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

[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]