Eberron Literary Trilogy

[Mahrke]

The trio depart from Snirt's pies, and make their way to their orcish companion's house. Beauregard gestures to the door, and Vinny bangs on it with an anvil-like fist, rattling the thing on its hinges. "Oi! Open up. We've got work," the gnome calls in that characteristic, somewhat squeaky shout.

[Lateral]

A loud groan, followed by a series of loud crashing noises and heavy footsteps, rings out from the inside of Mags' flat. After an uncomfortably long period of silence, the door slams open, revealing a disheveled, obviously hungover Mags holding her cannonball semi-threateningly over her head. She blinks a few times, trying to clear her eyes, and stares down at P.T. "...Beauregard? What the hell's goin' on? It's too ****in' early to be bangin' on my door like that, I coulda caved in yer goddamn skull."

[Mahrke]

"Told you," the gnome quips to Mili, before returning his gaze to the orc. His head is craned back. "Right. House Medani wants us, on the double, presumably because of our actions last night, and I don't to tell you that Dragonmarked houses mean Dragonmarked money." The gnome gestures inside, "Now go on, brush your hair and get something more dignified on. I'd rather show up with a put-together mean streets detective, rather than a drunken prostitute-cum-street tough."

[Lateral]

Mags rolls her eyes "Riiiight. 'Cause your 'carnival barker' look inspires so much confidence. I'll just be a minute; in the meantime, why don't you hold this for me, eh?" She holds out her hand and, before Beauregard can protest, drops the heavy iron sphere directly into the gnome's hands, slamming the door shut in his face. She returns about ten minutes later, looking significantly more alert and wearing her usual trenchcoat and shades. "So, what's House Medani want with us, anyway?"

[Mahrke]

The action gets a flinch out of the gnome as he stumbles back to avoid the weight of a metal ball he surely can't manage, but Vinnie is nothing if not reliable. A hand as large as the cannonball moves to intercept it, holding it aloft with stony stoicism. P.T. does his best to reclaim his dignity, pulling on the lapels of his suit and turning away from the door to wait.

When Mags returns, Beauregard gives her a fingergun. "Hey, now that's more like it. Presentation is everything, you know?" He begins to walk, and Vinnie offers the cannonball to the styling greenskin. "No idea, really. They're being mysterious. You know the nobility; obsessed with putting on airs and seeming so very enigmatic. But the baron wants to see us, and that means something a little more substantial's on our plate this time."

[Jeff the Green]

"Err, yes," Ilphukiir tells Mags. "Baron Trelib d'Medani requests your presence, though I'm fairly sure that it's less him being mysterious than presumptuous. The way our house works, he makes a request; we obey. We don't get explanations." She pauses for a second as she realizes what she'd said. "Please don't repeat that to him."

[stack]

"Yeah, putting on airs. Imagine that. How dare they." Sean intones, deadpan, while gazing levelly at the gnome.

[Khosan]

"Let's get moving," Mili pipes up, finally finished with the mystery-meat-inna-bun she picked up from Snirt earlier, "I'm thinking my hunch was right and I'd really like to find out."

[Mahrke]

"Right? Pretenders at greatness, I say," the gnome replies to Sean without a hint of self-reflection, "Dust off your pie-crumbs, fellows, it's off to the upper crust." With that, Beauregard begins for the Baron's manse, sporting an eager gleam in his eye.

[Jeff the Green]

The walk to Dragon Towers is a long one, a veritable hike up the cliff-side to the middle central plateau. As you ascend literally, you also ascend financially, through middle class and professional districts until you reach the home of the Dragonmarked House enclaves. The streets here are no more crowded and only barely less winding than Cliffside, but they stink less and there's less mud. The people wear decidedly more stately clothes, though there are more than a few popinjays here too. You are out of place, and the peoples' stares let you know it. A quick flash of a nascent Mark of Detection on Ilphukiir's forearm is enough to get you waved through the gates without a second look, though.

Eventually you arrive at your destination, an enormous manor house. Four guards stand at attention outside, their armor much more polished than a normal mercenary's and embossed with a gilt basilisk on the breastplate. Given that their weapons seem personalized and used rather than part of a uniform, however, suggests that their presence is not purely ceremonial. They nod their heads at you and Ilphukiir as you pass and enter the foyer.

The inside is at least as ostentatious as the outside. Everything is made of rare hardwoods or stones, with almost enough gilding to be tacky. A massive staircase rises immediately across from the door you entered, then curves around to balconies on either side and then above you. Art of varying styles and ages (and of varying degrees of nudity) adorn the walls and plinths placed here and there along the walls. A young half-elf who manages to look almost as mousy as Mili sits at a desk. (Presumably the staff is not chosen to be as impressive as the guard or the decor.) He looks up and raises his eyebrows at Ilphukiir. "You took your time. He's not happy."

