conversations: human
conversations:  For a nexus of unspeakable evil, the Rath Temaen Manor really provides a surprisingly comfortable base camp. The hall is spacious, but easily divided with some lengths of cloth between the pillars into smaller rooms, old sofas and chairs broken down into semi-comfortable bedding and with a fire burning in the middle of the room, it is not even cold.
  And yet... the morning is deadly quiet, as there is no birdcall nor buzzing insect. The light of the morning fire, awoken from last night's embers, fail to illuminate the empty corridors beyond the medallions of silver and holly, swallowed by the gloom mere feet into the passageways. Shadows cluster under the high gothic arches of the ceiling and the light through the lead glass windows is dim and greenish.
  The team is rather busy: there are wagons to be unloaded, still, and crates to be stowed in corners. Factor Jerys, nominal leader of the expedition, has converted the old sitting room into a chamber and office for himself and his secretary Nystur. Angthere, the blacksmith, has built a forge, a complictated arrangement of bellows and pipes, connected to one of the tall windows. Father Garl, too, has converted a table and a small idol of his god, the sunfather, into an altar at the other end of the hall. The doctor, meanwhile, has laid a claim to an old storeroom, unpacking his own crates of arcane glassware and dusty books.
  
  The sun has been up for three hours when the Factor calls the mercenaries together.
  "Okay. We have a lot to do. For now, I think we should focus on three things. First, we need water. Doesn't have to be now, we have enough for a week or so, but there's a cistern somewhere in the cellars under the kitchen. Damnably dark down there, of course, and we have heard the stories. Second, we need to know more about what happened. I have checked. The plans we were given by our benefactor are obviously outdated, even just looking from the outside, there's an entire wing that's not on the plans. Still, the owner's study and library should be in the west wing, two floors above us. If we find any writings, it's there. Finally, there should be several families of workers here, but obviously, the main building is deserted. However, behind the stables, there should be a second building, just a little into the forest, which served as servants  quarters. I want someone to check that out, too.
  So. Volunteers? Obviously, no one is going alone. I'd say groups of three, at least."
conversations: Eldan:
conversations: human
conversations:  The air inside Rath Temaen makes Cassandra sick.
  She's hardly surprised--a large part of her training with the Temple was in how to detect the presence of dark power, and if there ever was a place the darkness had tainted, it would be here.  What does surprise her is just how pervasive it is, and how difficult to block out.  Usually she can suppress the sense without trouble when she tries, but here, it refuses to go away completely, hovering on the edge of her perception.  Every time she's relaxed and let her guard down, it's pressed in, her head pounding, her stomach churning, chills running down her spine.
  Fending it off constantly is already wearing her down.
  Standing among the group, she furrows her brow in thought as the Factor goes over their options.  When he asks for volunteers, she steps forward.   "I'll go to find the servants' quarters, my lord, if anyone else will follow."   She turns back to the others assembled.   "If there's anyone still in there, they might have been trapped a long time.  They'll need help.  And they'll probably know this place better than any of us.  I think they should be our first priority." 
conversations: Amaril:
conversations: human
conversations:  Charmine is a stout woman, and the heavy clothing she wears does little to disuade that impression - the parts of her not covered in chainmail is shrouded in white cloth, the sole exception being her face, which is uncovered from chin to forehead. Her face is comely enough, except her habitually stern expression adds more years to her appearance than are truly there.
  
  She frowns as Cassandra makes the case for the servants' quarters.  "Perhaps. But if anyone lingers there, which I doubt, they have survived this long already - surely they will last another night. I say we make for the cistern. We will have need of freshwater; if retrieving it turns out to  be a perilious task, I would know now, rather than wait until driven by need." 
conversations: arccos:
conversations: human
conversations:  "I have a personal interest in the papers, afterall forewarned is forearmed."  Angelus says quietly and calmly, red eyes scanning his fellows with an assessing gaze, the dark rings around his eyes from sleepless nights making the direction and intent of his gaze obvious. He's a thin wispy figure even in the amorphous clothing of ebon robe and armour, hair purest white, as if all vitality had been taken from it.  "But will gladly concede to accompany the first group to form a majority. However the good lady makes an excellent point about the servants quarters, our own needs for water are not immediate, any survivors, if survivors there are, may have been starving slowly on diminishing resources. To check may solve two problems at a stroke, they may know where the cistern is or have left papers with its location, and they may have information to better guard us against whatever darkness stalks this place." Though his voice is even and steady something about this place is even putting the resident dark magician ill at ease.
conversations: ErebusVonMori:
conversations: human
conversations:  She eyed him suspiciously. The skulky fellow seemed, in many ways, like one of those foul blights she'd sworn to eradicate. But then, neither red eyes nor pallid skin was a sure sign of malintent. She would have to spend time with him to discern his true colors.  "It seems I am outnumbered in this matter. Very well, I will cave. We make for the servants' quarters then." 
conversations: arccos:
conversations: human
conversations:  "Good choice,"  Cass agrees, nodding encouragingly to Charmine.   "I appreciate it, both of you."   The suspicious looks Angelus was getting from some of the company were plain to see--in spite of herself, even Cass had a hard time trusting him--but that didn't mean he was wrong in this case.  If she was going to be working with him, she'd feel better having the priestess along as well.
  She scans the rest of the group.   "Anyone else?  I'd still feel safer with a bigger group." 
conversations: Amaril:
conversations: human
conversations:  Angelus notes the suspicious looks from Charmine with a tired smile, deciding to offer an explanation pre-emptively.  "Are you aware of a condition known as the Tomb-Tainted Soul? What you see are the later stages of the condition, though alas without many of the physical benefits. Standard forms of healing are physically toxic to me."  He sighs deeply ,"And suspicion a natural magnet to my form. I tell you this so that there are no dangerous misunderstandings between us, we shall afterall be depending on each other for our lives in the near future."  Though technically true it's not the whole truth, but perhaps best to wait to reveal  that  particular facet of himself, prove himself useful lest the overzealous take offence at his magics.  "As to the matter of a bigger group, if we run into people then we can always negotiate, if we run into dark magic, and I'm making presumptions here, but the three of us are best equipped to face it, I have a measure of arcane knowledge, you two have a knowledge of the divine." 
conversations: ErebusVonMori:
conversations: human
conversations:  The factor nods. "Alright, then. You, you and you,  follow me outside . You can chat on the way, if you have to."
conversations: Eldan:
conversations: human
conversations:  The factor leaves, satisfied with the volunteers he'd gotten. Vida shrugs and heads back to the wagons, where a massive mongrel dozes. It's easily as tall as her at the shoulder, with notched floppy ears and shaggy brown-and-white fur.  "Don't have time for layabouts, Calen,"  she says chidingly.  "Got plenty to unpack yet."  Calen whines briefly but gets up and dutifully stands there as Vida hitches a crate to his harness with a length of rope and tries not to look up. This place felt  wrong , and no amount of hung holly would change that. Damn Dennis, and his foolhardy love of adventure, and her for being stupid enough to go along with this.
  
  At least the pay wasn't too bad.
conversations: Ajadea: