V M [Unmaking] The Haven Hauntings

[Arbiter]

INTERROGATE ACTION

Sigmund Vrell will use the interrogate action to see if Gascoigne or Jo have found any preliminary info.

Passed Interrogation Check!​

The dim light of the moon filtered through the stained glass windows of Haven Abbey, casting dancing shadows across the chamber in tandem with the hearth crackling at the end of the hall. Father Gascoigne, his grizzled grey beard wreathed in a streamer of smoke from the multitude of burning candles scattered across the dinner table, glanced up at Sigmund's question—a savage grin creeping across his pale, scarred lips, baring his sharpened canines.

He leaned forward with intent, and the flickering light of the candles sharply illuminated the grim, stained wrappings over his eyes.

"Yes, my dear moon-scented hunter," the fierce priest ground out slowly, the words rumbling deep inside his chest. "I can feel it, in every hair upon my skin... This blight that taints these grounds... it looms over this realm, ever growing and gaining more power by the second. Tonight, I shall not find solace in rest. I must venture out into the woodland and investigate the depths of this wickedness."

Seated at his side, Sister Josephine glanced up sharply from where she had been staring into the swirling amber depths of her cup of spiced cider. Her pale face, framed by her sable hood and ivory veil, betrayed a hint of apprehension.

"Father Gascoigne," the nun murmured, setting the cup onto the table with a sharp clunk. "Surely you cannot mean..."

She glanced at Sigmund Vrell, the cultist with a gaunt face and a haunted gaze, as if to gauge if he also found this idea to be similarly dangerous and outlandish. But the cultist did not seem all that bothered by Gascoigne's proposition.

Vrell had some familiarity with the old hunter, Jo had come to know... perhaps he found little reason to be concerned.

Gascoigne settled back in his chair with an ominous creak, the wide, tattered brim of his hunter's hat casting a troubling darkness onto his face. His rough, calloused hand—the fingernails only slightly elongated, as if to form the barest vestiges of beastly claws—reached out and brushed Jo's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Reserve your fears for those in need of them, Sister," he huffed with the air of a many-seasoned hunting hound, a mirthless chuckle in his rasping voice. His hand left Jo's shoulder, reaching down to lightly grasp the haft of his axe, securely nestled like a loyal companion at the side of his chair. "I have faced many a beast in my days, on such a night as this... aye, none of them have been able to withstand my blade, with some... exceptions..."

His attention turned towards the gaunt cultist, his evident mirth stretching eerily upon his countenance, his jaw bristling with far too many incisors for a measly man's grin; it was clear that the hunter was not entirely human, and he navigated the liminal state between man and beast with great finesse, though for how long a time he would be able to manage it was anyone's guess.

"Sister Josephine and I have been deliberating of the hunt we face, my dear hunter," Gascoigne sighed, the purred words tinged with a ghastly sort of thrill. "This wretched sickness travels beyond the walls of Haven... further than we might have expected, and it assumes a far more substantial shape than mere nightmares. The surrounding lands were not always so dire, it seems."

Jo spoke up then, her voice sharp and clear. "Though we have gained only meager knowledge from the denizens of the abbey regarding the source of their distress and alarming dreams, actually tangible evidence continues to elude us. All that is certain is that the abbey remains the... the root of this... profane energy."

Like a foul contagion, radiating outward to affect the nearby woodland, all the way to the distant hills and vales, she thought. Strange for such a humble and beautiful abbey, to be at the epicenter of the problem.

 

[Shinku]

Shinku leaned in closer as the gatekeeper’s voice dropped to a hushed tone. The firelight danced on Shinku's face, revealing an expression of deep concern and intrigue. His keen eyes never wavered as if boring through the very depths of Mr. Krotgim’s soul.

"Strange smells and whispers in the dark," Shinku repeated, his voice echoing the sense of foreboding that had begun to hang in the air around the abbey. He glanced back at the children playing under the table, their laughter and innocence in stark contrast to the eerie atmosphere that had gripped the place.

Krotgrim nodded, his expression still pensive, and his eyes darted between the basset hound and Shinku. "I've heard them talking about it almost every time." he confessed, giving the loyal hound a loving pat on the head.

Shinku's mind whirred with the information, his thoughts racing as he considered what this might mean. He had been drawn to the abbey by rumors of dread and despair, and as it may not be that much, the gatekeeper’s hint could be a start to uncovering what sinister forces could be behind the hauntings in the area. The information of an unnatural, invisible force that struck fear into the hearts of the kitchen staff could be worth looking into.

With a solemn nod, Shinku turned his attention back to Mr. Krotgrim. "Thank you for sharing this with me," he said, his voice unwavering. "I will do my best to get to the bottom of this."

As Shinku rose to his feet, a new determination ignited in his eyes. The flames in the candles around the great hall seemed to flicker in agreement, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the room. The old man watched as Shinku's silhouette became one with the flickering shadows, determined to uncover the truth behind the abbey's haunting dread, no matter where it might lead him.

With a resolute stride, Shinku departed from the dimly lit hall and into the subterranean kitchen. He had no intention of wasting any time. The unsettling whispers in the dark and the mysterious occurrences in the pantry had aroused his curiosity and ignited a sense of duty. His steps echoed in the stone corridors, their ancient walls bearing the weight of centuries of secrets.

The abbey had an eerie stillness about it, as if it held its breath, waiting for someone to unravel the enigma that had taken root. Shinku's journey took him down a set of stony stairs, with steps that were worn and polished from centuries of use. It was a short winding descent with the sight of an old architecture of intricate designs evident on its old walls. As he moved further down, the temperature rose subtly, and a tantalizing aroma began to wrap around his senses.

He entered the kitchen, met with the mixed scent of aromatics and simmering stews, a fusion of savory and sweet, rich and delicate. But underneath those inviting aromas lingered something more sinister, an undertone of decay and despair. Sacks of flour and dried goods were neatly stacked. In its shelves, a bounty of nature's harvest was displayed in all its glory, and it was clear that the abbey took great pride in its provisions.


The kitchen staff worked diligently, a testament to the dedication of the abbey's culinary artisans. Their faces bore the signs of long hours and hard work, yet their enthusiasm remained undiminished. Each of them moved, from the skilled chefs overseeing the cookpots to the nimble sous chefs and kitchen assistants bustling about, their aprons stained with the evidence of their culinary endeavors.

The moonlight streams through narrow apertures of high-slit windows, casting silvery beams into the chamber. The crisp night air merged with the warmth provided by the hearths and cooking stoves. Flames burned with vibrant energy, casting flickering and dancing patterns of light and shadow across the stone walls. The vibrancy within the room however, was contrasted by an unsettling murky void beyond the jars of preserves and bags of flour. It was though the darkness within it had taken a life of its own, devouring the very essence of light.

Amidst the activities within the underground kitchen, his eyes caught sight of a young feline that he remembered to be among those gathered in the great hall with him. She seemed to be a step ahead of him, beating him to a conversation with one of the cooks. Not wanting to cause an interruption, he decided to step back and listen from the shadows.

