As Above, So Below [IC]

[Raja]

Faen had initially seemed less-than-impressed by her accidental discovery beneath the marsh, but he swiftly spotted the object of her intrigue for himself. He wasted no time in managing to completely clear the entrance with but a firm knock; Avarielle did not doubt for a second that good fortune such as this followed the hero wherever he went. Not only had he been blessed with somewhat that at least for now seemed suitable to lay his head within, but he'd managed to do so without falling face-first into a large hole. Ava, on the other hand, had not been quite so lucky.

"Could do with some lights," he uttered suggestively, and Avarielle silently obliged his request. Oh, you just so happen to have a mage by your side, she mused to herself. How fortunate! She noted to herself that Destina must, for some reason or another, hold Faen rather dear. She scowled. After peering into the damp corridor, Faen turned his sights to Ava. "Shall we?" he asked, rather charmingly. Avarielle cursed internally as she found herself smiling and being led into the shadowy stronghold.

As she stepped through the doorway, Ava turned back to glance up at the hole through which she'd made her decidedly ungraceful descent. It was officially dark outside, and the pair could not have found this abandoned dwelling at a more convenient time. At least, she hoped it was abandoned... She swallowed more loudly than she'd have liked in an ideal situation, and pressed on into the tunnel.

The inside of the abode was sculpted in a similar fashion to the exterior wall: facades and engravings depicting scales and a beautiful woman wielding a hammer ran throughout the whole structure. The images were clearly a tribute to the goddess Adilah, and Ava suspected they had stumbled upon some place of worship. Most of the smaller corridors that lead out from the main tunnel had visibly collapsed or were flooded with swampy mess, reduced to mere cesspools, and it seemed that Ava and Faen had silently agreed that no treasure was great enough to tempt them off their current dry path.

One door was half missing, rotten to such an extent that, in the low light of Ava's fireball, she could make out a seemingly intact room on the other side. A gentle push felled the remains of the door, and she and Faen peered inside.

Ava stood in stunned silence for a moment and surveyed the small sleeping quarters with mouth agape; her orb of flame illuminating several beds and cabinets in a room that seemed reasonably dry. "I get the feeling this kind of thing happens to you a lot, Ser Faen." she said, sounding equal parts frustrated as she was grateful and passing over towards the nearest bed, giving it a light prod. "They're a little damp," she admitted. "But they'll do."

All of a sudden, one of the cabinets flew across the room, no doubt catching Faen off guard as it emptied its contents and collapsed in a heap of debris in the centre of the chamber. Then, like a mouth to a flame, Avarielle's fireball gently settled amongst the wood. Soon enough, a meek yet adequate fire fizzed slightly as it burnt away the remnants of moisture from the remains of the furniture.

"That should keep us warm," she said, smiling wryly at Faen before something caught her eye in the pile of junk ejected by the cabinet. She hurried over and scooped it up; a long vine, attached to which was an odd-looking amulet made of stone. It was near-identical to the one Faen's attacker at the inn had worn, and she showed it to him excitedly. "Look, Faen!" she gasped, handing him the ornate pendant. "This isn't a temple after all. It looks to be a headquarters of sorts." she said, offering her opinion as she allowed Faen to inspect the item of jewellery.

"Perhaps we ought to explore whilst the room heats up. See if we can't find any clues as to where the guild might have moved to." she suggested, before her stomach managed a quiet groan. "Or at least, some supplies..."

 

[Blacksam]

Lowe's time was up. He knew that now. The green robed man was going to kill him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

At the start Lowe had held onto the hope that he could get out of this unscathed if he just did what he was told. That dream slowly withered though, as the longer he spent looking into the eyes of the green robed man, the more he realized that he was gazing into the depths of a true monster, one who wanted to kill him.

He'd answered all the green robed man's questions truthfully, holding nothing back. He didn't owe Faen a damn thing, and certainly wasn't going to die for him. Hell, if Faen knew about the position he was in he'd probably insist on Lowe telling the truth, as the hero of legend would never let a mere tavern keeper suffer for him. That didn't seem to matter to the green robed man though. He merely smiled softly at Lowe's answers, nodding his head gently on occasion, as if he already knew everything that the inn-keep had to tell, all the while sizing him up with those empty, emerald eyes of his.

The green robed man had fallen silent now though, one long, slender finger pressed against his thin lips, still mulling over Lowe's last answer, the only one that had given his interrogator any pause.

Did Faen travel alone?

Several moments passed in uncomfortable silence, the strangers and the regulars alike all awaiting the green robed man to break the fragile tranquility. Lowe would have quite happily waited all bloody year, if it meant delaying whatever judgement this emerald stranger had in mind for him. It wasn't meant to last though, as the green robed man leaned forward in his chair, steepled his fingers, and fixed Lowe with his emerald stare once more.

