Asuriel crosses her arms in defiance, looking down on Noro, almost daring her to get physical with her. "Or what. You'll grab me and throw me to the ground too?"
She huffs out an exasperated breath and asks, "What's wrong with everyone? I simply don't understand what the big fuss is all about. Was it something I said? I thought it was a reasonable request. Why do people get so wrapped up in their purses!"
Clearly frustrated and clearly not understanding what she's said or done, Asuriel squeezes her arms tighter.
Olivius glares at Noro. He wasn't just acting like her. He was trying to protect a party member, but subtlety is lost in the heat of most situations. Before he can make the distinction, SHE is talking again. He hasn't been this angry in Years!
Open your eyes, beautiful! Would the good Father be glaring at you because of his purse? Would the Entire Town go nuts if it was over a few magic items? This goes way deeper than we know and it is best to let that story cool off before we get answers. Now SHUT. UP. And lets go before they bring out the tar and feathers.
Asuriel starts to speak again in retaliation, but clamps her mouth shut without a word coming out of it. Her face reddens as she looks between Olivius to Noro.
Humans! Always getting so worked up over such trivial details. All I wanted to do is memorialize the good father for his sacrifices to this town--And daughter of course. She is clearly being setup as the scapegoat here and no one is able to see the truth. It's fine, I'll bide my time and wait. They'll all see they have been blind to the truth all along. As the Dawnflower teaches so shall I enact, patience.
Asuriel looks down at the ground and through clenched teeth mutters, "Fine."
"He's right, Asuriel." Father Zantus says.
"You speak of the desecration and defilement of a beloved priest's tomb and you think all of that was because of some coin?" The man shakes his head in disbelief, "No this isn't about purses or coin or treasure. It's about almost the entire town finding out about something that is sure to send them into a panic when we can least afford to lose our heads! There is a reason we haven't said anything about it and I suppose we should be thankfully you all seemed to agree, implicitly at least, that it was something better left alone until we could show the town we had everything in hand. Up until five minutes ago I had thought that you had enough common sense to not bring something like that up in front of an entire town!"
The man seems to age twenty years as he lets out a sigh, and his anger with it.
"What's done is done. I just pray that we can undo the damage you just caused."
Neither Olivius nor Noro's words seem to have any effect on Asuriel, but Zantus's words hit home. As if she was a little girl being chastised by her father she lowers her head in shame silently. She lets her anger and frustration melt away instantly as her thoughts inwards.
What have I done?
She looks up at Zantus to issue an apology but when she looks into his eyes and sees the pain she has caused this man who has done nothing but help her, the only things that escape are hot streaming tears of shame.
"I-I-I, thought..." her voice stutters and trails off, unable to complete the sentence. She looks away from him in embarrassment and lowers her head to shuffle along once more.
Now, to the Dragon. Please. Olivius says in a much gentler, but still strained voice.
Asuriel will accompany the group to the Dragon without further interruption or comment. She will not look up to make eye contact or acknowledge any comment made toward her, she will only stare at the ground and walk in silence the entire way unless physically forced to speak.
“High-handed sanctimonious imbecile!” Pavanna mutters through gritted teeth, mostly to herself, as she takes an escort position on the other side of Asuriel from Olivius, hoping to get the big-mouthed aasimar out of the meeting before she can be trampled by the riot she just started. “Sword and shield, I swear I once met an otyugh with more sense! At least those garbage-eaters know when to keep their reeking mouths shut so they don’t flash the depths of their stupidity to the entire world!”
Asuriel will accompany the group to the Dragon without further interruption or comment. She will not look up to make eye contact or acknowledge any comment made toward her, she will only stare at the ground and walk in silence the entire way unless physically forced to speak.
Nodding as Father Zantus rightly yanks the aasimar up by her collar for letting her mouth so criminally outrun her brain, Pavanna gives his words a few breaths to sink in before she adds her own two copper pinches. “Quite apart from which, Asuriel, this town already has a monument to Ezakien Tobyn and his good works,” the tiefling points out, in a now very familiar over-controlled/furious manner, as she tips her head towards the newly-consecrated Cathedral. I just hope that Father Zantus doesn’t speak Infernal, she notes to herself before adding, her voice lower but no less controlled or furious, “As to Nualia... «пока мы не получим полную историю позади событий последних дней, повышение мемориал дочери Tobyn было бы ... преждевременно. Вы не верите, что она участвует? Ладно. Но мы должны доказать, что прежде чем мы получим Sandpoint возвести статую женщины, которая, по всей настоящий момент имеющихся доказательств, пытаясь разрушить этот город!»”
As they head back to the Dragon Noro seems a little lost in thought. I think someone has been linked to me a little too much. between Asuriel's outbursts and olives looking to pound some heads? I wonder, What have I done to these people? Maybe Asuriel and Olives are my long lost siblings or something, they are acting way to much like I usually do.
pretty bad when it fallsh to me to keep peashe she mutters to noone in particular.
Father Zantus leans and whispers, "Не говоря уже о том, что, если мы не имеем дело с проклятым хорошим дважды, Tsuto все, но подтвердил, что он Nualia пытается разрушить этот город от того, что Тило сказал."
A couple of hours later, Ameiko returns to the Rusty Dragon with Lou helping her. She is exhausted and by the time they return, Lou has Ameiko in his arms, while hers are wrapped around his neck. They inform those who left early that Asuriel's revelation caused an uproar, and it took Tilo and the rest of the guard over an hour to restore order, and more than one person is spending the night in a cell. With a long day behind, and what promises to be a long day ahead, the Heroes head for bed and hopefully a good night's sleep.
But dark things are afoot this night. Dark things that invade dreams and sap a person's very will.
Pavanna, dressed in white robes with gold and crimson trim makes her way through the temple in Magnimar. The sun is bright out, but for some reason the sanctuary is dimly lit by the light that filters though the magnificent stained glass windows depicting the acts of Iomedae. At the far end stands her Quinta Alazario, dressed in all the glory and splendor of one of Iomedae's paladins. Each step brings the young priestess closer to her adoptive mother. The deeper into the sanctuary Pavanna goes, the more oppressive and menacing the atmosphere becomes. The air grows cold, and frost creeps on the walls and the floor. As she looks around, she sees every eye is on her. A hundred faces glare at her with hatred and disgust. Twelve of them come from the windows as the images of her goddess glare at her from on high.
