Trog's Tavern CCXLIX

[Zefir]

Varrel makes a dismissive gesture in Mr C's general direction. Oh, it's no problem. It's just that people have been sucked into my hat before, and by all accounts it isn't pleasant...

He turns to Myrrh.

Hmm. That, then, naturally leads us onto the question: Where do we find her? I imagine you know, since you work for her. Oh, and also, she's not the type of being likely to incinerate anyone who interacts with her if she got out of Tir na n'Og the wrong side that morning, is she? Because I've dealt with those sorts of people before and it is not an experience I am eager to repeat.

"Well,. Thank you. It's still a matter of size that I got into this trouble. Might as well see how I can solve that." Mr. C replise. He got the little feeling that he disturb something here. So he starts to walk off. Not very fast due to his size, but with a moderate speed.

[Morty]

Spako nods.
"That sounds reasonable. Got any leads so far?" he asks.

"Not so far, no. If we don't run into anything, I can always go ask in MERC. I have a license there for that purpose. I trust them about as far as I can throw them, but it is helpful," Wenomir says with a shrug. Then he looks at the fight. "Do you know what the hell this is about? It looks to be escalating a point where I might be inclined to do something about it."

[Rebonack]

"It would appear the horned fellow has something the magus desires," Rebonack replies, though he sounds somewhat uncertain. "And if I am not mistaken, that shape the horned creature is carrying looks suspiciously like a person wrapped in a bed sheet."

If it IS a person in a bed sheet?

That might be something to do something about. Maybe.

It can be hard to figure out what the proper course of action to take is when things are as convoluted as they are at Trog's Tavern.

And for the record?

Demons aren't strictly a thing in Rebonack's homeworld. The closest would be evil elementals that live in the world's core.

They're notoriously unpleasant.

The Cobalt Knight rises to his feet and begins approaching the horned creature. "Sir? If you might explain who or what you're carrying? I believe there may be some who are worried that you are abducting one of the tavern's patrons."

An understandable thing to be worried about, right?

[WarKitty]

The horned figure shrugs briefly. The figure shimmers before changing form to an extremely well-endowed lady. Olive skin set off by chocolate brown hair and bright green eyes, clad in a short white tunic that somehow still manages to reveal most of her chest. I'm not doing anything that wasn't agreed to. she says, eyes wide.

The dogs, meanwhile, are still harrying the more aggressive figure. They are powerful but direct and predictable, as befits their nature.

[Holy-hunter]

The man tussles with the two large dogs, they are all rolling around, jumping about, fists and fangs lashing out. Not too surprisingly since he seemed built for battle, the man seems to be enjoying himself, even as he stops to watch the demon change and one of the creatures lunges onto his back and bites deep into his neck. As blood runs down his ruined top he reaches into the creature holding of it whatever he can as a torrent of flames burst from his hand and a sharp twist and flick will send it flying into the other empty monster.

He picks up a flaming barstool that he had accidentally set alight, holding it out ready for another bout he slowly circles his aggressors to a point he can watch them and and the Cobalt adressing the demon that shifted into a woman.

[Septimus Faber]

Oh, sorry. I thought it was a common term - Tir na n'Og is the Land of the Forever Young. A sort of otherworld in some cultures. I would say I don't actually believe in it, but living in the Nexus it's a little hard to disbelieve anything. Varrel should probably know by now that his elaborate jokes and fantastic analogies are not palatable to everyone, but he's just that sort of guy.

She sounds quite.. Regal, I think the word is, so is there anything in particular I need to do? Any way to address her? Shadowood Hold... Gosh. I've heard of it, but not often, which I suppose must tell you something about the place. He's also quite inquisitive, and Myrrh is so far removed from any other being he's encountered before that's it's hard to resist asking her about everything he can think of.

[Deathkeeper]

Spako looks about and sighs, having not paid attention to the fight at all, and deciding to simply react to whatever happens at this point.

