Chronicle: Session 14

As the boat pulls in to Einhorn, Chip calls out to those aboard - grab a rope and help him get moored! Tsalta's the only person who has a clue what she's doing, and as Chip cranks the arcane engine into reverse she affixes her rope to the mooring post with ease.

(Faeleth, seeing Tsalta, Fergus and Nuth all move to help, and seeing that there are only three ropes, makes no attempt to assist. Besides, she's half way through the first chapter of *Pounded by the Paladin* and it's veritably unputdownable.)

For a moment, Nothing nearly finds herself asking Tsalta what to do with her rope...and then she remembers: hey, hold on, she's not talking to her right now.

See, Nothing's kind of simmered down over the course of the morning, no longer out-and-out furious and now merely feeling sulky and petulant. Who cares if you're a hard-core herbivore who can't stand seeing harm against even a vicious wolf - you don't say that kind of shit to people, it's not on. So no, much as she wants to ask, she's not talking to her and that's that. Instead, she's just stealing furtive glances across the boat to see how Tsalta hitches the ropes, so she can follow along. She assists without difficulty.

The same can not be said for Fergus. He ties his rope off not to the mooring post, but his own leg, stumbling off-balance and toppling from the back of the boat into-

-correction, *onto* the water below, bouncing like a skipped rock before sliding to a halt on the surface of the waterway. Needless to say he is more than a trifle confused! Tsalta looks over her shoulder to check how he's doing, and sees his rope trailing off the backside of the boat. "Fergus?"

"I'm down here!"

She disembarks and peers over the edge of the waterway to see him sat atop the water, untying the rope around his ankle. "Getifuck, what are you doin'?"

"I'm kind of tied up here." Well yes, Tsalta can see that...and she can also see he's sat on water...? That part raises questions! Fergus doesn't begin to attempt to answer - he doesn't know and would just appreciate a hand up. He gets one - he's plucked from the river and placed on dry land, and Tsalta ties off his mooring rope for him too since he had such trouble!

The party bid farewell to Chip, but not before he attempts to collect the "second half" of the chartering fee. Nothing fixes him with a stare and raises her eyebrows - c'mon, really, is he gonna be like this? She remembers exactly how much he asked for and they paid it in full. Hundred gold for the trip. After a beat, Chip sighs and flashes an impish grin - couldn't hurt to try, though, eh?

(Tsalta whispers to Faeleth - could she perchance nick Chip's tankard? For Fergus, since his heart was so set on finding his booze stash? Bad habits are really rubbing off on the big girl, it seems. Faeleth is more than willing to give it a go - anything for her bae. ;)

Under the pretext of bidding farewell to Chip's shaggy sheepdog, Faeleth crouches down beside the gnome...pats the dog...pats Chip... Unfortunately, that little brush-down gains her nothing but Chip's attention. Positive attention, mind you! But smile as he may, he does draw his coat a little tighter around himself.

Worth a shot. Faeleth gives Chip a playful shove, a pat on the head, and takes her leave with a smile. The gnome waves her off - "If you're ever out this way..." Get in, Faeleth!)

Nuth addresses "Tom" and "Jerry", asking where their headquarters are. They provide rough directions - central district of the city. "Oh, okay - lead on!" They do not lead on - the human, "Jerry", points down a street and says it's that way. He's off to the waterside pub, as is his pal - if we want them, they'll be at *The River Rat*.

And with that, the party are officially disembarked, an unfamiliar city before them. Not entirely unfamiliar - Tsalta recalls, faintly, travelling through a place like this many a year ago. She looks around. "Guys, I think I've been here before..."

"Yeah?" Nothing asks, "Know where anything is?"

Try as she might to remember...it was night, when she came here. And she didn't stay long.

"No, I didn't really want to stay, it wasn't rea-"

"-Kay." Nuth says, cutting her short and launching into a run-down of things she reckons we need in town. Tsalta's shoulders slump - oh, the kid's still mad at her. :( Nothing runs through her list - potions, should be easy enough ("For sure, Nothing!" says Tsalta) - maybe look for book places to see if there's anything we can read up about - ("Absolutely, Nothing, great idea, top notch!") - shoppin' first?

