"I believe I can at least partially answer your question, Mister Grant. It would seem that Father Mikel intends this operation to have a low profile--if it were to become widely know that Cardinal Sarhain were missing, there could be trouble. Father Mikel has been known to deal with independant contractors from time to time, so no suspicions would be aroused by his hiring us. Whereas if he acquired offical Church assistance--a regiment of the Silver Guard, perhaps--word of this incident might spread."
Grant nodded at the words of Adele. Now he realized why he had been chosen for this assignment. Father Mikel needed the Church's eyes and ears there directly, that was his true purpose. He felt the Silver Flame Holy Symbol we wore hidden beneath his clothes warm his flesh. Grant looks to Father Mikel once more. "Any news of survivors?"
Thank you all for your patience. Life has been miserable, but the forecast calls for less cloudy days and more sunshine, metaphorically speaking. I promise to be more prompt in the future.
Quaen sat formally in a chair, silently appraising her new companions. An elf with the nearly-heriditary fascination with the lost arcane powers of old, she was a seeker of occult knowledge, who delved into secrets sometimes best left forgotten. A shopkeeper by occupation for the last 12 years, Quaen was in actuality a necromancer by profession. Despite her sinister talents, she dresses in a manner quite unlike what the popular imagination would evoke, with a teal green outfit with skirts and underskirts, a merchant's best formal dress. Her face is flush with color, graced with two grey sharp eyes, and hair bleached blonde so many times it had taken on the appearance of straw, except without the messy stack effect. Pointed ears and delicate features more pronounced than any Khoravar possessed announced her ancient origins in Xen'drik.
Waiting for the others to finish introducing themselves, Quaen takes a moment before speaking, choosing her words carefully. "My name is Quaen. I run a shop that caters to those who have an interest in the arcane," she introduces herself. "I am a competent researcher and... specialize in the field of the occult." Quaen licks her lips and glances briefly at Adele. That woman reminded her of herself in enough ways to make her uneasy. She might have seen her before in her shop, but unlikely at any frequent intervals, as she doesn't clearly remember anyone like her. The scent of Doc's cigars though... it was vaugely familiar, a smell that had haunted her shop for a number of weeks in the past.
Remaining silent through the discussion, Quaen's interest is piqued once the Cardinal's message was brought up. "Magically? Is she capable of casting a spell on her own? Or is it some relic that faciliated her words?"
__________________ I hate to interrupt, but I believe we're being followed. The Mimes on the street corner. No, don't look. ~ Mycroft, Broken Diamond
Proud supporter of Dreamscarred Press and Untapped Potential, New Horizons in Psionics. Get it now! It's the best 5 dollars you'll ever spend.
Remaining silent through the discussion, Quaen's interest is piqued once the Cardinal's message was brought up. "Magically? Is she capable of casting a spell on her own? Or is it some relic that faciliated her words?"
"She had a scroll -- I believe she had planned to announce the success of her project to the Council when she landed at Maradal. I could not tell you if she could have cast the spell she used unaided; the ir'Indari archivists, they are many, but I do not number among them." Father Mikel said.
"There is one final pice of information I can give you -- beyond the maps you requested -- before you send off. There are rumors -- not confirmed by any means -- that a necromancer is working out of the western edges of the Plains. Is he involved in this? I do not know, but it seems possible."
The Khovar nodded his head at the details, absorbing them. "A scroll of such communication may be of usefulness to us---I am quite sure that the gnomes have not extended the telegraph that far yet. As for Aerdane's 'device,' is anything known about it? Plans or schematics maybe?" Doc did not hide his interest in seeing those plans.
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
The Khovar nodded his head at the details, absorbing them. "A scroll of such communication may be of usefulness to us---I am quite sure that the gnomes have not extended the telegraph that far yet. As for Aerdane's 'device,' is anything known about it? Plans or schematics maybe?" Doc did not hide his interest in seeing those plans.
"I am afraid you know more about such things than I; any schematics Aerdane had or helpers he left behind were at his workshop, and that is quite a ways from here -- and in the wrong direction." He said.
"A necromancer huh? They deal with undead right? It seems unlikely that a bunch of walking corpses could bring down a flying machine. Unless they could operate ballista or cannons that is..." Grant lets this trail off, as he sets his jaw. "We should determine if the necromancer is harming others, he could be done away with. Nobody would miss him."
"I assume if they had some sort of schematics aboard the machine, they would probably need some for repairs. It the flying machine isn't intact, hopefully the schematics will be."
Last edited by EvolutionKB; 23rd May 2007 at 12:11 AM..
