Family Matters, part 1
Log Info
- Title: Family Matters, part 1
- Emitter: Thurid
- Characters: Aimarra, Donna, Ashes
- Place: Jade Isles
- Time: Wednesday, March 17, 2021, 3:14 PM
- Summary: The young exiled scion of a Xian noble house seeks to enlist a group of adventurers to reclaim his ancestral family castle from his treacherous uncle, whom made a pact with demons to assassinate the noble's father and claim his holdings. Aimarra, Donna and her shadow Ashes, meet up Lord Hiei and his bodyguard Tsubaki. He explains how his uncle came to help his father, how his father fell sick and later the sickness was determined to be a demonic curse. Demons which the uncle employed to take over the castle and force the rightful heir out. Servants and soldiers have been replaced by shades and demons, but some loyal spies remain. Lord Hiei requests the group to assist, and the readily agree to his surprise. They all have their reasons. Aimarra needs the coin, Donna wants to be non-local for a while, and Ashes wants to do Vardama's work. An airship ride later, they search the docks for their contact and narrowly avoid speaking to the wrong people. It's a red cord. They are rowed out to the island, which while small, appears impregnable.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Appearing, in Order =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Aimarra 5'1" 128 Lb Half-Elf Female Brown hair and eyes, breastplate, leathers, pointed ears. Donna 5'4" 106 Lb Human Female A black-haired human girl in black robes. Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Noteable NPCS =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Tabaki Hiei Human Male A young Xian Lord, displaced by his uncle Tsubaki Human Female A raven haired Xian beauty, loyal retainer to Lord Hiei -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Thurid 7'1" 249 Lb Giantborn Female Bright-eyed, muscular, blond Giantborn woman. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
Rumor has it that a displaced scion has a job for willing adventurers. The scion- despite being ousted from his homeland, is still rather well appointed and as a result has arranged for the main floor of a local Inn to be reserved so that he may conduct his meeting. Interested parties are offered rich reward for offering to help, and the time and place of the meeting has been advertized by word of mouth and postings in taverns and road houses along the road. Sparse details are given, aside from the fact the task at hand will involve an airship journey to distant Xian.
An airship journey to Xian? This could be interesting. Rich reward? That's an even better reason for Aimarra to sign up. The brown-as-a-berry archer puts in an appearance at the appointed date and time, dressed almost entirely in leathers and long sleeves against the early-spring chill, and now has her arms folded across her chest, waiting for the meeting to start. Only just out of bed need not be discussed.
Travel! The best part of being a member of the Guild.
Also a really great way to avoid local authority; don't be local.
Donna feels more at home in the taverns of the world than anywhere else; they're great places to be around people, disappear into a crowd, and at least half the time the food is pretty good too. Poking her head through the doorway, the brawler notes with a mild frown that the floor is reserved, thus people and disappearing won't happen... but if it's what the client wants, oh well. Looking over her shoulder at her Hobgoblin friend, and nods. "This's the place. C'mon."
Slinking across the tavern floor, the scale-armored brawler pours herself into a seat across from Aimarra, nudging out a chair for Ashes to sit in. "Hey," she says to the half-sil at the table. "Guess the client ain't here yet?"
The ashen Arvec shadows the brawler. She is an intimidating presence in her well kept military armour. It's polished, carefully appointed, shows a strong attention to detail. A darkness clings to the metal, even though it appears shiny enough in the sun. There's an unquiet chill about her, like the grave. The notion that she's some sort of undead isn't dispelled even with her helmet visor up. A white skull tattoo covers her face, barely softened by piercings and makeup which add a spider, a worm, and a happy bee.
She has a khopesh, and no shield. An open parasol is held casually, shaft leaning against a pauldron, its grey fabric reflective and decorated with skulls and bones. The only other part of her ensemble is a weathered messenger bag which appears older than she is. She follows quietly, folds the parasol now that she's indoors and slips it into the bag where it vanishes. Ashes sits silently in the chair, puts the bag in her lap and folds her hands on top of it.
