Death's End IC II

[gallagher]

Ben also slowly gets an eggshell grenade out of his pack and sets it on the ground next to him slowly

[PersonMan]

"I...th-there is something, but...not yet," Elara says, voice unsteady, bending to return the old gnome's hug, drawing strength from it as her mind is filled with sudden realization. Her thoughts surge, almost unconsciously, making connections and forming plans in the time it takes for the mage to straighten and Myrmidon to approach her. By the time his hand has come to her arm, it's complete. A plan of action, involving not only herself but several others, that would start tomorrow morning. A shiver runs through Elara as her wound closes, the unusual feeling of flesh knitting together in an instant still alien to her. She had received healing in the past, but it always felt very unusual. Just another reason to avoid injury, as if the pain wasn't enough, she had thought the first time.

"I...I should be alright, for now at least. I can probably fix the tunic, or maybe get a new one..." Elara sighs, sitting down and leaning on the counter. "You're an agent of the church, right? Do you have connections with some of the powerful priests? I mean powerful magic, not powerful politically," she asks, voice still pained but steady. The mage looks at the man intently, resolve filling her gaze as much as grief had only moments ago, although the mourning is still in her eyes. "I mean to bring her back, Myrmidon," she says, voice soft.

[Ajadea]

Get. Out. Calia isn't sure whether or not Oberon can hear her, or if this is even how one would transmit thoughts. But the very idea of her mind being invaded by another is horrifying, and she refuses to condone it.

She nods at the carriage driver. "I would like to go to the Heroes' Plaza, please," she says. She lets him open the door, and gets in. She needs to... she needs to think. Away from here.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran: "Windfarben..." He strokes the horse's flank gently, betraying a deep appreciation for the animal. When you first ask your questions, however, the hobgoblin doesn't seem to know how to respond. He tilts his head, as though playing the words back in his mind before stumbling out an answer. "I fight... for gang in Forger's Row. Gang called 'Red Manticores'. They pay well." Judging by the newfound tension in his stance, he doesn't seem all that interested in talking about his current employment.


Ben: Your searching does reveal a little alcove near the edge of the roof on the other side, where through a hole in the masonry you can get a good look at some of the surrounding streets. However, out here you are still vulnerable to exposure. The wall only extends so high, and you are keenly aware of the weight of the open sky above you. Furthermore, you realize just how far away you are from the open trapdoor. It's not much, but it might take you more than a few seconds just to run and jump down the hatch. But your mind is not on that now, as you see a bright red flare arc into the sky a few blocks away. Kalyk has sent up the flare, and the contest begins in earnest.


Calia: In the aftermath of your mental conversation, you are filled with the kind of silence that follows a storm. However Oberon got into your head, the interference is gone now. You must be out of range, or perhaps he heard your reply and severed the connection. Either way, the carriage driver doesn't seem to notice your discomfort, as he closes the door behinds you and climbs aboard. With a flick and a whinny, the carriage is off, leaving Maryn Hall behind you. Within the compartment, everything is as it was before. And yet, the shadows seem deeper now, more threatening. There doesn't seem to be anyone else in the carriage with you. At least, there is nothing you can see or hear.The hooves clatter over the fine stones of Old Town, but within all is quiet except the sound of your own breathing.

It takes only a few minutes for you to arrive at the edge of Heroes' Plaza. The crowd is not so large as it was before, most of the lookers-on having since gone to rest down where they can find room. The Plaza looks much bigger than it did when you were here earlier. Midnight has come and passed, leaving emptiness in its wake. As you descend back onto the streets, you find you cannot see Arran at first. But out of the corner of you see Windfarben making her way down a side-street adjacent to the Plaza not far away. Arran stands beside his mount, along with an unknown hobgoblin. From this distance, you still cannot hear what they are saying, but the conversation seems civil enough for now.


Lirian: The Discourse on the Metaphysical History of Magic closes with a thud. You set the book down on the desk in front of you, realizing how much your temples are starting to hurt. Stress headaches are common enough in the life of an academic, but it truly has been some time since you've felt this acute a pain before. The lines on the page blur together once, and then again. Judging by the time passed, it has been upwards of two hours since you've been here. It must be past midnight now. Your notes started off well-coordinated, but looking at them now, you can see that they have become gradually less coherent. And yet, you feel a faint sense of accomplishment at the progress you've made so far.

