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He stops talking and picks up his axe. "My father's father twice back made this. See how the blade meets the haft? No accident, that. The weight is just so, the balance is just so. It is made for a dwarven arm to wield. A human like Broccan, strong as he is, he could swing it, yeah, but the balance is wrong for the long arms and he would want to use both hands or practice many, many hours to learn the axe. Took generations of dwarves to learn to make the perfect axe. My family, the Thorvir, we are some of the best." He gives the axe a long thoughtful look, so long that his audience might be forgiven if they thought he'd forgotten her presence, but then looks up.
"Apologies, lass. So I took to the road to meet uncles and aunts I'd only heard of. Goldsmiths, miners, engineers, and the black sheep, my father's brother, the first to carry my name. I knew he was weird because everyone said so. I found he was different, was all. Took a liking to me, he did, and my other family told my father right up. 'Make him come home,' they said, 'before we lose another Thorvir to the armored demon god!"
The old dwarf smiles at the memory. "The next caravan from home, I expected my mother or my father to come and claim their silly boy from foolish notions. Instead, I got two packages and a letter. My uncle, he said to read first, look later. The letter said my folks knew my heart wasn't in the craft the same way and if I needed to walk a different path, I would do it right if I was going to bear the name Thorvir. In the first package, a fine shield and the axe of my ancestor." He pats the shield and axe he carries, "and in the other, a fine greatsword, symbol of the Lord in Iron. Now, I didn't know the first thing about swinging such a long blade, so my uncle took it, said it was to be mine some day to come." He points at the greatsword lying nearby, "When I came to town, the blade was waiting for me, left by my uncle. Guess it be time to learn it for real."
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Alaïs continues to potter around for a bit until dinnertime, trying to make herself useful while deciding whether she wants to stay overnight.
"For my contribution, dinner!" She removes the food she'd hunted/foraged from her bags. "I confess I'm not much of a cook, so someone else should probably take that job. Unless you're all okay with 'edible' being the primary quality..." She grins at her own self-deprecating (and not particularly funny) joke.
When Rosella returns and presents her findings with her self-deprecating gesture, Alaïs has a fleeting moment of alarm. The huntress is a follower of the ‘old ways,’ right? That’s a curious thought, mainly because druidry in the circles the elf moves in connects with wider elven traditions in different ways than the Green Faith does in human, she gathers. The point is, though, she thinks, refocusing herself, that maybe she should have asked first before…
“Neither am I. I may have got a bit carried away with enspelling some apples and things Briar found. I hope that’s alright? I mean, it’s very definitely not natural, but it wouldn’t fool anyone: I don’t think they make very convincing peach- or orange-apples. Though maybe that makes it worse?”
Alaïs eventually cuts short her rambling. On the one hand, she doesn’t see why it might be a problem, but there’s no need to antagonize anyone unintentionally. Occupational hazard – playing nice, that is – when one’s the youngest in a large family and so has less of a niche from which to crave indulgence because one sibling or other has already achieved any given feat.
She is able to relax a bit over dinner, recording a few brief notes about the contents of the Cairn so far in her journal, and sharing out her spiked goodberries. This proves less convivial an operation than she had hoped, because it makes the most sense for them all to go to Broccan, who at least is tough enough to take it. Taking everyone drinking, though, is obviously going to have to wait.
In the end, she decides to bunk down in this odd haphazard shelter after all, if only to spare the others the trouble of waiting for or retrieving her the next morning as they resume their spelunking.
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"How do you know which ones aren't poisonous? I'd not last a week in the woods by myself."
"Practice, mostly." Rosella takes another bite of mushroom. "It's passed on from generation to generation. Older people take the younger ones out scavenging and show them what to look for. It's definitely tricky at first though, especially with mushrooms. If you'd ever like to give it a try, I'll take you out and double-check what you find."
“I may have got a bit carried away with enspelling some apples and things Briar found. I hope that’s alright? I mean, it’s very definitely not natural, but it wouldn’t fool anyone: I don’t think they make very convincing peach- or orange-apples. Though maybe that makes it worse?”
