npc inbox: arc iii | house of ravens

[groundrules]

NPC INBOX

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!

Previous NPC inbox posts:

■ Arc I: Sa-Hareth

■ Interlude: Stairs of Sighs + Arc II: Taravast

■ Interlude: Ellethia

	HOK-SHINN WEISI Honoured, respected and inevitably feared mayor of Ke-Waihu. The velvet-gloved fist of the Hok-Shinn clan, amenable to peace-keeping through bribes and barter. Oily, corrupt, but reasonable and less prone to violence than his brother Sairen, who commands the clan's underground operations.
	HOK-SHINN TAKSUI No-good son of Hok-Shinn Weisi, lacking his father's polish or his uncle's efficient appetite for bloodshed. Slated to inherit a role as a high-standing member of Ke-Waihu. Leads a small, petty gang. Sullen, irritable. The party's liaison in Ke-Waihu.
	HYANG-TAI Blind priestess and unofficial leader of the serpent-seized wasteland that serves the fortune fetters. Soft-spoken, measured in her words, opaque. Believed by some to be holy. Could be 20 years of age, might be 80. Refuses pity or alms.
	HATISSE Revived witch of the Attaryl, partly responsible for the massacre of the Stairs of Sighs. Formerly a court witch of the Attaryl. Manipulative, vicious, a trained seductress. Formidably powerful. Buried with wards and injuries by her own sisters to prevent her return. Somewhat bound to Wrath.
	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.
	THE MERCHANT 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.

OTHER CITADELS

	"HALTHAM" | ANURR 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.
	MACALUSO SPINA Earnest and moderate nephew of Bonaccorso Spina, now leading Doxe of Taravast. Adrift, following the betrayals of his family, Macaluso benefits from support from the witches of Bessis and seeks to rebuild the citadel he secured with the party's help.
	VANNOZZA SPINA Beautiful and fierce niece of Bonaccorso Spina, targeted by the old man for possession. Crafty, coy, strategic and cold, she now acts as adviser to her more idealistic cousin, Macaluso Spina after executing her grandfather.
	KARSA Currently unavailable | 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. Furtively left the group, bearing injury, at the end of Arc II.

Comments

[beitangmoran]

Would that a fox's were the only blood I ever spilled, my lady, but alas, I am afraid it is not.

[The people here seem to hold her in great reverence, and whoever she is, he has no reason to be disrespectful.]

The foxes have also killed many here. To avenge one of their own, the story says. And so the bloodshed continues over generations.

[aprescoup]

Yes...? Yes...

( She appears briefly thoughtful, picking through her basket for a choice of the fruit less given to a putrid ripe. A pear satisfies her — she offers it to a man burdened by pox, uncaring for the exposure. )

You are not of the village. The birds have not... caught your shape before. What brings you here?

[beitangmoran]

I am not, no. I am only a traveler looking for his way home.

[he spares a look for the crowd around her who seems to not care much about his presence.]

The person brokering passage for me and my companions brought us here.

[aprescoup]

I hear you... I hear you. You are... a river. A coursing water. Your travels have taken you to our home.

( But they need not end here, in their village, in their haunting. She stills, and next the drag of her hand lingers in her basket, it resurfaces with the hefty weight of a thick, well-aged serpent that mounts her wrist, coiling around her thin arm to perch its head peacefully on her shoulder. The long, molten blade of its tongue licks her cheek. )

I hope they have been good to you. Strangers are like found children. Whatever face they wear, they are a joy.

[beitangmoran]

[The snake brings a slight widening of Moran's eyes at first, maybe a temporary quickening of his heartbeat as he realizes what the shape is, before he settles back down. He is not afraid of snakes, and that one seems docile enough and happy where it is.]

I don't think everyone here is quite rejoicing of our arrival, my Lady. Not that I can fault them for this, food is scarce and there is a good number of us. If we are a joy, some people are hiding their joy very well.

[aprescoup]

You have arrived at a difficult time. You have seen... their sons and daughters were only just wed. ( And widowed, the timid stretch of her mouth might indicate. ) I implore you, spare them your patience.

