Of Ash and Dust

[Yumyumcrow]

The Farm remains.

The property may be in legal limbo since the authorities cordoned the building off with yellow tape; the farm house may be a gutted ruin still smelling from the reek of petrol and woodsmoke; the neighbours nearby may be discomfited by the rumour of arson; but the Farm remains.

It is the deep of a summer's night. The earth is still radiating the last, lingering, heat of the day; the vegetation that still grows thickly around the property breathes silently; and the last of the summer flowers give fragrance to the heavy air. It is the flowers that nail it, of course - they are a lasting legacy of those who have gone before: Chris Wooding and Katya; Erwin and Dirge and Gunnar. The fallen Grove King's flower bed is awash with night flowers giving the blackened skeleton of the farmhouse a gothic splendour.

The Farm was burned down from within. That secret still lurks within its petrified and fire scorched walls.

Saber Sloth Alice Hart @Unlimited_Sink Robert Cross

[Robert Cross]

Windows down, the sounds and smells of night come and go as Cross drives Alice to the farm. From the speakers comes the passionate and pained voice of Son House, a man eternally torn between the sacred and the profane, his Faith and his devotion to the blues and corn whiskey. Cross understands the position.

You know, late one evening / I went out on the outskirts of town

Last time he’d come this way, there’d been a sense of relief, almost happiness at escaping the gravitational pull of the city and Domain. Not so on this evening. Because tonight he knows that there is no solace to be found on the Farm, not after what happened last time. Which is exactly what’s brought them back: to investigate the fire, to answer some questions, and hopefully learn more about the Brood cell that seemingly orchestrated the attack. Cross remembers the flames, the heat coming off the farmhouse in waves, David Silver’s scorched form rocketing from a window, flesh melted and hair burned away. And it sets his own scars to tingling.

Oh, late one evening / I went out on the outskirts of town

Still, Alice had asked him to come. And Cross finds it hard to say no to her, especially when she’s hell bent on pursuing what would probably be a dangerous mission. And in her current state… Well, there’s no way she’d be going alone. Even if, as of late, she’s become more independent.

But, I say, little girl / Your little trouble is coming home some day

“More independent,” that’s one way to put it. Recently, she’d disappeared for a stretch of nights, and he’s still not sure about the details. She came back somehow changed, but he hasn’t been able to ask her about it all. There’s a war in him, between his desire to respect her privacy and his protective streak. And it’s unclear which side will win. Cross looks over at the Blind Doll in the passenger seat, wondering what she’s thinking. Wondering where she’s been.

Your little trouble is coming home someday

But, by then, they’re pulling up to the location. Cross cuts the music and the lights early on in their approach, heightening his senses to compensate for the sudden darkness. “We’re here,” he says softly as they park. He takes a moment to wrap the shadows around his gun and knife. He’s wearing what’s become his “creeping” uniform: black jeans, a baggy black sweater pulled over his kevlar vest, black tennis shoes, and a black ski mask he's got rolled up and perched on his scarred head as a kind of skull cap. “You ready?” he asks Alice, wanting to make sure she’s all set before getting out of the vehicle.

ToS Rolls

  4 successes

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2016-09-01 07:58:55		Robert Cross rolls 7 to ToS (Knife) Wits3 + Larceny1 + Obfuscate3 (10 Again)		7, 1, 9, 4, 10, 10, 10, 3, 5, 7		4 successes

  3 successes

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2016-09-01 07:59:19		Robert Cross rolls 7 to ToS (Gun) Wits3 + Larceny1 + Obfuscate3 (10 Again)		10, 2, 4, 3, 5, 8, 9, 1		3 successes

Equipment: 9mm, hunting knife, kevlar vest, ski mask, running shoes, cellphone on silent

[Alice Hart]

The last time Robert drove her somewhere, it was to the Deep Kingdom the night her eyes fell to ash. Her forehead rested against the window as she desperately wished for it to not be so. This night as they drove was the difference between Dawn, Dusk and the Twilight between them.

Alice sat, the windows rolled down the sounds of the universe flying passed in a blur as the sound system released the passionate, yet pained voice of the man Robert chose to fill the air. The burned Man, a man of few words, all most never spoke when he drove, at least when Alice was with him, instead choosing to allow the music to speak for him.

These lyrics, Alice thought, were entirely appropriate.

Having already divvied up the scant few facts Alice knew from her brief (and last) talk with Katya, both haunts knew that there was still much left to discover about that night that still seared fire and frenzy across her memories. The last handful of memories the Blind Doll had where she could see, had her flinching away because as the farmhouse burned, because she stood there and did nothing. Terror kept her frozen in place while the others, some with no reason to help did so without a question, but now as the fires flickered died, and left a charred out husk of that once was a place of meditation and worship. As Acolytes that once called this place home stayed hidden, or fled, it was Alice's turn to right the wrongs of her terror.

Because now....now it was personal.

