RP Crowsong

Turning over the rock in his hand, Dzwonyr raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in geometry; whatever it was, it seemed arcane in nature. More importantly-- he hadn't a clue what it did, or why it'd been hidden from view within a bundled-up bit of clothing in his luggage trunk. Safekeeping, perhaps? Or was he attempting to hide it from someone? Or something?

Smoke's words pulled him from his ruminations, and he tucked the rock up his sleeve, standing up and rolling his shoulders.

"A gem of some kind. I'll show you when we're downstairs. Is there anyone else you can think of that Pyotr might've brought here?" Dzwonyr stated, stepping out of the bedroom and down the steps-- a hand unholstering his hand crossbow once more, string wound as he and Smoke appeared to the sitting room once more. Another woman; nobody he knew, at least not at first glance.

"What the big one said." The rogue spoke plainly, weapon in his hand an understated threat... and not yet declarative. He chose to remain at the stoop of the stairs, not entirely willing to come much closer. His tone expected an answer-- and a concrete one, at that. "And, moreover-- why are you here?"
 
The woman, perhaps unsurprisingly, seemed rather unphased by both the counterpoint of Sana, and the blatant threat by Dzwonyr. To the latter, she gave him a long look, specifically eyeing the crossbow, before sighing. "You won't need that. Put it away." Her tone was still even, still somehow relaxed, despite the numbers potentially against her now.

"All of you showing up and Pyotr coming out dead seems strange at face value, but I doubt it was you. After all, I saw you all come in, and it's far too clean in here for a murder to have just happened. I'm Aleyah, Protectorate, Sign Two."

The Protectorate- a loose guild of mages and warriors, recently formed with the proliferation of magic throughout the commonfolk. Self described defenders, they were founded to try to contain the war as a neutral third party, to try and leave at least some portions of the world safe and calm, amidst the catastrophic change. By her designation, it would seem Aleyah was rather high ranking amongst her order- and, gleaming in silver on the pack she had been carrying, was a pin- a shield, with a single rose in the center. Her badge, of sorts.

"I'm here on business, you could say. Met up with the old man, oh, five or six days ago. He'd been talking around Len about some big find- needed some help. Said he was going to call some friends, I asked if I could come along. Didn't tell him who I was, though." She shrugged, though a frown tugged at the corners of her lips. "Maybe I should have. Now- your turns. I know Aibek, Sana, and the fey. The rest of you?"​
 
Last edited:
Dzwonyr held the woman's gaze with more than enough contempt to make up for the lack of an eye; his stare was piercing enough for two, even if she seemed relatively unfazed. Upon hearing she was a Protectorate, he understood why. His expression flickered into a scowl, and the crossbow was slotted into a holster upon his hip.

"If I killed Pyotr, I wouldn't be fucking lingering around the corpse," He growled, rubbing at the side of his head. The Protectorate were supposedly protectors; Dzwonyr did not put much stock in heroism, in recent years, for obvious reasons. "But if we're throwing around accusations, I find it mighty odd that he's died a mere week after meeting with a representative of the Protectorate." At that, he moved to the pile of books-- not wasting any time in beginning to sift through them, trying to see if there was anything that could point them in the direction of why he'd called them all here-- and why he'd died.

"We were his friends. Most of us." He cast a suspicious glance to Aibek, then continued his rummaging through the books-- keeping his back to the wall and corner of the room. "I'm Dzwonyr." His gaze flickered to the fairy in the chair. "Fey." He barked, vying for her attention. "When you threw these books around, were these all from the shelves, or on tables? Was there anything else you moved about?"
 
Fen's head shot up, arms currently in the process of trying to twist free from the ropes again.

"Dzwonyr-named, Aleyah-named," she said cheerily, "Aibek, Sana, Fen-named. Not Fey. Fen. Fey-Fen."

She smirked.

"Names too good not to use, yes yes?"

