As the light stones lost their glimmer, the flame of the lanthorn remains bright. Ophilia quietly watches the flame seemingly dance within its little cage as she falls asleep, snuggled against the warmth of H'aanit's furs. Linde and Hägen curl around comfortably around the cleric, while the huntress stays on awake, alert and watching.
Primrose lays on her side, resting on a spare blanket Alfyn insisted she have. Her back is turned to the apothecary and thief. Therion is awake and enduring the hugger side of Alfyn as the other sleeps and keeps trying to hold him like a pillow.
Cyrus, ever the bookworm, falls asleep sitting up, with a book on his lap. His head nods a little, as though he might fall over any minute. Tressa is comfortably in her sleeping bag behind him, dreaming of swimming in a sea of leaves without a care in the world.
Olberic sits, rigid and stoic, as he watches over their little encampment. Closing his eyes, he keeps his senses sharp for noises of the night... the drip of moisture in the caves, the scuttle of critters, and the flap of avian wings...
It reminded him of the days in the platoon, when they would be similarly stationed, waiting for the orders to attack in a new day of battle. Those bygone days, with Erhardt and the other...
Erhardt...
Olberic sighs. He was getting needlessly nostalgic after having left Cobbleston. This quest might well turn out to bear no fruit, as he was going entirely off the tip of a felon. He mustn't get ahead of himself...
…
When morning comes, they make use of spare water to wash the dry taste out of their mouths and prepare briskly to keep moving. The cave system connects to some old mine shafts, one of many that dotted and wriggled all over the Cliftlands. Originally, these mines were a primary source of income for many inhabitants of the region. They were funded largely by the now bygone noble houses that held manors in the dry lands. As a result, many of these mines either became mined out without supervision or were shut down in operations due to infestation by monsters due to lack of upkeep. This was a large contributing factor to the exodus of able-bodied workers from the Cliftlands. Now, all that remains are these empty mining systems. Travelers can use these as shortcuts at their own peril, and sometimes even thieves will hide in them to ambush unsuspecting passerby.
As of late, there were stories about strange sounds emanating from the inner caverns. Daring spelunkers felt the breath of something down their necks more than once. Most began to eschew the inner tunnels altogether. Something inside began to scare even the monsters, causing them to spread throughout areas that were formerly safe. No one really knew what it was, and no one was eager to find out either.
As a bit of a courtesy, travelers came to mark portions of the caves where things felt particularly ominous beyond a certain point. Drawing on these within a map, one would get a periphery drawing of what looks like a concentrated mass within the deepest caverns. These ways skirt about the heart of the mines. Even these charted paths were not absolutely safe either.
Monsters which dwelt originally in these tunnels were beasts like beetle skull rollers or fungus beings. However, with the rising sense of fear, dark energies seemed to manifest within the tunnelways. Shadowy forms came to float around. While regarded as hallucinations at first, that was quickly dispelled once a man's life was drained right before his companion's eyes.
In the companion's own account, his fellow traveler walked into something that emitted that eerie dark light, thinking it to be a trick of the dark and their lanterns. Suddenly, he was lifted off the ground and screaming as the meat and skin on his body seemed to shrivel and drain off his body, turning into black dust. As his companion made a mad dash to escape, he could swear he saw and heard the bones of his now-dead fellow clacking after him, like a marionette to the dark forces that claimed his life.
So, in addition to the natural dangers, strange elementals and undead now stalk the tunnels of the defunct mines. What a joyride.
"Yeesh, that just about sends chills down my spine!" Alfyn exclaims as he walks alongside the thief.
"Oh please, the guy in that story was committed afterward, wasn't he?" Tressa looks through the map again, "We don't have a choice but to go through the deep parts since the marked paths collapsed!"
"Then let us be quick so as not to suffer injury," Olberic nods, "I will do my best to be a shield and ward off any dangers that may arise."
"Oh my, this is quite a conundrum, both exciting and frightening!" A lightbulb goes off in Cyrus' head, "Ah, but with Ophilia this might be less of an issue! After all, a cleric's staple of power is divine radiance, that which undead and dark creatures abhor!"
"Uhh... I am actually... a bit behind in offensive cleric prayer..." Ophilia grips her lit staff, looking down, "Lianna can use the holy eye, but I can only lend support so far..."
"Holy eye?"
"It's a basic attack utilizing holy light and sort of... vaporizing the enemy? Well, it normally only shoots a sort of ray, actually..." Ophilia gives a small wince as she explains, "Stronger clerics can enlarge the range of it or even summon multiple at once... but Lianna could only make one... and I, none..."
"Thou art adverse to violence," H'aanit lightly pats the cleric's shoulder.
"Well, I'm sure we'll manage fine without the church's fancy tricks," Primrose shrugs as they near the start point into the heart of the mines, "Just keep the lights on and we'll do the heavy lifting."
"I'm sure we'll be fine!" Tressa says impatiently, "You'll see, we'll be in Quarrycrest in no time!"
…
It is quite funny how things occur opposed to one's expectations. Shortly after smushing a few skull rollers and breaking some marionette bones, Therion could feel the movement of stagnant air in the tunnels. That's... not supposed to happen.
No drafts should be this deep in... right? But maybe it's just a crack in the old cliffside.
Despite his attempts to rationalize it, his survival instinct jumped to the most obvious conclusion: something is breathing. Something big. And it's coming closer. His nose can smell something akin to that of the fetid rotting air that accompanies the bones of undead.
