PlaneShift
Fan Area => Roleplaying (Communitive Storywriting) => Collaborative Stories => Topic started by: Aramara Meibi on March 28, 2012, 12:19:05 pm
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Hi everyone! I would like to experiment a bit with running a RP here on the forums. The RP will be contained entirely within this thread, beginning with my first post which will set the scene for the beginning of the story. I'm asking you to provide characters for the story, in your first post please describe your character and maybe give a bit of background as to how they came upon the scene. The story will conveniently be taking place on the 3rd Level of Yliakum, The Far Ground, so please use an original character besides the one you play with in-game, unless it makes sense for your character to be there, ie. he's gone traveling or such. If you aren't an active player but would like something for your character to be doing while out of the game, then great! I would be happy to have all you forum lurkers who no longer play to participate and get your RP fix as it were.
I'll give this a week after my first post for people to respond. After that, I will make a post to give further details according to the posts of the players and again ask for your responses. Please try and retain the order established in the first posts, in other words, this will be a turn based RP. After the first week, if you did not make an establishing post but would like to join in further down the line, please PM me first. That sort of decision will have to be made according to the number of players and the progress of the story. If you are participating, but no longer desire to, please be prepared to write your character out of the story gracefully.
So, with nervous trepidation overcome with a nothing to lose attitude, here goes:
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As the Crystal Wanes
It is a clear evening, the weather cool and fair, and the central plaza of the town Detrats on the Far Ground is bustling with activity. Today is the annual People's Festival, when the local Vigesimi meets with the populace on the eve of his departure to meet with the Octarch.
A stage has been prepared at one end of the square, where he is expected to give a speech, but for now he is mingling amongst the crowd, trading a few anecdotes and tall tales, listening to the concerns and complaints of his constituency. A thin crowd has already gathered about the stage, staking their claim on the prime vantage points in anticipation of his address, but most of the people are still taking part in the day's festivities.
A market is set up on one side of the square, left of the stage, where merchants from across the land peddle their wares. A Demorian in one stall is selling fine and intricate silver jewelry imported from elven metalcrafters. A family of Blikau Enkidukai have set up a colorful display of Ojavedan rugs and tapestries. Klyros and Nolthrir merchants from Land's End and below are selling flutes made from swamp reeds and a variety of baskets woven from dried lakeweed. A representative from the powerful Blacksmith's Guild has on display the finest of the past year's crafted weapons and armors.
On the side of the square opposite the market, to the right of the stage, is the local tavern, The Longbeard, an establishment owned and run by a particularly industrious Stonehammer. Today he debuting his newest craft brew, the Longbeard Stout. The tavern has an open air seating area and a line of inebriated patrons spills out onto the plaza, waiting eagerly for their next round of the dark, foamy booze. In a quieter corner off to the side, a sly and crafty looking Diaboli has set up a game of chance, with a few gamblers at his table taking the bait.
In the center of the square is set up a small bandstand, where a musical trio of travelling Lemur minstrels is performing a lively jig. The merrier of the crowd, young lovers and small children, dance and play around the musicians, keeping in time with the high-spirited music.
What do you do?
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A Clamod fenki in plain, inconspicuous garb stands slightly apart from the rejoicing children, whispering to her friend. The girls are hardly past childhood themselves. She needs to get away from the baby of the family, her ten-cycle-old sister; this is her chance to rebel. She's been waiting for this for ages now. She firmly believes that there ought to be no government and no law, that society would divide into thriving tribes rather than crumble if the government were dissolved. Of course, she doesn't fully understand this view, and has heard only the pros and none of the cons. It's propaganda fed to her by her hero, her rogue father, whom she visits from time to time. He's been banished to the outskirts of town. Her mother allows it, more concerned with feeding seven children than making sure her progeny's political views match her own.
"Just keep an eye on her for the rest of the day, alright?"
"Keelana, what are you up to this time?" the fenki's friend asks.
"Nothing, I just want a break, that's all!"
"I don't believe you, but I'll watch your sister. If you let me dance with Micah." Keelana's friend smiled deviously, as if that's supposed to make the Clamod jealous. It doesn't.
"Fine. I'm going to break it off with him anyway, he's a terrible kisser." It's true. Micah is just a cover for the nights she spends spreading her anarchist message by painting on walls and surreptitiously dropping leaflets around town, anyway. She'd spend half an hour with him and then tell him she was going home while her family thought she was still out. It was pretty easy to get rid of him - his hand roamed a little too far every time without fail. She'll probably get caught tonight, though, and there's no point dragging the...mostly innocent menki into it. Keelana works solo, since she's pretty sure nobody she knows personally, save for Father and his outcast gang, agrees with her.
Keelana weaves through the crowd to a familiar shadowy spot, glancing around her. On the pretense of tying her boot, though she's pretty sure nobody is watching her anyway, she lifts a loose pavement stone that she'd dug a hole under by night and wrinkles her nose at the stench. The eggs are good and rotten, perfect to throw at the Vigesemi when he takes the stage. She picks them up, hiding them in the folds of her shawl and silently thanking Talad for the cool weather. Hopefully her plan will draw the attention of others with her view. She knows they're around - she hears others have been painting similar messages on the other side of town.
[I'm only playing Keelana. Feel free to snag one of the other characters if you're having difficulty coming up with your own.]
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The shadow of the house half hides a young Kore fenki in worn out clothes. Though looking relaxed on the first glance despite the watchful look at the growing market, a constant sheathing and drawing of her claws give away that she isn't as relaxed as she acts she is. She is waiting for the hunt to start. It is too early yet. The people are still watchful of their purses. But soon, when the festival is fully going, taking their whole attention, it will be her time to act. Hers and those of the other who are waiting like her.
Szahia's right ear turns to the side as someone approached her. The moment she recognized the voice, her heart stopped for a moment. She already knew that she wouldn't be able to keep all the loot she will make. But she has hoped that she won't be watched. Maybe she could get rid of that guy in the crowd.
"Remember who you are loyal to. The loot is to be shared with everyone."
As if. They keep it mostly in the higher ranks. Someone with a low rank like her won't see any of the money the other will make.
She nods. "Of course. I am not stupid."
No she wasn't. She was able to keep a high enough amount for herself without them knowing.
"That is why I am reminding you."
Szahia keeps herself from glancing to the Ylian boy next to her. How much does he know or guess? She has to be more careful from now on. Keeping their gaze on the crowd, they wait quietly together.
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[at this point I would like to keep this open for anyone to join, so please, feel free to add your entry]
The Crystal light grows increasingly dim and torches are now being lit across the plaza and on the stage in preparation for the Vigesimi's upcoming address. The Vigesimi himself, a handsome if not rugged Ylian, decked in the finest of gilded armor approaches the stage with his family and his court of local dignitaries, wealthy merchants, a high priest of Laanx, and leaders of the various craft guilds. Arlan Destrinoir inherited his position through his father, but he is not incompetent by any means, having achieved the rank of Captain of the City Guard before his father's passing, and through hard work, dedication and valor, careful to avoid any nepotism. In his few years reign, Detrats and the surrounding countryside has grown in wealth and prosperity, but his chivalrous ways and code of honor has exposed much corruption in the system, and he has not gone without making many powerful enemies.
The City Guard are now stationed throughout the plaza, at all entry points, and wherever there's a clear vantage point of the stage. Anyone who would be watching them and tracking their movements might notice that amongst a handful, wary eyes are watching each other and silent nods are being exchanged.
The minstrel band has ended their jig, two of the members have quit the bandstand to spend their newly earned tips on a few pints of Longbeard Stout, leaving behind their lute player, a lovely crimson haired Lemur woman, who plays a slow and bittersweet melody on her instrument.
Rhishandra, Keelana's Blikau friend, gathers up her courage and takes this opportunity to approach Micah and ask him to dance with her.
"Ohhh, I don't know..." he slowly replies, "Keelana was just here. What if she comes back? She wouldn't like seeing us two together."
"Oh come on Micah!" she protests, "You know she doesn't even like you like that, not like I do. She even said so herself, just a little while ago. She said she was gonna break it off with you. She's just using you you know."
At this Micah grows furious, as of course, it hurts his pride, and what is a menki without his pride? "She said that huh!? Well if she thinks she's dumping me she's got another thing coming. Where is she?" He scans the plaza, but is unable to spot her. He harumphs and goes stomping off into the crowd to find Keelana and give her a piece of his mind, leaving poor Rhishandra broken hearted and alone.
With a sigh she turns and takes Keelana's little sister by the paw, "Come on Tagiri, let's go see if they have any baked roltak left in the tavern."
The tavern now is packed, as news of the Longbeard Stout's robust flavor and, more importantly, outrageous alcohol content has spread across the town. Urist Macguiness Longbeard, the tavern's proprietor, bustles hurriedly about, along with his bevy of barmaids and waitresses, ensuring that everyone has a full mug and a smile on their face. There seems to be some sort of commotion, though, as one of the gamblers has just lost his month's wages to the crafty Diaboli and has snuck behind the bar, trying to sneak himself a free pint.
Across the plaza, most of the merchants are now packing up their wares. They know that as soon as the Vigesimi begins his address, no one will be interested in their goods. They count their gains and losses and stow away their crafts, all save but one stall, that belonging to the Blacksmith's Guild. The Captain of the Guild, a towering Ynnwn with silvery hair and adorned in armor equal in splendor that of the Vigesimi's, has now arrived and is surveying the plaza. Most of his guild's business comes from the local government and military, but the guild's cutthroat practices and underhand dealings with the countryside's more nefarious organizations has put him on sour terms with the Vigesimi. Needless to say, he has a vested interest in hearing the upcoming address.
