(1876-04-03) To Save a Witch
To Save a Witch
Summary: Myrana enacts her plan to save the hedgewitch Fran from witchhunters. Elian-players-prp.
Date: 4th April 2020.
Related: (1876-03-06) An Abandoned Camp, (1876-03-14) Finn and Fran, (1876-03-16) The Bailiff's Book
NPCs: Fran
Players:
Myrana  

The estate referenced in the coded letter as greenwood den.
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IC date of RP

Greenwood Den doesn't actually exist. It takes a while to determine that it is in fact a coded term for wherever the building is but once you do its a simple, but time consuming, task to track down the group and their current headquarters. In the end you trace them to a large farmhouse previously owned by a minor noble who sadly got his head removed in the early days of the purge. The farmlands themselves are just turning green with the spring and offer little cover but luckily there is enough activity, and a few copses of trees, that make getting into the grounds a relatively simple task.

Now safely within the hedges you can see the house. It has two stories and has been extended a couple of times over the years with each extention built in the style popular during its construction. Its rather charming actually, part timbered, part stone, and surrounded by pretty, if a little overgrown, gardens in a rambling style. Luckily those gardens are quite mature and include many a tree and bush to hide in.

The house has three entrances on the ground floor and plenty of windows both up and down. Each accessed via flower flanked garden paths. Without the armed men who live and work within it would be childs play to get inside. Alas. There are usually armed men roaming the grounds and at least eight seem to live in the long single story extention that flanks the building. Numbers in the estate vary heavily from maybe four to maybe sixteen with a churchman who screams inquisitor coming and going with a personal team. Presumably Fran is somewhere inside.


Spending time investigating reveals more about the interior of the building. It seems the upper floor includes the family rooms, as is typical in such a building, whilst the lower floors are used for business and entertaining. The pattern of light use shows that the room on the right upstairs (which seems to be a master bedroom when you peek inside) isnt used very often and seems to have been set aside by the inquisitor. The little extension that juts out often has a lamp burning during the dusk hours. The lamps downstairs follow the typical useage patterns of servants, staff and general use.


It's a very pretty garden; just the sort that Myrana likes. The night breeze fanning the rosebushes is heady with sweet perfume and the singing of night insects as she climbs the trellis, mindful of thorns and the creak of delicate wood, so close to the window of the barracks full of soldiers she's scaling.

Carefully, lightly, she pulls herself up onto the roof with the faintest tinkle of lightsilver and a flash of her masked face in the moonlight as she perches on the edge and looks over her shoulder.

There! The window of the extension on its frustrating stilts. There's a laugh from below and some thudding as someone moves a chest, by the sounds of it dragging, out for a cardtable. Myra doesn't budge, but twists to peer in through the quiet lit window behind her, wary of making any unneccessary sound.

Just as she'd hoped; the lamplight shining out from the high room shows the face of a young woman dimly through the panes.

Fran.

Myra lets out a breath and ceases to crane her neck, but turns her face now towards the windows to her right. Catfooted and sure of herself, she creeps without trouble across the roof of the barracks, the tip of snub Ardaigh brushing her hip, the scabbard fixed across her back and out of the way, safe from banging against anything at a bad time.

Breaking into manor houses, after all, is one of Myra's very favorite nighttime activities. She presses herself to the wall and shivvers a little in the breeze that puts goosebumps up her back despite the warm angora of her hood and coat.


It takes a couple of moments of levering at the sash style window before it finally gives up and opens onto the night. The windows are rediculously easy to access. Clearly preventing small women from breaking in this way wasnt high on the list of priorities when the barrack extention was built. Slipping inside you find a large open room containing a fireplace, the stairs, a couple of tables set for things like playing cards and chess, and a cluster of seats. Its dark and empty of people with that strange impression of being practically abandoned. The soft thrum of male voices continues to trickle up the stairs and through the open window which granted you access. Nothing suggests that the speakers are likely to come up here anytime soon though. The room to the right (master bedroom presumably) seems equally as dark and silent but you can make out a trickle of light under the door-curtain splitting the target room from this one.


All quiet. Myrana straightens in the center of the room with all the slow caution of a burglar, weight on her toes and eyes soaking in every bit of light available in the dark room. For a moment she considers the door to Fran's chamber, and the other unknown room. What could be in there? Later. She pivots, eyes adjusted now and senses alive, and goes to the top of the stairs that will lead down to the ground floor.

Fran is pregnant. Very pregnant, perhaps, otherwise she'd try getting her to climb down the way she herself came up with the use of some rope. Therefore they must go out a door.

Myrana eases down a step. Two. Drops down to a low crouch and goes down another step till she can peek down into the room below without revealing herself… or so she hopes.


Bad news. There are three armed men playing cards in the 'grand hall'. There is nothing to suggest they are planning to leave their position at any point tonight. So walking down the stairs with Fran will inevitably result in a fight. Unless you can get rid of them first. Somehow.
And quietly too. There are at least four more men in the barrack area. Its unlikely they wont respond if you make a rukus.


Myrana eases back up, nope nope nope!

Back in the darkened family room, Myrana sits on her haunches and chews on the tip of one thumb, glaring ferociously at the middle distance. Thinking.

How should she get those soldiers out of there?

She considers the mystery room once more.

Well, she casts a look up at the cieling and shrugs for nobody's benefit but her own. Why not? She walks to the door of the room beside Fran's and presses her ear to the door, trying to hear anyone snoring or stirring inside.


