Fear and disbelief fade to amazement and trust as the driver makes a recovery.
"Oh my!"
"Oh my, oh my!"
"Oh my, perhaps we won't all die horribly here. Can you do that on the other creature. Would you do that for me if... for all of us?"
From out in the forest that sound comes again, the hollow bass animal-noise. For those of you standing around the wagon it sounds much closer than before, and the wagon driver's shivering increases, though his eyes remain closed.
With the driver on his feet again, albeit shakily, Caveth resumes sorting through Atterleigh's backpack. "I'd do my very best, little friend, but there are limits to my privileges with Milani as in any relationship. It's much better to prevent the need for her favours," he replies to Kay.
"Of course, just realising there was rope nearby all along, "some rope from the horse, the reins maybe... I'll be back in second. Does anyone know some good knots?"
The doctor, crossbow in hand, looks troubled.
Grabbing an enormous chest off the back of the wagon, and attempting to maneuver it while holding the crossbow the doctor curses, looks for a hand, then begins dragging it. When he reaches his doctor's bag he scoops it onto the top and does not stop.
When he finishes speaking the incorporeal figure of a slim woman with long dark hair and dressed in little more than rags shimmers into existence beside the half elf, crouching at the driver's side in precisely the same posture as Caveth. She covers his hand with hers and whispers briefly into his ear then vanishes as quickly as she appeared.
He does stop, however, when the woman shimmers into existence, going for his crossbow but stopping himself in time when it becomes clear this is somehow linked to Caveth, rather than the Eerie howl.
"Let's get inside the Foreman's office. Once we are in I have a source of neurotoxin - administered with care it can prolong his unconciousness"
left unsaid, but implied, is that administered without care it will bring death instead of sleep.
"I've read about something like this," he says quietly. "I forget where exactly, but in one of my books, there was something about a magical plague in this area that caused this type of damage. Note the lack of bleeding, from all of these wounds; and how incredibly smooth this man's skin is. I can't recall much more, but this man's problems are definitely magical in nature."
"Well, in this trunk are my notebooks. As it happens I have made extensive studies of the local area's many plagues and if I can get it to somewhere safe I think there is a good chance I can help!"
The doctor progresses towards the foreman's office when Kay passes him going the other way for rope. Obviously considering stopping he instead puts his head down and concentrates on dragging.
As the doctor runs back to the wagon, out of the doctor's bag, unnoticed, slinks Silent Skadi.
"I know bows not knots!" Caveth laughs in response to Kay.
He moves toward Silas and positions himself at the far end of the heavy chest the Doctor is dragging, "Here, let me help you with that."
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"As a general principle, ms Towerweed, doctors do not do much research on tying down their patients."
that's what custom-made restraints are
"If it seems he is going to wake up, and only then, I suggest someone use 'Frontier Anasthesia'"
After a minute or so you find what you're looking for - one of the barred windows on the right hand side of the building (facing the worker housing) has a small pane missing and with a little effort you manage to push your squamous form through the gap and into the room.
You manage to carry the heavy chest the rest of the way to the foreman's office, setting it down at the entrance to the empty porch. Atterleigh has picked up the heavy ring of keys and is trying them in the lock, one by one - when he notices you he says quietly "I dropped them when I heard the... the noise. Don't know which key I'd gotten around to trying."
As Atterleigh fumbles with the keys he half turns to Caveth.
"What you did by the wagon," he says quietly, "it was... amazing. I've never seen anything like it."
He tries another key in the lock with no success.
"It must be nice to have someone watching over you."
I think not, my lad!
The Professor's cane hits the stirring worker's brow with a sharp crack and his head rolls limply to the side. A quick check of his chest shows that he's still breathing, but unconscious once more.
Atterleigh starts at the noise but, obviously pleased with the Professor's speedy response, turns back to the job at hand. "Good shot..." he mutters under his breath, and despite the situation the ghost of a smile flits quickly across his pale face.
Skadi makes his way to the door, spots the key and grabs it.