In the shadows at the edges of the plaza, a third figure now approaches Szahia and the Ylian boy. He is dressed in a heavy cloak, the hood concealing his face in shadow, but they know, he is one of the higher ranking thieves. He directs their attention to the Blacksmith Guild Captain and speaks to them in a gruff whisper, "There's your mark."
"What?" the Ylian boy objects, "Hynlan? You can't be serious. I thought we were in an alliance with the Blacksmith Guild. And besides, you know he's got half the city guard in his pocket. That's a suicide mission!"
"Masters orders," the hooded figure replies in a calm and direct tone. "He wears a dagger which rightfully belongs to the master. It has a large ruby embedded in the hilt. Get it back." Without giving them a chance to further object, he turns and slips back into the shadows from whence he came.
"Come on," the Ylian boy nudges Szahia forward begrudgingly, "You heard 'im. You distract Hynlan while I go for the dagger, ok?"
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Keelana ducks away from the spot where she picked up the eggs. The stone is neatly back in place, and she's fairly sure nobody knows what she's up to. Using it again is probably a bad idea. The fenki briefly considers filling the hole beneath the stone back up later, but shrugs off the thought. Someone else can find and use it. She might not have the time, or the freedom, to cover her tracks once they figure out who messed up the Vigesemi's pretty clothes anyway. She looks over the crowd, and sees a familiar set of ears moving towards her among the spectators.
"Rhishandra! You told him everything, didn't you? Never did know how to play your cards right. He could've been all yours, damnit! Calm down, Kee, there are more important things than your juvenile drama. This is your big night; gotta be focused."
She ducks into the crowd once again, trying to stay on the opposite side of the square from Micah, but close enough to the stage to aim well. As she darts past people she giggles, trying to give the impression of a child playing a game. People will be more forgiving if she bumps into one this way and she gives an innocent apology, although the rotten eggs may be harder to explain. She won't deny it if she's caught after they're thrown, but she must stay out of trouble long enough to make her statement.
"Probably better not to stay in one place with this smell anyway."
[C'mon guys, this is fun. Are our posts too long for you or something? :P]
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If that guy hadn't stood next to Szahia, that request for the theft wouldn't have brought to her. Will all her acting of being a bad thief noticed? That would be the worst possible outcome. If they knew she didn't bring all the loot back... she grinds her teeth at the thought. Life wouldn't be easy for her if they found out. Most probably it was the best to vanish from this area then. But where to go?
She sighs, pushing herself away from the cold wall. "Distracting him? What exactly do you want me to do? Starting a fight close enough to him to draw his attention? Or push some goods over?" Her gaze wanders to the easy to spot Ynnwn. "I could scratch him as well." She wiggles with her drawn claws.
As she speaks, she started stretching her muscles, relaxing those which were stiffened through the waiting. Whatever that guy thought of to fulfill that request, she would have to do what was asked of her, even if she could get caught through it. Stupid ranks. If she were of a higher one.... But she isn't. So she had to obey. She already knew that.
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[This will be the last chance for anyone to join into the story freely. I apologize, but I've got some good ideas for the plot and I would like to speed the story up a bit. That being said, my next post will be the catalyst which sets the plot into motion, After that, I'm still open for other players to join in, it will just take more of a coordinated effort, so please PM me beforehand.]
"I don't know and I don't care... you can show 'im your goods for all I'm concerned, just make sure he ain't lookin' when I swipe his dagger. Now, you take the long way... through the crowd, so he doesn't see us together. Got it?"
Without waiting for her answer, the Ylian boy leaves Szahia behind and circles the bandstand towards the market. The Lemur flute player continues her bittersweet melody without a pause as he walks by, but glances up at him with a smile. He passes by without dropping any coin in the tip bucket. He's only a boy, foolish to think he'd understand that this is work, this is what puts bread on my table, she thinks to herself, closing her eyes and plucking gently away at the strings of her lute.
The boy reaches the market and passes by the Blacksmith Guild booth to the nearby Enkidukai weavers, where he begins haggling with them over a rug. He has no intention to buy, of course, but has carefully positioned himself behind Hynlan, and is nearly in arms reach of the dagger on his belt. He's only buying time until Szahia makes her move.
If Hynlan notices the boy, he doesn't show it. Instead, he turns and mumbles something gruffly to his associate running the booth. The associate, another Ylian not much older than Szahia's partner, is a novice to the guild, and sweats nervously in the presence of the big boss. Whatever Hynlan mumbles to him has him stir in panic, and he begins to shout with a cracking voice over to the crowd gathering around the stage, "Last chance at all guild crafted items! Special discount on Swords, Knives, Daggers and Axes! Come and get them while their hot! Don't miss out! Soon they'll be gone!"
Meanwhile, over at the Longbeard, Rhishandra and Tagiri have reached the bar counter and have placed their order, "Two baked roltaks to go, please." Rhishandra helps lift Tagiri up onto the barstool so that she can see over the counter, although she has to practically stand on tiptoe and crane her neck to see herself. She wasn't as quick to develop as Keelana and still retains some of her childhood plumpness, which is probably why she never gained the sort of attention from Micah that Keelana has.
The tavern is still bustling, as everyone is scrambling to get one last mug full before the Vigesimi's speech. One might think that such a place isn't safe for a couple of young fenkis, but Rhishandra's father is a notorious drunk, and she has frequented the spot many times in order to bring him home after a bender. In fact, the louse is passed out right now at one of the tables and a young Dermorian is picking his pockets, most likely one of Szahia's guildmates. So, even though some of the more lecherous of men fix their hungry eyes on the fenki teen, the waitstaff know her as a younger sister, and are quick to jab an elbow into the side of anyone caught leering in her direction.
The other two Lemur minstrels also have reached the bar, and recognize Rhishandra and Tagiri from the dancefloor. They strike up a friendly conversation with the young fenkis as they all four wait for their orders to be served. The waitstaff note that the conversation is polite and innocent, and so leave the minstrels be.
Jolly old Urist Macguiness Longbeard himself isn't getting to enjoy watching his profit margin skyrocket, for he is currently distracted by that rogue drunk who has slipped past the counter and has made his way into the storeroom and microbrewery attached to the back of the tavern. For some reason, that drunk is real good at hiding. "Come out wit' yer hands up, ye filthy varmint, 'fore I grab me de guards, an' have 'em take ye away."
A contingent of guards has now formed around the stage after the Vigesimi and his entourage have made their way upon it. Curiously, although a few seem to be dutifully surveying the crowd, most seem to be watching each other, or have their eyes locked upon various points across the plaza. Some even seem to have their eyes on the crafty Diaboli, who is now packing up his gambling board and dice after cleaning up on some poor saps. His sly smirk is still present as he quits the tavern and sinks quickly into the shadows of an adjoining alleyway.
In the midst of the crowd gathered in front of the stage, a furry paw taps on Keelana's shoulder. It is Micah, who has finally found her. "Aha! I've finally found you!" he concurs. "What's this I hear of you..." he cuts off as his nose crinkles and he covers it with his paw. "Ugh... Keelana... you stink!"
Now, Vigesimi Destrinoir steps up the the front of the stage, his court mage behind him, weaving a spell which will amplify his voice to carry across the plaza. A hush falls over the crowd, and all eyes lift up to see him. The quiet spreads to the Lemur lutist, who ceases her song, to the Blacksmith Guild barker, who clamps his mouth shut. Even the tavern drunks seem to pick up on the change in atmosphere, and lower there voices to near whisper. It seems all eyes and ears, and ear holes and sound vibration sensitive skins are tuned into the Vigesimi.
He clears his throat and begins, "My fellow citizens..."
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"NonononononoNO!"
Keelana's ears flatten against her skull, and she narrows her eyes at her soon-to-be-ex boyfriend. He had to find her now, didn't he? She should've just told Rhishandra to tell Micah she was okay with it, saved this for later. "Hindsight is useless; it's now or never." She feels a pang of guilt as the images run through her mind - Micah behind bars, or getting beaten by the guards, Rhishandra and Tagiri and her mother being interrogated. Ending up in that camp with her father. It might not be so bad, if it was just him, but she still doesn't entirely trust his colleagues. Nobody in their right mind would. "Stop it, stop it, the guards wouldn't go that far. I'm just a kid stirring up trouble; all the blame will land on me," she tries to convince herself. Despite her attempt to calm down, taking deep breaths of the reek her ammunition produces, visualizing the Vigesemi wearing the odor and covered in putrid goo, the panic still comes through in her voice.
"Micah, can we talk later? You don't want to get wrapped up in this," she hisses rapidly under her breath, plucking the three eggs from her shawl. Her whispers, quiet as they are, sound like a booming roar to her. Her eyes turn to the Vigesemi and she watches him calculatingly. "Run, now, before they think you're my accomplice or something. I've been planning this for ages now; you've got about three seconds to get outta here."
She draws her arm back with one rotten egg in her trembling hand, clearly aiming, hoping to the gods that Micah doesn't mess this up for her. The egg makes it out of her hand, flying directly at the Vigesemi's face, the other two quickly following, aimed with less precision.
"RUN!" she repeats in a whisper-shout, pointing past Micah and turning to dart in the opposite direction. Of course, running is probably the most suspicious thing someone could do right now, but just standing there isn't entirely smart either. Heck, throwing the eggs wasn't smart, but she tries to avoid what she believes is inevitable: Someone catching her, and the trouble that will follow.
[Edited due to some OOC behind-the-scenes talk]
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Szahia rolls her eyes as the Ylian left. He doesn't know how effective what he suggested could be. A few seconds gained through freezing a person could be quite useful. But this time she doesn't intend to use that. There has to be a less troublesome way of getting this stupid thing done.
