The Playground: Whispers of Taelarys IC

[Mono Vertigo]

9th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Machinist's Guildhall
Eiko and Ira

Listening to the explanation, Eiko's scepticism shone through her grinning expression. “I didn't know music boxes could have any sort of intelligence. Music boxes aren't known for spouting anything but the same melodies. Ah, learnin' something every day, I guess!” she said with a shrug, having to admit defeat if such a thing does exist.
The very idea sounded like an interesting challenge. Personally, she was certain such a machine wouldn't work. However, she wasn't going to sabotage her own work just to make a point. “Can do that work in the evening. Usually, I'm busier in the morning and during part of the afternoon. How big is such a thing anyway? Surely must be big like, say, this?” Keeping the “music box” imagery in mind, she opened her arms to signify a generous width of 50-60cm.

[bladescape]

15th of Barghest, Early Afternoon
Levante Tower, Lower Levels
Aesthes

It was a quiet room. The sounds outside of life were muffled, the goings on of the other members of this level were quietened, and Aesthes was left to the books that surrounded him.

A scholar of sorts, a man who actively pursued anything to do with the history of this tower. You'd almost think he was searching for something...

But he couldn't find one trace of the ring. There were many rings mentioned in the records, but either they weren't detailed enough or they were obviously not the ring that Aesthes carried on his left hand.

It was like an elusive faerie, flitting just out of sight constantly, and yet making sure that you knew it was there. A dream, to be chased, but it seemed to never be realised.

The Half-Worlder leant backwards, putting the latest book which he had been reading down, sliding it into the shelf he used for his collection.

"Seems that you are so elusive in history, and your meaning so lost in time, that finding what you are would be impossible, no?"

Like a whisper, his voice seemed quiet in the silence of the almost oppressively bare walls. With only bookshelves, the room seemed almost too bare.

It's silence resounded back upon him, almost mocking him for asking a question that it could not answer.

"Ah, silent as always, I see. Soon enough, my friend, you will spill your secrets. Even if it means waiting for a thousand years."

Silence, still, in reply. The room offered nothing in reply, and Aesthes' mouth tilted just slightly in an almost mocking grin. He would take a break for now, for trying too hard and long at the one task made you reckless or unobservative.

He would reapply himself in a bit. Now he would just relax, knowing that only his own pursuits awaited his return. Levante hadn't asked something from him in a while.. And that meant that something would come up soon. It always did....

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy: Outside the Accusing Parlor

"You know, where I'm from, I'm really more of a... oh, well that's not important."

Anselme lazily propped his elbow against the high-backed chair. So often it was hard to tell if he was being serious or not, or if he had any interest in the proceedings. In fact, he did find the prospect of a murder mystery very interesting. Part of him wished he were a suspect so he could put his theatrics to good use. He did enjoy being false with people.

"Hmph. Easy enough, I suppose. You'll be kind enough to inform us whom we're dealing with?"

Catching Raina out of the corner of his eye, he tilted towards her to ask softly, "'Whom', right?"

15th of Bargenholt
803 Express
???

Anselme stepped off the train and made his way brusquely toward Cophi. Catching her eye over the heads of shorter folk, he gave her the stern look of one who knows too much to another in nearly the same position... which is to say, please speak with me about that thing I think I know that I know you know.

[Starsign]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Alf

On the normal days, Alfnierado would walk into the marketplace quietly in a cloak that was lighter than the softest material. It would be a simple task, get in, quietly purchase the materials and consumables for his alchemy work, and leave before the place becomes too busy and crowded. He would be there for an estimated twenty minutes, calculating every second and minute he overstayed to improve next time. Alf never wanted everything ready later than expected time for when his shop opened each day. That was on a normal day.

But today was certainly not a normal day for Alfnierado.

He came a little later than he normally did, wearing a purple tunic with tight, grey pants held by a complex series of rope that also carried a couple alchemy potions of colored liquid; a black carrying pack containing his alchemical supplies was on his back, one arm holding the handle over his shoulder. His normal pacing was a faster jog to the scene of importance. Today his store would not be open; he knew he was going to be very busy this day.

By the time Alf got to the body, he had already noticed someone commenting how there wasn't enough fire. The creature of a thousand spiders calmly retorted, "Not enough fire? Would enough equate to burning the body completely and scattering the ashes across the continent?" Alf then went to examine the deceased body, pausing for a few moments as if in realization. "...As I regrettably expected, I knew this one. He came by my shop several days ago as a customer. He was quite a regular I must say. I will not take his death kindly to whoever did this."

Alf did not like his customers getting harmed, much less slaughtered in horrific ways such as this. He was well contended to seek out and learn who would have done such a seemingly random murder. Alf took out one of his potions and started pouring the liquid on the body, trying to clean it of blood and burn marks so it didn't look so revolting to look at. Afterward he turned to the female who remarked on the flames. "Anything else you know on this man?"

[Xondoure]

9th of Bargenholt
Moments Before Midnight
Tower of Tramontae

The circles covering the floor from centuries of practice were twisting and turning furiously when they entered the room as if at war with one another. They scattered away from Dolen’s footsteps with what could only be described as complete terror. The room itself was barely lit with only a single lamp bobbing eerily behind Malharus’ shoulder.

The lord sorcerer removed the candle from the interior and squeezed. The candle came apart bubbling as far too much hot wax for such a small stub flowed to the ground spilling into fixed circles and shapes which pushed all other markings out to the outskirts of the room. Dolen sat in the center of the circle his eyes facing the ground as Malharus stood outside chanting in demonic tongues. At first the room was pitch black but as the chanting continued a cold half light began to rise up from the circle until dark shadows pitched and twirled over their bodies.

“On the names of the seven, and the pacts made in blood to the lord Revon, I Malharus Daemora ir Tramontae, ask for the power that is rightfully mine. Transcend the illusions of this world and send me what I seek.”

With a howling of winds from another world fire crackled out of sight attempting to seek entry into the room. And as the gales began to rise the boy in the middle of it all began to scream.

Another Time
Just after Midnight
The Port of Bastion

"Commander! How nice to see you again. I hope you realize that by grounding this vessel, you're only leaving me with one option."

The elf seemed unfazed. "Excellent. The terms of surrender are -"

"Not that, fool girl. Keller, Zhirad, Marcoth... kill them."

The rage demon could feel the compulsion of Turel’s command burning into his blood as the others pushed forward. As much as his instincts compelled him to slaughter and obey he was loathe to miss Turel crushing the elven bitch. Or maybe she would get lucky and actually kill his lord and master, but that seemed much too much to hope for. He was brought back into the fight by the sudden intrusion of a crossbow bolt to the neck. With a sigh of annoyance the demon turned to face his new aggressors. The bolt itself burning to cinders as bloody hellfire consumed it leaving no trace behind.

“My turn.”

Quick as a shadow he moved among them his corrupted blade sinking into their souls in a futile attempt to quench its thirst. Two vampires turned to stop him. The first he cut clean through. The second was more careful pressing hard before puling back, waiting for an opening. Impatient Marcoth leaped forward placing as much as he could behind the blade. The action took him too far leaving him open to the vampire’s fangs. The rest of the fight Marcoth seemed to dance to the tune of the creatures screams as its face burned away.

"No demands for surrender?"

"Everyone in the world is coming to kill you, Turel. Even if I accepted, there is no way you'll survive the evening."

"The Codex and I disagree."

"I'm surprised that you still have it. I told you before that the Codex of Blood will end up owning you eventually. Any control you have over it is temporary."

"That’s what your sage said right before I incinerated him, and I’ll tell you what I told him – elven advice is overrated." Turel reinforced his point by idly directing a column of hellfire at the Sentinel Commander.

Maranis scowled, but didn't lose control, and managed to roll clear of the attack. "This may come as a shock to you, but I agree. That's why I sought advice from the humans. A blood mage discovered your lair, a hunter went there to drive you here, and another human showed me a magic trick." Maranis hurled a ball of fire - bright gold instead of the usual red-orange. Turel warped himself out of the way, but Siras caught the full blast of it and shrieked. Turel froze for a moment - Maranis was wielding holy magic.

With little more than a moments hesitation Turel turned his efforts against the people on the docks forcing Maranis to block his attacks. He was stalling. The battle should have been over long ago. Still being here meant that Turel thought they would win, but even he should be able to tell that the rest of the court was no match for demon slaying magics. It was what had forced them into hiding last time. But that was the problem with Turel: pride demons weren’t the sort to shatter dimensions until the whole world was watching.

The problem with Turel is that he murdered your wife and child and made you drink their blood.

Marcoth’s fist shot out grabbing the nearest soldier by the head and throwing him so hard he took another man with him.

The problem with Turel is he forced you to kill your brothers in arms.

He leaped crashing down in the thick of the enemy. But as their blades shot to impale him he seemed to vanish leaving them to fall on each other’s strikes.

The problem with Turel is that he will never stop.

He was back at the ship as arrows and spears once again moved to strike him. Only this time he waited. Blow after blow sunk into his flesh. And then he roared as his body erupted in hellfire. All pretence at humanity forgotten the demon whirled against the tide burning everything in his path.