Your guide blushes, but doesn't respond. Instead, she bids you sit and heads up the massive staircase.

Spoiler: Knowledge (engineering) or (martial) DC 15

Show

Though clearly designed primarily as a statement of wealth, the manor is clearly a very defensible structure. The fencing is sturdier than it needs to be to keep passers-by from trodding on the petunias, there are a number of very narrow windows in the upper floors, and the main door is heavy oak bound with wrought iron. Even the roof seems to be guarded against covert intrusion; it is steeply pitched and there are a number of strategically-placed spikes to ruin the day of an intruder who attempted to fly or cat-burgle their way in

[Mahrke]

Beauregard self-consciously smooths his beard between his fingers when the troupe drawer stares. He nudges Vinnie in the calf, and the giant of a man straightens his comically undersized bowler. When they arrive in the stately mansion, Beauregard takes the offer to sit, drawing his hat from his head and offering the slightest bow, "Madame." The gnome hops up onto a chair (never designed for short folk). Vinnie, of course, remains standing. As soon as the mousy half-elf is out of sight, he turns his attention to their guide.

"I must say, you're being rather hard on her. I thought we made cracking time. Unless, perhaps, she took a detour before visiting True Sight?" He raises an eyebrow.

[Khosan]

"I feel so sorry for that woman's name, that's barely even a syllable off from being very rude." Mili comments once their escort is safely out of earshot.

She takes a seat next to Beauregard, swinging her legs back and forth like a small child as she takes in the interior of the mansion they found themselves in. "Hell of a fortress they've got here. Even got spikes on the ceiling."

[stack]

Aside from brushing off crumbs, Sean seems untouched by the increasingly lavish surroundings, maintaining a passive, almost bored expression throughout.

"Going to reckon that not having us here before he was done asking qualifies as 'late' in these parts. Not sure what ood ceiling spioke are going to do. A lot of work to throw people up there."

[Khosan]

"Mostly for people like me, thieves, burglars and the like. We're more likely to come in and out through the windows and upper levels. They're like aerial caltrops, guarding the places the people in heavy armor with the big heavy weapons can't get to. Doesn't even have to really get you, since even the tiniest drop of blood will tell the right spellcaster everything they want to know. Being a teleporter, I'm not that inconvenienced by them, but they're still a pain to deal with." Realizing she's in the presence of people who'd very much frown on her theoretical robbery, she turns to the receptionist, "Not that I have any intention of coming here uninvited." Her mask is lifted up and incidentally tilted forward by whatever expression she's currently making underneath it. A dedicated Mili-watcher would say she's forcing a giant sheepish grin inside there.

[Jeff the Green]

The weedy receptionist raises an eyebrow at Mili but then answers Sean. "We are expected to read the baron's mind, yes, but she took far longer than she should have to find four people like you." He sits and resumes scribbling something.

A few moments later Ilphukiir comes, fairly galloping, down the stairs. She seems not to notice the wisp from her ponytail that floats in front of her face, and from her expression it's fairly obvious she received a tongue-lashing. "He's ready for you," she says, and turns around and heads back upstairs without waiting for a response.

She leads you through a virtual labrynth of halls. As you reach further into the house the decoration becomes sparer and less deliberately impressive, though no less expensive. Portraits of d'Medani members now predominate, some of them the moving umbrikons recently invented by houses Thuranni and Phiarlan. Eventually, up yet another flight of stairs, you reach a pair of double doors. "This is not where he normally receives visitors," Ilphukiir explains. "It's been a night." She pushes the door open and gestures for you to enter.

Inside the baron paces in front of bookshelves that must reach the rest of the way to the manor's roof and span one side and half the back of the house. Massive skylights let in such light as the grey sky will provide, and a number of couches, desks, and chairs scatter the room. Either the baron is a neat-freak or he has a very diligent librarian in his employ, as only one book, open on a desk, is away from its place on the shelves. The man himself is no less neat: his charcoal hair is coiffed perfectly; his brash military moustache oiled and combed, and, despite his paunch, bears himself ramrod straight.

He nods to Ilphukiir—apparently a sign to leave and close the doors—and beckons vaguely to some chairs in front of a desk. "May I offer you a drink?"

[stack]

Sean bites back the smart reply that leaps to his mind, instead making at effort at a good impression, being certain that someone will make sure their host is annoyed and not wanting to push the matter when they could be getting paid. "Please. And good morning." he replies with a nod.

[Mahrke]

It was all so...posh. Rich. Extravagant. Ostentatious and yet, somehow, understated. And so damn elegant. Beauregard walks tall in this place. Here, he thought, he fit in. He knew these people, and despite his meager beginnings, he had was noble at heart. If, perhaps, not possessed of a noble heart.