The song cuts mid word, and Alice tilts her head towards Robert as he speaks, nodding when the car parks, and the engine dies down. Having no eyes of her own let the Burned Man into her wardrobe to choose her own 'sneaking uniform'. A pair of dark jeans, the now worn work boots that lately had seen more time outdoors then in the Deep Kingdom as the Doll worked on another project. A presumably dark shirt and leather jacket. Her ghostly locks tucked up and hidden under a dark hat. Her own knife a present from Jack, she kept within easy reach trying to wrap it in shadow, frowning when it refused to bend to her will and hide as it should.

Robert's question was met with a "Yes." where once it would have been hesitant, a 'No' within her soul as she did whatever she promised she'd do. Unbuckling her seat-belt, and making sure her sometimes needed, and sometimes not folding cane's strap was wrapped around her wrist, nodding when it is, she gives Robert a firm nod of her own and opens the car door. Waiting until both doors shut before she heightens her hearing to a supernatural degree.

"To the farmhouse?" Alice asks, wondering where they should start.

  failure; ToS

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2016-09-01 19:25:40		Alice Hart rolls 8 to Touch of Shadow (Knife) Wits3 + Larceny2 + Obfuscate2 +1size (10 Again)		5, 5, 5, 7, 2, 5, 2, 1		failure

Equipment: hunting knife, leather jacket, work boots, folding cane, sunglasses.

[Robert Cross]

Cross gets out of the vehicle after Alice and walks around to join her on the passenger side. He's never sure if she'll need help, but he's found it's best to let her inform him if she does. More and more these nights, Alice is capable of navigating the world on her own.

Not for the first time, Cross finds himself marveling at her adaptability, her perseverance. For a moment, he wants to reach out and take her hand. Instead, he answers her, close enough for her to smell the scent of burnt flesh and singed hair that emanates from him: "Yes, to the farmhouse..." he whispers. He pauses, just long enough to allow her to ask for assistance, before he begins to lead the way. "Let's move."

As they navigate through the dark toward the farmhouse, Cross sweeps their vicinity with his supernaturally enhanced vision, keen to spot anything out of the ordinary, any threat, before they can be caught off guard. The enemy struck at the members of the domain once before out here, there's no reason they won't try again. And he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to Alice.

  5 successes

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2016-09-01 20:00:14		Robert Cross rolls 6 to Wits3 + Composure3 (10 Again)		10, 9, 9, 9, 4, 9, 6		5 successes

[Alice Hart]

Sometimes Alice wants to lean on Robert as she had the night her eyes fell to ash. To take his hand in hers, maybe tug and twist his suit jacket has she had that night, but even as the thought rises it falls. She doesn't want to be that sort of person any more. She has her own strength, she always had. And right now, she wants to prove it to him.

When Robert agrees with her, she nods flicking her folding cane out. Extending it even as she catches the scent of burnt hair and skin. Robert's scent, the scent of his Curse. "Yeah. Let's go."

Slowly they move away from the car, toward where the burnt, charred remains of the farmhouse stood. Robert's keen eyes sweep the terrain, taking in every blade of grass, the shadows they cast and everything in between, Alice tilts her head, her ears doing the same.

  3 successes

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2016-09-01 20:09:32		Alice Hart rolls 6 to Perception (Wits 3 + Comp 3 ) (10 Again)		10, 9, 4, 10, 1, 7, 1, 7		3 successes

[Yumyumcrow]

The Farm is a tranquil night garden of gothic splendour and nothing more. There are no immediate dangers here; no mysterious foe laying in wait. There is only the broad expanse of the property and the charred ruin of the farm house itself. And the occasional critter foraging in the undergrowth, where the rudimentary fields lay and amid the cover of the sleeping trees. Natural, wholesome, night sounds.

The pair close the distance to the house. Gravel turns to grass under their feet. Not a particularly well kept expanse of grass but thick and spongey. And yes, probably in need of some cutting where it had not been battered down by the passage of the mundane authorities. Yellow warning tape is no bar to the Kindred.

Close by the house the quality of the ground shifts again. From spongey grass to a riot of dust, flattened grass, glass, stucco and wood fragments. The quality of the air changes too: the fragrance of the night garden is degraded, then crushed, by the acrid aroma of burnt wood, stone, and plaster. The change is almost physical once they stand before the ruin. As a structure, the farm house remains solid enough. Cross can see just how gutted the building is; Alice can come to the same conclusion by the scent and the feel of the shattered plaster and glass under her feet.

The farm is a black shadow, looming from the gloom. Its windows are mere blasted holes; the door has been smashed in; the wall have been pitted and scarred, scorched and scratched by flame. No longer a sanctuary; no longer safe; the bones of the farm house gleam dully like the bones of a great leviathan creature washed up on the shores of reality from the nightmarish depths of the night.

[Robert Cross]

Coming to a halt before the remains of the farmhouse, Cross is struck by the extent of the damage. Sure, it was technically still "standing," but that makes almost no difference. The structure is a ruin. "Things seem quiet," he remarks in a whisper. "The walls are still standing, but little else," his voice carries a note of wonder. It's hard not to be awed by such destruction.

