I Know the Pieces Fit

Duivia Dukedom, Kingdoms of Myrddion, Nightfall

Within a desolate ghost town of overgrown stone, broken roofs, a dilapidated church, and muddy streets, a single tavern barely stands with only one of its windows not fully blacked out. 'The Thunderous Boar', a hanging sign denotes, yet to the outside, nothing really seems to be living here. Inside, a grand table has been set up, no doubt once a dining table for the tavern. But much else has been done with it. The walls are now lined with books, from start to finish, and simple yet warm food is set about in this hovel of a hideout.

Having come in from a back entrance, a middle aged human man sloughs off his pack to the ground, falling into a seat at one of the cots that are strewn about the place to harbor this little insurrection. Warrick fusses with his armor, the grey dye used for his hair bleeding out to show the orange-red hair underneath at the roots. "That could have gone a lot worse..." he grumbles.

A robed-and-many-cloaked figure barely pauses as they hop-half-run past the man - except to briefly pause, peer, tilt their head, and then ask. "Grey?" But then the question is left hanging in the air as the cloaked figure rushes for the table. "This is really bad." They say.

Then Crik actually pulls down his hood(s), showing off his ruffled feathers of a corvid. Already he was pulling notebook after notebook onto the table. "I left my ancient evil almanacs back in my hideout." Still, there was a flurry of activity as scribbled papers, penciled notes, rough sketches and carefully copied diagrams are pooled onto the table.

"It must be the same..." The corvid mutters by himself.

Bryn has arrived.

"Would've been a helluva time slinkin out in the dark," Bryn tosses in her two coppers, her tone a combination of relieved, amazed, and maybe even a bit disappointed. "Dunno what all they got going there, but it's... " she hunts for a word, fails, and settles on "...weird."

"Grey wasn't my idea for a disguise, but it works," Warrick replies with a grunt, pulling off his armor and tossing plates to the cot. He rises, still in leg armor, and makes his way over to a wash basin to get rid of the offending hue. "Yes, I don't think we could have escaped during the night with all that going on. I think Harshad said- and I agree with him- the whole city is an experiment or a grounds for something more nefarious."

The once-guard glances over at the frenzied bird. Well, more frenzied than usual. "You... good Crik?" he asks. "I know you sort of screwed up during the mission but I'm not /that/ upset about it."

The papers are turned around and arranged into a ... pattern across the table, though there doesn't seem to be a rhyme or reason. Then Crik pulls out the red string. "-ah! I didn't do - what I wait-" Then the alarmed egalrin pauses. No wait, he didn't do anything yet. "... You were upset?" He then carefully ventures towards Warrick.

Then there's a lot of waving of hands. "I have experience in this! That town... it's like my aerie..." Then there's a rapid look around. "We are going to the mines?" He pulls out one of his notebooks, starts rapidly flicking the pages. He stares at it. Then flicks backwards. "... store for snacks?"

Bryn hops up from her (half-)lounging position against a wall and steps over to peek at the patterned papers. Then an eye at Warrick. "I guess that would explain all the..." she waves her hands around "-everything- flyin 'round inna night." She hmms. "Maybe that curfew ain' so terrible a thing afterall..." Then she nods to Crik. "Yep. The mines." And another look back at Warrick, bushy brows bumping. "Ye?"

Warrick towels his face and hair off, returned to its original orange-red color as he steps towards the table. "Well... considering the fact it was a mission to be as subtle as possible and gather information, yet half the group kept blabbing about our observations in the street as well as whatever bullshit you were on about a Harold-", he rolls a hand, "-yes, I was a little upset. But that's a one time screw up and that can be corrected with constructive criticism, so don't worry about it."

He shares a look with Bryn. "Correct. And with a High Inquisitor of Kor in their ranks, it's more important to not share anything until we were certain of privacy."

The arbalest turns to Crik, his brows knitting. "... like your aerie? How so?" His attention falls to the table, then back to Bryn. "Yes, the mines are next, since we need manpower. But uh, no, there is no store. Whatever our employer has around here is what you got," he answers a bit confused, gesturing to honey and fresh bread laying around.

"Oh." Crik says, staring blankly at Warrick. "The more you whisper on the street, more likely guards are to drag you into an alley." The corvid points out. "Do not worry about it, spoken word in the air is gone like the death of a singer in the obscurity." The corvid taps his beak. "Harald gambit _usually_ pays off, though. Maybe too loud?"

