After a lot of back-and-forth with Marwa about a bunch of totally wild witch-charlatan nonsense, several damp nights of skulking around the stone circle, and a back-room shakedown of Firo, Prince Demetrius is finally able to secure a social call with the strange woman who seems inexplicably bent on meeting him. .. And she wants him to do what now??!
* * * * *
[Greyleigh Manor, Second Story, Oakwood Suite]
With its brightly verdant coat of paint above polished golden wainscoting, the front room of this suite gives the pleasant impression of being amidst an open oak woodland. A wide window on the east wall looks out over the manor courtyard, with a desk and chair set before it to take advantage of the light. The riverstone fireplace dominates the south wall of the room, where a plush bearskin rug invites one to bask in the warmth from the flames. A green-and-gold sofa also faces the hearth, with a low stool nearby and a trunk behind it, while a paneled doorway leads to the inner room of the suite.
A checkerboard linen quilt is draped neatly over the back of a green-and-gold upholstered sofa. A marquetry cedarwood trunk is behind a green-and-gold upholstered sofa.
A smell of jasmine and cedarwood is noticeable.
Cardinal Exits: west: polished oak door (closed) and south: paneled door (closed)
You go to sit on a cushioned desk chair.
You take out a feather quill dipped in dark bluish-black ink from an imber oak desk.
You dip a feather quill in some ink.
You write on a small sheet of parchment with a feather quill dipped in dark bluish-black ink.
You write on a small sheet of parchment with a feather quill dipped in dark bluish-black ink.
/You feel quite absorbed in this letter making demands upon Maestro Ighlaf's time./
It is evening, the hour of evensong.
You write on a small sheet of parchment with a feather quill dipped in dark bluish-black ink.
You dip a feather quill in some ink.
You have emoted: Demetrius begins elegantly scribing his titles down the length of his piece of parchment, then frowns when he finds the length of his piece of parchment is not long enough.
You put a small sheet of parchment on an imber oak desk.
You have emoted: Demetrius gives the parchment a look of some consternation. He squints at it closely, as if gauging whether he might able to cram in the last of his titles by writing in a sufficiently small script, but then seems to decide this will not suffice, as he tosses it down onto the desk with a sigh.
You notice: A strangely beckoning whisper of an image comes into view within your mind's eye. An apiary cottage, up north of the town, past a secret trail eastward near a deep rut in the Wayfare...
/With an internal sigh, you think: But now I will require more parchment. And it is such dismal night. What--/
You have emoted: Demetrius stares unseeingly at the window as he exhales softly, ".. what in the world... was that...?" [in Cateni]
/You feel distinctly rattled, as one not generally prone to sudden uninvited visions./
/Uneasily, you think: Could that have been...?/
/He doesn't quite want to finish the thought, but suddenly he is struck by equal parts nerves and excitement./
You jump up away from a cushioned desk chair at the wide east window.
You take out a smoky-furred lynx cloak from an iron clotheshook.
You put on a smoky-furred lynx cloak.
You have emoted: Demetrius snatches his cloak off the clotheshook and whirls it around his shoulders, pats his doublet down briefly, then yanks open the door.
You approach the closed polished oak door.
You open the polished oak door.
You walk through the polished oak door.
You approach the frame of the open polished oak door.
You close the polished oak door.
[Greyleigh Manor, Second Story, South Hallway]
Natural light brightens this fairly narrow hallway, coming both from the entry landing to the north and a tall window at the opposite end of the hall to the south. Doorways open onto the corridor at widely spaced intervals, with bronze sconces and painted panels filling the walls in between.
A dark canvas umbrella stands propped to one side of a polished oak door.
Also here is Marcella.
Cardinal Exits: north, east: polished oak door (closed), and south
Marcella slants a sidelong glance towards you without changing her position.
With an odd sort of edgy elation, you say, "Marcella! It is time, I think. We are finally to meet our near-mythical woods-woman." [in Cateni]
You have emoted: Demetrius licks his lips and pauses a moment. "I think." [in Cateni]
Marcella observes you expressionlessly for a long moment, the only change in her face a slow compressing of her lips. Finally she exhales a sharp breath and simply gives you a small sharp nod.
Marcella falls in with you.
You have emoted: Demetrius says, "Yes, yes, I know you do not like it.... you hardly need recourse to words for me to be well aware of that." [in Cateni] He squints at her briefly, then lets out a breath of his own. "Nevertheless. This is it, and we are going." [in Cateni]
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
You walk down a sweeping stairway.
Marcella walks down from the way up a sweeping stairway.
[Greyleigh Manor, Grand Entryway]
Burnished mistwood doors open onto this large entryway whose delicately carved yet substantial wooden rafters soar a tall two stories overhead, supporting gracefully draped green and grey banners that flutter softly as if in welcome. Patterned stone tile of swirling grey-and-white granite spreads out underfoot, from the base of the sweeping stairway leading up to the west, to the rounded arch on the north wall through which a longer hall can be seen. Although designed successfully to impress, the entry is spare on ostentation, the residents clearly preferring the quality of the materials and the tastefulness of design to speak for itself. Here is a heavy leather ledger inscribed with the Greyleigh crest.
A blunt-nosed guard is standing by the way out. Marcella is here.
Cardinal Exits: north and south: highly polished mistwood door (closed)
Other: out: mistwood double doors (closed) and up a sweeping stairway
You approach the closed mistwood double doors.
You open the mistwood double doors.
A blunt-nosed guard bows her head respectfully to you while clearing the way for you to pass through unhindered.
