[WFRP2e] The Power of One - Part 2 - "Transire Benefaciendo"

[MrAbdiel]

Briant gives a glance back, slowing his pace only enough to allow you to catch up. He's not as chatty when he's 'at work', but you detect muted gratitude for your assistance in his expression before you both head inside.

Your footsteps bang off hardwood floors, echoing in stone halls that hold no sounds of life and living to create the diffuse undercurrent of a populated hold. It reminds you a little of the lonely villa in the Trantio hills, with its mournful emptiness; but the walls are large quarried stones with tall ceilings, rafters with hanging candlestick holders instead of plastered walls and lamp sconces. You spot pits and chips in the stone walls as you prowl through the dark; signs that tell vague stories of battles previously fought that got at least this far into the keep... or started inside. It's dark in here; there are no windows on the lowest floor, so light only creeps in from the open door reflecting in fractions down the halls; but that's enough for you, and Briant seems to know where he is going, leading to a flight of stone stairs to the second floor where arrow slit windows are slightly more generous with illumination and finally you begin to hear the muted mumbles of conversation. You track it down to a locked door, and Briant bangs on it with his fist.

"Donallo ! Donallo, sors maintenant!"

Two voices cry out at once.

"Partez!" - masculine, mature, exhausted, fragile, desperate.

"Aidez moi! Aidez-moi s'il vous plaît!" - feminine, hysterical, tentatively hopeful, full of tears.

Either might have been enough. Briant looks at you, toes at the door, and then coordinates a countdown from three to one, after which you both slam it with a standing front kick that mashes free the tenon of the lock and bangs the door open. At once you are assaulted with that awful, familiar smell of human incarceration; sweat, and puke, and misery, and filth. The master bedroom within might have been sumptuous and princely, but almost all the masterwork furniture is toppled or scarred. The walls are scratched, spattered in places with blood. The naked flame of an oil lamp with a smashed glass chimney lights the room from one corner. Fragments of it rest on the ground beneath it, in a scatter of dried and crusted blood; the wall behind it scorched and blacked from where oil must have once been scattered. A great four post bed dominates the room, a man standing by its side, a woman tied with one wrist and ankle to each post like a prisoner on a rack. From Briant's stunned hesitation, you gather this dishevelled and harrowed looking man is Lord Donallo. The woman on the bed, you gather at an educated guess based on the matching silver rings on her and the man's hands, is his wife (or someone elses). Like so many other humans you have seen in subjection, she has the remnant of natural beauty hiding under the dirt and deprivation; a lingering shipwreck of a woman, whose big blue eyes may once have held more than abject misery. Her tattered and stained shift is in worse condition his dirty tunic. Based on the wild bruising and abrasion sores on her arms and ankles, she has been held in this way for weeks. In the heartbeat of silence, she lets out a sob.

Briant is paralyzed with the sight of the tableaux. Donallo looks between the two of you, shakes his head with mournful understanding of the scene, and raises one hand, palm up, begging patience.

Spoiler: OOC:

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Briant is stunned by the scene; Taalia is much more familiar with similar things, so she is not, and might choose to act, or not, immediately.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


The smell of caged, denied human hygiene was one that Taalia would never forget, but which she hoped she would never have to encounter ever again. It was a pungent, musky smell, similar to the natural state of Skaven odours, its melange of sweat and skin-kissed dirt lingering in the air as a miasma that one slowly just got used to. The sores as well, as grotesque as they were to see, wore across the skin with constant friction and abrasion, an all too common occurrence for slaves that had little to wear and nothing to replace them. And so when that door was battered down it was the smell more than anything that Taalia first noticed, and remembered, but that did not make the scene any easier to ascertain and understand.

Eyes widening for a moment, her blunderbuss in hand, Taalia's mouth opened briefly at the sight before her. Donallo...his wife? The unwashed pungency lingering in the air only further hooked into Taalia's nostrils and slid up into her brain like smoky fingers, filling her mind with a nauseous haze that shortened her temper.

But.

Taalia couldn't speak Bretonnian.

Whatever scene or demands she thought she could create would be for naught. To Donallo she would be nothing but some foreign madwoman brandishing a firearm and barking in her alien tongue.

Striding forward, moving off to the side so as to flank Donallo, Taalia brought Leonardo up and braced it against her shoulder, aiming right down the barrel at the man. It was a scatter weapon, but he didn't know what.

[MrAbdiel]

The dishevelled man's eyes look down the oubliette of Leonardo's barrel, and he swallows; but given that you have elected not to blow him away immediately, he is able to plead his case.

Il faut que tu m'aides, Briant! Margot, elle n'est pas elle-même! Elle... Il y a un daémon qui s'est emparé d'elle!

Some of that slides by you; but daémon does not.

The woman - Margot - wails in protest, new tears moving down her reddened and miserable face.

Ne lui faites pas de mal! Il ment, mais il n'est pas lui-même, c'est lui qui a le daémon!

An explosive shouting argument follows, with both Donallo and Margot vociferously pleasing their cases over each other, and Briant shouting back at them, trying to rightly direct his outrage even as it diminishes in his chest. You catch enough of it to put the predicament together.

Donallo claims that Margot is under the sway of a daemon. Fearing what would happen to her if this information got out, he sent away most of his house knights on a fabricated errand to bid the visitation of an enchantress who lives in the capital to give her blessing to the repairs of the run-down grail chapel on the road through his fief. His most trusted trio of knights received the truth, and a desperate mission to seek out a damsel in the surrounding Duchies who could attend with discretion. All but his most loyal men at arms have been sent to stay with their 'for the winter', while his handful of most loyal were told only to board up the keep from the outside, lock the gates, and allow only the returning house knights to enter.

Margot's claim is similar in the regards to the dispatch of the keep's knights and men to keep them in the dark, but she claims Donallo was overcome by a dark spirit weeks ago, after which he has kept her prisoner and ensured no one could disrupt his tormenting her. Despite this, and her terrible physical state, she begs that no harm should come to him - she knows the man she married would not do these terrible things.

By the time you have put this all together through the torrent of gallic bickering, Bella is back at your side and learns of the debacle from your rundown.

"A nightmare..." she whispers, "how do we know which is telling the truth?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia's breathing was under control as she considered the scene before her, lips pursed and mind scrambling to dredge up what she had learned from her brief, but informative education in the mystical. To a degree, her memory also extended back to the villa within the Trantio hills and the mournful spectre that had long resided there, a spirit driven to the point of madness until insanity's grip was broken by the revelation of the fate that befell his family.

But what about here? Which of these two were telling the truth?

Was the wife possessed of a devil? A lingering spirit from a parallel world of bleak mysticism that had clawed its way through the barrier that separated two realities, only to find this womans body a dwelling to its liking, from which it seized control of her faculties before she was restrained by her husband?

Or was it Donallo? A former knight and 'good man' who had had become possessed by a dark spectre that had driven him to acts of imprisonment and apprehension on his own wife, to the detriment of his peoples security?

In a snap decision, Taalia decided: it was Donallo.

She held ajar the possibility that she was wrong, of course, but the signs pointed towards it. What prior 'good man', as Margot claimed, possessed the willpower to do and treat his wife in such a way, even under the belief that her consciousness was suppressed beneath that of a devil? Surely imprisonment within a well furnished room and three square meals a day rather than this...indignity, while awaiting the arrival of an enchantress would be what a 'good man' would do? Furthermore, would the man that Margot married neglect his lands to this degree? Had Donallo believed his wife possessed, why would he ignore the plight of his realm for weeks and months on end? The orcs and goblins were in the mountains, bandits threatened the highways, he surely knew all this yet did nothing. Indeed, he sent his most able security away from the castle and their stations of responsibility, leaving the peasantfolk open to the threats that would have once been deterred by organised defensive measures. Was multitasking so difficult? Place Margot within a well supplied room until the Enchantress could discern the truth, and busy himself with the operations of his lands with a heavy heart.