Rosella's extremely confused at first until she realizes what Alaïs did, at which point she gives the orange-apples an extremely skeptical look. "I probably won't eat them as long as we have alternatives. Biting into an apple and tasting an orange?" She makes an involuntary face. "It's not against my faith though if that's what you're worried about. I just can't imagine eating an 'orange' with an apple's texture."
She spends the evening going over the arrows she'd fired in the cairn, checking to see if any of them can be reused or repurposed. Luckily all of the arrowheads are still intact, and it doesn't take much time or effort to refletch the shafts.
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Broccan finishes eating, then goes to his pack and pulls out his bedroll. He unfurls it in a corner of the room, and sits down on it and beings removing his boots.
As he moves, he hums a simple tune in his own bad way. After his shoes, he stands and removes his shirt, showing the fresh pucker of all the injuries suffered in the morning's foray into to the cairn, as well as an older, deeper scar running diagonally from his jawline all the way across his chest and abdomen down to this hip-bone. The wound has long-ago-healed, but scarred as a result of stitching and a significant amount of skin and tissue loss.
He hangs his shirt on a protruding nail, then lays down on his bedroll, hands tucked under his head. He closes his eyes, and continues to hum for a few moments. Eventually, the tune loses coherence, and is replaced by a snore that can only come from having one's nose broken multiple times. Eventually, his mouth drops open, and he begins to breathe through it instead, and the snoring sound lessens considerably to a faint rumble.
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Briar settles down for the night wherever she can find. She's slept in worse places and without a roof over her head, so she can sleep anywhere if she needs to. As she lies down to sleep, she thinks back on the day previous and forward to the coming day. With how much they've found so far and with how much must be left to go, they should all come away from this with a pretty penny. Better than anything she'd get working as a Jenny. What are the others planning on doing after they finish this delve? Perhaps also getting out of town? Working with a crew for once is rather nice, and if it brings these kinds of returns, then she could get herself sorted quite well. She can already feel herself learning so much, the powers that Calistria has granted her buzzing with a new life she did not expect. Maybe they are like a muscle, and the more you flex them, the more they grow. And if this group of Raven Men is far larger than she thought, then she might need that power.
As she imagines how her power might grow, she finds herself imagining a life very different than this one, one grand and beautiful in scale, with a touch of violent revenge. She would be something right out of the opera. Every pragmatic instinct she's built up tells her that it would never be that simple...but she never has wanted a simple life, did she? Marked by Calistria as she is, a simple life was never on the table. Just think of the good she could do...and what terrible revenge she could wrought.
She shakes herself and smiles with a slight chuckle. She barely survived the day and here she is letting herself see her whole life through the veil of melodrama. A destination to keep in-mind, though. "Always watch your step, but always know where you're stepping to," Da had liked to say. She falls asleep thinking of all the places she would like to step.
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Kata eyes a morel and then pops it into her mouth, chewing slowly, savoring the bite. Lightly fried with a little flour, seasoned with salt and pepper; it was a simple - and delicious - way to eat such a prized find. "That's the greatest gift we can leave upon our passing, isn't it, Rosella? Knowledge, I mean, passed down from generation to generation, the accumulation of our lives over time, making each that comes next better in some way?"
Kata thinks of asking to wield the axe, but decides against it, not knowing if that would be insulting or taboo in Edrukk's culture. Instead, she raps the butt of her spear against the floor - a makeshift sign of appreciation. "That is a wonderful tale, Edrukk. Would you mind some day if I made it into a saga? I'm afraid I'm not as good a writer as I'm an orator, but I practice, and I'll do your family's tale justice, I promise."
Pulling off her shoes and socks - and suddenly conscious that she must smell bad - Kata retreats under her bedroll. Broccan's snoring is pleasant in its way - it reminds her of the noisy communal living of the Cairn of the Green Lady - and soon Kata has drifted off to a dark, dreamless sleep, the kind of utter surrender to the dreamlands that can only come from a day of exertion and hard, hard work.
