After investigating the outside, and even knocking on the side door, Miralen decides to just enter through the front door. She's assuming no one is here, but just in case, has a hand on her sword, so as to not appear threatening but to also be ready.
Peeling wallpaper and a musty scent cling to the walls of this spacious foyer. A curving staircase rises from the cracked tile floor to a balcony above, keeping its distance from a darkened chandelier. Doors lead in every direction. At the room's center, a bronze sculpture of an antlered eagle perches atop a marble pedestal. Noise can be heard from the doors to the north... the sounds of pages flipping, and the gentle clang of either glass or ceramics. NOTE: The doors to the north are pictured as open, however they are closed. In addition, Miralens advancement will be on hold, Pending (1) Action from Rhykal.
Svetlana, already unconvinced by Miralen's decision to go around alone, is even less convinced by Rhykal's decision to go alone... As much as she usually appreciates individual initiative, this time she thinks that it is strongly preferable to remain united. If six armed and determined people can represent a force capable of resisting, six divided people represent only six prey to be eaten one at a time. Caught too off guard by the tall dark skinned woman's rapid initiative, however, she doesn't have time to talk to her and explain her point of view.
"We are too exposed here..." the last of the Dusk Elf maidens speaks to those who remain "The storm will put out the fire. We must seek shelter elsewhere, probably under the vegetation of the forest. But we shouldn't split up as we are doing. Let's reach Rhykal. And, together, let's reach Miralen. Then, if we have not found it before, we will seek safer shelter together. One of the few advantages we have is that we are in somewhat good numbers; let us try to preserve it".
The Savage Wanderer waits until Rufus and Radallion are also ready to follow her (or retort, if they do not agree), then she leads the group in the direction in which first Miralen, then Rhykal, went. "At least," she consoles herself "the storm can't extinguish your magic light, Rufus. It should help us see where we're going - and help our companions see us and perhaps catch up with us".
"Even the enemies will be able to see it," Svetlana thinks to herself "but so far no one has attacked us... So, whoever is playing with us, perhaps he is not in a hurry to face us. I just hope that it is not taking out our missing comrades..." "Better them than us, Svetlana!" the voices in her head begin to try to cheer her up. "You should learn to appreciate the positive sides of situations... Don't always be too negative". "If we are killed one at a time, it is no better for anyone: it does not matter who is eliminated first and who later" replies the last of the Dusk Elf maidens.
"No..." Rufus breathes in response to Svetlana's comment about witchcraft. His eyes twinkle and his expression, for the first time since meeting, brightens. "Better. Alchemy!" He accepts her offer to enjoy the juicy red pomegranate seeds. He has never had pomegranate before. "They look like little, jeweled teeth," he says with amusement, enjoying the burst of sweet and tart juice.
Rufus pays rapt attention to Radallion's tale. "That's a beautifully tragic tale, sir bard! I can see how you have earned your name. And I believe there is some wisdom in the lesson. Truly, names can be cursed things. But surely you don't think the curse of a name is inescapable. Surely we are not doomed to a fate bound up in our naming? There is always a chance for salvation!" He looks to Radallion, and the others, almost pleadingly.
"But!" he adds hastily, as the rain pounds down upon the meager fire. "It is not to be found wandering alone in the fog! Miralen, Rhykal! Come back! Blast!" He helps gather their things, leaving the fire to die. "Would that this cursed forest burn!" He brightens again at Svetlana's comment about his light. "Correct! That is the beauty of alchemical science. It postulates dominion over the natural world, allowing its wielder to achieve a superior state of being."
The green glow from his crossbow creates a miasma in the fog as the wanderers trudge through the mist and the rain in search of their missing allies.
Radallion looks up at the other two remaining who are standing ready to leave.“Must we go?” He asks knowing full well their answer.
‘ We already tried leaving and found it to be impossible, I’d rather die comfortable here than out there walking aimlessly, though they seem determined to go and dying alone is far worst’ “Very well if you insist”
Radallion sighs making a few failed attempts to stand but manages to get up eventually. A little wobbly he walks to the other two ready to head out to find the others. Situating himself in the middle of the group as to be better protected.
