RP: Killing in the Name of Shrooms

Summary: Ernest and Rilla's mystery continues as the pair search beneath the Fungus Brewery in Gualon for the body of a missing orc. Searching turns up both more and less than they bargained for.

Rilla had gone looking for answers from the usual sources through the last week. Having received offers for all the information she wanted she would have expected something. The world was preoccupied, there was certainly enough going on. So answer finding it was, and the Fungus Brewery seemed like a safe bet to start. Getting in and out was easy even without them giving tours. She’d left word for Ernest in the form of a letter pinned by a thin knife to a nearby tree days earlier. Perhaps a flair for drama, or just a strong desire not to talk to people. Today she stood outside, all in black as always, auburn curls pulled into a braid and out of her face. She lingered in the shadows just outside, hugging close to the wall. Half her face was obscured by a mask, stark black against pale skin and not nearly enough to really stop the scent from creeping in. Tapping her toe - the boots she’d previously filled with mud now cleaned again - she scanned for one Ernest Crane, still unsure exactly what a scheme consultant could possibly be.

Ernest had also gone in search of information. It had taken a bit of deep searching in the library, but eventually a necromancy spell to locate a dead body had come up. Ought to be useful when constructing minions--or checking for a pulse--and though he wasn't quite certain how it was going to combine with his other spells just yet he was certainly going to figure -something- out. Regardless, it was simple enough of a spell that he planned on casting it without having to deal with his spellbook, which meant spending a couple of days away from that particular cursed object. He'd spent it tracking down sources on this Droghan tribe, and using -that- info to snag a possession of the possibly-deceased. If the generic version of the death-locator didn't work, maybe an amped-up version aimed for a specific entity might. Regardless, it felt like a weight lifted off, a breath of fresh air to not carry his spellbook this evening, on his rendezvous with Rilla. The undead could be heard approaching down the path, the spurs of his boots clinking dramatically. Somewhere, a thematically-appropriate crow made a cawing sound and flew off with a rustle of feathers. The vultures circled overhead, but whether that was because they wanted to eat him or they just fit the undead's image too perfectly to not be here will forever be a mystery. His hat and longcoat oozed a wispy, immaterial black smoke that dissipated immediately and served no purpose but to look rad. This was, admittedly, at least half of his reasoning behind learning magic: appearances were everything. He knew she'd be here, but even with that it took a bit of searching to pick her out of the shadows, and he offered a tip of his wide-brimmed hat to her. "Evenin'," he drawled, his voice sounding extra dry this evening--so he flipped a flask out of his pocket and took a swig.

Rilla looked up at the incoming clink of spurs, a detail she hadn’t been privy to in a swamp, but that she lofted a brow at to herself and shook her head. If she had a flair for drama, Ernest was running an entire show between his birds and the outfit. All the same, Rilla stepped from the shadows, her steps silent in contrast to the ostentatious presentation of her partner for the evening. “Evening.” She offered a smile, uncrossing her arms and burying them into the pockets of her leather jacket. “You brought your own drink to a brewery? If you ask any of these men you’re making the wrong choice.” Rilla laughed, rocking back on her heels as crystalline eyes followed a passing orc, her smile briefly fading at the corners before she looked back to the undead man. “Judging by the smell though, I think you might have had the right idea. Magik sends his best, by the by.” One hand emerged, waved dismissively before coming to rest with fingers just brushing the hilt of her dagger at her thigh. A sound from inside made her stiffen, shoulders drawn slightly up. “Unfortunately he didn’t have much else to say, so I’m hoping you had more luck on your end.” Her brows raised in anticipation and her head cocked to one side slightly. When she spoke again her voice was hushed, not looking to alert the staff or patrons to her intention to disturb the fungus they were very much using. “Otherwise getting in is easy, it’s not getting caught while we’re in there that’s harder.”

Ernest gestured with the flask and shrugged. then poured some out on the ground--just water--before sealing it back up and tucking it away. "Think I may've found a spell or two that might help, on my end. Corpse locator, that is." As for not getting caught--that might end up not being too much of a problem either, but he preferred not to show his hand there just yet. His "plan", if you could call it that, was... less than subtle. "I'll follow yer lead, gettin' in, since yer th' one who cased th' place." His initial instinct had been to just walk inside and look around, since there was a sign showing they did tours, but if she had other ideas he didn't want necessarily to ruin them by acting rashly.

