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Behold, the first session of the In Nomine campaign I'm running! Featuring three angels, an ethereal, and a very special guest star this session of a Lucky Dog. I apologize in advance from the damage I have done to the diacritics in the yeti's name to make it display properly here.
Episode 1: Everything Is Coming Up Canis
Rome in the spring! Less charming than one might hope, really; the city is currently a muddy pit, despite all the broad paving stones of the streets. An unusually dry winter gave one last deluge right before the Kalends of April, leaving the whole city smelling of wet dog, wet wool, and wet sewage washed up from where the river laps along its banks and then dries into the kind of sticky mud you really don't want to step in. Fortunately, the place set for today's meeting is a good distance from the river and its...odors.
The place in question is the grand forum of the Romans, with the glorious painted pillars of many a government building and statuary of many a wealthy donor in sight. In a supposedly neutral and peaceful city among the more supernatural community, this is one of a handful of particularly neutral places. Not everyone needs to enter the Temple of Janus, but sooner or later, everyone comes to the forum. An ethereal and two angels have been told to show up here today where a local guide will help them learn a bit more about the city, and how not to step on particularly powerful toes.
Each of these three was given some instruction along the lines of "Don't worry, you don't need to look for them; they'll spot you."
Blāsjarī ki himdcha looms quietly in the back of the forum. Swathed in a robe, keffiyeh and scarf of white silk, they could be mistaken for a Bedouin nomad, if Bedouin nomads were commonly nearly seven feet tall with tufts of white fur poking out from behind their face coverings.
Decimus Imberius determined that he was not going to be the first one to arrive two hours ago, and did this by arriving just outside of the forum instead and people-watching, a slightly-too-large beard on a face too young to support it, gangly frame and dark, wary eyes.
A Roman man peels himself out of the crowd. None too imposing at first glance, a head of curly hair, a soft body, and a few days past a shave. The large stain down the front of his garment is none too old, judging by the cloud of wine stink still clinging to him. His eyes, though, are clear and sober as he fixes them on the designated meeting place and strides towards it, smile growing on his face. “Friends!” he announces, throwing his arms wide. “Welcome to Rome!”
Decimus Imberius waits for him to pass by before unfolding himself from the bench, following at a safe distance, wrinkling his nose.
A fishmonger with a basket hung from a sturdy thong over his neck, rather than a stall to stand behind, angles toward the slowly growing cluster of people. "Fresh eels," he says hopefully, "very fresh, right off the docks, you won't find fresher anywhere in the forum, and I'm selling them practically for a straw!" He waves an eel head-first towards the nice young man, who looks the easiest to gull. Ah. To vend to. That's it. To vend to. Legitimately.
Decimus Imberius says, "I don't want any eels."
"Everyone wants eels," insists the man. "When you're in dire straits, what you need is an eel!" (The pun works better in Latin.)
“And if he did, he would want ones that died this week!” The ill-kempt Roman steps between the eelmonger and the bearded youth, turning the young man away and guiding him further down the forum. “Simply awful eels,” he informs. “If you ever do want eels, I know where there are far better.”
"Why does everyone think I want an eel? I don't want eels. I have enough eels already. I don't need any more eels." Decimus scowls.
"If I want fresh eel, I can get fresh eel. They are slow." Blāsjarī ki himdcha rumbles as they walk quietly behind the two Romans.
"You can't have too many eels," insists the fishmonger, a tone of desperation creeping into his voice. Slipping in, perhaps. "No one has too many eels, and I would defend the honor of my eels down to the House of Hades." His voice dwindles under the hubbub of the forum at large as the others move away.
“It is entirely possible to have too many eels, but that is not a story for so early in our friendship.” Another smile, this one to encompass both of the honored guests. “We are Pamphilos, and we are also, today, Manius Fulvius Bassus, who overindulged himself this morning and nearly found himself robbed and left for dead.”
"I am Blāsjarī ki himdcha, and I am in Rome waiting for a message to convey. An interesting place, it is. Too warm."
"Decimus Imberius." He scratches the beard, like he's making sure it's still there. "Administration and investigation."
“Barbatus,” Bassus states. “We will call you Barbatus. You are called Barbatus, if you wish.” He says this in a tone that indicates he is well aware of the issue of names. Turning to Blāsjarī ki himdcha, he becomes thoughtful. “If it will offend you when your name is mangled by ill-practiced tongues, you would be called Crinitus here.”
A herald on some steps nearby is shouting with dramatic hand gestures. Something about a set of entertainments being put on by a senator in honor of his brother's funeral rites. Jugglers, boxing, and a revival of Terence's best play, The Eunuch.
A few booths down a thin middle aged woman, black hair half turned grey, buys a small basket of dried herbs.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha shrugs. "It is more a description than a name. Crinitus is also a description, if less... dignified."
Decimus Imberius says, "Barbatus is fine."
