Although she was diverted from her purpose briefly by the excitement of finally getting a chance to play at curling (albeit minus the brooms, the ice, the shouting crowd of spectators and a few other minor details), Famh's mind is too firmly fixed on the serious conversation she must soon have with Cainneach to be able to forget for long. In fact, she thinks as she draws him aside into a quiet spot a few paces distance from the others, that if another stony demon were to have appeared in each of the cells for each stone she had tried to score she still would not have been distracted for nearly as long as she would have liked. Even Cainneach's sweet compliments only served to bring into stark relief how infinitely she would prefer the exchange of reminiscences he was inviting her to, over the facing of truths she knew was her duty to get out of the way before anything else happened that was ... unexpected.
That unfortunate and embarrassing incident with the elk has finally brought some things into full focus for her ... even after they'd resolved the misunderstanding between them. She had barely been able to prevent herself from exploding into a fit of crying that would have obliterated the retinue when Cainneach teased her about being a "handsome" elk. It had taken all the patience and strength both of them had, and the forester's professional knowledge and instinctive gentle kindness, to finally convince Famh that she hadn't actually been a boy elk at all and that Cainneachhad only been trying to divert her from her foolish fancy by making what HE thought was so obvious a jest that he was nearly as devastated as she had been when he realized that she'd taken him seriously and was genuinely hurt. It was now at that delicate stage between them where she thought they might come to laugh about it together some time in future, but knew with the same instinctive sense he did that that time had not yet come.
She also knows, in the honesty of her own mind, when she is musing and when she's just plain stalling. She takes another of her slow steadying breaths and begins.
"I think maybe you can guess what's been troubling me as we walked along, dear friend. I nearly lost ye there, Cainneach, or rather I nearly lost myself. And in those moments when I was feeling my way back, and ye were praying with me and for me, I could almost hear whispers of this terrible fear ye had for me, and an anger at the Good Folk for putting me through that. And that's what I thought at first, and that Primroseblossom had played a mean trick instead of protecting you himself like he promised; but I've been thinking since. And I don't think I was fair. Because this isn't the first time this has happened, that one of my glamours has done ... aught that was strange. Now I remember, that was how I met Primroseblossom himself, when one of the greater ones turned in my hands. And didn't Tana tell me I'd changed into an elm tree for a moment back when we were fleeing Tuannon Dur's brugh and were caught by those horrible swamp wights? I'm beginning ... I'm beginning to fear it's naught more nor less than the Diachba. The Fates, like in the old stories; and the price of my fae powers that also helped keep me alive long enough for us to meet."
"And wonderful things can happen too! Primroseblossom did. And who knows ... next time I might change into a unicorn! I mean, now that I know I can change back, maybe a smaller form will be easier with practice." Her eyes go dreamy for a moment. "Would you like me to be a unicorn a while, Cainneach? You could ride on my back ... " She is rapidly drifting off on a pink cloud when an obtrding thought seems to occur to her, and she muses, "Wait ... are there such a thing as girl unicorns? And would they have ... no, cows have horns, I think, so that's ... "
A rich blush rises to Famh's cheeks for a moment as her conscious mind finally catches up with her babbling tongue and she realizes how some of things she's been saying could be interpreted; fortunately her sense of humour rises superior to the situation next moment as she breaks the tension for both of them with a bright peal of laughter. "Oh, I'm sorry, that must have sounded ... oh, dear ... " She giggles again before adding more seriously, "What I'm getting at is, I'm playing draughts with the Diachba when I have to call on the greater ones, it seems. But for our small comfort, at least, it's not seemed to strike all that often; thrice since we met, and before that I don't recall aught of the sort since I realized the fae blood could be useful as well as ... misunderstood."
(OpenArt AI image generator is actually coming up with a fairly consistent picture of what it thinks Famh looks like. I'll be posting a poll in the OOC thread as to which rendition folks think is most Famhish, but I think this one's got her likely current facial mien fairly close)
Fergus mumbles his apologies, that he was unfortunate and that perhaps it was fate they were dealing with this rather than some poor washed up sailer or curious shepard. Electing to stay near the back of the group as a range attacker and not, accidentally, trigger any new dangers.
He reaches for the skull in the bag when he sees a headless skeleton but stops after seeing it’s crushed skull.
As the rest of the group moves up they can see that there is no further way on in this direction with the cells forming the terminus of the passageway.
Almeric takes in the chains, scrape marks on the stone and the contorted remains and knows that their deaths were long and terrible.
Tana picks out small signs of life amongst the bones, tiny shore crabs and sea licehave found their way down here so it is likely sea water finds its way through the gaps in the stones at the highest of tides.
Fergus finds his fingers lingering on the skull....there is the briefest of flickers of fear that licks its way up through his fingers and into his mind. It is not his....and it is not His....hers perhaps?
Thatch takes in the dead and the signs that they tried desperately to escape their bonds as they withered away.....in the old tales the hunger these people had felt would have lingered and curdled into something darker......but here there was only old bones.
Ori found himself, despite himself, examining the chains......still solid and strong after so many years......he had worn chains before, in the acts. He turned suddenly, was that a noise? From the northward passage?
Famh and Cainneach were....distracted......but Salt turned immediately north confirming Oris ears were not failing him........
"Hey, the ghost lady's skull just emanated some fear, be more useful if we knew who she was but.. stay on your toes. I will try to do nothing!" Fergus warns.
Ori feels the chains on the wall, in surprisingly good shape with the dampness in this place. Somethings are just made to last I suppose, restraints more offen then not. He himself had worn beefy chains before, being paraded around as the trophy the brave heros caught and brought back for justice. Each of those times the chains were real but the there was aways a junk ring in the chain that Ori could flex the strength in a big show and break free to stun the crowds. He still boar some scars from those cuffs as they weren't made for comfert. "Hell of a way to go, hopefully they deserve this fate, most likely not though.
