The crimson griffon hung over every wall. All the servants spoke with a heavy Crescentian accent, jargoning with me to my amusement. Most of the Crescentian lords secretly sponsored bandit outfits, so servants gave themselves bandit names as a joke, like Big Bob, Sawthroat Sam, or like my waiter, Daniel Dickcutter.
"Well, Mr. Griffonson, it has been fun, but I'm off to fight for Desmond now." Dickcutter straightened his vest. He carried a stack of silver plates away, implying that I would never see him again.
Was I the Companion Slayer? My corpse was too far north and too fresh. Still, that dream of mine was so lucid, and I made up such strange details…
I secretly reached for my lunarfritz flask and added a few drops to whatever I was drinking. Piquant and milky, I savored the calmness. It wasn't ours, though. Barroco believed that the stuff we made was Panacea, the legendary cure-all, so he extorted the hell out of Dr.Manstein, the Springfield girl's boss, who bewilderingly believed him. Dr.Manstein and Barroco cried, hugged, and jigged like an old fishermen couple who fished up a treasure chest.
My job, now, is to find the Crone's Cult. Thankful that the drizzle was gone, I wandered over, knowing they had a connection to that vivid dream of mine. Alas, Barroco also wanted a resupply.
"Hello, you must be?" Amon the blind greeted me. In his group, he was slightly cleaner, in a white ceremonial uniform with the armband.
"We've met before. I'm Morrie Griffonson. I work for the Necromancer of Moor Street. About our contract, we were hoping to order some more of the items you sent us by accident." I chatted.
"Ah, sorry, I don't believe we've met." A young woman with brilliant turquoise eyes appeared, eager to shake my hand. Her silvery hair reminded me of the Panacea. There was a weight about her like she was trying to rebuild a world that crushed her underneath.
Captivated, I stood in silence.
"Isabelle Fiela, pleased to make your acquaintance." She waved, searching for a sign of life in my face.
"I never heard of a Fiela before," I blurted, unsure of what I was saying.
"You flatter me. I'm no noblewoman. Fiela is the name of the bandit village I was born in."
"So your real name is?"
"Do you have to embarrass me? Alright, Isabelle Idesmaker, pleased to meet you."
"Idesmaker?"
"Someone who organizes funerals."
"That's surprisingly innocent."
"Someone had to make a bandit village feel like home. So you're were a policeman?"
"Right. I apologize. I was a policeman before I hit my head. Now I find work as an apothecary's assistant."
"A man of your talents? Seems like a waste."
"Are you offering?"
"Certainly. Our pension is great."
"Well, I gather that you don't pay it out very often."
The rest of the Cultists became restless, shuffling and glaring.
"It's far easier to overthrow the monarchy than the Courageous Companions. So what are you doing?" I continued.
"Any life under a tyrant is no life at all." Amon injected. Across the lawn, Companions shot us the evil eye.
"What did it cost? What will it cost? What are you after?" I interrogated.
The cultists stayed silent.
"We… have the goddess on our side," Amon said.
"In my many years as a… policeman, I can assure you that the side that begs for god first loses."
"Our goddess is real, and she's listening to our prayers."
"Alright, then. Why are you going after the Greater God?" I asked. The Greater God was such a nebulous concept since few spoke of him out of fear.
"To punish him for his absence." Isabelle sneered.
"May I have your attention, please!" An old nobleman addressed the crowd from atop a picnic table. He waited for all eyes to gather.
"Before we begin, until we resolve the matter discussed today, I ask all parties agree to an indefinite ceasefire." The nobleman spoke, and a flurry of ayes echoed. Begrudgingly, the cultists whispered amongst themselves and then ayed as well.
"As the royal police have stated, a few people have gone missing these last few days."
"A prince, a princess, a Riveria, a Springfield, seven other highborn, eleven merchant's children, need I continue?" A minister-looking fellow interrupted.
"A Springfield?" The old nobleman raised an eyebrow.
"Aye. Ravenna Springfield. She ran away from home a year ago, but because our guests, the Companions, are so… fond of her, we were not able to ascertain her disappearance until today." The minister spoke with such venom as if the old nobleman had poisoned his wine.
"Ah, my grandniece ran away. Well, that certainly won't do. But, my friends, Courageous Companions, Church of the Lonely Crone, you'll lend me your strong hand, I trust?" The nobleman continued.
Amon, the blind, stepped up. "If it's to aid the weak, we'll do everything within our power."
"Enough. Why don't we all come clean today? I have three mistresses, the Duke of Crescentia here has seven, and return the children by sundown tomorrow, cultists, or I will have your heads." A Nulmarian man in princely attire fluently spoke. He waved his arms in an arc, making various gestures that few understood but most got.
"What do you mean?" Amon the blind responded curtly.
"I apologize for my teacher. He means nothing. Um… I really like lady Ravenna's singing…" A skinny boy squeaked, almost to himself. A mane of night-black hair hid his facial features.
"Smoker, I understand your pain. However, I have already cleared the Crone's church of any wrongdoing regarding this matter." The lord of Crescentia atop his picnic table bowed.
"They were abducted with dark magic. How would you explain that besides the treachery of their whore lesser goddess?" Smoker seethed.
Darius lunged at him from the crowd. He slammed a chair into the side of Smoker's head. Smoker's protégé instinctively leaped out of the way as if he foretold Darius's movements. Smoker flew far, breaking a table on his way down, covering himself in the juices of delicious things.
Smoker brought out a carved silver pipe, inhaled, and exhaled a massive stream of flame at Darius, who should've burned alive. Darius threw a burning chair. Smoker formed a wall of clouds, bouncing it off harmlessly.
"Enough!" Isabelle bellowed, and everything fell silent.
"On the honor of the Lonely Crone, I swear we have nothing to do with this!" She continued, tears welling. Her compatriots tried to comfort her, even as she brushed them off.
"I'm sorry for intruding. Companions, are you missing any shipments of Lunarfritz?" I interrupted, trying to communicate my suspicions. Was someone using human sacrifices? Is some fool using Lunarfritz to make what they believe to be Panacea? The last person who wanted to do so was the infamous Bluebeard, and I dreamed that I was his killer.
"What of it?" Smoker sneered, wiping blood off his face, a man too proud for bookkeeping.
"I don't know who is responsible, even if there's a good chance I know where to start looking," I stated. Very few know how to make Panacea. If the Canzones controlled the Loranisburg police, the Gilles family ran its dungeons.