ROLEPLAY HQ - sacrificial-sword

Deeply entrenched in the Dark Ages, humanity fails to let go of it’s ingrained superstition - But the Dark Ages may be dark for a reason, as in towns across regional areas, something in the air has changed as of late. Cities close their gates and raise their walls, and the moon doesn’t shine as brightly anymore… Suspicion has pulled many towns under, and war is a constant threat as regions turn against one another. Knowledge of the world is limited greatly by the destruction of libraries and places of education, and more people are drafted by their greedy rulers to fight in pointless wars, when the true threat is not mankind. In the small village of Champippe there are no gates to lock, and people have been turning up dead, seemingly shot down by an arrow which leaves no splinters, before having their organs robbed of them. With the majority of the village's men drafted by the nearby city of Mount Narmot, the town may not survive their remaining tradesmen disappearing, yet with no militant force, there is no one to rely on to venture into the surrounding pine forest to find the shadow that lurks at night. Villagers say they see it, a tall, winged creature, one which seems to become the trees as it stills, and becomes the skies when it flies. Wielding a mysterious glowing orb, the sound of lumber falling in the night accompanies it’s presence. The pine trees surrounding Champippe are taller than any in the land, a known record for this village as lumber is what it would usually export - yet with little men to till the farms, let alone lumber wood (and anyone who ventures in dying), the town is drowning as they haven’t made reliable exports in almost 3 years. Food is scarce and not even the occasional royal carriage passing through takes pity on the poverty-struck residents anymore. It has become a land of filth. Yet the Champippe villagers were always this small, they’ve never been a rich town, and one could say they were always used to this poverty. It is because of this they still have some hope, and the residents stay loyal to the town when many others may have chosen to leave and travel to Mount Narmot already, to have a second chance at life. Although, the things these humble residents may be willing to do for this town may push them over the edge. As Elders discuss the consequences of losing their remaining men, the fate of the town seems to lie in the hands of the creature stalking it along the treeline. Perhaps a sacrifice would be accepted by this being…

Cassian had moved here late, appearing and refusing to elaborate. A small homestead was carved out of the trees they so feared, and he opened its doors to any who needed. Food was not scarce for him. A distinct lack of fear sent him off hunting for game and he often returned. The forest was odd and overshadowed by fear, but one who was smart could be given grace. Villagers found he traded for meals. A bit of leather, an old pot, boots with holes in the toes. He'd take whatever you offered, should it be enough to his strange standard. His fence was decorated with pretty stones children had traded for the fruit he'd forced to grow. Only a tree or two, gnarled and hollow, but sweet. A spark of gold hope in the dark. He told stories of God, and gave hymns, and moved forwards in his belief he could survive. ~~ Cassian walked through town with several fish in hand, fingers through their gill plates, and paused as he overheard conversations. Sacrifices? They barely have enough for a company. He shook his head roughly and kept moving, trading at a butchery for a few coins. He didn't care what he received but few would take charity here.... I'd have to send a letter... maybe. It was a quiet debate with himself, finding a place to sit where he could watch the main center of town, scraping his boots clean of river mud with a knife.

6:16 AM

@cowboy

Their last messenger had not returned for a week. Elders had been gathering this morning, in the early hours, making plans on what they could do to try and find a resolution. Although they assumed the lack of messenger return meant that they had a 'successful' sacrifice - they were horrified to hear of another missing farmer. Despite apparently taking their messenger, this creature still continued to feast on the farmers tending land by the fields. The village elders had noticed the new man which came through their town. the little home set up on the edge of town, and they had noticed how unbothered by the forest he was, and also how gracious he was to the staving, plagued villagers. That evening, the seven elders were seeking this man out, coming across him sitting on the outskirts of town, minding his business, as per usual. With waving of staffs and grumbly chatter they explained. The war and famine in nearby cities. The lack of warriors. The creature who were killing their people off. The messenger that had not been seen for a week, and the death of yet another farmer, this time one so young he was barely an adult. The young man's own father had been a previous victim months ago. They bartered and begged - Go in there! They cried, loading him with spears and sheilds carved crudely, as all their good craftsmen had been drafted in the war. We don't know who you are, but make yourself capable, so god help us. There was desperation as they pleaded with this stranger... Cassian, they discovered. "Enter the forest, find this creature, or we will drive you from town." They said, but their threat was empty and full of hurt. They gave him a flimsy deadline of two days, as if they had much choice at all. "We don't care what you do, please, deliver us. You're not from here, but you're the only capable one left, you've built this homestead, you hunt in those woods, clearly not scared. Make yourself of use." There was sadness in their eyes...