“What did you do to her?”

“I showed her the future. Thus enlightened, she decided that she needed me more than anything else.”

Elizabeth. Marcoth felt a pang of regret. He had stood and watched while Turel had turned her into a monster as terrible as himself. No, she was much worse than he was.

“I shouldn’t have bothered asking.” Maranis got back to her feet, air and fire swirling around her. With an expenditure of effort, Zhirad’s body began to burn with holy fire.

“It’s over, Turel.” William landed. “The Shadow Court is falling, you’re cornered…” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned grimly. “…and reinforcements are here.”


From down Drake Street, a new group had become visible – led by Demon Hunter Ecks, the golem Colmdran… and a lupine figure that could only be Stray. Keller, halfway through a squad of First Regiment soldiers, made an attempt to stop them – but he fell before even meeting them, clutching his head and screaming when he made the mistake of making eye contact with the coyote. Ecks took his head off without breaking stride.

As soon as Marcoth became aware of their presence his eyes snapped shut. He continued to fight relying on the hunger in his sword to move his hand. Then suddenly he felt the fiendish edge scream in pain as what could only be Ecks met his blade.

“Not at all.” Turel opened the Codex, the rush of power blasting Maranis and William clear of the ship. Despite the increased distance, they could still hear him. “It is only beginning, and I have already won.”

When two masters match blades it is not a very long fight. One will slip and the other will kill. When one master fights blind it is not hard to predict the outcome. Ecks’ sword slammed into Marcoths chest ramming him against the side of the Red Wind. And as the ancient purifying magic began to unravel his existence the demon felt nothing. His first thought was: not again. His second could be heard barely as the ship began to fade.

“Thank you.”

His third thought was to realize that something else was there with him watching him die. And in that moment they understood each other perfectly.

You have seen. You know. This is not the end. If I am to die time and again until the world is dust I swear on the blood of my family-

10th of Bargenholt
Midnight
Tower of Tramontae

“I’LL KILL YOU TUREL MERESIN!”

The roar was deafening as somewhere out on the oceans a pillar of fire burst into the sky. Back in the tower the sound could be heard but from the other side as the connection closed and the slave collapsed to the ground. The circle had completely vanished, as had every other past mark of summoning that had not been written in blood. With an even more brooding expression than normal Malharus ir Tramontae forced the child to his feet.

“Tell me everything.”

[Jade_Tarem]

Unknown Location, 803 Express

Cophi raises an eyebrow. "You can have the bow. Just please get off the roof of the car." Once she's down, Cophi signals up ahead to the Engine. Michael nods and climbs up onto the coal car to see what the commotion is up front. The elf then turns her attentions to the rebels removing unconscious bodies from the train.

A couple of the new rebels look at each other, then back to Sevran. A moment later they start laughing. They're cut off by a voice from atop the first car. "I'll take you up on that." Looking up reveals Michael Wainwright, perched on the edge of the black pile. "Seeing as you and and our engineer are the last people on the train, we can get started as soon as you two step off."

It is only because he's looking toward the front of the train that Anselme notices exactly when and how (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u10EZEZn-20&feature=related) everything goes wrong, but as soon as the machinist's foot touches the floor, a jet-black wave rolls out from that point, washing across the entire room, visible only to his 'special' eye. What happens next, though, is visible to everyone.

Some of the occurrences are subtle. Anselme's pocket watch starts ticking very fast, and closer examination reveals that the minute hand is spinning rapidly in one direction while the hour hand is moving the opposite way. The emergency brake cables on the train invisibly knit themselves back together underneath the cars.

Other effects are obvious. The main brakes on the train disengage and the Train leaps backwards a good five feet, pitching Wainwright onto the roof. More importantly, entire banks of electric lights snap on with a loud *CHOOM* and an ominous buzz, one row at a time, running down the length of the cavernous ceiling, highlighting just how big the chamber is.

Still other effects are dangerous. Cophi's pack begins to smoke before suddenly losing its unique properties that allow it to be larger inside than its outside dimensions would allow, and the elf is suddenly pitched from the roof of the second car as a large assortment of gear suddenly occupies the space she'd been standing in. The rebel bounces ungracefully to a halt against the far wall of the chamber, but goes ignored because those still conscious note that some of the contents of her pack, as well as the underside of the Second and Fourth Car, are shooting sparks and a familiar-looking smoke.

Then the rest of the detonators go off, one after another.

As clouds of yellowish gas fill the room, made even more ethereal by the harsh beams of light shining through them, the remaining rebels and hostages finally panic properly, dashing in every direction. The doors to the chamber, however, only open to reveal large, armored figures that are impossible to make out through the smoke, and it isn't long before darkness falls.

All Aboard!
Part 2: Derailed
???th of Bargenholt, Unknown Location, Unknown Time

The Keeper was tired.

It wasn't often that the Keeper had to expend energy so quickly, but the situation had warranted it. Mindless machines were harder to control than the servitors, but the results had been worth it, despite the unfortunate fate that had befallen the boiler of the train. The servitors would fix that.

The rebellious faction that had moved into the Epsilon Barracks some time ago believed that the area might be haunted, due to the bad habit of machinery and objects within to take on a life of their own. Of course, they *also* still believed that they were living in a hidden Legion base, so clearly they were ignorant of the true situation. The Keeper had estimated a 94% chance that they were rebelling against the current government of Taelar in whatever form it now held, but without any contact with the outside world, the Keeper had no way to know for certain. Ordinarily, 94% was more than enough to initiate containment protocols, but...

But the Family had changed priorities right before lock-down. For all the Keeper had known, these so-called rebels might have been allies of the Family. That had changed when one of the Family had arrived - held hostage by the rebel leader. These other passengers could also be allies or enemies of the Family as well, or even a new labor force, and until everything was sorted out they would *all* need to be held.

The Keeper watched the servitors - the ones without True-Minds, of course - go about their duties, moving the motionless forms of the train's passengers and the rebels to the infirmary, to the bunks, to the gymnasium, anywhere where they could be easily contained. Some of them carried weapons, but these were analyzed and deemed of insufficient threat to the continued function of the servitors and Epsilon Barracks to warrant confiscation.

And all of that was less important than the fact that there was a confirmed member of the Family here. She would need to be brought to junction EB-1 as soon as she awoke. If she was the new Administrator, then she would know how to get in. If not, then she would be held with the others until the new Administrator arrived.

The Keeper was patient. It helped that the Keeper was never bored - there was always something to do. It checked the readiness status and found everything suitably locked down, just as it had been for centuries. It checked the true-mind servitors and found them restless, a state that the Keeper found foolish. Service to the Family never ended, and the sooner a thinking entity accepted that the less sanity that entity would lose. The Keeper had accepted its reality right away, and had performed its duties flawlessly for generations.

Some of the True-Mind servitors had never accepted it at all.

Their bodies had run out of fuel and water long ago, of course, so they could cause little harm, though their screams did grow tiresome. They too had been stored, connected to inactive hydro pumps and deactivated fuel loaders in the event that they became ready to serve the Family again. Nothing here was wasted.

The Keeper debated, for less than a second, the prospect of bringing Titan GGK out of stasis, but decided against doing so until a new Administrator was confirmed. Titan had little enough to do even with an Administrator active, and *they* would not appreciate being woken up for a false alarm. For the same reason, the Keeper did not reactivate the internal defenses inside Actual.

Those inside Epsilon Barracks, however, were now armed.

With a final check of its recovering energy, the Keeper noted that the various guests in Epsilon Barracks were beginning to stir. They would need to be informed of the situation, and then contained until further notice.

Despite its abstract status, the Keeper was excited. For the first time in a long time, there was work to do.

Raina

Everything is white. At least at first, that is - as Raina's elven eyes quickly adjust to the bright light, the room grows in detail, quickly resolving itself into some kind of apothecary or examination room - a big one, the kind one might find on the largest of the Empire's ships, only made from metals. Looking around, she can see several cots, each placed at what appears to be a standard 'station' featuring a large assortment of bandages, medicines, and other first aid supplies. Privacy, if desired, could be achieved by dragging a curtain that hung on a ceiling-mounted track around the cot.

Taking stock, Raina notes that she is clad only in her innermost layer of clothing - while still 'decent,' she has been stripped of coat, sword belt, bow, and most of the equipment that went with those articles. She doesn't have to look far to find them, though - her missing attire and gear is stacked neatly by her cot.

Sitting up brings a wave of dizziness and nausea, along with a profound ache originating in her abdomen. The elf can feel a heavy bandage over her lower torso, and she recalls, dimly, a piece of the exploding boiler whirling toward her. A slight twist and the piece of metal might have bisected her, but she'd been fortunate for once.

In the bed next to hers, a human woman can be seen - a red-stained bandage is wrapped tightly around Captain Anaya's arm, and her armor and sword are, like Raina's equipment, stacked neatly near her cot.

Across the room she hears a groan - the room's other occupant appears to be small and feminine, and a pointed ear can be seen from under the sheets...

