DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

"Just so," Sylle Ru says to the wizardess, as tired of her as she is of him.

Taking his leave, preparing to follow behind the two Thegns carrying the box, he adds, "Come when the bell next tolls, Anora the Blue. Come, and stand before the Fates Three."

The crowd is thinning as Anora re-joins Ty, and as the elf spies a knot of young ne'er-do-wells lingering near the east edge of the open market square. Among those greasy-haired, slick-fingers urchins is none other than Wee Tocs.

The boy just lifts his chin slightly when he spots Ty across the cobbled plaza, acknowledging his awareness of the silver-haired fae, and perhaps pointing him out to his fellows.

The townsfolks have given Ty a wide berth after his revelation, but now two Thegns still astride horses watch him carefully, despite the retreat of the Jarl and Sylle Ru.

Dufgal was momentarily lost in fantasy and didn’t really care if any of it was true. He liked the story that was playing out in his mind.

He snapped back to reality as he realized that the tension in the market square had grown colder and quieter. People dispersing allowed him to locate his crew more easily.

"You’se reminded me that I left the others wondring my wheresabouts too long. I’se best get back. Awful nice sittin’ ’ere with you. Good luck with… your pashuns." He immediately blushed as he said this last comment, but shrugged and rose to his feet and left the hedge.

I’m sure I’ve stood before them once enough already today… the woman can’t help but think, but fails to throw a final barb at Ru. She was sure that he would fill the box to stuffing with slips of paper all bearing her name.

No matter. They would have a hard time binding the wizardess and carting her off towards the pillars, that much she could promise.

Fortunately, Ty's blindfold makes it hard to determine just where attention has strayed. He can glance from Tocs and his crew, to the mounted thegns now monitoring him, without betraying the former to the latter.

Probably best, the elf thinks, not to let those thegns know that he's been talking to the local urchins. For the urchins' sake and his own. They'd probably bolt anyway, if Ty tottered over there with the riders' eyes upon him.

So he declares, to the open air, "The Fates have withdrawn, and I must rest." Turning, Tyravasiel starts back towards the Wolf-Spear at a stagger. He hopes he can make it there before falling on his face.

What in the twelve hells has he done? Why involve himself-- why involve his patrons-- in the affairs of this flyspeck village? Was it mere pique at having been sneered at by humans as far beneath him as an enterprising squirrel is beneath them? Are the Weird Sisters somehow guiding him towards this absurd course by means of his own impulses?

Ty knows only that he needs a seat. A seat and a drink.

Aldric returns to the company of others with the departure of the Crone, Ymae. What an exit she just cut, he admits to himself. I have a thing or two to learn. But perhaps not so much, as he had procured an audience with her. Surely, her knowledge would lead them to discover the creature's weakness, or some such thing.

He is quick to inform his comrades about his pending audience with Ymae, and suggests they attend the meeting if they have no other pressing matters to attend to.

THE WOLF-SPEAR (ALL)
A pall falls over Hirot as the gathering at the market well and truly goes to pieces, with the muttering villagers returning to their homes to bolt doors and shutter windows… and to waitfor the inevitable ringing of the church bell. A lot of blood had been spilled the prior night, the Jarl’s fury was something none of them wanted to face, and the stress of the lottery weighed heavy on hearts and minds.

Inside the Wolf-Spear, where the visitors to the town retreat along with Morgan, Dolsten and a few others, there is time to pour drinks, rest backs, and consider next moves. Feeling halfway himself, thanks to Aldric’s attentions the prior night, Broegan puts in an appearance as well. The man does not look well, but considering his injuries…

Dufgal snickered a bit as the confirmation of his suspicions came as a whisper from the poet. The thief didn’t read, but he had heard poets and bards at the ale house spin tales of romance. He felt as though he was a minor character in one right now. So he actually changed his mission from connecting with his party to delivering the lovers’ message. He must find Morgan and fast. She must be heartsick from worry.

Once inside the inn, Ty aims for the nearest chair and collapses into it. He slouches until his feet are stretched out in front of him and his head is nestled well down on the back rest, face to the rafters, prone as he can be without his bottom slipping off the seat. One hand curls over his hidden eyes to block out any light.

He's spent.

"We could just go back to Garion's Folly. Collect our payment," Ty says at last, voice half-muffled by his palm. "We know why good Dolsten here didn't show up for the Harvest Faire. That was our charge, was it not?"

Someone has to say it. It may as well be the asshole elf.

"We could." Anora admits simply, letting the elf fall from her shoulder to the chair.

"But for the fact that those horsemen outside would run us down on the road. And if we stray into the woods to avoid them…" she says, stopping up short. They had all witnessed the grisly scene a few nights before; the brutalized hunters and their camp.

"One of us is sure to be drawn from the box once the bell tolls." she announces to the others then, and wonders if it might be her! Three of them had given more than enough reason to be done away with.

"We ought to prepare our answer to that." she says. Could they manage that much at least?

"No one's been able to leave," Broegan says from the chair he's resting in. It's a miracle the man is alive after the wounds he suffered from the Hound... a Pelagian miracle.

