Ravengard Chronicles (IC)

[gremlin-pult]

The Ravengard Chronicles
Act I
Roses in Hell

As the sun went down, The watchmen walked through the streets, lighting the streetlamps as they went.
The great Adamantine gates were closed, the city becoming nigh on impenetrable to the outside world. Citizens hurried to the safety of their homes, and beggars searched for some refuge from the encroaching dark.
Night was falling over Ravengard.

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As the darkness falls, Light yet shines in the windows of one stately manor, Behind tall fences in the Emerald Quarter.
In one window, a young woman, seeming little more than a girl to a casual observer, is watching her reflection in the mirror. She studies the ornate dark robes she is wearing, expertly stitched from the finest wool, and embroidered with intricate designs in golden thread. These are the traditional robes for tonight. The night she has been training and preparing for all her life. The day that justifies all the harsh years without any affection from her beloved benefactor. Her mother.
The girl's contemplations are disturbed by a sharp rap on the door to her chambers, followed by a soft, yet commanding voice.
"Twig, My dear. It is time. I trust you are ready for the final ritual."
It is not a question, as Twig knows well. Madame Althea, her adopted mother, does not ask questions.

What do you do?

[PalusAbel]

"Yes, Mother." Twig answers instantly and without emotion. Her eyes, green-gold lanterns peeking out from beneath an auburn curtain, linger on their counterparts reflected in the glass before she turns to open the door. Her slippered feet make no sound as she glides across the room, and the robes likewise billow in silence. Twig has to reach up to answer the call, for she is not three feet tall in a mansion built for women twice her height.

As Twig looks up into her mother's face, the words of the oath she will soon undertake run through her mind. After a brief moment, she asks an obvious question to break the tension. "Has the devil already been summoned?"

[gremlin-pult]

The Slender, Beautiful woman looks down at Twig, a cold expression on a face that has barely changed in all the time her "daughter" has lived. Only the slightest wrinkling around her eyes and mouth gives any indication that the woman has aged at all in the last 16 years.

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"OF course it has not been summoned." She answers, her voice calm. only a slight, calculated rise in pitch indicates her annoyance at the question. "No part of the ritual will commence before the initiate is in place. Now no idle chatter, child. Tonight you will act flawlessly. This is of the utmost importance."

She motions for Twig to follow, then turns and glides down the hall towards the stairs. She neither looks back nor waits.

[PalusAbel]

Twig bites her lip, but only briefly. "Yes, Mother. I will act flawlessly." She follows along as best she can, making sure sure her feet fell in time with her mother's. Likewise, Twig matches her breaths to her mother's, just as she had been taught.

[gremlin-pult]

As you follow Madame Althea down the stairs, she leads you through the entrance hall, into the kitchen, and down to the wine cellar. There she stops in front of the far wall, and with her right hand lifted palm out, she starts chanting in a language you do not recognize. As she speaks, symbols start appearing on the wall, glowing a bright red. They form the outline of a door, and when she finishes the chant, an opening now stands where once there was a wall. This is completely new to you, and you know with full certainty that the wall was no illusion. You've explored the basements and cellars of the manor many times during your childhood, but never stumbled upon any traces of hidden doorways before.
But much more shocking, is the fact that Althea did this. You've never seen her do anything remotely resembling magic before.
In fact, she has always exhibited no small contempt for practitioners of the magical arts.
She turns and gives you a calculating look, then starts down the newly revealed stairway.

[PalusAbel]

Having already been warned against idle chatter, Twig keeps her silence. She follows her mother into the new passageway, discreetly throwing glances in every direction to absorb her surroundings.

Perception check to inspect surroundings.
[roll0]

[gremlin-pult]

The entrance to the passage seems to have been made as part of the manor, but after going down the stairs, it gives way for the rough hewn stone walls of a building that is obviously much older. Upon closer inspection, Twig notices that the walls are decorated by old, weathered murals. They are not easy to decipher, but it looks like they depict a series of events, all involving people in different positions of submission in front of great horned creatures.

After walking about an hour, the tunnel widens into an impossibly large room. Althea has obviously led Twig deeper underground than she thought, for the roof of the chamber is easily seventy feet above your head. Other doorways lead out of the chamber in other directions, but it is the middle of the room that catches Twig's attention. A large group of robed, hooded people are spread out around a large circle with symbols and writing inside it. They all stand completely still and silent, the only sign they are alive the clouds of steam that shows when they breathe out into the cold underground air.

[PalusAbel]

Twig narrows her eyes. Considering the oath she was soon to swear, this situation was not entirely out of place, but it was certainly not what she had expected. "I beg your pardon, Mother, but I have a question that is not idle chatter. Who are those people, and what are they doing?"

[gremlin-pult]

"They are associates, here to witness the ritual, and assist if necessary. Some of them will be performing the summoning. Which begins now."
The last words are spoken to the robed ones, and as one they raise their arms and begin to chant. The language spoken is another one that is unfamiliar to Twig, but where the other one simply sounded foreign, this one is literally frightening. It is as if every word is a sound dragged from the deepest abyss, and sometimes it sounds as if maddened scream echo in the aftermath of a phrase. The ground and walls tremble slightly, as if the words uttered are hurting the stone itself.
The circle starts glowing red, and the symbols inside blaze as if on fire. A thick mist starts forming out of nowhere in the middle of the circle, and it seems at once red and black in the light from the torches.
Suddenly Twig feels a hand on her shoulder as Althea drags her a bit farther away from the circle.
"Something is wrong.... Why would he come..." She mutters, and her grip on Twig's shoulder is almost painfully tight.

[PalusAbel]

Twig steels her resolve against the darkening atmosphere. She allows herself to step back with her mother's pull, and slowly forms a question without taking her eyes off the center of the circle. "Who is 'he'?"

[gremlin-pult]

Before Althea can answer, a horrible bonechilling rumbling echoes out from the mist. After a second, Twig recognizes it as chuckling. "Yes, my dear Althea, who is he? I am a bit hurt that you haven't told her our story. It was ever so romantic." The voice is a deep rumble, not unlike the sound of stone being crushed, but a horrible, underlying feeling adds extra dread to the listener. The very voice itself oozes power, and evil so terrible it is almost tangible.
"But I will forgive you, Beloved...." The voice continues, and suddenly the mist is ablaze with intense fire, so hot that it is almost white. Some of it starts pulling together, condensing into a vaguely humanoid shape."Since you were kind enough to prepare a snack." As the words are uttered, a huge arm shoots out of the flames, breaking the barrier of the circle and grabbing one of the robed men and lifting him up into the burning mist, and out of sight. His terrified screams are cut short as a sickening crunch reverberates through the chamber, followed by terrible, drawn out chewing noises.
Oddly enough, the other robed people haven't moved, although it is clear that they want to. many of them dropped their hoods in their feverish attempts to escape, and even though mind numbing fear is clear on their faces, they do not move one step from their positions, clearly, they are rooted in place by some malignant force.

