Galia nods frantically at Pickle. "Good, yes, Smine! Yes, I'm Galia; very p-pleased to meet you. I completely understand and hope I didn't off-offend you. I am a, er, strict vegetarian. Except for cheese. And honey. Is honey vegetarian?"
Galia pulls out an enormous, glittering, and somehow complicated set of shears as Ethel sits in what is clearly a barber's chair. The barber space is human-sized, spacious, and smells pleasant, but the door to the gnomish area has the distinct aroma of carrots and barley soup...and of course, beets--and it's a small door. She brandishes the shears with glee and skips towards the gunslinger.
"Oh, then a haircut, yes? I love your locks! May I touch them? Bonuwat extraction, yes? You have such adorable v-volume! Oh--oh, ahem, right, what's been going on!
W-well, you probably noticed the mosquitoes. There’ve been a lot of bloodseekers, too. Those are mosquitoes that are as big as your heads! The little ones are bad enough, but the big ones have been driving people out of the town. One even carried off poor Mrs. McClairby’s cat, and some of them killed all of Mr. Rujat’s prize cattle. It’s been really, really, really awful around here!”
She nearly rubs her chin with her shears-hand and stops herself just in time, and continues, eyeing Ethel's delightful coiffure. "Oh, the ways I could sculpt this! So many possibilities! Oh--ah--people drained of blood. Yes! You’re not the only people that have come here looking for the witch. Most of the monster hunters gave up after the first couple adventurers were found w-without any blood, but there’s been a whole bunch of new people lately! Two of them showed up some weeks ago, a brown-haired human dressed all in white, and this half-elf woman with beautiful silky black hair and gold armor over this amazing red dress! Neither of them talked to me, though—they just went into the woods and never came back. I think they spoke to some of the other townsfolk, though! And this week, another two visitors showed up! There’s this really professional looking human woman with a white dog, and this nervous human man staying at the inn who really needs a shave and a trim. M-maybe you can find them if you look around.”
She continues after another thought. "I guess everyone is looking for the w-Witch, and maybe where the bloodseekers--ooh right, you call them stirges--are coming from. Before the adventurers came, the town thought it was a Ghlaunder cultist, but um, they figured out that was...w-wrong..."
She hands Dorgrum a mug of delicious beet juice, with a little bit of lemon and honey, but looks pensive about her last few statements...this moment passes as she shifts her gaze back to Ethel's rat nest of hair longingly.
"You even think about touching my hair and I'll fill you with so much f+~%ing lead people'll think you're a metal golem."
Ethel puts her hand on her pistol, unsure whether her words had been clear enough.
"That's a lot of people coming through this place. Now, what is that about a cultist? How did you figure out it wasn't them? You boys know anything about Ghlaunder?"
”I never studied religion at all,” Dorgrum answers with a shrug in between big gulps of sweet, hardy beet juice. “Would knowing if cultists are involved help us find the stirges, or kill them?” he asks earnestly.
Galia shrinks far back from Ethel with a nervous smile. "Oh...gosh...I d-didn't mean to be culturally insensitive! Of course, y-your hair is sacred and y-yours alone..." She gets the point while missing the point.
After coming out from behind another chair. "Er, yes, the cultist. Well...About that... um. So there was a Ghlaunder cultist who we found lived a little ways out in the woods! But when we found him, the other Shimmerfordians got a teensy-tiny wee bit mad, and um... k-killed him. And then whacked him into pieces. And then burned his house to the ground with his body in it, and then salted the ground where the ashes were. But, um. The mosquitoes and bloodseekers didn’t leave. So I guess... it actually wasn’t him? I… I feel kind of bad about it now.”
Galia shrugs and raises her coppery hands.
Pickle felt his jaw lower with each passing word that came out of Galia’s mouth.
“Well, if the cultists can be ruled out…is it possible that someone angered the Witch?” he asked. Then, before Galia could respond, added “A curse, maybe? Something someone did to start the troubles?”
