ripleycat

Ada's pistol looks to have come from Alkenstar with its owner, a beautifully, confidently made device of polished brass and steel, but it is a flintlock, the unwieldy "standard" mechanism for most firearms, regardless of where they come from. "More reliable than... No, a cap-lock? I could count what I've heard about on one hand and have fingers left over." Ada doesn't try to hide her enthusiasm for Temperance's proposal, or her weapon. She bounces up like a giddy schoolgirl. "Probably be the only one in all of Cheliax. Could I... take a look?" She unholsters her weapon and offers it to Temperance butt-first, in momentary trade. In her excitement, Ada hasn't completely forgotten Kjersti. She mulls the proposal over in silence for a moment before granting her approval with a nod. "That's fair." Ada seems a bit surprised that Kjersti's first offering is so even-handed. "I'm used to hard-nosed bartering. You're serious about all this, ain't ya? We can pick at the Citizens, sure. Everyone needs a hobby, right? They come into neighborhoods where they're not welcome too easy, these days. Most of the Jills will be happy to remind 'em to be afraid again." "We've got a couple of hidey-holes like this where someone can lay low when things get hot. Nothin' big, but you're welcome to 'em. Not much else to offer on our end, 'sides thievin', but if we come across a dagger to stick in Thrune's back, we'll pass it along. Lots of things that'd be useful to you that a fence won't take."

"Evenin', Kjersti. And friend. I never did get your name, gunslinger." The outlaw nods at her guests, flipping and catching her coin one more time before sitting herself down on one of the many stacks of crates. It's a motion of trust, though she can still draw her gun readily enough. "Peace offering?" There's a fancy decanter of whiskey, and a matching set of crystal glasses sitting nearby, fine enough that it's obvious Ada didn't buy it. "Help yourselves." "You've honored the truce, which counts for a lot. State the Jills were in, you probably could have run us all to ground, but you let us be. Now, not stepping on each others' toes is a good start, but you've got grand goals and high hopes, and from what you said a week ago, it'd be in your interest to get us all tied up in your crusade. Now, I've got no love for your Thrunes and their devils, but Scarplume talked a big game too, and look where that got her. Business end of a breechloader." "I've got no interest in being someone's cannon fodder, and that goes double for all the spooked cats I've got to herd to keep the Red Jills together. But you seem like sensible sorts, and I'm more than willing to hear you out. So how do we meet in the middle, here? What arrangement lets both our bands profit, and maybe even walk away to enjoy that profit?"

The storeroom has two sets of shelves, one 3 feet off the ground and one 7 feet off the ground. Though the room has no windows, a trio of sunrods have spilled out of a gnawed barrel, illuminating the chamber with bright light. Several broken jars and a great deal of trash litter the floor. As the sign warned, there are gremlins. Four pugwampis, small, stout, and rather ugly doglike creatures with lolling tongues and short black fur, hide on the top shelves of the storage room, cowering behind the clutter on the shelves to shield themselves from Ras's column of flame. They are armed, with short swords and small bows, but make no moves to use them in the face of the terrible magics, and they wince at the sound of the bells. They chatter animatedly between themselves, but none of the students can make sense of the trills and barks. For the moment, it is a strange stand-off. OOC Map (and your tokens) up on roll20. The pugwampis are hiding behind clutter on the shelves and have partial cover right now (+2 AC). The pugwampis can speak, but only speak Gnoll and Undercommon, which I don't believe any PC has. They are currently 2.