Finally the mists dissipates enough to see clearly the being inside the circle. and it is a terrifying sight indeed. even crouching the creature is huge. standing up it would easily be 14 feet tall. Its great bat-like wings, although they are not out stretched beyond the confines of the circle, make it seem even bigger, and it clearly has a wingspan of more than 15 feet.
The devil, for nothing else could adequately describe this monstrosity, is immensely muscled, its body covered in red armor thick scales. Long wicked claws adorns its hands and feet, and its mouth, pulled up in a horrible mockery of a smile, is filled with vicious fangsthe size of daggers. On its shoulders and forehead great horns sprout, and its eyes are raging firepits, shining with intelligence and malice.

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The Devil looks down on you, and chuckles again, then lifts the now headless body of its victim up to its mouth, tearing an arm of at the shoulder with one bite. It then chews with a look of savage delight, staring at Althea.
"My lord..." Althea says, in a strained voice. Her face is paler than usual, and her expression is the closest thing to fear you've ever seen her exhibit. "You are not the one we called for, great one. Might I ask why you've graced us with your presence?"

The devils swallows noisily, then wipes the blood of its mouth. "Don't be rude, Althea. Introductions first. Then we'll talk."

"Of course, forgive me. This is Twig, she is..."

"I SAID DON'T BE RUDE" the devil roars, throwing the mangled corpse aside and cutting short anything Althea wanted to say. "The child can speak for herself. Bring her forth"

Wordlessly, Althea nods and turns to Twig. Her displeasure at the situation is obvious, but she motions Twig forward without a sound.

[PalusAbel]

Twig tightens her diaphragm to prevent any unnecessary sounds, and stiffens her spine and limbs to keep herself still. If the scene before her is enough to make Althea react in such a way, clearly Twig ought to do nothing but play along. She distances herself from her mother and drops on her right knee. "I am called Twig, my lord devil. My mother, Althea, adopted me on this day sixteen years ago. Today, upon my coming of age, I am to swear the oath of the Black Thorn Knights."

Twig delivers these lines to the devil's face, her own eyes raised to meet its own. While potentially unwise, she hopes that this show of confidence and forthrightness would count for something. If an introduction was all that was asked of her, this should suffice; better to keep her answers short and to the point.

[gremlin-pult]

"Hmmm, both polite, and bold enough to meet my gaze..." The devil rumbles "You've trained this one well, Beloved. But I must admit I am surprised. I would not think you would take in another after what happened with the previous one."
A sharp intake of breath can be heard from Althea, and her face becomes drawn, furious and fearful at the same time. The devil merely grins as she struggles to keep her expression impassive.
"No matter. As I said, when I saw that the one calling for a Devil to seal the pact was you, I just had to come. The one you called for tried to object, but...." The devils face stretches into a rictus-like smile for a second, pure undiluted evil radiating from it "He changed his mind when I said he could have the honor of feeding my hounds instead. He will not object to me again" Opening its huge mouth, The devil lets out a thundering laugh, shaking the chamber around you.
But it stops laughing as suddenly as it started, turning its gaze to you once more. "But we have a ritual to go through, have we not? step forward, child, and bring the rose. Step into the circle..."

[PalusAbel]

Twig merely nods, producing the black rose from her robe as she takes her place in the circle opposite the devil. Her eyes never leave the devil's. The oath's words run through her mind once again. She wonders whether she should ask to begin, or whether she should look to her mother for guidance, but neither option seems appealing. Furthermore, the devil did just compliment her on her boldness. Nothing else for it, then.

In her left hand, Twig holds the rose before her, its bloom thrust toward the devil as an offering. The flower droops slightly, for her fingers are clasped near the very bottom of the stem. She begins to recite the oath with her right hand placed over her heart. "By my blood and soul do I swear myself as an ally to Hell against the many-faced forces of Chaos. I will revenge myself against those who wrong me, with an eye for an eye and blood for blood, and teach those who come to me seeking the tools to avenge themselves. From me my enemies shall experience neither mercy nor redemption, and I shall drive Chaos before me as the wolf drives the herd to stampede, until the day that I die or its taint is removed from the world."

[gremlin-pult]

With an almost solemn expression The devil reaches out one clawed hand over the roses, then grips his hand in a tight fist, the claws digging into the palm of his hand. A few large drops of midnight black blood oozes between his fingers and drips down onto the rose. As the blood hits the rose, it hisses and steams as if it was boiling, and the rose perks up and straightens as if filled with life and energy. "I Pen'tehraxxos, Duke of hell and favored general of The Iron Lord of Dis, hereby bear witness to and accept this oath. May all of hell know this and honor the pact." He turns one baleful eye to Twig, holding her gaze for one agonizing second before continuing "And may they know if the pact is broken, and act swiftly in retribution"
Pen'tehraxxos lowers his hand, the wounds in his palm already healing, and rises to his full height. "Now you must do your part, mortal. Then I shall take the rose to its new home in the scorching gardens of Dis."

[PalusAbel]

Once again, she only nods. Twig sees no need to spoil the ritual with words. She flips the rose in her hand so that it faces her, clasped just below the blossom. Then, she raises her right thumb to her mouth and, catching its fleshy tip between her teeth, bites down. The skin breaks easily, issuing a small trickle of blood. Twig guides these droplets onto the rose held close to her chest, inhaling deeply whatever perfume might be wafting off its petals. She resumes her previous position in offering the rose to the devil, now known to her as Duke Pen'tehraxxos, once this task has been completed.