[Rebonack]

Rebonack coughs slightly when the horned man turns into a non-horned woman.

He's not about to fall for something like that.

He just saw the creature use its glamor after all. "Ahem... Be that as it may... eerr... miss? I still believe some sort of explanation is deserved."

Meanwhile!

"Ah, I see," Myrrh hums. "Based on what I've learned of the 'Nexus' thus far, I wouldn't be terribly surprised if such a place did in fact exist."

Totally does.

Rebo has a version of it and it's terrible. Never visit unless you don't mind getting turned into a faerie or getting dragged off to be enslaved down in the Dreamlands by some insane Shee.

As Varrel's question Myrrh shakes her head. "My Mistress is quite informal. Her present state is quite new for her, a matter of months at most. So long as you treat her respectfully I believe you'll find her rather amiable."

[Morty]

Wenomir rubs his forehead.

"Quite true. This fight seems to have escalated past your average tussle in Trog's."

[Baeleck]

Over by the fireplace, Niara is speaking to a stereotypically-necromancery-type person. You know, dark hood, dark robes, pale skin, hunched back - the works.

'I'm sorry,' she says, 'but it's essential that you are able to provide exactly the service my client needs. You aren't suitable for the job. Thank you for your time.'

Another interview; another disappointment. As the applicant leaves, Niara taps down some notes onto her datapad, then leans back into her chair with a small sigh. She should really get herself an office, or something.

[Holy-hunter]

Over by the fireplace, Niara is speaking to a stereotypically-necromancery-type person. You know, dark hood, dark robes, pale skin, hunched back - the works.

'I'm sorry,' she says, 'but it's essential that you are able to provide exactly the service my client needs. You aren't suitable for the job. Thank you for your time.'

Another interview; another disappointment. As the applicant leaves, Niara taps down some notes onto her datapad, then leans back into her chair with a small sigh. She should really get herself an office, or something.

A large bloody silver pistol falls onto the table near Niara with a crash. The unnamed man who hired her earlier stands with an open hand above the revolver, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

(It has been some time since he went crashing out the window with the hounds he was fighting, he has since returned alive, sporting a tight black blood smeared leather trenchcoat and multiple poorly bandaged wounds.)

"Who makes these?" He asks referring to the gun, "it's destructive power is exhilarating, but it is mundane and poorly suited, can you find me something more powerful and adabted to my Abilities and needs?"

He looks down at the girl and her magic screen with interest in his eye.

[Ashen Lilies]

Drifting into the tavern is a placid looking figure wearing a dark hood. Or maybe 'placid' is just the expression on her mask: a smooth, expressionless face of white ceramic. A wand is tucked into her belt, a leather bandoleer with seven pouches hangs across her chest.

Mandrake cheats towards Niara - the woman at the fireplace mentioned in her message - but hangs back for the moment at the sight of the figure with the revolver.

[Baeleck]

Niara flinches at the crash, spinning around to see what it was that had caused the noise. However, she notices Bad Touch first. She flips the datapad closed with a swift flick of the wrist, then looks up slowly, frowning at her client. But her expression then softens significantly, as she sees the condition he's in.

'You look a little roughed up again, hmm? Nothing you couldn't handle though, I suppose.' She smiles faintly, then clears her throat with a slight hint of nervousness. 'So far I haven't found anybody with the right skillset, but I should have another potential arriving soon.'

Who knows, maybe he could sit in on this interview?

The gun is given a cursory glance. 'Well, this is more my area of expertise,' she says, 'so I should be able to help.'

A pause.

'Just what are your own abilities and needs? Y'know, so I'm clear on what you require.' She doesn't much fancy spending hours searching through her catalogue of weapons, only to supply him with something unsuitable.

Meanwhile, the gun is being looked at by one of Niara's drones. It should be able to discern any unusual properties, mechanical or magical, that the revolver possesses. Though, if it is indeed completely mundane, it's inspection will be concluded in a matter of moments.

