therookery | crystals; OTA

Where are you, Serah?

( ready 2 fite )

In the, the left tower? No. The right. I think it's the right. [ it's not the right ] Third floor, fifth dormito —

[ something SCRAPES alarmingly against wood ]

— Please hurry. It knows I'm in here.

( he's going to die before anyone reaches him )

( A moment of pause. It doesn't sound like murderous bandits, or but that doesn't rule out other terrible things. It just seems bizarre for it to be in one of the Gallows towers. )

It?

( She's going to try one of the towers, staring with the one she currently resides in, heading downstairs. No matter what it Are you already harmed?

Edited 2018-01-03 08:09 (UTC)

It's like a bird but it's twisted up all wrong, it's got red eyes. Red eyes. It got my arm, but I hit it with a broom — only now it's worse —

Edited (double icon) 2018-01-03 08:15 (UTC)

( "twisted up all wrong" and "red eyes" sound like key abomination words, but then there's bird to consider. She moves a little quicker, because what... in the Maker's good name... )

I'll be there presently.

Maker bless you.

[ it's relieved.

when herian eventually finds the room, she'll find a lone flamingo puffed up and stalking about in beak-rattling threat. there's no sign of finch, save the closet in the corner, scored recently by talons. its door's been shut and locked —

— from the outside. the key lies abandoned on the floor, where it must have slipped free when he slammed the door. anyone in it will have a hard time opening that again. ]

( And here is Herian, sword cautiously in hand, rounding the corner, only to be faced with...

... a bird she has never before seen, but that is clearly not possessed, as much as it looks like a swan gone badly wrong. None of that telltale demon stuff. Maker preserve her.

She can see the keys, and she's rather inclined to just gently herd the bird away or let it leave of its own accord, though she keeps moving slowly towards it, as she returns her sword to its sheath. )

I can see the bird from where I stand, Serah Wicker. Rest assured, it is not possessed.

( A beat; ) You hit it with a broom?

[There's a great clanking of armor and floorboards creaking enough for two average-sized men, and the requested templar hurries up the stairs and into the room, reaching for his sword as he enters.

...At least he'd sounded confident. And at least, for now, Finch can't tell the difference.

Herian, unfortunately, can. Simon quietly drops his hand from his sword hilt, and avoids eye contact.]

I don't suppose it would be worth purging the area just to be really sure.

Edited 2018-01-03 09:02 (UTC)

I do not think that is either wise nor necessary, Ser Ashlock.

( They do this without injuring their dignity, or the bird. ) I suggest one of us wrap a cloak about the bird, if possible, and take it outside. I will be glad to do so if you are not so inclined. The other should ensure Serah Wicker is not harmed, or trapped.

( She nods to the keys, and starts to unclasp her cloak. ) Do you agree?

[She wouldn't dare admit to fretting over him, that would make things too weird, but she comes rushing hastily around the corner--just to spot Simon, Herian, what looks like a pink swan on stilts--]

...what is that? [she asks, baffled, and then frowns, looking hither and thither for,]

Finch, where are you?

[ Kaisa didn’t actually hear the cry for help, or has any idea what’s going on. But she’s a nosy jerk, so when she hears a bunch of noise from one of the rooms, of course she pokes her head in. To see a bunch of people staring at—]

Oh cool, is that a flamingo? I’ve never seen one outside of Antiva. Did you know they aren’t actually pink? It’s just all the shrimp they eat. When I heard that, I asked if you could feed them rainbow shrimp, but apparently that is frowned upon. You guys should give it a shot.

[ And with that, she meanders off to go puzzle over things like where one might find rainbow shrimp. ]

"Yeah, I —"

He hit it with a broom.

The bird, for its part, seems unharmed, but it’s not possessed, and he sags with relief, steels his courage to try the handle,

Before abruptly there’s another voice, and the clatter of metal, and the familiar tones of disappointment. The knob rattles, doesn’t move. Oh.

"Oh," He repeats, under his breath. His palm finds the side of his face, expression scrunches with the brief intensity of will to be somewhere, anywhere else right now. It falls away again; things don’t work like that.

They work like this: A third voice. A fourth.