As Ori releases the chains a faint noise catches his ears between the others conversations. He stops and hold still to see if he can pick up the sound again between the chatter. There it is. . "OI MATES, something amiss, thata direction I figure. Listen." Turning back to the others and pointing the direction he best thinks the noise came from, he sees Salts ears. "The old boy hears it too." Nothing else seems to catch Ori's eye in this place and he starts to turn and follow the sound.
A rich blush rises to Famh's cheeks for a moment as her conscious mind finally catches up with her babbling tongue and she realizes how some of things she's been saying could be interpreted; fortunately her sense of humour rises superior to the situation next moment as she breaks the tension for both of them with a bright peal of laughter. "Oh, I'm sorry, that must have sounded ... oh, dear ... " She giggles again before adding more seriously, "What I'm getting at is, I'm playing draughts with the Diachba when I have to call on the greater ones, it seems. But for our small comfort, at least, it's not seemed to strike all that often; thrice since we met, and before that I don't recall aught of the sort since I realized the fae blood could be useful as well as ... misunderstood."
As their companions take stock of the grim, ancient contents of this small gaol, Cainneach finds he has been drawn into another rambling exposition from Famh. Having grown accustomed to her way, the forester quickly brings his full focus to what the Thulander has to say, lest he lose the thread and look a bit foolish in her eyes. It's quite a journey, but Famh manages to bring it home very neatly and Cainneach nods along, understanding at last. As she reaches her conclusion, Cainneach's face is scrunched up as he puzzles over what to do about this particular problem. After years of life in the woods, learning to survive on one's wits and the ability to make quick decisions, he is always looking for solutions as soon as problems arise. And if, in this case, he could help his dearest Famh, so much the better. He takes one of her hands in his and speaks brightly, "Well Famh, I know this may sound a bit bold, but it seems to me that if your risks stem from whatever arrangement the Aos Si have decided upon for you, then maybe we should seek them out and see about negotiating a better deal. You've put their gifts to good use, maybe they might help you wield them more ... safely? And I have a feeling that I might need to speak with them as well, about ... us. Maybe once we've rousted the traitors to the Baron, we might ask for leave to return to Fenring Forest and search for the Good Folk?"
As Ori releases the chains a faint noise catches his ears between the others conversations. He stops and hold still to see if he can pick up the sound again between the chatter. There it is. . "OI MATES, something amiss, thata direction I figure. Listen." Turning back to the others and pointing the direction he best thinks the noise came from, he sees Salts ears. "The old boy hears it too." Nothing else seems to catch Ori's eye in this place and he starts to turn and follow the sound.
Cainneach's attention is drawn from his fair companion to his big and bold one, with the barbarian's call snapping Cainneach's focus first to Salt and then up the hallway to the north. It seems they'd at least mercifully escaped any calamity in this particular room before being drawn to the next dank passage in this place. Salt stands motionless, tail raised, alert, straining to catch the sound again amidst the noise of the party. Cainneach looks back to Famh with a resigned half-smile, releases her hand, and walks forward to stand beside his hound. The two then proceed slowly together, trailing Ori, observing carefully.
Leaving the cell corridor and looking north in the lantern light it can be seen that the northern corridor is quite short with two doors in the eastern wall, one at the end of the corridor and another in the western wall.
Cainneach and Salts senses are on edge but Salt seems to indicate the noise came from the room at the end of the corridor.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
As she sees the quiet leaden weight of her words sinking deeper into Cainneach's eyes, Famh smiles tremulously and gently lays her palm over the back of his hand. She's clearly found some sort of acceptance, if not exactly peace, and he wonders for a moment where she found it in this terrible place. He's not entirely sure he remembers putting out his hand for her to lay her palm on the back of either, but that second (ahem) mystery might have to remain a mystery for at least the recent future. Whereas a clue to at least one wellspring of the first immediately appears as Famh produces a leather-covered flask from some pocket secreted deep within the folds of her plaid, and presses into his hand after peeling away a seal of flexible beeswax she's molded over the stopper. The clue is confirmed to a certainty by her whisper as she passes him the strangely light but strong bottle of fire-baked clay: "I've found it helps sometimes."
Presuming Cainneach is too much of a gentleman to refuse a gift so charmingly offered by such a persuasive lady ;), he finds that Famh's store of uisgebeaugh is infused with a delicate mixture of herbs. Some are unfamiliar to his palate; he guesses that those plants are like Famh herself, natives of the heathery moors and uplands where she was born. The overall effect is a combination of notes that play upon the raw plain-spoken fire of Thuland's archetypical spirit like the sparkle in Famh's eyes plays upon the surface and partly veils the fervour of her heart that he alone is beginning to sense the true depths of. As he takes a careful sip ... for the strength of the fire in that first sniff warned him how strong a medicine she had needed at times in her wanderings ... floral and savoury subflavours swirl together in a complex dance on his tongue that is orchestrated by a mad conductor whose spicy pungency calls to mind the resinous berries the Mercanian akvavit is based upon. While this is entirely fitting, as the names of the Thulish and Mercanian spirits both translate into Elleslandic as "water ,of life", the use of such berries in Thuland has generally been confined to those areas near the Mergeld Sea where many strands of flavour have been woven across the grey salt wastes by the centuries of often violent contact. Cainneach, accustomed to the more lilting Madhir-influenced uisgebeaugh of the west, takes a few moments to realize that the pungency in Famh's is not actually from the Mercanian evergreen berry but from some chance wild relative that sprung up in the wilds who knows how long ago. It is clearly a fae-scented plant, whatever its origin, though a mild and benign one: Cainneach feels his thoughts soothed, and briefly he feels touched by the calm of minds that have seen millenia of tragedies and triumphs come and go, and leave the people of the land like him and Famh still rooted in their ancestral mother-earth, firmly crying out as they have ever cried (sometimes between stubbornly gritted teeth), "We shall yet stand, if only upon one leg; or at least be left still upon our knees."
