A Stitch in Souragne: Symbols of a Fallen Loah

[A G Thing]

As Lucien speaks she is listening and when he makes mention of her taking courage she seems to be surprised slightly. But she knew her voice now changed made her sound weaker. She nods holds in her want to prove him wrong for doubting her courage but she knew she had to control herself more. At least for now. "I will be fine." She says this to Lucien and it is at least stable in tone but not fierce in the slightest.

As the others begin to move Orda notices and remembers what Lucien said about the masks. For a moment she looks at the discarded mask on the floor. "Wait Goren..." Orda goes over and grabs the mask from the floor and tucks it in her bag which she slings on her back. Taking Goren's hand again she begins following Zumba's feet walking beside him.

She glances up at Goren and is unnerved by the odd feeling of being shorter than him. Looking at the back of the others bodies she realizes just how short she is. Her sword as she glanced at it from point to pommel bottom was perhaps as tall as she was now but her arm still held it firm.

Her other hand wrapped in Goren's however looked just like the other. Weak and small and never calloused by work or conflict.

She shook her head a bit and went back to thinking on what she would do when they met the Baron. Her sword hand clenched firm.

[steveflam]

Goren follows Orda. He squeezes her had in reassurance. "Do not worry, Orda. Let us just go see Mr Misroi and see what he has to say to us." He finds the sensation of being blind odd, to say the least. His steps are slower and more precise. Orda will find the stairs slow as Goren won't move fast. At the bottom, he will move a bit faster, but wants to take the time to experience being blind. He might be this way for the rest of his life so why wait, might as well accustom himself to his new condition. He takes the time to listen as well.

"Everything happens for a reason," he says in a low voice in Chondonthan, forgetting where he is for a moment.

"Is everyone else all right? Or are just we two the only ones afflicted with blindness?"

He looks to the ceiling though he can't see and adds "I myself am upset about my condition and Lucien's. However, let us be civilized with our host, please. I am sure if he wished it, we would all be dead but are not."

[A G Thing]

Orda untenses her hand holding Goren but that is the only part of her body to relax though she also listens to him. "I will be fine Goren..." She attempts to sound calm and relaxed and believes she has managed it well. She agrees that they should meet this Misroi and she knows she needs to fear and respect him but his name almost makes her hand clench again though her thoughts turn to convincing Goren that she is in control.

In truth she wonders if she is in control. Part of her wants to do what she came for, but another just wants to bury her blade through the smug face she keeps picturing.

Still as she is forced to move slow with Goren she finds that concentrating on tending to him is distracting her a bit from her rage but not fully.

She looks slightly over at him but does not raise her head so as to be safe when he speaks in another tongue. It was a calm tone and yet she believes the words are not bitter.

Goren's soft words return to ask if anyone else was blinded. Orda hearing him simply answers with the edge of her fatigue finally fading a bit from her words. "It is only you and Lucien... Zumba is fine I think... I can still see too." Curiously she also notes that Goren appears to be speaking much clearer now than before. She wonders if she should mention it but just then she feels the movement of Goren's body as he looks up but does not see it as she is wary to lift her gaze and reveal her face perhaps to Zumba.

As he speaks up again she listens for the clearness of his voice but loses concentration on the curiosity of his speech as she tries to take his next words to heart as he warns them from rash action.

She grimaces both internally and a little before she calms herself again to answer.

"I will not move to harm him... Nor will I speak ill of him... I promise! But I do not forgive him! I want nothing to do with him... I only do this to help the land and my comrades..." Orda sounds a bit more controlled thought the voice sounds unlike her as even her accent sounds different and altered some by it.

Still for all the bravery of the words she knows Goren is right and they really seem to have little choice but meet Misroi. Still she hoped she would only have to listen as he spoke. She barely even trusted that. She takes care to hold in her anger and she feels a bit in control again for the time.

Still for all his calm words she wonders how Goren manages it blinded as he is. Lucien has also been quiet but since she dare not look up in case Zumba is glancing back she only sees their feet ahead of them.

Goren's hand wrapped around her altered hand feels calmer than her own and yet she feels the beating of his pulse is a bit elevated. Still he does not seem to be scared so perhaps he also is controlling some emotions. Fear? Anger?

