An Unkindness (Part 1)

Log Info

• Title: An Unkindness (Part 1)
• Emitter: Ravenstongue
• Characters: Ashes, Jinks, Ravenstongue, Stjepan, Seyardu
• Place: A14 - Society for Progressive Arcanists
• Summary: Desperate for answers, Ravenstongue has attracted some friends and complete strangers (via flier advertisement) to deal with her problem of the flocks of birds that have been stalking her for quite some time. She's asked Lady Ainasse Lúpecyll, an elven mage with knowledge of the fae, to help her. Ainasse instructs the group to bring the flock of birds closer to her so she can conduct a magic rite, which the group succeeds in, as Ashlee weaves a nest for the birds to pick through, Jinks assembles an owl barbershop quartet (eventually a chorus), and Seyardu entices birds with snacks. However, the evening takes a dramatic turn when Lady Ainasse's rite results in the birds morphing into their true fae sending forms and converging into a messenger of the Feathered One, a fae lord, to deliver a message to both Ravenstongue and Ainasse, revealing Ravenstongue's long-forgotten name and the pact she was supposed to have fulfilled with her birth if her mother did not take her from Llyranost after birth. Ainasse rages at Ravenstongue, for fate has brought her husband's long-lost bastard child that has prevented her from having children to her, seemingly to taunt her. Jinks, Ashlee, and Seyardu put Lady Ainasse in her place and discuss where to go next with Ravenstongue. They decide on researching a spell that would allow communing with the Feathered One without risking Ravenstongue's life, and depart to fulfill this mission.

-=--=--=--=--=--=<* A14: Society for Progressive Arcanists *>=--=--=--=--=--=-

The central courtyard of the Arcane Society is a large and sprawling affair within the heart of the city. Soaring marble pillars reach upward to the sky, four sets of three, evenly spaced apart as the massive columns form a rough circle, each trio of pillars warding a particular direction. Carved into the smooth stone floor within the center of the atrium is a massive circle within the ceiling itself, which opens always to the stars, in honor of Eluna, the Goddess of Light Magic. Taara, the Goddess of the Dark, is given no such honors.

The central courtyard radiates outwards into paths, leading through the exotic gardens of the Society. One extends to the Library, another to the College of Magic. Another path leads off to a small, rather plain looking building between the two colleges, most likely the dormitory for the students, and yet another for the famous Cafeteria. Numerous magi can be seen walking back and forth most hours of the day and night here, with familiars or other odder creatures roaming about, most of them in the latest styles, as dictated by Madame Gelfure, the a more social head than the Society has had in most of its history. Myriad scents and aromas can also be sensed, some delightful, others repugnant, others quite colorful as apprentices and magi alike go about their experiments. Arguments are not unheard of, and even the most "dignified" of magi might be seen from time to time, in a pique of anger, waving an agitated hand to teleport the disagreeable person to the top of the nearest tower.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Ashes           A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face      
Jinks           A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry.           
Ravenstongue    Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair.  
Seyardu         A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint.
Stjepan         Big, blonde jotun.   
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The fliers put up by a certain bespectacled half-elf girl around the city were charming enough. They featured a cartoon drawing of a raven smack dab in the center, albeit not a very well done, along with the following plea in text above and below the raven:

'Help requested at the Arcanist's Society for a personal problem involving birds. Please come if you're magical, know something about the fae, or just want to help! -Ravenstongue'

And sure enough, Ravenstongue is pacing about in a disused section of the courtyard. Seated upon pillars of the buildings and in the greenery around them are a flock of birds. This time, it's owls and ravens alike, many species of owls seated. They all stare at Ravenstongue, occasionally speaking up to give a hoot or a croak, but otherwise are unmoving.

Pothy is on Ravenstongue's shoulder, and he looks positively mean. He occasionally turns about on her shoulder and yells at the birds. This only makes Ravenstongue flinch, as the poor girl has deep, dark circles under her violet eyes. "Pothy, please don't antagonize them. Hopefully this'll all be over soon. We just need to wait for others to show up--and Lady Aina."

A shadow darkens the corner of the courtyard. A first it seems that a shifting in the light has illuminated an old wanted poster. A substantial reward, five hundred gold, is promised for the apprehension of an ash coloured hobgoblin with a skull face. Abetting a murderess and thwarting justice is the crime.

Though closer inspection would reveal the person pictured in the poster is present. Exactly when she arrived wasn't obvious. There's a tearing sound, but the paper is pasted too securely to the wall. She manages to deface the wanted notice but not fully bring it down.