You walk out of a gabled stone manor through the mistwood double doors.
Marcella walks out of a gabled stone manor through the mistwood double doors.
You approach the frame of the open mistwood double doors.
You close the mistwood double doors.
[Greyleigh Manor, South Courtyard]
A grassy expanse, trimmed neatly short by the grazing of flocks of sheep, stretches between the heavy iron gate and the dark stone manor house of the noble Greyleigh family. The gravel drive winds in a lazy loop past the front entrance to the manor, with a narrower but well-traveled track running off towards the northern half of the courtyard and the many smaller buildings visible in that direction. Neither so large nor so heavily fortified as the demesnes of more powerful families, the manor relies on the encircling town wall for its most stalwart protection. Also a canopied dais, a long trestle table draped with a ruby red cloth, a long trestle table draped with a sunny yellow cloth, and a long trestle table draped with a woad blue cloth are here.
A ginger-haired guard is standing by a gabled stone manor. Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: east: heavy iron gate (open), north, and south
Other: a gabled stone manor: mistwood double doors (closed)
You walk through the heavy iron gate.
Marcella walks through the heavy iron gate.
You walk east.
Marcella walks over from the west.
You walk east.
Marcella walks over from the west.
You walk east.
Marcella walks over from the west.
[St Loomis, North Main Street]
Between the outer gate and the imminent sprawl of the port town, the northernmost portion of Main Street passes near the top of the seaside hill upon which St Loomis is built. The lighthouse jutting from the coastal rocks towers far higher, and can be seen well from this tidy stretch of cobbled road that has not yet descended into the chaos and clutter clustered around the town's center. An oddly peaceful grove spreads out behind a stone wall to the west, a flagstone-paved avenue running along its south side.
Guardman Mildren is here. Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south, north, and west
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[St Loomis, Before the Gate]
The barred iron gateway to the north is usually flanked by a pair of guards, standing ready to admit or bar passage to all who seek entry to St. Loomis. Rising well above the heads of pedestrians, the stone wall that surrounds the landward side of town looms in stark solidity. Eastward a walkway runs for some distance in the shadow of the ramparts, but to the west the way is blocked by another, lower stone partition that marks the boundary of the local lord's manor.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south, east, and north: iron portcullis (open)
You walk through the iron portcullis.
Marcella walks through the iron portcullis.
You walk through the heavy oaken barbican.
Marcella walks through the heavy oaken barbican.
[Locale of St Loomis, Outside the Gate]
The stone wall that surrounds the port town of St Loomis stretches west and east at roughly the height of three tall men. Within its blocky face is a heavy set of doors that guards the outer side of the gatehouse. Grass and tangled weeds encroach upon the foot of the wall and along the edges of the wide road that leads out of town. Within a stone's throw from the ramparts the road is roughly paved in cobblestone as if it were presenting a welcome mat to travelers, but beyond that it quickly turns to rutted earth as it heads north across a wide clearing encircling the town.
A lit Mistwatch lantern stands sentinel on a tall pole.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south: heavy oaken barbican (open) and north
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Outside St Loomis]
The main road out of St Loomis crosses a broad area painstakingly cleared of trees and brush, before meeting the ponderous town gate just to the south. Heavy ruts and thickly clustered hoofprints mark the path of numerous travelers, while the trampled grass to either side shows where farmers and traveling peddlers set up their wares during market days.
A sheltered firewood hutch stands at the side of the road, near the battered fairgrounds field. Here is a dark bonfire.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: north, south, and west along a mucky path
A stiff breeze blows across the plain, pushing aside scents of rotting produce and muck and bringing the distant roar of the sea.
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Nearing St Loomis]
As the Wayfare nears the stone walls of a sizeable settlement to the south, the ground beside the road becomes more heavily packed and the grass lower. The quiet of the evening is broken only occasionally by the drowsy bleat of a sheep, drifting distantly across the empty fields. Northward a few trees begin to dot the open landscape, the road winding gently among them.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south and north
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Open Fields]
Close by the east side of the road and marking the point where it intersects with a slightly smaller lane, a single leaning gloam pine reaches out to make a needle-boughed awning for travelers to pass beneath. Grasses wave in the breeze where the land descends slightly to the sea cliffs eastward. Meandering in from tree-dotted farmland to the north, the wide dirt track heads south across an open plain.
A spacious paddock has been built in the eastern field.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south, west, and north
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Open Fields]
Traveling past a mix of fallow farmland and young rye as it makes its way through the countryside, the road forms a dividing line between cultivated ground to the west and windswept meadow eastward. Beyond the fields rises a small fortified structure, looking a little out of place in the middle of peaceful farmland.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south and northwest
You walk northwest.
At a short distance toward the southeastward direction, you see: Marcella walks northwest.
Marcella walks over from the southeast.
You walk northeast.
Marcella walks over from the southwest.
