FLHTH Session 14 - Campaign Story: Tándir

In Which Our Time in Tyyst Comes to a Close

Twosday, Fifth Hand of Reaping, EE238

Tándir of Great Harbor

Outskirts of Southport, Monarchy of Tyyst

The man patrolling the east wall of the Cavalcanti villa never had a chance. One moment he was alive, passing just a few feet below my perch atop the eight foot tall perimeter wall and completely unaware of my presence, and the next moment the point of my short sword was driving downwards through his collarbone at an angle, its tip intersecting and then vivsecting his heart. He thrashed beneath me momentarily, but managed to make no sound. Unwilling to risk the noise of his movements I unsheathed my daggger and plunged it through the soft tissue of his ear canal into his skull. His body's struggle to live ceased immediately.

I clucked my tongue twice. A moment later Saafiyah dropped down from the top of the wall, landing next to me. The villa was poorly landscaped, at least if security rather than beauty was the objective. We moved the guard's body behind one of the many flowering shrub bushes that were spaced at intervals along the security wall. The guard assigned to the south wall was next, and I at least was finally back in my element. I moved forward slowly along the wall, keeping low and to the shadows, mindful of what lay ahead of me on the ground lest my feet snap a branch or ruffle dead leaves. Saafiyah slunk behind me, stepping where I stepped.

The next man we caught unaware as he passed by one of the large shrubs planted along the south wall, waiting until after he passed by us in the shadows before I stepped out behind him and drove my sword through him, hand reaching around to cover his mouth as I dragged him back into the shadows. Saafiyah drew her dagger across his throat before I had even pulled my sword free, a fountain of blood erupting in front of him. He was dead within fifteen beats and he too was laid to rest between the wall and the shrub we were using for concealment. A hundred feet away sat a small stone building, no more than twenty feet to a side, and that was our next stop. It was also one of the biggest risks we would find ourselves taking that night.

Saafiyah took the lead this time as we made our way towards the guard's quarters. Even in the inky blackness of night the difference in the girl was striking. Her normal dark hair had been dyed with red berries for this evening's job to match that of Renne Cavalcanti's orphaned daughter, Mariel. Her hair was done in loose hanging curls rather than the simple pony tail she typically pulled it back into each morning. Between those and the clothes she wore to effectively play the part of Mariel, if such became necessary, it was hard to tell it was the same girl I had spent almost three years in the company of.

It took several minutes for me to work the tumblers of the lock once we had made it to the door of the guard's quarters. There was no light visible under the bottom edge of the door, which pleased me greatly. We slipped in quietly, opening the door as little as possible lest its hinges prove to be in need of oiling. Inside there were four narrow beds, each occupied by a sleeping man resting up before his next duty shift. When we had planned our intrusion of the Cavalcanti's villa Saafiyah had initially wanted to slit the throats of the sleeping guards. I'd explained to her the risks of doing so, the liklihood of one or more waking up as a comrade convulsed and died. I was pleasantly pleased when she acceded to my plan. Two minutes later we slipped back out through the crack in the door, closing it behind us, leaving the hilts of two long swords and two short swords covered in sassone leaf residue, one of my favored poisons.

This left the rear entrance of the manor itself, and it's guard, as the last obstacle we faced. Saafiyah emerged from the shadows after shedding the black cloak fitted over her shoulders. She navigated the maze of shrubs and bushes brilliantly, unseen until she was climbing the eastern steps of the raised entryway. The guard, startled, turned to look at her, his hand on the hild of his longsword. With her face turned down she was the spitting image of Mariel Cavalcanti. "Mistress Mariel," I heard him say as I approached from the western side of the entry. "What are you doing out here at such an hour, child?"

"I miss father," I heard her sob quietly.

The guard turned and approached her, possibly to comfort a grieving child, possibly to escort her into the family manor. I struck, killing the man from behind with a single thrust of the short sword. I caught his body on it's tumble to the ground and secreted it away at the base of one of the bushes at the bottom of the steps I'd just ascended. Satisfied, I rejoined Saafiyah at the rear door. She was already trying her luck on the lock and having no success. I handed her the key I'd taken from the dead guard's belt and she glared at me and continued working the tumblers of the lock. A minute later she sighed quietly, stashed away her lockpick and eased the key into the lock.

