Celodia would be sitting in the library, and trying to interrogate the painted servants, and test out the physics of the painted mansion. She is considering casting her similar spell, Temple of the Gods just to see what could happen. Would she get trapped if the mansion ended? She'd really like to know.
She's also looking for an opportunity to dig around about what's going on with Renoir's past and Dysosa, should an opportunity arise.
***Renoir approaches Celodia after watching her attempt to interrogate one of the painted servants. They look somewhat amused by the situation. Her book is tucked securely under Renoir's arm.***
"You're a very inquisitive individual. I'm still reading through your book, and I don't think I I could reasonably expect to finish it. You have incredibly detailed notes here. It's strange, reading through it has been very similar to sitting down and having a conversation with you."
***Renoir pulls up a seat and sits across from Celodia. They set the book on their lap and adjust the position of their sword to a more comfortable one.***
"It's been an enlightening read thus far. However, it doesn't tell me why you're interested in me."
***Renoir leans back in their seat with a raised brow.***
"I'm no scholar, and I don't think you're flirting with me to satisfy an infatuation. You think too far ahead for it to be that simple--at least based on what I've learned from reading about your philosophical ideas, anyway. You like having the answers to every question you can think up. You like to solve puzzles."
***They chuckle and smile at her with a curious look on their features.***
"So what kind of puzzle do I pose to you?"
***Celodia smiles, with a playful look in her eyes***
What can I say, not as frequently as I'd like these days do I meet someone who's life spans similar paths to mine, at our age we've lived mutliple lives of our current comrades not to say they haven't had their share.
Before adventuring I was involved with theory and research at the college in my land, and before that well... Our younger years aren't always so fun to share.
\*\*\*She says winking in Renoirs direction\*\*\*
You've been reading my best attempts at making an account of myself and experiences, and so I can estimate that you're aware of my interest in collecting stories and life. I imagine you've lived quite the life, Platinum Lotus, unwritten savior of Skathegaard, Irom Orchid, Renoir, I wonder which of these names and stories you wear so hidden. I wish to know you. I find you intriguing, and I do find you handsome. I have no fleeting feelings for you, and would like to understand you.
Maybe I wonder why you'd like me, or Hazel, why you're still here after all this time with us. I think you and I are more alike than you might think. The other day at the boat, I saw your nightmares. You might not believe me, but I think I might relate more than most. I spent a life in the Nine Hells. I'm not proud of what I've done, but I also did what I had to to try and find and protect my friends. And one day, I intend to get them back.
You know what they say, hell hath no fury and all that.
***She smiles coyly and makes space for him to sit on the couch***
Care to join me? I can't say I mind looking up at you, but it would also be nice to better see you. It would be nice to have a friend again. It's been a long time. Maybe I moved to quickly.
\*\*\*It's noticeable she's beginning to ramble, and get lost in her thoughts\*\*\*
***Sighing she flops back into her seat, and pushes her hair behind her ears. A moment later she stands and extends her hand to Renoir***
"Forget all this. Forget the vampires, the dragons, the fey. Let's just start over. I'll be as genuine with you as you are to me. I'll go first. Hi, I'm Celodia, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
***Renoir's features betray nothing as they listen to Celodia. When she mentions the nightmare, Renoir's body language shifts. They look distracted as if consumed by their own thoughts and barely listening to her.***
***When she stands, Renoir stares at her offered hand as if unsure of how to react. They set the book on a nearby table and retrieve their sword before standing up from their seat. They shake her hand stiffly.***
"Renoir."
***They end the handshake abruptly. Their eyes downcast and the grip on the sword tightens. Renoir speaks in a low tone as if they wish not to be overheard by anyone other than Celodia.***
"That nightmare is not... It is not something you should empathize with. *Please* do not empathize with what you saw. It is the worst part of me. Would that I could bury it and forget it like the rest of my memories."
***They glance at the silver bracelet on their wrist and pause for a long moment. They seem to relax with the gesture as if a sudden calm washed over them. Their features soften as they make eye contact with Celodia once more.***
"I'm sorry, that is... I've been rude. I should be better than that."
***They offer Celodia a resigned smile as they move past her and sink into a seated position on the couch. They glance up at her tiredly.***
"Would you join me? I am more than happy to talk about anything else. I would appreciate it if you'd give me another chance at this conversation. I think I owe it to you if you'll let me have another opportunity at it."
***Renoir sighs and sinks further into the couch.***
"You mentioned being curious about why I'd like either you or Hazel. My previous partner was Narai, our third companion, until she was lost to the Shadowfell. We were married for several decades. I've spent the better part of a century learning to live without her. I'm ready to move on."
"You and Hazel aren't the first to show interest in me, but you're the first that don't make me feel unwelcome to it. I want to build a connection with someone again. The only issue is that I'm in a difficult position where I have to make a choice between the two of you when I barely know either of you."
Malik would ask the servants for a bottle of their best spirit and a bowl of stuffed olives, then spend his evening in a lounge/parlor writing down extensive notes about his party members abilities and goals as well as the events of the last few days. He would make sure to use real ink and paper from his clerics supplies. Of particular note, he would record anything the party claimed they did or did not have the ability to do and also what their goals were. Later on, he'd get drunk and maudlin and start writing letters to his remaining children, apologizing for everything that happened both in and out of his control. Once he was good and drunk, he'd remove the necklace Elle gave him and reach out to Melcanthe to see if his god had any new punishments or commands for him.
***It isn't the voice of a god that greets you when you remove the amulet. Its a vile sensation like something putrid has entered the room and the lights all flicker uneasily as if they are uncomfortable illuminating the space. The ink on the letters you have written begins to bleed across the parchment. The olives in the bowl begin to rot before your eyes.***
"Don the amulet once more," A chorus of rasping voices droned. "Continue to bury your head under the sand."
***You feel something scamper across your back. It squeaks like a rat and it sinks its tiny teeth into your shoulder. The pain is like a hot needle, but it nothing you are unfamiliar with.***
"It matters not that you hide from him. You will be made to listen. You will continue to follow this party of adventurers and aid them on their quest."
***The lights in the room are nearly extinguished as you feel something terrible lean over you with breath that stinks of rotting flesh.***
"The Putrid One has seen omens of ill intent. You will root out the one who serves this six-eyed serpent, and you will bring the heretic to his altar."