 

[Shallan Davar]

This was a feast in more ways than one! The food in and of itself was noteworthy, even if it was mixed in a distinctly non-Vorin manner. Shallan ate eagerly, but once her immediate hunger had been sated, her attention was fully centered on the wide array of characters that had gathered here. As soon as the gathering started to stray into more general merry-making she slipped from her seat to find a better vantage point. Eventually she took a seat on the ledge beneath one of the hall’s windows and pulled her sketchbook from her satchel. She flipped through the portraits for a free page. There were so many candidates to add to her collection here! She was spoiled for choice!

While Shallan was positively ecstatic about the prospects of this group, the Veil side of her was significantly less enthused. These abbey dwellers were desperate for whatever help they could get, that much was obvious. It was a true fact that desperation made for strange alliances, but even so…

Beastfolk, demons, undead and cultists. Thus far, all seemed genuine in their desire to help. Nevertheless it begged the question. If these were the types that turned up in defense of the abbey, what sort of foul thing could be behind the nightmares?

Shallan flipped several more pages through her sketchbook, in an effort to shake herself loose from Veil’s brooding. Wearing Veil’s hat and coat always helped her to get into character, but it would be less confusing for all involved if she could remain Shallan for now. In such an isolated setting, unexpected newcomers would be more likely to arouse suspicion. She took a steadying breath. The bog had been a harrowing journey, and she had needed Veil’s strength and self-reliance, but now she was here in a place of civilization. Perhaps the safest and most hospitable she had found in the Crossroads thus far. It was a welcome change, and she should enjoy it.

Mmmmm! A feast of delicious lies! Pattern purred contentedly, sliding the surface of her coat sleeve to watch her artwork from the opposite page.

You know, I had been planning to fold that half of the book under while I worked… She chuckled faintly, What do you make of all these people?

Your question implies that there was something strange about them? I cannot say they seem relatively more unusual than the things we have encountered here in the Crossroads. There ARE several wonderful liars here though! Were you watching the purple one’s performance? His hands make truly delicious lies for the young!

I’ll be sure to tell him you’re a fan. Shallan mumbled, her attention now focused on her linework.

The abbess was deep in conversation with the detective fellow and the masked doctor. They made for a decent warmup sketch, remaining relatively static while still seeming quite jovial and lively. Although the doctor seemed a tad like Wit in his flippancy, the three of them were probably the most traditionally reliable part of the room. These people had all been admitted to positions of authority, and even if they gave off the appearance of folly or ineptness, they were trusted by others already. Her sketch felt incomplete without filling out the food on the table before them, but she could fill that in later. Flipping to the next page her eyes roved the hall for her next target.

The Father and Sister, though neither was related, had seemed to fall into a comfortable rapport. There was an air of expectation about how they treated this situation that left her slightly on edge. They were ready for trouble, to a degree that they themselves would not be enough to handle. Her sketch of Father Gascoigne seemed wrong somehow as she stared at it. In her drawing, he seemed coiled for action, even though he showed no sign of aggression at the moment. Indeed he was talking to the famous cultist with more joviality than she would have expected the man to show.

Shaking her head slightly she turned to another page. Her gaze settled on the blue-skinned tiefling, and she started to trace the curve of the horns with some interest. After a moment, she shook her head, and went to turn the page.

Why have you chosen to leave this lie unfinished? Pattern asked curiously.

I want to complete a sketch of the pair of Tieflings before long, but the one you were so fond of has left already. I think they’ll draw better as a matched set.

Pattern buzzed, unconvinced. Shallan persisted.

Not to mention drawing children is notoriously difficult. The little cremlings rarely stay in one place long enough to manage it! You pretty much have to invent their positions after they leave!

They are newer humans, yes?

Shallan nodded, idly tracing the outline of one of the quieter, researcher types.

Then their inconsistency is unsurprising! Pattern reasoned happily, There are so many things they have not yet experienced! They do not yet have an accurate way to measure which moments are best worth savoring.

Yep. Like they expect whatever thing they’re rushing to next will be better somehow.

Pattern buzzed thoughtfully, Your young have found a very good lie. mmmmmmmmm.

Call them children… Shallan frowned faintly, Young makes us sound like farm animals.

Very well. Why not draw that child? He has not left the fireplace since we gathered here.

Shallan’s gaze turned to one of the orphans. The poor boy had lost his arm. He sat there quietly, stewing in a way that Shallan recalled all too well from her own childhood.

Is he bothered because he has lost notable symmetry? Pattern hummed in consideration, It seems highly prized among you.

Pattern! That’s a horrible thing to say!

It is? The Cryptic seemed confused, but did not question her further on the matter.

She chewed on the end of her charcoal for a moment. It was important to capture all range of emotions, not just the positive ones, right? Feeling slightly guilty for drawing someone who seemed so ill at ease, Shallan started a sketch of the boy.

 

[Arbiter]

OBSERVE ACTION

Shallan will be OBSERVING the feast, sitting in one of the windows and sketching various members of the haven as well as some of the other investigators.

Passed Observation Check...?​

Slowly, with great subtlety and care, Shallan marked her sketchbook with trails of shadow.

With the broad, dulled side of her charcoal, she began to trace the graceful, fuzzier outlines of limbs and garments. Delicately, then, the sharper edge was used to graze over smaller facets: the depth in eyes, lips curving upwards or downwards, the hems of clothing. All the while, intricate details were etched into every surface—wrinkles, buttons and patterns buzzing with life.

Until at last, Shallan pulled her sketchbook away from her face and beheld the images that had been expertly inscribed in dim, sombre hues upon the pale parchment.

Pursing her lips, Shallan blew a gentle breeze over her creations, dissipating any lingering particles of dust in a light wisp of ashen smoke, and carefully scrutinized her handiwork, each line settled precisely on the page. Some of the rendered images seemed almost as vivid as life itself, in truth, even those she wasn't completely satisfied with.

The red-haired woman's gaze was drawn to the charcoal whorls of her portrait of the boy with one arm, and lingered there for a time, as if transfixed.

His countenance had been so solemn in life; however, now his lips curved into a hideously unnerving grin—a smiling mouth that seemed to stretch on and on, sprawling outward infinitely yet somehow still impossibly caught within the bounds of the simple white page, filled with far more teeth than could be believed to be true.

Oh dear.

Shallan may try to show this image to others, but they will not perceive anything amiss.

 

[Arbiter]

OBSERVE ACTION

Mollymauk would like to observe the grounds through the stained glass windows for anything happening while everyone is inside at dinner.

Passed Observation Check...?​

Mollymauk stood within the Great Hall of Haven Abbey, his scarlet eyes fixed upon the stained glass windows—shimmering portals that looked out to the sprawling, walled-in grounds beyond. His slender figure was draped in a colorful robe, which in turn could not hide his lavender hue and curled horns that sparkled with jewels and baubles. Though Molly did not necessarily blend into the humble furnishings of the hall with his markings and scars, his presence certainly did not hinder the reverie of those merrymaking within the walls of the sactuary.

The tiefling's gaze was drawn away from the banquet of food and drink, out through the windows, to the mist-laden orchards and gardens located on the other side of the glass. In the center of the dewy and glistening lawns stood a stone angel, whose solemn face was veiled beneath its hands. Its frozen form was hunched as if shaking with sorrow, concealing whatever stream of tears might have coursed down its carved cheeks.

