"Corvus, did anyone ever tell you that you are a rather bizarre individual?" Mercy smiles.
Flamefeather shrugs once again, and gives a quick glance to Mercy, Corvus and Waterspider in turn. "I suppose we are all members of the Mask family, whether we know it or not. Everyone wears not one, but many masks."
She turns away and walks to the window and, pushing away the billowing silk drapes, leans out. A soft trilling whistle escapes her lips. After a few moments, a warbling song seems to answer her from a nearby tree. She whistles again softly, until a small bird flies in and perches on Flamefeather’s extended forefinger. She slowly turns back towards her companions, careful not to upset the little bird.
"I cannot do magic, but this is my own small trick. I can speak to birds, although they seldom tell me anything of great import in the affairs of Roundwander." She gives a small grin. "This one is mostly interested in the fruit seeds left on the table." She sings to the bird again; it hesitantly half-hops, half-flies to the table, and starts pecking at some melon seeds. Flamefeather gives a short, ironic half-bow, and pursues: "I can also dance, leap, and so forth, but those are the only skills that I have which could be of interest to the Masks."
"I am perhaps skilled in such a way as to be attractive to the Masks," says Waterspider, "However, previous encounters with Mask progeny have not been mutually satisfying and so I cannot guarantee my reception. I do not know whether those whom we shall meet are aware of me or not." Waterspider takes a sip from his cup, "Yet even if they are, perhaps with a little subterfuge and careful disguise it might be possible to escape their notice."
Having now finished her kebob, Mercy stands and stretches. "I don’t know about all of you, but I’m for getting on the road. Why don’t we discuss our prospects on the way over to Strangerside?"
Flamefeather whistles again softly, and the little bird flies out the window . The young black woman walks over to the wind chime, lifts her scroll and strikes the chime gently.
"Let’s hear what the Librarian has to say before we leave. Any clue we may get from her will help. I confess that I do not have too many ideas on how to handle this Quest. We know so little..."
After a moment, Dancer reenters the room. "By the Walker, that was quick! I hardly even got down the hall. What can I do for you?"
"Any extra info is definitely appreciated. We must also decide how to approach the Masks. Do we move openly? Or do we attempt to beat the Masks at a game of subterfuge which, by their very nature, they will have an advantage?" asks Waterspider. "I do think the latter is best as I am uninterested in meeting Mask assassins on a professional basis because I’ve asked questions which they desire to remain unasked." He steps over to his equipment and starts to buckle on his sword.
After waiting for a few moments while members of the group glance at one another, shuffle their feet, and generally look bewildered and sheepish, Dancer lets out an energetic laugh.
"Ah, youth! You do not realize how fortunate you are, my friends. Your feet seldom hurt, your wind is strong, your hearts pound within your chests like great bass drums. You can walk all day without being a cripple the next. You can eat as you please rather than being a slave at the mercy of your bowels. You can mistreat your bodies dreadfully, confident that if you are injured you will recover.
"As you may have noticed, however, I am old. My body no longer keeps to the rhythms of my mind. In fact, it frequently imposes demands at inconvenient or unreasonable times, and cannot be negotiated with at any price. I fear that it makes such demands upon me even now, so I would ask that out of respect for my age and my dignity that you hesitate no longer and voice whatever concern has prompted you to summon me back so speedily."
Waterspider replies, "We have heard your request for us to pursue the Tarot, and your suggestion that we start with the Masks, However our questions must become more directed as the Masks are many and diverse. Do you have more specific information? I find it hard to believe you have been remiss in your pursuit of the perpetrator of this crime."
After Dancer’s last speech, Corvus giggles. "I’m sorry that we interrupted whatever indignities your body was imposing upon you, Dancer. I promise that we won’t keep you long, but if you would gain some relief in the mean time by indulging in certain gaseous improprieties, I would urge you to give yourself that pleasure and assure you that it will not reflect badly on your honor or your good name. As for me, I only have one question: If we are to pursue the possessor of the Fortune Deck, how are we to evade its sight?" After he finishes speaking, Corvus’ face wilts, and he begins staring at the wrigglings of his fingers, as if he didn’t expect a response, or as if he had not spoken at all.