Shells and Cheesedau!

What's the DC for eating a DM, I wonder?

...I think her continued resistance in the face of that horror more than qualifies her for the Hunt. *nods*

*runs behind the sofa, continues chomping*

Re: Rrowl - Understandable in this situation, I suppose.

P.S. Oh look! Four 7's... One more and I get a Yahtzee!!!

I've got a different kitty image in my mind, at the moment... One that's nowhere near as sweet and cute.

"Lord Rrowl, if it is the last thing I do, let me eat that twisted slitch piece by agonizing piece!"

Great post!

And I wouldn't hate a glimpse.

I may be getting in touch with you soon... Have a feeling that Adedre's next bit might just lead quite smoothly into such a conspiracy.

1. The "Eol method" of randomization
   
   
   
   1. I roll percentile dice (d100) ten times and average the results
   
   
   2. I roll d100 once and compare against the average
      
      
      
      1. Higher result = "yes"
      
      
      2. Lower or equal result = "no"
         (You don't have to use this if you choose to randomize, of course, just wanted to clue you in as to how I do it)
      
      
      
      
   
   
   
   


2. Hostage situation: Entirely possible.
   
   
   
   1. As I mentioned, "Mother" turned out not to be an active informant but, in a future post, Mosic is going to find the blanket he gifted the woman discarded somewhere.
   
   
   2. Not sure that Mother will be found alive, of course, but she's certainly found her way into our necromancer's grasp.
   
   
   3. This, if nothing else, will "secure" Mosic into our party for the duration.
   
   
   
   


3. I've had thoughts/designs since Reralae introduced Morgana as to how to tie Adedre and Morgana together, somehow. If it gets to the point where that happens and you'd like to discuss/plot/scheme with me, Butterfly, just let me know. Otherwise, I'll PM you in that regard when I get there. 

I thought so... Glad I left Saina out of it!

Aaaand, if you leave it up to the "Eol method" of randomosity, there's a 45% chance that the waitress mentioned the child when she reported her findings to Adedre's minions. Roll 1d100 and, if it hits 46 or above, Saina was mentioned. 45 or below and the girl doesn't come up.

I'm rather curious, myself, as to how Aranwen's going to react to being "kitty cuddled." Looking forward to whatever might come of that. 

And, not to toot my own horn, at all, but I was rather proud of and amused by Ch'dau's “Perhaps your monkey-gods are not as strong as ours and so you need more” line.

...I was just sitting here randomizing the following possibilities:

• Could "Mother" have been one of Adedre's whisperers?
  
  
  
  • Result: She wasn't
  
  
  
  


• Could Mother have been "caught and co-opted" by Adedre's minions?
  
  
  
  • Result: Caught and questioned - Yes... Gave information - No (More on that to come in a future post)
  
  
  
  


• Was the serving girl possibly playing "eyes and ears" for the necromancer?
  
  
  
  • Result: Yuuuuuup! (Though by a very slim margin... Possibility was 75%... She rolled a 76)
  
  
  
  


• Also determined there was a 48% chance of other patrons/staff of the Countess and Cockatrice being "agents" of Adedre.
  
  
  
  • Rolled a 6 - Not likely that anyone outside of the waitress was covertly employed, so a message would have to have been sent.
  
  
  
  

So, yeah... Given the time it's taken for the healing and such to have taken place upstairs, if Kith steps out for some air, there's a good possibility she'll run into a goon or two. I'll leave it up to you to decide whethere they're coming or going or what. Run with it, kibibi! I trust you to make it an entertaining read.

Also, I considered throwing Saina into the mix but, as I'm not 100% sure what Reralae had in mind for the wee snippet, I left her out of the possible spies.

There's the "Mosic post" I promised. As usual, plenty of space for interjections and such throughout and, of course, feel free to place these events/conversations at any point before, during, or after whatever you ladies might have in the works.

P.S. It looks as if whoever posts next gets the top of page 5. PAGE 5!!! Already!!! Lookit us go!!!

