Of course Rin follows! They can hardly tell where to begin here; each time something catches their eye, each time they start to take a step, they see something else that intrigues them. If Sen's seen something worth a look, they're there, period. So Rin scurries after Sen, calling "What, what did you find, Sennnn?"
Rin also will, of course, be checking in on the hand here and there, to see if it's found something it wants, or - if it does want to hitch a ride somewhere - if it's found a driver.
Dima has been caught upon the images around - observing the locomotion of the dead and how readily ghouls, skeletons, ghosts mingle and share wares; beginning to take sight of the offerings and thinking he really ought to have brought along more gold - though he remains aware of Faolan, grounded somewhat by the man's presence, and Dima's fingers occasionally, lightly brush against the back of Faolan's hand. He wants to see everything. He wants to document what he can, and it'd be wise, wouldn't it, to speak with the traders who'll share a word? There's much that might be learned here. Much that he could seek for years elsewhere and never glean a whisper.
Faolan's voice brings him back into the moment, and Dima fixes his eyes on the man. (Liviana, meanwhile, darts her watch steadily around them, apparently alert to any motions around, very much intrigued by a blue-glinting object several stalls away.) Furrows his brow and presses the hand in his own, "I'd rather not leave you."
And: [ Are you discomforted?
...No, is isn't quite that, is it? Or it isn't so simple. ]
Dima can't help glancing at a loud clamoring of sounds, though he returns to Fae's eyes after. [ Will you be all right in this place? ]
<.>
Sen has found a table of musical instruments, and of course he could stand here all eternity and examine them, but the next stall has books long thought lost to civilization, and the next (and several others) is offering wares advertised as 'Estate Sales' and 'Recently Deceased.’
He recalls they have a mission, of course, so with a sigh, he turns from these curiosities to frown down at Rin, then around the market. "Business first. Our friend here, and our 'friend' in town. Loathsome, the business of business. I wonder if there's someone with information. A map would be helpful. Suppose we start asking around if anyone's arrived lately who might've tried to assassinate Calabra, and then when a crowd shows up, ask if any of them were hired, or just met the bastard and were sorely tempted."
Faolan considers Dmitri's question as he takes another sweeping glance at the market around him.
When his eyes eventually (inevitably) return to Dmitri, he replies, [ Yes. ]
He ought to leave it at that, but he feels the sweep of Dmitri's fingers against his hand (and the nervous twist in his stomach-) and thinks maybe, if he pretends a little longer, then he'll feel less sorrowful about it all.
( I'd rather not leave you isn't the same as I never will leave you and he needs to remember that.)
(But it's such a lovely thought to hold.)
He presses Dmitri's hand lightly.
[ All right. I'll keep beside you.
Show me what you see. What's pleasing to you here? ]
And— As Sen and Rin circle closer to the center of the market, they'll see more and more wraiths dressed in what might be a uniform of sorts.
They will also see several living mortals and a variety of undead who are here to buy, rather than sell.
Dmitri, Liv, and Faolan stand in the middle of a circle of booths and one tent lit on either side by torches. All of these places seem to deal more or less in memory, emotion, and knowledge.
Beyond this small circle, booths sell a variety of trinkets, weaponry, body parts - whatever one could imagine is there for the taking, for the right price.
As they pass along to the southwest, they'll see a sign reading 'Marked by Death: Arcane Tattooing and Piercing' and, beneath on a hastily scrawled makeshift sign of torn wood: 'Fuck yes, it hurts.'
<.>
Rin may or may not have forgotten about that whole bit of business. So much has happened since they left Calabra to eat his flamingo tongues, but right, right, there's money if they can make this work, and sometimes the best way to learn a new place is to start in on business.
"The map sounds good." Never mind that Rin, historically, is not great with using maps. Probably Sen is, though; out of two thieves, one usually knows how to get along with maps. "Dunno about asking directly— Or maybe we throw in a bribe? Or! Talk about how much of a - yeah, I bet a lot of people considered gutting that ass-for-brains, so maybe if we talk about what a shit he is and how we've got our own little plot to, maybe not kill him, but maybe kill him, but maybe just pull down his pants at the fancy noble gathering or something.
