Dima's relieved to see Faolan taking the lead. He hadn't wanted to volunteer the man, but for fuck's sake, there's no chance of Sen leading them anywhere, and Dima can't believe Rin's much more liable to maintain focus.
Much as he wants to keep near Faolan, he also thinks it might, might just be best if he keeps to the back and makes sure the thieves don't go wandering off. He and Liviana share a glance, a simultaneously thought that she'll circle above, keeping an additional watch. He gives her a chunk of meat and watches her take to the sky.
Then turns his eyes ahead to Faolan, noticing but not really looking at the thieves, and Messages, [ Thank you.
I fear we would have ended up in Wiverpor with their lead. ]
Rin's humming to themself, not sure why Faolan stepped into the front, but they're not going to question it; he led pretty well through the house full of steps, so he'll be fine here, probably. Also he seems like he's got some experience out here and maybe, maybe he'll get them to the Nightmare Market faster!
There humming turns to sing-song, playing off what Sen said earlier: "We don't know, but we all go.
"No stealing, though." A huff, a dramatic sigh. "I guess there's a catch to everything."
<.>
Sen winks at Rin and is about to start a rhyming game with them, but the two lines of the song just circle back again and again.
He can't recall the rest of the words. But he's sure, he's *sure* there was something to it. So, instead, he replies, "Do you know, Pretty Rin, I have those words racing circles in my head. And it's odd, really. The song was - more of a ballad. Cautionary, but I'm certain there was more to it than just the warning at the end."
He turns back to Dima to ask, "Do you recall a song - assuming they sing songs where you come from. Beg pardon if not. But this one. A ballad about a brother and sister and the Nightmare Market.
"It had a refrain of 'The dead all know, the dead all go.' Anything?"
Meanwhile, up ahead, Faolan hears Dmitri's message, but takes a moment to reply, [ The night's not over for hours yet. They have time. ]
He might be joking. He might be serious.
<.>
[q: is this a song dima might have some memory of? HIST, d: 18
dm: Dima would recall it as a ballad he once read in a book in Novorometz or heard in childhood. The gist of the story is two children hear of the Nightmare Market and sneak out one moonless night to find it. The ballad follows their journey and ends with their deaths - after which they remain perpetually with the Market, warning away the young whose lives are new and too much a temptation for the dead.]
Dima's silent for a time, giving no indication that he heard Sen, only seeing the words of the song come back to him (and, further back, he thinks, he thinks he must have heard the song; there's a melody in his head, in a voice he might remember); only remembering the word, and thinking cold-struck shivers of resonance. Thinking of young lives given over for the dead; rubbing the rings at his fingers.
He isn't certain that he wants to respond.
He'll put off deciding for the moment - or perhaps this is an attempt to push the elf toward his inevitable tangents - and remark with idle archness: "I'm afraid all guise of song has been banned where I come from." And immediately after, archness faded: "Where did you hear this song."
And, to Faolan: [ …I direly wish I could doubt that. ]
Then: [ …Do you know the song. ]
Rin is now improvising on the song, softly and in words that might involve earthworms, though they remain focused on the conversation, eager for whatever they can find.
<.>
[Fae check: 20]
Sen's reply comes first in the form of a rude comment about Dima's grandmother and an act of coitus.
If Dima's going to be contrary, Sen will just rely on his own (checkered) memory to piece together why the song matters at all.
Faolan doesn't look back over his shoulder and doesn't answer Dmitri. Instead, he begins to hum - first only a few bars, then the entire melody, haunting and inviting, enthralling as all ballads are wont to be.
He knows it. He knows many songs. What he was, what he did, didn't see him invited to many balls or feasts, but it saw him in seedy taverns nobility liked to frequent to hide...well.
What they did with people like Faolan.
Sen falls silent, watching the boy ahead and wondering what sort of wood he lived in that had songs like that.
It's enough, though, to jar Sen's memory. The children called up a corpse to lead them, that was it. The dead know how to get there.
And Sen thinks of the rings on Dmitri's hand - then immediately rejects the idea.