When greeted, the gnome sweeps his coattails aside and takes a seat before the baron. He nods to Vinnie, giving the giant a little shooing motion. Stoic as ever, the man follows his absolute opposite in Ilphukiir from the room, standing outside the door with cane perched in both hands, tip planted between his feet. He stares down the hall, expressionless.

Eyes twinkling, Beauregard offers a nod to the man of the house, "Baron Trelib. An honor." He smooths his waved goatee between thumb and forefinger. His eyes flick to the man's facial hair, similarly styled. Elegant. "I must decline. I never drink before work. And, so early in the morning...I take you have had a sleepless night? Welcome rest deprived, I might guess, by the calamity we interceded in?" Beauregard removes his hat. His smile shows teeth. "Ah, my apologies, where *are* my manners. P.T. Beauregard, at your service. As is all of True Sight, of course," he says, moving hand, palm up, to the side to present his unlikely associates.

[Khosan]

"Can we just skip the pleasantries and get to business?" Mili asks, taking a seat as the baron directs, "I don't mind playing nice, but I'd rather not waste more time. We're already apparently late and I have a feeling we're about to be put on a clock."

[Jeff the Green]

The baron starts a bit and then groans. "Yes, it is morning, isn't it." He walks over to a side table and taps an ornate kettle, which immediately begins glowing. "Tea, then." As he spoons out some leaf into a pot and waits for the water to boil, he begins explaining.

"This contract is not with House Medani. It is with me. We will not be signing a confidentiality agreement; if you are unguarded with who you tell, you will not face lawsuits but a quarrel or stilletto. If you feel your existing loyalties prevent you from agreeing to this, you may leave." He looks pointedly at Mags.

"Recently, the Lorghalan Basilisk was stolen from outside my private office. We immediately closed that wing and claimed there was water damage, which is why we are meeting here. My daughter, Zelina, personally led a team of inquisitives to find it, and now they have disappeared. After last night I cannot divert inquisitives without answering to the rest of my house, and my primary freelancer is unavailable. You are to find Zelina and retrieve the basilisk. For this, I will pay you 2000 galifars."

He sets the tea set down in on his desk in front of you, rather more forcefully than necessary, then sits and reclines, folding his fingers in front of his face. "Will you accept this?"

Spoiler: DC 15 Knowledge (Local) or (History, or DC 12 Knowledge (Nobility)

Show

The Lorghalan Basilisk is a silver statuette, approximately a half meter from tail-tip to snout, of a basilisk rampant.

Spoiler: Beat by 5 or more

Show

Commissioned several hundred years ago by an earlier d'Medani patriarch, it has been stolen on several occasions. All but once it was immediately retrieved and the thieves subjected to various torments and humiliations. Once it was not recovered for almost 70 years, when it reappeared in the collection of a Zil triumvir, who extracted an outrageous ransom.

[stack]

Sean listens intently, holding his tongue. It seems to make sense to him, but he doesn't know Sharn the way the others do, so he won't speak first.

[Mahrke]

"Regardless of our personal affiliations, True Sight is nothing if not professional," the gnome begins, steepling his own fingers, "We are a quality outfit of multidisciplinary specialists, and that comes with a price. Our fee is 250 galifars up front, paid regardless of the success or failure of our investigation. In addition, you have requested not one, but two endeavors of us. One regarding the whereabouts of your daughter. Another seeking the return of the basilisk. Given the implicit danger of investigating a matter that has led to the disappearance of one team already, I'm inclined to demand three thousand galifars for the return of your daughter, and nine thousand for the return of the heirloom. Paid to True Sight, of course." There is a pause. "I understand if that seems steep. Especially if you are accustomed to utilizing House resources for whom contracts have already been, by and large, negotiated, but you get what you pay for, and I feel we have already demonstrated our professional capacity to you last night."

Spoiler: Diplomacy

Show

(1d20+20)[33]
-4 to result if he is Good or Lawful

[Jeff the Green]

The baron's moustache twitches. "I am quite familiar with negotiating contracts. Certainly more than you are." His lips settle into a straight, thin line, and his grey eyes lock on P. T.

Spoiler: Everyone except the naif with the big ears

Show

He seems less irritated with the exact amount than how you've divided it. In retrospect, implying that he values the basilisk over his daughter may not have been the wisest of moves.

[Mahrke]

P.T. put on a disarming smile, holding up a hand, "Of course, of course. Forgive me. I know many of those in positions in power choose to delegate such things. I can appreciate a man who tends to his affais with his own hands." Beauregard smooths his goatee between two fingers, "Though I do fear I have offended. Please let me make clear that the offer I have put forward does not, in any way, reflect a judgement on what you do, or should, value most. Surely your daughter's life is worth more to you than any material possession, but True Sight is not in the business of emotional extortion."