Given this, it is little surprise to Cainneach when ... fond as she is of easing through the awkwardnesses of life by the liberal application of her supple tongue ... she responds to his suggestion to seek out the Aos Sidhe later with a simple, quiet nod of agreement. The hint, too, that he wants to speak to the faeries about "us" raises a tenderness in her eyes that is soft and dreamy rather than fiery with the noonday sun of passion. He almost gets the picture of his words sinking down comfortably through the layers of her mind and settling with a comfortable sigh into a misty landscape whose plan is just in the culminating flower of coming to full awareness in her mind. That settled ... at least to her own sometimes peculiar satisfaction ..., she turns her attention to the noise Ori heard. She falls into her accustomed place for the brief march to the northern corridor. Pointing to the door Salt is indicating in a perfect ... well, point, she whispers to Cainneach in a tone just loud enough for the rest of the group to hear, "My fae hand's not one of the greater glamours that lead to strange things. We can do this like we did above, though I'll listen first to see if I can make out what's passing behind this door." Suiting action to word, she summons her green-tinged magical hand and then creeps forward to where she can hear better while the floating hand moves forward silently through the air until the tips of its fingers are just shy of seizing and opening the handle of the door the noises were coming from.
poor Cainneach, Famh's setting you up again LOL: B.A. Tides of Chaos for advantage
(OOC: Also wondering if the ability of mold earth to "cause shapes, colors, or both to appear on the dirt or stone, spelling out words, creating images, or shaping patterns" would allow her to make subtle changes in the doorframes near latch or hinges that would spring the latch or the door and cause it to swing open as if a sudden gust had done it?)
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Thatch shakes his head slowly as he takes in the skeletal remains “They died slowly, starving. It is a wonder this place is not full of ill spirits. Maybe it is.” Ori’s warning, pulls his attention away from the dead and he follows the big man up toward the door, one hand laying uneasily on the hilt of his gladius as he watches Famh conjure more of her magic at the door. “What do you hear?” he whispers to Ori.
As she sees the quiet leaden weight of her words sinking deeper into Cainneach's eyes, Famh smiles tremulously and gently lays her palm over the back of his hand. She's clearly found some sort of acceptance, if not exactly peace, and he wonders for a moment where she found it in this terrible place. He's not entirely sure he remembers putting out his hand for her to lay her palm on the back of either, but that second (ahem) mystery might have to remain a mystery for at least the recent future. Whereas a clue to at least one wellspring of the first immediately appears as Famh produces a leather-covered flask from some pocket secreted deep within the folds of her plaid, and presses into his hand after peeling away a seal of flexible beeswax she's molded over the stopper. The clue is confirmed to a certainty by her whisper as she passes him the strangely light but strong bottle of fire-baked clay: "I've found it helps sometimes."
Presuming Cainneach is too much of a gentleman to refuse a gift so charmingly offered by such a persuasive lady ;), he finds that Famh's store of uisgebeaugh is infused with a delicate mixture of herbs. Some are unfamiliar to his palate; he guesses that those plants are like Famh herself, natives of the heathery moors and uplands where she was born. The overall effect is a combination of notes that play upon the raw plain-spoken fire of Thuland's archetypical spirit like the sparkle in Famh's eyes plays upon the surface and partly veils the fervour of her heart that he alone is beginning to sense the true depths of. As he takes a careful sip ... for the strength of the fire in that first sniff warned him how strong a medicine she had needed at times in her wanderings ... floral and savoury subflavours swirl together in a complex dance on his tongue that is orchestrated by a mad conductor whose spicy pungency calls to mind the resinous berries the Mercanian akvavit is based upon. While this is entirely fitting, as the names of the Thulish and Mercanian spirits both translate into Elleslandic as "water ,of life", the use of such berries in Thuland has generally been confined to those areas near the Mergeld Sea where many strands of flavour have been woven across the grey salt wastes by the centuries of often violent contact. Cainneach, accustomed to the more lilting Madhir-influenced uisgebeaugh of the west, takes a few moments to realize that the pungency in Famh's is not actually from the Mercanian evergreen berry but from some chance wild relative that sprung up in the wilds who knows how long ago. It is clearly a fae-scented plant, whatever its origin, though a mild and benign one: Cainneach feels his thoughts soothed, and briefly he feels touched by the calm of minds that have seen millenia of tragedies and triumphs come and go, and leave the people of the land like him and Famh still rooted in their ancestral mother-earth, firmly crying out as they have ever cried (sometimes between stubbornly gritted teeth), "We shall yet stand, if only upon one leg; or at least be left still upon our knees."
Given this, it is little surprise to Cainneach when ... fond as she is of easing through the awkwardnesses of life by the liberal application of her supple tongue ... she responds to his suggestion to seek out the Aos Sidhe later with a simple, quiet nod of agreement. The hint, too, that he wants to speak to the faeries about "us" raises a tenderness in her eyes that is soft and dreamy rather than fiery with the noonday sun of passion. He almost gets the picture of his words sinking down comfortably through the layers of her mind and settling with a comfortable sigh into a misty landscape whose plan is just in the culminating flower of coming to full awareness in her mind. That settled ... at least to her own sometimes peculiar satisfaction ..., she turns her attention to the noise Ori heard. She falls into her accustomed place for the brief march to the northern corridor. Pointing to the door Salt is indicating in a perfect ... well, point, she whispers to Cainneach in a tone just loud enough for the rest of the group to hear, "My fae hand's not one of the greater glamours that lead to strange things. We can do this like we did above, though I'll listen first to see if I can make out what's passing behind this door." Suiting action to word, she summons her green-tinged magical hand and then creeps forward to where she can hear better while the floating hand moves forward silently through the air until the tips of its fingers are just shy of seizing and opening the handle of the door the noises were coming from.
poor Cainneach, Famh's setting you up again LOL: B.A. Tides of Chaos for advantage
(OOC: Also wondering if the ability of mold earth to "cause shapes, colors, or both to appear on the dirt or stone, spelling out words, creating images, or shaping patterns" would allow her to make subtle changes in the doorframes near latch or hinges that would spring the latch or the door and cause it to swing open as if a sudden gust had done it?)
It definitely sounds like something large is moving about awkwardly behind the door, breaking objects as it does so.....Famh thinks she can hear somewhat panicked breathing from a large set of lungs beyond the door.
