Slipping into the depths as the water churns around the boat, the ghostly eel disappears for a few moments of fragile quiet... before, splintering wood across the small vessel's hull, it smashes against the bottom of the craft once more...
With an indignant screech, Greel - who had been peering over the side - falls into the vile waters...
Round: 2, Initiative: 14
Conditions = None
Weapon Equipped = None
Silver Blanch, Cold Iron Bolts = 19/20
Ranged: Attack: BAB +1, Dex +3, Masterwork +1 Damage: +0
Melee: Attack: BAB +1, Str +0 Damage: +0
Grit = 1/2
Aishe, frustrated by his earlier attempts, doubles down and tries harder to connect to the eel. When it rises up again, he shoots!
(inspire) (inspire)
He's much more pleased with his attempt this time around, and hopes he has some success in driving off the great beast before it eats Greel.
With an indignant screech, Greel - who had been peering over the side - falls into the vile waters...
Moira coolly watches the discomfiture of Greel, not so much as reaching for the rope she hurled to Salom some moments prior.
Instead, she continues the tale as above, maintaining her performance. Now that she’s gotten into the story, she can focus on fighting. She raises Bartholoby’s backsword, and, slipping both her hands into the hilt that was designed for Barth’s big oven mitt of a hand, she swings two-handed at the nearest coil of the serpent.
When the eel dives beneath the surface, Thea flutters clumsily back onto the ship and lands beside Salom. She places a gear-jointed hand on the hull, little fingernails scraping algae and mold as she peers out over the edge into the dark waters.
"I fear the very serpent has come back for its revenge," Salom chimes in, enjoying Moira's story of the monstrous sea creature. "Unlike Thor, I am not inclined to go for a swim."
Just then, Thea tugs on his wrist and points in the water. He spots the wriggling pale flesh and stabs with his spear, though the creature recoils away as though it senses the attack.
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It is only Aishe, his bolt thudding into the eel where its fin crests the waters, who manages to bother the creature... the rocking boat, the darkness and the thick scales of the beast all working against the group in their efforts to scare the monster away... Surfacing from the waters, a dark shape some ten feet from the aft of the drifting boat, Greel calls out, "Here!!! I'm over here!!! Help!!!"
Flame flickers around Audria as she yelps in surprise. Her mutterings grow louder and more coherent as the boat.
"Burn. Burn. Burn them to cinders."
Mixing with the descending fog now, steam starts to wisp from the surface of the river - and, in one particular spot just to the starboard of the boat, the water is bubbling gently. Whatever is happening in the depths, it is enough to deter the eel from further harassing the boat... instead, it turns its attention towards the man overboard...
Greel, slowing in the water as exhaustion starts to drag him downwards, screams at the boat… gently drifting beyond his reach and into the rising steam. The last sight that the escapees get of the drowning man, his foul obscenities cut short by the waters, is as the eel coils around him… and then drags him under. The ripples of the water quickly subside and it is as if he was never there…
Peering through the mist, Grast spits an unpleasant globule of phlegm into the water, ”You know… we’re better off without him - scum like that would sell their own mother if they thought they could get more than a Pillaster for her. ‘Sides… this boat wasn’t big enough for him anyway”.
Settling back down in his seat, and it’s true - there is more space in the boat now, he looks forwards into the mist, ”By my reckoning, we’ll be under Town Bridge afore long… and then”, a smile plays across his face, ”Festival and home!!!”
Taking a moment to grab her things and peeking in the bag to see that her things are still there. Offering Grast a crooked grin, "That sounds wonderful!"
Rigo returns his estoc to his shoulders, and then sits back down and waits for the boat to get to it's destination.
Aishe isn't sure how he feels about the lost man - but a part of him is very pleased it isn't himself. For now that's enough. He grins weakly at Grast's excited pronouncement - knowing their arrival will mean more bloodshed - eventually.
He reloads his crossbow and watches the waters for more unpleasantness as they drift along in the current.
Barely bothering to shift his gaze toward poor Greel, Salom turns the business end of his spear up to the sky and leans against it as he kneels before Thea, continuing to examine her condition in the dim light. Then he lays the spear to the side, its head reaching out over the vile water. He lefts her arms, rotates her head, examines her teeth with his fingers (carefully). He half-whispers as he works. "...what they've done...a bit of oil..." He retrieves his a couple of bags from the (surprisingly large) compartment hiding all of their gear, withdrawing a set of pliers and a small oil can. He nods and shakes his head as he works, frowning and smiling, responding to unheard questions.
