Log: Answers (Meetup)

The deed is done, and the Guild officials have come and gone, leaving only a very exhausted, weak, and pained-looking bard behind in Vardama's Halls. Soon enough, they'll move him to the Soldier's Defense for care, but that hasn't happened just yet. It's better than the fire-blackened corpse that was raised about an hour ago, and much of the fire damage is now dealt with ... but it's apparent that that isn't all.

Initially quite incensed at some man named Masterly on awakening, and promising him death in a litany of profanity that would have impressed a hardened longshoreman, Aldean's now settled back on the hard stone slab, covering his eyes with his elbow as if shielding them from even the dim light of the braziers in the temple. "Pigfucker," he mutters, voice raspy. "What in the name of the Iron Gates were that all about?" he asks of no one in particular. "They was suddenly awfully damned interested...."

"Me. He was interested in distracting me. So, they fucked with my family," Tatyannah says from her perch. It's what she does, when bored and is wasting time for the restoration ceremony to be over. "I warned you."

Oliver, limping a bit, and still smelling of soot, smoke, and sweat, makes his way into the temple, looking around in a bit of a daze. A half-familiar voice has his head snapping up and around, and then his gaze settles on the bard. Without fanfare other than a low whistle, he steps over in that direction. "Well, /you/ look like you've been thorough hell," he tells Aldean, with a curious look. At his hip is a flask of something, and he takes a swig, looking around first to be sure no priestly types are going to tell him not to, then stands, hipshot, at the end of the bard's bed, absently rubbing his wrist, his gaze tracking from bed to bed before he mutters something uncomplimentary about the bombers and their activities... and their parentage.

One of the grey-clad monks steps up to where Aldean rests, glancing at the others who have gathered here. She carries a small tray, laden with a bowl of soup and a glass of water. "You must eat and drink.", the woman says. "It will help you regain your strength. Do you require assistance to sit up?"

A certain half-sil scoundrel has been very run off his feet the last couple of days. It has not been a good week at all for the citizens of Alexandria as small as the destruction of the guild hall was it is sending ripples through the skeins of influence within the city. So when he overhears a certain scrap of news from an overheard conversation Latenat heads up to the temple district

He doesnt come here often.

He looks rather ragged around the edges, his hair tied back in imitation of a warriors ponytail in a futile effort to feel ordered. What he mostly looks like is tired, features a little slack eyes half open and his mouth set into a tight little pursed moue of dissaproval as he steps into Vardarma's halls.

"Masterly ain't jes' after ye, lass." Aldean's voice is very strained. "Fucker wants all the adventurers outta Rune. He's been plannin' sommat. They know who's holdin' Rune down." A pause, and a wince. "Fuck. What happened?" Only after a few moments does he turn his head and look over at the monk. "Ain't want nothin' right now, lass." The mobile features twist themself into an almost comical expression of pain, anger, and disgust.

"Yes, I /know/," Tatyannah says impatiently. "But you asked what 'that' was about, and since we were on the job where my father was specifically, I thought you meant, specifically. I do not, by any means, think I am annoying enough to deserve all of his attentions. Mostly because Elessa has so many better reactions. By the way, he's going to know you died, got restored and probably will taunt you about it. That's what he did to her."

"Some pigfucker - to use your terminology - bombed the Guildhall," Oliver explains, glancing at the monk, then taking another swig out of his flask. "What's all this about this Masterly bloke?" he asks, cocking his head at Aldean, and adding, "I'd do what he says," indicating the monk at Aldean's elbow.

"Aldean?" comes a worried, slightly soggy voice from down the hall... Followed by a wide-eyed blond Vardaman in a black velvet dress and embossed gray breastplate... likewise slightly soggy, especially about the cheeks and nose. Upon spotting the bandaged, singed bard, her hands fly to her mouth. "Oh thank the Lady's kindness..." Pelting toward Aldean's bed, Silmeria drops to one knee very nearly before she can slow to a stop, reaching for the bard's arm, then hesitating, then settling for fussing with his sheets, as she turns her eyes to each and every visitor currently crowding the bard's bedside. "...Excuse me, um..."

