2020-03-05 - Wanderings in Wales

By all rights, it was quite the idyllic drive, for an impromptu road trip that started as a very surprising run in at a pub in London.

There are fields of green as far as the eye can see when their car rolls through the small village of Gresford, located somewhere near the England-Wales border and the settlement of Cheshire. It had been a few hours drive from the UK's metropolitan and financial heart. Their destination, the Gresford Colliery, can be glimpsed the moment they rest up a hill and down - the rest of the expanse is deserted and the memorial erected for the victims of the Gresford Disaster - a giant wheel that commemorated the two hundred or so lives lost in one of the worst mining disasters in the country's history - can be spotted even from here.

Whenever they park and disembark from their car to explore the site of the old mine, they'd find rocks and walls covered in moss, and while they may have discovered that their powers felt diminished in London's proper, they find new life now, surging through their veins like a sudden shot of adrenaline, revitalized.

It's Vyv Vydal who realizes just why that is, because the moment he steps on the grassy knoll, he'd sense a thin point, but it isn't anywhere near their vicinity.

It's below.

Far below, as if the very gates of hell are tugging at his senses.

This qualifies as The Country as far as Vyv's concerned -- it certainly isn't Town, after all -- and while he didn't pack anything so casual as jeans for this trip, he does have a tweed suit, so that's what he's wearing today, nubbly brown with various shades of blue in the shirt and tie and pocket square. He's had things of various levels of approval and not to say about most of their trip, but at least isn't the worst person ever to be stuck in a car with. No carsickness, for example. Generally, a trip to any sort of colliery wouldn't be his first choice, but this... is different. And it's more different yet as they step onto that knoll.

"Do you feel that?" he inquires of his companions, pausing to take in the sensation. "Everything coming back, how thin it is here? Though... not here, quite." A breath, brow faintly furrowed in that way people get when pinpointing a sound, and then he points down. "There. In the tunnels themselves, I'd say."

Hyacinth is taking pictures. of. EVERYTHING. Pinterest and Instagram may need a new server after this. All of Vyv's complaining (excuse us, formidable critiquing) gets a cursory "Mmhmm... Entirely... Who knows what they were thinking... OH look a bunny! Awwww they really are pretty cute even as not earmuffs and food." She's in a great mood. When he asks about her feeling anything her green eyes look back to him wide. They blink. They blink again. "I wasn't listening. Feel what now?" Her attention turns to the tunnel and she assesses properly, "well it looks filthy and that monument said a bunch of people dies there. but... this is the UK. I mean throw a rock and you're on a battlefield over some sheep or something so... I don't know that's overly significant."

Isabella is paying attention to what Vyv says by contrast, though she does grin when she watches Hyacinth take pictures of everything. Following the patissier's gestures, there's a glance to the ground below them. "Around two hundred or so people died, from what I managed to pull from my research, they pulled less than twenty bodies out of the masses trapped in the tunnels. The rest of the lost souls are still down there."

She looks over the walls, and checks her phone where she has typed out all of her notes. "If Lilith managed to meet us here, she'd make quick work of the cave ins now that were this close to a thin point - she'd just be able to disintegrate the encumbrances. We can feasibly try and explore the tunnels, follow them as far down as they would go, but cave diving is risky without proper equipment." And they're dressed like tourists. "Or we can try and open a door right on top of the thin point we sense, and see where it takes us."

After another look around, she shuts her eyes and unspools the threads of her own power outward. Her brows knit before her eyes open back up, glancing at her companions. "I know when August took people to Portland, he said that our old ranges were still active - before the funeral. Now it's....the same. I think..." She hesitates before she continues on with it. "...I think what happened in Gray Harbor when we buried Gohl did affect our talents, it just took a while for the ripple effect to spread." She stubs her boot against the ground, frowning visibly. "I think this means that the thin points are interconnected, somehow."

"And thus you miss all the important things," Vyv replies to Hyacinth's assertion of not listening to him(!). Even if he did look at the bun-- rabbit. "More often the sheep are over the battlefield, these days." He gives the area an(other) assessing look, and nods to Isabella. "If we want to go down there, proper equipment would be best. If they've a bit that's tidied out for tourists to wander into and gawk at, I suppose it'd be reasonable to go that far, but otherwise..." Otherwise he's voting door without extra delving. To start.