The thief stops before the rest of them as they near another cavern, the largest one before they are marked to start exiting the shafts on the map. Furtively, he raises a hand before the others.
"Huh?" Tressa looks up, "Why'd we stop?"
H'aanit looks down to see Linde and Hägen tensed as well, with their hair pricking up. It's their aggressive stance when danger is approaching. H'aanit sniffs the air and picks up on that scent.
"...There be'en something..." The huntress draws her bow as her eyes look at the darkness beyond their light.
Suddenly, from the ground beneath the thief's feet erupt a flurry of tough thorns ending in a small, spiked maw. Already on guard, Therion manages to leap back, knocking the apothecary backwards as well. The maws snap once and hurriedly slip back underground as fast as they came. It was almost too fast for them to even see what happened. Hägen barks loudly at the initial noise and the sound of hissing issues from the darkness beyond.
"W-what..." Tressa scrunches the map in her hands.
"On our guard," Olberic stands before the others, drawing his sword.
"Oh dear, oh dear, this is a poor area to use magic within such confinement..." Cyrus places a hand on his spell book anyway.
"It looked like some sort of plant..." Therion draws his dagger furtively, "Just great."
"Yes, quite fortunate we have fire we can throw at it," Primrose adds.
"Er, I must confess my fire spell to be rather destructive and thus a hazard in this enclosed space..." Cyrus starts and quickly adds, "But I shall try my best!"
"Try not to fry us, brainiac," Therion scowls.
"It cometh!" H'aanit shouts to her companions.
The rumbling noise grows louder and more of those thorny vines burst from the ground near them, some entangled with the grisly skeletal remains of those who came before. The rotting smell of flesh is more apparent now.
"Bones...!" Primrose dodges a lash, "This thing might have been the cause of all those nasty rumors, hm?"
"That does not matter... for it stands in our way and we must cut it down!" Olberic bellows, his blade flashing in the fire light.
"This thing has deep roots!" Alfyn exclaims, chopping off some stray roots reaching for himself, "It might be anchored all around us!"
"B-Be careful then guys!" Tressa exclaims, "It might collapse the place or something!"
"I recognize this species...!" Cyrus yelps as Hägen yanks him aside by the cape to avoid being snapped at, "Tis a manymaw plant! They are indigenous to arid areas and make up their diet with carnivorous feasts on living creatures, though they are cousins to flora detritivores such as-"
"F-fascinating, Cyrus, but- aah!" Ophilia interrupts as she dodges a wild swing from a thorn whip, "We must take care of this menace before it takes care of us!"
"Tsk..." Therion growls, trying to muster up some flame on his blade secretly, "Hey, brainiac, you know its weaknesses, then?!"
"Well, erm, like any plant of dry areas like this..." Cyrus pants a bit with his poor stamina, "They are susceptible to heat, as they are not succulents! Fires ought to set them aflame easily! But something of this size I have no data on!"
"Great..." Therion grunts as he forces the first few sparks of his magic into his blade. He has his normal metal daggers for this, as the venom dagger from the viper fang isn't as good a slasher.
"Hmf..." H'aanit swiftly jumps back from a cluster of sprouting maws as she swaps her bow for her axes. Linde provides her cover with a wide swipe of her claws, slashing off several of the maw heads.
From the ground where the maws were burgeoning, there is a sound of thick crunching through the bedrock. As further rumbles arise, the thick, stony trunk of the plant bursts through, appearing like the fossilized stem of a tree, speckled with blue crystalline orbs of eyes. It unfurls to reveal its tube-like ending, from which a fleshy pink flower blooms, consisting of myriad tendrils. The center of the flower, where the pistil should be, is a purple maw, lined with hardened fang-like thorns like the little maw vines that surround the tunnel. The large, fanged maw gives a low growl, like that of an animal. Gaseous stench issues forth from its gaping orifice, smelling like a concentrated cesspool of decomposition.
"Aagh!" Tressa gags and shrieks at the sight of the thing, "B-burn it! Burn it!"
"Look out!" Alfyn exclaims, swinging in a wide arc to cover for his nearby allies.
With appearance of the large plant head, a lot more of its smaller thorny maws sprout, lashing about on their thin, yet surprisingly sturdy whips of vines. Therion scowls as he feels some pricks here and there on his skin. The stink in the tunnel is growing to levels that would make one tear up. But, to his surprise, his blade sparks with more fervor.
"Haah!" Olberic slashes savagely alongside the axe-wielding huntress as the two of them hack at the flailing plant.
"I shall assist now!" Cyrus declares, beginning his incantation, "Flames-"
There is a rather disgusting slurping sound as the main maw seems to burp. It then regurgitates a dark, lime-colored mist from its mouth, filling the entire tunnel with its fetid breath.
"UGH-" Cyrus' eyes bulge mid-sentence as he breathes in a mouthful of that toxic breath. Almost immediately, he collapses, vomiting his guts out on the cave floor.
"Oh, EWWWW!" Tressa covers her nose, "Worse than a dead fish sale in the summer sun...!"
Primrose coughs, staggering against the tunnel wall a little. She pulls out Yusufa's handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose. She grunts as the plant lashes out amid the distraction, nicking her skin. Hägen straight up collapses on the floor, whimpering as the smell overwhelms his sensitive nose. H'aanit moves to cover for the dire wolf, holding her breath slightly as she swings her axe.
"Grr...!" Therion presses his poncho collar to his face. The blade in his hand manages to withstand the breath, flaring up now. It seems the methane discharges of the plant are flammable...
