Silk and Bones - [Tilly, Courcy]

[Bloodtrailkiller]

    The path to those old and vanquished Ruins was clean cut and well travelled; there were markers and even an odd lamp hammered into the various black trees. Though most were in disrepair, a few held a candle and an unpilfered matchbox to strike it, should the passerby be so inclined. Most were offering a slight glow to the shadows cast over by the strangling canopies that tried their best to smother the light that bit through the dark in a hypnotic dance that played on t'ill the party finally broke free of the shadowy cage of the lingering Weald to spy upon a familiar door that was host to the sunken ruins where the Moth Knight had rested.

    There was, of course, a modest campsite to the left of the descending steps that led to the grand door which was pried open and secured with cut timbers and nails. The campsite itself had a small lean-to where Estate Guards may patrol out to, no doubt as punishment. It seemed there had been rations stowed in a box next to the lean-to, but it was broken open by some critter or the other. Whether or not anything remained would demand a thorough investigation.

    Odd stools and benches were lain out around a clear firepit of good stones and a metal spit. A humble cast iron pot lay turned over beside the stones, char marks on both the belly and bottom of the pot could be seen from the top of the stairs.

    Altogether the campsite was far better than most accommodations one might find outside of the Estate. Indeed, some might wager it was homelier than some of the free domains inside the Estate even.

    The flanks that led down the steps were flush with greenery and shrubs that had been hacked back by shovels and machetes, though mint leaves and the odd buttercup sprouted still from its blackened brambles and dower grasses. There were a few notable paths that cut through the shrubbery; some man-made, others from some unspeakable beast or the other.

Given the vantage and memory, Tilly might note that the path the Deserters must have took was still there and well traveled. Though, given the post and lamp set beside it, it seemed the Hamlet guards have usurped ownership.

    The Hamlet's presence could be seen on various banners and tapestries pinned about; the crest of the Darkest pinned hither and thither in various states of decay.

    Most prominently was a grand display of the crest emblazoned upon a flag marking the exterior of the Ruins, just outside the door and next to a dug-in position made of wooden barricades and unmolested supply crates. A brazier sent old, dead smoke lazily into the air; smoldering still after a day or two since being snuffed by some estimates.

    The Doors themselves lay ajar, with their carvings marred by the braces there; steel deadfall traps and barricades busied the entrance, the crude barbs glistened in the midday sun, and bloodstains and gore could be seen sticking to the sharp metal bits and wooden boards that defended the entrance. The meat smelled rank, and of the Warrens. A small buzz of flies could be heard just off the staircase, somewhere in the brush.

    Entering the Dungeon would take some time to either navigate carefully, or some strength and wit to move the barricades and disarm the traps respectively...

[Vanitypirate]

The Estate's mark upon this dungeon was both a welcome and dreaded sight: there would be no gun-toting Frenchmen threatening to loose lead at herself or Courcy, but at the same time it lead her to cast doubts as to how much treasure would really be there...
Truthfully, she was uncertain as to which she'd prefer.

The brisk hike had her feeling more worn-out than she was willing to let on. It took a great deal of concentration to keep her posture upright and her back straight when it had begun to ache, but there was little time to spare for resting. If Courcy did not complain, then she would not.

"We ought to take our pickings from the camp when we start to leave, in case any of the Heir's men come back." Tilly eyed the mint and drew her knife, making to take a cutting of it home; she adored mint and had a mind to plant it sometime.
She hoped Beansprout was unoffended.

"I'd like not to be caught with their gear red-handed."

[black379]

Wide-eyed, Courcy looked over the campsite as they approached. She was used to thin bedrolls on the dirt, craggy stones set about the fire, and sparse supplies. This encampment was cozy and well equipped. If it weren't for their hurry, and that it was only just morning, Courcy was inclined to relax there. But Tilly was right. If a patrol showed up while she and Tilly were squatting in the camp, it wouldn't matter much if they were working for the heir or not.

The hellion moved on to the steps, looking ahead to the decrepit doorway with grisly stains.

"What's this place like? Anything I should look out for?" She glanced back to Tilly to see her collecting the mint.

