Guest Suite – Tinian Manor
This guest suite is probably not the most opulent one available, but it is certainly suitable for overnight guests. There are two bedrooms (with one bed apiece) and a single bathroom complete with bathtub. The main room is cozy, and has a couch and fireplace but no large table or desks. The dcor is typical Sylvanian with a few Olympian knickknacks, such as marble busts of notable human ancestors.

Just before dawn, Alptraum leaves Sister Toadstool's bedroom so she can sleep (as she sleeps during the day anyway) and Mort staggers out of the other bedroom where he spent that last several hours 'examining' the succubus-doll that Toadstool has named Sister Dusk. There are still a few scraps of cold food left in front of the fire from before – although it's likely that breakfast will be served soon enough.

"Whaaaalp," Mortimer begins, rubbing his head, "that was informative." The Korv pauses to examine his dull reflection in the vague reflection of his scythe, decides he looks like a mess, and nods approvingly.

Alptraum sniffs the air. "I smell saddle soap," the Eeee remarks tiredly as he wobbles to the fireplace and collapses on the floor nearby. "I could ask just what you were doing … but I think I'll just leave it to my imagination. Less traumatic." There's a lengthy pause as the Eee yawns widely and toothily. "But it does remind me, would your mentor be ashamed or proud of you?" he asks.

"He would say I am a complete waste of time, why does he put up with me, young people have no idea about this and that … ," the Korv inhales deeply, then begins ticking off on his talons in a scratchy, crotchety tone, " … you and your sister are a burden on my patience, go fetch me the bones of a festering devourer, make it snappy, I could have do it myself, death would be preferable to your nonsense, I should have adopted trees – they're more useful, why don't you get some color boy, you're too white boy it hurts my eyes." The Korv wheezes, then clears his throat. He then glances at Alptraum and answers, "I would say he's reasonably happy with me."

The bat actually barks a laugh at that. "Sounds about like half the old folks I met in Babel, really … cranky and complaining about everything. Personally, I think it's the constipation brought on by age. When you can't go out one end, you yell out of the other," he comments. "Though I have to wonder if you're more a burden on his larder than his patience. For one who claims poverty, you certainly have a way of always having food about. Aaaanyway, what is his area of specialty, anyway? I assume at his age at leas something caught his eye and he focused on it more than anything else."

The Korv looks up, thinking and rubbing the underside of his beak. "He is a specialist in spirits of all sorts, necromancy, Sylvanian history, magic, Reapers, and a host of other things. He would say he is an expert on everything – and anyone who did not know that without asking or even knowing him is a expert on foolishness."

"Hm. Constipated and hasn't been with a woman for a decade or more," Alptraum concludes. "Or a man, no idea which way his inclinations go. So … when is the last time you've been to visit him for wisdom and receive your verbal beating? and is that some sort of practice among Reapers? I have heard of religious sects that like to abuse themselves and each other… "

Mortimer glances at the bat with on beady pink eye. "You are very Babelite, you keep your strange ideas to yourself," he insists. Turning to watch Alptraum with both eyes, he shrugs, then says, "Its been several years since I saw my mentor. Whatever you think, I do not go out of my way to make my life harder. That is why I am here and not there, where the food is as good as the company!" The Korv laughs raucously, then suddenly pauses mid-laugh a few seconds later. "That reminds me," he says with sudden gravity, "I'm hungry."

As if by prescience or telepathy, Jerome the butler enters then carrying a platter. "Good morning, honored Reapers," the Rhian says. "I have brought you some breakfast. Chef managed to bleed the hog before making the bacon, so there is something for your apprentice as well."

"What?" Alptraum claims, "I don't go for babelite ways. I have no idea about you or him." He waves weakly with his left hand towards the cold food, adding, "And feel free to finish that off. I can't eat it; all it would do is cause me to do a multi-colored yawn within five minutes of eating it." Again there's a pause for the Eeee to yawn, as he listens to the butler. "I hope it was a clean hog," he comments.

"I will polish off this hot food instead. As for clean, a few diseases will give you character," the senior Reaper insists to Alptraum. He reaches over and grabs some bacon, then begins tossing them in the air, to be caught and devoured in his beak. Between tosses, he asks, "Why," toss, " the interest," toss, "interest my mentor?" Toss.