For every interruption of gushing praise, Nuth shoots a glance up at Tsalta. Is she being sarcastic? No, the look on her face is way too earnest. Over-earnest, even, she is laying it on thick. Sucking up. She knows that performance, seen it from the kids after a bungled kitchen-raiding that landed her in front of the Magistrate, cos they thought she'd be so mad. Ugh.

Fergus, meanwhile, is grounding himself. That whole landing-on-water experience was very strange, and observing the boats and studying the archictecture of the buildings nearby seems to be helping calm his mind. His reverie is broken by Nuth shouting him over - c'mon, time to go, let's head in-ways!

"Yes, Nothing!" Tsalta chimes, "Lead the way!" She turns to the others, "I do not doubt that Nothing knows *exactly* where she's going!"

(Fergus asks Faeleth what the hell is going on with the two of them. Faeleth shrugs. Passive-aggression?)

Okay, yeah, Nothing isn't going to be able to take a whole day of this. She rolls her eyes and stares up at Tsalta, arms folded - "You can just *apologise*, you know?" In a teeny-tiny little voice, Tsalta says she's sorry. She's pouting, and her eyes are all big as she waits for Nuth's response. She is an eight-foot child.

There's a moment that passes, the tiefling staring up into those huge hopeful eyes...ah, whatever. Nuth gives the big gal a brief, resigned half-smile. Tsalta's face brightens instantaneously - this means they're friends again! She's thrilled! The tiefling momentarily fears for her life as she for the first time experiences a full-force Tsalta hug, which involves being swept feet off of the ground and ever-so-slightly crushed. Grimacing in a way that Tsalta probably reads as a smile, she pats Tsalta's arm best as she can. "Can you put me down, please?"

Once her feet are back on the stonework, Nothing forges ahead - c'mon, then, let's go!

They pass through the city gate, manned by a couple of guards in leather armour that bears the crest of the Baron of Red Larch - a boar's head in profile. Not that anyone stops to chat with those guys! Places to go, things to buy!

The street leading through the slums is grimy, crowded, and smells none too pleasant in the summer morning warmth. Nothing is in her element! If the others have any qualms about the path she leads, well, none of them voice it. Many a street-urchin sits at the roadside, cap in hand, or scampers up to the group to beg for coin. Nuth flips coins into hats and pots as she goes - that'll feed 'em good for a bit, or buy a new pair of socks or however they fancy to spend it. They need it more than she does, however you slice it. When at one point she finds her purse a little lighter than last she dipped her hand into it, she smiles to herself, wholly unable to begrudge them. Well played, alley scamps. That's the way to do it!

The young pickpockets of the alley have far less luck with Faeleth. More than one grubby-faced halfling kid finds their hand caught in hers the moment her purse so much as jostles. Her hand vice-like on their wrists, each time she keeps hold as she turns to face them - "Nice try, kid. Next time, you ask fucking nicely." After a moment or two of stony-faced staring, she reaches into her purse and pats two gold pieces into their palm with the faintest hint of a smile. "There. Off you go, then."

As for Tsalta, well! To her great amusement, she feels a tugging and a weight in her hair that can only mean a child has tried to actually climb into her braids in search of the shinies woven within. She reaches behind, pulling her hair around in front of her, and there she is. A little girl, clutching on as the momentum spins her around as though she's on a rope swing. Tsalta takes a knee to lower the kid to the ground. "Pal. Let go." The little girl does, but she looks up into Tsalta's face and asks, "Can you do that again?"

Sure. The child grabs on to an auburn skein, and she squeals and giggles as Tsalta gives her another twirl - "Again, again!" Once the kid's had her fun, Tsalta lets her down, pops her a coin, and makes sure any gold in her hair is...more properly secured.

As they exit pickpocket alley, Fergus thinks himself to have made it through unmolested. Little does he know! Perhaps when he counts his coin later he'll discover that he's several gold pieces poorer than when he entered.

The establishments that line the main street start to look a little better put-together - fewer hovels, more craftsfolk's workshops, that sort of thing. Fewer beggars. Fergus even spots an old acquaintance, and pops in to pay him a compliment on his improvement since last he saw his craft! At Tsalta's encouragement, he asks the guy if there are any alchemists nearby.

