Sigil: The City of Doors

Back at the attic of Angyar's house, Akh was preparing to finally do something with the unique bone. She prepared the room and put it on a clean piece of cloth. Then, she prepared herself.

[Casting Comprehend Languages and Encode Thoughts]

Then, carefully, she began to gnaw at it and lick for any residue of draconic marrow.

[Feast on Thoughts, 1 Ki Spent]

As you feast on the thoughts on the dragon bones, you get a sense of confusion. His father sent him from some place. from some other place and had sent you away from the fog. The lights left you unsure, nor how you got here, really. It was cold and dark. You didn't last long. Something got you and tore you apart.

Your last feelings are of your father, Argynvost, and that maybe he can come save you from this demon.

Akh found herself... crying? Something about the revelation had struck her hard. The castaway child of Argynvost felt familiar, intimate... There was no help to come, she somehow knew. The memory of the vestiges of the fog tasted acrid, horridly familiar. Even though she didn't have the means to, she wanted to reach out to the dragonling's soul and comfort it, for little hurt more than preying on the helplessness of the innocent.

Stretched out on the bedroll in his tunic. Cyprian had been nigh comatose before hand. But something, perhaps the preparation, perhaps the rituals, something in it all brought him from his sleep. And his eyes shot open the second the crying began. "A-Akh?" He sat up. "What is it? What's the matter?"

The room wasn't quite in focus. The world was something akin to a ship on a stormy sea to him as he crawled over and gently pulled her towards him. "I'm here, talk to me..."

She wasn't too pliant to move.

"Do you know the name Argynvost?" She asked quietly, the crying receding as abruptly as it had appeared.

Given her stiffness he'd relent but the world is still a blur to him. "Argyn?" He blinks and rubs his eyes. "You're renting the house from him right? No..." he shakes his head and thinks some. "...Argynvost, Argynvost, why does that name sound familiar?"

Strangely enough he does know the name anecdotally.

"Give me a second." He crawls back over to his bag and flips it over a few times. Pulls his journal out and breathes a sigh of relief. "Let me see if I wrote that name down from my time in Barovia."

His journal contains a year's worth of notes, poems, songs, and stories. Over half of the entries had been crossed out to remind him that he'd converted them into a ballad of some kind. But even still despite its unorganized and chaotic nature, it still did its job keeping minutia off of his mind.

While he reads he pulls out a flask and drinks. Occasionally looking up, thinking, shaking his head then turning another page. This takes a couple of minutes.

"Oh yeah..." he yawns, "...after joining the others and being invited into the castle we came upon a Dragon's skull on the wall. Rowan pulled it off the wall and took it to some undead geezers at a ruined chapel. Either they or Rowan called the dragon Argynvost and buried him."

He stretched and his scars tugged. "Ow... anyways. There was a pillar of light, the clouds lightened up and the geezers disappeared." Another yawn for good measure.

"A wall in Ravenloft? Was it Strahd's trophy?" She seemed determined to know.

"Yeah," he scratched the fresh scars, "I think it was a holy dragon or something. Maybe the geezers worshipped it, sent Rowan and them to retrieve it. Either way I imagine Strahd killed him, or had him killed, then perched his skull on the wall as a final insult."

Another sip from the flask.

"But the geezers buried him in the chapel graveyard, said a prayer and memorialized him. Then disappeared after a pillar of light erupted from the grave."

He looks curiously at her, "Don't tell me that bone is another piece of him?"

"In a sense." She said with palpable grief. "This bone belonged to his child who he had sent out from Barovia to protect it, likely from Strahd. But the child was murdered by something demonic, alone in the darkness, hoping for their father to return and save it until the very end..." Her lip thinned after she had forcefully ended the sentence.

He closed the flask and placed it down. Likewise closed the journal and put it down. Then willing or no he wraps her in a warm and loving embrace. "I see, poor baby." He whispered and remained in the embrace as long as she needed him.

Possibly after she indicates that's enough, or while he's still holding her he'll say. "I can write him a song of vengeance if you want. I can write him a song from the point of view of a loving father. If you think it might bring him comfort. I can even give you the roll of his mother if you'd like to sing it."