"Take this!" He throws the flaming dagger into the main maw.
There is a brief second before the flames erupt, surrounded with so much fuel in the plant body. Like a bomb, the manymaw bursts in a brilliant torrent of flame that spreads through all its surrounding vines. Unfortunately, the flames spread easily towards the adventurers and the force of the explosion also rattles the infrastructure of the inner tunnel. As the flames consume the plant remains, Therion sees the main tubular body pull back into the crevice from whence it came, smoking.
Olberic coughs, swatting aside the flames. Being in the space they were, suffocation is a great danger. Luckily, because they were also surrounded by rock, the flames didn't have much more to burn after the initial explosion either.
"Ugh... kuh..." Ophilia stumbles a bit as the air clears out somewhat from that funky breath attack, "Cyrus, are you okay?"
The scholar groans, weak-kneed and clutching his head after vomiting from the stench. The cleric kneels at his side and casts her nausea cure on him, allowing him to sigh with some relief.
"Oof... What a stinker... Everyone okay?" Alfyn coughs a little and waves the air a bit, "I think we scared it away for now! Good thinking, Therion!"
"..." The thief pants a bit. There went his dagger.
"... Twas a foul creature," H'aanit sighs, standing and minding her scrapes, "Yet we haven prevailed."
Hägen gives a soft whimper. Linde playfully licks one of his ears as he regains his senses.
"Indeed," Olberic sighs, "We can take stock of injuries outside. For now, it is too dangerous to remain... Those who cannot move, I can support."
"Well, now we know what it is that hunted around this place," Primrose clears her throat, putting the handkerchief away, "After that bloody nose, maybe it'll be quiet for a spell."
…
Indeed, they had wounded the manymaws such that the thing did not bother them again as they pushed their way through the derelict mine. Of course, they were aware that thing probably was still alive, too. With Alfyn and Ophilia's efforts, any lingering health effects from the plant's toxic breath is taken care of swiftly. While the tunnels were old and the explosion had made its infrastructure creaky, it seems the integrity of the hard rock is uncompromised. They just have to deal with some straggling monsters, which no longer seem so bad compared to the fight with the man-eating plant. Contrary to the expectations of a cave-in, the eight adventurers manage to see the dying light of day as night begins to fall and they exit the western side of the mine's mountains.
"Ugh... fresh air!" Tressa exclaims, inhaling deeply through her nostrils, "Finally!"
"Ah, and just in time, I say!" Cyrus looks ahead to see a cluster of lights from civilization, "I must confess, I really hope that is Quarrycrest and not another unwarranted stop in the road..."
"The adventure must be wearing on you, Cyrus," Primrose laughs airily as she enjoys the dry air up on the side of the cliffs, "I thought you liked detours."
"I enjoy learning, indeed... But it seems even my destinations have a limit of patience, fair Primrose," Cyrus sighs.
"Tis goode to travel for thee then," H'aanit chuckles wryly, wiping back some of the dry, dusty grime streaked on her forehead.
"Ahaha, I'll confess, I am also rather tired after that ordeal," Ophilia chuckles lightly, "Will we be staying at an inn or...?"
"I'm not camping out in the street if my wallet has anything to say about it!" Tressa exclaims. She goes to feel for her money on the side and is shocked to find it gone, "Huh?"
"Therion!" Alfyn looks to the thief immediately.
"... Tsk," Therion produces the stolen wallet with a grumble, caught red-handed. Tressa gasps and snatches it back.
"Oho, better luck next time, dear thief," Primrose chuckles.
"The little brat dropped it during the fight. I just forgot to mention that," Therion rolls his eye.
"W-we're traveling together so why steal from each other?" Ophilia asks like she just witnessed something outlandish.
"Hmf, I'm keeping my eye on you!" Tressa declares, "Good thing you didn't get to my super-secret stash! A good merchant needs to keep second funds handy for emergencies!"
Therion just folds his arms and ignores the looks thrown his way now. Alfyn pats his shoulder with a smile and a firm tone.
"Therion, don't even think of it."
…
Quarrycrest is a quaint town built into the side of a mountain. Its location is largely provisional, having been established from discovery of new veins to mine. The old cities where the ores ran dry shriveled up as people left to follow where the jobs lie. Droves of transient workers followed where these temporary mining settlements popped up. Quarrycrest is merely one of the newest in the long line of mining towns. One day, it shall likely collapse like those who came before it when the ores run.
However, Quarrycrest already is quite a stretch from the original system of mines, showing just how much the mining industry has forced relocation. Unable to find more ores westward, expansion of operations pushed north, towards the northern ocean. However, even these finds are proving to become finite and yield lesser than predecessors. It is believed that the employment provided by the industry would ultimately dry up, being unsustainable. Once that happens, the Cliftlands will likely lose all relevance as a hub of opportunity as it once was.
Quarrycrest in particular is part of a new venture by the wealthy baron Morlock, who employs droves of poor saps seeking work as manual laborers. Veins of precious stones were recently excavated, and the baron sought to ride it for as long as the mines could hold. Following the collapse of the noble houses who used to govern the Cliftlands, mining conditions are no longer held to any particular standard. Owners often just mine indiscriminately so long as the tunnels hold, leaving room for much abuse of laborers and poor work conditions.
Odette scowls at the scholar across her at the table within her own home at such an indecent hour. Cyrus looks obliviously at her, clearly not aware of the inconvenience he is causing having come knocking at such a late hour. It wasn't that Odette was sleeping. She was just busy with other things.
