Midnight RPG 27.878

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This scene will take place the morning after Eranon's dream. Eranon will first ask around Bilgewater in his clunky Orcish to find the witch, Aesir's cousin, describing her the best he can.

Once he approaches her, he will try to be sure he can speak to her alone.

Eranon (in broken orcish): "Hi, wise one. Can we speak alone? You understand Elf tounge as before?"


the morning can't be held off any longer... Zal'Kazzir had found a saloon less active in the debatchery that had offended your ears, eyes, scent, and senses since arrivaly. The beds were soft... uncomfortable to your wilder nature. An old irish hound had followed you up to your bartered room from the saloon hall below, it pants even still outside the door.
Though it seemed a little too dim, or sadly drunken from lapping up floor spillage, it reminded you of home a little... the damp dog fur brings a scent familiar to Anauil's (sp?) wolfen coat in the forest. Scent is a strong reminder of things past, now your keen ways betray you with thoughts of your friend so far away. You take a touch of comfort knowing that he likely runs with the Arrows and watches over lovely Mi'shun as she watches him in your sted.
But those moments of security fade with the lighting of the lamp set in your room. Your Sarcosan was still in the foyer of the saloon arguing the cost of two rooms, who would know he may be up soon knocking at your door if he could not barter a private room as his "nobility" seemed to need or at least demand... Though in part that might not be unwanted. The excuse to lay your head to rest on the floor rather than taking the gull-feathered bed. It's almost laughable to consider which has more human stain on it, the floor soaked in liquor from the last resident or the bed from the whore that last slept here..... Perhaps propping yourself in the window sill might be of safer messures to avoid whatever disease might be caught from this ... place...
The musics and the horrid laughing of drunken louts down the way and around the "L" still waft into the saloon's inn. By the time you gain any sort of sleep - the dream comes. "THE" dream, is of note... it sounds like so many Durgaz has described to you of his dreams of visionary nature. Yet this was yours. You don't have the gift. Or at least you never did... Was the cursed armors doing something to you? Bleeding off Durgaz pain?...

In a way you naturally look forward to the night... to hold off the hate of waking up to another morning beneath the Shadow had always been something to consider, it's no wonder elves such as the insane seer of the Hamlet seek only to sleep in their tree hovels... Yet this morning... in this place... it's nothing to look forward to. It can't be held off any longer...
You woke to the smell of burn pig, an aroma creeping up through the half rotten floorboards from the saloon turned breakfast nook. Chickens cackle and orts snort and route to make there way out of sure death if they are the poor souls caught for this morning's meal... Zal'Kazzir, you figure is already taking advantage of this "luxury" of pig flesh the sons of man love so fiercely. That or else he's still in the soft bed.

But that is not your concern.
As you walk the L's... the boardwalks have only the bodies of the drunken louts and their whores strewn about in doorways. As you walk, now and again a storeowner clears a path widely by throwing five gallon buckets of morning-cold piss-water. It's surprising how quickly the unconcious can move when they taste the yellow chill water.
It's disqusting.
But it's safer, you feel, than doing this deed - looking for the witch-woman past mid-day. That would grant your elven sensibilities nothing but sadness again and quite possibly stir trouble knowing the natures of these Dornish pirates...

It takes several questions to several storemen and women to track a path to Etri. She has been waiting to travel to Tumbledown across the way... The isle amid the cove on which Jaedyn calls home. But that ship has not saled just yet... "Young" Etri sits in the tavern most south-facing, the docks visible from her perch as she scoops up a sausage and hash mix with the cup of her dagger sharpened fingers. Using her nails as spoons she slurps the gravies into her mouth while crunching into an overly rippened red fruit of some sort - one perhaps growing wild on this isle...
Strange as it seems she seems almost... nymph-like here in this place, when it is lacking the many bar patrons. She doesn't seem to fear showing herself here... in this place. She is a sexual being and she is humbling - even to your elf-eyes. Young, almost nubile. A credit to her race - and as she eats it's as if she has never eaten before. Part ravenous and partly as though she had not been taught the manners of the table.
This place she is in...
"The Hall of the Harpies", it's bartender snatches up Etri's barter... a silver dagger that must have been taken from the "Spear of Grief's" captain's quarters. The bartender snorts a little, overweight as she is the weed she smokes clouds the air around Etri's stool-perch as the stench slurps out of the open face of the tavern... opened up to the sea are, the front of the tavern makes for a simple stepping in and up to the sultry witch...
The bartender wrinkles her nose with your orc accent, as you speak to her in the Shadow-pig language.

