Zhira smiled at the headstrong way the old woman had just tried to order them into doing her bidding, apparently finding the effort amusing, rather than offensive. She bowed politely and  said, her words clear even as she maintained a humble tone:

"With all due respect, Honorable Lady Whitewater, I am a traveling hunter of magical threats because I feel my talents are to benefit the whole of Qadira, and thus staying in a single place would go against what I believe to be my duty; if I had thought my talents better utilized in service of our glorious nations by standing guard in a single location, I would have remained in the service of our beloved Satrap as part of the people guarding the Taldan border."

She paused, eyeing Rictor, before adding:

"And, while I would never pretend to speak for others, I expect Prince Rictor here would not be likely to give up his kingdom; pitiful as I expect his lands to be when compared to our glorious Qadira, I imagine he would still rather rule there than be a servant here. He is, after all, a foreigner."

Zhira smiled, although it wasn't really clear who her joke was addressed to, Rictor or Lady Tianka. However, she grew more serious after that, both in voice and demeanor, as she concluded:

"However, I am sorry to say that, however it is you came to the conclusion that this problem shall soon solve itself, I fear you were mislead in some manner. What we found out indicates that, if the problem isn't solved promptly, it might lead to the destruction of your land, and possibly even a thread to all of our glorious nation. With prompt action, which we are are all here to help with, you might not just ensure that you still have a land to rule over, but might even earn the gratitude of the Satrap for taking care of such a problem before it could grow too big and threatening. Surely that's enough of a positive to at least help us in our quest to solve this situation?"

She paused then, respectfully waiting to see what reaction the old woman would be to her words.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:35, Wed 16 Sept 2020.

The matriarch froze in her steps as Zhira spoke up without being asked to do so, her head shot around to fix Zhira with a steely gaze, filled with contempt. The other member of the Whitewater family, who has so far remained stoically silent, grumbled as he also took offense to the rude behavior of this stranger and he started to move towards her.

Tianka gestured for the man to stay his hand, as her gaze drifted up and down Zhira's tall and lean form, regarding her armaments with mild interest, eventually returning to meet her intense hazel eyes. "While I 'appreciate' your candor, young lass, I cannot agree with your reasoning. Qadira as a whole will not suffer greatly if you-as a renowned hunter-will be kept from your 'important' duties for a week or two. Out there are more roaming beasts and other threats than anyone can count, so having one hunter more or less cannot make that big of a difference. At least not for the short time until Dimayen is safe again. After all of this is over, you are free to go about your business once more, roaming the lands free as a bird." She ended with an amused chuckle, clearly the gracious offer and compromise delighted even herself! "But for now," and all amusement was gone from her voice in an instant, replaced with  tone that brooked no argument, "You will remain here, under my supervision! Important people must be protected in times of need, after all, and you will make excellent guards!"

As soon as Zhira mentioned Rictor being a prince, some of her bravado and haughtiness vanished. This was the first time during the brief conversation that you saw Tianka Whitewater being taken aback, almost stunned in surprise. Her eyes grew wide in a moment of weakness and she asked, "A prince?! Of what kingdom? Why has no one informed me about this," her voice wavering between shock and utter disbelief of having a member of a royal family in their midst, even if he was 'merely' a foreigner.

It took her several long moments before she regained some of her composure, listening to Zhira's next words with divided attention. But as Zhira went on, Tianka quickly fell back once more into the role of the implacable and unassailable noble ruler of this village. With a look that bordered on ridicule, she asked, "Nonsense! What information or sources do you have to base these 'speculations' on? Speaking of the destruction of our entire land, hah! Just because a few poor people got sick and ran into the desert? Absurd! And I will not listen to any more of this doom saying, you understand?"

Zhira shrugged, then answered:

"I'm sure Master Qvan will be able to explain better than I could. I apologize if my words offended or disturbed you, Honorable Lady; my intention was merely to do my duty and provide the proper authorities with information on an imminent threat to their rule, as any loyal Qadiran citizen should. If you deem my words useless after having heard them, that's your prerogative; I merely advise, I don't presume to make decisions. Unless you require it of me, I shan't speak any further."

She nodded to conclude her speech, then straightened from her bow, apparently completely relaxed and satisfied that, clearly considering herself in the right for having spoken up, and obviously in no way angry for having been reprimanded, almost as if she'd expected it.

 Qvan raised a hand in sign of appeasement, even turning around and placing a comforting hand on Rictor's forearm, subtly urging him to not explode just yet. He fully expected that explosion would happen in due time, and his steely gaze on the prince conveyed this silently.

  "Lady Tianka, please excuse the temperament of my young companion. Having nigh single-handedly killed a Jackal Daemon Lord not an hour ago must have heated her blood," he turned to face Zhira ever so slightly, and she would perceived a hint of a wink in his eye.

  "Sir Rictor Wyrmbane is indeed a royal prince of Alkir, but his presence here is not in this capacity. I do take offence at our party being labelled my hired hands; or at your suggestion that we have come here to serve the Whitewaters; and last but not least, at the treatment you inflict on your people in general, and on Master Sayyid in particular..."
 The tone was rising, his voice went crescendo, and he expected to be interrupted at any moment, so Qvan dropped what he considered to be final word in this argument, the one that would make or break this situation.

  "TELL ME, Lady Tianka! How long have YOU been infected?! Do you really think we need you more than you need us?!"

 Despite his quirky old professor looks, he was well prepared to burn the entire compound to the ground, and having seen it up close he was not so sure any more that anarchy in Dimayen would be worse than life under the yoke of the Whitewaters.

 The wizard had ignored the second Whitewater character since they walked in, but he trusted the others had an eye on him, as well as on any other guards that may be present in the room so that they would not be caught off-guard if things turned as sour as he thought they would.

---

so much for pleasantries... let's get to business.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:13, Wed 16 Sept 2020.

Rictor flinched inwardly and shot a disbelieving stare at Zhira when she casually, almost offhandedly revealed the secret past that he had been traveling fifteen years to escape. He felt a surge of anger towards her. Towards the situation. But most of all towards himself.

He thought that he might crack a molar, but at last he allowed his jaw to relax.

He took two deep breaths to steady himself.

The sounds in the room seemed dulled in his ears. He could dimly make out Zhira and Tianka speaking, Qvan making pronouncements. All of these faded into the backdrop of his mind.

Moving slowly, like a poorly oiled automaton, he swung his pack down and withdrew from it a small item reverently wrapped in linen. This shroud he removed and folded gently before tucking it back away. It was a bridal veil.

The object that he held was a simple circlet of iron. A thin, hard band. But something about its workmanship spoke of ancient forges, of generations adorning the brows of men whose mettle was harder still than its own.

To Rictor it seemed heavier then the seven tumbled towers of his homeland. A crushing weight, the crushing weight of a lifetime of failure. A kingdom reduced to little more than bones and dust. He had always feared that if he donned it it would snap him like a twig.

Solemnly, reverently, he raised the crown an placed it on his head.

"...Do you really think we need you more than you need us?!" Qvan demanded.

Rictor brushed past him. There was...something in his eyes that made the guards take a nervous step backwards.

He spoke in a calm, level tone.

"I am Rictor the Wyrmbane. Last Swordprince of Alkir. I am the king of ashes. I am the heir of ruin.

I will not kneel beneath the banner of this house of sand. I am on an errand the import of which your petty greed will not allow you to fathom."

He strode to the very center of the chamber, feet wide, shoulders back, and leveled a finger directly at Tianka.

"You will take me to Sayid Aaban. Now."

The old wizard fully expected to be interrupted, but it caught him by surprise that it came from his blind spot and the forgotten prince of Alkir. He left his question in the air and took a subtle step back and bowed his head ever so slightly.

Those close to him could hear a faint murmur: ”Your Highness...”

Whether it was obsequious, heartfelt, or just playing the part would be anyone’s guess.

Aryk's face hardened and he was about to say something to the royal's narcissistic belief that all were her own toys to do with as she pleased, when Qvan stepped forward and did so himself.

Although Aryk lacked the exact knowledge of what was about to be said, it was obvious to him that this was rapidly approaching an inescapable point of action, and his hand began to slowly stray towards his scabbard.  Qvan's accusation though was unexpected, and did force him to blink once in surprise.  Topped off with Rictor's reveal of his heritage, and Zhira's... 'candor', this was turning out to be quite an interesting meeting indeed.

