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Mandus' hexed eyeball rolls around in its socket as he grasps the skeleton by the head. In that eye, and only in that eye, is a vision - a pit, with a barbed fence all around, and a gallows hanging overhead. A tall humanoid shape stares at the skink, but he can't make out the details.
The ritual's cleansing effect purifies the corpses that remain in this room, having an unfortunate side effect on Barley. The pirate corpse collapses to the ground, and I can sense with my necromancer's intuition that it has been hallowed, preventing its use by mortal necromancy. A pity.
Mandus' attention is distracted, however, by the new guest in the room. Speaking now as representative of his office in the church of Quetzalcoatl, Mandus addresses the woman warmly, but formally. "Quetzalcoatl requires but one service from you, oh deceased," the lizard speaks in a deeper voice. "Tell me where the one who raised you from the grave can be found, and I will release ye to your eternal rest."
She begins to speak, "You'll find her to the north in... Aaag!" She cries out loudly as if the very words were causing her pain. "... forest... roots... Aaaaa.." Her spirit collapses to the floor, you can hear a quiet sobbing. You can tell that she would like to tell you more, but you may have less control than you thought.
Skorabor disappears down the dark shaft cursing the puny fortitude of human structures. Passing the floor below lands hard and pushes through to the basement. Various debris join his descent and buries the dwarf under a pile of rubble. Snarling, growling and spewing forth curses Skorabor emerges from the heap with both eyes and nostrils flaring. He grabs his axe in one hand and scans the room for an exit.
As Skorabor falls, Horn leaps to see if his blood brother is OK. Seeing him cursing and brushing himself off, he sighs with relief. Horn hollers, "Brother dwarf, do you need a hand?"
Horn turns back toward the necromancer, nostrils flaring. There's something confusing going on -- perhaps we've stumbled on two necromancers, battling with one another? -- he pauses and cocks his head to watch what's going on...but he keeps a tight grip on his spear, which he points warily toward the necromancer.
Skorabor: That fall really hurt. In fact, you took a strong blow to the melon and you're currently a bit stunned from it.
You try to look around, but with your ringing head and the thick dust and darkness that surrounds, you can't make out anything at all. You hear a familiar voice from a few stories up: "Brother dwarf, do you need a hand?"
Horn: You know little of what this necroskink seems to be performing. None of it seems familiar to you at all, and may therefor draw whatever conclusions you wish. But as the spirit cowers she begins to change in composure, and the room grows chilly again.
The spirit rises to her feet and takes in the room for a moment. She looks similar, but her skin is softer now, her eyes more aware, and you can tell that something sinister is there that wasn't previously. "I believe that's all she's going to share with you, or your paltry god. There's more of you than I expected!" the voice continues, with amusing surprise. "But I've more than accomplished what I set out to." All in the room feel a sinking feeling save for Mandus, and Morgan in the hall.
"So will you release her, skink? Or would you care to answer a question of my own?"
"Where is Morgan? I do not make mistakes, yet I don't see her currently?"
Mandus will sigh sadly. Still in his formal voice, he replies, "My failure to rescue your soul to Quetzalcoatl's service will weigh on me till my dying day, my lady. Alas. Go now to the afterlife, your service must end today." His tone is one of earnest sorrow. With a gesture, he dismisses the spirit.
As you release the spirit, it seems that the other entity has lost control of her as well. The possessing voice is wrenched from the spirit, who collapses again - weary and fading. She looks at you with a grateful smile, even as she begins to fade. "Thank you, Skink. Search for the hollow tree... and remember... she is the forest..."
The spirit fully fades, leaving you all finally alone again. Morgan is still out in the hallway , and Skorabor has disappeared somewhere below.
Two of the shadow creatures wielded wickedly curved daggers, which now rest harmlessly on the boards at your feet. Even with Karm's sanctuary ritual however, they seem quite dark and ominous. It's a shame these creatures didn't leave coins behind, because the room is trashed: shredded mattresses, torn sheets, bat guano, and a dwarf-sized hole in the wall. The inn keeper isn't likely to be pleased.
Beyond that. The mysterious necromancer clearly knows where you are, and said something about the success of little skirmish. You may not be sure what that means, but you doubt this is a very safe place anymore (if it ever was).
First thing Mandus will do is collect both daggers using rags, avoiding making contact with his scales. He glances over his shoulder at everyone as he finishes tying them securely with twine, sizing their injuries up. No limbs need reattaching; pity.
Still struck with battlelust and somewhat woozy from his knock to the head Skorabor barely registers Horn calling down the shaft. "I will join the fray shortly!" he shouts and then wanders headlong into the darkness searching for an exit. He keeps the shaft of his axe in contact with wall at all times, figuring that eventually he will arrive at a passage.