As the first day of the party's adventures draws to a close, Sarenrae's sun sinks beneath the great silhouettes of the old hilltop observatory and the mighty standing stones, leaving the town of Diamond Lake, and the newly inhabited mine office, in a murky, blurred twilight—and soon in an ocean of blue, a cornflower summer night riddled with stars. Some in the party may actually struggle to fall asleep due to the brightness, but to those used to sleeping under the stars, it is a night that invites peaceful dreams.
But not all in the party sleep peacefully.
In hindsight, eating so many alcoholic berries right before bed might not have been such a good idea.
The morning is lit by a warm glow from the sun peeking over Diamond Lake when the adventurers begin to awaken, refreshed and ready to make plans for the new day.
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Briar wakes up wanting to go right back to sleep, but completely unable to even if she had the time. In her groggy, half-awake state, she tries to remember all of her dreams before they slip away into oblivion. It may clash with her pragmatic, jaded worldview, but she puts great stock in dreams. When you've already been marked for something, it's hard to not begin seeing signs and portents in everything. She'd have a Harrow deck if they weren't so expensive.
Hawks, robins, blackbirds, sparrows and a raven hiding amongst them. The metaphor seems clear there. There may be more nuance that she's missing due to not knowing much about birds other than ravens, but that's neither here nor there. The other part of the dream makes sense, too: be careful of who she assumes is a raven. Why a stirge though? That's a question that will have to remain to ponder. Briar has had to learn to hold questions in her head without demanding immediate answers, so she lets it go for now.
She brushes off her clothes, having slept in them, and collects her things before heading to prepare some breakfast for herself and the others. Whatever she prepares, she tries to pick something that does not require her to use any sharp objects, not wanting to risk any blood.
If anyone else is already up, they see the briefest moment of her shifting into social mode, lightening her steps and broadening her smile and brightening her eyes. Otherwise, she takes to food preparation methodically and mechanically.
Broccan rises, a bit groggy still from the bowl of magical berries he had with dinner, but largely feeling hale and healthy.
"Can'neh even ge'th' san'wich'z right," he mumbles as puts on his shirt and steps into his boots.
He rolls up his bedroll and stows it in his pack. He then begins the process of strapping on his his lamellar and weapons harness.
"Sorr'yif m'snor'n kep'tya'wake," he says to the room-at-large. "M'nose'z'been broke'eh few times'n so I sleep kine'eh noisy."
"Sorry if my snoring kept you awake. My nose has been broken a few times, and so I sleep kinda noisy."
As the sun rises, it finds Edrukk outside, his back to the dawn, kneeling before his greatsword. The blade extends to his left so that he can reach down with his right to grasp the pommel. His eyes are not on the blade, but fixed in the middle distance before him. After a some time, he begins to hum a tune reminiscent of an army on the move somehow. When the tune fades, his eyes focus once more and he reaches down to pick up the blade. Though he had worked it over the night before, as he had everyone else’s, he polished it to a fine sheen.
Standing, he nods toward the darker horizon, says, ”Thankee, Laird.”
He heads inside to see how his companions slept and finds Briar at work. ”Mornin’, lass. Sleep well, didja?”
Alaïs ends up staying up a bit later than the others: given her upbringing, “The night is young!” is a bit of a refrain or leitmotif that structures what passes for her usual schedule. Especially since she rarely has to get up at a particular time the next day, and even then, a decadent nap in the afternoon is often possible.
So she gets up easily regardless when the others’ stirrings wake her, and unfolds herself from the nook where she had arranged herself decoratively the night before. She’s used to much rougher on a long hike or hunt: not hanging from a tree or trying to make the best of a thin bedroll on hard earth with a spare chemise bunched up for a pillow is comparatively luxurious. Even half-ruined walls! Who would have hoped?
She spends a few minutes thinking about her dreams as she goes to pick some more berries to enhance with her magic just in case there are more traps and critters left in the cairn. One might be forgiven for wondering if it just gives her a direction for a morning ramble, whether it makes so much of a difference, magically, that the berries be that much more fresh off the branch, or if she’s just that much of a princess. Her dream of a castle does not lead her thoughts in any particular direction this morning, given why she’s in Varisia to begin with. And there are dreams, and there are “things that happen to you when you’re sleeping,” a distinction that Taldane isn’t particularly good at making, in Alaïs’ opinion. In any case, the details of her dream are evaporating quickly, so she doesn’t really worry about it for now.
