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kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
onefellswoop) wrote in kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
shitlords!
placeholder title above! hmmmm
1) Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery.
2) The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
3) Death House Pt. 1: Family, If You Wish It.
4) Death House Pt. 2: Onward and Downward.
5) Awich: The Dead All Know, The Dead All Go.
6) Awich: Investigations.
7) Awich: After the Battle.
8) Loch Bien: Complications, Concerns, Frogs.
1) Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery.
2) The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
3) Death House Pt. 1: Family, If You Wish It.
4) Death House Pt. 2: Onward and Downward.
5) Awich: The Dead All Know, The Dead All Go.
6) Awich: Investigations.
7) Awich: After the Battle.
8) Loch Bien: Complications, Concerns, Frogs.
no subject
He has everything here that he could ask, including the possibility of finding a way to make it all work out right in the end, even if it's rocky along the way.
(He hadn't acknowledged how its absence was a hole within him. He hadn't wanted to think about it.) (Rin would leave a larger, more devastating hole. But Rin is so much more than he ever could have imagined, just as Mykola is, so much more than he bargained for.)
He winds his arm around Rin and Messages, [ Forever it is, then. ]
Mykola, meanwhile, responds to their question with a sloshing of water. Sen feels - it. The buzzing sensation in its translucent form like electrical currents, the sense of having spoken too much of such serious matters and the frustration that comes of just wanting to play.
Some things don't change.
He answers for it. "It can be in water alone - a tidepool, a pond. Somewhere it won't be preyed upon. Somewhere with space, though. Otherwise, we, ah, 'borrowed' some 'sometimes-hosts' for it. Those don't last long."
[ Water-rot. ]
"Water-rot." He nods and Mykola bobs in the water, seeming to nod, itself. "They bloated. Or, as with the flesh golems it seems to have inhabited here, developed mold. I suppose with time, I could sort out how to make something like Faolan's wolf -"
A protesting screech from the water and Sen reaches down a hand automatically, soothingly; Mykola grasps on and holds with several tentacles and one of its own hands, its face distraught.
"A water body, not fire."
[ Not fire. ]
"Not fire. I promise you, no fire." Cautiously, the vodyan releases him and slides back down into the water.
[ Promise Rin to remember. ]
Sen laughs his exasperation, then solemnly turns to Rin. "Rin, my darling not-demon, I promise to remember not to use fire to contain Mykola."
The vodyan stares up at Rin as if to say, We all heard it. In a buzzing whisper, it says again, [ Not fire. ]
<.>
Forever. Yes, that's very, very nice, and Rin nestles into Sen's embrace, still smiling; really, there isn't any reason not to smile, when Sen seems to be feeling better about all of this, and Mykola seems maybe okay with all three of them staying together. It could be nice—
It is and will be nice. Rin's certain of it, and they take Sen's hand, place a kiss upon it. A kiss to seal forever; yes, that feels right to them.
Nodding very seriously to Sen, to Mykola, they repeat, "Not fire.
"I'll keep all the fire for me, and make sure it never touches you. We'll both make sure: Not fire."
Then, flicking their tail to splash a little water at Mykola, grinning, laughing light, "Lots of water, though. There'll be a lot of water for you, and no rot, and never fire.
"It could be a lot of fun, having a water body to run around in. Something that's all for you, but made by Sen, so you'll always feel him there with you, and you can run around with us even if it's not time for allowing or sharing."
<.>
no subject
But he feels so cold, as though he walked a middle road between two extremes, and rather than drawing him into warmth, Dmitri simply joined him.
There's quietude, yes, and promise of peace, and there's gentleness, and those are all very fine things. But there's no fire. Dmitri is persistent, but Faolan thinks of the fury around him as he marched toward Visento and crafted a blade made from words. Where's that fervor? Why was Visento worth Dmitri's fire, but not Faolan?
He talks of wanting.
He thinks, whatever Dmitri wants from him, it isn't what Faolan is.
(He doesn't talk of incineration, of passage through flames together, because that's what Faolan wants. That's what he's always wanted: everything, even if it combusts. Even if the conflagration is destructive.) (Maybe that's what kept getting him in trouble. Maybe it didn't exist.) (Maybe he's not worth it.)
(He's not worth living for; why would he be worth burning for?)
After a moment of indecision, he draws Dmitri away, towards the ruins of the temple where they won't be heard. When he's certain they're distant enough to count it as privacy, he speaks. "I haven't been clear with you. Maybe I was wrong to allow a month to prove anything to me. I thought -"
He sighs, bowing his head briefly before pressing on, "I've had enough, don't you understand that? I've burned so brightly for so long, for so many who gave only dim light in return. I can't now. All these things you want from me -"
"You want a tender, quiet place in my heart? I'm not tender, Dima. I am tired. I am used up to emptiness. I decided to take the ruins of myself away from the people who discarded me; you're asking me to change my mind so you can claim the ashes.