"We're looking for... A spirit or a ghost? Or do we know what they'd be?
"The map first, though, you're right about that! Maybe we can ask if uh. Newer souls congregate anywhere?"
Dima's smile is soft, and remarkably warm in this cold market. He nods; he looks around, biting slightly at his lip. Thinking he'd like to see all of this. Knowing their time is limited— If the brevity of the market's existence is true.
As Dima looks around the nearest booths, he's hoping to find a seller who seems given to chatter. He wants to begin here; he's very, very curious about this sale of emotion and memory in particular. If no seller stands out, he'll choose the booth that looks most cluttered.
<.>
The most cluttered booth's proprietor is a silent wraith who stairs emptily at Dmitri, standing motionless until the trio reach its stall. It gestures with one arm, puppet-like, towards its collection of bottle memories, each carefully labelled with a title and previous owner: "A Knight's Shame, Sir Dario Pellirian", "The Day I Died, Merineous Gorski", and "Buried Treasure, Captain Murk" at the fore as the shop's prized items.
A second collection on the table is composed of emotions - a mother's love, a father's pride, the grief of parting - while a third seems to be experiences: "the taste of sugared pears", "scent of a campfire in winter", "intoxication".
If there are more risqué representatives of any of these, the wraith has not put them on the table.
The wraith then wordlessly draws attention to a sign attached to the side of its stall: "These treasures are carefully curated; one may be purchased for the price of two."
Faolan cants his head thoughtfully at the bottled scent of campfires in winter, clearly recalling the experience for himself with a distant smile. After this, the wraith watches him intently as his attention moves from bottle to bottle.
Meanwhile, Sen considers a moment and moves toward one of the larger shops - a tent manned (as it were) by numerous ghosts. "Maybe there? If I were new, I imagine I'd be atrocious at being a ghost. I'd find the first employment I could so I could get a handle on things."
<.>
Occupied with studying the bottles, Dima doesn't notice the wraith's fixed focus at first. (There's a thought. There's an itch. He could ask after recent memories related to Morovsk. He could attempt again to track the bastard down.) (He isn't going to fall into that. Not now.) It's when he looks up, intending to ask a question, that he sees how close the wraith's watching Faolan. Dima sees, and he presses Faolan's hand as he speaks, "Are you prepared to respond to inquiries? I'm quite— Curious. About your wares."
He notes the sign again; he keeps his lip from ticking to a frown.
And, "Do you harvest them yourself?"
And Rin, nodding, follows Sen. They're going to take a look at what's in the shop - or glean as much as they can by stepping into it - though they'll stick close to Sen for a moment... And actually! A ghost drifts near, so Rin takes the moment to ask how they like working here.
<.>
The wraith's attention slides back to Dima and remains, curious - but without the same intensity it held for Faolan.
After a moment of consideration, the wraith looks toward something over Dima's shoulder and opens its mouth, seeming to suck in all the air around it and exhaling with a death rattle. Almost immediately, a young woof elf comes trotting over. He looks from the wraith to Dima and Faolan and back again. Another death rattle seems to punctuate an inaudible conversation and the wraith gestures for Dima to speak to the boy.
"Ah, a necromancer, is it? I'm Nerys Embervale; I'll be your adjudicator," he says cheerfully. He seems to be quite happy with his occupation. "I arbitrate deals between the living and dead so there aren't any - mishaps. So. What is it you're looking to purchase?"
While Nerys speaks, the wraith's gaze slowly moves to Faolan's and holds. There's no sound; in fact, the sounds of the market seem to fade as a voice slithers into Faolan's head.
[Wraith: Nat 20]
You feel with such intensity. Bright-burning joys, depthless misery. You carry secrets of the living, knowledge to wring fortunes from kings. What would it take to part even one from you? What turns your head?
<.>
Seeing the wraith's attention shift from Faolan, Dima relaxes slightly, and his attention turns quickly to the wood elf. "Nerys; a pleasure to meet you.
"As it happens, I've only just begun my search. These bottles - the emotions, particularly - take my interest. How long has this shop been collecting; how fresh are these emotions? And do you harvest *all* of the goods yourselves, or do you take rogue gatherers into your employ?