6:55 AM

@Vox

He'd stormed through into his friends home, and punched the beam of the door frame until splinters bloodied his fingers. "Good day?" Phillip laughed softly as he walked past with a bowl of water. His friend hardly ever showed such a breakdown. "I have to go into the trees or be run out. Again." He huffed dropping into a seat, trying not to be angry at them. He understood, but it still hit his nerves. "Understandable. You've walked those trees again and again without seeming issue. I'd been waiting for it." Phillip set his chin on the table. The man was only 23, and half blind, and spent most of his time working on his sewing and leather work when he wasn't trying to teach the few children left. He'd come with his own family and now his only family was Cassius. "So. What's the plan?" "I don't know." Cassius let his head hang backwards, leaned back in the chair balancing on his heels and the back two feet. "I don't want to run again." "You can't face that thing." "I have to try. The alternative hurts too much." -- Cassius hadn't been a cleric for God in years. Part of him worried he had been abandoned by his faith. He debated briefly with his helmet in hand, but eventually set it back atop his bed. It'd slow him down. A small bag with food, his sword and knife on his belt, and his thick coat pulled tight about his waist, he headed into the trees. He'd always stuck to where it felt safe. It'd been light and soft in the places he laid snares, but deeper in it began to feel heavy. The air itself was crushing him, burning in his lungs. He had to stop many times to sit and pray and catch his breath. "Fuck. This." Grunting he forced himself back to his boots, singing a hymn breathlessly and tired. @cowboy

The forest started off tame. Where Cassian had trapped and hunted. Small game like rabbits ran through these trees, some deer every now and then, although they were skittish they seemed to be flourishing. It seemed that without the huntsmen in these woods, the deer could thrive. This creature didn't eat livestock, or any animals at all it seemed. It simply slaughtered humans, efficiently and precisely with a single wound through the skull, and with almost medical levels of accuracy, harvested the organs right from the chest cavity of the victims. It left the rest of the body untouched... Deeper in the forest the trees were denser. So dense that eventually the light was just tame spatterings along the forest floor, when it had a chance to escape through the leaves. They were pine trees, the whole area smelt like tidy pine and earthy moss and stone. It was cold and misty, but the sounds of birds charmed the air. Through the trees, perhaps Cassian could hear the rhythmic hoot of a stray owl, seemingly following him through the trees, but completely out of sight. It could take hours, maybe a whole day, to traverse deep into the forest, where the light was swallowed out and a torch was needed. The fire might have been a risk, but the earth was damp and wet, and these pine needles were unlikely to come alight when the air was so wet. There was a thud. And another. A pattern of rhythmic thudding. Repeated, steady, careful. The sun was going to set in an hour or so, this noise remained strong as the tweeting birds turned into chirping cicadas and croaking frogs. Lightning bugs came to life, and up ahead there was a sudden break in the darkness, where the sunset blasted into a clearing. Nearby this clearing was a grove of pine trees, and standing by them, swinging an axe nimbly and capably, was.... A man, human. Not taller then the normal man, nor seemingly stronger. Dark hair, tanned skin, a wooden barrow full of lumbered logs beside him as he went to town on a tree. The man didn't notice anyone approaching. What insane human could be alive this deep in the forest, with this creature. A hermit? Some kind of shaman? A fool, in the end. The man finally fells the tree with a final thud, which echoes. He begins to piece it up and load the barrow. He's in the perfect position to be spied on, watched from the darkness of the trees...

3:23 AM

@Vox

He'd been using a simple light spell to traverse, but he snuffed it out seeing the man. He couldn't trust his own eyes at the best of times.... No. This wasn't right. It didn't feel right. He snuck back into the trees where he'd come from, bedding down wrapping up in his coat tight. He'd listen and peer through the trees but kept trying to keep out of sight. Only when the dark fell did he push up and follow, curiosity driving him on. This man was just... out here. Safe... He kept his distance, watching him work, uncertain. He knew little nothing about what he was looking for apart from 'demon'. He sat silently behind a thick tree, barely peeking around the side. Cassian had no reassurance if he could pull on his old power. He'd not tried since he fled away from his life. Apart from a long knife, he had nothing to rely on.

