DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

This is going well!

Tyravasiel wonders if they will still be paid should the thegns of Hirot cut down Anora the Blue. They did get her here. If she'd died on the road, that would be one thing, but...

Best not to chance it.

The Jarl's men seem to be ignoring him as the harmless beggar he pretends to be, so Ty eases back and to the side of the door through which Clohn has passed. Casually, he works back the leather wrapping the tip of his cane-- the cane which is, in fact, a javelin fashioned of mithril. Should the thegn rush back from the side hall at the sound of tumult, he'll get a spear-head in the back for his trouble.

Anora nods, fully intending to ignore the man, should it be her will later on. She steps back to allow the men room to pass, keeping her eyes on the floor all the time.

She looks to the old man, once the room is clear. The temptation to use her spells to tie the man up almost consumes her in that moment.

If he is so eager to have someone bound in ropes… she thinks darkly, before finally throwing the dark temptation off! She came from a place where the lowest man lived a life of more wonder and luxury than this jarl of some piss village. She wouldn’t stoop to their level. Not yet at least.

She crosses to Aldric and puts a hand out to aid the man.

"Try to behave yourself, Aldric, won’t you?"

Aldric is utterly drenched, and looks shaken. He speaks calmly and quietly, which is almost more unsettling.

"Anora, do you have enough information to make a report and fulfill your contract? The reason behind your man's absence is most assuredly this confounded moon beast situation, and despite their urgings to the contrary, it would be best if we leave soon."

As the thegns leave and the energy of the tavern levels down a notch, Dufgal stows his garotte. After all, no one needs to see him holding that at the ready. It’s hard to argue that is a self-defense weapon. He remains out of the spotlight though, waiting for any cue from his traveling companions. His stomach rumbles and he makes a tentative promise to attend to his hunger soon.

"Almost, Aldric. Almost, but not yet. I could hardly return to our employer without having laid eyes on the man myself." she sighs a weary sigh, agreeing with the man but needing to see the job out as best she could.

Ty tightens the wraps on his "cane" and totters back to the group. He doesn't make much show of feeling his way.

"To judge from the innkeeper's ravings earlier, none of these worthies--" the term is meaningless, tripping off the elf's glib tongue-- "is the man we seek. As Dolsten is abroad and the house without its master, I suggest we avail ourselves of comfort for the night. It's what Broegan would have wanted, for your service in hastening his much-desired demise."

The mood of the Wolf-Spear is heavy as the townsfolk scatter to their tables, returning to their cups and hushed, concerned conversations. Some of those villagers are ashamed, some are quietly worried about the Haversons, some are on edge about what the Jarl might do. It is a tense place, the common room, but soon enough help-yourself ale is flowing at least…

As others take up hushed conversations, Anora grabs Dufgal and takes him to the side for one of their own.

"Ty has the right of it, Dufgal! Our man is not here! The three of us here have made too much of an… impression… to go wandering about the village without getting a spear in our bellies for the trouble.

But you…" she says, raising an eyebrow at the man.

If Anora was playing on his sentiments or not, mattered little to him for Dufgal was intoxicated by her presence. She could have told him to volunteer for the lottery or head back to Garion’s Folly and turn himself in. He’d do it. For the fair lady. And, still, she made a great case which would later occur for him as a sign of respect. But for now, he was her thrall.

why yes milady, I ‘member that Nothan fella pointin’ out the abandon’d ‘ouse. ‘E said there’s a animal pen ‘round back of it so I’se could use that to make my way in, see?

And the awkward man leaves quickly and quietly with not much more to say. He has his mission. Investigate the Dolsten place then report back. He resigns himself to eat some jerky since it seems as though a hot meal is not forthcoming.

"I leave the specifics to you, Dufgal. Good man!" she says with an assuring nod. "Bring him to us, if you can, so that we might satisfy our contract and be away before too long!"

She lets the man leave, and returns to the others. They made a fine spectacle, the three of them. Still, the more eyes on them, all the better for Dufgal’s quest!

Aldric moans pathetically in his puddle. His spirits could not be lower!

"Wring yourself out, man!" Anora says with not insignificant bite. "We need wits about us tonight, not wet rags!" she goes on, not speaking at all literally to the moaning man.

"Ty, perhaps we could avail ourselves of some of this Broegan’s wear? A little big for Aldric here, but it’s likely he won’t miss it." she says, thinking the man wouldn’t last long trying to steal their way back to their employer in wet clothes on a cold night.

"The water is ever flowing, Anora. New clothes will just soak through. The Bitch Queen is teaching me a lesson. Woe is ever me!"

He raises his hands to his face as if to smother himself, but he stops. As the water continues to flow from his every pore, he notices it is washing away the grime of many days' travel. The sweat, dirt, and other stains all washing away. A realization slowly dawns on his face.

"Pelagia is not punishing me... She is cleansing me! Ridding me of the filth that accompanies the unclean land dwelling..."

"Praise the Bitch Queen! Praise Pelagia!"

Watching the water endlessly drip and trickle off of the priest's body, then puddle on the floor around him, Ty swallows an uncomfortable knot in his throat.

"Praise Pelagia," he croaks, a flaccid echo.

It's disgusting, frankly, and Aldric was no vision of loveliness to begin with. What's the matter with these human deities? Torments, Tyravasiel-Llir can understand; crass torments ought to be beneath a goddess.

"As it happens, I have an idea where the innkeeper's privy chamber might be." The elf crooks a finger, then totters back towards the side hall he explored earlier. "Perhaps we can find some sort of tub where Father Aldric may... ooze in peace."

OUTIDE OF THE WOLF-SPEAR (DUFGAL)

As Ty, Alderic and Anora remain inside the Wolf-Spear, Dufgal slips outdoors to see what else is going on in the village of Hirot. The town is quiet and the night's shadows hide the man's passage as he heads back towards where Nothan the Younger had pointed out the tanner's shop. The full moon leers, and there are the faint sounds of a gathering emanating from the Jarl's hall, up on the hill above the market square. There are fires burning within that building now, and the moonlight glints off the distant spears of two men standing guard by the great hall's main doors.

The tannery, by way of contrast, is in a shambles. The place is dark and silent as a grave; a pair of heavy wooden shutters lie splintered on the ground beneath an open front window. A shadowy pen dominates the back of the property; no animals seem to be rooting around or dozing in that yard. The stout-looking front door is closed and no light or smoke leaks from the cold hearth inside.

Dufgal assumes that, if any part of this place is visible and under watch, it will be the front door. So, he slips from shadow to shadow until he can assess the ingress around back. He imagines that the tanner must have a way to the pen from the house so he will go in through that out door.

OUTIDE OF THE WOLF-SPEAR (DUFGAL)

Slipping around to the back of the tannery reveals three things to Dufgal. First, the partly covered workshop -- which the thief smells long before he sees it. There are hides piled and tools strewn... but the man's eye is drawn to the grim scene in the pen. Whatever was in there -- maybe some chickens, a pig, perhaps a couple of goats? Their once bloody and now partly rotted remains are strewn about the muck and the shit. It's a grisly scene, with hooves and hairy ears and beaks and patches of fur poking out here and there.

Also, sure enough, there's a back door. It stands open, looking like it's been partly thrown off its hinges -- perhaps from some force coming from inside the house.

Stepping lightly through the grisly scene, Dufgal aims for the back door, scanning as he does for any clues of human remains ; living or dead.