[The Wayfare, Open Fields]
Strips of fallowed ground and young winter rye extend off to the west, the small shoots looking somewhat the worse for wear from exposure to the winds on the open headland. Navigating its way around small dips and rises in the ground, the road takes a bend to the southwest to avoid a marshy depression thick with low grass and sedges.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: southwest and north
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Open Fields]
Small mottes of oak dot the landscape, casting the shade of their branches upon the surrounding strips of cropland. The road is roughly rutted with the tracks of wagons and the beasts of burden that pull them, signs of the farmers and merchants that haul their goods laboriously along the Wayfare. To the north the scattered trees begin to close in to make a dense wood.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: north and south
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Forest's Edge]
Trees press in closely here, though just to the south only a scattering of pine and oak speckles the open landscape. An old drystone wall marks the limit of the woods on the west side of the road, the stacked slabs of rock listing and worn as if exhausted from long years of guarding against the encroachment of the forest. On the south side sprawls a fallow field, left to slumber beneath a thin blanket of barley straw with its work now done for the year.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: north and south
You have emoted: Demetrius starts off confidently enough, but begins to slow and look a little more uncertain the closer they get to the edge of the woods. He pauses to peer into the darkness beneath the trees, frowning faintly.
Marcella slants a look over at you, raising one eyebrow in a rather ironical-looking way.
(Quietly): You mutter, "Yes, I know, it is only... It is a very odd sensation, plotting a course for a place where... you know that you have never been before, nor even seen." [in Cateni]
Marcella gaze somberly at you, but then simply lifts her shoulders in a fatalistic shrug.
You have emoted: Demetrius gives Marcella a thin twist of a smile. "Mn. Indeed. Do or die, I suppose." [in Cateni]
You look up at the sky.
You have emoted: Demetrius exhales a soft puff of breath that sends a stray flurry whirling hastily away from his face, and sets off again into the darkness of the wood.
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Hunter's Forest]
Trees grow thickly around the road, casting dappled shadows on the rutted dirt. Gnarled oaks are mixed closely with pines and stunted yews, hardy species adapted to a life near the sea whose saline tang occasionally penetrates the rich aroma of loam, evergreen, and tannin. The forest's edge can be glimpsed a short distance to the south, while spreading densely around in every other direction.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south and north
You walk north.
Marcella walks over from the south.
[The Wayfare, Hunter's Forest]
The way through the wood becomes rougher here, the ever-present ruts deepening into mucky furrows as the road passes through a permanently muddy spot. Dead leaves lie churned into the slushy earth, forming a half-frozen and decaying carpet that squelches underfoot.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: south and northeast
A fine snowfall fills the air, flecks of agitated white swirling down from dim skies.
You have emoted: Demetrius lowers his eyes to squint very closely at the half-frozen ground beneath his feet, then slides his gaze over to the eastern margin of the road.
You walk east.
Marcella walks over from the west.
[Hunter's Forest, Neglected Apiary, A Hidden Meadow]
The density of the forest foliage breaks away abruptly into a circular meadow. A soft blanket of snow coats the area, hiding any grasses beneath its cold embrace. Set a few paces off the path are neat rows of beechwood boxes atop rickety stands.
Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: east and west
You have emoted: Demetrius's brow furrows in a mix of curiosity and unease as he peers around the clearing and the beehives. He looks back down at the snowy, slushy ground for a moment.
You carefully look over the area.
3: Some sort of tracks move through here, coming from the west and leading towards the east.
2: Tracks made by an animal come from the east.
You peer east...
[Hunter's Forest, Neglected Apiary, Before an Old Cottage]
Before you sits a rather unimpressive cottage. Time has not been kind to the structure itself but in the absence of human care, nature has begun to reclaim its hold. A race to the top has begun with lichens and moss first foraging the path for vines to follow. Tucked up against a side wall, only partially still visible beneath the growth, is a wooden hatch.
A thin bone bone has overflowed from the bowl. A woad-painted ceramic bowl is purposefully placed up near the wall of the cottage.
An old dog has flopped on the ground here, lounging with her tongue lolling lazily out to one side.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: west and north
Other: an old cottage: aged wooden door (closed) and down: wooden hatch (closed)
You walk east.
Marcella walks over from the west.
[Hunter's Forest, Neglected Apiary, Before an Old Cottage]
Before you sits a rather unimpressive cottage. Time has not been kind to the structure itself but in the absence of human care, nature has begun to reclaim its hold. A race to the top has begun with lichens and moss first foraging the path for vines to follow. Tucked up against a side wall, only partially still visible beneath the growth, is a wooden hatch.
A thin bone bone has overflowed from the bowl. A woad-painted ceramic bowl is purposefully placed up near the wall of the cottage.
An old dog has flopped on the ground here, lounging with her tongue lolling lazily out to one side. Marcella is here.
A few snowflakes whirl about through the night.
Cardinal Exits: west and north
Other: an old cottage: aged wooden door (closed) and down: wooden hatch (closed)
You have emoted: Demetrius blinks at an old dog, looking distinctly surprised to find such a creature here. Then his gaze narrows, part in disdain and part in wariness, before he shifts his eyes past the dog and towards the door of the old cottage.
(Quietly): You mutter, "Well, then... It never hurts to arrive politely, I suppose, even when visiting a woods-witch." [in Cateni]
You approach the closed aged wooden door.
You knock lightly on the aged wooden door.
A howl in a light mezzo-soprano can be heard from an old cottage.
Marcella frowns at the door, very narrowly indeed. And, with the noise of that howl, rather flatly.
A shout in a sweet, shaky soprano breaks out from an old cottage.
"COME IN." [in Ruvic with a sweet, shaky soprano]
You have emoted: Demetrius simply stares at the door for a very long moment. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it again, and exhales a long a perhaps somewhat strained breath.
An old dog gets up and stands within the general area.
Minute snowflakes dance nimbly upon the air.
(At an old cottage): You mutter, "Well, at least the old woman is here. We shall see what she and her... companion.. get up to, out here in the wilderness." [in Cateni]
You open the aged wooden door.
