DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Seeing the elf’s departure as permission to do the same, Dufgal sets off to find a different bed to crash on, hopefully one that is not already claimed.

Aldric feels the embrace of the young barmaid faintly through the fog of extasy that results from touching the divine. As terrifying as she is, the spark of divine energy coursing through his veins is a potent drug.

"It is all Pelagia's doing - I am but a vessel, my child. Make sure to send prayers to Pelagia - both you and your father - as well as a sacrifice. The beast is of the cursed moon, and Pelagia hates the moon god, Shul. Pelagia is a powerful friend to have, given the times."

Aldric notices everyone is leaving, but the spark still flows through Aldric's veins. He returns to the baths and prays at the lip of his filthy washbasin until he nods off.

Not as certain as the others that the events of the night are truly passed, Anora tarries a while in the room with the villagers.

Should enough time pass that she can feel sure that the beast is beaten for tonight, she will retire to the room she found earlier, and fall into an fast sleep!

ACT 2

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HIROT - THE NEXT MORNING AT THE WOLF-SPEAR (ALL)

Hours pass before the village of Hirot breathes a collective sigh of relief, before its citizens unclench and dare to peek outside and make sure the Hound is gone. Sleep comes easy for some, and not at all for others, for those who have lost loved ones or had their own brushes with the horror that haunts the town.

Dawn comes all too soon, with the Jarl's Thegns riding through the streets, pounding on doors, shouting demands for an immediate assembly in the square. In their rooms, the four strangers are roused. Aldric is woken by Morgan, who joyfully reports that her father is conscious and whole. The girl spent time with the priest in the wee hours of the morning, learning certain stormy praises and prayers she would later say over Broegan in his bed.

Ty's meditations include images not of the Hound, but of something winged in the night, large enough to carry an elf as a rider. Moonlight glints off the mithril tip of a drawn arrow as a bow string is drawn tight.

Dufgal sleeps like the dead and wakes quickly when the call from outside comes; Anora rises slowly at that same moment, still tired from the prior day's many ventures. When all was quiet, she and Dolsten talked and talked... he revealing his shame over loving a man despite being married, and despite his now-dead sons. There seemed more to it, perhaps some direct connection to the Hound itself, but the hour grew too late and eyes too bleary for the woman to get to the bottom of things...

There could be no avoiding it. Not with the four of them standing out as they do! The people had turned against Anora when she sought to free the innkeeper and send him into the night after his daughter. Would they do the same today, with her standing beside the barmaid that was betrothed to death for a time?

Surely not. At least not those that she had saved with her antics. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter, if the Jarl and his men had a mind for it this morning.

Still, she supposed the crone would be there, and so a possible meeting.

"If we keep quiet and stand strong, we won’t be picked apart by the Jarl and his craven lot." she warns the others. "Endure this meeting…"

… and then meet with the crone. she thinks but doesn’t say! She assumes the others mean to break their fast and leave Hirot before night creeps in.

Aldric found it genuinely delightful to have an enthusiastic follower like Morgan in his flock. A taste of what was to come, once he had founded his mountainside temple.

Pelagia's eye was upon them, and he knew this was his moment. Before him was a test that he must succeed.

Gathered here now, in the square, he conferred with his congregation. They had proven themselves the bane of the moon beast, and worthy champions for Pelagia.

"Anora the Blue, you speak truth. Their fury will be great, for our brave actions have shown them as cowards and fools. We have set our course, and by the salty tits of Pelagia, we will keep it!"

More than twenty villagers sheltered in the Wolf-Spear overnight, and they assemble now in force after Haedrick the Thegn demanded admittance and then smashed his sword on his shield until people began to arrive.

"Ho! Listen! When the church bell chimes, assemble round the lottery box," he barks before he leaves, heading to some other building to pound and shout.

Morgan, who permitted Haedrick entry, leaves the door open behind the man to let fresh air into the place, damp as it is. Other sounds of similar rousings reach all their ears, and when the barmaid comes closer to Anora and Aldric she is dressed in a fresh skirt and a clean blouse that better conceals the impressive and mud-spattered cleavage that was on display the night before. Her hair is up, and as she catches the tail end of the priest's colorful language, she wrinkles her nose in amusement before addressing her father's saviors.