Or better yet, why not take Margot to the enchantress? Confine her to a carriage and escort her to the one who could determine the validity of her possession and expunge the daemon within were it so?

Instead he had done none of those things. He tied Margot up like some beast, allowing her to foul and defile herself before his very eyes while ignoring the plight of his realm.

And finally, there was Margot's insistence that, after all that she had suffered, Donallo not be harmed because she believed he was not himself.

Taalia could conceive of a scenario in which it was indeed the lady of the manor that had within her the dark spectre that utilized her like some type of marionette puppet - but it did not look like this.

Or maybe...they were both possessed? Like a disease, it started with Margot but spread rapidly to Donallo and remained confined within him due to his self-isolation from the rest of his entourage.

"I think it is Donallo..." Taalia whispered back, her gun still aimed towards the man.

"What noble lord would tether his wife like a beast in such an undignified station and allow her to foul and soil herself for weeks on end while neglecting his lands?"

[MrAbdiel]

Bella gives you a little nod - though not of a concurring conclusion, as much as a willingness to back yours. It's hard to overlook the visual awfulness of the scenario, in which Margot is definitely the one suffering most. Donallo, at least, is free to move about his home. But whichever of them it is that is so afflicted, they act the part of the innocent very well; both man and wife look comprehensively miserable: Donallo, like a man who has been reduced from a local Lord to a wretched steward over a his afflicted wife to preserve her from public exposure and destruction, and Margot like a woman whose beloved had one day become a monster and kept her a prisoner in the chambers in which she once felt safe and treasured for the satisfaction of what daemonic cruelty required her confinement.

Briant looks anguished - these are his father's friends; his own friends, by inheritance. As a good example of the knightly ideal, Briant paces and fumes as he is now confronted with an evil and injustice which is not presenting a clean and clear solution. If only this were, instead, another hundred goblins with necks that could be cut, or wrung.

"You are probably right. But how to proceed..? I have never - ... I have only ever heard whispers of daemons. I do not know what to expect of them, and their powers. But... Remember Bertuccio, and his imposter..? When we didn't know which was true. What did the Matrona, and Simonuccio="

She pauses to spit on the floor.

"What did they do, seeking the truth...? We should... separate them. Ask them questions; see perhaps if one knows something another does not, or... something that can't be corroborated."

Briant, whose grasp of Tilean is improving by increments, gets enough of this through the filter of your gun pointed at Donallo. He grimaces, almost literally struggling to swallow the next action, before pointing his sword at Donallo.

"Rends-toi, Donallo. Je vais vous lier, dans une autre pièce. Prions que la Dame nous donne la sagesse de voir à travers cela de l'autre côté."

Donallo objects, naturally - he needs help, not incarceration, and you see his eyes track to the door behind as if considering running, or how far away his few men-at-arms might be. But after an arguement with Donallo, and through Margot's repeated plea to do him no harm, the man lets Briant bind his wrists, and leads him away to guest room to secure him.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

It's a fun puzzle! Put on your sleuthing hat, detective; there's a mystery at foot. Which of these nobles is a victim of extradimensional possession, and which is merely the suffering recipient of a tremendously cruel twist of fate to be married to such? And is the cure fire in large amounts? Jinkies!

You can ask whichever one you like whatever questions you like, or subject then to whatever deceptions you can muster. You may also explore the keep, if you're looking for something specific or corroborating, or speak to the ogres or the men-at-arms. Feel free to make any roll you think is appropriate.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia's mind scrambled for ways to deal with the situation, to try and acquire some type of confession or a disrupted chain of events that would trip the spectre up in a deception. Right now her belief was that Donallo was the one possessed, for no man of sane mind who was once deemed a 'good man' would tether his wife up in such a way for weeks on end while also neglecting his realm.

However, she was not closed on the idea that Margot was the one carrying the wicked spirit within her. Or perhaps even both!

Or maybe...neither. Taalia remembered the man in the pits when she was very young, driven mad by the mind-breaking labour the Skaven forced upon them, his mind fragmenting beneath the stress until he believed he was destined to transform into one of them. Maybe this wasn't the work of some devil or daemon, but the fruits of a twisted mind.

...but that seemed too far off. Donallo had acted 'reasonably', and she used that term loosely. He did not gibber or shout, nor throw things and defy them. He acquiesced peaceably and did so with little to no resistance. Madness was many things, but quiet and compliant? No, she had never witnessed it as such.

But, first things first.

"We will untie her and allow her to undergo cleanliness. But then we must confine her in this room until we can be certain..." Taalia spoke quietly to Bella, her sonorous voice barely above a whisper so that only her companion could hear her.

[MrAbdiel]

And so, with few good options, you execute the best plan you can conceive of. You unbind Margot from the bed and she collapses into a sobbing embrace of you for a minute before Bella is able to peel her off and steer her towards a private chamber to affect her cleanliness. Bella keeps an eye on her, while Briant keeps an eye on Donallo, and that leaves you and Milo to snoop about the castle and ask questions.

The castle is in good condition, but obviously neglected for lack of staff after they were sent away. Dust has settled on things, and the windows are shuttered and bolted. Items are scattered and toppled in some of the rooms suggesting struggle or misbehaviour, though it is not clear from any of them who the instigating party would be. The kitchen is a particular mess, as an inexpert hand has been taking efforts to prepare slipshod meals. The quarters for knights and staff bear out Donallo’s story - they have been vacated with haste with a minimum of packing. But whether that order was given by a desperate Lord or a lying demoniac, it remains unclear.

There are no horses in the stable. One of the men-at-arms fills you in (through Giorno’s translation), when you question him. “The knights - they took all the spare horses when they went. Even Lord Donallo’s own; to ride like hell, I suppose, and change saddle to saddle.”

Questioning the families of the knights and townsfolk proves difficult - this stand alone keep is a central defensive location of command for villages around, but does not feature much accommodation except for a series of spare rooms in which the knight’s families might dwell in heavy winters. Elsewise, they must be scattered in personal plots of land or in the villages themselves, and seeking them out would take you away from the immediate crisis - not, in the tension of the moment, easy to countenance.

At the very least, their account of events comports with Donallo’s telling. Sirs Almade, Lebon, and Matis emerged from conference with Lord Donallo and rousted the castle’s occupants out almost completely; the other ten knights were saddled up and sent out to Castle Carcassonne, to bid the visitation of the Enchantress. But Carcassonne is very far away; two thirds of the way west to the coast from where you passed into Bretonnia through the Irrana mountains. They are not expected back soon. Most of the men at arms were dispatched home for the winter with their families (those remaining are comfortably agreeing that they were kept on hand because they are most senior and trustworthy), while the last three knights took their horses and two more each, and took off; one north, one northeast, and one dead east.

“Two to Quenelles, I expect; though Matis struck east, and that way … well, you mustn’t go much further east on account of the elves. They’ll eat a man alive, they will.”

Donallo’s account confirms this - two are heading to Castle Quenelles across the River Brienne to seek a Damsel there, much closer than Castle Carcassone; Matis is undertaking a more desperate and dangerous mission, seeking aid from the Elves of Athel Loren.

When you come to question Margot, she looks considerably better; fresher, garbed in a clean and simple house dress. In her telling, Donallo’s behaviour changed in the weeks before her captivity, and he grew irrational and cruel; before one day he fell upon her with fury, beat and tied her to the bed, and she heard him dispatching his knights and men from the castle on errands - she assumes - so he might torment her in peace, though she is quick to remind you that this is the action of the spirit, not her husband, and she desperately wants him safe.

It seems as though your investigations yield nothing to tell the stories apart, and you may have to rely on your instincts. Almost entirely.

