Skyside 4

[Shadowcaller]

[Goblin Market]

So she would wear it? Rather macabre, even if it was just a fancy vax-mask. She really should have asked Sticks of more details. The old guy seemed nearly incapable of deceit and he'd demand gold. Dena understood gold, using memories less so. But perhaps she could get a disguise from both of them? Then she could pick and choose. Perhaps it would be worth it in the long run.

She starts sketching up the face of a blond fair skinned elf with long ears and blue eyes. "So I can take it on and off any time I want, I assume?"

[ThirdEmperor]

[Goblin Market]

"'course. It will take some time for the illusions to settle, but you can wear it as you please." The old tree fairie never so much as glances at her drawings, but he does keep glancing up to Dena's own face, and once, prods her sharply with a barky finger and frowns. The wax is paper thin as he molds it around an oval rise at the bottom of the bowl, shaping with his fingers and his nails moving at blurred pace, pressing ever smaller details into the cooling wax. It only takes a bare few minutes and looks like nothing at all as he lifts it up to the light - a lumpy scum of wax.

He takes a booklet of waxed papers from his front pocket, peeling the sheets apart to get at the little starburst flowers pressed between. Those go to the upper edge of the face, like a crown, and finally he holds the shapeless thing up again; This time for her to take.

----

"The shells are Firmament of godly decree, to hold things meant for the next world. Hatching one before is very, very rarely advisable, and mortal wizards love to do it every chance they get." Snapping the watch shut again, the lid embedded with a fossilized coil of shell beneath the jade, Hex digs through the pockets of his jacket to find - ah.
A tattered clip of old newspaper is shoved towards Sticks, a story on the events of the last Thanksmas party on Skyside. "This nonsense. Storms snatching people off the streets."

[Deathkeeper]

Goblin Market

Jim shakes his head in derision.
"Then go get them yourself, Mr. All-Powerful. I still don't see why I should care." he says, just wanting this encounter to be over.

[WarKitty]

Party Place

The salamander is hit by the projectiles but still manages to fire off a giant blast of fire, aimed at the glaive and knife wielding goblins.

Meanwhile, the sprite that was nearing Kulpa pulls back, singed and blinded. Another one drops to the ground behind the child, however.

[Murkus]

[Goblin Market]

"Lucky be I, a wizard but no mortal. Thus I have no inclination towards acquiring such eggs... nor anything else you could possibly recommend, if that's what exactly this is," says Sticks flatly, the rather bland expression on his face changing only when he has a newspaper clipping shoved toward him. He inclines his head to take a brief glance. "Are you attempting to say the eggs caused this?"

[ThirdEmperor]

[Goblin Market]

"Oh, yes, I came all this way to do you favors. Yes, the damn eggs were used for that, and yes, I did tell you already they do bad things. Bad things will happen if you don't help." Hex is really snapping now, an agitated and ongoing little parade of twitches and hisses undercutting everything Jim says. His cane comes down in front of a shaggy kobold, the creature screeching to a stop as Hex peers down to scrutinize him, and goes tearing off the moment he's waved off. "No, I can't do it myself, or yes, I would have. Welcome to the conversation. I'm bound to protect these marketplaces and you're bound to feel bad if people die on your account."

[Deathkeeper]

Goblin Market

Jim rolls his eyes, entirely undeterred.
"Oh, people are going to die? Just like that frog was 'entirely safe?' Bull. Just use your wildly irresponsible powers to turn him into something embarrassing and take his merchandise if you're desperate. Or sucker in someone else. You're real good at that. I'll be polite and offer to hear out what you expect us to do, which is more than slime like you deserves for ruining people's lives for your amusement. But since I doubt you'll have any proof to make me think you're suddenly telling the truth, I will likely be turning you down." he says, very happy to see Hex losing his cool.

[Shadowcaller]

[Goblin Market]

She accepts it hesitantly and studies it for a moment. "So what were you doing exactly? Shaping the mask after my face?" She pauses. "Do these glamours block a gorgon's gaze?"

Once the questions are answered she tries on the mask.

[Morty]

Party Place

The salamander is hit by the projectiles but still manages to fire off a giant blast of fire, aimed at the glaive and knife wielding goblins.

Meanwhile, the sprite that was nearing Kulpa pulls back, singed and blinded. Another one drops to the ground behind the child, however.

The large beetle circles around Kulpa, trying to ward off any more sprites.