"I would be interested - and gratified - to know the use to which your buyers most often put these goods." A pause, and Dima adds, "I intend to weave them with magical strands, of course. But I seek always to learn new ways of employing my materials."
Idly, half-unknowing, partly to assure Faolan he's here still, Dima brushes his fingertips again along the man's hand.
<.>
Nerys looks somewhat flustered by the sudden deluge of questions and blinks rapidly, then attempts to recall them in order.
"The trade of memories and emotions has been a staple of the Nightmare Market since its - 'conception' is an artless word here, hm. Humble endings?
"I can't attest to how many of these memories purchased second-hand may have been gathered, but Phaedron here is most ethical in his own practices. It isn't a pain-free experience, nor should it be! No, if it was as simple as discarding an unwanted item, what deterrent would there be for those who fail to understand that the loss of a memory means the loss of some influencing factor - Ah. Look at me, in the weeds again."
He chuckles at himself and, reaching around the stall to some unseen shelf, produces a roll of parchment and sort of portable scribal table. "Let me see here. Some of these bottles are as recent as the last Market. Others, well, I should guess the oldest is nearly two hundred years - no, forgive me, that sold last year. But you do get the idea."
Here, he offers Dima a look at the roll of parchment to see the list of acquisitions for the shop.
"Now, just what were you hoping to find?”
Faolan hears distantly a conversation between Dmitri and Nerys, but the padding of sound remains as the wraith holds his eyes.
(But he feels. He feels the comforting (electrifying) brush of fingertips, and in the absence of distraction, in this empty space created by the wraith, he feels that touch in every nerve of his body.
He feels the acute desire, the alarming notes of could be and might be.
He feels terror and oncoming loss striking painfully through him.
He half-shivers and exhales softly.
And he thinks -
Dima -)
The wraith's whispering voice returns as the sensations fade.
What would you give for a way to keep him? This moment, this touch?
(Wisdom save: 11)
Faolan's mind jars, but fails to break the wraith's hold and he thinks - No.
(Not one touch. Not one moment. Not for anything.)
There's a sound like a wheezing chuckle only he can hear. No, nothing of him. But another, perhaps. One of the ones who named you what you became, who used and turned you aside.*
The first sight of the sea at a lover's side. The first kiss. The first -
Night in someone's arms under an open sky.
Think. Think before you answer. A simple, should-have-been beautiful memory turned bitter in your head could blossom in another's - and you. You could have a 'first' again.
Faolan - is listening. The wraith's voice is a cunning knife, a temptation: With Dima.
<.>
[q: would dima have encountered or heard anything about memory/emotions/etc. extraction before? ARC: 19
dm: He would have heard stories about people bequeathing memories (or entire brains) for the sake of keeping information available. He may have heard of one or two people attempting to rid themselves of painful memories.
And he has heard that the Nightmare Market is where you can buy bottled emotion.
He probably doesn't know how to do it or know anyone else who knows how, but at a glance, it's a standard, routine practice in the Market.]
<.>
Dima's going to begin perusing the entries on the parchment, keeping an eye out - though he tells himself he is not, or that it's purely a precaution - for any memories or information relating to Morovsk. He glances at Nerys, and, "Perhaps you could help me determine that very thing.
"I suppose the sensation of plummeting into a chasm or abyss would please me. Or the scent of a seaside rose at midnight.
"Something unsettling. Something suited to conjuring unease."
He's looking still, brushing his finger along Faolan's hand, when Dima thinks, the man's been quiet for a little bit too long. And there's been no interruption by the wraith - Phaedron - since Nerys first arrived.
Going a little bit too tense, attempting to appear untroubled, Dima's going to press Faolan's hand and look at the man. And, clearing his throat, "What do you think, hm?"
And: [ Faolan? ]
[PERC, d: nat 20
dm: Dima would have noticed Faolan has been quiet and perhaps a little too still. And maybe, Nerys has been talking overmuch, spending a little too long and wandering into "the weeds”.]