He beheld the granite figure of the weeping angel, sculpted in a haggard pose of immense grief, and he remained vaguely interested for many moments until the clattering of silverware broke through his focus from beyond; the sound of a plate smashing created a discordant symphony, and the tiefling reflexively turned away from the statue to peer over his shoulder at the commotion.

When he glanced back, the statue was much closer to the window than it had been before.

A sudden chill descended upon Mollymauk, and he promptly blinked, his ruby eyes narrowing. He had not seen the statue move... but it had definitely gotten closer with an unseen stride.

Curious. The tiefling briefly reached a hand out to touch the cold, rainbow-tinted glass, as if to make contact with a distant dream. But the angel remained unmoving, utterly still once more, just as it was meant to be.

He cautiously retreated from the window, slyly observing the angel out from the corner of his eye until its billowing wingspan and shadowy stone figure melted away into the shadows of night. He anticipated the slightest twitch or flicker from the statue, yet it remained motionless...

 

[Ben]

“Uhhhh…. If you’re offering, I’d be half-tempted to take the cauldron. So, you’re a cat?” I Asked, in what I was sure was a very convincing smile. This was definitely not a kind-of-thing that was normal in my world, and I wondered if she was dangerous.

“Aren’t you?” The cat asked smoothly, walking up in what I’m sure was meant to be a caring motion as a paw slipped past my mouth and exposed my sharpened incisor.

“...You have a point.” I added lamely, still getting used to those features and having them… in the open, as my tail flicked idly.

“You are not seeming at your best. Have some soup!” The Cat-woman insisted, putting the bowl in my hands, and I managed a smile at that. I was always very appreciative of anyone who offered me free food - especially when it smelled this good, but I decided to ask a few questions.

“I Appreciate it… can I ask your name?”

“I am Madame Meowsequivitch the Fourth. But you may call me ‘Miss Meow’”

“Wow. Are you a royal, or do Cats just really like fancy-sounding names where you’re from?“

That got me an affectionate ‘’chrrrrr~” from the cat in question, so I assumed I’d managed to come off as charming here rather than stupid, luckily.

“Meowsequivitch was once meant to be duchess of a noble house. Queen of ten thousand souls. But queens do not see their family. They do not feed their children, or their starving. They sit from afar. So Mistress Meow left. Learned to make soup. Learned to make smiles.”

I realized, while I drank the soup I was given, drank in it’s brilliant, savoury taste, I was smiling myself.

“Yes, smiles such as that.”

I gave an abashed smile at that - it was the first time I’d been sober in the midst of positive attention that didn’t come with world-ending implications or just because I supplied drugs - at least outside of the half orc. It was…

Warm in a way that made me bite back a bit of my own comments - not to Mistress Meow, but because I was a druid, and while this place could really convince a girl to stay around, my duties said otherwise.

“...I really respect that. Like, really respect it. I’ll tell you what, if anything happens, just… call me up, Miss Meow.”

“Do be telling your name then.” she replied in slightly-broken common.

“Brass Belle.” I replied, trying to offer a handshake… but the only thing that was placed in my hand was another bowl.

“Now back off to the hall with you! Go! Eat! You are growing girl!” Miss Meow replied, wiggling her whiskers.

 

[Arbiter]

THE FIRST INTERLUDE

See Notes Below.​

A hush hung in the air of the dormitory, only pierced by the crackle of flames and the repetitive tick-tock of the old grandfather clock adorning the wall. The dim light of the fireplace illuminated roughly a dozen faces, all wearing solemn expressions as if they had come for some great purpose. Deep in thought, their eyes solemn and calculating, each waiting for something to stir them from their reverie.

Sister Josephine, the blue-eyed nun of severe countenance that belied her tender heart, broke the spell of silence.

"Now then, let us... report on our findings," she murmured in a soft yet authoritative voice, settling down in a chair beside the hissing and spluttering fireplace. She brought out a small notepad. "Before we all part ways for the evening, each of us should share with the group what they have uncovered, if anything."

The towering figure of Father Gascoigne and the rumpled Lieutenant Columbo were conspicuous in their absence from the dormitory's halls.

Hey there! Read carefully what I have outlined below. You may also find this information in the pins on Discord and the OOC Info thread under the Days/Phases notes.

Every Saturday at 9AM CST (that's right now!), I will post an update and will lock the thread while I’m drafting it. This update post will basically be an IC event that covers everyone meeting up at night in the dormitory to discuss the events of the day. THIS is that post!

During this meeting, Sister Josephine will request a report from each of your characters, all at once.

Starting right after I post on Saturday around 9AM CST (which is now!), YOU will be required to write a brief report from YOUR character detailing what they have learned so far. This can literally just be dialogue and then your character retires to bed, nothing else is required.

POST THIS REPORT IN A REPLY TO THE IC RP THREAD.

You will have from whenever I post on Saturday until when I post on Monday to get this done.

On MONDAY at 9 AM CST, I will post a “Morning Phase” post. Your characters can leave the dormitories and resume the investigation at that point.

 

[Shinku]

As Sister Josephine's call to report hung in the air, Shinku settled back, his body leaning comfortably on the wall while he waited for the first volunteer to break the silence. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, the flickering firelight casting intricate patterns on his face. In the shadows of his thoughts, he tried to sense if anyone was willing to step forward and share their discoveries.

He had always possessed a keen sense of awareness, an ability to read the subtlest of cues, whether in the shadows or in the movements of those around him. He studied the unspoken language of his comrades’ bodies, seeking the slightest hints that indicated readiness to speak. Perhaps a foot that was waiting to move forward, lips that were about to part in speech, a hand that was about to rise into the air. In these quiet moments, Shinku trusted his instincts and relied on his finely tuned senses.

His eyes roamed discreetly, taking in the faces of his fellow investigators. Each person remained shrouded in an eerie stillness, their expressions reflecting a mix of uncertainty and introspection. The anticipation in the room was palpable, but no one seemed willing to be the first to speak.

Shinku's gaze shifted from one person to another, his eyes moving from the stern countenance of Sister Josephine, to the thoughtful visage of the professor, to the mysterious doctor, and to the rest of the investigators in the room. He observed the slightest of movements, searching for the spark of initiative that would drive someone to break the silence.

Minutes passed, each one feeling like an eternity in the stillness of the dormitory. As he continued to observe, Shinku couldn't help but sense a shared hesitance among his comrades. They were all bound by a profound curiosity and a relentless desire to uncover the truth, yet the enigma that surrounded the Abbey's haunting was a daunting challenge.

He had known that the investigation would not be an easy one. It was the first step that was often the most difficult, but it was also the most crucial.

With a silent sigh, Shinku resolved to be the catalyst for change. He had spent a lifetime in the shadows, observing and acting when the moment demanded it. Now was such a moment. He cleared his throat softly, his voice a mere whisper in the room's hushed ambiance.

"I'll start," he said, breaking the stillness that had gripped the room, his words carrying a note of reassurance. "I’ve heard that there were strange smells and whispers in the dark from the pantry in the kitchen. Though I haven’t had the time to confirm it yet, I believe that it’s worth checking out. At least, that’s where I intend to start once we resume tomorrow.”

