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Chapter 3

Catching Flies.

Bibi and Ric made their way into the seedy parts of Bergond... well, seedier at any rate. Much of the city was partway between historic downtown and violent knife slum, a sort of Schrodinger's Metropolis where every well-lit thoroughfare had a dozen dangerous tributaries in a two block stretch. But still, finding concentrated gang activity - of the kind that could yield information and not just pick your pocket or tickle your ribs with a blade - could be daunting. The gangs were fiercely protective of any territory they considered safe, and seldom let in outsiders.

The Fluttercapes, of course, were somewhat different. They were more like rowdy children than violent thugs. They loved to chase down ne'er do wells with boisterous energy and clubs in hand. If danger was honey, then the Fluttercapes were eager little flies. In fact, this was how Bibi and Ric found four of the green-caped vigilantes; standing around two gracious citizens who thanked them profusely, while standing over half a dozens skittersqueaks at their feet. "Oh thank you oh thank you!" wept an elderly elvish man, his ears droopy from years of hardship. "They would have taken all we had - or worse, harmed us!" His wife clasped her hands together and stood in grateful silence, her wrinkly lips quivering with appreciative emotion. "It was nothin'!" the lead Fluttercape said, a half-elf woman of some stature. Her red hair was run through with rebellious streaks of blonde and her voice was pure confidence. She put a boot on the head of one of the Skittersqueaks at her feet and the ratling let out a pained squooooee like an old whoopee cushion. "You cits can walk the streets sure as stone with the Flutters around." Her fellows Hurrah!-ed at her remark.

"Thank you, thank you miss...?" "Velendria," she replies, running her fingers over the edge of her collar. "But Vely works among friends." She beams a smile and the elder couple quake with elation. For a few moments longer they talk while Velendria's companions subdue the ratlings at their feet.

Bibi has been making a lot of rustling just behind Ric and if Ric were to turn around to see what Bibi has been doing he'd see that where Bibi was walking, now appeared to be a pile of rags. Bibi had wrapped themselves in a burrito of sorts with a fat tail poking out from underneath. The wizard hat that seemed to never leave their head was now stuffed into their backpack and they had on an elaborate false hair and beard combo made of what seemed to be cotton balls???

Bibi clears their throat and says to Ric, "If anyone asks, I'm Mot and I have never been to this part of town." There's a determined and nervous look on their face and also a deep blush poking out from behind the fluffy white unconvincing cotton.

Guild Row was always busy. It hustled and bustled and moved in a way few other places in Bergond did. The song of Guild Row was the whistle of new shifts starting. The beat of Guild Row was the rhythmic bang-banga-bang of hammers on anvils. The voice of Guild Row was the bark of the foreman and the shout of the merchant. Here is where the lifeblood of Bergond, the coin that greased every wheel in the city, was made. Honest work and beautiful artistry entwined.

It was also a dark place at times. Everything was covered in a thin film of soot, and the air was hot from the furnaces and densely packed smokestacks. It was hard to tell where one smithy began and another ended.

But eventually Desmond and Leif found the Gruuma Artisan's Guild. It was a squat structure with an imposing portcullis as a main gate. It looked like the head of a grumpy castle golem, if such a thing were to walk the realm. Its eye-like windows glowed from within as craftsman carefully honed their works with flames both delicate and daring. Ornate banners of purple and red waved from every surface.

At the front two guards were posted. Their pants and sleeves were poofy, and their polearms were imposing. On either side were dealers in smaller rafts and knick-knacks of Guild make, and to their fore was a Guild barker. He shouted and cried at passing crowds. "See the works of Gruuma! See the artisanal beauty of our fine metals! Test the finely-honed steel of our sharpest blades! Only the best for you and yours!"

Across town, Meister Dunhart's school stood strangely apart from its fellow structures. It was nearly four stories tall, but incredibly narrow. It was more like a twisted, gnarled trunk of a tree repulsed by the thought of digging its roots into the earth. Even at this late hour it hummed with studious activity, patrons coming at going to either pick up or drop off their children, plead for their grades, or demand explanations for the Meister's stringent expectations.

When the trio entered the door chime made a flfffa-flffa-shfff like the pages of an old tome being thumbed through. The attendant who sat behind the front desk had pallid skin and haunted eyes - owing to the fact that he was most likely a ghoul or former vampire thrall. Bergond never truly slept, even if many of its citizens needed to rest, so often times night shifts were times for reformed undead to ply their trade at honest work. There was a couple at the desk nearly screaming at his disinterested face. "You cannot expect us to pay this outrageous tuition rate if Meister Dunhart is going to simply fail Junter no matter what he does!" the father barked.

"Junter is brilliant," the mother insisted with the cold confidence of one who does not think much of others' opinions. "Anything less than a H+ on his work shows that the Meister is jealous of our boy's incredible gift."

Misery leans against the wall for a moment, utterly winded. This is all the fun of claustrophobia -and- suffocation, she thinks, as she draws short breaths. She closes her eyes, then opens her purse and pulls out a compact and kerchief. She dabs at the sweat on her brow and tucks hair back behind her ears, and plumes up the large peacock feather she worked into her hair.

She beckons in Nix and Chipper. "Remember, let me do the talking up front. Nix- if there's a wait, see if you can't buddy up to one of the students. Chipper- if somebody asks you a question, say "Yes, sir", "No, sir", or "I'll have to consult with my wife." I believe in all of you, because I picked you, and I believe in me.” Then Misery, walking a gracefully as her own tutors had taught her so many years ago, approaches the desk. “Psst,” Chipper adds discreetly, “keep your eyes out for a mohawked gnome too.”

Nix nods to Misery and Chipper - "kids and a gnome with some funny hair, got it" - for now she'll watch and wait for her chance to gain whatever knowledge she can from these elitist bags. Though her brain starts humming with the fact that they're in a school... schools have books, and artifacts, and language professo- no! focus Nix! She shakes her head, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. She adjusts her diadem so it rests flush against her horns, blinks and lets out a deep breath, smoothes out her dress, and smiles sweetly.

"Junter... Gatherner?" Misery says as she approaches. She'd know the Gatherners anywhere by the red hair and the subtle crab accents and the, oh yes, concussive blasts of unpleasantness that followed them everywhere, like brush fires behind a dragon. The Gatherners were very small fish that swam like they were sharks. The Montblancs had used them once to arrange delivery of fish for a banquet Maestro had held, and Misery wondered if Johan Gatherner knew how close he had come to an assassin's blade, just for the headaches his caterwauling had caused her father.

"My oh my, you're the Gatherners, aren't you? Oh, I've seen you on the streets. Brunhilde, isn't it? It's amazing what you can do with a hand-me-down. Why, you look so wonderful, the replacement seams hardly even show."

She turned her attention to Johan.

"I'm Jennifrome Theoblock. That's my husband, Chipper, and my daughter, Offa. We were thinking about sending her to this school. Tell me, Johan, what is the tuition rate that's so outrageous? The literature didn't state."

Johan and Brunhilde were taken aback by Misery's interjections. They were red-faced, both from the tirade they were on with the clerk and from the embarrassment of being recognized while making such a scene. They were almost simultaneously taken aback by Misery's, erm, presence in such a small space; the thrall behind the counter idly wondered what magic allowed the noblewoman to walk upright.

"It's not about the price per se," Johan remarked as he looked over Chipper's distinct style. "...so long as the quality of instruction matches the cost we are paying."

Brunhilde twisted her nose in a way that communicated her deep-seated desire to seem superior to others. "You might want to consider better schooling arrangements for Offa. It appears anyone can get away with taking the title of 'meister' without any qualifications."

“Oh my! That is distressing to hear!” Misery says, then leans in, her tone becoming the loud whisper of gossip-confidentiality. “Meister Dunhart’s reputation is quite outstanding in Bergond and its sister ports— in particular, his tutelage in manners and etiquette. Why, when I had heard several of the alleys around the port had been defaced with the phrase ‘Junter’s cock is long and strong’ and ‘Junter fucked Octavia in the ass’— scandalous I know, I told my Chipper ‘You don’t think that’s the Gatherner’s Junter?’ and he said ‘No, they send their boy to Meister Dunhart’s.’”

Misery’s whisper became even sharper here, the cutting edge of a scalpel.

“ Are you saying even Meister Dunhart couldn’t train your Junter? I certainly wouldn’t pay if those revolting rumors we’ve heard about your son are actually true.”

“No sir!” Says Chipper.

Internally, Nix already hated Brunhilde - she was exactly why she hated the rich elites of the world - no patience or respect for anyone but themselves! But she kept up the charade, blinking large and slow. "Madam Brunhilde," - she curtsied, before turning to the attendant - "Surely the Meister is more concerned with the quality of their students than the coin they have in their purse... though nobles such as ourselves shouldn't have a problem with such a pittance, no? Unless of course you've fallen into hard times," she said airily, swaying in her dress as she looked up at her parents and Brunhilde innocently, and turned once more to the exhausted attendant (how in the world the tired being dealt with these snobs all day was commendable all on its own).

"The Meister sounds like he only takes on the best and doesn't make things easy for those who lack the talent or right to be there - it sounds like Junter isn't quite up to the task - I like that in a teacher! I want to learn, not to have my parents insist on perfect grades to hang on the mantle. I'm quite gifted you see, and this school seemed like the only place that I could really benefit from at this point, given its stellar reputation."

She lifts her stubby hands and begins counting with her fingers, muttering and switching between Common, Primordial, Sylvan, Infernal, Elvish, and Abyssal with each finger. "Forget my magical prowess, I'm beginning to run out of languages to learn!" she laughs, "Does the Meister know Celestial by any chance?"

Misery bends a little, and strokes a hand down Nix’s head affectionately. “My smart, sweet little princess,” she says. “Isn’t she a joy, my love?” she calls back to Chipper.

“Yes... sir?”

Johan and Brunhilde made faces like they had just seen a ghost and scrunched their noses like a basilisk had cleared its bowels. They knew the game that was being played, but only too late they realized that the Theoblocks had set all the pieces out already - they were in checkmate from the first move.

"Come along Johan, perhaps we should return another day - preferably after the vermin problem has been dealt with," Brunhilde hissed as she grabbed her husband by the hook of his arm. The two of them left, their pride wounded and their tempers flaring.

As they exited the thrall behind the counter looked at the trio with a bemused expression. "You just added three years to my unlife."

Chipper leans down and whispers in Nix’s ear. “Is that good?”

Nix whispers back "Well he doesn't seem angry so... call it moot?"

Ric always walks on his toes, slightly hunched, like he'd rather not be in contact with the ground. He makes an inquisitive sound and looks back over his shoulder at Bibi, covered in pieces of their... outfit?

" 'S'at just what you l...like to travel in? It l....l..looks..." Ric pauses and pokes his lip with his index finger to find the kindest description he can think of, "...original." He nods once to himself, then three times to Bibi to emphasize his attempt to support his companion's fashion choices.

"Oh, and...." he sniffs, tossing his bangs (dyed blue today) away from his eyes and glancing shyly back at Bibi. "Mot's good. Yer r-r-real name's n-nice, but.... this one's easier for me to say."

Ric scrunches his shoulders suddenly and jams his fists into the pockets of his fashionably-ripped trousers. The assortment of chains draped from his belts jingle as he sauntered bow-leggedly forward, spotting a familiar figure ahead.

"C'mon!" Ric waves vigorously to Bibi. "Jus' let m......me do the talking."

Ric leads them forward and flips his cape dramatically to gain the attention of his gang-mates, clearing his throat loudly.

He salutes the half-elf leader jauntily. "Nice w-work, 'Ely!" Ric shouts in greeting, always opting to take her up on her shortened name less out of an earned friendship, and entirely to avoid getting stuck in the middle. "V"s were some of the stickiest sounds for him anyway. Bibi nods rapidly when Ric says "C'mon!" and waddles after him, stopping just behind him as they get close to the group. They put their scaly hands, now concealed in oven mitts, lightly on Ric's shoulder to peek out from behind him at the four Fluttercapes.

Thoughts race through Bibi's mind, 'Do I recognize any of them? Do they recognize me? I know in my heart that I'm being silly about this, but I just can't show my face to them again!'

Bibi's eyebrows raise with worry, the tension pinching at their temples, their cotton-ball-hair-beard-get-up hanging crookedly from their features, 'Ugh, you have a job to do Bibi, do your job! Things have been going fine with Ric so far... maybe no one remembers!'

Bibi steadies themselves from shaking and looks determined at Ely.

Velendria turned to face Ric and Bibi, pivoting on the foot stamped on the Skittersqueak's head and doing a pirouette of sorts to face the newcomers, punctuated by a a stomp as her other fit hit the cobblestones. Her cape spiraled about her with a life all its own, but past its vivid movement Ric and Bibi could see the other Fluttercapes become more alert - their hands reached to their waists and backs to ready weapons if the need arose.

"Thanks, my work is always nice. And you are...?" she eyed them up and down, giving Ric's cape an incredulous look.

Ric tosses his cape enthusiastically and bows low, nose brushing the ground. His various piercings and dull metal studs gleam in the grey sunlight. "Ricfff—vin Bonegrit, atcher s-service."

