Completed Sudden Arrivals, Creeping Portents

Irman Harefoot

Irman Harefoot

Noct Yaegir
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(OOC: this is a sequel to the thread “On the Path to Crobhear”. Feel free to read that one for full context, but to put it in short: two yaegirs and a bard were traveling The Spine to deliver an evil artifact. The bard was injured in a kobold ambush and now the group has had to race the last leg of the journey to prevent the bard from losing a leg, or even his life!)


Crobhear Keep; the eternal homestead of the Noct Yaegir. For countless years the keep had served as a quiet and secluded safe haven, for those who would otherwise face the deepest darks the world had to offer.

It was the stuff of legends, a hall of heroes parents in the lands below would tell their children of. At present though, it had seen better days. These were peaceful times, and peaceful times see little use for secluded keeps besides as storage and the occasional venue for hearty revelry. Currently, Crobhear was more of the former.

Though of course it still saw plenty of use, staffed by those who shared the Noct Yaegir’s convictions, or at the very least, valued their coin.

A pair of guards watched the keep’s main gate, sharing a breakfast meal as they warmed themselves against the cold mountain air.

“At least the sun’s up now, it’s been warming up lately but gods are nights still frigid.”

“Aye to that, makes me wish that one kid with the sister were still lodgin here, he had some handy fire magic something fierce!”

“He’s probably doing better out there than in here though I reckon.”

“Aye, anyway how bout-“

*knock knock knock*

The two guards looked over the edge of the wall to see an odd sight even for their standards. A small bipedal rabbit, dressed in the colorful garb of a mercenary. A dwarven woman, riding an elk and covered in bright blue tattoos. And what appeared to be a human body, wrapped thoroughly in an assortment of furs and fabrics. The whole group were shivering deeply, and the rabbit and elk looked downright exhausted.

“Hey!” Shouted Irman Harefoot at the guards up above. “We’ve got an injured man here who might die if not treated soon! We’re Yaegirs and we’ve been running since midday yesterday, so open the blasted doors!”

The guards looked at each other and rushed to go let the odd group in.
 
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Ispir.

Ispir was not there.

Not in mind or spirit at the very least.

His body moved with slow, shaky inhales, features even more pale than usual. From a pretty porcelain to now a clammy pallor he would cough on occasion but that, aside from the breathing, were the only indicators he was still alive.

Instead Ispir was, truly, elsewhere.

Whether a fabrication of a delirious, wounded mind fighting to make some sense of it's helpless predicament or pure hallucination, he could not say.

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Instead Ispir, to his addled mind, drifted down a scant few feet for his shoes to land with a soft 'click' onto a stone floor. Looking down at himself he was... uninjured? His clothes were even okay again! But that only left him confused. Well, confused and extremely worried as his aquamarine eyes glanced about into... a void. At least mostly a void, anyways.

Beside and behind him was nothing, the stone path he stood upon extending in a perilous line before him out to some sort of crumbling structure. It didn't look like any architecture he knew. But stars wheeled and spun brightly overhead in a sort of constellatory mass that distracted him briefly from the otherwise umbral, dark beings that flickered vaguely about the structure.

He blinked.

Where were Sigrun and Irman? The kobolds? Last he remembered he went cold and fell asleep. Oh. This was a dream of some kind. That made sense. Exhaling softly Ispir would venture a few steps forward, cautiously clutching his lyre to his chest, and warily watching the shadowed beings before a star streaked from the roiling mass to bound across the sky above him. Taking the form of... Irman?

No not Irman, not truly, but a rabbit that looked just like Irman. If maybe he lost his clothes and went around on all fours like a real rabbit. Only this thing was a creature of starlight and energy and Ispir could make no sense of it.

What an odd dream.

Irman Harefoot
Sigrun Flintfeet
Sigrith​
 
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The winches of the gatehouse groaned, ancient chains complaining, rust caking off the screeching portcullis. Crobhear Keep opened its main gate like a leper might reluctantly open his mouth to ingest ill-tasting medicine.

Sigrun slid off Honey Pepper's back, steering the elk by its reins, helping it drag the cart to the nearby stables. The guards and other bedraggled denizens of the keep dully watched the cart as it entered, carrying the load of two blanketed forms - neither moving.

"Summon the warden!" someone cried, like the screech of a distant crow, throat hoarse with lack of sleep.

Soon enough, Warden Gabriel Sionama made his appearance, the master of the keep. Like its weathered and solid walls, he presented a worn, scarred face, grey peppering his flowing beard and hair like silver veins in black rock. A man of large stature and girth, he trudged through the muddy courtyard to arrive by the cart, while Sigrun lifted Ispir Sione in her arms.
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"Well, now. Look what the dwarven axe-juggler brought home. Prey or friend?"

Sigrun cracked a faint smile, quickly doused by weariness and worry. Dark rings circled her eyes, her arms straining to hold up Ispir, even with his feathery weight.

"Am I glad to see you, Gabriel. Friend. He needs healing - fast."

Gabriel scratched his beard thoughtfully, as one might mull which breakfast to go for. Clearly, he had seen much worse, so this was little more than routine for him. In a manner of speaking, his unpertubed demeanour helped calm her gnawing guilt and trepidation at Ispir's fate.

"A'ight. We'll bring him to the stillroom. Ought to have a few healers at hand." He snapped his fingers and gestured, and soon enough, two custodians came running over, relieving Sigrun of her burden. As they carried Ispir away, he gave Sigrun a sharp look, the old monster hunter in him flaring up. "Monster bite?"

She knew what he was thinking. Many monsters had the unfortunate habit of corrupting those they bit, whether through lycanthropy, frothing madness or other nasty diseases that could be contagious. She shook her head briskly.

"Kobold arrow. I pushed it out, well as I could, but--his fever's been rising . . ."

Gabriel nodded, his shoulders relaxing. He placed a sizeable hand on Sigrun's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"You did what you could. We'll see to him now. Don't worry - we've seen much worse injuries than this." He smiled, a glint of mischief in his crinkled eye. "That young man will be slurpin' down my tea soon enough. Whether he wants to or not."