“Oh, thank you!” she greets Briar, when she sees what the cheerful young woman’s been up to, before holding up her vial of new goodberries. “I thought I should make sure to prepare first thing, but next time we’re all sharing a morning, remind me not to slip away and I can help with breakfast. Although, while we’re on the subject, did we figure out what that ring was, yesterday? And wasn’t there some sort of scroll?”
The ring is a ring of feather falling. A dark, fluttering presence hangs around it—some minor haunt or spirit bound safely into the magic of slowing the wearer's fall.
Briar waves at Broc as he crawls in first. ”I’ve slept in worse flophouses than this. Troll in Kaer Maga is still the snoring champ. Whole building rumbled all night. Great fella though. He got drunk once cause he happened upon some deadly good black stuff and was chasing that feelin’. Problem is that first one was some one-of-a-kind magic concoction and his troll metabolism made it hard to get fluthered on anything less than a whole barrel of the normal stuff at once. Broke the bank pretty quick, hence the flophouse. Always treated me right, though. Wouldn’t tell anyone his name, so everyone called him Steffen. Don’t know why that name, though.”
She trails off, pondering the question of Steffen, when Ed comes in. ”Mornin’, Ed. I slept better than I expected but not as well as I’d like, which I’m gonna count as a ‘pretty good.’ Hope you slept well.”
Briar finally caved, realizing she’d need a knife to finish breakfast, and compromised by putting on her red gloves. She’s in the middle of chopping one of Alaïs’s experimental apples when the woman herself strides in and apologizes for not helping with breakfast. ”I just was up and figured why not, so no worrying. Can’t say it’ll be good, but it’s food. You can take a turn next time, as long as I haven’t killed you with me s*&~e cookin’.” She double checks to make sure she hasn’t accidentally nicked herself anywhere, just so she doesn’t *actually* kill someone. She’s kept it simple with bread, butter, and some fruit, as it’s what was there and she doesn’t know how to make much. She’s been lucky to even have salt the past ten years.
“Should I be worried that such would be the Lady’s pleasure?” Alaïs quips, quirking a playful brow. She knows that’s much more of a Norgorber thing to do, but many of the Calistrians she’s known will accept a flattering exaggeration of how volatile they may be, so she banters a bit as she tracks down the items that need identifying.
As it turns out, the scroll will doubtless be useful especially if someone ends up on the wrong end of a bowshot or spear-thrust like Rosella and Kata landed yesterday but Alaïs is particularly fascinated by the ring, which a second look after a night’s sleeping on the question lets her sort out.
“Pity we didn’t run into this earlier yesterday,” she says, peering quizzically through the jewel’s loop before returning it to Rosella. “But ‘woman proposes, goddess disposes,’ as they say. Anyway, it will save you from a nasty fall, so that’s good to know. I really ought to see how I might learn the usual spell for that myself, one of these days, but you know how it is…”
Well, at least Briar and Kata would, she presumes. Sometimes she does wish that she could find the dedication to study magic more rigorously, open her options up a bit, but that ship has long since sailed, carried by the winds of time and personal history especially. Too late to start chasing after your brothers now, if you even wanted to, really.
The elf bard wonders if, after a day of it, Rosella’s noticed what she’s been able to with a searching arcane glance. She’s somewhat curious about the scrap of spirit that seems attached to the ring, but only just: maybe it’s merely the sort of manifestation that haunts some of Alaïs own magic, a trace of the influences that can attend any caster or crafter’s work. It feels a bit dark, for lack of a better word, but not at all dangerous.
"I cou'run ov'r t'Taggit's'fore we'ead back t'th'cairn...er...for supplies'n'such, if we need," Broccan offers. "I got half'eh'plat'n coin, so I can'neh for an'nethin' fancy....er..bu'maybe sum'more rope'n lamp'oil'n such."
I could run over to Taggit's before we head back to the cairn...for supplies and such, if we need. I've got half-a-plat in coin, so I cannot afford anything fancy, but maybe some more rope and lamp oil, and such."