“We are stuck to our names for as long as we and others make us. Perhaps the strong willed could move past their name, but to convince everyone else is far more difficult. That is why it is why it is impossible there will always be those who tie you down with your name. The only escape I can think of is to run where your name is not known and to keep it that way, though it’s not a true solution.”
Rufus keeps a vigilant eye on the mist, half expecting at any moment for some predatory creature to leap out. His ears and thoughts, however, are focused on Radallion as he considers the bard’s tale.
“A strong will is enough, then?” Rufus implores, as a pupil learning from a schoolmaster. “If it is a matter of will, I have that in spades. What others think of my name used to mean a great deal to me. In recent years, less so. Our family name is associated with a certain… propensity for misfortune, borne of senseless rumors following the deaths of my father and elder brother. They took their own lives, you see. And the family coffers have long run dry--it is no secret. The manor and estate are all that remains, and they are decayed husks of what they once were.
Bathed in green light, Rufus’s dark eyes seem to burn with intensity. “But Father had greater ideals. He-- I mean to pick up his mantle and follow the pathway that he laid. I choose that path for myself, you see? The curse of my name does not control me.”
"Yes!" the last of the Dusk Elf maidens is quick to respond to Rufus - evidently she too is quite interested in the 'salvation' theme... "There is indeed a chance for salvation, for those willing to fight to conquer it! I know it well! I shouldn't exist... But still, here I am. But that's another story. I'm sorry for your losses, by the way".
"There are those who can try to tie you down with your name..." Svetlana smiles at Radallion "...I know this too quite well! You have no idea how many times a day, upon hearing my name, I makes you want to be nameless..."
"Thank you, Svetlana!" one of the Voices in her head comments, acidly and sarcastically "Always so kind to us..." "Do you think she was talking about us?" "And whose if not, stupid?" "We help you and keep you company, Svetlana..." “We are your people, Svetlana!” "We will always be with you, Svetlana!"
"...but you know what? Curses are so plentiful here in Barovia that, after all, I don't think being nameless would make that much of a difference" the Savage Wanderer shrugs. "Was I able to console you, Radallion?" she winks.
"So the alchemical science allows dominion over the natural world..." Svetlana seems impressed "The same kind of dominion exercised by the Devil Stradh... but perhaps in a less corrupt form. There are times I think nature is fascinating precisely because wild and free from domination, to tell the truth... But when said nature is raining the equivalent of a waterfall on your head, even the idea of being able to influence it a little, at least enough to make it stop, has its own undeniable charm. It was your father who introduced you to alchemy, Rufus?"
Rhykal swears under her breath — first, no way out of the crossroads; now, no way back to the crossroads. Figures. It seems like the only way to get anywhere is by not wanting to be there. It’s only the flicker of familiar movement near the front door that makes her decision for her; with a long-suffering sigh, she heads back in the direction of the house, attempting to twist open the front door to peer inside in search of Miralen (or, frankly, anything else), though she doesn’t enter. Instead, she keeps it held open, not at all convinced, given the way this wretched day has gone, that there will still be a door on the other side, if she were to close herself in.
The Foyer: Peeling wallpaper and a musty scent cling to the walls of this spacious foyer. A curving staircase rises from the cracked tile floor to a balcony above, keeping its distance from a darkened chandelier. Doors lead in every direction. At the room's center, a bronze sculpture of an antlered eagle perches atop a marble pedestal. Noise can be heard from the doors to the north... the sounds of pages flipping, and the gentle clang of either glass or ceramics.
Rhykal: Standing in the center of the Foyer, you see Miralen: taking it all in before you hears your approach. She turns to see you.
Miralen: As you're contemplating your next move, you hear the creak of the porch as footsteps approach from behind you. as you turn, you see Rhykal.
As the rain and mist are at their peak, you search for sanctuary and your comrades in the direction they went off, you set out about 120 feet off the beaten path of the crossroads, to an unforgiving woods. the trees and shrubbery, all dead or dying. thorns and thistles decorate the rotting wilderness ahead of you that proves to be difficult terrain. Did the other two travel through this wilderness? No tracks can be seen. The green light refracts off of the rain, mists, and wilderness that persists the green haze that blinds you within a 15 foot radius.