[Ail]

Zumba listens silently to the dialogue between the others, especially Orda and Goren. He is worried about them, and all his thoughts turn out to the conversation with Misroi, to the recovery of his friends, to the sword they have to take from him, to the girls he left behind, to their leaving this place alive... and whole.

Yet as he moves forward, helping Lucien as best he can, he can not help but feel the temptation and curiosity for this new Orda. It takes all his strength of will to not look behind her, and see all the astonishing beauty that Goren and Lucien proclaimed... even when they pass mirrors he is careful to look away.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Another maid -- maybe even one of the maids the group has already met -- comes ghosting into the hall. Her hands are clasped at her waist, and there is an empty smile on her face. It does not reach her glassy eyes at all.

"The Baron is awaiting you in the east-facing dining room," she announces. "Please put on your masks and follow me."

***

The dining room the maid takes you to may face the east, but you wouldn't really know; heavy curtains cover the windows.
An oakwood table has been set out, with gilded chairs to match. Fine, china plates, sparkling silverware and golden goblets await. The smiling maid bids you each take a chair, and it is easy to see that the chairs have been placed in such a manner that there are at least five paces between each of you -- and ten paces between you and the larger, throne-like chair at the head of the table.

As soon as you are all seated, the maid disappears through a side-door. Tantalizing odours waft out; it appears that dinner is being prepared, and you find your mouths watering despite yourselves.

"It is a fine thing to be blessed with a good chef, is it not?" a deep, rich voice booms from the doorway, chuckling.

You might have had preconceptions of Baron Anton Misroi, but it is more than likely that he surpasses them.
The man striding into the dining room has the dark brown skin of someone with mixed ancestry. He is tall, strong and looks hearty.
He wears the fine clothes of a sieur plantation-lord, made in dusky colours that flatter his glossy skin, and wears a bright red cravat at his throat -- like a spill of fresh, arterial blood. The cloth moulds itself to the man's powerful physique instead of diminishing it. His riding boots look freshly polished.
The Baron is handsome. Slightly curly, ink-black hair falls to his shoulders; bright white teeth flash as he bestows a confident smile on all of you, and his eyes sparkle with good humour. The only thing that detracts from the image of a congenial nobleman is the wicked riding crop he carries with him as he strides into the room, and carelessly dumps on the table as he sits down at the head of the table.

"Well then," he says. "Welcome, dear guests! I do not often entertain, so I have pulled out some of the stops. A fine meal is being prepared, but first let's share a drink! I have been growing quite fond of Barovian reds, and this is a fine vintage."

More zombies come creeping into the room. One comes to stand behind each of you, one stands behind the Baron, and the final creature starts filling your goblets with a thick, red wine from a dusty bottle.

"My friends," the Baron says, grinning as he raises his goblet to toast you, "let us drink to... the end."

[A G Thing]

Orda hearing the maid but not looking up to see her slowly takes her hand from Goren's grasp and grabs his mask from her bag. She then hands him the mask so he might decide for himself what to do.

Taking his hand again she guides him into the room and yet she does not lift her gaze from the floor watching Zumba's feet. "Sit here Goren..." Orda leads Goren to a chair and yet she does not look up so she cannot tell where the others are. She simply chooses to sit in the chair next to Goren but does not raise her head for Zumba's sake.

The smell while tempting and making her feel hungry does not distract her as she tries to shut that thought from her mind and keep aware of the danger around her.

As the deep voice resounds Orda's head slightly shifts in its direction but does not really move to look at the speaker. She does not see anything other than stare at the table and her empty plate and try to listen to the man she now believes to be the Baron speak aloud. She hears him speak of wine and a toast and yet she does not reach for the wine right away. She wonders if Goren or Lucien can even find their glasses or if the Baron is mocking them in their blindness. Her anger rises back to confuse her thoughts again. Still she holds her gaze down and listens to all around her.

She heard the shambling of the zombies though she does not see them. Then the pouring of the wine in her glass.

She begins to consider reaching for the wine even as her anger rises focusing on the task despite her instincts telling her to strike down the voice and leave the place. But she is halted before she even reaches for the glass as she is unnerved by the Baron's final words. Her other hand grips her sword tighter under the table but does not act.