After a nudge from his daughter, the man looks at Aldric and adds, "And thank you, priest. I'm told your standing with the sea goddess saved my life."

Quieter, Dolsten asks, "Is he alright?" as he motions towards Ty with a thumb. And then, softer still, he adds, "That box tumbling down like it did, off that stout post... was that magic then?"

The younger Haverson pipes up at that, the one who should be shreds by now, in the Jarl's mind.

"Like with them lights, last night, that blinded the beast!"

Dufgal lays eyes on Morgan and a lump forms in his throat. The message he carries is rolling over in his mind. He approaches her leering smilingly. He waits for her to notice him and then whispers, "True love is a sign of three rats. Wait, I’se got it wrong. The poet man wants you to know that ’e is waiting for you."

Aldric adds to Anora's reasoning in defence of defending Hirot.

"I am now pledged to intervene. Pelagia has made her intentions known, and even if I desired it, I cannot escape it anymore than a fish can escape the water. Nay, my god and I are dedicated to the saving of Hirot."

This is what he says loudly, but just to his company he says more words: "That doesn't mean we are trapped here. We all want more than just paltry sums earned from odd jobs between towns. This is a chance to win measurable influence and substantial wealth. Or, at least more than we are promised upon our return to Garion's Folly."
When Broegan offers his thanks, Aldric turns the screw just a bit. "Indeed, it was. I am sure we can count on your support in our actions against this demon wolf. Our fates seemed to be knotted together for the foreseeable future. I am set to meet the crone, Ymae. Perhaps there something you can tell me about her?"

Pelagia and the Fates reaped the greatest of the glory on the matter of saving Hirot from the beast. Scarce praise was meted out to Peter, the blacksmith boy, that had taken Anora’s coin in exchange for the sword she carried.

"Greater acts of magic will be needed to rip the rot out root and stem." Anora sighs, and perks up once mention of the crone is made.

"I don’t suppose the answers she will dispense will involve a simply climb over the village wall? Something buried but a stone’s throw away from the Jarl’s ‘protection’." she snarks. Nothing would be that easy, she knew.

"Tis... what now?" Morgan says to Dufgal when he tries to deliver his message. "The... the poet-man? Do you mean Lloré? He's -- he's dead, I fear. Slain last eve."

"He was with me last night. We freed Morgan from the stones, then Lloré lashed himself to that old altar. I fear to tread there and try to pick up what's left of the poor man."

When Aldric, a bit oblivious, asks about Ymae, it's Broegan who speaks up.

"The widow is mad as they come, your... holiness. She huddles in her strange abode... hurling curses at her shadow, flinging her own shit at anyone who comes too close."

"You're thinking," Dolsten adds quietly, "that she might know some secret to killing the hound, yes? It's possible. It's rumored that her magics were once great."

"I’se sat with ‘im in a hedge not an hour past. ‘E’s very much alive and told me to tell you’se that."
At this point, Dufgal has forgotten to whisper.
"E’s at the other tavern. The one with rats."

When word of shit slinging is brought up, Anora can’t help but feel that the crone has met her match in Aldric, who only last night seeped the tavern entire in his waters…

"Is her name in the box?" she asks them, as if they’d know.

"Her magicks may have waned, but perhaps the magician still fears a confrontation with her."

Morgan pushes herself off the wall she’s been leaning on so she can move closer to Dufgal. Her brow knits; she is clearly surprised by this news.

"Fair hair and skin, a scruffy beard," the brunette asks pointedly, "yay tall, slender-boned… wears his hair in a gods-awful bun?"

When Dufgal nods, Morgan looks incredulously towards Dolsten, who shakes his head slightly.

"The boy might have slipped off into the night before the Hound arrived. I did wonder if he had the courage to go through with it as you and I made for the village, Morgan. Perhaps finding its dinner plate empty is what angered the Hound last night."

"That’s of no matter," the bandaged inn-owner says from his seat. "Whether the thing sups on us one at a time at those fucking stones, or smashes into our homes, we’re all for the same fate if nothing changes."

Then, when Anora asks questions about Ymae, Broegan continues. "Aye, her name’s in there, with everyone else’s. They made quite a show of entering even their own scrawled scripts, did the Jarl and his pet soothsayer."

"And they are fearful of the Widow," the barmaid adds in. "She’s mostly kept to herself these last years, because people are afraid of her. The Jarl, the seer and those stupid, brainless Thegns… none of them dare cross her. But she’s not so bad — when I was just a girl the boys would sometimes sneak up to knock on her door and then run away, or pelt her home with rocks. Ymae knew them boys, and never made a fuss."

Aldric's mind has gone down a few flights of fancy as the discussion goes back and forth. He might seem addled (and he is), but there's also a crafty genius to him. He is distracted as he mentally examines the divine gifts that Pelagia has washed up on his mind this day, and wonders why she equipped him with these tools. Surely, she has chosen them with a purpose in mind. One of these in particular - a dweomer to Detect Evil and harm - seems quite useful to keep up his sleeve. He intends to cast it before he meets with the Chrone. Speaking of which, didn't her name just come up?

"Hmm? Widow? What's the story there, child? Tell me all that you know, even if it is rumour."