There is one small matter - in your search of the castle through Margot’s effects, you find that she, like most Bretonnian women of station, is in possession of a fine collection of wimples. Many are simple, some are fine and set aside with engraved brass bands to be work, tiara-like to hold them in place. You notice, having taken time to clean and redress herself, she has not selected any of these; she has merely brushed her hair to a state of acceptable order, and let it fall around her shoulders. With the fussing that Bretonnian women seem to make about showing their hair around men, you might expect this of a woman in quiet conversation with just you and Bella - not one expecting Sir Briant, a man who is not her husband, to come back into the room at any time. Perhaps an opportunistic spirit is less cognizant of such petty traditions, and with only Tilean women in the room to mimic, it hasn’t occurred to it to do so. Or perhaps she’s just traumatized, and not thinking clearly…

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Though her mind was drawn into the possibilities and explanations that hung in the air over the investigation, Taalia could not help but take in her new environment from the lofty vantage point this mystery had furnished her with. If society were a pyramid, she stood adjacent to the very tip, from which she was able to assess the breadth of how the social order unfolded in these lands. And so far her estimation was very, very different from that of Tilea.

Where Tilea was a sun-kissed land where a man would largely write his own destiny, misfortune or the deprivations of the powerful aside, Bretonnia had a caste system. For them the class-consciousness wasn't just a feature of the order, it was the order. As noble spirited as Briant may be, he, deep down, considered himself at least somewhat above the 'peasants' that were populated the land, even if his elevation was one of believed benign stewardship over a people who didn't know any better. To the former slave, this hierarchy mirrored the society of the Skaven to a disturbing degree. Even among the rat-men, there was a sense of 'class', with those born most mighty and dark-furred making up the bulk of warriors and warlords while those of grey hue were destined to be the famed Grey Seers, leaders of the Under Empire. Though social mobility was not unheard of, to traverse from slave to the highest echelons was almost unheard of.

This thought echoed in Taalia's mind as she peered across the beautiful, verdant fields of the lands of Bretonnia.

Would the lands of the Empire be this way? What about her own homeland?

When Taalia had pulled her mind from social meditations, she applied it to her situation. Writing down and taking notes what she found and observed, the sheperdess showed decorum where she could, such as gentle smiles to the men-at-arms who had initially impaired their entry into the castle. When able, she had called upon Giorno's translation, to confer a message of gratitude and relief that she had not needed to use her firearm in the process.

However, pleasantries aside, Taalia could not yet determine a lie or inconsistency. Donalo's words seemed true, the men and knights had been sent forthwith as described, in directions appropriate for their missions.

But it was her first interaction with Lady Margot that Taalia felt the first pang of curiosity. Often she had noticed Briant's attempt to avert his eyes from looking Taalia directly in the face, eye-to-eye, because to do so would bring her own white-blonde hair into the periphery of his attention, even if it was just her fringe beneath her steel helmet. Bella, meanwhile, received similar caution on the knights behalf, with Briant only ceasing his apprehension once one of the village women had provided her with the necessary cloth to wrap around her pretty face, her wavy, dark hair extending away from her head at a 225 degree angle.

But Lady Margot showed no such concern.

Were she solely in the presence of Taalia and Bella, this could be excused, for this custom of decency was not employed in the company of only other women. But, Briant was a presence, as was the other male attendants of the castle.

This...troubled Taalia. Trauma did not explain such a lapse of judgement. Being a noblewoman, Margot would have had such foundational decorum groomed into her muscle reflexes from a very young age to the point that it would feel odd not to be wearing such an important element of ladyship. Taalia remembered her own behaviour after escaping the Skaven. It took her weeks to eat food at a pace that wasn't hurriedly stuffing whatever she could into her mouth, even though plenty was available and no competitors existed. Habits that were so deeply ingrained were not so easily thrown off.

But as Taalia sat there and watched Margot speak with Bella, other questions floated up in the shepardesses mind, like if the Daemon had possessed her, it clearly did not have access to all of her memories.

"Singora Margot," Taalia would speak up, her steel helmet off and resting somewhere else as her white-blonde hair framed her angular, northern features.

"Earlier in our travels with Ser Briant, Bella and I prepared a feast for the men guarding the roads after fighting off some goblin wolf riders. There are still several sheep and chickens left, as well as ingredients. After these grim tidings, I think it would be a wonderful event if we cooked another feast for the guards and village folk! A little festival to show that all is well again! Bella and I can prepare Tilean dishes, do you think you could do the same for Bretonnian cuisine?"

Perhaps Bella, with her new found mastery of Bretonnian, or Giorno, could translate.

[MrAbdiel]

The Lady Margot leads against the smoothed stone walls of the chamber as you ask your question. She rubs at the abrasions caused by her long binding and sighs; not comfortable, but definately preferring to be uncomfortable and upright to laying in that bed. She has to blink through a little daze as you summon the idea of such a festivity.

"Oh.. Ah... I fear my skills, mademoiselle, are in courtly manners and wifery; but once we find some restoration for my poor Donalo, I would be glad to task Olivia to assist you. She is our house cuisinière; though I fear I... Do not know what has become of her, or the other staff." She blanches a little as she considers what may have been going on outside this dark, windowless bedroom for her internment.

Spoiler: Perception Check +20

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...But what she doesn't do is what you might reasonably expect; lick her lips, or consider her own hunger, or look about forlornly at the scraps of food hither and yon in the mess of the bedroom. A noblewoman denied good food for a long period of time seems likely to you to be sensitive to its absense and responsive in instinctive ways to its promise; one denied little but their (theoretically possessed) husband's clumsy kitchen fumblings for weeks ought to be very sensitive to the suggestion of quality food indeed. There is none of this, in her countenance; despite how undernourished she seems.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


"Bellissima!" Taalia smiled brightly, her right at her side coming up to press two fingers to her lips before 'exploding' it out in a chefs kiss hand gesture.

Looking past Margot and to Bella, the shepardess retained her warm smile and gestured with a nod towards the door.

"Bella, dovremmo andare a fare i preparativi; una festa per tutto il paese è un grande lavoro!" she spoke happily in Tilean, trusting that Margot did not know how to follow her at her normal pace or at all, without Bella's assistance in translation.

"Singora Margot, thank you for your time," Taalia would curtsey for the noblewoman, before withdrawing from the room, her friend in tow.

Once outside, Taalia's disposition changed so fast one might think she were a shapeshifter.

"It's her!" she whispered hurriedly to her friend once they had moved a dozen meters or so away from the room.

"She doesn't cover up her hair in the company of men; she barely seems hungry; and she takes no offence that a woman of her station would be asked to prepare food for peasants. Bella, I think it's her!"

[MrAbdiel]

"Do you say so?" Bella whispers back, alarmed but trusting. She looks back at the door. "What shall we do, then? We've let her loose - shall I fetch Briant? And... do you think really, a daemon? Not some... moon-born madness, like -... Like the man who looked like Bertuccio?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

"I don't know..." Taalia replied earnestly, shrugging gently as she too cast another glance back at the door, her thoughts lingering on the woman within.

"We should tell Briant. But my thoughts are now more concerned that Donallo was right. But we need not keep her in such a state. Whatever spirit has entered her, it still wears the body of the Lady of the Castle. We should keep her well-fed and contained within this room. Retrieve Briant and tell him what we have observed, I will wait here."

[MrAbdiel]

Briant returns at Bella's summons, and you confer quietly outside the room while Lady Margot, ostensibly, relishes her incremental freedom within the room behind you. Bella's catching up on Breton fast, though without Giorno up here to translate immediately, communication is slow again. Still, the message is simple, and Briant seems to get it. Donallo is here, though he stands at a remove from your conference, exhausted and desperate.

The possibility that you will need to help him overpower his wife and tie her to the bed again seems almost inevitable. Briant has a weak suggestion as an alternative, atleast.

"Nous l'emmenons à la chapelle du Graal. Peut-être l'esprit ne demeurera-t-il pas sur la terre sainte."