The two goblins dive out of the way desperately. However, the glaive-wielding fighter is still caught by the edge the fire. She curls up, crying out in pain, and is dragged off to the side, where the alchemist tends to her.

The crossbow and the gun fire in the salamander's direction in unison.

[Murkus]

[Goblin Market]

"Placing such things upon our heads would be akin to blaming Jim and I for causing a typhoon. Enough of this!" The tall man swats the newspaper article away with uncharacteristic annoyance, using the shaft of his glamoured staff. He raises his voice, breaking the wheedling quaver that so often colors his accented Common. "Begone! Away with you, blustering peacock of a wizard!"

[Recaiden]

Kestrel spins to focus on the sprite that dropped in behind, and reaches out with a number of limbs, tipping with (mostly) grabbing claws and (occasionally) a wicked hook.

[ThirdEmperor]

[Goblin Market]

"Enough!" Hex puts his fingers to his lips and whistles, a sharp long note that hurts piercingly in the ears and feels sluggish, distorted, wrong to the brain. Like the sound wavers in and out of human consciousness. To Sticks, the note might physically be felt as a living thing worming its way down through into the cavities of his skull, slick and scuttling and awful.
And Jim, the note gets in through his teeth and shakes them with a terrible cold as nests in his mouth. The next time he tries to speak but one more insubordinate word, there might be sudden complication, as a distressed toad comes up from his throat.

"Now I have been far to kind to you both. Apparently, you cannot tell an angry spirit from an evil one. You will mind your mouth-" His cane jabs accusingly towards Jim, the warning hissed through nicotine-stained teeth. "And you will put some sense into your lapdog, but not before you get the both of you moving! I do not have time to explain, or squabble with you, I need your help and I need you to find the damned satyr! Go." The command is like a thunderbolt caught in Sticks' bones. If he hasn't thrown the curse out already, he may go sprawling as his own legs kick out from under him, and lash at the air in their refusal to go still.

Already, Hex is heading off, glancing down at his watch and breaking into a run off towards the right. The crowds drawn back to the inner shadows of the tents and stalls come peering out, and shuffle about their business, the blanket of hawker's cries and muttering and the dense buzzing noise of the bazaar closing over them.

And all the while elsewhere ----

"Yes and yes." The man waves, impatient, already leaning forward to see the fitting. It does, indeed, mold over her features, the seemingly random patterns in the wax fitting perfectly over Dena's own face to form an entire other one. Not that it's all mundane work.
There's a little spark as the last edge fits over the curve of her skull, and there's no longer any separation between skin and mask. No longer any snakes sprouting from the gorgon's scalp, although she can still feel them, somewhere, when she thinks about it. Subtle shifts might unhinge her balance for the first seconds, the slightest changes to balance, to the stances that feel right and the height of her perspective, everything conspires to make Dena not even walk like Dena. The voice that speaks is a note lower with a twinge of a drawl.

[Ashen Lilies]

[Raindrop District Apartments]

Following the shifty messenger's directions will lead Cessie and Adir to a tenement building in one of the more run-down parts of the Raindrop district. It's in pretty poor condition - it would be abandoned in any other city, with its smashed in windows (some of them shoddily repaired with electrical tape) and collapsed fire-escape that only reaches halfway up the building. In Skyside, sure enough, there's room for the desperate and downtrodden in even the crumbliest of buildings - lights inside some of the rooms show clear signs of habitation, and even at this time of day, there's some filth-covered addict having a trip slumped against the side of the front stairs.

[Morty]

[Tempest Row - MERC Safehouse]

Once Dipsnig and Dena establish the place, with various security measures, Attila's agent can arrive, after giving them the appropriate callsign and password.

[Deathkeeper]

Goblin Market

Jim blinks as Hex departs in his huff.
"I was expecting more arm-twisting. Do you know what he wanted us to do, Sticks? Steal the eggs? Buy them? I don't think I could out-wile a faerie." he says with a confused shrug.

[Murkus]

[Goblin Market]

"Really, I can't possibly s--" Sticks begins to say, before he's caught in the half-throes of a curse. Only about half of his legs still have bones at all. He topples forward, legs twisting and kicking to a phantom rhythm, and curses in a language Jim won't recognize. This outburst only makes him blush further, and he snarls irritation as he tries to make his limbs stop. "Thrice damn that parlor pocus! I knew there was some evil spell in his whistle!" Bah, now he's getting mud on his tunic! He grabs at his knees, trying to force them to stop, trying to summon up some protective spell in his head.

