Chapter 2: Tiptoe Through The Thorns Part II [The Spurious Sanctuary]

Bronn


"Thank the five goddamn gears of Clockswalk, time to ge' out of this lodge! Not that I don' like it, not at all. But...I've been cooped up for days! I need to get out, walk, by God, I want to hit something! Or at least get blind drunk of featherberry wine again." Bronn slaps his cliffside stomach and offers a hand to the nearest of the group, all slate hands and flint fingernails. "Bronn's the name, as old Silent as the Grave said!"


The Ogre is of average height, oddly enough, his skin looks human enough, if carved out of granite.
 
Bronn


The Ogre smiles wide, shaking the Elemental's hand vigorously. "Glad to meet you, son." The Ogre lets out a gale of laughter and wanders over to the feasting table to grab a plate piled high with bacon, fish, eggs and a healthy serving of hash. "Damnation, where's the coffee!? Ah! 'Scuse me, love." He tiptoes round a few of the others to return back to the table, balancing his food and drink. Sitting down, Bronn slams back some drink, letting out a muffled belch.


"Pardon." Pulling in a napkin into the collar of his shirt, the Ogre pulls a fork and knife...and begins cutting his food like a civilized man.
 
Corri


Corri's mouth tips into a small grin at the ogre's word. Now here was a man she could sympathize with. "Corri," she said, nodding at him, glancing briefly at the willow man.
 
Watson


Watson chuckles. "Enjoy your breakfast Bronn." He slips back from the table. "I'll be back in a bit, ok? I'm gonna talk to Mistress Jasmine about entering the Magus' room. Come along, Hugo?"


Watson steps away into the foyer, weaving between the tables. Time to find the lady of the house.
 
Willow rests his right hand lightly on Watson's shoulder as he turns to leave, his touch light, yet firm. "I will accompany you. I'm a Magus myself, and might notice other things that might be of use to us to locate him, or point in the right direction."
 
Bronn


Wiping at his lip in an almost dainty fashion, Bronn smiles wide at Corri. "Glad to meet ye, miss!" He toasts her with ever lordly coffee. "Hedge hopping is a better gig than sitting around this place catching the terror you folk have over this whole...madness. Har!" He gulps and cuts up some more bacon.
 
Watson, to Old Man Willow


"Fair enough. I'm Watson. Sorry, should have introduced m'self before leaving. You don't have any, uh, objections to rooting in Magus Rex's things for signs?"


As they cross from the dining room into the foyer, Watson pauses, and offers his hand.
 
Willow shakes Watson's hand. "Objections? no. It's why I'm coming along." and he gives Watson a slightly crooked smile.


he then gestures to Watson to lead the way.
 
To Watson and Old Man Willow


The foyer is as it always is - the ticking grandfather clock portions out the quiet into manageable pieces with its regular ticking, a perfect backdrop to the soft aura of cleanliness everything, from the freshly swept wooden floors to the immaculately polished mahogany sideboard with its many...interesting figurines. One of the curious little automatons is dusting these whilst wearing a frilly little French maid's uniform.


The counter is (apparently) unmanned, though the bell is out once more and the candles are lit.
 
To Everyone Else (those left in the Dining Hall, at least)


The Lost are forever changed, set apart from humanity, yet they are not so different as all that. When people gather in one place, they chat: and, truth be known, conversation usually turns to gossip. Sharp ears can pick out a few interesting tidbits from the sea of sound...


"...and then she just fell over, astounded."


"...that was a lousy story. Let's hear an old one - c'mon Tom, you know which one."


"Thought it was a pretty good story, actually. You don't want to hear that stupid old story: some crazy amalgamation of domestic cats stalking the Skein for centuries?"


"You know it's not stupid! I heard about it from a friend of a friend of mine! And hey, you should watch what you say, it could hear you - remember how that Spring courtier ended up being called 'the Servant of the Cat'."


"Yeah, yeah; speaking of which, get us another drink, will ya?"


--------


A few tables over...


"I simply can't understand hwherye the Winter Court has gotten to, it's simply unseemleah how they could abandon us in our hour of need."


"Yes, quite, yes."


"One would be hard-pressed to accept any h'excuses at this late stage, I mean realleah!"


---------


The sea of conversation brings more scraps as people pass by.


"You know, I've heard Argemone has been spotted nearby."


"NO!"


"Tsk. Really, Millie, you mustn't scare him like that?"


"Y'what? I'm dead serious, I am! Think about it, Bill, a great ravening beast is going to come tearing through any minute an-"


"MILLIE!"


---------


"I heard recently that our...friends back in the City have been having a little trouble lately."


"Oh..?"


"You've no idea who I'm talking about, do you?"


"I do, but I don't entertain fanciful stories like that."


"Only because you're too scared to go out at night, you wet-streak."


"Don't be absurd!"


"Hmph. I'm sure they wouldn't like how you taste anyway..."
 
Bronn


After steam shovelling another mouthful of oatmeal and some bacon, Bronn points his fork at passersby. "Now...I'm often in the Hedge by myself, but I do travel occasionally and I LOVE gossip. Good God, what would my family think now? 'Bronn, oh, he's nothing more than a Touched Gossiping Ninny!'" Bronn belts out a laugh and goes to refill his cup of coffee. Shaking his head, he nods politely to passersby, listening and wondering if he could just make up some random piece and slip it into the gossip. See how far it gets before the day is out...
 