Bassus says, “It is a description that will not cause an incident, my friend, and that is something to cultivate here. Now, I believe I see our last friend, to whom I have been sorely lax in attending.”
Pelagia approaches the group, checking a wax tablet with a dozen herb names scratched on it and crossed off. The final name on the list is "Blasjari himdcha."
"Hm." Decimus slips into step behind the women and the dog.
She looks up at the white robe and scarf, then further up. Finally she nods and crosses the last name off the list. Pelagia follows silently.
Decimus Imberius checks for anything along his path that would be easily palmed and dropped for a lonely dog.
“Ah! Dear Pelagia,” Bassus opens with, gesturing expansively. “Now we are complete. We do apologize for taking so long to meet with you properly, but we hear you have been getting along well. Please be introduced to Blāsjarī ki himdcha who we are calling Crinitus, and our other friend called Barbatus…where did Barbatus go?”
Pelagia notices the interest in the dog and idly resonates it.
Decimus Imberius attempts to whistle under his breath as he draws closer to the dog, which is mostly just confusing. He grabs a small piece of meat and a scrap or two of bread, his eyes never leaving the dog as he walks, still attempting to whistle in a stealthy fashion. He gives up on the whistling, since that wasn't ever going to work. "Dog. Here." He crouches down, holding the food in his left hand.
The dog cowers instinctively at being addressed by a LOOMING HUMAN FIGURE. Then, seeing the offered food, and the reduction in LOOM, darts forward to nab the food right out of that hand. Meat and bread disappear together in a single gulp, followed by a tentative, cowering tail-wag.
"Street dog", Pelagia mutters. "No friends, family, or home. Mostly eats rats and garbage."
Bassus says, “Sadly, quite common for dogs and not terribly uncommon for men.”
Decimus Imberius says, "This was a problem. It will likely be a problem again when the sun goes down, and when the sun rises it will be another problem. But for now, there is no problem."
Pelagia rummages in her herb basket. "Pamphilos, if you could spare a force..."
“Mm. Of course, dear Pelagia.” A moment’s attention on the dog, and the tentative tail-wag becomes more firm, before the dog trots over to Pelagia and sits neatly before her, the portrait of a Good Dog.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha says, "It is surprising to me that dogs go unfed here."
Decimus Imberius scowls, but doesn't say anything further.
Bassus looks pained. “It is everything we can do to keep the majority of the humans fed, alas. Pelagia, our friend, do you have something for fleas? We fear we’re quite terribly infested.”
Pelagia starts dosing the dog with anti-flea and anti-worm treatments.
Decimus Imberius's scowl lessens.
Passersby push past or around the little group, carrying their own wares, and sometimes giving an odd look to the woman dusting a dog. Well. She is hanging out with some sort of veiled barbarian. Who knows what people like that will get up to?
"There. Fed and de-loused. Short of major bodily injury, this dog will end up better off than it started, so you can borrow it quite a while safely."
Pelagia finishes a quick examination. "The dog is a she. About 2 years old. Undernourished but otherwise in reasonable health."
Blāsjarī ki himdcha raises their eyebrows slightly, which under the keffiyeh is just barely this side of perceptible, largely because their eyebrows take up most of their forehead.
Decimus Imberius continues adjusting his internal opinions of his current company.
“Well then, we shall see if an opportunity to improve her station more permanently presents itself.” Bassus begins moving again, and the dog, puckishly, trails at Decimus’ heels.
Pelagia follows.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha trails behind, moving remarkably quietly for someone a full two heads taller than the average Roman.
Decimus Imberius keeps glancing back at the dog, making sure it's still there, making sure it's still... dog.
Dog issue sorted, Bassus begins to launch into a lengthy monologue about Rome. A brief history summarized as “Humans, they’re wacky, huh?” Call-outs of important locales. Important taverns. Finally, a small alleyway where the tilework on the walls is incongruously well-laid. “Please forgive us for making a small detour, we think that some friends of ours may be able to provide for our smallest of friends.” The dog darts ahead into the alley, and Bassus makes to lead the group in after.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha peers up ahead, shading their eyes against the sun. "I think there is... fire, up that way."
Decimus Imberius stiffens. "What?"
The dog comes running back _out_ the alleyway, and Bassus nods. “Deeper in; a building burns. It is a well-peopled area.”
Decimus Imberius starts walking that way, quickly, agitated. "I need to--" He stops, turns around, and kneels down, eye to eye with the dog. "Stay."
Pelagia rummages in her robe for burn ointment and bandages while heading towards the fire.
Decimus Imberius gives the dog a nod, and then hurries toward the fire.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha follows the rest, still squinting against the sun.
“Go, go!” Bassus waves towards the alley. He looks up to scan the rooftops, and then a small nest of pigeons scatters. Most fly out over the city; one heads out above the alley.