Ric has never been good at reading or writing, and the true spelling, and even pronunciation of his name have been lost to time. He knew it had a stubborn "v" sound in the middle that he could almost never get past. Because of this, someone had since opted to spell his given name "Ricfvin" on certain registry documents, and as it was the only reference Ric had, it stuck. At any rate, he feels he has managed a rather successful, if stylish, introduction and gains confidence as he continues.

"M'leader, we're l-l....ooking fer any info on the s-sorts of scound...rels who'd wear a certain t-t-tattoo." Ric saunters closer, keeping a respectful distance, and fishes a charcoal stick from his satchel, scratching out a rough depiction of the gaping cobra's mouth onto a rock.

"'S'not like Ghoulies' ones, oh n-no. This one has r-ruby teeth, and-and-and sh....iny eyes! Like coins."

Ric rises to his full, unimpressive height and puts on his most serious face, crossing his arms over his small chest (which is covered in amulets and a studded belt strap). "Who...ever has these has b-b-been up to nasty stuff. S....sneaky, quiet stuff. L-like kidnapping." In a burst of confidence and swagger, Ric nodded, throwing his chin in Bibi's direction behind him.

"My f-f-f....friend Mot here knows s-someone they took. The ones w-with the snake t....t....t— ...mark. I told 'em, I said 'Mot, us F-fluttercapes hate s-sneaks and cheats. Me and our crew— w-we should know about th-this an' s-set these p-p-punks straight.'"

He nods confidently, eyes closed in self-assurance, but Ric can't resist peeking one eye open at Velendria to see if his charm has the desired effect.

Velendria looked Bibi and Ric up and down - or, well, more down than anything, given the height difference involved - and rolled over their words in her mind. She was weighing them using the only measuring tool that had ever steered her right: her instincts.

"Hey, Vee, just give the word and we'll deal with this jokesters," said one of her compatriots.

"Yeah, if you think they're trying to pull a fast one, we'll give 'em the Bonk bonk right across the skulls. One word, two taps, no question," muttered another who twirled his clubs with eagerness.

Right as it seemed they were about to strike without a second thought, Velendria raised a hand. The movement was deliberately slow; she reached out and took the drawing from Ric. She considered it, then him and Bibi, then the drawing, then them again, then her eyebrows furrowed and she smiled slyly. "This is a unique design. I know it, but not many do. You say there was a kidnapping? Who was taken? And how do we know you're Flutters and not just posers who got a hold of our threads?" Velendria's voice was a mixture of inquisitiveness and interest.

As they arrive at the Gruuma artisans, Desmond bows deeply to the fellow barking out front, “Good evening sir. I am Lord Desmond Cagliari and my young companion is showing me to your fine work, by recommendation of The Lord Devonshire. Forgefather Leif Egner here speaks highly of your artisans and I believe my Head of House staff has come here to commission my jewelry designs before - it would have been a Miss Serah Potts, on my behalf. I have a very important and personal item I would like to speak with someone about commissioning. Leif will be my advisor on quality and workmanship, I would like him to speak with those who would be crafting my very important item.”

"Ah, Lord Cagliari! It is an honor to have you grace us with your presence in person," the guilder replied, bowing with a flourish until the feather in his cap nearly brushed the ground. "If you and sir Egner are seeking our services, I assure you we will not disappoint." He snapped his fingers once and the guards opened the door. "Please, come in and let us exchanged pleasantries."

Once inside they noticed the Guild's handiwork on every surface. Nothing here was purchased - everything had been hand-crafted and built to last. It was as though every surface were tissue, with veins made of gilding and meticulous inscriptions that carried the lifeblood of excellence through every space. Desmond and Leif were brought into a small with finely upholstered chairs, sitting across from a knee-high table with the guilder. The Guilder's name was Quotali, and he had a voice like imported silk and the demeanor of a peacock idly checking its feathers (and pretending it had no audience). He interlaced his fingers and smiled invitingly as a servant entered with two trays of refreshments. "Please, help yourself. We have nearly anything your tastebuds might request. Now, what is it that you would ask of us, Lord Cagliari?"

Leif takes a seat next to Desmond and scans his surroundings, then studies the Guilder in front of them. He recalls seeing him every so often during guild meetings while growing up, but back then Quotali would usually direct his attention towards Leif's father. Leif wonders if the Guilder remembers him at all — though to be fair, Leif has spent the last few years away at the Temple of Gond for his training, so he wouldn’t blame the man if he thinks of him as a complete stranger. “My pop — I mean, Mikkel Egner has admired your work for a long time.” he said, hoping it would help. “I’ll be sure to tell him of what I’ve seen here today.” He admires the room with unreserved wonder.

"We would be honored, sir Egner," Quotali said with warm appreciation.

Desmond sits languidly in one of the chairs as he looks about the room, letting Leif finish, he nods in agreement. “I will be honest, i am very impressed with this establishment. I can see why Madam Potts thought it fitting to trust you with my designs and coin previously. Though, the quality was always evident in your final product and even its delivery.” He maintains eye contact with Quotali, smiling warmly as he dips his head lightly, genuinely grateful. The gold chains and green gems draped from his long horns seem to shine a little extra.

“A glass of your finest Chianti and I would be ever grateful, if you please.” He smiles to the servant as they pass him a glass, “Thank you.” Desmond takes a sip of wine and pauses, clearly enjoying it, infinitely better than that overly sweet red drink they call wine at The Sleeping Cerberus. He takes his time before going on - nobility has nothing BUT time on their hands, as well as a bit of a power demonstration as this man is likely VERY busy - and time is money for him.

Finally he sighs deeply, “I do apologize if I am not at my best at the moment. My... dear mother, she is... ill. I would like to have something made just for her, something to remind her of me - her sole progeny. You see, I am a busy man and not able to be at home often these days. Though surely you must understand the importance of family, Mister Quotali. Are you a family man yourself?” He swirls the wine in his glass, takes a sip then sets it on the table and leans forward.

“Some may call it superstition, alas I am a strong believer that emotion and sentiment can be infused into an item as such, whether intentional or not.” he holds his hands out and tilts his head, “This is why I come to you in the flesh, after all these years. It is of utmost importance to me that the item being crafted for my dearest mother be by those of whole and, at least, loving families. It is my belief that this effect can be felt through the chain of command, reaching its veins to the very root and pillar of a guild such as this. I come to speak with you honestly and ask if you can provide me an honest answer regarding this matter, good sir.”

“Of course money is of no issue,” he waves a hand absently, “I do not need to tell you not to skimp on materials, for I will have Mister Egner here checking everything over for me. It will be charged to the house, and delivered post-haste.”

He stands up and reaches into his pocket withdrawing some parchment. He unfolds it as he walks over, standing close beside Quotali, he hands it to him. The Cagliari family crest: a bright green diamond, above it a crown floats, and dominating all is an extravagantly styled letter “C”, the tail of it trailing behind it all and down past the bottom of the diamond tip.

“I am thinking a medallion, trinket or even a pendant or brooch perhaps. Large. Bright sparkling gold. The gem,” He leans forward, closer to Quotali and taps the diamond of the crest gently, “it must be a vivid green diamond to match my eyes... Round Brilliant cut, of course. On the back, a red ruby heart setting, with an engraving: ‘From Your Loving Son, Desmond.’.” He pauses then adds, “Hm. Perhaps some gold filigree to fill in the edges?” He looks at Quotali, all three eyes looking him over and smiles. “You are a man of fine taste, that much is clear. Perhaps you may have a few ideas which we can discuss later.”

Desmond looks Quotali directly in the eyes, in a lower tone he says, “Now. Tell me if you can fulfill my needs, Mister Quotali.”

"I am a family man, Lord Cagliari.” the guilder replies. “I have three at home, they are my heart's joy. The raghak is sacred, the bonds eternal." He listened patiently while Desmond described, then displayed the desired creation. He took the sketch in his hands as though cradling the egg of a rare bird, running his fingers along its silhouette as if imprinting it on his mind.

"What you ask is great, but then great are the works of the Gruuma Artisan's Guild. Of course we can achieve this, and if money is no object then the only limitation is time. Is there a special date this is needed by? Will you need it delivered to her?"

Leif frowns and studies the room one more time with scrutiny, almost as if to see if anything is out of place. "Mr. Quotali..." he lowers his voice, "Sir, besides time, don't you think this very special item might need extra protection during its creation? My pop and I have always trusted your guild and your work, but..." he lowers his voice even more as he leans forward, "we are in Guild Row after all." He pauses, a bit hesitantly, releases a small sigh and continues "You know what happened to our smithy a few years ago. We never thought we had enemies, and yet..."

Quotali nodded at Leif’s words. “It may require additional protection, yes. We heard about what happened to your family’s smithy. Truly a tragedy.” He was genuinely hurt by the thought. “When others attack one artisan, they attack us all...”

“We have some protection here, but only to protect goods while they are being crafted. Do you have some recommendation of protective services, master Egner?”

Desmond nods and leans back a little, reigning in the intensity. "Though I am not familiar with that term... ragek? I do understand. That is excellent to hear. What of those whom will be crafting the item? Those overseeing it? Those who run this establishment? Do they share the same core values as yourself, Mister Quotali?”

He stands up straight and walks slowly back to the other chair as Quotali asks about a timeline, his brow furrowed. Standing beside the chair, he picks up his glass of wine and takes a sip, then stares down into the liquid in the glass. "Time. Yes. She has been ill for... some time now. So you do see there is no specific date I would like it for, though not... too late... if you take my meaning."

As Leif mentions protection and the implication that something happened in the past Desmond's ear perk up, he adds a small inquisitive, "Oh?" Then silently bows his head as Quotali carries on. “Have there been many… incidents or attacks on the artisans here?” he pauses then holds up a hand and adds, “Rest assured, this will not affect my business with you - I am merely concerned for the well being of the kind & skilled folk I have met while here.”

Leif looks to Desmond, then back to Quotali. For the first time since joining on this mission, his usual soft, lost-puppy expression hardens with determination. "I can stand guard myself, if it comes to it." He gestures with his thumb, pointing towards the door. "I can also talk to some of the other clerics back at the temple; I'm sure they would be glad to help if necessary."

"The Gruuma Artisan's Guild does not take its commissions lightly. Our values are the completion of fine art and giving it permanence, bringing something of lasting beauty into this world through the shaping of raw material. No other value matters." Quotali's face is stern and he appeared as regal as his colors in that moment.

"There have been some attacks here, in years past, but nothing too serious at the workshop. Once upon a time we could not afford protection, and we would be raided by vagabonds, street toughs, gangs, and the like. But with our guards posted here, we can work in peace. Transport is a different matter, of course, as Bergond can be difficult going for any traveller."

Desmond smiles at Leif, he looks like he would like to pat him on the head - if he were cleaner. “Charming. Alas, you need stick with me for the time being. Your offer to ask your fellow clergy folk is very kind, I can pay them for their services. If you trust them, then I do as well.”

He listens to Quotali, swirling the wine in his glass.

“‘No other value matters.’” He repeats, pausing before continuing and letting the words fill the air heavily, still watching the red liquid spiral gently.

“Surely your clients’ values matter, do they not, Mister Quotali?” He finally makes eye contact.

“It is crystal clear The Gruuma Artisan's Guild values their craft... however with no satisfied clients the aforementioned craft would not continue to exist, would it not?” He turns his head so all three eyes are directly facing the orc front on. “A client whom has given you business on multiple occasions hitherto, and not desired for anything but that what you value. A client who is now coming to you in person looking for a simple request of honest information with an important and substantial sum practically in hand.” As he speaks his tone gets deeper, louder, and his eyes gain intensity, they almost start to glow in the dimly lit room.

He pauses, clears his throat and breaks eye contact. Looking down he absently brushes something unseen from his shoulder - any hint of previous intensity completely gone, he almost looks bored.

“Surely, you would value their continued business and positive rapport in certain circles, would you not, Mister Quotali.” he says calmly, more of a statement than a question.

Desmond takes his final sip of wine and gently and carefully sets the empty glass on the table. He finally sits down.

“And yes. I have seen some less-than-savoury types on my outings, a tiny fellow with a fuschia mohawk in particular was observing my person suspiciously around Guild Row... Unsettling, to say the least. In fact, just the other day I was having afternoon Tieguanyin tea with Lady Poupon and she mentioned she was accosted by some thugs and they all had this peculiar tattoo of a serpent with red fangs or some such thing equally as dreadful. Ghastly.” he prattles off conversationally.

Ric, unshaken, dusts off his collar with a show of dignity. "P-p-p-please, 'Elendria. W-would a Non-Flutter know how to, how to, to do THIS?"

Ric assumes a dramatic stance and launches off of a rock into the leaping splits mid air, whirling his cape behind him. Its iridescence sparkles in the dull daylight as he lands, practically pirouetting. With a twirl he spins around to face Velendria, crossing both hands over his chest and sliding over the edges of his wide cape collar to flip it as far outward as possible. He uncrosses his arms and, like unfurling wings, reaches outward to toss both flaps of his cape open until it billows powerfully behind him. With one last flourish (and the jingling of his various, tacky fashion chains), Ric extends a slightly twitchy, clawed hand out to Valendria, slightly out of breath, waiting for her response of reciprocation.