"Let's check out the interior." With that, he takes Alice's hand and leads her through the blackened hole that used to be the door, pushing aside any larger pieces of debris to clear the way. Once they are inside, and things look clear, he releases her hand and begins to take stock of the charred remnants of the farmhouse, looking for anything unusual, anything that might give him a clue as to what, exactly, happened here. Alice can here him kicking around the rubble, shifting detritus as he examines the mess.

  2 successes

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2016-09-02 07:51:22		Robert Cross rolls 6 to Wits3 + Composure3 (10 Again)		8, 6, 7, 1, 4, 8		2 successes

[Alice Hart]

The crunch of gravel underfoot is exchanged with the spongey wet sound of grass. Alice's nose crinkles at the difference as it echos loudly in her inhumanly enhanced ears. A frown blooms when even the uncomfortable sound of wet grass shifts to that of the physical proof, the fragments of the farmhouse underfoot. With the proof of the broken fragments crunching, splintering farther with every step taken, the torrid scent of the burnt and charred remains of the farmhouse replace the pleasant aroma of night flowers, and other more preferred aspects of nature.

"Too quiet?" Alice asks, whisper soft, from someone else this question could be a sign of levity, but for Alice it was truly asked, even as her hollow voice makes it sound insincere, in Alice's opinion it would be their luck to have walked right into an ambush.

Alice hums at Robert's comment, the corners of her mouth flicking upward at the wonder his words carried. "It has good bones." once the threat was dealt with, there would be time enough to rebuild.

Already nodding, and prepared to take a step forward when Robert grabs her hand. The Doll's head shifts, aborting when she realizes she can't look at their joined hands. Perhaps Alice's finger twist, clutching tighter then needed to the Burned Man's, but if this is true the Doll doubts that either parties would tell.

Once inside, Robert steps forward, his hand leaving hers, as he beings to route through the wreckage. The sound echoing within her ears even as she realizes that without her eyes, she wouldn't be of much use here. Stumbling over things, perhaps even destroying evidence or some clue. Frowning the Doll stood where Robert left her, instead the Doll dose the one thing she can do. "Hecate of the three ways, goddess of the crossroad, keen-eyed one, you see clearly what others overlook...please, I implore you, reveal the secrets left behind by those who destroyed this places of worship." Alice begs of the goddess, willing to offer her blood, if that's what the goddess wishes.

[Yumyumcrow]

The interior is a blackened, charred, ruins. Fire has touched everything. Walls crumbled and melted. Wooden beams and lintels blacked, turn to charcoal, warp. Polished floorboards scoured and purged, their smooth lustre lost and transmuted to lumpen brittleness. Furniture rendered to dust and filthy ashes spitefully make Cross's path a difficult one.

Robert soon learns that whatever the Crone Farm once contained has been lost: parchment, books, lore - all gone. Wiped clean by the firey wrath. Evidence of the blaze still lingers, however. Bucked cans of gasoline lay strewn about hinting at the madness of the arsonists. Clearly they had tried to set the fire in the middle of the building with the intention that it would spread to all corners. They had sealed the exits so none could have broken in to rescue the prized contents of the Farm.

And then there is the jackpot: the open trap door in the floor. Cross could surmise that once, that trap door would have been an exquisite thing, flush and invisible against the floor: the ultimate entry or escape route, perhaps. Now, its frame has been brutalised by fire so it appears more an angry wound into the fabric of the building, or a maw leading into hell. A cool air rises from the depths, hinting at the tunnels beneath.

[Robert Cross]

With his heightened senses, Cross can hear Alice's muttered invocation clearly. If he weren't an undead creature, it would make his flesh crawl. He'd known she was interested in the Circle, and that her interest had only grown after her...change. But this is yet another sign that she'd fully dedicated herself to the Crone. He looks back, briefly, at the woman he would give anything to protect, filled with conflicted and confusing emotions...

As if to ward off her words, a line of the Testament springs into the Burned Man's mind, though he does not speak it, preferring to keep his comfort to himself:

"And I rejoiced, for I knew I was Damned, and that God willed it so."

Perhaps it is the words, or more likely the pragmatic pressures of their current situation, but Cross turns his attention back to the investigation. Now is not the time for such thoughts, not when there is so much evidence of true lunacy to be scrutinized: the gas cans, the barricaded doors... As he comes across these clues, he describes them, softly, to his sightless partner.

And finally: "Alice, I've got something here." The trapdoor. He moves back to her, taking her hand and leading her carefully among the ruins to the ominous opening gaping in the scorched earth. Softly: "It's a trap door." The cool breeze exhaled from the passage can only mean one thing, and as two monsters who have spent more than enough time in a world of underground tunnels, he's sure they both know what: "You feel that?"

He pauses, unsure about what their next move should be. Whether it would be safer to take her or leave her on the surface. Whether he, or they, should descend at all...

He looks closely at her face, admiring the strange perfection of her features, "What do you want to do?" he asks. After all, this place belongs to her people...