He can't see his way toward risking those children on something frivolous. They deserve. to stay close to Dmitri. (Who knows why they'd want to, but nevertheless.)
He doesn't think Dmitri can call up corpses yet.
But.
"Say. Pretty Rin, have you still got that hand on a string?"
<.>
Dima reminds himself to move, keep walking, as Faolan's hum drifts on the wind, seems to twine through the trees, a fog that settles uneasy (sorrowful) in Dima's chest and draws the lyrics back upon his mind again, again.
He half-prays Sen doesn't recall the words; he's relieved when the elf turns to Rin.
And Dima lets himself breathe in the impression of Faolan's hummed song, and slowly, gently turns the rings around his fingers.
Rin would like to know what the song does say, and is getting the distinct impression that everyone else knows, or at least knows a lot more than Rin, which might be irksome if they weren't so struck my the fancy of this night and its venture. Which can't be irksome at all when Sen requests the hand, readily produced from the Bag of Holding and held aloft like the well-won treasure it is.
“This hand on a string?" Though their voice is a bit soberer than before - they can't help but feel the mood brought on by the ballad, by their guide's humming - they do swing the hand just a little bit, back and forth in the air. "Does the hand know where to go?"
They're joking, of course.
...Probably?
<.>
Sen watches the hand dangle and twist, then swing back and forth under Rin's propulsion, his head canted thoughtfully.
"Never hurts to ask. Hello, dismembered hand. I don't suppose you dabble in giving directions, hm?"
Faolan has slowed, likewise recalling the lines of the song about a corpse leading the wandering children to the Market.
He halts, backtracks to the party, and eyes the grisly relic.
"...It belongs to Rin. They ought to ask. I don't believe dead flesh just animates on its own, but I also don't believe any of this is real. And the docks are ahead. I don't see anything other."
Sen is staring at him as though he burst a child's balloon, so Faolan shrugs and folds his arms across his chest.
Gently, Sen encourages, "He's right. Rin, you ask it."
<.>
Dima almost, almost points out that if anyone's going to be speaking with a remnant, it out to be him. But, first, he doesn't particularly want to volunteer. And there's something to be said for keeping the could-be-tool, could-be-nothing into the hands of the one who's shown readiness, even a desire to believe in this absurd myth.
Dima also considers noting that one ought to be cautious when attempting communication with the dead— But, really, education's best gleaned from experience. Sometimes. And he can step in (he presumes) if need be.
Faolan's remark doesn't manage to dampen Rin's mood; in fact, they give him a doubtful looking. Thinking, well of course it makes sense that a place like this couldn't just be found by wandering in. There's got to be a secret way in, like with thieves' hideaways, like with sanctuaries. Maybe that way's physical, and maybe it's not; they're more than willing to try asking the hand.
So Rin touches their fingertips to the hands; clicks their nails against the once-goblin's. And they hold the hand aloft, the better to watch it as they speak: "Got a question for you.
"I know we only just met and everything, but— First, I need to compliment your nails. They look very viciously and nicely kept. Not everyone can say the same in life, let alone after!
"Also, though. So we're looking for this place. The Nightmare Market, right? We just— I want to find it. I mean we're looking for it for Reasons, but also I just really want to see it. If it is a thing, which I'm inclined to think it ought to be!
"So okay, so could you show us the way? Give us a direction or a, maybe a hint how to find the entrance?"
"You can come with us, of course! Or if you want something else, maybe you can have that too."
[PERS, r: 9]
<.>
The grisly totem seems to twitch, perhaps at the complement to its nails, but it doesn't seem to have any inclination to lead the party to the Nightmare Market.
After a moment of waiting with his breath held, Sen tuts. "You're being awfully contrary for a hand on a rope, friend."
Faolan shushes him gently and leans down a little to peer at the hand. He's certain it moved at the compliment. If the market is a place for trade -
If it exists.
"Suppose there was something in the market a hand might like to have. Rin, how much do you suppose that information's worth? And how much would we be willing to part with for our friend to do a little shopping? A - spending limit, let's say."
He straightens, flicks a glance at Dmitri, and shrugs.
