A Malady of Memory
Twenty Sixth Day of the First Month 294 AC
Once more you and ser Richard travel to Heaven's Shore, under another less exacting guise than Hassan of the Vault, one of the bold and often ruthless trader captains that sail the poisoned seas of Paradise. Their numbers are unknown even to the most exacting of Hell's spies, their faces save for the more infamous who come and go in the blink of an eye by the measure of deathless spirits. The perfect guise to take on and cast aside after a single journey.
Although you feared the smith might have perished from his ailment over these past months, you find the workshop just as you had left it atop its throne of crumbled stone. A thin stream of smoke rises from the chimney like the exhalation of a dying man. Ser Richard knocks once... twice, steel against dry wood.
The door creaks open to reveal the
scaled agathion smith, still veiled in his glamor of good health. "What can I help you with?" he asks wearily.
"It is more a question of how we can help each other," you reply smoothly, as the two of you step inside the workshop, under worn runes and sputtering ward-light. This is a dance you have danced many a time before.
***
The smith is not sick as you had supposed before and never had been, you discover as the discussion progresses, from talk of payment and security guaranteed in your port to subtle hints that you could also offer healing as needed. The way he sputters and denies any illness is the truth, but not all of it. He is an addict, you realize, one who seeks forgetfulness in incense induced bliss and golden memories of old.
If ever there were a place to wish for forgetfulness of self, this one would be it.
"The right spell can take away more than illness," you say at last after feeling for the matter as one would a sore tooth. "And greater purpose even more so. I do not offer passage to the horrors of paradise, or even just a stream of steady commissions. There is a world... worlds beyond this one."
The smith looks you up and down carefully. There is no hope in his gaze to counter the suspicion. You did not offer hope, for you do not know him well enough to guess how he might take it. Instead, you offered a bargain in the hopes that he would be able to find his own renewed purpose.
"I have debts, considerable ones," his voice cracks slightly. "There are those who would follow me beyond the city, beyond this sphere to see them collected."
"How much?" you prompt. The circumstance is hardly unusual, though you had not expected to find it playing out here.
"Thirty thousand added, all end to end. Were I left in peace I could see if cleared in a decade, but I have need of food, shelter... other things." The shame in his voice is almost painful to hear, all the more so from one who once armed the Hosts of Paradise for battle.
Do you cover the smith's debts in exchange for his service?
[] Yes (Lose 60,000 IM Gain smith capable to forging celestial equipment)
[] No, it is not worth the cost
What next?
[] Visit the Slave Market
[] Meet with one of the resistance bands
-[] Write in
[] Receive a report (interlude)
-[] Write in which one
OOC: I really wanted to roll through the smith interaction, but it's enough money that I can't decide for you guys. Not yet edited.