Bella parses as best she can. "He thinks we might do best to take her to the grail chapel we camped at on the road. The holy ground, yes..? But if it does not work...I am not sure what else to do. We know his knights have gone seeking help from other places - perhaps it is best to... restore the lowly order here and leave it as is, however little good that does for neglected souls in the fief..."

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia furrowed her brow at the suggestion of once again apprehending Margot, the shepardess raising a hand and shaking her head slightly.

"No, no, we don't need to do that. Mannacle her wrists if need be, but she doesn't have to be tethered and immobilized again, surely?"

How much of her woulds could penetrate the language barrier would remain to be seen, but it was clear she was uncomfortable with further poor treatment of Margot's mortal vessel, even if the current spiritual occupant was not of this world, and had malign intentions. However, Briant's solution seemed pleasing, as Taalia straightened her back with an "Ahh!" when reminded of the derelict church, the one in whose graces she and Bella had spent their first night beneath the Bretonnian sky.

It would seem fitting that it were a place to expunge a hostile specter that had seized the faculties of the lady of the land.

Her lips pursed, Taalia nodded in agreement. She recalled the Shrine that she herself had been uncovered and helped to restore, its modern usage as a trolls lair completely unfitting to the splendor of which it was capable and the symbol of past unities it once edified. Though the sanctuary possessed no eldritch qualities - as far as Taalia's limited, mortal senses could detect anyway - it had, in turn, acted as a holy talisman whose providence moved through the hearts of the people, wealthy and poor alike, and whose rehabilitation had been Taalia's saving grace when menaced with the burning pyre to feed the appetites of the overzealous. Perhaps the Bretonnian church would function in much the same way? Was the power of faith still formidable within its deteriorated physical form?

Outside of simply bunkering down and waiting, hoping, for the return of a Knight and the successful completion of his deed, it was the best, most pro-active thing that Taalia could think of to remedy their grim situation.

Nodding once again, "Si, Si, I think that is the best idea we have!"

[MrAbdiel]

The gambit is selected. Donallo fears travelling with Margot in this state, but he also fears doing nothing, and he does not take much prompting. He takes the time to speak to his handful of faithful militiamen, and the ogres mercenaries whose service he had betrayed by failing to pay them. Margot takes the suggestion well - she is both desperate for some fresh air, and expects the journey will vindicate her by prompting the retreat of the spirit she claims torments her husband. But she has been tied to this bed for weeks - her body is weak, and pained, and such a journey overland is not one she can easily take even unbound. But she is noblewoman, and there is one horse between all of you; she consents to her wrists being bound in front of her, and her ankles bound to prevent her from running (which she denies will be a problem anyway). You're able to apply some bandages around her raw-rubbed ankles and wrists to make it less difficult before Briant carries her out to Clemance's saddle, where she sits with her legs off the left side. To all appearances from a distance, she is just a lady taking a ride with her escort.

Tiny, Bruk, and Giorno are at the gates to say farewell to your group, as you prepare to go. It's just as well - with their unsustainable appetites, they are difficult companions for parties over long periods without wagons of supply.

"Well, it's a little anticlimactic, I reckon; but we've settled with the Lord here, and we're heading back south to see if we can't burn the village those Bonespike goblins rode down from. Good thing, too; if there's no reprisal they'll try again right soon, and given that we just bashed down the door to the castle it's a poor time for such, har har!" He guffaws and then winces, giving his bandaged, meaty legs a bit of a flex. The ogres did take the brunt of the goblin charge, but you've done your best to dress those wounds and expect they'll recover on the road. The three of them take turns offering extravagant, gargantuan parodies of Verezzan bows appropriate for older soldiers greeting younger maidens, for whom it might be overly intimate to try to kiss even platonically. Just as well. "Transire Benefaciendo, Taalia Troll-Slayer and Signorina Bella. Perhaps Giorno's Mighty Three shall have recourse to return south, and we'll see if you raise hogs as well as you fight! Har har!"

* * * * *

Thus, it's you, Bella, Donallo, and Briant walking while Margot sits in the saddle. Donallo is decked in his mail and leathers, which sit loosely upon him as if he has lost weight through this ordeal. He is as quiet and sombre as Margot is chatty, asking questions of all of you through the imperfect double filter of Briant and Bella. A day of travel in fortuitous weather gets you most of the way there. You trade off watch on the troubled couple, but neither makes suspicious moves or disrupts the camp in the evening. Margot does, however, make a request.

"She asks if we'll sing," Bella establishes after some cross-talk. The noblewoman has caught sight of Briant's violin case upon Clemance, and it stands to reason that she might be ready to hear music again. The Norscans had music, though the Skaven did not; its absence is the kind one notices deeply when it is made incidentally clear.

Briant looks uncertain - he is wary of entertaining any requests of a demoniac, though admittedly the woman hasn't presented any signs of being under an influence to make protest to this pilgrimmage, at least. As so many have before, he looks to you for your instinct on the situation.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia didn't mind walking along to the 4 o'clock of the only horse in their little troupe, though it did remind the shepardess that she really had to buy a horse of her own one day. All it took was a visual sweep of the verdant, rolling green fields around them, the cool late winter days, to see that this was a fine land for steeds. Spring would be upon them soon, that much was clear by the gradually coalescing vibrancy of the colors within the fields, the trees and the numerous sheep she could spot that were growing heavy with offspring. To think they were north of beautiful Tilea, with its dryer but lush landscape, where the winter still afforded warm days, was a momentous idea indeed. At one point Taalia even paused to scoop up a handful of frail snow within one palm, crunching the material about in her gloved fist as the easily dissipated away and returned to its granular state.

Exhaling, smiling, the shepardess took an odd comfort in this alteration of the weather. She knew she came from a land further north, but not so far that it was touching the Norsca coastline. No, her homeland resided within this Empire, or an adjacent civilization, one where apples were grown and trade with the elves was possible and...yes, she could remember that far back. The snow touched the land of her birth too.

Looking over at Bella, Taalia smiled as she held up another fistful of crumbling snow and crunched it into a powder with her fist, letting it disappear. That her friend had never witnessed frozen water such as this, and in such quantities as it fell during the night, was still fascinating to the shepardess, as was the Tilean's adorable reaction to the cool substance.

When the group had settled in to camp for the night, Taalia had volunteered for the first watch. Her firearm in hand, shield on her back, the armored girl had sat by the fire while the others chatted among themselves. Listening to the flow of the new, musical language whose words she could often pick out, as if she were viewing something from a distance, she just smiled to herself and enjoyed the company beneath the sheet of beautiful stars above. That was, until "Margot" wanted to hear them sing.

Taalia hesitated.

No, was her instinctual reaction. Certainly not. Do not do the spectre's bidding.

Pursing her lips, Taalia looked around their surroundings, her keen eyes able to pierce the veil of night better than the others. She turned to look back at the coterie around the fire and offered a friendly smile and shook her head.

"Never know what it will attract. Best to remain quiet while near the forests."

[MrAbdiel]

Margot looks disappointed at this refusal. Not hurt; but disappointed. Without any leverage, she can offer no argument; and dwells in silence for most of the evening. You keep an eye on her with extra vigilance over the evening and find no misbehaviour. With the next day, you proceed toward the grail chapel.

The shape of the little stone shrine becomes visible as you cut across the hills, and hoof-beaten road running north-south crawls towards you from the horizon. Briant is speaking amiably with Donallo (the latter starved for conversation, surely) and Bella is listening hard to improve her comprehension of their gallic tongue. You are the first to become aware that Margot, rocking gently in Clemence's saddle with the horse's gait, is whistling. Not loudly, not obnoxiously, but musically nonetheless...