[Vanitypirate]

"Traps, if I remember right. Spike-traps that swing out at you, steam-traps that'll blow up on you and throw some metal bits for good measure, and probably lots others I don't know about; those are just the ones I had the pleasure of walking into." As though to stock up the brim of her hat, she tucked the sprig of mint into the band and another handful of leaves into her coat pocket.
With a glance over her shoulder and a wary squint at the entrance, she shrugged and straightened up.

"Looks like a couple others got added out there, so... tread carefully. If you don't know something's safe, don't touch it." She plucked a pinch of mint from her coat, and made to chew on a few of its leaves, and offered the rest up to the good Beansprout stuck inside the band of her hat.

In following her own advice, she walked slow and steady up to the mouth of the dungeon, making to get a closer look at the traps and perhaps to discern a means to disarm them.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

There were several sprouting growths of mint to harvest, and many more still were growing as Tilly came closer to the brush and the veil of brambles was peeled back some. Most were struggling to survive amidst the choking black vines and thorns, but those that did survive were strong and tall with many leaves to harvest; it would be worthwhile to return and harvest again later, if one was so inclined.

However, the Dagger sheathed in the brim of Tilly's cap finally began to awaken, writhing slightly at the new twigly companion; slowly, the vines on the pommel of Beansprout's hilt began to extend out towards the mint.

And, as Tilly eyed the various traps and barricades set up around and within the door of the Dungeon, she would see a sporadic amount of deadfall and lever traps now just past the wooden barricade positioned infront of the slightly opened door. There was dried blood on the top of and around the barricade, as well as on most of the traps.

The traps themselves numbered about twelve, as far as Tilly could see into the dim depths of the Dungeon; arrayed so that one might be enticed to try and meander thru on dexterity alone, but the task would be far more trying than one might imagine.

The traps were hardly difficult to disarm, though all twelve traps Tilly could see were armed and poised to fall and crush, or snap out and impale. The most obvious solution would be to trigger the traps with a long stick by knocking out the boards supporting the deadfall traps, and by making the string that held the lever traps taut snap.

The designs were simple and effective; a lack of complexity made the solutions straightforward but, debatably, dangerous.

[black379]

Courcy followed her partner to the doorway and peered in over her shoulder. What she could see through the portal was gruesome and disheartening. She wondered if the whole ruin would be littered with traps like this. It dangerously complicated the simple task of gathering moths.

"I should go first. I couldn't bring you back to Lekalis in bits and pieces." She inhaled deeply and Tilly's lead. Her halberd was long enough, she hoped, to trip the devices without getting too close. Courcy held her weapon by the neck, cautious of the pointy end in her direction, and tried to dislodged the nearest trap's trigger.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

Courcy's halberd was certainly a long enough stick to safely trigger the traps arrayed before them; though moving past the barricade was a bit difficult, on account of the blood and viscera, each trap was triggered and each time she did a deadfall trap would drop its heavy spiked stone down onto the slabs of the ruins, or a lever would snap out and catch air with its vicious prong.

It took the better part of an hour, accomodating for a few awkward moments where the butt end of Courcy's halberd got caught underneath the deadfall trap's heavy stones and she had to wiggle the weapon out, but soon enough the path was clear.

At least, as clear as the dark depths of the Dungeon before them could be.

Granted, as Courcy's disarming-path brought her slightly into the ajar door's embrace, she would see that a portion of the roof of the Ruins was collapsed inwards, and sunlight beamed in and bounced off of the stones and pillars inside; slightly illuminating the shadows of a veritable battlefield...

[Vanitypirate]

Tilly had welcomed herself to wait the better-part-of-an-hour that it took to fully disarm the traps, which she did not mind; she much preferred to ensure that they'd not be skewered than to finish their expedition an hour sooner.
She pushed Beansprout's vines away from the cutting of mint in her hat. He was hungry, she supposed.

Mind your manners. Leave it alone and I'll feed you any tree you like.

She glanced to Courcy as she worked and elected not to stray too far, only just a few yards away to a veritable sapling compared to the giant oaks of the weald. Drawing Beansprout out of the hat, she held him forward so that he could do what he does best.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

There was a dissatisfaction in what Tilly did, but there was begrudging compliance too, as Beansprout's mintly snack was taken away in place of a humble oak.

