Tribulations of an Apprentice Witch

[Gazetteer]

Spoiler: Results

Vote tally:
##### 3.21
[X] You take inspiration from a Lowlander girl who once swindled you out of a month's pocket change -- slightly tanner skin, green eyes and honey coloured curls.
No. of votes: 12
Hannz, ChildishChimera, The Laurent, veekie, mistakenot, kinigget, MiracleGrow, cB557, Muer'ci, Ephemeral_Dreamer, djd, Seventeen

You people really hate fairy princesses, huh.

[x] You settle for brown hair and a down to earth, girl-next-door sort of charm.
No. of votes: 4
NemoMarx, SoaringHawk218, Echo 101, query

Doing the whole face in one go is theoretically possible -- far more dramatic, full-body transformations are far from unheard of, after all. Turning one's enemies into small, unpleasant, harmless creatures is practically synonymous with being a witch, in most peoples' minds. So the general expectation from people who are not closely versed in alteration magic, is that if one can do something like that, changing someone's eyes or nose should be a simple matter of snapping one's fingers.

First of all, you've never actually tried turning a human into a toad. You've done full-body alteration on smaller creatures, but the Academy does not precisely encourage students to experiment on live humans on school grounds, even if you'd had a human onhand who you would feel ethical about turning into something. And you're not from one of the old families like Ivy's -- the ones with highly unsavory rumours about what happens to trespassers or people foolish enough to cross them. The opportunity has just never really come up.

Secondly, modifying a human's appearance is actually quite a bit more complicated than could be imagined. When you turn someone into a toad, you don't actually care what the toad looks like. It could be the most hideous toad anyone has ever seen or the most beautiful thing ever to hop out of a swamp, and humans were unlikely to be able to tell the difference. Four legs, two eyes, warty, sticky tongue? Good enough for most witches. That doesn't quite cut it for humans. If there is something even a little off, the whole thing just doesn't work in terms of fooling anyone. You want to give your full attention to each alteration, to make sure you get it exactly right. By happy coincidence, this also will make it that much easier to reverse the process; four or five subtler changes are easier to reverse than one large one. There is an element of diminishing returns inherent to this -- it is, obviously, much easier to turn a toad back into a human than to fix every minor point of deviation piecemeal until you have an ordinary person again -- but it will hold true for what you're doing with Star.

… with Ivy's body, you remind yourself. It's wrong of you to just think of this body as being Star, particularly after the anxieties you just had expressed to you.

"This will feel strange," you tell Star, bluntly, but not unkindly. "I'll try not to make it hurt."

"... hurt?" she asked, a little alarmed. She's actually looking nervous now, as you lean in closer to scrutinise her eyes. Ivy's eyes are hazel, but closer to brown than to green. For a moment, as you look deep into them, there is a part of you who's reminded of some of your private fantasies back at school -- the lead in to a spontaneous kiss, perhaps -- but it's not Ivy who is looking back at you now, and as much as you also find Star to be perfectly charming herself most of the time, it's nervousness bordering on fear you see in them, not excitement. You say a string of words in a flowing, musical and long dead language, and summon up your power to flow through your arms, through your hands, out your fingers, and into her face, as you bring to mind a different set of eyes that are indelibly burned into your memory.

The eyes seem to blur for a moment, probably disrupting her vision. Star blinks frantically, her face screwing up in sudden, vivid terror. You're reminded that, even if she did suggest this, she still hates witchcraft. Maybe you'd both forgotten. You release your hold on her, pulling back enough for her to wipe the tears that had sprung to her eyes with one sleeve. They're due to irritation rather than any emotional response. Or so you hope. Eye transformation does cause a highly disconcerting sort of tingle.

"Did it work?" she asks, apprehensively, peering around the room as if she half expects it to look different to her now. It shouldn't, unless you've really done something wrong.

"I'd be able to tell better if you'd stop blinking so much," you comment, trying to make a joke of it. Lighten the mood. She complies, and you can't help but take some satisfaction in your handy work; rather than Ivy's normal hazel, they're now a bright, arresting shade of green. "Yes," you say, grinning. "It worked perfectly. No discomfort, right? Everything feels normal now?"

"... yes," Star admits, after a few seconds. "It felt… a lot more horrible than I thought it would. When everything went dark, I suddenly thought of…" she trails off, then, looking suddenly a little bit guilty. As if what she'd thought had not been at all flattering for you. You can take a guess -- Anya the Eye Stealer has been a folk demon in Weissany and the surrounding kingdoms for centuries, and it's not hard to see why her mind might have drifted toward the vivid descriptions most storytellers devote to her victims screaming and clawing at their own smooth, eyeless faces. Now is probably not the best time to mention that at Blacktree, both you and Ivy studied alongside someone whose family claims her as their ancestor.

"... don't worry about it," you tell her. "The eyes are the worst part, so I got them out of the way first. I'll do the hair next -- you should barely feel anything there. Unless you've changed your mind?"

Star shakes her head. "No," she says. "I'll see this through."

"She'd better, after I agreed with it and everything," Ivy murmurs. Somehow, her mental presence in your mind conjures up the image of her with her eyes squeezed shut and both hands pressed to her face -- she's intentionally doing her best to avoid seeing how you're changing her body, at least while the process is ongoing.

"Okay," you agree, and go back to work.

--

The hair was easy -- hair always is, because it's somehow mostly already dead, a fact that many non-alterationists find mildly disconcerting. The hardest part was her skin. It's not as if you made her actually dark, but you did turn Ivy's pale, burns-rather-than-tans complexion and dropped it a notch or two. The difficulty with skin is that you need to do the whole body -- there's a lot of it when you really get down to thing. You'll just have to hope that she'll tell you if she finds anything off later.

Apart from that, you adjusted her cheek bones, softened her chin, and, tragically, nudged her nose over a little bit. You honestly just couldn't bring yourself to do anything with Ivy's freckles, but they're not so distinctive at this point. It would take a lot of scrutiny from someone who knows Ivy very well before. Or who is very adept at detecting alteration magic, but it's not like you've been sloppy about things -- you're pretty confident in this disguise.

Star looks at herself in a mirror, poking at her face, fingers twining through her newly-curled hair. "I… look a little Lowlandish," she said. "Was that what you were going for?"

You nod. "It's far enough away from here that they don't get many Lowlanders in this part of the country. Just the odd peddler now and then." Your family's trade knowledge came in useful at odd times, such as this one.

Star frowns at you. "Why would that be a good thing?"

You grin. "That way, when you say something strange or don't know how something works, people will dismiss you as just being from somewhere strange."

The Lowlands are more or less the far southern reaches of the old kingdom of Weissany, on the far side of a small mountain range and a good distance south-west from where you currently stand. It's a place full of salt marshes and and ancient ruins and odd customs, and the people of the Lowlands have an odd reputation even among those who know them better. Not necessarily a bad reputation, just odd. Without the centralising influence of the royal throne, your father likes to gloomily predict, the whole empire is just slowly crumbling into its component parts. The confusion and the monsters slowed the process, but it's already happening with some of the formerly-independent duchies, particularly if you count the vampires.

