Carnifex's Story Hour (Updated January 20th, "The Union")
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Carnifex
First Post
It’s amazing what goes through your mind at a time like this, Kale thought as he roused himself from a trancelike stare. He heard only absently what Ebri and the others were saying, but as Wyshira’s healing energies rushed new, cool energy in to his body… he felt a foreboding even as the fine-clothed lord stiffened, brow furrowed.
...you have no understanding of what the title Truth Seeker means ...
Ecurius spoke in almost clipped tones, withholding his emotions like a dike about to burst. The whole scene washed over Kale like bitter drink- pungent, numbing droughts known only to those in trapped in the depth and sourness of life. The mercenary didn’t know why, but he somehow though it would be better, easier, if in fact Lord Tarravus was a complicit politico, and the band merely an arrogant grip of sellswords. But neither was the case, and such was the whole tragedy of the scene.
What was Ebri thinking? Kale had always considered her the expedient one, a priestess, sure, but an idealist? And naïve? His head swam in confusion. He had thought her such a neutral party, like a scientist observing her world. Immarians always seemed so bookish and indifferent to him… the encounter with the slaves must have really set her off. I’ll be honest, it set us all off… And rightly so, he felt, but the mess this emotion had gotten them into. Reckless. Unprofessional.
...do not sully it with your crass comparisons and ignorant declamations ...
And Kale himself had practically fallen asleep until the storm was right on top of them. ”One nod at sea, and the Nor’easter’ll meet you eye to eye.” It was an odd old proverb to be thinking about at the moment, Kale considered as he looked slowly to Burl and Wyshira. His exhausted first partners had never encountered a scene like this. It was imperative that they all relax and not make things worse than they already were.
...I am disgusted by your disparagement of their efforts when you can do no better a job ...
Inside, Kale was wilting from the recriminations. He had only known Ebri for a few days… she really didn’t speak for him, but really. It didn’t matter. Honestly, Kale felt a bit like the loose-tongued priestess did, but Kale had a chip on his shoulder, which was clear when Ecurius spoke about ‘you mercenaries.’ It was hard enough to weather misunderstanding and loathing, without some of it even rightly coming to bear. This night would pass, and tempers would subside, but this wouldn’t be the last time this kind of conflict would come up.
...you have no understanding of what the title Truth Seeker means ...
Ecurius spoke in almost clipped tones, withholding his emotions like a dike about to burst. The whole scene washed over Kale like bitter drink- pungent, numbing droughts known only to those in trapped in the depth and sourness of life. The mercenary didn’t know why, but he somehow though it would be better, easier, if in fact Lord Tarravus was a complicit politico, and the band merely an arrogant grip of sellswords. But neither was the case, and such was the whole tragedy of the scene.
What was Ebri thinking? Kale had always considered her the expedient one, a priestess, sure, but an idealist? And naïve? His head swam in confusion. He had thought her such a neutral party, like a scientist observing her world. Immarians always seemed so bookish and indifferent to him… the encounter with the slaves must have really set her off. I’ll be honest, it set us all off… And rightly so, he felt, but the mess this emotion had gotten them into. Reckless. Unprofessional.
...do not sully it with your crass comparisons and ignorant declamations ...
And Kale himself had practically fallen asleep until the storm was right on top of them. ”One nod at sea, and the Nor’easter’ll meet you eye to eye.” It was an odd old proverb to be thinking about at the moment, Kale considered as he looked slowly to Burl and Wyshira. His exhausted first partners had never encountered a scene like this. It was imperative that they all relax and not make things worse than they already were.
...I am disgusted by your disparagement of their efforts when you can do no better a job ...
Inside, Kale was wilting from the recriminations. He had only known Ebri for a few days… she really didn’t speak for him, but really. It didn’t matter. Honestly, Kale felt a bit like the loose-tongued priestess did, but Kale had a chip on his shoulder, which was clear when Ecurius spoke about ‘you mercenaries.’ It was hard enough to weather misunderstanding and loathing, without some of it even rightly coming to bear. This night would pass, and tempers would subside, but this wouldn’t be the last time this kind of conflict would come up.
Carnifex
First Post
Having said her piece, Ebri sat back against the supports of her chair, relaxed, and at ease. Quickly, she had gauged the reactions of her companions to her words--how interesting, the variety of responses to the perceived conflict--subdued silence, horror, attempts at mollification, some clearly wanting to distance themselves, others allying themselves by body language, and others more controlled and neutral--and now let her eyes remain fixed on Lord Ecurius, blinking slowly like a lizard's, as he made his rebuttal.
Far from weakminded.... or weak-tempered. she judged. Nor does he let his anger distract him from his needs or his principles... It was clear Lord Ecurius would not fly off the handle; and also that he needed them somewhat. Or at the very least, that the expedition to the tower that he wanted them, as he'd put it, to loot was important to him, enough so that it would be an inconvenience to him to find replacements for a band with one impudent and/or clear thinking and critical member. But a more important question had been at least partially addressed. He is unlikely to betray us.
For the latest expedition might clearly have embarrassing implication and consequences, both in the trouble and bloodshed they had themselves caused, and for the social conditions the little excursion beneath the city had brought closer to the scrutiny of public attention. And it was easily within Ecurius' power to disavow all knowledge of and responsibility for their actions, indeed, as he'd threatened, to have them imprisoned. And she had given him an easy excuse, had he been so inclined.
And that, she found, was good to know, before they set out on a dangerous mission with uncertain ethical implications, likely to return with a great deal of valuable treasure which a Lord Truthseeker might well wish to keep knowledge of secret and all to himself.
And as the Lord departed, and the flurry of her companions' responses began, an equally crucial thing became apparent: these people were disinclined to betray her, as well. With only a few weeks' company and less for some of them, and a small number of shared combat experiences, they had already formed a group identity that, apparently, included her. Though her comments made them uneasy, some of them, none had moved to repudiate her, or verbally distance themselves, or even express outright displeasure. Wolf, the charismatic leader, was framing his attempts to bring her back in line with the group ethic in casual, non-confrontational terms. Most passed no comment at all, despite the fact that, in their terms, she might have just risked their liveliehood.
It showed, really, how easily led such people were. She made a mental note to develop a closer relationship with Wolf.
"No, he didn't, did he?" she answered the leader, getting up gingerly to walk to the middle of the irregular circle of chairs and benches. "But now we know somewhat more of our employer, would you not say? As for unfair, no, I think not. That is the responsibility of those in power, to be subject to such scrutiny and criticism, and it is ever the way of those in power to label those critical voices they would not wish to hear ignorant, inexperienced, unrealistic, and incapable. Lord Ecurius is quite an able administrator: by his answer it is clear he is used to dealing with such small folk as I. I do not mean to disparage him unduly: but I am glad to understand him better. For we are working for him, or I should say, rather, you are. It is you who travelled for weeks to work for him. Wherever I go, I serve only Immar. But I am pleased to share your paths and your ends for this while. And while our ends are determined by a great lord, I will take care to learn what I can of him. I do beg your pardon, if you found the exchange unpleasant."
With Burl's help, Wyshira had begun to make her way through the party, one by one, tending their wounds. She wordlessly moved on to work on Ebri next, casting her last healing spell as unobtrusively as possible.
And then it was Sebastian's turn. He watched her warily as she and Burl approached, and she wondered what it was about her that he didn't like or trust. She was used to being held at a distance, even put up on a pedestal, due to reverance for her station. That had been a fact of life for the storm priestess almost since the day of her birth. Of course, Kale and Wolf had never held her much in awe, which had been a new experience for her; but the two mercenaries had always been respectful (mostly) and appreciative (certainly) of her gifts and her power.
But Sebastian was...... What?? Suspicious of me, she realized with a start. And not because they'd only known each other for a day. It might be because of the strangeness of her race, she supposed - fish scales seem to turn some people off! - but no, she was beginning to see that it was her 'magic' that made him uneasy. "Don't worry," she told the Huronese mercenary. "I'm not going to cast any spells. I've got some things in my kit here that will ease your discomfort and make sure your wounds don't begin to mortify, although they look clean enough. Burl, fresh bandages please."
Slumped in the chair by the fire, Wolf nodded at Kale's words. "You're right. I don't think Ecurius does have anything to do with those slavers, especially Gilame
es. No Naserian noble would countenance such things; you have to remember that here, the sorcerers claim their powers comes from the blood of Naskha in their veins. Elder god cultists are hardly tolerable to them."
"Anyways, it's getting late now, and time for rest if we need to make arrangements for leaving tomorrow. Night to you all." Looking weary but still awake, Wolf left the common room.
* * *
When she was through with her rounds, Wyshira bid the remaining group members a quiet good night. She nodded to Burl, and he followed her out of the firelit room and through the darkened halls of Lord Ecurius' guest wing. She led the way out through a side door and into a secluded garden that she had discovered earlier in the day. The steady sound of falling water could be heard coming from around the corner of a low stone wall, and Wyshira hurried toward its source: a foam-flecked pond and fountain surrounded by night-flowering vines and shrubs.
She sighed with pleasure at the sight, sound, and smell of the peaceful alcove. Then she turned toward Burl. "I wanted to tell you, away from the others, what I asked Ak'mun'tep back there under the city. I asked about you, and why the Toranites and those hooded assassins were interested in you. The answer the seer gave me was enigmatic at best, but I thought it might make more sense to you. He said that you would give these people some kind of 'advantage', I guess politically. And he said that you might be linked to the corruption that Cord is always talking about, but only in a circumstantial way."