"Did you hear that, dear heart? We're going to Festival!" At some point he claims the rest of his equipment, what remains of his old life, and sports his thick leather armor.
Exhaustion has set in now - the horrors of the black hold, the chaotic escape from the Redemption and then, at the last, the relentless attack of the albino eel... and so, it is well that the boat can be allowed to drift with the Lyme. For what seems like an age, the world is reduced to the boat, its passengers and the six feet or so of visibility through the Canker - until, as Grast had predicted, a muffled noise starts to build above the boat. Voices, the sounds of animals at work, the creaking of wood and the screeching of metal, they all seep downwards through the fog - and there is something else as well, a stink... yet this is not the effluvial stench of the Lyme farther upriver, this is something else... the pungent scent of the ocean and of fish, of boiling blubber and of blood.
Grast, lit now by the glow of lanterns from somewhere above, listens attentively to the noises up there in the fog - before guiding Salom and Aishe to row towards the starboard side, "That's Town Bridge up there... and, less I'm mistaken, we're on the western side of it.... there's less traffic along the other side of the Lyme... less chance of being stopped... or crushed 'neath one of the galleons lost in the fog".
And so, with the benefit of Grast's navigation, the boat is guided onwards towards its destination... another hour passes...
Aishe sees it first... suddenly the Canker is split by a dark shape, being drawn at great pace; it slips quietly through the oily waters, and as it does so, it is preceded by a vast chain rising from the water. Dragging bleached seaweeds as it surfaces, the chain is drawing dangerously close to the suddenly flimsy boat...
Nearly napping with the oar on his lap, Salom makes a pitiful attempt to steer their little raft away.
But Thea, also perched on his lap, sees it too and grasps at the oar, jerking it with surprising strength.
Aishe, sees the chain coming, and hollers, "Watch out ahead! Go to the Port, Port, I mean Starboard! This way!" he points to the right and with all the strength in his rubbery muscles!
Alas he scarcely shifts the boat with his oar, it skips out of the water a bit and he makes feeble headway.
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With a growl, Rigo strips the oar out of Aishe's hands. "If you are going to take it, do something with it, human!" He spits.
Audria stares at the looming shape with wide-eyed horror and suddenly feels the cold, oily waters of the Lyme reaching for her to snuff her out like a candle.
After cutting off the magically-enhanced version of her tale when Greel's demise ended the serpent's assault on their jolly vessel, Moira finishes it in a more mundane (but hopefully still engaging) fashion. She thanks Salom for his compliments, "Just a story I picked up back home, Mr. Mortara!"
She peers into the Canker for any sign of Greel--and feels relieved when there's only fog and the sound of lapping waves.
When the chain threatens their craft, Moira, daydreaming about sea serpents, is the last to notice the threat...
It is only the efforts of Salom's peculiar companion and the quick reactions of Rigo that save the boat from certain destruction... pulling as hard as they can, they move the suddenly tiny vessel the few feet needed to avoid it being struck by the rising chain... the next few moments are chaos, the chain pulls a huge shape through the mist, towering above them the shape - a boat maybe? - is lit in a variety of colours and, through the mist, hundreds of voices echo and wash around... and then, as suddenly as it arrived, the shape has gone leaving naught more than a vigorous wake that tosses the small boat around for a minute or so. Muttering that they had just avoided the 'Chain Ferry', and cursing that he had forgotten the hazard, Grast urges the rowers to follow the general direction of the chain...
The escapees are travelling for no more than another ten minutes or so when there is a moment’s hush as the Canker slowly parts, its ochre skin drawing back as a thin glint of sunlight cuts it. As the noxious fog flees, the city slowly appears, a vast place the villagers have never even set foot in, let alone seen from its heart. To their left, countless steeples and spires climb across a land of broken hills and limestone that is infested with houses. Beyond and ahead, a strange area of the city seems to collapse, its imposing buildings pierced by canals.
The names of these places begin to form: The Hollow and Broken Hills, BookTown, Town Bridge, and others. Further beyond, the river curves and rises to the vast Capitol, the heart of the city, a single building the size of a town itself. On the opposite bank, a vast, single shanty rises in mockery of the Capitol, a towering, jumbled mass of streets and slums that somehow rises upwards, smothering the streets below, which splutter outwards to the south.
