Empty Spaces [IC]

[ylvathrall]

In the city of Kaer Maga, it is said, one can find anything, so long as it doesn't find you first. Kaer Maga being the City of Strangers, there are never a shortage of residents who have yet to recognize quite how literal this warning is. Strangers being what they are, many find the lesson to be a terminal one. There are a great many ways to die in Kaer Maga, as there are a great many ways to live. The great irony of both is, of course, that you can only choose one.

Or, at least, most can.

But of all the many things one can find in Kaer Maga, it is best known for second chances.

Spoiler: Mitch

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We see, now, the first of our unlikely heroes, a man who has never once thought of himself as such. Mister Vanilla lived the life he was meant to, every step following the path which had been charted for him. Even those who charted the path seldom had much to say about Mister Vanilla; a good worker, to be sure, but not a man to stick in one's memory.

And thus he drifted through life, as close to a cnidarian as any man could aspire to be. If he had achieved no great accomplishments, it must be acknowledged that he had also suffered no crushing defeats. This was, he told himself, better than many could say, and in any case a tie was certainly better than a loss in the game of life. He lived a simple life, and he died a simple death. In a dark and hollow room, he found death at the hands of a gentle killer, a quiet end to a quiet life.

He died. He knew that he died, with a certainty that left nothing to doubt.

And yet here he lies, in an alley off Downmarket. He recognizes it, of course he does, nowhere else could such a riotous display of mercantile spirit be found, he would know it in a moment. He is alive, and to all appearances unharmed, as though taken in the moment of death (though it is clearly not the moment of his death, for the sun is shining brightly above, visible in the market as in few other places in the city) and revived, halfway across the city.

As he awakens, he notices an oddity, a slight irregularity in his regular existence. He is not entirely unchanged after all, for there is something in his hand, something he has never laid eyes upon before in his life. It's a coin, a small coin, made of some dull grey metal he doesn't recognize. Upon closer inspection, the surface of the coin is covered in fine markings, delicate lines drawn in geometric designs which almost fall into regular patterns, but never quite do. He feels, for no reason he could name, that the coin is important, and very strongly that he should keep it safe and hidden from prying eyes.

Having looked at his new coin, he decides to set out for the grand Bank of Abadar, for if there is anywhere he might find an answer to the mystery of his death and rebirth, surely it must be there.

Spoiler: Rose

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We see, now, the first of our unlikely heroes, a woman who has always dreamed of seeing herself as such. Rose is an adventurer of the truest sort, a scion of the grand old tradition. Having always longed for action, for victory in the face of hopeless odds and daring deeds against the most terrible of foes, she had little realized how far she had exceeded her goals in finding Kaer Maga. Thinking herself powerful and secure in her magic, she struck out boldly into a strange city, and soon found to her chagrin that she was neither. A blade in her chest, she watched her life's blood flow out onto the stone, and knew in her heart that she was doomed to be forgotten as though she never lived at all.

And yet, she stirs. She lives. She finds herself lying on the ground in one of the darkened warrens of the city, alive, seemingly unharmed. People pass her by on all sides without a second glance, for this is the City of Strangers, and who would extend a hand to help a stranger? Who would stop to give aid to a foreign face? The answer, clearly, was no one.

Yet Rose knew that she should not think such negative thoughts. She was alive, and this was far more than she had expected. Though she finds, after a moment, that she is not fully unchanged, for she is holding something in her hands, something she's never seen before. A box the size of her head, it seems oddly patchwork, assembled from pieces of a dozen different kinds of wood, each a different color. After a moment she realizes it is a puzzle, that the pieces of wood are meant to slide over one another until at last they found the proper arrangement. She finds that all her cleverness cannot open the puzzle box, though the shifting pieces of the puzzle form odd, intricate geometric patterns as they move. She feels, for no reason she could name, that the puzzle is important, and very strongly that she should keep it safe and ponder further over its mysteries.

Having looked at her new puzzle, she decides to set out to find the Duskwardens, for she has few other friends in this city, and after what has happened she thinks that she very much needs a friend. She furthermore decides to duck through an alley just up ahead, though this choice might seem an odd one for her. This will turn out to be a fortunate decision, since to her surprise and pleasure, she will find that a certain fox happens to be scavenging for her supper there.

Spoiler: Istila

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We see, now, the first of our unlikely heroes, a woman who would seem at a glance to be far too free a spirit for such a weighty title, though there is a heaviness upon her soul. Istilia Ennira is an artist, but one who has known darkness as well as light, and seen too well that terrible beauty which dwells therein. The onus which she carries is a heavy one, and while she may still dance, let no one think that dance is unburdened. For did not that burden pull her down from her dance, a star falling from the sky, gone before it struck the ground? Did not that burden kill her?

And yet she lives. Lying on the stone beside two tall stone pillars, she awakens, and after a heartbeat she remembers. For a moment she thinks that it was all but a dream...but no, it cannot have been, it is far too real, and in any case she can feel that heavy darkness within her spirit still. Those visions, she realizes, were a madness, a corruption in her mind, and she resolves at once not to investigate them any further, for doing so can only end poorly.

A moment later, she realizes, as well, that she is not wholly unchanged, for even beyond the memory and the power she can feel within her, she is holding something, something that she has never seen before. A glance shows it to be a Harrow card, though not from her deck, nor any other that she can recall. It depicts the Juggler, in its eternal and capricious dance, and on the reverse is drawn a complex geometric design, one which draws the eye and doesn't want to let it go. She feels, for no reason that she could name, that the card is important, and very strongly that she should keep it safe and consider what it might portend.

Having looked at her new card, she decides to go to the inn in which she was staying. This was, as she recalls, the last place she was before that creeping madness consumed her wholly, and perhaps she can find the beginnings of an answer there.

Spoiler: Kiyanna

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We see, now, the first of our unlikely heroes, though she would likely dispute such an accusation were it leveled at her. She? He? Or, perhaps, something both and neither? In this, as in much else, Kiyanna was an enigma, a study in contrasts. She is beautiful, yet he chooses to abandon that beauty. She is memorable, yet he has made his past a mystery. She is foolish enough to attempt a stunt far beyond her abilities, and yet he is very nearly skilled enough to succeed.

Nearly. But in some things, to fail by an inch is as punishing as to fail by a mile, and the stones of the city are not forgiving. She fell, and he died.

And yet here they lie, in the streets of Oriat, as though spared in the moment of their death. People pass by on all sides without a second glance, of course they do, for it's just one more fool sleeping off a night of revelry within the endless revel. He awakens, and for a moment thinks that he was lucky and the accident wasn't lethal...but no, of course she wasn't, no one is that lucky.

And furthermore, she isn't entirely unchanged, for he's holding something, something that they've never seen before in their life. It's a scarf, superficially similar to those it wears, and yet infinitely different beneath the surface. Woven of some fine, nearly transparent golden fabric, it weighs hardly more than a happy thought, and one can barely see the vastly complex geometric patterns which decorate its surface and seem to shimmer as it moves. Kiyanna feels, for no reason Kiyanna could name, that the scarf is important, and that Kiyanna should keep it safe and flaunt it for all the world to see.

Having looked at her new scarf, she decides to go to the Foxy Scarf. She wants to know what happened, he's feeling a need for a drink, and it thinks that its favored hangout is as good a place as any to find one or both of these things.