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Minala's hands carefully penned over a small piece of parchment paper from her bag, her wrist and fingers moving in tandem to create a delightfully ornate letter to her superior detailing the account of her first night. Using the silence of the first few minutes to write her reports. Which her mother... Grand Inquisitor, specially requested on her return. Making careful use of words to ensure that Minala did not need to send them the moment they were written. The thought of which made the Cleric sigh. Did she just not care?

Whatever the case, Minala couldn't help but raise her head as words cut through the silence that had thickened for so long. The dull blade that was another voice struggling to cut further to reach her own sharpened ears.

The crackle of a gentle fire echoed outward into the meeting, the din of firelight serving as a warm reminder that it was, in fact, time to sleep. Yet here she was, required to report any findings she had... so, as the voice of the Exotic man died down to the silence once more, she listed her own... experience.

"While I was dining in the hall, I felt... and saw a foreign influence enter... from the Fireplace. It seemed to curl around everyone, for a moment.. I believe this to be a part of.. if not the thing itself, that has been haunting all of you, here. However.. this was all I saw... nothing more..!" She spoke, suddenly reminded of why she believed she had little else to mention. That spiderweb had to be evil. The Animak knew it. But it did also go up in flames as soon as she believed it to be malignant...

A huff of breath from her nose signified the end of her speaking. Aside from, "I doubt that's... wholly helpful. But it was what I was able to spot during the Dinner."

 

[Shallan Davar]

Shallan stared at her drawing of the one-armed boy. Its smile seemed to be growing only more eager the longer she stared at it, as though it was aware of her unease. Perhaps even enjoying it. The background was unfinished, but she wasn't able to bring herself to put charcoal back to the page.

And you don't see anything odd about this drawing? She asked Pattern again.

The Cryptic currently resided on the folds of her scarf, nearly impossible to spot amidst the piled fabric. He hummed in thought.

I do not see anything beyond the normal features... are you referring to the discoloration of the paper in the middle left portion?

It's fine. She sighed internally. Pattern wasn't the most reliable when it came to understanding human details, but he knew what a smile was, and didn't seem to find the drawing's expression to be doing anything unnatural. Had the boy been smiling? She didn't recall now, the only thing that remained in her head was that grin. On any other day she'd simply consider it a strange mood striking her over the piece, but it felt foolish to assume such a thing was pure coincidence.

"Nothing immediately promising, but I think it would be smart for all of us to be aware of who we're talking to. Whatever is the source of all this, these people have been living with it for weeks, from the sounds of things. They may not be entirely... put together."

Sister Josephine's gaze centered on Shallan at her comment. Whatever her opinion of the statement might be, her expression did not betray it.

"You suspect foul play from our hosts?" She asked the question without judgement, but Shallan was wary that a flippant answer here could easily be misconstrued. She had been called in to help, after all. She could be sent away just as well.

"At this point, I suspect nothing. But darkness leaves scars that can be hard to see until they resurface. If you feel confident in your judgement then go right ahead trusting to your hearts' content. All I am cautioning, Is that it might not only be innocents under this roof tonight."

The towering hunter, Gascoigne rumbled something that Shallan took as an agreement of sentiment. Veil was feeling quite validated right now in her urgings not to have trusted the feast for what it was. Shallan had eaten that food without concern that it might be drugged or poisoned, and now she was planning to sleep in a place that was publicly known to be haunted by nightmares?

Shallan forced herself out of Veil's spiraling skepticism. There were several well known faces here, not the sort who would immediately turn on each other or abandon others for their own ends.

Not like I would. The voice was mockingly quiet in the back of her mind.

"The logical place to start is with the people, no?" She spoke up further. She meant to help, not merely cast a pall of skepticism over the investigation, "Or perhaps some questioning the inhabitants, and some people doing independant searches. People we can better trust are not... er... people who would have less reason to be hiding something."

 

[Ben]

My ears fell to the side as I heard Shinku speak of the concern with the pantries. I’d been down pretty close to there, but I hadn’t noticed a dang thing. Though of course, Miss Meow was quite the distraction herself. I doubt it was malicious intent, but a Cat like that drew every eye in the house with that attitude, and I wondered if it had given a smoke screen to anyone lurking in that area.

Though, then again, they’d also have to avoid the eyes of Miss Meow. And you’re usually spotted by a cat long before they spot you.

I Gave a sigh as I followed Shinku's statement, tugging on my cloak.


"I was just down in the Kitchens, and seeing how they're built, I can believe it. you've got enough good food and stout cooks for a thousand feasts, stores for what seems like decades... but there was plenty of room for things to hide in there, too. And with the dumbwaiters there, I imagine it might be a simple trip for something to jump between the pantries, out to the kitchen, and "

I took a pause "...which is really the only useful thing I found myself, at least to this investigation. I got the chance to speak to Miss Meow, your cook and then she told me to go eat soup." She admitted, tail drooping as she was left scratching at the back of her neck in mild embarrassment, what with everyone else learning so much. “She did tell me about her background as a former Duchess, and she seems very nice!” I offered up with a casual smile, trying to hide my own anxiety. Hopefully someone else here also didn’t learn a single useful thing, so I wasn’t the only one at the bottom of the pack.

 

[Dr. McNinja]

Dr. McNinja rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I was talking to the abbess. I don’t know how much we all heard before getting here, but I got the basics. Basically, they’re all having bad dreams, and no traditional medicine is helping them. Also, they can’t remember what they dreamt of. Nothing really new, though.”

Peter cocked his head. “Well, that’s not true. We also learned they’re seeing mirages during the daytime. She said when the sun’s highest, but that might just be metaphorical.”

Doc nodded. “That’s true. Unfortunately, as of now, we’ve got to rule out a lot of traditional nightmare-based diseases… could there be an incubus in town…?”

Doc shook his head. “I’ll keep you guys posted if there is a scientific explanation for all this. For now, the evidence I’ve gathered is too general.”

The physician pondered for a moment. “Also, we might want to talk to that Daniel kid. The abbess mentioned that he keeps seeing the troll that attacked him. Might be hallucinations, but that’s exactly the kinda thing we’re investigating here, eh?”

Peter nodded. “That’s our most solid lead. We were gonna talk to him tomorrow.”

Dr. McNinja looked at Shallan. “I don’t disagree with you. There’s always a chance that one of them’s a cultist of a nightmare god or something. But until evidence of such activity is presented, we should assume they’re victims.”

 

[Aster]

When Aster had initially heard that they were expected to already report what they'd found out, she had felt a momentary spike of anxiety that left her slightly sick to her stomach. She hid her discomforted grimace behind a quick, fidgety adjustment of her glasses, pointedly looking down. She hadn't really found anything at all, not yet at least!

Of course, after a moment to calm her nerves and listen to some others speak up....her uneasiness and anxiety abated somewhat. She was far from the only one who hadn't really found anything substantial.

Eventually, once there was a lull after other reports, she cleared her throat uncertainly. "Well...I didn't exactly find out much myself today," she admitted somewhat hesitantly. "Been trying to get my bearings and figure out what's where and all that." She briefly looked away, not willing to meet anyone else's gaze just now. "....but, I guess I found something that's a little odd. 'Specially when taken with what other people've turned up..."