“Those are Flutterflips, no doubt about it,” Velendria said, placing a hand to her chin. She was the type of person that would verify the truth of a statement based on how sweet someone’s flips were - a born Fluttercape leader. She beamed and placed one hand on her hip, then reached out and clasped Ric’s hand. “Impeccable indeed - you’re a Flutter, no doubt about it.” Her fellows nodded approvingly, their collect looks saying yes, these are the flips of one our own.

“So this tattoo,” she continues as though there had no been a break in the conversation, looking over the drawing Ric handed her. Her crew gathered around and looked at it. “I’m not familiar with it.”

“I am,” chimed one of her subordinates, his many ear-piercings shaking as he nodded his head.

“What is it Kovan?”

“It’s ink from some new crew over on the Excallio block. I’ve seen some of the juves rocking it, it’s a membership tat. They call themselves the Ca$h Cobruhs. They’re new, mostly just a bunch of knuckleheads looking to kill time, but that can almost make them more dangerous. No loyalties to anything, nothing to lose.”

Bibi gasps and looks over at Ric. "Sounds like it could be dangerous. I hope she's okay!" Then giving a nod to the Fluttercapes, "Thank you so much for helping us to take a look into this."

“No problem, anything for fellow Flutters.” Vely winks.

"Excallio block..." Ric echoed, glancing over his shoulder at Bibi. "M-mot, does that sound l...l...like a good place fer us to s-start looking?"

He turned back to face the Flutter who had answered them. "Ko—f—van, th-th-th... we're grateful to you," he opts for a longer phrasing after working through one tough name already. Ric makes the standard Fluttercapes gesture of camaraderie by grasping at his chest, then making an arc before him with his open palm, as if scattering the contents of his heart for Kovan to receive.

Ric, with another absurd flourish, throws Velendria a large salute and bows his head charmingly (in his own opinion, anyway).

Bibi blushes deeply at Velendria's wink and sinks down deeper into their burrito, the rags pushing up on their cotton facade. Snapping back out of it when they hear Ric's voice, Bibi starts to hop at his words of action,"Yeah! We should go there post haste!!"

Bibi gathers their rags, "Oh, but before we go, we should leave a message in our office for the others. You know, so they know where we are in case something goes wrong!"

"Some nobles hunt boars; the Theoblocks hunt boors," Misery says, turning to the counter.

"You may have heard earlier, but for formality's sake: I am Jennifrome Theoblock, here with my husband and daughter, Chipper and Offa Theoblock. My husband is a merchant, and my daughter has proven smarter than every tutor we've found for her so far. Our dear friends the Torads recommended the Meister after everything he's done for their daughter, Octavia."

Misery leans, and her tone becomes conspiratorial.

"It isn't true what that graphitti said, is it? About her and Junter? What a tremendous... disappointment that would be."

Then she straightens back into the proud posture of a noble.

"We know the Meister is a busy man- if possible, we'd like to have a meeting with him about our Offa studying under him. I'm afraid my husband's schedule makes this a bit of a rush on our end-- please, can you help us see him tonight?"

The Thrall nodded along to Misery's words. He attempted to blow away strand of hair that had fallen in front of his face, but without a soul or a functioning set of lungs it merely looked like he made a tiny o with his lips for no reason. "Look Mrs. Theoblock, normally you would need an appointment. But since the Gartheners, er, cancelled..."

He checked the room conspiratorially, though it was clear they were the only ones there, and made a series of whippda slash dot motions with a quill on the ledger in front of him.

"...there is a vacancy, and you just filled it."

He directed the family up to the second floor, seating them in an anteroom of sorts. Books were stacked on narrow bookshelves so tightly that the shelves bowed from the weight. An ornate clock ticked and tocked as the minutes passed, while the faint smell of incense filled the air.

After a not-long wait, Meister Dunhart entered. He was a Tiefling in the twilight of his years but still bearing a rugged charm, with finely curved horns and a trimmed goatee that had speckles of gray and orange. His eyes glowed with surprise when he saw the Theoblocks waiting for him. "Curious, I had expected another party to be meeting me."

Chipper let the other two enter the antechamber before closing the door behind them and turning back to the thrall.

“Bun-Joor Munshoor, a quick word in your ear before you scarper. Now in the past my Offa has been bullied somthin’ rotten on account of ‘er being a frog an’ all and it breaks ‘er Papa’s ‘eart. I was wonderin’, just between us gentlemen, if any of ‘er friends might already be learnin’ under the Meister. Lady Curley-Whirly perhaps? Or Miss Piggle...figgel?” Chipper was finding it hard to make up posh names, Misery made it look easy.

“Or lil’ Tavi Torad? She’s ‘ere ain’t she? ‘Er and my Offa are very close, tight as teacups they are, and whose that other one, gawd he ‘er best pal and all, whasisname, good friend of their’s but would you know ‘is name slips my mind. What was it now? Gnomish fella, can’t miss ‘im on account of ‘is big pink mohawk, ‘e around ‘ere at all?”

The Thrall blinked at Chipper - more out of express consideration than a need to keep his eyes moist, given the constant state of undeath and what have you - as he thought about Chipper's request. "That sort of information is not for me to disclose. However, in the kerfuffle downstairs I may have left my ledger open. And if your eyes were to casually glance across the second to last page and look in the 15th row, well, that would be a strange happenstance."

Chipper gave the thrall a knowing look.

“What a coinkydink Munshoor, now you mention I ‘appended to ‘ave left my ‘ankie down there an all, might just take a stroll in that direction” And Chipper heads off downstairs to take a peek at the ledger, tucking a gold coin into the pages when he’s done.

Chipper looked at the ledger and in the aforementioned place saw the name Thenflonk Tossleblast carefully inscribed by the sort of person who had all of eternity to perfect their handwriting.

The Guilder shrunk from Desmond's withering gaze and growing intensity. Des' three eyes loomed before him like angry suns, and the heat was too much to bear. He squirmed visibly in his seat, making the legs of the chair skrrrr against the floor as he put a slight distance between them. "Yes... yes of course, Lord Cagliari." He took refuge in a long gulp of wine.

At the mention of the other topics he perked up. "Pink-haired gnomes I know little of... but that tattoo you described. Did the snakes have coins for eyes as well?"

Desmond nonchalantly looks at his nails, "Correct, I do recall Lady Poupon mentioning that as well." He frowns, "I detest gangs. I loathe to think there is a new one forming... It is a shame there is no real proper policing in this city, with how the Bergond Watch is they are just as horrid."

He looks to Leif, "Perhaps we should see about discreetly hiring some thick lug-types to deal with that menace before it gets too out of hand. A gift to my dear oruylv, Lady Poupon?"

Desmond looks to Quotali, "Do you have any information about them that might aid in this, good sir?"

Leif nods to Desmond, feeling glad to be of service. "I can have a chat with the other clerics at the temple," he says with a proud smile on his face, "it should be no problem."

Quotali considered Desmond's question, the wine restoring a bit of his courage. "I know they are an unruly lot, and incredibly headstrong. Out to make a name for themselves, which means they haven't been a danger yet but are looking for ways to make sure that they are in the near future. I recommend not offending what little pride they might have, and treating them as one would a loose viper or roaring flame - at a distance at first, and then to be contained all at once."

“Sage and knowledgeable advice. Perhaps this is something bigger and I should approach with caution, or not at all… Have you had any encounters with them personally? You seem to know quite a good deal about them.” He raises a brow, genuinely interested to hear the answer.

Desmond stands up again and leisurely walks over to the wall, trailing his fingers along the intricate designs along them thoughtfully. He seems to be always alternating between two states during conversation: still as a statue or moving about with no real purpose. Though in either state he always remains poised and graceful.

“Master Leif will speak with the individual who would be crafting my pazmyr’w quoz. I will be present to judge their character and demeanor,” he looks pointedly at the Orc, “for my reasons previously stated.”

“Please, lead the way Mister Quotali.” He bows lightly and gestures a hand in a sweeping motion towards the door they entered.

Damn, I should have known he would be a Tiefling. Desmond would have given me an advantage here. Instead I sent him off to, what? He’s probably ordering jewelry right now, with a complete stranger by his side. You idiot, know the angles better next time, Misery thought as the Meister entered, and realized at a certain point the voice in her mind had changed from her own to her father’s.

The secret to bowing gracefully in a stiff corset is to not mind when it digs into your skin. Misery bowed as gracefully as a swan. “Meister Dunhart, our gratitude for meeting us on such short notice,” Misery said, then, with a short, clear gesture, “Byoary zmy paal oiddw, sy vory oruylvw.” Before the moon falls, we are friends. Desmond had taught her the old Tiefling when they had first been together, and she had taught herself Infernal soon after. I guess he’s here after all, she thought, can’t ever seem to shake him.

“I am Madame Jennifrome Theoblock, this is my daughter, Offa- say hello, dear - and my husband...”

Misery looked back, and saw Chipper had not yet returned from the downstairs desk. Flaming bitches, Chip, you had one job! One!

“...er, two pardons, I believe he is retrieving his handkerchief from your vestibule at the moment. My husband is Chipper Theoblock, a merchant. Your attendant noticed a sudden cancellation in your schedule and brought us in- we would like to enroll our dear daughter in your school. Our friends, the Torads, recommended you highly.”

The door bursts open: “Miz I’ve got the buggers nam...Yes sir!” Says Chipper, entering the room, he curtseys to Dunhart before slumping down next to Nix.

If Misery were a cat- and, to be honest, she was quite similar to one in many aspects- every hair on her body would have stood on end and her claws would have extended as far as they would go. Instead, she did not turn, did not break eye contact, didn’t even stop smiling at the Meister. “Ah, there you are, my love.” she said through clenched, smiling teeth.

“Yes sir!” Chipper said.

The silence in the room was deafening. Misery gave a short, subtle kick to the foot of Nix’s chair. “Did I mention my daughter, Offa? She’s very bright. The bloom of the lily pad, we call her.” Misery said with a short laugh, cut off as soon as she saw Dunhart’s face, as still as stone.

Nix gave out a small RIB as she took Misery's hint and the go ahead to speak, and smiled pleasantly at the Tiefling before her. "Meister Dunhart, it is our great honour to be in your place of knowledge and in the presence of one so learned," she rasped in natural, easygoing Infernal, "Offa is my name, and I'd be most humbled to be under your tutelage and guidance."

The Meister's eyebrows perked in surprise at Misery's knowledge of his people's greeting. "Yorid aazmu ka nuura saaun." And before the sun rises, we are known. "A pleasure to meet you Madame Theoblock, Miss Offa, and..." as Chipper barged in, "...Master Chipper. I must say, I am surprised to hear someone speak my tongue with such confident grace."

He was shocked for a second time at Nix's clear fluency. "My, I must say I am astounded. I seldom have the distinct pleasure of speaking in my native language with someone whom I have not personally taught. What a marvelous, curious wonder you all are..."

"I would be most delighted to have a new student as gifted as yourself, young lady," he said to Nix with earnest enchantment, then continued, "...but I must say you already seem quite cultured. I am curious - what is it you hope to learn from me?"

Just how old is Nix? thought Chipper, he knew his roomie loved books even more than he did and this seemed like a really good school, maybe she’d be happy here?

Chipper leans over and whispers in Nix’s earhole “Sunshine this seems like a real good school, bound to ‘ave a real good library, sure you don’t won’t me and your muvva over there to get you in for real? Might be fun for a week or two, get some good readin’ done at least.”

Nix had no need to feign her excitement when Chipper mentioned the possibility of extended time in a library. She turned to the Meister, and spoke in Common. "Meister Dunhart, I've a great fascination with linguistics, and while I certainly know my way around most of the Deep languages, there are still mountains I haven't climbed. There is much in the arcane arts I have yet to learn. I know where my strengths lie, but more importantly, where they lack. And I don't want it to stay that way. I know with your tutelage I can leave better than I arrived!" she explained confidently and with genuine excitement.

She turned to Misery and Chipper brightly, her big, round eyes bigger and rounder than ever. "Mum, Pops... could I?" Nix asked, all her fake hopes and fake dreams riding on her fake parents. Meister Dunhart nodded approvingly. "Offa, if you can tame the secret fire of my people's tongue, then I have no doubt you are capable of great things." He smiled to himself and added, "...especially with my keen guidance."

"Of course, I understand you might want to meet some of the students. Some are in the study upstairs as we speak. Please, follow me." He motioned towards a narrow sets of stairs at the end of the room and went first. The three of them followed behind, watching as his blue cloak shimmered in front of them, ripples on the surface of a deep ocean of knowledge.

The room he took them to had more bookshelves, but also had astrological tools, alchemical workbenches, chalkboards scribbled with dusty equations, and dozens of exotic animals in large cages. It was rambunctious but contained, a bubbling cauldron with the lid of guidance upon it. Four students were currently working and at the entrance of Meister Dunhart they all stood. He waved them to sit.