Sigrun smiled, her head low, strands loose from her braided hair covering her face. She clapped his hand and turned away from him, heading back to Irman, the elk and the cart.

Irman Harefoot
Andel Moon
Sigrith
Ispir Sione
 
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On a dark night lit by the faintest sliver of a moon, in a remote forest far to the northwest, the avatar of Seelah appeared before the Dawn Court, ignoring the ruckus of laughter from the fringes of the edge-bramble, curtsying gracefully before the beet-cheeked, somewhat vexed-looking fairy lounging as importantly as he could muster upon a vine and wicker throne.

“Great Andronicus King! I come to ask of thee a small boon: a trustworthy agent to aid a new worshipper from the very unlikeliest of origins. Would you believe I have received prayers, earnest prayers, and a vow - from the Undercity of the Drow? This dark elf wishes, nay, she has pledged to atone; to bask in the moonlight withheld from her kind since they were sundered from us, why, millenia ago.”

Having just suffered a terrible prank which had led to an hour of raucous merriment at his own expense, Andronicus smiled broadly and leaned forward conspiratorily. He snapped his fingers and turned upward towards an overhanging tree bough, placing a geas on a particularly pleased-with-herself-looking winged cat.

"My dear, dear, tabbycat, who just demonstrated so entertainingly to this court thy formidable wit! Seek out this dark elf stumbling her way out of the Underrealm, guide her safely above, and hold her to her oath to our friend the Moon, for as long as she might keep it. Why, the uproar should prove most deliciously amusing, dost thou not agree?"

The cat now looked much less pleased with herself; a faerie king's geas could only be escaped by discharging the task beseeched. With a haughty murr, she alit into the sliver-mooned gloom, circling up into the stronger breezes and eddies, then soaring off into the southeast sky.

***​

The tunnel was rising again, weaving gently left, then right, following a vein of some unknown ore long-excavated. Vel’duith gasped and grimaced, having stepped upon the edge of some chiseled detritus littering the tunnel floor. The once plush soles of her spidersilk slippers had nearly worn through at both the balls and heels of her sore feet. Still, she maintained both her brisk pace and her nearly absolute silence. A chilly zephyr stroked her ink-black cheek, then the tip of her earpoint. Was the surface finally drawing near? She stopped and wheeled around at the sound of a soft whistle, fumbling with cold-numbed fingers for the hilt of her shortsword. A cat with folded wings sat there, pointedly ignoring the dark elf to lick straight the fur on a paw, then meeting her red eyes with golden feline ones. A consumptive yet velvety female fey voice rang through her mind.

«You are actually going through with it, then? How mad. Just my luck…»

The winged cat raised up from her ample haunches, arched her back in a languid stretch which extended into the pinion feathers of her wings, then refolded her wings and sauntered a step forward to assume a heraldy pose, paw extended towards the now completely perplexed drow woman.

«Ahem. To atone and rejoin your fair cousins, O fell dark elf lady, you must first prove your worth! You didn’t die making it this far, so I may well come to regret this… but… I am bound to see your oath fulfilled to Miss Moonybritches, ‘oh, great king, what mighty geases you have! Could you maybe use one on that magnificent winged tabby in the tree?’ -so, here I am to aid you, to guide you to your doo….-estiny. Do you have any birds here in the Underrealm? I hunger after my most arduous thermal glide to this… hole, here under the Spine.»

Regaining the use of her momentarily slackened jaw, Vel’duith knelt down to face the creature, curiosity overcoming her initial surprise.

“You… you have come from Sse’ellah? Who are you?”

The cat strutted quite importantly in a languid figure-eight pace.

«I have come from King Andronicus. Your ‘Ssssssssssssss-eelah’ is chums with him. I am… dogs nip my tail, you’ll never manage my name with a flat, uncleft, practically broken muzzle like yours. Oh, just call me whatever - I suppose I’ll suffer it.»

The dark elf’s lips curled into a smirk.

“Ilharess, then - for your…. undeniable air of authority.”

The cat immediately sensed that this was a joke at her expense, but pretended not to care, pacing importantly past the drow toward the rather obvious direction the cold wind was starting to whistle from.

«Ahem. Your perilous journey draws near its close! -Seriously. Mouth of this mountain-hole can’t be more than twenty fathoms ahead. So! Onto the topic of proving yourself! You’ll want to hop right to it, I’m sure. I can just tell about a person in circumstances like these. There is an important-looking great heaping nest of flat stones nearby, like the humans plop down whenever enough of them arrive in one place to all start feeling their oats. The ones living there? They are said to hunt monsters! If doing that won’t ‘atone’ you and fulfill my dogs-slobbered geas, I don’t know what will!»

With that, the pair emerged from the cave into… the blinding light of morning. Vel’duith buried her face into the twisted cone of her spidersilk hat, then windmilled wildly after nearly stepping off a cliff. A huge shadow loomed ahead in the dazzling bright, promising succor to her now-screaming eyes. She gingerly began stepping in that direction, cautiously testing each footfall for stability as she slowly, half blindly approached the looming walls of Crobhear Keep.

“Goddesses!!” She muttered to herself. “How does the sky burn, yet the world not catch flame?”
 
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“It’s being handled, yeah?” Irman asked Sigrun in a steady voice. He set down the burlap sack filled with the shattered pieces of the glass filled mummy. Sigrun doubtlessly gave a signal of confirmation.

“That’s goood, very.. good…” the colorfully dressed mercenary collapsed to the ground as a sleepless night of running caught up with him physically. Honey pepper also went down to the ground, putting together in her little elk mind that the full night of running was over.

“Gods above are those two injured too?”
A couple guards and general staff had come out to investigate the commotion.
“No, looks like just exhaustion and exposure to me. Let’s get this rabbit to a spare bead in the barracks and let’s get this elk to the stables!”

A few people carried Irman and his stuff off to the barracks while Honey Pepper was coaxed to move just a short distance more. The unassuming bag was left for Sigrun to deal with. Likely just to be moved to somewhere inside.

