shitlords!

[onefellswoop]

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.
9) Loch Bien + Onward: Things Go Very, Very Wrong.
10) Through Forest, Into Mysos.

Comments

Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery

[onefellswoop]

Dima is on the road to Awich. It's early evening and everything seems peaceful. The stars are just beginning to appear overhead. Awich is to the North-East, about two days' walk from him. He notices a sudden stirring in the heretofore-still-bushes behind him, finds that there is a bush moving behind him.

Speaking to the bushes, moving away from the bushes: “Is this a game to you."

When he turns to look back after his unhasty retreat, he'll see shrubs and bushes lining the path; everything is still and quiet once more.

Dima is displeased by this. He asked a question thank you very much.

He scans the bushes. Scans the trees. And, you know what. he's just going to stay where he is for the moment. Hand brushing against his dagger. Listening, listening. And he'll try one more speaking gambit: “If it's money you're after, you'll find it's simpler to ask. I'm in no mood for games."

While he's at it, he’s just going to add in Undercommon, “Fucking noxious prick."

[ q: while dima's looking around, 1) is there anything he knows about this particular path/patch of the trail? news he might have heard? 2) is there any strangeness of sound or silence?

SURV: 13 PERC: 4]

He would know this stretch of road is barely carved out of greater wilderness; however, although many creatures inhabit the area, the ones that live near humanoid-trafficked areas tend to be little more than nuisances. He would also know many travelers have sustained strange slashed wounds, but have all been reluctant to talk about what happened.

Perception-wise, he sees bushes and shrubs.

As Dima stands there, wary (?) and inspecting the treeline, one of the shrubs rustles, its branches beginning to tremble as if jostled by some animal. The shrub uproots itself and moves toward Dima, lashing out with its branches.

Dima casts Chill Touch on the offending buSH. Dima somehow crits the hit on the shrub for 12 damage.

The shrub turns brittle and motionless as though in the dead of winter; its leaves shrivel and shed, and it falls sort of...sideways.

Clearly, he has killed this plant. Well done Dima, Bush Slayer.

Dima would like to inspect the plantly remains and see if he can tell anYthing about the magic animating it? Or rather if there is any trace to tell by?

[ARC: 8]

As far as he can tell, there's nothing interesting about the shrub, and in fact he has no proof he didn't imagine the entire encounter.

Dima kicks the bush's remains. Frozen as it is, it breaks down further into brittle pieces. Like he dunked it in liquid nitrogen and smashed it.

[ …q: can dima scoop up some of the remains in a vial. keep it for later? or for ditching if he gets tired of looking at it ofc ]

It's pretty easy to bottle up. Dima now has a trophy of his first kill of the adventure.

[PERC: 11]

Dima isn't sure, but upon giving a perfunctory glance around the area, it seems as though there are fewer shrubs than before. Almost as though - if there were more - upon perceiving the gruesome death of their comrade, a lot of plants noped the fuck out.

Dima takes this as a sign that he has done his job well and given the shrubs an apt fright!

He nods to himself. gives the bush's meager remains a final stomp. And says not super quietly, "Yes, we'll SEE if you try that again."

Then quieter, to himself, "Godsdamned shrubs. As if any SHRUB were equal to a Voronin.”

The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...

[onefellswoop]

Following his encounter with a shrubbery, if Dima chooses to continue his journey northward:

As the sun sets on the horizon and the stars appear one by one overhead, there can be seen not-too-distantly the glow of a campfire.

Nearer, it can be ascertained that the fire is about thirty feet from the trail in a clearing, and two figures can be seen seated on stones forming a ring around the firepit.

<.>

He knows he ought to halt his travel soon.

He knows better than to linger long where strangers stay.

But! The thing is. There's nothing furtive about this fire's presence. And it can't hurt to take some measure of whoever, or whatever, is responsible for the fire.

And maybe (maybe!) whoever this is knows something of these pernicious bushes.

So. For the moment, Dima would like to pause where he is, and listen to see whether he can overhear anything, or sense anything odd in the air.

[PERC: 13, with advantage bc dumbass crit failed his first roll]

<.>

Listening, he can overhear the sounds of faint, calm conversation, but can't really determine the subjectmatter. There's nothing exceptional about the site: it appears to be a well-traveled area, used frequently by those taking the road to and from Awich. Of the two figures, one wears a hooded cowl which in the twilight obscures their face; the other's is turned towards their hooded companion and thus their back is to Dima, but from this distance, it's easy to determine their build is slight, perhaps the same height or slightly taller than Dima.

<.>

He'd like a better look at these probable travelers. He'd like to determine whether they have anything worth knowing.

So Dima moves up the path fifteen feet or so. Moves to stand precisely on the path's edge, then—

Well.

No.

Before he steps foot off the path, he'd like to take a look at the shrubbery around. Does any of it appear to be. Rustling with ill-intent?

[ARC: 14]

<.>

Everything seems quiet; however, due to his background in the magical arts, Dima has probably learned that certain types of malignant foliage can appear to be absolutely normal until it moves.

One thing has changed; when Dima pauses at the path's edge, the figure facing his way gestures to indicate his presence and the other falls silent and turns back to look at him.

<.>

Well! No use playing coy now, is there? (And he'll simply have to keep his very well-remembered lessons in mind, and keep an *eye* on all of these bushes.)

[q: What can he see of the figures’ faces? ]

<.>

From this distance, both faces are thrown in shadow by the firelight.

<.>

Dima takes a few steps - moving with care, but without hesitation - off the path, toward the firelight. Then speaks, voice self-assured but not over-loud: "Staying for the night?"

<.>

The figure in the hood seemingly cocks their head, then exhales a sound that could be a mirthful - if muted - snort. Though they face Dima, their features are still thrown in shadow, but their traveling clothes - worn, a not-uncommon mingling of leather armor and linen fabrics - can be seen. A blanket wrapped around their shoulders and their hunched manner of sitting obscures their build.

The figure nearest Dima, now in clearer view, is an older human male, his greying hair somewhat tousled as though after making his trek all day, sweating and mussing it, he has hastily attempted to bring it to order. His clothes are dirtier than a day's travel would suggest.

He casts a glance back at his companion , then, turning to Dima again, offers a welcoming grin. "The woods are treacherous at night. All sorts of buggery about. Better to be well-rested for safer travel, wouldn't you say?"

<.>

Buggery? Well— That's one word for it.

Dima's eyes narrow briefly as he considers - looks from one figure to the other, taking in what glimpses he can through the shadows - then nods once, firmly. "So I hear.

"Have you room for one more?

"I won't keep you long, but as you say, the woods are— Mm. 'Buggery' isn't precisely the term I'd choose, but it serves the purpose. And I could stand a moment's respite."

<.>

"Oh, you'd have to ask my friend here," the man replies, gesturing almost theatrically.

The hooded figure shakes their head, then gestures with one large hand to the third of the encircling rocks.

"Can't get him to shut up." The first man makes this jest as he rises, presumably out of courtesy, and extends a hand. "I'm Wythall. This is - well, I didn't catch his name, but he's generous with his campfire, aren't you, boy?

"And who might you be?"

<.>

His 'friend.'

Interesting. This... 'Wythall' has an interesting way of choosing words.

It doesn't feel entirely rotten to be invited toward the circle. Dima also isn't ready to trust a man who smiles so readily at strangers.

He steps forward, gives a suspended look to the man's hand—

And doesn't reach for it.

Instead, Dima glances at the silent figure, looks to Wythall again.

And Dima would like to attempt to discern whether there is anything trustworthy about this scene at all.

[INS: 21]

<.>

The seated figure seems sketchy as fuck in his hood, with his taciturn behavior and curt gestures.

Upon reflection, Dima might get the feeling this is intentional, as though he has just walked into the middle of something.

Wythall apparently genuinely wants to make Dima's acquaintance.

Roll another perception check?

[PERC: 11]

There's nothing about either of them to trigger alarm bells, but Dima notices Wythall isn't wearing shoes.

<.>

The sense of walking into the middle of something doesn't deter Dima in the slightest. If anything, it only encourages his curiosity.

His eyes linger on the man's feet a moment longer before he looks up again. Still not reaching for Wythall's hand, though he bows his head in acknowledgement, and speaks with undaggered courtesy: "A pleasure, Wythall. And it is a rarity, to meet such companionability in the midnight wilds.

"My name is Altair." He cants his head in a sideways nod, then looks toward the seated figure.

"And you? This fire is your work?

"I take it you bear a name, as well?"

[DEC: 15]

<.>

"Oh! Well, we have a gentleman in our midst!" Wythall is grinning now, speaking - apparently - to his companion, though his theatricality causes his voice to project somewhat. It seems he has interpreted Dima's nod as an actual bow.

The hooded man has only watched through this exchange, drawing his hand up to what is likely his mouth in apparent contemplation. When addressed, it takes him longer than one might expect to respond.

"Might as well call me 'Altair', too. The fire's mine. The name isn't.

"But you might as well, since it's not yours, either."

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Was. That. Really. Necessary.

Dima just barely stops himself from scowling. Manages to hold his expression unwavered - thanks you, years of practice in diplomatic negotiations - and even arches an eyebrow, cants his head and keeps his eyes fixed on the hooded figure, watching Wythall from his periphery.

"It isn't, and it is. As I conjured the name first, I believe it is more in my claim than your own.

"Still. If you insist—

"Tell me, Altair: Have I interrupted something."

<.>

Wythall falls still, clearly watching both of the men before him, head turning with each comment as though following a tennis ball. Awkwardly, he motions towards a stack of wood nearby and makes noises about feeding the fire.

There's a sound from 'Altair' that might be a huffed laugh, as thought Dima's reply caught him off-guard.

"What could you possibly be interrupting?" He raises his head just enough that firelight briefly illuminates his face: young, ought-to-be-joyful, smiling. The light catches his eyes oddly, the way it would an animal's, but only for a split second.

<.>

Oddly, Dima's first clear thought is that he'd like a longer, better look at this pseudo-Altair's face.

(And he'd like to hear that laugh again. Strange, it's... Very strange, that he should entertain this thought at all.)

He hasn't lost track of Wythall's movements. Or in any case, Dima attempts to keep an ear and eye half-toward the man's motions while his eyes hold fixed on (Wythall's 'friend') ('the boy') ('Altair,' whose eyes seems briefly set aglow) the seated stranger.

He flexes his fingers against the air idly, a habitual gesture of contemplation and pitches his voice just a little more arch, a little eased in velvet: "I might spend the night in guessing; I find it far more expeditious to ask."

And, cocking a finger toward 'Altair': "Or do you find this overbold?"

There's something else.

As he cocks his finger, as he points at the seated stranger and finishes the question, Dima casts message, whispers soft, soft, lips near motionless: ’Do you know this man.’

[PERC: 13]

<.>

Both Dima and 'Altair' have failed the perception check and no longer are keeping track of Wythall.

For 'Altair's' part, his attention is wholly fixed on this newcomer and the sensation of a voice whispering in his ear. When he cocks his head again, his eyes are visible and focused entirely on Dima - and slowly, he shakes his head.

No, not overbold.

No, he doesn't know this man.

It takes him a moment to tear his gaze from the 'other Altair' under the pretense of giving some attention to Wythall --

Who is no longer visible in the clearing.

Rollllll for initiative.

[ Faolan: 4
Wythall: 13
Dima: 6
The Awakened Shrubs encircling your campfire: 19 ]

In the brief time during which Dima and the hooded figure have been interacting and Wythall has disappeared from the clearing, seven ambulatory shrubs have left their motionless positions on the periphery of the clearing and begin to move in. Two reach the men quickly, though the others are closing in.

The shrub closest to Faolan makes its first attack with advantage and hits for 3 points of slashing damage.

The shrub closest to Dima rolls a total of 18 on its attack without advantage, which I believe is a hit. Dima also takes 3 points of slashing damage.

Wythall is still nowhere to be seen, and so next up is Dima.

<.>

That's not fucking good.

The shooting pain, the... entirely too many shrubs (it's the FUCKING bushes again), the disappearance of the shoeless fuck, and—

And he doesn't love that the hooded figure was struck. It shouldn't matter, it shouldn't register because he doesn't know this person, but Dima feels his anger sear brighter regardless, and scarcely considers his own pain as he whirls around to catch three godsfucked moving bushes as he casts Burning Hands.

He's angry. And he'll burn down half the forest if he has to.

Dima casts Burning Hands, hits three bushes. All three bushes are instantly incinerated. Watching the bushes burn, Dima steps takes a few steps back to align with the stranger's shoulder, his eyes still fixed toward the remaining bush behind, watching the area at the stranger's back.

He is, of course, watching for signs of Mr. Fucksaken 'Buggery' and any further shrubs. >:c But his turn thus ends!

<.>

At the top of Faolan's turn: he staggers up and back from the swipe taken at him, his hands immediately closing together in preparation for a spell -

He can't do that. The stranger, the one who seems to be an ally in the moment, just drew up protectively alongside him, and no matter how sensible Thunderwave might be, he doesn't think it would be polite. Or grateful. Not if it happened to kill the man.

Plan B, then: he produces a flame in his palm and throws it at the nearest shrub.

Hits for 6 points of damage; the shrub seems to shrink from the fire, but it's still up; with his movement, Faolan is going to make a dash away from Dima into the space left behind by Burning Hands.

And that ends the round, we're back up to the shrubs.

The shrubs divide up, two on each of of the men, and begin to close in once more; they seems to be moving a little more hesitantly towards Dima now that they've seen what he did to their companions.

The one that reaches Dima first makes its attack - 19 (Hit).

No damage; its attack is pretty halfhearted.

The one that reaches Faolan first misses.

<.>

Dima might, might have grinned - just a little flash of teeth - when 'Altair' produced a flame of his own. He felt the heat, heard the magic's crackle, and though he couldn't turn to view the flame, he could enjoy its presence. Briefly.

Just now, he eyes the nearest shrubs. Turns focus to the one beside him - the little shit that took a swing at him - and levels his hand, readying Chill Touch—

But. Before he casts, Dima reaches his open hand into his pocket and draws out a small vial, filled with cindered dust, and sways it between two fingers, staring daggers at the bush as he speaks, voice pitched with a hiss: "Is this what you want?

"I've done it before; I'll do it again."

[INTIM: 21, w/ adv bc the shrubs are already scared of him]

The two shrubs nearest Dima stop - and immediately begin to retreat.

Dima scowls. “That's right.” He attempts to dagger-stab as an opportunity attack, but whiffs it fully, and moves into his combat phase.

Though there's a moment in which Dima is very, very near to giving the retreating bushes a second round of Burning Hands (how dare the shrub duck from his dagger?), he reminds himself that there are more bushes, there's a smiling dickhead somewhere, and—

He turns, the better to see how the stranger is faring, notes the two shrubs.

And Dima casts Control Flame on the campfire, intending to expand it to engulf the nearby shrub that's already taken a hit. This takes out the shrub.

After, Dima will move fifteen feet in the opposite direction of the retreating shrubs.

<.>

Faolan hears something going on between the stranger and his attackers, but he's too preoccupied with the business of avoiding the attacks sent his way by an increasingly hostile shrub.

One of the two on him vanishes in a roar of flame - something he doesn't quite have time to process beyond a note of irritation that his own attack hardly made a dent.

Seeing Dima retreat, he's going to take a run back towards his original position, placing himself in range of the three remaining shrubs.

And now, with Dima just outside range, he'll cast Thunderwave.

A thunderous blast radiates out from Faolan in a fifteen foot radius, blasting the remaining three shrubs with 16 points of damage and hurtling them 10 feet from him; along with them, his pack, embers from the fire, and anything else loose is shoved ten feet in the blast; an audible BOOM shatters the would-be-silence of the night.

Faolan turns in Dima's direction with a grin as though to share in the celebration of a joint victory - but something off to Dima's left catches his eye. His smile vanishes into a look of shock and dismay.

From behind Faolan, a shrieking voice cries out, “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” - Wythall running full-tilt at Faolan. The ground shudders once, again, with each impact of large roots as a maple tree stalks into the clearing.

Before Wythall can reach Faolan, he collapses to the ground, suddenly tackled by a larger, lankier man who wastes no time in attempting to plunge a knife in his back.

The two grapple, fighting over Wythall's life. The newcomer darts a look up at Faolan and Dima and shouts in apparent exasperation, "TREE-" before a fist connects with his jaw.

[onefellswoop]

And new combatant, everyone roll for initiative!

[Awakened Tree: 3
Faolan: 15
Sen: 8, holding
Wythall: 12, holding
Dima: 4
Rin: 15]

For Faolan's turn, he looks around wildly, thinking - what can he do? He's out of big tricks and he doubts a sword's much use against a tree!

His eyes fall on the stranger - Altair, bleeding, who has plenty of fire to bring something like that down.

In a moment of desperation - or hope, perhaps, that Altair will be able to keep it at bay long enough for Faolan to think up a plan - he casts Healing Word on the other man.

Healing Dima for a total of 7 hit points.

He'll hold his movement for now.

<.>

Halfway up the tree, a hand brushes bark, settles with a press, and a voice speaks softly: "Shhh, shhh. Wouldn't you like to go back to sleep? Don't you feel nicer with your roots in the ground?"

A mere moment later, above the crashing sounds and movements, a voice emanates booming from within the trees branches—

”What is WRONG with all of you?

”I was sleeping? Do you UNDERSTAND this much? I! Was sleeping!

”For what PURPOSE have you brought it on yourselves to wake me UP? You absolute DUNCE.”

The unseen tiefling has cast Thaumaturgy, and end their turn clinging to the branches, being very, very annoyed with the man who woke their sleeping spot.

<.>

The unexpected booming voice emanating across the clearing has brought a momentary halt to the action; Faolan, Wythall. and Wythall's attacker (now at a disadvantage with Wythall atop him) freeze, all three staring at the tree.

More than one of them thinks the tree is speaking. Faolan's hands are still held up in the aftermath of his healing spell.

Almost immediately, the action resumes: the lanky man uses the opportunity to headbutt Wythall.

<.>

There was hardly time to appreciate the sudden blast of thunder (oh, but it was exhilarating magic!). There was hardly time to register the reappearance of the man of shoeless grins, or the fact that the newcomer looks VERY FAMILIAR and sounds MORE FAMILIAR STILL, and if it were any other time that voice alone might bring on a sudden headache.

There's hardly time to appreciate the fact that he's just been healed by the hooded stranger, the alternate Altair, though Dima does take a moment to revel in the image of eyes almost aglow before—

Before the tree. Fucking. Speaks??

It might not be the tree.

It. Might. Be the tree.

And Dmitri Aubric Voronin, in a moment of calculated brilliance, points vehemently toward Wythall and calls out, very informatively: "You can thank that yolk-brained practitioner for disturbing you. I'm sure we'd all prefer you continue with your nap."

Then, shifting his finger to the tree - just in case? - he Messages in Common: ’Can you hear me?’

He's also going to take this opportunity to move ten feet to the side— Brushing a hand against 'Altair's as he moves in a gesture that is very, very like a gentle 'follow me' tug.



The tree is momentarily hesitant in its plodding steps as the voice comes roaring from its branches. Stopping where it is, it begins to shake itself, limbs flailing and sweeping dangerously. It's seemingly aware there is something humanoid far too close to its trunk.

Rin, make an athletics check.

[ATH: 22]

Rin manages to hang on just fine, and for the moment they evade any limbs that might swing a little too close to their head.

<.>

The voice from the tree DOES loudly exclaim “RUDE”, however.

<.>

Annnd we are back at the top of the round, which is Faolan -

Who at the moment has no idea what to do, but 'Altair' has given his hand a small (nice?) (kind?) ((not unpleasant??)) tug, and the man seems to know what he's doing - more than Faolan does, at any rate. He follows, his gaze cutting from the tree to the wrestlers to the tree once more.

He'll hold his action.

<.>

The voice from the tree echoes again: ”Oh, this is NONSENSE.”

If the tree isn't going to be reasonable, and if no one is going to stop whatever the tree is up to, Rin is going to attempt to scramble-leap from its branches to the ground, though first they’ll take a stab at the tree with one of their shortswords.

[ATTK: 7, miss. The tree's thrashing makes it impossible to land a decent hit; their blade glances off the bark and the tree doesn't notice the attack attempt at all. ]

A string of Infernal curses sound loudly from the branches, and Rin will now attempt their scramble!

[ATHL: 17. They land unscathed save for maybe a hair out of place.]

Whatever movement they have left, they're using to move back and in the non murder thumb direction! While fixing the out of place hair back into their cloak.

<.>

Wythall, now at a disadvantage and bleeding from the nose, has been distracted from his combat by the tiefling leaping to the ground. (Above him, so has Sen, who is looking oddly at Rin, one hand pulled back with a knife's butt threatening to land a blow to Wythall's head.)

He begins to wriggle with more intent, reaching and shouting, “Get away from my tree!” as he struggles to break free from Sen's hold.

Faolan whips around ("YOUR tree?") and acts suddenly, releasing Altair's hand (how long was he holding...?) and using the remainder of his movement to run at Wythall and Sen, drawing his scimitar as he rushes them.

And he's going to attempt to bring an attack down on Wythall's upper torso / head / neck area. Wythall is pinned and prone beneath Sen, so Faolan gets advantage., amd—

Faolan catches Wythall in the shoulder for four points of slashing damage; the man screams, but continues his struggle to free himself.

<.>

(There was a hand twined with his own, and he feels its lingered impression even as he tracks the scene unfolding, even as he reacts.)

Having determined that the tree was not in fact speaking, and seeing that 'Altair' (a little, little flex of his hand as he thinks the name) and the all-too-familiar loudmouth have Wythall in hand, Dima is going to move within ten feet of the tree and cast Burning Hands in an upward cone, figuring that if he can't take down the fucking thing, he can at least set it aflame.

<.>

The tree begins to burn, sustaining first 11, then 22 points of fire damage. There's a sound like a roar, branches flailing, the roots stomping wildly as it attempts to shake off the fire.

Behind Dima, Wythall is shouting crazed protests.

It would seem the tree is vulnerable to fire damage.

The tree is, however, still standing. And it is now said tree's turn.

Enraged, it 'turns' toward Dima and Rin and throws itself forward, the wide spread of its limbs hurtling towards the ground.

Rin and Dima each sustain seven points of bludgeoning damage and learn a very important lesson about the reach of the tree.

Which is 10ft.

[note: When Fae healed him, Dima got a few extra, temporary hit points. Which is very good because otherwise he would be very unconscious oops.]

Seeing the tree first burst into flames, then throw itself at his allies, Faolan feels a clench of panic in his chest. He turns back to Wythall and draws his dagger, now wielding both blades.

Fae gets two attacks with dual wield; first one hits. Second one bARELY hits

[FAE HOW DO YOU WANT TO DO THIS.]

As Sen grapples the writhing man and pins him to the ground, Faolan stabs deep into the man's chest with his scimitar; for good measure, he draws a clean line across Wythall's throat with his dagger.

As the man falls still, so does the tree. After a moment or two, the only noises in the clearing is the combined sounds of the four survivors' breathing and the crackling of fire as the now-still tree continues to burn.

Faolan straightens and begins wiping the blood from his blades on the hem of his tunic as he turns back to look for the two survivors of the tree's onslaught.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Rin is already up, tail flicking sharp in irritation, and moving away from the tree thank you very much, brushing more than a few out of place hairs back. They are absolutely scanning the area around the campfire for bags, trinkets, anything that may have been left. Moving toward the newly minted corpse and whatever the body might be holding.

Dima takes a little longer to extricate himself from the burning wreck, telling himself that maybe, maybe he should be more careful with fire, though most of his attention is on the stranger (his alter Altair) (the man whose hand took his own, who followed when he nudged) and the image of the kill he was barely, fortunately able to glimpse.

That was beautifully done.

As he pulls himself up, dusting himself off and favoring the fallen tree with a brief scowl, he finds the stranger turned in his direction. There's not another glance for the tree; Dima moves toward 'Altair,' speaking as he approaches—

"I saw that." The kill, he means. And the magic. And— Oh, everything. He bows his head, extends his hand, palm upward, an offering to clasp. "Dmitri Voronin."

And: "I'd like to know your name."

Yes, Dima is bruised; yes, Dima is bleeding. No, he doesn't care, though he does flick a concerned look toward the man's own wounds.

<.>

Faolan watches 'Altair approach with something almost like concern in his expression; he looks worse for the wear and a tree did just fling itself at him. However, whatever his wounds may be, the man -

Dmitri.

Seems -

Seems.

Voronin, he said. There's a flicker of unease in Faolan's expression and whatever else might have been going through his head, it's replaced now with his usual reminders to be cautious. Don't trust, don't speak too much or confidentially. (Don't hope for anything better than what's been left.)

His gaze flickers down to the hand extended, then away - briefly - to the corpse. (Which is being rummaged through by their erstwhile ally.)

No longer shadowed by the hood that has fallen back, but by the fallen deep night, he returns his attention to Dmitri and offers a tight smile. The proffered hand - the hand he so recently held (and never will again) (why should it matter?) - is left unanswered. " 'Altair' had a nice ring to it, but I'm afraid 'Faolan Rhys' will have to do."

<.>

Sen was preoccupied with the sight of the Tiefling, whose tail flicks very charmingly, and really, who ever thought a tiefling could LOOK so - charming, yes. Even in a fit of irritation. Even battered up by a tree. (He can't look much better, himself. Wythall got in a blow or two. Or four.)

He watches until the group begins to gather, unmoving from his seated perch on the corpse. However, the nearness of Dmitri - who he was planning to rob anyway - sets him in motion. He begins digging through Wythall's clothing, coming up with a few interesting items. He feels rather badly about pocketing them, though. Gold, he'll take. The rest? Well.