Reason: Grant
"A necromancer? Hmn. Walking corpses, granted, would not be able to intercept a flying machine. But flying corpses... that's a different matter. As unlikely as it seems, zombies can fly," Quaen muses.
"The spectral dead... those that only exist partially in our world, they also fly, although most cannot stand the daylight. A necromancer disurbing the dead in the Plains is indeed worthy of investigation. If such a person exists, we should pay a visit."
drothgery
Do you want to make the rolls for us, or should we make our own on an online roller and link the results? In either case, I'll edit out anything about that Quaen shouldn't know, depending on the results.
__________________ I hate to interrupt, but I believe we're being followed. The Mimes on the street corner. No, don't look. ~ Mycroft, Broken Diamond
Proud supporter of Dreamscarred Press and Untapped Potential, New Horizons in Psionics. Get it now! It's the best 5 dollars you'll ever spend.
"A necromancer? Hmn. Walking corpses, granted, would not be able to intercept a flying machine. But flying corpses... that's a different matter. As unlikely as it seems, zombies can fly," Quaen muses.
Adele looks at Quaen with undisguised suspicion, but says nothing. Father Mikel must have his reasons for secureing the assistance of such an...unusual person. I should trust Mikel, but still--something about Quaen sets me on edge.
After the room has gone quiet for a moment, Adele speaks up. "Father, I assume that time is of the essence, correct? Have you arranged transport for us?"
After the room has gone quiet for a moment, Adele speaks up. "Father, I assume that time is of the essence, correct? Have you arranged transport for us?"
"The Melindri Vanatar, her crew is readying the ship as we speak. And if you lack your own mounts, horses will be provided for the rest of your journey." OOC: Standard riding horses. Father Mikel said.
"The Melindri Vanatar, her crew is readying the ship as we speak. And if you lack your own mounts, horses will be provided for the rest of your journey."Father Mikel said.
"Then I believe I am prepared to leave right away, sir."
Adele looks across the room. "We cannot say exactly what we will be facing, so each of you should prepare for the worst." She pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "Although there is the possibility that we may encounter undead, so getting yourselves a supply of holy water is advisable, as would be securing some silver and beshyk weapons, if you can."
She then blushes slightly and looks down. "I am sorry. I do not intend to assume a position of leadership." She tries to smile, sheepishly. "It is, perhaps, a poor habit of mine. Please take my statements as helpful suggestions, as they were intended, rather than rude commands, as they might have inadvertantly sounded."
The half-elf chuckles a bit to himself at the hunter's suggestion. "My research leaves me little time for martial pursuits, my good lady. I will leave that in you and your companions capable hands. I've studies a few things with which to defend myself, however, and am not entirely unprepared." The last is said with a pat to his breastcoat.
"It will take a me little time to gather my materials. Name a time and place, and I shall be there."
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
"Very well, I shall gather the remainder of my things at meet everyone at the ship." During the next two hours, Grant dons his various disguised forms, and says his goodbyes to his various smitten lady friends, weaving tales to disguise his true reasons for leaving.
"I've got no one I want to say good-bye to. I'll jes' head down to the docks and wait there." Horace nods at each person, retrieves his rifle and heads out.
__________________ Originally Posted by Piratecat:
See, that's the thing. A half-vampire gelatinous cube ninja of legend is patently absurd. An unkillable blob of midnight slime that haunts the crevices of an ancient inn, that leaves slime-covered and blood-drained carcasses behind it as it slinks back into the shadows, is just plain scary.
If you're trying for style without player metagaming, change physical appearance and never label anything. As the Shaman and other folks illustrated, everything can be more frightening when you don't know what the heck you're facing.
"I've got no one I want to say good-bye to. I'll jes' head down to the docks and wait there." Horace nods at each person, retrieves his rifle and heads out.
"Just a moment, Mr. Horace. I am also prepared to leave, so we may as well head to the docks together." As they leave, Adele tries to start up a coversation with Horace about recent devlopments in the firearm industry, specifically about whether or not the innovations of some of the western gunmakers can compare to the classically built models of Thranish gunsmiths.
Quaen also rises, leveling a steady gaze at Adele as she does so. "Just as well. My shop needs a final few arrangements for an extended leave, and I need to change into something practical." Leaving the building, she returns to the streets of Flamekeep, turning the corners and moving from the affluent quarter where the Inquisition's headquarters were located to a more mercantile district. Suddenly ducking into a side alley, Quaen finds herself facing the familiar sight of her shop and residence.