[Shadowcaller]

[Goblin Market]

She shudders and for a moment she finds herself having a hard time breathing as the changes wash over her. Perhaps this had been a bad idea, she knew how freaked out she got about things changes like this.
But she couldn't let her figurative mask drop just since she was wearing an literal one. She had to keep calm.
She shifts her stance slightly an small act that nearly causes her to lose balance. Freaking out she backs up so she could put her hand against a nice solid wall. She grits her teeth, no one should see her like this.
"Give me a mirror." Words that come out as an order, her manners completely forgotten for a second. She just wanted the shopkeeper to focus on something else than her.

[Raindrop District Apartments]

Cessie looks skeptical to say at least. "Well, I guess this is it. Have a look around and pray that I won't have to manifest eldritch energy to defend us against some muggers."

[Ashen Lilies]

[Tempest Row - MERC Safehouse]

Once Dipsnig and Dena establish the place, with various security measures, Attila's agent can arrive, after giving them the appropriate callsign and password.

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

Attila's agent turns out to be a rather attractive human male, square-jawed with blue eyes and pale blonde hair in a vaguely military style. He carries himself with a rather mild, unassuming posture, reinforced by his dull leather jacket and faded jeans, but when the light hits his perfect cheekbones in a certain way, it might be hard to shake off the strangest feeling that one is looking at some sort of military recruitment poster given life.

[Morty]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

"And here we are," Dipsnig says when the envoy enters. The safehouse is located in a closed-down school. The three are meeting in the principal's office. Dipsnig is seated on the desk, rather than behind it, since the furniture is rather human-sized. "This is the envoy of our ally here in Tempest Row, Attila the Hutt," he explains to Dena.

[Shadowcaller]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

Dena regards the envoy curiously as she's sitting lounging in the coach. So they sent a pretty boy eh? At least someone knows the power of good looks. Too bad they were gonna be lost on Dipsnig. "Okay, so what's the plan? As I understand it, we made trillions of enemies today." No wonder really. She would have prefered a sneakier approach than parading in full force, but she wasn't the boss so...

[ThirdEmperor]

[Goblin Market]

As Sticks leans forward to wrestles his legs into submission, a knee snaps upwards, a sudden sharp pop at his nose to clean that awful countermagic nonsense clear out his skull. There's no time for that! As his legs get their bearings, there's a dreadful purpose to them, and a strength more than Sticks' own, trying to flip him neatly onto his belly and kick him onwards, to propel their protesting pawn down the street in a tumble of kicking and flopping every which way.

At least until he gives in and gets back up and goes along.

---

The facemaker makes a sharp snrrt of repressed laughter as Dena tumbles and lands against the side of the caravan, the bottle lanterns swaying, chiming, rattling above. Leaning forward with a grin across his cracked wooden face, he proffers a cheap little compact in the shape of a ceramic seashell, faded pink and crumbling, the stringy darkish stuff stowed inside looking suspiciously like chewing tobacco.
"Must say. Better than your friend's done to his face. Wouldn't trust him with yours, if I were you, he'd never get the detail right." Quite suddenly, he's reaching forward to pinch and pull at Dena's cheek. "Never get the textures right. Pores 'n so forth. Would blush all even, no sense for the capillaries beneath." He's probably left an involuntary blush of broken capillaries. "But it's s'all in order here. Even hurts different, you see? It's good work."

[Deathkeeper]

Goblin Market

Jim sighs, long and tired. And it's not even one in the afternoon yet.
"This seems terribly impractical." he says, trying to pick Sticks up from the ground and carry him a few steps for him to get his own balance. He's a strong fellow, and Sticks is a thin old man.
"I don't suppose there aren't any guards here to keep me from just kicking this guy in the crotch, taking the box of eggs and dumping them wherever Hex wants, are there?" he says, joking and serious at the same time.

[Shadowcaller]

[Goblin Market]

Dena's stares coldly at the facemaker as he represses his laugh. Where others would find themselves awkward, she found only anger and spite. Without a word she accepts the compact mirror, now she wanted to focus on something else than him.
Attempting to admire the handiwork that was her new face, she found herself glad that it blocked out her gorgon gaze, this facemaker made her tempted to use it. A thought that becomes more more apparent when he reaches out and pinches her cheek.
She quickly slaps his hand away with the back of her own hand and with her eyes wide she let's out a shrill serpent-like hiss that even with her new voice sounded quite inhuman. While they were no longer visible she knew that every single snake that made up her hair were hissing in silence and ready to strike.

