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

[sansdoute]

( He slows, and it pleases her, sparks within her recognition for his appeasement. The trick of the provider is a quarter in the catch, the rest in the cleansing, the preservation, the cookery. Now and then, she nods as if the commend his skill, or points here and there, where she feels he has been lax in his plucking. )

No. The House is opening. You have heard elder Sang-Hoon. The House is opening. We are not uninvited.

( After a time, she offers the slim, if well cleaned blade that she carries, faint rust at the tip — or stain of bleeding. )

To cut the heads. The feet. The organs. We keep them, for later. Stew or bait.

[blackscales]

[ Being taught in this manner is always difficult for Wrathion.

He dislikes to feel corrected, to feel as if he is a student when he would much rather be a tutor or at least an equal.

Head and feet, at least, he can do, but he doesn't think he's ever deliberately gutted something. Dragons do not need to gut their prey before cooking.

He takes the knife, despite an internal desire not to, and cuts off the feet. ]

Believers were invited. Sacrifices were invited. What is your interest in the House of Ravens?

[sansdoute]

( At this, she laughs, the entirety of her exceptional beauty weaponized in the cut of her smile. Bitter, but fleeting. )

And what is yours?

( 'Selflessness,' 'courage,' 'the wish to intercede.' What business are the villages of strangers? And what lies do they tell themselves to justify their intrusion? )

At least I am a woman of Waicai. Born the same day as a raven. Woke to my mornings thanking the gods, went to my sleep begging their mercy. Who are you?

[blackscales]

[ Ah. Interesting. So she's from this place, which is welcoming of the devout only. She was devout. Perhaps still is?

He tilts his head, curious. ]

Someone passing through, who when a vote was had on giving you shelter was willing to help you while others were not. Despite having been in Taravast, when you last visited. Don't test my sympathy, it has limits.

[ Said calmly, without rancour. It's simply a fact. He is sympathetic to her now, but has reason not to be. It can change. ]

[sansdoute]

You did not invite me for sympathy. ( There's an equivalence here, his brazen nonchalance for her empty indifference. As if they race to see whose voice can deduct the last of its interest, the faintest shrapnel of desire. ) You wanted something. I am paying you even now. You go where few are allowed.

( And another nod, shallow, her attention once more captured by the pheasants: ) Leave the birds to air, once you've emptied their bellies. Not beside where the blood has spilled, animals will gather.

[blackscales]

I do. More specifically, I want information. About the House of Ravens and the Beastmaster. He used to be Hyang-won, am I correct?

[ He's quite sure he is, but it's a leading question. He studies her, then turns to cut the head off the pheasant while she answers. At least she's not emotional, not now at least. That makes it easier. ]

[sansdoute]

( A clean cut, severed without trouble. She is pleased enough to take the remains in hand, binding them in spare cloth that's bunched at an end, as it were a petty purse — but not closed, yet waiting for bones and offal.

Bait, then. Where there is a will, there is a way. )

You ask like a dog. Barking. I do not wish to tell you anything. I do not have to. ( And softer, still fleeing the man's glance, for all her voice steels: ) Your wants are not my urgency.

[blackscales]

I thought I'd repeat myself, since you have so far avoided my questions. If this is to be a partnership, I need to trust you. Currently, I have no reason to. You have your urgencies, and you've offered me little to assist with mine.

[ He gestures with the knife, idle. ]

Beyond a knife and some pheasants, and guidance to a place I already had another option for gaining entry to. Tell me something, at least. He chases you. You no longer want to work with him, Anurr says. Tell me why.

[sansdoute]

( She seems to listen, trapped in between speech and silent, mouth faintly agape. There is a part of her, sheltered, curious enough to tip her head towards the man and — eyes shuttered — consider him. )

I did not force you to come with me. You didn't want to go with Sang-Hoon. It was your choice.

[blackscales]

It was, because I wanted to get to know you. To see if the correct choice was made, in giving you shelter. Some people are suspicious, you see. They question if you can be trusted. If you won't simply turn on us after you are granted assistance. Some of my friends ran afoul of you in Taravast. They did not enjoy the experience.

[ So here he is, trying to answer his own questions. It's really very simple. ]

[sansdoute]

( A growl, the hard clench of her teeth. She shifts her glance away, trembling with the start of irritation. In her hand, the purse of remains starts to bleed, drip and drip, and the earth that receives it darkens. )

I rode. It is what I do, to flee him. I did not hunt you. ( A worthwhile distinction, she appears to think. ) If I am go... it is because I am promised reprieve. That I will spend days, and he will not find me. But the time passes, and he comes, and I ride again.

[blackscales]

Then we have that in common. He hunts me too. You want to be free of him, I do too. Talk to me so I can help you. Any plan I make uninformed will only risk hindering you if we don't work together properly.

[ Surely she doesn't want to be hindered? ]

[sansdoute]

( When she laughs, it's a brittle thing, hollowed. AS if the sound existed in her and can now survive without her bodily assistance. )

There is no defeat he can suffer. This not what I am here for. ( Wryly, to emphasise the futility of this pursuit. It seems to be a foregone conclusion — something she might have considered once, but abandoned. )

I came... to see Sanwon. I came to see the House open. That is all.

[blackscales]

[ That is... disappointing. Wrathion frowns, turning over this information. ]

Members of the Brotherhood have been defeated before. What makes him different? He is weakening, after all.