Mandrake goes unnoticed, for the moment.

[Holy-hunter]

Niara flinches at the crash, spinning around to see what it was that had caused the noise. However, she notices Bad Touch first. She flips the datapad closed with a swift flick of the wrist, then looks up slowly, frowning at her client. But her expression then softens significantly, as she sees the condition he's in.

'You look a little roughed up again, hmm? Nothing you couldn't handle though, I suppose.' She smiles faintly, then clears her throat with a slight hint of nervousness. 'So far I haven't found anybody with the right skillset, but I should have another potential arriving soon.'

Who knows, maybe he could sit in on this interview?

The gun is given a cursory glance. 'Well, this is more my area of expertise,' she says, 'so I should be able to help.'

A pause.

'Just what are your own abilities and needs? Y'know, so I'm clear on what you require.' She doesn't much fancy spending hours searching through her catalogue of weapons, only to supply him with something unsuitable.

Meanwhile, the gun is being looked at by one of Niara's drones. It should be able to discern any unusual properties, mechanical or magical, that the revolver possesses. Though, if it is indeed completely mundane, it's inspection will be concluded in a matter of moments.

Mandrake goes unnoticed, for the moment.

'Roughed up' that was an understatement, in today's 3 encounters he had received 2 severe head wounds, (by foot and brick) broken and bruised ribs, a dog bite to the neck and scratches, a light bullet wound to the shoulder and a knife to the upper thigh. In fact it was only his pure stubbornness that kept him going. Even when physically exhausted and ready to collapse he continues on refusing to show any sights of weakness.

Pulling a seat up near Niara as the machine finishes it's scan, he doesn't seem phased by her current failings of his mission. But he is clearly not impressed either, he gives her a nod, acknowledging her questions but instead of answering he reaches around and sets up another chair.

Mandrake didn't go completely unnoticed, nor did her directed attention. With another nod and a small gesture of the hand he invites her over to sit with them. The gun could wait, he didn't really know what he wanted yet anyway.

[WarKitty]

The demon looks around. I have a deal to fulfill, and somewhat quickly. If you will excuse me? I have no violent intent towards anyone who does not interfere. She continues to walk towards the door.

[Rebonack]

Rebonack is blocked the door at present, taking full advantage of the fact that he's a pretty big guy.

"Miss... eerr... sir. Whichever you prefer. I should like to see what you have in those sheets so that I might know that nothing untoward is taking place," the knight insists.

You know.

Like kidnapping?

Kidnapping is bad.

[Septimus Faber]

Meanwhile!

"Ah, I see," Myrrh hums. "Based on what I've learned of the 'Nexus' thus far, I wouldn't be terribly surprised if such a place did in fact exist."

Totally does.

Rebo has a version of it and it's terrible. Never visit unless you don't mind getting turned into a faerie or getting dragged off to be enslaved down in the Dreamlands by some insane Shee.

As Varrel's question Myrrh shakes her head. "My Mistress is quite informal. Her present state is quite new for her, a matter of months at most. So long as you treat her respectfully I believe you'll find her rather amiable."

Right, then! says Varrel. I suppose if I'm going to visit your mistress I'd better go and do so. Will you accompany me? Not that I mind if you don't. He genuinely is ambivalent about it. It's his problem, and it seems somewhat unfair to drag Myrrh in... But equally he's quite a sociable sort of person (on his good days) and appreciates the value of a companion on a journey.

[Ashen Lilies]

Mandrake nods, and moves over to join them discreetly, taking her seat without a sound so as not to interrupt the conversation.

[Baeleck]

'Roughed up' that was an understatement, in today's 3 encounters he had received 2 severe head wounds, (by foot and brick) broken and bruised ribs, a dog bite to the neck and scratches, a light bullet wound to the shoulder and a knife to the upper thigh. In fact it was only his pure stubbornness that kept him going. Even when physically exhausted and ready to collapse he continues on refusing to show any sights of weakness.

