#he’s rich and lives in a mansion and runs a tavern but that’s all mostly inherited

[qwortywarrior]

“Burn.”

[chrysalispen]

#FFXIVWrite2019 - 1. Voracious

let’s see how this goes

No spoilers, just some fun WoL fluffy kidfic <3

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

-----------------

1. voracious

----------------

The fat sausage links fair gleamed in their casings under the noonday sun.

From his hiding place behind the stack of crates, Sev felt his mouth water. The boy licked his lips, tail lashing against his dirty legs. He imagined the meat, juicy and flavored with all sorts of spices and just ever so slightly smoky, maybe with a piece of fresh baked bread. At the thought of a proper meal, the tip of his tongue slid over his new sharp canines that he still wasn't quite used to just yet. He'd only lost the last of his milk teeth two years ago.

Two years, he thought, surprised. Two years since Mum left.

At least, he was fairly sure that had been two years ago. Sev didn't have the best grasp on time. Like many of Ala Mhigo's smallfolk, the young Miqo'te largely knew the passing of the year by the turn of the cold months. But that sounded right. He'd dropped the first tooth not long before the old king had died, and not long after that the Northmen had come in their strange flying metal machines and impenetrable black armor. 

The Garleans, as they called themselves, had put the king's council to the sword and sacked the city, and two years later they had the full run of the place. Not that it had especially changed his circumstances.

His thoughts turned away from his newly sharp teeth and back to the meat they wished to tear, as though his hunger had a mind of its own. The old man wasn't looking in his direction at all! He was helping a woman with her purchase, a heavyset lady in fine linens and new leather that probably cost as much as the whole butcher's stand.

Sev felt a surge of hope. If he was careful he could have what he wanted and no one would be the wiser. His prey was one of several draped over a piece of metal that had been hammered into the wooden pole. One good jostle would cause it to fall.

Why, I could just knock that old link right off its hook. 

He'd never have a better chance. Maybe if he just leaned forward as if he were trying to look at the wares...

"Hey!" the lady shouted in alarm. She'd chanced to look up just in time for the boy to lean in from the crates, his hand wrapped around one of the links. "Thief! Thief!"

Sev leapt back with a startled cry, nearly crashing into the crates he'd been hiding behind, and took off running with his prize clutched in one fist and the old man screaming for help at his back.

===========

Two bells later he had to admit to himself that he was hopelessly lost.

Once upon a time, he'd known the way back home by heart. When Sev was little, he always knew when it was getting time to pay the rent on their apartment. Rent week was when the larder was empty and Mum started taking her visitors. She'd hang a length of red cloth outside her door, usually the threadbare handkerchief she kept in the drawer of her ancient desk (which sat under the only window in the whole apartment), and tell him to go amuse himself outside with his friends. When she was done, the cloth would be gone and he'd go back inside and she'd be there waiting to send him to the marketplace and refill their larder.

My Seven, my last and best boy, she'd praise him. Such a good son. Then she'd hug him, her body damp through her homespun, as she pressed a small pouch of gil into his little fingers. Whatever Mum and her visitors talked about, she always bathed before she took her red handkerchief down from the door, and it was that he remembered, his nose full of the stringent smell of lye, and of the scents she liked to use in her bathwater.

Over the next year the red handkerchief had stayed up for longer periods, days at a time, even a sennight sometimes. At first Sev had gone hungry, more than willing to wait for Mum to finish her long visits. But finally he'd given in to his hunger, and sometimes the cloth would be removed from the door and sometimes it would not, and he'd had to dig out his own bolt-holes for sleep, or offer to share his food with one of the other kids in exchange, or. Something.

Then finally one day he'd come home and the red cloth had been gone and so had his Mum. None of their neighbors knew what had happened to her, whether or not the imperials had taken her away or where she'd gone or if she'd ever be back, and none of them particularly seemed to care. One woman had scowled at him and said 'good riddance to that harlot' and closed the door in his face, and Sev had been alone for good.

