Finraeth's page

21 APRIL

Finraeth can't resist a very slight smile and a small nod of his head - a metaphorical tip of the hat - at Luce's reply. Game recognises game, after all.

22 APRIL

21 APRIL

Casia snaps a glare at her brother. At the perceived betrayal of revealing her vulnerability. She doesn't say anything, though.

Finraeth shrugs, semi-apologetically. Better she realises your vulnerability than mistakes you for a cold-blooded killer.

Ranna's storming exit is met with an insouciantly-raised eyebrow. "Fabulous delivery on that penultimate line, and a full-hearted door slam - I'd have to give that at least an eight, possibly even a nine out of ten."

He looks at Luce. "And what about you?" It's ambiguous (possibly deliberately so) whether he's inviting comment on the nature of Ranna's exit, or whether he's asking if Luce herself is going to do something similar.

21 APRIL

Finraeth turns back to face Ranna, his face exhausted both from the strain of exercise and of the bickering. "I assure you, doctor, nobody has forgotten anything. Least of all my sister, who still has nightmares about stabbing Hutton."

He pauses for a moment. "And you are absolutely correct, Jonah is mistaken I believe. To the best of my knowledge the Grinders were not slavers." His gaze flicks over to the Whisper; Finraeth is mindful that his companion has seen much, and in staring into the ghost field has likely seen many things that are and that were and that have not yet come to pass. His expression hardens slightly as he turns his attention back to Ranna. "But what you are perhaps unaware of is that the two Grinders who died in that job set us up - they played on Jonah's sensibilities, and Lolo's as well, in claiming that the gang we were going up against were slavers. And then they betrayed us and tried to kill us by setting fire to the house we were in while they ran away with the loot. Did we shoot them down? Yes indeed, from a burning building from which we were trying to make our escape. I make no apologies for that. We had no quarrel with the Grinders up until that point - they started it."

He is not unaware of the childishness of that remark, so he hastily amends it. "In addition, everyone we killed was armed and looking to kill us - including Hutton's daughter. I would wish she had not died, but from what Lolo told us, she had no choice but to pull the trigger and I believe her. Hutton did not play by those rules: he had Dary murdered, long after she had left our crew. She was nothing to do with this fight, and the Grinders killed her anyway because Hutton knew it would hurt us. Had they not done that, mayhap we could have come to some arrangement." Although he is privately skeptical. Too much blood had been spilled by then anyway.

Casia frowns and pauses in the process of wrapping some scrap cloth around her exposed waist to cover the slash the Silver Nail gave her.

"The Grinders?" she questions, immediately suspicious. "Someone might simply say that a job was paid for and done proper-like." She ties off the dirty cloth and lowers her tunic. "Someone might also question someone asking too many questions about it."

She glances at her twin with a raised eyebrow.

When a scoundrel's not engaged in his employment or maturing his felonious little plans, his capacity for innocent enjoyment is just as great as any honest man's.

Finraeth hasn't been engaged in his employment for some time now, and is focusing on getting back to his fighting weight - his sweat-soaked top sticks to him, showing that his ribs are still visible against his skin. As Casia looks at him, he leans against the punching bag he has set up in their hideout, giving himself a grateful break as he sucks air back into his lungs.

He gives his sister a shrug. "She saved my life, Cassie, and she ran a score with us. If she's out to get us, she's hiding it well."

He looks straight at Ranna. "You deserve to know what happened, but I'm not up for talking much about it. Just make sure you don't ask questions to which you regret learning the answers." He takes a few more swings at the punch-bag before turning back to the Leech. "Oh, and one more thing. If anyone wants to kill you, they have to get through me first. You're one of us, as long as you want to be."

"No," she says out loud. "This is a debt paid."

Casia begins to gather the bottles of carbolic phenol.