Pulling a seat up near Niara as the machine finishes it's scan, he doesn't seem phased by her current failings of his mission. But he is clearly not impressed either, he gives her a nod, acknowledging her questions but instead of answering he reaches around and sets up another chair.

Mandrake didn't go completely unnoticed, nor did her directed attention. With another nod and a small gesture of the hand he invites her over to sit with them. The gun could wait, he didn't really know what he wanted yet anyway.

Mandrake nods, and moves over to join them discretely, taking her seat without a sound so as not to interrupt the conversation.

Niara is put somewhat on edge by the man's silence, but as Mandrake approaches, she quickly figures that she should get on with business.

'Ah, hello there. You must be Mandrake,' Niara says, nodding politely. She'd made sure to ask for her applicant's names this time around - it had been a little awkward not knowing with Phoebe. A hand is offered for shaking. 'Niara Tarmikos, at your service; this is my client, who you will be working for, granted you are found to be suitable for the job at hand.'

She pauses here to allow for Bad Touch to make any of his own introductions, but if nothing is said she continues, her face taking a more serious expression now.

'Firstly, I must ask that everything we discuss here is to be kept strictly between the three of us. Is that understood?'

With its scanning complete, the drone retreats to a more innocuous position, hovering between the three of them an the rest of the tavern. It keeps an eye out for any potential eavesdroppers to the conversation going on behind it.

[Rebonack]

Myrrh gives a small nod. "You may be delayed if you simply walk up to Shadowood Hold and request audience with my Mistress. As her seneschal, it will be relatively trivial for me to provide you with the opportunity."

She begins trotting toward the door!

...which is presently being blocked by a demon and a knight.

That's rather inconvenient!

With a frown, Myrrh Balm moves over to one of the windows and shoves it open before making a rather hilarious looking attempt to scramble out through it. "Come along! We can ride the train there. It's such a fascinating machine! Have you ridden on it before?"

It's easy to forget just how out of date the unicorn is. When she was alive a lever with a bucket on the end to help with irrigation was considered state of the art technology.

To the Home thread?

[Holy-hunter]

Niara is put somewhat on edge by the man's silence, but as Mandrake approaches, she quickly figures that she should get on with business.

'Ah, hello there. You must be Mandrake,' Niara says, nodding politely. She'd made sure to ask for her applicant's names this time around - it had been a little awkward not knowing with Phoebe. A hand is offered for shaking. 'Niara Tarmikos, at your service; this is my client, who you will be working for, granted you are found to be suitable for the job at hand.'

She pauses here to allow for Bad Touch to make any of his own introductions, but if nothing is said she continues, her face taking a more serious expression now.

'Firstly, I must ask that everything we discuss here is to be kept strictly between the three of us. Is that understood?'

With its scanning complete, the drone retreats to a more innocuous position, hovering between the three of them an the rest of the tavern. It keeps an eye out for any potential eavesdroppers to the conversation going on behind it.

As might have been expected by Niara, her client remains silent and watches over the following engagement with a stern look on his face and the slightest smirk pressed upon his lips, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his wide chest and waits.

[Septimus Faber]

Myrrh gives a small nod. "You may be delayed if you simply walk up to Shadowood Hold and request audience with my Mistress. As her seneschal, it will be relatively trivial for me to provide you with the opportunity."

She begins trotting toward the door!

...which is presently being blocked by a demon and a knight.

That's rather inconvenient!

With a frown, Myrrh Balm moves over to one of the windows and shoves it open before making a rather hilarious looking attempt to scramble out through it. "Come along! We can ride the train there. It's such a fascinating machine! Have you ridden on it before?"

It's easy to forget just how out of date the unicorn is. When she was alive a lever with a bucket on the end to help with irrigation was considered state of the art technology.

To the Home thread?