There's a corner to turn in this narrow alley, but those rounding it can see the source of what has been spoken of: black smoke billowing from the attic window of a six-story tenement, its narrow windows and cracking plaster showing how bad its condition was _before_ it caught on fire. The fire is far enough up that not all of the pedestrians have noticed it yet, but a small crowd is starting to gather, point, and stare. A woman darts into the tenement building, shouting "Marce, Marce!" as she goes.
From above, the scene is more ominous. A crashed brazier in one room is one thing, and still possible for a single brave human to stomp out, but smoke is seeping out of the cracks in the shoddy roof in several places.
Pelagia tore a strip of cloth off her robe and soaked it in the well on the way. She ties it around her face and runs after the woman into the building.
Decimus Imberius does a lap around the base of the building, looking for anything unusual and out of place, anyone suspicious, not expecting to find them, but not sure what else he can do in this initial moment.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha turns to Bassus. "I assume helping the humans within will not... offend anyone, here?"
Pelagia knows the dangers of smoke inhalation, and expects to have to treat it.
“It certainly will not offend the ones you help!”
Inside the building, the woman Pelagia is following runs up one flight of rickety stairs, expertly leaping over the missing stair to plunge into a room. She grabs a bundle of clothing and a startled toddler who was waving a wooden horse in the air, and heads right back down again. The air inside is warmer than outside, and the smell of smoke thicker, though there are no traces of fire on the second floor yet.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha heads into the building after Pelagia
Bassus stays at the mouth of the alleyway, fretful. The dog whines. Above, the pigeon circles and seeks for anything overlooked.
Decimus Imberius runs back to the others, looking for a yeti, or failing that, someone or something large. "Blasjari! Where are-- inside? Did he go inside?"
The dog barks. Bassus nods. “Inside, yes. We can’t see the fire brigade.”
The woman with her toddler pushes past the Large Furry Barbarian on her way down the stairs and out the front door. "Someone, fetch water!" she shouts, though she doesn't seem inclined to do so herself, with her hands full of child and goods.
Decimus says, "The back door has been nailed shut. Anyone attempting to escape out of the back will be trapped."
The woman shakes her head to Pelagia. "I don't know, I don't go upstairs, people come and go. Maybe the doorkeeper and his wife? If they haven't left already, and left everything to burn!" She spits on the ground, and makes a warding sign. "Immortal gods rot them!"
"Rot them! Rot them!" echoes the toddler, and bops Pelagia on the shoulder with his wooden horse.
Bassus blanches. “Show us,” he says, and makes to follow.
Pelagia lets the woman go and heads upstairs.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha has continued up the stairs as well
Decimus Imberius leads Bassus to the door, tapping the nails driven into the wood as he scans the area again.
The further one climbs, the hotter it gets. A girl of eight or nine years staggers down the stairs with an infant strapped to her back, her arms full of household goods, and a boy of five or six stumbling along behind her. "Don't go up," she calls to those she meets on the stairs, "it's all burning!" She repeats herself in Greek when she spots Blāsjarī, though she doesn't pause in her trek down the stairs; "Not up to go! Fire, to set fire!"
"Keep moving. I am not of concern to you." Blāsjarī ki himdcha continues up the stairs, wrapping their scarf tighter around their nose and mouth.
Bassus scans the alley for anything that will function as a pry bar, resorting to hands if necessary, and attempts to wrench the door open.
"I'm going to scout ahead. When I collapse, carry my vessel with you." Pelagia sits on the stairs and begins to sing the Corporeal Song of Projection.
Another tenant scrambles past Pelagia down the stairs, but the building is growing quiet aside from the crackling of fire above, and the shouts of watchers outside. The fire has reached at least the fifth floor by now.
Someone hammers on the back door from the inside, shouting in a language neither Decimus nor Pamphilos speaks, though Pamphilos has heard it on Egyptian docks before. The specifics are probably not important.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha raises their eyebrows again, but shrugs and throws the limp body of Pelagia over their shoulder. They continue, onwards and upwards.
Decimus Imberius bites back an opening note of a song. "There's no time for that. That's not important enough." He transforms into mist behind Bassus' back as he works, drifting up the alleyway in a determined if dispersed fashion, scanning window by window as quickly as he can.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha goes up another floor, leaping over gaps in the staircase as necessary.
Down below, at the back door, the door cracks open... and a man stumbles out, nearly falling across Bassus in the process. He shouts a moment longer in his own tongue, then switches to awkward Latin. "To save you! Run! An omen, up!" Suiting his own actions to his words, he runs down the alleyway after delivering this message.
As the Seraph of Waters rises mistily up past the windows, he can see that most of the wretched little rooms have nothing left in them but household goods, and not many of those. But the higher he goes, the more smoke-filled they are, and then by the fifth story, some are showing flames as well. At the very top floor, he spots a dark shape inside an attic room, barely visible through smoke and fire. Body-sized, body-shaped... The details are hard to make out from outside.