"Haven't seen him yet," the half-sil at the table greets. Brown hair is tightly braided around her head, and just about everything about her is brown, but the bow and arrow of the Hunter Lord clearly suggest a possible skill set or allegiance. The Arvek gets a long, wary look, the woman clearly unnerved by her presentation, but she keeps her mouth to herself, instead turning back to the brawler and offering a hand. "Aimarra Reyes." A slight accent suggests origins in or near Tashraan, a thing backed up by her long sleeves and warm dress.
After a few moments, the back room opens up. A raven haired Xian beauty steps out, wearing a wide-sleeved top which folds across the front, held closed by a belt, and a pleated split-skirt in bright crimson. She carries on her hip a curved eastern blade tucked into its laquered scabbard, gripping the scabbard with her left hand as she walks to keep it from catching on door frames and the like. She regards the group silently for a moment, and then leans back the way she came, "They're here, young master." she offers quietly.
She is joined a few moments later by a boy- no more than fourteen years old to look at him. He is wearing a voluminous navy blue robe, embroided on each breast with what seems to be a stylized flower, in white thread. He shuffles forwards, and eventually takes a seat. The woman steps forwards, standing by his side. She seems about to speak, but the boy holds out his hand and she falls quiet. He speaks, instead. "Thank you all for coming." he offers. "I am Tabaki Hiei." he offers, "Might I ask your names?" he says, looking to each of them.
Donna removes a spike-knuckled gauntlet, reaching across the table to clasp the offered hand, and is about to reply with her name, when the back room opens. Settling back in her chair, she examines the woman first, then the boy, and a few thoughts flicker across her face, before settling on professional courtesy.
"Donna," she answers, lacing her fingers together in her lap. The armored and be-tattooed Arvek, she'll let answer for herself. "S'good to meet you both... Lord Hiei?"
If her pronunciation of the Xian last name is a bit ragged, well... hopefully it can be forgiven.
"Mourner Ashlee Ciaradh," the ashen Arvec says, her colouration matching in a similar way as the half-sil's, if grey is a colour. The metal of her breastplate ensemble is mithril, the gambeson and leather sections a medium grey, her skin and hair warm tones of different shades. Her happy bee is yellow, the worm a light pink-ish purple that could be a rose-grey. She nods once at Aimarra then looks at Tabaki after glancing at Donna, her fingers clench up slightly on her bag. Her eyes move in her darkened sockets, looking over the boy's features. "I prefer Ash."
Like the others, Aimarra immediately turns her attention to their client as he enters, and studies the both of them thoughtfully. "Aimarra Reyes," she answers almost absently, still speculatively considering the pair. "You are far from home, my lord." A cautious, polite observation, inviting the man to say more.
The boy listens to each in turn, staying quiet as they introduce themselves. He conducts himself with a stately grace that belies his apparent years. Finally, he answers, "I am indeed. Though, by no choice of my own." he informs them. "I hail from among the Jade Isles, a small island- but rich in silver. Some moons ago, my father took ill. My uncle, one Goebu, came to our estate to assist my father in managing it." he explains, perhaps a bit long-windedly. He continues in the same vein, though. "My fathers ilness grew worse and worse as time passed. Our healers could do nothing about it, and an exorcist visiting informed us it was no simple ilness, but a powerful curse. My father succumbed to it. As his eldest child, it is my right and duty to inherit my father's holdings." he says.
After a brief pause, he once more continues. "My Uncle did not wish it so. The younger brother of my father, and a sorcerer, he was unhappy with his lot. Spies, loyal to my father, found too late that he had entered into a pact with demons- the curse was his doing. His foul minions took the castle from within. Most were slain. Tsubaki here was able to spirit me away from the castle, and we fled here- beyond his reach."
"...Hn," Donna grunts, once the explanation is finished. By the time the boy had gotten to the uncle's arrival on the island, the brawler had leaned forward, listening carefully to the story. "...And you're lookin' for people as can take back the place with a minimum o' fuss." She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment, and nods. "Ain't gonna say it'll be easy work, but I'm willin'. An' my condolences for y'father's passing... I'll do what I can t'get your people safe an' you back home."