You walk through the aged wooden door.
Marcella walks through the aged wooden door.
[Hunter's Forest, Neglected Apiary, Inside an Old Cottage]
While the outside of the structure has begun to flourish with life, the inside is something of a time capsule. Every surface is coated with a layer of dust. It is a modest space, with everything needed for living present in a single room. A small hearth occupies an area opposite the bed. Centrally located between twin alcove shelves is a sturdy desk and chair. Clearly, this has seen some use, as the floor here is scuffed with tracks from moving the chair. The view from the desk looks out a small window to a meadow. Also a bundle of firewood and a large clay milk jug are here.
A poised middle-aged woman stands by the hearth, warming her hands. A hunched, elder woman is sitting at a sturdy, oak desk and chair, holding a brass-capped reed cane in her right hand. Marcella is here.
Cardinal Exits: west: aged wooden door (open)
Marcella approaches the frame of the open aged wooden door.
Marcella closes the aged wooden door.
A hunched, elder woman offers you a polite dip of her head, a frown lingering. "Thank you for coming," [in Ruvic] she says, mild, before looking to a poised middle-aged woman expectantly.
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
You have emoted: Demetrius comes in through the door with a confident stride, even if the look on his face is rather wary/ and perhaps vaguely annoyed/. He shifts his gaze around the dusty room, squinting gaze taking in the layout and furnishings, then looks to a hunched, elder woman and gives her a small nod of acknowledgement. And last of all, he looks at a poised middle-aged woman.
You see a poised middle-aged woman whom you recognize as a poised middle-aged woman.
A poised middle-aged woman is about the same height as you, and appears to be of Ilexian heritage. She has nutmeg brown eyes, pale skin, and russet hair up in a tucked braided twist.
This mediocre-heighted and relatively-average-looking woman has pale skin, nutmeg-brown eyes, and loosely curling russet hair that goes along with upswept eyebrows and a high brow. A chiseled nose sits evenly beneath her enigmatic stare and above a small delicate mouth. Her visage is vaguely ageless, but there are fine crow's feet around the corners of her eyes.
She has no visible wounds.
She is wearing: a dingy undyed wool kerchief, a mismatched scrap leather cloak, a watchet wool skirt, a pair of drab stitched-together scrap leather sandals, a black cotton drawstring pouch, and a heavy woolen knapsack.
A poised middle-aged woman places a hand over her mouth, still tittering, and then at last turns from the hearth to sweep a curtsy towards you. "Your Highness," [in Ruvic with a light mezzo-soprano] she offers in courtly greeting, but her tone is certainly more amused than respectful -- almost... indulgent.
A hunched, elder woman's pine eyes scan the faces, shifting from a poised middle-aged woman, to you, then finally to Marcella. It lingers there, appraising quietly.
Marcella moves away from the door to stand a short ways from your left elbow -- close enough to be at the ready, far enough to be as discreet as a menacing looking swordswoman in a tiny cottage can be. She settles her gaze on a poised middle-aged woman, eyes flat and cold and staring.
A poised middle-aged woman smiles warmly. "I am glad you had your bodyservant with you, fumbling around in the rainy woods for so long," [in Ruvic] she murmurs. "We would not want a lad of your caliber to be lost. However..." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman stands before the hearth, appraising Demetrius with a faint smile. (Room Pose Set)
A poised middle-aged woman asks, "...are you sure you're up for these clandestine affairs?" [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius corrects, "Your Grace," [in Cateni] in neutrally measured tone. "I am not the ruler of this kingdom." [in Cateni] He looks a poised middle-aged woman over, assessingly, ignoring the other commentary. "Is this what passes for clandestine these days? A mere meeting in a cottage outside of town?" [in Cateni]
A hunched, elder woman observes quietly from her place at a sturdy, oak desk and chair. (Room Pose Set)
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
A poised middle-aged woman lifts a hand to tap gently against her chin, attempting to hide her doubt in your capabilities. She gazes at you for a while, appraising.
/He will be the ruler of this tiny place, of course, but that has not happened quite yet./
You have emoted: Demetrius simply looks back at a poised middle-aged woman, poised and patient and seeming as if he could wait the end of the world without complaint.
A poised middle-aged woman tilts her head to one side in a small shrug, eventually. "I hope you were not followed," [in Cateni] she comments, tone light.
A poised middle-aged woman says, "Now..." [in Ruvic]
You feel a slight soreness from your wounds but it seems to be healing.
A poised middle-aged woman paces to the other side of the hearth, making space there should either you or a hunched, elder woman wish to approach. "Tell me why you have come to meet with me, young man." [in Ruvic] Notably, she makes no further reference to any royal titles, as if they matter little in this cottage in the rainy woods.
You have emoted: Demetrius raises an eyebrow at a poised middle-aged woman. "It seems unlikely that I was, but in any case, your only stipulation, as relayed by your associate--" [in Ruvic] he tilts his head towards a hunched, elder woman "--was no Mistwatch or lawmen. And they are not overly given to stealth." [in Ruvic]
Dryly, a poised middle-aged woman says, "You might be surprised, if you knew as much of them as I do..." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius's gaze simply follows a poised middle-aged woman for the time being as he replies, "I have heard tell that you possess.. interesting powers. Also that we share a common enemy. I am.. intrigued by these things." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman heaves a deep sigh and shakes her head. "Thieves and layabouts, draining from the crown's coffers while purposefully allowing the mists to seep over this land..." [in Ruvic] Then she brightens, and grins at you. "Did you not hear my call?" [in Ruvic]
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
A poised middle-aged woman winks at a hunched, elder woman.
