Dima is on the road to Awich. It's early evening and everything seems peaceful. The stars are just beginning to appear overhead. Awich is to the North-East, about two days' walk from him. He notices a sudden stirring in the heretofore-still-bushes behind him, finds that there is a bush moving behind him.
Speaking to the bushes, moving away from the bushes: “Is this a game to you."
When he turns to look back after his unhasty retreat, he'll see shrubs and bushes lining the path; everything is still and quiet once more.
Dima is displeased by this. He asked a question thank you very much.
He scans the bushes. Scans the trees. And, you know what. he's just going to stay where he is for the moment. Hand brushing against his dagger. Listening, listening. And he'll try one more speaking gambit: “If it's money you're after, you'll find it's simpler to ask. I'm in no mood for games."
While he's at it, he’s just going to add in Undercommon, “Fucking noxious prick."
[ q: while dima's looking around, 1) is there anything he knows about this particular path/patch of the trail? news he might have heard? 2) is there any strangeness of sound or silence?
SURV: 13 PERC: 4]
He would know this stretch of road is barely carved out of greater wilderness; however, although many creatures inhabit the area, the ones that live near humanoid-trafficked areas tend to be little more than nuisances. He would also know many travelers have sustained strange slashed wounds, but have all been reluctant to talk about what happened.
Perception-wise, he sees bushes and shrubs.
As Dima stands there, wary (?) and inspecting the treeline, one of the shrubs rustles, its branches beginning to tremble as if jostled by some animal. The shrub uproots itself and moves toward Dima, lashing out with its branches.
Dima casts Chill Touch on the offending buSH. Dima somehow crits the hit on the shrub for 12 damage.
The shrub turns brittle and motionless as though in the dead of winter; its leaves shrivel and shed, and it falls sort of...sideways.
Clearly, he has killed this plant. Well done Dima, Bush Slayer.
Dima would like to inspect the plantly remains and see if he can tell anYthing about the magic animating it? Or rather if there is any trace to tell by?
[ARC: 8]
As far as he can tell, there's nothing interesting about the shrub, and in fact he has no proof he didn't imagine the entire encounter.
Dima kicks the bush's remains. Frozen as it is, it breaks down further into brittle pieces. Like he dunked it in liquid nitrogen and smashed it.
[ …q: can dima scoop up some of the remains in a vial. keep it for later? or for ditching if he gets tired of looking at it ofc ]
It's pretty easy to bottle up. Dima now has a trophy of his first kill of the adventure.
[PERC: 11]
Dima isn't sure, but upon giving a perfunctory glance around the area, it seems as though there are fewer shrubs than before. Almost as though - if there were more - upon perceiving the gruesome death of their comrade, a lot of plants noped the fuck out.
Dima takes this as a sign that he has done his job well and given the shrubs an apt fright!
He nods to himself. gives the bush's meager remains a final stomp. And says not super quietly, "Yes, we'll SEE if you try that again."
Then quieter, to himself, "Godsdamned shrubs. As if any SHRUB were equal to a Voronin.”
The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
Following his encounter with a shrubbery, if Dima chooses to continue his journey northward:
As the sun sets on the horizon and the stars appear one by one overhead, there can be seen not-too-distantly the glow of a campfire.
Nearer, it can be ascertained that the fire is about thirty feet from the trail in a clearing, and two figures can be seen seated on stones forming a ring around the firepit.
<.>
He knows he ought to halt his travel soon.
He knows better than to linger long where strangers stay.
But! The thing is. There's nothing furtive about this fire's presence. And it can't hurt to take some measure of whoever, or whatever, is responsible for the fire.
And maybe (maybe!) whoever this is knows something of these pernicious bushes.
So. For the moment, Dima would like to pause where he is, and listen to see whether he can overhear anything, or sense anything odd in the air.
[PERC: 13, with advantage bc dumbass crit failed his first roll]
<.>
Listening, he can overhear the sounds of faint, calm conversation, but can't really determine the subjectmatter. There's nothing exceptional about the site: it appears to be a well-traveled area, used frequently by those taking the road to and from Awich. Of the two figures, one wears a hooded cowl which in the twilight obscures their face; the other's is turned towards their hooded companion and thus their back is to Dima, but from this distance, it's easy to determine their build is slight, perhaps the same height or slightly taller than Dima.
<.>
He'd like a better look at these probable travelers. He'd like to determine whether they have anything worth knowing.
So Dima moves up the path fifteen feet or so. Moves to stand precisely on the path's edge, then—
Well.
No.
Before he steps foot off the path, he'd like to take a look at the shrubbery around. Does any of it appear to be. Rustling with ill-intent?
[ARC: 14]
<.>
Everything seems quiet; however, due to his background in the magical arts, Dima has probably learned that certain types of malignant foliage can appear to be absolutely normal until it moves.
One thing has changed; when Dima pauses at the path's edge, the figure facing his way gestures to indicate his presence and the other falls silent and turns back to look at him.
<.>
Well! No use playing coy now, is there? (And he'll simply have to keep his very well-remembered lessons in mind, and keep an *eye* on all of these bushes.)
[q: What can he see of the figures’ faces? ]
<.>
From this distance, both faces are thrown in shadow by the firelight.
<.>
Dima takes a few steps - moving with care, but without hesitation - off the path, toward the firelight. Then speaks, voice self-assured but not over-loud: "Staying for the night?"
<.>
The figure in the hood seemingly cocks their head, then exhales a sound that could be a mirthful - if muted - snort. Though they face Dima, their features are still thrown in shadow, but their traveling clothes - worn, a not-uncommon mingling of leather armor and linen fabrics - can be seen. A blanket wrapped around their shoulders and their hunched manner of sitting obscures their build.
The figure nearest Dima, now in clearer view, is an older human male, his greying hair somewhat tousled as though after making his trek all day, sweating and mussing it, he has hastily attempted to bring it to order. His clothes are dirtier than a day's travel would suggest.
He casts a glance back at his companion , then, turning to Dima again, offers a welcoming grin. "The woods are treacherous at night. All sorts of buggery about. Better to be well-rested for safer travel, wouldn't you say?"
<.>
Buggery? Well— That's one word for it.
Dima's eyes narrow briefly as he considers - looks from one figure to the other, taking in what glimpses he can through the shadows - then nods once, firmly. "So I hear.
"Have you room for one more?
"I won't keep you long, but as you say, the woods are— Mm. 'Buggery' isn't precisely the term I'd choose, but it serves the purpose. And I could stand a moment's respite."
<.>
"Oh, you'd have to ask my friend here," the man replies, gesturing almost theatrically.
The hooded figure shakes their head, then gestures with one large hand to the third of the encircling rocks.
"Can't get him to shut up." The first man makes this jest as he rises, presumably out of courtesy, and extends a hand. "I'm Wythall. This is - well, I didn't catch his name, but he's generous with his campfire, aren't you, boy?
"And who might you be?"
<.>
His 'friend.'
Interesting. This... 'Wythall' has an interesting way of choosing words.
It doesn't feel entirely rotten to be invited toward the circle. Dima also isn't ready to trust a man who smiles so readily at strangers.
He steps forward, gives a suspended look to the man's hand—
And doesn't reach for it.
Instead, Dima glances at the silent figure, looks to Wythall again.
And Dima would like to attempt to discern whether there is anything trustworthy about this scene at all.
[INS: 21]
<.>
The seated figure seems sketchy as fuck in his hood, with his taciturn behavior and curt gestures.
Upon reflection, Dima might get the feeling this is intentional, as though he has just walked into the middle of something.
Wythall apparently genuinely wants to make Dima's acquaintance.
Roll another perception check?
[PERC: 11]
There's nothing about either of them to trigger alarm bells, but Dima notices Wythall isn't wearing shoes.
<.>
The sense of walking into the middle of something doesn't deter Dima in the slightest. If anything, it only encourages his curiosity.
His eyes linger on the man's feet a moment longer before he looks up again. Still not reaching for Wythall's hand, though he bows his head in acknowledgement, and speaks with undaggered courtesy: "A pleasure, Wythall. And it is a rarity, to meet such companionability in the midnight wilds.
"My name is Altair." He cants his head in a sideways nod, then looks toward the seated figure.
"And you? This fire is your work?
"I take it you bear a name, as well?"
[DEC: 15]
<.>
"Oh! Well, we have a gentleman in our midst!" Wythall is grinning now, speaking - apparently - to his companion, though his theatricality causes his voice to project somewhat. It seems he has interpreted Dima's nod as an actual bow.
The hooded man has only watched through this exchange, drawing his hand up to what is likely his mouth in apparent contemplation. When addressed, it takes him longer than one might expect to respond.
"Might as well call me 'Altair', too. The fire's mine. The name isn't.
"But you might as well, since it's not yours, either."
Dima just barely stops himself from scowling. Manages to hold his expression unwavered - thanks you, years of practice in diplomatic negotiations - and even arches an eyebrow, cants his head and keeps his eyes fixed on the hooded figure, watching Wythall from his periphery.
"It isn't, and it is. As I conjured the name first, I believe it is more in my claim than your own.
"Still. If you insist—
"Tell me, Altair: Have I interrupted something."
<.>
Wythall falls still, clearly watching both of the men before him, head turning with each comment as though following a tennis ball. Awkwardly, he motions towards a stack of wood nearby and makes noises about feeding the fire.
There's a sound from 'Altair' that might be a huffed laugh, as thought Dima's reply caught him off-guard.
"What could you possibly be interrupting?" He raises his head just enough that firelight briefly illuminates his face: young, ought-to-be-joyful, smiling. The light catches his eyes oddly, the way it would an animal's, but only for a split second.
<.>
Oddly, Dima's first clear thought is that he'd like a longer, better look at this pseudo-Altair's face.
(And he'd like to hear that laugh again. Strange, it's... Very strange, that he should entertain this thought at all.)
He hasn't lost track of Wythall's movements. Or in any case, Dima attempts to keep an ear and eye half-toward the man's motions while his eyes hold fixed on (Wythall's 'friend') ('the boy') ('Altair,' whose eyes seems briefly set aglow) the seated stranger.
He flexes his fingers against the air idly, a habitual gesture of contemplation and pitches his voice just a little more arch, a little eased in velvet: "I might spend the night in guessing; I find it far more expeditious to ask."
And, cocking a finger toward 'Altair': "Or do you find this overbold?"
There's something else.
As he cocks his finger, as he points at the seated stranger and finishes the question, Dima casts message, whispers soft, soft, lips near motionless: ’Do you know this man.’
[PERC: 13]
<.>
Both Dima and 'Altair' have failed the perception check and no longer are keeping track of Wythall.
For 'Altair's' part, his attention is wholly fixed on this newcomer and the sensation of a voice whispering in his ear. When he cocks his head again, his eyes are visible and focused entirely on Dima - and slowly, he shakes his head.
No, not overbold.
No, he doesn't know this man.
It takes him a moment to tear his gaze from the 'other Altair' under the pretense of giving some attention to Wythall --
Who is no longer visible in the clearing.
Rollllll for initiative.
[ Faolan: 4 Wythall: 13 Dima: 6 The Awakened Shrubs encircling your campfire: 19 ]
In the brief time during which Dima and the hooded figure have been interacting and Wythall has disappeared from the clearing, seven ambulatory shrubs have left their motionless positions on the periphery of the clearing and begin to move in. Two reach the men quickly, though the others are closing in.
The shrub closest to Faolan makes its first attack with advantage and hits for 3 points of slashing damage.
The shrub closest to Dima rolls a total of 18 on its attack without advantage, which I believe is a hit. Dima also takes 3 points of slashing damage.
Wythall is still nowhere to be seen, and so next up is Dima.
<.>
That's not fucking good.
The shooting pain, the... entirely too many shrubs (it's the FUCKING bushes again), the disappearance of the shoeless fuck, and—
And he doesn't love that the hooded figure was struck. It shouldn't matter, it shouldn't register because he doesn't know this person, but Dima feels his anger sear brighter regardless, and scarcely considers his own pain as he whirls around to catch three godsfucked moving bushes as he casts Burning Hands.
He's angry. And he'll burn down half the forest if he has to.
Dima casts Burning Hands, hits three bushes. All three bushes are instantly incinerated. Watching the bushes burn, Dima steps takes a few steps back to align with the stranger's shoulder, his eyes still fixed toward the remaining bush behind, watching the area at the stranger's back.
He is, of course, watching for signs of Mr. Fucksaken 'Buggery' and any further shrubs. >:c But his turn thus ends!
<.>
At the top of Faolan's turn: he staggers up and back from the swipe taken at him, his hands immediately closing together in preparation for a spell -
He can't do that. The stranger, the one who seems to be an ally in the moment, just drew up protectively alongside him, and no matter how sensible Thunderwave might be, he doesn't think it would be polite. Or grateful. Not if it happened to kill the man.
Plan B, then: he produces a flame in his palm and throws it at the nearest shrub.
Hits for 6 points of damage; the shrub seems to shrink from the fire, but it's still up; with his movement, Faolan is going to make a dash away from Dima into the space left behind by Burning Hands.
And that ends the round, we're back up to the shrubs.
The shrubs divide up, two on each of of the men, and begin to close in once more; they seems to be moving a little more hesitantly towards Dima now that they've seen what he did to their companions.
The one that reaches Dima first makes its attack - 19 (Hit).
No damage; its attack is pretty halfhearted.
The one that reaches Faolan first misses.
<.>
Dima might, might have grinned - just a little flash of teeth - when 'Altair' produced a flame of his own. He felt the heat, heard the magic's crackle, and though he couldn't turn to view the flame, he could enjoy its presence. Briefly.
Just now, he eyes the nearest shrubs. Turns focus to the one beside him - the little shit that took a swing at him - and levels his hand, readying Chill Touch—
But. Before he casts, Dima reaches his open hand into his pocket and draws out a small vial, filled with cindered dust, and sways it between two fingers, staring daggers at the bush as he speaks, voice pitched with a hiss: "Is this what you want?
"I've done it before; I'll do it again."
[INTIM: 21, w/ adv bc the shrubs are already scared of him]
The two shrubs nearest Dima stop - and immediately begin to retreat.
Dima scowls. “That's right.” He attempts to dagger-stab as an opportunity attack, but whiffs it fully, and moves into his combat phase.
Though there's a moment in which Dima is very, very near to giving the retreating bushes a second round of Burning Hands (how dare the shrub duck from his dagger?), he reminds himself that there are more bushes, there's a smiling dickhead somewhere, and—
He turns, the better to see how the stranger is faring, notes the two shrubs.
And Dima casts Control Flame on the campfire, intending to expand it to engulf the nearby shrub that's already taken a hit. This takes out the shrub.
After, Dima will move fifteen feet in the opposite direction of the retreating shrubs.
<.>
Faolan hears something going on between the stranger and his attackers, but he's too preoccupied with the business of avoiding the attacks sent his way by an increasingly hostile shrub.
One of the two on him vanishes in a roar of flame - something he doesn't quite have time to process beyond a note of irritation that his own attack hardly made a dent.
Seeing Dima retreat, he's going to take a run back towards his original position, placing himself in range of the three remaining shrubs.
And now, with Dima just outside range, he'll cast Thunderwave.
A thunderous blast radiates out from Faolan in a fifteen foot radius, blasting the remaining three shrubs with 16 points of damage and hurtling them 10 feet from him; along with them, his pack, embers from the fire, and anything else loose is shoved ten feet in the blast; an audible BOOM shatters the would-be-silence of the night.
Faolan turns in Dima's direction with a grin as though to share in the celebration of a joint victory - but something off to Dima's left catches his eye. His smile vanishes into a look of shock and dismay.
From behind Faolan, a shrieking voice cries out, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” - Wythall running full-tilt at Faolan. The ground shudders once, again, with each impact of large roots as a maple tree stalks into the clearing.
Before Wythall can reach Faolan, he collapses to the ground, suddenly tackled by a larger, lankier man who wastes no time in attempting to plunge a knife in his back.
The two grapple, fighting over Wythall's life. The newcomer darts a look up at Faolan and Dima and shouts in apparent exasperation, "TREE-" before a fist connects with his jaw.
For Faolan's turn, he looks around wildly, thinking - what can he do? He's out of big tricks and he doubts a sword's much use against a tree!
His eyes fall on the stranger - Altair, bleeding, who has plenty of fire to bring something like that down.
In a moment of desperation - or hope, perhaps, that Altair will be able to keep it at bay long enough for Faolan to think up a plan - he casts Healing Word on the other man.
Healing Dima for a total of 7 hit points.
He'll hold his movement for now.
<.>
Halfway up the tree, a hand brushes bark, settles with a press, and a voice speaks softly: "Shhh, shhh. Wouldn't you like to go back to sleep? Don't you feel nicer with your roots in the ground?"
A mere moment later, above the crashing sounds and movements, a voice emanates booming from within the trees branches—
”What is WRONG with all of you?
”I was sleeping? Do you UNDERSTAND this much? I! Was sleeping!
”For what PURPOSE have you brought it on yourselves to wake me UP? You absolute DUNCE.”
The unseen tiefling has cast Thaumaturgy, and end their turn clinging to the branches, being very, very annoyed with the man who woke their sleeping spot.
<.>
The unexpected booming voice emanating across the clearing has brought a momentary halt to the action; Faolan, Wythall. and Wythall's attacker (now at a disadvantage with Wythall atop him) freeze, all three staring at the tree.
More than one of them thinks the tree is speaking. Faolan's hands are still held up in the aftermath of his healing spell.
Almost immediately, the action resumes: the lanky man uses the opportunity to headbutt Wythall.
<.>
There was hardly time to appreciate the sudden blast of thunder (oh, but it was exhilarating magic!). There was hardly time to register the reappearance of the man of shoeless grins, or the fact that the newcomer looks VERY FAMILIAR and sounds MORE FAMILIAR STILL, and if it were any other time that voice alone might bring on a sudden headache.
There's hardly time to appreciate the fact that he's just been healed by the hooded stranger, the alternate Altair, though Dima does take a moment to revel in the image of eyes almost aglow before—
Before the tree. Fucking. Speaks??
It might not be the tree.
It. Might. Be the tree.
And Dmitri Aubric Voronin, in a moment of calculated brilliance, points vehemently toward Wythall and calls out, very informatively: "You can thank that yolk-brained practitioner for disturbing you. I'm sure we'd all prefer you continue with your nap."
Then, shifting his finger to the tree - just in case? - he Messages in Common: ’Can you hear me?’
He's also going to take this opportunity to move ten feet to the side— Brushing a hand against 'Altair's as he moves in a gesture that is very, very like a gentle 'follow me' tug.
The tree is momentarily hesitant in its plodding steps as the voice comes roaring from its branches. Stopping where it is, it begins to shake itself, limbs flailing and sweeping dangerously. It's seemingly aware there is something humanoid far too close to its trunk.
Rin, make an athletics check.
[ATH: 22]
Rin manages to hang on just fine, and for the moment they evade any limbs that might swing a little too close to their head.
<.>
The voice from the tree DOES loudly exclaim “RUDE”, however.
<.>
Annnd we are back at the top of the round, which is Faolan -
Who at the moment has no idea what to do, but 'Altair' has given his hand a small (nice?) (kind?) ((not unpleasant??)) tug, and the man seems to know what he's doing - more than Faolan does, at any rate. He follows, his gaze cutting from the tree to the wrestlers to the tree once more.
He'll hold his action.
<.>
The voice from the tree echoes again: ”Oh, this is NONSENSE.”
If the tree isn't going to be reasonable, and if no one is going to stop whatever the tree is up to, Rin is going to attempt to scramble-leap from its branches to the ground, though first they’ll take a stab at the tree with one of their shortswords.
[ATTK: 7, miss. The tree's thrashing makes it impossible to land a decent hit; their blade glances off the bark and the tree doesn't notice the attack attempt at all. ]
A string of Infernal curses sound loudly from the branches, and Rin will now attempt their scramble!
[ATHL: 17. They land unscathed save for maybe a hair out of place.]
Whatever movement they have left, they're using to move back and in the non murder thumb direction! While fixing the out of place hair back into their cloak.
<.>
Wythall, now at a disadvantage and bleeding from the nose, has been distracted from his combat by the tiefling leaping to the ground. (Above him, so has Sen, who is looking oddly at Rin, one hand pulled back with a knife's butt threatening to land a blow to Wythall's head.)
He begins to wriggle with more intent, reaching and shouting, “Get away from my tree!” as he struggles to break free from Sen's hold.
Faolan whips around ("YOUR tree?") and acts suddenly, releasing Altair's hand (how long was he holding...?) and using the remainder of his movement to run at Wythall and Sen, drawing his scimitar as he rushes them.
And he's going to attempt to bring an attack down on Wythall's upper torso / head / neck area. Wythall is pinned and prone beneath Sen, so Faolan gets advantage., amd—
Faolan catches Wythall in the shoulder for four points of slashing damage; the man screams, but continues his struggle to free himself.
<.>
(There was a hand twined with his own, and he feels its lingered impression even as he tracks the scene unfolding, even as he reacts.)
Having determined that the tree was not in fact speaking, and seeing that 'Altair' (a little, little flex of his hand as he thinks the name) and the all-too-familiar loudmouth have Wythall in hand, Dima is going to move within ten feet of the tree and cast Burning Hands in an upward cone, figuring that if he can't take down the fucking thing, he can at least set it aflame.
<.>
The tree begins to burn, sustaining first 11, then 22 points of fire damage. There's a sound like a roar, branches flailing, the roots stomping wildly as it attempts to shake off the fire.
Behind Dima, Wythall is shouting crazed protests.
It would seem the tree is vulnerable to fire damage.
The tree is, however, still standing. And it is now said tree's turn.
Enraged, it 'turns' toward Dima and Rin and throws itself forward, the wide spread of its limbs hurtling towards the ground.
Rin and Dima each sustain seven points of bludgeoning damage and learn a very important lesson about the reach of the tree.
Which is 10ft.
[note: When Fae healed him, Dima got a few extra, temporary hit points. Which is very good because otherwise he would be very unconscious oops.]
Seeing the tree first burst into flames, then throw itself at his allies, Faolan feels a clench of panic in his chest. He turns back to Wythall and draws his dagger, now wielding both blades.
Fae gets two attacks with dual wield; first one hits. Second one bARELY hits
[FAE HOW DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS.]
As Sen grapples the writhing man and pins him to the ground, Faolan stabs deep into the man's chest with his scimitar; for good measure, he draws a clean line across Wythall's throat with his dagger.
As the man falls still, so does the tree. After a moment or two, the only noises in the clearing is the combined sounds of the four survivors' breathing and the crackling of fire as the now-still tree continues to burn.
Faolan straightens and begins wiping the blood from his blades on the hem of his tunic as he turns back to look for the two survivors of the tree's onslaught.
Rin is already up, tail flicking sharp in irritation, and moving away from the tree thank you very much, brushing more than a few out of place hairs back. They are absolutely scanning the area around the campfire for bags, trinkets, anything that may have been left. Moving toward the newly minted corpse and whatever the body might be holding.
Dima takes a little longer to extricate himself from the burning wreck, telling himself that maybe, maybe he should be more careful with fire, though most of his attention is on the stranger (his alter Altair) (the man whose hand took his own, who followed when he nudged) and the image of the kill he was barely, fortunately able to glimpse.
That was beautifully done.
As he pulls himself up, dusting himself off and favoring the fallen tree with a brief scowl, he finds the stranger turned in his direction. There's not another glance for the tree; Dima moves toward 'Altair,' speaking as he approaches—
"I saw that." The kill, he means. And the magic. And— Oh, everything. He bows his head, extends his hand, palm upward, an offering to clasp. "Dmitri Voronin."
And: "I'd like to know your name."
Yes, Dima is bruised; yes, Dima is bleeding. No, he doesn't care, though he does flick a concerned look toward the man's own wounds.
<.>
Faolan watches 'Altair approach with something almost like concern in his expression; he looks worse for the wear and a tree did just fling itself at him. However, whatever his wounds may be, the man -
Dmitri.
Seems -
Seems.
Voronin, he said. There's a flicker of unease in Faolan's expression and whatever else might have been going through his head, it's replaced now with his usual reminders to be cautious. Don't trust, don't speak too much or confidentially. (Don't hope for anything better than what's been left.)
His gaze flickers down to the hand extended, then away - briefly - to the corpse. (Which is being rummaged through by their erstwhile ally.)
No longer shadowed by the hood that has fallen back, but by the fallen deep night, he returns his attention to Dmitri and offers a tight smile. The proffered hand - the hand he so recently held (and never will again) (why should it matter?) - is left unanswered. " 'Altair' had a nice ring to it, but I'm afraid 'Faolan Rhys' will have to do."
<.>
Sen was preoccupied with the sight of the Tiefling, whose tail flicks very charmingly, and really, who ever thought a tiefling could LOOK so - charming, yes. Even in a fit of irritation. Even battered up by a tree. (He can't look much better, himself. Wythall got in a blow or two. Or four.)
He watches until the group begins to gather, unmoving from his seated perch on the corpse. However, the nearness of Dmitri - who he was planning to rob anyway - sets him in motion. He begins digging through Wythall's clothing, coming up with a few interesting items. He feels rather badly about pocketing them, though. Gold, he'll take. The rest? Well.
"When you two are through flirting," he interrupts. "I'm going to take the gold. And any you've got in your pockets. Dima here can explain our arrangement." A beat as he examines a bag, opening it and peering inside, then reaching a hand in - and then his arm to the elbow, fitting into inexplicable space. He withdraws and tosses it up to (at) Dmitri. "That's none of my nevermind. For a shoeless bastard, he has a lot of salvage, hasn't he? I -"
His eyes light on Rin once more and words (for once) (not for the last time) leave him.
AND. An inspection of the corpse will turn up: - The bag tossed to Dima - 30 GP, 5 SP, 3 CP in a pouch, now in Sen's pocket - An unlabeled potion - A gemstone - A pearl.
One last loot item: - A small onyx raven totem.
Additionally, the party receives 220 XP per person.
<.>
That name, at least, explains the shift in the stranger's demeanor. Explains the hand left untaken (though it doesn't erase the sting).
Dima ought to be wary, he knows. He ought to feel ire, perhaps; if not at this man (really, Dima never was convinced that the blame for that entire 'situation' lay outside the familial 'friend' who couldn't keep his mouth shut, for fuck's sake), then at the fact that even miles upon miles away, Dima can't escape Morovsk's more mundane dramas.
If he feels any flare of pique, it's that this moment should have been marred by wayward histories. It's that the hand he'd anticipated in his own has been withheld.
If he feels worry, it's at the thought - briefly-twisting with soft panic - that the man might flee.
He hasn't let silence settle long before he speaks, voice musing, his eyes just a little wary but without hostility—
"Faolan." A name, a curl of sounds he lingers on, lets himself taste perhaps a moment too long. Taking space to breathe after, letting the name settle between them (thinking he'd like to say it again) (thinking this name never ought to have been tarnished with calumny, or spoken on lesser tongues). Then: "You're very forthright, aren't you?"
He considers his still-suspended hand a little sadly, wistful, fingers flexing in the empty air before he lets his hand drift to his side. He hasn't stopped watching the man (Faolan); he has no desire to ever cease watching this man.
"I thank you for that, and for your aid earlier." Dima attempts a crooked smile. "I'd have fared far worse without it."
"As for the rest—" He taps his fingertips against his thigh, cants his head. "I hope you aren't thinking of slipping off."
((note: bracketed words are spoken in Infernal))
Rin, meanwhile, has made it over to the corpse, and to the elf who's making very quick work of emptying each and every pocket. (Well, he's not bad at it. He's got a method, and that counts for something, even if Rin would have preferred to take dibs on rifling.) They give the body a nudge with their boot, still very cross with this man, watching the elf begin divvying goods. They don't care at all about the bag - let the caster have that - but regarding the rest—
"All of it? Excuse me, but I don't believe this [shit-for-tits] bastard turned your accommodations into a waking nightmare.
"I was sleeping, for what it's worth! He and his tree woke me up, and it's only fair that I take some compensation." A pause as they tilt their head, evidently listening to a series of soft sounds somewhere in their cloak, then nod. "Curio too. We were both sleeping."
Rin's just going to snag the pearl before the elf can get his hands on that! It's while Rin's slipping the pearl into their hand - and, why not, snagging the gemstone as well - that they catch the elf's eyes and pause mid-motion, thinking, thinking (not disliking what they see; this one's rather a dashing rogue, if a little bruised up), and—
"I think I've seen your face before. I'm very bad with faces, but you— You have quite a distinct, what is it, visage, do you know?"
<.>
He was thinking of slipping off, as a matter of fact, and his expression clearly speaks this intention before surprise shifts first to wariness, then to something not unlike weariness.
When it comes to people who know Faolan's name, there are two types of nobles: those who react negatively, and those who think of him only as utile.
Easy.
Whoring.
To be fair, he was. For a time.
(He doesn't have the heart for it.) (Not after -) (Don't think about it.)
Dmitri Voronin wants him to remain. There's no trouble guessing what else he wants. No trouble either in shattering those hopes.
Other than the commotion of the approaching tiefling and the elf ransacking Wythall's body, that is. Faolan begins twice to reply, interrupted once by his own exasperation as he takes the bag slapped against his arm.
There's too much here to process all at once (or perhaps he's been too long away from people?) between Dmitri (Dima?), the elf, the tiefling, and who- or whatever 'Curio' might be. After one final failed attempt at speaking, he only shakes his head and turns away to look for his pack. It was blown somewhere by the force of his spell. Whether or not Dmitri follows him, he finally replies neutrally, "I'm not staying. I'll find another fire for the night."
<.>
There's an exasperated look toward the perpetual chatter-mer, and Dima half-considers Messaging the jackass to stay right where the fuck he is and stop looting the body before discarding the idea; he doesn't really, really want to invite a response in-kind. Particularly not when Faolan (has he ever heard the name spoken without rancor before this night?) (that, too, is a crime) is already moving off. In any case, there's little chance of the mer slipping off without another word; Dima simply isn't that lucky.
So the fuss around the corpse is ignored, half-forgotten, and Dima keeps close to the not-quite-stranger, thinking a shock of thunder and a ball of flame, a knife drawing blood down an open throat; thinking the firmness of a hand against his own; thinking how beautifully blond hair catches moonlight.
Thinking as well that Faolan is awfully focused on finding something, and keeping his own eyes peeled as they travel the campsite, and as Dima speaks: "I don't believe that's necessary.
"If nothing else, you really ought to have your wounds seen to." Dima starts to reach forward, to settle a hand near a deep-lashed cut— But stops himself. (Faolan seems wary.) (Perhaps that's fair; certainly, it's a suggestion that Dima ought to take some care in his acts.) Instead, he furrows his brow and glances around the treeline, rolls his eyes. "Gods know what else our plant-loving shithead may have stirred up out there."
He catches sight of something. A likelihood, a hunch, and Dima settles his foot on a knapsack's strap. "Is this what you're after?"
<.>
He's being followed.
What is it Voronin wants? (And is this the eldest one, the one everyone knows is ruthless, is vicious and - well, didn't he see how Dmitri fights? Dangerous.) (Beautiful -)
(Beautiful men were always the problem for Faolan, and the problem WITH beautiful men is the damage they can do. The lies they can make a young man believe.)
He turns back to respond that there's likely nothing else 'stirred up' by Wythall, only to see Voronin has found his belongings.
Voronin is standing on his belongings, as though Faolan can't simply lift him and move him to the side -
Which means touching him.
No. He won't give him the satisfaction of that.
His gaze raises from his pack and settles on Voronin (not his eyes, only his face, there'll be no getting caught in a (blue-eyed) gaze and swept up, none of that!) His expression resounds with the same weariness, more pronounced now than a moment ago.
"There won't be any more - not shrubs or trees. Not with him dead. I'll be fine."
And. "Thank you for your concern."
He stoops to take up his pack despite the foot pinning it down, stopping only when he meets resistance. Faolan looks up (oh, blue, they are very blue even in the dark -) and, with a soft, patient (tired, and firm, and final) voice, says, "Please."
<.>
Faolan isn't really here.
Not entirely; not in his heart. Whatever ran between them during the fight - when their eyes first locked across the fire; when their hands twined; when a glow-eyed stranger offered healing words - it's turned disparate.
(It was Dmitri's name that did it.) (It was the weight of a history that's never hit close to Dima, was more story than truth for him, but must run deep for this man.) (Doesn't Dima know the look of mistrust when he sees it. Doesn't he know the sight of bone-deep weariness.)
For the first time in speaking with Faolan, Dima looks - and Dima feels - uncertain. Thinks he's misunderstood or missed something vital, and his expressed turns clouded, turns worried as he steps backward, off of the pack, eyes darting toward the ground, toward the trees— Before finding Faolan's again.
He isn't willing to lose that sight just yet.
He isn't willing to— To let this man leave? To fail to give him cause to stay?
Dima opens his mouth to speak; finds no words, finds only the shadow of an inhale. Bites his lip, tries again, and—
"Stay."
It's more request than command (he meant it to sound firmer than it does; there's no helping it now), and he quickly follows, half stumbles in his words to add: "For a brief while, at least. If you won't—" A blink; a glance at the sky, then back. "If you won't remain through the night, or if you can't, at least permit some manner of discussion.
"We ought to discuss what happened here tonight. You and I and— Those two, if they can be stalled in their plundering."
He makes himself cease speaking (before he can say too much) (before he can level demands) (before he finds himself spilling into pleas). He doesn't take his eyes from Faolan's.
<.>
He should leave. He should take his now-liberated pack and go somewhere, anywhere else, far away from Dmitri Voronin. (His eyes. His interest. His hair glinting in moonlight like raven feathers, like obsidian.) He's dangerous. Faolan knows what he's after; he can't be trusted.
No one can be trusted. Isn't that why he fled to the forests?
Wordlessly, he straightens and shoulders his pack. It takes an act of will to look away (it doesn't take anything else, though, and thank the gods for that small blessing.)
He makes it five steps past Dmitri with the vague notion of slipping away into the shadows of the trees, but there was that 'stay' and the way it was spoken. (The look that accompanied it. The way Voronin stumbled into babbling. The way he bit his lip and seems to know -
What?
What does he know about Faolan? Nothing. Nothing at all. He wants what he sees, he wants the rumor he knows. Just like any other.)
That 'stay' echoes in his head, a request - an offer of a choice.
He tells himself he really doesn't care to find somewhere else to sleep. That he doesn't know these woods as well, that maybe it would be wiser to remain and slip off at daybreak when he's rested.
He corrects his course towards the fire as though it was his intention all along to resume his seat beside it.
Well, his blanket was here, as well. He tells himself he didn't want to leave it behind.
Blandly, he tosses out a warning. "If either you or your friend try rifling through my trousers for anything at all, someone will lose a hand."
<.>
It's something, anyway.
That Faolan - who, yes, looked for all the world as if he was about to disappear - turns back toward the fire. That Faolan settles in, and Dima thinks that every minute the man stays is a win, is another chance to keep from losing him.
Now that the man's moved away, Dima is also becoming cognizant of his own weariness, and of the way his ribs ache with each breath (bruised? maybe; he'll need to do something about that), of the sensation of blood welled along his arm. Probably, he ought to sit. And if he doesn't return to the fire, the godsforsaken mer is liable to make off with the entire corpse.
So Dima heads toward the group, careful not to approach too near to Faolan (though he wants to); careful to project his intention to settle on the opposite side of the fire.
He doesn't sit immediately. Instead, he (looks at Faolan first; he can't help that) glances at the mer and the tiefling, looks at the paltry remains of Wythall's loot. Finds the tiefling tossing an item - a stone raven (!?) - idly from one hand to the other, and on impulse, Dima attempts to grab it from the air.
<.>
[DEX, d: 19 DEX, r: 18]
Dima is able to quite deftly snatch the raven out of the air.
Over the course of the evening, Sen and Fae will attempt to coax the spoils of victory into a pile for Equal Division, though Sen argues Rin ought to keep at least the gemstone.
Faolan is experimenting with the bag that was thrust upon him.
<.>
Dima would like to investigate the raven totem in particular for any magical properties. He'd also like to do the same for any of the remaining/visible loot.
Rin, who has just vocally protested the raven theft - they were enjoying a nice game of catch with their new mer maybe(?)-friend! - will be attempting to hide the gemstone and pearl, and will be reluctant to admit the existence of either.
<.>
[DEC, r: 17]
Sen begins to wonder if maybe he just misplaced the gemstone and pearl. Clearly, Rin doesn't have them.
Fae isn't fooled by any of this, but doesn't exactly care that Rin has them; he will (now or later) quietly try to pull Rin aside and ask just to see the items to confirm a theory he has.
[ARC, d: 23]
The totem is clearly an item of power, though Dima is certain there's nothing quite like it that he's ever encountered or even heard about. It hums with energy somewhat removed from itself, as though it bears a connection with someone - or some*thing*.
The longer Dima holds the totem, the less he will want to part with it.
Roll a wisdom saving throw.
[WIS, d: 19]
Dima might feel a sensation in his mind as though something has attempted to influence him to do more than keep the totem, but it isn't strong enough to break through his formidable defenses.
What would he like to do with the totem?
<.>
He's wary regarding this sensation, but it absolutely isn't enough to get him to pitch the totem, and he certainly isn't going to mention the sensation to anyone. He'd like to wrap the totem in the set of fine clothes in the set of fine clothes in his pack, and tuck the bundle in the center of the pack for safekeeping.
...And he is going to very pointedly.
Look at Sen. Look at Rin. Keep his eyes fixed on Rin and vow that if anYthing happens to the raven, there will be blood. "You can KEEP the rest as you like. I believe I've earned this one."
[INTIM, d: 12]
<.>
Sen is now determined to steal the totem.
Rin also was unimpressed by that effort, so up to you there.
<.>
Rin is currently determined to steal the totem! >:o! They'll show this ridiculous man!
There is, however, a very good chance that Rin will forget about the totem by the time half an hour has passed.
Rin will in fact absolutely have forgotten it in half an hour.
It's a cool raven but not that cool.
Dima is just going to. Plan on cuddling his pack tonight. He does not trust either of you.
And hmmm, Rin would like to know what for! They don't know you at all!
<.>
Fae will pull Rin aside and ask to see the items they're keeping and, if they allow, will run his own Arcana check.
Fae explains his suspicion that Wythall was using one of those items to control the plants.
<.>
Rin watches suspiciously.
Considers.
And: "Well. You'll have to promise to give them back."
And: "If you don't, I'll simply steal them back along with everything you have. c:”
<.>
Fae: "Don't have much."
<.>
Rin - watching very alert! - hands Fae the gemstone and pearl.
"Then I'll wait until you do." Humph!
<.>
Arcana check: 10, which meets or beats.
He's aware the gemstone is the item he suspects had to do with the plants' awakening, but he doesn't know the extent of the spell, whether the gemstone was a focus, or whether it held (or still holds) any charges.
He thinks the pearl might be a similar item - capable of holding a single spell - but he can't be sure.
He tells Rin to hang on to those; they might be more valuable in their pocket than sold to a merchant.
Fae starts to walk away after that, but catches sight of Dima, falters, then doubles back and pulls out the bag Sen gave him.
"I'll trade you for that pearl."
<.>
Rin is busy catching firelight in the gemstone; they might be attempting to discern the magic for themself (not really), or simply admire the craftsmanship (yes). At the man's words, their brow furrows; they don't want to lose the pearl, but it's a little heartening that the guy's making ago for it. Rin wouldn't trust someone who takes no interest in pearls!
"Okay, well. What's the bag do?
"If you say 'It's just a bag,' I might screech.
"Don't say 'It's just a bag.' :/"
<.>
"Well - it is just a bag. And it isn't." He laughs a little and, instead of trying to explain, turns the bag inside out. More rocks than rightly ought to fit in the bag - far. far more - come tumbling out onto the ground.
Got a decent pile of rocks at his feet now.
<.>
Rin is— Not not impressed. And they can see some definite uses for this bag; there often is more loot than they can rightly manage. So there's definite interest in their voice as they speak: "You're going to need an excavation at this rate. HM!”
"The bag for my pearl. H m."
"There's got to be a reason you're so keen to trade it. >:/" But! A clap of their hands, a sharp-toothed grin. "I'm feeling rather whimsical right now, so I shall take you on your offer."
They reach the pearl toward Faolan, though they will NOT be relinquishing hold until the bag is in their hand!
Also they may or may not be eyeing the pile of rocks. There could be nice stones in there!
<.>
Fae lets them have the bag before taking the pearl, patiently smiling all through: if he loses the bag and the pearl, he's no worse off than he was an hour ago.
And the rocks are in fact just rocks, but maybe one has a nice shape or some pretty striations.
And if there's no further loot business, Fae isn't going to urge anyone towards sleeping (Long Rest), but he himself will set up his hammock under a makeshift tent and sleep - pearl safely tucked away in one of his pockets.
<.>
Rin spends a few more minutes examining their gemstone before feeling a little - just a little! - bit guilty about having pretended it out of existence in front of the elf. So they're just going to flash Sen a smile and a glimpse of the gemstone before they scurry up the nearest tree, giving it a firm talking-to about not waking up on them please and thank you.
And Dima—
Knowing that it might not be the best idea to sleep so near a totem that's already flared some power. But also knowing he doesn't trust Sen a goddamn inch. Is going to set up his blanketroll against a tree, attempting a vantage where he can see both Faolan and Sen (if the elf hasn't disappeared... like the tiefling who went fuck knows where), and will keep the pack in his arms within the bedroll as he seeks sleep.
<.>
Sen, pleased that Rin has found the gemstone once more (and even more pleased to be the recipient of a smile) will be sleeping upright against the trunk of the tree where Rin has taken up residence.
And Dima, please make another Wisdom saving throw, this time with disadvantage as he is asleep.
[WIS, 18]
Excellent c: The night passes without incident.
Mostly.
When they all awaken the next morning, they are no longer in the clearing.
All four of you find yourselves on a lonely dirt road at the outskirts of a small village. Its houses are dark as tombstones; nestled among these solemn swellings are a handful of boarded-up shops and a long-abandoned tavern.
A soft whimpering draws your attention to a pair of children standing in the middle of an otherwise lifeless street. The smaller of the pair - a boy clutching a stuffed doll - is weeping, and the taller - a girl of about ten - is trying to hush him.
<.>
The first thing Dima does - jolting awake and half-upright - is make certain Faolan's still near.
The second is to reach into his pack, to feel the bundled clothes for the shape of the raven.
Once he's assured both remain, he rises to a crouch, examining the scene they've... What, been brought to? (Is this a dream?) That's been brought to them? He scans for signs of movement, signs of life. Sees that Sen is still present (wonderful; fantastic) and sees—
Okay well. They. Might be children. They look like children.
Dima would like to try to discern whether he can see anyone apart from the children, and/or whether the children from this distance appear to be actual living breathing children.
Rin meanwhile is cross all over again, because trees are supposed to be reliable and very stable places to pass the night. This is twice they've been betrayed by trees! Where did the tree even go.
Whatever the case, they don't like being in the open in such a strange place. Rin's going to leap to their feet, tail curling around their calves, trying to decide whether they've seen this place before. They're also going to try to stick to the edge of this little group they've found themself with, staying closest to the tall (he's very tall, isn't he?) elf.
And, completely brushing past the fact that one of the children is crying, they call out a question: "Is this where you live?"
<.>
Faolan wakes nearer to Dmitri than he was when he fell asleep - and much further from his hammock.
He doesn't like this. Not the town, abandoned though it might be, or waking disoriented with the only familiarity a pair of thieves and - a Voronin.
But they are familiar. Enough.
He rises and nears Sen, who is also getting to his feet with an apparent lack of perturbation.
The elf immediately begins his chatter, calling out to Rin warmly, "Doubtful they live in the street here. Maybe ask them something other. Ask if there's a tavern!"
Faolan places a hand on Sen's elbow and with a disgruntled frown, shakes his head 'no'.
[PERC, d: 11]
As far as Dima can tell, there's no one else around. The children look like flesh and blood children.
At Rin's question, the girl hushes the boy gently once more, then turns to the party and calls out, "We live there!"
She points to a tall brick row house that has certainly seen better days. Its windows are dark. It has a gated portico on the ground floor and the rusty gate is slightly ajar. The houses on either side are abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up.
"There's a monster in our house!" she adds tearfully.
<.>
Rin mutters in a voice just loud enough to be picked up by the nearest elf, "Is the monster called 'dilapidation'?" Still, it's likely worth a look; they've snagged remarkably valuable treasure from homes more ruined.
Dima examines the house, trying to determine whether he's seen architecture of the like before, mostly just trying to get some lay of the land. He glances at his three— Well, they might be called traveling companions at this point, yes? Then steps toward the children, clears his throat, and speaks in a voice intended to be courteous, if not quite friendly (how does one behave with children?): "Is there?"
And: "What manner of monster."
<.>
Sen trots away from Faolan to join Rin, so Fae first approaches Dima, then moves past him when the boy begins to cry again.
He likes children. (Always might've wanted one, himself.) (Ha.) He kneels and speaks in a low, comforting voice to the boy, drawing his attention to a serious discussion about his doll.
The girl, freed of the responsibility of comforting a smaller child, heroically sniffs against her own tears, then replies to Dima, "We don't know. We only heard its terrible howls. Our father keeps it locked away, but I think it got loose - oh, please help!"
Her reserves of strength run dry and she begins to sob, as well. Seeing this, the boy's own crying is renewed, and he latches on to Fae for comfort.
