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

[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.

[blackscales]

[ That suspicion slots into place neatly. He nods, keeping his expression neutral as he moves about the puzzle pieces in his mind. He was a Huntsman, she is now the Huntress.

At least she wasn't murdered, he supposes, by the man who collects skulls. Hermione will be pleased to know. ]

You were married to him? A difficult transition, I imagine, from Waicai to Waihu where they are less devout.

[ Where people drink and gamble and are poor. ]

[sansdoute]

( The shrug is empty, a foregone conclusion. She speaks with a voice shallowed, if not insincere. ) I am a huntress. My people were huntsmen. Hyang-Won was the finest huntsman of Waihu. We started our son in the way of the hunt.

( It made, she need not say, sense to answer Hyang-won's suit, to accept matrimony. But then, there is an air to her that all that she does or has done or will do is — a reasonable and inexorable outcome.

Before, evading her husband. Now, eyes yet downcast, minding a pheasant. )

It is the way, in a small village. The way for a woman. The way for a man.

[blackscales]

I wasn't aware you had a son.

[ Not spoken with surprise or particular emotion, just a statement. He wasn't aware, that is not spoken of. ]

Given that you run from him, I assume you no longer see eye to eye. Is that because he supports the village in turning from the path?

[sansdoute]

( She seems, at first, as if she might laugh, back and shoulders convulsing under a spell of harsh, irregular breath.

But no mirth leaves her, and then she is picking at the pheasant roasting before her, testing the meat, as if the conversation has long conceded what little appeal it once held. )

Our son was handsome. Strong. Gifted. You could already tell, by his ninth spring. He would be — extraordinary.

( For whatever measure of the word can be applied in a village such as Ke-Waihu. )

Then, the Brother bubbled and warmed, and the call came for the old giving. ( This turn, she does laugh, and it is a simple, strange thing. Shrill. ) And Hyang-Won, did I not tell you? He was not of the faith.

[blackscales]

[ Was, that's past tense. He tilts his head, thoughtful. ]

You took him anyway?

[ Revenge for a child would be a good reason to hunt someone. She may correct him if he's wrong, so it's worth guessing.

He thinks of the skulls, screaming in the volcano to be buried. The memories of those dragged there unwilling. ]

[sansdoute]

( Here, she shoots the man a scathing glance, betraying her objection. ) He was a good boy. Selfless.

( She took nothing, from no one. Requiring no force, no theft. No ambiguity of purpose. )

The House opened. He went. But we do not know if he was taken. ( If she were given to smiling, now would be her hour. It comes all teeth. ) So, stranger. Enough of your curiosity. We'll both sate ours when the House opens again.

[blackscales]

[ Interesting.

Still, there is something else to be said: ]

I ask questions to better understand, to avoid making too many mistakes. I'm not quite arrogant enough to believe I'll make none, but believing things without questioning them can be dangerous.

[ She likely knows the suggestion here, but he'll continue anyway. ]

I was always told, when I was young, that things were a certain way. That my family was dangerous, and I was the only one who was different. That I was different because I had been helped, in a way that the rest of my family could not be. It's nice to be special. I questioned other things, like the nature of the help they offered, the conditions around it, the way it was given -- but I never questioned the rest.

For everyone to be safe, I was told, the rest of my family had to die. I was afraid that if I didn't agree, I might be the next target. It might be proof I wasn't as different as they hoped. They are beyond help, I was told. Corruption has taken them. There is no way to free them of it. I believed it. My family were, after all, dangerous. There was no doubt about that, and people older than me assured me there was no way to get through to them. I helped make sure my family were all killed. That is what I was told had to be done.

[ And don't we all do what has to be done, in the end? He tilts his head, studying her. ]

Years later, I found a brother of mine. I thought I was the only one left, but he'd been living away from our family. The corruption had begun to call to him. I researched, and I made him something to silence it. He recovered. I sometimes wonder, now, if I could have made something stronger. If the rest of my family could have been saved, instead of sacrificed to protect people, if I had only asked questions earlier. If all that death, by my hand, could have been avoided.

[ Death is too often the first choice, rather than the last resort. He drops his eyes to the fire, turns the meat a little. ]

I hope for your sake that your son is still there.