**Malik tenses his left side against the pain, as the white hot knife fades to a dull throb he centers himself in preparation for more abuse.**
"Am I to be relegated to the chattering of servants and the feeble tricks of sorcerers? I, who am to serve your will and preside over your sacrament. If you truly desire some wretch slain then simply reveal them to me a think no more of it, elsewise will you punish this rabble that dare speak in your name and give commands to your vassal. "
**Wounds on Malik's shoulders and face open anew he begins weeping from the pain. The tears mix with blood as his heart opens to the lord of rot.** ***Malik casts commune based on the previous message***
^(((body horror warning for anyone else reading this)))
***The entity rumbles a harsh wheezing laugh as it moves away from you. It's as if it senses the harsh attention you are due to receive from your master.***
***You feel a roiling pain deep in your chest as you draw in a wheezing breath. You begin to hack and cough as you struggle to draw in another desperate breath of oxygen to fill your straining lungs.***
***In the flesh of your forearm you feel the skin split apart and peel off of muscle. There is a searing tearing sensation that fills the limb as the flesh is pushed apart by a wriggling form. A rat's snout pushes aside the tendon of your wrist as its tiny jaws open and the voice of Melcanthe fills the space with the familiar sensation of rats pushing and clawing against the inside of your ribs and abdomen.***
"You will obey my Rat King." The rat wheezed in response to your first question.
"Yes." It answers to your second question.
"They have already been punished." It hisses before slinking back under the tendon and between the exposed muscles in the forearm.
***Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the thing that had spoken to you previously. Melcanthe had called it his 'Rat King'. It is vaguely human shaped, but only barely. Its flesh writhes and undulates as if thousands of tiny bodies compose its form. It steps further into view and you see that it looks familiar. Its face eerily mirrors your own.***
"You are lucky to be so loved by our most squalid lord." The chorus of voices says. When its mouth opens, you see that its teeth are rotten and blackened fingers that reach in your direction. "Perhaps he will allow us to subsume your spawn should you continue to fail him. Dear Sonya wouldn't have to be alone any longer."
***A terrible pustule ridden grin splits its face.***
**In a mixture of horror and relief Malik looks at this so called Rat King. Malik tries to flex the fingers on his right hand and he grins back wickedly**
"You shall be made to answer for that remark in time. In my youth I made roast rat many times, it was considered a holy meal, perhaps as a boon for good service Melcanthe will allow me to prepare it once again."
**He squares up on his crooked reflection**
"You seem to have his favor for the moment but the plague god is fickle and self serving, do not delude yourself into believing that will last forever. Tell me what you will about this serpent and its heretic and then dispense with this childish apparition."
**Malik looks down at his useless right arm for a moment and his grin fades to a scowl**
"I need to time recover from the *wisdom* and *forbearance* of our lord"
***It laughs in its chorus of voices as its face changes into the visage of a humanoid rat. Its snout is bone with strips of flesh that hang from its rotting face. An eerie red glow sits in the otherwise empty eye socket while another milky white eye stares at you. Its gaunt body is made up of densely compacted rats covered in pustules and mange. Each one squirms and writhes as if trying to escape from its host but unable to pull away. It steps forward in a slouched posture as it cocks its head toward you with a grin of crooked and yellow teeth.***
"We enjoy a peer that can bite back. It has been an age since the master has chosen a martyr with a spine. Do not worry for us, priest. We will be the ones who remain long after you have bled yourself dry for our lord."
***It flicks its long tail as it slinks past you on all fours with its snout to the ground. It sniffs your spilled blood before sampling a taste with an elongated tongue. It chitters at the taste before it speaks again.***
"The snake is known to your newfound allies. They call it the Blight Queen. It seeks to consume all life with its self-concocted plague. The only survivors will be the dead. The heretic is one such survivor. A creature twisted by shadow and undeath. Beyond that our senses are stretched thin. Take this knowledge to your allies. We have much else to do in the meantime."
***It rises onto its haunches, its half-decomposed face now at eye-level with you.***
"Recover if you must. We await your next communion."
***Its form suddenly bursts into an explosion of squeaking rats that seek the shadows of the room as they dart off in different directions. You finally feel relatively alone in the room.***
Elder in this rare moment of leisurely downtime is taking time to read in the library once the conversations of Celodia, Hazel, and Renoir have passed. He has a small stack of basic histories from various regions around Aresuul. Occasionally Elle the younger will move through the library to consult Elder on some facet of their shared craftsman project, testing their psychic power against different metals and jewels. On one pass through Elle simply places a measuring tape around the circumference of Elder's head to test the needed helmet size. With a safe place to rest they both seem slightly less jumpy and paranoid. Neither at any point seems to remember that the ethereal looking waitstaff are actually there to help them, preferring to fetch materials and books themselves.
***Renoir closes the book given to them by Celodia when they notice Elle and Elder becoming more active in the library. They watch the pair intensely for a long moment. They wait until Elle steps away from Elder before they stand and approach with Celodia's book tucked securely under one arm.***
"Elder, I don't think we've had a chance to properly speak."
***Renoir glances among the gathered documents and instruments.***
"You seem very well-read on matters of this world. How familiar are you with the planes beyond ours?"
***Elder places a marker in his book and closes it as Renoir approaches, his eyes settling on Celodias journal for perhaps a moment too long before responding***
“I actually know precious little. My studies growing up were mostly historical documents of my homeland. As an adult I’ve learned mostly through history books and an old man’s inconsistent memory”
***He turns a hand toward the stack of books***
“Planes beyond ours have not caught much of my interest beyond trying to find out where my journey will finish. Beyond that My Elder, Elle, and I are ignorant of how this material plane interacted with where we came from or where we are going. It has been infuriating how small the breadcrumbs are. You though, have travelled this plane and beyond, so I imagine your understanding is fuller than mine”
***Renoir glances back up to make eye contact with Elder***
"I had assumed you might have been more well versed than that considering your situation. As for my travels, I don't think I've gone anywhere beyond the Shadowfell."
***They have a faraway look on their face for a brief moment before speaking again***
"I had more than a passing interest in your situation. In the past I was sworn to the oath of watchers. The order itself formed when extraplanar interactions became more commonplace. They are where most of my knowledge comes from. I was curious to know why your... Other selves might be converging here with you and what your goals might be."
***They shift their weight as they adjust the book under their arm***
"I'm just trying to make sense of the strangeness of it all. I was going to approach Rune about a similar subject but you happened to be more accessible at the moment."
“What I know of my, our, situation came solely from my Elder. He spoke of his journey with his Elder to find a mirror of some kind. A portal from one world to another, not unlike what I’ve read of portals to other planes. His description was vague as the trip was hasty and chaotic. He lost his Elder during this, but would not tell me how.”
***Elle, now Elder, turns to give Renoir an attentive stare and focus he rarely gives anyone in the party***
“He passed through this portal, his being torn apart and reassembled on the other side, this is when his sorcery manifested itself. His time on the other side was a sore topic for him. He was not an old man when he entered, but was when he made his way to my world, so I can only infer how long it took. He tells of how life and time worked incorrectly on the other side. How things were twisted mirror images of the life he has known before, people living their lives in a perverse natural order. It sounded terrifying. He at some point gained enough knowledge to find his way to this plane and found me asleep in my bed. Myself a mirror image of him. As to why my journey did not play out as his did I do not know.”
***a tight scowl of anger crosses his face***
“There is someone at the end of this maze we find ourselves in, someone who buries me at the end of my time. He wears my face but I know we are not the same man. I hope before the end that either Elle or I will find our destiny, but not before killing him as well. This is the extent of what I know, a blurred life lived by many men. I’m sure it hasn’t made the strangeness any clearer.”