Rosella is up with the dawn, even though she hadn't slept particularly well. She's spent most of the past two years sleeping either under the stars or with Ava, (who doesn't snore), so Broccan did keep her up some. Between that and the unsettling dreams she'd had...she's functional, but still a little tired.
She's not going to be so impolite as to say that though, so when asked she simply smiles and lies. "Slept fine myself. You all did a good job fixing this place up yesterday; it's nice and cozy." She reaches for some bread but continues avoiding the experimental apples. Content to listen to the others banter, she's fairly quiet while she eats.
When Alaïs mentions the ring, her brow furrows for a second before realization hits. "Oh right, the ring! I'd forgotten all about it." She shakes her head with a smile. "Good thing you have a better memory. I'd end up bringing a fortune home in my pockets and just leaving it there." Now that she's been reminded of its existence, she looks curiously again at the feathery designs. "Saves you from a fall, huh? If we decide to check out that upper passage again, whoever goes needs to wear this. In the meantime, it should probably go to someone who's not that good at climbing. Just in case we need to rappel down any more holes."
”Give’t t’Edrukk, then,” Broccan suggests. ”Tha’way ‘e won’ have t’take’is armor off t’ clime’down an’nemore.”
”Ann’eone else com’n wi’me t’Taggit’s?” he then asks.
He pauses a few moments for the others to respond. If no one does, he heads back down to the town square and Taggit’s General Store.
"Ah jus' slow ye down, lad. 'ow much fer summa th' liquid fire? Ah might send some coin wit' ye if'n Ah 'ave 'nuff."
“Should I be worried that such would be the Lady’s pleasure?” Alaïs quips, quirking a playful brow. She knows that’s much more of a Norgorber thing to do, but many of the Calistrians she’s known will accept a flattering exaggeration of how volatile they may be, so she banters a bit as she tracks down the items that need identifying.
Briar raises an eyebrow back. "The Lady does love poison."--she of all people knew that well--"But it is not my pleasure. Not for you lot, anyways."
”Give’t t’Edrukk, then,” Broccan suggests. ”Tha’way ‘e won’ have t’take’is armor off t’ clime’down an’nemore.”
"I agree. I would rather he be safe and protected as much as possible." Thinking about armor reminds her that they found some yesterday that nobody has claimed. "Speakin' a' which, if nobody else wants it, I'd be fine to take that nice leather armor we found. I can only do that trick with the shadows for like an hour a day."
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Given the vagaries of funerals and the inconsistent timing of singing gigs, Kata's schedule tends to be erratic, and the elegist grabs sleep when she can get it. She sleeps in this morning as much as allowed, unbothered by the noise and conversation around her.
Eventually, still stiff from the exertion the day before, Kata climbs from her bedroll and rolls it neatly into a well, roll, and joins the others for breakfast. Sipping a strong cup of coffee , Kata hums to herself until the topic of alchemist's fire comes up. "Good idea. Lots of bugs still down there. Probably. I've got some gold I can pitch into buy some. What's a fire-bomb cost, Broccan? Forty gold?"
"Twenny'ah piece," Broccan replies to Kata. "I only go'tfive. 'swhy I was think'n lam'poil. 's cheap'r jus'don'burn's good. If y' wan't'chip'in sun'coins, I'll buy sum'eh th'real stuff."
"Twenty a piece. I've only got five, which is why I was thinking lamp oil. It's cheaper, but just doesn't burn as good. If you want to chip-in some coins, I'll buy some of the real stuff."
Kata pulls her remaining coin from her pack and presses it into Broccan's hand. "Please use this as you see fit. Lamp oil or fire bombs, either works for me."
Broccan accepts the coins from Kata and puts them in his pouch. "Anne'one else wann'eh throw'in'fore I get't'goin'?"
Rosella shakes her head. "Sorry, I'm pretty much out of gold. Quit my job a few months ago and have been running through what little I'd been able to save ever since. That's mostly why I'm here, to be honest. Needed the money." She shifts uncomfortably, feeling guilty about not being able to contribute.
"Edrukk, I think you having the ring makes a lot of sense just in case you need to climb down in a hurry. And I've no objections to you taking the armor Briar, my hide suits me just fine."