Meanwhile. Gabriel led the two custodians carrying the shivering Ispir down the halls of the main keep and to a door with a sign that said “please knock!”. Gabriel swung open the door in a gregarious manner, revealing a cluttered workshop where a balding bespectacled bearded man was hard at work repairing a number of lanterns.

“Did you not see the sign you greying oaf?!”

“It’s urgent Hojen. A young man’s just arrived suffering an arrow wound to the leg and now running a fever.”

“A man?!” Hojen remarked, noticing Ispir’s ethereal beauty “let me move these lanterns and you can put him on the table I suppose.”

Ispir was gently placed on the workshop table. Hojen unwrapped the bard from all the fur and fabric meant to keep him warm while the custodians went to go fetch Hojen surgery supplies and medical potions.
 
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Ispir's body was warm, too warm, his lithe form sweating and tense. His chest had begun rising and falling in more rapid, wheezing breathes and he would let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a noise of pure distress as he was lifted from Sigrun Flintfeet 's arms. Albeit one that was tiny, frail and quavering with his uneven breathe. But as his body was carried deeper into Crobheart Keep his mind and spirit would continue to wander.

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As Ispir walked a few more tentative steps into the ancient, crumbling architecture that roiling mass of stars would begin to float upward and condense. The sphere of swirling constellations and glimmering motes fusing together more and more into a bright blue-white ball that meant, well, nothing to Ispir. Though he did notice the crumbled, ruined architecture all around him begin to rise and reconstitute itself as the mass of energy went higher and higher.

Ground down stubs of weathered rock and fractured foundations would piece themselves together, the vaguest suggestions of any sort of verticality would slowly whirl and solidify into pillars that seemed to grow with every step Ispir took. The soft echo of his footfalls, each and every one, causing one of those umbral beings in the waning darkness to dissipate.

Casting his eyes around this odd place Ispir's body would also weakly flop his head to the side upon the workshop table. All at once, in the real world, his breathing would stop. While in his dream a voice would radiate out to him in a voice both utterly silent and near-deafening. It had no tone, no tenor, no inflection or pitch and yet it flooded over Ispir as if he was standing as the sole audience to an orchestral canon shot.

"V' Zjpvu vm Zahy huk Zvun. Ilhylza aoll aol zaylunao av jhyyf aof vmmlylk ibykluz?"

It intoned. Ispir's aquamarine eyes would widen, then squint, before he simply asked.

"W-What?"

Those noises meant nothing to Ispir and he would almost jump out of his proverbial skin as that star-born rabbit WHOOSHED by him with enough speed to make his cloak flutter. It would come to a stop a few feet before him, scratching at a floppy ear, and look at Ispir expectantly. Ispir, staring at the rabbit equally expectantly, would try speaking again.

"I don't understand. A-Am I dead?"

Frowning Ispir would hug himself in his mind at the thought of dying so... quickly... after having woken up from whatever past he had.

Meanwhile.....

Ispir's body would begin breathing again after only a few seconds of pause and in his dream Ispir would feel a rush of cold surge through him, entirely unsure of where it was coming from.

Some distance away a certain cat, a certain tabby cat, Ilharess would feel a faint wave of old, old magic. Enough to leave tantalizing trails of the kind of thing to murmur her true name to her in the twinkling twilight of the stars. Upon the laughing rustle of nighttime winds felt in flight on the breeze. A gentle thing but no less present in the very keep ahead. What a cruel, languid thing fate, as it seemed to lead even Vel'duith Voiryn 's guide as much as she.

Ispir's body, after beginning to breathe again, would arch and his eyelids would flicker weakly. But though they did not open a gentle aquamarine glow would begin to emanate from underneath his eyelids.

Sigrun Flintfeet
Irman Harefoot​
 
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Irman Harefoot said:
“It’s being handled, yeah?”
Click to expand...
A nod of confirmation, then through a clenched mouth:

"Aye. He be in good hands."

When Irman was carried away and the elk led off, Sigrun leaned her back against a ramshackle wooden post, sinking down to her haunches. Ancestors, she was weary to the bone. Every muscle and fibre of her burned with the sort of exhaustion that came from pushing her body well beyond its limits, crumbling to be carried by Honey Pepper, before pushing it again, only to collapse a last time.

But unlike her allies, she didn't seek the safety of indoors quite as quickly. She closed her eyes, enjoying the brisk mountain air on her cheek drifting in through the holed walls of Crobhear Keep, a constant companion to her journeys. It cooled her heated skin, dully pulsing with exertion. She was even tempted to pull off her boots and wriggle her toes in the air.

But rest would not last long. Soon, another commotion took to the walls.

"Someone's approaching the gate!"

"Who? Can you see 'em?"

"Not sure. Looks alone! I think . . . someone with a big hat . . ."

"Keep the gate open, then. Might be more stragglers."

Sigrun frowned. Someone arriving on their own, so shortly after them? Suspicious. Ever since they picked up the artifact, they had gotten a dollop more unwanted attention than she normally saw. Perhaps a kobold scout followed them here, although they didn't usually wear hats.

Groaning and pushing herself back up to her feet, she decided to satisfy her paranoia. See who happened to arrive at the same time as them. Once she had written off any danger, then she could rest.

She patted the heads of her twin axes, a reassuring hard surface of steel - indulging a habit of hers. Eventually, she made it to the still open gate, along with the two previous guards. But when she saw the figure up close, staggering towards them, hand raised and hat drawn over silvery hair and ink-coloured skin, Sigrun froze in her tracks.

Ancestral animosity coursed through her veins. Her hand sunk lower, past the axe-head, nearly gripping its shaft.

A drow. Of all things, a dark elf had followed them here. Dressed immacutely, though her clothes suffered the wear and tear of a long journey. Sigrun's eyes narrowed into olive slits, one side of her mouth twitching downwards, legs spread in a stance ready for battle.

"You have some nerve showing your face here, ash-head." She raised her chin, while her fellow guards could only goggle at her with incomprehension. She spoke in the language of most underdwellers - Undercommon. It was important for a dwarf of Belgrath to learn the tongue of the enemy, after all. 'Ash-head' was one of many slurs the dwarves reserved for their hated foe, referring to the colour of their hair. A foe who raided, plundered and dragged away slaves from any unfortunate souls who met them.