"How dare you, a pitborn, wear the holy garb of a priestess of the Inheritor!" A strong, commanding voice rings out.
Her mother's voice.
Quinta glares down at Pavanna, contempt and disgust plain on her face. She looks to the others, who continue to glare at the young tiefling woman in their midst. Their face familiar, yet strange.
"You know your crime, and there is only one sentence. Death," Quinta pronounces as a chorus rings out from a hundred mouths, "Death! Death!"
The floor disappears from under Pavanna's feet, her legs and arms flail in a vain attempt find purchase on the air that was now the only thing between her and a long fall into the water. The entire clergy of the church laughs at her futile struggling, and their faces become clear. They bear the faces of the boys that tried to drown her so long ago. The world seems to stand still as she sees this and her mother glaring at her one last time before turning her back. Then there is only the crushing weight of freezing cold water as the sudden force of her hitting the surface drives the air from her lungs before she is enveloped in a swirl of ice and froth. Pavanna manages to regain her sense before sinking too far, and swims for the surface as her lungs begin to burn.
Only to butt her head on a thick sheet of glass as she is about to break the surface. Her lungs scream for air as she pounds on the glass. All too soon she's unable to keep holding her breath and her body heaves violently as water flows into her lungs. Her vision blurs as she feels the water drag her further and further from the surface. A chill fills her body as things go black.
"Beauty is a lie." This voice is softer, sweeter, than Quinta's. It sounds as if it belongs to an angel. The weight of the water is gone, the chill from it feeling her lungs has vanished as well.
"There is no love, save that of the Mother's," the voice says again as Pavanna becomes aware of her surroundings. She is lying on a stone floor, her clothes dry and warm. Opening her eyes she sees nothing, even with her otherworldly sight.
"You are blind now, but that is alright. I will help you see," the voice sings out sweetly, almost lovingly. Pavanna finds herself on her back, her arms and legs pinned by someone.
"Oh yes, I shall show you Mother's love, and then your eyes will be opened as mine were." A face, Nualia's face, appears out of the darkness, lit by chill blue and burning red light. Her body is nude and her silver hair falls to frame her face. Her left hand is a demonic claw that she hooks into the neck of Pavanna's robes. It slowly slides down, cutting the fabric like the sharpest of blades. It finally stops just above the sash that hangs from the young woman's hips, exposing her belly to the cool night air.
"And in return, you will be mine to do with as I please." Agony unlike anything else rips through Pavanna's body as the claw sinks deep and begins the grisly work of carving Lamashtu's mark onto her stomach.
Thirzin wakes up in a sunny clearing in the middle of a wood in full spring bloom. The sounds of frying eggs and bacon and the humming of a soft alto fill the morning air. Across the clearing, near a clear flowing creek sits a young dwarven girl by a cook fire. Her blouse leaves her shoulders bares, as well as the top of an elaborate, and well crafted, depiction of Torag's holy symbol inscribed in an anvil. Hearing you stir the woman turns to you and gives a beaming smile.
"Morning! Would you care for some breakfast? I think I made too much again," she asks in a voice like the sweetest of meads. A brief look at the skillet reveals she probably made enough for three or four people. A close look at the girl shows she is scrawny by most dwarven matriarchs' standards. Her flaxen hair had managed to avoid being tamed even by a simple braid and loose strands frame a face that holds an easy, pleasant smile. her eyes are the color of steel, though they lack the cold hardness that most often accompanies the color. Though it looks as if she'd be more than capable of giving them that edge, now, they just hold warmth and laughter, as if the day was a joyous occasion and worth celebrating all on it's own. The meal, and the company, prove to be more than adequate, and the morning hours pass in companionship and mirth.
As noon approaches, however, the air grows colder, and the sky darker. The trees shed their leaves as they turn into dark foreboding claws and the clearing becomes claustrophobic. The grass withers and the stream fades into a dry creekbed. Dark steely clouds threaten rain, and worse, as ominous thunder rumbles in the sky. Thirzin clutches his Dorn Dergar as the girl grabs a warhammer of fine dwarven make from her pack. The trees close in, tighter and tighter. Then comes a horrid, gravelly laugh.
"So, the rockrats want to fight, eh?" The voice asks before rumbling another horrible laugh out, this time accompanied by a chorus of squeaky giggles that can only come from goblins.
"Then let's give them one," the voice coos. As if on cue, dozens of goblins leap from the trees and swarm the two dwarves. They die in droves, but dozens more are eager to take their place. One or two manage to get in a luck graze or nick before perishing in the storm of destruction. Rain and sleet begin to fall, turning the ground into a muddy quagmire that the goblins never seem to be impeded by. After what must be hours of desperate fighting, the goblins finally overwhelm the two dwarves. The goblins drag the young woman off into the woods as she begs for help and reaches out for Thirzin's hand, only to brush his fingertips as she's dragged screaming into the woods.
"Oh no, rockrat, your fun has only just begun." The voice, coming form the massive frame of a creature straight from the nightmares of dwarven children, says as it's owner steps into the clearing, "now, how's'about a little music, eh?"
The bugbear knells next to the dwarf, pulling his head up by his hair. He takes a dagger and holds it before Thirzin's eyes.
"Not like ya need those to do some screamin' anyway," he says before pulling the dagger across the ranger's eyes.
Asuriel walks into the Sandpoint Cathedral dressed in her finest robes and vestments. Gold glitters and gleams in the morning light and the quiet jingle of fine metal links sounds like sunshine on tinkling brook. The aasimar is the vision of beauty. Everything in perfect alignment, nothing could ruin this single, perfect moment.
"It's all a lie," A soft, treacly voice whispers in her ear. The sight of the cathedral runs like wet paint being washed off a canvas. Everything turns to darkness, and all Asuriel can see is herself.
"Beauty, and grace, and goodness are all lies we tell ourselves," the voice continues in its sing-song way. Each word is punctuated by some force ripping the finery from the priestess' clothing, neck, or hair.