Mikado

Everything is blue. It seems to be the color of choice for the room he woke up in, and the interior decorator responsible apparently had a crippling fear of contrast. The bed, the sheets, the furniture, the walls, and even the carpet are all shades of blue. It's a jarring transition from the train car. The only bonus seems to be that the room is well lit - with electricity, no less.

"You're up." A familiar voice states. Elra is already awake and standing by the door. Her crossbow is loaded - and propped up against the wall next to her. She makes no move to grab it, remaining armed only with a wry smile. "You're not going to believe what happened while you were out." A quick examination of the situation reveals that Mikado still has all of his possessions - including the hidden blade. Given that Elra saw it already, she either has a terrible memory or doesn't think Mikado will attack her again.
And even her speech color is blue!

Amandre

Everything is yellow - a sort of dirty-gold that lines the walls, the car, the ceiling, your clothing. It's even snowing yellow. Amandre's training indicates that the foamy stuff drifting on the air isn't poison, but beyond that he has no idea what it could be.

It's a minor miracle that he's remained undiscovered, but not altogether unsurprising. The blast of the detonating boiler appears to have thrown the assassin back from his hiding place and down through the roof of one of the baggage cars. Now a narrow beam of ugly-gold light and the drifting gold foam are all he can see of the outside, but at least he's safe. For now.

Sevran

Everything is gray, with one exception. A crimson red stripe of paint rings the room, set at an arbitrary height. The noble's last memory is of using the chaos at the train to jump Wainwright. With the way his head is pounding, though, it's impossible to remember what, if any, damage he had done to the big rebel.

More interesting is the variety of training equipment - the room contains weights, benches, targets, and even a proper dueling ring. From one corner, he can hear the sounds of someone actually using the equipment - rounding the corner of the raised dueling ring reveals Lord-Commander Oskard hammering at a punching bag. He stops when he notices Sevran's attention. "Good evening! How are you feeling, there?"

Anselme

Everything is, impossibly, green. Well, everything that isn't the bronzed color of durium, that is. Anselme stands in what can only be an indoor garden of some kind. All sorts of tasty fruits and vegetables grow from the floor or tables in neat rows. The ceiling, however, is even more interesting. It can't be seen through the canopy of fruit-bearing tree limbs.

Climbing isn't impossible, and Anselme finds a way to break through the canopy - and there, things stop being green. A glass ceiling extends the length of the room, and through it he can see the sky.

Such as it is.

The entire sky is a dull crimson color, and the sun - if that's what it is - is a small, winter-white light, not nearly as intense as the real sun. More disturbingly, though, are the huge ribbons of black power that twist through the entire field of view - and these ribbons can be seen with both of Anselme's eyes. From his narrow, upward-facing perspective, Anselme can't see the horizon, but he can feel heat bleeding through the glass.

Despite having been to many planes, this is going to be a new one...

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, The Whodunit
Claye

The machinist gets up slowly. "In that case, Ambassador, yeh'd best let us get to it." Once the man leaves, Claye presses her tongue against her cheek as she thinks. "By Rhetizian law..." she begins, clearing her throat and pulling out an honest-to-goodness pipe before lighting it. "By Rhetizian law, the servants of the nobles are blameless for crimes that they are ordered to perform if a link can be drawn between themselves and the noble behind their actions. However, given that all the nobles and politicians are master assassins, most servants won't take the easy way out and confess unless cornered."

She fishes something out of a hidden fold in her skirt - some kind of writing implement. "So we have two ways we can approach this - well, three, really. We can find out which nobles have what grievances against Heironymous and focus on their servants. We can find out which servants were where and then question the appropriate nobles... or we can focus on the fact that poison worked on Heironymous at all - you don't get to be his age in Rhetiz without knowing that someone is always trying to poison you. You all saw Ghedim's little snake. If the big guy didn't have one then it means that he thought he was chock full of antidotes and anti-venom already. It might be interesting to find out why he wasn't."

23rd of Bargenholt
Late Morning
Imperial Spires Hotel

Annah lets out a squeal of delight. Going out on the town with Master and New Mommy was always so interesting. She hoped they would be playing the blood game, but sometimes they didn't and that was okay too.

She comes out with a different, newer dress. She still wears the bright orange cloak, though. "Where are we going? Are we going to find a New Daddy today?"

24th of Bargenholt
Evening
Eastern Slums

Annah was doing very well. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjlBCAx6330&feature=bf_next&list=FL5Qzp0mau2hQeXKYfRvnYbA&lf=mh_lolz)

"...because Rule Number Four of the Blood Game is that everyone has to play the Blood Game." Annah finished. The woman she'd tied up was still screaming. Annah shook her head. That wasn't a very good strategy for winning the Blood Game. It also made no sense - Annah had very carefully explained to her that her children would also play the Blood Game, so no one had to feel left out and no ones feelings would be hurt. Sometimes she thought she would never understand mortals.

As she left, she noticed her New Friend. New Friend was older than her in appearance, but younger than everyone else, and probably much older than she looked, or at least Master said so. More importantly, New Friend was so loyal! Always following her around everywhere like a good friend should.

Soon she would have to talk to New Friend, but Annah found herself a bit shy. New Friend seemed to disapprove of Annah's playing style.

Maybe she wanted to play the Blood Game too. Annah would have to find out.

[Nefarion Xid]

???
Green Room

Anselme absently fingered the strap of his eye patch to make sure it was still in place, unused to seeing magical phenomena with such frequency and clarity. The covering little to dull his perception of the arcane, of course, but he preferred to keep his worlds separate. One eye for the physical, and one for the other, that's the way he liked it. Well, that was at least one use for the patch.

On his way down from the tree, he plucked an plump red apple. Landing with a bit of a thud, he remarked to no one that this all seemed familiar before voraciously sinking his teeth into the fruit without another thought. A different man might be wary of strange fruit in otherworldly locales, but Anselme was sadly used to this sort of thing. And frankly, he hadn't survived the Nether just to get the one poisonous apple tree in all the worlds and die like a chump.

Leaning against the tree, he waited patiently for his captors or hosts or whatever to make themselves known. They'd left him in this green house for a reason, after all, and it would be rude to go traipsing around unescorted and uninvited. He was a guest in their plane! Besides, his right eye informed him that there were an absurd number of vaguely humanoid things just beyond the doorway. Someone would be along shortly.

All the same, he checked to see if he was still in possession of the knife hidden in his coat.

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, The Whodunit

Nabbing a dinner roll from the table and munching fitfully, Anselme stood politely through Claye's spiel. No one had dared touch the food after the murder. It hardly made sense for all of it to be poisoned. No one poisons bread anyway.

"It's also remarkably bad taste to order a hit in an embassy, Claye. Even for a Rhetizian, that's pretty dirty. No offense, of course. But, foreign embassies are like churches... holy ground! Whoever wanted Heironymous dead wasn't a Rhetizian."

He traced the room with with his eye closed, apparently deep in thought for a moment. Finding nothing of immediate interest he muttered, "There are any number of ways to kill a man subtly. Our friend's death was nearly theatrical. The killer is an amateur."

Glancing towards Ghedim, he added affectionately, "And likely not Rhetizian."

[hi-mi-tsu]

12th of Bargenholt
Rhetizian Embassy

"Yes, whom." Raina's response is distracted as she's funneled out of the dining room and in the general direction of the drawing-room; she, however, has no intention of following the sheeplike, complaining crowd. Listening to a bunch of over-entitled nobles whine about how they're being so mistreated, they couldn't possibly be suspect, how dare Ghedim imply such a thing...

She'd rather shove forks in her eyes. And so she separated herself from the bunch she was walking next to, slipping down a hallway; she rounded a corner, congratulating herself, and crashed smack-dab into a pair of guards wearing matching silvered armor and bright purple cloaks. They were well-armed, and rather stern in appearance...and so she did the first thing that came to mind, and fluttered her eyes, and twisted a piece of hair around her finger.

"Oh thank goodness! I was just looking for a washroom...I need to freshen up, after that dreadful scene in the dining room! That poor man just died!" She bit her lip, sucking in a breath, and the dress made sure that all of her..."assets"...were appropriately displayed. She'd never thought she'd appreciate Rhetizian fashion trends, but...the guards' eyes were very focused on a location they would normally be swiftly beaten for.

Except that she wanted them to focus.

"I don't suppose you big, strapping men would like to show me the way to the washroom, would you...?"

"T-the guard-captain said we weren't supposed to let anyone leave the drawing room..." One guard spoke, uncertain; the other one hadn't taken his eyes off of her, and she bit her lip again, harder than it looked, bringing tears pricking to her eyes.

"Oh please, I just need a few moments alone, I promise it won't be long...! I just...I just need to be away from those people, just for a little bit! I mean, I'm not Rhetizian, what if they do something to me? What if they think I killed him? Oh, please!"

The single tear that rolled down her cheek did it; the guard that hadn't been able to stop watching her smacked his partner, with a clatter of metal.

"She's harmless! Lookit her! C'mon, miss, I'll show you the way--"

"We'll show you. It's just down this hallway, everything will be fine, m'lady..."