The doctor walks up to the door, crouching beside it. From his pocket he pulls an ironed, strached and monogrammed handkerchief that he then carefully slides under the door with a pen from his other pocket.
"Used to do this when I was locked out of the dorm in University..." he says, and inserts the pen into the lock.
The soft sound of metal falling onto wood can be heard from the other side of the door. Atterleigh stares, lost for words, as you pull your handkerchief slowly towards you to reveal a large iron key sitting neatly at the centre of it.
Wall-to-climb smooth. Hard to climb. Human objects nearby. Move and use.
Quickly piling up some loose obstacles Skadi builds a makeshift platform, till she can finally stretch a worm onto the key.
Meanwhile a handkerchief has been placed under the door.
Is stupid trick with pen. That trick never works.
Skadi can't sigh - her respiration doesn't have lungs - but the exasperation comes over the empathic link to Silas. Nevertheless she pulls out the key and deposits it on the handkerchief.
Something else comes across the link as she writhes down the makeshift platform. Silas can't identify it. Skadi feels irritable, full... But Skadi knows what it is. Within her the eggs mature.
She secretes one tiny, almost invisible egg under a nearby chair, up near the corner where the webbing holds in the seat. A moment and it changes color from translucent white to wood color.
She doesn't intend this. It is instinct. Grow. Eat. Breed. Disperse. The egg will mature in a month or so, then something warm will come nearby and a single tiny thread of worm will emerge, make its way into the host and begin the cycle of life anew.
Silas holds the key up triumphantly.
"Are we ready to go in? There may be trouble inside as well?"
Carefully he puts the key into the lock and turns it.
Crossbow in hand he pushes the door open with his large trunk, knocking over debris inside.
The door slams open sharply, exposing the room within.
The foreman's office was probably cosy once; a stone fireplace dominates the far side of the room with a scattering of armchairs and benches arrayed around it, half-full mugs of cheap ale and unfinished plates of stew still sitting on the floor near some of them. There are flies gathered around the slowly rotting food, but not too many – the room smells more of mildew and damp than decay, and there is a large patch of mould on the ceiling near the back of the room. A small pile of clutter sits behind the door, which opens into the room.
There are tables on the left hand side of the room covered in papers and safety notices, and there are maps and schedules pinned to the wall. Many of them are printed, obviously sent up from the great printing presses of Barrjka, but a few of them look hand-written and are probably the products of the foreman or other employees. The table closest to the door also has a machine you don't immediately recognise, a squat contraption with an upturned funnel. On the right hand side of the room are cabinets, each standing between a set of the windows that punctuate the right hand wall. The cabinets are glass fronted and appear mostly empty, and the windows have stout iron bars affixed to the inside of their frames. The only other features of the room are two large gaslamps hanging from the ceiling and a set of stairs on the far left hand wall leading upwards that look to have been expertly barricaded with furniture and heavy blocks of cut timber, some of them nailed or wedged into place.
There is enough mould present to attempt to create 6 applications of powder. Each creation attempt takes ten minutes of work and requires a nearby flame and objects to act as a mortar and pestle.
If you press the button, nothing happens. If you crank the machine and then press the button, scratchy violin and piano music issues from the funnel. Pressing the button again stops the music.
Stage 1: Increased aggressiveness, mood swings and monophobia.
Stage 2: Hardening of the skin, thickening of the blood, auditory and visual hallucinations (here there is a note pointing out that the hallucinations are apparently shared, although there is no accompanying description of what the hallucinations consist of), increased monophobia and shortened attention span, bouts of frenzy and decreased nerve responses in regard to pain.
Stage 3: Lesions, tearing of the skin and disfigurement of the facial area. Incoherent speech.
Stage 4: Unfolding (the useful section of the passages ends at this point, the rest of the section devoted to a rambling, poorly-understood and ultimately inconclusive study on magical infections and effects).
According to the passage the plague sprung up in a series of isolated communities and one slum-area of a major city and then petered out, with no new cases reported after the first few weeks. That's all the current information you can find.