Ansur standing up in the rain a few feet away from the conversation between Svetlana and Rufus, not too bothered by the thought of loss or death. he seems cold to the thought. He comments on the alchemy, "So you're a type of medicine man then? Useful for sure... I'll be sure to watch our backs at any turn. My nose is pretty good too."
Rhykal lingers in the doorway, oddly relieved to spot Miralen, a woman still more or less a stranger to her; still, even in the worst situations, good people … well, they’re supposed to keep people from dying, right? Even the ones they don’t know. And, for the time being, it seems Miralen is still very much alive. “What are you doing?” she hisses, glancing around them, as if concerned that any too-loud noise might … awaken the house, or whatever nightmarish beast is no doubt inside. Sure there’s something wrong with it, though perhaps she’d welcome a creature with fangs and with teeth, rather than walking into some kind of perpetual maze of corridors, the same no matter which door is chosen. The very thought of it makes her feel vaguely nauseous.
"Thank you, Ansur!" the last of the Dusk Elf maidens turns for a moment towards the man with the unusual proportions "It's reassuring to be able to count on someone to watch your back".
"No traces..." Svetlana notes "And yet those two went in this direction... And if Miralen had a certain advantage, the same cannot be said of Rhykal. Is it possible that they disappeared like that?" lacking any traces, she at least tries to pay attention to signs of passage through the dense vegetation... broken twigs for example, or bushes cut to make way... "Obviously, it's a rhetorical question" she sighs in the meantime. "We are in Barovia. It's perfectly possible that something sudden and horrible happened to them. I just wish it weren't possible".
However, unless she detects signs of passage pointing in different directions, the Savage Wanderer continues to lead the group in the direction in which the noises were heard and in which the two women should have gone.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
"Rhykal!" Miralen greets her enthusiastically, keeping her voice low. She is very relieved to see someone else has made it here, noticing immediately that it's only Rhykal. "I don't think anyone is here, " and, taking in how on edge Rhykal seems to be, she consider that they leave but decides to carry on, "but I just heard something on the other side of this door. I was thinking about checking it out, now that there's two of us here." Miralen decides to peek through the door. Stealth : 20
"So the alchemical science allows dominion over the natural world..." Svetlana seems impressed "The same kind of dominion exercised by the Devil Stradh... but perhaps in a less corrupt form. There are times I think nature is fascinating precisely because wild and free from domination, to tell the truth... But when said nature is raining the equivalent of a waterfall on your head, even the idea of being able to influence it a little, at least enough to make it stop, has its own undeniable charm. It was your father who introduced you to alchemy, Rufus?"
"Corrupt..." Rufus hesitates, the external gloom seeming to reclaim him once more. "No, not corrupt. Brilliant, yes. I learned from my father, but only indirectly, for I was but a young boy when he died. Later, I found his journals and tools. He had, ah, opened doorways that lesser folk only dream of, tapped reservoirs of knowledge that others dared not." Rufus stares through the fog, staring into his own thoughts. "His writings... are visceral in their detail and imagination. And perhaps I shall travel even further."
Rufus blinks, then smiles at Svetlana. "But what of you? Why do you say you shouldn't exist?"
Ansur standing up in the rain a few feet away from the conversation between Svetlana and Rufus, not too bothered by the thought of loss or death. he seems cold to the thought. He comments on the alchemy, "So you're a type of medicine man then? Useful for sure... I'll be sure to watch our backs at any turn. My nose is pretty good too."
Rufus nods at Ansur. "Medicine, yes, of a sort. I can concoct a healing draught. Useful, though bland. I haven't a passion for it as do the clerics. But ah, you are a scout! A keen set of eyes and ears is most sorely needed now."
"No traces..." Svetlana notes "And yet those two went in this direction... And if Miralen had a certain advantage, the same cannot be said of Rhykal. Is it possible that they disappeared like that?" lacking any traces, she at least tries to pay attention to signs of passage through the dense vegetation... broken twigs for example, or bushes cut to make way... "Obviously, it's a rhetorical question" she sighs in the meantime. "We are in Barovia. It's perfectly possible that something sudden and horrible happened to them. I just wish it weren't possible".
