"Where will the bodies be taken after you're done? We would want a ceremony to celebrate their lives? How can we arrange that?"
"Where can we find this Hallowgrin?" Carnadine maintains his polite disposition with the trolls.
Carnadine tries to maintain his composure while he is completely out of element and reliant upon his companions.
Raseri's nose for the tricks of the fey once again proves its worth, the sound of a bird echoes within a distant stellar nebula...but the fluorescent pink and dark green cloud is actually a cleverly disguised tunnel. The shifting astral forms flinch as if they were a living creature being tickled, but with slow and steady steps the disorienting acceleration is subdued and you can approach the passage in more or less a straight path...however 'straight' is rigorously defined in this hyper-dimensional topology, that is.
The newest reality is comparatively quite tame. A mountainside, with structures of clean white adobe defiantly grasping at the last bits of sun sneaking through ominous, burdened storm clouds...gentle farmlands escaping forever into the distance. On this steep path a man dances, letting the warmth enhance his agility and tempting the first droplets of rain.
"...to rest in the morgue...down past the goblin warrens under the Winter Palace where its cold. Least until this incident's report is filed and finalized with the Court." Socket informs, curling up the scroll with your statements on it and shoving it in a tight vest pocket squeezed against his mammoth troll pec. "You wan'nae celebrate? Fine...as long as you aint disturbin nothin' or usin' public spaces."
Raseri feels herself drawn in, mesmerized by the man's grace and balance. She walks ahead of the others, but as the winds caress her and pull her in, she begins to dance as well, following the flow of the wind. Its clear she hasn't had the formal training of a courtly dancer, but she still moves in harmony with the man, joining him in the beautiful interplay between the sunlight and the stromclouds.
Raseri's movements draw a raised eyebrow from the man, one that quickly turns to alarm as he notes the armed party's approach. "Good lord, you startled me...you weren't supposed to see that. I thought I was the only who knew about this plaaaaa-ah...Midgardians? Wait...where did you come from, exactly??" his voice hinging on a maddened curiosity and fear.
Kjeta nods approvingly at Raseri. "I don't know if you'll ever stop suprising me..."
When the man speaks, Kjeta steps forward. "Greetings! We come from Midgard, as you say. Zobeck in particular...but today we're strolling through the Puzzle Box.
"You look like you've been dancing for a while. May I offer you a drink?" She offers to pour him some Weißbier.
Whether or not he accepts, Kjeta continues. "I'm Kjeta Strongmalt. These are my companions Raseri, Lexi, Carnadine, Hrungnir, and--"She starts briefly as she realizes Deimus is no longer here to introduce, and won't be again"--and we're pleased to meet you. What's your name?
"And if you'll pardon what might be an ignorant question, do you live here, or are you a visitor as well? And if so, what brings you here today?" She waives her hand, indicating the mountainside they're standing on.
Once the bodies were removed and Lexi finished crying, Lexi dries her eyes and lets a certain determination settle over her. She then settles on a disguise and sneaks into the "morgue" where the bodies are being held.
He shakes his head "No, I mean from where in the Box. *sigh* It doesn't matter...the secrets of this place are beyond knowing. I'm convinced its because the secrets of this place change. You can not find the truth of something if it is constantly in flux." he taps his finger to his chin, the lines of some poem or song just under his breath as he gazes longingly towards the distant storm.
"Eh...I prefer wine...maybe just a sip for cordiality..." taking it cautiously. "Vale, that's my name. And this..." he gestures to the expanse of the place "...my muse. Castrovalva, its name...if you can believe its subtle whispers. The Palace is my home, as long as my family holds title anyways, but I prefer to come here whenever I can...pity I can't stay forever. But then, what would that mean...to live only in art without the bite of a true life to contrast and remind one of the unfiltered heights it reaches towards..." again he seems about to burst into song or start writing.
Raseri stops as Vale does, and finds herself struggling to get any words out. After a moment, she manages to kick her brain back into some sort of functioning order.