[sansdoute]

One. ( She corrects with a flash of teeth. ) The weakest. Unhalad was barely born.

( A handful of years and struck in his prime. Small wonder he required frequent injections of military reinforcements. A babe can only be trusted so far with an invasion. And then, Anurr still won. )

Hyang-Won — ( A pause, so that Wrathion may grasp her concession. ) Weakens. But so have I. So will you, shortly. Brother Sanwon does not choose favorites. He acts equally. He takes equally.

[blackscales]

[ He does catch the use of the name, but sets it to one side for now. This new information is the most important thing to address first. ]

Magical prowess only, or physical strength too? Plenty of my group are trained with blades, myself included.

[ Equally: he's wondering if he can be tactical about this. Stay in his true form long enough that when the power drain happens, he's already in it. Dragons still have teeth and claws, even without magical gifts. ]

[sansdoute]

I do not know. We shall see.

( But there is an indefatigable arrogance to her voice, as if now that she has shared their fate, it can no longer be righted.

At least, throughout this, the game keeping has been fair. Once the pheasants appear suitably plucked, and there is only the matter of cleansing the meat left, she starts to scout the ground for branches and kindle. )

Do not worry. Great Sanwon makes all equal. If you are absent power, so is everyone else.

[blackscales]

You haven't experienced this before? I assumed you spoke with some degree of experience, with Great Sanwon taking power and then -- presumably -- giving it.

[ He watches the arrangement of branches, thinking. She doesn't want to talk, on the one hand, but perhaps she can be encouraged to correct. She is devout. The devout struggle not to correct that which is wrong. ]

I know they used to make sacrifices to Sanwon, but half the villagers say he no longer wants sacrifices and half seem assured they must be given to placate him. They both consider themselves correct.

[sansdoute]

This is different. We do not know what Sanwon will do.

( A correction, no less than anticipated. There is an arrogance in the man's certainty that she appears not entirely adverse to erase from his clever mouth, his satisfied face.

In the end, despite her objections, she falls into cooperation, starting to pass back the branches and to coax flame from kindle. Their paltry mean will want cooking, however frail and meek and thin. )

All changed after the last sacrifice. It may be, the Brother wants as it did before. It acts as it did before. Or it does not. But the House is reopening. It is a start.

[blackscales]

[ That works, then, and he can play into it easily enough. ]

Do you think so?

[ Said with an idle tone, as if he's still questioning her. As if he doesn't agree, as if she might be wrong. He might know better. ]

I heard Hyang-Won doesn't agree with sacrifices, that he doesn't like any sort of superstition.

[ Perhaps that word will do something. ]

[sansdoute]

( She stills, hand paralyzed over the fire that breathes on her fingertips, until it threatens to burn — and she withdraws her palm, as if it were not her own, and she struggles to understand where her pains originated. )

Raise the... ( What does he mean to tell him? She stares at Wrathion as he too were unexpected and new. ) Raise the meat over the flame.

( Yes. A start, there. Let them start. ) What does Hyang-Won know? He was born in Waihu. They know nothing there. Haven't you seen? They have no gods, no faith. No honour. Nothing. Of course, he... supposes. The righteous path is wrong. It is... superstition.

( She struggles, for a moment, with overcoming the word. Perseveres. ) What is 'superstition'? Only a suspension of disbelief. Only faith. If you have no faith, how can you believe?

[blackscales]

They don't give to Sanwon, I have heard. They give tribute to Hyang-Won, and he takes it away instead. Not to the volcano, to somewhere else. Yet it does appear the eruptions had ceased. So perhaps their beliefs are not misplaced. Perhaps there is not only one path. How else have they remained safe? Clearly Hyang-Won has kept his people intact somehow. Perhaps he knows something you do not.

[ He's just saying, it appeared to work. If it worked, are they wrong?

He reaches for the meat, regardless, studying her reaction. ]

[sansdoute]

( The meat is raised. Throughout this, she minds it, leaves it open to flame, until it tarts to catch colour and the smell of burning fats stir the appetites.

She is not fast to speak once more. )

If he knows so much, why are we here? Why is Sanwon breathing hard again?

[blackscales]

I'd say ask him, but neither of us is keen to get close enough to do so. Something changed, clearly. Perhaps their agreement has been broken in some way. Hok-Shinn seem the kind of people to shirk a deal when they think they can.

[ Chaotic drunks and bullies who try to get away with whatever they can.

He settles himself more comfortably, studying her curiously. ]

They call you the Huntress, but I assume you have your own name. Many call me the Black Prince, but mine is Wrathion. It was a name I chose for myself. My mother did not survive to award me one.

[ An exchange of names is fair, he thinks. If she's polite enough, he can impose the exchange on her by giving his own first. ]

[sansdoute]

Wrathion. ( She repeats it with a perked eyebrow, a tip of the head. ) How... choice.

( On the nose, but then, he ripped the feathers off a pheasant with decency, and he has acquitted himself tolerably of the duties entrusted unto him so far. She spares him another glance further, and tightens the gap between them, crouching beside the flame.

Up close, her hands betray her profession, coarser than the rest of her appearance under fire light. )

In Waicai, they named me Kye-geum. ( A pause, then: ) But it habit, when you marry into another village, to take a new name for your new husband, your new life. Your new house. Hyang-won called me Anui.