"You have a lot of nerve and none of the fear, Cyrus," Odette sighs, hand resting on her head, "That's always been one of your fatal flaws."
"Pardon the intrusion, Odette! I was simply much too elated to finally see you again!" Cyrus says with a bubbly smile, "It had taken me two trips across Middlesea to finally see you here, if you can believe it!"
"Oh, I believe it," Odette grumbles, "You do have your way with detours."
She sighs and fetches herself a cup of ground chicory root brew, "What do you want? If it isn't of import, I'm going to kick you out and you can come back in the proper morning."
"Oh, but I assure you it is important! Utmost import, I might even insist!" Cyrus declares, "It is regarding a missing book in the academy archives-"
He's shoved outside and the door slams in his face before he can get another word in edgewise.
"Good night, Cyrus," Odette says firmly from within her abode, glad to be rid of that bookworm.
"Wha..." Cyrus looks around, almost oblivious to the immediate rejection, "Odette!"
"Come back in the morning, you dolt!" Odette berates him through the door.
Hanging his head, Cyrus walks back over to the Quarrycrest square, where bonfires are lit to illuminate the town instead of lamps. There, a few of his companions sit around waiting. Others had run off to accomplish their own errands.
Tressa yawns, leaned against a fencepost, "Gee, we really got here late, huh..."
"I'll say," Ophilia sighs, "But thank the Flame we made it in one piece at least!"
The cleric sees the scholar approaching, "Ah, Cyrus! Any luck?"
"Uh... I'm afraid not," Cyrus sighs, "She was quite … astringent at this hour."
"Ha, can't blame her..." Tressa chuckles, "All the markets are already closed for the day... But that means I'll get a fresh start in the morning! It's open-air here, and there isn't a guild, apparently, so you can sell pretty much if you have anything at all!"
"I'm glad your entrepreneurial spirit is quite intact after the journey," Cyrus scratches his head, "Anyways, have our companions any luck in securing a room?"
"Oh, I'm sure they'll be back with news on that soon," Ophilia nods, "Alfyn needed to look at some plant he just espied and Therion went with him. Prim, H'aanit, and Olberic went to the inn not long before you, after all."
"Can't believe Alf is okay hanging out with a thief!" Tressa turns her nose up in the air.
"We are all traveling together... Though you bring up a good point, my dear," Cyrus places a hand to his chin, "Alfyn has traveled for far longer with Therion than we."
"I'm... sure Therion really just picked up your wallet in the dark after it dropped...!" Ophilia says with a strained laugh.
…
"Hmm, leave it to a man to foist the talking to a woman," Primrose scoffs, twirling a lock of her hair around her finger as she walks with H'aanit towards the inn. Linde and Hägen prowl about, flanking the two ladies and keeping a vigilant eye out in their new surroundings. Olberic had struck up conversation with some townsperson and excused himself to go with them, leaving the ladies to book the inn room.
Quarrycrest is a rather barebones sort of town. It has some housing erected for organization representatives who were able to pay fees to the baron. Most workers were expected to provide for their own housing, resulting in a vagrant population accruing within the town limits. They established a small community within Quarrycrest of tents. Morlock tolerated this so long as shenanigans like thievery were kept to a minimum.
The town is built into the side of the ore-rich mountains. Levels of elevation are carved out and paved to be just flat enough for shops to set up and mining foundations to be lain. There is little mind paid to anything else, which is why the winds of dust swarm the area at least once a week. Wooden bridges span the gaps between stone levels, with dubious quality. The river that runs through is converted into a natural sewer and waste rock disposal system, resulting in a slack river flow. It has the overall feel of a rough and tumble place that could become a ghost town any day now.
"He hath asked pardons to pursuen a lead," H'aanit sighs, "Tis not I to fault."
"That's much too forgiving of you, H'aanit," Primrose chuckles, "Something tells me you don't deal much with men."
"Whattest thou mean?" H'aanit raises her eyebrow at the dancer.
"Tell me, have you ever had close relations with a man?" Primrose slows her gait and leans slightly onto the furs hanging on the front of H'aanit's chest, "Do you know how they think?"
"Hmm..." The question seems to put H'aanit at a pause, "Supposen I doen not. Haven been told I hath more sense of a beast's heart than that of man."
"As I suspected. You see, men are sometimes like beasts, but they are also human. Therefore, they can be just as smart and cruel if they so desired," Primrose gives a foxy wink.
Linde rolls her eyes a bit and Hägen ignores the dancer.
"Thou spaketh from experience?"
"Quite. I am very familiar with this topic," Primrose chuckles, "I wouldn't mind teaching you a bit either, seeing as we are traveling together."
"Hmm... I doen not see the point as others do..." H'aanit sighs with apprehension in her voice. In her head, she can hear Z'aanta telling her for the umpteenth time about her need for tact. It was why she preferred to just hunt in solitude with Linde. While her master was used to her, sometimes, she found him grating, too. People were so … strange. They were multi-faceted and dishonest, making them difficult to deal with compared to the straightforward nature of beasts. From a young age, H'aanit had this air of a noble beast about her... which made people aware of her strange attitude. For Primrose, it was something of an interest.
"You walk the world of humans, dear H'aanit," Primrose smiles, lightly fiddling with the other girl's wolf fang earrings, "I understand it is tempting sometimes to shut people out... but you would be better off learning how to deal with them."
H'aanit blinks. The dancer seems to almost have read her mind.
"Anyway, I suppose Berg can find his own way back once we have procured a room..."
