Death's End IC II

[esorscher]

"I think so," Arran says through the link.

[Togo]

Of the Twelve? Well I suppose I am, I mean I was, I mean I am...

A flush starts to appear on his cheek and neck.

...so, coins you say? He says, seizing on the fresh topic. You think he was after them in particular, rather than just any coin?

He glances down the allyway thoughtfully.

This isn't the best place for an ambush. It's good for around here, but this district isn't where I'd choose if I wanted to rob just anyone. Too many people would come past before you finished looting the victim. A decent route for a getaway, but still...

His gaze travels up to the rooftops, and then up and down the road.

Maybe he's been following you since Forger's Row, He muses and only attacked you now because there was an opportunity...

[Sen isSaqqara]

"Well," says Lirian, as she finishes looking over the document, "I think I can agree to this. All the research I plan to do on the third floor will be tangential to my projects at most, so I doubt that the fifty-percent clause will apply. Do you have a pen I could use?"

I rather like it in here. It is quiet. I could get used to a place such as this.
So could I. I can't wait to get started on my research, though.

[Ajadea]

Calia shakes her head in response to Ben's question. "No, just being friendly." Her spirits don't seem to be dampened in the slightest by the lack of festivity in the Row. She greets the stranger with a nod of the head, and laughs at his boast. "We'll have to see about that!" She walks with Ben towards the contest.

"That is what I'm here for. But do try not to say anything stupid, alright? Ideally, I shouldn't have to smooth over anything."

[gallagher]

Hey now, I don't actively try to be abrasive! It just sort of... happens... and usually only when I am surprised. Regardless, I still think you should sign up for this contest. Even if you aren't good at spotting, you are quite talented at hiding.

[PersonMan]

Elara returns the man's smile, taking a brief moment to appreciate the curve of his lips, the pleasing form his face becomes as his expression changes to the warm, friendly one. As he speaks of reinventing himself, the mage nods in understanding - as someone who had introduced herself to others dozens of times, she new that it was a unique chance to decide precisely what the other person would think of oneself. Of course, there were limits. Elara occasionally found herself wondering which details to bring to the other's attention and which to leave out, not knowing precisely what would evoke a positive and what a negative response.

"The mountains, huh? I was just up in the Pillars myself, actually. Got some very nice landscapes up there, plus a few nice portraits," Elara says, as Myrmidon mentions having come down from the mountains. As he continues, she listens, curious about the pretty healer's words. The gesture that follows - a deep bow as he says that he sees her as a hero - bring another smile to her face, and the wanderer takes a moment to come up with the right words to respond to him. "Thank you. I didn't really do much, though, it was a group effort to get rid of the assailant," Elara says. As the man's question is answered by Ilsa, she steps to the side slightly, to more easily look at each member of the conversation without having to turn her head constantly.

"Well, the coins are pretty odd. They have a hexagon on the back rather than the normal sort of thing. Based on what Ilsa said, they're no good for normal use, so if he was after them it may well be that he was stalking her for quite some time," Elara begins, as Myrmidon asks about them. "I was planning on having a closer look at them once I got off the streets," pausing, she smiles, more in irony than joy. "I did have some plans for visiting the festival, but I think those may be nixed for now. I do have something nice happening at midnight, though, so it's not like my day is ruined."

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: The robed man looks down at you, taking in your weaponry and overall appearance. Breaking out into a slow smile, he nods graciously. "Very well. Simply put, we are using a points system. Zero points if you miss your target, two points for an arm or a leg, four points for a torso shot, and six for a head shot. Each contestant will be able to shoot up to a dozen arrows, and their scores will be tallied. We are recording all of the top scores, and if you make it into the all star round, your name will be called. For this reason, we ask that you leave some form of contact information with us here when you sign up." As he speaks, you can see several of the contestants begin to stretch and string their weapons. A few of them eye you, taking the time to evaluate their competition.

Furthermore, through the earring you can hear little bits of sound over Ben's voice in Forger's Row. A few low murmurs, a voice over a crowd which is suddenly interrupted by a whistle and then another voice. The magical connection does little to convey the particulars of sound other than the voice of the intended pairing, it seems. Nonetheless, you get the sense that something is happening on the other end.


Ben, Calia: You are met at the end of the road by a small gathering. There cannot be more than eight or nine other competitors that you can see, hanging around the edges of the dim firelight from a nearby forge. A wooden platform - not ornate, but with a kind of elegant functionality - dominates over this section of the street. Judging by the various sheets and flyers plastered to the walls nearby, this seems to be a regular haunt of those interested in the local community. You can almost picture the bustle of this street during the day, laborers and merchantmen alike trudging between dark soot and winking flames. The warmth would be stifling, a blanket that threatened to choke you at any moment. But everyone would be standing alike, thriving and suffering together. There is a kind of camaraderie in that, a bond of blood that runs deep between the goblinoids. It may not be something you can appreciate, but it is certainly unmistakeable in others.

Tonight, however, paints a very different picture.