A violent sneer slashed her features, her fist clenching on a throwing axe.

"Not one step closer. Or it'll be your bloody last."

Vel'duith Voiryn
 
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The winged cat murred curiously as the pair approached the keep, looking up toward the rock-nest with sudden interest.

«A moment! I smell something old, something quite curious. Worry not; I am bound to return and aid you further.»

And she leapt into the air, circling up over the mountainside, arcing toward the keep.

Just as the dwarf and her eager axes rounded the gate.

Vel'duith didn't need her full vision to recognize immediately that she was at full disadvantage. Eager axe-maiden aside, there was the fortress itself to consider. Her own folk would have eyes and much, much worse at each and every buttress and porthole. Yet, no attack had befallen her beyond a puerile slur, and no demands made besides a quite reasonable order to halt. She stood straight, not advancing in the slightest, slowly straightening her hat to face the dwarf properly, nearly pupilless garnet-hued eyes squinting hard, lips forced out of the painful scowl previously masked by her hat into something approaching a calm half-smile.

"What of my nerve, stone-daughter? If I truly sought harm to you, or to any in yon keep, would I be standing here in plain sight, no weapons gripped, walking openly and blind in the light of that... hell-disk above? Tell me, pray - are you by any chance one of those who hunt monsters?"
 
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In the barracks, Irman was laid to an unused bed. The custodians wondered what exactly he was and where exactly he hailed from. Some of the custodians were rather well traveled, and had met quite a few beastmen. But, none could recall encountering any that could match Irman in both figure and features.

Deep in the rabbit-man’s mind though, Irman was lost in a dream he hadn’t had for several years. Back when he had first awoken into the world alone, confused, nameless; it was the only dream he could ever have. Phantoms of a life he had lived but could not recall, people and places that appeared before him just out of focus, and then dissolved into mist.

He knew nothing of this previous life save the skills he had learned and honed and mastered, a memory of running alone in an endless forest, and the knowledge that at that time, that at that place, he was human.

Meanwhile, in Hojen’s workshop, the bespectacled barber surgeon had finished extracting any stray shards of the arrow head from Ispir’s leg.

“There, now we just apply a healing salve and wait for the boy to awake so he can drink a regenerative concoction.”

“Thank you Hojen, I’m sure Sigrun and her long eared friend will be happy to hear that their young companion is on the road to recovery, I’ll go share the news.”

“Yes, yes. I am quite amazing, without me this keep would surely crumble into ruin.”

Gabriel left the room to seek out Sigrun, leaving Hojen alone with the unconscious Ispir.

“But what an odd specimen you are young man, a bard sought out by cultists who fled to the wilderness of the spine of all places. And, to survive there alone for days or even weeks with such fragility.”

Hojen leaned in to closely examine Ispir’s face.
“Just what exactly even are you?”
Ispir Sione said:
Ispir's body would begin breathing again after only a few seconds of pause and in his dream Ispir would feel a rush of cold surge through him, entirely unsure of where it was coming from.

Ispir's body, after beginning to breathe again, would arch and his eyelids would flicker weakly. But though they did not open a gentle aquamarine glow would begin to emanate from underneath his eyelids.
[/CENTER]
Click to expand...

Seeing the glow coming through Ispir’s eyelids, Hojen leapt back away from the table.
“Guards guards, something is happening! Call for Gabriel call for someone!”
 
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Vel'duith Voiryn said:
"What of my nerve, stone-daughter? If I truly sought harm to you, or to any in yon keep, would I be standing here in plain sight, no weapons gripped, walking openly and blind in the light of that... hell-disk above? Tell me, pray - are you by any chance one of those who hunt monsters?"
Click to expand...
Sigrun stood still, threateningly so, barely a ripple in her tense features. Her brow did furrow, however, as the proferred logic was not unsound. But it felt too prepared. Too much like drow deception.

"I hunt many things. Monsters too. Including those scampering out of the Underrealm." Her pointed gaze at Vel'duith gave indication enough of her meaning. She switched to the Common tongue, including the other Noct Yaegir in their conversation. "Why? What do you seek here? Coming alone and unarmed isn't wise in these parts. Even the shepherds here know that."

By her sceptical tone and hostile stance, it was clear that Sigrun doubted this drow stranger didn't carry some ulterior motive to her seemingly vulnerable state. Her eyes occasionally darted past Vel'duith, attempting to spot others in hiding.

Vel'duith Voiryn​

 
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The dark elf's smirk faded slightly.

"What do I seek... ah."

She drew in a breath, and exhaled, the steam of her sigh whipped away on the wind.

"That is the question indeed! I do not fully know what I seek. A life beneath the moon's light? And I did not say I was unarmed; only that I have not drawn weapons in anger... as some in these lands strange to me seem wont to. What are these shepherds you speak of?"

Raising her voice to a nearly shrill pitch, audible to the new audience.

"All that I can offer you and your allies as assurance is the word of a stranger, when I cannot say myself whether I would freely accept the same. And I can offer you my creed, if you will hear it from me! I have sworn myself to serve Sse'ellah, the moon goddess, for revealing her wisdom to me in the darkest depths of my home, at the moment I needed it most, and for saving my free will from corruption when none among my own kind would have cared to."

Turning back to the dwarf, the drow wearily nods in acknowledgment, continuing her explanation.

"You seek my allies in the shadows, and I am not fully alone. Sse'ellah sent me a guide this morning - a fey creature, winged, fluffy, striped and gray. Never have I seen before her ilk. I suspect she is quite lazy, too, or perhaps simply better at hunting birds than exercising moderation in devouring them. She flew off just before you arrived to accost me. Said she smelled something... old, and curious were her words, and it was within your walls. I know not what, nor where within. I am, as I admitted, a stranger. Ah! Before we approached, the flying fairie furball told me those within yon keep were renown for hunting monsters, and she suggested I offer my aid, that I might prove my intentions. I am a rogue of some repute, a scholar of ancient and often fell lore, and a luminancer of some talent. A book-thief, by trade... in the past."
 