7:19 PM

@cowboy

The man loaded the wood into the barrow, the wooden planks forming it's body creaking under the weight of the logs. He carefully lifted the spokes and with a grunt and heave, beginning moving forward through the clearing. He steadily wound the barrow through the trees and as he rolled on he sang a nonsensical song, carefree and relaxed. After five or so minutes of curling through the dense trees, seemingly in the complete darkness, he finally comes to a last clearing, where stood a lovely cottage. A knee-high fence made of thin sticks wrapping around the front, trees shading it from the blasting sunset. Vegetables, beautiful lush ones that hadn't been seen in the village for a number of years', grew in the garden, and a pebble path curls around the side of the cottage. The front door is wooden with metal panes in the front, and the man places down the barrow at the fence and heads inside, leaving the front door wide open. He begins carrying sticks and logs from the cart inside and into a wood-fire, lighting it with flint and steel and tending to it. It lit quickly, and the man then finally took an apron from a peg in the stony kitchen and puts it on. It seems hand-made. He walks out to the garden and begins uprooting carrots and other nice vegetables. This whole life seemed so carefree... The ground around the house was littered with an alarming amount of twigs and dry leaves, like a salt circle of leaves, surrounding the clearing. They'd be sure to crackle if stepped on, but mostly blend nicely into the other ground-fauna.

1:33 AM

@Vox

He was too confused to hide any longer. His boots crackled on the dead stems, staring silently at the other as if the man was the first thing he'd seen in this world. It nearly felt it. The dark trees had become a dark island of its own and suddenly, there was... this. He wasn't sure what to think. His body ached from his trek, his mind swimming. This was no demon.... "I need help." He eventually had forced out, hands tight around himself wedged in his coat, his insides cold and twisting with anxiety. He was supposed to find a demon. His little homestead had become his world and that thing was taking it away from him. He couldn't lose everything again. "I am very lost." He couldn't help but laugh, the entire situation setting in. A demon... and instead he found a heaven of mans making. "Could you give me directions? I cannot be sure where I am..." Could I stay forever instead? Cassian's mind filled with memories. His loves face, smiling up at him. He would have loved this place. Would have adored its simplicity.... Cassian smiled, heart contented with the memory. A happy one....

8:26 PM

@cowboy

The moment the twigs around the clearing crack, even when Cassian is shrouded in the dark still, the man whips around and looks at him. In a moment of what seems to be surprise, he grabs the wooden door and prepares to close it, shutting Cassian out of the poor man’s heaven he had built in the forest. As Cassian speaks, though, the man pauses. “Help?” The man squints as if he is struggling to see. His eyes have a glassy quality to them, perhaps he is part blind. How did he come into a cottage in the woods as a nearly blind man? His hearing seemed sensitive though, he heard the smallest breaking twigs and seems to have laid them out like a sound snare. “To be lost in these woods is dangerous.” He states, in a ‘matter-of-fact’ tone. He keeps the door half ajar. “I can turn you towards the village again.” He says coldly, watching Cassian from the other side of the doorway. “How did you come this way?” The man knew there was a village a days trek away. He was clearly aware of the geography of this area so how could he not mention the fact it was dangerous for him to even be living in the forest with some beast. Up close the man’s appearance was clearer. He was tall, fit, an athletic build. Black hair neatly brushed back and high cheekbones. A cool tanned complexion, and those darting eyes. He wears well tailored clothes and a purple vest. Purple! A colour not commonly seen, an expensive pigment to find. His nails which are visible as he grasps the door are… painted black? They seem a bit long - a little unkept, strange for such a well-groomed man. “Why are you here?” He follows.

8:51 PM

@Vox

"I cannot return that way. I am trying to go through..." He said softly, approaching slow. Feeble even. He couldn't walk well and pushed the image of his exhaustion. "They'll kill me." His knees buckled and he sat on the ground, head hanging, blond hair hanging in strings. This all was a lie. A fake lie.... "Please. Help me... I won't survive back to the village and even if I make it, they'll kill me." He repeated, as if his mind was trapped on it. He'd noticed the physical appearance. The hands. The home. There was no chance this man was true. @cowboy