"And then...." Wyshira paused, concentrating, remembering that voice that came from out of the air. "And then I heard this voice, his voice I guess, in my head saying that you didn't know why you were being pursued, and neither did your bloodkin. At least not yet. Your bloodkin.... I don't understand what your bloodkin are. But they will know before too long, he said. "
"Do those words mean anything to you?"
Listening carefully to her, Burl tried to gain some comprehension from what she said. “I have no clue as to the first part that you have told me. As to the mention of my bloodkin, I have none to speak of except for my father. I was an only child and my mother is dead. I have not seen my father in years, nor do I really care to since he was responsible for my mother’s dying. I don’t even know if he is alive or dead.”
Burl assumed that the term bloodkin meant something like family, which made sense, Wyshira supposed. "But I got the feeling that the word was used to mean something else, not your blood relatives exactly," Wyshira noted thoughtfully. She tried to recall exactly what the voice had said: "Know this, that to know why Burl is pursued by some and sought out by others is to know more than he himself knows, to know more than even those of his bloodkin know, yet." But her musing was interrupted by the swift beating of wings on the night air.
Burl felt Spike trying to get his attention, Bird coming, big bird coming Listening, Burl heard the flapping of wings and spotted a hawk heading his way just before the bird landed on his shoulder. Burl spotted a message canister attached to it’s leg, realizing instantly what this must be. What wonderful timing. How am I going to explain this? thought Burl as he reached for the small parchment within.
* * *
She looked up to see a hawk dropping from the sky and landing with graceful precision on the necromancer's shoulder. Here was a surprise! The magnificent bird stood nearly beak-to-nose with Burl, staring at him with a purposeful gleam in its golden eyes. But Burl merely seemed chagrined by the creature's timing. He's not nearly as surprised as he ought to be, Wyshira thought. He might almost have been expecting that bird to show up!
* * *
As he unrolled the message with a quizzical look on his face for Wyshira’s benefit he said,
“I wonder who this could be from?” Looking at the note without really reading it, he gave a small chuckle, then rolled it back up placing it in his pouch.
“That is really interesting. I wonder how she found me here. It is a note from an acquaintance of mine, an elven female to be more precise. She did now that I was headed in this general direction. Maybe she had a scrying performed. I’m sorry Wyshira, I really should send her a reply. After all she did go out of her way to write me. Could you meet me in about an hour in the lab so that we can prepare those healing salves. If we can cook them, the could start hardening by the morning and it looks Wolf will be having us leave tomorrow. See you in a bit.”
Whistling for Spike and gathering him up, Burl hustled to his room where, after locking the door and placing the hawk on the bed post, he carefully unrolled the parchment and read it.
* * *
Burl glanced at the parchment attached to the hawk's leg, and explained about it being a message from an acquaintance of his, an elven female. Wyshira found herself frowning at the note, mistrustful of it at once; or did she really just resent the intrusion into their private conversation? When Burl asked leave to break off their meeting so that he could return to his room and reply to the message, she couldn't help feeling like she was being shut out of something. It took a moment, but she shook off her hurt feelings and stammered out a reply to his apology:
"I- well, yes of course! I mean, that's fine with me, we can meet later in the lab. I don't mind. I wanted a chance to wash up anyway." She managed an overly bright smile then, and shooed him off to his room with assurances that she would be along soon too. The ceaseless murmuring of the fountain washed over her as she watched him make his way along the dark garden path and out of sight.
* * *
Later, after a bath and a change of clothes, Wyshira nibbled a handful of grapes that she'd filched from Ecurius' table earlier in the day and stashed in her pocket. She'd wanted to invite Melisande to her room this evening to share the prize, along with some tea or wine, and some girl-talk. But she imagined that by the time she and Burl were finished working on the healing salves, it would be quite late, and the blue sorceress would be long asleep.
Oh well. Wyshira hoped they'd find the time to talk sometime later. Meanwhile, she ought to be trying to find her way to Lord Tarravas' lab.....
Far from weakminded.... or weak-tempered. she judged. Nor does he let his anger distract him from his needs or his principles... It was clear Lord Ecurius would not fly off the handle; and also that he needed them somewhat. Or at the very least, that the expedition to the tower that he wanted them, as he'd put it, to loot was important to him, enough so that it would be an inconvenience to him to find replacements for a band with one impudent and/or clear thinking and critical member. But a more important question had been at least partially addressed. He is unlikely to betray us.
For the latest expedition might clearly have embarrassing implication and consequences, both in the trouble and bloodshed they had themselves caused, and for the social conditions the little excursion beneath the city had brought closer to the scrutiny of public attention. And it was easily within Ecurius' power to disavow all knowledge of and responsibility for their actions, indeed, as he'd threatened, to have them imprisoned. And she had given him an easy excuse, had he been so inclined.
And that, she found, was good to know, before they set out on a dangerous mission with uncertain ethical implications, likely to return with a great deal of valuable treasure which a Lord Truthseeker might well wish to keep knowledge of secret and all to himself.
And as the Lord departed, and the flurry of her companions' responses began, an equally crucial thing became apparent: these people were disinclined to betray her, as well. With only a few weeks' company and less for some of them, and a small number of shared combat experiences, they had already formed a group identity that, apparently, included her. Though her comments made them uneasy, some of them, none had moved to repudiate her, or verbally distance themselves, or even express outright displeasure. Wolf, the charismatic leader, was framing his attempts to bring her back in line with the group ethic in casual, non-confrontational terms. Most passed no comment at all, despite the fact that, in their terms, she might have just risked their liveliehood.
It showed, really, how easily led such people were. She made a mental note to develop a closer relationship with Wolf.
"No, he didn't, did he?" she answered the leader, getting up gingerly to walk to the middle of the irregular circle of chairs and benches. "But now we know somewhat more of our employer, would you not say? As for unfair, no, I think not. That is the responsibility of those in power, to be subject to such scrutiny and criticism, and it is ever the way of those in power to label those critical voices they would not wish to hear ignorant, inexperienced, unrealistic, and incapable. Lord Ecurius is quite an able administrator: by his answer it is clear he is used to dealing with such small folk as I. I do not mean to disparage him unduly: but I am glad to understand him better. For we are working for him, or I should say, rather, you are. It is you who travelled for weeks to work for him. Wherever I go, I serve only Immar. But I am pleased to share your paths and your ends for this while. And while our ends are determined by a great lord, I will take care to learn what I can of him. I do beg your pardon, if you found the exchange unpleasant."
With Burl's help, Wyshira had begun to make her way through the party, one by one, tending their wounds. She wordlessly moved on to work on Ebri next, casting her last healing spell as unobtrusively as possible.
And then it was Sebastian's turn. He watched her warily as she and Burl approached, and she wondered what it was about her that he didn't like or trust. She was used to being held at a distance, even put up on a pedestal, due to reverance for her station. That had been a fact of life for the storm priestess almost since the day of her birth. Of course, Kale and Wolf had never held her much in awe, which had been a new experience for her; but the two mercenaries had always been respectful (mostly) and appreciative (certainly) of her gifts and her power.
But Sebastian was...... What?? Suspicious of me, she realized with a start. And not because they'd only known each other for a day. It might be because of the strangeness of her race, she supposed - fish scales seem to turn some people off! - but no, she was beginning to see that it was her 'magic' that made him uneasy. "Don't worry," she told the Huronese mercenary. "I'm not going to cast any spells. I've got some things in my kit here that will ease your discomfort and make sure your wounds don't begin to mortify, although they look clean enough. Burl, fresh bandages please."
Slumped in the chair by the fire, Wolf nodded at Kale's words. "You're right. I don't think Ecurius does have anything to do with those slavers, especially Gilame
es. No Naserian noble would countenance such things; you have to remember that here, the sorcerers claim their powers comes from the blood of Naskha in their veins. Elder god cultists are hardly tolerable to them." "Anyways, it's getting late now, and time for rest if we need to make arrangements for leaving tomorrow. Night to you all." Looking weary but still awake, Wolf left the common room.
* * *
When she was through with her rounds, Wyshira bid the remaining group members a quiet good night. She nodded to Burl, and he followed her out of the firelit room and through the darkened halls of Lord Ecurius' guest wing. She led the way out through a side door and into a secluded garden that she had discovered earlier in the day. The steady sound of falling water could be heard coming from around the corner of a low stone wall, and Wyshira hurried toward its source: a foam-flecked pond and fountain surrounded by night-flowering vines and shrubs.
She sighed with pleasure at the sight, sound, and smell of the peaceful alcove. Then she turned toward Burl. "I wanted to tell you, away from the others, what I asked Ak'mun'tep back there under the city. I asked about you, and why the Toranites and those hooded assassins were interested in you. The answer the seer gave me was enigmatic at best, but I thought it might make more sense to you. He said that you would give these people some kind of 'advantage', I guess politically. And he said that you might be linked to the corruption that Cord is always talking about, but only in a circumstantial way."
"And then...." Wyshira paused, concentrating, remembering that voice that came from out of the air. "And then I heard this voice, his voice I guess, in my head saying that you didn't know why you were being pursued, and neither did your bloodkin. At least not yet. Your bloodkin.... I don't understand what your bloodkin are. But they will know before too long, he said. "
"Do those words mean anything to you?"
Listening carefully to her, Burl tried to gain some comprehension from what she said. “I have no clue as to the first part that you have told me. As to the mention of my bloodkin, I have none to speak of except for my father. I was an only child and my mother is dead. I have not seen my father in years, nor do I really care to since he was responsible for my mother’s dying. I don’t even know if he is alive or dead.”