Sliding the shreds into her satchel she steps forward. An eerie chill surrounds the woman, suggestive of cemetaries. She moves very quietly as she steps up to Ravenstongue, and her familiar, Pothy.

"I'm not a powerful witch." The woman says in flat monotone, "if you still want help."

Jinks has the dormitories at his back, coat open and shirt loose as he does a bit of idle softshoe down the path towards the central section of the Academy. He hums, pleasantly, and looks for all the world like the cat that caught the mouse; entirely too pleased with himself. He glitters as he turns a lazy circle, arms crooked with his hands up near his head in loose fists. His pleasant humming trails off and his dancing arrests at the sight of the avian congregation.

"... murder most fowl," observes the gnome, snorting at his own joke. He stops entirely (but for the swaying) and rubs at his eyes, blinking when his hands drop to make sure the assembly hasn't vanished. "Hm. I suppose with the temples closed the flock has to find somewhere to go..." He leans back to glance around the pillars, espies the bird's interest, and swaggers the swagger of the moderately inebriated to have a look-see. No tarrying for the Tarienite.

Seyardu had seen some of the fliers, and while she was not sure how much help she could truly be, she recognized the name of the one pasting the requests. So she made some time to stop by the district and building, The silver malari slipping into the courtyard. She gives Ashes a wave, and another to Ravenstongue, before her attention is taken by the sheer multitude of birds.

"Peace on your nest, though it seems most unpeaceful at the moment." Seyardu greets. "This is, what you speak of?"

Stjepan arrives, and he's quiet enough for a giant. He's just there in the back, arms folded across his chest. Studying the guests, and doesn't say very much to start.

Ravenstongue visibly bites her lip to silence a little yelp as the skull-faced hobgoblin woman approaches her. But she seems to find the courage to nod and say, "Yes, I... I honestly need all the help I can get. Anything at all."

She looks over to Seyardu and says, "Yeah. This is it. All of those birds have been following me around. Typically the ravens in the day and the owls at night--and the owls like to congregate right outside of my bedroom window and hoot so loudly I can't sleep." Ravenstongue sighs. "I just want them gone."

"Well, I can't promise anything, but we will certainly try," comes the rather crisp and elegant voice of an elven woman as she steps into the "ring" that the birds have assembled around Ravenstongue. Her blonde hair is tied back into a practical bun, and she is dressed in deep emerald silk robes. She peers out at the gathered and says, "Are these your helpers, Ravenstongue? What talents do you all possess, if I may ask? I may be able to work them into the rite I have planned for this evening."

The ashen arvec remains standing, nods once and then looks around at the birds. A hand is raised to Jinks, then Seyardu, whom she recognizes. Her arms drop to her sides, one holding onto her satchel. She has a few decorations, piercing through her eyebrows, a bee painted on one cheek, also a choker collar.

"I'm a Mourner." She says, identifying herself as a cleric of Vardama. This suggests she's used to bodies and good at grief counselling. "I speak for the dead."

Stjepan looks around, then steps forwards. "I'm a mercenary. I kill for a living, but I can also see threads of mana."

Jinks stifles a quiet burp with the back of his hand, inviting himself into the loose press of tallfolk. He doesn't even try to look up to Stjepan's face; some things aren't worth the crick in the neck. He's been carousing, clearly, and the glitter on his face, hands, and clothes is bound to infect anyone who strays too close. There's even a gnome-sized chocolate handprint near his collar.

"I'm the inheritor of Clockwork Point's third-largest fortune and son to two of the greatest modern arca*hic*ne and engineering minds. I can put great gold dragons to sleep with only a fish. I've written a few banger poems about Lady Sandiel..." He hooks a thumb into his belt and sweeps a bow. "Oh, and the Hymn. Wrap that thing around my finger and have a song... all the time."

"This one is a hearthguard as the people of Alexandria refer to them." Seyardu adds, still looking at the birds all around. "This one could make it so you could not hear them in order to sleep, but it would require someone to remove the spell when you wake up, as the lack of hearing is permanent otherwise."

She turns her attention to the other newcomer though, and she squints. "This one does not think they have seen you before, peace on your nest. This one is an acquaintance or friend of Ravenstongue." She states.

"Wait, you've written what about Madame Sandy?" Ravenstongue asks, but the elven woman raises a finger to her lips and shushes Ravenstongue like a mother might to a noisy child.

