Candlekeep Mysteries

Erudisia opens the door for the cobble, pressing one finger to her lips then gestures for him to go when there is no one in the corridor. 

“We’re agreed then?”

All being decided, she goes to bed. 

Glitter takes his leave, restating his plea for help, his offer of cut gemstones for his freedom, and terrified, eyes wide admonishments to ‘be careful’!

The summer night is close and humid, and you throw open windows beckoning fresh air and are lulled to a deep sleep by the tree frogs’ plaintive chorusing and pale beams from the moon as it sets behind the western woods. Could that have been the sound of a strangled, muted Dwarven scream in the near distance? No… just an owl calling to its mate.

Soon enough, the sky pales, and the chirping and rush of foraging birds outside awakens you and you gain the benefits of a long rest.

You hear guests moving and speaking in low, indistinct voices behind their closed doors. Little One knocks on Erudisia’s door and whispers, “Air D? You wake?,” and asks to come in and be filled in about last nights explorations. Soon, whether having heard Little One or having smelled breakfast smells from the lounge, Meredith and Bell join the pair and all four are now squeezed into Erudisia’s room to plan for the day.

" So........run?", Meredith said, only half joking.

" How are we getting everyone free from this trio?"

“Ogres have saying…,” Little One offers, choosing his words carefully. “‘One skewer, one cook.’ Means: even when have what need (food), ogres grumpy and find thing to fight over. Like how long turn spit. I not mention that usually is villager over the fire… Regardless. This place have three cook. Many villagers — and others — over the fire. Hags … sound grumpy like ogre. Maybe they argue how long turn spit. Or argue other things…”

" I mean.......we three do have  fairly varied opinions on a range of subjects and certain individual idiosyncracies and......traumas......if we weren't all amazingly emotionally intelligent and forgiving we'd likely bicker a lot."

" Hags aren't known to be forgiving, I think, so there's likely some long standing resentments.......how to draw them out? And who is the weakest link?"

“I think you’ve found it out, Little One, Meredith. Hags are strongest together, but yet so rarely form a stable coven. Strongest together. But one spit and three cooks.” Erudisia ignores to the best of her ability the unsettling implications of Little One’s Ogre saying.  

“They are running this place as a health spa, and we are here, ripe for forming pacts. I think we should see the itinerary offered for the day. They will place themselves in our path, and if they are divided, they will not approach us together but one by one. That is how we figure out where their cracks lie, and then we … widen them.”

" Ok....so who is going where then if we're seperating.  I mean none of us need much in the way of beauty treatments.....", she avoided looking at Little One.

" The massages are good but the ' owners' aren't really involved there."

Bell looks lost for a moment and then chimes in, "I suppose I could go get my hair washed and trimmed.  It has been a while since I hacked at it with scissors."

(Does Little One have hair?)

Erudisia unties her plait and her hangs to the curve of her back. She looks at her ends and runs her excellently manicured fingers through splits and some few small knots that linger from past excursions. 

“Let’s all go have breakfast, seek about getting our hair styled while we are here. Then I would like to see the grounds and the towers in the day time. We shall gain some benefit and then we shall see what differs in the day.” Erudisia gives a minute shrug. “Comme si, comme sa.”

After your late night and morning discussion, you’re not the first guests to rise, and when you leave your rooms and approach the lounge, you pass the kitchen, the door to which is open. A beautiful, rosie-cheeked wood elf with a white sash over her eyes – is she blind, you wonder – moves easily around the room, quickly assembling and dressing a large breakfast salad. The smell of baking permeates the area, although the scents are unfamiliar and not altogether pleasing. A big mastiff slumps on the floor at the back of the room facing the door. Its head slowly rises when you look in, meeting your eyes with its own. You hear one of the halfling women tittering roughly from the lounge, and other sounds of morning motion.

" Hello, how are you?", Meredith whimpers to the hound as she passes.

( Speak with Animals)

It’s odd… when Meredith turns to the mastiff and sends a few canine words its way, it doesn’t respond at all. It’s as if she were talking to a wooden post. It doesn’t even look at her. In fact, its gaze seems to be on Bell. And something in its look makes Meredith shiver. A long stream of saliva escapes its mouth, hissing on the floor. Of course, it is directly under the oven. But more importantly… dogs don’t always make sounds when they speak. Their communication is partly body language. Meredith should have understood that stare as words. Something about Bell. But it’s like the line is dead. She has no idea what the dog is saying. (and no spell slot is used if it is usually required.)

Meredith moved behind Erudisia quickly as they walked, once away from the kitchen she whispered to the others, " That dog......is not a dog...", she said with a shiver.

She wonders at whatever-it-is staring at Bell, trying to think of reasons why she would be singled out.

Arcana/Religion- 20

(Meredith gets the impression that something truly fiendish would see Bell as the most steady, pure, and therefore, delectable of the three of you. DM’s call…)

( Having thought of Bell as quite delectable in the recent past Meredith totes gets that........not that she's a demon........probably......)

Erudisia nods, and quietly whispers. “What is it if not what it appears, can you tell?”

Something the kobold nee tiefling, Glitter, told you, comes to mind:

“Disguised as elves, the three sisters – Morganna, Azirssa, and Greensong – tempt guests into undergoing magical transformations.”

The beautiful wood elf whose eyes are covered by a white sash, who had been busy sprinkling dressing on the salad, suddenly slows in her motions. Her back is to you as she calls over her shoulder.

“You must be our new guests.” Her voice is girlish, although she appears to be an adult. “Welcome to our temple of healing. I am Greensong, chef de cuisine and proprietor. Remember, physical beauty and good physical health depend on a good diet of only the healthiest and most nurturing things. My culinary creations may be… unfamiliar. But know that nothing can possibly do more to plump up your self-worth than to partake. Breakfast is almost ready.” She turns to face the doorway where you stand, a healthy pink color accentuating her high cheek bones, even under the white sash. She can't make eye contact, but she seems fully aware of you.