Proud of you, sis :)

Finraeth dreams fever dreams

Beyond the pain of what the tall, rake-thin blonde woman is doing to him in her efforts to save his life, Finraeth is barely conscious of much that is going on in the waking world. Behind his eyes, another world flickers, much more real and filled with conversations; both with the living and the dead.

A long and light-heartedly frivolous discussion with Dareia on the topic of sweets and their correct placement at the dinner table: caramel, it is swiftly agreed, is a dessert and thus its disposition among the dessert spoons is clearly straightforward (so much so, that he wonders why she consulted him on the matter in the first place); licorice, however, proves to be altogether more troublesome to place correctly. Is it something to be served between courses, as a palate cleanser, and thus omitted from the table setting altogether? Or is it more of an appetiser, belonging on a side plate? This proves to be a far weightier matter and is still unresolved when Dary has to leave unexpectedly, pleading a prior engagement. It is only after her departure has sunk in that Finraeth, experiencing what the Tycherosi refer to as l'esprit de l'escalier, suddenly remembers what he wanted to say to her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I let you down, that I wasn't paying attention, I didn't see it coming, I couldn't protect you... should've been more careful..." He's the cutter: taking the hits so others don't is his gods-damned job. Tears spill out his eyes, remorse, regret and anger and hitherto-unexpressed grief.

A conversation - extremely one-sided - with his late, unlamented father in which Finraeth expounds at considerable length on the rage he expressed in their last encounter within the ghost field. No mumbled words escape his lips for this round, but the clenching of his muscles and grinding of his teeth might be enough to (only briefly) make Ranna wonder if her diagnosis has missed the mark and whether this could be tetanus rather than sepsis.

The living and the dead continue to pass before his eyes, some meriting conversation, some a laugh and a nod, some a cold sneer; but eventually it becomes clear that the fever is going to break and the worst is over.

At the sound of Cinna's voice in their hideout, Finraeth stirs; still feverish, but aware that something must be badly wrong. Gritting his teeth, he summons his reserves of willpower and muscles himself out of his cot, staggering to the door. Sweat beads on his forehead as he hears what Cinna has to say. "Thank you - for - letting me know. Please - take care of her - pay you extra - anything - just..."

He gives a hiss of pain and puts his hand to his side. As he does so, Jonah can see that the veins in his arm are shot through with red streaks.

Sepsis. Late-stage, and fast-acting.

He gives Cinna and the whisper a weak smile. "Don't - feel so good myself - actually." It's a slow collapse to the floor.

If Finraeth is aware he's being watched over by a friendly ghost (or at least, a ghost that Jonah believes is still friendly; which may or may not be the same thing) he makes no sign of it, which is perhaps just as well. Jonah may be immune to the unnatural dread chill that Naty manifests around her, but the rest of the Dusk Mites are sadly not. But at least the rats, pigeons and ravens that might otherwise infest their tower are also susceptible: anything that could be inclined to make its nest or roost in the gutters or eaves seems to remember an urgent appointment on the other side of town whenever Naty manifests herself.

Finraeth looks up, his gaze unfocused, at Casia as she cradles his head in her lap. "I don't feel well enough to go to school today, Mother."

(Jonah has seen this sort of thing before during the Unity War:* there's a type of mushroom that's native to the Severosi lands and which makes for a nasty contact poison when it's properly distilled. It's treatable with the right anti-toxins, but Finraeth isn't going to be doing much of anything for several days if not weeks while he recovers.)

*or the War of Akorosi Agression, depending on where you were standing at the time

...but it never goes smoothly. Finraeth has long since stopped asking himself why it never goes smoothly; it simply is the way things are.

About half-way back to the Dusk Mites' hideout, as the adrenaline wears off, he feels the nick in his side from where one of their blades must have pierced him. Aside from annoyance at having had his flesh (and more distressingly, his fine linen shirt) take more damage, he shrugs it off as a minor wound; just as his leg gives way and he stumbles to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he gets up and resumes his journey, but by the time he arrives back at the old tower and stumbles through the concealed entrance, he is sweating profusely and his skin has taken on the grey-green pallor associated with some of the more unpleasant poisons.

