Ex Marquess the Spot, part 4
Log Info
- Title: Ex Marquess the Spot, Part 4
- Emitter: Jinks
- Characters: Aimarra, Aryia, Jinks, Paenitia, Seyardu
- Place: Airstrip Alexandria, Airship Firmament
- Time: Friday, December 24, 2021, 2:45 PM
- Summary: The adventurers confront the Marquess with their evidence. Despite her disdain, she listens and accepts that there was a plot by her daughter to kill her. She explains that compass they found was part of the 'Lover's Compasses', a gift from her husband. A husband whom she cheated on with Jinks, conceiving the two young gnomes that the adventurers have been seeing on the airship. When Star started singing, her husband committed suicide. Her daughter, Birfy, still blames her. The Marquess will go confront her. The adventurers advise that this is a bad plan, and they want to assist. The Marquess refuses, asking them to watch her children in Dalton. They agree to this, the Marquess goes on ahead. She returns, with good news. Some of the issues have been resolved.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Aimarra 5'1" 128 Lb Half-Elf Female Brown hair and eyes, breastplate, leathers, pointed ears. Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. Paenitia 3'0" 34 Lb Halfling Female A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery. Seyardu 5'6" 150 Lb Sith-Makar Female A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- As the GM -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
The bells chime as you finish meeting with the captain and Ath in the navigator's dark quarters, leaving the artifice compass in their care and, hopefully, thwarted. Most of the puzzle has been put together and it's time to take the end results (and a last handful of questions) to the marquess.
Perhaps suprisingly, the marquess isn't to be found in the guest suite. Jadvyga answers the door with his usual put-upon expression and directs you, curtly, to the main deck before closing the portal in your face. The children were not in view through the crack but the quiet sound of crying from a sideroom filled the brief, awkward pause between your inquiry and his grudging response.
The weather has turned again and the cold is colder. The sunbright sky is a hazy fog of yellow and orange over a sea of grey. There's powder in the air and the bowfacing features of the ship are glistening with frost. Occasionally the investigating sellswords step into a dusting on the deck and it's deep enough to crunch with their weight. There's no particular scent to the air; it's just a cold that burns the nostrils.
The crew have put on heavy jackets, scarves, and thick gloves. Two more have been assigned to the front of the ship with larger, harness-mounted versions of bullseye lanterns strapped to their chests. Another crewman stands between them, hunched forward and staring into the snow-choked sky ahead of them, any specific details of their figure lost beneath hat, googles, scarf, and heavy clothing.
Marquess Tresstindiani Larkennian braves the deck near the half-frozen railings. She wears a breastplate that looks a dull orange in the lighting, intricately carved with a mongoose rampant flanked by curling floral patterns. Her coat is the same crimson as her hair and lined with thick brown furs. Its collar is high enough to obscure her neat, draping braids. She practical calfboots polished to a high shine. All-in-all, far more appropriate attire for traveling than the evening wear she'd sported previously.
Even in the hazy glow of sunset, form obscured by whipping powder, she seems untouched by the elements. There's no melting ice or waterspots on her coat. Her face and hair lack the glistening, crystal frost the deck crew endure. She just stands, stoically looking at the vague burning of the sky with one hand balanced on the gorgeous, golden quillons of an appropriately-sized longsword. The pommel is eye-catching; a skillfully-cut ruby encased in delicate golden filigree of a Daeusite sunburst.
She pays the mercenaries no mind as they approach.
As has been her habit throughout this entire endeavor, Aimarra has remained quiet, and is well-bundled against the cold - in pretty much every scrap of clothing she owns. It's not enough for this child of the desert. Weapons and armor are very much in evidence, amid hat, scarf, gloves, hood, and multiple cloaks. She takes one edge of the sellsword company, eyes on the horizon for any further threat.
Aryia was trailing behind the group, bundled up with a large green scarf that loops around her neck a few times. Speaking with the woman was the last step, and one that she didn't wish to mess up. So she keeps her gloved hands in her pockets, looking over the noble woman as she watches the horizon. Her lips quirk sideways. She could see why Jinks went for her. There's a silent sigh, and her attention goes outward, scanning for other threats that might pop up. The mute did her job. Now it was time for the other experts to rise where she sorely lacked.