"When you two are through flirting," he interrupts. "I'm going to take the gold. And any you've got in your pockets. Dima here can explain our arrangement." A beat as he examines a bag, opening it and peering inside, then reaching a hand in - and then his arm to the elbow, fitting into inexplicable space. He withdraws and tosses it up to (at) Dmitri. "That's none of my nevermind. For a shoeless bastard, he has a lot of salvage, hasn't he? I -"

His eyes light on Rin once more and words (for once) (not for the last time) leave him.

AND. An inspection of the corpse will turn up:
- The bag tossed to Dima
- 30 GP, 5 SP, 3 CP in a pouch, now in Sen's pocket
- An unlabeled potion
- A gemstone
- A pearl.

One last loot item:
- A small onyx raven totem.

Additionally, the party receives 220 XP per person.

<.>

That name, at least, explains the shift in the stranger's demeanor. Explains the hand left untaken (though it doesn't erase the sting).

Dima ought to be wary, he knows. He ought to feel ire, perhaps; if not at this man (really, Dima never was convinced that the blame for that entire 'situation' lay outside the familial 'friend' who couldn't keep his mouth shut, for fuck's sake), then at the fact that even miles upon miles away, Dima can't escape Morovsk's more mundane dramas.

If he feels any flare of pique, it's that this moment should have been marred by wayward histories. It's that the hand he'd anticipated in his own has been withheld.

If he feels worry, it's at the thought - briefly-twisting with soft panic - that the man might flee.

He hasn't let silence settle long before he speaks, voice musing, his eyes just a little wary but without hostility—

"Faolan." A name, a curl of sounds he lingers on, lets himself taste perhaps a moment too long. Taking space to breathe after, letting the name settle between them (thinking he'd like to say it again) (thinking this name never ought to have been tarnished with calumny, or spoken on lesser tongues). Then: "You're very forthright, aren't you?"

He considers his still-suspended hand a little sadly, wistful, fingers flexing in the empty air before he lets his hand drift to his side. He hasn't stopped watching the man (Faolan); he has no desire to ever cease watching this man.

"I thank you for that, and for your aid earlier." Dima attempts a crooked smile. "I'd have fared far worse without it."

"As for the rest—" He taps his fingertips against his thigh, cants his head. "I hope you aren't thinking of slipping off."

((note: bracketed words are spoken in Infernal))

Rin, meanwhile, has made it over to the corpse, and to the elf who's making very quick work of emptying each and every pocket. (Well, he's not bad at it. He's got a method, and that counts for something, even if Rin would have preferred to take dibs on rifling.) They give the body a nudge with their boot, still very cross with this man, watching the elf begin divvying goods. They don't care at all about the bag - let the caster have that - but regarding the rest—

"All of it? Excuse me, but I don't believe this [shit-for-tits] bastard turned your accommodations into a waking nightmare.

"I was sleeping, for what it's worth! He and his tree woke me up, and it's only fair that I take some compensation." A pause as they tilt their head, evidently listening to a series of soft sounds somewhere in their cloak, then nod. "Curio too. We were both sleeping."

Rin's just going to snag the pearl before the elf can get his hands on that! It's while Rin's slipping the pearl into their hand - and, why not, snagging the gemstone as well - that they catch the elf's eyes and pause mid-motion, thinking, thinking (not disliking what they see; this one's rather a dashing rogue, if a little bruised up), and—

"I think I've seen your face before. I'm very bad with faces, but you— You have quite a distinct, what is it, visage, do you know?"

<.>

He was thinking of slipping off, as a matter of fact, and his expression clearly speaks this intention before surprise shifts first to wariness, then to something not unlike weariness.

When it comes to people who know Faolan's name, there are two types of nobles: those who react negatively, and those who think of him only as utile.

Easy.

Whoring.

To be fair, he was. For a time.

(He doesn't have the heart for it.) (Not after -) (Don't think about it.)

Dmitri Voronin wants him to remain. There's no trouble guessing what else he wants. No trouble either in shattering those hopes.

Other than the commotion of the approaching tiefling and the elf ransacking Wythall's body, that is. Faolan begins twice to reply, interrupted once by his own exasperation as he takes the bag slapped against his arm.

There's too much here to process all at once (or perhaps he's been too long away from people?) between Dmitri (Dima?), the elf, the tiefling, and who- or whatever 'Curio' might be. After one final failed attempt at speaking, he only shakes his head and turns away to look for his pack. It was blown somewhere by the force of his spell. Whether or not Dmitri follows him, he finally replies neutrally, "I'm not staying. I'll find another fire for the night."

<.>

There's an exasperated look toward the perpetual chatter-mer, and Dima half-considers Messaging the jackass to stay right where the fuck he is and stop looting the body before discarding the idea; he doesn't really, really want to invite a response in-kind. Particularly not when Faolan (has he ever heard the name spoken without rancor before this night?) (that, too, is a crime) is already moving off. In any case, there's little chance of the mer slipping off without another word; Dima simply isn't that lucky.

So the fuss around the corpse is ignored, half-forgotten, and Dima keeps close to the not-quite-stranger, thinking a shock of thunder and a ball of flame, a knife drawing blood down an open throat; thinking the firmness of a hand against his own; thinking how beautifully blond hair catches moonlight.

Thinking as well that Faolan is awfully focused on finding something, and keeping his own eyes peeled as they travel the campsite, and as Dima speaks: "I don't believe that's necessary.

"If nothing else, you really ought to have your wounds seen to." Dima starts to reach forward, to settle a hand near a deep-lashed cut— But stops himself. (Faolan seems wary.) (Perhaps that's fair; certainly, it's a suggestion that Dima ought to take some care in his acts.) Instead, he furrows his brow and glances around the treeline, rolls his eyes. "Gods know what else our plant-loving shithead may have stirred up out there."

He catches sight of something. A likelihood, a hunch, and Dima settles his foot on a knapsack's strap. "Is this what you're after?"

<.>

He's being followed.

What is it Voronin wants? (And is this the eldest one, the one everyone knows is ruthless, is vicious and - well, didn't he see how Dmitri fights? Dangerous.) (Beautiful -)

(Beautiful men were always the problem for Faolan, and the problem WITH beautiful men is the damage they can do. The lies they can make a young man believe.)

He turns back to respond that there's likely nothing else 'stirred up' by Wythall, only to see Voronin has found his belongings.

Voronin is standing on his belongings, as though Faolan can't simply lift him and move him to the side -

Which means touching him.

No. He won't give him the satisfaction of that.

His gaze raises from his pack and settles on Voronin (not his eyes, only his face, there'll be no getting caught in a (blue-eyed) gaze and swept up, none of that!) His expression resounds with the same weariness, more pronounced now than a moment ago.

"There won't be any more - not shrubs or trees. Not with him dead. I'll be fine."

And. "Thank you for your concern."

He stoops to take up his pack despite the foot pinning it down, stopping only when he meets resistance. Faolan looks up (oh, blue, they are very blue even in the dark -) and, with a soft, patient (tired, and firm, and final) voice, says, "Please."

<.>

Faolan isn't really here.

Not entirely; not in his heart. Whatever ran between them during the fight - when their eyes first locked across the fire; when their hands twined; when a glow-eyed stranger offered healing words - it's turned disparate.

(It was Dmitri's name that did it.) (It was the weight of a history that's never hit close to Dima, was more story than truth for him, but must run deep for this man.) (Doesn't Dima know the look of mistrust when he sees it. Doesn't he know the sight of bone-deep weariness.)

For the first time in speaking with Faolan, Dima looks - and Dima feels - uncertain. Thinks he's misunderstood or missed something vital, and his expressed turns clouded, turns worried as he steps backward, off of the pack, eyes darting toward the ground, toward the trees— Before finding Faolan's again.

He isn't willing to lose that sight just yet.

He isn't willing to— To let this man leave? To fail to give him cause to stay?

Dima opens his mouth to speak; finds no words, finds only the shadow of an inhale. Bites his lip, tries again, and—

"Stay."

It's more request than command (he meant it to sound firmer than it does; there's no helping it now), and he quickly follows, half stumbles in his words to add: "For a brief while, at least. If you won't—" A blink; a glance at the sky, then back. "If you won't remain through the night, or if you can't, at least permit some manner of discussion.

"We ought to discuss what happened here tonight. You and I and— Those two, if they can be stalled in their plundering."

He makes himself cease speaking (before he can say too much) (before he can level demands) (before he finds himself spilling into pleas). He doesn't take his eyes from Faolan's.

<.>

He should leave. He should take his now-liberated pack and go somewhere, anywhere else, far away from Dmitri Voronin. (His eyes. His interest. His hair glinting in moonlight like raven feathers, like obsidian.) He's dangerous. Faolan knows what he's after; he can't be trusted.

No one can be trusted. Isn't that why he fled to the forests?

Wordlessly, he straightens and shoulders his pack. It takes an act of will to look away (it doesn't take anything else, though, and thank the gods for that small blessing.)

He makes it five steps past Dmitri with the vague notion of slipping away into the shadows of the trees, but there was that 'stay' and the way it was spoken. (The look that accompanied it. The way Voronin stumbled into babbling. The way he bit his lip and seems to know -

What?

What does he know about Faolan? Nothing. Nothing at all. He wants what he sees, he wants the rumor he knows. Just like any other.)

That 'stay' echoes in his head, a request - an offer of a choice.

He tells himself he really doesn't care to find somewhere else to sleep. That he doesn't know these woods as well, that maybe it would be wiser to remain and slip off at daybreak when he's rested.

He corrects his course towards the fire as though it was his intention all along to resume his seat beside it.

Well, his blanket was here, as well. He tells himself he didn't want to leave it behind.

Blandly, he tosses out a warning. "If either you or your friend try rifling through my trousers for anything at all, someone will lose a hand."

<.>

It's something, anyway.

That Faolan - who, yes, looked for all the world as if he was about to disappear - turns back toward the fire. That Faolan settles in, and Dima thinks that every minute the man stays is a win, is another chance to keep from losing him.

Now that the man's moved away, Dima is also becoming cognizant of his own weariness, and of the way his ribs ache with each breath (bruised? maybe; he'll need to do something about that), of the sensation of blood welled along his arm. Probably, he ought to sit. And if he doesn't return to the fire, the godsforsaken mer is liable to make off with the entire corpse.

So Dima heads toward the group, careful not to approach too near to Faolan (though he wants to); careful to project his intention to settle on the opposite side of the fire.

He doesn't sit immediately. Instead, he (looks at Faolan first; he can't help that) glances at the mer and the tiefling, looks at the paltry remains of Wythall's loot. Finds the tiefling tossing an item - a stone raven (!?) - idly from one hand to the other, and on impulse, Dima attempts to grab it from the air.

<.>

[DEX, d: 19
DEX, r: 18]

Dima is able to quite deftly snatch the raven out of the air.

[onefellswoop]

Over the course of the evening, Sen and Fae will attempt to coax the spoils of victory into a pile for Equal Division, though Sen argues Rin ought to keep at least the gemstone.

Faolan is experimenting with the bag that was thrust upon him.

<.>

Dima would like to investigate the raven totem in particular for any magical properties. He'd also like to do the same for any of the remaining/visible loot.

Rin, who has just vocally protested the raven theft - they were enjoying a nice game of catch with their new mer maybe(?)-friend! - will be attempting to hide the gemstone and pearl, and will be reluctant to admit the existence of either.

<.>

[DEC, r: 17]

Sen begins to wonder if maybe he just misplaced the gemstone and pearl. Clearly, Rin doesn't have them.

Fae isn't fooled by any of this, but doesn't exactly care that Rin has them; he will (now or later) quietly try to pull Rin aside and ask just to see the items to confirm a theory he has.

[ARC, d: 23]

The totem is clearly an item of power, though Dima is certain there's nothing quite like it that he's ever encountered or even heard about. It hums with energy somewhat removed from itself, as though it bears a connection with someone - or some*thing*.

The longer Dima holds the totem, the less he will want to part with it.

Roll a wisdom saving throw.

[WIS, d: 19]

Dima might feel a sensation in his mind as though something has attempted to influence him to do more than keep the totem, but it isn't strong enough to break through his formidable defenses.

What would he like to do with the totem?

<.>

He's wary regarding this sensation, but it absolutely isn't enough to get him to pitch the totem, and he certainly isn't going to mention the sensation to anyone.
He'd like to wrap the totem in the set of fine clothes in the set of fine clothes in his pack, and tuck the bundle in the center of the pack for safekeeping.

...And he is going to very pointedly.

Look at Sen. Look at Rin. Keep his eyes fixed on Rin and vow that if anYthing happens to the raven, there will be blood. "You can KEEP the rest as you like. I believe I've earned this one."

[INTIM, d: 12]

<.>

Sen is now determined to steal the totem.

Rin also was unimpressed by that effort, so up to you there.

<.>

Rin is currently determined to steal the totem! >:o! They'll show this ridiculous man!

There is, however, a very good chance that Rin will forget about the totem by the time half an hour has passed.

Rin will in fact absolutely have forgotten it in half an hour.

It's a cool raven but not that cool.

Dima is just going to. Plan on cuddling his pack tonight. He does not trust either of you.

And hmmm, Rin would like to know what for! They don't know you at all!

<.>

Fae will pull Rin aside and ask to see the items they're keeping and, if they allow, will run his own Arcana check.

Fae explains his suspicion that Wythall was using one of those items to control the plants.

<.>

Rin watches suspiciously.

Considers.

And: "Well. You'll have to promise to give them back."

And: "If you don't, I'll simply steal them back along with everything you have. c:”

<.>

Fae: "Don't have much."

<.>

Rin - watching very alert! - hands Fae the gemstone and pearl.

"Then I'll wait until you do." Humph!

<.>

Arcana check: 10, which meets or beats.

He's aware the gemstone is the item he suspects had to do with the plants' awakening, but he doesn't know the extent of the spell, whether the gemstone was a focus, or whether it held (or still holds) any charges.

He thinks the pearl might be a similar item - capable of holding a single spell - but he can't be sure.

He tells Rin to hang on to those; they might be more valuable in their pocket than sold to a merchant.

Fae starts to walk away after that, but catches sight of Dima, falters, then doubles back and pulls out the bag Sen gave him.

"I'll trade you for that pearl."

<.>

Rin is busy catching firelight in the gemstone; they might be attempting to discern the magic for themself (not really), or simply admire the craftsmanship (yes). At the man's words, their brow furrows; they don't want to lose the pearl, but it's a little heartening that the guy's making ago for it. Rin wouldn't trust someone who takes no interest in pearls!

"Okay, well. What's the bag do?

"If you say 'It's just a bag,' I might screech.

"Don't say 'It's just a bag.' :/"

<.>

"Well - it is just a bag. And it isn't." He laughs a little and, instead of trying to explain, turns the bag inside out. More rocks than rightly ought to fit in the bag - far. far more - come tumbling out onto the ground.

Got a decent pile of rocks at his feet now.

<.>

Rin is— Not not impressed. And they can see some definite uses for this bag; there often is more loot than they can rightly manage. So there's definite interest in their voice as they speak: "You're going to need an excavation at this rate. HM!”

"The bag for my pearl. H m."

"There's got to be a reason you're so keen to trade it. >:/" But! A clap of their hands, a sharp-toothed grin. "I'm feeling rather whimsical right now, so I shall take you on your offer."

They reach the pearl toward Faolan, though they will NOT be relinquishing hold until the bag is in their hand!

Also they may or may not be eyeing the pile of rocks. There could be nice stones in there!

<.>

Fae lets them have the bag before taking the pearl, patiently smiling all through: if he loses the bag and the pearl, he's no worse off than he was an hour ago.

And the rocks are in fact just rocks, but maybe one has a nice shape or some pretty striations.

And if there's no further loot business, Fae isn't going to urge anyone towards sleeping (Long Rest), but he himself will set up his hammock under a makeshift tent and sleep - pearl safely tucked away in one of his pockets.

<.>

Rin spends a few more minutes examining their gemstone before feeling a little - just a little! - bit guilty about having pretended it out of existence in front of the elf. So they're just going to flash Sen a smile and a glimpse of the gemstone before they scurry up the nearest tree, giving it a firm talking-to about not waking up on them please and thank you.

And Dima—

Knowing that it might not be the best idea to sleep so near a totem that's already flared some power. But also knowing he doesn't trust Sen a goddamn inch. Is going to set up his blanketroll against a tree, attempting a vantage where he can see both Faolan and Sen (if the elf hasn't disappeared... like the tiefling who went fuck knows where), and will keep the pack in his arms within the bedroll as he seeks sleep.

<.>

Sen, pleased that Rin has found the gemstone once more (and even more pleased to be the recipient of a smile) will be sleeping upright against the trunk of the tree where Rin has taken up residence.

And Dima, please make another Wisdom saving throw, this time with disadvantage as he is asleep.

[WIS, 18]

Excellent c: The night passes without incident.

Mostly.

When they all awaken the next morning, they are no longer in the clearing.

Death House pt. 1: There’s a Monster Inside!

[onefellswoop]

All four of you find yourselves on a lonely dirt road at the outskirts of a small village. Its houses are dark as tombstones; nestled among these solemn swellings are a handful of boarded-up shops and a long-abandoned tavern.

A soft whimpering draws your attention to a pair of children standing in the middle of an otherwise lifeless street. The smaller of the pair - a boy clutching a stuffed doll - is weeping, and the taller - a girl of about ten - is trying to hush him.

<.>

The first thing Dima does - jolting awake and half-upright - is make certain Faolan's still near.

The second is to reach into his pack, to feel the bundled clothes for the shape of the raven.

Once he's assured both remain, he rises to a crouch, examining the scene they've... What, been brought to? (Is this a dream?) That's been brought to them? He scans for signs of movement, signs of life. Sees that Sen is still present (wonderful; fantastic) and sees—

Okay well. They. Might be children. They look like children.

Dima would like to try to discern whether he can see anyone apart from the children, and/or whether the children from this distance appear to be actual living breathing children.

Rin meanwhile is cross all over again, because trees are supposed to be reliable and very stable places to pass the night. This is twice they've been betrayed by trees! Where did the tree even go.

Whatever the case, they don't like being in the open in such a strange place. Rin's going to leap to their feet, tail curling around their calves, trying to decide whether they've seen this place before. They're also going to try to stick to the edge of this little group they've found themself with, staying closest to the tall (he's very tall, isn't he?) elf.

And, completely brushing past the fact that one of the children is crying, they call out a question: "Is this where you live?"

<.>

Faolan wakes nearer to Dmitri than he was when he fell asleep - and much further from his hammock.

He doesn't like this. Not the town, abandoned though it might be, or waking disoriented with the only familiarity a pair of thieves and - a Voronin.

But they are familiar. Enough.

He rises and nears Sen, who is also getting to his feet with an apparent lack of perturbation.

The elf immediately begins his chatter, calling out to Rin warmly, "Doubtful they live in the street here. Maybe ask them something other. Ask if there's a tavern!"

Faolan places a hand on Sen's elbow and with a disgruntled frown, shakes his head 'no'.

[PERC, d: 11]

As far as Dima can tell, there's no one else around. The children look like flesh and blood children.

At Rin's question, the girl hushes the boy gently once more, then turns to the party and calls out, "We live there!"

She points to a tall brick row house that has certainly seen better days. Its windows are dark. It has a gated portico on the ground floor and the rusty gate is slightly ajar. The houses on either side are abandoned, their windows and doors boarded up.

"There's a monster in our house!" she adds tearfully.

<.>

Rin mutters in a voice just loud enough to be picked up by the nearest elf, "Is the monster called 'dilapidation'?" Still, it's likely worth a look; they've snagged remarkably valuable treasure from homes more ruined.

Dima examines the house, trying to determine whether he's seen architecture of the like before, mostly just trying to get some lay of the land. He glances at his three— Well, they might be called traveling companions at this point, yes? Then steps toward the children, clears his throat, and speaks in a voice intended to be courteous, if not quite friendly (how does one behave with children?): "Is there?"

And: "What manner of monster."

<.>

Sen trots away from Faolan to join Rin, so Fae first approaches Dima, then moves past him when the boy begins to cry again.

He likes children. (Always might've wanted one, himself.) (Ha.) He kneels and speaks in a low, comforting voice to the boy, drawing his attention to a serious discussion about his doll.

The girl, freed of the responsibility of comforting a smaller child, heroically sniffs against her own tears, then replies to Dima, "We don't know. We only heard its terrible howls. Our father keeps it locked away, but I think it got loose - oh, please help!"

Her reserves of strength run dry and she begins to sob, as well. Seeing this, the boy's own crying is renewed, and he latches on to Fae for comfort.

<.>

Oh... No.

Dima shifts an uncertain glance toward Faolan, who seems not at all uneasy with these children, then throws a glance back toward Sen and the tiefling, a look that might very well be a small, small cry for help. He doesn't know what to do about the crying. The information, though, he can use. So he takes a few steps near, looking more at the battered house than the child, and nods to himself, speaks again, voice unwavered: "Where is your father?"

Rin has never, never been good with children. Or people, for that matter. They have half a mind to slip off toward the house immediately, and they give the elf's side a subtle nudge, try to meet his eyes and nod toward the house.

<.>

Sen doesn't mind children, generally speaking. However, something about this situation is unsettling him, and he can't say why; while he doesn't really care to go into the house, he likewise doesn't want to stay out here.

He catches Rin's suggestion, but with a glance and nod, indicates they ought to take the other two.

Firepower. Literally. Just in case there's aCTUALLY monster.

The girl's response gives Fae a sick feeling in his stomach: she points at the house.

If she believes there's a monster and her father is in there, a corpse might be all they find.

He draws back and cups the boy's face, then places a large hand on the girl's arm. "We'll help. Or - "

He looks back at Dima imploringly - and notes Sen is already making a stealthy little beeline for the house. One last look for Dima, then he turns back and continues with renewed certainty -

"I'll help. It'll be all right. You wait out here. Right there, beside the gate."

[note: Information Fae learned while speaking with the boy: His name is Thorn. His sister's name is Rose. They are seven and ten, respectively. The doll's name is Hildabear. ]

<.>

If Dima had any intention of straying from the house - he didn't, really; he's intrigued by this supposed monster, and by whatever's brought this village to its sapped state - it would have been shattered by the looks Faolan casts his way, and dispersed to the wind when the man stands beside him. He nearly smiles; reminds himself that it really isn't the time.

Dima wants to follow Faolan, starts to follow Faolan, but - not particularly wondering whether one should question a crying child - has one more question for the girl: "How long has your village been this way?"

Rin, meanwhile, has begun to follow Sen, arcing a wide berth around the children. They're going to attempt to peer through the closest window and see what waits within, and how, mm, wealthy the inhabitants seem to be.

<.>

The girl only looks around tearfully as though seeing the village around them for the first time. She shakes her head helplessly. "It wasn't always like this."

With that, she and her brother settle themselves on the ground by the gate. Rose bundles up Thorn in an embrace, and both of them watch the four.

Looking in one of the windows, Rin can see a lavish, oak-paneled room that looks like a hunter's den. A chandelier hangs above a cloth-covered table surrounded by four chairs. The room is dark and they can't make out much else from this vantage.

Directly across from the window is a doorway leading to another, darkened room.

Entering the portico of the house, the group will find the gate is rusted and oil lamps hang from the ceiling by chains, flanking mahogany double doors with stained glass windows. These open easily, revealing a grand foyer.

Hanging on the south wall of the foyer is a shield emblazoned with a coat-of-arms, flanked by portraits of stony-faced aristocrats. At the far end of the hall is another set of mahogany double doors.

What would everyone like to do?

<.>

Rin is going to suggest that everyone be as quiet as they can. "Hey. I don't know how much time you, all of you spend as— Visitors. In other homes. How are you at subtlety?" Mostly, they're looking at Faolan and Sen. Given the 'burning down the tree' incident, Rin has sort of written off Dima for subtlety at the moment. "In case the monster's got ears, or things like ears."

<.>

Fae exchanges a glance with Dima, then Sen, and realizes maybe Rin is talking about him.

"I can try."

Sen, of course, drops a wink.

[STEALTH CHECK!
r: nat 20!
f: nat 20!
s: 17
d: …5]

Sen, Rin, and Fae immediately begin to stealthily make their way through the house - as Dima trips, crashes into the shield, and brings it down with a clatter.

After a minor hesitation, Fae doubles back, delicately grasps Dima's (not hand) wrist (totally his hand) and whispers, "Stay close."

<.>

Rin throws the most ’Of course you would’ glare in Dima's direction, then looks to Faolan with an imploring expression of ’Please yes keep an eye on thaT.’

Faolan has secured some measure of Rin's respect, stealthy as he is. Dima— Well. The tree burning wasn't bad, but come on.

There's a cant of their head toward Sen, a nod suggesting that they'll move ahead a pace or two, and trust the elf to keep his own stealth.

For Dima, frustration (okay, embarrassment) is quickly overrun with minor dizziness, a sense of gratitude. Logically, he knows Faolan is only mending (probably only mending) a problem. But the man didn't have to take his hand! And knowing Faolan's hold eases Dima, sets him into movements far less clumsy, more attentive to the space of the room.

Dima would like to pause briefly, if possible, and determine whether there is anyone or anything recognizable in the apparent familial portraits.

And. Since he means to pause, he gives Faolan's hand the gentlest pressure.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

[HIST, d: 16]

The people in the portraits are vaguely familiar - Dima might have had dealings with their relations in Morovsk, and would suspect this to be one of the Durst family households. He can't recall where the family is from.

He definitely recognizes their coat of arms on the shield he nearly demolished: A stylized golden windmill on a red field. This would confirm the family name for him.