As you sit, your mind is filled with the different concepts that surround the Hyphasia Theorem. It truly is remarkable, to think of magic as a kind of sentient force working through mortal intellects. Although Dawnsong does devote an entire chapter to the future hegemony of pure reason through enlightened principles based on a deeper understanding of magical application in day-to-day life, his writings do not dispute that what you are looking for exists. In fact, Dawnsong's entire magical teleology seems to support its potential. His work starts with 'primitive' magic and graduates to feudal magic, then to national magic, and finally to academic magic. If you read between the lines, you can see a great deal of his political theory in tandem with his arcane philosophy of history. But what really interests you is the final state, that of 'global magic': wherein the inner workings of all magic may be reproduced and actually given out through technology. Dawnsong's predictions carry a kind of foreboding to them, but his position is that the globalization of magic would necessarily come through what he calls 'world arcanic individuals'. That last bit is still somewhat confusing, but you find yourself more annoyed at the last tome, which appears to be written in an old language you cannot read. It takes a moment before you recognize the script as Okremath.

[esorscher]

"Red Manticores..." Arran repeats, committing it to memory. "Well, if you ever find yourself out of work, look me up. I'd be happy to have a warrior of your calibur at my side." Arran bids the hobgoblin adieu, and heads off back the way he came.

"Come in Ben," he whispers over the earpiece. "Any help I can give you? I'm available until noon tomorrow."

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian groans, tossing her head back.
Giving in already? You are growing out of shape at this. I suppose it makes sense, it's been far too long since we've done this.
Yeah, it has, hasn't it. Ah well. A quick break for some simple translation is exactly what I need.
Lirian gets up, and places the pin over the railing. She then returns to her desk, and reshuffles her papers. While she waits for a librarian, she rummages around in her pack and pulls out a small leather-and-silver-bound notebook. It's a neat little tool she found on the journey here, and it may prove useful. She's found that if she opens it to a random page, it always has information relevant to whatever she's thinking about. For some reason, it only works three times each day, showing irrelevant information each time thereafter. Perhaps that fact itself might be relevant to her studies.
Skimming over her notes once more to get in the right mindset, she opens the book and sees what it has to offer.

Spoiler

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It's a Tome of Worldly Memory, and gives Lirian a +5 bonus to knowledge checks by providing relevant info. I'm making a knowledge check to summarize her current level of understanding on the topic. You might want to add an appropriate circumstantial modifier for recent research.
Knowledge (Arcana): (1d20+14)[32] (+9 for the skill, +5 for the book)

[Togo]

Myr's face gets a hunted look.

Ah.. not exactly. My standing with the church is a little ambigious at the moment. I've been out of touch for a while, and I'm ... not sure I should go back.

The wall next to the chimney must be fascinating, for the attention Myr is paying to it.

One of the reasons I ended up in the mountains is that I wanted to think things through. I've not really decided as much as I'd hoped to.

He turns.

Besides, I've never been to Onyx before, and you'll need someone here. We can't leave the city, according to my letter, and until this Oberon is dealt with, there's no point in bringing her back in any case.

He starts to pace, nervous energy radiating from him.

To this would require a person of great holy power. There can't be that many who could do it, and these people probably have a fair idea who they are. And it would require great wealth. And even then, only if the g... if the Twelve and Merelis will that it be so.

He steps slow and he speaks more softly.

And tonight we face some practical details. Can the body be taken to a local mortuary, somewhere that can be trusted to keep it preserved and safe from molestation? And.. I suspect you'll get more sleep if we swap rooms. And...

He hesitates.

..and then there's Tomorrow. Are you intending to keep the appointment with this Oberon?

[gallagher]

Arran, Ben whispers, I am in Forgers Row playing at this Hide and Seek contest. I am not sure how you might be able to help me, but if you think up anything I am all ears. Be careful though, the guy running this game is sharp.

