During the two weeks following our encounter with Nucruk, on Lavanda-12, the crew came and went on various errands, as we waited for Kroth to tell us we could reopen.

The team discussed all that had transpired and decided not to report to Kroth about Nucruk. We would tell her the cover story only, about the tragic fires we had discovered. Just the fires. As we had not yet meaningfully completed any investigation, we also decided against reporting about the healing magic disturbances yet.

On the 13th, Judge Jamie Wappelode didn’t show up to our meeting. I haunted the court house, watching for the judge over the next few days, but I never saw any sign of Jamie. I returned to the Stewed Prune and reminded the others that Wappelode had been sketchy about the ovor woman whenever she was mentioned. This is same ovor from the alley and who had been tailing Riv when he was looking into the strange house out in Cliffside. Out of concern for the judge, Urne and I spent some time poking around town, but we could not dig up anything on him. Although curiosities are piqued, sleeping dogs shall lie for now.

While looking around town for clues to Wappelode’s whereabouts, I came across a monk Kroth had told me about. Making my introductions, I asked if I could come and meditate there on her combat training. Hearing the way I spoke about combat arts, the monk was intrigued and offered to instruct me in how to leverage agility and grace in my own style.

Later that week, some of the crew were running some errands and picking up desirables at the market. We witnessed—and decided to step in to save the marketplace from—another giant insect, this time a cricket. After dispatching the beast, we hauled the creature’s giant cricket legs back to the Stewed Prune as a trophy, and a spell component.

Throughout this time we saw Kroth almost daily. She would wander in and out, meeting with different contractors or officials. She had seemed pleased with us over the market encounter, but since then she has asked us to lay low, as if she was concerned about any attention the skirmish may have already stirred up. Additionally, Kroth’s visits became spottier and more brief. She had no business for us. Then for several days she drifted away, no longer visiting and only using her cards to communicate, agreeing only to look into the judge.

Over these last few days, Olivia is agreeable to laying low and keeping herself withdrawn, mostly ruminating in her own headspace. Preoccupied with Lekhsinkka, and noticing her attachment to Riv becoming weaker. Urne, spotting Olivia’s reticence from the sidelines, put Goat to the task of comforting her, while having side conversations with Goat deciphering the issues in her relationships, so he can mend them.

Repairs to the Stewed Prune have been mostly completed, we have redecorated and moved some of our stuff back in. As we have spent this time together we have heard bits and pieces of each other’s stories. Here is what I’ve learned about the others:

Olivia spent time in the Whimsey. She should be 10-20 years older, but was de-aged when she was returned from the Whimsey. She likes to shoot things, and wants to get her age back.

Urne made his best friend, Goat. He’s not good with solitude, so now has a companion in his automaton. I think he wants Goat to be everyone’s friend so he can be, too. He enjoys his long walks and tinkering. He vowed he’d try to tone down his enthusiasm, though I’m not sure that’s anything anyone asked for.

Brom told a version of the tale he’d recounted to me earlier. That he’s from up North, raised by humble smiths and armorers. That he’d followed his mother’s path as a brewer rather than join the Shapers’ Guild. He mentioned his strong distrust of authority, though his nightly dives into his vast conspiracy theories have already made that distrust abundantly clear. “Our rights are being deprived by powers that be!” he loves to say after several cups. He skimmed over much of the time he spent wandering before he met me, and got the job at this place. He was quick to declare the others his friends and brought about a round of toasts when he suggested we stick together in order to make a little bit of coin.

As for myself, I’ve told the others I’m from here and there, and mentioned I’d spent some time in the ‘Guard. I simply stated I had been raised right and that I make it a point to look out for fellow Unafs, which describes most of this group.

c2393/Lavanda-25

Finally, yesterday afternoon we received a note from Kroth, calling for a staff meeting and demanding everyone’s attendance this morning. The note promised “exciting news.” And so, we all gathered at the appointed time.

Kroth does not make a habit of being tardy, yet she was atypically late to this meeting. I’d been ruminating about the update being about the judge, and when Kroth didn’t show, I began to get nervous that something similar had happened. I was just about to speak up regarding my concerns when Kroth arrived, her cane knocking on the floor as she approached. After some quick courtesies, her tone became serious and stony. Looking around at each other, we all began to realize that “exciting” is not always good.

I noticed that Kroth’s eye bore the mark of a recent scuffle, which she was trying to hide behind her hair. Urne also noticed this, I found out later, and he put the fight at a bit less than a week ago. Neither of us said anything at the time, though, as Kroth demanded our attention.

Kroth began, “I know we haven’t yet reopened,” and continued on with understanding of how this must feel.