<.>
Oh... No.
Dima shifts an uncertain glance toward Faolan, who seems not at all uneasy with these children, then throws a glance back toward Sen and the tiefling, a look that might very well be a small, small cry for help. He doesn't know what to do about the crying. The information, though, he can use. So he takes a few steps near, looking more at the battered house than the child, and nods to himself, speaks again, voice unwavered: "Where is your father?"
Rin has never, never been good with children. Or people, for that matter. They have half a mind to slip off toward the house immediately, and they give the elf's side a subtle nudge, try to meet his eyes and nod toward the house.
<.>
Sen doesn't mind children, generally speaking. However, something about this situation is unsettling him, and he can't say why; while he doesn't really care to go into the house, he likewise doesn't want to stay out here.
He catches Rin's suggestion, but with a glance and nod, indicates they ought to take the other two.
Firepower. Literally. Just in case there's aCTUALLY monster.
The girl's response gives Fae a sick feeling in his stomach: she points at the house.
If she believes there's a monster and her father is in there, a corpse might be all they find.
He draws back and cups the boy's face, then places a large hand on the girl's arm. "We'll help. Or - "
He looks back at Dima imploringly - and notes Sen is already making a stealthy little beeline for the house. One last look for Dima, then he turns back and continues with renewed certainty -
"I'll help. It'll be all right. You wait out here. Right there, beside the gate."
[note: Information Fae learned while speaking with the boy: His name is Thorn. His sister's name is Rose. They are seven and ten, respectively. The doll's name is Hildabear. ]
<.>
If Dima had any intention of straying from the house - he didn't, really; he's intrigued by this supposed monster, and by whatever's brought this village to its sapped state - it would have been shattered by the looks Faolan casts his way, and dispersed to the wind when the man stands beside him. He nearly smiles; reminds himself that it really isn't the time.
Dima wants to follow Faolan, starts to follow Faolan, but - not particularly wondering whether one should question a crying child - has one more question for the girl: "How long has your village been this way?"
Rin, meanwhile, has begun to follow Sen, arcing a wide berth around the children. They're going to attempt to peer through the closest window and see what waits within, and how, mm, wealthy the inhabitants seem to be.
<.>
The girl only looks around tearfully as though seeing the village around them for the first time. She shakes her head helplessly. "It wasn't always like this."
With that, she and her brother settle themselves on the ground by the gate. Rose bundles up Thorn in an embrace, and both of them watch the four.
Looking in one of the windows, Rin can see a lavish, oak-paneled room that looks like a hunter's den. A chandelier hangs above a cloth-covered table surrounded by four chairs. The room is dark and they can't make out much else from this vantage.
Directly across from the window is a doorway leading to another, darkened room.
Entering the portico of the house, the group will find the gate is rusted and oil lamps hang from the ceiling by chains, flanking mahogany double doors with stained glass windows. These open easily, revealing a grand foyer.
Hanging on the south wall of the foyer is a shield emblazoned with a coat-of-arms, flanked by portraits of stony-faced aristocrats. At the far end of the hall is another set of mahogany double doors.
What would everyone like to do?
<.>
Rin is going to suggest that everyone be as quiet as they can. "Hey. I don't know how much time you, all of you spend as— Visitors. In other homes. How are you at subtlety?" Mostly, they're looking at Faolan and Sen. Given the 'burning down the tree' incident, Rin has sort of written off Dima for subtlety at the moment. "In case the monster's got ears, or things like ears."
<.>
Fae exchanges a glance with Dima, then Sen, and realizes maybe Rin is talking about him.
Sen, Rin, and Fae immediately begin to stealthily make their way through the house - as Dima trips, crashes into the shield, and brings it down with a clatter.
After a minor hesitation, Fae doubles back, delicately grasps Dima's (not hand) wrist (totally his hand) and whispers, "Stay close."
<.>
Rin throws the most ’Of course you would’ glare in Dima's direction, then looks to Faolan with an imploring expression of ’Please yes keep an eye on thaT.’
Faolan has secured some measure of Rin's respect, stealthy as he is. Dima— Well. The tree burning wasn't bad, but come on.
There's a cant of their head toward Sen, a nod suggesting that they'll move ahead a pace or two, and trust the elf to keep his own stealth.
For Dima, frustration (okay, embarrassment) is quickly overrun with minor dizziness, a sense of gratitude. Logically, he knows Faolan is only mending (probably only mending) a problem. But the man didn't have to take his hand! And knowing Faolan's hold eases Dima, sets him into movements far less clumsy, more attentive to the space of the room.
Dima would like to pause briefly, if possible, and determine whether there is anyone or anything recognizable in the apparent familial portraits.
And. Since he means to pause, he gives Faolan's hand the gentlest pressure.
The people in the portraits are vaguely familiar - Dima might have had dealings with their relations in Morovsk, and would suspect this to be one of the Durst family households. He can't recall where the family is from.
He definitely recognizes their coat of arms on the shield he nearly demolished: A stylized golden windmill on a red field. This would confirm the family name for him.
<.>
Dima notes the information, though he'll keep quiet about it just now, having learned a valuable lesson about noise in ruined houses, and feeling there's something vital he's missing. Better, perhaps, to dig at his own memories before announcing anything; he'll keep the name in mind as they move through the house. For now, he presses Faolan's hand again, nodding forward as if to say, ’Let’s?’
Rin has continued moving toward the closed doors, glancing through the room in search of anything worth snagging on the way out— And, yes, fine, for any signs of watchful eyes or danger, also for those things.
Reaching the door, they pause. If there's a keyhole or crack in the door, they'll peer through it. If not, they'd like to listen for any sounds on the other side.
<.>
There's complete silence on the other side; in fact, aside from the cacophony a moment ago, the house seems utterly lifeless. None of the lanterns or fires are lit, nothing moves, not so much as a creaking stair.
Sen listens as well, and after a moment shakes his head 'no' - he hears nothing either. Pushing the doors open, the party will find a wide hall running the width of the house, with a black marble fireplace at one end and a sweeping red marble staircase at the other.
Mounted on the wall above the fireplace is a longsword with a windmill cameo worked into the hilt.
The wood paneled walls are ornately sculpted with images of vines, flowers, nymphs, and satyrs.
There are five doors leading from the hall to other rooms.
Fae follows the thieves, unresponsive to the press of his hand - but he does look back once at Dima, his eyes full of complicated emotions.
Sen is going for the sword to see if he can pry the cameo off without attracting attention or destroying anything.
[DEX: 22]
The cameo pops off easily and he slips it into his pocket, leaving the sword behind.
<.>
[PERC, r: 3. rin did not see this from sen and so could not be impressed by it alas!]
Rin is very busy prowling the edges of the hall. They're very interested in that staircase. They want to go up that staircase— But then, they're fairly certain monsters are usually found down, and not very often up. (It's a very good reason to sleep in trees! Usually.)
For the moment, they content themself with tracing a clawed fingertip along the sculpted walls, then pausing before the door they're fairly certain leads to the room they saw through that first window.
They're going to gently, quietly nudge it open and peer inside. There didn't seem to be much in there, but caution never hurts.
As they enter the hall, Dima finds he hasn't been breathing much at all, though he can't say whether it's owed to his attempts at keeping quiet, or the look Faolan gave him. He inhales a little deeper, shakes his head slightly, and starts to move toward the mantle. He'd like to take a look at that sword.
He also hasn't let go of Faolan's hand.
<.>
Faolan lets himself be led without protest, giving Dima gentle steering around what might be warping in floorboards. (He is and isn't watching Dima.)
The ceilings of the room - and indeed all of the rooms on this level - are 10-feet high, and Faolan sees nothing worth remarking on about them, or the walls, or - really, this room at all.
Sen meanders to one wall to examine the artwork - flowers, vines, nymphs, satyrs, and -?
He notices something, but says nothing to the group. Instead, he goes looking for Rin and finds himself distracted by what's taken their interest.
Rin will find upon passing through the door the very room they saw through the window. Throughout the room are taxidermied wolves, and before the opulent fireplace are leather chairs and a sidetable between them.
[PERC, d: 19]
"Two padded chairs draped in animal furs face the hearth, with an oak table between them supporting a cask of wine, two carved wooden goblets, a pipe rack, and a candelabrum. Two cabinets stand against the walls."
Inspection of the two cabinets will reveal that the east wall cabinet is locked.
Dima, upon inspecting the sword, determines it's a very nice sword.
<.>
Rin's response on entering the room and facing the taxidermied wolves is a very soft, very sarcastic: “Great.” It's kind of weird having these wolves-not-wolves being dead and close while you're having your fireside wine, right? Right.
Rin would like to check the sidetable for any knick-knacks, papers, or other objects.
They'd also like to get a sniff of the wine in the cask.
Dima looks after the thieves, looks at Faolan, and lifts one shoulder. Nods in their direction with an unspoken 'shall we follow' query.
<.>
Upon inspection, Rin finds nothing of note other than a few pipes. The wine smells like wine.
Sen's attention drifts around the room, lighting briefly on the wolves before settling on the cabinets. He makes his way to the east one, attempts to open it, and finding it locked, produces a set of lockpicks and gets to work.
Following Dima's suggestion, Faolan joins the others in the room - then catches sight of the wolves, freezes into a stony silence, and shakes his head at Dima. Not staying in here.
He'll try to pull free of Dima's hold, thinking he can just wait in the hall or go inspect one of the other rooms.
Sen snaps two of his lockpicks before tsking in irritation and giving up.
<.>
Dima is. Very torn.
He wants to take a look around the room— He also doesn't want to lose sight of Faolan, or leave him when he looks so suddenly uneasy.
For a moment he hesitates, conflict ticking his lip. He looks at Faolan's hand; he hasn't let it go. His fingers flex, begin to loosen pressure—
Then hold where they are. He cants his head at the man, confused, then nods, as if to say, ’As you say, then.’
A moment later, he Messages Faolan: [I know this family. Or I know their crest. Have you noticed anything?]
<.>
He thinks with a sinking sensation that Dmitri Voronin is going to let go. (He'll leave for something more interesting, and won't that just prove Faolan right about all of them?
Everyone goes. Eventually.)
The renewed pressure almost breaks something vital inside him because he knows it means a choice was made. A small one, true. And it doesn't negate anything else; Dmitri will still tire of the chase eventually. (But it's nice to know his revulsion from what he saw in the room won't leave him wandering this house alone. It's nice to know Dmitri perhaps saw his discomfort.) (Nice to have something like a friend, really, even if that's not what Dmitri is after.)
Once again, the man speaks in a way Faolan is certain only he can hear. He can't reply with the same magic, so he swallows and looks around at the hall, then shakes his head. No, he doesn't know anything about these people. (That's unusual for him - he's come into contact with so many nobles.)
His hand holds perhaps a little tighter. It might be dismissed as Dima's imagination, though.
<.>
Back in the other room, Rin, seeing the lock being very rude to Sen, would like to give it a try if they may. It seems like a good idea to check, and no loCk should keep that idea from happening!
[SLEIGHT: 24]
<.>
Rin easily pops the lock on the cabinet and opens it to reveal a heavy crossbow, a light crossbow, a hand crossbow, and 20 bolts for each weapon.
A quick inspection will reveal these are normal weapons with no magic to them whatsoever. But they are in good shape.
<.>
Rin is immediately taking the hand crossbow thank you very much. They lost their last one to an, mm, to a disagreement a few years back and they've missed it very much. Looking over the weapon, they gesture for Sen to take one or both of the others if he likes; after all, this is their joint discovery, and the elf should reap the rewards too!
...Actually.
Actually. Sen saw the cabinet first. Which means, in all fairness, Sen's got dibs. So Rin, after a moment's think, nudges the hand crossbow in his direction; it's only fair.
That's heartening, the way Faolan takes his hand a little tighter (maybe?) (Dima wants to believe it's true) (Dima doesn't know whether it's true, but why not let himself believe, for now?). Dima cants his head at the man, and now he *does* smile; slightly, encouraging. (Trying to set Faolan at ease after whatever caused him to back from the bare sight of that room.)
And, realizing he ought to have explained the magic, realizing there's something he would like to make clear, he Messages again: [When I speak like this, you can respond to me. It's a little like a whisper, Faolan, but no one else will hear... And I'll hear only what you direct my way. Would you like to try it?]
<.>
Sen nudges away the hand crossbow and shakes his head; he can handle the light one just fine - he thinks, anyhow. He's never used one, but how much different from any other bow can it be? In any case, Rin ought to have one sized for them.
(Rin ought to have anything they want. Anything in the world.)
With a nod at the large crossbow and another at the door, he asks without words if one of them ought to be given another weapon. He's content to let this one sit untouched, really, but it's up to Rin.
(He thinks - he might like to follow Rin's whims anywhere they take them.) (Lovely Rin.) (He really would like to run a caress along their horns -)
He's just going to go inspect that other cabinet and stop thinking about Rin's horns.
The way Dima says 'Faolan' - a voice, omnipresent in his ears and mind, unknowable by anyone else, and maybe a little possessive - unsettles him. It's not a good idea to let Dima - Dmitri - get accustomed to ...well. Him. Nearness with him.
He never should have offered his hand.
He does reply - softly, with shuttered eyes: [ I don't know them. ]
And, without challenge (does he have it in him to challenge anymore at all?), he adds:
[ And you don't know me. ]
He looks down at his hand in Dmitri's and back up again.
[ Stealth. Nothing else. ]
<.>
Rin won't argue; if Sen's all right with the light bow, they'll just keep this one, thank you very much! Maybe even put it to use against the monster! If there is a monster, which Rin is still not sure about. (Sometimes people make up monsters. Sometimes Rin makes up monsters. Monsters make for good stories!)
They'll grab the large crossbow after a moment's thought, intending to hand it to the human who has... Not joined them in the room? That's all right; more space for Rin and Sen to seek and take what they please!
Rin will join Sen at the other cabinet, intending to help with the inspection.
Dima—
Well. Dima thinks maybe, maybe he shouldn't have explained the spell. He doesn't know why that went wrong, or what brought what he takes as regret to Faolan's eyes; he only knows that something tenuous seems broken.
Not beyond repair! He thinks. He tells himself. (Was his mistake in mentioning the Durst family? Did it seem a slight to mention such a family, when, when... Gods, he can't fall down those thoughts right now. He has to keep some focus on what's happening. For stealth's sake, if nothing else.)
There's an impulse to withdraw his hand at those last words; it's an impulse Dima fights off, though his hand stiffens slightly, and he looks at their joined hands. Nods, looks back at Faolan: [ Stealth, then.]
A breath. A nod to himself. And: [ Please. If you see anything of note, let me know? I admit it's taking half my focus to keep from knocking over everything I see. Even with your guidance. ]
As Sen passes the doorway - of course intent on the cabinet! - he sees their two companions standing in the hall, looking at one another rather intensely and speaking - Messaging? - words he can't hear.
And holding hands still.
Last night, that boy was chilly to all of them, but Dima most of all. Now, he looks like he's at the bottom of a well and his only hope is that hand.
Or - that could be Sen's fanciful imagination. He IS a bard, after all.
Even so, he nudges Rin and nods at the pair - then sends his own Message to the Tiefling. [ Five silver says one of them creeps into the other's bedroll before the week is out. ]
Faolan thinks maybe he went too far. He didn't mean to hurt Dmitri (better him than Faolan, though, isn't that true?)
(It didn't used to be.) (His heart could take it, then.) (Oh, what he would have risked for those eyes three years ago. For a kiss. For a voice in his ear speaking his name. For a hand in his own like a promise.) (Only ever promises, is the problem.)
In another life, maybe he would have gone back on his words. Maybe he would have flirted, would have liked to catch Dmitri up in a kiss, and maybe their twined hands might have meant something else.
He's sorry. He's terribly sorry. A flicker in his expression says it better than words: regret, resignation - weariness.
Rather than reply, he turns to peer into one of the other rooms.
It proves to be the dining room. The centerpiece of this wood-paneled room is a carved mahogany table surrounded by eight high-backed chairs with sculpted armrests and cushioned seats. A chandelier hangs above the table, which is covered with resplendent silverware and crystalware polished to a dazzling shine. Mounted above the marble fireplace is a mahogany framed painting of an alpine vale.
The wall paneling in here is carved with elegant images of deer among the trees.
Red silk drapes cover the windows and a tapestry depicting hounding dogs and horse-mounted aristocrats chasing after a wolf hangs from an iron rod bolted to the south wall.
Faolan fixates on the tapestry, performs only a perfunctory scan of the room to be sure there's no monster or corpses, and shakes his head again at Dima. [ I’m not going in. ]
A wan smile and press of his hand. [ Unless I'm needed, I'm not going in there. ]
<.>
Rin's eyes light up, and they offer Sen a grin. They've encountered this magic or something of its kind before - it's handy among thieves - and their response follows quickly: [ Oh, delightful! ]
They mean the magic— They also mean the wager. Rin's pretty sure Sen's claimed the better bet already, but that's all right. Five silver's easy enough to steal somewhere if they lose out. [ You're on! Five silver at the end of the week! ]
Which. Come to think of it. Suggests the four of them will be staying together for a week. They'll have to, now that the bet's on! Rin's invested. And though they rarely spend more than a day among company, they find they don't dislike this prospect in the least.
Putting these thoughts on hold, Rin's going to make an attempt at opening cabinet no. 2.
[note: Note: The cabinet opens with ease; within is a small box containing a deck of playing cards and a collection of wine glasses.]
Rin is going to offer the deck to Sen; he looks like the kind of very dashing knave who might excel with cards. The glasses— They'd like to throw a glass. For fun. But no, no, stealth comes first. If Sen seems to see nothing noteworthy in the glasses, Rin's going to start out of the room.
Dima knows a cut across his heart; the regret, the look of erosion in Faolan's expression. It's worse somehow than the distance, the 'nothing else.' (Someone's hurt this boy. It's a thought, a certainty forming with slow ire.) (It's another thought he'll have to shelve for now.) Dima's hand loses its tension, and he measures Fae's regret with open eyes, with the subtlest of nods.
At Fae's words - at, oh, the press of his hand? (just for stealth) (maybe not entirely just for stealth?) - Dima presses back, softly, unimposing. He's going to take a quick look into the room of his own, glancing at no more than what his hold of Fae's hand allows, then return his eyes to Fae.
(Wolves again. A showcasing of hunters again.)
(Is there something about the Durst family and wolves? Are they known for their hunting? What is it itching at Dima's recollection?)
(And what it is that warded Fae from these rooms?)
[ For the moment, the room appears entirely incidental. No monster; no father. ] Another small press of Faolan's hand, and, [ If it becomes necessary, we'll send the thieves in, yes? ]
<.>
Whatever might have been said next - by Sen, by Faolan, by anyone - there's a sound just loud enough to bring a different sort of hush on the group.
Footsteps, perhaps, above them. The sound of distant - crying?
Thinking quickly, Sen hurries past Rin ( [ I'll be right back. ] ) and the two men in the hall, motioning wordlessly that he's stepping outside.
A moment later, he returns, his expression grown sober and his eyes cast upward. When the party has gathered at the foot of the stairs, he relays to them in a hushed voice that he asked the children if anyone other was in the house.
Rose and Thorn told him they aren't sure of their parents' whereabouts, their infant brother, Walter, is still in his nursery on the third floor.
"Much as I'd like to continue picking through their things, I'm not interested in leaving an infant alone, monster or none. Perhaps a more expeditious search?"
<.>
Rin's impulse is a question they keep quiet only by the grace of some god or other, because why didn't the older ones take their sibling?
Probably that's not the point right now.
Maybe little Walter's a shit. Maybe little Walter likes the monster?
Doesn't matter; Sen suggests moving on, so that's what they'll do.
First, though, Rin extends the large crossbow toward Faolan. "We found it," they explain quietly, succinct.
<.>
Faolan stares at the crossbow with a frown, then shakes his head. He doesn't know how to use that contraption - though it's nice they found some weapons. With his free hand, he taps the scimitar at his side: he's good.
Good enough to take the lead, because he suspects he might be the only one with actual fighting ability in this group, other than Dmitri - who -
Well. He's not going to think about that. (How taking the crossbow would have meant letting go. Would have been an excuse to let go.)
He starts up the stairs, pulling Dima along behind him. Sen, ever chivalrous, offers to go ahead of Rin.
On the second level, the party arrives in another hall like the one below. The oil lamps are unlit here, as well. Hanging above the mantle of the fireplace is a portrait of the Durst family: Rose and Thorn with their parents. In their father's arms is a swaddled baby, which the mother regards with a hint of scorn.
Four suits of armor wearing helms in the shapes of wolf heads flank doors on either side of the hall. These doors are carved with dancing youths.
Just off the stairs, a door opens into an undecorated bedroom containing a pair of beds with straw-stuffed mattresses. The chests at the end of each are open and empty, and a hook on the wall holds a tidy servant's uniform. Nothing else of interest can be seen in this room.
The stairs continue on upward, and there's a cold draft flowing down.
Sen breaks from the group to move toward the doors on the north side of the hall where he examines the carvings with silent bemusement. Once again, he shrugs it away, but despite the sense of urgency, he does open the door to see what's in this particular room.
<.>
Dima absolutely believes this man can wield the scimitar with aplomb.
He keeps step with Faolan, though he'll pause at the top of the stairs, seeking anything that might prompt memory's return. He'd like to examine the painting, and examine the carvings on the doors Sen hasn't opened.
Dima also intends to keep half an eye on Fae, watching for any recurrence of the unease shown at the rooms below.
Rin's curiosity follows Sen, but they're going to swing through the undecorated room (servants' quarters?). Their first order of business is to find somewhere to stow the large crossbow; if Sen not's going to take it and Fae's not going to take it, they don't want anyone else stumbling in and laying hands on the thing. Loose weapons sink... Something.
Rin's going to look around the room for somewhere to hide the weapon. They're also going to start wondering how long those kids have been living in this very dark very empty house.
Not that it doesn't happen.
Not that Rin hasn't lived in very dark, very empty places themself.
[note: The only places to stow a crossbow in the undecorated room are beneath the beds; the weapon is too large to fit in the small chests.]
Under the bed works for Rin, and they will shove it as near to the wall as they can.
[PERC, d: 22]
<.>
Examining the wood paneling for a moment, Dima will realize the youths are not dancing, but are instead attempting to stave off a swarm of bats.
From here out, if Dima examines the wood carvings in the house, he will notice things are not as they appear.
Examination of the portrait gives him no further clue to the identity of the family.
Examination of Faolan shows his distinct unease with the suits of armor. He's patiently following Dima, but he clearly doesn't want to be here.
Sen, meanwhile, has discovered a library.
"Red velvet drapes cover the windows of this room. An exquisite mahogany desk and a matching high-back chair face the entrance and the fireplace, above which hangs a framed picture of a windmill perched atop a rocky crag. Situated in corners of the room are two overstuffed chairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the south wall.
A rolling wooden ladder allows one to more easily reach the high shelves."
<.>
Dima leans toward the carving, eyes fixed in focus. This could be an affectation in the decor, but given the state of this place, it seems unlikely. He absolutely intends to continue examining the carvings through the house. He's also going to give Faolan's hand a slight half-tug. Partly to share the discovery; partly to draw his attention away from the suits of armor.
(Wolf-helmed armor.) (The hunted wolf.) (The hunted wolves put on display.) (And Faolan, gone silent. Faolan, looking for all the world like he'd rather claw himself away from this place—
But he hasn't done so.
He remains here, still holding Dima's hand.)
[ Do you see this? The swarm? ] He traces a finger through one of the bat swarms, then looks to Faolan for confirmation.
Rin, having stowed the crossbow, sticks their head into the room Sen's found. Wanting to get his attention without making too much noise, they offer a soft 'hoo.' If he looks, they'll cock their head, as if to suggest, ’You got this room?’ He lookS like he's got this room. And if Sen doesn't seem in need of a hand, Rin will go slip open the other set of double doors.
<.>
Faolan didn't see the swarm. He does now, however, and leans in to examine the odd carvings. (Didn't he see more downstairs? Are they all like this?)
Rin pushes past them into a room that appears to be a large, most-empty room. Gossamer drapes cover the windows; a brass-plated chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Upholstered chairs line the walls, and stained-glass wall hangings depict beautiful men, women, and children singing and playing instruments.
A harpsichord with a bench rests in one corner. Near the fireplace is a standing harp. Rin's inspection of alabaster figurines of well-dressed dancers adorning the mantelpiece will reveal several are well-dressed skeletons.
Faolan doesn't particularly want to go in that room. He'd like to continue on out of here; find the infant, find the monster. Get away from this strange house.
Sen, who is still beaming about the hoot sent his way, begins to rifle through the contents of the library, starting with the desk.
In the desk drawer, he finds an iron key and nothing else. Strange. Strange enough to pocket.
He also examines the rows of books. (Perception: 17)
He spots a fake book and, upon pulling it, finds he has discovered a secret door.
Well, of course he must go inside!
The door shuts behind him, plunging him into darkness - but not before he sees the skeleton sharing the room with him.
“FUCK.”
<.>
Rin thinks this is getting weird.
Okay, it's been weird, and the harpsicord's a bit much, but it's not as if they don't appreciate macabre tokens. It's not as if they aren't going to grab for a few of them and drop them into their newfound bag. ’One for me, two for sale,’ they figure. That seems fair.
They're considering plucking a harp string when the windows catch their eye. Rin would like to take a look outside. Just to see if anything's changed. Maybe see if they can catch a glimpse of the two kids.
Dima, having seen Faolan's continued unease, glances around for sight of the thieves, who've made themselves quite scarce— Or, no, there's the tiefling in one room, eyes out the windows.
It's the glass that catches Dima's eye. He'd like to have a look at those images, and see whether they hold any, mm, odd details.
He glances to Fae: [ A quick look? Something's off. I just want to see, and I'd rather not leave you here. ]
<.>
Looking out the windows, Rin can see that the town has been consumed by an impenetrable white mist. The children are not visible from their vantage point.
Faolan looks between Dmitri and the room and back again, then shakes his head no. He feels uneasier the more he thinks of the carving, of the wolves. (Hunted. Dead.)
Dima's right: something is off, and the sooner they find that infant, the sooner they can get the hell out of here.
And, in a low stage whisper, he leans into the conservatory and calls for Rin. ”Rin, let's go.”
<.>
Oh.
...Oh?
Of course he'll go with (Fae) Faolan. All thought of joining Rin is summarily banished, and Dima finds he's staring at Faolan just a little wide-eyed, finds he lost hold of thought for a moment there. He shakes his head slightly, the better to bring himself to the present, then nods—
[ We keep moving, then. Yes. ]
Rin's moving toward Dima and Fae, then past them, remarking quietly, sounding a little bit annoyed: "It's misty out. When'd that happen?"
Awfully convenient for mist to—
Wait.
What—
They call a little louder than they intended (just a bit above a whisper) (not not feeling sudden unease): "Sen?"
A glance back, as if expecting to see the elf poke his head around the door - no, though; that's only Fae and Dima - and Rin begins to search for signs of Sen.
Unease growing towards complete unrest (nevermind how Dmitri looked at him just now, nevermind that now or ever-) Faolan follows Rin into the library.
Sen isn't here.
He knows Sen didn't come out of here. They would have seen him, even if he was being stealthy about it.
Unless he climbed up the fucking chimney, though...
Faolan breathes out a sound of faint distress and releases Dmitri's hand ( [ I'm sorry- ]) to reach for his scimitar. Not unsheathed, not yet, but his hand is on the hilt (and so much colder for the loss of a (Dima's) hand.)
And everyone who's looking around the library, roll a perception check.
[ f: 4 r: 17 d: 8; he’s is rather occupied with the entire Moment that happened just now, and thinks Sen probably slipped out the window, the goddamn elf. ]
Faolan and Dima find nothing of consequence in the room and Dima might even suspect there's nothing TO find.
Rin, however, will find the red-bound false book if they examine the bookshelves.
<.>
Dima can’t shake the image of Faolan’s distress; of the hand leaving his own, and the apology that followed. (He didn’t have to apologize. He should never have felt the need.) (Oh, but it was heartening to hear.) [ I’ll be right here. ] And he offers a small, tentative smile.
Dima then checks the position of his own dagger and, after a look around the room, shakes his head. Speaks under his breath, “The jackass went out the window.” Got bored with the room and moved along; that seems right to Dima.
Rin isn’t sure about that, at all. When they find the book, they hiss softly under their breath, then offer, their own voice hushed, “I don’t think so.”
Taking their shortsword in-hand, they pull at the book.
<.>
The door to the secret room swings open, prompting Faolan to grasp Dmitri's wrist and hustle over to join Rin.
The three of them crowd in the doorway to find Sen seated on the ground with his arm around the bony shoulders of a skeleton.
He has been in the process of telling it all the things it's missed since it's been dead, but abruptly interrupts himself to thrust out a hand and cry out, "No, no, don't come in here! The door's rigged!"
<.>
For.
Shit's.
Sake.
Okay, the elf didn't go out the window. Okay, this *also* tracks. Or. Sen chattering away at the skeleton tracks; the presence of the skeleton is not precisely reassuring, to say the least.
Dima wants a look at the skeleton. So he turns his head to Faolan, then back to the apparently rigged door.
"Would you mind holding the door while I examine the remains?" And, shooting A Look at Sen, "Assuming our companion here hasn't learned anything, which I don't believe is a vast assumption."
Rin's just glad to see Sen's all right, really. The skeleton is... Weird. The room is weird? There's a question about that, but first they're waving to Sen and beckoning him to join back in the world of the not-secret-closet: "Weird book, right?"
And, as they turn to begin checking the room for other little... well, surprises, traps: "Weird room, too. Is that all there is, a skeleton? Who keeps a room for a skeleton?
"...I guess I might. But maybe that's why people don't just give me rooms."
<.>
Now that there's light shed in the room, it can be seen that there are bookshelves packed with tomes bearing titles relating to the occult and necromancy. Sen and the skeleton are leaning back against an open chest.
<.>
Dima. Absolutely wants to take a look through these shelves after checking the skeleton. Though first, since he’s already going into the room, or planning to. He'd like to look at the chest, maybe, after checking the remains.
(He's not NOT considering snagging a few fingerbones while he's at it.)
<.>
Faolan reluctantly lets go of Dima's hand to hold the door; Sen is all too happy to clear out of the room without searching for loot.
Close inspection of the skeleton reveals that it belongs to a human who triggered a poison dart trap. Three darts are stuck in the leather armor at his chest.
Apparently, there's no more trap, as everyone going in and out of the room has not been hit by anything.
Clutched in the skeleton's left hand is a letter bearing the seal of a distant, well-known entity named Strahd von Zarovich.
<.>
Dima is going to bow out on inspecting the chest. Having seen the poison darts, he's going to take the letter, attempt to snag one (1) finger from the skeleton (breaking off the forefinger from the first knuckle), then move to examine the books.
If no one else moves toward the chest, Rin will move in and have a look.
<.>
Rin finds three blank books with black leather covers, three spell scrolls, two property deeds, and a signed will.
Further inspection of these items shows the will is signed by Gustav and Elisabeth Durst and bequeaths the house (deed 1), the windmill (deed 2), and all other family property to Rosavelda and Thornboldt Durst in the event of their parents' deaths.
[ARC, d: 10; with Guidance from Fae]
The books are fiend-summoning rituals and necromantic rites of a cult called the Priests of Osybus.
[INS, d: nat 20]
Dima at first thinks these tomes are intriguing, but recalling his GODDAMN EDUCATION, knows every word is totally bogus and none of these spells could possibly work.
<.>
Fae reaches to take the letter and, finding the seal already broken, unfolds it and reads aloud while Rin and Dima search and Sen peers over his shoulder.
"My most pathetic servant,
“I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writing in my earth.
“You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are.
“Your dread lord and master, Strahd von Zarovich."
[HIST, d: 11]
Dima can't remember anything more, but something about all of this just keeps niggling at him.
<.>
[q: Does Dima recognize/know anything about this Priests of Osybus cult? a: His history check says nope.]
Dima, growing increasingly irritated by his failure to catch whatever memory keeps slipping his hold (and, perhaps, by the hand he's lost hold of), feeling uneased by the letter, begins with "This stinks of desperation. The melodramatic, the megolomaniac as well." Speaking partly in order to find some way toward a point; none of this is adding up. He's missing something key.
And, flipping through another of the books, lip ticking. "It's nonsense, all of this. None of this is functional.”
He's been talking more to himself than the others, but when he glances back, meets Fae's eyes, he feels a little bit more grounded. Cants his head and thinks, thinks. "The letter was to your" (nodding to Sen) "skeletal friend, or to someone else entirely. Begging the question— Where is the altar."
Rin, rocking back and forth on their heels, hasn't really been listening to Dima. They have been trying to examine the deeds, but they also really, really don't care for legalize, and they wave the papers toward Sen, "Do you know about houses? Or windmills." And, idly, not really considering the remark, "You know what, I don't think stillborn infants do a lot of crying."
<.>
Sen takes the papers and examines them thoughtfully. "If there is some stillborn infant in question here - well. Judging by his condition-"
He motions towards the skeleton.
"It was certainly long enough in the past for another babe to come along, surely."
Looking back down to the papers, he simply shrugs. "These are only land deeds. Some windmill in Vallaki - haven't the foggiest where that is. The other is for this place, I imagine. Boravia? We're apparently in Boravia. I don't suppose any of you know where that is?"
Before anyone can answer, he nods to the letter Faolan is silently re-reading. "I think Dima has a point, there. What altar? What fucking dungeon? I -"
He stops abruptly and fishes out the iron key he found in the desk drawer, slowly waggles for the other three to see.
"In case we find a door with a lock. But I didn't see anything on the first floor leading down, so perhaps we continue 'up' for now."
Faolan folds the letter carefully and passes it back to Dmitri before speaking. "We heard someone moving around up here. Maybe we ask them the questions."
<.>
Something about this still doesn’t sit right with Rin. But also maybe they just don’t trust kids who run up to the first strangers in view and forget to mention their tiny brother.
…They do have one question though. “How old’s the skeleton?”
Dima will answer if his look over the remains made this clear; if not, and if Sen learned nothing, Rin will simply let the question be.
[note: It's hard to tell; it's clearly been in here for some time; granted, it's a locked secret room that may have been untouched for years by the master of the house. After all, he hardly needs bogus occult tomes.]
Dima conveys this information; Rin decides there’s more to be seen and anyway the skeleton’s not going anywhere. Rin’s ready to move onward and upward.
Dima is going to suggest taking the items from the chest and putting them in Rin’s bag, if nothing else; he’ll take the scrolls if no one else does - for examining another time - then reclaim Faolan’s hand, Messaging [ Thank you. ]
Dima is now ready to move on as well, and will be holding Fae’s hand just a little tighter. Thinking to message ‘Stay with me, please,’; deciding it doesn’t need to be said.
Faolan's response is a very slight pressure against Dmitri's hand and, before he turns to lead the way, a sad smile.
The party continues out of the library and up the stairs to the third floor; Faolan takes the lead with Dmitri behind him.
At the top of the stairs, the party arrives at a dusty balcony. Against the far wall is another suit of armor like those below, though this one is draped in cobwebs.
Oil lamps are mounted on the oak-paneled walls; these, too, have carvings of woodland scenes of trees, falling leaves, and small animals.
Faolan, seeing the wolf-helmed armor, averts his eyes and pulls Dima hurriedly past it; these representations of wolves and hunters of wolves are beginning to honestly frighten him.
<.>
When was the last time anyone passed through these halls.
(A question echoing in-kind, half-grasped: When was the last time anyone truly lived here?)
Dima feels these questions, though his attention is currently caught upon Faolan's hurry; the way he once more seems averse to the armor. Dima doesn't stall his progress. He will, however, pause to examine the wood paneling currently nearest to him, setting a hand to Faolan's arm to signal that he's pausing, just for a moment.
[ You needn't look at the armor, Faolan. You needn't look at anything. We'll get through this; I promise you. ]
Dima leans in to study the panel's details.
<.>
Examining the wood panel, Dima will discover corpses hanging from the trees.
[PERC, d: 17]
While examining the grove with its 'strange fruit', Dima finds the outline of a hidden door in the wall.
Sen is preoccupied with thinking perhaps there are more secret doors in this house, or treasures to be found - it's a good distraction from the threat of unease (fear) running through him. He sees the boy and his tag-along heading to the right, so he suggests to Rin perhaps they ought to go the other way and see what there is. They're within earshot, mostly, and splitting up will allow them to cover more ground.
If Rin is amenable, Sen is going to head in the opposite direction, towards the double doors at the north end of the balcony.
<.>
Rin is amenable, and joins Sen at the double doors. They're going to motion for Sen to join them in another round of 'listen for sounds from the other side' and try to check for signs of movement through any keyhole or gap beneath the door. They'd also like to examine the handle, just in case anything seems rigged. They don't want Sen stuck in another skeleton trap!
Dima points out the outline to Faolan immediately, gesturing toward it and Messaging, [ Do you see it? ]
<.>
Rin's inspection turns up nothing of note; there's no noise and there are no traps. Peering through the keyhole, they see no movement.
Faolan cocks his head and nods slowly, then places his hand against the wall to see if it moves; it swings open inward easily to reveal a dusty, cobwebbed set of stairs leading up.
He peers in and up, then withdraws and says, [ Let's see if there's anything down here first. No one's climbed those steps in years. ]
<.>
Dima could admire the morbidity of details in this paneling if he didn't feel so uneasy; if he wasn't so aware of Faolan's dis-ease. (And, yes, if he wasn't still irked by those nonsense 'necromancy' tomes.) Better now, anyway, to focus on this door, and the itch he feels looking up the stairs, knowing both foreboding and a desire to see, to find, to know what's up there. (Something, something— There must be an answer to all of this.)
For now, he nods. [ That's wisest, yes. ]
And, looking at the nearest door, he'll move to push it open.
<.>
The doors open to reveal a bedroom suite with two sets of doors along the west wall. The bedroom contains a large bed, two end tables, and a wardrobe. Mounted on the wall is a full-length mirror with an ornate wooden frame carved to look like ivy and berries.
Sen and Rin, upon entering the opposite room, find an elegantly appointed master suite. It is furnished with a four-poster bed draped with tattered curtains, a vanity with a wood-framed mirror and jewelry box, a matching pair of wardrobes, and a padded chair. A rotting tiger-skin rug lies on the floor and above the fireplace is a dust-covered portrait of the Dursts. In the corner is a web-filled parlor with a table and two chairs. The doors lead to a dust-choked closet and a balcony.
<.>
Rin pulls a 'yikes' face and kicks the tiger-skin rug, catching an edge on their toe and gesturing to Sen: pointing their fingers toward Sen's head, opening and closing their fingers in imitation of a talking mouth, then pointing at their own head; they'd like him to start a Message so they can speak without sound.
Rin's going to see whether the rug is just a rug or perhaps a convenient cover for something. They're also going to take a look at themself in the mirror, because it's never a bad time to check yourself out— And if there's nothing to see with the tiger, they'd like to rummage through that vanity. Might be something worth taking!
<.>
Inspection of the vanity turns up a silver jewelry box with gold filigree. Inside are three gold rings and a thin platinum necklace with a topaz pendant.
Sen comments at best guess, the total worth of the thing is about 850 gp.
Faolan, seeing nothing of note after a quick visual sweep of the room, begins opening the doors; he gives Dmitri's hand a tug and is just about to say that the room is the nursery he's been looking for.
Roll for initiative.
Okay; Rin is first up. They can hear the clanking of armor as it moves along the balcony towards the master suite.
<.>
Rin would like to begin by scooping the jewelry box into the bag of holding, because like fuck are they going to leave that behind. They'll then move up to the edge of the door; looks like somewhere between 10 and 15 ft? They'll try to keep against the wall and stick to any shadows they can find.
[STEALTH r: 22 s: 10 ]
<.>
Sen rolled a 10, beating the passive perception by a hair. Both he and Rin fall back into shadow.
Back to the other battle: As soon as Faolan opens the door, a Spectral woman begins to materialize; she is skeletally thin and young, and as she shrieks as she floats toward Fae.
Dima, you're up. You're also behind Fae at this point.
<.>
Dima's going to pull Fae's hand (gentle quick but firm little tug), with the intention of taking the space Fae initially occupied.
<.>
Faolan, dumbfounded, moves aside and immediately regrets that choice.
<.>
Dima, having taken Fae’s spot, casts Burning Hands for 9 damage. The spectre takes 4 points of that damage.
[q: It looks like there are no windows in the nursery; were there any in the bedroom?
a: There are, in fact. The door to the balcony has glass inset, and there are windows on either side of the bed. And the nursery itself has one window.
q: Is the nursery window curtained or uncurtained?
a: No curtains.
q: Did anything in the nursery catch fire?
a: Nope.
note: The only thing in the nursery that Dima can see is a cradle, and it’s just out of range. The windows are shuttered from the outside. ]
Dima is going to try to run past the specter, over to the cradle on the end by the window.
<.>
As Dima runs right through the specter. He takes no damage, but the specter takes 5 points, itself.
The specter's attention is now on Dima, who is much too close to the cradle for its taste. It turns and flies at him with a wail. The attack misses.
Faolan is going to close the distance between himself and the specter as he draws his scimitar and try to slash the entity across its back. Hits for 4 damage, reduced to 2.
Faolan is going to shout "A LITTLE HELP IN HERE!"
During this time, the suit of armor, unable to detect the owls, has begun to return to its original spot.
<.>
Stealthed Rin begins moving toward the nursery.
Dima would like to look into the cradle while drawing his dagger pls and thank you.
[note: Upon looking into the cradle, he will see a tightly-wrapped, baby-sized bundle lying there.]
Dima's going to pick up the bundle. (And everyone thank Fae for his presence bc if that boy were not there Dima would've gone instastabby.)
<.>
Picking up the bundle, Dima will find it's empty.
Just a blanket.
However, Faolan saw Dima. Pick up a bundle of maybe baby while holding a dagger.
<.>
Dima, holding the bundle, is about to shout something at the ghost when he catches Faolan's expression, and forgets entirely that he was about to speak, that there's a haunted goddamn house around, and that there's an actual goddamn specter beside him.
Dima ends his turn staring at Faolan, slowly, slowly realizing he may have erred.
<.>
The specter turns on Faolan and attempts to grasp him by the head.
Faolan's attention is on Dima and so he fails to move out of the way in time; the specter grasps him, doing 4 points of necrotic damage.
And Faolan just barely passes a constitution saving throw at 11, which brings us to his turn.
Faolan feels life literally draining from him and manages to break free, gasping. He isn't going to think at all about what he just saw. (Or the look of horror Dima is giving him.) He's going to kill this fucking - thing.
He summons a vine-like whip into his hand and attempts to bring it down on the specter. That hits at 20, for 4 points of piercing damage.
And holding the whip, he backs up, attempting to draw the specter away from Dmitri.
Sen and Rin move toward the nursery. The suit of armor likewise begins to move in that direction, but is clearly much slower than the owls.
<.>
Dima is going to let the blanket unfurl and, waving it at the ghost, declare in his most Authoritative Voice, "There's nothing here. Your child isn't here.”
If that doesn't take his full action, he's going for the ghost with the dagger.
[note: She doesn't seem to hear him at all.]
Dima is all his glory rolls a crit fail for that attack.
<.>
Dima misses; the momentum of his miss takes him lurching forward; he passes through the specter again, falling almost directly into Faolan's arms.
And the specter takes another 5 points of damage.
As this is the second pass through the specter - Dima, make a constitution saving throw.
[CON: nat 1]
Dima feels a sensation like part of his life force has been sapped from him entirely. Until his next long rest, his hit point max is reduced by 1.
The specter turns on the pair and attempts to reach for Dima. And misses.
Faolan is up; he drops Dima, sort of depositing him to one side to free up his hands, and he's going to make another Thorn Whip attack. Just BARELY hitting at 13. And squarely hitting the specter with a crack of the vine for six points of damage.
The specter wails, the sound echoing as it vanishes.
Right as the owls join them, the group hears the approach of clanking armor.
Faolan turns, panting and pale, to Dima and - for a moment, hesitates.
Then offers his hand to help him up.
His expression says there's going to be a conversation later, but right now, he's going to keep protecting the man.
<.>
Dima holds Faolan's gaze, for a moment moving no more than to nod slowly: [ Yes. ]
Yes, he understands; doesn't yet see the full meaning of what he did or what Faolan saw, but knows he erred in that fight.
Yes, he sees Faolan's aid, and yes, he's appreciative of it (and of the man).
Dima takes Faolan's hand, and will rise, leaving the blanket on the floor.
The Message is more an offer than necessity; the 'yes' could be read in Dima's expression and assent, but if Faolan wishes to speak, he now has the passage.
<.>
Faolan hears the approaching clanking and hears another message aimed for him: [ Time to go, Gents. ]
For a moment, he ignores Sen; there might not BE a later, or time enough to have that conversation, and Dima did cast his spell.
His hand tightens on Dmitri's and Faolan pulls it close to his chest, he ducks his head a little to meet eye-to-eye, ensuring the other man understands what's happening here.
He doesn't know for sure what Dmitri meant to do with that dagger and what might have been an infant, but he knows how it looked, and he knows the moment of panic he saw in the man's eyes when he realized Faolan was watching.
[ Never again. Swear that to me, right now. ]
There's no 'or else'. No ultimatum. Just a soft, firm demand.