"Do you know what I see in you right now?"
There's a note of pain in his voice, a distant cry for more, but it's weak. "I see a man who would rather die on a stranger's sword than live for me. Someone who takes his fire and stops a monster in its tracks with words alone, but tells me he wants this broken rot of myself -"
With a huff, he shrugs imploringly.
"I don't - want that. I don't want to be tenderly, quietly loved, Dima. You want to trade heart for heart. Do you want the coldness I am now, or the truth of it, when it burns, when I'm joyful and alive? And why - why - must I be the one to settle for what others offer? Why must I make the sacrifices and take the risks? Why must I burn and lose everything over and over, and be met only with cold?"
He knows he's bleeding poison from some wound that Dima didn't inflict alone (only prodded), but he sets his jaw and though his vision blurs wet, he goes on, "Do you know what I want? I want you to risk everything for me. Live for me. Breathe for me. Give up everything you have and follow me across the world. Stand at my side and claim me as your own in front of everyone who knows the name you gave up just to have me.
"Tell me I'm worth all of that - because that's what I would have done. That's what I would have given if I found a heart that burned as bright as mine."
He falters, then softly - tiredly - says, "I may not be worth any of it, but I won't take less anymore."
<.>
He hears, feels his own pulse pounding in his ears, and feels the fall of Faolan’s every word. (He’s approached this all wrong. He’s been too cautious, calculated using all of the wrong quantities.) (He sees that, now. He needn’t keep following this path— And isn’t that freeing, in a way all its own?)
Liviana’s fluttered to a nearby column, not out of earshot (she'd never be out of Dmitri's knowing, regardless), but far enough for some semblance of privacy. And Dima’s eyes are fixed on Faolan, a mingling of regret and hopefulness, of gratitude and red-sparked wanting. When Dmitri speaks, there’s little caution in his voice now. Yes, he jars upon his words from time to time, but there’s no loss of assuredness as he continues; no loss of ardor. He only speaks; lets himself speak more freely, with less guarding.
“Of course I want your fire.
“Faolan— You are flame in human form; a divinity, peerless elision of devastative potential and living soul. I should think—
“No. I ought to have said what I’ve known: That to desire you is to want your fury, your wildness, just as well as what is tender in you.”
A cant of his head, an emendatory hum. “If I have been mistaken in estimation of some tenderness, I beg your forgiveness. But I believe you can be both: The brilliant ferocity of a wildfire, and the sustaining glow of burning light.
“Do you think, Fae, that I could long for anyone or anything that would remain veiled in hush, or lacking fangs, lacking hazard?
“When we met, I watched as you bloomed fire in your hand, ready for attack, and I could fathom nothing else beside you.
“Today, when you snapped a bastard’s neck, I watched heart-stammered, hungry. You sang your sword to burning, and I felt the scramble all around us fade. I saw only you— So often, I see only you, and feel no need for any other image, any other world.
“When I say I see you in firelight, my Faolan, I mean I know you share its heart. “I mean I want you in your fervor; that I will adore you, require you when you roar combustive, as well as when your burn tends subtler, wraps soft around our hands.
“I won’t ask you to forgive my negligence in speaking only of what’s gentle. I have—“ There’s a sharp exhale, a sign of Dmitri’s frustration with himself, and he shakes his head. “I know you’ve endured viciousness, endured daggered words beyond reason.
“I feared that I might wound you.
“I am accustomed to my furies, to the damage I can wreck with words. With expression of my vehemence. I know how to speak with beings like Visento; creatures I set myself opposed to; those I mean to lacerate and render ruined.
“I don’t know the languages of love. Or I’ve had no cause to turn my words toward anything apart from damage and manipulation.
“And I can be overwhelming. In my full force, I can be vicious, demanding. A work of violence and terror.
“I believed— I ought to have asked. I ought to have trusted what I saw in you, but I wanted to take care with you, to take care of you. And I believed that with anything ungentle, I might ward you off.
“There is little in existence that scares me, Faolan, but to think that you might vanish, or that I might drive you away— It terrifies me.
“What I meant to say earlier, is that I don’t want to lose you. I can’t withstand the thought.
“I want you with me always; I want to be beside you always. I’d like to take you to Morovskgorod— If you can stand to reenter the city, with your hand in my own, your step always at my side. If you cannot, then the whole place can damn itself. There is far more to the world than Morovsk. There is— I believe there is all the world beside you, wherever we might go.”
