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Constantine Sarini.
Well. Emma rubs at her face and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet. Well, well.
That was...
That was something.
Before this moment, she had been sulking a bit. It was indulgent and probably a bit childish of her. She was doing a little better in regards to trusting herself and acting with more confidence, but...once again, she'd found herself nearly done in by one of the demonic insects. It wasn't a question of whether or not she felt it was right to place herself in harms way to try and protect others - it was a question, however, of whether or not she was any good at it. What good was a paladin who could barely protect herself?
So deep in her thoughts, she hadn't even gotten a chance to attack the frog when it had appeared, though it was just as well - she couldn't stand the taste of them at any rate. She had no trouble steering clear of the corpse afterwards, letting the others take their turns in poking and prodding at it.
She never would've even noticed the resemblance in the pictures, with how lost in her head she was.
Not until it was pointed out.
And now, here they were.
This revelation changed the context of a lot of things. And right now, it was like clearing the slate. Here they were, a group of companions, and yet...at the same time, it was as though they'd been moved back to square one. Everything needed to be recontextualized, reconsidered.
It was as though they were meeting again for the first time.
Emma wasn't a local, and so, she wasn't as familiar with the specific history of this particular group of Sarini's. But she had heard the name before. It was one of the more wider known noble names out of Cheliax. She'd been taught of the House before, with their not particularly glamorous nickname "Lapdogs of Hell." Some of the things that the noble family had been infamous for were...troubling, to say the least. It was enough for her to know that this manor was likely going to hold some dark secrets, even if she wasn't familiar with the particular group in question.
Emma watches from a distance as Hannelia winces slightly as Sirio begins to eagerly engage with Constantine, urging him to take on the family name. As observant as she is, it's likely that Hannelia had noticed the resemblance in the painting - and just as likely that she hadn't planned on mentioning it. She'd gotten to know the other woman well enough by this point that she knew Hannelia would've preferred not to bring it up until they weren't in the middle of their investigation.
She continues watching as Roger tries to diplomatically dissuade Sirio from doing so, and then as Sirio snaps back and persists.
And then there was Constantine.
Emma regards her companion with slightly narrowed eyes.
This entire time, he had been essentially lying about his identity. It seemed suspect at best. Had Constantine known that there were dark goings on at this manor at the very beginning? And if he had, why would he not want to suggest investigating the manor far earlier than they had? Had Constantine known that something - that Wormgnash - had been manipulating things behind the scenes? Maybe he hadn't known that there was a direct connection, but even so, he had likely been worried about it coming up and was hoping it wouldn't be the case. Or perhaps he was under the thrall of something more powerful, but...
Emma tilts her head, frowning, combing through her memories of their time together.
How many times had Contantine been there in the thick of things with them, ready to take on whatever challenged them along the way? He was always asking their group if they were alright after a battle, and showing concern when anyone was hurt. He and Emma had stood side by side on more than one occasion - she'd never felt any doubt in the moment that Constantine wasn't to be trusted, that he wouldn't have done his best to defend her had the opportunity arisen. It's a strange kind of trust that can spring up in a battle, but it does tend to reveal a lot about a person. He had shown concern for what they had been forced to kill, and had questioned the need to do it. His earlier question regarding the nature of people made a lot more sense now in context. Were people born bad? It hadn't stuck out as particularly odd at the time, but now, in retrospect, it seemed incredibly likely that Constantine had been wondering about this very moment, the moment where his lineage had been laid bare before them.
Emma looks to Hannelia. She's reasonably certain that Hannelia has come to the same conclusion she has.
Regardless of what his surname may be...Constantine is a good man.
"Constantine...I don't care what your family name is. Sarini or Fioritura, it matters not. Not to me. I've gotten to know you, as Constantine, both through conversation, and through your actions standing by our side in battle."
She turns to look at Sirio. "I know you two have a history, and I don't know what your stake in this fully is - Iomedae knows I'm not the most observant person in the world. This isn't something Constantine has to decide right at this moment, and regardless of what he does or doesn't decide to do, it's his decision to make. And if he doesn't want to talk about it right now, that's also his decision to make."
She turns back to Constantine. "I trust you. I know that you're a good man - your actions have shown us this." She walks up closer to Constantine. "Do you remember when we were investigating that gravesite? I reached out with my senses, looking for any traces of evil...I never got a ping from you." She hesitates, looking at the others, thinking over her words carefully. Constantine's statement from before...
"Earlier, you mentioned that no one is born bad, and it's what people do that matters. Well, what you've done has told me everything I need to know. You can't choose your family - something my Mom often said, especially when in reference to my erstwhile father - but you can choose what you do. You can choose what you become. And you don't owe the Sarini family name a thing if that's how you feel about it."
As the others stare at him and talk about his name, his birthright, Constantine's face is etched inscrutable, his eyes shifting back and forth at each one as they speak their piece.
"Thank you," he says softly as Emma finishes her tirade. Part of him had been worried about what their group's paladin would think. If she would see something in him that he himself didn't know about. That she didn't--and further that she thought he was a good man--was heartening. "We do have more important things to deal with now."