“Still,” she said, “Amenko, the son of Oren, was most grateful about the graveyard case. Pity about the fire, though.” She seemed disappointed momentarily, and then set out a bag of gold, providing us with good pay for that work, “…with a bonus from myself,” she added. The bag contained enough for 19 gold for each of us.

Raising her voice again, Kroth continued, “Please indulge me about some matters we must discuss. New opportunities have not been accepted, based on concerns with our cover story.” It seemed the dance troupe’s cover story was previously convincing because of the performances. This element was now lacking. She offered that we could continue using the Angels’ name. However, “There is a strong legacy which you would have to uphold with this name,” she explained.

She added that her team had also once operated as a security group, under the heading West Coast Security. “Whatever you decide, some sort of name and reasonable cover would be most helpful in procuring further employment.”

Moving on, she said, “I have nothing to update about the reopening. Permits are delayed or blocked, and recently even deliveries have been delayed. I assure you I will get to the bottom of this, but first I must be away for a few days.

“Also, now it seems Tasiya Demetres, the High Regent, has requested the company of those responsible for sorting out the market incident. This invitation is remarkable…” She seemed hesitant to wholeheartedly advise us to accept the invitation. But, sensing our enthusiasm, she finished with,  “You should claim the notoriety. If you do arrive there, please bring proof that you were in fact those involved, as other groups will surely be taking credit for the deed already. Oh, and do make sure to show her the proper deference and respect. She is powerful and also not above retribution for disrespect.

“Now, was there anything else I can answer for you all?” Kroth finished.

“How’d you hurt your leg?” Olivia asked.

“I injured it in a… dance accident,” Kroth said, seeming to wish that to be the end of it.

“Do you need a bodyguard?” asked Urne, gesturing to Kroth’s eye.

“I am quite fine,” Kroth chuckled, brushing her hair forward to further cover the bruises. “It is, however, a reminder that I am not so removed from danger as I sometimes believe.”

Olivia turned back to Kroth’s latest update, stating outright that she is against going to see the regent without Riv. Kroth said her goodbyes, citing the need to prepare for travel, but again urged us to consider taking the meeting with the regent and adding, “Do let me know if I can assist you with anything.”

“…A longbow?” Olivia muttered. Adding, “Oh, sorry, carry on,” when Kroth looked to her to continue.

Kroth went on her way. As the rest of us looked on, Olivia tried to tail her. However, once they were in the alley, Kroth stopped and said in a low tone, “Olivia dear, if you would like to know where I’m going, just ask.”

“Oh… Okay,” Olivia stammered, “where you going?” She slowly stood from her supposed cover.

“I will be visiting the city of Freywich, to see an old friend. He has requested aid. I owe him, you see, there is no way out.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Reunions can be hard,” replied Kroth after a brief hesitation.

“Yeah… I- I don’t know, but… I imagine,” Olivia said as she slowly averted her eyes.

“I’m sure your imagination is fertile and you know what it is like.”

“I don’t, though,” Olivia said clearly, again meeting Kroth’s eyes, “Safe travels.”

“Farewell.” Kroth finished, turning once more, this time disappearing down the alley.

Olivia watched her depart, but this time did not follow. Returning downstairs she informed us of what she’d found.

Brom wanted to discuss if Kroth was okay, referring to her wounds and current obligation. Olivia calmed his concerns though, assuring Brom that Kroth was—and would be—just fine.

After spending the rest of the morning in back and forth discussions, we decided to respond to the Regent’s request. Olivia made it very clear that she was not comfortable going without Riv, who was not available, and argued to delay. In the end, it was Urne’s determined interest in promoting the crew, and especially in attaching Goat to our successes, which pushed us to attend the open audience this evening. Public forums happen a couple times a week to receive complaints and requests from the citizens. The High Regent and her advisors attend each session, but this would be the last opportunity until next week.

After making our preparations to meet the High Regent, we made our way to the Castle District. The guards there admitted us, in fact aiding us in rushing to catch the end of the open audience. Goat, loaded up with the giant cricket legs, took up the rear behind myself. A guard lead us through an area that was less lavish than I expected, plush but more modest and reserved. Imagery of pirates adorned the walls and models of famous privateer vessels filled tables and niches along the hallway. The names are surely familiar to any who follow the region’s history: the Darling Duckling, the Flying Deceit… though none of us were particularly familiar, having all arrived in town quite recently. The escort pointed us down the hall and departed, back to their post. The guard at this door again rushed us in, reiterating that the public forum was soon ending.