[Ail]

Zumba walks to the dining room, carefully leading Lucien and helping him sit down. He sits as well, but he is wary. Since he never found a mask to put on, he doesn't wear one, but he is uncomfortable enough in his clothes.

He just wishes that whole affair ends soon... and then as the Baron makes his toast, the final word dances in his mind. The end... the end of what? He does not raise the glass, but looks at the Baron as if asking for more explanation.

"That is a very vague toast, is it not? There are thing to which end I would not toast"/i], he says, trying to be polite and cautious.

[steveflam]

Goren listens to their host. "Ah, merci Orda." He'll squeeze her hand in reassurance before sitting. He turns towards the voice of Misroi, biting his tongue. Finally, he can't hold back and speaks in a very direct, confident voice.

"Monsieur, thank you for your hospitality. It is hors pair."

He clears his voice now, his tone one of one who is not impressed at all. Disappointed, near disgust.

"However, if this blindness due to your masks is your idea of a joke and you are humored, then so be it. For one
who I have heard is the Lord of the Dead, I am severely disappointed. My name is Goren, and I worship the deity Lathander.
I believe you might call him the Morninglord here. So you have shown me you control these undead lackeys with the ease of a
child playing with a toy. I for one could have easily turned or even destroyed your fodder, but chose not to. I am respectful in your home. You haven't shown I or my other blind companion any respect. We come here willingly of good faith and you blind us both?"

He takes a breath, before continuing. "I and whomever else is blinded by your masks," he removes his and places it
gently on the table "How can you expect us to enjoy your feast if we are blind? I for one have no personal need to eat or drink.
I feel no weather change and am comfortable in any climate. My friends and I are here to help Souragne and you treat us with your magic like this. I clearly could eat if I wished it, but care not for our magical treatment here. Two of us are blinded because of your masks.
I speak for myself when I say I thank you kindly for your invite, but I chose to retire for the evening. If you are really serious about us helping Souragne, do change your tactics. I for one find them rather boring for one who claims to be the Lord of the Dead."

[Ken of Ghastria]

Lucien continues to feign complete blindness, even stumbling slightly as Zumba guides toward a chair. He takes a seat, still amazed at the bizarre, monochromatic "sight" that his mental senses have granted him. He witnesses the Baron's grand arrival, though he takes cares not to raise his eyes toward the man as he would if normally sighted.

No need for eyes at the moment, anyway. Without looking, he can "see" that a zombie is standing behind each of them, and he has no doubt that Misroi's ghoulishly pretty servants can act as murderous, flesh-rending fiends with a mere thought from their master should Lucien or any of his companions take action.

He winces, therefore, at Goren's words to the baron, understandable though the priest's attitude may be. I'm surprised he restrained himself THIS long, whispers Claude mentally.

He clears his throat and slowly stands, looking a few inches to the left and below where Misroi actually is. "Monsieur le Baron, please be lenient with my friend Goren. He and I have been stricken blind, apparently due to incidents or items of your creation. Can you please set our minds at rest about your intentions so that we may properly enjoy your hospitality and set our collective talents to work at saving this wondrous land?"

[A G Thing]

Orda listens to Goren and while she agrees with what he says, she is also tense when he seems to announce he is going to retire.

"Goren!...No... Wait!"

She had not wanted to speak because of her rage and it took all her control not to join him in cursing this man. But instead of sounding commanding and disappointed it sound quivering and disappointed. She was ready to cut her way to the voice and end him but she was more afraid for Goren and Lucien than herself and she had promised. She shifts her gaze to try to look at Goren to watch the undead around him and she catches a glance at the Lord of the Dead. She cannot help but feel slightly intimidated by the figure of him though she cannot place why. Still with her head bowed as it is she hopes Zumba cannot see her.

Then she hears Lucien speak and the distraction allows her to put her eyes on Goren and the dead creature behind him. She was ready but she waited to see if this false civility would fall apart. She almost wanted it to but not if the others suffer.

[Ail]

Zumba smiles at Goren's words, them echoing so well his own feelings. He briefly looks at Orda as his gaze turns towards the priest, but avoids looking in her face. Then he looks at the Baron, with an unreadable face, and waits for his words.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Anton Misroi, the dreaded Baron of Sourane and Lord of the Dead... laughs.
His is a rich, deep laugh that seems to rise straight from his belly, or even from his bones.
It is the kind of laugh that mocks everything, that questions everything, and while infectious, leaves you wondering whether it might not be at your expense as well.