Burl assumed that the term bloodkin meant something like family, which made sense, Wyshira supposed. "But I got the feeling that the word was used to mean something else, not your blood relatives exactly," Wyshira noted thoughtfully. She tried to recall exactly what the voice had said: "Know this, that to know why Burl is pursued by some and sought out by others is to know more than he himself knows, to know more than even those of his bloodkin know, yet." But her musing was interrupted by the swift beating of wings on the night air.
Burl felt Spike trying to get his attention, Bird coming, big bird coming Listening, Burl heard the flapping of wings and spotted a hawk heading his way just before the bird landed on his shoulder. Burl spotted a message canister attached to it’s leg, realizing instantly what this must be. What wonderful timing. How am I going to explain this? thought Burl as he reached for the small parchment within.
* * *
She looked up to see a hawk dropping from the sky and landing with graceful precision on the necromancer's shoulder. Here was a surprise! The magnificent bird stood nearly beak-to-nose with Burl, staring at him with a purposeful gleam in its golden eyes. But Burl merely seemed chagrined by the creature's timing. He's not nearly as surprised as he ought to be, Wyshira thought. He might almost have been expecting that bird to show up!
* * *
As he unrolled the message with a quizzical look on his face for Wyshira’s benefit he said,
“I wonder who this could be from?” Looking at the note without really reading it, he gave a small chuckle, then rolled it back up placing it in his pouch.
“That is really interesting. I wonder how she found me here. It is a note from an acquaintance of mine, an elven female to be more precise. She did now that I was headed in this general direction. Maybe she had a scrying performed. I’m sorry Wyshira, I really should send her a reply. After all she did go out of her way to write me. Could you meet me in about an hour in the lab so that we can prepare those healing salves. If we can cook them, the could start hardening by the morning and it looks Wolf will be having us leave tomorrow. See you in a bit.”
Whistling for Spike and gathering him up, Burl hustled to his room where, after locking the door and placing the hawk on the bed post, he carefully unrolled the parchment and read it.
* * *
Burl glanced at the parchment attached to the hawk's leg, and explained about it being a message from an acquaintance of his, an elven female. Wyshira found herself frowning at the note, mistrustful of it at once; or did she really just resent the intrusion into their private conversation? When Burl asked leave to break off their meeting so that he could return to his room and reply to the message, she couldn't help feeling like she was being shut out of something. It took a moment, but she shook off her hurt feelings and stammered out a reply to his apology:
"I- well, yes of course! I mean, that's fine with me, we can meet later in the lab. I don't mind. I wanted a chance to wash up anyway." She managed an overly bright smile then, and shooed him off to his room with assurances that she would be along soon too. The ceaseless murmuring of the fountain washed over her as she watched him make his way along the dark garden path and out of sight.
* * *
Later, after a bath and a change of clothes, Wyshira nibbled a handful of grapes that she'd filched from Ecurius' table earlier in the day and stashed in her pocket. She'd wanted to invite Melisande to her room this evening to share the prize, along with some tea or wine, and some girl-talk. But she imagined that by the time she and Burl were finished working on the healing salves, it would be quite late, and the blue sorceress would be long asleep.
Oh well. Wyshira hoped they'd find the time to talk sometime later. Meanwhile, she ought to be trying to find her way to Lord Tarravas' lab.....
Carnifex
First Post
The fire was warm and Mel's limbs had gone a little melty in its heat, not to mention in the blast of anger from Lord Ecurius which could have melted steel. Adamantine, Ebri Zol remained cool, but the more malleable Mel felt slightly devastated. A few hours ago she had been dreamily planning a glorious future for herself with His Lordship playing a pivotal role alongside the mysterious Ak'mun'tep; now all she wanted to do was pack her things and get on the road again with her real friends.
A lazy smile curled her blue lips. Friends. How astonishing. Some of them were worse than peculiar (but then, she wasn't one to point that finger), and some she still had doubts about--Burl the friendly necromancer, Kale who seemed to be hiding quite a lot under his jaded rogue disguise, not to mention that... that... pig-headed blade-for-hire--but they had just lived through a literal trial by fire and had come out not only victorious but tested in the flames of righteousness. Mel discovered as she watched the cheery fire in Lord Ecurius' parlor that she trusted each and every one of them profoundly. More even than she trusted His Dreamy Lordship.
Her previous plan to go upstairs and fix her hair before requesting audience with Lord Ecurius and explaining the whole Ak'mun'tep affair went up with the weaving sparks in the flue. He would want to know about that, and the sooner it was told the better light it would shed on the group, but Melisande found herself very comfortable in that armchair and in no hurry at all to face the Lord's wrath again, and certainly not alone. Although if it got back to him that she personally had released the ancient seer from his jar-prison and had not bothered to tell him, this would further jeopardize relations. And what was she doing in Naseria anyway, if not to try to find a benefactor and make a new life for herself?
Maybe in the morning. Right now she wanted a bath and a long, dreamless, comfy night--perhaps the last for a long while. With a yawn she peeled herself out of the armchair. "I'm going to take full advantage of a bed and a roof while I can," she announced, cupping Pierre in her hands. "I uh--I just think you're all wonderful. What we did today--it was brave. It was the right thing to do, no matter what our personal reasons were. Well, good night!" Indigo with embarrassment, she fled for the stairs in Wolf's wake.
Sebastion watched everyone else slowly truck out, smiling slightly at Mel's words, reassured despite the argument of the Ebri and Ecurius. Both of them seemed to be trying to... push away the reality of the slaves they'd found, and turn them into fancy words and high-sounding moral consequences.
He'd stood and looked into the eyes of those frightened children, he'd seen the complete absence of hope for a few moments in their dead stares, and he knew that no-one should have to go through that. You didn't have to sign up to a guard to defend people - each and every person that drew breath could do that when the opportunity arose. If it never arose, lucky them.
Unable to shift the smile, and trying to convince himself it had absolutely nothing to do with Mel's words, he turned away from the soft beds and warm fires of the guest quarters they'd been assigned. He wasn't used to such places, and he wanted to be sure he was ready for the morning.
Slipping through the gardens quite openly, he took his gear to the stables, nestling himself in amongst the horses and the dry hay in the loft to settled down and work his armour and blades over, sharpening out the nicks and unbending the worst of the chain links, all the while wondering what the 'morrow would bring, and whether all the things they'd reclaimed from the slavers would be taken by the guard as evidence...
A lazy smile curled her blue lips. Friends. How astonishing. Some of them were worse than peculiar (but then, she wasn't one to point that finger), and some she still had doubts about--Burl the friendly necromancer, Kale who seemed to be hiding quite a lot under his jaded rogue disguise, not to mention that... that... pig-headed blade-for-hire--but they had just lived through a literal trial by fire and had come out not only victorious but tested in the flames of righteousness. Mel discovered as she watched the cheery fire in Lord Ecurius' parlor that she trusted each and every one of them profoundly. More even than she trusted His Dreamy Lordship.
Her previous plan to go upstairs and fix her hair before requesting audience with Lord Ecurius and explaining the whole Ak'mun'tep affair went up with the weaving sparks in the flue. He would want to know about that, and the sooner it was told the better light it would shed on the group, but Melisande found herself very comfortable in that armchair and in no hurry at all to face the Lord's wrath again, and certainly not alone. Although if it got back to him that she personally had released the ancient seer from his jar-prison and had not bothered to tell him, this would further jeopardize relations. And what was she doing in Naseria anyway, if not to try to find a benefactor and make a new life for herself?
Maybe in the morning. Right now she wanted a bath and a long, dreamless, comfy night--perhaps the last for a long while. With a yawn she peeled herself out of the armchair. "I'm going to take full advantage of a bed and a roof while I can," she announced, cupping Pierre in her hands. "I uh--I just think you're all wonderful. What we did today--it was brave. It was the right thing to do, no matter what our personal reasons were. Well, good night!" Indigo with embarrassment, she fled for the stairs in Wolf's wake.
Sebastion watched everyone else slowly truck out, smiling slightly at Mel's words, reassured despite the argument of the Ebri and Ecurius. Both of them seemed to be trying to... push away the reality of the slaves they'd found, and turn them into fancy words and high-sounding moral consequences.
He'd stood and looked into the eyes of those frightened children, he'd seen the complete absence of hope for a few moments in their dead stares, and he knew that no-one should have to go through that. You didn't have to sign up to a guard to defend people - each and every person that drew breath could do that when the opportunity arose. If it never arose, lucky them.
Unable to shift the smile, and trying to convince himself it had absolutely nothing to do with Mel's words, he turned away from the soft beds and warm fires of the guest quarters they'd been assigned. He wasn't used to such places, and he wanted to be sure he was ready for the morning.
Slipping through the gardens quite openly, he took his gear to the stables, nestling himself in amongst the horses and the dry hay in the loft to settled down and work his armour and blades over, sharpening out the nicks and unbending the worst of the chain links, all the while wondering what the 'morrow would bring, and whether all the things they'd reclaimed from the slavers would be taken by the guard as evidence...
Carnifex
First Post
Partway down the guesthouse hall, Kale stood easily by the wall. Nearby, a lampsconce flickered shadows about, as though the mercenary hadn’t yet decided: to be seen, or unseen.