"I can't do a Lowlander accent to save my life," Star says

"Don't try, then," you advise. "It'll be fine."

"It's less unnerving than I thought it would be," Ivy admits. "You do better work with fine details than a lot of alterationists, Mina."

"Ivy likes it too," you inform Star.

"'Like' is a strong word!"

"... well, Ivy doesn't hate it," you correct yourself, grimacing a little.

Star laughs at that, and it's the same laugh as before, even if the face is a little different. "Should we go find that noblewoman now?" Star asked, at length. "Before that stammering retainer girl decides to break down the door?"

--

It doesn't take too long to find them. Evidently, they have the first suite, which is a little larger than yours. There's an adjoining, smaller bedroom -- likely intended for a personal servant, but judging from the size of the cloak hanging from the door, it has been claimed by the male bodyguard, with the two young women sharing the larger outer room in which you and Star find yourself arrayed.

"Come in! Sit down!" The Alplandish noblewoman is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement, hands clasped together in front of her. The retainer from before seems hugely relieved to have an excuse to quietly stand off to the side. The bodyguard stands on the noblewoman's other side, giving you an assessing, slightly suspicious once over. Extra chairs appear to have been produced from somewhere to be arranged around this room's table, and a tea service has been called up from the kitchens.

Reluctantly at first, you and Star follow her instructions, shuffling into the room to take your seats across from her. The retainer and the bodyguard, despite a beseeching look from their lady, stay where they are, fidgeting and stoic respectfully.

"I'm so relieved that you arrived when you did," the noblewoman says, smiling broadly at you. It's a nice enough smile -- guileless and friendly, if a little too much like a grin to be truly ladylike. She's short -- not as short as you of course, but that's always too much to hope for -- trending toward slender. Her plain, brown hair is also a little bit longer than yours, but still more boyish than not. Her height, combined with a soft, round face, pale complexion and wide, expressive eyes make you feel a little bit like you're sitting across from an overgrown porcelain doll that someone has dressed up like a soldier.

"Who are you?" Star asks, blunt and to the point. It's probably not a bad way to begin things, though.

"Oh!" the noblewoman says, slapping her forehead a little. "I forgot to have Ana introduce us, didn't I? You can call me Arietta." Conspicuously, she does not offer a surname. "You've met Anselma already," she gestures toward her retainer, who gives a self conscious nod of the head. "And the grumpy looking one is Gunther."

This comment seems to actually break the bodyguard's expression of granite austerity for a moment, and you think you can see one corner of his lip twitch. He probably was fairly good looking back in his day, but by this point he's about twenty years, several broken noses and a long, puckered scar along his throat outside of your interest zone. He's only average height, and you've seen larger men, but something about him with his sturdy frame and cropped salt and pepper hair imparts a sense of immovability to you. The pistol at his belt, alongside a long, sheathed dagger ou recognise as a particularly nasty bayonet helps with that, one supposes. You can see the rifle the latter goes with, leaning against the wall behind him. You suspect it's currently probably loaded.

"Here," Arietta says, grabbing hold of the teapot and one of the cups. "It's cut with mint, or some nonsense like that -- it's so hard to get a pot of decent, pure tea in this country! -- but it's nice enough, I think, and I assume you're both used to it." She fills one cup with a fragrant, light brown tea, before moving on to the second, unasked. "What are your names? I'm sorry if my manners are a little off right now, but I'm just so happy to have you both here!"

"She's a von Arma," Ivy says suddenly, speaking into your head. "I recognise the family crest on her sleeve -- a sword over a shield, and a mountain pass." Well, that was interesting news. The lands of Margrave von Arma included the only viable pass between Weissany and Alpland. Although the right to maintain private armies independent of the crown had long been stripped from Alplandish nobles, the family still bore much of the responsibility of making sure that nothing and no one went across the Alpland/Weissany border, in either direction. This only raises further questions as to what exactly these three are doing here, though.

"I'm Mina," you say, following Arietta's example by not giving a surname. "And this is Star. And it's because of the blockades."

"... the blockades?" Arietta blinked, looking a little thrown.

"The tea," you say. "It's expensive, because it doesn't grow well in most of Weissany's climate, and our neighbours are officially blocking trade. So it needs to be smuggled in, which makes it expensive, so most people cut it with something."

"Oh." Arietta blinks in surprise. "I hadn't thought of that!" She stares down at the teapot in new fascination. "But how do the smugglers--"

Star clears her throat, shooting you a bit of a look as she does so, and Arietta falls silent, embarrassed at the digression. You smile a little sheepishly, and let Star speak. "I apologise, Lady Arietta," Star continues. "But I'm sure you've called us here for a reason -- you keep saying how happy you are to have found us, but Mina and I are both a little in the dark."

"Oh, of course, how silly of me," Arietta says, recovering. "Anselma overheard that you're going to have a meeting with the Partsmonger soon." She says the name with an adventurous sort of relish, as if he's a monster out of a story. "I have been trying to arrange a similar meeting, but our host at the inn tells me he won't meet with 'just anyone.'" She adopts an almost childish looking pout of frustration. "We've come quite a lot way, and it's extremely inconvenient."

"So, why are you talking to us?" Star asks her. Anselma seems to be fixing Star with a disapproving glare, apparently not appreciating the direct manner Star continues to employ with Arietta. The lady herself seems unbothered.

"Well," she says, "I'm looking for a… family heirloom, you might say. That was lost in Weissany some time ago, and I have reason to believe that this Partsmonger acquired it recently."

"What kind of heirloom?" you ask, frowning.

"Oh, you know," Arietta says, flipping a hand. "Just an old sword. It has a lot of… sentimental value." Enough to lead her to enter -- illegally, you suspect -- a region that her country has more or less quarantined for decades in search of it. "I have money," she adds, as if this were in doubt. "The trouble is convincing him to let me buy it."

"... you want us to arrange a meeting between him and you?" Star asks, frowning. "Or… just to buy the sword from you?"

"Oh, the latter would be fine," Arietta says, smiling broadly again, pleased that Star has gotten the basic idea. "

"She is definitely not doing this with her family's blessing," Ivy notes. "And she can't be telling the whole story with the 'sword.' How would an Alplandish family heirloom end up here in the first place? And if the 'Partsmonger' is dealing with it, it can't just be an ordinary weapon. He handles things related to magic more or less exclusively."

Star is looking openly skeptical, shooting you a look that seems to scream 'why are we even listening to these people' even as she cautiously takes a sip from her tea cup. She likely has a point, and so does Ivy -- this is all a bad idea.

… but Lady Arietta is looking at you, wide-eyed and full of hope, as if you're the answer to all of her problems.

You really need to start running into plainer looking girls.

"I'm sure there's something we can do to help," you say.

"What? Mina what are you saying?" Ivy hisses, as if in disbelief. "The Partsmonger isn't the sort of person who is going to tolerate a lot of nonsense. This is just complicating everything."