The rear door entered into a great hall that ran the width of the house, ending at the double doors at the front of the manor. A few candles burned in sconces along the walls, casting flickering shadows throughout its length. We entered quietly, shutting the door behind us. It could be barred from the inside, and the heavy wooden beam that fit into the two metal hooks at either side of the door rested against the wall adjacent to the door. I barred it while Saafiyah moved down the length of the great hall and did the same with the front doors. If anyone planned on entering it would take them some time. The two remaining guards outside the manor's front door were the greatest threats.

One of Saafiyah's slave contacts had provided her with a rough description of the manor's layout. We made our way to the stairs and ascended to the living quarters. The solar of Aspallan Cavalcanti was our first stop, and where we would likely make our stand if the rest of the household woke and responded to the sounds of combat. Inside the manor there wouldn't -- or shouldn't -- be too many trained combatants and the manor was a far enough distance from Southport that the response of the city watch would be considerable under the best of circumstances.

A minute later I was standing over Aspallan Cavalcanti's sleeping form. As the patriarch of the Cavalcanti family and the last living adult male in the family, his death would bring ruin and disaster upon the family. By Tyystian law, assets were never passed on to women regardless of their lineage. If no male inheritors were left, assets defaulted to the Tyystian treasury, where they would be divided up and sold off piecemeal, most often to the decedant's former rivals. I poised the short sword above the old man's body. "My regards, Aspallan Cavalcanti," I whispered before bringing the weapon down.  On the other side of the bed Saafiyah stood over Calycrista Cavalcanti, the matriarch of the family, her own sword held ready for a killing blow. It would be a clean sweep this night.

Aspallan and Calycrista Cavalcanti died simultaneously, a short sword thrusting into the heart of each, hands smothering any final cries that might alert the remainder of the household. We left the pair, married in death as they had been in life, soaking their feather bed with their own blood. Saafiyah moved further down the hallway while I slipped quietly into the room across the hallway. The mother of Calycrista died by my blade next, and Saafiyah took the life of Aspallan's top advisor, a man known as Parick Danell. Only Mariel Cavalcanti was spared the blade that night, and only at my insistence. What kind of life she might have after the night was through was questionable at best, but at least she would live to see another sunrise. Mariel we bound and gagged and I carried her out as we made our exit an hour before dawn broke. In our wake we laid trails of lantern oil, emptied every lantern we could find.

I took a candle from one of the sconces in the great hall after we had made sure Mariel was secured well away from the conflaguration that was about to consume her home. I tossed the candle into the hallway and closed the door. Saafiyah and I moved into the shadows and made for the wall. The house went up immediately, the flicker of fire glittering through the many ornate windows scattering around the manor. The guards in front cried out the alarm as we ascended the wall and dropped down over to the far side. More shouts began echoing from the southeast corner of the estate as the sleeping guards awoke. The moment they grabbed their weapons they were dead men walking with only a couple hundred beats of life remaining.

The Cavalcanti Manor lit the morning sky behind us as we made our way back to Southport, and with it the Cavalcanti bloodline, save one young and very lucky girl, died.

"Krugrapi," Saafiyah cursed in Orcish, making a point of spitting on the ground by her feet.

FLHTH Session 13 - Campaign Story: Tándir

Our Time in Tyyst Continues With Vengeance Delivered

Threesday, Second Hand of Wealsun, EE238

Tándir of Great Harbor

Southport, The Monarchy of Tyyst

Saafiyah's hand tightened in mine. Ninety feet ahead the large double doors to the Uhaishara swung open, Camyder Cavalcanti stepping out with a woman six inches taller than his five foot four height. She hung from his arm, adorn in the clothing of a noblewoman. I saw Camyder glance at us and dismuss us, seeing only a father walking hand-in-hand with his daughter. The merchant prince had chosen to pay his visit to the Uhaishara late in the evening, once most other people had turned in for the night, a fact that Saafiyah's slave contact had told her was to hide just how stingy the merchant's alms actually were compared to his relative wealth.

Two beefy bodyguards followed him out dressed in House Cavalcanti's colors of yellow and blue, their small eyes assessing Saafiyah and I with the same accuracy that Camyder had; no imminent threat.