Beauregard leans forward, "I have requested nine thousand for the return of the basilisk, and three thousand for the return of your daughter for several reasons." He holds up a finger "One: whoever has perpetrated these crimes is likely to defend their material prize far more vigorously. Your daughter is likely collateral damage in that effort, and, should she be captive, I expect we will have an easier time reclaiming her than the basilisk." A second finger rises. "Two. Magics to find or locate people are more common, and often more reliable than similar magics to locate objects. This will make discovering your daughter's location easier than discovering the whereabouts of the basilisk, which I expect to also be guarded by wards against detection." The third finger. "Three. If your daughter was waylay-ed, or is held captive, I expect she is attempting her own escape in some fashion. That is likely to make her easier to find, or, perhaps she even frees herself. The basilisk obviously has no such ability."

"If you have in mind a different split for the payment upon completion, I would be happy to discuss that particular detail.
However, I have chosen the amounts I did to facilitate the utmost diligence in our efforts. If our pay for returning the basilisk was too thin compared to the likely-easier task of returning your daughter, I fear we would not have sufficient motivation to bring forth the resources, and face the dangers, necessary to retrieve it."

[Khosan]

Mili initially slumps back in her seat once it becomes clear the task has little to do with last night's events. Until the mention of the baron's daughter, that is. Almost immediately she perks back up, leaning forward in her chair and actually engaging in the conversation, "Were you close to your daughter? How well known is it, publicly, that you're related? They, whoever they are, might not know who she is, which is both good and bad." Good: they won't demand a ransom. Bad: they're more likely to kill her. Mili drums her fingers across her mask, thinking to herself, Suppose there's also the possibility she arranged this whole affair herself too.

[stack]

Sean remains mute, it being unlikely he could positively contribute at the moment.

[Jeff the Green]

Baron Trelib sucks his teeth, and his lips draw a whisper-thin line, but he seems mollified by Beauregard's explanation. "That is not unreasonable," he tells him. "I will pay 100 galifars now, 2500 upon Zelina's return, and 7500 when you retrieve the basilisk."

"We are as close as a father and daughter can be when one is gallivanting across the five kingdoms solving mysteries and the other is buried in paperwork," he explains to Mili. There's no catch in his voice or tears in his eye, but his face is pained. "We managed lunch once a month, maybe, and hollidays. We were supposed to celebrate Wildnight with a decidedly un-wild dinner. Revels in the street don't suit either of us."

[stack]

Sean has a strange feeling roused by the tale of familial sadness, something distant, regrets long pushed away.

He pushes them away again. He is on the job.

[Khosan]

"Hm," Mili rummages through her pockets and pulls out a small notebook and pencil. She jots down the important details and a few of her own hunches in the margins, "How recently was the Basilisk stolen? A week ago? Actually, come to think of it, how was it stolen? I won't claim to be much of a burglar myself, but I know architecture. This place is built like a fortress, it's about as easy to break into as a bank. Even getting past that, I can only assume it's been magically warded to a similar extent. I can make a few guesses from that, but I'd rather have the truth."

"And if you don't mind my asking, did you or your daughter keep any paperwork, memorabilia or anything similar regarding these mysteries she worked to solve? There might be some relevant information in there."

[Mahrke]

"Hrm. I find your offer...begrudgingly acceptable. I can sympathize with a man looking for his daughter, after all." Beauregard leans back in his chair, remaining silent as Mili peppers the man with questions. To some, the mouse might have seemed overeager, a gaffe of sorts in a world of elegant, purposeful interaction. P.T., though, appreciated it. Her demeanor often painted True Sight as highly motivated, supremely dedicated, and spectacularly thorough.

[Jeff the Green]

The baron looks pained. "It was stollen four days ago, and I'm afraid I don't know how. Last I spoke with her, she wasn't certain either," He folds his hands in front of him. "There is a silversmith she thought was involved, a Marshman named Calinto Mulhar. Wouldn't surprise me; never trust a foreigner, especially not a frog-eater from the Shadow Marshes.

"There's also the complication of the escapees. The timing is too close to be coincidental, and several of the ones you didn't subdue have abilities that would lend themselves to taking it."

At Mili's second question, he purses his lips. "I'm sure she does, though she's always preferred to keep information in her head. The problem is that any notes of hers would be extremely sensitive, and worth more than your life, or my position. I could possibly get you answers to specific questions, but rummaging through her papers is out of the question, even if I thought it were likely to help you"

Spoiler: OOC

Show

There's been something of a buzz in the last week. Aside from considerable exaggeration of your own powers (though not attached to your names), it seems that the escape you interrupted wasn't just some hobgoblin and ettin toughs. Several high-value criminals, the names of which are secret, escaped as well. House Medani had recently finalized a contract with Breland to house criminals at the house's facility in Wroat, but this is now on hold.