The individuals around you are just that: individual. Not a single one is alike. There are members of all different races and genders, who look like they come from various socio-economic backgrounds. There is a woman dressed in black who looks like she just came from a battleground, an extremely androgynous half-elf, and a dwarf who is less wearing armor so much as an armory. There is no unity here, no form of kinship to cling to. Whatever the rules of this contest turn to be, there is a fair bet that at least some blood will be shed before the end of it. The halfling that led you here cannot suppress another smirk, but you get the sense that he isn't trying all that had to conceal it. Up there, on the platform, is another halfling. Although flanked by guards and a robed festival employee, he seems to radiate a quiet authority. He takes his time moving to the foreground. "Evenin'. My name is Kalyk. Some of you may know me as the Fair, or Fairhands. Tonight, I'll be the coordinator for the stealth contest. Now, let me explain the - " A sharp, high whistle from the far end of the street cuts him off. Everyone seems to turn and look at once.

It takes a moment to reconcile the image you see with its surroundings. A fine carriage sits in the space between the two buildings, pulled by a pair of equally fine horses. Lacquered black paneling is met with gold paint trim. Everything about it screams wealth to a degree not often seen outside of the upper echelons of government. The doors to the carriage remain shut, and there is no light within. The driver sits upright, wearing a dark blue uniform that neither of you recognize. Slowly, he moves his hand from his mouth down to his side. He appears to be the one to have produced the whistling noise.

"Excuse me. I was sent here to retrieve one Calia Simore. Is there anyone here with that name?"


Elara, Myr: There is a slight pause as Ilsa suppresses a giggle at Myr's consternation, and another grateful glance from Kale almost seems to make the stars overhead just a little bit brighter. The approach of the guards spoils the moment, however. One of them stumbles over and does his best impression of a courtly bow to both of the ladies, nearly falling over in the attempt. The other seems more alert, but he doesn't look all that pleased to see a group of strangely garbed people hanging around in the middle of the street. He moves forward, his lit torch creating a lattice of light and shadows over the stones.

"You had best be moving along, folks. Everyone else in Onyx is either at Heroes' Plaza or saying their nightly prayers. Which one are you?"


Lirian: "Perfect! I've got a writing utensil for you to use. Now, please sign here, here, and over here." Sylvia indicates the dotted lines in question, waiting for you to finish before motioning for you to hand back the parchment. If anything, she seems genuinely to show you around the third floor. This older woman, despite what must be years of experience and her position as the keeper of one of the greatest repositories of knowledge on Brelan, is waiting for you to show her something new.

[esorscher]

"Arm, leg, torso, head... are we not shooting at the conventional targets, you know, the various rings around the center? It make no difference to me--I'll just have to adjust my aim. I just want to be sure that we're not shooting at... you know... people." Arran smiles broadly as he takes out a scrap of paper to write his name down on. Assuming they are not, in fact, shooting at people, Arran will sign up for the contest and look for where to take his shots from.

[Togo]

Myr raises an eyebrow.

You were travelling in the Pillars? That's.. further north than I went, but I doubt it was any less dangerous. Were you travelling alone?

He shakes his head.

I was mostly doing odd jobs for locals. Did some guard work for some prospectors, helped out a village with a problem, that kind of thing. Never occured to me as an artist's retreat. I'd like to see those pictures, if you still have them...

As the guards approach he breaks off, and listens to them politely.

...But it looks like we're being moved on. Big cities never like people to loiter, do they?

Myr hesitates, then confides in a low voice

I'm not sure what to do. I did want to see some of the festival tonight, but it's already late, and I still don't have a room for the night. I had two gnomish places recommended to me, the Painted House, and the Janos Crown. They're supposed to be around here somewhere...

He glances furtively around, as if to spot a hostelry lurking in ambush.

...but I fear I still have a bit of searching ahead of me.

[Ajadea]

Calia turns and looks with the others. The carriage seems so incongruous with its surroundings, as out of place as a snowman in the rocky hills of Siara. She is even more shocked when the driver calls out her name. She lifts her chin a little and does not even glance at Ben. "I am Calia Simore," she says, pushing her half-mask up onto her forehead. Her voice sounds strange to her own ears for a second. Then she realizes that she's slipped back into Academy tones, clipped, precise, and formal. "And I first would know who seeks my presence." It's easier now to stand tall and confident, to expect answers rather than to blindly obey.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian signs where indicated, handing the paper back to Sylvia. "Well, I'd better get my notes unpacked. I don't suppose there's more private workspaces available on the third floor..."

[gallagher]

Ben keeps his irritation to himself, as he realizes that he is about to be left to his own devices in a sea of what he hopes are civilized goblinoids. He looks back to the carriage and the page who called for Calia, tries to memorize the page's face, and then States at Calia as if he is just another onlooker in the crowd

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: "We did originally have that set up, but some of our contestants felt that it might be more... realistic to use this system. Rest assured, these are dummies and nobody will be harmed in the process of this contest." The lady thanks you as you sign your name, and happily takes your gold. She then takes your hand, writing down the number seventeen in dark ink. The touch of the pen is cool, but the pressure of the nub to your skin is a little painful. It does not draw blood, however. The representative smiles apologetically. "Just so we can keep track of when people are up to shoot. You can take your place in any of the lines whenever your weapon is ready."