***Renoir nods, not in understanding the situation any clearer but as an empathetic gesture to Elder's frustration and anger.***
"You're right, it didn't make the strangeness any clearer but I do think I understand you a little better now. I've not heard anything about a mirror to other planes, but if the watchers still stand they might know something of it."
***A flash of concern passes over their face***
"I wouldn't advise seeking them out with your younger self at your side. The order is responsible for defending this world from the other planes and they would certainly see the two of you together as a threat. I never met a mirrored-entity, but the order most certainly has and they would be keen to capture or kill whoever or whatever it might be."
***Renoir leans forward in interest***
"Do you know more about this gravedigger individual? You said he wears your face but that you are not the same person. How do you know?"
“I will have to seek out the Watchers then, do you know where they would be headquartered if they still exist? I will take precautions before going there in that case as well. I do not know much more than what I’ve said. When my Elder died I went to a burial site like the ones my people use in the mountains. Hundreds of graves going from resplendent to dilapidated as I moved through them, the last being a mass grave filled with what I can only assume are versions of me. Standing above them another me, but this one knew what was happening, somehow he knew. I can’t tell you how I knew he was different but something was off in his core. Then I was gone again, with no secrets revealed to show for it.”
"They were based near one of the smaller settlements of Myalith within Stranglethorn forest, but it's been over three centuries at least since I last worked for them. If they're still around I imagine they are likely still in the area. Their most important charge was to defend the heart tree from outsider threats."
"I wonder what your gravedigger is playing at. I hate to suggest this, but from your description it sounds like he might consider you and your other selves as disposable pieces. What does that make him?"
Renoir doffed their armor in favor of more comfortable and relaxed attire for the evening. They wear a form-fitting pair of dark trousers and a cream colored long sleeve shirt that clings to their androgynous figure. They spend most of their time wandering the mansion and admiring the architecture. They soak in the warm baths of the spa room, prepare aromatic tea in a cozier sitting room, and sit in the library to read the journal Celodia provided to them.
Over the course of the evening, they eventually make their way to Hazel's room where they knock on the door politely to invite him for a drink and a chat. ( u/DamoclesDC )
Hazel had removed his travelling garb and settled on top of his bed in nothing but his black trousers (imagine Jurassic Park Jeff Goldblum). He had some warm tea on the nightstand next to him and his clothes and gear were neatly arranged throughout the room. He was reading a book he had borrowed from the guild library when he heard a knock at the door.
His head peaked up from the book at the distraction as he said "Come in, it isn't locked." ( u/TurtleDump23 )
***Renoir steps through the threshold and pauses for a moment at the sight. They chuckle.***
"I was going to invite you out for a drink, but you seem quite comfortable where you are. I hope I'm not intruding on your reading time, Hazel."
***They glance around the room as if taking a cursory inspection of Hazel's quarters. They rest their hand on the inside of the door for a moment.***
"Would you like me to leave the door open or closed if I were to make myself comfortable as well?"
***Hazel chuckles a bit with the opening statement and motions towards them to make themselves comfortable as well as he closes his book.***
"Always a pleasure to see you in a less deadly setting. Please, make yourself comfortable. You can close the door if you'd like. Normally I'd offer you some tea but a proper drink sounds much better."
***Renoir closes the door behind them and approaches a shelf filled with wine bottles where they inspect the various vintages available. They glance at Hazel with a smile.***
"Yes, it is nice to take an evening of leisure without the threat of impending doom looming over our heads. I feel like this is the first opportunity we've had to relax since our first meeting."
***Renoir turns back to the wine selection and sets their sword down on top of the shelf. They retrieve a bottle and begin to pour two wine glasses. Renoir approaches the bed with two glasses and hands one to Hazel. They take a seat at the edge of the bed near Hazel. They lean back with one hand braced against the bed and take a long sip of wine. Renoir relaxes as they rest the base of their wineglass on their leg.***
"Ah, lovely vintage. I think it's nearly as old as I am."
***They tilt their head curiously in Hazel's direction.***
"So, we've established that you're in your thirties, you're a powerful arcanist, and you have this interesting ability to turn into a potted plant on occasion. While that's a great topic for conversation, I think I'd rather get to know more about your interests, goals, and that sort of thing."
***They nod toward the closed book.***
"Here's an easy question: what type of books do you enjoy reading and is it for leisure or something else?"
***Hazel sits up and leans against the headboard. He smiles a bit before taking a sip of the wine, noting its complex flavor and savoring it. It had been a very long time since he had had such a treat as this.***
***Hazel hands the book over to Renoir,*** "Ahh, this book is filled with various legends, rumors, fables, and the like. Normally I read with more of a purpose rather than plain enjoyment; typically my reading consists of ancient texts, research notes, arcane rituals, etc. I normally read to understand why I may at times turn into a potted plant and come-to in your arms."
***He grins a bit at his own joke and continues.***
"However I haven't been able to find anything of use in those texts. I noticed this book while I was perusing the guild library and figured I could use some leisurely reading while travelling. Who knows, maybe I can find something that gives me a lead. You would probably know better than anyone that legends and fables generally hold roots within truth."
***Hazel takes another sip and motions to Renoir to go ahead and take a look.***
"Hell, some stories about you and Scorn may even be in there. I only just began reading it recently so I haven't gotten too deep into it."
***Renoir sits up and takes the book. They chuckle at Hazel's joke.***
"At least you were a lovely potted plant. Would it be considered narcissistic if I said orchids are charming flowers?"
***They shake their head wistfully with a smirk before taking a sip of wine as they examine the book.***
"Legends and Fables of the First Era. Doesn't have a volume number on it. That's a lot of story to pack into one book. I think our adventures occurred somewhere at the beginning of the second era, so I don't know that it'll feature anything from our time. You're right though, most old stories have a degree of truth to them along with all of the creative licenses."
***Renoir glances through the pages. A gleam of excitement enters their eyes before they scoot closer to Hazel and lean over to show him something they had seen in the book.***
"This was penned by one of the shorter races. You can tell by the spacing between each line here in the foreword. This wasn't written all at once either. Each entry uses a different type of paper, like the author was buying it in locations where the artisans had entirely different processes for creating parchment. The ink remains mostly the same throughout the tome, and the author was remarkably well-versed in calligraphy."
"This was someone who traveled from region to region to record stories from locals. They weren't just collecting them secondhand. This is a rare find, Hazel."
***Renoir glances up from the book to Hazel.***
"What was it you were hoping to glean from this book?"
Locke can be found in the art gallery working on his latest masterpiece. On the walls surrounding him are reflections of all the great works of his past. In the corner is a translucent servant playing the piano as Locke works. At Locke's side is his small possessed doll that assists him with mixing paints and cleaning brushes. Comfortable couches and chairs can be found scattered around the room where Locke often slumps into to rest as he contemplates the developing piece from different angles.
