Dot away
Half a night’s hike from Levkarest, Stanrick and his druid master Volfill sat under the stars eating a midnight lunch. A small fire burned between them.
”Do you think Levkarest has changed since I was there?” Stanrick asked tearing off a piece of venison jerky.
”You know change is one of the few constants in life.” Volfill replied.
”What’s the first thing you want to do? I’d like to find some good musicians. Maybe enter a singing competition. Oh, and there was a pastry shop my mom loved. After a successful performance she loved getting a treat from there. Hopefully they’re still where I remember. Maybe that should be the first place I visit.”
”There will be time enough for singing, eating, and anything else you can think of Stanrick,” the druid master takes a sip of water.
”Wrestling?” the young man asked poking the small fire with a branch.
Volfill laughs, ”I thought you were going to say girls or herb shopping. Priorities, Stanrick!”
”These are priorities,” Stanrick indicates the small rooted cuttings wrapped in burlap. ”Do you think they’ll like the trees?”
”I wouldn’t have suggested otherwise,” Volfill said taking a bit from his jerky. ”You better hope I don’t enter the wrestling competition. You wouldn’t like to lose to an old man like me.”
”I haven’t lost to you in at least seven moons,” Stanrick said.
”Ah, but I haven’t taught you everything I know,” Volfill laughed.
all. We can't be having people walking in here with weapons, or designs to A traveling priest can be seen walking toward steadily toward Levkarest. When the priest finally reaches the boundaries of the city a few of the onlookers are taken aback at the beauty of this priestess. The hunch on her back seems to be a robe draped over a large oddly shaped backpack. A guard, noticing she is traveling alone, grows quite suspicious at her approach. The fact that a priestess was traveling without an escort was strange enough, but he caught sight of a strange twitch from the backpack. Eyeing her carefully and keeping his distance, the guard move to intercept her progress.
Halt miss. Please pull off your hood and be recognized.
She pauses and looks up at the guard. Her pale green eyes pierce through the shadow of her hood scrutinized him. Hesitating a moment, she slowly drew back her hood. A gasp escaped the guards lips as he watched the red/gold hair rolls down her neck and chest like a cascade of fire and sunlight. Her face is a haunting picture of near perfection. There was that bag though. The guard was nothing if not cautious. Well, cautious AND suspicious.
Miss. Can you please remove your cloak. I will have to inspect it
The hesitation lasted longer this time. Her greatest fears were being realized.
Is he going to turn me away from the city? Worst yet, is he going to beat me like the others did?
She produces a piece of parchment and holds it out to the man. The guard glares at her and snatches the parchment. His eyes dart to the bottom of the page with no immediate regard for the contents quite yet. The parchment holds a seal of her church with the signature of the attending priest who will be performing the marriage ceremony at the festival. His brow furrows more at the recognition as he looks to the top and begins reading.
Right hand to the attending priest are ya?
A moment passes as she merely stares at him.
What's wrong. You a mute now too? Well I really am sorry for this miss, but I am still going to have to check your bag. Policy and all. We can't be having people walking in here with weapons, or designs to out one of the visiting nobles now can we.
She looked to either side as she watched other travelers just arriving walking right past them unhindered. She sighs softly to herself and lowers her head. She looks up at him pleadingly and shakes her head disapprovingly as she reaches for the clasp of her cloak. As the cloak falls off, a pair of black appendages could be seen jutting up over her shoulders.
They resembled a pair of giant birds wings that had been brutally torn off at the joint, the beautiful golden feathers were tainted with red tips as if dripping with blood. As if that was not enough, her tail reaches around her and takes her cloak and threads it into the lower straps of her bag to hang snugly but not drag on the floor. The man takes a sudden step back and draws his sword.
It was your fault for being too curious. I came here to work.
Her voice took on a triple toned reverberation, her own soft feminine vocalization; a higher beautifully melodic angelic song; and a deeper, almost seductive and sinister whisper. It was both enthralling and unnerving to hear.
The guards scowl deepened as he gathered up his courage and stepped forward threateningly. She knew that look. She knew if she stayed she would probably be beaten again. Or maybe worst this time. She threw up her hands and backed away slowly until she was a safe enough distance from him that she could walk off.
Once she was out of sight in the woods, she tucked her wings downward (a severely uncomfortable and almost painful angle) and wrapped her tail around her waist like a belt. She focused to keep all her appendages as still as possible which felt incredibly unnatural. The feeling was like trying to walk without swinging your arms. She pulled her cloak over and around herself, wrapping and knotting it such that it gave the illusion of a dress. She then slings her bag over her back and approached the city once more. She paid particular to the guard that drew on her sped past when he looked away.
The night goes by slowly, and each moment haunts Bliznap with what is to come. He can't stop thinking about what he must undertake. Every time he thinks about it, his heart skips a beat and his blood begins to heat up and immediately simmer. He sits at an inn, trying to calm his nerves by taking his mind off what is coming. The inn is bustling, but its current attendance will pale in comparison to tomorrow nights'.
Bliznap finishes his drink, and asks for another. He takes care to drink only enough, so he is not ordering his usual stiff drinks. Occasionally he looks around to see how many people he can recognize as travelers. This tavern is deep in the heart of Levkarest, many travelers would not think to come here.
The tavern itself is called the Peniless Minstrel. It is a hole in the wall, and a pretty well kept secret from would be vacationers. On their busiest night of the year they might pull in a couple dozen patrons, and that is why Bliznap liked it. He could feel free to drink to his hearts content, and still be able to hear himself think. He could also stay away from the unwanted gaze of those with a hatred towards his kind.