Directly ahead, a gaudy island of timber piers and flotsam buildings rises, an assault of garish colour and smiling faces rising to a crown. This must be Festival.
Eyes blink in the light, after so long in the dark and the murk, the city begins to come to life and sound rises, quickly becoming a call, a single vast sound of life. Calls to prayer begin to echo across other parts of the city and bells begin to toll.
Ammos Grast signals the rowers towards a teetering island at the edges of the town. It is dawn in the Blight, and ahead lies the destination.
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Rigo puts his back into the oar, muscles rippling under his coat. Blue eyes, now that there is light to see their true color, eye the boats occupants.
The sing song woman claimed to be a visitor to the village, but do I believe her? He thinks, looking at Moira.
His gaze swiveling to Alexis, he ponders. I don't remember her either. Was she merely passing through? Or did she leave the village and return in time to be caught?
Turning to Audria, he scowls. She's young, but older than I. She could have been involved, she claims to have no memory. Do I believe her?
His eyes drop to Salom. That one... I know he was part of the village, there when my parents were hung. He was sane enough in the prison, but yet, when we escape, he pretends to be cracked in the head. Perhaps because he knows I am ready to judge him for what he did. Coward...
He glances to Aishe. That one ran around with the poacher, but I don't remember him from when I was younger. Did all the murderers die without my being able to slay a one? Did only visitors, madmen and children survive? Am I to be denied vengeance after all this time?
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The sight of Festival fills Moira with emotions. She’s seen enough death both to realize her own insignificance, and to cling to the thread of her life all the more tightly for that. Since her escape from the noose, every moment seems precious, a gift—a gift to defend, to extend, to cherish. All this is deep in her mind, but let’s just say that if you asked her what she thought about liches in Wicken, she’d have told the old tales without any sympathy for the necromancers. Now, though, she might spin a yarn with more understanding of the fear of death that drives the evil pursuit of an... alternative.
She bides in silence—her bag full of her things slung over one shoulder, her eyes glistening at the sight of the big city, just like any tourist reaching a metropolis for the first time.
Overcome with the need to do something productive, she rummages through her bag, finds a stack of business cards and places them in easy reach. Then she pulls out her still-functional inkpen and some paper, and starts writing notes in her flowing hand:
Eleanor.
Gryme.
Sharkley. East End. Smidgeon.
Greel.
Ammos Grast.
Uriah Agaric.
Lord Paladin Occularis Thornrage.
Then, realizing that the document is probably quite dangerous, containing so much information about double- and triple-crosses she tears it into tiny pieces and sprinkles them over the side of the boat, and takes in the view.
Gotta be smart about this. Get safe, first.
Despite the lack of sleep, and the circumstances surrounding their near-certain departure from the mortal plane, Salom is mystifyingly chipper.
"To Festival! To Festival! To Festival we go aroving!"
He sings to himself as he digs through his bags and pouches, producing a horrifying assortment of what, in the hands of the guards of The Redemption, would surely have been instruments of torture--hooks and picks, cranks and wires, even a tarnished monocle that rests over his right eye, magnifying it in horrid, blinking detail.
"Isn't it strange that our connections were able to procure all of this equipment? Whoever had their fingers in this pudding certainly knew us very well. How was it everything was retrieved, rather than being sold or destroyed?"
"Perhaps time will tell. Ammos..." He turns to their new friend, monocle still in place. "What is our destination once we land? Where will you lead us? I should want to memorize names and titles, so as not to appear uncivilized or ungrateful."
Shooting Grast an exasperated look, "Anything else that might kill us before we get there you wanna mention?"
Beyond her question Alexis keeps quiet and shifts closer to Audria. Leaning into whisper into her ear, "Just breath. Boat ride will be over soon."
Winding an arm around the smaller girl and looking out at the city. Nothing like home. The horrifying size and strangeness quickly drives her eyes back to the tiny boat. Desperate to keep her gaze off of the apparently insane Salom and the wrathful Rigo causes Alexis to stare at the the slightly more familiar Moira.
Tilting her head to the side as Moira writes something and then tosses it into the nasty water. She is so odd. Leaning forward and mumbling, "Why did you do that?"
Aishe is again jostled aside by the big cat, and again manages to get away unscathed. He must be starting to like me, he wonders idly.
He takes up another position in the small boat and keeps his crossbow handy as they continue downstream.