Ben, Calia: The small gathering around you grumbles with irritation at the interruption of the contest, and Kalyk seems to be doing his best to keep the peace. The halfling shoots the festival workers a significant glance, and they begin to quiet everyone down. He then looks down at Calia, as if to politely tell her to take her business elsewhere. The driver, for his part, waits for you to approach before engaging you in conversation. He seems to notice that there is something going on, and refuses to make a second disturbance.

"I've been sent by one Landry Folkor, Headmaster of the di Kerastin Academy. He has been alerted to your presence in the city, and wishes to dine with you. I believe the words he used were 'catch up' and 'talk about a job offer'. He waits for you at Maryn Hall, in East Harth. I was sent to pass along his greetings, but also to bring you should you desire quick transport."

Meanwhile, Kalyk continues to address the contestants. "Now, as I was sayin'... the rules of the stealth contest are simple. Each round will last an hour. You'll be given appropriate time to find somewhere to hide in the district, after which point I'll be sending out my lads to sniff you out. Points are awarded for how long you evade the seekers, as well as the creativity of the hiding place. If at the end of the hour, you still haven't been found, report back here. Listen for the horn blast - it'll tell you when time's up. Everyone who hasn't done so needs to sign up on this here ledger, and pay the entrance fee. The highest scorers will move on to the final rounds. Any questions?"


Lirian: Sylvia deigns not to answer your question, opting simply to nod instead. Folding the agreement and tucking it under her arm, she begins to head over to the nearest stairwell. "We don't get as many visitors during night-time hours, so I can guarantee you that you will not be disturbed. Now come on, the stacks are waiting for you."

The climb is unsurprisingly brutal, but once you reach the top you get a much better look at the rest of the Great Library. The stacks seem laid out in a symmetrical pattern, a living artwork that puts anything in Valeria to shame. Everything here is collated and quantified, neatly placed in shelves of burnished wood and buffed stone. Now that you have more or less a bird's eye view of the place, you can see a few oblique parallels to a church. The stained glass, the 't' structure of the hall, even the pyramid at the center of the library are all reminiscent of a place of worship.

"Alright, let's get started. There are a few tables where you can set up, and then we can get started with getting you some books to peruse. Where did you want to look first?"

[esorscher]

Arran smiles politely and assumes his position in line, waiting until his number is called and watching to see his competition. He twangs the string on his bow idly with his thumb as he waits, watching to see how the others perform.

[gallagher]

Ben, being 2 feet tall on his best day, tries his best to gain the attention of the halfling by raising his hands and gesturing, but if he cannot, he waits to ask his questions until he gets to the front of the line to sign up and pay his fee.

Yes, I was wondering, how might we be able to identify they seekers? And by avoid, do they just have to see us, or must we be caught to disqualify? And does being caught disqualify us from subsequent rounds?

[Sen isSaqqara]

"I've had a few works recommended to me, I have the names jotted down here somewhere..."
Lirian picks a desk with a good view of the door, and starts unpacking her notes. She's got a stack of paper with notes that she commonly references, one with completed work, and one of blank paper. She also pulls out a pen and ink, and a straightedge she carved from a stick on their travels. Rooting through the pile of notes, she finds a page with a few things she recorded from Nisus.
"Alright, I'm looking for works on the Hyphasia Theorem. I've had Dawnsong and Khyler recommended as good sources. I know it may seem like a bit of a basic topic, but my hope is that once I'm done, the results of my work will be very accessable, and easy to put into mass-production."

[PersonMan]

"No, well, yes. Sometimes. I had guides, most of the time. I spent some time with the tribes, but for a few days I went out on my own. The mountains are really nice, actually," Elara says, smiling at the memories. Her thoughts went back to the clear mountain air, the green grass of the flat mountaintops. The intricate paintings along the tents of the orcish tribespeople. The similar yet uniquely different markings on the skin of the warriors.

"Not exactly a retreat. I don't actually have a place I stay for long. Y'see, I'm traveling all over Brelan to find, experience and paint true beauty," the mage explains, as she realizes Myrmidon has misunderstood the purpose of her journey into the mountains. Of course, there had been no reason for him to think of her as a true nomad - it wasn't often that one found a 'civilized' person like a painter living on the road. As the guards arrive, Elara hides her slight frown and nods, turning back to the healer as soon as he starts talking. "Well, I'm staying at the Painted House. I have a room there, with a friend of mine, and there may be a place for you there...I'm not sure. It's a nice place to stay. Friendly people," she smiles again, turning to the three others she'd met on the street.

"Well, I think I've had enough adventure for tonight. I hope you all find your beds safe'n'sound. G'night!" With a nod, grin and turn, Elara begins to head down the street towards the Painted House, indicating to Myr that he could follow with a twitch of her head.