Many of the regular patrons were minstrels such as he, and because of his position, he was highly respected. Bliznap was a city celebrity. He was extremely well known for his violin skills, and he was a part of the Lavkarest orchestra (first chair of all the other violinists). He got nerves before playing usually, but tonight was different. Tonight was special, and tomorrow he did not just have to worry about playing for the fans he has in Lavkarest. Tomorrow he would have to play in front of travelers from all over the region.
He had played for fellow Borcan's before, and usually he came away with more fans than when he went in, but tomorrow he would also be playing for people coming from Katakass. They were known for their artistic talents, and they had rejected him before. He hoped that he could impress them this time, and definitely show how far he had come. Usually he tried to be optimistic, but this time he couldn't help but feel some pessimism.
He was hired as part of a small troupe to play the wedding song for the royal couple. Until that time he was to play on the streets to lighten up the festivities. He thought that his street playing days were over, but this was a part of getting more prestige.
One Last time He thinks to himself. One last time, and I will be able to hold my own show. I will never have to play on the street again, and will be able to work exclusively in music halls. These thoughts excite him, and he begins wearing a smile.
He finishes his last drink, and heads for home. Tomorrow will be a great day! He reassures himself the whole way home. He manages to stop thinking about it when he gets home, but he can only manage a restless night sleep. He gets up and cleans his violin, begins practicing, and tuning it for today's events. He must be at the north end of the city before breakfast ends, he leaves an hour early to ensure he is there on time. He can feel his palms sweating on his way, and his knees start to feel weak. Every stride feels like he has been walking for days.
The venue is only a block away, but he feels as though it is a mile. His heart begins beating faster, and he can't help but have all those feelings of pessimism hit him at once. He stops and is forced to reassure himself in order to continue. Today will be a great day. Today will be a great day. He carries on, and gets to his post. Immediately he gets out his violin and makes some final adjustments. Once he is done, he begins playing a light whimsical piece to usher in the new travelers.
...this place is so clean...hardly any rats at all...
Garold peers around a barely cracked door, marveling at all the beautiful people, wishing he could join them, only for this one day.
…such is not to be, not for the likes of me…
The streets of Levkarest are packed. Even at dawn, the market square is a maze of booths and stalls and tents, vendors selling everything from local delicacies to Vorostokovi furs to impossibly delicate fabrics from Sri Raji. Miraculous inventions from Mordent are on display, and bizarre creatures from Souragne. On every corner it seems there are musicians, or jugglers, or acrobats performing, and though the day is just beginning, the taverns are full and loud. Harlots brazenly parade the main streets of the city, luring clients back to the houses where they ply their trade, and stranger vices are hinted at in the doors of innocuous buildings.
The laws against such things have been suspended for the celebration of Lady Ivana's wedding, though her Enforcers seem to be everywhere, in black mail with red cloaks and pins shaped like a black spiders with a red staff on its back. The wealthy of all Ravenloft are here, indulging themselves and their guards wander in bright livery, like tropical birds in mail. The only thing missing from the streets are the usual throngs of beggars that usually swarm like flies out of the city's slums.
A boy sprints past, his eyes wild with fear, and a voice cries out "Thief!"
A crossbow bolt finds the middle of the boy's back, and he sprawls in the dirt. A Nova Vaasan in tall boots with gold embroidery on his vest glares as a red cloaked guard walks over to the boy to put a sword through him, silencing his groans. The crossbowman draws his bow again, and the guard collects the foreigner's coin purse from the corpse.
"Accept our Lady's apologies for this embarrassing accident, good sir," the guard says, handing the foreigner his purse. The patrol moves on, and slowly, people return to their business, until at last a shopkeeper drags the dead thing to the side of the road. People laugh as a trained monkey performs tricks.
At dawn, the city gates creak open, and the line of travellers that has been waiting begins to creep forward, slowly. The guards wear black armor and red cloaks, and pins shaped like a black spider with a red circle on its back, and they stop each individual or family passing through the gate to question them about their purpose in Levkarest. They ask other questions, but they always finish by asking if the visitor has brought a gift for the Lady to celebrate her wedding. A wagon pulled by four pairs of oxen stands ready to carry the gifts, and none passes through the gate without an offering.
Those who are turned away for one reason or another walk back along the road, for the fields on the roadside by the gate are full. Hundreds of bodies sprawl in the grass, some sleeping, some waking, some watching resentfully as foreigners enter the city they've been driven out of, a few even work the road, begging for coin or food, but none too near the guards at the gate. Some have cloaks to serve as blankets, some are naked, some are crippled, all are thin and filthy.
A girl watches you carefully. She is thin and filthy and dressed in rags, but her eyes are bright, unlike the others, she seems to have a spark of hope left in her. As she walks towards you, a guard puts a hand on the hilt of his sword and shakes his head, and the girl ducks her head and turns away, but she steals a last glance at you before she disappears into the sea of beggars outside the city gates.
Before you can react, you hear a voice scream "Murder!" and a young man, half-dressed in rich clothes runs out of the forest, pointing back into the trees. He screams again, "Murder!"
This time the commander of the detachment at the gate nods, and three of the guards march grimly towards the young man, who, seeing that they have heard him, bounces on his feet and then turns and runs back into the woods.
The last stars fade as a another day dawns. The clouds blaze fiery orange and bloody red over the shoulders of the rugged Balinok Mountains, burning away the night. The road here rises onto a bald hilltop, giving a view of a seemingly endless forest of spruce and hemlock trees that covers the foothills, and columns of thick steam rise up from the numerous hot springs that dot the land, feeding the streams with warm water and filling the cool air of late summer with patches of hot mist. In the distance, just visible beyond the rolling hills, the sun's first rays glint off the golden spire of the Grand Cathedral of Ezra, in Levkarest.