At the bottom of the Uhaishara's steps sat a coach drawn by two finely regaled heavy horses, a third man sitting atop the coach bench. The odds were long. I had tried to leave Saafiyah behind but she had insisted. We'd had a ferocious argument. She'd glared at me, olive-green eyes flaring as she argued, even threatening to blow the whole thing if I would not take her with. She had skin in the game, she said, since her life had been turned upside down by Camyder's two attempts on my life. It was just as much an attack on her, she reasoned, as it had been on me. "Besides," she said, "if I'm with you he won't suspect anything." I found her logic flawed but her threat of derailing tonight's retribution quite likely, and so she held my hand as we made our approach.

Camyder himself opened to door of the over-decorated coach, and the tall noblewoman slipped in. We drew close.

Our argument had been so heated. She had been right, of course. Thieves and assassins often utilized children as diversions, as lookouts, or even as props in their masquerades to remain undetected. She'd also been wrong. I did not want her to be seen at an assassination. And then she'd accused me of being an idiot. I'd politely told her she was twelve cycles old and couldn't possibly understand. That had been a mistake. Reminding me of the fact that I was still alive because of her she had spat on the floor, glared at me and growled "Krugrapi" at me, the orcish equivalent of asshole. I tried to recover by explaining that it would be dangerous, that she could be hurt, and that that wasn't a risk that I was willing to take. In turn she reminded me that she considered me and idiot and threatened to shoot me with my own crossbow. Her expression had suggested she might actually be serious.

Her hand tightened in might briefly, a subtle squeeze, conveying she was ready. Twenty feet away the dagger concealed in the sleeve of my long sleeve embroidered silk shirt felt right, as did the weight of the short sword hanging from it's scabbard at my side. I hoped for the best but the odds were not good.

I struck first, the finely crafted dagger slipping into the palm of my hand easily as we passed the two bodyguards. I caught him flat-footed and there was a cry of anguish as my blade slipped easily through the bodyguard's side, a mortal wound that had him stumbling away from us and to the ground before the second bodyguard's instincts kicked in and he began to turn to face us. His hand was on his short sword when Saafiyah sprung forward, slashing at his sword arm with her own dagger. Flesh separated and blood ran freely, but it was by no means a killing wound and the man did not immediately fall. The short sword at his side cleared its scabbard just as the stryghumine that had coated Saafiyah's dagger took effect, the bodyguard's eyes going suddenly glossy before they rolled back and the man tumbled to the ground, out of the fight at least temporarily.

The coach driver letp down in an effort to put himself between me and Camyder but Saafiyah moved quickly to intercept him. That left the merchant to me. He drew a dagger from a sheath at the front of his belt and took up a defensive position but did not move to attack.

For several long moments no one moved.

"I am Tándir of Great--"

Camyder screamed before I could introduce myself and lunged, the little dagger slashing. His remaining bodyguard pushed his way past the much smaller Saafiyah, wincing as she struck out with her own dagger as he brushed her aside and advanced on me. I brushed aside Camyder's dagger and drew my shortsword, slicing upwards through the colorful silk shirt he wore, cutting even through the padded armor beneath. He stepped back, shock on his face, likely never have been seriously threatened in his life. I turned to the side just in time to avoid the coach driver's short sword thrusting at me even as Saafiyah flicked her dagger across the man's back once again. Camyder took the opportunity presented when I turned to lunge froward again to try and sink the dagger into my chest, but found only empty air.

Realizing that the small dagger-wielding child was more of a threat than he had anticipated the coach driver grunted in pain and turned to face Saafiyah, his back bloody from her flashing blade, saving his own life suddenly taking priority over protecting his employer. I heard the grunts of exertion as he swung his sword wildly at the nimble girl, cursing at her when she leapt well out of the way of his blade only to dart right back in and thrust her dagger once more into his body. Camyder attempted the same, only to find my short sword parrying his thrust and turning it into a wound that opened across his forearm. A groaning beside me alerted me to the effects of the stryghumine wearing off on the bodyguard Saafiyah had felled.

The body of the coach driver fell heavily back against the ornate coach, rocking it on its wheels, a trail of blood following his corpse to the ground. The glint of Saafiyah's dagger was visible where it was thrust up through the bottom of the man's jaw. It was a gruesome sight, distracting enough to leave me open for several seconds too many and Camyder managed to open a shallow cut across the bottom of my cloak's sleeve. The warmth of blood was only a trickle, thankfully and I responded in kind, pressing him back against the side of the coach.