"Please, feel free to ask any questions of myself or my students."

Back at the Sleeping Cerberus Inn, Bibi bursts through the front door and runs up the stairs, tripping along the way. They grab some chalk from their desk and go to the communal chalkboard up at the front of the room, sometimes used for organizing the group.

"Do you think they'll see it if I leave it here??" Bibi asks Ric before writing: 'People seen with the ink in question on Excallio block. Ric and I have gone to scope it out! Love, Bibi'. Bibi points at each word as they read it over to check for spelling mistakes, quietly whispering each word as they go.

"Okay..." Bibi ekes out slowly, then turns to Ric and exclaims as if to reassure themselves, "Okay! We can do this!" but paused when they saw their reflection in the glass of the windows to their office.

"Ohh, haha, I should probably change back." Bibi removes their oven mits and rags, folding them neatly and setting them on a desk nearby. They lift their cotton headwear up and off and tuck it into their backpack. Retrieving their favourite hat, Bibi flaps out the brim and then carefully sits it on their head smiling happily.

"There! MUCH better!" Then stuffing the neat pile in the bag as well, they run back out the door to the district the Fluttercapes mentioned: Excallio Block!

Ric follows dutifully and watches Bibi's progress, but is unable to read most of the words. He thinks it looks like nice handwriting, though. When they whisper the writing aloud and read out the last two words, Ric has to stuff a hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle. " Love, Bibi, " he shivers, moreso than usual, with silent laughter. It was... cute, and very like Bibi. But Ric chuckles again at the thought of Misery coming across the message and reading it aloud.

"Yeah," he coughs and straightens up, "yeah, looks good! L.........et's go!" Ric swirls his cape for good measure as he turns to march behind Bibi.

As they hurry out the inn door with renewed purpose, Ric scampers to fall in stride and lowers his voice. "Oh, uhhhhh... Ek....'scallio block's not a... not a very nice place, really. We're probably gonna have to s-s-stick ta the shadows an' stay outta sight an' stuff."

He straightens boldly. "I'm not s....s....scared or nothin'! An', an', an' I'm not sayin' you are. I just wanna.... make sure yer up fer this kinda stuff! Cause... you know, cause w-w-we're partners n' stuff. Fer this m-mission, I mean. Augh, you get it, r-right, Mot? Er....." Ric flinched suddenly. "Ha.... I know you t-t-took off the disguise, but....... w-w-we're still on the same mission thing, so.... is it ok if I s-still call you Mot? Fer now, I m-m-mean..."

"Of course you can call me Mot!! I don't mind," Bibi smiles widely, "Friends look out for each other! Which means if I can make your life easier, I'm more than happy to." They giggle, their yellow cheeks ball up like little suns, "And don't worry about Excallio," Bibi then raises their shooting star wand high above their head and says, "I've got MAGIC!"

The staff ignites with a warm pink light and glows softly around them as they head through the back streets. Then Bibi stiffens and the light cuts out quickly.

"Uhhh, although, maybe I can be sneakier for now. You know, just in case!" Bibi laughs nervously. "GASP! Hey! I have an idea! Do you wanna go there by rooftop? I'm not the lightest on my feet, but I can help get us up there! Here-" Bibi tucks away their wand in their backpack and then swings their backpack around to their front so that it rests on their belly. They kneel down next to Ric with their back facing him. "Hop on! I can climb us up there!!"

Bibi and Ric made their way through streets and down alleys towards Excallio block. The smell of the burning lamp oil and sounds of raucous taverns filled the night. More than once they had to narrowly avoid groups of street toughs in the midst of furious dance fighting, and another time a yard crocodile nearly took a whomping chomp! out of Ric's cape.

Once they made it to Excallio block the atmosphere took a decidedly more sinister turn. Gone was the excited bombast of the area around the Sleeping Cerebus, instead replaced by an ominous sense of looming dread. Everything appeared slicked with rain. Wind chilled them through their clothes. Even the light of the lamps barely illuminated - they only revealed the scope of the darkness.

Still, there was nightlife, people about here and there. If they wanted to find answers, they had options.

Ric's orange eyes sparkle with simple-minded wonder as Bibi's staff glows. His own style of shadow magic is much less enchanting to watch, usually involving components of dead plant and animal parts and looking more devilish than ethereal. As far as Ric figures, this lizard friend seemed very, very cool. As enchanted as he was, Ric feels a sting of competitiveness that he too wants to seem this cool to his companion.

Once they reach Excallio and, after frantically protecting his magnificent cape from a nasty yard crocodile, Ric feels the chill of the place run through him. His rock gnome eyes are good in the dark, but despite the ability to make out their surroundings, there isn't much around them that seems hopeful or useful.

When Bibi offers him a boost to begin climbing, Ric nods and pushes his one long sleeve up and secures his leather buckles on the other before stepping up onto their back.

"Yeah, l-l-let's do this!" he says with swagger.

The window ledge they are reaching for seems close, but as usual, Ric has misjudged not only his height, but his own athletic ability. He rides Bibi's lift upward... promptly smacking his head into the underside of the brick ledge with a THUNK. Ric stifles a small pitical wail and tumbles backwards, chains jingling, off of Bibi's back and onto the ground.

"W.....w............why do they make 'em so t-t-t-all these days?" He sniffs, attempting to dust himself off nonchalantly. Ric wipes his nose and jams his fists into his pockets. "Anyway..... it seems you kn.....know the way best, M-Mot. I'll let you t-take us up, a-alright?" Ric climbs onto Bibi's offered back and latches on firmly, as if that were his intent all along.

Bibi gasps when they hear the bang from above them, standing upright so quickly that their hat lifts off of their head and has to float back down to find it's footing again. "Are you okay!?"

When Ric jokes about the height of the ledge Bibi relaxes and laughs in relief. They hunch back down next to Ric ready to take him up. Feeling his hands wrap around them, Bibi crouches down, their legs like tight springs, before launching up at the ledge close to the emergency ladder that would lead them to the roof.

"Hold on!!" Bibi grabs the ledge, their feet landing there soon after and launching them to the ladder. The tough part was over now. Bibi carefully took the last steps up to the top of the building, setting Ric down next to them.

"I was hoping that maybe we could see more from up here, but it still looks so dark," Bibi squints with their hand over their eyes, more out of habit than to help with sight. "Did you say the street was over this way?"

Bibi peered into the darkness, their eyes blinking to try and draw in what light was available. Sadly, what it drew in was something else. Unbeknownst to Ric and Bibi, they had been watched for some time, and a voice muttered from the darkness behand them.

"Hek hek hek," began a sinister being with speech like a gurgling swamp. "Looket, s'coupla gubbers. Yu pips lost?"

Chipper shrugs, "I'll have to consult with my wife."

Misery smiled at Chipper. I wanna consult with that ass, she thought.

“That is, of course, ultimately up to the Meister.” She turned to Dunhart. “We’re also concerned about her social development. Our Offa spends so much time in her books, she rarely meets her peers, and I’m afraid at our home, she only meets stableboys and deckhands- nobody on the same social or educational level.”

Misery made a little frown. You know how riffraff are, it said. Speaking Infernal was a keen trick- she was impressed at Nix’s fluency, which was even better than hers- but that look of disdain was the real way two true members of the upper crust greeted each other.

“Actually, I was wondering- we saw a few students waiting for their parents downstairs as we entered. Would it be okay if we let Offa meet them? We adults can continue our conversation. My husband has always been one for numbers, and I was curious if the rumours we’ve heard about your tuition are true.”

Meister Dunhart nodded approvingly. "Offa, if you can tame the secret fire of my people's tongue, then I have no doubt you are capable of great things." He smiled to himself and added, "...especially with my keen guidance."

"Of course, I understand you might want to meet some of the students. Some are in the study upstairs as we speak. Please, follow me." He motioned towards a narrow sets of stairs at the end of the room and went first. The three of them followed behind, watching as his blue cloak shimmered in front of them, ripples on the surface of a deep ocean of knowledge.

The room he took them to had more bookshelves, but also had astrological tools, alchemical workbenches, chalkboards scribbled with dusty equations, and dozens of exotic animals in large cages. It was rambunctious but contained, a bubbling cauldron with the lid of guidance upon it. Four students were currently working and at the entrance of Meister Dunhart they all stood. He waved them to sit.

"Please, feel free to ask any questions of myself or my students."

Chipper pretends to tie his shoelace and whispers to Nix our of the corner of his mouth, “the boyfriend goes by the name of Thenflonk Tossleblast if you can believe that, go do your magic.”

Nix has to stifle a giggle at the ridiculous name. "Ok, I'm on it," she whispers back. She stands (all two feet of her) and bows deeply at the Tiefling (her forehead so close to the floor that for a moment she's embarrassed by just how small she is). "Meister, it would be my honour. I think I'll gosay hello to some of your other students" she says brightly, and skip-hops away from the "adults" towards the four youngsters, ready to introduce herself and hopefully get some dirt - frogs do love their dirt.

Chipper goes to look at the bookshelves and accidentally knocks a globe over. The globe falls out of its cradle and rolls along the floor.

The Meister stopped the rolling globe with his foot and picked it up with his long fingernails. He placed the tiny world back in its resting place like a kindly god. "No worries, Mr. Theoblock. The world is quite resilient."

Misery knew how distracting large globes could be. As soon as the Meister's attention turned to the rolling sphere and the students' attention turned to Nix, Misery began to deftly investigate the room itself. Look for the upside-down books and between the volumes, under the papers that have no dust, feel under the desks, even sticking out of the bottoms of the cages. She had been young and wild, and that meant even stricter tutelage than Meister Dunhart. Some rogues learn how to pickpocket and secret away treasure from thieves and assassins. She had learned sneaking dirty notes under Meister Thorne's elven gaze. If there was anything here, she would find it.

"I must confess I have not encountered them myself, and I would hope to never have to," Quotali said without a hint of deceit. He was certain of his craft, which was most definitely not conflict. "I understand that you would like to meet the craftsman for this work, given its sensitive nature. Right this way."

“Then, let us hope you never do.” Desmond says.

Quotali took Leif and Desmond through the hallways of the Gruuma Artisan's Guild, past sweltering workshops and soot-covered smiths. There was little banter or cross-talk; they were focused, intent, diligent. The craftsmen were as absorbed in their work as if they were making the items for themselves. After numerous twists and turns Quotali brought them to a room where a dwarf was laying out her tools. Her dark skin was peppered with flecks of gold and precious metals from various projects, giving her a resplendent, shimmering glimmer in the light of the furnace. Her broad shoulders blocked their view of the fire and framed her in their sight. Even though she had wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, those were the product of carefully scrutiny of her work rather than stress or toil.

"I would like to introduce you to Losdrala Strongbraid, one of our finest smiths." As Mr. Quotali guides Desmond and Leif through the guild’s workshops, Leif's posture and expression change to one who is right in his element. Even some of the other smiths seem to recognize him, and as they pass by some smile and nod at him, or even pat his shoulders amicably. Leif’s gaze occasionally lingers on the anvils and his already-sooted fingers run through various tools with what seems like a tinge of nostalgia -- despite still being a blacksmith, his newly acquired duties as a cleric have kept him away from the forge longer than he would like.

When Mr. Quotali finally stops by Losdrala’s station and introduces her, Leif's eyes light up. "Auntie!" he bursts out unreservedly; completely ignoring any kind of manners and protocol on account of Desmond or the guilder. Despite the familiar name he uses for her, Leif takes a step towards her and offers a deep bow – an ungraceful one, although to anyone watching it would be obvious he means it with the utmost respect.

Desmond follows along behind Quotali with his fingers laced together behind his back, observing everything with quiet wide eyes. He has always just done his drawings, then a few days later the final product would be delivered to his hands by Malia. He's read about the process in his books but... seeing it in person was completely different. The smell of the fire and metal, the sounds of hammering and tapping, the vibrant colours of oranges reds and popping sparks of blue - but most of all the passion hangs thick in the air.

At first he is following behind Quotali, but he catches sight of Leif - the glow on the young man's face is not just from the fires of the forges, but from obvious joy. For the first time since meeting him, the awkward human looks like he belongs. Whatever sliver of business-like mask Desmond was able to keep through this enlightening walk-through disappears completely and even his posture softens as he sees this. He stops walking momentarily, motioning for Leif to carry on in front of him.

Seeing people passionate about things they care about was scarce in his life. He recalls the chef of his house, Sauli Oord, the fire genasi. Desmond would often sneak into the kitchens to thank him for the delicious meal and ask how it was made. Not particularly caring about the process but just to see this same look on his face as these people, and that Leif now has. Misery's face flashes in his mind, That is likely what drew me to her as well... he realizes. That is the look she got when she came up with some scheme or mischief.

They enter Losdrala's station and he stops as he sees this beautiful vision, his bright green eyes are practically sparkling as he observes. As Leif calls out "Auntie!" he is brought back to his manners and he imperceptibly shakes his head and dips in a formal light bow.

"A true pleasure." he says as he straightens, the excitement in his voice poorly hidden.