"I said it last night, but thank you for everything you done, all of you. The Jarl and his men are afraid to set foot outside that big hall, leavin' the rest of us to pay the price. He's going to be right pissed that I wasn't torn limb from limb last night, I know that much." As she speaks, the girl rings her hands in front of her, clearly anxious about what will happen outside in a few moments.

And indeed, the girl scarcely says her piece when the Justicia's heavy bell begins to toll...

"Perhaps it best if we act as if you were torn limb from limb." Anora says with a cocked eyebrow.

How many knew that the woman had survived?…

She couldn’t say. Given her venture outside of the tavern last night, it would be impossible to guess.

But then…

"Your number has already been called. Perhaps you have done your part for Hirot. Unless they mean to enter you into the drawings again!"

Dufgal hears the pounding of steel on steel accompanied by gruff and demanding shouting. He rouses from a deep sleep just slightly before deciding that the sound must be him dreaming of his father on a bender and looking for a punching target. He pulls the pillow over his head and imagines himself following a happy thread to a new dream.
It works. He drifts off and finds himself in a land of giant women, whose breasts are the mountains and their valleys are… well, their valleys. He fancies himself a bit of a spelunker. Now this is a pleasant dream he thinks just before losing lucidity.

Pleasantly unaware of Dufgal’s disembodied adventures, Anora lets loose a quick sigh, surely the first of many for the day.

"Best to plead ignorance rather than for forgiveness, Morgan." the woman counsels.

"The beast’s terms have changed, haven’t they? We don’t know why the beast didn’t accept the offering yesterday, and instead came to wreak havoc on Hirot." she says, hoping the woman understood the misdirect Anora planned.

And she would watch the face of this village magician as the story unfolded…

Like Dufgal, Ty rouses from sleep at the sound of Haedrick's shield bashing outside the Wolf-Spear's door. Unlike his companion, however, the elf does not seek refuge in dreams of enormous human women and their... assets.

Through the window, he hears something about an assembly and a lottery box, and inwardly groans. The Jarl of Hirot must be taking stock of last night's chaos. At least Ty and his fellows hadn't freed the barmaid from her sacrificial bondage; no, that was the work of her kin. At worst they could be accused of releasing her father-- which was not a crime so much as a poor exercise of judgment-- and of aiding villagers in immediate peril.

They might survive this yet, if none of them say anything foolish. Which is, admittedly, a hefty 'if.'

Tyravasiel swings out of bed. After a few arm stretches and deep knee-bends, he throws on his ratty cloak, his broad-brimmed hat, and affixes his blindfold. Taking up his cane, he assumes his bent and elderly beggar's posture, then shuffles and taps his way out into the common room.

"What's that clashing and yelling now?" he cries of the noise, too loudly and to no one in particular. "What's going on?"

"The beast returns to claim the elf!" Anora says hurriedly and with wide eyes, before returning to a calm state. A uncharacteristic, little joke to break the tension the group must surely be feeling at their predicament.

"We are to present ourselves to the lottery at once." she informs him, far more serious than before!

Pray that they can’t spell your name, Tyravasiel, so as to keep it from entering the lottery…

Early as it is, Ty retains the presence of mind not to choke or gawk when Anora references his species.

"Elf?!" he caws. "If there are elves among us, mistress, then let the beast have them! Demonic creatures, they. With their horned ears and their black hearts."

What else did the mayfly humans say about his kind? Oh yes.

"I have heard some say that they eat human children. And that human women cannot resist their terrible beauty and wander off into the wood, never to return."

Ty fishes for Anora's forearm and clutches it rather tightly.

"But surely there are no elves here my lady." Right?

Dufgal tosses and turns as the sounds of tense banter disturb his rather pleasant dreams. He tries to imagine that his father is now arguing with a neighbor who has tried to shush him. He thinks to return to his fantasy.

He is unable to shake the interruption and is now awake, recognizing the voices as, in fact, his crewmates. His crew. Yes, he has left the chaos of his home. And yes, he has been accepted as a useful member of a crew. The sound of it was thrilling. He experienced a boost of vitality and leapt from the bed, rested and restored. Oh, and aroused! He would need a minute before leaving his room.