She takes her time and examines the area she could operate in. If she acts too far away, it won't work and if she was too close, the risk of getting caught was too high. She sighs softly and makes her way into the crowd. Of course not in the direct way to the Blacksmiths Guild. She uses the natural movement of the crowd to advance towards her target so she doesn't raise any suspicion.
She ignores the twitching of her finger. One, two, three purses she could have gotten already. A stupid idea crosses her mind. What if a purse suddenly spills its content on the ground? Accidentially of course... She grins. She liked the idea more and more while thinking about it.
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[Hope it's not too late to join]
A bustling and jostling crowd was always a cause for excitement. So was the presence of a pumped up politician, spouting elaborate, eloquently spoken lies. Promises of change, perhaps, of improvements for the city. Maybe a little bit more control of crime, or maybe even the absolutely revolutionary idea of a guard that might not stand in a silent catatonic state when there was a brutal murder taking place at their feet.
Promises, promises, Rhianon mused, her smile quirking her lips upwards and dimpling her cheeks. The elven woman wound her way expertly through the throng, eyes locked on the peacock-proud speaker. She kept her hood pulled firmly up, so that her vivid green gaze peered outwards, but her delicate features were otherwise obscured. Not that she was planning anything particularly nefarious for the moment, but it never hurt to be careful. A long history of stabbing people did not bode well for the avoidance of long-held grudges, even when those killings were interspersed quite methodically with frequent traveling and the covering of ones light-footed tracks.
No, it was boredom that stopped her long enough to listen to the impending ramble. The bumping and busting of the audience hardly bothered her; she blended in with a practiced perfection, unassuming in every which way. It had been some time since she'd graced the streets of Hydlaa; a sabbatical had been quite necessary for her after a recent encounter with a sadistic alternate personality and resulting recovery. A rather unstable recovery, if she could tell anything about it. But no matter, now was the time to have an internal chortle at the prettily painted buffoon now mounting his imaginary pedestal.
Let us hear what you have to say, hm?
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[from this point onwards, please PM me before joining this RP]
"My fellow citizens..."
The putrid eggs sail through the air, spinning end over end. The first nails the Vigesimi directly in the face, just as Keelana had envisioned over and over again in her mind's eye. The second and third were less accurately aimed and fly over his head, to land on the dignitaries left standing at the rear of the stage. A collective gasp resounds throughout the crowd. The Vigesimi is left stunned as rancid yolk runs down his face and drips onto his polished ceremonial armor.
"Keelana!" Micah shouts out as the fenki darts out of the crowd. He hadn't had time to react, had only realized what she was doing after the act was done. Quickly he realizes the folly of calling after her, for now the entire crowd, the Vigesimi, the guards, know exactly who the perpetrator is. This dawns on him and her last words register. He turns to flee in the opposite direction, but it's already too late. A few concerned citizens more loyal to their local government stand in his way and apprehend him. Keelana, though, makes it out of the crowd and is half way towards the market by now.
What is she waiting for? Damn!
Nervously, Szahia's Ylian partner, Kjarin, glances over his shoulder to Hynlan standing behind him, his eyes glancing down the the ruby encrusted dagger hanging in a black leather scabbard on the Ynnwn's belt. It remains just out of arms reach, but Kjarin is able to quickly deduce the proper method of slipping the dagger out without Hynlan's notice. He turns back to the Ojavedan, trying to play of the snarl tugging on his lip. He's running out of time; he can only haggle with the weaver for so long before either having to make a purchase or come to an impasse. If Szahia doesn't act quickly, he may lose his only chance at a grab and go.
The gasp and murmur amongst the crowd draws his attention back over his shoulder, and he sees not Szahia, but a different fenki, running at a full sprint across the plaza towards the market. He glances up at Hynlan, who is laughing merrily at the Vigesimi's embarrassment.
"Who is this kid?" The Ynnwyn turns to his associate, "I like her!"
Kjarin sees his chance. Szahia or no Szahia, Hynlyn's attention is drawn. Carefully he reaches out towards the dagger hilt. ...And if I pull this off without her help, that's more my share of the cut, he smirks smugly to himself.
"C'mout, c'mout, wherever ye are!"
Urist creeps through his food stores looking for the vagrant drunk. "I know yer in here! No use in hidin' lad, 'tll only make me angry... and ye wouldn't like it when I'm angry." He peeks behind a barrel here, a crate there, but the derelict seems to have all but disappeared. "Ack, just me luck," the dwarven brewer curses and turns to leave the storeroom, having given up on his search. But, as he turns he is confronted with the elusive man, who wears a grin on his face and suddenly seems not so inebriated.
"Aye... yer gonna pay fer that drink ye swiped, and don't be thinkin' yer welcome back ta me fine establishment neither." Urist says gruffly from beneath his beard. He's a fair fellow, but let's be reasonable, he's trying to run a business here.
The man emits a high pitched laugh through pressed and grinning lips, "Hmmhmmhmmhehehehahaha.... as if there'll be a tavern to return to. I'm sorry Urist, but you've chosen the wrong side." The man opens his longcoat and reveals an array of Red Way glyphs sown into the lining, brimming with explosive energy.
"Ye daft fool! You'll blow this place sky high!" Urist's narrowed eyes grow suddenly wide with terror beneath his bushy brow. He shouts into the front room, but it is too little too late. "Everyone out! This place is gonna ---"
As if to finish his sentence, the glyphs in the madman's coat activate, and a torrent of flames suddenly engulfs the both of them, as well as the entirety of the storeroom. The fireball blasts through the roof and blows out all the windows in the small warehouse. As the flames reach the brewery, the fermenting brew bubbles in the sealed tanks until the pressure builds within. The tanks burst at the seams, the alcohol ignites and a second, much larger explosion erupts, this time taking out the entire tavern.
The explosions rock the plaza, sending percussive waves and bits of deadly shrapnel hurtling towards the already stunned crowd. People are knocked off their feet and others duck and cover. Screams of terror are heard, and general panic grips the civilians. The fireball climbs into the air, bathing the square in an eerie red glow and reflecting off the collective wide eyes of the terrorized crowd. Only one thing can be certain at this point: no one could have survived that blast.
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Keelana dives behind a kran and scrambles towards the gates. At least, she thinks she's headed for the gates. The crowd is thick and people are grabbing for her, but she's fast. She hears an explosion and pauses only for a second, ears swiveling towards the noise's source, but tries to keep on running. Except...
The fenki comes to and finds a crowd that's just as dazed as she is. More people are running now, and she's on the ground. She closes her eyes again.
"I have to get up."
She doesn't.
"I need to run."
The acrid smell of smoke is in her nose and throat, the taste of it making her feel like her tongue is made of ashes.
The pain comes slowly, and she realizes that she's on fire. Any other time this would be more terrifying than her broken leg and the massive plank, a large splinter of which is sticking right through her ankle, but she pats out the fire with her shawl as if she were merely bandaging a minor cut. Her thoughts are clouded and she drifts between thinking all of this is a dream and not thinking at all. People aren't watching where they run. She needs to move elsewhere. Keelana yanks the wood out of her leg and the agony nearly knocks her out again. She removes her belt and fastens it around what she figures is the correct spot on her calf. It's supposed to stop...something...why don't they make the smoke stop? A woman is screaming about medical attention, but she doesn't believe it's for her.
Someone knocks a large barrel over. Water spills out, and climbing into the overturned container strikes the fenki as a good idea. If she had a clear mind she might think of where her other good ideas have landed her, but she's on Dakkru's doorstep and some part of her knows it. She manages to get in, injured leg first. It rolls to the side a little, she gets giddy, and the world goes black once again.
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As the first turmoil started, Szahia acts quick. The purse she had intended to open with her sharpened claws to spill the content, ended with a quick movement, cutting the tape holding it on its owner, in her paw. She moved on, still acting natural in the crowd. There is no better time to get some purses then now. And that guy she was supposed to distract was distracted already.
A fenki darts close to her through the crowd. She follows her with her eyes and mumbles. "Stupid beginner. Never run."
The shout only let her shake her head. It was easy to connect the things. The comotion was caused by that fenki. She thanks her quietly and goes back to her work, not wanting to let go such a good opportunity. But then the explosion happened. She ducks into the crowd, swearing lowly now.
She has to get out of there. Now. If she got caught, there won't be some easy time for her. And even if she wasn't caught, there was nothing worse then a panicking crowd. She moves along, using temporary open space to get on faster. She ducks under swinging arms, steps over people on the ground.
She could see how many of the purses she could snatch right now. But it wasn't worth the risk. They wouldn't be of any use if she died for them.
-
The dermorian had found the egg throwing rather amusing indeed. She'd been in the process of throwing her head back and adding laughter to the chattering din of disgruntled civilians and boisterous ne'er do wells alike when an overwhelming concussion of sound boomed out over the plaza. The unexpected force was enough to stagger her, and she danced awkwardly for a few moments, back turned away from the catastrophe that was unfolding behind her.
But she was not oblivious to the heat. Nor to the miscreant bit of flaming wood that hurtled through the air as though seeking an intended target, and finding said target in the meaty flesh of her thigh. Pain lanced through her, and then start, animalistic panic, as slowly the embers on the wood began working into her clothing and devouring the fabric.
Fire!
The elf slapped at herself, swearing and on the brink of tears. Not from the pain, no, though surely her nerves were screaming. The reaction was a phobic one, and the moment she'd managed to extinguish the flames, instantly there was relief.