The man purses his lips through the crack in the door. He watched Cassian crumble onto his porch and frowned a look of disgust. He tapped his black cracked nails on the edge of the door. “I do not care if you die, I do not know you.” He says, but keeps the door ajar. He isn’t surprised by the idea of the village killings him, seemingly not at all bothered by the concept that Cassian may be in grave danger. The man stared down at Cassian and amidst the shadows on his face, beneath the milky residue in his eyes, was a purple colour, swirling in the iris. He shifts to a position where so can manoeuvre the door easily. “You may die out here too. Do not draw attention to this cabin.” He snaps. Was this man aware of the creature and still living in these woods, cutting these trees, farming, enjoying his seemingly wealthy life? Impossible

5:42 AM

@Vox

"You have survived.... how? The water burns my throat. I can't alight a fire. The animals do not flee but I cannot catch them." He'd pressed his hands to his face, letting his fear up. He was going to die here... truly was.... "Please. I will repay you in double, please help me." He bowed over to put his forehead on the floor, shuddering with silent sobs. He was broken. Exhausted. Filthy. He was of no harm even with his size. A soldier having lost his battalion so long ago. "I beg of you." @cowboy

The man’s eyes roll as he watches this stranger break down on the doorstep. He doesn’t care for money or for this man’s strife back in the village, but as he goes to snap at him again, perhaps shut the door and let the night consume him, there is the tender hoot of an owl. A rhythmic noise from the trees nearby and the man’s eyebrow raises. He slowly widens the door, nails tapping wood until he’s finally opened the door to his warm abode. The fireplace crackles and what seems to be stew bubbles on a wood-fire stove. There are quilts on hand-carved lounges and a dining table made from the same pine wood outside. “Come in.” The man says, and an almost facetious look crosses his face for a moment. “You will go tomorrow, but tonight at least, I will feed you.” He steps aside to grant Cassian entrance. “I have a basin where you can wash, or clothes, if you need. I assume you’ve been in those trees all day?” He says, a tone of seriousness and ingenuity crisping his words. With Cassian on the ground the man was taller, but were he to stand, this forest-dweller may be shorter by only an inch or so.

6:10 AM

@Vox

He'd accept anything offered with quiet graciousness, without pressing for more. He had just needed to be inside. To watch this stranger. "I have clothes. A basin would be accepted but is not necessary. A corner I could sleep safely in is all I truly need." He'd sunk into his chosen corner heavily, groaning as he got off his feet. He looked like a happy dog being able to just sit, hands set in his lap with his bag. "How have you survived out here?" He asked softly, keeping his voice low. Sitting on the floor kept his threat low. The other would be able to hit far faster than Cassian could get off the floor. @cowboy

The man resumed his harmless cooking routine once he had secured the door with a chain lock and key which hung from a necklace on the man’s neck. Each window had ornate iron decor so it was shatter proof, and the walls of the entire bottom floor were stone. A decorative shelf with many kinds of beautiful books and trinkets was on the far wall with a collection of comfortable places to lounge on straw beds and quilts. “Sit.” He says, making sure the stranger captured a well enough seat on the hay, even if he did sit in the corner. “There is a basin in the back room, although there may not be much for water in the pipes now. It is too late to work the hand-pump since it’s outside. Use whatever water is left.” He recommends, encouraging sparity. this man did live in some hardship. He has his back turned to Cassian, seemingly not worried about being watched or watching. He takes down copper bowls from a shelf and places them on the wooden crafted benches. He spoons what looks to be an enriching, hearty stew into the bowls. “I have been here many years, I live carefully.” He states curtly. He allows the food to steam, before tending to the fire. “Go wash, then come eat.” He says, motioning to a passage through to a back room of the house. There was a desk with a book and quill open on it, then another arch which had a basin in it. the whole floor was devoid of doors so it allowed the place somewhat open visuals. But with this man in the kitchen, Cassian would be granted privacy if he wanted to use the bathroom. The man didn’t even give him a look. He began slowly chopping fragrant herbs to place on the stew, a comfortable silence lingering as he waited for Cassian to respond, or go tidy himself. The man was very clean, so it was safe to assume he preferred a guest to be as well.

