Whisper and moonlight and the smoke of a hastily extinguished candle fill the house on the hill.
"Quiet!" "Someone's coming!"
The door creaks, louder than seems possible. A woman's muffled voice-- or was it the boy's imagination? --speaking or singing to herself in some uncanny language beyond the experience of young Sam Sawyer. The sound of church bells, soft as memory and yet seeming to echo at his heels, though the church was the other way, down the hill back among the lights of Nassau town and well away from this benighted place.
Were Sam Sawyer to have tossed a backward glance over his shoulder, he might have seen reptilian eye peered out from the bottom of the planked-over window, baleful and golden. And if the owner of that eye knew he had been seen...
"Is someone there? Who's that knocking?"
The blue-gray kobold at the window gives a sudden start. The chair he was perched on teeters and fall over. He clings to the windowsill, and the chairs hit the dusty floor with a clatter. The kobold-- Verner Magnussen, better known these days as The Wyrm-- glances around guiltily, lowering himself to the ground.
The candle flares as Lorelei relights it. The girl, the
gypsy girl, Verner reminds himself-- it was she who'd spoken. She puts one delicate hand over her mouth and stifles a laugh-- pausing in the recited conversation between her and the house's third occupant, the lanky figure in the dark coat. Caillou, brooding over the books and unfurled maps spread open on the table. Caillou, the reason they are here.
"Who's that knocking? Is someone there?" It's Lorelei's voice again, but not her speaking. Caillou tilts his head to regard the kobold out the side of his eye, while not fully turning his attention from the charts and lists on the table.
The three of them certainly made for an odd trio, thought the Wyrm. An even odder quartet since the old man had joined them.
He dusts himself off.
"Well?" says Lorelei. Even dressed more like a barmaid than a duchess, taking in the seams of some fat dowager's old gown as she is now, she does possess a certain dim radiance. Some princesses one could see comported themselves with lesser grace.
"Did we need to terrify the poor boy?" says the Wyrm, with a sternness in his voice that does not quite reach his eyes.
"Look at where 'the poor boy' has to grow up. A little scare once and a while should help keep him safe," Lorelei retorts.
"The same might be true of you, Mr Verner."
"My poor naive friend. Have you no sense of pageantry?" The voice comes from Caillou, but is not his own; another borrowed performance.
The kobold snorts. The girl snickers.
"Well?" Caillou parrots. The kobold turns to face the bird.
A long black beak protrudes from the ragged hood, emerging from the rather beleaguered coat he wears-- dark and shiny as though it were wet, even though it isn't, studded with thin, smooth brass buttons along the lapels.
The coat is much too large for him. The claws of his scaly black fingertips barely reach past the cuffs.
The Wyrm clears his throat.
"Message from Lady Steeleyes," says the kobold.
"She says to expect company."
Caillou looks at him, black feathers and blacker eyes glittering in candlelight. The corners of his beak pull back into what is undeniably a smirk.
"Den looks like de time finally be right..."
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OOC:
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@Quickleaf Not sure if you would want me to speak for my retainers or not? I can avoid it from now on, or edit this post no problem, just say the word.
...Honestly, it's a lot of extra work, so I won't do it in every post anyway.
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