IC Ljonarian Enigma: Tournament Chaos

[CWater]

Eglantine stood up, slipping the battleaxe into the hostler on her back as Vindal approached. She gestured to the items she had used to aid in the fight."I apologize for using your merchandise. I will pay back any debts I owe due to that." She looked at the bloodstained cloth behind her and shrugged. "And I didn't know if you might have a use for the corpse. At the very least it might be worth charging something to see."

She smiled at Ynna. "Ask the smith over there. A good craftsman can protect their wares and customers. It took me two years to save up for this beauty. But she is useful."

Turning back to Vindal she felt the exhaustion of the day overtake her. "I hate to ask. But may I go home? Today has been rough."

"It is quite alright, Eglantine. We'll sort it out later", Vindal replies, eyeing the scene on the street, "This could have turned much worse.." His voice grows distant and his expression absent-minded. "Oh yes, you may go. Ynna, start gathering up the merchandise, we are done for the day."

While the noise and excitement of the day has in no way quieted down, Eglantine notes that word of the disturbances has gotten around. As she makes her way back towards Mistmoor, she hears the matter debated both loudly and quietly amongst the revelry, and the stories growing in the telling as they tend to. An insane mage, a god's disapproval, a devious conspiracy, simply bad luck... everyone has their opinion of what's the cause.

The Witches Track is calmer, though for some reason people are giving strange long looks to Mrs Mellow's house, which, unusually, has the front door hanging wide open. "Somethin goin on, Eggy?", asks Boris, the next door neighbour, who is sitting outside in his rocking chair as usual, "Saw the guard go in just now."

The frog mage's door is closed, but something is clearly going on in the first floor, where most of the tenants live. Cupboards are being opened and things are being moved around, with little thought for care by the sounds of it. Mrs Mellows voice bemoans in the background. "Oh I'm not at all surprised, officer. There's always been something shifty about these two. Orphans who raised themselves, you know how it never works out. But I do pity the younger, see the boy is not quite right in the head to be honest. If he's done anything I bet she put him up to it. You know I have several times seen her here, lockpicking their own door! What is that for I ask, if not for practise..."

Aerin considers this dubiously. "Got any ideas, then?" she asks the Marchioness, wondering why she (Aerin) is still involved in Darian's fate.

Delaqua frowns at such a direct question directed at her, but considers it anyway. "I suppose a temple would be best, perhaps Illyrie's as they are already involved and would certainly be against any plots that would lead to war. Best not to mention the Duchess though, as that could put them in a difficult position. Clerics are terrible at keeping their mouths shut and heads down until the right moment."

Spoiler

Show

Do you want to do another trip to the temple, or leave the matter here? One can assume the Marchioness should have at least a few guards to spare for an escort.

Rowan sits down on the bench, not quite able to believe they actually put him in a dungeon. A real dungeon, mind you, with moss and cobwebs and everything!

Unfortunately, dungeons quickly prove to be very, very boring. And smelly. And rather cold, since they took his cloak.

After what seems like a few hours, Rowan slumps back against the mossy wall in boredom. "Hello? Am I the only one in here?" He asks loudly.

"Alone? Who of us are ever alone?", asks the wall to his right. Or someone behind the wall, is perhaps the more sensible assumption. "Hmm, who are you, young man?" Examination reveals that the voice is coming from a small hole at about knee height. What is on the other side is hard to say, as a squinting green eye takes up all the space.