If they wanted to know later, he would tell them what he knew, which was still precious little. It was amazing what an infernally influenced government could do to destroy documentation if they wanted to. Even though his blood relation to these century-dead relatives was distant--a few generations at least--Constantine had learned more about the Sarinis in the last week than he had for most of the last ten years. Or at least he had learned more that he felt confident that he could trust. Saringallow was undoubtedly the best place to learn the truth, untainted by the censors of House Thrune.
"But when we get back to town, please...don't tell anyone. Not yet."
Constantine points towards the door that Hannelia had started moving towards. "Let's keep moving. While the light is still on our side."
Pleased - and relieved - that the others have all being weighing in and judging Constantine as they man they knew rather than they name they didn't, Hannelia's heart lightens a bit. It's going to be ok, she thinks. We can sort this out. "Yes," she says. "Yes, Emma, I completely agree with everything you've said." And I'm so glad you mentioned that part about the graveyard. I hope Constantine picked up on that. I know he truly does believe what he says about blood and deeds but if he has any nagging doubts about it hopefully that will ease his mind. I know I'd always have that in the back of my mind if I were him.
"And yes, Constantine," she focuses her attention to the man. "Of course it's for you to decide who to tell and when." She looks at the painting one more time. "With your permission, I'd like to take that portrait with us when we leave. I'm not sure how we manage it or whether there's a chance of success but I do think Sirio is correct that perhaps we need a collective reckoning with history and part of that involves looking at it." She looks around the room at the ruined opulence of the mansion. "Equally, part of me wants to raze this place to the ground so it no longer casts such a dark shadow over the town. Maybe this is crazy, I don't know. I definitely don't have all the answers. But I do think we have an opportunity to make a change."
Realising that emotion has somewhat get the better of her in her speech she pauses. "So yes, there's plenty to discuss later, if you like, but let's do so when we can do so at leisure. Because of course you're right that we should keep moving." She turns back to the door she had been searching. "If everybody is ready, shall we go?"
Constatine takes a deep breath and sighs. He then smiles again at Hannelia. By the Everbloom, he appreciated her calming words.
"You have as much claim to the portrait as I do," he says. I haven't been a Sarini for a very long time. "I trust your judgment."
Reckoning with history. Making a change. It's enough to almost make Constantine dizzy. He certainly hopes so.
Sirio ruffles a bit at the group's interjections, but then dons his mask of diplomatic calm. "Of course Constantine should be the one to decide. We still must get to the bottom of the goings on here in any case. We'll continue to talk about this. Perhaps over a pint. I'll not speak of it to another soul until you are ready, you have my word." He smiles in a way that doesn't touch his eyes.
He swivels toward Hannelia, "Ms. Venator, have you detected anything on the other side of the door?"
Emma regards Sirio for a few moments in silence, eyes slightly narrowed. She keeps her gaze steady, long enough that it would be uncomfortable should Sirio happen to notice. He seems perfectly calm at a surface glance, but there's something off about his smile.
Finally, she turns away. Constantine may be the one to have a connection to this dark place, but it's Sirio she'll be keeping an eye on.
Whatever the full history between the two is, it's their business. At least for the moment, things seem to be settled. She doesn't believe for a second that Sirio is ready to let it go, though.
"Yes, we should move on," Emma agrees. "There's still much left to investigate here." She waits to see what Hannelia has to say about the door before moving on, however.
"Och, well, as long as you'll keep it a secret till he makes his decision.." Roger shakes his head. Goodness. Couldn't they give a boy a moment to think? At least Emma gave kinder words, Roger felt himself nodding along to.
Constantine tries to distract himself from his nagging thoughts by trying to figure out where the next thing that would try to kill him would come from.
***
Hannelia sifts through the wreckage with a keen and experienced eye, running her fingers along the undersides of what pieces of furniture remain intact, rapping her knuckles along the door lintels and a few likely spots on the walls... She has just found a spot that echoes slightly hollow under her questing fingers when Constantine holds up the painting, and everything comes to a tense halt for long minutes.
Claim the Sarini name, cleanse it-- or draw the line in the sand of your difference, so stark as to distance yourself from this bloody lineage forever... a difficult choice, for Constantine, and the varied opinions of his companions fly thick and fast in the air for several moments. It's a little while before Hannelia's attention can again return to what she noticed.
When the agreement is made to move on, she signals for just a moment, having found something. Her deft fingers find a hidden catch, and a secret compartment in the wall by the door falls open to reveal items that the Sarinis perhaps stashed here in case they ever needed to defend their home-- or flee from it.
The supplies bundled into the hidden alcove are: a shortbow, ten cold iron arrows, a smoke pellet, a tanglefoot bag, a thunderstone, a feather that seems painted with a curious design (tree feather token), and a small handful of coins of platinum, gold, and silver .
No sooner has Hannelia started to remove the items from their hidden storage spot than you all simultaneously hear a voice, a toneless whisper, though you see no speaker evident:
Thieves, I see. Or do you claim this place by your supposed birthright, Sarini-kin? And the rest of you. Who are you all? Interlopers, I think...
Holding her hand up, Hannelia lets the others know she's found something. She clicks open a hidden panel to reveal some supplies which she carefully removes to look at properly. As she does so, a voice speaks up from somewhere, catching her by surprise.
