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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Rish" data-source="post: 1530672" data-attributes="member: 14000">Kirran catches Fleck for a short conversation before the gnome leaves for the winter. He speaks in a low, hurried voice and his face is unusually still, even grim. "... Marzen on, well, business ... could be anything ... no, I have no idea. ...here in the spring? Right. ... well, I hope so anyway." He sets out for Marzen shortly thereafter, barely taking the time to exchange gold for gems, wanting to reach the city before heavy snows make the roads impassable. He settles in again quickly, because with years of life and Callahan's death between now and his original departure, there is little preventing him from renewing old contacts. As winter sets about its business in earnest, Kirran sets about scrounging up any information he can about the man with unusual luck.Jan, however, is out of Marzen again (or perhaps still), and in winding his way through the remains of Callahan's absurdly intricate heirarchies Kirran turns up next to nothing. Rumors fly, but no hard information. Finally, he pins it down to a face and a vague description, but it's enough: Meier Helmhold, a gangly man Kirran remembers from early years. Years ago, he'd have had no reason to kill Callahan, but these things change; Kirrans knows as well as anyone.Even with the name to go on, no one seems to have had real news of him in months. The story of his latest lucky break is on a lot of tongues, but always heard from the pin and needle vendor on the corner, or a halfling goodwife's sister's husband's best friend, and tracing back to the source proves impossible. Still, Kirran can sift enough truth from the rumors to know that all is not quite right. Finally a particularly fierce winter day finds him curled up in an out-of-the-way room, printing out a letter in a deliberate, blocky hand:"Helmhold:Heard you took care of the man who wanted to take care of me.Curious why the courtesy.Propose a meeting: Potmetal Tavern, your convenience.Kirran."He sends the letter out into the city at large, trusting rumors and strange social connections to lead it to the man. He is beside himself with frustration when it returns to him instead. "Can't find him, boss. No word." are the only words of the scrappy human boy who hands his now-filthy letter back to him. Meanwhile just enough information has been filtering in to keep him from giving up entirely: an overseer at a gambling house describing a ridiculous winning streak, the most concrete information yet: "Luckier 'n Luck hisself." Kirran swears to himself, despite the obvious exaggeration: "Lucker than ... it's not right. It shouldn't be able to happen. No one's that lucky, no one." He continues circulating letters and hunting down contacts, finally sending a letter to Solinburg to await the return of its recipient:"Fleck:Business not wrapping up nicely. Rather not leave,things are very not right. Have the folks meet me here?Reply if not, it'll reach me. Somehow.Luck, reply even if, nothing else doing here, it might amuse me.K."With that he returns to the cycle of searching and failing to find, waiting out the frustrating winter and waiting for spring...</blockquote>

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