Saafiyah moved swiftly, passing behind me and scooping up the recovering bodyguard's short sword, turning it in her hand and driving it through the boiled leather cuirass proctecting his chest. Given her age and limited strength, the penetration of the sword wasn't sufficient for a killing blow, but she immediately yanked it free and and drove the point back down again, finishing the job. I thrust at Camyder, but he managed to move, the point of the short sword sinking an inch or two into the hardwood siding of the coach and giving him time to slash the dagger across my chest. Had I not been wearing the lamellar cuirass beneath my linen shirt, it likely would have been a much worse blow.

Saafiyah sprung forward at the embattled merchant as well, the bloodied short sword skewering him through his exposed side. His eyes grew wide and he began to stumble. He was already dead and simply did not realize it yet. To leave no doubt I thrust one last time with my own short sword, it's tip penetrating his neck and pinning him to the coach behind him, a fountain of blood issuing forth from the mortal wound.

I stepped back. His eyes were already turning glossy in the last brief moments of his life.

"I am Tándir of Great Harbor, and I have now given you my regards," I told the dying man, though I doubted the meaning of my words even registered in Camyder's mind. Having said that, I freed my blade from his throat and let his corpse fall to the cobblestone street.

We left the hysterical noble woman screaming in shock and fear. "Krugrapi," Saafiyah said in the direction of Camyder, spitting once on his body as she retrieved her dagger from the coach driver's corpse. The street was still deserted, no city watch running to investigate the disturbance. We sheathed our weapons and headed for the shadows. There was blood on both of our hands, warm and sticky when she reached out and took my hand in hers. "What shall we do tomorrow, father?" she asked, looking up at me with a grin as we turned into an alley.

There was a Hand of Mourning announced the day following Camyder Cavalcanti's assassination. Southport ground to a halt as the merchant nobility publicly grieved the death of one of their own. In studies and sitting rooms across the city, however, those same nobles plotted and schemed on how best to take advantage of the not-so-tragic demise of one of their own. The market was effectively shut down during the mourning period. It was, after all, in bad taste for business transactions to take place while Camyder Cavalcanti laid in state in the Uhaishara, not more than a hundred feet from where he had been struck down.

Life in Southport returned to a degree of normalcy following the end of the Mourning Hand, the merchants of the market doing brisk business after having been shuttered for so long. I returned to my stall along with the rest of the merchants in the city, maintaining my cover so as not to attract unwanted attention. Saafiyah, of course, had been under no such restrictions and had ventured out each and every day, running down leads and making contacts, a mere child that most people would never suspect to be such a formidable threat. Although it had been Camyder who had commissioned both attacks on me in Wistor, they were funded and sanctioned by House Cavalcanti, and as long as the Cavalcanti family remained alive I doubted the safety of Saafiyah or myself. The merchant nobility of Tyyst were infamous in the grudges they held, some lasting for generations.

House Cavalcanti reinforced their retinue of guards in the days following Camyder's death and limited their public appearances. Getting access to any of them would be much more difficult from that point out but as long as the veil of Saafiyah and I's masquerade remained in place I could be patient. It was a talent I had learned long ago, back in Great Harbour, during my youth. The hands flew by as summer gradually eased into fall. Trelbar had sent word, and some of his own goods, on one of the regular cargo galleys that ran a regular route between Folkestone's Landing and Southport, letting me know that all was well and that in lieu of coins for the goods I had sent him he intended to send me goods in return, which I could convert into coins that I might actually have immediate need of. By fall, he had informed me that he had also discovered the identity of the two men who had been responsible for Bastion's torture and murder, two thugs living right there in Folkestone's Landing.

I would deal with them later, of course, on behalf of my old friend.

In late fall we had an opportunity to strike at House Cavalcanti once again and Saafiyah took it upon herself to follow through on that opportunity. We had secured her a provisional mercatile license as an apprentice to me, her father, and she had taken up a wooden crate with a neck strap and begun hawking fresh fruits in the market. It gave her a reason to stop and talk to people, to make new contacts, to seek new information in casual conversations with her customers. Her smiles and her personality made her many a fast friend and she milked those friends for as much information as she possibly could.