Peering at the light of the sun, something he’s not seen in, well, a long time it seemed. He takes a moment just to drink it in. "Aaahhhh…" When he comes to himself again, he watches Grast and the rowers. He hopes they’ll have a place with food, and a bed, and let them just sleep the day away. Oh, he dreams. But he knows it’s not to be. There’ll be work to be done. He’ll have to fight through it.
He listens to Salom’s outburst, but by the end he’s making sense. Yes, we should learn what we can. Any scrap of information could be invaluable.
Yet, he’s clean, or mostly so, recently fed and watered (though he’d have had something stronger if he could) and nearly off this damnable boat. Things were looking up!
A smile creeps across Aishe’s face.
Grast, ignoring Alexis' veiled rebuke and half in answer to Salom, points towards a particularly derelict area along the northern reaches of Festival... as the sun slowly rises to their east, the rowers bring the boat closer to shore.
The destination, it seems, is a small island of wooden piers, crowding around a badly sagging townhouse whose walls seem ready to drop into the oily river. The place shouts of neglect, from its slumped timbers to its stained pavilions and to the tents that cram the pier’s surface. Crimson banners proclaim it as the Circus Macabre, and warn visitors to prepare to 'be amazed'. Chained to the entrance beside the unsteady house, there is a very mangy lizard of some size. Rusty barbs reach out to protect the place — as if anyone would wish to enter unwelcomed.
"Over there... bring the boat alongside the pier. Next to the 'Great Tent'... yeah, just there", Grast points towards a mooring point on the jetty just beneath the largest, and the blackest clothed, of the tents...
Aishe is amazed he's alive, and can't imagine what the Circus Macabre could offer to surprise him further this day. He watches as the rowers bring the boat to their destination, and he takes his time getting out - making sure the others can reach land safely before he steps off the boat.
But when he does, he gives a silent prayer to Desna for granting him the luck to make it this far. Now just a little further.
Tilting her head to the side as Moira writes something and then tosses it into the nasty water. She is so odd. Leaning forward and mumbling, "Why did you do that?"
Moira smiles at Alexis’ question and answers truthfully, if not quite whole-truthfully: “Good eyes, kiddo. I was just writing down some notes about our adventure so far. Writing things down helps me process events, and helps me to remember details later, too. But I realized that some things should stay in my head for now.”
Having initially assumed that the fiddle on the jollyboat belonged to Audria, imagine Moira’s tired happiness at learning that Alexis plays too! “But you didn’t say anything about that back at the tavern! A person of hidden talents, you are! That’s just great! We should start a band! Maybe we can make ends meet in town playing weddings and funerals and the like, I’ve done work like that before. Or we can just jam when we have a chance. We’ve got to get Audria an instrument, though. Is there anywhere to shop on Festival, Mr. Grast?”
It would be so great to get the girls set up in a less-dangerous line of business… then I could come back to help Aishe solve the missing person problem. And Salom if he’s having one of his lucid periods. And Rigo, if he doesn’t murder us all…
As they approach the Circus Macabre, Moira feels excited even through her deep weariness. “I hope we can see some acrobats—maybe hear some songs! Maybe they need musicians. I’ll ask… after I get some sleep, that is. And food…” As they get closer and the dilapidated state of the building becomes obvious, she feels a little disappointed. She's so tired that even her professionaly-hardened smile might waver a bit at the prospect. And then she remembers:
Beats prison!
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Rigo climbs out onto the doc, using his claws to grab hold and hoist himself up on the deck.
He grimaces as the fiddle comes out. Humans, blech, they would make music out of cat guts...
Hugging her bag, "I have no skill with it."
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Salom tosses his equipment over onto the dark, oily wood of the dock, then grips the sheerline of the boat and places an unsteady foot over, clumsily drawing himself up and across. He glances down into the water, fearful of another attack from a legendary monster. Thea's wings propel her up and over the water in a fitful lurch, though she crosses the gap easily and lands steadily on the dock beside Salom. He scoops her up and she wraps her motorized arms around his neck, metallic gears cranking and tiny pistons firing. She resumes her position clinging to his back, her mimeograph monarch wings extended so that they appear to belong to Salom.
Salom fastens his belts and pouches over a dark, oil-stained waist apron, carefully dons his dirty pack off of his left shoulder (to avoid displacing Thea), and hooks a series of larger tools onto metal-ringed loops on his belt--a sharpened metallic file and an alarmingly oversized, claw-hooked hammer . His spear he uses as a walking stick to navigate the treacherously slick wood.