Joseph heads into the office, and picks out one of the medical texts, saying to Silas, "May I?" before beginning to read. There's a few mutterings of "No, it can't be that one," and "Definitely not that," before he finally exclaims triumphantly, "Aha! It's the Unfolding Plague! I knew I'd seen it before!"
He then blinks, as though suddenly remembering he probably shouldn't be quite so happy. "Unfortunately, there's very little of any actual use in here, other than in recognising the symptoms if someone else should contract it. It doesn't mention any cures; being magical in nature, it may require a cure that's also magical in nature. It doesn't seem particularly virile though - even when it sprung up in a large slum nearby, it barely lasted a couple of weeks. Just a pity there's nothing in here about how it spreads..."
"Ah good, let's get some light, then fortify this place for the night. Perhaps you will learn something from your books overnight."
Kay drags a chair around to reach the lamps. She 'tsks' at the lack of oil, but lights the two of them anyway, "Does anyone have some more oil?"
Kay stares out the doorway, lost in though...
"I have ten vials in my trunk" offers the doctor, coming over to read over Pilchard's shoulder.
Quietly, quietly, Skadi Slips over to the Doctor's Bag and enters it. The soft leather is warm, but dry. Skadi likes her skin-homes wet.
"I'm impressed Mr Pilchard. You have an excellent recollection. Have you considered a career in medicine?"
As he speaks Silas casts a quick, furtive look at Caveth
Given the local area does not usually worship gods, what is a normal educated man's reaction to seeing someone channel one's presence in front of one?
Silas speaks quietly to Pilchard alone - though others might listen in with care
"It cannot have escaped your attention, Mr Pilchard, that we ourselves may be displaying certain of these symptoms. I confess when Mr Itxaro performed his... miracle... I saw a ghostly figure. Some members of our party have seen white things in the forest. We have all heard noises. Our horse obviously had mood swings."
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"Ah, that must be what everyone was staring at when I had finished checking over the patient. Still, the hallucinations typically manifest in the second stage - around the same time as reduced pain responses. So if we've gone into the second stage this rapidly, then this ought to demonstrate it," Joseph replies, slamming his head against the table. Hard. "But no, I hadn't considered medicine - my academic interests generally lie in other areas. This just happened to overlap."
Kay thanks Silas for the oil, and tops up the two lamps, leaving another two flasks nearby.
"I'll quickly get some firewood. I think I remember some by the living quarters."
She will collect as much as possible, perhaps risking a second trip if there is still plenty of light and she is not spooked whilst outside.
Joseph, you're pretty sure you're not in the second stage - you now have a splitting headache, but your test was a success.
Joseph blinks a couple of times as he raises his head.
"Well, that hurts about as much as I expected it to," he says. "I think it's safe to say that we're definitely not in the second stage of the disease - which means that for the moment at least, it's likely that anything we see is either real, or is a magically generated illusion as opposed to a hallucination. At least until we start feeling symptoms of Monophobia and start observing more aggressive tendencies in ourselves and our fellows. It is likely that our patient was in the third stage when he attacked us."
"I commend you on your experiment, but perhaps we could deduce a less dangerous test. There's probably a paper in that, actually. Why don't we take the books to the table and see if we can think of something?" suggest Silas, heading off.
"Interesting. I think we may have a date. The last entry, from nine days ago, states an increase in worker disputes." Silas picks up a note that catches his eye then
"Ah! Papercut!"
"The rain is getting strong. I'll start the fire. Perhaps if we get it nice and warm in here we can get rid of that mould, and burn off the rotting food."
Atterleigh walks over to the barricade that blocks off the second floor and picks up a few slips of paper from the floor.
"Wherever the workers went, they didn't take their pay with them. And considering how little they earn for their work..." (he looks slightly shamefaced as he says this, obviously painfully aware that he is betraying his company loyalties somewhat) "... anyway, it's safe to say that their leaving was no voluntary exodus."