But then she pulls back, her features turning expressionless once again. "Don't." She warns after a longer pause. "Just name your price." Now things were awkward. "You wanted memories... or for me to take one of your memories?" Her tone is now very casual, even friendlier than before, as if somehow try to make up what had happened just a few moments ago.

[Ashen Lilies]

[Lucretia's Manse]

Well, Stone has the only the most sincere smiles to return, full of beatific patience and understanding. Even at a table full of drunk and spoiled sharks. "They've been making an awful show up here, and I know the kind of expense that takes, so I can't help but imagine the two other offices, in two other cities, are both the poorer for that." He leans forward, happy to entertain the Lord Han's righteous fury. "They've tried to push us around on our own doorstep, eh? The details, we can have our people settle the details, but with your backing, we'll return that to them in spades."

[Lucretia's Manse]

Han's face goes cool as his accountant's mind grapples with Stone's words.
"Why should I trust the stranger who gives me nothing but vague promises? 'Our people' won't settle the details. We will settle the details. Details are important." He says, with a touch of petulance added to that last sentence, as if it's something he's had to say far too many times.

[Ashen Lilies]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

The contact smiles as both Dipsnig and Dena greet him. "Ian Carver." He says by way of introduction. "I have some targets and some dead drops set up, if you want to stir the nest a little bit more."

[Morty]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

"Indeed. Your boss mentioned a plan to set the Hutts and Ferengi against each other, so they're out of our way," Dipsnig says. "I'd like some details on that."

[Shadowcaller]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

"Might as well go all-in considering how we entered the city." Dena agrees. "Dena Xifhara, by the way. I am sure you've heard of me." She smiles at Ian.

[Ashen Lilies]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

"Many things." Says Ian. "Though they couldn't all possibly be true."

"Yes." He continues, turning to Dipsnig. "Attila has already been talking to some of the other Hutts, and I've been dropping rumors into some of the Ferengi haunts. One of the targets Attila wants to hit is a Tibanna gas processing plant run by Gripa the Hutt, which provides the Hutts with gas for their arms dealing operations. It's high security, but also very visible if it goes up, and is sure to stir up all sorts of messiness, especially if it can be pinned on the Ferengi."

[Tempest Row - Phoenix Oasis Coffeehouse]

Coffee isn't the only thing you could get here, of course. The strong, fragrant aroma of Arabic coffee is matched by the flavored tobacco scents drifting from shisha pipes, platters of basbousa and baklava clattering with a volume diminishing in comparison to the clinking of the tiny cups of arak that are starting to make their presence known, this late into the afternoon. Such culinary and chemical delights are of little interest to Grace of course, as she pushes past the beaded curtains into the warm wood-paneled interior of the coffee house from the bustling street outside. No biology, you see. Nah, she's here to partake of the coffeehouse's alternate, 'secret' custom. Secret in air-quotes, for any such secrets were kept purely out of tradition and mystery, not out of any desire for actual discretion.

The man Grace found herself finding first was the fifth of Lord Ishkur Sulayman's seven sons, a devastatingly handsome young man with a short cropped beard and thick eyebrows, taking notes at a table with a steaming silver pot of coffee in front of him. Grace approaches him, reaching into a pouch hanging at her 'hip' with her free hand. She had already drained most of the minor magic items recovered from her tomb raiding exploits, consuming their essence to empower her own, but had saved some aside, storing their essence into a glass orb. This glass orb being the one she places on the table, resting a gloved finger on it in order to prevent it from rolling off of the polished mahogany surface.
"Back so soon?" Says the man, looking from the orb up at the hooded figure standing in front of him. "I feel sorry for whoever is going to be on the receiving end of all these traps you're buying."
"Not buying today, Aslam. I just need a little bit of expertise. Stumbled into some treasure that I want to take a look at." Says Grace, tipping the pouch at her hip to reveal the horn resting inside.
"So I see. I'm not surprised. Those old tombs, you know. So dark, you never know what you might trip over." Quips Aslam. Grace tilts her head, declining to comment on the conjecture for where her treasures were acquired. Not that it really mattered.
"I think we have what you need, though. My brother should be tinkering in his workshop, this time of day." Aslam says, closing the his notebook and pocketing the orb as he gestured towards the back of the room. "If my lady would come this way?"