[Ajadea]

Calia pulls her mask back on while the carriage rattles across the streets. It is almost a relief, to feel that weight settle over her face again, as if that would hide her from the Six. She exits without any particular fanfare, as there are no longer enough people in the square to be worth performing for. The carriage leaves quickly, leaving her in the dust. In the emptiness, it is easy to find Windfarben, and where the horse is, the man cannot be far behind. She waits for Arran to finish talking to the hobgoblin before going over to him. "I'm a little surprised, Arran. Not in a bad way," she amends quickly. "I'm glad you're managing to get along with the locals. How did the archery contest go?"

[esorscher]

Arran turns to see Calia and is happy to see a friendly face. "Well, I seem to have won the first round, and tomorrow at noon I need to be back there to compete again. I'm feeling pretty confident about that at the moment, but anything can change. That hobgoblin was the closest to hit my score, so I figured it was worth seeing if he was looking for work. He wasn't. How has your evening gone? Anything unusual?" He smiles.

[Ajadea]

"Tomorrow, at noon, in Heroes' Plaza," Calia says. She sounds distant, like an echo. "I spoke with... a man... at my old school. It was, shall we say, informative. Oh! You should tell Ben I'm alright, I did leave him in a bit of a hurry," she adds apologetically. Even behind her smooth white half-mask, it's clear Calia's got other things on her mind. She is staring off into the distance, and her usual smile is nowhere to be seen.

[esorscher]

Arran quickly relays the message to Ben, then asks Calia, "You seem... off. Did something happen? Who was this man?"

[gallagher]

Tell Calia I am relieved she is well. The circumstances of her disappearance were quite odd. When weeet up, I have an idea where we might get some information critical to our mission

[Ajadea]

Calia shakes her head. "An enchanter. One we were looking for. Well, not specifically looking for, but still.... look, I will explain everything, I swear. I'd just rather not have to do it three times." Her lips press together for a second, then she smirks at Arran, folding her arms and cocking her head to one side. When she speaks again, it's with a decidedly Old Town bent - clipped words tumbling out of her mouth so fast not even a breath could fit between them. "So, do you intend to spend the rest of tonight hiding in an alley with your horse, or are you going to enjoy some of the nightlife before dawn hits? At the very least, I think it might be best to see if we can head down to West Harth and see about those inns. Pass out in an alley in Old Town and you might wake up with nothing but the clothes on your back."

[esorscher]

Arran smiles. First, he relays Ben's message, then he says, "West Harth it is. Lead the way."

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia: With Borrus gone and the streets clear, it does not take you very long to reach the focal point of West Harth: Central Avenue splits the district in two, the road running all the way out of the city and eventually towards the hills of Siara. There is an unusual dearth of city guard, although you do a pass a patrol at the edge of the district. For the most part, the streets are actually pretty quiet, most of the revelers having put away their instruments and stands for the night. You pass a young woman and a man who looks like a merchant chatting in low tones, the woman soothing a baby resting in her arms. Not far away, you see an old gnome packing up a wagon of what look like crystals of some kind. He also carries a few worn tomes with him, but upon seeing more strangers he scowls and puts a redoubled effort into his silence. All in all, West Harth is proving to be anything but welcoming. And yet, there is a kind of comfort to the air here. The buildings here are not large or extravagant like those in Old Town, or even newer like East Harth. This district is more worn in, like a pair of boots after a week of traveling.

At this time of night, there are few reputable establishments still open, so you find yourselves torn between the Janos Crown and its slightly smaller competitor, the Painted House. And yet, looking down the alleyway at the latter, you can see that the door into the inn has been closed despite its hours.


Elara, Myr: By the time Myr is finished talking, the parlor of the inn is almost empty. Naberys stands near the door, satisfied with the warrior's job of healing Elara's wounds. She makes no comment about the divine nature of that process, but she does give Myr a glance as she heads back to the door to scan out at the darkness. Neither the elf or the dwarf have yet to return, and you can tell that as the long seconds accrue, the gnome grows more anxious. It seems that every other moment, she turns to look worriedly at the top of the stairs, but it is clear that she does not want to go collect Merrelis' body for herself.