"They are all lies the false gods tell us. There is only the Mother, and her truth. You are as I once was, blinded by the lie of your being, but soon-- Oh yes, very soon!-- you will see the truth." A beautiful, young woman with alabaster skin, silver hair, and purple eyes appears out of the inky blackness, her body bared for all to see. She spreads her arms wide as her flesh sloughs from her frame and fires of blue and red envelop her. In the aasimar's place is now a red-clawed demon, a succubus, her beauty terrible and frightening to behold. She steps forward and rips the skin from Asuriel's face.
"This is but Mother's first gift to you, Asuriel." the demon coos in the same treacly voice as she holds up a silver mirror showing Asuriel her new face.
Pavanna's face.
Saroune comes upon a shrine to Desna near a babbling brook as the sun sinks below the horizon and the stars begin to shine. The water is cool and crisp and soothing after a long days walk. She still have several miles to go before catching up with her family and the rest of caravan, but the leisurely pace they'd be maintaining after leaving Riddleport's immediate vicinity would make catching up tomorrow evening easy for the young woman. The weather worn statue catches her eye and the faint details that still remain trace entrancing lines that make the figure look as if she was merely frozen in the midst of a dance, and not a statue carved centuries ago.
"Look upon the whore goddess and despair," a snide, mocking voice interrupts the wizards contemplation.
"The Wandering Folk are fools, worshiping a false goddess who cares nothing for them or their troubles. They are as hollow as she is and shall burn in the fires of rebirth like chaff!" The voice belongs to a frightfully beautiful woman with silver hair, purple eyes, alabaster skin, and a left hand as red as blood and tipped with black claws that gleam with malice.
"But rejoice," the woman continues, "for I have chosen to spare you. I shall teach you the truth as the Mother taught me. I shall burn away your taint and infection. Weakness will be replaced by strength and hollowness with iron!"
Saroune brings forth the words that would burn her enemies. She focuses part of her mind on the heat of her own body while the rest weaves the pattern of the spell in the air in front of her. Flames lick out from her hands and the words begin to spill from her tongue, only to be ripped from her hands and mind as the woman strikes at her with a ice-blue blade that burns with flames colder than the most frigid winter. Saroune scrambles for another spell, despite the chill numbing her mind and fingers. This one a burst of colors that would overwhelm the senses. Yet again the words and the power are stripped from her as the woman sweeps a blood-red blade aflame with hatred through the coalescing magic. A third and a fourth spell are ripped from her mind, and in desperation the wizard reaches for her scrolls and spellbook, only to have them crumble into ash in her hands.
A clawed, demonic hand snatches Saroune's silky black hair and twists with malice aforethought.
"Knowledge can be lost. Civilizations fall. Savagery is the true state of things and all else is a lie!" The woman screams before driving the fingers of her other hand into Sarounes belly, piercing the skin and sending pain sparkling up and down her body.
The song of a violin fills the air as Horatio plays magnificently in the empty auditorium. It mattered little that there was no one to hear. All that mattered was the song. The strings sing sweetly at his touch and notes dance at his whim. He is master of this realm of song, and that is enough for now.
"Won't you sing a song," A cloyingly sweet voice asks, cutting across the music of his violin despite its softness.
"You sing so beautifully, Horatio. Why not sing for me," the voice asks again, coming from the beautiful woman in the front row. Her hair is silver, her eyes, purple, and her skin is like alabaster. She wears a slinky gown of black silk that shimmers in the light. Every inch of her calls to the bard's libido, except, that is, her left hand, a red, over-sized claw tipped in maliciously gleaming black daggers. She sashays up the steps to the stage, reaching out and pulling him into an intimate embrace.
"Sing for me," she commands softly, tenderly, like a lover asking for her partner to take her and ravish her. She pulls Horatio in close and whispers again. "Sing for me."
She locks her lips onto his and gives him a long, passionate, lustful kiss. Her lips tasting of blood.
"Sing for me and Mother," she begs him, barely even whispering now.
Dozens of tiny hands pull at Horatio, pulling him into a swarming mass of wickedly chittering goblins. Discordant music plays form battered and abused violins and the strings of Horatio's violin, his gift from Kyna, snap before the wood warps and cracks and crumbles in his hands. The woman cackles madly as the goblins pull him under and begin to bite into his flesh.
Noro gives the mirror a mischievous smile that could have come from Ameiko. The kimono she wore flattered her every curve and would be sure to make any man, and some women, take leave of their senses when they saw her. This would be the time, this time for sure.
"He doesn't love you," Nualia's voice came from behind the young tien woman. Sitting on her bed, studying the Kasuri's heirloom katana is a woman with alabaster skin, silver hair, and purple eyes, leaving no doubt as to her identity. She wears black plates of iron that drink in the light. The room darkens until only the two of them and the mirror are left. The woman stands and silently stalks to within arm's reach of Noro, her red, demonic claw of a left hand snapping up and tightening like a vice around Noro's neck as the younger woman swings at the aasimar. The breath is knocked out of her lungs as Nualia slams her into an unseen wall.
"You know that any airs you put on are a lie," the armored woman says as Noro struggles to free herself, "You are a brute, and always have been. He'll run as soon as he sees through the thin veneer you put on, and he'll see through it as easily as I can do this."
A sharp, stinging pain blossoms in Noro's right cheek as the wickedly sharp blade of her family's sword cuts into it. Hot, steaming blood dribbles down her cheek, leaving red trails of blood.
"The only love you will know is this. May the Mother grant you many such visits," Nualia coos in Noro's ear as Tsuto and Jubrayl appear from the darkness, hunger, hatred, and lust burning in their eyes. Nualia lets Noro slid to the floor as she steps aside. Noro scrambles for the door, only to find herself trapped in a corner. Tears sting in the open, bleeding gash in her cheek as they run down her face. Fear paralyzes her as the men move in with knives and begin to tear and cut the fine silk away from her body, leaving little doubt as to what is to come. All the while Nualia cackles madly in amusement.
