npc inbox: sa-hareth + stairs of sighs

[groundrules]

NPC INBOX: SA-HARETH

Reach out to your (not-so-)favourite NPC here, putting their name in the comment header. Try to keep it to just quick text/audio/written exchanges or inquiries that can accept summarised answers, please!

CURRENTLY WITH THE PARTY

	THE MERCHANT username: raven master The patron saint of etiquette and the eastbound getaway expedition. Seems to largely trade information alongside wares. Appreciates spices, strategy and collaboration. Has an eerie and overly cautious manner. Committed. Defends the benefit of the many, to the detriment of the few.
	KARSA username: lady of the willow tree Sorceress, young (?). Employed by the Merchant and deferential to him. Talented but fiery and frequently impatient, intolerant of fools. She will get today's job done yesterday. Struggles to sympathise with men, objections and those who cannot absorb information quickly. Enchanted the group's translation devices.
	ASGEIRR The ghost of a scholar monk. Haunts the tattered execution cloak that the party stole from the La Rea bank in Sa-Hareth. Once a champion of equality and freedom, he faced ire for converting his followers against the regionally profitable trade of slavery. Soft-spoken but wise and just, slow to regain his strength. Will speak to those who visit his cloak in brief interludes. Favours necromancers.
	MAZYAR Charlatan, crook or wise man, Mazyar has worn all the names. Once an exceptionally skilled smuggler, now an equally apt tradesman and caravan master, allied with the Merchant. Less cryptic than his 'associate,' if more prone to riddles and keen on items with value.
	GHOST ARMY OF ARHA A maudlin, marauding and eerily fixated army led by the young lord Arha through the Stairs of Sighs. They seek to rescue Arha's oracle lover Hatisse from Taravast.
	OUHRSSON Guys, it's a bear.

SA-HARETH

	"HALTHAM" | ANURR username: Haltham | illiterate The undead warlord Anurr, previously posing as gentle-mannered giant Haltham. An embodiment of Sa-Hareth's cold storms and wind, who regained his territory from contender Unhalad with the inadvertent help of the party in Arc I. Frostily rational and amenable to some negotiation.
	THE (NOT-SO) GOOD PEOPLE From distressed locals to busy-bee merchants, guards, enchanters, tradesmen, politicians and looser-tongued courtesans — never underestimate the value of indiscretion in a citadel built on commerce, rumour and stubbornly choosing to ignore the expanding rule of the undead. Not every piece of gossip or legend's worth your time, but beggars can't be choosers.

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Comments

un: anglicized - to haltham

[descendency]

My good friend Haltham, are you available?

I'd like to ask you for your type.

un: haltham | perma audio

[aprescoup]

...ello? Hello? Hi. Hello? This is Haltham. Hello, my friend. It is good to hear you.

What type're you... what's you talking about?

[descendency]

You mentioned before, when you introduced yourself to us. That had you the coin, you wouldn't mind... partaking in what the House of Dew has to offer.

So, as a token of gratitude for all you've done for us, I'd like to treat you to its offerings. Do you need me to state it more plainly than that?

[aprescoup]

...no. I think I understand, me. But, listen, I'm... I'm what's it called. I'm a... soft heart, yeah? I want someone who wants me. For me. In the end, I don't think I could... not with just any stranger. You understand, don't you?

[descendency]

[ A long, heavy silence. ]

Yes, I understand.

[ A shorter pause. ]

How about me, then?

[aprescoup]

How about this? I'll take you to a nice piece of hog belly, with all the good dripping lard, yeah? During the merchant festivals? You'll lick your fingers, you will.

[descendency]

[ This should absolutely not be charming. What the fuck.

But honey, darling. That is not what Mingyu is looking to lick. ]

A date?

[aprescoup]

An exact date? Well... festivals should be within the sennight. How's that?

[descendency]

No, it's what you call... Mm, that sounds lovely. I will be there, and it will be my treat. What should I wear?

[aprescoup]

Something warm, yeah? I'll see all of you. For lard. And brew.

It's getting all cold, isn't it? Innit so? Proper nippy.

[descendency]

A thoughtful suggestion. I'll take it to heart. I'm sure everyone else will be happy to see you too. You'll get a proper reception from the lot of us.

[ Or Mingyu will stab them. ]

[aprescoup]

Thank you. I just want to see all of you again. And make sure you're keeping warm. You're good people.

[descendency]

As are you, Haltham. We'll speak again soon.

That lady from the fabric shop [Audio]

[beitangmoran]

Hello, I should be back soon to finish paying off for that blue fabric I had you set aside.

And I was wondering... My companion was a bit impatient last time, my apologies for it, but I heard there was a sort of local legend about the red sleeves? Someone as world-wise as you surely has heard of it. Would you mind telling me when I next come pick up the wares? I'm very curious.

[groundrules]

The girl can tell the legend if Beitang Moran later shares it with his companions. Is this agreeable?

[beitangmoran]

Sure thing!

[groundrules]

The shop girl is slightly aggrieved by the question and insists on not addressing it until customers have left her establishment, for fear of jinxing their temper and souring her sales.

In between their visits, she shares a story that's been passed on down generations. It was old when her grandmother was barely toddling.


