Camilla sat down as gracefully as her improvised dress allowed, touching Cydrics arm for a moment in formal style. She carefully smoothed her skirts and smiled at their host. For an amusing moment the act of formally taking a seat reminded her that she was officially the countess of… some place in Middenheim? How many people could claim to have forgotten a title like that? Oleg Trigvarson, as he had identified himself earlier, was a ruddy man in paunchy good health. Camilla wondered if he suffered from gout and other ailments which often beset those who had plenty of food to eat. Once cleaned up, his wife Leyena, was a handsome woman though no woman in the company of Camilla de la Trantio was likely to have a chance to boast. She had honey blonde hair and was the daughter of some marcher lord with whom Trivarson did business. 

The food was excellent, for all the fact it had been prepared by someone who looked half a wild norscan. Camilla ate hungrily and though she was obliged by both etiquette and heritage to drink the wine, drank only in moderation. There was something more to this meeting than the merchant was saying, but she was willing enough to wait for him to broach the subject himself.  For most of the meal they spoke of their recent adventures, and though Cydric dumbed down the details considerably the Trivarson’s were still agape when he wound down. Camilla picked politely at a custard tart, eating it in small dainty bites as the tale wound down, leaving their hosts absolutely stupefied. 

“By Ursun my prayers have been answered,” Oleg said, before pausing to belch impressively. The merchant had eaten heartily and drank better yet. He snapped his fingers to summon a stone cask of vodka and several glasses which he filled without asking his guests preference. He knocked his back and poured another. Camilla supposed he had a right to celebrate, though the assassins had been amateurish in their strike, another few seconds and one of them would have dealt the death blow to the rotund linen merchant. 

“So you did recognise the unmasked assassin then,” Camilla prompted, sensing where this evening dinner was headed. Oleg exchanged a glance with his wife and then waved his hand in dismissal. The woman stood without complaint and headed into the sitting room attached to the impressive dining chamber.

“A sharp one eh?” he speculated, casting a shrewd glance towards Camilla.

“Yes, I recognised him, his name was Pyter Nadeskev, the one the took alive was Valter Kratle.” Oleg delivered the news as though it were a bombshell but Camilla merely waited patiently.

“Pyter sold lace a few shops down from mine, Valter is a cheesemunger of considerable importance,” Oleg went on. Camlla nodded her head sagely.

“Some bussiness dispute then, is that why you didn’t tell the guards?” she asked, puzzled by such a strange reaction. It was certainly unusual for merchants to resort to knifing each other but when there was money involved…

“No, you saw Pyter, the… the thing on his chest,” Oleg interupted in something close to panic. Camilla wished she didn’t recall the gaping maw quite so vividly, particularly as she was chewing on food of her own.

“For months now… years I suppose… I’ve found myself blocked at every chance to expand my trade. At first I thought it was just bad luck, but over time it began to add up. A delivery late here, a missed signature on a contract. I thought it was some sort of syndicate. Well Frauline, I am a man of means and I sought to join this syndicate. Eventually I was asked to attend a party and of course I attended, and found mysef the only one without a mask. It was odd but not unheard of but then they bought in women and began to… entertain themselves. When I was a lad I fought with the marchers, thats how I met Leyena,” he said with a fond smile towards the living room. Camilla sipped at her vodka, exchanging concerned looks with Cydric.

“I know what the stink of the north smells like, I pretended to be drunk and got out of there. Since that night I have been investigating. I tried to take it to the watch, but the officer I reported it too wound up falling from the walls and breaking his neck. My wife thinks I am crazy… or anyway she thought I was before today but there must be a cult at work. They can get to the guards.”

Oleg sat his glass down, appearing deadly serious and not at all soft or ridiculous. For a moment Camilla could see a younger version of Oleg atop a horse with a lance in his hand, riding across the northern tundras with a thunder of Kislivite horsemen.

“I need help my friends, and you are the only people I know for sure I can trust.”

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