Spoiler: Peregrin

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We see, now, the first of our unlikely heroes, a man who at a glance seems far removed from the title. Heroes are envisioned battling the troubles of the world, and Peregrin Ardoc lived his life at one remove from them. A brilliant man, gifted as few others are, he possessed a similarly vast ignorance, a blind spot so pervasive that he never quite recognized its existence. The strength of his genius was enough to carry him over this pit, and so he lived his life without ever fully grasping the magnitude of his own lack of vision, until the day he died.

Died? Peregrin Ardoc was murdered, and he never saw it coming.

And yet here he is, lying on the stones of the street in Cavalcade. He recognizes it at once, of course, for where else in the city might one find the canals, the ceaseless mills and forges, and above all else the open sky, from which the blazing sun glares down at him? He is alive, and seemingly unharmed, though he remembers dying with a clarity that laughs in the face of any denial he could muster.

He is not entirely unchanged, though, for he is holding something within his hands, something that he has never seen before in his life. It is a box, of some fine dark wood that he doesn't recognize, subtly carved in elaborate geometric patterns, with a metal handle protruding from its side. A moment's examination reveals it to be a music box, a device which through incredibly fine engineering produces a soft, mournful tune when the handle is cranked. He feels, for no reason that he could name, that the box is important, and very strongly that he should keep it safe and marvel at the brilliance of its design.

Having looked at his new box, he decides to return to Bis, and find his family there. His brother is owed a visit, and perhaps there he can find some hint as to what has happened.

Spoiler: Juma

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We see, now, the first of our unlikely heroes, a man who always hesitated to apply such a lofty name to himself. A troubled soul, Juma had always felt a certain insecurity, an inability to see himself except through a haze of darkness and shame. Desperate for acceptance, he dedicated himself fully to those who took him in, and in the process cut himself off from any other who might. He found too late that they didn't understand, and never really had. Lost at sea and alone in the world, he chose his end.

Weep for our hero, for he has lost his way.

And yet he did not end, but rather, has only just begun. He is alive, the thousand wounds from which he spilled his life upon the dusty ground nothing more than a faded memory upon his skin. He awakens, and finds himself lying upon the ground on the Street of Little Gods. People pass him by unnoticed on every side, and why should they not? Even in the City of Strangers this is a place of extremes, the home of mad oracles and true believers. Here, a man who gave up his eyes to gain a greater sight is not such an outlandish thing at all.

He is not entirely unchanged, though, for he holds something within his hand, something he has never seen before in his life. A dagger with a narrow curved blade, it is made of some black metal that he does not recognize, something that does not seem to catch the light so much as devour it. The delicate, complex geometric patterns on the blade cannot be seen, only felt as the skin passes over the metal. He feels, for no reason that he could name, that the blade is important, and very strongly that he should keep it and remember from whence it came.

Having looked at his new blade, Juma decides to return to the church of Vildeis, and see if he can find kinship there once again following his atonement.

[stack]

Peregrin takes stock for a moment.
Head...intact.
Body...functional.
Equipment...curiously present. Left in street and not robbed?
Calendar...no longer relevant.
Accident?...Improbable.
Present location, known but unlikely post-incident. Should be in the Kiln. We don't toss bodies to the streets in the Cavalcade. Strange place to leave a temporarily dead body, other than being close and having less family. Further investigation of situation necessary. Also, why am I not dead? Cousin Lotho tapping into wild magic again? No, wasn't turned blue this time.
This is not going to be a good day.
He looks over the music box again before pocketing it. He gets his bearings for a moment and starts walking briskly for the Kiln in nearby Bis.

[Bhaakon]

"Are you going to get up, Mitchell?" Master Lock asks pointedly, his usual rhetorical style style of issuing orders. Mitch isn't exactly sure how he knew that, given that he'd never met the man before. "You do smell it, don't you, the commerce!"

"Smells a bit ripe for commerce, sir" Mitch mutters as he slips the little pewter-gray disk into one of his haversack's side pouches. He frowns at the unmentionable slurry running through the alley's central gutter and considers whether he has time for a wash before getting on with the day's business. "Uh...Sir, would you happen to know how I came to find myself here? I'm reasonably certain that I was standing guard, and..."

"No idea whatsoever." Lock cuts him off with a dismissive waggle of his fingers, a move designed to loudly clack his gold rings together.

"Oh." Mitch sighs. "I don't suppose you were the one delivering a monologue a moment ago?"

"Monologue? No." Master Lock squints at his underling, studying him. "Maybe you should see a priest about that. Employees hearing voices is not good for business."

"...No, sir. The Bank of Abadar, then?" Mitch suggests, thinking of the coin in his pack and the strange voice's narrative.

Master Lock frowns, but nods. "Very well. We shall have to procure coffee on the way."

"Yes, sir" The pair sets off, keeping an eye out for a coffee vendor on the way to the bank.

[The Hellbug]

Rose awakens with her face pressed to the cold stone street, the towering structures of the Warrens dwarfing the halfling woman. With a moan, she pushes herself up into a sitting position and raises her hand to her chest, just above her sternum, where recently (at least to her) her assailant's dagger had been plunged.

Nothing, not even a scar.

As marvelous as this is, however, Rose is immediately troubled by the voice she hears when she looks around, finding no clues about its source. "Who's there?" she calls out, but that only turns the heads of some curious passers-by. Once it has quieted, however, she has a chance to take in her surroundings, stretching and going through her belongings. Well, nothing's missing, not that that's any more surprising than anything else, she thinks, willing herself to feel the wound that had killed her, but to no avail, but I need to find out what happened. I'm definitely still in Kaer Maga, but I don't think I can guess at how much time has passed. I need to find Kervak, he'll be able to fill me in...

However, the voice begins to speak again, and, by the time it's finished there is only one thing that Rose cares about. Medea! She quickly stows the puzzle box she had awakened with and rushes down the next alley, which is, perhaps, as the voice had said, a shortcut towards the Duskwardens' headquarters.

[Segrain]

Her sense of touch was first to return. Lying on a stone somewhere was not the worst manner in which Istilia Ennira ever had to sleep in her travels, but it nonetheless was not the one to which she once again got used during the stay in the city. And she certainly could remember a distinct lack of any stones in her last evening. In fact, there was a lack of anything at all. Even of any support under her feet as she rushed up the night sky... oh. That could explain a lot - depending, of course, on where she ended.

Sight had to return shortly afterwards. Opening her eyes, Istilia glanced around and considered regretting that decision immediately. She knew exactly where she was; truth be told, she even slept on almost the very same stones not so long ago. Except that the last time her awakening involved somebody poking her with a pointed stick and explaining in even more pointed expressions just how stupid it was to sleep in a dangerous place like this without anyone's oversight. Back then, Istilia agreed completely; she certainly was not planning on stepping between the Pillars again, and even if she was foolish enough to still do it, then somebody once again would had had to drag her out. No, what happened last night was not a dream and not a vision - at least, until the part where the real visions started. But after that... she... how could she survive it at all, much less without a single scratch?