"A follower of the Gray Harpist, a mercenary who can see magic, an inebriated fool who claims to be a genius, and a hearthguard," the elven woman says in a manner halfway between sarcasm and actual condescension, her bright green eyes sweeping over the gathered once again. Her finger presses to her chin as she regards them all for a moment. "Right. I think they will do. I am called Lady Ainasse Lúpecyll. I am familiar with the fae, which is why little Ravenstongue requested my presence, and all of these birds around us, I am happy to report, are a sort of sending."

Ainasse pulls out a few sachets containing something that smells heavily of lavender, although there are other floral notes underneath. She tosses them out to the crowd. "Here is what you will do. You all are going to approach these sendings and lure them onto the ground with whatever way you see fit while I begin to prepare the rite I will be using to identify who sent them. I need them to be closer than they are now for the magic to work. I do earnestly believe you are all capable of that much."

Ravenstongue catches the sachet. "These are filled with flowers the fae find pleasing, so they should work," she adds, although she is visibly somewhat offput by the mildly disdainful manner in which Ainasse speaks.

<OOC> Ashes says, "Hmm..."
<OOC> Ashes considers what might be useful.
<OOC> Ashes realizes exactly what she must do.
GAME: Ashes rolls craft/weaving: (10)+19: 29

The ashen arvec stares at the birds. Taking a sachet, she finds a place to sit down. She picks one Raven to stare at. Each time she raises her head, she seeks it out and fixes her eyes on it. With the markings on her face it's very obvious, even to birds, where she is looking. She remains as silent as the grave, and the uncomfortable sensation of a tomb lingers around her.

When she looks down, she's weaving a nest. She makes it with grass, the scented packet, and some wicker strips she pulls out of her messenger bag. She has weaving supplies.

At least once while she's working on the nest, her choker rotates around her neck. It does so independent of her movements. Strange.

Nest complete, she sets it out in front of her, then stares at the raven she picked out earlier. Her gaze is unbroken.

"And posessed by an exceptional well of pure modesty." Seyardu snorts. "Regardless, this is all important information. And I feel that simply allowing you to sleep through the noise may not be the best course of action.

The cleric reaches out to take one of the sachets, and she stares up at the birds again. "I have never seen an owl interested in flowers, but if it is a magical construct, perhaps that will work?"

"These are simple-minded fae spirits," Ainasse replies to Seyardu as she begins drawing forth magical energy in her hands, striking down lines of magic with a mere flick of her wrists as she strikes them down onto the ground. "They have some aspects of the creatures they are emulating, but they are driven by the base desires of simpler fae as well. If you hold out flowers or other things that are pleasing to them, they often are curious enough to come near. Such as they are to the Mourner."

Indeed, some ravens in the flock look at each other. They look back at the nest. Back at each other. Back at the nest. Up to the ashen arvec. "Merp?" croaks the one engaged in a staring match with the arvec as he hops down to the ground, inspecting the nest she's expertly made. He begins to peck at it with his beak, an act that he finds so pleasing that he croaks, and more ravens join him.

Jinks catches the little sack against his body, cradling it with one arm. He was having another nip from his hipflask. The gnome walks over to the looming giant and nudges at his calf, leaning in to whisper overloud, "You shouldn't let people call you a 'fool' like that..." He tilts his head and considers the mage from the corner of an eye briefly before winking.

Out goes the gnome, his feet going shhhhhrt as he drags his back leg before hopping and click his heels together. Fae? Okay. Whatever you say.

Ever the opportunist, he rubs the perfumed by beneath his arms, freshning up for whatever antics follow this unexpected ritual. The birds he considers, looking up and turning as his he wets his lips and lets spill his voice into the air.

"She's a faerie with broken wings

I used to watch her perform

And if she hears me I hope she sings songs

That have me going right back--

Couldn't find anyone in town to talk

About how no one like that

Should be confined to the ground..."

GAME: Jinks rolls Perform/Sing: (12)+18: 30

A small congregation of owls, about four or so, take note of Jinks' song. They land at his feet and hoot in time to the rhythm of his song. In fact... It even sounds a bit like a barbershop quartet with the way they hoot along with him.

"Keep going, I'd like to be back home for supper with my husband before midnight," Lady Ainasse calls out as she continues to lay down the groundwork for her ritual.

Ashlee enjoys sitting quietly for hours, appreciating things. She likes wet days and looking under rocks. Insects hold a great curiosity for her. She also likes birds. She continues to watch the raven pecking at the nest she's built, does nothing to move or startle it.

