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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 3829979" data-attributes="member: 4441">In regards to Oliver's question, the bar wench simply demures, saying he'll be here soon and it's not her place to say anything.After about fifteen intensely awkward moments for some, with careful preparation, eating, and thorough searching (no secret compartments or doors are found), your host finally arrives.  And not through the door either.  He strides through the back wall, phasing through as if it were no more substantial than air.  He immediately places his hands out to his sides, revealing they are free of weapons or spell components, and remains still to stave off getting stabbed for his entrance.His dress is typically Cyran, a wide-sleeved tunic in wine red, slashed sleeves in golden yellow, a shirt of the same hue, a short cape of charcoal gray, and red gloves, with heavy embroidery over all.  He is a man of average height and willowy build, dark wavy hair barely touching his shoulders, with dark eyes that he keeps downcast.  The only thing that is remarkable about him is his intense stillness.  You have an impression of limitless patience more suited to an elf than a human.  And considering he barely seems to be approaching middle age, that's quite unusual."My pardons for the abrupt entrance," he says calmly.  At this point, he's probably aware that some people were about to skewer him, but seems quite calm.  "My name is Andoran Se'barrat, and I am pleased you saw fit to come.  He slowly moves to an empty seat, sits and takes a plate, filling it neatly with food and pouring himself wine, taking a few bites before speaking again."It can be amazing what you discover about yourself after everything you know was taken from you," he continues softly.  He gazes at the east wall, as if he could see the Mournland through it, many miles distant.  "Every person in this town, every soul that calls themself Cyran knows what happened in Cyre on the day of Mourning.  Each one knows.  An accident at Whitehearth of House Cannith's doing, an act of terrorism from one country or another, some freakish act of nature, or even the hands of the gods themselves!  Do you know what I think happened?"It doesn't matter.  It honestly doesn't matter.  I don't care anymore about why it happened, or how.  I doubt any of you do either.  Cyre as I knew it is over and done.  I simply want to know how we can use what's left.  And that's where you come in."  He raises an ironic eyebrow at the group."Most of our ready money, the bulk of our people, and all our cities perished two years ago.  The greatest currency of Cyre is the loyalty of its people now.  Which is precisely why I'm not asking any Cyrans what I'm about to ask you."All of us tend to see Cyre through rose-colored glasses, and that's the one thing we cannot afford now.  Cyre is a wasteland, yet new things have taken root there, and we ignore the future of Cyre at our own peril.  The future of Cyre is the Mournland, and all the twisted magic and broken souls therin.  If I asked a half-dozen loyal Cyran fighters or magicians to seek out the current secrets of the Mournland, they would go messily mad, if not die, trying to right the wrongs and restore their homeland.  It can never be restored."He pauses to drink and eat again, knife and fork flashing oddly in the dim light."I was a junior assistant minister of foreign affairs before the Day of Mourning, and I was luckily abroad that day."  Reading between the lines is easy here; he was a spy, probably one with some rank.  "All of my staff was with me, and we've kept in contact.  They never stopped doing their jobs, and neither have I.  It is clear that discovering the secrets I desire cannot be done by conventional means.  So we have been searching for the unconventional.  Normal magic doesn't work very well in the Mournland, so we've been searching for an alternative.  We need things that will work regardless of however magic has been warped, and things that will protect people from whatever the Mournland can create."Several months ago, we found what we were looking for.  But obtaining these things and using them called for people of... a particular mindset.  Those used to looking at the strange as the normal, and not afraid to reach outside the boundaries of what most might consider 'real.'  We found you all, with great difficulty, I'll add.  "I'll be blunt.  We need you to obtain these items and then travel to the Mournland, explore several locations therein and report back on the conditions.  And by no means can you let anyone know what you're doing.  As for payment...  I told you we have no great stores of money.  Much of my staff is engaged in doing a great deal of mundane work just to fund our operations.  However, we still have one store that has not run dry.  Knowledge.  Secrets.  Do you seek someone's name?  Information for blackmail?  A long-lost relative?  An old enemy?  Books?  Spells?  Or perhaps you want information removed and not gained.  A new identity?  Or maybe someone silenced?  This and much more we can do for you if you will do what I ask."What say you?"With that, Andoran sits back and sips his wine and waits for the storm of words.</blockquote>

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