A few minutes later, alone in the washroom, Raina made a disgusted face as she wiped the tear away. Men. So easily manipulated. That she even had to do that was just...horrid. If she'd been able to have her weapon...

Well, if she'd had her weapon she was sure no amount of fluttering and tears would have gotten her out of that predicament. No matter, the guards were gone and she could explore...some wandering and guard-dodging later found her in the library, where she came across something...odd. An area in the wall that was entirely inappropriate for the structure of the rest of the room...or rather, a bookshelf that was oddly adjusted in relation to the rest of the shelves in the library. A small detail, but one that intrigued her...she pulled at every book, and every bookend, until twisting a carved dragon caused the bookshelf to swing open noiselessly. And what greeted her eyes was a sight she'd never expected to find...an entire room full of small, neatly-labeled bottles. Some were clear, some were viscous, some were violent colors, some cloudy. And they were all labeled in Rhetizian, and she swore softly...

A few minutes later found the elven woman tapping Claye lightly on the shoulder, bending close to murmur "Miss Kilnmyr? Provided you can get away from this crowd...I require your assistance."

~~~~~~~~~~~

13th of Bargenholt, morning
Fortress of the Rose, Living Quarters

"A key? Of course not, silly." Celia laughs, quietly, and shakes her head. "No one here has a key, and everyone trusts everyone else. That's part of what being a Lion is about, you know. We depend on each other for our lives. And the probation period is just that; we all had to go through one. Boss Nessiel tries you out at the different positions required of a Lion, and sees how you do, and at the end she decides whether she thinks you can uphold our name."

The young woman appeared utterly unphased by the gigantic sword, though it was the largest one she'd ever seen in her life; grinning up at Murdok, she gestures down the hall.

"I'll show you where the dining room and common-area are and everything, and introduce you around to the people who aren't out on patrol right now, all right?" She really did have the cutest dimples...

~~~~~~~~~

Raina
????th of Bargenholt, Unknown Place, Unknown Time

"...Ow." The elven woman does not appreciate the way the room swoops alarmingly around her; she presses a hand to the bandaged wound in her side, and is quite grateful that it was tended to. But she has felt this way before...and she does not do well when she does not know where she is.

It takes quite some time for Raina to don her clothing, including her jacket; it was, shockingly, mended. She hadn't expected that; she vaguely remembered the piece of metal that had hit her, and the searing pain, but it had only been for a moment before the entire world had gone black. Finally, she manages to do up the last button on her coat; setting her bow reverently on her bed, she checks on the captain first, out of...she doesn't know, really. Obligation to her "fellow man", she supposes...but Anaya looks unconscious, and the elven woman doesn't want to touch her, almost worried about adding damage to unseen wounds. She knows nothing about medicine beyond the roughest emergency knowledge needed to stay alive until one can be brought to a healer...

The groan across the room was more promising, however, and Raina moves--slowly--to that bedside.

"Cophi...? Is that you? Where in the name of all that is holy and unholy have your rebels brought us?"

She needs to get out of this room...

~~~~~~

23rd of Bargenholt
Late Morning
The Imperial Spires Hotel

As Elizabeth dons her dress (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_DwCm9HUM8I/TrW3vBWNs3I/AAAAAAAAE7U/C8hMfnGXGxk/s1600/15+vestido+preto.jpg), she smiles indulgently at the excited child. Child in form only, of course, and there is a piece of her that knows this. But Annah is hers, the way her lost baby was hers, and she would kill anyone who tried to hurt the demon-child.

"No, darling..." She glances at Turel, standing and pressing the front of the dress to her chest; being a man, it takes him far less time to get appropriately dressed, and as he scoops her hair over her shoulder to bare her back and grant him access to the laces, she continues to speak.

"We're going on a shopping trip today, yes? Mommy and Old Daddy and Annah too. To buy new clothes. More colorful clothes. Mommy doesn't particularly enjoy these black things daddy chose for her..." A warning glance over her shoulder; Turel's fingers are lingering too long at their work.

"But we won't be finding a New Daddy today, dear, nor playing any games. We are normal today. A normal family, doing a normal thing, yes?" She combs her fingers back through her hair when Turel finishes with the laces, pushing it back over her shoulders again; he begins to brush it out, without being asked. She contemplates, for a moment, snatching the brush from him...then dismisses the idea. Having both hands free makes it easier for her to apply the powders to her face and pigment to her lips that make her more beautiful, after all, and she sits back down at her mirrored table to do so.

"I think we should go to the Vale. I have heard that it is the fairest in terms of price, and has high-quality goods. And there are a few shops that...intrigue me, and I want to go to them. ...We will go to them." Darkness in her eyes and in her tone...and the mirror cracks, sharply, and Elizabeth purses her lips as she sucks in a sharp, controlling breath and pulls herself away from Turel and his brush.

"I wish to go now. We should go."

~~~~~

Plot Ticket Update!

As more and more bodies are being discovered, scattered intermittently throughout the docks, merchants are becoming more suspicious of this "ghost". Most do not believe it is an actual haunting, but some do; shops that specialize in talismans or protection see an upswing in business, particularly in the more affluent districts, as merchants and sailors and dockworkers alike spend as much as they can to try and ensure they won't be the one found hanging from the street-lamps in the morning.

[Jade_Tarem]

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, the Whodunit

Claye blinks at the elf's request, but is more than happy to comply. Following Raina, the two quickly make their way out of the crowd and down the side corridors. Claye's overall speed is... not great, and she tugs Raina into, amusingly, a washroom. "By all the boilers in the guildhall, Ah'm glad you got me. One more second with this skirt and I was goin' t' commit a murder of my own."

Raina starts to speak, but Claye cuts her off. "Hang on a sec. Hold this." Claye pulls a small strap from the back of the dress and hands it to her. She takes a small key from a fold in the dress and fiddles with something at her hip. A moment later a loud *CLONG* is heard from somewhere around Claye's feet.

The elf raises an eyebrow. "Was that...?"

"No." Claye flushes, but steps aside to reveal the entire bulk of a #13 "Big Iron" Multitool. Claye picks it up and puts it on the counter, where it is soon joined by an assortment of other tools and gizmos, some of which look properly dangerous. "Don't know what Ah was thinkin.' Put my whole consarned armory in here without thinkin' of mobility." Claye states as she takes stock. "Ah've always been more of a gadget type myself... should've talked to Potts about the problem. That boy knows way too much about dresses to be a machinist."

She finally produces a small package, which appears to be a tightly bundled roll of clothing. Raina frowns. "If you plan to change, how are you going to get back to our... 'honored' guests?"

"Ah'm not goin' back. There's nothin' Ah can get from them that Anselme can't. An' if Ah have to, well, Ghedim said they find commoners nonthreatening. Now if you'll excuse me..." Raina suddenly finds herself ushered outside. A number of hammering, sawing, and ratcheting noises can be heard from behind the door for a moment, then nearly a minute of silence. After that, the machinist emerges - as a machinist. Claye is back in her usual attire - right down to the oversized, overloaded tool belt and Big Iron strap. The only thing missing is the black apron she wears at her shop. "This. Feels. Amazin'."

"I fail to see how this will avoid attracting attention."

"The embassy hires servants from all over. Ah'm staff now, not even as interestin' as a guard."

"The servants were also ordered to go to a certain location. What will you do if you are shepherded there?"

"Well, see, that's what the Big Iron is for, unless yeh think I should try seducin' one." Claye grins impishly for a second before going on. "Just kiddin,' that would never work. Now what was it yeh wanted to show me?"

[daelrog]

All Aboard! Part 2
Sevran

Sevran clutched his crown with both hands, and let out a long, single curse. His head hurt, and he couldn't even remember if he had hit Wainwright or not. Sevran remembered that he had aimed at the rebel's crotch with his heavy boot. Honor.

He looked over at Oskard and the old man's words eventually caught up to Sevran. "Terrible. I feel terrible." He looked around the room, frowning at the circles. He didn't understand them. In this rare case, it would have given him comfort to be more aware of the situation, even if that situation was worse than he thought.

"So, you wouldn't happen to know what happens now? Oh, and I see that mystery gas didn't kill you. That's good." Sevran smirked at the rudeness of his own comment, not because he thought himself funny, but he actually took an awareness of himself. Maybe he was a terrible ass.

[VonDoom]

All Aboard! Part 2
Mikado

With a groan, the Ikokuan man moved a hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness as he blinked his eyes open. His head was pounding viciously, his throat was dry; whatever the exact concoction, this gas had done a number on him.

A deep breath to calm himself as he laid there, then his eyes quickly darted to the side. There was no time for idling around, considering what had happened previously. Who knew what was waiting for him, after that painful failure at turning the situation around. As Mikado's eyes adjusted to the light, he began to take notice the curious color scheme of the room -- and then, he heard Elra's voice close by.

Forcing the fog that was still around his thoughts away, the intrepid former crime lord pushed himself up, noting that neither his arms nor legs were bound. Confusion shined through for a moment, as he glanced towards the former teacher, then to his possessions, but he quickly once again assumed a calm expression of neutrality.