In his dream, Dufgal explores. Like he never has before, in green lands mantled by clear blue skies, and where there are not fanged monsters and brutish trolls lying in wait, but flitting butterflies and singing, winging birds. And when he finds what he has been so achingly searching for, he plunges in without a moment’s hesitation. It is very dark and fragrant inside, causing the man to breathe deep and then navigate by touch.

He does not see the shifting of a gigantic foot, pulled from beneath its blanket of green grass and dark loam, does not see the villagers and their timber-framed houses sent tumbling by that simple, enormous shift. The rumbling landslides and rockfalls he does not notice either, powered by the subtle arching of an enormous back. He does not hear the groan that escapes those huge red lips, an exhalation of pleasure that reverberates for leagues across the countryside. A massive hand comes to a swelling breast that has before today been a mountain, and huge but delicate fingers gently brush trees, stones, moss and earth from the rosy top of that impressive peak.

Dufgal does notice when the giantess stirs and moves her hips slightly, affected as she is by his explorations. The strangely yielding floor of the cave has become moist, and then the whole place trembles and quivers, nearly knocking the man from his feet until he—

"Trouble us not with tales of elves!" a voice says from far away, from far below. "Tis the Hound we are cursed with, not the fae folk!"

"Aye!" another distant voice chimes in. Perhaps Morgan’s? "And we will need worry about the Jarl and his men now, as well!"

The giantess moans again as she pulls her other hand from the earth’s mantle, draining a swamp and changing the course of a river as she digs her fingers back into the earth, sliding them down towards—

"Where is your fellow, Dufgal? He will be missed if he is not present!" a voice, much louder and closer, says. Dufgal’s eyes are suddenly open, and he is no longer spelunking. He lies abed in the damned village of Hirot, in quite a randy state.

Downstairs, the occupants of the Wolf-Spear have thrown open the main door and begin their march to the market square, to the platform and the big wooden box the lots are drawn from…

Dufgal feels the sweat on his brow meet the cool air of the room and he shivers. His whole body feels damp actually, so he turns the inside of his cloak into a bath towel for a moment and then begins his slow walk down to the common room. He tries to act normal, but hiding his feelings has never been his strong suit. He is relieved to see that, by the time his feet finish the stairs, most of the Wolf Spear inhabitants have already left for the market square. He doesn’t walk swiftly, but he aims to catch up before anything significant happens.

"A morning’s jest. Perhaps you’re not familiar with the mannerisms of the city folk. Apologies for causing you distress." Anora says with a roll of the eyes for Ty’s benefit.

The people had said it themselves. They themselves would surely welcome a host of fae folk through the village gates, if they only promised to deal with the dog.

Anora guides the poor beggar out of the inn and into the square, to see what awaits them.

THE LOTTERY (ALL)

As the last of the bell-tolling resounds through Hirot and into the misty, surrounding woods, Anora and her cadre exit the Wolf-Spear and follow the townsfolk the short distance to the village square, the open space used as a market and a place of assembly. The sky is gray overhead as the smallfolk gather and mutter, clearly a bit fearful as the Jarl and Sylle Ru proceed from the great hall down the winding road to the square.

The seven Thegns are armored and astride their horses, whose stamping hooves pound the traces of blood from last night's killings into the morning muck. It drizzled in the hours before dawn, and as a result the whole town seems mud-caked and miserable. At the center of the proceedings, as Jarl Griegor approaches, are the blanket-covered remains of those who were killed by the Hound. What remains could be found, at any rate. Many eyes turn to the four strangers as they approach, and to red-faced Morgan, who's name they all saw drawn from the heavy lockbox that dominates the main platform the day before.

The whole population must be here -- there are dozens of people milling, standing, and waiting... including some the travelers have not yet met. One of them, a man dressed in the fine white robes of a Justician priest, berates the crowd, naming their sins as the reasons the Hound has descended on the town. His voice barks across the plaza as his acolytes close up the small but impressive church behind him, also hurrying to the gathering.