[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 1 - "In Sterquiliniis Invenitur"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

One of his daughters? Plural? Coming to accost him?

When the men turned, Taalia smirked. She remembered Rocco...that sly, dirty dog. And when she came face to face with the man, she could see why. He was the first human that matched her height, his impressive physicality fluttering her heart a little as instincts whispered into her brain that he could produce strong children and was reliable to bring home food and provide shelter. The cobbler boy had been sweet, and she had appreciated his advances, but before her was a man, a dangerous man, but one constrained by a degree of virtue. That he had sired daughters who were her own age range suggested to her that he had no problems in that avenue of adventure.

"Singore Rodolfuccio," Taalia smiled and nodded, her sonorous and smoky voice the only thing audible in the hall as all fell silent.

"You recently posted a bounty for the return of a firearm, yes? With a ravenheads hammer, Blue Berthilda imprinted upon it, yes?" she started, confirming details that he would know, and which verified she had read his pamphlet. But then she went further in description with details that had not been on the pamphlet.

"In a finely crafted, ornate box? Powder and shot enough for 19, which are contained in an oiled, leather bag?"

She allowed a pregnant pause to linger in the air before continuing.

"I am a Shepardess from a rural region. On my travel to Caesa di Silo I was accosted by a girl about yay tall," she gave an indication with her right hand, "brown hair. She was carrying a box, claimed to have stolen it from someone in Verezzo and wanted my shelter from bounty hunters. I told her no, and she dropped in flight as she was hotly pursued by an elf on horseback, a bounty hunter. I retrieved the box, opened it, saw what was within it, and remembering the mention of bounty hunters, when I arrived here in Verezzo I checked at the Hall of Hired Blades. Low and behold: an advertisement fitting the description of the pistol, with your name attached to it Singore Rodolfuccio, and the assigned reward for its safe return."

Once again another pause. Nothing she had said was a lie.

"I have the item nearby, completely intact, not a shot fired nor piece disturbed. I wish to claim the bounty you had on offer, 200 duros."

oOo

Taalia listened to Campeze's question, taking no offence at his inquiry as his reasoning was sound. Perhaps even persuasive.

Pursing her lips, Taalia couldn't help but smile in confession.

"I...had a troubled childhood. Many unpleasant events. But I was in a workshop, like this, beneath a...male," her choice was word was unusual, "who showed me the few instances of kindness I ever knew at the time. I worked on his creations, weapons, alchemy. Now that I am in the world at large, a man within my town, Singore Maso Cestié, has promised to educate me on these matters..." she gestured to the weaponry and general devices.

"And...this sounds somewhat romantic, I know...but I have an affinity for broken things that can be made new again. This sounds silly, singore, I admit, but I liked the idea of rescuing a once beautiful device from the scrap-heap and restoring it to former beauty and function. heh..."

She trails off, smiling, shaking her head.

"But what you say does make sense. What if, could I purchase off you general schematics for a firearm, pistol and blunderbuss? Not your own personal, intellectual property or secrets, but just general designs? Singore Cestie has promised to educate me in this craft, and with those schematics I could, as you say, make them myself one day. Would five duro work for you?

[MrAbdiel]

The Alcatani Fellowship Chapterhouse

The warrior listens, one eyebrow lifting slightly with acknowledgement of your forthcoming attitude with the details. Most of them, anyway.

He turns to his companion, murmuring something to him; reaching into his half-laced doublet to produce a fat steel key on a chain. Lifting the loop of the chain from around his neck, he hands it to the offsider who trots off into another room, from which you can hear the clinking of coin.

"Do you have it with you?"

His accent is a little unusual; still within the band of Tilean, but your ear tells you it's not native Verezzan, or Miraglean, or Trantian.
But there are many city states, and you ought not be surprised that you can't tell them all by ear. He asks his question plainly, without ever feeling the need to rise and address you with that level of formality let alone any of the shifty non-payment shenanigans Amelia warned you about. Inside of a minute, his caddy is back; upending a wash of clinking gold coins onto the table with the minted denominational brands of several different states of Tilea; but in most cases, the lion of Verezzo. He stacks then neatly with admirable swiftness - five columns, of four rows, of piles of ten; and when you are satisfied with the display, slides them off the table into a leather pouch that is left bulging and barely capable of closing.

"If you see the elf again, on your way back... it would be polite to let her know the bounty has been filled."

That was easy. No attempt to defraud you at all; no hesitation in producing this huge sum of wealth, and even putting it on the table before you without standing to his feet or seeing the pistol's return, yet. You could grab the pouch of gold and run, probably slipping past the two disinterested mercenaries on duty and out into the street - but your survival instinct, which has never failed you yet, tells you that this man Rodolfuccio is sitting not in a display of radical trust, but in supreme confidence that it is within his power to respond to such events even from this lax position.

The Quarter of Merchants

Leo Campeze, master gunsmith, frowns as your tale tugs at his sympathies. It's hard not to feel for such a story, even with its worst parts excised; or hard, atleast, for a warm-spirited and emotional people, that Tileans seem to be.

"Well. I'm afraid I don't know the Signore you speak of, so I'll trust your word he knows his business. As for schematics... Most of my apprentices don't have letters. They forge and file by comparison to the example pieces I leave them. But I understand, I think. Here."

He wanders away from the counter, touring his studio and grabbing some odds and ends, before returning to you and laying them out. One is a roll of parchment just under four feet long which, when unrolled, has a clearly lined, but abstract outline of a gun - or part of it. It is marked with some annotations about the straightness of woodgrain, and the depth of the barrel channel. "This is a stock template for a standard shoulder-fired blunderbuss. My advice is you cut a piece of wood to that length, and then in your travels, keep an eye out for maple trees with nice straight limbs and trunks that could fit the length and profile of your example stick. You won't be able to use it - you need to let the wood dry for a year or so so you'll be buying material until then - but if you're serious about making your own things, that's a start. Hopefully your signore will know about carving the stock itself." The rest are tools - files, callipers, wooden measuring jigs; enough to occupy the small fabric bag he piles them into. "I can't give you much of what you need, but for five duri, these will get you started. Most of the work is filing, and boring out the interior of the barrel to smooth it. A blunderbuss doesn't need to be mirror-smooth, but if you want to make an accurate musket later, that's what you'll be looking for. But you're in for a world of minor adjustments, paper-thin alterations, to get everything to fit right. I have all my boys start by making simple matchlocks, then we work on a serpentine-touch mechanism. If your fella gets in over his head, well..." He looks back at his shop, in which his apprentices file and bore and bore and file. "Well, maybe I'll kick out the slowest learner and you can take his spot."

This zinger goes unnoticed, all of the lads fitfully trying to accomplish their tasks; but Leo appreciates his own humor, anyway.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

This is sort of a grab-bag of gunsmithing tools. You can buy it for 5 duri right now; and I'll consider it one tenth of a whole set of Gunsmith's Tools, which is what you need to do things like repair and service weapons on the road (50GC). When you get around to buying that, you can get it at a 5 GC discount for already possessing these parts.

An actual tradesman needs facilities to make things, which requires a forge (1500GC) and atleast a set of tools (50GC). Fortunately, you know a guy who has both of those; but getting some of your own tools is a fine step on the way to justifying your own competence and learning in that direction.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia watched with her best poker face as the money was collected, counted and siphoned into a little pouch and then pushed across the table to her.

At the request of the item, Taalia first reached out towards that sack of coins. She did so at a general pace, nothing swift and fast as if she had the idea of running, but just casually - collecting it up and holding it in her left hand.

Then, she slid her shield off her shoulder and, with her right hand, put it on the floor leaning against the table. Then she slid her backpack off her shoulders and gently lay it on the table. With her right hand, she opened it, reached inside, and withdrew the the ornately decorated box and lay it on the table. She then unclicked the little hook holding it shut and opened it to reveal the beautiful contents within: the pistol, the shots, the powder and the little oiled bag. The raven-head hammer was there, as was the unmistakable stamp 'Blue Berthilda' upon its side.

"All present. As I said, not fired once."

Taalia then put the money pouch into her backpack and slung it back over her shoulders, then retrieved her shield.

She was about to leave, but then hesitated as a thought caught in her mind.

"Singore Rodolfuccio," she asked.

"This was not premeditated, I assure you, but purely a spontaneous thought that I had. But is your company in need of a cartographer to accompany it for your next job?"

oOo

Taalia looked over the tools and the schematic, listening to what the gunsmith had to say in regards to constructing just a single blunderbuss. Drying tree branches for an entire year? No wonder they were so costly, not to mention the precision required to make them. It was scarcely left to the imagination as to why the Skaven technology, though potentially powerful, was fraught with mishaps and catastrophes given their reliance on uncaring labour. Her present company excluded, of course!

"Thank you Singore Campeze," Taalia spoke, holding the schematics and rolling them up to fit into the bag, before shuffling about in her own backpack to retrieve the 5 duro agreed upon and handing it over.

"I have seen success as a shepardess, which, if I am not being too presumptuous, means I will be regularly visiting Verezzo once every six months. In a years time, I hope you show you finished products of a respectable quality," she beamed.

With her transaction completed and bidding the young Gunsmith a fond farewell, Taalia mounted her steed and clicked her tongue to summon Corvo's attention.

It was back to the Lucky Duck for another night of sleep. Tomorrow would be the last day of business in the city, by her estimation, complete with buying a few souvenirs for Gaulfredo, Ariana and Vitorio. Then on the morning after, she would depart once again, stopping by The Pigly, then Caesa and then home to Bella Collina. What an adventure!

[MrAbdiel]

The champion does not, as you might have feared, interpret your reaching for the coins as the overture to theft, to hurl an axe into your chest. Rather, he lets you place the box down; his eyes taking on recognition immediately, and some quiet, sadder aspect as he drags the box over infront of him; taking the pistol in hand, thumbing back the hammer, setting it forth again, holding the weapon on the platter of his open hands and regarding it with thought.