( Thats a little beyond mold earth, though if you had a fair bit of time you might be able to do something to loosen the jamb or something similar.)
Almeric had not been listening to the conversation between Fahm and Cairneach, as his mind was deep in thought, aware their team cohesion had been broken by their encounter with the Moon Demon. Further conversations about this were much needed but would have to wait till much later. Now was the time for industry with the ruthless efficiency he has become accustomed to.
"Alright people, quieten down and focus! We will talk more when we're safe back on the Linden. We are all tired and our resources are low, so lets clear this level and re-assess the situation after that. Fahm, what is making that noise! Only the dead remain here and surely nothing living could have survived?"
Almeric was grateful that he didn't need to indulge in personal matters all the time, although he would need to address the incident with Fergus, with the whole Retinue later. This would need to be resolved to some degree of satisfaction, in order to maintain discipline and team working within the Retinue.
Presuming Cainneach is too much of a gentleman to refuse a gift so charmingly offered by such a persuasive lady ;), he finds that Famh's store of uisgebeaugh is infused with a delicate mixture of herbs. Some are unfamiliar to his palate; he guesses that those plants are like Famh herself, natives of the heathery moors and uplands where she was born. The overall effect is a combination of notes that play upon the raw plain-spoken fire of Thuland's archetypical spirit like the sparkle in Famh's eyes plays upon the surface and partly veils the fervour of her heart that he alone is beginning to sense the true depths of. As he takes a careful sip ... for the strength of the fire in that first sniff warned him how strong a medicine she had needed at times in her wanderings ... floral and savoury subflavours swirl together in a complex dance on his tongue that is orchestrated by a mad conductor whose spicy pungency calls to mind the resinous berries the Mercanian akvavit is based upon. While this is entirely fitting, as the names of the Thulish and Mercanian spirits both translate into Elleslandic as "water ,of life", the use of such berries in Thuland has generally been confined to those areas near the Mergeld Sea where many strands of flavour have been woven across the grey salt wastes by the centuries of often violent contact. Cainneach, accustomed to the more lilting Madhir-influenced uisgebeaugh of the west, takes a few moments to realize that the pungency in Famh's is not actually from the Mercanian evergreen berry but from some chance wild relative that sprung up in the wilds who knows how long ago. It is clearly a fae-scented plant, whatever its origin, though a mild and benign one: Cainneach feels his thoughts soothed, and briefly he feels touched by the calm of minds that have seen millenia of tragedies and triumphs come and go, and leave the people of the land like him and Famh still rooted in their ancestral mother-earth, firmly crying out as they have ever cried (sometimes between stubbornly gritted teeth), "We shall yet stand, if only upon one leg; or at least be left still upon our knees."
She falls into her accustomed place for the brief march to the northern corridor. Pointing to the door Salt is indicating in a perfect ... well, point, she whispers to Cainneach in a tone just loud enough for the rest of the group to hear, "My fae hand's not one of the greater glamours that lead to strange things. We can do this like we did above, though I'll listen first to see if I can make out what's passing behind this door." Suiting action to word, she summons her green-tinged magical hand and then creeps forward to where she can hear better while the floating hand moves forward silently through the air until the tips of its fingers are just shy of seizing and opening the handle of the door the noises were coming from.
Cainneach gives Famh a skeptical look, curious if the drink carries an enchantment, or is particularly earthy, as Dru's herbal concoctions tended to be. Electing to trust her yet again, he takes a drink of the whiskey and is immediately transported to the clan gatherings of his youth, prior to his family's massacre and his subsequent escape to the mountains and forests. In the latest of those years, after he'd reached the age of ten, he'd had the privilege of being able to sample the uisge beatha distilled by his relations. Not too much, mind you, but a bit passed by his father with a wink and a smile. Cainneach goes on the gustatory journey previously related, but it is tinged with memories of his home and family and the accompanying joys and sorrows those bring. He looks down and closes his eyes, waiting for the moment to pass. "Not too much, mind you ..."Cainneach stoppers the bottle and politely returns it with an appreciative nod. After Famh whispers and advances toward the door, Cainneach draws his shortsword and follows close behind. He is a bit alarmed by the noises coming from behind the door.
Almeric had not been listening to the conversation between Fahm and Cairneach, as his mind was deep in thought, aware their team cohesion had been broken by their encounter with the Moon Demon. Further conversations about this were much needed but would have to wait till much later. Now was the time for industry with the ruthless efficiency he has become accustomed to.
"Alright people, quieten down and focus! We will talk more when we're safe back on the Linden. We are all tired and our resources are low, so lets clear this level and re-assess the situation after that. Fahm, what is making that noise! Only the dead remain here and surely nothing living could have survived?"
After the Capellar's exclamation, Cainneach sighs and thinks to himself, "We're already in position and we might be able to hear it better if you weren't yelling at us ... and will you ever learn to pronounce our names correctly? The man should be grateful we saved him back there, or maybe he'd rather be singing with ol' St. Ambrosius in the great hereafter. Could return those creepy bones to him directly ..."Cainneach sighs again and attempts to refocus on identifying whatever might be making those awful sounds behind the door.
Nature14 (gotta be a high DC, but what the heck, I'm a sucker for rolling)
Almeric had not been listening to the conversation between Fahm and Cairneach, as his mind was deep in thought, aware their team cohesion had been broken by their encounter with the Moon Demon. Further conversations about this were much needed but would have to wait till much later. Now was the time for industry with the ruthless efficiency he has become accustomed to.
"Alright people, quieten down and focus! We will talk more when we're safe back on the Linden. We are all tired and our resources are low, so lets clear this level and re-assess the situation after that. Fahm, what is making that noise! Only the dead remain here and surely nothing living could have survived?"
After the Capellar's exclamation, Cainneach sighs and thinks to himself, "We're already in position and we might be able to hear it better if you weren't yelling at us ... and will you ever learn to pronounce our names correctly? The man should be grateful we saved him back there, or maybe he'd rather be singing with ol' St. Ambrosius in the great hereafter. Could return those creepy bones to him directly ..."Cainneach sighs again and attempts to refocus on identifying whatever might be making those awful sounds behind the door.