As you break your fast and pack up your camp, you see other travellers have gotten a start on you, and already a wagon rolls slowly towards the city, and another emerges from the woods at the bottom of the hill. The second wagon is surrounded by mercenary guards and a nervous looking man drives the team of horses that pull it.
For all the activity, it is a peaceful morning, promising a beautiful day, and it is only as you shoulder your packs and begin the last steps of your journey that the quiet is broken. A scream cuts through the still air, and then another, and another. A young woman bursts out of the trees, clutching her torn dress to her body and staring around wildly in terror.
She screams again, pointing into the trees, and then falls to her knees, sobbing.
"Please someone help us. He's dead, he's dead."
On the Road
A tall, hooded figure stood atop a low hill gazing toward Levkarest. The place was already abuzz with activity in preparations for the upcoming event. As footsteps sounded nearby on the road, the hood swept back, revealing a young woman with eyes so piercingly blue they seemed to see through to the heart of the object of her scrutiny. Her coloring was a collage of contrasts; alabaster skin framed in long raven black tresses with the bright blue of her eyes and a faint blush of pink in her cheeks nearly the only color in her person at all. Her build was lithe and slender, but she was clearly no waif. She wore only black as well, but that wasn’t uncommon in Barovia. They were a people who mourned long their lost loved ones.
She nodded to her travelling companion and cast her eyes back to the road bustling with travelers. ”Well, Sergei, we're not far now. We will have to hurry along before all the decent work is taken. Looks like the crowds are already arriving.”
As they stride toward their destination, her thoughts swarm her unbidden.
Will he be here? Would I even recognize him if he were?
Her reverie broken by the screaming, she looked to find it's source. As the woman emerges she narrows her eyes in suspicion and shares a glance with Sergei before moving closer to investigate. "Who is dead? What has happened to you?"
Isabeau draws her short sword and watches the sobbing woman closely as she approaches, looking for signs of deception or danger in the woods beyond.
On The Road
Stanrick is listing the various birds he hears calling from the trees as he and Volfill walk along the road. Despite hiking most of the night, he moves with a bubbling energy, occasionally dancing around his spear, clearly excited to be so close to the city.
When the girl barges from the trees, he hurries past a fellow traveler already armed with a short sword to reach the young woman. He asks, ”Are you hurt? Have you been cut? Is someone chasing you?” Setting his spear down, he looks at her eyes and face, searching for injury. He then looks to the trees where he thinks she appeared, hoping this isn't the result of a wild animal attack.
”Take a sip of water, you’re safe now.”
Lucia grits her teeth as she sees the commotion begin to move away from the gates. She begins to slink toward the gates wanting to slip past the guards into the city, but there is that pull. Every fiber in her being screamed FOLLOW THE GIRL!.
With a deep resigned sigh she spins back to the shifting crowd in hopes that she will see the little girl. Her ears buzz with the murmurs of murder drifting from everyones lips. The crowd gets more and more unmanageable as the people milling about the gates and the long precession of visitors begin to turn and many start to follow the shouting young man.
Find the girl her instincts urge.
Why. Why do I feel like she is so important.
The thoughts fill her mind in a frenzy of confusing feelings and instincts, the pull of her duel nature making it hard to think. She moves in the general direction of where she saw the girl retreat. Her mind races every which way as she tries desperately to maneuver through the crowd when she suddenly realizes...
Where is the crowd? They were just here, right in front of me.
Her thoughts were so turbulent that she did not notice that she had left the majority of them far behind and trekked through the the forest blind for nearly twenty minutes. Shaking her head to clear the cobwebs she took an account of her surroundings. Listening carefully, she could hear voices to her right. Following them she emerged back on the road at a pair of caravans halted in place.
She double checked her clothing to make sure that her claok/dress disguise still held and pulled her hood back over her head. She moved swiftly around one side of the wagons and approached as if she were one of the random onlookers, like she was there the whole time. As she looked over the others' shoulders she could see a young man comforting a woman and offering her water.
In the City
Bliznap watches the chase of the little boy and immediately changes song to a faster paced one. When the guard puts up his crossbow, Bliznap crescendos to a note of solemn dread. He build the tension up till right before the guard fires.
When the boy is struck and falls to the ground, Bliznap switches to a slower sadder tune. He continues to play it until the body is dragged to the side of the street. After that he switches back to something light in order to liven the spirits of those around him.
Garold peers through a window, wondering at the commotion - a young boy - a child, really. Garold blinks back tears, feeling helpless... he was probably an orphan...
Sergei just nodded as Isabeu mentioned the crowds and work. He wasn't the talkative sort, a near-constant shadow hanging over his head. He was dependable, but not terribly uplifting.
At the sound of the scream, the big man fumbled for his shield, managing to get it onto his arm and a weapon in his hand only a few moments after the others. For a farmer, his reflexes were good, but obviously untrained.
When the woman ran up, he froze, unsure of what to do. A moment later, his hard face softened and he knelt next to Stanrick.
"We'll help you. Tell us what happened."
The young woman accepts water from Stanrick and drinks deeply. It takes a few minutes before she catches her breath and is calm enough to respond, time enough for a beautiful girl with a peculiar cloak to appear. When the young woman looks up at all of you, she seems to shiver and sag, as if relieved of some terrible burden.
"Last night I came here to meet ... a young man," she says, lowering her eyes, and hugging herself closely. "We ... spent the night there." She points into the woods where she came from. "He brought wine and fruit and candles, and the stars were so bright," she gives a hint of a smile at the memory, but it quickly breaks into a mask of despair. "Everything was wonderful, beautiful, until this morning. I was thirsty and ... he said he was going to get water. I slept a little longer, and then I had to go outside, and that's when I saw it." She shudders and shakes her head, as if trying to deny the thought of what she saw.