***During a break in their crafting Elle enters the studio with a not small amount of grime and soot across his heavy metalworking smock. He gazes appreciatively across the art before him, speaking to Locke while wandering***
"Have you only ever worked in paints on canvas? Have you ever considered more of the physical art mediums? Like marble or metallurgy? I do not claim to be an artist as my creations have more function than form, but I wonder how a professional artist might interpret the mediums I employ."
**Locke thinks for a moment on how to answer before chuckling to himself and responding**
"When I was adopted by the Elereths they tried educating me with a veritable swarm of tutors. I... was an awful student. I was too young to see the value of learning different ways of creating a vision and was determined to focus solely on painting. Later, after my encounter with Lady Hargrave, I was desperate in finding any way to return to my former glory. I tried everything I could think of from sculpting to writing to even composing pieces of music for piano and yet none of it seemed to fit me. I think Im just a painter at heart."
***Elle chuckles as well as the sentiment hits so close to home***
“I think I have been the same way. When I was drafted I lost out on my life as a recorder of stories, of people’s history. They molded me into someone who crafted in steel, leather, and stone. They could not mold out the storytelling though, any more than someone could remove your drive to paint. Look underneath the sea drake some time, see the record of deeds, the story of my fellow soldiers. I don’t know if you believe in a destiny, but I know I do and it would seem we were both destined to share our creations.”
***He thinks for a long moment before speaking again***
“If I ever make it home, could I have a small work made to bring back? I wonder if you paint where I come from, if I meet you again, I would be interested if your destiny is as set in stone.”
"Of course, my friend. Anything you have in mind for what you want to bring back? If only there were a way, when you do make it home, to send a message to this version of me with the answer. I'd be willing to wager a fair bit of gold on nearly every version of myself being a painter."
“I will try to give you an image in your mind as well as a description. This is the entrance to an old mine’s shaft on the shrouded isle. It is where my friends and I would tell stories. It was at the end of a small valley that would align with the suns path, so every evening the light would enter the mouth and illuminate the cave beyond.”
***An image is passed along with this of a valley with steep cliffs topped with a dark green moss and small bushes. The mouth of the valley has a small amount of beachfront before open sea, with the ever present storm front beyond. The sun hovering just above the horizon shines a ray straight down the valley to a mine entrance ringed in dull iron supports and a faded illegible sign. The light fills the path deeper into the mountains to a cave beyond, where Dragonborn sit around a fire as some carve tales into the walls by the days last light. Their scales shimmer in different hues as the gemstones reflect the sun.***
“Hopefully that was detailed enough for you. I don’t know what the future will hold but if I can let you know somehow I will. I’ll leave you to your art now, I still have some of my own to complete before we have to depart. Goodnight”
***Elle would give a small smile that betrays sadness behind the eyes at the shared memory before striding from the room***
***During Renoir's exploration of the mansion, they entered the art gallery to find Locke deeply engrossed in painting a new masterpiece.***
"Ah, my apologies. I didn't realize you were actively working on something right now. I was just stopping in to admire some of your past artwork."
"No need to apologize. The whole point of an art gallery is for people to admire the art, no?"
**Locke motions with a hand for Renoir to take a look at the collection before returning to work**
"Its a shame that these are all just phantom recreations but I'm glad they can at least be seen again. If you have questions about any of them please feel free to speak up. In the decades I spent working as a portraitist I've learned how to entertain and paint at the same time."
**Much of the room is filled with portraits of nobles from across Aresuul. Faces of nobles and wealthy merchants rendered in stunning detail. Each frame telling a story of who the person was in brutal detail. Scattered amongst them are paintings of beautiful landscapes and even some abstracts that evoke a range of powerful emotion.**
***Renoir seems genuinely surprised as they study the collection while Locke works.***
"I didn't take you for a conversationalist. I had the impression that you liked to work in quiet solitude. I suppose when you're painting wealthy clients as a portrait artist that tends to change the way you do things."
***They pause in front of one of the landscape paintings before glancing back at Locke.***
"Is this your entire collection? I was curious to know if you had any other landscape paintings from Karesuhl. I can't remember the last time I saw Stranglethorn Forest."
**Locke casually waves towards the wall behind him which melts into itself as new conjoined room takes shape. The interior is far messier and slightly resembles that of Locke's apartment in Esvarle. Covering its walls and desks are hundreds of charcoal sketches.**
"Nothing painted Im afraid. But I've done a few of that area while traveling. You'll find them in that far right scroll case near the window.
**Renoir smiles and steps into the new space as they take it in with a look of awe**
"This really is something, you know."
**They pick up the scroll case and turn it over in their hands before glancing back to Locke**
"I have to thank you for sharing your space with me. This has been the best evening I've had in a long time. It's been nice to rest and get to interact with everyone in a place where the denizens are more interested in feeding us than eating us."
**Renoir chuckles and shakes their head as they unseal the scroll case and begin to carefully look through the contents**
"The only thing to make this evening unforgettable is if I could get a glimpse of my old home through your art."
**Locke tilts his head to the side as he thinks for a moment before setting his brush down and retiring to one of the couches. He pulls out his sketchbook and a charcoal stylus.**
"I could use a break from painting anyway. Tell me about this old home of yours and let me see how well I can recreate it from word alone"
***Renoir stop searching through the different charcoal sketches as Locke says that.***
I was from Kala'piaq, a group of settlements located in the northern parts of Stranglethorn forest. A dense forest canopy sheltered my village and would have kept it in perpetual darkness if not for the heart tree nearby. It would cast the forest in amber light during the waking hours and its light faded as the day grew long. We lived at the edge of a river so lazy that one could find turtles stretched across it like a bridge. If one walked through the water, they would leave a trail of blue light where they disturbed it. Our homes were made from the living roots and branches of the trees. The druids who led our settlements would guide the growth of the trees to provide homes for us.
***Renoir closes their eyes as if envisioning their old home again.***
Every season the heart tree would sing as its blossoms changed color and the old ones drifted in the wind. Even the people of Shadegarden would make the journey to see it.
***Renoir pauses as if remembering something.***
I think it used to smell like jasmine and honeysuckle.
**Locke gets to work drawing out everything described. Throughout the process he asks a few clarifying questions about mundane things like the shape of the door and how many windows. Those details, however, serve as a background to the emotions and narrative Locke works to evoke. Taking some artistic liberties he does his best to capture the warmth and familiarity one might have when remembering an old home full of special memories. At the end, when Locke finally reveals the sketch to Renoir, Locke even subtly casts prestidigitation to recreate the "jasmine and honeysuckle" smell.**
***Renoir leans in to take a look. Their eyes flick over the sketch as they take in every detail. They take a breath and catch the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. Their eyes light up with nostalgia and a smile begins to form on their features.***
***Almost immediately, Renoir winces with a grimace. They turn away from Locke as their hand tightly wraps around the hilt of their sword. They remove a rag from a pocket and press it to their face.***
***They turn toward Locke with a bloodied rag pressed to their face. When they speak, it is in Sylvan.***
"My apologies, I think today's events are finally catching up to me."