As we entered the throne room, our eyes swept across another room of restrained elegance. There was a single throne, seated before a window of dramatic nautical scenes in three stained-glass mosaics. The first of ships approaching an island. The second featured a kraken rising out of the ocean, while a third showed a scene of cloudy seas with eight figures floating above the waves.

A massive rosewood table with inlaid nautical details commanded our attention. Seated there was the Regent, with long raven black hair. Near her was a griff with hippo-like features in robes of bright, mismatched colors.

The Griff seemed to be representing someone referred to only as “the Overseer.” As we filed in, he was loudly complaining that he doesn’t think the Regent is taking control of “the situation.”

The Regent was dressed in what could only be described as pirate royalty themed clothing, complete with saber at her hip. She spoke up to detail her actions taken, and the griff’s expression slowly changed. Brom and Olivia noticed that the griff had a peculiar looking pouch, on his belt, empty but somehow clearly a weapon sheath.

The griff raised his voice, interjecting an objection and angry retort, citing the power at the Tower Kingdom’s disposal. The Regent cut him short responding with a terse, “—Watch yourself, if I am so powerful, you may not wish to piss me off.”

The Regent then glanced to her left across from the griff ambassador, toward a disapproving woman staring at the regent. The Regent responded to this sight with humility, looking rebuffed. She changed her tone to a more obsequious one asking the Overseer for more time to address the issue.

Abruptly the Regent noticed us and stopped short, addressing Brom directly.

Olivia started to respond, but found herself flustered in front of the Regent. Urne, seeing a brief opportunity, stepped up and let the Regent know who we were and that the party was responsible for the handling of the cricket incident. He also pointed out that any reward should be directed our way.

The regent began questioning us, confirming that we were indeed the heroes of the market. Olivia, slowly answering and being uncharacteristically humble, was interrupted by Urne urging her to give us the credit we deserve.

The regent smiled at Urne’s earnestness and insisted on proof, for which we brought forward Goat. The caprine creation carried the giant cricket legs to Brom, before the Regent and her advisors. Brom had a quick tug of war with Goat over the leg before presenting it to the Regent. The Regent glanced again at her advisor, her expression held tight. She was, however, clearly amused as she advanced and inspected the leg.

After appreciating the giant insect appendage, she thanked us for stepping in when we didn’t need to and preventing a bad situation from becoming worse.

Brom expressed his gratitude for her words before asking if she was aware of the healing scourge. Urne mentioned that he, too, had noticed that his healing on Goat has been impacted, though differently than other healers. For Urne it was less visceral, but still a fevery ache for about 20 minutes afterward.

The regent, listening to their pained accounts recognized this is important and looked to a man in a brown goatee with a tight, straight-fitting outfit. She consulted with him briefly and then admitted to having heard of it. She said, though, that the Pillarhand is working on it and have it under control. At this, Olivia seemed find her spirit again, dramatically rolling her eyes. Completely unable and unwilling to hide it from the woman before her, the Regent noticed and shot a quick look at her, starting to brush it off before turning and engaging Olivia. “Did you have something to say?”

Olivia boldly questioned the wisdom of trusting that assessment. The Regent, startled by a child’s insolence, claimed her advisors are wise and asked if Olivia thinks she herself might have any ideas. Olivia, in disbelief, shouted that all she knew was, “This seems insane and the whole thing is out of control!”

The Regent was again momentarily taken aback, then changed her tone, clearly speaking down toward the child, insisting that she must rely on her colleagues to tell her the truth.

Olivia unshrinkingly implied that she knows the regent doesn’t have things under control, giving the High Regent a piercingly intimidating look for her condescension. The Regent was cowed a second time by this child for a brief moment but, again, composed herself, becoming indignant in a clear attempt to cover her sense of insecurity at not being taken seriously. It was clear that Olivia’s taunts hit too close to the target and Olivia knowingly pulled back quite drastically. She pivoted, inviting the High Regent to come dine with the crew at the Stewed Prune.

Again taken aback by this enigmatic young child, the Regent appeared inclined to accept. Turning to her advisors, however, her expression changed. Urne, seeing the Regent starting to decline, stepped in and urged her to accept our assistance. This gave Olivia the backup she needed to convince the Regent to recognize the mutual benefit. Regent Demetres started to look over at the table and seemed to physically stop herself from returning there, instead saying how long it had been since she had a casual dinner out and how much she would love to join us, once the area was cleared by her security.

At that, we prepared to depart, but not before the griff noisily exited, whinging loudly about young upstart whippersnappers. As Urne and Bold secured the leg back onto Goat’s back, an attendant addressed the regent who then begged her departure, reiterating plans to rejoin us at the Stewed Prune. The group was quickly shuffled out of the palace.