"And not so much as a scream," Rufus thinks aloud.
Your limited vision shows you an expanse of 15 feet worth of dead wilderness, glowing green from the light source near you. you attempt to track those you parted from your group, and you do so successfully. you see a single set of partially washed out foot prints leading up to the thicket of deadwoods... unfortunately from there the tracks stop, as the ground begins to be covered and overgrown with vines and all manner of dead foliage. The woods prove dense and frustrating, but you are certain that... at least Rhykal, has been where you are now.
It’s been hard for Rhykal to know whether leaving the others had been the best decision or not, whether she’s willingly trapping herself in some new hell, or whether that should make any difference at all, when hell has been chasing her for hours. But it’s in this moment she decides, quite suddenly, that she had been right; the others have numbers, and what she hopes will be at least one useful guardian among them — but the thought of letting anyone wanderalone through these woods seems … well, it seems an unnecessary risk. Miralen’s greeting is more enthusiastic than Rhykal had expected,and by mismatched reflex she lifts her hand in some kind of awkward half-greeting. “It’sonly me,” she clarifies. “I tried to make my way back to the others before I’d spotted you, but this time, all roads led …right back to this house.” She’s still speaking quietly — whether there are technically inhabitants of the home or not, Rhykal is doubtful there isn’t … something. “Be careful,” she breathes, though it seems Miralen’s already moving to peek through the door. “If this land is soeager to bring us here ... well, I can’t imagine it has our best interests at heart.”
As Miralen creaks open one of the northern doors, both Miralen and Rhykal can get a fair look at what lies beyond: Dozens of faded portraits cover this parlor's walls, the subjects' eyes fixed on a circular table that bears an ornate spirit board. A wide mirror hangs over a tall fireplace set in the north wall. Books and papers are all stacked in a chaotic manner around the room, and on the eastern wall, an older gentlemen furiously flips the pages of a book before grasping at a teacup, taking a sip, and exclaiming: "It is quite ze clamor you are making in za foyer. Even without za whispers, I heard your footsteps on za front porch! Please, if you are a Geist or an otherwise malevolent spirit intent on feasting on ze fear of an old man, you will have to simply just wait for me to be afraid, I am busy at ze moment, and don't move as well as I used to. If you are guest of zis house, do not be afraid... I have just brewed a pot of scarab-cap tea. come in, please... it's quite dangerous out there I suspect." Note: This image serves as a depiction of the creature you see, and not an accurate depiction of the room. please see the description of the room for the layout.
After investigating the outside, and even knocking on the side door, Miralen decides to just enter through the front door. She's assuming no one is here, but just in case, has a hand on her sword, so as to not appear threatening but to also be ready.
Miralen:
Peeling wallpaper and a musty scent cling to the walls of this spacious foyer. A curving staircase rises from the cracked tile floor to a balcony above, keeping its distance from a darkened chandelier. Doors lead in every direction. At the room's center, a bronze sculpture of an antlered eagle perches atop a marble pedestal. Noise can be heard from the doors to the north... the sounds of pages flipping, and the gentle clang of either glass or ceramics.
NOTE: The doors to the north are pictured as open, however they are closed. In addition, Miralens advancement will be on hold, Pending (1) Action from Rhykal.
Svetlana, already unconvinced by Miralen's decision to go around alone, is even less convinced by Rhykal's decision to go alone... As much as she usually appreciates individual initiative, this time she thinks that it is strongly preferable to remain united. If six armed and determined people can represent a force capable of resisting, six divided people represent only six prey to be eaten one at a time. Caught too off guard by the tall dark skinned woman's rapid initiative, however, she doesn't have time to talk to her and explain her point of view.
"We are too exposed here..." the last of the Dusk Elf maidens speaks to those who remain "The storm will put out the fire. We must seek shelter elsewhere, probably under the vegetation of the forest. But we shouldn't split up as we are doing. Let's reach Rhykal. And, together, let's reach Miralen. Then, if we have not found it before, we will seek safer shelter together. One of the few advantages we have is that we are in somewhat good numbers; let us try to preserve it".