<.>
He doesn't know what he meant to do.
(That isn't true. Dima was going to run the dagger through whatever he found in that cradle. It was a hunch; it was an educated calculation.
It also wasn't built on evidence. It also could have gone very, very wrong.
What in fuck was he thinking.)
There's an impulse to look away; to stray from what must be disappointment in Faolan's eyes, but Dima keeps his eyes locked, curling his hand within Faolan's. There's a sideways twitch of his lip, stray signal of the concern he's trying to keep muffled, and he nods once, small and a little wavered, but certain.
[ Never again. I swear it: Never, never again. ]
<.>
Faolan regards him a moment, then nods slowly. He doesn't smile or speak, but there's a slight - very slight - squeeze of his hand.
He believes it. (He believes when this man swears a vow.) (He won't think about that.)
Sen, meanwhile, truly doesn't care to fight an animated suit of armor, and spends their precious little time searching the room for a quick exit. The drop from the house isn't viable, but a sweep of the room reveals a hidden door behind the mirror which opens onto the selfsame stairs revealed by the door on the landing.
With a pointed look, he waves the others toward the door; whatever's up the stairs has to be better than whatever's coming for them.
The party finds the secret staircase with ease now. Made of creaky wood, constructed in a spiral down a 5-foot wide shaft of mortared stone, the staircase descends 50 feet. Cobwebs fill the shaft so thickly that little can be seen beyond five feet in any direction.
When they reach the bottom of the seemingly endless spiral, a narrow tunnel stretches out southward before branching out east and west.
The party begins to hear an eerie, incessant chant echoing throughout the basement.
Rin’s going to stealth and lead.
Sen is going to give Rin some inspiration: I believe a kiss on the hand for them.
After Sen does this, Faolan looks at Rin, then at Dima, then at Sen again and says, "I hope you don't tongue me when you give me mine."
<.>
Rin winks, blows Sen an air kiss, and starts down the westward path.
[STEALTH, r: 20; Rin is officially vanished into the shadows.]
They're going to move five feet over to take a look at how many stairs there look to be (or ten feet if they need to). Here, they'd like to pause and try to discern whether anything's changed in the echoing sound, whether it sounds nearer or farther or anything.
[dm: They can't tell where the sound is coming from at all. It's almost an ambient, if distant, noise.]
Though they’d intended to go check the other hallway, having seen the steps, Rin now knows a strong desire to see what's down the steps, and they're going to move to the bottom stair.
[dm: They come to the bottom of a short flight of stairs; the hall opens out into a room with a wooden table and four chairs. They can't see much in the dim lighting, but it looks like the room might branch off into other spaces.]
Rin thinking to themself, very emphatically, shit.
They'd like to pause for half a minute to discern whether there are signs or sounds of movement before heading back up the stairs.
[dm: There's no movement at all. Just that weird noise.]
Okay moving back up the stairs. They'd like to take a small look down the first branching hallway if they may before returning toward the group.
<.>
Sen is, meanwhile, uncomfortable standing here with Faolan and Dima in silence
And as he rolled a 19 on stealth, he's going to scout the other direction.
<.>
Checking out this hallway, Rin discovers more branching. And. Well. A little more searching wouldn't hurt. And Sen can reach them if anything's needed! So Rin's going to scooch down the left branch.
[dm: Down this branch, Rin finds an empty crypt. There is no name and no corpse. The blank stone slab meant to seal the crypt leans against a wall.]
’Seems like a waste,’ Rin thinks. And. They're just going to slip out of here. They don't really like having walked into a crypt. This is supposed to be a house. And thinking about what happened with Sen in the library, Rin resolves to return to the party— After taking a careful look down the right branch. Then they'll go back!
[dm: This is likewise a crypt hewn from the earth. The stone slab meant to seal it leans against a nearby wall. Etched into it is the name Walter Durst. The crypt is empty.]
....Rin nearly. Nearly says out loud, ’I knew Walter was trouble.’
They did not know any such think. They also don't do more than think the words, though they'd like to take a moment to see just how dusty this crypt is, and whether there are tracks anywhere within.
[dm: There are no tracks; the general dust and cobwebs are about the same as everywhere else down here.]
That's enough for now; Rin's going to head back toward the others. Probably, it's wisest not to stay split for too long down here.
<.>
Sen, not knowing where Rin is, exactly, is going to message Dima.
[ Is Rin back yet? ]
<.>
Dima has been trying no to look too long at Faolan; it isn't the right time (to say the fucking least), and he doesn't want to discomfort the man any further. He studies the rings on his hand, reminds himself to stave off worry for later, and he's about to dare a press to Faolan's bicep when—
Godsdamnit Sen.
He sounds huffy even in his thought response: [ No, they haven’t— ]
Which is when the tiefling slips back into view, seems to instantly note Sen's absence, and fixes Dima and Fae with sharp eyes.
[ They have. I believe they're looking for you, o intrepid adventurer. ]
<.>
Faolan's attention is on Rin, so he fails to notice that Dima and Sen are communicating.
[ If we come down this way, don't bother with the first corridors, left or right.
I'd go so far as to say, keep Faolan out of them. Yourself, as well, with your little passengers. ]
Sen is, as it turns out, standing in the crypts of Rosavalda and Thornboldt Durst.
A perfunctory look down the other hall has told him these are the crypts of the children's parents.
<.>
Dima: [ …I'll want to know what you've seen. But I take your suggestion in this case as word. ]
<.>
Sen: [ Final resting places of those not yet finally resting. And those who ought not be finally resting, come to think of it. It seems Father and Mother Durst have done one good thing for their children, after all, and expired. ]
<.>
A moment as Dima first forgets, then remembers to breathe, and: [ Thank you, Sen. ]
And.
[ I'd be interested to know who sealed the shitminded parents into resting. For now, you'd better return before the tiefling throws a fit. ]
<.>
No need to tell him twice; he didn't think about THAT.
- Who buried the parents, OR Rin throwing a fit
<.>
After messaging Sen, Dima's going to softly share with Faolan and Rin some part of what Sen relayed: That there's nothing that needs searching in the first passages to the east.
[DEC, d: 12]
<.>
Faolan regards Dima for an uncomfortably long moment, then decides not to investigate further. (Yet.)
Sen, on returning, says there's nothing at all down either passageway.
[DEC, s: 15]
Rin buys it. Faolan is still not having this shit, but also kind of figuring at this point mAYBE they're lying for a reason.
So, the stealthed thieves just returned to report Nothing. Faolan also decided to stealth himself and is silently judging some not-truth-tellers.
<.>
Dima, seeing everyone going stealth, will try his hand at it again, though his hopes aren't particularly high and he's planning on keeping to the back of the party.
[STEALTH: 20]
Rin does not trust Dima to lead the stealth train. They're good with themself, Sen, or Faolan.
Dima. Does not want Fae to lead. For no particular reasons. And suggests one of the thieves - who are presumably accustomed to odd houses - should take point.
<.>
Sen is not as accomplished a thief as Rin and will gladly defer to their guidance.
<.>
Rin gives Sen a smile and a [ Why thank you very much! ] With a wink because you see, they learned this trick too!
"Before we move— Okay, so we're gonna want to go down a small flight of stairs. There's a hallway to the right, but it's just a couple of empty crypts." They pause. They think. "Mostly empty. There was a name in one, but nothing to go with it. Point being it's not really worth our time so. Down the stairs we go!"
If no one has questions or comments, Rin will begin moving toward the stairs they found earlier.
Faolan has a moment of pause about the mention of crypts, but if Rin says it's not worth their time, that's probably true.
The room is unchanged, the only sounds the strange ambient chanting they've heard since they came down the spiral stairs.
<.>
Rin's going to lead around the table to the entry on the far side, intending to listen/look in.
Dima, taking up the tail of their train, is thinking on that empty crypt with a name, though he won't prod about it now.
[note: The entry is a hallway; around the corner is another flight of stairs.]
Rin turns back to Sen: [ Too many stairs in this place. Clear this floor first, or down we go? ]
[note: It's still the same level, just about three or four stairs.]
Rin would rather take a look around the other entries leading from the table room before continuing in this direction. They look back to the others, pause, then scuttle past Sen to continue toward the next opening.
<.>
The other doorways prove to be alcoves; in each one is a bed with mouldering straw and filthy blankets. There's nothing else to be found.
Faolan is just watching quietly, almost expectantly, as though waiting for Rin to tell the party they found something.
(It's better than looking at Dmitri. He is trying very hard not to do that just now.)
<.>
Rin gestures for the group to cluster and speaks softly: "Four basement beds. That's weird, right? If the staff lived upstairs, what was all of this?"
<.>
Sen looks contemplative; he's not sure what he thinks, or how all the pieces fit together.
Faolan, however, thinks about the letter and frowns. "'Visitors.'"
<.>
Dima has - of course he has - been watching Faolan, and now nods. "Visitors eager to keep hidden. Or visitors required to hide." The letter; the books; the entire aura of this house. "It might be related to the books upstairs, to the cult referenced." A shrug of one shoulder. "It may not."
It makes sense enough to Rin. They think about it. Think about it. "One way of finding out."
Rin's going to move toward the small set of stairs, and move downward.
[dm: From their vantage at the bottom of the stairs, they can see the room opens up. At the center, they can just see 3-foot high stone rising from the ground in what might be a sort of wall.]
Rin's moving into the room; they'll give the perimeter a check, but they're very, very interested in whatever that stone thing is.
As they move, Dima Messages Faolan: [ Any thoughts on who or what those visitors might have been? ]
As Rin enters the room to begin their perimeter, they'll be on the lookout for signs of movement or traps.
<.>
There are no signs of traps or movement. Upon entering the room, they can see it, too, branches off into five more alcoves. At the center of the room is a well with a three foot high lip. Above it, suspended from crossbeams, a bucket hangs unmoving.
Faolan finally does exchange a glance with Dima, blinks, and looks away thoughTfully. [ The letter said people were being bled on an altar. Tortured in a dungeon. You found those books. Maybe it was a sort of cult. ]
Sen, meanwhile, slinks off to the right to stick his head in one of the doorways and see what there is to see.
<.>
Seeing Sen start checking the right, Rin heads toward the left. They throw a glance back toward the bucket - what's the bucket for? watering the monster? - but want to see what these rooms hold, and whether it's safe (safeish) to look at the bucket.
[dm: The bucket is hanging about five or six feet above their head. The underside looks as though the wood is rotting away.]
Look up, Rin thinks they really want to poke that bucket. Or throw something at it. Later!
Dima is going to hold that glimpse of Faolan's eyes close to his heart. [ Yes. I'd say it's odd that we've found no signs of carnage— But then, we can't be sure how far this house extends. Given the sound we're hearing... I'd guess it's had some distance to echo. ]
<.>
From their new vantage point, they can see at least one of the alcoves contains another, slightly better bed. A chest sits beside this, locked with a heavy iron padlock.
Sen sees something similar in the room he's investigating, and with a glance back to ensure Rin sees him stepping into this particular room (just in case) he moves toward it and will attempt to pick the lock.
Faolan is silent for the moment, then nods in agreement. [ *What we've seen already outpaces the sprawl of the house. It could be vast, yes.*]
And, after another pause, he tightens his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. [ I feel useless here. ]
Sen rolls a 15 total dexterity check and manages to pop open the lock. He likewise tries to see if there are any traps, whiffs his check, and decides the chest is totally harmless.
It is, but it might not have been. Inside the chest, he finds a pouch of strange leather, containing 11 gp and 60 sp.
<.>
Rin begins to make their way in the direction of the room and chest they spotted, thinking ’Oh that's much better!’ They'll have to ask Sen what he found in his room! First, though, they're going to check this chest for traps and make an attempt at opening it.
[PERC: 8; chest looks totally fine!]
Then they’ll open it!
[DEX: 16]
The lock opens easily. In this chest, Rin finds a silvered shortsword.
It sort of becomes clear to Sen and Rin by now that these chests contain the personal belongings of whoever was staying here, and they're unlikely to have any traps on them.
Rin Messaging Sen to ask if he wants to go splitsies on opening and going through the chests!
Sen does a quick count of the alcoves, taking two for himself and leaving three for Rin.
<.>
Sen you are a gentleman! And! Rin promises to show you everything they find! They do not promise to share, but it's not entirely outside the realm of the possible.
Meanwhile, Dima's watching Faolan with more focused intensity (a feat, when his eyes were already sharply fixed), and shaking his head. [ You've done a good deal already. With the specter, with the children. With— My actions. With your reason.
And I've seen your magic, Faolan. You aren't useless in the least.
We don't all need to spend our time in cracking chests. ]
Dima will continue gazing very fixedly at Fae.
<.>
Sen fails the second chest he attempts and messages Rin, asking to swap and see if they have more luck.
Faolan doesn't want to talk about what happened - not anymore than his piece that was spoken earlier. He doesn't want to think about the feelings that overwhelm him when he remembers how Dmitri spoke to the children. (Or now, when he's watched the way he is.)
Swallowing hard, he answers, [ At least they're having fun. Two children at play. ]
And, quite suddenly, he half-blurts, [ It changes nothing. What you did - are doing - for the children. Not because of what you thought about doing, or anything you've done at all. ]
A tight smile turns weary and Faolan does give Dmitri his gaze again. [ You're not the first man to look at me like that.
It'll pass. ]
And, as though looking to keep track of their thieves, he tears his gaze away once more. [ It always does. ]
<.>
Rin immediately agrees to the swap, dropping their focus on the chest to dart for Sen's room. They don't mind at all which chests they open, and this little dash was fun! They'll start working on this chest now!
[DEX, 7; thaaat’s a fail]
And in their irritation, they're going to poke at the bed a little, see if it seems to be covered in the same dust as everything else, before telling Sen [ It's just a shit lock :/ ] and moving along.
<.>
A small thump would suggest Sen has kicked the chest in frustration.
<.>
Rin would like to pop up beside him and give the chest a try, confirming with a scowl that "Yeah, these chests are major shits."
[note: Faolan is watching this back and forth.]
[DEX, r: 16
Hey the chest pops open easily for them. Inside the one by Sen is an ivory hairbrush with silver bristles.]
Rin.
Very.
Clearly.
Would like this.
But they will look at Sen before taking it!
<.>
Sen: [ It knew it was meant to be yours. ]
<.>
Rin: [ Hmm I bet it told you exactly what it had! ] They're beaming as they pick up the brush, running their thumb along its backing. Then, finding Sen's eyes, [ We've got to check the next one together. And this time whatever's in it is yours! ]
Without waiting, they scuttle off, brush in-hand.
Dima is. Much less happy.
Dima is feeling very cold.
(Because of what he did; the intention Faolan saw in his dagger.)
(Because Faolan might, must doubt Dima's intentions regarding the children.)
(Because he knows the man has little cause to trust him; he knows few people do.)
(And because, yes, yes, it becomes clearer and clearer that existence has left Faolan wounded. Whatever happen with the scandal, whatever preceded it, something's left a deep mark on this man, this... He really can't be much older than a boy, and yet he's learned so much.)
Dima's quiet for a moment, letting Faolan's words find their place in him. Trying not to think of other men who looked at Faolan with... with... With whatever name might be placed to Dima's expression. Trying not to think how he could be like them.
The thing is.
The thing is, for all his impulse, Dima knows his mind, and knows the firmness of his drives. It's nothing he can make Faolan believe. It might not be something he can push far now. But he can't let those last words linger any longer.
[ No; it won’t. ]
A blink, an attempt to offer the trace of a smirk that doesn't quite appear. [ Do you truly believe I am like any other man? ]
That, too, he won't let linger long, and Dima continues, all solemnity—
[ I guard what is mine, Faolan.
I follow what calls me, and I keep its song.
Still, I— Know this. You will be safe with me. I can't promise I won't watch you. I can't promise I won't ask that you remain.
But I mean no harm to you. I want your peace. I want you well. ]
<.>
Faolan can't look at him. (They always want to believe they're unlike any other man. That they're different. He's never met a man who doesn't like to be told he's special.)
It's that 'mine' that gives him pause. He thinks about pointing out all the ways it's a ridiculous thing to suggest when they two have only known one another for a day.
Instead, he answers honestly, softly, without malice.
[ The problem with thinking about people as 'yours', Dmitri, is you forget they don't belong to you, and aren't yours to do with as you please. ]
Faolan breathes a mirthless laugh through his nose, then gives the other man a sidelong look.
[ I don't know if you're like any other man. I don't want to find out firsthand that you are. ]
And meanwhile, Sen is going to try that third chest.
Which he unlocks! FINALLY. Inside of it, he finds a silk eyepatch set in with a carnelian stone, which he IMMEDIATELY puts on.
<.>
He can't say Faolan doesn't have a point, just as he can't say he's given the man cause to believe different of Dima.
(Dima. Dmitri. He likes his name in this man's voice. He'd like to hear it once again.)
[ I am quick to glimpse my inclinations; my certainties. Overeager, at times— And perhaps overbearing.
I would like you to be mine; I would like to know myself as yours. ]
He's just going to rush past that into: [ But I'm mistaken in placing my wishing upon you. Or to expect your trust without showing cause.
I'm sorry, Faolan. I am.
I can't promise I won't look at you a little long. I can't promise I won't seek your council.
I ask— Mm. I ask that we may share company. As adventurers, as friends, perhaps.
If nothing else, I'd ask that you keep with us here. There's work yet to be done, and you ARE skilled. ]
Rin is very busy pointing at Sen's eyepatch and grinning, running their brush through their own hair. [ You ARE the most dashing pirate I've ever seen! ]
A thought. An excited scramble as they reach for the silver shortsword and stand upon the bed. [ I believe I'll knight you for your bravery in lockpicking this day! ]
<.>
Sen immediately kneels with a flourish, because of course he would like to be knighted! (By Rin.) [ I believe I'll be honored to be knighted by one with such well-brushed hair, who has far keener lockpicking skill than I could ever hope to attain! ]
Faolan listens, and this time with his eyes on Dmitri. (Assessing. Thoughtful. Wary, ever wary, of the pains he might endure.)
He thinks of asking how Dmitri believes he could ever be Faolan's. If the man has considered the divide between them of title, of scandal, of wealth. But of course, Dmitri hasn't considered that because he doesn't have to. None of them ever do, and why should they, when they make the rules?
(But briefly, his thoughts trace the edges of a world where he and Dmitri look on as Rose and Thorn play, and his heart clenches painfully.) (He wants that life, not Dmitri.) (But if he did want Dmitri in that life, he would call him 'Dima', and his Dima would call him 'Fae'-)
(He slams a door against these thoughts, unaware of the ghosts of emotions that might have passed through his expression.)
[ You don't know me, Dmitri. ]
He draws a deep breath and turns away once more, then shakes his head in resignation.
[ Where were you going? To Awich, or further?
I'm on my way to Lob'en. ]
He pronounces it law ben and immediately bares his teeth at the error: it's slang, the way the poor pronounce the city's name. He never could shake some turns of phrase, some mispronunciations that marked him as a peasant.
Maybe it's better Dmitri knows he's no middle class-born courtesan. Maybe it's better if Dmitri thinks he's grasping, power-hungry gutter trash. (Maybe it's better if Dmitri sees the vastness of the divide between them.)
Still, he enunciates, [ Loch. Bien. ]
<.>
Rin tosses their hair, assuming an expression of majestic approval before their grin cracks back to being. [ My, that was a VERY good flourish! I've seen so many knights, you know— ] 'Seen.' 'Robbed.' [ —And not a one possesses half of your finesse! Not one could solve a single, solitary lock with such elan! ]
Another toss of their hair; another grin. [ Not one could lead me to the very brush my hair has yearned for. Good Sen, you have brought me to such sheen! ]
Theatrically, deftly, they settle the blade first to one shoulder, then the other. [ Here: You are now SIR Sen, Lord of all the Locks and Picks, a rogue to out-dash them all! ]
Dima could, if he focused on the thought, draw out an assortment of causes for Faolan's wariness. He captures what he can: the emotions passing across Faolan's face; the places the man picks to focus in discussion; the name and its correction (Dmitri won't mention this, nor did his expression shift at the colloquial pronunciation); the man's insistence that Dmitri (his name again!) doesn't know him (his name, not in the brightest context).
It's true they only just met. It's also true that Dima trusts his instincts regarding who is worth his time and who is something more than that.
It's Dima's impulse that needs restraining, here and there. It's Dima's impulse that can lead him far awry. And he thinks, he fears with a chill that he's pushing Faolan away, speaking too far, suggesting too much.
He thinks, ’I’d like to know you.’ Thinks, ’Let me learn?’
What he Messages, though, is: [ I'm afraid the answer may not please you.
My destination matches your own; Awich was only ever meant to be a passing-through.
My— Plans, my intentions grow muddier beyond that point. But I am expected in Loch Bien. ]
He wants to say he hopes they can travel together. He judges, for once, that moderation might be in order, that there will be time to speak toward this later, and for now he keeps his tongue.
<.>
Faolan doesn't react. He doesn't know if this is a lie to give cause for Dmitri to follow him to Loch Bien, or the truth, and some measure of coincidence.
He knows that an unspeakable joy filled him for one brief heartbeat before he wrenched away from it. He tells himself it's only because he'll see the children again.
(He knows, also, a sick drop in his stomach: Dmitri will be there when he does what he plans to do.)
But he does relent all the same. [ It's sensible to travel together. Safer, perhaps.]
And, abruptly changing the subject, he nods towards the alcove where the thieves vanished.
The air feels a little warmer now; a little easier to breathe.
(Faolan didn't need to say anything about traveling together. But he did, he chose to, and might that not mean something?) (Whatever it means, it's no cause for Dima to rescind thought of caution.)
Whatever those words mean, Dima can't keep himself from smiling just a little, a relieved, minor crook of his lip.
[ It is. It will be; that's so. ] Even if the shrubs are finished, there's no telling what else may fling itself upon them.
Then, nodding to Faolan, he glances toward the room, toward where the thieves seem to have gone, and messages Sen: [ Anything worth lingering over, or are you reciting poetry to the tiefling? ]
<.>
Sen was, in fact, thinking of reciting poetry to Rin. He looks momentarily perturbed, then tsks and leans back so he can see out of the alcove at the waiting men.
[ They're ready to be boring somewhere different ], he observes to Rin. He rises and, on a whim, offers Rin a ride on his back - stealthed, of course!
When the pair reach Faolan and Dmitri, Sen recalls suddenly the pouch he found. Easing Rin from his back, he produces it, dumps the coin (gives it to Rin for dividing up fairly!) and holds it out to Faolan - who seems he might know and appreciate leather bags.
[INS or NAT, f: nat 20]
Faolan stares at it a moment, then slowly takes it. He waits until Sen and Rin move off again to scout ahead before just as slowly passing it to Dmitri.
[ It's human. ]
<.>
Rin of course agrees, wrapping their arms around Sen - not too tight, and making sure not to get in the way of his movement! - and responding, [ They can be as boring as they like; WE'LL have an adventure! ] The coins, of course, go into the bag of holding, for later and very fair dividing, and Rin turns their eyes ahead, because it's time for getting back to work!
Dima—
Well.
In the first place, there's a fluster through his stomach, a clamoring of moths between his lungs. Of course Faolan may only have wanted nothing to do with this object, or may have determined it better suits Dima's use, but—
But it's not not a gift.
It's not not the kind of gift Dima might hope for, if he ever anticipated gifts at all.
Dima holds the bag, brushes his fingertips across the surface. He'll ask Faolan what he thinks, but first, Dima will attempt to examine the bag himself, with a particular eye to any magical properties.
[INS, d: 7; If there's anything magical about it, he can't perceive it, and he can tell nothing else about it other than what Faolan already said.]
Dima's fingertips continue to travel the surface of the pouch as he looks up at Faolan. [ Thank you. It’s— ]
'Lovely,' he was about to say. Or 'beautiful.' Instead, his lip ticks slightly, and he alters his approach: [ What do you make of it? ]
<.>
...It shouldn't surprise him. He's beginning to gather Dmitri dabbles in necromancy. Of course he would be thankful for a pouch made from human skin.
He still gives the man a perplexed glance, then shakes his head. [ It's not unexpected, if this was a place of sacrifice and torture. ]
And, after a beat, he adds hesitantly, [ You're welcome. I think. ]
<.>
[ That's so.
What's strange is that it should have been left behind. An object of this sort— It isn't unheard of, but it's rare. Valuable, among the right circles. ]
He's staring at the pouch again (he thinks, next time he has an opportunity, he just might stow the raven totem in here) (he also thinks that might not be the wisest course), and he blinks, stows the pouch in his pack, and meets Faolan's eyes again.
[ I find interest in it. I find value— And I will find use for it. It was good of you to give. ]
Dima begins to extend his hand, realizes his own gesture, and blanches, turns what would have been a reach for Faolan's hand into a gesture toward the hall.
[ Onward, then. ]
<.>
Faolan saw that.
The hand reaching for his, then withdrawn again. (It's a metaphor for his life.) He saw, too, how Dmitri paled, how he made it something other to cover his error.
He turns away, thinking how no one ever withdrew a hand because reaching for him at all was the error. (Only being reached for in kind.)
As he starts after the thieves, he turns his head just enough to glance over his shoulder - then, eyes forward once more, he draws a hand behind his back, palm out, in subtle offer.
Just in case.
(Just to see.)
<.>
He'd fallen behind, not quite able to move yet, watching after Faolan with something like worry, something like regret. He's finally moving - step after step, it isn't difficult, or shouldn't be - and when Faolan's hand extends—
There's no thinking; no pause to deliberate the meaning in the gesture, or whether it's the offer Dima would like for it to be. He sees what he takes to be an invitation, and he moves, steps suddenly swift, silent, focused on Faolan's hand.
He wraps his hand in Faolan's. With perhaps a little too much pressure at first, so Dima relaxes, lets the hold be something simple. Something... Faolan can slip from, should he wish to. Something that still tells of Dima's appreciation.
He ought to say something. He wants to express how much this offered palm means, but he also doesn't think loquaciousness is wanted here, and what he lands on is—
[ Hello. ]
Smiling softly to himself.
<.>
He grabbed so quickly and held on so tightly.
(No one's ever done that before.)
Faolan's eyes close briefly and maybe for a moment the pressure of their hold is shared.
When Dmitri speaks, Faolan doesn't respond, but there's a faint squeeze of his hand.
They should focus and not make more of this than it is. Any of it.
Sen, meanwhile, is following Rin's lead once more.
<.>
Dima will keep that offered palm, that slight squeeze in his chest as they continue.
Rin, having slipped from Sen's back (they were having such fun! but investigation requires subtleness and focus, alas), leads down the hall with— Oh, those are more steps, aren't they? This is an odd way to compose a house.
They're going to move forward slowly, checking for signs of disturbance in the floor, alert for any rooms.
Rin's going to head toward the possible dead end, just to see if it *is* a dead end. They're also going to Message Sen, asking him to take a glance in the first doorway, and wait there for them.
Rin's taking their last five feet of movement to just steeep around that corner.
<.>
They find a room containing a plain wooden table flanked by long benches. They can see in the low lighting some oddness to the terrain - larger chunks of something rock-like around the table.
<.>
[ Weirdest place I've ever been. ] That may or may not be true. It feels true enough in this movement. Rin studies the room, brow furrowed. [ I'm looking at something in here, then I'm coming right back. Try not to let the others bore you to tears, okay? ]
Rin would like to approach the table and take a look at those chunks.
[INV: 22
dm: On closer examination, Rin is able to tell that the chunks are actually shattered - and gnawed - bones. They've been here long enough to begin to suffer from the ravages of time.]
Oh, good, gnawed!
Rin has decided they are finished with this room, and will be rejoining the others. They Message Sen: [ On my way over. Another weird room. ]
[q: Actually, a question: Did Rin here anything unusual, or any change of The Sound in that room?
a: The chanting does seem to be growing louder the more they head in a general that way and/or downward direction.]
When they reach the others, Rin gestures for another cluster. "I don't think we need to all go over there. It's full of bones? Okay not full, but there're a lot of pieces, a lot of them chewed on.
"I don't think the monster's there, though. Might be in that direction, but I don't think we're far enough down.
"Ready to head on?"
It is to Dima's credit that he doesn't insist on gathering a few chunks of that bone, or seeing them for himself. Just now, they have a task to keep them moving. He nods, once.
<.>
Faolan very briefly thinks of offering to split off from the party to go get Dmitri a few bones.
But that's stupid. For a lot of reasons.
Sen meanwhile has nothing to report; he glanced down the hall as far as he could see, but didn't do any detailed sweep, thinking Rin might want him to remain near the other two.
He is curious about the room they saw, but - well. Work to be done.
Faolan and Sen both nod their readiness, with one of them giving a hand a gentle press.
Meanwhile, in Rin-land—
[DEX, r: 22]
As Rin moves down the hall and take a step, the floor below their foot begins to crumble; indistinguishable from the rest of the hall's dirty floor is a layer of earth carefully covering a spike trap.
Rin's dexterity allows them to catch themself before becoming impaled on the spikes below, but they suffer 5 points of piercing damage and land prone.
Sen darts out to attempt to catch them when he sees what's happening, but doesn't reach them in time to stop the damage - only to help them up and out.
<.>
They're hissing quietly through their teeth - hurting from the pain, yes, but more presently annoyed that they walked into it - but stop when Sen helps them up. And, softly, "Looks like we're heading in the right direction, anyway."
To Sen: [ Gotta be more diligent checking for traps from here. :/ ]
<.>
Sen doesn't like seeing them injured one bit - and knows this wouldn't have happened if he checked for traps when they sent him to look down here.
He doesn't apologize - not yet, and not here - but he nods an affirmative and certainly looks rather unhappy with himself. With a glance back at Faolan, he almost asks for a healing spell of some sort, but the druid shakes his head and mouths wait.
For more damage to occur. Rin will live through a few puncture wounds, and it might be a good idea to reserve healing spells for now.
Sen gives him the finger and turns to help Rin around the spike trap, if that's the way they'd like to continue.
<.>
Rin is in fact determined to continue down this route. As far as they've found, traps usually mean someone's protecting something. (Or hiding.) (Or thinking they ought to hide.) (Or they just had an excess of traps and got bored one afternoon.)
The wounds don't slow them down; not yet, anyway. They've carried jobs through worse, and anyway, and anyway they don't want Sen feeling bad. (He didn't say anything, but they could see it.) So they put the pain out of their mind as best they can, and offer a balancing hand as Sen crosses the trap.
RIn looks back at the other two, then at Sen. [ Let's check the next bit together? Two sets of eyes can see better than two. ]
…Or, rather. Rin is going to begin checking the hall ahead for more traps.
[PERC r: 14 s: 3 f: 23]
<.>
Faolan, rising on his toes to see around the two, does a quick visual sweep of the hallway, then pulls a face and shakes his head. No more traps here.
<.>
The guy's got good eyes; that's helpful to know! And Rin, nodding, moves forward, slower now. They pause at the top of the next steps; if there's a door to their left, they'd like to peer inside, but only if Sen's right behind them.
<.>
A hall does seem to stretch in that direction. It's difficult to tell where the chanting is coming from.
Faolan is going to carefully edge around the trap and help Dmitri, as well.
<.>
Dmitri will accept that help gladly and gratefully. And! Without saying anything! Though he does press that man's hand, just lightly.
Rin glances down both hallways, conflicted. They thought, they thought the noises were a little louder in the 'chowing down on bones' room. They don't know, and now they're not really sure they heard it like that, but there's not much else to work with.
...Unless.
They turn to the group. "Hey. What would happen if someone made the noises back at them? Helpful or no?"
It sounds like - it almost is - a very casual suggestion.
<.>
Sen looks intrigued, if only because noise is his business.
Faolan looks as though he's horrified but trying not to look horrified. Very softly, he replies, "Maybe we don't announce where we are."
<.>
Rin Messages Sen: [ It could be interesting, right? ]
But.
But Faolan makes an all right point. And probably, probably jeopardizing stealth isn't a great idea.
"That's kind of what I thought. I mean, I could cast a sound somewhere else. Or if any of you can transport voices or something, that'd be great.
"But we're doing all right with quiet so far." They shoot Dima a look that very clearly suggests they mean after that shield incident.
"So. Okay. We want to go toward where the sound maybe's a little louder?"
The party trudges toward Awich; Faolan uses some of his remaining energy to cast a healing spell on Dima and on himself, enough to get them both through until they can rest.
Sen has a bounty in several towns, so evens he has one in Awich, odds he does not—
He does not!
So: the party arrives in a decently sized port village along one of the many rivers that flow from the north to join the canal to the south. The majority of the people here are wayfarers, travelers, emissaries, and those who profit from catering to passers-through.
There's a mingling of races here, and even some Gillmen from south of Morovsk can be seen working the docks. Those residents who don't serve travelers are fishermen, sailers, and general laborers of the types one would expect: blacksmiths, tailors, etc.
The town is controlled by Loch Bien, but locally run by a lessor lord whose title here is Magister; he has final say on all dictates of the town and surrounding farms, though these are few and far between.
Awich is at the edge of civilization; the forests that span the peninsula seem to threaten to overtake the town from the south, though much of it has been cut back to the north, where the road leads to Loch Bien.
So! What would everyone like to do?
<.>
Dima thinks it'd be a wise idea to secure housing before anything else; he is, however, low on ready funds.
So actually first q from me: Is there any way for Dima to access his family's money out here? I assume not.
Whatever the case, he'll ask if anyone has a preference for place of lodging.
Rin is looking around very innocuously. Definitely they aren't picking out places to potentially break into and loot. (Definitely they ARE doing this.)
<.>
Lucky for Dima, Sen has a talent for acquiring lodgings and food. Anywhere he performs, he seems to have accommodations just thrown at him.
So he recommends finding a modest tavern in Old Reach or along the river where he can work a little magic - which will be recounting stories of their exploits (with a little artistic license) and singing.
So he recommends finding a modest tavern in Old Reach or along the river where he can work a little magic - which will be recounting stories of their exploits (with a little artistic license) and singing.
Rin will see plenty of pockets to pick and houses to rob.
The town square is one particular place where a talented thief can make a dishonest day's pay.
Sen will suggest deciding what among their spoils of war they can hawk for some fast coin.
Faolan, meanwhile, is decidedly quiet while all of this is being discussed. He's considering sneaking out to the forest and sleeping there.
[dm: Liviana's magic has returned their belongings to them because someone forgot they didn't have that shit.]
Faolan has a little coin of his own, though, and wherever Sen finds accommodations is where he'll pass tonight, at least.
<.>
Rin agrees to selling what they don't need. Their suggestion is hawk things, then find accommodations, then everyone can do just as they please!
[dm: It'll be up to Rin (and ahah you) to determine what's not needed.]
Dima doesn't look particularly eager to go about these mundanities, but he's also not about to let the thieves handle transactions alone. :/ He'd like to head to the docks; that'll wait. For now, he looks at Faolan and Messages: [ Care to help keep an eye on these two? ]
<.>
Faolan looks down at his clothes, muddied and covered in several kinds of gore, and back up at Dima again. He's too tired to make any kind of argument, however, and simply shrugs.
Rin slash I suggest looking into potenTially parting with the following: -the three spells scrolls -the platinum necklace (but NOT the jewelry box) -the bag full of bat guano bc if they can get money for shit u knoW they will try it -possibly the iron pendant with the devil's face if no one can see any use in it; Rin doesn't care for it and thinks it's in questionable taste. -from the loot box in the ghoul room: the chain shirt, mess kit, and bullseye lantern
They'll offer Fae the thieves' tools, in case he’d like them?
Rin will of course hear arguments against any of these, or arguments for selling anything else.
[note: Fae can use the Protection from Poison
!! oh shit nice! Then that scroll shall be handed to Fae!]
Also. Rin is going to suggest that Sen handle the bartering. Since he seems to be very convincing and they know that they can be— Less. So.
<.>
Sen will take up this cause and the dm will do some math here.
Over the course of the afternoon, Sen manages to barter for:
8gp for the lantern 500ishgp for the necklace to a nobleman he encounters and convinces of its value 150gp for the spell scrolls 48 gp for the chain shirt and mess kit together to a passing adventurer.
The bat guano, he trades to a farmer for a hide that isn't marketable quality, but which Sen thinks will be of use as they move north. Warmth.
He can't find any takers for the pendant, so he pockets it.
<.>
Rin suggests they should mossstly divide it evenly but also Sen should get a little more of the cut because he did the bartering!
Dima suggests that Sen has already padded his pockets with gold from Wythall, at the very least. :/
But.
Dima won't argue far on this.
<.>
Sen rolling his eyes will fish out the fifty gold from Wythall and contribute it to the pile, then ask if anyone else is holding out on things looted, hMmM?
And Sen will be a good sport and throw in the 50, as well.
<.>
Rin! JUST REMEMBERED! They reach into the bag and pull out two dancing alabastar skeletons. "One was mine. These are for selling."
[note: Sen can get about 50gp for each. The macabre nature makes people reluctant to buy them.]
Rin is going to keep the third for now, though they soft soft promise the party that if they find a Very Interested buyer sometime, they will part with it.
…And. Actually. Feeling rather bad that they've kept several items. They will reluctantly suggest selling the jewelry box.
Which Dima is going to veto.
Just in case. Any children might want it.
<.>
Faolan and Sen both, possibly unprompted, will argue against selling the shortsword or the hand crossbow, and think Rin should keep both.
No one mentions the skin bag Dima has.
<.>
Rin appreciates this! And is inclined to agree! But also.
They did HAVE a shortsword before, as well as a shortbow. So they'll offer these to anyone in the group who might want them. If no one wants or can use them, they suggest holding on at least the bow for later potential use or selling.
<.>
Sen will take the bow, thank yoU.
SHORTBOWS DON’T JAM.
<.>
...Though Rin now remembers the ghoulskin cloak. And asks if they should be keeping that or getting it away from their party.
<.>
Faolan just. Holds out a hand for it, folds it up, and stashes it in his bag.
Never know. Nights get cold.
<.>
If no one's taking the shortsword, Rin votes sell it.
[dm: There was also a folded cloak and the potions of healing were in a small wooden coffer.
ARC, d: 19
Dima can almost immediately tell it's a cloak of protection.]
Dima immediately suggests keeping this.
<.>
On learning what it is and does, I feel like Sen and Faolan would not like emphatically suggest Dima wear it, but also they keep looking at him. And saying yes the party should keep it.
<.>
L o o K. Dima wasn't going to claim it for himself. But. Dima recognizes. It would probably be useful for him.
<.>
A lot of this discussion takes place over a hot meal in a tavern near the docks. The ghoulish items spread on the table before the party; passers-by give them wide berth and other patrons keep glancing at them warily.
However, one man on his way past doubles back, then interrupts them to ask if they're selling those things at the Nightmare Market.
<.>
Dima just looks at them. Very casually. Very 'if you have a problem come over and speak it.'
Rin occasionally hisses at passersby. Just for fun.
[q: Would Rin or Sen know anything about this market :o? a: Sen and Fae have never heard of it. HIST, r: 8, d:11 ARC, d: 19; Dima has a kneejerk negative reaction to the mention of the Nightmare Market, as it has the same reputation in Morovsk and Novorometz as fairy circles and Bigfoot. And as a respectable necromancer, he gave absolutely none of his time indulging that myth. dm: And if Dima mentions it being a myth, Sen's arcana check allows him to relay the gist.]
Dima, in this case. Is going to helpfully look at the man and say, very firm, "Move along, won't you."
The man cocks his head at the party, and particularly at Dima, and presses -
"But you see, if you are going, my master will want a word." And, hastily, "He'll pay good coin."
<.>
...This may. Change matters. Slightly.
Depending.
He arcs an eyebrow, expression unimpressed. "Your master.
"And who is he, this man who pays good coin for myths?"
Dima is also going to Message Sen, who seems the most likely to have heard of the Night Market: [ You know these stories, yes? ]
<.>
Sen snorts and nods confirmation. He knows and doesn't tell the stories; he finds them absurd and only suited to particular audiences.
[note: Rin absolutely giving Sen a look of ‘???’]
The servant bows - even if he does hesitate halfway down - and replies, "Umbero Calabra of Mysos; his entourage is traveling to Loch Bien for the fifth centennial - and, of course, celebration of Lord Bien's champion."
Faolan stifles a snort at this and looks out a window, no longer interested in this conversation.
<.>
Dima worked very hard to not sharply exhale through his nose right there.
<.>
Unperturbed, the servant continues, "He charged his retinue with the task of keeping a weather eye out for those who might prove to be traveling east. There are rumors the Market will inhabit the ruins - "
"For two nights, before the whole thing vanishes like bad wind," Sen finishes for him, and answering Rin's question. "The Nightmare Market is a figment of some drunken necromancer's imagination. Are you certain your master isn't having a laugh at your expense?"
<.>
Rin's brow furrows; they quite like the sound of a Nightmare Market. And maybe it's just a story, but sometimes stories turn out truer than people think. Okay, maybe not often, and if Sen says it's not true it probably isn't, but still—
"What ruins?" They're looking at the guy with the Umbero master. "Also what's your master even want with it?"
Dima huffed a laugh at Sen's remark, and is just. Going to give Rin a subtle Look.
Dima would also like to try to discern whether the man before them is telling the truth, whether he believes this Nightmare Market nonsense.
<.>
The man seems to believe he's telling the truth.
And when asked what his master wants, he looks particularly dodgy - or wary ? - as he glances around, then tugs his vest and clears his throat. "That isn't for me to say."
Then, relenting somewhat, he adds, "I can't stay here and convince you. Listen, my master will dine at the Lion and Boar tonight. If you're interested, meet him and ask him what questions you have. If not, well - can't imagine what you want with those things, but good luck with them."
'Those' things being the odd assortment on the table.
<.>
"I don't believe your lack of imagination is our trouble." Dima has leaned back in his chair slightly, and there's a slight warning in his voice. He is not interested in entertaining this proposition or this sketchy little man. Looking away - finding that his eyes land on Faolan, and yes, Dima has to remind himself to continue speaking - he finishes, idly, "Be on your way."
Rin continues watching the guy; they're not not thinking about having a word with this guy's master. They'll just... Think about it. For a bit.
<.>
The servant leaves with another, curt bow.
Sen drums his fingers on the back of Rin's chair where his arm has come to rest - certainly only because of his impressive length of limb and need to sprawl, and not because of. Rin.
Faolan is dividing his attention between his food and the world outside the window; the moment the party was mentioned, he checked out of the conversation and remains so now.
Sen waits just long enough for Dima to know he's about to play devil's advocate.
[note: Dima’s bracing himself.]
"...It wouldn't hurt-“
<.>
[q: does Dima know anything about Calabra bc nobility connections?
a: He's heard the name as a merchant lord deeply entrenched in Mysos, and Dima's sister has probably been infuriated by his attempts to levy taxes on those from Morovsk who use the canals.]
Aaaand Dima sighing out loud, clearly exasperated. "In what world would it not hurt. We could all stand a long evening's rest, and Calabra is a perpetual pain in the throat. I've no interest in seeing the man." Certainly not, unless Morovk's business calls for it; thank the gods that Calabra's been largely Derzhena's problem.
Rin has absolutely perked up at Sen's words - and possibly, possibly because the elf's leaning on the chair, which is kind of nice? - their tail flicking. "All right. So what if we go talk to him? See what's he got to say. Sen's right, it can't hurt." They pause, humming to themself, and look at Faolan. "What d'you think?"
Dima is looking very studiously at the ceiling and muttering something about being curious whY the man chose to speak with theM.
<.>
Faolan blinks, his attention returning to the group now that it's been summoned. Something about - speaking with someone? He wasn't...listening. (His mind was two days north.)
"Don't worry what they think, Pretty Rin. If we want to go see what his lordship has to say, we shall." Which is to say, if Rin would like to go, so would Sen.
He does level a look at Dima and add, "If he's a perpetual pain, consider: suppose he does believe the Nightmare Market exists and is paying coin for someone else to go. Suppose we agree to go spend the evening jaunting around in some fucking ruins. Stargazing. Listening to foxes. That thing you two do when you're Messaging and think we're not looking, with the longing gazes and pitiful puppy-dog eyes.
"Then we come back here and tell him whatever tale he wanted in the first place of wraith souvenir stands and skeleton auctions. Not only do we have more coin, but you've gone and pulled one over on one of the many, many people you loathe."
<.>
His eyes go just a little wide at Sen's talk of Messaging, and Dima might have thrown the elf a scowl if he hadn't been distracted by the thought of— Oh. Stargazing and climbing among ruins with Faolan. (Seeing the man lit by the stars.)
It doesn't hurt that Sen's final point is aptly made; Dima would rather like to give Calabra a kick in the knee, and he's certain his sister would appreciate the story.
There are other ways to get at Calabra. There will also be other opportunities - maybe? (please, please) - to see Faolan in starlight (the image, again, jars his pulse). And Dima is not inclined to trust the bastard; his general rule is to offer trust to no one (Dima is not going to think about what level of trust he may have extend the three sitting with him), and particularly hold no trust in his fellow nobles.
Dima's folded his arms, is tapping two fingers sharply at his bicep. (A glance, a lingering look at Faolan shows that— Mm. The man doesn't look to be precisely here. He's been very quiet, but then he did seem tired, and city travel doesn't suit everyone.) (It doesn't suit Liviana, either; she'd elected to take a few hours' flight away from this place, and though Dima had been reluctant to see her go, though he'd felt a pang at her absence, they very *least* she's owed after what she went through is free flight.)