"Oh, good!" Arietta says, actually clapping her hands together. "I'll pay you, of course, after you get the sword back for me!"

"... May I speak with Mina in privacy for a moment?" Star asks, setting her teacup down on her saucer.

"Oh," Arietta says. "Of course. You can use Gunther's room." It's Arietta's turn to be shot a disapproving look, by Gunther this time, but she fails to notice.

Star all but pulls you into the little side bedroom, and shuts the door behind you, not even noticing as she knocks the cloak to the floor, and showing no interest in any of Gunther's belonging's despite what the bodyguard may have been afraid of.

"Mina, why are you committing us to this?" she hisses, covering her eyes with one hand. "This is a terrible idea!"

"She's, uh… probably in trouble?" you offer, hunching your shoulders a bit.

"She's rich enough to pay for black market swords from someone called the 'Partsmonger' and goes around with two bodyguards!" Star snaps. "I think she's probably doing fine!"

"She's right," Ivy agrees. "This isn't like that boy at the bridge -- and you saw what trouble even that got us into. We don't even understand what's going on here."

"So now you're ganging up on me," you mutter.

"Are we?" Star asked. "Good! This is not a good idea, Mina!"

You fidget in place a little. You definitely don't want Star and Ivy annoyed with you, and to be honest they probably have a point. But you think about Arietta, with her innocent looks and cheerful voice and her two comically different companions -- if you don't help them here, there's a good chance she'll resort to doing something stupid in order to acquire this sword, and that would sit very poorly on your conscience. "Well," you murmur, toying with a loose thread on your shirt -- when did that happen, exactly? "There must be something we can do to be smarter about this."

"Apart from just saying 'no?'" Ivy asks.

"Like what?" Star demands.

Good question. What do you suggest?

[x] Only commit to asking the Partsmonger about the sword, and telling him that he has a potential buyer, drawing his attention directly to Arietta.

[x] You need a lot of strange things for your ritual anyway -- if you keep Arietta's name out of it, then he probably won't think twice.

[x] Tell him that it's for Ivy. That way the money will be believable, and he knows her anyway.

[x] Just make the deal, be straightforward, don't be suspicious about it. He's a businessman, and he wants to make money -- it will be fine.

Spoiler: OoC Note

Write-ins work as always, with the understanding that Mina at least really does not want to just leave Arietta high and dry. Star is likely going to try and demand more information from her regardless of what you pick.

 

[Gazetteer]

Spoiler: Results

Vote tally:
##### 3.21

[x] Just make the deal, be straightforward, don't be suspicious about it. He's a businessman, and he wants to make money -- it will be fine.
No. of votes: 5
Echo 101, Hannz, Muer'ci, The Laurent, Broken25

"This is already a dumb idea, no reason to make it dumber."

[x] If Arietta will lend us a party member, offer to take one of her bodyguards along with us and introduce them to the Partsmonger.
No. of votes: 3
mistakenot, ChildishChimera, kinigget

-[x] Check that our temporary companion is on-board and will follow our lead.
No. of votes: 3
mistakenot, ChildishChimera, kinigget
-[x] If possible, try to finish our own business first before turning to Arietta's request.
No. of votes: 3
mistakenot, ChildishChimera, kinigget

​

^This is one of those times where the write-in is not actually mutually exclusive with the winning vote.

[x] Only commit to asking the Partsmonger about the sword, and telling him that he has a potential buyer, drawing his attention directly to Arietta.
No. of votes: 2
Ephemeral_Dreamer, veekie

[x] You need a lot of strange things for your ritual anyway -- if you keep Arietta's name out of it, then he probably won't think twice.
No. of votes: 1
pressea

"Well… what's the worst that could happen?" you ask, blithely.

"That he kills us," Star says.

"And enslaves our souls and harvests our bodies for parts," Ivy adds. Why is the one time they're in perfect agreement the time that they're both disagreeing with you?

"Well, I mean, he's not going to do that if we just ask to buy a sword, right?" you press, trying to look reassuring. "If he asks, we'll say that we're being paid to acquire it for someone who can't get an audience with him. He's a scary businessman, but he's still a businessman, right? He's got no reason to do anything to a customer just for wanting to buy something."

"Unless there's something we don't know about these three that's going to get us killed," Ivy counters.

"Does that girl look like someone who's going to be hiding a terrible secret?" you say. "I mean… you saw her, right?"

"We don't know that!" Star says. Despite not having heard Ivy's response, she can guess the gist of it.

"Okay," you say, "but how likely is that, really? It's just a sword. If he doesn't want to sell it, he'll say no. If he does, great, we just made more money we can use to pay the necromancer, or for anything else that comes up -- you should have enough, Ivy, but we can't be sure."

"This isn't because she's pretty, is it?" Ivy asks, as if the idea that you might be motivated by such a thing is news to her. Ivy's obliviousness to romantic and sexual interest is alternately endearing and frustrating. This is not really the way you would have preferred her to clue into it, though.

"No!" you say, doing your best to look and sound scandalised. "No! Of course not! She's, uh… just… in trouble." It comes out a little bit more sheepish than you thought, trailing off weakly at the end.

"What did she just say?" Star asks, suspiciously.

You fidget, and don't answer.

"Wait. Wait. It is just because she's pretty?" Ivy seems rather taken aback now. "Really, Mina?"

"It's not just because she's pretty!" you insist. "She needs help, is all."

Star stares at you. "Is that what this is--"

"It's not just because she's pretty!" you insist again. "I just don't see the harm in trying, and I already said yes, didn't I?"

"You're both going to die," Ivy says, mournfully. "You'll both die, and you're going to ruin my body in the process, and I'll end up sold to some… vulgar little necromancer and live out the rest of my days as an exotic talisman."

"You're both overreacting!" you say, glowering between Star, and the amulet around your neck.

Star puts her head in her hands. "I thought you were the sensible one," she says, sounding rather forlorn, before sighing, and muttering: "Fine. Fine. If you really think we should play fetch-my-sword for some aristo girl with pretty blue eyes, then we'll do that. I get to tell you I-told-you-so if anything goes wrong, though."

"Not before I do," Ivy says. "But she'll deserve to hear it twice."

You sigh.

A tentative knock comes from the other side of the door. "Are y-you finished t-t-talking?" a voice that is unmistakably Ansemla's asks.

Star casts you one last disbelieving glance, before she pulls the door open again. "Looks like it," she says, to Anselma's face. The two of you file out, and back into the room.

"We will do it, like Mina said," Star says before you can speak, apparently not trusting you to deal with Arietta at the moment. In light of this, you slide back into your seat, and take a sip of your tea. "But we need to know more than we do."

Arietta's shoulders go a little stiffer momentarily, and her smile stiffens, before she forces them to relax. "Well," she says, fiddling with her teacup on its saucer and not looking Star in the eye. "I suppose that's… understandable."