(And one of them Fern.)

"I think," He begins, with all the solemnity that the situation can muster. It just sounds faintly pained. Maker, I can't get fired, "I'm stuck."

Edited 2018-01-06 23:34 (UTC)

[He had been just serious enough about the purging to make him doubt he'd be believed if he said it was a joke--no joke, either, is the old, well-ingrained I don't need to take orders from a mage reflex that rises in his throat like bile before he swallows it shamefacedly back.

He's grateful to have it suppressed beyond notice before Fern dashes in, even if her arrival steps on his own hopes of simply whisking the flamingo away and leaving this mess behind without another word. Still. He is far from the one having the worst time of it here.]

You know him? [This to Fern, and to Herian--] I'll make sure the lad's all right if you want to get the bird.

[Were he in Finch's position, he would much rather be spared the indignity of being converged upon by multiple well-intentioned and attractive women at a vulnerable moment, so he thinks he might as well try to be a bro here.]

Edited 2018-01-09 10:16 (UTC)

( Ah. An entourage.

First of all, she has some queries about the bird not really being pink, when it clearly is pink, but now probably isn't the time to ask a Warden about this reasoning. Her cloak in hand, she starts to quietly usher the bird away. It isn't the happiest giant swan-stork-monstrosity she's ever seen, but at least herding it is going rather well. )

Let me know your progress.

( Another request, as she exits stage right, with flamingo. )

Yes, [to Simon, uncomfortably,] I know him, he's my--

[He's her what, exactly?]

...he's Finch, we're from the same--village. [Sort of. Quietly, she adds,] he's nice.

Can you get him out of the, um, [she gestures,] the wardrobe?

They both know what he is. That Fern won't say it now, not before the lordly Inquisition —

She sounds so unhappy. Always does now he's here. Finch doesn't have to look to know his ears are red, his cheeks. The sliver of light cast beneath the door is enough to make out the marks upon his arm, already beginning to dry and clot.

"Is it gone?"

Simon does not know what he is, and won't presume to fill in whatever word Fern might have thought better of there. The request is what matters, and the 'he's nice' is sufficient to lend Finch the benefit of the doubt from here on out, for what Simon's low-ranking opinion is worth.

"Aye, it's gone," he says, and he will be delighted never to speak of it again if Finch won't. He casts about for the keys, fortunately lays eyes on them before he decides to try bashing the door down, and has the door open again in short order.

"I suppose that's my work here done." Such as it was.

[Simon tries not to bother with anything that comes through the crystals, really he does, but whatever that ungodly and possibly demonic noise is, he would be remiss in his duty to ignore it. He's heard horror stories enough of the kind of demons that make their way into Kirkwall, of the abominations that ensue, and while it doesn't do to let his imagination run away with him as long as the thing in question is confined behind a door--]

Well, I'm a templar and I have indeed got a sword, but I'll have to know where you are if I'm going to help.

Left tower! Left tower, second floor. [ it's actually the third ] The fifth dormitory along the hall, it's loose in the room, I don't know how long the door'll hold.

[Simon's close enough by already that it doesn't take him long to reach the tower and begin to make his way briskly to the incorrectly-designated corridor.]

All right. Stay back from the door--don't endanger yourself for nothing. Get yourself into another room and put another locked door between you and it if you haven't already. Can you tell me what it looked like?

I'm in the closet, it's all locked up, [ the rattle of hinges to check. yep. definitely locked. (from the outside, but give it a minute for that to sink in —) ] It's almost like a bird, only all stretched out wrong, and coloured like blood.

[ a furious screech from the room beyond ]

That's a rage demon. [He can't think of anything else that fits the description and also satisfies his preconceived notions. 'Bird,' 'amorphous lava blob,' same difference.] You did well to get in the closet, but I'm concerned it'll try to burn through the lock--

[The dorm he has been directed to is entirely too peaceful and quiet right now to be housing a demon of any kind, but the shrieks from directly above his head are more than audible. He mumbles a bit of uncharacteristic profanity and hastens for the stairs.]

I'll be there shortly. Hold tight--you're going to be all right.