Back on the streets, we discussed the success of that meeting. Overall, we thought the advisors seemed dismayed. Olivia and Brom pointed out that the High Regent seemed to disagree with her advisors. Perhaps she needs some support.

As we passed a street performance, they rerouted us through a new and unfamiliar area when suddenly Brom and I froze and locked eyes. I spotted a shadow off to the left. Brom heard a soft grunt. Quickly we counted off seven ambushers, coordinating with each other and attempting to signal to our companions.

Too quickly, though, a dwarf rushed out from the left, grabbing at Goat, who broke free from of the dwarf’s grip. “Naaaay,” said the great geared Goat. Olivia responded to this charge by reaching for her crossbow. As she did this, her form began changing to one of pure dread. Olivia’s face and arms started flashing with symbols along her skin like tattoos, running and dripping off her onto the ground. Taking a quick shot, her bolt took the dwarf in the thigh. He somehow seemed to take it in stride, recovering his balance after his failed grapple.

A quick double shot of arrows from a rooftop took Urne by surprise, Goat tried to intercept but did not succeed, the arrows striking the dragonkin. As this happened, another stout figure, in terrible red, white, and black armor, stepped out wielding a longbow in hand with a long dagger at his hip. He reached back and nocked three arrows at once firing at Urne, Brom, and I, in a crazy trickshot. With two arrows striking Brom and Urne, I just managed to catch the third arrow on my shield, watching the head sizzle as it burned into the wood. The figure then swept a black mist around himself and vanished from sight, but not before Olivia noticed him flash his fingers in fingertalk. “Nambra, I’ve got the protectors; you get the automaton,” she interpreted.

In response, an elven woman with blue hair and beautiful robes in shifting emeralds, reds, and golds emerged with a scimitar at the ready. She stepped into view and she cast a spell of silence around the group. Urne quickly ran out of this zone and healed himself, directing Goat to attack the Dwarf. Goat awkwardly swung his head around, but distracted by his master’s wounds, he missed entirely.

Two more arrows zipped toward Goat and Brom, the nimble archer nailing only Brom before relocating to a rooftop. Across the street another archer mounted a wagon, firing arrows at Olivia and I, striking each of us, with another volley headed at Goat. Seeing this, the blue haired lady hissed, “Not the automaton!” as another man ran over and grappled with Goat, who again easily shrugged off his assailant.

Brom felt himself standing still, taking in the action, then suddenly found his place and moved into action, freeing himself of the silence and casting a blessing upon Olivia, Goat, and myself.

I swiftly ran after the blue haired lady, smacking her across the chest with a hammer blow. Behind Bold, the dwarf ran in and attempted to take down Olivia but the blow glanced off as Olivia darted away. Dropping into a crouch, Olivia then placed a shot into the base of one of Goat’s attacker’s throat, taking the dwarf out of the fight for good. She then turned and pointed menacingly at the man on the wagon.

In response the elf grinned and shot at Olivia. Still pointing at the man, Olivia was struck by the arrow, those watching saw her darkness seem to somehow become less… menacing, as her absorbed energy was depleted.

The armored figure materialized behind Urne, his dagger buried in the gheor’s back. As Urne slumped to the ground, the man signaled to the caster, gesturing to the dwarf shot in the throat. The blue haired elf then misty stepped away from my reach, appearing on the wagon. She dropped then her Silence effect, dashed to the dying dwarf’s side, and cast some healing on the him. Brom swung out, attempting to seize the opportunity as the elf ran by but missed as she leapt his sweeping staff.

Urne moaned, laying in a puddle, but maintained his consciousness. Hearing this, Brom ran over and offered him a healing hand.

Again I pursued the elven caster, bolting over and dealing her a strong blow as the now-healed dwarf rose to his feet, fleeing. Reeling from the hammer blow, the caster signaled to the armored elf, who himself threw a dramatic hand signal and two more assailants ran in, trying to net Goat, the bleating battlebot. Successfully capturing him this time, they began dragging him away.

Quickly reacting to this, Olivia cast hunters mark on Goat, then stepped back and fired at one of his assailants. The shot critically wounded her target, knocking her to the ground. This left her dwarven partner struggling to keep the net under control, as Goat thrashed in its folds.

Here, as the scene fades to grey and the action slows to a pause, we leave our intrepid party of stumbling do gooders, bound in the throes of battle. So many questions are left unanswered:

• Who are these mysterious attackers?
• Will they get our Goat?
• Will Brom crack the Cricket Leg IPA formula?

Tune in next time to find out!