Quickly working through the words and wanting to give away as little as possible, though clearly it has an awareness of where they are and must have overheard their conversation. Instead she challenges the hidden speaker. "May we know who we are talking to? If you see fit to challenge our presence, it would be good to understand your own claim to be here."
Sarini-kin.
Well, someone was eavesdropping. Hiding? Invisible? Agh, Constantine would need to put some effort into developing improved sensory abilities. Being caught unawares like this simply would not do. Even if the last one to do this to them--that curious fey on the mountain path--was more or less benign.
"Aye," Constantine continues after Hannelia, casting his gaze around surreptitiously. "You call us interlopers, but as far as I know I'm the only one here related to the original inhabitants of this house." He was probably the first living Sarini to step foot in these unhallowed walls in over a century. "So who are you?"
There is a pause before a reply; the whispering voice 'sounds' more uncertain and querulous when it continues.
I... do not know. I lived here... long ago. Many, many years. I have forgotten... much. You are skilled in the ways of magic? You can help me? To leave....?
"So you knew Marcius? Sadira? Luca?" Constantine asks the voice. He looks over at Hannelia and Emma. They seemed to be the best at reading people of all of them. "Did they bind you here?"
A devil might make a certain amount of sense...
"Ah... The spooky bits a' the story." Roger's eyes scan around, and it seems his steps become a little more cautious. Mayhaps Roger's been a part of a ghost story or two in his time. But he seems to be more on guard than wishing to take charge in the situation.
Listening to the reply, Hannelia is wary but not discounting what the voice is saying. ”Perhaps it did. Perhaps not - many people have lived here but it also feels convenient to not answer the question.” Her natural wariness has kicked in and she probes further. ”How did you come to be trapped here and why have you not been freed before now?”
The voice has only gotten out a few words before her sword is in her hand. She tightens her hand on her shield, instinctively drawing closer to the others. Emma's eyes scan her surroundings, but of course, nothing visibly looks out of the ordinary...not yet at least.
As Constantine and Hannelia ask their questions, challenging the voice, Emma remains in a ready position, her eyes roaming over the room, listening as it speaks.
"And what purpose would freeing you have have, might I ask?" Emma adds. "If you've truly been here as long as you claim, would it not be preferable to instead move on from this plane?"
Even as she asks her question, Emma narrows her eyes slightly. Perhaps it's intuition. Perhaps it's a gentle nudging from Iomedae herself. Regardless of the source, Emma is fairly sure that this voice is lying - not just that it's lying, but that it's attempting to scope out what their groups capabilities are. That doesn't necessarily mean it's out and out evil - it could simply be cautious about them and attempting to protect itself, but...it's not exactly a comforting sign.
Emma knew it would be wise to try and convey as much to the others, without trying to tip off the voice that she knows what it's trying to do. But how to do so? This was never her forte, but given the circumstances, she has to give it her best shot. Hopefully the others haven't been too rattled to understand what she's about to do.
"I suppose I only ask my questions out of curiosity. I like stories, see. And our sea captain here has told us many stories about spirits he's encountered on his voyages." As she speaks, she looks at her companions, trying to convey her warning with her eyes. She looks at each of her companions in turn.
"A spirit possessed him you see, and it would've succeeded in taking over, except the rest of the crew was so drunk, it wasn't able to get the information it needed." She looks at Constantine, and then Hannelia, figuring that they're likely the two most likely to understand what she's doing.
Roger had told them no such story.
But the voice didn't need to know that, and hopefully, they would pick up on it as well.
"And as a result, our captain friend was able to help the spirit move on." She carefully avoided using any names as well. She wasn't sure how long it had been listening - likely long enough to know such basic information - but regardless, she wasn't keen on giving it anything else until they knew what it truly wanted.
As Emma speaks up, Hannelia maintains a straight face despite her initial puzzlement. It's not like her to go off on tangents like this but I'm sure there's a good reason for it. As Emma continues the story, she realises that she is conveying a message, confirming that Hannelia's instinct to not trust it and give away as little as possible was prudent. Smart lady. Perhaps she can sense its nature? or even the speaker itself - I don't have a handle on where it is. It clearly already knows something about us but let's not help it out.
She catches the paladin's eye and gives a slight nod to show she understood the message. "It's a good story," she agrees, "and one with a valuable lesson." Your move, she thinks, waiting for the reply to their questions.
"I hadn't thought I'd ever told that one... bit embarrassing really what with getting possessed and all. Ah, musta been a bit deep in the cups that night." It's uncertain whether Roger got the message or not... Did he really have a story like that? But he didn't object to the claim of captaincy, so perhaps he was playing along.
Constantine picks up what Emma is putting down and is glad that he responded the way he did--neither confirming nor denying. After all, the unseen creature wasn't answering their questions--why should they provide concrete answers in return?
The once-Sarini slowly draws his sword back out from its sheath where it had gone when he started looking more seriously at the painting. It's a dull but still unmistakable sound. And more importantly, he keeps his mouth shut, only nodding to Emma.