Her attention shifted, darting around the room, settling on the haphazard pile of books in the center.

"Books were silly-strewn, up, down, all round. Whole place topsy, like a big wind came through and -" Pursing her lips, she made a phwooshing sound. "Untie me, maybe I tell if anything else was about. Maybe - maybe I tell if I saw something more."
 
Dzwonyr watched the fairy with a deadpan stare, his capacity for amusement utterly eviscerated in the face of having seen his trusted friend's corpse sticking out of the mud. There was a bit of anger that glimmered in his eye-- water in scalding oil, bubbling before settled once more-- before he looked to Smoke and gestured with his head.

"Untie it." He stated. "If it tries anything, we kill it." He sighed, rubbing at his temple as he held his squat, still looking through the discarded volumes. "There was a struggle downstairs, then. Did Pyotr look nervous, when he met with you?" A glance was spared up to the mage. "Anything that seemed off, about him?"
 
The view out the window had snapped Smoke's focus like an overtuned string. Dzwonyr's instruction brought it back.

"Nnnno, sorry, don't think I'll be doing that," Smoke said. "Really not in the mood to be a hostage today. Get someone with some upper body strength. I'll go check on the corpse. I saw someone dug it up, and then left it out in the rain. I'd rather check on it before whatever clues might be on there are gone. Er, lovely to meet you all. Aibek, Aleyah. Don't hurt each other while I'm gone, please?"

Before anyone could try to give her another order, she slipped out out the back and into the garden. The rain was a relief; the heat had been starting to get to her.
 
Dzwonyr's gaze was met with only a tired look, absolutely no malice accompanying it. That's about how Aibek had seemed the entire time: tired, done with the situation before it had even started.

A Protectorate... he had heard about them before, right? His memory was fuzzy, as usual, details of old lessons and off handed mentions he could not bring himself to pay full attention to. He did distinctively remember that being a good position though, a protector of sorts, so why was everyone still so on edge about this new arrival? She could be far more helpful than harmful.

"Thank you for your collaboration, Aleyah, miss." He begrudgingly rose from the chair he finally had found himself somewhat comfortable in, now properly facing her, placing a hand on his chest as a sign of respect. "Do you also happen to know why he selected the people here for whatever task he was planning? I still have no idea of why I was invited at all." He moved closer to the fey, inspecting the knot he had tied no more than an hour or so earlier. Cutting perfectly good rope didn't seem necessary, unsheathing his greatsword, his only cutting weapon, for the job even less so. "Again, I did not know the man, would not even know his name if he hadn't signed the letter."

A couple of minutes later, the fey was free of bindings, but he did not let her stand, not before placing his hands on her shoulders and murmuring a small plea to her.
"Please, behave."
 
✦
Had she been moving all this time? Responding- had she spoken? Reacted? Breathed? There were times at which she simply ceased to be, it seemed. Lapses, like flickering candlelight. One moment, she was gone. The next, she had always been there- like a memory, like a dream.

She was here now- and fairly certain of it.

"Felys," She said, smiling at no-one in particular, "Though there is another name by which I'm called. 'tis an ill omen- I'd rather not speak it. We've had our fill of bad luck today, I think. Best not invite anymore."

She turned to the newcomer- new to her, for a moment. Aleyah, her name was- she had said. And the tall one, he was called Aibek. The fey was named Fen, and the others, she already knew. She blinked, and then she hadn't.

Pyotr. They were talking about Pyotr.

"I agree; the circumstances surrounding his death were most unusual." She said, "This task, this thing he gathered us to seek- perhaps that relates to the motives. Do any of you know much about it?"
✦
 
Aleyah shrugged towards Dzwonyr, though provided no extra comment. He was right, it was certainly strange that she'd visited and then he'd died, but it was out of her control. If he'd thought she'd done it, he would've shot her already, so it was clear the Protectorate had no reason to argue her innocence more. At Aibek's question, she shrugged. "He had told me he was writing for friends, to help him with whatever he had found. Perhaps the two of you met, and you forgot, elsewise there may be something greater going on."