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Sigrun blinked. The long, rambling explanation of the drow seemed too fantastical and too out of this world to be a fabricated lie. Moon goddesses, oaths, independence, flying fey furballs, boasting of being a rogue and a pilferer of books . . . Not exactly glowing recommendations, but too long of a script for a charlatan to remember.

So she decided upon another, more likely answer. She concluded this drow was mad. Mad as a Nordenfiir on shrooms.

She had heard stories of such madness. 'Sky-mind,' some of her kinsmen called it. Could happen to the best of dwarves even, having spent a lifetime underground and suddenly being exposed to a brutal, endless sky and glaring sun.

It was probably safer to send this one packing, but she doubted force would be needed. Her hand slackened from her axe, satisfied that no one was sneaking up on them. She was going to suggest the direction of the nearest village.

"Well, it's probably better if you--"

"Well, well. What have we here? More guests."

Sigrun whirled to see Gabriel in the shadow of the gatehouse. He looked as calm and solid as usual, glancing at their new arrival with mild curiousity. He was holding a steaming mug in his hand, taking a casual sip from it, seeming not to mind the heat of its clay in his large hand.

"I-- she may not be what she seems, sir."

"Well, she seems to me much like you do, no? Tired and in need of a good rest." He sized Sigrun up and down with a quick glance. "I'm surprised you're even standing, Sigrun. Your friends are blissfully asleep as we speak."

Before she could voice more protests, Gabriel threw his head towards the gate, indicating for her to leave.

"Go on, hit that straw and keep slaying kobolds in your dreams. Don't want your real axes dulled. Or your wits." Sigrun opened her mouth, but he pre-emptively raised his hand. "I'll take things from here. If our friend here had wanted to harm us, she probably would have by now. Go on."

Sigrun hung her head, defeated by his unforced authority and her own fatigue. She shot one last, sceptical look at the new arrival, before trudging off, mumbling to herself in Dwarvish. Gabriel gained a weathered smile, glancing after the grumbling dwarf before inviting Vel'duith in with a sweep of his hand.

"Al'doer ulu ussta qu'ellar." While his drow speech was choppy and poorly accented, it would be understandable. Welcome to my house.


Vel'duith Voiryn
 
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It is now Vel'duith's turn to become paranoid... a human speaking the mother tongue? Was he a slave? At least the dwarf's response was expected. She greeted the bearded human with the drow gesture of open palms, hoping to conceal her trepidation. Her now quite bloodshot eyes dilated slightly as she passed through the gate-shadow, and darted quickly over him, assessing his expression, his posture, his arms and armor.

"Orbb xuileb cress zhah nau silinrul." ("A spider cannot hunt without a web.") "My name is Vel'duith Voiryn. Is it true, then? Are you monster hunters? What sorts are there on the surface? Surely they are not all merely the kobolds you mentioned..."

She glanced about, noting inbuilding entrances, access points like ladders and stairs, weapon racks, stores... then closed her eyes a moment. She wasn't casing a rival house! She nearly blurted out her next question in her nervousness.

"You must have some questions for me? The dwarf's were more than expected. I should have thought her as mad as her eyes seemed to behold me just now, had she not! Our races have had many, many wars, since before your people first left their caves."

***​

Ilharess padded noiselessly across the roof of the inbuilding that smelled of the old magic, save for the barely perceptible thrumming of her habitual consumptive murring. Oh, yes! It was this place here. And there were rats nearby, too. Two birds, one breakfast. She nosed against an attic shutter, sucking her fur and feathers in to squartch inside, leaving shed fur all over the sill. Step by step, she padded across the dusty attic floor, whiskers and nose twitching until....

"SKKKKFEW! SKKKKFEW!"

The cat wrinkled her nose and proceeded onward toward the attic ladder, as though she hadn't just made more noise than a boarling trapped in a bog.

Ispir Sione
Sigrun Flintfeet
 
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As the winged cat caused a ruckus above the keep, a custodian ran out to Gabriel. It was one of the custodians who had carried Ispir into the keep.

“Lord Warden, Lord Warden! Ser Hojen calls for you urgently from the workshop! H-His call was short but something strange is happening to the young bard! Something I cannot fully describe.”

Gabriel’s expression grew serious in a flash. “What could be… no there’s likely little time. Sigrun! We must hurry, something has happened to your young companion!”

As Gabriel made for the keep he pointed to one of the present guards. “Cyril, escort miss Voiryn to the barracks, treat her well but do not let her wander the keep alone!”

Ispir Sione
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Ispir's body would simply continue to breathe, to exist, and even once Hojen leapt away and called for the guards it did not move. The wheezing had halted, at least for now, but otherwise it simply maintained a slow, shallow but steady, breathing pace. Only the faintest twitching of the eyelids and the glow beneath any indication that something was even remotely active about it.

Meanwhile.......

In the dream the rabbit would tilt it's head, ears flopping in a natural way despite not being a creature of flesh and blood, before it would bound off up into the mass of starlight above. Had it been wanting something from him? Expecting something, even? Ispir frowned as that cold chill passed and clutched at his chest, his frown turning a scowl as he felt no heartbeat, and he would call out.

"Please! If there's something you want from me o-or if this is some sort of test or riddle I'll warn you I'm not very smart! I just... just want to go back!"

Hand dropping from his chest Ispir's lean, musician's hands would ball up into fists at his his side only for... things to begin to crumble. The pillars would chip, dust and small bits of stone beginning to fall from their otherwise proud surfaces. Then, to crumble, larger shards raining down as Ispir jumped in surprise and backpedaled a few steps.

The mass of starlight up above would begin to pulsate with heat, it's surface roiling with energy as it's glow intensified and Ispir squinted, lifting a hand to shield their eyes, as a wave of warmth would cause some of the pillars to begin to fall apart. That radiance, that mixture of light and warmth, intensifying even more and Ispir simply could not keep his eyes open any longer. Both arms would cross in front of his head as he did all he could to shield himself from the blinding eruption of blue-white light that washed over him......