"Okay," the Mourner says, in response to the instruction. She nods at the ravens, the specific one she's been focused on, "It's yours."

She also holds out her hand. Like her face, it has tattoos of bones on it, simplified but aligning with her real ones, visible on palm and the back of her hand. With the deathly aura surrounding her, she seems like a very fleshy skeleton. Moving carrion might startle the Ravens, or make them curious.

She digs around in the courtyard ground, and locates a worm. She places this in her palm. Now she has bait, or an offering.

<OOC> Jinks says, "I'll pop a couple rounds of inspire competence for a +3 to whatever skill checks folks make. For funsies."
<OOC> Ashes says, "let meeeeee use stealth to seem non threatening..."
<OOC> Ashes says, "okay! +5 for Shadowy enchant, +3 for Chippen, +2 for Armour bonus, +3 Jink's inspire confidence"
GAME: Ashes rolls stealth+5+3+2+3: (8)+22+5+3+2+3: 43

Magic or not, they seemed to be behaving somewhat like birds. So Seyardu takes some food out of her bag, a few strips of jerky, and lays them down near the ground, before she steps further back. Pothy liked snacks, these other ravens may have similar interests?

She's there, yet not. Ashlee goes so silent and still it's easy to overlook her. A collection of grey cloth shaped like a figure, barely disturbed by the wind.

Jinks crouches, tosses the bag in a short arc and cupping his hands to breathe deep the floral scents between verses. The gnome quite frequently smells of lavender and is quite obviously fond of the scent. He rests the fingers of his right hand lightly against his sterum, raising his left hand to push through the air. The night sky ripples around his finger, like a still pond disturbed by the hand of a groping child. The stars begin to twinkle in earnest. The song is melancholy and haunting; the longing is almost palpable.

There is satisfaction but one must strive. The Hymn urges you to achieve greater.

"She glides but just seems like she floats

And these folks decide to crush her wings until they're permanently broke.

She rides gusts of wind just by the way she spoke.

She cries but loves to sing songs of freedom and hope..."

The ravens do not perceive Ashlee as a moving person. They hop towards her, more ravens coming down from the flock to crowd around her and the nest that she made. One raven is brave enough to take the worm from her hand. The sensation is... odd. The raven has a sort of aura around them, something otherworldly. They look in the direction of Ravenstongue again and croak a single word: "Lana."

The remaining ravens and some owls flock down to Seyardu's offerings. They begin to scarf down the snacks, tearing them apart so they have equal shares. "Cor!" one of the ravens croaks, looking in the direction of Ravenstongue.

Jinks has the rest of the owls flying to his feet and joining in the barbershop chorus. They hoot merrily, ooh-ooh-oohing with Jinks' words in the spontaneous beauty that is so characteristic of the fae.

"Now!" Ainasse decrees, a final wave of arcane energy going into the rite from her hand. Arcane energy washes the space in the courtyard, which causes all of the birds to stop what they are doing--

The birds are replaced with stranger bird-like creatures in a variety of shapes that bear feathers, beaks, and talons from a variety of species. Their eyes all glow the same violet eye color that Ravenstongue has. They all open their mouths, and simultaneously utter the same word in the otherworldly, yearning voice of a man: "Cor'lana!"

Ainasse stumbles backwards, her bright green eyes widening. "The... The sachets! Throw what is in your sachets out to them now!" she yells.

With a sudden motion Ashlee flicks her wrist, the remaining contents of her sachet, and what she mixed into the nest are dispersed at the birds surrounding her. "Sorry," she adds. Corvids do not like to be tricked. They might tell their friends. She doesn't want to encourage the unkindness of ravens, nor have them conspire against her.

Seyardu squints at the sudden commotion, and the rather hurried exclamation from the elf. She was not sure what to do, but there was enough urgency that she tears open the sachet with a claw to pull out the flowers and scatter them to the ground amongst the ravens drawn to the food.

"It did not seem to be your fault, Ashes."

Jinks shrugs and hops back to his feet, skipping the short distance to the satchel. He lets the song hang as wordless melody, idly crooning to keep company with the owls who sing along. He drags the bottom of one foot against the top of the sack and then kicks his toe beneath it. He braces with a knee raised and tosses the bag high from his boot. The contents start to spill, jostled so as it tumbles through the air. He spins in place, dipping low as he bends at the knees only to jump up in a twist. His ring fingers snatch the bag from midair, causing the sachet to disgorge its contents in a wide, spiraling fan.

GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+15+3: (17)+15+3: 35
<OOC> Jinks says, "for the Dance check"

The sachets are opened. Lavender and other flowers are let loose, and the strange bird entities all let out an ear-piercing scream as they fly and converge between the gathered, the birds constantly swirling around each other to form the loose shape of a humanoid in between their shadows. From within the darkness, two violet eyes peer out. "Thank you for your offerings of our sacred flowers, mortals," the otherworldly male voice rang from the humanoid, with each syllable hanging in the air like the tolling of bells.

The previously high-and-mighty elf woman shrinks further back into the formative circle of her rite. Fear is written all over her features, a stark contrast to how she acted only moments before. She lifts a hand, but the humanoid's lifts a feathered and taloned hand, fizzling out the magic the woman was already beginning to form in her hands. "Bring me the girl. Bring me Cor'lana. Not here, not here--in the Felwood, at night, so that I may see her in person," the humanoid said. "She was promised to me, and I have spent too long waiting! Bring me Cor'lana!"

The flock of birds immediately disperses with the voice's last phrase, the birds fading into thin air.

Ashlee stiffens. She has large, goblinoid ears and is vulnerable to ear-piercing screams. Hers droop and curl. After which, she rises much like a ghost does to stand. She faces the figure, staring into the darkness formed by the flickering wings of birds. An intriguing illusion. Her own eyes are dark, small and piercing in the shaded sockets of her skull-face.

She watches throughout the message, the demand, the sudden disappearance of the form. Her gaze turns to Ainasse and Ravenstongue. She rubs at her choker. "You don't have to go."

The empty space that held a figure occupies her vision some more. She doesn't supply a rational for her suggestion.

Landing in a stumble, Jinks finds a bit of laughter in between gasps for air. He takes a few lopsided steps and falls, roughly, into the base of a column with a belch, dropping the empty perfume ball. The gnome's head spins and he frowns, trying to steady himself. Sadly, the hypnotic swirling of the birds doesn't provide a proper anchorpoint.

Before the firstborn and wizard are casting and counter-casting he's off around the architecture and emptying his guts. He'll catch up once his tummy has wrought proper vengeance for all the bouncing and cavorting.

Seyardu steps back when the mass of birds seem to form a bizarre mixture of a humanoid form, and her polearm is pulled from her bag and brandished as they speak. But they disappear before anything further can be acted upon, and the silver cleric sighs.

"Judging by the reaction, it sounds like not going may be in your best interest. Someone who would harass you into exhaustion without concern does not seem worth your time." Seyardu notes.

To say that Ravenstongue has been still the whole time is an understatement. The sachet of lavender she was given is even still in her hands. She looks horrified, and tears begin to bead up in her eyes--

Ainasse suddenly grabs Ravenstongue by the neckline of her dress. "YOU," she growls, not allowing Ravenstongue to even reply to anything that her comrades have said. "You! You are the reason my husband has refused to give me a child for twenty years! If only your stupid, stupid mother hadn't taken you away from the Feathered One like she did, I would--"

Pothy does something nobody has ever seen him do before. He lunges at Ainasse. Beak and talons go flying into the elf woman's face, and Ravenstongue immediately tears away from the woman's grasp, running immediately to Seyardu. "Don't hurt her, Pothy! I think we have a lot of questions to ask her. Don't we, everyone?" Ravenstongue asks, looking at everyone else.

"I do." Ashes says simply, still in monotone. No emotion, no hurry, each word delivered in an measured, almost bored way.

"You could trap the entity. Summon it, with a few more mages and a circle..." Her words stop. Her head turns, she stares at Jinks. Right, that's a terrible idea. She immediately dismisses it, "Forget that."

She remains standing, still and straight, then says, "What's the connection between your mother and her husband?" The Mourner immediately regrets voicing that. It will be some 'living' problem.

Jinks is still behind the masonry in the throes of dry heaving and spitting the foul taste of sick from his mouth from the sound of things. When he comes back into view he's dragging a handkerchief down the lower portion of his face with a hand on either cheek. The workout sweat from the dance mixes with the coldsweat of digestive upheavals and his color is drained; it's not a far cry from his post-revivification look the last time he and Ashes had occasion to meet.

The gnome blinks confusedly at the unfamiliar familiar's violence.

Seyardu takes a step forward in front of Ravenstongue, and reaches to grab the raven, pulling them away from the elf until they are settled down. "Now is not the time for that, Pothy." She says, but her gaze remains on the elf. "I understand you are distressed, but you are blaming Ravenstongue for something she did not have any say in. And it seems your interest in these matters is more than just as one versed in the lore of Fae."