<.>

Dima notes the information, though he'll keep quiet about it just now, having learned a valuable lesson about noise in ruined houses, and feeling there's something vital he's missing. Better, perhaps, to dig at his own memories before announcing anything; he'll keep the name in mind as they move through the house. For now, he presses Faolan's hand again, nodding forward as if to say, ’Let’s?’

Rin has continued moving toward the closed doors, glancing through the room in search of anything worth snagging on the way out— And, yes, fine, for any signs of watchful eyes or danger, also for those things.

Reaching the door, they pause. If there's a keyhole or crack in the door, they'll peer through it. If not, they'd like to listen for any sounds on the other side.

<.>

There's complete silence on the other side; in fact, aside from the cacophony a moment ago, the house seems utterly lifeless. None of the lanterns or fires are lit, nothing moves, not so much as a creaking stair.

Sen listens as well, and after a moment shakes his head 'no' - he hears nothing either. Pushing the doors open, the party will find a wide hall running the width of the house, with a black marble fireplace at one end and a sweeping red marble staircase at the other.

Mounted on the wall above the fireplace is a longsword with a windmill cameo worked into the hilt.

The wood paneled walls are ornately sculpted with images of vines, flowers, nymphs, and satyrs.

There are five doors leading from the hall to other rooms.

Fae follows the thieves, unresponsive to the press of his hand - but he does look back once at Dima, his eyes full of complicated emotions.

Sen is going for the sword to see if he can pry the cameo off without attracting attention or destroying anything.

[DEX: 22]

The cameo pops off easily and he slips it into his pocket, leaving the sword behind.

<.>

[PERC, r: 3. rin did not see this from sen and so could not be impressed by it alas!]

Rin is very busy prowling the edges of the hall. They're very interested in that staircase. They want to go up that staircase— But then, they're fairly certain monsters are usually found down, and not very often up. (It's a very good reason to sleep in trees! Usually.)

For the moment, they content themself with tracing a clawed fingertip along the sculpted walls, then pausing before the door they're fairly certain leads to the room they saw through that first window.

They're going to gently, quietly nudge it open and peer inside. There didn't seem to be much in there, but caution never hurts.

As they enter the hall, Dima finds he hasn't been breathing much at all, though he can't say whether it's owed to his attempts at keeping quiet, or the look Faolan gave him. He inhales a little deeper, shakes his head slightly, and starts to move toward the mantle. He'd like to take a look at that sword.

He also hasn't let go of Faolan's hand.

<.>

Faolan lets himself be led without protest, giving Dima gentle steering around what might be warping in floorboards. (He is and isn't watching Dima.)

The ceilings of the room - and indeed all of the rooms on this level - are 10-feet high, and Faolan sees nothing worth remarking on about them, or the walls, or - really, this room at all.

Sen meanders to one wall to examine the artwork - flowers, vines, nymphs, satyrs, and -?

He notices something, but says nothing to the group. Instead, he goes looking for Rin and finds himself distracted by what's taken their interest.

Rin will find upon passing through the door the very room they saw through the window. Throughout the room are taxidermied wolves, and before the opulent fireplace are leather chairs and a sidetable between them.

[PERC, d: 19]

"Two padded chairs draped in animal furs face the hearth, with an oak table between them supporting a cask of wine, two carved wooden goblets, a pipe rack, and a candelabrum. Two cabinets stand against the walls."

Inspection of the two cabinets will reveal that the east wall cabinet is locked.

Dima, upon inspecting the sword, determines it's a very nice sword.

<.>

Rin's response on entering the room and facing the taxidermied wolves is a very soft, very sarcastic: “Great.” It's kind of weird having these wolves-not-wolves being dead and close while you're having your fireside wine, right? Right.

Rin would like to check the sidetable for any knick-knacks, papers, or other objects.

They'd also like to get a sniff of the wine in the cask.

Dima looks after the thieves, looks at Faolan, and lifts one shoulder. Nods in their direction with an unspoken 'shall we follow' query.

<.>

Upon inspection, Rin finds nothing of note other than a few pipes. The wine smells like wine.

Sen's attention drifts around the room, lighting briefly on the wolves before settling on the cabinets. He makes his way to the east one, attempts to open it, and finding it locked, produces a set of lockpicks and gets to work.

Following Dima's suggestion, Faolan joins the others in the room - then catches sight of the wolves, freezes into a stony silence, and shakes his head at Dima. Not staying in here.

He'll try to pull free of Dima's hold, thinking he can just wait in the hall or go inspect one of the other rooms.

Sen snaps two of his lockpicks before tsking in irritation and giving up.

<.>


Dima is. Very torn.

He wants to take a look around the room— He also doesn't want to lose sight of Faolan, or leave him when he looks so suddenly uneasy.

For a moment he hesitates, conflict ticking his lip. He looks at Faolan's hand; he hasn't let it go. His fingers flex, begin to loosen pressure—

Then hold where they are. He cants his head at the man, confused, then nods, as if to say, ’As you say, then.’

A moment later, he Messages Faolan: [I know this family. Or I know their crest. Have you noticed anything?]

<.>

He thinks with a sinking sensation that Dmitri Voronin is going to let go. (He'll leave for something more interesting, and won't that just prove Faolan right about all of them?

Everyone goes. Eventually.)

The renewed pressure almost breaks something vital inside him because he knows it means a choice was made. A small one, true. And it doesn't negate anything else; Dmitri will still tire of the chase eventually. (But it's nice to know his revulsion from what he saw in the room won't leave him wandering this house alone. It's nice to know Dmitri perhaps saw his discomfort.) (Nice to have something like a friend, really, even if that's not what Dmitri is after.)

Once again, the man speaks in a way Faolan is certain only he can hear. He can't reply with the same magic, so he swallows and looks around at the hall, then shakes his head. No, he doesn't know anything about these people. (That's unusual for him - he's come into contact with so many nobles.)

His hand holds perhaps a little tighter. It might be dismissed as Dima's imagination, though.

<.>

Back in the other room, Rin, seeing the lock being very rude to Sen, would like to give it a try if they may. It seems like a good idea to check, and no loCk should keep that idea from happening!

[SLEIGHT: 24]

<.>

Rin easily pops the lock on the cabinet and opens it to reveal a heavy crossbow, a light crossbow, a hand crossbow, and 20 bolts for each weapon.

A quick inspection will reveal these are normal weapons with no magic to them whatsoever. But they are in good shape.

<.>

Rin is immediately taking the hand crossbow thank you very much. They lost their last one to an, mm, to a disagreement a few years back and they've missed it very much. Looking over the weapon, they gesture for Sen to take one or both of the others if he likes; after all, this is their joint discovery, and the elf should reap the rewards too!

...Actually.

Actually. Sen saw the cabinet first. Which means, in all fairness, Sen's got dibs. So Rin, after a moment's think, nudges the hand crossbow in his direction; it's only fair.

That's heartening, the way Faolan takes his hand a little tighter (maybe?) (Dima wants to believe it's true) (Dima doesn't know whether it's true, but why not let himself believe, for now?). Dima cants his head at the man, and now he *does* smile; slightly, encouraging. (Trying to set Faolan at ease after whatever caused him to back from the bare sight of that room.)

And, realizing he ought to have explained the magic, realizing there's something he would like to make clear, he Messages again: [When I speak like this, you can respond to me. It's a little like a whisper, Faolan, but no one else will hear... And I'll hear only what you direct my way. Would you like to try it?]

<.>

Sen nudges away the hand crossbow and shakes his head; he can handle the light one just fine - he thinks, anyhow. He's never used one, but how much different from any other bow can it be? In any case, Rin ought to have one sized for them.

(Rin ought to have anything they want. Anything in the world.)

With a nod at the large crossbow and another at the door, he asks without words if one of them ought to be given another weapon. He's content to let this one sit untouched, really, but it's up to Rin.

(He thinks - he might like to follow Rin's whims anywhere they take them.) (Lovely Rin.) (He really would like to run a caress along their horns -)

He's just going to go inspect that other cabinet and stop thinking about Rin's horns.

The way Dima says 'Faolan' - a voice, omnipresent in his ears and mind, unknowable by anyone else, and maybe a little possessive - unsettles him. It's not a good idea to let Dima - Dmitri - get accustomed to ...well. Him. Nearness with him.

He never should have offered his hand.

He does reply - softly, with shuttered eyes: [ I don't know them. ]

And, without challenge (does he have it in him to challenge anymore at all?), he adds:

[ And you don't know me. ]

He looks down at his hand in Dmitri's and back up again.

[ Stealth. Nothing else. ]

<.>

Rin won't argue; if Sen's all right with the light bow, they'll just keep this one, thank you very much! Maybe even put it to use against the monster! If there is a monster, which Rin is still not sure about. (Sometimes people make up monsters. Sometimes Rin makes up monsters. Monsters make for good stories!)

They'll grab the large crossbow after a moment's thought, intending to hand it to the human who has... Not joined them in the room? That's all right; more space for Rin and Sen to seek and take what they please!

Rin will join Sen at the other cabinet, intending to help with the inspection.

Dima—

Well. Dima thinks maybe, maybe he shouldn't have explained the spell. He doesn't know why that went wrong, or what brought what he takes as regret to Faolan's eyes; he only knows that something tenuous seems broken.

Not beyond repair! He thinks. He tells himself. (Was his mistake in mentioning the Durst family? Did it seem a slight to mention such a family, when, when... Gods, he can't fall down those thoughts right now. He has to keep some focus on what's happening. For stealth's sake, if nothing else.)

There's an impulse to withdraw his hand at those last words; it's an impulse Dima fights off, though his hand stiffens slightly, and he looks at their joined hands. Nods, looks back at Faolan: [ Stealth, then.]

A breath. A nod to himself. And: [ Please. If you see anything of note, let me know? I admit it's taking half my focus to keep from knocking over everything I see. Even with your guidance. ]

It was a joke. Or an attempt at one, anyway.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

As Sen passes the doorway - of course intent on the cabinet! - he sees their two companions standing in the hall, looking at one another rather intensely and speaking - Messaging? - words he can't hear.

And holding hands still.

Last night, that boy was chilly to all of them, but Dima most of all. Now, he looks like he's at the bottom of a well and his only hope is that hand.

Or - that could be Sen's fanciful imagination. He IS a bard, after all.

Even so, he nudges Rin and nods at the pair - then sends his own Message to the Tiefling. [ Five silver says one of them creeps into the other's bedroll before the week is out. ]

Faolan thinks maybe he went too far. He didn't mean to hurt Dmitri (better him than Faolan, though, isn't that true?)

(It didn't used to be.) (His heart could take it, then.) (Oh, what he would have risked for those eyes three years ago. For a kiss. For a voice in his ear speaking his name. For a hand in his own like a promise.) (Only ever promises, is the problem.)

In another life, maybe he would have gone back on his words. Maybe he would have flirted, would have liked to catch Dmitri up in a kiss, and maybe their twined hands might have meant something else.

He's sorry. He's terribly sorry. A flicker in his expression says it better than words: regret, resignation - weariness.

Rather than reply, he turns to peer into one of the other rooms.

It proves to be the dining room. The centerpiece of this wood-paneled room is a carved mahogany table surrounded by eight high-backed chairs with sculpted armrests and cushioned seats. A chandelier hangs above the table, which is covered with resplendent silverware and crystalware polished to a dazzling shine. Mounted above the marble fireplace is a mahogany framed painting of an alpine vale.

The wall paneling in here is carved with elegant images of deer among the trees.

Red silk drapes cover the windows and a tapestry depicting hounding dogs and horse-mounted aristocrats chasing after a wolf hangs from an iron rod bolted to the south wall.

Faolan fixates on the tapestry, performs only a perfunctory scan of the room to be sure there's no monster or corpses, and shakes his head again at Dima. [ I’m not going in. ]

A wan smile and press of his hand. [ Unless I'm needed, I'm not going in there. ]

<.>

Rin's eyes light up, and they offer Sen a grin. They've encountered this magic or something of its kind before - it's handy among thieves - and their response follows quickly: [ Oh, delightful! ]

They mean the magic— They also mean the wager. Rin's pretty sure Sen's claimed the better bet already, but that's all right. Five silver's easy enough to steal somewhere if they lose out. [ You're on! Five silver at the end of the week! ]

Which. Come to think of it. Suggests the four of them will be staying together for a week. They'll have to, now that the bet's on! Rin's invested. And though they rarely spend more than a day among company, they find they don't dislike this prospect in the least.

Putting these thoughts on hold, Rin's going to make an attempt at opening cabinet no. 2.

[note: Note: The cabinet opens with ease; within is a small box containing a deck of playing cards and a collection of wine glasses.]

Rin is going to offer the deck to Sen; he looks like the kind of very dashing knave who might excel with cards. The glasses— They'd like to throw a glass. For fun. But no, no, stealth comes first. If Sen seems to see nothing noteworthy in the glasses, Rin's going to start out of the room.

Dima knows a cut across his heart; the regret, the look of erosion in Faolan's expression. It's worse somehow than the distance, the 'nothing else.' (Someone's hurt this boy. It's a thought, a certainty forming with slow ire.) (It's another thought he'll have to shelve for now.) Dima's hand loses its tension, and he measures Fae's regret with open eyes, with the subtlest of nods.

At Fae's words - at, oh, the press of his hand? (just for stealth) (maybe not entirely just for stealth?) - Dima presses back, softly, unimposing. He's going to take a quick look into the room of his own, glancing at no more than what his hold of Fae's hand allows, then return his eyes to Fae.

(Wolves again. A showcasing of hunters again.)

(Is there something about the Durst family and wolves? Are they known for their hunting? What is it itching at Dima's recollection?)

(And what it is that warded Fae from these rooms?)

[ For the moment, the room appears entirely incidental. No monster; no father. ] Another small press of Faolan's hand, and, [ If it becomes necessary, we'll send the thieves in, yes? ]

<.>

Whatever might have been said next - by Sen, by Faolan, by anyone - there's a sound just loud enough to bring a different sort of hush on the group.

Footsteps, perhaps, above them. The sound of distant - crying?

Thinking quickly, Sen hurries past Rin ( [ I'll be right back. ] ) and the two men in the hall, motioning wordlessly that he's stepping outside.

A moment later, he returns, his expression grown sober and his eyes cast upward. When the party has gathered at the foot of the stairs, he relays to them in a hushed voice that he asked the children if anyone other was in the house.

Rose and Thorn told him they aren't sure of their parents' whereabouts, their infant brother, Walter, is still in his nursery on the third floor.

"Much as I'd like to continue picking through their things, I'm not interested in leaving an infant alone, monster or none. Perhaps a more expeditious search?"

<.>

Rin's impulse is a question they keep quiet only by the grace of some god or other, because why didn't the older ones take their sibling?

Probably that's not the point right now.

Maybe little Walter's a shit. Maybe little Walter likes the monster?

Doesn't matter; Sen suggests moving on, so that's what they'll do.

First, though, Rin extends the large crossbow toward Faolan. "We found it," they explain quietly, succinct.

<.>

Faolan stares at the crossbow with a frown, then shakes his head. He doesn't know how to use that contraption - though it's nice they found some weapons. With his free hand, he taps the scimitar at his side: he's good.

Good enough to take the lead, because he suspects he might be the only one with actual fighting ability in this group, other than Dmitri - who -

Well. He's not going to think about that. (How taking the crossbow would have meant letting go. Would have been an excuse to let go.)

He starts up the stairs, pulling Dima along behind him. Sen, ever chivalrous, offers to go ahead of Rin.

On the second level, the party arrives in another hall like the one below. The oil lamps are unlit here, as well. Hanging above the mantle of the fireplace is a portrait of the Durst family: Rose and Thorn with their parents. In their father's arms is a swaddled baby, which the mother regards with a hint of scorn.

Four suits of armor wearing helms in the shapes of wolf heads flank doors on either side of the hall. These doors are carved with dancing youths.

Just off the stairs, a door opens into an undecorated bedroom containing a pair of beds with straw-stuffed mattresses. The chests at the end of each are open and empty, and a hook on the wall holds a tidy servant's uniform. Nothing else of interest can be seen in this room.

The stairs continue on upward, and there's a cold draft flowing down.

Sen breaks from the group to move toward the doors on the north side of the hall where he examines the carvings with silent bemusement. Once again, he shrugs it away, but despite the sense of urgency, he does open the door to see what's in this particular room.

<.>

Dima absolutely believes this man can wield the scimitar with aplomb.

He keeps step with Faolan, though he'll pause at the top of the stairs, seeking anything that might prompt memory's return. He'd like to examine the painting, and examine the carvings on the doors Sen hasn't opened.

Dima also intends to keep half an eye on Fae, watching for any recurrence of the unease shown at the rooms below.

Rin's curiosity follows Sen, but they're going to swing through the undecorated room (servants' quarters?). Their first order of business is to find somewhere to stow the large crossbow; if Sen not's going to take it and Fae's not going to take it, they don't want anyone else stumbling in and laying hands on the thing. Loose weapons sink... Something.

Rin's going to look around the room for somewhere to hide the weapon. They're also going to start wondering how long those kids have been living in this very dark very empty house.

Not that it doesn't happen.

Not that Rin hasn't lived in very dark, very empty places themself.

[note: The only places to stow a crossbow in the undecorated room are beneath the beds; the weapon is too large to fit in the small chests.]

Under the bed works for Rin, and they will shove it as near to the wall as they can.

[PERC, d: 22]

<.>

Examining the wood paneling for a moment, Dima will realize the youths are not dancing, but are instead attempting to stave off a swarm of bats.

From here out, if Dima examines the wood carvings in the house, he will notice things are not as they appear.

Examination of the portrait gives him no further clue to the identity of the family.

Examination of Faolan shows his distinct unease with the suits of armor. He's patiently following Dima, but he clearly doesn't want to be here.

Sen, meanwhile, has discovered a library.

"Red velvet drapes cover the windows of this room. An exquisite mahogany desk and a matching high-back chair face the entrance and the fireplace, above which hangs a framed picture of a windmill perched atop a rocky crag. Situated in corners of the room are two overstuffed chairs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the south wall.

A rolling wooden ladder allows one to more easily reach the high shelves."

<.>

Dima leans toward the carving, eyes fixed in focus. This could be an affectation in the decor, but given the state of this place, it seems unlikely. He absolutely intends to continue examining the carvings through the house. He's also going to give Faolan's hand a slight half-tug. Partly to share the discovery; partly to draw his attention away from the suits of armor.

(Wolf-helmed armor.) (The hunted wolf.) (The hunted wolves put on display.) (And Faolan, gone silent. Faolan, looking for all the world like he'd rather claw himself away from this place—

But he hasn't done so.

He remains here, still holding Dima's hand.)

[ Do you see this? The swarm? ] He traces a finger through one of the bat swarms, then looks to Faolan for confirmation.

Rin, having stowed the crossbow, sticks their head into the room Sen's found. Wanting to get his attention without making too much noise, they offer a soft 'hoo.' If he looks, they'll cock their head, as if to suggest, ’You got this room?’ He lookS like he's got this room. And if Sen doesn't seem in need of a hand, Rin will go slip open the other set of double doors.

<.>

Faolan didn't see the swarm. He does now, however, and leans in to examine the odd carvings. (Didn't he see more downstairs? Are they all like this?)

Rin pushes past them into a room that appears to be a large, most-empty room. Gossamer drapes cover the windows; a brass-plated chandelier hangs from the ceiling. Upholstered chairs line the walls, and stained-glass wall hangings depict beautiful men, women, and children singing and playing instruments.

A harpsichord with a bench rests in one corner. Near the fireplace is a standing harp. Rin's inspection of alabaster figurines of well-dressed dancers adorning the mantelpiece will reveal several are well-dressed skeletons.

Faolan doesn't particularly want to go in that room. He'd like to continue on out of here; find the infant, find the monster. Get away from this strange house.

Sen, who is still beaming about the hoot sent his way, begins to rifle through the contents of the library, starting with the desk.

In the desk drawer, he finds an iron key and nothing else. Strange. Strange enough to pocket.

He also examines the rows of books. (Perception: 17)

He spots a fake book and, upon pulling it, finds he has discovered a secret door.

Well, of course he must go inside!

The door shuts behind him, plunging him into darkness - but not before he sees the skeleton sharing the room with him.

“FUCK.”

<.>

Rin thinks this is getting weird.

Okay, it's been weird, and the harpsicord's a bit much, but it's not as if they don't appreciate macabre tokens. It's not as if they aren't going to grab for a few of them and drop them into their newfound bag. ’One for me, two for sale,’ they figure. That seems fair.

They're considering plucking a harp string when the windows catch their eye. Rin would like to take a look outside. Just to see if anything's changed. Maybe see if they can catch a glimpse of the two kids.

Dima, having seen Faolan's continued unease, glances around for sight of the thieves, who've made themselves quite scarce— Or, no, there's the tiefling in one room, eyes out the windows.

It's the glass that catches Dima's eye. He'd like to have a look at those images, and see whether they hold any, mm, odd details.

He glances to Fae: [ A quick look? Something's off. I just want to see, and I'd rather not leave you here. ]

<.>

Looking out the windows, Rin can see that the town has been consumed by an impenetrable white mist. The children are not visible from their vantage point.

Faolan looks between Dmitri and the room and back again, then shakes his head no. He feels uneasier the more he thinks of the carving, of the wolves. (Hunted. Dead.)

Dima's right: something is off, and the sooner they find that infant, the sooner they can get the hell out of here.

And, in a low stage whisper, he leans into the conservatory and calls for Rin. ”Rin, let's go.”

<.>

Oh.

...Oh?

Of course he'll go with (Fae) Faolan. All thought of joining Rin is summarily banished, and Dima finds he's staring at Faolan just a little wide-eyed, finds he lost hold of thought for a moment there. He shakes his head slightly, the better to bring himself to the present, then nods—

[ We keep moving, then. Yes. ]

Rin's moving toward Dima and Fae, then past them, remarking quietly, sounding a little bit annoyed: "It's misty out. When'd that happen?"

Awfully convenient for mist to—

Wait.

What—

They call a little louder than they intended (just a bit above a whisper) (not not feeling sudden unease): "Sen?"

A glance back, as if expecting to see the elf poke his head around the door - no, though; that's only Fae and Dima - and Rin begins to search for signs of Sen.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Unease growing towards complete unrest (nevermind how Dmitri looked at him just now, nevermind that now or ever-) Faolan follows Rin into the library.

Sen isn't here.

He knows Sen didn't come out of here. They would have seen him, even if he was being stealthy about it.

Unless he climbed up the fucking chimney, though...

Faolan breathes out a sound of faint distress and releases Dmitri's hand ( [ I'm sorry- ]) to reach for his scimitar. Not unsheathed, not yet, but his hand is on the hilt (and so much colder for the loss of a (Dima's) hand.)

And everyone who's looking around the library, roll a perception check.

[ f: 4
r: 17
d: 8; he’s is rather occupied with the entire Moment that happened just now, and thinks Sen probably slipped out the window, the goddamn elf. ]

Faolan and Dima find nothing of consequence in the room and Dima might even suspect there's nothing TO find.

Rin, however, will find the red-bound false book if they examine the bookshelves.

<.>

Dima can’t shake the image of Faolan’s distress; of the hand leaving his own, and the apology that followed. (He didn’t have to apologize. He should never have felt the need.) (Oh, but it was heartening to hear.) [ I’ll be right here. ] And he offers a small, tentative smile.

Dima then checks the position of his own dagger and, after a look around the room, shakes his head. Speaks under his breath, “The jackass went out the window.” Got bored with the room and moved along; that seems right to Dima.

Rin isn’t sure about that, at all. When they find the book, they hiss softly under their breath, then offer, their own voice hushed, “I don’t think so.”

Taking their shortsword in-hand, they pull at the book.

<.>

The door to the secret room swings open, prompting Faolan to grasp Dmitri's wrist and hustle over to join Rin.

The three of them crowd in the doorway to find Sen seated on the ground with his arm around the bony shoulders of a skeleton.

He has been in the process of telling it all the things it's missed since it's been dead, but abruptly interrupts himself to thrust out a hand and cry out, "No, no, don't come in here! The door's rigged!"

<.>

For.

Shit's.

Sake.

Okay, the elf didn't go out the window. Okay, this *also* tracks. Or. Sen chattering away at the skeleton tracks; the presence of the skeleton is not precisely reassuring, to say the least.

Dima wants a look at the skeleton. So he turns his head to Faolan, then back to the apparently rigged door.

"Would you mind holding the door while I examine the remains?" And, shooting A Look at Sen, "Assuming our companion here hasn't learned anything, which I don't believe is a vast assumption."

Rin's just glad to see Sen's all right, really. The skeleton is... Weird. The room is weird? There's a question about that, but first they're waving to Sen and beckoning him to join back in the world of the not-secret-closet: "Weird book, right?"

And, as they turn to begin checking the room for other little... well, surprises, traps: "Weird room, too. Is that all there is, a skeleton? Who keeps a room for a skeleton?

"...I guess I might. But maybe that's why people don't just give me rooms."

<.>

Now that there's light shed in the room, it can be seen that there are bookshelves packed with tomes bearing titles relating to the occult and necromancy. Sen and the skeleton are leaning back against an open chest.

<.>

Dima. Absolutely wants to take a look through these shelves after checking the skeleton. Though first, since he’s already going into the room, or planning to. He'd like to look at the chest, maybe, after checking the remains.

(He's not NOT considering snagging a few fingerbones while he's at it.)

<.>

Faolan reluctantly lets go of Dima's hand to hold the door; Sen is all too happy to clear out of the room without searching for loot.

Close inspection of the skeleton reveals that it belongs to a human who triggered a poison dart trap. Three darts are stuck in the leather armor at his chest.