Ash nods, listening to the tale. She was interested, leaning forward as the illness is described, blinking when it is revealed to be a curse. That matched her suspicions. It doesn't improve her opinions of nobles and their family troubles, there's a firm foundation to that. Her red-skinned friend is okay. Her eyes have drifted over so she's staring at Tabaki's retainer. The dark hair, the bright pleated skirt, the strange blade. Interesting details. She doesn't speak much, also a plus in the Mourner's estimations.
Once again, Ash gazes at Donna with a long unblinking stare. Her reticence is well known to the brawler. Hopefully she'll understand, get the message Ashlee is thinking very hard. Talk for me. It doesn't hurt the Arvek Nar to speak, but one might imagine it does from how reluctant she is about it.
She nods when Donna makes her offer, that covers it. Still, some things must be added and her monotone words come. "I was trained for vampires. I'm sorry for your loss."
Aimarra's eyebrows go up as she listens to the description of what happened, only nodding at the reveal of the curse, as if totally unsurprised. Still, coin is coin, and it is always good to have the favor of the wealthy and powerful, however distant. One learns that quickly, where she is from. She nods again as the others agree to it. "Sounds like someone needs to be dealt with," she agrees, "quickly and quietly. I'm in." She looks over and surveys the others.
As they all agree, the boy's practiced facade falters and he seems surprised- but only for a moment. He settles again, and folds his hands in his lap, "Excelent. Rest assured, I am not asking you to storm the castle by force. I suspect that would be suicide- not to disparage your certain prowess. Rather, your objective is not to take back the castle. Not directly. My spies have told me that the demons remain bound by some sort of ritual. My family has, since ancient times, been in posession of a spear. It once belonged to a famous warrior, our ancestor. With this spear, he held back the forces of hell single handedly. It is believed that his honorable spirit still lives within the spear. I believe that if you are able to retrieve it, you will be able to use it to disrupt the ritual. After which, I will rouse forces loyal to me to reclaim the castle proper." he explains.
A pause, to allow them to take it in. "You will be traveling to a nearby port town, and from there a boat will take you to the rear of the island- the farmers quarter. When you are there, one of my spies will meet with you, and show you to a secret entrance that leads to the castle's underbelly. It is the passage I used to escape." he informs them.
Tsubaki finally speaks up, "I would accompany you. But, the young master's safety falls soley to me. You must go alone." she informs them. Her tone is autharitarian and severe, but tinged with regret- made more evident as she clutches her scabbard more firmly. Clearly, she has unfinished business with the conniving uncle herself.
Ashlee listens. She watches the young lord and his unwavering protector as more details are added. Her motions are minimal, a shift of her head, her posture straightening at mention of the spear. That will be significant. Especially if the spirit of an ancestor resides within. She has always preferred the dead to the living, hopefully he'll be talkative. She's intrigued now.
A glance at Tsubaki's hand, when she grips the scabbard. Her lips squeeze together slightly. Looking between the two, inviting two answers, she asks in monotone. "If we encounter your uncle, and killing or capturing him seems possible, is there a preference?"
At the lord's surprise, Donna can't help but crack half a smile, and a snort of a chuckle escapes her nose. "We ain't just mercenaries, m'lord. Folk who work for the Guild, generally we got a thing for good causes too. We'll see it done." No 'or die trying, because at least for herself Donna doesn't have the time or inclination to do anything as gauche as dying at the moment.
Her eyes turn to Ash, one eyebrow rising as the cleric decides on her own to inquire further. But, it's a good question, and she subsides to see it answered.
"See to him," Aimarra agrees, nodding to the others. "Leave this part to us." She seems inclined to let the others talk more, though.
"I would prefer to see him captured." Hiei says, and Tsubaki is about to protest, but he cuts her off again. "Honor demands that I have his head. I would prefer he is executed with proper procedure. But, if it is a fight and you must slay him, do not prioritize his life over your own." he offers. Tsubaki seems to agree with this answer, and she nods her head curtly in agreement. "With luck, you will be able to steal in unnoticed, until it is too late for him to muster any resistance against you. Now, is there any more you wish to know?" he wonders.