[Ajadea]

Calia steps away from the crowd and into the side alley. It's a tight fit, between the horse and the carriage and the narrow walls. She glances back at Ben briefly then nods. "It would be my pleasure to meet with Headmaster Folkor," she says with a formal nod. She gets into the carriage and settles herself in for the ride.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: While your first attempt seems to manage to strike the target dead on, your second and third arrows put even that feat to shame. Indeed, your third arrow all but splits the second shaft all the way down the middle... right between the 'eyes' of the target. A moment of near-perfect silence reigns over the quad. Several of the other contestants all but gape openly at you, and a few of the guards whisper to each other excitedly. Of all the various archery enthusiasts, nobody has yet to fire a shot as precise as the one you just loosed. However, the contest is not yet over. Two lines over, you hear a small satisfied grunt. A well-built hobgoblin stands at the ready, a massive longbow strung in his hands. Meeting your gaze with a fiery grin, he flashes a pair of sizeable tusks in your direction. There are a few others before it comes to his rotation, but he seems content to wait and study the target from afar.


Ben: As the carriage backs out of the alley, the grumblings of the crowd begin to settle down. Kalyk looks down at you, taking in every word of your question thoughtfully. He smiles as if to himself. "Well, the seekers aren't what you would call 'conventional'. If they see you, I doubt you will be able to evade them. They aren't your average guards, but you will be able to recognize them by the orange badges they wear." He proceeds to produce the same cloth pin, which displays an eye stamped across a shield. All in all, the emblem is nearly a full foot across. In the hands of the halfling, it looks like an oversized toy, but you find yourself wondering what kind of being would wear such a pin.

"Are there any more questions? If not, we are ready to begin."


Calia: The driver nods, hopping off the top of the carriage in order to hold the door for you. For a moment, his face seems almost frozen in a smile. After a moment, however, he relapses into a slightly more relaxed expression. He waits until you climb inside the vehicle before closing the door behind you. The inside of the carriage isn't all that different from the exterior: the dark wood surfaces are lacquered and varnished to a glossy shine, and the gold paint looks as though it was applied yesterday. The only light in the cabin comes from a strange looking lantern that hangs from the ceiling. Sitting just above eye level as you sit in the plush bench, it gives off a soft, temperate light. The compartment is big enough for at least three more passengers of about your size, but you seem to be the only occupant. A glass pane divides the space from the front of the carriage, but a lattice screen prevents too much outside light from getting in. The carriage shifts slightly as the driver climbs back aboard, and you can hear a couple of scuffling sounds as he sits down on the bench above you.

"Are you alright in there, miss? I want to make sure you're comfortable. I don't expect the trip to take any longer than twenty minutes or so."


Elara, Myr: The guards don't seem all that interested in following either of you, but both Kale and Ilsa nod appreciatively. The latter moves towards Elara, murmuring her thanks once again before moving away with her sleeping child. The merchants move to mention the incident that occurred in the alley, and the as-of-yet unknown fate of their companion. The more sober guard seems to smarten up at that, and moves to do a sweep of the street while both storekeepers pack up their wares for the night. His weapon still drawn, the guard declares this street to be locked down, and sends his friend to go fetch a larger armed presence in order to hunt down the strange figure. However, he lets you both go without too much trouble, assuring you that this is a problem for the Onyx City Watch.

The trip back to the Painted House doesn't take all that long, the main street being less than a full block away. The doors are still open to the public, although judging by the silence within there are few interested patrons at this hour of the night. On one of the couches closest to the hearth, a pair of half-elves appear to have snuggled up quite cozily. Nearby, a dwarf sips a brew in quiet contemplation and an elf idly thumbs through a decrepit book. The only sound throughout the space is the soft roaring of the dwindling fire. Naberys looks up at the two of you as you enter, quickly raising an eyebrow at Elara before going back to cleaning the bar for the night. Clearly, she has thought better of whatever it is she was going to say.


Lirian: Sylvia nods sagely at your mention of the Hyphasia Theorem. She doesn't seem all that surprised that you've brought this up, and is walking towards the northern end of the hall before you even finish speaking. When she comes back, it is with five leather-bond tomes wrapped under her arm. She places them down on the table in front of you, bringing over one of the pale lanterns and placing it nearby for a source of available light. You can see that both Khyler and Dawnsong are represented among the texts present. Their titles range from Discourse on the Metaphysical History of Magic to the more mundane Applied Magical Theory. By the looks of it, the first four books were co-authored by the two of them, but the last text - a slim black book - doesn't seem to carry either a title or inscription.

"We keep the Hyphasia materials together in the arcane theory section. If you are looking for the Elven Collection, that falls more under historical documents. Anyhow, here is the main body of knowledge based on what you asked for. We don't actually know who wrote this last one, but it showed up on the Library steps a couple of years back. It showcases a few critiques of the Hyphasia thinkers, mostly decrying their continued use on faulty logic in order to posit the existence of a singular magic consciousness. Take a look at whatever you want, I'm here to answer any questions you have."

[esorscher]

Arran shrugs and waits to see who can best his shots. He recalls what the gamemaster said, and wonders how many of his remaining 9 shots he will have to use, if anyone can beat his aim.

