(Casual D&D III) The Man in Black

[Guilt Puppy]

The man tilts his head at Oliver, not sure at all what to make of his response.

"Interesting," he says, slowly. "But I was referring to..."

He turns toward Fendric and Niccolo, not sure what to do with Oliver.

"Your travel, to here from Bethel, did it go well? It seems you arrived here a bit later than your full-elven friend... Had to sell off your horses, maybe?"

The last part he addresses solely to Niccolo: "If you needed help, you should have called on me, young tailor. I could have arranged something, I'm sure."

(OOC: Niccolo has met this man before, if you haven't made that connection yet. Shortly before Aerda was sent off with the ring. I can dig up a link to the original conversation, if you need it, but can't find it.)

 

[DrZombie]

Raven hangs back, letting the others do the talking.

Who on Oerth may you be? Yeah right, let's tell you all we know. And burying an evil ring? By Gods, now there's a good way to get rid of it. Well done, I must say. Might as well give it to a hobbit or such. Not that I know how to get rid of an evil ring. Toss it down a vulcano, perhaps, if most vulcanoes weren't crawling with orcs and other nasties. Hmm.

 

[dpdx]

"Won't you sit down? And close the door behind you, please."

Fendric takes a seat across from the man, warily looking at him, left hand on holy symbol as he does so...

"Now," he says, as everyone assembles -- there are only three seats, situated across from him, one with proportioned clearly for someone of Niccolo's stature... For the rest, there is only standing room, but enough of it. "I think it's best we take turns telling each other everything we know, if we think it may be relevant."

Fendric's resolve steels in front of him. Silently, he stares back at the man, waiting it would seem for him to go first.

"So let me get started..." He thinks, trying to decide what to lay on you first... But he gives the impression as well that it's all for show, and that he's thought long about this already. "Ah, yes: The ring that Aerda buried has taken a wild little journey, and should be arriving in town sometime this evening or tomorrow morning, on the hand of a redheaded idiot from a village the foot of these mountains. You probably want to be somewhere else by the then... But let me ask, what have you all seen and done since parting paths with the young bird?"

Fendric's cold stare turns to a placid look of confusion. Eyebrows raised for a moment as if to try to remember a young bird, Fendric believes now that they are, at long last, face to face with Thedoric.

He turns toward Fendric and Niccolo, not sure what to do with Oliver.

"Your travel, to here from Bethel, did it go well? It seems you arrived here a bit later than your full-elven friend... Had to sell off your horses, maybe?"

The last part he addresses solely to Niccolo: "If you needed help, you should have called on me, young tailor. I could have arranged something, I'm sure."

"Thedoric, I presume? It would explain a lot if you were."

Fendric's eyes leave the man for a split-second, to address Aerda. "Was it your intention to lead us to this man?"

Fendric continues to stare at the man as he awaits Aerda's answer. His left hand strays to his chest, where can be found his silver medallion of Pelor. Peripherally, he looks for Hiritus - and his reaction.

[ At the end of this month, I'll be back to DSL with a much-improved PC. Post frequency will increase as a result. Thanks for bearing with me. ]

 

[Guilt Puppy]

"Thedoric, I presume? It would explain a lot if you were."

It takes a moment for the man to answer -- he seems confused by the phrase itself. But when that moment is over, and recognition comes, he grins slightly.

"I've never gone by that name, nor have others used it for me, to my knowledge..." He shrugs. "But, for purposes of our exchange, that's useful insight: There is a man, Thedoric," he recites to himself, making a show of recording it to memory. "The White Birds haven't met him yet. But he's probably quite important."

He produces a pipe, lights it slowly.

"I'll help you in kind. There is a man, Dartath. You haven't met him yet, either, but he knows you pretty well, all the same. Or some of you."

Puffing away, he produces a ring from his breast pocket, a simple silver thing.

"He made the ring you wore, the ring worn by the old knight, understand. Take a look:"

He holds his ring out in front of you, and gently blows smoke through it... into it... letting it linger about the center. And as he holds it closer, uncomfortably close, no doubt, an image on the other side resolves: Rocky hills, uncultivated countryside. You've passed there recently enough to recognize the road coming into Eivanrach.