She nodded to him, and to Felys when she made herself known, though she, of course, looked somewhat confused by her sudden arrival. "I am sorry about what happened, but I want to know what happened. I have a hunch it was related to what he had found. Speaking of-" she said, nodding to Felys as she asked, "he'd said he sent letters. Said something about a vault, right?"

---

Outside, while relaxed, the rain was still persistent, nice and cold, rhythmic and relaxing. Smoke would find the body of Pyotr, laid out by Aibek in the rain, the extremely shallow grave he had previously been occupying just beside him. He almost seemed to be asleep, if not extremely pale, as if he could wake up at any moment.

[Smoke : Medicine]
11

Upon a closer examination, what the firbolg had said seemed to remain true. There did not seem to be any injury on his body, nothing that would hint at a killing blow. Pyotr had been in remarkable physical health, even after the incident, so it was strange that he would seemingly just keel over like this. His health was so good, that as Smoke looked him over, she would realize that the signs of that injury, the one that had broken their group, were gone in their entirety. ​
 
Last edited:
She knew the intent was untying - or at least, the intent intentionally stated by the intender - but Fen still flinched a bit as the big flop-ear drew near her with an equally big bigknife. He didn't draw the big bigknife, though. Instead, he knealt down beside her, fingers working at the bindings she'd worsened in her attempts to get away.

He was a lot better at undoing them than she was, though, and after a couple minutes, she was able to swing her arms out wide to either side in triumph. Before she could dart away, though, heavy hands settled on her shoulders. Her ears drooped, and she squirmed a bit in the seat.

"Be-have, be-have. Fen's being have," she muttered. It was mostly true - she didn't exactly fancy getting shot by grump-puss. If things turned sour, though, she'd happily be less have in the quickest of hurries. She glanced at the aforementioned grump-puss and smirked.

"Thanks a gift," she said, bobbing her head, pointed hat flopping foppishly. "Said Fen talks if Fen gets free. Tell you anything I might know, yeah? Anything I might see?"

After a slightly-too-long pause, she shrugged.

"Know nothing. See nothing. So so sorry!"

She laughed, sliding down in the chair until her feet touched the ground, body barely clinging to the seat by her shoulders and head.
 
"Sorry?"

Dzwonyr's hand tightened about the book he was holding. As the search through the books continued, the task felt more and more futile-- not evidence as to what might've killed Pyotr, no clue as to why fate had decided upon the odd cruelty to kill a good man for no Gods-damned reason. First, the injury that'd taken him out of commission-- then, the split, and the rebellion. The tribunal, the sentencing, the escape, and now... this. The one man he could think to rely upon while a fugitive, dead. With a fucking fairy galavanting as one of the finest men he'd ever worked with.

"Right. Do us a fucking favor, then."

He stood, then cocked his arm back and hurled the book at the fairy-- whether or not it hit, his point was made. His steps were quick, quiet as he approached, lacking the rageful thunder of stomping footfalls but bearing intent all the same. Staring down at her, his eye narrowed in hate-- the months of torture and resentment boiling forth to pour upon this thing, whatever it was, because it was a good enough target to assign his hatred.

The eye beneath his patch burned. Heat gathered in his throat-- inflammation, his breath almost shortened, skin feeling clammy.

"Fuck off. Why are you still here? We've untied you. Leave. A good man died today, and you're sitting in a fucking chair laughing while we clean up a mess you made fucking WORSE-- so do what you do best, and fucking SCAMPER. Back to your fucking den, or whatever pocket of the faewilds shat you out. GO!"

He kicked the side of her chair, for emphasis-- edging it forward and towards the door-- before storming out the building entirely, pushing into the garden where he'd seen Pyotr's body.

Best to see it now. Best to get it over with.