"Pass-phrases." Ashes says. It seems honour will matter in this. She is curious to see how the differences between Hobgoblin and Human concepts play out. She said the first thing that came to mind, and searches her thoughts for a couple others. "Keys. Wards to undo the magic protections you know about."
Finally, "A greeting your ancestor will recognize."
"Understood," Donna says, nodding. As Ashes lists out her questions, Donna nods. "I'm guessin' your spies'll have some of that, m'lord, but we'll need t'be ready to get past some things ourselves. Okay..."
Settling back in her chair, she starts to put her gauntlets back on, flexing her fingers to settle the fit. "Which room d'you think the best place for the ritual would be, if y'don't know outright?"
"My uncle still holds the estate's keys." Hiei says with a frown, "But I can help with the other questions. My spies will know you by a red cord you wear somewhere it can be seen." he says, and Tsubaki nods her head, going to fetch a small box, which she brings over and hands to the young lord. He opens it up, and hands out the cords, long enough to be tied to a wrist or otherwise fastened somewhere on an outfit. "And they will assist with what they may, but even the castles servants are monstrosities now- shades or else the walking dead, so they cannot know what may have changed within."
At Ashes last question, he seems to think for a while, before something occurs to him. "Ah, I think I know the thing. Compliment him on his victory at Yaesu Pass." he suggests. . "Alright," Donna says, as the last strap is buckled into place. "I think we're ready to get, then... I'm guessin' your spies'll have a way for us to navigate the place, since we're goin' in blind?"
"Ok." Ashlee says, taking the red cord from Tabaki, examining it. She is silent, breathing evenly, while she considers where to place it. A glance at Tsubaki, to see where she wears hers, if she wears one. Her face and her crimson armour would be enough. The Arvek carefully knots the cord, then reaches up.
She's already wearing a choker, which turns out to be alive, a house centipede, and something she doesn't mind running into her hair. She ties the red cord around her neck, a long glance at Donna, and cinches it tight. Chippen appears again, and bodily blocks it from sight. Ash's allegiance will be hidden until needed. "I will do the work of the Feiu of the Tears."
Put down the shades and the undead, if she can.
The young noble is a bit taken aback by the sudden scuttling motion, but he clears his throat after a moment. "They have drawn up maps of the castle. The one who will be meeting you on the island will provide them to you. It is not much, but it is the best we are able to do, I am afraid." he says. "Oh, and the ritual- I expect it will be somewhere central, but I know little and less about foul magics. Before my father passed, my uncle took residence in the castles northern tower. So the central courtyard or the northern tower would be my guesses." Aimarra frowns at the mention of shades and undead, but nods and takes the cord, affixing it to her left wrist below the bottom of a sleeve laced tight to her wrist, a bracer over it. Sharp eyes might notice a raised scar on her wrist, a single place that might be a toothmark. "I will want to stop to make a purchase on the way out, but we can go quick enough after that."
Ashlee nods once more, noting the possible locations for the ritual. She'll remember. Her eyes lingered on Aimarra's bare wrist. Something curious, but she'll never ask about it. The brawler covered her remaining thought. A map would be good, and whatever can be provided will help. She's happy to go lurking through someone else's house. Or small palace in this case? Fortress. A suitable name will occur to her when she sees it. "I'm ready."
Donna nods, carefully winding the cord around one gauntletted hand; hooked over her middle finger, then down to loop and be knotted around her wrist, the cord could appear to be just another decoration on the brawler's red-and-black gear. But those looking for precisely this cord, upon seeing it, will know its meaning. "Okay... Sounds like we've got everything we need." Looking up at her fellows, she nods, smiling faintly. "Just so's you two know; what I'm best at, is gettin' in a caster's face an' tyin' up their attention. So if you see me headin' facefirst into the uncle's magic... Well it's probably still stupid, but it's also strategy. I promise."
Hiei nods his head, and Tsubaki answers, "Good." when they all seem ready to go. "The airship leaves tomorrow morning. Have your preperations finished by then." she says to the group of adventurers. "With a decent headwind you should be there in less than a week. It is a fast airship. At the docks, look for a fisherman who wears the same cord. He will ferry you to the island." she informs them. "And may the Ancestors see you to victory." she offers- the most she has spoken so far. She doesn't seem one for words.
