Cedar gladly reclaimed his clothes and boots-- then set about washing the remaining bits of muck (and filth, from the way he came in) from his extremities before re-clothing himself.

"Nice ta get my clothes back on--" he murmured. "Nasty way in though-- an' I JUST had a bath!" He frowned in that inscrutable way he did when displeased.

He turned to face Matilda.

"Looks like 'is place is all cleared out a'eady. Shame-- I werent none too sure if'n there was bastards in 'ere stills er not-- Spent a good hour planting surprises for em, if'n they was... Had jus' gotten all clean from walkin' the marsh all in muf fur for disguise reasons, when Henri said ya was in here aready. Glad ta see ain't no harm done... Lesee what the dumbshits lef' fer us."

Reclaiming his walking stick and leaning on it in his usual manner, he began his own inspection of the room he and Matilda were in.

[GM Post]

Some part remained relatively untouched. The bedrolls was still laid out in order on one side. The one cookpot with a layer of moldy something at the bottom was still by its lonesome at the corner after someone kicked it off the spit a few days ago. The face-down corpse and unstrung bow hadn't moved at all from its previous position, near dead center amidst the pool of dried blood and a veritable swarm of flies. And some crows, that took stock of the party for a grand total of three seconds before returning to their feast.

A few things changed. The ash that was gathered by the cooking fire had been dashed against a wall, leaving a white-grey splotch and a few scattered scrap of paper. The rolls of tools have been, well, unrolled to reveal their secret. Empty backpacks piled on one side, its content regurgitated and rearranged in an obsessively neat manner across the floor.

A few adventurous flies were crawling over the recently unveiled preserved food, impertinently rubbing their front legs together like a group of evil masterminds.

By this amount of barrels... How much of this waterlogged room is just wine? If someone else swam in here, would they get drunk?

He grabbed one of rotten barrels and cast Inorganic Heal on it. Yeah, that would work. He tossed the repaired barrel aside, back into where he found it, as he focused on the two chests beside the corners of the barrel racks. Wait. He walked a little around the table, and saw a third chest, and a fourth. Ah.

He summarily kicked the table and chairs aside, disintegrating them into nothing but a disheveled wood pile on one side of the room, and willed the chests to scoot closer to him so they're all at arm's reach. These chests... It's probably safe to open them underwater, right? These chests don't exactly come waterproof.

Henri began opening them, one by one, with his own hands so as to naturally dismantle any such magical traps laid on them, while using Telekinesis to basically command the locks to release or be shattered.

[GM Post]

Thankfully, the way alcohol worked it'll disperse very quickly in presence of water. Not like Henri could get drunk, but still. Think of the fishes. As for the latest loot, each of them let out sizeable air bubbles as they're opened. Upon closer look there's rubber lining the rims, giving them good waterproofing to last through all these decades submerged.

They're filled with bottles. The first two, according to the label, was whiskey. The next two had differently shaped bottle, labeled vodka. Not like it's readable in the pitch black. Within each box was a piece of paper that was probably receipt or something, now completely drenched by the rushing water.

Chonan nodded at Jazdia, and took the arrows from her, along with the map that listed the targeted locations. "I shall start early to make the needed preparations. Thank you for the meal; I'll catch up with you guys later." he said, while making a bow to the party, before immediately leaving the inn.

He headed to the weapon shop to browse for a bow, pathing straight to their displayed wares, where he picked out a decent long bow then tested its pull weight. Nodding his satisfaction to the shopkeeper, he approached the counter to make his purchase.

"A Longbow huh? Well, that's something new from you." the man said. "What happened to your sense of artistic fashion? That seems a bit plain for your tastes."

"It never hurts to try new things." replied Chounan.

"I see.." said the owner, rubbing his face with an amused smile, as Chounan counted out the coin.

Having made the purchase, he left the weapon shop. His reasons for purchasing a simpler, more common bow were pretty straight forward: His preferred Yumi was rather conspicuous and easily identified. He did not want to be identified as the culprit, should people start asking. Appearances weren't important. The clothing he had on underneath his armor was dark, and would blend into the shadows in the alleys at night nicely.

***


(This mission should be effortless. I've been practicing the bow since I was 3, and this will be no different from any of the competitions I've shot in, and took the purse.) he thought to himself.

