Kjersti Volden
AC: 19 | Fort: +8 | Ref: +4 | Will: +7
HP: 24/24 | Focus: 0/1 | Hero: 0/3 | Perception: +5
Conditions
Kjersti was quiet the whole winding walk back, bringing up the rear with both hammers in tow - the Falco's family heirloom tucked awkwardly through her belt and her own long-handled own propped over a shoulder. Whatever conversations passed between the others ahead of her were lost on her, or disregarded. The recovering of ciphers and ledgers and letters seemed to pique Rexus' interest - and maybe in the long run, there was something valuable to be drawn from the doings of the long-dead Silver Ravens - but it did not feel like it alleviated any pressure or give them any clear guidance for the Right Now. What she now dwelt upon, looking ahead at the shambling figure ahead, was beyond the secrecy of clandestine organizations and the movements of agents against in the dark.
The nursery...
The dog...
Kjersti knelt at the open mouth of the trapdoor that they had so cleverly and carefully set in the dirt floor of the barn. They had extended beneath and supported the structure above as they went, creating a meeting place of fellow worshipers of Milani - it's what they folks in the city were doing, they were told. And they were all young and foolish enough to do it, thinking themselves an active part of something so far away. There were no plots or subterfuges, no grand schemes to take on their oppressors, just people discontent with the ever-tightening noose they heard about in Kintargo, and the strain they felt as rural folk trying to maintain their way of life in the outskirts. One might even have considered them a harmless club, if not for their choice in 'illegal' deity to revere. In a way, it made it that much more exciting and dangerous... They had no idea.
In the hole beneath her, the bodies of her friends and neighbors were strewn about each other, the door torn off its hinges and a note stuck in the wood with a dagger. 'You made me do this' it had said, in the distinctly terrible handwriting of her brother. He had been one of the first to join their group and the first to become disenchanted with its impotence... and now had chosen power over hope, over family. She should have been in that hole and she was forever uncertain if he had spared her, or just missed her. It was an answer she swore to wring from his neck, if she ever found him again. And though she was not necessarily thirsty for blood, she wouldn't let anyone stop her, not even Maria.
Kjersti looked up at her friend and mentor, streaks of tears carved through the dust and dirt on her cheeks, and her eyes flash with intent...
Temperance turns to find Kjersti sitting on the stairs going back up into Laria's coffee shop, expression darkened and dour as the others speak of phantom pipes and pranksters and grimples. The Falco's hammer lays across her lap, her own discarded somewhere upstairs. In her hands is a small shard of wood, blue paint and half of a white flower still visible beneath a layer of soot. On the steps belong, between her heavy boots, is the bag of silver she had already offered the blonde woman. When she looks up at Temperance, the frown on her face is not for her, but for everything closing in on them. Gently, her thumb strokes across the remains of a child's nursery.
"I ain't lookin' to force you to do beyond what you're willin'," Kjersti says quietly. "You seen hardships I can't fathom and see 'em creepin' after you into this city, too. This whole thing has been eye-openin' for me, cause I'm just from the farmlands out there. I had no idea." It may or may not be an admission of being in over their heads, but it does not seem to deter her resolve. "I came here cause my brother murdered my friends, and shoulda done me too. I came here because I wanted to take 'im home and string 'im up for what he did. And then... then I saw what his kind are willin' to do. - what they are goin' to do to folks, here - and I can't let that happen, I just can't. You asked me why I shouldn't just leave... It's because I can't. I won't." Kjersti's knuckles are white on the grip of the hammer and she softly exhales the built-up emotion in her chest.
"I got a lot to learn here, and I'm gonna need people - good people - who can help me do that. You're good people, Temperance... and I want you to stay. Maybe not for them... maybe not for a cause... but maybe for me." Perhaps it's not much of a negotiation, but it's from the heart.