Grace had never paid much attention to organizing her own workshop, but the one tucked into a back room of the Coffeehouse's extensive warren of back rooms was even messier than the one she had kept at Vigil, looking no less like it had been the victim of three separate tornadoes, crashing through the workshop in three different directions. With that first impression, she wasn't surprised to see that the brother in question was little more than a teenager, or maybe only barely older than that, working on a project with his back to the door and unfortunately, wearing only his underwear.
"Maahir, good gods, put some pants on! We have a lady visitor." Aslam announces, a diabolical grin spreading across his face.
Maahir whips around, spotting the pair of them, and blushes deeply from his neck to his mop of wavy hair, grabbing for a pair of faded blue jeans slung over the edge of a workbench.
"I- Aslam- Why didn't you knock?" He complains, half-furious and half-mortified, struggling into his jeans as fast as possible.
"Because then I wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing you dance." The older man replies cheerfully. Grace spares him a glance, tapping her fingers against the hilt of her sword impatiently.
"You're an ass." Says the younger brother, finally managing to get into his jeans. "Why are you here?" He continues warily.
"Our client here has some trinkets she wants identifying. I heard you're good at that sort of thing."
"Oh, uh... I'll clear a spot." Says Maahir, pulling on a t-shirt and walking to a nearby workbench, brushing aside a pile of clutter to clear up a free space, to the mild horror of Grace, as several elementally charged crystals go spilling over the edge of the bench, throwing up a spray of sparks as they clatter to the ground. Shrugging, she places horn on to the bench first, followed by the long, thin bundle strapped to her back, which she unwraps to reveal the spear and the staff.
"Hmm... let's see what we have then."

[Morty]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

"Yes, I can see how it might work," Dipsnig says. "It's going to be fairly transparent if we're not careful, though. Ferengi attacking the Hutts just as a new player entered the board is going to look awfully convenient. Of course, even if some do suspect we did it, distrust will still be sown."

[Tempest Row - Phoenix Oasis Coffeehouse]

A thorough examination of the items will reveal they're quite powerful and very old. They, and the tomb they originate from came to the Nexus from a world that is now greatly diminished and a pale reflection of its former self. Grace might find its essence faintly familiar - she's known people from that world, one of them very closely.

The horn turns out to be imbued with powerful sorcery and alchemy of communication and warning. It allows its holder to contact a specific person. However, the recipient is indeed fairly specific - it needs to be the liege lord or lady of the horn's holder. Depending on the situation, the horn carries that bond through its sound. Its basic function can signal that there's a danger to the and that the ruler must be aware of. If the holder deepens its bond with the item, it can transfer more detailed messages, and even images. Potentially even transport the ruler to the place they're needed. Again, however, the horn will only work if its holder is trying to contact someone they're deeply loyal to as their master and ruler.

The spear's haft is made out of hard wood, which appears to be naturally white, as opposed to bleached. Its point is made out of the tooth of some horrific beast, thankfully unidentified. The two materials are fused together in a way that gives the weapon its property, which is blood-memory. The spear remembers the enemies it strikes, and especially those it kills. A warrior who has claimed the weapon, proved their worth and relishes in the hunt and slaughter can then unleash this memory. This can manifest it either increasing its power against enemies who are similar to the previously-slain ones, or exhibiting new powers based on the claimed blood. The abilities evoked in the latter fashion require a deeper bond with the weapon and the ideals it finds desirable.

Finally, the staff. It's formed out of four thin metal rods, welded together - it's a strange metal, one neither Grace nor either of the Sulayman brothers have ever seen before. Depending on the light and point of view, it's either silver or gold in colour. The staff is deceptively heavy, compared to the way it looks, and could be used as a combat weapon if one was skilled enough. The magic bound into the metal is that of stability and forging order from chaos. A magic-user who spends time studying the staff, using it and attuning themselves to it can channel its properties into banishing corruptive or unnatural influence, enforcing stability on chaotic environments, make alien and inhospitable environments possible to live in, and similar.

[Shadowcaller]

[Tempest Row - Merc Safehouse]

"I'm certain the good things are." Dena muses.
"But who does the Ferengi usually hire to do their dirty work, their own people or someone else?" She then asks after hearing the plan.