The clouds hung heavy over Athkatla, grey and low to the ground. The Coin District's streets were a different sight than they were two days ago: where once they'd been full of people and animals going about their business, they now were rapidly emptying as the first large droplets of rain began to fall, the people glancing upwards towards the sky, cursing Beshaba as they gathered their packs and clumped under tents or ran indoors.
A storm this early was unusual, but the past two days had been warm, and now a cold breeze rolled in from the sea, stirring the air into turbulence. The coffers to the temple of Talos were a little more full than usual, with merchants and mariners alike hoping to avoid the Stormlord's approaching wrath.
Jaheira remained outside into the form of a wren, perched upon a sloped rooftop, gazing towards the street outside the temple of Talos. Neither the raindrops nor the rising wind bothered her much; the raindrops rolled off the feathers, and she wouldn't have to negotiate flying in the lower air pressure. All she had to do was watch and wait.
She and Edwin had delivered the letter and secured the necklace from Weathermistress Ada, but Mae'Var had given them one more part to play here. There were rumors that the Talassans were planning something big — the letter to the mysterious "Kestrel" was proof of that.
Right now, Jaheira was taking a lookout for both of them. Her small head turned to and fro, observing the dwindling numbers of passersby on the street, when something caught her eye.
A woman was approaching the temple to Talos. The hood of her brown cloak was thrown back; her face, pale as candle wax, was turned up towards the temple entrance and unmindful of the rain; her short black hair was matted wet against her long white neck. The woman's steps were light and rapid, and her face seemed intent on entering here.
The most unusual thing about her was that she seemed familiar. Jaheira hopped down to the edge of the roof to get a better look.
There was no mistaking her. This was the same woman that Jaheira had evaded in the Docks, the one who had left behind a corpse with a punctured neck. Most likely it was a coincidence, as far as Jaheira herself was concerned. But Jaheira couldn't escape the nagging feeling that it was no accident that brought this woman here.
In any case, it was nearly time for her and Edwin to make their move. The Talassans would begin their rite soon. Already in the distance thunder murmured.
Jaheira flitted directly below her, until she sat in front of a glass windowpane. On the inside, one could see racks of small jars lining the walls, all lit with a magelight's warm golden glow. The sight wasn't tempting for her in the least. She enjoyed being out in the elements like this, she could practically smell the musty jumble of spell components from here, and she thought the company inside left something to be desired. Edwin was inside, probably pretending to buy spell components or pontificating about his magical superiority. Likely some combination of both.
She hoped that he'd retained enough situational awareness to recognize their signal. She pecked three times on the window.
Nothing. She tried again.
Still nothing. She noted with a growing sense of infuriation, that he was still talking to the unfortunate proprietor of this shop.
She tapped one more time, a little more insistently.
He finally noticed, throwing a scowl in her direction. The shopkeeper, a thin and wiry man, opened his mouth to speak, but Edwin waved him off, turned, and left the shop, drawing up his faded red hood to shield his face from the thickening raindrops.
Jaheira hopped from the windowsill to his shoulder.
Edwin said, "You are fortunate that I am in a more cooperative mood. I had just had him haggled down to seventy-five gold for the quicksilver when you interrupted." He muttered under his breath, "Bad enough that I should interrupt my precious hours of magical study to errand-run for a couple of simians."
She could not speak in this form, but she hoped that her black, beady-eyed glare would say everything she needed to.
"Bah, let us finish this task and have done with it," he said. He practically jogged to the temple entrance. Jaheira slipped into his hood, avoiding the touch of his skin wherever possible. However, he seemed supremely annoyed that her beak had come to rest on the back of his neck, and she took some amusement from that. It made up for the cloying smell of pomade in his hair, certainly.
The temple came alive in weather like this. The rain tumbled down the grooves and ledges in the craggy stone walls, multiplying the cascading sound of water. Above the translucent pale yellow dome glowed bright, blanketed with violet-white hairline fractures.
A single guard, his bright armor emblazoned with a thunderbolt, accosted them at the door.
"Chaos prevail!" His voice resounded, even as the rain beat against the concrete walkway in front of him.
"Hail. I wish to behold the glory of the Stormlord for myself," said Edwin, though he was seemingly incapable of keeping the sarcasm from his voice.
From beneath his helmet, the guard's dark eyes glared. "Few are worthy of the sight of the Chaos Bringer, worm," he said.
Edwin reached for his purse, counting out a fistful of coins in his hand. "A donation to the cause of He Who Thunders, perhaps, will purchase the privilege."
As the money tumbled out, the guard visibly relaxed, bringing down his jagged halberd. He reached for the money and scooped it up with a gauntleted hand. He looked down at the coins. "Talos accepts your tithe. Chaos prevail."
"Chaos prevail," Edwin echoed, brushing past the guard and going inside.
Where the inside of the temple had been quietly ominous before, now a host thronged. The guards were conspicuously absent here, leaving the worshipers on the inside to do as they would. The room was populated by petty merchants and their wives, Shadow Thieves in jacks of plate, roving gangs only distinguishable from the other by their insignia. Some were brawling, some were talking over each other in raucous conversation, others stood at rapt attention to the machinery at the center of the room. The brown-cloaked woman didn't seem to be much for socializing: she stood off to the side, folding her arms and surveying the scene, her eyes tinted blood red.
Weathermistress Ada presided over it all, barking out commands to the blue-cloaked priests of Talos pushing their way past the crowds. In her hand was a length of loose white fleece.
The gears were spinning, whirring, humming as they whirled in place, going so fast they seemed liable to break off and fly into the crowd. So many were in motion that there was barely room for the final piece to complete the Talassans' ritual.
Somehow, the geartenders had attached a metal platform to the mess of machinery, and bound to this platform was a drow woman. She had a fierce look in her eye, and her white hair was wild, as though she'd put up a mighty struggle before being forced here. In the dimness, it was hard to tell the difference between the mottled metal platform and her grey-black skin.
She was one of the dark elves, a people that lived beneath the earth and often made war upon the surface. There were frequent rumors that her people sacrificed captured human infants. The onlookers here seemed to be further calloused by this fact, thinking it fitting that this drow would be the sacrifice herself. She was calling out in her own language and in Common, but none listened.
Something about her voice stirred a memory inside Jaheira, and she puzzled over it. She had to steal glances at the woman's face — despite the chaos, she dared not look out from Edwin's hood for long.
After a few minutes, Jaheira finally realized that the dark elf was another face she had seen before.