Open Chronicles Things that Spread in Shadow

[Brock]

Durinsford. It had been a dwarven town long before humans had come. Now, apparently, barely a handful of dwarves still loved there. They had laid the foundations deep and then the humans had built upon their hard work.

Rain pelted his leather hood. Brok wouldn't have been able to hear, nor see anyone coming up on him from the side. He wasn't a worldly man, and didn't tend to consider things like bandits. Bandits didn't tend to consider Brok because he was around the size of a small house. The two went by quite blissfully ignoring the other.

It was a very human town now. Masonry that jutted up from the landscape, square and ugly. At the center the Church of the Flame he had heard about. Brok marched on through the unguarded gate.


The Red Stag was an unassuming Inn. Brok pushed the door open and ducked inside.

Brok had been sold this plan to break into the Church of the Flame as a quest. He had the naive hope that one day he could become a Knight, regardless of all the barriers between him and a title. This did not look like the kind of place where noble quests were arranged. It looked like somewhere crime was organised.



OOC/
The story is going to have a bit of a horror theme. Spoiler below has a bit of an outline of a plot to roughly follow.
Some might be here to investigate the church possibly stealing people, others might be in it for the chance of looting the church.

Spoiler

 

[Conrad]

(OOOOOOOOOOOOOOH! LOVECRAFTIAN HORROR~ I LOVE IT!)

Conrad had heard of the church, and the murders, and he definitely had reservations about it. But it wasn’t his concern as of right then, so he didn’t dwell on it. He focused on getting a room and getting food, the latter of which usually involved seducing and tying up barmaids. After he’d had his ‘food’ that evening and left the barmaid to her business, he ordered a strong beer.

A man roughly as big as he, maybe a bit bigger, walked into the tavern and had the look of purpose about him. Definitely someone worth listening in on. He might hear something useful or interesting. His beer arrived and he thanked the woman who brought it to him and took a swig.

He observed the hard to miss newcomer, and listened.

 

[Hahnah]

Dire wolves chewed the corpses of a pair of travelers. A pair of travelers who had been heading to a place called Durinsford to join the Church of the Flame. Human travelers.

Hahnah was glad that they were dead. She was squatted down, her chin rested on her knees and her arms wrapped around her shins, watching the dire wolves tear the flesh and muscle from their bones. She was hungry. But she did not try to reach for some--not again. Some monsters either did not mind or were aloof to her scavenging, but these dire wolves were neither. Her presence was tolerated, but she could not reach for the meat without one of them snapping at her hand.

So she waited. Waited until the pack was done. But there was nothing left once they had finished.

The pack started to move on, and Hahnah wandered with them. Slept that night in the periphery of their circle on a spongy bed of moss. Her last conscious sensation was picking up the smell of a coming rain.

* * * * *​

It was still raining in the morning. The leaves in the branches of the forest trees above swaying and droplets falling from them as well as from the sky.

Hahnah awoke. Soaked. Her hair was plastered to her head. And the first thing she did was roll up and onto her knees and clasp her hands together and tilt her head back and pray.

"Will You protect me?"

The morning rain kept falling.

"I wish only to do good."

Drops of rain splashed onto her upturned face.

"Will You watch me do good?"

Silence. Yet the silence never broke Hahnah's hope--the hope that she would one day hear an answer. But today was not that day.

She stood, all the strands of her fur-like Living Armor shaking and flapping in a momentary (and futile) effort to be rid of the rainwater on her. The pack of dire wolves had gone, leaving her alone. So she wandered. Wandered in search of food. In search of the profane.

* * * * *​

It rained continuously throughout the day. Rained and rained and this kept up even as the sight of something caught Hahnah's eye through the trees: a town. Durinsford--unbeknownst to her.

She immediately crouched down. Slid closer to a tree and peered out from around it, observing the settlement. She was not in Falwood, and as such she did not expect there to be many--if any--elves there. Yet even if the town had within it nothing but elves, it would still be dangerous. She was more like the dire wolves she had roamed with than the "strange elf" she often referred to herself as; and that was to say, unwelcome in towns like this one, or any one.

She was cold. Hungry. She could find something in there. Respite from the rain and food for her aching stomach. And she might also find humans. The profane. And she could do good and slay them.

But it was dangerous. There would be many in that town, humans or not. And she did not like being close to the many. Even that pack of dire wolves would have feared going into that town.

Night would come soon. And the night offered a veil of protection. She would use it. She would have to. The clouds above had made the day dark, but it was not yet dark enough.

And so Hahnah waited on the outskirts of Durinsford for that darkness to descend.

Brock Conrad

 

[Brock]

The description he was given was hard to miss. A tiefling with a broken horn. He was at a table in the corner, garbled in a thick leather travelling coat. There was an elven woman beside him whose cloak barely covered the leather armour she wore.

Brok marched that way with purpose. The tiefling looked up at him, both eyebrows raised.

"Steady on big man, what's the rush," purred the tiefling, leaning back in his chair.

"I'm here for the job to..."

The tiefling sat up sharply and cut him off with a sharp hiss. "Take a seat and be quiet. This is not the place for careless voices."

