A Stitch in Souragne: Symbols of a Fallen Loah

[steveflam]

Goren has serious misgivings about meeting this shadow of the Lord of the Dead. The "valet" whom smelled like a perfume bottle
was poured over him, along with his terrible breath just strengthened his resolve. It took all his will power to not just turn around and walk away. He is thinking about the words of the Maiden and him being the horse.

He steps up into the carriage and looks around briefly. What a waste of gold is his only thought as he sits.

[A G Thing]

Orda, ducking and maneuvering herself some squeezes into the small carriage as best she can and makes room for the others. She however takes the seat closest to the door and seems somewhat focused in looking out at what is around her. She seems to be on guard for any surprises that may come.

[Ken of Ghastria]

Lucien was about to examine Orda's interesting collection, but his attention is commanded by the arrival of the eerie coach and its eerier driver.

He is acutely repulsed by the pungency of the "butler's" aftershave and his breath, his nose wrinkling with disgust. Trying his best to avoid breathing through his noise, he says - with an unfortunate nasal twang - "I hope it id nod far." He climbs into the coach.

_____________________


OOC: For what it's worth, Lucien's Spot roll was atrocious and he lacks Knowledge of Nature.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

The coach rumbles up the path between the fields. From your conveyance, you have a lovely view of the workers labouring in the sweltering heat; pulling weeds, checking stalks and leaves, providing water and fertilizer, harvesting ripe plants and planting new seedlings... All the back-breaking labour required of farmers. It should be an intensely normal scene to anyone who has ever been to a large farm, and yet there is something odd here.

Not all the workers are from the lower strate of Souragnien society. Some of those steadily plodding workers are clearly from the ranks of the Sieurs.

It does not take too long for the coach to deliver you to the slightly dilapidated front porch of the manour-house. The coachman opens the door, unfolds the steps and bows to you. "The Master wishes for me to extend his welcome to you," he wheezes. "Enter."

****************************************************************

The inside of the manour is grand -- or at least it is replete with the remnants of grandeur. The floor is made of precious hardwood, but there are old water-stains here and there. A magnificent double staircase spirals up to the first floor, but you can see small holes dotting parts of the banister. White curtains billow in a subtle breeze, creating an illusion of freshness and cleanliness -- if not for the spots of mildew. There is a subtle, unhealthy odour beneath the strong scent of furniture wax and citrus fruit on the air.

A group of maids -- one for each of you -- stands waiting as you enter. They bow in perfect unison, then face you, their eyes dull. Like the coachman, they are surrounded by a cloud of perfume. In their case, the scent is a little less offensive, but only a little. Their eyes are dull and look disinterested, their faces are slack and still.

"The Master bids you welcome," one of the maids says, her voice monotonous. "Please allow us to show you to your rooms. You will meet the Master at dinnertime. There is time for a bath and a change of clothes beforehand."

[Ken of Ghastria]

As they enter the mansion, Lucien looks on appreciatively at the surroundings. Faded though the grandeur may be, it's the closest resemblance so far to the more comfortable surroundings of Borca or Richemulot.

However, after the servant speaks, the half-elf appears highly uncomfortable at the suggestion that the group split up. He realizes, though, that there is little else to be done. He looks with solemnity at his companions and says, "Mes amis. We are living guests in a House of the Dead. Nevertheless, we are guests. Let us do us as she requests and get ourselves cleaned up." He looks at his own ripped, bloody, and swamp-stained garments with a rueful smile. "Ezra knows that a bath would be welcome." He glances up again. "And do not forget our... respective tasks."

He turns back to the woman, of whom Lucien has no doubt is an animated corpse. "Lead the way, Mademoiselle."

[steveflam]

It takes all of Goren's will power to not take his holy symbol in his hand and turn every servant here. He understands he is needed for an important task. However, must he tolerate these undead servants. He does take the time to look around and the mansion is nice but old.
He says nothing to his servant until he arrives at his room.

"Moi capable seul." is all he tells the woman zombie. He says to the others "Moi not know how much longer I can take these chose morts" before opening the door to his room and entering. If he can lock it, he will. If not he will find a chair and lean it under the door handle so as not to be disturbed by the zombie servant.

He looks around the room and places his pack on the floor. He takes out his other robe and places it on the bed, not really caring if there are clothes there already. His Vow of Poverty is well in his mind. He will not accept any gift from this Mosroi, clothing included. Now he sets to the task of the bath.

He will meditate in his bath, pray to Lathander.

[A G Thing]

Orda manages to get out of the carriage with some speed and remains unimpressed by the building other than to imagine what unnatural efforts it took to make it seem even this nice. Still as the undead speak she grudgingly follows with her arms tensed to strike the thing down should it look at her funny. The dead should stay in the ground to whatever end they found. There is no honor in this.

Still as they cross the threshold into the manor she feels herself bristle with barely contained anger that rises all the more when the maids step forward. She knows however that this Baron creature is one they must deal with so she stops herself again.