"My apologies, Vale. It was rude of me to join in without invitation," she says. "As my friend Kjeta says, I am Raseri, and I find myself in need of your help. I had not realized my dancing was so terrible as to induce fright, and with the Swan Festival not so far away, I am in dire need of your instruction. As for where we came from..." Raseri describes the journey here from entering the Puzzle Box Chamber to finding their way through the galaxies and stars to this place. Her description quickly takes on a whimsical air as if telling a story of wonder and mischief, and by the end, she seems surprised at the slightly out of character gaiety in her tone and mannerisms.
"...A-and that is how we found ourselves here," she finishes meekly as she realizes she's been rambling for a little while.
"Curious...why would there be a passage through the Celestial Perplex...*gag*" he spits his beer all over "Did you say the Swan Festival?! That's in three days! And this one's half over! Lesson one! Get rid of that meekness." he pretends to struggle and pull something out of you, tossing it down the mountainside. To your surprise, he actually pulls out a ghostly humanoid form who tumbled down the rocky hillside become quite bloodied and broken...some bardic magic no doubt.
"Meekness is not allure...well, except for the true sickos...confidence in your poise is half the game. And all that...clutter...hiding your form. They want to see the movement of your body, to see the muscles beneath the skin tighten and relax...not a blur of starmetal and...good lord is that gorgon scales?! No matter, remove it wholesale." indicating the castle arsenal you're carrying around.
He paces about, planning his attack...he would conquer this path of accelerated teaching as a triumph of his own expertise "Yes, there's only one thing we can do with so little time. The Soubresaut. A move too enchanting to be called routine. It will knock their hats off. Come, come..."
He will continue until you're both exhausted well into the night, leaving the others to look for better uses of their time perhaps.
You patiently work through the security of the goblin court. It's chaotic in the sense of a lack of organization making it less challenging than it might be, but no less deadly...you realize one wrong could have you staring down the end of Moggo's terrible wand.
The tunnels down beneath the Palace are chaotic for another reason as well, the goblins seem forever against each other...scolding and beating furiously a lesser caste of the society. But their childlike cries give you the perfect distraction to slip by.
You navigate by a kind of reverse survival sense, homing in on cold rather than warmth. Wiping off the goblin grime from the old bricks, you can feel the tunnels getting colder and colder as you go, and soon you reach a large chamber with a central skylight in the ceiling. You recognize it to be just under the Well of Ice (). There, along the walls are Scutarius, Deimus, and others...at rest.
Carnadine takes the opportunity to hone his dancing skills, which is similar to fighting just on different battlefields. It also allows him to recover from the crazy of the journey to the dance instructor.
Lexi inspects her friend's body, trying to determine:
A) cause of death, and;
B) what specific parts are missing, if she can.
Lexi, as an assassin trained in Zobeck, gearforged anatomy was certainly not omitted from your studies. There were plenty of dark souls who sought an extension of their earthly lives...the promise of additional centuries to exploit and profit was quite a temptation, and so inevitably those of such ilk would catch a high price if exterminated. Whatever game Rava was playing by constructing these gearforged, she was not selective with character.
The cause of death had only one possibility for anyone like Deimus: the soul gem inside his chassis being fractured. The rookery was tall enough for sure to do so, but better to check. Shockingly, you find no soul gem at all here...someone has taken it perhaps. That would mean theres a chance, slim though it may be, that somehow Deimus is still alive...or able to be made alive once more.
Your second thought is the memory gears behind Deimus' eyes. If intact, any other gearforged could theoretically read the bits of information stored there...they would contain everything Deimus has experienced since his creation.
As Carnadine interjects himself into the dance lesson, Vale is creepily only too happy to oblige. With a not-so-subtle glare he two-steps over to the knight captain engaging him in a quick rond de jambe. Carnadine feels a sudden yet gentle pinch on his left buttcheek. "You smell of horse and mansweat..." he says excitedly, as if it were a compliment.
