A Fair Warning

Upon this parchment is a spidery script written in the appearance of a stressed hand. At the end a raven feather, dripping with ink, remains.

I do not ask any soul to perform this deed, nor do I ask them to aid me. I only ask for those present to understand this fair warning.

Upon a fortnight ago, within a cottage in Oreth, I was assaulted by two beings, both of deadly calibur beyond expected mortal...even divine...ability. The result that followed from this encounter revealed the disturbing fact that one being in particular, to which is described as a Clockwork Modron humanoid of nearly seven feet in height, complete with faceless mask and weaponry which bends reality to its will, has the capability to not only devour the life and souls of spirits unfortunate enough to cross its path, but the very being of the soul itself, so that the soul never existed at all.

I had assumed that I had taken care of these matters, yet two evenings later the same Modron attacked me in a similar scene upon the same plane. Upon doing so it has left me crippled and unable to defend myself against a second assault, if the time comes once more. The being has also stolen a precious necklace of mine during the climax of the second encounter.

There is reason to which one does not address this warning to Oreth, however...the Modron is also capable of planar travel through a form of its weaponry, and has been located in realms such as Sigil, Faerun, Mechanus, and all Four Elemental Realms.

Whatever information I can bestow upon you I shall. While appearing as a Construct, however, it is my belief that it holds a sentience or a mortal awareness within itself that is allowing it to perform actions that are unlike most beings of its type. The being has immunity to Mental Combat...the possiblity that the Mask prevents such actions to be of use. The weaponry I have witnessed in both attacks consists of a blade attatched to its right arm, which has been witnessed to extend to a degree of twice its own user's length and animate like that of a serpent. Also, if the mask is ever removed, the being is fully able to unleash its ability to devour and consume the no-longer-existing souls. It is also my belief that this creature's ability to consume enpowers its own life and possibly would explain its ability to regenerate and resurrect in a mechanical fashion.

The second assailant of the first encounter is unknown, and the body was not found after the fist conflict was finished.

I implore all mortals and immortal beings alike, if any value their very existence, to keep a spare eye alert for its arrival upon any plane.

May whatever beings you follow fare you through these hard times.

*A man with silver hair, traveling in the tavern for a brief moments rest from his daily errands, pauses as he comes upon this notice. Frowning oh so softly he reads and rereads till he is sure he understands it. Leaning on his staff he closes his eyes for a moment*

o O(Passing this information along the family lines should be sufficent for their protection)

*After many long moments he reopens his brown eyes and nods once before wandering away.*

Pauses close by, peering over the words and brows knitting ever so gently. Then, dipping her hand into a pocket she moves so she is in the beam of sunlight rather than the shade, and drawing out her hand she cradles two coins, bearing the stamp of Ann and Dragona's faces. These she rubs and repeats what she reads from the message. Then she turns to look up and sighs.

"...another maniac on the loose? The council's going to love this..."

A shimmer, almost as if wings exist that are captured by the betraying light - feathered wings and then as she steps, she is gone between one motion and the next.

A tall, thin being wrapped in a black leather coat extending to its feet stares, or would stare, if it had eyes, at the parchment presented. It visits briefly, then quickly leaves a large tear through the center of the presented notes, a small bit of writing is scratched upon the bottom corner, faint but legible.

Moil,

Once a World, now a Grave

Alek pops in, literally with a *pop*, appearing before the corkboard to check out the latest interesting tidbits. The vandalized set of letters draws his attention and he holds the tear together, reading over it, pushes up his glasses, blinks, then scribbles something below the rest of the mess.

♪dramatic music♪
DUN DUN DUNNNNN...


I hope I get a shot at him, or at least some sideline seats...

*Sky reads this mass of notes, then shakes her head*

. o O ( Meh, I'm retired. Let another handle it... )

A being approaches the deserted parchment, staring at the shredded remains of his warning in silence. Removing from his coat pocket, he reveals a new roll of parchment, to which he places beside the original notes, placing a black feather upon the end of it before walking off.

The Modron has gained sentience of its new surroundings and of itself. From this conclusion, and upon several brief encounters with it, it has become apparent that a more intelligent being drives it than what had been expected, and has enchanced itself with a second blade to the left arm, as well as an alarming amount of mental abilities. It is also to note that in addition to the destruction it has delivered unto the Bazaar in Sigil and its merchants, it has also been implanting a system of scrying stones, resembling simple pebbles embedded in the victim, across areas of chief interest. I have removed one from a tavern construct in Oreth, and am in the process of locating the remaining eyes. If anyone has information concerning the whereabouts of such devices, relay them immediatley.

The writing upon this forgotten parchment seems rather new in comparison to the fading ink upon the ealier script, which has caused you to pass gaze across it a second time. The dull brown ink seems slightly smeared in the blockish script, but it remains legible in the common hand

The passings of the material moon has not phased that which walks on Moil, yet The Grave is not this concern for the present which IT lives not. IT would know of the revival of ITs old tortures, the death of ITs vessel, and now the revival of That Which Could Not Be.

Know that the attacks and deaths of Those Who Are Innocent to ITs crimes and motives ae the means to the ends, the end being That Which IT Hides. Return That Which IT Has Stole From Us, and the Deaths of So Many will cease as this sees fit. Forfeit the offer...and IT shall bear ITs burden of grief once more...remember Moil

Those Who Interfere will give weight, and force others to bear ITs burden. Those Who Are Innocent either beg IT to give us What IT stole...or get out of our way.

Wisps of lavender smoke and the scent of cloved cigarettes announce the arrival of the outsider, as dead grey eyes look over the latest announcement from the Clockwork Slasher. The feminine figure speaks in a male voice..

"... Finally, a riddle worth paying attention to"

The outsider stepped away, concealed by the engulfing lavender smoke and returned to the gray.

the ceiling shimmered, a scream echoed, a strangely garbed mortal fell from nowhere and landed flat on his face.

after several minutes and much groaning, the man heaved himself to his feet and stumbled to the nearest wall, an errant hand accidentally tearing loose several pages from the board.

glancing at the fallen pages calls his attention to the board on which he leaned. a lone parchment still hung, which he read.

grunting and groaning, he picks up and replaces the other notices.

"and i thought i had problems...."

and with that turned and limped away.