Hearing did not return swiftly enough to answer that. Not due to any injury to her ears; that would had been so much easier to endure. No, Istilia just could not believe the words that she heard. Somebody, who knew her by name, yet was speaking in a voice that she could not recognise, was describing to her... everything that was happening to her already. Even the card, apparently clutched in her hand, turned out to be exactly what the voice was saying. Juggler. How fitting. Plaything of divine - what else she was, dancing on the strings that dragged her back and forth across entire Varisia and pulled her up to the very sky above only to discard again? Yet, a card she had - and it was a card of the suit of keys. Keys existed to lock - and to unlock; perhaps, she only had to find the right door for it.

After, of course, dealing with more immediate concerns. Standing up, Istilia was glad to confirm that her body was unharmed; yet all gladness disappeared in an instant when, doing a simple twirl, she also confirmed that there was nobody at all - nobody talking to her, at least. Of course, some people were already walking at this hour, whatever it actually was; they were not the one whom she sought. "Who!.." - the damsel started, yet silenced herself in an instant. From somebody who just woke up next to the Pillars, saying some nonsense was probably expected, but it was not a reason to shout about her visions for entire city to hear. Besides, if there was one thing that her quest for guidance yielded, it was the tongue of the heavens and stars. "Who are you?" - Istilia tried once again, letting here quiet words challenge even the sky itself, if that was where her observers were hiding. - "Reveal yourself!.."

Once again, she had to interrupt herself. She still had the burden of her calling, twisting her tongue in ways not meant for human speech; yet the very second sentence from her lips scared her. Those were the sounds that she heard in her vision; yet another proof that it all was real, as if Istilia needed more of those. No, what she needed was a good rest. Dying could not be good for her health, and stones on the street could not compare to a comfortable bed. Even the voice agreed that she should had just returned to the inn, where the madness was lying.

Except... it was not a night anymore. Now that Istilia was looking at the sky above, - a rare sight that she learned to treasure in Kaer Maga, but she was in one of the few places in the city where walls were not blocking it, - the stars were gone. And gone was the moon, unwilling to take her spirit on the journey deserved by any dead soul. It meant that she had to stay in the mortal realm, but she needed a better answer than that. Perhaps, her cards once again... no. To her unseen spectator, the maiden shook her head. She was not returning to the inn yet. Time to read cards and to sleep indoors could come with the night; for now, she needed a better guidance. There was a place to seek it; of course, it was in the opposite side of the city walls. She had a long way to go; and thus, Istilia Ennira made her first step into the new life.

She made a single step - and once again hesitated. She had a long way to go, but which way? If the Street of Little Gods was in the opposite side of the walls, then was it easier to reach sunwise or countersunwise? Istilia did not know the Ring well enough to answer that. Perhaps she could hire a guide... no, it made no sense. She was already on the road to the divine guidance; she needed no mortal. Just another twirl to look around... and looked she had, yet the answer that she found was not the one that she sought. In the dust on the stone, there remained a perfect silhouette of her dancing shoe. An entirely normal sight for anybody else; a frightening visage for a lightfoot dancer whose every step was taking her closer and closer to heavens for her entire life. No, she certainly was not returning into the inn yet. She needed the sky over her head; and in Kaer Maga, that was a rare luxury. No, she was not going to her destination through the ruins of ancient walls, whether in one direction or in the opposite one. Her way lay straight through the Core. Perhaps a walk by the lakeside could do her some good before the prayer.

Determined, Istilia Ennira turned to leave her second footmark on the same world.

[ICN]

Kiyanna lays back, eyes closed, hardly paying attention as the voice began its narration. This was Oriat, street performers were hardly uncommon. As the voice continues though, mentioning his name several times, a small wrinkle makes its way onto his forehead, deepening into a real frown as it calls his stunts foolish. When the voice mentions his death however, he springs up, arms held out to ward off any scavengers. "Wait! I'm not dead!" He glances around, unable to pinpoint the speaker, and nonplussed by what had all the appearances of just another ordinary day in Oriat.

Heedless of his inability to locate it, the speaker continues, drawing his attention to the scarf clutched in his han- Huh, must've sleep shifted- her paw. The scarf was exquisite, the light of Oriat reflecting off its scintillating patterns in a way she had never quite seen the like of. Absently, she reaches for the sleeve of her colorful robe and pulls out a similar scarf, though even a superficial inspection is enough to reveal the differences. With a shrug, she hands the shoddy duplicate off to the closest passerby. "Wear this." Well, she wasn't going to complain, far from it; a scarf was a scarf, and this one was of exceptional quality.

More than the scarf though, she herself felt different. She felt good. Capable and confident in a way that surpassed anything she'd felt before. A glance over her shoulder alerted her to another change. A few practice swishes confirmed it; all those tails were hers. A grin broke out onto her face. The speaker was still rambling on, saying something about the Foxy Scarf. That wasn't a bad idea, an occasion like this deserved a drink, possibly with the owner of the mysterious voice. But if she was going for a celebratory drink, she was going in style. Her grin widening, Kiyanna starts preparing for another attempt, affixing numerous red scarves to herself and tying her new golden scarf to her fluffy new tail.

Spoiler: OOC

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Kiyanna uses the Suggestion Lesser Charm on the passerby, DC 18.
Skilled Casting Perform Dance check (DC 18): (1d20+16)[17]

[TheOneHawk]

Juma awakens to the sound of a strange woman's voice, but does not stir. He did not recognize the voice, though it clearly knew his name, and recent history. Perhaps this was the Lady of Graves passing judgement upon his soul, though the term "Hero" seems a strange one to hear from any such being. It isn't until the voice specifically states that he is alive that he begins to wonder. Focusing his attention through the living blades protruding from his forearms, he shares their sight and looks around. To his great surprise, he finds himself still in Kaer Maga, though quite far from where he last drew breath. This was the street of little gods, clear across the other side of the city from the old warehouse, what was he doing here of all places, and how was he alive? For that matter, who was talking to him? Through his blades he could see people coming and going, all of them ignoring him completely, and yet still the voice continued its description of events as they unfolded.

Only when the voice mentions the knife in his hand, previously unnoticed, does Juma clamber to his feet. Bringing the weapon closer to one of his symbionts, he inspects it as best he can. The same thought occurs to his weapon at the same time it does to him. Cicatrix. The word echoes in his mind for a moment as he inspects the blade and tests its edge. Obviously not the true weapon itself, but undoubtedly crafted in its likeness. How could he have ended up transported to the other side of the city, alive when he should not be with a strange voice speaking to him from nowhere and holding a copy of his patron's blade? Had Vildeis smiled upon him? There was no other explanation he could think of, she must have noticed his bloody atonement and granted him another chance! Even before the voice narrates him leaving for the temple he begins towards it at a run. Now, certainly, they would accept him. How could they not?

[ylvathrall]

Spoiler: Peregrin Ardoc

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Following his awakening, Peregrin Ardoc begins traveling to the district where he had made his home. Being far too intent on his goal, he does not notice any of the myriad small details which might inform him that something was very wrong. His singular focus always was Peregrin's strength and weakness.

He makes his way easily over the canals and through the streets of Cavalcade, and at last ducks back into the fully enclosed section of Bis. Here, in the cavernous spaces and precarious balconies, in the eerie glow and deep shadows, Peregrin Ardoc is at home. Before he can reach the Kiln, the seat of his family's power, he is stopped by a man bearing the ornate chisel of an Ardoc brother. After a moment, Peregrin recognizes him as Gareth Ardoc, a distant but not wholly unfamiliar cousin.