[Ajadea]

Calia shakes her head, then realizes belatedly he cannot see the motion. "I am fine. Thank you for your concern." She settles in, leaning back against the soft plush of the bench. She mentally steels herself. As a student, she had made it somewhat of a personal policy to avoid engaging with the faculty and staff whenever possible. The recognitions and class levels, or lack thereof, one might have achieved at the di Kerastin academy didn't mean much to adventurers. Still, she can't shake the faint sinking feeling.

[PersonMan]

As she and Myr enter the Painted House, Elara smiles at the warm atmosphere - everything, the snuggling halfies, the drinking dwarf, even the disinterested reading elf, it all made a wonderful mixture. She decides to come down and paint it later, to soak up the happiness she feels into her brush and paint it onto a canvas. Anyone would feel at home at this hearth, the mage muses, a smile on her face as she turns to the innkeeper. Her eyes lock onto the raised eyebrow, and she suppresses a grin. It may be a bit confusing for her new friend, but this had to cleared up anyways. I finally get to pull that reply-to-nothing trick, though. Best way to get this moving.

"No, actually," Elara says, knowing precisely what Naberys had decided to not say. "I met him after a weird knifing incident, and he's looking for a room. He's a pretty nice guy, it'd be a shame if he had to sit out in the gutter," she explains, leaning against the bar and turning to Myr, giving him a reassuring smile as she mentions the gutter.

[Sen isSaqqara]

"Interesting..." murmurs Lirian as she takes the books. She eyes the last book in particular, setting it down to the side. She takes a seat at the desk, and picks up a book from the pile.
"I'll read through a few of these first to get a better base from which to read the last one. A better frame of reference, if you will. These lot should take me the better part of a night. Does the library close?"

[gallagher]

As Ben steps forward to sign his name and pay his fee, he asks What do you mean by "not conventional" and why are we going to have trouble evading them? And is there anything in this contest that is off limits? For example of what might be off limits, but not limited to it, is hiding inside okay? And I am not too familiar with this city, so betwen rounds can you tell me where in the city the district I am to be in?

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: For the most part, nobody else in the competition even comes close to your attempts. However, the goblinoid manages to pull off a few shots that nearly surpass your own. The guards seem to be watching intently, and there are a few spectators now, presumably come from Heroes' Plaza. The muttering has increase in volume, as the hobgoblin saunters off to prepare for his next bout. When he looks at you now, it is with the grim determination of an enemy combatant.


Ben: "Well you're certainly a curious one. The Festival staff and I have set up boundaries to ward off any barriers of the district that aren't intuitively obvious. The outer walls of Onyx block off most of the northern half, while the inner wall separates the place from Old Town. You're allowed to hide anywhere within Forger's Row, but I would advise against hiding indoors, as you may get some local trouble. As for my seekers... if they manage to touch you, then they will escort you back here and record the time at which they caught you. You'll know them when you see them, and they have strict orders not to hurt any contestants that they catch." A nearby elf sniffs in disdain, but remains otherwise silent as Kalyk finishes explaining the rules. His purple eyes flash in the darkness of the alley, flitting from one obscured face to the next. All in all, the others seem restless. They are waiting to begin.


Calia: At first, the crooked streets of Forger's Row beneath the wheels of the carriage offer you little comfort, but after a few minutes you can feel the abrupt transition to the better structured cobblestones of Onyx proper. These are streets you know well, and as you look out the window you can actually trace the path that the carriage is taking to Maryn Hall. You can feel the momentum of the horses slow down for revelers several times, but by the looks of it, your driver is canny enough to avoid the most congested intersections. Judging by the sounds, a good deal of the night's cheer seems to be winding down. Those out on the streets are heading home for the evening, merchants are packing up their wares, and both guard and robed official alike look ready to change shifts. Midnight is closing in.

It does take a few more minutes, but eventually the carriage does grind to a halt. "We're here, Miss Simore. Maryn Hall." The facade is almost exactly as you remember it: a grand archway, flanked by ivy-covered pillars, leaves the reception chamber of the Hall open to the street. A few guards stand by, as well as a valet in a smart blue coat nearly identical to that of the driver. The light from the inner lanterns spills out over your feet, casting long shadows out into the night. The driver tips his cap and flicks the reins, directing the horses away as the valet guides you out of the cold. He offers to take your coat, but is otherwise quiet, content to guide you to the dining hall to meet Folkor.


Elara, Myr: "Ah, well we have a few vacancies left. Mind you, they aren't exactly human sized, so it may be a bit cramped. Sorry in advance about that, but Elara is right about it being better than the gutter." Heading over to a nearby drawer, Naberys produces a metal key and hands it to Myr with a little flourish. Next, she promptly directs the warrior to the room in question, which is situated on the upper floor at the very end of the hallway. The gnome then waits for her payment, weathered hand extended.

"As it stands, the bar is closed. But feel free to come on back down once you've got yourself settled. I typically leave the common room open until around midnight." Naberys leans in closer to Elara at this point, trying to keep her voice low so that certain others will not overhear. "Speaking of midnight, your friend Merrelis got back not ten minutes ago. Told me to pass along that dinner didn't work out, and she's waiting for you upstairs."