"I don't know what could have done that to him," she said. "He's dead. He was just hanging there outside the tent and I don't know where ... my lover is."
On the streets, things get more as the day goes on. More crowded, more decadent, more gaudy. There is a note of desperation in the depravity already, as though the young noblemen and women and the bright courtiers that swarm around them have an obligation to meet. They drink and laugh and dance, but they rarely show an honest smile. Though the festival atmosphere can be felt everywhere, on the faces of the revelers is more envy, spite and bitterness than joy.
It seems liable to come to a head before the bells of the Great Cathedral have even rung the nine o'clock hour, when two young bravos from different noble houses let the hostile glances turn to barbed words and then to fierce insults. In a moment, their blades are out and a space clears around them in the crowd. Bets are whispered and encouragement shouted as they circle each other.
"And what is this?" a woman's voice says. It is soft, but it easily cuts through the noise, and a quiet falls. She is pale and coldly beautiful, impossible to age, and dressed in an exquisite black silk gown. She holds a crystal glass of wine and sips from it. A slender band of silver set with rubies is all that identifies her as Borca's mistress, Ivana Boritsi, though the train of guards and servants that follows her marks her importance immediately. "A play? In my honor? How wonderful"
"Another glass," she says, and as her servants bring a second glass of wine, she looks at the two young noblemen, who have both turned and bowed low to her. "Proceed," she says to them. "I will drink with the survivor. Gnome, a martial song, please."
"Freak," a familiar voice calls out. It is Emilio, Garold's boss, nephew of the Sefeasa's procuratrix and charged with keeping the vermin off the streets. Though Garold is a necessary part of his staff, he makes no effort to hide his loathing of the bent and twisted creature. "Were you going to sit here and stare with that body on the street all day? Earn your pay for once in your wretched life and dispose of it."
Isabeau's face forms into hard lines as she inhales deeply, steeling herself for what she will see. "Madam, can you tell me your lover's name? Or to whom the property belongs? I assure you, I will be discreet, but I need to know as much about what I'm walking into as I can, you understand? I'm going to go check it out. Sergei, will you watch my back?"
She wasn't sure she could call the melancholy man a friend. He was most often quiet, but she sensed a solidness in him, body and soul. She suspected it was the common thread of grief that had drawn them together as they both seemed to be alone in the world.
She slipped into the woods, sticking to the shadows, moving toward the direction the woman indicated to investigate the scene first hand.
Watching the exchange, Lucia's curiosity got the better of her.
My unique skills could help with the situation.
Not if he is dead a second voice insisted. I was a whispering snake of a voice filled with deceit and venom.
Someone is being naughty. Mmmm. How delicious... So, you follow the woman. Then what. When she finds you and figures your true nature, she will kill you. The way all the others want to kill you.
A third strong harmonious voice emerged its timber belying a warmth and benevolence all its own.
The woman who spoke in three voices, hears them as separate entities in her mind. Each of them unique and distinct and with their own personalities and motives: Herself; Her father's blood; and her taint. All vying for control in a single vessel. It is a wonder if she could ever have a straight thought at all under the circumstances. A lifetime of this taught her how to adapt though. She, after all, knew no other way. To her, everyone lived like this. The core of being simply decided to listen to the harmony or the whisper to dictate their actions.
Lucia began to track the woman into the forest trying to stay as quiet and careful as possible. The attempt was difficult and as time went on, her carefulness increased the distance between her and her pursued.
In the City
Bliznap bows at the ladies command and begins playing music to suit the action. He starts of with something to build the tension. As they are exchanging words, with the finish of each quip Bliznap crescendos. When the fight starts, he begins to speed up the pace and follows the action flowing.
All of a sudden the two men are exchanging blows rapidly, one strikes from above while the other parries. They take care to make it look as though they had not rehearsed it. Bliznap continues to study them and keeps up with the action.
After a short fight, one man is able to disarm the other and has both weapons in hand. Bliznap switches back to a tense verse as they carry out the rest of the play...
Garold takes a quick glance up at his tormentor and employer, and scurries quickly into the street, staying low as he's almost uniquely talented - almost, because it brings him to eye level with the talented minstrel nearby... his eyes are drawn for a moment, but he feels Lord Sarac's eyes burning into his back, and hurries about the ugly business of removing the body. Does he mumble out loud, or is it just his thoughts echoing in his head?
…so young...just a child... so evil, this damned city...
It was obvious...this boy was malnourished... stealing to eat, from those who had never known the least pang of hunger...
In moments, the body and Garold were both gone, both forgotten.
Within moments, Garold hears the clash of steel on steel, and comes back to the door, knowing he'll be doing the same horrible duty again, soon.
The music enchants him, and he finds himself back out on the street., hobbling on his thick, bound stick, as he always does. Still, he stays behind the crowd.
On the Road
Stanrick notices a small number of fellow travelers has gathered around them. Two women head into the trees to presumably search for the young woman’s lover.
”My name is Stanrick. That is Volfill,” he says indicating a man with a gray beard, holding a hiking staff.
”What’s your name?” he asks. ”Please tell me if I understand: your lover is missing. You say he, meaning another man, was dead hanging outside your tent? Do you know who he is?”
"I don't know who the dead man is," she says softly, "Or whose land this is. Anton just told me to meet him here." She rolls her eyes then, dropping her chin and clenching her fists. Then she looks up and whispers. "I am Marissa Ocara. That I met someone here is enough to ruin me, but please don't ask me his name. If anyone finds out who I was with, she'll surely have me killed."
