Strange Fates
Second Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
The pyromancer Henrik is more than happy to show you the way to Ser Harras' little used rooms in the Bloody Keep, though he mutters something under his breath about not being certain if the knight is there or out drinking in the town. Alas, from the smell that strikes you when the door creeks open before you, it seems Ser Harras has chosen to take his drink in and forego company. Heavy curtains are drawn against the morning sun and a candle sputters in a corner casting fitful shadows over the dark pine furniture wrought with what might have once been snarling lions, coiling dragons or any number of beasts, all worn down by the passage of ages. The knight himself is half-slumped in a high backed chair, a pitcher of ale in front of him. Not the first you would wager, not by far.
"Hail good Ser, needing a bit of the kindness are you?" Henrik asks with forced good cheer, drawing a vial from his pouch.
"How many died?" He asks abruptly, ignoring the pyromancer, words unslurred and eyes still sharp with pain unburied.
"None," you reply, keeping your voice carefully neutral. "We were in time, the parasites were removed, the Deep Ones will get no use from them and in time the children will likely forget. The very enchantments meant to hide the parasites will help them."
"All ill to blessing turn?" He asks bitterly, paraphrasing the Seven-Pointed Star perhaps. Rising to his feet with surprising speed he steps into the light, a second pair of nictitating eyelids flashing over his eyes to leave them glowing with a milky white light. "Talk to me of the good the Deep Ones did, will you? It's all blood, red, black or brine, they all scream the same. It's all... all I'm good for, because I'm 'lucky' enough to hide it, I get to be the one holding the sword..."
"Then I guess I'm even luckier than you," Jeyne interjects, waving one hand through the air and leaving a trail of translucent astral matter that
flows together into the unlikely form of a large winged cat. "All my changes are in my head, so I would make the perfect spy, the perfect infiltrator, not even knowing what I was until the time came to
use me."
"How?" the knight shakes his head and turns to the pyromancer and asks softly. "I'll be having that sip of kindness, friend."
He greets you, Vee and Ser Richard courteously, of course, and even Nizuss once he recovers from the surprise of a small talking dragon, but it is with Jeyne he speaks the most. A good part of diplomacy is knowing when to be quiet and so you are as Jeyne recounts her tale in full, only adding a word or two of help when her tale crosses yours or delves into matters she did not directly witness, like the specifics of the ritual that drew her soul from the grasp of the Deep Ones.
"This may not be the body my mother birthed, but it's still me," Jeyne laughs a little wearily, but sincere you would judge. "I'm not even the only one who can claim that, though I am the youngest." She goes on to explain rebirth by the power of the Old Gods and how it wards away old age.
"I've not had much to do with tree gods, only the Merling King..." Ser Harras shakes his head. "I went to Toad Island you know, that's where I met Sorec, Loras and the fellow over there who just spared me a hell of a hangover on top of embarrassing myself before a king..." he motions to the pyromancer who had been growing somewhat more at ease as Jeyne spoke, but seems as content as you to let things unfold.
"I could have bathed in the stream, let it all wash away..." A sigh passes his lips. "Fate took a hand then, if you believe in such tings. The innkeeper's daughter had nightmares about the sea, the fleshchange. I stood guard over her that night, spotted the crab-thing scuttling its way up the wall to get into the window. It changed to match the stone, wood, everything... without my sight the girl would likely be worse than dead. As was... we burned it to ash."
"Except for the bits I cut off to use in potions and extracts," Henrik notes with a cold smile that meets with a nod of approval from Vee.
"Do you think I could learn to use those... magics?" the Ironborn knight asks unexpectedly motioning to the winged cat construct. "I..." he glances at Jeyne. "I might as well get the most I can out of it."
"Maybe. I've never tried training anyone," she answers surprised by the sudden turn of events, though you cannot say you are. Harras Harlaw is a man grasping for meaning of his fate and the fate of his people. She looks towards you in askance.
What do you reply?
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OOC: That's a near diplo crit.