"The tapestry down in the great hall. I took a look at it earlier, and... Well, there's somethin' off about it. Seemed too real, too vivid." She gave a frustrated sigh. "I sorta got too caught up in what it was showin' and...touched it, I guess. Felt like I got a real shock, like I'd brushed up against a live wire. And then right at the end of what it was showin', it...well, it's been damaged in some way or other. Burned, maybe. You couldn't see it without bein' right on top of it, so maybe no one else has noticed..." She shook her head. "Looked like it was another depiction of the abbey's hero, sword out and ready to deal with something..." She finally turned to look at the others, uncertainly. "I couldn't tell for sure, but...looked like they were gettin' ready to stab downward."

"With the way things're already looking around here...hell, I dunno. Might be worth lookin' into, with the rumors about the kitchens and whatnot, and them being down below too, y'know?" She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and seeming to withdraw into herself, shoulders hunching as if to ward off a sudden chill. Or to try and look smaller and draw less attention. "....might be an idea to try to poke around and maybe find somethin' about what's up with it. If anyone remembers, or there's any records, of when it was damaged, or like...what it originally showed. Any little thing could help, strange as all this is, right?"

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Sigmund, up until that moment, had been looming ominously behind Shallan to get a look at her sketch. Those soul-piercing eyes, that wicked grin of butcher’s-knife teeth… frankly, he didn’t see the significance of it. It was very well drawn, though.

Then, as McNinja turned to her and laid an accusation at a cultist of a nightmare god, the scion visibly did a double take before looking at the doctor like a deer in the headlights. Stepping forward perhaps a little too quickly, Sigmund cleared his throat to draw attention to himself.

“I concur that we should assume innocence before guilt here - even if there are a few cultists to a nightmare god here, we shouldn’t go pointing fingers, right?” he grinned, seemingly oblivious to how insane his words were. It was on-brand, though, so the few here familiar with his character thought nothing of it. “Besides, I have heard that nightmares and hallucinations aren’t the extent of this… corruption… which brings me to my report!”

Sigmund cheerfully turned to Jo as he segued into his report, more for the benefit of those gathered around than the Sister herself, seeing as she was there to hear everything he did.

“After some discussion with the good Father Gascoigne, I have learned that there are more tangible threats out there, beyond the walls. The exact nature of which is… unclear, but it’s something malefic which seems to stem from the Abbey.” the cultist trailed off with a slightly wistful look on his face. Typically, he was the malefic threat outside the walls, but the notion of fighting this battle from the other side was quite fun. It wasn’t often that he got to try to give the nightmares nightmares.

“Regrettable that I do not have more to say, but that’s all.”

 

[Mollymauk Tealeaf]

When Molly's purple pointed ears heard the ninja nun and his sexy nurse assistant talk about the illusions, he was snapped fully to attention. He tore his gaze away from the stained glass window he had been staring at and stopped shuffling two tarot cards absent-mindedly in one hand.

Then, the wolfish person he had spotted at dinner spoke up. He remembered them because they had been carefully choosing their food as if some of it might be poison. The wolfish humanoid spoke about something that could be interpreted as an illusion also, and Molly was fully invested and engaged in his curiosity about the goings on.

He interjected himself briefly into the fold of conversation from where he was posted up, leaning with a shoulder on the fireplace mantle. The heat radiating from it, not doing much for him and his hot, infernal blood. The aura of imagined security it brought he was thankful for, though.

"Oi. Hello everyone I'm Mollymauk Tealeaf, please to meet yer acquaintance. Anyway, ya strange group of humanoids, full disclosure…I may not have paid much attention as to why we are here. To be fair my friend Jester over there probably told me the basics…" and Molly gestured with the hand holding two of his tarot cards.

Jester gave a small wave to the group, and he continued on.

"...So that's on me. But! This place gets into yer bones with the uneasiness, amiright? That being said, I usually have a decent eye for a bit o' discernment, but I saw a statue ," and Molly gave a hard nod and raised his eyebrows with a finality and confidence, like he was doing closing arguments instead of speaking absolute nonsense.

Sister Jo stared at Molly for a few moments, and he stared back, grinning and nodding.

"Molly…did anything happen with this statue?" She asked with the great care of a natural leader, seemingly sincere.

Molly closed both his eyes in a wince and said, "Yes…" and slowly opened his eyes as the smile spread out on his face again. "It moved. One of those angels they have out there on the lawn. She's got her face in her hands, as if she's crying. Poor thing. Would be creepy by itself, but I'll bet my last coin and an Arbiter's nipple too…that statue moved. Good Sister Jo, it moved in an instant!….or…it was another illusion that ya've been mentioning just now. Either way, you can count on dear ole Molly to help figure it out." Molly finished, bowed to Sister Josephine, smiled widely, fangs on display to the crowd of fellows, and went back to his post of learning, leaning, and listening in the glow of the fireplace.

He looked at the two cards in his tattooed hand before putting them in a random pocket.

The open eye. The closed eye.

 

[Masahir N'air]

Nalaia slowly pulled herself upright on the bed she had chosen, far in the back of the room nearest to the outer corner, as the others entered the dormitory. Her tall spiraled horns cast otherworldly shadows on the cobbled walls behind her as she made note of each person in the group. She had not expected another tiefling to show up, let alone two of them, and the mere sight of them set some small part of her mind at ease. Most normal people assumed that tieflings would burst into holy fire upon entering scared and hollowed grounds, or denied them outright out of fear. The bias was far less pronounced in the city, but far out here in the sticks and weeds? She had scarcely dreamed that others like her would answer the call for help given how most tended to treat them at first glance.

Her long pointed ears perked as she listened quietly and intently to all her fellow investigators rattle off their reports from the grand dining hall. The odd cultist mentioned external threats lurking in the murky woods beyond the abbey's weathered walls, most likely borne from whatever malicious entity had taken to haunting the estate; the masked doctor had sussed out that one of the children present was possibly hallucinating past traumas during his waking hours; the nonchalant purple skinned tiefling dressed in loud finery rambled about a living statue, though at this point it could hardly be determined if it had moved in reality or was simply an illusion or hallucination similar to the Daniel child's; the anthro-canine's study of the great hall's tapestry had only turned up a few bits of historical context but was hardly more than guesswork and conjecture; the ginger haired artist expressed a well-earned skepticism and suspicion that the cleric found herself nodding along to the logic of...

But what caught the arcane cleric's attention most of all was the mention of some evil presence clinging to the grand fireplace during dinner. That was something she could follow up on come morning, something more than the trickery of the mind or suspicions over dumbwaiters and vague histories.

Nalaia rose from her bed like a ghost, the shadow thrown behind her far too large and looming against the walls given the low intensity of the crackling fire. Unlike the two other infernals present her body was devoid of accessories and jewelry, save for a single long chained silver necklace, adorned with the talisman of a sealed scroll that rested over the midst of her bosom. Instead of finery befitting a peacock, her stormy-blue face sparkled with the countless shimmering sapphire blue scales adorning her cheeks and forehead, and her hair coiled in thick indigo and mulberry curls. Her outfit was a rather modest eggplant colored walking suit, the hem of her pleated skirts reaching to her ankles and the plain cuffs of her jacket sleeves only stopping a solid inch past her wrists. One could have easily assumed that she had stepped out of some faded daguerreotype or carbon print by the looks of her ensemble.