You have emoted: Demetrius can't fully suppress a hint of distaste that twists the corner of his mouth. "Is that what you call that... scene that came into my head?" [in Ruvic]
Openly amused, a poised middle-aged woman says to a hunched, elder woman, "Do you wager we can trust this boy, dear Firo, or will he blather to the first who tickles him between the sheets?" [in Ruvic]
Without adopting any twinge of amusement from a poised middle-aged woman, a hunched, elder woman sighs and offers, "I was not asked to decide if he was trustworthy. Only bring him here." [in Ruvic] She pauses then, looking to you. "He... has managed to keep quiet so far, I suppose." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius's eyes narrow still further from their natural squint/, and a faint look of ire gleams in his eyes/, but his face retains its neutrality otherwise. "Is this the manner in which you treat all your guests here? If so, I do not wonder at your receiving few, or having to entice them out here."
Marcella's gaze remains fixed just as unerringly on a poised middle-aged woman, and just as coldly.
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
"Those who come, come because they are capable of it," [in Ruvic] a poised middle-aged woman tells you loftily. "And they know the import of our work." [in Ruvic] She glances back to a hunched, elder woman, and pulls a dubious frown while looking you up-and-down again. Finally she smiles. "I can't believe I invited guests without serving any tea!" [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman says with a smile to Marcella, "Do you like tea?" [in Ruvic]
There is no response whatsoever from Marcella, not even the flicker of an eyelash. Generously, it might be taken as a 'no'.
You have emoted: Demetrius asks, "Are these powers you are supposed to wield even real at all, or only a charlatan's tricks aided by the credulity of the gullible?" [in Ruvic] His eyes flick up and down over a poised middle-aged woman, as if preparing to dismiss her outright.
A poised middle-aged woman tilts her head towards a hunched, elder woman and hisses in a stage whisper, "Do you have any tea? At least we could warm them up before sending them back out into the cold?" [in Ruvic]
"They are real," [in Ruvic] a hunched, elder woman tells you, dry, as she begins digging around in a wicker basket.
Lowering her own eyelashes demurely, a poised middle-aged woman says to you, "Oh, aye, likely only a charlatan, Your Grace. Do go back to your suite in the Greyleigh manor, and return to ignoring old women in the forest. Not important at all, I am sure." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman suppresses a low giggle, and nods approval to a hunched, elder woman before twisting her stance to look back into the dancing flames within a lit small, stone hearth. "After we've all had some tea, of course." [in Ruvic]
A hunched, elder woman comes up empty on her search. "Only medicinal bark," [in Ruvic] she tells a poised middle-aged woman. "My mint has gone off." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius looks at a poised middle-aged woman for a long moment, then says to her with a patient air, as if trying to explain something very simple to a child, "I came here because I was told you were a powerful foe to the Mistwatch, and also because you yourself were said to want to meet me. Not for what fetid concoction passes for tea in this land." [in Ruvic]
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
/With deep irritation as well as frustration, you think: What does this woman even want? Is she even capable of anything at all, other than being irksome and possibly mildly deranged?/
"I did want to meet you," [in Ruvic] a poised middle-aged woman replies then, with sudden abruptness, looking towards you. "To take your measure. And I have. You are ..." [in Ruvic]
/Extremely put out, Demetrius finishes for the woman./
A poised middle-aged woman lifts a single finger to tap against her lips.
With grimness, a poised middle-aged woman says, "Very caught up in your own importance, too much so to consider the good of any lands. Not as a true prince should." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius suppresses an exhalation that might be trying to make itself into a sigh as he shifts his gaze upward, waiting for an answer. But when it does finally come, his eyes snap back down to a poised middle-aged woman, very swiftly and sharply.
A poised middle-aged woman takes a few steps then, crossing towards a hunched, elder woman.
(At a sturdy, oak desk and chair): A poised middle-aged woman approaches a sturdy, oak desk and chair and shifts to approach a hunched, elder woman...
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
(At a sturdy, oak desk and chair): A poised middle-aged woman shifts closer to a hunched, elder woman.
(Hidden) A poised middle-aged woman whispers to a hunched, elder woman, "--- ---s- --- -- ----s, --- --s." [in Ruvic]
A hunched, elder woman's lips pinch further as a poised middle-aged woman approaches. Tense.
(Hidden) A hunched, elder woman whispers to a poised middle-aged woman, "-'- --- s--- --- --- --- -- ----- --- ---- --s- -- --s--ss --- --------." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman places a hand on a hunched, elder woman's shoulder gently, and leans to whisper something in yours ear before straightening and proffering a bright smile towards you and Marcella. "So. Ta, before you leave?" [in Ruvic]
Out of Character: You rolled composure and dissembling and the result was a 91 (extraordinary).
A poised middle-aged woman said "tea" [in Ruvic], though, of course.
A poised middle-aged woman cants her head, smiling at you.
A hunched, elder woman departs.
You have emoted: Demetrius's mouth works for just a moment, as if he were sequentially sorting through and rejecting a number of responses, before his lips compress into a taut line./ A look both pained and furious smoulders at the back of his gaze, but it's well suppressed./ "Very good, then," [in Ruvic] he finally says.
A hunched, elder woman arrives.