“Hmmm...troubles? I don’t think so? Um, let me see. Mr. Albi’s
daughter ran off with the traveling postman, and there was a big fuss about Mr. Vernon’s rooster getting out to harass Mrs. Favam’s ducks. I don’t think any of that would have caused this, though. Even Ms. Lyons d-didn’t seem to think anything was wrong, until the mosquitoes
showed up."
Never a person able to turn down a cup of hot goss, Ethel jumps on her chair and slaps her thigh.
"Oooh, you've been holding back the good stuff, woman! What's that about Albi's daughter running off with the postman? That little no good lady! Good for her!"
"Yeah! Well, um..." Galia looks about her barbershop, everything rather pristine and swept-up. "...due to whatever this is, the Witch or something else, our usual tourist season didn't happen. E-even my regular customers, some of them have just...gone. People love the idea of the Mosquito Witch--" She pulls out a poppet doll of the Witch, with its unnerving six arms and teeny red eyes.
"...but actually having all these mosquitoes and bloodseekers and people winding up drained of blood...that's not something anyone wants," she ends, somewhat morosely. "Even Mrs. Lyons said something must be up, and the ah, regular sw-swarms of mosquitoes don't scare her a bit..."
"Oh, but I did braid Ceredwin's hair before she left! That postman, he was a dashing man and I don't blaaaaame her," she says wistfully. "I'd love to run away with some wee man..."
"Smart girl, she has guts, I'll give her that. Anyway, boys, I wager we better get going. Talking to the sorry sod hiding at the inn is probably the easiest."
Ethel stands up and slaps a mosquito on her cheek.
Dorgrum downs the last of his beet juice and hands the empty mug back to the gnome. "Thank you," he offers with a smile as he stands as well. "One thing though, before we leave- who is Mrs. Lyons and why is it so significant that she thinks there's a problem? Does she have some kind of expertise with problems?"
"Ms. Mordha Lyons! She actually saw the Mosquito Witch, back in the day! One of the first! She doesn’t much like strangers, though. I don’t think she much likes a-anyone, truth to be told.”
"This one is thinking we should speak with this lion woman first, no?" Pickle asked the others. "If she has actually seen the Witch, that could be invaluable."
Pickle took a hurried step back toward the door then paused, "Perhaps the helpful Galia could point us in the correct direction?"
Ethel shrugs.
"Sure, we can always go laugh at the guy staying at the inn later."
”Excellent suggestion, Pickle…”
is that right? it doesn’t sound quite right… Pickles? Mister Pickle, maybe… are they a mister? I don’t really know how to tell with a gnoll…
”Is it alright to call you Pickle? Or do you have another nickname you prefer? PT, maybe?”
The walk is short, but miserable, through the town, and while you pass by a square with a lit brazier to keep the bugs back, the mosquitoes overwhelm it, and indeed, some carelessly flit into the smoke and flames and add a disgusting reek of burnt insect to the the fire.
Mrs. Lyons' house is small, but ornately made, with protective carvings on it, and looks neatly put together from the outside. The hedges are trimmed and the elevated porch has been swept.
As you approach the door, a young Tian man with hair that has been bleached to moon-white opens the door. He wears a jade pendant and robes that are slightly worn in places, and he smells faintly of furniture wax.
He wrinkles his brow. "This is the third evening in a row you lot have come to bother Madame Lyons. What continued business do you have with my ward?"
He believes what he's saying to be true.
you have NO idea if this dude is lying or not.
Ethel stops for a second, looks at the man, and correctly infers he is not the person known as Ms. Mordha Lyons.
"Look, kid, we're really not interested in you or whatever you're saying. Scram. Go show your frosted tips to that cloud of mosquitoes over there, I'm sure they'll be very impressed."
Dorgrum furrows his brow as he considers the strange man's strange words. "I think you've mistaken us for other people... even though that seems unlikely given our unique appearance..." Hoping to test out whether the man might be seeing some kind of illusion, the dwarf transforms to his badgerheaded self and watches for a reaction.
The priest/caretaker narrows his eyes. "Same trick you did last time, dwarf," he mutters, and doesn't move from blocking the door.
Pickle Tooth smiled his best smile in an effort to placate the young man.
