The Hut of Chicken Bone: Night of April 10th

[Nathan of the FoS]

Looking at Roland Tarlyn says "Well Roland this is why I have been asking you about the gentleman upstairs. From my perspective as well as my acquaintances here, we have never heard of a zombie that is not aggressive." Tarlyn looks at both Coan and Dadrag to confirm this. "What is this 'LOA' you speak of?" he asks.

"The loa are...spirits. Some say gods, but I think it is not the same. A person who knows the gris-gris can call on them, ask them for help; I suppose that is why your friends came here."

[steveflam]

"The loa are...spirits. Some say gods, but I think it is not the same. A person who knows the gris-gris can call on them, ask them for help; I suppose that is why your friends came here

Ooc> Even though we all know this, our p.c's don't, so please bear with me. Tarlyn likes information

"So the gris gris is bad spirit magic then, Roland?" Tarlyn asks.

[Nathan of the FoS]

"So the gris gris is bad spirit magic then, Roland?" Tarlyn asks.

"Not bad," Roland replies quickly. "No worse than any other magic, and better than many kinds. But some do bad things with it." Glancing up again, he says, "Perhaps it is better not to speak too much of it. Not here, you understand...soon the loa come themselves..."

[steveflam]

Tarlyn shivers slightly. I most certainly hope these 'SPIRITS' are at least good ones if that is at all possible. I do not like the idea of us being here and spirits coming, especially for our acquaintances up there with 'him'.

Looking to Dadrag and Hiro, then up he says to himself in Elvish, hoping either one understands "Uum llie dur ron naa aul daquin sinome ent uum lye nyar sen quin n' "*



*=Do you believe they are in danger here and do we tell them or not?

**Bluff 28 in case Roland suspects something or Gerard as wel

[VAN]

Dadrag has gotten a certain distance from the tree as he heads that up there there is a zombie and some spirits are up to manifest. As Tarlyn speaks in elven, the ex-assassin's looks him quizically.

"What have you said? I don't understand."

[steveflam]

"Nothing important Dadrag just a few words in Elvish" Tarlyn says.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Gertrude nodded then shook her head at Chicken Bone’s questions, then turned at the name. She looked at the young woman who appeared, and wondered to herself at the girl’s lack of attentiveness. What is the matter with her? She kept her face neutral at the request for the rooster. At least they eat it, she thought pragmatically.

She presented her hand to the voodan at his request, her heart beating a little faster at the request. Well, less likely to be possession this way, thank heavens…

OOC: I assume no-one objects to having their blood taken, then? Onward and upward.

IC: As each Fraternity member presents his or her hand, Chicken Bone pricks their little fingers, drawing a bead of blood which he smears along the blade. Last of all he does the same himself.

Looking over the four of you again, he re-arranges your grouping, placing each of you over a chalk drawing so that you form a roughly trapezoidal figure and handing each of you a candle from the tapers burning on the altar.* "Marie!" he calls.

The young woman enters again, a black rooster under one arm and a open dark green bottle in the other hand. Accepting them, Chicken Bone dismisses her with a wave of his hand. He begins to sing in a low, cracked voice in a language none of you recognize--if it is a language at all. He pours rum into a small glass standing on the altar and sets the bottle down, then cuts the head of the rooster in a single practiced stroke.

Shaking the rooster and the knife over the altar, he sings more loudly, repeating a few syllables over and over in a rising and falling pattern. The candle flames leap, and then seem to lean forward, as if blown by some breeze none of you can feel. Setting down knife and rooster, he takes up the glass of rum; dipping his fingers into the glass, he flicks the alcohol over the statuettes on the altar, causing the candles to fizz and pop when a drop touches them.

(Only Crow, standing nearest the altar, sees that the drops of blood and rum do not stain the altar nor the icons on it; they are absorbed immediately and disappear.)

Taking out the ring, Chicken Bone displays it before the altar, wetting it in the glass of rum and touching it to the knife, and sets it on the altar. Picking up a candle, he steps back and takes his place with you, the five of you now forming a pentagram. The lantern and the candles on the altar are instantly extinguished; the chalk diagrams on the floor have begun to glow very slightly, and in the near-darkness they seem to writhe around your feet.


*Knowledge (religion) check at DC 22 will reveal which loa each PC has been associated with.

