Her dress fluttering in the light wind by the river, goose bumps popping up on her exposed arms and upper chest, she nods at his second, serious suggestion, "Your humility knows no bounds Professor. I believe that approach might pay bigger dividends...although we could combine the two, if you would prefer." She walks closer to him, holding her arm out to clasp his, as if expecting an escort.
"Oh please, oh knowledgeable and clever Professor Ravenheart, would you grace me with more of your plethora of knowledge this evening? I find it so fascinating and, dare I say it, exciting, that I can hardly get enough." She holds her other hand up to her mouth, her eyes going wide, before she relaxes, settling into a grin as they approach the building.
"Just follow my lead and you'll be fine. And if I leave with someone, wait for a two-hundred count, then follow us. We need information this evening, so I'll have to cut any such sport short, unfortunately. She gives the Professor her address, should he need it.
She inhaled a breath of crisp air. No trouble at all slipping into her new role. This warrior is quite the mystery."
In the carriage, she allowed herself to fall more deeply into her own role. She said, plucking idly at the wooden interior, "I crave an artistic bent to the night. A portrait to be commissioned for this great occasion. And I know precisely the place to go."
She gave the driver the approximated location in her vision, and sat back for the ride, hands folded neatly across her lap.
Sebi exits the carriage, holding the door for the captain, and then maneuvers through the crowd to end up next to Callista and Cawmirth. She looks at each of them. "Did you find anything?"
Callista's eyes light up as the four meet back up, but she feigns excitement for a different reason. "Ooooohhh, Professor! Look what lovelies this night has delivered into our presence! What was that, milady? You wanted to know some of the best pesh dens around here? You seemed more like an absinthe or shiver person, if I may say so myself. Very well...right this way."
She links her arm through Sebi's, grinning up at the woman as though admiring a trophy as she starts off down the street, her sashaying hips back in full motion, still quite vibrant even deep into the night. Once they leave the crowd behind them, she stops and looks up at the tall woman, eyes full of mischief. "Or were you wanting to dispense with the drugs and instead indulge in a different pleasure?" She trails her eyes suggestively down to the woman's bosom, cheeks flushing, before returning her gaze to the eyes far above.
She leans in, speaking huskily, "If so, I know a place we may go. An apartment, a short distance away, third story. Though we might find it occupied by a pale friend I know, I'm sure he won't mind. He's tall and dark-haired, and might appreciate the companionship this evening as he works on his newest piece of work."
Sebi fumbles over the words, flustered."I...err. Suppose that would be...acceptable?"
Callista very much in her element.
"Let us go then." She clears her throat, warily glancing about as she lets Callista lead her further on.
Callista tosses her head back, thick mane of dark curls flung out of her face as she gives the taller woman a sly look as they walk the short distance. "I promise you a night in my company would be far more than acceptable." As usual, confidence practically oozes from the woman.
She chuckles at Sebi's apparent embarrassment. "My lady, you blush so prettily. Do you fear for your companion's entertainment whilst we explore the night together? Don't worry...I don't mind if she spectates. Or she can join in, if she would like..." Her green eyes narrow, cutting over to Lavinia, devious look on her face.
She continues to tug Sebi along, then has to quicken her pace to keep up with the woman's longer stride. "I'm afraid there's no hope for my dear friend the Professor, however. He and our dark-haired friend might have to entertain each other. They both are rather long-winded, though this gentlemen we are going to visit is more of a singer than an orator. Such despair in his songs, his subjects seek to end their lives at the dark beauty of his creations. His health currently is an issue, as well, so it wouldn't do to get him excited."
As they get to the building, Callista pulls up, disengaging from Sebi to address them all. "Here we are! My friend is possibly inside, though I don't believe he will be expecting guests. Should we announce ourselves, or should we surprise him with our rather pleasant company?" Enjoying her game, Callista still attempts to keep her eyes open for danger.
Composure.
Poise.
The thoughts punctuate each step, each breath.
She feels off in this place. She was sure she'd be out of her comfort zone whilst traveling to meet Callista and the professor, but did not expect the extent. The rules are very few here. The art dealer mentioned a wealthy patron, and that might mean guards. Better to tread carefully.
"This is no place for a Moncrief!" voices screech through her head, interrupting her thoughts. Not only her aunts' past teachings, memories given form and pain, but those voices of previous Moncrief matriarchs, all echoing through her at once. It almost makes her sick, as if her head were a struck bell. Her temples ache.
She focuses on her poise and composure like she was taught.
She says, "If he is as pleasant as he sounds, then he will no doubt jump at the chance to answer the door to such...magnificent guests as we!"
"You can drop the charade now, Callista" Lavinia says once it's just the four of them outside the building. If that's even a charade, that is.
"I take it this where our melancholic friend Opus lives. Good job. As for us, we stumbled upon mentions of a powerful patron during our own search... There's probably little chance they're together now, but I'd advise we should use caution nonetheless."
With that, she looks for a way around the building, possibly one which could give her easy access to a secondary, and more discreet, way in.
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When it came to the extended arm from Callista, Cawmirth reciprocated with a hesitant "Ehhhh…" before giving a staccato shake of his head. He preferred not to suggest any sort of impropriety, least of all because he was having enough trouble with his overtures to the local tengu elders for them to make him a match. He hardly needed their nosy apprentices catching whiff of him being overly familiar with humans.