He nods to the assertion that the ranges seemed the same -- pre-funeral-same -- in Portland, making a bit of a face when she says things seem otherwise here and now. "That sounds likely, yes. Which leaves the question of how we undo it, I suppose. And whether it could be undone somewhere other than Gray Harbor, too. Not that I can see an immediate advantage to that, but if they're all interconnected, presumably that's likely to go both ways."

Hyacinth notes helpfully and very proud of herself, "Yes but clearing the debris can cause further cave-ins because they are likely now load bearing on the actual substrate. So... probably a bad ide-are we thinking about actually going in there?" There's a glance for the ages. "Of all of our bad ideas this sounds like it should rank near the top three next to 'Sawmills'." She looks to Vyv and says "You're here. I'm paying attention. I mean... you're important." It counts. There is a pause as she admits, shifting her weight off the fabrication and onto her organic leg. "We were at the Portalnd trip. We might be able to give some insight for comparison. And.. I wonder if it reacts the same."

"I guess we get to find out," Isabella says to Hyacinth's last remark, before stepping towards where Vyv is standing and where he gestured the thin point to be. "Abandon all hope, all ye who enter here," she mutters. She pops a Prozac, suddenly missing Alexander's presence more than usual, before she lifts a hand to trace a line through the air. A Door manifests, but her hold on it is tenuous; her jaw clenches at the effort. "Vyv, I think I need..."

Combining their talents, they're able to push the way wide enough for the three of them to step through, but the entryway doesn't last very long. It vanishes the moment the last person gets through.

The three of them find themselves on the path back to Gresford, but in a different time. There are no cars on the road and they'd realize that the smoke comes from active chimneys. A haywagon drawn by a horse clops past them on the cobblestoned path - there is no pavement underneath them, nothing that would suggest the road they used to drive to the site.

Twilight has fallen, and it's growing dark. Skeletal branches from the nearby trees desiccated by the winter rattle close to their ears.

"Which 'there'? Tunnels, probably no, There... yes, I think. Either way I'm fairly sure I've had better plans." But they've come this far, and there's things to be learnt, and at present this is still more appealing than spending the afternoon with Grandmama, having tea, cakes slightly less good than his own, and strong insinuations he ought to marry Hyacinth.

He's relatively new to trying to open doors into the Veil on purpose. It is, in fact, the first time he's actually done it, or rather, helped with it. It makes bits of the Portland trip feel suddenly clearer and a couple things settle into place in his mind, which is nice, but something about their step through is... less so.

He hesitates, once they're through, taking a look around, his brow furrowing again. "This... doesn't feel quite right, does it." A lack of strong experience slightly undercuts the nonetheless strong feeling that, "I'm fairly sure this is the Dream." The 'isn't it?' isn't said aloud; it merely comes by way of a glance first at Isabella, main opener of the door, and then Hyacinth.

When the door opens and Vyv and Isabella and Vyv make for entering a door the phone goes away into her tiny backpack and Hya shuffles over, "Like hell you are leaving me on this boring ass knoll!" Vyv really should marry her though,, oh listen to her agree and just flatter Grandmama with all the poise an Addington playing social chess can maneuver while extolling all of Vyv's accomplishments in such a way he's bringing up property and social values. behold.
Hyacinth reaches out and takes both of their hands to not get separated. hey, shes seen movies. "This looks... lemme check the buildings. Everything's so historic it's hard to actually tell where we are. It doesn't look like City Hall though." The other City Hall.

Through the Door and into a Dream.

Vyv seeking out confirmation has Isabella's eyes sharpening, catching sight of the similar, but different lines of the town. "I think it is, too," she says, reaching out to clasp Hyacinth's hand so they don't get separated. "We probably shouldn't stay out here with darkness descending like this, though," she informs her companions, eyeing the rattling trees. "If Vyv's right, the only way out of this is through." Which means no choice but to explore and investigate the town, trapped as it is in amber - so to speak.