That first night, he'd curled up on the empty doorstep and cried himself to sleep waiting for her. Eventually he'd forced himself to let those memories fade and grow sepia-toned. He never did return to that little apartment in its old and unfashionable district, a mere stone's throw from the slums where he now scraped out a living. There, the streets crisscrossed and meandered in strange ways into ancient taverns and alcoves so deeply hidden they never saw the blazing sun even in the heat of the day.

But this wasn't the so-called 'Ala Mhigan District' either. All he saw on either side were enormous mansions and iron gates and improbably green lawns.

So, it didn't take Sev very long to realize he was lost.

This place was like an entire world apart from the rest of the city. He stood before a big stone fountain with fresh running water that gurgled prettily out of the top, splashing into a pool with little red flowers floating in it. It was surrounded by carefully groomed bushes and even a stone bench to sit and rest or just take in the scenery. The streets beneath his worn shoes were neatly laid brick lined with black steel, mostly new, free of potholes or chocobo guano, and lined with new trees.

People lived here, he marveled. In the days of the old king, the royals had all lived here. But they were vanished or dead or both and now the only occupants of these fine houses were wealthy merchants and imperial army officers. There'd be no one of his like within walls so grand, unless they were working the grounds as ser-

The loud, thumping rattle of multiple footsteps marching in tandem brought him out of his awed reverie. Sev froze on the spot, his ears laid flat and twitching. He knew that sound well enough: an imperial patrol. They were heaviest in the poor areas, but it seemed even the idle rich saw their share of Garlean steel.

And the patrol was coming this way; he'd be arrested for sure the minute they saw him, thrown in their gaol and left to rot if he was lucky. He knew exactly how he looked: a scruffy, dirty street child, cheeks flushed and golden eyes wild, tearing down the streets of the Palace (no, he self-corrected, that's not right, they call it something else now) District with obviously stolen food clutched in one fist. There was exactly zero chance they would not know immediately what he'd done.

He would have run if he knew where to go, but he didn't even know how he'd got here in the first place. The more he thought about it, the more scared he became.

"You! Boy!"

That voice belonged to a child. His head swiveled from side to side, seeking its owner and finding... no one in sight? Who was talking to him then? Was he imagining things? Was it a ghost? The old folk said the Mad King had killed lots of people, even his own kin; mayhap the streets here were haunted? What if-

He let out a sharp yelp as something hard popped him in the back of the head.

"Ow!"

"Pick that up and get over here! They're coming!" 

He bent over to pick up whatever had been thrown at him and saw that it was some kind of red and green fruit that looked a bit like a pear. Then he saw the small hand waving at him. It dangled down from the branches of a low hanging old-growth tree that stood just behind a thick stone wall near one of the wrought iron gates. 

"Give me your hand, I'll pull you up!"

The voice was young and rather imperious, as if its owner were accustomed to giving orders and having them followed. Still, Sev dashed across the street and extended his hand, and immediately found himself pulled up, bodily, albeit slowly-- there was a small, pained grunt of exertion as they tried to lift him. He forced himself to stop flailing, bracing his feet against the trunk to assist. His shoes, worn down to tattered flaps, scrabbled at the bark for purchase and his tail lashed furiously, trying to help him keep his balance--but it only took a moment for his natural climbing instincts to assume control.

Once he decided he wasn't going to just drop right back to the cobbled street on his arse in front of an imperial patrol, Sev let go of that sweaty little hand, crept towards the trunk, then carefully balanced his weight across the branches beneath his feet like rough and very uneven stair steps.

"This way," the voice ordered, this time a whisper. "Don't make any noise."

He followed the child down through the tree branches, watching his steps carefully and trying to keep quiet and safeguard the only meal he'd probably get for the next handful of suns. Finally they were clear of the tree and crawling down the trunk to land in soft, manicured grass.

"There, boy. You're safe here," that small, oddly accented voice said, with a supreme confidence he wished he felt. "It'll be another half-bell before they report in. As long as you're gone before their shift change, you won't get caught."

Sev sat down with a small exhalation, cradling his ill-gotten gains (which were by now somewhat the worse for wear), and looked up to see the face of his rescuer. A very small Garlean stared back. Her hair was the color of honey, the sidelocks neatly braided, and her eyes were a very deep blue. She wore a fine pinafore dress beneath an apron currently covered in dirt and grass stains.