Soon enough, it was time for the mission. He took his horse, Kuro, and dressed in a hooded cloak for extra concealment. As his name suggested (for any that knew the language, anyway), Kuro was black, making finding the branding mark on him difficult in the daylight, let alone at night. Identifying him should be all but impossible.

Like a bandit on a raid, he headed for his first target. He remained calm, enforcing the proper breathing techniques from his many competative shooting contests back home. He drew the bow back, then released the arrow straight into the rafters of the warehouse, right through the open ventillation window without stopping his horse, before moving to the next target. One arrow per warehouse, unless size dictated more.

Using the back alley ways, and 'scenic byways' to escape guard patrols and Guild members, he made his way back to link up with the group once more in the early hours of the morning, meeting with Jazdia as she was having her morning breakfast.

---

As Solomon turned to proceed towards the next floor, Henri walked out of the stairwell. He was noticeably less bulky, but as to why that is was answered when he told Cedar his belongings were left on the next floor. Solomon noticed Cedar’s lack of dress, but since he was a bear, he didn’t bother to question it. Now that he realized that Henri was wearing them instead, Solomon was curious as to what the two of them were doing before he, Anderson, and Matilda arrived. He thought it better to ask, it was probably related to the surprise he had planned for any ne’er-do-wells who might have still been here. For now, Cedar hurried to reclaim his property.

Solomon followed after him and presumably Anderson and Matilda would have gone as well to explore the next floor. At least after she reclaimed her heirloom from Henri. As it was, there were hardly any clues on this level. At the very least, the group discovered that the ruins were inhabited recently. Solomon wasn’t sure what Henri was going to find below the water, it was unlikely the abductors would have used that area. In any case, Solomon left him with a good luck as Henri walked down into the depths.

Up on the second floor above water it became much more obvious in just what state the inhabitants were camping in. Bed rolls, supplies, sacks of food, and ash. For some reason a quarter of the room was covered with ash. Regardless, there was another item that caught Solomon’s attention. There lay face down a corpse. Bathed n a pool of blood, the poor man seemed to have been stabbed. Solomon crouched near the body, not minding the blood that was now brushed up against the base of his attire. The blood had dried, but the corpse was stiff. He had died recently, within the last few days. There was evidence of scavengers picking at him, but they had only scratched the surface.

“Tell me your secrets, my friend.” he said softly as he turned the body onto its side. His arm hinged on the shoulder, with his hand brushing against the ground. The entire front end of his body was red, and his face, surprisingly calm. He either passed willingly, or he was killed in his sleep. In either case, no one was around willing to lend him aid. Solomon lifted his eyes up from the corpse, holding it on its side. He gazed over the items that Henri left behind, presumably once belonging to his new dead friend. There was the unstrung bow and the standard mess kit for wilderness survival. But then there was the roll of specialized tools. They were not for survival, these were for more nefarious purposes. Solomon looked back down at the face of the corpse. His eyes are half closed, his jaw slack, and nose pushed towards the side from the pressure of the ground. “Were you one of the prince’s abductors? Were you left behind? A liability, perhaps?”

Solomon dropped the body, it falling back face down into the dried blood pool. He stood back up from his crouch, his bones cracking as he stretched. He looked over to see the concerned faces of his colleagues. It usually doesn’t cross the mind of those who come across a body to speak with it, or even mess with it. However, dealing with the dead was Solomon’s forte. This was probably the clue that Matilda had been hoping for.

“Matilda, Anderson, Cedar. I believe we have come across our first witness from the attack on the Prince.” Solomon turned to face the corpse once again. He stayed silent as Anderson and the others had questions. Solomon closed his eyes and muttered something under his breathe. He held out his hands over the body before him and his palms began to glow. Silver and black energy also began to emanate from the large tome he had strapped to his back. The flies that buzzed around were stirred and zipped in any which way. The few crows that watched from the ruined rafters cawed. The energy surrounding Solomon’s tome and hands flowed like a stream down into the body. After the twenty or so seconds it took for his incantation to hold, the energy faded.

“Now come and stand for me. Please tell them what you told me. The truth if you please.” At first the body lay motionless, then suddenly one of his legs jerked. Then an arm, and eventually the whole body was writhing as though the person was trying to remember how to stand up again. Disgruntled sounds escape the lips of the once still corpse. He brought in his knees and pushed off the ground with his hands. One of his hands slipped against the blood, falling onto its shoulder. Eventually, it was kneeling on the ground, his head flopping from side to side as it brought himself to its feet. Now standing, it looked at Solomon with its eyes and then towards the others. Finally snapping his head up right, he groaned like he had just been rudely woken up from the most pleasant of dreams.