His brow creased in frustration, wondering what it meant, any of it. With so little he would or could make sense of-- then their resident Priestess of Truth had to go and throw her own flavor of chaos into the mix.
Fiddling with his leather handwrap, his eye caught a shadow through the hall. Lady Truth herself he thought as the woman approached.
"Bad for business, to say the least," was the only neutral way he could think to begin. Bloody stupid running of the mouth is more like it. Looking up from his hands, Kale searched the woman for some manner or sense.
Ebri moved purposefully down the hall, the hem of her garments brushing the dust-free floor, the ridges dividing the massive stone blocks from one another punctuating her thoughts as her fingers trailed across them. The healing was a blessed relief: it removed one more distraction, allowing her to marshall more of her energies toward her goals. Of these, the primary one was sleep, but it seemed likely to be delayed: the hothead mercenary Amegrion skulked up ahead, regarding her with gloom.
"If you have aught to say, please do so." she told him smoothly, not pausing in her step as she walked past.
She was plainclothed and bloodied, Kale thought for a moment one might mistake the woman for a misplaced, battered servant. Out of place, perhaps not, as her slick passing demeanor sorted her well among the estates, the political labelry, the façade-portraits on the mansion stone walls.
If Kale had a problem with ‘nobility’ in the place, it wasn’t Ecurius he scorned. Okay, I’ll play your game. Gliding into step as Ebri breezed past, the mercenary engaged. No doubt she would pace such not to come side by side, no doubt she reserved her advantage to end the conversation as soon as she reached her destination. Well, what could I expect? I don’t have an appointment.
"I could very well say the same thing." Kale controlled his tone, reminding himself he was talking to a woman who had it All Figured Out. "Because I’m wondering when we all signed onto your personal truth crusade." Kale watched the back of her head carefully, ready to meet her eyes should she deem him worthy enough to turn about. "And why you feel your business should come at our expense." His light infantry boots clicking even rhythm on the stone floor, Kale phrased thing in a way the woman would expect from a plain mercenary.
She kept her eyes forward, and rolled the words around in her mouth. "Do you object to the truth, then?"
Oh, gods, Kale rolled his eyes. "I don’t seem to be the one having trouble grasping reality." He began to get frustrated, but recalled to mind the droning professors, the heedless commanders, the countless arrogant merchants and statemen he had encountered before. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the fresh rain air that filtered into into the hall, wild and new, smoothed out by the stone wall’s solid stillness. Any other evening, it would have been a pleasant experience. "Truth?"
"I’ll tell you what I’ve seen," Kale began, pressing a half step closer, wondering if the woman enjoyed speaking while her target simply watched her back. "Assuring me of your skills, you alone engaged, to your folly, an enemy far your superior. This night, certain of your handle on ‘truth’, you make accusations that are only safe if wrong. At the least you cost business, at the worst you cost lives," Kale stated the facts that he knew.
"All I want to know, Immarian, is that in all your exclusive service of your far-off god, did you ever consider the service of this crew? You know, the ones that patched you up after you were beat down to a sodden mess?" It would be hard to put a cocky spin on that last one.
"Your vision is colored by your needs and desires, of course. Like most, you see what you wish." Ebri answered calmly. If nothing else, this one was worth watching. He had the guts to question, and that was dangerous. "The enemy we encountered was far superior to any one of us alone. What you call folly was a calculated risk, Amegrion. Of all of us, I considered myself to be able to withstand the mage longest, to the least ill-effect, in order to delay his summoning of further foul beasts. And had you joined me, your leader and several others would have died. Perhaps you will ask me again if I have ever considered service to this band."
"As for this evening, I stand by my words, for I believe them. But if you objected, or felt that I was a risk to your business--" Ebri invested the word with the sordidness of profit that neglected the concept of morality. "--then you might have repudiated me or my words at any time. But consider: what did you know of the man, really? And what of our mission? Would you really walk unknowing into what might be a trap? For mercenaries can be bought, sir, and they can also be sold."
"As an Immarian, I already have the reputation for distrusting the authority of those that rule: therefore, I was best suited to question. The risk was small, and the punishment would have fallen upon me alone."
The young mercenary became more and more angry at the woman’s words. Amegrion. She even used the family name, to brag how much she knew.
At the last he rounded on the woman, to face her eye to eye. The woman was crafty, and deadly, he would have to be careful that this remained just a conversation. "I didn’t ask for your ‘risk assessment.’ You feed me garbage about how little I know about my business, then tell me your risks are small? You don’t know stroke one about the trade, yet you are making decisions that put us all at stake. Wolf and I might not know everything, but experience shows that you know very little."
"And don’t try to impress me with your ‘bloody sacrifice for the team’. Foolishness does not substitute for valor. I’ve had real soldiers give it all for me, and not one, not one had the arrogance you show me tonight." Real anger began to show around the seams. He looked levelly at the woman for two breaths. He knew better than to think he could intimidate her, but his resolve was nonetheless solid.
"If you think the risks we take are unwarranted, you are free to go at any time. But should you decide to stay--should Wolf find leave for you to remain-- you are going to do without your calculated risks. You can cut your teeth on mage duels and sparring with nobility on your own time."
Cooling down a bit, Kale softened. "Look, this doesn’t have to be a showdown. But if you are going to work with us, what I need is some assurance that you are not going to tangle us in some personal crusade. I nedd to know you won’t cause more trouble than you’re worth."
Of a sort, this was reassuring: Kale was convinced she knew as little as an Immarian should. She blinked, and shrugged, tilting her head as she looked up at him. "You distress yourself unnecessarily." The words were cool, neutral, and informational.
"I neither care for your opinion of me nor need your approval. As I have said, I walk Immar's road. His road happens to be yours for now. I have no personal crusade, whatever you may think. What do you know of faith, Kale Amegrion? Little, apparently. I will tell you. To have a goal in mind beforehand, or any overarching zeal and purpose, a crusade, you would say-- would detract from my experience of the journey. Had I a goal, or any point to prove, I should be distracted from the lessons I would gain along the way. It would be antithetical to my purpose entirely--" Ebri's mouth formed into a cold little smile. "I have no especial care for you or any of your 'crew'-- other than that I have for any sentient, good willed beings on life's road--"
"And that care is not insubstantial." she said at last. She made her eyes placid and cow-like, unthreatening. It was important to let him have the sense of victory, or at least of having had an effect on her. "And for the last, you must decide: how much trouble am I worth? It is a curious question."
My, but the woman was slick. Kale corrected his cynical observation from before: Ebri surely did belong in the courts with the politicians and royals. She deflected questions like stone parapet, and behaved with overreaching assurance.
The woman seemed to soften a touch, but he could not get any handle on what she could possibly be thinking. She was some manner of insane…-- a critical case of arrogance.
"How much are you worth?" Kale repeated as he was drawing a conclusion. "I can answer that one right now. A sharp blade, a listening ear, a watchful eye... you’re worth that five feet of line you can cover should the chips come down. You’re not worth another episode of the foolish antics that I’ve come to expect from you. I prefer to remain alive and in one piece, and if your presence becomes a liability to that, then you’re clearly not worth the goldshare that is your place. You’re not some stray dog that can just wander where she pleases, and we’re not a gypsy band weak to taking in pets. "
"You speak of lessons as though you can learn them. You don’t care for my opinion? Fine. But you can either perform and stay out from underfoot, or you can hit the Traveler’s road." It was ridiculous. When had Kale ever talked like that?
"My blood is worth nothing less." And that was the truth.
Pressing her lips together, Ebri simply nodded ackowledgement, and turned and walked on. There is a power found in yielding, she recalled an early lesson. The mercenary could have the last word. She continued upon the way to her chamber.
And finally, she was silent. Why does she never say anything I want to hear? He wondered as he took a step back, easing the distance between them as they disengaged. If this was her one moment of meekness, Kale certainly wasn’t going to ruin it by standing up in her face.
Meekness? Kale didn’t hold his breath. But at least he could hope the woman got the message.
More importantly, he considered as he shouldered up to the cold stone wall, that she would make changes sufficient to keep from becoming the disaster he feared. Hope, there was still hope.
"Cheer up, boyo," Kale murmured sarcastically to himself. "At least you’ve got your health," He finished in an ‘old sage’s chestnut’ tone that poked irony in the cold air. Sore legs kicked an awkward scuff on the floor, and the mercenary finally turned and headed to a deep, dreamless sleep.
His brow creased in frustration, wondering what it meant, any of it. With so little he would or could make sense of-- then their resident Priestess of Truth had to go and throw her own flavor of chaos into the mix.
Fiddling with his leather handwrap, his eye caught a shadow through the hall. Lady Truth herself he thought as the woman approached.
"Bad for business, to say the least," was the only neutral way he could think to begin. Bloody stupid running of the mouth is more like it. Looking up from his hands, Kale searched the woman for some manner or sense.
Ebri moved purposefully down the hall, the hem of her garments brushing the dust-free floor, the ridges dividing the massive stone blocks from one another punctuating her thoughts as her fingers trailed across them. The healing was a blessed relief: it removed one more distraction, allowing her to marshall more of her energies toward her goals. Of these, the primary one was sleep, but it seemed likely to be delayed: the hothead mercenary Amegrion skulked up ahead, regarding her with gloom.
"If you have aught to say, please do so." she told him smoothly, not pausing in her step as she walked past.
She was plainclothed and bloodied, Kale thought for a moment one might mistake the woman for a misplaced, battered servant. Out of place, perhaps not, as her slick passing demeanor sorted her well among the estates, the political labelry, the façade-portraits on the mansion stone walls.