Apparently, there's no more trap, as everyone going in and out of the room has not been hit by anything.

Clutched in the skeleton's left hand is a letter bearing the seal of a distant, well-known entity named Strahd von Zarovich.

<.>

Dima is going to bow out on inspecting the chest. Having seen the poison darts, he's going to take the letter, attempt to snag one (1) finger from the skeleton (breaking off the forefinger from the first knuckle), then move to examine the books.

If no one else moves toward the chest, Rin will move in and have a look.

<.>

Rin finds three blank books with black leather covers, three spell scrolls, two property deeds, and a signed will.

Further inspection of these items shows the will is signed by Gustav and Elisabeth Durst and bequeaths the house (deed 1), the windmill (deed 2), and all other family property to Rosavelda and Thornboldt Durst in the event of their parents' deaths.

[ARC, d: 10; with Guidance from Fae]

The books are fiend-summoning rituals and necromantic rites of a cult called the Priests of Osybus.

[INS, d: nat 20]

Dima at first thinks these tomes are intriguing, but recalling his GODDAMN EDUCATION, knows every word is totally bogus and none of these spells could possibly work.

<.>

Fae reaches to take the letter and, finding the seal already broken, unfolds it and reads aloud while Rin and Dima search and Sen peers over his shoulder.

"My most pathetic servant,

“I am not a messiah sent to you by the Dark Powers of this land. I have not come to lead you on a path to immortality. However many souls you have bled on your hidden altar, however many visitors you have tortured in your dungeon, know that you are not the ones who brought me to this beautiful land. You are but worms writing in my earth.

“You say that you are cursed, your fortunes spent. You abandoned love for madness, took solace in the bosom of another woman, and sired a stillborn son. Cursed by darkness? Of that I have no doubt. Save you from your wretchedness? I think not. I much prefer you as you are.

“Your dread lord and master, Strahd von Zarovich."

[HIST, d: 11]

Dima can't remember anything more, but something about all of this just keeps niggling at him.

<.>

[q: Does Dima recognize/know anything about this Priests of Osybus cult?
a: His history check says nope.]

Dima, growing increasingly irritated by his failure to catch whatever memory keeps slipping his hold (and, perhaps, by the hand he's lost hold of), feeling uneased by the letter, begins with "This stinks of desperation. The melodramatic, the megolomaniac as well." Speaking partly in order to find some way toward a point; none of this is adding up. He's missing something key.

And, flipping through another of the books, lip ticking. "It's nonsense, all of this. None of this is functional.”

He's been talking more to himself than the others, but when he glances back, meets Fae's eyes, he feels a little bit more grounded. Cants his head and thinks, thinks. "The letter was to your" (nodding to Sen) "skeletal friend, or to someone else entirely. Begging the question— Where is the altar."

Rin, rocking back and forth on their heels, hasn't really been listening to Dima. They have been trying to examine the deeds, but they also really, really don't care for legalize, and they wave the papers toward Sen, "Do you know about houses? Or windmills." And, idly, not really considering the remark, "You know what, I don't think stillborn infants do a lot of crying."

<.>

Sen takes the papers and examines them thoughtfully. "If there is some stillborn infant in question here - well. Judging by his condition-"

He motions towards the skeleton.

"It was certainly long enough in the past for another babe to come along, surely."

Looking back down to the papers, he simply shrugs. "These are only land deeds. Some windmill in Vallaki - haven't the foggiest where that is. The other is for this place, I imagine. Boravia? We're apparently in Boravia. I don't suppose any of you know where that is?"

Before anyone can answer, he nods to the letter Faolan is silently re-reading. "I think Dima has a point, there. What altar? What fucking dungeon? I -"

He stops abruptly and fishes out the iron key he found in the desk drawer, slowly waggles for the other three to see.

"In case we find a door with a lock. But I didn't see anything on the first floor leading down, so perhaps we continue 'up' for now."

Faolan folds the letter carefully and passes it back to Dmitri before speaking. "We heard someone moving around up here. Maybe we ask them the questions."

<.>

Something about this still doesn’t sit right with Rin. But also maybe they just don’t trust kids who run up to the first strangers in view and forget to mention their tiny brother.

…They do have one question though. “How old’s the skeleton?”

Dima will answer if his look over the remains made this clear; if not, and if Sen learned nothing, Rin will simply let the question be.

[note: It's hard to tell; it's clearly been in here for some time; granted, it's a locked secret room that may have been untouched for years by the master of the house. After all, he hardly needs bogus occult tomes.]

Dima conveys this information; Rin decides there’s more to be seen and anyway the skeleton’s not going anywhere. Rin’s ready to move onward and upward.

Dima is going to suggest taking the items from the chest and putting them in Rin’s bag, if nothing else; he’ll take the scrolls if no one else does - for examining another time - then reclaim Faolan’s hand, Messaging [ Thank you. ]

Dima is now ready to move on as well, and will be holding Fae’s hand just a little tighter. Thinking to message ‘Stay with me, please,’; deciding it doesn’t need to be said.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Faolan's response is a very slight pressure against Dmitri's hand and, before he turns to lead the way, a sad smile.

The party continues out of the library and up the stairs to the third floor; Faolan takes the lead with Dmitri behind him.

At the top of the stairs, the party arrives at a dusty balcony. Against the far wall is another suit of armor like those below, though this one is draped in cobwebs.

Oil lamps are mounted on the oak-paneled walls; these, too, have carvings of woodland scenes of trees, falling leaves, and small animals.

Faolan, seeing the wolf-helmed armor, averts his eyes and pulls Dima hurriedly past it; these representations of wolves and hunters of wolves are beginning to honestly frighten him.

<.>

When was the last time anyone passed through these halls.

(A question echoing in-kind, half-grasped: When was the last time anyone truly lived here?)

Dima feels these questions, though his attention is currently caught upon Faolan's hurry; the way he once more seems averse to the armor. Dima doesn't stall his progress. He will, however, pause to examine the wood paneling currently nearest to him, setting a hand to Faolan's arm to signal that he's pausing, just for a moment.

[ You needn't look at the armor, Faolan. You needn't look at anything. We'll get through this; I promise you. ]

Dima leans in to study the panel's details.

<.>

Examining the wood panel, Dima will discover corpses hanging from the trees.

[PERC, d: 17]

While examining the grove with its 'strange fruit', Dima finds the outline of a hidden door in the wall.

Sen is preoccupied with thinking perhaps there are more secret doors in this house, or treasures to be found - it's a good distraction from the threat of unease (fear) running through him. He sees the boy and his tag-along heading to the right, so he suggests to Rin perhaps they ought to go the other way and see what there is. They're within earshot, mostly, and splitting up will allow them to cover more ground.

If Rin is amenable, Sen is going to head in the opposite direction, towards the double doors at the north end of the balcony.

<.>

Rin is amenable, and joins Sen at the double doors. They're going to motion for Sen to join them in another round of 'listen for sounds from the other side' and try to check for signs of movement through any keyhole or gap beneath the door. They'd also like to examine the handle, just in case anything seems rigged. They don't want Sen stuck in another skeleton trap!

Dima points out the outline to Faolan immediately, gesturing toward it and Messaging, [ Do you see it? ]

<.>

Rin's inspection turns up nothing of note; there's no noise and there are no traps. Peering through the keyhole, they see no movement.

Faolan cocks his head and nods slowly, then places his hand against the wall to see if it moves; it swings open inward easily to reveal a dusty, cobwebbed set of stairs leading up.

He peers in and up, then withdraws and says, [ Let's see if there's anything down here first. No one's climbed those steps in years. ]

<.>

Dima could admire the morbidity of details in this paneling if he didn't feel so uneasy; if he wasn't so aware of Faolan's dis-ease. (And, yes, if he wasn't still irked by those nonsense 'necromancy' tomes.) Better now, anyway, to focus on this door, and the itch he feels looking up the stairs, knowing both foreboding and a desire to see, to find, to know what's up there. (Something, something— There must be an answer to all of this.)

For now, he nods. [ That's wisest, yes. ]

And, looking at the nearest door, he'll move to push it open.

<.>

The doors open to reveal a bedroom suite with two sets of doors along the west wall. The bedroom contains a large bed, two end tables, and a wardrobe. Mounted on the wall is a full-length mirror with an ornate wooden frame carved to look like ivy and berries.

Sen and Rin, upon entering the opposite room, find an elegantly appointed master suite. It is furnished with a four-poster bed draped with tattered curtains, a vanity with a wood-framed mirror and jewelry box, a matching pair of wardrobes, and a padded chair. A rotting tiger-skin rug lies on the floor and above the fireplace is a dust-covered portrait of the Dursts. In the corner is a web-filled parlor with a table and two chairs. The doors lead to a dust-choked closet and a balcony.

<.>

Rin pulls a 'yikes' face and kicks the tiger-skin rug, catching an edge on their toe and gesturing to Sen: pointing their fingers toward Sen's head, opening and closing their fingers in imitation of a talking mouth, then pointing at their own head; they'd like him to start a Message so they can speak without sound.

Rin's going to see whether the rug is just a rug or perhaps a convenient cover for something. They're also going to take a look at themself in the mirror, because it's never a bad time to check yourself out— And if there's nothing to see with the tiger, they'd like to rummage through that vanity. Might be something worth taking!

<.>

Inspection of the vanity turns up a silver jewelry box with gold filigree. Inside are three gold rings and a thin platinum necklace with a topaz pendant.

Sen comments at best guess, the total worth of the thing is about 850 gp.

Faolan, seeing nothing of note after a quick visual sweep of the room, begins opening the doors; he gives Dmitri's hand a tug and is just about to say that the room is the nursery he's been looking for.

Roll for initiative.

Okay; Rin is first up. They can hear the clanking of armor as it moves along the balcony towards the master suite.

<.>

Rin would like to begin by scooping the jewelry box into the bag of holding, because like fuck are they going to leave that behind. They'll then move up to the edge of the door; looks like somewhere between 10 and 15 ft? They'll try to keep against the wall and stick to any shadows they can find.

[STEALTH
r: 22
s: 10 ]

<.>

Sen rolled a 10, beating the passive perception by a hair. Both he and Rin fall back into shadow.

Back to the other battle: As soon as Faolan opens the door, a Spectral woman begins to materialize; she is skeletally thin and young, and as she shrieks as she floats toward Fae.

Dima, you're up. You're also behind Fae at this point.

<.>

Dima's going to pull Fae's hand (gentle quick but firm little tug), with the intention of taking the space Fae initially occupied.

<.>

Faolan, dumbfounded, moves aside and immediately regrets that choice.

<.>

Dima, having taken Fae’s spot, casts Burning Hands for 9 damage. The spectre takes 4 points of that damage.

[q: It looks like there are no windows in the nursery; were there any in the bedroom?

a: There are, in fact. The door to the balcony has glass inset, and there are windows on either side of the bed. And the nursery itself has one window.

q: Is the nursery window curtained or uncurtained?

a: No curtains.

q: Did anything in the nursery catch fire?

a: Nope.

note: The only thing in the nursery that Dima can see is a cradle, and it’s just out of range. The windows are shuttered from the outside. ]

Dima is going to try to run past the specter, over to the cradle on the end by the window.

<.>

As Dima runs right through the specter. He takes no damage, but the specter takes 5 points, itself.

The specter's attention is now on Dima, who is much too close to the cradle for its taste. It turns and flies at him with a wail. The attack misses.

Faolan is going to close the distance between himself and the specter as he draws his scimitar and try to slash the entity across its back. Hits for 4 damage, reduced to 2.

Faolan is going to shout "A LITTLE HELP IN HERE!"

During this time, the suit of armor, unable to detect the owls, has begun to return to its original spot.

<.>

Stealthed Rin begins moving toward the nursery.

Dima would like to look into the cradle while drawing his dagger pls and thank you.

[note: Upon looking into the cradle, he will see a tightly-wrapped, baby-sized bundle lying there.]

Dima's going to pick up the bundle. (And everyone thank Fae for his presence bc if that boy were not there Dima would've gone instastabby.)

<.>

Picking up the bundle, Dima will find it's empty.

Just a blanket.

However, Faolan saw Dima. Pick up a bundle of maybe baby while holding a dagger.

<.>

Dima, holding the bundle, is about to shout something at the ghost when he catches Faolan's expression, and forgets entirely that he was about to speak, that there's a haunted goddamn house around, and that there's an actual goddamn specter beside him.

Dima ends his turn staring at Faolan, slowly, slowly realizing he may have erred.

<.>

The specter turns on Faolan and attempts to grasp him by the head.

Faolan's attention is on Dima and so he fails to move out of the way in time; the specter grasps him, doing 4 points of necrotic damage.

And Faolan just barely passes a constitution saving throw at 11, which brings us to his turn.

Faolan feels life literally draining from him and manages to break free, gasping. He isn't going to think at all about what he just saw. (Or the look of horror Dima is giving him.) He's going to kill this fucking - thing.

He summons a vine-like whip into his hand and attempts to bring it down on the specter. That hits at 20, for 4 points of piercing damage.

And holding the whip, he backs up, attempting to draw the specter away from Dmitri.

Sen and Rin move toward the nursery. The suit of armor likewise begins to move in that direction, but is clearly much slower than the owls.

<.>

Dima is going to let the blanket unfurl and, waving it at the ghost, declare in his most Authoritative Voice, "There's nothing here. Your child isn't here.”

If that doesn't take his full action, he's going for the ghost with the dagger.

[note: She doesn't seem to hear him at all.]

Dima is all his glory rolls a crit fail for that attack.

<.>

Dima misses; the momentum of his miss takes him lurching forward; he passes through the specter again, falling almost directly into Faolan's arms.

And the specter takes another 5 points of damage.

As this is the second pass through the specter - Dima, make a constitution saving throw.

[CON: nat 1]

Dima feels a sensation like part of his life force has been sapped from him entirely. Until his next long rest, his hit point max is reduced by 1.

The specter turns on the pair and attempts to reach for Dima. And misses.

Faolan is up; he drops Dima, sort of depositing him to one side to free up his hands, and he's going to make another Thorn Whip attack. Just BARELY hitting at 13. And squarely hitting the specter with a crack of the vine for six points of damage.

The specter wails, the sound echoing as it vanishes.

Right as the owls join them, the group hears the approach of clanking armor.

Faolan turns, panting and pale, to Dima and - for a moment, hesitates.

Then offers his hand to help him up.

His expression says there's going to be a conversation later, but right now, he's going to keep protecting the man.

<.>

Dima holds Faolan's gaze, for a moment moving no more than to nod slowly: [ Yes. ]

Yes, he understands; doesn't yet see the full meaning of what he did or what Faolan saw, but knows he erred in that fight.

Yes, he sees Faolan's aid, and yes, he's appreciative of it (and of the man).

Dima takes Faolan's hand, and will rise, leaving the blanket on the floor.

The Message is more an offer than necessity; the 'yes' could be read in Dima's expression and assent, but if Faolan wishes to speak, he now has the passage.

<.>

Faolan hears the approaching clanking and hears another message aimed for him: [ Time to go, Gents. ]

For a moment, he ignores Sen; there might not BE a later, or time enough to have that conversation, and Dima did cast his spell.

His hand tightens on Dmitri's and Faolan pulls it close to his chest, he ducks his head a little to meet eye-to-eye, ensuring the other man understands what's happening here.

He doesn't know for sure what Dmitri meant to do with that dagger and what might have been an infant, but he knows how it looked, and he knows the moment of panic he saw in the man's eyes when he realized Faolan was watching.

[ Never again. Swear that to me, right now. ]

There's no 'or else'. No ultimatum. Just a soft, firm demand.

<.>

He doesn't know what he meant to do.

(That isn't true. Dima was going to run the dagger through whatever he found in that cradle. It was a hunch; it was an educated calculation.

It also wasn't built on evidence. It also could have gone very, very wrong.

What in fuck was he thinking.)

There's an impulse to look away; to stray from what must be disappointment in Faolan's eyes, but Dima keeps his eyes locked, curling his hand within Faolan's. There's a sideways twitch of his lip, stray signal of the concern he's trying to keep muffled, and he nods once, small and a little wavered, but certain.

[ Never again. I swear it: Never, never again. ]

<.>

Faolan regards him a moment, then nods slowly. He doesn't smile or speak, but there's a slight - very slight - squeeze of his hand.

He believes it. (He believes when this man swears a vow.) (He won't think about that.)

Sen, meanwhile, truly doesn't care to fight an animated suit of armor, and spends their precious little time searching the room for a quick exit. The drop from the house isn't viable, but a sweep of the room reveals a hidden door behind the mirror which opens onto the selfsame stairs revealed by the door on the landing.

With a pointed look, he waves the others toward the door; whatever's up the stairs has to be better than whatever's coming for them.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Upon ascending the stairs, the party find themselves in a bare and dusty hall. Four doors lead off to other rooms.

Seeing nothing with which to barricade the door behind them, Faolan presses an ear to the wood to ascertain whether the suit of armor is approaching.

The rooms below are silent, so he turns back to the others and with a low voice says, "I need to rest."

And, glancing at Dmitri, he adds, "So does he."

<.>

(He could use the rest, true.) (He doesn't like to *admit* as much.) (He also doesn't bristle at Faolan's words, though he would have taken sharp offense from any other being.)

Dima's eyes dart sideways and he sighs slightly, nods. "It wouldn't hurt. Rest, gather our thoughts. This is all turning cockeyed rather quickly."

He scans the room, slightly, *slightly* relieved that it seems to be quiet. "And I'd like to look over the papers from the chest." He'd like to look at the scrolls, as well.

<.>

Sen has no argument against a rest, even if he doesn't feel particularly fatigued, himself. It's no good having the two men drop, leaving them all somewhat (mostly?) defenseless.

If Rin's in agreement, he'll hand over the papers he happens to be holding. Faolan likewise passes over the letter he read off.

<.>

Rin is in agreement, if only because they don't really care so much about papers; they'd rather check over their newly acquired crossbow and maybe have another look at the jewelry.

They're going to take a quick prowl around the room before settling in against a wall, preferably very near to Sen.

<.>

Meanwhile, Faolan slips his hand from Dmitri's and crosses the room, away from the three others. With his back as close to a corner as possible, he sinks to the ground, draws his knees up to his chest, rests his chin on his forearms, and stares at - nothing, really.

He ought to try to meditate. The trance state he's supposedly able to achieve.

It's hard to think with the weight of the dead wolves below and - what Dmitri might have done. And how he'll get home. And. And. And.

Bless the dice, Fae recovers 7 hp during the rest, bringing him back to full health.

<.>

Faolan looks so lost.

Dima wants to go to him. (Dima would rather sit near him, next to him, feel his presence as a comfort.) But Dima also knows he's caused the man distress; knows Faolan made the choice to settle himself apart. So Dima chooses a place against the wall approximately equidistant between the thieves and Faolan; somewhere he can keep an eye on the man. Somewhere he can let his gaze wander, and still let him have his space.

Settled on the ground, Dima begins to examine the contents snagged from the chest, beginning with the scrolls, then progressing to the deeds, the will, and the letter. In the latter documents, he'll be seeking clues that might unsnag the not-quite-remembered detail(s?) from his mind.

<.>

Sen spends the next hour nodding off against Rin's horns. Faolan at last manages some brief state of meditation.

He does feel a little better. A little more capable of looking Dmitri in the eye (should the need arise) or of confronting whatever might be waiting downstairs. (There was a monster, after all.)

As he stands and moves to rejoin the group, he says carefully, "Listen. This place is...Something's obviously wrong here, so it's best if we stick together, we four. But I want to make something clear. Just in case someone feels a wild impulse: we don't harm children, no matter how strange they might be. None of us, while we're together."

Perplexed, Sen stares at Faolan; briefly his eyes drift to Dmitri, then come to settle on Rin. [ Have you been eating children again, Pretty Rin? ]

And with a smile, charming (if somewhat tense), he responds, "Not at all unreasonable."

<.>

Dima spends the hour engaged in his examinations and - yes - more than a bit of intentional and unintentional gazing in Fae’s direction.

Is there anything about the spell scrolls he’s found, or anything in the papers that might trigger his recollection?

<.>

The spell scrolls are "Bless", "Protection from Poison", and "Spiritual Weapon".

[HIST, d: 16]

So, while he's reading the papers, Dima begins to recall there were rumors about the Durst family and a scandal revolving around a cult of some sort. He remembers specifically that there were rumors about guests of the Dursts vanishing, never to be seen again.

He can't recall *when* this happened, or which family members were involved.

<.>

It was, he thinks, his sister who dealt with most of the business relating to the Dursts. He ought to have paid closer attention; mostly, he remembers thinking the cult absurd, the rumors not worth his time when there were actual troubles at hand to be solved.

He's setting the papers in order when Faolan speaks, and though Dima tries to appear unflustered by the man's words, he can't help tensing, freezing—

Then returning his eyes to the papers, to storing them carefully in his pack. (Where the raven totem still waits, thank the gods.) He nods, glances up again at Faolan as he speaks, "Agreed."

He's not certain it's wise to agree. He's also not certain of his own reasoning, and does know he's inclined to trust Faolan's judgement in this. (Knows he doesn't want to see that horror, that disappointment again.)

Not yet rising, he indicates the scrolls. "We have three spells scrolls. I'd like to take them down eventually, but if worse comes to worst and we need a little aid, these may be useful." He'll convey the gist of the spells if anyone should ask.

Rin spent nearly the entire rest sleeping peacefully against Sen, and they meet Sen's message with a grin, a laughing flash of pointed teeth. [ Not for years now! Tsk! ] And! They're going to acknowledge that 'Pretty Rin' with a pleased little huff.

To Faolan, they offer a shrug and a nod. "I can work with that."

<.>

Faolan nods, more to himself than the others. He can work with them if they can work with this.

(Maybe. Maybe this will be enough to send Dmitri after someone a little less...Faolan.)

He listens quietly to the spells, giving Sen leeway to do most of the questioning. Then glances around at the doors leading deeper into the attic. Wonders if there really is an infant somewhere here, or if - what? The children were lied to? Mistaken, somehow? The baby was taken by the parents to safety? He can't quite make any of it fit.

Sen rises and offers a hand to help Rin up; neither he nor Faolan seem eager to make decisions just now.

<.>

Rin accepts Sen's hand; of course they can hop to their feet, but it's a nice gesture, and they like gestures.

They also like to keep moving, so Rin's going to give Sen a little wink, then begin moving quietly toward the nearest door. Might as well work around the perimeter, they figure.

They're going to check the door for signs of traps before readying their crossbow and opening the door.

<.>

The nearest door is locked from the outside with a heavy iron padlock. There are no traps that Rin can see.

At this point, Sen remembers the iron key he found and - feeling not great about this - offers it to Rin, but holds it when they try to take it.

"Careful. I'll be aiming overtop your head."

Faolan approaches to join them, glancing back once at Dmitri to see if he, too, cares to see what's behind the lock.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Dima moves to follow; he would prefer to see what's behind the door (he'd also like for Faolan to take his hand again, and yes, he is watching Faolan when the man looks back; yes his heart slips briefly on that shared sight). He sees Rin pull a faux-offended face at Sen.

And, as he aproaches the group, intending to keep near the back, he dares it: He offers his hand toward Faolan, and Messages: [ For stealth? ]

<.>

Faolan looks again at Dmitri, then down at his hand, held in - offer? Plea?

There's no need for stealth now. Whatever's here knows they are here - Dmitri knows that.

It's a moment. Faolan knows this is a perfect moment to put Dmitri off - to laugh at him, to rebuff him, to speak again of what he might have done (what he might still do to Faolan.) As much as he doesn't have the heart for romance, neither does he have the heart for cruelty, however. His hand eases into Dmitri's, but not without an unreadable, mostly-rhetorical, [ Is it? ]

Sen raises the crossbow and Faolan settles his free hand on his scimitar, ready for - whatever may occur.

Nothing occurs when the door pushes open.

In the room's four corners are a pair of small beds, a chest of toys, and a dollhouse - a perfect replica of the Durst house in miniature.

In the center of the room, lying entwined, are a pair of small skeletons, one of them holding the tattered remains of a doll.

<.>

Dima's on the verge of messaging again - knows the impulse to offer, simply 'No' - when the door opens, and the room falls into view.

This is... Oh.

This is far from hearteningly.

He sees the dollhouse, but his attention fixes - of course it fixes - on the skeletons; on what they could mean, seem at this moment to mean. And he squeezes Faolan’s hand, turning, seeking to meet his eyes. [ Stay here. ] It's a request; an imploring. An attempt at shielding something he can't quite see the shape of.

Dima is going to approach the skeletons, and examine them for signs of identity and signs of just how long they've been here.

<.>

Approaching the skeletons, Dima quickly sees they're wearing the same clothes as the children the party met outside; the doll in the smaller skeleton's arms is indeed Hildabear.

They have clearly been here a very, very long time.

Long enough to become skeletons and their clothes to rot away in an enclosed room.

Sen is dumbfounded; he lowers his arm and steps in the room after Dima; no words come, however. Sometimes, eloquence means knowing when *not* to speak.

<.>

There isn't a lot in life that unsettles Rin. In this moment, though, they know unease - they know a cutting sadness? - at the sight within the room.

They don't want to keep looking at it.

There's nothing they can do with that, or for it.

So Rin drifts quietly, quietly toward the dollhouse and inspects it - it's an intricate thing (it's something they might have like, when they were very young) - giving particular attention to the attic and the rooms they've not yet seen.

[INSP: 18]

<.>

Rin finds that the front of the dollhouse swings open on cleverly disguised hinges, allowing them to see a cross-section of the house. Within are all of the details, down to the rugs and crystalware.