It becomes all the more apparent to Hyacinth that it is, spending some of her time as co-chair of the Historical Society's preservation committee. She would recognize the buildings as incredibly old. Downright medieval actually, around the twelfth century - the scent of hay and horse manure gets stronger the further they venture in, but what she would notice right away that despite the fact that she knows from what time period these buildings are, they all appear to be new builds....as if the town had just been erected.

As Hyacinth examines these buildings, Vyv would pick up other sounds as well - while the surrounding areas of the town are silent, it seems that most of the activity present in the village is centered around a building taller than the rest. He'd be able to espy life, or at least fire and shadow, of bodies milling past windows reflected by hearthlight. It looks, smells, and sounds like an inn, and one that caters to locals and travelers alike.

Isabella's brow furrows when she surveys the area - she doesn't have Hyacinth's expertise in architecture, but something about the old village rendered new again twigs at her until she realizes what it is. "...normally small villages like this in England would have a church, or a parish," she tells them softly. "I don't see any."

Surely no one would want to leave Hya behind on a boring knoll! She might miss out on all the... this. Vyv takes her hand when it reaches out, giving a quiet sigh when Isabella confirms his assessment. Really, there was no win there: either they're in a Dream or he was wrong. And some days being right is less satisfying than others. The scents of medieval town life don't really help.

"We probably oughtn't," he agrees, and indicates the building he's noticed with a small wave of his free hand, "and they may not have a church -- which, yes, now that you mention it, that's rather odd -- but that looks quite like an inn." He pauses to study it an extra moment, adding, "Not precisely Claridge's, I suspect. But barring an extremely sudden boost in local construction..." That's the way he's inclined to start, and given the joined hands, to bring them along. Not in a huge hurry yet, though; it's not dark YET, and a better sense of the location couldn't hurt, right?

Hyacinth looks around to take a quick survey of the people, at the very least, and using good style sense creates a masked illusion so that they blend in (fashionably) as contemporaries with the setting. IT's a bit of a small detail but there's a pause and when she has the image firmly set in mind she stamps it into place on the trio of living paper dolls that they are. "There. This should at least keep the alarm down so we can figure out what in Betsy's blue bonnet is going on around here." It likely doesn't need to be said out loud but she says it, "I don't think we're in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch anymnore, Vyv." Damn show offs mentalists are. Really it fascinated her enough she spent a half hour learning the damn name. One must keep up their standards! Looking to Isabella she asks, "Why are we worried about the absence of the parish, though... that could be sign or problem or maybe there just is no God here."

Isabella tracks Vyv's attention towards the bustling inn and she nods. "Not a bad idea, usually places like that is the best place to grab some news, for the era anyway." Hyacinth's question has her shaking her head. "There might not, it's just strange and unusual for the time we're supposed to be in." The flare of power, though, is one she easily detects, and she winks at the stylish Addington lady. "I should take you to more trips through the Doorways," she teases the heiress.

And off they go.

There's certainly some rustic food cooking by the time they swing the doors open, and as far as the townsfolk and travelers are concerned, there is nothing unusual about them due to Hyacinth's illusions - they look like they belong despite their modern-day attire. There is meat roasting on open coals towards the kitchen area, mingling with the scent of freshly baked black bread and bowls of stew - perfect for chilly nights like this. The low hubbub of dozens of conversations fill their ears - local town gossip, but lively enough, rumors of extramarital affairs, feuds about property boundaries, the usual.

It would be a typical scene for the time, it's well into the dinner hour after all. But all three notice something strange in the crowd even as the innkeeper hollers at them to stop lingering at the door and to head further inside to keep the draft from entering.

Everyone in the common room is old - at least in their fifties. No young, buxom barmaids here. In fact, their apparent youth is probably the reason why more than a pair of eyes turn to their direction. They are the youngest people here.

All right, 'medieval village' is not Vyv's personal favourite style, but when in 12th-century Wrexham... Hyacinth's style sense is good enough that Vyv's response is a murmured, "Very nice," even if the look he gives himself isn't the most enthusiastic. Her pronunciation of possibly the most ridiculous village name in a country full of ridiculous village names gets a strange mix of approval and amusement. "You should," he agrees with Isabella, "I've never regretted it yet." In all the Doorways he's breached...