Spoiler: Animal Care (+0%)

Show

Something about the whistling is drawing the attention of the animals. Cleménce's ears keep flicking back and forth trying to track the sound behind; Milo is poked out of your shirt, silent, but with his ears flat against his head in mute suspicion; and the nameless goat tethered behind the horse keeps tilting its head in agitation.

Spoiler: Perform (Sing)(+0%)

Show

You don't know the song she is whistling. It may be regional. But you can sense at some instinctive level that it is building towards something, the way a song about a battle or a shipwreck may ramp up to a key verse, or bridge.

Spoiler: Perception (Smell)(+0%)

Show

There is magic being worked, right now. You smell it, very near. It is primal, animal, and low. You can describe it, even if you can't describe how you can describe it. Andreotto told you that some people come to perceive the winds of magic not as a visual sensation but an aural one; but to smell magic seems... highly original.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia noticed Margot's face, illuminated by the flames as it was, as the shepardess watched her reaction from the other side of the little camp. Her suspicions had been growing, particularly towards a woman who had endured such bondage and depredation of liberty and happiness. Taalia could only remember back merely a few years ago when she had been in the clutches of the ratman, forced to wade through slavery and arrest, and how sweet the free world had been once she had made her escape.

But Margot?

Nothing. You'd think she had just woken up from a particularly long nap. No appreciation of the fresh air, the rolling fields of snow-capped green, no reaction to simply being in the presence of others that were not her supposed tormentor.

These meditations had been brewing within the shepardess' mind well into the next day when they made their way towards the shrine, whose holy edifices Bella, Briant and herself had taken shelter in for their first night beneath a Bretonnian sky. Comfort had not been the priority, but there was an enjoyable sense of reception that Taalia had felt, as if the land itself had extended a welcome of humility and piety, one which she had readily received and appreciated.

The soft whistling pulled Taalia out of her daydream.

The Shepardess looked about, then up towards the source of the gentle, barely audible melody: Margot.

Remembering how the woman had wanted her to sing for her last night, Taalia narrowed her eyes and quickly shifted her vision between Donallo, Briant and Bella - none of them noticed it. Bella was distracted. Donalo and Briant engrossed in lively conversation. Only she observed the serruptitious tune being whistled.

Then Milo poked his head out from his place within her backpack; his small mouth uttering a gentle Meow!.

The horses ears flicked back and forth, as if in search of a siren song sound - it noticed too! The goat they had brought with them, should the need for supper or a distraction arise, raised its horned head and bleated once, primitive annoyance on its face.

Taalia's face snapped back up towards Margot. She was casting some sort of spell!

Holding her quarterstaff, and positioned at 4 o'clock to the horse, Taalia covertly lowered her staff behind the horse and used it to poke Bella to draw her attention.

Prod! Prod!

When her friend turned to face her, possibly with curiosity or with annoyance, Taalia, still looking up at Margot, would gesture towards the woman with her eyebrows raised, then towards the clear annoyance of the animals.

[MrAbdiel]

You give Bella a warning prod and she puzzles at you, and then at Margot in the saddle. She is powerless to guess what the suspicious tune might produce - but being warned, and then suspicious, turns out to be enough to matter in the moment. As Margot's whistling kicks into a bridge in the song you might describe as jaunty, a couple of things happen.

First, Margot slips neatly from the saddle. Your eyes track her movement as she makes the short drop and, perhaps to your alarm, she flexes her limbs as she falls and the robe that had handily bound her wrists snaps. She lands in an almost feline crouch, her thin and bruised body suddenly flush with stringy, vascular musculature.

The other thing that happens draws the attention of everyone else in the party - the animals arc up as if struck with terror, or rage. Cleménce whickers in eye rolling alarm and instinctively kicks back with one of her massive hooves. In another world, it might have caught Bella square in the chest with bone cracking force. As it is, she is alert enough to elect to topple backwards so the steelshod hoof whips through the air where she once had been. The mare rears, kicks and flails wildly. Donallo, cowed from his weeks of despair and fear, cringes off to one side clear while his friend strains to calm the sable steed before someone gets hurt. And the goat tethered behind the horse is bleating and kicking about too - but mostly, he's getting tossed about by the tether as Cleménce reels and spins.

The ultimate betrayal comes from Milo, overcome by the maddening song, who lunges up out of your vest and latches on with little teeth and claws to your collarbone. He has no power to really wound you (more than emotionally, perhaps); but the shock of it is enough that you are off balance when Margot bursts into a dead sprint across the field toward the treeline, booking at a pace that would be suspicious for a noblewoman even if you didn't know anything about her subverted nature. Everyone else is toppled, distracted, or occupied. If you don't stop her, she'll get away - at least for now.

Spoiler: OOC: Decisions!

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Margot is making a break for it. She's broken the ropes binding her so you know she has some surprising strength; but she didn't just attack you or anyone else herself, so you can speculate she's not grotesquely powerful. If you chase her and fail to catch her, she'll escape into the woods for the moment. If you catch her, you'll have to try to restrain her - long enough for Braint, Donallo and Bella to get things under control with the animals and rush to help you. But if you catch her and things go poorly for you, Taalia might end up second best in that head-to-head encounter.

But if you want to run her down, give me three Agility rolls, which I'll oppose, and we'll see how things shake out. 'Flee' Does not apply here. Alternatively, if you have something else you'd like to try, I am as always open to ideas.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia's eyes widened as utter bedlam ensued. Perhaps she would've been better off simply using her staff to jab Margot in her belly to disrupt whatever spell the spectre was casting...but that wouldn't have looked too good if she was merely whistling a tune, would it? Besides. If Taalia and her companions needed any further proof that the lady of the lands was indeed possessed by some malign spirit, her swift dismounting from the steed followed by her semi-spider crawling away through a field would hopefully warrant a conclusion.

Wincing her teeth and hissing her own signal of pain as Milo's little claws bit into her collarbone, and her love, the shepardess dropped her staff immediately. Reacting quicker than the others, though thanking her stars for warning Bella, Taalia, as gently as was possible with swiftness and haste, reached up with her gloved hand, wrapped it around Milo's tender figure and drew it out from her mail shirt and placed him upon the ground.

And then she was off.

Dropping her blunderbuss, her shield smacking her lower back, Taalia took into a sprint as the calamity of the situation granted her wings. With her prodigal height and strengthening years upon her farm, the girl had a strong and long pair of legs that pushed her swiftly through the field, battering away the reeds of vegetation that slapped off her body as she drew herself into a full run in pursuit of Margot. The troubles of the convoy quickly diminished behind her in gravity and size, as the shepardess tunnel visioned on the possessed lady's back, her heterochromia eyes leaving room for nothing else as the figure swelled in portion the closer she drew until, with hot air ripping in and out of her lungs, Taalia could reach out with a mailed fist. Fingers drew forward to snatch and grab at the nobles attire - the moment provided for Taalia to make the final leap! forward as her size and weight wrapped around Margot from behind and crashed the pair down onto the ground.

[MrAbdiel]

You have longer legs, and riding pants, and farm-fed strength and grace; the Lady Margot has dainty legs, a flowing pale gown, and the lagging aftereffects of an incarceration diet on the heels of a life of stately idleness. If there was ever any doubt in your mind about her altered spiritual state, it blows away as you thunder after her and find with burning lungs and and heroic leap that you can just barely catch her. Slamming into her feels less like tackling a flimsy noblewoman and more like grappling with some writhing lean animal. For a bewildering moment, Corvo comes to mind - flickering memories of wrasslin' with the warhound-cross darting into the substrate of your brain for their value informing your present scramble. Corvo, however, was always playing with you. Margot is not playing. This is much more like the fights your grew up on, in the dark cracks of the world, against jealous slaves rat and man alike.

You catch her from behind, but as you bounce to a stop she has writhed about in your grip and then it's all elbows and knees and open hands with fingers locked up like raking, frozen claws. And behind it is a tittering, feminine laugh from her throat; ironic and mocking and mingling with the shouts of your companions catching up to the site of your struggle.

