Posh leaves the Crooked Bell alone, carrying the black relic beneath her gothic coat and the three-eyed-crow token securely in her possession. No archivist follows, and Dain remains behind.
The concealed stair winds downward through damp stone before opening into Saint Vey’s outer ossuary. Cold air carries rain, old dust, and the dry mineral scent of bone.
A weathered relief of the saint watches over a circular worksite. Bone dust marks its boundary, disturbed only by faint footprints leading toward a sealed archway.
Posh
The worksite is prepared, but no one is here.
The black relic stays cold beneath Posh’s coat. The ossuary offers no answering chime, only the soft drip of water somewhere beyond the walls.
At the circle’s center rests a low stone plinth, its surface etched with interlocking bone shapes and a shallow space sized for a written account or ritual instrument.
The stair behind Posh remains open to the upper passage. Ahead, the sealed archway and waiting worksite leave the next choice entirely hers.
“She sits on it and waits”
Posh settles onto the low stone plinth, its carved bone shapes pressing coolly beneath her gothic coat. The shallow recess remains empty beside her.
She waits beneath Saint Vey’s weathered relief while water drips beyond the walls. The sealed archway stays motionless, and the black relic remains cold.
Posh
The plinth is more comfortable than it looks.
Minutes lengthen into an unhurried vigil. Bone dust clings to the circle’s edge, and the faint footprints toward the archway lose their sharpness beneath settling powder.
Rain murmurs through unseen cracks overhead. No ward answers, no messenger arrives, and nothing disturbs Posh’s possession of the key or the three-eyed-crow token.
At last, the ossuary’s silence becomes the whole appointment for now. The prepared worksite waits with her, patient beneath the saint’s worn stone gaze.
“She waits until they arrive”
The vigil continues beneath Saint Vey’s weathered relief. At last, footsteps descend the stair, measured and unhurried, followed by the soft clink of bone clasps.
Dain Vell enters first, green hood damp with rain. Behind him comes an elderly elf woman with a tall, slender frame, ash-brown skin, white hair braided with bone beads, and a severe black mantle.
Dain Vell
There you are, fox. I said the owner would come, and for once the appointment has behaved itself.
the Bell's owner
You waited without disturbing the circle. That is a promising beginning.
The elderly elf woman approaches the plinth and studies the empty recess, the sealed archway, and the bone-dusted boundary. Her calm gaze finally settles on Posh.
the Bell's owner
I am Yseldra Vey, keeper of the Marrow Bell. Dain has described your ritual, your key, and your unusual manner of negotiation.
Dain Vell
The worksite is yours for the discussion, fox. Yseldra has brought the Bell’s terms, and she is prepared to hear what you do with them.
““Alright Dain, you can leave now, thank you””
SUCCESS (Fair Noble manners, rolled +3)
Posh
Alright, Dain, you can leave now, thank you.
Dain blinks once, then gives Yseldra an amused bow. He steps back across the bone-dusted boundary, turns toward the stair, and leaves without protest.
Dain Vell
Dismissed with remarkable efficiency. Very well, fox. I will leave the solemn bargaining to you and Yseldra.
His damp footsteps fade upward, leaving the outer ossuary quiet again. The stair remains open, and Dain’s departure gives Posh the private audience she requested.
Yseldra Vey
You send away your broker before negotiations begin. That is either confidence or excellent instinct. I find both useful.
Yseldra moves closer to the plinth and draws a small bone-sealed packet from her mantle. The seal bears the Marrow Bell, and she places it beside the empty recess.
Yseldra Vey
Dain’s account is accurate. I will offer you the Bell’s terms directly, without his embellishments or commission.
““Well actually I’m way more interested in talking to another bone lover. You are one, unless I’m mistaken?””
SUCCESS (Legendary Reasoning, rolled +0)
Posh
Well, actually, I’m much more interested in talking to another bone lover. You are one, unless I’m mistaken?
Yseldra studies Posh across the plinth, one hand resting near the bone-sealed packet. Her severe expression softens into unmistakable amusement.
Yseldra Vey
You are not mistaken. I have spent three centuries studying bone, tending its remains, and listening for the truths it preserves.
She opens the packet and reveals a narrow strip of polished ivory, etched with tiny bells and branching marrow lines. The markings catch the ossuary’s dim light.
Yseldra Vey
I do not love bone as ornament alone, though I respect a fine specimen. Bone is structure, memory, inheritance, and sometimes the last honest witness left behind.
Yseldra Vey
So yes, fox. We may speak as fellow admirers, provided you understand that admiration carries obligations when the dead are involved.
The sealed archway remains silent, but the Marrow Bell’s packet gives a faint, delicate chime. Yseldra’s attention stays wholly on Posh, ready for a more personal conversation before business resumes.