Losdrala beamed. "My little Leif!" Like an avalanche her serious facade fell away and she scooped him up in a hug strong enough to bend iron. She tussled his hair and the fiery furnace of determination cooled to the warm glow of her smile. "I've not seen you in ages! Look how tall you are now, and - ah ha, carrying a tool with you I see. Good! You can shape metal wherever you find it." Her chuckle had the rhythmic ring of hammers shaping metal. She considered Desmond in the same manner a jeweler inspected an emerald, with care and appreciation in equal measure. "And who is this gentleman? Go on, introduce us."

Despite having grown bigger and stronger since the last time he saw Losdrala, Leif is happy to find that her hugs still manage to crush him effortlessly. That’s bound to have left a bruise or two, no doubt; judging by the way his torso feels after she lets him go. Just like old times.

He lets out a silent chuckle and takes a moment to catch his breath, and even when he speaks his voice sounds strained and uneven; obviously still recovering from Losdrala’s embrace. “This...” he coughs and gestures to Desmond, “This is, uh...Lord...ship?” he says haltingly while scratching his head. “Lord...Desmond.” Leif takes a deep breath and straightens his posture, trying to make himself look less like a kid playing dress-up. “He has hired me for a very special mission...though I think it’s better to let him speak about it, since it’s...well...closer to his heart.”

The peculiar looking Tiefling watches Leif with a bemused smirk, adding in a quick “Cagliari…” as Leif introduces him as ‘Lord Desmond’. When Leif finishes his introduction fully, Desmond flourishes a very formal & unnecessary bow “Lord Desmond Cagliari, Madam Strongbraid.” He maintains eye contact with her and straightens with his most charming smile.

He looks to Quotali, his demeanor switching back business - like flipping a switch, “Thank you sir, you may take leave as I am sure you have plenty of matters to attend. I am sure we are in Madam Strongbraid’s capable hands.” he looks to Losdrala, “I did not realize Mister Egner had such a vanima ar' maite <Elven ‘beautiful and skilled’> relative under your employ." Back to Quotali, back to business. "I will go forth with the commission. As I mentioned previously you may send the invoice to my House, care of Madam Serah Potts, as per usual.”

Quotali bowed deeply but rigidly. "Of course, we will notify you as soon as it is complete. Gruuma Artisan's Guild thanks you for your business." He made a note on a piece of parchment and left the room.

Losdrala's smile glowed like heated coals. She did not understand elven, but her expression showed she received the message regardless. She spun a hammer in one hand and replied, "I will make sure the commission is as elegant as its patron."

She locked eyes with the cleric and said softly, "It's so good to see you, but I wish you'd have come sooner. You know can tell me if you need anything, okay Leif? I heard about what happened to Mikkel. I don't want you thinking you have nowhere to go - my roof is your roof."

After Losdrala speaks with him, Leif's eyes shift uncomfortably. "I...it’s all right, Auntie...I got this.” he rubs the back of his neck while he talks quietly. “I’m taking care of us...bit by bit.” He clears his throat before continuing. “It’ll get better. Just...it might take a while.” He looks back to Losdrala and forces a smile. “I’m sure Ma and Pop will be glad to hear from you, though, and the ‘cluster’ too” He chuckles softly at the mention of his siblings, but then turns his attention to the tiefling next to him. “Uh...well, Mr-- I mean, Lord Cagliari probably wants to talk to you, so...I’ll just...” Leif steps aside to give Desmond better access to the dwarven woman, but remains near them.

Tillian looked up from her scorpion dissection to observe Nix. She did not introduce herself. Instead she adjusted herself in her seat so that her posture was more imposing; then Tillian returned to her dissection and note-taking, perhaps allowing the blades to scrape the metal a bit louder for emphasis.

Qverty was up to his usual activities; namely trying to hide his gas emissions with half-a-moment-too-slow page ruffling and breathing loudly through his mouth. At Nix's arrival he stood up and waddled towards her, tucking his shirt into the back of his pants before extending the same hand towards her. "I'm Qverty," Qverty said, smacking his lips once quite audibly. "Who are you?"

Nix casually hops towards the two students at the table, dress rustling with each little leap. Oh how she wished she was in her robes and cloak, rapier at her side... She saw the young blue Dragonborn at a table, a scalpel in hand, looking towards her little frog self with what she could only imagine as guarded posturing, before returning to hunch over her table, heavy scrapings of metal against what she easily identified as the crunch of an insect's carapace. (Her stomach grumbled just a little bit).

Immediately intrigued by the dragonborn, she made her way to the table before her view was obstructed by a young half-orc who'd rushed up to her. He was pig-faced and horribly awkward - she knew the type - and couldn't help but feel slight pity for him. She craned her neck to look up at him and his outstretched hand, and tried to act a little more like herself now that they were away from the prying eyes of the Meister.

"I'm Offa!" she grinned, reaching up on the tips of her toe-pads to shake his hand - more like she managed to shake two of his fingers - half-orcs were big. Everyone was big. She tried to ignore his gas, but it itched at her skin terribly. "I think I'll be studying here, my parents are speaking with the Meister right now about enrolment. There aren't many good schools around, and we'd heard enough good things. Though..." and she leaned out of the way to include the silent dragonborn girl into the conversation, "adults never really are too honest, are they?" she said more quietly. "I don't have many friends... I wanted to introduce myself and maybe get an idea of how it really is around here? Meet some students... Make some friends perhaps..." She looked from Qverty to the experiment-having blue mystery, a hopeful glint in her eye. She may be a bullshitter, but she really didn't have many friends. That was no lie. As much as she loved her books, even she could admit that she's ultimately lonely.

She padded over to the dragonborn - "What are you working on there? Beetle, or scorpion?" She asked shyly, before carefully hopping onto the chair next to her to peek over at the table and the scalpel digging a little too intensely into the specimen.

Qverty's stomach bubbled while his face jiggled with every passing expression as Nix spoke. He understood her and nodded excitedly, and though he was not overly large the wet florpt florpt of his sweaty chins slapping when he nodded his head certainly amplified the sense of his size. "Yeah, my parents lie all the time." He nodded then added another statement as punctuation saying, "We're rich."

Tilly responded without looking up from her work. "It's a scorpion. I already passed my-" she paused to delicately snip one part of the creature just so "-Coloeptera examinations last quarter. I love their wings, quite extraordinary." Her voice was measured and calm, but masked an intensity below the surface like a fire which had just begun below the coals. "You seem eager to meet people, but if you're looking for friends this school can be difficult." Tilly's eyes finally moved to steal a glance at Qverty before he noticed. "Not a lot of good specimens, you see."

Bibi feels the tap on their shoulder and knows what to do. They nod at Ric and fling their cape over their shoulder.

"Just what I was thinking Ric! I think they want to see a magic trick!!" Bibi excitedly pulls out a collapsed cardboard table out of their backpack, setting it up in front of the shadowy figure. "Look!!" They take out an egg from their breast pocket and put it on the table letting everyone inspect the egg for themselves. Then they put a handkerchief over the egg.

There's a moment of silence before Bibi smashes the egg vigorously with their wand which was acting very much like a war pick. There was mourning for the wasted egg but then Bibi approaches the sinister figure and lightly bonks them on the head with their wand, removing from behind their ear... the egg intact!! Shuffling back to their table, they pull the handkerchief away to reveal that where there should be crushed egg remains... there were not!

"TADAAA!!" Bibi makes jazz hands and then giggles. "Now what are you doing up here all by yourselves? You said you've been following us??" Bibi accidentally comes off as incredibly intimidating.

Bibi and Ric could see now that they faced four goblins in raggedy clothes. Their faces were pock-marked with warts and scarred wounds in equal measure. They wore burnt orange cloth, wrapped haphazardly about their arms and legs. The lead goblin was roughly Bibi's height, and while while eye stayed on them the goblin's other eye wandered - it was more lost than the heroes.

"Business, n' wuts ourz n' wuts ain't," the goblin began, staring with its one stable eye at Ric. It pondered his question while pressing the flat of a knife blade to his cheek, tapping it as though in deep thought. "Lemm' tell ya wuts ou-" it started before Bibi interrupted.

Bibi's little show was quite astounding to the four goblins. They were equal parts mesmerized and astonished. By the time Bibi was finished, they had begun to shuffle away. "Nmm, no. Not omelettes-ettes tunight, nope-nopum." The four slunk away from the egg holding lizard and their be-caped friend - easily ranking as one of the most unique sights on the streets of Bergond that evening.

"Hey Ric...." Bibi turns sadly to face their friend, "...did I pick the wrong trick??" Bibi looks genuinely perplexed and melancholic. They sit on their bum and slowly pack their things back into their backpack.

Ric tilts his head curiously as he listens to the goblin's threats. He's not sure why it doesn't back down, Ric feels his glare had been EXTREMELY intimidating. It's rarely ever failed him before... The goblin must be bluffing, he decides. He puffs out his chest to issue another dismissing taunt to get the message across that he and his friend are MAJOR trouble to mess with, but suddenly beside him Bibi whips out a table and an... egg?

Ric watches in bewilderment as the trick unfolds, and suddenly the goblins are backing away and muttering, casting wary glances at them as they turned tail.

Ha! He knew they couldn't hide how terrified they were of his fangs, chains, and dark nail polish. He was, after all, VERY punk. Ric stands with his mouth open for a moment, then crosses his arms in triumph, spitting in the direction they left.

As Bibi turns to him, looking hurt, Ric startles and reaches out a hand to pat their shoulder. "N-n-no! You were great, th......that was awesome! It was my f-fault, I— I scared 'em real good so they r-ran. But, they stayed 'cause yer magic was so cool!" Ric gives Bibi a double thumbs-up and a naive grin for emphasis. "S-sorry, next t......time I'll hold 'em down so they HAVE ta stay an' w-w-watch yer magic!"

When Ric explains what happened, Bibi peeks out from under the brim of their hat, "You think??" They sniff, "You did look really strong!"

After Ric's suggestion for next time Bibi looked sufficiently cheered up. "Yeah! Hopefully my magic will be interesting enough to keep people entertained on their own someday," Bibi laughs and quickly wipes some tears from their eyes with the sleeve of their shirt. Grabbing their backpack, they stand back up and hoist its weight over their shoulders. "I guess we better get back to what we came here for in the first place! You said it was this way, right?" Bibi's tail does a little wag. They point across the rooftops with a chubby finger.

Now free of the goblin interlopers, Bibi and Ric bounded off in search of information. They slid across rain-slick rooftops and hopped from chimney to chimney, nimble and alert. Finally they happened upon their quarry. In a a T-junction alleyway behind the infamous Odel's Edible Oddities bakery, they saw five gangers with the snake tattoos. They wore thick jackets and were throwing d20s near large stacks of coins and howling with every roll. They were various size and build, but after a few minutes observation it was clear that they all were equipped with thick foreheads and poor impulse control.

Ric takes one half-glance at the entire situation and hurls caution to the winds, feeling everything looks PERFECTLY SAFE! He does a rapid little twirl, almost ballerina-like, and his cape vanishes into his pack. He slumps over to fake a hunched limp and grins at Bibi, motioning for them to follow his lead. He lunges forward and bounds in front of the circle of gangers

"Y—Y.....YARR, y-you f-f-fellow RASCALS," Ric's stammer begins to get the better of him, and he scratches the back of his ear, almost doglike, to try and shake it off. "W-where can a f-f-fellow find some dishonest work 'round here? Y....you seem like a fun group. Say, w-what if me n' my p-p-partner—" (he gulps after that word) "—join up with you l.......lot?"

Ric has no idea how it is going with these villains, he feels that his lead-in might have gotten a bit away from him. He tilts his head and drools slightly for good measure.

The Cobras hissed in unison.

Misery searched high and low with the skills of one well-versed in getting what she wanted without anyone being the wiser. As Nix occupied the students and Chipper the Meister, she found something most interesting. On the desk beneath a thin layer of ungraded papers, Misery found a folder containing the complete student record of every currently attending youngster. The information within was voluminous, to say the least.

Chipper looked over from where him and the meister where putting the globe back on its pedestal to see Miz surreptitiously whip a folder off a desk and into a hidden pocket. He caught her eye and gave a quick we done? motion with his brows.

Losdrala mentions Desmond being elegant and he smiles warmly at her. As she discusses a private matter with Leif he takes a step back and turns his head away so as not to intrude. He keeps his hands clasped behind his back and studies the assortment of tools and raw metals and stones from a far. As Leif looks to him he smiles sympathetically at what they were discussing then clears his throat, starting off a little awkwardly himself.

"Hm. It would seem you are in good standing with each other, and since Mister Egn... erm, Leif, is so well trusted by my colleague, I will be upfront with you." He looks around inconspicuously to make sure Quotali has left and that they are in private then speaks in a more quiet tone.