"If there's trouble comin' to my door, wouldn't I be safer with a big tough gal around to help handle it?" Setrona's words are playful and innocent. The gaze over the top of her teacup is not. Much to the smaller redhead's disappointment, Kjersti and Setrona's heart to heart is suddenly interrupted by a flying guest landing on the back of one of the chairs with an inquiring hoot. Flapping wings have become much more familiar since joining the Silver Ravens, but the farmgirl turns to find that the new arrival isn't one of the revolution's metallic messengers, but a very real (and very small) owl, a handful of brown feathers with white speckles, tilting its head as it regards Kjersti with enormous yellow eyes. An elf owl, a type she recognizes from pest-catchers on the farm. They don't actually have anything to do with elves, so far as Kjersti knows. Setrona seems to know this particular owl, reaching up to give it scritches without much fear of losing a fingertip. "Linna, what are you doing here, little thing?" "Wait, why are you here? Hells..." After a moment, the barkeep hops upright with alarm, scanning the rest of the Tooth and Nail with speed and suspicion. "Bellis? You in here still? Sing out, or I'll make you pay your tab." In one of the booths in the far corner of the tavern, apparently missed by everyone the first time around, sits a somewhat rumpled halfling man with weary, grey eyes, dark, disheveled hair and an impressive mustache. Setrona's expression could kill an ox, but it softens just a bit as she gives Kjersti's arm a reassuring pat. "We're safe enough. He's one of the troublemakers, immigrant from the Badger. Lots of big words that amount to telling Thrune where he can shove it. No trouble, I don't think. Could be eyes and ears. Maybe more? Knows some stripe of magic..." She stomps over to confront the unintentional eavesdropper, arms crossed. "So, how much did you hear, Bellis?"

"Oh, I've never seen one in person. That devil business comes straight from Octavio talking about what he had to go through. His mother would never allowed him to join up if she knew the truth of it. But the signifiers, the hellknight summoners and mages, I guess they can call beasts like that to the mortal plane, so maybe grab a book about the hells and have a look, huh?" "...Eyes. Hrm." It's Setrona's turn to be reluctant, hemming and hawing about revealing something she probably shouldn't, but Kjersti is trustworthy, in a real, true way few people are. "Yeah, I know where to find you some eyes. Doesn't come in here as much as he used to, but few blocks up, in the big market, go talk to Hetamon Haace. He's a tailor. Tiefling, you'll know him when you see him. Shop right in the middle of things. Where all these lovely lawbreaking pieces come from. I'm not the one to tell the tale, it's his, but I've seen things that are awfully hard to explain. Divine things. True and honest signs from the gods. You can trust him."

Rexus was closer to his beloved parents than many scions of the high nobility, but there was still a veritable laundry list of teachers, tutors, nurses and nannies present for all of his upbringing. One gentle but uncompromising word was all it took. He never stood a chance. "Hm? Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Apologies, madam. Please." His belated realization that Maria is waiting for him to be a gentleman brings some color to his cheeks, not for the last time that evening, but he does know the steps of this dance, in the end. "You know, it's actually been quite a long time since I've sat down to a proper meal like this. I've been... I mean, I may be a bit rusty. Please excuse any slips of etiquette." It's easy to get the resident linguist and scholar to start talking. It requires a firm hand like Maria's to get him to shut up, but Rexus is a kind heart, and he does not talk over others, at least not intentionally, and his genuine interest in others encourages Maria to share her own stories and unusual background, and to bring him up to date on things. As enthusiastic as he can be, even Rexus will admit that battles and rescues are rather more exciting than decoding pages of old parchment. He's amused, and just a tiny bit miffed at being told to go to bed. "Am I to wash my face and hands as well?" He doesn't dare refuse, though, and ends up doing just that. The exhausted man is fast asleep long before Maria's ten minutes passes. The evening dinners quickly become a restorative, and something he obviously looks forward to. His attempts to help are well-meaning, but Rexus's cooking skills are distinctly "dirtbag bohemian student hovel" and not "pride of the Greens", and quickly become limited to helping with setup and cleaning, for everyone's good humor (and health). Rexus, to his credit, takes the very personal question in stride with an airy wave and a smile. "Oh! Well, I was a girl at the time, of course. Lady Docur is not the exception-making sort." Realizing that probably doesn't explain things as well as Maria expected, he continues. "I was raised for years as, admittedly, a rather fiery and exuberant young lady, thanks to the circumstances of my birth. As I grew older, it felt a bit hollow, wrong, clothes that didn't fit, but my parents grumbled all the time, about all the grating aspects of noble life, and the oppression and lockstep of life in Cheliax keeping them from doing as they really wished, so I thought it was simply how things were for everyone. Nobody's happy. Bah!" "I finally put words to how I felt, finally realized my future was far more moldable than I'd ever considered after meeting a new music tutor. They were an elf, a Shelynite, who migrated between genders as other people might migrate between nations. That insight led to a 'growing up' I’d always coveted but never imagined was really practical or possible for someone in my position. Knowing a number of talented mages did bear some real benefits." "But, I was half right. My parents embraced their newly revealed son immediately, bless them, but the news absolutely scandalized their stodgy social circles. Well, that's unfair. The ones worth staying close with, like the Jarvises, were lovely about it. Lady Docur was the soul of kindness, but of course, did point out that I would need to transfer to the Alabaster Academy now. The others... well, I don't have to tell you what most proper, diabolic, nobles in Cheliax think of such things. Lost a great many contacts and friends who had never been anything of the sort, and started down the long road to... well, here." He waves his hands about to indicate they were having dinner in the underground base of a militant revolutionary cell, after all. "I started very softly. Generic good feelings, I suppose. I wanted nothing more than for everyone else to experience the relative safety of an aristocratic upbringing. No one should ever worry where their next meal would come from, or whether walking home by night would be a life-ending mistake." "But discarding Nahia Victocora and living as Rexus meant discarding much of my social circle, and picking up a new and much more interesting one. Musicians, servants, students, street urchins. For all their energy and thoughtfulness, my new friends endured worse on a daily basis than any insecurity I'd been exposed to. And that was intolerable. What exactly I could do about it escaped me for a long time. I was an intolerable dilettante in my adolescence and my Academy days. I must have stumbled through a dozen different causes with a dozen different ideologies. I finally settled on the one that had been sitting in front of me the whole time, the Sacred Order of Archivists, as my parents had. It had barely been a week since I'd informed them of my intentions. I came over for a family dinner, and I saw the smoke in the distance..." "Barzillai Thrune has made most of my decisions rather easier now, though I couldn't have imagined they'd have led me here, or here." He indicates the little table and Maria with his second 'here'. "The Silver Ravens have proven to have silver linings. Maybe with some fortune, we'll all come out into a better place in the end."