He speaks at last, staring at Sen: "If the two of you wish to speak to him, you may waste your time as you please.
"Should you care to share your findings - if there's coin worth pursuing, and if Calabra can keep his impositions to an absolute minimum - the venture might be worth exploring."
Might. Maybe. But Dima isn't going to deal with this until he has more proof it's worthwhile.
"In any case, I suspect my presence would dissuade rather than encourage disclosure of his schemes."
To Faolan, he Messages, [ Are you all right? ]
<.>
With that settled, Sen turns to Rin to plan accordingly for the night's foray into the wealthier quarter of the city; this conversation may or may not include talk of stopping off at the house of a wealthy 'friend' (or mark, as it were) and coming away a little richer for having visited.
Faolan, however. Faolan's mind is on Alfrig and his Champion. (Bastards.) (It's not important anymore.) (It - really might not be.) (It's not safe to think like that, in Dima's direction. In the direction of a future that won't exist, and this because men are more like Alfrig and his Champion than they are like Dmitri Voronin claims to be.)
Dmitri's message intrudes on his thoughts and a blush creeps across his cheeks. (He doesn't know whether he'd like it to be because of Dmitri's voice or embarrassment from his thoughts.) (He'd rather not feel his face burning.)
(He needs to put a stop to all of this. Dmitri's ever-nearing. His thoughts. He -)
Breathes.
He looks up and meets Dmitri's eyes and offers one truth. [ I'm tired. ]
It's a truth. A rather large one. Still, he adds before returning to his food, [ Just tired. ]
<.>
(He must have caught Faolan off-guard.
That must be what the— Well, it'd looked at if the man's skin flushed. Isn't it the likely answer? Never mind what Dima might like to imagine.
Never mind what he might imagine, envision later.)
Dmitri nods once. [ We'll have rest soon.
I won't say I'm not weary. And the thieves can tire themselves out how they like. ]
What worries him is the depth of meaning that seems contained within Faolan's admission. It's possible the man only needs time to sleep, and to settle all that happened so quickly, so heinously around them. (It's possible there's something more, as well.)
He clears his throat. "It would be wise to secure our lodgings sooner than not. Let's make it our next stop after this, shall we? Settle ourselves in, and then sleep or scatter as we please."
Rin's been grinning at Sen, then at their food, then at Sen again. They like very much this plan of his; it's got intrigue, it's got sneaking, it's got loot! And now that Rin's back in a city, they're eager to get some work going. They might not be here long; better make the most of it!
They realize Dmitri was maybe speaking. The gist of the words filter through, and Rin nods. "Works for me."
Then, to Sen, [ The sooner we ditch them, the sooner WE'LL have fun. ]
If there's nothing more from anyone to be said, the party will make their way to an inn in Old Reach; the accommodations are comfortable and affordable from their bartering even without Sen's assistance (which he will lend, anyhow.)
[d4 roll: 4]
There are four rooms available, located on the second floor of the inn. Faolan immediately vanishes into his after inquiring about where one might find a place to bathe and learning of a bathhouse (although the fluttering, giggling innkeeper insists she'll have a basin and ewer brought up for him.)
[note: Dima is unintentionally scowling a the innkeeper.]
Sen remains down in the portion of the inn that serves as a tavern and small pub, regaling patrons with stories that have them laughing uproariously and paying no attention to Rin's doings.
Should Rin be doing doings.
<.>
Oh Rin is absolUTEly doing doings! And taking pauses here and there to watch Sen very excited and enjoying; Rin is learning that Sen is a fantastic performer!
[d100 roll: 27
dm: During their pickpocketing exploits, Rin finds 2gp, 3 sp, and a shard of obsidian that always feels warm to the touch. It could be useful in colder climates!]
Rin will be very excited to show Sen, all will giVe him the obsidian. Null gesture of affection!
<.>
Well! He will keep it safely in his pocket until he can find some way of wearing it!!
[note: Rin thinks it will look very good on him!]
Annnd -
As night starts to fall, the two thieves make their way to High Town to meet with Calabra at the Lion and Boar.
Sen has managed to clean himself up enough to look respectable, and has asked Rin to stealth nearby and just keep an eye on the situation, see if they see anything that Sen misses while locked in the business of conversing.
They can, of course, Message him with any questions they have.
Sen waits until Rin has stealthed (no need for a roll) before entering the tavern; he informs the burly guard at the door that his presence was requested by Calabra's manservant, at which point the aggressive demeanor of the guard changes, and he is ushered in to a private dining area. Calabra sits at a table with service for twelve, but dines alone. Behind him, a line of servants stand at attention, each of them stepping forward to perform a specific task: clearing a plate, pouring wine, taking a message, fetching a new dish.
Upon seeing Sen, he points to the chair nearest him and instructs, "Sit."
Sen's expression doesn't falter, but he will be relegating entire taverns for the rest of his life with this tale.
He sits and says, "Your manservant had an interesting request of me and my companions this afternoon, Lord - is it 'Lord'?"
"It is to you." Calabra barely pauses between bites to say as much. Sen's eyes flicker upward as though to examine the room, the servants (search for Rin, Message Rin not to take the bait.)
<.>
Rin will only take the bait far enough to Message Sen: [ W o w. ]
<.>
"It was a strange request, as I said - he suggested you -"
Calabra sets down his fork and knife, hands lingering on each before drawing back and folding one atop the other. "If you and your 'companions' are venturing into the Nightmare Market, I would hire you."
Sen can't help it. [ At least he gets straight to the point. Loves his money but not the sound of his own voice. Like some. ]
(Himself. He means himself.)
<.>
Rin: [ Yeah, but his voice is kind of garbage. Unlike some. ]
<.>
"There was an incident. Unfortunate, unpleasant," Calabra begins, then sighs, seeming to drop some of his authoritative air. "An assassination attempt. The guard you passed at the door dispatched the man, but he was nothing more than a hired murderer."
Sen's brow furrows and he begins to interrupt, then thinks better of it. [ I can't wait to hear where the garbage is GOING with this. ]
<.>
Rin: [ ’Nothing more' than a hired murderer. ] It's clear from their Message that they're rolling their eyes.
<.>
"I sought the services of a diviner, who saw the scoundrel's soul lingering with this - *Nightmare Market*. So. I'll pay well for anyone bold enough to venture to there and learn the identity of the party who hired them."
Sen purses his lips to keep from chuckling at Rin. [ Not much of a hired anything, truly, if he failed to do the murdering part. ]
To Calabra, he asks, "How can you be certain of any of this? Your augury, my honesty on return, the very existence of the market?"
Calabra leans back in his chair and studies Sen. Calmly, he replies, "The spirit will tell you how it was killed. If there is no market and you speak truly of it, I will know the augury lied. If there is no market and you attempt to deceive me -"
[note: Rin is frowning intensely right now. >:c]
"Ah. I see. Something of a guarantee for you." Sen is - well. Only a little impressed. But it's more than he expected.
"You are smarter than first appearances suggest."
"My mother often said so." Sen breathes heavily, thoughtfully, then inclines his head. "All right. Will I find you here after I've found a mythical undead market and learned the secret of who could *possibly* want you dead? Yes. Excellent."
<.>
Rin: [ I'm gonna drop a lamp on his head. ]
They aren't. But they'd like to.
<.>
[ There might be a queue for that sort of thing. ]
With that, he rises as Calabra motions with one hand - to have a guard stalk Sen out of the dining room. Once he's been manhandled out into the street, he tsks and announces to no one (Rin), "Well, that was somewhat extreme."
[dm: Any checks Rin would have cared to make through that?
rin would've wanted to check mmm -calabra's honesty wrt whether the assassination attempt happened -calabra's honesty wrt hiring a diviner -the tone with which calabra said the smarter than first appearances suggest line -taken as close a look at the guard who supposedly dispatched the murderer -if the guard who escorted sen out was a different guard, they would've taken a closer look at thiS guard also -also what was calabra eating they're curious! :o! and if rin can, they would've lingered around a few minutes after sen was escorted out. just to see what's up. and would’ve messaged sen to say so.
INS: 22
dm: Calabra was eating something clearly exotic in the vein of eating flamingo tongues or monkey brains.
Calabra seemed convinced of the truth of his words. And in fact did not seem to be dishonest at any point during the conversation. Including his comment about Sen's looks, though that was clearly insulting.
The guard at the door was the same one who escorted Sen out; he stands about an inch taller than Sen and might be either a Barbarian or have some orc blood somewhere in his family tree. He looks smarter than he is. He likewise looks very capable of handling an assortment of weapons, so there's no guessing how he might have killed the assassin.
Hanging a bit behind, Rin would have witnessed Calabra shake his head and then continue to eat. Clearly, he isn't interested in conversing with his staff, because the room is silent until Rin departs.]
Sen will be waiting for Rin across the road, possibly juggling rolls for a pair of children who happened to pass by.
Rolls he stole from the table.
[dm: which was the only check he passed.]
When Rin joins him, he'll pass one of the rolls to them.
"In terms of volume, anyway. Awkward, awkward atmosphere." They shake their head, taking a bite of the roll. "...! These're from the table, right? Good, good, that's good."
They'll chew as they think, as they talk a little more, lifting up onto their toes, then back onto their heels. "You really should be commended for sitting through that. I couldn't have. You're a patient elf, Sen; a very patient elf."
And. "He didn't sound like he was lying, at least. About anything. Dunno if I was missing something, but— The guy seems sure about what he's saying, divination and all."
A blink, a cant of their head. "Is there any chance the Nightmare Market could be a real thing. I mean, okay if it's not, life's life, just. You know. Could be interesting?"
This time speaking half to themself, musing, "I don't think I've ever seen someone eat flamingo tongue."
<.>
Sen would tell Rin it's likely that Calabra doesn't talk to his LESSERS, and that, if the market is real, then they'll come into some coin, and if not, they'll rob the fuck.
Sen also will impart that he intends to extort Calabra for double whatever he's offering.
As they walk, Sen tells Rin the few details he knows of the Nightmare Market; to be fair, it isn't the most popular of subjects amongst "decent" folk, and amongst indecent folk, it smacks of fairy tales and hallucination.
When and where the Nightmare Market appears, whether drawn by chance or alignment of stars, is largely unknown - to the living.
He pauses, thoughtful, murmuring to himself, "The dead all know. The dead all go-"
And then, tsking annoyance, he admits there was a sort of song he heard once, when he was very young, but of course, he can't remember a gods-damned word but the chorus.
He goes on with a dismissive wave, recalling what he can: the dead things of the world congregate to barter for their needs. Flesh for the ghouls' appetites. A memory for the wraiths, a bit of warmth, a vial of blood. In return, it's said there are wonders to be found amidst the bizarre wares.
"There are rules, of course, and penalties for breaking them. That's the part everyone remembers, because it's in all the cautionary tales: if you break the rules, you stand forever bound to the wheels of the market's spectral caravans or some shit to that effect.
"First: 'Unlife, like life, is sacrosanct.
"Second: Do not steal.
Third: The living cannot be touched."
"They say necromancers and looky-loos find their way into the market, but I've never spoken with any legitimate, sober source to that end. Dima's attitude is typical."
He hums, then shrugs. "The rest is conjecture, colorful additions, and pure fiction. I suppose if the place exists at all, we'll see for ourselves tonight. Either way, we'll be sure to embellish the tales just a little more. No one likes a spoilsport."
One further comment from Sen, "I wonder how much it cost him to have flamingo tongues imported - and what he eats when he dines with company."
<.>
Rin hangs on every word. It's rare for them; they lose interest easily, even when they'd like to hear a story. So many storytellers end up disappointing. So many times, there's not really anything worth hearing, and Rin finds it more pleasing to fill in the blanks on their own.
The thing is, Sen tells a really good story. He doesn't hide his doubt, but the way he talks about this Nightmare Market makes it seem possible. And! He's got a good point: Even if there isn't any market at all, they can still make a good story of it.
Rin likes this attitude. Rin likes listening to Sen talk. And when Sen finishes speaking, they find they've caught every word; even if they forget some of the details, they'll remember the gist.
It's been a pretty good night, all around.
It's been a pretty good couple of days! (Well. Minus the getting bitten and the smelly heap.)
And they laugh a little, a spring in their step, their tail swishing, swishing, occasionally brushing Sen's legs. "Probably his foot. That man is a top of the line spoilsport.
"Us, though. We're going to see about this market!
"Or at least get to listen to some foxes." And maybe, maybe find a nice-looking rock or two.
<.>
The party gathers in the tavern below the inn; Faolan is the last to arrive, thirty minutes later than the others. (Sen is just considering asking if Faolan might not have decided to depart, or sleep in the woods, or not go along, but he doesn't know quite how to handle Dima.) (Yet.)
Faolan looks weary, makes no apology for his tardiness, and keeps a little apart from the group as they make for the outskirts of town.
They have managed to gather from other tavern patrons that the ruins are "a ways" northwest, along a small river tributary, until they reach the "old port". ( "Hardly more'n a dock or two." ) The ruins will be "due west" from this "port".
It's in that direction that they begin their search.
Sen, of course, offers to take the lead - though he really should not, considering his sense of direction.
<.>
Not long after Dima settled into his room - wishing foolishly, he knows it's foolish, that they'd been obliged to share rooms; knowing it's best Faolan has space, worn as he's looked - he was rejoined by Liviana, a tap at the window, a raven fluttering in and shifting to her serpentine shape. She stayed within the room while he bathed; they conversed in words and images while he worked his way toward rest.
He thought of Faolan often; of course he did. Once during the night, he knocked on the man's door; softly, barely a sound. It might not have sounded like a knock, and anyway, Dima thought better of it before anything could happen; he darted from the hall and back to his room, thinking he should let Faolan have his space. Reminding himself not to push too far.
(He did ask the innkeeper whether a man of Faolan's description had departed from the inn. He was relieved, and finally able to sleep some, upon hearing no such man had left.)
Liviana - returned to her raven form - now alternates between flying above and landing, just occasionally, on Dima's shoulder. Dima himself sticks as near to Faolan as he can, and yes he's watching perhaps a little too much, yes he's relieved to find the man's with them still, and yes, he's worried at how weary Fae seems. He wonders, too, what's drawn Faolan to come with them—
And in fact, wonder what his own reason for coming might be. (Presumably, he's half out of his mind.) (It's probably the elf's influence, gods damn him.) Whatever it is, he knows he wants to get this over with. The sooner they can find this absolute nothing, the sooner they can return to the inn, and discuss plans for heading toward Loch Bien.
What draws Dima to a sudden halt is Sen's offer, and his response is immediate—
"Absolutely not.
"I'd just as soon not spend a week in searching for these ruins."
Rin, wandering near Sen, takes some offense to this, and glances over at Sen. "I think we can work this out." Taking a few steps nearer to Sen, grinning, they add, "Thieves' pact: We'll find the Market together!"
<.>
Faolan didn't sleep. After a washing up - perfunctory and cold - he tossed and turned on his mattress, thinking of Calabra. Of Alfrig. Of Alfrig's Champion. Of the way his wildfire spirit looked at him when he offered to sacrifice it, and how that look was acceptance.
Thinking of how the wolf is part of him, a reflection of his soul.
(What would happen to the wolf if he -) (Not something to think about.)
He heard a soft knock at the door at some point, knew who it must be, and feigned sleep. The knock wasn't repeated and no voice called for him.
He entered the trance he needed to recover himself, but sleep is a long way off still.
There's this journey into the wilderness to find a fairy tale. He's curious, of course, but more to the heart of the matter, he chose to go because these three seem incapable of surviving without healing. Or protection. (And - maybe. Maybe he needs them, too.) (For now. He'll leave before (Dima) any of them can.)
He watches Sen and Rin and thinks of the earthworms. And Rin's preoccupation with the frog on a stick. And Sen's perpetual distractedness towards storytelling.
And shaking his head, he picks up the pace a bit to take the lead. If anyone's going to find their way in the woods, it'll be him. (And maybe. If he's scouting ahead, maybe Dmitri will focus on something else.)
"If I can't find it, I'll ask something. The animals know."
Sen frowns at him, or through him, perhaps.
Sen is thinking, The dead all know. The dead all go.
Sen is wondering now if maybe there was something to that song.
The following day sees the party emerging from their separate rooms, bleary-eyed but mostly-rested, and wending their way one-by-one into the inn's small tavern. Faolan is quiet, which is generally his state of affairs, but perhaps quieter than usual. Sen is his typical chattering self, reminiscing about the fights the necromancer and druid missed while they were off "Doing what, exactly? Where did you two get off to?"
The innkeeper brings a generous mid-afternoon lunch, and it's after pushing the food around on the plate with his fork that Faolan finally interrupts the chatter to say, "We have a good deal to do and not much time before nightfall. We need to find the Gower girl. And you two ought to speak with Calabra at some point."
And then, remembering, he adds, "And there's the contract from Nerys. Dima -"
He pauses; clearly, he hadn't meant to say 'Dima'. Better to run with it, though. "I don't know where to begin with that one."
<.>
Dima has found - and finds now - that by choosing not to answer Sen (or by answering with a brief exasperated glance), he can avoid potentially awkward questions - or questions to which he owes Sen no address, thank you very much - because the elf will inevitably fall into another thread of chatter. This tactic becomes more efficacious now with Rin, who after only a brief silence remembers a very important detail about how one man tried to reason with a mud monster and how Rin is certain Sen could have managed it, but this man had no chance, oh no!
What Dima wants (badly) to do is scoot near to Faolan, to sit shoulder-to-shoulder and whisper 'My Fae' with a conspiratorial smile. He knows what Faolan said, what Faolan requested, though, so he tries not to watch Fae too often (his eyes stray the man's way regardless), and is nodding along to Faolan's accounting when—
He might. Freeze just for a moment (not freeze, thaw) (thaw, and turn his eyes to Fae, a little bit too hopeful) when Faolan (Fae!) says 'Dima.'
He also makes a valiant effort at regaining his composure - and mostly succeeds! - nodding and finding that his voice at least keeps remarkably steady: "The contract can wait for the moment; Moloch's frustrations aside, there isn't much particular hurry on that front. I'd like to have it completed within the month, but for the moment, Gower and Calabra first, I think."
He looks at Sen and Rin, prods at his breakfast. "You'll need to know what to tell the man, and I'm not certain truth is the most reliable route." He shakes his head, looking irritated. “I am not particularly inclined to let the bastard know of the Market's existence. And we might get further from questioning his staff than speaking to him—
"Depending on how well the silver-tongued bard thinks he can handle the man."
Rin, meanwhile, has reached into their pouch to find the five silver that they are 99.9999% sure they're going to owe Sen. Because, really? Dima?
Fishing up five silver, they Message Sen: [ Payment now, or later? ]
<.>
Sen has fallen into an observational silence. He's not entirely sure he did win the bet. What he is sure of: Faolan is being aloof (though not chilly) and Dima keeps casting wide, yearning eyes at the boy.
They aren't acting like a couple. They're acting like maybe that interlude wasn't what he and Rin might have expected.
He shakes his head minutely at them and responds, [ I don't believe the matter's been settled, Pretty Rin. You may win yet. ]
To Dmitri, Sen replies, "I can handle Calabra better than you, I imagine. That isn't a boast; that's acknowledgement that the man would sooner see you flayed than have a conversation. So: that will be our task, then: to keep Calabra occupied while you speak with his servants. And, no, I won't be mentioning the Market to him. That way lies disaster."
Faolan nods in agreement to this last; he, too, feels a strong desire to protect the secrecy of the Nightmare Market. He adds softly, "I can try to locate Morwenna and Manon. If they're here, I'll find them and meet up with you -" Faolan nods to Dmitri. "- to help as I can."
As Sen raises both an eyebrow and his fork to his mouth, he pauses with an impinging curiosity. "Who the devil is Moloch? What 'contract'? Dmitri, you've been engaging in side-hustles without us!"
<.>
Rin seems to consider this. Looks around, nods, and starts flipping the coin instead, Messaging Sen, [ Heads or tails? ]
Meanwhile‚ "We're agreed on one point, at least." Yes, Dima is rolling his eyes at Sen. Yes, there's also a note of approval in his voice; best indeed that Calabra doesn't know a godsdamned thing about the Market.
"I'll note that any 'side-hustle' I may have engaged in was struck while you were hocking your wares before a rapt and decidedly undead crowd." A lift of his eyebrow, very 'excuse you Sen.'
"...I will also note. Generously, I might add. That I am not entirely opposed to your joining in the fulfillment of this contract. If Faolan—" ('Fae'? He wants to say 'Fae.' He isn't sure he ought to. 'Dima' was introduced from the start by Sen, and might be more admissible.) (In vain, Dima wishes he'd asked Fae about this.) (In the pause between Faolan's name and the rest of his sentence, Dima is absolutely looking at Fae a little too long, eyes speaking mingled apology, plea, and admiration.) "If Faolan doesn't mind."
Dmitri waves his hand in a dismissive sign. "A subject for another time, though.
"I'm willing to speak with the servants— However." He looks to Faolan. "It's a two-person task, at least." He thinks, 'I don't want to leave you.' He adds: "There's a chance they're under guard or, if they've left, that someone's waiting in their home.
"I'd like to go with you—" A moment as he considers that in such a case stealth might come in handy, and he nods, assenting: "But if there's value in sneaking, I suggest Rin and Liviana to accompany you."
[q: has dima heard any recent or not-so-recent rumors regarding people with an itch to execute calabra's dipshit ass?
dm: People frequently pass through the Voronin household making noises about Calabra, though whether this is because they actually want him dead or they're trying to endear themselves to the Voronins is anyone's guess.]
<.>
Faolan eyes Dmitri with mild amusement, then breathes a heavy sigh and considers the situation with his eyes on his meal. Finally, seeming to come to a decision, he says, "A compromise. Sen needs Rin, it seems like. Someone to sneak around- "
Sen is nodding pointedly.
"And thieve from the man, I suppose," Faolan concludes. Sen again nods, a little more emphatically.
"Rin with Sen. Send Liviana with me; I'll send the wolf with you. If any of use meets trouble, we'll have assistance reaching the rest."
Meanwhile, Sen is sliding down in his chair to bring his head inclined and level with Rin's. He still Messages, but doesn't bother to hide he's being conspiratorial. [ Cagey bastard. Suppose you find the contract in question and give us a look? Must be worth something if Moneybags is keeping it hush. And heads, please. ]
<.>
Rin doesn’t look at Sen, though they DO look at the coin as it falls. Then, expression puzzled, still looking at the coin: [ Tails. I suspect this coin of being a conspirator, and shall have to be rid of it. ]
If it sounds like they’ve gone into scheming mode—
Well of course they have!
They nod abstractly, still examining the coin, and speak aloud, “Works for me. We’ve got to get everything we can off that jagged rag.”
And huffing to themself, Rin is just going to stand and drift their way toward a waiter, offering the silver coin for a glass of ‘some kind of nice breakfast drink please bring it to the table thanks so much.’
Definitely none of this is an excuse to be able to return to the table - in a minute, of course, they don’t want to be obvious - in a route that takes them by Dmitri. Certainly not!
Dima's eyes are on Fae suddenly, surprised and— Well. Well, yes, his chest feels warm, he feels touched to think that Faolan would permit this, let alone offer his wolf's company. After a moment, Dima collects himself and nods. "It's a fair compromise."
And, "For the sake of a consistent plan, what particularities are we after?
"I'm interested in knowing why Payl was chosen, and whether we were chosen with intention, or whether Umbero honestly sent his servant grasping at straws.
"I'd also be interested in knowing whether Calabra was surprised by the attempted assassination, and whether he seems earnestly unsettled by it."
Rin has made their way back toward the table, and they are absolutely going to make an attempt at snagging that contract from Dima's pack.
<.>
[SLEIGHT, r: 15 PERC, d: 17 PERC, f: 20]
As Rin attempts to life the contract from Dima, Faolan, with barely a beat in the process of raising his fork to his own mouth, says, "Don't do that, Rin."
Faolan takes a bite then meets Dima's eyes and nods toward Rin, who is halfway into Dmitri's pocket.
Dmitri offers an appreciative, sideways nod to Faolan as he swats Rin's hand. Not looking at them, only pointing toward their seat at the table.
Rin huffs, shoots Faolan what's almost a glare (but isn't not a little bit impressed that he caught them), Messages [ Don't you know about honor among thieves?? ], and slips a ball bearing into Dima's pocket.
They might as well do something.
And as they return to their seat, looking suspiciously like they're in a sulk, they Message Sen, [ Maybe next time. >:/ ]
<.>
Faolan gazes back at Rin unperturbed before replying, [ Whores have no honor. Haven't you heard? ]
If Rin says anything further, Faolan's fixation on his food after that comment makes him strangely deaf to Messages.
Sen leans over and kisses Rin's horns before allowing the conversation to turn to the matter of Calabra. "I'm particularly curious about why we were approached, and what caused him to think Gower would be where we found him. That doesn't seem like a guess to me."
Faolan tosses in, "Is it stupidity or arrogance, do you suppose? Assuming he just sent out his servant with the intent of finding Payl Gower's ghost, and wasn't trying to find the Market for some other reason." It's an uncomfortable thought to entertain: what would Calabra want with the dead besides information?
<.>
Rin does in fact reply, looking puzzled all over again, [ Wait, I don't know what YOU'VE heard but that's very RUDE, Faolan. ]
And, when there's no answer: [ No, that's lies, of COURSE they do. ]
And: [ Faolan? FAOLAN. I'm not about to DO anything. ]
They'd be sulking even more obviously, were it not for that kiss from Sen. That turns them around, and Rin decides that there'll be occasion enough to grab the contract another time, and maybe also grab something from Faolan, just for implying whatever he was (??) implying (??).
Rin darts a kiss to Sen's cheek, hands him a grape. "It's all pretty suspicious, just the question's in what way. He said something about asking someone, an oracle or... What was it? Diviner, maybe that. And he seemed honest about everything, but maybe he's just good at lies. A lot of rich fuckers are."
Actually. Speaking of rich fuckers. Rin looks at Dmitri: "Is Calabra a necromancer, or what?"
[INS: nat 1
dm: Hasn't heard a thing.]
In response to Rin's question, Dmitri looks blatantly offended. "I can't imagine he would be in the least. It isn't a particularly profitable preoccupation, nor one liable to gain laudation.
"It doesn't negate to possibility that he does indeed want something from the dead, or from access to the Market. For himself, or for someone he's... Mm. Either eager to impress, or already joined with in accordance.
"The ass may also have been coaxed into meeting with a diviner out of fear for his hide. Whether he's thought much about why Gower of all people should have been sent, I can't say. Calabra has his resourceful moments, as I understand, but is hardly what I'd call circumspect.
"Whatever the case, it'll be worth inquiring among the servants whether Calabra showed signs of interest in the Nightmare Market before the incident with Gower."
Rin, who has been very busy studying their hand against Sen's, chimes in again with, "You know what's weird. Or maybe kind of weird, is why'd the guard even kill Payl at all? Payl's not really an imposing sort of person or he doesn't seem like he was, and that guard was built.”
<.>
Faolan senses Dmitri's piqued ire and without thinking, reaches out and rests a hand on his wrist. He seems unaware of the movement and doesn't withdraw immediately.
Sen, meanwhile, shoves his plate to the side and starts to fuss through his clothes in search of his pipe, leaning back only when the barmaid brings Rin their requested drink. To Rin, he replies, "Oh, I'm not sure that's much of a mystery. When everyone wants a piece of you, you set an example with poor bastards like Gower. It's a deterrent, not a necessity."
Faolan nods in agreement. "It's typical, especially in the larger cities. Up in Lo'ben -" He falters, then decides it isn't worth the energy to correct himself. They know what sort of person he is. "- they drag them out in the street and do it where everyone can see. I'll give them this, though: the nobles do it themselves. Rough bunch."
Pensively, he continues, "I heard in Morovsk and Striker's Bay they still keelhaul would-be-assassins. Never saw it, myself, though. Might just be a rumor. Whatever they do, it's not in the street. People just disappear."
<.>
Dima is keeping his hand very, very still. Not tense at all; no, his hand eased immediately the moment Fae touched (offered touch, and chose to touch) his wrist. (It's remarkable, the extent to which this man's presence impacts him.) (It's not so remarkable at all, when Faolan shines with such brilliance, such warmth.) If he doesn't draw attention to Fae's touch, perhaps it'll stay a little longer. Yes, yes; keep engaging, keep talking, and feel throughout the grace of that touch.
"Keelhauling— Perhaps out at sea. Captains are inclined to mete their own brands of justice; it isn't worth our time or in our interest to interpose." It's a policy that's kept most of those captains agreeable; it's a policy that kept no small share of them from crying against the Voronins when Darzh chose to marry an elf, and leave the family's hold in charge of their kin.
"In Morovsk itself..." He shrugs one shoulder, slightly. "As you suggest, the most severe penalties tend to be the most discrete. Power is implied; power is written in sudden absence, never quite explained.
"Some die; some remain locked away from the world; some are exiled. And some are given leash to hold their freedom, to walk as if there was no offense— Or as if their offense didn't amount to much. As if it isn't worth our time to end them."
He's not quite looking at the party anymore. Clears his throat and shakes his head slightly, reminds himself that it isn't a subject to be taken further, certainly not here and—
He darts a glance at Faolan. Lingers looking at Faolan, conflicted, wondering if he's spoken too far.
After a moment, though: "I doubt Calabra's brand of vanity would rest easy with an offender running free. Nor can I credit him with the cleverness to approach the situation otherwise."
Rin, who has been silent while taking in all of this and sipping on their breakfast drink which is in fact very nice, shakes their head suddenly, hissing through their teeth. "Well that's all pretty fucked."
<.>
If Faolan considers any of this too deeply, he'll slip into another dark mood. Instead, he focuses on Dmitri's voice, on the notes he's growing (too) familiar with. (He focuses on the feeling of the man's wrist under his palm, and thinks of last night, of how their hands twined perfectly, of Dmitri's head on his shoulder and the way their voices turned to whispers.)
Sen is the one to answer Rin's comment with 'Hear, hear' and, as he lights his pipe, to contribute, "Calabra likes to put on a show. His entire staff watching while he ate alone? That, just for supper. If he could have had his man slay Gower on a stage, he would've done."
Faolan pushes his plate a little away, most of the food untouched. "The more we talk about this, the more I'm inclined to get a start finding the girls. They might have more than the people who hired Gower after them; in Mysos, it's not done anymore, but in the last era, the entire family was responsible, so the entire family paid. It's not done, but it's not outlawed, either. If Calabra wants a spectacle, he might have them taken south."
He rises, his hand slipping from Dmitri's, and huffs a little, mirthless laugh. "I never thought I'd say so, but the sooner they're in Morovsk, the sooner they'll be safe."
Faolan pauses a step from the table and considers the room before meeting Dmitri's eyes. "He'll wait outside - if he's willing to go with you."
An hour or so later, Rin and Sen arrive at the Lion and Boar. Is there anything Rin would like to do before entering?
<.>
Rin is going to make sure they have their weapons and the Bag of Holding, and tell Sen they'll find something good for him. Otherwise, they're ready to stealth and go—
Oh, wait!
Not without blowing Sen an air kiss with a wink, and a "For good luck ;D."
<.>
Sen catches it and sends one back their way, and Rin makes a stealth check.
[STEALTH: 22; Rin's gonna catch that kiss and put it on their cheek as they go stealth mode >;3]
Rin melts back into the shadows, leaving Sen to approach the Lion and Boar alone. He leaves the door open behind him; a servant whose task is specifically to greet guests tuts and hurries to close it - though not before Rin has the chance to slip through.
The servant eyes Sen up and down with an air of superiority, but with cool cordiality asks, "How may I assist you, Sir?"
<.>
Rin, grinning to themself, Messages Sen, [ Manners, manners, Sen!
Well, you have the best manners, since you let me in. ]
They'd like to give the servant a kick in the pants, but it's far too early to take that risk. Instead, Rin takes a look around the room, scanning for possible exits, signs of any sneaky someone watching, or other points of interest.
<.>
The main foyer of the tavern has a rustic chandelier and a plush rug, but little else of note. The wood of the walls and bannisters of the stairs leading to a second floor is a rich reddish-brown, polished to a high shine.
From this room, one may go up the stairs, or take a door to the left which leads toward the dining room where Rin and Sen met Calabra. Another door leads off to the right - presumably to a dining area, from the sound of low murmuring. If there are other rooms, one must pass through these to reach them.
Sen doesn't bother with formalities - no bowing for this man - and gets right to the point. "I'm here to speak with Umbero Calabra. I'm expected."
The servant arches a brow and replies, "Lord Calabra is out and won't return until tomorrow morning. You aren't that expected, it seems."
If this surprises Sen, he doesn't show it. Instead, he says, “…Lord Calabra, is it?"
The servant stares at him, stone-faced, so he continues, "That must have happened sometime overnight. Pity I missed it, running his errands for him. Did 'Lord' -" he air-quotes, yes, "Calabra say where he was going?"
"I certainly wouldn't tell the likes of you. Be off with you before I have you removed."
Sen, assuming Rin has gotten the idea that maybe they ought to sneak upstairs, drawls, "'Lord' Calabra is going to be displeased with you when he learns you turned away someone with vital information."
[PERS, s: nat 20]
<.>
Rin is absolutely going to make their way up the stairs, Messaging Sen as they do, [ You know what's up. ] And, just to be clear, [ Me; I'm going up. ]
They're going to be quick in their movements, careful with their steps, and check over the landing before they reach it.
<.>
Nothing's particularly notable about the landing; it's a fine establishment (for Awich). The second floor is decorated with more plush rugs, a few alabaster statues, and paintings. From the landing, a single hall stretches down the middle of the Inn; there are three doors on either side, suggesting the quarters are quite large and multi-room, intended for an entourage rather than a single occupant.
Of these doors, one is open and a woman stands fanning herself in the doorway. There's a voice from within and she turns back to the room, then enters and closes the door behind her.
Downstairs, the servant is trying very hard to undo offense and assure Sen that Calabra really is out, he took his guard and didn't say where he was going, and the servant is only doing his job.
[q: did the voice sound like calabra? and, are there distinguishing marks on or beside any of the doors? a: The voice did not sound like Calabra. There are no distinguishing marks on the doors.]
Rin's going to move down the hallway, alert for any signs of sound. If nothing catches their ear, they'll move to the end of the hall, and check for signs of sound behind the last door on the left.
[PERC: 7; Rin can't hear anything unusual or informative.]
Rin is going to cast Disguise Self to appear as an androgynous human of Rin's height, wearing the same uniform as the servant below.
They're going to fix their hair and make a go at unlocking the door they're standing in front of (last door on the right).
[SLEIGHT: 27; The door unlocks easily.]
Rin is going to step inside, posture kept in imitation of the Very Upright Very Not Fun servants they've seen around this place, and see whether 1) anyone is immediately visible or audible and 2) what the room holds.
[dm: The room looks bare in the way unoccupied rooms appear; a quick search will verify no one's staying here.]
Rin's going to diP out of the room, check the hall to see if anyone's appeared, and if no one HAS appeared, they're moving on to the middle door on the right.
[dm: Nothing in the hall has changed; it's the middle of the day, so they can be pretty secure in the knowledge that most people are out and about.
SLEIGHT: 23; The door unlocks easily.]
Same approach as before! Entertain as if they are in fact a servant, checking for signs of anyone present at the moment or of whether the room is occupied.
<.>
The moment they step into the room, a voice from the other side of a door across from them calls out, "Is that you, Herbert? Oh, I thought you'd never arrive! I've been absolutely - You're not Herbert."
The owner of the voice is a middle-aged human man with a bit of a paunch, greying hair, and spectacles. He stares Rin up and down appraisingly, then says, "Well, I'd prefer Herbert, but I suppose you'll do.”
<.>
And Rin is going to bow to the man, then speak, "Beg pardon, Sir. Herbert sent me to tell you he has been delayed. He—" Rin screws up their face, as if trying to recall the message, "He said that he regrets every instant not spent in your company, and he sent me to assure you that he will be here in ten minutes' time, no matter what." They nod, and bow again. "Good Sir, if you'll excuse me, I must be onto my duties."
[PERS: 6]
<.>
The man looks visibly hurt, one hand pressing to his middle and the other raking through his thinning hair. "He's not coming, is he? I knew I'd gone too far last time, I knew by the look on his face."
Hopelessly, he heaves a sigh and drops into one of the chairs that furnish this sort of receiving area.
"I suppose you think this is all pitiable, but I assure you, it's - Well. It is - nothing more than a fascination. Really. And -"
As he's talking, a young man slips into the room - barefoot. "Sorry I'm late - really, I - Who the fuck are you? Ansel, who the fuck is this?!"
<.>
Ansel?
Fascination?
—And presumably-Herbert is looking right at Rin.
Oh well shit, this isn't great.
Rin offers a nervous little laugh, and speaks, "I was told you had a message? It's my first day, and now I think maybe this was some sort of— Of— Oh, a prank. I'm terribly sorry, Sir, Lord? Sir Ansel? Herbert. I'm so sorry—"
It's at this moment that Rin is going to cast Thaumaturgy, to produce the sound of a vase smashing from the next room.
If Ansel and Hansel... Herbert. Turn around. Rin is going to try slipping out of there.
<.>
The sound of a vase crashing does indeed cause both Ansel and Herbert to turn; Rin has just enough time to slip out before they turn back. The sound of an argument can be heard as Herbert flings accusations and Ansel pleads and assures he's innocent. Rin can, if they listen carefully, hear Ansel say, "Please don't punish me again."
<.>
Rin in fact is listening carefully, and they're just going to— Not. Think about that information, or where bare feet and punishment intersect.
They're just going to slip over to the last door on the left and trying giving that one a pick. As they continue to try noT to hear that argument.
[SLEIGHT: 16; The lock takes longer to pick than their patience probably allows.]
They make it about half a minute before huffing in frustration and moving to the second door on the left, scowling at the other door and mentally vowing to finish the job if they must, and when they do, they'll jam that lock with tomatoes or something.
So! Next pick attempt is for second door on the left!
[SLEIGHT: nat 20
dm: Unfortunately, the door opens to another unoccupied room.
The first door on the left is the one with the woman and the unfamiliar voice.]
Hmmm while they're IN here, Rin would like to head over to the wall that would border the third room on the left. And see if they can hear anything from the rooms with the VERY rude door.
[PERC: nat 20
dm: They can in fact hear two voices in the next room: a man and a woman discussing their daughter's upcoming nuptials.
q: Can Rin hear any details of the conversation? And. Does either voice sound familiar?
dm: Neither voice sounds familiar. The details suggest the daughter's wedding is taking place here in Awich, and would lend Rin to believe the couple is here exclusively for that purpose.]
Rin is curious, but this doesn't seem worth sticking around for, and since time's ticking, they're going to return to the hall in order to pick the first door on the right.
[SLEIGHT: 28; The door unlocks easily!]
Rin gives the door a gentle little pat, then straightens their back and enters the room. Once again, checking for signs of occupancy in general and any present and accounted for occupants.
They enter a receiving room with a single bench against the left-hand wall. Around the room are round end tables with floral arrangements - many of these, clearly imported. A small chandelier hangs in the center of the room, its candles as yet unlit.
There are two doors: one straight ahead, and one to the right.
[PERC: nat 20 (??? rin wtf???)
Listening closely, Rin can hear several voices emanating from behind the door to their right.]
Rin would like to quietly, quietly approach the door on their right and try eavesdropping on this here convo.
[dm: Pressing their ear to the door, they can hear the general, everyday conversations and gripes of servants. Presumably, behind this door are the servants' quarters.]
They'll linger for twenty second, and if they hear no mention of names or locations, Rin's going to check the door straight ahead, giving a listen outside of it before attempting to open said door.
[dm: There's no mention of specific names, but 'he' and 'godsdamned bastard' crops up occasionally in the midst of the aforementioned everyday complaints.
Listening at the other door, Rin hears nothing.]
And! Rin is going to open the door and step into the room, closing the door softly behind them.
[dm: The last room they were in would appear to be some sort of foyer; this room is a receiving room / parlor type space, with a chaise against one wall and three plush chairs in a semi-circle. A few knick-knacks decorate the space, all of them too large to reasonably be thieved at the moment.
Again, there are two doors: one to the right and one ahead, both standing ajar.]
[dm: This room is clearly the master suite; from their vantage, they can see the entire length of it, decorated with a massive, ornately-carved four-poster bed, a desk, a claw-foot bathtub, several chairs, a wardrobe, and a fireplace. There are two windows, each on either side of the bed. And two nightstands.]
Rin is verY interested in this room— But before moving into it, they'd like to double back and peer in the door that was on the right.
[dm: This room is filled with trunks of various sizes. Some are stacked, some lie open with clothing tossed haphazardly into them. Against one wall is a twin bed with a nightstand beside it.]
....Oh god Rin wants to look in these trunks so badly. So badly. And they're interested in this haphazard clothing toss, but for now, they're going to head into the bedroom. They'd like to begin to searching the desk.
[INV: 11
dm: It's hard for them to really know what's important and what's just noble pocket lint. There is a pile of correspondence in the desk. Some random piece of jewelry. A weapon of some kind. Something that smells nice. A piece of cloth.]
Rin would like please and thank you to put all of these things in the Bag of Holding. They might not know what to make of any of this, but they're sure Sen can work it out! (Or maybe, ugh, Dmitri.) If nothing else, the jewelry's probably hockable.
For the rest, they would like to examine, in this order -inside the wardobe -under the bed -in the fireplace -the nightstand
[dm: In the wardrobe, they find some clothes. Under the bed, they find a chamber pot and one piece of gold. In the fireplace, they find a dying fire. In the nightstand, they find another piece of jewelry in a box, two books, and a bag that feels a little heavy and makes some noise when lifted.]
Rin's going to leave the clothes because they trust nothing of Calabra's 'fashion,' THEY WILL NOT BE TOUCHING THAT CHAMBER POT OR THE GOLD PIECE in case it was peed on by Calabra (Rin knows there is always a chance that money has been soiled but it's no good knowing who BY). They're going to look into that bag pls.
[dm: The bag contains a mixture of gold and silver coins.]
Into the bag of holding it goes! Along with the jewelry in its box!
Rin would like to flip through the books to see if anything's inside, and will also look at their titles.
[dm: The books appear to be deeply boring treatises on law in Mysos.]
Rin would fling them across the room if they weren't sneaking. Instead, they place the books on the bed and tuck them in.
Rin would like to carefully carefully take a peek out the windows just to see what the view's like.
[dm: The view from the room is of the river and a clean, upper-class street directly below the inn.]
Rin nods to themself; yes, this seems like the kind of view this room would have!
Rin would like to check the room with the trunks, and would like to give a look through the trunks; just a quick look to start!
[dm: Several of the trunks have heavy padlocks that would probably deter one from attempting to pick them without several hours to spare. The ones that are open appear to be the rest of Calabra's clothing. One trunk is unlocked, though closed. Within, Rin finds carefully folded clothing more suitable to a commoner and probably belonging to Calabra's guard. At the bottom of this trunk is a miniature painting of a woman and a lock of hair tied with a ribbon.]
Well Rin is putting that painting in the Bag of Holding. ...And also the guard's shirt. Who knows, it might be useful! (And Rin feels like taking one thing from this room isn't really enough.)
They'd like to look at the nightstand, as well pls.
[dm: The nightstand contains some oil for sharpening a blade, a small whetstone, and a piece of cloth.]
Rin's taking the cloth and the whetstone. And with that, they're going to make their way out of this room and then out of this suite of rooms, or they'll attempt to anyway.
[dm: They meet no one on the way out; from the landing outside, they're able to see Sen and the servant are no longer in the entrance hall of the inn.]
...Rin's curious about where Sen may have gone. They pause on the landing, then start downstairs. Is there any sign here of where Sen or the servant may have gone to? That is, signs of a scuffle, a door cracked open, anything Sen might have left?
[dm: They can hear the sound of Sen and several others singing quite loudly in the dining room of the inn. It's a pretty good indicator.]
Smiling to themself, Rin cocks their head, and is going to take a quick peek into the dining room where they first met Calabra, juuust in case there's anything to see.
[dm: The room is empty and the place settings have all been removed from the table.]
In that case! Rin's going to crack open the door to the other dining area and attempt to catch a glimpse of Sen!
<.>
Sen and the servant, along with several other people - some of whom may be patrons of the inn - are currently engaged in some ambitious day-drinking and are singing a very inappropriate take on a song that might be called 'Mysos Boys'.
<.>
Rin would very much like to pick some of those pockets, but given their current mission, they're going to behave their null self and simply Message Sen, [ Over and done; I'll be outside! ]
And, slipping the door shut once more, Rin's going to drop Disguise Self and step out of the inn.
<.>
Several minutes later, Sen disengages from the group and meets Rin outside. He is clearly sober, and smiling in a self-satisfied kind of way.
[ Job well-done, us. Find much? ]
<.>
Rin likes that smile, and they bounce a little on their toes as they respond, [ Found some things! Not sure what they're worth or if they MEAN anything, so maybe when we get back to the rooms, you can take a look. ] They nod, because this strikes them as a good and necessary idea. And if Sen looks like he'll follow, Rin's going to start back toward the inn they've been staying at. [ Also found his chamberpot. And someone who, mm, Sen, I think there was some foot stuff going on.