That is, until she raised her head and saw the fire rising high in the direction of the tavern, lapping at the air with ravenous orange-red tongues. She could see people around her falling down, their own clothing and hair being consumed, their arms flapping frantically and their bodies writhing as they hit the ground and tried to snuff out the flames. Images of dead, blackened, hardened bodies flashed in Rhianon's mind, and they fueled her panic to an entirely new level. Her breathing sped up. She verged on hyperventilation. Her fingertips trembled and moved to jerk the wood from her leg, ignoring the blood that spurted from the injury. Urged by adrenaline and primal fear, she took off at a full run, her pant leg soaking in crimson.
By the time she made it to an alleyway, she was nearly unconscious. With just enough coherency to remove a strip of leather from her bags, Rhianon made a tourniquet just above the injury, leaned back against the gritty stone of a nondescript building, and abandoned herself to the bliss of blackness.
-
The Settling Night
Jajix watches the fireball rise into the night sky from the deepening shadows of the back alley. Mentally he crosses off three names from his list. One, a brave man, brave but stupid enough to sacrifice himself, and two just stupid enough to think they could get away with their betrayal. As the flare rolls and dissipates up into the dark sky he whispers a small incantation, wrapping the shadows around himself like a cloak, and slinks down further down the alley. There is a schedule to keep, and time is of the essence.
As he rounds a corner he finds the figure of Rhianon slumped against a filth covered wall. He stops and holds his breathing. Remaining motionless, he surveys the scene from within the safety of his shadowy veil. He can see that she is unconscious and his eyes search for the reason why, finding it in the dark blood oozing from the puncture in her thigh. Hers isn't a face that he has seen before, and in his position he takes care to know even the most intimate of details of every inhabitant of this town. Just lost three of my men, maybe more... Ah, I guess I have the time to gain a recruit in replacement.
He dismisses the cloak of shadows and in its stead summons a veil of faint azure light that softens his features, smoothes his voice and overall makes him more charming and trustful in the eye of the beholder. He approaches, crouches down before her and hovers his dark-skinned hands over her wound, emanating waves of benign crystal energies which quicken the healing process. After her flesh and skin have closed in around the wound leaving behind a small, round, white scar, he leans in and taps on her cheek with increasing strength until she wakes.
"Shhh..." he puts a finger to his lips and continues in a hushed whisper, "I can tell you're not from around here. Listen, tonight's not the best time to be a stranger in this town. I know how to stay hidden in these parts, so, unless you wanna be captured and questioned by the guards, it's best you come with me."
With this, the crafty Diaboli offers Rhianon his hand and a smile, his white teeth and golden eyes shining brightly from behind his jet black skin.
Back at the plaza chaos still ensues. Flaming rubble from the tavern is scattered across the open square. People lie injured and pinned beneath the wreckage, trampled under foot as those who remained unscathed scatter for safer grounds. The Vigesimi remains standing shocked on the stage, rotten egg on his face, bits of shell stuck to his hair, but only for an instant until all his years as a commanding officer of the guard catch up to him and he begins to shout orders, taking control of the situation.
He turns to the Guard Commander and barks, "I want men stationed at every exit. Make sure no one leaves the square. Anyone who has skills in healing tend to the wounded..."
The Commander has the audacity to interject, "Sir!... I daresay, we need to get you and your people out of here quickly. This is obviously a deliberate attack and we don't even know who the enemy is. There may still be assassins hidden amongst the crowd..."
The Vigesimi looks the Commander square in the eye, "Until the people of this city are safe, I will not be abandoning them. Have all exits barricaded. No one is to leave. If there are assassins, YOU will find them. I want any of your men with knowledge of Red Way at my side. We need to get this fire under control, and then we can begin to search for the culprit. Do I make myself clear Commander?"
"Yes Sir," the commander obliges and begins to relay the orders out to his men.
The Vigesimi then calls his court mage forward and orders, "Take my family to the palace and return here at once. You may be the most learned Crystal Way user within these city walls, so make haste."
The mage nods his affirmation and gathers the Vigesimi's wife and children around him. With a blink of an eye and a flash of azure light, they are gone.
The Vigesimi now turns and surveys the tumultuous plaza as he waits for his orders to take action. He feels the egg still dripping from his face and shouts out again, "And would someone please! Get me a towel!"
On the cobblestone pavement, Micah lies blinking in pain. His captors had thrown him aside in their panicked flight, and he had been trampled under foot. He can feel his foot is surely broken, and maybe a rib, as sharp pain runs up his leg and fills his side. There is nothing he can do though, but moan and cry out for help, while his eyes dart across the plaza to try and spot Keelana, but she is no where to be seen.
But there is one who does see her. It is the crimson haired Lemur minstrel, who had watched the fenki girl from the moment of her rebellious egg toss. She recognized Keelana from the dancefloor earlier that day, and knew that her friend and sister had been in the tavern along with her companions at the time of the explosion. An empathetic pity seizes her and she rushes towards the overturned barrel to offer her assistance. Luckily, she had only been shocked by the explosion, and remained physically unharmed. Luckier still, she had plenty of time during her travels to study the healing arts of Crystal Way, and had plenty of opportunities to use it too, the roads between towns being a haven for violent creatures and bandits alike.
She reaches the barrel and peers inside, finding Keelana unconscious within, a hastily misapplied tourniquet around her leg failing to stop a steady trickle of blood flowing from a nasty wound in her calf. The minstrel clutches her talisman of Talad, the god who she trusts has protected her on her journey through life and asks that he watch over this young girl as well. She pulls the fenki from the barrel and summons forth the healing energies capable of closing the wound and stopping the bleeding.
Szahia has carefully made it through the terrified crowd and avoided injury, but the guards are beginning to post at the plaza exits, preventing any easy escape. She's safe for now, if she remains calm and keeps her wits about her, but her associate in crime is in a bit of a pickle.
The explosion had knocked both Kjarin and Hynlan off of their feet, sending them colliding with each other. The Ynnwn's bulky size and heavy armor led to him toppling on top of the boy, and Kjarin is now pinned beneath the Blacksmith Guild Captain, the ruby encrusted dagger in his grasp. In other words, he's been caught red handed.
Hynlan rolls over on the boy, planting his knee in Kjarin's back, and bends his arm backwards, snatching the dagger out of his hand. "What's this?" he asks, "You dare to try and rob ME? Oh, foolish boy, what a grave mistake you've just made."
With a quick heave he lifts Kjarin up to his feet, his arms now both twisted behind his back in a most painful manner. "I should take you to the guards, but they're quite busy right now, as you can see. Maybe I should make an example of you right here and now, slit your throat with this dagger that you so covet," he sneers at the boy, his voice grown gravelly with rage. He shoves Kjarin into the booth and presses his face against the course grained wood. "You're one of Jag's boys aren't you. I should have known that slimy thief would betray our trust."
Shoving his shoulder into the boy he pins him up against the stall, twisting his arms one at a time he uses the dagger to cut off a finger from each hand. "That'll show you thieves who you're messing with." As Kjarin cries out in pain, Hynlan smashes his head against the planking, knocking him out cold. He tosses the boy over the stall and growls to his associate now petrified with fear, "Tie him up. Gag him. And hide him under some tarps. The night is still young and I'm not through with him yet."
He turns his steely eyes back on the plaza, and watches as things continue to unfold.
[edited to fix some tense issues]
-
Keelana's eyes open slowly. She feels the unfamiliar tingle of Crystal Way energy on her leg, and watches the Lemur heal her, fascinated at the rapdily closing wound.
"Thanks, miss," she says, then props herself up on her elbow, scanning the crowd. "Did you see a menki about my age in the chaos? I think I...I think he might be in trouble. Because of me."
She pauses for a split second before she groans, grumbling the idea that just popped into her mind, "I bet everyone'll think Micah and I were connected to the fire somehow. Had to pick today to blow someplace up, didn't they..."
She's still in tremendous pain, head pounding, lungs aching. At least it's less of a struggle to think clearly now. A male voice shouts something about barricaded exits. She tries to look brave, focusing on putting up this front to keep from mentally running through the consequences of her actions. She puts her belt back on properly after unbuckling it from her calf, finding her clothing half-soaked from what was left of the barrel's contents. "Could be worse, at least it's on the shirt, too, so you don't look like you peed yourself."
-
Szahia swears lowly. It had to be her luck that all of that happened on the same day. If that stupid guy didn't join her earlier, she would have never attracted the attention of the other. She shifts her weight uncomfortably. She could try and free him, but then she will be caught with all those guards in there. And if she doesn't do anything, it will be her fault as well. Because she could have tried to free him.
Her ears flatten on her head. She had no joice. But first she had to get rid of evidence. Meaning her loot... There is a tree not far from here, she had used as a hiding place in the past. People usually just don't climb. She turns around and runs off. She will think about the next step when she returns.
-
Rhianon had a pretty good sense of people. She knew that this man was not the good Samaritan he wished she'd mistake him for, even as she felt the warm and comforting sensation of healing Crystal magic closing her wound. She took a deep breath of air, very conscious that the gap in her now torn trousers let fire-scarred flesh show through. She dismissed this fact quickly, necessity in place of irrelevance, and weighed her options.
She could refuse. But, despite his amiable facade, gut instinct told the elf that such a refusal would not bode well for her. After her last trip to the Realm, she had no desire to traipse again amidst the myriad labyrinth that was Dakkru's domain. Not that she found death a particularly startling thing any longer. It was merely inconvenient, and the taste of cold steel in her flesh, unsavory.