"All I know," Nalaia finally spoke as she joined the back of group, her voice as soft and rich as a cool autumnal breeze, "is that we will sleep fitfully at best tonight. Certainly the nightmares plaguing this abbey will not spare us visitors."

Her mismatched eyes scanned her fellows, carefully judging their countenances for their reactions. A markedly not-insignificant portion of the people in this room were heroes in their own rights, recognizable participants in some Syntech®™ blood sport or saviors during the disaster of Nausicaa. Her spaded tail tip flicked ever so minutely as she gave a small and polite little smile. "You will have to forgive me for missing introductions over dinner tonight. I retired to seek guidance and rest after a long day's travel and instead only found unease and discomfort each time my mind wandered close to the edges of sleep. Hardly a good mood to make acquaintance under, but I am Nalaia Dekarios, a humble Cleric of Oghma and a healer of both spiritual and mundane ailments."

She gave a curtsy bow and folded her hands in front of her rather primly. Her lavender and crimson eyes locked onto the self-proclaimed nightmare cultist of Uruk, raking the pale and frail robed man up and down before landing on Sister Josephine. She would study the cultist more come morning time, even if she could trust that he himself was not guilty of anything regarding the abbey as an individual. Nalaia brushed her wary thoughts from her mind and settled, patiently waiting to see what of note, if anything, the others had to report.​

 

[The Living]

Jessie hadn't said much since arriving and being shown to the dining hall. In fact, since being served food, he had said nothing at all, opting instead to listen and eavesdrop on the interrogations of the others while in the great hall. It was rather bleak, the whole situation. Frightened and screaming children among a plethora of equally frightened and downright stressed adults. Well, all but that gatekeeper, whose experience and hardiness seemed to eclipse the others far too easily. He must know quite a bit about the place. Still, there was not much to go on besides flickering shadows and chilled spines.

Something about it all gave the hunter the deepest sense of dread. The type of fear and terror that one felt when walking straight into the bloodsucker's den, barely aware of the glamour hiding it all in plain sight. The deep pit sinking into your stomach as you feel the curling fingers of death slowly creeping its clutches onto you and whispering its foul curses into your ear. The stench of rot and death plugging your nostrils, suffocating each breath and filling your lungs with despair and desperation. Even in the wide and tall rooms of the Abbey, Jessie felt claustrophobic in his chair. With a low, long winded groan, he then spoke up.

"Well, whatever this plague is, it's hiding in plain sight." The hunter gave a sigh. "Whether it's some wicked betrayal from someone that has turned on the rest of the Abbey, or some malignant force settling in like a dense fog to choke us all out, it will show itself eventually." His words were followed by a shrug. "It's too early to tell, and the trick with it is simple, but hard to follow. Look past your senses to what lies beyond, and only trust what you know to be true. Anything less and we might just find ourselves fighting each other, and I can't say I recognize any of you to really bet my life on your words." Another groan squeezed out of his throat. "And I can only assume the same for all of you to me. Fair enough, after all." The man stood and stretched before giving a final comment. "Let's see what the nightmares have in store for us tonight, need to see what kind of shut-eye we are gonna be allowed..."

 

[Arbiter]

CHAPTER IV. DAY ONE

See Notes Below​

As the first rays of light manifested as the sun emerged from its nighttime slumber beneath the eastern horizon, Haven Abbey was cast aglow. A vast chorus of birdsong filled the orchard as the sun's beaming caress brought life to all around, and the bell gently pealed from the abbey spire, rousing the sanctuary's inhabitants from their beds.

Grey and thin morning mists drifted in, cloaking all that lay beneath in a thin glistening sheet of dew; the verdant lawns were like lush carpets of emerald green, the damp patches standing out resplendently under the sparkling sunlight. Stately trees towered proudly in the well-groomed orchard, and swallows twittered between their branches among apples that were crisp and regal in their redness. The flower gardens abounded with activity—bees buzzing about from bloom to bloom and new seedlings rustling in the morning air. And at the perimeter of the grounds, where its edge spilled and gave way to a pond, there was sure to be a bevy of fish flitting beneath its placid surface.

Delicate and wafting, the breeze was cool and polite, the perfect temperature for a brisk morning stroll around the grounds. As one walked, the morning dew made the lawns glisten like millions of tiny diamonds were scattered among the blades, tinging the air with a faint but tangy scent. In the distance, the sound of joyful children playing and bustling sisters and brothers attending to their daily chores could be heard. Some were collecting water from the well while others hung clothes on ropes, all of it strung across the lawn.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the mists began to disappear and the day began to truly start. Yet despite the activity to come, a serene peace still lingered in the air like a pleasant memory.

The investigators stirred in their warm beds, awoken from their... pleasant slumber by the call of the bell echoing all throughout the immense corridors of the abbey. Blankets and sheets fell away quickly as they stumbled around in a sleepy haze, preparing to uncover the mysteries hidden inside the abbey's brooding corridors, wreathed by the chill of the morning.

They descended, some very sleepy and disoriented from their disturbed rest, down the snaking, winding stone stairs, twisting and turning down and down until they arrived at their destination: the Great Hall.

As they reached the foot of the staircase and stepped down into the Great Hall, the large room was illuminated by the divergent colors of the many stained glass windows, sunlight streaming through the multi-hued glass and showering the hall in what seemed like an eternal state of dawn. A high ceiling rose above the gathering lined with gleaming beams of timber, adorned with a layer of chalky dust particles, dancing and twinkling in the light.

The cheery crackling of the wood fire in the hearth set a cozy atmosphere—but that wasn't what truly drew the eye and gladdened the heart.

Plates, mugs and bowls full to the brim with food now blanketed the long wooden dinner table from the night before—a delicious centerpiece commanding attention: freshly-baked bread, still warm from the oven and spiced with the aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon and cloves. Golden hazelnuts and sweet pear pieces were placed on the top like precious jewels, and as the kitchen attendants cut into it, like sweet syrup, a trickle of juice seeped out and over the sides, adding an extra depth of flavor.

A plenitude of honey and figgy jams in dainty pots graced the table alongside a positively titanic pan of steaming apple pudding, tempting even the most unsettled of bellies. The scent of cinnamon and cream filled the air with its heavenly sweetness, while the glossy topping was kissed by a hint of sugary perfection.

Next to this heaping bowl of creamy, apple-y custard pudding were two hearty baskets filled with warm oatcakes and scones still steaming in their own buttery goodness. All around the table, tall beakers of hot mint tea and sweet cream were set, alongside water flavored with cuttings of chicory, lemon or sage; ready to be sipped and savored, the brilliant light of the morning sun glinting off the glassy, humble 'chalices.'

On the opposite side of the wooden table lay a luscious platter of sizzling, smoky breakfast meats, tantalizingly presented and lightly covered with a delicate checkered cloth. Hickory-smoked bacon so crisp that it crunched, roiling eggs with oozing ochre yolks and trim sausages teeming with maple syrup beckoned—the air thick with the heady scent of herbs, spices, and dribbling, buttery fat.

At last, there were baskets upon baskets of fresh pastries. Flavors abounded, from chocolate-filled croissants to sweet custard-filled crullers, their flaky crusts glimmering in the sunlight, their golden hue beckoning all who passed to indulge. Lieutenant Columbo was already there, selecting what appeared to be a few sugar-dusted doughnuts from among the mix, visiting softly with the kindly Abbess Oriole.

