HLoM: The Firebird, Chapter 2

[Isabella]

"Marcel!" Richard exclaimed, running after his friend, and ignoring the minor fact this was nigh literally the worst possible idea he could act upon.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Richard finds himself--in the tomb, rain falling outside. Whatever happened to Marcel, it has not happened to him.

"I didn't see anything to cause that," Renhalt mutters, almost to himself. "No triggers, no aura." He makes a pass with his hands and mutters, "Arguere magicis," looks carefully at the spot where Marcel was last seen, then shakes his head. "No aura from a fading spell. I'd have to guess he's been...that he's in another scene. If that makes sense."

Tara nods, her mouth setting in a frown. "That's a problem, then. But we still have to check this tomb. For all we know he'll return here, after all. Quickly, everyone, the more time we spend milling around the more likely someone will come along and try to stop us. Someone else."

Suiting deeds to words, she enters. "I'm afraid we need to open the coffin," she says. "I thought it wouid be underground, but the poor fellow wasn't very clear about it."

[NeoTiamat]

"It could be worse. Marcel's a clever man, we'll have to hope he can rejoin us." Lena said gently. Truth be told, if someone had to go wander about on their own through this ghost-infested castle, the veteran anchorite of Ezra was probably one of the best people. Still not a good situation, but Lena would be much more concerned if Vasili or Rojan had been shucked off into some other reality.

She stepped lightly into the tomb after Tara. "Some help, gentlemen?" Lena had many skills, but lifting things was emphatically not one of them.

[Nathan of the FoS]

This particular room had a lot of sharp things in it--not weapons for the most part, just metal things with edges, or teeth, or both. There were a thing like a bed frame with large rollers, and a pulley set in the ceiling with a rope dangling from it, a large wheel built over a shallow pit filled with ashes, several other things harder to describe easily, and everywhere the smell of old blood.

Pressing on, Ushka found herself in a hallway line with cells on one side and a low, long bench on the other. A clink of metal on metal from ahead of her warned her even before her nose detected the scent in this putrid place--there is a male human in one of the cells.

[NeoTiamat]

Now, what would a human being be doing in a cell in a goblyn-and-ghost-infested castle in the middle of nowhere? To ask the question, Ushka supposed, was to answer it. The human was lunch. So, the little fox crept onwards towards the cell, looking at the human and also looking for anything in the way of keys that might be around.

Perception +21
[dice]0[/dice]

[Isabella]

Richard gave the two women a stricken look, but since he didn't disagree, he simply said, "We-we must leave some means for him to-him to find us, especially if we move on from this place. It-it will not matter if he never-if he isn't in the same... scene, but if-if he comes back here... We could lose any of our-of our number at any time simply by walking through a-a door frame. I-I-I think we had best consider a rendezvous point outside the gates if-if any of us get separated like this."

He looked at the tomb. "Poor soul. We've already disrupted his-his rest. Did you see any magic on the-the tomb, Freiherr Jarenburg? If not, I would keep your weapons at the-the ready..." Richard put his hands on the coffin and put his considerable strength towards opening it.

[Nathan of the FoS]

"No, nothing," Renhalt replies. "No auras at all. Go ahead."

"I doubt the young ApBlanc was ever very restful, Freiherr," Tara says grimly. "This place doesn't encourage it. Our approach may well have triggered his manifestation, of course." She looks up and sees Richard's expression, and touches Richard's elbow lightly. "We'll get him back. Don't worry. He's an old campaigner, and a man strong in the faith."

Rojan steps forward to lift the other end of the coffin lid (it is merely a long marble slab laid over the top of the marble sarcophagus beneath it; if it was ever mortared into place the mortar has been removed). It slides aside to reveal the corpse. The leather sporran, decorated with a gold clasp showing a feather in a mailed fist and obviously dry and brittle, is all that remains of what was probably once the full formal regalia of a Forfarian nobleman. A claymore, its blade still bright, is clasped in the skeletal hands. Two vertebrae just below the ribcage are shattered, another mute testimony of the violence of young Morholt ApBlanc's death.

"Young herr was cut right in half," Rojan observes, making the sign of the Spear and Coils and looking at Richard and his greatsword with a considering eye. "Think you've got strength enough for it, Freiherr? I misdoubt I do."

"The claymore's enchanted," Renhalt notes, still observing the scene with his magical sight. "The dweomer is nothing unusual by our standards, but it's obviously a well-made weapon."

