Unfortunately a new day has done little to make the lands of December any warmer. There's a light snowfall from the gray skies as Redmane and Thomas set out atop Redmane's rather grumpy steed. Hours pass as Thomas tells Redmane which way to direct the odd horse. Honestly, if there is a trail or some sort of landmarks to guide the way Redmane sure doesn't see them. And with the way Thomas nonchalantly indicates when to adjust their direction, he makes it seem like it ought to be obvious which way to do.
The air here is stagnant and has a faint smell of decay upon it.
"That's a long river," Redmane notes, and dismounts. "Stay," she tells the horse, and trudges through the snow after Thomas. "Before we go on, you'll be able to tell if anyone else has been here since your own visit, won't you?" she asks the fey.
"I would be a poor tracker if I couldn't," Thomas quips and flashes a grin. The fey then darts ahead, bounding through the deep snow and making it look easy. To Redmane it feels like walking through dry sand; a constant pulling weight on her feet. It's good her boots are oiled or her feet would also be wet and cold.
The woman takes her time catching up, not wanting to rush and slip. "Have you always been like this, or is there still a bit of wolf left in you?" she asks with a grin. "It's like following a playful puppy."
"Life is only as fun as you make it," Thomas non-answers as he heads up the hill. Near the top the warped trees are close enough together that he vaults himself up and catches the bark of the nearest tree with his foot, then propels himself to the next. For at least the next several feet, he doesn't even touch the snow as he bounces off tree trunks. When he reaches the top he finally stops and crouches down in the snow.
Redmane stops a few paces behind Thomas, and asks quietly, "Something ahead?"
"Not sure. Looking," Thomas answer in a low voice as he now crawls forward on all fours. His chin barely clears the snow as he inches down the other side of the hill. After a few minutes he sits back. "I do not believe anyone has been here since I was here last," he says in a more normal tone. Motioning ahead, he says, "Do you see those ripples in the snow near the base?"
Coming up from behind, Redmane leans over Thomas and looks. "What causes the ripples?" she asks.
"Wind blowing snow back into old footprints. The edges of the hole made when you step tend to collect more snow, hence the ridges. Also, when you step, you tend to press snow to the sides as much as down. So, the sides are a bit stiffer than fallen snow and holds form. See how they're ridged outward from the entrance? That's caused from a heal to toe roll of a foot, pressing it forward ... so from that I can tell the only recent movement was something exiting," Thomas explains ad he waves towards the base of the hill. "The spacing of the ridges indicate the side of the stride of the creator. Up close, I could even tell you weight by removing the drift snow and seeing how much show was compacted beneath the feet, but there is no real need. The spacing is the right width for the creature's stride and the pressure ridges are consistent with an exit of the cave. So ... the last movement here was when I rode the bugger out." He grins lopsidedly.
"Hmm," Redmane goes, and looks back at her own footprints. "Does the river extend further beyond this cave?" she then asks. "I don't want anything coming upstream to surprise us."
"It does. It connects with a river that flows westward," Thomas answers and stands back up. As he dusts off his knees, he says, "I haven't gone that way yet because of lack of time. Not to mention rumors about the mountains in the West."
"What rumors?" the knight asks.
"Of a great dragon forged of iron. Possibly a relic of the dwarves, or possibly something older. Now, curious as I may be about such things, even I won't go hunting a creature of iron. That would be ... foolish," Thomas answers as he now walks down the hill. An outcropping ahead seems to shade the entrance to a cave. The smell of decay is stronger the closer they get to the cave.
"The creature's last meal?" Redmane asks, fanning the air to indicate the stink. "Or just his unnatural odor?"
"A mix of both," Thomas answers and shrugs. He takes a running leap off the outcropping and lands in front of the cave. "How good is your vision in the dark?"
"Average, once I adjust," Redmane notes. "I never took to the idea of wearing a patch over one eye all the time to be able to see in the dark at a moment's notice."
"Good, it affects your depth perception anyway, not to mention weakens the eye," Thomas says and just saunters into the cave before them. A rush of air rolls from the cave, bringing with it another wave of the scent of decay. If Redmane didn't know better, it would seem like the cave was breathing.
"A lot of air comes down with the river, I imagine?" Redmane asks, wondering at the source of the breeze.
"It can," Thomas calls back from somewhere inside, "The flow of water creates a vacuum in right passages and draws air along. Are you coming?"
"I'm right behind you," the knight says. "So no playing any tricks on me in the dark, agreed?"
"Now, would I do that?" Thomas asks.
"The real question is could you resist doing that?" Redmane notes with a smirk.
"When it matters," comes the answer.