Etri, the witch-woman[edit]

Curling one leg up under her on the tall stool-perch, the other leg dangles bare and naked to the open air... her cloaks slip off her shoulder as she licks her fingernails while looking at you.
She pulls the cloth material up again onto her shoulders with a hint of her own modesty. It is obvious that Etri doesnot understand your songlike words. The elven tongue slips past her... She looks to her bone back, considering if you are worth toiling her bones for the morning.
She smiles at you, using her long Dorn-white leg to grasp another stool... It tilts and nearly falls, yet her grace is just enough to manage it with care. It scrapes along the floor with a pitched squeal, lasting only for a moment or two until it slips in-between you and she. She looks down at the stool, twists her toe on the seat and closes her eyes for a slight moment. By the time you glance down she's already rolling her bones and muttering in what must be a Norther-speak.
The sharp words of her spell slowly turns into the songs of the Erethor languages... as Etri says...

"...good morning hansome... what will you have of me on this morning?" turning on the stool she slips her hands between her legs as if sitting on her hands in anticipation of your joining her today. Looking about she nudges off the fat bartender, who seemed uneased with the words of magery... "...we are alone fairy-man, but I cannot say that wisdom is what I can give you on such an early morning with such a beautiful day ahead of us..."
The fog of the morning seems to be burning down to a managable level as the moments pass... Soon, within the hour, many of the beasts that parade as men around this isle will be awake and about... Etri speaks again, not softly as before. She doesn't fear the morning nor the night nor the Shadow. If not for all the odd things your elf-eyes have witnessed, this would seem odd... yet still... something... something....

"...such a beautiful day... such a beautiful world..." as she pushes back the hood of her cloak stroking across her hariless temple. Baring the hallmark of her people, the Dorn race your people have spoken of.
"....such a beautiful year... it reminds me of the Year Before the Rain. That was the time Shadiuil was born, the first of your people's High Kings... the greatest of his line... Until your Queen. Until the summer ends, but not thereafter..." Etri pauses and looks up at you in pity....


Eranon balks a moment, listening to the woman's words

Eranon: (in high elven) "You remember this year yourself? That cannot be. You must be far more wise that I had imagined. I must, however, agree with you that it is a beautiful world, though many ugly things may dwell on it."

"I come with the curiosity of a foreigner. I wish to know of you and your coven, I would meet them if you would have it. I am most curious how you staved off the black boat."

Etri, the witch-woman[edit]

Ignoring the breakfast plate Etri turns with her back to the bar, leaning back elbows holding her on the bar. Here in this place, in this dawning time, she seems to come more alive than when aboard the "Spear of Grief" among others... She smiles and looks you up and down again.... "...elf, I am taken at a lose - you seem not to care for the looks of a woman, yet you have the stamina to ask her age... heheh" Etri says leaning forward to the elf. "....it was his eyes that made me take notice... they grew darker and finally turned onyx black, no pupil, no light. Not unlike your Southman. Not unlike your Queen. Yet the mystery of the black soul-windows may be answered differently from the perspective and position of each.
That cloak on your back... It rings of the needle sewn by the daughter of Kirinhi, does it not?"
...the witch-woman's smile turns a touch devious as she runs her nail down Eranon's chest.

"something for something, what for what, give and take, tit and tat... eh young Caransil?" slipping back to a comforting grin as she slumps back to her elbow lean back against the bar once more...
"You have the breeze of magery about you Elf - what of the Southman, your Sarcosan. What is his nature? What does he want? Whom does he serve?... Nothing for nothing. I can take you to my coven, I can give up my bounty - though I will caution... My will may not be wise in the manner the Southman trusts, his snake-tongue will not turn my head as it seems to have turned 'cousin' Disa."

NOTE - just because I'm having you roll, doesn't mean anything's suspect. Being that you've trained yourself to be watchful of such things...