There is some rustling and movement. Not much. She's probably in bed or at least seated. The other room is silent and dark.


There's always this sort of moment in a dark house. It's a creepy feeling. Do you open the door, and wake up the dog that might be sleeping in there?

No, she doesn't need to go in there. She takes her hand off the knob and folds her arms tightly across her chest.

There are too many men downstairs, she thinks to herself, eyes sparking faintly teal with irritation. I can't fight all of them. And if I set fire to the study, they'll come rescue the prisoner.

Myra bites her lip.

And goes to the flap of the door where Fran hides.

A few feet from the door she stops, and then lets her feet shuffle ever so slightly, so that the woman inside has a chance of hearing her, knowing how the senses of someone in captivity are sharpened for the sound of approach. Coming to the door, too quiet to be heard from the rooms below but no longer silent, she opens the flap.

"Miss Fran," she murmurs in her low smokey voice. "My name is Nightbird. I'm here to help you. Don't scream."


The woman inside looks tired, very pregnant, but remarkably calm. She looks up sharply, clearly surprised, but quickly gives a terse nod. "I dont scream Nightbird." She has made an effort to keep the room tidy and clean but its still fairly obvious that she probably hasnt left it in weeks. "Are we going now?"


Myrana shakes her head, relieved. "Apologies," she says, then gets right to the point. "No, tonight I'm alone, and I can't get you to safety with so many guards here." Coming in another step, she bows politely. "But I mean to return as soon as I have gotten some drugs for the cookpot. When they are weakened we will flee."


Fran sighs before nodding again. Softly she asks. "When are you coming back? I will do my best to prepare."


Back in her merchant's clothes and mannerism and the light of day, Myrana d'Armaz takes a whole day for just one thing:

Finding the Syndicate element in town.

This is something she happens to be very very good at, and by nightfall she has tracked down a Geroux herbalist running his business out of the back of a grocer's, selling tinctures of sinister plants and powders labeled convincingly as rat poison. Rather than let him know who she is and with her easily recognizeable hair all wrapped in its silk turban, Myra pays MUCH too much for a horrendous dose of some sort of dope called Grek.

"Charming," she mutters, stuffing it into her coat and rubbing her cheek where the dealer pinched her face with a phlegmy laugh. She'd itched to cut the Geroux's hand's right off, but had settled for the leery look and the knowledge that they'd be visiting her Inn room tonight, if she was any judge. Just as well that she wasn't going to be there, nor any of her valuables.

That night at the manor house, as dinner is being prepared, soemthing has happened to the pigpen gate, and released from its confinement, the cook's hog goes out into the herb garden and starts helping itself.

As the cook runs out, Myrana slips in through the window and upends the Grek into the pot bubbling over the fire. She gives it a stir, and ducks back out, dropping back into the rosebushes to hide for a few stiff hours.

Around dinner time, Myra climbs back up the building and sits out of sight on the roof, waiting.


As evening comes around again Myrana can see signs that the Grek has had the desired effect. A guard who's supposed to be minding the gate is half asleep, blinking owlishly every time his drowsiness threatens to get the better of him. The barrack extension is quiet but for the rumble of snoring and a careful peek shows that there are still three guards in the hall but that they are definitely less alert. One, a fairly large fellow, keeps tittering. Another complains he's feeling strange.


Myrana opens the flap to Fran's room.

"The three downstairs are drugged," she says. "We must go out past them. Let me handle them, and keep out of their grasp. If I fall behind, keep going." She reaches her hand out to the heavily pregnant woman. "My horse is just on the other side of the trees. He will kneel on command. Are you ready?"


Fran throws back her blanket to reveal that she is fully dressed. "Yes. I am ready." She moves to follow Myrana. Trusting to her guidance.


Myrana lets out a breath and nods, turning on her heel to lead Fran quietly through the dark room and down the stairs, walking ahead of her and trying to trust in the strength of the d'Geroux drug. If they're lucky they may be able to get across much of the room and towards the door before the guards are on their feet. Most importantly, she keeps herself between the pregnant Fran and the men at the table, plastering a big smile on her face.


The problem with a plan that requires walking down a set of stairs and through a room that holds three adult men is that they are going to notice. The stare, dumbfounded, at Myrana and Fran for much longer than is normal but they do react. The smallest of the three pushes back his chair and up to his feet to ask a confused "What are you doing?". The big guy just snickers. The other one gets to his feet but doesn't say anything.

Fran is quiet. Hovering behind Myrana.


Keep walking. Myrana fixes her eyes on the little one, and her smile gets bigger. "We need some fresh air," she says, not stopping, and keeping between Fran and them and willing the other woman to keep heading for the door. "Are you feeling funny?"


Alas. The drug isnt strong enough to make them just sit there and stare at two women escaping their guardposts. "Wait!" says the one as the two who are already standing move to block off the door. The tittering one finally lumbers up to his feet. Swaying a little. "Who /are you?" asks the small one.


"Who am I? Why, I'm Sir Tavi Deverot!" says Myrana, with a cat's grin pulling at the corners of her mouth and her heart leaping to an excited tattoo in her chest as all three get to their feet. She points at the door and then veers off towards the table, meaning to intercept the guards before they can get between Fran and the door, drawing her sword and throwing her arms wide. "THE DREAD PIRATE DEVEROT!" And raising her voice smashes the flat of Ardaigh against a vase with a loud crash of porcelain, leaping in among them in the sudden chaos of noise. "SEND ALL BILLS OF REPAIR TO THE SALTY BITCH!"


To Be Continued…

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