His answer? Sure, there's one just down the way. The Bended Bough, get all the alcheholmists you want. (Probably the wrong guy to ask! Fergus remembers now that he's...not the sharpest tool in the box.)

Tsalta tries someone who might know more - she accosts a city guard carrying a bunch of scrolls to ask him about alchemists. He's more helpful, and suggests we try the commercial sector, that's the place for that.

As they walk, Faeleth mulls on whether she'd have what it takes to be the next big name in romantic fiction - all these books are giving her ideas. No great masterwork is brewing yet, but...she'll give it time.

Eventually, the party draw closer to the center of town - now the buildings start to get far fancier! Guildhalls, trading company offices, embassies of lands that nobody's heard the names of - that kind of thing. As the street opens out into a large paved area, everyone's treated to the sight of a grand temple of Pelor, featuring a statue of the god himself watching over the square, his crowned head sporting a waterfall in leiu of hair that flows over his shoulders and down his back. It's very, very fancy - far more extravagant than any other building thus far!

Tsalta admires the statue, impressed - he's huge, who's he then? She's the only person among the group to not recognise Pelor when she sees him, to Nothing's surprise. She clues Tsalta in, reminding her of the farmer back near Terry's. Pelor's the one who sees in your safe harvests and all that! "Thought everyone'd heard of him!"

Other temples, none so ostentatious, stand around the square, devoted to an assortment of deities. Among them, the party finally catch sight of the demon hunter's crest - this must be headquarters!

After a reminder from Tsalta to stick close together (mustn't forget that protective amulet!) the group head inside, Nothing announcing their arrival - hi, here on demon hunter business! Inside, the HQ almost resembles a library - shelves and shelves and shelves of books line the walls, and there's a few individuals manning desks in the main hall. Brilliant! No need to go book-hunting after all, probably... Nothing approaches one of the desks - an balding older halfling with several days' worth of stubble looks up as she steps up.

"Yes, can I help you?"

Nothing introduces herself, gives a brief explanation of why everyone's here. She's asked about her cloak - who gave it to her? She tells him it's from Cerios, who sent us all here, and he's satisfied at that and says that Cerios is in his office, awaiting our arrival. Down the end of the corridor, big door, can't miss it.

Indeed, it's easy enough to find - they knock, he invites them in. Cerios' office is about as covered in books and scrolls as the rest of the place - the drow seems to be buried in his research, maps sprawled across his desk. He's unsurprised to see the party arrive. Greetings are exchanged, and Tsalta inquires how he arrived so fast? Matter-of-fact, he responds, "We have mages."

Damn, if only that was at our disposal! Nuth inquires about his book collection - any reading to be had on lamias? (Faeleth mutters, "I don't think they have any picture books here..." to Nuth's great affront. "Piss right off!" she hisses, before remembering she might be in polite company and clears her throat. "Sorry.") He says they have very little, unfortunately, but he can answer any questions we have and save us the research.

So, what he can tell us: They inhabit ruins, predominantly. It's odd that one is here, because first off they're said to be desert-dwellers and secondly they've long thought to be extinct. They're created in the Infinite Abyss, where all demons originate.

And with that, Cerios concedes that he knows little more. "In truth, we've learned more from you than you could ever learn from us on the subect." Aw, crap. Still, it's something!

The party start to make their leave, since there's supplies to stock up on, but we say we'll come back once we're ready to go! Cerios requests that we gather the elite squad-

"-Wait, our guys?" Nuth queries.

"Yes. They are supposed to be travelling with you, as your protectors."

"Oh, right. They're at the pub."

Cerios pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a long, weary sigh. Nuth cracks an apologetic grin. "S'alright. We'll get 'em."

"Yes, please...retrieve them."

Just as everyone turns to leave, Cerios has one last thing - it's time for Nothing to give back the cloak. Aww, really? But it looks so good, she's felt right important wearing this! "Be that as it may, that is the cloak of the high commander...."