ROLL: Eranon (Sense Motive +2) ROLLED: 17+2 = 19
With this roll - Eranon sees past the flirtatious guile of Etri the witch woman... Curious, she surely is. Hateful of the Southman, she surely is. Yet if there is something else... different or majestic(?) maybe about her you cannot tell. Her request for "quid pro quo" seems to be common to her nature. It seems safe, for now.

".... yes, Caransil... the world carries on it so much that is ugly. But one must remember - our ancestors and forefathers knew another time, another place. Yet it was the same. This 'ugly' you speak of is only a stain upon the world. But with soap... water... perhaps a dab of vinegar in the darkest of places even the most common can srub that stain from the surface." Etri, glares in the direction of the fat woman down the saloon behind the bar... from behind her head you can see a faint glow seemingly from her eyes of crimson. The barkeep quickly stops picking at the mole on her chin, slows her wiping of the countertop and stumbles a bit before retreating into the kitchen. Before turning back to you Etri skims her hand across her bald scalp and says... "...I too feel as a foreinger here young Caransil. While Prince Norfall sees the beauty and heart of my and mine, I fear we still command fear - even in those that would be our own people. They look at me as if I were of House Chander or Regard..." ...though her eyes do not match the melancholy of her words speaking of fear and distrust, she squares her shoulders and hops off her stool-perch. Even in bare feet she is a good 5" taller than Eranon. She wraps her cloak about her motioning to take the Elf's arm to walk out of the "The Hall of the Harpies" saloon. the L's have grown a touch more resilient, reawakening this morning as the early dawn begins to turn mid-morning.

"Now then... I see my ship is about to set sail. If you'll have me..." again looking if Eranon will allow her to take his arm. "...we shall make way and you can meet my sisters. There..." she points off into the cove, beyond the fogs of the reef waters Eranon can make out a ridge not far on a neighboring island. "...there on 'Tumbledown' my sisters ply their trade, Prince Norfall's estate waits us..." Etri looks to the elf, smiling again - noticing her height difference as she bends her knees a touch to stand at Eranon's height, and her teeth gleam white with a broader smile piercing the soot and sod naturally collected on her beautiful face from time aboard "the Greedy Knave"... "Shall we..?" she says, glancing at the ground.


Eranon watches the old woman speak, he frowns slightly, worried he had offended her for a moment. He relaxes again when she laughs.

Eranon: "I am sorry, I mean neither to give the impression of disaproval of your appearance, nor did I mean any harm by my question of curiosity. Am I to take it, then, that you humans do not consider age a point of pride as my kin?"

"Who's eyes, Shadiuil's?"

Eranon looks again uncomfortable when she reaches out to touch him and mentions his cloak.

Eranon: "Yes, it is she who made this. I am surprised, most cannot tell this cloak from any other. How do you know?" He frowns when she mentions tit for tat "I am afraid, my good lady, that I have not much that I can, or at least, am willing to offer."

"As for the Sun-touched (sarcosan), all of your questions may be answered by this: He follow and serves his own will, his own passions, this much I know. My poor wit is unable to penetrate his two tounges."

"And as for I, do not all my kind smell of Aryth's will?"

Eranon again looks sad when she mentions the fear her kind endure

"I am surprised, would not your family respect your power, your connection to the old ones? Does your coven approve of the path your clan walks? Piracy and seclusion?"

Eranon will walk with her for some time, but when he realizes that she wants him to go to another island, he stops and sighs

"My lady, I am sorry, my responsibilities this day, on this island, are many. I must return to my companions, but we will be venturing to Tumbledown to be sure, to speak with Jayden. I will seek you then if you will have me. I may also have a favor to ask, if it were within your power. Please tell me what gift might gain your favor enough to grant me the privilage of your potent skills?"

Etri the witch-woman[edit]

"... gift...?" Etri says, seemingly saddened by Eranon's unwillingness come with her. "...A gift so sweet that only one of the woodland folk could meet the demand. You have my power if young Eranon, I might share a warm place in your heart. Kiss me... Drink of passion on my lips... Give me your full embracing power for the moment our lips touch, and then be on your way while I recall the fondness that a wilder grants me this day. A kiss and a promise will suffice for that which I offer. You will find no better bargain Eranon." Etri looks into Eranon's eyes looking for his answer, neither looking ashamed nor over-eager to recieve the request...