If Kale had a problem with ‘nobility’ in the place, it wasn’t Ecurius he scorned. Okay, I’ll play your game. Gliding into step as Ebri breezed past, the mercenary engaged. No doubt she would pace such not to come side by side, no doubt she reserved her advantage to end the conversation as soon as she reached her destination. Well, what could I expect? I don’t have an appointment.
"I could very well say the same thing." Kale controlled his tone, reminding himself he was talking to a woman who had it All Figured Out. "Because I’m wondering when we all signed onto your personal truth crusade." Kale watched the back of her head carefully, ready to meet her eyes should she deem him worthy enough to turn about. "And why you feel your business should come at our expense." His light infantry boots clicking even rhythm on the stone floor, Kale phrased thing in a way the woman would expect from a plain mercenary.
She kept her eyes forward, and rolled the words around in her mouth. "Do you object to the truth, then?"
Oh, gods, Kale rolled his eyes. "I don’t seem to be the one having trouble grasping reality." He began to get frustrated, but recalled to mind the droning professors, the heedless commanders, the countless arrogant merchants and statemen he had encountered before. Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the fresh rain air that filtered into into the hall, wild and new, smoothed out by the stone wall’s solid stillness. Any other evening, it would have been a pleasant experience. "Truth?"
"I’ll tell you what I’ve seen," Kale began, pressing a half step closer, wondering if the woman enjoyed speaking while her target simply watched her back. "Assuring me of your skills, you alone engaged, to your folly, an enemy far your superior. This night, certain of your handle on ‘truth’, you make accusations that are only safe if wrong. At the least you cost business, at the worst you cost lives," Kale stated the facts that he knew.
"All I want to know, Immarian, is that in all your exclusive service of your far-off god, did you ever consider the service of this crew? You know, the ones that patched you up after you were beat down to a sodden mess?" It would be hard to put a cocky spin on that last one.
"Your vision is colored by your needs and desires, of course. Like most, you see what you wish." Ebri answered calmly. If nothing else, this one was worth watching. He had the guts to question, and that was dangerous. "The enemy we encountered was far superior to any one of us alone. What you call folly was a calculated risk, Amegrion. Of all of us, I considered myself to be able to withstand the mage longest, to the least ill-effect, in order to delay his summoning of further foul beasts. And had you joined me, your leader and several others would have died. Perhaps you will ask me again if I have ever considered service to this band."
"As for this evening, I stand by my words, for I believe them. But if you objected, or felt that I was a risk to your business--" Ebri invested the word with the sordidness of profit that neglected the concept of morality. "--then you might have repudiated me or my words at any time. But consider: what did you know of the man, really? And what of our mission? Would you really walk unknowing into what might be a trap? For mercenaries can be bought, sir, and they can also be sold."
"As an Immarian, I already have the reputation for distrusting the authority of those that rule: therefore, I was best suited to question. The risk was small, and the punishment would have fallen upon me alone."
The young mercenary became more and more angry at the woman’s words. Amegrion. She even used the family name, to brag how much she knew.
At the last he rounded on the woman, to face her eye to eye. The woman was crafty, and deadly, he would have to be careful that this remained just a conversation. "I didn’t ask for your ‘risk assessment.’ You feed me garbage about how little I know about my business, then tell me your risks are small? You don’t know stroke one about the trade, yet you are making decisions that put us all at stake. Wolf and I might not know everything, but experience shows that you know very little."
"And don’t try to impress me with your ‘bloody sacrifice for the team’. Foolishness does not substitute for valor. I’ve had real soldiers give it all for me, and not one, not one had the arrogance you show me tonight." Real anger began to show around the seams. He looked levelly at the woman for two breaths. He knew better than to think he could intimidate her, but his resolve was nonetheless solid.
"If you think the risks we take are unwarranted, you are free to go at any time. But should you decide to stay--should Wolf find leave for you to remain-- you are going to do without your calculated risks. You can cut your teeth on mage duels and sparring with nobility on your own time."
Cooling down a bit, Kale softened. "Look, this doesn’t have to be a showdown. But if you are going to work with us, what I need is some assurance that you are not going to tangle us in some personal crusade. I nedd to know you won’t cause more trouble than you’re worth."
Of a sort, this was reassuring: Kale was convinced she knew as little as an Immarian should. She blinked, and shrugged, tilting her head as she looked up at him. "You distress yourself unnecessarily." The words were cool, neutral, and informational.
"I neither care for your opinion of me nor need your approval. As I have said, I walk Immar's road. His road happens to be yours for now. I have no personal crusade, whatever you may think. What do you know of faith, Kale Amegrion? Little, apparently. I will tell you. To have a goal in mind beforehand, or any overarching zeal and purpose, a crusade, you would say-- would detract from my experience of the journey. Had I a goal, or any point to prove, I should be distracted from the lessons I would gain along the way. It would be antithetical to my purpose entirely--" Ebri's mouth formed into a cold little smile. "I have no especial care for you or any of your 'crew'-- other than that I have for any sentient, good willed beings on life's road--"
"And that care is not insubstantial." she said at last. She made her eyes placid and cow-like, unthreatening. It was important to let him have the sense of victory, or at least of having had an effect on her. "And for the last, you must decide: how much trouble am I worth? It is a curious question."
My, but the woman was slick. Kale corrected his cynical observation from before: Ebri surely did belong in the courts with the politicians and royals. She deflected questions like stone parapet, and behaved with overreaching assurance.
The woman seemed to soften a touch, but he could not get any handle on what she could possibly be thinking. She was some manner of insane…-- a critical case of arrogance.
"How much are you worth?" Kale repeated as he was drawing a conclusion. "I can answer that one right now. A sharp blade, a listening ear, a watchful eye... you’re worth that five feet of line you can cover should the chips come down. You’re not worth another episode of the foolish antics that I’ve come to expect from you. I prefer to remain alive and in one piece, and if your presence becomes a liability to that, then you’re clearly not worth the goldshare that is your place. You’re not some stray dog that can just wander where she pleases, and we’re not a gypsy band weak to taking in pets. "
"You speak of lessons as though you can learn them. You don’t care for my opinion? Fine. But you can either perform and stay out from underfoot, or you can hit the Traveler’s road." It was ridiculous. When had Kale ever talked like that?
"My blood is worth nothing less." And that was the truth.
Pressing her lips together, Ebri simply nodded ackowledgement, and turned and walked on. There is a power found in yielding, she recalled an early lesson. The mercenary could have the last word. She continued upon the way to her chamber.
And finally, she was silent. Why does she never say anything I want to hear? He wondered as he took a step back, easing the distance between them as they disengaged. If this was her one moment of meekness, Kale certainly wasn’t going to ruin it by standing up in her face.
Meekness? Kale didn’t hold his breath. But at least he could hope the woman got the message.
More importantly, he considered as he shouldered up to the cold stone wall, that she would make changes sufficient to keep from becoming the disaster he feared. Hope, there was still hope.
"Cheer up, boyo," Kale murmured sarcastically to himself. "At least you’ve got your health," He finished in an ‘old sage’s chestnut’ tone that poked irony in the cold air. Sore legs kicked an awkward scuff on the floor, and the mercenary finally turned and headed to a deep, dreamless sleep.
Carnifex
First Post
As the party disbanded and true night fell across the landscape, various members went about their own businesses in the late hours of the day.
Up in his room, Burl unrolled the contents of the message canister, the hawk - perched on the bedpost - peering around the room with fierce eyes, its glare sending Spike scurrying for cover behind his master. Within was not just one piece of parchment, but in fact three.
The first was simple writing parchment, an ink message written in beautifully flowing handwriting across it. As promised, the hawk. Write the prices of the goods we requested on the back of this piece of parchment, reattach it to the hawk, and let her free through the window that she might return with it to us. The other scrolls are arcane; gifts from your patron we believe you may find useful - Tewlcroghen
Having scribbled down the prices on the back of the parchment and reattached it to the hawk - which promptly winged its way out through the window - Burl had time to examine the other scrolls. The first was in familiar necromantic formula; a spell as yet beyond his mastery, but not by much, an incantation designed to siphon away the life-force of another to reinforce his own, a spell of vampiric touch. The other scroll was completely different; Burl's read magic revealed its contents to be a spell completely unknown to him, Moonblaze. It was well beyond his capabilities to use as yet.
Then it was off to prepare salves with Wyshira. There, in the gloomy lab, they mixed and concocted the ingredients that Burl had purchased. With so little time and but the two of them working on it, by the time they were too tired to continue they had prepared only one of the salves, but it seemed to have worked. The morning would tell, of course, when it had cooled fully, but the early signs were promising.
* * *
Sebastion, out in the stables, worked diligently away to repair his long-suffering armour from the battering it had taken during the fierce battle with the cult. The methodical manner of carefully and slowly going over his equipment was soothing and absorbing, so much so that the faint movement he saw through the entrance of the stables in the gloom outside was something of a shock.
It was Wolf he could see. The man seemed to be simply wandering the grounds, perhaps lost in thought, and before long he had passed from Sebastions view. The mercenary hadn't appeared particularly sleepy, even though as he worked Sebastion himself found weariness descending upon him and eventually he fell asleep in the warmth of the stable.
* * *
Though sleep came quick and deep to Melisande, it departed with as much haste as it appeared, and in the cold hours before dawn she woke too restless to find it again. After some tossing and turning she sat up and lit a candle. The fire in the bedchamber had burned low; she put another log on and waited for the flames to grow bright again before unwrapping herself from the warm blankets and getting dressed.