His hand near but not on his weapons, his eyes darted from person to person, before going to the nearest guard, watching those that might come at him in the next few moments.

Vahid had, out of respect for Qvan's wishes, remained silent through Lady Whitewater's barbs, though his expression had grown colder and more grim the more he heard of her disregard for the suffering just beyond the extravagance of her home, until he more closely resembled a stone carving of an avenging angel than his usual kind self. As the conversation lulled, he began to speak, only to silence himself as Rictor declared his identity for all to hear. The words spoke, he bowed his head in deference before rising to stand, his hand on the pommel of his scimitar as he gazed directly into Lady Whitewater's eyes, his words slow, unspoken condemnation plain to all who heard.

"I would do as Prince Wyrmbane says, were I in your place. It will not pardon the atrocities you have committed or allowed to happen against your own people, but the atonement must begin somewhere."

Tianka was appeased by Zhira's reasonable words and her earnest apology, giving the young warrior a gracious nod of the head. She gave a puzzled glance at Qvan's mentioning of some 'daemon lord', obviously neither recognizing the name of the fiendish race, nor realizing what this meant for the current situation in the town. Her brother(?), though, gave a slight start and the man took an involuntary step back, hand dropping away from his blade. His dark eyes looked more intently now at Zhira and the other armed members of Qvan's retinue, trying to figure out if these words were mere bravado, or if there was some truth to them.

As Qvan revealed a bit more about Rictor's heritage, the matriarch frowned in thought and tipped her chin with one finger, searching her memory for any information about this. Turning to Rictor, she said in a mollified tone, "Alkir, Alkir...mh, I'm sure I have heard about this fabled place before...but, alas, the details escape me right now. Please excuse this, Prince, I will read up on your home right after this meeting! We must have some tomes somewhere around here that include Alkir within their pages. Or," and she gave him a wink, "we could spend the evening drinking some tea and you tell me all about it personally. How does that sound?"

At Qvan's sudden outburst and blunt 'accusation' of Lady Whitewater's condition, the entire room fell silent for several seconds. While her brother didn't seem to be surprised, the remaining guards sure were, their attention being drawn to the woman in the center of the room. Tianka stared at the wizard, mouth slightly agape in yet another shock, quite unladylike. Then she wavered, needing to support herself on the armrest of the couch behind her, breathing heavily. It didn't take long before she got a hold of herself again, however, and she turned back to the group, wiping away a few drops of precipitation from her brow with a small cloth.

"Very impressive, Master Qvan. Astute observation! I am indeed afflicted by this curse. This is why I require the high priest's aid to stave-off its dreadful effects." She sighed and ordered one of the slaves to start fanning some cool air for her pleasure, taking several deep breaths to reassert control over the conversation. "But as I said, this shall pass soon. I will be fine, no need to be overly concerned." Her tone suggested that Tianka expected her subjects, which included everyone in this room, to worry about her personal health and safety over anything else.

Before she could continue, Rictor had produced the unassuming crown from his backpack and placed the sign of his rightful rulership on his head. As he moved closer, stating his formal title and making it clear that he was not a subject of Tianka's and not even someone of equal rank, the woman flinched and pressed her lips together in an angry grimace. But she wasn't stupid, realizing that this was not a simple scheme or some sort of deceit. Rictor's behavior and demeanor clearly told everyone that this was very real, and a heavy burden indeed. Someone of his status would have no problem getting a personal audience with the satrap himself, should he request it, standing far above her own station as the ruler of a small village. Her hands clenched into fists as she grasped the robe, her gaze burning into the back of Rictor's head.

A subtle shake of the head from her brother, who seemed to have correctly evaluated the party's dangerous skills, and she exhaled audibly, showing unusual restraint. With a forced smile and unsteady steps, she moved across the room to one of the exits and mumbled, "But of course, your...highness. Please follow me."

---

I will wait a bit to give everyone the chance to respond to this post, then will move on to reveal Sayid's fate.

Zhira seemed amused at the way the discussion had suddenly turned around, but true to her words, she said nothing, merely happy to let the others take charge and see where things would lead.