It's a few seconds after your parting thought that he emerges from his reverie, blinking as he realizes you're still here, and mentally reads over the stenographic record in his brain of the last few moments in which he was paying no attention.

"...Don't know yet. Our chapter here is quite small, so far; life's been good for a long time in Verezzo, so few displacements. When the orcs make their way down from the mountains, or around the horn, or the pirates break inland, or Pavona starts something, then business will pick up again. If we know where we're likely to fight, having it charted is a good way to start. Until then..." A detached shrug of broad, powerful shoulders; and his eyes go back to the returned weapon, and whatever melancholy is for him there. The fat pikeman, who has watched you receive such a massive financial boon without comment, invites you back to the entrance with a directive hand; and off you go, two hundred duri the richer for the price of just a little dishonesty - and to an elf, so it hardly counts at all.

* * * * *

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia nods as she listens, clearly able to see that the man had a sentimental allure to that pistol.

"Well, her name is Sapienza, a blonde girl, currently making maps for customers at the Lucky Duck. Good worker, just needs the chance," she states, her words and focus more on the champions Major-Domo whobhad gathered the money than the man himself.

Her message deliveted, Taalia departed, got onto her horse, drew Corvo to her side and headed back to the Lucky Duck. It'd be another night, then out again tomorrow. The days were full, but what stories she'd have to tell when she got home!

[MrAbdiel]

The offsider/caddy/majordomo seems to know you're directing this recommendation his way. He gives you a nod, as one creature in the shadow of this gloomy destroyer to another; and seems not to be just oh-sureing you. Time will tell if that recommendation bears fruit. For now, you have so much gold that your ambitions have to keep resetting their boundaries; and a little work left, before you can return home.

* * * * *

Another evening, another morning, and a new day, and you strike out first towards the Academy of Empirics.

En Route...

Passing through the District of the Ox once more on your way to the Academy, you follow the circular, well patrolled road and glance to the side where the old timer on the skidboard hunkered in the shade previous. But he is not there - now there is a group of five beggars, sitting together; one missing a foot on a crutch, one bent forward; the other three seemingly suffering a more general wretchedness. And seeing you and Jezzebella coming down the road, they hustle to the roadside with their begging bowls; the man on the crutch pulling in last in the row.

"Alms, kind signorina?"
"A coin of kindness?"
"Spare a chip of copper, please!"

As one disharmonious chorus, they clamour for your attention, and a squib of your money.

Spoiler: OOC!

Show

Discounts and shows paused before we resolve this little encounter!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia glared suspiciously at this little crowd that seemes to be waiting for her...

Eyes narrowed, brow furrowed, she nevertheless relented. She had money, and charity was a virtue.

Reaching into her penny purse as she trotted by, she tossed a few pennies to each, not even bothering to direct them to where they could better themselves.

Ooc:
Marking off 15 pennies, or 1 silver and 3 pennies.

[MrAbdiel]

"Bless you, signorina!"
"Gods keep you, signorina!"

The appreciative gabble dies off as you carry on your way. Over your shoulder, a scuffle ensues with some disagreement over the ideal distribution of these gained pennies; but you cannot meticulously fix each of these poor individuals behaviours, and police their petty sins. You put them out of your mind, and carry on your way.

* * * * *

Quarter of the Gods - The Academy of Empirics

The Academy would be more grand if it were not in the shadow, sometimes literally so, of the district temples. Still, wide stone porch behind a smart colonnade of with hanging banners, mostly black with white lions rampant. This black fabric seems a deliberate choice; a refusal to select one of the senatorial colors. The colonade runs around a hollow square structure with a wealth of study rooms and laboratories, with the interior of the square hosting more sumptuous buildings in which, presumably, the most important teaching and study takes place. You ask around for a while for help finding a physician; your decision to dress and present for the occasion seems to help, and most of these bustling book-carriers seem to take you seriously enough; and a sequence of them leads you (after one or two false starts) eventually to an ideal candidate.

Antonuccia de Venze is a woman in her early thirties from a small trade village called "Detrito" in southern Miragliano. At five foot three, she's tiny beside you; but so is almost everyone, and this can hardly be held against the sensible woman before you. Blonde hair frames her face in which brown eyes seem to be set, perhaps, a little too close together; but the circular spectacles perched on her nose seem to hide that fact and leave her looking studious, and deeply interested where she is looking. From what she tells you over a little discussion, while sipping a boiled beverage called al'qahua, apparently distilled from roasted beans from far Araby. But the education radiates from her words; not obnoxious, necessarily; but heavy.

"I was a barber-surgeon here in Verezzo for several years while I studied here, at the Academy; and since I've enjoyed recognition as a learned physician, I've done medical consultations and procedures for six rampollos and one merchant prince; though I've resisted retainer because I've been afforded the chance to teach here. But Verezzo has been long enough without war that new-monied parents aren't sending their children to study medicine hoping they'll get to pull the bullets from the legs of a great general, someday; they're directing them to more traditional novelties like trade and politics, which are both fine enough. I could certainly come to see your friend, and perhaps help if help is to be had; or help him make the accommodations to his life he'll need to make, if not. If you'll have me, I'd certainly take the offer - though I admit I've never had to ride such a distance. Perhaps... we could charter a coach?"

* * * * *

Quarter of the Ox - The Seven Signorine Theatre

When you make your way back through the Quarter of the Ox, you take a chance to go by the Seven Signorine theatre; named for the carved wooden pillars holding up the timber veranda; each depicting a young maiden in an almost scandelously sheer dress; gasping in shock, or reeling with laughter, or wailing melodramatically, or another excessive emotional posture. They are painted as tan-skinned brunettes; though they have clearly been defaced and repainted so many times that the current job has obscured what was likely beautiful detail and rendered many of the girls almost effigaic of their former selves. A chirpy young stable hand minds your horse for a penny - and is willing to mind Corvo, too, for another. If the folk here had a habit of stealing horses while people were at the theatre, they would not long be in business; but you don't feel bad taking the saddlebags and your quarterstaff and other things to a brown uniformed older man serving as a cloakroom warden. He wears a flat leather cap that seems almost older than he is, and he drags his left foot as he walks; but many of the patrons seem to know him by name - Micci. Instinct tells you Micci is a good man to be on the good side of - a decent tip for him to make sure your things are kept safe while you are in the theatre may be wise.

You buy a ticket to the now show, and take a seat near an isle where girls and boys scurry up and down the stairs selling plain but warm scones for a penny a pop, and settle in to see what a 'show' is about.

Spoiler: OOC: Thespian Considerations

Show

3p for a ticket, 1p for a scone, 2p to mind the animals, plus whatever you want to tip Micci for his troubles.

Also, it's worth considering - this is the first show of any kind Taalia has ever been to; even, the first acted-out story where people play 'parts'. The closest she's probably seen are the pagan whoop-and-wriggle ceremonies around the Norscan fires where dancers would enact some kind of salutory movements for one of their frostbitten gods. I wonder how the novelty of this all will effect someone as unworldly as Taalia!

We Dons Of Bilbali is the story of four young 'dons', which you gather are lords of some kind, in the Estalian Kingdom of Bilbali. They wear absurdly broad hats, and pants that are so baggy they seem almost to be skirts that are sewn at the bottom. The four Dons are Ulises, Lalo, Gerado, and Carlos; and they are friends who have bonded as maritime guards of tradeships, gallantly fighting the pirates in the western ocean. But the time has come that they are all being pressured by their mothers, all of them widows of the previous dons, are nagging and pressuring them to find good wives to secure their positions and enhance their wealth.

The fun of the play is trying to figure out what, precisely, the story will be making fun of, because the field is so rich with targets. Is it Estalians? Often yes, but that's too easy. Is it noble frippery? Sometimes, yes; an agreeable target for these common crowds. Perhaps sailors? Verezzo has a coast to its Republic, but the city is quite landlocked, and the crowds are folks of the plains and hills who welcome every stereotype about sailors being mad with superstition and habitually drunk. Sometimes the target is closer to home - disappointing sons or nagging mothers, or the hot-blooded mentality that both Tilean and Estalian men are know for. Most often, the mockery is targeted at the instinctive lechery of men; which is a safe target for japes. The four dons go on a grand tour looking for women to become their wives they find many cantidates: a damsel of Brionne, a buxom dairy maid, an amazon 'diplomat', a moustached Imperial duchess; and finally the most perfectly beautiful and virtuous signorina of Tilea (in this telling, from Verezzo).

At five points in the story, the dons come to blows over one or more of the women they fancy, and they have protracted silly sword duels while trying to downplay the qualities of the woman they most want, while trying to sell the virtues of one of the others they are trying to 'offload' to another of the dons, whose preferences and foibles become clear over the telling. A recurring gag reveals the reason for the baggy pants - the actors are wearing some kind of devices under their pants that are activated to produce farcical, yard-long erections that tent their pants out in the most baboonish display of masculine interest. The ultimate form of this joke comes when all four of the dons are dueling each other, both exchanging sword blows and fencing with their phalluses, when Ulises (the hero?) has the brainwave to start suggesting his friends to marry off to each other's mothers. As Ulises describes in the most purple and romantic prose how each of their mothers deserves the affection of a young lover, his opponents' secondary weapons deflate as they recoil until Ulises stands surpreme over them all; having defeated his friends by the power to maintain sexual readiness in a conversation about his friends' aging mothers. A small brass section plays this off as a moment of triumph; and the patrons in the stands seem to think it is the funniest thing in the world.

In the end, the dons confess to each other ultimately that each of them is just trying to eliminate the others so that he alone can pursue the beautiful Tilean girl, and they make a pact to confront her together, and then respect her choice from among them. But it's too late, by then; when they come to meet her and confess their parallel loves, they blunder into her wedding to a dashing young mercenary captain, whose groomsmen (along with the matronly Verenan officiator) chase the Estalians all over the stage kicking them in the backside as they go. Ulises' phallus fires up when the matron kicks him, causing a pause in the action as he fumbles to press it down against his leg, before they are finally thrown off the stage entirely at the end of the scene. The dons go home; they pledge renewed friendship, and they swear off ever fighting over women again.