Youngest by 15-20 years... well, that's odd. And not only the men, which makes the potential explanation that comes first to mind seem a less likely one, as well. He's fairly prompt at responding to the stop-letting-the-draft-in, moving further inside and giving the locals a faint smile. "Good evening," he greets as though there were nothing odd about either the current occupants or themselves, which of course there is not, and heads in the innkeeper's general direction. No likely need to announce they're visitors; surely everyone here already knows literally everyone who isn't. Probably for decades, by the look of it. "Have you lodgings for the night?"

Hyacinth loves approval. WHat sensible person doesn't? AWhile she usually appreciates having command of the room there's somehting very odd afoot and she murmurs to Isabella while the gentleman among the addresses the 'help'. her words are kept quiet noting only, "Oh em gee, Issy be care of the porridge. I think it makes people have terribly dry skin." To say the least. She makes note of closing the door as an act of compliance with request. It's drafty and while this isn't a cotswold cottage the damp and cold were seeping in with no hate at waste.

"Yeah, that's more than just a little weird," the archaeologist tells Hyacinth quietly, giving the common room a wary eye.

The innkeeper is welcoming enough - an old gentleman in period's clothes, who tries not to look too interested in the young people that are asking for lodgings for the night. He gives them a key. "You can pay in the morn," he grunts, nodding up to the stairs leading to the second floor. "Last door on the left."

Getting an inn room at least takes them out of the common room and their too-curious audience, and Isabella follows the rest of her party up the creaking wooden steps and into the stone hallway that leads down to the door that Vyv has the key for. Should he unlock it and open it, there are a few cots, as well as an older woman busily setting logs on the stone hearth, a broom nearby. "In a minute, loves," she says, flashing them a gap-toothed smile. "Just going to make your room all nice and cozy and then I'll get out of your hair."

She stokes the logs until embers glow and a hearth is started, before picking up her broom. "If you need anything, just tell the innkeep downstairs," she says, before venturing away, the door closing behind the group.

Vyv gives the food a fleeting glance as they go; it does smell suprisingly good. Thoughts of the sort of food-safety that goes with the period suggested by clothing and such do cut down on temptation somewhat for the moment, though. He makes a mental note either not to be there in the morn, or to put some thought into illusioning up some convincing coin when the time comes. Fairy gold works for the fair folk, right? And hey, no denying this trio is pretty fair.

And young, comparatively. "...all right," he says quietly once the woman's gotten a small dip of the head and a 'Thank you' for her troubles and had a few seconds post-door closing to move on -- seconds he takes to reach out lightly with his mind and take a quick census of the others within his reach. And that hers is moving away. Good! "Theories on why we appear to have wandered into a medieval retirement community? Half expect someone to call us down to line-dancing or shuffleboard. If it were only the men I'd think war or some recent mining catastrophe perhaps, but as it is... mn." He's padding around the room, examining what's there with them, and pokes warily at one of the cots, possibly to check whether anything living might poke back. "Youth center down the road? Perhaps we're missing the disco."

Hya looks around and absolutely makes the mistake to try to pull a historic read on the room. Her fingers float before starting with the door knob and floating around the room: the small table, the bed there, and for certain the plate to try to understand some impression and some nature of what's happened here or what might happen to them. "Vyv, Izzy?" there's a pause and she looks up with pause inquiring their state, "We alright?" Her eyes close and she wonders out loud, "Why did it bring us here?" As if the Veil has purpose or reason for what it chooses.

"No idea. But if we're in a Dream, the purpose could be anything from finding a lost object and returning it to its proper place or defeating a monster." Isabella frowns as she glances towards the door. "Did you guys hear that?" she wonders, before moving over to the wooden appendage just as Hyacinth starts to read the room - and whatever historical impressions they might hold.