<OOC> Aldean says, "He's actually on a stone slab, but you could as easily be fussing with the clothes." <OOC> Silmeria says, "Derp, right. -.-"

Henrie looks to Oliver when he swears, a dour look on her face, before looking back to Aldean. "It would be a shame to waste this, sir.", she says to him. When Silmeria essentially throws herself down at his side, the young woman smiles faintly. Offering the tray of soup and water to Silmeria, "You should see that he eats. Being dragged back from the dead is hard on the body, mind and soul. The soup has what he needs to assist recovery."

Garak is listening to the various people talking. At first he looks dubiously at Tatyannah, but then seems to consider her words more closely. But Garak's attention always goes back to Aldean. "There's one thing I still don't understand - if he wants adventurers out of Rune, why destroy their guild here in Alexandria?"

Asking one of the passing (and hurried) acolytes Latenat is directed towards the right slab, one that was being used as a mortuary one just a moment ago and how is a patient's bed. The scoundrel waits for a moment as others level a fuscillade of questions at Aldean,"I heard you pooped yourself, I came to see if the rumours were true." the scoundrel squints a smile, but you can see he hasn't much heart for it. Too much has happened in the last few days and he is running on fumes.

"He can taunt me all he likes, lass," Aldean's expressive tone drips scornful disinterest. "Sylaen used ta say ... ain't how many times ye fall, it be how many times ye get back up." He pauses a moment; he's not really looking at anybody, at least not until he hears Silmeria's voice. "They ain't keepin' me down long, lass ... wait -- they leveled the Guild?!" At that, he starts hardcore, the arm drops, and he moves to sit halfway up. That was a bad idea , and he drops back to the slab with a groan of pain. "Fuckers."

A moment's silence, again; the bard's voice is growing raspy. "Masterly be Arendt's right hand. Used ta be friends, from all I been able ta learn. He ain't Masterly the human no more ... he's been murdered an' replaced. Arendt ain't know. He's bein' played like a puppet on a string. Gone an' murdered all them as knew him as a boy, village an' all. He be drivin' the war on Rune. Adventurers been holdin' Runes forces together. Damned lads ain't got a clue on their own, bless 'em. Wants 'em gone -- attack their home base. Course. Fuck."

Oliver blinks, then frankly stares, "Masterly's dead, and Arendt hasn't figured it out yet?" he asks, blinking several times. "What in the hells could replace a man wholesale and do it well enough to fool a /friend/?" he asks, frowning, his wrist forgotten for the moment. "I mean, I can see fooling someone who /didn't/ know him, but - Arendt's right-hand man?"

Tatyannah had started to leave, with a roll of her eyes, but some of what Aldean says stops her. "How do you know?" Someone might be cranky that someone's figured out more info than she has, despite a looooooooooooooooong investigation by her and others.

Garak's expression grows darker and darker as he listens. Every time he opens his mouth to add something, someone else asks a question and Garak stops to listen to the answer.

Latenat seems oddly unmoved by the news, crossing his arms and pressing his lips togeather as he decides listening would be more productive now. And then changes his mind,"He is, yes. Also he may have his assassin in the goal right now. and the Explorer's guild was blowback from it."

Henrie looks between the people speaking here, and the man on the slab. She glares at Aldean. "Eat. The sooner you get this down, the sooner you can rest. Once you have tended to your body's needs, you might find the answers you seek." The young monk looks to Silmeria. "If you would help him sit up?" To the others, she levels a wary eye. "Some of you look like you need rest as well. If you're going to ... find and deal with whomever did this, you need to be at your best, yes?"

Silmeria looks up at Henrie, reaching up to take the tray. "I will see that he eats, when he's ready," she says, voice gentle and firm. "Trust me, Sister, I've experience enough I know what to do. Besides," she says, casting her eyes over the knot of people around the slab, "a drop of dignity is almost as important, at the moment."