[beitangmoran]

My patience has been stretched a bit thin of late, my Lady, but we shall try. It is not like any of us really want to be there.

[They'll make do, somehow. maybe, if they're lucky, they won't murder anyone else, although their arrival has already coincided with bloodshed, even if not byt heir hands.]

... If I may ask, we have been warned not to come close to wherever you reside. Some of the villagers here do not seem to relish your presence either.

[aprescoup]

I am not a lady. ( Barely a woman, her voice reedy and scratched. ) We have no ladies here. No courts. No court witches.

( A humble people, her careful nod appears to indicate, and she does not seem to relish their poverty, as much as she merely accepts it.

He speaks again, and heeding him now, her eyes seem to slant, her head tipped to the side, just so, to listen: )

I carry a great ancient. ( A shrug of her shoulder, and the snake hisses, contently. ) They fear him. They fear all his kind. And so they fear all of our kind.

( Her voice stays pleasant, if embittered: ) They say Sanwon is their brother, how they love him so. But we are children of the brother. And they do not want us.

[beitangmoran]

[Well, has anyone told the Hok-Shinn that?]

Then how may I address you?

[Courtesy demands he use a name or a title, after all.]

Sanwon? I am afraid I have not heard that name before. Why do they not want you?

[aprescoup]

( She still for a moment, voice measured before she seems to take a scent — and her snake rises as she does so, coiling and snapping and hissing in the air, before it turns, all at once, towards the volcano.

She follows its movement seamlessly, hand slow as she points out the hills. )

There. The brother. The angry brother.

[beitangmoran]

Oh, is that what you call it?

[It must have escaped his notice when they were given a tour, but somehow, with demon fox brides, ghosts haunting them, curses and the likes, a volcano did not, in fact seem to be much of a pressing matter at the time.]

But why do they shun you? It cannot be just because of the snakes, is it?

[aprescoup]

( She wants for all thirteen heartbeats, until the snake wraps sweet around her neck and settles once more, and she sighs into the anchoring weight of its fixture.

For a woman deprived of her eyes, she seems to still take her joy from the scenery, catching scents and shift of wind, thin smile blooming with their transition. )

Our kind... only appeared when brother Sanwon last wept. ( And eruptions are ugly things, burdened by body counts. ) They believe, we rose because their brothers, their sisters, they all perished.

[beitangmoran]

... Your powers appeared after the volcano eruption?

Are they right? Is that what happened?

[And more importantly...]

How long ago was that? How long have they exiled you from the villages?

[aprescoup]

No... no, we were born with the gift. But, only after the eruption. Some are old, some are young.

( She seems at once ill at ease with the conversation and resigned to its implication, shifting the hard weight of the snake on her shoulders from one blade to the next.

The serpent answers her, calmly resettling, coiling around her arm. )

We are not... exiled. We simply... choose. Not to burden our families. Not to burden our neighbours. Not to burden those who kindly would spare us a piece of their bread.

[beitangmoran]

[So after the eruption, people started being born with the gift of foresight... and being set aside. That part Moran doesn't have a hard time to believe, people are always scared of what they don't understand, and in spite of what most might believe, people do not really want to know the future. Calling it choice is a way to make it easier.]

Pardon me for inquiring this way, but this eruption... did it by any chance coincide with the appearance of the Beastmaster?

[aprescoup]

The lord of beasts...?

( She seems to consider, lower lip trapped between the saw lines of her sharpened teeth. Then, carefully: )

No. He came to us only years later. Our gift. Our good master.

( Even the serpent seems to listen more attentively, as if it were reverently disposed towards the Beastmaster. )

[beitangmoran]

Is that what we are calling him here? Interesting.

[Interesting that just like Sa-Hareth, the people here do not seem to overly resent the undead lord seemingly ruling their lands. The people of Sa-Hareth didn't go as far as calling Anurr a gift, but they seemed to find his claim to the land legitimate and there wasn't any real effort to rebel against it.]

The gif of foresight can be a heavy burden to those who carry it. Most people think they want to know their future but the truth is, they don't, not really. They're just afraid of uncertainty.

Do you resent your gift, sometimes? I have seen things I wish I hadn't, many, many times.