What floods in the powerful, stylish reader's mind is plenty of confusion to start; these emotions give way to memories from the prior visitors of those who have stayed in this room in particular - much like the trio, they seem to be young travelers, but as strange as their medieval trappings are, these memories seem to run the gamut of years. A fashionista like Hyacinth would be able to determine clothing styles throughout the ages, and while she has taken great care to glamour her companions to look like they belong, the people in these memories were not so equipped - the youthful travelers who have been inside this room before have worn clothing from the 16th century, 18th century and onwards...

...and they're all moving strangely in these dream-like memories; confusion gives way to panic, but Hyacinth can't see what is causing it. But for some reason, her attention is being pulled towards the hearth....

And the crackling wood within, exuding a scent so faint, it's easily masked by everything else, and this is when all of her senses start growing blurry, growing heavy. For some reason, her body isn't working or moving the way it should. The urge to sleep is suddenly overwhelming.

It's starting to affect the rest of her companions as well, though Vyv manages to keep ahold of his consciousness - but only a little. His awareness is hanging on by a thread. Isabella is frantically trying to open the door with her flagging strength. "I can't...." She presses her shoulder against the wood and digs her heels in an effort to push, a fighter till the last, no matter how futile. Green-and-gold eyes grow glassy. "They barred the door from...the outside...I can't...I can't feel my..." Her knees start to buckle and her body starts to slide down the door and onto the floor.

We all right? Not that many times Vyv can recall the answer to that changing between the end of the last syllable of the question and the moment he starts to reply, but now there's one more. Any possible flippant assertions of that being 'damning by faint praise' or mildly sarcastic assurances of yes 'aside from being in another strange unreality' are lost to that sense of heaviness and exhaustion, too fast and too strong to be any kind of 'right' at all. And then there's Isabella's revelation about the door, and a spike of fear and anger flows through him, bolstering the stubborn defiance that clings precariously on to consciousness by the tips of its well-manicured fingernails.

"No," is all the answer he can muster then, throwing the rest of what focus he can force together into lurching across the room to the door as well. No better luck than Isabella with trying to push at it, alas. This is the sort of situation that first brought out his talents -- sudden emergency, that stab of panic, the need for something to move contrary to the laws of physics to solve it -- and it goes near-instinctive with it again, trying to undo the bar their hands can't reach. It feels like it's taking forever, like time's slowing down as the darkness creeps in from all sides at the edges of his vision, and in the end, he ends up slumped against the door, clinging to its handle, as he can feel the thing just refuse and the power peters out.

Hyacinth looks around the room, her breathing changing. One thing she really does not care for is to be trapped and this gives way to all manner f issues.
She doesn't smell it but she's working on the room and when she picks up something she does not care for she points and covers her face with her hands. "Isabella, there's something in the wood in the fire. Disintegrate the wood or we are all napping in questionable standards!" Looking to Vyv there are tears stinging her eyes. "Bedclothes. Smother it!" She turns for the window but the room just spins on her. She tries to make for the window and if it won't open her leg will try to go through it nicely. Her fingers, at least, make it to the latch.

The subtle scent continues to permeate through the room and into their bodies, and despite the desperate attempts to escape the room, darkness swirls around them and everything goes black.

When they awaken, they would find Isabella missing, and their groggy bodies shackled into the wall - their wrists have heavy iron manacles, and their ankles are chained into the wall. They seem to be held by heavy spikes wedged into the stone foundations of a single-level dwelling; the walls are wood, and the stench of livestock and manure lingers heavily here. The only light present appears to be an oil lamp situated on top of the nearby table, and there's a steel pitcher of water sitting on top of the surface.

It's eerily quiet.

The walls are imperfect - typical of the time. Should they try to shift, they can peer at the outside world through the gaps between the slats, from where muffled, frantic noises are coming from. Above them, the occasional, steady creaking of weight against wood can be heard when a body crosses the floor above their heads, dislodging silt to rain down onto the dirt floor. Whenever their eyes adjust, they'd find themselves in some kind of medieval basement - there is a glimpse of uneven stairs that lead upwards into...god knows where.

Vyv moves to try for the window, since the door won't cooperate, but alas it seems even if he somehow manages to stubborn his way through the drug a fair while longer than his companions, it's not quite long enough. And so both window and bedclothes remain unmolested, unlike the human occupants.