Paenitia has added to her ensemble to combat the cold. A red leather coat covers her armour, with large gloves for her gauntlets, even boots. Some of it is nearing human-sized, and the halfling is substantially bulkier, especially with her peacock cloak thrown over one shoulder, and the knitted hood that's attached underneath her hat. Her wide brimmed hat has turned white with snow. The percipitation piles up and doesn't melt. Her warhammer is balanced by her sword on the other side of the belt, but her shield and other weapons have been left behind.
Her face remains completely obscured by her grinning mask, and her voice a little muffled. Her breath wafts out the eye-holes, making small clouds. She approaches the Noble.
"Hola Marquess," She sounds cheerful, but not excessively so. The lilt of her voice is almost serious, "I bring word of a treacherous plot, that I and the other adventurer ilk have uncover. I know this not the thing you wish to hear, it bring great disappointment. The facts, they are solid. Regardless what you think of the messengers, it is to your benefit to hear them out."
GAME: Paenitia rolls diplomacy: (3)+9: 12
Seyardu is, for all intents and purposes, treating the weather no different from a balmy summer day. The only evidence of the cold was a thin dusting of snow settling on their head and shoulders, not melting very much. She joins the group of her fellow adventurers, and steps forward as Aimarra and Aryia stayed back for the most part.
"Peace on your nest, Marquess. I am aware that you did not wish to be here, but know that we have treated this job with as much care and concern as those you expected and hoped for. After speaking with the crew further, as Dame Paenitia pointed out, We discovered that the ship that attempted to intercept this one was likely not random pirates or raiders, but a planned and prepared attack."
GAME: Seyardu rolls sense motive: (17)+11: 28 GAME: Aryia rolls sense motive: (16)+17: 33 GAME: Paenitia rolls sense motive: (2)+13: 15 GAME: Aimarra rolls sense motive: (15)+2: 17
The woman blinks deliberately and the momentary illusion of her as decoration cut from stone is shattered. She lowers her eyes and takes a breath before turning to face full the grim messengers. She adjusts her grip on the sword, too, and drops her gloved hand from the crossguard to the shoulder of the blade, letting it fall parallel to the deck with the point behind her.
The imperious fury of her arrival has waned but she still faces the adventuring quartet with a look of open contempt. She doesn't deign to speak, quirking an eyebrow instead and letting her expression slip into one of practiced (if tenuous) patience.
Aryia watches from over her shades. She was expecting a crass reprimand, yet was met with contempt.
She squints a bit. No.
The mute softly sighs and removes her shades, an empathetic expression on her scarred visage. Unsure if she couldn't even understand her, the pugilist still motions slowly, "Hey. I know, it's rough. You probably came up here for a breather. We want to help you so you can avoid this and know who's pulling what strings to screw you. We're not here to belittle you or anything of the sort. It's hard, keeping your family safe when others wish harm. I... know that well." <Handspeech>
Quietly, Aimarra speaks up from the edge of the group, translating Aryia's signing into speech. She says nothing else, merely turns her attention from Aryia to watching the woman closely. gNobles are not to be trusted.
The Red Knight's impression of a suit of armour remains strong, even if she is wrapped in warm clothes. Her hands, in gauntlets inside gloves, rest on the warhammer head and sword hilt, and she has her weight easily spread to both legs. Her mask returns the open contempt with a leering grin, masculine and amused.
"The facts. The Pirate Airship, 'Bring Pandemonium' does not prowl this far from Isobar. They will take the contracts. They find the Firmament. Great luck to them. Your daughter, she arrange the military escort, promise, yes? Her husband, the much unliked commander, assign them. Then, they are sent elsewhere. Your daughter, ask your former servant Tai, the majordomo of your house, to bring this important thing with him. The captain have it now. It the mated compass device."