Nature17 (gotta be a high DC, but what the heck, I'm a sucker for rolling)
Famh's left shoulder jumps slightly at Sir Almeric's cry; and she wrinkles up her nose at him before replying; but otherwise there is no sign she might have been startled. "It's a feartie nyaff, for aught I can tell!", she replies, exactly mirroring the question's emphasis and volume. The mischievous gleam in her eye she only allows Cainneach to see, that tells him that she thinks it fairly safe that even if the Capellar knows the literal meaning of the words he won't know the degree of their implied pungency and earthiness. After a pause, she goes on more seriously, "The sound's more like a frightened bull, though. Something big's moving about in there breaking things; and I'm nearly certain that whether that within be dead or no, I hear a panting." Now it is her brow that wrinkles as she considers the problem. She begins to make soothing noises as she slowly approaches a little closer, paying heed to every change of note in response. She does not, however, meddle with the door or its handle.
===========================
Animal Handling 1
Nature 10
Perception 4
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Whilst Famh is unable to determine much, Cainneach gets a strong impression from the noises that there is a very large and clumsy dog behind the door.......one that smells slightly of fish...
Whilst Famh is unable to determine much, Cainneach gets a strong impression from the noises that there is a very large and clumsy dog behind the door.......one that smells slightly of fish...
"The sounds are something akin to those Salt makes when he's lashing about, but I'd wager this beast is even larger and a far sight less graceful than Salt! And, it smells wet, like fish? What's the saying, let swimming dogs lie?", Cainneach concludes hopefully.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Famh's eyes sparkle the more with amusement the mor she thinks over her at least somewhat just jest. "Feartie nyaff,"'s literal meaning is nothing worse than 'a tiny, stupid fellow'; one of those insults which are much stronger in the original Thulish than they are when translated into plain Elleslandic. But in this case it was particularly apt. She almost giggled aloud at the thought that she had essentially implied that all this noise that Sir Almeric was so fussed about was being made by a mouse; and that he was none the wiser that that was what she had meant. At least she hoped so ... (Deception 15)
If he did discover her meaning, though, she wasn't sure she cared. He had asked his retinue to speak plainly when they were alone, and frankly she was getting a little tired of the way he kept on ordering her about, or rather MOVING her about, as if she were just a trebuchet in one of his far-off silly Crusades somewhere, where they butchered the poor Ta'ashim instead of seeking them out and bringing them back to the fold like the lost sheep the Good Book said they were. But she had sworn him gheasa, and in all the old tales, when you wanted to rebuke a laird you'd sworn THAT to and thought he wasn't living up to his true nobility, you did it in the way Famh had. A direct confrontation was unthinkable except as a last measure; the laird was supposed to be noble enough to pay heed lest someone be shaming them back to good in the way the bards did. Though THEY generally were a lot more direct about the matter. For a simple fae-touched shepherdess like her, the other path was almost always the more honourable, and usually the only one open to her anyway.
Fortunately ... and given the volatility she has seen in her fae powers lately, she isn't sure whether the fortune is more hers or the Capellar's ... she gets distracted before her swiftly kindling temper can lead her too far into thoughts that might have him recategorizing her as a liability rather than an asset. Instead, the joke itself suggests the quick and natural word progression mouse -- mousehole -- keyhole; and she begins to laugh at her own silliness that its taken her this long to think of the simple expedient of peeking through a keyhole or crack in the door to see what actually IS in the room beyond. Which she promptly tiptoes forward and does.
===========================
Stealth 17
Investigation 5
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Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Thatch looks in surprise at Cainneach “A dog? Something else alive down here would be a treat at this point. What is it doing, how did it get here?” Thatch approaches the door, closely behind Famh, reading to help if necessary. He hovers and whispers as she peers through the keyhole "What do you see?"
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Although she was diverted from her purpose briefly by the excitement of finally getting a chance to play at curling (albeit minus the brooms, the ice, the shouting crowd of spectators and a few other minor details), Famh's mind is too firmly fixed on the serious conversation she must soon have with Cainneach to be able to forget for long. In fact, she thinks as she draws him aside into a quiet spot a few paces distance from the others, that if another stony demon were to have appeared in each of the cells for each stone she had tried to score she still would not have been distracted for nearly as long as she would have liked. Even Cainneach's sweet compliments only served to bring into stark relief how infinitely she would prefer the exchange of reminiscences he was inviting her to, over the facing of truths she knew was her duty to get out of the way before anything else happened that was ... unexpected.
That unfortunate and embarrassing incident with the elk has finally brought some things into full focus for her ... even after they'd resolved the misunderstanding between them. She had barely been able to prevent herself from exploding into a fit of crying that would have obliterated the retinue when Cainneach teased her about being a "handsome" elk. It had taken all the patience and strength both of them had, and the forester's professional knowledge and instinctive gentle kindness, to finally convince Famh that she hadn't actually been a boy elk at all and that Cainneach had only been trying to divert her from her foolish fancy by making what HE thought was so obvious a jest that he was nearly as devastated as she had been when he realized that she'd taken him seriously and was genuinely hurt. It was now at that delicate stage between them where she thought they might come to laugh about it together some time in future, but knew with the same instinctive sense he did that that time had not yet come.
She also knows, in the honesty of her own mind, when she is musing and when she's just plain stalling. She takes another of her slow steadying breaths and begins.
"I think maybe you can guess what's been troubling me as we walked along, dear friend. I nearly lost ye there, Cainneach, or rather I nearly lost myself. And in those moments when I was feeling my way back, and ye were praying with me and for me, I could almost hear whispers of this terrible fear ye had for me, and an anger at the Good Folk for putting me through that. And that's what I thought at first, and that Primroseblossom had played a mean trick instead of protecting you himself like he promised; but I've been thinking since. And I don't think I was fair. Because this isn't the first time this has happened, that one of my glamours has done ... aught that was strange. Now I remember, that was how I met Primroseblossom himself, when one of the greater ones turned in my hands. And didn't Tana tell me I'd changed into an elm tree for a moment back when we were fleeing Tuannon Dur's brugh and were caught by those horrible swamp wights? I'm beginning ... I'm beginning to fear it's naught more nor less than the Diachba. The Fates, like in the old stories; and the price of my fae powers that also helped keep me alive long enough for us to meet."