Spoiler: OOC: You're under attack!

Show

Margot is swinging on you while you restrain her! She's taking a penalty to hit this turn because of some disorientation from the tackling.

Vs40 - (1d100)[12] for [ROLL]1d10+4[ROLL]
Vs40 - (1d100)[13] for [ROLL]1d10+4[ROLL]

You can 'dodge' one of these, naturally; no parries with natural weapons.

You can, with your action, attack back if you want; or else full defence to penalize her attacks; or if you want to challenge her on an opposed strength check and you win, you'll have her in a bind long enough for your allies to get to you and help restrain her.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia hissed loudly as those claws raked across her arm. The screech of talons against the steel of her mail armor filled the shepardess' ears, while the hot pain shot through her body and elicited a pained, teeth-gritted grimace from the girl.

It hurt. It bloody, damn well hurt. Already she could feel her blood seeping into her shirt and armor, the scent of iron in the air. But, the ex-slave was made of sterner stuff. The sharp pain of claws in her flesh harkened back to the lash of the ratmen, as Taalia clenched her jaw and swiftly drew her shield off of her back and shoved it right against Margot to pin her to the ground, using both her strength, leverage and her weight.

[MrAbdiel]

Wicked strength fills the Lady Margot as she struggles to break from your grapple, but with a titanic effort and some quick thinking you bring your shield to bear and press her to the ground beneath it. In that position, she's unable to claw or swing at you with enough force to do you meaningful harm. She sputters, and begins making a sound that you mistake first for choking. But there is a rhythm of language to it, and after a moment your mind resolves to try to understand it as language.

It is the worst language you have ever heard. Queekish, carved into the interior of your skull by your punishing indenture, is musical by comparison. Hearing this incomprehensible argot makes your neck sweat. It makes the insides of your eyelids dry, and sticky. A steady ringing starts building in your ears, like the whine that lingers and fades after a gunshot in an encloses space except starting faint and ramping up and up until finally Bella, Briant and Donallo are at your side to restrain and gag the flailing, thrashing woman.

"Vf ktjhjbqt ktjtrsujfmn! Vf brstr brstn ib bmbqdfn, kf hnmitr - sqbmu kfm tj vft ctjrt iffmn-htobjn, in! Vfiu hfn nhtztr! Vfiu hfn nhtztr! Tsbrsu hfn nhtztr!"

Spoiler: OOC: He Who Has Ears Let Him Hear

Show

Gain one insanity point. Make a Willpower roll, or gain a second one. This roll is at +20; it might not have been, if you hadn't managed to get on top of the situation so well.

With the full effort of your team, Margot cannot oppose you; she picks her moments of spasmodic thrashing for the best times so that she can force Briant and Donallo to drop her, or to clip a chin or eyesocket with her forehead or bound heels. The men carry her the rest of the way to the chapel, letting you and Bella bring the animals. Cleménce has settled down now though she is foamy with excitement and nerves. Bella has placed Milo, thrown clear in the chaos, into the saddlebag where the kitten hides from the activity. The old billy goat is gone - cut loose in the effort rather than left tethered to the destrier and flung about like a flail's head. Spooked deeply, it must have made for the hills.

When your party crosses the threshold of the grail chapel, and the daylight cutting through coloured glass window depicting a knight receiving the grail from a veiled maiden in the woods, Margot noticeably slackens and falls to lethargy. Her eyes roll in their sockets, but whatever profane vigour was with her before is gone now. Only a low, resentful growl gurgles in her throat.

"I guess... You were right, Taalia." Bella highlights the somewhat obvious, drawing alongside you to look at your arm, but directing your gaze to Donallo - who has shown no discomfort with the chapel grounds, though perhaps a small modicum of shame. "I don't know any prayers to the Lady. I suppose this part is in the men's hands. Are you alright..?"

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

The shepardess gritted her teeth and shifted her weight and shoulder strength about to retain the pin on the possessed noblewoman. It helped considerable not to think of her as such, of course, not as Margot with a specter hijacking her body, but instead as one of the animals on Taalia's farm. Pigs, afterall, were not just adorable, plump, pink squealers: they were tough and bloody strong. Getting knocked over in a sty was an invitation for a gruesome death, and Taalia had, more than once, needed to put her back into it to wrestle away or fight off an over-excited swine that no longer saw her as a provider of food, but as the main course itself.

What the pigs could not do, however, was speak some demonic-like tongue that lashed the inside of Taalia's skull. As if she were standing next to an enormous, brass bell at the moment of its chiming, the sounds reverberated through her body and rattled her brain before seeping into her spine with hot, red claws. Wincing her eyes, almost trying to tuck her face away into her collar as if it could help, the shepardess whine-sighed and shook her head as if trying to throw the suffocating towel from her scalp in a bid for freedom.

She did not know how long it took, but by the time the others arrived and helped wench Margot to her feet, bound and apprehended, Taalia needed a breather. Standing, panting heavily, swallowing, her arm bleeding and her eyes half glazed as if peering off into something only she could see, the girl looked a little worse for wear. Such was so that she remained relatively quiet for the rest of the journey, not taking any moment to gloat or boast - indeed, she had thought it was Donallo, originally - but instead just walked in a silent stupor. Attempts to communicate her were only half-successful, as she would peer at the speaker, seemingly only half-gaze at them, smile, nod, "Si..." then go back to half-flaccid lolling of her neck as she stumbled towards the church. Though half-ruined and claimed by the elements and nature, the eccelsiastical spirit that resided within the place of worships till remained, its embrace having a semi-cleansing effect on Taalia as the girl slowly came out of whatever mental lethargy had seized her since arresting Margot's flight.

"I guess... You were right, Taalia. I don't know any prayers to the Lady. I suppose this part is in the men's hands. Are you alright..?"


"Hmmm?" Taalia seemed to be coming out of it.

"Oh...this?" she looked down at her right arm, the dark red having seeped across her clothing from her injury within.

"I don't know, I haven't checked yet..."

This was followed by an inspection. While Briant and Donallo were busying themselves with Margot, Taalia and Bella would pull into an alcove for some privacy, where the shepardess could remove her helmet, then her mail shirt, then draw her right-sleeve up to reveal her well-muscled arm, and the claw marks that had added themselves to the girls collection of scars.

[MrAbdiel]

Bella checks your wound - the scratches are painful, but not particularly deep where they have worked through the chain to your skin. The bruises will come up a rich mottle of purple and yellow, testifying to the strength of the Lady Margot's grip. Your loyal friend cleans and bandages the room while you recover from your indescribable brush with something. Briant and Donallo have immobilized the sluggish Margot on a bedroll, and kneel in prayer over her. At some point in the next hour of waiting for something to happen, Bella must have finished tending your wound and shifted to simply embrace you sidelong, one arm around your shoulders, like she feared you were prone to drift up and away if she did not hold you down. It must be noon when finally the matter seems to resolve.

Margot jerks and arches, stunning the prayers of the men to halt. With a final mournful sigh into her gag, she settles back to the bedroll and a plume of something rushes from her mouth and nose. It's fine and grey like smoke, but it moves buzzes and blurs like a cloud of flies too plentiful and tiny to be made out; and at once it spirals up and out the door of the chapel with the lilting grace of a cloud of starlings. You, Bella, and Briant rush out the door to see what becomes of it, all hoping that the light of the sun might destroy it like a chill fog, but it's nowhere to be seen when you look for it. Bella and Briant might be forgiven for thinking it has indeed gone for ever, or slipped into the earth and down into the dark places where nightmares like that belong. But your excellent eyes spot a familiar shape far, far across the hills at the treeline where Margot had sought to flee. At the extreme of your vision, you see the old billy goat as barely a little white shape against the trees. You can't see its eyes from here, but you can't help but feel it is looking back at you.