So the dermorian let a smile spread like a crack along her face, highlighting her bright green eyes, accenting her dimples. “What a gentleman,” she cooed, with just enough sincerity and levity in her voice to convey a sense of gratitude, without being overbearing. Like a cloak, she slipped into the happy role of rescued damsel, batted her eyelashes just so, and gently passed a gloved hand over the man's outstretched arm in a smooth gesture of thanks. Clasping his hand with her own, she pulled herself to her feet, and feigned fear, her eyes going quite wide and doe-like. “You don't think someone did that little show on purpose, do you?” She inquired, stepping closer to the Diaboli. Her face twisted and she nodded like a puppet on a string to his words. “Guards are unsavory creatures. I would be most grateful for your continued help.”
As she wove her arm through his, she subtly tested its strength. Fighter? Already she could deduce he was a mage, but at what level of capacity was he trained? Quickly Rhianon calculated her own defenses: light of foot, a trained killer, various knives hidden close to her skin and beneath her clothing. Hands that were trained to quickly free those daggers of their binding and sink the blades into vulnerable openings in someone's guard.
But for the moment, she only smiled graciously up at the man, and prepared to follow him into the dark back alleys wherever he would lead.
-
Carefully, the Lemur minstrel helps Keelana to her feet and stroked the top of her head. She realizes that the fact that this fenki's friends were trapped in the inferno had not yet dawned on the girl, but she hasn't the heart to be the one to inform her. She feels the need to perhaps keep the girl's mind busy, distracted from this fact and at least be there to comfort and support her the moment she does come to comprehend it. Not only that, but she needs to keep her own mind distracted from the fact that her companions too were in that blast, life long friends they were, talented artists with merry personas, and the chances were high that she may never see them again.
"Please, call me Eyolil," she tells Keelana, "Let's see if we can find your friend... In the meantime, there are others who are injured and could use aid. I could use your help, please."
She offers Keelana her arm for support and together the meander through the now dazed and shuffling crowd. The general panic has begun to subside, and as people find themselves turned away from the plaza exits, they begin to console and care for each other as compassion overcomes the more base instinct of self preservation. Eyolil and Keelana move from one injured person to the next. The Lemur limits herself to simple Crystal Way spells to heal burns and flesh wounds, preserving her energies and leaving the severe injuries to more practiced healers.
It doesn't take long, though, for them to come across Micah, who by now is sitting with his back against the pedestal of a statue, clutching his sides, wincing, and seething in pain. Eyolil inspects him and remarks, "We need to get you to a doctor who can set your bones before any healing magic can be performed."
Micah nods to the amiable stranger and looks up at Keelana through misted eyes, still dazed and on the verge of shock from the pain, "Keelana... what happened? Who did this? It wasn't..." He leaves the thought incomplete as he takes in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.
Eyoli looks at the clamod fenki, "Keelana? Is that you're name? Stay with him, ok? I'm going to go find someone who can help." With that, the Lemur stands and disappears into the mingling crowd.
Szahia finds her cache tree at the edge of the plaza welcomingly unguarded and out of sight. If she is to help her unlucky would be accomplice, she better act quickly though. Kjarin remains unconscious beneath a tarp behind the Blacksmith Guild's booth, guarded by the Guild Captain Hynlan and the rookie barker. Hynlan scans the scene of the plaza cautiously, and when he is sure certain people are thoroughly distracted, he pulls a small crystal pendant from under his armor. The crystal begins to glow in a faint, cool blue light as he raises it to his lips and speaks into it.
"I got your boy. Our mutual friend sent his family away, as expected, but he remained behind..." A hushed sound not unlike the rustling of leaves in the wind emanates from the crystal and Hynlan stops to listen, "...what do you mean both of them?... a fenki? Hmph... No, no, I think I know just the one.... No, no, a deal's a deal brother. I'll get her for you."
Hynlan replaces the pendant with a smirk. He turns to his underling and orders, "Keep an eye on our cargo here. If he moves... hurt him. I got some business to take care of." He laughs and moves off into the crowd, leaving behind Kjarin and his young guardian who is trembling and sweating profusely.
Vigesimi Destrinoir gathers about him all the Red Way practitioners in the service of the guard, as well as some civilian volunteers, and they surround the burning rubble of the tavern subduing the extinguishing the flames before they are able to spread throughout the town. When all that is left is smoldering timber and the charred remains of furnishings and patrons alike, the guards begin to sift through the rubble for clues. It doesn't take them long to find a scroll which is conspicuously not singed by the flames. The guards present it to the Vigesimi who unrolls it to find a manifesto, bordered by protective Red Way runes, proclaiming the Gods given rights and liberties of the people, extolling the virtues of individualism and self governance. It calls for the destruction and fall of the oppressive rule of the Octarchal system and is signed by one Iasrillo Chathatki.
"I know this," speaks up the Guard Commander, "I've seen this type of stuff posted around town. It's the work of that crazy menki, the one we banished out of town cycles ago, remember?" He shakes his head in disbelief, adding, "Man... I knew he was clackers, but I didn't ever think he'd go this far..."
The Vigesimi rolls the scroll back up, his face set in grim determination, "I want a full squadron... your best men, mounted on rivnak. I'm going to need Arkus..." he stops and looks up, his eyes searching the plaza for his court mage who he had ordered to return immediately once his family had reached safety. "He should be back here by now, where is he?"
His men glance at each other first, none of them having seen the mage since his teleportation spell. "Something's wrong..." says the Vigesimi, "Guards to the city walls. I want all gates in and out of town shut and secured. Commander... we ride to the palace first."
Meanwhile, Jajix has lead Rhianon into a dark dead-end alley. Just as maybe her worst suspicions arise, the Diaboli raises a hand to the inconspicuous and unremarkable masonry. Rune-like tattoos otherwise hidden on his jet black skin glow an azure blue, and the apparent surface of the back wall shimmers and wavers and then vanishes completely, revealing a deep tunnel hidden behind the illusionary facade.
Always a performer, Jajix smiles at Rhianon as he reveals this illusion and motions her to step inside. Just as he is about to follow in after her, he stops suddenly. A previously unnoticeable small jewel pierced into the inner lobe of his ear begins to glow, the same cold blue as the tattoos on his hand. A barely audible whisper can be heard and the Diaboli's face sets into a stern frown. His eyes lock and narrow on Rhianon as he perceives the message coming from the jewel. He speaks aloud in response, his tone curt and short, "Don't worry about it. I'll take care of it. But the deal was for you to catch both of them... the Ylian kid and the fenki... Is this a problem?... Good. I wouldn't want you to short me..."
After the conversation ends and the jewel quits its soft glow, Jajix smiles again at Rhianon, his friendly countenance immediately reappearing. "Sorry about that, just a little unpleasant business..." he sighs and adds, "Good, reliable men are such a rarity these days... anyways, it seems now I will have to make a short stop on our way out, if you don't mind. It shouldn't be too much of an inconvenience. Shall we?"
With this he steps fully into the tunnel and the illusionary wall appears again behind him. He takes a small conveniently placed torch off the wall, lights it with a snap of his fingers, and leads Rhianon into the Detrats underground.
-
Keelana follows Eyoli through the crowd, helping where she can - cleaning wounds, applying bandages, and following the instructions of anyone who knows more about healing than her, which is pretty much everyone. The plan to keep her mind busy works to some extent, although the fenki steals glances here and there, searching for her friend and sister.
"If anything's happened to Tagiri, Mom's gonna send me off to live with Dad," she thinks irrationally. "She probably ran straight home. Yeah. Got scared and she's safe with Rhishandra."
They find one person Keelana knows - and the last one she wants to see right now. "Eoli, I-" she says, but the Lemur is already gone by the time the words escape her. She turns to Micah.
"I've no idea who caused the explosion," she snaps. A guilty expression crosses her face as she looks Micah over. He really is in bad condition, and there's a nagging feeling that it's her fault. Plus, there was the argument she narrowly avoided having with him earlier. She continues, more gently, "I thought I was going to cause the biggest shock tonight. Guess I was upstaged. What about you - are you...well, you're not alright, obviously. How are you feeling?"
-
Rats. Stupid Rats. Everything went wrong after that guy showed up while she waited. First this stupid request and now this. What an unlucky day. That Ynnwn had already vanished into the crowd. Getting the dagger without help is now impossible.
That useless guy is out cold as well, so if she wants to free him, she will have to drag him around. No way she is going to do it. The guard might not be a problem, she could smell his sweat even here, but dragging a nearly grown up man around is a bit much to ask from her.
She draws her claws, testing them for their sharpness. She doesn't use knives like the other kids. Her knives areher claws. More effecient and much better to hide than a knife will ever be. She had sharped them yesterday. After all she had expected to use them a lot today. She probably still would. But not for what she expected.
She takes a deep breath and hushes along the shadow of the houses to get closer to the guard. If Kjarin moves, she would be ready to move as well and take out the guard. One way or another. She is no killer, but she would hurt that guard if needed.
-
This one has connections.
Rhianon pondered this fact to herself unobtrusively as she went about the artful act of twirling a lock of her hair around one finger. It was an unfortunate revelation to be certain, as she stared past his shoulder and down into the tunnel he presented her with. More than a small rogue hoping to take advantage of a pretty girl, apparently. He had other motivations that, while by proxy might also fall under the category of more sinister, were more importantly likely hard to extricate oneself from. Not that the elf wasn't accustomed to such sticky situations, nor was she unawares of how to get her way out of the webs that men like this tended to weave. But she was at a considerable disadvantage. He had her in height and probably brute strength, and to top it off he'd been displaying bought after of bought of magic as though it were child's play. True, the runes on the surface of the wall were probably accountable for most of the power in this particular trick, but activating them still took a level of skill. A level she was not about to prod in an attempt to gouge its depth.