6:40 AM

@Vox

He'd listened at the insistence, finding what was left of the water. A bit in held in his palms would give him a chance to seer. It was the only spell he'd ever been able to hold, keeping it even as others came in and went in his mind. He'd make a bowl with his hands, bent over it to look within. His own memories poured to the water, reminding himself of them even as age made them fade. Their faces. Their stories. Seen from his own eyes within his hands. It'd become so habit to remember that he didn't think of the potential of revealing he could do spells of any sort.... He watched his own memory again to cement it in his mind before dropping it. Cassian washed and redressed in the only change of clothes he had. He rejoined the other in the main room with rolled up sleeves to show his scarred arms, the wrists of which were branded. A cross was seared into each wrist. His hair was the color of wet sand, pulled back into a tie. "Thank you for your graciousness." @cowboy

Once returned, the man had placed the bowls of stew each side of the table, where he has sprinkled the herbs on top and is sitting before one serving. It allows Cassian to sit opposite him. The man sees the scars on his arms, brandings, and he almost has a look of recognition painted on his face. He twirls a spoon in his long fingers and with his hands exposed like this, it’s visible that even the skin around his nails is black also - not painted. perhaps tattooed? His other hand taps a tune into the wooden table. “Of course.” He says curtly. “Eat. Then you may sleep upstairs. I have a room free.” He explains, and he begins eating the stew, for once studying Cassian closely, with those blinded eyes.

3:10 PM

@Vox

He downed food like it was his last, scraping it clean. There was no pause to consider it was poisonous or drugs. Purely trusting.... "Your hands? Dye or ink?" He asked it lightly, watching the others face, talking purely as if a friend despite him purely prying. "My name is Cassian. Realized I hadn't introduced myself." He chuckled leaning back in the seat, arms crossed. @cowboy

The food was delicious, soft carrots, potatoes, and rich, decadent meat. The meat is a little chewier then anything Cassian had had before, but perhaps it was because he hadn't gotten to eat meat in so long with the shortages. The man watched him eat and also devoured his stew, tidilly patting his lips with a cloth when needed. He carried himself in an almost graceful, majesty-like way. Proper. He seems satisfied watching Cassian eat the stew, a look of... well, it's not clear.. some kind of expression is plastered on his tanned face - an unknown one. He looks down at his own hands. "Oh..." There is silence for a long time, like he's deciding what to say. "Dye. I dye my own wool." He says. "Working on a winter coat, black one." He says, finally coming up with an excuse. Fabric dye was usually not strong enough to dye things like nails... "Good to meet you, Cassian." He says, not responding with his own name. There seems to be no ill impact of the stew, no wooziness, no drugging. The man was eating from the same pot, after all. (edited)

4:48 PM

@Vox

Liar. He'd smiled softly at the thought and noddrf ad, taking the bowl aside to the dish basin to wash. "I'd love to see. I was a tailor before I had moved to the village." He set the cleaned bowl aside to be properly cleaned and he turned back to face the other, leaning on the counter. "Did tailorin' for the military." Cassian was lieing out of his ass but it'd got the other talking. There was no way this man was just a surviver. He was too strange and too... otherworldly. "The rooms just upstairs aye?" He'd dismissed himself, picking up his coat and bag and going to the offered room on his own, leaving with quiet gratitude.

5:52 PM

@cowboy

The man was very quiet, and he slowly stood when the coat was mentioned. He moved to one of the lounges and lifts some black fabric pinned to various paper patterns. The fabric is black, and so it seems this man is telling the truth about the coat, but is not telling the truth about the dye. The man raises a brow when he is told about the tailoring. "A tailor? Hm.." He smiles, his first proper smile. "Perhaps then you can assist me with this pin curve. I struggle with them." He crosses his arms, seemingly about to catch Cassian in his own lie. "Tomorrow, then." He states, and he motions Cassian up the stairs, following along behind him. The upstairs is small, an archway leading into another small bathroom - pipes which are now empty running cold water to a basin and a barrel for bathing. There is a curtain for privacy. The top floor is made of wood, but the windows still have decorative metal decals. There are three rooms with doors, one is locked, another is red, and the man directs Cassian to the remaining door, which leads into a bedroom with multiple hay beds with hand-sewn quilts and blankets, and plenty of pillows. There is a dresser with an oil lamp. "My room is the red door, you are not permitted to enter." He says slowly and purposely. "If you are to feel sick, the bathroom is in that hall." He does not enter Cassian's room, standing in the doorway. "If you need something, knock." He says, and he steps out, being heard going down the stairs again. The house is rather quiet and dark, and left alone upstairs, Cassian could feasible likely snoop around, seeing as the man was blind. He could probably sneak past him in the kitchen too. As long as he was very quiet...