"The Circus Macabre! So, this is where the big city types turn for entertainment and distraction from their toils. Or maybe they seek to be terrified? Perhaps it's the same thing." Thea peeks around his head, her artificial eyes betraying no emotion. "Don't get too excited, poppet, we've yet to determine if these are friends. Remember what I said about dealing with strangers."
He examines the black tent warily, then glances over at Moira. "I wouldn't volunteer your services too readily, at least until we determine what sort of shenanigans pass for 'entertainment' in this place. If we're not careful, we may end up part of a show we aren't too keen on." He chuckles and ribs Moira. "Get it? Keen?"
Completely out of his mind. Climbing out of the boat and offering a hand to Audria before crouching down and taking a moment to do a quick inventory of her bag since there is time. Little flashes of metal can be seen while she roots around. A bright yellow and green scarf is quickly wrapped around her battered violin and the bundle is shoved back into the now better organized bag.
Standing back up and tugging a thick leather tunic over her head putting her belt back on with the seemingly well used rapier at her side. A much nicer looking dagger is secured on her wrist under her sleeve. Tugging on her shirt to make sure no skin beyond her neck and hands is exposed.
Tying a small but full pouch to her belt and taking a moment to glare at the empty waterskin before it joins the pouch and rapier at her hip.
Closing her bag and throwing it over her shoulder along with a black cloak.
Closing her eyes tightly for a moment before shaking her head. Crazy and he thinks he is funny."Ready to get this show on the road? I could go for a drink myself."
Audria timidly accepts Alexis' help out fo the boat. She looks about frightfully. Her skin is hot to the touch, almost painfully hot. She steps barefoot onto the rotting dock and instead of the relief of being out of the boat, she feels ever part of her grow tense and the eyes of everyone on her, whether or not they actually pay her any mind.
The first to clamber up the ladder alongside the jetty, with far more agility than one might expect from such a squat halfling, Grast grins down at the group, "Come on... come on!!! There's someone I'd like you to meet". As the passengers make their way up, it becomes clear that the Circus itself is built upon a rusty pier that is in danger of collapse; its surface is slippery in many places, and rotting quickly. The multitude of tents, as well as the boats pulled alongside, are all approaching the end of their natural lives... yes, it seems that the Circus Macabre has seen better days.
Grast ushers the group towards the 'Great Tent', and pulling the fabric aside shouts inwards, "Oi!!! Gride!!! You in there? Ah... yeah... it's Ammos... yeah I'm back!!!". Inside the tent, a central sawdust circle is raised above the ground by some five feet, and reached by low steps - above the stage, several structures with harnesses and ropes virtually scrape the roof of the tent. And there in the shadow of the scaffold, two men - one halfling and a human - are deep in conversation... they turn to see Grast - and the halfling calls out, "Ammos!!! As I live and breathe... I didn't think to see you this side of Redsky - and you brought friends?"
Outside the tent, and out of view from where the boat was moored, something growls bad-temperedly...
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Hugging her bag, "I have no skill with it."
Moira feels rueful regret as she watches Alexis stuff her fiddle deep within her bag of secrets. Maybe she has stage fright?
“I hope you don’t think you can escape our inevitable jam band as easily as you escaped prison… beware, young one, for the dark gods of band practice call to you, regardless of your current skill level...”
He examines the black tent warily, then glances over at Moira. "I wouldn't volunteer your services too readily, at least until we determine what sort of shenanigans pass for 'entertainment' in this place. If we're not careful, we may end up part of a show we aren't too keen on." He chuckles and ribs Moira. "Get it? Keen?"
Moria, chuckling in turn, is torn between her sense of amazement at the truly impressive appearance of Salom and Thea as butterfly-angel-machine-partnership on the one hand, and her desire to immediately counterattack with whatever Improvised Conversational Weapons are at hand. Guess which impulse triumphs? Grinning, she responds to his sally:
“My dear Mr. Mortara, can you tumble? Tell fortunes? Tame wild beasts?” (that with a covert glance at Rigo), “Because I had you penciled in as our clown, but with jokes like that…” While her humor might read as cutting, her eyes, shining with the simple joy of freedom and the pleasures of repartee, show that she intends no lasting injury.