Zea wrestles with her thoughts, how much to share, and how much the corpse would even understand if she did. The worries common to all who lived in the Devil’s Nursery. How often the cruelties of life in Cheliax intruded on the supposedly “better”, “hopeful” Kintargo. How often the bodies of urchins and beggars turned up, how rare understanding or justice or simple closure could be. What she feared became of those who vanished into Thrune’s dungeons, what she knew became of those who fell victim to the back-alley diabolists and the street-corner demagogues and the hateful mobs. The broken child the corpse himself had retrieved from the tooth fairies, the black atrocity Star hid so well. Had she told the other Silver Ravens that horrible tale yet? The plaintive voice that barely belongs to the dead man shakes her loose like the Devil’s Bells had chimed, and she understood the heartrending truth behind what had seemed a very strange request. “They’re yours…” With well-warranted caution, Zea stands and reaches out with what she hopes will be understood as a gentle, comforting hand, a soft touch on the creature’s charred shoulder. “Yes.” “We will do everything we can to find them, and if we do, they will be the safest children in Kintargo. I can promise that, at least.”

“You think I’m not wrapped up in this already? You think I’m not lettin’ the rabble-rousers stay because I agree with ‘em? That the Rack aren’t gonna kick that door in and invite me to the Holding House for a chat the moment my cousin gets the top spot on Thrune’s shit-list?” Setrona’s response is quicker than Kjersti might have expected. “But, I mean..." Setrona can't find the right word for once, and exhales through her teeth. "You’re talking about recruiting people, which means you’re talking about rebellion, not just grumbling in the back of a tavern, but really taking a swing at the big man. You really thought that through, what it would take to get away with that? Big man's got a lot of mean friends on his side. Got the devil’s church in his pocket. Got all his relatives in the ruling family.” Setrona glances at the cheap, crooked portrait of Abrogail II and snorts. “Well, she might join you, from what I’ve heard. Guess there are worse cousins to have show up for dinner than mine.” "I mean, I support you, wherever it might go. Recruit away. Just, well, be smart about it, yeah? Knock some supports out first, poke some holes in his ego. Don't fight a straight fight. He'll win, and there'll be bits of you hanging above each gate. The Order of the Rack are stupid, hidebound bullies, but even the most pathetic armiger, the one peeling potatoes and shoveling shit out of the latrine, still spends his days training against summoned devils. To make Hellknight proper, no matter your order, you have to get in the ring one on one and kill one of those ugly spiky brutes, barbazus. The Test, they call it. How many people on your side could kill a bearded devil, do'ya think? 'Cause I sure can't."