She also seemed to have noticed his confusion: that pale brow had knitted in a faint and curious frown, the wrinkle of it pausing just beneath the lower curve of her third eye.

"Boy?" she repeated. "Is aught amiss? Are you hurt?"

"I... n-no. I'm... I'm fine. I just..."

His stomach chose that moment to gurgle again, loud enough for both of them to hear.

"If you're hungry, then eat something."

"But these are raw."

"Ew, not those." She plucked the fruit he'd still had in one hand. "Here, you can have this. It's a mango. From Thavnair. They're good."

He just stared at her. She stared right back, carelessly tossing the fruit (mango?) from one hand to the other, those impossibly dark blue eyes tracking over his face. Then she extended her hand.

"I'm Aurelia," she said. "What's your name?"

"I.. um. Sev."

"That's short for something? Some Ala Mhigan name?"

"Uh, no." Sev stared down at the sausages in their casings, feeling small and foolish. "It's, uh. It's short for 'Seven'."

"Seven," the Garlean said, and her voice was flat and matter-of-fact in a way that clearly indicated she thought he was joking. "Right."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's a really weird name," she said bluntly.

"It's not a weird name!" Sev snapped, stung by her dismissal. "Aurelia is a weird name. What does it even mean?"

"At least my name is an actual name!" She scowled fiercely at him and stamped her little leather boot-clad foot against the grass, lower lip thrust out. "Who names their kid a number? That's just lazy!"

"My mum's not lazy, your mum's lazy!"

"My mama can't be lazy! She's dead!"

For a moment the two children glared at each other, Sev's tail thumping viciously against the grass. 

Aurelia's eyes looked a little too bright, and he almost asked her if she was going to cry before he felt the lump in his own throat and the prickling heat at his eyes, at the unbidden memory of lye soap and cardamom, and realized with horror that if anyone was going to cry, it was him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said those things about your mum. Thank you for hiding me from the ironhe-... uh, the soldiers."

She shrugged, as if the entire argument meant nothing to her.

"Are you going to carry that thing around all day?"

"It's not a thing, it's food. It's sausage."

The Garlean girl's delicate little nose wrinkled in distaste. "Whatever it is, it smells gross. I bet it's been out in the sun too long."

"It's not gross."

"It is too. If you eat spoiled meat you'll get a sour belly." She thrust a hand towards him. "Give it over. I'm throwing it in the bin."

"But I'm hungry," Sev whined. It earned him a huffed exhalation and a very dramatic roll of her eyes.

"Ugh, just-- just follow me, you big baby. I'll get you all the sausages you'll ever want."

=========

Thus did a boy named Seven meet a girl named Aurelia, and a hapless cook became utterly convinced that her kitchen was haunted by the vengeful ghost of Mad King Theodoric. Aurelia supposed they might have overdone things a little with the wailing and the creaking door-hinges.

The paring knife and half-dozen mangoes missing from the larder were more difficult to explain when Aurelia helped herself to a perfectly sizeable dinner that night, however. Her governess was perfectly well aware that she loved mangoes, was not herself Ala Mhigan, and therefore had no cause to believe in angry ghosts nicking sausages from the cold pantry. No matter how much Cook insisted otherwise.

But at least now, she had her first real friend ever. And that was worth a few stolen sausages and a night confined to her chambers without dessert.

[spitefulpumpkin]

Moonshine Lake; Ch.6: The Doctor

Mirror on AO3

Self-indulgent as hell AU fic about a boy meeting a fish creature and their unusual love story. Co-plotted with @jyagantz

Trigger Warnings: Homophobia, Bullying, Animal Cruelty, Drug Abuse, non-explicit Interspecies Sex Unbeta’d, mostly written on mobile!

Gossip spreads best between candle light and stone walls. The recent events in Adlersbrunn had reached the university late, three days after, and they tossed Jamison into a panic. Autumn had barely started and already the young man was on a carriage back, praying none of his worries ring true.

