Open Creeping Jade Mists

Mists were rolling over the free city of Tharvos, and these ones had the slightest hint of green to them around the edges, as the light from windows and lanterns would hit them. Strange, for the city was not on a river nor near rolling hills. The mists seemed harmless, if strange, and thickened as the dusk gave way to the night, the green brought out by the moons' silvery hue. Before long, two of those moons would fall behind the horizon, leaving one to stalk behind late, and bathe the green with a slight reddish tint. A windy weather next morning.

There were many people on the streets even at this dark hour, festivities in worship of the sun god couple seeming to try to roll into the next morning with local moonshine stocks depleting rapidly and joy encouraged in all of its forms - dances in garlands of brightly dressed folk interwove, colorful, street peddlers and musicians plied their fare, the scent of citrus and fermented honeyed fruit ebbed and flowed with the breeze from the food stalls.

And as that hour grew darker, new sounds begun emerging on the streets. The jingling brass bells. The high-pitched bone flute somewhere far off in the distance. It didn't sound quite... festive, strange, off-key lamentations slipping through the local tunes and songs.
The breeze picked up. Did nothing for the mist, however, that seemed to lurk in every unlit corner.

"Pardon for the interruption," a smooth, high-pitched male voice called out, the presence of him beside a sudden revelation.
He was dressed in midnight silk spruced up with embroidered cat tails, a chain of eight eclipsed moons falling from the fold edge of his outer robe, over the shoulder and around the back, each moon's circle containing the contour of a tender white peony, a bud at the chest, and a full bloom between the clavicles. The young man carried himself with mild but serious mien, emanating a faint scent of jasmine and a darker, woody spice, easily spirited away as the breeze picked up once again.

His attention seemed undivided, as he continued the inquiry, "But I truly need to know where the local cemetery is."



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for anyone and in particular @Fray, as Song's hired bodyguard, to possibly join.

Fray remembered the last time she had seen this much inexplicable mist. It had involved a whole lot of screaming.

The start to their evening felt ominous, to say the least. Despite being on the job, trailing behind Gongzi at an acceptable three paces behind, it was overkill being this paranoid in an otherwise festive section of the city. And yet, her hands twitched closer to Fang’s pommel every time she thought she saw movement amongst the smokey tendrils.

The Deva did not like crowds. One would think the opposite to be true, given her garrulous and indulgent nature. But crowds, she had learned the hard way, came with too many blind spots, rife with opportunities to lay low until the last possible second. Not to mention the way they attacked all of your senses at once. This particular crowd was no exception, the onslaught of sights and smells ruthless in their imposition.

Even the offer of local moonshine could not tempt Fray from her pensive mood. She did accept, at some point, a small cup of stuff that smelled and tasted like pure acid, but only after she had poured its predecessor onto an unsuspecting rat.

The rodent hissed and ran in a circle before scampering off. Neither seeing any signs of immediate damage nor smelling the pungent notes of singed fur, she accepted a second pour, paid for both, and downed the contents in one go. It burned like fire all the way down, clearing her nose and making her eyes water within seconds. The aftermath, however, was pleasant enough. A mild, warm fug settled in her head as her limbs loosened marginally. Well worth a bit of poisoning, she thought. The merc figured the sheer potency of it would have prevented most kinds of tampering anyhow. It was the sweet, fermented stuff that couldn’t be trusted, honeyed taste able to mask Blight knew what.

No, she avoided those with acute distrust.

Garish colors flashed before her green gold eyes. Fray was, of all things, grateful that the Gongzi’s attire for tonight was elegantly dark, and therefore a welcome respite. She could take a brief, visual break now and then by staring at one of his shoulders, or the moon chains draped around his back.

During these breaks, she tried not to think too hard about how her own attire was meant to echo her employer’s. Dark blues and blacks, with just a hint of silver embroidery, so as to complement but never compete. It was, admittedly, finer than anything she’d worn for a very, very long time. And, she was also forced to admit, rather flattering as well. It had not been an easy process either, first convincing Fray that she needed to play her part seriously, and then to sit through hours and hours of measurements. It screwed with her mind, how long and expensive and utterly…excessive the entire ordeal turned out to be. Just to have a suitable (yet miniscule in comparison to Gongzi’s travel collection alone) wardrobe to work with.

But the longer she thought about it, the more such finery reminded her of a different time. A period of her life when her hands weren’t stained with layers upon layers of blood. All kinds of blood. Too much blood. When days could be carefree and she never thought twice about how she would pay for new clothes or her next meal.

It didn’t help that someone somewhere had started playing creepy, mournful music on what could only be a bone flute. Fray hated those cursed things. They always sounded like ghost children weeping.