"Don't need to worry about making it home, deep in your cups or not. You could stay the night. I've got room." Setrona's characteristic boldness hasn't gone anywhere. She doesn't shy away as she meets Kjersti's gaze, but it quickly softens into quiet agreement. "Tea sounds nice, though. Been a long day. Rosehip, hm? Let me see. Might have to filch those from next door. Be a moment. Grab one of those good chairs with the cushions by the fireplace." The expedition is a success, and Setrona returns with a fistful of fat red fruit for the kettle. While the tea boils, she settles in next to Kjersti and considers the quiet, ominous request. "I know I paid you for last time, but that got a bit bigger than some silver. I figure I owe you a favor already. I'm intrigued, an' listening. Lay it out for me."

As the corpse manages to add "horns" to the description of Isolde Lavigne, Zea's eyes go wide as she realizes why the dead man came to the Cloven Hoof for help, and she's galvanized into immediate action. She grabs the nearest scrap of paper and a pencil, so the laboring corpse isn't forced to repeat himself. "Brown hair, spots, hooves, horns, a tail... about five years old... A babe of about a year..." "That's an unusual look. It doesn't match any kids I've seen in the Nursery lately. I will ask everyone who comes in. I will add her to list of the missing. If-if anyone has seen her, I will let you know." "Is the baby a tiefling?" Zea asks, slowing down for the zombie's benefit, carefully pantomiming rocking a child in her arms at "baby" and tapping her horns at "tiefling".

The Tooth and Nail looks and feels better than it did when Maria and Kjersti first wandered in. That stale beer smell is never coming out, and the sputtering yellow lamps still give off their light like they’re being forced to glow at gunpoint, but the broken fixtures and furnishings have been repaired or replaced, and there’s a homey, pleasant feeling in the warm old building compared to the tension of Vendalfek’s misguided “excitement.” The same applies to the owner. Setrona is still breaking the 4th proclamation, in a gaudy turquoise tunic trimmed with gold thread, and she still has a few “taxes” from breaking up fights, including a new and impressive black eye, but the deep bags under her eyes are gone - she seems to have transferred them to Kjersti - and she’s not falling asleep on her feet. The snarling tell-off the interloper was about to receive dies on her lips, transformed into a lopsided grin. “Mmm. I don’t make a habit of servin’ dangerous lawbreakers out after curfew, but I suppose I can make an exception for my best bouncer, just this once. And she’s our bouncer, Insome, if anyone official pokes their head in, understand?” She reminds the faithful bartender before turning her attention back to the night’s last customer. “What’s your pleasure? You look like you could use something fortifying. And what brings you back in here, lookin’ like death warmed over, Ms. Volden? You’ve been in a war, lass. Hope you won.”

"Oh gods! Um, h-hey there." Zea is indeed not thrilled to have the dead man darkening her door, and bolts upright, fumbling for the nearest thing that could pass as a weapon, which turns out to an almost hilariously inadequate letter opener, but she's pretty quick on the uptake. If the corpse were there to cause violence, she'd have found out rather quickly. "...I-Is something wrong? Did those assholes come back?" The look of concern on the zombie's face leads to worries of a different kind of trouble. Whatever her misgivings might be, this thing had defended the Nursery with all its ferocity. The dead man was as much a hero as the rest of the Silver Ravens. Besides, the defacto leader of the Cloven Hoof had scores to settle with the CCG. A personal plea for help, though, leaves her somewhat adrift. "What've you got there? Let's see... Huh." She accepts the crumpled cards and gives them a read-over, but knowledgeable as Zea might be about matters on the street, a middle-class family from the other side of the city rings no bells. "Ah, I don't know any of these people, big guy. Do you want help finding them? I-I can try. I know who to talk to, at least." She waits cautiously for the zombie's response, hopeful it can provide at least a little more guidance.

