Rhydd had been sitting at the newly-repaired table, sipping an ale. Lady Mallory and Squire Khulekani had been having a detailed conversation about the Red Wizard and the goings-on related to him, and the archer felt that he had little to add.

Suddenly the tone and tenor of the discussion changed. Over the course of a few heartbeats the Squire turned fierce and demanding, and Lady Mallory looked and sounded alarmed by this turn of events.

And in case Rhydd had any doubts about the matter, Astre's reaction told him that he had not misjudged the seriousness of these unexpected developments.

Rhydd shot to his feet, his hand falling to the hilt of his rapier. If his bow had not been unstrung and leaning against a nearby wall, he would have reached for it, but events were moving too quickly for him to string it and make it ready for action.

"Squire Khulekani!" he hissed, stepping towards the two women.

"Unhand her. I am only going to ask you once."

Dannika looked up from her little fort of books — a construction work very much in progress — as the Squire's voice clang through the empty inn. It even caught the Chwinga's attention, who sat housed in his own little paper box folded from empty pages ripped from Dannika's notebook. Before she'd conceived of the idea, the Chwinga had kept undertaking the next raid after the other, but now seemed content playing with its spoon inside its new enclosure. Though if it wished, it could easily make short work of the flimsy walls or just simply climb out.

"A Simulacrum?" the scholar echoed. Despite her preoccupation with her own research, the talks of Red Wizards and magical duplicates. "It would be quite something to jest about . . . that is some extremely powerful magic. What is going to happen to it now that it hasn't been freed? Will it be dispelled? Now, I'm not much of a caster so don't mind me, but if I were a Red Wizard I might try to salvage the situation. The last thing I would want is for it to be forced to answer questions in a zone of truth. Hmm." She pondered the topic for a moment before returning to her literature.

Having recently crossed blades with a Wight and done battle with a powerful Red Wizard, the sight of a hissing and spitting cat, even a winged one, was not enough to make the Squire flinch back. What did however, was the look of fear and pain on Mallory's face. The young woman released her new acquaintance like she was made of burning coals. She took a step back and took a steadying breath. It was only then that she noticed that Rhydd had spoken. She looked down to see that his hand had fallen on the hilt of his rapier.

Apparently he was some sort of protector to Mallory.

"Peace, sir. I mean no harm," Khulekani said evenly, raising her empty hands in a show of submission.

"But I need to know the truth of this. No ambiguity can remain. Did you speak truth, what you suspect, or make a poor jest? Please!" she asked, turning back to the Wizard and her winged cat.

The moment Khulekani's grip released from about Mallory's shoulders was the same moment the young noble promptly adhered herself to Rhydd's arm instead.  Half-hidden behind him in the immediate reflex to seek protection.  It took another beat after the Squire's apology before Mallory had enough chance to regain her own composure from the startling.

"It's... it's alright, Rhydd.  I'm alright." Though quite grateful for his quick move to aid her, Mallory sounded half as much like she was trying to talk down her own flustered self with that assurance.  She needed a second to just breathe and gather herself before she regarded the Khulekani again.  "Squire, please understand; we've had more violence, bloodshed, and brushes with death in the last three days than in my entire lifetime.  My nerves are utterly shot." Mallory gradually eased her grip from about Rhydd's arm and settled back down into her seat, where she was quick to refill and immediately empty her glass of not-brandy yet again.  "I may hold a strong front most times, but it's only because of years of etiquette training for the sake of formalities.  It simply does not do to show weakness or weariness in court.  I would greatly appreciate if you afforded me delicacy, please."

In contrast to the seemingly unflappable company she kept - even Dannika and Astre - Mallory was a far cry different.  Wholly unsuited to such rough areas as the Ten-Towns, not the least bit acquainted with such hardships.  She may not have been some spoiled rich brat with no useful skills at all but it was clear she lacked the same fortitude for stresses as the others bore.

"A Simulacrum?  It would be quite something to jest about... that is some extremely powerful magic."