[gremlin-pult]

As she holds the rose close, the heavy scent of devil blood fills Twigs nostrils. It is both nauseating and intoxicating at the same time, and somehow it is clear that this blood is not from anywhere in the mortal realm. Even one who had not seen the ritual would know that.
Pen'tehraxxos takes the rose gingerly between two clawed fingers, his fingers brushing lightly over your as he takes it. His touch is surprisingly gentle, for such a creature, and shows clearly that this is much more than a hulking beast.
"Good. You are now bound to hell, and to the Black thorn. Be welcome among us, and fulfill your duties with haste and ardor." He turns to Althea, who has stood completely silent since she was told to be quiet. "Now my dear, I would have loved to stay and catch up, but this little thing needs to be planted. I will come again soon, however." and with that, burning mist forms around him once more, and in seconds he is gone and the mist dissipates.
Twig hears a relieved sigh from Althea, who then turns to her. "Good work, Twig. You acted well. Now go back to your room and rest. I need to consider tonight's events."

[PalusAbel]

"By your leave, Mother." Twig departs with a bow and a curtsey. She knows better than to "take advantage" of the lull and ask her mother questions. If anything needs to be said, Althea would come forward on her own. In the meantime, Twig makes her way back to her chambers.

Her first stop is the bath. She cleans herself at speed, then dons appropriate sleepwear after bandaging her thumb. The ceremonial robes she leaves delicately folded atop her dresser. Perhaps sleepwear was not the best choice, but the ritual was already over; such is her thought process. In any case, Twig has the sense that her mother will be dropping by sometime soon, hence her haste and unwillingness to do more than sit upon her bed facing the door.

[gremlin-pult]

After a while of waiting, Twig hears Althea enter her room down the hall. After yet more time passes, it becomes apparent that she will not be visiting Twigs room tonight.

[PalusAbel]

Twig strains her hearing for any further sign of movement from her mother's room, but she eventually concludes that perhaps any debriefing will have to wait, if it comes at all. Sighing with a mix of relief and disappointment, she rises from her bed, preferring a seat by the window. She looks out at the manor grounds and beyond, pondering what might come next. Her gaze naturally falls on her bandaged thumb.

She had taken the oath of a Black Thorn Knight, just as she had dreamed of since her childhood. "I am no longer a child, in body or in station," Twig murmurs to no one in particular. She looks back at the folded robe. For all it signified, she might never wear it again. Her eyes settled a little lower, fixing upon the drawer containing her designated "duty" outfit.

"...if Mother will not come to see me, then perhaps I should stretch my legs a little." She hastily changes outfits once again, this time preparing for a journey outside. Clad in armor and cloak, Twig makes her way beyond the mansion's front door with no destination more elaborate than "outside".

[gremlin-pult]

As she leaves the house, Twig is enveloped by the shadows of the streets and alleys of Ravengard. The night is silent in the area around the manor. This is nothing unusual, since many of the rich and influental citizens of Ravengard live in the Emerald Quarter, the security is much greater than in the rest of the city. As Twig moves down the street, she suddenly becomes aware of a sound nearby that is different from the regular sounds of the city at night. It originates from an alley right where the Emerald Quarter ends, and the Clothmaker's street starts. The sound is muted, but it could be described as frightened mewling. as if someone was desperately trying to scream but only succeeding in whining.


I took the liberty of making a Perception roll to see if you noticed the sounds. I will be doing that when its concerning you noticing your surroundings without actively searching.

[PalusAbel]

Twig narrows her eyes and reflexively ducks into a nearby shadow. She moves forward cautiously towards the source of the sound, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. Her heart rate picks up as she considers the possibility that the opportunity to act upon her oath may have already come to her doorstep. The small but noticeable weight of the daggers on her wrists and in her boots assures her that she is likely prepared as she could ever be to confront what lies around the corner.

Thanks, I appreciate it. In case Twig needs it, I'll roll Perception here again to try for more information about the sound, as well as Stealth for keeping discreet.

Perception: [roll0]
Stealth: [roll1]

[gremlin-pult]

As you turn the corner without a sound, you see the outline of some creature hunched over a few yards down the alleyway.
You can't quite make out what it is, but from its movements and shape, it's clearly not human. The object of its attention is, however. You can see the head and shoulders of what seems to be a young man lying on the ground, The thing hovering over his chest, sniffing and prodding at him with long sharp claws. It does not seem to have noticed you yet, being far too intent on its victim.

[PalusAbel]

Pursing her lips, Twig resolves to step out of cover to try for a closer look. After coming this far, she could not abide returning to the manor empty-handed; the memory of this alleyway would prevent a full night's rest. Thus, with slow and deliberate movements, she approaches the creature.

In case she needs it, I'll reroll her Stealth check here. Otherwise, she'll being attempting a Sense Motive check to understand what's going on.

Stealth: [roll0]
Sense Motive: [roll1]

[gremlin-pult]

The creature shows no sign of noticing Twig as she moves closer. When she is only about two yards away, the moon comes out from behind a cloud, giving her a clearer picture of the situation. And it is a grim one indeed.

The creature itself is actually much smaller than it seems at first glance, much of its bulk made up by its thick cape. It has a humanoid body, with jet-black skin, and small grey horns on its forehead. It wears tattered clothes, and a wide-brimmed hat.
In its hand gleams a bloody, wicked looking knife, and the only thing more disconcerting about it is the crazed smile on its face, completely devoid of mercy or sanity.
The man on the ground, looking to be about 18 or 19 summers, is not dead, but is close to dying. Shallow ragged breaths exit his mouth, and his shirt is soaked with blood, oozing from multiple stab wounds.

[PalusAbel]

In her mind, Twig lets out a long, low sigh. Even having grasped the physical reality of the situation, she still lacks the insight to make a decisive move. From this position, it would be simple enough to initiate a surprise attack, but she had no justification for doing so without knowing the reasons for the event unfolding in front of her.

A dagger springs into Twig's left hand, her dominant hand, with a flick of her wrist. "Stop. Explain yourself." Her words are brief, but firm. Truth be told, Twig doubts whether her words will reach the creature at all, but she feels that she owes it this much.

I think this qualifies as a request, so Twig will jump straight to making that request with a Diplomacy check without trying to influence its attitude. This probably won't end well, but here goes.

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[gremlin-pult]

With a start the odd little creature stands, turning out to be about four feet tall, and turns toward Twig. Its smile fades for a second, then returns.

By a stranger poor little jack was seen,
What, oh what, could all this mean."
It sings in a shrill voice. It then points its bloody knife towards the man.

"For this one funeral bells will chime,
But jack will find you another time."