<.>
Rin isn't noT a little disappointed, but they're sure the hand moved a little, so maybe there's just another step to this - it occurs to them that they aren't usually the most persuasive tiefling, and maybe it's the same with hands as creatures who have those hands attached? - and also maybe the hand is being a little contrary. Which, now that Rin thinks about it, is pretty fair; they'd be irritable if they were locked in a weird tomb with a bunch of relics and ceaseless chants.
Faolan's suggestion strikes Rin as sound, and they cant their head, eyes on the hand and its very nice nails as they consider. "It depends on what this hand likes. Maybe it wants somewhere to stay? So it's not in a bag or tomb. Maybe— Hm. It might want a body. Or rings. Or a way to get around all on its own."
[q: while Rin muses aloud: since rin's spent a good amount of time among illicit markets, woulD they have some likely figure of 'ah u can spend this!'
INS, r: 18
dm: Rin would know it's about 5 gp per person to get into places of ill-repute where one needs to bribe their way in.]
Rin speaks to the hand and their party alike: "Okay, so probably we're giving 25 gold minimum to all get in. And we've got— Well, you all know numbers better than I do." Maybe. They happen to keep pretty good track of their money, but they also know better than to give away all the secrets to anyone, hand or hand-plus-extras.
They think; they tap one of their own nails against their cheek, then nod. "Okay. How about we cover your entrance fee, and I'll give you 40 gold on top of that?"
It's more than they usually carry, themself. Today's an exception, which may partly account for what they think is a pretty generous offer.
Dima saw the twitch; what he can't say for certain is whether it came from the hand, or whether the tiefling gave the rope a deft pull, or whether the elf pulled some manner of magic to string this game along.
...It isn't impossible that the hand could have reacted. (Dima wishes, abstractly, that he'd given the thing another look. He'll have to give the rest of the relics a closer inspection when there's time.) All manner of remains take on enchantments before or after dying. Still. Still, he can't believe the Market's liable to show itself as truth.
He meets Faolan's glance and offers a shrug of his own. [ I suppose there's no harm in the delay. ] To entertain Rin's endeavors, he means. And, [ Yours was a sound suggestion, at any rate. ] A sound suggestion for an absurd premise, but. Well.
no subject
Much as he wants to keep near Faolan, he also thinks it might, might just be best if he keeps to the back and makes sure the thieves don't go wandering off. He and Liviana share a glance, a simultaneously thought that she'll circle above, keeping an additional watch. He gives her a chunk of meat and watches her take to the sky.
Then turns his eyes ahead to Faolan, noticing but not really looking at the thieves, and Messages, [ Thank you.
I fear we would have ended up in Wiverpor with their lead. ]
Rin's humming to themself, not sure why Faolan stepped into the front, but they're not going to question it; he led pretty well through the house full of steps, so he'll be fine here, probably. Also he seems like he's got some experience out here and maybe, maybe he'll get them to the Nightmare Market faster!
There humming turns to sing-song, playing off what Sen said earlier: "We don't know, but we all go.
"No stealing, though." A huff, a dramatic sigh. "I guess there's a catch to everything."
<.>
Sen winks at Rin and is about to start a rhyming game with them, but the two lines of the song just circle back again and again.
He can't recall the rest of the words. But he's sure, he's *sure* there was something to it. So, instead, he replies, "Do you know, Pretty Rin, I have those words racing circles in my head. And it's odd, really. The song was - more of a ballad. Cautionary, but I'm certain there was more to it than just the warning at the end."
He turns back to Dima to ask, "Do you recall a song - assuming they sing songs where you come from. Beg pardon if not. But this one. A ballad about a brother and sister and the Nightmare Market.
"It had a refrain of 'The dead all know, the dead all go.' Anything?"
Meanwhile, up ahead, Faolan hears Dmitri's message, but takes a moment to reply, [ The night's not over for hours yet. They have time. ]
He might be joking. He might be serious.
<.>
[q: is this a song dima might have some memory of?
HIST, d: 18
dm: Dima would recall it as a ballad he once read in a book in Novorometz or heard in childhood. The gist of the story is two children hear of the Nightmare Market and sneak out one moonless night to find it. The ballad follows their journey and ends with their deaths - after which they remain perpetually with the Market, warning away the young whose lives are new and too much a temptation for the dead.]