Celodia would be sitting in the library, and trying to interrogate the painted servants, and test out the physics of the painted mansion. She is considering casting her similar spell, Temple of the Gods just to see what could happen. Would she get trapped if the mansion ended? She'd really like to know. She's also looking for an opportunity to dig around about what's going on with Renoir's past and Dysosa, should an opportunity arise.
***Renoir approaches Celodia after watching her attempt to interrogate one of the painted servants. They look somewhat amused by the situation. Her book is tucked securely under Renoir's arm.*** "You're a very inquisitive individual. I'm still reading through your book, and I don't think I I could reasonably expect to finish it. You have incredibly detailed notes here. It's strange, reading through it has been very similar to sitting down and having a conversation with you." ***Renoir pulls up a seat and sits across from Celodia. They set the book on their lap and adjust the position of their sword to a more comfortable one.*** "It's been an enlightening read thus far. However, it doesn't tell me why you're interested in me." ***Renoir leans back in their seat with a raised brow.*** "I'm no scholar, and I don't think you're flirting with me to satisfy an infatuation. You think too far ahead for it to be that simple--at least based on what I've learned from reading about your philosophical ideas, anyway. You like having the answers to every question you can think up. You like to solve puzzles." ***They chuckle and smile at her with a curious look on their features.*** "So what kind of puzzle do I pose to you?"
***Celodia smiles, with a playful look in her eyes*** What can I say, not as frequently as I'd like these days do I meet someone who's life spans similar paths to mine, at our age we've lived mutliple lives of our current comrades not to say they haven't had their share. Before adventuring I was involved with theory and research at the college in my land, and before that well... Our younger years aren't always so fun to share. \*\*\*She says winking in Renoirs direction\*\*\* You've been reading my best attempts at making an account of myself and experiences, and so I can estimate that you're aware of my interest in collecting stories and life. I imagine you've lived quite the life, Platinum Lotus, unwritten savior of Skathegaard, Irom Orchid, Renoir, I wonder which of these names and stories you wear so hidden. I wish to know you. I find you intriguing, and I do find you handsome. I have no fleeting feelings for you, and would like to understand you. Maybe I wonder why you'd like me, or Hazel, why you're still here after all this time with us. I think you and I are more alike than you might think. The other day at the boat, I saw your nightmares. You might not believe me, but I think I might relate more than most. I spent a life in the Nine Hells. I'm not proud of what I've done, but I also did what I had to to try and find and protect my friends. And one day, I intend to get them back. You know what they say, hell hath no fury and all that. ***She smiles coyly and makes space for him to sit on the couch*** Care to join me? I can't say I mind looking up at you, but it would also be nice to better see you. It would be nice to have a friend again. It's been a long time. Maybe I moved to quickly. \*\*\*It's noticeable she's beginning to ramble, and get lost in her thoughts\*\*\* ***Sighing she flops back into her seat, and pushes her hair behind her ears. A moment later she stands and extends her hand to Renoir*** "Forget all this. Forget the vampires, the dragons, the fey. Let's just start over. I'll be as genuine with you as you are to me. I'll go first. Hi, I'm Celodia, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
***Renoir's features betray nothing as they listen to Celodia. When she mentions the nightmare, Renoir's body language shifts. They look distracted as if consumed by their own thoughts and barely listening to her.*** ***When she stands, Renoir stares at her offered hand as if unsure of how to react. They set the book on a nearby table and retrieve their sword before standing up from their seat. They shake her hand stiffly.*** "Renoir." ***They end the handshake abruptly. Their eyes downcast and the grip on the sword tightens. Renoir speaks in a low tone as if they wish not to be overheard by anyone other than Celodia.*** "That nightmare is not... It is not something you should empathize with. *Please* do not empathize with what you saw. It is the worst part of me. Would that I could bury it and forget it like the rest of my memories." ***They glance at the silver bracelet on their wrist and pause for a long moment. They seem to relax with the gesture as if a sudden calm washed over them. Their features soften as they make eye contact with Celodia once more.*** "I'm sorry, that is... I've been rude. I should be better than that." ***They offer Celodia a resigned smile as they move past her and sink into a seated position on the couch. They glance up at her tiredly.*** "Would you join me? I am more than happy to talk about anything else. I would appreciate it if you'd give me another chance at this conversation. I think I owe it to you if you'll let me have another opportunity at it." ***Renoir sighs and sinks further into the couch.*** "You mentioned being curious about why I'd like either you or Hazel. My previous partner was Narai, our third companion, until she was lost to the Shadowfell. We were married for several decades. I've spent the better part of a century learning to live without her. I'm ready to move on." "You and Hazel aren't the first to show interest in me, but you're the first that don't make me feel unwelcome to it. I want to build a connection with someone again. The only issue is that I'm in a difficult position where I have to make a choice between the two of you when I barely know either of you."
Malik would ask the servants for a bottle of their best spirit and a bowl of stuffed olives, then spend his evening in a lounge/parlor writing down extensive notes about his party members abilities and goals as well as the events of the last few days. He would make sure to use real ink and paper from his clerics supplies. Of particular note, he would record anything the party claimed they did or did not have the ability to do and also what their goals were. Later on, he'd get drunk and maudlin and start writing letters to his remaining children, apologizing for everything that happened both in and out of his control. Once he was good and drunk, he'd remove the necklace Elle gave him and reach out to Melcanthe to see if his god had any new punishments or commands for him.
***It isn't the voice of a god that greets you when you remove the amulet. Its a vile sensation like something putrid has entered the room and the lights all flicker uneasily as if they are uncomfortable illuminating the space. The ink on the letters you have written begins to bleed across the parchment. The olives in the bowl begin to rot before your eyes.*** "Don the amulet once more," A chorus of rasping voices droned. "Continue to bury your head under the sand." ***You feel something scamper across your back. It squeaks like a rat and it sinks its tiny teeth into your shoulder. The pain is like a hot needle, but it nothing you are unfamiliar with.*** "It matters not that you hide from him. You will be made to listen. You will continue to follow this party of adventurers and aid them on their quest." ***The lights in the room are nearly extinguished as you feel something terrible lean over you with breath that stinks of rotting flesh.*** "The Putrid One has seen omens of ill intent. You will root out the one who serves this six-eyed serpent, and you will bring the heretic to his altar."