"This can't be just any sword you're after, miss von Arma," Star continues. Arietta's head snaps up at the mention of her family name, as if she's surprised Star has guessed it. "I can recognise common heraldry," Star adds, almost amused."Your family isn't precisely low profile." It occurs to you then that Star didn't actually hear Ivy when she made that observation, and your hushed conference in the other room was simply too consumed by your own questionable decisions for you to pass it on -- you wonder just how highly positioned Star was in the Regency's government.

Arietta flushes a little. "Most people here don't… seem to know much about the rest of the world," she murmurs. "I told you. The sword has… sentimental value."

"Sentimental enough that a trafficker in illegal magic has it?" Star asks. "We'll be handling this thing until we can hand it over to you, and we're going to be walking up to a dangerous man and asking to buy it from him. I need to know what it is before I can do that."

Arietta seems to shrink back a little from the intensity of the look Star is giving her, until Anselma, bristling with indignation, leans down to fix Star with a glare that holds little of her previous nerves or fidgeting. When she speaks, it is in a hot, and surprisingly clear voice: "You need to show more respect for your--"

"Enough!" Gunther's gravelly voice is enough of a shock to make everyone in the room to fall silent, and turn to stare at him. He runs one scarred, weathered hand down his face, and sighs, visibly exasperated. "Lady Arietta -- if you insist on trusting these people with this task, then you cannot simply expect them to go along with this with only your say-so that everything is fine and nothing is dangerous."

The look Arietta gave him is, briefly, more like a scolded schoolgirl than a lady being spoken down to by a servant. He has likely been working for her family for enough years that he remembers her as a child, if you recognise the dynamic correctly. "... yes, I suppose so," she agrees, mustering up her dignity.

Anselma has transferred her attention to Gunther, and while she's not quite glaring at him the way she had been glaring at Star, she's still clearly somewhat displeased. You're not sure how good she is with that sabre, but you make a mental note not to make any sort of move toward Arietta that could be construed as a threat.

"The sword has been in Lady Arietta's family for generations, and was lost during the collapse of Weissany," Gunther says. "It's valuable, but much less so to anyone outside of her family." He adds this part with a pointed look at the two of you, as if trying to tell you that you're unlikely to get a better price by trying to run off with the weapon.

You steal a glance at Star to check her reaction. For a moment, you swear you catch something like startled recognition flitting over her face. Then it's gone. You can't tell if the others have noticed it. "It's apparently valuable enough for a man like the Partsmonger to be interested in it," she says. Giving the impression that she actually knows the man by recognition, and had not in fact just learned his name that night.

Gunther grimaces, and Arietta takes a conspicuously long sip of her tea, as if using the motion to school her expression. "There are rumours," he begins, reluctantly, "that the sword may have become… haunted."

Star shoots you a look that seems to say 'see what you've gotten us into?' "Haunted?" she asks.

"By, um… a ghost," Arietta admits. She waves the hand not holding the teacup in a gesture that is possibly meant to represent a ghost somehow. She still manages to slop a little of the tea by doing so. "Living in the sword. Well, not living. It's a ghost."

Ivy laughs softly in your head, breaking her slightly disgusted silence. "Then they're wrong about no one being willing to pay more than her family," she notes. "A possessed murder weapon is useful for all sorts of rituals and spells."

Gunther pinches the bridge of his nose. "As far as we know," he says, "this is just a rumour. At least one owner died under mysterious circumstances, that's to be expected. It's just a sword, which the three of us have gone to entirely too much--"

"Yes, yes," Arietta says, impatiently. "I'm a fool to come out here chasing an heirloom, we should have turned back ages ago, we've all heard it before." She smiles at the two of you, confident again. "It's as he says, though. We'll simply give you the money for the weapon, you'll make the purchase, and everything will work out fine for everyone."

Gunther sets his jaw in annoyance, and falls silent.

"How do you know we won't just run off with your money instead of your sword?" Star asks, looking between the two of them. But Anselma is the one who answers.

"If… if you stole from Lady Arietta," she says, quietly, "you'd need to be punished." Her hand worries the hilt of the sabre again as she speaks, lending her words a strangely palpable aura of menace.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," Arietta says, as if her retainer has not just made a veiled threat against your lives. "I suppose I could always send someone with you. Not to get in the way, of course! Just to make sure everything goes well!" She tilts her head to look from one, to the other of her two companions. "Who, though?" she murmurs out loud.

[x] Speak up and push for Anselma to come along.

[x] Speak up and push for Gunther to come along.

[x] Speak up and push for no one to come with you.

[x] Stay silent.

 

[Gazetteer]

Spoiler: Results

Vote tally:
##### 3.21

[x] Speak up and push for Gunther to come along.
No. of votes: 8
mistakenot, Andelevion, Hannz, veekie, kinigget, ChildishChimera, Power, Ephemeral_Dreamer

[x] Speak up and push for no one to come with you.
No. of votes: 3
The Laurent, NemoMarx, Thanatanos

[x] Speak up and push for Gunther to come with you.
No. of votes: 1
Muer'ci

[x] Speak up and push for Anselma to come along.
No. of votes: 1
pressea

"Another gun would be useful," you offer. "I mean, probably nothing's going to happen, but Star's already going to be standing by with hers in case things go sour, so…"

You're sure Anselma is a perfectly nice girl under most circumstances. The blushing and the sutter and the long, platinum hair could all be very charming on someone who was not implying that she might kill you with a sword. Of course, the way to avoid that is simply not to rob Lady Arietta in the first place, but you somehow suspect that Anselma won't exactly wait for conclusive evidence before deciding that something is going wrong and stabbing you. Probably overly paranoid, but the best way to make everyone happy, as you see it, is to simply purchase the sword at the same time as you got what you needed, without anyone stabbing anyone, preferably. Gunther seems as though his enthusiasm for the entire enterprise is exceedingly limited, but he's at least not quite so… on edge.

"Oh," Arietta said, one finger pressed to her lips in thought. "I suppose that makes sense, but…" she looks between you and Star, face suddenly eager. "Why do you need guns? Aren't you both witches? Couldn't you just turn him into a pile of live worm, or make his bones all turn to liquid?"

Star stares. "Um."

"Well, theoretically," you offer. "But that sort of thing is more complicated than it's worth, and for all we know, he's a witch too." It strikes you as odd how accepting she is of the assumption that you're both witches, if that's her general impression of what witches do. Witchcraft is illegal in Alpland, from what you know, with the social stigma having gotten even worse since Weissany has 'fallen' to 'monstrous depravity and corruption.' Perhaps she's simply been in Weissany too long by this point, or perhaps she's just particularly open-minded among young Alplandish nobles.

Arietta looked a little bit disappointed, if anything. Gunther had adopted the look of a man trying very hard not to roll his eyes. "Well, Gunther can use guns, and he can watch over what happens and make sure you don't try anything funny. Not because you're witches!" she hastens to clarify, eyes widening slightly to make sure you understand. "Just because you're strangers, and we've had setback after setback getting this far, and it would be just our luck if that turned out to mean that when we finally found the sword, you took it and we had to chase after you then."

