DCC DotSK: Act 1-3

Ty goes pale.

Run, murmurs the quickened beat of his heart. Run. He should leave Morgan Haverson, leave his companions, leave Hirot to its plight and just run. North or south, east or west, it didn't matter; he just had to put miles between himself and that face of vengeance in the window. As many miles as he could.

But a second thought strikes him: perhaps the Dark Lady didn't see him. Doesn't know he's here, disguised by his beggar's weeds. If so, then abject flight my give him away and quicken her pursuit. If so, then he should lay low and pray she passes on, thinking he's still somewhere ahead of her. Then Ty could double back and have all the world before him...

The elf takes a shuddering breath.

With deceptive calm and a very, very soft voice, he says, "We should move to the back yard, madam, to meet the skald. There we shall be secluded from the eyes of thegns and cutpurses alike." And from those of immortal wrath, he silently prays.

Taking the human maiden by the arm-- forgetting, in his distress, that he is meant to be blind-- Tyravasiel-Llir starts around the side of the Three Rats, into the yard that it shares with the surrounding structures.

"Magical thread in the clay?" Anora repeats back with some theatrical shock, hopeful that Dufgal is listening from some hidden nook, and goes about procuring some for the group in his own way…

"That is very clever! And powerful magic indeed!" Anora says, massaging the woman’s ego. As for her own ego, Anora had to admit that it was a fine bit of magic, if not a very selfish piece.

"Would a spell such as that be within the grasp of a novice?" she says, motioning to herself.

At the mention of Ulfheonar, the man in the shadows perks up. He takes it as a sign that they must go to this kings tomb. The skald must've been right. And now Dufgal had a map, not that he was sure how to make sense of one. Well, he hoped it was the map of the greater area. He so meant to be useful to the quest.

Then he hears the way Anora threw her voice in his direction when repeating the thing about the magical thread. Was she trying to suggest that he light the magical thread on fire? Or pull it as he walked away to unravel the hut like a sweater? Or something else entirely? He felt like asking, but dared not risk his cover. The tone in the room just changed in a very strange way. Dufgal had learned that when people suddenly start pretending to be nice to each other in a conflict not to trust it.

As he contemplates his next move, he fondles his garrote wondering what it might feel like to choke the life out of a human. Would it buck very much like a goat? Would it shudder in its last breath? He thinks to himself, this may not be a magical thread but it’s sure powerful.

Aldric was standing in his glory, staff all lit up and majestic, ready to kick some witch ass! And then, this Anora the Blue pulled the rug out from under him! Used her trickery to rope the Mad Widow into their doing. And now she was just running her mouth? His hand gripped the blessed oar so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

But, then again, she couldn't have done this without his Pelagic blessing utterly shocking and blinding the witch. Yes, that's correct. Her wizard tricks were only effective because of his powerful magic!

But, even in his deepest megalomania, a part of him couldn't help but realize what Anora had accomplished was both powerful and clever. Perhaps this was the doing of the divine magic coursing through his veins, forcing him to see truth. That made her both a potent ally and a potential rival ...

A part of him absorbed Anora's conversation with the Mad Widow, but another part of him questioned if some of these trinkets might be of use in their fight against the wrteched Moon beast- wards against evil spirits, perhaps, empowered in similar ways to her threaded walls?

"Knowledge is fine gift - you have lit our path. But there is much danger ahead. Be it fetish or talisman or potion brew, what magical aegis might you provide your friends to safeguard our quest?"

It was all Anora could do to stop her face from blanching at the thought of what the witch was asking. The witch’s own bargain to Anora was momentarily forgotten, as the woman wrestles the muscles of her face into submission, so as not to offend their host.

Her stomach churning, and her mind whirring, she waits for Aldric’s answer.

Aldric is, for once, speechless. Once he overcomes the shock of the request, he realizes there isn't much he can do. Curse my animal magnetism and aura of sexual majesty!

But the blessed part of his brain is working stronger than his usual, self-inflated mind. "She wants to give us shackles by roping me into this ... union? But all the world is in shackles - some you can see and some you can't. And don't forget, the worst shackles are the ones Pelagia has you wrapped up in. Success here in Hirot will help to loosen that. Is there anything else that matters?

He looks at the crone and sighs. "Let me go outside and take a piss first."

Anora clears her throat, as Aldric makes his exit. She smiles at the witch, and then says:

"Are you sure you want one so old and infirm? Surely there must be another in Hirot that you’ve set your heart on?"

Another moment, and she gets to her feet!

"A big moment for dear Aldric, you understand! Let me go and talk with him!" she says, excusing herself and then slipping out after the man.

She advances on him quick and speaks low!

"Don’t be a fool, Aldric! Even now, Dufgal will be plucking some thread from the wall! Tell the witch you need some time to get your affairs in order, and promise to return! Say you couldn’t dream of it until the hound is put to bed! Say what you will…" she says. She throws her hands up.