Looking around, having stoved his pistol and crossed his arms, Gil scowled "Anyone care to explain what I just got myself into? Seems youve made the wrong kind of friends." He held his hands up. "Oh second though, I dont think I want to know. I think this is a bust Mandus, lets leave."
Mandus raises one hand and smiles at his pirate companion. "Patience, Gil. The dust of battle has hardly settled. We - and I mean all of us when I say we - don't have all night, but we do have a moment for proper introductions. I believe that for this one in particular," Mandus gestures at Horn, "My presence here should be explained. No?"
Knowing that Skorabor is safe -- and that, with Karm's ritual complete, the battle is over -- Horn turns his owlish predator's eyes on the skink.
In a controlled voice just above a whisper, spear still aimed at the necromancer, he says, "Indeed, I think it's high time you explain yourself. How did you come to be here? What's your connection to all of--" his voice dripping with disgust "--this?" Horn gestures at the undead bodies.
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Without remark, Karm slides over to where his bed sits—or what's left of it. Propped against the wall nearby sits his loom. Easing himself down onto the shredded mattress with an audible groan, both from age and pain, he props his staff across knee and up over shoulder to begin weaving himself and others a new destiny. His hands perform the labor as if it is a motion he has rehearsed times beyond counting, and he allows a bit of his own blood to mingle into his work intentionally. Karm's gaze remains affixed to Horn and Mandus, a grim and foreboding thing given the countenance of the old Hrim's helm.
Skorabor: You hear the familiar clicking of metal against stone as you map out the perimeter of this small alcove. While the headroom is enough to allow you an almost upright stance, the room is quite a bit smaller than you expected. It smells of damp earth and mildew.
Whatever it's original purpose, it feels as though it has now been sealed up. You hear the sound change as your axe clanks against board and nail rather than the brick and mortar. You also feel a crunch beneath your feet that unfortunately is all to familiar. You've stepped on bone before, and you'd recognize that crunch anywhere.
Mandus: You're careful with the daggers, and nothing out of place happens. Who knows what use they might serve later? You also sense the skeptical eyes of the others. You and Giltharon are an unexpected presence here, but none can deny the aid you provided... even if the methods were unusual.
Giltharon: Your ears pick up the sound of a conversation downstairs, only the low tones able to carry up the flights of stairs to where you all congregate. You can't help but wonder who the innkeeper might be talking to at this late hour.
Karm: Though you feel exhausted from the ritual, you're confident that it worked. The room feels... cleaner now, inspite of the dishevelled state it's in.
His ears visibly twitching as he caught the muffled tones of obvious conversation, Gil edged towards the door. Leaning into the hallway, he strained to hear what was being said, but found his efforts fruitless. "Too far, have to get closer."
Straightening back up from his lean, he turned to the conversation starting between the two diminutive people, Mandus and the odd looking half man. "We are here because of him." He said flatly, motioning towards Gilder with a nod of his head. "Bit light on coin and I figured he owed me a bit of change after our last encounter. I did do his job for him after all." He smiled at the last, his eyes full of contempt and taunting gloating.
"But looks like I just found more of his work instead." He said with a shrug. Striding out the door and down the hallway, he called back, his voice drifting through the open door. "But we will get to that. Right about now Im inclined to go see whats going on downstairs, maybe see if I cant find that lady of yours, wherever she got off to."
"And Mandus..." He added, his voice faint as he descended the stairs. "...Try not to get yourself killed in my absence. Or do, not my problem what you do on your own time."
The crunch of bone sends a spike of warning through Skorabor’s spine and his battle frenzy clears almost immediately to focus on a new possible threat. ”I need a light down here!”, he calls out through the hole in the roof and remain still with his axe gripped tightly ready to defend himself. Staring into the light Skorabor tries to listen for noises that would betray that he’s not alone in the dark.
Skorabor: You hear nothing within the small cavity where you're trapped, but you too can hear a brief conversation. It must be on the other side of the boards you felt, and seems to be close enough that you can make out some of the words:
"I did what you asked..." One of the voices pleads. "You can't... I didn't help them, how could I have known... please."
It sounds like it's the innkeeper, but you can't hear any voice replying to him.
Suddenly one of the boards you're leaning on snaps loudly beneath your weight. You catch yourself, but the conversation on the other side of the wall stops abruptly.
"Where? In the wall?!" It asks, as you hear footsteps growing closer from the room on the other side.
Gil: It's still quite dark in the hallway. The ritual circle that dimly lights the room nearby does little to illuminate here. The large tapestry lies on the ground.