"As far as I've bothered, I've managed to steal a look through... But I have every reason to believe that from his end, that ring is capable of much more than looking. One case being the villageboy who marches it here relentlessly, for no apparent reason... Another being the orc whose hand he took it from, after that orc had marched himself to death -- or near enough that the boy's slings finished the job easily, at least."

He blows out the image, closes his hand about his ring, and pockets it unceremoniously.

"But never mind that story -- I imagine it will be of no consequence to you, at this point. And neither will the ring itself be of consequence, so long as you keep moving, and cover your tracks well. But that is really up to you."

He sets down his pipe now, which still smolders lightly, and clasps his hand together.

"The reason I tell you this story -- this man Dartath, he is, ah... an old friend... or old enemy..." He seems to find both of these words wholly inappropriate. "An old rival, I think expresses it best. We play a game, and it is a very simple game: What I try to do, he tries to undo, and vice versa."

He leans back in his chair, palms flat against one another.

"And what you have to do with any of it? I'm not sure, yet. But the reason I tell you this story: If you agreed with whatever it is he's up to, and I haven't figured that part out yet, myself, but if you agreed with it, there's no use for the ring, now, is there? So I can only assume you'd disagree with it, and I know I'd disagree with it, so... And that means we are on the same side, or close enough to it. And that's the reason I tell you this, so perhaps you'll trust me a bit with else I have to tell you, and what more I need to know... Or at least, that your suspicions will be eased a bit, and we can find some line of discussion that will be mutually beneficial."

Peripherally, he looks for Hiritus - and his reaction.

Looking back at Hiritus, from time to time, it's clear that his suspicions haven't been eased a bit, or for a moment.

 

[dpdx]

Fendric takes in the man's information. As the man demonstrates the ring, Fendric instantly recognizes the road to Eivanrach. The ring itself might even be familiar, as little as Fendric got to see it before...

"But this man you speak of, Dartath, what does he want with us?

Anyway, it is fair that as much as you have told us, we shall tell you. I am Brother Fendric, from what must by now be the ruins of Hedrogura. We were approached several weeks past by a Knight, Sir Exantrius, who foretold accurately of the ruin of my City and many others like it in the Realm, brought about by a man he called Thedoric. If that was indeed you, you would not sit down and talk to us, I'm afraid.

He told us, this, Thedoric... had been corrupted by taint, and out of anger and confusion did he lay such waste. Sir Exantrius has since passed into the Light, so we carry on his work. That we are standing here, survived, from various obstacles and attacks since then, should tell you of our mettle.

Our work is before us this day, and immediately so. Then may we leave Eivanrach.

But I would remain here a moment longer if you could match your observation to our situation. We believe the ring is sinister, that is why we disposed of it. That it has been retrieved speaks the lie to everything we have been told as yet, that Exantrius is not who he says he is, did not die, or exists yet as another person. The Light Shines Strangely Sometimes, Yet It Shines.

And still, I am curious. Why should we fear a redheaded simpleton with that ring, and who are the White Birds?"

 

[Guilt Puppy]

The man in black listens carefully, eyelids blinking, seeming to catch the details between lashes: Names, opinions, events...

"And still, I am curious. Why should we fear a redheaded simpleton with that ring, and who are the White Birds?"

"You are the Birds. I judged from the banner the small one was weaving... I should apologize, but I forget easily that you don't know yourselves by the names I've invented -- I mostly know you from what I've peeked in on through the ring, which does not include voices or sounds, or a number of things... So I've had a lot of blanks to fill in.

As far as the simpleton is concerned... I don't think he's a direct threat, exactly, but as of this moment you have a big advantage in terms of information... I can't imagine he expects any of you to wear the thing, but just getting it near you might be enough to answer any questions he might have. I don't know how deep the ring can look, for sure, but if it's worth digging up and sending all this way... I'd imagine it can look pretty deep. And if he finds out that you've met me..."

He opens his eyes wide, shakes his head theatrically.