And with a mad shrieking laugh, The creature bends its knees and launches itself straight up into the air, jumping impossibly high, past the highest windows and onto the roof of the nearest building. Up there it starts laughing once more, then disappears out of sight, only the echo of its laughter hanging in the night air

[PalusAbel]

Twig restrains herself from showing any sign of surprise at the creature's song, nor its sudden departure. Before taking any other action, she places the thumb and forefinger of her free hand into her mouth and blows as hard as she is able. Her whistle bounces and resounds into the still air. That ought to get someone's attention. In the meantime...

She replaces her dagger within its sheath before kneeling at the man's side. "Can you hear my voice, sir? My name is Twig. I have signaled for help; it should be arriving shortly." She quickly places her finger on his neck to check his pulse. As she does so, she pays close attention to his breathing and his injuries that she may better inform whoever answers her whistle. Well, she hopes that someone will. Lacking training in first aid, she does not wish to risk worsening the man's injuries, but the man may be doomed without it.

I suppose Twig ought to pack a healing kit next time. Even taking 10 on her Heal check isn't sufficient for first aid. Instead, she'll double-check his symptoms and injuries in case some good Samaritan stops by.

On another note, what would it take for her to search his body without leaving evidence of having done so?

[gremlin-pult]

As Twig touches his neck, the young man lets out a ragged gasp, moaning in pain, but not regaining consciousness. It is clear that he does not have much time left before he will bleed out.
As she roots through his pockets and belt pouch, Twig finds nothing of any real value or significance, except a few copper coins and an old ragged book. This man was apparently nothing more than an unfortunate, random victim.

A few minutes after whistling, Twig hears the sound of booted feet coming towards her, the clank of chain mail and halberds signaling the imminent arrival of the city watchmen. At least two, judging from the footsteps.

The young man has 6 copper on him, and an old book with the title "A thesis on the ritual practices of the common undercroft goblin".
If you want to ensure that there are no signs you searched him, you'll have to do a sleight of hand. shouldn't be a problem for you, hmm?

[PalusAbel]

Twig resists the urge to bite her lip, muting her frustration as she had been taught. She swiftly stows away the coins and book; if the victim were truly to die, he would have no need of them. She, on the other hand, might have find use for them back at the manor, at least as evidence. Once more, she places her fingers to her lips and whistles long and loud.

If I leave, even for a moment, that creature might return. I cannot allow this man out of my sight. Twig thinks back to the creature, and then to the title of the book she retrieved from the man's body. She had not been extensively trained in the lore of the land, as a living weapon had little use for books, much less independent intellect. It was just one of many tradeoffs Althea had made perfectly clear during her training. Twig allows herself a brief mental sigh before gathering air into her lungs in preparation for a long shout. "Guards! There is an injured man here, and I am untrained in first aid. Please send for help!"

She ought to pack a signal whistle next time, too. I wonder if there's a way to get a sneaky one - a whistle that doesn't look as such to a stranger without a thorough search. If not, or if it's beyond her means at the moment, she can simply hide it in her clothes or something.

Anyway, here's the Sleight of Hand check. ...huh. I could have sworn I put at least one rank in there for the +3 class bonus. I guess Twig is rolling with just her Dex modifier for the time being. She was meant to be more cloak and dagger than master thief, but I could have deflected one point from Knowledge (Local), at least. Oh well.
[roll0]

[gremlin-pult]

A moment after Twig yells, three guardsmen round the corner, huffing and panting from running to the commotion. One immediately runs to the side of the victim and begins examining him. The second guard lowers his halberd towards Twig.
"Dont move." He exclaims.
The third guard, an older man with a thick moustache wearing the trappings of a sergeant steps closer to Twig, looking her up and down. Who are you, and what happened here, young lady?" He obviously notes your outfit, which isn't exactly everyday clothing.

[PalusAbel]

Twig very slowly raises her hands above her head, palms facing out. As she does so, her cloak spreads open to reveal the unadorned shirt and breeches beneath, hopefully establishing that she is unarmed and not a threat. Of course, Twig knows the four daggers hidden by her wrists and ankles are safely tucked away out of sight. "I am called Twig, sir. I am an adventurer from out of town. I was taking an evening stroll, pondering whether to go to the local tavern to fish for rumors or employment when I heard a curious whining from this alleyway. I found this man here, injured, unable to scream. It was fortunate I heard him at all, and even more fortunate that you came by. As I said just a moment ago, I am untrained in first aid, but even I know he is not long for this world if he does not receive help soon."

Her words are fluid and simple. Disarming, as Twig would put it. She made sure to touch upon the most salient points without revealing what little she knew of the culprit - a topic she had yet to breach. "I know not how he came to be this way, sir. I do not know who the culprit is, only that the victim barely escaped with his life." No blatant mistruths, just the way Twig liked it.

[gremlin-pult]

Giving Twig a long, searching look, the sergeant eventually huffs, and walks over to the guard examining the victim. "He gonna survive, then?" He asks.

"I... I'm afrad not, sir. His insides are a complete mess. From the multiple stabwounds it looks like some maniacs handiwork, but from what I can see, most of these stabbings hit vital organs. Whoever did this knew what he was doing, sir." The guard hesitates for a second, glancing at you, then continues. "Sir, I know it was a long time ago, but.... This looks a lot like what I've read in the old reports about Smiling Jack...."

"Thats enough of that, Tanner." The sergeant interrupts "He disappeared 20 years ago. I'm not gonna 'ave another panic on my hands because of baseless rumors."

"Yes sir." Guardsman Tanner say, lowering his gaze.

"Right then. I'll have you return to where you're staying now, lass. This is no night for one as young as you to be out. Of you go." The sergeant says, turning to Twig.

[PalusAbel]

Twig bows to show her assent, though in the back of her mind she wonders, with some distaste, how old the guard thinks she is. Today of all days was the day she came of age, even. Certainly there were some advantages to appearing so young, but Twig felt as if she were lying to the entire world simply by being seen. She pushed these thoughts deeper still into the recesses of her brain before departing with uncharacteristically loud footsteps.

As she rounds the corner into the guards' blind spots, however, she marches in place with gradually quieter footsteps to mimic the sound of walking away. Once her feet return to their habitual silence, she ducks into a nearby nook and strains her ears for a sign of the guards' conversation, and her memory for any record of this "Smiling Jack".

Seems to be some history behind this. Interesting. I've got three rolls I'd like to try: Stealth to stay hidden close by, Perception to eavesdrop, and Knowledge (Local) to try and remember a report about Smiling Jack.