Leave... yes... leave this plane, this place... it's terrible here. I cannot tell you who I am, I do not know. Only... I have been here so long... I have forgotten. I think I was-- a girl? There was a little boy. I gave him lessons. Mistress was awful... Please, I only want to be let go to whatever comes after all this....
Constantine finds the voice inscrutable. But the hairs prickle on the back of his neck. This was the sort of thing he had read about in stories where something was being compelled to fight against its will and only wanted release. Tightening the grip on his sword, he is prepared to help send her on her way if that's what she's asking for, or to defend himself and the others if she was slinking around to prepare an attack.
With her guard up from the beginning and Emma's coded warning telling her that she had been right, Hannelia is sceptical as the voice spins another sob story. The tone here is all over the place, changing tack as it desperately hopes for something to get through to us but I'm not buying it. Nothing about what it's saying there rings true. She is, however, concerned that some of her companions may be taken in, and she is particularly worried that Constantine may be susceptible in his vulnerable state.
"I'm sorry to hear that," she replies. "There are many mysteries here it would seem. We came with some of our own, too, didn't we? Perhaps if your memory returns we may be able to help each other." She pointedly looks Constantine in the eye. "The receipt for the building supplies, for example - that's an interesting puzzle we would do well to consider and between us perhaps we could solve it." She trusts that the others will pick up on her warning that like the document they found, all here is not as it initially appears to be.
She stops for a second to let her words sink in. "You seem to know where we are," she continues, "can you tell us where we can find you?" asks Hannelia in a gentler tone.
"Question! If we burn the house down, will that free ya? I feel like maybe at this point that's a valid option." Roger offers a firebrand's solution.
Constantine shoots a look towards the pirate that makes it abundantly clear that the house will not be burned down until sufficient answers are found.
"Oh, sorry." Roger takes pause at Constantine's fire. Before starting to hum an tune and tap the Falchion he currently has resting on his shoulder against the ceiling as though some music was definitely called for in the situation.
Thouhh the 'voice' itself is toneless, you can still sense sudden impatience and annoyance in the clipped pace of the next words.
Enough of this! You fools seek to fool ME? You've already told me all I need to know!
It says nothing more.
***
After Hannelia confirms she detected no obvious threats on the door itself, or sounds from beyond it, Constantine takes the lead in trying the door. It isn't locked, though the hinges creak and groan as the door swings open.
The room beyond was once a comfortable drawing room. A large fireplace against one wall lies cold now, and velvet-upholstered furniture shows signs the mob came through here as well: settees and tables and chairs have been upturned or smashed, the fabric torn and batting poking out like oddly-fluffy bones. A large mirror that once hung over the fireplace is shattered, only a few dusty shards yet clinging to the frame, the most of them on the floor, mingled with small objects that speak to mundane pleasures once upon a time: small carved pieces of glass or marble for use in board games, stray Harrow cards, dice, and other diversions. The mob trampled all these things. A harp sits in one corner of the room, its frame cracked as from a hard blow and half its strings slashed.
You scan the room cautiously for threats but detect nothing stirring. A single door leads north out of this chamber.
As you move in, with broken glass and game pieces crunching occasionally underfoot....
...you seem to hear the faint strains of music swelling...
Roger, glancing around for the source of the sound, you notice in the broken mirror-shards not your own reflections, but an evening in this drawing room, with well-dressed people relaxing to the sounds of the harpist's genteel playing. You can see a young servant girl pours tea and sherry for the well-to-do family, but when she lifts her face from serving drinks and looks up seemingly right at you, Roger, her eyes and mouth are welling with blood. In the mirror shard, her mouth moves, soundless, no noise but the sweet strings of the harp.
"Bleeding-Ghost-Barnacles!" Roger yells in alarm as he throws the Falchion in panic at something.
Roger's superb combat reflexes lead him to hurl his falchion at what is left of the mirror, hanging above the fireplace. It... hits... though whether or not that does anything but knock a few more shards of glass out of the mirror and also leave a nasty dent in Roger's blade is up for debate.
The silvered shards topple forth and land with their fellows on the floor, and the music picks up... and then so does the glass, and the playing cards, and the chess pieces and the knucklebones...
They move as if swept up in an unseen wind-- or as if dancing to the music you can hear in snatches. Shards of glass and sharp-edged cards hiss against any unarmored parts of your person-- a marble bishop cracks against someone's temple--
Entering the room, Hannelia is unprepared for the hail of debris swirling about and can't get out of the way quick enough as she is bombarded by shards of glass and assorted knick knacks.
A haunting tune is playing but she can neither see the source of it nor that of the storm of objects. "Whoa!" she yelps as Roger hurls falchion. "Do you see something?" she calls, "because I don't. How do we make this stop?" Moving to a corner of the room she ignores the cuts she has acquired from the glass and game pieces, chants through the words to a cantrip, looking for magical sources of energy.
Constantine steels himself against the surging feelings of dread as an all-too familiar sight begins spinning: the spirits are alight in this room. He raises his shield to deflect the shards of glass and cards. "Spirits!" he shouts. "Positive energy, holy water, performative displays, or treating injuries will allay them."
Constantine reaches into his bag and uncorks the holy water that Father Ruvarra had granted them, trying to identify the spot where the Haunt was originating from, and pouring the contents on it.