This, you are assured, is art; or a kind, thereof.

* * * * *

Quarter of the Merchants

With more shopping to do and your blood up for bargains, you navigate the market more naturally the second time and without a cart to manage as you go.

Shopping for your gifts, you spot a merchant of bottles who is particularly busy - and therefore, likely a seller of quality. Muscling in for some of his time, you make a neat little saving when you buy your two bottles of brandy with five gold duro and can't find change to split the fifth for you, while his other customers clamour for his attention. Cringing in apology trying to capture the tide of sales to come, he gives you back the fifth coin, and you come out 9 scellini ahead.

A quality bowyer is happy to supply you with a bow of ash wood, even taking some time to show you how to string it and unstring it when combat is not immanent. "Pity I can't talk you into a longbow," he laments; "with that height, it feels like a shame not to. But it does take much practice with that harder drawer, regardless; so I cannot blame you." Having enjoyed rambling about his craft to you, he gives you arrows with attractive red fletching instead of the plain tawny or white kinds; more distinctive, though perhaps no more deadly.

Spoiler: OOC: Good Quality Ammo

Show

Good Quality Ammunition does not normally convey any benefits, but I'm saying it does. Normally after a fight arrows have a 50% chance to be recoverable or else they're broken or lost.
These good arrows have a 66% chance to be recoverable.

Marco's advice was good, and you find a cobbler selling riding boots of just the kind you had hoped to find; though he has a little chuckle when he has to get you a man's size. He does not, however, budge on the price; and neither do the clothiers and haberdashers you need to visit to complete your ensemble, though you do not come away feeling gouged. Merely stylish, in your fancy muffin-cap.

You squeeze in time for a fitting at an armorer. The man has lost two fingers in combat, which seems to have been the catalyst for his move to armouring rather that fighting; and fortunately, his craft doesn't suffer like his swordsmanship must.

"If you'll beg my pardon, signorina, I pray you become afforded with the prosperity to order my custom wares. You've a warrioress stature, which neither I nor any armorers I know stock in standard. I can fit you out; but if you should ever desire to buy a fitted and personalized set, you come back to me - I'll buy back this array at the sale price when you trade it in!"

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

No discount here, exactly - but if you order a Good or Best quality set of Leather when you're in Verezzo, you can trade in your Normal leather without haggling for best price, and take that off the cost.

You might not think so now, but that encumbrance adds up; later on, you might be hurting for it, and Best Leather is my favorite way to cut back on it.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia snuck a look over her shoulder back at the bickering crowd of invalids and beggars that spat with each other over pennies. One of them had an excuse, his foot missing from some calamity in his past. But the others? Able bodied but still begging in the streets? One might think that Taalia would have an affinity and soft-spot for the downtrodden and dispossessed of the world, given her background. However, what her time of slavery had taught her was that able labour was a precious commodity, and what one did was what one earned. If someone was a victim of circumstances and just needed the chance to better themselves, Taalia would help in whatever way she could. But to resign oneself to living off the labour of others, indeed even feeling entitled to it, and doing so via the compulsion of guilt and heart-strings rather than the lash of a whip...well, Taalia had little sympathy there.

oOo

Quarter of the Gods - The Academy of Empirics

The talk with Antonuccia de Venze was quite stimulating for Taalia. Much like the chemist and gunsmith, there was something in the profession that Taalia recognised and appreciated, but this time she had the adequate skill to probe and question and did so from a position of experience and knowledge. Though Taalia lacked the academic training that Antonuccia possessed, and was indeed a little jealous of, she was able to hold her own for the most part.

"I don't know how to thank you in words, Singora Antonuccia," Taalia spoke with gratitude, reaching both her hands forward to hold Antonuccia's between them affectionately, almost like a hand-shake.

"Ernesto and his brother were so brave to hold at bay that many bandits. If they had not held the line like that, Myrmidia forgive me for thinking so, but I don't think I would be here talking to you right now," she insisted gently, a clear little fear in her eyes but also admiration.

"He deserves the best I can find him. They have granted me 25 duro worth to secure a skilled physician, such as yourself. I have stored 20 duro of your pay with the Dwarves here in Verezzo, with an access token that ensures you can withdraw it on your return to this city. I can also offer you the other 5 duro as an upfront. Does this work for you, Singora?"

At the suggestion of a coach, Taalia nodded.

"Of course, I think we could. I have a mount, borrowed from the brothers. We should stop at The Pigly along the way, it is a day out from Verezzo."

oOo

If Taalia had seemed an educated and intelligent young lady with her discussion on the finer points of surgery with Antonuccia de Venze, she was an utter hollering guffaw whose chortling at the raucous play hardly ceased.

Though most of the more..."subtle" implications of the play were lost on Taalia, mostly because she wasn't as aware of the regional and ethnic rivalries between Tilea and its neighbours, she was laughing multiple times a minute nonetheless. Though the Norscan re-enactments of battles and ballads had been the last time she had seen a 'play', the nature of the even being a comedy was disarming of any mistaken beliefs for reality. At no point did Taalia yell out to an actor to 'look out behind you!' or some such, thankfully, as the absurdity of the play assured even someone as ignorant and unworldly as Taalia that this was all make-believe. If such a revelation had not dawned on her by the time the true purpose of those voluminous trousers was revealed, then maybe Taalia wasn't as mentally competent as some thought.

Thus, laughter, laughter and more laughter. By the end of the play, Taalia might even need a physician herself as her sides ached and her belly felt like it had been kicked by a horse she had been laughing so hard. Wiping tears from her eyes, clapping loudly with the crowd, Taalia threw up cheers and applause and praises with those around her, uncaring to the social graces she was normally so conscious of adhering to, as she simply gave her heart over to the play to chortle her body into aching pains and loving every second of it.

oOo

The market was as profitable as the day before, but rather than taking in money she had spent it in order to acquire goods - excellent goods. The bow was a wonderful ashwood design, feeling light and familiar to Taalia's hands as she recalled the weapon she had used for most of the time she had engaged the troll with Bella Collina's militia. What a difference a bow would have made during the battle with the mutants - getting to loose an arrow at that leader the moment he attempted his intimidation, or taking a shot at a mutant in the treeline and taking one down. It would have changed the entire psychological landscape. Taalia would prefer to keep most threats at range, and in lieu of a firearm, a bow was her next best bet.

Meanwhile, the boots she bought felt fantastic! Not only did they feel amazing, they looked incredible! They complimented her travelers outfit quite spectacularly, as the towering girl beheld herself in that polished metal mirror with her spiffy new boots, outfit, weapons and leather armor, and the black muffin-hat with the feather upon her white-haired crown - she cut quite the dashing figure! If she did say so herself.

But, Taalia had one more errand to run for the day, and then she would retire to the Lucky Duck. Traveling back to the the Quarter of the Merchants and Signore Montaglio's Fine Substances to see if he had devised what she needed...

[MrAbdiel]

Signore Montaglio's Fine Substances

You watch as Signore Montaglio tips a few drops of the caustic smelling, yellowish gel onto the discolored stone chunk. It doesn't hiss with acidic hunger, thankfully; but the chemical smell is strong, and nostril searing. The signore holds up a brush: a U shaped curl of polished wood, with one end tapering into a grip for a fist, and the other presenting a flat face with a grid of bored holes, each flush with hard clusters of bristles.

"This is the best scrubbing brush you'll find. Most use horse hair or if you're lucky, badger or boar hair. But there's an outfit of makers in Remas who source this incredibly glue from Nuln, and bristles from the giant, awful hogs the orcs use out in the Border Princes. You don't have to use one of these - they cost five duro, which is ten times more than a normal scrubbing brush - but for a job like this, you're likely to go through a few lower quality brushes anyway, so I'd consider it. Bambino's Brushes; Saliarmo sells them, in the grand market most days."

He lets the gel settle on the stone for a full minute, and then puts his shoulder to scrubbing. A minute of effort shows a significant decrease in the stone's staining. Another five minutes, and it's a chalky, grey white after a rinse.

"There's a big of drop of result for time invested, as you can see. If you want to get it all the way back to the sharp white of the old marble, you'll be putting in an hour or so per square foot, more for corners and crevices. But this'll do it. It's a little acidic; but not madly so. If you wash your hands in water within a few minutes of direct skin contact, you shouldn't see any blistering. I've enough for a little of it to get you started now; if you wanted a larger batch, I'd have to get some large glazed vessels full made up for you. Delivered, if you like."

It certainly seems like this'll do the job. At a guess, there may be five hundred square feet of wall and floor that needs scrubbing, with some allowance given to extra effort on the grimy floor and the tapering off of the staining as it goes up the wall. That represents five hundred hours of labor for this project, not including time set aside to wash hands and breathe clean air. Signore Montaglio pops the wax stopper into the ceramic jug beside him; about three pints of sloppy yellow acrid gel within it. "This jar would get you through about ten square feet of problem stone. For the mixing it and sourcing the elements to compose it, this is a gold piece. But if you're only out past Caesa di Silo, if you pay for a bulk order now, I'll see it shipped to you in batches at no extra charge, as I make it."

Fifty gold duro worth of cleaning chemical. An astonishing investment, in the fane of an unknown god. Is it worth it?, you wonder.

Is it?

* * * * *

That evening, you jot down a letter asking Polo's immediate response concerning your hopes to secure land; bidding that a swift reply might allow you to make purchases in Caesa di Silo on your way back to Bella Collina. Sapienza, who has finished mapmaking her tourist-maps for now, and spends time meticulously copying the details of a jagged coastline for some rare custom order for now, gives you a recommendation of a good courier she trusts. "There are pigeons that go from here to Caesa di Silo; but a letter with more than a small sentence will not go with them. Best to just pay a young man with a good horse enough to make it worth his while."