Stealth: [roll0]
Perception: [roll1]
Knowledge (Local): [roll2]

[gremlin-pult]

As twig lurks around the corner, snippets of the guards' conversation reaches her.

"......on't tell anyone about this, ye hear? We'll 'ave to investigate closer before drawing any conclusions...."

".....What if that little girl did it? Should we really let 'er go like tha'?......."

2.....Just a wee kid, ye git! She dinnot do summin' like that. She couldn't 'ave. Lord, she musta' been the age of me little girl. To see summin' like this....."

".....About the stories then? ye know, abouts the little folk, an the deep shades?...."

....Just stories, Tanner. No such thing as ghosts 'n faeries. 's just hogwash......"


While listening to the conversation, Twig remembers that she read about a murderer dubbed Smiling Jack by the common folk. He terrorized the city 20 years ago, killing dozen before getting caught. He was revealed to be a deranged Halfling, and was drawn and quartered in front of the public for his crimes. Not much was revealed about the case besides that, the council preferring to focus on moving on and reassuring the populace that they were safe. There was dark whispers for a while after the execution, however. Whispers about the last words the killer said. No one who claimed to have heard them wanted to repeat them, however.

[PalusAbel]

Twig purses her lips, committing the guards' conversation to memory. When morning came, she would certainly bring Smiling Jack's name to her mother's attention. She briefly considers returning home for the night, but decides to make a trip to a nearby tavern after all. She would be a liar otherwise. Well, more than she already was, at least, and that prospect did not sit well with her. She eases herself out of her hiding place and continues on her way down the street, keeping her eye out for anything remotely resembling an eating establishment.

[gremlin-pult]

Finding a tavern isn't hard, and soon enough Twig stands in front of an establishment with a sign above the door depicting what looks like a big smiling mix between a goblin and a rock. Fittingly enough, above the picture is the taverns name, The grinning Trole. An educated guess would be that they meant to write the Troll instead, but got it wrong.
The atmosphere inside the tavern is lively, which can be easily heard and seen through the windows, cracked open to let in the fresh summer air.

http://www.tabletophell.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/tavern_by_hunqwert-d33der1.jpg

[PalusAbel]

Twig scans the patrons of the Grinning Trole as she steps inside, finding it pleasant enough for her purposes. She proceeds directly to the bar and hoists herself up onto a stool with feigned difficulty. Offering the barkeep an intentionally awkward smile, she asks, "Water and bread, please, dark as you have it. Err, dark bread, not dark water, hehe." Bobbing her head absentmindedly to some unheard tune as she waits for her order, Twig looks over the patrons once again and sifts through the snippets of conversation floating her way.

And another Perception roll: [roll0]

[gremlin-pult]

Looking a bit perplexed at Twigs appearance, the barkeep leans closer, inspecting her "Arent ye a little young to be out and about at this time of night? where's yer da?" He asks with a friendly smile, and the tone that people use when talking to children.

The conversations of the other patrons are of little interest, mostly being either drunk old people telling tall tales, or drunk young people telling even taller tales to impress the barmaids.

[PalusAbel]

"Hehe, today's my birthday, so I thought I should go out! I don't have a dad, and I think my mom's asleep. Oh, are you worried about the money? Wait just a minute... here!" Twig rummages around in her cloak before producing her recently acquired copper, continuing to smile all the while. "That's enough for a hunk of bread and some water, right?"

[gremlin-pult]

"Yer birthday, ye say? Well, thats nice, lassie. But see here, I cant just serve bread an' water to ye on such a special day." The barkeep says with a chuckle Ye just put those coins away, An' I'll find ye something good. I think we still have some apple cider left, and the wife's baked pastries yesterday." He start rummaging around behind the bar, and takes out a cup which he fills with sweet smelling liquid. He sets the cup in front of Twig, then turns to the small troupe fiddling on their instruments on the small stage "OI, put some life in ye, ye hear? I want something more lively. something we can dance to. We've a birthday girl over 'ere" He hollers. He gives Twig a wink, then walks into the kitchen, and returns soon after with a plate. On the plate is a flat cake, with powdery sugar sprinkled on top.

The people in the inn laugh and smile happily as the music gets more upbeat, Flutes and drums beating out a lively tune. Some patrons rise to dance, while others stomp their feet in time with the music. Many of them also lift their mugs and shout out congratulations for Twig. All in all, the mood gets decidedly festive

[PalusAbel]

Twig claps giddily, hopping up and down in her seat and kicking the underside of the bar. "Thank you, mister! Thank you, everyone!" She picks up the cake as if it would shatter into a million pieces if looked at the wrong way. Just as delicately, she takes a sizable but visibly nervous bite. As the sugar does a dance of its own on her tongue, Twig lets a happy squeak slip out of her mouth.

The cake and cider are finished in short order, leaving Twig looking quite pleased. She "cleans" off her face with the corner of her cloak, leaving it somewhat dirtier and smudgier than before. "Thanks again, mister! I feel really special. Do you do this for all your guests' birthdays, or just for the young and pretty ones?" Twig puts on grandiose airs, making poses and batting her eyelashes. She makes it obvious that she is trying to be seductive, but overcompensates and only ends up looking childish. Which is, of course, her intent.

[gremlin-pult]

Ha, if I did this for e'ryone on their birthday, I'd be out of business in a year. Cider's not cheap to make, lassie" The barkeep answers, gathering up the plate and refilling the mug. "BUt for a wee thing like you, I don't mind much. Its also a bit of an excuse to liven up the place a bit. God knows we've had nuff troubles the last few years..." His voice lowers a bit, and he gets a contemplative expression, looking at nothing in particular for a moment, before shaking himself and smiling again. But thats nothing for a young gerl like ye to worry about. You just enjoy. As long as ye bring no trouble, We can always spare a mug and plate of something here."

[PalusAbel]

Twig puffs out her cheeks indignantly and slumps over the bar. "You can't do that, mister. You're playing my heart like a yo-yo. Just now you said a nice thing then a not nice thing and then a nice thing again." She pauses, then raises her head to meet the barkeep's eyes with a smile. Her voice takes on a high-pitched whine for her next words. "And didn't your mom ever tell you that saying 'it's nothing' like that only invites further questions?" The small girl's shoulders quiver with scarcely contained laughter at her impression of an old crone.