"Spirits?" Hannelia yells back, somewhat confused. "You mean like... ghosts? Or do you mean some kind of force is animating all of this?" She gestures expressively, swinging an arm towards the whirlwind of materials. "And are we aiming at the eye of the storm or some place else?" She tries to get a good view of where Constantine is liberally splashing the holy water from the temple.
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"What I just told you! Bleeding Ghosts!" Roger answers Hannelia with perhaps not his normal level of kindness under the harsh circumstances.
"Performative displays? What, ye want me to get Jiggy with the ghosts?" Roger looks at Constantine like he's insane. But then, true to form, Roger bursts into song and dance.
"Oh there once was boy who tasted the sea-" He begins, vigoriously crossing his arms and jigging around, handily dodging waves of broken glass. What Roger direly direly lacks in tune, rhythm or grace he makes up with enthusiasm, as he eagerly gets out of the way of the others moving along side the room in case they've got something better to do. -an' found that he liked the salt ye see!"
Spirits, ghosts, phantasms--there wasn't time to get into the intricacies of the different manifestations of the unquiet dead. Were they conscious and willful or purely beings of instinct? How did they interact with the material world? "Spirits" was just a good catch-all for the phenomena, which...
And Roger was singing and dancing.
Constantine smiles, watching the chaos of a pirate prancing in the eye of a malevolent storm. "Aye: rig-a-jig-jig, Roger!"
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Following the ominous pronouncement from the voice, Emma isn't sure what to expect when they enter the following room.
Perhaps it had been foolish of her to expect a tangible threat for them to fight, but she's caught off guard when the haphazard looking room seems to be devoid of any discernable threat. The bits of music that seem to be coming from somewhere in the room don't exactly do much to set her mind at ease, either. She walks in with the others, frowning, waiting for something to happen, half expecting some kind of monster to come charging through the wall.
She doesn't have to wait long.
Moments after they've entered, Roger lets out a yelp and throws his falchion at a mirror, causing it to shatter. Emma lets out a cry of surprise and shields her face, wondering what had set the pirate off. Before she can get a chance to ask, bits of glass and other debris begin to swirl around by some kind of unseen wind, almost as though in tune with the snippets of music.
The debris catches her off guard, and she winces as bits of glass tear into her skin. Hannelia, also seemingly caught off guard, takes cover from the debris. Emma raises her shield against the debris, though the damage has already been done. At least it hadn't hurt too much.
"Spirits!" he shouts. "Positive energy, holy water, performative displays, or treating injuries will allay them."
Of course, Emma thinks. Probably should have been obvious, given what's going on and where we are. She has a vial of holy water that they'd received, but in the chaos of the moment, she isn't sure where exactly to use it. Hannelia seems equally confused by what to do, even as Constantine begins to use his - whether he has a sense for where to use it, or is simply guessing, she's not sure.
And then, apparently taking the bit about performative displays to heart, Roger begins to sing and dance around the room.
For a moment, the absurdity of the action dwarfs everything else going on, and Emma simply watches as the grizzled pirate sings and dances.
Emma can't help but smile. Of all the lessons she'd been taught over the years...
Much of her life back home had been about training. She'd learned various forms of combat. She'd gone over bits of history and religious lore. She'd studied under the tutelage of various soldiers and guards as they passed through. Life at the fort had never been lacking for tasks to be done, and her mother was never shy about assigning various duties for Emma to perform.
But this particular lesson had come from someone else.
At twelve years old, Emma's life was never lacking for things to do. Between her studies on religious lore and the various nations of Golarion, the physical conditioning, and lessons on how to interact with various sects of people, she didn't have much in the way of free time.
It wasn't unusual for people to pass through the area, either stopping in for a respite or to gather supplies before moving on. Often, it included various paladins - not just of Iomedae, but a variety of faiths. Her mother would sometimes go on missions with them, leaving Emma to her studies. The latest visitor was a paladin of Desna - and though her mother had gone out on several missions with her, it was clear her mother didn't get along all that well with her. In a moment of candor one evening, her mother had confided in Emma that the followers of Iomedae and Desna didn't often see eye to eye on how to get things done - that followers of Desna tended to be too merciful and fanciful to actually get anything done. But that it was still important to work together for the greater good.
Emma had never met the paladin of Desna personally. But she had met her daughter.
Lucerys wasn't too much older than Emma. She wasn't in training to become a paladin like Emma was, but she had nevertheless embraced the teachings of Desna, and seemed to embody all the aspects of it that tended to annoy people like Emma's mom. Emma knew on some level that she should be annoyed as well, but there was something about the girl - so cheerful and open - that it was hard not to like her.
And so, one evening, when her mother and the paladin of Desna were out on a mission, Emma found herself being approached by Lucerys.
"Guess what we're doing tonight?" Lucerys asked in a teasing voice.
"Studying?" Emma ventured, smiling slightly as she looked up from her reading.
"Nope! Come with me."
It took some more cajoling, but eventually Emma relented and went with Lucerys.
