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

[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...]

[aprescoup]

( It's a slow giving, the recipients grateful: beggars with shaking hands, clumsily reaching for more. They do not harm, and some — clearly not mentally at their best — only nod along and accept what they are given, on whatever the terms.

The contents of Hyang-tai's basket appear interminable. She gives and keeps giving. )

A cousin. Distant. ( As if to illustrate: ) Distant enough, we could have married.

( But she laughs once more: )

But no one marries us in the fetters. We are not sisters, we are not daughters, we are not wives.

[beitangmoran]

And there are only women among you? Does anyone know why?

[So he is younger than her or close to her in age, he surmises.]

What made him what he is today?

[aprescoup]

( Once more, she is bombarded with questions. This time, she does not bat away the fusillade, but stills herself, turning to face the direction of Beitang Moran, indifferent to the call of beggars and the friendly, pacifying hiss of her serpent. )

You ask... too many questions. As if they are owed to you. Who do you think you are ( This cannot be a simple acquaintance, if she is besieged so thoroughly. ) What do you seek here?

[beitangmoran]

Knowledge to stay alive and g back to where I belong. What else? I know nothing of this place. Why not ask those who know?

[Clearly, he's come on a bit too strong, which is absolutely a thing he does at times when he thirsts for more knowledge. But he's not going to apologize for that.]

And I must admit, I was a bit curious to meet one whose power is similar to mine, yet seemingly different.

[he's never quite met anyone whose power of foretelling works exactly like his.]

I shouldn't have asked you about out future here earlier because you're right. We have already mostly decided what we need to do.

[aprescoup]

( She seems, at least, sufficiently appeased that she starts once more to dole out her wares, and her hands meander in the depths of her seemingly unending basket, digging out more.

It is a simple thing, to earn her contentment, despite the initial flinch, the all-consuming curiosity of a stranger. The beggars answer her like stray dogs do the favoured, friendly hand that quite literally feeds them, trailing after her mutinously, with half-hearted glares spared the way of Beitang Moran.

For all of it, most hardly seem to understand his and Hyang-Tai's exchange enough to retaliate on its count. )

You will ruin us. ( But she speaks it nearly fond. ) I didn't think there was enough left unburned for you to ruin.

[beitangmoran]

[Moran wishes he could say he is surprised by her answer, but he is not, nor of the manner in which she delivers it. When one sees impending disaster, and knows it will happen no matter what, a certain acceptance comes into it after a while.]

... We do seem to have that effect on most of the places we go through, whether voluntarily or not. I wish people did not have to suffer for our mere presence, but we are sort of like a tumor in this world. Unwanted, foreign, defended against with good reason at times and wishing to be expelled.

I cannot make excuses for what has not yet come to pass, or actions not yet taken. We will do our best not to cause undue suffering, but that too is a bit of an empty promise, I suppose.

Will you tell your prediction to the people here?

[On the one hand, one could argue they deserve to know. On the other, if they cannot influence it any way, what's the point in predicting their doom? There is a reason why Moran almost never reveals his visions.]

[aprescoup]

( The questions seems to embitter the edges of her smile once more — enough so that it betrays a smile had been present, to start with.

When her hand finds purchase on Beitang Moran's arm, it does so with confidence and none of the young hesitations of before. As if whatever stirred her to uncertainty has dispelled completely, and her blindness never fed into her doubt. )

They have not asked.

( People, she need not say, so often only care for what they think concerns them. And the purpose of a prophecy reader is not to wage wars, besides. There is no ethical quality to her talent. )

You have not asked me what they will do to you either. ( A pause, her mouth agape as if she seems prone to speak again — but the snake at her side hisses, and she coos towards it instead, settling it down. Hush, now. To Beitang Moran, after, handing over her basket: ) I'm sorry. We're to leave. Our time has ended. I hope next our paths cross, you'll be sharing your wealth with those in need.

[beitangmoran]

No, I have not asked. I know better.

[Asking doesn't solve anything, the answer probably won't help. He knows that. Plus he doesn't need to see the future to be able to at least postulate about several different scenarios, none of them exceedingly good for them visitors.

He blinks as he accepts the basket, and even though she is supposedly blinds, still bows his head at her.]

I will remember your words. Fare well on your way back.

[aprescoup]

( She seems, all at once, to wish to say something more —

But the serpent snaps and hisses once more, and she coos to tame it, rushing a hand over its large head, and bowing once, before retreating hastily in the crowd like a dissolving mirage.

Her sisters — perhaps, her keepers — wait for her, receiving her with fond impatience, where some villagers spit in her wake, and others prostrate themselves.

In the basket, Beitang Moran may find a seemingly interminable supply of hard bread, individually wrapped in cloth, and other meagre supplies — along with several brittle sheaths of shed snake skin. )