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While Kirke and Sabine worked beneath the mausoleum to make sure things where in order, Bastianna was focusing on the top side. The maps had to be kept up to date, by documenting each escape route along with each change in any of the tunnels. These had to kept hidden and only worked on when the masoleum was locked up for the night. If anyone found out about these maps, then they would be useless. What point was a secret escape if it was no longer secret? The papers were all kept in a loose stone just above the door frame. Coming into the room, the last place you'd look would be over the entrance to find papers to detail an exit.

She had learned from a process of watching in some of the local communities, on how to preserve things. You could dehydrate and store vegetables. Some vegetables kept well without it. Fruits were made into butters or jams or preserves if they wouldn't be eaten before time came. Grains were kept on drying racks and there was a malting floor in one of the catacomb tunnels that allowed her to turn some of it into mead. This item was more of a trade item, there was a harpy nearby that liked to get raw, strong mead to flavor. She always had something good to trade for it too whether it was advice on how to do something or to learn a new skill. On rarerer occassions Kirke would trade for something that she couldn't make herself despite her best efforts.

(Enter Marcellus, though he has not arrived at the cemetery)




Marcellus Casquette du Sang traveled mostly by night, not that he had to but for no other reason that he loved the night best. Shadows and whispering wind were his playthings, they added to the mystery and pageantry of whatever he did. All that he did, he did with showmanship—since none of the other members of his family had it. But Marcellus had been born with it.

Why not make things interesting by providing some smoke or shadows? What was the point in saying something flat or without inflection when the mere changing of a voice could bring the listener to their knees with fear? It was a kind of magic that could be invoked with only the voice and facial expressions. Why not use it?

The rest of the family had no gift for it, but they did understand the importance of it. They did appreciate that it was a gift instead of something frivolous. His grandfather had been the first one to use it with their work in the graveyard and the deals that took place in the mausoleum on site.

He had been traveling a long time, a few months. Part of the journey was convoluted as he stopped at various places to gather or barter for items that would be essential to his showmanship. But he was always expressly careful with his blood.

It was precious and would not be traded unless absolutely necessary. Others might not find it’s worth as valuable as he did, but they did not know the things he knew—about how blood offered protection and the ability to do…well, innumerable things.

There was not just one storeroom, but several. One or two above ground were kept for ease of access and for appearances. The ones in the catacombs below were scattered so that each tunnel had access to some portion in case the other tunnels couldn't be reach. All in all, it was a long summer of back-aching work with Lovey to coax plants to fruition then store what needed to be stored. It was good work that let her rest well. She loved the smell of the earth beneath her claws, the nature of plants fighting against the surface and death for light and life. But her flowers were her true joy. Some of them were grown purely for the sake of their smell or their beauty. Others had some purpose to them though she hated to use them.

Some of them she dried for just the familiar an homey smell. She diluted and boiled down lavendar, chamomile, and lilac into tiny bottles where their scent could be used to perfume oneself or calm one's self. KIrke loved this work the most, and often began inventing various new and interesting concections of smells and effects. Bastianna had told her that it was nothing short of magic what she did there. Before long the days became longer and the wait seemed unbearable for Marcellus to arrive. But they knew he was coming, so day after day they would check the horizon multiple times in search of his skyline. Kirke didn't know much about him, she'd never met him. But he was family, right? That meant he would love her no matter what?

Marcellus breathed in the scent of the incoming rain as he felt the temperature drop. He knew that it meant that the weather was to change drastically soon, a storm was coming.

He knew that his sisters would be eager to see him and he was eager to reach the warm depths of the mausoleum so he carried on. It should be awhile at least, he thought so, before the storm raged at full tilt. Even if it didnt though, it seemed to have been brewing for awhile, as though it was going to last. He was eager to have a warm meal and a warm bed instead of damp sleep.

He pulled his pack further up onto his back before continuing on. With him he carried some of the tomes of their grandmother Agatha, plus a few of their grandfathers that he had now inherited.

His grandfather’s tomes mostly contained rituals or the like. Grandmother Agatha’s though were something different. This tome was something that stayed with the matriarch until death. Bastianna would have a few pages to add to it once he gave it to her, but for the large part she wouldn’t have seen the tally of debts owed and debts paid.

This encompassed his family’s work since the very first Casquette.

Far on the horizon white stone seemed to loom suddenly. Something in his chest made an odd sensation as he viewed it. He knew that that white place ont he hill was home.

There she was standing as though she had expected him, his sister Bastianna. Grinning for all the world as if she’d known the storm would bring him.

Kirke had made sure to double check all the panes in her green house before she came in. The wind was whipping wildly around her. The glass, she had been assured, was something that actually wan't quite glass. It was tempered but not clear as glass, but clear enough to let in the light. It was thick and more durable than any glass she'd ever heard of. The maker had told her time and time again that it should weather most storms, so she made her way to her room to wait. Lovey closed the metal slats then curled up with her. The thunder was so loud that you could feel it shaking the ground. The wind rattled against the slats and moaned as though it were in pain.

Others would think it an ill omen or that something was wrong with her, but she loved this weather. It always allowed her to sleep sounder, deeper. It hummed a lullaby in her bones that made her grow heavy until sleep overtook her. Lovey though had never much liked a storm until he realized that he could burrow himself beside her in a dirt hole to muffle out the sound.

It was strange how the storm affected them both in different ways.

She could hear the rain slamming into the pains with more force than she’d ever heard before. Outside things whipped in a frenzy. She lifted her head to look around and scent the air. The air smelled like ozone, like metalics. For the first time she worried a bit, just as lovey started to shake beside her even in the comfort of his little den.

Marcellus let his laughter ring out in the momentary lull. Leave it to Bastianna to make it as though they’d only been apart for a day or week at most not the long months that it had been.

“Hello, sweet Bastiana.” He leaned his head over her neck in an affectionate greeting. “It has been too long since I’ve had your charming wit.” He pushed past her into the masoleum proper. His eyes instantly went to the all-seeing eye in the center of the floor. He smiled wickedly, “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

A few more glances around the room had him seeing that the design wasn’t sentimental. It nodded toward the past, but it had her own style. This place had her panache.

He studied the painting, “Something you’ve done yourself?” He nodded at it’s placement on the wall. “Grandmama would be proud of what you’d done. You’ve gotten a lot done. I wouldn’t have thought you could get this far so quickly. But I guess, I always have underestimated you.”

With a sigh, he slung down the bag from his back. “I’ve carried these tomes all the way across the Kawani. Agatha’s books are among them. Everything you need to know about running a mausoleum.” The sound of the bag hitting the floor was as loud as a thunder crack.

He rolled his shoulders in weariness. He was finally here, finally at his new home. He couldn’t wait to see the room that Bastianna had made up for him. If the outer room was this great, then his room would be a real treat.