"Well, I do need to bathe this evening." Carnadine rebuts with a potential invitation without missing a step.
Is he doing this for his practice or to aggravate the Thorsdottir? Hard to tell. But if this dance instructor can eliminate her meekness, it will be worth the crazy journey.
Raseri quirks an eyebrow at Vale as he pantomimes tossing part of her down the mountainside and finds that she's at a tipping point. One the one hand, her brash, one might even say brazen, personality is still with her, slumbering in the hidden places of her psyche like some great dragon. Then there was the part of her that was afraid and meek, the part of her that had grown since coming here. It had receded for a short time, but she can feel it struggling for control.
Chaff is all you are, she hears in her mind in a voice that is not her own. She can feel silver eyes on her.
Hel take them. I have been given the power of a storm.
Without thinking about it, Raseri sheds the layers of fine clothing hiding her form until she is left in a thin linen shirt belted by a scarf that had been around her neck and breeches that cling tightly to her legs and down into the boots she keeps on. Underneath the creamy fabric are the muscles that are normally shrouded by heavy cloth or armor.
"I am ready. Let us begin the lesson," she says, a confident smile on her face.
Raseri spends her time learning loses herself to the lessons. Even when Carnadine steals Vale's attention with his own practice, she hardly notices and cares even less. She has a task and a goal.
Put ever other dancer at the Swan's festival to shame.
The dancing continues for a very long time, and while Raseri and Carnadine are nearly ready to collapse dehydrated and muscles pushed well beyond their limit, Vale has little more than a healthy sheen of sweat and never seems to sloop in step...if anything the strange man seems almost revitalized by it. Here was a creature who, for all intents and purposes, fed off creative energy...in a figurative sense.
Vale's teachings run about in mind like spilling paints of a thousand colors just waiting to be caught on the brush of inspiration...
Hrungnir will send his lantern dragonette out to find a place in which he can get some proper clothing for the upcoming ball. If it fails to find him such a place, then he would like to return to his faction to ask them for appropriate attire.
The hall is quiet, except for the quiet conversation of a pair of nobles on the opposite side of a large darkwood table. The cloth of the many banners muffles their words, but you think you make out 'c-AR-nadine' or maybe 'midg-AR-d' as you enter. They scoff even as their noses tilt higher, leaving quickly for you to be at your leisure alone.
There is a great deal of heraldry on display along the walls, and more to be found in a number of tomes in regal stone bookshelves just below the table's surface. Many a story of knightly honors and amazing battles lie waiting for your perusal and scrutiny...
Your dragonette () returns after a few hours, imploring you to follow as far you can understand. You are led to a small chamber with a simple wooden placard out front reading 'Flippant Fanderal's Tailoring for Gentlemen of Notice'. Seems like the place.
Entering you see large barbed devil of some sort outfitting an ogre in a tuxedo, pinning the hems with needles plucked from his side which quickly regenerate. There is an awkward pause as they both turn to look at you.
After what seems like forever they both dismissively return to their business with the devil saying "Yes...I'll be right with you."
Kjeta stops by, scratches one of the hounds behind it's ear, and holds Pilsner up to meet it. "Well hewwo there doggo! This is Pilsner the liddle dwagon. Pilsner, this is doggo." Pilsner blows a little puff of candlelight at the big hounds nose.
Then Kjeta looks up to the rafters for Koyra. "Hey! Wouldn't you know it, I'm invited to the Swan Festival. If you're still game, I'd be happy to have you as my companion."
"By the way, you mentioned seeing the dance of the Sapphire Courtesan? Does that mean you've been there before? Any advice for a Midgardian on her first foray at the festival? People to try to meet? Things to enjoy? Mistakes to avoid?"
"Oh! And any word on the Prince's hunt, and whether you can get us on the list?"
"Greetings, Deacon Wenceslaus! How go the Lords of Light? I've received an invitation to the Swan Festival, and suspect it might be an opportunity to further our cause. Are there particular people you recommend I try to get to know?