A clear path winds through dense brush where Marissa came out of the forest, and a quarter of a mile along the path stands the ruin of a house. A stone chimney rises up over a pit where a cellar must have been, choked now with brambles, and in a small clearing nearby is a tent, simple in design but clearly of superior workmanship. The remains of the lovers' meal is in a basket by a stone bench that overlooks a small pond, mostly overgrown with reeds now.
He hangs between two trees, arms and legs outstretched. at first glance it seems that he is caught in a giant spider's web, but a second look shows that it is woven of rope. He is a grotesquely fat man, and it may be that all the dozen or so ropes of the web were needed to suspend him here. Empty holes stare from under his brow where his eyes should have been, and the front of his shirt is soaked with blood, the slit in his throat concealed beneath a deep double chin.
"Finish it," Ivana says, nodding to the disarmed man. "Kill him."
Any objection is silenced by the presence of a dozen guards, and the victorious young man looks sick as he approaches his defeated enemy. In a moment, it is done, a stab through the heart leaves the loser bleeding out on the street. Ivana laughs at the joke and slips her arm through the victors.
"You will join me, won't you?" she purrs, and turns to leave. Before she takes more than a step, she stops, distracted by a curious sight, a twisted creature come to collect the corpse of the thief. "What in heaven's name is that?" she gasps.
"Pardon me, my Lady," Emilio Sarac says, sweeping a graceful bow. "Garold is employed primarily as a rat-catcher. I beg your pardon for his appearance, but I assure you he is not dangerous."
"Except to rats," Ivana smirks, and turns to Garold. "Rat-catcher, come with me. I have rats that need to be caught. Emilio, you'll take care of the bodies, won't you?"
The nobleman gapes at her for a moment, and then nods, the bitter taste of swallowed pride twisting his features. Ivana looks around the street as though she's forgotten something.
"You play well, gnome. Come. You will play for me while I dine." Satisfied at last, she turns and walks away, towards Levkarest's most notorious tavern, her entourage trailing behind her.
A more squalid den of vice cannot be found in Levkarest. The sign in front depicts a pale, dark-haired woman sitting naked, seen from behind. The front door leads into a long, narrow room, just wide enough for a bar and a row of stools. Behind that, a much wider room opens off, with tables and chairs arranged along a wide balcony that overlooks a lower floor. While the candles on the balcony tables shed enough light to play cards or dice or drink, the floor below is dark. Occasionally, when the noise from the upper floor dies down, sounds of pleasure and pain can be heard from below.
The front door opens and a pale woman with black hair and an exquisite black dress comes in, trailing a pair of guardsmen, a maid and serving boy, and a long line of courtiers and curiosities who follow in single file behind her as she passes through the bar. From what you can see of her, she bears a strong resemblance to the woman on the sign, and a thin silver band set with rubies around her brow proclaims that this is Ivana Boritsi, Sefeasa of Borca.
She and her entourage go directly to the stairs, and the Innkeeper, as gaunt and greasy a creature as ever passed for human, meets her at the top, bowing low and escorting her down the stairs into the darkness.
"I have kept your room ready, Lady," he says. He carries a candle down, and the curious gather around the railing to see where he leads her, but all that can be seen are black curtains that the reveal nothing. Moments after she disappears, as her party still trails after her, the Innkeeper rushes back up the stairs, looking worried.
"What is she doing here this early?" he hisses to the captain of her guards.
"She's whet her appetite, that's all" the guard says. "See to her needs. Nothing has changed."
At the Dark Maiden
Bane sat with his back to the corner in this disgusting hole of a tavern. He had been in this city less than a day, and already it made him want to vomit. "Baandeli had better not be in a place like this." He thought to himself with a shudder. He had to find his daughter, and with all of the activity in the city, he needed an inconspicous place to stay. This den of fools would suffice. His plan was immediatly foiled when an entourage of nobles, gaurds, and other characters came through the front door and quickly went down the stairs escorted by the innkeeper. The innkeeper then sprinted up the stairs at a pace his age should have discouraged and exchanged some angry words with one of the gaudly dressed gaurds.
His inquisitive nature getting the better of him, Bane walked to the railing of the stairs and when he couldn't see through the curtain, he attempted to listen.
Is this what it means to be an adventurer? Wendel asks himself, doing his level best to not wear a permanent sneer on his face. He'd expected to be involved in a bar fight or two, having not been accosted on the road to Levkarest.
Even the guards were reasonably pleasant at the gates despite their intimidating armor and bearing. Of course the letters of patent and the gift for the pending nuptials had gone a long way towards getting him through. A small part of him was glad he wouldn't have to wait outside with the other...rabble.
He sighs and grabs up the half finished tankard of ale, downing a few more gulps. At the least, the brew was satisfying. Maybe a few more and Wendel would have the courage to approach the rear of the tavern, try his luck at some cards. Perhaps someone at the gaming tables would have a lead on Cerny Zvonek. One thing was for certain, he'd not be going downstairs...a man could catch a disease or worse in a place like this!
Then in came the entourage, led by a woman of dignified air...no, not dignified, noble... Wendel watches her pass, the long line of sycophants along for the action. The spindly - and somewhat spry - proprietor bows and scrapes and welcomes the lady to the establishment.
What in the great wide world...is that Lady Ivana Boritsi? He stares dumbly as she descends the stairs to the carnal pit below. She passes behind a curtain, leaving Wendel to question if he actually saw her.
He grabs up his tankard, careful to nudge his pack ahead of him to the banister and casts an ear downwards...
