Bloodsong: The Unsung

[Success on both accounts.]

The shopkeeper, having already noticed Dethis' Mage Hand, turns to him and nods. "I'd be the one to go to for information, yes," he says sagely, ever so slightly emphasizing the hard syllables of his Plains-dialect words, as if making a point. "The poor folk in this part of town are good friends of mine."

The man with the brown cloak passes by the door and looks in for a moment. His eyes rest on Grakas for a moment, before the shopkeeper waves at him and he disappears before anyone turns around to see who the wave is directed at.

"There has been one interesting rumor circulating recently, although with the racism around here I doubt it's worth anything. It doesn't reach me, as I rarely go out, but I get the distinct feeling that it's the government who invented the word 'piggart.'" The word rolled easily off his tounge, but without hatred, as if it was just another normal word.

"The rumor is that some ancient ruins on the outskirts of town, near the countryside, is being sacked by Orcs." He sneered. "As if it makes any difference to us here. I think that the only reason it's such a big deal is because it's Orcs doing it. But if a wandering knight kills a few peasants, or if a rogue wizard decides to murder a few of his colleagues, no one notices."

The man with the brown cloak turns around and actually smiles at Wooga, amused. "Orcs? Down by the coast? Some of my best friends are Halflings who live by the coast, pal. Not that I'd want to live cheek by jowl with piggarts, but I say it's just another excuse for the 'Grass Spears' to stake a claim in another nice little place on the boundaries of the civilized world."

He grinned. "No one's put out any official announcements, so obviously it's all happening under the table. I bet that those soldiers set up a blockade, shut down some businesses, and make some random arrests just to make them look good and to swipe a quick buck on the side. God knows that's what I'd do. But that's just me."

With a sneer and a roll of his eyes, he continued walking, but made no motion to keep Wooga from following. "It's a nice place, the Coast," he said, "No matter what people tell you. But I'd get there fast before the soldiers start blocking the roads."

Wooga spoke silently to himself, so that no one around him could hear his words. "He filled in the other half of my rumor. Maybe I should get some guys to check that out. Seems like an interesting adventure for a stray rogue." Wooga then looked around, the Orc was here, maybe he would be looking forward to a fight with some knights. Let out his pain and suffering on some humans.

Where are you? Marco wondered, as he stormed into the apothecary, his eyes barely fading before bursting into light again.

It wasn't a big building, but there were a few occupants. Marco stared intensely around--the one he had detected earlier must still be here, he knew it!

(Natural Spot, Listen. Detect Evil, too.)

Aria sighed mentally as she looked at the box that had suddenly become horribly expensive... And for all that, it still does not contain that which I seek. She turned away from the counter, box in-hand, and moved to replace it where she had found it. As she walked, she overheard the stranger's question and the beginning of the shopkeeper's response... The shopkeeper's obvious language emphasis seemed somewhat rude to her... What a lousy attitude...

((Sense Motive Check: Shopkeeper))

"I would certainly sell you but a small portion of that box's contents for much less," said the white-bearded herbalist to Aria, seemingly a bit disappointed, "Or, for only a few silver each, I have many seperate antidotes and balms."

As she placed the box back where she had found it, she turned towards the shopkeep once again as he spoke to her. At the mention of "separate antidotes and balms" her right eyebrow shot up. She spoke in a fairly pleasant tone as she addressed him once again (in Plains): "That's more along the lines of what I'm hoping to find. Do you perchance have anything along the lines of a balm, salve, clay, or paste appliqué used in treating bleeding wounds? It has countless names, but it's ingredients and use are the same."

"A balm, salve, or clay? I think I know what you speak of. Different cultures have different recipies, but you are right: The main ingredient is always the same. I carry it in solid form."

He turns to a row of shelves behind him, and retrieves a small lump of something wrapped in several layers of paper, giving directions as to its use as he does. "Moisten this, then apply it to a bleeding wound. Spittle and urine both work equally as well as water, although of the three, spittle tends to be unsanitary."

He places the small package on a scale, and after a few seconds of maniuplating the weights, he turns to Aria again. "This is quite a lot of it, actually," he says matter-of-factly. "Almost a full pound, enough to last quite a while. Five Gold for the whole thing."

There. Marco raised his shield and proceeded into the place, his mind frantically weighing the possibilities--

Is this a test, my lord? He asked silently, his hand clenching the grasp on his shield. He saw none of the trappings of a cleric on this elder shopkeep, and this was the only apothecary he had seen in this region of the city...

He had been instructed on auras. The order had drilled it into him.

Cleric. Demon. Undead. Normal. That was the order of auras. The farther down the list, the stronger the being was proportionally to the amount of evil influence they radiated. Given the shopkeep's elder appearance and his earlier observation, Marco assumed the worst...

What was an evil being with this much power at their disposal doing embedded in a city? Marco racked his brain, knowing the answer must be somewhere. If they were law-abiding, they would attempt to plant themselves in positions of legal authority... if they were lawless, they would not be in civilized society, where champions of order could band together against them.

There were few explanations for this strange shopkeep. His chosen profession made one stand out the most.

