Sigil
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Keystone awoke in the cold, grey dawn to almost absolute quiet. The low roar of the death-inflicting water from the heavens had ceased, leaving the general atmosphere in something of a pause; whether it was a true cease of activity or merely a breath before the next calamity was yet to be seen. The quiet made Keystone anxious. While not unnerved, he was on his guard, trying to stay as observant as the early hour allowed.
Yesterday's strain and excesses had taken a toll on his body this morning. Tight and bruised muscles groaned their reluctance to movement as the massive brawler rolled himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his face with his hands, and took stock of his situation.
For starters, his hand didn't have even a trace of pain from its immolation the night before. The ointment he received from Sana did function as promised. Even the flash burns on his face felt better. While he didn't feel like a new man, Keystone was back at his fighting best, more or less.
He was sitting up in a bed with a stuffed, straw mattress he hoped wasn't infested with something or another. The Inn seemed like a more or less respectable place (rather it did before, anyway), for a rural establishment. Keystone opened his window, letting the morning breeze in. He noted that he was correct about the rain, it had indeed stopped; he also noted that he was on the second floor, the window facing the front of the establishment.
It had been very interesting, the previous day. Interesting and positively tiring. He immediately passed out, despite reservations for his own safety, unsure as to whether he wanted to wake in that nondescript alehouse-with-rooms or back home. As memories of the various incidents that made up the past twenty-four hours returned to his mildly befuddled noggin, he let out a large sigh and rested his head in his hands.
Ok, time to get up.
Keystone stood and stretched, located clothes in his pack that weren't tatters or too terribly messy. It was then that a sort of quietish sound caught his attention - something from downstairs. His mind flashed toward possible dangers, as if he could somehow predict the chaoticly changing peril of this new realm, until he realized it was most likely the movements of one of the other guests, trying to be polite and not wake the others. Also, he realized that sound seemed to travel in this place. Not the best spot for a clandestine tryst, certainly. As the momentary feeling of urgency snapped him fully into the world of the living, Keystone became aware of a great pressure building in a familiar way in his lower abdomen. Yes, this would have to be seen to, and fast.
The sound of water hitting ground in a continuous stream, as if someone were ponderously pouring a great volume of fluid from a height, sounded as clearly as a church bell through the open and broken windows downstairs. Relatively dry ground soon turned to steaming mud, sharpening the clarity of the noise, yet simultaneously altering its audible profile to splattering white noise; constant, strong, and lacking refinement.
A cough rang out from upstairs. It was the common morning sound of a man clearing his throat from a night of hard respite in unfamiliar surroundings. The exact moment of the aggressive throat-clear brought a change in the quality of the liquid-dropping sound outside, interrupting its incessant feature and bringing a visual to bear - a relatively tight stream of pale dandelion flowed in front of the window nearest the front door, disappearing out of sight , if barely, from a straight-on view; correcting itself to its original destination and ever more disturbing, splattering drone.
From the private room upstairs, the one from where the cough originated earlier, a low pitched humming could be heard. A man with a low voice and almost no ability to string musical notes together attempted to hum scales as the now impressive, if offputting, line of strange yellow liquid danced back and forth in front of three of the ground-floor windows.
One downstairs may have noticed a rich and beefy odor wafting in from the broken and unshuttered apertures in the common room, tinged with a sharp musky note. The smell of a large alpha bear in the rut of mating season, ensuring that lesser rivals run screaming from the inescapable beatdown awaiting any that dare challenge its ursine majesty, pelted down upon the ground heavily; a torrent of amassing pheromones delivered by a source unknown (but highly suspected).
The humming upstairs became more aggressive as the long seconds ticked on, punctuated thusly but once with a squishy colonic horn: "...do re mi fa so <bbraarp> la teeeeee.... um... damnit..." interspersed with snatches of a drinking song that, by all accounts of anyone listening, seemed to be titled "Drink & Fight".
The slender torrent was cut off quite suddenly, the very second a great wind kicked up outside and the sound of wood slamming upon wood rang out from upstairs. The thusfar unidentified voice seemed to take a dim view of this event, exclaiming, "Ey! Ow ow ow ...bloody, fonging shutters..." amid the sound of a scuffle. The stream appeared anew, if with less gusto, accented by the interior noise of human effort upstairs.
The straining sounds continued as the arching volley of liquid waned, possibly indicating a connection of some sort, unidentifiable save by means of arcane, oracular divination. Kinda.
***
Keystone stowed the rest of his belongings into his pack, slung it over one shoulder, and strode down the stairs to rejoin the common room below. To no one in particular, he offered a hushed inquiry of:
"Kitchen open yet? I fancy a bit of tea before I get to m' constitutionals."
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