"It's not you, it's me." With that persistent flattery, though, he couldn't stay entirely standoffish, getting a bit of a lift to his step when the subject of his knowledge was raised. "If you find such subjects fascinating, though, I suppose I could let you know about the differences in grammar to be found in the various regions of the Tian people…"
And so it went, at least, when they weren't directly gathering information about their prey. When it came time to press pump people for information, Cawmirth asked a question here or there, but mostly presented a rather quiet air, letting Callista take the lead. Between those conversations, she got a nice chat about the similar vocabularies and differing grammar of the various Tian dialects.
…after quite a long journey hither and thither, mostly without any hint of a lead, Cawmirth was quite ready to give up after Asim's. So ready to give up, even the reward of some information wasn't quite enough to make him more interested in immediately following up on Kasoval, rather than the wraps he so enjoyed. Sadly, Cawmirth's gustatory inclinations were not to be indulged, as Sebi and Lavinia arrived before he'd even had time to settle on something from the board menu hanging from the Keleshite's cart.
And just like that, Callista's playful attentions were directed toward Sebi. Cawmirth hadn't really wanted them, but bereft of them, he felt just a bit pricked. That didn't stop him from scurrying along with the trio, a long, wistful look thrown over his shoulder at the skewered, grilled meat and vegetables they left behind.
"At least as far as Kasoval is concerned, it seems likely he has left Almas altogether. In your search, did you find any indication that the others may still be about?" Recalling that the Undersecretary had put out a warrant for the whole order, Cawmirth's hopes that they'd be able to interrogate any member of this little fraternity were fading fast.
"Shall I go find a landlord or attendant to unlock the door for us?" He suggested in a helpful manner, mostly looking for an excuse to return to Asim and get his hands on one of those fragrant wraps.
Callista chuckles under her breath, then replies, "I meant every word. The offer is always open." "And don't worry about your reputation, we Calistrians are known for our discretion." The priestess grins up at the taller woman, releasing her reluctantly, red fingernails tracing a short distance down the silky skin of Sebi's arm before finally making their way to Callista's side.
At Sebi's words, she shrugs. "Then let us knock while our enigmatic companion does whatever it is that guards do that isn't staying to guard their companions." She smirks in Lavinia's direction before turning to Cawmirth.
"Professor...you seem a sort that can overwhelm a person with words. Why don't you knock on the door, then just start blathering at whomever answers while we let ourselves in?" Smiling, she urges the tengu forward with an encouraging gesture as she and the Moncrief Matriarch flank him. If he declines, she instead gestures for Sebi to approach the door.
As Sebi and Callista stride arm in arm towards whatever destination the impetuous Calistrian is so willing to show them, Lavinia opts to follow a few steps behind. Let it be Lady Moncrief to stand her onslaught this time. The proverbial second bird with one stone, this gives her the chance to cross-check the information they've gathered with Cawmirth.
"Yanas and Pomander seem to have vanished about a month ago. We were told Opus might still be around though, just keeping a low profile somewhere within the Theater District's underbelly. We were still running in circles looking for him when we stumbled upon you. Judging by Callista's enthusiasm, I take it you've had a bit more luck?"
"Then I suggest you use it to discern how the hunt for a potential Chelaxian agent might not be the best time to imply a threesome, my good Lady Jeggare" the Captain replies with no less gentle a smile.
"And we Andoren soldiers are always guarding the companions we're entrusted" she absentmindedly says while examining the building's perimeter. "Sometimes by standing close to them. Sometimes by scouting ahead to prevent them from falling into even greater danger. Both help, I've come to realize."
Callista chuckles quietly, quite amused. "Lavinia, my dear, there is never a wrong time to imply a threesome. And I didn't imply anything, at any rate. I believe I was quite clear and forward on the matter." The Calistrian's face grows serious for a moment, perhaps the first time her companions have seen it so since their initial meeting with Thanasia.
"Don't worry about my focus, Lavinia. I know my role to play, and don't need some guard captain to chastise me about having a bit of fun while we proceed from point A to point B. I left my father's home long ago, and don't seek a replacement, thank you. That's the thing about you military sorts. You always think it's a choice between business and pleasure, when there's no good reason you can't have both." Callista offers a smile at the end to soften her initial words.
At Lavinia's statement about guarding, Callista offers a non-committal shrug, smile still in place. "You would know better than I, Lavinia. Take care you don't scout yourself into trouble."
Opus clearly had not selected his abode based on its defensive qualities. It is one of a dozen row-houses, each once painted a more festive pastel color but all of them now faded to a shadow of their former selves. Paint flakes and peels, gutters pull away from the walls, and shutters are swollen and stuck in their window frames or missing altogether.
For all that, the buildings appear to be popular; most boast lights within their windows, and there is a decent amount of foot traffic going in the front doors up and down the street.
Lavinia stares up the facade and quickly identifies a relatively easy route. The trick, of course, is to climb up without being noticed.
Subtlety, however, is where she excels, and timing it perfectly right, she leaps up just as the front door swings closed, allowing the rest of the party to enter.
Her hands wrap around the base of a balcony support, and with lithe strength she hauls herself up and onto it. A leap carries her to the next balcony, where she steps up onto the railing, balanced precariously, and leaps to grab a window ledge on the second floor. Again she hauls herself up, but the ledge is wide, and the third floor is right above her.
There are two windows on the third floor, and both are shuttered. Again she leaps, silent as a cat, and hauls herself up. She's a good thirty feet above the cobblestones now. The ledge is but six inches wide, and she has to clutch at the rough brickwork to steady herself.