Dima's silent for a time, giving no indication that he heard Sen, only seeing the words of the song come back to him (and, further back, he thinks, he thinks he must have heard the song; there's a melody in his head, in a voice he might remember); only remembering the word, and thinking cold-struck shivers of resonance. Thinking of young lives given over for the dead; rubbing the rings at his fingers.
He isn't certain that he wants to respond.
He'll put off deciding for the moment - or perhaps this is an attempt to push the elf toward his inevitable tangents - and remark with idle archness: "I'm afraid all guise of song has been banned where I come from." And immediately after, archness faded: "Where did you hear this song."
And, to Faolan: [ …I direly wish I could doubt that. ]
Then: [ …Do you know the song. ]
Rin is now improvising on the song, softly and in words that might involve earthworms, though they remain focused on the conversation, eager for whatever they can find.
<.>
[Fae check: 20]
Sen's reply comes first in the form of a rude comment about Dima's grandmother and an act of coitus.
If Dima's going to be contrary, Sen will just rely on his own (checkered) memory to piece together why the song matters at all.
Faolan doesn't look back over his shoulder and doesn't answer Dmitri. Instead, he begins to hum - first only a few bars, then the entire melody, haunting and inviting, enthralling as all ballads are wont to be.
He knows it. He knows many songs. What he was, what he did, didn't see him invited to many balls or feasts, but it saw him in seedy taverns nobility liked to frequent to hide...well.
What they did with people like Faolan.
Sen falls silent, watching the boy ahead and wondering what sort of wood he lived in that had songs like that.
It's enough, though, to jar Sen's memory. The children called up a corpse to lead them, that was it. The dead know how to get there.
And Sen thinks of the rings on Dmitri's hand - then immediately rejects the idea.
He can't see his way toward risking those children on something frivolous. They deserve. to stay close to Dmitri. (Who knows why they'd want to, but nevertheless.)
He doesn't think Dmitri can call up corpses yet.
But.
"Say. Pretty Rin, have you still got that hand on a string?"
<.>
Dima reminds himself to move, keep walking, as Faolan's hum drifts on the wind, seems to twine through the trees, a fog that settles uneasy (sorrowful) in Dima's chest and draws the lyrics back upon his mind again, again.
He half-prays Sen doesn't recall the words; he's relieved when the elf turns to Rin.
And Dima lets himself breathe in the impression of Faolan's hummed song, and slowly, gently turns the rings around his fingers.
Rin would like to know what the song does say, and is getting the distinct impression that everyone else knows, or at least knows a lot more than Rin, which might be irksome if they weren't so struck my the fancy of this night and its venture. Which can't be irksome at all when Sen requests the hand, readily produced from the Bag of Holding and held aloft like the well-won treasure it is.
“This hand on a string?" Though their voice is a bit soberer than before - they can't help but feel the mood brought on by the ballad, by their guide's humming - they do swing the hand just a little bit, back and forth in the air. "Does the hand know where to go?"
They're joking, of course.
...Probably?
<.>
Sen watches the hand dangle and twist, then swing back and forth under Rin's propulsion, his head canted thoughtfully.
"Never hurts to ask. Hello, dismembered hand. I don't suppose you dabble in giving directions, hm?"
Faolan has slowed, likewise recalling the lines of the song about a corpse leading the wandering children to the Market.
He halts, backtracks to the party, and eyes the grisly relic.
"...It belongs to Rin. They ought to ask. I don't believe dead flesh just animates on its own, but I also don't believe any of this is real. And the docks are ahead. I don't see anything other."
Sen is staring at him as though he burst a child's balloon, so Faolan shrugs and folds his arms across his chest.
Gently, Sen encourages, "He's right. Rin, you ask it."
<.>
Dima almost, almost points out that if anyone's going to be speaking with a remnant, it out to be him. But, first, he doesn't particularly want to volunteer. And there's something to be said for keeping the could-be-tool, could-be-nothing into the hands of the one who's shown readiness, even a desire to believe in this absurd myth.