With that, she and Hiei move to retire that the adventurers can make their preperations and reconvene at the Airship docks.
Aimarra nods slowly at Donna's explanation. "I'm best from distance, but I can close if I have to," she explains. Hiei and Tsubaki get an inclined head of acknowledgement. "We will do that, and find you here when we are done." The farewell is brief, but when they are gone, she turns her attention back to the other two. "I need to go by the armorer and a shop or two, but I will be ready. If you'll excuse me..." She stands to go, to take care of her errands.
"I prepare the dead and share the blessings of the Feiu of the Tears." The Mourner says in monotone, blessings which can speed or hinder others into the Grey Lady's embrace. This may or may not inspire confidence in Lord Hiei and Tsubaki. She follows Donna and Aimarra out with a military step, she mentionned training, some things were unsaid. Perhaps they will find that encouraging.
The need for an armourer is noted. Ash takes her parasol out of her satchel, opens it and shades herself. She stares silently as Aimarra heads off, no farewell wish.
Alone with Donna, she turns to look at her. "I wish the others were here." Her sentiment expressed, her gaze drifts off into the nothingness, the streets, the people passing whose faces she forgets as swiftly as they are seen. She does nothing, waiting to follow the brawler's lead.
"Yeah," Donna answers with a quiet sigh. "I do too... next time, maybe." Shaking her head, Donna rolls her shoulders, ridding herself of some of the tension of the evening. "C'mon... Let's see what there's to see in the market, an' maybe pick somethin' up for our friends. Dinner after."
THe brawler, apparently, takes her pre-combat ritual very, very seriously; tchotchkies in the market, then a big dinner. Always. Just in case.
Ashlee nods, a little too vigorously, her visor snaps down and she leaves it. She will remain the eerie, armoured hobgoblin shadow of the brawler with silver-grey umbrella of skulls and bones bouncing jauntily above her. They head to the market to indulge her ritual.
The Airship
The airship is a fairly compact affair, a transport rather than a warship to be certain, and built for distance rather than capacity. It's very spartan onboard, which is to be expected, with much of the space given over to functionality and little spared for comfort. The journey is uneventful, at first. Fair weather prevails for a few days. But it grows stormier as they are out to sea- there is much rocking and jolting of the airship as it is buffeted by winds and rain for the middle of the journey.
But it survives, and the weather breaks on the last morning of the trip. Just in time, too, as even the most seasoned airmen aboard are beginning to look a little green around the gills. Finally, they are approaching the trading town mentioned- Sloping rooves in red tile mark the tops of the curious houses and businesses, built mostly it seems from wood. They are clustered densely around the port, narrow winding streets lined with lanterns. Further afield, the buildings are smaller, more densely packed still- the red clay eaves are replaced with thatch- the poorer part of the town.
But no airship dock makes itself aparrent, even as they begin their descent- the sun setting far to the west, the approaching ocean glitters with orange and red hues like autumn leaves, despite the season. Finally, the bow of the airship strikes the water, splitting it and sending out a salty spray ahead of the vessel. The rest of the airship settles onto the surface, and the water gradually arrests its forwards speed, so that it can berth at the selfsame docks that house a small fleet of trading and fishing waterborne vessels.
Already green around the gills, Aimarra is only too happy to hang on for dear life as the vessel touches down. Unfamiliar sights, smells, and sounds - a completely different place - coaxes her from her grip on a hatch cover as close to the center of the ship as she can get, and she peers up over the rail. cautiously, the hood of her traveler's cloak still very much over her head.
When she'd met them on the airship that morning, the only two changes to her outfit were a longsword of much better make than the one she'd had the day previously, and a breastplate that shows definite signs of repair. It will have to do, for this.
Being in new places is always great! *Getting* to those new places... not so much, usually.
