Emerging from the well with her bag full of newly-found items, Kaelin can't suppress a shudder. I don't know what's up with that well, but it's creepy as hell...claw marks, blood-stained fingernails left behind...and I couldn't shake this weird feeling, like I'd never be cheerful again... She shakes her head as if to clear it. I got everything, though. So I'll never have to go back in there again... Galstak, you said you saw some magic earlier. Any of this stuff magical?
"An oil to shape stone, a potion to enlarge, a scroll against chaos, a wand that shatters. I do not know what this last scroll does. I wonder if this place has anything to do with Sonnorae's death - an echo perhaps. "
Could be. I ain't too well versed in that kind of stuff. I just know I ain't going back in there... For a moment her nervousness is clearly visible, but she regains control. Well, this place is only going to get weirder, I get a feeling. Let's find Garracy and get the hell out of here.
Maybe I can help with this last scroll?
Shayn tries to identify it.
I agree this is all very weird... Each time worse. And see... I'm used to Harrowing and Harrow Decks.
He blinks slowly and tired.
However... Maybe I could suggest we find a place to make camp and rest? I am absolutely drained, my friends.
Works for me. Don't really fancy the idea of sleeping in this place, but we haven't got much of a choice, seems like. Anyone see someplace where we can get at least some cover? Without it, camping without tents and blankets isn't going to be much fun.
"If we need to rest, let us rest."
He moves beside the fallen hag and stares at it, perhaps with pity, perhaps with sadness. He chants a quick prayer and begins to talk to the body.
"Spirit, why did the conspirators kill Sonnorae? What do the tokens mean? Who did these horrible things to your body?"
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The mouth of the fallen slowly begins to open and close. Whispering words emit but do not align with the contours of the mouth. There is a haunting beauty in her voice as if she told many a stories during her lifetime.
"I do not know why. Laughing and mocking they were as they approached in the rain with ravenous eyes."
The mouth continues to move, but no words are spoken after Ghost-Breath's second question.
After the third question, the mouth an nose open wide to suck in air in a groaning tone.
"It was Marzalee the Weaver that put me back together after the ones you called the Conspirators ate my flesh."
The eyeless, tongueless hag's mouth then expels a final breath as its head rolls to the side.
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"His name is Meloigne Garracy," Lady Heidmarch says while blowing the steam off the top of her tea.
"According to our reports from field agent Luisila, Garracy was last seen traveling along the Yondabakari River. It was our understanding, he is gathering research for the origin of the Harrow Deck from the Harrower's perspective. Family lines, folk tales and the such. You are to investigate the Varisian caravans up river and locate our lost scholar. We can ill-afford to have a moment like this pass by the Society."
After a few days, interviewing the local Varisians ranges from hospitable to downright hostile. Each sighting of Meloigne Garracy recommends traveling further upriver.
Gaiety and laughter cut through the traveling silence as the Pathfindes approach the town of Whistledown. Even the sky-shy sun peeks its face from around the gathering winter clouds. Children squeal with delight and gasp in awe of the sights, sounds, and smells of Quinn’s Carnival. The Titan’s Wheel creaks and groans as a burly lumberjack tests his might with a hefty spin. Carnival dolls are handed to wide-eyed townsfolk as prizes and a menagerie of freakish creatures and glowing lanterns beckons the curious. Garish skirts and scanty veils call others to a different breed of voyeurism altogether. Treats and wonders abound for young and old to enjoy, and for a time the early winter is forgotten in joyful revelry.
After taking in an enjoyment or two, the Pathfinders are pointed to what they came to investigate. A hand-painted sign outside a tumbledown tent on the carnival’s edge reads . Upon entering the tent, a voice from the shadows greets the Pathfinders, "I know what you seek."
The Pathfinders awake in the camp that they made within the briar an hour away from the Prophet's Garden. They awake with a painful, numbing sensation throughout their right leg. It is as if ants are crawling up and down it. Touching the leg, each Pathfinder realizes their leg is encased in wax. After a few moments, the wax can be broken apart and normal sensation returns to the leg.
