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<blockquote data-quote="soanso" data-source="post: 6225377" data-attributes="member: 6684655"><p><strong>The Misgivings, pt 1</strong></p><p></p><p>“I heard tales that she burned down the servants quarters in a fit of rage,” Shaiira said as we rode towards the coast. We rode single file and maintained a good trotting pace; the full moon lit the road for us. There was a small breeze in the autumn air. It was neither chilly nor refreshing. I was the last in line, Vohoi before me. I promised him over wine he’d never be last.</p><p> </p><p>“She being who exactly?” I asked. </p><p> </p><p>“I think the grandmother, but I’m not sure,” Shaiira said.</p><p> </p><p>“The Misgivings are said to be a haunted place. Legends say ghostly music can be heard coming from the front room on moonlit nights,” Vohoi offered, his eyes trained on the horizon splashed with waning sunlight.</p><p> </p><p>“So Foxglove Manor is indeed the Misgivings?” I said. The words left me before I could check them. A brief, cloying coldness touched my lower back. I tried to remain calm, but there was something amiss. I already knew that- or at least I thought I did. I felt confused, so I listened.</p><p> </p><p>“How did you come to meet Aldern Foxglove?” Noria asked. We trotted at a fair pace, and her question rose above the hoof-beats, as steady and forward as they. I knew the dwarf meant no offense; their kith is less prey to irrational speech as mine.</p><p> </p><p>“He approached me,” I said. “Well, actually, his dog did. When we all first met, during the Swallowtail Festival, that was the goblin attack. I heard the sound of the wounded dog, and Aldern was his master. We saved his life by killing the goblins-” I faltered at killing, such a detested word. “And he held a feast in our honor; we struck up a conversation and visited each other over the next few days. He gave us these mounts, and to me he gifted this exquisite crossbow-”</p><p> </p><p>“All for a night in silk, eh?” Mundin chimed. I could not fault the dwarf for his opinion; in fact, everyone’s opinion.</p><p> </p><p>“Nay, Mundin, I did not succumb to his charms, for I am saving myself for you,” I said, barely containing the lilting laughter in my throat.</p><p> </p><p>Shaiira burst out laughing. “You owe me coin!” she said in Mundin’s direction. I cocked my head, curious. “Is there a wager on my scruples?”</p><p> Mundin laughed. “Yours and the cleric’s,” he said. “Just a friendly bet among thieves, worry not, dear songstress.”</p><p> </p><p>I laughed too. “Sorry to have lost your wager, Mundin. Perhaps I’ll be luckier next turn. What’s the next wager?”</p><p> </p><p>We bantered about several seedy situations, involving some or all of us found in precarious and morally questionable circumstances, passing the road quickly beneath our feet. As we rounded the last long bend, however, frivolity fell to stark silence. Perched like a dying bird upon a withered branch sat Foxglove Manor- The Misgivings. The three-story manse loomed over the path, balanced upon a precipice above the ocean. Nature itself was twisted here- gnarled trees, sickly brown grass, and a complete absence of life save a few crows circling the burnt-out perimeter of what must have once been a building. A circular stone well stood to one side of the low, charred stone half-wall that must have once supported a building. My skin crawled.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you hear them?” Shaiira asked, focused on me.</p><p> “Hear what?”</p><p> </p><p>“The screaming maddening cacophony rising from the burning house?” Her face was odd, her gaze transfixed on the manor. “Terror, do you hear the terror? The piano, Mum wouldn’t ever let this happen.” Her eyes were dull, her hands limp. She never spoke of Mum in front of the others, only to me, in private. </p><p> </p><p>“Mum’s dead, she’s back at the Boneyard in Sandpoint,” I said.</p><p> </p><p>“No. No. You never said so,” Shaiira’s head shook back and forth in denial, as if it were disjointed from her neck. I looked to the others, but no one seemed to notice her odd countenance. Noria slid her axe off her back. We approached the manor under cover of night, though the Traveler’s Moon kept us in light.</p><p> </p><p>I peered into the front room. Mold encased nearly every surface. Once a fine parlor, even the grand piano suffered the curse of time. We moved to the front door. Shaiira was acting oddly, and refused to pick the lock.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s locked,” I said, trying the handle of the door. My hand slid to my pocket, and drew the strange key from it. <em>Of course, the Foxglove symbol!</em> The tumblers of the lock fell into place and the great door swung open- we walked unabashed into the Misgivings.</p><p> </p><p>Shaiira stopped at the threshold.