"Quite.  Extremely difficult, expensive, and exhausting magic.  Even for a Red Wizard of Thay.  On top of summoning a Wight?  Dzaan is throwing away many precious resources for whatever endeavor he's come for." she sighed as she went to pour herself another glass, only to barely get a trickle from the bottle.  Damn.  The young noble's gaze flickered about for other nearby bottles instead in hopes of another drink.  "I assure you, Squire, I would not make light of such a thing as a murderer.  I performed a magical examination myself and am quite positive of the results; the man you arrested and delivered to prison is a Simulacrum."

"What is going to happen to it now that it hasn't been freed? Will it be dispelled? Now, I'm not much of a caster so don't mind me, but if I were a Red Wizard I might try to salvage the situation."

"It's not a spell that the caster can simply will to end.  The Simulacrum won't expire on its own, but will persist until it is slain or until its magic is actively disrupted.  An executioner's axe or noose would do the trick just as well as any." she clarified.  "If the Simulacrum does suddenly just collapse apropos of nothing at all, it's because Dzaan was either within immediate reach to dispel it himself, or because he constructed a new Simulacrum to replace it.  That the latter hasn't happened yet means he likely lacks the necessary resources and cannot do so.  Thus, a summoned Undead to retrieve - or possibly silence - the Simulacrum."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:08, Thu 03 Mar 2022.

Rhydd exhaled and seemed to deflate  little as the tension-filled situation resolved itself, based upon assurances from Squire Khulekani and from Lady Mallory herself.

Soon enough the wizardess had taken a seat and was explaining some of the finer points of magicks, as they related to the Red Wizard and the Doppelganger-like imitation of himself that he had magicked into existence.

It did not escape Rhydd's notice that Lady Mallory had reached for a bottle with unsteady hands, and her expression when the bottle was revealed to be nearly empty spoke of intense disappointment.

Rhydd himself was not much of a drinker, but he understood that some people found alcoholic beverages useful to calm their nerves. Seemingly Lady Mallory was such a person. He did not feel especially comfortable walking off and leaving the flummoxed wizardess in the company of Squire Khulekani, for he did not think that he had a good understanding of whether or not the paladin could be relied upon to keep her emotions under control.

So he stayed in place and  looked around for a member of the tavern staff from whom he could request that another bottle of whatever everyone had been drinking be brought to the table.

There was no staff around in the immediate vicinity. But, as if she had divinely sensed Rhydd's needs, Magda conveniently exited the kitchen, humming her usual soft tune.

"If you wish, Ogden would be more than happy to lend you the tap room for the night," Magda said after climbing the stairs, "as gratitude for all your help today. It's large and open, but the hearth will keep you warm. Is there anything I can get you? Food, drinks? I can have Ogden make some lovely roasted grouse with shallots and baked potatoes. All on us, of course. We won't take a copper more from you, even if you insist!" Once she'd taken everyone's rounds, the cheery plump woman headed back down to deliver the orders.

---

So that the sun eventually sets, let's speed things along, shall we?

Khulekani seemed to deflate as Mallory explained more and more of the details of this faux-Dzaan. She sat back in her seat and let the Wizard conjecture about the particulars of the magic.

Which means that she had been tricked.

Which means that she had failed.

"...in the morning, I am going to interrogate this...Simulacrum. Then I am going to destroy it. I will return the reward money to the Sheriff. Then I will need to return to the tower once more. This cannot stand," Khulekani said, more to herself than the others.

"I will take a room, and that lovely sounding meal, if you please," she said with a weak smile to Magda.

She then sat back in her chair, rubbing a wound in her leg that was no longer there, staring off into the middle distance.

A shift back toward normalcy seemed to help settle Mallory's jitters a fair bit, especially with Magda's arrival and generous offer.  "That's remarkably kind.  I think we'd all be amiable to that, yes?  Saves us having to go trek out again and find an Inn at this hour, at least for tonight." she looked about among her companions for their consent on the topic.  It mattered very little to her where they stayed so long as she could keep warm and relatively comfortable.  As orders for food were offered, Mallory certainly took advantage of that with eager request for wine and as many vegetables as they cared to spare with the dishes.