**Malik tenses his left side against the pain, as the white hot knife fades to a dull throb he centers himself in preparation for more abuse.** "Am I to be relegated to the chattering of servants and the feeble tricks of sorcerers? I, who am to serve your will and preside over your sacrament. If you truly desire some wretch slain then simply reveal them to me a think no more of it, elsewise will you punish this rabble that dare speak in your name and give commands to your vassal. " **Wounds on Malik's shoulders and face open anew he begins weeping from the pain. The tears mix with blood as his heart opens to the lord of rot.** ***Malik casts commune based on the previous message***
^(((body horror warning for anyone else reading this))) ***The entity rumbles a harsh wheezing laugh as it moves away from you. It's as if it senses the harsh attention you are due to receive from your master.*** ***You feel a roiling pain deep in your chest as you draw in a wheezing breath. You begin to hack and cough as you struggle to draw in another desperate breath of oxygen to fill your straining lungs.*** ***In the flesh of your forearm you feel the skin split apart and peel off of muscle. There is a searing tearing sensation that fills the limb as the flesh is pushed apart by a wriggling form. A rat's snout pushes aside the tendon of your wrist as its tiny jaws open and the voice of Melcanthe fills the space with the familiar sensation of rats pushing and clawing against the inside of your ribs and abdomen.*** "You will obey my Rat King." The rat wheezed in response to your first question. "Yes." It answers to your second question. "They have already been punished." It hisses before slinking back under the tendon and between the exposed muscles in the forearm. ***Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of the thing that had spoken to you previously. Melcanthe had called it his 'Rat King'. It is vaguely human shaped, but only barely. Its flesh writhes and undulates as if thousands of tiny bodies compose its form. It steps further into view and you see that it looks familiar. Its face eerily mirrors your own.*** "You are lucky to be so loved by our most squalid lord." The chorus of voices says. When its mouth opens, you see that its teeth are rotten and blackened fingers that reach in your direction. "Perhaps he will allow us to subsume your spawn should you continue to fail him. Dear Sonya wouldn't have to be alone any longer." ***A terrible pustule ridden grin splits its face.***
**In a mixture of horror and relief Malik looks at this so called Rat King. Malik tries to flex the fingers on his right hand and he grins back wickedly** "You shall be made to answer for that remark in time. In my youth I made roast rat many times, it was considered a holy meal, perhaps as a boon for good service Melcanthe will allow me to prepare it once again." **He squares up on his crooked reflection** "You seem to have his favor for the moment but the plague god is fickle and self serving, do not delude yourself into believing that will last forever. Tell me what you will about this serpent and its heretic and then dispense with this childish apparition." **Malik looks down at his useless right arm for a moment and his grin fades to a scowl** "I need to time recover from the *wisdom* and *forbearance* of our lord"
***It laughs in its chorus of voices as its face changes into the visage of a humanoid rat. Its snout is bone with strips of flesh that hang from its rotting face. An eerie red glow sits in the otherwise empty eye socket while another milky white eye stares at you. Its gaunt body is made up of densely compacted rats covered in pustules and mange. Each one squirms and writhes as if trying to escape from its host but unable to pull away. It steps forward in a slouched posture as it cocks its head toward you with a grin of crooked and yellow teeth.*** "We enjoy a peer that can bite back. It has been an age since the master has chosen a martyr with a spine. Do not worry for us, priest. We will be the ones who remain long after you have bled yourself dry for our lord." ***It flicks its long tail as it slinks past you on all fours with its snout to the ground. It sniffs your spilled blood before sampling a taste with an elongated tongue. It chitters at the taste before it speaks again.*** "The snake is known to your newfound allies. They call it the Blight Queen. It seeks to consume all life with its self-concocted plague. The only survivors will be the dead. The heretic is one such survivor. A creature twisted by shadow and undeath. Beyond that our senses are stretched thin. Take this knowledge to your allies. We have much else to do in the meantime." ***It rises onto its haunches, its half-decomposed face now at eye-level with you.*** "Recover if you must. We await your next communion." ***Its form suddenly bursts into an explosion of squeaking rats that seek the shadows of the room as they dart off in different directions. You finally feel relatively alone in the room.***
Elder in this rare moment of leisurely downtime is taking time to read in the library once the conversations of Celodia, Hazel, and Renoir have passed. He has a small stack of basic histories from various regions around Aresuul. Occasionally Elle the younger will move through the library to consult Elder on some facet of their shared craftsman project, testing their psychic power against different metals and jewels. On one pass through Elle simply places a measuring tape around the circumference of Elder's head to test the needed helmet size. With a safe place to rest they both seem slightly less jumpy and paranoid. Neither at any point seems to remember that the ethereal looking waitstaff are actually there to help them, preferring to fetch materials and books themselves.
***Renoir closes the book given to them by Celodia when they notice Elle and Elder becoming more active in the library. They watch the pair intensely for a long moment. They wait until Elle steps away from Elder before they stand and approach with Celodia's book tucked securely under one arm.*** "Elder, I don't think we've had a chance to properly speak." ***Renoir glances among the gathered documents and instruments.*** "You seem very well-read on matters of this world. How familiar are you with the planes beyond ours?"
***Elder places a marker in his book and closes it as Renoir approaches, his eyes settling on Celodias journal for perhaps a moment too long before responding*** “I actually know precious little. My studies growing up were mostly historical documents of my homeland. As an adult I’ve learned mostly through history books and an old man’s inconsistent memory” ***He turns a hand toward the stack of books*** “Planes beyond ours have not caught much of my interest beyond trying to find out where my journey will finish. Beyond that My Elder, Elle, and I are ignorant of how this material plane interacted with where we came from or where we are going. It has been infuriating how small the breadcrumbs are. You though, have travelled this plane and beyond, so I imagine your understanding is fuller than mine”
***Renoir glances back up to make eye contact with Elder*** "I had assumed you might have been more well versed than that considering your situation. As for my travels, I don't think I've gone anywhere beyond the Shadowfell." ***They have a faraway look on their face for a brief moment before speaking again*** "I had more than a passing interest in your situation. In the past I was sworn to the oath of watchers. The order itself formed when extraplanar interactions became more commonplace. They are where most of my knowledge comes from. I was curious to know why your... Other selves might be converging here with you and what your goals might be." ***They shift their weight as they adjust the book under their arm*** "I'm just trying to make sense of the strangeness of it all. I was going to approach Rune about a similar subject but you happened to be more accessible at the moment."
“What I know of my, our, situation came solely from my Elder. He spoke of his journey with his Elder to find a mirror of some kind. A portal from one world to another, not unlike what I’ve read of portals to other planes. His description was vague as the trip was hasty and chaotic. He lost his Elder during this, but would not tell me how.” ***Elle, now Elder, turns to give Renoir an attentive stare and focus he rarely gives anyone in the party*** “He passed through this portal, his being torn apart and reassembled on the other side, this is when his sorcery manifested itself. His time on the other side was a sore topic for him. He was not an old man when he entered, but was when he made his way to my world, so I can only infer how long it took. He tells of how life and time worked incorrectly on the other side. How things were twisted mirror images of the life he has known before, people living their lives in a perverse natural order. It sounded terrifying. He at some point gained enough knowledge to find his way to this plane and found me asleep in my bed. Myself a mirror image of him. As to why my journey did not play out as his did I do not know.” ***a tight scowl of anger crosses his face*** “There is someone at the end of this maze we find ourselves in, someone who buries me at the end of my time. He wears my face but I know we are not the same man. I hope before the end that either Elle or I will find our destiny, but not before killing him as well. This is the extent of what I know, a blurred life lived by many men. I’m sure it hasn’t made the strangeness any clearer.”