Briar heads off to the other room to change. "No peeking, you lot! Not unless you want to pay me five silver a head up front." She laughs, only half-joking.
The leather is...fine. Oh it's perfectly comfortable and practical, but the color. Coal black is just so drab and lifeless. She does admit that the combo of the boiled leather actual armor pieces and the more form-fitting undersuit allows for both protection and does not completely hide her curves.
Inspiration strikes and she shuffles through her backpack for the various pieces of her working clothes. She takes the red scarf and wraps it around her neck, slips on the bangles, wrapping and tying the streams of sheer red fabric around so they won't get loose and catch, the bangles themselves holding tight with the extra thickness of the leather bracers. She puts the fitted belt and shin-length dress (red, who would have guessed) on under the leather armor's skirt. Lastly, she throws on her cavalier hat and pulls back on her red leather gloves. She feels attractive and bright without sacrificing any protection or coverage, only her face and the back of her head uncovered.
She finally comes out dressed in her new ensemble and places her hands on her hips. "That's better! Needed to make a few adjustments to feel a bit more at home. What'd you think?"
Broccan gives a low whistle and a wink of approval as he heads out the door for Taggit's with enough coin to make the agreed upon purchases for the group.
Rosella flushes a little as she looks Briar up and down. (Mostly up. She does her best to keep her eyes above the neckline, despite the fact that the armor shows less skin than had been visible before.) "Um. Looks good! Really, really good. The, um, black color and the red, um, accents? Is that what they're called? Anyway, it's, um, good."
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Eyebrow raised, Edrukk looks at Briar's ensemble appraisingly. "Don' think 't'll trip ye up. Oughta work fine." He returns to trying to rub some unidentifiable thing from his shield.
"Ye know, Kata, if'n yer interested 'n 'ow other weaponry compares t' yer spear, ye c'n try me axes. Th' big'un 's prolly not fer ye, but th' lil ones might suit ye fine."
Convinced by the other's remarks, he takes the ring with the feather motif and looks at it closely. He mutters, "Don' know 'ow 'is 's supposed t' fit a dwarf's fing...," and it slips onto his hand, snug as you please. He stares at it for a moment, then snaps his hand at the ground as if testing to see if it will fall off. He just shakes his head and grins at his own foolishness. "Magic."
Taggin, the amiable master of Diamond Lake's largest general store, happily sells Broccan the goods requested—with one exception. "Afraid we're all out o' the spitfire, big guy. Sold my last two flasks just yesterday! You'd think people wouldn't need any help gettin' warm on a day like this, but, well..." He laughs, and offers Broccan an extra flask of oil half-off for his troubles.
Broccan makes his way alone back to the mine overseer's office, and an hour later, is reunited with the party. Gathered together once more, the party ventures back out to the Whispering Cairn.
All is as it was before, to their reckoning, when they return to the lantern chamber. The wolf, at least, is nowhere to be found.
Briar raises her chin, proud of the reaction she got. ”Thankee, Broc—oh there he goes. And right you are, Ms. Ella: accents is what they’re called.” She notices Ella trying to keep her eyes up. ”Much a gentlewoman you are. I like that.” She throws her a playful tilt of her head before turning to Ed, not missing a step. ”I appreciate you thinkin’ of practical matters, Ed. I’ve danced in this here skirt a thousand an’ one nights, so I’m used to the flow of it. I’m not one to die for fashion.”
Briar stretches and straps her shield back on. ”Head back down the way we went last and try to finish her off? Sound good to you lot?”
Of the eleven flasks of lamp oil, Broccan claims two. He also claims one of the torches, and one of the found healing potions. He fits them into his bandolier. Finally, he takes one of the empty loot sacks, and stuffs it into his pack.
"I'gree, les'fin'sh th'firs'shaf be'fore we go look'n else'where," he replies. He looks to Edrukk. "D'ya wan'eh try'ou'tyer new'ring?"
"Ye know, Kata, if'n yer interested 'n 'ow other weaponry compares t' yer spear, ye c'n try me axes. Th' big'un 's prolly not fer ye, but th' lil ones might suit ye fine."