The dancer and huntress come before a bit of a ramshackle building with two lanterns lighting its door. The words of the inn hanging over its door seem about rubbed out from the erosion of the winds. Primrose frowns a bit seeing the state of the place. The beasts seem unimpressed.
"You'd think a place with this many miners might have a bit posher of an inn..."
She pushes the door open and immediately smells the musty interior. Hägen shakes his head as they enter the lobby of the inn. There are chairs for people to sit, covered with handwoven patterns, but they seem to be crusted in over a year's worth of dust from the boots and coattails of travelers. The hearth is lit, filling the room with a bit of smoke due to the sputtering of the flame.
"... they haven not cleaned," H'aanit says bluntly, looking around.
"Let's hope the rooms are better," Primrose says under her breath as she approaches the receptionist desk. It takes a few moments for the husky innkeeper to come out from the cupboard beneath the stairs.
To their immense disappointment, the dancer and huntress find out the inn is all filled up, no vacancies.
"How is that so?" Primrose asks with indignance, "I can't believe you're all really full..."
"Well, we have policy not to take travelers after dark, more like," The innkeeper gives a tobacco-stained smirk, "Sorry, but it saves on the making of rooms so sudden, you understand, sugar?"
"Tsk..." Primrose scoffs, "I don't suppose you know anywhere else people stay?"
"There's a lil' diddy the vagrant workers made. I call it tent town. Just west of the square, can't miss it. They set up every night and sing hobo songs by the fire all weird and shit."
"..." Primrose sighs.
"Hmm. Tis not that different from camping outside," H'aanit says unhelpfully.
…
Returning to the others with the bad news, the dancer is also surprised to see that the warrior had not returned. But his business did seem urgent, and he had told them he would be fine on his own...
"He's a big boy and can handle himself," Therion smirks.
"Well, whatever shall we do for shelter?" Cyrus inquires, "And I had rather been looking forward to using an inn's amenities..."
"The innkeeper hath advised of a 'tent town'..."
"Sounds kind of... suspect," Ophilia adds a bit more optimistically, "But maybe it will be hospitable enough for the night?"
"I'unno, sounds like a homeless hub," Tressa thinks a second, "We had a shelter sorta thing back in Rippletide because they kept sleeping everywhere and blocking commerce."
"Well, let's see before we say anything, eh?" Alfyn gives the thief a slap on the back.
"Ah, but whatever of Berg?" Cyrus perks up.
"If Berg wants to find us, he'll probably go to the inn and be sent over, so it should be fine," Tressa shrugs, "Not that he'll be thrilled but..."
"I'm sure he's had worse lodgings," Primrose sighs, "Let's get going then."
The seven walk not too far to find the so-called "tent town." It really is as the name implies: a seeming abode of tents. Vagrants assembled tarps of cloth to take shelter under for the night in an otherwise open public space. There is the odor of ill-washed bodies and the dust and sweat of work permeating from many of these covers, as they do not have a washroom. Gathered around small pots atop fires are some hobo workers de-stressing at the end of a long day. The smell of their stew wafts about in the growing darkness of the mountains.
Tressa resists making an outright face at the encampment and its lack of aesthetic. Therion smirks to himself seeing the girl's expression. Hägen snorts a bit at the place, sharing a look of displeasure and lack of amusement with Linde.
"Uh, hey there!" Alfyn says with a smile to a man seated closest to their approach, "Do we, uh, set up tent to join you fellas or...?"
The grizzled man with a hat on a string eyes the adventurers flatly, "Y'all from outta town just now?"
"Uh, yeah, 'fraid there wasn't room at the inn since we came so late," Alfyn shrugs.
"Heh, izzat so," The man gives a sardonic grin and looks over at the women, "Kinda … mighty nice group ya travel with."
"Try anything and you'll regret it, I promise you," Primrose gives a sweetly venomous smile, stepping in front of Tressa.
"Woah, woah, dem's fightin' words. I didn't mean nothin', fire-starter," The man chuckles, "The name's Kleid. Y'all can probably just pitch up like the rest o' us. Food y'all hafta pay a leaf or gitcher' own. Group rules an'all, ya know."
"Rules?" Ophilia blinks, a bit apprehensive in the whole environment.
"Yeah, we all sorta gotta pitch in a bit, ya know? Goin' it alone gits ya killed. Though there be those gnarly little guys who kinda just sponge on goodwill and," Kleid shrugs, "Anyway, you guys stayin' or what?"
And so, the travelers spread out what rest materials they had in tent town. Tressa spares eight leaves for them each to get a bowl of the hobo stew, filled with whatever scraps the cooks could scrounge together. Sitting among the ragged men, they listen to the tales of woe and down-on-their-luck anecdotes. Alfyn gives his two cents now and then.
"I nearly knocked my big toe off today with my pickaxe... Y'know you can't walk without that? A fellow swears he's a doctor said that."
"Tsk, willow-men with white bellies, doctors. I gotta eat, don't I? Toe or not!"
"Oh no, that's true! If you got no big toe, you'll stumble more than dung roller's ball!" Alfyn says with a mouthful of stew.
"Morlock don't care. Walk or crawl, fall on your face or whatever, just get those stones out!" Another hobo sighs and shakes his head, "Ain't got no other way to live though."
"Ain't that the truth. I got a sick mother at home. She lives off the money I send! But it's all scraps," The speaker swigs from his flask, "Only Morlock lines his pockets."