One of them wasn't. Despite the close proximity of their mansion to the woods, it and Camilla were unharmed by the bursts of fire that had spread over the surrounding greens of the town. At dusk, he decided to move along the stream. Praying his second worry wasn't true either. The story was bizarre. Farmers, craftsmen and soldiers grouped up and marched up the Moonshine Meadows, leaving behind a trail of dirt, soot and ash. Locals rumored almost a fourth of the Lord's lands are now gone. As Jamison lurked across the familiar path, he saw nothing familiar anymore. The trees were bare black skeletons made of coal, the grass was stepped flat and dead by too many feet and he was pretty sure he could smell burnt flesh from somewhere. He pushed the nightmarish thought aside. His lungs were aching from the smoke that still hang in the air when he reached the lake. Blood splatters covered the stones by the shore, the ripped nets floating on the surface. He was shaking. In the grass lay a bracelet. He recognized the seashells immediately. He collected them for Akande himself.

A scream broke through the evening air, shaking those who could hear it. And drawing up a smile on the features of the witch, who watched from the furthest corner of the dead forest, that from now on would be known as the Wilds by the locals.

At first he refused to believe. He would roam the woods and fields, every time he returned, trying to find clues, but only finding animal carcasses and broken eggs. More of them. Monsters. Bastards. Every single one in this town. They deserve no sympathy. They deserve pain. None of his bottled messages got a response. Even when he desperately tossed them into the ocean. Without a drive to return home, the man dove into his studies instead. Manically trying to keep his mind busy he tried to master whatever he could touch. Engineering. Biology. Chemistry. One of those coated him a leg. Foolish. It was worth while. He became one of the best students the university ever had. A doctor with barely thirty years old. And already graying. In the same year, Camilla had to be laid to rest, next to her beloved husband. The day after her funeral, the last staff who stayed with her until the end left the mansion as her son moved in. That was the day, on which Jamison became Junkenstein.

The doctor spent his life secluded. Even let his food be delivered rather than going out on the market himself. The only time people saw him was when he looked too deep into the glass at the tavern or when he tried to sell his ideas to a noble. He can't live off of the family's saved riches forever after all. The Lord of Adlersbrunn, who reigned over the town and its surroundings, was a gentle man. However he had little faith in the doctor. He knew his story: A former weakling, picked on by his peers for talking to himself. People called him crazy. Bewitched, even. He mostly tolerated the scientist, gave him funds to work on his weird "robots" as he called them. A promising addition to his military force for sure. This is how it would go. For over seven years. And still, the witch waited patiently.

...

It was quiet at the tavern that October night. Only the old soldier and his alchemist friend sat in their usual corner as Junkenstein bent over his notes. The secret project that had been taken form in his basement still required parts. And he would need to find a way to get those. "Evening, doc!" He twitched, glancing at the bard of the tavern. A bright young man with an even brighter smile. "What's that face about, man? Got the boot from Wilhelm again?" "If you wanna put it like that." he scoffed back, pushing his empty glass away. When Lúcio started talking to him, Junkenstein knew it was a slow business day. The bard set his lite aside. "Hey, have you heard the rumors?" "Which ones? This bloody town does nothin' but gossip." "About the swamp monster, man! The hunter has seen it. Like, two and a half meters tall, almost as wide, blue skin, sharp teeth..." "McCree talks a lot when he's tipsy. And even if, it might just be some stray mer. One of those these bastards haven't killed..." "Wait, you say there are mer people around here?" Lúcio was not originally from the town. Might explain his less superstitious attitude. "Last living ones I saw was fifteen years ago." Junkenstein hummed and left coin next to his spot on the table as he packed his books. "You saw them?" Lúcio seemed to beam in excitement. "Saw. Note the past tense, bard. They are not around anymore, because a bunch of scared farmers slaughtered them and their offspring. Those you spot nowadays probably only pass by on their way to the oceans. Like many sea creatures do." "Wow! You know a lot about them. You learned that in academia?" "Most of it." He lied. His backpack was heavy from his utensils. "...McCree saw them in the swamp, you say?" Lúcio nodded. The doctor hummed quietly before pulling his hood up.