Solomon turned to his colleagues as well, with a hint of pride. “Go ahead and ask him anything you wish to know. He should answer with much of the truth as he is aware.”

Wow, that's a lot of bottles. He can't quite tell what liquid it contains, but following the theme, this has to be some really old wine. He bets this tastes good...
Taste... It's been far too long. He can't remember the taste of anything anymore.

He stacked two of the crates on top of another two, then carried them close to his chest as he carefully scaled back up the stairs, and into open air.
He lay there at the floor beside the stairs, ridding himself and these crates of any water by evaporating them into steam or pouring the water in the crates back into the stairs. Now that he can see, these are whiskey and vodka. Each crate seems to have a piece of paper but it's unintelligible due to the water swirling the ink.

No way in hell he's carrying these throughout this entire journey. It wouldn't be quite a good thing if the team gets drunk at an inopportune time, either. However, disposing of these wines would be such a waste.
An idea pops in his mind. He takes out one bottle of whiskey, and places it near the first step to the sunken stairs, above a metal plate that he just freshly minted, with writings etched onto it that will hopefully be read later. He carries the four crates of wine and skates out and away, back to Rascade.
He tears through the marsh, a wall of mud emerging in his wake, yet he himself was dry, for it is physically impossible for him to be behind or beside himself.

On the way to Rascade, he trips once on a rock and hurtles down the ground, rolling. However, with his experience and presence of mind, he makes the four crates stay afloat with Core Spreading and Telekinesis while recovering from his roll back into proper standing position, gently catching the crates that floated into his arms, without losing any speed.


Two hours later...
"Henri Dominique Gentileschi. I am the one you call the poltergeist of the castle, the repairman... the prince's tutor."
His iron kite shield floats on its own, pressing on the northern gate guard's neck. It's not sharp, but the speed at which it flew from Henri's back, as well as his demeanor -- his forward lean, his facial scowl -- unintendedly caused by the exhaustion of using Telekinesis on himself and four other large objects for two straight hours... It all worked out to be quite intimidating.
"Have I refreshed your memory yet? Let me in."

The shield gently flew back to Henri's back, and he was about to walk past the guard when he remembered. "Ah. Did you happen to see an adventuring group of three? Two short teens led by a blond elf?"

[GM Post]

"Please pardon the youngster, Ser Henri. We're all quite on edge after recent development." The gateguard captain hurried out at the commotion, waving for the rest of them to stand down. The man let out a sigh of relief as the signs of hostility slowly bled out of everyone. Great, he didn't need any more incidents. The very top of the totem pole had been rather antsy, and the anxiety had thoroughly bled down the ranks. Just about any mistake can lead to harsher punishment these days. "I can tell you that there's no elf among the traffic in or out through here today. We've inspected everyone thoroughly."

... Recent development? Henri raised an eyebrow.

Ah. So he didn't miss the three of them on the way. They must've not left yet... Or they took a different exit? Hm... It's no use overthinking it. "Ah. That's good to hear, then. Keep up the good work."
It's curious, seeing them all anxious like this. He might've went overboard with the intimidation. He felt like making it up to them, it seemed like his fault after all.

He sat two of the crates parallel beside each other, then placed a third one perpendicularly so he had an impromptu chair to sit on, then opened the fourth box on his lap. "I can't remember if you're allowed to drink while on duty, but I found a box of..." He pulled out a bottle to look at the label. "Oh, whiskey. Alright. Here, share it amongst yourselves. I won't tell your higher-ups." He smiled, gesturing a shush with a finger hovering his mouth. "What is this 'recent development' about, though?"

[GM Post]

"Gosh, thank you-" The captain's eyes widened as he took in the faded label, still clearly legible despite. "I'll be darned, this is almost eighty years! Thank you ser!" Then he comically covered his own mouth, turning and shushing to the rest of the guards as if it wasn't him that just yelled. Thankfully traffic was scarce around this time, and those same contingent of guards will soon enough be accomplice that benefit from the aged liquor. They'll keep mum alright.