"Also...in sadder news...there has been a double murder: both my friend Deimus and my other friend Carnadine's squire. I would be quite grateful if Revich could shed any light on what happened, and who the foul actors were."
Kjeta goes below to check how the beer production goes. Even though she has nothing but disdain for Moggo...still, Beer Well Made is one of Ninkash's central tenants. She'll help the brewing be at its best, even if it helps someone she despises.
While down there, she seeks an opportunity to bump into Johnny. If she does so, she calls him to help her carry some barley...and once she gets him alone, she whispers: "Brave brave Johnny, are you still staying strong? I want you to know that I haven't forgotten you, but the time isn't right yet. Do you understand? As soon as we're able, we will do our utmost to rescue you and any child who wants to come. For now though, you need to stay quiet and safe. Can you do that?"
When he nods, she smiles. "Good lad! Here, would you like to meet my new dragonette? His name's Pilsner. It's OK, he won't bite you."
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Waiting his turn and surveying the inventory and latest fashions within the tailor's shop, Carnadine settles on paying with a memory. One that the devil should enjoy. One that had been itching in the back of his head for some time.
When the pastry is produced, he transfers the following memory:
Carnadine was fifteen and squire to a lord-knight-general in his sire's court. They had spent the summer mostly at court hunting the grounds and the castle. He had spied a new girl at court in the spring. She was a lady's servant, but one displayed. She was a few years older and beautiful, allowed to be seen like jewel, Alicja.
Her face body floated into focus. Delicate features, hair like spun gold, character of steel: cold and strong. That was the itch. She and Raseri could be twins!
They flirted all summer from afar. About their chores. Across ball rooms. They stared and longed. Distracted from their duties, but not too distracted. Then, the season was over. She would depart with her lady on the morrow, so they managed to meet. In his lord's room where he slept at the foot of the bed, while his lord had a private engagement with his sire.
It wasn't his first, but it was the first that meant something. They were slow and curious. Speeding with the passions. It was too good to be true.
Then, he realized what was happening. The itch in the back of his head was magical surveillance. He was certain of being watched. Watched by his sire and whomever he granted the privilege. Like a candle being extinguished, he knew what had to be done. Some soldiers kill a dog upon command after raising it from a puppy to show their conviction and obedience. Noble dhampirs were different.
Carnadine finds a new sanctum and solace in familiar decorations. He studies and savors the stories in the tomes matching them with the banners. He tries to put together the drama of court from the tomes. Who were the Rorens? The Rivenwoods? Who held sway and lost? Who entered and triumphed from nothing but deeds? What was the true story of Zobeck? Was his sire mentioned?
There was a moment while opening the head that she nearly stripped a screw, but eventually she got the head to open.
With as much care as she could muster, she carefully removed the filament and stored it into one of her belt pouches.
She then leaned down and gently kissed him on the forehead.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- -
Not one to waste an opportunity, she then turned and examined Carnadine's squire, looking to determine his cause of death.
At first, it seemed like the shadow hound would devour the little light ball instantly with the most casual of chomps. A dark canine creature so unlike the lantern dragonette in every way...the other hounds likewise angled their ears back, looking ready to pounce. But when the puff of light struck the dogs face, it sneezed and just gave Pilsner a slobbery lick in revenge...and the pack behind soon shrugged off the encounter.
Kolya feigned surprise "Truly, you were invited? Such luck. Thanks for remembering me." the loner slipped off the rafters to join you on the floor. "When your name was announced from the Tower of Light I had a hunch things would go our way..." he adds, somewhat unable to take his eyes off your halo.
"And yes, many seasons ago...before I tended the pack and was but a rising courtier not unlike yourself. The Swan Festival is...well, amongst the upper classes extreme politeness is merely the most highly refined expression of ones scorn for others, shall we say." he let that sink in until he was sure you understood, then continued "Not a place I would wish to again soon tread, were it not for the Sapphire Courtesan..." a distant yearning glosses his eyes over "Maraya...when my mind's eye searches back to find her fleeting visage, a dread trembling o'erwhelms me, paler than I, than dried grass in Autumn...and in my madness, dead I seem almost. Desire is the realization of true emptiness, you see..." so he claims his love to consist of.