Oh, it's HIS personal, like, special high commander cloak? Sweet, no wonder people have been looking at her funny! Nothing unclasps the cloak and drapes it over the side of the desk, giving it a last wistful look. "Don't suppose I can at least get one of the regular ones, is there?" she asks, and is directed to ask after the tailor. Score! And if there's anything else we need, Zandar at the desk will be able to help us.

Okay, NOW the party leaves! They pop back to the stubbly halfling they now know to be Zandar, to ask about nearby potion-makers and alchemists. After a period of lengthy consideration, he hazards, "Have you tried the potion shop?"

Great. Just dandy. But yes, 'the potion shop' does sound like a solid starting point, thank you Zandar. And the tailor.....? He doesn't seem to hear Nothing's request, responding a solid minute late to the earlier question - "I think Abrom's potion shop would be the best. Commercial sector, can't miss it, follow the sound of explosions."

And as for the tailor.....? Nothing tries again. "Tailors....hmmmmm....." Tsalta's already moved to leave as the old halfling hmms and haaahs. Just as Nothing's about to turn away too, he speaks - Taylor's candle shop isn't far, he's a good man, Taylor.

"Uh. Thanks, Zandar. Seeya."

Back on the street, everyone gets a bit turned around. Asking a passerby yeilds directions to the middle-class commercial district (turns out there's more than one! Einhorn is huge and confusing!) - though the main claims the lower-class district sells better quality wares. He introduces himself as Taylor, owner of a candle shop back that way!

"Oh! We heard of you, heard you make very good candles!" says Tsalta - words that set the party on an unintended diversion as we backtrack across town to his store because Tsalta wouldn't mind buying some and can't say no to Taylor's eager face when she says so. He leads her by the hand all the way back to his shop!

It transpires that Taylor's candles are...very much of a muchness. The rundown shack of a storefront houses tens upon tens of identical white-wax pillar candles, of which Tsalta buys four (snapped in half so as to fit in her lightjars). Nuth, feeling charitable, goes for a couple. His prices are...inconsistent, this guy probably can't maths super well. But whatever. A silver for two, sure, she'll take 'em. (This suspicion is confirmed when Faeleth asks how many candles she can get for twenty coppers, and he scrunches his brow and holds up seven fingers. He definitely can't maths. She buys them regardless.)

What about Fergus, is he for candles too? He holds out one of his torches - he's all set for light sources. Taylor asks if he can take a look at it, and when it's handed over...he lights Fergus' torch. "Now you're going to need some candles." Then he tries to charge Fergus for holding his torch!

"That's not how it works. You have something that belongs to me-" Fergus begins, and as he points out that he owns the torch, Taylor hands it back to him...very fast, hot end first. It's not malicious, Taylor just doesn't seem to be the smartest cookie. The good news is that Fergus' reflexes are sharp as hell - he bats the torch aside before the smoldering end can touch him, sending it flying from Taylor's hand into a gutter where it extinguishes with a hiss.

Potion shopping turns out to be far less smooth sailing than intitially anticipated.

The first potion shop the party finds is not too expensive, but the shopkeep’s cheery description of his “homeopathic” potions sets the party ill at ease. Apparently they’re less of the potion stuff, but better somehow. Thanks, but we were looking for bog-standard apothecary fare...the party carry on.

The next potion store (named, aptly, “The Potion Shop” ) is manned by an affable gnome whose face lights up at our arrival. Elated as he is to finally see some customers, unfortunately his store sells only potion ingredients. No pre-made potions here. He does sell healer’s kits though, for a very affordable price, should we be interested. Tsalta and Nothing take one each - bandages and pain-soothing salves can’t hurt to have, and he’s so friendly and genuine that it feels a shame to walk out without making a purchase from him.

Well, this isn’t going great. Perhaps it’s time to find Abrom’s shop, since it came at Zandar’s recommendation. Keeping an ear out for the sound of explosions, the party meander through the commercial sector.

It’s a curious-looking establishment, for a variety of reasons! First is the architecture - in lieu of glass windows there are bars, almost like a prison window, and the place doesn’t seem to really have a door to speak of. The reason for this is readily apparent - paned windows would have blown out long ago under the explosive bursts of smoke and sparks from within! With every blast, colourful and glimmering puffs of smoke puff out from the doorway and through the bars. This...is probably the place.