"Ah. Well, I'm sure you know that there was an attempt on the king's life not long ago." The captain not-so-discreetly passed the bottle to one of his men, with pointed instruction to hide it well until they're off-shift. "There's some kind of commotion in the mausoleum ground earlier. Not sure what happened exactly, but heard that there's royal guards injured there. There's no manhunt order though, so I guess it's resolved already? Or it's some nobles that got into the scuffle and they're keeping it covered. Ain't got nothing to do with us lowborn here, ser."

@A5G @Grade @Randomness

Matilda’s attention was turned toward the dead body in the room. Assuming that it could be one of the kidnappers, She turned to Cedar, Henri, and Anderson who just arrived at her location. “I have found some parchment, it looked like they did not have time to burn the evidence.” She handed Anderson her findings. She was joining the other two toward the corpse.

Her heart dropped seeing some tools that would be used for torturing someone. The thought of the prince being horribly tortured caused her heart to skip a beat. Her hand gripping into a fist, feeling helpless that she could not find the prince. She made her way toward the corpse and the bag of equipment. Searching for anything that could be used for the investigation, thinking that Cedar could track. Salvaging any tools and medical items for them to use. She checked the crockpot. Picking up the unburnt paper and handed it off to Henri. Watching him perform some sort of spell to try and recover the burnt document. Watching Henri soon leave for the submerged part of the fortress, she knew she would not survive thanks to how heavy her armour was.

Watching Solomon performing some unholy spell on the corpse to reanimate it, she thanked Solomon before asking her questions. “Firstly where are your other cohorts? Where did they take the prince? And is he safe and unharmed?”

Eighty years? Is that good?
He regretted a bit that he knew nothing about wine, not even having drank any while he actually lived, for he died young and inexperienced.

He touched his forehead and chuckled a bit, hearing that some royal guards got injured. It was definitely those three, they tried to enter the mausoleum to investigate... If he were to guess, the guards didn't believe them because Matilda wasn't with them? They really shouldn't have split the team up like this.
That leaves the fact about injured royal guards... It must be that Yvonne girl. That notorious, avid purveyor of violence, to a point that even Henri knows.

"Hey, don't demean yourself like that. In the end, we're all humans in the face of death." As someone who was merely adopted into nobility, that oddly struck a nerve with him.
He lifted his three remaining crates of wine and began walking away. "Well, I'm off now. Drink those after your shifts."


"Gentlemen." Henri approached the guards at the memorial park. "Heard some of you got injured. Where did the assailants head off to?"

Cedar was taken aback by the 'resurrection' of the corpse. He could tell from the lingering odor that it was NOT true resurrection, and the implication that .. it .. could not meaningfully lie, meant its mind was not its own. Things that troubled and upset him in a visceral way he couldn't put into words.

He quietly collected the leather working tool roll, and left, asserting he was going to go bring the horses up.

Anderson asked if that meant that he had been successful, while matilda commenced her 'interrogation'. This was something he did not have much stomach for. He responded the affirmative at Anderson, then shot a glance up at the angry cawing crows, before making contact.

The birds cawed even angrier at him at first, torn between peevish umbrage of being forced off of their meal, and severe vexation at his unwanted presence in their heads. They seemed somewhat comforted that the bearman shared at least some of their displeasure over 'dinner' getting up and moving again, at least.

Cedar offered them a 'consolation prize' if they would follow him outside and answer a few questions.

At first they did not seem interested, but his mind wandered to the taste of the exotic fruit with the gelatinous seed pulp again, with its lovely sweet and floral flavor. They were more interested in it being soft, and easily eaten by beaks, and by the implication that this bear could just make some grow on demand. They'd be interested in seeing that latter trick, before accepting any such exchange.

Cedar huffed without saying anything aloud, and just let them know to meet him outside, near the ruined wall. They cawed at him some more, then took off to witness the promised spectacle.

Not missing another beat, he headed downstairs then back outside through the way he had come in. The crows had perched at safe locations on the sides of the tumbling wall, and were looking up at him expectantly.

He looked at the wall, looking for the right combination of 'intactness' and 'well fertilized' that the makeshift stable afforded, then planted and guided the growth of another of the lovely vines that produced the soft yellow spheres, guiding it up the wall along the more sturdy of its masonry as its terrace.

The crows seemed to laugh in delight at this development, before fluttering onto the vine near some of the fruit to sample the wares. Excited cawings rang kut as the discovered the bear was not full of it, and had recalled accurately.

He smirked.