In that case, yes, Dima is going to proceed as above, not wanting to move too quickly, in case he's wrong about what he's seeing from Nerys. He will, though, wrap his hand more fully around Faolan's, and to his Message add: [ Faolan. Answer me; please. ]
no subject
Rin also will, of course, be checking in on the hand here and there, to see if it's found something it wants, or - if it does want to hitch a ride somewhere - if it's found a driver.
Dima has been caught upon the images around - observing the locomotion of the dead and how readily ghouls, skeletons, ghosts mingle and share wares; beginning to take sight of the offerings and thinking he really ought to have brought along more gold - though he remains aware of Faolan, grounded somewhat by the man's presence, and Dima's fingers occasionally, lightly brush against the back of Faolan's hand. He wants to see everything. He wants to document what he can, and it'd be wise, wouldn't it, to speak with the traders who'll share a word? There's much that might be learned here. Much that he could seek for years elsewhere and never glean a whisper.
Faolan's voice brings him back into the moment, and Dima fixes his eyes on the man. (Liviana, meanwhile, darts her watch steadily around them, apparently alert to any motions around, very much intrigued by a blue-glinting object several stalls away.) Furrows his brow and presses the hand in his own, "I'd rather not leave you."
And: [ Are you discomforted?
...No, is isn't quite that, is it? Or it isn't so simple. ]
Dima can't help glancing at a loud clamoring of sounds, though he returns to Fae's eyes after. [ Will you be all right in this place? ]
<.>
Sen has found a table of musical instruments, and of course he could stand here all eternity and examine them, but the next stall has books long thought lost to civilization, and the next (and several others) is offering wares advertised as 'Estate Sales' and 'Recently Deceased.’
He recalls they have a mission, of course, so with a sigh, he turns from these curiosities to frown down at Rin, then around the market. "Business first. Our friend here, and our 'friend' in town. Loathsome, the business of business. I wonder if there's someone with information. A map would be helpful. Suppose we start asking around if anyone's arrived lately who might've tried to assassinate Calabra, and then when a crowd shows up, ask if any of them were hired, or just met the bastard and were sorely tempted."
Faolan considers Dmitri's question as he takes another sweeping glance at the market around him.
When his eyes eventually (inevitably) return to Dmitri, he replies, [ Yes. ]
He ought to leave it at that, but he feels the sweep of Dmitri's fingers against his hand (and the nervous twist in his stomach-) and thinks maybe, if he pretends a little longer, then he'll feel less sorrowful about it all.
( I'd rather not leave you isn't the same as I never will leave you and he needs to remember that.)
(But it's such a lovely thought to hold.)
He presses Dmitri's hand lightly.
[ All right. I'll keep beside you.
Show me what you see. What's pleasing to you here? ]
And— As Sen and Rin circle closer to the center of the market, they'll see more and more wraiths dressed in what might be a uniform of sorts.
They will also see several living mortals and a variety of undead who are here to buy, rather than sell.
Dmitri, Liv, and Faolan stand in the middle of a circle of booths and one tent lit on either side by torches. All of these places seem to deal more or less in memory, emotion, and knowledge.
Beyond this small circle, booths sell a variety of trinkets, weaponry, body parts - whatever one could imagine is there for the taking, for the right price.
As they pass along to the southwest, they'll see a sign reading 'Marked by Death: Arcane Tattooing and Piercing' and, beneath on a hastily scrawled makeshift sign of torn wood: 'Fuck yes, it hurts.'
<.>
Rin may or may not have forgotten about that whole bit of business. So much has happened since they left Calabra to eat his flamingo tongues, but right, right, there's money if they can make this work, and sometimes the best way to learn a new place is to start in on business.
"The map sounds good." Never mind that Rin, historically, is not great with using maps. Probably Sen is, though; out of two thieves, one usually knows how to get along with maps. "Dunno about asking directly— Or maybe we throw in a bribe? Or! Talk about how much of a - yeah, I bet a lot of people considered gutting that ass-for-brains, so maybe if we talk about what a shit he is and how we've got our own little plot to, maybe not kill him, but maybe kill him, but maybe just pull down his pants at the fancy noble gathering or something.
"We're looking for... A spirit or a ghost? Or do we know what they'd be?