Lirian: "We're open all hours, as we have a round-the-clock custodial staff to look after things. The library used to close during holidays sometimes, but the Festival of Lights tends to bring such an influx of traveling scholars that it's almost never worth it." The older woman watches you set up with the smile of an academic. Dragging over a chair, she sits down nearby and begins to hum an old tune under her breath. She pauses significantly. "Honestly, I usually take these shifts because nobody ever shows up. There was a time when I despaired for any original thought in the scholastic world. But people like you, thinkers with ambition, remind me why it is that I got into this business in the first place."

[Sen isSaqqara]

Recognizing the signs of someone who wants a conversation, Lirian puts down her book and lounges back in her chair.
"It's good to hear. Traveling around with people like my companions, I start to feel like I should focus less on scholarship and more on making things explode. I don't think I ever could, though. I more or less grew up in the library at Aquinal, and it's places like this I feel most at home."
Frost pushes free of her backpack on the floor, and jumps up onto her lap. He paces a few circles, then settles down.
You should find out more about her. See how much we can trust her.
"If you don't mind me asking, how did you find yourself here? In this business, as you put it? Someone like you, it's got to be an interesting story."

[PersonMan]

Elara lets herself drift off to the edge of the exchange as Naberys tells Myr about his room, simply taking in the atmosphere of the common room. Memories come to her, of the nights she spent in her cabin trying to plan her next one better. Of minutes spent drawing and re-drawing the symbols in the dirt of a mountain path, trying to position everything perfectly to make a proper common room. It always failed - another reason for the mage to paint the scene she had before her now, so she could make the perfect cabin for her travels. After a few moments, Elara lets her thoughts slip away, closing her eyes and simply soaking in the warmth, the smell, the sounds. Unbidden, her mind's eye is surrounded by swirling arcane patterns, and she begins to tap her fingers against the wood of the bar in a slow, repetitious pattern. Snapping back to the real world as Naberys speaks to her, Elara's eyes widen in visible surprise at what the old gnome says.

"Oh, I see. Well, thank you for telling me!" Elara replies, slightly louder due to the nature of what she's saying. Turning to Myr, her smile widens into a grin. "Well, I hope you enjoy your rest, I'm heading up to see to some things. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?" As she speaks, the mage takes a few steps towards her destination, the anxious energy building within her quickly becoming visible. With a final wave, Elara heads up the stairs to the room she shares with Merrelis, mind considering the possibilities within the merchant's message as she moves.

"Merrelis?" Elara asks, voice almost a whisper as she opens the door a crack, sticking her head inside before coming in. Opening the door just enough to slip through sideways, the mage does a quick spin and closes it, turning back towards the center of the room as she gently closes the door.

[gallagher]

Ay, I am inquisitive, especially when there is money on the line! Can never be too careful in such situations. Though I'm not sure that one appreciates me asking so many. Ben gestures to the sniveling elf while making a sour look on his face to show disapproval, and takes a moment studying what he can of his equipment, in case Ben can get a hint towards his capabilities. As he turns his head, Ben looks around for hiding spots of his own, especially hard to reach places.

Spoiler

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Spot: (1d20+4)[12]

[3SecondCultist]

Ben: There are a few spots nearby - an overturned cart near the entrance to the alley offers the most obvious space, but it would not make a particularly good hiding place. In addition, at the end of the road there seems to be what looks like a burnt-out facade of what might have been a dwelling. By the looks of the quality of the bricks, it might have once served as a barracks or a townhouse. Scorch marks and broken windows leave its demise to your imagination. It is likely a more productive hiding place than the cart, at the very least. However, given that it is within line of sight, it would be probably be unwise to head there immediately. The relatively cramped space of the alleyway leaves little else in terms of viable niches. Fortunately, it looks as though you are no longer confined to this space, as Kalyk gives the signal to begin and the small crowd begins to disperse in various directions.

"Remember, you've got ten minutes before I let my seekers loose! Keep your eyes on the sky for my mark."


Elara: Leaving Myr and the rest of the patrons downstairs, you make your way back up to the second floor without any problems. At first, you are stuck by just how quiet it is up here. The ambient noise of the common room is all but a fanfare in comparison. The only things you can hear are the creak of the floorboards beneath your shoes and the faint flickering of the hall lights. As you reach the door to the room you share with Merrelis, you can see another form of light coming from the crack beneath the wooden frame. She must have lit a lamp inside. Suddenly, you can hear her voice from inside, softly calling you in. The door opens with a minor groan as you slide into the room, and turn to face the scene.