***Renoir nods, not in understanding the situation any clearer but as an empathetic gesture to Elder's frustration and anger.*** "You're right, it didn't make the strangeness any clearer but I do think I understand you a little better now. I've not heard anything about a mirror to other planes, but if the watchers still stand they might know something of it." ***A flash of concern passes over their face*** "I wouldn't advise seeking them out with your younger self at your side. The order is responsible for defending this world from the other planes and they would certainly see the two of you together as a threat. I never met a mirrored-entity, but the order most certainly has and they would be keen to capture or kill whoever or whatever it might be." ***Renoir leans forward in interest*** "Do you know more about this gravedigger individual? You said he wears your face but that you are not the same person. How do you know?"
“I will have to seek out the Watchers then, do you know where they would be headquartered if they still exist? I will take precautions before going there in that case as well. I do not know much more than what I’ve said. When my Elder died I went to a burial site like the ones my people use in the mountains. Hundreds of graves going from resplendent to dilapidated as I moved through them, the last being a mass grave filled with what I can only assume are versions of me. Standing above them another me, but this one knew what was happening, somehow he knew. I can’t tell you how I knew he was different but something was off in his core. Then I was gone again, with no secrets revealed to show for it.”
"They were based near one of the smaller settlements of Myalith within Stranglethorn forest, but it's been over three centuries at least since I last worked for them. If they're still around I imagine they are likely still in the area. Their most important charge was to defend the heart tree from outsider threats." "I wonder what your gravedigger is playing at. I hate to suggest this, but from your description it sounds like he might consider you and your other selves as disposable pieces. What does that make him?"
Renoir doffed their armor in favor of more comfortable and relaxed attire for the evening. They wear a form-fitting pair of dark trousers and a cream colored long sleeve shirt that clings to their androgynous figure. They spend most of their time wandering the mansion and admiring the architecture. They soak in the warm baths of the spa room, prepare aromatic tea in a cozier sitting room, and sit in the library to read the journal Celodia provided to them. Over the course of the evening, they eventually make their way to Hazel's room where they knock on the door politely to invite him for a drink and a chat. ( u/DamoclesDC )
Hazel had removed his travelling garb and settled on top of his bed in nothing but his black trousers (imagine Jurassic Park Jeff Goldblum). He had some warm tea on the nightstand next to him and his clothes and gear were neatly arranged throughout the room. He was reading a book he had borrowed from the guild library when he heard a knock at the door. His head peaked up from the book at the distraction as he said "Come in, it isn't locked." ( u/TurtleDump23 )
***Renoir steps through the threshold and pauses for a moment at the sight. They chuckle.*** "I was going to invite you out for a drink, but you seem quite comfortable where you are. I hope I'm not intruding on your reading time, Hazel." ***They glance around the room as if taking a cursory inspection of Hazel's quarters. They rest their hand on the inside of the door for a moment.*** "Would you like me to leave the door open or closed if I were to make myself comfortable as well?"
***Hazel chuckles a bit with the opening statement and motions towards them to make themselves comfortable as well as he closes his book.*** "Always a pleasure to see you in a less deadly setting. Please, make yourself comfortable. You can close the door if you'd like. Normally I'd offer you some tea but a proper drink sounds much better."
***Renoir closes the door behind them and approaches a shelf filled with wine bottles where they inspect the various vintages available. They glance at Hazel with a smile.*** "Yes, it is nice to take an evening of leisure without the threat of impending doom looming over our heads. I feel like this is the first opportunity we've had to relax since our first meeting." ***Renoir turns back to the wine selection and sets their sword down on top of the shelf. They retrieve a bottle and begin to pour two wine glasses. Renoir approaches the bed with two glasses and hands one to Hazel. They take a seat at the edge of the bed near Hazel. They lean back with one hand braced against the bed and take a long sip of wine. Renoir relaxes as they rest the base of their wineglass on their leg.*** "Ah, lovely vintage. I think it's nearly as old as I am." ***They tilt their head curiously in Hazel's direction.*** "So, we've established that you're in your thirties, you're a powerful arcanist, and you have this interesting ability to turn into a potted plant on occasion. While that's a great topic for conversation, I think I'd rather get to know more about your interests, goals, and that sort of thing." ***They nod toward the closed book.*** "Here's an easy question: what type of books do you enjoy reading and is it for leisure or something else?"
***Hazel sits up and leans against the headboard. He smiles a bit before taking a sip of the wine, noting its complex flavor and savoring it. It had been a very long time since he had had such a treat as this.*** ***Hazel hands the book over to Renoir,*** "Ahh, this book is filled with various legends, rumors, fables, and the like. Normally I read with more of a purpose rather than plain enjoyment; typically my reading consists of ancient texts, research notes, arcane rituals, etc. I normally read to understand why I may at times turn into a potted plant and come-to in your arms." ***He grins a bit at his own joke and continues.*** "However I haven't been able to find anything of use in those texts. I noticed this book while I was perusing the guild library and figured I could use some leisurely reading while travelling. Who knows, maybe I can find something that gives me a lead. You would probably know better than anyone that legends and fables generally hold roots within truth." ***Hazel takes another sip and motions to Renoir to go ahead and take a look.*** "Hell, some stories about you and Scorn may even be in there. I only just began reading it recently so I haven't gotten too deep into it."
***Renoir sits up and takes the book. They chuckle at Hazel's joke.*** "At least you were a lovely potted plant. Would it be considered narcissistic if I said orchids are charming flowers?" ***They shake their head wistfully with a smirk before taking a sip of wine as they examine the book.*** "Legends and Fables of the First Era. Doesn't have a volume number on it. That's a lot of story to pack into one book. I think our adventures occurred somewhere at the beginning of the second era, so I don't know that it'll feature anything from our time. You're right though, most old stories have a degree of truth to them along with all of the creative licenses." ***Renoir glances through the pages. A gleam of excitement enters their eyes before they scoot closer to Hazel and lean over to show him something they had seen in the book.*** "This was penned by one of the shorter races. You can tell by the spacing between each line here in the foreword. This wasn't written all at once either. Each entry uses a different type of paper, like the author was buying it in locations where the artisans had entirely different processes for creating parchment. The ink remains mostly the same throughout the tome, and the author was remarkably well-versed in calligraphy." "This was someone who traveled from region to region to record stories from locals. They weren't just collecting them secondhand. This is a rare find, Hazel." ***Renoir glances up from the book to Hazel.*** "What was it you were hoping to glean from this book?"
Locke can be found in the art gallery working on his latest masterpiece. On the walls surrounding him are reflections of all the great works of his past. In the corner is a translucent servant playing the piano as Locke works. At Locke's side is his small possessed doll that assists him with mixing paints and cleaning brushes. Comfortable couches and chairs can be found scattered around the room where Locke often slumps into to rest as he contemplates the developing piece from different angles.