"Such candor is often rare in my little backwater," the Baron says once he is done laughing. He smiles; the expression is inexplicably dreadful. "Especially from one who does not eat... does not drink... does not feel the weather... In short, one who is but one brief step removed from being one of my dearly beloved servants."

Again, the Baron laughs. While the sound is as rich as ever, it abruptly fills your marrow with ice.

"Your accusation is unfair, however. The masks I have given you to spice up this evening are not what has blinded you. Rather, it is the beauty of this fair maiden, which my nymph-bone mask has brought out, rather than shroud. If she is so beautiful inside as to strike a man blind, then that is surely not my fault. Rather, blame this pretty young thing for not being a horrible monster in her heart."

The Baron smiles, and you can feel the ice creeping through your veins, chilling you from head to toe.

"So pretty inside," the zombies say, their lifeless, inflectionless voices coming in unison. "Many pretty faces hide ugliness. Your ugliness hides beauty. Hurrah, hurrah, for beauty revealed. Ha ha ha."

"Rest assured, however, my dear sun-shaman," the Baron continues, "that if you feel you can not tolerate my hospitality any longer, you are more than free to leave my house right now. In fact, you all have my leave to depart, if you wish. It is no skin off my nose, and I will not stop you. Of course, I will not help you if you choose to leave, either."

The Baron leans back, smiling, and sips his wine.
"Our dear monsieur Renier asks after my intentions! Truly, spoken as a member of the family that rules Richemulot. Your kin may act playful and carefree, but they are always very aware of the flow of power and hidden intentions. I salute you!"

"We salute you!" the zombies drone in unison. "Son of Richemulot. Son of Renier. Son of Rats. We salute you, feaster on decay."

"To be perfectly honest, my intention is to do... nothing," the Baron says.
"It does not concern me whether life endures in Souragne. My lord and master is concerned about the matter, but I am certain that I can assuage his concerns. Even if all life currently in Souragne spirals into his cold, dark embrace, new life will come trickling in sooner or later. More invaders from Borca and Dementlieu, or from further beyond the Mists. Perhaps I will import some new life; once all the current inhabitants are dead and gone, their wealth will fall to me. Everything will fall to me. I am the Lord of the Dead, and if all die... Well. Even that foul bag of bones in Darkon who keeps tugging at my borders can not claim that his whole principality is his plaything!"

The ice is slowly melting away, but suddenly, you can not imagine there being a more vile noise than Anton Misroi's mirthful laugh.

"I do not need to do anything. Those three fools may think that they have me beaten, but once the web of life snaps, they shall discover that they bit off more than they can chew when they challenged my authority over Souragne. Already, essential links are weakening. When the web breaks, there will be such a wave of death and dying as they can not even imagine with their feeble understanding."

A terrible darkness seems to brush your souls when you hear the note of anger in the voice of your host. The zombies back up a step in unison, and you find yourselves wishing that you could do the same.

"So," the Baron says, his voice more normal and a cheeky smile on his lips. "My intention is to sit back and enjoy the show. I do not care whether you kill the cabal of three, nor whether those fools kill off everyone else in Souragne and then finally turn on each other. I can find ways to keep myself entertained while I wait for them to damn themselves, one way or another. It is all the same to me whether life endures or falls, so now I must ask: what are your intentions? How are you going to persuade me to bestir myself and help you? I am given to understand that I possess something -- though even I would not dare say that I own it -- which you need. As far as I can see, you have nothing that I need. So, how are you going to convince me to help you, my dear guests?"

The door to the kitchen swings open, and more zombie servants come out. They place a silver tureen on the table and start ladeling a thick soup into your bowls. While only Zumba is likely to recognize the scent of the vegetables and fish used to make this Souragnien chowder, the smell is enough to set your mouths to watering and your stomachs to rumbling.

"As for how you may enjoy this meal without sight, my friends," the Baron says, chuckling, "it seems to me that a fine meal is most enjoyed with scent and taste. If you require a little help finding your cutlery, you need only say so. My helpful staff is yours to command."

