In which they mostly meet Victor

Outside, it's grey and misty. And yet probably a lot more interesting than the dungeons below. At least, if you ask a certain Gobbo. She's done a few excursions outside the city, and each time returns with the symptoms of the plague. They quickly fade away once she's returned to the dungeon cell. Currently, Acedia is sprawled upon her stomach on one of the cots, her feet up and swaying back and forth. She eyes the Sith and lets out a huff of breath.

The sith'makar puts the bucket aside. He smells of Mikilos' concoctions, faintly. The faint smell of vomit, no matter how much soap one applies and he looks...the eyes droop somewhat. He lets out a breath, ducks his head. "Pease, sser. One--one hopes the last trip was productive? Or...?"

She sniffles and shakes her head. "No. Just getting some... air." She slowly stands, and tucks her homespun shirt into her homespun pants. The bucket is replaced with one of the clean ones, and she leaves the other at the door. "I wish I could comfort you. Rub your back or hug you.", the Gobbo says softly. "I know how it feels. Mikilos' medicine is quite disgusting."

The edge of his muzzle twitches. He actually grins. "This one thankss you. I--the mage does his best. It iss not...not a thing this one would have associated with them. The People, my time in Charn--there are few enough reasons to trust them, sser."

He lowers his muzzle a moment. Looks back to her. "Tell this one of your tripss outside? One...one perhaps..." misses the sun. He licks his muzzle.

The Gobbo has to stop herself from climbing into his lap. She does this to others. Instead, she carefully moves one of the chairs closer, and then goes to fish out her notebook and charcoal. She draws a scene. A setting sun. The light woods outside the city, one can almost imagine the ferry crossing at the river, but it's behind the perspective she is drawing. A few notable landmarks gives one a reasonable idea of where the scene is that she is drawing.

"Zeke and I were walking here...", Acedia says, starting a story of an attempted robbery, and of the two fighting and protecting each other. The bravery of the Sith, his apparent immunity to pain in stressful situations, the skill he displayed with the quarterstaff. Her part seems purposefully diminished. But she leaves little else out: the smells, sounds and sights all detailed at length.

GAME: Acedia rolls perform/oratory: (17)+8: 25

...and the woods? The ones near the battle? What did they ssmell like, sser?" Chay asks. Or, "The sshaman fights with a quarterstaff?" Or, "...the ssun, sser?" And lastly, where hope may be dashed, "...the ssymptoms came back, sser?"

And. ...the sith-makar sits there, an attentive listener. He interrupts from time to time, to ask questions. He watches the drawing on the paper--and now and then, pauses to nudge the bucket with his foot, and to spit into it.

Acedia seems greatly cheered up at having such an attentive listener, and she answers his questions at length. "Like Spring slowly turning into Summer." She also affirms the combat capabilities of Zeke. "Yep, knocked Shorty out in one go, dislocated the shoulder of the tall one." The sun was so bright that it bothered her eyes, having been underground for a week. The Gobbo is unhappy to talk of the return of the symptoms. "Yes. I had to turn around then, I was short of breath..."

Sometimes, it's like talking about someone summons them. So in this case does talking about Zeke summon him. In truth, he had heard his name, and paused. Listening for a brief time in shock of hearing someone talking about him. Then at Chay's words he moves forward, walking into the room with his normal slow steps and a slightly sheepish expression which would be difficult for anyone to truly make out. He coughs and looks slightly to the side. "Thissss one isss ssorry. Thiss one could not help but over-hear."

"One had not thought you might fight, sser. ...it is good to know...that you may pick pick up a staff," the other sith-makar says. He straightens as the other enters, and looks away. Looks to the gobber. Then back to the other scaled.

Though perhaps, sser. What is it you might add, now that you have overheard?" There's a bucket near his feet, and it's recently emptied. The air smells of Mikilos' concoctions. The air is less tinged with them than it might be. Regular washes, baths, and the sheer amount of soap helps keep it at bay.

Still, it's like cat litter. You never get rid of the smell of cat litter.

The Gobbo holds up the notebook, where their battlescene is laid out in good detail. "It's okay Zeke, I was describing to Chay our walk in the fresh air. The sunet. The smell of the forest. The churning of the Tornmawr. The ebb and flow of battle." She hops off the chair she is sat upon, and offers it up for Zeke to sit in.

Zeke's sheepishness shifts to true embarrassment, and the sith-makar shifts his weight back and forth though he makes no move to take Acedia's seat. "Thisss one fightsss when necessssary." This seems a simple answer, one that makes sense to Zeke. Yet knowing his aversion to certain things it is still surprising. "Thisss one would only add that Ascedia wasss far more impresssive than myssself."

Acedia offers the chair to Zeke with a gesture of her hang. "Please, set and be comfortable. I can stand over here." The Gobbo takes a few steps away. "And I think your fighting was more impressive simply due to the fact you are very ... at ill ease with touching. Combat must be a horrifying prospect for you, more so than what others face."

Green eyes slide to the chair, and Zeke's moment of hesitation seems to linger in the air. After a moment he walks over to the chair and sits down in it. Slowly. Carefully. He keeps his cloak pulled around him with careful motions made with his right claw. Then he's settled and shakes his head at Acedia's comment. "You were in danger Ascedia." Again, as if this answered everything. Yet now he can not quite meet the eyes of anyone in the room. He looks anywhere else. The stack of research papers. "Thissss one wasss perhapss, not thinking."

The Gobbo blinks and grins brightly, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. "So you were being brave.", she says with a catch in her throat. "And keep in mind, I don't diminish myself in the telling of it, I hold you up higher. It's what good story tellers do. It would be prideful of me to brag about my deeds. And mine are pale in comparison to yours."

