closed | the elusive fanged nivék.

[cozen]

WHO: Athessa, Bastien, Coupe, and Fitcher
WHAT: Four reasonably professional people conduct a reasonably professional investigation and everything goes reasonably well, probably
WHEN: Harvestmere, pre-Nevarra
WHERE: Western Orlais
NOTES: Violence for sure

Comments

it was a dark and stormy night.

[cozen]

In the daylight, the castle on the crest of the hill was picturesque. Charming towers, elegant spires, surrounded by a blanket of red and gold turned leaves. The kind of image that's good to hold at the forefront of one's mind, when the light is gone except for blinding flashes that only illuminate the sharp parts of the outline, and the canopy is shielding against some of the rain but certainly not all of it, and water is leaking into one's mustache in a way that's kind of itchy, and one's coat sleeve has snagged on a thorny vine—cumulatively, enough to pause Bastien's quiet humming of "The Hunterhorn Nivék that Ate Ser Bisset."

"Athessa," he whispers, while he's fumbling with his sleeve. She's the one with the helpful elf eyes. Help. But he just as quickly thinks better of it—even though he likes this coat—and tears free with a quiet rip.

There. That is his sacrifice to this foolish cause.

For the others': "One of us should fall down. Perhaps two of us."

10,000 minute dungeon

[unshut]

"Well, this is homey."

It's a little musty, is what it is. But that's normal as far as dank and dreary dungeons go and it could be much worse. It doesn't quite have that distinct reek of recent human suffering hanging about it, but Fitcher assumes that's what they're here for.

She pauses momentarily to survey their surroundings which consist of all the usual suspects - dusty floor, a shame bucket, the unrelenting monotony of rough stone walls - and then finally turns her attention back to her companions. "I suppose it's too to hope for that one of you has has managed to keep a lock pick set hidden on your person?"

a limping escape

[unshut]

Suffice to say, things do not go as planned.

If there is one thing Fitcher regrets, it is the specific placement of the arrow in Luwenna Coupe. Putting holes in legs makes speedy escapes through secret back passages rather more difficult than they might be without them, and it puts a real damper on the potential of climbing free from the first window they come across. If they're lucky, they'll stay a few steps ahead of the search parties as they make their way through a series of servants corridors and find their way to an exit rather than straight into the hands of the dearly departed Duke's son. And if they're not lucky--

Well, Fitcher has paused momentarily at some early turning point in their escape route. There's old mortar here and it takes just two firm strikes to drive a light pin produced from an inside coat pocket between two of the stones.

"Everyone all right? All limbs accounted for?" This asked as she drives a corresponding pin into the farther wall. At once, a spool of wire appears to hand. Fitcher forms a hook at one end with a turn of the wrist and passes it off. "Athessa, my darling - pay attention. Do me the favor of securing this end to that nail there."

Her hands are not shaking. Everything is quite all right.