"You haven't killed me," he stated the obvious, yet implying that it had been well within their power, in a tone as if merely making an inventory list. Reaching for his cane and blade, slowly and methodically, he placed the sword back into its sheath, clicking the locking mechanism shut with a practiced motion. "Very well, you have my cooperation." This time, there was no smile on his face, but rather a somber, earnest look.

Leaning forward without yet rising, he studied Elra with his brown eyes and finally demonstrated that he actually had listened to her. "What, then, is it I'm not going to believe?"

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, Whodunit
Mikado

The immigrant watched the way Ghedim was handling the snake, and thus the apparently poisoned cup, with a measure of fascination. He let Ghedim's edifying remark slide without comment, rather observing what else the ambassador was doing. When the commotion was all over and done with and Ghedim had posed his request, the Ikokuan leaned back in his seat, fingers steepled together as he studied the Rhetizian.

"Why you would preclude our involvement is a mystery to me," he began to address Ghedim, a cold piercing look in his eyes, "as you neither personally delivered these invitations, nor had us excessively watched. That leaves plenty of opportunity for any one of us to have been approached for some unsavory deal. And, no slight or insult intended, but is there any particular reason to exclude yourself from the potential killers?"

The former crime lord chuckled, then, breaking off the eye contact with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But that is not the way to get things done. Let us assume that we are all innocent for now."

Raising an eyebrow at Claye's sudden change in demeanor (and the sudden appearance of her pipe), Mikado found himself rather surprised at this new development -- he had certainly known that Claye was intelligent and cultured, sometimes despite appearances. But the way she methodically laid open these matters of approach was quite impressive, and new to him. She almost gave the impression of a professional investigator. Anselme, too, added an interesting piece of information to the plate.

"... or the spectacle was fully intentional," Mikado offered his comment to the man with the eye-patch, once more playing the devil's advocate.

Still, the man seemed quite content to sit back and let things develop as Mikado made no move to rise from his current position. First Raina suddenly absconded, then she dragged Claye away -- the Ikokuan followed these movements with a calm expression.


About two years ago
Underground Temple of the Dragon Emperor, Ikoku
The Inner Chambers
Chiyome and Mikado

Coming soon...

[Swordslinger]

All Aboard! Part 2
Amandre


Where was he? He lay on his back looking up at the oddly shaped roof. He did not know where he was, or why he was here. Slowly pieces of memories begun to gather, there had been a train, it was captured by rebels or something. He had been on the roof and the train had entered some sort of underground hall, he lay in wait while people was escorted off the train. He slowly sat up, there was pain throughout his body but not too bad. It soon become obvious he was in one of the baggage cars, he had fallen through the roof down here. The nearest baggage car had been at least one car further behind, something must have thrown him back here, most likely an explosion. If that was the case then it was a miracle he was alive, and explosion powerful enough to fling him here should have torn him to shreds. He stood up, and while he hurt it did not seem to be any large injuries, back or bones was not broken and he did not believe he had a concussion. He wondered how long he had been out, possible long considering he had been thrown through the roof of a train car. He wiped off some of the yellow stuff of his coat, he had no idea what it was but wondering about it was useless now, while he seemed fine now he hoped the stuff did not have any long term effects. No, what he should wonder about was what the conditions outside was, how had the rebels and passengers fared. From within his coat he found a pair of fingerless cloves that he put on. Now he needed information, he did not dare attempt to open the car door, that would probably produce a lot of noise. Instead he made a small jump and grabbed the edge of the hole in the roof and effortlessly pulled himself up far enough to look over the edge.

? Bargenholt
Darran Manor

He walked through the mansion corridors, paintings of long dead Darran family members decorated the walls, he had walked this way countless times before and as usually his eyes was drawn toward a common element in many of the older pictures. Several of Darran noblemen held the same longsword, it was of unusual design and while it was a bit unclear from the painting it looked as if the metal of the blade was made of silver. He tore his eyes away and continued down the corridor toward the office of the current head of the Darran family. Banyn d'Darran was as usual sitting by the table reading papers and barely looking up as Amandre entered the office.

“Something has happened, a child of one of the directors for our legal transport operations has been kidnapped. Their located was traced to this location.” he pointed on a map, it a warehouse district at the outskirts of the city. “Most of the place is being torn down however one of halls has been kept to store equipment, the kidnappers are hiding there. They don’t know they have been discovered. While we could call on the imperial guard there are… reasons we want to handle this matter internally, go there and take care of it quietly. Not your usual kind of job but you seem to have gained a flare for… heroics lately. We have people on site that will give you more details” as Amandre turned to leave it seemed as if Banyn suddenly remembered something, “Wait, wear this” he send an object flying towards Amandre and he picked it out of the air without effort. “It’s a warded bracelet, it will ward you from damage and should keep you a bit safer. Don’t lose it, that thing cost a fortune”. He walked out of the room toward the entrance hall, a wagon would be waiting outside. He place the bracelet around his upper arm, you could always need a bit of extra protection.

[TechnOkami]

13th of Bargenholt, morning
Fortress of the Rose, Living Quarters


She really did have the cutest dimples......that Murdok paid no heed towards.

As a gesture of... adherence to the policies and rules of The Lions, Murdok will, shockingly, leave his sword in his room. Closing the door on his way out, Murdok says, "Time to meet the rest of the den... or is it pride? I forget how the lion hierarchy works."

Letting her lead him around for the grand tour, Murdok's mind ponders on the things which she said.

Trust... heh, this is going to be more difficult than I thought...

[Kasanip]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Eris

"Not hot enough. Amateur." Eris had muttered.

"Not enough fire? Would enough equate to burning the body completely and scattering the ashes across the continent?" Someone in the crowd next to her responded. Eris felt annoyance. It was a calm voice. But like a scold. She turned to look at this man. When she saw him, she stopped. A feeling of horror made her stop. The man next to her was not a man. He was one thousand spiders. A human-like form, but made of spiders.
Eris wanted to scream. But she covered her mouth with her hands to make it quiet, and stepped backwards.

What is this? What is he? What is this abomination?! Her mind turned quickly with panic. The monster then went to examine the deceased body, pausing for a few moments as if in realization.
"...As I regrettably expected, I knew this one. He came by my shop several days ago as a customer. He was quite a regular I must say. I will not take his death kindly to whoever did this."

No, most likely it is an illusion. It must be.
But who would ever use an illusion like this?
Am I in a nightmare? Eris wondered silently, her eyes couldn't look away. She stared at the spiders for another minute. After he finished with the body, the monster turned to Eris.
Eris raised her hands defensively, and forced the air between her hands into fire. It was small, and her hands trembled a little (she noticed with another annoyance). She stepped back again.

"Anything else you know on this man?" The one thousand spiders monster asked. Eris tried to make a fierce expression.
"N-No. No, I don't know. But who and what are you?! Stay away from me!" She raised her voice. As she moved backward, she hit another person in the crowd. The civilian turned to look, and saw the spiderman. The man screamed, and suddenly the whole crowd became the same panic. Spiders weren't people.

As the crowd backed away, Eris let the fire in her hands disappear reluctantly. She didn't want to be revealed her magic here too. She didn't want to look at the spiderman. But she was afraid to look away. What if it attacked?

24th of Bargenholt
Evening
Eastern Slums
Eris

It was three days of murders. Three days of exploring the large city to look for clues. Eris wasn't happy, but she was patient too. To live 200 years can teach a lot of patience. She had been very patient before. But this kind of work was frustrating. Of course two more times she had been attacked by criminals late at night. But that was not a problem. She was patient until she inevitably found the bodies of the murderer. They were always in bad form. She had also tried to learn as many of the rumors as she could. Most were useless.

But at least it seemed she was coming closer. This body was recent. It was a very close trail. She looked at the burnt corpse. It was a woman probably. Rope was used too. The ash was easy to see. Eris sighed. To walk in the slums at night was a dangerous suggestion. If she wasn't a master fire sorcerer. Why would a murderer randomly choose to burn people?

Why would a spider monster pretend to be human?
Why would a 14 years old girl take an elixir of eternal youth?
There were answers for every question. But one of these questions Eris didn't know the answer.
If it is a random murder, then there is no reason of the victim's fault. The murderer was insane. Or not human. Eris had not thought of this. But it wasn't an animal, because rope was used. And tar was used. So it was a human most likely. An insane murderer would be hard to find. Eris felt annoyance again. But it was very late now. She would return to an inn outside of the slums for tonight. Her legs were tired.

[VonDoom]

About two years ago
Ikoku, The Capital City
Underground Temple of the Dragon Emperor
The Inner Chambers
Chiyome and Mikado

Ikoku. A country of ceremony and tradition. Of hierarchies and strict ritual. Even in war, etiquette was of the utmost importance and those who failed to adhere to protocol often found themselves suddenly abandoned by trusted allies, alone and vulnerable.

As such, if there is one thing to be said about the criminal element of this exotic country, it is this: to call it organized crime would be a vast understatement, and its many representatives are wont to laugh right into the faces of members of foreign thieves guilds when they claim equality.