Khulekani's somber mulling, however, brought the young noble's attention back around soon enough.  She cast an expectant glance and shrug over to Rhydd; that was more the response she'd anticipated for the news.  The 'upstanding defender' types always had a certain way about them.  "I admit to not knowing the ins-and-outs of your Order, but I don't believe the Radiant Heart has carte blanche to execute others' prisoners.  The fate of the Simulacrum is up to Sheriff Markham's judgment." she offered in gentle counter.  "Why would you return your bounty though?  From what I know of the situation, you did precisely as you were asked.  To capture both a Red Wizard and destroy a summoned Wight is no small feat; you should take pride, and most certainly compensation, in your accomplishment."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:53, Fri 04 Mar 2022.

"She's right," Moyrah said, "if it hadn't been for your efforts, they might never have known the wizard in Hundelstone was a Simulacrum. Let me restate that — they wouldn't have known. The Sheriff would be a fool to not realize the value of it. How much were you given?"

Dannika sat nibbling on her pen, plenty preoccupied cross checking her notes as the Chwinga played around in its enclosure — which it promptly escaped from. "Darn it!" she huffed as she leaped to apprehend the ambitious adventurer. It was no use. As the Chwinga deftly slipped out of her arms she ended up only embracing the floor, her thicket of hair falling over her eyes. "Torgrim?" she said, pulling her hair aside as she sat upright. "When you played your lute earlier, the Chwinga seemed to still. I'm beginning to suspect it was no mere coincidence. Would you mind resuming?"

---

The evening passed by in the unusually quiet tavern. Kelvin's Comfort was rowdy on any given day, but now there were only the soft hums of Magda, the somber melody of Torgrim's lute — the occasional Dwarven shout from the kitchen — and the drone of idle conversation to fill the ample alehouse. The hearth kept the body warm, while the soul was tended to by plenty of drinks and a lavishly set table of mains, sides, and bread. No job would be half-assed by any full-blooded Dwarf, and Ogden had spared no expense. When he exited the kitchen and wiped his hands on a cloth it was not with his earlier acerbity but a contented smile. He took great pride in his cooking and it showed.

When stomachs were full and night truly set in, Magda and Ogden cleared out a section on the first floor to allow space for their guests by the crackling hearth. An enormous rug fashioned from a brown bear — and it was truly enormous, for not even Rhydd had encountered any bear of such prominence — provided soft underlay for those wishing relief from the hardwood flooir. Magda retrieved furs and blankets, while Ogden made sure there was enough firewood to last through the night. The flame would need tending to burn until morning, but where there was desire there was will, and Ogden and Magda were content retreating to their own personal rooms.

Dannika, the ever dedicated scholar, was among the last to turn in, too busy with the Chwinga who needed no sleep. She remained by her candlelight to flip through her tomes and scribble in her notebook, though eventually, she too was overcome by drowsiness and Kelvin's Comfort turned dark.

---

With that, we'll make to the 17th of Uktar. Feel free to continue the conversation, but keep in mind that we're looking to wrap things up.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:41, Sun 06 Mar 2022.

As the night wore on through dinner and rest, Mallory ended up seemingly contented by enough strong drinks to ease her frayed nerves eventually.  Yet where she drank herself to a state most people would be happy to capitalize on for nodding off to sleep, she remained awake alongside Dannika in very similar method.  Research.  From out her pack, buried deep and low inside its few contents, came a very, very old book.  An absolute wreck of a tome; one it might've been a comely leather grimoire with gold-trim pages and finely wrought accents in decades past.  But the book that rested in the young noble's lap as she perused its pages was aged and battered, its binding clearly having been broken and rebound many times over, its pages endlessly folded, dog-eared, bookmarked, and scribbled over in an incomprehensible mess of shorthand.