Fortunately for her, Donna is the sort who is always more than happy to fold herself someplace quiet and out of the way; old habits die hard. The rough weather may have taken its toll, but the most obvious sign of discomfort over the week is Donna quietly, casually purloining a spare bucket when the weather began to turn bad, and occasionally emptying it over the deck rail once or twice a day. Beyond that, she keeps herself to herself, and when the vessel finishes splashing down she emerges for a breath of fresh air or five, a crooked smile on her face and deep bags under her eyes. "Finally," she murmurs, as they begin to sail into port.
Ash is almost the perfect passenger, reticent with no complaints even as the airship pitches and yaws widely. It's not the same as being on horseback, but it's a similar enough rough ride she accepts it silently. If she's a little more of a greenish-grey, it's difficult to tell. She eats at the same pace, drinks slowly, acts mildly uncomfortable at all times.
The breaking weather sees her outside, parasol unfurled, lingering at a rail to watch things pass by. She looks down on the town, as the rooftops turn from red to reed, holds tight as the bow breaks into the water. One hand is cupped over her throat, protecting Chippen.
She looks much the same as she always has, well kept, grey, still with slightly more shadows than one would expect, and mildly uncomfortable in the direct sun. Ash inhales the sea air, as the spray glitters above the decks, it's her main signs of life.
Once the vessel reaches its berth, lines are thrown overboard and it's towed in and tied down. The gangplank is deployed, and the passengers are allowed to disembark. The port is busy- bustling, even. Many of the workers wear sensible jackets, but there's an unusual trend that more than a few of them seem to forego trousers, wearing only breechcloths on their lower halves as they affect their work- it seems to primarily be the carpenters who always seem to be repairing or building something or another.
Aside from that, the men and women seem to wear similar clothes- robes with wide sleeves, though the men tend to wear darker, plainer ones and the women brighter, more vibrantly patterned ones.
Here and there what might be the city guard can be seen, wearing laquered breastplates and conical iron helms, carrying spears or curved blades. Hawkers and pedlers ply their wares along the waterfront, the scent of seafood fills the air- no small portion of the trade here seems to be in all manner of marine life, fished up to be prepared for consumption. At this hour, not many fishing vessels linger in the docks- most of them have departed to lay stake to the best spots for night time hauls. One in particular stands out, for the streak of red paint on its broadside.
It takes Aimarra a minute to gather herself and her belongings, but she manages the gangplank with the grace of a cat and awaits the others politely at the bottom. As surreptitiously as she can, she looks up and down the wharf for someone sporting the symbols they are looking for.
When her boots clump down on the dock, rather than 'ground' reliant on something other than itself for stability, Donna's entire mood perks up. Hefting the travelling pack she'd left looped to one shoulder, the brawler moves aside to avoid blocking the path, and takes her own cursory look around. Pantsless construction workers get an eyebrow, but, new land, new people.
Her eyes fall on the red-striped boat, and an elbow extends to gently nudge Aimarra's side.
The Mourner takes in the sights, examining the workers, their strange alternative to pants, the robes of the others. The varied style is interesting. Perhaps she'll replace her regular clothes here. They have become rather threadbare.
She strolls down the gangplank, sabatons clunking quietly with each step. Her armour doesn't quite match the local guards, and her helm is different, to say nothing of her species, however she ends up radiating 'guard' more than the other two. Her silent staring helps, her cartoonishly skull-and-bones styled parasol does not.
She also glances in the direction of the red-striped boat, then quickly away. Observing that her companions have spotted it, she returns to watching the crowd.
The adventurers get no few curious glances of their own- foreigners aren't as uncommon here as other parts of the Jade Isles, perhaps, given the nature of the town as a trading hub- and that it sports an airship dock, of sorts. But still, they are clearly the exception rather than the rule. Almost everyone here is Xian- there are a handful of other races, of course, but they are by no means as common as they might be in Alexandria. Curiously, the Khazad of this region seem to be the inverse of their Alexandrian cousins, with bare faces and hair everywhere else. There are Oruch with fanciful skin tones of red and blue not seen in other climes. One could probably get lost here, delving into all the curiosities- if there was not a task to complete.
