Chapter Four: The Manifest of the Harikan Squall

You can find some seedy establishments near the waterfront and flash gang signs at whoever's lurking around until you get a positive response, but at what point would you mention the string? To the first guildie you meet? Or would you ask for a meeting with someone higher up the ranks?

Rest of the party: will you be proceeding to the Caryatid?

While the party discusses their next move, Shamush abruptly stands up, reaches into his pack, smears a handful of the Queen's white mold across his face, and without a word to anyone, starts walking south. Something about his bearing tells you all that it is pointless to go after him, and that you are not likely to see him again.

As dawn's rosy fingers claw their way into the sky, Mordred heads down to the riverfront area while Vhezyen leads the rest of the party to the Caryatid, not far away. The inn is a large, vine-covered stone building, taking its name from the massive column carved in the likeness of a giant woman set near its front doors, a salvage from some long-forgotten temple that must once have stood in Hazard. At this hour, the cavernous common room is nearly empty, occupied only by a teenage girl sweeping the floor and a man in elaborate clerical vestments sitting with his eyes closed before a steaming cup of tea at one of the long tables. At Vhezyen's request, the sweeper fetches the proprietor, and arrangements are made for room and board.

Vhezyen can get a good package deal from the proprietor; you all can stay here, with meals included, for 1 GP per day per character. The final bill can be settled in the next chapter, once we know how long you've stayed.

Meanwhile, Mordred makes his way down to the grittier neighborhoods around the commercial district. Though this is the hour when the underworld starts to make itself scarce for the day, the brothels and gambling dens here aren't hard to pick out, and after making guild gestures at a few passers-by Mordred gets a hit from a one-eyed lout of a man who returns the gesture and follows it up with one that means, roughly, you've got my attention, now what in the hells do you want, so Mordred sidles casually up to him and asks him about the "map" he needs translated.

The man smiles; only half of his mouth fully commits to the expression. "I know just the one for you, devilkin. It'll be two silver for a name and three more if you want to know where you're like to find her."

I assume Mordred would readily pay this modest fee. Deduct 5 SP from your inventory.

"Two streets out, by the fountain that an't working no more, house with the blue flowers. Ask for Leija and tell 'em your cousin Nordle sent yeh. Happy day, devilkin."

It takes a bit of searching to find the place -- turns out "out" means "in the direction away from the river" when you're giving directions in Hazard; Mordred learns something every day -- but once he stumbles upon the fountain with three dolphins back-to-back silently refusing to spit water up into the air as they must have done in days gone by, it doesn't take him long to find a grimy little two-level house next to a cobbler's shop with some rather crude-looking blue flowers painted on the upstairs window shutters.

Mordred knocks. No answer, but he can hear some muffled indications of life inside. He knocks again.

"Who is it?" somebody shouts from inside.

Vhezyen is fairly certain this man is the Theodidact of Hur-Maz, one of the gods of Parz the Mezians introduced to Bload along with their countless local deities. The Parzian gods -- who many native Bloaders insist are dead or never existed, else why would Parz have come to such ruin? -- tend to be favored by the wealthy and intellectual elite, although the cult of Mit-Ratu, the god of oaths and contracts, flourished in Sthombo, of all places, probably encouraged by the law-and-order-minded rulers there.

From the other end of the door, silence. Then you hear a chuckle. A moment later, footsteps. The door swings open. Pungent comingled odors of smoke and incense, clinging to the heavy air inside, hit Mordred's nose rather forcefully. A gaunt, shirtless man with heavily kohl-rimmed eyes stands on the other side, beckoning you inside.

The air in the house is heavy with smoke and incense. It's cluttered with furniture, cups, jugs -- and people. Mordred counts at least six sets of eyes studying him as he stands in the doorway, and there seem to be a few more sleeping in whatever space they could find for themselves, too.

"Ey, everyone. Nordle's cousin," the man at the door says. This gets another chuckle from the people inside. "She's upstairs. Good luck waking her up." He points to the steep, rickety stairs to Mordred's left. There's a small man wrapped in a blanket seated on the stairs, cradling a wooden bowl. He's looking at Mordred, but makes no move to get out of the way.

The man scoots himself about an inch closer to the wall, but Mordred manages to get around him without causing bodily offense.

The upstairs floor is partitioned into two halves by a blue-and-gold patterend curtain. The morning light bleeds through the painted shutters he saw from outside. A pile of clothes and blankets rests on a couch set against the wall, subtly rising and falling to betray the fact that a person is somewhere under there. Mordred tries to rouse her as unobtrusively as he can, saying her name, first at a normal volume, and then a little louder. The third repetition does the trick, and the pile whips around, blankets falling to the floor, as the person underneath suddenly becomes awake and alert.

To Mordred's surprise, the person underneath is a young tiefling woman, ochre-skinned, with short sharp horns and a gold ring in her nose. She blinks up at him, eyes darting, reaching with one hand under a pillow that isn't there for a weapon that also isn't there. "Who are you?" she asks.

"Translating?" the amount of annoyed perplexity she manages to put into that single world of her reply is astounding. "What does this have to do with me? Who sent you here?"

Leija sits up. "Nordle's cous-- oh. I get it. Nordle probably thought it'd be funny to send you to me because we're both...you know..." she gestures vaguely at her horns. "I'm not a translator, sorry. I can't read string code. Got any Mezian friends? Ask them." She leans down and pulls an empty chamber pot out from under the couch. "You can leave, now."

Whoops, sorry, I could have phrased that a little better -- that guy is just a high priest of Hur-Maz the Parzian god, basically. You've seen him at public events, recognize the outfit, etc.

I see it now. Some editing is in order! What is Hur-Maz the god of?