Astre, meanwhile, had been sent on an errand.  Once it was decided the group would remain at Kelvin's Comfort for the night, Mallory jotted out a quick note to inform Sheriff Markham by, as well as mention that Square Kumalo had agreed to join the interrogation come morning.  The scrip was folded up neatly and carried off by the Tressym for a quick delivery down the road.  When he returned, Astre spent most of the night with the task of babysitting the Chwinga; like the spirit, he didn't require sleep either and thus was able to occupy and play with the tiny fellow throughout the night.  Both for the sake of keeping it in the tavern where it was safe and to prevent it from bothering anybody's rest by curious mischief.

---

At some point in the evening after Dannika had finally nodded off over her papers, Mallory gently helped her scholarly friend lay down and delicately sorted her research aside where it wouldn't get mussed.

"Miss Farwalker?" she sought the Goliath's attention for a moment, her voice low and soft so as not to wake Dannika.  "I fear Dannika really would've died had it not been for your aid.  It's... well, it's terrifying that it could happen so suddenly like that.  Thank you, truly, for saving her."  Things had been in such a mess earlier that she'd hardly the chance to sort her own thoughts out, let alone express her gratitude.  "Are you... are you feeling alright yourself?  After the Werebear and the Dragon earlier, I mean?"

Farwalker had set herself up in a corner, mostly so her large pack didn’t take up too much space anywhere else. She was of course carefully carving a piece of bone, this time into the likeness of an ice troll. Except it appeared to be riding something, complete with little saddle. She didn’t really notice when the lights grew dim, as she didn’t even see the world like most people. She’d stayed quiet through the conversation, listening carefully but not adding much.

She eyed her work critically as Mallory approached, judging it done well enough before she looked up. “I help where I can. That’s often the most anyone can do.” She pulled a small stone from her pouch and ran it over the edge of her carving knife, clearing any burrs from the carving process. “And, as most people, I dislike being powerless when something happens. Unlike most people, I get angry about such things. I let it rule me, once. But I have since learned to temper that. This does not mean I enjoy that feeling of powerlessness any less, however.” Content with her work on the small blade, she carefully sheathed it and tucked it away with the rest of her carving equipment, only to pull out a tiny bottle of glue and the ioun stone. “It is not the worst thing I have seen. And it is likely that I will see something even worse in the months and years to come. But, knowing that does nothing to ease the irritation. It will pass, in time. All things do, even the gods.” She carefully affixed the tiny, bone troll to the ioun stone, holding both in place while she waited for the glue to set.

“Thank you for your concern.” She looked up from her work, pearlescent eyes glittering in what little light there was, the colours shifting with the flickering of the light. “What about yourself? I’ve seen you with the button.”

A desire to do good in the world and a frustration with overwhelming circumstances.  Indeed, Mallory could sympathize with that sort of feeling.  Her expression grew distant for a moment as her thoughts flickered back to her family in Neverwinter but she shook it off quickly, lest she grow even more homesick than she already was.  "Your stoicism is commendable.  Enviable, really.  But I hope you don't feel as though you have to bear such things on your own.  I'm certain I seem a silly little girl among worldly sorts as you all-" she gestured briefly about among their company at rest "-but I would at least offer an ear to listen with should you need one."

“What about yourself? I’ve seen you with the button.”

Mallory's hand once more raised, as if on reflex, to touch the newly sewn button on her collar.  She thumbed at it for a moment as miserable furrow crossed her expression that her half-bandaged face couldn't hide.  "It..." she had to swallow a moment as that awful scene rose once more to the fore of her thoughts.  Her hands dropped to her lap and, with palms outstretched, a flare of arcane energy manifested a simple illusion within her hold; pantomime to appear as if she held it herself.  A meager plush bear, roughly stitched but well-loved by its wear and tear, with those familiar black buttons for eyes.  "It's strange.  I never knew Maia at all.  Never knew she existed, let alone her name, until after she was already gone.  Yet every time I close my eyes for more than a moment, I see her and her father still."

