Ysildaë opens the door to find a small kitchen and supply room. The food is rotten and the stench is strong and musty.
Since there doesn't appear to be immediate danger, she will search the floor. (these people seem to love their hidden rooms and secrets.
Ysildaë searches the entire floor; checking each cell, the open area and the kitchen. She's about to give up when she notices the dust on the floor of the kitchen slowly billowing up from a draft coming from the northeast corner. Stepping around the open crate, she can feel a section of the northern wall move slightly. Fiddling around for a few minutes, she finds that one of the iron hooks attached to the wooden wall holding aloft a large frying pan is loose. Removing the pan, she is able to lift the hook upwards releasing a concealed door to a small pantry. Inside the food stores lie rotten upon the shelves. A wooden cask, lying on its side is tapped and feels half full. In a find elvish script, the barrel is marked with the words, House del’Agost Dianndor.
The elf's eyes light up. She had never tasted the wine of the great, noble House del’Agost Dianndor. They had never been generous with their vintages nor willing to part with it at any price.
"Lived well these smugglers and cultists did. I think we are finished here now. Tomorrow we can investigate the tunnels."
Maria has headed towards where she believes the others are, hoping they are ready to leave. She is on guard as she moves, and looks uneasy; but more than that, tired.
"Fair enough," Toraim responds to Ysildaë's plan.
Having cleare the Constable's Príosún of all immediate threats, the trio converge upon the first floor and prepare to leave the building through the main doors. As they descend the steps from the front porch a small patrol of guards from Haemil enter the abandoned square and head for the Príosún, nodding at the adventurers as they pass. They clamor into the building and shut the doors behind themselves.
Toraim leads the way back to the bridge, stopping only to update the Constable of the clearing of his predecessor's base of operations. "Thank you!" Marcusic says. "The majority of the Point has been reclaimed by the living. We've re-established communication withthe dwarves of Eastgate, who have secured about half of Oldtown. If you're looking for more work, they could use some help. Otherwise, we'll begin venturing into the Estates starting on Moonday, although that will be handled mainly by the City Guard."
Exhausted from the days activities, the group returns to the safety of the bridge to the Bright Tower. Sitting about one of the many campfires dotting the surface of the bridge, Ysildae and Maria discuss the tunnels they found beneath the Constable's Príosún, as well as, unconscious damphir, the drawings on the wall, the few items they scavenged. Mentioning the blood stained drawing of the interlocking backwards "F" and "R", raises the attention of a trio sitting at the next fire.
"Greetings, Ysildaë, I am called. Cleared the Príosún my companions and I with the grace of the gods. Many mysteries abound."
She is a tall and lithely muscled woman. Elven in appearance though her golden hair seems to glow with its own inner light and her eyes are strange emerald tones. Her silk robes glimmer in the firelight.
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Hearing other survivors discuss details similar to the lead his own team had been investigating, Titan pauses between bites of his meal. Wandering the ruins of the city blind had cost Randall his life. Perhaps this other group would have some information that could give them an edge on their next expedition. Before he can offer an introduction, the otherworldly woman is upon them with her own.
"Titan", he offers Ysildaë. "That's Muraisa, Kayin, and Aerryndöl", he adds nodding to each of his companions.
"And this is Bjorkus", Titan finishes with a gesture at the young bear splayed out on the ground at his side.
Titan is a tall lean man of northern descent. Despite any outward signs of impressive physical prowess the deliberate motion of his rangy frame hints at a predator's power and grace. His auburn hair and short well-kept beard match almost perfectly his hulking ursine companion.
While Ysildaë doesn't think that the bear is sacred to either her divine patron or her divine ancestors, she still has a healthy respect for its teeth and its claws.
"Toraim," she gestures towards the dwarf. "Maria," She gestures towards the young human woman.
Though she hasn't said much, Ysildaë's accent is thick with the music of the elven tongue. Clearly, the patois that had arisen from the conflicts and alliances of the human tribes was not one she had mastered with ease.
-"Greetings,"- Muraisa replied to Ysildaë in Elven with a small wave. She was still tired from the beating she had taken, and the lingering effects of the virus, but regardless it was fun to break out the luangauge practice.