Ophilia quietly eats her stew, listening to the woes of these people, in a world that suddenly no longer seemed so enthralling. Now that she was really on the road, she was seeing more than maybe she thought she bargained for.
"Ya know what's worse? Ol' Vick went on break today. He ain't here."
"Wha- Another gone? Oy..."
"An' Morlock don't care. We're all replaceable pack mules. Told 'im three times now and Omar just said he'll beat me for bringing it up again 'stead of focusing on my own work."
"Ya think Vick left? Along with Finny and Marc..."
"No way, they made their livelihood off this! Families to feed and everything!"
"What's up with them?" Alfyn asks curiously.
"..." A brief silence falls over the circle, "Been goin' on for a few weeks now... miners disappearing left and right. Never seen again. We don't know if they still breathe or not."
"Gee, sounds awful..." Alfyn says pensively, "No idea where they went, huh? If they hadn't left, then they gotta still be in town, right?"
"This place isn't exactly big, Alf," Tressa waves her spoon, "Where could a coupla vagrant workers hide?"
"They haven't been arrested, have they?" Primrose asks.
"Nah, no real jail here in Quarrycrest. Ya get your teeth kicked in by Omar and his guards but Morlock ain't gonna use money to give you free housing for the night!"
"That sounds... kind of dangerous..." Ophilia says apprehensively.
"S'warkii haven no jail either," H'aanit points out, "We doth retain vigilance among us hunters simply."
Linde and Hägen give satisfied snorts. Some of the men around the fire look with caution at the beasts lying by the huntress' feet.
"This sort of model is not entirely unheard of," Cyrus clears his throat to begin his lecture, "Of towns which lack corrective facilities, I would say Quarrycrest falls into the 'underdeveloped' category, where order has not been established entirely, thus leaving a lack of public institutions normally found in older cities. This is corroborated by the fact that the town has a rather provisional status as well! The original landlord sold the deed within the last decade. It has not stood for more than two decades, I believe, and this shows on maps of-"
"Uhh, how long's this gonna go for? We got work in the morning," One of the miners speak up. Therion smirks.
"Ah, I shan't keep any workingman up! However, if you so require, I am available to give my synopsis as well as my developing hypothesis on the matter!"
"Riight... Well, g'night, folks," Kleid and several other fellows go to turn in after Cyrus seems to have encouraged drowsiness with his rambling. One of the stragglers is a young man with a red headband and dark hair over his tanned face. He chuckles as the others leave.
"Hehe, guess the oldies need their naps," He looks to the professor, "That was pretty interesting actually. But this place doesn't really need a jail either. People who wanna work come here. Not thieves."
"Ah, a counterpoint!" Cyrus puts a pensive hand to his chin, "What is your name, young man? I haven't had a youth engaged in a while!"
The scholar gives Tressa a slight look. The merchant girl sticks her tongue out at him.
"Ha, my name's Ali. I'm not a miner like the rest of them. Just came today. I'm a full-fledged merchant!" Ali chuckles, "My dad's the famous merchant Maruf, of the Sunlands. Maybe you've heard of him?"
"Hmm, I must admit that commercial history is still a subject I am behind on for about 300 years or so..."
"Merchant, huh?" Tressa perks up, "Seems like we're in the same boat!"
"Huh? You a merchant, too? I thought that hat was for show!" Ali says jokingly, "Far from the same boat, though. I've been traveling longer than you, I'd wager, Green Pea."
"G-Green PEA?!" Tressa growls. Therion stifles a laugh at her outburst, which elicits some shouts to keep it down from other tent town inhabitants.
"Now, now, name calling within seconds after meeting is hardly manners," Primrose says smoothly.
"Yeah! My name is Tressa Colzione! And MY dad's the Muscled Merchant! So, watch yourself!" Tressa huffs.
"Hehe, I call it as I see it," Ali shrugs, "But if you want to try and prove me wrong, be my guest! I'm thinking of opening shop tomorrow so feel free to stop by and see how a seasoned merchant does business."
"Why you-!" Tressa puffs her cheeks like an angry chipmunk, "I'm gonna open shop too and outdo you entirely, bub!"
Chuckling, Ali waves good night to them all as he goes into his tent.
"... He madeth a rival quick," H'aanit says flatly, "Tis rather unwise."
"Humph! He's all talk! He's in a tent, too, isn't he? And he's got the nerve to talk down to a Colzione!" Tressa folds her arms and goes to stomp over to their tent where her bedroll is, "I'll show him! The early merchant gets the deals!"
Primrose chuckles at the girl's gusto quietly as Tressa grumbles "Good night!" and promptly goes to sleep.
"... Say, guys? Berg still ain't back," Alfyn looks to the others.
"He's a big guy who can handle himself," Therion waves the apothecary's worry aside, "It'd take a village to take him down, I bet."
"Ahh, I will say sleep on these hard surfaces with minimal padding might be wearing a bit on my quality of rest," Cyrus says pensively.
"We should be thankful that we at least won't have to deal with wild beasts," Ophilia maintains her optimism a little.
"Hm, how naïve," Primrose smirks, "I will remain up to watch. I'm not quite ready to sleep yet among strangers in a new town..."
"Twould be prudent," H'aanit sighs and scratches Hägen and Linde behind their ears, "Needeth thee any aid in patrol?"
"Company would be nice," Primrose laughs, "But don't push yourself. I am naturally a woman of the night."
"I haven pursued hunts for days on end without rest," H'aanit says with some assurance.
"If you so insist."