A heavy sigh seemed to blow away the illusion from her hands like so much scattered dust.  "It never goes away, does it?"  Her gaze lifted to the modified Ioun Stone and the bit of delicate, Ice Troll bone Farwalker had affixed to it in her own gesture of remembrance.  She fiddled once more with the button - all she had of a girl she never truly knew.  "Rather, we don't let it, I suppose."
This message was last edited by the player at 20:42, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

"When you played your lute earlier, the Chwinga seemed to still. I'm beginning to suspect it was no mere coincidence. Would you mind resuming?"

"Oho, a fellow appreciator of music, are you?" Torgrim asked amusedly in the direction of the tiny sprite. "Well, luckily I've got a few more in my repertoire, let me know if you want a key change, little one." Torgrim's fingers found their way back to the strings, which gradually stumbled into a rendition of "Lass o' the Lake", an old Targosi favourite.

---

Not one to be a rude house guest, Torgrim put the lute away as their hosts turned in for the night, and Mallory's cat took over the task of babysitting the Chwinga. The half elf instead turned his attention to the final drops of Firebrandy styled rotgut still stuck at the bottom of its bottle.

As the final flames died into an ember in the hearth, Torgrim found his way over to Moyrah, still nursing one rapidly drying droplet at the bottom of her mug. "Suppose this is goodbye for now, kid. Off to find a whale was it?"
This message was last edited by the player at 19:31, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

Moyrah sat there, clutching her glass. A night of food, drink, and the good company of friends kept her mind off the grim reality that plagued both her and Icewind Dale. For a while, she said nothing. Then she let out a long breath. "I'm . . . of two minds. On one hand, I'm needed here, among you. Hunting rogue Wizards, apprehending the killer who's caused so much suffering. Fighting Dragons! And I mean it when I say I would wish nothing more. But on the other — by my father's legacy — I am steered down another path. One I cannot expect you to follow me on." She looked up at Torgrim, eyes pleading. "Please, won't you tell me there's a reason to stay?"

Torgrim instinctively went for another sip of his cup, but put it to the side when he found it empty. "I barely know my own reason, to be frank." "A dead fisherman had me help you, so I did. He told me to stay with you, and I did. Now they’re the quietest they’ve been for a long time, so I suppose I’m doing something right, but who knows how long that will last."

He took a moment to look around, as if making sure no one was listening in.

"Listen, whatever path you wish to go down, you should. Just make sure you do it for yourself, and not just for the legacy of a ghost. Leave that burden to those of us who don’t have a say in the matter." His gaze trailed off into the dying embers. "We don’t owe the dead a damn thing."

He hoped the words did not come across as unconvincing as they felt in that moment.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:55, Mon 07 Mar 2022.

The large woman shrugged slightly, hands not really moving with the motion as they kept the carving and stone pressed together. "People pick what they think is important, and they hold onto it." She replied after a moment of careful thought, "And those little moments of import define us. Those things we never really let go. It's less that they get better, and more that we get used to what those moments mean to us." She tossed the ioun stone up and let it float it's lazy way around her head, tiny carved troll riding along as it did.

Farwalker smiled at the sight, amused with her own work. "There are many horrible things in this world. Sometimes, I feel that I was among them. But I have also seen things of true beauty. Both natural and made by mortal hands. Those are the memories I try to follow. I do not forget the awful. I cannot. But I have found that dwelling on them only brings sorrow, in some way or another. So, I make things. Pretty things that might brighten someone's day. Even mine." She gestured at the ioun stone with it's troll rider. "Do you think trolls dream of flying?"

Take the good with the bad?  Don't be controlled by the past?  Make the most of any situation?  There were a number of ways Mallory thought to interpret Farwalker's advice, though she felt it reductive to try and summarize offered wisdom as a mere pithy proverb.  The pain that rose from the horrible scene in her memories flared bright and cold every time it came to mind; there was nothing she could do about that, as it was still very much a fresh wound.  One that couldn't become a scar until something could be done about Sephek Kaltro.  But Farwalker's words bore a measure of comfort all the same.  A salve that couldn't heal the hurt, but at least help in its own way.