We all do things when others are in danger. It sseperates--us," the rustscale says. "There was a monster in the woods, onsse upon a time. They came to me, and ssuggested that being ensslaved made one sstronger."

"And that the powers the Charneth possessed could be learned, and turned againsst them. It reminded me--ssers, the monster took what could be good, and twissted it. Being ensslaved makes one more tolerant of pain. It is kith and kin which gives one sstrength. ...and learning of the Charneth is not to use their abilitiess but disarm them."

He takes a breath. A deeper one. Reaches up and rubs a thumb past his mouth, as though wiping something away.

He sits on a bench anchored to the wall. There is an empty bucket at his feet. The three of them stand and talk in one of the cells. The outside is guarded by sith-makar, and one of the Guild's guards. They are not prisoners here, per se--but being here has had a unique effect on those suffering from the plague. Namely, the symptoms have vanished, at least temporarily.

Zeke, a blue-scaled and black robed sith-makar sits nearby Chay, his hood pulled down so that the guards would know it him. Though in truth he comes here often enough that they know his scent before he is even visible. He lets out a huff of breath, looking at Acedia with even more embarrassment before. Now it's clear even though he's sith what he's feeling. "Thisss one wass only doing what was necesssary."

He is glad for Chay's story. To bring a distraction to the conversation they are having. Zeke nods several times, bobbing his head in an unsithlike manner that is nonetheless clearly well-practiced. "Ssspeaking of monsssterss... Thisss one had an idea about the plague that bearsss thought. A man came here the other day and we thought that perhapsss catching an animal afflicted by the sstrangenesss in the wildernesss might help with a cure."

Aceida listens to Chay and his talk of Charn and their slavers and magic. "So you had to escape them even though you were enslaved? How were you able to break out?", she wonders. The Gobbo looks to Zeke then and smiles. "Well, you were very brave. Those two, if they manage to get free of prison, will think twice about accosting people in the woods!" Zeke's revelation is a surprise to her. "Well. Maybe we uh can go and grab some infected animals? But whom do we bring them to?"

"The testimonies have not held much, sser. Mostly arrogance," the rustscale admits. The notes from his interviews with the maddened men and women within the dungeons, he means. "Though--" he starts to say, and stops, Chay does. He glances at the floor, instead.

"...and one only waits for a mistake, sser."

"Tell this one of the wild creature, kin. Please."

Zeke looks at Chay. "You hold hope kin, which isss more than ssome." He speaks of himself of course. He has little enough hope when it comes to anything, and to him this plague has defied any amount of hope which he can find. "Asss to a beassst. Thiss one does not know how to find animalsss, but one wasss think we could take one to Alba."

Acedia blinks at Chay a moment or two, and looks then to Zeke. "I hold hope too.", she says and then nods. "I am sure Alba would help us. She knows a lot about animals!"

Chay thumps his tail, and then--"As you say, sser. One assumes she is in the lab. This one...this one should focus on his interviews," he says. He gestures towards the stack of papers, and notes, the books over on the far side of the room. The side supposedly safe from sudden vomits, anyway!

Victor descends down into the dungeon and strides down the hallway, a cape waving gently behind him as he walks. He walks all the way to the open cell and stops at the door. He looks at the buckets of soapy water for a moment. Then he glances between the 'guests' in the cell and the buckets, quickly calculating how far they are from what is by all accounts the best response if something - anything - strange were to happen. "Greetings," he finally nods to Chay, Zeke and Acedia. "How are you all today?"

"This one will go then, to the adventurer'ss guild and assk them to find an animal for Alba." He nods and... he doesn't exactly thump his tail, but he does move it as though he wants to. He turns to leave and finds Victor standing there. "Peassce on your nessst. Thisss one wass jusst leaving. Excussse me." He offers a half-bow and leaves.

The Gobbo blinks as Zeke goes to leave. "Wait.", she says, moving to give chase. "Can't you stay for a little bit longer?" Her chase is short lived, the Goblin bouncing off of Victor, and landing on her rear end. "Ooow.", she complains, rubbing her nose. "What are you doing here?", she demands of Victor.

"Pease to you," Chay says, as he stands. He waits for Zeke to leave, and then turns to the mage-golem. "...peasse to you," he says. Then looks to the gobber, and then to the golem again. He stops after that, offering nothing; his look polite, but his manner cautious all the same.

Victor turns his gaze on the gobber. "I am checking on you," he explains. "A few wizards upstairs suggested it." He pauses for a moment. "Although now that I think about it, they may not have been completely serious." He glances at the guards and the books. "It would seem you have plenty to keep yourselves occupied."

Acedia slowly picks herself up, sounding pained. "We're still here.", she mutters. "Any news on the plague and a cure?", she wonders of the golem. "I'm Acedia, by the way. And this is Chay." She indicates the rust-scaled Sith. "And that was Zeke." The Gobbo gestures to the recently fled blue-scaled Sith.

"This one thanks you, sser. It does become quiet from time to time. I...perhaps they think we are a novelty, sser. One--does not ssuppose it is often that ssomeone submits themselves to the arcanists' dungeon willingly?" the sith-makar suggests. He looks to Acedia, and thumps his tail. Then, looks back to the golem. "But one might only guess, sser. One has been sspending one's time writing and studying."

"Sser--one was asked to interview ssome of the prisoners down the hall. They did ssay they would ssend someone?" the sith-makar ventures, then. Pauses. "Perhaps that was to be you, sser?"

He's been interviewing some of the crazier inmates--or ones associated with Thul, with plagues and sickness. Perhaps--getting them to speculate "how they would have done it." Perhaps there's something to be gleaned from madness.

-End