</p><p> “We need you now, Sis,” I said.</p><p> Shaiira stood like a statue. “The screaming. The birds. The music. Mum says ‘No’…” she trailed into listlessness. Something is very wrong here.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="soanso, post: 6225377, member: 6684655"] [b]The Misgivings, pt 1[/b] “I heard tales that she burned down the servants quarters in a fit of rage,” Shaiira said as we rode towards the coast. We rode single file and maintained a good trotting pace; the full moon lit the road for us. There was a small breeze in the autumn air. It was neither chilly nor refreshing. I was the last in line, Vohoi before me. I promised him over wine he’d never be last. “She being who exactly?” I asked. “I think the grandmother, but I’m not sure,” Shaiira said. “The Misgivings are said to be a haunted place. Legends say ghostly music can be heard coming from the front room on moonlit nights,” Vohoi offered, his eyes trained on the horizon splashed with waning sunlight. “So Foxglove Manor is indeed the Misgivings?” I said. The words left me before I could check them. A brief, cloying coldness touched my lower back. I tried to remain calm, but there was something amiss. I already knew that- or at least I thought I did. I felt confused, so I listened. “How did you come to meet Aldern Foxglove?” Noria asked. We trotted at a fair pace, and her question rose above the hoof-beats, as steady and forward as they. I knew the dwarf meant no offense; their kith is less prey to irrational speech as mine. “He approached me,” I said. “Well, actually, his dog did. When we all first met, during the Swallowtail Festival, that was the goblin attack. I heard the sound of the wounded dog, and Aldern was his master. We saved his life by killing the goblins-” I faltered at killing, such a detested word. “And he held a feast in our honor; we struck up a conversation and visited each other over the next few days. He gave us these mounts, and to me he gifted this exquisite crossbow-” “All for a night in silk, eh?” Mundin chimed. I could not fault the dwarf for his opinion; in fact, everyone’s opinion. “Nay, Mundin, I did not succumb to his charms, for I am saving myself for you,” I said, barely containing the lilting laughter in my throat. Shaiira burst out laughing. “You owe me coin!” she said in Mundin’s direction. I cocked my head, curious. “Is there a wager on my scruples?” Mundin laughed. “Yours and the cleric’s,” he said. “Just a friendly bet among thieves, worry not, dear songstress.” I laughed too. “Sorry to have lost your wager, Mundin. Perhaps I’ll be luckier next turn. What’s the next wager?” We bantered about several seedy situations, involving some or all of us found in precarious and morally questionable circumstances, passing the road quickly beneath our feet. As we rounded the last long bend, however, frivolity fell to stark silence. Perched like a dying bird upon a withered branch sat Foxglove Manor- The Misgivings. The three-story manse loomed over the path, balanced upon a precipice above the ocean. Nature itself was twisted here- gnarled trees, sickly brown grass, and a complete absence of life save a few crows circling the burnt-out perimeter of what must have once been a building. A circular stone well stood to one side of the low, charred stone half-wall that must have once supported a building. My skin crawled. “Do you hear them?” Shaiira asked, focused on me. “Hear what?” “The screaming maddening cacophony rising from the burning house?” Her face was odd, her gaze transfixed on the manor. “Terror, do you hear the terror? The piano, Mum wouldn’t ever let this happen.” Her eyes were dull, her hands limp. She never spoke of Mum in front of the others, only to me, in private. “Mum’s dead, she’s back at the Boneyard in Sandpoint,” I said. “No. No. You never said so,” Shaiira’s head shook back and forth in denial, as if it were disjointed from her neck. I looked to the others, but no one seemed to notice her odd countenance. Noria slid her axe off her back. We approached the manor under cover of night, though the Traveler’s Moon kept us in light. I peered into the front room. Mold encased nearly every surface. Once a fine parlor, even the grand piano suffered the curse of time. We moved to the front door. Shaiira was acting oddly, and refused to pick the lock. “It’s locked,” I said, trying the handle of the door. My hand slid to my pocket, and drew the strange key from it. [I]Of course, the Foxglove symbol![/I] The tumblers of the lock fell into place and the great door swung open- we walked unabashed into the Misgivings. Shaiira stopped at the threshold. “We need you now, Sis,” I said. Shaiira stood like a statue. “The screaming. The birds. The music. Mum says ‘No’…” she trailed into listlessness. Something is very wrong here. [/QUOTE]
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