In spite of the sadness that seemed to fill the room, Mosic Townes could not help but to smile at what had come of Aranwen’s tears. He had sensed need from this strange trio from the moment they had entered The Countess and Cockatrice and, in some fashion or another, all three of them had even admitted to it. As he watched them, now, though, he felt his heart warm. These three disparate beings, each needful of something vastly unlike the others, it appeared, had all started to find what they sought simply by having come together…

 Perhaps their need of me, he mused happily, the gray of his eyes giving way to blue as he observed them, was simply for the grace of Father Falloes’ healing. The blessings of the Helping Hand have now knitted together their individual threads just as, by His benevolence, my own hands knitted their flesh.

…It was quite a thing to see and, for his part, the cleric felt privileged to bear witness. The falling away of the stoic bladesinger’s physical armor had precipitated the doffing of that which had armored her emotions. That, in turn, had brought down the brassy, lone wolf façade of the thief, revealing that she was capable of concern for others beyond herself. And the terrifying battle-beast known as the Silver Cat of Coria… who could possibly have known that there was such tenderness concealed behind such a terrifying presentation of fur and fang?

Mosic set about packing away his healers kit, he smiled softly to himself, listening as Ch’dau cradled a weeping Aranwen, murmuring softly to her about his people’s idea of an afterlife that he referred to as the Eternal Hunt. Until today, the Cidal had believed that the stories he had heard of the Silver Cat and the Kazari, in general, were just that; terrifying tales of horrible, blood-thirsty monsters who knew nothing but violence. For all of those accounts or, rather, despite them, the way the cat-man described what he expected when he left this world behind sounded beautiful, even peaceful, and Mosic found himself fascinated by it.

“Your Eternal Hunt sounds a worthy respite from the cares of a hard lived life on this plane, good Kazari,” the priest said when Ch’dau had finished his telling, “and, the more time I spend in your company, the more I wish to hear about your people and your culture. There seems to be so much more to you and your folk than has ever reached my ears.”

The cat-man’s turquoise eyes framed the little Cid and he offered a fractional nod; “This does not surprise me, little man. In all my time in your lands, I have yet to have seen, let alone heard of, another of my kind, here. What is it you would like to know?”

“Everything,” Mosic laughed, making an expansive gesture, “The nature of your language, the details of your homeland, the ways of your people…”

“That is quite a lot,” Ch’dau chuffed, “You may have to stay with us for some time before I could tell it all.”

The Cid nodded his understanding. “Falloes has led me to all of you for a reason,” he grinned, “and has yet to lead me elsewhere. Until he does, I’ll be happy to stay if you promise to tell me more. For instance, when you spoke of the Hunt, you mentioned names… Rrowl, Keziri, and Khr’a, was it?... who are they?”

Ch’dau looked surprised and, perhaps, pleased that Mosic had pronounced the names as properly as he had. His ears flicked and his tail twitched in what the little priest was quickly coming to understand might be the kazari equivalent of a smile. “They are what you might call our gods,” the Silver Cat offered, “Rrowl is Lord of Battle and the Hunt, Keziri is Mother of Us All, and Khr’a is ‘The One;’ She made the world… made us.”

“And what other gods do you have?”

The cat-man shook his head; “We have no need of any others. What more could we want than what can be provided by those?”

“Only three?” It was Mosic’s turn to look surprised. “Our kind have so many more,” he blinked, trying to imagine how so many divine domains might be given over to only three gods, “I… I’m not certain I understand how that can be…”

The kazari chuffed out a chuckle and, once again, offered a shrug of his massive shoulders. “Perhaps your monkey-gods are not as strong as ours,” he suggested, “and so you need more.”

Mosic blinked and the word ‘blasphemy’ played through his mind for an instant… but only for an instant… The casual way in which Ch’dau had said it led the Cid priest to believe that the Silver Cat had meant no offense and had simply stated a fact as he saw it through kazari eyes. “It would seem we have a lot to discuss on that matter,” Mosic chuckled, perhaps a bit uncomfortably.

There's nothing I can see that should give you pause.

I'm considering another post or two - something from Mosic and maybe a visit to Adedre, again - but, for the time being, I'll leave things where they are so that Kith and Ara can get something in if they're so inclined.

Got a bit of a clusterfungle situation at work, today, too, so there's that to contend with buuuuuuut.... yeah... I'm still here pondering, plotting, and scheming over what comes next.