He had become a night owl by now, using the safety of the darkness as a shield for what felt like a definite crime. The doctor often roamed the Wilds, musing in vague memories and lost dreams as he eyed the dead trees. Rain fall and decay had turned the surroundings of the old lake into a field of morass. Too quick for the doctor's liking, almost as if magic had it hand in it. But that couldn't be the case. The barren nature of the Wilds made it attractive for vagabonds who hope to find a short cut in the muddy paths. But the quicksand-like gunk had claimed countless lives by now and it still will, until it finally dries out. Junkenstein would seek out these corpses for his project, even the ones of clueless animals. It felt more tactful than raiding a graveyard, but no less illegal or ethic. Armed with a shovel and a bucket Junkenstein would slip around the trees, too familiar with the surroundings to trip over a root or fall into a puddle. Sometimes he would nick a berry from a bush here and there. A small sign that life was slowly returning to this husk of a forest.

He must have been too deep in his thoughts. Or maybe he underestimated the fatality of the darkness. But somehow, he ended up falling and not finding grip. Instantly, Junkenstein felt mud run into his boots, sucking him deeper into the wet soil of the swamp. Already knee-deep within seconds. The doctor tried not to panic...but by now, panic had become his second nature. He wound himself, trying to find a root or a tree arm he could pull himself out of. Only to drop deeper and deeper. Thighs gone. Hips gone. The metallic arm got stuck, too, drawn down by a gentle yet strong force. This can't be normal quicksand.

"Help...help!" His voice echoed. Screaming, as if he didn't know no one would hear him. He felt his body tremble, sad last attempts to free himself. The trembling followed a weep. A sob. He began to cry. Is this really how he would go out of this world? Eaten by a bog, like the people who's bodies he used to steal from here? Would he meet an angry mob of ghosts by the pearly gates? Would he meet his parents there? Or maybe even...

Through teary eyes and sad thoughts he barely noticed the muddy footsteps coming from behind his back, as well as the shadow looming over him. He only took actual notice once an enormous hand took hold of him. Following the hand that held him the doctor's eyes trailed along a strong arm covered in dark green and blue scales and many old scars. A tiny voice in him screamed in excitement. Eureka, he was right! There was a mer living in the swamp. His eyes kept wandering, but before he reached the mer's face, the large hand dragged and tugged at him, pulling him out of the sand. The doctor lost one of his shoes, but that was little damage. He sat against a large root poking out of the ground, trying to catch his breath. "Tha....thanks..." He muttered, looking up. The mer was leaving already, heavy steps taking it into the darker parts of tge woods. Junkenstein hopped up. "Oi! Wait a minute!" The creature gave off a low, rattling noise. He could barely make our their features in the shadows of the trees, but what Jamison did notice was a large gauntlet hanging from their arm, that seemed to be made of crustaceans and sea shells. He took off his glove and the scientist showed off the jewelry underneath it. His and Akande's intertwined. Slowly he raised that hand and tapped himself two times against the shoulder. "I won't harm ya. I'm a friend of ya people." The mer's eyes couldn't break through the darkness but Junkenstein felt eyes drill into him.

"Leave."

"What?"

"Leave this place. And never come back."

The mer's voice crawled under Junkenstein's skin as they inched away, disappearing in the darkness. He began to shiver. He knew that voice.

[proven-paradox]

Rosa’s Campaign Journal, Session 3

((Want to listen to us play this game? You can check the VoD over at KomodoKiss’s Twitch channel: https://www.twitch.tv/videos/308141352))

<Entry for Tempest 29, 23 P.C. continued>

After leaving the mansion, we went to the mayor’s office. Percy took the lead for this one, showing the mayor’s people to be remarkably open minded about a talking imp. Mayor Stark had gone home, but we got directions and were able to arrange a meeting with her. We were let into her home, refined but a bit minimalist inside. After explaining what we’d seen and what questions we had, we got what answers we could. She explained that she’d been attempting to get the mansion cleared of danger and restored for a long time, but town funding was too limited and the utility of doing so was never significant. When the topic of the wizard who entered the mansion before came up, she spoke with open contempt for the man, describing him as a “greedy son of a bitch.” The town payed him to find and mark traps, and also allowed him salvage rights. They could not pay him enough to remove corpses or traps. He determined that the lord of the manor was missing from his investigation. She confirmed the corpse on the third floor was expected, and that there were no keys found in his investigation. She also indicated the animated skeletons were new. However, Stark provided evidence that there were trap markings on the third floor which had been erased in the meantime, further proof that there was some conspiracy in place here.