Choosing not to look at the body-- yet-- he stared out at the treeline as the rain fell about him and Smoke, his arms crossing. A moment passed of silence as his breath steamed the air, the fire within mollified. For now.

"Have you found anything?" Dzwonyr muttered, voice soft. "... how bad is it?"
 
"It's better than it has any right to be," Smoke said, concluding her investigation. "The body's in good shape, all things considered. Um. Really good shape."

It took her a moment to work up to the next bit.

"Almost, uh... Younger, you know? If I didn't know any better, I would swear he'd never been injured! Haha." Her eyes were still on Pyotr; she couldn't bring herself to look at Dzwonyr, even with her faux-cheerful mask up. "Some kind of residual magic clinging to his skin, as well. I can't identify it, but, uh. If it's got anything to do with his recovery, it must have been big! Or maybe it was what killed him, since I can't find anything that would point to a cause of death." Big shrug. She wiped her hands on the grass, which didn't actually help at all to get them cleaner, but hey, at least it felt like doing something. It also, conveniently, gave her an excuse not to look Dzwonyr in the eyes.

"And if he'd been buried, even half-assedly--which, you and I both saw him through the window, before the Firbolg dug him up--you'd expect there to be, um..." People usually freaked out if she went into detail, here. Dzwonyr probably wouldn't, but it was good to practice. "... lasting signs. Like, maggot holes, and stuff. I'm not seeing any of that. Sooooo... Maybe he really only died a few hours ago? From, er... I don't know, a magical stroke? Caused by--overhealing?" All the pent up energy exploded out of her at once. She threw her hands up in the air so hard she nearly sprained her shoulders; then she was up on her feet, pacing back and forth across the small garden, arms locked behind her back. "No idea! I have no idea. This is completely outside my wheelhouse. If I could talk to some of the people back home, maybe they'd know something."
 
Last edited:
The book struck Fen, and she let out a noise halfway between a gasp and a squeal, rolling off the chair and scrambling behind it. Her tail flicked aggressively, large eyes glaring at Dzwonyr from around the edge of the back.

"Badly-bad," she muttered. "Lotta anger. Lotta shouting. Throwing stuff, people gonna get hurt. More people. More."

Careful to always keep something between herself and Dzwonyr, she moved a bit closer to the group, settling beside Sana. That one had been polite. Nice. Probably not gonna throw more things.

"People are upset," she said simply. "Was this-Pyotr-thing that important?"
 
“He was a good friend, he felt like the only thing keeping our little group together sometimes.” Sana said, drawing her hands back from the fire. She didn’t bother trying to make an excuse for Dzwoyr’s behavior, anything she’d say would be hollow anyhow, she could only speak for herself. “Are you alright dear? Nothing broken I hope.”

Hopefully Dzwoyr wouldn’t throw something sharp at the both of them once he returned. “He was the leader of our little adventurer troupe, but was forced to retire after a wound he received. Things fell apart after he left so I suppose he was the only thing keeping us.” She added with a sigh. Sana brushed her hands on her knees.

“Quite a shock for us to lose him so suddenly like this.”
 
"...did I forget these people? No, no, they don't... They do not know who I am, I didn't forget." Aibek pensively rocked from a foot to the other, mulling over what the Proctorate said until..

Thud!

"What in the hells?" Dzwonyr's outburst stopped him dead in his tracks, staring slackjawed at the man as he left the room.
It was clear at this point the Fey had nothing to do with the man's death, why punish the poor thing for her bad timing?
He glanced back at her, assuring himself she looked fine enough to not be seriously injured from the hit, just to then shake his head and return to his thoughts.

Had he actually met Pyotr? Was he the only one he had met and forgot? Could he reasonably be called a friend?
He slowly dragged himself across the room back to the window facing the grave, staring at the back of the other two's heads. He didnt want to look at him again, it was not a pleasent sight, yet he could not help but wonder. His eyes gravitated down towards the body, no matter how hard he fought to keep them high, he needed to check again if he recognized him. And then he saw it.