That was a good song you had going though! Anything interesting happen downstairs? ]
<.>
He can't say he understood all of that, but it sounds like Rin had an adventure while he was downstairs. [ Nothing particularly; the shit was so eager to make amends, he had a drink with me, then another, and by then, I'd convinced the innkeeper to have one with us. One thing led to another, as it tends to do. ]
He offers his arm to them to hold as they walk. [ Suppose we make our way back to our own lodgings and wait for the lovebirds to return, then go over the things you've found? I know a game we can attempt with those ball bearings of yours. Nothing salacious! A game to pass the time, nothing more! ]
<.>
Oh, that sounds like fun! Sen's conjured revelry downstairs, and the prospect of a game. Rin nods, taking Sen's arm with a little nod of their head. [ That suits me very well! And I can tell you all about what I saw, and YOU can tell me how much of an ass Mr. 'Lord Calabra is out' made of himself. ]
Tail flicking, tail occasionally winding around the back of Sen's legs, Rin begins to tell the whole of what they saw - with many, many meanderings, of course - as they walk back toward the inn.
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kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery
Speaking to the bushes, moving away from the bushes: “Is this a game to you."
When he turns to look back after his unhasty retreat, he'll see shrubs and bushes lining the path; everything is still and quiet once more.
Dima is displeased by this. He asked a question thank you very much.
He scans the bushes. Scans the trees. And, you know what. he's just going to stay where he is for the moment. Hand brushing against his dagger. Listening, listening. And he'll try one more speaking gambit: “If it's money you're after, you'll find it's simpler to ask. I'm in no mood for games."
While he's at it, he’s just going to add in Undercommon, “Fucking noxious prick."
[ q: while dima's looking around, 1) is there anything he knows about this particular path/patch of the trail? news he might have heard? 2) is there any strangeness of sound or silence?
SURV: 13 PERC: 4]
He would know this stretch of road is barely carved out of greater wilderness; however, although many creatures inhabit the area, the ones that live near humanoid-trafficked areas tend to be little more than nuisances. He would also know many travelers have sustained strange slashed wounds, but have all been reluctant to talk about what happened.
Perception-wise, he sees bushes and shrubs.
As Dima stands there, wary (?) and inspecting the treeline, one of the shrubs rustles, its branches beginning to tremble as if jostled by some animal. The shrub uproots itself and moves toward Dima, lashing out with its branches.
Dima casts Chill Touch on the offending buSH. Dima somehow crits the hit on the shrub for 12 damage.
The shrub turns brittle and motionless as though in the dead of winter; its leaves shrivel and shed, and it falls sort of...sideways.
Clearly, he has killed this plant. Well done Dima, Bush Slayer.
Dima would like to inspect the plantly remains and see if he can tell anYthing about the magic animating it? Or rather if there is any trace to tell by?
[ARC: 8]
As far as he can tell, there's nothing interesting about the shrub, and in fact he has no proof he didn't imagine the entire encounter.
Dima kicks the bush's remains. Frozen as it is, it breaks down further into brittle pieces. Like he dunked it in liquid nitrogen and smashed it.
[ …q: can dima scoop up some of the remains in a vial. keep it for later? or for ditching if he gets tired of looking at it ofc ]
It's pretty easy to bottle up. Dima now has a trophy of his first kill of the adventure.
[PERC: 11]
Dima isn't sure, but upon giving a perfunctory glance around the area, it seems as though there are fewer shrubs than before. Almost as though - if there were more - upon perceiving the gruesome death of their comrade, a lot of plants noped the fuck out.
Dima takes this as a sign that he has done his job well and given the shrubs an apt fright!
He nods to himself. gives the bush's meager remains a final stomp. And says not super quietly, "Yes, we'll SEE if you try that again."
Then quieter, to himself, "Godsdamned shrubs. As if any SHRUB were equal to a Voronin.”
The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
As the sun sets on the horizon and the stars appear one by one overhead, there can be seen not-too-distantly the glow of a campfire.
Nearer, it can be ascertained that the fire is about thirty feet from the trail in a clearing, and two figures can be seen seated on stones forming a ring around the firepit.
<.>
He knows he ought to halt his travel soon.
He knows better than to linger long where strangers stay.
But! The thing is. There's nothing furtive about this fire's presence. And it can't hurt to take some measure of whoever, or whatever, is responsible for the fire.
And maybe (maybe!) whoever this is knows something of these pernicious bushes.
So. For the moment, Dima would like to pause where he is, and listen to see whether he can overhear anything, or sense anything odd in the air.
[PERC: 13, with advantage bc dumbass crit failed his first roll]
<.>
Listening, he can overhear the sounds of faint, calm conversation, but can't really determine the subjectmatter. There's nothing exceptional about the site: it appears to be a well-traveled area, used frequently by those taking the road to and from Awich. Of the two figures, one wears a hooded cowl which in the twilight obscures their face; the other's is turned towards their hooded companion and thus their back is to Dima, but from this distance, it's easy to determine their build is slight, perhaps the same height or slightly taller than Dima.
<.>
He'd like a better look at these probable travelers. He'd like to determine whether they have anything worth knowing.
So Dima moves up the path fifteen feet or so. Moves to stand precisely on the path's edge, then—
Well.
No.
Before he steps foot off the path, he'd like to take a look at the shrubbery around. Does any of it appear to be. Rustling with ill-intent?
[ARC: 14]
<.>
Everything seems quiet; however, due to his background in the magical arts, Dima has probably learned that certain types of malignant foliage can appear to be absolutely normal until it moves.
One thing has changed; when Dima pauses at the path's edge, the figure facing his way gestures to indicate his presence and the other falls silent and turns back to look at him.
<.>
Well! No use playing coy now, is there? (And he'll simply have to keep his very well-remembered lessons in mind, and keep an *eye* on all of these bushes.)
[q: What can he see of the figures’ faces? ]
<.>
From this distance, both faces are thrown in shadow by the firelight.
<.>
Dima takes a few steps - moving with care, but without hesitation - off the path, toward the firelight. Then speaks, voice self-assured but not over-loud: "Staying for the night?"
<.>
The figure in the hood seemingly cocks their head, then exhales a sound that could be a mirthful - if muted - snort. Though they face Dima, their features are still thrown in shadow, but their traveling clothes - worn, a not-uncommon mingling of leather armor and linen fabrics - can be seen. A blanket wrapped around their shoulders and their hunched manner of sitting obscures their build.
The figure nearest Dima, now in clearer view, is an older human male, his greying hair somewhat tousled as though after making his trek all day, sweating and mussing it, he has hastily attempted to bring it to order. His clothes are dirtier than a day's travel would suggest.
He casts a glance back at his companion , then, turning to Dima again, offers a welcoming grin. "The woods are treacherous at night. All sorts of buggery about. Better to be well-rested for safer travel, wouldn't you say?"
<.>
Buggery? Well— That's one word for it.
Dima's eyes narrow briefly as he considers - looks from one figure to the other, taking in what glimpses he can through the shadows - then nods once, firmly. "So I hear.
"Have you room for one more?
"I won't keep you long, but as you say, the woods are— Mm. 'Buggery' isn't precisely the term I'd choose, but it serves the purpose. And I could stand a moment's respite."
<.>
"Oh, you'd have to ask my friend here," the man replies, gesturing almost theatrically.
The hooded figure shakes their head, then gestures with one large hand to the third of the encircling rocks.
"Can't get him to shut up." The first man makes this jest as he rises, presumably out of courtesy, and extends a hand. "I'm Wythall. This is - well, I didn't catch his name, but he's generous with his campfire, aren't you, boy?
"And who might you be?"
<.>
His 'friend.'
Interesting. This... 'Wythall' has an interesting way of choosing words.
It doesn't feel entirely rotten to be invited toward the circle. Dima also isn't ready to trust a man who smiles so readily at strangers.
He steps forward, gives a suspended look to the man's hand—
And doesn't reach for it.
Instead, Dima glances at the silent figure, looks to Wythall again.
And Dima would like to attempt to discern whether there is anything trustworthy about this scene at all.
[INS: 21]
<.>
The seated figure seems sketchy as fuck in his hood, with his taciturn behavior and curt gestures.
Upon reflection, Dima might get the feeling this is intentional, as though he has just walked into the middle of something.
Wythall apparently genuinely wants to make Dima's acquaintance.
Roll another perception check?
[PERC: 11]
There's nothing about either of them to trigger alarm bells, but Dima notices Wythall isn't wearing shoes.
<.>
The sense of walking into the middle of something doesn't deter Dima in the slightest. If anything, it only encourages his curiosity.
His eyes linger on the man's feet a moment longer before he looks up again. Still not reaching for Wythall's hand, though he bows his head in acknowledgement, and speaks with undaggered courtesy: "A pleasure, Wythall. And it is a rarity, to meet such companionability in the midnight wilds.
"My name is Altair." He cants his head in a sideways nod, then looks toward the seated figure.
"And you? This fire is your work?
"I take it you bear a name, as well?"
[DEC: 15]
<.>
"Oh! Well, we have a gentleman in our midst!" Wythall is grinning now, speaking - apparently - to his companion, though his theatricality causes his voice to project somewhat. It seems he has interpreted Dima's nod as an actual bow.
The hooded man has only watched through this exchange, drawing his hand up to what is likely his mouth in apparent contemplation. When addressed, it takes him longer than one might expect to respond.
"Might as well call me 'Altair', too. The fire's mine. The name isn't.
"But you might as well, since it's not yours, either."
<.>
no subject
Dima just barely stops himself from scowling. Manages to hold his expression unwavered - thanks you, years of practice in diplomatic negotiations - and even arches an eyebrow, cants his head and keeps his eyes fixed on the hooded figure, watching Wythall from his periphery.
"It isn't, and it is. As I conjured the name first, I believe it is more in my claim than your own.
"Still. If you insist—
"Tell me, Altair: Have I interrupted something."
<.>
Wythall falls still, clearly watching both of the men before him, head turning with each comment as though following a tennis ball. Awkwardly, he motions towards a stack of wood nearby and makes noises about feeding the fire.
There's a sound from 'Altair' that might be a huffed laugh, as thought Dima's reply caught him off-guard.
"What could you possibly be interrupting?" He raises his head just enough that firelight briefly illuminates his face: young, ought-to-be-joyful, smiling. The light catches his eyes oddly, the way it would an animal's, but only for a split second.
<.>
Oddly, Dima's first clear thought is that he'd like a longer, better look at this pseudo-Altair's face.
(And he'd like to hear that laugh again. Strange, it's... Very strange, that he should entertain this thought at all.)
He hasn't lost track of Wythall's movements. Or in any case, Dima attempts to keep an ear and eye half-toward the man's motions while his eyes hold fixed on (Wythall's 'friend') ('the boy') ('Altair,' whose eyes seems briefly set aglow) the seated stranger.
He flexes his fingers against the air idly, a habitual gesture of contemplation and pitches his voice just a little more arch, a little eased in velvet: "I might spend the night in guessing; I find it far more expeditious to ask."
And, cocking a finger toward 'Altair': "Or do you find this overbold?"
There's something else.
As he cocks his finger, as he points at the seated stranger and finishes the question, Dima casts message, whispers soft, soft, lips near motionless: ’Do you know this man.’
[PERC: 13]
<.>
Both Dima and 'Altair' have failed the perception check and no longer are keeping track of Wythall.
For 'Altair's' part, his attention is wholly fixed on this newcomer and the sensation of a voice whispering in his ear. When he cocks his head again, his eyes are visible and focused entirely on Dima - and slowly, he shakes his head.
No, not overbold.
No, he doesn't know this man.
It takes him a moment to tear his gaze from the 'other Altair' under the pretense of giving some attention to Wythall --
Who is no longer visible in the clearing.
Rollllll for initiative.
[ Faolan: 4
Wythall: 13
Dima: 6
The Awakened Shrubs encircling your campfire: 19 ]
In the brief time during which Dima and the hooded figure have been interacting and Wythall has disappeared from the clearing, seven ambulatory shrubs have left their motionless positions on the periphery of the clearing and begin to move in. Two reach the men quickly, though the others are closing in.
The shrub closest to Faolan makes its first attack with advantage and hits for 3 points of slashing damage.
The shrub closest to Dima rolls a total of 18 on its attack without advantage, which I believe is a hit. Dima also takes 3 points of slashing damage.
Wythall is still nowhere to be seen, and so next up is Dima.
<.>
That's not fucking good.
The shooting pain, the... entirely too many shrubs (it's the FUCKING bushes again), the disappearance of the shoeless fuck, and—
And he doesn't love that the hooded figure was struck. It shouldn't matter, it shouldn't register because he doesn't know this person, but Dima feels his anger sear brighter regardless, and scarcely considers his own pain as he whirls around to catch three godsfucked moving bushes as he casts Burning Hands.
He's angry. And he'll burn down half the forest if he has to.
Dima casts Burning Hands, hits three bushes. All three bushes are instantly incinerated. Watching the bushes burn, Dima steps takes a few steps back to align with the stranger's shoulder, his eyes still fixed toward the remaining bush behind, watching the area at the stranger's back.
He is, of course, watching for signs of Mr. Fucksaken 'Buggery' and any further shrubs. >:c But his turn thus ends!
<.>
At the top of Faolan's turn: he staggers up and back from the swipe taken at him, his hands immediately closing together in preparation for a spell -
He can't do that. The stranger, the one who seems to be an ally in the moment, just drew up protectively alongside him, and no matter how sensible Thunderwave might be, he doesn't think it would be polite. Or grateful. Not if it happened to kill the man.
Plan B, then: he produces a flame in his palm and throws it at the nearest shrub.
Hits for 6 points of damage; the shrub seems to shrink from the fire, but it's still up; with his movement, Faolan is going to make a dash away from Dima into the space left behind by Burning Hands.
And that ends the round, we're back up to the shrubs.
The shrubs divide up, two on each of of the men, and begin to close in once more; they seems to be moving a little more hesitantly towards Dima now that they've seen what he did to their companions.
The one that reaches Dima first makes its attack - 19 (Hit).
No damage; its attack is pretty halfhearted.
The one that reaches Faolan first misses.
<.>
Dima might, might have grinned - just a little flash of teeth - when 'Altair' produced a flame of his own. He felt the heat, heard the magic's crackle, and though he couldn't turn to view the flame, he could enjoy its presence. Briefly.
Just now, he eyes the nearest shrubs. Turns focus to the one beside him - the little shit that took a swing at him - and levels his hand, readying Chill Touch—
But. Before he casts, Dima reaches his open hand into his pocket and draws out a small vial, filled with cindered dust, and sways it between two fingers, staring daggers at the bush as he speaks, voice pitched with a hiss: "Is this what you want?
"I've done it before; I'll do it again."
[INTIM: 21, w/ adv bc the shrubs are already scared of him]
The two shrubs nearest Dima stop - and immediately begin to retreat.
Dima scowls. “That's right.” He attempts to dagger-stab as an opportunity attack, but whiffs it fully, and moves into his combat phase.
Though there's a moment in which Dima is very, very near to giving the retreating bushes a second round of Burning Hands (how dare the shrub duck from his dagger?), he reminds himself that there are more bushes, there's a smiling dickhead somewhere, and—
He turns, the better to see how the stranger is faring, notes the two shrubs.
And Dima casts Control Flame on the campfire, intending to expand it to engulf the nearby shrub that's already taken a hit. This takes out the shrub.
After, Dima will move fifteen feet in the opposite direction of the retreating shrubs.
<.>
Faolan hears something going on between the stranger and his attackers, but he's too preoccupied with the business of avoiding the attacks sent his way by an increasingly hostile shrub.
One of the two on him vanishes in a roar of flame - something he doesn't quite have time to process beyond a note of irritation that his own attack hardly made a dent.
Seeing Dima retreat, he's going to take a run back towards his original position, placing himself in range of the three remaining shrubs.
And now, with Dima just outside range, he'll cast Thunderwave.
A thunderous blast radiates out from Faolan in a fifteen foot radius, blasting the remaining three shrubs with 16 points of damage and hurtling them 10 feet from him; along with them, his pack, embers from the fire, and anything else loose is shoved ten feet in the blast; an audible BOOM shatters the would-be-silence of the night.
Faolan turns in Dima's direction with a grin as though to share in the celebration of a joint victory - but something off to Dima's left catches his eye. His smile vanishes into a look of shock and dismay.
From behind Faolan, a shrieking voice cries out, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” - Wythall running full-tilt at Faolan. The ground shudders once, again, with each impact of large roots as a maple tree stalks into the clearing.
Before Wythall can reach Faolan, he collapses to the ground, suddenly tackled by a larger, lankier man who wastes no time in attempting to plunge a knife in his back.
The two grapple, fighting over Wythall's life. The newcomer darts a look up at Faolan and Dima and shouts in apparent exasperation, "TREE-" before a fist connects with his jaw.
no subject
[Awakened Tree: 3
Faolan: 15
Sen: 8, holding
Wythall: 12, holding
Dima: 4
Rin: 15]
For Faolan's turn, he looks around wildly, thinking - what can he do? He's out of big tricks and he doubts a sword's much use against a tree!
His eyes fall on the stranger - Altair, bleeding, who has plenty of fire to bring something like that down.
In a moment of desperation - or hope, perhaps, that Altair will be able to keep it at bay long enough for Faolan to think up a plan - he casts Healing Word on the other man.
Healing Dima for a total of 7 hit points.
He'll hold his movement for now.
<.>
Halfway up the tree, a hand brushes bark, settles with a press, and a voice speaks softly: "Shhh, shhh. Wouldn't you like to go back to sleep? Don't you feel nicer with your roots in the ground?"
A mere moment later, above the crashing sounds and movements, a voice emanates booming from within the trees branches—
”What is WRONG with all of you?
”I was sleeping? Do you UNDERSTAND this much? I! Was sleeping!
”For what PURPOSE have you brought it on yourselves to wake me UP? You absolute DUNCE.”
The unseen tiefling has cast Thaumaturgy, and end their turn clinging to the branches, being very, very annoyed with the man who woke their sleeping spot.
<.>
The unexpected booming voice emanating across the clearing has brought a momentary halt to the action; Faolan, Wythall. and Wythall's attacker (now at a disadvantage with Wythall atop him) freeze, all three staring at the tree.
More than one of them thinks the tree is speaking. Faolan's hands are still held up in the aftermath of his healing spell.
Almost immediately, the action resumes: the lanky man uses the opportunity to headbutt Wythall.
<.>
There was hardly time to appreciate the sudden blast of thunder (oh, but it was exhilarating magic!). There was hardly time to register the reappearance of the man of shoeless grins, or the fact that the newcomer looks VERY FAMILIAR and sounds MORE FAMILIAR STILL, and if it were any other time that voice alone might bring on a sudden headache.
There's hardly time to appreciate the fact that he's just been healed by the hooded stranger, the alternate Altair, though Dima does take a moment to revel in the image of eyes almost aglow before—
Before the tree. Fucking. Speaks??
It might not be the tree.
It. Might. Be the tree.
And Dmitri Aubric Voronin, in a moment of calculated brilliance, points vehemently toward Wythall and calls out, very informatively: "You can thank that yolk-brained practitioner for disturbing you. I'm sure we'd all prefer you continue with your nap."
Then, shifting his finger to the tree - just in case? - he Messages in Common: ’Can you hear me?’
He's also going to take this opportunity to move ten feet to the side— Brushing a hand against 'Altair's as he moves in a gesture that is very, very like a gentle 'follow me' tug.
The tree is momentarily hesitant in its plodding steps as the voice comes roaring from its branches. Stopping where it is, it begins to shake itself, limbs flailing and sweeping dangerously. It's seemingly aware there is something humanoid far too close to its trunk.
Rin, make an athletics check.
[ATH: 22]
Rin manages to hang on just fine, and for the moment they evade any limbs that might swing a little too close to their head.
<.>
The voice from the tree DOES loudly exclaim “RUDE”, however.
<.>
Annnd we are back at the top of the round, which is Faolan -
Who at the moment has no idea what to do, but 'Altair' has given his hand a small (nice?) (kind?) ((not unpleasant??)) tug, and the man seems to know what he's doing - more than Faolan does, at any rate. He follows, his gaze cutting from the tree to the wrestlers to the tree once more.
He'll hold his action.
<.>
The voice from the tree echoes again: ”Oh, this is NONSENSE.”
If the tree isn't going to be reasonable, and if no one is going to stop whatever the tree is up to, Rin is going to attempt to scramble-leap from its branches to the ground, though first they’ll take a stab at the tree with one of their shortswords.
[ATTK: 7, miss. The tree's thrashing makes it impossible to land a decent hit; their blade glances off the bark and the tree doesn't notice the attack attempt at all. ]
A string of Infernal curses sound loudly from the branches, and Rin will now attempt their scramble!
[ATHL: 17. They land unscathed save for maybe a hair out of place.]
Whatever movement they have left, they're using to move back and in the non murder thumb direction! While fixing the out of place hair back into their cloak.
<.>
Wythall, now at a disadvantage and bleeding from the nose, has been distracted from his combat by the tiefling leaping to the ground. (Above him, so has Sen, who is looking oddly at Rin, one hand pulled back with a knife's butt threatening to land a blow to Wythall's head.)
He begins to wriggle with more intent, reaching and shouting, “Get away from my tree!” as he struggles to break free from Sen's hold.
Faolan whips around ("YOUR tree?") and acts suddenly, releasing Altair's hand (how long was he holding...?) and using the remainder of his movement to run at Wythall and Sen, drawing his scimitar as he rushes them.
And he's going to attempt to bring an attack down on Wythall's upper torso / head / neck area. Wythall is pinned and prone beneath Sen, so Faolan gets advantage., amd—
Faolan catches Wythall in the shoulder for four points of slashing damage; the man screams, but continues his struggle to free himself.
<.>
(There was a hand twined with his own, and he feels its lingered impression even as he tracks the scene unfolding, even as he reacts.)
Having determined that the tree was not in fact speaking, and seeing that 'Altair' (a little, little flex of his hand as he thinks the name) and the all-too-familiar loudmouth have Wythall in hand, Dima is going to move within ten feet of the tree and cast Burning Hands in an upward cone, figuring that if he can't take down the fucking thing, he can at least set it aflame.
<.>
The tree begins to burn, sustaining first 11, then 22 points of fire damage. There's a sound like a roar, branches flailing, the roots stomping wildly as it attempts to shake off the fire.
Behind Dima, Wythall is shouting crazed protests.
It would seem the tree is vulnerable to fire damage.
The tree is, however, still standing. And it is now said tree's turn.
Enraged, it 'turns' toward Dima and Rin and throws itself forward, the wide spread of its limbs hurtling towards the ground.
Rin and Dima each sustain seven points of bludgeoning damage and learn a very important lesson about the reach of the tree.
Which is 10ft.
[note: When Fae healed him, Dima got a few extra, temporary hit points. Which is very good because otherwise he would be very unconscious oops.]
Seeing the tree first burst into flames, then throw itself at his allies, Faolan feels a clench of panic in his chest. He turns back to Wythall and draws his dagger, now wielding both blades.
Fae gets two attacks with dual wield; first one hits. Second one bARELY hits
[FAE HOW DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS.]
As Sen grapples the writhing man and pins him to the ground, Faolan stabs deep into the man's chest with his scimitar; for good measure, he draws a clean line across Wythall's throat with his dagger.
As the man falls still, so does the tree. After a moment or two, the only noises in the clearing is the combined sounds of the four survivors' breathing and the crackling of fire as the now-still tree continues to burn.
Faolan straightens and begins wiping the blood from his blades on the hem of his tunic as he turns back to look for the two survivors of the tree's onslaught.
<.>
no subject
Dima takes a little longer to extricate himself from the burning wreck, telling himself that maybe, maybe he should be more careful with fire, though most of his attention is on the stranger (his alter Altair) (the man whose hand took his own, who followed when he nudged) and the image of the kill he was barely, fortunately able to glimpse.
That was beautifully done.
As he pulls himself up, dusting himself off and favoring the fallen tree with a brief scowl, he finds the stranger turned in his direction. There's not another glance for the tree; Dima moves toward 'Altair,' speaking as he approaches—
"I saw that." The kill, he means. And the magic. And— Oh, everything. He bows his head, extends his hand, palm upward, an offering to clasp. "Dmitri Voronin."
And: "I'd like to know your name."
Yes, Dima is bruised; yes, Dima is bleeding. No, he doesn't care, though he does flick a concerned look toward the man's own wounds.
<.>
Faolan watches 'Altair approach with something almost like concern in his expression; he looks worse for the wear and a tree did just fling itself at him. However, whatever his wounds may be, the man -
Dmitri.
Seems -
Seems.
Voronin, he said. There's a flicker of unease in Faolan's expression and whatever else might have been going through his head, it's replaced now with his usual reminders to be cautious. Don't trust, don't speak too much or confidentially. (Don't hope for anything better than what's been left.)
His gaze flickers down to the hand extended, then away - briefly - to the corpse. (Which is being rummaged through by their erstwhile ally.)
No longer shadowed by the hood that has fallen back, but by the fallen deep night, he returns his attention to Dmitri and offers a tight smile. The proffered hand - the hand he so recently held (and never will again) (why should it matter?) - is left unanswered. " 'Altair' had a nice ring to it, but I'm afraid 'Faolan Rhys' will have to do."
<.>
Sen was preoccupied with the sight of the Tiefling, whose tail flicks very charmingly, and really, who ever thought a tiefling could LOOK so - charming, yes. Even in a fit of irritation. Even battered up by a tree. (He can't look much better, himself. Wythall got in a blow or two. Or four.)
He watches until the group begins to gather, unmoving from his seated perch on the corpse. However, the nearness of Dmitri - who he was planning to rob anyway - sets him in motion. He begins digging through Wythall's clothing, coming up with a few interesting items. He feels rather badly about pocketing them, though. Gold, he'll take. The rest? Well.
"When you two are through flirting," he interrupts. "I'm going to take the gold. And any you've got in your pockets. Dima here can explain our arrangement." A beat as he examines a bag, opening it and peering inside, then reaching a hand in - and then his arm to the elbow, fitting into inexplicable space. He withdraws and tosses it up to (at) Dmitri. "That's none of my nevermind. For a shoeless bastard, he has a lot of salvage, hasn't he? I -"
His eyes light on Rin once more and words (for once) (not for the last time) leave him.
AND. An inspection of the corpse will turn up:
- The bag tossed to Dima
- 30 GP, 5 SP, 3 CP in a pouch, now in Sen's pocket
- An unlabeled potion
- A gemstone
- A pearl.
One last loot item:
- A small onyx raven totem.
Additionally, the party receives 220 XP per person.
<.>
That name, at least, explains the shift in the stranger's demeanor. Explains the hand left untaken (though it doesn't erase the sting).
Dima ought to be wary, he knows. He ought to feel ire, perhaps; if not at this man (really, Dima never was convinced that the blame for that entire 'situation' lay outside the familial 'friend' who couldn't keep his mouth shut, for fuck's sake), then at the fact that even miles upon miles away, Dima can't escape Morovsk's more mundane dramas.
If he feels any flare of pique, it's that this moment should have been marred by wayward histories. It's that the hand he'd anticipated in his own has been withheld.
If he feels worry, it's at the thought - briefly-twisting with soft panic - that the man might flee.
He hasn't let silence settle long before he speaks, voice musing, his eyes just a little wary but without hostility—
"Faolan." A name, a curl of sounds he lingers on, lets himself taste perhaps a moment too long. Taking space to breathe after, letting the name settle between them (thinking he'd like to say it again) (thinking this name never ought to have been tarnished with calumny, or spoken on lesser tongues). Then: "You're very forthright, aren't you?"
He considers his still-suspended hand a little sadly, wistful, fingers flexing in the empty air before he lets his hand drift to his side. He hasn't stopped watching the man (Faolan); he has no desire to ever cease watching this man.
"I thank you for that, and for your aid earlier." Dima attempts a crooked smile. "I'd have fared far worse without it."
"As for the rest—" He taps his fingertips against his thigh, cants his head. "I hope you aren't thinking of slipping off."
((note: bracketed words are spoken in Infernal))
Rin, meanwhile, has made it over to the corpse, and to the elf who's making very quick work of emptying each and every pocket. (Well, he's not bad at it. He's got a method, and that counts for something, even if Rin would have preferred to take dibs on rifling.) They give the body a nudge with their boot, still very cross with this man, watching the elf begin divvying goods. They don't care at all about the bag - let the caster have that - but regarding the rest—
"All of it? Excuse me, but I don't believe this [shit-for-tits] bastard turned your accommodations into a waking nightmare.
"I was sleeping, for what it's worth! He and his tree woke me up, and it's only fair that I take some compensation." A pause as they tilt their head, evidently listening to a series of soft sounds somewhere in their cloak, then nod. "Curio too. We were both sleeping."
Rin's just going to snag the pearl before the elf can get his hands on that! It's while Rin's slipping the pearl into their hand - and, why not, snagging the gemstone as well - that they catch the elf's eyes and pause mid-motion, thinking, thinking (not disliking what they see; this one's rather a dashing rogue, if a little bruised up), and—
"I think I've seen your face before. I'm very bad with faces, but you— You have quite a distinct, what is it, visage, do you know?"
<.>
He was thinking of slipping off, as a matter of fact, and his expression clearly speaks this intention before surprise shifts first to wariness, then to something not unlike weariness.
When it comes to people who know Faolan's name, there are two types of nobles: those who react negatively, and those who think of him only as utile.
Easy.
Whoring.
To be fair, he was. For a time.
(He doesn't have the heart for it.) (Not after -) (Don't think about it.)
Dmitri Voronin wants him to remain. There's no trouble guessing what else he wants. No trouble either in shattering those hopes.
Other than the commotion of the approaching tiefling and the elf ransacking Wythall's body, that is. Faolan begins twice to reply, interrupted once by his own exasperation as he takes the bag slapped against his arm.
There's too much here to process all at once (or perhaps he's been too long away from people?) between Dmitri (Dima?), the elf, the tiefling, and who- or whatever 'Curio' might be. After one final failed attempt at speaking, he only shakes his head and turns away to look for his pack. It was blown somewhere by the force of his spell. Whether or not Dmitri follows him, he finally replies neutrally, "I'm not staying. I'll find another fire for the night."
<.>
There's an exasperated look toward the perpetual chatter-mer, and Dima half-considers Messaging the jackass to stay right where the fuck he is and stop looting the body before discarding the idea; he doesn't really, really want to invite a response in-kind. Particularly not when Faolan (has he ever heard the name spoken without rancor before this night?) (that, too, is a crime) is already moving off. In any case, there's little chance of the mer slipping off without another word; Dima simply isn't that lucky.
So the fuss around the corpse is ignored, half-forgotten, and Dima keeps close to the not-quite-stranger, thinking a shock of thunder and a ball of flame, a knife drawing blood down an open throat; thinking the firmness of a hand against his own; thinking how beautifully blond hair catches moonlight.
Thinking as well that Faolan is awfully focused on finding something, and keeping his own eyes peeled as they travel the campsite, and as Dima speaks: "I don't believe that's necessary.
"If nothing else, you really ought to have your wounds seen to." Dima starts to reach forward, to settle a hand near a deep-lashed cut— But stops himself. (Faolan seems wary.) (Perhaps that's fair; certainly, it's a suggestion that Dima ought to take some care in his acts.) Instead, he furrows his brow and glances around the treeline, rolls his eyes. "Gods know what else our plant-loving shithead may have stirred up out there."
He catches sight of something. A likelihood, a hunch, and Dima settles his foot on a knapsack's strap. "Is this what you're after?"
<.>
He's being followed.
What is it Voronin wants? (And is this the eldest one, the one everyone knows is ruthless, is vicious and - well, didn't he see how Dmitri fights? Dangerous.) (Beautiful -)
(Beautiful men were always the problem for Faolan, and the problem WITH beautiful men is the damage they can do. The lies they can make a young man believe.)
He turns back to respond that there's likely nothing else 'stirred up' by Wythall, only to see Voronin has found his belongings.
Voronin is standing on his belongings, as though Faolan can't simply lift him and move him to the side -
Which means touching him.
No. He won't give him the satisfaction of that.
His gaze raises from his pack and settles on Voronin (not his eyes, only his face, there'll be no getting caught in a (blue-eyed) gaze and swept up, none of that!) His expression resounds with the same weariness, more pronounced now than a moment ago.
"There won't be any more - not shrubs or trees. Not with him dead. I'll be fine."
And. "Thank you for your concern."
He stoops to take up his pack despite the foot pinning it down, stopping only when he meets resistance. Faolan looks up (oh, blue, they are very blue even in the dark -) and, with a soft, patient (tired, and firm, and final) voice, says, "Please."
<.>
Faolan isn't really here.
Not entirely; not in his heart. Whatever ran between them during the fight - when their eyes first locked across the fire; when their hands twined; when a glow-eyed stranger offered healing words - it's turned disparate.
(It was Dmitri's name that did it.) (It was the weight of a history that's never hit close to Dima, was more story than truth for him, but must run deep for this man.) (Doesn't Dima know the look of mistrust when he sees it. Doesn't he know the sight of bone-deep weariness.)
For the first time in speaking with Faolan, Dima looks - and Dima feels - uncertain. Thinks he's misunderstood or missed something vital, and his expressed turns clouded, turns worried as he steps backward, off of the pack, eyes darting toward the ground, toward the trees— Before finding Faolan's again.
He isn't willing to lose that sight just yet.
He isn't willing to— To let this man leave? To fail to give him cause to stay?
Dima opens his mouth to speak; finds no words, finds only the shadow of an inhale. Bites his lip, tries again, and—
"Stay."
It's more request than command (he meant it to sound firmer than it does; there's no helping it now), and he quickly follows, half stumbles in his words to add: "For a brief while, at least. If you won't—" A blink; a glance at the sky, then back. "If you won't remain through the night, or if you can't, at least permit some manner of discussion.
"We ought to discuss what happened here tonight. You and I and— Those two, if they can be stalled in their plundering."
He makes himself cease speaking (before he can say too much) (before he can level demands) (before he finds himself spilling into pleas). He doesn't take his eyes from Faolan's.
<.>
He should leave. He should take his now-liberated pack and go somewhere, anywhere else, far away from Dmitri Voronin. (His eyes. His interest. His hair glinting in moonlight like raven feathers, like obsidian.) He's dangerous. Faolan knows what he's after; he can't be trusted.
No one can be trusted. Isn't that why he fled to the forests?
Wordlessly, he straightens and shoulders his pack. It takes an act of will to look away (it doesn't take anything else, though, and thank the gods for that small blessing.)
He makes it five steps past Dmitri with the vague notion of slipping away into the shadows of the trees, but there was that 'stay' and the way it was spoken. (The look that accompanied it. The way Voronin stumbled into babbling. The way he bit his lip and seems to know -
What?
What does he know about Faolan? Nothing. Nothing at all. He wants what he sees, he wants the rumor he knows. Just like any other.)
That 'stay' echoes in his head, a request - an offer of a choice.
He tells himself he really doesn't care to find somewhere else to sleep. That he doesn't know these woods as well, that maybe it would be wiser to remain and slip off at daybreak when he's rested.
He corrects his course towards the fire as though it was his intention all along to resume his seat beside it.
Well, his blanket was here, as well. He tells himself he didn't want to leave it behind.
Blandly, he tosses out a warning. "If either you or your friend try rifling through my trousers for anything at all, someone will lose a hand."
<.>
It's something, anyway.
That Faolan - who, yes, looked for all the world as if he was about to disappear - turns back toward the fire. That Faolan settles in, and Dima thinks that every minute the man stays is a win, is another chance to keep from losing him.
Now that the man's moved away, Dima is also becoming cognizant of his own weariness, and of the way his ribs ache with each breath (bruised? maybe; he'll need to do something about that), of the sensation of blood welled along his arm. Probably, he ought to sit. And if he doesn't return to the fire, the godsforsaken mer is liable to make off with the entire corpse.
So Dima heads toward the group, careful not to approach too near to Faolan (though he wants to); careful to project his intention to settle on the opposite side of the fire.
He doesn't sit immediately. Instead, he (looks at Faolan first; he can't help that) glances at the mer and the tiefling, looks at the paltry remains of Wythall's loot. Finds the tiefling tossing an item - a stone raven (!?) - idly from one hand to the other, and on impulse, Dima attempts to grab it from the air.
<.>
[DEX, d: 19
DEX, r: 18]
Dima is able to quite deftly snatch the raven out of the air.
no subject
Faolan is experimenting with the bag that was thrust upon him.
<.>
Dima would like to investigate the raven totem in particular for any magical properties. He'd also like to do the same for any of the remaining/visible loot.
Rin, who has just vocally protested the raven theft - they were enjoying a nice game of catch with their new mer maybe(?)-friend! - will be attempting to hide the gemstone and pearl, and will be reluctant to admit the existence of either.
<.>
[DEC, r: 17]
Sen begins to wonder if maybe he just misplaced the gemstone and pearl. Clearly, Rin doesn't have them.
Fae isn't fooled by any of this, but doesn't exactly care that Rin has them; he will (now or later) quietly try to pull Rin aside and ask just to see the items to confirm a theory he has.
[ARC, d: 23]
The totem is clearly an item of power, though Dima is certain there's nothing quite like it that he's ever encountered or even heard about. It hums with energy somewhat removed from itself, as though it bears a connection with someone - or some*thing*.
The longer Dima holds the totem, the less he will want to part with it.
Roll a wisdom saving throw.
[WIS, d: 19]
Dima might feel a sensation in his mind as though something has attempted to influence him to do more than keep the totem, but it isn't strong enough to break through his formidable defenses.
What would he like to do with the totem?
<.>
He's wary regarding this sensation, but it absolutely isn't enough to get him to pitch the totem, and he certainly isn't going to mention the sensation to anyone.
He'd like to wrap the totem in the set of fine clothes in the set of fine clothes in his pack, and tuck the bundle in the center of the pack for safekeeping.
...And he is going to very pointedly.
Look at Sen. Look at Rin. Keep his eyes fixed on Rin and vow that if anYthing happens to the raven, there will be blood. "You can KEEP the rest as you like. I believe I've earned this one."
[INTIM, d: 12]
<.>
Sen is now determined to steal the totem.
Rin also was unimpressed by that effort, so up to you there.
<.>
Rin is currently determined to steal the totem! >:o! They'll show this ridiculous man!
There is, however, a very good chance that Rin will forget about the totem by the time half an hour has passed.
Rin will in fact absolutely have forgotten it in half an hour.
It's a cool raven but not that cool.
Dima is just going to. Plan on cuddling his pack tonight. He does not trust either of you.
And hmmm, Rin would like to know what for! They don't know you at all!
<.>
Fae will pull Rin aside and ask to see the items they're keeping and, if they allow, will run his own Arcana check.
Fae explains his suspicion that Wythall was using one of those items to control the plants.
<.>
Rin watches suspiciously.
Considers.
And: "Well. You'll have to promise to give them back."
And: "If you don't, I'll simply steal them back along with everything you have. c:”
<.>
Fae: "Don't have much."
<.>
Rin - watching very alert! - hands Fae the gemstone and pearl.
"Then I'll wait until you do." Humph!
<.>
Arcana check: 10, which meets or beats.
He's aware the gemstone is the item he suspects had to do with the plants' awakening, but he doesn't know the extent of the spell, whether the gemstone was a focus, or whether it held (or still holds) any charges.
He thinks the pearl might be a similar item - capable of holding a single spell - but he can't be sure.
He tells Rin to hang on to those; they might be more valuable in their pocket than sold to a merchant.
Fae starts to walk away after that, but catches sight of Dima, falters, then doubles back and pulls out the bag Sen gave him.
"I'll trade you for that pearl."
<.>
Rin is busy catching firelight in the gemstone; they might be attempting to discern the magic for themself (not really), or simply admire the craftsmanship (yes). At the man's words, their brow furrows; they don't want to lose the pearl, but it's a little heartening that the guy's making ago for it. Rin wouldn't trust someone who takes no interest in pearls!
"Okay, well. What's the bag do?
"If you say 'It's just a bag,' I might screech.
"Don't say 'It's just a bag.' :/"
<.>
"Well - it is just a bag. And it isn't." He laughs a little and, instead of trying to explain, turns the bag inside out. More rocks than rightly ought to fit in the bag - far. far more - come tumbling out onto the ground.
Got a decent pile of rocks at his feet now.
<.>
Rin is— Not not impressed. And they can see some definite uses for this bag; there often is more loot than they can rightly manage. So there's definite interest in their voice as they speak: "You're going to need an excavation at this rate. HM!”
"The bag for my pearl. H m."
"There's got to be a reason you're so keen to trade it. >:/" But! A clap of their hands, a sharp-toothed grin. "I'm feeling rather whimsical right now, so I shall take you on your offer."
They reach the pearl toward Faolan, though they will NOT be relinquishing hold until the bag is in their hand!
Also they may or may not be eyeing the pile of rocks. There could be nice stones in there!
<.>
Fae lets them have the bag before taking the pearl, patiently smiling all through: if he loses the bag and the pearl, he's no worse off than he was an hour ago.
And the rocks are in fact just rocks, but maybe one has a nice shape or some pretty striations.
And if there's no further loot business, Fae isn't going to urge anyone towards sleeping (Long Rest), but he himself will set up his hammock under a makeshift tent and sleep - pearl safely tucked away in one of his pockets.
<.>
Rin spends a few more minutes examining their gemstone before feeling a little - just a little! - bit guilty about having pretended it out of existence in front of the elf. So they're just going to flash Sen a smile and a glimpse of the gemstone before they scurry up the nearest tree, giving it a firm talking-to about not waking up on them please and thank you.
And Dima—
Knowing that it might not be the best idea to sleep so near a totem that's already flared some power. But also knowing he doesn't trust Sen a goddamn inch. Is going to set up his blanketroll against a tree, attempting a vantage where he can see both Faolan and Sen (if the elf hasn't disappeared... like the tiefling who went fuck knows where), and will keep the pack in his arms within the bedroll as he seeks sleep.
<.>
Sen, pleased that Rin has found the gemstone once more (and even more pleased to be the recipient of a smile) will be sleeping upright against the trunk of the tree where Rin has taken up residence.
And Dima, please make another Wisdom saving throw, this time with disadvantage as he is asleep.
[WIS, 18]
Excellent c: The night passes without incident.
Mostly.
When they all awaken the next morning, they are no longer in the clearing.
Death House pt. 1: There’s a Monster Inside!
A soft whimpering draws your attention to a pair of children standing in the middle of an otherwise lifeless street. The smaller of the pair - a boy clutching a stuffed doll - is weeping, and the taller - a girl of about ten - is trying to hush him.
<.>
The first thing Dima does - jolting awake and half-upright - is make certain Faolan's still near.
The second is to reach into his pack, to feel the bundled clothes for the shape of the raven.
Once he's assured both remain, he rises to a crouch, examining the scene they've... What, been brought to? (Is this a dream?) That's been brought to them? He scans for signs of movement, signs of life. Sees that Sen is still present (wonderful; fantastic) and sees—
Okay well. They. Might be children. They look like children.
Dima would like to try to discern whether he can see anyone apart from the children, and/or whether the children from this distance appear to be actual living breathing children.
Rin meanwhile is cross all over again, because trees are supposed to be reliable and very stable places to pass the night. This is twice they've been betrayed by trees! Where did the tree even go.
Whatever the case, they don't like being in the open in such a strange place. Rin's going to leap to their feet, tail curling around their calves, trying to decide whether they've seen this place before. They're also going to try to stick to the edge of this little group they've found themself with, staying closest to the tall (he's very tall, isn't he?) elf.
And, completely brushing past the fact that one of the children is crying, they call out a question: "Is this where you live?"
<.>
Faolan wakes nearer to Dmitri than he was when he fell asleep - and much further from his hammock.
He doesn't like this. Not the town, abandoned though it might be, or waking disoriented with the only familiarity a pair of thieves and - a Voronin.
But they are familiar. Enough.
He rises and nears Sen, who is also getting to his feet with an apparent lack of perturbation.
The elf immediately begins his chatter, calling out to Rin warmly, "Doubtful they live in the street here. Maybe ask them something other. Ask if there's a tavern!"
Faolan places a hand on Sen's elbow and with a disgruntled frown, shakes his head 'no'.
[PERC, d: 11]
As far as Dima can tell, there's no one else around. The children look like flesh and blood children.
At Rin's question, the girl hushes the boy gently once more, then turns to the party and calls out, "We live there!"
She points to a tall brick row house that has certainly seen better days. Its windows are dark. It has a gated portico on the ground floor and the rusty gate is slightly ajar. The houses on either side are abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up.
"There's a monster in our house!" she adds tearfully.
<.>
Rin mutters in a voice just loud enough to be picked up by the nearest elf, "Is the monster called 'dilapidation'?" Still, it's likely worth a look; they've snagged remarkably valuable treasure from homes more ruined.
Dima examines the house, trying to determine whether he's seen architecture of the like before, mostly just trying to get some lay of the land. He glances at his three— Well, they might be called traveling companions at this point, yes? Then steps toward the children, clears his throat, and speaks in a voice intended to be courteous, if not quite friendly (how does one behave with children?): "Is there?"
And: "What manner of monster."
<.>
Sen trots away from Faolan to join Rin, so Fae first approaches Dima, then moves past him when the boy begins to cry again.
He likes children. (Always might've wanted one, himself.) (Ha.) He kneels and speaks in a low, comforting voice to the boy, drawing his attention to a serious discussion about his doll.