When Blāsjarī reaches the fifth floor, they find a hallway of hot flooring and burning beams creaking downward from the ceiling above.
Pelagia's projection swoops upward easily through wood, fire, and smoke, as if none of it is there. The lower floors are clear, and she can see the ethereal hauling her body along there, empty rooms here and there... and something small moving in a way entirely unlike flames in the corner of the attic room. The details are hard to make out through the smoke.
Decimus Imberius mists his way into that attic room, with every intention of getting as detailed a look as he can in his gaseous state.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha coughs, wrapping their scarf more tightly around their nose and mouth, and heads up to the sixth floor.
Bassus watches the man run away, and looks perplexed. “What an odd message.” Turning back to the doorway, he calls in “The door is clear, friends! This way!”
The ghostly form of Pelagia swoops past Blasjari. "Something in the Attic", she says, before heading off to try to alert the kyriotate.
A man attempts to sidle past Bassus /into/ the building. "It'll be moments yet before the flames get this far down," he says, and winks to Bassus. "Want to see what there is to see?"
It's very fortunate that the mists of Seraphim of Waters are not as easily melted as the mists of steam one might find elsewhere, because even in gaseous form Decimus can tell it's /very hot/ in there. A man lies on the floor in the attic, right beside a window, a tin cup in his hand. He looks dead. Or drunk. Or passed out from smoke inhalation. Hard to say, really.
Meanwhile, the sixth attic floor is a blaze of flames when Blāsjarī approaches it. Just... all flames, right in front of their face.
Decimus Imberius looks about for the door into this room, trying to commit as much of this scene to memory as he can while he does so.
Bassus puts an arm across the door. “Friend, there is nothing there but people who need help and danger to face. Do you love your fellow Roman more than your own life? If so then I applaud your bravery and will sing songs in your memory.”
Blāsjarī ki himdcha pauses and takes a deep breath, which is followed by a roar that, to people in the building that have heard a lion, sounds rather like if a lion was roughly the size of a medium-sized tenement.
Decimus Imberius thinks, "That's probably the yeti."
Down on the street, several people simply take to their heels on hearing that roar from up above. One toddler bursts into tears, while another laughs and points upward.
Bassus quirks an eyebrow at the roar, to reinforce how impressed he is that this man would seek certain death to help another.
Pelagia staggers upright, temporarily deaf in one ear.
The man at the back door hesitates, and shudders. "Rome was abandoned by the gods long ago," he mutters, and stomps away from Bassus, putting on a poor act of having casually changed his mind for nothing more than a whim.
The massive roar that echoes across the neighborhood is even louder than all the disturbance rocking about from various Songs and the use of Essence, and the sudden appearance of a great deal of ice right at the heart of the fire. The temperature in the tenement plummets to freezing, even as a huge cloud of mist billows outward from the center of the attic, blowing smoke out the windows in front of it.
An instant later, all the mist refreezes in the bitter cold, limning the whole attic and its contents with a thin glaze of ice. Aside from the mist that's actually a Seraph. And a flicker of movement as--something--whips downstairs.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha looks after the movement, but appears to instantly realize whatever it is, is faster than they can follow. They look over their shoulder at Pelagia. "Are you well?"
Decimus Imberius tries to inspect the body again, swirling around the now-frigid room. He then swirls around the now-frigid building, up high still, scanning for anything leaving that doesn't look normal.
There's a flicker of something small, leaping out a third-story window and onto an adjoining tenement. Too quick for Decimus to catch more than a glimpse of it out of his peripheral vision, insofar as mist's vision is ever peripheral.
Pelagia binds the man's wounds and, applies ointment to his burns, and crushes herbs to ease his breathing. Then sits down for a long, careful performance of the Song of Healing.
With rather a lot of repeats of the chorus.
Bassus is watching the doorway. The dog is watching the mouth of the alleyway. The pigeon is watching the fog. None of Pamphilos is watching the windows. Oops.
Decimus Imberius drifts back into the sixth floor room, and shares an image of what he saw, reflected in the ice lining the floor, a rather fanciful flourish of a signature underneath it.
The man on the floor lurches suddenly upward. "What? You! It!" He points wildly around, and tries to drink from his empty cup with shivering fingers. "...who are you, and why is it so cold?"
Blāsjarī ki himdcha leans against the wall, waiting for Pelagia to be done doing triage. The fire is out, their job is, essentially, done. "Would you rather you still be on fire?"
Bonus OOC notes:
Everyone is now complicit in DOG CRIMES.
The Mercurian made every resonance roll brilliantly if she tried it on someone four years old or younger, and failed every resonance roll made on anyone older. She knows a lot more about infants and dogs than anyone else, right now.