The stupid louts, and their choice of stables has tainted the water here, making it unsafe to drink. He made contact again with the crows, who were once again put off by having meal time interrupted, before bemusedly telling them he intended to plant grapes too, for his own reasons. He was interested in clean water, not fruit at this time. Despite feeling like he was a bottomless hole inside, he had been seriously put off the idea if eating by the reanimation of the human corpse. The crows laughed, and extended their own vexations about it, but felt his loss of appetite to be their gain-- if he didn't want the grapes either, they would happily eat them for him.

He looked further along the wall for a suitable place to grow them, with a fairly dry patch nearby that could safely hold a drip catch container, then planted a few grape pits and set to work while the crows ravaged the lovely yellow spheres adorning the wall. A lovely table grape cultivar revealed its identity, with large purple grapes maturing under his care in the waning afternoon sun. Gingerly, he plucked one, and sampled it. It was lovely, but that strange feeling of mingled disgust, unease, and hunger was all that really met his effort.

The crows, having gorged on fruit, eyed the grapes appraisingly before flapping down near him making short calls, apparently satisfied with the peace offering and considering him 'all right' after all, unlike the meal thieves.

He sat down beside the wall to ask them his own questions...

[NPC Post]

Anderson carefully went through the laid-out tools, pausing a bit longer on the torture implements. Took out a couple thing before placing them back. Then the squire brushed his hands off some imaginary dust before shrugging. "These haven't seen any use for a long time, ma'am." Not sure why would the kidnappers have it though. The prince wouldn't know any state secret, and would worth more unharmed anyway. Probably just in case they needed it?

He walked over to pick up the parchments. Only little bits of corner that remained unburnt, and looked like someone scattered it recently. Henri? The largest piece was weirdly shaped, and completely blank. There's signs of restoration attempt there, but nothing important was recovered. A shame, but it's just another dead end after half a dozen other dead ends. Anderson didn't let it get to him overmuch.

The reanimated corpse was... unsettling. And the jerky movement expelled even more of those rotting stench, Anderson subconsciously took a step back as he fished a handkerchief to cover his nose. Goodness gracious, that was horrible. Dame Matilda seemed unaffected though, she began questioning as soon as she got the chance.

"They. Live. In Hdur. Eastern side. By the fo-fo-forest. Stone's throw. Away. From. Old Aldebert's. Farm." The zombie said in choppy, raspy voice. "Nowhere. Never see a prince. I do-do-dont know. Never see. Prince."

Anderson's brow scrunched. There seemed to be a great disconnect between the expectation and what the corpse spout out. He stepped forward and to start over from the beginning this time.

"Who are you?" Demanded the squire.

"Birk."

He waited for more. The corpse had no more. Sighing, Anderson rephrased.

"What do you do for a living?"

"I h-h-hunt. In the forest. So-so-sometimes. Royal ground. Secretly."

He had to hold back from clicking his tongue. Was this corpse unrelated to the kidnapping? It cant be yet another dead end, could it?

[GM Post]

"Dont be so morbid Ser! I'd rather enjoy life to the fullest instead of thinking about death, aye? Safe trip!" The captain waved until Henri was out of sight before hurrying back into the guardpost, most definitely so he can properly hide the cache of treasure from any potential surprise inspection.

*****

"Any inquiry should be forwarded to the nearest constabulary office." The guards at the mausoleum said in near-synchronious monotone, as if they've either rehearsed or more likely repeated the same line so many times that they knew it by heart and at the same time hate it so utterly. There's no visible sign of commotion or whatever in view, it all looked just like usual.

Or, well, as usual as post-assassination-attempt can looks like anyway.

[GM Post]

The crows were intelligent animal, enough to hold gratitude and grudge, but they're also simple animal. Some fat, juicy eyeballs were great and all, but the dinner was face-down so they couldn't get to it and now that it's walking and talking again they'll probably not get any chance again. The grapes were nice alternative though, different taste palate but still good all the same. Not to mention the sheer quantity of it! All thanks to the rather unusual bear, who provided food instead of competing for it.

This one's alright.

Thus, when asked about the bunch of arseholes that inhabited the ruin, the crows were more than gleeful to share what they knew especially knowing that the bear and his friends had a couple bones to pick with them. Six different faces were mentally sent back, the features surprisingly clear for a bird's memory. All were accompanied with at least a hint of dislike, but two in particular the crows really hate above the rest. Apparently they took shots at the fellow crows, actually taking one down before. There's a rather pride(?)ful impression from one of the crows that it actually manage to shit right on one of them in recent times. The crow can tell that its target was very, very, displeased by the act.