Meling giggles as Olivius finishes recounting a humorous tale from his time with Glinter, this one involving a hooker, three Sczarni thugs, and a keg of Gnomish 'Shroom Brew. Slowly her laughter dies and quiet returns to the small garden just north of the Sandpoint Cathedral. Olivius wasn't sure how she had found her way to him, but his little sister had come as things were beginning to settle again, giving the young man a way to socialize when not busy with the town guard. It had been a happy few days since she had come into town.
"How sweet! Brother and sister, reunited at last," A sickeningly saccharine voice squeals. A young woman with alabaster skin, silver hair, and purple eyes, dressed in black plate that looks like a demonic version of hellplate stands before the Telravens. the plants in the garden are choked by thorns and weeds, leaving the place dead and lifeless. The woman steps forward and the susurrus of moving plants provides a background for her saccharine exclamations.
"Your sister is so cute, I think I'll take her for myself!" A demonic claw of red and tipped with black darts out and snatches Meling away from Olivius' protective embrace. Dozens of goblins spring for the the thorns, weeds, and nettles with murder and hunger in their eyes. Meling screams in terror as her brother is swarmed and his blood begins to flow.
"Olivius! OLIVIUS!" Her screams echo through the dead air like the ringing of a death knell.
Ping, Ting, and Fling were finishing the final touches on a massive mural that spanned the ceiling of the Cathedral's central dome. Scenes depicting the acts of Desna, Erastil, Adabar, Gozreh, Shelyn, and Sarenrae in beautiful, vibrant colors that only Gnomes seemed to know how to mix. A short time later, the three triplets had removed the last of the scaffolding and drop-cloths so they could show off their handiwork.
"Lies upon lies," a voice that sent shivers running up the sisters' spines said with icy venom.
"You three worship a lie. You paint lies, you tell lies, but Mother is forgiving. Mother is kind. You three have been granted her mercy and shall receive her gifts," A woman with purple eyes, alabaster skin, silver hair, and a red, demonic claw of a left hand grates out as she circles the three sisters. All three of them call upon the icy blood that runs through their veins and gather the cold into their hands, only to have their magic stripped from them as if they were babes. Fear and horror paralyze them as she moves in, and the murals twist into scenes that glorify the hugely pregnant, jackal-headed Mother of Monsters. Goblins spring from the shadows, and something worse, something bigger, lurks in the inky blackness.
Fling was first, The goblins stripping her and tying her to a wooden frame so they could carve Lamashtu's rune in her belly and begin the dark rituals to turn her into one of them. Ting was next Her eyes plucked out and her belly swelling hugely after the woman pierces it with the maliciously gleaming black talons of her left hand. Then it was Ping's turn. The goblins rip the clothing form her body and mark her with the blood of her sisters before tossing her into the swirling shadows. The beast that had been circling the entire macabre scene turns and sniffs the air. Glittering white daggers show themselves as it smiles hugely before opening it's maw to swallow the gnome in one bite.
There was only the broken woods and the sounds of goblins cavorting in the night. There was no hope, no salvation. Sprig was doomed, like all of the others. Soon, she'd join the cackling mob that had turned against nature. She fought as long and hard as she could, but there was nothing she could do. What skills could a tiny sprite offer to ones such as the Heroes of Sandpoint? The ones that had bought her former realm a little time. The ones that would be called goblin-slayers.
Nothing.
Nothing at all. All she could do is hang on to what little sanity was left. She looked down at a small broken fairy. One very much like her.
"H-help... m-m-me..." the broken sprite begged through bubbling blood.
A manic grin came over Sprig's face as she raised her foot, then brought it down to stomp on the dying fey's throat.
Thirzin looks to Noro and just shakes his head, keeping his voice low but seeming a normal voice of "reason."
"Have ya noticed, lass? We were the most likely to put our foot in our mouths, and it didn't happen to be us this time?"
Ping screams as the teeth close in around her. Her arms flail and her legs kick in desperation as she tries to fight her way free from her doom. Thrashing about, she falls into darkness, and slams into the floor of her room. She opens her eyes and claws her way free of the tangle of bed sheets and blankets that warded off the chill of the night. Her eyes are feral slits, like a dragon's, as they dart about. Once she's convinced she's safe, and her breathing begins to slow, the tears come fast and hard, soon followed by squeaking sobs as the horror of her nightmare fully sinks in. The moon is waning, and it's high in the sky as the night wears on.
Thirzin wails in his sleep, the battle leaving him soaked and wringing wet in sweat. His eyes sting and it is this very cold wet substance that shakes him just enough awake to allow no proper rest. He fights with all his strength against the growing horde but it is not enough, and when his strength gives out...it's great insult to injury to be brought sightless in front of his enemy...
what would Father say...
Sprig shakes her head as Thirzin asks his question.
"I get it. I can't say if it's common for humans, but fey rarely do things like that by accident. Why didn't you all agree to not mention it if it was going to cause this much of a ruckus, though?"
Sprig starts awake shortly after midnight. The... brutality, the cruelty, that she, she personally, had shown, the madness that had claimed her mind. All of it frightened her to her core. She curls up in a ball, silently crying as she tries to deny what she felt in her dream.
When Thirzin wakes from his nightmare, Sprig looks up, brightening the room just a little.
"Th-thirzin?" She calls out in a small, hoarse voice.
Olivius screams himself awake and engages the blankets in a furious battle until he tumbles to the floor. It couldn't be! How! Meling was carefully hidden in his Father's house. No one knew! She was safe!
But the feeling would not pass. Olivius was suddenly overcome with the urge to ride home and make sure, but he would be caught and killed long before he even sighted the Estate. His only chance was to stay away. To draw his Fathers attention from his sister.
That fact didn't stop what he was feeling however. The night passes, and he marks every moment in the yard. Normally his martial forms give some reprieve. Provide a focus on which the world could be forced into making sense. Not this time, though that didn't stop him from trying.
It doesn't happen often, but Horatio finds himself speechless as Asuriel lets slip perhaps the one thing most likely to rile up the citizens. The room seems to shatter before him like a window in a bar fight. After standing in stunned silence for a few moments, he decides self-preservation is the best course of action, and promptly legs it with the others.