This recognition does not, however, seem to be mutual. A hostile and suspicious glare on his face, Gareth asks, "Who are you?"

Spoiler: Mister Vanilla

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Mister Vanilla is surely a paragon of stoicism, to take such strange and unsettling events in stride. Truly, his example is an inspiration to us all.

Passing through the temporary streets and alleyways of Downmarket, he easily finds a vendor of exotic drinks willing to part with a few cups of strong coffee for just a few copper coins.

He and Master Lock continue across the market and cross that intangible boundary into Hospice. Under the relentless assault of another sort of salesperson, they cross this district as well and then duck into the enclosed Ring district known as the Tarheel Promenade. On the Promenade itself, the grand Bank of Abadar waits, its heavily fortified walls and magical protections one of the few inviolable things in the city. The doors stand open, as they usually do, although as always there are guards outside, a fact Mister Vanilla is all too keenly aware of.

Spoiler: Rose

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Rose slips unnoticed into the alley, where she does indeed see a familiar fox. The fox looks at her and Rose at once feels that connection which has always marked their relationship. Something is clearly odd about it, though, for instead of joy and relief, what she feels from Medea is confusion and unease.

Standing in the alleyway, she recognizes her surroundings and realizes that she is on the outskirts of Bis, with the Duskwarden Guildhouse just a few twists and turns away.

Spoiler: Istilia Ennira

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But of course Istilia Ennira realizes that returning to the inn would be premature at this time. Instead, her steps turn towards the Street of Little Gods, following what is (by some lucky coincidence) the most direct route to get there. She crosses through Downmarket, the great center for trade in all things that in another place would be unspeakable. She passes through Hospice, where love is for sale or at least for rent, slightly shopworn at discount prices. She ducks into the enclosed district of the Tarheel Promenade, where more permanent shops crowd for space beside the temples of gods both beautiful and terrible.

And at last Istilia Ennira ducks down a side street, the Street of Little Gods, where every faith and every follower has a place to call home.

Spoiler: Kiyanna

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Kiyanna nearly stumbles over her own feet, which is likely a poor omen for what she's about to attempt. Her dance is sufficient to weave a charm, though, and the man walking past takes the scarf and drapes it around his shoulders with a shrug. The fact that he's obviously inebriated and likely not even aware of what he just did detracts only slightly from the immense triumph of the moment.

Kiyanna feels a momentary cautious impulse as she begins preparing her scarves for what is, really, a quite foolish display. He reminds herself that he did die doing this not so long ago at all, and if he dies again there's absolutely no guarantee that he will miraculously return to life. At the very least, he decides, he should remember to use a safety rope this time. Or, as the case may be, a safety scarf.

Spoiler: Juma

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Juma races through the city, from the Tarheel Promenade all the way to the Warren (for Vildeis is, of course, not so widely renowned a deity as to have a temple in that district, and while she has a shrine on the Street of Little Gods, her actual church is in a more impoverished part of the city). He wisely remembers to sheathe the blade, as sprinting through the city while holding a bared dagger is seldom a good idea.

As usual his appearance attracts some notice but no real reaction in the City of Strangers. In Hospice, it is naturally assumed that he is simply a seeker of more extreme sensations than most, and the proprietors of some of the more similarly-minded establishments call out to him as he passes. In Downmarket, where the mercantile spirit takes a slightly more impersonal turn, the interest is more in his unusual weapons, and he hears several shouted offers to purchase them.

At last, though, Juma returns to the Warren, where he was born and lived and died. The church of Vildeis is a small and unassuming building tucked away in a corner of the district. As he approaches, Juma sees one of the clerics of the empyreal lord working outside, a woman who had always been particularly disapproving of him.

[Bhaakon]

"Yes, I am, aren't I." Mitch agrees with a measure of pride as he sips his coffee en-route to the Bank of Abadar.

"You are what, Mitchell?" Master Lock glances over his shoulder with some concern. Now the man is talking to himself. Perhaps a new hire is in order?

"A paragon of stoicism, sir. A rock of constancy in the deep and troubled waters of this city. A dependable, rigid, unbending immovable object in the face of shameless eccentricity." Mitch responds, pointedly ignoring the scandalous propositions of the disgustingly varied Hospice workers, as if to prove his point through example.

"Yes, yes, that is most certainly true. Your capacity for oblivious perseverance is your primary value as an employee, Mitchell, but why did you feel the need to say so unprompted?" Master Lock asks, only moderately distracted by the splendid array of jewelry on display in Kaer Maga's hospitality district. It was simply amazing how many places they could find to pierce on a halfling, and nearly half of those cut stones weren't paste.

"You cannot hear that voice, sir? The one detailing my actions most presciently? Why it just described our approach to the Bank of Abadar, and here we are, sir!" Mitch explains, the barest hint of wonder creeping into his tone. "Truly marvelous, is it not, having your life laid out in such detail? An orderly procession of events with no surprises to be had. I must admit a certain fondness. Perhaps if the voice had been present the other night, I would have have been...erm..." The hot pain of the blade pulled across his throat and the descent into darkness that followed were so vivid, but clearly Mitch was not dead, so it must have been a dream. Or possibly a hallucination? Had he simply blacked out? The Vanillas avoided the bottle as a rule, but there were times when etiquette demanded a shared drink to seal a contract. But, no, he'd been standing guard, not attending a business dinner. Then there was that time the office joker had spiked the coffee pot with midnight milk. She'd been fired, of course, so a repeat of that seemed unlikely.

Master Lock frowns, his brow creasing with genuine concern for his bottom line. "I believe we should hurry inside, Mitchell. Your condition is becoming worrisome. I fear it may become a financial burden if not corrected immediately, and that I cannot allow."

"Oh? I don't remember health coverage in the employment compact." Mitch answers, confusing encroaching upon his island of denial as he tries to recall the terms of his employment. "I don't really recall being hired by you at all, really, but the last little stretch is touch...fuzzy."

"Yes, well, perhaps the good Bankers can treat your memory as well as your...other condition." Master Lock responds, brushing off the question. "I assure you that our arrangement is entirely iron-clad. That is what matters most."

"Very good, sir. We should be able to enter right away. It has not been so long since my apprenticeship that the clerks won't recognize me." Mr. Vanilla proceeds up the steps, pausing only long enough to let Master Lock take the lead. It was only proper for his superior to remaining a pace ahead.

[ICN]

Kiyanna paused in her preparations as the speaker continued. She had been planning on using a safety line, but something about that voice... She could place the accent now; it was almost exactly like that of a ratty little Widdershins clerk who'd jumped at his own shadow. She didn't need a safety scarf, what she needed was confidence. There was no need to plan for failure, he was not some mewling Widdershins coward, to be bound by a million threads of what might be. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. "I'll show you how we do things here in Oriat." With that, he latched a scarf onto both sides of the street and swung himself into the air.

Spinning gracefully through the air, Kiyanna soon finds her rhythm, leaving her free to focus on other things. She starts humming a few bars, the beginnings of a potential theme song. It would need to be something bold, dramatic, something easily recognizable... But there was the Foxy Scarf. She starts swinging faster and higher, her pulse quickening with excitement. She builds the momentum needed, reaching the crest of her arc. Kiyanna unhooks her scarves from their nearby anchoring points and goes for it.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Triple Backflip, DC 30. Acrobatics: (1d20+18)[21]

[The Hellbug]

"Medea!" Rose shouts as she spots her familiar, paying no heed to the voice this time, so great is her relief, "I'm so glad to see you're alright!" Rose's relief, however, is not mirrored in the fox. Medea's head pops up from her scrounging when she hears her name, quickly identifying the source of of the disturbance but failing to identify her master. Their empathetic link, however, is still intact, and Medea, made cautious by the strangeness of the encounter, lowers her head and begins to slowly back away from the halfling.