The Savage Wanderer waits until Rufus and Radallion are also ready to follow her (or retort, if they do not agree), then she leads the group in the direction in which first Miralen, then Rhykal, went. "At least," she consoles herself "the storm can't extinguish your magic light, Rufus. It should help us see where we're going - and help our companions see us and perhaps catch up with us".
"Even the enemies will be able to see it," Svetlana thinks to herself "but so far no one has attacked us... So, whoever is playing with us, perhaps he is not in a hurry to face us. I just hope that it is not taking out our missing comrades..."
"Better them than us, Svetlana!" the voices in her head begin to try to cheer her up.
"You should learn to appreciate the positive sides of situations... Don't always be too negative".
"If we are killed one at a time, it is no better for anyone: it does not matter who is eliminated first and who later" replies the last of the Dusk Elf maidens.
"No..." Rufus breathes in response to Svetlana's comment about witchcraft. His eyes twinkle and his expression, for the first time since meeting, brightens. "Better. Alchemy!" He accepts her offer to enjoy the juicy red pomegranate seeds. He has never had pomegranate before. "They look like little, jeweled teeth," he says with amusement, enjoying the burst of sweet and tart juice.
Rufus pays rapt attention to Radallion's tale. "That's a beautifully tragic tale, sir bard! I can see how you have earned your name. And I believe there is some wisdom in the lesson. Truly, names can be cursed things. But surely you don't think the curse of a name is inescapable. Surely we are not doomed to a fate bound up in our naming? There is always a chance for salvation!" He looks to Radallion, and the others, almost pleadingly.
"But!" he adds hastily, as the rain pounds down upon the meager fire. "It is not to be found wandering alone in the fog! Miralen, Rhykal! Come back! Blast!" He helps gather their things, leaving the fire to die. "Would that this cursed forest burn!" He brightens again at Svetlana's comment about his light. "Correct! That is the beauty of alchemical science. It postulates dominion over the natural world, allowing its wielder to achieve a superior state of being."
The green glow from his crossbow creates a miasma in the fog as the wanderers trudge through the mist and the rain in search of their missing allies.
Radallion looks up at the other two remaining who are standing ready to leave.“Must we go?” He asks knowing full well their answer.
‘ We already tried leaving and found it to be impossible, I’d rather die comfortable here than out there walking aimlessly, though they seem determined to go and dying alone is far worst’ “Very well if you insist”
Radallion sighs making a few failed attempts to stand but manages to get up eventually. A little wobbly he walks to the other two ready to head out to find the others. Situating himself in the middle of the group as to be better protected.
When they begin to walk he says to Rufus
“We are stuck to our names for as long as we and others make us. Perhaps the strong willed could move past their name, but to convince everyone else is far more difficult. That is why it is why it is impossible there will always be those who tie you down with your name. The only escape I can think of is to run where your name is not known and to keep it that way, though it’s not a true solution.”
Rufus keeps a vigilant eye on the mist, half expecting at any moment for some predatory creature to leap out. His ears and thoughts, however, are focused on Radallion as he considers the bard’s tale.
“A strong will is enough, then?” Rufus implores, as a pupil learning from a schoolmaster. “If it is a matter of will, I have that in spades. What others think of my name used to mean a great deal to me. In recent years, less so. Our family name is associated with a certain… propensity for misfortune, borne of senseless rumors following the deaths of my father and elder brother. They took their own lives, you see. And the family coffers have long run dry--it is no secret. The manor and estate are all that remains, and they are decayed husks of what they once were.
Bathed in green light, Rufus’s dark eyes seem to burn with intensity. “But Father had greater ideals. He-- I mean to pick up his mantle and follow the pathway that he laid. I choose that path for myself, you see? The curse of my name does not control me.”
"Yes!" the last of the Dusk Elf maidens is quick to respond to Rufus - evidently she too is quite interested in the 'salvation' theme... "There is indeed a chance for salvation, for those willing to fight to conquer it! I know it well! I shouldn't exist... But still, here I am. But that's another story. I'm sorry for your losses, by the way".