There’s a small hum, a thought, and Dima shakes his head slightly. (Realizes as he does that his hand's found its way to Faolan's chest, settling, pressing, remaining.) “Some other time, perhaps, I’ll show you what rot means to me. It isn’t an ending, Faolan; it isn’t hopeless. What waits beneath rot is combustive. Is beautiful, when coaxed to show itself; when permitted once again to be.
“I tell you this now, so you might know that when I speak of rot, I speak as well of resurrection.
“And you, my Fae—
“There is so much life in you. So much wrath, waiting only for its call.
“There are worlds in you, cries in you I long to see.
“Sear me, Faolan; I welcome the agony, and will rejoice upon it.
“Walk with me, hand-in-hand, step for step wherever we may go. Know my voice in every corner of the world; let me hear your own, forever at my ear.
“Let all who pass by witness us, and know that I adore you. Let them know I’d tear their throats for you, gladly, in an instant.
“Let me stand with you in flame, and give you fuel for burning.
“Let me be yours.”
<.>
no subject
He speaks and Faolan sees him burning with shadows, shades that writhe about him and threaten to lash forward.
Faolan sees visions of cities fallen to dust, their destruction marks of Dmitri's passage.
He's barely breathing because the space between his heart and lungs feels compressed. Because he smells smoke and charred bodies. Because the man before him wouldn't only live for him, but die and return in perfect infinitude; he would kill and raise armies from the bones of Faolan's enemies.
(He sees a god in ascension or a man rising toward his own fall, toward corruption, and beckoning Faolan to walk in step with him no matter the outcome.)
He isn't barely breathing. He hears sharp breaths, shuddering, smiled, baffled (Where have you been all this time -) , and the problem isn't breathing. The problem is he's been suffocating all his life. The problem is, there was never anyone who could walk him back into a wall and hold him pinned there with a hand tented against his chest.
He's dizzy, but that isn't a problem at all.
There's fire pouring molten through him, rushing in his veins and burning his cheeks, agonizing him with need.
(Dmitri called him 'my Faolan'' and then 'my Fae' and he thinks he meant to nod or say something, but he got lost in consuming, burning blue, he started thinking that it wouldn't matter what Dmitri might say or do hand-in-hand with him in Morovsk because there's no one else. Dmitri sees him, wants him, wants to belong to him, and giving up everything isn't a sacrifice at all because the only 'everything' is Faolan.)
He believes every word not because of the conviction behind them, but because it's dangerous not to believe. Because he's pressed against a wall and feels unearthed, long-banked fires flaring to life. Because Dmitri speaks softly and the world burns.
This isn't tentative imploring. He doesn't ask to claim Faolan. He doesn't request to belong, in turn. He takes and gives, speaks the world, shapes it to his truth.
Shapes Faolan's place beside him.
It's terrifying. The thrill of that terror squirms in his stomach and sends static down his arms and thighs. Without the hand pinning him, he might fall weak-kneed to the ground.
Whatever condemnation he braced himself to unleash, he forgets it now; all he can manage when he parts his lips is an unsteady, “Oh.”
Oh, he sees.
Oh, he didn't understand, but now all is clear.
Oh, was this there all along?
Oh, Dima. (My Dima, yes, that too, and it's worth everything because Dima could be everything.)
"My Dima."
His words become a delighted smile around his lower lip, caught between his teeth as though he can taste the last two syllables. As though he can keep 'Dima' on his tongue.
<.>
He would raze the world for that smile. Gladly. He could (will?!) live upon that smile.
And on the unsteadiness of Faolan’s breath, the catch of a lip between (perfect) (oh, how they could sink into his skin) teeth. That breath of an ‘oh,’ and though Dima holds himself straight-backed and steady, he knows the cascading shiver in his heart, knows fire turning bright and brighter in his veins.
He didn’t know a god could speak love; he didn’t know he could be both— Himself in riotous, continual ascension, and himself in this new love. Didn’t know that anyone could wish his uproar, or that he might inspire, might encourage someone’s own. He didn’t need to curb his speech, and though care is needed - oh, Faolan should have, will have Dmitri’s attentiveness just as well as his mad-swirling tempest - there was no need to contain himself to quiet, to caution. (He ought to have trusted Faolan to welcome wildness.) (Dmitri knows now, and he’s lucky - or it’s a grace of fate - that he’s found a fire to meet his own.)
They could burn together; burn the world together, and remake what stands around them. Turn ruin into rapture; turn what’s broken into something more than whole.
One hand holds yet against Faolan’s chest, tented upon his heart; the other moves to Fae’s cheek, a tender settling, an unyielding hold. His fingertip brushing precisely, precisely, a promise of collision and vicious care.