Star sighs, and puts a hand to her temple wearily. "We don't want a haunted sword," she says, flatly.

"Well..." Ivy says, in your head.

You can't exactly say anything in front of the three Alplanders, but you do your best to send her a feeling of extreme incredulity through her link.

"They're rare!" she says, defensive now. "And valuable. And useful!" As you continue to send her your unimpressed reaction, she adds: "Oh, stop it, Mina, you don't get to call my ideas bad anymore for at least 24 hours after agreeing to this for us."

You let it go.

"We still need to work out the details of the meeting," you tell them, after taking a long sip of your tea. You like the mint -- it cuts the bitterness noticeably. "So… we can let you know then."

Arietta nods, smiling again. "Oh, good. I'm sure this will all work out."

"As long as it gets us out of this country," Gunther mutters. "Or even this city. This neighbourhood."

"The neighbourhood didn't seem that bad," you say. Star seems about ready to go, but you'd like a chance to finish your tea, at least.

Gunther grimaces. Arietta is the one who answers, though. "There have been these dreadful murders!" she says. "Everyone's talking about it downstairs."

Belatedly, you remember the cab driver's warning about walking the streets at night. Probably not a great thing to forget.

"How dreadful?" Star asks, curiosity winning out over her desire to be gone.

"The victims all have a sharpened piece of wood driven into their hearts!" Arietta says, dramatically. "And strange wounds elsewhere on their bodies, but apparently they're all older than the stake-wound. All of them have those, though! No one seems sure why the wounds are so strange -- they keep saying different things."

"They weren't all vampires, were they?" Star asks, disconcerted.

"No one's saying any of them were," Arietta says with a shrug. "Troubling, though, isn't it?"

"If they'd been vampires, it would have been obvious from the bodies," Ivy comments. "Fangs, for one thing, among other signs. Multiple vampires turning up dead in the city would be enough to cause a general panic, not just rumours."

"That's good to know," Star says, guardedly. "Thanks for the warning. We'll be in touch." She looks meaningfully at you, and you gulp down the rest of your tea -- it's been sitting in the cup long enough that this is merely unpleasant, instead of scalding.

"A pleasure to meet you," you say, giving Arietta your best smile. She looks amused at your antics with the tea, at least. You get up and follow Star out of the room, then, before Star can physically drag you -- it's not until you're back out in the hall, with the door shut behind you that you can see how agitated she seems.

"What's wrong?" you ask, a little dismayed. "Is it about the sword?"

"Yes!" she whispers back, looking up and down the hall as if you might be overheard.

"Ivy says that a haunted sword would be a lot more valuable than they seem to think," you tell her.

Star nods impatiently. "Or more to the point, more valuable than they'd like us to think it is. But… I…" she glanced up and down the hall again. "Look, can this wait until we get back to the room?"

"That's fine," you say, although you're impatient. It doesn't take long to get back there, at any rate.

Back inside, she shuts the door behind her, locks it, and turns to face you, one hand still holding onto the knob. "I know the sword she's talking about," she says, without preamble.

You blink. Ivy is the one who answers first, though. "Before it became haunted?" she asks. You're not quite sure she she's zeroing in on that until you've relayed it, and Star answers.

"Yes," Star agrees. "I've met a von Arma before. Back when I was still…" she hesitates, before setting on: "in my original body. The Alplanders and a few other neighbouring countries recognised the Regency as the legitimate successor government to Weissany's monarchs, and sent delegations. He was part of the Alplandish delegation -- He carried… well, how much do you know about Alplandish noble houses?" she asks, suddenly.

You frown. "I know that they exist," you admit. "And that they have a lot less power than they used to, since the crown saw the benefit of free enterprise. Mostly I know the sort of things that Alpland buys and sells, though, and that's… well, I picked things up, but I wasn't really in the business." You take a seat on your own bed. Star remains standing where she is.

"When a noble house is founded, it's traditional for them to name a family weapon," Star explained. "Swords, usually -- this started when they were a medieval kingdom. It's largely symbolic -- hardly anyone even fights with these weapons anymore, or takes them off the mantelpiece."

"It's why they all have weapons in their coats of arms," Ivy adds, helpfully, and you recall the swords in the crest on Arietta's arm did feature an old-fashioned broad sword. "It's not just symbolic. The weapons really exist."

You frown. "Why would someone bring something like that all the way here?" you ask, confused.

Star shrugs. "Apparently, their heads of house used to do that for every important appearance, but it was old fashioned by my day. None of the other heads of house in their delegation did it -- but there was Alto von Arma, parading around with a great big broadsword on his back. I gather it never left the country." she hesitates, before asking, quietly, "do… either of you know the exact details of what happened to my government?"

You grimace. Ivy, however, starts speaking in your head, clearly expecting you to relate her words:

"Well, the regency was just an attempt to transition from a monarchy to an aristocratic oligarchy and establish a council of lords. Foreign powers backed it, and a lot of the nobility, but there were plenty of petty rivalries and old grudges affecting things. One of the architects of the Regency Council practically had a blood feud with my family, so he denied my ancestor even an invitation to join his council, even though every other Duke and Duchess in the country got one. So of course she retaliated -- if she hadn't, someone would have. There were just too many families left out in the cold by the arrangement."

"Ivy, I think she knows that part already," you murmur, not meeting Star's eyes.

"I'm not sure she does, actually. Not really. Otherwise she'd see that House Dunsal was simply--"

"Not the best time," you say, a little more urgently. Star is beginning to narrow her eyes in suspicion.

"Fine! Fine. Don't tell her, then," Ivy says, falling silent.

You tilt your head back and stare up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to decide what to say to her. "After the army you were with was destroyed," you begin, "from what I heard… everyone more or less decided that the Regency was all talk, and that they didn't really have the strength to bring the country back around. A lot of noble families broke away from supporting them to focus on defending their own borders, 'monster' attacks increased, that man claiming he was the longlost heir to the throne started trying to raise an army out of the Lowlands…" you shrug. "Things went bad really fast. Then there was… a group in the capital trying to make Weissany into a republic run by elected officials."

"As if we were ready for that," Star says, in clear annoyance. "We were trying to get the country running again with what we had. Things were falling apart! We had vampires in the borderlands, rumours of necromancers raising up hosts of undead in secret! It wasn't the time to start collecting votes!"

You shrug -- the finer points of political science have never been your strongsuit. You're just relating the history as you've been told it. "Either way," you say, "they stormed the palace in the capital, set it on fire, killed a lot of people in the process. The guards deserted or even joined the mob. Most of the Regency Council was killed or fled in disgrace."

Star's face is grim as she walks over to carefully set herself down on her own bed, looking down at her hands. "Lord von Arma was staying in the palace," she says, quieter now. "He could have been killed when it was stormed, or the sword could have been stolen. Either way, that would be the only reason a von Arma would come all the way out here chasing down a stolen sword."

"What happens to her family if she can't get it back?" you ask.

