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]

Edgard pushes at the wall to get from leaning to upright and waves his left hand slowly.

"If you need a skeptic, you already have one." He leans back against the wall, arms folded.

[luaithre]

"And how do we discover the fate of our contact?"

These words from Marcus push a little impatiently past Edgard's volunteering, with a sidelong glance indicating that the man ought not. Then, Marcus nods towards Petrana, although he is addressing the room more generally when he suggests; "Present the pin. We could pretend we think it's fine, and're concerned in seeing it restored to its owner."

It is, after all, just brass. But they are only pilgrims. He adds, "They'll either be ignorant or lie. It should be easy enough to tell which."

[ipseite]

Obliging Edgard to exert himself past his remit does not immediately seem like a notion set to fill Petrana with confidence; she spares that merely the dry smile that acknowledges a witticism, and presumes that is all it needed. She turns the pin over in its handkerchief, frowning, thinking—Isaac is right, but they're already dealing with more than their diplomatic remit had anticipated, which is

rather what happens when a plan encounters reality. (The first casualty of war, and all that. She can almost see the sardonic tilted eyebrow.)

“Feign ignorance of it, ourselves,” she says. “Merely wishing to see something that looks to have some value returned?”

[sulahnan]

"If they lie, me and Leander should probably do whatever snooping is to be done thereafter."

As much as she'd rather do it alone, Leander himself knows the reason Athessa won't be much help in locating a red scarf as incriminating evidence.

"We stand the best chance of moving around undetected."

[hornswoggle]

A brief, incredulous look in Edgard's direction, communicating the Absolutely not without wasting breath. Instead—

"It's worth looking around either way," John says, before nodding at Petrana's proposition. "Particularly when it seems they aren't interested in having anyone wander out of place."

[muckspout]

Edgard sees John's glare, sighs, and slumps back against the wall with a thump.

"It was just an idea. Let me know when you need something from me."

He folds his arms over his chest and rests his eyes. He's not sleeping though. Still listening.

[wythersake]

They're good ideas — a lone doubter, a returned item, those of their number best-suited to lurking in the dark —

He nods as much. They're agreed, then,

(And the jars still empty)

"I need you as you are," To Edgard. By which he means nothing overly charitable, but Edgard doesn't need to know that he's been labeled distraction. "You'll be accompanying me tomorrow."

Buddy system. If Athessa has work with Leander, that leaves the lot of them. Edgard and Marcus together seems a short step to trouble, and Petrana needs — well, anyone more dangerous than Petrana.

"All that's left is to nominate our skeptic. I understand Mssr. Silver has a command of Tevene."

Potentially useful. More useful: He lies like a fucking fish.

[ipseite]

“As do I, though perhaps only one of us need announce as much.” There's a joke buried in there somewhere—switching roles, who is sleight of handing what skills—but most directly it seems sensible that the least dangerous looking among them also not encourage anyone to guard their tongue around her.

[sarcophage]

Leander is doing an excellent job of pretending Edgard doesn't exist, made easier by Athessa's suggestion. The way he looks at her—his head turns at an average speed, his face blank, an inscrutable indicator of genuine surprise—implies some brief evaluation before he accepts the idea.

Having quietly recomposed himself (with barely any difference), he now asks, "And the offering? Will we as pilgrims be deterred from our blessing by one man's doubt?"

[sulahnan]

The offering. Her fingers twitch. They're curled around the opposite arm, saving her the trouble of over-correcting the motion.

"I'm not bleeding myself into a jar," she states, flatly. Immovable. "If we absolutely need to put something in, maybe we can take apart a doll or two?"

[luaithre]

"It should be the task of our skeptic to explain," Marcus says, quietly insistent. The suggestion in the form of a knife and a jar had his hackles before the little doll token had entered into the equation. "So yes," a little to Leander, "we were deterred. Persuaded. For an evening, at least."

He doesn't expect their investigations to last longer than they have to. The contact isn't here.

[muckspout]

Edgard flicks his eyes open and nods in response to Isaac's request. He's a little unsure, but at least this man isn't ignoring him.

This cannot be said for his other companions who, much to Edgard's disdain, are still trying to make a decision. He rests his eyes again. They'll figure it out.