Irillo — Shopping And Talking
????, Fire Season, Movement Week
1626, Fire Season, Movement Week, Waterday. [[[s01:session-38|Session 38]]]
The collapsed block below should be considered a spoiler unless you have already talked to Irillo, or it is past session 39.
After Rajar goes out for chickens, Rondrik comes to see Irillo, to say, “The Storm Bull has tasked me with finding people who lived in the invasion. A young noble Humakti. Does my Lord have any suggestions?”
“Shall we go to the market and buy supplies and get talking with people about wars of the past?”1Special on Intrigue, for getting a decent plan and finding the right people to talk to.
“A fine idea, Lord. The Bison might wish for more to eat.”
The market is a busy place. Rondrik knows a lot of specialised retailers, but he walks with Irillo, letting the Esrolian man do most of the talking, and the bargaining.
The right age groups are represented here, and the right geographical area. From an old man he hears that most people stayed. From a middle-aged woman, that the sensible fled. A man far too frail to be a soldier any more laments how he could not follow the war this time, but he was one of those who took refugees out of the city in the last days. The North Gate was the last one to close, but by the time it did, there were already Lunars in the area, hunting anyone trying to get out. Some were carrying treasure, some only food, some nothing. Many got away.
The garrison stayed in the city, to a man. About half of the population, too. Mostly the civilians were left alone, the woman says, but not if they resisted. You had to do exactly what the Lunars said. Anyone suspected of harbouring criminals was killed. Some people dealt with old grudges that way.
“Young Humakti? No, but there was that young man who they hunted for, with armour,” the very old soldier reminisces. “They put a description around. A Lhankor Mhy guard, I think. Or I suppose an Orlanthi guard, but up at the Temple. The last looter, they called him. Something about his tattoos, maybe? But it’s been a long time. I wish I could be doing it again, up by Tarsh.”
“Perhaps you could remember his tattoos? By Tribe? Clan?”
“Oh, I never saw him. They announced it. How they knew he was noble, see? But it’s been twenty years and more, lad. Many unlikely heroes. There was one healer who was known as red-robes, and that wasn’t dye.”
An eyebrow lifts, “Really? Who was that?”
“She started at the Temple of Mercy. I think it might have been Beneva, even. They had a lot of work to do, and the Lunar bastards wouldn’t let the rest of the wounded through, so she left through a window and walked into the city. Set up her own little hospital. Maybe Beneva, but now, where was it? There was a maze of passages, so that nobody else could find it. The tenements up towards the Sun Dome, I think.”
“Now, that is fascinating. She doesn’t look that sort now, does she? Fine healer, though.” A consideration, “This last looter though… I’m surprised the Llun
*Lunars didn’t say which clan, to find him easier.”
The old man says triumphantly, “Didn’t know. He got away, didn’t he?”
“The tattoos were brown-grey. Henna.” The middle-aged woman pauses in turning over her wares. “That’s hard to pick out. They wouldn’t have seen it, or known it well.”
Naturally, if one wishes to blend into the background, discreet tattoos are a must. A personality should only make itself felt when it wishes to.2Pass on Moon Rune
Midsized Spoiler for Irillo/Eril
And naturally, the best place to scrape tattoos away from skin is an unlawful Chalana Arroy outpost. All the better if you have left the curved-sword murderers of your friends at the wrong end of town, arresting a known collaborator.
The only question is, of course, will someone in there do it for you, or will you have to do it yourself?
The answer is in the sharp flint between your fingers, and the word ‘collaborator’. Let nobody be burdened with knowledge that could kill you.
“Are you well, Lord?” The woman pauses in picking out the best of her vegetables for Rondrik, and Rondrik pauses to stare at Irillo.
Irillo has blanched a little, but replaces it with a brisk, “Thank you, yes. I felt a passing spirit is all.” And he will pay and head towards the Sun Dome, sending Rondrik back with word of where I am.
“He was all silvery,” he hears behind him, and Rondrik’s, “Probably just the spirit passing. Two clacks’ weight in pepper and if you have those sun-dried scallions left I’ll take a bag.”