He wakes groggy and wincing, blinking in the dimness of that sole light, nose wrinkling at the smells. "Nng. Can one award a hotel negative stars?" he mutters, giving his head a shake to try to clear it as he takes stock of what he can see. Correct number of Hyacinths. Too few Isabellas. Far too many restraints, and if memory serves, absolutely nobody over here so far he'd be interested in having apply them. He takes a couple slow, deep breaths -- through his mouth, no need to make things even worse -- and pushes down the treacherous stab of panic.

"Hya. Are you all right?" he inquires, keeping his voice low, and shifts position to try to peek through those slats and identify the source of the frantic noises. At the same time, he lets his mind reach out again, looking for other consciousnesses that might be nearby. Is their third companion nearby? Are their captors? Are the minds from the last time he tried this?

Hyacinth curls in a ball. She's trying to make out her situation. Immediate mental probe for viable targets in the area. Oh, Vyv! Well he spoke. This really didn't take a great feat of mental agility. This will be filed for later under shit she's taking credit for just knowing anyways.

"Yelp, Vyvy. Yelp will hear of this." Generally only an affectation she gets away with in the confines of very not-public and tolerated simply because she is herself and that is the only reason. Her breath quickens in her chest too readily realizing the situation and how very not in control of it she is. When Vyv asks if she's okay she wriggle wriggle wriggles over and swings a wiled eyes look to him that might as well have a giant ! flash above her head. Green eyes wide at the incredulity of the question is only further punctuated by a small shower if silt falling into a small pile on her head and down onto her now. There are absolutely tears welling up in her eyes and a small voice answers him with "...they took my phone... and my leg." Trying not to let her voice waver her jaw clenches and eyelashes clump. Fear and fury culminating in, "0 out of 10 stars unless a stripper shows up. Would. Not. recommend."

As Vyv reaches out, he would feel multiple minds in spite of the isolated feeling so pervasive in this dwelling.

Most of them are clustered in a room upstairs, and strangely enough, they aren't active; as if lulled in a quiet state, and unmoving - but decidedly alive. There is a pair moving in the upper floor, however, moving around in an organized fashion, possibly security, what little could be afforded in a place like this, and there is a smaller, more active cluster outside of the dwelling, but moving away from it.

One of them is their third companion - he would know it because she burns like a star on the verge of fusion or collapse, and there's a hint of panic associated with that blip. Wherever the other cluster is taking her, she is resisting. She doesn't want to go. The sounds from the outside world seem to correspond in that direction, and if they twist enough, they'd be able to peer through the uneven wooden slats at the bottom of the shoddily-constructed walls above the stone base to see what is happening.

Empathy is not really Vyv's forte, but there are occasional exceptions, and Hyacinth probably factors in a good portion of them these days. Granted, there may well also be a plain desire not to have to be dealing with tears in there, but there's a flicker of distress in his expression before he gets it locked down and focuses on the practical. Well, mostly. He shifts position as best he can toward her in turn, and extends his arm as far as it's comfortably able to get while chained; it's possible it might even have ended up a tiny one-armed hug if there'd been room, but instead it gets as far as a theoretically-comforting couple of pats and light rub of her upper back. And then a dusting off of the fallen dirt from her head and shoulders, because really, this place. "-1 out of 10 if one does; we saw the general stock," he mutters back, and takes another breath.

"They're taking Isabella somewhere, a few of them. She doesn't want to go. A pair of what I think are guards upstairs, and several people still and quiet there." A glance around. "See if she'll talk to you, maybe she knows more. I'll look for your leg, and... see whether I can do anything about these." His chains jingle slightly in illustration. "We're not simply giving in to a bunch of poorly-dressed geriatric peasants, after all." This goes without saying. Or would, if Hya's mascara weren't currently endangered.

Hyacinth watches Vyv for a frozen moment. Her carefully climate controlled world shuttering at its moorings and stayed only by the rare but no less genuine consolation and assurance from her BFF. She calms a bit when he removes the dirt. it is, of course, replaces when more footsteps amble overhead. It's still enough to help her focus. A plan. Right, we're making a plan. At the suggestion she starts to rally nodding slowly. She draws a breath and reaches out trying to find Isabella's mind.

