Petty Trinkets and Garden Caves

Western Gates, Late Morning.

The ground muddy, the air damp, and the sky a mocking blue as the deluge from the other day has ceased sometime in the night. The chilly air hasn't helped in the slightest, hence why several food service carts have popped up around the inside of the gates. As well as excellent security from the Constables building in plain sight.

One such cart offers warm beverages. The top seller: coffee. Several Watchmen come and go before their shifts to better wake up on the strange hours. However, two were not of the city guard. One of that of a Eldanar man, and his daughter, both wrapped up on coats, the former a grey overcoat, and the latter a bright yellow one. Warrick sifts through papers idly while sipping on his drink, as Cynthia is kicking her legs off a stool, an intense look of concentration on her face as she has a bundle of herbs and a tiny knife in hand. Seemingly attempting to extract something or another.

Shuffle shuffle. Step step. Light hop. Shuffle. "Not hard, but sharp. Intent yields insight." A familiar deep voice tells the herb-wielding child, as a black beak prods out from... cloaks looking vaguely similar to what guards could be wearing. Flavor of the day, surely.

The beak turns towards Warrick and the huddle of cloaks moves to idly peer at the man's papers. Or... "Is the coffee good?" Crik asks.

Cythia flinches from the sudden deep voice advising, her looking around and- "Yeah yeah, I know, I just don't have the steadiest hands for this yet," she sighs as she goes back to trying to extract a seed from a stem.

Warrick glances over, unfazed by the sudden bird. "Crik. It is," he answers, sipping from his cup. Papers shift a bit to show Crik better. It's some self made notes and scraps of reports. "Figured out a little bit. The things stolen were mostly jewels. I... think that noble we're contracted to is inflating their numbers- tax fudging maybe- but they do have a necklace that would fetch a pretty copper."

Crik reaches into his many folds, pulls out a coin purse and fishes out the copper for the coffee. "Big cup." He asks, then turns towards Cynthia. "Stab something big first - then slowly smaller." He offers as help. "... or stab a lot." He was a prime role model.

"Jewels?" The corvid says, turning his head. "What is so special about jewels?" He sounded very... disappointed. "And they even had a wizard." He laments by himself, with his shoulders drooping. "Are they at least rare jewels?"

The teenager gives the bird man a look, one that seems inherited from the way her slate eyes take in the advice. But instead of huffing like her father, she thunks a hand against her forehead. "Oh! Duh!" Cynthia pivots around, putting the herbs on the counter and starting to carefully cut them up. "Thanks!"

The coin is taken, Crik getting a sizable cup in return as Warrick shakes his head. "Aside from money, I'm not sure. It's a family heirloom. Maybe that's what their going after? Things that have sentimental value? There was this piece of art that was... far over valued, I think. But perhaps that is a target? I'm not sure." A shrug. "I don't even know what kind of jewels it is. Why do you sound disappointed? I figured you would like expensive rocks."

Crik looks at the teenager with amount of surprise in his face - as much as can be evident under the hood - and then bops his head down and up uncertainly. "... do not cut yourself?" He says, as he takes the cup with both hands.

The corvid then turns towards Warrick, dipping his beak into the hot coffee. "You can find expensive rocks everywhere." He points out. "It is the history that is valuable." Another inverted sip. "If they are just stealing jewels from nobles, that seems more like a job for the Guard." A pause. "Unless it is that Reithak's noble pride.

"I gots it don't worry," Cynthia waves off the warning, slicing the herb into sections. Flipping the tiny paring knife over, she uses the flat of it to push small yellow seeds free of the stem. "Hah! That's way faster."

Warrick glances over to his daughter. "Don't forget to put them in a pouch in your jacket when you finish, else the cold will ruin them."

"Right, right," she mumbles, fumbling in a pocket for a cloth pouch.

The once-guard watches Crik with mild amusement. Almost like one of those water dipping bird toys. A chuckle escapes him. "Unsure about Reithak, but there is a certain... pride that nobles have. In their eyes, their estates are impregnable, and any that attempt to crack it should be met with swift justice." His eyes glaze in boredom at a memory. "No mater... how slight. To have something valuable to an estate be taken, it signals that the house is weak. And in the game of politics that is nobility, that is bad."

Crik tilts his head, then glances towards Cynthia. "Garden project?" He offers then, despite the fact that the cold is coming and streets are soon to be frozen. "Try not to do them in caves. They do not survive."

The coffee is picked at repeatedly, and there's a moment of pause as the egalrin just lets out a quiet 'crik', before his black eyes settle upon Warrick. "Or there is something we are missing. Why multiple nobles? Why ordinary loot?" He raises his hand up, starting to walk. "There is a link there somewhere. Overprized paintings. Heirlooms. Wizard guards. Invested, but not invested nobles." He spreads his hand. "Something... something that is missing." A pause. "Or is there."