During the summer months of warmer weather, it wasn't uncommon for the off duty soldiers and guards to enjoy their downtime with music and food. Occasionally, Emma had attended these celebrations, though usually it was because her mother was meeting with someone. Still, Emma always relished the chance to try the decadent food and listen to the music, which she quite enjoyed. Tonight, it was much the same - a chaotic mix of conversation and music as people danced near the bonfire. Emma smiled and eyed the food table, but was caught off guard when Lucerys turned and held out a hand.
"Huh?" Emma asked finally.
Lucerys laughed. "Silly. Come on! Let's dance!"
"Oh..." Emma said, glancing around, feeling awkward. "I don't know...I don't really know how to dance..."
"It's easy! You just...move with the music!" Lucerys started to move, swaying in tune with the music, still smiling. "Come on!"
Hesitantly, Emma stretched out a hand and let Lucerys drag her closer to the fire. Lucerys seemed to move so gracefully. Emma started to sway side to side, but felt clunky and awkward - most of the time, her training involved learning various stances for sword fighting. Not on how to maintain your balance or move with any kind of musical precision. But Lucerys moved so smoothly, and she leaned in towards Emma.
"Just listen to the music, and have fun!" she encouraged.
It took a while for Emma to feel comfortable. But once she did, she couldn't help but find that she was having fun. Laughing and smiling, the two girls danced around the fire until the gathering broke up. By the end of the evening, her movements - though not as graceful as Lucerys - had loosened up. She'd let herself move with the music, without worrying about being precise or skillful.
Emma had never told her mom about it - or about the other things she and Lucerys had gotten up to. But it had always stuck with her. Maybe dancing was considered a frivolous activity by her mother - but to Emma, it was fun. It was freeing. There was no shame, as Lucerys had once told her, in enjoying life. After all, what was the point of protecting life if you couldn't take moments here and there to enjoy it?
"Performative displays..." Emma muttered. "Constantine, you better be right about this."
And then, letting out a sigh, Emma moved forward and joined Roger in his movements. She let him handle the singing - god knows her voice would probably be enough to knock the spirits unconscious and then the rest of the party as well. But she let herself relax and did her best to match her movements with Rogers - weaving around the room in time with the various objects still floating around.
Sirio manages to dodge the worst of the flying objects, his coiled serpent hissing softly from inside his clothes. Roger and Constantine each do a good job avoiding the small pieces of glass and debris as well. But Hannelia and Emma each catch the full effects of the unsettled objects in the room... A marble knight cracks into Emma's nose and sets it bleeding, and a single card whips sharply across Hannelia's cheek, narrowly missing her eye.
Roger attempts to implement Constantine's shouted directive, but even with the very excellent boots he's wearing-- it doesn't seem like a sea jig is quite in keeping with the room's theme.
Emma, however (despite the blood trickling from her nose)-- Emma overcomes her dubiousness and just tries to throw herself into the dancing, attempting to be as unselfconscious as possible. The whirling cyclone of debris comes in again but this time she moves with it, stepping around it, in time to its lashing out... and after a few seconds the angry spin of items seems to slow, moving more sedately, easier to predict.
For a moment, Emma sees a reflection in the shards that swirl before her: a young servant girl, perhaps only thirteen or fourteen of years, her faced bloodied but a half-smile on her face as she steps through the motions of a courtly dance. Then the mirror fragments, and all the rest of it, drop to the ground and clatter briefly. The music trails off in a somewhat discordant, unsettled way.
There is still a sense that not all is truly righted, here-- but at least suspended for the moment. Yet Hannelia's cheek is bleeding profusely, as is Emma's nose...
As first Roger and then Emma try to dance their way around the swirl of the materials, Hannelia watches in amazement as Constantine’s words came true - dancing with the storm did cause it to subside. She exhales as the cyclone collapses in on itself and the debris falls to the floor. To her inexpert gaze it seems lifeless and devoid of the animating spirit which had caused it to whirl around just moments ago.
Touching the wound on her cheek lightly, her hand comes away bloody. It feels painful and deeper than just a graze. With no formal training in care, she weighs up whether just applying a swab of material would stop the bleeding or if magical healing would be better. Deciding to err on the side of caution, she sticks to what she knows and chants through her healing spell once more, working overtime to maintain focus while her cheek aches and she can taste the metallic tang of blood inside her mouth.
As she finishes the spell, Hannelia touches her hand to her face once more, this time pouring positive energy out from her fingers and sealing up the wound. Flexing her hand after the casting, she wipes her fingers on a handkerchief to remove the last of the blood drops. She gingerly prods the inside of her cheek with her tongue, pleases to find the pain has rapidly receded.
Seeing Emma’s neat steps come to a halt shortly after the shards of junk finishes its own dance, she can now see the paladin’s nose is also bleeding profusely. Feeling somewhat guilty that she had tended to her own wounds first, she offers her friend some aid. ”You look like you could also do with some healing,” she offers, crossing the room to where Emma has come to a halt, her lungs working hard after her exertions. Despite her concern she adds with a small smile, ”You didn’t tell us you had that in your locker. Fancy footwork indeed.”
Emma's dancing is inspired, and Constantine is glad to see that his advice was not completely amiss as the haunt dissipates. He tries not to be hurt by Emma's doubt, but he supposes she has reason to question him now.