 Qvan on the other hand was not quite amused by how the tables had turned. He did not like one bit how the Whitewaters matriarch had suddenly backed from her admittedly untenable position in their negotiation –if one could call it that. He feared she might have the last laugh still, as Sayid could have departed from this world already –the stubborn fool.

 He thanked Rictor with a sobre nod and a smile that seemed infused with paternalist melancholy.

 The old wizard was ready to follow Lady Tianka, but left the heir of ruin and king of ashes to lead the way. He would use these floating moments to scan the magic auras in the place –as he guessed others would do with his own magical footprint if they were smart. Lady Tianka, her sibling whose name escaped him, the guards, doors, tapestries, or lingering auras from any source... he let his mind wander for a moment in this magicscape of shimmering colours of varied intensities. His eyes flickered with a blueish hue as he made mental notes of it for future reference.

---

Arcane sight – perception take 10 for 46
 Know arcane take 10 for 50

 If marching order matters, I think Rictor should lead and Zhira close the march.

Rictor nodded gravely, his demeanor stony, and he executed a regal march with stiff back and high head as he followed after the lady Tianka.

His words were terse and he didn't allow himself to be drawn into idle conversation. Having won some small measure of compliance, he was in no mood to ingratiate himself with the Whitewaters. There was also the matter of expediency. If Tianka did perform a more thorough search into the recent history of Alkir the first thing that she would learn was that it was a fallen kingdom, no more than ruins. Rictor was a prince by birth and by blood, but would the vagabond prince of a fallen nation command her obedience?

Better rescue Sayid and be gone before finding out.

As the group departed the room and headed deeper into the compound, Vahid followed behind Rictor. He did not speak further, though his hand did drift away from his weapon. The sooner they collected Sayid and High Priest Shonar and left this place, the better.

Tianka proceeded to exit the reception hall through the western double doors, turning immediately right and followed the marble corridor with its spotless floor and masterfully crafted furniture until she reached another door at the far side. There, the matriarch hesitated for a moment, briefly glancing back over her shoulder at Rictor, then she opened the door with a sigh after seeing that his steely gaze did not waver or falter.

Rust-colored bloodstains mared the iron floor of L-shaped chamber beyond, concentrated around the various restraints, pillories, and leather straps scattered about. A huge variety of well-oiled blades hung from the walls, while a small brazier in the southwest corner quietly warmed a dozen brands. A single wooden chair rested against the northern wall. Qvan knew very well, from his visit to the village in the past, that the Whitewater family acted as Dimayen’s government and most likely used this room to carry out sentencing against the community’s criminals—with “criminal” often defined as “those who irritate the Whitewater family.” Most punishments involved banishment after some manner of scarification, and the room was filled with fitting tools for carrying out such sentences.

Without stopping, Tianka walked across the room and to yet another door, where a single guard stood watch next to a lever on the wall. The woman narrowed her eyes as more and more strangers poured into the chamber, but after a quick and decisive gesture from her mistress did she step aside, gaze downcast and opened the door for the matriarch.

Three sturdy, cushioned chairs rested on a five-foot ledge overlooking a wide, ten-foot-deep pit dug from the sandstone bedrock in the area beyond the door. Stinging, writhing insects picked at bones and bits of flesh below, while three bronze cages dangled above on chains. A tattered mess of bones and torn sheets in the southwest corner suggested a bed. This chamber was the final destination for those who personally insulted or endangered the Whitewater family. The nearby springs cause a constant drip of water within the pit, and various nests of stinging insects have flourished there, thousands of vile desert pests—ticks, scorpions, giant fleas, and assassin bugs, gathered into a roiling swarm.

Among the swarming insects sat a lone male individual, legs crossed, head drooping onto his chest. The man was bare-chested, with dark skin that was marred by dozens of white scars, big and small. His face was hidden behind a mass of tangled black hair, but the faintly glowing hands and arms in his lap clearly showed that he was not quite human. Strangely, not one of the insects approached within two feet of him, staying well clear.

Two of the bronze cages were empty, but the third one contained an exhausted, stung, and swollen Sayid Aaban, squirming uncomfortably, 20 feet above the pit’s floor. He looked up as the door was opened and his eyes grew wide in utter surprise.