Listening...
Wendel thinks on what he'd heard regarding the Lady's proclivities...
He glances up and notes that another man is also curious as to the goings on below.
Upon being given the opportunity to get off the streets, Bliznap is eager to put away his instrument and follow the woman. He thinks to himself, that was quick, and begins to follow after her.
He arrives at the Dark Maiden and immediately tries to think why a noble would come to this den of sin.
After Pondering for a small time he moves into the bar and watches as the woman goes downstairs.
Bliznap follows the woman and tries to keep his wits about him.
Bliznap finds and empty table and orders a drink from the bartender. He throws a couple silver he earned from the day on the table and tries to get a sense of who is in the tavern. He is used to being outnumbered by humans, but prefers to keep it on his own terms. He then waits for the woman to return to collect him.
Borcan nobility is a huge and complex tapestry, and while legally, Ivana is only technically the first among equals, there is no question that she is the absolute ruler. She came to power when her mother died, and very quickly eliminated any significant rivals. Now the nobles dance to her tune, rising and falling in fortune at her whim.
She loves combat, and frequently chooses a champion to fight on her whim. It is a tremendous honor and guarantees a life of luxury, though seldom a very long life, as her champions rarely have time to heal from their injuries.
She is intensely proud of her own beauty and of the art and culture of Borca, which she spends fantastic sums to improve and increase. The burden of her patronage is born by a population that is taxed into crushing poverty. While the beauty of the capital is unparalleled in Ravenloft, many doubt that the region can sustain her pleasure. Of course, expressing such doubts is a good way to find yourself part of Ivana's entertainment.
She is generally rumored to have had many, many lovers. While nobody knows any of her lovers, everyone seems to know someone who knew one, once. If there is any perversion that she is not whispered to have indulged in, it is probably too repulsive to consider, but it is all speculation, for if any have bedded her, they have not spoken of it. Some say this is because none of her lovers have survived her affections.
Bliznap, you are to play for her, of course you are expected to follow.
Bliznap follows the lady down the stairs and tries to take in the environment around him. A rush excitement is coursing through his body in anticipation of the audience he might meet under the tavern.
Who will I be playing for? This woman no doubt has friends in really high places. How much money is there to be made?
When he finally arrives at their destination, he looks around making sure to find where he should be playing before the lady has to tell him.
Her eyes dart this way and that.
What kind of monster would do this to someone. No one is deserving of such a fate.
Abandoning her stealth, she moves astonished toward the strung up corpse. A mixture of disgust and entrancement, she fixates on the knot work and intricate patterns used to put him such a big man into position.
It looks almost as if the brute took pride in their work . As if they took great care in how they put this glutinous individual here. She then inspects his wounds in an attempt to learn what actually killed him.
Her attention then gets attracted to the food sitting in the basket with no one to enjoy it. The dead body suddenly forgotten her mind darts back to the poor sitting outside the gates.
This bounty can go a long way to feeding many of those starving!
You fool! You have doomed us all!
A look of panic suddenly crosses her features as her eyes dart around noticing she is no longer hidden. She darts toward the basket and snatches it up and moves into the forest.
Not knowing if she had been followed, she stops after a few minutes of running breathing hard and leaning up against a tree. Her exhaustion envelops her and her focus and bearings now lost to her once again.
You see,” he says sweeping his right hand towards the woods, ”some of the others have already started to look for your friend. For now, why don’t you stay with Volfill and take my cloak,” he drapes the crimson cloth around her shoulders. ”Can you describe your friend?” As he she does, he looks at her feet to determine which tracks he should look for.
Then Stanrick unties the peach cuttings that are bound to the outside of his backpack. The burlap bundles smell of fresh soil, compost, and sawdust. ”Master,” he whispers, ”hopefully I’ll be back soon. I leave the trees in your care.” He repacks his waterskin into the top of his backpack.
He follows the path, backtracking her trail, occasionally getting glimpses of the others through the foliage and contours of the land ahead of him. By the time he reaches the ruined house, a woman is examining the corpse. After a few moments she snatches the basket and runs off. Stanrick guesses the grisly scene of the suspended corpse unnerved her. After searching the area around the webbed rope for tracks, , to see from which direction the man was dragged or by how many people, he approaches the corpse and gently presses the man’s pockets, looks for any pouches, or identifying marks on the man’s face, arms, or insignia on the clothes. .
Satisfied he learned what he could from the hanging man, he calls out, Anton! Anton!” and waits for a reply while he searches the area around the tent for footprints, .
Isabeau blinked in surprise as a cloaked woman drifted out of the shadows and moved toward the morbidly displayed corpse as she surveyed the scene. She berated herself for failing to notice her before, If she'd meant you harm, where would you be now? Bleeding out on the ground now is where... Keep your eyes open, Isa!
She winced at the internal voice, which still sounded like Rake from the days when he instructed her. She shook her head, as if trying to shed the thought of him by force and again turned her full attention toward the woman. She closely watched her manner as she touched the body and examined the rigging he was supported by. She looked to be investigating the murder herself, but there was something odd about her all the same.
As she turned toward the food basket, Isabeau noticed her face for the time. Her mouth dropped open as she took in her beauty and then even further as she snatched up the food basket like a common thief. As she looked suddenly panicked and ready to bolt, Isabeau stepped forward with her shortsword in hand, but not yet raised and spoke to the strangely beautiful woman.
"Wait! A man has been brutally killed and another is missing. I've been asked to help here and I intend to do so. Who are you? If you are hungry, I can give you food, but I need to see the basket, please. In case it holds a clue, you understand?"
She moves toward the woman slowly with her hand extended as if she were approaching a skitish deer.
