2. The Friendly Arm Inn
He sighs and his shoulders relax. "I was the one who broached the subject. Everything before then was fine." He nods. "A new beginning, as the friends we should have been starting in Candlekeep."
The half-orc puts his elbows on the table and laces his fingers together, peering at Aiwe over them. He almost seems a different person from moments before, casual rather than upset. "If you don't mind, Shelur, I'd be interested in hearing how you first became a musician. Is that a tale you'd care to tell? I can order us some of Bentley's fried potato slices."
(Insight: It's almost uncanny how quickly he's changed perspectives. Either Aiwe's not the only one good at putting on a face, or Koveras takes things quite literally. Perhaps a bit of both.)
He hasn't seen her, but has she seen him? There's room for improvement both places.
"There's not really a story," she begins with a smile, waving a server over. "Khanna says I was a drummer in the womb..."
Before she looks back down at her book, she notices Dieter in his gloomy corner, eyes shifting this way and that before he fidgets, breathes deep, and relaxes. She hesitates for a bit, debating whether to talk to him, then eventually walks over and takes a seat, sitting quietly and looking around at the dim lightning. It seemed she wasn't the only one who found a bit of solace in darkness.
He seemed deep in thought...should she...say something? Or just let him think? She opts to stay quiet and do the latter, hoping she wasn't interrupting.
Prepared for the worst, he finds himself in…
… a kitchen.
"Why Dieter, you’ve barely touched your food. What’s the matter, my child?"
The speaker is a pretty, kind-faced woman. She looks to be in her early 30s, with her blonde hair tied back and wearing an elegant if simple blue dress.
She gestures to a plate on the small table in front of Dieter, and he realizes he’s sitting in a chair. On the plate is a small pile of cooked beans, a piece of bread, and two small, shriveled carrots.
"Your father will be home soon. Don’t you want to show him how good of an eater you are?"
And indeed, the gnome proprietor does. In fact, he's got quite the reading room set up, with a half-dozen bookshelves stuffed with books old and new.
Father
Dieter looks at the door excitedly then back at his mother "mama I missed you"
Using his fork he puts one of the shrivelled carrots in his mouth.
"Um. Anyways! Sorry to interupt. Ida. I have a favor to ask. You know the smithy in Beregost, Taerom? Can you cast Sending to him?" She hands her a scrap of paper. "I...wrote out what I wanted to ask him."
Taerom, Stella wishes you well and asks how rebuilding the smithy and creating the antidote are going. May the stars shine upon you.
Just before her lips reach him, there's an instant of seeing the kitchen through different eyes. It's dark, cold. His mother is withered boned and ash, with gray eyes that flicker like flame.
And then the terrifying moment is gone. His mother's kiss is warm and familiar. This sensation, this memory, opens a tender hole within Dieter, one he had buried long ago...
Sweet laughter rings through the kitchen, and suddenly there is a young girl in a chair beside him. Her golden curls bounce as she giggles, bits of beans clinging to the edges of her mouth.
It's his sister. He used to have a sister. What was her name...?
"I am you by another name." The girl's lips move, but it's Dieter's own voice that he hears.
"S-sister girl, Ada?" Dieter wants to move his chair away from her, he wants to hide
Dieter's mother steps in with a cloth, wiping away the girl's messy face and hands. Over her shoulder, Dieter sees a window. It's dark outside. And... something moves. A swirl of black mist presses up against the glass as if seeking a way inside. Then the mist solidifies into a human hand, scabbed and writhing. Its dirty fingernails, practically claws, scrape awfully against the glass.
Neither mother nor sister seem to notice.
His mother turns around from cleaning Ada, and the hand vanishes. "I wonder what's keeping your father? He's usually home by now..."
A heavy knock sounds from behind Dieter. A door? The door. Yes, he remembers the front door.
The knock sounds again. Heavy. Wooden. Emotionless.
"Daddy!' Ada giggles.
"Let's turn you around so your father can see your happy face when we open the door!" His mother is nowhere to be seen, but his chair scrapes against the floor as it slowly turns of its own accord to face the front door.
Ada's laughter continues to sound in his ears, but he knows she's not next to him anymore. She's gone.
The knocking gets louder. More forceful. Nothing else exists to Dieter except that shaking door. Each knock drives a spike of fear and adrenaline into his brain.
Dieter's face is pale. His lips are purple.
"D-Dieter? Are you...okay? Dieter...? Dieter!" She pats him on the shoulder then the face, then splashes a mug of water on his face, then checks his pulse, becoming increasingly worried.
Rolls
Medicine (What seems to be the problem?) - (1d20+4)
(19) + 4 = 23
But that's not all. Stella can tell that the spark of life has gone out of him. Not that he's dead, she's actually seen that before in him. But something like his inner self, his soul, isn't present. And without it, his body is dying.
His chair shudders, then begins to scoot across the floor towards the door as if being pushed from behind.
"You are a failure, Dieter," Ada's voice croons with crystal clear diction. "Dieter. Dieter!" The little girl's voice changes. It's unsure. Panicked. "Are you... okay? Dieter...? Dieter!"
He's nearly close enough to touch the door itself. The door's handle rattles violently, like it might be torn off. Black mist creeps from the key hole. From beneath the door, from its edges. A dozen clawed, gray fingers stretch toward Dieter, hungry for his flesh!
Rolls
Wis - (1D20-1)
(3) - 1 = 2
Luck - (1D20-1)
(20) - 1 = 19