She followed him silently as she continued to deliberate. The fire on the torch, minimal as it was, was still enough to make her nervous, so she kept herself at arm's length to avoid feeling the haunting heat from the innocent flame. Tugging her cloak more tightly around herself, her feet moved deftly over the cool sod, denied of crystalshine, and she wondered precisely how old this tunnel could be. Her eyes drifted over the half-illuminated walls in an effort to pierce some of their mystery, as well as to ascertain what their original intention might be.
Sadly, architecture was not her field of study. With a deflating inward sigh, Rhianon sidled grudgingly closer to Jajix, and chimed in a light, conversational tone, “So who built this place anyway?”
-
From under the tarp comes a muffled moan. Kjarin is beginning to stir. Qoulian glances over, his thin blonde hair saturated with sweat sticks in snaking strands across his beaded forehead. He knows Kjarin. They grey up only two houses away from each other on the same street. One time, when they were younger, Kjarin's father was caught entering their house and trying to steal the family heirloom crest. Instead of bringing his father to the guards, Qoulian's parents loaned him the needed tria and established him as a worker in their bakery until he had worked off the debt. The two boys grew up as best friends. Both families were in financial trouble now, and Qoulian had been sent off to apprentice with the Blacksmith Guild 3 months ago, and the boys lost touch. Apparently, in the mean time, Kjarin had been helping his family out by following in his father's footsteps.
What was he thinking trying to steal that dagger! Hynlan is going to have him killed! That is for certain. Qoulian whimpers. He needs to get his best friend out of here, but Hynlan would be after him too if he does. And what's worse, Hynlan knows everything about his family; it was all written into the contract his parents had entered him into. Ah mannnn, I am NOT cut out for this... WHAT DO I DO?
Qoulian takes one long last sniveling look at the heap of darts and moans, "Ohhh... I'm so sorry Kjarin," and darts out the back of the booth, where he immediately bumps into Szahia.
It doesn't take long for his already fearful mind to register what purpose she intends and he cowers backwards, "Your here to get him... Kjarin.. take him, please... just... don't hurt me!"
He raises his hands in front of his face in a defensive gesture, but peaks through his fingers after a moment of not being hit. "W-w-w-w-wait..." he stammers, "Y-you can't carry him all by yourself... and... and I know where we can take him... L-l-let me help you... take me with you!" His voice cracks and he covers his mouth, realizing how loud he was just speaking and adds in a whispering plea, "pleeeease?"
Meanwhile, Qoulian's employer is scouring the crowd looking for a very particular fenki. It's obvious to him that the egg throwing spectacle was meant as a distraction while that sniveling diseased rat tried to take the dagger. It had nearly worked too, if the explosion hadn't knocked him backwards and into the boy thief. These kids think they're so smart, but not smart enough to get away from taking an extra cut from Jag. The thought brings a smirk to his face as her peruses through the injured bodies littering the plaza yard. As far as he knows, the simple set up to catch both looters has been halfway successful. He is intent on seeing it complete.
The one he is mistakenly looking for is ironically being reassured by her wounded friend. Micah bravely waves off Keelana's question, but a tight wince betrays his bluff, "I'm alright... don't worry about me... I'm just glad I wasn't in that blast. Still, it's gotta make you wonder why... who would do such a thing?" As all things do, slowly it dawns on him, "Keelana!" his eyes widen, "You got to get out of here! They'll think that your part of it!"
Before she can answer, Eyolil quickly returns with help in tow. "There he is!" she points the wounded menki teen out and without pause explains, "Keelana, they're evacuating the rest of the wounded to the hospital. I'm going to go with them, for they need all the help they can get. You should come with us." She tries to sound encouraging but in the back of her mind knows the prospect may not seem favorable to the fenki. Her hope is to keep Keelana out of the eye of any suspicion and her mind occupied all the while.
"This man says he can help your friend to get special treatment." Keelana and Micah both should be able to recognize who she is referring to. The man she brought to help, a towering Ynnwn with silvery hair and adorned in armor equal in splendor to that of the Vigesimi, bends down to scoop Micah up. His very identity should confirm her statement, for he is Hynlan the Captain of the Blacksmith's Guild, and it's well known he has pull throughout the town.
Hynlan cracks a smile down at Keelana as he shifts Micah in his arms. "Heh. That was a gutsy move you pulled kid, but don't worry, your secret's safe with me. You should listen to the lady here, they'll be asking less questions at the hospital than they will if you stick around."
Gathered around the charred ruins of the tavern, the Vigesimi and his men have mounted and are leaving the plaza for the palace. Orders are being carried out throughout the city; the plaza is being cleared as most of the guards head towards the outer gates to secure them shut. It should be easy now for anyone to leave the plaza without much hassle, but leaving the city is out of the question. That is, for anyone who doesn't have access to the underground.
Two such people, Rhianon and Jajix move through the cramped corridors. Jajix answers Rhianon, but because of many coinciding factors, the closeness of her hood, the flickering torchlight against the dank, cavernous dark, the odd angle between them, she has no way to see whether or not his mouth was moving. Despite the visual obscurities, the vocal component of his voice reaches her sharp and clear. There is no echo when he speaks as one would expect in the narrow passage. The quality of his voice is near to perfect with hardly a traceable flaw. Still, within the tonality there carries the trace of a smirk.
"Notice how this corridor is just wide and tall enough to fit a large barrel. You see, under the old Vigesimi, this town was dry. Bootleggers built these tunnels to get their goods in and out of the city undetected. Of course, our current beloved leader has relaxed that law and the booze running ran out of business. It's impressive to see how much easier it is to be a criminal the more crimes there are to be committed. Nowadays, the good people truck the booze in under the plain light of day, while these tunnels go all but forgotten."
A few silent steps later and Jajix stops suddenly and moves to the side. Again he dismisses a wall illusion similar to the one outside but adapted to fit their current setting. This time the entrance is further concealed by a large and heavy fur which he pulls aside to reveal the telltale blinking red light of a campfire along with the savory smells of smoke and roasting meat. Again he motions Rhianon to step in before him.
They step through and into a rather large if low ceilinged bunker. It is peculiarly homey and well furnished; a fire pit dominates the center with a large hunk of kormi meat golden brown and sizzling on an open spit, several long tables fill two sides and along the wall furthest from where they stand are stacked sacks and crates filled with pilfered items. There are doors leading into other rooms and hallways, a perfect defensive design for a quick getaway, one heavily concealed entrance and multiple convenient exits.
There are a number of occupants in the room; one man tends the spit while others sit at the tables. A few eyes look up to meet them as they enter, but not a word is exchanged, at least none that Rhianon can hear. A perceptive mind would take note that each resident of the bunker seems to be occupied with an individual task, tending the roast, counting stacks of tria and recording detailed figures, sorting out objects into varied stockpiles. They are all silent, consumed by their work.
As soon as Rhianon crosses the threshold, she has an almost imperceptible sensation, a small tingling that starts at her scalp and ends at the tip of her toes. It is quick and subtle, but doesn't go without notice. Jajix, if he feels the same, remains unhindered and turns quickly to face her. "Wait here... and keep a close eye on your possessions. We can't be held responsible for any items that may end up missing during your stay."
He walks through the room towards the back wall where there is a heavy wooden door which leads into an even deeper cellar. The room behind the door is dimly lit by only a few oil lanterns. It is dark and dingy, the air filled with the musty smell of mold and mildew, the floor littered with the bones of creatures long ago digested. Huddled together in the far corner tremble the Vigesimi's family. Before them, Arkus stands with the confidence of a man who knows exactly what the consequences are and is willing to stand against them.
The two men face each other and a psychic tremor can be felt between them. In a flash their minds meet and their memories, all the sensory information recorded since the last time they performed this meld, are instantaneously shared between them. Arkus's mental report only confirms Hynlan's verbal one. Jajix growls, the Vigesimi still remains at large. The Diaboli meets Arkus's eyes and orders directly, his voice masked in a bent pitch, "Kill them and send their bodies to the palace. Injure yourself, make it look like an ambush. Oh... and see if you can't save the jewelry."
Jajix returns to the main bunker and calls a runner forth. He whispers a message to the young boy who then goes scurrying down one of the side tunnels. There are screams of terror and flashes of prismatic light emanating from behind the heavy door of the back room as the Diaboli returns to fetch Rhianon. "My apologies, m'lady. Just trying to keep things nice and tidy around here, can't have any loose ends, you know. Now... I have more business to take care of outside the city walls, and I believe that's where you were headed miss, so shall I continue my escort?"
-
Keelana's ears lower, but she manages to keep them from flattening against her skull entirely as she looks up at Hynlan. She doesn't bother to hide the distrust in her reply, narrowing her eyes a little.
"Yeah, I guess the hospital's the only logical place to go at this point."
Her eyes are on the Ynnwn but her words are as much for Micah as the Captain. There are few enough ways out at this point. She's heard of tunnels beneath the city but has never been trusted with their location - probably precisely because she's so likely to get caught like this.
She feels like some creature is gnawing on her stomach from the inside, wishing for a moment that she never threw those eggs. She could have listened to Mother. She would know where her little sister is right now, if she had. What she views as a moment of weakness ends once the urge to cry hits. It's a reasonable reaction. People died in that fire. Yet, she wants to look as calm as possible. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself. She knew what she was risking. If she gets locked away or worse for the cause, it's that much more reason for her father to make sure it wasn't in vain. At least, she likes to think that's what would happen...the thought that he may be behind this crossed her mind more than once since the explosion. Micah's question, "Who would do such a thing?" rings through her mind, and she doesn't dare answer it.