"So long as he still thinks he can use you for his ends, you'll go unopposed... On one hand, that gives you a lot more freedom, and on the other, it leaves whatever task he's meant you to perform uncompleted. But if he thinks you're acting on my behalf, or even pursuing your own agenda... He'll start playing against you, and he'll find a way to advance his plans without you. That is why you should worry about the redheaded idiot."

He leans back, shrugs. "But to match my observation to your situation: Yes, the ring is sinister, as you put it... By your criteria and mine, at least. It is an instrument of control, and you don't take slaves unless volunteers cannot be found.

As for the knight, Exantrius... By my observation, your doubts are valid, but I wouldn't throw out any advice or instruction he gave you too hastily. Like you, he wore the ring, which means, like you, he was not a volunteer for his part... And I can't imagine that the ring's influence over such a man was, or could have been, very complete. He was subtle in handling you... I doubt a man of his apparent experience and wisdom would be treated any less carefully." He treats it all casually, but there is something in his voice that suggests he was taken to admire Exantrius in much the same manner as you.

"So any direction the knight may have given you could have been misleading, or his intentions could have been genuine... Most likely, unfortunately, it was a crafted mix of both. I'd be careful of your own apparent best interest, for some time yet: It may be quite contrary to your interests."

He takes a breath, sighing in mock exhaustion for all this talk.

"And regarding your first question, I don't have a clear guess at the moment as to what he would want with you, but clearly he has some intention. So, to that end, tell me: Just what direction did Exantrius give you?"

(OOC: See the OOC Thread for a post that is probably confusing and vague, if you're having the same gut reaction to this character that I know I'd be having.)

 

[dpdx]

Fendric squirms a little bit before answering the question.

"We are messengers, sent by Sir Exantrius to give warning to cities of Thedoric's approach, and his ends.

Since I appear to have been wrong about who you are, would you now please inform us of your identity?"

 

[Guilt Puppy]

"We are messengers, sent by Sir Exantrius to give warning to cities of Thedoric's approach, and his ends.

Since I appear to have been wrong about who you are, would you now please inform us of your identity?"

"My identity?" He shrugs, as though you'd just asked if he's seen your hammer, or your writing chalk. "Aside from what you know about me, there's not really much to tell. I'm a petty schemer and a thwarter of petty schemes... Certainly no one important."

He considers the subject for a bit.

"If you need a name for me," he says, "I've gone by Kester, of late... But I've found that names are more useful for the people they don't refer to, so I don't bother to keep to them much."

He leans forward, becoming again the questioner.

"Now, you say you are messengers, bringing warning to cities... What warning is that, may I ask? I'm as good a representative of this city as any, of any city as any... What message do you bring me, about this Thedoric?"

 

[wings]

"Yes, The message. We aren't actually privy to it, as they are but sealed envelopes as far as our undertanding goes," he sighs, "The contents are unknown to us." He stands, leaning against the wall with Astrule perched on the back of one of the chairs.

He raises one leg, bending at the knee to bring his foot within hand's-reach. He pulls a thin silver dagger, and says, "I have prepared a spell that would allow me to mend the seal after breaking it." The blade of silver flashes over his knuckles as he deftly manipulates it in his hand.

 

[Sparky]

Oliver chokes. "Are you all mad?!"

He gets himself under control and explains, his gruff gravelly voice a little nasal with the onset of his cold, "This man - who knows entirely too much about us for my comfort - tells us that the ring Exantrius had is sinister and allowed this Dartath to spy on us and is best gotten rid of. Then he makes an elaborate show of smoke and magic with a ring that sees far away images. How do we know this isn't the ring the farm-boy is supposed to be carrying to us? Or that he," he stabs a crooked finger at the seated man, "Isn't this Dartath himself."

Assuming there is ANY truth to his words. Though, 'any liar worth his salt always seasons lies with truth.'

He pauses deliberately letting the words sink in and sniffs his red, runny nose, "Fendric, Aerda, Niccolo - I would carefully consider any exchange of information with Kester. All due respect, of course, sir." Oliver nods, squinting at the man suspiciously.