And Dmitri speaks, leaning inward, chin tilting up, his smile a sharp, omnific thing. (Omnific because he knows now he can love this man in his own wholeness, can give him all.) (Omnific because his Faolan said ‘’My Dima,’ as if the words held all the world.)
“Yes. Your Dima.”
His smile turns sly, crooked; his palm shifts to cup Fae’s cheek, and his thumb brushes the curve of Faolan’s lip. “Say it again for me, won’t you?
“Speak my name, and call me yours.”
And, lingering upon the name, tasting the draw of every syllable and speaking this luxuriating pleasure as an offering to Fae—
“Faolan.
“Fae.
“My own; there’s no mistaking.
“Place your hand on my heart. Settle your palm to my chest, and feel it—“
A caught breath as Faolan’s hand takes its place; a pleased flash of teeth from Dima, and a toss of his hair.
“Yes. There. Well done; that's very good
“Feel the staggered racing of my heart. The rush of blood rejoicing.
“Feel what you do to me, my Fae. Who eases and rouses me in equal measure. Who holds the whole span of existence, of its wild span of feelings, in his soul.
“No more hiding, Faolan; if what I am won’t wound you, then your Dima won’t shy from sharing with you everything I am.”
At Faolan’s cheek, his hand tents once again, to brush with fingers, to know the warmth of Fae’s skin. “Show me your fury, my Fae; let me always knows your smile, and know your burn upon my skin.”
And Dima leans upward, leans in to kiss this man.
<.>
Someone calls for Dmitri. Faolan hears it distantly, but the beating of Dima's heart under his hand is so much more than anything the world's ever offered him.
He talked of love. He didn't say the words, but he spoke of it, of loving, and of 'yours' and 'mine', and everything starving inside of Faolan wants it to be true. What would life be like to walk the world beside Dmitri, to belong to one another? (What would it be like to live together with Rose and Thorn, with the wolf and Liviana, and be called 'Fae'? Somewhere and some time far away from Faolan Rhys and all the beds he's known, where 'Fae' only knows the bed he shares with Dima?)
(In Morovsk?)
(Wherever they want. Wherever they choose and please.)
(Dima would shun Morovsk, but what about Dmitri?)
He leans into Dima's touch, his own free hand echoing the caress, each of them touching heart and heart and cheek and cheek. The brush of Dima's thumb along his lip draws a sigh from him, shuddering with relief and want and the words my Dima.
(Dmitri Voronin.)
(Maybe also his?)
Someone calls again, shouting both of their names joined together, and it's beautiful to his ears. Dima and Fae, known to be together and off somewhere, alone.
Dima knows the depths of him. The aching places in his soul where fires turned to embers. Dima knows how to resurrect, how to control fire, how to reach inside Faolan and not only ignite, but incinerate, and all it'll take is a kiss. (Existence could end and begin anew on a kiss; he won't be Faolan Rhys ever again.)
It almost comes.
But several someones are shouting now and Faolan realizes there's a risk here. (There are...a lot of risks here.) That possible first kiss might be interrupted; that's the immediate hazard. He stops Dima with a gentle thumb against his lower lip and a melancholy little frown. A tilt of his head indicates someone's approaching.
His hand presses against Dima's heart as though Faolan means to remind himself of how wildly it beat.
He feels as though the fires that sprung to life a moment ago are burning lower again, making room for all the chaos around them, the unfinished tasks, the worries. (The reason and rationality.) In a tired, low voice, he says, "Another time and place. Not today, not standing so close to where I saw a sword swing down on you. Not with so much left undone."
Faolan pauses, then smiles ruefully. "Not with Sen shouting his head off."
A brush of his fingertips learns the angle of Dmitri's cheekbone, of his jaw. "Take time to think about it, not just as a wish. Think of it knowing who I am and what I'm saying now.
"You'll be my last - oh, Dima, I'll put all my faith in you. I won't survive you if you turn on me," Faolan warns, his eyes imploring, pleading for something more than understanding. He closes the space left by an unshared kiss and brushes cheek to cheek, speaking low - lover's tones - in Dima's ear, "You won't survive me, either. If I'm yours, I'm either your last and only - or I'm your end."
He draws back with a warming smile just as Sen rounds the corner and calls back across the ruins, "They're over here!"
<.>
It almost, almost happened.
(Sen, your fucking timing.)
But suspension isn't an end, and kiss or no, what's happened between Dmitri and Faolan writes itself momentous into time, into the core of Dima's bones, his racing blood. It's already more than he could have thought to ask (it's worlds, rejuvenating and revelatory) (the chance to have, the truth of possibility in someday having both godhood and this man; to walk the path of divinity, of devastation with this man) (gods, it's delicious) (gods, he aches to linger here, sing fire here with Fae), and Dmitri's existence will be something new from this day forth.