The girl, freed of the responsibility of comforting a smaller child, heroically sniffs against her own tears, then replies to Dima, "We don't know. We only heard its terrible howls. Our father keeps it locked away, but I think it got loose - oh, please help!"
Her reserves of strength run dry and she begins to sob, as well. Seeing this, the boy's own crying is renewed, and he latches on to Fae for comfort.
<.>
Oh... No.
Dima shifts an uncertain glance toward Faolan, who seems not at all uneasy with these children, then throws a glance back toward Sen and the tiefling, a look that might very well be a small, small cry for help. He doesn't know what to do about the crying. The information, though, he can use. So he takes a few steps near, looking more at the battered house than the child, and nods to himself, speaks again, voice unwavered: "Where is your father?"
Rin has never, never been good with children. Or people, for that matter. They have half a mind to slip off toward the house immediately, and they give the elf's side a subtle nudge, try to meet his eyes and nod toward the house.
<.>
Sen doesn't mind children, generally speaking. However, something about this situation is unsettling him, and he can't say why; while he doesn't really care to go into the house, he likewise doesn't want to stay out here.
He catches Rin's suggestion, but with a glance and nod, indicates they ought to take the other two.
Firepower. Literally. Just in case there's aCTUALLY monster.
The girl's response gives Fae a sick feeling in his stomach: she points at the house.
If she believes there's a monster and her father is in there, a corpse might be all they find.
He draws back and cups the boy's face, then places a large hand on the girl's arm. "We'll help. Or - "
He looks back at Dima imploringly - and notes Sen is already making a stealthy little beeline for the house. One last look for Dima, then he turns back and continues with renewed certainty -
"I'll help. It'll be all right. You wait out here. Right there, beside the gate."
[note: Information Fae learned while speaking with the boy: His name is Thorn. His sister's name is Rose. They are seven and ten, respectively. The doll's name is Hildabear. ]
<.>
If Dima had any intention of straying from the house - he didn't, really; he's intrigued by this supposed monster, and by whatever's brought this village to its sapped state - it would have been shattered by the looks Faolan casts his way, and dispersed to the wind when the man stands beside him. He nearly smiles; reminds himself that it really isn't the time.
Dima wants to follow Faolan, starts to follow Faolan, but - not particularly wondering whether one should question a crying child - has one more question for the girl: "How long has your village been this way?"
Rin, meanwhile, has begun to follow Sen, arcing a wide berth around the children. They're going to attempt to peer through the closest window and see what waits within, and how, mm, wealthy the inhabitants seem to be.
<.>
The girl only looks around tearfully as though seeing the village around them for the first time. She shakes her head helplessly. "It wasn't always like this."
With that, she and her brother settle themselves on the ground by the gate. Rose bundles up Thorn in an embrace, and both of them watch the four.
Looking in one of the windows, Rin can see a lavish, oak-paneled room that looks like a hunter's den. A chandelier hangs above a cloth-covered table surrounded by four chairs. The room is dark and they can't make out much else from this vantage.
Directly across from the window is a doorway leading to another, darkened room.
Entering the portico of the house, the group will find the gate is rusted and oil lamps hang from the ceiling by chains, flanking mahogany double doors with stained glass windows. These open easily, revealing a grand foyer.
Hanging on the south wall of the foyer is a shield emblazoned with a coat-of-arms, flanked by portraits of stony-faced aristocrats. At the far end of the hall is another set of mahogany double doors.
What would everyone like to do?
<.>
Rin is going to suggest that everyone be as quiet as they can. "Hey. I don't know how much time you, all of you spend as— Visitors. In other homes. How are you at subtlety?" Mostly, they're looking at Faolan and Sen. Given the 'burning down the tree' incident, Rin has sort of written off Dima for subtlety at the moment. "In case the monster's got ears, or things like ears."
<.>
Fae exchanges a glance with Dima, then Sen, and realizes maybe Rin is talking about him.
"I can try."
Sen, of course, drops a wink.
[STEALTH CHECK!
r: nat 20!
f: nat 20!
s: 17
d: …5]
Sen, Rin, and Fae immediately begin to stealthily make their way through the house - as Dima trips, crashes into the shield, and brings it down with a clatter.
After a minor hesitation, Fae doubles back, delicately grasps Dima's (not hand) wrist (totally his hand) and whispers, "Stay close."
<.>
Rin throws the most ’Of course you would’ glare in Dima's direction, then looks to Faolan with an imploring expression of ’Please yes keep an eye on thaT.’
Faolan has secured some measure of Rin's respect, stealthy as he is. Dima— Well. The tree burning wasn't bad, but come on.
There's a cant of their head toward Sen, a nod suggesting that they'll move ahead a pace or two, and trust the elf to keep his own stealth.
For Dima, frustration (okay, embarrassment) is quickly overrun with minor dizziness, a sense of gratitude. Logically, he knows Faolan is only mending (probably only mending) a problem. But the man didn't have to take his hand! And knowing Faolan's hold eases Dima, sets him into movements far less clumsy, more attentive to the space of the room.
Dima would like to pause briefly, if possible, and determine whether there is anyone or anything recognizable in the apparent familial portraits.
And. Since he means to pause, he gives Faolan's hand the gentlest pressure.
<.>
no subject
The people in the portraits are vaguely familiar - Dima might have had dealings with their relations in Morovsk, and would suspect this to be one of the Durst family households. He can't recall where the family is from.
He definitely recognizes their coat of arms on the shield he nearly demolished: A stylized golden windmill on a red field. This would confirm the family name for him.
<.>
Dima notes the information, though he'll keep quiet about it just now, having learned a valuable lesson about noise in ruined houses, and feeling there's something vital he's missing. Better, perhaps, to dig at his own memories before announcing anything; he'll keep the name in mind as they move through the house. For now, he presses Faolan's hand again, nodding forward as if to say, ’Let’s?’
Rin has continued moving toward the closed doors, glancing through the room in search of anything worth snagging on the way out— And, yes, fine, for any signs of watchful eyes or danger, also for those things.
Reaching the door, they pause. If there's a keyhole or crack in the door, they'll peer through it. If not, they'd like to listen for any sounds on the other side.
<.>
There's complete silence on the other side; in fact, aside from the cacophony a moment ago, the house seems utterly lifeless. None of the lanterns or fires are lit, nothing moves, not so much as a creaking stair.
Sen listens as well, and after a moment shakes his head 'no' - he hears nothing either. Pushing the doors open, the party will find a wide hall running the width of the house, with a black marble fireplace at one end and a sweeping red marble staircase at the other.
Mounted on the wall above the fireplace is a longsword with a windmill cameo worked into the hilt.
The wood paneled walls are ornately sculpted with images of vines, flowers, nymphs, and satyrs.
There are five doors leading from the hall to other rooms.
Fae follows the thieves, unresponsive to the press of his hand - but he does look back once at Dima, his eyes full of complicated emotions.
Sen is going for the sword to see if he can pry the cameo off without attracting attention or destroying anything.
[DEX: 22]
The cameo pops off easily and he slips it into his pocket, leaving the sword behind.
<.>
[PERC, r: 3. rin did not see this from sen and so could not be impressed by it alas!]
Rin is very busy prowling the edges of the hall. They're very interested in that staircase. They want to go up that staircase— But then, they're fairly certain monsters are usually found down, and not very often up. (It's a very good reason to sleep in trees! Usually.)
For the moment, they content themself with tracing a clawed fingertip along the sculpted walls, then pausing before the door they're fairly certain leads to the room they saw through that first window.
They're going to gently, quietly nudge it open and peer inside. There didn't seem to be much in there, but caution never hurts.
As they enter the hall, Dima finds he hasn't been breathing much at all, though he can't say whether it's owed to his attempts at keeping quiet, or the look Faolan gave him. He inhales a little deeper, shakes his head slightly, and starts to move toward the mantle. He'd like to take a look at that sword.
He also hasn't let go of Faolan's hand.
<.>
Faolan lets himself be led without protest, giving Dima gentle steering around what might be warping in floorboards. (He is and isn't watching Dima.)
The ceilings of the room - and indeed all of the rooms on this level - are 10-feet high, and Faolan sees nothing worth remarking on about them, or the walls, or - really, this room at all.
Sen meanders to one wall to examine the artwork - flowers, vines, nymphs, satyrs, and -?
He notices something, but says nothing to the group. Instead, he goes looking for Rin and finds himself distracted by what's taken their interest.
Rin will find upon passing through the door the very room they saw through the window. Throughout the room are taxidermied wolves, and before the opulent fireplace are leather chairs and a sidetable between them.
[PERC, d: 19]
"Two padded chairs draped in animal furs face the hearth, with an oak table between them supporting a cask of wine, two carved wooden goblets, a pipe rack, and a candelabrum. Two cabinets stand against the walls."
Inspection of the two cabinets will reveal that the east wall cabinet is locked.
Dima, upon inspecting the sword, determines it's a very nice sword.
<.>
Rin's response on entering the room and facing the taxidermied wolves is a very soft, very sarcastic: “Great.” It's kind of weird having these wolves-not-wolves being dead and close while you're having your fireside wine, right? Right.
Rin would like to check the sidetable for any knick-knacks, papers, or other objects.
They'd also like to get a sniff of the wine in the cask.
Dima looks after the thieves, looks at Faolan, and lifts one shoulder. Nods in their direction with an unspoken 'shall we follow' query.
<.>
Upon inspection, Rin finds nothing of note other than a few pipes. The wine smells like wine.
Sen's attention drifts around the room, lighting briefly on the wolves before settling on the cabinets. He makes his way to the east one, attempts to open it, and finding it locked, produces a set of lockpicks and gets to work.
Following Dima's suggestion, Faolan joins the others in the room - then catches sight of the wolves, freezes into a stony silence, and shakes his head at Dima. Not staying in here.
He'll try to pull free of Dima's hold, thinking he can just wait in the hall or go inspect one of the other rooms.
Sen snaps two of his lockpicks before tsking in irritation and giving up.
<.>
Dima is. Very torn.
He wants to take a look around the room— He also doesn't want to lose sight of Faolan, or leave him when he looks so suddenly uneasy.
For a moment he hesitates, conflict ticking his lip. He looks at Faolan's hand; he hasn't let it go. His fingers flex, begin to loosen pressure—
Then hold where they are. He cants his head at the man, confused, then nods, as if to say, ’As you say, then.’
A moment later, he Messages Faolan: [I know this family. Or I know their crest. Have you noticed anything?]
<.>
He thinks with a sinking sensation that Dmitri Voronin is going to let go. (He'll leave for something more interesting, and won't that just prove Faolan right about all of them?
Everyone goes. Eventually.)
The renewed pressure almost breaks something vital inside him because he knows it means a choice was made. A small one, true. And it doesn't negate anything else; Dmitri will still tire of the chase eventually. (But it's nice to know his revulsion from what he saw in the room won't leave him wandering this house alone. It's nice to know Dmitri perhaps saw his discomfort.) (Nice to have something like a friend, really, even if that's not what Dmitri is after.)
Once again, the man speaks in a way Faolan is certain only he can hear. He can't reply with the same magic, so he swallows and looks around at the hall, then shakes his head. No, he doesn't know anything about these people. (That's unusual for him - he's come into contact with so many nobles.)
His hand holds perhaps a little tighter. It might be dismissed as Dima's imagination, though.
<.>
Back in the other room, Rin, seeing the lock being very rude to Sen, would like to give it a try if they may. It seems like a good idea to check, and no loCk should keep that idea from happening!
[SLEIGHT: 24]
<.>
Rin easily pops the lock on the cabinet and opens it to reveal a heavy crossbow, a light crossbow, a hand crossbow, and 20 bolts for each weapon.
A quick inspection will reveal these are normal weapons with no magic to them whatsoever. But they are in good shape.
<.>
Rin is immediately taking the hand crossbow thank you very much. They lost their last one to an, mm, to a disagreement a few years back and they've missed it very much. Looking over the weapon, they gesture for Sen to take one or both of the others if he likes; after all, this is their joint discovery, and the elf should reap the rewards too!
...Actually.
Actually. Sen saw the cabinet first. Which means, in all fairness, Sen's got dibs. So Rin, after a moment's think, nudges the hand crossbow in his direction; it's only fair.
That's heartening, the way Faolan takes his hand a little tighter (maybe?) (Dima wants to believe it's true) (Dima doesn't know whether it's true, but why not let himself believe, for now?). Dima cants his head at the man, and now he *does* smile; slightly, encouraging. (Trying to set Faolan at ease after whatever caused him to back from the bare sight of that room.)
And, realizing he ought to have explained the magic, realizing there's something he would like to make clear, he Messages again: [When I speak like this, you can respond to me. It's a little like a whisper, Faolan, but no one else will hear... And I'll hear only what you direct my way. Would you like to try it?]
<.>
Sen nudges away the hand crossbow and shakes his head; he can handle the light one just fine - he thinks, anyhow. He's never used one, but how much different from any other bow can it be? In any case, Rin ought to have one sized for them.
(Rin ought to have anything they want. Anything in the world.)
With a nod at the large crossbow and another at the door, he asks without words if one of them ought to be given another weapon. He's content to let this one sit untouched, really, but it's up to Rin.
(He thinks - he might like to follow Rin's whims anywhere they take them.) (Lovely Rin.) (He really would like to run a caress along their horns -)
He's just going to go inspect that other cabinet and stop thinking about Rin's horns.
The way Dima says 'Faolan' - a voice, omnipresent in his ears and mind, unknowable by anyone else, and maybe a little possessive - unsettles him. It's not a good idea to let Dima - Dmitri - get accustomed to ...well. Him. Nearness with him.
He never should have offered his hand.
He does reply - softly, with shuttered eyes: [ I don't know them. ]
And, without challenge (does he have it in him to challenge anymore at all?), he adds:
[ And you don't know me. ]
He looks down at his hand in Dmitri's and back up again.
[ Stealth. Nothing else. ]
<.>
Rin won't argue; if Sen's all right with the light bow, they'll just keep this one, thank you very much! Maybe even put it to use against the monster! If there is a monster, which Rin is still not sure about. (Sometimes people make up monsters. Sometimes Rin makes up monsters. Monsters make for good stories!)
They'll grab the large crossbow after a moment's thought, intending to hand it to the human who has... Not joined them in the room? That's all right; more space for Rin and Sen to seek and take what they please!
Rin will join Sen at the other cabinet, intending to help with the inspection.
Dima—
Well. Dima thinks maybe, maybe he shouldn't have explained the spell. He doesn't know why that went wrong, or what brought what he takes as regret to Faolan's eyes; he only knows that something tenuous seems broken.
Not beyond repair! He thinks. He tells himself. (Was his mistake in mentioning the Durst family? Did it seem a slight to mention such a family, when, when... Gods, he can't fall down those thoughts right now. He has to keep some focus on what's happening. For stealth's sake, if nothing else.)
There's an impulse to withdraw his hand at those last words; it's an impulse Dima fights off, though his hand stiffens slightly, and he looks at their joined hands. Nods, looks back at Faolan: [ Stealth, then.]
A breath. A nod to himself. And: [ Please. If you see anything of note, let me know? I admit it's taking half my focus to keep from knocking over everything I see. Even with your guidance. ]
It was a joke. Or an attempt at one, anyway.
<.>
no subject
And holding hands still.
Last night, that boy was chilly to all of them, but Dima most of all. Now, he looks like he's at the bottom of a well and his only hope is that hand.
Or - that could be Sen's fanciful imagination. He IS a bard, after all.
Even so, he nudges Rin and nods at the pair - then sends his own Message to the Tiefling. [ Five silver says one of them creeps into the other's bedroll before the week is out. ]
Faolan thinks maybe he went too far. He didn't mean to hurt Dmitri (better him than Faolan, though, isn't that true?)
(It didn't used to be.) (His heart could take it, then.) (Oh, what he would have risked for those eyes three years ago. For a kiss. For a voice in his ear speaking his name. For a hand in his own like a promise.) (Only ever promises, is the problem.)
In another life, maybe he would have gone back on his words. Maybe he would have flirted, would have liked to catch Dmitri up in a kiss, and maybe their twined hands might have meant something else.
He's sorry. He's terribly sorry. A flicker in his expression says it better than words: regret, resignation - weariness.
Rather than reply, he turns to peer into one of the other rooms.
It proves to be the dining room. The centerpiece of this wood-paneled room is a carved mahogany table surrounded by eight high-backed chairs with sculpted armrests and cushioned seats. A chandelier hangs above the table, which is covered with resplendent silverware and crystalware polished to a dazzling shine. Mounted above the marble fireplace is a mahogany framed painting of an alpine vale.
The wall paneling in here is carved with elegant images of deer among the trees.
Red silk drapes cover the windows and a tapestry depicting hounding dogs and horse-mounted aristocrats chasing after a wolf hangs from an iron rod bolted to the south wall.
Faolan fixates on the tapestry, performs only a perfunctory scan of the room to be sure there's no monster or corpses, and shakes his head again at Dima. [ I’m not going in. ]
A wan smile and press of his hand. [ Unless I'm needed, I'm not going in there. ]
<.>
Rin's eyes light up, and they offer Sen a grin. They've encountered this magic or something of its kind before - it's handy among thieves - and their response follows quickly: [ Oh, delightful! ]
They mean the magic— They also mean the wager. Rin's pretty sure Sen's claimed the better bet already, but that's all right. Five silver's easy enough to steal somewhere if they lose out. [ You're on! Five silver at the end of the week! ]
Which. Come to think of it. Suggests the four of them will be staying together for a week. They'll have to, now that the bet's on! Rin's invested. And though they rarely spend more than a day among company, they find they don't dislike this prospect in the least.
Putting these thoughts on hold, Rin's going to make an attempt at opening cabinet no. 2.
[note: Note: The cabinet opens with ease; within is a small box containing a deck of playing cards and a collection of wine glasses.]
Rin is going to offer the deck to Sen; he looks like the kind of very dashing knave who might excel with cards. The glasses— They'd like to throw a glass. For fun. But no, no, stealth comes first. If Sen seems to see nothing noteworthy in the glasses, Rin's going to start out of the room.
Dima knows a cut across his heart; the regret, the look of erosion in Faolan's expression. It's worse somehow than the distance, the 'nothing else.' (Someone's hurt this boy. It's a thought, a certainty forming with slow ire.) (It's another thought he'll have to shelve for now.) Dima's hand loses its tension, and he measures Fae's regret with open eyes, with the subtlest of nods.
At Fae's words - at, oh, the press of his hand? (just for stealth) (maybe not entirely just for stealth?) - Dima presses back, softly, unimposing. He's going to take a quick look into the room of his own, glancing at no more than what his hold of Fae's hand allows, then return his eyes to Fae.
(Wolves again. A showcasing of hunters again.)
(Is there something about the Durst family and wolves? Are they known for their hunting? What is it itching at Dima's recollection?)
(And what it is that warded Fae from these rooms?)
[ For the moment, the room appears entirely incidental. No monster; no father. ] Another small press of Faolan's hand, and, [ If it becomes necessary, we'll send the thieves in, yes? ]
<.>
Whatever might have been said next - by Sen, by Faolan, by anyone - there's a sound just loud enough to bring a different sort of hush on the group.
Footsteps, perhaps, above them. The sound of distant - crying?
Thinking quickly, Sen hurries past Rin ( [ I'll be right back. ] ) and the two men in the hall, motioning wordlessly that he's stepping outside.
A moment later, he returns, his expression grown sober and his eyes cast upward. When the party has gathered at the foot of the stairs, he relays to them in a hushed voice that he asked the children if anyone other was in the house.
Rose and Thorn told him they aren't sure of their parents' whereabouts, their infant brother, Walter, is still in his nursery on the third floor.
"Much as I'd like to continue picking through their things, I'm not interested in leaving an infant alone, monster or none. Perhaps a more expeditious search?"
<.>
Rin's impulse is a question they keep quiet only by the grace of some god or other, because why didn't the older ones take their sibling?
Probably that's not the point right now.
Maybe little Walter's a shit. Maybe little Walter likes the monster?
Doesn't matter; Sen suggests moving on, so that's what they'll do.
First, though, Rin extends the large crossbow toward Faolan. "We found it," they explain quietly, succinct.
<.>
Faolan stares at the crossbow with a frown, then shakes his head. He doesn't know how to use that contraption - though it's nice they found some weapons. With his free hand, he taps the scimitar at his side: he's good.
Good enough to take the lead, because he suspects he might be the only one with actual fighting ability in this group, other than Dmitri - who -
Well. He's not going to think about that. (How taking the crossbow would have meant letting go. Would have been an excuse to let go.)
He starts up the stairs, pulling Dima along behind him. Sen, ever chivalrous, offers to go ahead of Rin.
On the second level, the party arrives in another hall like the one below. The oil lamps are unlit here, as well. Hanging above the mantle of the fireplace is a portrait of the Durst family: Rose and Thorn with their parents. In their father's arms is a swaddled baby, which the mother regards with a hint of scorn.
Four suits of armor wearing helms in the shapes of wolf heads flank doors on either side of the hall. These doors are carved with dancing youths.
Just off the stairs, a door opens into an undecorated bedroom containing a pair of beds with straw-stuffed mattresses. The chests at the end of each are open and empty, and a hook on the wall holds a tidy servant's uniform. Nothing else of interest can be seen in this room.
The stairs continue on upward, and there's a cold draft flowing down.
Sen breaks from the group to move toward the doors on the north side of the hall where he examines the carvings with silent bemusement. Once again, he shrugs it away, but despite the sense of urgency, he does open the door to see what's in this particular room.
<.>
Dima absolutely believes this man can wield the scimitar with aplomb.
He keeps step with Faolan, though he'll pause at the top of the stairs, seeking anything that might prompt memory's return. He'd like to examine the painting, and examine the carvings on the doors Sen hasn't opened.
Dima also intends to keep half an eye on Fae, watching for any recurrence of the unease shown at the rooms below.
Rin's curiosity follows Sen, but they're going to swing through the undecorated room (servants' quarters?). Their first order of business is to find somewhere to stow the large crossbow; if Sen not's going to take it and Fae's not going to take it, they don't want anyone else stumbling in and laying hands on the thing. Loose weapons sink... Something.
Rin's going to look around the room for somewhere to hide the weapon. They're also going to start wondering how long those kids have been living in this very dark very empty house.
Not that it doesn't happen.
Not that Rin hasn't lived in very dark, very empty places themself.
[note: The only places to stow a crossbow in the undecorated room are beneath the beds; the weapon is too large to fit in the small chests.]
Under the bed works for Rin, and they will shove it as near to the wall as they can.
[PERC, d: 22]
<.>
Examining the wood paneling for a moment, Dima will realize the youths are not dancing, but are instead attempting to stave off a swarm of bats.
From here out, if Dima examines the wood carvings in the house, he will notice things are not as they appear.
Examination of the portrait gives him no further clue to the identity of the family.
Examination of Faolan shows his distinct unease with the suits of armor. He's patiently following Dima, but he clearly doesn't want to be here.
Sen, meanwhile, has discovered a library.
"Red velvet drapes cover the windows of this room. An exquisite mahogany desk and a matching high-back chair face the entrance and the fireplace, above which hangs a framed picture of a windmill perched atop a rocky crag. Situated in corners of the room are two overstuffed chairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the south wall.
A rolling wooden ladder allows one to more easily reach the high shelves."
<.>
Dima leans toward the carving, eyes fixed in focus. This could be an affectation in the decor, but given the state of this place, it seems unlikely. He absolutely intends to continue examining the carvings through the house. He's also going to give Faolan's hand a slight half-tug. Partly to share the discovery; partly to draw his attention away from the suits of armor.
(Wolf-helmed armor.) (The hunted wolf.) (The hunted wolves put on display.) (And Faolan, gone silent. Faolan, looking for all the world like he'd rather claw himself away from this place—
But he hasn't done so.
He remains here, still holding Dima's hand.)
[ Do you see this? The swarm? ] He traces a finger through one of the bat swarms, then looks to Faolan for confirmation.
Rin, having stowed the crossbow, sticks their head into the room Sen's found. Wanting to get his attention without making too much noise, they offer a soft 'hoo.' If he looks, they'll cock their head, as if to suggest, ’You got this room?’ He lookS like he's got this room. And if Sen doesn't seem in need of a hand, Rin will go slip open the other set of double doors.
<.>
Faolan didn't see the swarm. He does now, however, and leans in to examine the odd carvings. (Didn't he see more downstairs? Are they all like this?)
Rin pushes past them into a room that appears to be a large, most-empty room. Gossamer drapes cover the windows; a brass-plated chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Upholstered chairs line the walls, and stained-glass wall hangings depict beautiful men, women, and children singing and playing instruments.
A harpsichord with a bench rests in one corner. Near the fireplace is a standing harp. Rin's inspection of alabaster figurines of well-dressed dancers adorning the mantelpiece will reveal several are well-dressed skeletons.
Faolan doesn't particularly want to go in that room. He'd like to continue on out of here; find the infant, find the monster. Get away from this strange house.
Sen, who is still beaming about the hoot sent his way, begins to rifle through the contents of the library, starting with the desk.
In the desk drawer, he finds an iron key and nothing else. Strange. Strange enough to pocket.
He also examines the rows of books. (Perception: 17)
He spots a fake book and, upon pulling it, finds he has discovered a secret door.
Well, of course he must go inside!
The door shuts behind him, plunging him into darkness - but not before he sees the skeleton sharing the room with him.
“FUCK.”
<.>
Rin thinks this is getting weird.
Okay, it's been weird, and the harpsicord's a bit much, but it's not as if they don't appreciate macabre tokens. It's not as if they aren't going to grab for a few of them and drop them into their newfound bag. ’One for me, two for sale,’ they figure. That seems fair.
They're considering plucking a harp string when the windows catch their eye. Rin would like to take a look outside. Just to see if anything's changed. Maybe see if they can catch a glimpse of the two kids.
Dima, having seen Faolan's continued unease, glances around for sight of the thieves, who've made themselves quite scarce— Or, no, there's the tiefling in one room, eyes out the windows.
It's the glass that catches Dima's eye. He'd like to have a look at those images, and see whether they hold any, mm, odd details.
He glances to Fae: [ A quick look? Something's off. I just want to see, and I'd rather not leave you here. ]
<.>
Looking out the windows, Rin can see that the town has been consumed by an impenetrable white mist. The children are not visible from their vantage point.
Faolan looks between Dmitri and the room and back again, then shakes his head no. He feels uneasier the more he thinks of the carving, of the wolves. (Hunted. Dead.)
Dima's right: something is off, and the sooner they find that infant, the sooner they can get the hell out of here.
And, in a low stage whisper, he leans into the conservatory and calls for Rin. ”Rin, let's go.”
<.>
Oh.
...Oh?
Of course he'll go with (Fae) Faolan. All thought of joining Rin is summarily banished, and Dima finds he's staring at Faolan just a little wide-eyed, finds he lost hold of thought for a moment there. He shakes his head slightly, the better to bring himself to the present, then nods—
[ We keep moving, then. Yes. ]
Rin's moving toward Dima and Fae, then past them, remarking quietly, sounding a little bit annoyed: "It's misty out. When'd that happen?"
Awfully convenient for mist to—
Wait.
What—
They call a little louder than they intended (just a bit above a whisper) (not not feeling sudden unease): "Sen?"
A glance back, as if expecting to see the elf poke his head around the door - no, though; that's only Fae and Dima - and Rin begins to search for signs of Sen.
<.>
no subject
Sen isn't here.
He knows Sen didn't come out of here. They would have seen him, even if he was being stealthy about it.
Unless he climbed up the fucking chimney, though...
Faolan breathes out a sound of faint distress and releases Dmitri's hand ( [ I'm sorry- ]) to reach for his scimitar. Not unsheathed, not yet, but his hand is on the hilt (and so much colder for the loss of a (Dima's) hand.)
And everyone who's looking around the library, roll a perception check.
[ f: 4
r: 17
d: 8; he’s is rather occupied with the entire Moment that happened just now, and thinks Sen probably slipped out the window, the goddamn elf. ]
Faolan and Dima find nothing of consequence in the room and Dima might even suspect there's nothing TO find.
Rin, however, will find the red-bound false book if they examine the bookshelves.
<.>
Dima can’t shake the image of Faolan’s distress; of the hand leaving his own, and the apology that followed. (He didn’t have to apologize. He should never have felt the need.) (Oh, but it was heartening to hear.) [ I’ll be right here. ] And he offers a small, tentative smile.
Dima then checks the position of his own dagger and, after a look around the room, shakes his head. Speaks under his breath, “The jackass went out the window.” Got bored with the room and moved along; that seems right to Dima.
Rin isn’t sure about that, at all. When they find the book, they hiss softly under their breath, then offer, their own voice hushed, “I don’t think so.”
Taking their shortsword in-hand, they pull at the book.
<.>
The door to the secret room swings open, prompting Faolan to grasp Dmitri's wrist and hustle over to join Rin.
The three of them crowd in the doorway to find Sen seated on the ground with his arm around the bony shoulders of a skeleton.
He has been in the process of telling it all the things it's missed since it's been dead, but abruptly interrupts himself to thrust out a hand and cry out, "No, no, don't come in here! The door's rigged!"
<.>
For.
Shit's.
Sake.
Okay, the elf didn't go out the window. Okay, this *also* tracks. Or. Sen chattering away at the skeleton tracks; the presence of the skeleton is not precisely reassuring, to say the least.
Dima wants a look at the skeleton. So he turns his head to Faolan, then back to the apparently rigged door.
"Would you mind holding the door while I examine the remains?" And, shooting A Look at Sen, "Assuming our companion here hasn't learned anything, which I don't believe is a vast assumption."
Rin's just glad to see Sen's all right, really. The skeleton is... Weird. The room is weird? There's a question about that, but first they're waving to Sen and beckoning him to join back in the world of the not-secret-closet: "Weird book, right?"
And, as they turn to begin checking the room for other little... well, surprises, traps: "Weird room, too. Is that all there is, a skeleton? Who keeps a room for a skeleton?
"...I guess I might. But maybe that's why people don't just give me rooms."
<.>
Now that there's light shed in the room, it can be seen that there are bookshelves packed with tomes bearing titles relating to the occult and necromancy. Sen and the skeleton are leaning back against an open chest.
<.>
Dima. Absolutely wants to take a look through these shelves after checking the skeleton. Though first, since he’s already going into the room, or planning to. He'd like to look at the chest, maybe, after checking the remains.
(He's not NOT considering snagging a few fingerbones while he's at it.)
<.>
Faolan reluctantly lets go of Dima's hand to hold the door; Sen is all too happy to clear out of the room without searching for loot.
Close inspection of the skeleton reveals that it belongs to a human who triggered a poison dart trap. Three darts are stuck in the leather armor at his chest.
Apparently, there's no more trap, as everyone going in and out of the room has not been hit by anything.
Clutched in the skeleton's left hand is a letter bearing the seal of a distant, well-known entity named Strahd von Zarovich.
<.>
Dima is going to bow out on inspecting the chest. Having seen the poison darts, he's going to take the letter, attempt to snag one (1) finger from the skeleton (breaking off the forefinger from the first knuckle), then move to examine the books.
If no one else moves toward the chest, Rin will move in and have a look.
<.>
Rin finds three blank books with black leather covers, three spell scrolls, two property deeds, and a signed will.
Further inspection of these items shows the will is signed by Gustav and Elisabeth Durst and bequeaths the house (deed 1), the windmill (deed 2), and all other family property to Rosavelda and Thornboldt Durst in the event of their parents' deaths.
[ARC, d: 10; with Guidance from Fae]
The books are fiend-summoning rituals and necromantic rites of a cult called the Priests of Osybus.
[INS, d: nat 20]
Dima at first thinks these tomes are intriguing, but recalling his GODDAMN EDUCATION, knows every word is totally bogus and none of these spells could possibly work.
<.>
Fae reaches to take the letter and, finding the seal already broken, unfolds it and reads aloud while Rin and Dima search and Sen peers over his shoulder.
"My most pathetic servant,
“I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writing in my earth.
“You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are.
“Your dread lord and master, Strahd von Zarovich."
[HIST, d: 11]
Dima can't remember anything more, but something about all of this just keeps niggling at him.
<.>
[q: Does Dima recognize/know anything about this Priests of Osybus cult?
a: His history check says nope.]
Dima, growing increasingly irritated by his failure to catch whatever memory keeps slipping his hold (and, perhaps, by the hand he's lost hold of), feeling uneased by the letter, begins with "This stinks of desperation. The melodramatic, the megolomaniac as well." Speaking partly in order to find some way toward a point; none of this is adding up. He's missing something key.
And, flipping through another of the books, lip ticking. "It's nonsense, all of this. None of this is functional.”
He's been talking more to himself than the others, but when he glances back, meets Fae's eyes, he feels a little bit more grounded. Cants his head and thinks, thinks. "The letter was to your" (nodding to Sen) "skeletal friend, or to someone else entirely. Begging the question— Where is the altar."
Rin, rocking back and forth on their heels, hasn't really been listening to Dima. They have been trying to examine the deeds, but they also really, really don't care for legalize, and they wave the papers toward Sen, "Do you know about houses? Or windmills." And, idly, not really considering the remark, "You know what, I don't think stillborn infants do a lot of crying."
<.>
Sen takes the papers and examines them thoughtfully. "If there is some stillborn infant in question here - well. Judging by his condition-"
He motions towards the skeleton.
"It was certainly long enough in the past for another babe to come along, surely."
Looking back down to the papers, he simply shrugs. "These are only land deeds. Some windmill in Vallaki - haven't the foggiest where that is. The other is for this place, I imagine. Boravia? We're apparently in Boravia. I don't suppose any of you know where that is?"
Before anyone can answer, he nods to the letter Faolan is silently re-reading. "I think Dima has a point, there. What altar? What fucking dungeon? I -"
He stops abruptly and fishes out the iron key he found in the desk drawer, slowly waggles for the other three to see.
"In case we find a door with a lock. But I didn't see anything on the first floor leading down, so perhaps we continue 'up' for now."
Faolan folds the letter carefully and passes it back to Dmitri before speaking. "We heard someone moving around up here. Maybe we ask them the questions."
<.>
Something about this still doesn’t sit right with Rin. But also maybe they just don’t trust kids who run up to the first strangers in view and forget to mention their tiny brother.
…They do have one question though. “How old’s the skeleton?”
Dima will answer if his look over the remains made this clear; if not, and if Sen learned nothing, Rin will simply let the question be.
[note: It's hard to tell; it's clearly been in here for some time; granted, it's a locked secret room that may have been untouched for years by the master of the house. After all, he hardly needs bogus occult tomes.]
Dima conveys this information; Rin decides there’s more to be seen and anyway the skeleton’s not going anywhere. Rin’s ready to move onward and upward.
Dima is going to suggest taking the items from the chest and putting them in Rin’s bag, if nothing else; he’ll take the scrolls if no one else does - for examining another time - then reclaim Faolan’s hand, Messaging [ Thank you. ]
Dima is now ready to move on as well, and will be holding Fae’s hand just a little tighter. Thinking to message ‘Stay with me, please,’; deciding it doesn’t need to be said.
<.>
no subject
The party continues out of the library and up the stairs to the third floor; Faolan takes the lead with Dmitri behind him.
At the top of the stairs, the party arrives at a dusty balcony. Against the far wall is another suit of armor like those below, though this one is draped in cobwebs.
Oil lamps are mounted on the oak-paneled walls; these, too, have carvings of woodland scenes of trees, falling leaves, and small animals.
Faolan, seeing the wolf-helmed armor, averts his eyes and pulls Dima hurriedly past it; these representations of wolves and hunters of wolves are beginning to honestly frighten him.
<.>
When was the last time anyone passed through these halls.
(A question echoing in-kind, half-grasped: When was the last time anyone truly lived here?)
Dima feels these questions, though his attention is currently caught upon Faolan's hurry; the way he once more seems averse to the armor. Dima doesn't stall his progress. He will, however, pause to examine the wood paneling currently nearest to him, setting a hand to Faolan's arm to signal that he's pausing, just for a moment.
[ You needn't look at the armor, Faolan. You needn't look at anything. We'll get through this; I promise you. ]
Dima leans in to study the panel's details.
<.>
Examining the wood panel, Dima will discover corpses hanging from the trees.
[PERC, d: 17]
While examining the grove with its 'strange fruit', Dima finds the outline of a hidden door in the wall.
Sen is preoccupied with thinking perhaps there are more secret doors in this house, or treasures to be found - it's a good distraction from the threat of unease (fear) running through him. He sees the boy and his tag-along heading to the right, so he suggests to Rin perhaps they ought to go the other way and see what there is. They're within earshot, mostly, and splitting up will allow them to cover more ground.
If Rin is amenable, Sen is going to head in the opposite direction, towards the double doors at the north end of the balcony.
<.>
Rin is amenable, and joins Sen at the double doors. They're going to motion for Sen to join them in another round of 'listen for sounds from the other side' and try to check for signs of movement through any keyhole or gap beneath the door. They'd also like to examine the handle, just in case anything seems rigged. They don't want Sen stuck in another skeleton trap!
Dima points out the outline to Faolan immediately, gesturing toward it and Messaging, [ Do you see it? ]
<.>
Rin's inspection turns up nothing of note; there's no noise and there are no traps. Peering through the keyhole, they see no movement.
Faolan cocks his head and nods slowly, then places his hand against the wall to see if it moves; it swings open inward easily to reveal a dusty, cobwebbed set of stairs leading up.
He peers in and up, then withdraws and says, [ Let's see if there's anything down here first. No one's climbed those steps in years. ]
<.>
Dima could admire the morbidity of details in this paneling if he didn't feel so uneasy; if he wasn't so aware of Faolan's dis-ease. (And, yes, if he wasn't still irked by those nonsense 'necromancy' tomes.) Better now, anyway, to focus on this door, and the itch he feels looking up the stairs, knowing both foreboding and a desire to see, to find, to know what's up there. (Something, something— There must be an answer to all of this.)
For now, he nods. [ That's wisest, yes. ]
And, looking at the nearest door, he'll move to push it open.
<.>
The doors open to reveal a bedroom suite with two sets of doors along the west wall. The bedroom contains a large bed, two end tables, and a wardrobe. Mounted on the wall is a full-length mirror with an ornate wooden frame carved to look like ivy and berries.
Sen and Rin, upon entering the opposite room, find an elegantly appointed master suite. It is furnished with a four-poster bed draped with tattered curtains, a vanity with a wood-framed mirror and jewelry box, a matching pair of wardrobes, and a padded chair. A rotting tiger-skin rug lies on the floor and above the fireplace is a dust-covered portrait of the Dursts. In the corner is a web-filled parlor with a table and two chairs. The doors lead to a dust-choked closet and a balcony.
<.>
Rin pulls a 'yikes' face and kicks the tiger-skin rug, catching an edge on their toe and gesturing to Sen: pointing their fingers toward Sen's head, opening and closing their fingers in imitation of a talking mouth, then pointing at their own head; they'd like him to start a Message so they can speak without sound.
Rin's going to see whether the rug is just a rug or perhaps a convenient cover for something. They're also going to take a look at themself in the mirror, because it's never a bad time to check yourself out— And if there's nothing to see with the tiger, they'd like to rummage through that vanity. Might be something worth taking!
<.>
Inspection of the vanity turns up a silver jewelry box with gold filigree. Inside are three gold rings and a thin platinum necklace with a topaz pendant.
Sen comments at best guess, the total worth of the thing is about 850 gp.
Faolan, seeing nothing of note after a quick visual sweep of the room, begins opening the doors; he gives Dmitri's hand a tug and is just about to say that the room is the nursery he's been looking for.
Roll for initiative.
Okay; Rin is first up. They can hear the clanking of armor as it moves along the balcony towards the master suite.
<.>
Rin would like to begin by scooping the jewelry box into the bag of holding, because like fuck are they going to leave that behind. They'll then move up to the edge of the door; looks like somewhere between 10 and 15 ft? They'll try to keep against the wall and stick to any shadows they can find.
[STEALTH
r: 22
s: 10 ]
<.>
Sen rolled a 10, beating the passive perception by a hair. Both he and Rin fall back into shadow.
Back to the other battle: As soon as Faolan opens the door, a Spectral woman begins to materialize; she is skeletally thin and young, and as she shrieks as she floats toward Fae.
Dima, you're up. You're also behind Fae at this point.
<.>
Dima's going to pull Fae's hand (gentle quick but firm little tug), with the intention of taking the space Fae initially occupied.
<.>
Faolan, dumbfounded, moves aside and immediately regrets that choice.
<.>
Dima, having taken Fae’s spot, casts Burning Hands for 9 damage. The spectre takes 4 points of that damage.
[q: It looks like there are no windows in the nursery; were there any in the bedroom?
a: There are, in fact. The door to the balcony has glass inset, and there are windows on either side of the bed. And the nursery itself has one window.
q: Is the nursery window curtained or uncurtained?
a: No curtains.
q: Did anything in the nursery catch fire?
a: Nope.
note: The only thing in the nursery that Dima can see is a cradle, and it’s just out of range. The windows are shuttered from the outside. ]
Dima is going to try to run past the specter, over to the cradle on the end by the window.
<.>
As Dima runs right through the specter. He takes no damage, but the specter takes 5 points, itself.
The specter's attention is now on Dima, who is much too close to the cradle for its taste. It turns and flies at him with a wail. The attack misses.
Faolan is going to close the distance between himself and the specter as he draws his scimitar and try to slash the entity across its back. Hits for 4 damage, reduced to 2.
Faolan is going to shout "A LITTLE HELP IN HERE!"
During this time, the suit of armor, unable to detect the owls, has begun to return to its original spot.
<.>
Stealthed Rin begins moving toward the nursery.
Dima would like to look into the cradle while drawing his dagger pls and thank you.
[note: Upon looking into the cradle, he will see a tightly-wrapped, baby-sized bundle lying there.]
Dima's going to pick up the bundle. (And everyone thank Fae for his presence bc if that boy were not there Dima would've gone instastabby.)
<.>
Picking up the bundle, Dima will find it's empty.
Just a blanket.
However, Faolan saw Dima. Pick up a bundle of maybe baby while holding a dagger.
<.>
Dima, holding the bundle, is about to shout something at the ghost when he catches Faolan's expression, and forgets entirely that he was about to speak, that there's a haunted goddamn house around, and that there's an actual goddamn specter beside him.
Dima ends his turn staring at Faolan, slowly, slowly realizing he may have erred.
<.>
The specter turns on Faolan and attempts to grasp him by the head.
Faolan's attention is on Dima and so he fails to move out of the way in time; the specter grasps him, doing 4 points of necrotic damage.
And Faolan just barely passes a constitution saving throw at 11, which brings us to his turn.
Faolan feels life literally draining from him and manages to break free, gasping. He isn't going to think at all about what he just saw. (Or the look of horror Dima is giving him.) He's going to kill this fucking - thing.
He summons a vine-like whip into his hand and attempts to bring it down on the specter. That hits at 20, for 4 points of piercing damage.
And holding the whip, he backs up, attempting to draw the specter away from Dmitri.
Sen and Rin move toward the nursery. The suit of armor likewise begins to move in that direction, but is clearly much slower than the owls.
<.>
Dima is going to let the blanket unfurl and, waving it at the ghost, declare in his most Authoritative Voice, "There's nothing here. Your child isn't here.”
If that doesn't take his full action, he's going for the ghost with the dagger.
[note: She doesn't seem to hear him at all.]
Dima is all his glory rolls a crit fail for that attack.
<.>
Dima misses; the momentum of his miss takes him lurching forward; he passes through the specter again, falling almost directly into Faolan's arms.
And the specter takes another 5 points of damage.
As this is the second pass through the specter - Dima, make a constitution saving throw.
[CON: nat 1]
Dima feels a sensation like part of his life force has been sapped from him entirely. Until his next long rest, his hit point max is reduced by 1.
The specter turns on the pair and attempts to reach for Dima. And misses.
Faolan is up; he drops Dima, sort of depositing him to one side to free up his hands, and he's going to make another Thorn Whip attack. Just BARELY hitting at 13. And squarely hitting the specter with a crack of the vine for six points of damage.
The specter wails, the sound echoing as it vanishes.
Right as the owls join them, the group hears the approach of clanking armor.
Faolan turns, panting and pale, to Dima and - for a moment, hesitates.
Then offers his hand to help him up.
His expression says there's going to be a conversation later, but right now, he's going to keep protecting the man.
<.>
Dima holds Faolan's gaze, for a moment moving no more than to nod slowly: [ Yes. ]
Yes, he understands; doesn't yet see the full meaning of what he did or what Faolan saw, but knows he erred in that fight.
Yes, he sees Faolan's aid, and yes, he's appreciative of it (and of the man).
Dima takes Faolan's hand, and will rise, leaving the blanket on the floor.
The Message is more an offer than necessity; the 'yes' could be read in Dima's expression and assent, but if Faolan wishes to speak, he now has the passage.
<.>
Faolan hears the approaching clanking and hears another message aimed for him: [ Time to go, Gents. ]
For a moment, he ignores Sen; there might not BE a later, or time enough to have that conversation, and Dima did cast his spell.
His hand tightens on Dmitri's and Faolan pulls it close to his chest, he ducks his head a little to meet eye-to-eye, ensuring the other man understands what's happening here.
He doesn't know for sure what Dmitri meant to do with that dagger and what might have been an infant, but he knows how it looked, and he knows the moment of panic he saw in the man's eyes when he realized Faolan was watching.