[Nathan of the FoS]

..AA.....CB.....A...../
......................A.../
......GK.........C..../
......................../
.........DS...RB../
...................../
......SS........../
.......TTTTTTTT

This is a very rough map of the room's layout at present (I hope it comes through all right when posted!). The rice-curtains are shown by and /; TTTT is the tree trunk, SS the head of the stairs, AA stands for the two altars, and the other letters are everyone's initials. Chicken Bone was working at the altar next to Crow (C, above).

It's not quite to scale, but I hope it gives you an idea of the room's layout and your position relative to each other.

[Pamela]

As Crow was directed to the veve closest to the altar, Gertrude considered the fact that they were already drawn upon the floor. Synchronicity or foresight? The graph beneath the bard's feet was dominated by a large eye, with two six-pointed stars above it. Brambei- a bard and luck, but also knowledge…Sometimes deceiver…

Her brow furrowed as she considered anew the paradox of a man who posed as a happy-go-lucky rascal, basking in attention- but was so little known. He was easily her favourite of the brothers abroad, and indeed preferred his company to many at home. And yet, there were all the little games and twists… Don’t all the brothers use them?

Perhaps. But then I don’t care to be friends with most of them.

She turned away from that line of thought as Buchvold was next chosen. She pursed her lips to contain her amusement. This was the most abstract of the symbols, which almost seemed symmetrical in its halves except for a cross on the left and fleur-de-lys (as she called them; she had no idea what they really represented) on the right. Tonthomba- how appropriate, she thought, as she considered the Borcan’s bombastic behaviour and reckless plans with demons. Definitely one who likes to play with fire…This brought to mind the savant’s earlier elemental relations.

Luck and knowledge are certainly associated with air; will power is fiery… Earth is wealth, which is certainly the Richemuloise…Who was being directed to a veve featuring one of that element’s symbols. Ohuwaghnn, the Serpent King…He certainly strikes me as cold-blooded, she thought to herself.

Trickery came to mind and she turned to look at Brambei’s veve, and the bard once more. The professor considered the different purposes of manipulation between the two loa- and perhaps, of their human representatives. A deceiver, but not for his own gains and ends- dedicated to fate- not evil, but doing what is necessary... she thought of Brambei (and Crow). Not evil, she reiterated, Unlike those two…

She now turned her head to look at her own symbol as the voodan approached her. Water had brought up three associations in her mind, but the moral concerns had driven all but one from her mind. It was with some relief that she saw the crossroads with a six-pointed star in its centre. Lethede…not Ulwaddithri…

Oh for heaven’s sake, woman, you’re reading too much into it all, she chided herself, and yet she was privately comforted and touched by it. She did not consider herself a good woman- felt very few people in the world were indeed good- but still liked to believe that she was not a bad one beneath it all.

You’re a religious scholar- if you're going to grant him some foresight- or knowledge about yourself- you have been here for a couple of weeks- would it really be surprising that she'd be chosen?

Oh shut up… The Zherisian abruptly turned her mind away from the censorious voice within herself and back to the preceding rite as Marie was summoned again. She forced herself to keep her eyes open as the rooster was decapitated, but any queasiness was soon forgotten as the taper flame in her hand began to grow and billow. My breath, she rationalised, as she turned wide-eyed to see that the others' flames were all doing the same, in the same direction.

The ring was produced, and presented, and her eyes turned to the veve that Chicken Bone now approached. She'd recoginised that one first upon arrival- the one she called the tower. And of course, the Lord of the Dead, who rules here…

Her thoughts crashed to a halt as all flames blinked out, and a shiver went down her spine as the white chalk markings began to glimmer, then pulse. Please… she thought, in an unconscious plea for mercy.

[Coan]

Hiro looks over to Tarlyn and shakes his head.

"I've a feeling not to interupt things would be wise." he says in Mordentish so that Dadrag can understand. Becoming somewhat restless he sits down on the stairs and retrieves a small scroll from inside his shirt, opening he begins to read so as to pass the time.

[Rotipher of the FoS]

The shiver passes through the bard once more, when he notices the vacant look in the girl Marie's eyes -- Sun's blood, what perversity have you struck up a bargain with this time, Crow-my-lad? -- and does so again, when the aged voodan bids his foreign clients submit to a bloodletting. Twice, now, his facade has demanded such a surrender in two days' work; twice, his wrists have twinged and his instincts railed in protest, yet he forces compliance upon his muscles and calmness onto his expression, offering his hand to Chicken Bone in turn.