Is the repeated chorus of the song of healing is "It's a small wound after all" or "I get knocked down, but I get up again"? The world may never know.
Episode 1: Everything Is Coming Up Canis
Rome in the spring! Less charming than one might hope, really; the city is currently a muddy pit, despite all the broad paving stones of the streets. An unusually dry winter gave one last deluge right before the Kalends of April, leaving the whole city smelling of wet dog, wet wool, and wet sewage washed up from where the river laps along its banks and then dries into the kind of sticky mud you really don't want to step in. Fortunately, the place set for today's meeting is a good distance from the river and its...odors.
The place in question is the grand forum of the Romans, with the glorious painted pillars of many a government building and statuary of many a wealthy donor in sight. In a supposedly neutral and peaceful city among the more supernatural community, this is one of a handful of particularly neutral places. Not everyone needs to enter the Temple of Janus, but sooner or later, everyone comes to the forum. An ethereal and two angels have been told to show up here today where a local guide will help them learn a bit more about the city, and how not to step on particularly powerful toes.
Each of these three was given some instruction along the lines of "Don't worry, you don't need to look for them; they'll spot you."
Blāsjarī ki himdcha looms quietly in the back of the forum. Swathed in a robe, keffiyeh and scarf of white silk, they could be mistaken for a Bedouin nomad, if Bedouin nomads were commonly nearly seven feet tall with tufts of white fur poking out from behind their face coverings.
Decimus Imberius determined that he was not going to be the first one to arrive two hours ago, and did this by arriving just outside of the forum instead and people-watching, a slightly-too-large beard on a face too young to support it, gangly frame and dark, wary eyes.
A Roman man peels himself out of the crowd. None too imposing at first glance, a head of curly hair, a soft body, and a few days past a shave. The large stain down the front of his garment is none too old, judging by the cloud of wine stink still clinging to him. His eyes, though, are clear and sober as he fixes them on the designated meeting place and strides towards it, smile growing on his face. “Friends!” he announces, throwing his arms wide. “Welcome to Rome!”
Decimus Imberius waits for him to pass by before unfolding himself from the bench, following at a safe distance, wrinkling his nose.
A fishmonger with a basket hung from a sturdy thong over his neck, rather than a stall to stand behind, angles toward the slowly growing cluster of people. "Fresh eels," he says hopefully, "very fresh, right off the docks, you won't find fresher anywhere in the forum, and I'm selling them practically for a straw!" He waves an eel head-first towards the nice young man, who looks the easiest to gull. Ah. To vend to. That's it. To vend to. Legitimately.
Decimus Imberius says, "I don't want any eels."
"Everyone wants eels," insists the man. "When you're in dire straits, what you need is an eel!" (The pun works better in Latin.)
“And if he did, he would want ones that died this week!” The ill-kempt Roman steps between the eelmonger and the bearded youth, turning the young man away and guiding him further down the forum. “Simply awful eels,” he informs. “If you ever do want eels, I know where there are far better.”
"Why does everyone think I want an eel? I don't want eels. I have enough eels already. I don't need any more eels." Decimus scowls.
"If I want fresh eel, I can get fresh eel. They are slow." Blāsjarī ki himdcha rumbles as they walk quietly behind the two Romans.
"You can't have too many eels," insists the fishmonger, a tone of desperation creeping into his voice. Slipping in, perhaps. "No one has too many eels, and I would defend the honor of my eels down to the House of Hades." His voice dwindles under the hubbub of the forum at large as the others move away.
“It is entirely possible to have too many eels, but that is not a story for so early in our friendship.” Another smile, this one to encompass both of the honored guests. “We are Pamphilos, and we are also, today, Manius Fulvius Bassus, who overindulged himself this morning and nearly found himself robbed and left for dead.”
"I am Blāsjarī ki himdcha, and I am in Rome waiting for a message to convey. An interesting place, it is. Too warm."
"Decimus Imberius." He scratches the beard, like he's making sure it's still there. "Administration and investigation."
“Barbatus,” Bassus states. “We will call you Barbatus. You are called Barbatus, if you wish.” He says this in a tone that indicates he is well aware of the issue of names. Turning to Blāsjarī ki himdcha, he becomes thoughtful. “If it will offend you when your name is mangled by ill-practiced tongues, you would be called Crinitus here.”
A herald on some steps nearby is shouting with dramatic hand gestures. Something about a set of entertainments being put on by a senator in honor of his brother's funeral rites. Jugglers, boxing, and a revival of Terence's best play, The Eunuch.
A few booths down a thin middle aged woman, black hair half turned grey, buys a small basket of dried herbs.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha shrugs. "It is more a description than a name. Crinitus is also a description, if less... dignified."
Decimus Imberius says, "Barbatus is fine."
Bassus says, “It is a description that will not cause an incident, my friend, and that is something to cultivate here. Now, I believe I see our last friend, to whom I have been sorely lax in attending.”