After that excitement was ended she again turned her attention to the body and joined Stanrick in his examination. She had seen many corpses in her lifetime, but she was often still surprised by the cruelty with which they were dispatched and in this case, displayed. She says aloud mostly to herself, "His eyes have been removed, perhaps he saw something he should not?" She looks closely for signs of what implements may have been used to gouge his eyes and flay his flesh and other secrets the dead man may hold. Finally she attempts to picture his face with eyes intact and tries to think if she had seen him anywhere before. She also tries to connect the other names she has heard, Marissa Ocara and the missing Anton.
The words rung through her mind.
"If you are hungry, I can give you food..."
Don't trust her. She is trying to lure you out.
Good hearts. Please. Don't fill her head with those hopeful sentimental thoughts. It is those kinds of thoughts that have gotten us nearly killed so many times.
Both of you shut up. I am trying to think.
She pants and looks back to where the other two are still looking at the body, then down to the basket she holds in her hand. She sighs deeply in disappointment. Those poor people are going to go hungry. Hungrier than they already are. But she was right. This was at the scene of the murder. She straightens out her clothing ( ) and moves out, arms raised holding the basket in one hand.
I am coming out. I only took the basket to feed those outside the gates. The hungry and poor. If possible, please save as much of the food as you can for that purpose.
She took slow careful steps toward the two and sets the basket down never taking her eyes off of them. Then backs away from it to keep a safe distance from the two still suspicious of their motives. If they were investigating the murder and showing genuine concern, they MAY actually be genuinely good people after all.
At the Dark Maiden...
Wendel watches as the tail end of the entourage makes its way downstairs. At the end is a gnome, an entertainer by the look of him, that appears all too happy to be invited to the dark regions below.
Looks like he can handle himself, but what kind of music would the 'Lady' want to go along with her foulness?
His chair back beneath him, Wendel finishes his ale and signals for another. One more and he'd head back to the gaming tables and begin his search in earnest. If the tales were to be believed, a dank hole like the Maiden would be just the place for gathering a lead on Cerny Zvonek.
Across the way he spots another person paying close attention to the wake of Lady Boritsi's arrival. Wendel raises his eyebrows towards the fellow as if to say, better someone else than us heading down there, eh?
Wendel keeps an ear out for conversations, realizing that he'd barely spoken a word since arriving save to order ale. Good for you...like father says, you have two ears to listen, one mouth to speak...so shut up!
The barmaid saunters by and drops off another flagon, winking at Wendel. But the warrior isn't so deep into his cups as to not notice the dark circles under her eyes and the twinge of fear behind the mask of seduction. He nods kindly enough and sends her on her way. As she departs, he notes a shadowed figure at another table, another woman...was that a child next to her? Wendel blinks, looking down into his flagon and wondering if he'd better slow down.
While intently listening, Bane notices a man in armor of roughly the same build as him looking at him in a friendly enough manner.
"I suppose I'll have to converse with someone in the city eventually" he thought grimly to himself.
Leaning away from the stair railing he saunters toward the man and pulls up a chair at the table, motioning for a drink while never taking his eyes off of the armored stranger. His hand rests on his hand crossbow beneath his cloak.
"And I thought this Inn would be out of the way." Banes remarks in a halfheartedly dismayed tone.
"It would seem that if this is the clientele, then there may not be something out of the way in the city."
Easy, fellow, no need to drill a stranger so early in the evening...
"I'm Wendel," the warrior nods greeting. "You just arrive for the nuptials too?"
The man, Wendel it would seem replied warmly enough.
"Bane Dahrkhand." he nods back. "Yes for the wedding." Bane lies, taking a sip from his drink and easing his grip on the crossbow abit.
"You highborn?" Bane asked nonchalantly. Perhaps his luck wuld have this man be in the know about the comings and goings in this city, a long shot but worth the question.
Wendel holds up a hand, "Whoa whoa whoa..." He grins and holds up his ale. "Buy me a drink first!"
He chuckles a bit at his own joke, then looks serious for a moment. "Does it really matter in a place lke this?"
Bane curls his lip wryly at Wendel's joke. "No I suppose not,'he said with a sigh.'what really matters is seldom what matters to anyone."
Bane has a forlorn look on his face. his sharp jaw and eyes would belie a man who was sharp and aware, yet Bane appears very worn out and older then his 32 years would warrant. He has bags under his eyes and is a few days unshaven.
Bane takes his hand off the crossbow and sets it atop the table after removing his brimmed hat.
With a look of sadness Bane has a moment of honesty. "To be honest my friend, I'm alittle lost...and give no second thought to your staition, I'm no thief."
Bane takes another sip from his tankard. "What brings you to Levkarest Wendel?"
"Cerny Zvonek. Know him?"
Your Perception roll tells you little about the body other than what seems apparent, that his throat was cut and bled a lot, and his eyes were taken out without bleeding much at all. You do notice that there is no blood on the ground.
You're not from here, so you aren't able to recognize him, however you notice a pin on his coat in the shape of a green snake biting its own tail. You recall that this is the insignia of the Dezonari family, a merchant family recently and abruptly raised to prominent nobility by the Sefeasa, Ivana Boritsi. Since arriving in Borca, you have overheard some spiteful remarks about the impressive girth of Lerenz Dezonari.
You only have the clearing to yourself for a few minutes before a winded guard comes running in. He freezes for a moment, staring at the body hanging from the tree, and then gives a sharp whistle. A few moments later, two more appear, equally out of breath. They wear black armor and red cloaks, and pins shaped like a black spider with a red circle on its back.
"Who is this lot?" one of the later arrivals says, putting a hand to the hilt of his sword.