Just don’t tie yourself to the witch so easily…

Daydreaming about traveling to new and exotic places in his recently acquired maps, Dufgal lost track of the conversation in the witch’s hut once it had become benign. He was imagining himself being tiny and exploring the maps as if they were the right sized actual places.

Then he notices Aldric and Anora leaving. Wait?! What!? Did I hide so well that they forgot about me? What do I do?

The thief barely informed his legs of his plan to stay put when he found them carrying him out right behind the Lady Anora. He arrived just as she was pronouncing what she thought he should be doing. His jaw slacked and his eyes glossed.

"I do not know why I said that," Morgan Haverson murmurs, and Tyravaiel-Llir heaves a long-suffering sigh.

"I do," he says.

The Fates. Bitches of Law, as surely as the goddess holding Alaric's leash is the Bitch of the Waves. When Morgan spoke those words that weren't her own, Ty felt the tug of the Sisters' collar around his own throat. Perhaps his glimpse of the Elfin Lady in the window was their doing as well, a vision and warning of things to come.

Pelagia may oppose herself to the Hound, on the principle of ancient enmity between moon and sea; it seems the Three Sisters have opposed themselves to Sylle Ru's lottery, on the principle of Fate perverted. What must Ty do to appease them, and keep himself clear of Elfland's vengeance? Must he expose the fraud?

"When Wee Tocs returns, buxom madam, I must have a word aside with him," Ty explains to Morgan. "I fear that the matter of your village lottery box demands my attention, as much as the skald's fate demands your own."

Aldric laughs as he sprinkles on the witchcraft trinkets arrayed outside.

"Bind me, Anora? Ha! Nonsense. More likely she is to bind the ocean to her doorstep. The Witnesses of Pelagia are famous for taking women at every port and leaving behind a slew of children across the trade lanes. Nay, she shall have her moment of bliss, and then we are off."

"Now, I do not relish this task - in fact, it is a tremendous sacrfice - but I will do what I must to satisfy the demands of the Bitch Queen of the sea!"

THE SIGN OF THE THREE RATS (TY AND MORGAN)

It is not long before the back door of the ramshackle inn opens and both Wee Tocs and Lloré emerge into the muddy, stinking yard. The outhouses, such as they are, smell like they haven't been cleaned since they were first dug, and Ty briefly wonders if all the dirt in the rear of the building is in fact night soil.

"Be careful crossing the seer and his master, they are petty, spiteful men," Morgan says before she goes to the skald, whose grin is wide as he runs to his healthy-figured and suddenly very body conscious friend.

"Morgan!" the man-bun-wearing-poet exclaims as he takes the girl into his thin arms, "You came!"

Morgan smiles as they embrace, but it is not hard to tell she is the less enthusiastic of the two, shrinking a little from his attentions. Once she's released, the girl speaks quietly with the man as Wee Tocs suddenly clears his throat and holds out his palm to Ty.

"As promised, and subtle as a shadow on a moonless night, I'd say. Three silver coins, aye?"

"There’s little fear of this one bearing you any children!" Anora says, batting away the idea with the wave of her hand! At least she hopes that was the case.

Seeing Dufgal coming out of the house looking rather innocent, Anora rolls her eyes and is suddenly more inclined to see the cleric back into the house!

"Away, and do your service to Pelagia! Dufgal and I shall see that the people of Hirot hear of your sacrifice!" she says, almost grabbing him by the shoulders and ushering him back in.

"Just procure some of the thread, Aldric!" she stresses. "Pluck it from the witches… nest yourself, if needs be!"

Not really focused on being concealed on his way out, Dufgal wonders whether the witch (or her cat) witnessed his exodus.

Aldric finishes up his business. He does not register any mocking or sarcasm in Anora's tone - her words ran true with his idea of the sacrifice he was making, and he appreciated the acknowledgement. He doesn't bother to do up the string on his trousers, and begins singing a holy song as he girds himself for the work ahead.

"The waves are high, the waves are low
and our Mother will always know

The waves are high, the waves are old
and the bottom of the sea is oh so cold

The waves are high, the waves are home
and that is where we all will go

Sister wave, she carries me
Mother tide, she turns me up
Grandma storm, the bitch she is,
TAKES ME OUT TO SEA!"

It sounds like a sea shanty to all that hear him, and he marches back in with Anora's forceful arms at his back. He holds his staff erect - no, the oar, you dirty minded readers! - with Pelagia's twice-rolling wave still aglow. He presents it as an aegis for any unforeseen complications that might result from his action!

He forces himself to look upon the crone as he re-enters the hovel, and sees not an old Crone but a beautiful young woman! "Praise Pelagia!" he mutters under his breath, truly grateful for his godess's reprieve here, or so he sees it.

"Is every cleric so… gushing in their service, Dufgal?" Anora asks the rogue once Aldric has climbed back into the witch’s hovel. She felt better that the man did not feel like his arm was being twisted in the matter. She had done her bit…

In answer to Anora, Dufgal very matter-of-fact,
I’se never heard one so…. eager, milady. ‘E is unique in that.
His eyes follow Aldric, admiringly.