He turns with a start at the loud thump of the swordsman's head hitting the tabletop, and then relaxes as the dazed man explains. Better him than me, Atterleigh murmurs under his breath as he heads over to the maps and papers tacked onto the left hand wall and starts to read, studiously averting his gaze from Silas's finger. Blood has never been Atterleigh's thing, really.
Caveth follows the halfling out into the growing storm. While she scurries about collecting firewood, the half elf returns to the vicinity of the earlier melee, eyes scanning the ground and nearby buildings.
He paces back and forth searching for the arrow that flew so badly off target but is unable to find it by the time Kay's arms are burgeoning with split logs scavenged from piles of firewood outside of the workers' lodgings. Dissatisfied with himself for wasting precious resources by firing such a terrible shot, he grunts. Then he hurries over to the nearest pile of logs, quickly grabs a small load of wood and races back just in time to slip back into the foreman's residence behind Kay.
Caveth adds his contribution to Kay's woodpile without meeting her eyes. Sensing that his companions are still uncertain of him, or more accurately his magical display, he leaves her to the fire and the dandies to murmur amongst themselves while they sort through the paperwork on the table. He moves over to the bulletin board and begins to read the announcements, schedules and other bills tacked to the left-hand wall.
"Hey Atterleigh," he calls to the company man, gesturing at the scrawled notes on the map, "What do you make of these? Upper Nine? Camp Trisk?"
"Well, the numerical designation refers to a particular area of potential produce, if i'm not mistaken. As for the 'trisk', i'm afraid i don't know. Perhaps a local village or landmark?"
The Professor gestures towards the unconcious beast at his feet. "What should we do with this poor devil?"
Also, can someone fetch my personal effects for me, if it is not too much of a bother? That rather heavy backpack that makes a "clinky-winky" sound when you grasp it. Much obliged."
Hearing the Professor outside, Silas shakes himself
"Of course, Professor, how did I forget that. Jospeh, can you give the Professor and I a hand to bring the patient inside so we can sedate him?"
Caveth shrugs at Atterleigh and turns away from the left wall. Knowing that the calming effect of Milani's blessing is only temporary, he suggests "We should get a drink into Moffrey."
With a bit of a clatter, Caveth searches through the cabinets until he comes across the half bottle of whiskey. "Ah, just the thing to fortify!" Encouraging the wounded driver to sit near the fireplace, the half elf presses the liquor bottle into Moffrey's clammy hands as Kay brings him in from the rain.
As he nears the fireplace again, Caveth notices the antique weapon and the empty weapon mounts. He folds Moffrey's hands firmly around the whiskey and waits a moment ensure the boy does not drop it before moving to look closer at the mounted blade.
He touches the tip of the blade speculatively with one finger, testing its sharpness and the sturdiness of the mount at the same time.
, you find that the blade is stuck in its mount - probably the reason that it has remained whilst the other weapons are absent. You reckon that a decent yank will free it from the wall.
, as you walk past the huddled and shivering form of Moffrey he calls out to you weakly. "I wouldn't mind that tobacco now, if... that's alright." The young driver even manages a weak smile before gratefully taking a sip of whiskey.
, it seems that your fellows are heading out to fetch your bags. As you watch them go you hear Kay scuffling around by the fireplace inside the office.
It trembles slightly in the fading afternoon light, obviously ill at ease.
"Of course!" Silas gives a ghastly smile obviously intended to be encouraging and hands over a pouch to Moffrey.
Steeling himself, crossbow in hand, he dodges outside to help Kay bring people in. He calls out - loudly - "Where is your luggage Profess..."
Silas freezes, goes silent, and very slowly brings his crossbow up - pointing it at the bushes near the worker housing.
"Of course," Joseph says, rising to his feet and heading outside with Silas. Maybe the fresh air would help with his headache. Perhaps that wasn't the best test after all...
As he gets outside, he sees Silas pointing the crossbow at the bushes. "What's wrong?"