Catching Whispers
21st of Lamashan 4707 A.R. (Absalom Reckoning)
The smoke of Garundi tobacco mingles with that of locally sourced cable-weed and even what you are told is the far more potent flayleaf, hated by sobriety advocates as it is loved by the smugglers and pirates that run barrels of the stuff from Riddleport and beyond. In all those kinds of smoke, who is to notice of one particular wisp of it it darker or moves against the flow of air?
"He's going to get caught... they're going to notice." Mina whispers urgently, gripping the wooden goblet in front of her as though she's about to club someone over the head with it.
"People see what they expect to see," you counter as you watch profile of the 'brash young nobleman' who had appeared on one of the seats nearer the door in a show of illusory prowess. That last part may be true, but not as the patrons anticipated, the colorful
visage festooned with scarves and handkerchiefs was designed to hide the lack of small sounds that accompany most people, which unlike the voice Sirim cannot provide from his hiding place among the rafters. "Especially when there are free drinks to be had."
"Sneaky snake," Cob agrees impressed. "If they try to stab him for silver, he's not there."
"That's not..." Mina cuts herself off. "Most people wouldn't want to talk to a spirit like he is."
"Why?" Cob scratches one ear.
"Those who see poorly in the dark come to fear it," Gorok answers. "It's as true of those that walk on two feet as four."
It takes a good seven hours, with a pause in the middle for the four of you to eat lunch while Sirim recalls his magic but in the end in a tavern in Mask's Row Sirim finds a fellow who knows more than common gossip about the DeVorges, since he used to be a valet for Eduarmot DeVorge, three times delegate to the People's Council. In among all the anecdotes about forgetting his cravat by the bedside of ladies of negotiable virtue, drinking to excess and sleeping though votes for important legislation emerges the figure of a 'politician' rather more adept than his rakish persona allows. "Oh, he'll wear spirits like a woman wears perfume, but he won't put anything stronger than Drumish Beer in his mouth. It's a show he puts on, man of the people out to fight for the little guy, and never mind that his family was all dukes and barons going back eight hundred years."
"How could one not know his heritage given the name, a mark of old imperial blood, yes?" Sirim asks, tipping the head of the figment in askance.
"Oh to be sure, but the Timber-folk, that's what we call them that live in Timberton, Eduarmot constituency love him for being able to 'curse the sods in their own mother-tongue', he knows which rules to break you see. Since he's a real blue blood he can embarrass those that put on airs from their great-grandpa having owned a lumber mill."
"I had thought Andorans had no love for hereditary nobility," the shade prodded, his present guise a perfect fit for purpose.
"Not when they take all those hoity toity airs seriously, but a fellow who tips his hand ruffles his collar turns his wrists just so to flip the bird from a pile of ivory lace cuffs, that we love, especially when it comes with a reputation for charity..." the former valet takes a big gulp of his beer. "Even when he can't afford it."
"Oh?" The figment leans in as though to listen closer.
"Ever since the People's revolt the DeVorges have been big spenders on charity, especially for navy and army veterans, but with Eduarmot all distracted up at the People's Palace and the run of bad trades he's had recently the family's been struggling for coin. There was talk of marrying his sister Elenora off, but now she's up and vanished, probably eloped with some Varisian wheelwright if you asked me Eduarmot's probably fucked. I ain't out here looking for a job because my last one weighed me down with silver, I can tell you that much."
Sirim Bluff: 1d20+12 = 16 (Success) -> Sirim Diplomacy: 1d20+12 = 17 (Failure)
Sirim Bluff: 1d20+12 = 32 (Success) -> Sirim Diplomacy: 1d20+12 = 27 (Full Success)
"Good thing we are looking for influence and not coin out of the fellow," you muse.
"If she is already pair-matched, would
Edu-ar-mot still pay us?" Gorok's thinking one step ahead, looking to Mina for confirmation.
"Probably, just knowing she's safe should be worth something to him." She makes a face as she tries to work though the unfamiliar intrigues. "He got the Eagle Knights looking, his plans can't be too nefarious. Maybe he'll try to shame her into a marriage for the family's sake, but it's not like he can marry her off by force. The old Taldan law code was against it and I'm sure they kept that, not to mention how it would look to the public."
"So none of our concern, we just have to find her," you conclude.
And hope she's not dead, you think but do not add aloud.
***
Later that evening, sketch in hand, you ponder the missing heiress as you turn the pendant between your fingers: "Where is she?"
Divination (DC 10): 65 (Success)
Again four verses show themselves, a riddle weaving its way between broken symbols, nonsense rhymes. No rivers here, no blades fallen, no judgement cast. Still alive, though for how long you could not guess.
Bloody veils pierced by sight
Of one who did not fear the night
And lost down well in darkness ringed
Upon her face still beats the wind
"Didn't you say the diabolist you spoke to yesterday is pretending to be a priestess of Sivanah?" Mina asks as she reads over the lines. "That fits the bloody veils, maybe she knows something?"
Mina Knowledge (Religion) DC 11: Automatic Pass
"Well I don't think she'd be inclined to tell me anything after I put my foot through her floor," you shake your head sheepishly.
"Who says we have to ask nicely?" Her answering smile would do Cob proud.
What do you do?
[] Try to question Breolia about Elenora's fate
-[] Write in plan
[] Sneak into M. S. Laundry looking for clues as to Elenora's whereabouts
-[] Write in party composition
[] Inform the Eagle Knights of your suspicions
[] Write in
OOC: Enjoy 