"What were you thinking?!" he explodes, ready to pull his own hair out in frustration. He settles for letting his ponytail down and running his fingers through it instead, fighting - and failing - to keep the bewilderment from his face. "Father Zantus is right," he sighs, checking the windows once the group is back at the Dragon, half expecting to see torches and pitchforks raised high. "All we can do is try to fix this." Shaking his head, he pulls up a chair and hangs his head in his hands. It's a couple more hours before he heads upstairs to sleep.
The last nightmare had brought Horatio awake with a choked gasp, as if his mouth were full of the tiny spiders that so haunted him. This time, he wakes with a hoarse cry, thrashing about in his blankets (thousands of tiny hands) until he finally frees himself, naked and shivering.
It takes some time for him to calm down, after which he starts to dress himself, gets as far as his trousers, and gives up after that, unable to get rid of the cold sweat that covers every inch of him. It would do.
He retrieves his violins - both of them. He spends some time looking over every inch of Kyna's gift, checking that the wood is as he left it, the strings are intact, the tuning pegs still straight. And Rosaline... Faithful Rosaline seemed to pale by the day. Regret hanging on his heart, he takes both, heading downstairs - and, hearing movement in the yard, outside.
He finds Olivius going through his motions, and, after a moment's hesitation, sits nearby, leaning back against the wall. "You too, huh?" he asks, trying to force a smile.
Noro tossed and turned it was like she was in a fight in her room. lots of banging and screaming. but not like her normal fights, this sounded more like she was loosing, and it was cries of desperation.
her anger in her sleep flared and she awoke her hand dripping blood, the pieces of glass from the empty bottle that she shattered had cut her.
She was breathing heavy, the effects of her rage had set in. she felt the warm liquid on her cheek. reaching up she felt the cut on her cheek.
a piece of the glass had cut her there as well, the same spot as the dream.
She sat there quiet. pulled her legs up close wrapped up, defensive, like a lost and lonely child.
Looking about the room, it was a mess, things were broken the window shattered, the only thing that remained was the mirror. Noro turned away, she couldn't look at it.
She sat there, trying to stay strong, trying be tough, never show weakness, never let them see...you... She started to cry.
... With a long day behind, and what promises to be a long day ahead, the Heroes head for bed and hopefully a good night's sleep.
But dark things are afoot this night. Dark things that invade dreams and sap a person's very will.
Pavanna bolts upright at her dream’s conclusion, shrieking in remembered terror and agony. Her feet hit the floor, and she scarcely has time to stumble to the window and fling it open before heaving up everything she’s eaten since midday. After a few moments of retching, the last few bringing up nothing but bile, she wipes her mouth with the back of one hand. Drained, she slumps back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floorboards, heedless of the night air chilling the already-clammy sweat that clings to her bare body. Her pulse is still booming in her ears like thunder as she remembers her mother, the repudiation, the water, the panic, Nualia, and she desperately recites a paladin credo she memorised in her childhood to try to slow her racing heart:
“Emotion, yet peace.
Ignorance, yet knowledge.
Passion, yet serenity.
Chaos, yet harmony.
Death, yet justice.”
Nualia Tobyn or no, whoever you are: if this keeps up, I might just start taking all of this personally, she judges, with a near-hysterical note of whimsy. And I wonder which of us would less enjoy the results of that?
It takes her three false starts to lever herself to her feet. Retrieving the jug from the table with shaking hands, she starts pouring palm-fulls of water, scrubbing the sweat and fear and the other physical and mental filth of that nightmare from her skin with just a touch of the frantic to her motions.
An observer would have to look very closely to spot that Pavanna’s crying throughout the whole protracted, thorough process.
She certainly doesn’t realise it.
Asuriel takes the verbal lashing from the remainder of the crew without a fight. Without looking she gives a nod of her head to indiciate she understands. She quickly heads off to bed as soon as the others are done speaking to her. Once back in her room she collapses in the corner of her room in tears. She runs through the mistake she has made, what it has cost her friends and what havoc she has wrought onto her town. Once again she finds herself in a position of making a terrible mistake, one that likely could have her cast away once more.
Before attempting to sleep she will refill her shawl and heal herself through her remaining channels.
Asuriel screeeeaaams.
Panting, shaking and utterly mortified she reaches for face, her arm tremoring so much she can hardly keep it steady. She reaches for the area where her (she means Pavanna's) horns are on her head, but finds nothing. She presses her fingers on her moistened face as she checks her skin. In the darkness she looks to her table where she keeps a mirror, but is too afraid to actually use it.
She doesn't get back to sleep for the remainder of the night and when dawn finally arises she is slow and groggy to start her morning prayers. After finishing her routine, all she wants to do is collapse back into bed and sulk. Too afraid to look in the mirror, too ashamed to confront her hostess and allies she moves to the window to pray. As she kneels before the sun and lets it warm her body she asks for direction and guidance and a sign of what she should do, how she can atone for her mistake.
A minute turns into thirty and soon an hour has passed with no sign. As Asuriel's legs begin to cramp and turn numb, she waits.
Olivius is just getting the hang of fighting with both Bardiche and shield when Horatio comes down, but he is too engrossed in his routine to notice. His form ends just as Horatio speaks. He remains low, Bardiche lowered forward and ready, shield up and braced. He glances over to the bard. If yours involved a purple eyed demon with alabaster skin, then yes. He bursts into a series of sweeps using the momentum of the polearm to stabilize it in one hand. It comes to an end in the same ready stance.
After a moment he relaxes and wipes the dripping sweat from his brow. Have you any family, Horatio? He asks with a hint of accent that he usually doesn't show. For the first time ever, Olivius' guard might actually be down.
Saroune wakes with a start, her heart racing. Clutching the covers, she sits in bed and waits for the panic to cease. She was fine. She was in her room at the Rusty Dragon. Her friends were close by. There was nothing to fear.
And still... she rose and walked over to her satchel, her bare feet padding on the cold wood. At a glance, she knew that it was untouched. Breathing a sigh of relief, she went back to bed and fell asleep. The rest of the night was mercifully free of nightmares.
"The most beautiful purple-eyed demon I've ever seen," Horatio sighs in a strange mix of terror and desire. "Did yours have a deformed, demonic claw for a hand? Because that was new. I have to say, it's no wonder Tsuto's been bending to her every whim... Were I weaker-willed, I probably would, too." He stays silent for a few moments, listening to the sounds of the early morning, before sighing again.