Fortune is smiling on her, however. An errant ray of moonlight filters through the shutters, and illuminates a figure. It hangs three feet above the ground, absolutely still, and the moonlight glints of its surface as if it were covered in some manner of metal. Chain mail? Nothing so fine. Chains? Peering closer, she thinks that yes - the figure is cocooned in chains.
Alysandra doesn't have enough information to draw any conclusions. The Lady of Pain is indeed one of the four Whore Queens, but you've never heard of one of them being called a patron. You could imagine a daring mortal having adopted that moniker, or for Opus to have been delusional in thinking that one of the Erinyes had indeed shown him special favor, or... the possibilities are endless at the moment, and impossible to narrow down without more info.
"Far from me to patronize you, or anybody else, for that matter. As far as I'm concerned, your assurance and the fact you've been handpicked by the Undersecretary herself are proof enough of your commitment to the cause" Lavinia states in a casual, matter-of-fact tone, one which differs from both the rigidity she displayed during their initial meeting in the Hall of Reliquaries and her subsequent more laid-back attitude. "Still, it looks like point B has now been reached" she adds almost as an afterthought, subtly dismissing her camouflaging glamor and carefully timing her first jump up the facade.
A silent gasp slips out of Lavinia's mouth as she realizes the grisly nature of the suspended figure.
As rapidly as she climbed up, the agile Captain nimbly and silently makes her way down to rejoin her companions. "I believe apologies are in order. Whatever you meant to do in that room seems now outright innocent compared to what must have been going on there, Callista. A cocoon-like figure lies hanging from the roof – and it is wrapped in chains".
"I just meant to ask a few questions in that room. The rest was for later. Pull your head out of the gutter, Captain." That ever-present mischievous look comes to her features once again, before she processes the remainder of the information.
A look more curious than concerned passes over her face as she asks, "Chains? Like the thing was restrained?" Looking at the concern on Lavinia's face, she shakes her head, "Something else...more sinister, then."
The priestess looks thoughtful for a few moments, delicate red nail tapping at her chin, "Still, we need to figure out what's going on in there. It definitely seems like further investigation is warranted, under the circumstances."
Fishing in her pack, she pulls out a holy symbol of Calistria, made entirely of gold. She places it in her left hand, palming it, pinky and pointer finger on opposite side of two sharp points, other two in between. She chants softly, gesturing with her hands while she holds the symbol, "Goddess, please provide your servant with your divine protection against forces most sinister, keeping both her mind and body devoid of harm."
The others can perhaps barely make out the barest trace of energy surrounding the woman before it dissipates. She turns her attention to Lavinia, crooking her finger to get the woman to approach. "I like you better in the gown. Hold still for a moment, dear." Her slender hand placed upon Lavinia's shoulder, she again prays.
"My Lady, grant your servant your boon to enhance this one's companion, so her sword may strike more surely, her step never falter, and her nerve never fail in the possible trial ahead." She winks at Lavinia as the divine power of Calistria is channeled through the priestess to the Captain, invigorating her, filling her full of energy and, perhaps more importantly, even more confidence in herself than she already possessed.
"Let's get this over with...I'm famished, and those wraps looked scrumptious." With that, she reaches into her pack with her right hand and pulls out a coiled whip, colored yellow with black stripes.
Sebi produces her morningstar and shield from her pack, taking her time with every motion. She whispers the name, "Aliada", one of the first arcanists to start creating magic items for the family in the course of her research, and then the glamer that surrounds Sebi's armor fades, revealing a suit of finely made full plate etched in Moncrief runes.
The captain's description unnerves her. She puts her body into motion instead of dwelling on it.
"If he is alive, then we must hurry," she says, moving up the steps to the door. She looks back over her shoulder to the others. "If he is not, there are still ways left to us."
With that she scans the door for any obvious dangers and then turns the knob to see if it is locked.
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Despite the rather horrific nature of the thing inside, Cawmirth didn't miss a beat. "Wrapped in chains you say? Well... I suppose that's evidence enough we have the right apartment. This Order of the Cypress is rather well known for their peculiar tastes..."
Cawmirth's suggestion to simply get the landlord seemingly ignored, it looked like his companions were getting ready for a fight. Not that he didn't think it'd be interesting, but what with the people passing to and fro, it seemed better to approach this a bit more like officials than ruffians.
"If we're not going to simply ask the rentier to let us in, we can certainly be more circumspect about things. Hmph... how fortunate for us I apprenticed under a locksmith in my youth. Lady Moncrief, Callista, Captain if you might like to give me some room? I would be much obliged if you all did your best to look stern and guard-like."
If the assembled few did, in fact, give Cawmirth the space to work, he'd get up to the door and do his thing, first taking a moment to inspect the door's handle and key-hole for any indication of a trap. After either discovering whatever might be ready to poison/burn/slash or deep fry an intruder or blindly missing it, Cawmirth proceeded to fetch tools from the secret compartment in his boots and arrange himself as close to the door as possible before quietly getting down to business...
Entering is easy. The front door's not locked. It opens to a narrow passageway at whose back is a staircase that leads right up to the fifth floor. The building is little more than a tenement, a fact that is made immediately obvious from the reek of boiled cabbage, the distant yells shrieks of crying children. Three young men stand in the corner of the passageway, and turn to stare suspiciously at the group, sizing them up in a manner intrinsic to the streets. They make no move, however, and turn back to their whispered conversation.
The staircase creaks alarmingly, but you gain the third floor without incident. There are two doors here, one leading to the unit that faces the front, the second to the unit that faces the back of the building. That door is cracked ajar, and you can hear the sound of voices arguing loudly coming from it in Varisian.