Placed in a position where he can easily locate the dying... where he can collect samples for his foul acts without suspicion... Marco scanned the goods of the shop, wondering just how many among them were tainted with disease, with toxins, horrors that would be unleashed upon the unwary as they took their medication for the common cold, or applied their poultice to a scratch from a fall...

I'm on to you, Necromancer. Marco held his resolve, resisting the urge to draw his rapier in the quiet shop. His sword arm trembling slightly, he grasped the silver holy symbol around his neck, praying for strength.

He would not engage now. Alone, he lacked the strength to quell the ignorants in the shop around him while engaging the shopkeep in mortal combat. For that would be what it would degenerate into--what Necromancer could resist a new body for their collection?

What he wouldn't give for a way to contact his order, some way to cut off all forms of escape for this fiend of humanity. For that's what this man was, a twisted specimen that would eventually return if he wasn't eradicated completely.

With deliberate steps, Marco walked closer to the bar--

"Can I help you, sir?" The shopkeeper's eyes rested momentarily on Marco's shield, then returned to the Paladin's face.

"Shopkeeper--Sal, is it? I have heard from the gentleman at the door--" Marco, finally in firm control of his rage, gestured back at the entrace easily--"That you have suffered at the hands of my peers. Could you elaborate on the matter?"

Calmly, he stared the shopkeeper down, waiting for the response. He had seen Sal's glimpse at his emblem. The shopkeep would know a Paladin when he saw one.

The battle's begun, foul one... Judgement shall come, righteous and swift! Marco whispered in his own mind, as he loosened the grasp on his tower shield--

((Sense Motive +6, Gather Information +2, Diplomacy +4))

The shopkeeper bites his lip as he listens to Marco, somewhere between irritated and utterly unimpressed. "My friends call me Sal, of which you are not one. My full name is Roenthsal. The gentleman you speak of is a frequent customer of mine." Marco feels that he said the wrong thing to make the shopkeeper like him.

"As for the paladins of whom that man spoke, several purported champions of light like yourself used to come through at regular intervals and commit terrible crimes against the locals. I believe some of them were of your order."

Marco studies the shopeekper's face as he says these things, and feels that Roenthsal is telling the truth. Further, nothing seems to be wrong with the man's attitude, nor the overall situation.

He has, however, succeeded in irritating 'Sal.'

Aria stood by quietly, taking in the confrontation between the newly arrived Paladin of Bahamut (surmised from a quick sideways glance at the shield) and the shopkeeper "Sal." While she didn't think much of this particular Paladin, the statements he was making and the shopkeep's reactions to them seemed very... out of place. She considered speaking in defense of the shopkeep, until the strangeness of the difference between the shopkeeps tone of voice, body language, and what he was actually saying painted an abstract picture of clashing hues... The wrongness of the situation started Aria's mental gears turning... He still seems so... honest and open... but what he is saying is impossible. Why would a Paladin of Bahamut cause any sort of trouble for the good and law-abiding citizens of this area? That is... not... possible... Bahamut would never allow it unless... The mental red-flags began to fly... Then it hit her. WAIT! Her eyes sharpened as she looked down at the generously supplied dried powder component of the salve she sought... She stood where she was and appeared to be lost in her own thoughts as she continued to passively observe...

A reaction. Marco matched "Roenthal's" irrated stare, part of him relieved. At least some of the information he had received was relatively true.

He could care less about "Sal's" attitude towards him. He didn't trust this shopkeeper's goods any farther than an ant could throw an elephant. But the irritation... he had succeeded partly, at least. Emotional control was critical--if he could this "Sal" to become enraged, proving the shopkeep's undeniable guilt would be much easier to the people surrounding him.

"Would you care to elaborate on these incidents? The faces, the acts, the victims--any information would be welcome." Marco kept his face stoney, his speech regal. "The Order of the Platinum Dragon has a very strong emphasis on bringing about the greatest good to the populace of ordered society, and it does not do to have wrongdoings about our own members."

"If your stories are proven to be true, rest easy--" Marco gently grasped his silver holy symbol. "I swear on my honor and life as a Paladin that those who perpetuated such crimes shall be stripped of their rank and power and shall bother you no more. However..." Marco let that word hang in the air for a few crucial seconds. "If this proves to be nothing but vicious slander, I must warn you: Our order does not take lightly to insults of our honor."

((all relevant rolls.))

"Arguably, it was in the due course of law, but it didn't change what happened in the eyes of the people," said Sal, rolling his eyes. He didn't seem to want to talk, but he did anyway, probably recognizing that it was the best way out of trouble. "Mostly it was guilt by association stuff- house raids and retribution killings. What most of the folk remember is a homeless shelter getting burned down because the owner was supposedly dealing in illegal goods in order to support the place. Very nearby, actually. More recently, a whold lot of people were rounded up, and imprisoned, then killed, for a reason no one would say, but rumor has it that there was no reason except for a priest finding evil in their hearts."