 The others may only guess it, but Qvan recognised the plump face and dark moustache of Sayid Aaban in the cage, despite the bruises and cuts and swollen stings. He winced. Whatever the offence, this punishment was hardly fitting.

  “This is most distasteful...” he simply said.
  “Are you going to introduce us to your Suli servant, Lady Tianka? Is he your inquisitor? Executioner?”

Seeing as it was Rictor’s titles that had opened the doors and commanded respect, rather than diplomacy and reason, the old wizard thought it better to let the prince do the talking. Whatever requests they made, they would be only received if proffered from a royal mouth.

He tried to look the injured bookkeeper in the eyes, and waved timidly in a sign of reassurance.

Rictor was relying on bravado and speed, acting quickly before Tianka could decide what to make of him. He suspected that she would see the prince of a fallen kingdom as a vagabond. He wouldn't count on noblesse oblige when he had no political boons to offer, and so he swaggered about and assumed the mantle of command before he could be countermanded.

"You. Cut him down." He said, snapping his fingers and pointing his fingers at a nearby guard. It wasn't one ruler making a request of another, it was a superior making a demand of a subordinate.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:35, Sat 19 Sept 2020.

Tianka's face was ashen as she gazed down to the dirty and blood-covered descendant of a human and a jann, sitting in the center of the Discipline Pit with only torn rags for clothing. "Neither," she whispered, swallowing hard as her eyes began to fill with unwanted tears. "He is my son," she explained in a broken voice, barely audible.

The guard Rictor addressed hesitated for a moment, unsure if she was supposed to follow the orders of a stranger, even if this stranger certainly looked and sounded like he was used to being obeyed. After a brief look at the oblivious and distracted Lady Whitewater, she sought confirmation from someone else, finally finding it in the grim nod of the matriarch's brother at the back of the group. With a formal salute, the woman strode into the room, grabbed the hempen rope that held the cage in the air, lowered Sayid's prison a couple of feet until it was even with the floor above the pit, then grabbed a hooked pole to pull the cage towards the ledge. Once it was secured again, the guard removed the chain of keys from her belt, stepped forward and, with a quick and often-practiced motion, opened the cage, eventually stepping back against the wall once more.

Sayid slowly climbed out of the bronze cage, his body clearly aching all over, trying his best to suppress a loud moan as he forced his muscles to move. "Master Hamid," he groaned, voice a mix of being pleasantly surprised by his sudden rescue and worry about what would happen next. "It is good to see you." The injured bookkeeper tried to smile in gratitude, but it was more of a pained grimace and Sayid sank to his knees in a violent coughing fit.

OOC: rolling a healing check, to see if that can tells me anything on Sayid's condition and how best it could be fixed.

18:18, Today: Zhira al-Darea rolled 29 using 1d20+18.  Heal.

Zhira had maintained a detached gaze as she took in the rooms the group went through, saying nothing even as she clearly took mental note of everything around them.

When the newly freed man knelt to the floor, she calmly moved to kneel next to him and helping him back to his feet, her eyes taking in his form in a scrutinizing manner, although she still didn't speak nor make any comments.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:02, Sat 19 Sept 2020.

 Qvan was taken aback by the murmured revelation. The others seemed not to have heard, or maybe this was by design as the matriarch had no desire for this to become public knowledge. While Sidi Aaban was removed from his incarceration, under the benevolent supervision of Prince Rictor, he turned his attention back to the Whitewaters.

 From the corner of his eye he observed the brother, a man of some seniority, and talked to the Lady of the House.
  "This is obviously not mine to question or judge, but shouldn't your son be at your side, learning the finesse of politics and the mechanics of ruling? Or has he forsaken his role as your heir?"
  "The question may arise sooner that you think..." he added, hinting to the direness of the situation which the matriarch seemed set on ignoring.

 He deliberately ignored the obvious elemental heritage aspect, part by design, but also because this had no bearing on such things in his philosophy. He was well aware that this was not the dominant way of thinking in Qadira though, and that Suli were often pariahs of society. He appreciated the irony that one so hard on traditions and conventions would have in her house a potential heir whom she would see as a bastard. The circumstances of his birth were of course very relevant to his potential status, but he knew this was neither the time or place to inquire.