The consideration is suddenly broken by the question that was left hanging in the air and Crik lets out a caw. "M-mines! I need maps. maps..." He taps and pats around the table for papers, some of them looking architectural diagrams. "... I don't have the maps. Obviously not." He looks around in alarm. "My aerie digs into ruins for treasure. Trades them." Then he looks down at papers. "Then we stopped. Then I was cast out." More hurried scrabbling. "It-is like I thought..."

Bryn nods again, though her lips start to jut out almost as much as her tusks. "Ye... though I dunno bout them Korites. They were awful quiet. Peaceful, even. Like they were leashed, or broken, or just pretendin. Not like any o' Kor's kids that I know."

She doesn't even ask about Harold; it was confusing enough, before and this might make it worse. "Don' think we're gonna find maps to it layin round. Changes all the time, won't it, the more they mine? Might have some when we get there. That or you just draw it all out as we go!" She pushes this as a good thing. Maybe it will help counter the casting out parts.

Warrick just stares back at the egalrin. "... one, you were yelling, not whispering. Two, remember, I used to be a guard. I know how it works." He sighs and shakes his head, reaching for one of the random pieces of bread laying about and breaking it in half as Crik goes about his mania.

He tilts his head to the side. "... your aerie... found something bad I'm guessing? I mean, this mine is a gem mine, and they're using captured folk to do the labor. I'm finding it a bit hard to see the relation."

He nods to Bryn. "They're not Korites, correct. Kor doesn't have paladins. Kor doesn't do all this regiment stuff. I think its a farce for something else. Doesn't add up at all. Felt more like a botched Serriel Military Academy than anything else."

There is a light chuckle at that. "Yes, we can map it out as we go. But- what do you think is it like, Crik? And please, cease the double speak and half words," he sighs.

"I don't know!" Crik exclaims, but then he starts shuffling the paper into another pile. "No, we need maps if we wish to explore the mines properly." The corvid says, shaking his head. "It is hard to map out mines as they are, but to truly find the depths you have to understand the structure integrity of the system. There are plenty of roundabouts."

Then there's a large inhale and exhale, shaking his head. "... we explored ruins. Archeologists. It was very good for the aerie." He rolls the paper around on the table. "Then there were whispers. People leaving the aerie. Some people were claimed to inhale too much of the dust and it went..." He gestures at his head. "... so I poked around. There were carvings! Symbols!" He points at the table. "They were there! But not there! And everyone told me it was normal!"

Then he turns towards Warrick. "But. We. Stopped. Trading."

Finally, he slumps on the nearby chair. "It was like that town."

Warrick winces as Crik grows more fervent, but he listens, then steps forward to plant a hand on the egalrin's shoulder. "Calm. We're not delving depths and unearthing the weird. We are simply liberating a mining operation to free the people for the Heir," he points out.

His eyes drop down to the symbols. "But- I don't deny it is similar in that something else is influencing these people. I'm sorry something like that happened to your aerie," he says, tone a bit softer and squeezing Crik's shoulder. "That's got to be difficult- being the one seeing past whatever is going on for what it is."

Crik looks alarmed at the touch - but he seems to get alarmed just about everything. "We are not- ah, ah, right. People." He starts to frantically flip over his notebooks again. "... mines. Why would they need to force people work the mine if they can force a town into their will... and what would the people be like now...?" He starts pondering then, already racking up his mind towards something else.

Then something drifts into his mind from afar, and he looks up at Warrick. He shakes his head. "This one will find the truth." He lifts up all his books with their chains, notebooks and everything else that seem to hang from his person constantly. "I am so close. Just need... proof."

Warrick pulls away, giving a wan smile. "Raw resources. Those divinations they do are genuine, just that they lock people into it, and dissenters do hard labor in the mines. Gems make easy funds. And, well, no ones likes to do a lot of that."

He meets Crik's gaze. "I have faith that you will. Maybe when we get done with all of this, you'll have enough blanks filled in."

Crik stares at Warrick for a time. Then another time. A third time. "... there is still something that is missing. They do not need demons for divination and charades." He stares at his papers for a time - then abruptly gets up and pools up all the sketches in his lap. "I need to find more books. Ledgers. Records. Toys."

And with that, the Corvid is back wearing his cloaks, hopping outside into the desolate town.

Warrick sighs. "They don't, and that's what scares me." He steps away so Crik can gather his things. "Well, maybe we can find some when we go to the mines. There's-"

And Crik's out the door. Warrick sighs once more. "... nothing really out there for a few miles. Poor guy."