Dowanhowee considers your replies as she takes you toward the trunk of the Elder. Down below, the street traffic is thick - all recent orean refugees have chosen the Stems as their new home. At length, she nods, and says, "Wise words. I...hope this is a fever, and period of bad times, before we become better."
Up amongst the branches, the walkways are deserted. You see no one aside from yourselves and your host. Here and there, you see carven statues depicting a variety of plant-like elens, all in poses of sorrow. All sound is muted here - Dowanhowee guides you through the silent halls of the Quiet Elder.
Just inside the first of the halls, Dowanhowee ushers you in to a small sitting room. Pastel mosses provide padding for the wooden benches, and a large teapot shaped like a bear sits in the middle of a rough-hewn table.
The frowning bodyguard takes position at the door, watching the hall and the sitting room. Dowanhowee says, "No need to look so serious, Hakka, these are not enemies. We are among friends." Hakka says nothing to this.
After pouring her own tea, she leaves the rest of you to drink as you will. "So. You've seen the turmoil in town. It is especially bad around the Temple." She blows on her tea, and takes a small sip.
"A colleague of mine on the Council has been researching this problem, and we have come to the conclusion that something malevolent has taken up residence beneath the Temple. We need elens of strength and power, elens who haven't become caught up in the awful politics of this place."
She sits her cup down, and looks at River, Amatashe, and Benedetto. "Would you be willing to put yourselves at risk to rid Hearth of this lingering curse?"
Hmmm… this is more dire than I was led to believe, the monk thought as he sipped his tea.
He put the cup down and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he replied, ”I, for one, am willing.”
Benedetto sips at the tea appreciatively as he considers her question. "I am, of course, willing to risk my life for the city, but more information would be useful. Why hasn't the Temple done anything about it? Do you know anything about what it could be? Ist it tangled up in these awful politics somehow?"
River looks at Gale, frowns and then stares out of the window for a long minute before apparently coming to a conclusion and focusing back on Dowanhowee.
"Yes." She says simply. "How?"
She can't be faulted for a lack of directness at least!
Dowanhowee answers 'Detto's question first. "You know of the strife within the Temple. The Warrior and the Cauldron Lady no longer see themselves as allies, more as rivals these days." She sets down her tea with a dour look on her face.
"When the trouble started, both sides were convinced the other was to blame - so now there are enchantments against the priests of the Cauldron, while curses and hexes are placed against the agents of the Warrior." She gives a helpless gesture. "Those with the convinction to help will be killed and cursed, and any mercenary company won't risk their lives to destroy the corruption within."
She shifts her gaze to River, and smiles. "Direct questions. I like that. Well, Captain Dove, who you've already met, will lead you to the right place."
"We shall be in your debt if you accomplish this thing. Some of the Elder's roots are in danger from this subterranean rot, and that cannot be allowed to happen."
"I suppose I won't trigger those curses any more..." murmurs Benedetto, thoughtfully.
His gaze sharpens. "And I guess I'm not really surprised that you already know we've met Captain Dove."
He sits back. "Does he have more details on what we're up against? You call it a rot, is it something that can be fought with swords or only with magic?"
"He has more details, yes." In a lower voice she murmurs, "Which he has not seen fit to share with me."
Continuing, she says, "We have been busy fending off the occasional attack from fiery, clawed hands, or corrupted roots. This enemy certainly favors attacking from below, I can tell you that."
"Fiery claws and corrupted roots..." Benedetto murmurs. "Well, I suppose we'll have to find out more this evening."
The monk nods his head in agreement at Benedetto’s assessment.
You hear a grinding, cracking sound like thunder in miniature, coming from the branches you initially ascended. A shout of fear, then another bone-snapping cacophony. Dowanhowee's eyes open wide, but she reacts slowly. Hakka does nothing but step closer to his elder charge.
Benedetto turns and rushes to see what's happening.
Amatshe instinctively takes a step closer to Dowanhowee preparing to defend her if necessary.
Benedetto, you sprint out the wooden halls, your footsteps echoing. Out by the branch walkway, you see Chasso trapped in his wicker basket. The wood is warping before your very eyes, becoming blacker and thornier.
"Help!"
Drook comes running up behind you a moment later, his shorter legs not quite as fast as yours. "What do we do, Sir?"
Gull grabs River's hand and whispers into her hair, "The tree is crying." He hugs her, reluctant to let go.
