DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

AT THE CHURCH OF JUSTICIA (TY)

Aldric takes a deep breath as the door swings open. Ah, but to be a simple potato farmer again!

Dufgal, feeling less wary with Orioc attending to the task as well, gives Ebbe a look of assessment and finally says, "Meet us in the middle o’ needs and wants, girl. I’se thinkin the sun-a-setting is too late seein as we’se need the hour to git there." The thief seems unaware that he may be omitting some context.

YMAE'S HUT (ALDRIC)

The door creaks loudly as it swings open, allowing Aldric a direct line of sight into the shadowy depths of the little building. He remembers from before that it seems so much bigger on the inside than it does on the out... and he remembers the candles, the fire where Ymae had spun glowing golden thread. Now -- now it seems a very different space.

It seems cold. Gloomy. Abandoned.

"'Ang on, I got a candle," Catkins says as she hops down from the window and joins Aldric at the entrance. She's struck a spark and lit the thing in an instant, and the shadows inside the witch's abode seem to eat the light coming from the flickering flame when she holds it up.

The strange-looking girl's brow wrinkles.

"Not good," she says.

AT THE CHURCH OF JUSTICIA (TY)

A few dozen villagers have settled into the church as Ty sits in Beacom's overstuffed chair in the priest's rather ostentatious bedchambers. There's an ornate and fully equipped writing desk, a four-post canopy bed, multiple paintings, clothing with gold-threaded edgings, a very ornate-looking silver oil lamp and more.

In the small chest on the elf's lap, he has collected together his thievings, which impressively include a thousand carefully stacked silver coins, three hundred coppers and eighty gold. Additionally, treasures (found in trunks and drawers and beneath floorboards and hidden in the backs of wardrobes) consist of a heavy ingot of pure copper, a delicate silver crown, child-sized and platinum chased, and a beautiful silver locket in pristine condition. The locket has the whiff of strong magic, Ty thinks, and his elfin senses can faintly detect that a collection of old, blood-stained bandages appear to have been ensorcelled at some point.

THE WOLF-SPEAR (ANORA)

Careful study reveals to Anora what she is looking at: some of the spells that Ymae likely knows! They include Enlarge / Reduce, Ventriloquism, Patron Bond, Cantrip, Spider Climb, and Forget.

It is difficult for the woman to not be giddy about the magical treasures laid out before her, but she is soon drawn in by Calindonadrius's theoretical writings on the nature of Transcendental Phlogiston, and how it might be best summon, harnessed, and dismissed. The essay is illuminating, and by the time Anora is finished she wants nothing more than to read it again! For as much as she grasped, there are theorems and equations and connections she cannot quite yet fathom!

Knowing the value of service work, Dufgal reaches into his coin pouch and fishes out 10sp.
"You’se won’t be an apprentice for long wif this fine work! Many thanks."
He hands over the coins to Ebbe as she hands him the warhammer which can now no longer be concealed. So, the burly man hefts it on his shoulder proudly.

Aldric gives Catkins an approving look, then pushes her into the hovel, with her candle lighting the way. Much potential!

He calls out into the darkness, hoping to catch Ymae's ear. "Ymae, I have returned for that which I bargained for. The hour has come for us to slay the Hound." He holds his oar with Pelagia's symbol facing outward, as a ward against trouble.

To Catkins, he whispers "Touch nothing, lest I bade you do it. This is no squatter's hovel, but the home of a powerful practitioner of mystic arts. Any one of these things might turn you into a newt or capture your soul."

Aldric has no idea if that's true, and actually kinda doubts it, but he figures it help keep the little nipper on good behaviour.

Ty hums a little tune-- arrhythmic, discordant, but strangely haunting-- while he transfers Justicia's eighty pieces of gold into his own pack. It seems to him a fitting recompense for all of his efforts on behalf of the Fates in this human village. Who knows, he might even share the bounty with his confederates-- those who survive the night, at any rate. The child's crown goes into the pack as well; it seems the sort of thing that might have a story behind it, if Ty can find someone to tell it.

The silver and copper coins he leaves in the chest. He fills the space once occupied by gold with the copper ingot, then closes the lid. The elf has another use in mind for these valuables.

The bandages he ignores, despite their whiff of magic, for they are befouled with human blood. Beacom's mute acolytes are welcome to them.

That leaves only the locket. Tyravasiel lets it swing gently before his face; the coarse cloth of his blindfold shifts as his eyes follow the pendant to and fro. There's magic in this bauble, too, and where there's magic there's often danger; it would be wiser, Ty reflects, not to open the thing. But how can he offer it up to his deadly pursuer if he doesn't even know what it is?

The elf presses his lips together. After a moment's indecision, he plucks the locket up by its chain until it rests in his palm. Tyravasiel turns the silver ornament in the light, examining its surface for any definite shape or inscription that might hint at its purpose.

Alone, finally, Anora slumps back in her chair, as if she had just put away a very large meal. The others would be along shortly, no doubt! Still, the woman was content at being reminded of the good old days; before swamps and cold stone. Before villagers and Jarls. The time when Anora could sit for hours and work through a scroll at her leisure.

She enjoys the warmth of the Hirotian ale house a little more before the others come back and drag her from the place she had made her den the past day or more…

AT THE WOODSMITH'S (DUFGAL)

Ebbe accepts the payment Dufgal offers with an astonished expression.

"Ten! Ten pieces of silver... for just putting a handle on!?"

The apprentice is flabbergasted, looking almost like she'd been struck!

Orioc smiles at the young, strong-limbed smith as he claps the thief on the back.

"Just take it, girl! We've need of it, and no one else in this town could do what you done in twice the time!"

YMAE'S HUT (ALDRIC)

Catkins, as crazy as the girl seems -- which is plenty crazy, to be clear -- seems to shrink down inside herself when Aldric tells her to touch nothing. The youngster has no interest in losing her soul, or in being turned into a newt... so she is careful as she holds the candle high so that they may see. Aldric calls out, but there is no answer -- at least not initially.

The wan light of the flickering flame reveals details of the inside of the hovel that runs the blood in Aldric's veins cold. The shelves and cupboards have collapsed. The furniture has rotted away as though it's somehow sat for a hundred years. The curtains and the quilted wall-hangings are moldy and black; the floorboards are separating, warped and splintered. The smell of rot accompanies this vision of a house in shambles, and then a pair of eyes open in the gloom, at the very edge of the candlelight. They are cat's eyes, but the shadowy bulk they seem affixed to looks like no cat. It is much larger.

"She told you dusk," a deep, accented voice intones, from the direction of those eyes. "And dusk it will be. No sooner. Begone now."

AT THE CHURCH OF JUSTICIA (TY)

As Ty looks more carefully at the locket, he sees that it was formed by some skilled silversmith in the shape of a small heart [❤]. There is a tiny hinge: it clearly opens to reveal something within. As he lifts it into the light, as he turns it over in his hands -- there is no inscription, no design, no engraving. What was the thing's purpose? What lies within?

THE WOLF-SPEAR (ANORA)

As Anora sits, mentally exhausted by what she has just learned, and by all the rest of the day's exploits, she watches Broegan Haverson approach.

"Anora the Blue," he says formally as he comes to stand in front of her. "You and yours have done so much. We might not beat this Hound... but now we will at least try!"

Armed with a cleaning rag, the man wrings it briefly, nervously. "So," he adds, "what is your plan then, for tonight?"