"Well, I do hope our journey bears more fruit once the sun rises," Cyrus yawns and stretches, "Good night, all..."
"Therion, ya goin' to sleep?" Alfyn looks to the thief.
Therion lightly shakes his head, poking at the dying embers of the hobo fire with a stick. Ever since they had started traveling... the thief hated to admit it, but he was actually sleeping. He had been able to enter slumber without the usual nightmares... it was strange. But he could feel himself slipping into comfort, which he could not allow.
"Good night then... and don't stay up too late," Ophilia smiles as she goes to lie down.
…
After the fires of the embers died down and the smoke rises up into the starry sky, Therion finds himself staring at the nebula blanket of the cosmos. He was feeling the drowse. How annoying. He had to regain that vigor that let him stay up for days on end.
Primrose meanwhile snuggles close to H'aanit's furs. H'aanit keeps an eye out towards the directions to and from their section of tent town.
"... The warrior doth not return, it seemeth. Admit I must... tis strucketh me odd."
"Hm? What's the worry? I'm sure he's found his own bed or something and we'll see in the morning."
Hägen's ear flaps a little and he sniffs the air. Something makes him alert, and he stands, growling at something beyond the light of the fire, in the darkness lying over the rest of Quarrycrest.
"Hm?" Primrose opens one eye at the growling. Her eye traces idly over towards the darkened town, piercing its obscure darkness. She glimpses a figure move among the buildings. A thief, perhaps?
"Hägen, what is it," H'aanit looks to the wolf. Hägen gives her a side growl and paws the ground. The huntress' expression turns perturbed, "... Hmm..."
"Someone is in town," Primrose says, shifting up from her leaned position, "It could just be a typical ne'er-do-well..."
"Nay... a scent doth unsettle Hägen..." H'aanit fingers one of the bone axes strapped under her cloak, "Perhaps it doth warrant a … survey."
"Well, if you insist," Primrose stands and dusts herself off. She looks to the thief, "Don't drift off now. We're off to check on something."
Therion grunts. Linde had woken up amid the hubbub, but she merely stays where she is. As the dancer, huntress, and wolf go back into the town, Therion gives the big cat a look, "Better them than us, huh?"
Linde merely yawns.
Within the darkened, roughly carved streets of Quarrycrest, the dancer and huntress follow Hägen's nose east of the square. Primrose keeps the glow of her eyes to a dim light, allowing her to still see well in the dark. H'aanit goes more so by the light from the moon and stars, keeping her steps small and careful.
"... Doest thou smell it now?"
Primrose nods and whispers under her breath, "It's very faint though..."
It was that iron smell of blood. The dancer is more familiar with it than she would like. It could very well be from someone's butchered dinner... if only it wasn't the dead of night and no lights were in town.
"You suspect foul play, hm?" Primrose looks down at Hägen prowling about. The beast merely grunts, nose close to the ground.
"Tis of human, sayeth Hägen," H'aanit says with a low voice.
"Ah, what a nose then..."
The wolf halts and then sniffs the air and gives a growl before sprinting hastily around the bend of a house corner. H'aanit darts after it. Primrose follows. Mentally, the dancer traces their trail over the city so far, having traipsed it a bit earlier on the way to the inn. If her memory is correct, this route approaches the river that runs through under Quarrycrest, used to dispose of sewage...
She catches up to see the huntress and wolf looking at where the river flows out and down into the rest of the Cliftlands at lower elevations. There is an old tree bent over, nearly dipping into the river as it runs past. It creaks in the night wind and looks like a shadowy hand in the moonlight. Other than that, there isn't much to be said that is out of place.
"... So, any body found?" Primrose keeps a hand on her daggers.
"... Nay," H'aanit sighs, "The scent hath vanished."
"So, it's true. Even a dire wolf can't smell past water," Primrose sighs and relaxes a bit, "Whatever it was probably swam away."
Hägen gives a brief snort and an exasperated whine.
…
When morning came, there remained no sign of Olberic, nor had anyone approached tent town overnight. Primrose purses her lips as breakfast is passed around the little encampment. A stub of hard bread is shoved into her hand.
"Welp, to work, fellas..." Some of the earliest risers grumble. They had already bathed nearby in the river and got the taste of morning out of their mouths.
"There was something mighty stank in there today."
"It's outta the sewer, what do ya expect?"
Tressa makes a face at the potty talk, "... I'll see if the inn has an actual bath I can use..."
"Ha, wussing out?" Ali chuckles as he approaches, bread in hand, "'When in town, do as the people do' is what I say. Merchants can't be picky!"
"Merchants also hafta keep a nice and clean shop for customers! 'Hospitality is what separates a merchant from a thief!'" Tressa fires back. Therion has to resist choking on his bread.
"Hm, fair. But you can't be such a squeamish Green Pea or you'll never sprout!"
"I TOLD you, my name is Tressa!" Tressa fumes, "It's not my fault if you can't afford a decent bath!"
"Well, I bathed a bit more upstream than the fellas, so," Ali shrugs and wolfs down his carb, "I'm already off to the markets before you're washed up!"
"Why you!" Tressa hurriedly finishes her breakfast and runs off to get ready for the day as does Ali.
"Huh, why's Tress so worked up about that Ali guy?" Alfyn blinks obliviously.
"Well, he does seem to like provoking her," Ophilia frowns, "Though it does seem in fun, I don't really like it."
"Rivalries keep things interesting in business," Primrose chuckles.
"I should be getting to go myself!" Cyrus claps his hands of crumbs and stands, "I must freshen up to meet Odette again! This matter cannot wait another day!"