 As the bookkeeper was released and walked towards them, he was glad to have Vahid and Zhira to provide healing and support.
  "Master Aaban, peace be with you," he simply said with a hand to the heart.
  "I wish we met under different circumstances. We have a lot to talk about. Your store is a mess – even the cellar was ransacked," he mentioned that last bit to convey the urgency of the situation, and the need for privacy to talk about the Curse.

As Vahid entered what he could only think of as the Whitewaters torture chamber, he thought his scorn for them could not deepen. At the sight of Sayid, he was proven wrong. His face darkened at the acknowledgment of the man in the pit as her son, and he began to speak in response to that information, but diverted his attention to Sayid as the man began coughing.

He quickly covered the distance between the two of them, kneeling at his side opposite Zhira, taking in his condition as best he could while offering him a hand to help him stand, and a shoulder to lean on if it proved necessary. "Try not to speak so much yet, let us focus on leaving this place for now."

ooc: I will also make a heal check to assess Sayid's condition. The result is a 48.

Rictor watched with a stony face as Zhira and Vahid tended to Sayid. He hoped that the man had the presence of mind to pick up Qvan's hint, and the wisdom to keep quiet about it until they were away from the Whitewater compound.

Their aim completed, Rictor found it very difficult not to walk away and leave the household to the ravages of the curse. Little that he had seen had given him any inclination towards helping them.

And yet his frown deepened further still when Tianka revealed the parentage of the man imprisoned in the oubliette. He fought a pang. A young princeling, the son of nobles, denied his birthright and made an outcast. Yes, there was much there that resonated with Rictor. But while Rictor's home had been destroyed by the subtle machinations of a great dragon, this boy was imprisoned by the very family that had sired him.

Only one thing stayed Rictor's hand from the black starmetal blade at his waist. The tears rolling down Tianka's seamed face were the first sympathetic sign that he had seen in her.

He moved to stand before her, arms still folded. He swallowed the urge to shout and censure. She deserved it. But how would that help the boy? He saw too much of himself in the half djinn to pass on, but what was he missing here?

Was Tianka a cruel matriarch, hiding away the proof of an illicit affair? Or was the boy dangerous, uncontrollable somehow, and imprisoned for the safety's sake? He needed to know more before he could help.

"Tell me his story." He said to her coaxingly, his words not unkind.

At first it seemed as if Tianka had not heard Qvan's question, or maybe chose to ignore it, but eventually her gaze lifted once more and focused at the old wizard. Blinking away tears, she straightened and the moment of weakness was gone like sand on the wind. In a more professional tone, she curtly shook her head and said, "Reshal's mind is...clouded, his personality mostly gone. He is nothing more than a wild and bloodthirsty beast anymore." She gestured at the pit and continued with regret in her voice, "I was forced to banish him to this place in order to keep my servants, and even my other family members, safe from his rampaging fury. So no, he will not serve as my replacement or heir to the Whitewater legacy."

Sayid was glad for the help Zhira offered, grasping her arm and pulling himself back on his feet, giving Vahid an appreciative look in the process. With the cough momentarily subsiding, he bowed to both Zhira and Vahid in thanks, then to Qvan in greeting. As his store and especially the cellar was mentioned, Sayid's eyes grew wide in surprise and fear. "Bad news, indeed, Master Hamid. If it wouldn't be too much to ask, I'd like to visit the Fabled and Forgotten myself as soon as possible and see if anything...was stolen." His urgent tone suggested he was well aware of what this could mean and he did not want to waste any time.

Tianka turned to Rictor as he walked over to stand next to her, meeting his gaze with her own, this time not shying away from a potential confrontation. A moment of hesitation, than she said in a neutral tone, "I will not. What I have said so far must suffice. This is a personal, a family matter that has nothing to do with Dimayen, the curse, or anything else that is currently going on. So it does not concern any of you. He is my burden to carry, as you have yours. And that is all I will say to this matter."

