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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Isida Kep'Tukari" data-source="post: 2873489" data-attributes="member: 4441">Hxaptaos: [sblock]The division between your voices is gone, and your mind no longer seems as fractured.  The best anology you can think of is as if your mind were a pottery statue that had fractured into many different pieces and now it had been glued back together.  It was still fundementally broken, but now could function as it had before, and stronger for the experience.  When sneakiness is needed, you can be sneaky without having to resort to another face.  And the Fury's strength and survival instinct is there for you, at your service, instead of waiting to take over like a rabid beast.  Seeing the world through the doorway had offered a glimpse so far into madness that it had taken you into a new kind of sanity, one less educated and experienced beings could never understand.There was another curious thing about your trips down to Fallen.  Each time you went into your metal room, you noticed an oddly well-organized pile of rubble near the doorway.  Your bodyguards never commented on it, and initially you put it out of your mind.  But each day you returned it was a bit more elaborate, with crude drawings daubed on it in dark red paste, pieces of junk arranged to form a stylized spiked maw, and finally tiny knives and small bowls of blood begin to appear on it.  It's an altar to the Dragon Below.  The ravers must consider this a holy place, which is probably why you've been left alone, bodyguards or no bodyguards.[/sblock]Shenystari: [sblock]  Shenystari can quickly learn the leader of this new branch of philosophy is a group who call themselves the Illuminated Minds.  The leader is a charismatic man called Arden Fair, a human native of Aundair.  The books they use are several self-authored by Arden and his closest followers, apparently written after years of intense research and contemplation.  Opal and her friends seem receptive to Shenystari’s alternative teachings, but oftentimes they seem to forget what they discussed the night before, and have to be reminded.  Granted some of that could be laid to revels, but many of these nights coincide with her meetings with the Illuminated Minds.  Shenystari smells a rat, a very subtle rat at that.  While her tutoring sessions allow her entry into the houses of the wealthy, and easily pay her bills and then some, she feels the looming presence of the Dreaming Dark shadowing these youngsters.[/sblock]Rayni: [sblock]  Researching a few musty old religious texts and more modern half-lunatic ravings in academic publications, Rayni learns a bit about the Blood of Vol.  It’s a relatively common religion in Karrnath, though most still worship the Sovereign Host.  It’s popularity has waxed and waned with the ages, and now it seems to be waning.  The fundamental belief of the Blood of Vol is that death must be conquered, not endured.  The undead are revered as champions in the struggle to conquer death and show mortals the path to godhood.  Of the Mark of Death, you find very little, only that its powers related to death and the undead.  Since the dragonmarks usually mimic spells, you research spell descriptions (not actual spellbooks, Morgrave doesn’t have any) as to what kinds of things it could do.  There are spells to detect the dying and the undead, to speak with the dead, command them, or even create them. When you research the removal of dragonmarks, you come across something very disturbing, at least for you.  The book is called A Collection of Markings Arcane and Divine, Focusing on Dragonmarked Flesh, written by Professor Ferbuson Kel’veth, and the passage is as follows:[/sblock]Mel: [sblock] OOC: this will be something purely between you and Dazza, as I can’t control Bail’s reactions (or lack thereof).  Unfortunately Melody is not quite good enough to get into the parties of the rich and famous.  Mel hasn’t practiced enough yet to make Melody’s dancing something the rich and jaded would appreciate.  She thinks she could, given enough practice, but for right now she’s stuck in the lower taverns, inns, and festhalls.   Layferi Melvin can locate working at the Art Temple theater in Upper Menthis as a director’s assistant.  It’s a very cutting-edge, avant-guard type of theater, and one where Melvin is clearly not the usual clientele.  He’d have to switch guises to get in, so that’s what he does, after dropping by a used clothing shop for a better set of threads.  