"Oh no, not the storage barn! I thought the charms were kept up to date! This is terrible news! We'll need to have a serious discussion with some of the lore-speakers about this!" Xhokan responds to the news of gremlins in the school's precious supplies with immediate and predictable alarm, and quite favorably, for Szas's angle. "Of course, of course. Sacks we have aplenty, you may take all you need. A net, I have some, meant for games and training, but perhaps they will serve your purpose. And bells, yes, we have those. Bells of silver... let's see..." Xhokan makes careful marks of what's handed out, supplying a small silver bell with a simple wooden handle for everyone who will be braving the infested storage room. "These are, as Ms. Szastuhastah said, a loan, ideally to be returned as they are. Do be careful! Gremlins are a nuisance, but they enjoy watching others suffer. Do not take them lightly." The gremlin‑infested storage room is one of six rooms in a large storage barn on the west side of campus. The main door to the barn is open, but with the mix of distressingly casual and genuinely clever that seems to be the Magaambya's hallmark, someone's stuck a broom handle through the storage room’s latch to keep it jammed shut. A hastily scratched note of "Do Not Open: Gremlins" on a scrap of parchment warns the overly curious away. Raucous laughter and the shattering of glass echo from within. OOC Xhokan supplies and as needed, as well as a silver bell for each member of the cohort, at no cost, provided they are returned when no longer needed. The storage room is semi‑circular in shape, with a 10‑foot‑high ceiling and regular lighting. The map is up on roll20. is the invite link for roll20. I have everyone assigned a token except for Adalet.