The fox's unease takes Rose by surprise, but the connection itself is enough to prove that she has made no mistake and that this is her long-time companion and friend, to say nothing of the canniness in her eyes that could never belong to a mere animal or the red handkerchief that Rose, herself, had fastened around her neck. "What's wrong? Are you alright?" a concerned Rose asks, following slowly but deliberately. Medea's response, however, is unchanged.

Something was seriously wrong here. The most troubling thing, however, is that Rose cannot feel an ounce of maliciousness in her familiar's actions--she is merely a stranger to be cautious with, not an enemy. A pit begins forming in her stomach as the truth begins to dawn on her: Medea, her constant companion and perhaps closest friend, doesn't recognize her. This realization hits her as hard as any physical blow when she , and the sorceress staggers to the alley wall, slumping down to the cobbled ground.

That's impossible. I can still feel her, and she must still be able to feel me. How could she not recognize that bond? Maybe a spell? Whoever attacked me wanted to separate us. As Rose tries to justify her situation, however, the fear she had felt begins to give way to despair, and she is left with one thought.

What had that voice said? ...doomed to be forgotten as if she never lived at all.

Rose had faced life and death situations before, but there had always been someone there to stand by her side. To be an utter stranger to her dearest friend...

As tears begin to form in Rose's eyes, she doesn't hear Medea silently pad up to her. The first she notices of the fox is her warmth as she lays her head on Rose's knee. The unease she had emanated just moments before is tempered by something else. Compassion? Curiosity? Rose wipes her eyes and looks down at Medea. "You don't remember me, do you?" Rose asks.

The fox shakes her head.

"But you still want to help?"

The fox nods.

"And here I was, thinking that I had lost you," Rose remarks, and, as she pats Medea's head, the corner of her mouth turns up slightly. She gets back up to her feet and announces, "well, I was just on my way to the Duskwardens' Guildhouse, do you know the way?"

With a yip, the fox takes a few steps in the direction Rose was heading before turning around to wait for her recently-deceased master to follow. One foot ahead of the other...

Soon, the Duskwarden Guildhouse looms in front of them.

[stack]

Peregrin gives his cousin an annoyed look. "Its me, Peregrin. Come one, something strange is happening and I need to figure it out. Anyone been playing with wild magic again?"

[Segrain]

Of course, her questions and demands were not answered - neither from the skies above, nor from the cliff below. And certainly not anywhence around her - in the City of Strangers, even madmen talking in alien tongues were not a particularly interesting sight. Not that Istilia thought herself a madwoman, of course. Not that she was expecting an answer, anyway; whoever was talking to her did not sound like somebody willing to speak with her. In fact, the mysterious voice did not even comment on her words. That was less expected, but even more surprising was that it instead commented on her decisions. For somebody who could so easily know her very thoughts, what purpose could there even be in toying with her? That thought, she realized, was probably not a secret from the voice either, but she did not expect it to suddenly answer it. That was fine. She could seek her answers elsewhere.

And elsewhither she was going, paying little mind to the voice's mercifully terse description of her path through the Core districts. What, of course, was the most direct route across the city. She was not so stupid to need being told that. But, as anybody who had ever travelled with a Varisian caravan knew, the shortest and the swiftest paths not always were the same things. That, too, was fine. The voices of merchants around her could serve as a distraction from the one in her head, the sky above that head did not look disappointed in her too much, and as she took her time to find her way, she could consider the only visible reminder of the weirdness that happened. It was a strange card, but still just a small card; and Istilia did not want to lose it. Perhaps returning to the inn to safely hide it was not such a bad idea... no, she wanted to keep it close. And that was not so hard to do: her outfit not only served to garb her body, but could also conceal many secrets, some more dangerous than others. Unwrapping one of her many scarves, the dancer slipped the card into one of hidden pockets and carefully tied the garment back, trying to make it look like she was merely adjusting her clothes.

That took her long enough to finally reach her destination. In her past life - a thought more literal than she would had liked - Istilia was not the most fervent visitor of churches, but she followed her personal calling with all devotion that she could muster. Even the last night, it was a sacred dance that led her out of her window, over the rooftops and walls... and into the sky. Perhaps it was a divine will. But if she was called only to be given a vision and cast down, what purpose could it have? She needed answers - and though gods rarely gave them, she trusted in prayer more than in the voice in her head. Running her fingers over the silver chain with sacred charms on her neck, Istilia walked down the street past several strange idols and knelt in front of shrine to Ashava. "Was I unworthy of your grace?" - she whispered in the tongue of stars, barely holding herself from bursting into tears. - "Had I stepped astray from some path? Whither should I go, if you would not guide me? Is my very spirit not yet lost enough, that even in my death you would not take me? Would you abandon me now?"

Having said that, Istilia prostrated even lower - and, once again met with a sight of the stones of the street, suddenly realized what should she do. Perhaps she did make a misstep. Perhaps it was some strange test that she could not comprehend. Perhaps there was some explanation that she could not guess. One way or another, she still was interrupted in a middle of the rite - and it was only fitting that she now could properly complete it and receive her answer at the same time. The moon and stars were gone from the unseen sky and could not witness her; it did not matter, if she still was able to borrow even an unseen light. A word of prayer, a gesture of plea... raising from her kneeling position, Istilia grabbed a tiny pebble - and in her hands it softly glowed. That was an answer enough; with single bow and no more words, she left it to shine in the shrine's shadow. It was more proper to leave a light somewhere in the darkness, but on the street full of places of worships and of little blessings like the one that just was granted to her, finding any darkness was much more miraculous.

Or... was it? Now that her prayers, strange as they were, were said, Istilia could actually pay attention to her surroundings as she continued her way down the street and nowhither in particular. The familiar shrine that she had left behind was unique like the moon in the sky, but other sights, exotic even by Kaer Maga's nonexistent standards, were manifold as the stars themselves. Without any regard for divine hierarchies, any deity could find itself revered next to some obscure spirit from another end of the world or to its own, all too familiar, worst enemy; a shrine of any imaginable kind could exist on the street, and the only thing missing was the empty space between them. But... Istilia now knew how to see the empty nothingness between the stars. Away from garish miracles and enraptured worshippers. Into the shadow of some larger building and quietness of solitude. She had never been in that spot, never heard any prayer being said there, never seen anyone tend to the shrine within it. But she did not need the ability to see in the darkness to know to whom it was devoted, and she did not need any prayer to express her thoughts.

And, wordlessly standing before the shrine to the Silence Between, Istilia could feel tears dry on her cheeks.

[TheOneHawk]

As fast Juma runs through the city, his mind is racing faster still with the possibilities of the dagger and his resurrection. So deep in his thoughts is he, that he barely registers the continuing narration of his actions and spares even less of a thought to the various shouted offers he passes by. When he finally reaches the temple, he is momentarily disheartened that Anna is the first cleric he finds for, as the voice reaffirms, she never cared for Juma and the feeling was mutual. Still, she would know who he was and would recognize the dagger without a doubt, so he yells her name out as he runs up to the temple. "Anna! Anna it's me, Juma! Look!" At this last word he pulls the dagger out to show it to her.