The question catches him off-guard, and as he studies the other man, he decides that letting one's guard down should probably be rewarded. "Yes," he says finally. "My parents still live in Korvosa. Father's Chelaxian, through and through; mother is half-Taldan on her mother's side. It's where I got my eyes," he adds with a small chuckle.
"They're... They're not exactly well-off, Olivius. I was an accident - a delightful one, I'm told, but an accident nonetheless. They were just starting out, and with a third to provide for, they had to give up a lower middle-class life and move into Bridgefront. I don't know if you know it, but it's not exactly a nice place. I never had toys or books growing up; I had an old slate. I had food on my plate most nights. I had shoes on my feet, except when I grew too fast. I never had all the things so many people take for granted, but they looked after me as best they could."
He falls silent again, fiddling with the tuning-pegs of his old violin. "Olivius... The money we're being offered for this is more than I've seen in my life. Do you know what three thousand gold sails can buy? An apartment in High Bridge. Buy it, outright - no more working late nights at the Salty Mermaid to pay the rent, no more early mornings scraping the streets for loose pinch the drunks have dropped. Three thousand gold sails can buy a place to live the rest of your life - and have enough left over for a new dress.
"So that's my family, and that's why I got so angry when Asuriel offered to give it all up. That amount of money can change my family's lives, and I can't throw that away over someone else's self-righteous attitude. I suppose that makes me selfish, doesn't it?" he chuckles, stretching his legs and standing. "How about you?" he asks after a moment.
Five brothers, three sisters. I am the eighth born. We were hardly bad off, but I was... well I was unremarkable. I still am. Ever since I had a falling out with my father I've been living job to job. That much money can go a long way if you mind your debts. It might even buy me an evacuation a visit for my youngest sister.
Olivius sighs. And then she goes and not only surrenders any magic we may find while risking our necks, but lets the proverbial cat out of the bag. Then tonight... it has been a trying 24 hours.
"You're not that unremarkable," Horatio chuckles, plucking his strings to test them. He twists one of the tuning-pegs a little tighter, tests the string again. "I must say, I've met few men who manage to be so incredibly droll and rigid." He grins, a poor attempt to lighten the mood somewhat. "'Trying' is certainly one way to describe the last day, but I would have gone with something a little more colourful, perhaps cursing various gods."
He finishes tuning Rosaline, sets her aside, and moves on to the other. His jaw works silently as Olivius speaks of his youngest sister, but no words come as he tunes the new violin. Finally, he says, "Life is a precious thing, Olivius. You look after your sister." Saying nothing more on that issue, he adds, "I could certainly use some recovery time after these events. Perhaps I'll see about getting that audition I originally came here for."
Olivius raises an eyebrow at Horatio's comment on his talents, but also manages a slight smile that instantly disappears at the second mention of his sister. That was clearly a sore subject.
I should have never brought Meling up. Singers. Notoriously loose-lipped.
Recovery. Yes. I need a good respite. I could engage the goblins now, but it would be less than ideal. Where were you expecting an audition?
Ping comes down the stairs, and something is obviously wrong, her hair is almost slate-gray, instead of its customary blue, and her eyes are dark and hollow, as if she's not really seeing what's there. The common room's empty and dimly lit by the predawn gloom.
Horatio and Olivius were outside, but she just sat on one of the benches that lined the long tables and tried desperately to erase the memories from her nightmare, but she couldn't forget what had happened, and dream and reality began to mix in horrifying ways, bringing the young gnome to the brink of sobbing once more as she tries to push it away and hold the fresh tears back.
Anyone coming down the stairs finds Ping clutching her head and muttering something over and over again as she sits in the gloom.
"The Theater," Horatio replies matter-of-factly, nodding in the general direction of the building. "I thought I'd try my luck here - I was told to look up a man by the name of Drokkus. It's strange, though... once I arrived here, I got so wrapped up in everything that I never went." He gives a small laugh as he finishes tuning the fey-crafted violin, running the bow once across the strings, drawing a sweet series of notes. "Between meeting new people, flirting, drinking, and playing at the Dragon, I got caught up in small town life. Then there was the Festival, and then all this Hero business, and it's all so tiring." He sighs melodramatically, though the seriousness creeps back into his face like the first rays of dawn creeping into the gloomy sky.
"I feel torn, Olivius," he says softly, the words slipping out before he even knows he's saying them, before tongue and teeth and lips can bite them back, swallow them, bury them where they can never escape. "On the one hand, I'll stagnate here - there's no room to grow, and Sandpoint is too small for my talents. On the other, there's colour here. Life. Company. Also," he adds, humour in his tone now, "I get the feeling Noro would kill me if I tried to leave now."
You call color, life, and company "stagnation"? That sounds like a Korvosan, sure enough. Olivius shakes his head before offering some advice, solicited or not. I invite you to take a good, hard look at happiness, Horatio. Is playing for family and friends really that much worse than playing for a crowd? Or is it the music alone that matters? I would give anything to have Meling at my side again, Musician. And if I can prevent my loneliness in you, limp-wrist or not, I will.
Noro never did come down for breakfast. she remained in her room. hiding. I'm just a brute, nobody likes a brute... The thought repeating over and over in her mind.
though physically Noro has maintained her strength, Noro is struggling with her demons. the very demons she told Lou about.
After a long, hard silence, during which Horatio doesn't move or even so much as draw his eyes away from Olivius, he finally sighs. "I made a promise once," he says, staring into the dawn that threatens to break before him. "A promise to someone very special. That one day, I would play before the gods and angels. It was a foolish promise, and likely one I'll never fulfil. But I made it nonetheless. And who knows - maybe one day, I will, and all the gods and angels will know our happiness - and our pain."
He pauses to let the words sink in, before stooping to pick up his instruments. "The music is everywhere," he says in an odd mix of reverence and bitterness. "It's always within me, always around me. When I close my eyes, I feel the music in my lungs and in my veins, aching to be free. I play because I have no choice - if I didn't, I'd be completely lost to all the notes I never released." He forces a small chuckle. "That sounds ridiculous, I know, but when you have something locked up inside you, crying out, aching to be let free... it can be wonderful, and terrible. It can destroy you." As he stares at the violin in his hand, it's not entirely clear whether he's talking about the music anymore.