Rilla looked from the water Ernest poured out back up at him, although the scent of the fungus was mostly overpowering here she got the message. “My plan is exactly what you think it is. Path of least resistance. But I doubt they’ll like us messing around in their fungus is all.” She shuddered, smiling under her mask. Rilla didn’t waste any more time, tilting her head towards the door before she turned and went back inside the overwhelmingly pungent building. Breathing was a reflex, but not strictly necessary by all accounts, and Rilla planned to take full advantage by holding her breath. Glancing behind her, she made sure Ernest was following as she ducked around the crowd that had gathered at the end of the tour. They seemed less frequent around the dinner hour - probably so that they could prepare food for all of their hungry patrons who created a low din that Rilla had to fight to tune out. At the front of the line there was the smashing of a glass and a low grunt before the human serving the orc in question relented and provided another. A common occurrence around here, she picked out the mutterings of ‘not again’ from the staff who had all eyes fixed on the unfolding situation. “Pst.” Rilla hissed and pointed to the stairwell down. She slipped easily past the larger patrons and leaned her back against the door to hold it open for Ernest. The smell from underneath even stronger than the upstairs, her nose wrinkled. “Let’s make this quick, shall we?” She muttered, eager to get Ernest down the stone steps and into the fungus farm below. She would follow him down, a hand on the railing and her jaw clenched as the basement opened up into the swampy farm with mushrooms and fungi growing across surfaces specifically made for them, but mostly growing from the fertile soil. The light was dim, the air warm and humid. “That’s truly rank.” Rilla choked with a laugh as she came to the landing.. “Alright Ernest, we’ve got about 20 minutes to get in and out before we have to explain what we’re doing.”

Ernest loved the path of least resistance idea. It was almost as good as the old "surprise Quality Inspector" bit he used to run back when he was still 60% water. Unfortunately, nobody would likely fall for that -now- (grumble grumble Shishi's fault) so this was the next best solution. He went ahead and doused the smoky effect on his outfit as they entered, instead whipping up a minor aeromancy cantrip to help still the air around him to make the sound of his boots more dull and less attention-grabby. Once they were down inside--it was quite interesting, sensing something that would have immediately blown your mind while you were alive, but reacting to it far less strongly now--he nodded and held up a hand, closing his eyes and concentrating. The shadows underneath his hand--indistinct in the dim light--suddenly hardened, extruded themselves and -detached-, forming a ghostly version of one of those more tangible Helpin' Hands from the other day. "Alright, kid," he muttered, crossing his arms and watching it closely. "Find me a dead body." At first, the hand just sort of shook, becoming translucent, flickering indecisively. Ernest grunted and curled his lip at it. "Orc body." Now the hand started to move carefully down the rows in a searching pattern. Ernest nudged Rilla with an elbow. "Five silver says they got fungus what grows best on dead orcs, an' there's a whole pile of 'em somewhere in here."

ROLLED D20 (7)

Rilla crossed her arms over her chest, shoulders tense and raised as she tried to remember not to speak too much so that she didn’t have to breathe. The cave that opened up beneath the brewery would be a lot to search and even without outside help there was no way that a body found here would be in decent condition. She followed the hand with her eyes, hesitant to trust most things magic. Ernest’s elbow made her jump slightly, but her face softened and she choked back a laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but I will be disappointed. Digging through a pile of dead orcs looking for the right one is not my idea of a good time. You’ve got a bet, I’ve gotta catch a break sometime.” The hand searched up and down, and as it got further away Rilla moved to follow it, picking carefully through the soft dirt. There were footsteps, but that was to be expected, she was looking for other hints. With each step her boots sunk just slightly into the ground, the occasional soft squelching sound breaking the quiet. “Don’t forget to warn me if someone’s coming down.” She reminded, calling over her shoulder to Ernest. Rilla was close behind when the hand began pointing and waving. She was on the spot immediately and the hand went to tug at Ernest’s sleeve. Crouching, her heels off the ground, she pulled a pair of dark gloves from her pocket. She didn’t have to do much uncovering, the body only had a thin layer of dirt over it. Bloated and covered in fungi there was no question that it was an orc from the sheer size of it but features were impossible to make out. She uncovered a hand - no ring on the meaty grey fingers, though one of them nearly came right off in Rilla’s hand, causing her to curse under her breath. “Well, we got a body but no ring. Check it out, but I don’t think that’s our man and I’m betting if there’s one there are more.” She sighed, straightening up and shaking a stray curl from her face - there was no way she was touching it with those gloves.