"Nothing, really," Ivy says, with a mental shrug. "It's embarrassing to lose it, and it's considered bad luck, but it's not like anyone just shows up and tells her father or whoever the current Margrave is that he has to turn in his fancy badge and leave his lands. It's mostly just a matter of family pride -- she's probably doing this on her own without her family knowing about it."

Star nods as you relate Ivy's answer to her. "That's why her bodyguard is so displeased. He works for her father, probably -- I wonder why he's even here."

"We can ask him," Ivy suggests. "He seems the sort of servant who is eager enough to talk when he has something to complain about."

With a loud groan, Star suddenly falls onto her back, and declares, "I'm exhausted, and sad now, and I still don't like that we're even involved in this. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Valerie won't be back in touch with us tonight, anyway, so I'm not moving from this spot until morning."

"You're going to sleep in your clothes?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"... I'm barely moving from this spot until morning," she corrects, in exactly the same tone as before.

"Fair enough," you concede.

"What are you going to do?" she murmurs. "Going to bed too?"

You frown. "I… don't know if it was the tea, or what, but I don't think I'm tired enough yet, all of a sudden."

"Mm," Star agrees. "I don't know if I'm going to be able to fall asleep right away either. Mostly it's just… moving. My legs feel like they're going to fall off."

How are you going to spend the rest of your evening before bed?

[x] Stay here and try to keep Star company a bit before you both go to bed -- she seems upset.

[x] Go downstairs and have a few more drinks before you turn in, maybe talk to someone if they're friendly. Star seems kind of untalkative at this point, and Ivy's probably still annoyed with you.

[x] Find somewhere quiet where you can think, or maybe have a private conversation with Ivy.

 

[Gazetteer]

Spoiler: Results

Vote tally:
##### 3.21

[X] Stay here and try to keep Star company a bit before you both go to bed -- she seems upset.
No. of votes: 8
Hannz, ChildishChimera, query, kinigget, The Laurent, NemoMarx Unseelie, Grigori

[x] Find somewhere quiet where you can think, or maybe have a private conversation with Ivy.
No. of votes: 5
pressea, veekie, SynchronizedWritersBlock, Muer'ci, ObsidianWings

[x] Go downstairs and have a few more drinks before you turn in, maybe talk to someone if they're friendly. Star seems kind of untalkative at this point, and Ivy's probably still annoyed with you.
No. of votes: 4
mistakenot, cB557, Andelevion, Power

"I don't feel much like going anywhere either," you confess, stretching out on your bed. "It's… been a long day."

Star sighs at that. You turn your head to look at her, and see that she's rolled onto her side, drawing her legs up against her chest. "It doesn't feel that long to me," she says, voice odd. "Mostly, I'm just thinking about how fast everything's going. I was stuck in that thing for so long, not knowing anything about what was going on, and then I get out, and…I'm with you, in a body that isn't really mine, and with someone else who I can't even talk to without you filtering everything first." Star closes her eyes before adding: "... and everyone else is dead."

It's hard to know what to say to that. It's not as though anything in your life comes close to the loss Star must be experiencing. Waking up and the entire world you knew being gone is too big to really fathom or wrap your head around. Maybe that's why she didn't have this reaction until she'd heard more of the story, paired with a name and a face she remembered, even if they hadn't known each other well. "I'm sorry," you tell her.

She keeps her eyes closed, and for a moment, you think she's already fallen asleep, wearing her clothes and everything. But then she opens her eyes again, and says: "You're really not what I expected from a witch. Ivy's more what I expected."

You frown at that. Ivy is currently not offering comment, but she stirs in the back of your mind uncomfortably none the same. "Ivy's not a bad person," you say. You believe this -- she has flaws, certainly. She can be callous, is bad at recognising other peoples' feelings when they're inconvenient for her, and she presumes a lot on friendship. But she can be extremely generous, and surprisingly trusting. Kind, even, in her own way. It's hard to express that to someone who hasn't exactly ever met Ivy at her best. Who hasn't really met Ivy at all.

"I don't think she's a bad person," Star says. "At least… from what I felt of her while she was wearing me, and from what you've translated from her. But she is…" Star trailed off, as if trying to find words to give voice to a concept that was mostly escaping her. "... she's just more along the lines of what I always thought about witches. She can be cold, and she has strange ideas about things other people would think are unsavory -- necromancy and the like. She didn't even consider that I might be a person before she started experimenting on me, even though she knew I was still alive. It's hard to hate her now, though, thinking about her being trapped like I was. No one deserves that."

In the back of your head, Ivy seems to settle down, as if a little comforted by what she's heard, that at least Star isn't about to launch into a list of everything wrong with Ivy's character.

"What's witch training like?" Star asks, changing the subject without any particular warning. "You say that you go to a school -- I thought witches were usually taught by family."

You shrug. "There have always been witches trained at Blacktree Hill. Not everyone comes from an ancient ancestral line that can pass on family traditions, and trading secrets and techniques was always a good idea even when they did. The school's just more… public than it used to be."

"Back when we hanged you," she says, a little self consciously.

"I'm sure some of us deserved it," you offer. "I try not to turn anyone into anything unless they're okay with it, or they're pointing a gun at me, though." You give her a smile at that, trying to lighten the mood. You're not sure it works.

"Some of you did," Star says, bluntly. "But we would have hanged you too, just for knowing how to do something like that. It didn't matter how you actually used it."

Maybe it's a good time to actually answer her original question. "It's nothing too special. Blacktree, I mean. You go there and start off with the basics in general casting. A little bit of everything -- you can't become a proper novice until you can show you have that much. So that's a lot like an ordinary school. Scheduled lessons, instructors for all the disciplines. Sure, some of it's a bit more intense, and you have to deal with… some unpleasant things in the necromancy lab, or the first time you try to turn a frog into a fish, but it's better than trying to figure things out on your own."

"Or being taught by your family, sometimes," Ivy adds, unexpectedly. "There's less expectation, and a less… skewed viewpoint. Don't tell her that, please -- I… don't really know how to explain it to her if she asks for clarification." You've never been in Ivy's situation, but you've known her for long enough to get a basic idea -- her family is very harsh and very traditional about certain things, both in terms of being an ancient clan of necromancers and being an ancient noble line. There was probably a reason Ivy was seeking an apprenticeship outside of her family, beyond simple pride.

"Sorcerers who try to figure things out on their own end up lighting themselves on fire," Star notes. "I can't imagine witches fare a lot better."

"Well, it's usually not that bad," you say, reasonably. "Usually they just end up weak and with a flawed understanding of how things work." You've heard horror stories, though, that make lighting yourself on fire sound tame. "After a few years, you specialise. I went into alteration, because I'm good at that, and it's useful. My parents hoped I would focus on learning how to make magical charms and potions, though."

"... so they could sell them?" Star guessed.

You grin at her, and this time, she smiles a little in response. "Yeah, something like that," you agree. "They also want me to make friends with people who might be willing to go into business like that. Most witches don't like to work openly that way -- it's all this… fly by night criminal underground stuff, like we're having to bother with."