"Ol' father-with-a-sword went through Grey Lady an' spoke ta them as he'd killed. Said he were a livin' soul ... on this plane ... ain't undead or nuffin." Aldean slows down, wrinkling all his features as he tries to remember. "Assassin? That Charnese bastard ye lot caught? Aye maybe." The arm goes back over his eyes again. "Fucker's got magic. Strong stuff. Legend Lore, tis how he found ye." Who he means isn't clear. "Wager he saw me too. Ain't small magic, that. Be spells as can do that." He seems to be completely ignoring food and drink at the moment ... if anything, he's wincing. "Dragon," he says suddenly, as if it just hit him. "Might do that. Be some servin' Heth, an' aye Heth'd like control o' Dran ... an' want Rune gone. Mayhap ... library'll have sommat..."

Tatyannah waves a hand, "Yeah, heading over to Althea's in a bit." There are more important things than healing right now. Like answers. However, nothing appears to make sense with what Aldean says and everyone else is distracting or irritating, so the tiny giantborn just goes back to the leaving part.

"Just my best guess, mind. Caught the blighter impersonating an Alexandrian diplomat on the way to the Summit in Rune." Latenat shrugs his shoulders slightly and then works them around. It has been a long couple of days,"He had a strength beyond his size, fought an explorers guild party to a standstill with his fists alone. He /is/ working with whomever is pretending to be Masterly to be sure. And like you said Aldean, he has Arendt's ear on this... stirring things up." agree with the crazy person, or the one just having undergone a large amount of trauma to keep them calm, good advice.

"Dr--" Oliver, at that particular moment, doesn't care /how/ many priests are present, he opens his flask up and downs the rest of the contents in one go. "Yeah," he wipes his chin on his sleeve, wincing just a bit, then the priest, Henrie's words sink in, and he nods. "I only came in to look for someone else, but - thankfully, no offense - they're not in here... and there's still a big mess out there..." he looks towards the door, then back to the wrung-out bard. "Glad you're breathing again," he tells him. "I'm going to go see if there's anything else I can do with clean-up... I'm no good at research, but if there's something I can stick an arrow in... when you're ready to go after it, I'm in... a lot of good folks are hurt, or worse. I don't know if it's connected to your Dragon-Masterly mess or not, but... anyway, I'm in the way here, so I'll go for now... Glad you're breathing, though..."

Svarshan steps in after a while. He'd been outside the door--dressed in heavy armor and artillery, with Daeus' symbols obvious and blazing. Official capacity, then. One of the acolytes stands near him. He nudges the fellow, as at an old friend.

Henrie looks to Silmeria and nods. "Dignity only feeds the mind. But if it will help, who am I to argue?" The young woman looks to Aldean, "You will be transferred to the hospital soon. Their beds are more comfortable than ceremonial slabs, I hear. Do you need anything brought in? Friends or family to contact?"

Amid all the furor and bustle in the Vardamen temple the last couple of days -- Mourners and petitioners and Chords moving to and fro on their somber errands -- there's one unusual sight. On a basalt slab to one side of the temple sanctuary, there's a cluster of people around something or someone on it -- someone, judging by a blocky hand that reaches for Silmeria's as if to hold it, unconsciously.

"Aye, so'm I," Aldean mutters, about half paying attention to Oliver's departure, his other arm thrown over his eyes as if to block out even the dim light of the braziers. He's the one on the slab, singed, cut, and bruised, and looking and sounding very much the worse for wear. There's a monk nearby with brother and water, but he's ignoring it -- indeed, wincing. "Aye. Masterly's got agents. Lots of 'em." The baritone voice is raspy, as if disused and then suddenly used for a while. "Sil be here. That'll do," he mutters. "Tell Renfrey not ta steal me shit."

Garak is pacing back and forth a few slabs over from the crowd now, considering what they've heard.

