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.

- - > Hok-Shinn Weisi, or anyone who interrupts him on the way to an audience

[unpurposed]

[ Cato is more familiar with Sairen, but humans are hierarchical creatures and Cato is careful about attempting to address their accepted leader rather than make use of the man who he thinks would be the most likely to accept his request. Or the mostly likely to destroy him because of it. A risk, either way, and he risks undermining his own query by going to the wrong man. So, he wanders the streets of the town gently requesting to be led to Hok-Shinn Weisi. When asked his purpose, he simply states: ]

I would like his permission to work as a healer and caretaker inside his community.

→ moiraine

[aprescoup]

Mistress. If I may.

→ emilia

[aprescoup]

My beautiful queen, we share something, do we not? A concern.

→ wrench

[aprescoup]

( The... tinniest of voices, cackling plain in the background. Our good master Taksui appears to have found his way in a tavern. )

Yooooo... you the man with, the... face thing, yeah? You look hard, man. You look — touch like steel, ah?

→ diego

[aprescoup]

( Will master Taksui ever not slur his words? )

Say... you with'em... dogs, ah? Cool, cool... the mutts... fuck, man. Mutts.

You know he's comin'? The, uh... lord o'the beasts. And you've got them mutts, and he... he likes mutts. Dogs. Whatever. You ready for that?

→ daenerys

[aprescoup]

( Little still startles mistress Hyang-Tai, for all the faults of her blindness: not the rivulets of snakes that pour and hiss at her feet, between the bones of the Fetters' ruins. Not her sisters who navigate their own troubles, and toil seamlessly among their visitors. Not Brother Sanwon, breathing hard and warm at distance.

But the Beastmaster's restlessness seems to have her distracted, knelt uneasily between her creatures, her arm alive with quivering when she lends it for a snake to climb. She does not hear her visitor, at first — all that indicates she has finally noticed Daenerys' presence is a great, sudden stillness.

She does not turn back, only: )

...yes? Who is it?

→ 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.

→ wrathion

[sansdoute]

( A woman of harm, reduced to her beauty. If powerlessness shames the Huntress, she wears her grief well: opens herself, arms and eyes and attention sharp, to listen to every shift of the forest, every turn of leaf or stone.

They arrived on the outskirts of Ke-Waicai, challenged no more and no less than she had anticipated. It seems to please her, wryly, when she returns to the fleeting encampment of her entourage, to have recalled the frenzy and suspicion of the village so well. For the modesty of her companions, she bears a coarse, large cloak now, ill draped over her shoulder, feet yet bare.

Now, she carries two pheasants captured from the woods, slim but enough to guarantee the start of the evening meal, as the sun crawls down. She entrusts them to Wrathion, never meeting his eyes — another allowance to her companions, that they need not experience the curse of her gaze. )

Cook this with nettle and garlic.