Beansprout's already outstretched tendrils extended further out and slowly began to dig into the tree with ravenous appeal; any woes were replaced with an immense and carnal glee as Beansprout's tendril'd roots, at first, were singular and purposeful in their direction. But now they began to rapidly split and branch out from their initial thick roots. Smaller strands webbed out at an almost alarming pace before Tilly's eyes as Beansprout began to visibly drain the tree.
Before her eyes, the tree began to grey and soften around where Beansprout's tendrils had dug into the tree. It was of no size to be of substantial worry should the tree fall, but it did begin to wilt visibly within just a handful of minutes. Given time, the tree would no doubt be completely turned to mush as its essential nutrients were drained. Sating both the dagger and Tilly's appetites, or at least impressing the illusion therein.

[black379]

"That's..." Courcy huffed as she wriggled the end of her weapon free from another fallen stone. "The last of them. It had better be." She shifted her weight onto the halberd, acting like a crutch, and wiped her brow of sweat. It took her a moment to realize Tilly wasn't at her back. She peered to the end of the hall. The light breaking through the collapsed ceiling meant they wouldn't immediately need a torch. Carefully navigating the sprung traps and barricade, Courcy peeked outside for her friend.

"It's clear now! More or less." She spotted Tilly near the dying tree. "Looks like more rubble ahead. No moths."

[Vanitypirate]

"Ah! Jolly good." Tilly looked over her shoulder and gave Courcy a cheery wave as she made to pry Beansprout's roots away from the tree.

Excellent work, little one. We've got to move, now, but we can come back later.

Smoothing her coat, satisfied, and mind abuzz with the realization that feeding Beansprout fed her in tandem. At this moment, food was her greatest expense (sans the wedding and its trappings). If she could visit any grove of trees and find the same result as she would in the tavern, she had no reason to go hungry.
It was an excellent discovery. She stuck Beansprout back up atop her hat, but also stuck some mint leaves in his hilt for him to snack on.

"You're awfully good at that. Good gods, you got every one of them." She admired, squinting into the dungeon. "I ought to teach you how to pick locks. You might have a talent for this sort of thing."

She looked about, at the corners and edges of the room. Indeed, as Courcy observed, she found no moths. There was nothing but disarmed traps and an odor inside that made her stomach churn.
Pawing her nose, "Maybe they're... further inside?"

Though she remembered a swarm of moths that greeted her the last time she was here.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/Beansprout/

The dagger removed itself from the tree easily enough, though it did still hold onto the bark like a child might cling to a doll, it left behind a rather gnarled and drained twig in its stead, riddled with a menagerie of holes and corroded bark where the roots had dug in and coiled about respectively.

All the same, the weapon seemed relatively content to ease itself into its familiar bindings on Tilly's cap.
\\
/The Moth Hall/

Indeed markedly absent of moths, and dust too, the main hall extended out before Tilly and Courcy like a grand gala room with several pillars boasting some relatively fresh blood stains spattered across the stoneworks. Perhaps a week or so foul.

To Tilly's best recollection, the cave-in that let light into the hall was new, or at least freshly expanded. The means of which seemed to be simply the innate corrosion and reclamation of nature, as warped and vile as it was in the Darkest estate.

With the two peering into the Dark, their eyes adjusted with the help of sunlight. Making it possible to make out the things in the darkness if one squinted hard enough. There were signs of a skirmishes throughout the hall: bloodstains to scraped or chipped stone, to small chunks of matted hair or flesh rotting in the dank mildew of the Dungeon's shadows. There were even some peculiar weapons and armor lain in piles beside each pillar. With the right disposition, one could assume there may be valuables within. Peculiar at first, then grim and unsettling, were pikes or long pieces of lumber embedded into the slabs of stone; breaking the immaculate and prestigous design apart with barbarous cruelty. Blood stained the ends of these long pieces of metal and wood, and piles of guts and refuse clung to the length of them or piled at the base. Flies collected here, buzzing madly above the maggoted remains.
Yet, for all the implied mayhem, there were no corpses. Though all blood trails eventually led to that immense door they stood afront...