The criminal society of Ikoku, also known as the Ninkyoudantai (or, among foreigners, simply as 'The Family'), is a vital part of the society it preys upon, controlling gambling parlors, prostitution and many other trades. Certainly, it has its less reputable aspects, but the members of its higher echelons are often well-respected members of their community and hold a great amount of political sway, not in spite of their position in the Ninkyoudantai but rather because of it.

For not only is the Ninkyoudantai good for business, but actually protects the ordinary people. A farmer plagued by former samurai-turned-bandits would seek their patronage and be granted protection -- as a service to the community. For the Ninkyoudantai lives by its reputation; should it fall into disgrace, it will surely break apart.

And the one person singularly holding the Ninkyoudantai together, an immortal, mystical half-god and mirror-aspect to the Emperor of Ikoku, is the Dragon Emperor. His face always hidden beneath a fearsome mask, his many-spiked armor as ferocious as the title he claims.

Both spiritually and logistically, the godling leads the Family with an iron fist. Uncompromising and eternal. He resides in his underground temple, the sacred cardinal point of the Ninkyoudantai.

Or so the story goes.

------

The Inner Chambers. Rarely does anyone but the Dragon Emperor itself enter these halls, for these are his private quarters. The one place he can relax and remove the fearsome armor that protects the treacherous secret at the core of the Ninkyoudantai; the fact that there is no half-god. That the Ninkyoudantai are not held together by divine providence, merely by a mortal man. Or, rather, men, for the title and armor are passed down in secret between each leader and their secret successor. The latest to hold this title: the former heir to the Tatsudoshi Clan, Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, an irregularity in many ways. His path to power forged in the blood of his predecessor; an illegitimate holder of the title.

And yet he held it well.

The room was draped in silk; red, purple, even gold. It was a room for relaxation, for comfort. Many a pillow softened the hard stone ground, providing a perfect base to lie upon in luxury.

The walls surrounding this room? Art. Masterful art, painted with a vivid imagination by the hands of a master craftsman, slain upon its completion, depicting every single dragon of lore.

Yet Mikado's attention was not captured by this beauty; rather, it was held by that of another. His thick, black hair fell openly onto his naked back as he reclined against the pillows, studying the woman leaning against him. With a surprisingly gentle touch, his arm around her shoulders, the Dragon Emperor caressed her cheek. Chiyome's cheek. The expression on his face was ponderous, hard to read, as he moved to trace the thin scar marking her face with his index finger. That single blemish had always made her even more enticing, Mikado had found -- even if she could no longer infiltrate his enemies' households with such a prominent, recognize feature, he didn't care.

An uncharacteristically soft sigh escaped his lips, as he allowed his head to fall back onto one of the pillows. "I grow tired of this," he announced, somewhat ambiguously.

[Starsign]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Alf

Alf had met numerous people that had a variety of reactions to his appearance. For this child in front of him, it was one of the more typical reactions, horror. While watching her reactions, he kept quiet and refrained from responding to her. The usual reaction... Alf thought to himself. His face made a small change in movement when he saw the child's flames come out in a small poof. To Alf, he raised an eyebrow; to the others, the spiders on his face moved in an incomprehensible fashion.

Alf noted the small flame, and the deceased body on the ground. It was a tempting thought, but a lack of evidence meant that there was no point in accusing anyone. He didn't move or seem to worry over the crowd panicking, but their screams had seemed like a determent to his spiders. At the child's demand, Alf gave a small bow and answered, "I am Alfnierado. I run a small shop in the Alchemist's College." He gave a pause to wait for the child's response, then continued in a calm, yet serious, tone. "You haven't yet answered my previous question. Does a normal pyro-murderer makes sure to burn the body to ashes and spread them across the continent?" If that same question he asked before came off as sarcasm, it didn't sound like it now.

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale
Late Evening
Alf

Despite the long, previous day, Alf hadn't come up with anything alongside what he'd call "progress" in the case of yesterday's burned victim. The meeting with the child-like fire user was an interesting event, but aside from that, closing his shop wasn't probably the best idea.

But still, time does go on, and this time he took most of the day at his shop, packing up early to make a delivery. One of the blacksmiths had asked for a series of potions to be delivered to his place by tonight. The list was mostly an assortment of wound cures, burn healing, and metal sharpening potions. Alf went off late in the evening to avoid being in crowds. Tonight he instead wore a light brown robe, his seven potions tightly held by a belt and series of ropes. A notable hunchback was shown under his robe, which happened to be the bag that he carried his portable alchemist supplies and scrolls.

He didn't take time for a casual or scenic route, but didn't run for it either. He took care of making sure his potions get in one piece, and at top quality. It was always an important role for a shopkeeper.

[BladeofObliviom]

About two years ago
Ikoku, The Capital City
Underground Temple of the Dragon Emperor
The Inner Chambers
Chiyome and Mikado

The room was draped in silk; red, purple, even gold. It was a room for relaxation, for comfort. Many a pillow softened the hard stone ground, providing a perfect base to lie upon in luxury.

The walls surrounding this room? Art. Masterful art, painted with a vivid imagination by the hands of a master craftsman, slain upon its completion, depicting every single dragon of lore.

Yet Chiyome's attention was not captured by this beauty; rather, it was held by that of another. Her thin, also black hair fell openly onto the pillows as she reclined against the man, studying his features. With a surprisingly gentle touch, his arm around her shoulders, the Dragon Emperor caressed her cheek. The expression on his face was ponderous, hard to read, as he moved to trace the thin scar marking her face with his index finger. She quivered slightly under his touch, even her years of stoic discipline and training giving way under the sublime power of Mikado's embrace.

Even as Mikado made his strange, unclear declaration, though, Chiyome's mood remained unblemished, even if her face was otherwise.

"Is waking up with only one warm body in your bed not sufficient, my Emperor?"

There's almost a mocking tone to the statement, though it's clearly a playful jest rather than an attempt to actually embarass Mikado. He might have to be more specific if he wants to get his idea across. In any case, he does not have much time to respond to that as Chiyome returns to her usual serious demeanor, though there's still that playful undertone to it that only seems to appear when the two are alone together.

"What is it that puts you at unease?"

[VonDoom]

About two years ago
The Inner Chambers
Chiyome and Mikado

Mikado was a man constantly strifing for greater control; of himself, of his surroundings. He had been calm and in control, stoic, when he had mastered the Dragon Style, putting himself through hours upon hours, weeks upon weeks and years upon years of training. He had taken the long knife and applied it to his predecessor's unprotected belly methodically, pushing it deeper and deeper before ending it with a twist, the only emotion betrayed the cold gleen of a powerful hatred in his eyes.

Yet, rarely, he demonstrated a hint of mischief, a trait that would grow more pronounced once he shrugged off the shackles that the Dragon Emperor represented, for all its power. Now was such a time.

His thin eyes narrowed slightly as an uncharacteristic smile showed on his face -- not one of malicious satisfaction, or calculated schemes, but rather amusement. His fingers found their path from the lower end of the scar, thin on her cheek, where the blade had finally ceased raking into her skin long ago, to her lips. His caress was that of a man beyond his years, gentle yet firm -- never hesitant.

"There is a thought," he noted, a measure of mirth in his tone. "Perhaps we should invite Fang Hua sometime. I've never tried this with the armor." A sad statement was contained in that joke, only made more so by the fact that he would indeed have to wear it, were anyone but Chiyome or her father present in these halls. A prospect that likely no potential participant would be looking forward to, as a quick glance towards the powerful metal frame to the far side of the room would attest.

----

To call the armor fearsome was an understatement. It was heavy for Ikokuan armor and only a trained warrior in his prime could possibly hope to wear it effectively in combat -- elbows, knees, even the shoulderblades were forged into edges as sharp as a razor blades, and the gauntlets and boots added talons and claws to the equation. The ornamental etchings and coloring gave the Ikokuan steel the impression of a leather-like skin, the mask revealed eyes of dark onyx that blazed fiercely when it was worn. The armor was, after all, heavily enchanted, as only those who were aware of the Dragon Emperor's secret knew -- others attributed it to the divine nature of their leader.

But a man who was physically and discipline-wise capable of wearing and using it would find the heavy frame no hindrance at all, once worn, and the blades were sharp enough to cut even through solid steel without even the slightest damage to the edges. The mages who had worked on this wonder had surely been masters of their craft, as must have been the smith who forged it. Their names lost to history, their lives, most likely, to the first Dragon Emperor.

---

The sheer ridiculousness of the notion identified it was a mere jest, though whether the notion itself was intriguing to the man himself was a different tale entirely. Still, he chuckled and leaned to the side, tasting Chiyome's lips ever so fleetingly, before he continued.

"In truth, all this." He raised his free hand, indicating at their surroundings. "I do so much, have accomplished so much, yet ever must add it to the Dragon Emperor's myth." A sound of distaste became apparent as he spat those last words, a deep-seated frustration opening its way.