"Please to excuse. This one and his friends have never come to visit," he gestured to Ethel and Dorgrum as he spoke. "We have only just arrived on a request to uncover to the strange happenings."
Pickle paused, trying to decide how much to give away before settling on "enough."
"It was told that the lion woman has seen the Mosquito Witch. And if we are to uncover the truth, we must follow all possible leads, no?"
The caretaker shakes his head, still confused, and mildly irritated. "I swear I...傻. ...very well. Do not trouble Mrs. Lyons for long."
He lets you in grudgingly. The interior of Mordha Lyons reveals that she is poor, poor to the extreme--the paint of the walls is dingy and thinned in spots, and her furniture is second hand and dented. Her caretaker must be taking care of her without pay. Mordha herself is seated in a wooden rocking chair next to a banked fireplace, wrapped in a mended white blanket, eating some sort of gruel with greens. Her hands shake badly as she lifts her spoon to her mouth, and she looks at you without any focus or acknowledgement.
Dorgrum--who still has a badger head--smiles at the old lady and cheerily offers, "Hello, Missus Lyons, thank you for having us. We were hoping you could tell us a little bit about the misquitos, and stirges, and possibly the mosiquito witch, please?"
Pickle placed a hand on the shoulder of the strange young man and stepped past him into the house.
"Thank you," he said. "This one is eager to meet with the lion woman..." his entire bring deflated as he saw the elderly human woman sitting in front of fireplace. "Oh."
Mordha Lyon's rheumy eyes stay unfocused, her jaw chewing her gruel methodically. She grunts slightly when Dorgrum says mosquitos, and finally turns to look at him when he says "Mosquito Witch".
"Mhmm. Badgers. And crocrottas. They've come to mock me. Just like before. They always do. It was all just a joke to them,” the old woman says, her voice pinched thin with bitterness. “They pretended to care, a little, when they were all scared that they would be next. Not much, even then. Keff. Keff."
The Tian caretaker swoops in to hover over Mrs. Lyons, dabbing her lip as she coughs. "I can tell them to leave, Mrs. Ly--"
"No. No, Regis, these badgers and crocrottas, they'll listen this time. They won't laugh at me this time. I'll tell them and then they'll see. You know where it was, badger. It was up on Witchtop Hill. Up to the north, a little left of the three boulders and past the bend in the stream." She points to an invisible spot past the walls of her barren home.
"We thought it was a dead animal at first, lying on the ground. It was when we got close that it sprung up, tall as a full-grown man. Floated after us, dangling its thin little legs. Didn’t matter how fast we ran, it was right behind us. I thought my heart would burst with the running. It was only when we got to town that we dared to look back. But we didn’t find it. Just dragging tracks in the mud, and smears of sickly sweet blood. Blood on the trees. Blood on the grass."
She coughs and works her throat and continues, staring at Dorgrum.
“And them, with their masks and their dolls and their festivals. They didn’t know what it was like. To have it in their dreams at night, to wake up with its little paper dolls by the bed. If they’d seen it, they’d never have dared. They don’t know what it’s like to see its eyes in every filthy little bug, for the whining of those insects to be like screaming in my ears.”
Mordha clams her mouth shut, before speaking again, in a trembling tone. “It took something from me. And I don’t remember it. I don’t remember it. No one will ever remember it.”
She resumes staring into space, and Regis turns to the three of you, his face attempting to maintain composure while sorrow and rage compete for dominance behind his eyes.
"...Mrs. Lyons needs to rest now," he eventually manages.
As the woman spoke, Pickle Tooth forgot to be disappointed and found himself hanging on Mordha's every word.
When she finally ended her tail, Pickle mulled over the story for a moment before asking "Do you think someone could've riled up the Mosquito Witch to cause the reason troubles? Or maybe the Witch was tired of them using her for jokes?"
Mordha resumes her mechanical chewing.
Regis gives you an exasperated look and a "shoo, shoo" gesture.
Ethel half-listened to the story, distracted by whether Mordha thought she was a badger, a crocrotta, or if the woman had simply ignored her existence. Still, it wasn't right to kick an old hag when she was down, so she remained silent.