The voice downstairs seems to pay little attention to your shouting above, but as you descend the stairs you hear a loud snap that seems to come from within the walls beside the stairwell. The voice downstairs stops, then you hear the same comment as you near the bottom of the stairs.
"In the wall?!"
As the shade-turned-skeleton before him succumbed to the elf's blade, Morgan moved to the side as the elf dashed into the rented room. The shades, the skeletons--it was all too much. I didn't think it would be like this! Okay, calm down... Morgan thinks, his nocked arrow trembling but still tensely ready. The princess takes an unsteady breath, which helps. Gilder said to get Florin. I'll get Florin. Maybe then I can find Leona...I hope she's okay...
With that, Morgan heads down the stairwell, but stops and holds his breath when he hears the innkeeper conversing with someone below. Morgan pads quietly down the stairs, staying out of the dim firelight (presumably relit recently) and straining his ears to hear with keeping his bow at the ready.
Morgan nearly cries out as a shape descends from above--the elf! Morgan slowly loosens his arrow, and raises a finger to his lips to indicate a need for a furtive approach--when a loud crack comes from a nearby wall. Morgan turns back toward the elf, and in a panicky, hoarse tone whispers, "I don't know why you're here, but you don't seem to want to rob me tonight--or if you do, you've done a very bad job of it so far." Despite his trembling lips and shaking hands, Morgan's eyes are sharp and searching as he searches the elf's face for intention. With time being of the essence, he hastily adds, "Listen: protect me, and I will make it worth your while." Morgan's hands return to his bow, and he deftly skirts around the elf, up the stairs, to put the pirate between him and whoever is downstairs.
The voices causes Skorabor to tense and alert much like a guard dog. He gives the boards one tap before throwing his bulk at the barrier.
Morgan: From your position at the bottom of the stairs you can hear the conversation clearly. Shortly after the commotion upstairs ended you heard the innkeeper's voice in a one-sided conversation. Peering around the corner you see a dark-skinned halfling, feral in appearance much like Horn upstairs - but with wild black eyebrows and long black hair that reaches almost to his waist. Trinkets and baubles dangle from his clothes and sparkle in the flickering firelight, as he stands on the counter facing the innkeeper. You realize that the reason you don't hear him speak is because his wide mouth seems to be sewn shut.
Instead he communicates through exaggerated pantomime. He seems furious about whatever has just occured upstairs, to which the innkeeper replies: "I did what you asked..."
The halfling cuts him short with a flailing gesture, then motions to leave in frustration. "You can't... I didn't help them, how could I have known?" The halfling stops at the edge of the counter, facing the wall. "Please..." the man continues.
Then comes the crack. The halfling shrinks immediately into the form of a black mink, leaps from the counter and runs a tight circle next to the section of wall beside the fireplace - stopping for a moment as if pointing with its nose at the bare boards.
"Where? In the wall?"
As the man approaches the wall, the mink leaps back up on the counter and snatches a small trinket in its mouth. The innkeeper has his back to the creature and fails to notice, instead intent on finding the source of the noise. The mink leaps from the counter and rushes toward the door.
Skorabor: Go big, right? As you tap the boards once, you hear a knock in reply. Whatever was approaching the wall must be just on the other side. You take this opportunity to throw your shoulder into the boards, which sends you crashing through like an elephant.
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Morgan's eyes widen at the sight of the stitch-mouthed halfling. He's real! A familiar vision flashes before his eyes: a dream; well, a nightmare:
A halfling with an owlish face--Horn, Morgan knows now--transforms into a great horned owl, and chases after a shaggy black mink with its lips stitched shut. The mink runs for its life, but the owl closes. It swoops silently through the trees, its claws sharp and ready. The mink disappears behind a bush, and as the owl chases, dark tendrils of smoke emerge and hold fast to its wings. Its head rotates wildly as it struggles against the shadowy restraints, but it is of no use. The owl is dragged to the ground, and a wild-haired halfling with his smiling lips stitched closed steps out from behind the bush. He approaches the struggling owl with a length of dark green thread and a long bone needle...
Morgan's heart pounds in his chest as he frantically whispers to the elf in front of him: "I've seen that mink before! It's dangerous--should we go after it?"
Skorabor: Go big, right?
Skorabor pushes his way through the wooden boards and doesn't stop until a few feet into the adjacent room. Rolling up to his feet he notices the knocked out inn keeper, which dulls his momentum. He scans the new room for the person the inn keeper was conversing with.