"You play tunes I haven't heard in ages, old halfling hymns and work songs from way out in the sticks. As much as we love our music, they've never been fashionable in Kintargo. Where did you learn them?" When you make your way back to the Wasp Nest, Laria is sitting in the entrance, trying to extend an olive branch to Blosodriette, who is perched on one of the shelves, sipping at a shot glass full of coffee. "I... don't know. I've never thought about it. Haven't had anyone around to ask. I just remember them, somehow. I only learned a few songs on the material plane, and those were mostly what you would expect from high-and-mighties in Kintargo. Boring and terrible operas! Torture! I made my pipes to pass the time down in the old base. The songs are just there, like a mortal remembering faded things from childhood?" "You remember them? That... That should be impossible. Right? I've picked up more Asmodean lore than I'd care to know, living here. Imps are created from hell-stuff, right? Wretched souls go to Hell, become lemures through endless torture and reshaping, greater devils eventually use them to create new beings, or new bits of the nine levels, or what have you. No individuality, no memories, they're more like, like, bricks and mortar than anything alive, not until they're shaped into true devils like, well, you. That's a bit rough and ready, but it's close enough to what we're taught up here." "That's right, or close enough. But I still remember those songs. Strange, isn't it? Because you're broken! These flickers and bits of... something. You're right, they shouldn't be. One of them happened when I was summoned by Sarini for the first time, brought here. I had the clearest moment of recognition - Oh, Kintargo! I'm back in Kintargo! How could I remember somewhere I'd never been? Or how could a mortal memory survive the forces of Hell? Nobody's memories survive, Hell or no. Pharasma sweeps them away as sure as Asmodeus does." "There's no getting out of the River of Souls, right?" As if in (rather worrying) response, the vengeful corpse of Guy-Arist Lavigne clumps past, as the bitten and bloody Silver Ravens return to their roost. "Ah! Rexus is waiting, when you've caught your breath. More of his discoveries." Rexus has been feverishly working at his translations, with the slightly doubtful assistance of his two small deskmates, who are of course the very picture of innocence. Despite his newly-enchanted quills flying around the Wasp Nest like little darts, and the replacement of his tea with a nice steaming cup of river sludge, he’s managed to make serious inroads into the enciphered records of the original Silver Ravens, and gathers everyone around to fill them in once time and energy allow. “The Silver Ravens defended Kintargo from many plotters and would-be conquerors during the Civil War. Scheming local nobility - twice! A cabal of vampires from Nidal, an incursion of horrible sea monsters, and - so they claim - a blue dragon, the great warlord Rivozair! To say nothing of House Thrune’s forces, who finally cracked the city on their third attempt. After that, morale seems to have wavered, then broken. There’s lots of talk about fighting on, striking from the shadows, saying all the right things in here, but you can feel the spirit’s gone out of them, how weary they must have been. You can even see it. The last entries are written in a drooping, ragged hand, a far cry from the perfect penmanship of the first notes.” “There was infighting, arguing, even violence between them. By the end, they knew House Thrune were going to win the battle, and that led to a splintering. Some went to ground, some tried to fight on. Others, a slim majority of the inner circle, hoped an honorable surrender would prevent Thrune’s legions from razing Kintargo to the ground. It’s still here, so maybe that terrible choice worked. It’s a sad and inglorious end, but they planted seeds that eventually bloomed into… us. I was wrong about this.” He taps the metal coffer. “It wasn’t left behind by chance. They left it as a time capsule of sorts, should their memories fade, or be wiped away by Thrune’s redactors.” “And I did find something that might be able to help us… maybe. It’s incomplete, just hints, another mystery to stack on top of all the others we’ve found, but it’s most intriguing, and important, I think. The Silver Ravens had something they called “The Song of Silver.” They used it to defend the city. It seems immensely powerful, able to shield all of Kintargo and strike fearful blows at their enemies, but alas, there are no details in here. No mention of how it worked, or what it actually entailed. Magic, it seems, perhaps even literally a song, but all specifics are lost. Keep your eyes and ears open, would you? There could be hints hidden away, like these notes were. It’s a faint hope, but… well, that seems to be what we trade in, now. Nurturing faint hopes.” As the days pass, Rexus remains in a glum mood. His health has suffered during his endless hours of translation and transcription. He seems to spend more and more time stewing in his doubts and regrets, on occasion bursting out of these doldrums to pursue some new idea with almost frantic energy, only to sink lower when confronted with dead ends and uncertainties. “You have a visitor, Ms. Volden. Well, you all do, but if it’s who I think it is, he’s got something more to say to Kjersti and Maria.” Laria is enjoying being coy. "Use the upstairs rooms, just in case." The “mysterious, hooded figure in a dark corner” is rather difficult to pull off in the bright, cheery Long Roads dining room. The figure is tall and lanky, and he’s all scrunched up behind one of Laria’s halfling sized tables. He looks terribly uncomfortable, and jumps to his feet as soon as the crowd permits. Why he’s decided to go hooded is clear once he takes it off in the relative security of Laria's worker dorm. The man’s otherworldly nature is impossible to miss. He has what Zea glibly calls the “deluxe package” of fiendish features. His skin is sky-blue, his eyes amber and catlike, while long horns protrude from his forehead. He has pointed ears, and a long tail with a barbed end. He’s quite handsome, all the same, slim and angular, impeccably dressed, with a neatly trimmed beard and prematurely white hair that gives him the air of a proper silver fox, and an array of small scars that are more curious and dashing than concerning. “I thought it was high time I introduced myself.” “My name is Hetamon Haace, and I’m a tailor, the humble owner of the Devil’s Threads. Some of you, I recognize, have been clients of mine, and I hope my work has lived up to my promises. I’m also something of a neighborhood doctor, if you ever need those services.” “And to a select few, I am the Rose of Kintargo.” Hetamon allows himself a smile and a crisp little bow in Kjersti’s direction. “I try to guide Milani’s faithful through these increasingly dark times, and give hope to the oppressed and enslaved, because our time will come. The Everbloom does not wilt. We will rise up, and break the chains suffocating our fair city and lands far beyond.” “You Silver Ravens are something Kintargo certainly hasn’t had in my lifetime. Revolution! There’s a powerful word. We work, I hope, towards the same great purpose, towards hope and freedom.” “I heard about what you did for those in the Devil’s Nursery. Slaying monsters, turning away bandits, and rescue from the brutes who dance to Thrune’s tune. You’ve proven yourselves several times over. You care about the common folk. There is hope in what you do.” “I have less to offer you than I would wish, obviously, but I offer our help all the same. My people are preparing, gathering what will be needed in the battles to come, and listening and learning about our common enemy. We have many eyes and ears. But for now secrecy and patience are our great weapons. The Lord-Mayor thinks we were destroyed on his Night of Ashes, but roses are rather resilient plants.” His part said, Hetamon turns to Kjersti and adds a sad coda. “I’ve heard some terrible whispers and far too much silence from Whiterock. I fear we have more to talk about than well-wishes and clothing, Lady Volden. But that tale is yours to tell. I’ve learned the dangers of prying in my position.” The final twist, and the end to this quiet period of much needed rest, arrives with a very perplexed Korva, returning from a walk around Alabaster Academy. She immediately seeks out Rexus and presses a parcel into his hands, as though it might burst into flame if it stayed in her possession any longer. “The most intimidating woman I’ve ever met gave me this, said to deliver it to you ‘as soon as practicable’. I’ve got no idea how she knew who I was, or you were, or that we’ve got anything to do with each other, but here.” Rather than being disturbed, Rexus perks up, brow furrowed. “...Describe her?” “An elf? Forlorn, with those black sad eyes that look right through you. Dark hair. Tall and rigid. Stiff, hard and cold, like she was carved out of driftwood or ivory. Well-dressed, noble-like, but prim, proper. Like she was a professor there.” “Ha!” “She’s a teacher all right, but not at Alabaster Academy. You survived an encounter with Lady Mialari Docur. She runs Kintargo’s finest finishing school, Lady Docur’s School for Girls. She’s been running it for… oh, longer than everyone in this room has been alive, even the imp. Draws students from all over Cheliax and well beyond. One of my best friends while I was there was from Molthune. I never graduated - I stopped being eligible, for one thing, but she’s still quite fond of me. Let’s see what we’ve been given. Perhaps it’s old homework I need to redo.” Along with the note, the parcel contains an aged but well-kept copy of the Azvadeva Pujila, much to Rexus’s puzzlement. “This isn’t mine. It’s not anyone’s. We never studied Irori’s teachings in school. They’ve been banned for decades… Wait. This is… Oh! Oh, bless her soul! Korva! It’s the key!” The little tengu squawks as she’s picked up and spun around in a delighted, delirious hug, dragged almost by force of nature into Rexus’s little corner of the storeroom, where he tears open a drawer and dumps the contents, a pile of letters, out onto a very indignant invisibly sleeping Vendalfek. Seizing one, he works with trembling fingers through the holy text. “Please work… Yes! Yes, this is making sense, it’s making proper sentences!” The man wasn't even this giddy when you agreed to re-form the Silver Ravens. "This is the text the Sacred Order of Archivists used for their code. We can read these letters from my manor and the Thrashing Badger now! Find out where their base is hidden, rescue their work, maybe even... f-find survivors." He sets to it with a will, grateful for anyone who elects to join in. OOC And for convenience and length's sake, the contents of those letters will be in their own post, once your Downtime stuff is done. :)