6:11 PM

@Vox

He flipped his bag open, finding the bit of charcoal he could use to draw. The symbol was easy, a protective sign he could scrawl across the floorboards, a hope he could actually sleep. He'd originally planned on it, sleeping, but he'd lain staring at the ceiling thinking about where he was. He was in a demons house... He slipped his bare feet from the blanket and attempted to quietly slip into the hall, cautiously padding on his balls of his feet to keep quiet. He'd went anywhere that was open to him easily. His eyes flicked about with almost panic. He didn't want to be kicked out in the dark.... @cowboy

This supposed demon hadn’t made his way upstairs since Cassian had retired - or so he thought. The sounds of the man’s boots made a noise when he walked and those distinct tapping sounds were not present on the stairs. He must still be downstairs. Upstairs, though, there were the bathrooms and the hallways. Were he able, he could pick the lock to the locked door, or go inside the red-doored room. Or he could begin going downstairs, where the strange man must be lurking. There was a buffer between the staircase and the lounges though, so he would be offered some hiding if he were to go down. There was silence, apart from occasionally bugs and owls outside. That same rhythmic one hooted by his bedroom window, but it was too dark to see it.

7:03 PM

@Vox

He'd checked the lock of the door, then returned to his room to get his knife and a thin piece of bone. He'd squat, trying to pick the pins inside. Three pin... slam slide lock..... He murmured an idle word, getting the bone pick under the farthest pin and forcing it up, spinning the channel with the tip of his knife. With enough time alone, he forced it open, grabbing the door to keep it still in case it creaked, wincing even as it swung silently. He silently closed it behind him, lighting a simple light spell amongst his fingers.

7:16 PM

@cowboy

The room is cold, seeing as the door was locked it doesn’t get warmth from the fireplace downstairs. At first it is dark but once Cassian lights it, what’s inside is surprising. Racks on Racks of clothing. Adults, children’s, fancy and common. fabrics and materials. boxes of shoes and jewellery. They’re neatly organised on racks and shelves. It seems like storage but this couldn’t all belong to the man. Women’s clothing, men’s, some just rags and others beautiful gowns in luxurious weavings. Cobwebs gather in the corners of the room but it isn’t dusty. He must come in here relatively frequently…

7:20 PM

@Vox

He quietly trailed his fingers across, breath soft. It was beautiful.... Gently he pet the fabrics about him, wondering who they'd belonged to. Had he just been making them? He had no reason to continue, turning round to leave. He shut the door and used the tip of his knife in the lock barrel to relock it, grimacing as he hit a soft spot in the floor. The click seemed unbelievably loud in his ears. He stood silently for a long time, waiting for the man to come angrily for him. He didn't move. He didn't come. Next was the man's room. He'd popped the door and slipped inside, holding up his light to see.

7:41 PM

@cowboy

The bedroom door opened quietly, no hinge creaking as it glided open. It was a double door, but Cassian was able to slip in without having to open both. Inside, it was a lovely, comfortable bedroom. A beautiful ornate, hand -crafted bed was against the wall, red satin sheets with stunning embroidery. There was a matching ornate dresser and a steel candelabra with candles lit and glowing dimly. There was a soft rug underfoot which dampened the sound of footsteps. The corner of the rug was turned up. there was also a metal paned door into a tiny balcony outside too. whether it was locked or not was not yet known. Wind blew outside - it would for sure rattle. There was also an ornate chair as well, with a couple books next to it on the floor. a side table was next to the bed with an unlit oil lamp.

7:50 PM

@Vox

Snooping had never been a hobby of his but he had to know more. He ran a finger down the books, looking for any words he knew. There didn't seem much of personal effects to look through. He noted the carpet only after he'd tripped on it, heel hitting the floor loud enough it made him squirm. He started to straighten the carpet, seeing the floor beneath, before going to quickly leaving. That noise would have been loud as hell below.

7:54 PM

@cowboy

The pages on the books are well worn and the covers are in a language that Cassian would have no chance of recognising. The words are not even in a Common script, using letters unseen in this place. The images seem to show fantasy lands and creatures, and there are chapters. Perhaps it is a fiction book. When the rug causes him to trip, there is a moment of silence which is almost deafening. Initially Cassian would think there to come the sound of the man’s boots, charging up the stairs, catching him as he made his exit. But there was silence. The owl from before seemed to have moved to the window of this room. It hoots again, almost like it’s mocking Cassian with its ever-present nature. The door clicks shut behind Cassian and the hallways are silent so far. Where was the man?

8:07 PM

@Vox