**In the Southeast district of Sylvan, near the Mud Gate, sits The Blind Lady. Once it was one of Sylvans most famous house of ill-repute, but when its madam mysteriously vanished, it sunk into a den of iniquity, and finally into a den of phage. The peacekeepers eventually cleaned out The Lady and fixed her up, making it their chapterhouse and a respite for those who strive to right wrongs, fight evil and rage against the dying of the light.
The reds and pinks are gone from its walls, within and without, replaced with guilds traditional golds and blues. The basement is now a very different type of dungeon. The female statue that once stood in the center of its front walk has been replaced with a much less salacious lady, the blindfolded personification of justice.
The inside has the air of a old hunter's lodge, but more lavishly appointed and lacking the stale odors of smoke and old hides. All around men sit, telling tales of their adventures to fellow peacekeepers and enthused locals alike. At a desk in one corner, beneath a portrait of knight in ornate armor, sits Erzengel Faen, an old grizzled kindir with a face full of scartissue and long hair of silver. He is the desk sergeant and main point of contact with visitors.**
**The place is quiet at the moment, with just Erzengel at his desk and a small crowd around the bottom of the staircase, where a strikingly handsome young man with long curly black hair and a navy coat was regailing a mostly female crowd with a tale.**
**Letting Golan take the lead with johnny law, Gamble made his way over to the crowd to lean up against a wall. He slipped his blue bauble from a coat pocket, tossing its familiar weight from hand to hand as he listened in to the dandy's story.**
Golan approaches the desk, making sure his PK badge was visible.
"Sir, I heard a forge burned down around here not too long ago. I believe the burning of the forge is connected to some murders in Epicrin recently. Specifically, Deathcloaks armor may have been forged there. Do you know if the owners of the forge, or anyone who worked there, are still alive?"
Aris Delacour - ..so in the end all I had to do was cut the carriage's reigns and the fool thing just rolls itself downhill, out of the veil of night, and right into the noonday sun. Idiot phages opened a curtain to see what was going on and went up like candles. ...can I help you sir?
Gamble - "My friend and I are hunting a murderer from Epicrin and our investigation has led us here. We believe he may have once been a craftsman at a forge that was destroyed in this city a few years ago..some sort of fire?"
Aris - It rings a bell. I think one of the forges in the southwest district went up shortly before I joined up. Explosion, nasty stuff. Name was Bronze something... no...Brass. That was it. The Brass Jacket.
Aris - Owner died. Workers, can't say for certain. If they are still the city, and most people who choose to live here stay, finding another apprenticeship would have been hard, those things usually go through family lines here. ...but strong skilled hands are always needed at The Rectory.
Gamble - "Hrm. It seems likely that there was some criminal element involved with the Brass Jacket; from what we've learned the smith had a thief getting rare supplies for him. Were there any odd thefts in the city around the time of the fire?"