As you press him for further details "Hmm...we must be careful not to decline any food and drink, such would be a massive mistep in ettiquette. I do wonder what the menu will consist of..." he taps his chin, thinking.
"And I did mention it to his Royal Excellence the Prince. I believe he wishes to observe you more closely at the Festival before making a decision...ah, I've given myself away haven't I. Yes you see, I knew you were invited before you came to me." he reveals in the end.
*IS* there a further in that we might want to go to? Now I'm intrigued. And after all...what's the worst that could happen? ;-) Maybe I'd go ahead with the non-dancers, while Raseri and Carnadine danced.
At Kjeta's mention of the Festival "You'll be exposed...and no doubt tested by the Roach Lord. He will prod you...entice you, looking for weakness and rage. Still your mind and emotions and show to others your moral superiority, and thus by inference the demon's inferiority." he winks.
But the Deacon's face was like iron at the mention of the deaths "Aye...the Thornwalkers of Rivenwood were not strangers to our cause. The twisted magi of Oshragora are terrible foes to those that call Scutarius' land home...one of his kin travelled above the gloom to the Court of One Million Stars in desperation, to the Masters of Illumination." he points upward "Yes, there is another world above...where clusters of floating ivory towers border the Void. Well, this kinsman returned eager to share what he learned with Revich...then threw himself from the top of our tower." he shakes his head in shame. "The secret of what was said The Blind Seer keeps to himself...and we must trust its for good reason."
"Now. Enough o' the past. Revich said he wouldnt be seeing you until you had mastered the Ritual of True Sight. Are you ready to continue?"
He tugs at your skirt until safely behind some large barrels, the dim fires of the goblin tunnels alighting yellow in his large, goblinoid eyes "Yes but please...hurry! Nearly half of us have gone missing...I fear I'm next..." he looks like he is about to cry. "They were simply gone yesterday morning, and Moggo is furious!" he warns.
As you digest that information, Pilsner nuzzles the boy-who-was-goblin and seems to drain away at least some small fraction of his fear.
As the barbed devil consumes the tasty pastry laden with Carnadine's sexual rendezvous turned to rightful murder, the beast seems nearly ready to crescendo all over himself and the new threads. The lumbering ogre watches it all, clueless "Whaa? Where Trug's pastry? No more pastry?" he picks up the platter, looking underneath, and the giant's face furrows in anger (or on the verge of tears, it was hard to tell) at missing out on the snack.
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”I see that coin isn’t bartered here, but rather, memories. Ye got the clothes? I have something to trade.”
Hrungnir was walking through the deepest mines, far beyond where dwarfs normally went. These were the tunnels that had been tapped out generations ago, the bounty of the earth stripped away. Here and there were signs of the old life. Mining picks lying in dust. Torch racks, rotted doors....and the ever present sound of the echo of his boots. This was part of his apprenticeship. He was to go all the way to the Pools of Amanazur, and there he was to scry on his father. Only when he completed this task could he return home.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he did not notice that he was walking into a mushroom grove, for when the dwarfs abandoned the mine, new life had moved in. Nor did he notice the release of spoors...until it was too late. First came there coughing, and his eyes watered. The young dwarf staggered around, his vision blurring. He tried to cry out but there was nobody around to hear him. Fear gripped him as he began to hallucinate. The ancient tunnels grew darker as reason fled. The walls held demonic faces and arms reached out of the shadows, as the insidious spoors robbed him of his senses. He tried to run, but as he did so he tripped and his lantern shattered on the ground. Darkness engulfed him, and along with it came unthinking terror....