"There are those who can try to tie you down with your name..." Svetlana smiles at Radallion "...I know this too quite well! You have no idea how many times a day, upon hearing my name, I makes you want to be nameless..."
"Thank you, Svetlana!" one of the Voices in her head comments, acidly and sarcastically "Always so kind to us..."
"Do you think she was talking about us?"
"And whose if not, stupid?"
"We help you and keep you company, Svetlana..."
“We are your people, Svetlana!”
"We will always be with you, Svetlana!"
"...but you know what? Curses are so plentiful here in Barovia that, after all, I don't think being nameless would make that much of a difference" the Savage Wanderer shrugs. "Was I able to console you, Radallion?" she winks.
"So the alchemical science allows dominion over the natural world..." Svetlana seems impressed "The same kind of dominion exercised by the Devil Stradh... but perhaps in a less corrupt form. There are times I think nature is fascinating precisely because wild and free from domination, to tell the truth... But when said nature is raining the equivalent of a waterfall on your head, even the idea of being able to influence it a little, at least enough to make it stop, has its own undeniable charm. It was your father who introduced you to alchemy, Rufus?"
Rhykal swears under her breath — first, no way out of the crossroads; now, no way back to the crossroads. Figures. It seems like the only way to get anywhere is by not wanting to be there. It’s only the flicker of familiar movement near the front door that makes her decision for her; with a long-suffering sigh, she heads back in the direction of the house, attempting to twist open the front door to peer inside in search of Miralen (or, frankly, anything else), though she doesn’t enter. Instead, she keeps it held open, not at all convinced, given the way this wretched day has gone, that there will still be a door on the other side, if she were to close herself in.
Rhykal & Miralen:
The Foyer:
Peeling wallpaper and a musty scent cling to the walls of this spacious foyer. A curving staircase rises from the cracked tile floor to a balcony above, keeping its distance from a darkened chandelier. Doors lead in every direction. At the room's center, a bronze sculpture of an antlered eagle perches atop a marble pedestal. Noise can be heard from the doors to the north... the sounds of pages flipping, and the gentle clang of either glass or ceramics.
Rhykal:
Standing in the center of the Foyer, you see Miralen: taking it all in before you hears your approach. She turns to see you.
Miralen:
As you're contemplating your next move, you hear the creak of the porch as footsteps approach from behind you. as you turn, you see Rhykal.
Radallion, Svetlana, Ansur, Rufus:
As the rain and mist are at their peak, you search for sanctuary and your comrades in the direction they went off, you set out about 120 feet off the beaten path of the crossroads, to an unforgiving woods. the trees and shrubbery, all dead or dying. thorns and thistles decorate the rotting wilderness ahead of you that proves to be difficult terrain. Did the other two travel through this wilderness? No tracks can be seen. The green light refracts off of the rain, mists, and wilderness that persists the green haze that blinds you within a 15 foot radius.
Ansur standing up in the rain a few feet away from the conversation between Svetlana and Rufus, not too bothered by the thought of loss or death. he seems cold to the thought. He comments on the alchemy, "So you're a type of medicine man then? Useful for sure... I'll be sure to watch our backs at any turn. My nose is pretty good too."
Rhykal lingers in the doorway, oddly relieved to spot Miralen, a woman still more or less a stranger to her; still, even in the worst situations, good people … well, they’re supposed to keep people from dying, right? Even the ones they don’t know. And, for the time being, it seems Miralen is still very much alive. “What are you doing?” she hisses, glancing around them, as if concerned that any too-loud noise might … awaken the house, or whatever nightmarish beast is no doubt inside. Sure there’s something wrong with it, though perhaps she’d welcome a creature with fangs and with teeth, rather than walking into some kind of perpetual maze of corridors, the same no matter which door is chosen. The very thought of it makes her feel vaguely nauseous.
"Thank you, Ansur!" the last of the Dusk Elf maidens turns for a moment towards the man with the unusual proportions "It's reassuring to be able to count on someone to watch your back".