I'm sure she did... but Ch'dau probably didn't get that bit.

He's taken quite a liking to both Kith and Ara, you know? As such, he's likely to do everything he can to keep them safe and assured of their worth (even if he picks on them from time to time) for as long as he's able.

...for what it's worth. Turns out there is something of a soft side to the limb-ripping, face-eating cat-beast! Whodathunkit?

P.S. Good morning!

Ch’dau nodded his thanks to the cleric of Falloes and, as Kithran waved he and Aranwen aside to take her turn under the little man’s attentions, found his way to a corner of the room. “This is probably the worst of it,” he heard the thief say as he settled into a crouch, turning just in time to see her expose the finger-shaped bruises at her throat, “but I am rather sore in this bit, as well. And my side hurts from when a large cat-beast tackled me through a two-story window.”

Mosic’s brows climbed a bit further up his forehead as he regarded the bits of glass he had pulled from Ch’dau’s back and, then, glanced in the kazari’s direction. The cat-man simply chuffed softly and offered a shrug. The priest shook his head, twin pony-tails bobbing as he turned back to examining Kithran’s injuries. “I may have been able to sense the need in you three as soon as you walked into the inn, but, to such a degree, I could not imagine.”

“Back out while you still can,” the half-Syl teased, wincing faintly as Mosic’s needle pierced her skin, “or join us, in the next of our unimaginable follies. We are obviously in need of some assistance, none of which includes someone unable to keep themselves together in the face of a couple . . . monsters.”

“As I have told you,” the cleric stated without looking up from his work, “I go where the Right Hand leads me. I will not fail you because I will not fail Him.”

An uncharacteristically sweet smile ghosted across Kith’s lips, then, but just as quickly disappeared when Mosic reached his tiny fingers to the bruises at her neck. As she recoiled from the priest’s touch, a faint smile played on the bladesinger’s lips.

 “I know of your aversion to touch, so I know it is not easy. But it is not a Syl's touch, at least,” Aranwen chided gently, “Come on, you might not be nearing complete collapse as Ch'dau was, but you will still need your strength.”

The thief’s ebon eyes flicked to meet the Syl’s golden ones for an instant. Then a sigh blew past her lips as she relented to Mosic’s administrations. “Stealth, priest,” Kith said, purposefully averting her eyes from those of any others, “will be vital in our mission. You are small of course, so that should help, but your cape is rather, ostentatious, to say the least. Do you need it or can we stash it for now? I can likely find another for you if you need one, though you may not approve of my means.”

The soft bark of a chuckle escaped Ch’dau, at that, in concert with the priest’s own. He shifted on his haunches, watching with mild amusement as the scene played out before him. The banter between thief and cleric; Aranwen, once again, catching Kith’s sly pilfering of Mosic’s medallion; and Kith’s playful taunting of the bladesinger upon being called out on her actions. These furless folk, the kazari mused quietly with a slow shake of his head as Kith goaded Aranwen to submit herself to Mosic’s healing, I do not know that I will ever fully understand them.

Aranwen had begun to strip off her armor and, even from where he sat, Ch’dau could see the marks left behind, from injuries new and old, on her lithe form. The scars spoke of many battles fought over the course of many years and, that the Sylvari woman had survived so much, told the kazari of exactly the sort of warrior she was. One more than worthy of fighting beside, he thought, his eyes tracing over the pale lines that crosshatched her skin, and, even following into battle. A true khatun as I see her, now.

“It looks worse than it is,” the bladesinger assured.

"A-are you certain of that?!" Mosic asked incredulously, "Why are your injuries uncared for?"

Ch’dau’s tail flicked and his ears twitched as, following Mosic’s examination, the golden light of Falloes’ blessing washed over Aranwen, briefly highlighting each scar that graced her body. Further affirmation of the warrior’s life she led in the kazari’s mind.

"Thank you, Mosic," Aranwen smiled as the glow abated, "The others' injuries were far greater, and the supplies I had to treat them with was never meant for more than one person over the length of their patrol."

"I see," Mosic lifted a hand to his chin in thought, "Then, what is it that ails you so? Even as you sit here, without it showing in your face, I have the sense of a pain of some kind. I would know of it to see how it may be helped, if not healed."