After a few seconds of silence, he locked eyes with Marco and said quietly, "Now, I know you wouldn't be in here, with your hand on your weapon hilt, unless you agreed with all of their practices, so I'm going to give you fair warning: I have friends, a lot of friends, all of whom can do several things for me. One, they can assure you that I am always dependable. I know this because nearly everyone in the area buys from me. Two, they can help me in a pinch. If you wish to search me, tear my shop apart, come back with authorization from the government. I'm sure it'll be easy, as the corrupt officials love any chance they can get to try to break us poor folk down further. Good day, sir."

"I think not, Roenthsal." Marco glanced coldly at the shopkeeper. "This conversation is nowhere near over, and your assumption is mistaken at best."

"Your accusations make no sense. 'A whole lot of people were rounded up, and imprisoned, then killed...no reason except for a priest finding evil in their hearts'? Let me inform you of a little matter." Marco's eyes began to glow again, the strange white light flaring from his pupils.

"Each member of our Order is blessed with the ability to discern good and evil by will. It is a power given by Bahamut himself. I ask you, what influence would a mere priest's testimony have on us? It's preposterous. It's like a highly respected scholar writing a erroneous article because someone read to him mistaken information!" Marco's eyebrow twitched, the insult to his Order not sitting well with him.

"And with this ability, do you suppose that we cannot discern these so-called 'corrupt' officials? You reach too far, shopkeeper!" Marco snarled, as he reached for his rapier--and thought better of it.

"I give you another chance. Tell me the whole truth, instead of indirectly maligning my Order."

"I said some of the Paladins were of your own Order, not all of them. Do you believe that a Paladin is divine, incorruptible? You are sorely mistaken. I have seen otherwise."

"You don't think that a Paladin would take the word of a trusted colleague in matters of good and evil? You don't think that they would, in the name of their diety, pursue whatever path was laid before them by a holy voice? I thought that was the very core of membership in the Order."

"Let me ask you a question, 'sir.' If you saw with your very own divine gift that every man, woman, and child in a large establishment had a twisted heart, would you, then, storm the building and slaughter them? You seem to discount the possibility that there was, in fact, evil in the hearts of the innocents who were slaughtered. Does that change anything? Is it all right to kill, if a Paladin deems the victim unworthy to live?"

Wooga poked his head up, he thought about speaking in their conversation. Even if he knew it was a poor choice, and that his words would probably only make him more hated in this town. Wooga had to decide on one thing, to speak or not to speak. "Look, Paladin of Bahamut. If this guy is right, and the paladins killed because people were doing bad things for good reason. Then why don't you go back and report this to your head Paladin guy? Most stories I've heard about Paladins are that their cold and unforgiving. You do bad, and they'll kill you for it." His words were probably going to make this conversation even worse then it already was, but if a fight broke out, he'd most definetly be the first one dead. "Let this guy go, he's going to make you wonder more and more until your blades are at each others throats."


((Diplomacy +2,))

"I would appreciate it if you let me make my own decisions." Marco glared at the man from the bar earlier. "He has, unknowingly or knowingly, insulted my Order. This is a matter of honor, something of great importance to me. You will back off."

Turning back to "Sal", Marco continued: "You have mangled my Order's reputation with your own hatred of Paladins." Marco cooly replied, as he took it all in. "You have given no examples of my order's wrongdoings, instead presenting proclaimed Paladins of other Gods, other Orders. I asked specifically for the Order of the Platinum Dragon, shopkeeper. I would appreciate it if you answered my questions directly, instead of going to such extremes to present your bias against Paladins."

"I have never said that a Paladin is incorruptible. It is in human nature, after all. We are all fallible, we are all flawed. However--" Marco placed extra emphasis here, "We firmly believe in protecting innocents in an orderly manner, disrupting lives and routines as little as possible."

"Given that a person's value system is mutable and we cannot expect the average citizen to be perfect, my Order emphasizes redemption and reflection." Marco waved his hand, annoyed that he had to explain such simple premises like this.

"I am not discounting the possibility of evil in those slaughtered. I am discounting the likelihood of those who adhere to values like those followed my order engaging in such wanton wastefulness of human resources and productivity."

"The first step in such scenarios that a true Paladin of the Platinum Dragon would take," Marco continued, "is arrest and detainment, not executions. Just because an individual has fallen doesn't mean that they can never get up again. Perhaps other Orders are more extreme in their evaluation, but I'm of the firm opinion that they are mistaken in this belief."

"Now, I ask again." Marco placed his gloved hand on the counter, staring into the shopkeeper's eyes. "Do you have any actual accounts of Paladins of my Order commiting these atrocities?"

"Sure," said Sal. "A Paladin from your Order bought a couple healing potions from me for his allies who were wounded by some peasants who fought back. That was during the time of the big raid, of course. Big dark skinned guy with a braid down to his shoulders... very polite. His name was Corey, I think, or something similar. Dunno how a nice guy like him got manipulated into doing such things. Maybe he was just a foot soldier, and not a Paladin at all, come to think of it."

"I have little doubt that the Paladins who committed the atrocities I speak of were being manipulated, and that their acts have no bearing on your Order. Now please, unless you wish to make a purchase, I have customers to attend to."