Amatshe, you notice Hakka's body language - he is watching the door, but he is also watching you. He is in front of Dowanhowee, allowing no one within arm's reach.
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"Tell her." River says gently, turning Gull towards Dowanhowee. "She can help." Then she flows gently from his grip and races outside with unnatural speed. Dancing across the branches she races for Chasso.
"You need to jump!" She calls. "This way. Now."
The corrupted wood seems to hear your words, and, as if in malicious reply, the fibers of the basket reach out and grab Chasso's left wrist, encircling the flesh with black thorns.
"No! I-" his words are cut off by his cry of pain.
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"If I had a blade..." Benedetto mutters as he rushes out.
But wait, he's a paladin of Phoenix, right? He no longer has to depend on just his weapons.
He runs to Chasso and places his hands on the corrupted wood, where he thinks he needs to in order to free the oread.
"Forgive me for bringing flame here," he says, then says a brief prayer to Phoenix...
You use your spell as a vertical sheet of flame, rather than horizontal. Moving carefully, you burn away the area surrounding Chasso, rather than risking him directly. The tips of the flames rise and fan out like wings, and the oread is not harmed.
He leaps across,
and easily makes the distance. He embraces River and 'Detto, grateful for the rescue. "Come! We must see to umakhulu, then we can find a different way of getting down."
Drook has a thoughtful look on his face, then an idea pops into his head. He walks next to Chasso as go to check on Dowanhowee. He grasps the oread's forearm as one warrior might do to another. As he does so, the distinctive red marks around the squire's eyes flare, and Chasso gasps in surprise as the puncture wounds upon his wrist close and heal.
Benedetto is a bit startled by Chasso's enthusiastic thanks, but he recovers his poise quickly. "Right, it's a bad sign if the corruption can reach this far up," he says.
He gives Drook a small nod. "Good thinking," he says.
River just nods, retreating back into herself like a stream returning to its banks after a heavy rain. She keeps a wary eye on the corrupted branches as they leave, wanting to make sure that the whatever-it-is doesn't move any further. She isn't a bird after all.
You manage to collect Dowanhowee, Hakka, and Amatshe from the tearoom. You carefully test a different basket, then make your way down as a group cautiously. The ground feels solid and welcome beneath your feet when you land safely.
Hakka frowns angrily in the direction of the basket, as if that were the source of all problems. Dowanhowee sits down on a nearby stone bench. Her huddled posture speaks more of sorrow than of fear.
Benedetto looks up at where they'd been, then back down at all of the group. "It's getting bad, isn't it?" he asks, rather unnessecarily. "Worse every day?"
Dowanhowee nods, but says nothing. Her breath catches, though it is difficult to tell if this comes from exhaustion or tears.
"Please do what you can. There are so many families here...so few warriors to protect so many."
As you walk away from Dowanhowee and the Elder, Gamberino clears his throat and says, "Yeah so, I can take Gull back to our inn. Happy to watch the young and the injured, but front-lining was my mentor Albert's job, not mine." He wrinkles his nose and you enter the city proper, its unpleasant smells intruding as you get farther from the clean air that surrounds the great tree.
"Everything we can, Dowanhowee, we certainly will do," Benedetto says, with a slight bow to her.
He nods to Gamberino as he gives his suggestion, but says nothing, given it's River's decision, not his own.
"So... anything we should do before this evening? We'll want to give ourselves extra time to get to the Temple, given all that's going on. Should we just go straight there?"
Drook doesn't let the silence linger long. "I think we should go immediately - there could be danger there now!" Your squire has the decency to look chagrined at his own outburst. He clears his throat. "That is, if the rest of you agree."
Benedetto purses his lips as he thinks. "We could stroll through the area and see," he agrees after a moment. "We shouldn't make a big deal of it with the... tensions in the Temple right now, but just walking by and seeing if something's obviously wrong wouldn't hurt."
Benedetto, as you are walking down the streets of Hearth and continuing this discussion, you once again get a feeling of "wrongness" emanating from the Hall of Contrition. It is stronger this time, slightly nauseating in its intensity.
Benedetto slows to a stop, frowning at the Hall of Contrition as his hand subconsciously goes to the hilt of his sword.
"There's... something very wrong there," he says. "I... think we need to check it out. Now."