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When his eyes next opened in the dream all of the stone had been washed away. The only remnants of the proud structure he had once stood upon now being a sole path from where he stood to... not a roiling sphere of starlight and heat... but a blade?

Random bits of debris would swirl and fly about him, none hitting him in either a supreme miracle or... for some other reason. The bits of stony debris also seemed to warp and melt as if it were not truly stone at all. Brow furrowing in confusion Ispir would look up above the blade, then all around, and call.

"I don't know what this means! I'm not a warrior!"

But nothing responded to him. The blade simply continued to float, expectantly, and simply out of pure frustration Ispir would march forward.

"Fine! I'm not... not sure what any of this is but..."

Reaching out as he spoke a fingertip would alight upon the pommel of the blade and a voice would bloom in his mind. This one clear as crystal, tranquil, instructive even and it was... familiar? He knew it. He knew he knew it. Even without knowing where he knew it he knew it. And, for some reason, it made a tear roll down his cheek in sadness, longing, he missed this voice. Even if he did not remember why.

"I am Her Will. The Fire that bends the Stars to Her command."

Ispir did not have time to question these words, or even truly think about them, because in the next moment he also felt something... soul-crushingly sad.

He...... wasn't worthy.

Whatever this blade wanted from him, expected from him, offered him, he didn't deserve it. That single thought, like a white-hot blade to the heart, lanced through him and made another tear roll down his cheek before.... darkness.

Meanwhile....

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Eyes would snap open, glowing as bright as stars, and Ispir's body would slowly sit up upon the table. The motion being matched by a turn of the head and Hojen would be regarded for a single heartbeat before a voice emanated from Ispir's body, though their lips did not move.

"BE NOT AFRAID."

Elsewhere this intonation would reach Ilharess as well. A cool mist accompanying each syllable like cousin-winter or brother-morn. The cool chill of dew upon fresh grass or the billow of a nightingale wind into an ancient heart. A man, turned and twisted from himself would also hear these three words in the depths of his dreams. A comfort, an instruction, that held no whimsy of nature nor spirit, but clipped and firm like the familiarity of a commanding officer.

Faint, melodic whispers would begin to circle Ispir's body, a ring of faint magic cowling their head as words were given form were given authority. Floating from among Hojen's supplies were the aforementioned healing salve and regenerating concoction. The salve seemed to apply itself beneath the gaze of Ispir's body, as if Hojen was no longer present, before they gently extended their hands to cradle the bottle containing the regenerating concoction and downed it peaceably in one gulp.

With that done it would set aside the bottle, the salve, gaze at Hojen for a long moment before a whisper-murmur would cause the room to shake softly. Countless bottles, tinctures and medical tools rattling at two simple words. A ruckus well audible to anyone even remotely near the medical workshop.

"Thank you."


Ispir's body would then lay back down, close it's eyes, and go still. The light fading from their eyes as they returned to slow, even breathes as if nothing at all had happened.

Irman Harefoot
Sigrun Flintfeet
Vel'duith Voiryn​
 
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Sigrun managed to rush into the stillroom with Gabriel, just at the pinnacle of Ispir's transformation.
Ispir Sione said:
"Thank you."
Click to expand...
Those two words - titanic in scope, rattling through her bones like divine memory - completely arrested Sigrun in her tracks. She could only stare at Ispir lying back down, the powerful, teal glow dissipating from his eyes and the room.

Her eyes widened enough to see a whole lot more sclera than normal, her pupils tiny, dilated dots in comparison. Her hands splayed out, ready, tense, not certain whether to catch him or clench into a fist, should something else be here.

Eventually, her caution gave way before her worry. She rushed to his side, cradling his shoulders, shaking him lightly.

"Ispir? Ispir, wake up. Are you . . . there?"

Her lower lip folded below the upper, her mouth puckered and pressed with concern for him, all while she attempted to shake some life back into him. Gabriel slowly followed in her shadow, looming above them both, cautious and guarded.


Irman Harefoot
Ispir Sione
Vel'duith Voiryn
 
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Ilharess hopped down the ladder with a light flutter, folding her wings and grooming herself a moment. She murred curiously upon recatching the magical scent, before padding down the hallway in its direction. Reaching the medic's workshop, she flutter-jumped atop a medicine cabinet, curled up, and plopped into her catbird perch as though it was the most natural place in Arethil for a winged cat to be sitting. And there she nonchalantly watched the bard as he lay.

* * *

Vel'duith followed the guard, relieved to finally be indoors, and welcoming the respite of leaving the uncomfortable riddle of Gabriel's presence for however brief a moment. She found a chair in the darkest corner of the barracks and settled down upon it. She laid down her satchel, ungirded her weapon-belt, unpinned her cloak, clasped a silver dagger in her lap, draped the cloak over her as a makeshift blanket, and finally closed her eyes to meditate. Undisturbed, her meditation would continue throughout the remainder of the day, and a bit into the night.
 
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“Is, is it over?” Hojen asked, looking in from the hall.

A number of custodians carefully stepped in after Sigrun and Gabriel, unsure of how to proceed.

“Sigrun. I take it this isn’t something young Ispir has done before?”

Gabriel put his hand to the unconscious bard’s head. Ispir’s fever seemed to have cleared with breathing that was soft and steady.

Meanwhile, at the front gate.

The burlap sack still laid where Irman had dropped it. Around the courtyard numerous fabrics rustled and fluttered in the morning breeze. The sack did not. It sat there unaffected by the wind. Quiet, dead, being pulled imperceptibly slowly to the west.
 
At Sigrun Flintfeet 's shaking Ispir would grumble quietly and fitfully turn in his unconscious state. Thankfully for Hojen's heart the spectacle seemed to be over and as his breathe slowly began to even out one of his hands would weakly, almost limply, grip Sigrun's wrist and pull it close. His eyelashes fluttering softly but slowly opening. By this point heavy bags laid under his bright eyes and he would stare at her in stoic, inscrutable contemplation for a moment.