"And wonderful things can happen too! Primroseblossom did. And who knows ... next time I might change into a unicorn! I mean, now that I know I can change back, maybe a smaller form will be easier with practice." Her eyes go dreamy for a moment. "Would you like me to be a unicorn a while, Cainneach? You could ride on my back ... " She is rapidly drifting off on a pink cloud when an obtrding thought seems to occur to her, and she muses, "Wait ... are there such a thing as girl unicorns? And would they have ... no, cows have horns, I think, so that's ... "
A rich blush rises to Famh's cheeks for a moment as her conscious mind finally catches up with her babbling tongue and she realizes how some of things she's been saying could be interpreted; fortunately her sense of humour rises superior to the situation next moment as she breaks the tension for both of them with a bright peal of laughter. "Oh, I'm sorry, that must have sounded ... oh, dear ... " She giggles again before adding more seriously, "What I'm getting at is, I'm playing draughts with the Diachba when I have to call on the greater ones, it seems. But for our small comfort, at least, it's not seemed to strike all that often; thrice since we met, and before that I don't recall aught of the sort since I realized the fae blood could be useful as well as ... misunderstood."
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
(OpenArt AI image generator is actually coming up with a fairly consistent picture of what it thinks Famh looks like. I'll be posting a poll in the OOC thread as to which rendition folks think is most Famhish, but I think this one's got her likely current facial mien fairly close)
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Fergus mumbles his apologies, that he was unfortunate and that perhaps it was fate they were dealing with this rather than some poor washed up sailer or curious shepard. Electing to stay near the back of the group as a range attacker and not, accidentally, trigger any new dangers.
He reaches for the skull in the bag when he sees a headless skeleton but stops after seeing it’s crushed skull.
As the rest of the group moves up they can see that there is no further way on in this direction with the cells forming the terminus of the passageway.
Almeric takes in the chains, scrape marks on the stone and the contorted remains and knows that their deaths were long and terrible.
Tana picks out small signs of life amongst the bones, tiny shore crabs and sea licehave found their way down here so it is likely sea water finds its way through the gaps in the stones at the highest of tides.
Fergus finds his fingers lingering on the skull....there is the briefest of flickers of fear that licks its way up through his fingers and into his mind. It is not his....and it is not His....hers perhaps?
Thatch takes in the dead and the signs that they tried desperately to escape their bonds as they withered away.....in the old tales the hunger these people had felt would have lingered and curdled into something darker......but here there was only old bones.
Ori found himself, despite himself, examining the chains......still solid and strong after so many years......he had worn chains before, in the acts. He turned suddenly, was that a noise? From the northward passage?
Famh and Cainneach were....distracted......but Salt turned immediately north confirming Oris ears were not failing him........
"Hey, the ghost lady's skull just emanated some fear, be more useful if we knew who she was but.. stay on your toes. I will try to do nothing!" Fergus warns.
Ori feels the chains on the wall, in surprisingly good shape with the dampness in this place. Somethings are just made to last I suppose, restraints more offen then not. He himself had worn beefy chains before, being paraded around as the trophy the brave heros caught and brought back for justice. Each of those times the chains were real but the there was aways a junk ring in the chain that Ori could flex the strength in a big show and break free to stun the crowds. He still boar some scars from those cuffs as they weren't made for comfert. "Hell of a way to go, hopefully they deserve this fate, most likely not though.
As Ori releases the chains a faint noise catches his ears between the others conversations. He stops and hold still to see if he can pick up the sound again between the chatter. There it is. . "OI MATES, something amiss, thata direction I figure. Listen." Turning back to the others and pointing the direction he best thinks the noise came from, he sees Salts ears. "The old boy hears it too." Nothing else seems to catch Ori's eye in this place and he starts to turn and follow the sound.
As their companions take stock of the grim, ancient contents of this small gaol, Cainneach finds he has been drawn into another rambling exposition from Famh. Having grown accustomed to her way, the forester quickly brings his full focus to what the Thulander has to say, lest he lose the thread and look a bit foolish in her eyes. It's quite a journey, but Famh manages to bring it home very neatly and Cainneach nods along, understanding at last. As she reaches her conclusion, Cainneach's face is scrunched up as he puzzles over what to do about this particular problem. After years of life in the woods, learning to survive on one's wits and the ability to make quick decisions, he is always looking for solutions as soon as problems arise. And if, in this case, he could help his dearest Famh, so much the better. He takes one of her hands in his and speaks brightly, "Well Famh, I know this may sound a bit bold, but it seems to me that if your risks stem from whatever arrangement the Aos Si have decided upon for you, then maybe we should seek them out and see about negotiating a better deal. You've put their gifts to good use, maybe they might help you wield them more ... safely? And I have a feeling that I might need to speak with them as well, about ... us. Maybe once we've rousted the traitors to the Baron, we might ask for leave to return to Fenring Forest and search for the Good Folk?"
Cainneach's attention is drawn from his fair companion to his big and bold one, with the barbarian's call snapping Cainneach's focus first to Salt and then up the hallway to the north. It seems they'd at least mercifully escaped any calamity in this particular room before being drawn to the next dank passage in this place. Salt stands motionless, tail raised, alert, straining to catch the sound again amidst the noise of the party. Cainneach looks back to Famh with a resigned half-smile, releases her hand, and walks forward to stand beside his hound. The two then proceed slowly together, trailing Ori, observing carefully.
Perception 12
Salt - Perception 15
Active - Player: Sleeping Gods ---- Complete - Player: Masquerade, Teleportation Machine ---- Complete - DM: Extradimensional Spaces
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Leaving the cell corridor and looking north in the lantern light it can be seen that the northern corridor is quite short with two doors in the eastern wall, one at the end of the corridor and another in the western wall.