"I'll continue do my best not to lead you wrong."
The erstwhile Sarini, however, has little flair for first aid, and fumbles around uncertainly before looking awkwardly at the others. "Anyone know how to stop a bloody nose?"
Trying to make himself useful, Constantine moves over to the fallen debris and picks up the bloody Harrow card that sliced across Hannelia's face. Maybe you can tell me your secrets, mmm?
"Aye, over here lad, I've dealt with more than a few. Don't blow it out or your eye'll go puffy. No idea why."
However, first Roger's attentions go to Emma, as he ties a torn cloth to reduce the blood flow. "Now I'm sure you can pull your magic if you like, but at your leisure."
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With Emma and Hannelia both eased from further bleeding-- Hannelia by her own magic, Emma by Roger's surprisingly skilful hands-- the worst seems over.
Constantine gingerly picks up the card that is red with Hannelia's blood-- the Harrow card known as the Demon's Lantern, an ill-omened card... As he does so, images and whispers drift to him... the servant girl, often waiting on the master and mistress of the house... and dragged from this room at one point, kicking and struggling as best she could, a backhand across the face from the mistress leaving bloody furrows from the woman's nails...
This girl, and surely there were others, never got a burial, never got a consecration. Until her remains-- wherever they may be-- are probably put to rest, it is probable that her spirit will keep manifesting in this room.
But for now, at least, she's quiet. Doors await you-- the doors leading north from this room, and the doors at the other end of the house. Where to, heroes?
(The monetarily-inclined among you recognize that the various chess-and-other-game pieces are, many of them, made of semi-precious stones, and a little profit can be made by picking the game pieces out of the room's debris. )
Fun trivia: the Demon's Lantern is the card of traps, trickery, being deceived and played for a fool....
Constantine's eyes flicker and shift, glossing over the card and through the memories now imbued within it.
Well, Sadira was as bad as Marcius. Maybe worse.
"The Demon's Lantern," Constantine says, showing the card to the group. "Or more accurately, will-o'-wisps. As I recall, in the Harrow deck, it's the chaotic evil card of dexterity: sleight of hand and sleight of mind, traps and tricks. Impossible, intractable situations. If we were doing a reading, a misaligned Demon's Lantern would represent an opportunity arriving at a perfect moment to show the way, while an aligned one would be like the dread 'wisps of reality: lights in dark places leading us unwittingly to our deaths."
Constantine wasn't much for the Harrow. Like most folk divination--as opposed to magical divination--it struck him as less of a path towards revealing the truths of the world and more as a means towards guiding one's self-reflections. A good Harrow reading ought not be taken as statements of fact (this is that) but as questions (is this that?). And in that regard, the Harrow deck was not merely a beautifully illustrated cultural touchstone, but one that could enable genuine insight.
Even though there likely isn't a full deck here, Constantine gathers the cards and then draws the sign of Pharasma's spiral across his chest. He looks around the room. "Unquiet spirit now resting but not at rest: if we find your remains in this accursed place, we will put you properly to rest. It is the least we can do."
He turns to the others, raising an eyebrow. "But we shouldn't tarry either. Let's keep going." He moves to the north, stopping for a moment to check the door.
Constantine checks the door for traps, or any sounds of movement, but the room on the other side is silent. Hannelia gives it a go as well but detects nothing, and so, cautiously, the door beyond is tried... but turns out to be locked.
Hannelia displays her considerable skill with mechanisms and the heavy door swings open, revealing a room in somewhat-better condition than the rest of the house, and a room where the quiet was fitting: this is a library.
It looks like the solid oaken doors and their locks held proof against the mob's anger: the books are still on their shelves and there isn't the overt destruction of the room you were just in. However, closer inspection reveals that the mob did what they could via the windows-- stones were chucked through the high and narrow panes, shattering the glass and letting in the elements, if not the rioters. The room smells of mildew and what you took at first for a pale green rug turns out to be a fuzzy gauze of mold. Harmless enough, at least, unless you're a book collector.
Inspecting the nearest shelf shows that the damp has gotten to the volumes on it. Wee white mushrooms grow from a book.
Some of the books in here might be salvageable, perhaps-- the ones on high shelves-- but it would take some looking to find them, if so.
Perhaps not opposed to taking a breather in what seems to be a rather secure room-- the other door from this room also has a solid lock-- our heroes take their time to start perusing the books more closely to see if anything in here might offer insight into the Sarinis... or might simply fetch a nice price.
Constantine locates a volume, From the Rivers to the Mountains, written in the same hand as the one Father Rebus gave him (as well as the book from the crypt), though on a more innocuous subject: the geography and wilderness of Isger. Marcius Sarini's passion for the wild lands and native flora is unabated whether discussing Sargava or lands closer to home, at any rate.
Roger, Emma, and Hannelia are perhaps too shaken by the haunt of the previous room to really look too in-depth, but Sirio's keen eyes rake the shelves and find two volumes high up that look intact. Using a rickety library ladder, the Asmodean ascends and pulls them down: a somewhat faded tome with the bland title of A History of Isger, and a more fanciful one tooled in deep red leather with intricate embossing. Flaking gold script on the spine declares the title as The Nine Secrets.