There is also a new Pathfinder that has joined your group that wasn't there before. He is dressed in a tight fitted, long-sleeved black shirt ending in over-sized white gloves. He is wearing red shorts with two large white buttons on the front and a simple belt with a gnome sized rapier tucked between. His feet are shod with yellow rounded shoes. Upon his head is a black skull-cap with two circles attached. Stitched in yellow thread on the back of the cap is the word "Ellyrion."
Finally, some of the tattoos have disappeared from each of the Pathfinders' arms. Some to have re-appeared on the new Pathfinder's arms. But at least one from each Pathfinder has vanished all together.
As Ellyrion wakes, he sees a half-elf woman looking at him with a smirk, wearing a blue pinafore with a short white apron, whose frayed edges suggest that what once might have been frills and lace were removed more quickly than neatly. She finishes peeling the wax off of her own leg and stands, grabbing a broken wagon wheel that had been lying next to her.
Not a very funny joke, if you ask me. Sorry about your...friend? Sword? I've heard of guys getting a little too friendly with their weapon before, but usually "weapon" is a euphemism for something else in those cases. She winks broadly and offers a hand to Ellyrion to help him up.
Kaelin Terrall. Welcome to our nightmare. You missed the brawl with a bunch of crow people, the tea party with a lizard-man, and, what else? Oh, right, the lovely old woman who tried to freeze me to death and rip me apart with her claws. Let's see if today we can't get lost in a bottomless rabbit hole or get ripped to shreds by talking flowers.
Helping Ellyrion to his feet, she readjusts the headband in her hair and fidgets with her formerly shiny Mary Jane shoes in frustration. But we have gotten word of Garracy. Well, as much as any word in this place can be trusted.
A man covered head to toes with tattooed skulls Shoanti glyphs of protection and death takes a moment to straighten his tuxedo imprinted T-shirt. He nods towards the newcomer.
"You may call me Ghost-Breath. If I may add to Kaelin's words: we appear to be in a world of spirits, filled with the forgotten stories of a dead Varisian woman." He motions to the nearby corpse. "This appears to be the remains of that woman; her stories ate her."
The muscled man stretches, his bones popping in the quiet morning. "We are collecting objects of power, tokens held by her murderers - so far, we have a black quill and a garnet with a gold pendant. A stranger told us they would lead us to a place called the striding fortress, and that we should be wary of a spirit called 'The Patchwork King'. We were to head to Demon's Fend next, one of several remaining places of power to explore here."
If everyone's ready, we can get going. I've got no reason to hang around here - unless it involves breakfast. I had rations in my pack, but as you can clearly see, they didn't exactly make the leap with me. She does a quick spin, showing that the broken wagon wheel, a clump of tattered fabric scraps (that look suspiciously like they may have matched her pinafore), and a bag of marbles are her only possessions. What're we gonna do about food? That tea's all we've had since we showed up here.
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As the party walks and talks, they come across a clearing they did not notice their first time through. Crude, amateurishly sewn banners flutter weakly in the breeze of this otherwise deathly silent clearing in the dense nettles of the briar. At one end of the clearing, an adorable little house painted in garish reds and yellows stands out against the trees.
"Begone! Begone and mewl at my heels no longer, you stupid… mewling… heeling-thing! I have greater destinies than to play your nursemaid!”
An anthropomorphic hare can be seen as the Pathfinders approach. It appears he's yelling at the little painted house. He is dressed in a puffy white shirt with red slits in the arms and a green tunic. He has leather gloves, breeches and ankle high boots. Upon his head is a crown and around his neck is a chain with a hourglass tangling.
The knightly rabbit either doesn't notice the party or doesn't care.
Got that right, Kaelin answers with a smirk. She stands back and waits for someone else to lead the way; diplomatic situations were not her forte, and the "Rabbit Prince" ahead didn't look to be spoiling for a fight, unless it was with the...house?
Galstak meditates upon the tattoo on his arm, focusing his energy upon the image and the creature before him. He approaches the lupine lord.
"Greetings, my lord. You seem to be having some issue with the occupant of that house. Perhaps we travelers could help you out in trade for some small reward... perhaps a token of some esteem."