"So please explain yourself, but refrain from making accusations without merit further. It is not productive."

Pothy settles down as Seyardu pulls him off Ainasse, who glares at just about everyone involved in the mess. Pothy gave her only mild scratches on her face, but Ainasse acts like she was grievously wounded anyway, a hand to her cheek and a deep, deep sigh leaving her. The white raven flies back to Ravenstongue's shoulder and croaks, "Don't come at me," in the voice of a young man filled with too much liquor and bravado, at the elf woman.

"That girl is my husband's bastard child, conceived with some human woman he seduced twenty years ago--at the same time he was seeing me, although I didn't know that until much later, and I have already forgiven him for such," Ainasse says, her green eyes settling on Ravenstongue. "He named her Cor'lana, and he was supposed to give her to the Feathered One, one of many lords among the Fae. Every few generations, the Feathered One calls for the firstborn of my husband's family to give up their eldest child to them. And considering my husband is the oldest, and that woman happened to be pregnant when the decree came down--he was so, so very happy that he didn't have to give up any of the children he *actually* wanted with me. Until, of course, the child was born and both mother and child disappeared in the night."

Seyardu squints, no, glares at the elf. There is a low growl from the makari after setting down the white raven.

"So he did not want the child, and you threaten Ravenstongue for this. It sounds like your husband should be taking more responsibility, and if he is so happy to give away a child with someone else, then why is he so hesitant with you?" She asks, one brow raised.

"Oh. First born." Ashlee says. She stares throughout the explanation, but fiddles with her choker again. Enough that he becomes frustrated, uncoils, and runs up into the mass of her ropey hair to emerge on the top of her head. Her choker is a giant house centipeded. It perches on her head, with feelers waving in the air as its blunt head looks around, and then it settles flat.

Legs are spread out, to weave between the strands, and rub at the Mourner's scalp. She doesn't react to this at all.

Her stare continues, locked on Ainasse, "Lucky for you."

The ashen Arvec gazes at Ravenstongue next, "You're not property." She should say more, she's certain of that, except options escape her. While she's thinking this over, the silverscale asks a question that connects a dot.

"Oh. If Ainasse has a child the Fey will consider that first-born enough. So she can't, until the curse is complete."

"Philanderers are the absolute worst," Jinks consoles the score-since cuckolded elf from behind his handkerchief. There's a subtle, wry humor in his tone.

A bit of the bounce has left his step but he remains surprisingly spry for a gnome running on empty. He hums as he crosses towards the woman, sliding his fingers through the air until he finds the right threads of the Weave and sorts out her scratches. They knit as if stitched and blink away never having been there.

"Now if you can contain a bit of the indignation and save your cruel words for the culprit deserving..." The gnome smiles an unfriendly, wolfish smile. Something has his hackles up. "Well, maybe we can be helpful adventurers. Fools and all."

"Helpful!" Ainasse says in regards to Jinks' words. She huffs indignantly. Some of that haughty personality is coming back now that her scratches have been healed. "What would be of most help to me is to bring that girl to the Feathered One in the Felwood and be done with it! It is as the Mourner says--I cannot have a child until she's given to that terrifying beast. I don't know what happens to the ones who given away, but I don't plan on finding out. I'd just like to have children with the man that I have loved for two decades now that my first husband is gone and I can finally be with him. Is that really so awful to ask?"

"Well, it's my choice," Ravenstongue says, finally finding it within her to speak. "I don't have to go. And you don't have to have kids with my dad. I spent my whole life trying to find out who my dad was, and if he really felt that way about me and my mom... Then I don't want to know, and I don't want to meet him. But... What happens if I don't go?"

Ainasse laughs. "Then he'll just keep sending more birds to harass you until you go mad and run into the woods to meet him, dear girl. Really, it's in your best interest to just go. I get what I want, you get whatever is waiting for you in the woods and you don't have to lose sleep at night anymore!"

The Mourner listens. These are problems she's not good at finding solutions for. She used to consider them solely the problems of the living, and thus, not really her concern, until she discovered the shocking truths of the afterlife.

It doesn't end when you die. All of it.

She has no expression. Arvec Nar are grim and rarely smile, her skull face obliterates what small facial cues she does exhibit. Ashlee simply stands at military parade rest and regards Ainasse and Ravenstongue. "I think there's a better option."