"I assure you, Sister," SIlmeria says, lips quirking up, "a bard can last longer on a drop of dignity than three loaves and twelve cups of food and water. Or at least, this one can." A bit of the water, tipped onto a folded-up handkerchief, the Inquisitor looking rather worriedly pleased by the admission as she presses the damp cloth to Aldean's head. "So yes," she says, pitching her voice to address those assembled, that's the short of it... Someone replaced Masterly some time back. Someone with magic enough to assume Masterly's looks, habits, mannerisms, well enough to fool a close friend, and leader of the Dranei people. And wor-- wait." Her eyes dart to Latenat, eyebrows furrowing briefly. "...You caught the one he was colluding with?"

Svarshan speaks with the acolyte quietly, the two not interfering, nor disturbing the recently dead. A gesture and that's it. He finds occasion to lean against the wall, eyes half-closed. More relaxed when he isn't asked to speak. The normal pauses, the cause of them is obvious to anyone who'd seen him--the difficulty it takes to place one word after the other aren't evident. Guarding, he doesn't have to say a WORD.

Praise the Dragonfather for small favors.

Anyway, the posture says this is something he's done before. Almost routine. He smiles halfway towards Silmeria, and takes out an old, and heavy war axe. It radiates a sort of heaviness, and gleams silver with age, before giving it a slow, confidant toss.

Shooting a glance at Silmeria and recognising the human lass, Latenat nods whilst Aldean speaks, looking back and forth amongst the grouping in turn until Silmeria captures his attention with a question,"Yes, and I managed to tease some information out of him voluntarily. Wasn't easy either, but I have a way of getting people to spill when the notion takes me." the half-sil chuckles humourlessly,"The city guard have him now, and if I were that I'd be tightening security before people can ask him the right questions in the right way."

The young woman smiles at Silmeria's words. "Are you sure you don't mean rum or mead, miss?", Henrie says. "Or fine women and song?" He nods to Aldean, crossing her arms. "Where might I find Renfrey then? So that I might deliver your warning with the proper care." She begins to step away, intending on leaving. "Just leave the tray there at the side, I will retrieve it later.", she says to Silmeria.

Oliver stops in his tracks on his way to the door as some of the new information comes out. Then, he shakes his head, "arrow... gob... definitely an arrow in his gob," he growls under his breath. Turning back, "when you've recovered, let me know what I can do," he tells Aldean, then looks to Silmeria and Henrie, "I'm not sure how many more living things can be extracted from the ruin of the Guildhall, but until we're sure, I'll be there... let me know... I think I owe this Masterly-Dragon a couple dozen arrows..."

"Lock an' Key," Aldean mutters, breathing carefully. He doesn't seem to have spotted Svarshan yet. "Pigfucker. Wanna find out what he knows." Is that directed at Latenat? Hard to tell. "Got ta get to the library." He starts, as if to sit up again.

"Lock and key?" Latenat inclines his head questioningly, his brow furrowing into a quizzical expression, looking to Silmeria for support,"Popped by there yesterday. Ment Renfrey, didnt leave the best impression I'm afraid but passed along the information nonetheless."

"Ssit. Or I will forsse it." Simple words, spoken with the difficult directness of someone with aphasia, someone who has to choose just one, or two words at a time and use them. Because it's all you can manage. Svarshan stirs enough to say that.

"As do I," Silmeria muses, pursing her lips... then resting a hand on Aldean's shoulder as he tries to get up. "Master Aldean, I know how important this is... but I think all involved would be put out if you needed a second raising in the same day. Assuming even that the Lady is feeling indulgent enough to let you go again." Her eyes move to Latenat, the smile fading to thoughtful concern. "...I think it perhaps best to see if the Guard can't be convinced to allow a Temple or two right of custody, just to be sure." Looking to the Sith, Silmeria smiles broadly upon seeing the symbol of Daeus on his armor. "Welcome, Sunblade," she says, rising and keeping her hand on Aldean to restrain him. "You've excellent timing... Would you be willing to see that this poor man gets a round of healing, so he can keep a bit of food down and then perhaps be inclined to actually rest?"