Sinesam's Sigil Shoppe
Passing through the door underneath the sign, Quaen passes the main display area and heads directly into her own living quarters upstairs. Opening the door into her bedroom, she quickly changes and picks up her pack, already filled with the equipment she thought would prove useful on her journey. Truthfully, Quaen had already made all the neccessary arrangements needed to ensure taxmen would not seek her out, nor confused customers come looking for this strange component or that rare book. All the proper forms, letters, and notices had been sent out.
12 years.
It was how long she had been waiting in Flamekeep. That was what Quaen was told to do when she was sent forth from Aerenal, back to Khorvaire in order to fulfill her potential, or at least to further the goals of the Undying Court. She had no idea, at first, how long she was supposed to wait. Within a week, she started trying to find something useful to do to past the time, and haunted the local libraries. Within a month, she was doing research for hire. And in three, she had purchased the Shoppe and begun the process of building up a reputation as a reliable source of nearly anything related to the occult, within reason. Quaen used the connections that her family name afforded her, and furthermore established herself as an importer of Aereni artifacts and materials, although the bulk of her material was still standard arcane goods.
On occasion, Quaen fancied the thought that she had been forgotten, but that was quickly quashed when she found books being delivered to her residence, with no return address, all pertaining to her further training, despite the fact she had yet to make contact with her ancestors. It was a nearly a one-way relationship, Quaen staying put, and the Court sending her more material to study with no further instructions. Then came the Church messenger, comming into her shop like and offended cat. She read the poffered letter, and quickly realized that this was the moment her ancestors had described to her, "... you will know the auspitious moment in which to act".
Did they intend for her to stay in Flamekeep and establish her reputation, so that she would be contacted for this mission? Or the Court contact Father Mikel? Was she suggested, or did he come up with the right expert on his own? Those and more questions whirled in Quaen's mind in idle moments, and she was not any closer to an answer than she was when she first recieved the letter.
Leaving doubts and questions behind her, Quaen locks up the door to her shop one final time, and heads in the direction of the docks.
__________________ I hate to interrupt, but I believe we're being followed. The Mimes on the street corner. No, don't look. ~ Mycroft, Broken Diamond
Proud supporter of Dreamscarred Press and Untapped Potential, New Horizons in Psionics. Get it now! It's the best 5 dollars you'll ever spend.
"Just a moment, Mr. Horace. I am also prepared to leave, so we may as well head to the docks together." As they leave, Adele tries to start up a coversation with Horace about recent devlopments in the firearm industry, specifically about whether or not the innovations of some of the western gunmakers can compare to the classically built models of Thranish gunsmiths.
"Uh-huh. No. Reckon not." are about all the conversation Horace engages in. He seems to listen, but he seems not to take any sort of conversational interest in the subject other than nodding or shaking his head. It's not that he seems stupid; rather he seems uncomfortable with the act of conversation itself.
__________________ Originally Posted by Piratecat:
See, that's the thing. A half-vampire gelatinous cube ninja of legend is patently absurd. An unkillable blob of midnight slime that haunts the crevices of an ancient inn, that leaves slime-covered and blood-drained carcasses behind it as it slinks back into the shadows, is just plain scary.
If you're trying for style without player metagaming, change physical appearance and never label anything. As the Shaman and other folks illustrated, everything can be more frightening when you don't know what the heck you're facing.
OOC: My tabletop DM was sick, so I'm posting tonight...
Five horses are being led aboard the Maria Vanatar as the last of you approaches the docks. A runner hands Horace a scroll case as he boards.
Horace:
Spoiler:
This contains the maps you asked for. It seems that the region where Aerdene's device was shot down is very nearly what was once called the Mournland.
Though the ship is clearly not the newest in Lyrander's fleet, a river steamboat with its great paddle-wheel is certainly the fastest way to travel over water, save for some magics so rare they might as well be entirely lost. A few words with the captain, a middle-aged Khorvar woman, lets you know it should take you nearly two days to reach your destination, a good four hundred miles travel, mostly to the east.
Doc comes prepared to travel, with a fine traveling coat over his frock and well made day suit. He carries his doctor's satchel and a fine ironwood walking stick. Attaches somewhat cleverly to his satchel appears to be a case for easy access to rolled up paper---perhaps newpaper folios---and those with a keen eye can detect the obvious placement of a revolver holster on his left-hip under his frock.
As the others are preparing to leave, Doc makes his way around the ship, inspecting it, talking with the crew and sussing up the engineer and captain. He speak of the route and get a general feel for the place, before settling down on deck with the latest volume of the Morgrave Journal on Arcane Philosophy and a cigar.
__________________ stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)
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