Chapter Four: The Manifest of the Harikan Squall

I'll take the dagger, if no one else wants it. I'm ready to leave.

Martjan leads you west a ways, through narrow streets and alleys, past workrooms and storehouses piled high with worker tenements atop them, then cuts north and doubles back to the east, alongside a wide canal. Pole-driven skiffs laden with sundry freight come and go, occasionally catcalling or demanding blessings or singing curious songs as they pass by.

Eventually you find yourself back in the large residential district that the House of the Zapanim was in. Martjan zig-zags you through the cobbled streets, heading further north, to where the fancy townhouses yield to larger estates.

"I'm cashing in the biggest favor I can," Martjan says. "This is about the most secure place I can possibly get you into, Zora." She turns pointedly toward a sprawling walled-in expanse of lush gardens, fruit trees, and airy, finely-constructed outbuildings surrounding a rather ugly, boxy stone keep. "Do you know whose house this is?"

"Why would I?" Zora asks.

"This is the House of Gahmez. The lord of this manor is one of the richest men in the city, and his nephew is currently serving as the Innocent of Hazard. If you're not safe here..." she gestures with her palms up, then finger-combs her hair a bit and turns back to face the rest of the party. "I'll try to get guest rights extended to all of you for the time being, but I can't promise the sun and moon. In any case, try to...try to be on your best behavior."

She walks up to a vine-shrouded side gate and shouts; "I am here, Martjan va Locra, blood and friend to the estimable Chorcarz dra Gahmez! I ask you, let me in!" She quickly looks back over her shoulder as if to see if anyone was around to hear. There are citizens and guards in the vicinity, but nobody seems to be paying any attention.

A moment or two later, you hear a clink and the gate swings open. A tall, tattooed man of Haferan complexion stands at the entry. "Madam va Locra, you were not expected." His gaze flicks over to take in the motley crew behind her.

"I know. I'm afraid this is no social call, but rather an emergency. My daughter is in grave danger and I beg the help of my dear friend Chorcarz. Will you ask him to grant me a moment of his time? Please."

The doorman nods. "Wait here." He shuts the gate and walks up the garden path behind it.

Martjan turns around. "Formalities," she mutters. "He'll see me, don't worry."

To be continued later this morning. In the meantime, characters should feel free to ask any questions or take any actions they want while they're waiting for the doorman to come back.

Martjan leads you west a ways, through narrow streets and alleys, past workrooms and storehouses piled high with worker tenements atop them, then cuts north and doubles back to the east, alongside a wide canal. Pole-driven skiffs laden with sundry freight come and go, occasionally catcalling or demanding blessings or singing curious songs as they pass by.

Eventually you find yourself back in the large residential district that the House of the Zapanim was in. Martjan zig-zags you through the cobbled streets, heading further north, to where the fancy townhouses yield to larger estates.

"I'm cashing in the biggest favor I can," Martjan says. "This is about the most secure place I can possibly get you into, Zora." She turns pointedly toward a sprawling walled-in expanse of lush gardens, fruit trees, and airy, finely-constructed outbuildings surrounding a rather ugly, boxy stone keep. "Do you know whose house this is?"

"Why would I?" Zora asks.

"This is the House of Gahmez. The lord of this manor is one of the richest men in the city, and his nephew is currently serving as the Innocent of Hazard. If you're not safe here..." she gestures with her palms up, then finger-combs her hair a bit and turns back to face the rest of the party. "I'll try to get guest rights extended to all of you for the time being, but I can't promise the sun and moon. In any case, try to...try to be on your best behavior."

She walks up to a vine-shrouded side gate and shouts; "I am here, Martjan va Locra, blood and friend to the estimable Chorcarz dra Gahmez! I ask you, let me in!" She quickly looks back over her shoulder as if to see if anyone was around to hear. There are citizens and guards in the vicinity, but nobody seems to be paying any attention.

A moment or two later, you hear a clink and the gate swings open. A tall, tattooed man of Haferan complexion stands at the entry. "Madam va Locra, you were not expected." His gaze flicks over to take in the motley crew behind her.

"I know. I'm afraid this is no social call, but rather an emergency. My daughter is in grave danger and I beg the help of my dear friend Chorcarz. Will you ask him to grant me a moment of his time? Please."

The doorman nods. "Wait here." He shuts the gate and walks up the garden path behind it.

Martjan turns around. "Formalities," she mutters. "He'll see me, don't worry."

To be continued later this morning. In the meantime, characters should feel free to ask any questions or take any actions they want while they're waiting for the doorman to come back.

Zangua comically does a double take, wipes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, etc, as he fails to tell the two Zoras apart.

After ten minutes or so, the gate swings open again. The Haferan is now accompanied by a short man of about sixty years, with wispy gray hair and a sagging double chin, dressed in a simple brown tunic. "Martjan. How pleasantly unexpected to see you," he says.

Martjan bows her head. "Chorcarz, I am so sorry to surprise you like this, but I am in desperate need of your help. May I introduce you to my daughter, Zora?" She gestures to Zora, who copies the head bow her mother just made.

Chorcarz smiles. "I didn't know you had a daughter." His gaze shifts to Domarc. "Twins, from the looks of it."

Martjan takes a deep breath. "A glamour. These are company men I have employed to protect her. Chorcarz, may we speak somewhere away from the public eye?"

"Of course, yes. I ask only that your company men leave their arms here at the gate, in Rolon's care."

Rolon raises an eyebrow at Zangua's statement while Martjan gives Leth a discreet death glare. Chorcarz cocks his head. "I see. Well, I should not want to force you into a position where you feel you are derelict in your duty. Come into the grounds, all of you, I invite you in as guests."

Rolon steps aside, clearing the way for you all to pass through the side gate.

As you begin to file through the gate, Chorcarz says: "Martjan, if I may ask a moment of patience from your retinue, will you come with me to the Semla shrine that I might speak privately with you? Bring your daughter as well."

"Certainly," Martjan says, giving you all a fairly clear don't-butt-into-this look.

"Rolon, will you show these doughty men to the sundial table?" asks Chorcarz. Rolon nods, and starts to lead the way down a garden path to the left. Chorcarz places his hand on Martjan's shoulder and starts to walk with her up towards a small columned outbuilding next to a large knucklenut tree. Zora looks weary and impatient, but follows her mother.

The sundial table is a large round stone table in a flower garden next to a fish pond. Rolon remains standing at attention near the pond as you take your seats to wait.

After a few minutes of idle talk and introductions with Domarc, a young woman arrives with a serving tray and a blue glass pitcher. She sets down a dish of savory pastries and pours a cup of sweet white wine for each of you. When she is done, she exchanges a few words with Rolon in a language none of you understand, and heads back up the path towards the keep.

Will this interlude count as a short rest? If so, Domarc will do Song of Rest - everyone rolling to recover HP gets an extra d6

Sure, this counts as a Short Rest. Everybody roll for HP regeneration, if applicable.