"All this wealth, this power -- is borrowed," the man admitted, as he turned his head towards Chiyome once more, his brown eyes seeking out hers. "All of my accomplishments are nothing but a drop of water on a hot stone, even if I were to surpass all before me."

[Tebryn]

Izayoi Takeshi
Present Day, Taelarys
Date: ((No idea))
Location: Extenia Street
Time: Evening

There were always three constants in the slums that sat on the ocean. The smell of salt, the hungry and crime. And where at least two of those constants existed there always existed a chance to make a quick buck or lose your liver depending on the day and who you rattled the wrong way. Rules Takeshi had learned well over the years to be certain, rules anyone who wanted to be in his trade best learn if they wanted to stay in business and out of a box at least. Sea travel wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be, pirates had a way of doing that to ones health after all. The lack of supplies and trying to keep cover with so many friendly eyes on board wasn’t a summers breeze either to be certain. But he’d survived worse back in Ikoku, perhaps it was apt for such hardship to lessen the more one leaves the bowels of hell. The punishments less severe and less often the closer one got to the edge, like a fading nightmare after one wakes up. Philosophical musings aside however, it was the first day he could even stand without his cane and move about without pain and illness. The travel had convinced him that boats were an impractical method of transporting goods of any sort at any time. It took much to long and with the risk of counties slapping around quarantines all over the place was anything short of a warning signal it was the albatross around the neck of good clean profit if he’d ever seen it. What was to stop them from snagging the goods when it got to port? He’d have done it right away if he were in a position to do so. Point was, this wasn’t Ikoku by a long shot and he loved it.

Nothing to do however for the time being, a wise man once said that he who jumped into the lake without looking for snapping turtles was in the right position to lose a finger or more and with one bad eye and what the local quack had called malnutrition he wasn’t rushing off to incur more bodily harm any time soon if he could avoid it. Cities had a pulse, he’d learned that under his Master so many years ago. Say what you will for nature and it’s terrible heart beat, the cities heart beat loud and fast as if to drown out the sounds of the forest that lay dieing under the cobblestone. Each was a breathing, living entity with its own desires acted out by the ants that crawled out through its branches like an acacia tree. Damage it and the swarm would fall down about you in a flurry of cutting and gnashing teeth. Scouting would take time, information gathering would take forever without padfoots to do the deeds in the dark places and nothing further could be done without any of -that- being finished. A bother really but a needed one, one that would have to be overseen before anything else could get accomplished. However there were much simpler rules to follow, such as the very vocal argument his stomach was starting to lodge. Congee and black tea were wonderful for a breakfast meal but everyday for the last two weeks was pushing it, beyond pushing it even. If he had to look at another bowl of the stuff it’d be too soon. With what gold he’d managed to smuggle over he figured he could grab a quick meal at the very least. Then he’d have to look for what ever district the Ikoku people had set up. If there were even enough of them to set up. If not...he’d have to change that. And it was for this reason Izayoi Takeshi took to the streets of the greater city after a long detention on a boat and a further stay in the slums of the city to the grand Exentia Street District for a bite to eat and to begin the long task of recruiting some simpletons to do his dirty work.

[the_druid_droid]

9th of Bargenholt
Former Manor d’Lupil
Tarin and Mikado

As surprising as the foreigner’s request had been, his reaction appeared stranger still. It would seem that the man genuinely believed he had matters to discuss which would interest the Arch Magister. Tarin made a mental note to look into the issue at least semi-seriously; after all Alistair Saryx might find the Ikokuan’s presence novel, if nothing else, and he would hate to disappoint.

Responding to Mikado’s farewell in kind, Tarin turned back to the investigation of the cultist’s sanctuary, rejoining his subordinates.

11th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Tarin and Sevran

At Sevran’s sudden accusation, the Inquisitor laughed aloud, a laugh for once untinged by irony or malice. “That would be quite the scandal, would it not? The Grand Inquisitor, a decadent?” Gaining control of his mirth, Tarin continued, “It is true that I do not ask much of you, though I will confess that my motives are not entirely altruistic. Whether you realize it or not, you have potential within House Morn, and that house is not to be regarded lightly. All I ask is that if you should make something of your potential, you remember that I believed in you and tried to aid your cause; nothing more and nothing less.” Seemingly satisfied by his guest’s behavior thus far, Tarin resumed eating, notably more casual than might be expected by those who only saw his public face as Inquisitor.

12th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Chambers of the Arch Magister, Levant Tower

When he had finished speaking, Tarin began counting off the seconds in his head. One...two...thr-

"And tell us, Lord Inquisitor, how did d'Lupil's corruption escape your notice when you conducted the interrogation? How can we trust you to protect our interests against the corruption of the Nether when a simple demon cultist eluded your notice?"

Fawkes’ interruption had come even sooner than expected, and the Inquisitor leered inwardly; the young Magister was impatient, and his haste was dangerous - Saryx could hold grudges too, and there was little evidence that he was feeling well-disposed so soon toward the son of the man who’d tried to destroy his House.

“I wonder what you would ask of us, Lord Magister.” The Grand Inquisitor’s eyes met Garrin’s unflinchingly. “It was the Inquisition’s duty to ascertain Davis Lupil’s guilt and obtain a confession leading to trial and execution. From where I sit, it would appear we fulfilled our charge both dutifully and efficiently. If there were lapses in security or good judgment, the blame for them sits far better on the shoulders of Jameson’s household, since they were the ones to secure ultimate custody of the heretic.” Almost dismissively, Tarin continued, “Believe me, had Davis Lupil been committed to my care, he would have been dealt with properly.”

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy

It was scant minutes after Ghedim left the dining room that servants began filtering into the entrance hall, the mass of royal purple conveying a powerful feeling of unity and strength among the retainers. But if one looked past the uniform, one would not the alarming absence of golden eyes, the rarity of Rhetizian hair. The majority of the servants were fair, frail things that were Rhetizian in name only. Few had lounged in the shadowed alleys that cut through the city like an elegant web, or tasted the spiced coffee that had seduced so many traders, or listened the music of the city's never-ending night. No, these were children of sunlight, and yet one of these weak things might have been the murderer. Such thoughts darkened Ghedim's mind as he watched them from the balcony, as they were organized by his personal guards. In the periphery, the embassy's local guard milled about in their silver and purple, their flash and pride betraying their own corrupted nature.

Perhaps we should put them all to the sword and be done with it.

It was not often that Ghedim allowed himself the luxury of paranoia - his position denied him the luxury of purging his staff - but today's incident was far from a normal one. The leading member of his family in the city had been killed, beneath his roof. It was a sign, one that pointed to dark and bloody days to come. Whoever had orchestrated the killing would most likely seek to weaken House Rastrim further, and that meant killing him. With a sigh, Ghedim rubbed his temples, only to be interrupted by Azlian.

"Planning on killing all of them?"

"Would that I could. No, the native Rhetizians would not stand for it if the majority of their most promising youth were to mysteriously disappear. We must handle this more subtly."

"Well, do you at least have some idea as to who would want your cousin dead?"

"Heh, I'm afraid that list is rather too extensive to be much use. Mirzan has always wanted a foothold in Taelarys, but this was a little too theatrical for them. It might have been one of Hieronymous' competitors, but it would take a bold heart indeed to strike on home ground. And, lest we forget, either of our Houses might be involved in a power play without us. All we know for certain is that the poisoner must have been here tonight, and if that's the case we still have a chance to catch them."

"Speaking of poisons, what do you think it was?"

"Nothing common. It's speed, it's lethality, and it's potency are all beyond the common poisons."

"Well then, we should consult a more learned source. I assume you have a copy of the Theses?"

"Of course. In the library, turn the Dragon of Fire clockwise."

"In that case, I think I'll do some investigating on my own. Try not to kill anyone until we have a clearer suspect."

For a moment, Ghedim's gloom lifted as a smile sneaked up his face.

"I'll do my best."


12th of Bargenholt
Moments Later
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Library

Raina twisted the finely wrought iron dragon, and the bookshelf swung open with a soft hiss. Beyond, she and Claye were treated to the lingering scent of stale air, perfumed with the slightest hint of other, deadlier fumes. It was a small room, no larger than ten feet to a side, with one wall dominated by a massive rack of beakers and vials. It reminded Claye of the spice rack of a particularly demented chef she'd once encountered, except rather than coriander or thyme, the labels held names like Ocean's Kiss or Black Lotus. Altogether, there were easily one hundred vials, each resting in meticulously alphabetized order. Opposite the wall of vials was a lavish work-bench, its small size made up for by a profusion of drawers, cupboards, and folding counters that had been left in the disheveled state of a well used workshop. Finally, against the wall between the two was a pedestal holding an incredibly thick tome. The name read The Thousandfold Theses of the Venomer's Art, and Claye recognized one of the rarest and most secretive of all Rhetizian texts, the accumulated knowledge of generations of poisoners and alchemists compiled into one definitive tome. The women stepped forward to search the room, only to freeze in their tracks as the library door slammed shut.

"And what, may I ask, are you doing in here?"