"Twould be wise," H'aanit sighs, "Haven we all some activity for the day?"
"... Actually, um, Cyrus, do you think Odette knows anything about the governance of this place?" Ophilia asks the scholar out of the blue.
"Hmm, I cannot be sure. For certain, Odette's standing as a scholar is higher than that of these vagrants, but she is hardly a government representative... Why ever the query, Ophilia?"
"I can't stand to see these people like this..." Ophilia gestures at tent town, "They are doing dangerous work in these mountains and treated like... like animals! There should be a shelter or something for them!"
Primrose folds her arms and sighs, "Unfortunate that the church's influences only go so far. This is reality, dear. And you have a job to do down south, don't you?"
"Even while on the Kindling, it a duty for clerics of the Church to aid those in need," Ophilia says resolutely. The lanthorn at her side seems to burnish with a brighter flame at her words.
"You are welcome to come with me, Ophilia," Cyrus nods, "I am sure Odette would not mind an extra visitor."
"Didn't seem that way last night," Therion smirks.
"I willen cometh as well, then," H'aanit glances to Ophilia, "In case any trouble doth start from thine antics, Cyrus."
"Whatever do you mean?" Cyrus asks innocently.
Primrose lightly clicks her tongue.
"Well, sounds like fun! Plus, if she's a scholar like you, Cyrus, maybe I can ask her a bunch about the local plants!" Alfyn jumps to his feet.
"Alright then, the four of us are going to Odette. Tressa is … opening shop, and Berg is... away," Cyrus looks to the remaining two, "Would you like to join us?"
Therion scoffs and shakes his head, dark bags under his eyes, "... I'll probably hit the market, too."
Primrose casts a glance over the group of four and shakes her head, "I have my own train of interviews to pursue."
"Ah, Prim..." Alfyn pulls the dancer aside, "Ya mind... keepin' an eye a bit on Therion? He's got those sticky fingers sometimes, ya know?"
The dancer chuckles and teases the apothecary's nose with a playful finger, "Very well, for you, Alfyn."
…
Odette is no happier to see Cyrus on her doorstep now than she was last night. She has stacks of ledgers and other papers at her desk that seem to escape his notice entirely that she was busy. Grumbling, she stands as he enters with his entourage.
"... So, you got a posse now, Cyrus?" Odette sips from her mug, "That's a nice change from being too annoying to have friends."
Ophilia had not expected such biting words from someone Cyrus thought of as a colleague. But she recalled the unspoken emotions and thoughts she heard from the other teachers in the academy back in the Atlasdam café... Those were less than flattering as well, to say the least. This lady was at least being open.
"Ah, Odette, you and your humor!" Cyrus chuckles, having taken no offense, "I'm very surprised to see you keep an open door here."
"So, workers with their issues can come in and report it to me," Odette mutters, "What do you think I got all these papers out for?"
"Huh? You're conducting labor research?" Cyrus blinks, "I thought your focus had always been arcane tomes and such."
"It was. But not everyone needs that. Administration is my second focus, remember?" Odette goes and close the door behind them, "... Folks here couldn't care less about magic books. And I can't blame 'em."
"Ah, so you are in an administrative position?" Ophilia asks hopefully.
"It's nothing so glorified as it seems. I am still just an out-of-town researcher... so all I can do is listen to their problems and jot it down, maybe offer them some coin here and there and help them get past their day," Odette says with a defeated tone, "I can try and fetch medicine if they need it... though many of them need a lot more than anything I can give."
While her initial addresses to Cyrus were brusque, Ophilia could detect the tone of regret and care Odette spoke about the workers with. She seems genuinely frustrated with their issues and being unable to help them...
"Medicine? Say no more!" Alfyn immediately announces himself, "I can help patch up any takers!"
"You got yourself an apothecary I see," Odette looks to Cyrus with a smirk, "Quite a feat. I thought you'd only ever attract women."
Cyrus sighs, "Are my looks truly so easy on the eyes?"
At his query, Odette points at the window. When they look, they see a few of the town's girls ogling through the opening. Seeing they had been caught, the girls give a yelp before peeling away immediately.
"Ah," H'aanit says bluntly, "They haven followed us from the square."
"Cyrus, you don't know your own strengths sometimes..." Odette chuckles.
"Ahh, indeed, I must confess. Tis a tragedy I cannot grasp my own charisma and extent of my good looks!" Cyrus says melodramatically, but in all seriousness. Odette nearly spits out her drink.
"I don't think that would exactly help with the issue..." Ophilia tries to be helpful.
"There is a sorta thing called a wart cream. It's opposite of the usual wart remover, since it makes pimples pop outta your face like crazy! That could help if you wanted to look ugly!" Alfyn suggests earnestly, "'Course, this is the first I heard o' good-looking being a problem!"
"It's not exactly that my good looks are problematic," Cyrus sighs, "But rather that it is something I cannot control nor understand! When I look in the mirror, I don't see what the fairer sex seems to ogle over. Ahh, I thought for sure my bookish reputation would overtake such an unexpected burden!"
"Now you're calling handsomeness a burden? As insufferable as ever," Odette puts down her cup, "As entertaining as it is to talk about why every man within a league should beat your ungrateful arse... What brings you here to Quarrycrest?"
"Well, it's a bit of a long story, so I shall start from the beginning," Cyrus begins.
"Maybe we had best have some chairs to sit... in case anyone's legs grow weak!" Ophilia says with a nervous laugh.