Nothing decides it’s probably best to call out to the alchemist rather than brave stepping inside into the haze. “Heya, is this Abrom's place?”

It turns out, unsurprisingly, to be Abrom's place. As the smoke clears, a voice calls out in reply and a human man, dressed in a long stain-spattered white coat, his hair all a-frizz from the neverending onslaught of alchemical fumes and blasts, comes out to greet the party. Scattered though his demeanor is, when asked if he can supply healing potions his response is eager and positive - of course, of course! How many would we like?

Tsalta reckons ten sounds good. And so Abrom gets to work. "I'd not wait around, this will take a while!" he calls out. How long? "About an hour!"

With an hour to kill, it's probably a good time to fetch the lads from the pub. The party traipses back to the dock and locate *The River Rat* easily enough.

It is such a dive. It's a mystery why they'd choose, of all places, to stop and drink here - Tsalta opens the door into the dark and smoky tavern and wrinkles her nose a little at the smell of pipesmoke and stale ale. She, Faeleth and Fergus all agree that after trotting around the city in the summer heat a drink is welcome...even if it's here.

Someone's gotta be the messenger, and Nothing takes on that task. She scans the room for Tom and Jerry - they're not hard to find, there aren't a bunch of patrons at this hour. She trots over and leans up on the back of one of their chairs. "Hate to be the bearer of bad news, lads, but Cerios says he wants you back at HQ."

Tom gets up, swearing under his breath at her in Elven. She raises her hands with an apologetic grin, “Hey, hey, I know, man. Promise I’m just the messenger, mate.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the party go to slake their thirsts. Tsalta kneels at the bar (ugh, the floor is sticky on her knees, gross) to address the barman and orders a big ol' bucket of ale. Fergus fancies a big, big, big pint, and gets...a pint. It is pint-sized, as pints are. Faeleth asks if they have any wine, and they super, super don't. This isn't some fancy joint. (They do have some 'fancy' moonshine, mind. Faeleth decides moonshine will do.) Nuth joins everyone and attempts to order a cider, but ends up settling for ale because this place doesn't cater to the tastes of the sweeter-toothed.

The drinks, in everyone's case, are pretty rank. Nuth gets maybe a fifth of the way down her tankard before giving up. Faeleth necks her drink, because well, she's paid for it...but yikes. The burn is not a good burn.

It's a relief when they're ordered out of the bar, to be honest. After a few minutes of boredom and resigned drink-sipping and grousing quietly about how they've ended up spending their time, Tsalta gets up to ask a patron whether he's seen any dogs in town. Just in case. He starts ranting about how the only dog in town is his wife, the fuckin' bitch - Faeleth mishears from across the room, clears the distance in a moment and slaps him for slighting Tsalta. The barkeep barely looks up as he points to the door and shouts for Faeleth to leave.

Even though nobody else was told to go, the whole party doesn't hesitate in rising to their feet and making their egress.

Tsalta goes to wash her knees in the canal. Fergus goes to sit alongside her by the waterside. Curious about the dwarf's apparent bouyancy, Tsalta playfully swipes him into the water. Operative word being 'into' - he falls with a very apparent splash, Tsalta laughing and apologising as she fishes him out again. She just wanted to see if it would happen again, sorry Fergus!

It's about time to go back to Abrom's place, by the point these shenanigans have passed.

The party learns a valuable lesson about asking the important questions before placing orders.

The good news: Our potions are done!

The bad news: That's 800 gold for the lot!

At the price, there's a collective wince. That isn't close to within our price bracket, not even slightly, that's more than the whole party funds pooled together. And no amount of haggling or bartering brings the price low enough to reasonably consider. Especially since not even Abrom knows what kind of healing potions he's made - good ones, regular ones, super special awesome ones, they're a mystery mixture!

Not to say the party doesn't try their damnedest. Fergus tries to offer Albert's old book (to Abrom's initial interest, until Fergus lies that it belongs to 'an old friend' and the alchemist astutely ventures that...hmm, this 'old friend' isn't recently dead, are they?). Faeleth and Tsalta barter a shiny rock they swear makes all kinds of exciting explosions...that goes south when Tsalta ups the ante by claiming it to be so remarkably potent that Abrom's offer would only cover a tiny piece of it. He's very excited by that, and wants to see for himself if he purchases a small amount...