The light that you saw from outside does indeed come from a lamp that sits on the bedside table, casting the room in a faint orange glow. The first thing you see is the washbasin, which looks looks to have been just used, judging by the glistening coat of droplets. But the more that you take in, the more you realize that something is incredibly wrong. The window that offered such a wonderful view of the sunset not hours ago has been left open slightly, letting all of the heat out of the space and into the starry night beyond. And Merrelis lies in bed. At the very least, her clothes have been hung up and her attire has been changed into a familiar silk nightgown. From what you can see of her under the covers, she appears to be sound asleep. But she is incredibly still, and as you approach, you can see the faded red pool obstructed by her torso. A single wound on her chest seems to be the only source, the mark of a knife or another slim blade placed expertly between the ribs. She seems to have died in relative peace, and by the traces of color on her face, not too long ago.

The attack comes swiftly, a single strike from behind you. The sword pierces your side, but does not do enough harm to actually knock you out in one swoop. Nonetheless, great amounts of your blood now grace the floorboards, and you find yourself unable to speak. Your first glimpse of the attacker is somewhat confusing, as all you can see is a figure wreathed in wisps of shadow. But the field clears, and you make out a short humanoid of some kind. She looks gnomish, but her skin and hair are a bone white. They match her clothing: her pale cloak, boots, gloves, and vest all make this creature look like some sort of ghost. However, her eyes are jet black, without any kinds of pupils or other features. She stares back at you without flinching. And when she speaks, it is barely above a whisper.

"You and I have some real business to attend to. Your talents have been noticed. It's time to stop fooling around and join the rest of the world." Reaching into her cloak and producing a sealed letter, she tosses it at you carelessly before heading over to the window. Whoever this Annas is, the shadows seem to move with her, gracing her motions with thoughts of quicksilver. One of the corners lands in your blood, which seeps through the fine parchment. By the window, the assailant motions as if to cast some sort of spell on herself before turning back to face you once more. "My name is Annas. You should be glad I was the one to come visit you - my associates might not have been so kind. But you should have known better than to lie with such a sweet lamb. Death is the only paramour worth loving."


Lirian: At your mention of explosives, Sylvia can hardly suppress a titter of laughter. "I know all about that. I was a part of a traveling crew myself, back in the day. I actually started off much like you, driving my group to look for archaeological sites, mostly tombs and old imperial ruins. But like everybody else, we got involved in the war when the fighting became too intense for us to ignore. I was what they called a 'barrier mage': my role revolved around using abjurations in battle formations to protect my allies and cripple my enemies." As she speaks, the old woman begins to smile, her face captured by a giddy spirit. Her eyes are distant, no longer really focused on you at all. Instead, she watches a point in space just beyond your reach. To your knowledge, it is not the usual reaction of someone who has been to war.

"We fought for whichever side would take us, but eventually our loyalties were tested to the point of breaking. Our front-liner stayed with the Neo-Imperials, and the other two converted to the Tiernan side. Me, I joined the Republic in order to try my hand at giving the scholarly life another shot. I spent a few years in a teaching post, at the local di Kerastin Academy. Ultimately though, I had some issues with the philosophy of the administration. And so, given my record, the Great Library offered me a job on the spot. I've been tending to these stacks ever since." By the time she's done talking, Sylvia's euphoria is gone. In its place is a look of quiet reflection. She meets your eyes over the surface of the desk - her gaze isn't questioning, or confrontational, or even passionate.

"And what about you? What's your story? Are you going to tell me why you're looking up all of this stuff on the Hyphasia Theorem? I can honestly say that you're probably the only catfolk we've seen walk through these doors since before the Collapse. So you'll forgive my curiosity if I ask what it is you hope to accomplish here."


Myr: Just as you are about to follow Elara upstairs, the otherwise peaceful common room is disrupted by a new arrival. This one doesn't look anything like the other patrons. The strange figure shambles closer, his nest of tangled white hair hanging below his shoulders. You recognize his profile as a changeling, although he hasn’t made use of his natural abilities to shift into any other kind of humanoid form. His clothes have clearly seen some of the road, gashed and torn in several places. Over his left shoulder is the outline of a weapon, likely some sort of crossbow. But he hasn’t drawn it. He doesn’t even seem to register your presence at all. Clutched in the creature’s right hand is a sealed letter of some kind, although his thin fingers make it hard to see anything else.

Suddenly, his head jumps up straight, throwing wet tendrils of hair from off his forehead. His eyes are wide open now, at once alert and glossed over with exhaustion. Staring directly back, his expression shifts from a blank apprehension to recognition. Not of your surroundings, but of you. A smile spreads over his face as though at the arrival of an old friend. But the smile grows too wide, his mouth stretching open until the corners tear open old scabs there from when he last performed this trick. He bares all of his teeth and snarls at you before throwing his weight around him like a pendulum. At first it appears random, but after a few movements it starts to look like he is testing the strength of his surroundings. There is a slight pause before he lunges his head towards you, stretching his neck and shoulders as far as they can go. And then even farther. His body is elasticized, extending forward whole inches past what one might have guessed the natural length of his spine would allow. This is the portrait of insanity, a violent madman in the middle of an extended fit. At least, this is what you try to convince yourself that it is.

It doesn’t work.