Making the way through the docks is slow going, at first. The guards watch the newcomers, with the bored vigilance of guards spying well equipped and unknown individuals the world round, but they are not harassed- by the guard at least. The peddlers are another matter, and it stands to reason pickpockets and swindlers might call this place home, as they do most hubs of commerce. The crowd thins as they draw nearer the area of the docks given over to fishing vessels- as the smell of seafood grows more pervasive.
Peddlers and pickpockets. This city might look exotic and foreign, but some things just don't change, do they? Aimarra's purse is well on the inside of the breastplate, as such an event is hardly a surprise, but she does browse the wares, casually, shopping with her eyes as any traveler of no particular import might. She doesn't rush or hurry, but does as it goes make her way towards the fishing vessels. Venom pages: sory lost net
There are two ways to really foil pickpockets, when in a foreign land. The simplest way is to just radiate 'Do not come near me and we won't have a problem,' but that only works for people who think you're paying attention. The second is to fill all your easiest grabs with little things like scraps of cloth, travel food, and little things that won't be missed. And while Donna prefers to use both methods, it's the latter that gives her the most amusement; while she might not be *worth* having her possessions stolen, she still gives a little surprise to the brave, and something helpful for the desperate.
She has, after all, been both in her life.
She does, however, quietly take up a position behind Ashes, as though to keep the Hobkin between herself and AImarra. Old habits die hard, and armored or not, someone needs to be in the protected middle rank.
The ashen Arvec meets each encounter with the same response, intense and unwavering attention in the form of a stare, and silence. Her helm helps, the visor obscuring her face and skull tattoo, adding an ominous seriousness. Vardama's symbol on her breastplate enhances this. Most only meet the Mourners when a relative dies, and superstition suggests accosting one is inviting Vardama's attention.
The guards leave her alone, the peddlers require a little more effort on her part, a much longer stoney silence to make them disperse. Her satchel is tucked higher and under an arm. Ashlee doesn't like others in close proximity and radiates this discomfort.
She follows a step behind Aimarra, watching around for pickpockets and glaring at anyone who seems likely to approach her. She's not handing out Evil Eyes, not just yet, but she might.
Between their collective efforts, the group manage not to have anything of import pilfered along the way. The wares on sale range from the mundane, what might be found anywhere, to strange charms and trinkers, twisted fragments of wood claimed to have powers to stave off evil, miniature shrines. But, further along, mostly food. Fish prepared in just about every way imaginable- fried, baked, grilled, steamed, and even raw. And not only fish, sea cucumbers, squid, urchins, molluscs all make their way onto the menu.
Towards the fishing boats, there aren't as many stalls, and the stalls are larger. Here, the fishermen sell their hauls direct to the merchants in bulk, who sell them on. They sit in wooden boxes full of enchanted ice- an extravagent expense, no doubt, but one which seems to be well worth it for the traders here.
GAME: Ashes rolls knowledge/religion: (4)+15: 19
Aimarra does take the time to purchase a trio of fried fish fillets on a stick, the batter infused with some exotic set of spices that fills nose and mouth and the rest of the senses as well. After all, kicking demon-consorters out of ill-gotten wealth is hungry work, and offers one to each of the other two as she does.
Ash's stomach growls. She didn't eat much on the airship, and she isn't actually as dead as she wishes she was. The food smells good. It's not why they came, and celebrating after makes more sense than filling up now. She savours what smells come in through her visor, but they will wait.
Until Aimarra hands her a fish-stick fillet, that is. Relenting, the ashen Arvec flips up her visor and takes slow bites. "Thanks."
Once in the bulk section, the raw scents are not as appealing, there's less reason to look around. She notes the ice. Interesting. It would be amusing to observe this fishing town with magic-adjusted eyes, but that would give away too much. Best to minimize what attention is drawn. She's eaten halfway down the fillet, a small bite, followed by a drawn out chewing effort.
Some of those shrines get an extra long stare, she can't help herself. The Mourner is familiar with alternate representations of the pantheon, but there are a great many others she doesn't recognize at all.
Which could be significant. She doesn't mention it. As casually as possible, she drifts towards the red striped boat. As she draws near, Chippen runs up onto her cheek, revealing the red cord around her throat. She holds the fillet close, for him to take a nibble.
