#makeshiftcenser

@makeshiftcenser

She’s quick to rebutt, “No no! They just... appeared, out of nowhere. These in... in particular.” Toustain gives over a small canvas bag, the tarot cards inside. “I don’t know from who. I don’t... even really know what they are, and I shouldn’t want to.” Despite that, she remembers their strange, staring faces. Their curious positions, the cups, the coins...

[ @makeshiftcenser ]

Coming back from a dig in the deep of a dungeon like the cove was not only horringly inconvenient, but also very uncomfortable and quickly very disturbing. Given her intense dislike for the undead, the sight of bloated corpses, with wet, pale skin slipping off of their shambly moving bodies had left Plucknet with quite the lot of memories she’d rather forget. The picture had been permanently burned into her eyeballs it felt like, and once the party had returned to Hamlet, luckily more or less in one piece, all four still alive but stinking of wet stone and kind of like fish, the arbalest had been left standing the midst of the road for a few minutes by now, telling her comrades that they could gladly go to the tavern without her.

Plucknet needed something entirely different to take her mind off of the kinds of horrors she had - once again - been exposed to. This was the kind of shit that made her reconsider her profession, but then again, she loved the thrill of the adventure. She’d miss it severely, and because of this very reason, she decided to rather bite into the sour apple and swallow the discomfort that still clung to her spine and stomach.

The scarred, dark woman leaned her crossbow over her shoulder, climbing the staircases up to the abbey. Once she arrived there, after exchanging just some words, she wandered the hallfways, straight for flagellation. The cold stone here was different than that of the cove, something she was used to and more comfortable with. When she was led into one of the chambers, one of the sisters followed her inside, and Plucknet stripped herself of her upper clothing, resting herself onto her knees, heads bowed.

@makeshiftcenser

It had been a while since Toustain had paid a visit to the antiquarian whom she knew best. Sure, there were some others that had arrived in the hamlet, wrapped in many fabrics and selling strange trinkets. But there was one that Toast knew, and in fact, trusted. There were rumors that the antiquarians would cheat you out of your gold, but Toast didn't think that Vesci would ever do that to her.

She needed something. Maybe an artifact to brighten up the sanctuary, or even perhaps something more offense-based, something she could take on a mission that would be able to help her in a time of need. So she dresses in her one set of civilian clothes, tucking her hair back into her kerchief, and sets out to talk to the woman.

The way is pleasant - the overcast weather made things easier and cooler than if the sky was clear. The main road bustles in the usual way, chattering voices overlapping, a few birds flying out from their unseen perches. Toustain admires their wings as they go by, blades cutting against the grey sky. She spies Vesci, who is... alone? So many of the shops looked busy, she didn't know why the woman wasn't attracting more business.

@makeshiftcenser

When Nesdin had first been told that he was beign scripted to spearhead an expedition into mapping out an area known only as The Cove, he had expected a location open and calm- unlike the others that he had the misfortune of visiting. It readily became apparent that this was not the case, that the Cove was just as confined and decrepit- mangled bodies of aquatic creatures littered the corridors, most of the unnatural persuasion. And what it lacked in open bodies of water, it attempted to make up for in an excessive amount of dampness that clung to everything, even the air.

This particular band,a foreign crossbow sharpshooter, a traveling merchant, and a masked bounty hunter, seemed to fair well so far. They had taken his transformation with a surprising deficit of questions ( Was that on purpose? Can you control it? ) before moving on. Time was difficult to keep track of, the lack of sunlight removing any reliance on the natural rhythm their bodies kept, but the arbalest judged the time spent from the amount of torches burnt out and decided they should camp when the eighth piece charred away into a wooden husk.

No one had any disputes.

Which is why he currently finds himself wrapping a bandage around a puncture wound in his side, the crossbow user ( he still had not been able to catch her name ) had done the lion’s share of treating the wound, which left him with the time consuming act of actually covering it up. When he was finishing up, he found her resting, weapon unstrung and lying at her feet. Nesdin turned to try and gauge the state of his companions around the campfire. He wasn’t quite sure if the bounty hunter was awake or not, the mask left much to the imagination and he seemed to have no issue in keeping a level line of sight for long periods of time without making a noise, which left-

The merchant, not a person he expected to find delving into dangerous destination and yet here she was: holding her censer close to her chest- one which had plagued enemies and had a curiously invigorating effect when she had turned it on him several times. She seemed.... agreeable.

@makeshiftcenser

Toast walks along the cobblestone road towards the nomad wagon, a couple of gold pieces in hand. Honestly, Toustain didn’t like walking around with money, it always felt like it was burning a hole in her robes, or her palms. But Crevecoeur had mentioned hand-fans, and she didn’t want for the graverobber to feel responsible for getting such things, especially at the vestal’s request.

Then again, Toustain was not used to handling money. She already felt like she was doing it wrong.

@makeshiftcenser

The Ruins were the first part of the Estate that had been dug back up by a small troupe of scoundrels. Scouted by some, cleansed by others. They were here to fight. Nothing more, nothing less. The crusader headed their team, and Toast found that she was soothed by his presence, even if he was a stranger. She finds her mind drifting to a specific helm and cross before clearing her mind again. This crusader was his own man - a bit timid, soft-spoken but he carried his sword with authority.

The highwayman was limping, something that didn’t seem to impact his aim in the least. He had cackled when she offered a salve of blessed balm to him, saying that the Light wasn’t going to be what saved him. Gold was.

And that brought her to the woman ahead of her, swaddled in so many layers of fabric that Toast herself was beginning to feel the heat. She was known, her kind of person, Antiquarian, for being of some kind of obscene luck. Finding trinkets and baubles were easy for them; gold always had spotlight shone upon it. And with those plentiful pockets, they were expected to get a good haul.

Toustain keeps the mission in mind. To kill all the creatures that resided in these stone ruins. But her mind wanders, occasionally, as they walk towards the entrance, the crusader taking the first steps into the cavern. She thinks of the gold they could bring back, and what good it could do.