"It's my birthday, you know," she says quietly after regaining her composure. "You've already piqued my curiosity, so you can't go back on it now. Won't you please tell me what's bothering you, mister? I know you already gave me cider and cake, but can you tell me your story as another present? It's hard to celebrate when you know someone close to you is unhappy." Twig withdraws into herself, looking sheepishly at the counter.

[gremlin-pult]

Chuckling at Twig's cutesy behaviour, the barkeep puts aside the glass he was polishing. "Well, I can't rightly say no when ye make that kind of face, lassie. It all started, what, 16 years ago..." The barkeeps story is interrupted before it takes of by the arrival of a group of young men and women.
"Well I'll be, seems like there'll be some proper business tonight after all. Sorry lassie, but I don't have time to talk after all, it seems." He says with a smile and and apologetic shrug. "But I'll tell ye what. If ye come back another evening, and help with the late guests, I'll make sure to make the time for stories. Promise."

[PalusAbel]

Twig's disappointment is plain, but she quickly buries it with a smile. "Okay. It's a birthday promise, so there's no way you can break it, okay?" She entwines her pinky with the barkeep's to seal the deal. "Now it's official! Thanks again for the cake and cider, mister. I'll see you again another night." The small girl hoists herself off the stool and curtsies before scampering back out into the night.

She keeps her wits about her as she makes her way back to the mansion, but there seems to be no sign of the "smiling jack" reappearing for the time being. Only when she is safely back in her room with gown and bedclothes drawn over her does Twig stop to review the night's events. Her fingers trace over the cover of the book she recovered from the dying man. "A Thesis on the Ritual Practices of the Common Undercroft Goblin," she reads aloud. After thumbing through the book quickly to ascertain its basic contents, she places it on her nightstand to explore further in the morning.

[gremlin-pult]

The book is, as the name implies, a dry read filled with studies and theories concerning the "Undercroft goblin", the common name given to the feral goblins living in the network of tunnels, street and caverns running through the entirety of Ravengards underground, the aptly named Undercroft. The book seems to be written by a scholar refuting most if not all of the common and popular notions about the goblins. While it is considered common knowledge that the Undercroft goblins are dumb, feral pests, often considered no more than a bigger, nastier and slightly more intelligent rat, The author of the thesis seems certain that they are more intelligent than people think, and have both a hierarchy and a primitive form of communication.
All in all, the book is confusing, and put together in a way that often makes the statements seem to refute and contradict each other. A perfect book to fall asleep to.

Twig is roused from a confusing dream about goblins with books and high jumpin tavern owners by a sharp rap on her door.
"Time for breakfast, Twig. I expect you to be cleaned up and waiting by the dining table within the hour." Althea calls from the hallway. Immediately after her soft footsteps are heard going down the hall.

[PalusAbel]

Althea's voice pulls Twig back into the waking world. She welcomes the respite from her odd dream, and wonders whether her unaccustomedness to sugar was to blame. With a silent promise to moderate her sugar intake, Twig rubs the sleep from her eyes and prepares her bathing basin, an aluminum container about the size of a soldier's helmet. Her mother had often told her how bathtubs were unnecessary luxuries, and by now Twig knew enough about sponge baths to practically clean herself in her sleep. She takes advantage of this and allows her mind to wander as she goes about her daily hygiene.

Twig arrives in the dining hall in her adventuring clothing, minus the cloak, as she was unsure if her mother might send her out on some task immediately after breakfast. She also brings the goblin book and the man's few coins as evidence for the story Althea was about to hear. "Good morning, Mother." She utters the pointless pleasantry with a less than genuine but still altogether convincing smile. Smiles were among the greatest armors in the world, as she had often been told, and so the ability to feign a smile rivals the craft of the most learned smiths.

[gremlin-pult]

Althea takes in Twig's attire, one eyebrow rising slightly. "Why are you wearing that godawful getup, Twig? You know I will not have you dressing like some common hoodlum in my house." She then takes notice of the book in Twig's hand. "And what have we here? Books at the table? Have I taught you nothing, girl? You will have a hard time fulfilling tonights assignment if your manners are so readily abandoned for base foolishness."
Sighing like the weight of the world is on her shoulders, Althea rises from her chair, and walks over to Twig, taking the book from her. "Let's see here..." She says, glancing at the books cover. "A thesis on the..." She pauses, staring at the books title, before slowly turning her gaze to Twig. "Where did you get this?" She asks, an undercurrent of something akin to anger in her voice.

[PalusAbel]

"I anticipated that I might be sent out immediately after breakfast; if I was mistaken, I will return to my room and change into more suitable clothes." Twig defends her actions calmly. She comforts herself in the fact that she was at least partially correct. "As for the book, I went into town last night and found a fatally wounded man in an alleyway. Standing over him was a humanoid creature with black skin and small grey horns. Judging from the bloodied knife in its hand, it must have been the culprit. I verbally confronted it, and it fled. I recovered this book and a handful of copper coins from the man's body before two guards arrived on the scene to take care of the rest."

[gremlin-pult]

"Black skin and horns, you say..." Althea mutters, her brow furrowing in thought.
"Well, that book is of no particular value, but might prove useful in the future. I will keep it for now.
Now, why don't you tell me why you left the manse, exactly? I don't recall telling you to do anything other than rest."

[PalusAbel]

"I may not have been strictly resting, Mother, but I was at ease. I embarked on little more than that otherwise casual stroll and a quick trip to a local tavern for refreshment. The events of the ritual filled me with nervous energy that I thought would be better off spent." Twig keeps her voice and her mannerisms on an even keel. She slides the book onto the table beside Althea's place setting. She had not been expecting a complete briefing on the book or the strange creature, but certainly she hoped for more than what she received.

She steals a furtive glance at the table to see if breakfast had yet been served, and what it might be. Meanwhile, in the back of her mind a small part of her considers that, should the opportunity arise, she might beg leave and change simply to "reset" atmosphere.

[gremlin-pult]

The food on the table looks as appetizing as usual. Althea has never settled for anything less than the best.
Today's menu consists of freshly baked bread, spicy cheese and pheasant stew. Steam rises from a kettle, filled with pleasant smelling tea.

"I see. A stroll" Althea says calmly, handing the book to a servant who leaves with it immediately, and then gesturing for another servant to serve her some tea. She gives Twig a strange, searching look, before sighing wearily. "I'm sorry, dear. I shouldn't snap at you. you are young, and much has happened at once. But you must understand that this, the beginning of your service, is the most important time of your life. You cannot afford to make a bad impression on your... our superiors by gallivanting to and fro without reason. From now on, please just follow my instructions. You will be given time to yourself. I promise" Althea smiles faintly, showing a glimpse of the woman behind the stern face, so much older than she seems. For the first time she can remember, Twig simply sees Althea as a tired, old woman.