... At the far end of the hall looked to be a definite glimmer of polished steel. Though the sunlight overwhelmed it, there was also a subtle blue glow emanating from the bundle of steel.

[black379]

Courcy prodded the stone floor ahead of her with the butt of her weapon, to be sure there were no more traps to crush or eviscerate them. What she could see of the hall was gruesome enough to be cautious even though it seemed empty. She went ahead with a long stride, though light footed as she could, through the center of the hall. The gore-covered sticks, as well as the scraps of equipment, caught her eye enough to stop before passing the first column.

"I'm no saint, you know that, but... lock-picking? Thieving? I couldn't." She glanced over her shoulder to Tilly before poking around a pile of metal with her halberd. "Hell, even if I was whoring myself, that's 'honest work' anyway." The redhead scoffed and knelt closer to dig through the scrap.

[Vanitypirate]

"Well, I'm not asking you to steal. I just... think you might like to know how those little machines work." Tilly relented sheepishly, smoothing her coat lapels as she glanced about the room for traps or moths. Provided she would spot neither, she would keep moving, eager to reach the end of the hall and meet the Knight of Moths himself. She might have even had the mind to pick through the debris for loot in the piles of armor if not for the rotting gore. As it stood she was quite fearful of losing her breakfast in this hallway.

"It's a perfectly decent hobby." She finished, with a sigh and a nod to Courcy as she strode onward past her. "Shout out if you find anything interesting, anyhow."
She made towards the glimmer at the end of the hall, though she kept a close eye behind and about her, lest she be ambushed.
Though she did trust Elsa at her heels to mind their surroundings as well.

[Bloodtrailkiller]

/The Moth Hall/

As the Hellion, Graverobber, and Hound entered the hall proper, the dry scent of dusty bones and cobblestones battled with the acrid odour of pungent flesh and rot. Yet still, there were no corpses, or bones for that matter.

It was at the second pair of pillars that Courcy pushed aside some of the piled wargear, where not a skull or fingerbone was left behind amidst the steel and wood.

However, as she pulled back her polearm, she would find it was caught on something; not so severely as to restrain the weapon, but enough to give some pause. Upon the butt of the shaft was a silver chain of some kind, thick and strong enough to be combat worthy, but it certainly looked ceremonial and attached to something deeper within. A loop, meant to be hitched to a belt perhaps.

When she came closer to it, a bloody oak hilt of a dagger with a golden pommel and crossguard could be seen amidst the refuse; though the weapon was buried beneath several breastplates and axes and swords.

One could rather easily wrench the weapon free using the wrapped chain, or dig it free with their hands... though the bloody and rusty weapons and armor would surely cause some sort of damage unless proper precautions were taken.

As Tilly walked on, there were more signs of battle... More swords and butchery tools stuck into the stoneworks with unimagineable strength. They stood as monuments to whatever battle had taken place here. There was no apparent sign of traps or foes... Only haunting shades and unsettling silhouettes in the darkness that turned out to be a breastplate or spike or weapon stricken into the earth.

The sight at the end of the hall became more clear as Tilly passed the third pair of pillars that whatever arcane whimsy had held the Moth Knight to automation had grossly dwindled, and her boots crunched upon the first of many thousands of dead moths covering the stoneworks before her. Many were crushed, others had been cut in twain...

But, a moth did flutter past Tilly, fleeing towards the distant doors she'd entered through.

And there, stood up at a peculiar angle, was the Moth Knight's silvery, headless armor where the white fur and fluttering wings of a dozen odd moths huddled together in hapless fear. The Knight's arm was outstretched and his rapier was held lightly in his drunken grip, with an eye the size of Tilly's head pierced on the end of it; the bulbous sphere's sinew still twitched, and blood stained and dripped from the Knight's armor. His left arm was gone, and the breastplate was cloven so brutally asunder that the ribs and maille could be seen beneath. A great lance had impaled the Moth Knight through his sternum and propped the corpse up in a grizzly, unnatural fashion.

That blue glow which could be seen from the other end of the hall was more like a candle in its radiance, than a full moon as it had been before.