"We are here for information, primarily. We arrived on the premise of wishing to commission an expensive item - alas it was a bit of a ruse to attempt to ascertain information from Mister Quotali. He was not very useful... however, I do wish to carry forward with the item nonetheless." He reaches in his pocket and produces another Cagliari letterhead and holds it out to Losdrala. "I would like something made of my family crest. Large, heavy and as expensive as possible. A pendant, medallion... anything really. The gem of the crest on the front, a vivid green diamond to remind her of my eyes, round brilliant cut so it sparkles as irritatingly as possible. On the back, a red ruby heart setting, with an engraving: ‘From Your Loving Son, Desmond.’" He pauses in thought looking down at the crest on the paper, "If you can engrave my name in bold... or..." he smirks as he looks to Losdrala, "written in several small diamonds."

He seems rather proud of himself for the idea and pauses a moment with his chest puffed out even more than normal. Suddenly he recalls the whole reason they were there in the first place. He looks around the room again, hunches forward and speaks in hushed tones, leaning in close to the gem-flecked metalsmith. He emphasizes every line with dramatic pauses, feeling much like the detectives in the book series, Ferlock Dolmes or Pancy Trew.

"The information we seek it is regarding the disappearance of the young Miss Octavia Torad."

After a beat, "My word. You certainly do have the most lovely complexion I have ever seen."

Losdrala inspected the letterhead and listened intently to Desmond. Her eyes carved the shape into memory, while in her mind's eye she saw the placement of precious gems according to Desmond's description. "It sounds like a," Losdrala began, considering her words carefully before she caught the look in Desmond's eye and finished, "deeply meaningful gift. I will have it ready by the next full moon, you can count on it."

"Sweet Octavia? She's missing?! When did this happen?"

The tall tiefling frowns as he is reminded to the actual issue at hand with the dwarven woman’s reaction. Forgetting the thrill of feeling like a famous detective, he replies ominously, "Her fathers last saw her in the morning, four days ago. The poor man was a weeping mess...”. He looks genuinely sad recalling this.

Desmond stands straight again and withdraws a long curved pipe from his inner tunic pocket. As one would suspect, it is as rich looking as he is. Placing the end of it in his mouth he slowly rubs his middle finger and thumb together producing a small green flame that hovers just above his fingers. He lights the pipe, then spreads his fingers open and the flame disappears.

Leaning back a little he speaks loudly, almost too loud compared to the hushed tones used a moment ago, “Yes, that should be a sufficient time frame for my pazmyr'w quoz. Perhaps we may discuss which precious metals are to be used?”

He takes a long drag of the pipe, then holds it in his hand behind his back. Leaning back in close to Losdrala and speaking in a hushed voice, “Dreadful business, really. They were suspicious she has been involved with gang activity as of late. She has been seen with some unsavoury folks who all have the same tattoo - a green cobra with red ruby fangs and coins for eyes, on their upper arms or necks. Particularly, a gnome with a fuschia mohawk, who is rumored to have familial connections to guild row. Would you happen to know anything about any of this at all? Or perhaps some suspicious goings-on around the guild in the past while? Any enemies of the Torads or Gruuma? Whatever information you can think of would be very helpful in the matter, Madam Strongbraid."

He puffs on his pipe a moment then his eyes go a little wider as he recalls something, patting down along the front of his tunic suddenly. He feels what he is seeking and he reaches in to remove a small book of leather bound parchments from his inner tunic, and a quill that seems to be self-inking. He removes an elastic holding it closed and opens the book, holding the quill above the page, poised and ready to take notes.

Leif watches Desmond intently as he interviews Losdrala, and when the tiefling produces a pipe, Leif’s mouth drops open and his eyes sparkle. He’s SO professional, he thinks, the real deal. He clears his throat discreetly to regain composure, then looks over to Losdrala; curious to see if Desmond has made the same impression on her.

Losdrala listened intently to Desmond without moving for a heartbeat, and then went to grab her tools. As he spoke she began to lay out her next project - some sort of vambrace involving a great deal of filigree - and the required materials. As Desmond was pulling out his notebook she was setting to work already. "I hope you don't mind, Lord Cagliari, but I find my mind and memory are always clearer when my hands are busy." She made a minor adjustment to her heavy apron and popped her neck before reaching into a large bin for spare scraps of leather.

"The fuschia mohawk I know. Thenflonk, a rambunctious little merchant's son from the north east side. His family are mostly fishing supply merchants, or maybe they run a fish shop, I can't remember which. I think they're pretty successful as far as that goes, but it's a dead-end trade for the most part. There aren't enough open seas to really expand, you know?" Her hammer rang out and provided spaces between her words.

“That. Means. Little Compe. Tition. But. Not. Much. Growth. Either." She picked up the piece of metal she had been hammering and inspected it. "I think he senses that, subconsciously at least. So he's been a little hellion ever since he was a boy. Him falling in with a gang wouldn't surprise me one bit. "Nothing like my little Leif," her voice rose an octave and she turned to give the cleric a warm smile. "He has always been too kind by half."

At Losdrala’s comment, Leif cheeks flush red. He chuckles and shakes his head while he fidgets with his hands. “Auntie...I haven’t been little for a while now...” His voice is tinged with embarrassment, but underneath it all it’s obvious that the boy is flattered.

Desmond barely pauses speaking as Losdrala prepares her workspace, but his eyes follow her every movement with bright interest. “By all means.” he says as he gestures for her to do as she is comfortable. As she speaks he has to draw himself out of watching her to write, he drags his focus to the page and begins scrawling out notes.

It is clear he is not used to writing quickly and succinctly. He starts out writing slowly, taking his time as his hand does large swooping movements on the page. As Losdrala keeps talking his brow furrows and he puffs his pipe like a determined steam engine. Slowly leaning in closer to the notebook as he goes, his hand movements finally becoming quick and short.

Losdrala mentions Leif so lovingly it draws him out of his note taking almost with a start - his quill stops suddenly and he looks up at her, then to Leif with a dopey smile. “I have heard naught but shining praises of your nephew since making his acquaintance.”

He puffs his pipe in thought then looks back to his notes and frowns, “It is a shame Octavia has fallen in with this rambunctious type… though, sometimes the sheer thrill of someone like that can overpower one’s more... sensible judgement. Let us hope she is not romantically involved with this Thenflonk fellow, as it were." he pauses then chuckles, "Seems to me she would have been better off befriending someone like our Leif here!”

From a very young age, Leif has become used to unapologetic affection and lavish praise from his relatives (blood relation or otherwise). Despite the fact that his teenage years now inject some awkwardness to said interactions, they are still dear to his heart and a big part of the closeness he shares with his family. So, to hear it from a man he only met a few hours ago — and a man of such respectable presence, at that — takes Leif completely by surprise. He seems to suddenly become afflicted with a fit of cough, so he turns his body away from both Desmond and Losdrala for a few minutes as he recovers. He finally regains his former posture, clears his throat a few times and does his best to look collected; his entire face up to his big, round ears looking bright red from all the coughing, one could assume.

Ric could sense the impending action in the air. Each of the Cobruhs sneered at him, looking over shades or exhaling menacing clouds of smoke after deep inhalations from poorly rolled cigars. They exchanged glances, and a half-elk stepped forward from the pack. He had a ruddy skin tone, strategically ripped pantaloons, and two pompadours - one on his head and another smaller one under his chin, acting as a sort of mega-goatee.

Between each of his antlers was a different comb, all of them stylish brand names from designers across Bergond.

"tch tch Well well, look at this fellahs," he scoffed, running a comb through each pompadour in alternating strokes. "We got a lost boy in Ca$h Cobruh territory."

They hissed in unison - except the tiefling on the left, he was half a beat slow but then started hissing too with gusto. "Yeah, yeah, tell 'em Visk!" the tardy hisser added.

"How about you give me one good reason not to see what you are really made of, right here and now?" Visk asked, a blade dancing in his right hand.

Ric blinks in light horror of the sudden presence of twin pompadours on a single creature before him, but quickly regains his brazenness.

"Oh, if you wanna s-see what I'm m....made of, I can show ya right now. I've g-g-got LOTS of moves, and some sick f.....f....flips!!" Ric can't resist hopping into the air and landing on the ground, posed... legs in the splits.

"Ca$h C-C-Cobruhs, huh?" He is panting slightly, feigning total ignorance. "Never heard of ya, whadda you guys do? Is it.... das—das—.....dastardly? Cause we are! We're das—....... We're that, too."

Visk looked back at his companions and scoffed. "Can you believe this guy?" His three companions shook with excited laughter. "Let's talk dastardly," he said, and rich could see the flash of metal from the lamps.

Bibi's hand reaches out to Ric when he jumps off the roof, "Oh no!! Ric! We were going to wait for the o-" They watch him run towards the group, "-thers..." Bibi sweats, eyes darting around, pacing back and forth on the rooftop. When the group responds violently, Bibi clenches their fists and launches into battle after Ric, cape blowing wildly in the wind!

Ric's jaw drops, revealing his artificially sharpened canine teeth, as the Ca$h Cobruhs turn towards him. He has enough wherewithall to leap up out of the splits, but doesn't assemble his wits much beyond regaining his footing and backing up nervously.

"Oi there.... W-w-we don't wanna f.......fight you lads. We jus....s...jus...just wanna apply ta join yer gang! L-l-like a trial p-period."

“Dear boy! Is my pipe causing you a fit?!” Desmond pulls the pipe from his mouth and holds it away from Leif, genuinely concerned. “If it bothers you please do tell, it is no trouble to snuff it out in your presence.”

"I know Leif, you're a man now," Losdrala nodded. "But you'll always be... you know." She was uncomfortable saying much more around Desmond, no matter how trustworthy and polite he was (and he was both of those things exceedingly).

"And I agree, Octavia should have chosen someone like Leif." The smith hammered twice with a bittoo much strength. "But not Leif specifically, mind you. I don't think she's the right cut to match his clarity."

"But in any case, that gnome and his little merry band are bad news. I don't know if they've done enough to warrant serious attention. I haven't seen any wanted posters up, after all... but he's the type that likes to make a big entrance, really leave his mark on a scene. Rather than build up a reputation with care and attention." She stopped speaking, cutting off what was more than likely a string of Dwarven curses not to be used in polite company.

"Oh no, no! Uh...it's all right," Leif says to Desmond hastily. Rather than pointing out the obvious discrepancy between his ability to perform as a blacksmith – constantly exposed to fire, ash, coal, and smoke without as much as a sniffle – and a mere pipe giving him a coughing fit, Leif decides to change the subject altogether, in hopes his flushed face can finally return to its normal colour. “S-so, Auntie...uh...this mohawk fellow; does he come around the area often?” Leif isn't comfortable hijacking Desmond’s interrogation, but it's the only thing that comes to mind to derail the focus away from him.

Three bright green eyes watch Leif with a raised brow as he says it's alright, wondering why his face is still red. For being so generally blanched, the boy sure could look colourful at times. Desmond pulls his pipe back to his mouth and he looks back to Losdrala as Leif asks his question.

"Yes, good question Leif! As well as any other information you think pertainent, Madam Strongbraid." he opens a back flap of his notebook and pulls out a Misery Loves Co. business card, he sets it on her work bench beside her laid out tools. "If you think of anything else, or see anything suspicious regarding the matter, please do not hesitate to reach out to me at the Misery Loves Company. I ask you to be discreet with any information however - for your own safety - it seems this may be a more dangerous situation than anticipated. And, with that card you are welcome to partake in a beverage on the house, as they say." As he says 'on the house' he tries to mimic the rough voices of the type to frequent The Sleeping Cerberus. "Inform me if you do, it would be my pleasure to join you." He bows lightly.

"I'm afraid he's an infrequent visitor, but he's always chasing after some young thing. So of course he's around here trying to cut a deal or steal jewelry, but that's about all I know of him and his habits. My guess is if he gets a new... friend, that's the time to expect him to turn up here," Losdrala replied, furrowing her brows. "But if I hear any more I will send a missive. And you," she pointed towards Leif with a hammer, "come by and visit more, okay?" She managed to return Desmond's artful bow with a rigid one of her own.

“Y-yes Auntie...I will.” Leif scratches his head and shifts his eyes away. “They were keeping me at the temple for a while for training, and not too long ago I finally got more freedom to come and go...” He looks at Losdrala and smiles sheepishly, the way a kid being reprimanded would. “I’ll come by more often from now on; promise.”

Desmond smiles warmly at Losdrala, "It was a true pleasure to make your acquaintance, Madam Strongbraid. Thank you and may your hammer always strike true." He dips his head once more and with a gesture of his hand in the air, assumedly for Leif to follow, he turns and heads back towards the entrance of the Gruuma Artisans Guild.

Visk's three companions began to fish out their weapons of choice from packs, pouches, and shoulder harnesses - metal glinted in the dark alleyway like the sharpened utensils of hungry beasts. Visk produced his blade more quickly, and close the gap with Ric while he was still petitioning to join their crew. However, Visk could hardly press his advantage because former Fluttercape was nimble, even on the backfoot. He swiped once and cut Ric across the right cheek, sending a splash of red blood to the cobblestones. "Stand - still - !"

Bibi gasps and claps their hand over their mouth. The words come out muffled through their fingers, "I can't believe you hurt him!!!"