They are able to see numerous secret doors, including one here in the attic that leads to a spiral staircase.

Faolan looks on in undisguised horror, his empty hand now gripping the doorframe. The other things in the room don't matter.

It's the pitiful sight in the center that holds him (will stay with him.)

He thinks about rushing to stop Dmitri from inspecting the bodies, fearing the man will take something from them as he did the skeleton downstairs.

Them, he thinks, We can't leave them like this.

As the thought forms, so do the ghostly apparitions of Thorn and Rose beside their bodies.

"Please don't touch our things," Rose says, her voice a dim echo of that of the girl they met in the street.

<.>

At the ghost's (girl's?) words, Rin steps back from the dollhouse. It was fair game for looking when no one was around, but if the children are still here - even if they are a little see-through - things get a little murkier. They twist their lip a little and offer, "It's a good dollhouse."

Dima, who had dropped to one knee to examine the skeletons (the remains) (the remnants of these children, and there's a surging desire to usher Faolan from the room, to keep him from looking; there's a flashing image of the man hugging the children - 'children' - outside, attempting to offer comfort, and Dima's heart twists), wonders at the appearance of the ghosts. Wonders how long they've been tethered here; what drew them to this moment.

He can't precisely move, or he won't, and he knows better than to speak at length - when has he known what to say to children, let alone their spirits? - and speaks only, "Pardon, we— Wandered in."

<.>

The girl doesn't respond to Rin; it seems enough that they moved away from the dollhouse; from beside her, clutching her spectral skirt, Thorn Durst peers at the tiefling with unblinking, haunted eyes.

She does, however, respond to Dima when he speaks.

"No, you didn't. You unlocked the door."

She points at the door in question and, by proxy, at Faolan. He jerks in faint surprise, then looks down at the door's lock.

And back up again, realizing this wasn't an accident.

"Who locked it?" His voice is almost inaudible, hoarse. He tries again. "The door. Who locked it?"

"Our mother and father," Rose replies. Thorn immediately pipes up, " To protect us from the monster in the basement."

Rose hushes him and frowns, then continues, "They never came for us. No one came, and there was no food."

<.>

Technically, the godsforsaken elf unlocked the door.

Dima isn't going to point that out. Especially when Faolan's unlocked a more important piece of information—

To protect them.

To leave them, knowingly or not, in abandonment.

He considers. He nods. He looks at the bones - there's a thought here; there's something that might be done, if they can find the way, the right set of skills - then looks at the girl and speaks, "So we did.

"There's something happening in your home. This— Monster you speak of. We're looking for it.

"Do you know anything about it?"

And, after a moment: "Do you know where it came from."

<.>

Both children shake their heads.

Unsure what to do, Faolan slowly begins to approach, thinking - he wishes he could lay these bones to rest. He wishes this hadn't happened. He wishes the children could be as lively as -

Focused suddenly, he asks, "Do you remember meeting us outside in the road?"

Again, the children trade looks - now showing more confusion in their faded expressions. Rose again answers for them both. "We couldn't leave. The door was locked."

<.>

Rin thinks - but mercifully and for once doesn't say - that they knew there was something off with those kids. Mostly, that doesn't matter a whole lot right now. Mostly, they just don't like anything about this situation, and they step just a little closer to Sen.

Dima doesn't want that question to linger. (It's something they'll all need to deal with. Something with a meaning that can hold no good, and the word that comes to Dima's mind is 'lure,' and 'trap,' and what are those beings - what is that being? - they met outside?) (What was it that dared to lure Faolan's compassion for the sake of some foul trick?)

His jaw sets. He exhales. And Dima speaks, "No; of course you couldn't." And (thinking; calculating): "How long have you been here?"

<.>

Sen slides a hand to the small of Rin's back in gentle reassurance - or solidarity. Or flirtation. Whatever they need, he's happy. (And really, he could use at least the solidarity, himself. This situation is grotesque. Abominable.)

(Fucking odd.)

Rose considers a moment, her mouth puckering with thought as she gazes towards the sad little window of their attic room. "I lost count of the winters. At least sixty."

Faolan makes a small, pained noise, but quickly turns away under the guise of inspecting the window in question.

Sen doesn't quite as easily hide his reaction: a sucked-in breath that comes out again as “Fuck.”

<.>

Rin doesn't mind that hand at all. They don't usually care for being touched by strangers, but Sen's not really a stranger, and if they're being honest, it's kind of... not bad to not be looking at this all alone. So they don't move at all. So they only continue to watch, not sure at all what to make of this, or what any of them are doing here, or what they're supposed to do about ghost children.

Dima, meanwhile, nods at the girl's response. "That's quite some time." Quite some time, but possibly, possibly not too much.

(If only he could remember more of the Dursts.) (If only the deeds had mentioned some date— He could ask about the deeds! But the thought that follows says it might not be a question for children. Says that he should take care in prodding the edges of what these ghosts remember, what pains they might yet hold.)

(Another thought, stray and barely registering: It's a little easier to talk to ghost children than flesh-and-blood children.)

He should be careful, he knows, not to promise more than he can reasonably offer. But there isn't any hurry, is there? They've waited at least sixty years; perhaps they won't mind a little longer.

(What would Faolan want for them?) (And.) (What does Dima want for them.)

"There are a few more questions we'd like to ask you, but—" Think of the names Faolan shared. "It's Rose and Thorn, yes?

"Would you like to be freed of this room?"

<.>

Faolan bites the inside of his cheek to keep silent, folds his arms, and makes a slow beeline for the door. He can't listen to this.

He knows it's right - this talk of moving on. It's right, it's natural.

But it's miserable, too.

Those poor children.

Rose shakes her head no and Thorn follows suit. They've been so long in this room, trapped as shadows of who they were; they can't imagine any longer anything beyond the small (un)life they've had.

<.>

It makes sense.

Ghosts who linger long enough forget what possibility can mean, what the world can be, and these children had— Mm. Painfully, painfully few years to learn in the first place. The world they know most is in these walls, is a composition of memory and dust-riddled absence.

Dima watches them, breathing slowly, letting the rest of the room fall out of focus (save for one presence that seems to shimmer radiance) (save for one presence, who's heading for the door) (’Don't go far,’ he thinks; ’Please, Faolan, don't go far’). He keeps his eyes on the ghosts; needs to, in case the moment takes a turn for the worst, or in case they should lose interest and disperse.

"Rosavalda; Thornboldt. You've been here for a very long time. It would be different to exist outside, but— But we could help you." (It's odd, to speak 'we' like this. He doesn't have the space to think on it.)

"We could find you a home. Somewhere safe. Where you could be together still, and drink warm tea with honey, and have biscuits whenever you like.

"You'd see trees and streams. Beautiful things. I know of a woodworker— Oh, she's skillful. She could build on new dollhouse for you, twice as large as the one you have now.

"We could mend" (the briefest pause; what was the name again?) "Hildabear; you could hold her through it all.

"You'd have each other still. You would— You could play freely. You'd have soft beds, and new clothes.

"And you'd feel warm again."

<.>

Faolan wishes he could bring himself to flee the room. It's not his nature, but this is unbearable - two children, dead from neglect (padlocked away in an attic -), and Dmitri trying to convince them to move on to whatever awaits past life.

- Except.

Except that isn't what he's saying at all. Oh, it starts as a gentle framing of a beautiful next world, but then he speaks of food, of honey and beautiful things - of a woodworker he knows.

(Faolan's heart clenches in his chest, lodges in his throat.) He's looking now, not at the corpses, but at Dmitri (who said 'we', and just what is he thinking?)

This man doesn't deserve his hope. No noble does, and not one who just drew a dagger on a potential infant. (...Maybe it was stupidity, a panicked act?) (He swore never again.)

He doesn't deserve it, and - the more Faolan thinks about it, the more he thinks maybe, he shouldn't be giving these children hope, either. (Not for the mending of the doll, and not for warmth, and not for life.)

(...But it's. Possible. The druids know ways.)

He almost says Dima, don't make promises to them.

But Sen is stepping forward and placing a hand on Dmitri's shoulder, whispering something in his ear that Faolan can't hear, and the moment might be past for him to intervene.

Sen, realizing what Dima means to do - what Dima might, someday, be ABLE to do - steps forward as Dima talks, realizing it isn't enough to say these things. These are ghosts, yes, but frightened children in need of convincing.

He grasps Dima by the shoulder and whispers at his ear, "You want these things for them. You can see beauty in a future for them beyond the walls of this wretched house. Convince them of yourself. Swear to yourself that the world you'll give them is better than this one."

And, banking on what he's been observing since the four of them came together (was it only a day ago?), he adds, "Do this for Faolan."

[PERSUA, d: 27; with Bardic Inspiration from Sen]

Thorn steps out a little from behind his sister's skirts; maybe it was the mention of Hildabear that did it, or perhaps it's just that he was young when he died, and can hardly recall their parents. He regards Dima curiously, then tugs at his sister's hand. His whisper isn't particularly quiet. "He'll fix Hildabear, Rose-"

Rose hushes him, her expression both very young and very old; at ten, of course she must have known - suspected - they weren't locked away without food for their protection. And of course, she wants to feel warm again. (And - perhaps a new dollhouse, too.)

They fear being abandoned again; these strange men - and the tiefling - might not.

A moment of silence passes and, after giving Dima the same critical (curious) look as her brother, she ventures, "You'll never leave us?"

Faolan is listening very, very closely.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

For once, there's no urge to snap back at the elf. (Though he could have. Though Sen had no right suggesting, or supposing, or— Shit, it's not the point right now.) (And he's not wrong, is he? Dima's been impacted by the sight of these children and their remains, but Faolan - Faolan and the embrace he so readily offered to the boy outside - hasn't been beyond his knowing.) Dima's grateful, almost, for the input, and doesn't take the words lightly.

Isn't taking any of this lightly. He hears what the girl is asking; he knows the risk in promise. How difficult it could be to reach from now to some distant future, to the time Dima can find the right practitioner or learn, perhaps craft a spell all of his own. And 'never' is, particularly for ghosts, a complicated term.

Still. He does know what he wants for them; it's a picture growing slowly clearer; it's a feeling in his sternum.

"You'll never be abandoned.

"I'll never abandon you." For all his faults. For all his lacks, hasn't he always defended his family?" There are bonds I keep above all else; in my care, you would stand among their utmost.

"If I leave home, I will always return to you. I will always sees to your care.

"It will take some time to bring you life. It must be done correctly; it must be done when we can bring you both, together.

"But we'll have you with us. I will— I mean to gather your bones. To wrap them in fine cloth, and keep you safe. Keep you with me— With us. If you can travel as you are now, or visit us at all, so much the better." He might, Dima thinks, learn to call up their ghosts; it isn't beyond possibility.

"When the time arrives— You'll have family, if you wish it. And I will never leave you to hunger, or to wither. I won't leave you without word, or without a way to reach me.

"You'll never be alone again. You will never be forgotten.

"I want life for you, Rose, Thorn. I want to see you thrive."

Behind Dima, a voice speaks, quiet but certain as Rin chimes in: "You'll have to show me your new dollhouse. You'll have to show me everything; I bet it'll be the greatest."

<.>

It's like penance.

(It isn't at all like penance.)

Dima's promises to never leave them, isn't it a little like mending, though? For the wrong he did -

For the wrongs others have done. To these children. (To Faolan.)

He doesn't know when tears first stung his eyes, but he blinks them away, warning himself off this path. It'll only bring harm later when Dmitri can't deliver. (When Dmitri vanishes from all their lives.)

He doesn't believe the promise that they won't be abandoned, but Faolan does know life can be lived after abandonment, and they deserve a chance to live. (And there are ways.)

There are ways.

To resurrect them.

To carry them until that time.

"You could -" His voice is weak, but he ventures again, "They're attached to something. Here. The dollhouse, or the room. They'll need something else to carry them with us-"

No.

"With you."

(No.)

He doesn't want to suggest taking a bone from their bodies. It's ghoulish.

"Something from the house."

Sen glances at Rin and, after an awkward pause, furrows his brow in pained apology and mouths I'll owe you.

Out loud, he comments, "We just happened to find a pair of rings downstairs."

Thorn steps a little closer to Dmitri, though he doesn't release Rose's skirt. It's clear what he'd like, but that what Rose decides, he decides.

<.>

If there's a moment's reluctance in Rin, it's brief, scarcely noticeable. There are always other rings, after all. There's more still to be found in this house, most likely, and—

Well, if nothing else, these kids definitely had dibs on the rings for a long, long time.

So Rin's already reaching into the Bag of Holding, and produces the rings. They move a little closer to the ghosts - to Dmitri and Sen waiting close, and what was it Sen said to the man? (it seems a lot like they know each other somehow, and doesn't that seem strange?) - and hold out their hand, showing the rings.

"These. These are what we found.

"Do you know these rings?"

<.>

Rose steps a little nearer to Rin and reaches out to take the rings - then stops, hand hovering as she seems to recall she can't touch them. (Maybe, that's what makes the decision for her. Maybe the desire to touch things, to feel things.)

"Those are mother's." Her hand doesn't recoil, however. There's a faint sorrow in her expression as she looks first to Rin, then to the men around her and Thorn. "But they're meant to be ours. One for Thorn when he -

"When he marries - and -

"When I'm - old enough -"

She stops speaking and her lip trembles.

Faolan and Sen both share the same thought: it's a wonder she kept it together this long. Faolan alone thinks it's a terrible thing, not to be able to comfort a crying child.

He does what he can, kneeling before them just as he did in the street, just beside Rin. He gives the girl an encouraging smile.

"Those will do," he says softly. "And you see, Rose? Dmitri can wear the rings, and then you'll go along with him until he make you well. Do you think you can take hold of a ring the way you've held on here, in this house?"

Thorn looks uncertain if hopeful, but Rose's nod is almost eager in its certainty.

Faolan glances at Rin and offers a wan, grateful smile, then reaches out and carefully - almost reverently - takes the tattered doll from the bones at the feet of Rose and Thorn. The boy gasps and reaches out in a panic, but Faolan meets this with patience. "Dmitri will mend you, and I'll mend Hildabear so she's waiting for you."

<.>

Oh, no.

(The poor child. The poor children.)

(He will mend this. He will.)

There's nothing Dima can do to reach them, touch them, and though he isn't particularly practiced at handling children, he knows they could use an embrace— Faolan's, perhaps Sen's, if not his own. A hold, a hug from someone with a caring that runs to their core.

He curses himself for not knowing better magic. He thinks thanks to Faolan for speaking, for thinking quickly, for the rings and for holding the bear; it's something, and the boy must see the meaning.

(Dima noticed as well the particularity of Faolan's words: That the bear would be waiting. The bear, alone? The bear, alone in promising.

He won't think on it now. He won't entertain the twist of sadness, sorrow that it brings. This isn't the time for his own concerns.)

"Yes; we'll have Hildabear ready and waiting, and she'll have adventures to tell you about. While you hold her; while you and your sister and I all sit together." He doesn't precisely think about what he's committing himself to; he also knows the meaning in his words, and knows no pull against this vow. Someone ought to aid these children, and there's plenty of room in his home in Morovsk. There's plenty of coin, should Dima choose to commission a home all of their own.

He doesn't like to see these children abandoned, and stranded as ghosts. He won't let this continue.

And he nods. "You'll have your rings, as well. They were always yours, and waiting for you; I'll keep watch of them, I'll keep them until they sit upon your fingers.

"Your mother's wish will be fulfilled.

"And you'll be so beautiful, so handsome with your rings."

Dima cants his head slightly, manages a smile. "I am Dmitri. This is Faolan, Sen, Rin. I think we'd all like to help you—" And. Because what Faolan suggested holds weight; because it's a better-than-viable approach: "You need only take hold of your rings, and we'll begin."

<.>

It's apparently no difficulty at all for the children to grasp on to some tangible connection; their images fade for a moment, then appear once more, if a little less vividly. They each step away from their bones and towards Dmitri, Rose quietly instructing Thorn to be brave. (Hearing this, Faolan wonders if she's speaking more to herself.)

He tries not to think about the small pieces of speech that remain ingrained with him; things Dmitri said that might promise (a home) (a family) (love?) a world Faolan knows won't be his. He focuses instead on the task before them of carefully wrapping the bones; his cloak is sacrificed for the task. After a moment, Sen stoops to help him, surprising Faolan with the care he shows.

(Even if he does keep casting glances up at Rin that Faolan would characterize as 'adoring'.)

As they work, Thorn tugs Rose's skirt and whispers to her, and Rose wipes away ghostly tears, sniffs, and instructs, "Hildabear should be there, too, until you can mend her."

<.>

Rin stands very near, more moral support than anything; as far as they can tell, Sen and Faolan have a deft handle on wrapping the bones, and they don't want to upset anything by intruding a hand. It seems important that this be done with care. It seems important not to break the solemnity of this moment, and what Rin does speak is simple, again soft—

"It's good you have Hildabear. I can tell she really wants you with her."

Dima does offer a hand here and there - adjusting the shift of a bone; looking to Rose, to Thorn, then adjusting another placement - though he strays from interfering with Faolan and Sen's work. Mostly, he remains attuned to the children (the ghosts) and to the room around as best he can. To listening for any changes in the atmosphere; to seeing whether the children seem to be particularly discomforted as hands ready their bones for holding.

He raises a hand toward Rose, toward Thorn, and tilts it slightly sideways. As if offering the shadow of a gesture, a reassuring, slightest touch. "Both of you are very brave. You've been brave all this time.

"You can rest now, children. It's all right; you can hold close to one another, and to Hildabear, and let us take care of everything." He's taken the rings from Rin, or Rin's slipped the rings into his hand, and Dmitri closes his fingers around them, slipping his eyes shut briefly, nodding to himself. "You've done so well; I can feel your presence in these rings.

"Thank you. I— You ought to be very proud of yourselves. Brave Rose; brave Thorn.

"Everything will be all right; I swear it."

<.>

When the children vanish - though their ghostly presence may still be felt near at hand (figuratively and literally for Dima) - and their bones carefully stowed in the Bag of Holding, the party is free to continue on to the staircase leading down into the dungeon. Faolan argues there's no need to search the rest of the attic; whatever's left to be dealt with, it's in the basement.

XP awarded: 480.

That should roll everyone over to level 3. (Meaning everyone now is at level 3 / 900XP.)

Death House pt. 2: Onward and Downward

[onefellswoop]

The party finds the secret staircase with ease now. Made of creaky wood, constructed in a spiral down a 5-foot wide shaft of mortared stone, the staircase descends 50 feet. Cobwebs fill the shaft so thickly that little can be seen beyond five feet in any direction.

When they reach the bottom of the seemingly endless spiral, a narrow tunnel stretches out southward before branching out east and west.

The party begins to hear an eerie, incessant chant echoing throughout the basement.

Rin’s going to stealth and lead.

Sen is going to give Rin some inspiration: I believe a kiss on the hand for them.

After Sen does this, Faolan looks at Rin, then at Dima, then at Sen again and says, "I hope you don't tongue me when you give me mine."

<.>

Rin winks, blows Sen an air kiss, and starts down the westward path.

[STEALTH, r: 20; Rin is officially vanished into the shadows.]

They're going to move five feet over to take a look at how many stairs there look to be (or ten feet if they need to). Here, they'd like to pause and try to discern whether anything's changed in the echoing sound, whether it sounds nearer or farther or anything.

[dm: They can't tell where the sound is coming from at all. It's almost an ambient, if distant, noise.]

Though they’d intended to go check the other hallway, having seen the steps, Rin now knows a strong desire to see what's down the steps, and they're going to move to the bottom stair.

[dm: They come to the bottom of a short flight of stairs; the hall opens out into a room with a wooden table and four chairs. They can't see much in the dim lighting, but it looks like the room might branch off into other spaces.]

Rin thinking to themself, very emphatically, shit.

They'd like to pause for half a minute to discern whether there are signs or sounds of movement before heading back up the stairs.

[dm: There's no movement at all. Just that weird noise.]

Okay moving back up the stairs. They'd like to take a small look down the first branching hallway if they may before returning toward the group.

<.>

Sen is, meanwhile, uncomfortable standing here with Faolan and Dima in silence

And as he rolled a 19 on stealth, he's going to scout the other direction.

<.>

Checking out this hallway, Rin discovers more branching. And. Well. A little more searching wouldn't hurt. And Sen can reach them if anything's needed! So Rin's going to scooch down the left branch.

[dm: Down this branch, Rin finds an empty crypt. There is no name and no corpse. The blank stone slab meant to seal the crypt leans against a wall.]

’Seems like a waste,’ Rin thinks. And. They're just going to slip out of here.
They don't really like having walked into a crypt. This is supposed to be a house. And thinking about what happened with Sen in the library, Rin resolves to return to the party— After taking a careful look down the right branch. Then they'll go back!

[dm: This is likewise a crypt hewn from the earth. The stone slab meant to seal it leans against a nearby wall. Etched into it is the name Walter Durst. The crypt is empty.]

....Rin nearly. Nearly says out loud, ’I knew Walter was trouble.’

They did not know any such think. They also don't do more than think the words, though they'd like to take a moment to see just how dusty this crypt is, and whether there are tracks anywhere within.

[dm: There are no tracks; the general dust and cobwebs are about the same as everywhere else down here.]

That's enough for now; Rin's going to head back toward the others. Probably, it's wisest not to stay split for too long down here.

<.>

Sen, not knowing where Rin is, exactly, is going to message Dima.

[ Is Rin back yet? ]

<.>

Dima has been trying no to look too long at Faolan; it isn't the right time (to say the fucking least), and he doesn't want to discomfort the man any further. He studies the rings on his hand, reminds himself to stave off worry for later, and he's about to dare a press to Faolan's bicep when—

Godsdamnit Sen.

He sounds huffy even in his thought response: [ No, they haven’t— ]

Which is when the tiefling slips back into view, seems to instantly note Sen's absence, and fixes Dima and Fae with sharp eyes.

[ They have. I believe they're looking for you, o intrepid adventurer. ]

<.>

Faolan's attention is on Rin, so he fails to notice that Dima and Sen are communicating.

[ If we come down this way, don't bother with the first corridors, left or right.

I'd go so far as to say, keep Faolan out of them. Yourself, as well, with your little passengers. ]

Sen is, as it turns out, standing in the crypts of Rosavalda and Thornboldt Durst.

A perfunctory look down the other hall has told him these are the crypts of the children's parents.

<.>

Dima: [ …I'll want to know what you've seen. But I take your suggestion in this case as word. ]

<.>

Sen: [ Final resting places of those not yet finally resting. And those who ought not be finally resting, come to think of it. It seems Father and Mother Durst have done one good thing for their children, after all, and expired. ]

<.>

A moment as Dima first forgets, then remembers to breathe, and: [ Thank you, Sen. ]

And.

[ I'd be interested to know who sealed the shitminded parents into resting. For now, you'd better return before the tiefling throws a fit. ]

<.>

No need to tell him twice; he didn't think about THAT.

- Who buried the parents, OR Rin throwing a fit

<.>

After messaging Sen, Dima's going to softly share with Faolan and Rin some part of what Sen relayed: That there's nothing that needs searching in the first passages to the east.

[DEC, d: 12]

<.>

Faolan regards Dima for an uncomfortably long moment, then decides not to investigate further. (Yet.)

Sen, on returning, says there's nothing at all down either passageway.

[DEC, s: 15]

Rin buys it. Faolan is still not having this shit, but also kind of figuring at this point mAYBE they're lying for a reason.

So, the stealthed thieves just returned to report Nothing. Faolan also decided to stealth himself and is silently judging some not-truth-tellers.

<.>

Dima, seeing everyone going stealth, will try his hand at it again, though his hopes aren't particularly high and he's planning on keeping to the back of the party.

[STEALTH: 20]

Rin does not trust Dima to lead the stealth train. They're good with themself, Sen, or Faolan.

Dima. Does not want Fae to lead. For no particular reasons. And suggests one of the thieves - who are presumably accustomed to odd houses - should take point.

<.>

Sen is not as accomplished a thief as Rin and will gladly defer to their guidance.

<.>

Rin gives Sen a smile and a [ Why thank you very much! ] With a wink because you see, they learned this trick too!

"Before we move— Okay, so we're gonna want to go down a small flight of stairs. There's a hallway to the right, but it's just a couple of empty crypts." They pause. They think. "Mostly empty. There was a name in one, but nothing to go with it. Point being it's not really worth our time so. Down the stairs we go!"

If no one has questions or comments, Rin will begin moving toward the stairs they found earlier.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Faolan has a moment of pause about the mention of crypts, but if Rin says it's not worth their time, that's probably true.

The room is unchanged, the only sounds the strange ambient chanting they've heard since they came down the spiral stairs.

<.>

Rin's going to lead around the table to the entry on the far side, intending to listen/look in.

Dima, taking up the tail of their train, is thinking on that empty crypt with a name, though he won't prod about it now.

[note: The entry is a hallway; around the corner is another flight of stairs.]

Rin turns back to Sen: [ Too many stairs in this place. Clear this floor first, or down we go? ]

[note: It's still the same level, just about three or four stairs.]

Rin would rather take a look around the other entries leading from the table room before continuing in this direction. They look back to the others, pause, then scuttle past Sen to continue toward the next opening.

<.>

The other doorways prove to be alcoves; in each one is a bed with mouldering straw and filthy blankets. There's nothing else to be found.

Faolan is just watching quietly, almost expectantly, as though waiting for Rin to tell the party they found something.

(It's better than looking at Dmitri. He is trying very hard not to do that just now.)

<.>

Rin gestures for the group to cluster and speaks softly: "Four basement beds. That's weird, right? If the staff lived upstairs, what was all of this?"

<.>

Sen looks contemplative; he's not sure what he thinks, or how all the pieces fit together.