Spoiler: OOC: Another Night In Verezzo!

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And another 13 silver, 2 copper for board and Good meal!

And the following morning, as you tie up loose ends and prepare to go, you find just such a courier, as you are scouring the gate district for coaches bound southward. A rosy cheeked young man, a little younger than yourself and just as bright eyed and world-hungry, trots in little circles on an energetic steed, calling his willingness to run letters ahead, or to go make arrangements for important persons at stops on their way. "Trust not the Road Wardens to deliver your messages; for they are burdened enough, and oft distracted! Trust me! Bartomar, man of the roads!" His Imperial accent is funny, curled around those Tilean words; but he seems honest enough to your best judgement. To take your message, leave right away, and bring a response as fast as possible back hopefully catching you at Caesa di Silo, he'll require 2 Duro, since it represents a little under a week's work including the time he'll need to travel back to Verezzo for his next job.

Finding a coach heading south, and not being extorted for the pleasure, will require some devoted cunning...

Spoiler: OOC: Put me in the coach, game!

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Give me a flat gossip test to look for transport for your doctor companion, and a charm test while you're at it to try to schmooze discounted passage for her. This is distinct from haggle, which is used in specific market negotiations. Trying to convince a coach driver to let your hirling ride along while you trot alongside to provide a modicum of extra protection is charm!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia was genuinely impressed with the resulting detergent, her eyes widening at the resulting cleansing the chemists brew scoured across the marbled face of the sample she had brought.

"Incredible, singore!" the shepardess complimented, taking a step forward and peering at the chemical reaction with wide-eyed wonder.

But if there was something that could deflate her it was the mention of the cost...fifty duros! It took the wind out of Taalia's sails as her mouth gaped slightly. She had not become so wealthy that such a princely sum was but mere pocket change to her, and so as that cost was spoken her eyes swivelled from the effects to the creator.

"That is...quite a price, Singore!" she smiled, quickly recovering to her usual sunny self.

"I intend for this to be used in the cleansing of a former site of worship, one long forgotten and buried. If you will...consider a lower upfront cost, for helping cleanse and restore a former place of worship?"

oOo

Taalia smiled at the young male close to her age, his moxie drawing up an endearment in her that she rarely felt for others. There was something about his keen spirit and willingness to ride across dangerous lands and at night to ensure her words got through that drew a thread of appreciation out of her, as she stood before him with a letter in her hand, already enclosed and sealed.

"Two duro seems fair," Taalia smiled, her growing confidence in the past week emerging as she had her arms folded over her abdomen and her head tilted to one side as she wore that friendly grin. She had come a long way from the nervous, shy girl milling awkwardly on the perimeter of a town festival dance.

"Though how do I know you won't take it and immediately ride your horse over to the cat houses or to buy a necklace for some pretty thing that's caught your eye, hmmm?" she spoke, a clear coy and playful tease in her tone as she considered him.

"I will give you 10 Scellini now," she held up in her hand the 10 glittering coins, holding it over so that they could drop into his waiting hands.

"And there'll be 1 Duri and 10 more Scellini waiting for you at the Leaping Vixen House in Caesa di Silo, where I will meet you in two days time. Agreeable?" her hand presented the single gold coin and accompany 10 silver ones to show the proof of possessed payment.

Should he agree, Taalia would hand over her sealed document, the contents within reading thus...

Spoiler

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Dear Polo,
I hope this letter finds you well, and the young man who delivered it in good health.
I also wish to thank you again for all of your assistance in administrative matters of Bella Collina’s local authority.
By now you have doubtless heard of the event that took place on the road between Bella Collina and Caesa di Silo, the dire injury sustained by brave Ernesto and the troubling possibility that our dear Bertuccio has fallen beneath a foul influence. On the latter, you would by now know more than I, and I can only offer my prayers to Myrdimia and sincerest hope from my heart that the man in custody is just a doppleganger and not our brave Roadwarden.
I am sorry to open with grim discussion, but I offer a malady to one trouble. Ernesto, who valorously held back twice his number in bandits alongside his brother, may soon receive relief as I have secured the services of a skilled physician in Verezzo. She will be accompanying me back to Bella Collina, and we should be among you very soon.
This also brings me to the main proposition of this letter in that I recall several months ago in which you offered potential acreage for rent close to Bella Collina itself. I do not wish to brag nor impress the idea of flowing rivers of gold, but I have done well from the trade of fleece and lambs and I feel myself secure and able in ability to fully utilise your invitation. If you are so able, please set aside a single acre of land for my almost immediate employment, with potential expansion to a further fifteen early next year.
I have more to discuss with you on the matter, but my recent efforts have stirred the spirit of enterprise within me and I am fully seized of its direction and momentum. I must also foretell that I plan to establish a small lodging for workers, a sty for swine and a fenced area for livestock on the acre that you may so graciously allocate to my name. I adhere to the adage that one should not count all their chickens before they have hatched, but I grow excited with future ambitions for industrious work and the benefits it will bring to both myself and Bella Collina as a whole, the village that has been so good to me.

Thank you for your time and expertise in this matter Polo. Please give my warmest regards to your beautiful wife, Fenicia. I look forward to seeing you both again!

I have instructed the deliverer of this letter to carry your reply to the Leaping Vixen House in Caesa di Silo where I will supply him with the rest of his pay for services warranted.

Sincerely,
Taalia Giovanni

[MrAbdiel]

Signore Montaglio's Fine Substances

Signore Montaglio smiles faintly; he's not unaware, it seems, of the significant heft of that sum.

"Signorina Taalia, I beg your forgiveness; but I cannot lower the price. Near to seventy percent of that sum goes straight to the purchase of the elements, their transport from afar and the tolls to get them here. I do you the best kindness I can, which is offer to ship them to you at no cost; but with the trading drive for the year almost past, I shall be paying not only the wagoneers, but also the leg-tolls on each batch on each stretch of road, which undoubtedly will be in function again. My skills, and network of contacts, are highly specialized; I must insist the profit margin here is..." He opens his hands a little, as if opening a book of disappointing facts before you, to reveal its sad contents. "...Is fair. But you needn't order all you should need at once, if the money is a problem. Here; I will pay the transport charges even if you order only half now, and again later. There will just be a delay of a few additional weeks past each increment of pay."

Quarter of the South Gate

"In two days, signorina, you would have me get to Bella Collina and back to Caesa di Silo? I shall have to change horses and ride all day. If the road tolls were up, I should make no value at all on such a run. Here; give me one corona now, and two at the Leaping Vixen House in two days, and I will accomplish this for you; or three days, at your initially proposed rate. But with the changing of horses for such a hurry, it is the best I can offer."

Strange, that he asks for 'crowns'; Imperial currency, no doubt, but you suspect that is just habit, and he is talking about duri.

Quarter of the Ox

Deep in the poor quarter are the worst smelling businesses; the tanneries, the dyehouses, the slaughterhouses. You find some of the latter and, with some probing and moxie, find yourself speaking to Donaldo, a member of the guild of Slaughtermen and a purchaser for the large, unpleasantly fragrant building behind him; a great flat building in the shade of the massive exterior wall in which beasts are condemned to being butchered; then potted, or salted, or smoked; or in the cases of those that can afford it, purchased immediately for serving that night.

"From Bella Collina?"

He looks at you, a little puzzled. "It seems a long way to bring swine. All our suppliers for hogs come from farms immediately around Verezzo. But I suppose I don't mind how far they come, so long as they get here. Tell you what - you bring me ten hogs from Bella Collina, and if they pass muster, we can talk about some kind of long term deal. I'll buy those ten at market rate; and we'll see how they come out after they're slit and drained."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia brought a gloved hand up to her chin, half covering her mouth, and exhaled in thought. Her blue-green eyes were clearly hiding the calculations going on within her mind as she pursed her lips.

Nodding, "Very well, Singore," she spoke. Her tone was not that of dejected resignation, but rather that of one who had weighed the pro's and con's and just came out on the side of the 'pro' side, which was in Signore Montaglio's favour.

"Twenty five duro now. In the future I will send an equal amount with a rider," she spoke, reaching over to her slingbag to retrieve a fat, fist-sized purse from which she counted the agreed upon currency down to the coin.

Placing the golden discs down on the bench before them in five neat little stacks of four, Taalia offered a sincere smile and extended her hand to shake that of the master chemist in a deal agreed.

oOo

Raising an eyebrow, unsure what the lad meant by crowns, Taalia decided to err on the side of caution.

"Yes, three days, I will see you at the Leaping Vixen Inn..." she nodded with an awkward smile that quickly melted away to be replaced by a confident one.

"Ten silver now, one gold and ten silver then!"

oOo

Just 10 pigs? Did this man not know how many squealing little piglets each sow produced?

Once again the cogs of Taalia's mind whirred to life as she head-mathed the possibilities and pitfalls. What if she invested in too many swine and this man rejected her produce for some reason - what would she do with potentially hundreds of pigs without a profitable destination? But what if she under-invested and this fellow demanded numbers that she could not satisfy and thus potential duro was lost due to inadequate supply on her behalf?

Inhaling slowly and exhaling, and then nodded, Taalia reached forward to grasp the mans hand and shake.

"Thank you, Singore. I will send messengers should my farm produce adequate numbers for your enterprise. I will endeavour to do so at the earliest convenience so that appropriate preparations can be made," she smiled and nodded.

'My farm'. 'I will send messengers'.

One might think the lass, not even yet eighteen, as biting off more than she could chew, as she only really had 6 sheep to her name as the extent of her livestock experience, and from a certain point of view this was a reasonable apprehension of her ambition and ability to deliver. But on the other hand, she had defied greater odds before, so whether she was the real deal or another fake-it-till-one-made-it wannabe would be an image decided in the coming months.

OOC:

Spoiler

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I think we can move to departure from Verezzo now and the return journey to Bella Collina. Farewell, Verezzo, you were a wonderful little adventure of wheeling and dealing!