"Yes, that would be the case." Seyardu nods to Ashes. "Although, perhaps the best option would be for Ravenstongue were to stay here, and we help her. It does not seem like you or your husband are prepared for parenthood, after all."

"Though, it sounds like you have an idea, Ashes. What were you thinking of, instead?"

"You aren't damning a child for a contract she had no say in. No matter how much you want for a bun in your oven." Jinks doesn't even bother with the unfriendly smile anymore. "It may seem a simple solution but it spirals quickly out of your control... and if that's something you can live with you don't deserve a child of your own."

It's hard being intimidating when you're half the height of the person you're talking to. Especially when you look for all the world like a jewel-covered dandy. That doesn't change the fact that Jinks practically bristles as he stands there. "Now please be quiet before I seduce your husband and give him something that'll rot his tackle right from twixt his legs."

Ashlee makes a mental note: do not sleep with Jinks. She had no plans in this direction, but his personal revelations persuade her to make a special note. So she will not forget, no matter whater.

"I don't have an idea." She admits, turning to face the silverscale, "I'm only certain there must be a better one."

Like Jinks' suggestion.

The Mourner is giving it some thought. "I could ask about the Fey with my... friends." Yes, she has friends. "We could talk to the Feathered One."

<OOC> Jinks says, "If there's an appropriate Knowledge check to make for some insights into the contract I'd like to do that, too, when you have a moment, RT."
<OOC> Ashes says, "It's likely knowledge/the plane, and that's not one I have."
<OOC> Jinks has them all! In theory. But not military theory. In practice.
<OOC> Seyardu does have that
<OOC> Ravenstongue says, "Either Knowledge/Planes or Knowledge/Nature. Maybe Knowledge/Arcana if you want to get spicy"
<OOC> Jinks says, "Well, take your pick between Planes or Nature. I can blow my Loremaster for the day for a gimme-20. So that's a total of 30."
<OOC> Jinks says, "(both are a +10)"
<OOC> Ashes says, "i can do k/nature"
<OOC> Ravenstongue says, "Nature will get you more fey-focused stuff, which is the goal here!"
GAME: Ashes rolls knowledge/nature: (14)+19: 33

It may be hard to intimidate when you're the size of a gnome, but what Jinks has said has rocked the elf woman to her core. It turns out that it has less to do with your size and more what you do with it, and Jinks... Well, Jinks has done that. Ainasse practically wilts under the weight of Jinks' words, all of that haughtiness that she had very quickly dying. Even her venomous voice dies as Jinks had commanded.

"I think that's a good idea," Ravenstongue says, smiling at Ashlee. It's the first time she's smiled all evening. "I've read about the fae and... Call me weird, but I think I'd rather deal with a fae lord rather than her or my father."

GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d20+5: (5)+5: 10
<OOC> Seyardu says, "ah well"

Jinks sighs and smiles softly up at Ainasse when she wilts under his verbal assault. There's consolation in his eyes and a subtle bit of sadness. He speaks quietly to offer, "It's easy to get wrapped up in what we want and what seems owed to us. When you hurt people-- even if they don't seem to matter to you-- it carries with it a toll that weighs heavier than you'd believe." The wisdom of the fool.

Turning away, the gnome smooths down his goatee to clear his head. "Alright," he begins, concentrating and looking past the assembled group as his eyes turn glassy.

And there she sits in the robes of a mage, one leg curled under her and a heavy tome open in her lap. She has the sign of Animus tattooed on her neck and her long, blonde hair hangs long tucked left of her neck. A long finger traces the words on the page, pausing as she looks up.

"The fae are most easily contacted near the bridges, where the space between the prime material and Quelynos are thinnest," she smiles easily, narrow lips under a pointed nose. "The Felwood is such a place... but dangerous." The memory pauses as if to think further but falls away, fading back into the Weave.

Do centipedes like Jerky? Seyardu pulls some of her remaining dried meat out and offers it to the living accessory before she turns her attention back. It was an excuse to not think too much about what Jinks had been saying for the moment, but it could only last so long, and the elf seemed to have taken some amount to heart. And there was some magic sharing knowledge, perhaps it could be trusted again.

"I do not like this, but there can be no resolution without further understanding. But I do not like the idea of Ravenstongue going to meet a powerful Fae. This is just speaking from second hand experience, but no good comes from the fae taking interest in you."

Jinks adds, pulling his attention away from the threads of the Weave and back to the world as a tapestry whole. "The Eldwyn is another, safer, option. Or the Felwood during the day. Should we wish to gain audience with the Feathered One."