She makes little shrug, "The other is... who know. The Pandemonium my guess. That we not have the proof of." The little knight can't think of a worse way to phrase things. "I think your daughter love you very much, from afar. The close up, she have the problem with."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+10: (18)+10: 28 (Marquess Sense Motive)
Seyardu sighs, and dusts off the accumulating snow so as to look a bit more presentable.
"You can rest easier on the ship now. A sweep was done of the ship, with magic included, there are none hiding here, invisible or not. And the ship should not be able to track us down again. The way they tracked us down has been neutralized, and the captain should be able to put us on a course to avoid detection through physical means."
"The compass of which Dame Paenitia speaks, it is a locating device. When held, it points to a matching compass. We can not say for certain, but it seems that they may have hired the raiders, and tried to have you fly without guard due to your distrust of adventurers." From afar, Mikilos waves
Aryia's sympathetic look-- and Aimarra's translation of her signed commiserations-- causes a hardening of the marquess' expression. The ghost of vulnerability vanishes behind a subtle narrowing of the eyes, a thinning of the lips; like a door slammed shut and barred from the other side. She inhales and rolls her shoulders back, lifts her chin, and somehow manages to look down her nose at all. Even the taller folk.
Until, at least, Paenitia begins to speak. She lowers her chin and glares at the masked Lucht, finding the eyes through the holes and behind the fogged breaths. The intensity of her inspection grows as point after accusatory point is leveled against her kin. When the paladina describes the artifice the moisture gathering beneath her eyes finally breaks and tears roll down her face.
She blinks again and swallows back what might have been a sob. The marquess is a masterful actress but her body has begun to betray her.
"The Lovers' Compasses." She finally speaks looking up at Seyardu, the gnomish woman's voice steady by sheer force of will. "My husband's gift to us on our twentieth anniversary." Her gaze scans back down to Paenitia as the tears continue to roll, "My little Birfy has a cruel sense of humor."
It's hard to keep a scowl off of Aryia's face. The lines that contort her visage make it easy to do so. Her hands find their way back into her pockets and she lightly shrugs as the proverbial bridge of empathy is seemingly drawn up by the noblewoman. Though, as facts become to much to bear, the mute sighs slightly on relief. They were getting somewhere.
A thankful nod is afforded to Aimarra for her translation.
Aimarra merely tilts her head at the woman, watching her closely, almost in puzzlement, until the topic of the compasses comes up. "Where's your daughter now?"
Paenitia's eyes... Paenitia's eyes are a brown so dark they blend with her pupils, with long, thick lashes and a hint of maghogany skin. They're her vulnerability, expressive and pained as her gaze meets the Marquess' and is held. The steam from her mask increases, does not hide them. Her breathing is careful.
"My mother, she does not approve," the Red Knight says, gesturing at herself, her armour. Her familial diversion seeming to have no point, and then she adds more details. "My grand mother, does not approve of my mother, because she work for the man that imprison my father. My uncle betray him, to put him there. My brother, is cripple by being put to work, too deep in the mine, to pay back our father debt."
She goes silent, blinks once, her long lashes brushing the eye-holes of her mask. "The unhappy families are all different, what mine is matter nothing. You, have to find the way forgive your own. Or not. I do not have the advice for Birfy."
Paenitia stamps a heel and stands to attention. She salutes the Marquess. "The report is give. I will protect you and the children. I will be out of the sight of you."
"We do not mean ill with our investigation, Marquess." Seyardu states. "Our investigation was to make sure that you and your family will be safe on this journey. And that extends to your arrival afterwards."
"I do not know what the intention was, but based upon the actions taken, it likely was not to take prisoners. But the reasoning for doing so, we can not say with any certainty."
"Birfarlata is my first-born and holds my lands with her husband, Lord Captain Pinwon." The marquess has had her moment's grief and resumes her stoic frowning. Perhaps Paenitia's revelation gave her the time to not focus on her immediate misery and gather herself. "She has had them in her care since I retired to Alexandria after my husband's death." She pauses and issues and honest sigh of exhaustion. "Only now I return and reopen old wounds."
"The children will be safe," she tells Paenitia and Seyardu, both, "Jadvyga is a skilled abjurist and has sworn his life to their health. I still have allies in Dalton they can stay with. I will make the last leg of the trip alone and set to rights my daughter's grievances."