This is going badly. The party um and ah. Abrom 'sweetens the deal' by adding a freebie - one of his batch didn't come out as expected, and it's a little volatile but if we purchase, we get it free....! (Volatile is an understatement. The little bottle rattles on the tray it's presented on with the force of its own vibration.)

At this point, the alchemist is getting impatient and tetchy as the party continuously fail to commit to a purchase. Just as Nothing starts pondering the benefits of Charm Person spells, and as Faeleth considers whether it's worth grabbing the tray and bolting...the tiny shuddering bottle explodes, shattering the others in the process.

There goes that.

The party decides not to purchase from Abrom and bid him good-day.

Perhaps it's worth trying a more...upmarket establishment. Tsalta checks in with a nearby dwarf, chatting in Dwarven in an attempt to chum up with him. He does indeed know of where a person could find potions in the high-end part of town - his cousin runs a potion store by the name of Gavin's, we should stop by there if we're looking.

Following the directions given by Gavin's cousin, the party locate the shop with ease. Upon entry the difference between this store and the previous potion shops is easy to see. It's a much more sophisticated establishment! Without the threat of petty crime the lower districts face, here the potions aren't tucked away behind a counter, bottles rest on little satin display cusions on the shelves for patrons to peruse at their leisure.

Gavin himself greets the party as they enter - he's a dark-haired and well-groomed dwarf whose bearing wouldn't have looked out of place at the Baron's little shindig. In fact, he's considerably more snooty than most of the dwarves at the Baron's party by a long shot! He looks everyone up and down - "Are you sure you're in the right part of town?"

Oh yes, we're sure. He's still uncertain. "Just to save us from wasting one another's time, may I see some assurance that you are...serious buyers?" Tsalta fishes around in her hair and pulls out a massive diamond. He smiles. "Welcome to Gavin's."

Tsalta thought that'd do the trick! She turns the diamond in her fingers as she breezily states that we're very serious adventurers - "Lots more where this came from."

Is that so? Adventurers, you say? In that case, perhaps we may want to come into the back room, if we are looking for potions with...'special effects'. Tsalta nods along, yes, yes. Special effects, absolutely, we're particularly looking for potions of healing.

At 'potions of healing', Gavin's smooth patter falters and he stops leading the party towards the back room. "Oh," he says, "You're actual *adventurers.* Never mind, never mind." (Tsalta puffs out her chest - of course we're actual adventurers! We have just slain a dragon, she'll have him know.) And so the conversation turns to healing potions, and the discounts we can gain as adventurers and since his cousin sent us, did we say..?

Tsalta really commits to this 'actual adventurers' thing - the diamond? From a dragon's hoard. That really piques the shopkeep's interest, that does - that would make it quite valuable, is it truly from the hoard of a dragon? Everyone gives a serious nod. "Sure is," says Nothing.

And that's how Team Jailbird manage to enter into a deal with Gavin where we promise him first cut of our future spoils, exclusively, in exchange for those good good potion discounts. Both Tsalta and Faeleth's diamonds are exchanged for a few phials of red potion that Gavin pulls from within his cloak, and the deal is done! He asks the party's names. Ah - names. It may not be safe to give those out.

Fergus proposes that Gavin can know us as the Ironfists. That works for him (though from then on he addresses each party member as 'Miss Ironfist' or 'Ms Ironfist' or 'Mister Ironfist' as though members of a family, which is a curious experience.)

Business concluded, everyone leaves...save Tsalta, who has one last thing to take care of. She's interested in seeing the back room. At Gavin's request, she closes the door behind her, and the dwarf closes the window shutters and leads her behind a concealed bookcase-door. "What can I interest you in, Ms Ironfist?"

The potions that line the shelves are shades of black, and sickly greens. Tsalta looks them over. "Nothing fancy. It just needs to be...strong." Gavin thinks he's got just the thing. He picks out a green vial - this one is popular among customers in certain, hmm, illicit professions.