"No, I tell you no, if you steep the liquid for that long, it turns bitter, it turns galling, it makes my throat, my very throat, clench up like a miser's fist, and when I piss, I piss tar and it burns like the clap."
"It burns in such fashion, my sweetling love, because you have the clap. Do not attribute your personal failings to my brew."
The other door, the one that leads to the front of the building, is closed. In the tight confines of the passageway, Sebi can't get enough room to truly throw her might against the door, and as such her armored shoulder merely pounds into the wood, cracking it but failing to shatter it open.
Much more discretely, Cawmirth sidles up, and with skill and aplomb sets to his more devious ways, and within a few moments the click of the lock opening is heard by all.
Pushing the door open reveals the main room of the apartment beyond, bathed in scant moonlight and poorly furnished. All eyes immediately lock on the figure that hangs suspended from a beam overhead, its toes a good three feet above the floorboards, a mass of chains wrapped around it so that only fragments of cloth, tufts of hair and flashes of skin can be made out between the links. From the blood that smears the chains, it would seem that the operation of wrapping and hoisting this person up was not done with delicacy and care.
A moment as the sight sinks in, and then, horrifically, the form twitches minutely.
The tengu is perhaps the only one who is not immediately fascinated with the hanging figure, for he notices that a script covers much of the wall, painted on in garish letters. A quick glance from the doorway fails to reveal what language it is in.
Eyebrows raising only barely in surprise at Moncrief's sudden armored appearance, Callista suddenly feels very vulnerable. She shakes her head, dismissing the thought of asking the others to wait while she put on her armor. Instead, she follows the others up the stairs, quietly slipping to the back in case of immediate attack, should someone be lying in wait for the group.
As the Professor asks for room, the priestess happily obliges, backing up a couple of steps as he frets and fusses over the lock, looking on with amusement as the stuffy professor shows off his rather devious skill set. She stifles a chuckle as she hears the conversation across the hall, shaking her head with mirth. With her Goddess having Lust has one of her domains, such conversations were fairly common in the temple, patrons coming in to rid themselves of nature's more insidious diseases. The door opens, and her amusement ends.
"What is it?" She quietly asks, fascinated and disgusted by the scene in front of her. To her credit, she doesn't start as the form within moves, instead turning her green eyes upon the Professor, the one she thinks is most likely to provide her with an answer. She makes no move to pass by her more armored companions, trying to peek inside around them and over their shoulders, silently cursing her short height.
A joyous energy pervades Lavinia as Callista finishes chanting her invocation. Her muscles feel quicker, her reflexes sharper, and suddenly no task seems out of her reach. "Merchantess, seductress, and priestess. You're surely a woman full of resources, I'll have to give you that."
Here we go. Now everyone's starting to show what they can really do she thinks, a volatile smile appearing on her lips. As if to validate her musings, a towering, steel-clad figure appears where Sebi was standing but a few moments earlier. She smirks, realizing how they now seem to have swapped roles; now it's Lady Moncrief who looks like a Guard Captain, tall and regal and all wrapped up in her impenetrable steel armor.
At her words calling for haste, she silently nods and follows the rest of the group up the stairs. That's a neat trick she did there. I'll have to ask her about it. It takes six flights to finally reach their destination, and as she climbs the last step she witnesses the platinum-haired matriarch already intent at throwing her statuesque figure against the door. She's about to offer her help when Cawmirth steps in, deftly succeeding where brute force was failing. "You're truly a walking wealth of talents, Professor" she states, deadpan though secretly pleased at the unexpected turn of events.
Stepping in, she discovers the scenario appearing before their eyes is even grimmer than the one she has come to expect after that quick earlier glimpse.
"A... pupa... of sorts. A human-sized, bloody, chained up, twitching pupa" she whispers at Callista's question, slowly making her way towards that ungodly mess of entwined iron links.
It was worse than Sebi imagined. The chains suspended in the room, the sickening movement of them.
She stands with the others, gobsmacked. She doesn't move. She forgets about the professor's impressive skills at larceny, Callista's magic, Lavinia's prowling. This...thing, she thinks.
She takes another moment to collect herself. She feels the magic pulling inside her, begging to be used. A little more of the Moncrief curse out in the world, but it can't be helped. She traces a symbol much like her birthmark and whispers once, twice, a third time: "Once again to be perceived, through the curses we will cleave."
Knowledge (planes, studied target)
Alysandra knows a fair bit about diabolism, but she's never heard of or seen anything quite like this. However. There are strange resonances at play here that cause the hairs on the back of her neck to prickle. A name comes to mind, a dreadful name of a particular kind of fiend often associated with the Lady of Pain - Kytons. Infamous for their manipulations of living chains, they thrive on torment, and are as widely feared as they are despised.
Whether what she sees before her could be related to a kyton? It's possible, she surmises, but she doesn't know how. The connections to the Lady of Pain, and the presence of such chains, however, makes the possibility particularly fraught in her mind.
Perception (taking 20)
The hanging form obviously captures your eye, along with the fact that it just twitched. The blood has darkened on the chains, indicating it isn't fresh, but not enough has pooled on the ground beneath it to indicate a mortal wound. Beyond that, Alysandra notices script on the walls of the apartment, but it's in a language she doesn't recognize. A cot, a writing desk, a guitar shattered in one corner - those are the immediate impressions she gets from the room.
There is indeed a magical aura in the room, and as you focus your senses and try to pin it down, you aren't surprised to see it emanating from the hanging form.
As you focus harder on the chained form, however, you feel a rising tide of frustration as the exact nature of the magic slips through your mind, and you're unable to decide on what it is.
