war table mission: project haven

[libratus]

WHO: Petrana, Marcus, Edgard, Silver, Athessa, Isaac, Leander
WHAT: A Summer's End festival weekend
WHEN: Kingsway
WHERE: Cubentquium, an isolated mountain village outside Perivantium
NOTES: The plan is 3 top-levels, one for each section of the plot, RP however you like and I'll chime in with any additional info as needed. Will update warnings as we go. So far: cults, hair, blood.

The Riftwatch agents meet their guides outside a run-down little Chantry in Perivantium. Donata, a wide-smiling and plain-speaking human woman of middling age, is accompanied by two gangly youths to help her corral the assembled few dozen devotees. It's not quite the kind of group they'd been prepared to blend in with — the assembled faithful certainly seem pious enough, but where most pilgrims are the sort who've enough spending money to afford the travel, threadbare clothes and near-empty rucksacks are more the norm here. A pair of siblings are just in from Trevis, is easy enough to overhear; another family from Nessum, but they're the skittish, quiet sort and seem to expect the same from everyone else.

Not among them: the man with the red scarf and sunburst pin the team was told to look for. But then, they're hardly at the rendezvous point yet.

Honored to receive you, is the greeting that goes round with a tin of simple oat cakes from their guides; Blessed are those who give, before the group sets off into the mountains.

For a stretch of space that is, as the crow flies, not so terribly far, the path to Cubentquium is a difficult and winding one. Sharp columns of stone rise pale into paler fog, echoes of their hundred cousins to the north, and between those tight walls twists a labyrinthine path that is in places more rocky crag than walkway. Soft sand gives way to sudden drops; byways that might look a little easier to trod are, on confident assurance from their guides, decidedly not. Moving forward seems to mean doubling back as often as pushing ahead, and none of them would be blamed for forgetting which direction is which — not to worry, their guides know the way.

But when the sky cracks opens above them midway into the afternoon, pissing rain turns their precarious footholds to rushing streams, and Donata calls the group to a halt in the shelter of an outcropping until the storm passes. It's a full night and morning of waiting, wet-shoed and crowded close, before they're able to travel safely again. Thankfully, the last leg of the journey seems to be a straighter shot, and as their shadows begin to get long, the group finally reaches their destination: a deep black lake rimmed in white cliffs and tall, thin trees.

Comments

[muckspout]

“Seems like nice people.” Edgard says with complete sincerity. Sure, they’re a little formal, but Edgard of all people is aware that people who live in isolated places have their quirks.

He claims a bed and throws his items on it. There’s a doll there. He squints at it a little mesmerized. But then hides behind the bed holding up the doll like a puppet.

“Hello Athessa! Hello Leander!” He says in falsetto and then laughs until he snorts.

[sulahnan]

For a beat, Athessa just stares at Edgard's weird puppet show,blinking once. Ooookaaaay. She was right not to ask him.

"Leander," she says, with the nonchalance of someone asking the time. Maybe a little bit of unease, but she's working very hard to keep her cool, here. "The other jars. Was that—?"

[sarcophage]

He stares, too, likely with less obvious—puzzlement? Disdain? What is the correct response to this? That this is a grown man; that he is filthy; that this is the first thing this filthy adult man has chosen to do; that the doll looks like someone's nightmare: every element compounds the absurdity. After visible (if expressionless) consideration, he decides,

"Hello, poppet. Would you do us a favour and tell Edgard to act his age? Thank you ever so much."

He then sets the tray down on the rustic little chair next to one of the beds.

"Yes, the one I examined contained blood. I suggest we consult the rest of our company before we respond."

[muckspout]

Well, these two are no fun. Edgard lowers the doll throwing it on his bunk and arises making a face at Leander.

“Yes, Mother.” He says lightly eyes rolling. “And I wouldn’t worry about the blood, people do that sometimes to ward off insects.”

He falls down on the cot and there’s a cloud of dust that comes from the bed.

“They’re just people with their own customs.”

[sulahnan]

The more this man speaks, the stranger he becomes.

"Why would you ward off insects by placing something that attracts insects directly outside your door?" Not to mention that there's been talk of giving and their rooms have thus far been the only ones with empty jars.

And there seems to be neither an altar for offerings in this room, nor an animal for sacrifice. Just the tray, the knife, and the empty vessel.

Athessa frowns at what's to be her bed, and the small lump beneath the covers at the foot of it. She extracts the doll, carefully, as if it might start to move on its own if she handles it too roughly. Why is it wet?