Pelagia approaches the group, checking a wax tablet with a dozen herb names scratched on it and crossed off. The final name on the list is "Blasjari himdcha."
"Hm." Decimus slips into step behind the women and the dog.
She looks up at the white robe and scarf, then further up. Finally she nods and crosses the last name off the list. Pelagia follows silently.
Decimus Imberius checks for anything along his path that would be easily palmed and dropped for a lonely dog.
“Ah! Dear Pelagia,” Bassus opens with, gesturing expansively. “Now we are complete. We do apologize for taking so long to meet with you properly, but we hear you have been getting along well. Please be introduced to Blāsjarī ki himdcha who we are calling Crinitus, and our other friend called Barbatus…where did Barbatus go?”
Pelagia notices the interest in the dog and idly resonates it.
Decimus Imberius attempts to whistle under his breath as he draws closer to the dog, which is mostly just confusing. He grabs a small piece of meat and a scrap or two of bread, his eyes never leaving the dog as he walks, still attempting to whistle in a stealthy fashion. He gives up on the whistling, since that wasn't ever going to work. "Dog. Here." He crouches down, holding the food in his left hand.
The dog cowers instinctively at being addressed by a LOOMING HUMAN FIGURE. Then, seeing the offered food, and the reduction in LOOM, darts forward to nab the food right out of that hand. Meat and bread disappear together in a single gulp, followed by a tentative, cowering tail-wag.
"Street dog", Pelagia mutters. "No friends, family, or home. Mostly eats rats and garbage."
Bassus says, “Sadly, quite common for dogs and not terribly uncommon for men.”
Decimus Imberius says, "This was a problem. It will likely be a problem again when the sun goes down, and when the sun rises it will be another problem. But for now, there is no problem."
Pelagia rummages in her herb basket. "Pamphilos, if you could spare a force..."
“Mm. Of course, dear Pelagia.” A moment’s attention on the dog, and the tentative tail-wag becomes more firm, before the dog trots over to Pelagia and sits neatly before her, the portrait of a Good Dog.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha says, "It is surprising to me that dogs go unfed here."
Decimus Imberius scowls, but doesn't say anything further.
Bassus looks pained. “It is everything we can do to keep the majority of the humans fed, alas. Pelagia, our friend, do you have something for fleas? We fear we’re quite terribly infested.”
Pelagia starts dosing the dog with anti-flea and anti-worm treatments.
Decimus Imberius's scowl lessens.
Passersby push past or around the little group, carrying their own wares, and sometimes giving an odd look to the woman dusting a dog. Well. She is hanging out with some sort of veiled barbarian. Who knows what people like that will get up to?
"There. Fed and de-loused. Short of major bodily injury, this dog will end up better off than it started, so you can borrow it quite a while safely."
Pelagia finishes a quick examination. "The dog is a she. About 2 years old. Undernourished but otherwise in reasonable health."
Blāsjarī ki himdcha raises their eyebrows slightly, which under the keffiyeh is just barely this side of perceptible, largely because their eyebrows take up most of their forehead.
Decimus Imberius continues adjusting his internal opinions of his current company.
“Well then, we shall see if an opportunity to improve her station more permanently presents itself.” Bassus begins moving again, and the dog, puckishly, trails at Decimus’ heels.
Pelagia follows.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha trails behind, moving remarkably quietly for someone a full two heads taller than the average Roman.
Decimus Imberius keeps glancing back at the dog, making sure it's still there, making sure it's still... dog.
Dog issue sorted, Bassus begins to launch into a lengthy monologue about Rome. A brief history summarized as “Humans, they’re wacky, huh?” Call-outs of important locales. Important taverns. Finally, a small alleyway where the tilework on the walls is incongruously well-laid. “Please forgive us for making a small detour, we think that some friends of ours may be able to provide for our smallest of friends.” The dog darts ahead into the alley, and Bassus makes to lead the group in after.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha peers up ahead, shading their eyes against the sun. "I think there is... fire, up that way."
Decimus Imberius stiffens. "What?"
The dog comes running back _out_ the alleyway, and Bassus nods. “Deeper in; a building burns. It is a well-peopled area.”
Decimus Imberius starts walking that way, quickly, agitated. "I need to--" He stops, turns around, and kneels down, eye to eye with the dog. "Stay."
Pelagia rummages in her robe for burn ointment and bandages while heading towards the fire.
Decimus Imberius gives the dog a nod, and then hurries toward the fire.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha follows the rest, still squinting against the sun.
“Go, go!” Bassus waves towards the alley. He looks up to scan the rooftops, and then a small nest of pigeons scatters. Most fly out over the city; one heads out above the alley.