Callista glances at her companions for a few moments as they take in the scene, feeling rather uneasy. As they continue to focus silently, she whispers, "Soooo...what now? Is that thing alive, or what?"
After Lavinia's quick comment and what appeared to be the spell-casting of Sebi, the Calistrian again turns to Cawmirth, confident that if he knew, he would share. The bird couldn't help himself, most likely. Her dark mane of hair covers them, but the hairs on the nape of her neck would be standing up right now if not weighed down.
As the others study the disgusting mass of chains and flesh, Callista decides upon a prudent course of action. She softly chants, "Goddess, shield your servant from sight, allowing her to move about privately and free from harm." A quick swoosh of her arms, and the priestess fades from the view of the others.
Perception Check
The hanging form obviously captures your eye, along with the fact that it just twitched. The blood has darkened on the chains, indicating it isn't fresh, but not enough has pooled on the ground beneath it to indicate a mortal wound. Worse, she notices that the chains are affixed to the body within by hooks which are actually embedded in the person's flesh.
Beyond that, Callista notices script on the walls of the apartment, but it's in a language she doesn't recognize. A cot, a writing desk, a guitar shattered in one corner - those are the immediate impressions she gets from the room.
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Letting the others take the lead inside, as Cawmirth had little desire to charge in on what had heretofore sounded like a rather unpleasant inhabitant of the room, Cawmirth sidled on in once the others proved their own valor before his.
Seeing the blood drenched, writhing figure, the academic was beginning to reconsider this chronicling job.
Callista's sidelong question to the professor was answered with the kindest and most well-intentioned of snarks. "Oh, yes, let me just recall that higher level seminar on eldritch abominations of otherworldly suffering I took while I was getting my doctorate in linguistics. Feel free to inspect it, but I imagine it would be unwise to actually touch the thing before I've had a chance to inspect these walls..."
The bird then turned his attention to the writing all about the room. If it was infernal, as he expected it to be, or some poorly literate variation thereof, things would all be in their proper place. If it was Abyssal, though... well, he'd no doubt be able to puzzle it out, but that didn't really bode well for them. First, of course, was to make sure this wasn't some mind-melting, helter-skelter kind of ramblings, unsafe for mortal consumption.
The writing is indeed in infernal, but to your trained eye, the penmanship, spelling, and grammatical speak of a virtuoso attempt to grapple it as a second language, and not a native speaker. This is evident in certain Varisian grammatical forms that have been transplanted into the infinitely more subtle infernal. Still, the author was clearly a talented poet. Verses are written up and down the walls, the size of the letters ballooning and then shrinking back down, speaking of ecstasies of the mind that eschewed all dictates of lines and constraints.
Moving about the walls, you make out verses like the following:
Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel
Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour;
The heavy white limbs, and the cruel
Red mouth like a venomous flower;
When these are gone by with their glories,
What shall rest of thee then, what remain,
O mystic and sombre Erinyes,
Our Lady of Pain?
Seven sorrows the priests give their master;
But thy sins, which are seventy times seven,
Seven ages would fail thee to purge in,
And then they would haunt thee in heaven:
Fierce midnights and famishing morrows,
And the loves that complete and control
All the joys of the flesh, all the sorrows
That wear out the soul.
O garment not golden but gilded,
O garden where all men may dwell,
O tower not of ivory, but builded
By hands that reach heaven from hell;
O mystical rose of the mire,
O house not of gold but of gain,
O house of unquenchable fire,
Our Lady of Pain!
O lips full of lust and of laughter,
Curled snakes that are fed from my breast,
Bite hard, lest remembrance come after
And press with new lips where you pressed.
For my heart too springs up at the pressure,
Mine eyelids too moisten and burn;
Ah, feed me and fill me with pleasure,
Ere pain come in turn.
In yesterday's reach and to-morrow's,
As we slip free of the flesh of to-day,
As we seek to escape all of these sorrows
And assume a form that shall never decay.
The life and the love thou despisest,
Bring me to you, wrap me in chain,
O wise among women, and wisest,
Our Lady of Pain.
Sebi watches the professor in his study of the room. ”It’s magic, whatever it may be. My meager lessons on such matters never touched on this. No doubt the professor can illuminate this mystery.”
She lets the magic well up inside her, bubbling to the top, almost spilling out into the world. She holds it there, just beneath the skin. The magic aches to be loosed. ”I can dispel it if you wish.”
Steadying herself, Callista gathers confidence from the fact she can not be seen, then starts quietly padding into the room, unseen and hopefully unheard. She takes a moment to take off her sandals, stowing them in her pack before she makes her way to the writing desk, hoping some more clues make themselves apparent when she sifts through the thing.
As she creeps along, she keeps an eye on the twitching, chained form, invisible features nervous as she crosses the chamber, hoping that the thing inside was still going through its dark metamorphosis and would not wake up fully while they were inside.
There are entire piles of disorganized papers on the writing desk, sheaf's of vellum on which writing is scrawled. A further pile of scrunched up papers litters the ground, as if drafts had been discarded halfway through each attempt.
A quick glance through the pile reveals that most are attempts at poems, all of which seem to deal with a central figure: The Lady of Pain. To your eye they appear exquisitely written, raw and vibrating with passion. The writer, however, was most critical of his own work; entire tracts are crossed out so forcefully the page is torn.
Turning the pages, you see that these poems then begin to be written in a language beyond your ken, though visually the writing follows the same stanza based format.