[PalusAbel]

Twig lowers her gaze to the floor. "I apologize, Mother. I will not adopt such liberal interpretations in the future." The air has gotten heavy to the point of tugging down at her shoulders, and Twig does not think leaving would improve it in the least. That would simply be running away from the problem. She might not be in a position to confront it directly, but the least she could do is face it.

She finds herself already seated opposite her mother by the time her mind has returned from its resolution. It is times like these where Twig is glad that her body moves more quickly than her mind. She does not begin eating right away, but she does prepare her place setting to broadcast her every intention to do so. All she needed was her mother's approval.

[gremlin-pult]

"Alright then" Althea says, straightening up and starting to fill breakfast on her plate. "Eat well now, my dear. We have much to do. Today, we have much to prepare, if you are to be ready for tonights ball"

[PalusAbel]

Twig slowly lowers the slice of bread she was holding. Another surprise. She decides against questioning Althea directly, though, because she was commanded to eat well, and because the ball was going to be taking place in the evening. Twig rewinds like a clockwork automaton and takes the bread between her teeth, only to discover her nerves have taken most of the taste away.

She eats as quickly as she can without actually appearing to rush, and thus finishes breakfast in short order. Washing down the last of her tea, Twig sees to it that, thanks to generous applications of her napkin, her face is clean when her dishes are taken away. Now there were no more distractions. "What must I do to prepare for the ball, Mother?" There was little point in asking who or what it was for; it was obvious she had to attend regardless of those particulars. Hence, she asked the one question that was both relevant and likely to be fully answered.

[gremlin-pult]

"We will have to do some measurements for your dress. Most of it is already done, of course, but we need to be certain it fits correctly. And then you will of course have to be properly cleaned, have your hair arranged, and a bit of makeup applied. We will be meeting some of my colleagues in the order. You have to be properly introduced." Althea says, and it seems like she can't quite decide between slight excitement at the prospect of clothes and makeup, and slight annoyance at the thought of her "colleagues".

[PalusAbel]

"Understood, Mother. I look forward to it. I will change into clothes more suitable for the occasion; please excuse me." Twig bows her leave and returns to her room to do as promised. She wonders to herself what Althea's colleagues might be like, and whether they will distress her as Duke Pen'tehraxxos had done the night before. The memory causes a slight tingle in her right thumb, which had shed blood to seal her oath. Considering her membership in the Black Thorn, those colleagues might well be devils themselves. With that thought in mind, Twig makes good on her word and dons her usual house robe.

[gremlin-pult]

Shortly after Twig returns to her room, a pair of maids enter with a large bundle of fabrics and lace.
They unfold it to reveal a gorgeous dress, snow white silks, with small frilly pieces of lace sewn into the sleeves.
The skirt of the dress is embroidered with flowing pattern in golden thread, and the nape of the dress is held together with a small gold and sapphire broach. One of the maids step forward and bows. "Madame Althea wanted us to take you measurements, Young mistress"

[PalusAbel]

Twig offers the maids a warm smile. Certainly it is the polite thing to do in this situation, but the dress they are presenting her with is truly wonderful, if not in line with Twig's somewhat more tomboyish tastes. "Surely you have my measurements already," she teases. "It is not as though I grow especially quickly." The small girl submits to their ministrations in good humor.

[gremlin-pult]

The maid smiles nervously, actually managing to look small and mousy compared to Twig, despite being a good 2 feet taller than her.
"True, mistress, but Madame Althea wants to be absolutely sure it fits. After all, you are going to your debutante ball tonight" The last words are said with the slightly dreamy voice of a servant imagining all the splendors of the nobility.

[PalusAbel]

Twig reassures the maid with a grin of her own. "My, my, how exciting! Well, let us get to it, then. We do not want to tarry on such a wonderful occasion." She leans in and adds in one last comment with a whisper. "Tomorrow I will tell you as much as I can about it; it will be almost as if you were there yourself!"

[gremlin-pult]

"Mistress is too kind" the maid says with a chuckle, and the other maid giggles as well while measuring Twig across the waist.
They exchange some pleasant comments and gossip with Twig, more comfortable with her than they are with Althea, and the measurements are quickly completed. The maids leave the room with a bow, taking the dress with them.

A the day nears evening, Twig finds herself seated in a richly decorated carriage with Althea sitting across from her.
Twig is wearing the dress, and her hair has been put up into a braid, and then fixed in a bun on the back of her head.
To show of that beautiful neck, as the maid who took care of her make-up and hair put it.
"Now remember what I told you, dear" Althea says, leaning forward to straighten the broach fastened on Twigs dress for the fourth time since getting in the carriage. "Do not speak unless spoken to, at least not to begin with. These people are fairly relaxed amongst friends, but they are nobles, and they WILL test you. Show any lack of decorum, or, god forbid, that you have a mind of your own, before they've done their little social games, and you will lose their respect before ever gaining it. Now, I am not saying that you should just sit meekly and take it if they come up with some veiled insults, or obvious ones for that matter. I am saying that you should answer in kind, but cleverly, and always with a smile. If you lose your temper, or seem dumb, You've lost their boorish little games."
She pauses, and gives a sly little smile, and whispers conspiratorially "But if you can insult the less intelligent ones, while seeming complimentary, you will gain plenty of respect. It is delightful to see the expression on some aristocrats face when it slowly dawns to him that your remark about his mothers weak knees was not a compliment."

[PalusAbel]

"Certainly, Mother. I shall not forget." Twig returns the smile in kind. Althea's concern about just how well the evening will go does not quite intimidate her, but it does put her on edge. She thinks back to the many lessons her mother taught, and assures herself that she is ready. "Pardon my forwardness, Mother, but may I ask if the other guests know of me? I ask in specific regards to my physical stature." It was a natural question, and a topic that would likely as not become the subject as ridicule.

[gremlin-pult]

"They are aware of that, yes" Althea answers calmly, looking out the window of the carriage.
"And do not worry, my dear. You may be slightly different from the norm amongst humans, but these people are used to far odder sights than a short human."