"If I wanted a few diseases I would just ask Phlagaea to bless me," Alptraum remarks as he flails rather pitifully in an attempt to sit back up. By the time he's upright, he's nearly panting. "Well, I need someone who is an expert in crystals, spirit containment within them, and purifying crystals to be used for containment," Alptraum answers. "Though, from the sounds of it, I bet the guy uses his own kidney stones for such. It would explain being cranky."

Jerome sets out bacon, toast, fried potatoes, juice… and scrambled eggs of some sort… as well as a pot of tea and a carafe of blood. "If you would like Mateh, just let me know how strong you take it," the Rhian says.

"Extra dark and strong for me, please," mutters a sleepy (and still naked) Sister Toadstool as she wanders out to fill a plate without really looking at what she's doing, and then staggers back to her bedroom. The Rhian's jaw just hangs open the whole time.

"I'll have the blood too, its been a while," the senior Reaper replies. He takes a seat too, leaning his scythe against his chair. Turning to Alptraum, he says, "I'm sure he can help you, but," and then the Korv tosses his hands in the air, almost flinging a piece of bacon, "the question is if he wants to. He may make you do … " he pauses for dramatic effect, " … errands."

"Her cuffs do match the collar," Alptraum quips as he finally manages to get back to his feet. Though a bit wobbly, he makes it over to the table with the food and pours himself a mug of the warm blood. "You have to drink this fast or it clots," he explains to Mortimer and waves the mug at him. "And you know what's gross? Clots floating in your food. They tend to stick to your teeth."

"Or in your case, beak," Alptraum amends. "Yum, beak clots."

Jerome turns and walks out of the suite in as dignified a manner as a Rhian can while holding a tray cover over his pants.

"And they're squishy, but not warm eyeball squishy – more like xoctol poorly mixed squishy," the bird agrees. Apparently, he has blood drinking experience. "If I have it, I use anti-coagulants. It's also good mixed with liquor, but that might not work for you."

"Depends on the liquor, actually," Alptraum says before he downs a significant portion of his mug, then burps loudly. There's a pause, then he notes, "Yep, still not as good coming back up as going down." And now with the Rhian gone, Alptraum adds, "And I just bet he was holding down Mister Happy with the tray, eh?"

"You're really quite crude," the bird remarks after a moment, before noisily munching a piece of bacon.

"I'm tired," Alptraum claims. "So what sort of errands does your mentor tend to demand?"

"The kind that make most people into reagents," the Reaper replies. He picks up the bread loaf, then reaches up to use his scythe to saw off a few slices. "He's so old, he has things evrywhere, and doesn't like to leave his home. Things he's loaned, things he wants but doesn't want to go find – you get the idea."

"Any specifics? I could just pick them up on the way," the bat comments. "And where is his home, anyway?"

The Korv takes the loaf of bread, then puts a few sticks of bacon beside it, and finally, an eye on top. "The Throne of Bones," he intones ominously, waving a hand over the food-molded mock-throne. "And you won't know what he wants until he asks; he's old."

"Never heard of that. Where is it?" Alptraum asks. "And what tends to put him in a good mood? Anything?"

"Nothing," the Korv answers, knowingly. "There are only shades of grumpy." He takes the food Throne apart, then begins setting out bacon. "This egg is Draco County," he explains. A few pieces of bacon go down, some scrambled egg, a few slices of toast, and then another egg. "This second egg is the Throne. I fly, so it's about 2-3 days for me depending on weather. On foot, it's a lot of swaps, a bog, a bog-like swamp, a few old battlefields, this down here – which is a bandit hovel – this small mountain, and then the small lake and bogland where the Throne sits."

"Two to three days by air isn't so bad," Alptraum says as he peers at the map of food, "You fly at about the same rate as I do. Are there any safe places to camp in between? Any villages or perhaps your home? This mysterious sister of yours home?"

"My sister will not let me in her home after the … incident," the Korv says sadly, shaking his head. "I know of a few abandoned graveyards with comfortable tombs. The village seems safe, but they're bandits – if they think they can rob you and dump you in the swap without retaliation they well."