Dima also considers noting that one ought to be cautious when attempting communication with the dead— But, really, education's best gleaned from experience. Sometimes. And he can step in (he presumes) if need be.
Faolan's remark doesn't manage to dampen Rin's mood; in fact, they give him a doubtful looking. Thinking, well of course it makes sense that a place like this couldn't just be found by wandering in. There's got to be a secret way in, like with thieves' hideaways, like with sanctuaries. Maybe that way's physical, and maybe it's not; they're more than willing to try asking the hand.
So Rin touches their fingertips to the hands; clicks their nails against the once-goblin's. And they hold the hand aloft, the better to watch it as they speak: "Got a question for you.
"I know we only just met and everything, but— First, I need to compliment your nails. They look very viciously and nicely kept. Not everyone can say the same in life, let alone after!
"Also, though. So we're looking for this place. The Nightmare Market, right? We just— I want to find it. I mean we're looking for it for Reasons, but also I just really want to see it. If it is a thing, which I'm inclined to think it ought to be!
"So okay, so could you show us the way? Give us a direction or a, maybe a hint how to find the entrance?"
"You can come with us, of course! Or if you want something else, maybe you can have that too."
[PERS, r: 9]
<.>
The grisly totem seems to twitch, perhaps at the complement to its nails, but it doesn't seem to have any inclination to lead the party to the Nightmare Market.
After a moment of waiting with his breath held, Sen tuts. "You're being awfully contrary for a hand on a rope, friend."
Faolan shushes him gently and leans down a little to peer at the hand. He's certain it moved at the compliment. If the market is a place for trade -
If it exists.
"Suppose there was something in the market a hand might like to have. Rin, how much do you suppose that information's worth? And how much would we be willing to part with for our friend to do a little shopping? A - spending limit, let's say."
He straightens, flicks a glance at Dmitri, and shrugs.
<.>
Rin isn't noT a little disappointed, but they're sure the hand moved a little, so maybe there's just another step to this - it occurs to them that they aren't usually the most persuasive tiefling, and maybe it's the same with hands as creatures who have those hands attached? - and also maybe the hand is being a little contrary. Which, now that Rin thinks about it, is pretty fair; they'd be irritable if they were locked in a weird tomb with a bunch of relics and ceaseless chants.
Faolan's suggestion strikes Rin as sound, and they cant their head, eyes on the hand and its very nice nails as they consider. "It depends on what this hand likes. Maybe it wants somewhere to stay? So it's not in a bag or tomb. Maybe— Hm. It might want a body. Or rings. Or a way to get around all on its own."
[q: while Rin muses aloud: since rin's spent a good amount of time among illicit markets, woulD they have some likely figure of 'ah u can spend this!'
INS, r: 18
dm: Rin would know it's about 5 gp per person to get into places of ill-repute where one needs to bribe their way in.]
Rin speaks to the hand and their party alike: "Okay, so probably we're giving 25 gold minimum to all get in. And we've got— Well, you all know numbers better than I do." Maybe. They happen to keep pretty good track of their money, but they also know better than to give away all the secrets to anyone, hand or hand-plus-extras.
They think; they tap one of their own nails against their cheek, then nod. "Okay. How about we cover your entrance fee, and I'll give you 40 gold on top of that?"
It's more than they usually carry, themself. Today's an exception, which may partly account for what they think is a pretty generous offer.
Dima saw the twitch; what he can't say for certain is whether it came from the hand, or whether the tiefling gave the rope a deft pull, or whether the elf pulled some manner of magic to string this game along.
...It isn't impossible that the hand could have reacted. (Dima wishes, abstractly, that he'd given the thing another look. He'll have to give the rest of the relics a closer inspection when there's time.) All manner of remains take on enchantments before or after dying. Still. Still, he can't believe the Market's liable to show itself as truth.
He meets Faolan's glance and offers a shrug of his own. [ I suppose there's no harm in the delay. ] To entertain Rin's endeavors, he means. And, [ Yours was a sound suggestion, at any rate. ] A sound suggestion for an absurd premise, but. Well.
<.>