Kata smiles, obviously pleased that Edrukk would share more of his knowledge. "Yes! I'd love to learn to throw those. I have a sling and some bullets as well, but I've not even practiced with it - other than lobbing a bit of rubble yesterday. I'd appreciate any tips!"
Nodding in agreement, Kata looks into the broken elevator shaft, silently hoping they've done away with the most harmful of the cairn's inhabitants. "Sounds like a solid plan."
"Before we go down, if I could borrow the ring and some rope for a minute..." Rosella looks up towards the trapped passageway. "I'll just go get your rope back real quick. No sense in leaving it up there forever."
Once the ring is on her finger (just in case), she aims her bow and grappling arrow towards the ledge. It takes two attempts, but eventually Briar's rope seems secure enough to climb. Bringing a hammer with her to remove the pitons, Rosella shimmies up the rope. She works as quickly as she can, shooting worried glances towards the open mouth that had caused them so much trouble the day before.
Edrukk will happily share the ring with Rosella and watch with vaguely worried eyes as she climbs and until she reappears, dislodges her fancy arrow, and floats back down on the ring’s magic.
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Inspiration strikes and she shuffles through her backpack for the various pieces of her working clothes. She takes the red scarf and wraps it around her neck, slips on the bangles, wrapping and tying the streams of sheer red fabric around so they won't get loose and catch, the bangles themselves holding tight with the extra thickness of the leather bracers. She puts the fitted belt and shin-length dress (red, who would have guessed) on under the leather armor's skirt. Lastly, she throws on her cavalier hat and pulls back on her red leather gloves. She feels attractive and bright without sacrificing any protection or coverage, only her face and the back of her head uncovered.
She finally comes out dressed in her new ensemble and places her hands on her hips. "That's better! Needed to make a few adjustments to feel a bit more at home. What'd you think?"
“Rich tones suit you,” Alaïs concludes appreciatively, admiring the way Briar's managed to put the red and black together throughout her outfit, trying not to grin at Rosella’s discomfiture , and also doing her level best to not be jealous of how easily Briar is able to personalize and liven up what is otherwise fairly plain armour.
For her own part, Alaïs doesn’t think she’s quite figured out how to combine adventuring gear with what she actually likes to wear, and a memory of her old governess’ remonstrations flashes across her thoughts, “Oh, Miss Alaïs, not in the green silk! What will your parents say? You know there’s linen and wool for more rambunctious playtime!” Maybe one day she’ll find an all-purpose outfit that she actually likes, though she expects it will take more mithral and magic than her parents were entirely keen on her adorning herself with while she’s gallivanting about the wilds of Varisia on her own.
Alaïs keeps her eyes – and even more so, her ears – open as the group returns to their explorations. She strains to hear any more voices, but for now, they seem either to have resigned themselves to her presence and that of the others, or are keeping their displeasure to themselves. There is, as far as she can tell, just a breath and a whisper of wind that tugs at her hair and her skirts that seems to come from no particular or constant direction.
Briar stretches and straps her shield back on. ”Head back down the way we went last and try to finish her off? Sound good to you lot?”
“Very,” Alaïs says, a bit bemused. It’s been a while since she’s been lumped in with ‘you lot.’ Not since – it must have been Marquise S.-----’s ball, I think.
Her glance slides towards the indigo alcove as Rosella climbs into the blue. “Should we check this one as well, like we did the yellow? It doesn’t look like anything is about to go off or climb out of either of them, but just to be sure?”
The party returns to the emerald shaft, descending speedily and without trouble. Only a few scattered acid beetles skitter between their feet as they venture down the northern hall.
Numerous pegs extend from the walls of the alcoves on either side of the passage, but nothing hangs from them now save someone's old rusty cast-iron pot. The hallway drops off further north into a steep set of stairs.
The crackling torch's light reflects off of dark waters lapping against the seventh step down. Beyond that, even those with eyes for starlight or pitch darkness can make out little. Past the sixth step descend about seven more, but one would have to go for a little swim to see more.