And it can be applied to a weapon, a blade or an arrow? Yes, yes, without a problem. But it does not come cheap - at a discount since she's a new customer, he can offer it for one hundred and fifty gold.

Ah. Tsalta doesn't have that kind of cash on her. She explains to Gavin that she doesn't carry all her supplies on her and will just have to gather more from the group, but she'll be back. He gives a gracious nod and lets her do what she needs to do.

Outside, Tsalta pulls the party to a side-alley and explains her situation - she's looking to get something to help, when it comes to it, to make sure we come out of fighting the Collector alive. Something deadly, to put on her arrows if there's a dire need for it. Buuuuut she can't quite afford the stuff she's looking for.

Nuth asks how much she needs, and Tsalta shares the price. It does sound like a solid idea...

Nothing gives Faeleth a look, narrowing her eyes in dark curiosity. "You don't have any poisons on you, do you, Faeleth?" She gets a discomfited frown in response - what's Nothing trying to say, exactly?

"Not being funny or anythin', just askin'," Nothing disclaims, her tone far lighter than it should be, absolutely being funny. Faeleth looks to Tsalta - is she seeing this? Tsalta does her best to interpose herself between the two of them - "We're all friends here, now, come on."

Nothing kind of regrets asking when Faeleth finally replies that she's not carrying any poison, and that in fact as methods go she prefers a 'good honest stabbing'.

Tsalta tries to get things back on track. It's just important that she gets this, she feels like we need an added layer of protection as we go up against the great unknown. But that protection is so...expensive. Nothing sighs, agreeing. "Up 'til today I thought I was, like...loaded now. Guess not."

(Turns out that one gold being worth a ridiculous number of cakes can give a kid inflated expectations of how much gold is worth when buying other things.)

Faeleth, who knows a thing or two about the price of poison no matter what her preferred modus operandi, sighs and pulls Tsalta aside to discuss options. Even in a high-end place, even for some very deadly concoctions, that's more than she'd pay. "You know he's ripping you off, right?"

Together, they return to Gavin's, and with Faeleth there to speak bluntly and wrangle the price down through sheer dogged persistence they leave with a vial a handful of gold cheaper than his initial offer. It's more than Faeleth would have liked, but sometimes you just have to take what you can get.

It looks like the day's to-do list has been completed, then. Back to HQ, for a final meeting with Cerios and a chance to pick up Nothing's cloak.

In the late afternoon sunlight, the statue of Pelor in the square casts a magnificent shadow onto the temple wall.

Zandar has livened up now it's not as early in the morning, and gives the party directions to where the guild tailor resides - his room is just around the back of the building.

The tailor, a chipper little halfling with a bright smile and impeccable dress sense, greets the party as they arrive and recognises Nothing at once as the recipient of the cloak he's been commissioned to make. He goes to fetch it, and when he returns, well. The cape is everything Nothing could have hoped for and more.

The white fabric drapes in a smart asymmetric cut, all the better to conceal her wand hand or anything she could want to hold there. The angled drapery leaves room for her tail at the back - an accommodation she’s always had to crudely work into every garment she’s ever owned. And cast into the bronze shoulderpiece is the silhouette of a horned head, one of the horns kinked just like her own.

It’s the coolest, nicest item of clothing she’s owned in her life, and it’s made just for her. She thanks the halfling warmly, with abundant enthusiasm - this is amazing, she will wear the fuck out of it, she will make sure to live up to this cool-ass cloak. This right here...this is a cloak to kill monsters in, for sure.

The tailor seems pretty chuffed that his work has gone down so well - and so he should! That bespoke pauldron, man!

Now that's done, everyone goes up to meet Cerios, and go over the plan for the assault on the ruins. He'll be leading his units up to a point nearby - he points to his map to show the place - awaiting the party's arrival. Once we arrive, we will converge on the likely location of her lair.

He's also gained word that she's building some kind of archway, which is believed to be for use in a blood ritual. It's why she's been gathering children - searching for...specific blood. Tsalta asks if there's a particular family line she's looking for, and Cerios divulges that it's likely she's searching for the subject of a prophesy. One we may have heard of.

