@ Cara & Manaolama

By the time Cara and Manaolama had made their presence known in the South Side, the sun was starting to edge down over the land.   To the South East, a low length of darkness spread--stormclouds beyond Bull's Isl.

The faintest tips of sails on the horizon said there were ships coming--two of them, racing against the storm.  The dockworkers were going to be busy tonight, and the chances were better than ever that the Briney Goose=--and many other south-side taverns--was going to be overrun with sailors.

Word wasn't out in public yet about the boys' disappearance.   But there was street gossip that some sort of crackdown had happened in the merchant's quarter.   One of the open-air markets had been shut down by the blue-coats to investigate a possible magical threat.   But when all was said and done, there hadn't been much of excitement to see.

Cara and Manaolama took their leisure in a little plaza, a couple of blocks from the docks, themselves.   There were a couple of restaurants, and one had an open terrace, with a good view of the road to the docks, and an alley on the far-side, abutting the Blue Sails warehouse.

The watcher hunched on the corner, peering impassively over the entire scene, unmoved, unblinking--unseen by most except those who knew what to look for.

The Blue Sails warehouse was an enornmous wooden structure, built back when the Dockwards did more shipbuilding than trade.  It had been a shipwright's workshop, aa fairly open structure in which they bliterally--built some of the Kumlar's first ships.  It still had a lot of the original caulking and detailing in the black stone that had served as it's foundation.  The ancient yew timbers were heavy with ancient sigils and signs, oiled down until they almost glistened in the afternoon sun. The magic of the shipbuilders had long since dwindled, but the memory of magic remained.

The Blue Sails was a thriving business, made more so by it's proximity to the docks.  One could stand on it's front step and see the ships berthing for loading and unloading.    It was almost always open, though it's business depended on the tides.

At the front door, the proprietor had put out a couple of tables and chairs.  A couple of rough looking dock workers had taken up position there, apparently playing a dice game set out on a mat with a lopsided drawings of a house and rooms.  Probably "Lucky Pig".

It was inevitable that they'd need to wait.  As fast as the watcher's might be, it was still an unexpected visit.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:51, Sat 11 July 2020.

@Garland

Garland held back, letting the time draw out, like footsteps leading towards a doorway to the next room.

Some said fate was like a blind path, leading one onward blind, but Garland could see the potential outcome of walking through that door.

Gaining an ally in the Queen, though...  It would afford him some greater measure of protection.   Mira would have to work harder, be more discrete than she might prefer.

Still, Stefen had simply said the Blue Sails had ties to the Ember Blades.  The Ember Blades had their fingers in a lot of pies.  Not every business wanted public investors.  Nd if you didn't want certain unforeseen "accidents" to happen, you accepted their discrete backing.

Chances were better than average that the Blue Sails "had ties" with a number of shady enterprises.  But with the death of Garalnd's father, the Ember Blades had increased their stake.  Soon enough they were probably going to start gathering the notice of the royal court.  And that was going to be a nightmare in the works.

Probably, that was still years off.  But Mira was ambitious and she played the game of Shah better than Garland had once anticipated.

Cara didn't bother lurking in the alleyway, she was there to be noticed.  She didn't bother looking back at Manaolana either as she stepped out onto the main thoroughfare and beat a bullseye towards the open terrace.  "Are you the strong silent security type, looming behind me, or are you more at home as the first line of defense?"  She asked with a slight tilt of her head as they crossed the street, her boots echoing across the cobblestones with almost military precision.  She walked like any who stood before her needed to get the hell out of her way, and in truth, almost all who noticed her did.  Double takes, scowls, and furtive warding gestures followed in her wake, rippling out about her noticed the presence of the Oathsworn within their midst.  Not everyone knew the stories, but most did, and a palpable aura of distrust followed her wherever she walked.