”Thank you kindly, Alaïs. I always felt the same way about rich tones, so I’m glad at the validation. Never could pull off the Calistrian yellow well.” The last thing she needs is a yellow outfit bringing attention to the sickly pallor of her skin and the green in her veins. She has to try rather hard to keep those hidden as is.
”Well, s+@&e. I wasn’t expectin’ that. Way I see it, we’d need darkvision to see down there, so that leaves me an’ Ed to go swimmin’. Probably best to take a peek under the water real quick and see how far it goes.” She points to Kat and Alaïs. ”Would appreciate a drying cantrip for me hair in a minute.” She takes off her hat and ties her hair back while she approaches the water’s edge. An idea strikes and she goes back and takes her rope and ties it around her waist and hands the end off to the others. ”In case somethin’ tries to pull me in.” She then holds her nose and sticks her head under the water to take a look around.
Briar sees that there is a wall about five feet into the chamber below which conceals everything beyond—not unlike the sort one might see tastefully blocking the view into a changing room or bathhouse.
Briat pulls out her head out of the water and walks back to the group, wringing out her hair. She’s not particularly happy about the damage to her makeup, less out of vanity and more because she doesn’t want anyone worrying about her strange complexion and veins. ”There’s a wall about five feet in that blocks the view, but it can be gone around. More importantly, I think I might’ve heard somethin’ movin’ towards the surface.”
Edrukk spends the time while Briar is taking her peek to extract his rope and tie it around his waist. Handing the rest to someone in the party, he says, ”’s a good idee. Don’ let ‘t pull m’ down.” His backpack is likewise removed and passed up through the party so it’s not weighing him down and not in people’s way.
He readies to attack any threatening creature from the water with his waraxe. Shield likewise readied.
Rosella holds onto Edrukk's rope as he prepares himself for combat. "Bows don't work all that great underwater, but I can make sure you stay above the surface. Or maybe we'll get lucky and whatever it is will poke its head out for us."
Broccan offers his remaining sunrod to Briar. "This'll shine un'd'water," he says, "'n'case'ts too dark t'see down'ere."
He draws his shortsword and stands ready near Edrukk, prepared to stab anything that comes out of the water.
Briar waved off the sunrod. ”I can see through darkness fine, Broc. I have a particular power over shadows thanks to The Lady, and it just wouldn’t do to stick me with somethin’ like that without being able to see in the dark.”
As she sees the others get ready, she pulls out one of her extra daggers and waits to see if anything is coming.
Edrukk readies an action to attack if whatever’s coming is aggressive toward the party and it’s in reach.
Edrukk’s AC is currently 18 with the heavy shield.
Broccan holds his shortsword ready to strike if the creature gets within arms reach.
Alaïs is impressed and horrified by the others’ enthusiasm for diving into a cold, flooded death-trap in about equal measure, but, since she’s still concentrating on catching any sinister whispers or other signs of restless spirits, and doesn’t want to do something as crude as splutter, Briar’s already gone for a brief dip and Edrukk is gearing up for another before she’s collected herself to actually speak.
She can understand the appeal of self-sufficiency for those who can see in true darkness – not just lower light than ordinary humans can – but at the same time, for people blessed with both that and vision in colour where there’s light enough, she can't imagine giving the latter up short of a definite tactical advantage or other necessity.
“Hold on,” she says, checking to see who’s got a torch, and retreating to retrieve the rusty pot she saw hanging in the hall. She returns shortly humming and beating a rhythm on it indifferently, with an apologetic glance at Kata, who’s actually interested in percussion, “The minstrel boy to the wars has gone / In the ranks of death you’ll find him / His father's sword he's girded on / And his wild harp slung behind him…”
She casts her illuminating cantrip on the pot, the one on her gauntlet going out, and asks, “Could one of us pitch this around the wall, or at least in front of it? Maybe that would stir up whatever’s swimming around in there. And are any of us strong swimmers? I’m not terrible, but I’m not brilliant either, especially in armour, and I suppose somehow we’ll have to see if we can find a way to drain that room…”
Alaïs would wish that one of her brothers were present, except she would hate how helpless it would make her feel. Instead, she is about to offer her regrets for not growing up in a region of Kyonin where she would have been likelier to develop an aptitude for aquatic sport…