Ah, but; ah, and: His existence was altered in the light of a campfire, the lifting of an unknown (awaited) face and honeyed eyes, the spark of fire at a not-quite-stranger's palm.
He tilts his head into the brush of Faolan's touch; feels that touch again, again in echoed knowing. And though he knows what he wants, though he feels no need to take his time, he also knows there needn't be a rush: They've written their fate together here, today. And Faolan's words—
O h. Faolan's profession (his plea, and Dmitri wants to tear out the lungs of every man who gave Fae cause for wariness), his offering of vulnerability, and then his not-only-a-threat, a vow spoken soft, like velvet, tingled and caressing through Dima's soul. (Ah, Fae. Vicious, astonishing man. The fire burning at the forest's heart.)
There's coiled exhilaration at those words, a pinprick networking of breathless fear and ice-hot shivers in his chest, at the base of his spine. Because this man could kill him; this man would, were Dima to bring him to betrayal. It won't happen; Dmitri's certain of himself in this regard. But gods, it's a beautiful sight, the way Faolan brings death to living bodies. It's enthralling, electric, to think just how he would usher Dima to a violent end.
(It's a fantasy. It isn't what Dima wants, not when he desires the alternative with such fervor, such— Such love.
And anyway. Oh, anyway, he's certain Faolan could, will carry him through rush and wildness without needed to reach an end.)
There's a soft-huffed breath from Dima, a nudge of his nose to Fae's cheek before the man can draw away. And speaking low, between them, he speaks: "I understand your meaning perfectly, my Fae— And I would expect no less.
"Be my life's match or be my ruin.
"Though really, there's only one answer. I know what I mean to do with you—" There's a little smirk, a punctuated brush of his thumb down Fae's arm. "—What I mean to do for you, and at your side.
"I'll have that kiss, Fae. And you will have my own.
"You'll see, my Fae. I'll show you."
And Dima lingers in gazing upon Faolan, reluctant to rescind his sight or touch, unwilling yet to let the sight of others enter in.
<.>
no subject
There isn't much more to be done today; the night ahead is needed for rest and, if they wish, some time spent at the Nightmare Market before they continue north.
Nerys shows the group to a circle of caravans, their interiors containing coffins which, Nerys explains, are no longer occupied. It's a place to have their long rest, safe under the wards and protections used by the undead.
Faolan chooses to string up some canvas as a hammock outside the caravans. Sen is perfectly happy to enter his trance in one of the wagons.
When the party wakes, they find Nerys has sent for their things from the inn, and these each are carefully packed and waiting. Likewise, they find the NIghtmare Market is in full swing; Nerys has left a promissory note for Dmitri for his rewards for finding 'Seddum', as well as a sealed scroll with a new contract.
Faolan's suggestion is that they start making their way towards Loch Bien at first light; the sooner they catch up with Calabra, the sooner they can find Manon.
Sen's suggestion is they avoid Payl's shop until they have some good news they can deliver.
<.>
Dima would be eager to look over the items gathered from the major shitheads of the fight, at least to give them a quick check for magic.
[q: is this a thing he can do before zzz, or better to wait until after?
a: He can spend one hour studying specific items to learn their properties, or he can cast Identify if he has it. And he can identify that something IS magic with an arcana check
dm: Sen traces for four hours and could potentially just. Study everything and let him know in the morning. (Note: Sen's trances look suspiciously like being a passed out teenager.) ]
…Dima will begrudgingly. Go to Sen. And request that he examine everything overnight. :/
<.>
Sen examines his nails. "What did you call me?"
<.>
Rin, ps, is sleeping curled up very nearby with Curio.
Dima: "You'll need to be a bit more specific. Certainly nothing you didn't earn.”
Dima is already becoming impatient.
<.>
Sen raises an eyebrow, then stretches and yawns goodness he is so tired maybe he should sleep, after all.
<.>
Dima taking a deep breath.
Letting it out slowly.
"Sen. This will be to your benefit, as well.
"If there's no information to be gleaned from these items, there might at least be gold in them."
<.>
Sen pretends to consider this, then shrugs and smiles. "There might be. I suppose we'll never know, wuh -"
He seems to lurch forward a little, then speaks in the same halting manner as the flesh golem Mykola inhabited previously. "We will help. You help us. A return tide.
"A favor. Kept in our pocket."
And then, with another lurch, he hisses, "Dibs, for fuck's sake. Dibs!"
<.>
Rin, from the depths of sleep, mutters "Dibs!"
Dmitri just stares, blinks. "I would like very much to know who I'm dealing with at any point in time.
"I don't particularly see the use in signing over an unspecified favor for this particular task, nor do I comprehend the cause for your reluctance, save your usual recalcitrance."