There is also a diary of sorts, you realize, buried under the papers, as well as a pouch of gold pieces, many pages of older songs and poems that seem to predate the latest mania, a small figurine of green soapstone shaped in the form of a frog, several stale hunks of bread and rotting cheese.
In order to penetrate more deeply into the content of these letters and diary, a more substantial amount of time will have to be spent reading them.
All can see the sheaf's of letters and papers on the desk begin to stir, delicately turning themselves over, disappearing, and then reappearing as they are set down.
Callista's eyes widen as she looks upon the works of a madman, scanning quickly through the piles to look for anything of importance. Her eyes light up as she comes across the diary, snatching it up greedily and putting it into her Haversack. After a moment's hesitation, she also snatches up the pouch of coins and the jadestone frog, as well, stowing them.
She turns her head to again look at the chained figure, deciding if she has enough time to gather more. Quickly, she takes samples from each stack, picking up a few documents off the floor, reaching underneath the pile to gather up some of the older items, grasping a fist full of the newer dark odes to The Lady of Pain written in common, then a few of the newest yet, written in that language she did not understand.
Her heart beats wildly, adrenaline pumping through her as she looks at the chained figure yet again. She wondered if the figure inside was this Kasoval Opus, or if Kasoval was now dead and this thing roosted in the bard's apartment. Or, possibly, a mixture of the two.
Lavinia stares transfixed at the grotesquerie hanging in front of her. She's about to touch it, when Sebi's warning about magic being woven into it makes her hand freeze in mid-air. She turns around with a quizzical look on her face, only to witness the Calistrian priestess mumbling an invocation before disappearing into thin air. Soon after, the papers on the desk start moving in a strange, metaphysical dance, apparently fading in and out of existence as they are picked up and laid down – Callista's doing, she vehemently hopes.
With her two companions wielding their powers openly and nonchalantly and the Professor intent on deciphering the writing on the wall, she suddenly feels very much out of her element. Diplomacy, security and espionage – that she could handle. But this kind of horror suddenly takes her back to many years ago, to a time of devils, and torments. A time of chains. A time in the clutches of the Lady of Pain.
"Manfred Ilkes, Kasoval Opus' art dealer, mentioned one 'Lady of Pain' being his patron and muse" she says monotonously, as if collecting her own thoughts out loud. "Among diabolists, this is the name often used to invoke Eiseth, one of the four Whore Queens of Hell. There's a particularly nasty kind of fiends whose sadistic tendencies very well fit her own and whose services she often employs; Kytons they are called. The chain devils."
She pauses briefly, a shiver running down her spine. "Still, whatever's wrapped in those chains, alive or dead, man or fiend, we can't leave it hanging like that."
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For anyone who wasn't literate in Infernal, Cawmirth's responses to the poetry scrawled over the walls were likely not very encouraging. A bit of muttering here. A scoff there. Until he came to the end of the poem, glanced over his shoulder back at the thing, and then to the writing once more. "...well, isn't that just wonderful." The sarcasm dripped from his raspy throat as he kept himself well next to the wall and scooted back towards the door.
"In literary analysis, literalism tends to be frowned upon, but I think our dear Mr. Opus was probably not being purely figurative when he wrote to the Lady of Pain to wrap him in chains so that he might be free of his mortal flesh and assume a form immune to the ravages of time. Of course, perhaps this was all just symbolic of crossing from the land of the living to that of the dead and we merely have a deluded artist's corpse wrapped up in chains, dangling before us..." His tone made it clear, even if that was the case, he didn't feel it was very wise to assume so.
Tapping that sharp talon at the side of his beak, Cawmirth did his best to avoid being overly prolix. A hard thing to do, but then again, getting eaten alive by some human/demon hybrid would likely be even more unpleasant than simply editing his words. "If any of you have some experience with fighting demons or are equipped with the means to do so, by all means, we can release our friend here. Being neither, I... ah... might recommend we find the authorities and return with specialists. This man being a known member of the Order of the Cypress with a warrant out for his arrest, and our mission having the direct support of the Undersecretary, I'd say we would have little trouble enlisting their aid. Besides, he's likely been there for quite some time..." He wasn't so impolitic to directly refute Captain Lavinia, but Cawmirth was pretty much implicitly suggesting "Oh, we very much can leave it hanging like that for the time being."
It may have been about the least adventurous thing one could possibly suggest, but Cawmirth's brand of adventure tended to follow a less than spontaneous pattern: research location, proceed to location avoiding danger if at all possible, collect information from location, return home, write books. Right now, Cawmirth was dutifully observing his second step.
"Also, where on earth did Callista go off to?" Having been involved in his reading, that chant to the goddess had been mere background noise to his ears.
"Thank you, Professor" Lavinia says as Cawmirth's explanation goes one step further toward confirming her darkest fears. "That was most enlightening, and you lending your expertise in the matter most appreciated." Paradoxically, her tone is calmer now than it was mere moments ago – as if she's suddenly found a purpose in her being in the room.
"As for a specialist, we've got our shares of skirmishes with Hellknight diabolists when I was stationed in Augustana. Though even if it were not the case, my duty as an Andoren soldier wouldn't allow me to leave this building with this... thing... still unhatched, no matter how slim the chances of it happening right now might be." A gentle smile appears on her face. "I do understand your concern though, and rest assured no-one, least of all me, would blame you if you took a step back now. And despite your powers appearing quite formidable, still you were all summoned to act as diplomats and counselors. Fighting, on the other hand, is my explicit responsibility." Her tone is sympathetic, particularly towards Cawmirth whom she obviously considers no more threatening than your average tenured professor counting the days left before retirement.