Aranwen shook her head, "It is not important right now. Kithran has a book she would like to get her hands on, and we have Adedre actively scheming something that-"

Mosic however had turned his attention to the cloak Kithran wore, "That cloak... Is that yours?"

“What? Oh, no,” Kith replied, the cleric’s query seemingly have roused her from some deep contemplation, “No, the Kazari is using the one I usually use, since it is quite large and offers him some form of discretion.” She held out one side of the garment, her deft fingers gliding over the fine fabric “This is actually Aranwen’s, though I may need to hold on to it. I think it looks rather nice on me. Don't you think so, Ar…” Kithran stopped and looked curiously at the Sylvari who had once more fallen into her pained, fragile air.

"I think I understand,” Mosic nodded solemnly, his tone condoling as his gray eyes turned back to the bladesinger, “I am sorry for your loss.”

Aranwen's eyes widened at that, and she bowed her head, her hand going to her face as she began to cry.

Even as Ch’dau’s ears flattened slightly and his tail fell limp, an expression of puzzlement fell over Kithran’s features, as well…

“Aranwen?” the thief took an almost tentative step toward the weeping Syl as Ch’dau slowly rose from his crouch, wondering to himself what could possibly bring a warrior such as the bladesinger to tears.

"That cloak... I wasn't sure until I saw it closer in better light, but I've seen its like before," He offered as an explanation, "As a priest, how could I have not? The pattern stitched into the fabric marks it as a cloak worn by a Syl in mourning.

This is, indeed, a deep wound that will not heal easily."

“Oh,” Kithran gasped softly, “no.” The thief, not so dark as she had once appeared, now, struggled from beneath the borrowed cloak and, full of sympathy and apology, placed the thing back in Aranwen’s lap. “…I cannot go into the hells before us carrying your ghosts on my shoulders. I won’t do that to you, regardless of how naked I feel without a cloak.”

“The hells are a place for the evil and wrong-minded, kibibi,” Ch’dau murmured as he padded across the floor, “and, your choice of vocation aside, I do not think they are for you, yes? Nor for whomever it is that our friend mourns, now.”

He settled his bulk on the bed beside Aranwen, then, and, somewhat awkwardly, gathered the mournful woman in his arms. A soft purring sound rolled in his chest as he pulled the bladesinger close – not the same happy sound he had made when he had eaten earlier but, rather, a soothing, consoling rumble. “I know very little about what any of you believe about what comes after this world,” the kazari said softly, cradling Aranwen’s head against his chest, allowing her tears to soak into his fur, “but, among my folk, it is believed that the honored dead find themselves called to the Eternal Hunt.

It is a place of beauty and bounty,” he explained, “where pain is no longer found. When you leave this world, you are greeted in the next by those who were called to The Hunt before you – your ancestors and the companions who have fought by your side – and, for the rest of time, you feast in their presence, hear tales told of their bravery and yours, and remain guarded by Rrowl and Keziri as both of Khr’a’s eyes smile happily down upon you.

Death is not a thing to be feared,” he finished, tipping his head forward to press it against Aranwen’s, “but embraced. What awaits us on the other side are all the things we will never find here.”

Duncan was telling me a bit about this game not long ago, in fact.

Was going to pick up a PS4 just for Death Stranding but looks like I might have to add Outer Worlds to the list, as well.

It certainly gives me hope!

Not to wish the time away but, now, I'm excited for December 20th to get here!

...you're crying!

Very touching scene. 

After reading that, I'm thinking that ol' fuzz face might just be compelled to relate the concept of the Eternal Hunt... We shall see.

...as always!

I'm eyeball deep in TWD, at the moment, but have some ideas for a post of my own.

...puns and such are appreciated, hereabouts!

And, yeah... Ara... *sniff*...*kitty cuddles*

...so you've already posted it. Wasn't sure if there might have been more to it. I suppose that makes Ch'dau luckier than I imagined that Kith hasn't stabbed him already.

And, yes, dinner was delicious! My mom makes a BOMB deviled chicken!

That was a fun post to come home to after dinner at Mom's!

Nicely done... aaaaand I'm looking forward to hearing how Kith came to go all stabby-stab on a cleric of the Keeper of Seasons, as well.

Who's next?