”
The other bidder is a viera woman with light gray fur, black-tipped ears, rimless spectacles, and dressed sensibly in traveling clothes — a thin green coat, tan pants, and tall brown riding boots. She finds Linnet in the crowd, fixes her with a steely stare, and challenges her with a crisply delivered “Twenty-five hundred.”
Sketchbook is back out and Orrey is drawing again…
“Twenty-eight.” Linnet gives her best sparkling-emerald innocent look back at the viera woman.
The battle is joined.
“3500.” “3700.” “4000.” “4300.” “4800.”
The crowd is perplexed.
“Five grand.” “Six grand.” “Six and a half.” “Seven.” Linnet would really like to cross the hall and talk to this lady, try to work something out, but…she’s never been to an auction before and is pretty sure that would be an etiquette breach. “Seven three.”
Kulin is tilting his head to the side, attempting to figure these visitors out.
The woman is clearly shaken, but continues on. “Seven five.”
“Seven seven.” She falters.
The auctioneer speaks. “7700 gil, going once…”
“Ten thousand!” “Ten and a half thousand.” “Twelve thousand,” she says. “Twelve and a half.” Linnet’s cool-and-collected bidding face is starting to sag a bit; she’s got a hell of a headache building.
The man in the chocobo-feather coat smiles a very aggressive smile and says, “Thirteen thousand.”
“Thirteen three.” “Thirteen five,” he says. “Fifteen,” she says. The suit of armor does not stir. The moogle in the top hat has taken it off to mop his brow.
Silence.
Bast glances over to see how Dearica is taking this. Dearica is DELIGHTED.
“15,000 gil, going once…”
Orrey wraps up his sketch of Miss Anxious and makes sure to get Top Hat Moogle who bought the harp in there as well.
“Fifteen two,” Linnet says.
The man scoffs. “Well now, you’re not even anteing up.”
“Sixteen,” the viera replies. “Sixteen five.” The distaste for the numbers leaving her lips is plain on Linnet’s face. She scribbles a note on her pad and shoves it into Bast’s hand.
Behind Isa, a mutter: “what IS this book?”
“Eighteen thousand,” she says, desperation plain.
Bast raises his eyebrows in response, smiling expectantly.
“Nineteen.”
Silence. The man in the chocobo coat settles into his chair, smiling broadly, but staying silent.
The auctioneer says, shakily, “Nineteen thousand, going once…”
Linnet casts a very apologetic look at the viera and pointedly ignores Chocobo Coat.
“Going twice…”
That’s my job on the line, Linnet thinks.
“Twenty two thousand!” the viera cries out. “Bloody hurricane winds,” Linnet mutters under her breath. Out loud, “Twenty-two five.” She runs both hands through her hair, pulling her ears down, tugging on them, and then letting them go to spring back up. “Twenty-three.”
The murmurs are full-on wowed conversations at this point.
Linnet scribbles another note, drops it on the floor, and coaxes up a tiny breeze to waft it to the viera woman’s feet. Maybe we can work something out? Meet me afterward? “Twenty-three five.”
She looks down as something brushes the top of her boot.
The auctioneer’s voice rings out. “Twenty-three thousand, five hundred gil, going once…” Linnet is silently praying. She reads the note, held in shaking hands. The auctioneer’s clear tone, over the chattering crowd. “Going twice…” She looks Linnet dead in the eyes, mouth moving, no sound coming out.
A beat passes.
“SOLD!”
Linnet mouths her fervent thanks to the viera woman and buries her face in her hands.
Yves pats Linnet gingerly on the shoulder.
“Congratulations,” Isa says. “A glorious victory.”
Muffled mixed crying and swearing can sort of be heard behind the wind sylph’s hands.
The tension rushes out of the room.
“Maybe you can mount it as a trophy or something,” Bast says.
“You don’t understand…that’s my job back,” Linnet manages from behind her hands. “I can go home now.”
“Congratulations,” Yves says, with great sincerity. “…already? I mean. That’s great.”
“Not that I’m going to, of course, at least not right away, but…that’s my entire future, right there. And I think it’s safe to assume it’s someone else’s future as well. Help me keep an eye on her, please? I’d really like to talk to her before we all leave, but I think it’d be rude in the middle of the auction.” (All of this conversation is sotto voce and kind of soggy.)
“Worth every gil,” Isa adds.
“We have one final item,” the auctioneer says, her spirits buoyed by the frantic back and forth bidding.
Bast glances over at Dearica again, morbidly curious.
Dearica looks very happy, but it’s the kind of happiness that one worries is about to be dashed.
“It is… Alexander.” The auctioneer looks up from the paper in her hands. “That’s all this says?”
Kulin and another servant bring a display case up, locked securely, a book inside wrapped in chains.
Isa scoffs. “Are they afraid the book is going to bite?”
Yves leans forward. “Well, that one looks interesting.”
Bast frowns at Isa for stealing his line.
Linnet does very quick mental arithmetic. “And slightly out of the university budget, unfortunately.”