[PalusAbel]

Twig feels that pursuing that line of questioning was unlikely to produce a favorable outcome, and so neatly wraps up the conversation with a simple, "I understand, Mother." There were any number of other topics she could ask about, but Althea did not seem especially predisposed to answer them. Instead, Twig followed her mother's lead and occupied herself with the scenery rolling by. The details of the party and the other guests would reveal themselves soon enough.

[gremlin-pult]

The rest of the ride passes in silence, and the carriage soon slows to a stop in front of a grand manor. It is similar to Altheas manor, architecturally, but is larger, and decorated far more grandly, with large, neatly cut rose bushes hanging on the walls, and golden arches dominating the front of the house.
A servant clad in a blue vest steps forward to open the carriage door, bowing deeply to both of you.
"Please inform lord Harcoste that Madame Althea has arrived with her protege."

"At once, Milady" The servant answers, walking briskly of as soon as Althea and Twig has left the carriage.

[PalusAbel]

Twig briefly considers commenting on the mansion's architecture, but says nothing. Althea had instructed her not to speak until spoken to, after all. She settles for a reserved smile and a mildly curious gaze, enough to show that she is attentive but not unduly excited. With a brief nod to the servants, she dutifully follows her mother in dignified silence.

[gremlin-pult]

As the Twig and Althea are escorted into the manor by bowing servants, they step through a flamboyantly decorated foyer.
Gold lace and wine red brocade hangs everywhere. Althea gives a slight snort of disgust at the decadence of it all.
The women are then led into a grand ballroom, already occupied by several groups of finely dressed people, standing around talking merrily in cliques.
"The lady Althea D'terengue, and her Protege, the debutante Twig D'terengue." A man standing beside the entrance announces, reading from a long scroll in his hands.
Many of the richly dressed nobles turn around to look interestedly at the newcomers, andTwig gets a clear feeling that they are not looking at her, as much as measuring her. Most of them show signs of respect for Althea, and by extent for Twig.

One man, dressed in even more expensive looking silks than the rest, separates from the crowd and walks toward the women with a smile. He looks to be in his mid sixties, and his body is well proportioned and lithe, despite his age. He is handsome, and carries himself with grace, and was obviously a true headturner in his youth.
"Althea, my dear lady. So good you could come. It has been a dogs age since we last danced, you know, I swear I've gotten better since last time. I won't step on your toes this time." He says, taking Altheas hand in his with a gracious movement, and kissing the backside of it. He gives her a charming smile, a roguish glint in his eye.
"We'll have to see about that later, Charles. First I would like you to meet my adopted daughter. Twig, this is lord Charles Harcoste, the master of this manor, an influental presence in the city, and an old friend." Althea answers with a small smile, and a soft look in her eyes.
"Charmed, my dear, I am absolutely charmed." Lord Harcourt says, bending slightly to gently take Twigs hand as well, kissing it in the same way as Altheas. He flashes Twig a smile. "Although I confess, I find it slightly hard to believe you are merely adopted, my dear. You are every bit as beautiful as your mother." He gives Twig a playful wink.

[PalusAbel]

Twig maintains her pleasant demeanor as she follows her mother through the ballroom, upholding a balance between looking impressed and looking accustomed to the luxury. Such behavior, she reasoned, was only appropriate to show respect for herself and for the host's hospitality. She responds to Charles first with a gentle smile, then a small curtsy.

"Thank you, milord Harcoste. You flatter me so." As Althea had instructed, Twig refrained from saying more than was asked for; it was not her place to compliment him in return, nor to open a new conversation. She had answered Charles' prompt, and that was sufficient for the time being.

[gremlin-pult]

"Pish, my dear girl. 'Tis not flattery if it is true" The nobleman answers with a kind smile, and a casual wave of his hand. He turns to Althea "Now why don't you go around and make your presence known, My fair lady" He says still smiling his roguish smile at her. "It's been so long since you last attended my gatherings, and I know the others are keen to see you. I shall keep an eye on your ward, and ensure that she enjoys herself. Go, my dear" He says kindly, nudging her along casually.
Althea lifts an eyebrow, and opens her mouth to object, but sighs with a wry smile, before glancing at Twig. "I suppose you are right, Charles. They will never let me hear the end of it unless I attend to their chattering conversations. But bear in mind that this is an important evening for Twig. You will not do or say anything to rattle or confuse her."
"Wouldn't dream of it, My dear" Lord Harcoste answers with a sober expression. The twinkle in his eyes betrays his good humour, however. He and Althea are obviously old friends, considering how casual he is around her.
"Come my dear girl, let us go somewhere a little more quiet, and talk a bit. I can give you a bit of advice on who to avoid here tonight" The lord says to Twig, holding out his arm for her, still smiling his kind, fatherly smile.
Althea simply gives a dry chuckle, shaking her head slightly before giving Twig one last look.
"Have some fun, Twig. Charles is, if nothing else, delightful company." she says before smiling slightly and walking of to join a group of gossiping nobles.
"Shall we?" Lord Harcoste asks mildly.

[PalusAbel]

"Certainly, milord. Please, lead the way." Twig watches her mother go with a twinge of longing. She had expected that she would have to fend for herself at some point, but perhaps not quite so soon. It was a rare pleasure to share this kind of company with Althea, and Twig felt it had been entirely too short-lived. She allows none of this to show on her face, of course; it is ever the mask of decorum.

[gremlin-pult]

Smiling at the girl's answer, Lord Harcoste leads her out on a balcony, and turns to her. "Do not worry, dear. You will be back with her soon enough. I simply want to talk a bit without Althea hovering over you. She can get a smidgen controlling. But I'm sure you are aware of that." He chuckles, before continuing. "Now, why don't you drop the courteous lady act, child, and speak freely with me? I won't bite. Tell me of yourself. Althea shares so little about her proteges. but tonight is a night for celebration, not secrecy and seriousness. So what's the use of all this if you don't have fun?" He asks with a charming grin.

[PalusAbel]

"If you call it but an act, does that mean you do not think me a courteous lady?" Twig's smile is well within the limits of politeness, even if her words might not be. "What is there to say? I am Althea's protege, a girl of 16 years. My birthday was yesterday, in fact, so in a way I can consider today my second birthday party. I will admit that I might have hoped to grow an inch or two this year, but it seems that that is not to be. Well, as you might imagine there are both advantages and disadvantages to this form." She gestures to her body and the well-tailored dress adorning it. Twig is not stocky as some dwarves and halflings are, but simply a comely young girl in perfect miniature.