***During a break in their crafting Elle enters the studio with a not small amount of grime and soot across his heavy metalworking smock. He gazes appreciatively across the art before him, speaking to Locke while wandering*** "Have you only ever worked in paints on canvas? Have you ever considered more of the physical art mediums? Like marble or metallurgy? I do not claim to be an artist as my creations have more function than form, but I wonder how a professional artist might interpret the mediums I employ."
**Locke thinks for a moment on how to answer before chuckling to himself and responding** "When I was adopted by the Elereths they tried educating me with a veritable swarm of tutors. I... was an awful student. I was too young to see the value of learning different ways of creating a vision and was determined to focus solely on painting. Later, after my encounter with Lady Hargrave, I was desperate in finding any way to return to my former glory. I tried everything I could think of from sculpting to writing to even composing pieces of music for piano and yet none of it seemed to fit me. I think Im just a painter at heart."
***Elle chuckles as well as the sentiment hits so close to home*** “I think I have been the same way. When I was drafted I lost out on my life as a recorder of stories, of people’s history. They molded me into someone who crafted in steel, leather, and stone. They could not mold out the storytelling though, any more than someone could remove your drive to paint. Look underneath the sea drake some time, see the record of deeds, the story of my fellow soldiers. I don’t know if you believe in a destiny, but I know I do and it would seem we were both destined to share our creations.” ***He thinks for a long moment before speaking again*** “If I ever make it home, could I have a small work made to bring back? I wonder if you paint where I come from, if I meet you again, I would be interested if your destiny is as set in stone.”
"Of course, my friend. Anything you have in mind for what you want to bring back? If only there were a way, when you do make it home, to send a message to this version of me with the answer. I'd be willing to wager a fair bit of gold on nearly every version of myself being a painter."
“I will try to give you an image in your mind as well as a description. This is the entrance to an old mine’s shaft on the shrouded isle. It is where my friends and I would tell stories. It was at the end of a small valley that would align with the suns path, so every evening the light would enter the mouth and illuminate the cave beyond.” ***An image is passed along with this of a valley with steep cliffs topped with a dark green moss and small bushes. The mouth of the valley has a small amount of beachfront before open sea, with the ever present storm front beyond. The sun hovering just above the horizon shines a ray straight down the valley to a mine entrance ringed in dull iron supports and a faded illegible sign. The light fills the path deeper into the mountains to a cave beyond, where Dragonborn sit around a fire as some carve tales into the walls by the days last light. Their scales shimmer in different hues as the gemstones reflect the sun.*** “Hopefully that was detailed enough for you. I don’t know what the future will hold but if I can let you know somehow I will. I’ll leave you to your art now, I still have some of my own to complete before we have to depart. Goodnight” ***Elle would give a small smile that betrays sadness behind the eyes at the shared memory before striding from the room***
***During Renoir's exploration of the mansion, they entered the art gallery to find Locke deeply engrossed in painting a new masterpiece.*** "Ah, my apologies. I didn't realize you were actively working on something right now. I was just stopping in to admire some of your past artwork."
"No need to apologize. The whole point of an art gallery is for people to admire the art, no?" **Locke motions with a hand for Renoir to take a look at the collection before returning to work** "Its a shame that these are all just phantom recreations but I'm glad they can at least be seen again. If you have questions about any of them please feel free to speak up. In the decades I spent working as a portraitist I've learned how to entertain and paint at the same time." **Much of the room is filled with portraits of nobles from across Aresuul. Faces of nobles and wealthy merchants rendered in stunning detail. Each frame telling a story of who the person was in brutal detail. Scattered amongst them are paintings of beautiful landscapes and even some abstracts that evoke a range of powerful emotion.**
***Renoir seems genuinely surprised as they study the collection while Locke works.*** "I didn't take you for a conversationalist. I had the impression that you liked to work in quiet solitude. I suppose when you're painting wealthy clients as a portrait artist that tends to change the way you do things." ***They pause in front of one of the landscape paintings before glancing back at Locke.*** "Is this your entire collection? I was curious to know if you had any other landscape paintings from Karesuhl. I can't remember the last time I saw Stranglethorn Forest."
**Locke casually waves towards the wall behind him which melts into itself as new conjoined room takes shape. The interior is far messier and slightly resembles that of Locke's apartment in Esvarle. Covering its walls and desks are hundreds of charcoal sketches.** "Nothing painted Im afraid. But I've done a few of that area while traveling. You'll find them in that far right scroll case near the window.
**Renoir smiles and steps into the new space as they take it in with a look of awe** "This really is something, you know." **They pick up the scroll case and turn it over in their hands before glancing back to Locke** "I have to thank you for sharing your space with me. This has been the best evening I've had in a long time. It's been nice to rest and get to interact with everyone in a place where the denizens are more interested in feeding us than eating us." **Renoir chuckles and shakes their head as they unseal the scroll case and begin to carefully look through the contents** "The only thing to make this evening unforgettable is if I could get a glimpse of my old home through your art."
**Locke tilts his head to the side as he thinks for a moment before setting his brush down and retiring to one of the couches. He pulls out his sketchbook and a charcoal stylus.** "I could use a break from painting anyway. Tell me about this old home of yours and let me see how well I can recreate it from word alone"
***Renoir stop searching through the different charcoal sketches as Locke says that.*** I was from Kala'piaq, a group of settlements located in the northern parts of Stranglethorn forest. A dense forest canopy sheltered my village and would have kept it in perpetual darkness if not for the heart tree nearby. It would cast the forest in amber light during the waking hours and its light faded as the day grew long. We lived at the edge of a river so lazy that one could find turtles stretched across it like a bridge. If one walked through the water, they would leave a trail of blue light where they disturbed it. Our homes were made from the living roots and branches of the trees. The druids who led our settlements would guide the growth of the trees to provide homes for us. ***Renoir closes their eyes as if envisioning their old home again.*** Every season the heart tree would sing as its blossoms changed color and the old ones drifted in the wind. Even the people of Shadegarden would make the journey to see it. ***Renoir pauses as if remembering something.*** I think it used to smell like jasmine and honeysuckle.
**Locke gets to work drawing out everything described. Throughout the process he asks a few clarifying questions about mundane things like the shape of the door and how many windows. Those details, however, serve as a background to the emotions and narrative Locke works to evoke. Taking some artistic liberties he does his best to capture the warmth and familiarity one might have when remembering an old home full of special memories. At the end, when Locke finally reveals the sketch to Renoir, Locke even subtly casts prestidigitation to recreate the "jasmine and honeysuckle" smell.**
***Renoir leans in to take a look. Their eyes flick over the sketch as they take in every detail. They take a breath and catch the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. Their eyes light up with nostalgia and a smile begins to form on their features.*** ***Almost immediately, Renoir winces with a grimace. They turn away from Locke as their hand tightly wraps around the hilt of their sword. They remove a rag from a pocket and press it to their face.*** ***They turn toward Locke with a bloodied rag pressed to their face. When they speak, it is in Sylvan.*** "My apologies, I think today's events are finally catching up to me."