"I'd appreciate a torch, all the same," the woman notes, stepping into the gloom.
The snow gives way to stone. And that gives way to an odd crunching sound as Redmane moves deeper in the cave. Ahead she can make out the outline of Thomas in the dim light. He is crouched down and apparently fiddling with something. There are several sudden bursts of sparks and then the dull glow of a red flame flares up. Thomas stands and holds a makeshift torch in his right hand. The 'stick' looks disturbingly like some sort of leg bone. "Here," he says, offering it.
Redmane takes the torch, and looks at he floor, half-expecting it to be covered in Years worth of bones.
Her expectation is confirmed. Ghastly white bones line the floor, possibly several feet deep by now. Some Redmane can make out as fey easily enough. Others are wolf, and yet others are probably deer. The largest of the bones look equine, but the size and thickness of them is rather unusual.
Kneeling down, the knight pulls up one of the larger bones. "You have giant horses around here, like mine?" she asks Thomas.
"Not quite like yours, but we have large ones, yes. They're wild and live in the spring and summer lands for the most part. Some herds may come out this far, but it is rare," Thomas answers, "And usually the result of some bickering between the males. Well, a particular male, anyway."
"Oh, I see - you know them all by name I suppose?" Redmane asks with a shake of her head as she drops the bone. "This doesn't tell us much. We need to find anything that suggests the beast had allies or contacts. Someone forged a note to Lord December and had it delivered by crow."
"I know one by name, and that is more than enough, believe me," Thomas comments as he rolls his eyes. "There are rooms further on, come on," he adds and waves for the knight to follow as he heads deeper into the cave.
Watching her step, Redmane follows along with the torch. She keeps it held high to one side usually, so that it doesn't cast Thomas' shadow directly in front of him.
The floor of bones eventually fades to a well-cut stone floor. Ahead are doors that line the side of a wide hallway. "Straight ahead, past the doors, and you will reach the docks. It's how I came when I ambushed the creature in its lair," Thomas explains. "I haven't looked in the side rooms yet."
"So this was another dwarven complex in the past?" the knight asks, looking to the nearest side door. "Let's see if the doors are locked."
"Go ahead," Thomas says and waves towards the door. "Or ... are you afraid something bug and ugly will jump out?" he asks, grinning.
Redmane tries the first door.
The hinges complain loudly as they move for the first time in probably a long time. The room beyond is a mess of destroyed and rotten furniture. It looks like it might have been a bedroom once; but now it's just a graveyard for rotting wood.
"Hmmm, doubtful that this was used by the creature," Redmane notes, and moves to the next door.
The next room is migh like the first; a room overcome in decay. But ... a surprise is waiting in the third. The room is neat and tidy and there is even a simple rug covering much of the floor. Simple, but well-kept, furniture line the room. Against the far wall is a bed large enough for perhaps two people. A few feet away from it is a ceramic stove with apparently silver piping going into the wall as a vent for smoke. Right next to the stove is a well-worn writing desk. Scraps of parchment sits atop it, along with a quill resting in an empty bottle.
much like. ..
"Here we go!" Redmane says, bringing the torch inside and looking for a layer of dust, or else signs that the room has recently been used.
Thomas follows behind Redmane and even closes the door once they are both in the room. There's no dust at all, which is strange in itself. It also makes it difficult to tell if anyone has been there recently or not. The fey's attention is drawn to the writing desk ... so that is where be goes. He doesn't touch anything there just yet. Instead, he crouches down and peers at the stack of paper on its surface.
"No ink," Redmane notes, peering into the bottle. "Anything in the desk itself?"
Thomas draws out a small dagger and lifts the top of the desk with it. He reaches inside and pulls out a small black stick. He touches it to the tip of his tongue, then grimaces, noting, "Ink powder. You grind this and mix it with water. Tastes terribly bitter."
"Also some wax sticks for making seals," Thomas comments as he puts it back and peers into the desk more. "And ... hm. Hold the desktop, please."
Using one hand to hold the torch, Redmane uses her other to hold the desk steady. "Maybe there's a seal in here somewhere then," she suggests.
Thomas reaches further into the desk and pulls out a small box, maybe three inches by eight inches, with a two inch depth. Sitting back a bit, he opens the case. He snorts and shakes his head, then shows Redmane. Inside are two rows of sex round posts of quartz. On the top surface of each is a different picture of an animal. Redmane recognizes the seal of House May in the top row. "All the seals, not just one for December," he mutters darkly.
six, not sex!
"So, this is where the forgeries came from," Redmane guesses. "Which means someone visits this place to meet with the monster, unless it could somehow transform itself into a fey."