It stands up on its back legs, and walks like a man into the darkness between the trees. Then it is gone.

* * * * *

Margot sleeps all the way back to the castle, and for another day and a half beyond that. In the interim, the resolution of the Lady's condition seems to bring with it an ineffable sense of renewal to the small castle, and its handful of occupants. Donallo reserves his joy for when Margot wakes, but his gratitude is immense. You understand the thrust of mercí in its repetitions, but a more complex addendum baffles you and Bella for a moment at the gates of the castle.

"He say, ah..." Briant tries to translate the lord's rapidspoken Breton to you. "He can send yeomen to, ah... Monsieur Cestié, where he lie. Rest him behind walls, where Morr's man find him...Yes?"

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

You have unravelled and resolved the Mystery of Lord Donallo! The last time you gained exprience was like.. three months ago. Have 250XP!

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia hissed through her teeth as the fabric was drawn away from her skin, having become enmeshed against it from the blood that had seeped from her claw wounds. Though grisly in appearance, it was clear to the shepardess that they were not particularly deep, just multitudinous, and a tightly wound bandage would see off the worst of the ailment so that the natural healing process could advance towards rehabilitation unimpeded.

"What do you think they're saying?" Taalia asked, Bella's arm around her shoulder, as the taller girl sat and peered across at the two knights prostrated on either side of the unconscious Margot, their hands clasped in the prayers uttered softly from their lips.

"A very long time ago, someone once told me that men have their own gods too," she continued, her voice quiet so as not to disturb the procession.

"I don't know what became of him; but it is sometimes hard to say."

Taalia turned her head to look at her friend and offered her a smile, before leaning over to kiss Bella on the forehead.

Soon their quiet observance was broken as Margot's mortal form was released by the specter, its grip upon her body finally broken by the sustained prayer and force of will displayed by the two knights - and here in this ruin! Taalia watched with open eyes as the barely corporeal mist etched its way from the noblewomans body, expelled like some foul vapor that coagulated in the air that drew in upon itself any immediate happiness and returned the sensation as palpable menace, before it took flight to the outside environment. Startling up, careful not to knock Bella away from her suddenly, Taalia hurried forthwith, her hand coming to the hilt of Daybreak when she, Briant and Bella came to a halt outside the church to peer fruitless into the green, verdant expanse. To think such beautiful lands could harness such a thing from beyond, better it sink back into the dirt and remain trapped beneath sanctified land!

But that's not what Taalia saw.

Her eyes were better than the others. There, in the distance, nestled between a cluster of towering forest saplings, stood the small, white shape of the goat that had previously fled for its own safety. Its white markings made it difficult to distinguish on a summer day, but its movements did not - its body drawing up onto its hind quarters and turning about to move as if it were a man.

Taalia could only watch in opened eyed astonishment, her mouth half gaping.

Whatever that thing was - it knew her. It would never forget her.

oOo

The image of the goat-man's awakening troubled the shepardess all the way back to the castle. However, there were times when she pushed it from her thoughts. Taalia was genuinely pleased to see Donallo and the actual Margot reunited once more, him in flesh and spirit and her likewise, this time the noblewoman free and in possession of her own faculties. The shepardess smiled and gently waved off the Lords gratitude, but she did so with humility and a sincere happiness that the two were together once again. At the mention of bringing Cestié to a proper burial and resting place, Taalia's had to bring her gloved hand over her mouth, such was her gaping smile and beloved gratitude.

"Ohh, grazie mille! Sarebbe un gesto così bello dargli la sepoltura che merita!"

Bella could translate, but it was clear Taalia was very touched and happy with the suggestion.

And, the shepardess had two of her own:

She offered some money to help hire workers to restore the shrine, given the importance its sancticty played in restoring decency to these lands.

Second, she told Briant and Bella what she had seen in the goatman, and wanted to warn Donallo, and the local villages, of the future threat.

[MrAbdiel]

Donallo dispatches his half-dozen men-at-arms to locate Maso Cestié's resting place and bring him back to the castle. This leaves the castle without protection, but between you, Briant, Bella and the now somewhat more free-to-act Donallo, the small castle is a safe enough place to recover for a couple of days. Your wounds scab over nicely, while the bruises liven up. There are still no staff on hand to man the kitchens, but that would never slow you or Bella down; and when Margot finally awakens, groggy and exhausted, she is fed largely by the labors of you and your dear friend. The larder is well stocked with dry foods, even if the perishables have all turned and the kitchen itself is an unattended mess from Donallo's efforts, but nothing catastrophic. Lentil soups and fresh baked bread is the order of the day, and Margot (and everyone else) are happy for it. Your offer to help restore the grail shrine is taken in a positive spirit, but declined - there are shrines like it all over the country, but Donallo has extra reason to see this one cared for now. As for the goat-man, there seems no solution except for him to spread the word to watch for it, and wait for it to reemerge. Most likely it would find its way to another mob of beastmen deep in a woodland, to menace the world of men and die by their swords in time.

"I owe you very much, Taalia. More than I can say." Your Breton is coming along now; some illuminating gesturing from Margot - touching her lips and flaring her fingers and shrugging for more than I can say, for example - help bridge the remaining gaps. "You have spared me a... much longer imprisonment within myself that would have cost my mind, if not my life. I do not know how to properly thank you, Taalia. I hope I may one day find a way."

Spoiler: OOC: Lingua Franca

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You may consider yourself proficient in Breton for most normal, no-pressure conversation. Rapid chatter, speech under duress, professional nuances and specific vocabulary elude you still, but you know enough to communicate.

Donallo does his best. In addition to his men returning and interring Signore Cestié's body in his family graveyard within the walls, where the visitations of Morr's acolytes are certain, he offers to give you the best gift he has to supply: a lesson.

"Your Daybreak is a very excellent weapon, mademoiselle. I can detect no flaw in its craftsmanship; all it lacks is exposure to trial, and that will come with time. And it was made for you, specifically. That is also good." He says these things as he limbers up in the sparring ring behind the castle. Now that his wife is not imperilled in the most frightful way, and he is not cloistered in his home impotent against the threat and mad with inability, the lanky, middle-aged knight moves with some elements of that predator grace you've seen in many very fine killers in your time. He unsheathes his own longsword; pretty, though not a work of art like yours. But its edge has been dinged and pitted and sharpened again and again, and holds even now. It has what might generously be called character.

"We have a tradition here in Carcassonne. When our sons are born, we present them with a sword made for them in anticipation; it hangs over their bed until they are old enough to train with it. It is a sacred thing, you see..? Higher than the man himself. He must reach up to it, to grasp it. Here - I will show you a thing my father showed me, when I first faced him with this sword in my hand. En garde."

Spoiler: OOC: Carcassonne 'til the Break of Dawn

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Gain the custom Talent: Donallo's Lesson.

Donallo's Lesson: When wielding a sword, you gain +3% WS, and WP.

Finally, after the few days of recuperation, the time comes to be on your way. Donallo assures you that you can pick up a couple of riding horses from the pastures by the town of Uvonne, at the extreme north of his small domain as you head towards the River Brienne. Margot, looking much more alive and on her way to well now, stands with Donallo and the men-at-arms at the warped porticullus the ogres bashed in to see you off.

"North to Uvonne, then," Briant confirms to your trio, "and then over the river, to Quenelles. We will be far enough from the forest to avoid elves, and from Massif Orcal to avoid orcs... Or so we must hope."

Spoiler: OOC: Travel!