Bibi removes them just as quickly, grabbing their war pick, "He just wanted to join your gang!" Bibi swings it, bopping Visk over the top of his head. It may even leave a bump. Bibi then stands in front of Ric, feet digging into the ground, holding their shield up and using their extra 1 foot of height over Ric to attempt to protect him from further harm.

"None of you have been good enough to be awarded with a magic show!!" Bibi narrows their eyes at them.

Visk flinched as the pick knocked one of the points off his antlers. "Nyragh!" He staggered away, checking to see if his pompadour was okay, before looking at Bibi and staring dagger eyes at them.

"YEEEP!"

Ric doesn't shout so much as bleat when he is sliced along the cheek by Visk's blade. What a DASTARDLY thing to do!! Ric would show HIM what big dumb bullies deserved...

Suddenly a big shield covers Ric from above and he hears Bibi shouting protectively. What's going on?? His view blocked, Ric pops his head out far enough to catch a glimpse of the Half-Elk losing a bit of an antler.

"OOOOOOOI!" Ric shouts shrilly, staying ducked behind the shield. Yelling aids him to scream almost entirely past his stutter. "WOT'S YER DAMAGE, MATE? WE JUS' WANNA TALK, STAND S-STILL FER A MOMENT!"

Throwing out his gloved right hand, Ric twists it nastily and aims a beam of frozen light directly at Visk's crotch, given that it is about the highest thing he can aim for from behind the shield, and also that it seems to Ric like a good place to start negotiations.

As Desmond exits he carries on walking a bit further until they are in a less crowded area, then turns to Leif. "So, Master Leif, it seems we both had some good business attended to on this journey. How efficient of us!” He smiles looking rather pleased with himself.

“Seeing as I do not particularly care to go to the..." he pauses with a blatant look of disgust on his face, "fish shoppe, let us cavort to my headquarters. We may inform my associates of our useful information and warnings of danger, then see about compensating you monetarily for your valued time and efforts. Does that sound amicable to you?"

“Uh...well, Auntie should be able to help plenty, so that’s good.” Leif says, then lowers his voice before continuing. “There’s also others at the temple that can help keep an eye out, if you want. They can be trusted...” As Desmond keeps talking, Leif turns visibly confused over the tiefling’s fancier words, but he strikes a clumsy smile and nods. “Yes, that sounds ami—uh...good. Yes; good!”

Desmond snuffs out his pipe with a wave of his hand and stows it back away in his tunic, nodding slowly as Leif mentions the temple, “Hm. I suppose that may be a wise choice. Many eyes make for simpler seeing, so they say. Mind you, it hasn’t ever done me much good, personally.” He says dryly as he squints his three eyes. “Are they along the path returning to the Sleeping Cerberus?”

“Uh, somewhat...” Leif says simply. “About a ten-minute walk from the inn.” He looks up to Desmond with a bit of hesitation. “Would you...? I mean; you don’t have to...you could wait outside...or I could just go by later today and tell them...” Despite his decision of following Gond’s steps, Leif did not feel comfortable pushing religious things onto others who might not care for it.

The Tiefling’s bright green eyes have a curious and excited glint to them at the thought of going to the Temple of Gond, he has always been curious what it looked like on the inside.

He raises his brows, “Hm? Wait ...outside? ...I...” He suddenly clears his throat then nods as he looks down, straightening and adjusting his tunic as if to keep his hands busy. “Yes. Well. I understand. I am not... usual...” He clears his throat once more then starts walking in the direction of the Sleeping Cerberus.

Leif’s face turns red once more, fearing he has offended his employer. “No, no; I mean...anyone is welcome; just...uh...” He clears his throat and stays quiet, while trying to find other words to say.

Desmond stops walking and turns to Leif, arms crossed he looks at him sceptically, “Out with it.”

Leif clears his throat a couple of times, then addresses Desmond. “Well, I just don’t expect everyone to be, um...fond of religious things...” He takes a deep breath, straightens his posture and gestures rigidly in the general direction of the temple. “If it’s not a problem, though, you can come in with me. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Desmond sighs and then chuckles, sounding relieved. He drops his arms to his sides, “You ought to be proud of your passions and accomplishments, not concerned of what others may think. Let them tell you for themselves, if they must.” He steps towards Leif and places his hand on his back, gesturing with his other hand in front of them. “I would be delighted to see what your Temple looks like. Come, show me the way.”

Misery tucked the folder into her purse of holding, a small leather handbag that was about as large as a tote on the inside. It was small magic compared to most things in Bergond, but in situations like this, it was invaluable.

She turned around, and made eye contact with Chipper. We done?, he eyebrowed at her. She looked around one final time, then looked back at him and nodded. Yeah-

...then she gave him a little wink with a tiny twist of her hip. -babe.

She turned to Meister Dunhart. "I'm so sorry, Meister, but the hour's getting a little late, and I fear we must be leaving. Thank you graciously for your time. We'll certainly consider you for our Offa's tutor- once my husband's made his decision, we will send a messenger with further details." And she shot him a little smile that said, We didn't get rich spending money. Offer us a discount on tuition as you see us to the door.

And finally, to Nix, "Come along, Offa. I'm sure you'll see your new friends again soon."

“Yes sir!” Says Chipper, opening the door for Miz with a bow.

"I've eaten a lot of scorpions, but I've never seen any with wings before!" Nix chuckled as Tillian peered over with very mild interest. Then she felt extremely self-conscious and tried to backtrack. "I mean - I have an interest in insects, maybe more in a culinary sort of way - I mean..." she chuckled again, more anxiously. "I'm a frog. For now. It's a long story," she said stiltedly. Oh gods this is so embarrassing what am I saying?? Was talking to people always this hard?? I am so out of practice, oh gods.

"I think I've been around books for too long, sorry if I'm a bit eager. It's been a while since I've been around people... dragonborn... half-orcs... uh, you know, living things in general." She laughed at Tilly's off-handed comment about a lack of good specimens, and replied brightly, "Well you certainly impress me! I'm Offa, by the way, it really is a pleasure," she said, introducing herself properly to the blue dragonborn, hopping over to the chair closest so she could reach out her tiny stubby hand.

Just as she was about to inquire more about this new curious acquaintance, she heard the doors open farther in the atrium, the sound of conversation floating into the air, as Misery and Chipper said their goodbyes to the Meister. Shit, time to leave already?

Her time was up, yet for once she didn't want to leave, and not because of the books surrounding her. She looked back from Tillian to Misery, who was coming closer and calling for her, then back to Tillian again. In a moment of lack of thought and her heart taking over her logic, she grabbed a quill laying on the desk, and scribbled the address of the Sleeping Cerberus and nothing more. "I'm so sorry I must be going. I do hope to see you again but... if not, do write me sometime? It would be my pleasure to become acquainted with you..." she rushed, then mumbled, "...friends, even. You seem like," and thought for a moment before smiling, "a good specimen." She bowed shyly, then hopped to the ground in time for Misery to grab her and make their way out of the Meister's School, their mission lacking but her spirits heightened.

Meister Dunhart was not the first man to fall under the sway of Misery's considerably charm - nor would he be the last. Offa's considerable intelligence, Chipper's seeming clumsiness, Misery's affectations... he thought all three lined up perfectly for him and his school. He was a teacher of the young, but a student of life after all. As he walked the family to the door, he thought the day had played quite wonderfully into his hands. Like many "smart" men, he had just enough intelligence to be unaware how easily he had been played. "I look forward to serving your family closely," the Meister grinned.

As they left the room, Offa's more earnest connections were torn at her leaving. Tilly was more guarded and eyed Offa with a measuring stare, while Qverty sheepishly asked, "See you Monday...?" before snorting what could only have been a four inch trail of snot from his nasal cavity back into his throat. They would make interesting classmates.

"Friends...?" Tilly said to herself as Nix/Offa darted off, holding the small scrap of paper in her hand. Qverty made a smacking noise with his mouth and said, "I've never seen them at any of the galas before. That's kind of weird, but maybe they're new."

Tilly said nothing in reply. The blue Dragonborn lifted the double-lensed magnifying head loupe so that she was examining the piece of paper with Offa's name and address with her own eyes. She ran a scaled finger over the scarcely dried ink. Qverty continued, "She was nice, I liked her frog...ness." Tilly said nothing in reply, but delicately folded the piece of paper and placed it in the most important pocket of her satchel.

"Me too," she said, then went back to work.

As the Theoblocks left, Chipper caught a glimpse of the front desk thrall standing at the window of a room adjoining the foyer. He made the universal vampire sign of pointing down with the index and middle finger while curling the rest into his palm. In VSL (Vampiric Sign Language) it read Fang you very much.

When they’re out of earshot and down the street Chipper turns and says; “Miz, the fucker we’re looking for goes by the name of Thenflonk, ‘is name in that little book you twocked? I suggest we go round ‘is ‘ouse and smash ‘is fuckin’ face.”

"Thenflonk !? Flaming Bitches, no wonder the idiot youth of this town keep turning to lives of crime with names like that." Misery, Misery, rolled her eyes and sighed. "Let's reconnect at the office with the others first. They should be back now and waiting. Then, Chip, I promise we'll bash as many faces in as we can."

She felt it, too. As the facade of high-society pleasantness faded it was replaced by the black burn of productivity, stoked by the squeeze and chafing of being restricted by this fucking corset for the past howeverthefuck many hours. She was ready to cause damage.

"Let's reconnect at the office and change our fucking clothes and then let's make some people miserable. "

Visk felt a terrible chill embrace his most prized antler.

"Fmeek." was all he could reply.

A shiver ran down his legs and he fell to his knees, then slowly. As an ancient redwood gives up its withered grip before the mighty storm, so too did the half-elk slowly tilt forwards until his head hit the ground, his pompadour softening the impact. "G... et... th... em." he whimpered, pointing a shaking hand at the heroes while his other tried to determine the structural integrity of the pelvic igloo which ensnared his future mistakes.

The bandits for their part acted on their leader's gesture. Two of them lined up their crossbow bolts and attempted a high-and-low maneuver that often worked on the ill-prepared and the dim-witted. Bibi was neither. They shrugged off both shots without flinching, and when the third rushed in to tackle the lizard to the ground, all the bandit was able to grab was a face full of paladin boot.

Bibi comes out of their leap off of the bandit's head and lands a powerful wap on his bum for trying to grab at them, their feet plapping down onto his back. "DO NONE OF YOU VALUE YOUR BOTTOMS?! I really think you should back down, seeing as your two friends aren't looking too great. Maybe get them some help?"

The bum-wapped bandit slide across the cobblestones along his stomach, fast becoming the city's most accomplished street penguin act, before slamming head first into the base of the lamp post. "Ooofyee-OW!" he cried, and then screamed "NYAH!" a scant moment later when an ember from the lamp's flame landed on his already bruised bottom.

The Temple of Gond was easily the most impressive, if not necessarily the largest, structure in Guild Row. It jutted from the ground in a enormous mahogany cylinder which tapered off as it headed towards the gray clouds gathering in front of the moon. It towered over the city, and many Gond priests were known to refer to the temple as Gond's Grip, as if Bergond itself were the hammer of the god above. 'We are the tool by which He shall shape the world' was a saying that the priests took quite literally.

At its base, the Temple of Gond was quartered and if looked at from a bird's eye (or god's eye) view it would form the four-spoked cog that was his symbol. A pair of massive double doors were open before Leif and Desmond, and their ears were filled with the chrka-chrka-chrka of moving gears and ringing spt-ANGs of hundreds of laborers within.

All about the temple were the Gond priests, many of whom stopped to greet Leif as he approached, making mechanical motions with their hands in imitation of Gond's divine workings as signs of solidarity with a fellow believer. Their robes were gray, bronze, chrome, and other metallic colors, and many wore embellished shoulder pauldrons that bore rivets, bolts, and clockwork wonders. Up above, flocks of mechanical creatures flew through the air, dispensing synthetic oils to the thousands of gears that lined the cavernous interior.

As the human and the tiefling walk towards the temple, Desmond’s long tail coils behind him more quickly than its usual slow movements. He looks to the young man, “You are, a Cleric of Gond, correct? That is where we are going?”. Before the boy can barely respond he launches into a history of the temple’s construction. Talking excitedly and quickly, as if telling a small child a bedtime story or a trusted friend some juicy gossip.

“Did you know it was constructed in 1458, almost 150 years ago?! The base of the temple was much smaller and more modest back then of course. Did you know the original architect, Frinain Loyalar, was actually not a disciple of Gond?! She did not know anything about the religion and the Arch Magister Koll, at the time, somehow just assumed she was a follower. You can imagine the tumult such a thing caused when they found out!” he chuckles before prattling on. “SO they brought in another to replace her, Glennik Jobek, and he barely had a clue what he was doing! He was inexperienced and lackadaisical - BUT he was a follower of Gond, so that is what mattered most to the clergy at the time. Foolish. Meanwhile, poor Frinain was watching all of this transpire and was just beside herself. So, do you know what she did? She took up the cloth and joined the clergy! Just so she could oversee the designing and construction of the building! Can you imagine the passion she had for her craft to do that?!” he leans back placing his hands on the sides of his face excitedly.