/That touches a nerve, but he is not going to admit it. He is not going to admit anything to this horrible woman by this point./
You have emoted: Demetrius continues simply to look at a poised middle-aged woman for a long moment/ with the faint sense that he would like to strangle her or run her through or cause some other serious bodily harm to her/, but in the end he only asks, "What manner of tea does one serve in a desolate wilderness hovel?" [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman utters a low chuckle, shaking her head at you, and looks sidelong at a hunched, elder woman. "Perhaps I will make the tea," [in Ruvic] she decides.
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
/With angry bafflement, you think: But what is she even up to? Surely she did not want to bring me out simply to stare at me and then insult me to my face? What game is she playing?/
A hunched, elder woman watches a poised middle-aged woman close, frown deepening. "You should go," [in Ruvic] she pipes up to tell you, abruptly. "This was a mistake." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman turns to the corner of the cottage, where someone has left a bundle of firewood and a large clay milk jug. She lifts a hand in midair, and sings under her breath, and a strange energy fills the interior of the hut for a moment.
You have emoted: "By all means, do," [in Ruvic] Demetrius tells a poised middle-aged woman with a/n imperfectly/ languid wave of one hand/, being a little too jerky with suppressed anger/. Flicking a glance over at a hunched, elder woman, he asks, "Was it? By whose estimation?" [in Ruvic]
/He is not entirely inclined to disagree with a hunched, elder woman on this, but he -wants to know-./
The milk jug abruptly explodes in a clatter of broken clay and splashed milk. And then -- there's no mess. It's simply gone. (Emit by a poised middle-aged woman)
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
A hunched, elder woman's expression shifts fully to discomfort now. "Mi-" [in Ruvic] She starts to say, then winces at the explosion.
A poised middle-aged woman lowers her hand in a flourish towards a neat series of four teacups on the floor where the milk jug used to be. "I have made the tea," [in Ruvic] she declares.
A poised middle-aged woman approaches the general area.
A poised middle-aged woman picks up a strangely-smooth wooden teacup from the floor.
A poised middle-aged woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
You have emoted: Demetrius gives a small start and this time actually does stare outright at a poised middle-aged woman.
A poised middle-aged woman pleasantly murmurs a contented 'mmm'.
A hunched, elder woman makes no move for any one of the teacups, butt firmly planted as she eyes the drinkware.
You have emoted: Demetrius states very flatly/, though he sounds a bit rattled and is trying to hide it/, "That is most definitely not how one makes tea." [in Ruvic]
Even Marcella's icy-blue stare widens a little at that display, and her fingers twitch briefly towards the hilt of her rapier. They don't quite complete the motion, but she does take a careful step closer to you.
/Feeling more shaken than he wants to show, you think: That was... only one of her charlatan's parlor tricks. Some foolish quackery, a bit of sleight of hand./
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
You have emoted: Demetrius bends down, quite deliberately and carefully, to pick up the cup of tea from the floor.
You pick up a strangely-smooth wooden teacup from the floor.
A hunched, elder woman is full of sighs needing to be released tonight. One is let loose before a grunt of effort carries the old lady to a stand. She murmurs warily, "Fine. Tea." [in Ruvic]
A hunched, elder woman straightens and walks over to the general area.
A hunched, elder woman picks up a strangely-smooth wooden teacup from the floor.
A poised middle-aged woman widens her eyes at the others. "Oh, please," [in Ruvic] she scoffs, lowering a strangely-smooth wooden teacup. "It is really quite good. I have gone to this effort and now you refuse my hospitality out of fear --" [in Ruvic] Then she breaks off, offering you a smile of slow approval.
You have emoted: Demetrius stares down into the cup, swirling the tea slowly around as he seems to study its color.
You sniff a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
The container itself has no specific smell, but the tea inside smells like bland tea.
A hunched, elder woman sniffs a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
A poised middle-aged woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
/You think: Ugh. It smells disgusting, and just as entirely un-tea-like as every other so-called tea to be found here./
A hunched, elder woman brings a strangely-smooth wooden teacup to her wrinkled lips for a short, appraising sip. (Consumption)
/Disapprovingly, you think: Of all the powers this woman could have displayed, the ability to produce a decent cup of tea would have been perhaps the most impressive. But no, she cannot do even that./
Issuing a slight grin around the rim of her teacup, a poised middle-aged woman says to you, "Well, well well. You may be selfish and fumbling, but at least you are brave, yea?" [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius raises his gaze from the tea and eyes a poised middle-aged woman rather coolly from over its rim. "It does require a great deal of bravery to drink any of the substances that are called tea in this place." [in Ruvic]
Giving his teacup a somewhat distasteful wave, you ask, "Exactly what manner of tea is this supposed to be?" [in Ruvic]
Marcella gives your tea an eyeballing that is brief but as frosty as ever.
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
A poised middle-aged woman waves her empty hand dismissively. "Something warm and drinkable," [in Ruvic] she claims. "Tea is not my forte." [in Ruvic] There's a chuckle at a hunched, elder woman, and then she claims with abrupt darkness to you. "Matters of true power are. But, at least you can drink tea." [in Ruvic] Once more, she seem to be sizing you up, seemingly more appreciating.