Old Man Willow


Willow approaches the couter, and rings the bell lightly, yet the bell seems to emit it's sound in a manner that is almost frightened.
 
To Old Man Willow


"Yes?"


Mistress Jasmine quite literally glides in from somewhere off to the right, rising at something of an angle as if she just emerged from the ground smiling at you benevolently and smoothing out a non-existent crease in her customary garb of deepest scarlet. "Why Magus Willow, how good to see you! You're well, I trust? And Watson! Ahh, have you two been acquainted? How splendid." She beams at the pair of you, even as the little automaton in the background falls afoul of a doilly, which she ignores.
 
Old Man Willow


Tipping his head slightly, Willow bows to Mistress Jasmine. "Sorry to disturb you, but we need to go into Magus Rex's room. He's gone missing, and we have been asked by Lord Syl to investigate, and looking through his room might shed some light". His voice is raspy, but his manner is very serious.
 
Bronn


"...and so after three days of caber tossing, the Hobs let me pass." Bronn laughs, slapping his flint stomach. He bids good morning to those lovely little Fairest. Ah, company of Lost was a different thing than most times. His new companions seemed rather silent, but really, he would expect no less. Bronn knew he was a bit much to take in sometimes.
 
To Old Man Willow


Mistress Jasmine does not seem willing to...immediately acquiesce. That much is obvious - it's in the twitch of her wide, reptilian smile, the sudden tensing of her shoulders, and a gently almost feline flick of her long tail.


"Hmm." The single sound is non-commital but speaks volumes; the rapid, repetitive tapping of her nails on the countertop could probably tack-on a decent glossary and several appendices, for that matter. "He did, did he? I am not in the habit of-" the clicking briefly increases in ferocity "-prying into other people's business. It raises questions about...trust." The last word is bitten off.


With a very deep breath, she almost magically composes herself, but her voice is still cooly level. "Follow me." She reaches under the desk and extracts a rather large ring of keys, some old-fashioned, some new, some just very strange, before winding her way out from behind the counter and walking down the hall. Clearly, she's not waiting to see if you follow.
 
Watson


Watson pads along. He probably ought to find some way to make this up to her, if he can. He rubs Hugo between the ears thoughtfully.
 
Old Man Willow


Willow follows closely behind her, not desiring to be left behind, and to make sure the room is searched for any useful clues, and that things are put back in place before they leave the room.
 
Bronn


Sitting back down, Bronn looks to the man Micah, "You're rather silent, friend? I have a manikin friend who speaks far more than the grandfather clock he resembles." Bronn smiles widely, taking a swill.
 
To Watson and Old Man Willow


The good Mistress leads you up a narrow flight of admittedly rather rickety stairs... up and up...and up further still. Evidently you're in one of the Red Candle Hostel's steeples. "This is St. Agatha's Belfry," she says shortly, opening a door.


The name is made immediately obvious the moment you step through - bells of every shape and descriptions line the walls, some hanging improbably from the ceiling on chains and ropes of vary lengths, great copper coloured behemoths, tarnished with ages, long strings of golden bells, strange and almost organic flower like bells, porcelain bells depicting acts of a distinctly...oooh, uhhh, don't look too closely (you peek, irregardless), a skull-shaped bells (which may, in fact, be skulls) and tiny silver bells with impossibly complicated engravings inscribed on their surfaces.


All are silent.


The Belfry is so full of bells that navigating is somewhat difficult, though Mistress Jasmine has no difficulty doing so, ducking and weaving in all the appropriate places. Eventually (after a near miss with one of the larger bell's clappers...), Mistress Jasmine patiently waits for you outside an otherwise plain door. "The Green Room." She unlocks the door, and pushes it inwards...


The room has been trashed - windows smashed, sheets tossed to the ground, a huge wardrobe scored with claw-like markings... the good Mistress stands to the side of the doorway, stunned.
 
Watson


Watson quickly holds Hugo's collar, to prevent him from entering the room. "Oh. Oh, right. Not good. Mistress Jasmine, are you alright?"


While he has his hand on Hugo's neck, Watson quietly inhales. I may need to be a little sharper...


[Fang and Talon 2, 5 dice, 1 success.]
 
To Watson


There's...no smell. It's an overpowering sense of nothingness, overlaying everything normal - you can smell (just barely) the Magus himself, the sense of chaos is a delicate shade of red-flavoured tar in your nostrils, the scarred wood smells of sadness, but the overwhelming sense of nothing is climbing over and eating every other scent.
 
Old Man Willow


Willow stops in his tracks when he sees the state of the room. Pulling a piece of vine from his pocket, harvested just before he came in for breakfast. he clutches it closely. It's a good thing I remembered to pick this up... He then invokes Armor of the Element's Fury (Wood) on himself, sheathing his form with thorny vines.


--------------------


Willow rolled the following in his 4 dice:


9, 1, 6, 2


Using 7 as the target number, the roll resulted in 1 successes.


Cost me 2 Glamour
 
Mistress Jasmine


"I'm fine... no, no, I'm fine. And really, Magus, do you think it's necessary to fortify yourself like that?" Once again, she regains her composure almost instantly. "I shall have to send for some of the automata to clean up this...mess..."
 
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