"This has been a strange few days," she added to the others. "We did find a Dwarf with a tattoo like the mark you describe. Well...some of it. Part of it had been gotten by zombies when we saw it."
Ysildaë smiles in gratitude and relief at Muraisa's greeting. The human patois was something taught by a tutor, decades and decades ago. Until the last several weeks it was not something she ever had used in earnest. When she had left the elven lands, she had not considered that those who she met might not speak elven.
Kayin appears as a slight-bodied young male human of Broanin extraction, possessing a narrow face with sharp, fox-like features, a pale complexion, and a curly tangle of shoulder-length auburn hair frosted white at the tips. His face has a dusting of freckles across the bridge of the nose and the upper checks, and gold-green eyes, fringed by thick lashes, that reflect light quite unnervingly in the dark.
Kayin wears a suit of studded leather armor worn over a surprisingly effective mish-mash of clothing meant to ward off the intense cold. He carries little in the way of equipment, just a leather pouch with several compartments of varying sizes, an empty bandolier slung from left shoulder to right hip across his chest, and a few weapons; a rapier sheathed on his right hip, a kukri tucked into a hardened leather scabbard at the small of his back and angled for a right-handed draw, a small mace dangling from a stout leather strap hooked onto his bandolier, and a nasty-looking whip wound into a tight coil--and kept that way by what appears to be a quick-release binding--and dangling from another strap attached to the bandolier. His armor and clothing both are festooned with an assortment of charms and talismans meant to either attract good luck or ward off bad luck.
Hearing his name, the oracle looks up and offers a distracted wave before returning to tending a glass flask whose contents are gently bubbling over a low flame. During the process, the young man mutters to himself and makes a few odd gestures, before sighing in relief and capping the flask, setting it aside, and dousing the flame.
Once he's cleared away and packed up the various possessions he's scattered around what he appears to have claimed as his segment of the group's fire, the young man directs his attention to the conversation with the neighboring group. "Right then, I wasn't paying full attention, but I believe you mentioned finding something connected to something that we found?" He considers the trio with a curious expression, wondering what they've learned that relates to the mystery he and his companions are poking at.
Maria, a ragged, pale woman with piercing eyes and messy blonde hair, turns her gaze towards the volatile liquid and the man tending to it. She's left the speaking to her companion; still exhausted and sickened by the day's events, whatever disease she's picked up an itching concern at the back of her mind. That said, however, she is unable to truly divert her attention; after all, these new people appear interesting. At least they seemed physically powerful; and one meddles with alchemy, and seems more or less experienced with it. No blatant flaws in the current appearance of the unfinished acid, anyway; as she works on her own alchemical creations, though hers a black liquid that smells like earth and rot. She speaks up over it, contributing to the conversation but continuing to work.
"We found several indicators of some kind of greater mystery or conspiracy. Perhaps unrelated, perhaps not. Deeply concerning nonetheless."
Finding no luck with her alchemy, Maria stands, her fingers tightly curled around a small, leather bound book that she tucks to her side. Slowly putting away her things, she moves to get closer to the others and take a good look at them.
Seeing another practioner of the alchemical arts, Kayin's attention is briefly diverted from the conversation to watch her at work. He can't help watch with growing concern as a few mistakes occur, brought on what appears to be extreme fatigue on her part. Finally, the oracle is moved to approach and speak to her just before she completes the steps needed to set the compound safely aside for a time.
"Pardon my poking my nose into your concocting there, but I notice that your work isn't faring too well at the moment. Could I interest you in a bit of aid from a friendly spirit? I'm afraid it won't make your efforts a success, but it would at least stop them from being a failure, which is sometimes enough on its own," he finishes with a faint smile.
"Aye, well, if you're finding marks that look like what we're finding, and both of us are doing the finding in different places, I'd say 'conspiracy' is a good enough word to describe it." After a bit of thought, the oracle describes what his group found at the Brewery, as well as the details behind the tattoo that lead them there to begin with, and the map he'd made with the tattoo. He also mentions the coded journal found at the same time as the tattooed dwarf, adding with a grimace. "Unfortunately, the one fellow we had among our number who seemed to have any knack for figuring this out came out second in a fight with one of those damned corpses." While the oracle isn't terribly thrilled about the idea of cutting others in on any potential plunder to be had from unraveling this mystery, it seems like they've found clues enough on their own to make a decent go at being competition. Better instead that they be allies, sharing an equal portion instead of nothing at all. And besides, more people means a better chance at surviving the search, and that's not something Kayin has a problem with in the slightest.
