Getting the Barovians to talk was like pulling teeth. All those that did, especially in Krezek, the little town under the shadow of the Abbey of Saint Marchovia, told him the same thing.
Call to a witch with intent, and they will come.
Oh boy, did he have plenty of intent to spare. Always hiding his true feelings behind an easily practiced drunken smile and some half assed joke. His soul was a blustering sea, bellowing deeper than one of his thunderwaves in a quiet forest.
Since learning the truth of his people, Paultin had tried to turn to them for help, but he was străin, an outsider. An alien to his own people. Only one had recognized him as her own blood, and now, she was dead. She'd made it clear though, under no uncertain terms, that he was the key to not only his own escape, but the escape of his found family. The only people he'd had to turn to when he'd lost all else. Evelyn, Strix, and Diath were all counting on him, and he didn't know how to open the God damned portal that apparently should have been an inherent power from his fucking bloodline.
The others were asleep at camp. Paultin, however, had taken his wineskin and some flint out to the darkness that lingered in the gray, dreary woods. There was almost no difference in this plane between day and night. No sun. No stars. No moon. Only the feeling of when dawn should be.
The bard watched the flames of the fire he'd built dance for a few moments, trying to get his head on straight. Preparing himself to let down his carefully crafted walls to ask for help. Plead if he had to...
He brought his wineskin up one more time for a long drink before he secured it to his belt. Dark eyes swimming with honey wine as he slowly blinked a few times, sitting up against a fallen tree.
"I don't really know what they meant..... Exactly. Call to you with intent. I do know I've tried demons, and devils. They won't even look my direction because my soul isn't in one piece. It isn't something they can take for their own. I know we've escaped once, but we got dragged back to this fucking hellhole. I know we can't get out the same way we did last time. I know my son doesn't deserve to live like this. No one does. You wanna know my intent? My intent is to get the fuck out of here with the people I care about. To show them a better life than anything they've ever known. I'm tired of being fucking useless to them. I don't know what your price is, but I was raised by a fucking demon. I think we can probably figure something out. I know how this goes. Nothing is free and I'm okay with that. Just....please help me."
She felt the sudden channeling into her name and her head snapped into the direction, honing in on the attention and intention. It wasn't a call to a witch. It was a call to her. Black eyes bore into the distance for a long moment before she dipped her hand into the bag of holding bound to her waist. Pulling out her scrying orb, she settled it between her hands and raised it to look at.
This soul was calling out to her, made it all the easier to take notice of them and use this calling to feedback and find them. The stone within her crystal orb glowed slightly, energy dancing within as it formed a picture for her. A man alone in the forest, sitting back against a tree. Her eyes wandered over him before looking at his surroundings... she knew this place. It wasn't terribly far.
Was it worth investigating this calling? Her eyes narrowed slightly in consideration. He had her name. He got it from someone. So obviously there was enough thought put into asking for her directly.
She replayed his message again, listening better this time. A father. A son of demons. A friend that felt desperate and responsible, or else he wouldn't be alone in the forest calling for aid. She was just curious enough.
Mortem clicked her tongue softly, putting away the orb. She procured a single fae token and flipped it. One moment, he was alone. The next, she was standing them. Token gone. What a shame.
"It's clear you're used to dealing with demons than you are witches." She mused, staring down at him. Up close, he looked like a man down on his luck. Perhaps she would grant him good fortune.
But first... she pinched the skirt of her black dress and curtsied lightly, "As you know, I am Mortem." She introduced herself properly before straightening once more. "And you?"