When Sa-Hareth was only just shaping, and the mountain tribes had yet to combine, there rose the young warrior Arne, destined for greatness. Among his people, he had the savage cunning of the wolf and the searching eye of the eagle, and the wit of a hundred ancestors. He woke with an axe in each hand, and never partook of wine brew past his measure, defended the lands and carried out raids and broke the salt mines to bring the people resources. He never raised voice against his lessers, never turned his hand on those who could not defend themselves, and all men agreed, he was best suited to take over from the chieftain.

But the chieftain had a son he meant to see to greatness, and a fear in his heart of Arne's growing popularity. One day, after winning another season's hunt, Arne presented himself before the chieftain and asked on both knees for his blessing and his endorsement, that Arne should be named his successor. He would marry the chieftain's daughter, if he wished, and live in the chieftain's home as blood of his blood, if he were willing, and he would swear fealty before all.

The chieftain would not have him. But he feared reprobation for a public rejection, and instead he asked of Arne to prove himself and his commitment to the tribe one last time. If Arne cared to lead, then he must above all defend the dignity of his people. And so, the chieftain gave Arne his signet ring, the pride of their tribe, to keep in his right hand, and he set Arne to be bound three days and three nights against the oldest tree of the forest. To prove himself, Arne must stay as he was put and never flinch or ask release, and hold on to his ring.

Arne agreed.

On the first day of his binding, the chieftain sent his loyal people to come and throw rocks at the warrior, and beat him with branches, and humiliate him with words, and offer him good salt and coin for the ring. Arne bore it all, and he did not ask release, and he did not give the ring.

Each night, the cold worsened.

On the second day, the chieftain sent the most beautiful maiden of the village to tell Arne that his mother slept on death's bed, and he must see her now, before she passes. And that the maiden has loved him well, and they might elope after together, and the ring in his hand might be her wedding token. Arne bore it all, and he did not ask release, and he did not give the ring.

On the third day, the chieftain neared despair, and he called on the spirits of malice of the forest to work his vengeance. And they sent for him a great bear in the forest, vicious and fierce. Arne, without luck or weapon, did not ask for release. The bear approached and scratched him and tore at his flesh, until it took in his great mouth the whole of Anurr's arm, past the elbow, and in that hand, the ring. And the bear's maws closed down.

And Arne bore through the pain and the agony of the bear's bite, until the third night was done, and he released himself in one mighty shake. Then, he fought the bear down with his healthy arm and wrestled it, and broke its neck. After, his gnawed arm could not be salvaged, and he gave it for cutting, to spare the rest of his body. But first, he showed the chieftain the ring that he'd safeguarded three days and three nights, and before his people, the chieftain could do nothing but give Arne his mantle.

After, so impressed was the tribe by Arne's nobility and strength, that each year when boys ascended to manhood, they asked for needle ink to tattoo a red-sleeve circle on their arm, in the same place where Arne's was bitten by the bear, then sawn down. Then, they were tied up against the tree for three days and three nights, to meditate on their courage, and whenever the colds roused, they would call out with chattering teeth for Arne's strength. And the other tribes so heard them, Arne, Arrrrn, Anrrrr, Anurr.

So, he became known, among all people, Anurr the Bold and Anurr the Red Sleeve, or Anurr the Red.

The shopping girl finishes with a flush to her cheeks and shrugs, all the same:

But this is an old story, and we were cold before Anurr, and we have been cold after.

[beitangmoran]

Moran will commit the story to memory in bits, always graciously bowing out to browse when more people come in. And he will thank her profusely and then pay for his blue silks. And he will also add another order of black silk, and one of soft leaf green, too. And a ribbon for the girl herself, as an apology for taking up her time.

[pulvisetumbra]

( Days after the heist, following this conversation, the Merchant will be reaching out to Winnie over an exclusive, quieter channel. )

Madam.


( Pick up, Winnie. )

[soulsrob]

[Look whatever it is, she's innocent! Probably. The quieter channel is certainly intriguing and he'd have her undivided attention from that alone if he hadn't already gained it. There's a faint curiosity.

But her tone is warm and friendly when she speaks]

Oh, good day, Sir Raven! Lord Raven? [Master...Raven??] To what do I owe the pleasant surprise of having you reach out to me?

[pulvisetumbra]

Good day. ( Manners must always be rewarded. ) It is my understanding that you have come into the unique possession of a hand mirror. Is that correct?

[soulsrob]

I have indeed! It's quite the pretty thing. [And WEIRD, but then, that's why she likes it.]

I've grown rather fond of it, truthfully. [She's never felt actually restless before like this, so it's still a bit novel. Her tone turns a bit regretful] Oh dear... are you contacting me because it's yours' and you'd like it back?

[pulvisetumbra]

No. You are my guest to retain it. ( And a soft pause: ) Dear madam. Does the mirror still run cold?

[soulsrob]

[She pauses as well, trying to decipher what the pause could mean, what the question could mean. She could only discern so much from voice alone and even then it's up in the air if she could be correct or not.]

It's quite cold, yes. It seems to spread all over after a while. I'm afraid I can't keep my hands on it for too long at a time.

You know the mirror well?

[pulvisetumbra]

I know enough. ( There might be laughter honeying the end of that. ) Young lady, you have quite the gift in your hands. I would suggest you don't impair it.