[ Never again. Swear that to me, right now. ]
There's no 'or else'. No ultimatum. Just a soft, firm demand.
<.>
He doesn't know what he meant to do.
(That isn't true. Dima was going to run the dagger through whatever he found in that cradle. It was a hunch; it was an educated calculation.
It also wasn't built on evidence. It also could have gone very, very wrong.
What in fuck was he thinking.)
There's an impulse to look away; to stray from what must be disappointment in Faolan's eyes, but Dima keeps his eyes locked, curling his hand within Faolan's. There's a sideways twitch of his lip, stray signal of the concern he's trying to keep muffled, and he nods once, small and a little wavered, but certain.
[ Never again. I swear it: Never, never again. ]
<.>
Faolan regards him a moment, then nods slowly. He doesn't smile or speak, but there's a slight - very slight - squeeze of his hand.
He believes it. (He believes when this man swears a vow.) (He won't think about that.)
Sen, meanwhile, truly doesn't care to fight an animated suit of armor, and spends their precious little time searching the room for a quick exit. The drop from the house isn't viable, but a sweep of the room reveals a hidden door behind the mirror which opens onto the selfsame stairs revealed by the door on the landing.
With a pointed look, he waves the others toward the door; whatever's up the stairs has to be better than whatever's coming for them.
<.>
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Death House pt. 2: Onward and Downward
When they reach the bottom of the seemingly endless spiral, a narrow tunnel stretches out southward before branching out east and west.
The party begins to hear an eerie, incessant chant echoing throughout the basement.
Rin’s going to stealth and lead.
Sen is going to give Rin some inspiration: I believe a kiss on the hand for them.
After Sen does this, Faolan looks at Rin, then at Dima, then at Sen again and says, "I hope you don't tongue me when you give me mine."
<.>
Rin winks, blows Sen an air kiss, and starts down the westward path.
[STEALTH, r: 20; Rin is officially vanished into the shadows.]
They're going to move five feet over to take a look at how many stairs there look to be (or ten feet if they need to). Here, they'd like to pause and try to discern whether anything's changed in the echoing sound, whether it sounds nearer or farther or anything.
[dm: They can't tell where the sound is coming from at all. It's almost an ambient, if distant, noise.]
Though they’d intended to go check the other hallway, having seen the steps, Rin now knows a strong desire to see what's down the steps, and they're going to move to the bottom stair.
[dm: They come to the bottom of a short flight of stairs; the hall opens out into a room with a wooden table and four chairs. They can't see much in the dim lighting, but it looks like the room might branch off into other spaces.]
Rin thinking to themself, very emphatically, shit.
They'd like to pause for half a minute to discern whether there are signs or sounds of movement before heading back up the stairs.
[dm: There's no movement at all. Just that weird noise.]
Okay moving back up the stairs. They'd like to take a small look down the first branching hallway if they may before returning toward the group.
<.>
Sen is, meanwhile, uncomfortable standing here with Faolan and Dima in silence
And as he rolled a 19 on stealth, he's going to scout the other direction.
<.>
Checking out this hallway, Rin discovers more branching. And. Well. A little more searching wouldn't hurt. And Sen can reach them if anything's needed! So Rin's going to scooch down the left branch.
[dm: Down this branch, Rin finds an empty crypt. There is no name and no corpse. The blank stone slab meant to seal the crypt leans against a wall.]
’Seems like a waste,’ Rin thinks. And. They're just going to slip out of here.
They don't really like having walked into a crypt. This is supposed to be a house. And thinking about what happened with Sen in the library, Rin resolves to return to the party— After taking a careful look down the right branch. Then they'll go back!
[dm: This is likewise a crypt hewn from the earth. The stone slab meant to seal it leans against a nearby wall. Etched into it is the name Walter Durst. The crypt is empty.]
....Rin nearly. Nearly says out loud, ’I knew Walter was trouble.’
They did not know any such think. They also don't do more than think the words, though they'd like to take a moment to see just how dusty this crypt is, and whether there are tracks anywhere within.
[dm: There are no tracks; the general dust and cobwebs are about the same as everywhere else down here.]
That's enough for now; Rin's going to head back toward the others. Probably, it's wisest not to stay split for too long down here.
<.>
Sen, not knowing where Rin is, exactly, is going to message Dima.
[ Is Rin back yet? ]
<.>
Dima has been trying no to look too long at Faolan; it isn't the right time (to say the fucking least), and he doesn't want to discomfort the man any further. He studies the rings on his hand, reminds himself to stave off worry for later, and he's about to dare a press to Faolan's bicep when—
Godsdamnit Sen.
He sounds huffy even in his thought response: [ No, they haven’t— ]
Which is when the tiefling slips back into view, seems to instantly note Sen's absence, and fixes Dima and Fae with sharp eyes.
[ They have. I believe they're looking for you, o intrepid adventurer. ]
<.>
Faolan's attention is on Rin, so he fails to notice that Dima and Sen are communicating.
[ If we come down this way, don't bother with the first corridors, left or right.
I'd go so far as to say, keep Faolan out of them. Yourself, as well, with your little passengers. ]
Sen is, as it turns out, standing in the crypts of Rosavalda and Thornboldt Durst.
A perfunctory look down the other hall has told him these are the crypts of the children's parents.
<.>
Dima: [ …I'll want to know what you've seen. But I take your suggestion in this case as word. ]
<.>
Sen: [ Final resting places of those not yet finally resting. And those who ought not be finally resting, come to think of it. It seems Father and Mother Durst have done one good thing for their children, after all, and expired. ]
<.>
A moment as Dima first forgets, then remembers to breathe, and: [ Thank you, Sen. ]
And.
[ I'd be interested to know who sealed the shitminded parents into resting. For now, you'd better return before the tiefling throws a fit. ]
<.>
No need to tell him twice; he didn't think about THAT.
- Who buried the parents, OR Rin throwing a fit
<.>
After messaging Sen, Dima's going to softly share with Faolan and Rin some part of what Sen relayed: That there's nothing that needs searching in the first passages to the east.
[DEC, d: 12]
<.>
Faolan regards Dima for an uncomfortably long moment, then decides not to investigate further. (Yet.)
Sen, on returning, says there's nothing at all down either passageway.
[DEC, s: 15]
Rin buys it. Faolan is still not having this shit, but also kind of figuring at this point mAYBE they're lying for a reason.
So, the stealthed thieves just returned to report Nothing. Faolan also decided to stealth himself and is silently judging some not-truth-tellers.
<.>
Dima, seeing everyone going stealth, will try his hand at it again, though his hopes aren't particularly high and he's planning on keeping to the back of the party.
[STEALTH: 20]
Rin does not trust Dima to lead the stealth train. They're good with themself, Sen, or Faolan.
Dima. Does not want Fae to lead. For no particular reasons. And suggests one of the thieves - who are presumably accustomed to odd houses - should take point.
<.>
Sen is not as accomplished a thief as Rin and will gladly defer to their guidance.
<.>
Rin gives Sen a smile and a [ Why thank you very much! ] With a wink because you see, they learned this trick too!
"Before we move— Okay, so we're gonna want to go down a small flight of stairs. There's a hallway to the right, but it's just a couple of empty crypts." They pause. They think. "Mostly empty. There was a name in one, but nothing to go with it. Point being it's not really worth our time so. Down the stairs we go!"
If no one has questions or comments, Rin will begin moving toward the stairs they found earlier.
<.>
no subject
The room is unchanged, the only sounds the strange ambient chanting they've heard since they came down the spiral stairs.
<.>
Rin's going to lead around the table to the entry on the far side, intending to listen/look in.
Dima, taking up the tail of their train, is thinking on that empty crypt with a name, though he won't prod about it now.
[note: The entry is a hallway; around the corner is another flight of stairs.]
Rin turns back to Sen: [ Too many stairs in this place. Clear this floor first, or down we go? ]
[note: It's still the same level, just about three or four stairs.]
Rin would rather take a look around the other entries leading from the table room before continuing in this direction. They look back to the others, pause, then scuttle past Sen to continue toward the next opening.
<.>
The other doorways prove to be alcoves; in each one is a bed with mouldering straw and filthy blankets. There's nothing else to be found.
Faolan is just watching quietly, almost expectantly, as though waiting for Rin to tell the party they found something.
(It's better than looking at Dmitri. He is trying very hard not to do that just now.)
<.>
Rin gestures for the group to cluster and speaks softly: "Four basement beds. That's weird, right? If the staff lived upstairs, what was all of this?"
<.>
Sen looks contemplative; he's not sure what he thinks, or how all the pieces fit together.
Faolan, however, thinks about the letter and frowns. "'Visitors.'"
<.>
Dima has - of course he has - been watching Faolan, and now nods. "Visitors eager to keep hidden. Or visitors required to hide." The letter; the books; the entire aura of this house. "It might be related to the books upstairs, to the cult referenced." A shrug of one shoulder. "It may not."
It makes sense enough to Rin. They think about it. Think about it. "One way of finding out."
Rin's going to move toward the small set of stairs, and move downward.
[dm: From their vantage at the bottom of the stairs, they can see the room opens up. At the center, they can just see 3-foot high stone rising from the ground in what might be a sort of wall.]
Rin's moving into the room; they'll give the perimeter a check, but they're very, very interested in whatever that stone thing is.
As they move, Dima Messages Faolan: [ Any thoughts on who or what those visitors might have been? ]
As Rin enters the room to begin their perimeter, they'll be on the lookout for signs of movement or traps.
<.>
There are no signs of traps or movement. Upon entering the room, they can see it, too, branches off into five more alcoves. At the center of the room is a well with a three foot high lip. Above it, suspended from crossbeams, a bucket hangs unmoving.
Faolan finally does exchange a glance with Dima, blinks, and looks away thoughTfully. [ The letter said people were being bled on an altar. Tortured in a dungeon. You found those books. Maybe it was a sort of cult. ]
Sen, meanwhile, slinks off to the right to stick his head in one of the doorways and see what there is to see.
<.>
Seeing Sen start checking the right, Rin heads toward the left. They throw a glance back toward the bucket - what's the bucket for? watering the monster? - but want to see what these rooms hold, and whether it's safe (safeish) to look at the bucket.
[dm: The bucket is hanging about five or six feet above their head. The underside looks as though the wood is rotting away.]
Look up, Rin thinks they really want to poke that bucket. Or throw something at it.
Later!
Dima is going to hold that glimpse of Faolan's eyes close to his heart. [ Yes. I'd say it's odd that we've found no signs of carnage— But then, we can't be sure how far this house extends. Given the sound we're hearing... I'd guess it's had some distance to echo. ]
<.>
From their new vantage point, they can see at least one of the alcoves contains another, slightly better bed. A chest sits beside this, locked with a heavy iron padlock.
Sen sees something similar in the room he's investigating, and with a glance back to ensure Rin sees him stepping into this particular room (just in case) he moves toward it and will attempt to pick the lock.
Faolan is silent for the moment, then nods in agreement. [ *What we've seen already outpaces the sprawl of the house. It could be vast, yes.*]
And, after another pause, he tightens his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. [ I feel useless here. ]
Sen rolls a 15 total dexterity check and manages to pop open the lock. He likewise tries to see if there are any traps, whiffs his check, and decides the chest is totally harmless.
It is, but it might not have been. Inside the chest, he finds a pouch of strange leather, containing 11 gp and 60 sp.
<.>
Rin begins to make their way in the direction of the room and chest they spotted, thinking ’Oh that's much better!’ They'll have to ask Sen what he found in his room! First, though, they're going to check this chest for traps and make an attempt at opening it.
[PERC: 8; chest looks totally fine!]
Then they’ll open it!
[DEX: 16]
The lock opens easily. In this chest, Rin finds a silvered shortsword.
It sort of becomes clear to Sen and Rin by now that these chests contain the personal belongings of whoever was staying here, and they're unlikely to have any traps on them.
Rin Messaging Sen to ask if he wants to go splitsies on opening and going through the chests!
<.>
no subject
<.>
Sen you are a gentleman! And! Rin promises to show you everything they find! They do not promise to share, but it's not entirely outside the realm of the possible.
Meanwhile, Dima's watching Faolan with more focused intensity (a feat, when his eyes were already sharply fixed), and shaking his head. [ You've done a good deal already. With the specter, with the children. With— My actions. With your reason.
And I've seen your magic, Faolan. You aren't useless in the least.
We don't all need to spend our time in cracking chests. ]
Dima will continue gazing very fixedly at Fae.
<.>
Sen fails the second chest he attempts and messages Rin, asking to swap and see if they have more luck.
Faolan doesn't want to talk about what happened - not anymore than his piece that was spoken earlier. He doesn't want to think about the feelings that overwhelm him when he remembers how Dmitri spoke to the children. (Or now, when he's watched the way he is.)
Swallowing hard, he answers, [ At least they're having fun. Two children at play. ]
And, quite suddenly, he half-blurts, [ It changes nothing. What you did - are doing - for the children. Not because of what you thought about doing, or anything you've done at all. ]
A tight smile turns weary and Faolan does give Dmitri his gaze again. [ You're not the first man to look at me like that.
It'll pass. ]
And, as though looking to keep track of their thieves, he tears his gaze away once more. [ It always does. ]
<.>
Rin immediately agrees to the swap, dropping their focus on the chest to dart for Sen's room. They don't mind at all which chests they open, and this little dash was fun! They'll start working on this chest now!
[DEX, 7; thaaat’s a fail]
And in their irritation, they're going to poke at the bed a little, see if it seems to be covered in the same dust as everything else, before telling Sen [ It's just a shit lock :/ ] and moving along.
<.>
A small thump would suggest Sen has kicked the chest in frustration.
<.>
Rin would like to pop up beside him and give the chest a try, confirming with a scowl that "Yeah, these chests are major shits."
[note: Faolan is watching this back and forth.]
[DEX, r: 16
Hey the chest pops open easily for them. Inside the one by Sen is an ivory hairbrush with silver bristles.]
Rin.
Very.
Clearly.
Would like this.
But they will look at Sen before taking it!
<.>
Sen: [ It knew it was meant to be yours. ]
<.>
Rin: [ Hmm I bet it told you exactly what it had! ] They're beaming as they pick up the brush, running their thumb along its backing. Then, finding Sen's eyes, [ We've got to check the next one together. And this time whatever's in it is yours! ]
Without waiting, they scuttle off, brush in-hand.
Dima is. Much less happy.
Dima is feeling very cold.
(Because of what he did; the intention Faolan saw in his dagger.)
(Because Faolan might, must doubt Dima's intentions regarding the children.)
(Because he knows the man has little cause to trust him; he knows few people do.)
(And because, yes, yes, it becomes clearer and clearer that existence has left Faolan wounded. Whatever happen with the scandal, whatever preceded it, something's left a deep mark on this man, this... He really can't be much older than a boy, and yet he's learned so much.)
Dima's quiet for a moment, letting Faolan's words find their place in him. Trying not to think of other men who looked at Faolan with... with... With whatever name might be placed to Dima's expression. Trying not to think how he could be like them.
The thing is.
The thing is, for all his impulse, Dima knows his mind, and knows the firmness of his drives. It's nothing he can make Faolan believe. It might not be something he can push far now. But he can't let those last words linger any longer.
[ No; it won’t. ]
A blink, an attempt to offer the trace of a smirk that doesn't quite appear. [ Do you truly believe I am like any other man? ]
That, too, he won't let linger long, and Dima continues, all solemnity—
[ I guard what is mine, Faolan.
I follow what calls me, and I keep its song.
Still, I— Know this. You will be safe with me. I can't promise I won't watch you. I can't promise I won't ask that you remain.
But I mean no harm to you. I want your peace. I want you well. ]
<.>
Faolan can't look at him. (They always want to believe they're unlike any other man. That they're different. He's never met a man who doesn't like to be told he's special.)
It's that 'mine' that gives him pause. He thinks about pointing out all the ways it's a ridiculous thing to suggest when they two have only known one another for a day.
Instead, he answers honestly, softly, without malice.
[ The problem with thinking about people as 'yours', Dmitri, is you forget they don't belong to you, and aren't yours to do with as you please. ]
Faolan breathes a mirthless laugh through his nose, then gives the other man a sidelong look.
[ I don't know if you're like any other man. I don't want to find out firsthand that you are. ]
And meanwhile, Sen is going to try that third chest.
Which he unlocks! FINALLY. Inside of it, he finds a silk eyepatch set in with a carnelian stone, which he IMMEDIATELY puts on.
<.>
He can't say Faolan doesn't have a point, just as he can't say he's given the man cause to believe different of Dima.
(Dima. Dmitri. He likes his name in this man's voice. He'd like to hear it once again.)
[ I am quick to glimpse my inclinations; my certainties. Overeager, at times— And perhaps overbearing.
I would like you to be mine; I would like to know myself as yours. ]
He's just going to rush past that into: [ But I'm mistaken in placing my wishing upon you. Or to expect your trust without showing cause.
I'm sorry, Faolan. I am.
I can't promise I won't look at you a little long. I can't promise I won't seek your council.
I ask— Mm. I ask that we may share company. As adventurers, as friends, perhaps.
If nothing else, I'd ask that you keep with us here. There's work yet to be done, and you ARE skilled. ]
Rin is very busy pointing at Sen's eyepatch and grinning, running their brush through their own hair. [ You ARE the most dashing pirate I've ever seen! ]
A thought. An excited scramble as they reach for the silver shortsword and stand upon the bed. [ I believe I'll knight you for your bravery in lockpicking this day! ]
<.>
Sen immediately kneels with a flourish, because of course he would like to be knighted! (By Rin.) [ I believe I'll be honored to be knighted by one with such well-brushed hair, who has far keener lockpicking skill than I could ever hope to attain! ]
Faolan listens, and this time with his eyes on Dmitri. (Assessing. Thoughtful. Wary, ever wary, of the pains he might endure.)
He thinks of asking how Dmitri believes he could ever be Faolan's. If the man has considered the divide between them of title, of scandal, of wealth. But of course, Dmitri hasn't considered that because he doesn't have to. None of them ever do, and why should they, when they make the rules?
(But briefly, his thoughts trace the edges of a world where he and Dmitri look on as Rose and Thorn play, and his heart clenches painfully.) (He wants that life, not Dmitri.) (But if he did want Dmitri in that life, he would call him 'Dima', and his Dima would call him 'Fae'-)
(He slams a door against these thoughts, unaware of the ghosts of emotions that might have passed through his expression.)
[ You don't know me, Dmitri. ]
He draws a deep breath and turns away once more, then shakes his head in resignation.
[ Where were you going? To Awich, or further?
I'm on my way to Lob'en. ]
He pronounces it law ben and immediately bares his teeth at the error: it's slang, the way the poor pronounce the city's name. He never could shake some turns of phrase, some mispronunciations that marked him as a peasant.
Maybe it's better Dmitri knows he's no middle class-born courtesan. Maybe it's better if Dmitri thinks he's grasping, power-hungry gutter trash. (Maybe it's better if Dmitri sees the vastness of the divide between them.)
Still, he enunciates, [ Loch. Bien. ]
<.>
Rin tosses their hair, assuming an expression of majestic approval before their grin cracks back to being. [ My, that was a VERY good flourish! I've seen so many knights, you know— ] 'Seen.' 'Robbed.' [ —And not a one possesses half of your finesse! Not one could solve a single, solitary lock with such elan! ]
Another toss of their hair; another grin. [ Not one could lead me to the very brush my hair has yearned for. Good Sen, you have brought me to such sheen! ]
Theatrically, deftly, they settle the blade first to one shoulder, then the other. [ Here: You are now SIR Sen, Lord of all the Locks and Picks, a rogue to out-dash them all! ]
Dima could, if he focused on the thought, draw out an assortment of causes for Faolan's wariness. He captures what he can: the emotions passing across Faolan's face; the places the man picks to focus in discussion; the name and its correction (Dmitri won't mention this, nor did his expression shift at the colloquial pronunciation); the man's insistence that Dmitri (his name again!) doesn't know him (his name, not in the brightest context).
It's true they only just met. It's also true that Dima trusts his instincts regarding who is worth his time and who is something more than that.
It's Dima's impulse that needs restraining, here and there. It's Dima's impulse that can lead him far awry. And he thinks, he fears with a chill that he's pushing Faolan away, speaking too far, suggesting too much.
He thinks, ’I’d like to know you.’ Thinks, ’Let me learn?’
What he Messages, though, is: [ I'm afraid the answer may not please you.
My destination matches your own; Awich was only ever meant to be a passing-through.
My— Plans, my intentions grow muddier beyond that point. But I am expected in Loch Bien. ]
He wants to say he hopes they can travel together. He judges, for once, that moderation might be in order, that there will be time to speak toward this later, and for now he keeps his tongue.
<.>
Faolan doesn't react. He doesn't know if this is a lie to give cause for Dmitri to follow him to Loch Bien, or the truth, and some measure of coincidence.
He knows that an unspeakable joy filled him for one brief heartbeat before he wrenched away from it. He tells himself it's only because he'll see the children again.
(He knows, also, a sick drop in his stomach: Dmitri will be there when he does what he plans to do.)
But he does relent all the same. [ It's sensible to travel together. Safer, perhaps.]
And, abruptly changing the subject, he nods towards the alcove where the thieves vanished.
[ Could you ask them to hurry it along? ]
no subject
(Faolan didn't need to say anything about traveling together. But he did, he chose to, and might that not mean something?) (Whatever it means, it's no cause for Dima to rescind thought of caution.)
Whatever those words mean, Dima can't keep himself from smiling just a little, a relieved, minor crook of his lip.
[ It is. It will be; that's so. ] Even if the shrubs are finished, there's no telling what else may fling itself upon them.
Then, nodding to Faolan, he glances toward the room, toward where the thieves seem to have gone, and messages Sen: [ Anything worth lingering over, or are you reciting poetry to the tiefling? ]
<.>
Sen was, in fact, thinking of reciting poetry to Rin. He looks momentarily perturbed, then tsks and leans back so he can see out of the alcove at the waiting men.
[ They're ready to be boring somewhere different ], he observes to Rin. He rises and, on a whim, offers Rin a ride on his back - stealthed, of course!
When the pair reach Faolan and Dmitri, Sen recalls suddenly the pouch he found. Easing Rin from his back, he produces it, dumps the coin (gives it to Rin for dividing up fairly!) and holds it out to Faolan - who seems he might know and appreciate leather bags.
[INS or NAT, f: nat 20]
Faolan stares at it a moment, then slowly takes it. He waits until Sen and Rin move off again to scout ahead before just as slowly passing it to Dmitri.
[ It's human. ]
<.>
Rin of course agrees, wrapping their arms around Sen - not too tight, and making sure not to get in the way of his movement! - and responding, [ They can be as boring as they like; WE'LL have an adventure! ] The coins, of course, go into the bag of holding, for later and very fair dividing, and Rin turns their eyes ahead, because it's time for getting back to work!
Dima—
Well.
In the first place, there's a fluster through his stomach, a clamoring of moths between his lungs. Of course Faolan may only have wanted nothing to do with this object, or may have determined it better suits Dima's use, but—
But it's not not a gift.
It's not not the kind of gift Dima might hope for, if he ever anticipated gifts at all.
Dima holds the bag, brushes his fingertips across the surface. He'll ask Faolan what he thinks, but first, Dima will attempt to examine the bag himself, with a particular eye to any magical properties.
[INS, d: 7; If there's anything magical about it, he can't perceive it, and he can tell nothing else about it other than what Faolan already said.]
Dima's fingertips continue to travel the surface of the pouch as he looks up at Faolan. [ Thank you. It’s— ]
'Lovely,' he was about to say. Or 'beautiful.' Instead, his lip ticks slightly, and he alters his approach: [ What do you make of it? ]
<.>
...It shouldn't surprise him. He's beginning to gather Dmitri dabbles in necromancy. Of course he would be thankful for a pouch made from human skin.
He still gives the man a perplexed glance, then shakes his head. [ It's not unexpected, if this was a place of sacrifice and torture. ]
And, after a beat, he adds hesitantly, [ You're welcome. I think. ]
<.>
[ That's so.
What's strange is that it should have been left behind. An object of this sort— It isn't unheard of, but it's rare. Valuable, among the right circles. ]
He's staring at the pouch again (he thinks, next time he has an opportunity, he just might stow the raven totem in here) (he also thinks that might not be the wisest course), and he blinks, stows the pouch in his pack, and meets Faolan's eyes again.
[ I find interest in it. I find value— And I will find use for it. It was good of you to give. ]
Dima begins to extend his hand, realizes his own gesture, and blanches, turns what would have been a reach for Faolan's hand into a gesture toward the hall.
[ Onward, then. ]
<.>
Faolan saw that.
The hand reaching for his, then withdrawn again. (It's a metaphor for his life.) He saw, too, how Dmitri paled, how he made it something other to cover his error.
He turns away, thinking how no one ever withdrew a hand because reaching for him at all was the error. (Only being reached for in kind.)
As he starts after the thieves, he turns his head just enough to glance over his shoulder - then, eyes forward once more, he draws a hand behind his back, palm out, in subtle offer.
Just in case.
(Just to see.)
<.>
He'd fallen behind, not quite able to move yet, watching after Faolan with something like worry, something like regret. He's finally moving - step after step, it isn't difficult, or shouldn't be - and when Faolan's hand extends—
There's no thinking; no pause to deliberate the meaning in the gesture, or whether it's the offer Dima would like for it to be. He sees what he takes to be an invitation, and he moves, steps suddenly swift, silent, focused on Faolan's hand.
He wraps his hand in Faolan's. With perhaps a little too much pressure at first, so Dima relaxes, lets the hold be something simple. Something... Faolan can slip from, should he wish to. Something that still tells of Dima's appreciation.
He ought to say something. He wants to express how much this offered palm means, but he also doesn't think loquaciousness is wanted here, and what he lands on is—
[ Hello. ]
Smiling softly to himself.
<.>
He grabbed so quickly and held on so tightly.
(No one's ever done that before.)
Faolan's eyes close briefly and maybe for a moment the pressure of their hold is shared.
When Dmitri speaks, Faolan doesn't respond, but there's a faint squeeze of his hand.
They should focus and not make more of this than it is. Any of it.
Sen, meanwhile, is following Rin's lead once more.
<.>
Dima will keep that offered palm, that slight squeeze in his chest as they continue.
Rin, having slipped from Sen's back (they were having such fun! but investigation requires subtleness and focus, alas), leads down the hall with— Oh, those are more steps, aren't they? This is an odd way to compose a house.
They're going to move forward slowly, checking for signs of disturbance in the floor, alert for any rooms.
<.>
no subject
Rin's taking their last five feet of movement to just steeep around that corner.
<.>
They find a room containing a plain wooden table flanked by long benches. They can see in the low lighting some oddness to the terrain - larger chunks of something rock-like around the table.
<.>
[ Weirdest place I've ever been. ] That may or may not be true. It feels true enough in this movement. Rin studies the room, brow furrowed. [ I'm looking at something in here, then I'm coming right back. Try not to let the others bore you to tears, okay? ]
Rin would like to approach the table and take a look at those chunks.
[INV: 22
dm: On closer examination, Rin is able to tell that the chunks are actually shattered - and gnawed - bones. They've been here long enough to begin to suffer from the ravages of time.]
Oh, good, gnawed!
Rin has decided they are finished with this room, and will be rejoining the others. They Message Sen: [ On my way over. Another weird room. ]
[q: Actually, a question: Did Rin here anything unusual, or any change of The Sound in that room?
a: The chanting does seem to be growing louder the more they head in a general that way and/or downward direction.]
When they reach the others, Rin gestures for another cluster. "I don't think we need to all go over there. It's full of bones? Okay not full, but there're a lot of pieces, a lot of them chewed on.
"I don't think the monster's there, though. Might be in that direction, but I don't think we're far enough down.
"Ready to head on?"
It is to Dima's credit that he doesn't insist on gathering a few chunks of that bone, or seeing them for himself. Just now, they have a task to keep them moving. He nods, once.
<.>
Faolan very briefly thinks of offering to split off from the party to go get Dmitri a few bones.
But that's stupid. For a lot of reasons.
Sen meanwhile has nothing to report; he glanced down the hall as far as he could see, but didn't do any detailed sweep, thinking Rin might want him to remain near the other two.
He is curious about the room they saw, but - well. Work to be done.
Faolan and Sen both nod their readiness, with one of them giving a hand a gentle press.
Meanwhile, in Rin-land—
[DEX, r: 22]
As Rin moves down the hall and take a step, the floor below their foot begins to crumble; indistinguishable from the rest of the hall's dirty floor is a layer of earth carefully covering a spike trap.
Rin's dexterity allows them to catch themself before becoming impaled on the spikes below, but they suffer 5 points of piercing damage and land prone.
Sen darts out to attempt to catch them when he sees what's happening, but doesn't reach them in time to stop the damage - only to help them up and out.
<.>
They're hissing quietly through their teeth - hurting from the pain, yes, but more presently annoyed that they walked into it - but stop when Sen helps them up. And, softly, "Looks like we're heading in the right direction, anyway."
To Sen: [ Gotta be more diligent checking for traps from here. :/ ]
<.>
Sen doesn't like seeing them injured one bit - and knows this wouldn't have happened if he checked for traps when they sent him to look down here.
He doesn't apologize - not yet, and not here - but he nods an affirmative and certainly looks rather unhappy with himself. With a glance back at Faolan, he almost asks for a healing spell of some sort, but the druid shakes his head and mouths wait.
For more damage to occur. Rin will live through a few puncture wounds, and it might be a good idea to reserve healing spells for now.
Sen gives him the finger and turns to help Rin around the spike trap, if that's the way they'd like to continue.
<.>
Rin is in fact determined to continue down this route. As far as they've found, traps usually mean someone's protecting something. (Or hiding.) (Or thinking they ought to hide.) (Or they just had an excess of traps and got bored one afternoon.)
The wounds don't slow them down; not yet, anyway. They've carried jobs through worse, and anyway, and anyway they don't want Sen feeling bad. (He didn't say anything, but they could see it.) So they put the pain out of their mind as best they can, and offer a balancing hand as Sen crosses the trap.
RIn looks back at the other two, then at Sen. [ Let's check the next bit together? Two sets of eyes can see better than two. ]
…Or, rather. Rin is going to begin checking the hall ahead for more traps.
[PERC
r: 14
s: 3
f: 23]
<.>
Faolan, rising on his toes to see around the two, does a quick visual sweep of the hallway, then pulls a face and shakes his head. No more traps here.
<.>
The guy's got good eyes; that's helpful to know! And Rin, nodding, moves forward, slower now. They pause at the top of the next steps; if there's a door to their left, they'd like to peer inside, but only if Sen's right behind them.
<.>
A hall does seem to stretch in that direction. It's difficult to tell where the chanting is coming from.
Faolan is going to carefully edge around the trap and help Dmitri, as well.
<.>
Dmitri will accept that help gladly and gratefully. And! Without saying anything! Though he does press that man's hand, just lightly.
Rin glances down both hallways, conflicted. They thought, they thought the noises were a little louder in the 'chowing down on bones' room. They don't know, and now they're not really sure they heard it like that, but there's not much else to work with.
...Unless.
They turn to the group. "Hey. What would happen if someone made the noises back at them? Helpful or no?"
It sounds like - it almost is - a very casual suggestion.
<.>
Sen looks intrigued, if only because noise is his business.
Faolan looks as though he's horrified but trying not to look horrified. Very softly, he replies, "Maybe we don't announce where we are."
<.>
Rin Messages Sen: [ It could be interesting, right? ]
But.
But Faolan makes an all right point. And probably, probably jeopardizing stealth isn't a great idea.
"That's kind of what I thought. I mean, I could cast a sound somewhere else. Or if any of you can transport voices or something, that'd be great.
"But we're doing all right with quiet so far." They shoot Dima a look that very clearly suggests they mean after that shield incident.
"So. Okay. We want to go toward where the sound maybe's a little louder?"
<.>
(no subject)
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Awich: The dead all know; the dead all go.
Sen has a bounty in several towns, so evens he has one in Awich, odds he does not—
He does not!
So: the party arrives in a decently sized port village along one of the many rivers that flow from the north to join the canal to the south. The majority of the people here are wayfarers, travelers, emissaries, and those who profit from catering to passers-through.
There's a mingling of races here, and even some Gillmen from south of Morovsk can be seen working the docks. Those residents who don't serve travelers are fishermen, sailers, and general laborers of the types one would expect: blacksmiths, tailors, etc.
The town is controlled by Loch Bien, but locally run by a lessor lord whose title here is Magister; he has final say on all dictates of the town and surrounding farms, though these are few and far between.
Awich is at the edge of civilization; the forests that span the peninsula seem to threaten to overtake the town from the south, though much of it has been cut back to the north, where the road leads to Loch Bien.
So! What would everyone like to do?
<.>
Dima thinks it'd be a wise idea to secure housing before anything else; he is, however, low on ready funds.
So actually first q from me: Is there any way for Dima to access his family's money out here? I assume not.
Whatever the case, he'll ask if anyone has a preference for place of lodging.
Rin is looking around very innocuously. Definitely they aren't picking out places to potentially break into and loot. (Definitely they ARE doing this.)
<.>
Lucky for Dima, Sen has a talent for acquiring lodgings and food. Anywhere he performs, he seems to have accommodations just thrown at him.
So he recommends finding a modest tavern in Old Reach or along the river where he can work a little magic - which will be recounting stories of their exploits (with a little artistic license) and singing.
So he recommends finding a modest tavern in Old Reach or along the river where he can work a little magic - which will be recounting stories of their exploits (with a little artistic license) and singing.
Rin will see plenty of pockets to pick and houses to rob.
The town square is one particular place where a talented thief can make a dishonest day's pay.
Sen will suggest deciding what among their spoils of war they can hawk for some fast coin.
Faolan, meanwhile, is decidedly quiet while all of this is being discussed. He's considering sneaking out to the forest and sleeping there.
[dm: Liviana's magic has returned their belongings to them because someone forgot they didn't have that shit.]
Faolan has a little coin of his own, though, and wherever Sen finds accommodations is where he'll pass tonight, at least.
<.>
Rin agrees to selling what they don't need. Their suggestion is hawk things, then find accommodations, then everyone can do just as they please!
[dm: It'll be up to Rin (and ahah you) to determine what's not needed.]
Dima doesn't look particularly eager to go about these mundanities, but he's also not about to let the thieves handle transactions alone. :/ He'd like to head to the docks; that'll wait. For now, he looks at Faolan and Messages: [ Care to help keep an eye on these two? ]
<.>
Faolan looks down at his clothes, muddied and covered in several kinds of gore, and back up at Dima again. He's too tired to make any kind of argument, however, and simply shrugs.
<.>
no subject
-the three spells scrolls
-the platinum necklace (but NOT the jewelry box)
-the bag full of bat guano bc if they can get money for shit u knoW they will try it
-possibly the iron pendant with the devil's face if no one can see any use in it; Rin doesn't care for it and thinks it's in questionable taste.
-from the loot box in the ghoul room: the chain shirt, mess kit, and bullseye lantern
They'll offer Fae the thieves' tools, in case he’d like them?
Rin will of course hear arguments against any of these, or arguments for selling anything else.
[note: Fae can use the Protection from Poison
!! oh shit nice! Then that scroll shall be handed to Fae!]
Also. Rin is going to suggest that Sen handle the bartering. Since he seems to be very convincing and they know that they can be— Less. So.
<.>
Sen will take up this cause and the dm will do some math here.
Over the course of the afternoon, Sen manages to barter for:
8gp for the lantern
500ishgp for the necklace to a nobleman he encounters and convinces of its value
150gp for the spell scrolls
48 gp for the chain shirt and mess kit together to a passing adventurer.
The bat guano, he trades to a farmer for a hide that isn't marketable quality, but which Sen thinks will be of use as they move north. Warmth.
He can't find any takers for the pendant, so he pockets it.
<.>
Rin suggests they should mossstly divide it evenly but also Sen should get a little more of the cut because he did the bartering!
Dima suggests that Sen has already padded his pockets with gold from Wythall, at the very least. :/
But.
Dima won't argue far on this.
<.>
Sen rolling his eyes will fish out the fifty gold from Wythall and contribute it to the pile, then ask if anyone else is holding out on things looted, hMmM?
And Sen will be a good sport and throw in the 50, as well.
<.>
Rin! JUST REMEMBERED! They reach into the bag and pull out two dancing alabastar skeletons. "One was mine. These are for selling."
[note: Sen can get about 50gp for each. The macabre nature makes people reluctant to buy them.]
Rin is going to keep the third for now, though they soft soft promise the party that if they find a Very Interested buyer sometime, they will part with it.
…And. Actually. Feeling rather bad that they've kept several items. They will reluctantly suggest selling the jewelry box.
Which Dima is going to veto.
Just in case. Any children might want it.
<.>
Faolan and Sen both, possibly unprompted, will argue against selling the shortsword or the hand crossbow, and think Rin should keep both.
No one mentions the skin bag Dima has.
<.>
Rin appreciates this! And is inclined to agree! But also.
They did HAVE a shortsword before, as well as a shortbow. So they'll offer these to anyone in the group who might want them. If no one wants or can use them, they suggest holding on at least the bow for later potential use or selling.
<.>
Sen will take the bow, thank yoU.
SHORTBOWS DON’T JAM.
<.>
...Though Rin now remembers the ghoulskin cloak. And asks if they should be keeping that or getting it away from their party.
<.>
Faolan just. Holds out a hand for it, folds it up, and stashes it in his bag.
Never know. Nights get cold.
<.>
If no one's taking the shortsword, Rin votes sell it.
[dm: There was also a folded cloak and the potions of healing were in a small wooden coffer.
ARC, d: 19
Dima can almost immediately tell it's a cloak of protection.]
Dima immediately suggests keeping this.
<.>
On learning what it is and does, I feel like Sen and Faolan would not like emphatically suggest Dima wear it, but also they keep looking at him. And saying yes the party should keep it.
<.>
L o o K. Dima wasn't going to claim it for himself. But. Dima recognizes. It would probably be useful for him.
<.>
A lot of this discussion takes place over a hot meal in a tavern near the docks. The ghoulish items spread on the table before the party; passers-by give them wide berth and other patrons keep glancing at them warily.
However, one man on his way past doubles back, then interrupts them to ask if they're selling those things at the Nightmare Market.
<.>
Dima just looks at them. Very casually. Very 'if you have a problem come over and speak it.'
Rin occasionally hisses at passersby. Just for fun.
[q: Would Rin or Sen know anything about this market :o?
a: Sen and Fae have never heard of it.
HIST, r: 8, d:11
ARC, d: 19; Dima has a kneejerk negative reaction to the mention of the Nightmare Market, as it has the same reputation in Morovsk and Novorometz as fairy circles and Bigfoot. And as a respectable necromancer, he gave absolutely none of his time indulging that myth.
dm: And if Dima mentions it being a myth, Sen's arcana check allows him to relay the gist.]
Dima, in this case. Is going to helpfully look at the man and say, very firm, "Move along, won't you."
<.>
no subject
"But you see, if you are going, my master will want a word." And, hastily, "He'll pay good coin."
<.>
...This may. Change matters. Slightly.
Depending.
He arcs an eyebrow, expression unimpressed. "Your master.
"And who is he, this man who pays good coin for myths?"
Dima is also going to Message Sen, who seems the most likely to have heard of the Night Market: [ You know these stories, yes? ]
<.>
Sen snorts and nods confirmation. He knows and doesn't tell the stories; he finds them absurd and only suited to particular audiences.
[note: Rin absolutely giving Sen a look of ‘???’]
The servant bows - even if he does hesitate halfway down - and replies, "Umbero Calabra of Mysos; his entourage is traveling to Loch Bien for the fifth centennial - and, of course, celebration of Lord Bien's champion."
Faolan stifles a snort at this and looks out a window, no longer interested in this conversation.
<.>
Dima worked very hard to not sharply exhale through his nose right there.
<.>
Unperturbed, the servant continues, "He charged his retinue with the task of keeping a weather eye out for those who might prove to be traveling east. There are rumors the Market will inhabit the ruins - "
"For two nights, before the whole thing vanishes like bad wind," Sen finishes for him, and answering Rin's question. "The Nightmare Market is a figment of some drunken necromancer's imagination. Are you certain your master isn't having a laugh at your expense?"
<.>
Rin's brow furrows; they quite like the sound of a Nightmare Market. And maybe it's just a story, but sometimes stories turn out truer than people think. Okay, maybe not often, and if Sen says it's not true it probably isn't, but still—
"What ruins?" They're looking at the guy with the Umbero master. "Also what's your master even want with it?"
Dima huffed a laugh at Sen's remark, and is just. Going to give Rin a subtle Look.
Dima would also like to try to discern whether the man before them is telling the truth, whether he believes this Nightmare Market nonsense.
<.>
The man seems to believe he's telling the truth.
And when asked what his master wants, he looks particularly dodgy - or wary ? - as he glances around, then tugs his vest and clears his throat. "That isn't for me to say."
Then, relenting somewhat, he adds, "I can't stay here and convince you. Listen, my master will dine at the Lion and Boar tonight. If you're interested, meet him and ask him what questions you have. If not, well - can't imagine what you want with those things, but good luck with them."
'Those' things being the odd assortment on the table.
<.>
"I don't believe your lack of imagination is our trouble." Dima has leaned back in his chair slightly, and there's a slight warning in his voice. He is not interested in entertaining this proposition or this sketchy little man. Looking away - finding that his eyes land on Faolan, and yes, Dima has to remind himself to continue speaking - he finishes, idly, "Be on your way."
Rin continues watching the guy; they're not not thinking about having a word with this guy's master. They'll just... Think about it. For a bit.
<.>
The servant leaves with another, curt bow.
Sen drums his fingers on the back of Rin's chair where his arm has come to rest - certainly only because of his impressive length of limb and need to sprawl, and not because of. Rin.
Faolan is dividing his attention between his food and the world outside the window; the moment the party was mentioned, he checked out of the conversation and remains so now.
Sen waits just long enough for Dima to know he's about to play devil's advocate.
[note: Dima’s bracing himself.]
"...It wouldn't hurt-“
<.>
[q: does Dima know anything about Calabra bc nobility connections?
a: He's heard the name as a merchant lord deeply entrenched in Mysos, and Dima's sister has probably been infuriated by his attempts to levy taxes on those from Morovsk who use the canals.]
Aaaand Dima sighing out loud, clearly exasperated. "In what world would it not hurt. We could all stand a long evening's rest, and Calabra is a perpetual pain in the throat. I've no interest in seeing the man." Certainly not, unless Morovk's business calls for it; thank the gods that Calabra's been largely Derzhena's problem.
Rin has absolutely perked up at Sen's words - and possibly, possibly because the elf's leaning on the chair, which is kind of nice? - their tail flicking. "All right. So what if we go talk to him? See what's he got to say. Sen's right, it can't hurt." They pause, humming to themself, and look at Faolan. "What d'you think?"
Dima is looking very studiously at the ceiling and muttering something about being curious whY the man chose to speak with theM.
<.>
Faolan blinks, his attention returning to the group now that it's been summoned. Something about - speaking with someone? He wasn't...listening. (His mind was two days north.)
"Don't worry what they think, Pretty Rin. If we want to go see what his lordship has to say, we shall." Which is to say, if Rin would like to go, so would Sen.
He does level a look at Dima and add, "If he's a perpetual pain, consider: suppose he does believe the Nightmare Market exists and is paying coin for someone else to go. Suppose we agree to go spend the evening jaunting around in some fucking ruins. Stargazing. Listening to foxes. That thing you two do when you're Messaging and think we're not looking, with the longing gazes and pitiful puppy-dog eyes.
"Then we come back here and tell him whatever tale he wanted in the first place of wraith souvenir stands and skeleton auctions. Not only do we have more coin, but you've gone and pulled one over on one of the many, many people you loathe."
<.>
His eyes go just a little wide at Sen's talk of Messaging, and Dima might have thrown the elf a scowl if he hadn't been distracted by the thought of— Oh. Stargazing and climbing among ruins with Faolan. (Seeing the man lit by the stars.)
It doesn't hurt that Sen's final point is aptly made; Dima would rather like to give Calabra a kick in the knee, and he's certain his sister would appreciate the story.
There are other ways to get at Calabra. There will also be other opportunities - maybe? (please, please) - to see Faolan in starlight (the image, again, jars his pulse). And Dima is not inclined to trust the bastard; his general rule is to offer trust to no one (Dima is not going to think about what level of trust he may have extend the three sitting with him), and particularly hold no trust in his fellow nobles.
Dima's folded his arms, is tapping two fingers sharply at his bicep. (A glance, a lingering look at Faolan shows that— Mm. The man doesn't look to be precisely here. He's been very quiet, but then he did seem tired, and city travel doesn't suit everyone.) (It doesn't suit Liviana, either; she'd elected to take a few hours' flight away from this place, and though Dima had been reluctant to see her go, though he'd felt a pang at her absence, they very *least* she's owed after what she went through is free flight.)
He speaks at last, staring at Sen: "If the two of you wish to speak to him, you may waste your time as you please.
"Should you care to share your findings - if there's coin worth pursuing, and if Calabra can keep his impositions to an absolute minimum - the venture might be worth exploring."
Might. Maybe. But Dima isn't going to deal with this until he has more proof it's worthwhile.
"In any case, I suspect my presence would dissuade rather than encourage disclosure of his schemes."