Something about this scarlet-leather tome.... something about the weight in its hand, a shape under the leather barely perceptible... Sirio, you think this book might be trapped.
Sirio is nearly back to the ground level to allow Hannelia to try her hand at the trap (if she is so inclined) when he spots one other thing on a shelf he is passing-- another book that seems to have weathered the years well? He hands the red book off to better investigate the other one and discovers it's not a book at all, but a wooden box carefully painted to resemble a book.
After some inspection to make sure the box isn't trapped as well, you open it to reveal a small stash of spell scrolls! Hannelia is able to read the enchantments on each in short order.
Sirio handles the book gingerly as he carries it down from the library. He admires the cover of The Nine Secrets, turning it over to take in its details.
He turns the book and offers it to Hannelia, making a show of being very careful with it. "Ms. Venator, would you mind? One could believe it may be trapped, but I'd have no idea where to start dismantling the mechanism.
Sirio considers the other two books. "I'll set these in Leyva's saddlebags. They should prove useful in the near future. Not to mention their cultural value. We ought to keep these safe, away from the hands of those who would despoil them for something as pithy as gold."
Having been unsettled by the spiritual presence of the room they have just left, Hannelia instantly feels more at home stepping into the library. She had been hoping that a family as wealthy and refined as the Sarinis would have such a collection in their house. Equally, having seen the carnage wrought on the rest of the property, she hadn't been holding out much hope that it would be in such - relatively - good condition. The damage to the books seems to have been natural - the elements, the passage of time - rather than deliberate destruction so she feels a thorough search might turn up some items of use and voices this to the group. "I don't know that we'll find anything truly personal here, say a diary, but I do think we could find some interesting information with a bit of time. We know from our research in the archives the value of a bit of effort and how that helped prepare us for coming here. And also that what we do know has been put together piecemeal." Assuming that the others are unlikely to disagree with what she believes to be a sound argument, she begins a careful study of the nearest bookcase.
She is yet to turn up anything of interest when Sirio coughs to get her attention. Breaking off her search, Hannelia listens to the Asmodean explain what he thinks he's found. Carefully taking it from him, she peers at it and confirms his suspicions. "You're right, Sirio," she says, placing it flat on a small table. "Look," she points to the edges of the cover. The endpapers there look like they have been raised to conceal something."[/b] She fishes her toolset from her bag and selects a miniature blade akin to a razor. Talking more to herself now than Sirio as she enters a state of fierce concentration, she continues, "Some mechanisms are fiendishly complicated, others deceptively so. This one... this one I'm not sure is. I think there's a kind of beautiful simplicity to the construction and to disable it is equally straightforward. So if I just cut," she grips her tiny knife and in a swift motion severs a single connection, "that should do the trick." She braces, trusting that she has analysed it correctly but prepared to react in case she was mistaken.
”You didn’t tell us you had that in your locker. Fancy footwork indeed.”
Emma chuckles, a bit of pride mixing in with her bout of self-consciousness. "Well, truthfully, it's not something I've done in a while, and it's not exactly a skill I thought I'd need. And a bit more exerting in armor, I'll tell you that." She wipes sweat from her bow. "I'm glad it worked out."
He tries not to be hurt by Emma's doubt, but he supposes she has reason to question him now.
"I'll continue do my best not to lead you wrong."
Emma tilts her head slightly at Constantine, wondering about his statement.
She's reasonably certain he's still feeling a bit off since the revelation about his true identity. She holds up a hand. "Peace, Constantine, it wasn't meant as a slight. I just wasn't eager to make an ass of myself if I'd ended up tripping over my own feet."
However, first Roger's attentions go to Emma, as he ties a torn cloth to reduce the blood flow. "Now I'm sure you can pull your magic if you like, but at your leisure."
"Thanks Roger," Emma says, wiping at some of the blood on her lip. "Sometimes the simple remedies are the most effective. I have to say, your movements were pretty inspiring. I'm glad I was able to keep up somewhat."
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The harrow card doesn't exactly fill the room with good cheer, given what they've faced so far and have yet to face. Still, she's pleased when Constantine announces that they will put the restless spirit to rest if possible.
When they uncover the various scrolls and books, Emma is rather keen to take a peek at 'A History of Isger.' Sirio ends up placing them in his bags, though, and she can't exactly fault him for wanting to keep them safe from this haphazard environment. Still, she'll have to try and remember to ask him about it later.
One of the books, however, ends up being potentially trapped. As Hannelia begins to tinker with it, Emma takes a few steps closer to it, tightening her grip on her shield. She's not sure what will happen if Hannelia fails, but perhaps if she's nearby, she can try and protect them both.
A metallic snik as Hannelia cuts through the red leather binding and severs a wire under tension. A spring sproings, and a nasty, wickedly-thin needle snaps out of the binding just where the user's hands would be if they were opening the book. Moisture gleams on the needle's tip-- no doubt some sort of poison-- but now the book can be opened safely.
It appears to be... poetry. Not very good poetry at that, to Hannelia's eyes. Page after page of rambling stanzas, disjointed sonnets, and clumsy rhymes; if this was the literature in vogue a century ago, perhaps it's good that it's lost.