She approached the terrace, the open yard of an ale house called the Harpy's Last Note, and claimed a table.  She did not bother to wait for Manaolana, allowing the man to take his pick for how he wanted to play it.  He could choose to loom behind her, the silent security goon watching over his charge, or he could take a seat at the table as her equal. Immediately,  she began rolling up the sleeve of her right coat, revealing the iron vambrace beneath.  Surely she did not mean to reveal another of the horrors that infested her left arm here?  The proprietor of the establishment had spotted them, a barrel chested man in his mid forties with a gut to match, and even then was making his way outside to greet them.  She unclasped the armor, showing that there was no alien sacrilege within.  No unholy corruption of flesh and body, no indescribable sensation of righteous fury thwarted as there had been when she had unsealed the thing within her left forearm.  Just her arm, lighter than the flesh of her hands and face, and scarred with glyphs and ritual geometry of her strange magics.  The proprietor eyed her, his sharp beard and mustache surrounding a scowl, his gaze falling between her coat, her arm, and Manaolana's huge bulk.

"You..."  He croaked, the lack of surety clear in his already raspy voice.  "This isn't the place for trouble, a them that start it find themselves on the wrong end of some very dangerous people."  He managed at last, his hands wringing a filthy cloth until his knuckles were white.  Cara turned to acknowledge him after a long moment, reaching into her coat with her right hand and withdrawing a roll of vellum.  The innkeeper tensed and then noticeably relaxed as she pulled it out, concern giving way to curiosity.

"Then we are in the right place."  She said at last, breaking at least some of the tension.  "I am glad to hear that there will be no trouble, Master...?"  She trailed off, eyeing him.

"I'm no slav... I'm no one's Master."  He said in righteous indignation, only catching himself halfway through.  A number of emotions were playing themselves out along his face, anger, concern, fear, perhaps even an element of pride. "Stenton Harris, is my name, and this is the the Harpy's Last Note.  Do you know what that means? Do you have any idea who holds dominion here?"   It was part threat, part pleading.

"Stenton Harris."  Cara repeated, giving neither her own nor Manaolana's name in response.  She instead went back to her work, flattening out the vellum and placing the forearm guard in the middle of it.  Then she withdrew a piece of charcoal, and began inscribing a series of glyphs and sigils upon the vellum.  Though the foreign marks were meaningless to even the most erudite College Mage, the intent was clear.  She was inscribing a Ritual Circle.  "Two ales and a loaf of bread, should you have anything freshly made today.  If not, just the ale will do." She didn't bother looking at him, and he stuffed whatever response he might have made and took the opportunity to retreat back through the main door.  For her part, she had nothing more to add.  She let the time pass by diligently working on her ritual, allowing Manaolana to perform the role of lookout on his own, should he choose too.

---

Describe the Action: Inscribing a spell of haste into the forearm guard.

Roll the Dice 18:04, Today: Cara rolled 0 using 4 Fudge dice.

Determine Approach: Pretty clearly Lore.  Brings her total to +4

Choose an Action: Certainly "Create an Advantage," seeking to create the Aspect Glyph of Alacrity upon the right vambrace.

---

People and Things introduced.

Stenton Harris - Owner of the Harpy's Last Note, an alehouse under the jurisdiction of the Ember Blades.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:09, Tue 28 Apr 2020.

Manaolana is not apparently bothered by Cara's lack of bother. He is, rather, stolidly impressed by her bearing. He has worked out by now that Cara is a person of some power and is certainly overabundant with confidence, not to be trifled with. He simply nods at her question and adopts a position behind her, looming, as she said, as the dutiful bodyguard. He had rather hoped to play another part with which he had been dabbling lately, but, again, Cara was not to be trifled with.

As he stood watching and listening, his eyes surveyed the room. He caught in the shadows of the doorway another figure with whom he was surprised to be acquainted. Brollox the Butcher is a fairly well-known operative of the Ember Blades and otherwise a blade for hire. He had the distinction of having lost a fight in a barroom brawl to a former associate of Manaolana's, Zaichus the Swift. Zaichus had hired Manaolana and several others to protect him during a business negotiation but ended up securing the agreement to a large discount on said transaction if Zaichus could beat a chosen champion. Manaolana could still see the scar on Brollox's face where Zaichus had slashed him.

----

People and Things introduced:

Brollox the Butcher - operative of the Ember Blades and sword for hire

Zaichus the Swift - crafty and mysterious merchant and apparent swordmaster