One we've definitely heard of. A child of 'unique heritage'. He doesn't know who, and he doesn't know what for. But whatever the reason, he and demon hunters are set on stopping her before her plan comes to fruition, and we should make our way there ourselves and send word.

"How do we do that?" asks Tsalta, and in response Cerios takes a small box from his desk drawer and opens it to reveal a familiar gemstone bead. He holds its counterpart, and will be listening for our signal. When we are a day's travel away, we should alert him and he will meet us at the southern side of the city. "Do not take it out until it is needed," he cautions. He provides a copy of the map for the party to refer to.

And what of him? What if things go sour on his end? It might be wise to have a code word for us to listen out to. "And what word should that be?"

The party pause in thought for a moment. Then Nothing speaks up, "Spindleshanks."

Cerios frowns. "Does that word hold specific significance to you?"

Yeah. Yeah it does. He shakes his head - that won't do. He will not have the protection of the amulet, and if the Collector knows he is signalling us specifically then the code word will cause more harm than good. Instead, Tsalta proposes simply, 'Marbles.'

That works. Cerios sits back in his chair. "Then I wish you luck. Pray to whatever gods you pray to that we all make it through alive. Now, if you don't mind, I have preparations of my own to make. " He indicates the door - not dismissively, exactly, but in a way that shows clearly that the party is now dismissed. They filter out, bidding the high commander good night and leaving him to his planning. As they're about to leave, Cerios raises a hand and issues a warning - we should be cautious, wherever we stay for the night. She has spies, and the demon hunters are without question being observed.

And then he returns to his scrolls.

The party spend the evening in an inn, careful to keep to themselves for once.

In the morning, they head to the dock, ready to find someone willing to ferry them to their next meeting-point. It seems like time's sensitive, and there's no time to waste. In the process of looking around to see if Chip is still about (a cheap ride would be ideal), the party sight Gavin standing by the city gate, hands neatly clasped in front of him. What's he doing here?

All the more surprising is that upon noticing their arrival, he strides over to address them - "Ah, the Ironfists. I've been expecting you."

In tandem, Nothing and Tsalta both ask, "...Why?" This is strange indeed. Gavin explains that his cousin has been chartered by a...mutual benefactor. (He inclines his head towards Nothing in her demon hunter's regalia.) And as such, they are to provide transport to the party to the location required. "I have cousins at many of the other docks. Lucky me." Wherever we may need to travel by river, he has been instructed to assist us in getting where we need to go.

There's an air of faint suspicion as the party look Gavin over, but...at the same time, it doesn't seem like he's lying. It's weird, though. "Well...a ride's a ride," Nothing admits.

They're shown to a narrowboat by Gavin's cousin (who when asked his name requests to be called "Mr. Stonefist", which is definitely going to be confusing, but okay). He asks which direction we're headed, and Tsalta informs him that we're headed north. Mr. Stonefist nods and untucks a stone of farspeech from behind his ear, crushing it in his fist.

All climb aboard. In the interest of staying out of sight, it's proposed that for the first stretch of the journey the boat is covered. "I heard discretion was advised." The thought of how stuffy that's going to be gives the party a little pause, but they agree, and Gavin's cousin unmoors the boat.

Fergus pops out from under the cover at one point around give minutes in, to Stonefist's disgruntlement - "Get under here, you fuckin' idiot! I'll let you know when it's safe."

It's a few hours until it's safe. It's so much better to feel fresh air. Wow.

As the boat wends its way down the river, Nothing takes some time to review the map Cerios provided, looking over the route, musing on what might happen upon reaching the destination. And as she does, a familiar voice creeps into the back of her mind, dark and deep and rumbling. There's a weight to his words, a gravitas that commands her full attention even moreso than he usually does. "*There is another way. A better way*."

And like a sunspot seared into her vision, as she looks at the map a blot grows into a glowing *X* over a large, isolated building on the outskirts of the Gaimas ruins.

"*Go there.*"

Faeleth idly checks her pockets during the early stretch of the journey, and her fingers meet smooth glass. As surreptitiously as she can, she peers inside, and discovers a familiar vial of dark green poison.