Cainneach and Salts senses are on edge but Salt seems to indicate the noise came from the room at the end of the corridor.
(What does the sound seem like? Something crashing, scraping, talking, humming?)
Ori perception: 8
Hard to tell....wood breaking perhaps?
As she sees the quiet leaden weight of her words sinking deeper into Cainneach's eyes, Famh smiles tremulously and gently lays her palm over the back of his hand. She's clearly found some sort of acceptance, if not exactly peace, and he wonders for a moment where she found it in this terrible place. He's not entirely sure he remembers putting out his hand for her to lay her palm on the back of either, but that second (ahem) mystery might have to remain a mystery for at least the recent future. Whereas a clue to at least one wellspring of the first immediately appears as Famh produces a leather-covered flask from some pocket secreted deep within the folds of her plaid, and presses into his hand after peeling away a seal of flexible beeswax she's molded over the stopper. The clue is confirmed to a certainty by her whisper as she passes him the strangely light but strong bottle of fire-baked clay: "I've found it helps sometimes."
Presuming Cainneach is too much of a gentleman to refuse a gift so charmingly offered by such a persuasive lady ;), he finds that Famh's store of uisgebeaugh is infused with a delicate mixture of herbs. Some are unfamiliar to his palate; he guesses that those plants are like Famh herself, natives of the heathery moors and uplands where she was born. The overall effect is a combination of notes that play upon the raw plain-spoken fire of Thuland's archetypical spirit like the sparkle in Famh's eyes plays upon the surface and partly veils the fervour of her heart that he alone is beginning to sense the true depths of. As he takes a careful sip ... for the strength of the fire in that first sniff warned him how strong a medicine she had needed at times in her wanderings ... floral and savoury subflavours swirl together in a complex dance on his tongue that is orchestrated by a mad conductor whose spicy pungency calls to mind the resinous berries the Mercanian akvavit is based upon. While this is entirely fitting, as the names of the Thulish and Mercanian spirits both translate into Elleslandic as "water ,of life", the use of such berries in Thuland has generally been confined to those areas near the Mergeld Sea where many strands of flavour have been woven across the grey salt wastes by the centuries of often violent contact. Cainneach, accustomed to the more lilting Madhir-influenced uisgebeaugh of the west, takes a few moments to realize that the pungency in Famh's is not actually from the Mercanian evergreen berry but from some chance wild relative that sprung up in the wilds who knows how long ago. It is clearly a fae-scented plant, whatever its origin, though a mild and benign one: Cainneach feels his thoughts soothed, and briefly he feels touched by the calm of minds that have seen millenia of tragedies and triumphs come and go, and leave the people of the land like him and Famh still rooted in their ancestral mother-earth, firmly crying out as they have ever cried (sometimes between stubbornly gritted teeth), "We shall yet stand, if only upon one leg; or at least be left still upon our knees."
Given this, it is little surprise to Cainneach when ... fond as she is of easing through the awkwardnesses of life by the liberal application of her supple tongue ... she responds to his suggestion to seek out the Aos Sidhe later with a simple, quiet nod of agreement. The hint, too, that he wants to speak to the faeries about "us" raises a tenderness in her eyes that is soft and dreamy rather than fiery with the noonday sun of passion. He almost gets the picture of his words sinking down comfortably through the layers of her mind and settling with a comfortable sigh into a misty landscape whose plan is just in the culminating flower of coming to full awareness in her mind. That settled ... at least to her own sometimes peculiar satisfaction ..., she turns her attention to the noise Ori heard. She falls into her accustomed place for the brief march to the northern corridor. Pointing to the door Salt is indicating in a perfect ... well, point, she whispers to Cainneach in a tone just loud enough for the rest of the group to hear, "My fae hand's not one of the greater glamours that lead to strange things. We can do this like we did above, though I'll listen first to see if I can make out what's passing behind this door." Suiting action to word, she summons her green-tinged magical hand and then creeps forward to where she can hear better while the floating hand moves forward silently through the air until the tips of its fingers are just shy of seizing and opening the handle of the door the noises were coming from.
===========================
Mage hand
Stealth 15
Investigation 10
(OOC: Also wondering if the ability of mold earth to "cause shapes, colors, or both to appear on the dirt or stone, spelling out words, creating images, or shaping patterns" would allow her to make subtle changes in the doorframes near latch or hinges that would spring the latch or the door and cause it to swing open as if a sudden gust had done it?)
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Thatch shakes his head slowly as he takes in the skeletal remains “They died slowly, starving. It is a wonder this place is not full of ill spirits. Maybe it is.” Ori’s warning, pulls his attention away from the dead and he follows the big man up toward the door, one hand laying uneasily on the hilt of his gladius as he watches Famh conjure more of her magic at the door. “What do you hear?” he whispers to Ori.
It definitely sounds like something large is moving about awkwardly behind the door, breaking objects as it does so.....Famh thinks she can hear somewhat panicked breathing from a large set of lungs beyond the door.
( Thats a little beyond mold earth, though if you had a fair bit of time you might be able to do something to loosen the jamb or something similar.)
Almeric had not been listening to the conversation between Fahm and Cairneach, as his mind was deep in thought, aware their team cohesion had been broken by their encounter with the Moon Demon. Further conversations about this were much needed but would have to wait till much later. Now was the time for industry with the ruthless efficiency he has become accustomed to.
"Alright people, quieten down and focus! We will talk more when we're safe back on the Linden. We are all tired and our resources are low, so lets clear this level and re-assess the situation after that. Fahm, what is making that noise! Only the dead remain here and surely nothing living could have survived?"
Almeric was grateful that he didn't need to indulge in personal matters all the time, although he would need to address the incident with Fergus, with the whole Retinue later. This would need to be resolved to some degree of satisfaction, in order to maintain discipline and team working within the Retinue.