Faolan, however, thinks about the letter and frowns. "'Visitors.'"

<.>

Dima has - of course he has - been watching Faolan, and now nods. "Visitors eager to keep hidden. Or visitors required to hide." The letter; the books; the entire aura of this house. "It might be related to the books upstairs, to the cult referenced." A shrug of one shoulder. "It may not."

It makes sense enough to Rin. They think about it. Think about it. "One way of finding out."

Rin's going to move toward the small set of stairs, and move downward.

[dm: From their vantage at the bottom of the stairs, they can see the room opens up. At the center, they can just see 3-foot high stone rising from the ground in what might be a sort of wall.]

Rin's moving into the room; they'll give the perimeter a check, but they're very, very interested in whatever that stone thing is.

As they move, Dima Messages Faolan: [ Any thoughts on who or what those visitors might have been? ]

As Rin enters the room to begin their perimeter, they'll be on the lookout for signs of movement or traps.

<.>

There are no signs of traps or movement. Upon entering the room, they can see it, too, branches off into five more alcoves. At the center of the room is a well with a three foot high lip. Above it, suspended from crossbeams, a bucket hangs unmoving.

Faolan finally does exchange a glance with Dima, blinks, and looks away thoughTfully. [ The letter said people were being bled on an altar. Tortured in a dungeon. You found those books. Maybe it was a sort of cult. ]

Sen, meanwhile, slinks off to the right to stick his head in one of the doorways and see what there is to see.

<.>

Seeing Sen start checking the right, Rin heads toward the left. They throw a glance back toward the bucket - what's the bucket for? watering the monster? - but want to see what these rooms hold, and whether it's safe (safeish) to look at the bucket.

[dm: The bucket is hanging about five or six feet above their head. The underside looks as though the wood is rotting away.]

Look up, Rin thinks they really want to poke that bucket. Or throw something at it.
Later!

Dima is going to hold that glimpse of Faolan's eyes close to his heart. [ Yes. I'd say it's odd that we've found no signs of carnage— But then, we can't be sure how far this house extends. Given the sound we're hearing... I'd guess it's had some distance to echo. ]

<.>

From their new vantage point, they can see at least one of the alcoves contains another, slightly better bed. A chest sits beside this, locked with a heavy iron padlock.

Sen sees something similar in the room he's investigating, and with a glance back to ensure Rin sees him stepping into this particular room (just in case) he moves toward it and will attempt to pick the lock.

Faolan is silent for the moment, then nods in agreement. [ *What we've seen already outpaces the sprawl of the house. It could be vast, yes.*]

And, after another pause, he tightens his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. [ I feel useless here. ]

Sen rolls a 15 total dexterity check and manages to pop open the lock. He likewise tries to see if there are any traps, whiffs his check, and decides the chest is totally harmless.

It is, but it might not have been. Inside the chest, he finds a pouch of strange leather, containing 11 gp and 60 sp.

<.>

Rin begins to make their way in the direction of the room and chest they spotted, thinking ’Oh that's much better!’ They'll have to ask Sen what he found in his room! First, though, they're going to check this chest for traps and make an attempt at opening it.

[PERC: 8; chest looks totally fine!]

Then they’ll open it!

[DEX: 16]

The lock opens easily. In this chest, Rin finds a silvered shortsword.

It sort of becomes clear to Sen and Rin by now that these chests contain the personal belongings of whoever was staying here, and they're unlikely to have any traps on them.

Rin Messaging Sen to ask if he wants to go splitsies on opening and going through the chests!

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Sen does a quick count of the alcoves, taking two for himself and leaving three for Rin.

<.>

Sen you are a gentleman! And! Rin promises to show you everything they find! They do not promise to share, but it's not entirely outside the realm of the possible.

Meanwhile, Dima's watching Faolan with more focused intensity (a feat, when his eyes were already sharply fixed), and shaking his head. [ You've done a good deal already. With the specter, with the children. With— My actions. With your reason.

And I've seen your magic, Faolan. You aren't useless in the least.

We don't all need to spend our time in cracking chests. ]

Dima will continue gazing very fixedly at Fae.

<.>

Sen fails the second chest he attempts and messages Rin, asking to swap and see if they have more luck.

Faolan doesn't want to talk about what happened - not anymore than his piece that was spoken earlier. He doesn't want to think about the feelings that overwhelm him when he remembers how Dmitri spoke to the children. (Or now, when he's watched the way he is.)

Swallowing hard, he answers, [ At least they're having fun. Two children at play. ]

And, quite suddenly, he half-blurts, [ It changes nothing. What you did - are doing - for the children. Not because of what you thought about doing, or anything you've done at all. ]

A tight smile turns weary and Faolan does give Dmitri his gaze again. [ You're not the first man to look at me like that.

It'll pass. ]

And, as though looking to keep track of their thieves, he tears his gaze away once more. [ It always does. ]

<.>

Rin immediately agrees to the swap, dropping their focus on the chest to dart for Sen's room. They don't mind at all which chests they open, and this little dash was fun! They'll start working on this chest now!

[DEX, 7; thaaat’s a fail]

And in their irritation, they're going to poke at the bed a little, see if it seems to be covered in the same dust as everything else, before telling Sen [ It's just a shit lock :/ ] and moving along.

<.>

A small thump would suggest Sen has kicked the chest in frustration.

<.>

Rin would like to pop up beside him and give the chest a try, confirming with a scowl that "Yeah, these chests are major shits."

[note: Faolan is watching this back and forth.]

[DEX, r: 16

Hey the chest pops open easily for them. Inside the one by Sen is an ivory hairbrush with silver bristles.]

Rin.

Very.

Clearly.

Would like this.

But they will look at Sen before taking it!

<.>

Sen: [ It knew it was meant to be yours. ]

<.>

Rin: [ Hmm I bet it told you exactly what it had! ] They're beaming as they pick up the brush, running their thumb along its backing. Then, finding Sen's eyes, [ We've got to check the next one together. And this time whatever's in it is yours! ]

Without waiting, they scuttle off, brush in-hand.

Dima is. Much less happy.

Dima is feeling very cold.

(Because of what he did; the intention Faolan saw in his dagger.)

(Because Faolan might, must doubt Dima's intentions regarding the children.)

(Because he knows the man has little cause to trust him; he knows few people do.)

(And because, yes, yes, it becomes clearer and clearer that existence has left Faolan wounded. Whatever happen with the scandal, whatever preceded it, something's left a deep mark on this man, this... He really can't be much older than a boy, and yet he's learned so much.)

Dima's quiet for a moment, letting Faolan's words find their place in him. Trying not to think of other men who looked at Faolan with... with... With whatever name might be placed to Dima's expression. Trying not to think how he could be like them.

The thing is.

The thing is, for all his impulse, Dima knows his mind, and knows the firmness of his drives. It's nothing he can make Faolan believe. It might not be something he can push far now. But he can't let those last words linger any longer.

[ No; it won’t. ]

A blink, an attempt to offer the trace of a smirk that doesn't quite appear. [ Do you truly believe I am like any other man? ]

That, too, he won't let linger long, and Dima continues, all solemnity—

[ I guard what is mine, Faolan.

I follow what calls me, and I keep its song.

Still, I— Know this. You will be safe with me. I can't promise I won't watch you. I can't promise I won't ask that you remain.

But I mean no harm to you. I want your peace. I want you well. ]

<.>

Faolan can't look at him. (They always want to believe they're unlike any other man. That they're different. He's never met a man who doesn't like to be told he's special.)

It's that 'mine' that gives him pause. He thinks about pointing out all the ways it's a ridiculous thing to suggest when they two have only known one another for a day.

Instead, he answers honestly, softly, without malice.

[ The problem with thinking about people as 'yours', Dmitri, is you forget they don't belong to you, and aren't yours to do with as you please. ]

Faolan breathes a mirthless laugh through his nose, then gives the other man a sidelong look.

[ I don't know if you're like any other man. I don't want to find out firsthand that you are. ]

And meanwhile, Sen is going to try that third chest.

Which he unlocks! FINALLY. Inside of it, he finds a silk eyepatch set in with a carnelian stone, which he IMMEDIATELY puts on.

<.>

He can't say Faolan doesn't have a point, just as he can't say he's given the man cause to believe different of Dima.

(Dima. Dmitri. He likes his name in this man's voice. He'd like to hear it once again.)

[ I am quick to glimpse my inclinations; my certainties. Overeager, at times— And perhaps overbearing.

I would like you to be mine; I would like to know myself as yours. ]

He's just going to rush past that into: [ But I'm mistaken in placing my wishing upon you. Or to expect your trust without showing cause.

I'm sorry, Faolan. I am.

I can't promise I won't look at you a little long. I can't promise I won't seek your council.

I ask— Mm. I ask that we may share company. As adventurers, as friends, perhaps.

If nothing else, I'd ask that you keep with us here. There's work yet to be done, and you ARE skilled. ]

Rin is very busy pointing at Sen's eyepatch and grinning, running their brush through their own hair. [ You ARE the most dashing pirate I've ever seen! ]

A thought. An excited scramble as they reach for the silver shortsword and stand upon the bed. [ I believe I'll knight you for your bravery in lockpicking this day! ]

<.>

Sen immediately kneels with a flourish, because of course he would like to be knighted! (By Rin.) [ I believe I'll be honored to be knighted by one with such well-brushed hair, who has far keener lockpicking skill than I could ever hope to attain! ]

Faolan listens, and this time with his eyes on Dmitri. (Assessing. Thoughtful. Wary, ever wary, of the pains he might endure.)

He thinks of asking how Dmitri believes he could ever be Faolan's. If the man has considered the divide between them of title, of scandal, of wealth. But of course, Dmitri hasn't considered that because he doesn't have to. None of them ever do, and why should they, when they make the rules?

(But briefly, his thoughts trace the edges of a world where he and Dmitri look on as Rose and Thorn play, and his heart clenches painfully.) (He wants that life, not Dmitri.) (But if he did want Dmitri in that life, he would call him 'Dima', and his Dima would call him 'Fae'-)

(He slams a door against these thoughts, unaware of the ghosts of emotions that might have passed through his expression.)

[ You don't know me, Dmitri. ]

He draws a deep breath and turns away once more, then shakes his head in resignation.

[ Where were you going? To Awich, or further?

I'm on my way to Lob'en. ]

He pronounces it law ben and immediately bares his teeth at the error: it's slang, the way the poor pronounce the city's name. He never could shake some turns of phrase, some mispronunciations that marked him as a peasant.

Maybe it's better Dmitri knows he's no middle class-born courtesan. Maybe it's better if Dmitri thinks he's grasping, power-hungry gutter trash. (Maybe it's better if Dmitri sees the vastness of the divide between them.)

Still, he enunciates, [ Loch. Bien. ]

<.>

Rin tosses their hair, assuming an expression of majestic approval before their grin cracks back to being. [ My, that was a VERY good flourish! I've seen so many knights, you know— ] 'Seen.' 'Robbed.' [ —And not a one possesses half of your finesse! Not one could solve a single, solitary lock with such elan! ]

Another toss of their hair; another grin. [ Not one could lead me to the very brush my hair has yearned for. Good Sen, you have brought me to such sheen! ]

Theatrically, deftly, they settle the blade first to one shoulder, then the other. [ Here: You are now SIR Sen, Lord of all the Locks and Picks, a rogue to out-dash them all! ]

Dima could, if he focused on the thought, draw out an assortment of causes for Faolan's wariness. He captures what he can: the emotions passing across Faolan's face; the places the man picks to focus in discussion; the name and its correction (Dmitri won't mention this, nor did his expression shift at the colloquial pronunciation); the man's insistence that Dmitri (his name again!) doesn't know him (his name, not in the brightest context).

It's true they only just met. It's also true that Dima trusts his instincts regarding who is worth his time and who is something more than that.

It's Dima's impulse that needs restraining, here and there. It's Dima's impulse that can lead him far awry. And he thinks, he fears with a chill that he's pushing Faolan away, speaking too far, suggesting too much.

He thinks, ’I’d like to know you.’ Thinks, ’Let me learn?’

What he Messages, though, is: [ I'm afraid the answer may not please you.

My destination matches your own; Awich was only ever meant to be a passing-through.

My— Plans, my intentions grow muddier beyond that point. But I am expected in Loch Bien. ]

He wants to say he hopes they can travel together. He judges, for once, that moderation might be in order, that there will be time to speak toward this later, and for now he keeps his tongue.

<.>

Faolan doesn't react. He doesn't know if this is a lie to give cause for Dmitri to follow him to Loch Bien, or the truth, and some measure of coincidence.

He knows that an unspeakable joy filled him for one brief heartbeat before he wrenched away from it. He tells himself it's only because he'll see the children again.

(He knows, also, a sick drop in his stomach: Dmitri will be there when he does what he plans to do.)

But he does relent all the same. [ It's sensible to travel together. Safer, perhaps.]

And, abruptly changing the subject, he nods towards the alcove where the thieves vanished.

[ Could you ask them to hurry it along? ]

[onefellswoop]

The air feels a little warmer now; a little easier to breathe.

(Faolan didn't need to say anything about traveling together. But he did, he chose to, and might that not mean something?) (Whatever it means, it's no cause for Dima to rescind thought of caution.)

Whatever those words mean, Dima can't keep himself from smiling just a little, a relieved, minor crook of his lip.

[ It is. It will be; that's so. ] Even if the shrubs are finished, there's no telling what else may fling itself upon them.

Then, nodding to Faolan, he glances toward the room, toward where the thieves seem to have gone, and messages Sen: [ Anything worth lingering over, or are you reciting poetry to the tiefling? ]

<.>

Sen was, in fact, thinking of reciting poetry to Rin. He looks momentarily perturbed, then tsks and leans back so he can see out of the alcove at the waiting men.

[ They're ready to be boring somewhere different ], he observes to Rin. He rises and, on a whim, offers Rin a ride on his back - stealthed, of course!

When the pair reach Faolan and Dmitri, Sen recalls suddenly the pouch he found. Easing Rin from his back, he produces it, dumps the coin (gives it to Rin for dividing up fairly!) and holds it out to Faolan - who seems he might know and appreciate leather bags.

[INS or NAT, f: nat 20]

Faolan stares at it a moment, then slowly takes it. He waits until Sen and Rin move off again to scout ahead before just as slowly passing it to Dmitri.

[ It's human. ]

<.>

Rin of course agrees, wrapping their arms around Sen - not too tight, and making sure not to get in the way of his movement! - and responding, [ They can be as boring as they like; WE'LL have an adventure! ] The coins, of course, go into the bag of holding, for later and very fair dividing, and Rin turns their eyes ahead, because it's time for getting back to work!

Dima—

Well.

In the first place, there's a fluster through his stomach, a clamoring of moths between his lungs. Of course Faolan may only have wanted nothing to do with this object, or may have determined it better suits Dima's use, but—

But it's not not a gift.

It's not not the kind of gift Dima might hope for, if he ever anticipated gifts at all.

Dima holds the bag, brushes his fingertips across the surface. He'll ask Faolan what he thinks, but first, Dima will attempt to examine the bag himself, with a particular eye to any magical properties.

[INS, d: 7; If there's anything magical about it, he can't perceive it, and he can tell nothing else about it other than what Faolan already said.]

Dima's fingertips continue to travel the surface of the pouch as he looks up at Faolan. [ Thank you. It’s— ]

'Lovely,' he was about to say. Or 'beautiful.' Instead, his lip ticks slightly, and he alters his approach: [ What do you make of it? ]

<.>

...It shouldn't surprise him. He's beginning to gather Dmitri dabbles in necromancy. Of course he would be thankful for a pouch made from human skin.

He still gives the man a perplexed glance, then shakes his head. [ It's not unexpected, if this was a place of sacrifice and torture. ]

And, after a beat, he adds hesitantly, [ You're welcome. I think. ]

<.>

[ That's so.

What's strange is that it should have been left behind. An object of this sort— It isn't unheard of, but it's rare. Valuable, among the right circles. ]

He's staring at the pouch again (he thinks, next time he has an opportunity, he just might stow the raven totem in here) (he also thinks that might not be the wisest course), and he blinks, stows the pouch in his pack, and meets Faolan's eyes again.

[ I find interest in it. I find value— And I will find use for it. It was good of you to give. ]

Dima begins to extend his hand, realizes his own gesture, and blanches, turns what would have been a reach for Faolan's hand into a gesture toward the hall.

[ Onward, then. ]

<.>

Faolan saw that.

The hand reaching for his, then withdrawn again. (It's a metaphor for his life.) He saw, too, how Dmitri paled, how he made it something other to cover his error.

He turns away, thinking how no one ever withdrew a hand because reaching for him at all was the error. (Only being reached for in kind.)

As he starts after the thieves, he turns his head just enough to glance over his shoulder - then, eyes forward once more, he draws a hand behind his back, palm out, in subtle offer.

Just in case.

(Just to see.)

<.>

He'd fallen behind, not quite able to move yet, watching after Faolan with something like worry, something like regret. He's finally moving - step after step, it isn't difficult, or shouldn't be - and when Faolan's hand extends—

There's no thinking; no pause to deliberate the meaning in the gesture, or whether it's the offer Dima would like for it to be. He sees what he takes to be an invitation, and he moves, steps suddenly swift, silent, focused on Faolan's hand.

He wraps his hand in Faolan's. With perhaps a little too much pressure at first, so Dima relaxes, lets the hold be something simple. Something... Faolan can slip from, should he wish to. Something that still tells of Dima's appreciation.

He ought to say something. He wants to express how much this offered palm means, but he also doesn't think loquaciousness is wanted here, and what he lands on is—

[ Hello. ]

Smiling softly to himself.

<.>

He grabbed so quickly and held on so tightly.

(No one's ever done that before.)

Faolan's eyes close briefly and maybe for a moment the pressure of their hold is shared.

When Dmitri speaks, Faolan doesn't respond, but there's a faint squeeze of his hand.

They should focus and not make more of this than it is. Any of it.

Sen, meanwhile, is following Rin's lead once more.

<.>

Dima will keep that offered palm, that slight squeeze in his chest as they continue.

Rin, having slipped from Sen's back (they were having such fun! but investigation requires subtleness and focus, alas), leads down the hall with— Oh, those are more steps, aren't they? This is an odd way to compose a house.

They're going to move forward slowly, checking for signs of disturbance in the floor, alert for any rooms.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Rin's going to head toward the possible dead end, just to see if it *is* a dead end. They're also going to Message Sen, asking him to take a glance in the first doorway, and wait there for them.

Rin's taking their last five feet of movement to just steeep around that corner.

<.>

They find a room containing a plain wooden table flanked by long benches. They can see in the low lighting some oddness to the terrain - larger chunks of something rock-like around the table.

<.>

[ Weirdest place I've ever been. ] That may or may not be true. It feels true enough in this movement. Rin studies the room, brow furrowed. [ I'm looking at something in here, then I'm coming right back. Try not to let the others bore you to tears, okay? ]

Rin would like to approach the table and take a look at those chunks.

[INV: 22

dm: On closer examination, Rin is able to tell that the chunks are actually shattered - and gnawed - bones. They've been here long enough to begin to suffer from the ravages of time.]

Oh, good, gnawed!

Rin has decided they are finished with this room, and will be rejoining the others. They Message Sen: [ On my way over. Another weird room. ]

[q: Actually, a question: Did Rin here anything unusual, or any change of The Sound in that room?

a: The chanting does seem to be growing louder the more they head in a general that way and/or downward direction.]

When they reach the others, Rin gestures for another cluster. "I don't think we need to all go over there. It's full of bones? Okay not full, but there're a lot of pieces, a lot of them chewed on.

"I don't think the monster's there, though. Might be in that direction, but I don't think we're far enough down.

"Ready to head on?"

It is to Dima's credit that he doesn't insist on gathering a few chunks of that bone, or seeing them for himself. Just now, they have a task to keep them moving. He nods, once.

<.>

Faolan very briefly thinks of offering to split off from the party to go get Dmitri a few bones.

But that's stupid. For a lot of reasons.

Sen meanwhile has nothing to report; he glanced down the hall as far as he could see, but didn't do any detailed sweep, thinking Rin might want him to remain near the other two.

He is curious about the room they saw, but - well. Work to be done.

Faolan and Sen both nod their readiness, with one of them giving a hand a gentle press.

Meanwhile, in Rin-land—

[DEX, r: 22]

As Rin moves down the hall and take a step, the floor below their foot begins to crumble; indistinguishable from the rest of the hall's dirty floor is a layer of earth carefully covering a spike trap.

Rin's dexterity allows them to catch themself before becoming impaled on the spikes below, but they suffer 5 points of piercing damage and land prone.

Sen darts out to attempt to catch them when he sees what's happening, but doesn't reach them in time to stop the damage - only to help them up and out.

<.>

They're hissing quietly through their teeth - hurting from the pain, yes, but more presently annoyed that they walked into it - but stop when Sen helps them up. And, softly, "Looks like we're heading in the right direction, anyway."

To Sen: [ Gotta be more diligent checking for traps from here. :/ ]

<.>

Sen doesn't like seeing them injured one bit - and knows this wouldn't have happened if he checked for traps when they sent him to look down here.

He doesn't apologize - not yet, and not here - but he nods an affirmative and certainly looks rather unhappy with himself. With a glance back at Faolan, he almost asks for a healing spell of some sort, but the druid shakes his head and mouths wait.

For more damage to occur. Rin will live through a few puncture wounds, and it might be a good idea to reserve healing spells for now.

Sen gives him the finger and turns to help Rin around the spike trap, if that's the way they'd like to continue.

<.>

Rin is in fact determined to continue down this route. As far as they've found, traps usually mean someone's protecting something. (Or hiding.) (Or thinking they ought to hide.) (Or they just had an excess of traps and got bored one afternoon.)

The wounds don't slow them down; not yet, anyway. They've carried jobs through worse, and anyway, and anyway they don't want Sen feeling bad. (He didn't say anything, but they could see it.) So they put the pain out of their mind as best they can, and offer a balancing hand as Sen crosses the trap.

RIn looks back at the other two, then at Sen. [ Let's check the next bit together? Two sets of eyes can see better than two. ]

…Or, rather. Rin is going to begin checking the hall ahead for more traps.

[PERC
r: 14
s: 3
f: 23]

<.>

Faolan, rising on his toes to see around the two, does a quick visual sweep of the hallway, then pulls a face and shakes his head. No more traps here.

<.>

The guy's got good eyes; that's helpful to know! And Rin, nodding, moves forward, slower now. They pause at the top of the next steps; if there's a door to their left, they'd like to peer inside, but only if Sen's right behind them.

<.>

A hall does seem to stretch in that direction. It's difficult to tell where the chanting is coming from.

Faolan is going to carefully edge around the trap and help Dmitri, as well.

<.>

Dmitri will accept that help gladly and gratefully. And! Without saying anything! Though he does press that man's hand, just lightly.

Rin glances down both hallways, conflicted. They thought, they thought the noises were a little louder in the 'chowing down on bones' room. They don't know, and now they're not really sure they heard it like that, but there's not much else to work with.

...Unless.

They turn to the group. "Hey. What would happen if someone made the noises back at them? Helpful or no?"

It sounds like - it almost is - a very casual suggestion.

<.>

Sen looks intrigued, if only because noise is his business.

Faolan looks as though he's horrified but trying not to look horrified. Very softly, he replies, "Maybe we don't announce where we are."

<.>

Rin Messages Sen: [ It could be interesting, right? ]

But.

But Faolan makes an all right point. And probably, probably jeopardizing stealth isn't a great idea.

"That's kind of what I thought. I mean, I could cast a sound somewhere else. Or if any of you can transport voices or something, that'd be great.

"But we're doing all right with quiet so far." They shoot Dima a look that very clearly suggests they mean after that shield incident.

"So. Okay. We want to go toward where the sound maybe's a little louder?"

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Faolan glances back at Dmitri, then offers to Rin, "Let me go down both halls and see if I can hear which way it's coming from?"

Sen smirks faintly. [ That's why we're not doing it. Too interesting for those taking up the rear. ]

His smirk falters just a little when he recalls Rin taking the fore is why Rin is hurt. (That, and Sen's neglect.)

<.>

Rin hesitates, watching Faolan, catching that falter in Sen's smirk, and then— "If you've got that kind of ear... Okay. I guess. Just take it slow." They'd warn further, but it seems like this guy has an okay handle on what they're doing here. And maybe it'd be helpful for Rin to just pause for a moment, get their bearings back in order.

Dima doesn't like this.

Dima hears Faolan's suggestion, and freezes, though he tries not to clench his fingers. (He doesn't want to let go.) (He doesn't want to let this man go on alone.)

(He also knows there's not much he can do to help just now— And knows that if he went with Faolan, he'd likely be an impediment.)

He swallows, glances around the hall. [ You don't have to do this.

...I'd go with you, only I— Mm. ] He squeezes Faolan's hand. [ I seem to recall one of use walking into a very large coat of arms.

Please. If you do this. Be careful. ]

<.>

Faolan gives Dmitri an odd look, but nods. Of course he'll be careful.

(Who ever cared before?) (Who was ever reluctant to let him go before?)

He pulls free and squeezes past Sen and Rin, whispering to all three of them, "I'll be fine."

He starts down the hall, listening with a furrowed brow (and rolling a nat 20 on perception!) until he comes to a four-way intersection of corridors.

And—

Everyone roll initiative.

[rin: 14
dima: 12
sen: 12
fae: 19
ghouls 1 + 2: 2
ghouls 3 + 4: 6 ]

Fae is going to alert the party that there's trouble by shouting "GET OFF ME" very loudly.

He's going to back up one step northward and cast Thunderwave.