Ernest stood by the landing and waited, keeping watch over the door as requested. An idea occurred to him--a really terrible, hilarious idea which he was about three seconds from actually doing, and the implement with which he was planning on doing it was already in his hands--a crossbow bolt which he spun in his fingers, and which gleamed even in this dim light with a rather sickly purple color. When the hand came rushing back to tug him over to the body, he took one more look up the doorway and then headed down into the soft dirt to examine the corpse himself. No fancy de-mudding spell this time, just squelching--wouldn't do to leave literal hard evidence they were down here. Once he was over there, he passed the bolt to Rilla. "If you hear someone, toss that in the air, straight up," he said, "just not hard enough that it'll hit the ceiling." Then he squat down beside the body--faint runes glowing on his longcoat as he engaged its barrier function for no reason other than to keep the mud off of it--and brushed the dirt away to examine it a little more thoroughly. "No ring, I ain't seein' any markings that'd suggest a ring -was- there, either... hm." He glanced down to the little shadow hand on his sleeve. "Any others?" It lifted up and searched briefly, before indicating a second location. Unfortunately, this one was even further gone than the other one and seemed to have been down here for quite a while, being mostly compost and bones at this point. "That one's been here too long. I 'spect we ain't findin' our guy in here, 'least not his whole self." He crossed his arms and squinted. "Dead end? Don't think I'd be gettin' -paid- t'go on a wild goose chase, so if this is a place fer bodies an' our killers were smart you'd -think- he'd be here."

ROLLED D20 (12)

When Rilla looked up and spotted the crossbow bolt, she stiffened. She couldn’t help it, they had similar interests now but that had never stopped anyone before. Her gaze was cautious as he approached, jaw set though her stance was uneven on the moist ground. Hesitantly she took the bolt from him and nodded, holding it between her fingers and twirling as she kept an eye on the entrance. She stepped over the body, walking the other side of the aisle towards the entrance slowly. As she did she spied more bodies beneath the mushrooms that grew throughout, all in various states of decomposition. “I know that composting is natural and good for the world, but I think they’re taking this a little too far. This place is practically a graveyard.” She bit the inside of her cheek, looking back at Ernest, considering their options and the limited time before someone found them down here and they had to explain why they were stomping around here. “I think we found a body dump for a serial killer,” Rilla mused, “but that’ll be a problem for later.” She paused then, head cocked to one side at a scrap of fabric, royal purple, not the colour she expected on any orc nevermind a dead one. “I think I’d got something.” Rilla called out to him, glancing up at the entrance once more before parting the thin layer of soil. Out came part of an arm up to the elbow, not as badly decomposed as the others, the fine fabric still in decent condition but dirty. With gloved hands she turned it over carefully, runic tattoos remained on the parts of skin that were intact. She couldn’t be sure but there might have been a tan line where a ring should have been. “What do you think?”

Ernest tapped his chin in thought as he strode over to where the arm was unearthed, peering at it closely. "Fabric scrap's got awful rich color. Could be our guy, or at least someone close to 'em. Did a bit of research on those Droghan folks, apparently they're supposed to be the resident woo-woo experts." For someone who uses actual real magic on the regular, you'd think he'd have more respect for magical shenanigans than wiggling his fingers spookily. "So it stands t'reason this might be a -piece- of our guy. Ain't no way to know fer certain 'til we try an' hook it up t'th'rest of 'im, though, so I guess we'll have ta bring it with us." He glanced around, his eyes adjusting to the sight of more than one body, and then he beamed widely. "I win, by the way." A serial killer on the loose was serious business, though--for, as she had mentioned, later.

Rilla held the arm by the hand as she examined it, her face only *slightly* wrinkled with disgust. Normally the dead bodies she dealt with were much fresher. Side-eyeing Ernest, she laughed under her breath. “Woo-woo experts, huh?” She teased with a shake of her head, “which one of us makes helping hands here, you or me?” Her voice was hushed, but she couldn’t help her amusement. Straightening up, she held out the arm to Ernest, he was the necromancer, he could handle the body parts. “A bet’s a bet. When we get out of here there’s five silver with your name on it, but let’s not stick around to find out if they’ve got fungus that would like to eat us.” Rilla suggested with a wag of her brow, already turning to head for the door. “First a swamp and now this, I think I’m going to have to burn these clothes.” She shook her head, scraping her boots off on the stone at the landing, she swept an arm to indicate that Ernest should go ahead. “The guide’s giving his introduction, hurry up.” She hissed, immensely grateful to be a vampire in times like this.