"Come on," he says finally. "No sense standing around out here. Let's see if anyone else had the same horrific experience we did." With that, he heads back inside, holding the door for the warrior to follow.
Olivius takes in Horatio's revelations, but he doesn't have a chance to respond before he is led back into the Dragon. I know what you mean, Horatio...
One look at Ping and Olivius knows they are not the only two. Let me.guess. Purple eyes, alabaster skin, and a demon hook for a left hand.
She may have laid down again after her frantic cat-bath, but Pavanna didn’t get anything like rest, much less sleep. After hours of fitful tossing and turning, and more pacing the room while fragmented thoughts chased each other around inside her head, she finally gave in to the inevitable, dressing and arming herself before performing her morning devotions as best she could.
Noro never did come down for breakfast. she remained in her room. hiding. I'm just a brute, nobody likes a brute... The thought repeating over and over in her mind.
though physically Noro has maintained her strength, Noro is struggling with her demons. the very demons she told Lou about.
On her way down to the taproom, Pavanna finds herself stopping before Noro’s door to knock. Even as shaken as she still may be, she doesn’t question the instinct that drives her to it. “Noro? Are you... are you all right? Can I come in?”
She may have laid down again after her frantic cat-bath, but Pavanna didn't get anything like rest, much less sleep. After hours of fitful tossing and turning, and more pacing the room while fragmented thoughts chased each other around inside her head, she finally gave in to the inevitable, dressing and arming herself before performing her morning devotions as best she could.
On her way down to the taproom, Pavanna finds herself stopping before Noro’s door to knock. Even as shaken as she still may be, she doesn't question the instinct that drives her to it. “Noro? Are you... are you all right? Can I come in?”Noro never did come down for breakfast. she remained in her room. hiding. I'm just a brute, nobody likes a brute... The thought repeating over and over in her mind.
though physically Noro has maintained her strength, Noro is struggling with her demons. the very demons she told Lou about.
The door to Noro's room swings open at Pavanna's knocking, the latch apparently broken.
Noro's room is a mess, it looks like a brawl took place. Noro is curled up o the bed in a fetal position, lying and broken glass from a bottle she had and shattered. her hand is cut from the glass, as well as a single slice on her cheek.
there is the faint sound from her, like someone that is trying so hard to not cry.
She doesn't answer Pavanna's question, you wonder if she realizes Pavanna is there.
Olivius takes in Horatio's revelations, but he doesn't have a chance to respond before he is led back into the Dragon. I know what you mean, Horatio...
One look at Ping and Olivius knows they are not the only two. Let me.guess. Purple eyes, alabaster skin, and a demon hook for a left hand.
"I wish that was all there was." She says in a sob choked voice. Whatever it was that haunted her, it's hit her pretty hard.
Asuriel stares out the window, waiting. Staring at the sun as it rises over the horizon, pleading for an answer. Waiting in silence, keeping still her fatigue occasionally gets her to her. While waiting her eye lids become heavy and she dozes off
It's all a lie.
Asuriel inhales quickly as her eyes shoot open once more. She shakes head back and forth, Nononono. Once again she mutters a prayer, seeking guidance.
Oh Sarenrae, Oh Lady of the Light, Queen of Compassion, Receiver of Rdemption. Thou art All-energy, All-strength, All-powerful, please give me health, strength, vigor and vitality. Show me the path forward, I've lost my way."
Asuriel has been kneeling for so long that she can no longer feel cramps or pain in her lower body, it has gone completely numb. Again and again she repeats her prayer ad nauseam until it becomes monotonous enough to cause her lids to droop. When her eyes fail her once again she slowly begins to slump as the lack of sleep continues to pester her.
The soft voice whispers, Beauty, and grace, and goodness are all lies we tell ourselves.
No!
Asuriel's eyes shoot open again as she steels herself against the memories of her tormentor. It's a dream, it's not real. It's a dream, it wasn't real. It's a...
Asuriel's prayers turn from request of guidance to lines of begging for forgiveness and weeps of pitiful sorrow of her crimes. She slumps to the floor sobbing and eventually nods off for the last time.
Asuriel stares out the window, waiting. Staring at the sun as it rises over the horizon, pleading for an answer. Waiting in silence, keeping still her fatigue occasionally gets her to her. While waiting her eye lids become heavy and she dozes off
It's all a lie.
Asuriel inhales quickly as her eyes shoot open once more. She shakes head back and forth, Nononono. Once again she mutters a prayer, seeking guidance.
Oh Sarenrae, Oh Lady of the Light, Queen of Compassion, Receiver of Rdemption. Thou art All-energy, All-strength, All-powerful, please give me health, strength, vigor and vitality. Show me the path forward, I've lost my way."
Asuriel has been kneeling for so long that she can no longer feel cramps or pain in her lower body, it has gone completely numb. Again and again she repeats her prayer Ad nauseam. When her eyes fail her once again she slowly begins to slump as the lack of sleep continues to pester her.
Beauty, and grace, and goodness are all lies we tell ourselves.
No!
Asuriel's eyes shoot open again as she steels herself against the memories of her tormentor. It's a dream, it's not real. It's a dream, it wasn't real. It's a...
"This is but Mother's first gift to you, Asuriel."
The face in the mirror.
The horrific, disgusting tiefling face!
Asuriel screams and begins to thrash on the ground. She takes both hands and digs them into her face, raking her nails down both sides of her silky smooth skin. She tears at her face and screams, "NO! Get it off! NOONONOOO! NO NO NO!"
Normally having risen with the dawn she would be the first or one of the first from her room. Unusually Asuriel misses the morning meal and arrives downstairs several hours after the sun has risen. She descends the steps slowly, not taking particular note of any one individual in attendance.
Today Asuriel is wearing her full ornamental Sarenrae headdress, including a piece of partially transparent cloth which hangs over the front of her face. She takes note of Horatio, Olivius and Ping downstairs already.
At least everyone isn't here yet...
Avoiding the two men, she makes her way quietly to Ping, trying to keep her back from them. With her face veiled she croaks hoarsely, "When do we depart for the tunnels?