First one takes 12 points of damage and is pushed 10 feet back, knocking it into the one that isn't taking any damage. Second takes 12 and is thrown back against the wall. Third takes 8 points and is pushed 10 feet out of the corridor.

And aside from drawing his scimitar, that ends his turn.

<.>

Rin is going to attempt a shot with the crossbow. [Nat. 20 >:o!] They do 8 points of damage to the ghoul.

Rin steps aside and ends their turn.

<.>

Sen is going to hold his turn and let Dima through because Dima is useful. And while doing so, he's going to give Dima his last bardic inspiration by backing up, pointing, and saying, "Well? Go be a hero."

<.>

Sen that is not inspiring—

Or.

Maybe. Maybe yes it is.

(Not that Faolan needs saving. Not that Faolan doesn't seem to be managing well, but— Well. But Dima will help as he can.)

He moves 15 feet, then turns down the hall, moves as near to Faolan as he can, then turns to see two ghouls.

And Dima—

Dima's back to his old tricks, because he needs something reliable right now. He's going to cast Burning Hands toward the two ghouls in front of him, hitting for 10 points of damage each.

<.>

Both take the full force of the blast; their bodies begin to char and their skin bubbles, but they don't fall.

Sen isn't sure what to do with everyone congesting the hallway and he can't see anything, so he's continuing to hold his turn.

And that brings us to the ghouls.

Okay first one gnashes its teeth at Dima - uh and its jaw falls off.

[note: It rolled a nat 1 and yes Dima just kind of raised an eyebrow at it.]

Second one lunges for Rin and bites at them, delivering 4 points of damage with its filthy mouth.

The last ghoul can’t reach anyone, so it’s up to Sen, who he is trying to rush to Rin to heal them, but goddamn Dima is in the way, so he's going to shove Dima back into Fae, and cast Healing Word on Rin, healing Rin for 8 points of damage.

[note: Rin thanks u, Sen! And Dima doesn’t hate where he is rn.]

[note: E counting the Dima-shove as Sen’s action.]

And that brings us to the top which is. Fae, who holds his turn.

<.>

Rin is going to take a literal stab at the ghoul beside them using the shortsword they just picked up from the chest. The hit for 2 points of damage, then drop their crossbow, and attempt a strike with the dagger that misses.

[dm: Rin slashes out with their new sword and lands a nice cut into the ghoul; it rears back in time for their second attack to miss it entirely.]

<.>

Sen is in an awkward position with a jawless ghoul.

Sen. Has an IDEA. And he is going to cast Cloud of Daggers right on top of the ghoul in front of him. And as that spell deals at least four damage, the ghoul succumbs to a sudden flurry of magical blades and falls to the ground.

As he's out of range, he's going to just step to the side.

<.>

Dima is going to stay precisely where he is, and attempt to cast ice knife on the ghoul that isn't next to Rin.

The ghoul is killed gone by the combination of initial hit and cold damage.

<.>

The remaining ghoul swipes at Rin with its claws for four points of damage.

[CON, r: 5]

Rin falls to the ground, paralyzed.

<.>

Rin’s back up! And attacks with the shortsword for 4 points of damage, then misses with their attempted dagger strike.

And Rin is going to disengage as a bonus action and move past the ghoul to the other side.

<.>

Dima casts Chill Touch on the last ghoul standing, for 5 points of damage.

<.>

Sen gives Dima another push back into his alcove with Fae, and will now use his crossbow.

The crossbow jams.

And Sen shouts "FOR FUCK'S SAKE".

Fae can't get to the ghoul, so he's holding his turn.

If nothing else, Sen got the ghoul's attention off Rin. And it misses him with its attack.

<.>

Dima. Is going to use his turn to step ouT of the way.

And since Fae has been VERY PATIENTLY HOLDING. And got hit with the fuckers first. AnD is def stronger than Dima.

He nods to Fae.

<.>

Fae, finding himself right there in front of the ghoul with his scimitar - he looks down at the blade, back up again.

And rolls a fucking 2.

<.>

Rin throws their dagger at the ghoul and—

Rin, baring their teeth at the ghoul but not even a liTtle smiling, their eyes flashing deep, glowing red, hurls the dagger into the shitty fucking ghoul, right in the pus-ridden eyeball, hissing “Will you QUIT IT?”

They are very, very pleased when the ghoul does in fact 'quit it'.

<.>

After defeating four ghouls that ambushed the party, a fight punctuated by Rin's "Would you QUIT IT", Faolan is the first to speak - softly, gently making his suggestions.

"We really need to work on our team tactics. I think we're all best if there's space to move."

"They know we're here. Maybe I ought to take the lead. Rin can stay hid and flank whatever comes. And you two can stop shoving each other. Don't make me separate you."

Sen, mostly.

"Stay at a distance if everything you've got is ranged."

And, gesturing almost wearily with his sword to the tunnel south, he adds, "We must be on to something."

Sen can't let that slide unprovoked and waits for Faolan to finish before replying, "He started it."

Just as promptly, maybe with a hint of humor, Faolan bats back, "I'm finishing it."

<.>

Rin nods; it sounds like a good idea to them, and Faolan's been more than capable already. (Rin is also still *annoyed* that they were caught by a trap anD paralyzed by a shitty very rude ghoul, and shadows are much better for subtle sulking.)

Dima smirks, just a little, little bit pleased by Faolan's response. He flashes Sen a pleased, triumphant smirk, then nods. "No more shoving; I think we can all be adults about this." ...Okay maybe he isn't. Entirely convinced of that. But he can try!

He looks to Faolan and speaks again, "Correct all around, I think." Though Dima doesn't like the thought of Faolan on the front lines of hazard. Though he's smarting still at the thought that he put Faolan in harm's way by ushering him toward the ghoul and the daggered cloud. (He wants to apologize for that.) (He's fairly certain this isn't the time.)

"When the ghouls attacked, did you see where they came from? Or what drew them to you?"

<.>

Faolan shakes his head. "I think they were just...lying there, waiting for something to come along. They don't seem like they're very clever tacticians, really.""

He eyes one, nudges it with his toe, then gives Dima a sidelong glance. "If you're going to - take anything. Now's the time."

<.>

He huffs a soft laugh; no, they wouldn't be very clever. And Dima's going to bend to examine the body. He doesn't expect to take anything, but he would like to see whether he can discern anything from these ghouls; how long they've been here, what their clothing might suggest.

[dm: There's nothing to tell from the bodies. They're either too charred, slashed, or rotted to tell anything of value from them.]

He traces a hand across one of the bodies, shakes his head. "There's nothing much to salvage." And, standing, sighing, "Leave it to ghouls to stand upon the pinnacle of futility." Ah, well.

A glance to Sen, a roll of his eyes. "What will it be, Sen? Rear, or do you dare to walk before me?"

<.>

Sen arches a brow at Dima, then bows low, ushering the man ahead of him. "Far be it from me to part you from your intrigues."

Faolan blinks at the pair, twists his lips, then turns away to start down the hall now that the blades have ceased their deadly whirling. He steps over the corpses; Sen, from the back of the line, simply steps on them.

Faolan's path takes them south, then left down the passage; it opens up into a room with a table in the middle, flanked by two high-backed chairs. An empty clay jug and two flagons sit atop it. In the corners are two iron candlesticks, their candles long since melted away. Above the table is a chandelier.

One door and one short hall lead from the room.

<.>

Rin suggests the door, because "We haven't seen many of these down here."

Dima is going to step toward the table, attempting to take a look at the flagons and jug, to see where any liquid is in the flagons, or whether any telltale residue may be seen.

<.>

Over time, the flagons have dried out entirely of whatever their contents may have been.

Faolan nods to Rin, but first moves toward the short hallway just to poke his head down that way and see whether it's worth checking out. Sen, of course, goes where Rin goes.

Faolan calls back softly, "It's a bedroom. Looks like there are torches and candles stored in there - could be helpful."

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Rin is off like a shot to join Faolan in the room, giving Sen a little tug on the elbow as they do so. (They're pretty sure they don't need to tug him. But it's part of the fun! And they want to make sure he knows he's included.)

Rin's going to dart past Faolan and into the room, where they ask Fae via message if he's looked for traps; if he hasn't, they'd like to look.

Dima follows with less hurry, but no less interest. He'll hang toward the back of the group for now.

<.>

Faolan hasn't looked for anything at all. He does shoot a pained look at Dmitri when the thieves hurry past him. His hand stays resting on his scimitar's hilt as he follows them in.

<.>

Dima returns the look and adds another roll of his eyes. [ No rash of ghouls can dampen the bliss of thieves. ]

<.>

Taking up a large portion of the room is a large featherbed that was once opulent and is now simply rotting away. On one wall is a wardrobe; the torches Faolan mentioned are stored in a crate in the corner, and beside it is an open leather sack of candles.

A wooden footlocker is at the foot of the bed.

[PERC; checking for traps
d: 8; staring into a corner. thinkin about fae.
r: 22
f: 22
s: 17]

There are no traps.

<.>

Rin's going to gesture to the footlocker, indicating that Sir Sen ought to join them in this uncovering!

Dima's going to move to the wardrobe, and maybe he brushes just a little against Faolan, and maybe it was an accident or maybe is wasn't; who can say in such close quarters? The point is: Dima would like to look into the wardrobe, while Rin (with Sen? pls Sen?) would like to get into that footlocker.

<.>

The wardrobe proves to hold only some very old, black robes. Faolan barely notices the brush; his head is cocked as though he's listening to something beneath the ambient chanting, his brow furrowed.

Sen does in fact join Rin; the pair will find the chest is unlocked, and opening the lid reveals a small horde of treasures clearly taken from adventurers over time.

Rin will now also hear the noise Faolan is listening to: a shifting, scratching sound.

Slowly, carefully, Faolan says, "Everyone. Back up. Back out of the room."

[dm: The horde in the chest includes several potions and a very obvious spellbook alongside other tempting items of value.]

<.>

Rin's hand is on their shortsword immediately; at the first sign of the sound, their attention has been torn from the treasures (though they want to see what was there; it looked like an admirable collection!) (that sound can mean no good, though), and Faolan's words only sharpen their attentiveness.

Okay, yeah, the trove here looks good. ...The trove here looks too good, and it really ought to've been locked, and yes, yes, Rin's going to slip from the room, but not without nudging Sen, signaling emphatic agreement with Faolan's decision.

Dima was inclined to continue looking at the robes - the material, the make, whether any of them contain objects or suggestions of note - but Faolan's voice draws him back, sets him moving swiftly, carefully from the room.

He doesn't know what Faolan's observed. He also isn't going to doubt the man's suggestion; he simply moves.

<.>

Sen, who doesn't hear the sound, is agreeable enough to follow the suggestions made - but not before reaching out and trying to palm one of the potions. (17 Sleight of Hand).

It's not for certain that this caused what happens next, but.

Everyone roll initiative.

[dima: 17
rin: 18
fae: 9
sen: 8
ghast 1: 17
ghast 2: 20]

The walls of the bedroom crumble as two ghasts burst from hidden crevices. One makes for Faolan, and the other for Sen.

Ghast 2 (Sen) lunges at him, jaws wide, and he falls back into the wardobe as it attacks. His fall actually sends the Ghast *into* the wardrobe, giving Sen enough leeway to wriggle out and away from it. (Nat 1.)

The second Ghast (Faolan) likewise lunges, swiping at Faolan with its overgrown fingernails. It scratches him, dealing 8 points of slashing damage. And Faolan makes a constitution saving throw. He barely makes it.

<.>

Rin's going to use their bonus action to Dodge, then move into the room, past Sen, to attack the ghoul that's against Faolan, thinking about Faolan's earlier suggestion and about making sure Dima has space to join.

They're going to attack with the shortsword/dagger combo and—

Shortsword hits for 6 points, dagger misses.

<.>

Though Dima wants to hurry to Faolan, he sees one very clumsy ghast struggling amid some potentially very flammable cloaks and a potentially flammable wardrobe.

So Dima is going to cast Burning Hands against the ghast in the wardrobe.

[dm: The ghoul and the wardrobe take 8 points of fire damage; the clothes do begin to burn, and let's say that's 1d4 extra, and 1d4 at the start of the ghast's next turn if it fails a dex roll.]

Dima's going to use the rest of his movement (he's used 20ft so far) to back outtt of the room again.

<.>

Fae is going to draw his scimitar with his off hand. In his main hand, he's going to cast Flame Blade.

A flaming scimitar appears in his hand, shedding bright light in a 10-foot radius around him. And with that, he's going to attack, then make a bonus attack with his not-on-fire scimitar.

...The flame blade abruptly vanishes.

To be fair. It's the first time he's ever cast the spell. So. As a bonus action, he's going to just. Conjure that right back up, but it does mean his turn is over.

He is swearing his outrage right now.

Sen, meanwhile, has a potion bottle in one hand and really would like both hands free to cast or fight, so he does the sensible thing: he throws it at the creature attacking Rin.

(“Attacking.”) (“Rin.”)

Okay; he makes a 14 on the ranged attack; the potion arcs across the room and shatters against the ghast. The moment the liquid inside is exposed to air, it bursts into flames, engulfing the creature, doing 3 points of damage.

The ghast remains on fire, clawing at itself and screeching, and will take 1d4 damage at the start of each turn unless it makes a Dex saving throw.

Top of the round!

The very angry, very on-fire ghast fails it dexterity saving throw and takes 1 point of damage. Enraged, it lashes out at Rin with its claws. And with disadvantage. The fire and Rin's super sneaky sneakness are too much for the ghast to overcome; it misses entirely.

Brings us to the other on-fire ghast, which has successfully wrenched itself free of the closet and is going for Sen. It manages to latch on to him and sink its teeth into his shoulder, dealing 10 points of piercing damage. Sen cries out in pain but can't shake off the ghast.

<.>

Rin's going to begin by using their bonus action to Disengage so they can scurry over to (try to) help Sen.

They move to take a crossbow shot, and miss.

<.>

Dima casts Mind Spike on the shit that’s trying to eat Sen, for 5 psychic damage.

<.>

Sen: Shouting in pain.

Fae’s turn. He's going to try another attack with his scimitars. Nothing with the flaming scimitar; hit with the second for 6 points of damage. He's going to stay right there, keeping this one off the others while they help Sen.

[note: Rin is shouting very loudly at the one attacking Sen!! Insulting their fashion sense!!]

Sen is going to disengage, moving himself away from the fucker. He's going to cast Dissonant Whispers; under his breath, he sings a jarring, discordant song that only the ghast can hear. The ghast takes 13 points psychic damage.

That ghast is gone and dead now.

The last ghast lashes out at Faolan again and misses.

<.>

Rin misses both of their attacks, and uses their bonus action to Disengage.

<.>

Dima doesn't want to risk Fae getting hurt

He also knows he'll have a better chance of hitting if he holds his attack and waits until Faolan has stepped aside, so. He'll finish up his movement and hold his action until Fae's gone.

<.>

Last try for Faolan with that goddamn flaming sword. He hits! Fae doesn't bother swinging it this time. He just stabs it into the ghast's midsection for 9 points damage.

He tries for a stab with his off-hand, misses. So, he's going to pull the flame blade out and move out of Dima's way.

<.>

Dima casts Mind Spike for 15 points damage.

And!

Dima. Would like to in a very exasperated voice say, “You just had to grab something, Sen."

As he focuses on the very center of that ghast's very pea brain. Closes his fist. Then opens it as psychic damages strikes the center of the shit's mind.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

As the ghast's mind collapses under the force of the spell, Dima gets a brief flash of insight into the identity of these two creatures: Gustav and Elisabeth Durst.

With a final wail, Elisabeth crumples to the ground, now little more than a smoking heap of charred flesh and exposed bone.

He may have the sense that this insight didn't come from his spell, but rather from the rings he wears.

<.>

Dima is. Very suddenly. Very still. And looking concerned, his hand still half-lifted.

He'll absolutely look at his hand and the rings upon it.

Places his hand over the rings and think, ’I’m very sorry. Sorry you saw that. Sorry I brought you here.

'But the ones who gave you so much pain are gone now.’

[ARC: 16; with Bardic Inspiration from Sen]

<.>

Though he can't interpret the specifics of what's being communicated, there's a a sense from the rings that floods through and past him: grief, yes, but also gratitude.

Dima understands the children are thanking him for putting their parents' spirits to rest.

Later, Rose may verbally convey to him that those things weren't their parents anymore.

<.>

Dima's going to sink onto the bed, cross-legged, staring at the rings and fighting a subtle burn in his eyes, and a worried relief, a sense like... What, achievement? Like having done something, taken part in managing something worthwhile.

He's rubbing his hand; he's rubbing the rings. He's nearly forgotten the scene around him.

And he thinks, ’I will keep you safe. No more absence. You're with me, and here you'll stay.’

(A thought, not put to clarity, not meant for the children's hearing: He'd like for there to be four of them. Another to care for the children beside Dmitri, and there is only one other who would do— But that's not the focus for the moment. He has to be more careful with Fae.)

<.>

Faolan has been watching whatever's happening with Dmitri, and though he doesn't have specifics, he sees the man looking at the rings.

Undone by something to do with the rings.

He looks around the room and takes a breath, eyeing Sen and Rin, looking down at his own wounds as the flame blade vanishes.

"I think -" he starts, then decides maybe to stop saying I think, and instead just say what he means. "We need to rest. Really rest. This seems like a good place, if we drag out the bodies and -"

He gestures to the burning wardrobe.

"Douse that."

"It's only got the one entrance. We can block it, take turns keeping watch. Take turns sleeping."

Sen doesn't argue. He's holding one hand over the bite wound at his shoulder to stem the flow of blood and can't agree more: he needs a rest. Still, he casts a glance at Rin to seek their opinion, first.

<.>

Rin is, in fact, already staring at Sen with clear concern, and they're already nodding. "It's smart. Since we don't know how far this goes—" They shrug with one shoulder, settle just a little closer to Sen, offering him their shoulder, their horns to rest on. "And I'd rather heal a little before moving on. There was that whole spikes in a pit incident, you know. :/" And there's the whole. Sen actively bleeding out thing. Which they don't care for at all.

<.>

Very softly, Sen whispers, "I'm very sorry, Pretty Rin."

<.>

Rin huffs a soft sound of faux disapproval. "Don't you dare be sorry, Sir Sen. Just close your eyes and get some sleep, okay? You destroyed a creature just there; now you've got to rest up."

Dima slowly, slowly becomes aware of what's happening around. It takes a minute to piece together the questions, the propositions, and then he nods agreement, shaking his head, rising. "I'll take first watch. There's a spell I can cast— An extra precaution against approach. It'll alert us all if anything breaks the barrier." Alarm; he'll cast Alarm, settle in for his watch, then - hopefully - sleep soundly.

He's very tired, he's realizing.

And he's gazing at Faolan again. There's an upward tick of his lip, a smile both apologetic and appreciative, and he Messages: [ That was skillful work with the blade, Faolan. A flaming scimitar? That's very good. ]

And: [ We all have quite some way to go, but I believe we owe you a good deal for your talk on teamwork. There wasn't a single push this time; that's a start, yes? ]

Once the fire has been doused and the bodies removes, Dima is going to cast Alarm, encompassing the room and the hall leading to it. If anything crosses the line, the sound of a hand bell will fill their room.

<.>

Faolan helps this process with Control Flames, extinguishing the wardrobe's fire with a motion that almost...mimics. What Dima did only yesterday.

He doesn't respond to the messages, but as he watches Sen and Rin curl up together in a corner - Sen somewhat better after a healing spell sent his way by Faolan - he thinks...

He thinks.

And he glances at Dmitri.

And after a moment: [ I'll sit up with you. ]

Faolan positions himself on the floor ten feet from the beginning of the hallway, his back to the wall, deaf to any arguments from Dmitri. After a hesitation, he extends a hand and - with tired amusement:

[ For stealth? ]

<.>

He does try, at first, to insist that Faolan sleep. He's been wounded; he'll need his rest to heal, and to regain his magic.

But it'd be a little easier to keep watch, wouldn't it, with Fae beside him? (It'd be easier to hold the knowledge, the sensations he's just gleaned. It'd be easier not to fall into wondering just what he's done, and what all of this means.)

And of course. And of course, Dima would like very much to sit beside this man.

So he ceases protestation with the sight of Faolan's hand. So he smiles, tired, and settles in beside the man, clasping his hand, not over-tight, but showing no sign of release.

[ For stealth. ]

And.

[ Thank you, Faolan. ]

<.>

The "night" passes uneventfully; Dima and Fae are able to prepare their spells while they sit up; they spend the rest of the watch talking with Dima's Message cantrip. Eventually they trade off with Sen and Rin, and though Fae doesn't touch him, he lies close to Dima while he sleeps. Near enough to give the impression he's protecting the man.

As they swap, Sen will find the chest still open at the foot of the bed. Touching the contents summons nothing further, and within it he finds:

- Four potions of healing
- a chain shirt
- a mess kit
- a bullseye lantern
- a set of thieves' tools
- a spellbook with a yellow leather cover, containing the following mage spells:
1st level: disguise self, identify, mage armor, magic missile, protection from evil and good
2nd level: darkvision, hold person, invisibility, magic weapon

Sen argues this last should go to Dima as spoils of victory; Dima has enough time to prepare spells from this list, if he chooses.

Seven or eight hours pass; the party is back to full health, full spell slots, has eaten, and is ready to continue searching for whatever is lurking in the bowels of the house's dungeon.

Between sleeping and waking, Dima hears a voice speaking to him, but the message is unclear. He has a strong urge, near-obsessive, to grab hold of the raven totem when he wakes.

What would everyone like to do?

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Dima is absolutely reaching into his pack, telling himself he only wants to make certain the totem didn't disappear, to make certain it hasn't been damaged, to make certain no elves have gotten it into their heads to make off with it!

He does this as he's waking, head still a little hazed from sleep. (Still. Even so, even with the fuzziness of waking, he notices Faolan nearby, and feels a curl of a warmth, a moment's hesitation before he continues reaching for the bird.)

[dm: When he touches the totem, he feels a strong instinct for the direction the party should go.

When everyone is ready, Dima will feel that they should go back to the place where the path split before Faolan ran into the ghouls.]

Dima, with this notion in his head, is going to resettle his pack and look through the spellbook; he'll spent 50gp to learn and so prepare protection from evil and good. He'll also suggest that they each take a potion, and redistribute along the way if necessary.

He'll also suggest going exactly where he now feels they should go; to that place and its split path. He's not going to question this impulse; he's only going to stand firmly by it.

Rin will be placing anything unclaimed from the loot in the Bag of Holding. They're feeling much brighter after a night of healing. No, they don't love being in the depths of this place, but for once it was kind of nice not spending the night alone.
They're going to look at Dima questioningly, and ask, word drawn out long: "W h y."

<.>

Faolan doesn't see anything particularly wrong with this; it feels as though they've gone as far as they can in this direction, and Dmitri seems so certain. It's nice to have (Dmitri) someone else making the decisions.

Sen would like an explanation as well, though. Did Dima notice something in the night? Is he just being himself?

Probably being himself.

He catches Rin's gaze and rolls his eyes. [ Likely just reminding us who's in charge, now he's got some more ammunition. Absolute power cunts absolutely. ]

<.>

Rin just gives a little huff. [ Can't argue with that. :/ If we walk back into ghoul central, that's HIS problem. ] And, out loud, "I guess we can check it out. Faolan, you at the front again?"

Dima is going to say as little as possible - no use unsettling things when his suggestion seems to be winning out, and thank Faolan for that - and mostly watches Fae.

He also runs a finger along the raven totem, still wrapped, but now placed within his pocket.

<.>

Faolan shrugs, agreeable after his rest and feeling more as though he has, from his communion with the nature of this place, better prepared himself for whatever might be hiding in the dark. "I think you two especially ought to keep to the shadows, though; it's all right if it sees me coming. Whatever 'it' is."

With that, he'll take the lead and both he and Sen will make an attempt to stealth.

<.>

Rin and Dima will both attempt stealth, though Dima plans to linger a little behind... Just in case.

[STEALTH
f: 21
s: 18
r: 22
d: nat 20]

<.>

Faolan watches Dima vanish beautifully into the shadows and raises a brow, wondering if the man's been feigning incompetence all this time just for a hand to hold.

And the impulses of the totem lead Dima and the party back to where I've drawn a bullseye sort of thing.

From there, down the stairs.

As they travel downward, the space around them turns darker; anyone without darkvision will need a source of light.

Also as they move, the chanting grows louder and the words more clear: "He is the Ancient! He is the Land!"

Fae lights one of the torches they found, casting a glow of about ten feet square around him. The hallway seems to end at the bottom of one more flight of stairs.

Fae's vision allows him only what the glow of the torch allows.

And. The space is a large, with thirteen niches in the walls, each containing what appear to be cult relics. At the center of the room is a cage, five feet by five feet square. Something within wavers in and out of visibility, like a mirage.

Faolan is going to let the others know as quietly as he can that he can't see far.

<.>

Dima, fascinated by the... image, the phenomenon (the creature?) in the cage, curious about the relics, speaks soft, "Here."

And Messages Faolan: [ Stay beside me. I'd like to look at everything; I could use your eyes, as well. ]

He holds out his hand; he cants his head.

Rin would like to scout the edges of the room, juuust to make sure they won't be interrupting. They'll be checking for traps as they go.

And, they message Sen: [ Perimeter check? ]

<.>

Sen responds, [ Perimeter check! ] and tracks in the opposite direction. There are no traps in the room that they can see. Sen will be examining the relics and possibly taking a few.