[ylvathrall]

Spoiler: Mister Vanilla

Show

Of course Mister Vanilla recognizes, as he enters the bank, that not only is Master Lock oblivious to the voice which he is hearing, but so is everyone else around, to the point that he cannot deny that he is the only person hearing it. Furthermore, there is clearly something odd, for while he recognizes several of those people working, this recognition does not seem to be mutual.

At length Mister Vanilla decides to go to one of the guards, a woman he has on occasion worked with in the past, and ask her precisely what is going on and with whom he should speak.

Spoiler: Kiyanna

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Kiyanna realizes, moments after letting go of the scarves, that she is in fact not going to be able to perform a triple backflip, having clumsily gotten himself tangled at the last moment and not started flipping until it was too late. He has just enough time to recognize this reality, to panic, and, perhaps, to futilely grab at one of the scarves before falling. She lands badly, and flops onto the ground in a most undignified manner. He is reasonably confident that people are laughing at her failure.

Standing up and brushing itself off, Kiyanna decides to continue into the bar without further ado. She furthermore reminds himself that having come back from the dead once is not in any way a guarantee that it will do so again, and thus it would probably be well-advised to take just the slightest bit of precaution in the future.

Spoiler: Rose

Show

Rose is grasping the nature of her situation remarkably quickly, likely assisted by her familiar. She is relieved to know that they are still compatible, and that within a relatively short time she and Medea will be as close as ever.

Within the Duskwarden Guildhouse, she sees several Duskwardens who are familiar to her, including one whom she spoke with at some length while trying to negotiate access to the Undercity. She decides to speak with this woman before deciding her next course of action, although based on her interaction with Medea she suspects she already knows what will happen.

Spoiler: Peregrin

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Peregrin Ardoc realizes that his cousin is looking at him in an odd and not entirely pleasant way. "I don't know any Peregrin," Gareth says. "But I do know that you should not be showing those signs in Bis unless you're an Ardoc, and you are no Ardoc."

Spoiler: Istilia Ennira

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Istilia Ennira is slightly displeased to find that, while her religious experience is certainly very calming and pleasant, it does not hush the voice which she continues to hear in her head. She is, however, making remarkable progress on understanding that voice, which is a not-inconsiderable achievement in itself.

After taking a moment to honor the lady of lost travelers, and another to recognize the presence of the silence between, she sees a beggar boy nearby, hoping for alms from those who follow faiths more charitable than those of Abadar and Asmodeus. She recognizes him after a moment, as this is hardly her first visit to the Street of Little Gods, and decides to speak to him, hoping for answers to some basic questions about what has happened since she fell.

Spoiler: Juma

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Much to his surprise, Juma finds that Anna does not exhibit any particular response to him, nor does she seem to recognize his name. Elsewhere, his sudden appearance while waving a knife and shouting might be a threatening sight, but of course here that is not the case. "Should I know you?" Anna asks, her expression suggesting that she is unsure whether she is witnessing a display of devotion or of sacrilege.

[The Hellbug]

As Rose follows pushes open the door to the guildhouse, the voice whispers to her yet again. She looks around for it's source, but cannot pick out a culprit from the crowded street. Moreover, nobody else seems to react to its presence. Medea senses Rose's confusion and turns to face the halfling, cocking her head to one side questioningly. "Sorry, I just thought I heard something," Rose replies, at first concerned that the fox will think her crazy. She soon thinks better of downplaying this occurrence to her familiar and asks, "wait, Medea, did you not just hear a man talking about us?" The fox's continued questioning stare is all the answer that Rose needs. The sorceress frowns, but there are more important puzzles right now, such as her current existence among the living.

As the pair steps into the entryway, Rose remember something. "Sorry!" she apologizes to Medea, "you'll just have to trust me when I say that you knew me once, but, because of that, I never introduced properly myself!" Just inside the doorway now, the halfling salutes the fox with a bow and continues, "I'm Rose, and you don't know how much of a relief it is for me to see that you're well, Medea."

As she stands up straight again, however, Rose catches sight of a friend of hers out of the corner of her eye: Diana Kilvasa, her primary contact with the Duskwardens. "Warden Kilvasa!" the sorceress calls out, greeting the tall woman with a wave and ignoring the voice in her head for now, "I have a favor to ask. Do you have a moment?"

[Bhaakon]

Of course no one recognizes me. I've put on a few pounds since my apprenticeship, the helmet shades my face, and this armor is hardly the standard issue from the Abadaran guard. Besides, propriety required a certain social distance in business. A show of familiarity would be inappropriate for the workers. But I'm a customer now, so I may be as familiar as I wish! Mitch tries to explain away the narrator's vaguely troubling description of the situation.

Still, he follows the voice's lead by striding up to the guard-woman and introducing himself. "Ah, Novitiate Chalmers. Excuse me, it must be a Fourteenth Degree Apprentice by now. It is I, Journeyman Vanilla. Could you point me to a Vaultkeeper? I fear there's something that..."

"He is hearing voices, Madam." Master Lock cuts in. "We will, of course, pay to have this unacceptable situation remedied with all haste."

"It is A voice, singular, sir. It is important to be precise in these matters. Even a small detail could be of great importance, or a small delay. So could you please point me to the most senior Vaultkeeper available? Is it still 'Keeper Erickson? I'd quite like to know what is going and and how to remedy the..." Mitch continues, trying to hide his annoyance.

"Memory issues, as well, but our resources are finite. We should focus on the ongoing problem before concerning ourselves with the past." Lock continues, steamrolling his subordinate.

"Most wise, sir. Ah, one more thing...a bit embarrassing, but would you mind telling me the date?" Mitch finishes.

[ICN]

Kiyanna winces as she gets up, rubbing a shoulder. That had gone much better in her head. It didn't help that the voice's tone had taken on a mocking edge. She wasn't sure why she had paced it as Widdershins earlier, it sounded much more like that of Sila Rulthric. Her eyes narrowed at the name. It was all coming together now. She wasn't sure how, but this was all clearly a prank set up by Sila Rulthric. She wasn't sure how, but she knew that all of this, including both her spills, must've been orchestrated by her nemesis. Kiyanna brushed herself off, then stomped into the bar. "I'm here! What do you want? Aakif, make me a drink."

[stack]

Peregrin starts to get irritated, "Knock it off man, this some kind of joke? Lobback put you up to this? Let me through, I have things to do!"

[Segrain]

It took a feat of willpower for Istilia to keep her silence unbroken. Of all places in the world, she was standing in one where she could hope for some quietude from her mysterious commentator - but, apparently, despite all his miraculous awareness in all other regards, sense of propriety was not in his power. At least, she did not actually need any words to express her infuriation - all thoughts in her mind were like an open book to him anyway. And that creature even had the audacity to commend her... understanding of him as some achievement? At the moment, she was almost ready to accept that he was solely trying to irritate her as much as possible - but if that was how he wanted to be seen, she was not going to object. It was not like he had the decency to put any effort into being actually seen, anyway.

