DM POST: Consequences

The shopkeepers bell rang as she pushed her way in through the door. Her movements graceful and barely making a whisper as she walked across the floor.

"Were closed", came the expected cry from the back of the shop. She strolled on casually through the store and through the curtain leading to the storage room. There sat the potions-maker sitting over his beakers and tubes, writing notes in his book.

"I said were clo..", the words stuck in his throat as he saw his visitor standing there, 'I am so sorry my lady, I did not expect your visit so soon"?

"And why, good Rolan, were you not expecting me. We have an unfinished business venture that I would like to see resolved. Is your "customer" still interested in his purchase"?

"Unfortunately, my mistress, he has backed out of the arrangement. Once I warned him of the possible conclusions of such an act, he decided to halt the transaction"

She stood impassively, her eyes locked onto his face, unblinking... unyielding... His knees began to shake under the stare, fear beginning to shoot through his body light small lightning strikes. "Why, good Rolan, did you warn of any negative conclusions... that was not part of our arrangement?"

"It only seemed right that he should make an informed decision"

"It seemed.... right....... Rolan, Rolan, Rolan, naive and generous Rolan... you are so kind... and foolish. For now we find ourselves in quite the predicament. We now have an unknown individual who has the knowledge that such powerful magic can be performed,  he knows the form of magic it requires, and we also have a blundering shopkeeper with this information, and not enough sense to know what and what not to share with his customers. What should we do about this, Rolan?" She began to advance toward him, one slow step at a time. The air in the room began to grow heavy and a chill swept through the air.

"Please, my mistress, forgive me, I thought he would go through with the transaction. He may even return here and I know I could convince him of it", he rose from his seat, his hands up in front of him as he pleaded for her forgiveness. He backed away across the room. As his back came against the wall he fell to his knees, begging for her to stop.

"Oh, I am afraid it is to late for that, my good Rolan, you should have been more discerning in your business dealings. It is time for you to learn what happens to those who cross me"

She towered over the weeping man and began the incantation.

"Please! Please do not kill me"

Rolan began to convulse on the floor, writhing in agony at the punishment she inflicted. "Kill you? Well I suppose it may come to that, but surely you must know, my good Rolan, that it will not be a permanent problem"

Evellyn Godrick--Home

Evellyn went home.

It was the night of an annual gala her parents always attended, to schmooze with other rich people about how rich they were. She remembered dressing up for them as a child, loving the pretty gowns, but hating the hours of boring chit-chat she'd had to endure. Her father would make her perform her latest piece on the flute, or asked his friends to quiz her about her knowledge of history. She felt like a stage act, but not in a good way. She was performing for the sake of her father, not for herself.

The neighborhood was still and quiet at night. She was hooded and made sure no one noticed her walking up the steps to her home.

She took an old key from her side. Her mother had taken the house key from Evellyn after one of their many fights, but she had had copies made.


Just in case, she thought at the time. Like, if one of her parents were hurt and she needed to get in to get something, a tonic or potion, to help them.

Now she was coming to help herself.

She unlocked the large wooden door and stepped inside. The air was fresh and clean, unlike the musky air of the Segrac, or her cramped apartment in the city.

She walked up a small staircase and looked into her room. Pink bedding and curtains against the wooden walls. She snuck in and felt around the floor boards.

One tipped.

She gently lifted it, and pulled out a pink diamond. Her father had given it to her as a present for her last birthday home. Her mother took it from her after one of their many fights and stored it in the family safe.

Evellyn was smart enough to make it look like a burglary attempt a few weeks later. Then she hid it in the floorboards. When she left for life at Segrac, she didn't have the nerve to take it with her. IT was hers, she figured, but what would she do with it as a bard making a more humble wage? Wearing it around the city would only make her a target for pick-pockets. 

It would make for a large setting in a ring for a halfling, but was about medium sized for a human. Ostentatious on a halfling hand, but fitting for a noble Eladrin.

She had no idea where her parents had gotten it from. But now the group--they really needed to come up with a name; Ricin's Ragtag Team of Rascals?--might need it for something. Like Zorah's entry fee. Or supplies. Or items for rituals and potions. Or food, if they really had to go underground at some point.

She pocketed the diamond, gently replaced the floorboard, walked out the door, and locked it.

The Recommendation

"Join the guard?"

Butterfly wings erupted in Zorah's middle. She sat up straighter and folded her hands on the table. She swallowed, but it was the only outward sign of her fear. "What does the process entail?"

The dwarf outlined the basics of joining the guard, and then beckoned for Zorah to follow him to the back.

He presented her with a pair of silvery grey gloves.

"Part of my uniform?" He shook his head and grinned. Mystified, she put them on, only to stifle a scream as the tips lengthened into sharp points. She waved them wildly, causing them to grow another few inches. "What the hell are these?" The dwarf chuckled as she glared at him. He taught her the basics and, after a few swipes, the glittering claws shifted back into the gloves and Zorah went back out to the table to display her new weapons.

"I don't want to hear any jokes pertaining to cats," said Zorah with a raised brow.

-

Zorah went home, the new gloves stowed safely away. She pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill and ink, and an old letter.

A candle was lit and the materials dumped on the table. Zorah sat and bit her lip, thinking, then dipped her quill in the soft, dark ink and wrote slowly, careful to flourish the appropriate symbols, glancing every so often at the old, crumpled letter.

At the end of the piece, she left a large, blank rectangle. She studied the signature on the old letter for several minutes before creating an exact replica on her sheet.

There. And now the finishing touch...

"I knew this would come in handy, one day." Zorah pulled out the family seal and melted a bit of wax above the candle. As she waited, her gaze lost its artistic intensity and shifted into a soft, sorrowful stare. She wondered, as she did every day, what had happened to her family after she'd left. Where was Autumn? Would she see her again? Would her father ever ask any of them to come home? Was he still alive? Was he deeper in trouble than he had been before? What had he done to save himself after they'd gone?

He had not been the kind of father she'd wished, yet the familial bond was still there. After all the years of watching him falter as he pursued a way out from debt and political intrigue with any means necessary, he was still her bloodline. And now she was using his name to pursue justice, albeit in a rather underhanded way. Would he have appreciated the irony? She doubted it.

After the wax had melted, Zorah folded up the parchment and poured the quickly drying wax onto the closure. After stamping it with the impressive family crest of a shield covered in shooting stars, she slumped and gazed at her handiwork.

"I wonder if Mother ever knew how I used all those art lessons she paid for..."

She cast the letter onto the table and leaned forward to blow out the candle.