"The map first, though, you're right about that! Maybe we can ask if uh. Newer souls congregate anywhere?"
Dima's smile is soft, and remarkably warm in this cold market. He nods; he looks around, biting slightly at his lip. Thinking he'd like to see all of this. Knowing their time is limited— If the brevity of the market's existence is true.
As Dima looks around the nearest booths, he's hoping to find a seller who seems given to chatter. He wants to begin here; he's very, very curious about this sale of emotion and memory in particular. If no seller stands out, he'll choose the booth that looks most cluttered.
<.>
The most cluttered booth's proprietor is a silent wraith who stairs emptily at Dmitri, standing motionless until the trio reach its stall. It gestures with one arm, puppet-like, towards its collection of bottle memories, each carefully labelled with a title and previous owner: "A Knight's Shame, Sir Dario Pellirian", "The Day I Died, Merineous Gorski", and "Buried Treasure, Captain Murk" at the fore as the shop's prized items.
A second collection on the table is composed of emotions - a mother's love, a father's pride, the grief of parting - while a third seems to be experiences: "the taste of sugared pears", "scent of a campfire in winter", "intoxication".
If there are more risqué representatives of any of these, the wraith has not put them on the table.
The wraith then wordlessly draws attention to a sign attached to the side of its stall: "These treasures are carefully curated; one may be purchased for the price of two."
Faolan cants his head thoughtfully at the bottled scent of campfires in winter, clearly recalling the experience for himself with a distant smile. After this, the wraith watches him intently as his attention moves from bottle to bottle.
Meanwhile, Sen considers a moment and moves toward one of the larger shops - a tent manned (as it were) by numerous ghosts. "Maybe there? If I were new, I imagine I'd be atrocious at being a ghost. I'd find the first employment I could so I could get a handle on things."
<.>
Occupied with studying the bottles, Dima doesn't notice the wraith's fixed focus at first. (There's a thought. There's an itch. He could ask after recent memories related to Morovsk. He could attempt again to track the bastard down.) (He isn't going to fall into that. Not now.) It's when he looks up, intending to ask a question, that he sees how close the wraith's watching Faolan. Dima sees, and he presses Faolan's hand as he speaks, "Are you prepared to respond to inquiries? I'm quite— Curious. About your wares."
He notes the sign again; he keeps his lip from ticking to a frown.
And, "Do you harvest them yourself?"
And Rin, nodding, follows Sen. They're going to take a look at what's in the shop - or glean as much as they can by stepping into it - though they'll stick close to Sen for a moment... And actually! A ghost drifts near, so Rin takes the moment to ask how they like working here.
<.>
The wraith's attention slides back to Dima and remains, curious - but without the same intensity it held for Faolan.
After a moment of consideration, the wraith looks toward something over Dima's shoulder and opens its mouth, seeming to suck in all the air around it and exhaling with a death rattle. Almost immediately, a young woof elf comes trotting over. He looks from the wraith to Dima and Faolan and back again. Another death rattle seems to punctuate an inaudible conversation and the wraith gestures for Dima to speak to the boy.
"Ah, a necromancer, is it? I'm Nerys Embervale; I'll be your adjudicator," he says cheerfully. He seems to be quite happy with his occupation. "I arbitrate deals between the living and dead so there aren't any - mishaps. So. What is it you're looking to purchase?"
While Nerys speaks, the wraith's gaze slowly moves to Faolan's and holds. There's no sound; in fact, the sounds of the market seem to fade as a voice slithers into Faolan's head.
[Wraith: Nat 20]
You feel with such intensity. Bright-burning joys, depthless misery. You carry secrets of the living, knowledge to wring fortunes from kings. What would it take to part even one from you? What turns your head?
<.>
Seeing the wraith's attention shift from Faolan, Dima relaxes slightly, and his attention turns quickly to the wood elf. "Nerys; a pleasure to meet you.
"As it happens, I've only just begun my search. These bottles - the emotions, particularly - take my interest. How long has this shop been collecting; how fresh are these emotions? And do you harvest *all* of the goods yourselves, or do you take rogue gatherers into your employ?