But when she hears the name 'Oberon', her anxious disposition is colored by a dark dread. She suddenly becomes very still, and her eyes meet yours with a deep-seated tremor.

"Did... did I just hear you say Oberon? How did you come by that name?"


Lirian: In the first few minutes after you set the pin, nothing happens. Just as you are about to give up, however, you are met with a rather mousy looking half-elf. Although he stops somewhere short of gaping, you can tell that he has never met catfolk before. Instead of commenting, however, he merely asks you what you need translated. But he looks at the tome and sighs.

"Oh yes, Old Nameless. We started calling it that nearly a decade ago, after a dozen different researchers requested it in the same month. Strange, that Sylvia got you the original. We've got a few copies translated in the common tongue. Okremath is a really tricky language, and there are few alive who can translate it. Personally, I'm glad we have an in-house expert." He grins again, extending his hand towards you.

"Sorry, I forgot myself. My name's Paras. I'm just a scribe here. Who are you?"

[Togo]

Myr looks up. Then waves the document.

It appears on the bottom of both letters. Why? Local gang boss of some kind?

Seeing the look on her face, he asks carefully. If you've heard something, I'd like to know. One person is dead already, and we don't want to go into this blind. Please?

[gallagher]

Ben takes a moment to consider his options, picks up his eggshell grenade, and retrieves a rubber ball from his haversack. He returns to the hatch and starts to descend, but props the hatch door open with the rubber ball to allow a little light to creep in in a subtle manner. When he gets to the bottom of the hatch, Ben takes a quick look around to see what he might hide behind, and take in his general surroundings

Spoiler

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maybe I can get a decent roll this time: spot (1d20)[1] +4

[Sen isSaqqara]

"My name is Lirian," she says, smiling, "I'm from up North. Sort of a travelling scholar attached to an adventuring party. My friends and I have stopped in here in Onyx for a while, so I stopped by to do some research while I'm here. See, my problem is that while I'm decently practised in magic, it's of the innate variety. My current area of research requires me to look into the more studied areas of magic, and I'm afraid I know very little about it."
Lirian indicates the desk, scattered with her work.
"Sylvia gave me a bit to start with, and I'm making decent progress, but I figured I'd take a break to focus on some more straight-forward translation. I was actually wondering if you had a translation dictionary for Okremath. I’d like to give it a shot by myself first, partly just to clear my mind, and partly to get a fresh perspective on translation. I'll probably wind up asking for help before too long, though."

You are trying to get rid of him. Why?
Just for a second. I was just thinking: maybe Syl left us the original copy for a reason. Perhaps she tucked a note into it, or some other form of subterfuge. We should give it a quick check.
Perhaps. Or perhaps she has a more mundane reason for doing so.
Eh. Either way, may as well check, right?

[esorscher]

"I'm new here, so I will of course cede way to your prior knowledge, but I'm inclined toward the Painted House. The smaller competitor will probably offer better rates, and be more flexible." Arran says. He is also curious about the closed door.

[Ajadea]

Calia shrugs. "Either one's decent enough in price and flexibility. The Painted House is a bit more... diverse in their customer range, I'll admit. The door's closed though, so I doubt they're taking guests at the moment, though I can't imagine why."

[esorscher]

"Then the Janos Crown it is. Who is Janos, by the way?"

[Ajadea]

Calia bites her lip to avoid gaping at Arran, and counts to ten in her head before answering. "Janos," she says, very slowly and deliberately, like she's explaining something very basic to a very small child, "is one of the Twelve. He is the patron of magic, and rules over chaos and luck, both good and bad." Really, she expected Arran to know such basic things already. Especially with all that had happened with Sey.... and perhaps even Soryn. With all that was brewing in this city, and had been brewing in Valeria, in retrospect it was only natural for the god of deceit and treachery to choose to manifest himself in mortal form. "Why do you ask?"

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia: Just as you are about to turn away, you hear voices and see the flickers of torches coming down the street from the other direction. The sound of metal boots and ground out orders betray the nature of the company. A patrol of guards, led by an armored dwarf and a wary looking elf move outside the inn. The dwarf bangs on the door, as one of the guards fumbles to produce a document. Every one of them seems on edge, as though waiting for an attack that could come at any minute. There is regular alertness, the pose of a watchman on duty. But the looks in the eyes of the men and women at the entrance to the Painted Door has nothing to do with alertness, and everything to do with fear. Two of them even stare back at you, visibly wondering whether or not to give chase.