After discussing with her for a while, my understanding of the mansion’s history is as follows. The Bertholdt family included many doctors and physicians with philanthropic tendencies, well respected and liked. At some point they discovered an inexpensive cure for a ‘plague’ that was otherwise extremely expensive to cure, meaning it affected the poor disproportionately more to than the rich. (If this was the same as the venom Derek was afflicted by, “plague” is an odd term, but those were Stark’s words. Perhaps that story is separate from the Death Sleep Venom.) One night the entire family was killed, save for the head of household, one Darius Bertholdt III. His corpse was never found. After a period where no further evidence was found, they labeled Darius the killer, swept the case into a dark corner where it was forgotten, and removed the family’s name from the history books. At this point I suspect the corpse (and accompanying wrathful spirit) was Darius, but we still have no leads on who his killers were. Based on the language in his note, I suspect it was an organization, and based on how the case was handled after I suspect one with significant political clout.

After further discussion, Stark suggested that maybe this third party needed us to open the door to bypass the flashbang trap we set off. It’s conceivable, but it seems like they already had some access to that room anyway. Darius’s hand was missing, presumably it’s the one we found on the third floor, and it was clutching the note and the key. If they planted those, then they already had access to that sanctum. If they didn’t, then how did those items get onto the third floor between the time it was searched by the town’s hired wizard and when our own investigation began? There are still many questions unanswered. Regardless, I recommended mayor Stark post guards at the sanctum. I also mentioned the cockatrice problem in the garden, which she promised to send guards to deal with.

That done, we made our way back to the inn. On the way, Percy purchased one of Fairman’s health potions, and I purchased a pair of joints and some chalk from the general store. The latter will be used mostly for research purposes; some of the figures I need to perfect are best done on a large surface, such as a wall or floor. My scratch notebook is no longer sufficient for such studies. At some point I noted Kiniky attempting to assault Percy. When I asked, the imp and warlock acted like this was completely normal, and Helja said she understood and told me I needed to “get up on yo game.” The conversation quickly went nowhere and at this point I regret asking. I still have no adequate explanation for anything that was going on there, and I suspect I’m going to have to learn to accept these idiosyncrasies from my new companions.

We met back up at the tavern (imp still striking elf, elf still standing by passively). Percy headed to Spyro’s room to fetch her while Helja and I picked a table. When Spyro and Percy came down, it seemed Spyro had physically separated Kiniky and Percy, setting him on her horns. I saw Kuro sprinting to their room at this point, trying to do so unseen. Spyro called them over, but they were already up the stairs, seeming to desire privacy for some reason. I think I spied a shield on them as they went up, but when they came down a few moments later that shield was gone. They filled us in on their progress: neither Spyro nor Kuro had anything kind to say about the kids they spoke to, calling them rather boring. Apparently they got the rumor from a gnome or dwarf from the tavern.  Apparently Derek was very keen on the rumor when they heard it, rushing off to check it out immediately. After that, Kuro quickly recounted a situation and they had had a run-in with a magically inclined dwarf previously, which at the time seemed like a possible suspect. (Not long after Kuro and Helja got a missive that gave their guy a solid alibi, leaving us with no suspects once more.) At this point I relayed what we learned with Mayor Stark to Kuro and Spyro.

Kuro and Helja got a private missive and walked away from the table to go over that. Meanwhile Spyro, Percy, and I continued discussing what we’d learned. I suggested that perhaps Derek’s eagerness was brought on by magical coercion. A properly worded Suggestion spell could have brought about that behavior, and that is a second tier spell that I could cast myself. Well within the realm of possibility for someone with the resources our third party seem to have.