A poised middle-aged woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
As if making a great concession, a poised middle-aged woman says to you, "I would be willing to give you a task, to prove your capabilities, should you so wish." [in Ruvic]
/Amending to himself, you think: Of course, I would not drink sinister woods-witch tea even were it the most enthralling blend from the tropical mountains of Jalanjhur itself. But it would be a great deal more tempting./
You have emoted: Demetrius murmurs in wry agreement with a poised middle-aged woman's comment on her less than elite tea skills, "Evidently not." [in Ruvic] But then he looks at her more narrowly again. /There might be the faintest twitch at the corner of one eye./
You have emoted: Demetrius draws in a carefully controlled breath before asking, ".. And what might that be?" [in Ruvic]
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
You have emoted: Demetrius takes just a small/ seemingly inadvertent/ step closer/, though it's really perfectly deliberate/. A flicker of interest/ and a subtly scheming look/ appears in his gaze.
A hunched, elder woman quietly watches the ongoing conversation quietly, nursing a strangely-smooth wooden teacup reflexively. (Consumption)
/You think: By the Dreamer, this woman will give me something of use tonight, if I must put her feet to the fire and roast it out of her./
/Feeling the familiar nag of insecurity, you think: I did not come all this way only to be belittled and insulted by a pitiful charlatan. I surely did not./
A hunched, elder woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
A poised middle-aged woman ponders you for a span. "Spring comes," [in Ruvic] she says. "Bring me a flower that matches the color of this tea." [in Ruvic] Her tone turns mysterious, and her gaze distant. "Lay it in the center of the stone circle, the one you waited at in the rain, and..." [in Ruvic]
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
Smiling slightly to herself as she speaks on in that esoteric manner, a poised middle-aged woman says, "Recite a poem, little lynx." [in Ruvic]
Showing her teeth at you then in a suddenly feral grin, a poised middle-aged woman says, "No one shall be there, but I will hear." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: An odd expression takes hold of Demetrius's face, his mouth tightening and his eyebrows twitching, as if he were attempting to hold back some inappropriate display of laughter. But that look swiftly vanishes into something cold and remote at those last words/, a bit sullen and uneasy as well/.
A hunched, elder woman pauses mid-sip, greying eyebrows raising as she shifts a look from you to a poised middle-aged woman and then back.
You have emoted: Demetrius repeats in a tone as chilly as his expression, "A blue flower. A poem." [in Ruvic] He pauses, raising one eyebrow a very precise fraction. "And then what?" [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
A hunched, elder woman takes a drink from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
A poised middle-aged woman takes a moment to savor a mouthful of the tea, then claims, "I shall take your measure again, and perhaps bring you into our circle of trust." [in Ruvic]
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
/He thinks, inevitably, of Lady Adelaide, laughing at his 'funny little verses', and something in his stomach turns over. Well, she was not laughing at the last ones her wrote for her. But this woman cannot know any of that. Can she?/
You have emoted: Demetrius seems to retrieve his gaze from whatever cold and frozen place it had gone off to, and gives a poised middle-aged woman a more ordinary guarded look. "And who, exactly, is your circle?" [in Ruvic]
You feel a slight soreness from your wounds but you are on the mend.
A poised middle-aged woman cants her head, and her eyes sparkle at you with the indulgent air of an older aunt. "Myself, and dear Firo, for now," [in Ruvic] she replies, and then inscrutably adds, "Those with true power never hearken to the laughter of lesser folk, for we are those who laugh last." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
/Demetrius feels his smothered anger still gasping for some kind of outlet, but he presses down on it ruthlessly./
/Resentfully, you think: Perhaps my own power is little, but I will laugh last in the end./
You have emoted: Demetrius is silent for another long moment before finally saying, "I see." [in Ruvic] He flicks another quick glance over a poised middle-aged woman, then asks in a faintly ironical tone, "And is there a time limit upon this little quest you are assigning me?" [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman approaches a sturdy and oak desk.Chair.
A poised middle-aged woman puts a strangely-smooth wooden teacup on a sturdy, oak desk and chair.
A poised middle-aged woman says, "Let us say... the end of next week, rather than tomorrow or the day after." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman sets down her cup, and starts towards the door. "I believe our business is concluded," [in Ruvic] she states cheerily, more to a hunched, elder woman than to you, once more treating the prince like a plate of chopped liver.
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
You have emoted: Demetrius frowns a little more at this. Rather critically/ and perhaps a trifle uneasily/ he replies, "That seems like a very short span of time to find a flower of a very particular and unusual shade, in all the great woods and meadows of County Innithel, before it is even spring." [in Ruvic]
Some lingering tension begins to recede from a hunched, elder woman's shoulders. "Alright," [in Ruvic] she murmurs, first addressing a poised middle-aged woman and then turning attention to you. "Be Good." [in Ruvic] Her usual parting words are offered tiredly.
/Feeling worried in spite of himself, you think: I need more time than that. Time to... tell... people./
Pausing at the door, a poised middle-aged woman says, "...hmm, true. There has not yet been enough warmth for such beautiful blooms as could match my tea." [in Ruvic]
A poised middle-aged woman goes to stand by the closed aged wooden door, joining Marcella.
/By people he most definitely means Lady Marwa. Who is no longer speaking to him. This is a small obstacle./
A poised middle-aged woman doesn't seem at all bothered by her proximity to Marcella, turning to look at you thoughtfully.
A poised middle-aged woman says, "A month, then." [in Ruvic]
/But perhaps he should not tell her at all..? She is not likely to be very impressed by anything he has accomplished thus far. Or any less inclined to think him a fool. But the evil witch-charlatan is speaking again./
You have emoted: Demetrius blinks sharply at a poised middle-aged woman, then gives her a short nod. "A month," [in Ruvic] he agrees/, a bit distractedly/. "That is fair." [in Ruvic]
/You think: It is not really fair. This entire thing is stupid, and absurd, and-- what in the world can she do with a -flower-?/
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
Marcella doesn't seem bothered by a poised middle-aged woman's proximity either, though there is some faint hint of distaste which she manages somehow to make known through her silently rigid posture.