"Lock and Key.", Henrie says, somewhat sourly. "Your friend doesn't have the best of taste or style, does he? So just that then, to leave your ... stuff alone?" She looks down a moment. "What does he look like, this Renfrey?" At Aldean's attempt to sit up, she points a finger. "You aren't going out in your condition. Eat first. Drink. Let them tend to you at the hospital. Perhaps she might go to the Library in your stead?" That finger is pointed to Silmeria.

Under the weight of multiple simultaneous sets of orders, Aldean obediently lies back on the slab. "Whatever that pigfucker hit me with. Felt like me soul was bein' ripped out. Renfrey." He gives a quick, slightly muddled description of the proprietor of the Lock and Key. "Darshan? That ye?" There's relief in the raspy baritone amid a pained voice.

Svarshan's shoulders tense as he's asked for Words. A devil is easy, in comparison. He offers a smile instead, and points to his mouth. ...before making his way over, and adding his hand near Silmeria--with a steady, irrevocable force.

Who needs words sometimes, when you can say: you aren't moving anywhere, with a gesture?

"Tomorrow. Otherwise he try. Get up. Body ready. Mind not," he says, to Silmeria. To Aldean. "Yes." Then, "Not leave. Aldean."

Latenat nods, mostly to himself as he makes a descision and lifts a hand up, palm forward including the gathering within the gesture,"I am in need of some dire rest goodfolk. I shall returns when it is time to talk further." and with that, and a small yet unschooled bow the townsman begins his retreat from the hallowed halls of the temple.

Silmeria manages a tight smile, nodding at the paladin's words. "Thank you, Sunblade..." As Latenat makes ready to retreat, Silmeria calls after him. "We'll need to talk soon, I think!" Blowing out a breath, she looks back between Aldean, Henrie, and Svarshan. "...I could go to the Library for him, if I knew he was being watched."

"Fair winds," Aldean answers automatically, relaxing as the weight of the sith's hand is added. He's not going anywhere, and he's still got that damp cloth on his forehead, his eyes covered. "Won't take long. I'll be fine. Find out whether dragons have got the magic ta shapechange, will ye?" He shakes his head at Henrie. "Na. Ain't need naught ta eat. Later. Head's achin', though."

"I think so too!" calls the rogue over his shoulder, in responce to Silmeria's statement,"I still owe you a service in trade!" with with a flourish of a weathered cloak, he avants into the open air

Henrie looks to Silmeria, and lets out a light huff of breath. "I will watch him.", she says firmly. "Though... I wish to be let in on this..." The young woman gestures to the people in the area. "This gathering. I wish those who are responsible for this damage to feel my feet and knuckles delivering justice. Can you allow me that?"

Svarshan thumps his tail, once at Latenat's leave, then a second time to Silmeria, saying he will be there. And then...he meets her eyes. Nods once. Dragons do.

Garak turns and heads for the front door, still wearing a thoughtful expression. He pauses and asks one of the guards a few questions before slipping out.

Silmeria nods slowly in return, pressing down briefly on Aldean's shoulder to get the bard's attention. "I'll find out," she says gently. A prevarication, perhaps, to mean that she'll verify the fact instead of learn, but what Aldean doesn't know won't catapult him out of bed. "See that he sleeps, Sister. Ten hours, at least. After, he should be well enough to take soup, and I'll happily tell you everything I know of what's happened to this point. It's far grander in scope than I'd thought before, which has me doubly worried."

Henrie grins brightly at Silmeria, "You have my word. He will sleep. He may be moved to the Soldier's Defense however, but I will go with him. If he is still here, I will see that he is moved to a slightly more dignified and comfortable place of rest."

Aldean doesn't answer. Arm still pressed over his eyes, he's gone silent, and likely isn't more than half-listening ... or is half-asleep.

Svarshan thumps once again, and settles in to do this one thing, alongside Henrie. Guarding is a straightforward task. Which, as grim as it can be, is almost a saving grace in a foreign world with too many details.