She considered going down to Lord Ecurius' library but then felt shy in case someone accosted her. The Lord had been displeased with his "hirelings", guests though they were, and might not approve of them snooping about his manor in the night. Instead she lounged on the window seat to listen to the rain. Her mind wandered long on the paths of her journey up to present; when soon the inky blackness reminded her too closely of Shadow she moved over to sit by the hearth instead. Here she turned her mind to more refreshing subjects than Ak'mun'tep's troubling words and demons in the dark. She was pleased with the outcome of her latest spell, for instance. The thaumic wave had been effective against monstrosity, man and dragon-kin that day. Soon she was toying with similar thaumic rays, but less bloody ones.
Rather than create an energy burst, she tapped into the bright star that lit her mind's landscape to fuel a kinetic wave this time. Aiming this at a fresh log in the basket by the hearth she felt it catch on the object and hold; slowly, as if teasing a fish from a river on the end of a line, she lifted her hand and tugged gently--and the log followed. Smiling to herself she carried it through the air on a magic string and placed it on the fire. Transmutation, it was true, came easy to her. How she would love to know Ak'mun'tep's spells!
But there were other lines of inquiry, ones she had been thinking on as well lately. For Transmutation was but a step away from Illusion, and the two schools shared many of the forms and lines of magic-working. She had always searched since childhood for a way to alter the blueness of her skin at will. The minor, ungracious spell she did have could only change her to one major color, so that if she aimed for average pinkish-tan she ended up with hair, eyes, clothing and even equipment all different shades of "skin" and this looked even more bizarre than blue. Yet here in Naseria where the chief god was blue and his favored priests tattooed to his likeness, her skin was not so much a thing to hide. No, it would be much more helpful to not be seen at all than to be seen another hue than blue. With a spark of mischief in them, her eyes turned to the sleepy blob lying in a puddle by the basin a few feet away. One of Pierre's heads eyed her back but settled in to sleep again, perhaps a little too trusting.
Mel thought for a few minutes, chewing her lip. If you could make a path for light to go through instead of bounce off--there was room in astral space even within the solidity of a body... Gingerly she yanked out one eyelash, then hopped up and pulled a wad of the mastic caulking that sealed the window frame and returned to her seat by the fire, fiddling with it in her fingers.
She tried twice and failed. Once, Pierre went as shiny as a lamp, and the second time he went fuzzy at the edges. The third time he vanished.
Mel leaped up and clapped her hands in delight, which stirred Pierre, though he hadn't any idea what had happened to him. "Pierre, Pierre, you're invisible! I've made you invisible! Pierre? Oh no, you're still there, aren't you? Hop around! Speak to me!"
The flapping of amphibious feet, accompanied by caustic and almost verbal cursing in her head, eased her fears. A moment later the water in the basin plopped and stirred seemingly all on its own. Mel made a dispelling gesture and found her toad, sure enough, floating angrily in her washing-water.
"Don't be mad at me, you sour old thing. That is going to come in handy for sure."
* * * * * *
The morning found Wolf in the common room of the guest wing bright and early, looking as if his nights rest had been the most restful of any of them. The combination of fresh bandages and healing brought a new breath of energy to all of them though, wounds recovering well from the previous days exertions and battles. The veteran had the various goods they had acquired the previous day spread on and around the table.
"Morning all, he said by way of welcome to each as they entered the room. "I've talked to Ecurius earlier this morning; discussed a few things. He's dealing with the events of yesterday for us, and this lot," he gestured to their acquisitions, "is going to stay in our possession; Ecurius has taken the books and letters we recovered but he's willing to make it available to any of you if you want to look at it, though we wont have much time since I'd prefer to leave before too long. I also presuaded him to once again employ his divinations for our benefit, to find out just what all this stuff does."
Here's the list of stuff, as identified by Ecurius and explained by Wolf:
Elaborate ivory wand from Cancer: Wand of Mage Armour, 36 charges remaining.
Cancer's potion: Potion of Cat's Grace
Monk's potion: Cure Moderate Wounds
Monk's ornate but non-magical silver bracers - someone can try and appraise these if they want.
Monk's magical hand-straps: Ki Straps, which increase the saving throw DC of a monk's stunning attacks by 5 (IIRC - I'm working off memory here and will check stuff when I get home, as I'm currently working off a uni computer).
2 potions from the Dragonkin: Cure Light Wounds
Strange and exotic Dragonkin mace inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli: Heavy Mace +1
Golden Dragonkin Earring: +10 enhancement bonus to Listen checks.
Silver Dragonkin Ring: Ring of Protection +1
Dragonkin jewellry: Non-magical, can be appraised for value.
Kaelos's red gem amulet: Amulet of Dragon's Toughness Grants +12 hit points to the wearer.
Normal flintlock pistol recovered from slavers.
Yew arrows tipped with lapis lazuli: Arrows +1 of Shock. There are 37 of these.
Black Steel Longsword: Wolf identifies this as being of a particular type of metal called Carthagian blacksteel. Particularly fine balance and edge.
Brown-Black Powder that radiates magic: Death's Heart powder, made from the heart of a particular type of undead. Empowers any necromantic spell that it is used as an additional spell component for with a bonus to the DC. 10 doses available.
Crystalline Javelins: 6 prismatic javelins - magical javelins which when thrown energise into a bolt of a particular type depending on a d6 roll: fire, lightning, cold, acid, sonic, or Force.
Scrolls from the desk: Fireball and Summon Monster II
Potions from the desk: Cure Light Wounds and Invisibility
Vial of noxious substance: Some sort of poison.
Box of gems from Cancer's desk: Can be appraised.
Box of gems from Ak'Mun'Tep: Sapphires + lapis lazuli, can be appraised.
Box of spices from Ak'Mun'Tep: Magical - Gehennan Spice. When a dose is taken it gives the recipient a bonus of +10 to Spot and Listen checks as it taps straight into their nervous systems and boosts their senses to greatly heightened levels for ten minutes, as well creating a sense of well-being and calm. 10 doses in the box.
650 gp's in coin.
Up in his room, Burl unrolled the contents of the message canister, the hawk - perched on the bedpost - peering around the room with fierce eyes, its glare sending Spike scurrying for cover behind his master. Within was not just one piece of parchment, but in fact three.
The first was simple writing parchment, an ink message written in beautifully flowing handwriting across it. As promised, the hawk. Write the prices of the goods we requested on the back of this piece of parchment, reattach it to the hawk, and let her free through the window that she might return with it to us. The other scrolls are arcane; gifts from your patron we believe you may find useful - Tewlcroghen
Having scribbled down the prices on the back of the parchment and reattached it to the hawk - which promptly winged its way out through the window - Burl had time to examine the other scrolls. The first was in familiar necromantic formula; a spell as yet beyond his mastery, but not by much, an incantation designed to siphon away the life-force of another to reinforce his own, a spell of vampiric touch. The other scroll was completely different; Burl's read magic revealed its contents to be a spell completely unknown to him, Moonblaze. It was well beyond his capabilities to use as yet.
Then it was off to prepare salves with Wyshira. There, in the gloomy lab, they mixed and concocted the ingredients that Burl had purchased. With so little time and but the two of them working on it, by the time they were too tired to continue they had prepared only one of the salves, but it seemed to have worked. The morning would tell, of course, when it had cooled fully, but the early signs were promising.
* * *
Sebastion, out in the stables, worked diligently away to repair his long-suffering armour from the battering it had taken during the fierce battle with the cult. The methodical manner of carefully and slowly going over his equipment was soothing and absorbing, so much so that the faint movement he saw through the entrance of the stables in the gloom outside was something of a shock.
It was Wolf he could see. The man seemed to be simply wandering the grounds, perhaps lost in thought, and before long he had passed from Sebastions view. The mercenary hadn't appeared particularly sleepy, even though as he worked Sebastion himself found weariness descending upon him and eventually he fell asleep in the warmth of the stable.
* * *
Though sleep came quick and deep to Melisande, it departed with as much haste as it appeared, and in the cold hours before dawn she woke too restless to find it again. After some tossing and turning she sat up and lit a candle. The fire in the bedchamber had burned low; she put another log on and waited for the flames to grow bright again before unwrapping herself from the warm blankets and getting dressed.
She considered going down to Lord Ecurius' library but then felt shy in case someone accosted her. The Lord had been displeased with his "hirelings", guests though they were, and might not approve of them snooping about his manor in the night. Instead she lounged on the window seat to listen to the rain. Her mind wandered long on the paths of her journey up to present; when soon the inky blackness reminded her too closely of Shadow she moved over to sit by the hearth instead. Here she turned her mind to more refreshing subjects than Ak'mun'tep's troubling words and demons in the dark. She was pleased with the outcome of her latest spell, for instance. The thaumic wave had been effective against monstrosity, man and dragon-kin that day. Soon she was toying with similar thaumic rays, but less bloody ones.
Rather than create an energy burst, she tapped into the bright star that lit her mind's landscape to fuel a kinetic wave this time. Aiming this at a fresh log in the basket by the hearth she felt it catch on the object and hold; slowly, as if teasing a fish from a river on the end of a line, she lifted her hand and tugged gently--and the log followed. Smiling to herself she carried it through the air on a magic string and placed it on the fire. Transmutation, it was true, came easy to her. How she would love to know Ak'mun'tep's spells!