The innkeeper is buried beneath rubble and shattered boards. The mink's small black tail is quickly disappearing as it bolts out the front door into the night. In the hidden cavity behind the wall where Skorabor has just emerged is a pair of weathered skeletons as well, wearing faded clothing with a small knapsack between them.
Mandus is just opening his mouth to respond to Horn when he hears a crash from down the stairs. "Gil?" he mutters, concern in his voice, as he looks over his shoulder. He turns back to the suspicious druid with a spear in his face. "You must excuse me a moment, my friend. I think my pirate companion may have gotten himself into trouble once more. He is ssso prone to such behavior." His tongue flicks out as he sibilants his s's slightly.
Stowing the daggers away in his travel rucksack, he hurries into the hall and to the top of the stairs, surveying what damage he can from his position.
Having bumped into the woman, Gil had intended to say something clever and subtly seductive. Instead, her frantic speech had left him silent and wide-eyed. Listening to her, he suddenly regained his composure, leaning on the wall over her, his elevated position on the stairs causing him to tower over her more than even their height difference would normally allow. "Rob you? Perish the thought milady. Had I known back on the sea what lay within that floating treasure chest of a ship, I would have sooner been a mutineer than a thief." He descended a few steps, standing unnecessarily close in the spacious stairwell as Morgan made his proposal. "Worth my while, eeh?" He said, his voice breathy, almost loud in the silent stairwell. "Im certain we can work something out." He said, moving his hand to touch the princess' shoulder, but finding only air as she quickly danced past him up the stairs. "Your grace..." He said with a slight bow. "Such a fitting title."
He would have said more, but Morgans haunted eyes and talk of minks, the alarm in the innkeepers voice and the sudden crash of splintering wood dragged his attention back to the room below.
Leaping the last flight of stairs in one fluid motion, overly extravagant and clearly showing off, he performed a tumbling roll into the room, rising to his feet and spinning around, eyes scanning. "Wheres the mink?!" He called out in a demanding tone.
- What here is useful or valuable to me?
There are pots and pans, some mugs and bowls, also a log-poker near the fireplace. There's even a small throw rug in the center of the room you could probably grab quickly.
But the tail just disappears out the door into the night-time air. You have enough to grab one item and bolt if you choose to pursue.
What of our hidden corpses, or our severely unconscious inn keeper? Did anyone catch his name?
"The mink ran out the door! Black fur, stitched lips...wait, 'milady'? I'm not--" Morgan starts, but he is interrupted by Skorabor crashing through the wall in a spray of dust, wood, and bone. Figuring that it would be futile to try and catch a dark, tiny weasel in the middle of the night (at least for Morgan--he barely knew how to light a torch, much less see in the dark or have the constitution to run after a mink through the tangled forest), he rushes over to the unconscious innkeeper.
He kneels down beside the debris-laden man, brushes off the rubble, and frowns with concern at the small cuts and bruises that sparsely pepper his form like dusty stars. Morgan reaches out a slender hand and wipes off some dust from the man's face, holding it comfortingly to his cheek. "Oh, Torvald...what is going on? Come on, you'll be all right..." Morgan's voice is sweet and clear, full of a nervous hopefulness. The innkeeper had been a bit salty when he and Gilder came in, but at the mention of Leona's name he became much more helpful--evidently she had stayed here on many of her outings beyond The Wall. Why wasn't she here yet?
Your touch seems to have little to no effect on Torvald. But you can see that his chest continues to rise and fall, though weakly, and he still maintains a healthy pinkish hue. That's when you notice the trinket in his pocket... that pendant! It's Leona's!
You can't be sure, but you're fairly certain he didn't have it when you checked in a couple days ago, nor likely the last time you some him earlier this evening. You're quite sure you would have noticed something such as that.
Had she already come, but left? Why did she need to leave? Is she in danger? Your mind reels at the possible implications, furious that the one man who might have answers can't currently provide them.
Hearing the clamor downstairs, Horn grudgingly admits to himself that whatever's happening there has to come first and he runs down the stairs, fast on the necromancer's heels, to find out what's going on down there.
Quickly seizing up the rooms content as he bolted through the room towards the door, Gils mind evaluated his options in an instant. Rug seems obvious, but its unwieldy to throw. A pot would be good but they are behind the counter." Even as he passed several of his discarded options, he spotted the perfect tool. "Spit bucket! Perfect! Just have to be careful picking it up, all that mongrel drool inside it, yuck."
Not missing a stride, he leaned low as he passed the bronzed pot, flicking the blade of his cutlass through one its handles and scooping it off the floor as he passed. Grabbing the other handle, he quickly upturned the bucket, splashing its filthy content onto the floorboards of the doorstep as he dove outside.