• A small, mummified, yellow hand with sharp claws (a goblin’s hand) on a loop of rope
• A knife carved from a human bone
• A dagger with a rat’s skull set into the pommel
• An 8-inch-diameter varnished orb made from a nothic’s eye
• An aspergillum carved from bone
• A folded cloak made from stitched ghoul skin
• A desiccated frog lashed to a stick (could be mistaken
for a wand of polymorph)
• A bag full of bat guano
• A hag’s severed finger
• A 6-inch-tall wooden figurine of a mummy, its arms crossed over its chest
• An iron pendant adorned with a devil’s face
• The shrunken, shriveled head of a halfling
• A small wooden coffer containing a dire wolf’s withered tongue

Sen will later give the daggers and the severed finger to Faolan.

Faolan takes Dmitri's hand for a moment, but thinks this can't possibly work if they need to fight. So, almost immediately, he tugs Dmitri to a halt and shakes his head, then douses the torch flames. He's been avoiding this - careful not to give away too much about himself - but he can't see.

He's banking on the space around where he's aiming to be clear of any thieves, but again: he can't see for shit. Aiming behind him into the stairwell, he summons his Wildfire Spirit.

A fiery wolf - a reflection of his own beast form - forms the space, illuminating the walls around it and apparently doing no harm upon arrival. Faolan has a look full of fondness, gratitude (relief) (sadness), a faint smile just for the spirit.

Pointing, he indicates the room plunged in darkness. The spirit trots past, looking up at him and Dmitri but not pausing.

It starts to make a slow circuit around the room, giving Faolan a sense of the space thanks to the light it casts.

<.>

It's admirable magic, and the creature - the wolf (think of Faolan's reaction to the rooms upstairs, the gruesome, ruinous symbology made from wolves) - flickers beautifully with flame.

Dima watched the casting of the spell; Dima caught the look an Faolan's expression, and wonders at its meaning; wonders what this creature means to him.

The wolf is beautiful; that's certain. The magic is well-honed.

And Dima watches them both in turn - man and wolf - for a long more-than-moment as the spirit trots around the room.

He does, eventually, Message Faolan: [ It's lovely. ]

Rin didn't see the casting of the spell. Doesn't sense Faolan at work, focused as they are on examining the relics - they'd like to take more than a few of these, and they do immediately pocket the frog - until there's a burst of light, until they turn and see a—

Not enemy, apparently.

Faolan's something? That's...

Well. They don't disagree with fiery creatures.

And they're going to return to their examinations, trying to decide whether these are relics widely known, or whether they seem to be secret, perhaps unstoried.

[INV, r: 9

dm: They really can't tell anything about the items, other than they look like they'd be relics.]

Rin is going to nod their head to themself at this conclusion, and start looking very closely at each relic in turn, examining the details. Less for the purposes of gleaning further information; more for aesthetic appreciation.

They will Message Sen: [ Love a room full of relics! ]

<.>

Faolan can't see much with the spirit across the room, but he studies what he can make out of Dmitri's face, the tender expression gone now. [ It's many things. 'Mine' and 'part of me', foremost. ]

It's a warning, of sorts. A caution, maybe, or a plea that Dmitri not harm it. (Or Faolan.)

He adds, [ And yes, 'lovely'. Thank you. ]

Sen finds an eyeball and chucks it across the room at Rin, over the head of the wildfire spirit. In part, he wants to see what the wolf will do. But also, eyeball relics.

The wolf pauses, staring at Sen, in a way that makes him feel rather...guilty? before it continues on its circuit around the room.

[ That thing's as dull as Faolan. ]

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Rin! Is going to move to catch the eyeball, grinning to themself and tossing it from hand to hand. [ THIS I like. Wonder what it's meant to do? Or be. Never seen one like this. ]

Dima watches Faolan carefully; looks at the spirit after the man begins to speak, then back to Fae. There's quite a lot contained in what's been said. This also isn't the time to pry into it, or attempt to draw pieces together for himself, but he gleans that this spirit is dire to Faolan - to say the least, he thinks - and he nods in the darkness.

[ Better than 'lovely,' yes. ]

And, because he realizes Faolan may not have seen Dima's nod, he settles a light touch, the slightest hint of an assuring brush, to Faolan's forearm, then moves to the cage at the center of the room.

Dima's going to attempt to figure out what the image is, and what it's doing here.

[WIS, d: 6]

<.>

As Dima approaches the cage, he begins to hear a piercing shriek in his mind; the sound will continue until he moves five feet away from the cage.

However, the apparition within begins to solidify when he gets WITHIN five feet - sort of. The creature seems to be in a persistent state of flux, shifting forms between nothingness, a black serpentine body, and a raven.

This constant shift is clearly causing it pain.

Sen is also within five feet now. And he, too, fucks his saving throw and hears the piercing sound in his head. He covers his ears and reels back from the cage, finding that doing so makes the un-sound stop. "What the fuck.”

The wolf kind of glances at the cage, but moves past unharmed.

<.>

Dima flinches against the sound, slamming one hand against his ear, but doesn't back away.

He's caught sight of the— Creatures? Creature. He sees, and watches fascinated, an ache in his chest he doesn't understand, and scarcely feels beneath the shrieking pain. If he thought for a moment that the creature formed the source of the shriek, he now wonders whether that's so, or whether this noise, this pain has been set in place to pain the creature.

Dima's going to put one hand on the case. And, thinking of the impulses that led him here, thinking of one of the shapes in formation, he clasps his hand around the totem in his pocket, now slipped free of its covering.

And, scarcely able to hear his own thoughts, he'll attempt to Message the creature within: [ I see you. Can you hear me? ]

Rin is watching the occurrences around the cave, the eyeball still in-hand as they try to decide whether the fire wolf might like to play with a frog on a stick. At Sen's clear pain, they rush over to him, [ Hey, what's happening? Are you all right? ]

<.>

The creature continues to shift from form to form, but its writhing stills for a moment; it sees Dima. A flash of something like, but not, a hand reaching out appears in Dima's mind.

He sees an image of open, alien sky. An image of the cage, an image of a serpentine corvid with its wings spread against the sky.

The shriek continues, agonized.

Faolan approaches Dmitri when the wolf returns and casts its glow on the man and the cage; he doesn't hear the sound, perhaps protected by the wolf's presence.

Reaching out, he places a hand on Dmitri's arm - not necessarily for attention, but to let him know he's here.

Sen takes another step back, lip curled in not-exactly-disgust. A sharpish gesture at the cage precedes, [ That thing. Don't get close, whatever it is. ]

<.>

[q: Did the shrieking stop or change in volume when the writhing stilled? Or ig more aptly, would Dima have noticed any change?

a: Dima would have noticed the shrieking and imagery moved in tandem, like a person screaming in pain might cry for help.]

Dima doesn't remove his hand from the cage. Doesn't move at all, teeth grit, hand clenched around the totem. He's on the verge of falling into these images, trying to reach further, see more, wondering 'Why are you in there' and 'Who put you there' and above all 'How, how can I free you'—

A touch (Faolan; he's certain) brings him back to himself, and to awareness of the shrieking (it's her, after all) that brings him to another flinch. He jerks his head to find Faolan's eyes and speaks aloud - perhaps a little too loudly, not quite aware he isn't Messaging, unable to gauge volume in the shrieks - "I need to get her out."

And: "Please."

Dima would, if he can at this moment, like to inspect the cage. He's also going to add, this time in Message: [ What do you make of this cage? ]

[ARC, d: 21]

<.>

Dima can ascertain that there are several spells composing the cage; primarily Forcecage, but it would appear another spell has been used to keep the creature perpetually shapeshifting and unable to control its form. The momentarily vanishing and reappearing may be the creature attempting to flee to its plane of origin and failing (a Charisma throw) over and over and over.

Dima would know that the cage can't be dispelled by magic.

He would know that teleportation or interplanar travel would allow the creature to escape, but only if it has honed its skill to do so. (High enough Charisma.)

He would know that the magic causing the creature pain is different than the magic keeping it trapped, and that this can be dispelled, at least giving the creature relief, if not freedom.

Faolan knows none of this, but he notices the bars are 1/2 inch apart.

[ If we could make it smaller, maybe it can squeeze through these bars. ]

However, he admits, [ I've never seen anything like this before. ]

It's clear from his expression that he doesn't want to leave the creature in pain.

With a tragic, sorrowful frown and a cant of his head: [ If we can't free it, it might be kinder to - ]

Apparently, the creature in the cage can hear what Dmitri hears, and an amplified wail, enraged and helpless, interrupts what he was going to suggest. The sound is so loud, everyone who fails a wisdom saving throw against the creature's DC 15 takes (1d4 - 1) points of psychic damage.

Fae fails and takes 2 points of psychic damage and immediately backs up with a grunt, then holds up his hands. "We won't! All right! We won't! I'm sorry!"

Sen takes no damage. The wolf takes no damage.

<.>

Dima takes 2 points of damage. Rin takes 3 points.

There is so much Dima wishes.

That he'd begun his training earlier; that he'd had more time to hone and gather spells.

That Faolan hadn't been wounded; that Faolan hadn't Messaged what he did (Dima had felt a pain in that, himself, an instant before the creature's wail).

That the being had never been encaged. That Dima might have found her first.

That he was thinking clearer; that he had a godsdamned answer.

He flinched at the sudden spike of pain; he can't and he won't fault her for that. Still, his hand remains on the glass. Still, he keeps his eyes fixed on her.

[ We're going to fix this.

You won't be left here. It hurts, I know, but as soon as we can, we'll find a way. ]

After a brush of his fingertips against the cage, he steps back, finds the shrieking stops— And feels, almost, an impulse to return. To not leave her along with her cries.

Still. Still, he won't be of any use if he can't keep himself focused.

"I don't know what put her here, or why." He might be talking to himself, or to Faolan, or to the group as a whole. At his side, his fingers flex uneasily. "She's caught within a tangle of spells. We need— If we could dispel one piece of it, it'd help immensely. Or if anyone has access to another plane."

Now he does look around at all of them - Faolan, the wolf, Sen, and Rin in turn - looking a little bit lost, and entirely determined.

"Did anyone determine whether there's anything in the alcoves we might use? Rather— Do any contain arcane properties?"

Dima may. Have been very, very focused on this one task, and will be difficult to dissuade from following it through.

<.>

Sen hasn't had a look at any of it, but - sensing Dima's urgency - hurries to look over everything he and Rin have found.

Rolled a 15, which is juuust high enough to tell that most of it's junk - except the frog on a stick. It actually *might* be a wand of polymorph.

<.>

Rin. Will pass it over to Sen.

(Though they still want to know if the wolf would like to play with it.)

<.>

Sen promises they can have it back after.

Sen passes over the wand, and then, on a whim, Faolan asks, "What else have we got? Surely we've found something or one of us knows a spell?"

<.>

Rin - with a strong, strong warning that they will only hand over what has an actual chance of being valuable - will show the silver shortsword, the silver-backed hairbrush, and the jewelry box with its platinum necklace. They don't want to show these things. They also get the sense something's going on here, because Dmitri looks like he's liable to go off his shit.

While they display the objects, they shake their head. "I don't know what good my spells would do. Unless I can disguise the cage into thinking it's something else or— I guess I can make a hand. Or sounD like the bird and make that box think it's got the wrong target?"

"...There's also the gemstone. From that guy, with the trees. I dunno what thaT does."

Dima's thinking through this information. He'll also explain what he discerned about the cage and the spells. He notes that Fae's suggestion of a resizing spell might be worth trying, at least.

A thought. It might not make it through the barrier but— "Sen. Could you give her a little encouragement?"

Sen. Can you inspire the creature?

<.>

Sen and Faolan are having the same thought as Dima.

Sen frowns and comments, "It won't be much use with whatever's got hold on - her, is it?"

Strange.

Faolan is looking at Rin and thinking -

If he had a feather.

And if they had a miracle.

The gemstone on Wythall, Faolan is sure possesses a spell to awaken plants. But what would one need if that became a problem?

He draws the pearl from his pocket and stares at it., then looks around at the faces of the others, illuminated by the glow of his wildfire spirit. "Can anyone see what this does?"

As it happens.

Sen can.

He takes the pearl and casts Identify, then huffs. All the shit luck they've had, and finally something useful?

He passes it back to Faolan. "It dispels magic."

Faolan laughs mirthlessly, then looks sidelong at Dmitri. "I kept it, thinking I might - well. Here."

And, as he passes it along. "If Sen's aid doesn't get her out, I think I might be able to give her a little more, if Rin's magic hand can get a feather from her."

<.>

Dima's watching Faolan as he takes the pearl, needing it, wanting badly to take and put it to use immediately— But there's something in the man's face that gives him pause. He wraps his fingers light around the pearl and watches the man. "I'll find something to replace this; I swear it."

And, with a smile touch by worry, touched with urgency: "Thank you, Faolan. Thank you."

Before anything else, he's going to dispel the magic that's causing the creature - her - pain.

<.>

Faolan thinks, but doesn't say, it was always meant for you, anyhow.

As the magic fades, the creature falls to the ground, no longer suspended in perpetual shapeshift. It looks terribly small, its wings weary - but the shrieking vanishes along with the magic.

She lifts her head to look at Dima, and there's a passage of thought-impression between them that tells of relief.

And perhaps oddly, approval, as though she thinks Dima and his group has done well. (Or correctly.)

Faolan watches this, then glances down at the spirit that has come to stand at his side. And looks back again, between Dmitri and the creature.

Ah.

He sees.

And smiles, faintly. Dmitri is finding so much of himself here.

It's Sen who speaks up first. "When she's ready, I'll do what I can. Maybe she ought to rest before giving it the old college try, though."

<.>

"Thank you, Sen." He speaks, voice distant from his own ears. Dima's approach the cage again and watches the creature within, his smile small, sad, and carried with its own relief. "And thank you, Faolan, I— Thank you."

He watches the creature, Messages: [ That's one step.

Would you like to rest before jumping? ]

And, gently: [ If you can spare a feather, we may— Faolan. May. ] He knows sparked irritation with himself, with what little he has to aid her, but tamps it down; this isn't the time. [ He may be able to lend further aid. ]

Rin has already conjured Mage Hand, and is moving around some of the relic-looking objects while they watch and wait.

<.>

He thinks about warning them that the spell will deplete his resources - and he might need that capability when they face whatever trapped this poor creature.

But he sees Dmitri's face when he looks at her and thinks it's worth the risk.

Instead, he looks back to Rin and almost smiles at the game they're boredly playing. "Can you reach in there and grab one of her feathers for me? I'm worried if any of us tries to stick an arm in, we'll be stuck, as well."

<.>

"Mmhmmm."

They get the hand to unceremoniously drop a very dubious-looking cloak, and drift it toward the cage. They'll wait for the creature to approach, or to offer a feather, before having the hand take it and drift it over to Faolan.

<.>

Faolan murmurs thanks and thinks he really, really owes Rin for everything they keep giving up for the party; he breathes and - despite having just said no one should stick an arm into the cage - sticks his arm into the cage and presses a hand against the creature.

Almost immediately, he finds out what happens when one sticks an arm in the cage: he's forced away, but not before casting a spell to enhance her abilities.

Sen likewise hums a few bars of a pleasant, floating sort of tune to inspire her further.

[CHA, liv: 20, with Enhance Ability from Fae and Bardic Inspiration from Sen]

After a moment of recovery, the creature rises, spreads its wings for one final attempt to planeshift - and vanishes from the cage.

<.>

Dima knows a surge of joy, hears his own voice in something that sounds like a yelp, like a cheer. His hands are pressed against the bars and if there's sorrow at her absence, it's currently overrun by bright happiness, by relief that she's no longer in the cage.

Even if she never shows again (he... hopes she does) (of course it's her choice, but didn't he feel something, hasn't he always known himself in search of something, someone, a being like a raven?), at least she's free.

He can't quite look away yet. He thinks, 'You DID it.'

And to the group, he speaks, "She made it.

"Thank you. All of you. She's— She's free."

Rin could point out they'd only grabbed a feather.

Really, though, they're glad to see the creature out of there; whatever that cage is, it seemed like a wretched kind of torment. Whatever the creature is, Rin can't think there's any cause for them to have been caught in there.

Watching the scene, they've been setting the seeming relics into the bag of holding. For the moment, they don't speak; only continue in their work, mostly watching Sen.

<.>

[onefellswoop]

Sen passes the frog-stick-thing back to Rin; it's not needed, so they ought to have a little fun magic. Maybe they can polymorph a frog WITH the frog. Something like that.

He also pauses and, when no one's looking, kisses one of their horns. [ You were and are and ever will be magnificent. ]

Faolan reaches out, hesitates with his hand hovering above Dmitri's shoulder, then lightly touches him. (Comforts him.) (It's aching, the first time they vanish.) There's a shift of his hand that might be a tracing back of Dmitri's hair.

"She'll find you again. Soon, now she knows where you are. What you are to her."

A beat and, "We're not out of the woods yet, Dmitri."

His hand lifts and turns, palm up in offering, in invitation.

<.>

Sometime, yes.

Sometime— Maybe. If Dima wasn't mistaken in what he felt. If it wasn't only his wishfulness.

It's a little easier to believe when Faolan speaks.

When Faolan touches his shoulder, seems to brush with his hand. Signs Dmitri takes as commiseration. Signs Dmitri takes as suggesting that Faolan saw what he felt— And. And given the way Faolan spoke of his wolf, looks at his wolf and seems so easily to communicate, Dima suspects he knows much of these companionships.

(If only.) (There's time; there's so much time, and he doesn't want to push her. Doesn't want to force a thing at all.)

He looked back when Faolan touched his shoulder, feeling half within a dream. Now Dima turns to face the man, one hang still lingering on the cage, and the other—

The other reaching out, of course. Immediate, instinctive, and Dima feels just a little more settled, a little more grounded (and at once, curled through with gratitude) with his hand in Faolan's.

"I'd like to believe so."

And he nods, the details of the day, the place they're in, the work they have yet to do filtering back in slowly. "I appreciate what you've done— What all of you have done.

"For now— Yes. I think we move along."

<.>

The party collects themselves and find the chanting is louder still as they approach the two corridors leading from the reliquary room. The corridor furthest from the stairs slopes down 20 degrees into murky water and ends at a portcullis. The other seems to continue on and turn right.

As there's little else of value to be found or done here, what would the party care to do next?

Rin looks down at the water, shakes their head. "Guess this gives us an easy option." And, after a moment. "What do you think; send scouts ahead to take a look in the dark, or take the risk of light? ...I don't love the thought of splitting up, so there's that."

Dima's going to add, "Light or no light may not matter; I expect whatever's down here is accustomed to the dark."

[q: Is the chanting in Common?
a: The chanting is indeed in Common.]

In that case, Dima's also going to ask if anyone has by some chance got any idea what these fucking chants are about, or what 'The Land' might mean.

<.>

Faolan shakes his head and sighs. "We'd better stick together. They know we're here. They must know where we are, after -"

He motions to the now-empty cage.

"If no one knows what the chanting means, it's time we go find out."

Sen, thinking perhaps Rin might be a little disappointing there won't be any stealthing, whispers, "If it's a cult of shitheads, turn one of them into a frog."

And if there are no objections, Faolan's wolf will lead, with Faolan not far behind, following the light it casts.

<.>

No objections!

And Rin latches on to that suggestion; *that* could be fun! They'll just keep the frog wand close at hand.

Dima will, of course, follow after Faolan.

<.>

The corridor they follow leads them into what appears to be a prison. Against the walls in alcoves are shackles with traces of remains, though the majority of the bones may well be upstairs in the "dining hall".

Faolan follows the path to where it dead ends, and turns back to the group in confusion.

<.>

Dima, to the surprise of everyone, would like to go around and take a close look at the remains. To see whether there's anything to identify who or what these bodies were and how long they've been here.

Also, you know. To snag some bones.

Dima also doesn't want to leave Faolan, so he'll cast a glance toward him, an unspoken 'Follow me?'

Rin's brow is furrowed. "We'd better not be going through that water. :/ But. Maybe there's something here? A hidden passage? Seems like something a place like this could have." They look at Sen, they lift their eyebrows. "Have had already, though I guess that one led tO the skeleton."

Whatever the case, Rin's going to look for inconsistencies in the architecture, places where the dust might be a little less thick, or any object that might seem odd in its placement.

[PERC, r: Rin thinks this prison isn't cool enough for secret passageways and their attention is diverted by the presence of earthworms.]

Rin is now prodding a couple of earthworms with their frog wand.

<.>

Faolan follows along behind as Dima inspects, searches, and loots the skeletons. In one alcove, they happen upon a skeleton wearing the remains of the same robes they found in the Dursts' room upstairs.

Further inspection will turn up a gold ring on one of its fingers.

[q: Regarding the ring, does it bear any resemblance to the ones Dima's wearing?
a: It does not, nope.
q: Are there any markings or particularities of design on the ring?
a: Nope, just a gold ring!]

Sen thinks that Rin has a good idea searching for secret passageways, but then sees what they're doing with the earthworms and finds that far more interesting.

<.>

While Dima searches the alcoves the the eastern side of the prison, Faolan leans against the wall and watches him, head cocked introspectively. The light from his wolf flickers against his skin; Faolan isn't aware of the tempting picture he is but the DM really thinks Dima ought to take advantage of the moment.

<.>

Dima's taking a look at the ring, is reaching to work it off the skeleton's finger, when he happens to look up—

He.

Well, he.

He's never seen anyone so heart-stammering, and though he thinks Faolan would steal his breath in every light, something about this light, flickered with shadow and flame, suits him especially.

It is and it isn't only the man's physical beauty. It's something in his eyes; a glow complimented by the fire. It's a twined softness and restrained fury; the look of a man who's lived his own kind of burning, who knows both the damage and the mercy fire can bring, and who's learned to make his home among fire. (Perhaps among ashes. Perhaps this is a fire he grew from wreckage; a resurrection in brilliant human form.)

Faolan is astonishing. Dima's heart is racing. And he thinks— He forgot somewhere to breathe, of course he did. And he doesn't know how long he's been staring.

<.>

Faolan realizes Dmitri is staring at him (and maybe he was staring back, but this is different, this is other) and raises his brows a little.

He could be coy and ask 'what?', or (do like he once did, bite his lower lip and incline his head in invitation-) (No.) he could acknowledge the look.

Or pretend it isn't happening.

Or -

Just. Smile faintly.

He looks down and shifts two fingers at the wolf's fiery nose, then cuts a glance up again to see if he's still being watched.

"Had your fill of skeletons already?"

<.>

He's. Been caught.

He'd be worried, he might be a little, little bit ashamed, but that faint smile sets him at ease; if nothing else, Faolan doesn't seem to be upset. So Dima ducks his head softly, hair falling just a bit before his eyes, and huffs a soft almost-laugh. "I doubt I'll ever see the day."

And, looking up again. "Firelight suits you. Your wolf suits you.

"Here in the bowels of nowhere, your spirit still shines through.

"It's commendable, and I—

"As I told you, I can't promise I won't watch.”

[WIS save, d: 11; Dima has the uncontrollable, overwhelming, and absolutely impossible to resist desire to throw himself bodily at Faolan, almost as though a child has tried to smoosh them together like dolls.]

Dima, with all the grace in his edgelord form, is going to do just that, rising and just about leaping to wrap his arms around Fae.

<.>

Faolan's too startled to even consider dodging, and he gets hit with the full force of the, er, 'attack'. The weight of Dima's pounce combined with Faolan's causes a portion of wall to shift and open.

Faolan falls backward onto moist earth with Dima on top of him; confused, he looks upside-down at the cavernous space they've fallen in to, then calls out, "Sen. Rin. Was this what you were looking for?"

As for Dima, he gets a flicker of childish arrogance from Rose.

<.>

As Dima senses that flicker, he at once thinks ’Thank you’ and wishes she'd found another way to let them know. He's also scrambling off of Faolan and upward, cursing softly and apologizing, offering a hand to help Faolan up. He can't quite meet the man's eyes. He also— He liked how it felt to be against this man. He'd— Like to feel that again. He also wishes he hadn't full-on thrown himself at a man who's been so cautious around him, and has had cause for caution.

"I'm sorry, I—" He clears his throat. "The firelight."

Rin, meanwhile, finally looks up from the earthworms - look how they wiggle, Sen! do you think they have many feuds? - at the sound of a body slamming into the ground. "Shit??"

Maybe this dungeon's cooler than they thought. Well, whatever; Faolan and Dmitri had it covered, and the worms were great.

Rin's going to move over and step around the two who are... What are they doing lying in the mud? None of Rin's business, that's what, though they do Message Sen: [ Looks like you've got that bet locked down. ]

<.>

Sen arrives in time to step over them with a look that asks, And what were YOU two doing?

He smirks at Rin, then humbly replies, [ It's not over until it's over. ]

With Dima off him, Faolan - unsure what just happened, really - tries not think about it. Any of it. (How good it felt. How much he's missed being wanted. How much he's missed a warm body against his own.) (How good Dmitri feels with arms around him. On top of -) (Stop!)

He brushes mud off himself as he rises, nodding along that, yes, the firelight did it. The wolf, surely, is to blame.

He can't joke about it. Instead, he just manages a soft, "Later."

A talk deferred. (For as long as possible, he hopes.)

And he turns to send the wolf into this new space.

As each of them step into the room, the chanting stops. The smooth masonry walls provide excellent acoustics. Featureless stone pillars support the ceiling and a breach in the west wall leads to a dark cave heaped with refuse. Murky water covers most of the floor.

Stairs lead up to dry stone ledges that hug the walls. In the middle of the room, more stairs rise to form an octagonal dais that also rises above the water. Rusty chains with shackles dangle from the ceiling directly above a stone altar mounted on the dais. The altar is carved with hideous depictions of grasping ghouls and is stained with dry blood.

<.>