An odd feeling creeps through Lucien -- and his undead hand moves without his command, picking up his spoon and carefully scooping up a single spoonful of soup. Control returns to him right afterwards, but still.

"Yes, all my servants are at your disposal."

[A G Thing]

Orda had been listening to this creature speak and yet the chill of his words shocked her as she heard what he claimed when mention of the masks had been made. She listened and yet for all her building hate for him she for a time began shaking as she feared what he confirmed he had made of her.

Part of her had wanted to be with others and be accepted. Even after all the evil and betrayal she had suffered before a part of her still had wanted to not be alone as she had been before.

The sudden chorus of the undead made her choke on her fear and she felt in that that rising anger and terror an urge to cry. Like her rage she fought that urge but it was not easy and it simply confused her already stressed mind.

She had become inured to most of the insults of those who saw her and had no longer had to hide even if most did not accept. She had thought she knew enough to find her place. She had been strong and had felt others would see her honor if nothing else.

Now she had to hide not from others, but for them. She had been tall and not just been strong but felt strong. Now she was small and looked weak and slight even if her hand still firmly gripped her blade. Her voice now made her unsure where once it allowed her to express the strength and will she prized. For all her fierce strength and her resolve it now is hidden not by her choice.

For all the beauty she had gained but not desired she now for the first time in her life thought herself a monster.

She would not inflict herself on others. But not being able to show her face, she would perhaps be further from others again.

As the Baron continues to mock her allies she realizes however that she is not alone and she hears the mocking of Lucien and his family name. She does not understand all of it through her own shock but it angers her further none the less.

But the only thing that truly snaps her from her thoughts was the Barons next words. The thought of his cruelty in mocking them she could handle barely, but the thought that it had all been for nothing as this Baron claimed he would do nothing made her furious beyond reason.

She was disgusted by the thing claiming to be Lord. At his proclamation of hoping for the death of the land she shook with fury and began to breathe heavily enough to be heard. A few tears running down her face as she does. Still her will barely kept her in check and her fear flickered to rob her body of any action other than impotent fury.

She could think of nothing in her fearful mind that would help by her raising her sword but it was all her mind went to. If both fear and honor did not hold her in place she would speak or act against him.

She was even too disgusted to eat and so her gaze locked at the table as she tried harder than she ever had to contain her rage.

[steveflam]

Goren has listened to Misroi. He is chilled by the man's laughter. Yet he doesn't really care. They have a task at hand and must accomplish it.

"Very well. You don't care yet you do want us to convince you. I find you boring as I already said. I chose to move on. We have a task at hand and you wish us to convince you yet you do not care.

Funny, that. You say it is Orda who blinded us, yet it is you who gave us these masks to begin with, knowing full well their use. If I were a less patient or even civilized man I would tell you to embrace the lower part of my back. Alas I won't and thank you for your hospitality."

He squeezes Orda's hand "Will you accompany me back to Port Elhour and an Inn? For that matter, are any of you staying here or leaving? I chose to leave. If you wish to stay, then it has been an honor to have known you all."

[Ken of Ghastria]

Lucien is frozen with fear at what has just happened to his hand. One of his limbs - a part of HIM - is now an enemy. The Baron could kill him at any time! How could he even sleep, knowing that at any moment his cold, withered hand could reach out for his unprotected throat...!

His thoughts veer dangerously close to madness, but Goren's angry words pull him back from the edge. I am alive. Still. And I am here for a reason. We all are, he says to himself.

"Goren!" he says in a commanding voice. "Please remain seated. Or is your pride so valuable that you'd pay for it with a meaningless death in the swamps?" His tone is harsher than he would like, but the situation leaves little room for niceties.

"Besides," he continues, turning his attention - if not his eyes - back to Misroi, "The Baron asked a question.

"Your command of... the situation..." he flexes the fingers of his undead hand, "...is impressive, Monsieur le Baron. Even if you do not wield control over all the zombies in Souragne." He lets the statement hang there for a second. Then another. He samples the soup. Then he puts down the spoon, dabs his mouth with the napkin, and continues.

"The enemies we face have been able to create different types of zombies, faster creatures with sentience and razor-sharp claws, seemingly immune to the divine power of priests' spells. It would be interesting to possess those secrets, would it not?"