Squinting in the sparse light outside, he paused a moment, his stride slowing as he scanned for his quarry.
Mandus is hastening after Gil, wondering what on earth he's shouting about minks for.
"A mink?!" is all that Skorabor can manage as he's standing in the middle of the room wielding his great axe in both hands. What he'd planned to be a stand against their mysterious foe had not gone the way he expected. From being tangled into the sheets, falling through the wall and now the focus on a black mink not much was making sense to the dwarf. His more primitive side, still stuck in battle mode, was screaming for him to tackle someone but fortunately he had gained enough control not to heed such actions. Instead he remains in the middle of the room fixed in a defensive stance.
As two of you race out into the night, the mink notices he's being followed. You're both certainly quicker than it's little legs can currently take it, and it darts for a large stable beside the cathedral across the street. You might be able to trap it in there! As you're getting closer, but before the mink slips inside, you can hear some horses whineying and stomping within as well. You're guessing they're not alone and there's a reason the mink darted that direction.
Skorabor: It would make sense that you're confused. You even missed the ritual upstairs that expelled the shades. You notice that the long decayed bodies in the alcove you just broke free from seem to be dwarven -- or used to be dwarven. What's left of their clothes is fine quality, though old and starting to fall apart, as well as the bag beside them.
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Karm remains where he sits, even as the others scatter below and into the night itself. Finally afforded silence and solitude, he removes his skull-helmet. Long, frayed locks of silver and grey pour down to meld seamlessly into an equally untended beard. His face bears a pained expression, but it is not the injuries sustained this very night that justify the grimace. Past blunders and new blunderers contribute equally to the degradation of the world they dwell upon. All are ignorant of the grand tapestry; all are ignorant of the threads they ruin. As Karm's hands seek to mitigate their blind ruin, the weight of its futility settles heavy upon his shoulders like a mantle of stone.
Each sliver of dawn's void that mingled with that of creation stood out like rent fabric. Like children led by curiosity, they dabble with forces impossibly beyond their ken, rending themselves from the grand tapestry without realizing it. It is a poison the old Hrim knows well, for it's the same poison that flows through his veins. Decades now behind him, and still his mistakes threatened to consume Karm. Would it be any different for those who followed in his wake? Could he alter the course of others as he had his own fate? Or do they only exist to remind him of how utterly cursed he is?
"Rimhildr... is it truly so hopeless?" The old northman looks on the verge of death while strange shapes, words, and patterns undulating beneath his skin. He replaces his helm and continues his work with the loom. "No. Whatever the cost, this path I weave for myself. They will see reason or join the very nothing they seek to command."
Mandus comes running up behind Gil as he surveys the stables, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," he mutters, "let me see if I can get an eye on the situation in there."
So saying, he plucks his hexed eyeball from its socket, and looks for a small space he can slip the eye through so he can see what transpires inside.
"Its going to get away!" Gil replied, his voice oddly excited about chasing a mink. "We lose sight of it, its gone!" He added, before diving inside.
Mandus will shrug and pop the eye back in before following him in.
Hot on Mandus' heals, the feral halfling feels a chill down his spine when he sees the mink. What in the the name of the First Forest is going on here?
As the mink runs out the door, Horn leaps into the air, transforming into a great horned owl, in hot pursuit.
The confusion continues to tug Skorabor's attention into different directions. His more analytic part registers the dwarven skeletons and Morgan kneeling beside the unconscious inn keeper while his more primitive side urges him to follow the lizard man and his companion outside in pursuit of .. he's not really sure but it sounded important. The dwarf's continuous slide towards the slayer mindset pushes the decision over in favor of exploring the outdoors. Her bursts through the door and studies the area, looking for the two strangers and their quarry.
Karm:
Horn:
It's hard to tell exactly what has gone on, but you see two of the others race outside in pursuit of a small varmint. You don't know what's so valuable about it, but you caught a glint from the shiny object in its mouth and know enough to want to cease the creature.
You leap from the staircase as this familiar form takes control almost instantly. You fear sometimes that this shape feels more like 'you' than when you're a halfling.
You zip out into the night air, quickly passing the Elf and Skink in the process. With a quick dive, you just might be able to catch the thing before it disappears into the barn.
Mandus and Gil: The mink hasn't disappeared into the barn yet, but it's too close for you to likely do much. Horn, with his speed could catch it beforehand however. So if he indeed chooses to do that, then you would not have reason to barge into the barn quite yet.
You're free to do so of course, but I've interpreted the main motivation for doing so as not to lose the mink. So I don't want to take that motivation away but still force you into the action it inspired.