[MrAbdiel]

Jezzabella trots alongside the smart-looking, polished wooden coach. Its owners are a quite well-to-do master mason named Petruccio and his wife Mila. Petruccio made a pretty penny years ago when the Duke of Verezzo was thrown down and the senate rose to take his place, riding high on the policy of building silos and stocking up on grains so never to face such a famine as that time had suffered again. He tells you that he oversaw the construction of much of Caesa di Silo and additional 'silo towns' like it elsewhere in Verezzo; and now he travels from town to town meeting with the men who were once his apprentices and workers, checking to see if they need anything or if they need his advice for another project in the places they've settled. You had successfully negotiated that you and Antonuccia would ride with them up to Caesa di Silo; Antonuccia first expecting to ride on the board at the front with the coachman and his lad, but soon cutting her own deal to ride inside the coach, away from the dust of the road, in exchange for being willing to have a look at this thing on my ankle and tell me if I should be worried. You chat with Antonnucia, Petruccio and Mila through the coach's windows sometimes, but more often you are in the laconic company of the coachman, Desmondo, and his nephew Graciano. Graciano is just on the younger side of puberty, and rides with a crossbow in his lap and his eyes scanning the mountains and trees. Desmondo, in one of his moments of talkativity, tells you that the boy was struck mute; when he was half his present age, he was trapped outside his home for one Mystery Night, and has not spoken a word since.

As you wind through the narrow streets towards the South Gate, you are forced to pull over to permit an unusual procession to go past - a quartet of mercenaries escorting a pair of ragged looking men in clothes that might have been neat enough to be merchant class, before they'd been slept in for a week or so on the road.

"Them's those two who was gluing white wood-chips to the teeth of old nags and selling them as young draughts, they are. It ain't quite horse-stealing, but it's damn close." Desmondo informs you of that fragment of gossip around them; Mila warmly warbles even more. "Oh yes, I know the story of those two. They say it's been going on for two years - who knows what they've made in fraud, so far? Only caught because one of the beasts dropped dead and the young fellow who bought it happened to have his father on hand at the time; those rascals were careful only to sell to the kind of gleam-eyed young hands who wouldn't know to look hard for such fraud. But I hear they managed to scrounge up a litigant, and that it's been elevated to a senatorial matter to give the Reds a chance to pontificate about being concerned for the state of the working farmers."

It's clear that Mila and Petruccio, not being born to money but having made it themselves, are very suspicious of the merchant classes and their senate, despite technically being in that class themselves now.

The procession passes by to a slowly accruing assembly of hooting and shouting peasants, but you're past at that point; and you pass through the grand gate of the city for a modest toll, out to the South Road and beyond.

Spoiler: OOC:

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I presume you've crossed off the 25GC for the first half of the stone-cleaning gel. You gain 1*Bottle of Stone Cleaning Solution, plus the promise of much more. It's about 5lbs.

The gate fee is a leg tax again; 12p in total for you, Antonuccia, Corvo and Jezzabella.

Also... roll me a D1000. That's right; a D1000.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia enjoyed the company of the strangers, and visibly too an interest and delight in talking to each of them - even Desmondo. Though wealth had come her way, the girl was still veritably a foreigner in these lands, her Tilean, though fluent and articulate, marked with an unique accent that few outside of former Skaven slaves developing with Queekish as their 'mother tongue' could muster.

But, despite her newly acquired material finery, Taalia was still at her heart a cheerful and affectionate girl, however much the bums of the Oxen quarter may have jaded her.

So if Desmond wanted a partner to babble on to, Taalia was it. Should Petruccio or Mila desire an young ear into which to espouse what was on their mind, Taalia was it. And if Antonuccia wanted to open the window and chatter out of its frame to a stranger whom she just met, Taalia was it.

When they encountered the procession of shamed charlatans, Taalia was at first mystified as to the procedure. Seeing two men publicly humiliated in such a way didn't sit right with the girl - but then she found out the reason why they endured such a communal ritual, and her visage hardened.

That lad whom they had fleeced (haha!) with flim-flam livestock goods? There but for the grace of Myrmidia goes I, Taalia thought. That could have been her who had been defrauded of her hard-earned money by scrubby, two-faced greedy little thieves. Even the mere thought of having just one fruit of her labour being stolen by another who lazily looked upon her works with covetous envy was enough to redden the girls face and tempt the dark recesses of her mind with vengeful fantasies.

Though but a second had passed since Taalia had been informed of the con artists deceptions, the girl pursed her lips and mimicked an action she had seen older Tilean men take when confronted by an object of disgust.

She mock spat onto the floor.

"Pooh! You bastard..." she uttered in their direction, eyes narrowed.

Paying the toll-men their due, Taalia remained alongside the coach and lent her ear and words to any who desired conversation.

[MrAbdiel]

As the hours while away, as you near the crossroads where you know the familiar shape of the Pigly will soon rise, you pass the occasional cart driver or lone horseman. Only one such encounter warrants detail, however. Two young men with matching shortcropped beards - brothers? - share a saddle on a plodding horse heading back towards Verezzo. The one with the reigns tips his hat to you as they approach, and you salute back; though it seems to you strange that they should be going that way, as it's certainly late enough in the day that they're going to be riding into the night before they get to the city. As they come within a few yards of you, your eyes are drawn to Graciano, who reaches suddenly to grab and squeeze his father's knee. Desmondo looks, and barks out an inarticulate "AY!", which is all the warning you need to validate your sense of suspicion - these men have gone for weapons on the side of their horse out of your eyeline, and they mean you harm; but the boy has spotted it, giving you a chance to prepare.

Spoiler: OOC: Initiative!

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HighwaymanRider - (1d10+4)[13]
HighwaymanPassenger - (1d10+4)[5].

Roll initiative!

[MrAbdiel]

Suddenly, the rider reveals his intention; pivoting at the waist, he snaps his wrist into the air and slings a great hoop of rope up into the air, spinning it for a half-second before lashing it toward you, attempting to ensnare you and, perhaps shortly after, drag you from the saddle!

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Actions: Aim, and attack!

Vs50 - (1d100)[25] to ensnare poor Taalia!

The rope sails through the air, and you instinctively lift your arm to protect yourself - just as well, because the loop that snaps tight just above your elbow might have closed on your neck. The rider doesn't appear to have the sadism in him to enjoy the victory; just desperation and determination in his eyes as he kicks his heels into his horse's side.

Spoiler: OOC:

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You are lasso'd! Make an agility test to pull free before it's too tight! Then, on your turn, if you failed, you can spend your action taking an Agility or Strength test to try to get free as a Full Action.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


A breath caught in Taalia's throat as the warning was thrown out, her head spinning around to see the two dastardly brothers atop their horse reaching for weapons.

Her eyes widening and reactions kicking in, Taalia reached for her sword with one hand and slung her shield off her back to bring it about before her with the other - but her reactions were too slow. Instead, the lasso of the horse rider spiraled towards her like some flying snake, the rope coiling itself about her left arm as the girls eyes widened and she yanked back out of reflex.

Dropping her arm, shaking her shoulder, she managed to unsling the worst of it in time, as she pressed her heels against the sides of her horse to get the thing to move forward and get her out of range of the next lasso - while she instead drew her bow and let loose an arrow.

However, her aim was clearly off from the abrupt explosion of action, as the first arrow sliced through the air a foot away from her target.

[MrAbdiel]

Jezzabella plonks along unaware of the severity of the action going on above her. Your arrow whistles by one of the brigands; but in an impressive display of horsemanship, he wheels his steed around with his knees, trots it up to within five yards again, and both brothers fling their loops of rope at you - but this time, you're ready; and flattening yourself to the saddle you feel them slap loosely against your back -

Spoiler: Instrusive Thoughts:

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...Her maternal instincts, and her resentment for her condition, were alternately vented upon you. And when you returned after your abortive flight into the freezing wilderness, she visited upon your back a fury transmuted from the sum of both...

- before they are drawn back, with no prize for the rope slingers, and you close and ready for another shot. Careful not to get in your way, Desmondo turns the coach off the road and fumbles for weapons of his own.

Spoiler: Taalia's Turn!

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Both lassos miss this turn. ;_; no road haul today. Your turn!

[MrAbdiel]

You knock and loose another arrow, your shot made wide by the move to dodge their snares. That's enough failure for them - they are pulling their ropes up, preparing to cut their losses and run. This is made complicated as the mute boy fires his crossbow at the pair; the passenger riding pillion leaning away, but horrified to see that by moving he has enabled the shaft to nail into his brother's shoulderblade. Crying out in pain, bleeding, punished, the rider kicks his steed into action, turning around and racing back toward Verezzo.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Taalia's turn - the enemy is in flight, with a bolt in one's back. They are now about 30 yards away, and carrying on!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia glares angrily, drawing her bow up once more, taking careful aim and loosing an arrow...

But of course she missed, like she had every shot she'd taken.

Swearing a litany under her breath, her face reddening as she notched her bow away and then Punched! her own palm in anger and frustration at her own utter incompetence, Taalia watched as the brothers fled before she spat onto the ground.

"I hope you bleed out!" she yelled at them, before slowly calming down, her nostrils flaring as her simmering rage boiled down from an 8 to about a 1 to 2.

Pursing her lips, turning and looking over at the coachman and his son, the girl nodded at the boy.

"I'm lucky I've got you around to protect me," she nodded with a gentle, sincere smile of thanks to the lad, her disturbing anger clearly having been directed at the highwaymen and herself.

[MrAbdiel]

The boy gives a faint smile in return, even as he continues to reload; but Desmondo stays his hand. "Don't waste the bolt at this range, lad. A good hit as you did, though. Might likely have pulled the signorina off her saddle, and taken off with her horse. Pay all these road tolls and there's no damn road wardens when you need them."

All this commotion unfolding rather rapidly, the windows of the coach open and its refined occupants peer out to receive the update; but with no harm done, they join in congratulating the boy for his shot and you for your fortune.