"Incident? What sort of incident?" Alptraum asks as his ears actually perk up a bit.

"I ate her cake," the Korv says, actually sounding guilty. Looking up, he shakes his fist at the heavens, "When will my cake addiction stop hurting people!"

"Why not bring her a new cake, a grander cake, as a peace offering?" Alptraum suggests. "Or perhaps I could go talk to her on your behalf… "

"Cake doesn't last long while flying through swamps," the Korv replies, head shaking. "And you stay away from my sister."

"What? I can be a perfect gentleman," Alptraum notes as he pours himself a new mug. "You're not very trusting."

The Korv glances at the bat with one eye again, "You mentioned "Mr. Happy," and beak clots – gentlemen do not mention beak clots at the table."

"We're not at a table, we're in a private guestroom," Alptraum points out. "So, back to matters at hand, do you even know if your mentor is still alive?"

The Korv actually laughs. "I am not so lucky that he is dead, nor is death so lonely as to want him. I am sure he lives," the bird replies.

"Not so, I'm death and I want him," Alptraum counters and even waggles his brow. "But only for his knowledge and abilities, of course. And … hmm. Hopefully he wouldn't try to kill me on sight, or worse."

"Don't be so full of yourself; you're not death boy!" The Korv waggles a finger at the bat. "Don't be so sure of that," he then says regarding being killed on sight, "sometimes he tries to kill me on sigxh claiming, "I thought you were a spook," or, sometimes he thought I was a bandit, errant flying sheet, or a cloud. "White clouds have no business floating in Sylvania!" Occasionally, it's a test."

"Okay, well, the son of death. Death-light," Alptraum concedes. "And are you sure he's still capable? If he's mistaking you for a sheet he sounds a bit senile."

"I think he just likes watching me jump. Gorgorath is also fond of causing any pain it can," the bird explains to Alptraum. He finishes off the bacon, proceeding to the ham.

"It? You're not even sure of this person's gender? Or is this 'it' a pet of his?" Alptraum asks. His ears flick forward as he downs the mug he poured a bit ago.

The Korv nods. "Pet is the best way to describe it. It's best to talk about it as little as possible, even more so as you get close. Don't let your thoughts stray and don't inquire as to what 'deals' it can offer. Luckily, my master keeps it on an even shorter leash than he does us."

"Er, what. Just what is this it?" Alptraum has to ask. "Just what does he keep as a pet?"

"Don't think about it too much," the Korv insists. "It isn't healthy to dwell on it." There's a long, sober pause as the jorv stares Alptraum in the eyes, and then he leans back and claps his hands together, "Well! What next?"

"Oh no you don't! You have to tell me what it is now," Alptraum says and shakes one of his fingers at Mortimer. "Because if you don't … I'll do … uh, something!"

The Korv's feather's puff in alarm, and he holds his hands up placatingly, "Don't get caught up in the mystery! I shouldn't have mentioned it, I'm just used to thinking of it there. You should forget all about it. It will know you if you visit. You should turn your back on it in turn."

Alptraum huffs. "Now I think you're just trying to be obtuse," the Eeee accuses as he crosses his arms. "So, when are you going to take me and introduce me to him?"

"Hmmmm, that depends. You're asking me to visit my mentor, after all," the jorv answers, rubbing his beak. "I'll have to demand suitable payment."

"Like what?" Alptraum asks suspiciously.

The Korv rubs his beak a moment more, then says, "How about a pretty woman?"

"That's a subjective statement. Beauty varies between species," Alptraum claims, "So you'll have to be a bit more specific… "

"Well, I don't know! Dark, not too plump, long hair – you know, pretty," the Korv explains, hands waggling. "I'm not picky about species," he adds. "Unless you don't think you can do it? This is a big thing you're asking me, you could have just asked for murder or something less painful."

Alptraum fights back a huge grin (and the urge to introduce him to Melusine. She's dark after all). "Well, I can probably find someone. The trick is they need to be appreciative to someone of your … eccentricities. Hm, probably one of those morose women from the Dead Inn," the bat notes.

"Just see to it, and I'll consider this all settled. Until then, we're on holiday until we pick up haunt activity and/or screaming," the bird says. He pops the last slice of bacon in his beak and, mouth chewing, adds, "It's all peace until someone screams."

