Prelude - Dee

[Ismaels-Legacy]

Your feet move swiftly across the cobbles of the ancient street, the sounds of pursuit close behind you. How were you supposed to know that the Master of the House wasn't really killed in the Battle of the Fallen Cay? The Lady of the House certainly seemed lonely enough to have warranted this event!

Leaping for a low-lying roof-ledge, you pull yourself up to the crude shingles, and stealthily cross the roof, hiding on the opposite side of the peak. Laying down, you attempt to catch your breath, fanning yourself with your floppy black hat. As the sounds of pursuit die down, you are able to focus upon the sounds from within the building upon whose roof you lie.

"...third one this week. I'm not sure how or why, but the caravans keep getting waylaid before they ever reach us. The town is likely to starve if we can't trade with the outside soon. I need to dispatch a messenger to the next caravan that is at least passing close by. There should be one on the way to Holgrim. If things have gone smoothly it should be passing within a few miles any day now."

A second voice, female this time: "Should we begin planning a way out? Perhaps it's time to vacate this town. I think it would benefit us and our children if we resided in a larger stronghold rather than this tiny dump-of-a-fortress. Pah! How can we call it a fortress when it's walls are made of sticks and mud!? The Lord Gyric's manor is more fortified than the town itself!"

Mention of the manor brings a smile to your face in light of your recent escapades. Reaching into your belt pouch, you pull out a silvery necklace with a sky blue pendant and grin at your latest acquisition. The Lady Gyric certainly won't be missing it!

[Kafen]

Swinging it back and forth a few times, Dee wraps it up in his fingers and tucks it into his vest pouch. He shifts along the roof to ready a quick roll to the other side of the roof while listening to the street. To himself, he pats the pockets of coins and briefly considers the words.

If food does not make it, there is no food to purchase. The idea is disturbing in itself. He hums to himself and considers who he knows in the underworld that is helping this crisis along. If the guards are talking of moving on, the wealth pool tends to dry up. That usually involves either hunger or the locals staging angry protest mobs when you steal too many thing.

[Ismaels-Legacy]

The most logical connection in the local underworld would be a diminutive fellow by the name of Slipshod. He's a young man, but because of the Starving Time that struck about 10 years back, he never really grew into his full height. He's used this much to his advantage, allowing him to sneak about easier, casting a lower profile. Of course this also lends to having a rather memorable appearance.

Remembering that he always makes a cursory appearance at local funerals, you start to make your way towards the far west wall of the town where fire pits are located behind a stone altar. From the overwhelming smell of dried dung pellets it seems like there may be a funeral taking place at this moment.

[Kafen]

Dee sneaks his way along the streets and seeks to keep his person to the shadows as much as possible without being obvious about it. He looks for Slipshod in the crowd and shadows casually as he moves through the crowd.

Keeping his vest and pockets close, he keeps the crowd at arms length while moves through the people in an exercise of security. Plus, he keeps an eye out for anyone that he knows among the people attending the funeral. After all, it is not very day you bury a friend; the dead care so very little about those they leave behind. They tend to be a callous lot.

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"...and so we deliver Eliza to the eternal flames, where her spirit may be set free and her earthy form trouble us not..." the old man giving the service drones on and on and on as the lowly initiates struggle to light the pyre. The old man glances over his shoulder a few times to check on their progress, never once breaking stride in his litany. One of the initiates finally gestures to the other, reaches into his belongings set apart from the pyre and returns with a small flask. He takes a swig, holding the fluid in his mouth, and takes cautious hold of a torch. Kneeling low, he holds the torch at arms length and spits the fluid across the flame and into the scrapwood and dung-chip pyre. With a 'whoosh' and a small fireball, the pyre is now lit. For the first time, the preacher pauses, stares vacantly into the crowd, his mouth open with a half formed word. He sighs to himself, closes the book before him, and quickly finishes his sermon.

This has provided you adequate distraction to acquire a few new trinkets, though. You haven't the time to properly appraise your ill-gotten gains at this time, but that can come later. Your scan of the crowd reveals a few others of the trade performing the same maneuvers as you, but the youngest of them have been caught up watching the show. Slipshod is certainly not in the crowd, though there are plenty of places he can watch the fleecing take place. He's not fond of rooftops, but there are several refuse heaps, privies, and woodpiles behind which he could be watching.

[Kafen]

Shifting his focus to the sidelines, Dee moves to the debris and buildings along the sides. He stays out of the refuse piles themselves, but the shadows are fine with him. He hums softly drawing attention to himself from nearby people - his way of announcing his passage. It is an obvious calling card showing that he is there to find somebody. Hopefully, the humming is subtle enough that few people are within earshot.