He drops the assorted costumes that he has retrieved, smiles at the rest of the group faintly ("You know, a funny thing happened on my way back to this house.") and falls sideways onto the floor.

That takes him out of commission for the rest of the score.

I'm enjoying the game (a lot) so I'm willing to give it a go. If it turns out not to work, I suspect we'll find out pretty quickly and we can all move on. Sound reasonable?

Agree on the improvement in pace, that was partly just Sarah's RL stuff getting in the way.

I still don't really have a grasp on this system, but in most ways that's not really relevant. I'd really like to continue these characters' story, but if Finraeth fades into the background as an NPC then a huge amount of Casia's story won't get told. They're twins and to be telling Cas's story without Fin directly involved just seems ... wrong.

I hear this, for sure. I certainly wouldn't be killing Finraeth off! There won't be as many dice rolls in his future, but that doesn't mean he disappears.

Hi all, as Sarah said I'm happy to take over running this game (I'd probably just retire Finraeth to NPC status where he can continue to make pithy observations from the sidelines); assuming there's interest in continuing it?

Done. I've added the 2 stress for pushing to get greater Effect. Between that, Jonah's setup action and the Not To Be Trifled With ability, it should be enough to get a good result even against a much higher-Tier opponent.

Violence ensues.

Briefly. Finraeth is not in a mood to be trifled with, and hasn't been ever since the news of Dary's death reached him. These individuals aren't responsible for that murder, but they are the first suitable target he has had for his frustrations, and so they bear the brunt of his anger. Not entirely fair, but neither is life.

In the time it would take a person to read that paragraph, the first victim is down; they are still gaping at the audacity of being confronted in the street like this by a lone individual when the meaty sound of bruised flesh and the gristle-crack sound of breaking bone confirms to their drink-addled senses that yes, they are indeed under attack. By that time, Finraeth is in their midst, and the ghosts summoned by Jonah are surrounding them and lending a new terror to their uncertainty. It is nothing resembling a fair fight, although Finraeth restrains himself enough to ensure that he keeps it non-lethal. He has no personal animus against these individuals; it is simply that they have something he requires.

It is all over in a matter of seconds, the last of his victims grasping helplessly at the mist around him, his blind panic at the ghosts rendering him oblivious to the more physical threat of the Cutter who steps in neatly behind him and switches off the lights by means of a fist to the back of the skull. The fight now ended, he hastily drags them into a nearby alleyway and proceeds to remove their uniforms; thus equipped, he is about to make a hasty exit when a thought forms, or rather perhaps a memory.

He remembers, at a much more youthful age, taking quill and ink and applying his best artistic endeavours to sketching a mustache on the face of his and Casia's sleeping nanny. He was quite proud of the result, a looping curling affair that grandly covered her entire upper lip and spread across the cheeks. Their mother was considerably less impressed and did her best to tan his backside into leather by way of remonstration with her mischievous son (Casia, whose idea it was but who wisely left the execution thereof to another, went entirely unpunished; another litany in the book of sibling injustices).

The memory strikes him now, and he grins. Drawing a stiletto dagger from a sheath in the small of his back, he reaches down and hastily carves the Grinders' gang symbol into the buttock of the nearest victim. It's not his best work, but it will do. His victims may not remember much of their assailant, but between that carving and the reek of Skovlandic liquor they should have no difficulties in (albeit mistakenly) identifying who has wronged them.

He slips the knife ("borrowed" from his sister, but that's another story) back into its sheath, gathers up the pile of clothing, and fades back into the darkness from whence he came.

Sorry, slow-down is on me: I wrote a "To Be Continued" and then didn't, it's been a much busier week than I anticipated. I'll finish the post tomorrow so Sarah can move the scene on.