GAME: Paenitia rolls sense motive: (12)+13: 25 GAME: Aimarra rolls sense motive: (16)+2: 18 GAME: Seyardu rolls sense motive: (13)+11: 24 GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+16: (12)+16: 28
She knows more about her daughter than she's sharing. She's also convinced the proposed visit will not end well for her.
Aryia rubs her cheek, glancing between Paenitia and the noble woman. "And what of your safety? Signs point to your daughter wishing ill. And it kind of seems like you're walking into a sword with that." she signs slowly. <Handspeech>
Again, Aimarra quietly translates the signs that Aryia makes, since she'd already looked away from the woman and at her companions when the woman was done speaking.
"You must forgive me for saying this, but that is a bad idea." Seyardu states. "You sound like you know how confronting her will end. And would leave your other children without their mother."
"I believe you primised someone coming here, that it was to keep your family safe. I would believe that you are part of said family, and you would risk breaking that promise doing this."
Paenitia watches Aryia's signs, then waits for the translation. She nods to Aimarra once that is complete. It mirrors her thoughts, and a hunch. "You do not have to go alone."
Her voice is serious, her mask absurd, her stature similar to the other woman's. She's not a gnome but she has associated with a few. The Marquess knows more about her daughter than she's sharing; the Red Knight knows more about her secret scandals than she's shared.
Jinks _would_ care, if the mother of his children died, the dark lucht decides. She would also. Her knightly vows don't demand she help the Marquess.
But... her common decency does. "The friend dragon is right. You have to but ask. We will accompany."
GAME: Paenitia rolls diplomacy: (11)+9: 20 (assisting Seyardu) GAME: Aryia rolls diplomacy: (8)+-4: 4 (assisting Seyardu - Fail) GAME: Aimarra rolls diplomacy: (20)+2: 22 (assisting Seyardu) GAME: Seyardu rolls diplomacy: (17)+18+4: 39 (+4, 2 assists)
The marquess listens to the pleas, her expression softening again at the genuine offers of aid.
"Fourteen years ago I let a charming snake convince me that my husband no longer loved me because his duties often left my daughter and I alone when visiting Alexandria." The marquess explains after long and silent deliberation, doing little to hide the disgust she feels for herself. She sneers and shakes her head. "After his fun he was gone and all I had was my guilt to keep my company.
"By the time I was showing, Alexandria was lost to the mists and I had to admit what I'd done." She takes her free hand and rests it against the lower curve of the breastplate. "My husband was hurt but did his best to look past my mistake. Years later, the city had returned and the children were grown enough to be a constant reminder...
"When our-- my Starr began to sing it was too much. He cursed the bard and took his own life. Birfy was the one to find him hanging. The first to read his note."
The words are an admission she's never spoken before. They don't come easily at first but once she's started they will not stop. After she's realized her confession the exhaustion on her features is plain for all to see. She swallows and considers Seyardu.
"My promise was to get the children out of the city for a year. For their protection." She waves a hand at the airship, indicating the task as fulfilled.
"You may be the few among your kind that truly mean well... but if Birfarlata and her husband see me come with mercenaries at my back the situation will escalate. My actions took her father from her and this is a crime I alone must answer for." The marquess takes a breath and sets her jaw. "I owe it to all of my children to protect them... and if I can pull my Birfy back from whatever darkness has taken her I will see it done. I don't seek to end my time on this world but if that's what is required... then my own life be damned."
"But," she adds after some thought, "if you wish to stay with the children in Dalton until the situation is resolved... that is acceptable."
Aryia shifts a bit on her feet, her sincerity lost in translation, but the other's picked up her slack. Which she was grateful for, this type of battle was not one she was adept at, and needed her allies to lead it.
The mention of the snake quirks a brow, her tilting head to the side. Yeah, she could see that, if the first impression of Jinks on Aryia was anything to go by.
The suggestion to guard the children gives the mute pause. She looks aside, roughly to her waist height, and lets out a sigh. Aryia nods slowly. She'll help. The least she could do for as much as the snake helped her.