"You still need to find someone to complete your training?" Star prompts.

"Yes," you agree. "I need to finish an apprenticeship. Unless you have really good connections, though, finding a decent master means impressing people. Which is why I was in the middle of nowhere trying to help Ivy with a ridiculous experiment.

"You don't have to keep rubbing in that it was so ridiculous," Ivy grouses quietly, but without any real heat.

"Things were a lot more organised for me," Star said. "When I started accidentally shocking people who touched me, and starting small fires, they gave me to the crown. All sorcerers were, for the benefit of the kingdom. I have no idea how they get taught now"

"Some come to Blacktree," you say. "Not so many, though. I think there are smaller groups that train them, here and there."

Star makes a very funny face at that, but decides not to comment.

"Have your powers started to come back more?" you prod.

"A little," she says, lifting a hand up over her head and flexing her fingers experimentally. "It's coming back to me. Channeling magic through this body isn't the same as my old one. And I'm rusty. There's… a lot of things about having a new body to get used to."

You recall Ivy's extreme discomfort at even the thought of having to transfer her soul to a new body instead of Star vacating hers. "Is it… uncomfortable for you?" you ask. "I mean… does it feel bad?"

"No," Star says, without any hesitation. She looks a little surprised by the suggestion. "It feels wonderful, to be able to move and talk and eat again. It feels better than--" she stops here, her surprise melting into something far less comfortable. "... it's better than some things would be," she finishes, and you can tell that's not what she originally had to say. "I don't have any complaints, other than having to force someone else to live in that amulet," she adds. Abruptly, she stands up, and crosses over to the changing screen in the corner. "I should get ready for bed," she says.

"Strange reaction," you murmur, low enough that hopefully only Ivy can hear.

"I suppose any body must feel like a better option by this point," Ivy says. "Her original one was probably burned or rotted away or used as a zombie years ago. I'd probably get less picky if that were the case. Well, maybe." She gives the mental equivalent of a shudder.

Eventually, Star re-emerges in one of Ivy's nightgowns, creased and wrinkled from its long stay in a travel bag. As she crosses back to her bed, she gives you an odd sort of look, then reaches down to tentatively put a hand on your arm. "Thanks for… talking to me about things," she says, quietly. "And for not pushing." With that, she slips into bed, and under the covers. It's a simple, quite possibly entirely platonic gesture on her part, but you can feel the warmth of that touch until you finally slip into sleep.

**

You wake up earlier than you expected. You thought you'd at least manage until eight, given the length of your journey, but when you get up, it's still very early. You've always been a morning person, and getting up at 6:00 AM is as much second nature as it is habit from your schedule at Blacktree. Star is still sound asleep on her own bed, and you decide to dress and wash up quietly before slipping downstairs.

The common room is far from deserted, although it has little of the bustle and levity of last night. Its tables are principally filled with guests keeping similar hours to your own -- some of them clearly bleary and hung over -- and people in dock workers' clothes, hurriedly enjoying breakfast and tea before a day of backbreaking labour.

Valerie is nowhere to be seen, and you're actually greeted by none other than Claud, who is apparently no worse for wear for the late hours he kept the night before. "Miss Mina," he says, beaming at you. "You must be hungry." He expertly steers you toward a seat that's conspicuously farther away from the other occupied tables, one hand guiding you at the small of your back.

You're not sure how to feel about that -- last night, that light touch on your arm was the first time Star had initiated affectionate contact. It was hardly incredibly intimate, or outside the realm of what one might do for an entirely platonic friend, but it gave you... Is hope even the right word? What are you hoping for? You can hardly take things very far with Star still being in Ivy's body. Not without hurting Ivy a great deal. And it's not as though you've forgotten about her -- you've known Ivy for longer, and maybe once she has her body back, she'll be so grateful that…

You let the thought trail off and die. Managing such feelings for two girls at once would be a headache even at the best of times. Admiring Claud feels safer; you're reasonably certain that he's the sort that flirts with everyone, but that doesn't necessarily mean that the flirting is just an empty promise. Would Star or Ivy mind, if they caught you kissing a serving boy in a backroom or something like that? Ivy could hardly fail to notice, tied in with your senses as she was.

It was probably a good idea just to stick with admiring. "You're really going out of your way to get me alone," you note, glancing at the other patrons at the far end of the room. Hopefully, 'just sticking to admiring' wouldn't have to preclude a little harmless flirting.

Claud laughs. "I do what I can for a pretty girl," he says, before hitching a hip against the table, and leaning in so as to minimise the chances of your being overheard. "Valerie is asleep," he explains. "She worked all night, so she's probably not getting up until the afternoon. She sent out some inquiries last night, though, and she asked me to give you a bit of information."

You blink at that. This was moving a lot faster than expected, and you hadn't realised that Claud was trusted to that degree. You'd assumed he was simply a pretty server.

"That's how it always was when I was here as well," Ivy chimes in. "The kind of information she deals in involves people who mainly work at night, I suppose. It really is impressive how fast she works, though."

Impressive was certainly one word for it. "Information about, uh… the Partsmonger?" you ask.

Claud shakes his head. "Not him, yet. That one takes a bit more… arrangement. She looked into your necromancer problem, though. You have a few options there, depending on what you're willing to pay."

"How many options is 'a few'?" you ask.

Claud shrugs. "Well, three that she wanted to put any stock in. There are others, obviously, but she can't vouch for them all, or she can, but it's nothing good." Claud reached into his pocket, and casually drops a folded square of paper on the table. "Their names, addresses and some reputations are here," he says. "Read it over during breakfast, talk it over with your quiet friend. Go talk to one or two of them -- it'll give you both something to work on while you wait on your other meeting. Our fee will be discussed when you check out."

You slide the paper over to your side of the table, and began to unfold it. "Thanks," you say, giving him a smile.

"I told you," he says. "I do what I can for a pretty girl." Then he actually winks at you, and heads off to the kitchen, presumably to see about getting you something for breakfast.

"Is… he flirting with you?" Ivy asks, sounding uncertain.

You suppress a burst of laughter which, sitting by a table alone, would have looked strange. "Yes," you say, after a long moment. "I doubt it means anything."

"It's a good thing he's a boy, then," Ivy says. "After last night, I don't think I trust you around flirty people anymore."

You try not to laugh again. "Well," you say, "I've got some bad--"

"Claud!" A man's voice, loud, choked with emotion, snaps your attention up immediately. A haggard looking blond man has appeared from somewhere while you weren't looking, and has caught Claud's arm before he can disappear into the kitchen. "Claud, There's been another one!"

Claud attempts to pull his arm out of the man's grip, looking around the common room and noting the attention he's receiving with an unhappy look. "Can this wait?" he asks. "I'm working."

"It's Heidi!" the man says, his voice breaking a little. "They found her this morning, in her apartment. Same as the others. You need to be more careful!"

A brief, shocked expression goes across Claud's face at the name, but the last part seems to make his face go strangely hard with annoyance. He yanks his arm free more forcefully this time, and begins to head to the kitchen, real expediency diminishing his usual teasing grace. "I'm not doing anything stupid, Simon," he says, irritably. "We've had this conversation before."