Slinging her belongings over her shoulder, she looks for a discreet place to change. “Excuse me, folks, but if I have to wear these prison rags a moment longer, I’ll just… I don’t know what. It’ll be bad.”
If no lodgings present themselves, she’ll duck behind the nearest pile of anything and shuck her garb. Quickly donning her black mourner’s weeds, she takes her time fastening her leather armor, also black. She gives her brown boots a little hug before lacing them. With her drum-and—sword baldric strapped on over everything else and gives her hair a quick Presti before setting her broad black hat to top it off, she looks very much the professional mourner and weary traveler, strong and lovely, sad with the clinging sadness of many tragedies, but just this side of laughter. Which is to say, she looks very much herself.
Rigo just tosses the prison loin cloth away and tugs out a fresh loin cloth from his pack, his natural fur and physiology making it no more difficult to change in public than a human male does a shirt.
Already clean, he follows the halfling, and upon entering the tent, he breaths deep, pulling in the scents of the tent, looking for both the mundane and unusual.
Rigo's deep breaths take in the scents of the tent, sweat and alcohol are the strongest odours... and, so strong are they, that the rest of the villagers must surely be able to smell it to. There are other smells here though, the stink of animals; of urine, of adrenaline and of fear.
And below all of this, something pervasive... vermin.
Ahhh, an ally. Aishe notes something in the room before the overwhelming smell gets to him and he balks a moment catching his breath.
"The underside of civilization is often not pretty." he mumbles as he takes it all in. He walks up politely and waits to be formally introduced, though it wouldn't surprise him if they don't follow the norms he's accustomed to in this forsaken place.
He has to remind himself it's still a far cry better then prison, and only up from here.
Grinning at Moira, "Oh, really?"Musicians are so strange. But she is the better kind of friendly
Tilting her head to the side but the grin remains, "Do you want to hide behind my cloak to get changed? Your armor should disguise it though." Looking down at herself and then shrugging. I'll change when later. Magic made it clean.
Grinning again and waving, "Yep the best of friends. I'm Alexis."
Audria shuffles along behind Alexis almost like a lost child. Her eyes dart this way and that as she awaits the inevitable tromp of jack-booted men-at-arms to come take her back to that horrid ship.
"Please tell me we're going to go somewhere I can get some clothes next. I didn't see my old ones with the others' things," she asks quietly, very self-conscious in the threadbare rags they'd given her.
"As it happens Moira, I am a teller of fortunes. They are always grim." He pats his pack. "And I have some other tricks up my sleeve, but I wouldn't want to spoil the fun."
"Oh yes, friends, accomplices, agents provocateurs. Ammos here was kind enough to guide us here, to your Circus Macabre. I am Salom, and this is Thea."
Thea grips his neck tighter as the growl is heard.
Must be careful.
"So, this is a circus. What time is the show?"
When the growl is heard, Rigo raises his throat, and lets out a snarling roar, challenging it with a full throated killer's roar.
Tugging her cloak back off and handing it to Audria, "This should help for now."
Rigo's roar, as well as causing Gride to hunch a little in surprise, seems to stop the growling that was coming from outside...
Gride, with a big smile and rather too much enthusiasm, extends a hand to Alexis and to anyone else who seems friendly, "Any friend of Ammos is a friend of mine... and I am very pleased, if not a little surprised, to see you. I'd heard that he'd got himself guest quarters on the Redemption - and once you've checked in there... well, let's just say you need some pretty impressive credentials to get yourself out again".
He scratches an armpit absent-mindedly, hardly the most pleasant of pictures, before catching himself, "But where are my manners? You folks look beat... it took some effort to get off that boat right? Samuel... Samuel!!!" Gride turns to the man that he had previously been in conversation with, "Oats and Coffees for our new friends please... never let it be said that the Circus Macabre doesn't look after its guests".
As 'Samuel', a scowl glanced back towards Gride, Grast... and the group who brought Ammos Grast back here, leaves the tent, Gride shouts at him one last time, "And make sure Gripper is secured this time... we don't want a repeat of last month!!" Excusing himself for a few moments, Gride has a short conversation with Grast...
...before returning to the group, "Samuel will get you some food in a few minutes. In the meantime... if you need anywhere to get changed into different clothes? And... if you don't mind me asking? How do you know my friend Ammos?"
"And yes, this is a Circus", Gride bows extravagantly, "Best damned circus on the whole island... twice nightly we run the show, you'll stick around to watch the early show maybe? Free... of course!!!"