Yet, no matter how not slight at all her displeasure was, there was nothing that she could do. Giving a parting glance to the shrine, Istilia turned around and returned to the street proper before her feelings could get the better of her in some manner inappropriate in a sacred place. Perhaps she could find some distraction from the unpleasant thoughts about the voice in her head... but, of course, it was going to describe everything that managed to catch her attention. Not that it was such a great distraction, anyway. Sure, the boy looked familiar, and she probably had thrown him some coins every so often as she used to do after a lucky day of performing, but she could not remember actually talking to him - certainly not enough to recall knowing his name. And even if she could, what good could it had been? She had questions - but, surely, they were not something that a mere beggar could answer. Still... the voice in her head seemed to know what happened to her much better than she herself could understand. Perhaps she could indulge it for a try.

Giving a shrug to her invisible observer, Istilia reached into one of the pouches on her sash and procured a silver coin. That hardly was a proper price for the answers that she wanted, but she still doubted that she was going to receive any of those. What was her observer even expecting her to say? "I think that I just died, and now there is a voice in my head that wants me to ask you about it"? At best, she would sound like somebody proselytising for some cult even weirder than others on the street were. Not that she had any better ideas of her own... with another shrug, Istilia crossed the street and, stopping next to the boy, extended her hand with the coin. "Anything new and interesting heard in the city recently?" - she smiled gently, herself not knowing what kind of an answer she was hoping to receive to such a generic question.

[TheOneHawk]

Of all the responses Juma had considered possible, blank confusion and non-acknowledgement was certainly not one of them. "Wha... what do you mean should you know me? I am Juma, a humble servant of the Cardinal Martyr the same as yourself. I have lived in this temple the past three years, working alongside you to purge wickedness and evil from this corrupted city! I was driven away for seeming to impersonate Vildeis when I cut out my eyes but when I left I cut an apology into my flesh and let my life bleed out through the words. I awoke in the street of little gods with this!" He raises the dagger again. "Is this not a lookalike of Cicatrix, our lord's own blade? I died and was reborn with her dagger in my hand, Anna. Do you truly not remember me?" As he speaks, his voice takes on more and more of a pleading tone as it becomes apparent she has no recollection of him whatsoever.

[ylvathrall]

Spoiler: Rose

Show

"I have a moment, yes," the Duskwarden says. "Though not much more, I do have a meeting to be at shortly. What is this favor? And why are you asking me, for that matter?"

It seems a normal enough response, quite polite and businesslike, which only serves to confirm Rose's fears. This seems an oddly impersonal way for Diana Kilvasa to be responding to her.

Spoiler: Mister Vanilla

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Anywhere else, such a comment might have seemed bizarre, but of course the clergy of Abadar hear stranger things. "Of course," Apprentice Chambers says. "Today is the first of Pharast, sirs. I don't think you have an appointment, Journeyman Vanilla. However, I can make an appointment for you to consult with Vaultkeeper Erickson if you would like. The first available opening in his schedule is tomorrow, half an hour before noon. Is that satisfactory?"

Chambers's tone is polite and has a certain formal distance to it, but of course Mister Vanilla at once recognizes that this is nothing particularly abnormal. She is, as he is well aware, a fully dedicated servant of Abadar, committed entirely to her role. While she is on duty, she is not Serena Chambers, the second daughter of a moderately successful thief and an exceedingly unsuccessful whore, who fled to the church to escape a string of abusive parental figures, a life as an untrained pickpocket who was on a regular basis caught and beaten by prospective marks, and the promise of a tomorrow as dismal as yesterday.

No, Mister Vanilla is not talking to her at all. He is talking to Apprentice Chambers, the hands and mouth of the Bank of Abadar, and she is a woman who keeps her role separated from her personal opinions with ferocious dedication.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

The last day you remember is the 28th of Calistril, so it seems you haven't missed much.

Spoiler: Kiyanna

Show

Kiyanna is attributing far too much in the way of skill, malice, and motivation to Sila Rulthric, but naturally she's too dim and obsessed to recognize that yet. In reality, any rivalry between the two is largely the product of his imagination, as Sila Rulthric would be hard pressed to remember her name, let alone maintain a devoted hatred of her.

For the moment, though, Kiyanna walks into the Foxy Scarf, where Aakif looks at them with a bored expression. Anywhere else he might have been shocked, but of course in Kaer Maga a walking, humanoid fox is only an usually unusual sight. "What'll it be?" the bartender asks, in the tone of a man who has been working for less than two hours and already cannot wait for his shift to end.

Spoiler: Peregrin Ardoc

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"You're obviously not all there in the head, so I'll let that slide," Gareth says. "But I'm telling you now, friend, that you want to turn around and walk. Lobback got his chisel yesterday, so if you have some axe to grind with him, this is really not a good time to do it."

At this point Peregrin Ardoc realizes that, as far as he can determine, this is not an act or a joke. Gareth genuinely seems to have no notion of who he is. What makes this particularly troublesome is that (even among the Ardoc brothers, who are as a rule logical, meticulous, serious-minded men), Gareth Ardoc is known for having a mind like a steel trap. This is a man who seems never to forget anything, and certainly not the existence of a member of his family.

Spoiler: Istilia Ennira

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"New and interesting," the boy says, vanishing the coin into a sleeve with the smooth grace of a gifted pickpocket. "Let's see...there's a new Ardoc brother in Bis, somebody started a fire in the Warrens the other day, the monks in Oriat are at it again, and some vault in Widdershins got broken into. Or are you looking for a different kind of news?"

The beggar's fingers twist into what Istilia Ennira recognizes as a Sczarni gang sign, leaving little doubt what he means by the question, as well as reminding her where she's seen this particular beggar boy before. Strangely, though, he doesn't seem to have any particular emphasis on the question, not mocking her, nor threatening her, nor any hidden meaning at all.

Spoiler: Juma

Show

"I don't think that you're entirely well," Anna says, in a surprisingly gentle tone. "I have lived in this temple for many years now, and I've never once seen you before. As for the rest...well, while I understand the temptation to think that way, it simply isn't the way that Vildeis works. Sacrifice in her name is made for the greater good, not for hope of reward."

It takes Juma a long moment to recognize the emotion in her eyes, as pity is something that he is hardly accustomed to seeing from her.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma feels the blood rushing to his face in the face of Anna's complete lack of recognition and pity. He steps away unsteadily, then walks quickly back the way he came without another word, breaking into a run as he rounds a corner. He doesn't keep it up long, however, soon dipping into a dark alley and slumping to the ground against the wall. Was this some form of punishment? A cruel divine joke being played upon him? Willing his symbiont blades to extend fully from his arms, he begins carving an intricate design into his leg, letting the physical pain of the cuts distract him from the feeling of being truly forgotten. As he cuts, he looks up to the sky and addresses the voice. "Who are you, and what do you want with me?"

[Bhaakon]

Mitch's jaw clinches and his cheeks take on a flush of embarrassment and rage as the previously benign voice reveals a sudden and unexpected propensity for slander. The fact that its comments would indeed explain a number of troubling inconsistencies in Miss Chalmer's past behavior and biography was neither here nor there. Really, this was utterly beyond the pale. Wholly unacceptable. Uncivilized.

"Really, that's quite enough! A whores-daughter?! I won't believe it!" He explodes, dousing the poor Apprentice Chalmers with a spray of spittle.