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Galstak activates the Rabbit Prince tattoo. It highlights with a green glow of success. The Rabbit Prince head quickly looks up and twitches his head about with a stupefied look.
After Galstak calls out his greeting, the rabbit-man takes a quick hop back. After realizing he is not dead, he bows in greeting.
"And good day to you, ser. My name is Brambleson and this house has been weighing me down for ages. But you are seeking a Token of mine? Is it this perhaps?"
Brambleson reaches into a pouch and pulls out a tiny shoe carved from green feldspar. With a twitch of his nose, he continues.
"I have dubbed it 'Dancing Hell.' I mean, 'Dancing Heel." Alas good ser, this house is my own hell to burden. But I am one who likes to accommodate. How about an Honor Duel for the Dancing Heel? Either you or own of your companions in a duel of blades until the other one yields? What say thee?"
Shayn doesn't say much at the moment. After the past days at this place, he was surprised he was still alive. That, and their group now somehow grew again. And now they were talking to an armored royal bunny.
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"Please do not hold back, good ser. But I do ask no outside assistance until the duel has been completed. But first..."
BAMF!
Brambleson winks out of existence with an audiable pop.
BAMF!
Brambleson returns with a finely dressed table with an assortment of cakes, carrots and crumpets.
"Allow me to be your host as you watch the duel. I rarely am able to receive any visitors. Enjoy."
Once everybody is settled, Brambleson escorts Ellyrion to the clearing, separating themselves at 15 paces. He this draws his weapon, a rapier with half of his blade broken off with a golden eagle basket.
"En garde!"
Brambleson raises his blade before his face, then whips it down to this side. He then hops backwards, then into a back flip. The next back flip lands Brambleson into the side of a large tree. Brambleson legs constrict, then leaps forward at Ellyrion like an arrow. He slashes at the elf as he flies by, then lands 30' away.
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Ellyrion catches Brambleson on the hind-foot as he passes by. The blood flow quickly stops as he turns his head to face the elf. Caught with his back to his opponent, Ellyroin is able to score another hit. Slowly turning to face the magus, he taps his broken edge on the ground in a form of applause.
"I am not one to stay in one place. My feet have wanderlust. So let my kingdom be the rocks and the trees and my subjects the the birds in the sky."
Brambleson quickly ducks down into a ball and begins to roll around. He circles Ellyroin a few times before rolling towards the elf. He then leaps out of a crouch and tries to uppercut Ellyrion with his stunted blade. After reaching head height, Brambleson kicks off of Ellyrion and lands several yards away.
Kaelin sits at the table, kicking her feet up onto the chair next to her and grabbing three cakes and a crumpet. She starts on the first with gusto, watching Ellyrion and the Rabbit Prince duel and gasping in surprise at the acrobatic displays the Prince's presence has inspired from Ellyrion. I think we'll keep this one, she mutters to Shayn beside her.
Ghost-breath sits quietly besides Kaelin, saying a quick prayer to purify the food. "I wonder what the Rabbit Prince represents to the Harrow? I do not know the Varisian ways as well as I might hope. This creature seems more honorable then the others - I am surprised it partook of the flesh of its creator."
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Ellyrion advances and catches Brambleson with his guard down. He elf's strike is true. The rabbit prince begins to hack and cough after the touch. He drops his broken sword and raises his off-hand to yield.
"You duel well, ser. I have not had a match like that in ages. Thank you for the opportunity. And now for the prize."
Brambleson retrieves the Dancing Heel and presents it to the Pathfinders.
"Why does it cling to you so? How did it come to be your home? Most folk must build and keep their homes, and are loathe to leave them. Your particular problems sound rather unusual."
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"I don't know. I've asked it, but it never seems to give me a straight answer. It appears to worship me, grovel at my feet. It creates banners in my name and flourish my colors. But as it keeps following me, I cannot leave it behind. As they say, 'Give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it's night once more.'"
"So they say of childbirth by a graveside, although I am unsure who 'they' are, nor have I heard them say it, nor do I know what you mean. By chance noble prince, can you tell us anything of the striding fortress, or the Patchwork king, or Marzalee the Weaver?"