(Were the VRS spy aware of how white his left hand's knuckles turn, gripping the candle, as the voodan's blade parts the skin of his right, his outward calm might be far more difficult to feign. Particularly so, as it is the Borcan who stands to his left, in a position to witness this ... the Borcan, who knows too much already, and may well deduce still more in future.)

Left feeling hollow inside as the voodan's ceremony proceeds, the bard clenches his hand tightly in the folds of his nondescript traveling-cloak, to stop the cut's bleeding. However tiny it is, he'll cleanly heal the bone blade's gash himself, once this night's errand is ended. Unlike the Fraternity officers' test of identity, Crow would hate for this rite to leave its lasting mark upon him.

When the blood and rum that speckles the alter vanishes, he clenches his cloak tighter still, repressing the urge -- a habit defied as far back as he can remember, yet still felt at times of spiritual uncertainty -- to pantomime the sign of the sun's rays. Even if the bard dared to believe, he has no right to ask or expect the benign favor of providence ... certainly not, if their quartet's collective sacrifice has served the purpose he suspects.

Crow has not, up to now, dared examine the veve to which Chicken Bone had assigned him. Though his knowledge is sketchy, his last visit to Souragne had acquainted him with a few basic precepts of voodan, and in the interests of his Society he has built up a rough conception as to which symbols (like the snake-icon Draxton now stands upon) are malignant in nature. While he cannot put names to them, at least he can distinguish a threatening mark from a sign of protection or blessed favor.

Regretful that there isn't some higher power he might yet pray to, without fear that the bastards -- those the Fraternity calls "Watchers" -- would receive and make mock of his pleas in true divinity's stead, Crow can muster only a fleeting wish for luck, as he directs his eyes downward to see what manner of wickedness he has fed with his lifeblood...

...and meets, in chalk and dancing light, the shimmering eye of the Oracle.

Not darkness, but destiny.

[steveflam]

Tarlyn looks at Roland and smiles. "Pardon me, but might I persuade you to come back for me in exactly a day? I can pay you handsomely, I just have some things I need to take care of here that I can't in town. You need not come up, Roland. I Just have some business with the gentleman upstairs."

[Nathan of the FoS]

Tarlyn looks at Roland and smiles. "Pardon me, but might I persuade you to come back for me in exactly a day? I can pay you handsomely, I just have some things I need to take care of here that I can't in town. You need not come up, Roland. I Just have some business with the gentleman upstairs."

"Things?" Roland repeats, glancing upstairs. Then, touching his own jacket, he says, "I understand, m'sieur. I have every faith in your generosity, and I am sure Gerard does as well."

Here his name, Gerard looks up; Roland says, "Le m'sieur veut rester ici y veut que revenons demain a chercherle.

Gerard gives Tarlyn a skeptical look and says, "Et payera?"

"Oui."

"Reviendrons pour jour?"

Shrugging, Roland turns back to Tarlyn and asks, "We will come back during the day, yes? Not at night?"

[steveflam]

Looking to Roland and nodding "Yes you be here tomorrow afternoon, is that fair, Roland? I think that will give me ample time to conclude my business here."

Excellent! Now I might actually get some concrete information as to these lands and the mists. I am positive that the gentleman upstairs would be most intrugued at conversing with a Dark Elf. I am positive this will be his first occasion to do so. It will definitely be beneficial to both as well as, how can I put this, uh, INTERESTING to say the least.

"Half now, half upon my return to the town, fair enough, Roland?" Tarlyn says as he removes a pouch and hands it to him.

[VAN]

"I've a feeling not to interupt things would be wise." he says in Mordentish so that Dadrag can understand. Becoming somewhat restless he sits down on the stairs and retrieves a small scroll from inside his shirt, opening he begins to read so as to pass the time.

Dadrag looks Hiro and asks:

"What are you reading my friend? Is there anything interesting? I..."

Dadrag stops talking as he listens Tarlyn talk with Rolnad. He drops the conversation with the samurai and turning surprised to the drow asks:

"You... you really want to go back here tomorrow? Do you want to face this strange voodan alone? Are you sure about it?"