It was a meal that could make even the worst of dreams seem like a distant memory. Aromas of hazelnut and pear-filled breads, oatcakes dripping with butter and scones heavy with cream, slithers of smoky bacon and spicy maple sausages, feverishly-fried eggs glistening in their yolky beds, pastries crisp yet flaky atop their golden crusts and steaming beakers of hot mint tea and sweetly spritzy water to quench every throat... all of it, perfect.

Simply perfect.

START OF A NEW IC DAY

You will have from now until Saturday at 9 AM CST to send in actions and roleplay! Then, the thread will be locked and all characters will be sent to the Dormitories.

The event is now following the rules as set up in the OOC info thread. Please ask questions if you are confused about anything.

Did your character have nightmares last night?

• Jester Lavorre - Yes, and your character vividly recalls their nightmares.
• Dr. McNinja and Peter Pellbrook - Yes, and your character vividly recalls their nightmares.
• Professor Robert Langdon - Your character does not remember what they dreamed about, but feels vaguely unsettled.
• Mollymauk Tealeaf - Yes, and your character vividly recalls their nightmares.
• Sigmund Vrell - Yes, and your character vividly recalls their nightmares.
• Shinku Ashikaga as Trevor O'Skully - Yes, and your character somewhat recalls their nightmares.
• Minala - Your character does not remember what they dreamed about, but feels vaguely unsettled.
• Brass Belle - Your character does not remember what they dreamed about, but feels vaguely unsettled.
• Aster - Yes, and your character vividly recalls their nightmares.
• The Traveler, Fred Durst - Your character does not remember what they dreamed about, but feels vaguely unsettled.
• Christopher Chaos - Your character does not remember what they dreamed about, but feels vaguely unsettled.
• Shallan Davar - Yes, and your character vividly recalls their nightmares.
• Jessie Rentier - Yes, and your character somewhat recalls their nightmares.
• Nalaia Dekarios - Yes, and your character somewhat recalls their nightmares.

 

[Jester Lavorre]

“And it was like, totally awful!” Jester explained, frowning.

A mosaic of different colored cheeses arranged carefully atop a flaked and split upon croissant lay before her. Her shaking blue hand carefully transported a wiggling poached egg from a nearby gravy boat. She dumped the viscous protein over her cheese laden croissant, then used her spoon to press the egg down into the pastry. The press of the spoon formed a rudimentary concave truncheon which the egg burst over into. The yolk spilled out of the egg and over the cheese squares as magma might spill over the lip of a volcano and onto a nearby village. Jester watched wearily, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“I’m usually a morning person, Molly,” she lamented, lifting up her croissant. “These nightmares are probably not going to be very good for my sleep schedule.”

The Cleric took a bite of the croissant, chased it with a piping sip from a cup of tea with light cream and sugar, then set both down. A bit of yolk dribbled down her dark blue lower lip and onto her chin.

“Uh, Jester, ya’ve got a little…” Molly pointed at his chin.

Jester dragged the back of her hand across her mouth then licked it.

“I was a little girl again,” Jester explained, cradling her cup of tea in both hands as if she might sponge the warmth of it from the outside of the cup and into her blood, which ran cold from the memory of her night terror. “I was in my old room in my Mom’s house, and I was drawing a picture of someone, but I can’t really remember who it was. Not really. Maybe it was my Mom, or the Traveler, or something. And I was totally humming, and having a pretty good time, when the walls in the room started to like, shrink in towards me, and I was like, ‘oh no, that’s not very good at all,’ but they kept closing in. They got smaller and smaller, until it was like I was in a little itty bitty box, and I was pushing all around me trying to figure out a way to get out of the box.”

Molly listened carefully. Whatever he was: chaotic, lively, eccentric, a showman; he was also a dear friend and an excellent listener. What others might perceive as an outwardly terrifying appearance actually belied a gentle soul and a kindred spirit. Jester was glad for his company. The ebb of the tides of poor sleep left her feeling isolated and strange. She hoped the cup of tea would bring back some of her characteristic cheer.

Admittedly, the environment around the Great Hall had the trimmings of early morning tranquility, which she usually enjoyed. Ever the early bird, Jester usually found the beginning of the day to be the most inspiring. The feeling of a calm morning after an evening like the one previous, however, almost seemed more disquieting. The juxtaposition of troubled night into quiet morning was a strange contrast to try and make sense of.

Mollymauk sipped from a cup of coffee. The corner of his lips twitched, and Jester wondered if he’d snuck a tip of liquor from his flask, as he was known to do from time to time on particularly challenging mornings.

“I’ll admit ta havin’ some rather unsettlin’ dreams myself,” Molly said, setting down his cup and making eye contact with his blue friend. “Ya can probably tell just by the fact that I’m here so early.”

“Oh,” Jester uttered, looking closely at Molly. She squinted at him. “That’s right. You usually sleep in most mornings.”

Molly’s eyes shifted imperceptibly, and Jester noticed that he seemed to be looking at a point just over her shoulder.

She turned her head, shifted in her seat, then noticed someone else sitting at the table a few seats down. A horned someone.

There were a few figures in the Great Hall, but Jester and Molly had been amongst the earliest risers, so the blue Tiefling was surprised she hadn’t noticed someone coming up to the table and taking a seat; the previous night’s sleep must have thrown her a little further off kilter than she’d realized.

What was more, was that the stranger was also a Tiefling. It was unusual enough to find two Tieflings in a place like this, when so many societies made a pariah of Infernals, but to find yet another of their race in such an unexpected place…

Quite unusual.

On top of that, the other Tiefling was blue, like Jester, and was looking in their direction. Molly and Jester returned their gaze, and eye contact was made.

Molly nudged Jester in the back, gently, to urge her into action.

Jester raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in greeting, offering the stranger a winsome smile.

At her prompt, the stranger lifted their plate from the table, approached with a distinct poise and leonine stride, set the plate down next to Jester’s, then took a seat. She wore a white gown, the sort of garment Jester would certainly spill egg yolk all over if she had been the one wearing it. The gown was punctuated in the middle by a pink sash, which Jester regarded with approval, since it reminded her of the ribbon she herself wore on one horn.

Molly offered the newcomer a toothy grin.

“Well met,” the purple Tiefling stated, good natured despite the hints of exhaustion about his eyes. “It’s good ta see another Tiefling around. Jester an’ I are usually the only ones!”

“I apologize for interrupting,” the stranger said with a good natured smile. “I couldn’t help but overhear that you were troubled with nightmares as well. I thought that maybe I could offer some assistance.”

“Assistance, eh?” Molly asked. “I wouldn’t deny any o’ that, uh…”

“Nalaia,” she introduced. “I am a healer. I missed the feast last night, so I thought I’d come down early and get some of the breakfast spread. I was worried that, since parting with my husband's company and the comfort of his fine cooking, I might be forced to subsist on loaves and hunks of cheese. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the meals here are well put together.”

“Oh, big time,” agreed Jester, her mouth full. Her lap was full of crumbs, and she held her half consumed croissant-cheese-egg sandwich close to her face. “That looks pretty good, too!”