The streets are strangely empty - the military district is usually buzzing with activity by midmorning. As you approach the Hall of Contrition, the noble carvings and graceful architecture inspire terror rather than hope. A watery churning in your gut tells you to turn back, get away from here:
Benedetto draws his blade. "Something is very wrong here," he growls as he approaches the doors.
River pauses before following Benedetto inside as tendrils of water wriggle from under the paving stones and coalesce in her hand.
Gritting your teeth against the almost palpable aura of fear in the air, you push open the gold-inlaid darkwood doors to find:
nothing. The greeting desk and the foyer are empty. You think hear a muffled cry from several rooms away, but the direction is unclear.
Benedetto glances around, sword at the ready. "Well this isn't good," he comments. "Might mean we can sneak up on whatever it is, though. Let's go farther in, quietly."
He leads the way deeper into the building, eyes darting back and forth as he looks for dangers.
River can be very quiet but has no intention of leading the group!
Though it has not been that long since you have all met each other, in this moment of trial you seem to meld together as well as a veteran group. Benedetto takes point, looking for obvious dangers but leaving the more thorough scouting to the back. River stays in the middle, perfectly silent. Trailing slightly, Amatashe takes his time and really listens.
As you continue down a larger hallway, you pass by granite columns and marble statues done in the ancient fritan styles the Cauldron Lady favors. Each statue depicts a knight of legend in some pose of victory. One statue has been decapitated - Sire Fiercesco TreeBurn is the name on the plaque at its feet.
Before you have time to ponder this, Amatashe points toward a narrower hall. "Another shout - it came from the at way!"
At the end of the short, unadorned hallway, there is a heavy iron door.
The door has been propped open - you can see it leads to a large jail area. The rank smell of sweat and urine and fear wafts from the opening.
Water starts pooling into River's hand, packing smaller and smaller until it resembles a tiny, dense pellet.
"I go first?" She offers quietly.
From outside the walls, you hear the tolling of a nearby belltower - likely the tower for the Military district. The brass bell rings out long and loud, twelve times for twelfth candle. The call for noontime ashbread has begun.
Inside the chamber, you see two bodies, face down - both are guards. The closer body is turned slightly toward you, and you see a look of horror frozen on the guard's face. Neither guard has any signs of violence upon them. All the jail cells still appear to be closed and locked.
Benedetto follows close behind River. He stoops to examine the fallen guards for any signs of what happened.
River pauses for a moment and then moves onwards - whatever did this might still be there and finding them is the most important thing right now.
As you move forward, you see movement - a gaunt shape seems push through the bars of a nearby cell, pouring between the gaps like smoke, or fog. As the fog coalesces once more into an emaciated elen, he immediately jumps upon the far guard, tearing a piece of ashbread from his pockets and cramming it into his mouth.
Benedetto lowers the tip of his sword so it doesn't seem as threatening, though anyone who's actually wielded one before would recognize his stance as a low guard. "What happened here?" he asks of the odd maybe-elen.
He suspects it's some sort of monster, but he's not going to jump to conclusions without giving them a chance to speak.
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The feral elen is obviously one of the affected sylph, his hands are dirty, nails blooded, there is blood around his mouth and the crazed look he gave Benedetto doesn't promise much of conversation.
He makes a rictus grin, pieces of bread falling out of the full mouth. Keeping the bread in one hand, the creature fumbles with the guards belt for a moment and comes up with a dagger, retreating back toward the cell it came out of.
The clothes are torn, the skin jaundiced and if not for immediate retreat instead of attack, this one could be a ghoul. The eyes dance from one new arrival to another, eyes wild with emotion. Eyes of purest emerald on a blue background, wild, but clear. His hair is dirty, but can be seen as silver or extremely pale blue underneath the grime, moving on its own accord. The skin would probably be bluish once some food, water and good scrubbing is secured.
It takes several seconds of this madness and wild chewing before the figure lower the knife tentatively. The voice is barely above whisper, the throat parched and maybe damaged.
"You're not one of the Moon."
"I was imprisoned here when the madness started, falsely accused. I'm dying of thirst. And hunger."
By the flash of movement and the way he held the knife, this was not some street thug nor untrained commoner.
Slowly, elen takes a step forward, holding out his hand
"Water?"
Realizing he still holds a piece of bread, he stuffs it in his mouth and holds now empty hand again, the other making clumsy movements to hide the dagger somehow.