She sucked in a breath, forcing herself to look elsewhere. The moon chains became almost hypnotic if she allowed herself to stare at them for too long. As she took in the hustle and bustle once more, their walking slowed and the princeling’s melodic voice suddenly pitched itself to be heard.

Cemetery. Of course, he would be trying to find a graveyard on a night like this. As his humble bodyguard, Fray was not always privy to the what’s and why’s of Gongzi’s gilded little schemes. She simply followed wherever he went and pummeled whatever he wanted pummeled. So far, it worked. But her luck being what it was, she figured it was only a matter of time before things went tits up. Maybe tonight would be the night that he ordered her to do something beyond even the generous scope of her greyish morals. Or maybe, she would find herself face to face with something she couldn’t kill. Either way, she was probably going to die.

Fray glowered over one silken shoulder. An easy thing to do, given she was half a head taller. She studied the inquired and their surroundings, looking for anything suspicious, trying hard not to be too menacing. Supposedly, it interfered with Gongzi's diplomatic efforts (or so she had been told.)

All the while, mist curled lazily around their feet.

A stern-looking, stout gentleman who smelled strongly of wood lacquer and liquor glanced down at the brightly dressed lord, them up at the bodyguard, confusion shifting into a slight concern. Who were these people?
"Why'd you need a cemetery?"
"To pay my respects to a fallen sister in arms, why else would I be here?" the young lord responded before the breath of the question was fully out, but after the sound was done. The verbage seemed to disorient the carpenter more. "Please, good man, do not delay me, I wish to drink and dance just the same as the next person."

The man pointed, and Song nodded, thanking him as he moved, picking up pace. Dark shapes of birds swarmed overhead, scattering and gathering once again, resting on the roofs, beads of eyes glinting from the tree branches.
"You are hearing the River of Sorrow," he noted to Fray, smile on his lips, but tone serious. "Its discordance awakens those put to rest in the dark. Right now, most of the locals are in large groups, around the same district. We are being invited in a manner that will bring the worst of fortune should we refuse the call."

He pointed in the direction, uphill, soon to be unlit by the circling moons nor lanterns - not a single hand-carried lantern during the night of the festival. And yet, there was a splotch of malachite-dust-green, pulsing but not glowing, like a swarm of insects caught in a dispersed light. It parted, split in search over the mounds and tombstones, and collected into some point beyond the trees of a segregated sepulchre, mixing with the shadows within.

"Here." the lordling took an eight-sided bronze mirror from his belt, and offered it to Fray. It had lines engraved into each side, the middle empty and reflecting the dim world around them. "This will ward off some of the evils a weaver may aim at you, mainly those of the mind. I will manage. Beware of the large woman if you spot her, she moves faster than you'd think armor let her. Understand?"

There was, of course, no explanation offered as to why the lordling seemed so fascinated and inclined to go where, by his own words, the undead were about to crop up.

Her employer remained adamant in getting an answer, unleashing a barrage of words that the stranger was utterly unprepared for. Like a flock of birds, his speech was flighty, distracting, misdirecting. But somehow, as usual, he plucked out what he wanted.

Once Gongzi had what he needed, he was off again. Fray resisted a sigh and stretched out her long legs instead, catching up to him in two easy strides. Never one to waste an opportunity to enlighten, the princeling began explaining the eerie music they had been hearing all night. She liked the sound of this even less than the music itself. The mercenary did not enjoy being compelled to do anything without plenty of coin involved. Yes, she was being paid to follow him around, but now it just seemed like Gongzi was intentionally looking for trouble.

Then he pointed uphill, and for the first time Fray noticed a strange patch of green hovering along the horizon. Her frown only deepened when it moved, dividing and re-forming with all the ease of a swarm of insects.

As if her concerns were not already raised sky high, the princeling also offered his little trinket of a mirror for protection…of the mind? This was probably the worst piece of information yet. Fray accepted reluctantly, mood growing fouler by the second. She looked briefly into the mirror, her unhappy visage glaring back at her, before finding a way to hang the thing from her belt.

“Hell,” she grumbled, “I wish I didn’t. If I asked why, in all the bleeding shroud fucked corners of this world, you are choosing to walk us straight into trouble’s arms, would you answer honestly?”

Somewhere in the deepening darkness, a peal of throaty laughter could be heard. The metallic shing of Longboy sliding from his sheath rang out in response. Fray would keep following the noble’s silk clad footsteps, but from here on out she would be doing so armed and ready.

Up above their heads, birds squawked in uncanny disharmony with the rendition of the River of Sorrow currently serenading their headlong march toward trouble.