Muraisa smiled and replied, rather less formally,
"How much does this conspiracy matter now? Most of those involved will be as dead as the Dwarf we found, will they not?" Muraisa looked to the others. "Unless it relates to the talking undead we battled before, and the dead they kept in those crates. In which case it might be important, or it might not, but it will be personal."
Her smile doesn't falter, but Ysildaë takes a moment to process the other woman's elven. Ärh’Édheliti often places of verbs at the beginning of sentences. She rarely remembers that Aerti uses S-V-O.
"Know not I weight of conspiracy. Lie in holy repose some dead. Stalk living other dead cut from life-vine. Know who which of dead conspirators?"
"Discovered we forge beneath Príosún. Weeping tear river for weapons broken or useful not against . . . exploding (?) . . . dead. Forge weapons better in honor of She-Who-Binds-Together. Welcome shaelas also to forge."
She turns to her companions, Toriam and Maria. "Fear we that cunning cut-blossoms walk ways beneath Príosún. After forging, through maiden iron walk ways we. Invite worthy-others?"
Kayin is openly confused by the odd syntax used by the elf, but eventually manages--or so he hopes--to parse it into something he can understand. Still, he address Muraisa's words rather than the other's, because he's sure that he'll be responding correctly to those. "Well, the conspiracy itself may not matter now, true enough. But that it exists, or existed rather, gives us some way to measure the scale of our search, and that does matter. And because folks with secrets generally like to keep them from people poking around, we've also got something of a starting point for the sorts of protections we should be thinking about."
A frown then creases his brow as another idea comes to him. "And I wouldn't be so certain that the conspiracy's members have perished in quantity either. Those dwarves over in Eastgate demonstrate well enough that being underground was a decent level of protection, and if I'm understanding the elf properly," he says with a tip of his head toward Ysildaë. "Then the brewery we checked wasn't the only place with a basement being used by these folks. We have no way of knowing who, or how many, had time and chance to find refuge in these lairs, if they weren't already down below when things went wrong." Kayin's frown shifts to a slight smile. "I'll admit it's a twisty way of thinking, but better we expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than go in fat, stupid, and happy and get buggered."
Ysildaë isn't entirely sure about the conspiracy that the other warriors are talking about.
She knows that whomever ran the Príosún before the Shaping was up to something vile. She suspects that they worshiped the god of death.
May he lie nameless, lost in the Void!
She also knows that those who worship the god of death have an unfortunate habit of rising as undead to plague the living. Her House's calling was in the destruction of these abominations.
She think that the tunnels beneath the Príosún are connected to this foul worship.
Suddenly, Ysildaë realizes that she has lost the thread during the remainder of the sharp featured man's speech only catching " . . . happy and get buggered."
Confusion washes over her. "Are people not usually happy after 'getting buggered'?"
Ysildaë had always thought humans enjoyed sex, there had been so many of them after all. Perhaps she was learning something new about this species. Then she smiles again because she thinks that her last sentence in Aerti is perfect.
Muraisa grinned at that comment. "That would depend entirely on some personal preferences, my dear." She took a moment to give Ysildaë a very general explanation of what that word meant in Elven, although she probably didn't know the words to get too specific.
"It gives us something to do," Muraisa admitted after a moment. "The conspiracy, I mean. We could always do the other, I just didn't think anyone was interested." She laughed a little. "I'm happy to hunt down anything that remains of this conspiracy, and what they were hiding. So long as it doesn't interfere with our other tasks. Keeping people safe is the priority, and even if some of these people are still alive, I can't imagine they still care about whatever plan to take over the kingdom or the like they were working on, but if they had some supplies they might be of use."
Ysildaë blushes. Not for shame of sex, but because she radically misunderstood the sharp-chinned man's speech.
She looks glum for a moment, but then she brightens at a thought.
Again, she addresses Muraisa in Ärh’Édheliti.
"Tomorrow," Toraim grunts, focused on the tankard before him. "We need to rest, tonight."