A patrol of the city watch rushed past my stall one afternoon in response to a disturbance several streets away. Within minutes the market was abuzz with rumors and gossip. A slave had turned on her master and killed him. A man had been mugged, then murdered when he refused to give up his coin purse. Saafiyah walked up to my stall and set down her crate of snaniums, an orange fruit that could be eaten plain or pulped into a juice. She grinned at me with one of those enigmatic smiles that still managed to aggravate me and I knew immediately that she had played a part in whatever happened to have caused such a stir.

"What have you done, girl?" I asked her.

"Nothing, father," she said, her grin not faltering a bit.

"Saafiyah," I said sternly.

"I've done nothing, father. I've only been out selling the snaniums."

If I didn't know her so well, I would have believed her myself.

The Mourning Hand for Remme Cavalcanti began the following day. Remme, brother of Camyder, had met an unfortunate end when he had been found dead in an alley of the market district, having choked on a snanium. Saafiyah would later tell me that he had, in fact, died of poison, but she thought it prudent to stuff a bit of the fruit down his throat for good measure. "Besides," she said, completely straight faced, "he was a bit of a glutton and it was fitting."

FLHTH Session 12 - Campaign Story: Tándir

Events That Occurred Upon Our Arrival in Southport

Threesday, Fifth Hand of Coldeven, EE238

Tándir of Great Harbor

Southport, The Monarchy of Tyyst

Tyyst. The Monarchy of Tyyst was vastly different from most of the island nations of the Mystshroud Isles. It was a merchant nation, headed by merchants for the benefit of merchants. Everyone else simply scraped and clawed or stole and murdered their way to wealth or prominence. It was nothing less than one vast criminal enterprise in my mind, and because of this it had been a very lucrative source of business for me over the past decade since I had relocated from Great Harbor to Wirost. We arrived two days after leaving Writh, the junk we had booked passage on having made it across the Cobalt Sea without the springing of too many leaks. We had boarded in Chimera's Rest as Tándir Teracina and Saafiyah Linhau but presented papers to the Southport city watch identifying us as Tándir and Saafiyah Jansaren, merchant and daughter. We passed from the unrestricted wharf district into the city proper with ease.

Saafiyah was unusually quiet and lethargic that first afternoon in Tyyst and I put it down to exhaustion from the two days of barfing her way across the Cobalt. She did mutter something about never again, which brought a smile to my lips and an angry glare to her pretty eyes. She did look a little pale. Eventually though she returned in fine form, and all it took was a large plate of goph spiced with grains of paradise at one of the more upscale inns that served the market district. During that meal Saafiyah managed to attract the adoring attention of a dark-eyed, olive complexioned youth, probably the son of one of the city's many merchant barons, dukes or princes. He didn't catch on to my leave-my-daughter-the-fuck-alone glare, his eyes riveted on Saafiyah as she graced him with approving smiles.

The first evening we checked into a small, discrete inn. Saafiyah proudly handed her travel papers to the innkeep, "Wirostian! Saafiyah Jansaren!" The burly, gruff innkeep merely glowered at her enthusiasm. As we climbed the stairs to the cramped quarters on the second floor she asked if she'd get her travel papers back. I told her she would. "Are you sure? When?" she asked very seriously. That brought a smile to my face, the thought that she took something as simple as sharing a ficticious last name and equally ficticious familial bond as seriously as she did. Our room was on the smallish side but well appointed and clean. Saafiyah expressed her pleasure by diving onto the rather large bed and stretching out on the feather filled bed. "Soft!" she explained in delight. I merely pointed to her bedroll and then to the floor beside the bed.

We set about gathering information the following day.

"Camyder Cavalcanti sends his regards, assassin," were the words that had been spoken before I had lost consciousness in the manor. But beyond that, I had little to work with to start tracking down my quarry. I did not know if he was in Southport, or anywhere in Tyyst for that matter. It was likely, given the Cavalcanti family's position in the Tyystian Court, but as one of the pre-eminent merchant families in the city and with business dealings throughout the Mystshrouds it was possible that Camyder Cavalcanti would not be found in Tyyst. I had settled on a long term stay, all the better to gather information with as little suspicion as possible. I secured a mercantile license from the merchant guild of Southport, setting up a stall in the well-to-do market district, buying and selling general goods. This put me in constant contact with other merchants as well as the skilled laborers of the city such as the smithies and clothiers, none of which could sell their finished goods directly to buyers. All goods had to pass through the hands of an authorized merchant in Tyyst.