A nicer suit of clothes later, he can wander in to get a glimpse of his quarry.  Only a glimpse though, because he’s quickly shooed out by ushers (they’re rehearsing).  Layferi is a slight elf with long golden hair dressed in a single braid.  His profile is sculpted and his clothes are dark and closely tailored to a slender frame.For Isar’even, Melvin can see even less.  He walks by her home in Shae Lias, but is unable to catch a glimpse of her, and can’t think of any reason off the top of his head as to how he can get himself admitted.  Her home is grand, crafted from well-fitted stone and livewood, and has elegant gardens all around it.[/sblock]Harolk: [sblock]Also, you are easily able to win enough cash to continue living in high style, with fifty-two gold to spare, easily.  You can make acquaintances at people in your area when taking in the occasional show, concert, or night on the town.  So at least some people in your neighborhood give you a passing nod of recognition, you’re now part of the landscape.  Just before you head out the door, however, you notice a letter that was delivered to your home earlier that day, addressed as follows.Silas Karrathen, 458 Glassspire Tower, Platinate, Upper Menthis Plateau, Menthis, Sharn, Breland.The only mark of a return address is the sealing wax, a dark purplish-blue marked with a flail.  It bears the stamp of the House Vadalis gargoyle messenger service, and the mark of House Sivis mail service.  The envelope is made from fine heavy paper stock in a rich cream, and the address is written in sparkling midnight blue ink.[/sblock]Tondrek: [sblock]In addition to your daily tinkering in the bowels of Fallen, you just have to have something to do to keep yourself busy for the rest of the daylight hours.  Otherwise you’ll end up making your flophouse room into an elaborate castle laden with traps.  Hxaptos nearly broke his arm setting them off one morning, and was cross the entire day.You dawdle back to your rooms in the evening, stopping by small homes and hovels that now recognize you, repairing pots and pans, cups and plates, and even devising a few small mechanical improvements to haul water or trash that the people find useful beyond measure.  Of course, they had to stop you from getting too enthusiastic.  One type of device you’re certain could have been powered with a small clockwork device, but eventually you had to make do with a dog, rat, or sometimes a small child.  You can collect a few coppers a day from these services, but money is secondary to the fun you’re having!  It puts you twenty silver ahead come time for your meal in the Cogs.[/sblock]Bail’s House Party in 254 Yellow Tower:[sblock]The Hrazhak team pours into the little home, its relative size suddenly shrinking as every space suddenly sports a player, platter of roasted meat or mugs of ale (from the Pig and Potion down the street), or a musician.  Bront’s Troubadours could spare a drummer, pennywhistler, and a fiddler for an hour, with a harper to follow them afterwards.  The first hour is pure chaos, as driving beats and wild reels make for free-spirited dancing all around the apartment.  Rayni finds studying impossible and is drawn toward the rambunctious crowd in the next room almost against her will.  Trev pounces on her in a friendly manner, his usual wolfish grace now more the enthusiasm of a friendly hound.  “Wanna dance, pretty Ray ‘o Sunshine?” he asks, using a pet name he had for her.  He’s wet, they all are, the game was in a thunderstorm and they wash off in a rain gutter on the way home.  But his light brown hair is rapidly drying, making him look rather fuzzy and poofy, far less menacing that before, for whatever reason.  He’s only an inch taller than Rayni, but much more heavily muscled.He pulls her into a reel, unafraid and giddy with the team’s success.  Melanie Vega is doing the same with a flushed Bail, while Malik snickers in a corner.  When the musicians take a break, Malik snags Bail alone over to a corner and shoves a mug full of ale in his hands.  “Balinor’s Teeth and Talons, when are you going to make your move Bail?  Melanie is all but posing for you, she wants you, I can tell.  Now, if you don’t have her in your bed soon, Trev and I are going to have to do something embarrassing and drastic,” he says in a low but intense voice, and looks over his shoulder at the approaching Melanie. “Speaking of which, Melanie!  Come here lass, I just want to have a word with you…” he says, hauling Melanie off to a different corner.  “Melanie, I know you’re a good-hearted girl, but I have to say, I don’t think Bail gets it.  Do something drastic and blatant, ‘cause I think the time for subtlety is past.  Want me to lock the two of you in a room together?  Just say the word,” he says with a wink and a friendly pat of the tush.  The shifters as a whole are a very touchy-feely people.  They hug, lean on each other, put arms over each other’s shoulders, and touch often to emphasize something, something that’s a bit strange to some of the people in this apartment.The wildness winds down as the length of the game finally begins to take its toll, and by the time the harper gets here, the rest of the group is more than ready for a rest and some quieter entertainment.  The harper obliges by playing sweet and soothing music to tame these savage beasts, and the night folds into warmth and fellowship.  Trev tries to put his arm around Rayni as they listen to the harper, and even dares a kiss if he can get away with it.OOC: As to whatever else might occur between characters, that’s up to you guys.[/sblock]At the Lava PitThe group trickles into the Lava Pit on the appointed day (first Sar of Lharvion) in the early evening.  It's a large room, lit with a lurid red glow from the lava outside the restaurant, let in by large windows and panels of glassteel set into the floor.  Everburning torches provide the rest of the light, along with the kitchen’s banks of roasting coals, and the small fires in the middle of each table.  The tables and chairs are elegant sculpted stone, looking as if they were formed of molten rock.  Soft cushions in reds, oranges, and yellows soften the chairs, and woven glammerweave tapestries of the firescapes of Fernia decorate the walls.  Despite the warm colors and red light, the place is actually pleasantly cool.The place is staffed mostly by orcs, half-orcs, and surprisingly, a handful of warforged, all dressed in distinctive red doublets.  One warfored even labors over the roasting coals as a chef.  He’s clearly under the tutelage of a plump half-orc with the look of a Marcher about him, but the ‘forged shows little hesitancy in his moves.    Asking for Arimat, you’re guided to a table near a window overlooking the foundry below.  The half-elf is using a long toasting fork to toast some bread and cheese over the little fire on the table.  More baskets of reddish bread and peppery cheese, along with plates and more toasting forks, are arranged around the table.  Arimat looks up at you enter, and gives a small smile.  But even in the reddish light, he looks thin and pale.Your warforged waitress is particularly taken with Tondrek’s companion, the mechanical rat Sparky.  She takes a second to look at him or pet him every time she goes by the table (and since such spicy foods require copious amounts of drink, that’s very often).  Sparky take a moment to heat up his skin at the fire and demand a good polishing from Tondrek.  He wants to look good for his fans.  The group can dine on excellent spicy Shadow Marches barbeque, prepared in plain sight on the roasting coals.  Pork, beef, chicken, rat, lizard, snake, and deer are all available tonight, with a variety of sauces ranging from sweet to volcanic.The clientele is mostly humans, orcs, and half-orcs clearly of Marcher stock, some poor, some not.  However, the signs of the Lava Pit’s up-and-coming reputation are clearly visible.  Groups of richly dressed men and women of all races are scattered throughout the native Marcher crowd, and their murmuring appreciation and rapidly emptying plates show their pleasure.  In one corner a group of warforged, all lacking in the heavy plating characteristic of their kind, sits, laughs, talks, and surprisingly eats and drinks as well.  They’re clearly customers, not staff, and most are dressed well, if not richly.  Tondrek:[sblock]One of them Tondrek clearly recognizes, even though he’s never met her.  He heard her description in Louella’s Last Stand over a month ago.  It’s Forge, her bodice and skirts, as well as her painted face and belt full of tools clearly tallying with what the artificer remembers the two drunk dwarves talking about.[/sblock]“So, what have you guys been up to?  I’ve been laid up sick most of the month, the… bites didn’t want to heal,” he says with some hesitancy.  Some bulkiness underneath his shirt shows he’s still bandaged on the shoulder and neck where the ravers bit him.</blockquote>

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