"The conspiracy is relevant." Maria, says, with a bit of contempt for the brushing off of such a revelation. "Because, in fact, we hardly understand what caused this... disaster. An accident is one conclusion. It is, however, the risky conclusion to take."
Maria nods to Kayin, a small bit of appreciation flowing through her as the man explains how the conspiracy may have survived.
"The implications of my friend, and the implications of what we found, are that some kind of... organization, perhaps a cult, was worshiping the God of Death; at least at first glance. We found torture devices and living evidence that more than one kind of being is capable of survival out there."
Maria walks over, kneeling down and drawing a makeshift map in the dirt.
"Here is where we found the Iron Maiden, and here is where we found the symbol. And here," she points, stressing its importance, "we found a living girl. A Dhampir; a half-vampire, of sorts. But alive. Unwell, but still alive. I hardly think it would be difficult for anyone aware of what was coming to shelter themselves."
Maria stands, looking towards the lands they had just returned from; that urban wasteland now filled with roaming death.
"We cannot rule out that the ritual that produced this calamity was interfered with; or, worse, planned. We must uncover any evidence that points us towards this conspiracy."
Her head rests on her hand, and with a sigh Maria continues on.
"It may seem... farfetched, but this scenario is as farfetched as any nightmare tale any book has ever presented. We must uproot whatever this is and see the truth! A truth which will be in great absence while we attempt to rebuild; let me say, I pray I am wrong on this front. But we must find out, either way."
Internally, Ysildaë is relieved that Maria is laying out some of the information that she is rapidly trying to convey to Muraisia in Ärh’Édheliti.
She takes a breath to nod at some of Maria's points. "Connected?" Ysildaë makes an uncertain weighing gesture with her hands. As she moves, her golden hair seems to capture the light of the fires and magnify its radiance.
"Know not we. Yet worthy is the discovery."
Considering the points raised and the information behind them, Kayin grimaces. "We hadn't found any signs of cult activity in our own search, and it honestly looks more like ordinary smuggling. Maybe of a more unsavory sort, slavery perhaps, but still the usual criminal matters. If it is a cult though, especially one loyal to that particular divine eminence, then both the importance and danger in uncovering this have just gone up."
Kayin's attention then shifts and takes in the packed bridge, teeming with homeless refugees huddled desperately in any available shelters, said shelters crowded as close as they can be without catching alight to fires meant to ward off the killing cold. "I don't about the rest of you, but before we all go haring off into the city to uncover whatever it is we seem to have stumbled upon, I'm minded to find something a bit more suitable for shelter than a tent on a bridge."
Flashing a quick smile at Muraisa, he continues. "It's a nice enough tent, and a damned sight better than nothing, but just too open to being messed with or taken over if we leave it up while we're gone. Or having its present space occupied if we strike it every time we leave. Fortunately, my companions and I did a decent favor for a fellow not too far from here, who happens to own the Second Scribe. Maybe we can convince him to open the place up to our residence, before someone else imposes lodgers upon him."
"Needed money cults. Sacrifices. Jeweled goblets."
She gestures to a nailed shut crate and a heavy chest. "Smuggling? Corruption? Cannot open. Have clever fingers any of you?"
She pauses for a moment. "See Ether? Know not what magic belt and pouch we found."
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With the conversation headed back toward more material matters, Titan rejoins the conversation.
"Whatever's going on down there, whether it's a death cult or just a smuggler's den, it's in our interest to understand it. Organizations that operate out of sight like that are usually well-supplied. It's in our interest to find their stores and recover them."
Hearing Ysildaë's query about their locked containers, the hunter only shakes his head darkly. "We had one that was good with that sort of thing. He didn't make it. Bjorkus could probably smash them open but I imagine you wanted them intact. Any clues what's inside?"
"In enchanted pouch, secrets? In chest, riches? Worth not as much now, but gems or gold can be wrought into beauty. Know alchemy those two, discover what rests in those vials?"
Hearing mention of vials, Kayin perks up a bit. "I can certainly take a look at your vials, if Maria would do likewise for something we found that I can't quite figure out." He then gestures toward the belt and pouch. "I can take a look at those as well, but depending on the skill of their maker, I might not be able to tell you much." He huffs in frustration and briefly looks away, visibly annoyed by the subsequent admission of his lack of skill. "I only recently learned how to do that sort of thing, and I'm not yet very good at it."