For several hands I spent the day trading, bartering and slowly depleting my reserves of coin, procuring cargo space aboard the merchant ships headed for Folkestone's Landing with the hope of one day getting a return on my daily investment in goods. I trusted that Trelbar would know better what to do with the odds and ends that I collected than I would. I did not expect to make a profit after he took his cut, but hoped that at least some of the coins I shelled out each day might be returned to my purse. Saafiyah, on the other hand, disappeared for long stretches each day, running through the market district with her travel papers in hand and eventually exploring some of the city's other districts. Unlike her home back in Folkestone's Landing, Southport was devoid of beggars and guttersnipes such as herself, the city watch rounding them up on a regular basis and pressing them into service with the military or into slavery if they were female or not old enough for military service. In the cold, stark terms of the Monarchy of Tyyst, all people were expected to contribute in some way to the betterment of society. It was not an option, but a mandate.

Saafiyah, I noticed, seemed to gravitate towards the slaves. Many times in the security of our rented room at the inn I tried to explain how dangerous such behavior was, not only for herself but for the slaves, but no amount of objections on my part could convince her otherwise.

By the end of summer we had been in Southport for almost three turnings seeking information, making contacts, and my funds were running dangerously low.

Saafiyah returned to the inn late one evening, late enough that I had begun to have some concern for her safety. She let herself into our room and nodded at me, smiling enigmatic despite the stern, almost angry, glare I was giving her for worrying me so.

"Camyder Cavalcanti will be at the Uhaishara tomorrow night to offer alms," she informed me. The Uhaishara was the local temple of Hunstus, God of Trade.

My anger fled. "How did you come about this information?"

"A slave of House Cavalcanti," she said.

"And you trust this slave?"

"I do," she answered.

FLHTH Session 11 - Campaign Story: Tándir

A Conversation Over Lunch in Chimera's Rest

Foursday, Fourth Hand of Coldeven, EE238

Tándir of Great Harbor

Chimera's Rest, Wirth

Walking out of Nyor's studio, Saafiyah's hand in mine, I handed her the leather bound set of Tyystian travel papers. She let go of my hand, smiling at me and opened it. The smile faltered as she stopped walking. The girl glanced up at me and back down. I watched, surprised as tears brimmed in her beautiful eyes, the first time I'd ever seen her on the verge of crying. Why? What had I done?

"Come on," I said gently, not probing for answers. I'd learned long ago that Saafiyah's secrets were her own and there was no use in trying to draw them out. I took her hand again and she began walking with me, her eyes still riveted on the travel papers.

Finally she looked up at me. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I said, still unsure of what had caused her reaction. "Now how about a meal?"

I was exposed to yet another side of Saafiyah as we ate at a local open air market, sitting out on incredibly uncomfortable wrought iron chairs. The sounds of merchants and shoppers was nothing like what I had grown accustomed to back home in the Soul Market. She barely picked at her food. her eyes stared at me, unspoken words and emotions echoing in them. The travel papers lay open beside her meal, held down with her hand, and she glanced at it regularly. I still could not understand what had her acting as she was, though I felt like I was supposed to.

"Eat!" I ordered gruffly, frustrated with my own lack of understanding when it came to children.

Saafiyah grinned suddenly, a big grin that, canine gaps and all, had my heart swelling. She picked up the travel papers and, extending her arm across the table, showed them to me.

"Yes, they're very well done," I said, commenting on the quality of Nyor's work.

"Read," she ordered. "What does it say?"

Travel Authority?" I said, almost questioning, wondering what she was getting at.

"Go on!"

"Under the authority of the Court of Tyyst..."

Saafiyah blew out a heavy breath in frustration. "The name!"

"Saafiyah Jansaren."

"Again please?"

I smiled. "Saafiyah Jansaren."

"Good!" She nodded. "And don't you forget it, father!" Suddenly she dived into her food, gorgeous eyes twinkling with pleasure. I sat stupidly smitten; with a child; a twelve cycle old killer, I remeinded myself. How ridiculous.

I smiled again as I turned my attention back to my own meal, pleased with being a father.