Everything he does is far too intentional to be purely a sickness of the mind. At first it appears to be the random, pointless sufferings of some advanced corrosion, but it isn’t. What you’re really seeing is the revelation of an identity, however alien. It has the patterns, the crescendos, and the dramatic pauses that come from internal consciousness. You get the sense that this is something you are meant to see. More unsettling even than his most explicit shocks – the feminine cackles, the agonized whinnies, the eyes rolling back in his head to reveal whites so bloodshot they appear as tiny maps of pain – are the moments where he suddenly stands still and looks at you. No words, no contortions. His persona is “normal”, or what you take to be what remains of his formerly sane self: a changeling of almost middle age, unsure of his whereabouts and trying to calculate who he is, how he might alter his situation and find his way back. A being of intelligence. And then, each time, his expression changes. He remembers his identity, the nature of his plague, and a cascade of sensations – images? emotions? memories? – return to him in a rush. That’s when he screams.

It is a voice not wholly his own. The dark note rises in his throat, and then shatters into a kind of sob. His terror is so instant and crystalline that it dehumanizes him in a way that even his most grotesque displays cannot equal. He looks at you like a lost child on the verge of drowning. The only difference is that while a child might have some idea of what it is that frightens them – the water, the crushing deep – he is utterly bewildered. But you’ve already figured it out. This is no disease. It is a presence, a will a thousand times stronger than his. There is no fighting it. There is only the recognition that he is damned, coming to him anew each time.

And then he hands you the letter.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian settles in, closing here eyes for a moment before starting her story. Inside, though, her mind is racing.
"My story is far less interesting, at least until lately. I grew up in Aquinal, near the library there. Odd for one of my folk, I know, but that's how it is. My parents named me for Lyr, though my relationship with her has always been somewhat rocky. I spent quite a bit of my youth locked up in the city, surrounded by books and dust. In the end, I joined the Adventurer's Guild to get away from it all, to see the world. If nothing else, it's certainly helped with my magic. I've always been able to do a few tricks, but all this adventuring has really brought out talents I didn't know I had. Still didn't bring me any closer to Lyr, of course: as I mentioned, I've got a bit more affinity for throwing lightning than fostering nature, Frost here being the exception." As she tells her story, Lirian desperately tries to piece together a half-convincing explanation for why she's doing the research she it. Something close enough to the truth to be convincing and easy to remember, but not too close to get her in trouble. In her mind, a tale materializes, weaving itself together from the events of the near-past.
"Now, I started in on my current research after I stumbled over this book on my travels. It was marvellous, all these designs and ideas for devices and trinkets. Nothing technical, of course, it was probably engraved by some artist. No, just ideas. But what ideas, though! If I could make even half of them work, it would change the world. In the end, though, they were irrelevant. Good thing, too, because the book was lost." Lirian breathes a sigh of relief, though it could easily be mistaken for one of recollection. She can now return to, more or less, the truth. With a few parts left out, of course.
"You may have heard of what happened at Dawnharrow a little while back. Overtaken and destroyed by goblins, led by the warlord Urthrax. I don't know what the reports say, but I was there. They used Pale Fire." She stops and gives a thematically appropriate shudder. "Long story short, I lost the book. We got back at him in the end, though. One of my companions gave his life setting off a whole cache of the stuff in the middle of the warlord's camp. After that, well, we went through some political stuff with the Guild, leading up to the recent change in leadership, but I wasn't really interested. The ideas I had planted in my mind, I couldn't stop thinking of them. Not in a bad way, mind you, I just found them so interesting. I began to come up with a thousand little derivations on the original ideas, little bits and pieces that could combine in interesting new ways." By this time, the longing is obvious in Lirian's voice. She's completely caught up in her ideas of what could be, her eyes staring into infinity.
"Now, as things currently stand, think of how we use magic. For more complex tasks, we have more complex spells. More specific effects and combinations put together long ago and passed down ever since. It's especially common for sorcerers like me, who never really think about how they shape magic. Now imagine if, instead, we used different combinations of tiny magical building-blocks. If everything was simply different combinations of, more or less, the exact same thing. A skilled magical engineer could completely rebuild an enchanted object to server another purpose without ever casting a spell! Novice mages could learn their art by taking things apart to see how they worked, and putting them back in new and interesting combinations! Anyone with even a basic grasp of the fundamentals behind that building block could create new effects with ease, and anyone, mage or otherwise, could harness incredible power, if they took the time to understand the logical approach behind the constructions. Magic would become less stagnant, more dynamic! It would be like clockwork, easily changed from clock to automata or vice-versa, or built into something new entirely." Lirian shifts back to reality, her brain still whirring at full tilt, but this time focused on far more applied concepts. The exact details of what she wants to accomplish, the beginning of algorithms and codifications of her ideas.
"And the best part? Most of the building blocks I have in mind? Simple spells, with simple effects. The sort of thing that would require very little effort to create or to test. They would need to be made in bulk, but save that... It could chance so much, Syl. It could give us a chance..." Realizing that her mouth has wandered a tad farther than her mind, she stops talking. Fading off into a simple silence to indicate that her tale is done, she hopes the librarian didn't catch her slip at the end, or moreover, didn't catch that is was significant.