A poised middle-aged woman nods.
/He feels rather wearily that he is only being taken for a fool yet again. Yet what choice does he have but to play along?/
A poised middle-aged woman opens the aged wooden door.
A poised middle-aged woman peers out into the elements of the dark night, then hums happily as she lifts her hood and makes her way out.
A poised middle-aged woman walks away through the aged wooden door.
The aged wooden door closes.
You have emoted: Demetrius looks somewhat surprised as the strange woman sees herself out of her own(?) cottage, an expression which swiftly becomes tinged with a trace of frustration. But after a moment this is all swiftly smoothed out into neutrality once again.
You have emoted: Casting a sardonic look back over his shoulder at a hunched, elder woman, Demetrius observes dryly, "Your friend is quite charming." [in Ruvic]
Left lingering in the cottage with you and Marcella, a hunched, elder woman eyes the newly closed door. "We are not friends," [in Ruvic] she offers in flat response.
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
You have emoted: "Associate, then," [in Ruvic] Demetrius offers as a marginal correction. He studies a hunched, elder woman narrowly. "Do you really hope to receive some benefit from her?" [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius adds with a hint of irritation, "Are you quite certain she is even sane?" [in Ruvic]
/Nevertheless, he thinks uneasily of the things she seemed to know, somehow./
"I hope to learn how to seek my own benefits from her," [in Ruvic] a hunched, elder woman tells you, sounding almost exhausted. The second question gets a more definite answer. "I'm quite certain she is not at all sane." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius gives a hunched, elder woman a look that seems rather to doubt her own sanity as well. "Then what in the Otherland can you hope to get from a madwoman?" [in Ruvic]
Marcella shifts her weight, observing a hunched, elder woman closely.
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
Lifting a strangely-smooth wooden teacup, a hunched, elder woman says, "She might not be sane, but her powers are quite real. Learning what I can from her as... a contingency plan." [in Ruvic]
A hunched, elder woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
You have emoted: Demetrius echoes flatly, "A contingency plan." [in Ruvic] His gaze flits down to a hunched, elder woman's teacup and his lip curls slightly. Then, looking back up to her, he asks sharply, "A contingency plan against -what-? Remaining drearily sane?" [in Ruvic]
Firelit shadows prance through the murky surroundings around a lit small, stone hearth.
A hunched, elder woman's frown deepens and her eyes shut for a moment. "When we crashed here and escaped the Mist, it came at a great cost," [in Ruvic] she explains you. "I do not wish to have such a thing happen again. If I can learn what I can, then perhaps things will turn out differently. We don't know enough about the gap to trust it." [in Ruvic]
You see a hunched, elder woman whom you recognize as a hunched, elder woman.
A hunched, elder woman is noticeably shorter than you, and appears to be of Irzali heritage. She has pine green eyes, dusky olive skin, and salt-and-pepper hair in a braided coil pinned to the back of the head.
Dusky olive skin well-worn from a life lived, this elder woman of Izrali decent stands with a slight hunch. Despite the gravity that has taken hold, bright pine-green eyes and a warm demeanor radiate life from her short, chubby frame. Her face is friendly and soft, with round cheeks and a wide, button nose. Most of the color has drained from her meticulously braided hair, giving a salt-and-pepper color to her coiled updo.
She has no visible wounds.
She is wearing: a loose-fitting woad-blue linen veil, a loose-fitting woad-dyed wool cloak, a crisp flexible brushed suede tunic, a soft inikiskin mizuda, a pair of sturdy woad-blue linen sirwaal, some travel-worn brown burlap ankle boots, jade inlayed gold ring, and a wicker basket.
She is holding a brass-capped reed cane in her right hand and holding a strangely-smooth wooden teacup in her left hand.
You have emoted: Demetrius lets out a quietly incredulous scoff of a breath. Gesturing towards the door, he asks, "And you know enough about that woman to trust *her*?" [in Ruvic]
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
/With weary irritation, you think: Why am I even arguing with this old woman? She is even more a fool than I am, God help her./
"It is not like we've been offered much help by anyone else, dear," [in Ruvic] a hunched, elder woman retorts, flat. "You have a whole mess of Mistwatch who couldn't tell us from demons." [in Ruvic]
A hunched, elder woman takes a sip from a strangely-smooth wooden teacup.
You have emoted: Demetrius regards a hunched, elder woman coolly for a moment before answering, "I believe I have proved capable enough of telling you from demons, and I should have thought I was offering a great deal of help. However, if that does not suffice for you, then by all means, put your faith in a mad woods-charlatan." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius makes a soft 'tch' noise and looks away with a grimace. Pulling his cloak around himself, he says, "I will bid you a good evening, and make my return to town." [in Ruvic]
You have emoted: Demetrius tilts his head towards Marcella and tells her, "Come, Marcella, we are done here." [in Ruvic]
A lit small, stone hearth flickers and crackles.
"This relationship was forme before you were-" [in Ruvic] a hunched, elder woman starts to grumble. She lets it go with an eyeroll and bids tightly, "Good evening." [in Ruvic]
With a final penetrating glance for a hunched, elder woman, Marcella turns her attention to you and nods crisply to you.
You approach the closed aged wooden door.
You open the aged wooden door.
You walk through the aged wooden door.
Marcella walks through the aged wooden door.