If Astor was overwhelmed by the flurry of questions, it didn't show. With a practiced gesture, he signaled an attendant to step forward from the fringes of the room.
"Unfortunately, we don't have anything that belonged to Andar, but you are welcome to these parchments," the attendant gathered them up and presented them to Sheri with a short bow. "Tracking magic? An impressive skill, not possessed by those I retain," he turned to Petragar.
"As for the contract, it's fairly mundane," he opened a drawer and withdrew a scroll case which he offered to Petra. "I don't mean to bore you with the economics, but the rarity of the materials Helmlenfell has access to grants them considerable leverage in dictating trades. They only accept the highest quality, and it can take years to finish a contract with them." Upon examining the contract, Petra would find that it was indeed a standard agreement, requiring Astor to supply a regular quantity of fabrics in exchange for mineral resources. Finally, he turned to Vera.
"Yes, I considered that, but unfortunately my list of rivals isn't so narrow," he smiled warmly, tapping his fingers on his desk. "You see, in the eyes of Arskel's elite your guild is considered something of an upstart, and it's location in the Road district where it can be freely accessed by the lower class is threatening to the 'social order'. I am part of a small faction that believes that this is good for the city, even if this redistributes power away from the plutocrats on the city council, and so there are many who wish for my time in Arskel to
end."
"As for the guards," Orga began. "They move in overlapping rotations during their watch, Andar's route was through the west side garden, essentially the perimeter, and his absence was reported immediately after he failed to check in at his regular interval. I can have the others gathered for your questions, of course."
"Three questions and a riddle, actually," Nyrien retorted, clearly no stranger to banter. Turning to Finn, "The Watch has already questioned the customers, if they couldn't get anything else it's doubtful we could."
The Cliff district was already an assault on the senses for a mere human, but for a being with senses as finely honed as Qantz-Farron's it was doubly so. The cloying scents of spoiled food, bile and filth swirled through the air before being swept away by the winds that raced over the rooftops in brief gouts. Fortunately, he had a sample of what he was hoping to trace.
As he moved through the streets, he would be able to pick up faint traces of the drugs scent on some of those denizens of the cliff moving around him, nothing as potent as the flask he carried. He would also be likely to note that some of the piles of ruined stone that were interspersed through the district had the stagnant air of a cave rising from them, but no sign of his target as of yet.
Finally, after a few minutes of tracking a stronger scent crossed his palate. The drug, in a larger quantity, coming from a door just inside the mouth of an alleyway.
As the initiates readied themselves, unsure of what was to come, the deepening gloom of the forest brought a sickening energy with it which could be felt by all of the would-be adventurers. However, when Hawks reached out to the source of his magic he found it to be easily within his grasp, and the faint aura that bathed the group became a sanctuary in that darkness.
Beneath Tati'yana's
feet, she could feel the arrival of the blight before it was visible to the others. It was a squirming sensation within the wood, as if the spirits of the forest recoiled at its presence. Then, from her vantage point in the tree she could see the corrupted forms of the blight skulking towards their position. Some were vaguely humanoid with sap dripping like pus from the holes where their eyes would be, others were masses of roots pulling themselves along.
Those were just the small ones, in the distance a tree creature dragged itself forward with two trunk-like legs, a mass of needle sharp branches reaching upwards to snap the branches from still living trees with a childish malice.
Koth, standing below on solid ground, could feel the thundering footsteps of the blighted oak creature as it emerged from the shadows. It stood perhaps fifteen feet tall, towering over even Khol. Lifting a gnarled wooden arm, the creature hurled a mass of stone and earth directly at the giant-blooded human. Khol moved to side-step the clumsy projectile, but stumbled as the roots that had been twisting at their feet seized his legs and held him in place. The stone glanced off his chest, shattering on impact and sending him sprawling to the ground, unconscious with blood seeping from his wound.