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

→ viktor

[aprescoup]

( He is a wire alive, fevered with agitation. One moment, he tries the battalion of lures and traps that he's set down to rim the ruins of the Fetters, like sleeve lace. The next, he calls his creatures close, the burn of his fingers a liminal blink between the reverent licks of their docile tongues, and the coarse linens of his bandages.

Throughout their journey, he was preoccupied, distracted. Prone to perfunctory progress. Now they have reached the Fetters, and the witches of cures, and Brother Sanwon gasps hot in the horizon, he is seen often alert, prowling. Now, at night, calling his beasts close —

And staying himself barely a heartbeat, when he hears the shift in currents that indicate, farther out, an intruder. When he speaks, the abyssal rasp of his voice comes as if unearthed from lungs ruined: )

...you... should sleep.

15 mins late with sbux

[techmaturgy]

[Reluctant as he is to travel, the Fetters seem to be where he's going to find some answers about the drought that plagues these villages. For all Viktor is certain this is a very bad idea, to throw in with the Beastmaster, he's also practical. Joining the party gets him out to the Fetters, and, perhaps, closer to answers.

If those answers don't kill him first.]

Too much work to do.

[He says, like there's some kind of work to be done at night with these creatures around, and also like he isn't vaguely terrified of the guy. Still, Viktor is not necessarily known for his self-preservation. If this goes south, well, at least he took the chance.]

You understand.

[Viktor is not so bold as to ask outright what the Beastmaster is after, but he certainly seems to be...industrious.]

no sugar, no milk

[aprescoup]

( He... understands more than his creatures appear to, each staring down the boy as if he were a pale, scant thing, more bone than meat — and what there is of him, cartilage.

Perhaps there's truth in it. The Beastmaster, assessing, appears wise to the possibility, mouth a soft-gaped line, curdling.

He waves once, to draw Viktor closer, and his animals part as if to grant him passage — or persuade him the last few steps nearer, as due. )

You... don't have the body. For work. ( Matter-of-factly, lacking heat, as the worst insults ever are and do. )

[techmaturgy]

[Perhaps, if he were a little younger, or a little more out of his element, he might take such a comment more poorly. By now, however, he’s used to this kind of talk, and as internally aggravating as it is, Viktor finds it less and less worth it to engage, preferring just to get down to business, instead. There’s no sense in arguing about the obvious.]

There's more than one kind of work.

[Or maybe not, in a situation like this. It's something that's certainly weighing on him. Still, he does his best to seem unbothered.]

I am fully aware of my limitations. [He's heard it all, guy!] I've cultivated other talents.

[aprescoup]

( There is a spattering of wounds that paints the Beastmaster's body as a string of injustices. Were it not for his injuries, he might nod deeper, more frequently — but he appears ill at ease with sudden, smooth gestures. )

Trap laying. Baits. ( Good huntsmen can thrive even when their bodies set as weapons against them. Nothing but will can discourage a man from providing for his people.

The Beastmaster's creature, absent the signals of their commander, scout the grounds, draw close in ebbs and flows. With them, the head of a woman whose hair binds into a serpentine body approaches, seeming to take the scent of the Beastmaster's hand first, then, curiously, to study Viktor's smell and absorb it deeply.

Before she can crowd and coil around the boy, the Beastmaster calls her back with a snap of his fingers. )

Not him. Too... old. Another.

[techmaturgy]

[All of this is still a little cryptic, to say nothing of the way the Beastmaster’s charges seem to have some interest in him. He stays as still as possible, not wanting to flinch in the face of one of the creatures literally smelling him, and instead uses the opportunity to focus on the Beastmaster himself—the injuries, the way he signals to the snake-woman.

As soon as he has some personal space again, he speaks up.]

What are you looking for?

[Or who, as it were. He’s not sure if he should be asking so direct a question, but Viktor’s general sense of self-preservation is low. He’s here for answers, so he’s going to chase them.]

[aprescoup]

( When the beady white eye of the Beastmaster's attention turns, his animals stir with him, shifting imperceptibly, catching Viktor in full, unflinching view. )

A... boy. Eight summers to him. Nine springs.

( His hands drift beside his body, waving the air and settling at a certain height by his hip, before his palms spread out flat to signal: ) This tall.

( Neither too well grown, nor middling for the age described. An average child, thriving. But the Beastmaster's voice has shed much of its rust, to speak of him: )

They took him... to the House of Ravens. Where they take men for the burning.

[techmaturgy]

[A child, then. It’s not exactly what Viktor expected from an entity such as the Beastmaster, but he’s learning that he can’t take any of his previous knowledge for granted, here. Things will continue to surprise him for the foreseeable future, he thinks.]

They would sacrifice a child?

[He’s generally opposed to human sacrifice. Perhaps, he was not thinking the Beastmaster would feel the same, though it’s clear there’s some kind of personal investment, here.]

[aprescoup]

( They stare openly, the Beastmaster, eye white and gaping. His creatures, intent as if that which moves before them should only be allowed progress into their maws. )

Anything with... beauty. Skill. Lure.

( Then, he turns only enough to wave another beast forward — the woman, largely a great pale head and her body serpentine, fully covered in the braids of her hair. Animal-like, for all her perceived humanity. )

She's... looked for'im. The boy. She's stupid. ( For a moment, the snake-woman's head bobs happily, before she seems to grasp the tone of his voice, its disapproval — she flattens to the ground, carefully. ) Keeps bringing the wrong ones.

[techmaturgy]

[It's difficult, at this juncture, not to feel pity for the Beastmaster, and even his creatures. Viktor has no children--never expects to, honestly, but he can empathize with a loss of this magnitude.

Maybe the snake-woman is bad at locating the correct child. Maybe there's no child to find, anymore. He's not sure he can do anything in that regard, but even with how little he knows of this place and the situation, he can readily assume that many who go to the House of Ravens probably don't return--unless, for some reason, the Beastmaster has reason to believe he never made it there.]

How long has he been missing?

[That, at the very least, might give Viktor a better idea as to whether or not the boy can even be recovered.]

[aprescoup]

...years.

[ A pause, strained, dragging. He shifts at once, distantly adrift — a silent creature, lost in his moment. The past is a difficult, bitter thing. Strangers do not improve its contemplation. It rattles him, rattles his creatures. ]

We went... wasn't there. When we went. Hours after he was called. They'd started their work. ( Teeth now, a pale flash, sharp. ) Wasn't there. With them. Wasn't...

( In the ranks, the order. ) Only his fool of a mother.