That pleased the crows immensely.

"Hm."

Henri hated dealing with the stuck-up royal guards, but understands that they're just doing their job, after all. Yet, it irritated him a bit. He thought he held enough rank for them to not redirect him and waste his time like this.

He began walking away from the royal guards, but not before he subtly punished the one that spoke, by willing his armor to suddenly tighten at the 'lower' area, inflicting pain in his nuts.


This is the constable's office, right? Assuming it hasn't changed in the last several years. What's this kid's name again...
He knocked at the door. "Aaron. It's Henri." Right, Aaron Delving. One of those nobles who tout their nobility like it makes them superior to those that are not... Or so they say. He never witnessed it first-hand.

[NPC Post]

"Come on in."

Aaron Delving was seated by his table, frowning on a piece of paper that he placed face-down as Henri entered the office. The table was made of some hardwood with a dark furnish, heavy and opulent with decorative carving filling most of its front. The surface was mostly immaculate, a few decorative tinkets artfully lining the place. The walls was adorned with various trophy, the crest of Delving family the first and most prominent thing to see on the far side as one entered the room. It looked less like a constable's office and more like the personal study room of a noble, but considering the Delving's position this much wouldn't be much out of place.

"Please take a seat, Ser Henri." His intonation was curt, offering the exact amount of respect demanded of an imperial tutor and not an ounce more. "You've come a long way from the castle."

"You sure our target will be there? It's well past midnight in eight hours."

"After the commotion? Chances are high that he will be in his command post, coordinating things and making sure he is present at the place where almost all of his wealth is concentrated. If he decided to be careless by monitoring his damaged assets in person one by one, we will know it and our work will be a lot easier."

Who do we present the evidence to?” Now it's Kaito's turn to speak. He brought up too many ifs in his assessment, and honestly, it was a fair skepticism.

"We work with Fred. All of our findings will be directly presented to him."

What Jazdia did not say was what if Fred, for whatever motive and reason found their report unsatisfactory. If that happened, all bets are off for them, and her leverage was not as substantial as it used to be. She hated to admit it, but right now, all she could do was to have good faith in that human king, and that should suffice, for now.

"I will deal with the guild if they are not involved." said Jazdia. It was an open-ended statement. Her usual answer could also be perceived as her subtle way of saying that should be none of your concern... Kaito, as someone who basically worked with her, should be familiar with that kind of speech. "I feel that your disquietude is quite misplaced. You are an outlaw that tangoes with authorities on a daily basis. If another party goes on the dance floor, I am sure you will manage."

"I think that will conclude this meeting."



After some more railleries, Jazdia went upstairs to rest. She had instructed Lucas to show Chounan and Kaito their room if they feel like sleeping and informed Yvonne the number of her room.

The room was spacious and cozy, lit by four oil lamps that radiates warm light. It had two beds with white sheets and blue-navvy blankets, a large cupboard, and a decorated partition. At the end of the room, close to the door that led to a private bathing chamber, was a long square table with white clean towels. The room was scented with a faint sandalwood aroma, and if one feel the perfume was too overpowering, or just wanted the breeze of fresh air, they can always open the large window situated at the west of the room.

Jazdia spent fifteen minutes soaking her body in the tub which had its water warmed by her power. Putting on her pajamas and placing the bow and quiver next to her bed, the elf rolled her body onto the bed and slept.

"Henri greets the Constable."
If this is one of those stuck-up nobles, he needs to to present himself at least this much. Although it was irritating, not everyone's as carefree about these insignificances as Antigone.

The door opens and closes by itself, away from Henri's preoccupied hands still carrying the three crates of wine. He did think the room looked nice, but he never understood this pride the humans took from killing animals, so much that they'd plaster their heads on a wall like this. Especially that elk.

Henri sets the crates down the carpeted floor as he sits. "Indeed. Would you care for some eighty-year-old wine? I have whiskeys here," he reaches in the crates and holds up a bottle of the whiskey slightly above the height of Aaron's desk, "or is vodka more to your liking? By the way, I heard about what happened in the mausoleum. Per chance, did it involve a blond elf and two teenagers? Please spare no details."