He shakes his head, rubs at his temple. "You may keep whatever gold you salvaged from the ruins; is that enough for the time being?"
[q: how much time iS there between Nerys showing them to the caravans and next morning's first light?
a: probably a good 12 hours or so. Enough time to long rest, do whatever trade they need at the more mundane Market shops, have a meal]
Dima is running the calculations on how much time he can spare for examining these items, and realizing he is not likely to be able to manage more than maybe one. Which. He is not pleased with.
So after a moment, he'll offer 100gp for examination of the lot.
<.>
Sen considers this, weighs it against the likelihood that Dima will take back the name calling, and accepts.
And - "Mykola wants the die."
<.>
Dmitri looking very, very confused for a moment, and then, with a wave of his hand, "If we can find no use for it, Mykola can have the damned thing.
"Now if you'll excuse me, some of us do require sleep."
And, as he turns to leave, "Thank you, Sen."
He thinks it was very good of him to noT add 'you shithead.'
And Dima will at this point go get his own sleep in another caravan, 100% hanging out in a coffin.
<.>
[loot review!
light crossbow: +1 (goes to rin)
key: Sen determines that the key does something, but he can't figure out what. It appears to be a skeleton key, but it fails to unlock anything he attempts it on. Whenever Rin would like to attempt to use it, there will be a die check. (goes to rin)
die: The die is, Sen discovers, loaded. He (or Mykola) can control which number it lands on. (goes to sen)
stone: The ruby is a Ruby of the War Mage. (goes to sen, after fae decides he has no use for it)
potions: two potions of healing
ring: it’s just a ring.
There was also 54gp so Dima owes Sen and Rin 46 gp.]
<.>
Dima will hand it over there u go.
<.>
Fae teasingly holds out a hand since Dima's handing out money.
<.>
Dima absolutely looking at Fae with a lip-bite smile. And puts his hand in Fae's.
<.>
Fae to Sen: “Ooo I got the better deal.” And pulls Dima into his lap.
<.>
Dima wraps his arms around Faolan's shoulders. "And I am the most fortunate of all."
Now that the gold has been handed over, Dima will also ask if Sen minds terriblY if he takes the crossbow. Since there are plenty of others weapons and yoU have that lovely die.
<.>
Sen shrugs and says it's up to Rin.
<.>
Rin is very busy studying their key. "Pardon, what?"
They think, they put the pieces together, and, "The thing is. I'll get more use out of it. Is the thing." Rin has decided they woulD in fact like the crossbow. "And anyway you can buY one."
To Sen: [ Moneybags. ]
Dima is entirely too pleased to be sitting on Fae's lap to continue with this.
So. He will concede: Rin gets it.
<.>
Fae watching all of this with a baffled expression. "Maybe you can switch off."
<.>
Rin looks Not So Sure about this... But it doesn't hurt to be open to the idea, and anyway they might forget and that'd probably make the whole deal void so! They nod. "Okay."
Dima offers a half-shrug, and determines to search out a crossbow of his own, because it woulD be useful.
[note: on waking, dima examined the new contract scroll from nerys.
dm: And the scroll is a request to find an item last seen near Loch Bien; seeing as the party was heading that way, Nerys thinks Dmitri could just. Work that in.
The 'item' is a dagger someone rather rudely crafted from a guard's humerus.
The guard is sick of the jokes.
q: does the contract say who the guard in question is?
a: It does nOT. However, Nerys has provided the radius bone that connects, with instructions that it will help them find the dagger. He did not explain how.
note also: nerys did pay out the gold for the completion of the first contract, and dima gives 100gp of the reward each to Fae, Sen, and Rin.]
Dima will acknowledge Sen's earlier suggestion to not speak with Gower until they have good news, but wonders out loud whether it might be worth asking Gower what Calabra or Calabra's fuckhead friends might know or have asked about his daughter and sister.
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Faolan suggests sending Nerys to ask him. It'll be less loaded and Payl needn't know they're there.
[note: Dima and Rin say yes to this.]
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[note: also a thing: Before they left the ruins, Dima would have suggested burning the remainder of Calabra's close cronies, cutting them up if time allowed (which tbh idk that it would and everyone waS tire), and dumping them in the river. Did not want those bodies easily accessible.
Mykola has Issues with dumping them in the river; therefore, so does Sen. But hey. Fae and Dima can burn them, nbd.
VERY nice bonding activity!]
Well with thaT.
Dima would like to find Nerys and see about asking him to speak with Gower. And Dima would like to invite Faolan to accompany him and Liviana through the Market.
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Nerys agrees to speak with Gower to find out what he can, but makes no promises.
Faolan of COURSE goes along, keeps looking at Dima as though he's not quite real, and holds on tightly to his hand.