-
Kjarin already was about to take a step backwards and dart off if needed. But that guard didn't look like he was about to harm her. She still stands ready to leave at the first sign of him tricking her. At his words, her eyes wandered shortly to where Kjarin was, revealing her intention even if that guard hadn't guessed it before.
She hesitates a moment after the plea, having her eyes wandering to the crowd, then back to Qoulian. Her voice is low, just loud enoung that the other guy can hear her. "Alright big guy. We can do this. But first promise me that you will keep quiet. I can't have anyone paying attention to us just because of your loud voice."
She barely waits for the nod of Qoulian before continuing. "First we need to get him out of this place. In the city itself it should be easier. Just get him. Move!" Her voice is pressing at the end, urging the other to move. The faster they got away from here, the better.
-
Rhianon wondered if the man could be any more painfully obvious. If he thought his forcibly suave demeanor was fooling her, then he was either an idiot, or she was a better actress than she could ever have imagined. His words dripped with a false sincerity, and, natural Diaboli charm or no, she knew a snake when she saw one. No matter the copious amount honey dripping from his forked tongue.
The tingle that shuddered down her spine from the magic hardly helped matters either. Her knowledge of such things was limited, but she'd been attacked by mages enough times to realize when something outside of the physical was being used as a barricade. Her eyes skimmed over the different faces in the room, and the expressions and gestures told her that wordless communication was somehow being garnered.
A web, perhaps. A web of connective energies. Azure Way. I wasn't aware that an entire corridor could be enchanted. I cannot imagine the kind of power it would take in order to accomplish such a thing. Gods willing I never run in to a mage like that.
Despite her worry, that did divulge one thing. Her "escort" needed assistance in these things, or so she'd devised. If that was true, perhaps he was not nearly as powerful as he appeared. And if this held water, it would be...well, somewhat less than impossible to confront him should the need arise. After a thorough inspection of the room and a few moment's pause to gather her thoughts, she turned her head and flashed another dimpled, brilliant smile his way.
"Of course! Lead the way."
-
The hospital is overcrowded with the injured and suffering, burned and broken bodies litter the beds, cots, and filled the hallways. Nurses stop to assess each one as they are delivered, the healers attending to the most critical first. In Yliakum's own particular brand of reverence, the corpses of the weak willed are piled in a small courtyard out back, waiting in the still night air to be dumped into the gaping maw of the nearest burial well.
Eyolil follows in after Hynlan as the bulky and proudly decorated Ynnwn transports the injured Micah and deposits him like a sack of ore onto the granite corridor floor. "Careful with him," she whispers a plea too late, "don't break him any more than he already is!"
"Don't worry yourself miss, someone'll come by and the kid'll be healed up in no time."
Micah perceptibly winces, but tries to remain tough in the company of Keelana. To the bard and smith present, he only looks hurt and scared.
A nurse comes by to check on the enki boy and scuttles off to the next patient dropped next in line. Eyolil follows after her, offering assistance with first aid and minor injuries, leaving behind Keelana and Hynlan to watch over Micah. She tries to keep an eye on them, but soon finds herself caught up in her work as more and more wounded are being brought to the hospital.
With her out of the way, Hynlan shifts impatiently beneath his gilded armor. His eyes dart around in quick glances before he half jokes to Keelana, "Pretty lucky no one's recognized you yet kid. Except myself, of course. Nice number of guards around though, it's only a matter of time. I gotta place you can hide, you know. But we gotta get moving 'fore it's too late. Don't worry 'bout your boyfriend, someone'll take care of him eventually."
Still wincing in pain, Micah looks up expectantly to Keelana. He knows that Hynlan's words are true, that she would be safer somewhere else, hidden, but a deeper, now hurting, side of him ached for her to stay. Under the duress of his injuries, he lacks the fortitude to express his wishes either way and remains silent, bravely awaiting her choice.
Hynlan has reason to be so impatient; he left his other target under the care of a whimpering apprentice, a whimpering apprentice who is now assisting in the escape of said target. Qoulian carries the mostly passed out Kjarin by the pits of his arms, while Szahia supports his legs. With all the injured being transported from the plaza to the hospital, they fail to look conspicuous, although Kjarin's injuries are not typical for the victim of an explosion. Blood thick with coagulation drips from his severed fingers and leaves a wine dark trail in their wake.
"Looks like people are being evacuated to the hospital... maybe we can take him there," Qoulian suggests as he begins to struggle under the thief boy's weight. It's not a bad idea, actually; they can easily deposit him amongst the other injured and leave without too many questions, but they do have another option. Being an apprentice of the thieves guild, Szahia is privy to the location of a few entrances to the underground tunnels. Not the magically concealed entrance used earlier by Jajix and Rhianon, but there are several caches and safehouses scattered in strategic spots throughout the city that even a low level thief such as herself would have access to.
The man Szahia only knows as master, a vague entity who orders her around through a clandestine network of message runners, happily takes Rhianon's arm in his own. His smile and charm matches the authenticity of hers as he leads her out of the cellar room, but his aspect quickly settles into a frown of determination once they are on their way. His steps are those of a man thinking on his feet, hurriedly staying one step ahead of his opponent in a match of wits. His well laid plan has met a snag or two, and so his mind shuffles through options and contingencies, forming new strategies in near real time. Distracted, or otherwise unconcerned, he leads Rhianon directly into the fail safe psychic dart trap she had triggered upon entering the thieves' den.
With the tingling sensation she felt earlier and her musing premonitions as her only warning, Rhianon is suddenly blinded with a flash of violet-blue light. The flash is accompanied by a crippling ringing in her sensitive elven ears, reverberating with interminable sustain down the dark and long corridor. The light clears, confronting her with a disorienting vision, as the underground hall seems to bend and twist, diverging down every perceivable direction. The last thing Rhianon sees before she slips out of consciousness is Jajix's dark form, emerging from a vanishing point at the end of the infinite number of hallways displayed around her, until each numeration of his being converges, bringing her mind briefly into focus.
"Ooh... sorry about that..." he says with a coy smile, impassively watching her body slump listlessly to the subterranean floor.
-
Keelana doesn't miss a single nuance of Micah's expressions. Trying desperately to ignore the pangs of guilt she feels over getting him involved, she kisses her index and middle finger and gently presses them to the menki's forehead.
"I'm sorry. Find out if my family's safe. Tell me if- no, when, we see each other again," she says to him, then turns to Hynlan.
"If this is a trap then I won't go down without a fight," she mutters under her breath, crossing her arms with her claws fully extended. The fenki lashes her tail once, but thinks better of risking tripping somebody like that as a nurse rushes by. She tries not to think too much. Clenching her teeth against the tears she's still fighting, she wrinkles her nose, hoping it looks like it's the repulsive smells of the hospital that are making her eyes water.
-
Szahia grinds her teeth. She doesn't like either idea. Everything in her refuses to go to where guards could spot her and she could get caught. But at the same time she knew that she could get into trouble for showing strangers the hidden paths.
"To the hospital." She presses the words through her teeth. The problems she could get into there were less bad as the punishment of her guild.
Her muscles start to tense as they continue their way towards the hospital. She isn't used to carrying heavier things for a longer time and now feels it. She regrets a bit now that she didn't train her strength in the past.
-
The terrible indignity of it was that she didn't even get the chance to swear at him. Darkness claimed her before she was able to sling a healthy mouthful of colorful profanities. She'd had some lodged away, too: plague-rotted vermin, slimy, coiling snake, maybe even an addlepated kormi for good measure. What had originally only been suspicion became justified paranoia with the sudden flashing of azure light and the obnoxious ringing of a high-pitched sound no ear-drum could bear. She had no defense against such a spell, though she could take a guess at its warding quality. It enveloped her like an itchy cotton blanket in the middle of summer: overly warm and very unwanted. Grabbed by the metaphorical jugular, as it were, it shoved her into the waters of oblivion with an effectiveness that made the transition between being wakeful and being unconscious practically nil.
One moment there was a tunnel, and then within the blink of an eye she found herself stranded in the midst of a barren, snowy wasteland, a blizzard tainting the horizon a blinding white. Snow set about caking her long lashes with a nearly sadistic relish, and she wiped a gloved hand across her eyes to keep from being blinded. Not that there was much to see, out here in the overwhelming bleakness of deep winter. Further inspection quickly told her that it was a virgin fall too; no footsteps marred yet the powdery surface of the freshly fallen flakes. It was almost sad to have to trudge forward and leave a trail of dark imprints behind her, tainted by mud.
Something odd about the dream was that despite the environment, she felt no cold. As in any nightmare, the niggling conscience of logic told her that none of it was real, all of it fabricated by mind and in this case by magic. But sadly the frontal lobes of her brain didn't seem to be responding to this, and so as Rhianon walked she rubbed her arms and stomped her feet, expecting the first inklings of frostbite to begin numbing her extremities. The farther she walked, however, the warmer it seemed to get, despite the fact that there was no change in the terrain.
For a long while she walked, not looking down, eyes trained fixedly upon a terrifyingly monotonous horizon. It wasn't until she heard a strange sizzling, and felt the stem curl up around her calf, that she looked down to realize that the snow was melting. Spreading in thin fingers from her feet like an infection, swaths of the white blanket were being eradicated by some indeterminable heat. What it revealed below was a body of frozen water, or what she assumed must be one, except that the surface was eerily clear and transparent. As more of the snow ran off in trickles of water, faces became apparent, locked in the ice, their bodies perfectly preserved and their eyes open to the sky.