She turned away then, giving an inviting gesture at the room's exit. "You are free to leave should you desire this. Even if I planned with your group becoming part of my household for the next few weeks, it is clear now that I cannot enforce this. The lack of a second priest will be unfortunate, but Shonar has done a good job so far, and there is nothing to suggest he won't do so for a while longer still." With a frown Tianka glanced over at the weak Sayid, then shrugged. "The bookkeper hadn't been of any help so far anyway, and I think he has been punished enough for his transgressions. Hopefully he will learn from this experience to not treat his betters like this again in the future. You are free to take him with you."

 Qvan retreated from the conversation about the troubled offspring of the Whitewater family. Maybe his Suli heritage was not the reason –or at least not the only reason– that he had been pushed aside from his birthright. In any case, the matriarch was right, this was a private matter which did not concern any of them. Certainly it was not something they ought to explore whilst committed to their much higher endeavour.

 He had hoped they would leave with High Priest Shonar as well. In the current circumstances though, liberating Sayid Aaban without a fight was perhaps enough of an achievement. He wondered what good the old cleric would be, if he willingly served the unfair and unkind rulers of Dimayen.

 After the matriarch spelled out that they were free to take the bookkeeper away, the tall wizard looked down on her and the brother.
  "Of course we are... Lady Tianka, when this Curse has passed –through diligent action, and not laisser-faire–, I will come back. There is room for improvement in Dimayen."

 The urgency was the Feast of Dust, but it seemed more and more obvious that the citizens of this forsaken would be happier, healthier, and wealthier without their wicked rulers. Before they acted rashly on it though, legal implications should be considered.

 Unless there was more that the Whitewaters wanted to discuss, or other issues that his companions wanted to push, Qvan would lead the way out of the compound.
  "Are you able to walk?" he asked the bookkeeper.

 Curative magic would probably be needed, but in the meantime he could also offer to carry the man to his shop. Unless a better and more conventional solution was readily available, Qvan turned into a Desert Giant and carried the man like one would a chubby and moustached five-foot toddler.

Under the disapproving eyes of both Lady Whitewater and her brother, you eventually leave the compound with Sayid Aaban in tow. The injured and ill bookkeeper would have been able to walk on his own, though only under severe pain. So Qvan's solution of turning into the towering form of a desert giant might not have helped to preserve his dignity-and draw a lot of attention while the party made their way back to the ransacked shop-but it at least guaranteed that the freed man did not suffer any more pain than absolutely necessary.

Back in the Fabled and Forgotten, Sayid was devastated as he heard that several daemons and their undead servants had come here unnoticed and went through his ledgers, journal and even searched the private collection in the cellar. On one hand, he was glad to not have been there when the fiends came, or he might have ended up being killed by their overwhelming strength, on the other, he felt responsible and as one of the last Sentinels of Meraz it was his duty to defend the innocent people of Dimayen from such otherwordly threats.

Naturally, his first instinct was to go and make sure that the hidden room of his basement was still undiscovered and that the blade was secure. This was when even worse news were revealed to him...

---

I leave the actual revelation of the blade being a mere illusion to you guys, as well as any questions you might have for Sayid from here on out.

Under the form of a Desert Giant, Qvan looked very much like a scaled up version of himself. His complexion was just a touch darker, and his features a bit rougher, as if sculpted by the sandy winds of the Mezra. As he carried the bookkeeper, walking long steps with the formidable escort of Zhira and Rictor at the vanguard, and Vahid and Aryk at the rear, the old wizard was not going for discretion. Indeed the people of Dimayen needed not stealthy vigilantes working in the shadows, but proud heroes who would inspire confidence in these times of trouble.

While they walked, he explained the situation in his baritone voice. It started with his gathering of the fellowship, their journey through the third circle, encounter with the mercenaires, visit to the temple, and the arrival at the bookstore. He described how the gaunt clerk had turned out to be an intelligent ghoul, how mighty daemons had ransacked his workshop, and how they found his basement crowded with gulls. He briefly retold the fight with the jackal-faced daemon, by the time they arrived at the store.

  « They did not find your private collection... » he said as he resumed his human shape and about halved height.
  « But do not rejoice too quickly... is it possible that an illusion was substituted for the original artefact? Or was that part of your plan? »

He had no faith in the latter, but hoped the bookkeeper would surprise him with an elaborate strategy that involved pretending that the sword had been replaced with an illusion...