Ben: You manage to climb down to the floor of the warehouse, your feet touching down on the cold stone with a slight tap. Above, the sliver of light let in by your rubber ball casts a strange pattern around you, but your gnomish eyes adjust to the darkness as you get a better look at that which you saw from afar.

The carriages and wheelhouse are all covered with a thick layer of dust, which extends across the roughshod floor. Whatever this place used to be, it's obvious that nobody else has set foot in it for quite some time. You can see that the carriages themselves are mostly broken, some missing wheels and others where the axles have snapped clean in half. A large wooden sliding barn door leads out to the street level, but from here you can see it has been locked three times. The longer you look around, the more you conclude that the air of casual disuse here is less than genuine. Somebody has gone to a lot of trouble to make sure this place looks abandoned.


Lirian: "Ah..." Paras pauses for a moment, as if deliberating whether or not to continue. "Well, translating Okremath is really more of an art than a science. I mean, we have a general hold on how the sounds are put together, but the subtleties of intonation differ on an individual text-by-text basis. Nobody has heard the tongue spoken aloud in centuries. So the short answer is that there really is no standard translation guide to Okremath. Sylvia has a good hold on it, but she's been out in the field." He seems rather embarrassed, as if having just shared a scandalous secret. Which he has, in a way.

"If you like, I can try getting Sylvia myself? She might be able to help you?"


Elara, Myr: In one very uncharacteristic moment, Naberys snatches one of the letters and reads it from top to bottom three times. You follow her eyes, and with each new glance her face grows more pale. Finally, she hands it back to you, but her gaze is miles away.

"... not two months ago, most people in Collea had never heard the name Oberon before. But after the razing of Vinsbury, people started to pay attention. Have you ever heard of the Six from Shadow?" The innkeeper does not wait for an answer. She does not look either of you in the eye anymore. "The rumors started just over a year ago. They were mercenaries hired by the emperor, sent out to kill his enemies. They were secret agents of the Tiernan clergy, acting in the shadows where priests dare not tread. Worse still, there were those who swore that they operated under orders from praetors from Onyx itself. But then, that's all part of a good story." She laughs then, a hollow sound that stops just short of bitter.

"It's the mystery, I think. That's what makes them more frightening than the rest of the monsters you hear about in stories or even meet on the road. Ghosts want revenge, demons want your soul, and zombies are just hungry. It makes them less terrible, in a way. Things we understand are things we can try to control. But the Six come like lightning from a clear sky. No rhyme or reason to it – just destruction." Naberys opens her mouth as if to continue, but is interrupted by a banging on the door. The elf and dwarf wait outside, with an entire squad of guardsmen wearing expressions of stone.

[esorscher]

Upon seeing the arrival of the guard patrol, Arran pauses mid-step. "On second thought, let's see who opens that door." He takes a few steps closer back toward the Painted House.

[Sen isSaqqara]

"Interesting," replies Lirian, a grin creeping across her face, "If you want. Something gives me the feeling, though, that given time she'll find her way back to me on her own..." She trails off, but then snaps her attention back to the librarian in front of her.
"If you think it won't be too much of a bother to her, though, that would be great. Don't get yourself in trouble over it, though."

So she's the translator? Interesting. Perhaps she merely forgot that other people can't read Okremath. I mean, I sometimes forget other people can't speak Feline.
Let us be fair: you can hardly be said to speak proper Feline yourself.
Hey! I think I can speak fairy well. Anyways, best still check the book. If it doesn't have any secrets tucked away in it, though, we'll have to see if she has something more devious or subtle in mind.

[Togo]

Myr frowns. A terror campaign? I can sort of see the logic, since the Republic must look chaotic and divided from, ah... a Tiernian point of view, where you're worshipping twelve gods at once rather than the First Principle. Or an Imperial point of view, since you keeping changing the leadership in response to politics. But what would the point be?