"Do you think trolls dream of flying?"

That got a soft sound in return.  Half a laugh, half a sigh in the same breath.  "Every soul does, I imagine." she mused as she rested back to watch the Ioun Stone laze through the air with its new rider in tow.  That much certainly brought a simple smile - one that actually reached her eyes, as opposed to the more polite, facade smiles she so often bore throughout the day.

Rhydd had eaten his fill from the sumptuous fare that Ogden had provided -- much to the archer's surprise -- and had consumed several mugs of dark, heavy Dwarven ale. As his companions, new-found and otherwise, settled in and conversed among themselves, he occupied his time by sitting cross-legged near the fire and working on the fletching of some of his arrows.

He looked up from his task when Moyrah gave voice to her indecision. "I was not present earlier when you spoke of your . . . quest to honor your father. But if 'tis hunting a whale that would take you away, I would observe that, from all that I have heard, in most cases whales are long-lived creatures."

"Although Nature has Its own ways and schedules, and mortals such as we can only guess at them as best we can . . . still and all, I suspect that this whale will still be around whene'er you decide to turn your attention to it. Who knows? Some day, I might even be in a position to aid you."

Rhydd glanced around at those who were gathered near the hearth. "But for the moment, I will not weaken this group by taking my bow and blade elsewhere. If we are to be tasked with bringing down a Red Wizard and foiling the plans of the Ice Maiden . . . and thus far, I have not noted anyone else who is even considering stepping up and shouldering that heavy load . . . then we would certainly welcome your assistance."

"With all due respect and honor to your father and his memory, I would ask that you consider aiding our efforts."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:16, Tue 08 Mar 2022.

Moyrah sat there in silence, carefully weighing the words of Torgrim and Rhydd. "You're right, of course. Both of you. The world awaits, but there's no point in rushing. I might miss it if I did." Her cheeks pulled into a smile of genuine appreciation. "Thank you. But there might be one thing we owe the departed — our glasses. May they quench our sorrow-cinders." She raised the last of her ale for a quiet, melancholic toast. She'd make sure Mallory, Farwalker, and Khulekani, too, was included. For it wasn't for just her father she mourned, but for Herve, Maia, and all those claimed by these desperate times.

One being who knew nothing of loss was the Chwinga. Oblivious to world events, it kept up its tireless exploration. And, as suspected, a conjured Tressym was the perfect guardian for a Chwinga. The hours slipped away in whimsical interplay. Fascinated by Astre's sumptuous fur, it occasionally got lost nestling beside and climbing atop of him. Expeditions undertaken on a majestic steed were exalted indeed, and what glory every corner of the tavern held! But, well into the night, even though it was constantly under Astre's watchful gaze, the Chwinga disappeared.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:41, Tue 08 Mar 2022.

Mallory Bonheur rolled 6 using 1d6 - Alphabetical/Numerical order on the cast list, so 6 is Torgrim

---

Communal sleeping quarters were a bit of a novel thing for Mallory.  She was far more accustomed to privacy in her quarters or, when pressed, perhaps one or two others nearby to share the room with.  To sleep on the floor of a taproom among her assorted companions was most certainly a new experience and one not without its hiccups.  She awoke fairly early the next morning and found that, at some point in the night, she'd unconsciously cozied up on Torgrim in unwitting pursuit of body heat.  A realization that had her flush red as a beet before she beat a hasty retreat both from his side and out the room entirely to freshen herself up for the day to come.

Of course, while tidied and soon in hopes of a breakfast as generous as their dinner the night before, Mallory ended up in quiet conversation before long, sat before the hearth to keep warm.  An odd sight for some, perhaps, to see her in chat with her cat at such length, but not so odd for others thus far.  "No trace at all?  Really?"