[aprescoup]

( She hesitates — known far better in the twists and turns of the serpent that scratches the skies with its quiet muzzle, seeking.

Beside her, beggars reach for more, and she remembers absent-mindedly to share the wealth of her basket once more, picking out morsels of bread and folded rice balls between bodies of slithering snakes that curl, flicker in and out, disappear. Emerge after. )

You may call him Hyang-won, if you wish.

( At the next turn, a man bereft of his senses leans into swipe her hand and steal more than his due from her offerings. She hisses, puling back. )

No. Wait. ( The snake seems calm, appeased despite her surge of agitation. ) Foresight, prophecy... I resent not having the sight, the natural eyes known. That I do not see, as you see. But I see differently. If this is the only sight I may have, how shall I begrudge it?

[beitangmoran]

Hyang-won? Is that his actual name, or a title?

[And well, he can understand what she means, somewhat, and yet...

He knows he should not ask the question. He has been on the other side of this question so many times, and unwilling to answer it to many times as well.]

What does your sight tell you will happen to use strangers, if I may ask?

There is no need to answer if you do not wish to. I would understand. I'm just curious how our gifts compare.

[aprescoup]

Every name is a title. Every title is a name.

( But this is prophet-speak, the carefully chosen obscurity of practitioners who wish to enhance their skill through ambiguity. It seems to amuse her to deploy it, before she corrects herself: )

He, ah, received the name when he reached his third year. When parents know their children will live and trouble with such things. In the... in the village.

( Perhaps it is an easier thing, in other lands, where children are trusted to survive easily. She waves at the waiting beggars and infirms: )

Many here have no names. They were known early. They are weak-bodied. As for you, I believe you know already what you will do.

[beitangmoran]

So he was born here. Like Anurr was born of Sa-Hareth. All of them, they are born of the lands they haunt.

How long ago was that, that you remember it yourself? Was he born before you, or after? You said he came to you several years after the volcano. Was that when he was born, or when he took his current form?

[And also...]

You haven't told me yet what I can call you, my Lady.

[aprescoup]

( She flinches, nearly imperceptibly, but there. On her shoulder, the serpent twines protectively to collar her throat, its bright scale-slick head nudging her cheek, as if to give her peace. She eases into it, not ungrateful. )

You ask so many questions, with such scrutiny. I did not know... you did not say I was speaking with a man of the watch. ( One of the many milling the village, known by the red of their broad sashes. Security tolerated by the Hok-Shinn. )

I have done nothing wrong. We have done nothing wrong. We are only here to share what little we have with those in need.

( Her ragged basket of goods, her scant coin, the food within. She appesrs to give it all gladly, to the grateful murmurs of the beggars, waiting. They speak her name all across the village — it costs her little to speak it now. )

I am Hyang-tai.

[beitangmoran]

I am not of any watch, Hyang-tai. Simply an outsider come here with little knowledge and much curiosity. Nothing you do is mine to report to anyone.

Although I wonder... Where I am from, it is common for people of the same Clan to share a syllable in their names. Like you and he.

[It might just be coincidence of course, but one does wonder.]

[aprescoup]

( Now, her silence takes a different quality — less fretful and disoriented than somber, anticipating outburst or rejection.

First, she extends a packet of dried feeding — flattened breads — in the general direction of where Beitang Moran's voice sparks. Her hand stays, tense. )

Pass these on. Two work better than one. ( If he wishes her conversation, he must pay her price. ) It is true, he is of my people.

[beitangmoran]

[Pride is one thing obtaining knowledge is another and between the two, Moran always knows which he will favor. He takes the food without fretting, and although he is a bit ill at ease having to choose who to give them two, people are actually more orderly about this than he might expect for some who might be starving, and seeing Hyang-tai speak to him, they extend him a bit of the reverence they show her, so he is better able to gift, rather than having it taken out of his hand wholesale.]

Is that why you call him a gift?

How exactly is he related to you? A brother? A younger cousin?

[Her appearance apparently belies her age. Still he would wager the Beastmaster is not as ancient as Anurr. If people still alive speak of his appearance and witnessed it...]