He starts pacing

I mean imagine the scene. You're in the imperial court, with a great idea to bring the Rupublic to its knees. So you go up to Tiercy or one of his humourless councillors, and try and prise a budget out of the Imperial purse. Your plan? To hire mercenaries to mug random people in the enemy capital and drive up the crime rate.

He stops and spreads out his hands.

Yes, of course, have all the cash you want? I'm having trouble seeing that. Or suppose you're in the high cathedral in Palatine, in the presence of the altar of White and Gold itself. Like so.

He reaches over, to where an elf is seated, and effortlessly picks up the wooden chair, elf and all, and plunks in on a table. The startled elf gives a squeak as Myr sinks to one knee in front of her.

Oh great Priestess, guiding light of the first principle, leader of us all! Grant to me a purse of gold that I might hire a motley collection of disreputable mercenaries to strike at the heart of the evil Republic! Well no, that's the really cunning bit, we're going to ignore all the heretical clergy entirely, even though they appear alone and in public all the time, and instead asassinate random tourists who don't even live there! Because, you know, nothing promotes the one true faith like killing random people and not saying why!

As he completes his histrionic oratry, he bow his head. For a moment, there is silence, then he looks up at the elf in the chair, and winks at her.

So, if you were a high priestess trying to take over the world, would you give me the money?

He bounces lightly to his feet, brushing from his clothing the wood shavings and sawdust kept on the floor to soak up spillage.

No, we might be dealing with a someone who wants to murder people. Or we might be dealing with a foriegn plot of some kind, and he's trying to achieve something really specific. But I can't see any of the great powers of the continent shelling out money without a solid reason.

He shrugs.

So we need to work out why he's doing what he's doing. Particularly since it seems like he wants to convince us to do it for him.

[3SecondCultist]

Arran, Calia: As you watch, a gnome in a bloodstained apron opens the door to let the squadron onto the premises. You get a glimpse of the common room, which is largely empty save for another woman, similarly covered in blood and staring off into another world. The figure beside her is a handsome looking man, the outline of some kind of spear over his shoulder. He looks unharmed, but his expression is one of both concern and mild frustration. Inching closer to the door, you can hear the leader of the guards question the woman softly, but you cannot properly make out the words.


Elara, Myr: The opening of the door puts a halt to any more speculation, as the elf and dwarf lead the guards into the common room. At the behest of a stocky woman who looks to be the commanding officer, two of them immediately head up the stairs after getting the location of Elara's room from Naberys. The guard commander herself approaches Elara, taking in the blood and her stricken expression with the weary compassion that marks her out as one who has done this before. She carries a letter of law in her right hand, but she seems more interested in the woman before her.

"Hello madam. What can you tell us about what happened here?" Her voice is quiet and firm, understanding and unyielding. This is someone who gets the answers she wants, but she doesn't press Elara any further than she deems necessary.


Lirian: Your suspicions are confirmed, when on a second read through you come across what looks like a hollow space built into the back cover of the Okremath book. It opens outward to your touch, bringing with it a faint trail of dust. Evidently, this particular addition has not been opened in quite some time. Clutched in your feline fingers is what looks like a sheaf of paper, and although it is blank to your eye, you can feel the rise and fall of where a nib touched parchment. Whatever secrets are on this paper have been well-hidden. Looking around, you see that Paras is long gone. You are alone, surrounded by the silence of the Great Library.

[Sen isSaqqara]

Lirian draws a piece of dark chalk from a pouch on her belt, and is halfway through placing a thin sheet of paper over the hidden document before thinking the better of it. Moving her hands across the paper in a pair of helical patterns, she mutters a few syllables and forces her will into a simple spell of read magic.

[Ajadea]

Calia averts her eyes, biting back a wince. That was a lot of blood, and with the guard involved.... the Six - the Five? They wouldn't be here at all if their numbers were intact. Whatever their name, they brought blood in their wake. Everyone knew that. In Onyx City no less than anywhere else. She doesn't even want to think about tomorrow. "I- I don't think they'd appreciate us interrupting. Come on Arran. Let's go to the Janos Crown," she says softly.