But there were other lines of inquiry, ones she had been thinking on as well lately. For Transmutation was but a step away from Illusion, and the two schools shared many of the forms and lines of magic-working. She had always searched since childhood for a way to alter the blueness of her skin at will. The minor, ungracious spell she did have could only change her to one major color, so that if she aimed for average pinkish-tan she ended up with hair, eyes, clothing and even equipment all different shades of "skin" and this looked even more bizarre than blue. Yet here in Naseria where the chief god was blue and his favored priests tattooed to his likeness, her skin was not so much a thing to hide. No, it would be much more helpful to not be seen at all than to be seen another hue than blue. With a spark of mischief in them, her eyes turned to the sleepy blob lying in a puddle by the basin a few feet away. One of Pierre's heads eyed her back but settled in to sleep again, perhaps a little too trusting.
Mel thought for a few minutes, chewing her lip. If you could make a path for light to go through instead of bounce off--there was room in astral space even within the solidity of a body... Gingerly she yanked out one eyelash, then hopped up and pulled a wad of the mastic caulking that sealed the window frame and returned to her seat by the fire, fiddling with it in her fingers.
She tried twice and failed. Once, Pierre went as shiny as a lamp, and the second time he went fuzzy at the edges. The third time he vanished.
Mel leaped up and clapped her hands in delight, which stirred Pierre, though he hadn't any idea what had happened to him. "Pierre, Pierre, you're invisible! I've made you invisible! Pierre? Oh no, you're still there, aren't you? Hop around! Speak to me!"
The flapping of amphibious feet, accompanied by caustic and almost verbal cursing in her head, eased her fears. A moment later the water in the basin plopped and stirred seemingly all on its own. Mel made a dispelling gesture and found her toad, sure enough, floating angrily in her washing-water.
"Don't be mad at me, you sour old thing. That is going to come in handy for sure."
* * * * * *
The morning found Wolf in the common room of the guest wing bright and early, looking as if his nights rest had been the most restful of any of them. The combination of fresh bandages and healing brought a new breath of energy to all of them though, wounds recovering well from the previous days exertions and battles. The veteran had the various goods they had acquired the previous day spread on and around the table.
"Morning all, he said by way of welcome to each as they entered the room. "I've talked to Ecurius earlier this morning; discussed a few things. He's dealing with the events of yesterday for us, and this lot," he gestured to their acquisitions, "is going to stay in our possession; Ecurius has taken the books and letters we recovered but he's willing to make it available to any of you if you want to look at it, though we wont have much time since I'd prefer to leave before too long. I also presuaded him to once again employ his divinations for our benefit, to find out just what all this stuff does."
Here's the list of stuff, as identified by Ecurius and explained by Wolf:
Elaborate ivory wand from Cancer: Wand of Mage Armour, 36 charges remaining.
Cancer's potion: Potion of Cat's Grace
Monk's potion: Cure Moderate Wounds
Monk's ornate but non-magical silver bracers - someone can try and appraise these if they want.
Monk's magical hand-straps: Ki Straps, which increase the saving throw DC of a monk's stunning attacks by 5 (IIRC - I'm working off memory here and will check stuff when I get home, as I'm currently working off a uni computer).
2 potions from the Dragonkin: Cure Light Wounds
Strange and exotic Dragonkin mace inlaid with gold and lapis lazuli: Heavy Mace +1
Golden Dragonkin Earring: +10 enhancement bonus to Listen checks.
Silver Dragonkin Ring: Ring of Protection +1
Dragonkin jewellry: Non-magical, can be appraised for value.
Kaelos's red gem amulet: Amulet of Dragon's Toughness Grants +12 hit points to the wearer.
Normal flintlock pistol recovered from slavers.
Yew arrows tipped with lapis lazuli: Arrows +1 of Shock. There are 37 of these.
Black Steel Longsword: Wolf identifies this as being of a particular type of metal called Carthagian blacksteel. Particularly fine balance and edge.
Brown-Black Powder that radiates magic: Death's Heart powder, made from the heart of a particular type of undead. Empowers any necromantic spell that it is used as an additional spell component for with a bonus to the DC. 10 doses available.
Crystalline Javelins: 6 prismatic javelins - magical javelins which when thrown energise into a bolt of a particular type depending on a d6 roll: fire, lightning, cold, acid, sonic, or Force.
Scrolls from the desk: Fireball and Summon Monster II
Potions from the desk: Cure Light Wounds and Invisibility
Vial of noxious substance: Some sort of poison.
Box of gems from Cancer's desk: Can be appraised.
Box of gems from Ak'Mun'Tep: Sapphires + lapis lazuli, can be appraised.
Box of spices from Ak'Mun'Tep: Magical - Gehennan Spice. When a dose is taken it gives the recipient a bonus of +10 to Spot and Listen checks as it taps straight into their nervous systems and boosts their senses to greatly heightened levels for ten minutes, as well creating a sense of well-being and calm. 10 doses in the box.
650 gp's in coin.
Carnifex
First Post
And the Moonblaze spell can be found here:
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=742681#post742681
http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&postid=742681#post742681
Carnifex
First Post
As requested, here is more
As he stood looking at the items as they were described, Burl’s eyes were drawn to the brown-black powder, known as Death’s Heart. He had remembered reading about it, but just for the moment couldn’t remember what it did exactly, but he did know that it could be added to necromantic spells, and there seemed to be enough for ten applications. He would bet that this wouldn’t be of any use to the others.
Wolf seemed to have smoothed things over with Lord Ecurius, one way or another. Melisande felt relieved. She was fresh and bright that morning--frankly approaching radiant with excitement and cheer--but had this time done her hair in more practical fashion, braided only at the temples. Brimming with her new spells she planned to show them off, but the heaps of fascinating spoils on the common room table distracted her utterly. (There would be time. And the new spells had endless possibilities as fun surprises for her companions, she thought.)
Burl seemed to be coming back to the same few items she too had been most interested in. With the Fire-Serpent Rod already in her possession, she felt no need of another wand, but it was true that if the two of them would be going armorless they might each take some defensive enhancement or other.
"Oh Burl, I completely forgot to help you with your salves last night; I hope it went all right without me. Look, this Death-powder and these scrolls of Fireball and Monster Summoning are perfect for you..." She struggled a moment, trying not to sound stuck-up about having her own inner source of magic rather than a silly old book. "I don't want the wand either, really, if you're going to take that. But I wouldn't mind the Ring of Protection or the Amulet, and one of the Curing potions. My goodness, I owe you money too," she blurted upon seeing the stacks of gold. She waited, however, for the others' claims before reaching for anything.
Wyshira joined the others gathered around the table spread with the spoils of the previous day's victory. To see it all in one place like this was quite impressive. She hesitated to handle most of the items, standing back away from the table instead, but she watched as Burl examined several things with obvious interest. Of all the items there, only the crystalline javelins drew her eye. Wolf explained that Ecurius had identified everything for them, and when she asked specifically about the javelins, he described how they worked and called them prismatic. They appealed to Wyshira even more, now that she knew their nature, and she reached out with delicate fingers to take one of the bright things up in her hand.
The javelin flashed and sparkled in the light pouring in through the windows, and Wyshira noted that it seemed to weigh nothing at all. "I'd like to have these," she announced enthusiastically.
* * *
Whatever else might have happened during the past few days, Sebastion found his morning drill easier than he remembered. There hadn’t been many opportunities for practice for its own sake, of late, but he had benefited more from putting that practice to good effect, it seemed.
As he’d suspected, the goods were on offer to them the next morning – to the victor the spoils, as it were – and he joined the others in their appraisal as he listened to Wolf list the virtues of various items and substances. Most of them were, at the least, beyond his use if not completely beyond his understanding, but others raised a note of interest. The lightning arrows that had been fired at them, for instance, seemed something of note, and the ornate, decorative mace…
But they’re magical… he reminded himself, still unsure just how far he could trust such a fickle practice. In friendly hands it’s one thing, but… I have no idea who might have enchanted these. What if it turns on me? What if the magic fades? A magical mace, of course, is still a mace should the magic be lost, but a finely wrought sword can never turn on its owner, and I could use a good, one-handed blade for mounted combat…
Nevertheless, his fingers ran over the last, fading, yellow remnants of the crushing blow that magical mace had laid into his ribs, and his eyes sought out the red gem that had hung about Cancer’s throat.
”That, uh… that Amulet of the Dragon…… how does that work, exactly?” he asked Melisande, quietly, hoping no-one would overhear.
"Well," Mel began, taking a long breath, "the actual execution of an object like this requires years of study, but the principle is simple enough. It probably contains a small sample taken from a real dragon as a focal point; most likely a bit of protective scale or an organ of metabolism, such as the liver or thyroid. The enchantment process is not something I've studied much, but the outcome is that the amulet channels some vital thaumic energy from the focus to the wearer so that the wearer is endowed with a very small but significant quantum of dragon 'toughness'; in other words, you could resist more serious wounds. Take what that mace did to you yesterday! You might not even have passed out. Although it was probably more comfortable that way, come to think of it. Still, handy if you plan on becoming a warlord."
She ended on a bright smile, finding herself distracted once again by the sweet, earthy scent Sebastion seemed to exude particularly in the morning. Where does it come from, she puzzled, and why is it so interesting anyway? "Why, you smell like hay!"