Nalaia’s plate contained a half eaten link of sausage, some partially consumed bread, and an empty place where the scarcest remnants of egg remained. Their gaze flicked from their plate, well organized with its remaining foodstuffs parsed out into sections, to Jester’s lap full of crumbs, then back up to the other Cleric’s lips shellacked with yolk spatter.

Nalaia offered a polite smile, hands folded in their lap.

“Yes, the food is excellent. I’ll admit to eating a bit more hastily than usual after missing the evening’s feast.”

Nalaia wore no hints of mess, and her white gown was unmarred.

“Me too,” agreed Jester, chewing actively while she spoke.

“I’m Mollymauk Tealeaf,” Molly interjected, picking up the pieces of the conversation Jester was rapidly trampling all over. “And this little sapphire is Jester Lavorre. We’re recently in the business o’ uncovering mysteries. We had ourselves a bit o’ a night, and not the way I usually do. We wouldn’t say no ta a spot o’ help, if ye’ve got some ta offer.”

Nalaia nodded.

“I’m a healer, as I mentioned, a Cleric of Oghma. I’d be happy to cast a spell to settle your unease.”

“That’s pretty crazy!” Jester exclaimed, wiping her mouth off with her sleeve. She smiled coyly. “I’m totally a Cleric, too. I follow The Traveler. He is this really cool guy, who is very handsome, and he keeps me company when I am lonely, and he always makes sure that I am safe. He has not taught me any calming spells, though. So, that would be, like, totally cool, if you could do that.”

Nalaia brought up a hand, murmured something, then performed a somatic gesture. Instantly, the icy apprehension that had seized Jester in its clutches since she’d awoken began to melt away, and she felt some of the familiar warmth of her jovial spirit trickling back into her veins like the warm waters of a hot spring.

She and Molly sighed in unison.

“Calm Emotions,” explained Nalaia. “I cast it on myself this morning. I was also plagued by nightmares throughout the evening. The strange part about it, though, was that I remember most of my unpleasant dreams, but not everything. Usually I can recall even the finer details of my dreams due to my connection with Oghma...” She trailed off, humming quietly as she considered what she knew, and made a casual assumption. “Do you two remember your nightmares? I thought the inhabitants of the abbey had been robbed of any memory of their dreams upon waking. I can’t help but wonder why we are different in that regard.”

“They had,” agreed Jester, drumming on her chin with her index finger. “They had been robbed of their dreams. I talked to a little girl last night. She was very sweet, but incredibly scared. A little Genasi girl. She mentioned that she had a vague recollection of fire in her dreams, but that she could not remember a single other thing about them. She begged me to help. It was pretty heart wrenching stuff. Do you want to know what’s totally weird, though? I also remember the nightmare I had last night!”

“Me too,” stated Molly, suppressing a shudder. “It was pretty unnerving. If we can all remember our dreams, maybe somethin’ is changin’ around here.”

“Maybe something is,” agreed Nalaia. “And it’s up to us to figure out what it is, and to help these people.”

 

[Sigmund Vrell]

Sigmund’s eyes fluttered open as he returned to consciousness, his head throbbing and throat dry. The cultist gasped for air as he bolted upright, spluttering and coughing as he looked to the sky. The auroras were raging overhead, the typical greens and blues interwoven with Gal’skap’s purple. Something significant was happening…

Oh, right. His father had just died. The shock hit Sigmund like a warhammer to the head. Their attackers had ambushed them out of nowhere, mortally wounding Erik. All that the older scion could manage was to transfer the divine spark to his adopted son. The eight scion clutched at his head, trying to sieve through generations of information that had been thrust into his mind.

He was drawn from his headache by the distant clashing of steel, his guardians battling off the foreign assailants. His brow furrowed for a moment. There were many of them, and they had been surrounding him. Where had they all gone? Sigmund’s question was answered as he rose to his feet and stepped forward, almost tripping on a half-helmet buried in the snow. The creeping bloodstain trailing from the helmet suggested that there was still a head inside, though he hardly had the time to check.

The cultist let out a little groan, still woozy, as he made to join the fight, but a hacking cough made him pause.

“Sigmund…” a weak voice said from behind him. “Thank Gal’skap you…”

They speaker was cut off by another wet cough, and Sigmund heard something splatter against the snow.

“you’re ok…”

In disbelief, he almost didn’t turn around. Almost didn’t want to accept the reality of what he was hearing. But, he did. If he didn’t, he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life. Then, as he took in the sight before him, he wondered if there was an outcome that he wouldn’t regret.

Surrounded by the bodies of a dozen armoured soldiers, each one practically torn to pieces, sat Morgan, the woman who had raised him. She was slumped up against a rocky outcropping, clutching at her stomach with one hand and her sword with the other, breathing in long, shallow gasps. Despite the fact that her robes were stained with crimson, that her leg sat at a horribly unnatural angle, that blood streamed down the left half of her face from her scalp, she still smiled at him with the same warmth she always had.

“Morgan?” Sigmund choked out, almost falling back to his knees. Stumbling forward, slowly at first before breaking into a sprint, the scion rushed to her side. Up close, the wounds were even worse than he initially thought. Not even one of Gal’skap’s devoted could walk away with damage that severe, particularly if she had taken a hit to the head. “You… you’ll be ok. We just need to get you home. I’ll call-”

“Sigmund.” Morgan interrupted him, dropping her sword and placing a bloody hand gently on his cheek. “It’s alright. The goddess of life is powerful, but I’ll be dead long before we make it to a healer. I’ve always accepted that my duty might end like this some day.”

Sigmund opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again after a moment. He stared down at the snow, crunching it in his fists.

“It‘s not right.” he said, barely keeping down a sob. “Father… I knew he would pass the spark on to me someday. That he would leave this physical world behind. It’s our fate. But you were always meant to be there…”

“Oh, please don’t cry. I wish I could be there too.” Morgan said, beginning to choke up herself. “You’ve grown up to be such a wonderful young man, I... wish I could be there to just see you... grow up a little more. You’ll… make an amazing... leader, I’m sure... of it. Just never forget... I love you.”

With that, the older cultist sagged down a little, losing what little grip she had left on her mortal shell. Sigmund desperately looked around for something, anything to help, but there was nothing. Helpless, he punched the ground before gingerly reaching forward and hugging her.

“I love you too.” he sobbed, unable to hold it back anymore as he watched the life leave her eyes. “Good bye, mother.”

Tears pricked at Morgan’s eyes even as they glazed over. Officially, Sigmund had no mother, she was simply his caretaker. But to hear their unspoken bond said aloud, even just once before she passed, was nice.

~~~~~~~~~​

Sigmund stared down at his breakfast, stunned, as if he didn’t know how to eat it. He had awoken that morning like a zombie, autonomously clambering out of bed before following the procession of guests to the hall. He had come into this optimistically, that this would just be a fun investigation of some eerie presence.

He had been mistaken.

In that moment, he resolved to solve this mystery. Not for any selfless reason, not out of curiosity, not out of divine duty. Simply because no one, not one force in this world or the next, was allowed to taunt him with his mother’s passing. Shakily reaching out and stuffing a morsel of food into his mouth, the cultist took solace in one thing.

That the nightmare he experienced paled in comparison to what he would deliver on the thing behind all this.