ROLLED D20 (8)

Ernest took the arm, grin still present, and shrugged in response to the question about hands. "It's a hobby, mostly." As he followed her out--careful to make his footsteps seem like anybody's routine patrols down here--he snorted at the suggestion that there might be a carnivorous fungus down here. "I cain't imagine a mushroom wantin' ta eat me. Not 'nough moisture." Still, it would be a good idea to be out of there before the entire tour group came through, he didn't have enough ammunition for that. Definitely time to bail, and so at her invitation he went ahead and swept up the stairs ahead of her, dismissing the barrier effect on his longcoat and letting any debris that had stuck to said barrier fall away. Hopefully they wouldn't bring too much of the stench of death and/or extremely fresh mushrooms with them--Ernest sequestered the arm inside his coat so that nobody would see it--and attempted to slip out the door and around the corner before anyone saw, likely just in front of Rilla in that regard. Unfortunately, one of the other chaperones of the tour happened to be looking their direction and followed after with a puzzled but irritated expression. "Excuse me, but you aren't supposed to be down there by yourselves--"

Rilla bit her tongue, stifling a laugh at his comment as she shook her head. “Not enough moisture,” she repeated under her breath. Her mask hid her smile, but amusement touched her eyes all the same. Rilla followed up close behind Ernest, slipping her gloves off and tucking them away in an inside pocket of her jacket. She stood on the top step, just about to round the corner with her head down, frozen when she heard a voice. Rilla took a deep breath, calming herself. With the corner rounded, she nudged Ernest’s boot with hers, brows lofted as she flipped the bolt between two fingers, a silent question. Rilla didn’t wait for the answer before tossing it gently straight up into the air. Unsure what to expect, she didn’t really have time to debate it. Looking between the bolt and Ernest, she mumbled a single word: “necromancers.”

Ernest was not, primarily, a necromancer. Sure, he used the dark arts an awful lot in a support category, but what he'd trained all his life was his skill with crossbowmanship, and what happened in the split-second that crossbow bolt was in the air was proof of it. The undead's longcoat flew open to one side, but by the time the eye registered the movement his crossbow would already be out of its holster and in his hand. He spun it on his finger once as he shoved it forward, catching the crossbow bolt in midair in such a way that the mechanism cocked and loaded itself. A second spin, and he'd caught it against his palm and wrapped his other fingers around its grip, leveling it straight over Rilla's shoulder and at the interloper. Now under most circumstances, such a small crossbow with a tiny draw weight would be of no use to anybody, and as Ernest pulled the trigger and sent the bolt flying, it might seem as though his fancy shenanigans had screwed over his aim, as the bolt simply flew over the man's head, merely grazing it, brushing through his (surprisingly luscious) hair. Unfortunately for our poor tour guide, Ernest's crossbow bolt was laced with The Curse of the Wandering Child, and that -particular- touch was all it needed. The man recoiled with a yelp--unheard inside, because of the commotion--and asked, "Did you just--why would you--who are you? Don't you know who I am? I'm going to tell the--no, I'm going to--wait, better yet--hold on, did I forget to--" After only a moment, his righteous indignation turned to distracted mumbling to himself, and he started to... wander off. Ernest chuckled quietly, spun the crossbow once more and holstered it. "Distraction curse. Turns your creativity up to eleven, ruins your ability to focus on anything. He'll sleep it off and be fine later. Might not even remember we were here, if he gets far enough."

Rilla wasn’t easily impressed by weapon handling, she considered herself a bit of an expert at this point in her life, but she nodded her approval at Ernest’s feat - at least until the bolt flew past the head it had been aimed at. Her turmoil only grew as concern turned to confusion at the result he’d achieved. She put a hand on Ernest’s back, ushering him out quickly to avoid eyes on them. Rilla moved quickly, kept her head down until she was through the door and out in the less-pungent air. “I think you might be the strangest mancer I’ve seen yet.” Rilla commented, already breaking for nearby trees, though she no longer guided Ernest along. “Are you opposed to violence or something? We might have a fundamental difference of opinion if so.” Her tone was less severe and she slowed, turning to face Ernest, tugging her mask down her chin to flash a grin. “I’d stay to chat, but I want to rip my own skin off and burn all of my clothes.” She wrinkled her nose, despite the mask the smell was too much for her heightened sense of smell. “I’ll find you in a day or two, I’ve got more questions than answers.” And with that she’d be off if she wasn’t stopped, towards the trees where she’d disappear into them once more.

Ernest shook his head when questioned whether he was opposed to violence, and was about to explain--no body to hide or permanent-disappearance to explain was more conducive to long-term business of the sneaky sort, but if he needed to put someone down he'd gladly do so (looking at you, Shishi)--when she no-time-to-talked him and took off. "Welp," he said to himself, slipping the arm out of his jacket and quietly animating it, then tossing it to the ground and letting it walk along next to him on its fingers like a spider, "guess it's time t'give our employer an update, huh?" The arm, as they proceeded to head off towards the city, had nothing to say on the matter. "Y'know, she called me -strange-. D'you think I'm strange?" The arm persisted in remaining stoically silent. "Y'ain't gotta be scared of me. I ain't gonna bite." Still, it seemed as though the arm didn't want to weigh in. "Well, that settles it, then..."