There's a corner to turn in this narrow alley, but those rounding it can see the source of what has been spoken of: black smoke billowing from the attic window of a six-story tenement, its narrow windows and cracking plaster showing how bad its condition was _before_ it caught on fire. The fire is far enough up that not all of the pedestrians have noticed it yet, but a small crowd is starting to gather, point, and stare. A woman darts into the tenement building, shouting "Marce, Marce!" as she goes.
From above, the scene is more ominous. A crashed brazier in one room is one thing, and still possible for a single brave human to stomp out, but smoke is seeping out of the cracks in the shoddy roof in several places.
Pelagia tore a strip of cloth off her robe and soaked it in the well on the way. She ties it around her face and runs after the woman into the building.
Decimus Imberius does a lap around the base of the building, looking for anything unusual and out of place, anyone suspicious, not expecting to find them, but not sure what else he can do in this initial moment.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha turns to Bassus. "I assume helping the humans within will not... offend anyone, here?"
Pelagia knows the dangers of smoke inhalation, and expects to have to treat it.
“It certainly will not offend the ones you help!”
Inside the building, the woman Pelagia is following runs up one flight of rickety stairs, expertly leaping over the missing stair to plunge into a room. She grabs a bundle of clothing and a startled toddler who was waving a wooden horse in the air, and heads right back down again. The air inside is warmer than outside, and the smell of smoke thicker, though there are no traces of fire on the second floor yet.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha heads into the building after Pelagia
Bassus stays at the mouth of the alleyway, fretful. The dog whines. Above, the pigeon circles and seeks for anything overlooked.
Decimus Imberius runs back to the others, looking for a yeti, or failing that, someone or something large. "Blasjari! Where are-- inside? Did he go inside?"
The dog barks. Bassus nods. “Inside, yes. We can’t see the fire brigade.”
The woman with her toddler pushes past the Large Furry Barbarian on her way down the stairs and out the front door. "Someone, fetch water!" she shouts, though she doesn't seem inclined to do so herself, with her hands full of child and goods.
Decimus says, "The back door has been nailed shut. Anyone attempting to escape out of the back will be trapped."
The woman shakes her head to Pelagia. "I don't know, I don't go upstairs, people come and go. Maybe the doorkeeper and his wife? If they haven't left already, and left everything to burn!" She spits on the ground, and makes a warding sign. "Immortal gods rot them!"
"Rot them! Rot them!" echoes the toddler, and bops Pelagia on the shoulder with his wooden horse.
Bassus blanches. “Show us,” he says, and makes to follow.
Pelagia lets the woman go and heads upstairs.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha has continued up the stairs as well
Decimus Imberius leads Bassus to the door, tapping the nails driven into the wood as he scans the area again.
The further one climbs, the hotter it gets. A girl of eight or nine years staggers down the stairs with an infant strapped to her back, her arms full of household goods, and a boy of five or six stumbling along behind her. "Don't go up," she calls to those she meets on the stairs, "it's all burning!" She repeats herself in Greek when she spots Blāsjarī, though she doesn't pause in her trek down the stairs; "Not up to go! Fire, to set fire!"
"Keep moving. I am not of concern to you." Blāsjarī ki himdcha continues up the stairs, wrapping their scarf tighter around their nose and mouth.
Bassus scans the alley for anything that will function as a pry bar, resorting to hands if necessary, and attempts to wrench the door open.
"I'm going to scout ahead. When I collapse, carry my vessel with you." Pelagia sits on the stairs and begins to sing the Corporeal Song of Projection.
Another tenant scrambles past Pelagia down the stairs, but the building is growing quiet aside from the crackling of fire above, and the shouts of watchers outside. The fire has reached at least the fifth floor by now.
Someone hammers on the back door from the inside, shouting in a language neither Decimus nor Pamphilos speaks, though Pamphilos has heard it on Egyptian docks before. The specifics are probably not important.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha raises their eyebrows again, but shrugs and throws the limp body of Pelagia over their shoulder. They continue, onwards and upwards.
Decimus Imberius bites back an opening note of a song. "There's no time for that. That's not important enough." He transforms into mist behind Bassus' back as he works, drifting up the alleyway in a determined if dispersed fashion, scanning window by window as quickly as he can.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha goes up another floor, leaping over gaps in the staircase as necessary.
Down below, at the back door, the door cracks open... and a man stumbles out, nearly falling across Bassus in the process. He shouts a moment longer in his own tongue, then switches to awkward Latin. "To save you! Run! An omen, up!" Suiting his own actions to his words, he runs down the alleyway after delivering this message.
As the Seraph of Waters rises mistily up past the windows, he can see that most of the wretched little rooms have nothing left in them but household goods, and not many of those. But the higher he goes, the more smoke-filled they are, and then by the fifth story, some are showing flames as well. At the very top floor, he spots a dark shape inside an attic room, barely visible through smoke and fire. Body-sized, body-shaped... The details are hard to make out from outside.