When Lucien speaks she nods and staring at the maids she says without hiding her disgust. "I will try to... Honor this Baron's house... For now. And I will not forget why we are here."

To Goren she simply gives him a stare as if trying to show some level of understanding at how hard it is not to strike the creatures down and end their suffering.

She then nods to the thing and as she is led away she begins to stare at the back of its head trying to fight the urge to simply put the creature out of its misery and ease her rising disgust. She had faced death and even torture and always the thought that it could not last forever or that there was hope was something she had. She however became frightened by the prospect and she actively had to catch herself from almost drawing her blade as the undead maid finally opened a door to what she assumed was to be her room.

Once at the room she lets the thing do as it will for a time but tells it flatly to leave once its tasks if any it has are done. She then bathes simply and looks at the clothes doubting if they would fit or what reason any one would wear such useless garments. Still her honor demanded that her thoughts are all on forcing herself to will her anger down into control again. It would not be good if it got loose here and now.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lucien:

The first maid curtsies before the Half-Elf. The graceful movement is at horrible odds with the lifeless look in her eyes. Shockingly, the creature addresses him in flawless Balok: "Please follow me, Monsieur Renier."

Regardless Lucien's response, the maid sweeps ahead of him, guiding him down a corridor to the left and, eventually, to a beautiful room. There is a large window, which gives an excellent view of the plantation and the people toiling among the crops. White curtains billow in the warm breeze, as the window is just slightly ajar. A large, copper tub stands waiting, already full of scented water, and clothes have been laid out.

They are fine clothes, in the latest gentleman's fashion of the Core, the colours wine red and black. There is a crest set out on the left breast in bright red and gold wire.

VIEW CONTENT:

It's the Renier crest, of course.

A splendid rapier in an ebon sheath, attached to a black leather belt with a gold buckle, is also lying ready on the bed. Two gloves - one white, one black - and a golden mask shaped like a snake's head lie ready, in addition to a sealed envelope.

Balok: "Do you wish assistance in bathing, Master Renier?" the maid asks. "I have been placed at your... complete discretion." Horribly, the maid winks at Lucien, and unfastens the top button of her bodice.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Goren:

"Please follow me, your holiness," one of the maids says, a jarring note of mockery in her monotonous voice as she curtsies before Goren. She sweeps ahead of the Cleric without looking back, and guides him through a passage behind the spiral stairs, that leads deep into the bowels of the house.

The corridor is panelled with fine woods, like the rest of the mansion, but there is less light; intermittent torches provide brief pools of illumination in the mould-scented murk. The walk takes on an odd aspect, almost like a fever dream, as a strange, uncomfortable feeling creeps up on Goren. The walk terminates in a round chamber, panelled not in wood, but black stone. The ceiling is high above, and there must be windows there as well, for dim sunlight filters down from the heights.

The chamber is sparse. A black altar dominates the center of the room, and a copper tub stands before it. The water inside is cold, and clearly mixed with herbs. Simple, black, priestly vestments, bright crimson sandals and a black mask shaped like a dog's headlie waiting on the altar. The far wall is decorated with primal Souragnien art; a grand vèvè, with an image of a withered corpse, dressed in a fine black coat and top hat to its left. Other, smaller vèvè and images of other beings, are grouped at the corpse's feet, bowing in total submission.

"As you are a spiritual man, a man of holy vows, the Master felt certain that you would prefer less opulent quarters," the maid says, that note of mockery in her voice once again. "The chapel is at your disposal. Feel free to pray to whichever Loah or demon sponsors you, your holiness. Grand shrines to the Loah welcome all. I will return to collect you for the evening repast; complete your ablutions and prayers in good cheer."

The zombie sweeps out of the room. Goren may notice that there is no way to close the chapel... and something is moving in the gloom behind the altar.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

The third maid curtsies deeply before Orda.
"Please follow me, honoured guest," she says before moving up the spiral staircase. "This way."

The zombie leads Orda to a suite so grand that it dwarfs many homes she had known in the place of her birth. There is a grand bed, big enough for five people and covered in fine silks and satins. Thick, luxurious carpets cover the floor, their patterns complex enough to hypnotize the unwary mind. A painting of a handsome man, his skin the colour of dark chocolate, his clothing fashionable yet flattering the strong lines of his body, dominates one wall. Glass-panelled doors leading to a balcony dominate the other. Bowls of fresh fruit and flowers, floating in water, stand here and there and fill the room with a refreshing, natural scent.

A copper tub stands ready, the water steaming and smelling of roses. On the bed lies a gown of imperial blue, sized for Orda. Shoes of gilded leather and ivory stand waiting, and so does a longsword, its sheath and sword-belt crafted of gilded leather. A beautiful, ivory mask, shaped like a woman's face, lies waiting the dress.