"Girrrrrrl remember who you are. Vyv's trying to get us out of this dank economy suite. Where they dragging you? Izzy? Izzy pick up."

As Vyv extends his power to test his chains, it would take a while - the mechanisms of his shackles are rusty, but finally, finally, screws twist with an agonizing creaaaaaaak before they break apart completely given their condition. The master patissier is able to free himself from his bonds, though there is Hyacinth to release as well.

As Hyacinth extends her power to reach out to Isabella, she would find it...strange, to say the least. She'd sense a touch of fire, and her mental defenses lower just enough for her to glimpse the draconic form of her potential. The chained, half-blind beast appears groggy and asleep, splashed onto a field of black; coruscating ribbons of red and gold writhe around it as if alive, but it is unmoving. Its single visible eye stares out at Hyacinth from the void, wary, but wounded.

For someone who thinks so actively all the time, it is disconcertingly silent in Isabella's mindspace.

There is no answer back - Hyacinth would be one of the first people in her acquaintance, outside of Alexander, who would realize that something is terribly wrong with the archaeologist's psyche, when half of it is wreathed in shadow and riddled with gaping chasms - as if something that was once whole had been torn asunder.

But there is something - crude, still images. Isabella may be completely hampered from communicating mind-to-mind forever, at least not without someone who has a map of her distorted mindspace, but this, she can still do. She gives Hyacinth an image of a view turned downward, on the ground leading away from the dwelling, grasped by the arms by a couple of the old customers they encountered in the inn, and drops of blood - probably hers, suggestive of the fact that she may have been hit or wounded, and may be the reason why she hasn't fought back. Either that, or she's simply biding her time. Another flash of a still image, this time of a path into the trees, of the woods outside of the dwelling, and lit torches illuminating the way into the oppressive darkness. At least, there is that.

And then, another crude image, this time with the point of view turned, as if Isabella is looking upwards.

Sharpened antlers from deer or elk have been hammered into the higher trunks of the trees, and Hyacinth would be able to glimpse the dangling, desiccated forms of the others that came before them. The corpses and remains, all in various states of decay, and some downright skeletal, are still clad in their outfits and all from different time periods. Hyacinth would be able to pick out a few from the 15th century, the Victorian era and others, but whoever they were, they are all dead and gone, dangling from the mounted antler skewers like grisly ornaments.

What is to be their fate, if they let it happen.

Vyv's eyes narrow and then close as he works on the locks, brow furrowing with concentration as he pushes at the recalcitrant mechanisms. A quick exhalation through his nose is just-audible when he feels them come free, something like a laugh but more triumphant than amused, and his eyes open. Chains are carefully set aside as quietly as he can, and with a glance at Hyacinth's bindings, he adds 'the key' to the list of things he's aiming to locate, and augments the psychic attempt with just plain looking around, now that he can rise and get a better look. And brush dirt and dust off his suit and hair. Ugh. Hya's not wrong: this is definitely the worst place they've stayed.

Whether he finds the key or not, the matter of Hyacinth's bindings comes next; he's getting those off her one way or the other. And for the moment, he's silent, letting his friend focus on her communication and aiming not to draw anyone else's focus their way.

Hyacinth stares off into the middle distance hovering slightly off the floor...due to her trying to pull herself up from touching it. This is not mystical, it's just an aversion to ruin. It's not a laundry day, these clothes count! Still shaken and stirred she looks up from the ether to Vyv, green eyes huge and proclaims, very officially, what she found.

"We are not going to become set decorations for Letterkenny. We are not dying to plaid, flannel, and antlers." Never you mind this is Wales and not Canada. There's a pause and she blinks and sighs deeply giving more explanation that is both reliably accurate and as understated as it can be. "There seems to be like this cult or... something. We need to get out of here before we get the evangelical talks about timeshares in hell or whatever. Anyways, They're um, they're moving her. I think she's outside. There's a path. When we are more together I can get a better read on where."