To Faolan, he Messages, [ Are you all right? ]
<.>
With that settled, Sen turns to Rin to plan accordingly for the night's foray into the wealthier quarter of the city; this conversation may or may not include talk of stopping off at the house of a wealthy 'friend' (or mark, as it were) and coming away a little richer for having visited.
Faolan, however. Faolan's mind is on Alfrig and his Champion. (Bastards.) (It's not important anymore.) (It - really might not be.) (It's not safe to think like that, in Dima's direction. In the direction of a future that won't exist, and this because men are more like Alfrig and his Champion than they are like Dmitri Voronin claims to be.)
Dmitri's message intrudes on his thoughts and a blush creeps across his cheeks. (He doesn't know whether he'd like it to be because of Dmitri's voice or embarrassment from his thoughts.) (He'd rather not feel his face burning.)
(He needs to put a stop to all of this. Dmitri's ever-nearing. His thoughts. He -)
Breathes.
He looks up and meets Dmitri's eyes and offers one truth. [ I'm tired. ]
It's a truth. A rather large one. Still, he adds before returning to his food, [ Just tired. ]
<.>
(He must have caught Faolan off-guard.
That must be what the— Well, it'd looked at if the man's skin flushed. Isn't it the likely answer? Never mind what Dima might like to imagine.
Never mind what he might imagine, envision later.)
Dmitri nods once. [ We'll have rest soon.
I won't say I'm not weary. And the thieves can tire themselves out how they like. ]
What worries him is the depth of meaning that seems contained within Faolan's admission. It's possible the man only needs time to sleep, and to settle all that happened so quickly, so heinously around them. (It's possible there's something more, as well.)
He clears his throat. "It would be wise to secure our lodgings sooner than not. Let's make it our next stop after this, shall we? Settle ourselves in, and then sleep or scatter as we please."
Rin's been grinning at Sen, then at their food, then at Sen again. They like very much this plan of his; it's got intrigue, it's got sneaking, it's got loot! And now that Rin's back in a city, they're eager to get some work going. They might not be here long; better make the most of it!
They realize Dmitri was maybe speaking. The gist of the words filter through, and Rin nods. "Works for me."
Then, to Sen, [ The sooner we ditch them, the sooner WE'LL have fun. ]
<.>
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[d4 roll: 4]
There are four rooms available, located on the second floor of the inn. Faolan immediately vanishes into his after inquiring about where one might find a place to bathe and learning of a bathhouse (although the fluttering, giggling innkeeper insists she'll have a basin and ewer brought up for him.)
[note: Dima is unintentionally scowling a the innkeeper.]
Sen remains down in the portion of the inn that serves as a tavern and small pub, regaling patrons with stories that have them laughing uproariously and paying no attention to Rin's doings.
Should Rin be doing doings.
<.>
Oh Rin is absolUTEly doing doings! And taking pauses here and there to watch Sen very excited and enjoying; Rin is learning that Sen is a fantastic performer!
[d100 roll: 27
dm: During their pickpocketing exploits, Rin finds 2gp, 3 sp, and a shard of obsidian that always feels warm to the touch. It could be useful in colder climates!]
Rin will be very excited to show Sen, all will giVe him the obsidian. Null gesture of affection!
<.>
Well! He will keep it safely in his pocket until he can find some way of wearing it!!
[note: Rin thinks it will look very good on him!]
Annnd -
As night starts to fall, the two thieves make their way to High Town to meet with Calabra at the Lion and Boar.
Sen has managed to clean himself up enough to look respectable, and has asked Rin to stealth nearby and just keep an eye on the situation, see if they see anything that Sen misses while locked in the business of conversing.
They can, of course, Message him with any questions they have.
Sen waits until Rin has stealthed (no need for a roll) before entering the tavern; he informs the burly guard at the door that his presence was requested by Calabra's manservant, at which point the aggressive demeanor of the guard changes, and he is ushered in to a private dining area. Calabra sits at a table with service for twelve, but dines alone. Behind him, a line of servants stand at attention, each of them stepping forward to perform a specific task: clearing a plate, pouring wine, taking a message, fetching a new dish.
Upon seeing Sen, he points to the chair nearest him and instructs, "Sit."
Sen's expression doesn't falter, but he will be relegating entire taverns for the rest of his life with this tale.
He sits and says, "Your manservant had an interesting request of me and my companions this afternoon, Lord - is it 'Lord'?"
"It is to you." Calabra barely pauses between bites to say as much. Sen's eyes flicker upward as though to examine the room, the servants (search for Rin, Message Rin not to take the bait.)
<.>
Rin will only take the bait far enough to Message Sen: [ W o w. ]
<.>
"It was a strange request, as I said - he suggested you -"
Calabra sets down his fork and knife, hands lingering on each before drawing back and folding one atop the other. "If you and your 'companions' are venturing into the Nightmare Market, I would hire you."
Sen can't help it. [ At least he gets straight to the point. Loves his money but not the sound of his own voice. Like some. ]
(Himself. He means himself.)
<.>
Rin: [ Yeah, but his voice is kind of garbage. Unlike some. ]
<.>
"There was an incident. Unfortunate, unpleasant," Calabra begins, then sighs, seeming to drop some of his authoritative air. "An assassination attempt. The guard you passed at the door dispatched the man, but he was nothing more than a hired murderer."
Sen's brow furrows and he begins to interrupt, then thinks better of it. [ I can't wait to hear where the garbage is GOING with this. ]
<.>
Rin: [ ’Nothing more' than a hired murderer. ] It's clear from their Message that they're rolling their eyes.
<.>
"I sought the services of a diviner, who saw the scoundrel's soul lingering with this - *Nightmare Market*. So. I'll pay well for anyone bold enough to venture to there and learn the identity of the party who hired them."
Sen purses his lips to keep from chuckling at Rin. [ Not much of a hired anything, truly, if he failed to do the murdering part. ]
To Calabra, he asks, "How can you be certain of any of this? Your augury, my honesty on return, the very existence of the market?"
Calabra leans back in his chair and studies Sen. Calmly, he replies, "The spirit will tell you how it was killed. If there is no market and you speak truly of it, I will know the augury lied. If there is no market and you attempt to deceive me -"
[note: Rin is frowning intensely right now. >:c]
"Ah. I see. Something of a guarantee for you." Sen is - well. Only a little impressed. But it's more than he expected.
"You are smarter than first appearances suggest."
"My mother often said so." Sen breathes heavily, thoughtfully, then inclines his head. "All right. Will I find you here after I've found a mythical undead market and learned the secret of who could *possibly* want you dead? Yes. Excellent."
<.>
Rin: [ I'm gonna drop a lamp on his head. ]
They aren't. But they'd like to.
<.>
[ There might be a queue for that sort of thing. ]
With that, he rises as Calabra motions with one hand - to have a guard stalk Sen out of the dining room. Once he's been manhandled out into the street, he tsks and announces to no one (Rin), "Well, that was somewhat extreme."
[dm: Any checks Rin would have cared to make through that?
rin would've wanted to check mmm
-calabra's honesty wrt whether the assassination attempt happened
-calabra's honesty wrt hiring a diviner
-the tone with which calabra said the smarter than first appearances suggest line
-taken as close a look at the guard who supposedly dispatched the murderer
-if the guard who escorted sen out was a different guard, they would've taken a closer look at thiS guard also
-also what was calabra eating they're curious! :o!
and if rin can, they would've lingered around a few minutes after sen was escorted out. just to see what's up. and would’ve messaged sen to say so.
INS: 22
dm: Calabra was eating something clearly exotic in the vein of eating flamingo tongues or monkey brains.
Calabra seemed convinced of the truth of his words. And in fact did not seem to be dishonest at any point during the conversation. Including his comment about Sen's looks, though that was clearly insulting.
The guard at the door was the same one who escorted Sen out; he stands about an inch taller than Sen and might be either a Barbarian or have some orc blood somewhere in his family tree. He looks smarter than he is. He likewise looks very capable of handling an assortment of weapons, so there's no guessing how he might have killed the assassin.
Hanging a bit behind, Rin would have witnessed Calabra shake his head and then continue to eat. Clearly, he isn't interested in conversing with his staff, because the room is silent until Rin departs.]
Sen will be waiting for Rin across the road, possibly juggling rolls for a pair of children who happened to pass by.
Rolls he stole from the table.
[dm: which was the only check he passed.]
When Rin joins him, he'll pass one of the rolls to them.
<.>
no subject
Joining Sen and accepting the roll with a nod.
"Shit, Sen, it turned into a tomb in there.
"In terms of volume, anyway. Awkward, awkward atmosphere." They shake their head, taking a bite of the roll. "...! These're from the table, right? Good, good, that's good."
They'll chew as they think, as they talk a little more, lifting up onto their toes, then back onto their heels. "You really should be commended for sitting through that. I couldn't have. You're a patient elf, Sen; a very patient elf."
And. "He didn't sound like he was lying, at least. About anything. Dunno if I was missing something, but— The guy seems sure about what he's saying, divination and all."
A blink, a cant of their head. "Is there any chance the Nightmare Market could be a real thing. I mean, okay if it's not, life's life, just. You know. Could be interesting?"
This time speaking half to themself, musing, "I don't think I've ever seen someone eat flamingo tongue."
<.>
Sen would tell Rin it's likely that Calabra doesn't talk to his LESSERS, and that, if the market is real, then they'll come into some coin, and if not, they'll rob the fuck.
Sen also will impart that he intends to extort Calabra for double whatever he's offering.
As they walk, Sen tells Rin the few details he knows of the Nightmare Market; to be fair, it isn't the most popular of subjects amongst "decent" folk, and amongst indecent folk, it smacks of fairy tales and hallucination.
When and where the Nightmare Market appears, whether drawn by chance or alignment of stars, is largely unknown - to the living.
He pauses, thoughtful, murmuring to himself, "The dead all know. The dead all go-"
And then, tsking annoyance, he admits there was a sort of song he heard once, when he was very young, but of course, he can't remember a gods-damned word but the chorus.
He goes on with a dismissive wave, recalling what he can: the dead things of the world congregate to barter for their needs. Flesh for the ghouls' appetites. A memory for the wraiths, a bit of warmth, a vial of blood. In return, it's said there are wonders to be found amidst the bizarre wares.
"There are rules, of course, and penalties for breaking them. That's the part everyone remembers, because it's in all the cautionary tales: if you break the rules, you stand forever bound to the wheels of the market's spectral caravans or some shit to that effect.
"First: 'Unlife, like life, is sacrosanct.
"Second: Do not steal.
Third: The living cannot be touched."
"They say necromancers and looky-loos find their way into the market, but I've never spoken with any legitimate, sober source to that end. Dima's attitude is typical."
He hums, then shrugs. "The rest is conjecture, colorful additions, and pure fiction. I suppose if the place exists at all, we'll see for ourselves tonight. Either way, we'll be sure to embellish the tales just a little more. No one likes a spoilsport."
One further comment from Sen, "I wonder how much it cost him to have flamingo tongues imported - and what he eats when he dines with company."
<.>
Rin hangs on every word. It's rare for them; they lose interest easily, even when they'd like to hear a story. So many storytellers end up disappointing. So many times, there's not really anything worth hearing, and Rin finds it more pleasing to fill in the blanks on their own.
The thing is, Sen tells a really good story. He doesn't hide his doubt, but the way he talks about this Nightmare Market makes it seem possible. And! He's got a good point: Even if there isn't any market at all, they can still make a good story of it.
Rin likes this attitude. Rin likes listening to Sen talk. And when Sen finishes speaking, they find they've caught every word; even if they forget some of the details, they'll remember the gist.
It's been a pretty good night, all around.
It's been a pretty good couple of days! (Well. Minus the getting bitten and the smelly heap.)
And they laugh a little, a spring in their step, their tail swishing, swishing, occasionally brushing Sen's legs. "Probably his foot. That man is a top of the line spoilsport.
"Us, though. We're going to see about this market!
"Or at least get to listen to some foxes." And maybe, maybe find a nice-looking rock or two.
<.>
The party gathers in the tavern below the inn; Faolan is the last to arrive, thirty minutes later than the others. (Sen is just considering asking if Faolan might not have decided to depart, or sleep in the woods, or not go along, but he doesn't know quite how to handle Dima.) (Yet.)
Faolan looks weary, makes no apology for his tardiness, and keeps a little apart from the group as they make for the outskirts of town.
They have managed to gather from other tavern patrons that the ruins are "a ways" northwest, along a small river tributary, until they reach the "old port". ( "Hardly more'n a dock or two." ) The ruins will be "due west" from this "port".
It's in that direction that they begin their search.
Sen, of course, offers to take the lead - though he really should not, considering his sense of direction.
<.>
Not long after Dima settled into his room - wishing foolishly, he knows it's foolish, that they'd been obliged to share rooms; knowing it's best Faolan has space, worn as he's looked - he was rejoined by Liviana, a tap at the window, a raven fluttering in and shifting to her serpentine shape. She stayed within the room while he bathed; they conversed in words and images while he worked his way toward rest.
He thought of Faolan often; of course he did. Once during the night, he knocked on the man's door; softly, barely a sound. It might not have sounded like a knock, and anyway, Dima thought better of it before anything could happen; he darted from the hall and back to his room, thinking he should let Faolan have his space. Reminding himself not to push too far.
(He did ask the innkeeper whether a man of Faolan's description had departed from the inn. He was relieved, and finally able to sleep some, upon hearing no such man had left.)
Liviana - returned to her raven form - now alternates between flying above and landing, just occasionally, on Dima's shoulder. Dima himself sticks as near to Faolan as he can, and yes he's watching perhaps a little too much, yes he's relieved to find the man's with them still, and yes, he's worried at how weary Fae seems. He wonders, too, what's drawn Faolan to come with them—
And in fact, wonder what his own reason for coming might be. (Presumably, he's half out of his mind.) (It's probably the elf's influence, gods damn him.) Whatever it is, he knows he wants to get this over with. The sooner they can find this absolute nothing, the sooner they can return to the inn, and discuss plans for heading toward Loch Bien.
What draws Dima to a sudden halt is Sen's offer, and his response is immediate—
"Absolutely not.
"I'd just as soon not spend a week in searching for these ruins."
Rin, wandering near Sen, takes some offense to this, and glances over at Sen. "I think we can work this out." Taking a few steps nearer to Sen, grinning, they add, "Thieves' pact: We'll find the Market together!"
<.>
Faolan didn't sleep. After a washing up - perfunctory and cold - he tossed and turned on his mattress, thinking of Calabra. Of Alfrig. Of Alfrig's Champion. Of the way his wildfire spirit looked at him when he offered to sacrifice it, and how that look was acceptance.
Thinking of how the wolf is part of him, a reflection of his soul.
(What would happen to the wolf if he -) (Not something to think about.)
He heard a soft knock at the door at some point, knew who it must be, and feigned sleep. The knock wasn't repeated and no voice called for him.
He entered the trance he needed to recover himself, but sleep is a long way off still.
There's this journey into the wilderness to find a fairy tale. He's curious, of course, but more to the heart of the matter, he chose to go because these three seem incapable of surviving without healing. Or protection. (And - maybe. Maybe he needs them, too.) (For now. He'll leave before (Dima) any of them can.)
He watches Sen and Rin and thinks of the earthworms. And Rin's preoccupation with the frog on a stick. And Sen's perpetual distractedness towards storytelling.
And shaking his head, he picks up the pace a bit to take the lead. If anyone's going to find their way in the woods, it'll be him. (And maybe. If he's scouting ahead, maybe Dmitri will focus on something else.)
"If I can't find it, I'll ask something. The animals know."
Sen frowns at him, or through him, perhaps.
Sen is thinking, The dead all know. The dead all go.
Sen is wondering now if maybe there was something to that song.
<.>
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6) Awich: Investigations
The innkeeper brings a generous mid-afternoon lunch, and it's after pushing the food around on the plate with his fork that Faolan finally interrupts the chatter to say, "We have a good deal to do and not much time before nightfall. We need to find the Gower girl. And you two ought to speak with Calabra at some point."
And then, remembering, he adds, "And there's the contract from Nerys. Dima -"
He pauses; clearly, he hadn't meant to say 'Dima'. Better to run with it, though. "I don't know where to begin with that one."
<.>
Dima has found - and finds now - that by choosing not to answer Sen (or by answering with a brief exasperated glance), he can avoid potentially awkward questions - or questions to which he owes Sen no address, thank you very much - because the elf will inevitably fall into another thread of chatter. This tactic becomes more efficacious now with Rin, who after only a brief silence remembers a very important detail about how one man tried to reason with a mud monster and how Rin is certain Sen could have managed it, but this man had no chance, oh no!
What Dima wants (badly) to do is scoot near to Faolan, to sit shoulder-to-shoulder and whisper 'My Fae' with a conspiratorial smile. He knows what Faolan said, what Faolan requested, though, so he tries not to watch Fae too often (his eyes stray the man's way regardless), and is nodding along to Faolan's accounting when—
He might. Freeze just for a moment (not freeze, thaw) (thaw, and turn his eyes to Fae, a little bit too hopeful) when Faolan (Fae!) says 'Dima.'
He also makes a valiant effort at regaining his composure - and mostly succeeds! - nodding and finding that his voice at least keeps remarkably steady: "The contract can wait for the moment; Moloch's frustrations aside, there isn't much particular hurry on that front. I'd like to have it completed within the month, but for the moment, Gower and Calabra first, I think."
He looks at Sen and Rin, prods at his breakfast. "You'll need to know what to tell the man, and I'm not certain truth is the most reliable route." He shakes his head, looking irritated. “I am not particularly inclined to let the bastard know of the Market's existence. And we might get further from questioning his staff than speaking to him—
"Depending on how well the silver-tongued bard thinks he can handle the man."
Rin, meanwhile, has reached into their pouch to find the five silver that they are 99.9999% sure they're going to owe Sen. Because, really? Dima?
Fishing up five silver, they Message Sen: [ Payment now, or later? ]
<.>
Sen has fallen into an observational silence. He's not entirely sure he did win the bet. What he is sure of: Faolan is being aloof (though not chilly) and Dima keeps casting wide, yearning eyes at the boy.
They aren't acting like a couple. They're acting like maybe that interlude wasn't what he and Rin might have expected.
He shakes his head minutely at them and responds, [ I don't believe the matter's been settled, Pretty Rin. You may win yet. ]
To Dmitri, Sen replies, "I can handle Calabra better than you, I imagine. That isn't a boast; that's acknowledgement that the man would sooner see you flayed than have a conversation. So: that will be our task, then: to keep Calabra occupied while you speak with his servants. And, no, I won't be mentioning the Market to him. That way lies disaster."
Faolan nods in agreement to this last; he, too, feels a strong desire to protect the secrecy of the Nightmare Market. He adds softly, "I can try to locate Morwenna and Manon. If they're here, I'll find them and meet up with you -" Faolan nods to Dmitri. "- to help as I can."
As Sen raises both an eyebrow and his fork to his mouth, he pauses with an impinging curiosity. "Who the devil is Moloch? What 'contract'? Dmitri, you've been engaging in side-hustles without us!"
<.>
Rin seems to consider this. Looks around, nods, and starts flipping the coin instead, Messaging Sen, [ Heads or tails? ]
Meanwhile‚ "We're agreed on one point, at least." Yes, Dima is rolling his eyes at Sen. Yes, there's also a note of approval in his voice; best indeed that Calabra doesn't know a godsdamned thing about the Market.
"I'll note that any 'side-hustle' I may have engaged in was struck while you were hocking your wares before a rapt and decidedly undead crowd." A lift of his eyebrow, very 'excuse you Sen.'
"...I will also note. Generously, I might add. That I am not entirely opposed to your joining in the fulfillment of this contract. If Faolan—" ('Fae'? He wants to say 'Fae.' He isn't sure he ought to. 'Dima' was introduced from the start by Sen, and might be more admissible.) (In vain, Dima wishes he'd asked Fae about this.) (In the pause between Faolan's name and the rest of his sentence, Dima is absolutely looking at Fae a little too long, eyes speaking mingled apology, plea, and admiration.) "If Faolan doesn't mind."
Dmitri waves his hand in a dismissive sign. "A subject for another time, though.
"I'm willing to speak with the servants— However." He looks to Faolan. "It's a two-person task, at least." He thinks, 'I don't want to leave you.' He adds: "There's a chance they're under guard or, if they've left, that someone's waiting in their home.
"I'd like to go with you—" A moment as he considers that in such a case stealth might come in handy, and he nods, assenting: "But if there's value in sneaking, I suggest Rin and Liviana to accompany you."
[q: has dima heard any recent or not-so-recent rumors regarding people with an itch to execute calabra's dipshit ass?
dm: People frequently pass through the Voronin household making noises about Calabra, though whether this is because they actually want him dead or they're trying to endear themselves to the Voronins is anyone's guess.]
<.>
Faolan eyes Dmitri with mild amusement, then breathes a heavy sigh and considers the situation with his eyes on his meal. Finally, seeming to come to a decision, he says, "A compromise. Sen needs Rin, it seems like. Someone to sneak around- "
Sen is nodding pointedly.
"And thieve from the man, I suppose," Faolan concludes. Sen again nods, a little more emphatically.
"Rin with Sen. Send Liviana with me; I'll send the wolf with you. If any of use meets trouble, we'll have assistance reaching the rest."
Meanwhile, Sen is sliding down in his chair to bring his head inclined and level with Rin's. He still Messages, but doesn't bother to hide he's being conspiratorial. [ Cagey bastard. Suppose you find the contract in question and give us a look? Must be worth something if Moneybags is keeping it hush. And heads, please. ]
<.>
Rin doesn’t look at Sen, though they DO look at the coin as it falls. Then, expression puzzled, still looking at the coin: [ Tails. I suspect this coin of being a conspirator, and shall have to be rid of it. ]
If it sounds like they’ve gone into scheming mode—
Well of course they have!
They nod abstractly, still examining the coin, and speak aloud, “Works for me. We’ve got to get everything we can off that jagged rag.”
And huffing to themself, Rin is just going to stand and drift their way toward a waiter, offering the silver coin for a glass of ‘some kind of nice breakfast drink please bring it to the table thanks so much.’
Definitely none of this is an excuse to be able to return to the table - in a minute, of course, they don’t want to be obvious - in a route that takes them by Dmitri. Certainly not!
Dima's eyes are on Fae suddenly, surprised and— Well. Well, yes, his chest feels warm, he feels touched to think that Faolan would permit this, let alone offer his wolf's company. After a moment, Dima collects himself and nods. "It's a fair compromise."
And, "For the sake of a consistent plan, what particularities are we after?
"I'm interested in knowing why Payl was chosen, and whether we were chosen with intention, or whether Umbero honestly sent his servant grasping at straws.
"I'd also be interested in knowing whether Calabra was surprised by the attempted assassination, and whether he seems earnestly unsettled by it."
Rin has made their way back toward the table, and they are absolutely going to make an attempt at snagging that contract from Dima's pack.
<.>
[SLEIGHT, r: 15
PERC, d: 17
PERC, f: 20]
As Rin attempts to life the contract from Dima, Faolan, with barely a beat in the process of raising his fork to his own mouth, says, "Don't do that, Rin."
Faolan takes a bite then meets Dima's eyes and nods toward Rin, who is halfway into Dmitri's pocket.
Sen kicks Faolan under the table.
<.>
no subject
Rin huffs, shoots Faolan what's almost a glare (but isn't not a little bit impressed that he caught them), Messages [ Don't you know about honor among thieves?? ], and slips a ball bearing into Dima's pocket.
They might as well do something.
And as they return to their seat, looking suspiciously like they're in a sulk, they Message Sen, [ Maybe next time. >:/ ]
<.>
Faolan gazes back at Rin unperturbed before replying, [ Whores have no honor. Haven't you heard? ]
If Rin says anything further, Faolan's fixation on his food after that comment makes him strangely deaf to Messages.
Sen leans over and kisses Rin's horns before allowing the conversation to turn to the matter of Calabra. "I'm particularly curious about why we were approached, and what caused him to think Gower would be where we found him. That doesn't seem like a guess to me."
Faolan tosses in, "Is it stupidity or arrogance, do you suppose? Assuming he just sent out his servant with the intent of finding Payl Gower's ghost, and wasn't trying to find the Market for some other reason." It's an uncomfortable thought to entertain: what would Calabra want with the dead besides information?
<.>
Rin does in fact reply, looking puzzled all over again, [ Wait, I don't know what YOU'VE heard but that's very RUDE, Faolan. ]
And, when there's no answer: [ No, that's lies, of COURSE they do. ]
And: [ Faolan? FAOLAN. I'm not about to DO anything. ]
They'd be sulking even more obviously, were it not for that kiss from Sen. That turns them around, and Rin decides that there'll be occasion enough to grab the contract another time, and maybe also grab something from Faolan, just for implying whatever he was (??) implying (??).
Rin darts a kiss to Sen's cheek, hands him a grape. "It's all pretty suspicious, just the question's in what way. He said something about asking someone, an oracle or... What was it? Diviner, maybe that. And he seemed honest about everything, but maybe he's just good at lies. A lot of rich fuckers are."
Actually. Speaking of rich fuckers. Rin looks at Dmitri: "Is Calabra a necromancer, or what?"
[INS: nat 1
dm: Hasn't heard a thing.]
In response to Rin's question, Dmitri looks blatantly offended. "I can't imagine he would be in the least. It isn't a particularly profitable preoccupation, nor one liable to gain laudation.
"It doesn't negate to possibility that he does indeed want something from the dead, or from access to the Market. For himself, or for someone he's... Mm. Either eager to impress, or already joined with in accordance.
"The ass may also have been coaxed into meeting with a diviner out of fear for his hide. Whether he's thought much about why Gower of all people should have been sent, I can't say. Calabra has his resourceful moments, as I understand, but is hardly what I'd call circumspect.
"Whatever the case, it'll be worth inquiring among the servants whether Calabra showed signs of interest in the Nightmare Market before the incident with Gower."
Rin, who has been very busy studying their hand against Sen's, chimes in again with, "You know what's weird. Or maybe kind of weird, is why'd the guard even kill Payl at all? Payl's not really an imposing sort of person or he doesn't seem like he was, and that guard was built.”
<.>
Faolan senses Dmitri's piqued ire and without thinking, reaches out and rests a hand on his wrist. He seems unaware of the movement and doesn't withdraw immediately.
Sen, meanwhile, shoves his plate to the side and starts to fuss through his clothes in search of his pipe, leaning back only when the barmaid brings Rin their requested drink. To Rin, he replies, "Oh, I'm not sure that's much of a mystery. When everyone wants a piece of you, you set an example with poor bastards like Gower. It's a deterrent, not a necessity."
Faolan nods in agreement. "It's typical, especially in the larger cities. Up in Lo'ben -" He falters, then decides it isn't worth the energy to correct himself. They know what sort of person he is. "- they drag them out in the street and do it where everyone can see. I'll give them this, though: the nobles do it themselves. Rough bunch."
Pensively, he continues, "I heard in Morovsk and Striker's Bay they still keelhaul would-be-assassins. Never saw it, myself, though. Might just be a rumor. Whatever they do, it's not in the street. People just disappear."
<.>
Dima is keeping his hand very, very still. Not tense at all; no, his hand eased immediately the moment Fae touched (offered touch, and chose to touch) his wrist. (It's remarkable, the extent to which this man's presence impacts him.) (It's not so remarkable at all, when Faolan shines with such brilliance, such warmth.) If he doesn't draw attention to Fae's touch, perhaps it'll stay a little longer. Yes, yes; keep engaging, keep talking, and feel throughout the grace of that touch.
"Keelhauling— Perhaps out at sea. Captains are inclined to mete their own brands of justice; it isn't worth our time or in our interest to interpose." It's a policy that's kept most of those captains agreeable; it's a policy that kept no small share of them from crying against the Voronins when Darzh chose to marry an elf, and leave the family's hold in charge of their kin.
"In Morovsk itself..." He shrugs one shoulder, slightly. "As you suggest, the most severe penalties tend to be the most discrete. Power is implied; power is written in sudden absence, never quite explained.
"Some die; some remain locked away from the world; some are exiled. And some are given leash to hold their freedom, to walk as if there was no offense— Or as if their offense didn't amount to much. As if it isn't worth our time to end them."
He's not quite looking at the party anymore. Clears his throat and shakes his head slightly, reminds himself that it isn't a subject to be taken further, certainly not here and—
He darts a glance at Faolan. Lingers looking at Faolan, conflicted, wondering if he's spoken too far.
After a moment, though: "I doubt Calabra's brand of vanity would rest easy with an offender running free. Nor can I credit him with the cleverness to approach the situation otherwise."
Rin, who has been silent while taking in all of this and sipping on their breakfast drink which is in fact very nice, shakes their head suddenly, hissing through their teeth. "Well that's all pretty fucked."
<.>
If Faolan considers any of this too deeply, he'll slip into another dark mood. Instead, he focuses on Dmitri's voice, on the notes he's growing (too) familiar with. (He focuses on the feeling of the man's wrist under his palm, and thinks of last night, of how their hands twined perfectly, of Dmitri's head on his shoulder and the way their voices turned to whispers.)
Sen is the one to answer Rin's comment with 'Hear, hear' and, as he lights his pipe, to contribute, "Calabra likes to put on a show. His entire staff watching while he ate alone? That, just for supper. If he could have had his man slay Gower on a stage, he would've done."
Faolan pushes his plate a little away, most of the food untouched. "The more we talk about this, the more I'm inclined to get a start finding the girls. They might have more than the people who hired Gower after them; in Mysos, it's not done anymore, but in the last era, the entire family was responsible, so the entire family paid. It's not done, but it's not outlawed, either. If Calabra wants a spectacle, he might have them taken south."
He rises, his hand slipping from Dmitri's, and huffs a little, mirthless laugh. "I never thought I'd say so, but the sooner they're in Morovsk, the sooner they'll be safe."
Faolan pauses a step from the table and considers the room before meeting Dmitri's eyes. "He'll wait outside - if he's willing to go with you."
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<.>
Rin is going to make sure they have their weapons and the Bag of Holding, and tell Sen they'll find something good for him. Otherwise, they're ready to stealth and go—
Oh, wait!
Not without blowing Sen an air kiss with a wink, and a "For good luck ;D."
<.>
Sen catches it and sends one back their way, and Rin makes a stealth check.
[STEALTH: 22; Rin's gonna catch that kiss and put it on their cheek as they go stealth mode >;3]
Rin melts back into the shadows, leaving Sen to approach the Lion and Boar alone. He leaves the door open behind him; a servant whose task is specifically to greet guests tuts and hurries to close it - though not before Rin has the chance to slip through.
The servant eyes Sen up and down with an air of superiority, but with cool cordiality asks, "How may I assist you, Sir?"
<.>
Rin, grinning to themself, Messages Sen, [ Manners, manners, Sen!
Well, you have the best manners, since you let me in. ]
They'd like to give the servant a kick in the pants, but it's far too early to take that risk. Instead, Rin takes a look around the room, scanning for possible exits, signs of any sneaky someone watching, or other points of interest.
<.>
The main foyer of the tavern has a rustic chandelier and a plush rug, but little else of note. The wood of the walls and bannisters of the stairs leading to a second floor is a rich reddish-brown, polished to a high shine.
From this room, one may go up the stairs, or take a door to the left which leads toward the dining room where Rin and Sen met Calabra. Another door leads off to the right - presumably to a dining area, from the sound of low murmuring. If there are other rooms, one must pass through these to reach them.
Sen doesn't bother with formalities - no bowing for this man - and gets right to the point. "I'm here to speak with Umbero Calabra. I'm expected."
The servant arches a brow and replies, "Lord Calabra is out and won't return until tomorrow morning. You aren't that expected, it seems."
If this surprises Sen, he doesn't show it. Instead, he says, “…Lord Calabra, is it?"
The servant stares at him, stone-faced, so he continues, "That must have happened sometime overnight. Pity I missed it, running his errands for him. Did 'Lord' -" he air-quotes, yes, "Calabra say where he was going?"
"I certainly wouldn't tell the likes of you. Be off with you before I have you removed."
Sen, assuming Rin has gotten the idea that maybe they ought to sneak upstairs, drawls, "'Lord' Calabra is going to be displeased with you when he learns you turned away someone with vital information."
[PERS, s: nat 20]
<.>
Rin is absolutely going to make their way up the stairs, Messaging Sen as they do, [ You know what's up. ] And, just to be clear, [ Me; I'm going up. ]
They're going to be quick in their movements, careful with their steps, and check over the landing before they reach it.
<.>
Nothing's particularly notable about the landing; it's a fine establishment (for Awich). The second floor is decorated with more plush rugs, a few alabaster statues, and paintings. From the landing, a single hall stretches down the middle of the Inn; there are three doors on either side, suggesting the quarters are quite large and multi-room, intended for an entourage rather than a single occupant.
Of these doors, one is open and a woman stands fanning herself in the doorway. There's a voice from within and she turns back to the room, then enters and closes the door behind her.
Downstairs, the servant is trying very hard to undo offense and assure Sen that Calabra really is out, he took his guard and didn't say where he was going, and the servant is only doing his job.
[q: did the voice sound like calabra? and, are there distinguishing marks on or beside any of the doors?
a: The voice did not sound like Calabra. There are no distinguishing marks on the doors.]
Rin's going to move down the hallway, alert for any signs of sound. If nothing catches their ear, they'll move to the end of the hall, and check for signs of sound behind the last door on the left.
[PERC: 7; Rin can't hear anything unusual or informative.]
Rin is going to cast Disguise Self to appear as an androgynous human of Rin's height, wearing the same uniform as the servant below.
They're going to fix their hair and make a go at unlocking the door they're standing in front of (last door on the right).
[SLEIGHT: 27; The door unlocks easily.]
Rin is going to step inside, posture kept in imitation of the Very Upright Very Not Fun servants they've seen around this place, and see whether 1) anyone is immediately visible or audible and 2) what the room holds.
[dm: The room looks bare in the way unoccupied rooms appear; a quick search will verify no one's staying here.]
Rin's going to diP out of the room, check the hall to see if anyone's appeared, and if no one HAS appeared, they're moving on to the middle door on the right.
[dm: Nothing in the hall has changed; it's the middle of the day, so they can be pretty secure in the knowledge that most people are out and about.
SLEIGHT: 23; The door unlocks easily.]
Same approach as before! Entertain as if they are in fact a servant, checking for signs of anyone present at the moment or of whether the room is occupied.
<.>
The moment they step into the room, a voice from the other side of a door across from them calls out, "Is that you, Herbert? Oh, I thought you'd never arrive! I've been absolutely - You're not Herbert."
The owner of the voice is a middle-aged human man with a bit of a paunch, greying hair, and spectacles. He stares Rin up and down appraisingly, then says, "Well, I'd prefer Herbert, but I suppose you'll do.”
<.>
And Rin is going to bow to the man, then speak, "Beg pardon, Sir. Herbert sent me to tell you he has been delayed. He—" Rin screws up their face, as if trying to recall the message, "He said that he regrets every instant not spent in your company, and he sent me to assure you that he will be here in ten minutes' time, no matter what." They nod, and bow again. "Good Sir, if you'll excuse me, I must be onto my duties."
[PERS: 6]
<.>
The man looks visibly hurt, one hand pressing to his middle and the other raking through his thinning hair. "He's not coming, is he? I knew I'd gone too far last time, I knew by the look on his face."
Hopelessly, he heaves a sigh and drops into one of the chairs that furnish this sort of receiving area.
"I suppose you think this is all pitiable, but I assure you, it's - Well. It is - nothing more than a fascination. Really. And -"
As he's talking, a young man slips into the room - barefoot. "Sorry I'm late - really, I - Who the fuck are you? Ansel, who the fuck is this?!"
<.>
Ansel?
Fascination?
—And presumably-Herbert is looking right at Rin.
Oh well shit, this isn't great.
Rin offers a nervous little laugh, and speaks, "I was told you had a message? It's my first day, and now I think maybe this was some sort of— Of— Oh, a prank. I'm terribly sorry, Sir, Lord? Sir Ansel? Herbert. I'm so sorry—"
It's at this moment that Rin is going to cast Thaumaturgy, to produce the sound of a vase smashing from the next room.
If Ansel and Hansel... Herbert. Turn around. Rin is going to try slipping out of there.
<.>
The sound of a vase crashing does indeed cause both Ansel and Herbert to turn; Rin has just enough time to slip out before they turn back. The sound of an argument can be heard as Herbert flings accusations and Ansel pleads and assures he's innocent. Rin can, if they listen carefully, hear Ansel say, "Please don't punish me again."
<.>
Rin in fact is listening carefully, and they're just going to— Not. Think about that information, or where bare feet and punishment intersect.
They're just going to slip over to the last door on the left and trying giving that one a pick. As they continue to try noT to hear that argument.
[SLEIGHT: 16; The lock takes longer to pick than their patience probably allows.]
They make it about half a minute before huffing in frustration and moving to the second door on the left, scowling at the other door and mentally vowing to finish the job if they must, and when they do, they'll jam that lock with tomatoes or something.
So! Next pick attempt is for second door on the left!
[SLEIGHT: nat 20
dm: Unfortunately, the door opens to another unoccupied room.
The first door on the left is the one with the woman and the unfamiliar voice.]
Hmmm while they're IN here, Rin would like to head over to the wall that would border the third room on the left. And see if they can hear anything from the rooms with the VERY rude door.
[PERC: nat 20
dm: They can in fact hear two voices in the next room: a man and a woman discussing their daughter's upcoming nuptials.
q: Can Rin hear any details of the conversation? And. Does either voice sound familiar?
dm: Neither voice sounds familiar. The details suggest the daughter's wedding is taking place here in Awich, and would lend Rin to believe the couple is here exclusively for that purpose.]
Rin is curious, but this doesn't seem worth sticking around for, and since time's ticking, they're going to return to the hall in order to pick the first door on the right.
[SLEIGHT: 28; The door unlocks easily!]
Rin gives the door a gentle little pat, then straightens their back and enters the room. Once again, checking for signs of occupancy in general and any present and accounted for occupants.
They enter a receiving room with a single bench against the left-hand wall. Around the room are round end tables with floral arrangements - many of these, clearly imported. A small chandelier hangs in the center of the room, its candles as yet unlit.
There are two doors: one straight ahead, and one to the right.
[PERC: nat 20 (??? rin wtf???)
Listening closely, Rin can hear several voices emanating from behind the door to their right.]
Rin would like to quietly, quietly approach the door on their right and try eavesdropping on this here convo.
[dm: Pressing their ear to the door, they can hear the general, everyday conversations and gripes of servants. Presumably, behind this door are the servants' quarters.]
They'll linger for twenty second, and if they hear no mention of names or locations, Rin's going to check the door straight ahead, giving a listen outside of it before attempting to open said door.
[dm: There's no mention of specific names, but 'he' and 'godsdamned bastard' crops up occasionally in the midst of the aforementioned everyday complaints.
Listening at the other door, Rin hears nothing.]
And! Rin is going to open the door and step into the room, closing the door softly behind them.
[dm: The last room they were in would appear to be some sort of foyer; this room is a receiving room / parlor type space, with a chaise against one wall and three plush chairs in a semi-circle. A few knick-knacks decorate the space, all of them too large to reasonably be thieved at the moment.
Again, there are two doors: one to the right and one ahead, both standing ajar.]
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[dm: This room is clearly the master suite; from their vantage, they can see the entire length of it, decorated with a massive, ornately-carved four-poster bed, a desk, a claw-foot bathtub, several chairs, a wardrobe, and a fireplace. There are two windows, each on either side of the bed. And two nightstands.]
Rin is verY interested in this room— But before moving into it, they'd like to double back and peer in the door that was on the right.
[dm: This room is filled with trunks of various sizes. Some are stacked, some lie open with clothing tossed haphazardly into them. Against one wall is a twin bed with a nightstand beside it.]
....Oh god Rin wants to look in these trunks so badly. So badly. And they're interested in this haphazard clothing toss, but for now, they're going to head into the bedroom. They'd like to begin to searching the desk.
[INV: 11
dm: It's hard for them to really know what's important and what's just noble pocket lint. There is a pile of correspondence in the desk. Some random piece of jewelry. A weapon of some kind. Something that smells nice. A piece of cloth.]
Rin would like please and thank you to put all of these things in the Bag of Holding. They might not know what to make of any of this, but they're sure Sen can work it out! (Or maybe, ugh, Dmitri.) If nothing else, the jewelry's probably hockable.
For the rest, they would like to examine, in this order
-inside the wardobe
-under the bed
-in the fireplace
-the nightstand
[dm: In the wardrobe, they find some clothes. Under the bed, they find a chamber pot and one piece of gold. In the fireplace, they find a dying fire. In the nightstand, they find another piece of jewelry in a box, two books, and a bag that feels a little heavy and makes some noise when lifted.]
Rin's going to leave the clothes because they trust nothing of Calabra's 'fashion,' THEY WILL NOT BE TOUCHING THAT CHAMBER POT OR THE GOLD PIECE in case it was peed on by Calabra (Rin knows there is always a chance that money has been soiled but it's no good knowing who BY). They're going to look into that bag pls.
[dm: The bag contains a mixture of gold and silver coins.]
Into the bag of holding it goes! Along with the jewelry in its box!
Rin would like to flip through the books to see if anything's inside, and will also look at their titles.
[dm: The books appear to be deeply boring treatises on law in Mysos.]
Rin would fling them across the room if they weren't sneaking. Instead, they place the books on the bed and tuck them in.
Rin would like to carefully carefully take a peek out the windows just to see what the view's like.
[dm: The view from the room is of the river and a clean, upper-class street directly below the inn.]
Rin nods to themself; yes, this seems like the kind of view this room would have!
Rin would like to check the room with the trunks, and would like to give a look through the trunks; just a quick look to start!
[dm: Several of the trunks have heavy padlocks that would probably deter one from attempting to pick them without several hours to spare. The ones that are open appear to be the rest of Calabra's clothing. One trunk is unlocked, though closed. Within, Rin finds carefully folded clothing more suitable to a commoner and probably belonging to Calabra's guard. At the bottom of this trunk is a miniature painting of a woman and a lock of hair tied with a ribbon.]
Well Rin is putting that painting in the Bag of Holding. ...And also the guard's shirt. Who knows, it might be useful! (And Rin feels like taking one thing from this room isn't really enough.)
They'd like to look at the nightstand, as well pls.
[dm: The nightstand contains some oil for sharpening a blade, a small whetstone, and a piece of cloth.]
Rin's taking the cloth and the whetstone. And with that, they're going to make their way out of this room and then out of this suite of rooms, or they'll attempt to anyway.
[dm: They meet no one on the way out; from the landing outside, they're able to see Sen and the servant are no longer in the entrance hall of the inn.]
...Rin's curious about where Sen may have gone. They pause on the landing, then start downstairs. Is there any sign here of where Sen or the servant may have gone to? That is, signs of a scuffle, a door cracked open, anything Sen might have left?
[dm: They can hear the sound of Sen and several others singing quite loudly in the dining room of the inn. It's a pretty good indicator.]
Smiling to themself, Rin cocks their head, and is going to take a quick peek into the dining room where they first met Calabra, juuust in case there's anything to see.
[dm: The room is empty and the place settings have all been removed from the table.]
In that case! Rin's going to crack open the door to the other dining area and attempt to catch a glimpse of Sen!
<.>
Sen and the servant, along with several other people - some of whom may be patrons of the inn - are currently engaged in some ambitious day-drinking and are singing a very inappropriate take on a song that might be called 'Mysos Boys'.
<.>
Rin would very much like to pick some of those pockets, but given their current mission, they're going to behave their null self and simply Message Sen, [ Over and done; I'll be outside! ]
And, slipping the door shut once more, Rin's going to drop Disguise Self and step out of the inn.
<.>
Several minutes later, Sen disengages from the group and meets Rin outside. He is clearly sober, and smiling in a self-satisfied kind of way.
[ Job well-done, us. Find much? ]
<.>
Rin likes that smile, and they bounce a little on their toes as they respond, [ Found some things! Not sure what they're worth or if they MEAN anything, so maybe when we get back to the rooms, you can take a look. ] They nod, because this strikes them as a good and necessary idea. And if Sen looks like he'll follow, Rin's going to start back toward the inn they've been staying at. [ Also found his chamberpot. And someone who, mm, Sen, I think there was some foot stuff going on.
That was a good song you had going though! Anything interesting happen downstairs? ]
<.>
He can't say he understood all of that, but it sounds like Rin had an adventure while he was downstairs. [ Nothing particularly; the shit was so eager to make amends, he had a drink with me, then another, and by then, I'd convinced the innkeeper to have one with us. One thing led to another, as it tends to do. ]
He offers his arm to them to hold as they walk. [ Suppose we make our way back to our own lodgings and wait for the lovebirds to return, then go over the things you've found? I know a game we can attempt with those ball bearings of yours. Nothing salacious! A game to pass the time, nothing more! ]
<.>
Oh, that sounds like fun! Sen's conjured revelry downstairs, and the prospect of a game. Rin nods, taking Sen's arm with a little nod of their head. [ That suits me very well! And I can tell you all about what I saw, and YOU can tell me how much of an ass Mr. 'Lord Calabra is out' made of himself. ]
Tail flicking, tail occasionally winding around the back of Sen's legs, Rin begins to tell the whole of what they saw - with many, many meanderings, of course - as they walk back toward the inn.
<.>
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