"And may Ragathiel lend me strength" she mutters under her breath.
A faint whisper emerges from the chained form, almost indistinguishable from the wind soughing against the shutters outside. "Help me..."
A gentle touch and subtle whisper, and Lavinia feels Callista's reassuring presence behind her. She silently nods at her words, instinctively trying to pinpoint her location but just as fast as she's made her presence known, she vanishes again.
Unsheathing her sword, she turns towards Sebi. "Everything's in place. Lady Moncrief, if you will" she says to the armor-clad woman, inviting her to release her magic.
"So be it."
She whispers low, the potent magic always taking the most from her. "One day, one hour, one moment to betray. On the strings beneath the world, correct this mistake so on it will play."
Cold winds kick up, coalescing around the chains. Sebi closes her fist and the magic spills from her. She glared at the mass of chains.
"Break.
The effect is immediate and cacophonous.
A dozen hateful voices seem to scream in anger, and then a mass of chains slide off the form, slipping free and crashing to the wooden floorboards in a thunderous racket, followed moments later by the figure itself which collapses to the ground, freed from his cocoon, sprawling bonelessly on the floor.
It's a man, a badly wounded one, young, with raven dark hair and a striking, haunted face. He's naked but for the dried blood and areas where the chains seem to have insinuated themselves into his flesh, entering raw, suppurating wounds in his shoulders, hips, and chest. There are other deep cuts in his body, and from the numerous hooks in which most of the chains end, it would seem those are where they were embedded into his flesh after being wound tightly around his form.
He groans. It is a dismal sound, a croak that emanates from the depths of his soiled soul. His eyes flutter, and he turns his head to one side and then the other, disoriented. One eye is human, the iris a dark blue. The other is monstrous, the sclera a dark crimson, the iris a torrid gold, the pupil a cross-wise hack whose black depths seem to open to a different plane of existence.
Then he seems to gather himself, and blinks again as he looks at those arrayed before him. "Who..? Please. She'll punish me. I can't..." His hands ghost over his body, touching the wounds, the chain insertion points, and he rests his head back on the boards, eyes closing as s sob wracks his entire frame.
Callista's head cocks to the side in curiosity as she hears Lavinia's exclamation, hearing the subtle rise in her voice that indicated emotion in addition to duty. Hmmmm...a chink in the woman's proverbial armor, perhaps. A possibility to explore another time.
She studies the wounded man, a disgusted, sympathetic look on her face as she circles around the room, waiting for her visible companions to make the first move. She wanted to trust the pitiable man, but being wrapped up in chains with a bunch of strange script didn't exactly inspire confidence or trust.
Lavinia gazes upon the wretched mess of flesh and blood who used to be a man with a cold, emotionless stare. Try as she might, she cannot find the strength to feel pity for the shambled creature lying supine on the floor. Anyone who consorts with devils has brought such a torment upon himself.
"She'll punish you? Your 'Lady of Pain' will punish you?"
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As the chains burst from around the figure, dumping it to the ground like so much poorly tenderized meat, Cawmirth put a talon over his eyes, sighing with some frustration, "Did you have to? Oh dear..." He struggled for words, a rare enough thing, but… well, actually, he was just relieved that the thing hadn't turned into an encounter. He wasn't quite ready to start rolling initiative.
After a momentary pause, Cawmirth peeked out from behind his claw. Ugh, so much… flesh. And blood. It didn't have a visceral effect on him, given all the stabbings he'd been involved with, but he had to keep up appearances, you know? Cawmirth fussed and squirmed a bit longer, the whole act rather poorly done to be honest, before he felt like he'd given everyone a sufficient show.
"You all may have noticed, but it seems Kasoval is something of a victim here. Or at least of two minds regarding this… ah… makeover of his. Let's see if we can't help the more reasonable one, hm?" Speaking to the assembled women for a moment, Cawmirth shifted over to the slumped, bloody figure, careful to avoid the gore on the floor with his boots.
"Well hello there, friend. It looks like you've seen better days, eh?" Cawmirth chuckled with a friendliness that didn't really suggest he was talking to a naked, shivering man impaled, torn, and infused with every painful barb and spike imaginable. Part of that tone was just Cawmirth trying to dig up some knowledge of what on earth this guy could be turning into, and what he might need to kill it, if it came to that. Nice coffee table thoughts.
"You're in good hands, you're in good hands… but what on earth were you thinking? Hanging yourself up like a piece of smoking meat, bleeding everywhere, psychotic scribbles on the wall… that's no way to get back your deposit." He hoped to see how well this fellow could speak, if at all. Cawmirth certainly didn't relish breaking out the Infernal to talk with whatever Kasoval was on the way to becoming.
Sebi is left in her thoughts in the aftermath of the spell, still thrumming from the energy. A few seconds later, she maneuvers herself next to Lavinia and whispers, "Captain, I have doubts regarding this...situation. Who leaves a thing such as this within the heart of Andoran and does not watch over it? Why leave such a loose end so easy to find, unless precautions have been taken? Please keep vigilant. This may be a trap."
She then strides over to the man and kneels down next to him. In the softest tone she could emit, she says,"We are not here to hurt you. Pay no mind to the professor's jests. Tell me what happened to you, what lead you to here. It's such a heavy burden to carry, don't you agree? Let me help you. Share the load."
The only idea that you can grasp at is that which Alysandra already spoke, that perhaps in some way this man was becoming associated in some fashion with the kytons, a terrifying demon that often serves beneath the Whore Queens. Kytons roam the planes in their lust to cause and receive suffering, seeking pain through violent abductions and sadistic debauches.