I think ghostly allies, dressed in Skovlandic gear, would help enormously. After all, when they wake up they aren't going to want to admit to having been defeated by one person.

That works for me - I was planning to push myself to use the "Not To Be Trifled With" special ability anyway, so I'll use the push to get extra effect rather than +1 dice. Hopefully that counters the limited effect from being injured, and the NTBTW ability should compensate a bit for the fact I'm outnumbered.

Maybe Jonah's assist could be something that gives extra effect?

Skirmish: 3d6 ⇒ (5, 6, 1) = 12 Nice.

Pretty sure that Jonah is backing Fin's play.

Oh yes, that's right.

Alright, so my plan is to "borrow" some uniforms from the Silver Nails so that we can dress up as them when we take out some of the Grinder leadership. Between that and our other actions, we should be able to push the two factions into open hostility; preoccupied with one another, the Grinders will not see us coming until it is far too late!

Or such, at least, is the plan. How much of that survives contact with reality is another matter.

I cannot remember who was going to back Finraeth up on this part of the mission, but if anyone would like to post something in support I am entirely in favour of that.

Another night, another place

Finraeth's affinity/relationship with alcohol is markedly different from Casia's; most notably because for him it is principally about quality, rather than quantity. And there is no doubting the quality of the liquor in the bottle he is currently holding; it is the very worst: a rough Skovlandic peasant drink, distilled by (and possibly even from) rough Skovlandic peasants. The young man uncorks the bottle and his nose wrinkles from the acrid fumes; the smell is unmistakable.

Which is, of course, the point.

Another point of distinction between the two siblings is that he has absolutely no qualms in spilling alcohol where it serves his purposes. With a quick, sharp motion he upends the bottle over himself, letting the rough-smelling liquor seep into his cloak and form a vile miasma around him. With that done, he settles back once more against the wall that is his shelter against the wind and his shield against too many prying eyes. For tonight he is, intentionally, far from home: in a district populated largely by Severosi, and outside a tavern known to be frequented by the Silver Nails.

This is, as they say, a tough ask. He needs a small group of them: enough to furnish him and the others with disguises, but not so many or of such seniority that they will overpower him. He is all too aware (both from Jonah's stories and general folklore) of the Silver Nails' reputation and ability for extreme violence. He has no wish to be on the receiving end of what they can deliver. This is his third night of waiting for the right opportunity; and it would seem that third time is indeed the charm. The small group he identified earlier have now spent many hours in the tavern, and it is his hope, by the time they emerge, that firstly they will be sufficiently drunk that the advantage will be his; and that secondly the hour will be sufficiently late that nobody else will be around who might be inclined to intervene.

On both of these counts, he is rewarded. Fortune may favour the bold, but good things come to those who wait. As the small group of mercenaries exits the tavern, staggering together in the tight knot favoured by those who are seeking mutual support, he detaches himself from the wall that has been his cover and walks into the middle of the street; favours his soon-to-be-victims with a bow.

"Gentlemen. I require your cloaks, your tunics, and most of all your silver badges."

To be continued...

I see Jonah's talent for rolling 6's continues!

Also, your description of delicious toffee puts me in mind of a toffee apple - haven't had one for decades now but memory is a funny thing.

Some great writing from everyone, btw; I can see I'm going to have to up my game...

I liekt it! Althtou there's no way Fin says that little ;)

I resemble that remark!

Hope everyone had a great Christmas; I'm really enjoying the posts you have both written.

Sorry, my cold has killed momentum dead but I am around again now.

My apologies for the delay in posting here, I am better now

Finraeth is among those who cannot resist the charm of a good single malt; he sits (like a good bodyguard) at a respectful distance from Tuhan, although close enough to be there if trouble looks imminent. He catches Min's eye and nods. Whatever the plan is, he will follow the Iruvian's lead.

Giving an Assist, 1 stress added

Well that's easy for you to say.