"Oh, hm … there's always one of the dark elves. They're into … well, stuff that would turn anyone white," Alptraum muses.

"No ghosts," the bird adds quickly. "Or spirits, undead, demons, angels, gods or demons. I get quite enough of those on my own. Someone with life."

"Heh, there's also always Mave, the Yodhinala. She would find you interesting," Alptraum comments. "And would find value in you … and probably your spare feathers."

"Oh no, no religious folk! All that religious talk makes me queasy – do you know how many ghosts ask me about the afterlife and then go onnnn and onnnn about this expected heaven or that hell, and why this or that god should be along any minute, or whhhhy did this or that belief abandon me. I'm just the janitor of death, I clean up its mess!" Mortimer tosses his hands in the air, muttering. He then takes a large swig of blood and complains, "It's enough to drive me to drink!"

"Her religion is sex and pleasure," Alptraum points out, "Something I think you want to talk about. And do."

"No priests," the bird says with finality. "They're just like us, which makes them sneaky and out for handouts. I want a regular woman, who does a regular job, in a boring venue that isn't haunted, magical, or otherwise notable. Or something that's vaguely like that."

"Now you're asking for a lot. No one like that comes within a mile of either of us," Alptraum says with a sigh, "Strange attracts strange." He throws up his hands and grumbles, "I'll see what I can do, or barring that, I'll find my own way. You've given me a rough map, can probably make do."

The bird resumes rubbing his chin. "Don't be so hasty, and don't be suicidal. My master tolerates me, you, you have some sort of unusual spirit connection – who knows what he'll do. You just think about it, find me something. If it's at least an effort I will, out of the kindness of my heart, help you anyway." The Korv then holds a hand up to forestall the bat. "Think of this like a test; he's going to ask much more than I will. If this isn't to your liking, he will be even less so!"

"Reagents are easier to collect than a woman who wouldn't be scared of either me or you," Alptraum points out. "Normal people want other normal people … and neither you or I are even close to normal any … wait a moment. I think I do have an option."

"By reagents I mean 'artifacts of dubious personal safety,' you have to understand. Master Azrael rarely trades his services for mushrooms and beetle eyes," the bird explains. He quirks a 'brow,' interested. "Oh? Have an idea?"

"I know an older gypsy who wouldn't be afraid of you and has a generally normal job," Alptraum remarks. "It's a long shot, but it's a possibility. And, she knows me, is a friend, and at least a remote chance. Easier than wandering around the street interviewing strangers.

"Hmm, old? Well, I did say I would be kind … " The bird sounds like he might suddenly be retretting his kindness, but nods anyway.

"Not old, older. She's around forty or so and has three beautiful daughters," Alptraum explains.

"Hmmmmmm," the bird mumbles, rubbing his chin in thought.

"Failing that, I don't know what I'll do," Alptraum admits and rolls his shoulders in a shrug. "I'll have to see."

"And I won't know anything for a few days anyway. I'll have to find her again, ugh," Alptraum complains.

The Korv finally nods. "If you can't think of anything, the gypsy sounds nice. I'll leave it to you," the bird agrees.

The door to other bedroom opens, and brightly colored and feathered head pops out; a Kujaku! She slips from the room and tries to sneak across to the other door before Mort can see her.

Mortimer, for his part, stares ahead like he doesn't see the woman. "Wouldn't it be odd if, per se, a brightly colored Kujaku were to haunt this very room? I would be surprised, wouldn't you?" He blinks innocently at Alptraum.

"That would be odd," Alptraum has to agree, "I haven't seen such in Sylvania for … it would have to be a few years now. Wow. Not to mention in a mostly human establishment! I suppose it could be buying stuff for Gallis. Though … I wouldn't think that would be terribly popular."

"It may be a Gallisan spy, or perhaps one of the many deities of excessive color, here to brighten our dreary country in a prismatic assault," the Korv considers back at Alptraum.

"I don't think the country is that dreary," Alptraum comments, "You just have to find the bright spots. Our country just requires effort."

Without a comment to the 'speculation', Dusk slips into Snow's bedroom. Then has to open the door again to get her tail all the way in…