Listening to Mel made Burl think about what she was saying, “Mel, what you say makes sense to a point. I could go along with you about the dragon. However, I would believe that it gains it’s power from necromancy. Take for example a spell on a scroll I just received." Burl paused a moment, whoops there I go opening my mouth without thinking. Hopefully they won’t notice, then continued, "this scroll contained a spell which takes the energy from another being and transfers it to the caster or at least that is what I think it does. Now doesn’t this leave you to believe that the amulets magic is derived from or at least in some form from necromantic energy." Burl loved talking to another mage about the fine arts and this was the first time he had been able to engage in a learned discussion.
Desperately grateful for this opportunity to eschew the topic of Sebastion's odor, Mel turned quickly away to listen to Burl.
"Why yes, I think you're right! I was unclear on the mechanics but it must be some sort of transfer of vital force--why didn't I think of necromancy? Ninny, I've worked in a Manipulator's lab for long enough! Of course, these days I have been trying to put that icky mucking about with corpses out of my mind.
"I mean--not--you know--I didn't mean icky, per se, just not my cup of... ichor. Ah ha.
"And don't worry, I figured out you were a necromancer a long time ago. I mean, ghoul dust? Come on. Although you do seem less snot-nosed than the ones I used to work with. You should have--oh, I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"
Oh, this is just wonderful. Someone who can understand my life’s work. thought Burl.
“You then can possibly understand the problems that a necromancer like myself can have. Look at this example. Think of the good that can be had by taking a dying person. A person who has no hope of recovery and using their final life’s force to make something like this amulet. They will die anyway, we just speed the process up a little. Someone such as Sebastion or yourself will benefit greatly by their death. This is just one such use for my art." Burl is positively glowing as he relates to his craft.
Sebastion tried to listen intently, but the continued way that Melisande kept wrinkling her nose was starting to make him a little paranoid, and he almost missed the point of what she was saying to him.
"Will I grow scal... Hay?" he said, as she suddenly changed tack. "Well, probably, I spent the..." he began to respond, pointing towards the red amulet that Sebastion was holding in one hand.
"... gains its power from necromancy." Unseen by the two academics, Sebastion lurched slightly, almost flinging the amulet to the table in his haste to get it out of his grasp.
"Necromancy!" he almost yelped, startled at the idea. First it kills you, then it makes you 'tough'. Some gift...
"... I figured out you were a necromancer a long time ago... Sebastion backed away hurriedly, his eyes widening even as his hand scrabbled on the table for the hilt of the black-bladed sword, warily watching Burl with a new concern.
"No, Sebastion will not be hanging some dead person's spirit round his neck, thank you very much. Dead people belong in boxes, in the ground, or burnt on pyres, not stuck in bloody gems. You leave me out of it..."
As he stood looking at the items as they were described, Burl’s eyes were drawn to the brown-black powder, known as Death’s Heart. He had remembered reading about it, but just for the moment couldn’t remember what it did exactly, but he did know that it could be added to necromantic spells, and there seemed to be enough for ten applications. He would bet that this wouldn’t be of any use to the others.
Wolf seemed to have smoothed things over with Lord Ecurius, one way or another. Melisande felt relieved. She was fresh and bright that morning--frankly approaching radiant with excitement and cheer--but had this time done her hair in more practical fashion, braided only at the temples. Brimming with her new spells she planned to show them off, but the heaps of fascinating spoils on the common room table distracted her utterly. (There would be time. And the new spells had endless possibilities as fun surprises for her companions, she thought.)
Burl seemed to be coming back to the same few items she too had been most interested in. With the Fire-Serpent Rod already in her possession, she felt no need of another wand, but it was true that if the two of them would be going armorless they might each take some defensive enhancement or other.
"Oh Burl, I completely forgot to help you with your salves last night; I hope it went all right without me. Look, this Death-powder and these scrolls of Fireball and Monster Summoning are perfect for you..." She struggled a moment, trying not to sound stuck-up about having her own inner source of magic rather than a silly old book. "I don't want the wand either, really, if you're going to take that. But I wouldn't mind the Ring of Protection or the Amulet, and one of the Curing potions. My goodness, I owe you money too," she blurted upon seeing the stacks of gold. She waited, however, for the others' claims before reaching for anything.
Wyshira joined the others gathered around the table spread with the spoils of the previous day's victory. To see it all in one place like this was quite impressive. She hesitated to handle most of the items, standing back away from the table instead, but she watched as Burl examined several things with obvious interest. Of all the items there, only the crystalline javelins drew her eye. Wolf explained that Ecurius had identified everything for them, and when she asked specifically about the javelins, he described how they worked and called them prismatic. They appealed to Wyshira even more, now that she knew their nature, and she reached out with delicate fingers to take one of the bright things up in her hand.
The javelin flashed and sparkled in the light pouring in through the windows, and Wyshira noted that it seemed to weigh nothing at all. "I'd like to have these," she announced enthusiastically.
* * *
Whatever else might have happened during the past few days, Sebastion found his morning drill easier than he remembered. There hadn’t been many opportunities for practice for its own sake, of late, but he had benefited more from putting that practice to good effect, it seemed.
As he’d suspected, the goods were on offer to them the next morning – to the victor the spoils, as it were – and he joined the others in their appraisal as he listened to Wolf list the virtues of various items and substances. Most of them were, at the least, beyond his use if not completely beyond his understanding, but others raised a note of interest. The lightning arrows that had been fired at them, for instance, seemed something of note, and the ornate, decorative mace…
But they’re magical… he reminded himself, still unsure just how far he could trust such a fickle practice. In friendly hands it’s one thing, but… I have no idea who might have enchanted these. What if it turns on me? What if the magic fades? A magical mace, of course, is still a mace should the magic be lost, but a finely wrought sword can never turn on its owner, and I could use a good, one-handed blade for mounted combat…
Nevertheless, his fingers ran over the last, fading, yellow remnants of the crushing blow that magical mace had laid into his ribs, and his eyes sought out the red gem that had hung about Cancer’s throat.
”That, uh… that Amulet of the Dragon…… how does that work, exactly?” he asked Melisande, quietly, hoping no-one would overhear.
"Well," Mel began, taking a long breath, "the actual execution of an object like this requires years of study, but the principle is simple enough. It probably contains a small sample taken from a real dragon as a focal point; most likely a bit of protective scale or an organ of metabolism, such as the liver or thyroid. The enchantment process is not something I've studied much, but the outcome is that the amulet channels some vital thaumic energy from the focus to the wearer so that the wearer is endowed with a very small but significant quantum of dragon 'toughness'; in other words, you could resist more serious wounds. Take what that mace did to you yesterday! You might not even have passed out. Although it was probably more comfortable that way, come to think of it. Still, handy if you plan on becoming a warlord."
She ended on a bright smile, finding herself distracted once again by the sweet, earthy scent Sebastion seemed to exude particularly in the morning. Where does it come from, she puzzled, and why is it so interesting anyway? "Why, you smell like hay!"
Listening to Mel made Burl think about what she was saying, “Mel, what you say makes sense to a point. I could go along with you about the dragon. However, I would believe that it gains it’s power from necromancy. Take for example a spell on a scroll I just received." Burl paused a moment, whoops there I go opening my mouth without thinking. Hopefully they won’t notice, then continued, "this scroll contained a spell which takes the energy from another being and transfers it to the caster or at least that is what I think it does. Now doesn’t this leave you to believe that the amulets magic is derived from or at least in some form from necromantic energy." Burl loved talking to another mage about the fine arts and this was the first time he had been able to engage in a learned discussion.
Desperately grateful for this opportunity to eschew the topic of Sebastion's odor, Mel turned quickly away to listen to Burl.
"Why yes, I think you're right! I was unclear on the mechanics but it must be some sort of transfer of vital force--why didn't I think of necromancy? Ninny, I've worked in a Manipulator's lab for long enough! Of course, these days I have been trying to put that icky mucking about with corpses out of my mind.
"I mean--not--you know--I didn't mean icky, per se, just not my cup of... ichor. Ah ha.
"And don't worry, I figured out you were a necromancer a long time ago. I mean, ghoul dust? Come on. Although you do seem less snot-nosed than the ones I used to work with. You should have--oh, I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?"
Oh, this is just wonderful. Someone who can understand my life’s work. thought Burl.
“You then can possibly understand the problems that a necromancer like myself can have. Look at this example. Think of the good that can be had by taking a dying person. A person who has no hope of recovery and using their final life’s force to make something like this amulet. They will die anyway, we just speed the process up a little. Someone such as Sebastion or yourself will benefit greatly by their death. This is just one such use for my art." Burl is positively glowing as he relates to his craft.
Sebastion tried to listen intently, but the continued way that Melisande kept wrinkling her nose was starting to make him a little paranoid, and he almost missed the point of what she was saying to him.
"Will I grow scal... Hay?" he said, as she suddenly changed tack. "Well, probably, I spent the..." he began to respond, pointing towards the red amulet that Sebastion was holding in one hand.
"... gains its power from necromancy." Unseen by the two academics, Sebastion lurched slightly, almost flinging the amulet to the table in his haste to get it out of his grasp.
"Necromancy!" he almost yelped, startled at the idea. First it kills you, then it makes you 'tough'. Some gift...
"... I figured out you were a necromancer a long time ago... Sebastion backed away hurriedly, his eyes widening even as his hand scrabbled on the table for the hilt of the black-bladed sword, warily watching Burl with a new concern.
"No, Sebastion will not be hanging some dead person's spirit round his neck, thank you very much. Dead people belong in boxes, in the ground, or burnt on pyres, not stuck in bloody gems. You leave me out of it..."
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