The Red Knight stares at what might be the rarest find in all the firmament. A noble that admits her mistakes and is willing to face the consequences. Honour, in the most unexpected of places. She will find the snake and make the Marquess' suffering known; she won't have to look hard.
"The love birds do not sing alone, and the arrows of such fly from blind archers." Paenitia says, with a careful compassion, "this the gnordian gnot you must cut yourself through. I understand. I will guard the children."
Mentally, she's estimating the distance from Dalton to the final destination, gauging how long it would take Ramirez to cover it. Maybe... This time, Aimarra folds her arms across her chest, and shares her own thoughts for the first time. "There are damned few actions that provoke hiring assassins, my lady, and even fewer that provoke hiring assassins to kill kids. I'll help, but no matter what you did or didn't do, there's no excuse for a move like that. I'll help, if you'll set your daughter right."
Seyardu knew some of the story, and nods gently. But then she sighs. She fixes the gone with a gaze for a long moment.
"Your children, not the children. No matter what, you are their mother. They deserve to have their mother in their lives, it is not their fault. Your younger daughter, things seem especially hard on. I do not wish her to be hurt badly by your actions."
"You may speak correctly on that matter, and as much as I do not like it, if that is what it will take, then we will watch your children, until you return. And if you do not, then I will personally go to find and bring you back. From the halls of the death singing dragon if need be, as none should be forced to grow up without their parents if it can be helped."
The cold holds through the evening, making the watches unpleasant and long. The threat of looming conflict doesn't help speed things along, either, but adds an uneasy tension to otherwise uneventful hours. The officers meet on the deck during Edinaz's watch the next day. Ath's calculations are compared with Taalkee's confirmations of ship's efficiencies and the captain announces to the ship that Isobar nears.
Towards the end of Paenitia's watch the ship is dropping out of the clouds and into the open air. The chill lessens a fraction and the world clears out to the horizon. The ship begins a gradual-but-constant descent, the occasional stomach-lurching toss as altitude is surrendered.
Midway into the first dog watch of the early evening the captain has called that only assigned hands are allowed on the main deck. The Firmament's Caravan has entered the Gust Furrows.
The ship is flanked by canyon walls speeding past in a blur. The sound of the furnace is drowned by the screaming winds. This uniquely Isobari feature drives artifice to untold efficiency. The way is open, the Castle Gates ready and welcoming.
They're docked in Isobar when the moon is at its peak. The industrial city is a marvel rivaled only by the advances of Alexandria. It looms a massive platform over a massive adamant mine that never sleeps. Countless mana lamps of every possible shape and size keep the world alight even at midnight.
Jadvyga carries the children of the Caravan, one in each arm, with their little gnomish cheeks resting against his shoulders as they sleep. He kneels for the marquess to kiss them good-bye and she lingers to whisper private promises into each ear. Her tears make her cheeks glitter in the blue-glow of powered mana crystals.
The situation explained to the Arvek Nar, the butler wizard leads the four mercenaries to a palatial manse on the highest tier of the city. A friendly gnoble family with yet another overlong, complicated gnoble gname. The trip was long and tense. The beds are warm and comfortable.
The next day the children are worried at the absence of their mother by 'Vyga explains their worries away and they're both distracted by the queer menarie of accomplished aunts there to see them safe and their anxieties eased. The 'nar does his part, too, leaving briefly only to return with a chorus of gnomish youth from the local bardic college. For the first time since you've met her, Starresstarrvelys actually smiles. In short order she's warmed to the group and joins them in song. Forgetting some of her worries for at least awhile.
Three meals come and go. The sun arcs overhead and descends. One can't help but wonder how long this might take. And then the carriage arrives.
Jadvyga calls the children out past the foyer and they spill into the green grounds of grasses and topiary, eager to see what's arrived. A pause-- for drama, perhaps-- and the door opens to allow the Marquess Tresstindiani Larkennian's exit. She's alone but she's hale and hearty.
And smiling.
She kneels and throws out her hands to embrace her children as they rush to her.