The moment stops when he leans forward to dunk his beak into the coffee cup again.

Cynthia shakes her head, grinning. "No, I'm trying to learn how to m-make a tonic! For upset stomachs," she mentions, pulling out a book from her coat. The Althean Almanac. Free to read, cheap to purchase at the temple of Althea. "C-Caves are for mushrooms!" Learning!

Warrick gives an approving look towards his daughter as she goes back to collecting seeds. "I agree. Something is missing. Something the nobles aren't letting us in on," he sighs, scratching his growing scruff. "No, there is something. My gut tells me there is."

"Indigestion," Cynthia quips.

Crik takes a light hold of the Almanac. He also makes a mental note to acquire a copy. "Mushrooms. They told me that late." He offers the book back, with his beak open. There's a bit of a rummage, before he places few empty glass vials on the table. "Let me have one when the tonic is done."

Turning towards Warrick, the corvid's shoulders slump. "I tried to find out more but there was an accident." He explains, "Maybe I should try the ledgers to see if those numbers make sense. Or dig into the garden to see if there are any hidden graves." His hand moves over his head. "It feels like a ploy I should know."

Cynthia takes the book back, a quizzical look given at the vials. "Ummm... okay. I'll... no promises that it'll work. I can barely get this together," she taps the plant. Yet, she accepts it. And goes back to popping more seeds out.

The father raises a brow. "An accident?" he says slowly, making sure he heard that. Clear to the seasoned guard that an 'accident' might entail, but also seasoned enough to not press it further. "Please don't dig in their gardens. Those plants are expensive and that would just make the breaking and entering reports more muddled. But yes, I think there is some ploy at play. Has to be. Or, these hooligans are just that good at what they do. Not the first time I've had burglars get away with barely any trace. Certainly won't be the last."

Crik bops his head down and then up at Cynthia. "Do not worry, nobody will die." Tail bopping, the corvid returns to Warrick.

And the corvid's hands were already up. "Just bad luck with someone who wasn't supposed to be there. Got away before the wizards came, nobody heard anything."

Then there is a longer pause. Considering. Considering at something Warrick said. Crik straightens, tilting his head. "What if the thieves never left?" He pauses to tap his finger at his beak. "What if they are trapped in another plane right now?"

Cynthia pauses. "If the Althean book ends up killing someone, I think we have bigger problems," she snickers.

The man deeply sighs. "... at least you weren't caught." Easier to beg forgiveness than permission.

The corvid's insight gets Warrick to perk as well. "... interesting. I did get a decent rundown on how the city ward works before I left the Watch. Teleporting doesn't work. Pocket planes work though. However, I think that is some pretty strong magic, right? That should get picked up by even a novice mage if they're just... hanging around inside the estate."

Crik snaps his fingers. "So all the mages are in on it. But why the effort to steal few trinkets?" The corvid scrabbles at the dirt. "Bad wages? What are they releasing? Taste in art?"

The corvid crosses his arms and then looks up towards the sky. "... this is where I should have an epiphany." He says, but then lets his shoulders collapse. "Maybe I will..." A sudden glance towards Cynthia, then back towards Warrick. "... go study the locks again."

Warrick shrugs, frowning some at the thought. "There's no point in trinket stealing for magic folk. The things mages need is... far greater in cost that most things I've ever seen. Getting my crossbow enchanted? Feh. That'd pay the taxes on my house for a couple of years easily."

He sips more of his coffee, opening his notes once more. "... just don't have another accident if you do," he says slowly.

Cynthia is peering up at the two of them, eyes wide and excited. She fires off a few brisk hand movements towards her father. Which is countered by a slow pinching of a few fingers repeatedly. She pauses, then gestures twice. The father cracks, a heavy sigh leaving him. "I'll let you know what happened when it's over," Warrick slowly concedes. Cynthia grins, victorious.

Turning his attention back to Crik, Warrick grunts, "Well, I'll be down around here more often than not if you find anything else out."

Crik looks at the gesturing with quizzical look. His own hands make mimicking gestures - but he obviously had no idea what was going on. Finally, at Warrick, Crik bops his head. "I will look if there is anything to the house itself." He bows his head then, before looking at Cynthia.

"One tonic, please." He asks, most graciously as he backs away - and then with a bit of a fumble and steps, he blends into the crowd once more.

"Alright. Take care," Warrick resigns himself. Can't stop the Crik from doing what Crik does.

Cynthia grins. "Okay!" And watches the bird slip into the crowd. "... soooo. Dad."

"Mmm?"

"Where did you meet that Crik guy?"

He rubs his face. "Right. So... there was this mineshaft we rode in a cart, down deep underground, and got chased out by massive worms after he and some others kept me from being worm food."

She blinks, then pouts. "From the beginning! Don't summarize!"

Coffee sip. "... alright. So, it was me, Thoth, Crik, and a woman named Hilde. And we went into some ruins..."