Dr. Thomas Arthur Rudhale
It had come back for him. The burning flowers in his censer were no match for it. The rotting smell was too pungent, he was sure it was here. The thurible in his hands jingled wildly as Thomas sprinted, leather boots sloshing against mud. The rain was so thick it made navigation impossible. Thomas took a left around a white oak, a sign of purity. Each direction had no path, just more mud, more rain. The earthy tones of his garb matched the mud caking it. Muffled breathing, Po's wings flapping wildly, they continued blindly forward. Skeletons and red eyes. Rotten smells and fallen ash. A clearing.
Green grass unknown to him. Dr. Rudhale's soaking body laid dormant in the grass for a moment, the beak of his mask turning about. A bright sun began to slowly evaporating the liquid so condensed in his garb. He rose a gloved hand to cast a shadow over his mask, so as to see better. Clear skies, fluffy, white clouds, and birds singing caught the doctor off guard. Po bounced towards Thomas and flapped his wings, making a nodding motion with his head. Powerful, blue eyes interlocked with his own. Thomas agreed: this was powerful, likely ancient sorcery at work. Whether it was affiliated with malefic demons, Dr. Rudhale would need to investigate. He rose to his feet, a muffled inhalation being heard from the inside of his mask. No rotting smell. This place seemed to repel malefic entities, though it could very well be veiling them as well.
Clanging metal, hammer against anvil entered the perception of the plague doctor. He swiveled once more, witnessing a forge for the first time. And beside it, a wooden building with a lantern on the outside, perhaps a refuge of sorts. He might require the services of the forge in the future, but in the meantime there were investigations to perform. Po batted his wings and landed tenderly on the shoulder of the plague doctor. Thomas collected the ashes from his disheveled thurible and placed them back into the container. Dr. Rudhale swiped the rest from the blades of grass, sending them to and fro. He checked a suitcase that matched the tone of his garb to see if anything had been misplaced or disheveled. His uniform sopping, Thomas dragged his feet against tall grass as droplets fell from the base of a woolen shawl that dragged behind him.
The door creaked open as Dr. Rudhale entered the room. A shower of water dripped onto the hardwood floors as his window eyes scanned the room. His thurible could immediately be smelled by the patrons of the room: like the inside of a honeysuckle, but with a more earthen tone to it, as if dirt had been rubbed underneath one's nose. The burning incense of amaranth was enough to detect demons or malefic spirits, who would become roused by the scent of nature's supernatural repellant. Most lesser demons or spirits were unable to breathe in the aroma without entering a coughing fit. Even greater demons, shades, and the like found the smell repugnant and might attempt to avoid it, relocate, or extinguish the source. Though, it is said holy beings or those of ultimately good intent are immune to the properties of the incense. Essentially, beings who are against the flow of nature and who exist unnaturally with the assistance of occult magic will be repelled.
Several things happened at once:
@BourgeoisieYour aura-detecting abilities failed you with the individual that had just entered the inn. His aura was hardly a whisper, silent even, and you could garner no feelings or emotion from the energy field he produced. The smoke from a strange, metal artifact he carried swirled around him effortlessly. He carried an ominous, brown suitcase in another, clenched glove. Did he lack an aura, or were you being shut out? The ambience of the room almost seemed more... calm as he stepped further inside. You suddenly smelled honeysuckles and large amounts of dirt as a tendril of smoke wicked beneath your nose. The leather form stepped towards where you were standing at the bar.
@Happy Go Lucky@Irisity (Eslea)
Your demon blood momentarily riled as your nostrils flared. What was that scent? It smelled of overpowering ash that had been collecting in the fire too long, but much stronger. Who was burning such an irritant? You could see a strange individual who had just come through the door, covered head to toe in leather garb and a large, woolen shawl draped over his shoulders. He was damp, the shawl he wore dragging as a mop might, leaving a sweaty trail on the inn's floor. He had a beaked, leather mask and a wide-brim hat attached to it. Whatever he, or it, was, the smoke coming from that metal urn caused your eyes to water and your throat to dry. A raven with powerful, blue eyes stretched its neck toward you and cocked its head, making strange clicking noises. The masked individual turned, the eyeholes of his mask engaging yours.
(Errata: If Eslea was naturally born and not summoned from some plane or another, the negative effects will not apply. Instead, she will simply smell honeysuckle with an earthy tone to it. Though, the raven on Thomas' shoulder would still detect you.)
@Irisity (Katerina)
A pleasant, perhaps familiar smell entered your nostrils as you heard the inn door creaking. Your time in the forest gave you knowledge of most if not all herbs and spices that grew about. What was that? Basil? No, amaranth! It overwhelmed the senses in euphoria, like placing one's nose into the center of a honeysuckle and drawing in air deeply. The smell likely belonged to smoke erupting in waves from a metal urn attached to a chain. Holding the chain was a strange individual, covered head to toe in wool and leather, with a protruding mask that reminded you of the curved-beak birds that might gather at the edge of a stream or within the reeds of a lake. His form was soaking, as if he'd just been standing beneath a waterfall. He walked inside after pausing briefly, approaching the bar where you sat.
@ShagranozThe leather-clad plague doctor and his censer caused the scar over your stone heart to itch. Despite your moral character, the nature of the smoke likely dried your throat and caused your eyes to water. Burning amaranth was an irritant to those of unnatural origin, and/or those affiliated with the occult. Though, it was unlikely you knew which herb burned within his thurible, as the smoke held a burning, pungent odor as if someone left logs on the fire for too long, days, weeks, months. His bird mask and the raven upon his shoulder turned not to you but another individual, one you were previously sitting with. Though he stood near to you at the bar, he did not seem perturbed by your presence, and did not acknowledge your symptoms to the urn. He was, rather, engaged in a staring contest with the half-demon. Was he distracted?
@SmileyJawsThe plague doctor approached Lazerus silently as he addressed him, the slits where his eyes should be remaining dark and unseen.
"O! Hallows Inn." An appropriate name, Thomas supposed this was some sort of holy ground. Though, the name could still be a ruse.
"What sorcery is at work here; I suppose you are the artificer?" The innkeeper requested payment, and a gloved hand came to rub the beak portion of Dr. Rudhale's mask. The flowers inside had wilted, and began to grow a tinge of rotten smell to them. He couldn't leave this place, not while it lurked.
"Place it on a tab, and I will happily pay once my stay has exhausted," Dr. Rudhale requested. The raven on Dr. Rudhale's shoulder began to strut in place, and pointed its neck toward one of the patrons. Dr. Rudhale's neck swiveled, slowly, carefully.
"Forward, There, Her," Po chimed. Though, it would sound more akin to clicking noises to Lazerus.