The Grinders are Skovlanders, and the Silver Nails were part of the Unity War, so sparking up some animosity there should really not be difficult! I would imagine a grudge or two exists there already...

Ha, yes Jonah does indeed have a grudge against the Silver Nails! I like that idea - I like it a lot.

The other wildcard is Ulf Ironborn, who is basically a faction all by himself - if he could be persuaded that the Grinders are his enemies (or at least, not his friends) that is another angle they will have to defend against, so they won't see us coming until it's too late.

I like this idea. We did something similar with our first score against the Lampblacks and the Red Sashes: no downtime until we had done both missions.

At the very least, Finraeth is going to want everyone* involved in Dary's death (Hutton, who ordered the hit, and any lieutenants who carried it out) to have an appointment with the Spirit Wardens. The fate of the rest of the gang is immaterial as long as they're in no state to pursue a vendetta.

*EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!

That reminds me - I have enough XP for a new special ability but haven't got round to picking it yet. Any thoughts? I can either go for another Cutter SA, or something from one of the other playbooks.

Also, I think this is ultimately going to be an Assault - with flashbacks (using stealth, connections, getting them jailed by the Bluecoats, anything) to take out the major players one by one so that they aren't around when we make the assault.

Finraeth winces at the bluntness of Casia's question. "What I believe my sister has just demonstrated is that we do in fact lack someone who can ask the sort of question she has just put to you, without annoying everyone in the vicinity." He shrugs at the glare she gives him, although he suspects he will pay for the remark in due course.

Thankfully the newcomer seems to take the question in his stride, and he nods. "Planning is good. We have had a tendency of late to simply react to events as they occur. I think it is time for us to start imposing our will a little."

I don't think the Dusk Mites have any particular notoriety outside of the district of Crow's Foot - if Min is based in that part of the city, he has fallen low indeed.

Finraeth's studies at the university (both formal and extracurricular) left him with sufficient knowledge of Iruvian culture and customs that he recognises the decorations the newcomer is wearing; and sufficient knowledge of the language to know that even attempting to speak it, as badly as he does, would be a great insult. He sticks to his best Akorosi, stepping forward and grasping the man's hand with a firm grip and looking him straight in the eye. "How do you do. As my sister says, I am Finraeth, although in the Dusk I go by the name of Polish." His gaze tells Min that he hasn't seen Min's sandals, because to have seen them would be bad manners; and therefore he has chosen not to see them, because good manners are part and parcel of a gentleman.

Like his sister, and like Min himself, Finraeth is wearing fine clothes that have seen much better days: the frock-coat is stained and has fraying sleeves, and pairing it with that shirt and that waistcoat (the only ones he has left, alas) is an act of daring. It would be easy to look at this tall young man in his early twenties and see no more than a fop, the sort of arriviste that his middle-class parents no doubt intended him to become when they sent him to the university to move up in the world; but there's a set to the shoulders and a muscularity in his grip, together with a confidence that he can hold his own in a fight. A keen observer would note the marks at his belt consistent with where a pistol and dagger would normally be (it is the height of bad manners to be visibly armed in polite company); and a very keen observer would note the slight draping of his coat at the small of his back that suggests a concealed weapon (it is the height of folly to go anywhere unarmed).

EARLIER

Stumbling to her feet, Casia makes her way to Finraeth with her friend following closely. "Look who I found, Fin! Cinna!" she says, turning and grabbing the blonde by the arm and pulling her closer.

"Hello, Handsome," Cinna says with a grin and a wink. She's clearly had less to drink than his sister. "Long time no see, eh? Casia has been tellin' me what you two been up to lately. Congratulations is in order."