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Before all at once his features split into a soft, sleepy smile and he rather tiredly let his head fall to the side into Sigrun's palm. Only to spy the man looming over them and blink slowly.

"A-Ah."

Came a small, indecisive sound before he would slowly release Sigrun's wrist and look more than a little bashful. Dark circles already forming under his eyes as he look from Sigrun, to Gabriel, and back before asking.

"Is... Is Irman a rabbit? I-I mean a full rabbit? Is he still walking on two legs? Is he okay?"

Of course the first thing he did was worry for his friends. Even as the wound on his leg was slowly sealing itself together from Hojen's curatives though... a bit more quickly than one might expect them to work. As for Ilharess the small Bard was likely of no further interest. That magic had dissipated upon his wakening as quickly as it appeared. Though he would notice her and his smile would brighten shakily as he commented absentmindedly.

"What a pretty cat...."

He was rather exhausted so more than a little delirious and easily distractable right now.

Irman Harefoot
Vel'duith Voiryn​
 
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Sigrun smiled through her tangles of unbound hair, gradually loosened from strain and one rapid event after another - like a beam of sunlight through a tangle of trees. She chuckled a little at his outlandish question of Irman, turning to look up at Gabriel.

"He's fine."

The relieved mirth dampened though, as her mind cast back to the sack in the cart. Like an infectious wound in the castle, it had to be treated, and she wasn't certain if the warden was going to take it well. He might be a patient man, but he cared for the integrity and security of Crobhear Keep above all else. She bit her lower lip briefly, eyes flittering, downcast, before raising up to meet his gaze.

"Gabriel. We have to talk. This is not all we brought." She hesitated at his intent curiousity, keen eyes locked on her. "We have something else for you to look at. Something evil. For now, we should probably lock it in the dungeon. But we will need to convene a council, I think." She gestured halfway at Ispir, indicating the curious phenomena that had just surrounded him. "Even stranger things are a-foot with this thing."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The same day, Dusk

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After a fitful rest, the morning sun surrendering to a grey, overcast dusk, they convened in the main hall. Denizens of the keep had gathered to watch this meeting unfold. The Warden had learned that attempting to keep anything a secret within these walls usually resulted in abject failure. And so, it was decided to make anyone sleeping under the same roof as the evil artefact aware of its implications.

Hojen, along with a handful of other specialists, had had the chance to investigate the artefact: A long-dead husk of a corpse, nearly stripped of its flesh, hollow eyes staring off into the ceiling, slack jaw seeming petrified in spewing an ancient curse. The grey light landed on it tentatively, as if unwilling to even touch it, rendering it in aberrant shadows, manacled to a heavy oak chair as if brought in for questioning.

After picking through the corpse with scalpel and incisers, Hojen and a fellow surgeon had found something of note in the old corpse. A splinter of some strange, metallic shard, lodged where its heart should be. Rather than risk touching this alien material, they had simply separated its ribs to allow for more of a clear view to this strange splinter.

"So, if I am to understand this correctly . . ." Gabriel said, walking around the mummified body, pensively tugging his beard. "This has been behind the corruption of several Hellboars and possibly a pack of kobolds. You said you even saw it adding, in your words, a moisture to the surrounding forest where you discovered it." He sniffed deeply, as if inhaling that very summary for his consideration. He eyed Sigrun closely, sharply, the eyes of a judge before penitents. "You have taken a great risk bringing this here."

While he didn't subject Vel'duith to this barbed scrutiny, his observations had often ended in a glance their way, as if attempting to piece together a puzzle from its individual parts.

Vel'duith Voiryn
Irman Harefoot
Ispir Sione
Sigrith
 
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Vel'duith looked and felt much refreshed by her reverie and the setting of the tormenting sun. Having gathered her senses from the morning's shock and ordeal, her expression that evening rarely seemed to vary far from either a nonchalant half-smile or a mildly bemused half-smirk. She stood somewhat apart from the others gathered in the chamber. Not so much of her own accord - it seemed that the rank and file either didn't know what to make of her, or knew exactly what to make of her; both opinions seemed to favor at least a couple paces of distance.

She wore just her layered spidersilk robes and slippers now, with a sheathed silver dagger tucked into her girdle; her mantle, hat, and weapon-belt were left by the chair she had claimed in the barracks. The winged cat Ilharess that had earlier been skulking in the surgeon's workshop now rubbed against the drow's calves and ankles, dusting the hem of her robes with loose fur, before plopping onto her well-padded haunches. She sniffed the air, and her golden feline eyes locked directly onto the corpse's chest.

Looking over the corpse during Gabriel's address, Vel'duith's face first crinkled with a tinge of disgust, which quickly gave way to a mixture of awe and curiosity at the warping of the light near the chest. What was this? She drew in a breath, garnet eyes focusing on the anomaly, and subtly reached out into the warp, trying to sense what sort of magic was at work, whether it was akin to the light, color, and shadow-twisting luminancy she dabbled in, or something darker like proper shadowmancy or even some manner of fell necromancy.

Sigrith
Irman Harefoot
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Irman breathed deeply and stepped into a wooden bathtub. He had only woken recently, but desperately needed to wash. The warm water was a welcome change from the death march he had done just the night before. Looking back, Irman suspected he had ran forty to fifty miles to reach Crobhear. An absurd count by any measure. Not even to mention the half day of travel that preceded it, or the bar fight the night in Quarry Hill.

It was hardly a surprise he collapsed, hardly a surprise either that he spent most of the day sleeping. Irman brushed dirt and dried blood out of his fur as he thought back to his dreaming, the kind that had seemed to haunt him less and less before today. They were as strange as he had remembered, a life lived yet drowned in fog. It was eerie, no matter how “comfortable” with it he had gotten.

This time was different though. Perhaps due to just how long he had happened to sleep. By the end of his dreaming, it was like the fog was getting thinner. Not enough to reveal what had been lost to him, but thinner all the same. He even had heard a voice, garbled and faint. None of the sounds came together into words, save one, which Irman had awoken yelling with cause he didn’t understand.