Another hour on the road, and the sun dips low on the crossroads with the familiar porcine art display, and a refuge from the road's dangers.

Spoiler: OOC: Back at the Pigly

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A very mild ambush; but you may have 80XP for thwarting it. And you can recover some arrows...

Vs66 - (1d100)[13]
Vs66 - (1d100)[64]
Vs66 - (1d100)[97]

Two! Two arrows! Ah, ah, ah!

Back at the Pigly! 10s for a private room as normal, and they'll throw in the stabling of Jezzabella for free. Is there anything you were hoping to find/do at this coaching inn, or are you happy to zoom on to the next ambush stop, which is Caesa di Silo?

[MrAbdiel]

Bolo Hempfire is happy to see you again; and happy to have Rumpold run you another bath, if you want. At your story about the boy's shot, Bolo plays to the celebration of it; the halfling calling out to the crowd of half-soused mercenaries and travellers to give three cheers for Graciano, who must certainly become Verezzo's answer to Miragliano's marksmen. And they are playful enough of a crowd to honor it, cheering thrice indeed. Bolo makes the best treat he can for a lad of that age - a cool mug of cow's milk with honey and cinnamon, which the unspeaking boy seems pleased to receive (if no more verbose as a result.)

After another sleep in the very same room you rented once before (the mason and his wife in a superior suite in one of the other buildings, Antonuccia two doors down from you), your road party sets off again to Caesa di Silo; and gratifyingly, there are no additional ambushes or attacks.

As you approach the silo town, passing stone and wood towers containing grains stockpiled from the land around, like Gaulfredo's corn, you remember how a week ago this little town of several hundred people was the largest human settlement you'd ever seen. Now it seems so small, compared to Verezzo's towering old walls and tight-packed many-floored buildings; the intricate shuffle of mercenaries and merchants having street food flung to them from balconies while reprobates scurry up ladders to meet their pay-for paramours.

"Oof. I'd not look out the windows, signoras; we pass a grisly thing, on the right." Desmondo's warning inevitably draws your eyes directly there, while those inside the coach heed the warning. A gibbet has been erected outside this northern gate, and swinging from it in the evening breeze is the body of some unfortunate fellow. His body is pallid, except the bare feet which are purple and bloated from the sinking, unpumped blood; and the crows have gotten at his eyes, so he must have been there atleast the day's length. A sheet of parchment is nailed to his sternum. In big painted letters, the word "SPIA" declares his crime, and a warning to others.

"Hope he deserved it." Desmondo's remark is his last word on the subject. You might hope he deserved it, too; it's Blasio, the shifty fellow who tried to glom onto you to get past the gate guards on your way through last time. In the interim since you drew away from him and left him fleeing the militiamen, they must have caught him, decided he was a spy, and hanged him... perhaps with painful steps in between. You imagine a spy might traditionally be more skilled than he seemed to be; but he's dead now. Whatever secrets he carried are with him in Morr's garden; or else some worse place, if he indeed has earned this execution.

Spoiler: Tolls and Agendas!

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Another 10cp gate fee, and you're back in Caesa di Silo! What's your agenda for your time in the town?

1. Meet with the courier at the Leaping Vixen House, and get Polo's return correspondence.
2. ???

If there's any more things you'd like to do, I can set them up, too.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia was happy to partake in the wonderful luxury of The Pigly once again - a private room, another bath and one more of those amazing meat pies. After the hustle and bustle of Verezzo and the variety of characters she had met there, it felt cleansing and relaxing to the girl to sink her figure down into a hot bath, the warm waters enveloping her skin and the beautiful beef-stuffed pastry of another pie resting by her side. Corvo loved it too! Or at least she thought he did, as the growing, large dog rested quietly in against a wall, the warm bask of the charcoals enough to foster an easy relaxation within the young adult hound.

Seeing the young lad receiving his dues helped ease Taalia's nerves further, as she pictured herself at that age and where she had been. The kids smile was cute to her, even though his actions had wrought violence - possibly even killing a man - and when he was handed a mixture of milk and honey Taalia giggled gently into her hand as now she felt like the old adult next to the young babe who was receiving a warm glass of milk and a sweet for being a good boy. It was adorable, really, and peculiar juxtoposition that this kid was being celebrated and rewarded for putting a crossbow bolt into a mans shoulder.

But...Taalia shrugged. It wasn't some random fellow off the street whom he had shot while riding past. No no, he had acted with bravery against a pair of highwaymen that had deceived and ambushed them, and it had been his actions that had prevented further violence and seen the two miscreants off. Yes - he deserved every bit of praise he received, Taalia decided, as she raised her own glass and cheered along with the rest of the tavern.

This jovial mood was not to last for the rest of the journey, however. When the group had departed the warm cheer of The Pigly, none of them had been expecting the grisly sight of Blasio's desecrated corpse hanging from a tree, his supposed crime for all to see as his clearly painful demise acted as a deterrent to any one else who would attempt such folly. As the group passed the grim spectacle, Taalia closed her eyes for a moment and looked away, exhaling and shaking her head. Though she had become far more desensitised to death than any one her age should, having seen dozens, maybe hundreds, of fellow slaves die in servitude to the vile rat-men, that did not remove the sting of witnessing such a display as the personalised touch of having spoken to him before his apprehension made such a disconnect rather difficult.

If she had acted along with his ruse, would this man have lived?

It's quite possible. But if really had been a spy, her kindness could have incurred terrible consequences that could have perhaps gotten other people killed. After all, assuming he was a spy, would he have been hung in such a swift manner if he had not been such a hidden danger to the community? Would he have received the death penalty if he had merely been spying on livestock numbers or crop yields for rival farmers? No, by virtue of the punishment the man had served some wicked motive that she would never know.

Some time later, and in more comfortable conditions, Taalia was seated in the public dining/drinking area of the Leaping Vixen Tavern. To her right was a flagon of cold ale that she had been slowly enjoying as a side-drink, while before her were a few pieces of parchment upon which she had been compiling her notes from her first foray into the potentially lucrative world of livestock trading. To her left was a writing kit that she had learned to use thanks to the education of Singora Madre. In the different columns and rows she had designation such as the sex of her sheep, the number of lambs produced and whether they were rams or ewes, the 'quality' of the offspring and their parents (which she designated in an A-C grading range), the volume of milk produced by each ewe and any particular health concerns such as a difficult birth etc In other columns were numbers that denoted how much each individual sheep had been purchased for, while another was how much fleece they had produced, the price she had gained for said material at market and how much each sheep or lamb had been sold for, if anything, how much with a running total for how productive each sheep was. In general, she had bought each sheep for 2gc and received 9.5gc in return for the ensuing fleece and lamb, while the overall income had been 57gc, which was a return of 11.4gc for each of her 5 ewes. But, with the addition of the cottage cheese sales to Gaulfredo and Ariana brought that total up to 61.95gc, for an average per ewe of 12.39gc per season, or a 6.2gc return per gold duro invested, or 4.43gc if one also considered the initial pen construction costs. Ah! But she had also gained an A-grade ram lamb that she had not sold. Another 6gc worth of stock. But...he was in the inventory. It was a valuable asset, but she had not made any income from that fellow yet. Next year she could potentially stud him out to others in need of a good rams services, with a potential flat sum payment plus a 10% commission for each successful lamb he produced.

That each sheep required almost no feeding 'costs' due to their grazing nature, and the transport of most of their produced goods was a relatively easy affair due to the inert and non-perishable nature of fleece, Taalia could see that her sheep flock had been an excellent choice for her initial investment and entry into livestock.

Taalia tapped the feather of her quill against her chin as she pondered the future. Of course there were taxes to pay, ten percent of her yearly revenue, but she had set aside that required allotment to give the authorities their due, however painful it was to part with funds that could secure a few more sheep.

Cattle had a soft spot with the girl, as she thought cows were rather adorable. Just the blank, dumb and trusting look they had and their affectionate nature when bonding with their human owners was endearing. Buuuuut, each unit was, as she observed in the Caesa di Silo livestock market, approximately 10gc, only had one calf a year and the secondary source of productivity, their milk, was perishable and needed to be sold quickly. Bella Collina had a carrying capacity for milk, as nutritious as it could be, while Taalia also lacked access to a cheese cave, natural or artificial, to fully exploit the potential transformation of milk into cheese, which had so frustrated her in the utilization of her sheeps milk. So if she spent 100gc on 9 cows and 1 bull, the following season she could expect an investment return of 90gc at best, which would actually require 2 years to acquire because the calves would have to mature. Given the huge amount of acreage such an operation would require, it was simply a poor investment. Any males could be castrated early and be trained into oxen, but after talking with Ernesto and his brother about the procedure, Taalia could see that it was a huge time investment. Potentially very profitable, but required a bit under half a decade to mature. There were better options.

Pigs on the other hand...each sow could produce approximately 10 piglets twice a year, twenty in total. Each piglet could go for 1.5 to almost 4gc at market, Taalia had observed, creating a huge potential spread of 30gc to 80gc per sow a year. Even just a few pigs could be an incredible secondary income stream, though establishing a piggery with a sty and fencing, not to mention the enormous amounts of food she would have to acquire for that many pigs, of which she had little experience, made such a venture uncertain to her.

Alternatively...Taalia tapped that feather against her chin again, lips pursed in thought as her eyes drifted down to the smaller entry she had made for her chickens. 6gc they had so far made her from four dozen eggs sold at market per week, or predictably 12gc a year. A nice little emergency income, a decent wage for a single person on their own, but that was purely sales of the eggs. It meant that each chicken produced about 16 silver worth of income each year. Howver, she knew that mature chickens could go for five pennies each, and even her small flock of 15 birds produced a dozen eggs a day...seven dozen a week...if she allowed them all to mature and sell those instead, in an expanded coop...Taalia shook her head. Chickens didn't graze, the amount of food to grow each one to maturity would out-weigh the costs for selling it, and she'd have bloody thousands of the things after six months. They'd eat her out of house and home. Shaking her head, she returned her thoughts to sheep and pigs.