Varrel hoists himself up through the window, doing his best to ignore the demon-knight standoff which is uncomfortably close by. He lands on the other side rather clumsily, but regains his balance and dusts himself off. Yes, a few tiimes. But it never ends terribly well; my home country is not known for its infrastructure.

Home, by all means.

[Ashen Lilies]

"That is understood." Says Mandrake. Her voice is smooth, dark and earthy - a curiously rich and expressive voice to be coming from a figure so plainly and discreetly garbed. It's one of the few traits she's chosen not to obscure, for reasons of practicality.

Given that she's operating under an obviously false name and wearing a disguise so thorough that not even an inch of skin, nor indeed, the specific size and shape of her body, are visible, it's pretty safe to assume she's well acquainted with the practice of not revealing information.

[Baeleck]

The silence was predictable, yes. Any less unsettling, no. Niara feels like she's being judged on every word she says, and as such, she proceeds accordingly: slowly and with extreme caution.

Mandrake's agreement is confirmed with a curt nod. 'Then, to business. Now, there are three things that my client desires. The first is to prevent the onset of death of a living subject.' Living to some extent, at least. 'Some form of preserving or stasis is the sort of effect desired, I believe.'

A pause, again. Ample time for correction or elaboration on Bad Touch's part, but not so long it's obvious.

'The second is to prevent a soul from returning. An exclusion ritual, or warding of the body. And thirdly: prevent detection or summoning from outside sources, again through some variety of warding.'

And then, the inevitable question. 'Do you feel the extent of your abilities covers these tasks?'

[Rebonack]

Wait, what's this?

Some kind of freaky time warp thing?

Totally some kind of a freaky time warp thing, because there's a draconequus behind the counter now!

Fortuna blinks about at all the people who weren't here a moment prior. People moving, people bustling, people doing normal people things. And most important? She can see the City outside the windows of the tavern rather than an endless star-scape.

"Hey! We're back!" she proclaims as she sets down the cocktail mixer she was fiddling with. Then she blinks, glancing around for her friends. "We're back, right? Guys?"

Hopefully they made it back too!

If not to Trog's then at least to somewhere else. Being stuck in a weird deadtime storm for the rest of forever would probably be terrible. Too many people get trapped in the endless moment as it is.

[Lord Magtok]

Magtok blinks, and then nearly trips when the world has been rotated roughly fourteen degrees without anyone telling him. Blugh, he hates these reality maintenance things. The coming home part is always bumpy and confusing like this.

"I'm still here. We didn't lose anyone jumping back out of hyperspace, did we?" he asks, adjusting himself to fit the new and unexpected orientation of the world. This is one of those times he's glad he hovers everywhere; if his foot had clipped into the floor, that would've been an absolute nightmare.

[Fenric]

Frederick shakes his head and looks at his empty cocktail glass

Woah... that was weird. What was in this?

[Deathkeeper]

Zebes sits on the counter next to Fortuna, besides a small pile of empty milk-boxes and crumbs.
"All's well on this end. 'Far as I can tell." he mutters.
Wonder where his DS went?

[Rebonack]

Fortuna frowns over at the somewhat blurry Kellia. "I think that's just normal deadtime, so yeah. We all made it back," she says with a sigh of relief.

And then?

Then she sticks her tongue out at Freddy.

"Gin, vermouth, ice, and lemon juice."

What?

That's what the recipe called for and so that's what she used!

Fortuna is at least competent enough to follow a recipe for something as simple as a mixed drink.

"I was a bit worried there for a while. How often does something like that happen?" she asks. "The big dead time storm, I mean? Every few months? Years? I've been here a little over a year, but I don't think I've bumped into anything quite like that before."

[Fenric]

Frederick chuckles

Yeah, yeah: Fortuna: I was just teasing. I know it wasn't your fault.

then he shrugs

I've heard awful stories from Mom and Grandpa... this is the first one I ever saw, myself.

Then he hears a menacing burbling and looks over, just in time to be engulphed by the ancient dead-time pudding! Oh Noes!