"The Master has bid me assist you," the maid says, curtsying again. "He has ordered me to tell you that in life, I was a beautician. The best in Port d'Elhour. It is my task to make you look your best -- and I shall be wearing gloves, to lessen your... disquiet."

The maid smiles as she pulls thin, leather gloves from her apron pocket and slips them on. It is a ghastly expression, a raising of the corners of the mouth and nothing more. Frankly, Orda feels better when the creature stops smiling. "Does milady require me to help her undress?" the maid asks, shuffling a few steps closer.

[steveflam]

Goren:

"Please follow me, your holiness," one of the maids says, a jarring note of mockery in her monotonous voice as she curtsies before Goren. She sweeps ahead of the Cleric without looking back, and guides him through a passage behind the spiral stairs, that leads deep into the bowels of the house.

The corridor is panelled with fine woods, like the rest of the mansion, but there is less light; intermittent torches provide brief pools of illumination in the mould-scented murk. The walk takes on an odd aspect, almost like a fever dream, as a strange, uncomfortable feeling creeps up on Goren. The walk terminates in a round chamber, panelled not in wood, but black stone. The ceiling is high above, and there must be windows there as well, for dim sunlight filters down from the heights.

The chamber is sparse. A black altar dominates the center of the room, and a copper tub stands before it. The water inside is cold, and clearly mixed with herbs. Simple, black, priestly vestments, bright crimson sandals and a black mask shaped like a dog's headlie waiting on the altar. The far wall is decorated with primal Souragnien art; a grand vèvè, with an image of a withered corpse, dressed in a fine black coat and top hat to its left. Other, smaller vèvè and images of other beings, are grouped at the corpse's feet, bowing in total submission.

"As you are a spiritual man, a man of holy vows, the Master felt certain that you would prefer less opulent quarters," the maid says, that note of mockery in her voice once again. "The chapel is at your disposal. Feel free to pray to whichever Loah or demon sponsors you, your holiness. Grand shrines to the Loah welcome all. I will return to collect you for the evening repast; complete your ablutions and prayers in good cheer."

The zombie sweeps out of the room. Goren may notice that there is no way to close the chapel... and something is moving in the gloom behind the altar.

"Tell your master thank you for his hospitality, and I need no clothes as I accept no gifts according to my vows." is his reply before teh maiden leaves.



The priest approaches the altar slowly. "Who goes there?," he asks.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

The maid stops and turns to Goren. Her face remains expressionless, but her voice is subtly scolding.
"You are a guest, and there is a masked dinner this evening. You risk offending your host by refusing his gift -- or rather, this loan. You will not become owner of these accoutrements, but rather, they are loaned to you for the evening."

[steveflam]

The maid stops and turns to Goren. Her face remains expressionless, but her voice is subtly scolding.
"You are a guest, and there is a masked dinner this evening. You risk offending your host by refusing his gift -- or rather, this loan. You will not become owner of these accoutrements, but rather, they are loaned to you for the evening."

Goren nods but says nothing. Once the maiden-zombie is gone, he moves towards the altar where he saw a figure moving.

"Pardonnez moi. Who is there? Montrez vous messieur or madame."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

A figure comes shuffling out of the gloom.
At first sight, it might be a fellow priest, dressed in a black cassock of simple cut. It bears a necklace made of small bones, animal teeth and claws.

But the years have stolen the undead's flesh. While the creature's clothing is pristine, that which bears them is a fleshless skeleton. A very fleshless skeleton; the bones have been scoured clean and polished.
Incongruously, the undead priest is holding a broom...

[A G Thing]

Orda looking at the surroundings as the creature speaks finds her mind go on the defensive with the prospects laid before her. Still she is not going to just surrender to the shock they seem to be inspiring. This Baron's attempts at finery disgusted her more than just the undead seemed to now. Even if they may shock her she will not let them just think they are in control of her. She steels her gaze and looking at the creature almost dismissively she simply states in a flat but stern voice.

"No. I will do it myself..."

Orda disrobes quickly and efficiently and puts her gear within her bag carrying both the bag and her sword with her over to the bath. She sets them down and enters the water and begins to wash herself thoroughly and efficiently ignoring scents the comforting effect of the hot water. When the maid approaches to aid her she simply looks directly at the things eyes and says again in the same flat but hard tone.

"No. I will do it myself..."

Still once she is done with the bath she rises and strides to the towels and roughly begins to dry herself. She then grabs her gear and goes to the bed and sits. Gripping her greatsword, and resting its point down on the floor she looks to the undead maid and with the same flat hard edge of tone speaks again.

"You may now do your duty to prepare me. Say and do nothing unnecessary."

She would let them dress her up in these silly things if it would get the job done, but she would not drop her guard in such a place. From here her eyes remain constantly on the creature as if a wolf watching another that had entered its domain. She still held her rage in check but now it was closer to the surface and if the creature had any true sense of her it knew that one wrong move would mean conflict.