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

→ BEITANG MORAN

[aprescoup]

( Inevitably, word of mistress Hyang-Tai's rare, eerily welcome appearance spreads among children, first. Then, it stokes with local merchants, who interrupt their trade. At long last, the common people — some intrigued, a handful eager — begin to crowd. A minority remains superstitiously alert, holding their distance.

She comes barefoot and robed in rags, where her fellow witches of the fetters present themselves in lavish garments, despite the occasional signs of road and dust filth on their skins. They boast glistening heirloom jewellery that desperate men and women of the village have donated in exchange for their wicked services, betraying those who have approached them. Their hands are burdened by baskets brimming with either produce and baked goods, or with bundles of tightly coiled, hissing snakes that appear largely appeased, if not entirely dormant.

At mistress Hyang-Tai's command, the procession stops at a crossroad of possession, where the blind witch women dole out alms to madmen and the poor.

Hyang-Tai herself is a thin, short creature with milky eyes and plainly dimmed sight. Perhaps Beitang Moran simply wandered by, in the vicinity of the convoy, or perhaps he was purposefully drawn by the rumours of the crowd — it hardly matters, for Hyang-Tai at one turn stills and asks the man closer, whispering, reedy, as if her voice hails from deep, dark depths: )

You... I smell... blood on you. A fox. You killed a fox. So soon? Already. Already, you are a murderer.

→ ZHOU ZISHU

[aprescoup]

( The Hok-Shinn travel Ke-Waihu like sicknesses or peacocks, constantly present, causing a simmered stir. Weisi, the may in name and the group's unlikely host, is no stranger to attention — as Zhou Zishu passes, he is receiving an exuberance of bows and murmured thanks from a tavern keeper, who seems at once grateful and drenched in cold sweat.

Surrounded by five of his brother's men, master Weisi cuts a striking, omnipotent and ever-smiling figure, waving away the courtesies but also departing with a small purse of coins in hand — his own, perhaps, or that of another.

He stops when he spots the traveller Zhou Zishu, two of his men gently whistling to attract his attention. Weisi himself, an ink sketch of exhilaration, only deepens his smile. )

My friend! My friend, come. ( And to the tavern keeper, he appears to whisper instructions to ready the finest table. ) Share a drink. Allow me to show you the hospitality of Ke-Waihu. How have you been? How have your people been? You are all in our thoughts and our hearts.

[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.

/slides in late with tarts?

[eternallywandering]

[He isn't a stranger to either sicknesses or peacocks. Some might argue that he is a little bit of both himself, though he is hardly dressed lavishly. Zishu prefers comfortable robes in muted colors - blue if he can acquire it - that do not hamper his ability to fight (and do not irritate his wounds). Weisi has already garnered his attention, but he doesn't show it until he hears those whistles. His eyebrows rise as if shocked - an act of innocence that has worked well in the past to loosen tongues.]

Master is too kind. [And what is the reason behind said kindness? He smiles and edges closer, eager to find out.] The majority of us are accustomed to hardship. We protect each other and conquer obstacles as a group.

[aprescoup]

( It is, at least, for all its modesty, fresh swill. Weisi's mouth thins, a flinched line, over the rim of his cup, but he subjects himself to the invasion of the lesser, thinned taste.

It will do, he signals with a wave to the tavern keeper. It will do, if not handsomely, then enough to abate the kindling of master Weisi's temper. )

And what else do you do? As a group.

[eternallywandering]

[Zishu is spared any disgusting flavors thanks to this dulled senses. He drinks what he is given and sets the cup down, his graceful fingers stretching out to rest against the table.]

Many things. If there is information you wish to know, Master, please be specific.

[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]

It's only that, young master, you must understand... we're not a village renown for our sights. Some might call us... ( And here, laughing, he clicks his tongue before daring another taste of his cup. ) Cursed.

( Thick, heartly laughter leaves his chest in a thick eruption. Behind him, his men awkwardly glance each side, then about themselves, before tardily joining into his excitement. )

Some might ask what you're truly doing here. I might wonder what you're truly doing here.

[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. )

[eternallywandering]

Curses do not frighten me. [He has lived his life under the thumb of one "curse" or another. Taking another swig of wine to dull some of the lingering pain from the holes in his body, he holds back a small wince.]

Tell me more about it. You are in the presence of a superior martial artist.

[Yeah, that laughter? He doesn't buy it.]

Maybe I just want to be a hero? [Flattest expression ever.]

[aprescoup]

Heroes belong to stories and songs, don't they?

( He drinks without measure, waving the tavern keeper close — who waddles near, a certain spring in his step as he replenishes both Weisi and Zhou Zishu's cups. A fine arrangement. )

Good sir, all I'm asking are your intentions.

[eternallywandering]

Not always. Sometimes they are tangible.

[And tragic too. Why else would someone risk their life for the lives of others? It's far more natural to run and hide.]

Mine? I can't speak for anyone else, but... [He sighs.] I want to help. I don't like seeing people suffer.