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Nerys your effort is appreciated.
Dima holding equally tight to Fae's hand, smiling over at him; often with the warm and just a little daft smile; sometimes with that hint of sharpness, hint of teeth and Knowing.
Rin is going to tell Sen and Mykola they should find the friend golem who fought with them and see how said golem is doing!
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They'll find the golem in the fighting pits, its arm reattached. It flips the bird at them as a greeting right before another golem slams bodily into it.
Is there anything specific Dima would like to look for in the market, things that might have caught his eye or that would catch his eye now?
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Rin flips the bird right back before shouting "It's RUDE to interrupt a greeting like that!!"
And Dima! Is on the lookout for other sparkly things that Liv might take a shine to, and writing in Deep Speech or Abyssal, or anything made of particularly odd-looking bone. While keeping far out of sight of Gower's mirror world ofc ofc.
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Fae, hearing he's looking for a sparkly thing for Liv, produces the ring that was taken from Visento; the stone is a tourmaline, refined to a high shine. It would be easy, he says, to pop the stone out so she can keep it however she likes.
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Liv flutters her wings and 'toks' and very pleased 'tok,' and will in fact hop over to Faolan's shoulder for a minute or two in a show of approval! And will in fact also send Fae a telepathic image composed of a sky full of shining stars, all of them the blue of the tourmaline.
She keeps happily rustling her feathers.
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Fae looks quite pleased with himself and Liv's reaction; he assures her quietly that he'll find someone here to do it, or a clever enough jeweler who won't harm the stone in removing it.
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He gets a little nudge from Liv's beak.
And Dima is looking at him with absolute admiration. Dima is in fact also very happy.
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no subject
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Dima would like to take a look at the books in Deep Speech and try to determine whether they're genuine and potentially of interest. And ask the shopkeep how he came into possession of them.
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One of the books appears to be a naturalist's guide to the Underdark. The other is, apparently, a book of Dwarven poetry.
The shopkeeper just stares at Dima. This is probably an impolite question, as "came into possession" usually involves an untimely end.
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Dima begs the shopkeeper's forgiveness, and says he appreciates the chance to have encountered these books and will keep them very much in mind.
He will aLso, though, head to the shop of oddities and look at the books for the Abyssal Plain, suggesting that Faolan see whether there's anything that catches his interest around the shop.
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Faolan lingers behind a moment or two, eyeing the naturalist's guide.
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Liviana is going to stay with Fae for now, which makes Dima a little less reluctant to move on to the books.
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Fae KNEW he'd kept something from the Durst house: after a moment of searching, he produces the iron pendant with the devil's face that Rin didn't want. The shopkeeper examines it thoughtfully, then makes the trade for the book.
Fae trots back over to Dima and holds it out. "You'll be around long enough, won't you? To read this to me?"
He doesn't speak Deep Speech.
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Dima touches the book cover, letting his touch linger, then smiling up at Faolan. "Oh, yes. And it would be my pleasure, Fae.
"In fact. If you'd like, I might teach you some measure of the language? So we can read it together, of course."
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Fae holds the book close for a while, smiling to himself and not quite trusting any of this - but it feels nice nevertheless.
And as for the Abyssal Plain, the book is a deeply boring treatise on planar doors.
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Does it seem like particularly rare knowledge at all? If non, Dima would like to look around the rest of the shop for any items either containing magical properties or usual in the casting of spells.
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The book looks like it's not useful at all.
[note: Dima will pass on this one.]
However, while they're wandering, Fae finds something...else.
He almost misses it, in fact: it's thin, coptic bound, with water damage to its cover and some of the pages. However, the title is barely visible - just enough that he picks it up curiously and holds it out.
In faded gothic text are the words, "Book of the Raven".
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Dima is going to stare at it, smile slightly, and move to Faolan's side as he takes the book, so that Fae and Liv can also see.
Also Dima absolutely saying, "Oh, beautifully done," to Fae as he reads the cover.
[q: is this anything Dima (or tbh Liv) might have heard of? and/or what is it :O!
dm: This is nothing either of them have ever encountered; however, there are familiar contents within.]
And he does open the book.
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The first thing Dima will notice is that the cover is made from thin, unvarnished sheets of black oak covered with bird scratches and indentations from beaks. Within the covers are thirty-three pages bearing tiny, blotchy brown script written in an unsteady hand by an unidentified author.
It appears to be a firsthand account written in Common. The author, after falling off her horse and breaking her leg, was rescued and befriended by Vistani travelers who graciously nursed her back to health. The account details her three-month travels with the Vistani.
Though richly detailed in description of the Vistani, the book only names two: Drasha, a teenaged girl who applied the author's bandages, and Darzin, a one-armed boy with a terrible fear of wolves, who sang beautiful songs to take the author's mind off the pain from her leg.