Ping looks up and shrugs half-heartedly. The gnome starts to turn back to the half-finished apple she was forcing herself to eat when her eyes snap back to Asuriel's face.
"Did you have a nightmare about spiders?" Her voice broken, like she had been sobbing for a couple of hours just a little while ago.
Asuriel shakes her head slowly while she looks down at the pained sorceress.
This is your fault Asuriel, fix it!
In a soft gentle motherly voice she says "No Ping, I'm afraid there were no spiders, but it was a nightmare just the same."
She pats the head of the mischievous gnome twice. She leans in and whispers, "Stick with me and I won't let any spidera get near you. Promise, ok? Spiders find me scary and run away."
Asuriel makes a gesture crossing her heart and leans over and gives Ping a kiss on her forehead. She pulls up a seat next to her and puts her arm around her and holds her close while she wears her apple, rubbing Ping's back.
In answer to your question, Asuriel, we have a choice. We will be underground most likely so night and day won't matter to us. We could take a few hours. Try to rest up. Gods know we look like we could use it, even if sleep isn't an option.
Olivius has obviously suffered the same fate as the two ladies. Bags hang under his eyes and his posture isn't so militarily rigid.
Something, possibly even just the passing seconds breaks through the brittle wall Ping had managed to put up.
"I-it w-w-asn'--" is all she manages to say before burying her head into Asuriel's shoulder and starts sobbing uncontrollably. Her small, muffled wails of pain revealing just how badly she was affected by the terrors in her dreams.
They aren't going any time soon, Olivius realizes. Not in this state. Even he is still shaking internally, even if it doesn't show through the years of military training. Asuriel wasn't much better. Wearing full regalia with veil had to mean something was up.
Olivius barely spares Asuriel a glance except to look over her garb.
Ping's muttered pleas clinch his heart, however. She sounds just like Meling used to after his siblings got too cruel. I'm making an executive decision. We won't be leaving until this evening at the earliest. Everyone rest up. Sleep if you can. None of us are in any condition to be picking a fight right now.
He takes a seat across from Asuriel and Ping and waits for the others to emerge so he can share the decision with them. The fact that they haven't appeared yet doesn't bode well for his other friends.
Horatio takes a seat opposite Ping, slumping in a chair with his violins, Rosaline across his lap, the fey fiddle resting where it belongs, in the crook of his neck as though it were made to be there. In an attempt to soothe the terrible itch in his fingertips, he begins to play, a low, sweet tune, but gives up before too long. It wasn't working, anyhow.
When Asuriel comes downstairs, he sighs and shakes his head. "You're as transparent as a Calistrian's nightgown," he chuckles weakly. The scratches from his own ordeal with the previous nightmare still show in places on his arms and torso, along with one down his left cheek - though fading, the marks of the terror are definitely still there. "So if it wasn't spiders, what was it? In fact, can we stop talking about them altogether?"
When Olivius makes his 'executive decision', he sighs in relief, a brief smile crossing his face. "I fear you'll have to argue that one out with Pavanna. Wouldn't be surprised if Noro's eager to smash some skulls, too." He frowns slightly. "In fact, where is everyone?"
The door to Noro's room swings open at Pavanna's knocking, the latch apparently broken.
Noro's room is a mess, it looks like a brawl took place. Noro is curled up o the bed in a fetal position, lying and broken glass from a bottle she had and shattered. her hand is cut from the glass, as well as a single slice on her cheek.
there is the faint sound from her, like someone that is trying so hard to not cry.
She doesn't answer Pavanna's question, you wonder if she realizes Pavanna is there.
It looks like the b~+~+’s dream-sending cast a wider net this time around, the tiefling judges, taking in Noro’s huddled position.
She steps inside quietly, kneeling at the Tian woman’s side and slipping an arm over her shoulders. “Let me guess: that purple-eyed harlot got into your dreams, forced you to re-live the most horrible experience of your life, and made it even worse than the reality was?” she asks, voice hushed and gentle. “She did it to me, too, Noro. She’s just trying to break our will to fight her and her minions.”
Though credit where it’s due: she’s good at getting into our heads, Pavanna adds ruefully, contemplating the tremor fatigue (and residual distress) have left in her sword-hand. She looks back to the still, snuffling Tian woman, and comes to another conclusion. Whatever she had to go through, she needs to think about something else for a time, or her own brooding will finish what the nightmare started.
“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever hated someone before,” she starts, still speaking softly, but a note of semi-whimsical detachment. “I loathe bigots and the self-important; I despise goblins and their ilk; but I’ve always been a little proud that I’ve never found myself capable of outright hating someone.” She pauses for a moment, then snorts a slightly bitter laugh. “Mother said that Varisia would be an education to me. How right she was. I find myself right on the edge of holding my first real grudge.
“But that just... even after what just happened, it doesn’t sit right for me to hate someone I’ve never met, who I don’t know. From things you’ve said, you did know Nualia Tobyn before ‘The Late Unpleasantness’, at least a little. Please, Noro: tell me what you know about her. What was she like? Who were her friends? What was her life like here?” Perhaps that will tell us why she seems to so hate her home....
"So if it wasn't spiders, what was it? In fact, can we stop talking about them altogether?"
Asuriel starts to raise her left hand to touch her face, but stops and lowers it. Silently she shakes her head, rather not putting it into words.
That makes it real. It wasn't real.
"I'm making an executive decision. We won't be leaving until this evening at the earliest."
Asuriel nods once in confirmation of his decision. She exhales a long breath and continues to comfort Ping, rubbing her back and holding the small gnome as she sobs. Asuriel leans her head down and rests it on top of Ping's. Closing her eyes she whispers "Shhh, it's ok. Shhh now. It wasn't real, she's just trying to scare us is all. Shhh."
It wasn't real. Not real.
Asuriel may not excel in speaking her mind at the appropriate time, but she does know how to comfort and be there for someone.
At Pavanna's first touch Noro tries to shirk away but ends up barely moving.
I'm just a brute, nobody likesh a brute. she says quietly, her voice a little hoarse.
But noro seems to be listening to Pavanna.
Noro eventually calms down and seems willing to go downstairs