"Mrrrm..." Astre seemed rather displeased to admit it from all his scowling that morning.  Mallory just mulled over the matter while she unwound her bandages from about her face with ginger caution.

"Oh, don't be like that.  They're Elementals; even you can't be expected to--"

"Rrrwl!" he pawed at the Chwinga's abandoned spoon where it sat on the floor before him with a grumpy gesture.

"Well, yes, that's true.  But I suppose Chwinga are simply more elusive than Imps." she shrugged as she conjured a small hand mirror out of thin air with a twirl of her fingers.  Her bloodied eye seemed to have healed throughout the previous day and night quite well, which was a relief.  No trace of red blotches left at all.  She cast away the mirror into a flick of smoke and instead plucked up the spoon to idly twirl between her fingers.  "But thank you for keeping such a good eye on them anyway.  I'm sure they appreciated having such a lovely companion as you for the evening.  If they want to come back, they will as it pleases them."  Astre earned himself a fond scritching under the jaw for his trouble and pouting, which at least did some small bit to soothe his foul mood that morning.

Dannika didn't have much time to freak about about the absence of the Chwinga. Or, perhaps, she had expected its retreat into the object it had grown affectionate of. It was easily coerced out of its abode, and the spoon, ice cold to the touch, glittered slightly as it rose in a pirouette, the frost lifting from its surface to form a ribbon. That ribbon slowly coalesced into the form of the Chwinga, and it grabbed its dormant spoon before it could fall.

There was no time for breakfast, as it wasn't long after rousing that a guard knocked on the tavern and was let in by Ogden. He demanded Mallory's, Rhydd's, and Khulekani's — especially Khulekani's, insisting the Sheriff had gone out of his way to stress her importance — presence at the Town Hall. Anyone they wished to bring along were welcome.

---

Head on over to the Town Hall thread.

Most of Torgrim's nights were devoid of dreams, drowned out by generous amounts of alcohol. This was a conscious decision, as he found the alternative far more exhausting in the long run. During his waking hours the dead would come to him whenever they saw fit, but at night, willing or not, he went to them. There were advantages to this, however, advantages he needed right now.

He awoke surrounded by a familiar gray void, filled with hundreds of blurry whispering humanoid shapes of all shapes and sizes. The details of their faces could not be made out, and their whispers not fully comprehended. Torgrim rose to his feet and dusted himself off. "Hi again. It's been a while." The murmuring crowd did not respond.

"Still nothing huh? After all this time? Wonderful, always an absolute pleasure." He rolled his eyes, as if there were anyone there to see him. "Look, we are going after a magic wielding psychopath which, if the simulacrum he made of himself is anything to go by, is likely to be a bit paranoid. That could mean traps. Magical ones to be precise." The crowd remained unchanged.

"I wan- I wish for your help." "Help me see what they can't. Make me useful to them.". The spirits grew quiet, yet nothing changed. "Please?" The heavy hand of an unseen spirit fell onto his shoulder from behind, and Torgrim was jolted awake on the hard wooden floor of the Comfort.

As Torgrim took in his surroundings, he was surprised to find Mallory curled up next to him, but thought little of it. The cold makes strange bedfellows, doesn't it? He looked down at the sleeping witch, and searched inside himself for a feeling that deep down he knew he'd lost. In another life perhaps. For tonight, he found peace in knowing that even he could be a source of comfort and warmth, and fell asleep once more.

---

OOC: Torgrim will use Whispers of the Dead during the long rest to gain proficiency in Investigation through the shared knowledge of a ghostly presence, losing his proficiency in vehicles (water).
This message was last edited by the player at 17:37, Fri 11 Mar 2022.

That the Chwinga had taken to occupy the spoon rather than a more natural element was a delightful surprise with plenty of curious implications.  Though also a minor note of concern when it came to how poorly-crafted the flatware must've been if it had enough unrefined ore still within it to qualify as a rock.  Regardless, Mallory offered the Chwinga a welcome smile all the same.