"Well, good sirrah, you have been most accommodating so far. I see no need to change that. Please, tell me about this Avarielle . And remember; leave nothing out."

----

"I get the feeling this kind of thing happens to you a lot, Ser Faen.

Ava sounded frustrated, and maybe even a little jealous. The Saint of Swords snorted in reply. If only she knew how shitty the color of his luck actually was. Finding a soggy mattress inside a decrepit hovel was hardly enough to offset regularly getting attacked by filthy big Orcs desperate to make a name for themselves by killing the supposedly greatest hero of Tyrannia.

"Meh, it happens enough that I'm not all that surprised when it does, but not enough for it to be wise to rely on it." He followed her into the room, dumping his pack upon one of the pallets before dropping to his arse. The run through the woods, the fight in the marsh, the hunt for shelter, it had all conspired to sap his energy, and now he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and fall asleep.

And that's exactly what he would have done, if that bloody magical bint hadn't been so dead set or destroying everything in sight in the most thunderous manner possible. He wasn't shy in admitting that the sudden racket of her levitating and smashing that cabinet had nearly made him jump out of his skin, and he would have called her every bitch under the sun for doing it if it wouldn't have proved so toxic for his reputation. (And if he hadn't seen her throw fireballs around like a bairn throws tantrums not two hours beforehand. You don't call a woman like that a bitch without expecting a pretty stern reply.) He instead had to settle for sending her a pretty potent death glare.

"Look, Faen!"

Urgh. He was just getting comfy. He barely resisted the urge to growl obscenities about Ava's mother while rolling out of his cot to see just what was so damn interesting this time. She held up a ratty looking pendant, looking right pleased with her find, before stuffing it into his hands. Faen couldn't have looked less impressed if he'd tried. Just why, Crones damn it, did she think he wanted it? It was probably covered in rat shit!

"Oh," The slow hammer-blow of recognition finally hit him. The pendant was a perfect twin for the one that the shifty arsepiece from the tavern had been wearing. "Fantastic." He said. Bollocks, he thought. "Seems Destina smiles upon us today, leading us into the belly of our quarries lair." He tried to inject the right blend of heroic optimism and grim determination into his declaration, a task made more difficult by the simple fact that he couldn't believe his shit luck at wandering into the fortress of the shadowy group trying to kill him. Who else does that!? At least it looked like the place was empty, but that was slim consolation if you asked Faen. For all he knew they had assassins hiding under the beds! It was all he could do to resist the urge to check under his mattress.

Ava mentioned exploring the building, to see if they could find any clues as to the wherabouts of the Guild members. In that moment Faen could have quite happily strangled her. Was it her mission in life to try and keep him from his bed? All he wanted to do was fucking sleep! He would have done it too, if he didn't already know how bloody labour intensive it was to choke a person to death. He just didn't think he had the energy for it. Instead he got back to his feet, trying and failing to stifle a weary sigh.

"Makes sense." He allowed, stepping out of the room, nonchalantly tossing a hardtack biscuit over his shoulder towards his hungry companion.

He lead the way through the headquarters for ten minutes, finding nothing more interesting than an empty storeroom, before finally stumbling upon what he was looking for. It was a room similar to the one the two adventurers had claimed for themselves, though slightly smaller. This room only held one bed however, though made up for that with a desk, chair and bookshelf. On the wall opposite the bookshelf was a map.

"Silver coin bets this was the guild leader's room." Faen gestured Ava towards the desk. No doubt there'd be a diary or journal of some sort. Men who wrote always kept one, feeling it was there solemn duty to jot down they're every inane thought. Like anyone cared about the insipid little notions that dottered around their empty heads. People don't care about anything more than their next meal, or shafting the busty waitress at their local tavern. Nobody wants to read about some old duffers trials as the leader of a shifty little guild living in a swamp. Ava could amuse herself with those ramblings if she wanted. Faen had already wasted more than enough of his finite hours on the planet doing shit he didn't want to do to start reading shit he didn't want to read too.

Faen instead studied the map, realizing after a moment that it was a perfect cartograph of the surrounding area. There was Blithfield, and the Broadmarsh, and a tiny circle around the Widow's Pass, no doubt to annotate the location of the very base he stood in. And there, just south of Witchaven, was a small red 'X'.

And as everyone knows, X marks the spot. And in this case he was willing to bet that the spot was the new hideout of the Righteous Guild of Adilah's Servants.

"Gotcha." He growled triumphantly, stabbing a finger at the map. Then he remembered he didn't actually want to get anyone, before quickly retracting the damning digit. He just hoped that Ava hadn't heard him, otherwise she would insist on them tracking down that X.