All told, the book seems to be an anthropological study of the Vistani way of life.
The ending is abrupt, with the troupe approaching a the gates of a tall, winding castle and a description of its dreadful countenance. There are four blank pages following the ending, which comes mid-sentence.
Most intriguing, however, is a piece of parchment that has been folded and slipped between two pages. The map doesn't seem to have been a part of the book to begin with.
[q: Would Dima know anything particular or general about the Vistani?
a: Dima would probably know quite a bit about them. (+includes screenshot of info)]
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Dima is very, very intrigued by and drawn to this. He tells Fae and Liv his intention to see about securing the book, and if there are no objections, he's going to speak with the shopkeeper to see whether he might have the book as the final bit of contract payment.
[note: The shopkeeper seems only too happy to part with the book.]
Dima is pretty hype to give this a thorough read and study. And he'll be examining that map, trying to determine where it might be.
[dm: Dima will recognize some of the map locations as older landmarks in Morovsk. The names aren't the same, but Scorch of the Red Wyrm is an active volcano he would be aware of.
q: how old do the book and map appear to be?
a: it's at least seventy or eighty years old]
And Dima will not be examining this especially far right now, since there is not a whole whole lot of time in the night, but he'll keep glancing at and through it as he continues to walk with Fae, and yes he is just going to slip his arm through Faolan's, and tell him this just might be a future adventure to share.
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Faolan smiles, pleased to have found something for Dima that takes his interest so thoroughly. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of adventures besides."
"So we will. Plenty of adventures, and a life's worth of time to share between our wanderings. In peace, in fury, and in our own rejoicing." His eyes travel once more from the book to Faolan, catching on that smile, his heart hitching its bear upon the sight. And, voice softer, "You'll be very happy, Faolan. We both will be.
"When we rest, and when we burn the world just as we please."
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no subject
They can also here make the decision to either walk the three or four day trek to Loch Bien or to take Awich's river to the coast and journey a half day from there. While the latter is considerably shorter an option even going against the current, it is known to be more perilous.
So begins some shopping and housekeeping!
q: Did Nerys have any info from Gower?
a: Nerys will talk to Gower on the road between markets, so as not to hassle him while he's "working.”
q: if they take the river to the coast, would they be traveling by boat to Loch Bien?
a: They can take either boat or walk the coast road.
q: when is The Gathering Of Nobles supposed to begin?
a: The gathering of nobles is meant to begin in about a week or so; everyone was arriving with ample time to enjoy the hospitality of Alfrig.
q: would the goblin's hand have found someone to stay with at the market? or does rin still have it?
a: The hand will be staying with Nerys for a while.
note: Rin gave friend golem a pouch containing ten ball bearings
dm: The golem friend appreciates the gift as it has never been given one before, and will cherish it greatly.
Rin proposes selling off the weapons they pulled from the ruin corpses unless anybody wanted to keep any of them. Dima and Rin both agree it'd be wise to buy rations and potions; Dima would also like to look into a light crossbow.
dm: For selling the weapons, probably everything prices out to about 300gp, more or less. A lot of it was damaged by golems or fire.
Dima pays 25gp for a light crossbow, then 50gp for powdered silver and iron. Fae sells a quarterstaff and scimitar for 15gp. Other items are sold and bought, money is divvied up. Sen ends up with the Ruby of the War Mage and the hand crossbow from the party’s collective inventory.
Rin has put everything they stole from Calabra (except the money and the whetstone/cloth taken from Torrio's nightstand) in the Bag of Holding, unless anyone wants to keep any of it in-hand. Dima does take the correspondence.
dm: I will allow people in the party (apart from Rin, who has no focus (lmao in multiple ways)) to work together while traveling upriver to cast an enchantment on Dima's light crossbow. I’ll say 3 days - the entirety of the journey to Loch Bien plus some time in an inn room - and no cost, as all of them are either magical or using a focus, and they're not crafting an item, just enchanting.
Rin, not having a focus, isn’t included in the enchanting work and is free to pick pockets and talk to Curio and do what Rins do. Rin can handle food prep! Maybe do some scouting around wherever they camp and practice their Elvish.
And since Dima is reading the book on the Underdark to Fae at night, roll a d20.
(Dima rolls a 5. Thankfully, Fae rolls higher.)
Dima and Fae both learn a piece of lore from the book that gives them advantage in a specific Underdark scenario: They gain advantage in attack rolls against Drow Mages.
After the first night of travel to Loch Bien, Dima would have contacted Derzhena via sending to let her know that Something Is Up with Calabra, and that Dima found 'Her' aka Liv.
Thus ends the housekeeping! And the party advances to Loch Bien.
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