"Do you want to die?" the man asks, his voice shockingly loud, even as Claud slams the door to the kitchen. All other noise in the common room has stilled. "You'll have to face reality at some point!" The man -- Simon -- lets out a loud exhalation. When he turns and finds the entire room staring at him, he goes bright red with embarrassment or anger, and storms out.

"Well… that was something," you murmur.

"I bet he's talking about the murders," Ivy decides.

"Maybe," you agree. "It's hard to say."

"You could ask him."

"... the yelling guy?" That doesn't seem like a terribly productive idea.

"No, Claud! He's flirting with you, isn't he?"

"That… is probably not a great idea," you say. "He doesn't exactly seem like he was pleased to be shouted at about this stuff in the middle of a crowd. It's probably best not to bother him about it."

"It's not like we're looking to catch a murderer," Ivy agrees, sounding strangely disappointed. "So I guess it's for the best."

Despite your words, you can't help but feel a twinge of concern. What if Claud is in trouble, or somehow at risk of ending up the murderer's next victim? It's awful to think of someone as charming and lively as him ending up killed in such a gruesome fashion. Even you, though, have your limits on how many beautiful people's problems you can throw yourself into at one time. Probably best just not to think about it.

**

Star is of a similar mind to you about Claud. "Just because someone is airing his personal problems in public at his workplace doesn't mean it's okay to go prying into things, or to assume he has anything to do with that business," she says, firmly.

"Well, it's certainly suggestive," Ivy says.

Star scowls at you when you relate this. Or possibly at the amulet. "It's still not our business," she says.

"It's also not what's important right now," you remind them both, spreading the paper out on the table. It has turned out to be three pieces of paper folded together, each one giving you enough information on a potential necromancer to make your decision, hopefully. "We could go to see one of these people today, if we can decide quickly enough."

"Assuming they're even awake," Star reminds you.

"Necromancers aren't nocturnal," Ivy contradicts. Before admitting: "Well, unless there's a lot of work to be done. Or a ritual that needs to happen only at night. Or you're working with undead or spirits that die in the sunlight. Or they're a vampire necromancer. Oh, stop it, Mina, you don't have to sound so sarcastic as you repeat it."

Star forks a bit of egg into her mouth, hiding a small smile. You brought her up breakfast after you finished eating, so you could talk about this all the sooner. She points to one of the pages, smile dying on her lips. "What's this about the Light Maker Guild?" she asks, frowning. "Why would people who make lamps and candles have a necromancer on retainer?"

"They also maintain all the streetlights, and any of the houses that have gas lighting piped into them," you explain. "So… they're pretty powerful. This necromancer, Grigori, he's probably there to help them deal with any incidents involving undead or witchcraft that affect they're people. A lot of necromancers are handy enough with alteration to be a decent healer, too. Witches are useful."

Star nods. "So… he must be trustworthy, if such an important guild keeps him on."

"Oh, trustworthy enough for them, certainly. They're his primary employers. That's no guarantee about two girls he doesn't know performing a ritual involving a very valuable artifact and an expensively preserved corpse," Ivy says.

Star starts to frown when you tell her this, so you quickly add your own two cents: "I have… a bit of an in there," you admit. "My parents have a lot of dealings with this Guild. My family supplies a lot of the parts they use in their pipes and more complicated lanterns."

"Oh," Ivy says, as if pleasantly surprised. "So, if we tell him who your parents are..."

"We can be sure he won't murder and rob us, I think, but we can also be sure that the Guild and my parents will find out exactly what sort of rituals I've been up to," you say, sounding distinctly unenthused about this.

Star looks sympathetic, but she still says: "Well, it might still be our safest bet. I don't like the look of some of these other ones… this Hilda woman sounds like just a petty criminal."

"Mercenary might be more diplomatic," Ivy objects. "She's done unsavory work, but apparently she'll accept anyone's coin, and has a good reputation for completing the jobs she's hired to do without trouble."

Star shakes her head. "Unsavory is… helping to rob someone. It says here that local gangs sometimes hire her to send creatures after their rivals. That's horrific. What do the constables have to say about that?"

"Well, they'd definitely not like that," you agree. "But it sounds like she's been pretty discrete about it. Not zombies running wild in the streets, just… certain people being found dead the next morning."

"We could use someone who's used to working discretely," Ivy says. "She's expensive, but she probably won't balk at what we're asking. And her livelihood is at stake if Valerie recommends her to someone and she double crosses them -- she's not like Gigori, with a big, rich 'legitimate' employer to fall back on if side work dries up."

"I… don't know," Star says, still not sounding happy. You doubt she'd ever like the thought of someone sending an undead construct to throttle a person in their sleep, even if it was a gang leader.

"The last one's odd," Ivy says. "A Marberg -- didn't we go to school with his cousin?" She says the name 'Marberg' with a degree of distaste. There are some very old rivalries among Weissany's more prominent witch families, especially when they're both known for practising necromancy.

"Brother," you correct. "Mark talked about Tomas once or twice. Just not to you. I think he was scared of you, from all the glaring."

"I didn't glare!" Ivy protests. "I just scrutinised his work! Either way, it looks like he's in some kind of bind and needs a quick source of money? Do we really want to get involved with that?"

"What does it matter that he's a Marberg?" Star asked, frowning.

"Very old necromancer clan," you explain. "... almost as old as House Dunsal," you add, before Ivy can argue about it. "So, he's likely very well trained. Mark never mentioned him being a black sheep or anything. Kind of the opposite."

"Mark was a classmate?" Star asks, frowning.

"Yeah," you say. "Nice enough, wasn't a bad witch, but I think he was a little too average for his family's liking. Tomas was some kind of prodigy, though -- best his family produced in a century. He'd definitely get the job done, and knowing his brother might help us, but… I don't know why someone from a family that close is out here alone taking on sketchy jobs from a bartender to make ends meet. Something must have happened with his family."

"I'm not sure I'd trust him," Ivy agrees. "But part of that is just that he's a Marberg."

"Your family is the one with the reputation for deception," Star pointed out. And she's not wrong.

"Well, yes, and that earns us enemies -- therefore, I have a hard time trusting Marbergs," Ivy responded, reasonably. "The other two don't sound like they're brilliant or anything, but they wouldn't be here if they weren't competent master necromancers. What do you think, Mina?"

[x] You're leaning toward Grigori.
Reluctantly, but your family connection should ensure his compliance, and the Guild wouldn't keep him on if he were completely useless.

[x] You're leaning toward Hilda.
It doesn't matter that she's done work for criminals in the past -- you're also going to have a meeting with a man who calls himself the Partsmonger, after all. She'll work out as long as you're paying her.

[x] You're leaning toward Tomas.
His situation doesn't necessarily need to negatively impact you. He's just looking for a quick buck, after all, and after that he'll be out of your hair. You want the best you can find to do something tricky like the ritual you have planned.