Cainneach gives Famh a skeptical look, curious if the drink carries an enchantment, or is particularly earthy, as Dru's herbal concoctions tended to be. Electing to trust her yet again, he takes a drink of the whiskey and is immediately transported to the clan gatherings of his youth, prior to his family's massacre and his subsequent escape to the mountains and forests. In the latest of those years, after he'd reached the age of ten, he'd had the privilege of being able to sample the uisge beatha distilled by his relations. Not too much, mind you, but a bit passed by his father with a wink and a smile. Cainneach goes on the gustatory journey previously related, but it is tinged with memories of his home and family and the accompanying joys and sorrows those bring. He looks down and closes his eyes, waiting for the moment to pass. "Not too much, mind you ..." Cainneach stoppers the bottle and politely returns it with an appreciative nod. After Famh whispers and advances toward the door, Cainneach draws his shortsword and follows close behind. He is a bit alarmed by the noises coming from behind the door.
After the Capellar's exclamation, Cainneach sighs and thinks to himself, "We're already in position and we might be able to hear it better if you weren't yelling at us ... and will you ever learn to pronounce our names correctly? The man should be grateful we saved him back there, or maybe he'd rather be singing with ol' St. Ambrosius in the great hereafter. Could return those creepy bones to him directly ..." Cainneach sighs again and attempts to refocus on identifying whatever might be making those awful sounds behind the door.
Nature 14 (gotta be a high DC, but what the heck, I'm a sucker for rolling)
Active - Player: Sleeping Gods ---- Complete - Player: Masquerade, Teleportation Machine ---- Complete - DM: Extradimensional Spaces
Come join the Worlds of Pphost, a new and growing PbP community! Adventures are currently running in the world of Haven or do some role-playing!
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Famh's left shoulder jumps slightly at Sir Almeric's cry; and she wrinkles up her nose at him before replying; but otherwise there is no sign she might have been startled. "It's a feartie nyaff, for aught I can tell!", she replies, exactly mirroring the question's emphasis and volume. The mischievous gleam in her eye she only allows Cainneach to see, that tells him that she thinks it fairly safe that even if the Capellar knows the literal meaning of the words he won't know the degree of their implied pungency and earthiness. After a pause, she goes on more seriously, "The sound's more like a frightened bull, though. Something big's moving about in there breaking things; and I'm nearly certain that whether that within be dead or no, I hear a panting." Now it is her brow that wrinkles as she considers the problem. She begins to make soothing noises as she slowly approaches a little closer, paying heed to every change of note in response. She does not, however, meddle with the door or its handle.
===========================
Animal Handling 1
Nature 10
Perception 4
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Whilst Famh is unable to determine much, Cainneach gets a strong impression from the noises that there is a very large and clumsy dog behind the door.......one that smells slightly of fish...
"The sounds are something akin to those Salt makes when he's lashing about, but I'd wager this beast is even larger and a far sight less graceful than Salt! And, it smells wet, like fish? What's the saying, let swimming dogs lie?", Cainneach concludes hopefully.
Active - Player: Sleeping Gods ---- Complete - Player: Masquerade, Teleportation Machine ---- Complete - DM: Extradimensional Spaces
Come join the Worlds of Pphost, a new and growing PbP community! Adventures are currently running in the world of Haven or do some role-playing!
It never hurts to help! ---- PbP: [Rolling Dice] [Tooltips] ---- DDB Content: [Free Adventures] [Encounter of the Week]
Famh's eyes sparkle the more with amusement the mor she thinks over her at least somewhat just jest. "Feartie nyaff,"'s literal meaning is nothing worse than 'a tiny, stupid fellow'; one of those insults which are much stronger in the original Thulish than they are when translated into plain Elleslandic. But in this case it was particularly apt. She almost giggled aloud at the thought that she had essentially implied that all this noise that Sir Almeric was so fussed about was being made by a mouse; and that he was none the wiser that that was what she had meant. At least she hoped so ... (Deception 15)
If he did discover her meaning, though, she wasn't sure she cared. He had asked his retinue to speak plainly when they were alone, and frankly she was getting a little tired of the way he kept on ordering her about, or rather MOVING her about, as if she were just a trebuchet in one of his far-off silly Crusades somewhere, where they butchered the poor Ta'ashim instead of seeking them out and bringing them back to the fold like the lost sheep the Good Book said they were. But she had sworn him gheasa, and in all the old tales, when you wanted to rebuke a laird you'd sworn THAT to and thought he wasn't living up to his true nobility, you did it in the way Famh had. A direct confrontation was unthinkable except as a last measure; the laird was supposed to be noble enough to pay heed lest someone be shaming them back to good in the way the bards did. Though THEY generally were a lot more direct about the matter. For a simple fae-touched shepherdess like her, the other path was almost always the more honourable, and usually the only one open to her anyway.
Fortunately ... and given the volatility she has seen in her fae powers lately, she isn't sure whether the fortune is more hers or the Capellar's ... she gets distracted before her swiftly kindling temper can lead her too far into thoughts that might have him recategorizing her as a liability rather than an asset. Instead, the joke itself suggests the quick and natural word progression mouse -- mousehole -- keyhole; and she begins to laugh at her own silliness that its taken her this long to think of the simple expedient of peeking through a keyhole or crack in the door to see what actually IS in the room beyond. Which she promptly tiptoes forward and does.
===========================
Stealth 17
Investigation 5
Famh Thrawn Fiadhaich - 'half elven' sorcerer (wild magic) 2, Sleeping Gods - A Dragon Warriors campaign in the Lands of Legend
Quspira Inirali - tiefling cleric (Life domain) 4, Painted's "He'll be the father of my child"
---RETIRED HEROES' REST HOME---
Sae Ivui Nailo - wood elf rogue (inquisitive) 5 , Sea of Death: Captain Hailstorm's Lost Treasure
Ryshraxea "Shra" Naranthi - tabaxi artificer 1, Nyx's Tomb of Annihilation - Group 1
Thatch looks in surprise at Cainneach “A dog? Something else alive down here would be a treat at this point. What is it doing, how did it get here?” Thatch approaches the door, closely behind Famh, reading to help if necessary. He hovers and whispers as she peers through the keyhole "What do you see?"