Hrungnir crossed his arms. ”Learned an important lesson that day. While not a pleasant memory, it’s a useful one. For it is such memories that make us who we are. And to think, trading it for clothes...” He thought of his fey love and sighed. This wasn’t just for clothes. It was for her. ”So what’ll that buy me?” He scratched the head of his familiar, whom he named Drakbryn (literally ‘the Glittering Dragon”).
Scutarius suffers a few wounds that could be mortal...but the overall picture is confounding. First, a stab wound in the back...but the placement is all wrong. Not even near the kidney. If this was an attempt at a backstab, it was the shoddiest most unexperienced rogue that ever walked out of the shadows.
Or...hmm, it could have been accidental somehow? Na, more likely a botched attempt -- the clearly broken neck was likely necessary after such an amateurish first strike. But then how did Deimus fit into everything? Deimus' daggers were still sheathed in their metallic body recesses...and Scutarius' back wound was partially healed. Had Deimus tried to save Scutarius and fallen to the same fate?
*slip*
Something stirred in the icy waters just behind you...large ripples clearly disturbing the recently serene surface of the well waters. But then all was silent again.
"..." Turg the Ogre watched, frustrated, as the barbed devil consumed the memory pastry...like a dog watching its master eat steak. You could hear the giant's stomach rumble and thought you spied a thin line of saliva fall from the corner of his mouth.
The barbed devil was carefully, oh so carefully, licking its fingers after the second tasty tart. "Splendid...*smack* I have never known *smack lick* a fear of the dark...*smack smack* What sweet terror. But the opposite reaction is what you're going for at the dance, after all, isn't it!" he happily added, unfurling a wide variety of gilded finery. "We do alterations as well, so don't mind the size..." it sheared a few of its barbs to demonstrate their cutting ability.
As her friends dance, Kjeta feels a rush of inspiration. There's SO MUCH MORE to this puzzle box!
"Hrungnir and Lexi, do either of you want to explore a bit more, now that we've safely gotten Raseri to her dance instructor?"
Kjeta again looks around and starts to follow her intuition.
Lexi refused to be deterred by whatever was in the water. Instead, she compared the backstab wound to both dagger and rapier to see if she could get a better idea of what sort of weapon had stabbed him.
"Yes, let's keep exploring. I don't really need or want to learn how to dance."
Kjeta whistles with appreciation at Kolya’s declaration of love for Maraya. ”Truly, the Sapphire Courtesan sounds like a beauty beyond compare--even in this fey realm. May your hearts desires be fulfilled!
“Thanks for mentioning us to his Royal Excellence. I’ll look forward to enjoying the festival’s delicacies, and to hopefully winning his Royal Excellence’s invitation to the hunt.”
"Now. Enough o' the past. Revich said he wouldnt be seeing you until you had mastered the Ritual of True Sight. Are you ready to continue?"
”Ready? Indeed!
“What is my next step? I know of the ritual, which I’ve started to practice...though, in honesty, such Arcana is not my strength. In the meantime, is there more I should be attempting? Or that you can teach me?”
Kjeta’s ruddy skin goes white at Johnny’s story. ”They disappeared yesterday? All at once? Do you know anything of what might’ve happened--or might know? I can poke about--pretending to just be down here working on my ale--if you can point me in the right direction.”
She frowns, thoughtfully, "And if what we find is that you're in more immediate danger than I'd feared--which sounds suddenly likely--well then by Ninkash's golden flagon, I'll take you with me today."
As you compare the weapons in hand over the body, rapier and dagger, your gut screams 'dagger'. After all a rapier would would be smaller, and would not show the slashing tear at the edges. A dagger would flare outward as it was pressed in to the hilt, as this wound does in the final analysis.
But as you stare at the weapons in your hand, something else becomes more alarming...your body disappears?
You are covered in dark shadow...something massive is looming behind you--!
Inits:
It booms as a thin coating of ice shatters all over the humongous worm's carapace, and quickly turns to steam. A pulsing internal fire seems to ignite within the beast, as winglike fins flare from the back of the creature's head, and its wide mouth brims with jagged teeth. A strange arctic predator has found you...