Eyes widen in shock as Mitch realizes that he's spoken aloud. "I...er...uh...that is...well..." He stammers, too scandalized by the outburst to form a proper apology.

"As you can see, this is a particularly troubling case. I fear poor Mitchell will be entirely useless to me until this matter is sorted, and that will, regrettably, hurt the bottom line. Is there any way to expedite an appointment? I'd prefer not to take my business to the Asmodeans," Lock crinkles his nose, as if the word itself conjured up the reek of brimstone, "but if it needs be done..."


"...Quite so, sir." Murmurs Mitch, sullen.

Spoiler

Show

Diplomacy for Lock? Probably not after Vanilla's outburst, but who knows. I don't think he's bluffing, but he has the same modifier in both skills.

(1d20+6)[14]

[ICN]

Yep, that was definitely the voice of Sila Rulthric. The insults, the condescending tone, it was impossible to to mistake. Admittedly this whole affair seemed a bit extreme for the girl, but it had had to happen eventually. Something else broke her train of thought at that point though. Kiyanna gave Aakif a puzzled look. There was no sign at all of recognition in his expression... Wait, the mask! The grin reappeared on her face. She'd told him it would conceal her identity! She sidled up to the bar and took off the mask. "It's me, Aakif. I told you that the mask would work."

[stack]

"...Something very strange is going on. Uh, thanks. I best be getting on." Peregrin tuns away, utterly bewildered. He wanders back the way he had come a little bit, then leans his head against the wall and tries to make sense of everything.

Spoiler

Show

going to give him a minute to have a breakdown, see if anything comes up

[The Hellbug]

Diana's response is cold and impersonal, and, with it, Rose realizes that there may be more wrong with her situation than a forgetful familiar. Therefore, she decides on a different tack than initially planned. "I'm sorry, but I've been...indisposed...recently, and I was told you could help me," Rose explains and follows it up with her questions, "I have a friend named Kervak Silverhand staying here in the city; do you know where he's staying? Also, could you remind me of the date? Like I said, I've been busy, and I lost track days ago."

[Segrain]

"Were you even born when anything of that was actually new?" - Istilia chuckled at boy's words, but her mirth was merely a guise for the disappointment. None of those things could be in any possible manner related to the voice in her head, and even though the story about some monastery starting its own internal war on the city streets was interesting when she heard it the first time from some fellow performers in Oriat, she was not particularly interested in the details of their latest activities. And even less so in fires and thievery, which even in Kaer Maga were probably not different from the same anywhere else in Varisia or in any other land under the sun. Not that she would had been interested in thievery even if it would had been any different: despite what... some people... tended to assume whenever a glimpse of a tattoo appeared from under her sleeve, she was not that kind of a dancer.

Istilia shook her head - more to her own thoughts than to the boy's question; lost in the former, she was not paying all that much attention to the latter. Not that it mattered, since her commentator helpfully recapitulated and reminded her. So that was what he wanted her to hear? It did not appear to make a lot of sense, but she could see at least some purpose in it. Still, a mysterious voice that started haunting her since her death probably was not interested solely in her nonexistent relationships with criminals. There should had been more to it. In fact, was it not trying to goad her somewhither the very first time when she had heard it? Of course, it would had been easier to just tell her whatever she was supposed to learn, but she did not need to die to understand that mysterious voices did not tend to do anything the easy way.

"Not at the moment", - finally giving the boy at least some response that, hopefully, was not revealing her confusion, Istilia headed away. She indulged her observer once, and though she did not like the result, it at least provided some information, useless as it was. She was still missing something important. But what worked once, was worth trying again - and even if whatever was awaiting her back at the inn was going to be unlikeable too, then she would have had to deal with it earlier or later anyway. That was not a relaxing thought, but since her death those were not particularly common - and so Istilia was not expecting anything pleasant as she was making her way back to Hospice.

[ylvathrall]

Spoiler: Juma

Show

Juma realizes that he is unlikely to receive a clear answer, as the voice in his head is unlikely to address him directly. Furthermore, while cutting himself as a means of expressing negative feelings is certainly one way to cope with them, it's rather missing the point of the ritual mutilation practiced by the other members of Vildeis's church. On the whole, he decides that it's likely a better idea to go looking for answers, as surely someone must know something about what has happened to him. After carving a single design into his leg, therefore, he decides to head for Hospice, thinking that he can at least get some food while deciding his next course of action.

Spoiler: Mister Vanilla

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"I beg your pardon," Apprentice Chalmers says in a rather icy tone. "I believe the earliest opening is with Vaultkeeper Ferron, at three and a quarter hours past noon today. If that is satisfactory, I can make an appointment for you, Journeyman Vanilla." Unspoken, but very much conveyed, is the statement that if so he would be well advised to nod and leave, since he has clearly offended Apprentice Chalmers personally.

Wisely, Mister Vanilla decides to take this appointment and then go to the district of Hospice, thinking that he can get some food and take some time to recover his composure before his appointment with the Vaultkeeper.

Spoiler: Kiyanna

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Aakif continues to stare at Kiyanna with a blank, bored expression. "Think you've had a bit too much already," he says, not sounding like he particularly cares. "No clue who you are, mask or not. Anyway, what did you want?"

Spoiler: Peregrin Ardoc

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Gareth watches Peregrin Ardoc leave without a word, then goes back to his daily business. After a moment, Peregrin Ardoc realizes that he is somewhat hungry, and decides to go to the district of Hospice, thinking that he can at least get some food and take a moment to decide on his next course of action.

Spoiler: Rose

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"First of Pharast," Diana says, not unkindly, suggesting that Rose lost only a day before awakening after her incident with the monks. "And I know Kervak, yes. Believe he's staying with his family in Oriat at present, or I can let him know you were looking for him. What was your name again?"

Spoiler: Istilia Ennira

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Istilia Ennira makes her way back across the city, having already begun to piece together the reality of her current situation. The next piece, of course, falls into place once she is back in Hospice, and goes into the inn in which she was staying previously. She recognizes the building, and upon entering recognizes the innkeeper, standing behind the desk. The innkeeper does not, however, seem to recognize her, giving her a blank look as she enters. "Looking for a room?" the innkeeper asks.

[Bhaakon]

"Excellent. We will be back at precisely the appointed hour." Master Lock replies, dipping his head in the slightest hint of a thankful bow. A a ring-studded hand locks on to his subordinate's pauldron, gruffly insisting that the stammering fool walk away before he could embarrass himself further.

Once they're outside, Lock begins a much-deserved dressing down. "Simply unbelievable...the shame. I don't know if I'll be able to do business there again. That...lack of tact! Unacceptable! I won't accept it! Why is I were tied to you by..." He cuts off, catching himself just in time, "...by iron-clad contract, I'd release you from my employ here and now!"

"Yes, Master Lock." Mitch mewls, trapped in the unenviable position to know that he deserved everything coming his way. "No, sir. Absolutely, sir. Utterly reasonable, sir."

"Come. We're headed to Tarheel Promenade. Perhaps I can strike a deal to offset this damnable expense." Lock orders, far too irate to couch his command as a reasonable request.

"But...but...the voice...Hospice..."

"Excuse me?" Lock spins, ear cocked forward as if he hadn't heard properly, anger blazing in his eyes proving otherwise.

"Nothing, sir." Mitch droops his head and makes his way to the bustling market.