Taalia started to write on her second parchment two ideas for her expansion, using her powers of prediction for both an expanded sheep flock or acquisition of a group of sows and a boar. Or both! If she truly was going to settle in this village that had been so good to her and become a long-term fixture of its social climate, this would be her legacy.

It all depended on Polo's words.



ooc:

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1. That's about it. Her further agenda would depend upon the return correspondence. If Polo had gone ahead and secured the acre, she would start haggling the local market for pigs. If he shows apprehension, however, then she would meet him later in town.

So the length of stay really depends on Polo's response, which you've hinted at will be more counselling caution than thumbs-up full-speed-ahead.

Alternatively, Polo could rock up himself in person.

[MrAbdiel]

The courier from the far lands of Sigmar's tribes has arrived at the Leaping Vixen House shortly before you did; cursing his luck mildly. "Ah, if I had known we'd arrive so well timed, I would not have booked a room; just hit the road and tried my luck at one of the farmhouses. Here you are, signorina." He presents you a return slip of parchment, which turns out indeed to have been Polo's response.

Spoiler: Polo Correspondo

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My young friend Taalia,

Fenicia and I are glad to hear from you. The accounts we have received about the combat on the Silo Road were very fierce but the reports of your valor, and that of all the other Bella Collinans involved for that matter, do fill me with pride. Ernesto is resting and we will all be glad when you have escorted this physician to his side. Until then, the Madre Angeletta will continue to check on him, and the rest of us pray to Shallya. I do not mind whether a miracle comes from the goddess, or the Madre's wisdom, or a Verezzan sophisticate's books. Any miracle that does the job is fine, by me.

To the meat of your letter, so I do not over-delay your courier who even now struggles to restrain himself from touching every loose object in my home and talking about what they have instead back in the Empire: yes, there is still opportunity to rent land near to the north of Bella Collina. Given your rise to local fame and service to the other Bella Collinans, I don't think the Rampollo will have difficulty approving your tenancy. I do recall the last time we spoke, you seemed more partial to the land south, nearer to Gaulfredo's farm; and you must forgive my nature as a man averse to sharp changes and sudden movements. I congratulate you on your earnings, but I wonder if you would permit Fenicia and I to have you at our home for dinner when you return, at which time we can discuss your business ambitions. I might be able to help you mitigate some of the risks involved.

Affectionate yours,

Polo.

The tone of the letter, like the man itself, is a little tense and nervous, averse to adventurism; but what you notice sharply is the lack of any mention of Bertuccio despite you bringing him up directly in your last letter. You can't imagine he simply forgot - he must be electing not to mention the matter, which leaves you wondering if there is any advance on that issue.. and how dire it might be.

"You know, in the Empire, there are great, monsterously powerful and swift creatures called 'gryphons', half eagle, half great cat."

You blink up at the courier, who gazes out the window of the Leaping Vixen House's common room at an eagle perched on the cone point of a silo; smiling in benign wonderment of his own, adventurous life. "I wonder how many deliveries I could make, on such a soaring creature. And no bandit in the world would try to rope me off; he'd need a mile of rope to even reach me, in the sky!"

Spoiler: OOC:

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It would be polite to pay this man!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia read the letter with the eagerness of a child who had written to Santa Claus and received a response, her eyes darting back and forth across the lines as her enthusiasm slowly drained. Perhaps she was just overly-keen, as her excitable youth had fostered in her mind a more conducive response from the foster-family friend. Instead his reply seemed tepid, perhaps even overly cautious yet gentle in his wait-and-see attitude.

Into this slight disappoint was, of course, her note that Bertuccio had not been mentioned.

Two worrying elements indeed.

Looking up from her letter as the messenger spoke, Taalia perked a slender, white eyebrow.

"Hmmm?" she asked softly, before realisation opened her mouth and eyes.

"Oh, yes!" Taalia said, nodding as she reached for one of her pouches to retrieve the designated one duri and ten silver she had promised the lad. Counting it out on the table before her, she gestured with her hand 'here it all is!' with a polite smile.

When that little business was conducted, Taalia read the letter again, almost in the fleeting hope that she had either missed a crucial sentence of acquiescence or mention of their Roadwarden, but alas, no such overlooked text existed. Sighing gently, leaning back in her seat and letting the parchment fall onto the table before her atop the home-made records and ledger she had been pouring her mind into, the girl exhaled once again in despondence before gingerly picking up her flagon and taking another sip.

No new pigs. No new sheep. No haggling with the local markets. It was a little bit of a disappointing conclusion to an otherwise fantastic run of luck and circumstance, but soon Taalia's optimism stirred from its sleep once more as she remembered something else: the bounty on the mutants!

ooc:

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Alas, Polo urges caution.

Taalia will try and collect the bounty for the bandits that the Watch Marshal hinted at during her last time in the town, before heading back to Bella Collina with the lovely Antonuccia.

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: OOC: Fees 'n Taxes

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If you haven't, another pile of coins for another night on the road is due -
5s for the Room
13p For Stable and Fodder
4p for a good meal!

The following morning, while Antonuccia talks her way onto the buckboard of a pedlar's cart bringing tanned leather goods to Bella Collina, you check in with the constabulary about the bounty. Some of the men their remember you, but to your surprise, it seems the payout of that matter has already been settled - presumably, Gaulfredo and the others must have taken payment for the slain mutants after you took off north, but before they headed south. There's no gate fee for those heading off down the Silo Road toward Bella Collina - removing the price to leave that way discourages unpleasant situations where paupers are 'trapped' in the town, and the city Verezzo pays the administrators of Caesa di Silo a small encouragement to make sure the poor are channeled 'away' from the city, as if that would stop them.

You pass a pair of road wardens, a man and a woman who seem young and also overly friendly with one another until they realize the amount of attention you are paying to them. Then they straighten up and pass by you on their horses; young recruits who have not completely internalized the fact that they are even now travelling down the side of the road where their predecessor was jumped and killed.

With this open air ride for Antonuccia, and the cart driver particularly laconic, you pass the journey fielding questions from her about Bella Collina; what it is like, who is in charge, how do the people respond to crisis so far from the mercenary centres, and so on. It might be the first time someone has relied on you to prepare them to feel welcome in your home; Bella Collina being only six months yours... but still, distinctly, yours in a way that it did not belong to a stranger.

You pass by the scraggly hops fields of Nogrom's home, off the east side of the road as you are almost back in the village; a few homesteads whose occupants you do not know, but with small gardens and fields of their own, with handfuls of livestock. Their plants, like Nogroms, look somewhat frail and stringy, you notice; and the punishing summer sun is all there is to blame. But as that sun dips low, you arrive in Bella Collina once more, bidding your cart-driver farewell. It's not quite dark enough that all sensible people are giving up and going to bed; but the dwarf Nogrom - vassilating at the north road's connection to the village as to whether he ought to hustle home by foot in the dark or get a room at Gherardino's, spots you walking Jezzabella into the village square, and hurries up to you to intercept you in the long evening shadow of the bronze Myrmdia.

"Glad ye travelled safe, young Taalia; ye and ye're friend. Polo's been having me keep an eye our for ye, to fill ye in as soon as ye arrived. It's... it's a pickled beet, is what it is; a real mess of a matter."

At first, Antonuccia looks at you with concern, having concluded that the troublesome matter is the paralyzed Ernesto; but the situation is made more clear - and even Antonuccia, with all her city-slick medical education, cannot unravel it.

Sitting in the small brick jailcell build into the back of Gheradino's tavern is Bertuccio; his hair messy and scruffy, his face and body sporting the bruises and treated wounds from the hiding you and the others gave him on the Silo road. He sits on the pallet of straw that serves as the cell's bed, forehead in his hands, elbows on his knees, rocking a little and occasionally mumbing and looking up at the assembled visitors with haunted, tired eyes. You, Antonuccia, Nogrom and Gheradino look in at him through a door made of vertical iron bars too close together to permit more than a hand and some forearm to squeeze through.

It seems the Bella Collinans have not been able to solve this problem. It is a complex problem, to be fair: ten minutes ago, Nogrom had taken you to the Bella Collina stables to drop off Jezzabella - and also to show you that Bertuccio was there, also. This Bertuccio is more familiar to you; his hair short and boring, his features blandly handsome and unbruised. He sits in an unused stall of the stable with his ankles shacked to an iron ring in the floor usually employed for restraining horses for gelding; though fortunately for Bertuccio, no one has felt that things need to go so far for him. He isn't very chatty - but then again, he never was; and his quiet self-counsel seems to be aiding in restraining his sanity in this scenario.

Of the two Bertuccios in camp, it is that one, back at the stable, and not this one here in the prison cell who is most like the one you know. That much is true. The deeper complication remains.

"But Bertuccio has been around Bella Collina for years," Gheradino confers quietly with the group of you on this side of the bars. "We thought it was as simple as hanging the crazy one and being done with it, but Polo asked us if we could really tell much about the matter. What if Bertuccio had been captured on the road, and replaced with the one we've known the last year - and what if the one you fished up from the road is the real man, driven to madness by the mutant company he has been forced to keep? We can't get much sense out of this one, but the other one's never claimed a twin before or when we asked after. Its clear there's a great, evil trick being played on us; but how in Verena's name can we tell we've done the right job when we hang one, and set the other free? What if we turn out to be hanging a man who has had his whole life stolen from him - and we give that life back to the man who stole it? A cursed affair to be in."

"A real pickled beet." Nogrom summarizes. Antonuccia, who has been in town for a whole twenty minutes before being exposed to these shenanigans, shakes her head. "Well. I can give each a thorough medical examination. But if one - or both - have been given a... a new face by some evil magical means, I fear this may not be a matter I can offer consultation over; much as I would like to help. This is a matter for priests."