After Pickle's second set of questions and the silence they receive as an answer, she makes a rather different gesture than "shoo, shoo" at the Tian kid and turns to her companions.
"Seems like we should take a look at this Witchtop HIll, boys. Who knows, we might even find the thing she lost."
"Uh... thank you?" Dorgrum replies as he begins backing out of the room at the man's shooing. "One thing though," he continues, "that sounds like a giant mosquito... was the giant mosquito a witch, or was there a witch with the giant mosquito?"
At Ethel's words he nods and answers, "Yeah, a trip to the hill sounds like a good place to start."
You leave the residence of Mrs. Lyons behind, with more questions than answers. Clearly she is lost in the recesses of her own mind, but at least she is being cared for. Regis scowls at Ethel as he closes the door, and doesn't answer Dorgrum's question to boot.
You walk through the vacant streets of Shimmerford, accompanied only by small lights, the center fire, and the ever-present midges, gnats, flies, and of course, mosquitoes. Witchtop Hill must be away from the river, to the East or North...but where?
"Hmm, this one thanks you, White-Haired One," Pickle said as the exited the house.
He stepped out into a cloud of insects and swatted at the pests while sputtering a few out of his mouth. "The hill would be a good place to check, yes," he spat out a few insects, "or would it be wise to speak with the one at the inn? The one in hiding."
"Guess it's best to talk to that loser now, I'm too old to go back and forth between spooky hill and dump town."
Ethel gauges her companions' reactions and, if they seem to agree, leads the way to the inn.
You head back into town, making for the inn, which is one of the few buildings with more than two stories in Shimmerford. As you spot it a street or two away, you hear excited yapping. A shaggy dog with cream-white fur bolts down the town streets, scattering the clouds of mosquitoes hovering above the ground. It immediately starts circling Dorgrum and Pickle, barking and wagging its tail, looking to play.
A woman’s clear voice follows after the dog: “Peaches! Peachy! Get back here!” A Tian woman in simple traveling clothes sprints into view a few moments later, stopping to stand by the dog. “Sorry about that,” the woman says, as the dog whines for attention.
“I didn’t think there was anything out here but insects, or I would have kept a closer eye on him. My name’s Haru Kwon. What brings you to Shimmerford? It’s not exactly a popular destination right now.”
You note that she has vials of holy water and an implement that might be used by a priest or exorcist, despite the simple garb, and she's armored under her clothes. This is no casual traveler.
Dorgrum crouches to pet the happy puppers. "No need to apologize, Haru Kwon," he replies, "Peaches is always welcome to come for a pet."
"I'm Dorgrum, this is Ethel and Mister Pickles. We're here to help with the stirges, and possibly the witch, if there is one. Am I right in guessing you're here for the same?"
Ethel sucks her teeth, crosses her arms, and purses her lips.
"Yeah, I'm Ethel. Dwarf's pretty much said everything. This place is terrible, but there's like half Absalom just poking around. Heard some people disappeared, probably sucked dry by stirges. What's your deal here?"
Mister Pickles nodded and bumped Cactus' rear with his foot, urging the small hyena to play.
"Your canine is rather friendly. Dangerous place and time for him to run off," Pickle said absentmindedly.
"My name is Haru Kwon. I’m a bit of a traveling scholar, though I have a lot of work to do to make a name for myself in that field." She tucks back a stray lock of shiny black hair.
"I’ve been traveling around the River Kingdoms, recording the local legends and customs. For obvious reasons, Shimmerford was high on
my list to visit--the Witch is fascinating! ...I may have gotten more than I bargained for, though," she says, laughing, while waving away mosquitoes ineffectually.
She's hiding something. This visit to Shimmerford is personal to her.
Ethel takes a few steps towards Haru and adjusts her leather armour a bit.
"Listen, cupcake. You can cut the whole rainbows and the joy of learning crap. There's a mean twinkle in your eye. What sort of nasty s$@& dragged you all the way here?"
Kwon steps back slightly, blading her stance. "And who sent you and what proof do you offer that you're trustworthy? I don't have to tell you a blasted thing, gunslinger."