[ he chokes a little at the mention of rage demons. is that different from any other kind? aren't they all angry? isn't that just a demon thing? ]

S-sure, [ of course he's going to be alright. of course. totally. sure. sure, right, because it's not helpful to panic, the templar's not panicking — ] Sure. Right.

[ simon's efforts will lead him upstairs near about the same time as herian ]

Is that a goose...?

❰ adalia is not very helpful — but then, finch did ask for a templar, and she is definitely not one of those. ❱

It's a nightmare, ugly as sin and twice as mad — must've come out of one of those rifts you've all got tearing open —

[ an ominous chittering croak ]

Oh, because Thedas isn't garbage enough to breed its own hell-geese?

❰ excuse, sir, toril has very reasonable geese! it's the bugbears you have to watch out for. ❱

What did you do to make it so angry? Animals don't usually freak out over nothing.

[ finch tries to be patient, really, but this is all a bit much — ]

It's not a goose!

Certainly sounds like a goose, but I suppose if I can't see it —

❰ if finch could see the slow grin spreading over adalia's cheeks, he'd... probably hate it. ❱

Think it'd be afraid of a dragon?

[ it comes late: perhaps two, three hours pass —

there have been bruises to nurse (arm and ego), frustration to quell. but he has some manners, and he didn't come all this way just to sulk,

so: ]

It wasn't a goose. [ it just sounds tired. ] Did sound like one, I suppose.

[ ...huh ]

Is it by any chance a weirdly tall pink bird that likes to stand on one leg?

I don't know what it likes, other than blood —

[ but the rest of it, yeah ]

Foie Gras? [You leave for five minutes to go get some grub and then this!] Foie Gras is that you?

Is it calming down? Don't let anyone chop anything that answers to Foie Gras!

Is that Orlesian? I don't think it speaks Orlesian!

It doesn't speak anything except hissing, biting or flapping so if it's doing any of those, get to where it won't bite, grab a thing you can flap at it, then flap.

Named after some food made from fat goose. [No he won't admit any Orlesian in public.]

Why does everyone assume I don't know what a goose looks like? [ this is probably a hypothetical. ] Wait — are you keeping a goose in the rooms?

Edited 2018-01-10 06:07 (UTC)

I don't know how you've been describing whatever it is to them but it sounds like a goose through a sending crystal.

[He's had a goose for like one whole month, he is now An Expert thanks.]

Because that goose was a gift and I don't trust humans in these lean months? No matter how feisty he is. 'sides, you're in a bit of a flap, reasonable assumption.

[ a flap. a flap. ]

It's too tall, and it's blood-red, and it looks like — wrong, just wrong, like magic wrong —

[ you know: like all magic. he knows geese; the rest of this is terribly new, ]

Which room is yours?

[ he's not cleaning that one. he hasn't come all this way to clean up gooseshit indoors, there has to be a line to draw (promises he swore himself). kind of. maybe.

except he will, and he knows he will, because this voice isn't human. and that means something. ]

Oh...oh someone brought fancy noodle birds. They might freeze solid here in this bad a winter. I get you though, punched a tree once that'd been magicked wrong, might want to avoid the forest here until that's hacked to bits.

[He's helping.]

What used to be the mage tower, sixth floor, room H. Knock if you come visiting, I've got nugs, don't want them getting out – you stoppin' by to meet Foie Gras?

[ it's a few hours' silence before there's a knock at the door, followed by a reluctant second — ]

It's Finch.

[ it just sounds tired. he'll be waiting in the doorway with freshly-bandaged arm (a heroic battle wound) and mop in hand, completely unsure about this and ready to ask what the fuck is wrong with the forest. ]

[A goose honks, several things squeak--

And those aren't the standard number of locks or bolts in the door t be opened as a very short dwarf observes an elf (is he armed?) then steps aside.]

Did it peck you?

What is it? Where?

[His voice tight, there is the sound of armor being clanked into place and a sword banging against metal.]

Right tower, [ it's the left. ] Fourth floor, [ the third. ] Fifth dormitory.

It's like some kind of bird but broken up all wrong, and bloody eyes. There's people on their way —

crystals; OTA

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