"They were here," the first says, holding a hand out to restrain the other. He looks at you, suspicion plain on his face. "Well you heard him, who are you?
A few minutes pass before the commotion of the Sefeasa's arrival settles, and the place settles back into its ordinary level of whispering. The gaunt man Innkeeper seems frantic, and the Dark Lady's guards settle down at the bar to drink quietly.
One by one, each of you is approached by a serving girl who carries a candle and will not make eye contact, but simply says, "Her Ladyship asks if you will join her."
If you follow, she leads you into the dark pit and behind the black curtain.
Behind the curtain, more darkness, until a wench lights a candle, and then another, and then another. The room is long, and must extend beyond what you saw of the room above. The walls are hidden by red velvet drapes behind mahagony cupboards, and the center of the room is dominated by an enormous table, at least eight feet wide and nearly twenty long, with ample seating for a score, though the head of the table is dominated by an elaborate armchair, carved so that it appears that elaborately stylized men are supporting the seat, arms and back of the chair.
Ivana strolls around the table to seat herself. Two of her guards remain behind her, but the rest are dismissed, and her servants began to set out glasses, pouring wine from casks that they seem to have carried with them. Ivana drinks and after some time has passed, she sighs and looks around impatiently, as though some expectation isn't being met.
The innkeep returns, bowing obsequiously, and tells her. "Your fat friend left very late last night on an errand. He has not returned."
"Gnome," she snaps. A tall stool is brought and placed in the corner behind her. "Something soothing."
A few minutes later, people begin to enter, looking around them as they step into the room. Most are armed. Ivana's servants show them to seats and pour them wine as they sit.
"Thank you all for joining me," she says at last. "As I can see you are the sorts of degenerates who frequent this establishment, I won't waste words. I am looking for someone. It would seem that my husband to be, Alain Baton, has had the poor taste to bring his mistress with him to Levkarest." She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders. "He's Richemuloise, so I suppose he couldn't help himself, but I would so very much like to meet her. Whichever among you can find her and bring her here will be rewarded more than suitably."
"Never heard of him." Bane replied to Wendel. Suddenly a waitress ask him and his companion to join the party downstairs. Suspicious to the point of paranoia he waits a moment then nods towards the stairs, signaling his obvoiusly armed new companion to follow him to the basement.
Entering through the curtain into the dimly lit room, Bane scans quickly, slowing at the beauty of the lady until finally sitting in one of the seats with its back to the wall.
After the lady poses her request Bane thinks for a moment before speaking. "My lady, I am a hunter of sentient beings by trade. I can find this woman for you, and in return perhaps your knowledge of this fair city can help me in my greater hunt." he finishes with firmness and respect in his voice.
Wendel feels a lump of fear in his throat. He follows Bane down the stairs, left hand gripping his shield right hand hovering near the flail at his hip.
Once downstairs, he remains quiet, not sure what to make of the situation. But deep within his mind, he wondered if having the Lady as an ally would speed his search.
Besides, if a man betrays his bride to be...especially this dark bride...he gets what he deserves.
Garold quickly glances at Lord Sarac before hurrying off behind the lady, softly mumbling curses at himself for allowing himself to be noticed by such a highborn lady. ...this won't end well... no...it won't...
He sticks to the shadows, in hopes that he'll be forgotten, but can't quite seem to get as out of the way when he's shuffled into the room downstairs, nor can he stop squirming when he hears the lady's desires.
Garold finds himself trying to worm his way simply too far into the corner.
Of course he'll do what is asked, but he finds himself speechless.
In The Woods...
It may have been the sudden appearance of the guards not giving the two time to react, but she took careful note of the lack of reaction to her inhuman voice. The note was taken and filed away for later use as panic welled up in her again. The urge to run was almost overwhelming as she saw the guard that had originally turned her away at the gates. The fear in her was almost a tangible thing as the hairs on the back of her neck and on her arms stood on end.
She had to steel herself and hope despite her unique appearance that the guard, having seen hundreds of people that day, would not remember her in her disguise. Lowering her head slightly to make sure her hoods shadow concealed most of her face, she made sure she did not utter a peep in fear of spooking the already on edge guards into attacking. Placing one hand up into the air in a non-threatening manner, she very slowly and carefully reached down into the folds of her cloak-dress and produced a parchment holding the seal of the church of Ezra. Wordlessly, she advanced, one arm up and the other extending the parchment at full arms length to the closest guard.
The parchment was a writ of passage into the city for Warden Lucia Fell of the church of Ezra under the guidance of Toret Elyus Boniday of Borka and signed: Praesidius Levin Postoya,Bastion of the Borcan sect, the Sentire of Levkarest, and a Toret. The writ was ordering all the followers of Ezra in the immediate area to be in the city making ready for the wedding.
Lucia waited a few moments for the guards to finish reading and look up. She extended her hand back out to retrieve the letter and replaced it in the folds of her outfit once more. After a few moments of waiting for recognition she began gesturing to the other two that they were her companions. The attempt to convey this without words was difficult to say the least and a true practice in patience. With a deep resigned sigh, she decided to let the other two explain, hoping they were able to catch on to her gesturing and desire to help them out of a potentially sticky situation.
Isabeau sheathes her sword and steps up to introduce herself to the guards. She bows and says, "My name is Isabeau Kobori. I was simply traveling to find work and pay respects in Levkarest during the wedding festivities and happened upon the woman who came to the road crying out for help. I and these others, I believe, simply responded to give what aid we could. I hope we have not overstepped our bounds, good sirs."
She inclined her head respectfully, as she was taught by her father to do when in the presence of those in authority.