"He shouldn't be overwhelmingly powerful..." The gnome adds, idly scratching at his chest as he thinks of his last summoning; the encounter with the duke. A brief visit to the Harpist's foyer. "But we should research further and take what precautions we can. I've never heard the name before but that doesn't mean he's not a considerable force; perhaps a minor noble. One of the quiet ones."

The gnome's comment draws a glance from the Mourner. She adds nothing.

Centipedes do indeed like jerky. Ashlee intercepts the silvercale's offering and puts it on her head, where it can act as a book for posture and a snack for her familiar. "Thanks." She takes a clove cigarello from her ancient satchel and lights it. A deep breath is taken, followed by a slow inhale. She watches the grey wisps drift upwards. She does not nod, "Let me think about this a bit."

"If you say so, but that is not an assumption to make without further information." Seyardu sighs. "That being said, it likely can not be ignored, and there are many things it could be, as you say."

"Making the conversation on our own terms may be a good idea though, if it will not lead to them being riled up. If the Eldwyn would work, it may be best to go with that."

Ravenstongue thinks. "What if you could... not summon him, but talk with him? I've heard of spells that let you make contact with people in other planes. That would be safer, right?"

Ainasse clears her throat. "That is possible," she says. "I could make that happen. But I'd need time to research a variation that gets you more useful information besides simple yes and no answers." It's odd for a woman who has been so thoroughly vile to Ravenstongue so far to offer up help, but there it is.

"Coyote laughs," Jinks exults with a snap of his fingers. "We adjourn for research and the gathering of supplies, then. I, myself, need a drink... and maybe a bite to eat."

The gnome turns his solid, onyx-black eyes up to Ravenstongue. "If you require a sleep-aid there is a Tsura witch in Sage Orum's that has that sort of thing at very reasonable rates and they are quite formidable against even the most torturous nightmares." He sniffs and fingers through a pouch, finally finding a card to offer over. "Use them with care, though, they are powerfully intoxicating and quite habit-forming."

"Yes, perhaps a spell to speak with them would work better." Seardu nods. "We should look into this more, and there are no better places than the surrounding area. I do not blame you needing a drink, just do not do further research during or shortly after the drinking."

"I'll ask Merek and Morgan." Ashless says.

The cleric sighs. "If the birds come back, seek this one out. At the very least, they can drown out the noise so you can sleep. And, if you need to speak further, do not hesitate to seek us out. I can imagine this is a lot to learn all at once."

"I'll do my own research, too," Ravenstongue says, looking up at the skies. No owls. No ravens. The Feathered One is, for now, leaving her alone. She looks back at the others and smiles a little. "Well, thank you very, very much for coming. That was... Well, it was frightening, and it didn't go the way I expected at all." Ravenstongue and Pothy both eye Ainasse, who at this point is just quietly cleaning up the mess from her rite.

"I get the point. I won't bother you again unless your father deems it incredibly important, Cor'lana," Ainasse says as she finishes her cleaning. "Let's keep our distances. Furthermore, keep that damned bird of yours away from me."

In a flash of arcane magic, Ainasse disappears, presumably to teleport home to her husband. Ravenstongue sighs and gives Pothy some very well-deserved pats on the head. "I would have liked to have learned my real name a different way, but... I suppose we'll count our victories where we can get them, Pothy."

Pothy just eyes Ravenstongue for a moment and says, "Fuck that bitch."

The absolutely unexpected profanity from the familiar sends Ravenstongue into a laughing fit so hard that tears run down her cheeks.

Jinks scratches idly at his chest, again, as he watches the mage disappear. He's momentarily preoccupied with a thought and then turns back to the others. "Most women don't know what to say when you tell them you'll seduce their husband," he explains with a wink and an idiot grin. The gnome dips an extra little nod for Seyardu and then head west, towards the late-night pubs and-- beyond that-- home.

"That is because there is not much to be said at that point. Usually it is more likely to be a smack of the hand or tail in that situation. But, that reaction was a surprise. Maybe there is still good in them, somewhere." Seyardu sighs, sweeping up some of the discarded flowers with a foot. "Take care Ravenstongue, and yes, while a bit harsh, Pothy is not completely unfounded. You do not deserve to be treated as she treated you. Peace on your nest."

And with that she too leaves, likely to search out the nearest library, if she was still allowed in.

The Mourner finishes her cigarillo then goes in search of more wanted posters and fades away.