“Of course this took time to complete so when she was finally able to focus all her time on that most of the building was already constructed, though she was able to advise Glennik as much as she could so it was not too atrocious. But in 1471 she had her chance, and the building was falling to disrepair so she was able to take over and make it right. She was so inspiring! The building has been kept up since then, of course as you know Gond is about knowledge and invention so she fit in perfectly. She taught new generations of clerics and disciples about architecture and masonry, and since then they have put pride into keeping the temple in tip top shape!” He snaps his fingers as he says ‘tip’.

“You can see her signature work in the main cog & hammer motif throughout, but most of all on the cornices of the flying buttresses along the sides, there-” He points at the large sweeping arches attached by a thin line of fine stonework. “-and the edging on the camfers as well there!” He points towards the front of the building as they approach. “I have only seen drawings of the carvings along the metalwork balustrades within! Her designs have been carried through to other Temples of Gond throughout the lands & planes… Imagine having that much impact on something so timeless...” he trails off in awe.

Wide-eyed, he nearly runs up to the steps in excitement, pausing before they enter. “I have seen this temple from my window my entire life, it is simply stunning, and even more so up close!” As they enter he follows closely behind Leif. He watches everything very curiously and silently, absorbing all the sights, smells and sounds. He keeps his hands behind his back as if worried about even touching anything.

Leif opens his mouth to answer Desmond’s initial question, but as the tiefling goes on with his passionate history lesson, any attempt to say a word dies immediately. He listens on intrigued; not because he hadn’t learned all about it before — it was in fact among the first lessons he received at the beginning of his training — but he had never met anyone outside the Gondite religion to be so thrilled about the temple. As Leif and Desmond walk into the building, the boy’s body language seems to stiffen--as one would do when trying too hard to enter a role they have not assimilated too well yet. He cracks a small smile as he takes in the temple’s familiar clockwork machines, the ringing of pounding metal and the smell of smoke, but his overall demeanour fails to convey the same comfort and warmth it did back at Gruuma’s workshops. He looks more like a person walking through a schoolhouse where he must mind his P’s and Q’s rather than his own home. As he leads the tiefling to the centre of the temple, Leif nods amicably to fellow clerics and bows courteously to his superiors as they pass by.

Desmond's description was more than flowery prose and interesting factoids. In a way, his prose brought what was mere cog and fog to life. His verbal flourishes were skin and beauty across the form of the Temple of Gond. It was fitting.

As Leif made his way further into the main worship hall it was clear that rather than pews, it was flanked on either side by rows of workbenches. The Gondites prided themselves on active praise, rather than passively receiving sermons.

"Brother Leif!" boomed a familiar voice as he neared the center, and a hulking figure motioned to him with outstretched arms. It was Superior Jiltur, an aged man who had been overseeing the training of new clerics at the temple for fifteen years. He made the appropriate signs of the Divine Machine and clasped Leif on the shoulder. "It is good to see you brother."

Leif responds with a respectful bow and his own Divine Machine signs. “Father Jiltur,” he says with a genuine smile. Despite being close in height, Leif looks significantly small and scrawny — almost comically — next to his superior’s ample figure.

The boy clears his throat and gestures to Desmond. “I’d like you to meet Lord Cagliari,” he says with a perceivable sense of pride at finally getting it right. “We have an important, uh...situation that could use a bit of extra help from a few of the clerics...well, with your blessing, of course.” Despite stumbling on his words a bit, Leif looks to Jiltur as a kid addressing his favourite uncle.

Desmond bows deeply to the man as Leif introduces him, “A pleasure, Father.”

After Leif introduces the situation Desmond nods, “B-rother ...Leif... is correct.” He glances to Leif with a raised brow, the tables have turned and now Desmond is unsure of his proper formalities in an unfamiliar setting. He gestures to the large bustling room, “I must preface that this temple is simply divine…” he covers his mouth and chuckles - surprised at his own unintended pun. He clears his throat as his cheeks darken slightly with embarrassment before continuing. “Well, pardon me. It is a beautiful temple. I have often admired its fine construction from afar - Superior Frinian Loyalar was truly a master at her craft. It is my honour to be here, though, unfortunately we must be fairly brief.”

Father Jiltur nodded at Leif's introduction, and the wrinkles of his forehead furrowed in quiet wonder as Desmond showed his knowledge of the temple. "To honor the maker is to make a miracle - it turns labor into craft," he replied in reverent tones. "I am pleased that those outside our order know of the great pains taken to craft this temple."

Desmond pauses and manages to shake his excitement and regains some composure as he focuses on the business at hand. In a lower voice he describes the situation. “Your... Brother Leif has brought me here to ask your aid in keeping an eye out for a young orcish woman, her name is Octavia Torad and I am afraid to say she has gone missing. There are concerns of potential gang involvement… a new and dangerous lot. They are defined by a serpent tattoo on the neck or upper arm with coins for eyes and ruby fangs. We are also on the lookout for a young gnome with a fuschia mohawk by the name of Thenflonk who may be involved with her disappearance. I ask that you remain discreet with this information - only to trust it with verily honourable folk - as you must understand the delicacy of the matter at hand.”

He reaches into his pocket and withdraws his notebook, pulling out a business card from the back of it and holding it out to the man between his index and middle fingers. “I may be reached at this address. Any information may be trusted with any of my associates from the Misery Loves Company. As you please, you are welcome to a complimentary beverage of choice at the tavern below our offices - a small thank you for your aid in the matter.” He bows his head lightly, the gold chains draped over his long horns swaying and jingling softly with the movement.

At the flurry of questions, Father Jiltur’s face became more dour. "Goodness, that is all disconcerting. But I know of this Thenflonk person, a rather unpleasant young man. He and some of his 'Cobruhs'," Jiltur's face showed the distaste he had for even mouthing the word, "have harassed some of our parishioners at the Wurmp River bridge three times this month. I've spoken to the Silvercloaks, but I see that has done little..."

Leif turns to Father Jiltur. “I was thinking a few of us could maybe patrol the area...keep an eye out in case we see him?” He scratches his head. “If it’s true that he kidnapped someone, the sooner we nab him, the better” He slings his warhammer onto his shoulder. “If anything, I’d want to keep him and his buddies from harming other people...though of course, Lord Cagliari’s priority is to make sure this missing girl gets back home as soon as possible.” Leif looks at Desmond, trying to read his face and see what he makes of what he’s just said.

Desmond smiles warmly at Father Jiltur “But of course! I have admired this temple from my window since I was a young boy. I had my Head of House sent to collect what literary works she could on this beautiful structure. I could not read at the time but I recall pouring over the drawings in the book until I could.” his smile broadens at the memory, “She brought me to the steps when she could, though I have never been inside - It is truly an honour to be here.”

His brow furrows as the large man mentions knowing of Thenflonk and having troubles. Still holding his notebook he withdraws his quill and opens a new page.

“Cobras? Interesting… Wurmp River bridge... three times this month...“ he finishes writing and looks up at the man, “This is helpful information. Perhaps we may visit the Wurmp River area and see what we can find, and aid your parishioners simultaneously.” He looks to Leif, then back to the Father, “Are there any coalescing points to these harassments? Anything linking them such as - do they happen at the same time of day? Are the targets similar in any way?”

As Leif mentions his idea Desmond scrunches up his face briefly in thought. “As you have mentioned, the safety of Miss Torad is our utmost priority. From what we know, we must handle these miscreants delicately and with tact. I would be concerned for the well being of Miss Torad - if she was being held against her will - if we were to… poke the dragon, as it were. And, contrarily if she is there on her own volition, we do not want to spook her off by detaining her comrades. We would likely be best to observe from a distance to gain knowledge of the whereabouts, and condition, of the young lady in question before we act.”

The tieflings' tone remains level and explanatory throughout his speech, not a hint of condescendence - simply as if he were teaching a lecture to a class of students. He raises a brow in question to Leif, “Do you understand my concerns? Oly wmidd laz eyz zmy zuqyr kyoary oyyvulq uz - One shall not pet the tiger before first feeding it.”

Leif catches Desmond's message and nods solemnly as he swings his hammer back down onto the floor. "Just watch. Watch and study them first..." The boy then looks back to his superior. "Father Jiltur, could we have your blessing on this? Would any of the other clerics be willing and able to help out?"

"Young man, as far as I know the only commonality is the fact that the assailants come after those of the cloth," mused Father Jiltur as a frown crossed his face. He lifted a finger in the air and a small mechanical creature landed on it. It flapped its four wings in an erratic rhythm while tootTOOTtooting air from its over-sized bellows. A smile returned to the priest's face as he watched it operate. "Such a marvel, the workings of The Grand Machine..."

His attention snapped back to the conversation at hand. "Of course, Leif. Please, take three of the Knights Errant with you. I ought to have dealt with this some time ago, but I did not feel the hour was right..." He locked eyes with the cleric and placed a hand over the center of Leif's chest, then turned it six times to the silent tick tock tick tock tick tock of a timer only he could perceive. "Choose the Knights yourself, and go with surety my son."

Leif smiles with the confidence of a fox cornered by hunting dogs. He opens his mouth but promptly gulps his words, bows to Father Jiltur, pivots on one foot and —after gesturing to Desmond to follow him — he marches away with a lowered head.

In short order the cleric had hand-picked the Knights Errant that would accompany them into Cobruh territory. Leif had spoken to each of them individually, and agreed to take part in his quest. The trio greeted Leif and Desmond outside the temple in full battle dress.

First was Alodel, a lithe elven woman who had the demeanor of a coiled spring. Even perfectly still she gave off the sense that she was ready to burst into action in a flurry of precise movements. Her hair was the color of moonlight, her eyes like the surface of quiet lakes - calm, dark, and bearing an unseen depth. Her shoulder pauldrons curved upwards in crescent shapes that were perforated with small openings; they whistled haunting tones as the chill night wind blew through them.

To her left was Citrine, a male water Genasi. He wore a lighter suit of armor than his companions, with openings near his upper arms and thighs for ease of movement. His skin was pale blue and his hair nearly white, and he bounced eagerly on the balls of his feet, looking for all the world like a youthful iceberg. In place of a cape he had a long ribbon-like cloth coming from each shoulder, and he swayed them occasionally so that he might see them at the periphery of his vision.

On Alodel's right was Umrar, a goliath who towered over everyone present. Their entire body was covered in twisting tattoos which began at the knuckles of their fingers and spiraled about their arms before being lost beneath their shining plate armor, only to reappear again at their neckline. Each 'strand' of the tattoo was a different hue of blue, purple, or green, and the strands changed ever-so-slightly in tone as they wound around Umrar like vines on a ancient oak. They bore a halberd with gear-like carvings on the flat of the blade and an assortment of smaller axes about their waist.

"We are ready, Brother-Cleric Leif," Alodel intoned more than said. "Let us bring retribution to these scoundrels."

Ric cackles fiendishly, wildly pleased with the state he has helped put Visk in. Still slightly trapped behind the shield, he tries ducking to the other side of it, taking aim at the unoccupied bandit that isn't being wapped silly by Bibi. If only this one would sit still......

Ric fires off his magic and a spectral skeleton hand explodes from his own with a poof, aimed roughly at the squirming bandit, but missing weakly and traveling too far into the distance, eventually disappearing in a whiff of shadows.

"RAT FUNGUS!" Ric curses after it enthusiastically, stamping his foot and doing his best to duck quickly behind the shield again.

Even without Ric landing a direct hit, the flurry of magic and Bibi's stalwart defense in the face of the barrage of attacks had the Cobruhs considering the better part of valor. The two crossbow-wielding juves gave each other the time-honored Uh, yeah, no, I'm not about to get my butt lit up with mystic flame on a school night look and made a mad dash for a back alley.

Visk - not to be outdone in the lack of spine category - waddled after them while dropping clumps of melting ice from his crotch and hissing, "Wait. For. Me. You. Idiots!"

The final goon laid still at the base of the lamp post, making no noise save for the tweeting of cartoon birds swirling about his head.

"HA!" Ric blurts a laugh as the villains scamper away. He can't resist flinging his cape out and tossing what little fringe there is of his colored, spiky hair. "We sh......showed 'em! Mot, y-you were AWESOME!!" Ric balls his tiny fist triumphantly and stares at Bibi, eyes wide and sparkling with awe.

Spying the barely conscious goon, Ric scampers toward him in a blur, yanking him thoughtfully by the ankle. "Hmmm... wonder if we could use 'im for int...int...interr..... for questioning back at headquarters?" He looks up eagerly at Bibi, flexing a puny arm. "I can do m-most of the heavy l...l.....lifting if you're tired," he said with disproportionate assurance. "I'm s-stronger thank I look."

Bibi blushes heavily, "Awww shucks. It's nothin- I get pretty defensive when people hurt my friends." Looking down at the unconscious goon Bibi sighs, "I'm shocked that they left THEIR friend here like this. We can definitely take him back with us. I can help patch up his wounds once we get there." Bibi lights up their wand with a soft glow to help them see through the darkness. "Just let me know if you need any extra help carrying him! I'll light the way~"

Chapter 4 - Under Pressure.

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