“Dayla” the rabbit whispered, to check again that he could still recall it. It sounded like a name. Couldn’t it have belonged to a person that the man Irman once was had known. Irman didn’t know, and that which had been lost to him felt just as lost, even now.

Once Irman had brushed himself satisfactorily clean, he stepped out of the bath and dried his fur, thankful that he hadn’t woken up in that field a long haired rabbit. Drying fur was already a chore as is.

Clothes had been provided for him, a plain shirt and pants plus a simple hat for his ears. They were spares meant for a dwarf that fit awkwardly but well enough. Irman quietly cursed the man he once was for having studied the blade so thoroughly, but not the thread and needle.

Apparently there was a meeting that was being had to discuss the mummy just down a couple of halls. Irman was in no rush but he did want to hear if anything had been figured out about the ‘relic’.

Turning a corner though, Irman saw Ispir standing around hale and hearty just down the hall. Irman wasn’t sure what the bard was doing, but it was odd seeing Ispir able to stand again on both of his legs.

Irman knew he should be happy, and he was. But, he couldn’t escape the decisions he had made in the name of “pragmatism” and “strategy”. Ispir was walking through no noble or considerate act of Irman Harefoot. All Irman had done, was notice an ambush by the time it was already happening, and then decide Ispir wasn’t worth the immediate care that was on hand.

The dissonance that Irman felt was harsh. He didn’t know how to proceed. So, he just stood there. Lost in a silent daze.

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Ispir was indeed up on his feet and quite pleased about it. At least at first. He had taken the time to mend his clothing, something that he had forgotten he could even do, but with some cloth generously supplied by the keep and some determined sewing his clothes now looked right as rain! Although Ispir, once he was out in the hall, did not.

Indeed the tall (for present company) Bard looked rather pensive. Which was worrying because by his own admission he wasn't very smart. No doubt his puzzler was puzzling until it was sore and he even mumbled under his breathe gently.

"Flame.... Stars.... Her....? And why a sword....?"

Ispir had walked a few steps closer to Irman Harefoot in his own reverie, lips pursed in deep thought, and indeed he had to do a double-take when he saw Irman standing there. Oh how embarrassing! Irman was obviously staring at him, walking around and mumbling to himself like a lunatic, and judging him! Blushing a bit Ispir would scamper to Irman happily, unable to hide a bright smile despite his embarrassment, and chirped.

"Irman! You're okay!"

Stopping in front of the shorter rabbit man Ispir would positively beam at him.

"I was quite worried about you my friend."

Flourishing his cape in a slightly dramatic motion he would grin.

"I'm also back to being in top shape! Thanks to Ser Hojen, I mean."

Ispir would then blink, as if remembering something, before meeting Irman's gaze.

"O-Oh also I think they're having a meeting in the main hall. We can go in if you want? But umm before that....."

Ispir woudl suddenly step forward and give Irman a squeeze of a hug, his smile softening as he pulled back, and nodded his head.

"Thank you. I-I've been meaning to thank Sigrun Flintfeet as well but... well.... I saw you first so......"

He shrugged, keeping that gentle smile, and pushed his cap back up his head before asking.

"Shall we?"

Vel'duith Voiryn​
 
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"That's right. We don't know what in Crum's bloody beard it is." She scratched her neck, summoning up what scraps of knowledge she had. "But the things it's around they . . . change. The skin of the boars, I've--I've never seen anything the like! Wet and papery like, like . . ." her hands clutched the air for something of this world to compare it to. ". . . soaked parchment, all ripping apart and spewing out black bile. And eyes! Tendrils!" Her finger shot up with each exclamation, giving a little jolt through her audience with each one, though the gathered Noct Yaegir also shot each other rather . . . questioning gazes. Sigrun went on to further illustrate by widening her own eyes with her fingers, using her staring saucers to imitate the creatures. "Wide, crazed eyestalks - like this - spearing out their hides like giant wriggling worms."

Realising she was beginning to lose her audience to murmurs and mumbles, Sigrun sighed and shook her head. She stood up on a nearby chair, jabbing her finger into the palm of her other hand, a last bid for their attention.

"We found this in a hidden cove, in the woods and highlands west of Belgrath. It had engravings and scriptures around it, like some cursed tomb. Even as we approached it, it--something happened with--the air--and Irman whacked it, right in the--"

Gabriel raised his hand, just as she was about to demonstrate the blow Irman had delivered with a true-to-life example, arms swung back like she held his very billhook. Slowly, she lowered her arms and head alike - cursing herself for stumbling in her explanation. Hopefully they got the picture though.

"My question, Sigrun, is this. Have you seen it corrupt any people?"

She had to think about that one for a moment. Given the general clientele at the Broken Noose back in Quarry Hill, she could imagine some of those crazed nitwits to have been touched by its rot. Particularly that Mongrel fellow. But it was just as likely that Quarry Hill simply attracted those sorts. So a shrug it would have to be.

"I don't know, Warden. I don't think so. At least . . ." she paused, glancing at the thing, feeling as if it listened to her words with its ominous presence. "Not yet."

Sigrith
Irman Harefoot
Ispir Sione
Vel'duith Voiryn
 
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Vel'duith took a step forward, eyes half-closed, stretching out her hand more openly, her embeddings gleaming as she allows the weave to reach out, to flow between her and the strange aura of the mummy in silvery, eldritch zephyrs.

"There are wards... they are old, and were once very, very powerful. One ward has failed, however, and magic... magic now emanates out of it. It... it is a different magic, though, unpurposed... wild... dark... and... curious."

Her hand drops, her eyes open wide, and her jaw drops open in horror. She backs away a few steps, weaving a simple ward of her own before gathering her wits again.

"I think... I think the dwarf may be right, Warden. The leaking magic... it is curious. It has its own... not a mind, but not entirely unlike, either. It seeks purchase on what it touches, it seeks.... joining. And if it joins.... the consequences cannot be predicted. Why... anything that may be done with magic... I believe anything could happen."

The drow's slender form half-convulses in an involuntary shiver; she is visibly shaken by what she sensed.
 
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