Zea is black and blue from the Citizens' attention, and bleeding from a dozen little pokes from the doghouse's nails, and a nastier bite wound on her arm that puts her in pretty good company among the Ravens, but she's able to get herself upright and hobble, leaning on Temperance's sturdy shoulder. She spares a wan but deeply grateful smile for the rebels, and especially for Star, as the group begins their retreat. "Little lesson in pride and knowin' your limits, there. Saved my life, kid. All of you, really. Not quite sure how you repay that, but I'm gonna try. You need anything the Cloven Hoof can offer, it's yours, as long as I'm pretending to be in charge. Now, let's-" A hollow, profane noise in the distance stops Zea mid-sentence, and sends chills down the spines of the Silver Ravens who had been present at the very beginning, the protests here in Aria Park. The unearthly, not-quite-a-dog howl of Mephiry, Nox's pet hellhound. "-Get the fuck out of here." It's a little less direct than as Moonfeather flies, but the earthbound Ravens are able to safely make their way into Redroof's twisting alleys and away from the eyes of patrolling dottari, eventually trailing back to the somewhat shaken security of the Devil's Nursery. "Look, I meant what I said. We don't have much, but as far as my word carries, it's yours to share. You're heroes down here, you know that, right? All of you." Zea doesn't hesitate to include the remains of Guy Lavigne in that honor. "I need to sleep for a week, but once we're patched back together, maybe we'll throw you a feast or something." OOC With the wrapup of the last of the mini-adventures, we take a deep breath and hit a milestone. First, this is capital-D Downtime, so if you have actions you want to take for that, take 'em. 😛 Second, there's a big plot development that I'm gonna stick in it's own post for convenience. Third, um... third. Level, that is. Congratulations! ✨You've leveled up!✨ Update your sheets and note your changes and choices accordingly, please.