Core OOC thread
Group OOC thread
It would seem that friendship with an tyrannical overlord, if nothing else, provides one with plenty of opportunities for travel. To be fair, this trip was made for purely diplomatic purposes and you weren’t exactly “invited”, not that the big purple lug would try to stop you. You’ve learned better than to leave the dragon unattended for long periods. With everyone else gone on their separate ways, it’s clearly up to you to keep an eye on him.
As far as you can tell, Wero came here to turn over some crazy runaway dignitary from a planet of warrior dwarves, at least after making an attempt to cure it (your idea). Compared with the actual objective, however, the city itself is far more interesting, at least by the standards of the EEE. People on this world seem far more at ease and relaxed than on other worlds. Though the citizens still prostrate themselves at the claws of the dragon, they seem genuinely happy and the different races seem to mingle with greater ease (to the point where you believe you spot a few mixed-breeds hiding in the crowd). Perhaps these more “backwater” worlds aren’t as bad as the others you’ve seen.
Exercising outside of the governor’s no-doubt suffocating mansion, Celestica is left to wait and watch the citizens pass by, many of which watch her in turn. Up above, a couatl floats lazily through the sky.
]It was a very hot day. Not that you could feel it any more than the cold of your home land, of course. No… you could see it. You could see the sun in the sky, abominably large compared with the one you’d come to know. You could see it in the sweat dripping from the brows of humans and elves, see it in their distasteful choice in clothing. Either it was a very hot day or these other races were far more disciplined than you’d expected. It was a very hot day in the city of Orth, one more reminder of just how far you’d travelled to get here. It almost made some twisted type of sense that Salin would come to a place as wrong as this.
Once upon a time, Salin had been a warrior of the highest caliber among your people, a general who lead campaign after campaign against the horrid undead. This was before he died… before he became a part of you. It had been almost a decade after your arrival that the warpriests finally asked to restore life to some dwarves whose death fueled your creation. After all, your people would need a new warchief while you attacked the frost giants and all of the best had fallen. Salin was the first attempt… and so far the only attempt. Though life did return into his body, his presence within you kept him from returning quite whole. At his best, he was a senile shadow of who he had once been. At his worst, he was an utterly insane, if harmless, wreck of a dwarf. At least, you thought he was harmless. Just last month, Salin knocked out his caretaker and several guards as he worked his way out of the city. Three weeks later, he had been found on another city in another nation on another planet. It had fallen on you to get him back home. It was going to be a long day.
Your host on this world, a large purple dragon whose long name you have forgotten past the first couple of syllables (not that it is of any real concern for he has warned you not to use that name) stands on the opposite end of the room in the governor’s mansion, a building supposedly crafted for a pasty-skinned human you’d seen once or twice. Judging by the hall’s size, however, the building itself was made to accommodate the dragon. The dragon’s somewhat more hospitable ally remained outside, apparently bored with the entire affair.
The only other person in the room besides the two of you and Salin himself was a young female aasimar. As a courtesy to you and your people, she has been contacted to see if she can help Salin’s condition. Though even your most skilled healers have failed to do so thus far, she was supposedly one of the best in the whole great wheel. Well, at least she could try.
It is a real burden at times, being as loved and adored as you. You keep trying to set some rules but some peon always believes that breaking them would somehow win your favor. Just last month, an inquisitor on one of your newer planets thought that you’d be pleased by doubling the maximum duration of torture for a con man. When another inquisitor sought to punish the first for this infraction, the orc torturer resisted and was slain on the spot. This would be the end of it if those two inquisitors hadn’t been related, leading to accusations on the second of conspiring to grant the torturer leniency through mere death. The rest has been a rather confusing and embarrassing affair, punctuated with pathetic attempts to anticipate what you “want” rather than following the rules. While most new acquisitions stumble for a while, this has been one of the bigger headaches, putting your mate in something of a mood. Oh why must your people love and adore you so?
Putting aside that bit of ongoing drama for the moment, you briefly look over the scene before you. A rather withered looking dwarf sits on a chair in the center, looking around with confusion that nearly met your own boredom with the affair. That old coot was supposedly some great general from a planet of dwarven warriors, another of which stood on the other side of the room. How the dwarf had ended up here was a bit of a mystery but even with your great mental facilities, you couldn’t seem to put muster the will required to care one way or another. You were here to hand the dwarf over and establish ties with this nation of legendary warriors. Nothing more. Well, almost nothing more. At the urging of Celestica, you put forth a request for a healer who might be able to help the dwarf (even though simply handing him over should have been more than enough). Your request had been answered by a young aasimar, supposedly a healer of some great skill who had arrived just a minute ago. Hopefully this matter will end soon enough and you could leave this backwater planet. Celestica, having no obligations in this matter, was waiting outside in the city. How lucky for her.
There was no doubt in Rahja’s mind. She had seen far worse than this place. Though you’d heard awful things of the empire and its draconian leader, those within the empire didn’t truly seem to be suffering beyond vague worries of paying their taxes. Most of the signs of the emperor’s rule were subdued and underplayed, easy for a newcomer to miss. The haunted look in the eyes of some guards. The lack of half-breeds and orcs in the city. The subtle integration of draonic motifs into architecture. If it weren’t for the stories and rumors, even you might have missed or laughed off the signs.
Today, however, neither the empire nor its leader were your primary concern. No, that honor, as it so commonly did, belonged to your patient. You had been summoned for your wondrous healing abilities. Though you would never broadcast your powers boastfully, you were likely one of the few with any real chance of restoring a partially torn soul. The patient in question, a dwarf depicting all the traditional signs of more traditional lunacy (lack of responsiveness, slurred words, shaved chin, etc.), rested before you in the governor’s mansion while another large dwarf and the empire’s gigantic ruler stood behind you.
Looking into the dwarf’s vacant gaze, your zen spheres communicate a medley of disjointed, nonsensical concerns. He was concerned that he’d left his best flagon unattended back at home. He was concerned that the Boiler Man may soon control a vast draconic empire. He was concerned that he was able to see himself standing in the corner of the room with somebody else’s face. He was concerned that you intended to kill him, just as he had watched you and your haven slay innocents by the thousand. More than anything else, however, he was scared that the world you knew was unlikely to last another hour, scared that he couldn’t even find the words to warn his own leaders. The thought of what might come next was terrifying.