The tenor of the room has changed. Everyone is leaning forward, nakedly interested.
“Bidding begins at 25,000 gil.”
“…oh. Not in /my/ budget, then.” Yves shakes his head. “….not at /all/.”
Bast mutters to someone standing next to him: “What’s that all about?”
A hand goes up for 25,000, and then another for 26,000, and 27, and 28… each hand raised carefully, cautiously, as if their arm will be taken off at the elbow if it fully straightens.
The book has captivated the attention of at least half a dozen people brave enough to bid, with many more content — for the moment, at least — to gawk and wonder.
“I wonder if it’s someone’s soul trapped in a book and trying to escape,” Yves says idly. “I mean, it’s probably not.”
“Maybe we should let it escape,” Linnet says.
Yves nods. “Well, if I won it, I would open it and find out, but I don’t have anywhere near that sort of money on me.”
“Me either. Don’t look at me like that, it’s a library account. I do not in fact have enough pocket change to buy us a house.”
“Well that’s disappointing,” Isa says.
“34000!” “36000!” “37000!” “38000!”
Ingrid is just watching the book, her shoulders ramrod stiff, as the rich people around her continue to throw gil at it.
“40000!” “41000!” “41500!” “41700!”
“And it’s not like we could just swipe it,” Yves says, his voice very low. “We’re not…/Liga/.”
“No we most certainly are not,” Isa confirms.
“…although if it were an unhallowed trapped soul yearning to be free, freeing it probably would be some sort of good deed,” Yves considers.
“One hundred and fifty thousand,” comes a voice from the right side.
The air leaves the room.
A cane taps a period onto that sentence.
The auctioneer’s voice is not as steady this time. “One hundred and fifty thousand gil for Alexander, going once…” “Going twice…” “Sold.”
The man in the chocobo-feathered coat smiles graciously. “Alitheia, if you would be so kind.”
Orrey writes that name down next to the sketch of the armor statue.
The suit of armor moves, smoothly, walking up to the front of the now-silent crowd, and presents a series of bank notes to the stunned auctioneer.
Then, with no apparent difficulty, they taken the full locked display case in hand and walk back to the winning bidder.
“Twisters and torments, he’s going to be trouble.” Linnet covers her mouth and pretends she never said that out loud.
He finds Linnet’s eye and gives her a wink. And then he is departing, armor and book in his wake.
The auction has ended. Gil is exchanged, and goods are passed into the winner’s hands.
Yves examines his new painting, and tries to figure out how he feels about Art. He shakes his head, hat swaying faintly. “It’s nice, but it could really stand to be darker.”
Linnet tucks all the books securely into her bag and doesn’t remove her hand from the bag for the rest of the night. The anxious sylph rolls up the map under one arm and confirms that she hasn’t lost sight of the viera. She manages to slip the woman another note, this time hand-to-hand – Meet me outside the Velvet Sundown in two hours? By the fountain. ~Linnet
Isa catches the red-headed Cardian’s eye at some point and gives her a nod of congratulations before filing out.
The Velvet Sundown is quiet at this time of night, as most people have headed back to their estates to rest, and the other auction-goers aren’t so crass as to leave in the middle of the night, oh no.
In fact, there’s only one other group out this late as you approach the restaurant, waiting by the flickering lamppost.
The man of the hour, as it were, and the accompanying suit of armor.
He bows, over-dramatically, as you arrive. “My compliments to you on your performance tonight. I cannot say that I know who you are, so you have the advantage of me, and I will return that good grace by giving you a touch more. My name is Lord Kelsey T. Arendall, and it is quite honestly a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The auction, I cannot help but notice, was not as complete as I was led to believe. Would you, by any chance, happen to know what happened to any of the other items that our dearly departed friend was selflessly opening up to the public? A model city, perhaps…?”
Orrey jots that name down as well.
“I wouldn’t know,” Yves says, “but could I interest you in a painting? I don’t think it’ll match my curtains after all.”
“A model city? Sounds…odd. Perhaps there’s a different auction later? One that’s not quite so heavy on the books and weapons.” Linnet looks perplexed. “There was some commotion over the daggers…are they much less valuable when there are five, rather than six?”
He opens his mouth to reply, but then his eyes focus on something behind Linnet’s head, and his mouth falls further and stays open.
Linnet glances at her wings; they’re open, if not particularly active right now. She’s on the ground.
“There was a city,” rasps a voice from behind the party.
Bast turns to see who that particular voice belongs to, not quite letting the duo out of his sight.
Yves looks to see if someone in the party has come down with laryngitis, or if he should be concerned.
“There was a city to be sold,” the voice continues. “I don’t know how it would have been lost.” He steps forward into the light — a tonberry, in an old cloak. “The daggers, too. Six of them. Six. Not five. One for each of the group. Close friends, the lot. Kept together.” He looks between multiple blank stares and one stare that is most certainly not blank. He reaches into the cloak and sets something down on the ground. A lantern. White oak. Unlit.
Sindarius Valles looks at it, and then back up. “Why am I alive?”
END SESSION