Confused, Brok took a seat. The elf turned to the tiefling.

"Too big and too stupid, we need to be quiet for this," he said quietly. She didn't even try and lower her voice so that Brok could not hear.

"Well, there might be some inconvenient doors along the way. Let's wait and see who else is taking the job...drink for you?" the tiefling asked Brok.

"No I...don't drink."

 

[Hahnah]

It had become dark enough.

Hahnah did not normally shiver from the cold, despite its claws of discomfort digging into her skin, and here this remained true. She had waited patiently in the rain. Was, as she had been upon waking, still soaked through, the bristling efforts of her Living Armor amounting to little, like bailing water from a sinking frigate. Yet from this she did not shiver.

From the prospect of sneaking into the town, the town where there would be many, she shivered. A tremble that started in her fingers and graduated to the whole of her hands and up her forearms. She stood and thought to make her advance, but then she was seized by the impulse to pray, to alleviate the quivering tension in her heart.

"I ask merely that You see me through this danger."

She was on her knees. Shaking hands clasped. Looking skyward.

"I ask merely for a small bit of food."

Leaves and branches swayed above.

"I ask merely for a good night's rest."

Hahnah waited, eyes wide and hopeful and blinking against the drops of rain that fell on them. She waited with the earnest eagerness of the well mannered, simply awaiting the chance to reply Thank You to someone for their kindness. No such occasion arose.

* * * * *​

The gate to the town of Durinsford was unguarded, and Hahnah slipped in.

She avoided the main passageways like the roads to ruin that they were. Around the sides and backs of houses and other buildings she went, crouching low and under windows, peeking around corners as necessary, stopping to listen when she heard or even thought she heard someone outside. The rain, though it had caused her chilling discomfort all day, was working in her favor here: the inhabitants of the town by and large wanted to stay out of it, and thus most of the town was clear.

Hahnah moved through the town. She was well suited to the dark. Mostly. Her eyes, much like those of a cat's, stood out through the shadows and darkness that thoroughly cloaked the rest of her body. So there would come times when she would have to close her eyes in order to blend in to her surroundings. To disappear, in a sense. Not so dissimilar from the childish thought of You Can't See Me if I Can't See You, yet with the circumstances there was a significant grain of truth to it.

She came eventually to a larger building. The Red Stag, so the sign said, yet the words Hahnah could not read. It did not matter. She would not go into that building through the front-facing door anyway. She would not.

But Hahnah circled around to the rear of the building. Found another door. Some buildings did have more than one door. Doors that did not face the roads of a town were doors that were less used. Safer.

Hahnah went to the back door of the Inn, primly hopping up the two steps leading to it. Tried it. And it was left open. Carefully, she pushed the door inward. Darkness (dimness, actually, was more correct) greeted her. And she poked her head inside.

It was a storeroom, little did she know. What she did know, what she could smell, was that there were containers of food in this place. And the small pleasure of the scent entering her nose made her smile.

Hahnah stepped inside the back storeroom of the Red Stag. Shut the door behind her, thinking it prudent to do so--even as she left tiny tracks of mud from her bare feet on the wooden floor, as rainwater dripped from her soaking frame and left a wake of small dots behind her. She went among the barrels, hearing through the interior door muffled voices speaking:

("...wait and see who else is taking the job...drink for you?")

("No I...don't drink.")

And Hahnah found half of a loaf of bread. She grabbed it. Squatted down among the barrels of the storeroom and bit into it voraciously. Quick and satisfied breaths in and out of her nose as the taste filled her mouth and danced on her tongue and she swallowed and her stomach, at last, could cease its twisting pains.

Brock Conrad

 

[Conrad]

"Well, there might be some inconvenient doors along the way. Let's wait and see who else is taking the job...drink for you?" the tiefling asked Brok.

Taking the job was the phrase that assured his involvement. He stood up, and despite the armor he wore he was still impressively quiet. He walked over to the group and said, “So you’re offering a job are you? Might I be of service?”

His voice was deep and vibrated ever so slightly, but regardless of this was quite smooth. (Think Kratos from the new God of War game.) He sat down without invitation and leaned back in his chair comfortably. He gave the elven woman a once over with his eyes, but didn’t let them linger, as though she weren’t worth his attention but just barely.

 

[Brock]

"Brilliant, another door kicker," muttered the elf sarcastically. "The damned Church now controls most of the town and you're going to put together the noisiest crew ever."

The tiefling smiled, despite the admonishment clearly being thrown in his direction.

"Let's not mention the church now..." he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

As if on cue a shard of light swept across the Inn. The windows were poor quality glass, distorting the view. However the white and red of Church of the Flame robes could be seen marching past. They carried bright lanterns. A hush fell over the bar, but no one entered the door.

Brok didn't like this. It didn't feel like some kind of honourable quest. It was starting to feel as if the tiefling and the elf were putting together a crew to rob the church.

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah ate the bread. Got into a store of meat. Even found some green vegetables and potatoes. To her there was so much. It was something that she was not used to, and an opportunity to be seized upon. She ate quickly. And something interrupted her partaking.