Finraeth raises an eyebrow at the two young women, one of whom seems rather more the worse for drink. "A good evening to you, too. I'm rather pleased with how things turned out, as well; a jaunt into the Ghost Field followed up with an unexpected visit with the midnight aristocracy, and yet we survived." He tugs on the sleeve of one of the barstaff and deftly procures a bottle of something a little more drinkable than they have been indulging in. He fills the glasses to the brim and hands them round. "My treat. To dancing into the jaws of death, and making off with her gold teeth." He feels - for now - temporarily unstoppable, but fate has a way of catching up with you, and hubris always has to be paid for, in time; and with eye-watering rates of interest.

20 MARCH

It wasn't his pride that killed her, he knows that intellectually. But for all that, the guilt (should have seen this coming. Should have been more careful, more attentive, more watchful, by the damned dead gods this is the Dusk and you don't get to take your eye off the bullet) adds an additional crushing weight to the sense of grief that he feels.

When Jonah arrives, it's clear that the man has also heard. He opens his mouth, but says nothing and closes it.

Opens it again. Still nothing.

There are no words. Right here, right now, even for him, there are no words.

25 MARCH

It would be easier if she shouted or threatened. It's the cool, collected way that Lady Adelaide wields her words, conveying that he (that all of them) aren't worth her anger, only her disappointment; it cuts through whatever defences he could muster like a ringing slap to the jaw.

He takes refuge from it all (Lady Adelaide's wrath, his own grief and guilt and shame, all of the things he can't deal with right now) by retreating into his most detached and amused tone of voice. "Really, Jonah, I'm somewhat disappointed in your answer. It almost sounds as though you plan on leaving some Grinders alive. Personally, I would consider that a most regrettable oversight."

He gives Lady Adelaide a smooth bow. "I can assure you, my dear lady, that by the time I am done they will be no more than a name the fate of whom is whispered by mothers to frighten their children."

He puts his hands on the lapels of his mourning coat and tugs it back into place. "I am, in short, going to f!*& them up."

I can only apologise for the slowdown, I know our GM has been waiting on me to post. Especial apologies to Doug, who has posted some excellent writing and is doubtless wondering if the game has stopped - it hasn't; RL caught up with me for the better part of a week but I think I have temporarily outrun it...

All sorted :)

BRUTAL. As a GM, I approve. As a player :(

Idea: the contact we chose for our gang, the Dusk Mites (I regret nothing), was Lady Adelaide Phroiag who is/was friends with the leader of the Red Sashes (I forget her name, not going to look it up). It could make sense for her to make introductions, in a "you're going places, but you could get there faster with my connections" sort of way.

Not that I recall; Sarah mooted changing the rules on healing but ultimately nixed it and we stuck with RAW.

So, thoughts. My character is the only one with any "face" skills and I only have 1 dot in Command and Consort; we don't have anyone with Sway which might come in handy from time to time.

In terms of special abilities, Functioning Vice isn't going to be that useful: Sarah house-ruled that if we spend a downtime action on indulging vice, it goes back to zero and that otherwise it drops down to 2. I think her rationale was that we're playing these PCs all the way through the story, rather than mix/matching which is how we did it at the tabletop, so you can't have someone drop out via overindulgence.

Likewise we haven't played out the jail mini-game either, but that's possibly just because our numbers dropped too low to make it viable to have someone in prison.

Mastermind & Foresight are both really solid abilities, and what I like about Foresight is that you have to explain how you prepared, which allows for some interaction/flashbacks between your character and the person you're assisting. I think in the PbP format that could make for some great stories.

Hi Doug! Great to have you joining us.

I do have thoughts but I'm having a much busier weekend than I anticipated so I will post more tomorrow - I just wanted to drop in and say hi & welcome.

OK, so that makes 7 XP total. I kept over 3 XP from last time to go towards a special ability, so I will gain one (to be decided on) and put the remaining 2 XP into that as well.

My remaining downtime action will be to indulge in luxury and restore my stress level to zero; and I will pay 1 Coin to gain another action which will be looking at tracking down Desmona. I'd already made some progress on that with that flashback, so I will probably follow up there to see how it is going.