The man turns his face up to the tengu, blinking as he tries to understand the meaning behind the professor's jocular words. Sebi kneels by his side, and her voice is soft, caring, and seems to finally reach the man, who locks his eyes on her and attempts to speak, taking her hand if she lets him in both of his.
It takes a herculean effort. He strains, forcing the words out as if excavating them from the very substance of his being, fighting for focus, to be able to communicate with Sebi through what must be an ocean of agony and distraction.
"Please... you must leave... oh, by all the gods, I take it back, I take it all back! Not glory but lies, it is nothing but black piss and filth - you must help me." His eyes go wide with desperate hope. "These chains, they use my body as a portal, we must push them back into hell, stop the contagion, I will do penance, I will shrive and wash my soul clean, I will not become, I will not ascend -"
Fervently he grabs at one of the chains that emerges from his chest, and with a moan that is mostly sob tries to push the links back into his body.
Almost immediately the chains that lie strewn around him begin to rattle on the floorboards, vibrating minutely.The drumming sound is akin to hail on a slate roof, the links losing definition as the very speed of their movement causes them to blur in place. Hooks begin to rustle, and then slowly, akin to cobras awakening from a deep slumber, rise into the air.
"No!" The man shakes his head violently as spasms of pain roll through him. "I won't serve - no! I - I reject -" He closes his eyes tight, then snaps them open again to stare at Sebi. His whisper is awful to hear, ragged and raw like a wound. "Kill me. Please. Kill me now, before..."
"It might very well be. I'll keep my eyes open" Lavinia whispers back to Lady Moncrief as the Professor's busy making small chat with their sinister host.
Taking a lateral position, she nervously tightens her grip on the sword as she watches the armored woman taking a few steps towards what she can only suppose is Kasoval Opus, mangled beyond recognition by whatever torture he was submitted to. For a small while, things seem to turn for the better, as Sebi's gentle words appear to pierce the veil of desperation and madness shrouding the man's mind. Then, the matriarch's words suddenly turn prophetic.
It's a split-second decision. Capturing an Order of the Cypress' member alive is of the utmost importance, and the Captain's fully aware of it; indeed, it's the very reason they've delayed their departure, the very reason they've spent most of the night wandering around decadent vernissages and alleys of ill repute. On the other hand, it takes but a glimpse at the kneeling Lady Moncrief, so dangerously close to the spasming abomination, to know what her duty is.
"Andoran and the High Heavens" she roars, lunging at her foe.
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Kasoval Opus, it seems, is still but a man. His body wounded, torn, and brutalized almost beyond understanding is already but lingering on death's door. When the chains begin to rise all around the group like sea spray being whipped off the ocean by vicious winds, Alysandra acts almost faster than thought, and once twice hacks her blade into his body with utter finality.
Opus' eyes flare wide, blood rushes out of his mouth as Alysandra withdraws her sword from his chest, and then he collapses to the ground.
The chains disappear in a manner most horrific. They flee back into his corpse like worms retracting into their burrows, slithering with wet, carnal noises until all are withdrawn and gone, leaving only a faint reek of brimstone and sour metal in the air.
Kasoval's body looks almost pathetic, a pitiful thing. The wounds and sword blows disfigure him so and make it hard to imagine how he might have looked before, when he apparently charmed the courts and sang so beautifully as to thrill the dilettantes of Almas. His eyes stare blindly at the wall, and the blood pours in slow, ebbing gushes out across the floorboards.
Callista stands there, mouth agape, as Lavinia makes a sorry mess of Kasoval Opus. She is glad she is invisible, as the look of surprise on her face would be quite telling. She eyes the broken heap of the man suspiciously, having seen the chains retract into the man like so many snakes retreating into their holes, the scent of the Nine Hells filling the area with its nose-curling aroma.
Not trusting the poor man's corpse on the floor, or really, whatever was inside his corpse, she continues to pad around invisibly, making her way towards the door. She had no intention of getting near the man, abomination or no, and they had plenty of evidence to pore over in the meantime.
Still kneeling, still looking softly on the now-dead man in front of her, Sebi says without turning, ”Well done, Captain.”
A single look of surprise. She hadn’t expected the man to lash out so soon, thought she could reason with his human side. And yet, she’d let the girl she was--and not the matriarch--flash across her face for just a moment. A moment of hesitation. She was no one’s damsel.
”Now let us see if Mr. Opus is more pliable beyond death’s gate.”
That same fog wells up in her throat as before, in the fortress’s courtyard. Memory given form, spiraling up through her. Andoran summers, tilled fields in the afternoon sun, faces and lives of long-dead relatives smiling, laughing, crying, dying. She remembers the pale, lightless sun above the realm of her ancestors, focuses on it. Lets the fog trail out from her mouth, snaking down along the floor, and into Opus’s still form.
"My pleasure, Lady Moncrief" Lavinia says as she sprinkles the blood off her sword with a whipping movement of her wrist, drawing a thin red line on the wall in the process.
She spares but the briefest of glimpses toward the broken figure lying on the floor, mangled beyond recognition and yet, despite everything, human again now that the hellish chains have seemingly crawled back into whatever infernal dimension had vomited them. His wish was granted. I only regret...
As if in response to her own thoughts, a chill fog seems to emanate from Sebi's mouth, driving away the sulphuric miasmata still lingering around Opus Kasoval's corpse. She's doing it again.
The Captain stands still, like a silent sentinel, as she witnesses Lady Moncrief's powers manifest.