[NeoTiamat]

"This is all very interesting, but I'm fairly certain that disturbing the rest of a ghost of Tristenoira would require more blasphemy than any of us can manage." Lena said, looking about the tomb with disappointment. "And more to the point, I don't see any shield. Shall we move on to the next tomb then?"

[Isabella]

She looks up and sees Richard's expression, and touches Richard's elbow lightly. "We'll get him back. Don't worry. He's an old campaigner, and a man strong in the faith."

"If there were any one among us who I-I-I would trust to make it out alone, it-it would be him," Richard said, softly. "But I-I-I will worry sorely until I-I-I can see him again."

"Young herr was cut right in half," Rojan observes, making the sign of the Spear and Coils and looking at Richard and his greatsword with a considering eye. "Think you've got strength enough for it, Freiherr? I misdoubt I do."

"If my sword were sharper than-sharper than mortal steel allowed," Richard said. "Else I-I-I would need be stronger than mortal arm allowed. Does anyone recognize his-his dress to know when he died? And more-more to the point, what might have done it?"

"We have one consideration we must keep in mind, we know not... when or in what-in what 'scene' the shield may lie. We should not count this tomb already searched, if we happen to shift again. But since we seem to have no control over it," Richard sighed, "I suppose we should move on."

[NeoTiamat]

"Does anyone recognize his-his dress to know when he died? And more-more to the point, what might have done it?"

"I do not, no." Lena said, shaking her head.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Somewhat to Ushka's surprise, the man in the cell is looking right at her as she pops her head around the wall to gaze through the bars at him. He is heavily bearded and wears his red-brown hair long; his blue eyes are bloodshot but his expression is surprisingly alert. He is wearing leg irons, manacles, and a nondescript brown smock. He has to clear his throat several times before he can speak. "Dia duit, deirfiúr beag. Cad tá ar siúl agat anseo?" He makes a "come-hither" guesture as he does so.

[NeoTiamat]

Well this was interesting. Ushka didn't have the faintest idea what the man was saying, mind (she could understand Vaasi and Balok, but not Forfarian). Still, the man didn't seem like he was trying to catch her for a bit of a meal, so she approached carefully.

As she did, however, Ushka craned her neck upwards, revealing the black leather collar with silver threadwork on it. A tiny silver tag hung from the collar, containing on it the seal of the Von Zaroviches, and the words in Vaasi and Balok, Bystroushka, Familiar of Baroness Elena von Zarovich.

[Kaitou Kage]

"A shame," Altan murmured quietly. "He was a worthy opponent. It is too bad he met such an ill-fitting end."

The Mulani raised his flask in a toast to the deceased and took a drink.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Rojan nods at Richard's assessment of the blow that kllled the young ApBlanc and again at Altan's encomium to him. "Fearsome!" he comments--whether about the young warrior or the blow that kllled him is not quite clear.

"We'd better replace the lid and leave him in peace," Tara says. "You wanted holy water, freiherr?"

"Yes, I do," Renhalt reples, as Rojan and Richard replace the coffin's lid. Accepting the flask offered by the anchoress, he puts the shard directly inside.

"Out we go then," he says.

As you cross the threshold there is another rumble of thunder, and night becomes day, noontime in high summer, the air close and still, the courtyard as you first saw it, unkempt and decaying, and the thunder echoes again from the east. Immediately your ears are pierced by a deafening, dismal wail which resolves itself in a few moments as a harsh music which sets the blood to dancing and hands reaching for sword or wand, played over an endless drone which must surely reach a mile or more around from its sheer volume.



Know (local) DC 12 to recognize the sound, DC 22 to know what it means.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Mistress has returned.

Even as Ushka offers her neck for examination, her mind feels the reestablished contact and she gives an involuntary wriggle of happiness.

The man reaches awkwardly but gently to bring the script into view, then shakes his head. "Is é sin torc fíneáil. Tá tú roinnt bhean peataí, beidh mé geall. Ró-olc tá sé ró-dim a léamh i anseo."

Reseating himself carefully, he makes a measured series of gestures and a whispered prayer. When he speaks again, his words are quite clear, though unlike any human speech Ushka has heard before. "That is a beautiful collar, little sister, but I can't read it. Too dark. The Dagda is kind, however, to send you, and kind to give me skill enough to speak to you even with my hands in irons. How did a noblewoman's pet like yourself come to so evil a place as this?"