When Blāsjarī reaches the fifth floor, they find a hallway of hot flooring and burning beams creaking downward from the ceiling above.
Pelagia's projection swoops upward easily through wood, fire, and smoke, as if none of it is there. The lower floors are clear, and she can see the ethereal hauling her body along there, empty rooms here and there... and something small moving in a way entirely unlike flames in the corner of the attic room. The details are hard to make out through the smoke.
Decimus Imberius mists his way into that attic room, with every intention of getting as detailed a look as he can in his gaseous state.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha coughs, wrapping their scarf more tightly around their nose and mouth, and heads up to the sixth floor.
Bassus watches the man run away, and looks perplexed. “What an odd message.” Turning back to the doorway, he calls in “The door is clear, friends! This way!”
The ghostly form of Pelagia swoops past Blasjari. "Something in the Attic", she says, before heading off to try to alert the kyriotate.
A man attempts to sidle past Bassus /into/ the building. "It'll be moments yet before the flames get this far down," he says, and winks to Bassus. "Want to see what there is to see?"
It's very fortunate that the mists of Seraphim of Waters are not as easily melted as the mists of steam one might find elsewhere, because even in gaseous form Decimus can tell it's /very hot/ in there. A man lies on the floor in the attic, right beside a window, a tin cup in his hand. He looks dead. Or drunk. Or passed out from smoke inhalation. Hard to say, really.
Meanwhile, the sixth attic floor is a blaze of flames when Blāsjarī approaches it. Just... all flames, right in front of their face.
Decimus Imberius looks about for the door into this room, trying to commit as much of this scene to memory as he can while he does so.
Bassus puts an arm across the door. “Friend, there is nothing there but people who need help and danger to face. Do you love your fellow Roman more than your own life? If so then I applaud your bravery and will sing songs in your memory.”
Blāsjarī ki himdcha pauses and takes a deep breath, which is followed by a roar that, to people in the building that have heard a lion, sounds rather like if a lion was roughly the size of a medium-sized tenement.
Decimus Imberius thinks, "That's probably the yeti."
Down on the street, several people simply take to their heels on hearing that roar from up above. One toddler bursts into tears, while another laughs and points upward.
Bassus quirks an eyebrow at the roar, to reinforce how impressed he is that this man would seek certain death to help another.
Pelagia staggers upright, temporarily deaf in one ear.
The man at the back door hesitates, and shudders. "Rome was abandoned by the gods long ago," he mutters, and stomps away from Bassus, putting on a poor act of having casually changed his mind for nothing more than a whim.
The massive roar that echoes across the neighborhood is even louder than all the disturbance rocking about from various Songs and the use of Essence, and the sudden appearance of a great deal of ice right at the heart of the fire. The temperature in the tenement plummets to freezing, even as a huge cloud of mist billows outward from the center of the attic, blowing smoke out the windows in front of it.
An instant later, all the mist refreezes in the bitter cold, limning the whole attic and its contents with a thin glaze of ice. Aside from the mist that's actually a Seraph. And a flicker of movement as--something--whips downstairs.
Blāsjarī ki himdcha looks after the movement, but appears to instantly realize whatever it is, is faster than they can follow. They look over their shoulder at Pelagia. "Are you well?"
Decimus Imberius tries to inspect the body again, swirling around the now-frigid room. He then swirls around the now-frigid building, up high still, scanning for anything leaving that doesn't look normal.
There's a flicker of something small, leaping out a third-story window and onto an adjoining tenement. Too quick for Decimus to catch more than a glimpse of it out of his peripheral vision, insofar as mist's vision is ever peripheral.
Pelagia binds the man's wounds and, applies ointment to his burns, and crushes herbs to ease his breathing. Then sits down for a long, careful performance of the Song of Healing.
With rather a lot of repeats of the chorus.
Bassus is watching the doorway. The dog is watching the mouth of the alleyway. The pigeon is watching the fog. None of Pamphilos is watching the windows. Oops.
Decimus Imberius drifts back into the sixth floor room, and shares an image of what he saw, reflected in the ice lining the floor, a rather fanciful flourish of a signature underneath it.
The man on the floor lurches suddenly upward. "What? You! It!" He points wildly around, and tries to drink from his empty cup with shivering fingers. "...who are you, and why is it so cold?"
Blāsjarī ki himdcha leans against the wall, waiting for Pelagia to be done doing triage. The fire is out, their job is, essentially, done. "Would you rather you still be on fire?"
Bonus OOC notes:
Everyone is now complicit in DOG CRIMES.
The Mercurian made every resonance roll brilliantly if she tried it on someone four years old or younger, and failed every resonance roll made on anyone older. She knows a lot more about infants and dogs than anyone else, right now.
Is the repeated chorus of the song of healing is "It's a small wound after all" or "I get knocked down, but I get up again"? The world may never know.
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*giggle*
In Latin?
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