Lórquelië's trance has been disturbed rather abruptly. She hears commotion outside, mainly the bellowing of the half-orc warrior. Geryk rushes past her tent towards the sounds, and as she goes out, her keen elven eyes can make out the large, muscular figure of Thok, melting in the darkness outside the camp trenches. He is running, sword in hands, and shouting.
Geryk reaches the palisades in time to see Thok run off in the distance. He is overtaken by a rather spent Zinerath, who drags his feet reluctantly and casually leaps over the sharpened stakes and the ditch. Such a feat of acrobatics seams almost mundane for the child, but it would take Geryk some consideration to attempt at replicating. Or he could go further down, near the stables, where Thok's tent is situated, and exit trough the intended space in the fence.
[sblock=Thok]Meanwhile, Thok shouted his warnings and ran off bravely, to face the White Lady. The guards looked at one another and shrugged. One shouted "What?" but was rebuked with something that sounded like "Orc... drunk... idiot", which promoted laughter from the other human guards.
No one seemed to follow Thok's brave charge. As such, the half-orc ran as fast as he could (within reason) and reached the small glen. The air is chill and a gloomy fog has spread over the damp grass.
The soil below is soft and where the autumn grass has thinned, sticky mud clings to the barbarian's boots in a most annoying manner. No animals seem to be about, and the only scent is that of the aftermath of cold rain, leaves and wet dirt. Thok's senses are keen, his confidence is brimming, his ferocity - unmatched. It is somewhat surprising that the familiar figure of a ghostly woman raises slowly out of the foggy ground. She is silent and still, and just as the half-orc raises his blade and tightens his muscles to leap at her and cleave trough her, she removes her veil.
Had he not faced her horrid visage yesterday, he would have surely flinched at the features that she revealed. The sight of the Lady's face is enough to send any lesser man running in panic, or even to freeze his heart in death. But such things matter little to the brave half-orc. The Lady stares at him, and he stares back, giving her the most evil eye a man from his tribe could muster. Such a look would make any caravan guard or militia man shake in his boots.
It is in this way, perhaps, that their personalities connected. Not clashed, but touched rather. And in an instant, an image appears before Thok's eyes. If she was using some form of mental communication, he felt no evil intent made upon him, that would usher resistance.
The image itself is that of a desolate wasteland, grey and cold as far as the eye could see. Right in front of him, Jill stands, smirking. She has clawed hands and pointy teeth, and not at all the kindly eyes Thok remembers. Strings can be seen, tied to her hands, legs and head. She looks almost like the marionette of travelling artists that frequent the big cities and the village fairs.
Behind her, an icy mountain could be seen - immense, gleaming with a cold shine. Even further back and above, storm clouds gather. And a pair of eyes, narrow, dark and whirling with malice, unlike anything that can be experienced from living beings. These eyes pierce trough Thok, and they make looking upon the Lady's visage seem pleasant.
In an instant, the image is gone. The White Lady raises her hand, as if in a warning. She floats a few inches from the ground, and the tattered edges of her dress meld into the fog. In an instance, her face is veiled once more, only her cold, unliving eyes remain.[/sblock]
[sblock=Mei-Ying]The man smiles, nods and sits himself on the cushions. He does not attempt to drink from her mug or pitcher. "I promise to make for a more pleasant second meeting, should we come to that. Allow me to be frank my lady. I am in the service of an organization. This organization seeks items of power. Artifacts, most all of them. Our mission has been proceeding adequately, but we have reached an impasse. The remaining items are beyond divination, which means they are most likely located within the bounds of the Valley of the Dead and it's protective Mythal."
The man pauses, regards the Sorceress and nods to himself as he continues.
"Since you are an arcanist, I wish to strike a deal with you. I shall provide information on these items. All that I know, I have written down. I am also empowered to bargain for the price of bringing them to us. You must tell me what it is that you require. And naturally, once a deal has been made, a Geas shall be used to... fasten it. What say you?"
He pauses again, and leans back, rubbing his chin. A gleam in his eyes makes itself apparent once again.
Outside, the sorceress can hear the half-orc shouting at someone or something.[/sblock]