Peaches looks confused. Ethel smells nice! Or she whines something of that ilk in Canine.
Pickle knelt to pet Peaches causing Cactus to force her way between the Pickle and the dog. "Jealous? It's okay to make new friends, pup. Especially one with such a good coat of fur!"
He pulled himself free of the two animals and climbed to his feet, "Talking of which, this one thinks we have maybe started off on the left foot," Pickle Tooth said. "As Dorgrum said, we are here to see about this possible Mosquito Witch and help the people of Shimmerford. If you have bitten off more than you can chew, perhaps we can help each other?"
"Unless you're about to get real good at taming mosquitoes, Pickles here is your best bet," Ethel says while cleaning the gunpowder from under her nails.
Kwon pauses to view the both of you, assessing.
"Sorry. I'm sympathetic, I am, but I can't divulge my business. If you'll excuse me."
Kwon turns to leave and her dog, after giving you another friendly wag, follows her.
Happy she finally managed get a last bit of dirt out, Ethel claps her hands.
"Guess that's one more corpse we'll be finding later, eh? Well, who's the next useless sorry sack on our list? Inn guy?"
Dorgrum frowns as the scholar walks away.
"I'm afraid this kind of investigation may not be a strength of ours..." he mutters in response to Ethel's question. "What if we just give up on trying to talk to people? We could just go to whatever the styrges attack people and wait there to kill them? If there is a witch or something behind the attacks I'm sure they'll confront us once we've killed enough of their minions..."
"Or, we could offer to hire ourselves out as guards and wait for someone who knows more than us to hire us?"
"This could've led to some useful information. This one thinks that maybe it was too distracted by the adorable canine to have a good conversation with Kwon," Pickle said with a frown.
He turned to Dorgrum and shrugged, "We could always head up to that hill? Though, this one is not certain we have pieced together enough of the puzzle here in town."
Addressing Ethel, "You wanted to find the, what was it? the 'sorry sod hiding at the inn,' yes?"
You continue on to the Shimmerford Inn. It's distinguished by many torches and the smell of citron fruit warding away at least some of the bugs. Unlike most of the buildings in the town, it has a second story, even some sort of watch tower up on the top of it, although, like most buildings, it looks faintly neglected, a reflection of the hard times that have befallen the town--fallen shingles, and pocks on the walls from who knows what--people aiming sling shot at bugs, you figure. A hanging sign identifies this place as "The Whitefish and Stag". Some wag has painted a mosquito proboscis and wings on the stag, though, and they haven't been wiped out completely, so it looks more like a giant mosquito battling with a giant fish.
The doors swing open easily to reveal a fairly quiet common room. The innkeeper makes small talk with what appear to be would-be monster hunters at the long, well-seasoned bar table, and you smell savory items like broad beans and mushroom soup and fresh bread.
You immediately spot the "sorry sack." He is hunched over and muttering to himself by the front desk near the doorway. The fellow is a haggard human with dark messy hair, stubble sparsely forming a goatee, and gaunt cheeks.
While he mumbles, he turns a paper doll over in his hands, the sweat from his skin starting to cause the paper to melt into something horrific looking. It's not a pretty sight, but Nine Hells, it's better than looking at mosquitoes.
Ethel briefly considers adding a few pocks of her own to the walls, but decides it would be a waste of ammo that would be more satisfyingly spent shooting something bigger.
Once inside she visibly elbows Pickle Tooth so he takes point, then starts speaking anyway.
"What's that you're holding?" Ethel says without bothering with presenting herself.
"Oh, this? Nothing." says the man, uncharacteristically calmly, and then startles, realizing the doll is still in his hands. "It reappeared? It’s following me. Ha...hah hahaha! Of course it's following me. I’m being stalked by a doll!"
He crumples the paper doll in his hands and drops it to the floor as it it's burning him.
“The iron cave will fall... what is that supposed to mean? What do you want from me?!” (this bit is addressed directly at the inanimate piece of paper.)
He kicks his chair back a little, scooting away from the crumpled, sweaty doll. You can see ink bleeding through the paper a bit.