The details of the quiet conversation echo in Salom's ears with a slight delay as he receives the particulars both from his and Thea's understanding.
So, Ammos is midling management.
At the invitation to witness the show, Thea's wings flutter. Salom reaches up to his neck and grasps her forearm and squeezes, but says nothing. His eyes dart here and there, betraying a silent conversation. He smiles grimly. "We will see."
Rigo rumbles. "No oats..." He shows off a mouth full of sharp teeth that were never designed for vegetables. "Meat..."
To Salom: "Do you really tell fortunes? What's your method? Cartomancy? Palmistry? Astrology? Cleromancy? Augury? How auspicious! I know I'm going to die in the end, but what do you see along the way?"
Due to the offer of fresh, hot food, Moira is oblivious to the situation between Grast and Gride. She accepts the offer of a bowl of oats and some coffee. “I love oatmeal! And coffee! Two of each, please!"
She then asks Gride an important question: "Seems like people in city who know magic get called witches and yelled at a lot. What's the status of magic on Festival? In the city? ...among friends?"
As for what to say about how the party met Grast, Moira curses herself for wasting so much time with the now-departed Greel and Sharkley Boys. She has no clue what Aishe, Rigo, and Salom said to Grast. "Please excuse me, as I'm quite exhausted... my associates will explain..."
”Greetings, I’m Aishe, and this is Rigo, and…” he introduces each of the party members who’ve not already done so and continues on very pleasantly, ”And yes, we are exhausted. It was quite an escape, and we very nearly didn’t make it, in fact one of our number died to an eel on the row over. Some hot food, and hotter beverage sounds like just what the doctor ordered.” he says amiably.
”Ammos, of all the prisoners, was suggested to us as someone who could see us to safety once we escaped the hold. We took another with hopes of the same, but he is the one who didn’t make it. But our luck is thin, friend, and now we need rest, and food - and we thank you for providing both! You are most generous. I’d love to watch the show in fact. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a circus such as this one!” he looks around at the space with some admiration.
When Rigo shows his teeth, Audria takes another step away from the towering feline. She huddles close to Alexis and tries not to shiver too much from a chill that has little to do with the weather.
It is the subject of the arcane that Moira is first to explore... with Gride telling her, "Here on Festival there ain't no-one who's gonna welcome a witch into their midst... that's the surest way to find yourself back on the Redemption - or worse still, to the Capitol and its hidden places. I seen it happen with my own eyes!!! A young girl - not that much older than Alexis here", Gride smiles, "She had the gift but was too youthful to be cautious about it... she made the mistake of scrying on someone she didn't ought to - next day..." he claps his hands for dramatic effect, "...she was gone. No-one ever heard of her again - and her family were told to stop asking questions... lest they be found to be witches also".
Hitching his trousers, they are ill-fitting and seem too long in the leg, he continues, "There's folks here in Festival, no doubt about it, who have arcane powers... they've just learned to be discreet about it".
As the group continue to talk with Gride something strange becomes quite obvious, that even though the dawn is turning into a quite glorious autumnal day - the sun a bright amber as it moves away from the crooked skyline of Castorhage - it remains perpetually dark within the tent. Given the tattered nature of tarpaulin that comprises the 'Great Tent', this obdurate resisting of the sun's light is surely not natural.
As Aishe regales Gride with the story of the escape, and the fact that not everyone survived, the circus man adopts a sad face - although it is clearly far from sincere, "I am sorry for your loss... Sister Lyme, she is a hungry goddess - as she flows through the city, she takes her offerings... it was, I pray, a quick end for your friend" - he is far more jolly as Aishe tells of how Ammos was 'the right person at the right time', "It seems that fortune smiled on all of us today!!!"
Soon enough food arrives, in the form of honeyed oats, salted meats, cheeses and a rather dry bread... coffee, as black as night and bitter, too. It is whilst the group are making short work of the fare, hardly fine foods yet a world away from the meagre gruel of the Redemption, that Ammos excuses himself... thanking each of the group in turn, he apologises that he needs to attend to some family business but will return as soon as he is able - and in the meantime, he promises that Gride will let them rest here in the 'Great Tent' and get them whatever clothing or foods that they need.
Rigo sniffs the salted meat, trying to make sure it's not laced or tainted, and to determine what type of meat it is.