Trepidation crept into Rhianon like a thunderclap. She knew these faces. She knew them well. There, an elderly beggar, his neck bet at an angle that told of its broken state. And there, a wealthy merchant whose arrogance had earned him a knife to the chest. Yet farther away, a woman, a baker, whose only crime was that she'd been in the wrong place and the wrong time, and she'd been convenient.
Yes, she knew these people.
She'd killed them all.
-
The Darkest Hour
Darkness, and from it appears a shape so formless it has not even a name. But a shape denotes light, and like a flip of a switch, a spark of flame igniting a torch, the world becomes illuminated. The light is language, a recollection of words, and suddenly Rhianon is able to pull, like a quilted blanket on a winter's night, the sensible world from the darkness which had consumed her. Soon she is wrapped in the multifold fabric of reality, her faculties online and buzzing with information flow.
It is dark still, the air dank and unmoving, heavy with the earthy smell of soil and fungi. The stoneware floor upon which she lay is softened by a carpet of moss. There is a ringing in her ears and her head pounds with a dull pain, but the resonant tone nor the cushion of moss can hide from her elven ears the sound of footsteps approaching.
A hand touches her shoulder and a voice vaguely familiar asks if she's alright. Turning to face the voice, a Diaboli's face comes into focus and with it a name. With the name, handpicked memories return, and Rhianon is reminded of her situation. Because Jajix was able to target and hide specific memories while she was unconscious, Rhianon does not recall entering into the thieves' den or any of the experiences she had within. The most recent thing she can recollect is walking down the tight corridor side by side with the Diaboli, listening to him prattle on about the history of these tunnels.
"Hmm... must be the stagnant air," says Jajix with concern, "I must admit it can get quite claustrophobic down here. Here, let me help you to your feet."
He clasps his hand around her forearm and offers his support as she pulls herself up, giving her a moment to dust herself off before continuing down the long corridor ahead. After making a few turns down covert side hallways, they reach a rusted ladder leading up to a concealed iron hatch. Jajix climbs the ladder first and knocks a distinct rhythmical series on the underside of the hatch, waiting for a pause and then another precise series answers from the other side. The hatch opens and a refreshing gust of cool night air flows down into the tunnels. Jajix climbs out fully and turns to offer a hand in assisting Rhianon. They are met by a small band of three men, shrouded under cloaks and hoods, obviously some of Jajix's crew. He turns to Rhianon as he too pulls his hood over his face, masking his features within its shadows.
"Well miss, as promised we are now outside the city walls. Although... by my count we're one man short. If you aren't in a hurry we could probably use your services..." The Diaboli is cut off by the disgruntled shuffling of his dubious companions, but a quick turn of his head, almost imperceptible within his deep hood, and they suddenly become rigidly still, standing in an almost drone like obedience. "As I was saying," he continues, "It will only be a covert operation, no killing need be involved."
The mere mention of killing seems unwarranted, but the tone of his voice hints that Jajix tacked it on with purpose. Indeed, he watches Rhianon closely under the dim nocturnal crystal light for whatever tiny dance of invoked emotions may play upon her face. "You look to be experienced in stealthy enterprise, so what say you? I can promise to make it worth your while."
Back within the city walls, Hynlan is leading Keelana from the hospital and from safety. The Ynnwn's face contorts between an air of smugness and a frantic determination. He is already behind schedule trying to remedy his earlier mistake, but he is as much a politician as he is a blacksmith, and he is practiced in keeping up the poise of confidence. He makes a few lighthearted jokes at Keelana, trying to keep the young fenki relaxed in his presence, but his own crafted composure cracks the moment he sees his lousy apprentice and a strange fenki up the street ahead of him, carrying the limp form of the other half of his quarry.
His comes to a complete stop, his steel clad feet freeze in their tracks. His lip twitches into a snarl as his mind slowly pieces together the truth of the situation. That lousy little kid... just wait until I get my hands around his scrawny little throat... just wait till I...wait... who's this fenki? His eyes flick between Szahia and Keelana, Keelana and Szahia until it dawns on him, Hynlan you dumb oaf, you got the wrong girl! Other voices soon join in on his own internal badgering, his father's, his half-brother's, his dead mother's, You'll always be a failure... you can never do anything right... good for nothing half bred maggot.
Rage takes the Ynnwn over, and his half-brother's carefully laid plans are tossed aside along with Keelana as he shoves her out of the way. He draws his short sword from its scabbard, the ring of the master worked blade hangs in the air like the audible glint of crystal light reflecting from its surface. "STOP! THIEVES!" His voice booms throughout the town, and he charges down the cobbled road towards the trio.
At this time, the Vigesimi and his contingent of guards arrive at the palace. As they race down the vaulted marble halls, they are joined by more and more of the palace guards. The bevy of armed men burst into the throne room and a collective gasp resounds, echoing down the now empty halls. There before them, the Vigesimi's family lay slaughtered on the stone floor, his innocent wife and children. Their bodies are joined by those of the few guards who were stationed within the room. There are burn marks scattered throughout, evidence that powerful magic was used.
"How can this be?" an exasperated palace guard asks, "I haven't heard a thing all night."
There are hushed assenting murmurs from the other guards as Arlan hangs his head, gritting his teeth and fighting back the tears. The pain, of course, is enormous, but with his military experience he knows not to let his emotions dictate his actions. So, keeping his wits about him, he turns towards his men wearing a mask of calm. He's about to give orders when a moaning is heard coming from one of the bodies in the room. A hurried search reveals the court mage, Arkus, is the lone survivor.
"It was a trap... an ambush.." he groans as two of the guards with rudimentary skills in the healing arts tend to his wounds, "...it was the guards... the guards who attacked us..."
A heavy silence falls about the group, bodies tensed and nervous, suspecting eyes glanced about. All of a sudden, the seeds of mistrust were sown into the hearts of all present.
"Impossible," the Vigesimi snaps. He looks deeply into the eyes of his men, these soldiers who he knows personally, each as a member of his family. He knows everything about them, their stories, their dreams... How can any of them betray me? But there must be some truth behind Arkus's claim. I don't recognize the faces of these guards slain. My own regiment... infiltrated...
The events of the night begin to catch up to Arlan, the attack on the plaza, his family innocently killed in an ambush obviously set for him, now the revelation that some of his own trusted men were working against him. How many more? How many moles and saboteurs have I brought under my service? I can't dwell on that now. The conspiracy is already in action. I'm vulnerable until whatever ringmaster is behind all of it is revealed. The only course now is to continue to play into their hands until that moment, when I can get close, when the villain is exposed, and I'll invoke justice. I'll make them pay, each and every one.
With cold righteous anger he demands of Arkus, "Prepare yourself. We're going to need you at the ready. I want my family prepared for burial by the time I get back," he orders the palace guards, "Everyone else mount up. We're going to find this scoundrel Iasrillo."
-
Keelana remains quiet as she walks along with Hynlan. She ignores the jokes, keeping a solemn face. When she's shoved, despite the fact she was expecting something like this to happen, she yelps as she catches herself with her injured leg. She feels woozy for a second from the intense pain, but keeps her eyes on the guard the whole time, not wanting to lose him.
"HEY! I thought we were getting outta here!" she yells, limping after Hynlan. She catches sight of his quarry. "Or is it a trap? You just rounding folk up?"
Despite her suspicions, the fenki continues limping after the Ynnwn, wishing she'd saved one of those rotten eggs to toss.
-
Oh great... everything that could go wrong, was going wrong. She didn't have had this much bad luck for a while. She stares at Hynlan's face, almost seeing how he makes the connection of her being related to that boy. She drops the legs she were carrying. No one will get her to stay if...
"STOP! THIEVES!"
She flinches even though she had been expecting a similar shout. She turns and runs. Maybe this time she hadn't done anything wrong. She didn't even carry any evidence of theft on her. But her face was known to the guards due to previous incidents. And she doesn't wish for some time in a cell. So she runs, abandoning her comrade, down the road she just came from.
-
The falling only lasted for a few more moments before Rhianon found herself flat on her back upon the floor, but those seconds were agony. Her victims were screaming at her, their curses and obscenities, and telling her over and over the atrocities she'd committed. Images of them flashed in her vision and even in the corners of her peripheral so that she could not turn away. They danced behind the lids of her eyes in stark contrast to the otherwise comforting darkness there, so that she could not gain reprieve. Their accusations began to rip and tear at a mind already ravaged by a past too painful to reminisce upon, a mind recently mended. The stitching on that mend was fragile, though, ever so fragile, and the farther she fell, the more those rudely inserted staples were being torn from the crack.
By the time she hit the bottom, her word exploded in a display of brilliantly disorienting light, and that final barrier between two separate halves that had been so meticulously repaired split clean down the middle. One side eclipsed the other, and by the time her eyes fluttered open and she found her back against solid rock, staring up at the face of the Diaboli, her displays of trickery were considerably less fabricated. She grasped the arm, freely, willingly, and allowed herself to be tugged to her feet.
“Sounds like an interesting proposition,” she said, her voice impregnated with honey and a touch of irony. “Tell me more.”
-
[are the players still around? somewhere in the back of my mind I thought this fizzled because we were waiting on someone else, but now I've gone and read through it again (it's so good!) and realized that i'm the one that dropped the ball. I left so many stories unfinished on this forum and I would like to rectify that, soon(tm)]
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[Of all the people that have roleplayed here, you're the only one from them all to poke her head in. Sorry to say.]
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Ironic for a death cult guild
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Aramara Maybeeeee <3
(https://the-hollywood-gossip-res.cloudinary.com/iu/s--jTvGzyrW--/t_slideshow/cs_srgb,f_auto,fl_strip_profile.lossy,q_auto:420/v1474393105/rachel-phoebe-jump-up-and-down-clap-gif.gif)