Beyond the interior door of the storeroom, she heard the word Church. Spoken not once, but twice. And Hahnah knew that word. It was a place where people--even humans--went to pray. She did not know if these churches each had some kind of special power within them. Something that...made one's prayers louder? More clear? More powerful? She did not know. But there had to be a reason why these places were special.

Her interest was piqued.

She departed from the feast around the barrels and crates. Moved silently toward the interior door, a thin line of light from the other side at the bottom of it. She crouched down low. Flattened herself to the floor. Tried to look out from under the gap of the door's bottom edge. She could see at least one pair of feet. Not bare feet, like hers. Shoes or boots. How could anyone stand to wear those?

There were more, though, than one person out in the Inn's main room. Four different voices. Maybe there were more than that; silent people whose feet she did not see.

Hahnah stood back up. Pressed her back against the wall immediately to the right of the interior door. Thought and considered. These people were going to a church. Hahnah wanted to go to a church and try to pray inside of one. But who was on the other side of this door? They did not sound like many, but could she trust them? What if they were all humans? What if even one of them was a human?

Should she try talking to them? They might suspect something if she did not go in through the front door to do so. But she had no clothes--clothes she found to be uncomfortable, but they were necessary to appear more like the people of towns and cities. Was there a spare cloak in here? She started to glance around.

Perhaps she could follow after them, if they decided to go to the church tonight. Hahnah did not specifically know what a church was supposed to look like, so she would need to.

She listened, as her eyes searched the storeroom as she continued to consider what she could do.

Brock Conrad

 

[Conrad]

"You limit my capabilities far too narrowly, elf." He said dismissively. His eyes caught the motion of the door as it moved her so slightly, and his sharp eyes picked up on the appearance of a face in it.

He was not sure what it was, but the smell of it was not human. He gave it a quick smile before almost immediately returning his gaze to the tiefling. He was about to say something when the procession passed.

He paid attention but wasn't worried. "So, friend, shall we go somewhere more discreet to discuss the job, too many employed will likely cost you too much."

He nodded towards the backroom door upon mentioning somewhere 'more discreet'.

 

[Brock]

"Oh no," said the elf, bringing her hands to her cheeks, voice laced with sarcasm, "whatever will I do?"

"Let's go lay out the job," the tiefling interrupted, shaking his head. He stood from the table, keeping a drink in one hand and led them away from the main room.

With each exchange, Brok became increasingly uncomfortable with what he was possibly becoming entangled in. The elf and the tiefling didn't seem like good samaritans.

They seemed like thieves.

"We're going to break into the cathedral," the tiefling announced.

 

[Hahnah]

Hahnah scanned the storeroom. Hearing, as she did, someone opposite the interior door talk about "the job." She did not think anything of it.

Her eyes then settled on what she was looking for. A cloak, hanging--as it so happened--beside the storeroom's back door, the very door Hahnah had come through. She had no occasion to intentionally seek out a cloak then. She did now. Hahnah went to the cloak (damp, still, from earlier use) and took it off of the hook and attempted to put it on. She failed on her first try, orienting it incorrectly. Then she got it turned the right way and had it wrapped about shoulders properly. She pulled it around herself, such that only her neck, head, and legs beneath her knees were showing. The discomfort from her Living Armor being covered had not set in yet, but it would.

And now this would be dangerous. But she wanted to try. She could run, if it went poorly.

Hahnah exited the Red Stag Inn through the back door. Walked through the rain outside and around the building. Approached--with some trepidation--the front door. It felt wrong. Like a mistake. Approaching people was almost always a mistake. But she nonetheless felt compelled to try.

She reached out her hand through the fold of the cloak and placed it on the front door of the Red Stag.

And pushed it open. Just enough for it to be ajar. Just enough for her to peek her head through the crack and have a look inside the main room. She only saw a portion of it.

But she saw Conrad. A tall and massive figure, striking her initially as human, and with that notion a lightning bolt of fear coursed down through her. But he was not. She did not know why he was not human (or fully human), but she did know that something in his appearance set him apart. That, and she did not smell the stench of humans in this room.

Still merely peeking her head through the ajar door, perhaps with a slight intrusion of a cloaked shoulder as well, Hahnah looked to Conrad whether or not he'd looked to her when the door had opened and she said in an effort to catch his attention, "I wish to go to Church."

In her voice an elven accent, a Fal'Addasian accent.

Conrad Brock

 

[Conrad]

Still merely peeking her head through the ajar door, perhaps with a slight intrusion of a cloaked shoulder as well, Hahnah looked to Conrad whether or not he'd looked to her when the door had opened and she said in an effort to catch his attention, "I wish to go to Church."

His ears caught her words, and he caught sight of someone he was fairly certain was the same thing he saw peeking out of the back room. He heard her words and smiled at her, beckoning her over, “you’ve come to the right place friend, it seems we intend to go there ourselves.”

"We're going to break into the cathedral," the tiefling announced.

He looked the man in the eye. “For what reason?”

He wasn’t religious, but he respected the sanctity ofreligious buildings and refused to violate them unless they were truly heinous in practice. And even then only with ironclad proof of such heinousness.

 

[Conrad]

( Brock )​

 

[Conrad]

( hey Brock, we bumping this? )​