The consultation goes quiet; quiet enough that you can hear the prisoner nearby, muttering, almost prayerfully:

"I am Bertuccio... I am a Warden of the South Road..."

Spoiler: Ber-Two-Ccio

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What a pickled beet! Taalia isn't in charge in this scenario, but as normal, the humble townsfolk are open to suggestions from anyone who seems to have a good or clever idea. Especially since this is a matter of law and hanging - something they might have deferred to Bertuccio on.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

The trip back from Caesa di Silo had been a surprisingly pleasant one, despite the absence of a coach. However, there was something calmly about behold the vast agricultural fields stretching out in all directions beneath the warm Tilean sun and the learned company of the physician that set Taalia at ease and allowed her to enjoy every moment.

The sight of Bella Collina was a happy one for Taalia, the quaint village resting upon the horizon and drawing closer as the days travel went on, the situation within was deeply troubling to her. Indeed, Taalia felt surprised at how much she enjoyed seeing Nogram again, given that she barely knew him, but a warm melange in her chest at speaking with Polo once more and standing in that town square spoke to something deeper and more abstract until the girl finally realised what it was: she was home.

The good times were not to last.

Seeing the disheveled, beaten up Bertuccio was disturbing, to say the least, but not something that Taalia had not been exposed to before. She could still remember the first slave she had seen go mad, a sane man one day, a gibbering lunatic the next who believed he was morphing into a Skaven as his mind crumbled within his skull. It gave the girl a stark reminder as to how mysterious but dominating ones mind was over ones life: her limbs may be injured, her body broken at times, but to suffer an affliction of the mind? To have oneself trapped away in the unreachable corridors of their own psyche while the outside world became little more than a projection? Taalia had to suppress a shudder. It was a frightful thought, and it made Bertuccio's state even more pitiful.

But...then there was the second Bertuccio. Or the first?

The second Bertuccio was even more troubling. Though he appeared normal, he appeared fine, Taalia found herself agreeing with Polo's reasoning for staying the execution. There was just something off about the way the man just sat there, barely saying a word, offering no professions of innocence. Taalia knew the man was not the most talkative before, but for Myrmidia's sake - he was on trial for his life! Some type of recognition upon seeing herself, some smile, however small, when he saw Taalia's image darkening that door with just a few words of relief or greeting at her appearance. But nothing. He just sat there, saying nothing. The shepardess knew that the Roadwarden was a man of few words, but his own town had just arrested him, and he couldn't seem to care less. He didn't even seem mad that he was, to his belief, being falsely accused, or that he had had some doppelganger running around wearing his image. Nothing.

When the group were together and from listening ears, Taalia leaned in and spoke softly as she shared these thoughts with the others. The Bertuccio they knew was indeed a man of few words, but was he that nonchalant over the possibility of being hung by his own town as a traitor?

Hearing Antonuccia's offer to inspect both, Taalia nodded before an idea hit her. It was not a pleasant idea, but it could offer a modicum of help.

"There is another in this village, a beautiful girl: Bella. To my knowledge, she was receptive of Bertuccio's advances, they were not yet married, but he was courting her, yes?" Taalia both stated and asked, her eyes moving to Polo for him to confirm.

"Perhaps she might have recognised a...change of any sort coming over Bertuccio, either recently or months ago, either in his personality or...physically. We should inquire with her, poor girl."

[MrAbdiel]

This seems wise; Gherardino sends his children running through the street to Bella's home, to bring her over while it's still light enough to do so. Fifteen minutes later, Bella - her loveliness somewhat tarnished by sleeplessness about her eyes - attends your group; you introduce her to Antonuccia, and fill her in on your suggestion. She has been aware of the situation, and distressed by it; but for now, she has been heeding invitations to keep She blushes a little; glancing to Gheradino and Nogrom who decide to shuffle back and become interested in conversation about the dwarf's next round of ale production, so the ladies can discuss such a delicate matter with a modicum of appropriate gender division.

Bella shakes her head a little. "We... Well, that is to say... I certainly... pursued him, hoping he would pursue back. But we've never -... Nothing like that. He never seemed like he really... understood I was waiting for it. For him to pursue me, I mean." Perhaps a surprising revelation. But, after all, you'd seen Bella attract his eyes, and draw him to dance... but not much more, than that. He embraced her with worry when the troll nearly got her; but you have witnessed no kisses, or hand-holding. Could Bertuccio have simply... missed the signals she was sending him, and therefore neglected to respond in kind to what is, for a man of his status and place in the world, and very desirable partner indeed? Thinking back to the stolid prisoner in the stables, with his alarming serenity in the face of this nightmare... Yes, yes he might well be the kind of man who misses something like that.

Bella does stay, for the evening's efforts. While Nogrom and Gheradino remain with Antonuccia for her physical inspection of 'crazy' Bertuccio, you and Bella go to speak with 'sane' Bertuccio; swapping after half an hour or so and reconvening afterward. 'Sane' Bertuccio knows who Bella is; remembers where they met; just as he knows you, and recalls your shared experiences. He remembers coming to Bella Collina five years ago from his hometown in the North of Verezzo to briefly apprentice, and then to become, the local roadwarden. He has all the memories that you would expect him to have, being the man that you first met at Gaulfredo's farm, who made an effort to speak to you in what scraps he knew of queekish - Rat-man? Man-rat? Rat Rat? - and it is hard not to conclude that this is your real Bertuccio. By contrast, 'crazy' Bertuccio seems to know only what he has been told; though he has grasped on to the facts he has picked up from conversations around him and the alarmed exposition by the Watch Sergeant back in Caesa di Silo like they were driftwood in a hungry, drowning sea. He doesn't know who Bella is, but immediately seems soothed by her voice. He remembers you, but only from the battle on the road; and even that event he has trouble communicating. Perhaps it's the head trauma received at the time - perhaps, without a sense of who he was, his ability to remember things before he was told his name is... sketchy. He seems remarkably untroubled by Antonuccia's physical checking - after being carried blindfolded and gagged on a cart (not to mention all the circumstances that preceeded that) for days, his sense of personal freedom is demolished if it existed at all. 'Sane' Bertuccio, Antonuccia and the lads report to you, was not at all happy to be exposed and especially infront of a woman, but his embarassment did not stop his pattern of dull compliance. The only 'new' information you get is from 'crazy' Bertuccio, when you and Bella are leaving him to reconvene with the others after the examinations are done.

"Wait, wait - ...The... the man with the broken back. Will he... stand? Walk, again?"

It's a disarming flash of clarity, delivered in Bertuccio's familiar voice, though with more softness and empathy than you are used to from the one you know.

"...We don't know, yet." Antonuccia supplies, clinically; though gives him no more than that, suspicious as she remains.

In the assembled huddle, the five of you confer once more. Antonuccia sighs.

"They are physically identical. More so than any twins I have ever seen. They have matching scars, for those that seem older than a few years, too. What I mean is, they are identical beyond any natural capacity for that to happen. Even the most striking similar twins end up with different.. freckles, and thumbprints. And there's nothing about the... unsettled one that marks him as a mutant. Just.. damaged in the mind. If he is a genuine mutant, it's nothing I've ever studied or heard of. I think we should... keep them both incarcerated until a specialist can get here."

You can't imagine what a mutant specialist is like. It sounds like the job that comes with fire, and small, sharp knives kept in a leather roll.

Nogrom is predictably dour. "Be that as it may, he is still a brigand; I've met plenty of madmen who wouldn't hurt a fly, and only this one who killed a road warden and would have killed us and all if he'd had but the chance. This is no mystery for Verena; give it to Morr. Brigands swing, and we do suffering and disservice to all the town every day we have the people fretting and chinscratching about this all."

It's certainly the quickest solution - kill the man you know has done dark deeds, free the one you do not know has done so. But the light of distrust this affair shines on 'original' Bertuccio might not be so easily dismissed; and perhaps answers, if they exist at all, would die with the hanged man.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Where Taalia had hoped her idea would bring further clarity, unfortunately it only seemed to direct them around back to square one. Bella's arrival elicited considerable sympathy from the Shepardess, as she met the girl with a warm, tight hug - easily wrapping her long arms around the shorter girl and drawing her in close. The directions life could go truly were unexpected. Four months ago Taalia hated her, secretly cursed her image as that of a little hussy and would've openly laughed if the troll had've gobbled her up. But now, she their hearts pressed together as the ex-slave couldn't image what the poor dear was going through, but knew she wanted to try and ease the trauma she was receiving by proxy.

However after the inspections and analysis, frustratingly they were no closer to discerning the truth. Was Bertuccio really that boring that he faced potential death with the mild irritation Taalia would feel if she dropped a delicious sandwich? At what point did one stop being stoic and simply become dense?

Listening to their suggestions, Taalia pursed her lips and gently shook her head to Nograms suggestion. The dwarf was a valuable ally in some areas, but he was often too hasty to make those decisions that could have big long-term consequences.

"I think we should try to discern the truth as best as we are able," Taalia stated.

"Should we simply hang the mad one and free our Bertuccio..." she chose her phrasing carefully, "then the specter of distrust will always hang over him. Who will trust being alone with him, or confiding in him about sensitive matters? Only irrefutable proof that he is our Bertuccio, untainted and true, will fully clear his name."

She remembered then what Berutccio had said of his past: he was not a native to Bella Collina. He had moved here five years ago. What if, during that transition, he had been abducted from the road and replaced by a doppleganger? The Mad Bertuccio, as the physician had said, had no signs of mutation, only a mental affliction.

Meanwhile, he even knew some Queekish.

And the two were exact body doubles.

Taalia's eyes widened as a particularly dark and disturbing possibility bubbled up from deep within her memories and crawled through her mind.

"Antonuccia is right," Taalia spoke, a look of grave concern suddenly across her face.

"We should call for a priest or wizard who deals with the mind and whom can provide anodynes for a broken psyche. I will offer such a practicioner twenty gold to heal the mad one of his malady so he may speak the truth."