[Ismaels-Legacy]

As you near the corner of a building you see a familiar face. You don't know the man's name, but you know him as one of the local riff-raff. He nods a sharp tilt of his head, his arms crossed against his chest. He raises one hand, arms still crossed, and points toward the refuse heap closest to the wall. It seems to be the compost heap that the locals are preparing for use in fertilizing their rather burnt-up soil.

There, seated upon a wooden folding chair, sits Slipshod. He is flanked by two rather skinny, yet intimidating, bodyguards. You've seen them before in passing, though it only just now occurred to you that they are almost always unarmed; no weapons hanging from their belts. Slipshod notices you approach, shifts uncomfortably in his makeshift throne, and motions one of his guards to stand between the two of you. "What do you want?" he asks bluntly.

[Kafen]

"I want endless pockets flowing with golden dust and fine women that require only the crudest of wine to ply their interest." He defers and offers a polite bow. "On the other hand, I was seeking to talk with you about something I overheard not long ago from one of the guards." He raises an eyebrow and suggests in a low voice. "It rather concerns all of our bellies."

[Ismaels-Legacy]

He stares at you for a time longer before answering softly. "There is much concern but little substance to fill our bellies at the moment. I'm sure you've come to inquire whether I, myself, have anything to do with this. Sadly, I can say that I have not dined on anything of merit, lately, myself." He grumbles and sits up a bit straighter in his chair. Glancing toward the manor, he frowns and continues, "There are some who do not feel the pinch as much. I understood that the guards were on the privileged list themselves, but if they too are grumbling I fear our situation has become grave indeed." He pauses, a slight twinkle in his eye, as he hopes you catch his play on words.

[Kafen]

"Yes, one can only imagine the wealth of toasty meat roasting over a fine table." He says and poses slightly to get in the pyre if possible Sighing for dramatic effect, he says. "If that is the case, I fear that I must look into this matter. If you are not aware of these raids, our main source of income is coming to an end. And, I recall all too vividly the pangs of hunger." Clearing his throat, he adds. "So, I don't suppose you have any juicy bits of fiery gossip to share before I head off to see what vile forces threaten us." Both men know that Dee is not going to run off into the wilds to save the city at the moment. But, Dee is admitting that they both have a problem if the guards are grumbling.

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"Truth be told, I'm making contingency plans to leave this heap if things do not improve. Granted, I would look favorably upon anyone who could restore a regular food shipment." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "In fact, I believe Lord Gyric would be rather grateful, himself. Even if he has little concern for our well-being, he cannot pay guards without food-stuffs in his own larder!"

[Kafen]

"I would look with favor upon such an individual." Dee says in a low voice ripe with resignation. "I suppose this is as close as I get to volunteering myself. I will have a go at getting into the Lord's service and seeing if they know anything." He drums his fingers on his thigh in idle fashion and decides. "Thus, I submit myself as this grand hero of our vibrant culture and declare my intention to resolve this issue." He says with pride and grins knowing that he is clearly without choice in the matter as both men know that their lively hood is in danger. Clearing his throat, he adds. "Meaning, I am going to have a look into this while I have a full belly and hope to score a hefty profit on the corpse of the Lord's holdings if it fails." He stands up straight offers Slipshod a regal bow without any mocking gesture. "If there is anything you could offer to help this along..." He leaves that hanging as he prepares to leave.

[Ismaels-Legacy]

''Yes, yes. Very how very noble of you." Slipshod replies, idly waving one hand through the air. "Seeking food from me is an idle prospect, though, since tonight I dine on gruel." His countenance darkens. He relaxes and slides sideways in his chair, lifting one leg over a chair-arm. "Samson," he says to one guard, "Go have a conversation with the Initiate. The one who decided to desecrate a funeral by blowing a fireball. I would have words with him." Apparently the Slipshot knew the deceased....

[Kafen]

"It is not food I seek but information, but I suspect that we are both at our limits on that issue." Dee says smoothly and steps back to let the other man pass. "I will leave you to your deliberations." He steps back and turns to leave with a last line before looking to the shadows for an exit. "May the graces of the spirits fall upon us all."

[Ismaels-Legacy]

"Yes. Same to you Dee." The brief moment of compassion from this rogue startles you. Things must be truly bad if he is offering prayers to his competition (Even if he doesn't consider you to be so). Your destinations at this time are limited, though it would be prudent to plan your next move. There is a place in the center of town where people can post information on events that are taking place soon. Granted this requires people to be able to both read and write, not to mention they have to have access to writing material, but most days a few messages can be found pasted to the stone wall. (The wall used to be wooden with a small roof to prevent rain from damaging the messages, but it was slowly torn apart for firewood.)