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Give me two open d100 rolls for the overland travel. These are just to help me generate things. But also, give me an Outdoor Survival roll! :D

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni

Taalia was not a priestess, nor did she know any of the restful words of Morr to help consign a body and spirit to the world that came beyond the material plane upon which they lived. Nevertheless, she stood by silently and solmenly as Maso Cestie's remains were inturred into teh earth, forever to rest and never to rise, his soul departed to whatever afterlife awaited them all. Only about a week had past since Cestie's passing, and so the sting had not yet been lost, but Taalia did find it easier to stand by in solemn silence as he was finally laid to rest. The girl had seen many people come and many people go, but it had only been the past few years where she had actually cared about another beyond the surface level special loyalty. Cestie had been the sagacious, wizened looking elder who had entered her life with his skill to unlock that footlocker in what seemed like a lifetime ago. Even now, Taalia smiled softly as she remembered how she had kissed him upon the cheek in the town centre, performing what she thought was the standard greeting among surface humans, but only later learning that such displays of affection from a younger woman to an older man were far from established orthodoxy. Applying herself in his workshop where she learned the basics of gunsmithing. Camping with the elder and witnessing the young engineers hurling themselves off the cliff-face with utmost faith in their personal flying machines. Seeking his advice when the pirates menaced her new home. Taking to the skies in his flying machine, drawn in by his

Taalia drew in a breath as it was all laid to rest on foreign soil before her. Kneeling, drawing up a gloved-fist full of soil and placing it upon the coffin as it laid to rest within the earth, the white-haired girl moved her other gloved hand to her mouth and blew a gentle kiss.

"I'll get you to Nuln, one way or another, Singore Cestie," she remarked gently, wiping a tear from her eye, "and then, I'll see you again in the next life."

oOo

"I owe you very much, Taalia. More than I can say." Your Breton is coming alone now; some illuminating gesturing from Margot - touching her lips and flaring her fingers and shrugging for more than I can say, for example - help bridge the remaining gaps. "You have spared me a... much longer imprisonment within myself that would have cost my mind, if not my life. I do not know how to properly thank you, Taalia. I hope I may one day find a way."


It felt odd hearing such words come from the noblewomans lips. Though her Breton was coming along well, thanks mostly to the similarity between Tilean and Breton - the girl dreaded having to learn Reikspiel, though she knew that mountain lay before her - the shepardess felt an unusual pang to hear a lady of high station praising her as such.

The girl gently and humbly waved away any such talk, although...she remembered just how useful it had been to have the elf ride to the rescue and speak on her behalf at her trial in Verezzo. Though Taalia was not a political animal, she had slave-borne instincts to recognize and acknowledge a potential ally, especially when entering a strange new land such as Bretonnia.

And so, Taalia exhibited her humility, which was sincere, but in the back of her mind she filed away the gratitude of a noblewoman and her husband. Though hardly worth a fief, their words could one day make all the difference.

oOo

The gentle wind of the practice arena picked up Taalia's blonde-white hair and tussled it gently behind her head, the girl smiling as she stood with her body at an angle to diminish her target-zone. She wore no armor, just pants and a shirt. Even her hair was out, drawn behind her head in a loose ponytail that Donallo accepted due to her foreign station: culturally from Tilea and physically...well, clearly from somewhere north.

Receiving lessons in swordplay from the established Knight and Lord was a rich, but humbling experience. She wore no protection of steel or iron, as Taalia wanted to work purely on her skill to deflect and reflexes to avoid, and so, she went through hours of re-learning footwork and acquiring new understandings in the art of using a blade. The girl herself was surprisingly skilled in its use, all things considered. However, her ability was an eclectic mix that made her unpredictable, rather than a trained and refined swordswoman with an expertise clearly borne in a regional method of fighting.

However, once all was said and done, the girl was grateful and gracious, curtseying in etiquette and thanking Lord Donallo for his lessons.

oOo

When it was time to depart, Taalia wished Lord, Lady and household servants all the best. She was not a Bretonnian, and so this afforded her a degree of forgiveness for any lapse in decorum, as the towering shepardess offered curtsey's and physical affection where possible.

With everything packed up and ready, Taalia visited Cestie's resting place one more time. Upon it she placed a flower she had picked from the fields in which they had come down, her eyes viewing her adoptive grandfathers resting place for one final moment before blowing him a parting kiss with one gloved hand.

"Until next we meet, Singore..."

And they were gone.

[MrAbdiel]

* * * * *

"Hey! Help! My lord, please!"

Your are distracted from your grumbling stomach by a cry from up the road, and a dark figure flapping his arms for attention. For a moment, you and your companions are baffled - the man appears to have mottled, black skin which upon your approach proves merely to be a blackening of soot. He has five fellows, all who look upon your trio - especially Briant - with deference and desperation. They are charcoal burners, clearly; scattered around them are the laden yokes and sacks full of lightweight charcoal they must have been hauling into the nearest village before their misadventure took them off the roadside to a gully where, as the one who flagged your group over explains, their sixth has fallen.

"Please, my lord - my nephew, Jean-Paul, he fall into ground here. See? See? The ground, she yawns; we hear him but no rope, please..."

You've got a lot of the simple vocabulary of Breton down, though the syntax janks a bit; but you're able to keep up. The ground has given way, and swallowed up one of the charcoal burners. You can see where the earth gives way into a hollow where the turf folds inward at the nadir of the small gully, and the other blackened men are wisely keeping high on the slopes of the raised ground around it rather than daring more of the slope below to give way. Periodically, the echoing and plaintive voice of a boy comes singing out of the hole. But at the distance they must stay to avoid testing the ground, the others can barely make out words. They do their best to call back assurances. And his companions call back assurances.

"We are here, Jean-Paul! We are not leaving! We will bring you up!"

Strictly speaking these peasants 'belong' to the land their local lord owns, and this isn't Briant's problem, let alone that of travelling strangers from further lands. But they are blessed to have been stumbled upon by goodly people, instead of heartless ones. Your trio confers.

"A climb into the dark will be dangerous," Briant warns, "and I have no great length of rope, myself."

"We have rope," Bella offers quickly; the spool you used to spelunk around in Miragliano's condemned quarter and to lash all the chicken cages to the horse previously has the length to atleast speculate about a rescue operation. "We can hold it and feed it to lower someone down to get Jean-Paul."

"Nay; better to tie it to Cleménce and then I'll walk her forward, so there is no chance of anyone slipping or losing grip, and a great disaster following. It will be quite dark, but we can hardly leave the boy."

Bella looks at you, then. This is the part, she knows, where you volunteer to do the daring deed, and she reluctantly accepts to remain behind with every intention of following you into darkness if she has reason to doubt your safety. But you are stronger, and your senses are sharper especially in the dark. That said, she also knows that great cavities in the ground could be any number of things. They could be natural caves, or the lairs of burrowing creatures.

Or they could be a collapse caused by the undermining of that sprawling network of verminous parasites that dwell beneath the feet of mankind, and the chance is low, but not zero, that you would be descending into a tunnel like the one you and Rashabang and his other slaves walked in your great subterranean journey; and there is no telling that there might not be a slave taker letting the injured boy cry for help just to cut the cord of a rescuer and bundle an unhobbled human off into the pits.

Bella looks at you, knowing in part what you know in full - about what awful things can befall those who go unwary into the deep places of the world...

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

To descend, or not descend? This is the kind of thing, incidentally, that might be penalized if you are wearing your mail for the duration.

[BananaPhone]

Taalia Giovanni


Taalia rushed to where she could in order to acquire the best view possible - her boots at the edge and her torso partially leaning forward so she could try and peer down into the darkness. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to see the boy from here, but she could hear him.

The shepardess returned Bella's concerned look while the possibilities rolled around in her head. These type of tunnels...Taalia didn't believe they were natural. A sinkhole just so happens to open up into a large, cavernous tunnel? Maybe it was a coincidence, maybe it was just some improbable situations all aligning and coming to fruition at once. After all, people got struck by lightning, however improbable that was.

But Taalia didn't want to roll the dice on that statistic.

Swallowing, biting her lip, Taalia decided to try a deception.

Then she spoke in the language that she thought in: <"We caught the other manthings! Come up quick-quick!">