"Hm." Damp. Decay. Fingers part the fine strands of hair to try and peek at the core, and the smell of blood and rot only gets stronger. "Have you seen anything like this before? The children in my clan made dolls out of sticks, or antlers, but this...I've never seen this."

[sarcophage]

Keeping his voice low, "I haven't. On the other hand, nor have I experienced firsthand the customs of any of Tevinter's people, unless you count the Venatori."

Historically not the most gracious of hosts.

He's since moved on to examining the knife for its craftsmanship; presently, he returns it to the tray.

"It could very well be as Edgard says. Discomfort is a poor metric for judgement, in any case."

[muckspout]

Edgard blinks and swings his head around at Leander. Did he just agree with him?

"Did you just agree with me?" He asks as he flops around on the bed trying to get comfortable and causing even more dust clouds in his wake. "But, don't ask me why about the insect thing, I just have seen it, I didn't say it was a good idea."

He grabs his doll and it squishes when he does so. He grins at it and squishes it again. "These," he says holding up the doll. "are probably just gifts or something."

[sulahnan]

Athessa doesn't roll her eyes, exactly. It's more like a slow blink, but with the same energy as an eye roll. She sets her doll down at the foot of the bed, not wanting to replace it to its hiding spot under the covers for obvious — or maybe just obvious to her — reasons.

Luckily, other than a few bugs, there's nothing under the beds. Nothing of note on the walls, nothing she can see in the rafters, so it seems the dolls and the blood-letting tray are the only weird things in the room.

Weird people not included in that count.

[sarcophage]

Lest he seem excessively friendly, Leander accepts Edgard's follow-up question as one that requires no answer.

The bed that seems most likely to become his, that one's got a little doll-sized lump too, which he tosses back the covers to expose. Folkish superstition is his immediate impression, the doll's simple construction, its placement, in concert with the suggested offering—it's all very quaint. While Athessa busies herself with broader exploration, he turns the little figure over in his hands, runs the dried plant matter between his fingers.

"They do appear to be gifts. Tokens of safety." He replaces his where he found it, gently remakes the bed. "I wouldn't worry overmuch."

[muckspout]

Thrilled with being agreed with twice, Edgard gives a self satisfied smirk and places his doll just above his pillow. He pulls his shirt up and pants off (sending them flying) and pulls a blanket over him.

“We should sleep.” He says and it’s only moments before he is snoring loudly.

[sulahnan]

Tokens of safety or not, Athessa won't be keeping the doll in the bed with her. It's damp, and the whole point of a bed off the ground is to keep it dry.

She scoffs lightly, looking from Edgard to Leander with some shade of disbelief. A gesture in the Orlesian's direction. Can you believe this guy?

This is one elf who, even if she wanted to, probably won't be sleeping much tonight.

[sarcophage]

He cannot, in fact, believe this guy, and illustrates as much by pressing his hand over his eyes for several long, meditative seconds. After dragging it down his face—with a delay at his mouth, as if to highlight the truly bleak expression in his eyes above—he swings that same hand in a gesture to the door.

"Come on," long-suffering, "let's go see what our friends think. Quietly, now."

If there's any bright side, it's that they won't need to argue over who to sacrifice should it come to that.

hops tag order for the joke

[sulahnan]

Athessa cups a hand around the back of her ear, all the better to hear Leander with.

"What was that? I can't hear you over the din."

But she will lead the way out the door, moving quietly and taking care to listen for anyone who might catch them sneaking about.

[sarcophage]

Athessa leads the way—but Leander lingers, weighing his personal opinion against the responsibility of this affiliation he's claimed.

After not too long he crosses the room, takes up the jar and the knife, and silently moves bedside to stand next to the sleeper's head. He then drops the knife into the open jar. (It's sudden enough, not too loud, and not unexpected; their hosts may indeed be pleased to hear such a sound.)

To this human equivalent of a pile of dubiously soiled rags, called Edgard, he says,

"Your work isn't over. Get up."

[muckspout]

Edgard awakes with a snort, blinking in the darkness to see both Leander and Athessa heading out the door. He considers staying and rolls over, only to come face to face with his doll.

He launches himself backward, but he's a large man on a small cot and tumbles onto the floor. Cursing, he finds his clothing, pulls it on and yells after his compatriots,

"Wait for me, I'm coming!"

[sarcophage]

[continued above]