 

[Raja]

"Makes sense," uttered Faen, and though his tone was less than enthusiastic he swiftly lead the exploration effort out of their decided sleeping quarters, tossing Avarielle a dry-looking biscuit with but one efficient motion. She eyed it gingerly before allowing herself to take a small bite; it tasted like sawdust in her mouth, and the texture too was not dissimilar from ash or rubble. Regardless, she reluctantly swallowed the offering and took another, albeit even smaller, bite of the less-than-desirable hardtack.

The investigation of the Guild's ruins proved mostly unfruitful, with most of its abandoned contents damaged beyond repair by the foul waters that flooded it. However, after about ten minutes of searching, Faen seemed to find what it was he was searching for: a reasonably well-preserved chamber, at the centre of which was a large and rather grand desk, only vaguely showing signs of rot. Rows of bookcases in similar states of mild decay lined the study's walls, filling the air will a certain mildewy distaste; though compared to some of the other rooms they'd forced open, this was something of a relief for Ava's nostrils. Faen gestured towards the desk in a way that was almost authoritative, which would have elicited quite the fury from the fiercely independent mage, were she not so intrigued herself by the desk's contents. With an air of quiet reluctance, she silently made her way over to the desk as Faen began studying the walls for clues.

She gave the drawer of the desk a firm tug, though it did not budge. Prickled by its stubbornness, she pulled again - harder, this time - and yanked the knob clean off the wood, sending it rattling along the floor. She scowled, cursing under her breath and she was forced to resort to magic in order to deal with a piece of neglected furniture. A wave of her hand caused the desk to emit a loud splitting noise, as the wood around the drawer splintered and laxed its grip on the compartment. It slid open with obedience and Ava smiled primly at her micro-victory.

Inside, amongst the miscellaneous clutter typical of any man's drawer, sat a large, leather-bound book, which she retrieved with haste and flipped to the first page.

"Silver coin bets this was the guild leader's room." pledged Faen, who seemed interested in something over on one of the walls. Avarielle smiled as she read the author's name and title, listed in the book's inner cover.

"I'll hold you to that," she chuckled smugly. "Ignatius Wilhelm Creed..." she announced, putting on a voice that was parodically grandiose and deep in tone, and pausing for effect before revealing the next snippet of information: "Deputy Legate of Adilah's Just Cause". Still smirking to herself, she scanned through the rest of the book. It quickly became apparent that Mr. Creed confided his every passing thought into the tome, making it particularly difficult for anything of interest to be found with any sort of ease. She sighed, as though she had somehow expected something to go her way.

She placed the book on the table, waving her arms over it as she muttered something in an arcane tongue lost in time. Periodically, a pale blue rune would shimmer into being upon the battered leather, before fading away again - only to be replaced by a new symbol some seconds later. She was weaving a charm that she hoped would prompt to book to give them some sort of answer.

"Gotcha," Faen muttered aloud behind her, causing Avarielle's entire body to spin around in his direction.

She hurried over to his side, eager to share in his discovery as she inspected his find. It was a large map, upon which the surrounding area was clearly documented, with various points of interest highlighted in red ink - and there, where Faen's finger had been but a split second before, was a large, scarlet X. Ava beamed.

"Oh, by the might of Fusius!" she exclaimed, happily giving Faen a light squeeze with one arm before noticing the tenseness of the situation and backing off several footsteps. She swiftly composed herself and dropped her tone. "Yes, excellent. This map couldn't make it any clearer where we ought to head." she said, stating the obvious in her desperation to just say something. "Of course, the only trouble is, we can't be sure what actually awaits for us when we get there."

Right on cue, the book burst open on the table, its pages flipping wildly until it settled on a certain entry towards the end of the journal. Avarielle approached it and studied the scribblings that had been offered to her by the charm.

"Due to relentless flooding..." she read aloud, omitting any information she deemed irrelevant as she skimmed along the passage. Her reading speed was notably impressive. "Relocate temporarily... North-East... Low profile... Robes obligatory... Store room... Back entrance..." she muttered, before turning back to face Faen.

"It seems they've set up a new base of operations near Witchaven as they try to figure out what happened here. They're laying low and they've tightened all their rules out of concern the flooding might have been an inside job." She paused, marvelling at the idea of a mage powerful enough to bring such ruin to a once bountiful land. "Nobody gets in or out of the new stronghold without wearing the traditional garb of the Guild." she explained, before elaborating that a stock of robes was kept several doors down by the back entrance of the lair - the main point of entry since their main entrance fell into the swamp. "The idea was that, as they evacuated, they made sure to take a garb. I'll wager that silver coin I'm owed that none of them particularly fancied the idea of hauling crates of robes across a swamp."

In that moment, it was quite obvious what Avarielle was planning.