"I doubt it shifts," Thomas says as he closes the case of seals, "So, it lightly has an ally." Setting that aside, he resumes staring at the stack of paper in front of himself. "Can you see if there is some coal in the coal box of the stove?" he asks.
Redmane checks the little stove for coal, asking, "How strong is the current of the river?"
"Moderate. But it's really cold. I don't recommend a swim," Thomas says.
There's a few bits of unused coal in the bottom of the coal box.
"I just wanted to know how hard it was to row against," Redmane notes. "Just a few pieces of coal in the box. What do you make of that?"
"It has been used?" Thomas says with a small shrug, "Bring me a piece. I have an idea."
"Here you go," the knight says, carrying the bits of coal over to Thomas, and watching to see what he does.
Thomas takes a few of the smaller pieces and sets them on the writing desk. Using the butt of the knife in his hand, he crushes them into a fine black powder. Carefully, he scoops up the dust, then sprinkles it over the remaining stack of paper on the desk top. He wipes his hands off on his pants, then lifts up the first several sheets and shakes them slowly from side to side, removing the coal dust over a period of several strokes. What is left behind is a very fine series of lines of script written across the page. Unfortunately, it is too faint and broken to make out exactly what it says. But ... at the bottom there is a large circular spot where the seal was likely pressed down hard. Thomas peers at it this way and that, then finally says, "That is strange."
"Is that the impression left from the quill?" Redmane notes, grasping what Thomas has uncovered. "I'll have to remember never to write atop another parchment if I have to record anything private."
"Yes, it is. If you press hard enough you will leave a slight indentation in the paper below," Thomas comments absently. "This worries me, though. It isn't what I expected to find."
"Which seal was used, and what does it say?" Redmane asks.
"I don't recognize the seal," Thomas admits with a frown. "I've never seen it before. twelve circles in a spiral, all falling away from a central shape," he continues as he tries to tilt and move it to get a better look. "The center might be a castle, or it might just be a square. Damn, the wax must have absorbed all the finger details."
"What is the seal of the Royal Family?" Redmane asks.
"Not this. The royal family seal changes with each shift between the houses. It is usually the seal of their house, surrounded by eleven much smaller versions of the remaining houses. For example, if House November were in the royal seat, it would be a hawk in the center with the wolf, the stag, and so on, circling it," Thomas explains as he draws out his own quill and starts making a rough copy of what he can make out in the coal dust echo.
"Maybe your friend Oberia will know," Redmane suggests, and then turns to the bed. She kneels down to look under it for anything stored underneath or attached to the frame.
"If she doesn't, another may. But I have no desire to deal with her again," Thomas mutters as he folds up the copy and tucks it away. "I have an uneasy feeling about this. Something tugging at the back of my mind. It's like ... a glimpse of a nightmare I have forgotten."
"So you don't think it's the personal seal of whoever this scribe was?" Redmane asks from the floor. "Could you make out anything that was written?"
"I don't think it was the personal seal of the scribe. And no, I can't. The impression is too faint and broken," Thomas grumbles.
Something catches Redmane's attention, a small glint of metal far under the bed. Whatever it is, it isn't larger than a coin.
"Help me move the bed," Redmane says, getting back up. "There's something metallic underneath.
"Didn't we move the bed enough already?" Thomas can't help but quip as he comes over to help. IT's heavy, but the pair of them manage to shift it enough to make the object reachable.
"There it is," Redmane says, and reaches for the coin-sized object.
Once Redmane has it, it's not exactly a coin. It's more like a pin or pendant. It has a vaguely heart-shaped style to its outer edges. In the center is the stylized face of a man looking to the left. A thin mustache curls over his lip and of all things, a feather is held close to those lips in what looks like a right hand. The hair atop the man's head, what little can be seen in spite of his hat that is, seems to lay flat and roll down the back of his head where it ends in a short curl at the base of his neck.
"Funny sort of profile, don't you think?" Redmane asks as she offers the pendant to Thomas. "Reminds me a bit of... something."
Thomas peers at it for a moment, then chuckles. "The creature had more than one ally, or enjoyed games. It's a game piece, Redmane," he explains and offers it back, "It's the Jack of Hearts. Part of an old board game, I wager."
"Hmmm, too bad it wasn't a scale from your iron dragon," Redmane notes, pocketing the bit of metal for now. "At least we'd know it was from the West then, right?" She looks around the room, and back at the bed. "At least we won't have to stay outdoors tonight," she says with a grin, and pats the mattress.
"You wish to sleep in the lair of our enemy? And people question my sanity," Thomas says with an amused quirk of his lips. "Well, if we're going to stay here, we best get some wood and get the oven lit, I suppose..."