"Thats.. thats not right."
 
A book was thrown, soaring across the room and hitting the fey with a thwump. Aleyah, for her part, only looked marginally surprised, and remained seated as Dzwonyr took his leave, following after the cleric. "Well. It seems tensions are running high. Maybe I should come back and try to figure this out another time, yes? Give you all some space to figure out what you want to do." She began to rise to her feet, pushing against her knees.

"Need to find out what was so important that he found that ended up with him dead. Not right, not normal, to get killed for stuff like this. If any of you need me, I'll be trying to find this vault, up near the foot of the mountain." She began towards the door, slowing for a moment to look back at the three gathered, though her path was interrupted by Aibek's proclamation. "What? Something the matter?"​
 
"That.. is not the corpse I saw ten minutes ago."

Flashes of Pyotr's decomposing face filled his mind for a few seconds, the feeling of the skin tearing from the muscle beneath his palm, the stench of death and maggots.
That was not the same corpse that was being examined outside. The man he stared at was not having a lovely restful sleep, he had been rotting in dirt.

Quickly, he moved away from the window and towards the back door, slamming it open and leaning his shoulders trough its frame- "Something's wrong!" He shouted over the waning rain "He was rotting only minutes ago! He was contorted and rotting and very much fucking dead!"
 
"Oh! Great! Wonderful, even!"

The cleric hopped up and backpedalled away from the corpse, tugging on Dzwonyr's arm as she passed him in an effort to pull him away with her. She didn't look or sound like she thought any part of this situation was great or wonderful.

"So this is obviously wrong. Er--" She hissed, caught in the act of blaspheming. "--not--like--not morally wrong; just--I know resurrection! And this--it's been ages, hasn't it? And he's not up? And the body! It's like someone burned the old one, and left an ideal copy in its place!"

Under the frustration and confusion, there was a hint of fear. But under that, despite all the nonsense with the fey and the burial, and the letters, and the stone, and the fucking vault, there was a not-inconsiderable degree of excitement. A very big part of her wanted this to be real. Because if it was, it would mean her friend wasn't dead. And it would also mean--no, nope, think about it later, after you know what the fuck is happening.
 
"Broken? Nah. Softie-book, weakie-arm."

She grinned, bobbing around to Sana's other side.

"Maybe-maybe he was hurt badder than you think." She wrapped her side. "Took a couple tip-taps inside, guts all shivery up, sitting home and alone for a longbleed."

There was a commotion across the room. Something a quiver, hushed words getting louder and louder. Hopping away from the sharp-ear, she followed behind fur-face, wide eyes peering around him as her smile widened a little more.

"Oh, that's proper fun fun. Not my fault! Not on Fen, no, no, not making the dead-thing look pretty." She cocked her head. "Maybe he's dying backwards? Start home, pass away. Start away, passing home?"
 
Of course.

Regarding the body, Dzwonyr leaned down-- taking a good look at Pyotr's face, his one uncovered eye narrowing. For a moment, he simply stared; there was little else he could do, in that moment, seeing the man look so peaceful. Untouched. He hardly looked as if he'd passed, and yet he was dead. He had to be.

Hope, in a matter like this, was poison. Smoke moved to tug him away, but he leaned down, poring over Pytor's features a moment-- opening his eyes, his lips, pressing a finger down along the tongue to look at the back of the throat. When everything still came up empty and unresponsive, he sighed, wiping the rain from his forehead and nose with a sleeve as he sat out in the rain. Over the corpse of a friend.

In that moment, he couldn't help but be a little jealous of the half-buried soldier.

"Get the mage out here, then." Dzwonyr stated plainly. "He looks preserved. Something magical." His voice was low-- deadened, a bit, gaze still focused on Pyotr's face as he sat back and waited. A brief glance was given to the cleric. "I'm staying here. In case it fucking goes anywhere. Gods only know if that could happen."
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top