GAME: Aimarra rolls perception: (8)+11: 19
"Oh man, thanks," Donna murmurs, as fish-on-a-stick is passed her way. The treat is popped into her mouth, teeth holding onto the stick, as a cord-bound hand comes up to shade her eyes from the sparkle off the water.
"Oh h'y wow, dif if rlly gud." Professional? Certainly. But manners were apparently something to rebel against, and that habit dies hard too.
It doesn't take long before Aimarra, fish in one hand and nothing in the other, uses that free hand to free the ties at her throat. It's definitely warmer there than in Alexandria, and that's always appreciated.
She pauses, hand halfway to her throat, tie half-freed, when she spots the town guard down at the end of the dock. "Think that's the only dock I've ever seen in my life where the guard hang out with the fishers," she muses casually, looking down towards the end of the pier where a pair of town guard are milling at the end.
"Keen eye, Lass." A voice says from off to the side. A glance will show an older human, greying beard, wiry but fit. He's wearing a woven hat, and has a red cord dangling from it. "Take it yer with me?" he asks them, and dips his head towards Aimarra's matching cord. He thumbs over his shoulder to his own boat... such as it is. Not even a fishing boat, really, it's only slightly larger than a rowboat you might use as a landing craft on larger vessels. "Best be off. Water's calm for now, won't stay that way." he tells them.
GAME: Ashes rolls sense motive: (7)+10: 17
Chippen takes a huge bite for a centipede, and an imperceptible one to Ashes. Taking his dinner, her familiar returns to his decorative resting place around her throat and covers the red cord. Ashlee bites the fillet, and pulls it further up the stick so she has an easier time holding it in her mouth. She maintains this pose while she looks the older human over. The cord matches, he was expecting them, this should be their guy.
Bite finished, she chews and drifts closer to the launch. It's a boat, yup. This confirmed she gazes down the far end of the pier, might as well be a guard watching other guards. There is no effort to help launch the boat, not unless someone asks her. It's dinner-time and she isn't rushing that.
With a new face to talk to, Donna makes quick work of the rest of the filet, replacing the stick between her teeth once it's been cleared off. "Sounds like a plan," she drawls, raising her corded hand to her brow in lazy salute. "Love this town already, but, job's waitin' on us."
"They gonna give us any trouble?" Aimarra focuses her entire attention on the new voice, turning toward him and looking up - and up- at him curiously. Her eyes flick down to the end of the pier where the guards are, but she doesn't move her head, and takes a big bite of her fish fillet as she takes. The stance is casual but has sass to it. "We had enough of rough ships on the way out, I'm not thinking to wait for another."
"Shouldn't think so." the man says as he looks down the pier towards the two guardsmen watching the other ship. "Been here a couple of days. Reckon they got wind of the plan somehow. Means there's a leak, which is cause for trouble, but they don't know all of it." he says and nods towards the red stripe. "Wrong shade. And a stripe o' paint aint a cord." he comments. He untethers the boat from its mooring, and climbs aboard- picking up an oar. He waits for the others to climb aboard too, and when they are ready, he uses the oar to push the boat away from the dock.
He only has the one oar, and stands as he rows, one side and then the next. The water is indeed calm, the air cleared after that recent storm, and it's a much more pleasant journey than the one on the airship. Their guide whistles as he rows. It might be a little disconcerting to be in so small a vessel once the docks begin to fade from sight, but thankfully, the islands in this chain are near enough together that before it has faded entirely- by now, the moon casting a silvery glow on the ocean surface- the far shore is beginning to come into view. It's a very small island, really more of a mountain peak jutting straight from the water's surface. The village is built along the shore, while atop the peak sits the castle. From out here, it looks as though a winding path leads back and forth up the slope to the castle's front entrance. A very easy place to defend.
It's a good job they have insider information on the back door.
OOC
<OOC> Ashes says, "Like I'd love to run a St. Patricks Paddysnek steak night at the TarRaCe, but low on gas"
<OOC> Thurid says, "Ha, that sounds like it'd be fun."
<OOC> Donna says, "Paddysnek Paddysnek, nope-rope man!"
<OOC> Ashes nods!