"I have to go do something quite foolhardy today, so it's best you stay with Dannika where it's safe, alright?" she urged the little spirit in that sing-song voice she'd come to use exclusively for it.  When she handed it back over to Dannika, she hesitated a moment and took her friend by the wrist.  "Dannika, darling, please take care today?  You as well, Moyrah.  I'd be beside myself if anything happened."

---

Off to Town hall

For the remainder of their stay in Bryn Shander, the group had to find lodging elsewhere. While Ogden was accommodating, he also had a business to run, and Kelvin's Comfort was not an inn. He recommended Geldenstag's Rest, and could ensure a discount from Myrtle, the proprietor.

It was a quiet place, somewhat dark, with few patrons. Only one, in fact — one of the merchants from the caravan, a lanky blonde man. The establishment was far from upper class, and it was somewhat cold and small, sure, but it was nicely decorated with scrimshaw in various forms, tools, and stuffed animals. Dannika had donned her hat and she and the Chwinga was nestled up in a corner to continue their research. The tiny elemental's eccentricities had subdued over the course of the day. Now, it preferred to stick around Dannika's notes, and the scholar seemed to be thoroughly enjoying an outlet for her thoughts, be it to air grievances to a fantastic listener or tidying up incongruities. The nosy Myrtle was curious about both Chwinga and research, to the point where Dannika once had to politely ask her for some peace and quiet.

Moyrah, on the other hand, had not sat about. She'd been out to the markets to acquire outerwear that wasn't as tattered and beaten as the hide she was currently clad in, and had even stopped by The Hooked Knucklehead while Farwalker was present to inquire about wares. When she returned later that evening, it was with a bag slung over her shoulder and in similar, densely layered hide, though much fresher.

She put the bag down inconspicuously behind a chair. "Did you learn anything about Sephek Kaltro?" was the first thing out of her mouth. "I tried my luck at the Northlook. Nothing. Neither the proprietor nor the patrons knew anything aside from that he used to work for Torg's. If he stayed during his crossover to Targos, it wasn't in the Northlook. Or it was, but not as himself."

---

You each get a room for 1 sp per day, which is half of what Myrtle typically charges.

Ever since the execution Mallory had been rather terse.  Understandably so, perhaps.  The entire experience had been a weight on her soul since the moment she first understood the true nature of the Simulacrum, to witnessing his final moment.  His last, bitter words rested in her thoughts.  She feared no genuine haunting from such a curse levied her way though; the sort of baleful forces that could bring about torment beyond the grave required a soul in the first place.  But, all the same... the words alone were enough to linger and weigh heavily on the young noble's mind.

There was a part of her that craved isolation - to cope with everything she'd been through in solitude.  But an even bigger part of her was loathe to be alone.  Thus she remained in the presence of her fellows, albeit herself being rather poor company as she was more intent on personally emptying a bottle of wine than being a conversationalist.  She hadn't yet spoken of what she'd done or witnessed in the jail.  Only Rhydd knew for certain what bogged down Mallory's spirits so greatly.  She sat in silence at the table alongside Dannika; her manner subdued, the most recently filled mug of mulled wine already half-finished in one hand, and her other set in a thoughtless stroke along Astre's head.  The Tressym himself warmed Mallory's lap and refused to share her silence as he softly purred throughout.

Moyrah's abrupt return with both hides and questions in tow brought a slow, delayed sort of reaction out of the young noble as she cast her darkly-ringed eyes over.  A gentle shake of her head followed.  "Nothing to speak of, no, beyond what we already may have deduced.  He'll have to resurface sooner or later... if he's targeting those who avoid the lottery, then it would behoove us to learn which towns practice that sacrifice still and when the next will be.  He will surely be in attendance." she reasoned listlessly from beyond the rim of her mug before she took a slow, long pull.  Her eyes drifted to the load Moyrah dragged in with an idle nod of acknowledgment.  "What's that you've brought?"