The noblewoman shrugs, "Blind to Ether I, better poor sight than no sight."
"I'm skilled with all natural philosophy as well as other knowledge, such as letters and such things. I believe I may be suited to identifying any such thing, if Amus wills it. I'm sorry for the loss of your other companion, but will happily fill that role where needed."
Maria reaches back, grabbing a journal and her writing implements. With a curious glance, she looks to the others to give her anything needing identification.
"I don't mind more permanent lodgings, so long as no one else needs them more." She looked at the chest for a moment. "Same as Bjorkus, I can hit it with an axe, but if none one has any skill with locks then maybe we could buy some acid, eat the lock without destroying the contents?"
Looking at the map, she added, "And this Dhampir is in the prison?" She looked at Ysildaë to confirm. "She mentioned the issues you folks faced. About how you had a little bit of a kerfuffle. And that the child wasn't born one of the half-turned." And the wine, but Muraisa wasn't going to mention that unless she had something useful to trade.
"Could someone be infused with one of those Essences we've found?" she asked. "Maybe that would turn her into what she is now?" The Barbarian shook her head. This was all...hoodoo and magics she didn't understand.
"No. Lies not imprisoned. Child. Even if corrupted, still child. Injured. Rests she with Sisters now."
She pauses before launching into lyrical elven.
"I am usually quite capable with locks, but I am quite... shaken by today. Perhaps after some rest, steady hands will be able to unlock this without wasting any materials or potentially destroying anything inside."
Maria smirks, looking down at her tired hands.
"Was not lucid. Told us nothing she. Sick. Near death. Agreement, learning more worth more than riches."
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"We'll plan for a visit tomorrow then. The Sisters are known for working miracles."
Having finishing up maintenance on his gear, Titan runs his fingers across his two remaining specialized glass-headed arrows. After a moment of consideration, he pulls one from his quiver. Between Kayin and now Maria, he was in the company of two trained alchemists.
”Have either of you worked on something like this before?” the hunter asks while turning the exotic arrow between his thumb and forefinger. ”I picked up a dozen of these a year ago but they’ve been difficult to replace. Do you think you could create more with enough time and the right materials?”
A smile creases the oracle's lips for a moment. "While I know you likely wouldn't see any difference between the regular stuff an alchemist uses and some of the more specialized materials, believe me when I tell you that there is one. And the second sort is a bit harder to come by, especially these days. On the other hand," the oracle continues with a cheerful tone of voice. "For all that they need a good bit of experience to make, and some unusual compounds as well, the actual making itself takes next to no time. A reasonably competent alchemist could probably fix up a half dozen or so in an hour."
"Indeed, these would be difficult, especially without materials or a proper lab. But with a good sense of smell... very effective, like a beacon for attack. Probably taken from observing bees; they do much the same thing."
Maria blushes, aware she's going on a tangent.
"Regardless, while I don't think I could make this now, there is a good chance we could in the future. Perhaps Kayin and I could work together on them; with that, we could make many. Will be useful for anyone boasting animal assistance."
Maria smiles, looking to the bear; almost as if she were speaking to it more than to the hunter before her.
Muraisa looked at the elf in mild confusion, as she didn't quite get what she meant. It sounded...hopeful? "What kind of resources will you need to make such weapons?" she asked the alchemically inclined duo.
The oracle's attention shifts to Muraisa as he answers her question. "Depends on the type of weapon, or rather, what so sort of alchemical trick you want it to do. Those arrows of Titan's for instance? Those'd require purified salt, purified piss, and this stuff called myrrh which is harvested from trees. Obviously, it's that last one that'll be an issue nowadays," he concludes with a sour grunt.
You are awoken by the shouts of the guards and the screams of children. You scramble from under your blanket and get to your feet grabbing your weapons. You armor lies on the ground, unadorned, next to your supplies and other scrounged belongings. Shouts fill the night air and you listen to the calls for aide. The undead have risen from the lake bed... you think. Without hesitation you rush towards the muddied lake and the maze of planks strewn about its banks as makeshift pathways.