Ryan called Kuro over for some small task while Helja returned to the table at this point. While they were out, Spyro and Percy spoke to Ryan asking about who might have spoke to the kids to plant the rumor for Derek. He said that there was no unusual patrons other than the man Kuro and Helja dealt with. Percy and Kiniky were still quarreling, so Spyro separated them again and gave Kiniky a sip of ale, ignoring Percy’s disapproval. Then Kuro returned to the table, visibly shaken.

They said they’d encountered one of the town guards. They said this guard let them “they’d figured out the situation” and that we didn’t need to keep investigation. Spyro talked about Kuro being attacked, in confusion. Apparently she can read lips (good to know) and what Kuro was telling us at the table didn’t match his conversation with Ryan at the bar. At this point I ceased believing anything Kuro was telling us; clearly something had happened outside that got to him. They said the guard revealed that “they” just wanted us to open the door for them, but when I pressed Kuro on who they were and what they wanted, the goliath said it was “classified,” started talking about leaving town. The rest of the party seemed keen on the idea.

At this point I stopped paying full attention. Once Kuro began recounting our time in the mansion to bar patrons, I had to leave. I despise lies in whatever form they take. The direct lies Kuro was telling us, and the recounting so exaggerated and embellished that it was practically false, was more than I was willing to stand for. I was very close to telling them to leave without me at that point. Instead I walked outside to think without the distracting sounds of a lively tavern. It seems Spyro followed me, attempting to be stealthy about it. Eventually she came to ask what was wrong, I told her of my objections to lies, and she asked if it were hurting anyone. What I wanted to say was, “Yes, obviously it hurts my feelings, you should be able to tell this because I am out here with clearly hurt feelings.” Instead, I just asked after what happened to Kuro. She made some excuse--I’d guess she’d jump at any chance for coin, so I don’t particularly care about her take on the matter. Once I went through the required social motions to get her to leave, I just returned here to my room.

I come to the end of the night in a deeply foul mood. We’re no closer to knowing who’s actually behind this, and about out of ways to find a new lead. Save for one--as I utilized my spells in combat, I gained the understanding needed to access the second tier of spells. Among my new powers is that of Augury. First thing in the morning, I will purchase a set of cards to use as a focus for this spell and hopefully divine a new lead we could use to gather more information.

But for now, I am tired. Now that this entry is finished, I’m going to do a bit of work before bed. I’ve unlocked the second tier of spells available to me, and now I must work on the third. Being able to mentally submerge myself in a context where my mindset is welcome will hopefully calm me enough to sleep.

<Begin entry for Tempest 30, 23 P.C.>

((The writing begins somewhat sloppy, but after a bit the script rights itself.))

I greeted this day with a bit more work on my circles after the required morning prayers. Going slowly but steady before being interrupted by Kuro at my door, eager to explain themself after the previous night. After the explanation I understand their actions much better. They described going out to the stables after Ryan requested it, likely under the influence of a Suggestion spell. Outside, they were the victim of a Hold Person spell. The caster--still unseen--gave them most of the answers to our investigation. We had most of it right; we were set up to open that bottom room for them, they had what they were looking for, and wanted us to stop investigating the mansion. All we’re missing is WHO these people are. Kuro didn’t see much of their attacker, but the person was human sized at least, so we know we are either working against at least two conspirators, or one who can cast Disguise Self or some other effect to appear at different heights.

Kuro said that they are willing to leave us alone if we stop our digging. Kuro advocated this action, out of concern for the people of the town. (I do think that concern is genuine, not just a veneer for cowardice.) I, for one, am not going to rest after being used for some foul organizations schemes. But I do believe that Kuro is right that we are in over our heads. We need allies against them. I intend to show Father Namfoodle the symbol we found; he will know what it means. I now have access to the Augury spell; I can use it to make sure he’s not one of our conspirators. I very much doubt it; of all the people in this town he has impressed me the most. But still, he potentially fits the description of the one who targeted Derek, and his presence wouldn’t have been seen as unusual by any of the townsfolk. It’s possible he’s one of the conspirators. But I think we can trust him. Unless the cards warn against it, I will seek his help in this investigation.

((The text here is shaking, and the pen was pressed into the page so hard that the impression shows on the next page.))

He’s one of them. Tower, for catastrophe. Fool reverse, for naivete and recklessness. Namfoodle is against us.