Finraeth has decided to resolve this episode by focusing on the empirical, that which he can perceive with his senses; and most particularly, his taste. The crisp snap of properly fried bacon, the aromatic bitterness of the coffee, and everything else which may or may not be real can be ignored.

As they leave the house (in the correct manner, by the gates, this time) he nods at Jonah's remark. "It was odd, I agree. Normally one expects to be served either streaky bacon or back bacon, never both. I wonder what etiquette book he was reading from."

As Casia reaches for his hand, he wraps an arm around her, holding her as tightly as he can considering the bruising and injuries he has suffered. "I was rather hoping to postpone a meeting with Quellyn until I have a little more starch in my spine. If I have our current whereabouts properly understood, then our path home could well take us past the most delightful Iruvian bath-house. Steam-room, sauna, full-body massages..." He trails off with a smile. "And as you point out, we have the Coin for it."

Finraeth has no objection in principle to shooting Quellyn (if only for the sheer insolence of offering me his "utmost" respect); however, he's not certain that this would actually kill the man. It might just annoy him.

Heal: 3d6 ⇒ (6, 5, 3) = 14

I'll think of what to do with my other downtime action later on.

In terms of XP:

2XP for addressing situation with violence/coercion
2XP for expressing beliefs, heritage, and background
1XP for dealing with vice/trauma (confrontation with dear old dad)

Not sure about desperate rolls but there must have been some!

The conversation in the rooms below has taken everything out of Finraeth merely to present his calm and urbane exterior; exhausted beyond power of speech, he simply nods to Casia's request and opens the door for her.

Finraeth can take a hint (no, really) and he stands to take his leave, with a bow. "You have been a more than gracious host to unexpected guests, and for that I - we - thank you." He decides not to dwell on whatever Lord Scurlock might mean about their "fates being tied together." Sometimes ignorance really is bliss, or close enough.

"North Hook" though, really? It hasn't been called that for - ah. Right. And if anyone else in his acquaintance had ever talked about meeting the Dread Emperor, he'd not believe them for a second. But this one... again, he chooses not to dwell on any implications. His thoughts, his emotions, are run raw enough after today. He's just alert and awake enough to be aware that any decisions he makes are likely to be bad.

With another bow, he allows the remarkably unremarkable servants to lead the three of them away.

I was seriously intrigued when Doug first posted the recruitment thread, and I love PbtA games, but with my first foray back into GMing now up and running I don't want to over-commit; that was my failing last time.

Finraeth does his best to eat in moderation and not to stuff his face, but it has been far too long since he ate food of this quality and he partakes in everything. Even the fact that everything about this house (down to and including the servants) is somehow weird and/or creepy doesn't put him off his appetite. When their host questions them more deeply about how they came to be here, he is at something of a loss. He strongly suspects that Lord Scurlock's stated interest in them is the sole reason that the dogs were not set upon them, so he feels that a mere shrug and a disclaimer that his guess is as good as anyone else's would not be the life-affirming choice here.

But he truly does have no answer to how they ended up here. Hells, he isn't even sure how they got into the ghost field in the first place; it was just something that Jonah magicked up for them. He seriously hopes that the whisper has an answer that will at the very least prolong his lordship's interest, and thereby their lives.

Finraeth is wary, but it's not as though they have much choice. He gives a look to the other two - we might as well do this - and a courteous bow. "Thank you, my Lord." He takes refuge in the formality that is being offered. "Hospitality is a sacred duty, and one we accept with gratitude. Please know that the others are under my protection." For what little that is worth, but he does his best to reassure his sister who is clinging to him hard enough that he can feel her fingernails even through the sleeves of his greatcoat.

And we're live!

OK, but if he does that whole "I never drink [significant pause] wine" thing, then we are O-U-T of there :P

Had a shocker of a day, but I have at least managed to read through the new CotKK adventure. I'll probably be changing it up some because that's just how I roll. I'll get the discussion thread up tomorrow.