There you find a score of soldiers fighting back several dozen of the newly arisen who crawl through the muddy, shallow graves. Between the city guards of Haemil, the on-rush of armed citizens from the bridge and your companions, you destroy the zombies but not before noting that many of them wore the clothing of Haemil. These zombies did not explode when dispatched. A young, wide-eyed guard looks at Titan. "By the gods, I knew that one," he says, pointing to one of the undead wearing leather armor, its hardened chest-piece torn open and stained with dried blood.
With the immediate threat taken care of, the sound of barefeet approaching from behind draws your attention. You turn to see three of the sisters fast approaching. They reach out and heal the wounds of the guards before giving you and the street fighters a touch of magical healing.
Just as you take a deep breath, trying to relax your senses and let the adrenaline leave your body, a voice cries out from the bridge above. "Agatha! Leufroy!" The night goes quiet. "Agatha! Leufroy! Where are you?"
Wiping her brow, Muraisa frowned at the zombies. Did it mean something that these were weaker, less infectious than the previous ones? Or was it simply that the others had...matured. Maybe they needed time to fester before they became as unpleasant? And where did they come from, exactly?
When she heard the shouting she started looking around for the shouting. Hopefully, it wasn't time to play 'Is that zombie my child again?'
The oracle spent the fight hanging back with a crossbow in hand, taking shots as opportunities presented themselves. With no time to get his armor on, there was little else he could (or would) realistically do in a fight. With the fight over, and hearing the guard's exclamation of recognition, Kayin shakes his head with a weary groan. "Right, guess we won't be burying the dead anymore. Pyres for everyone from now on, I'd wager will be the new law as far as that goes."
He's about to say something more, but is interrupted by the shouting from above. Listening for a moment, Kayin shakes his head again and remarks, to nobody in particular, "Well, that doesn't sound like anything good." Stepping toward the fallen bodies, he quickly retrieves every bolt that's not broken or lost, then cranes his head up to consider the approximate source of the shouts. "Well, do we go be nosy and see what that's about, or try to get back to sleep," he asks of the others.
Maria wordlessly moves, clearly shaken by the horrible attack that woke her; she hasn't spoken a word, and her rapier, dripping with the syrupy blood of the long-dead, is shaking in the air; her knuckles white as she tightly grips her weapon and tries to keep herself together.
Her eyes are more sunken than you've seen before, the bags beneath them darker.
With a glance at Kayin, piercing blue eyes that seem brighter against the night sky, she moves towards the voices without a word, or a change in her expression.
If it were not for her shaking hands, one would think she was calm; her expression blank and her steps as even and measured as always.
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"These ones were different. They don't explode and seem less durable. Why?" Titan asks aloud hoping someone in the party knows something about the dead things rising from the lake.
After taking a quick inventory of his remaining ammunition, the hunter flags down the sisters. With tensions still high, Bjorkus follows as on his master's heels. "Stay calm. Who are Agatha and Leufroy? When were they last seen?"
Groaning in resignation, the oracle trudges along behind the others to the bridge above, a distinct lack of enthusiasm marking his gait. Seems it would be short sleep tonight, but he supposed it was acceptable to let their new partners make some decisions for the group, in the name of party unity and all. And, faint though it is, there is a slight niggle of concern in the back of his mind for Maria. Not quite what Muraisa, Titan, or Bjorkus would merit--even with their short acquaintance to date--but a bit nonetheless.
Reaching the others, he sidles up to Maria and looks her over briefly before asking, "Are you sure you don't want to get some more sleep? To be blunt, you look like s@%+ right now, and dealing with whatever this is probably isn't going to be all that good for whatever ails you."
Maria looks to Kayin, and wavers. Normally such brute honesty would offend her; she was a lady, after all. But the circumstances demanded people throw aside the old rules, and given what she now knew, she wouldn't even want to return to how things were. And she felt lost; she always felt lost, now.
"What am I doing? He's right. I'll only get in the way."
Maria's arms fall to her side, her rapier scraping the floor before she quickly stows it; wiping her face with the sleeve of her sleepclothes, she turns her back to the problem.
"Thank you; you're right. I'm not... we shouldn't be dealing with this right now. But what if no one does? Someone has to help!"
"I just wish I didn't have to."
She follows the others, distantly; ready to go to bed if the issue doesn't require immediate action. Like the others, she's exhausted, and her stomach still churns with whatever illness was inflicted on her.