"I would be interested - and gratified - to know the use to which your buyers most often put these goods." A pause, and Dima adds, "I intend to weave them with magical strands, of course. But I seek always to learn new ways of employing my materials."
Idly, half-unknowing, partly to assure Faolan he's here still, Dima brushes his fingertips again along the man's hand.
<.>
Nerys looks somewhat flustered by the sudden deluge of questions and blinks rapidly, then attempts to recall them in order.
"The trade of memories and emotions has been a staple of the Nightmare Market since its - 'conception' is an artless word here, hm. Humble endings?
"I can't attest to how many of these memories purchased second-hand may have been gathered, but Phaedron here is most ethical in his own practices. It isn't a pain-free experience, nor should it be! No, if it was as simple as discarding an unwanted item, what deterrent would there be for those who fail to understand that the loss of a memory means the loss of some influencing factor - Ah. Look at me, in the weeds again."
He chuckles at himself and, reaching around the stall to some unseen shelf, produces a roll of parchment and sort of portable scribal table. "Let me see here. Some of these bottles are as recent as the last Market. Others, well, I should guess the oldest is nearly two hundred years - no, forgive me, that sold last year. But you do get the idea."
Here, he offers Dima a look at the roll of parchment to see the list of acquisitions for the shop.
"Now, just what were you hoping to find?”
Faolan hears distantly a conversation between Dmitri and Nerys, but the padding of sound remains as the wraith holds his eyes.
(But he feels. He feels the comforting (electrifying) brush of fingertips, and in the absence of distraction, in this empty space created by the wraith, he feels that touch in every nerve of his body.
He feels the acute desire, the alarming notes of could be and might be.
He feels terror and oncoming loss striking painfully through him.
He half-shivers and exhales softly.
And he thinks -
Dima -)
The wraith's whispering voice returns as the sensations fade.
What would you give for a way to keep him? This moment, this touch?
(Wisdom save: 11)
Faolan's mind jars, but fails to break the wraith's hold and he thinks - No.
(Not one touch. Not one moment. Not for anything.)
There's a sound like a wheezing chuckle only he can hear. No, nothing of him. But another, perhaps. One of the ones who named you what you became, who used and turned you aside.*
The first sight of the sea at a lover's side. The first kiss. The first -
Night in someone's arms under an open sky.
Think. Think before you answer. A simple, should-have-been beautiful memory turned bitter in your head could blossom in another's - and you. You could have a 'first' again.
Faolan - is listening. The wraith's voice is a cunning knife, a temptation: With Dima.
<.>
[q: would dima have encountered or heard anything about memory/emotions/etc. extraction before?
ARC: 19
dm: He would have heard stories about people bequeathing memories (or entire brains) for the sake of keeping information available. He may have heard of one or two people attempting to rid themselves of painful memories.
And he has heard that the Nightmare Market is where you can buy bottled emotion.
He probably doesn't know how to do it or know anyone else who knows how, but at a glance, it's a standard, routine practice in the Market.]
<.>
Dima's going to begin perusing the entries on the parchment, keeping an eye out - though he tells himself he is not, or that it's purely a precaution - for any memories or information relating to Morovsk. He glances at Nerys, and, "Perhaps you could help me determine that very thing.
"I suppose the sensation of plummeting into a chasm or abyss would please me. Or the scent of a seaside rose at midnight.
"Something unsettling. Something suited to conjuring unease."
He's looking still, brushing his finger along Faolan's hand, when Dima thinks, the man's been quiet for a little bit too long. And there's been no interruption by the wraith - Phaedron - since Nerys first arrived.
Going a little bit too tense, attempting to appear untroubled, Dima's going to press Faolan's hand and look at the man. And, clearing his throat, "What do you think, hm?"
And: [ Faolan? ]
[PERC, d: nat 20
dm: Dima would have noticed Faolan has been quiet and perhaps a little too still. And maybe, Nerys has been talking overmuch, spending a little too long and wandering into "the weeds”.]
In that case, yes, Dima is going to proceed as above, not wanting to move too quickly, in case he's wrong about what he's seeing from Nerys. He will, though, wrap his hand more fully around Faolan's, and to his Message add: [ Faolan. Answer me; please. ]
<.>