"No traces..." Svetlana notes "And yet those two went in this direction... And if Miralen had a certain advantage, the same cannot be said of Rhykal. Is it possible that they disappeared like that?" lacking any traces, she at least tries to pay attention to signs of passage through the dense vegetation... broken twigs for example, or bushes cut to make way... "Obviously, it's a rhetorical question" she sighs in the meantime. "We are in Barovia. It's perfectly possible that something sudden and horrible happened to them. I just wish it weren't possible".
However, unless she detects signs of passage pointing in different directions, the Savage Wanderer continues to lead the group in the direction in which the noises were heard and in which the two women should have gone.
Survival, if needed: 19
"Rhykal!" Miralen greets her enthusiastically, keeping her voice low. She is very relieved to see someone else has made it here, noticing immediately that it's only Rhykal. "I don't think anyone is here, " and, taking in how on edge Rhykal seems to be, she consider that they leave but decides to carry on, "but I just heard something on the other side of this door. I was thinking about checking it out, now that there's two of us here." Miralen decides to peek through the door. Stealth : 20
"Corrupt..." Rufus hesitates, the external gloom seeming to reclaim him once more. "No, not corrupt. Brilliant, yes. I learned from my father, but only indirectly, for I was but a young boy when he died. Later, I found his journals and tools. He had, ah, opened doorways that lesser folk only dream of, tapped reservoirs of knowledge that others dared not." Rufus stares through the fog, staring into his own thoughts. "His writings... are visceral in their detail and imagination. And perhaps I shall travel even further."
Rufus blinks, then smiles at Svetlana. "But what of you? Why do you say you shouldn't exist?"
Rufus nods at Ansur. "Medicine, yes, of a sort. I can concoct a healing draught. Useful, though bland. I haven't a passion for it as do the clerics. But ah, you are a scout! A keen set of eyes and ears is most sorely needed now."
"And not so much as a scream," Rufus thinks aloud.
Your limited vision shows you an expanse of 15 feet worth of dead wilderness, glowing green from the light source near you. you attempt to track those you parted from your group, and you do so successfully. you see a single set of partially washed out foot prints leading up to the thicket of deadwoods... unfortunately from there the tracks stop, as the ground begins to be covered and overgrown with vines and all manner of dead foliage. The woods prove dense and frustrating, but you are certain that... at least Rhykal, has been where you are now.
It’s been hard for Rhykal to know whether leaving the others had been the best decision or not, whether she’s willingly trapping herself in some new hell, or whether that should make any difference at all, when hell has been chasing her for hours. But it’s in this moment she decides, quite suddenly, that she had been right; the others have numbers, and what she hopes will be at least one useful guardian among them — but the thought of letting anyone wander alone through these woods seems … well, it seems an unnecessary risk. Miralen’s greeting is more enthusiastic than Rhykal had expected, and by mismatched reflex she lifts her hand in some kind of awkward half-greeting. “It’s only me,” she clarifies. “I tried to make my way back to the others before I’d spotted you, but this time, all roads led … right back to this house.” She’s still speaking quietly — whether there are technically inhabitants of the home or not, Rhykal is doubtful there isn’t … something. “Be careful,” she breathes, though it seems Miralen’s already moving to peek through the door. “If this land is so eager to bring us here ... well, I can’t imagine it has our best interests at heart.”
Miralen & Rhykal:
As Miralen creaks open one of the northern doors, both Miralen and Rhykal can get a fair look at what lies beyond:
Dozens of faded portraits cover this parlor's walls, the subjects' eyes fixed on a circular table that bears an ornate spirit board. A wide mirror hangs over a tall fireplace set in the north wall. Books and papers are all stacked in a chaotic manner around the room, and on the eastern wall, an older gentlemen furiously flips the pages of a book before grasping at a teacup, taking a sip, and exclaiming: "It is quite ze clamor you are making in za foyer. Even without za whispers, I heard your footsteps on za front porch! Please, if you are a Geist or an otherwise malevolent spirit intent on feasting on ze fear of an old man, you will have to simply just wait for me to be afraid, I am busy at ze moment, and don't move as well as I used to. If you are guest of zis house, do not be afraid... I have just brewed a pot of scarab-cap tea. come in, please... it's quite dangerous out there I suspect."
Note: This image serves as a depiction of the creature you see, and not an accurate depiction of the room. please see the description of the room for the layout.