12th of Bargenholt
About the Same Time
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

Under normal circumstances, the drawing room of the Rhetizian Embassy would have impressed even the most jaded visitor. One wall was entirely windows, the clear panes looking out over the mysterious dreamscape of the embassy gardens. The flanking walls each held a great fireplace of black marble, the crackling flame sending warped, delicate shadows dancing over the polished stone. Couches and chairs were arranged in a graceful arc beside a grand piano of carved ebonwood, with side tables well stocked with digestifs. The paintings and bookcases lining the walls completed the picture of comfortable luxury that was thoroughly smashed by the bloodied servant weeping in the corner. Hieronymous' man's nose had been broken by his master's flailing hand, but the bleeding had mostly stopped when he broke down and excused himself from the knot of servants standing attentively by one of the fires. As for the masters, they managed to destroy whatever calm their servants' stoicism might have engendered.

Forced into close quarters, Fiera and Bellian had resorted to an escalating series of thinly veiled insults in no way appropriate for polite company. Meanwhile, a far too pale Golleon attempted to distract his former audience with lute playing that was suddenly shaky, almost discordant. As Anselme, Mikado, and Amandre entered, they found themselves accosted by Jalyn and Tilyn, now competing for the title of richest Rhetizian in Taelarys.

"Gentlemen, thank goodness you've arrived! We believe we may know who the culprit is!"

"Yes! That blaggard Golleon disappeared from the main hall shortly before you three arrived! He was gone for almost half an hour - more than enough time to poison the goblet!"

"He must be trying to buy his way back into the good graces of one of the other Houses. Please, you must apprehend him - none of us are safe while he walks free!"

12th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Chambers of the Arch Magister, Levant Tower

Garrin's eyes narrowed as he met Tarin's unflinching gaze.

"So, you would blame this failing on some mewling, lowborn noble? I find it difficult to take your assurances to heart when you cannot even admit to the slightest fault in a disaster that has sullied the good name of this House. Perhaps we should treat you to the comforts of your own dungeon to ensure you are not-"

"Enough!"

The Arch Magister's voice cut through the younger man's diatribe, forcing the other Sorcerers to shrink a fraction into their seats.

"The Lord Inquisitor has committed no wrongdoing by my reckoning, and he shall not be subject to libel or threats in the House he serves. Lord Inquisitor, you are free to go. Investigate this demonic outbreak, and purge it in the name of the Emperor."

23rd of Bargenholt
Late Morning
The Imperial Spires Hotel

With a smile, Turel discarded the hair brush and linked arms with Elizabeth. Allowing Annah to skip merrily before them, the idyllic family descended to the hotel lobby, where a collection of impeccably dressed gentlemen and even a few ladies had already gathered by the bar. Pausing for a moment by the front desk, Turel donned an apologetic smile.

"Excuse me? Yes, I'm terribly sorry, but I seem to have damaged one of the mirrors in the room last night. I insist you let me pay for it, but I'd request that you refrain from doing so until we've departed. We do so value our privacy."

The maitre d' assured Turel that his wishes would be followed, and their business concluded the family continued on their way out of the hotel. Outside, the air stung with the last bite of winter, but underneath it lurked the subtle fragrances of the fast-approaching spring. Signaling for one of the many carriages around the hotel, the Meresin family boarded and began their journey to the Vale. Sitting with Elizabeth's hand in his, Turel smiled absently while observing out the window.

"Such a breathtaking city this is! So full of life and pain and sorrow. If I didn't know better, I'd say we'd died and gone to Paradise. However, dearest, we simply must find a way for you to exercise your powers. I'll replace every mirror in the city if that is your wont, but I imagine it must be frustrating when things simply shatter."

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt
About the Same Time
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

Within moments Anselme had deftly evaded Jalyn and Tilyn, using Mikado as a human shield, and maneuvered towards the far more interesting Fiera and Bellian. Nearly before the two Rhetizian rakes had finished their appeal, a sharp crack was heard in the room. Immediately a second followed. Those who turned their heads were greeted to the site of the recoiling Anselme being struck swiftly across the cheek by Bellian while Fiera looked on disapprovingly, shoulders still askew from her assault. How he'd managed to offend the both of them in such rapid succession was anyone's guess.

Sucking the beading drop of blood from his lip, Anselme produced an authentic, lopsided grin and cooed sincerely, "If the two of you can do that again, I'll tell you why I wear an eye patch. Over drinks. I've become inured to both pain and strong women. Neither impress anymore."

Straightening his posture and pushing back his loose hairs, he added lowly, "I'd strike you back, but you've worked far too hard on your makeup and I rather like these gloves."

In earnest, he was very glad Raina wasn't in the room to see his display, but he was rather having fun playing along with the Rhetizians. When in Rhetiz and all...

[VonDoom]

12th of Bargenholt
About the Same Time
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

The Ikokuan prince took the front as they entered. While he had not been particularly pleased with the prospect of involving himself in the investigation, he had ultimately opted to do so in the spirit of expediency. His eyes narrowed dangerously as they were all but run over by these two Rhetizien nobles, with their wild and surprisingly eager claims.

He raised his hand to indicate that the others should leave this to him, not particularly bothered that Anselme had already taken the initiative on that angle, as Mikado stared down the two richest Rhetizians in Taelarys.

"Gentlemen," he opened with a greeting. "How nice of you to so eagerly point out the obvious perpetrator." His tone was cold, giving the impression that he didn't think it nice at all. "I'm certain this has absolutely nothing to do with some sort of private animosity you may entertain towards the man."

A cold caricature of a smile appeared on the lips of the man who once held the title of Dragon Emperor, as his dark eyes focused on Golleon for a moment. "Gone for half an hour, was he?" His voice was a little louder, now, so that the half-blood would be able to hear him more clearly. He said no more -- for to say less often inspired others to do more of their own talking.

Of course, while Mikado was certainly a man to be feared, right now he was also still showing signs of his recent (and extreme) undernourishment, looking gaunt and sickly -- and while that appearance might work for some individuals, for the almost untouchable aura of a natural leader the Ikokuan had projected back at home, in his prime condition, it had a severe impact, particularly as attired in the local style as he was; still a strong contrast to his foreign features, even if they suited him well.

Additional factors like reputation, wealth, or the fact that he could likely overpower each of them even in his weakness at this very moment were irrelevant; either of the two was richer than he, who had wisely only brought a fraction of the money he could have had from Ikoku, his reputation currently was more of eccentricity than anything else, and his martial prowess hadn't been demonstrated. Even if they had been told that Mikado was involved in a battle with a man possessed and horrifically transformed, such a thing was easy to write off as mere exaggeration.

So, all in all, the former Dragon Emperor didn't look nearly as intimidating as he thought himself. He did make a good point, though, veiled yet far from subtle -- just the way he liked it in a situation like this.

[The_Snark]

9th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Machinist's Guildhall
Eiko and Ira

"Um, a little bigger," Ira said helplessly. "We were originally going to build it inside the Guildhall, but it turned out there wouldn't be enough room without disrupting a lot of other people... We have a warehouse for it." She fidgeted. "It's mostly for the storage drums, but the actual calculating machinery is, um, reasonably bulky as well."

"And don't worry - it's not intelligent," she hastened to assure the tengu. Ira was no longer certain how the Prognostication Engine worked or even what it was doing some of the time, but she was pretty sure that was still true. "I'll be sure to let Mr. Tanner—that's my assistant, he does most of the on-site supervising—I'll be sure to let him know to expect you. Evenings will do, I believe there's a shift that works until around 8."

She started patting her pockets. "You'll need the address of course, I'm sure I have it written down here somewhere... How soon do you think you can start?"

After extracting an answer and locating the note with the warehouse's address, Ira beamed. Another social interaction successfully navigated! "Well! I look forward to seeing you on the job, Miss Shimang. I'm sure this will work out splendidly!"

10th of Bargenholt, Early Morning
Ira Kershwin's Home

"It's what?"

"Broken, miss," said the young woman miserably, huddling in the pre-dawn chill. Ira vaguely recalled her name: Vilkovie or Vilnakovie or something like that, one of Bupkoff's workers. One of hers now, she supposed.

"What happened?"

"I don't know, miss! I arrived a little early so I could open up for everyone, like I always do, only when I got inside I noticed someone had left ticker tape all over the floor, and the air smelled like smoke and—you know that coppery tangy sort of taste you get when you run a lot of current through metal? Like that. I think it was heat stress, miss, some of the number wheels look like they've melted out of shape, and the copper wiring is a mess, it's all fused together into a tangle. I haven't checked the storage drums yet, but—"

"Yes, but what happened?" Ira broke in before the young woman could dive any deeper into the technical details.

"I don't know! I just found it, miss. Please, you have to believe me, I would never do anything to hurt the Machine—"

"No, no, I didn't mean..." Ira trailed off to peer distractedly at the sky. There was a red glow on the horizon, as if presaging the rise of a blood-red sun—but this glow came from the western horizon. It was early in the morning and she wasn't fully awake yet, but she didn't think that could be natural.

"All right," she said to the young woman. "I'll come and have a look at once. You run and fetch Mr. Tanner, and—"

"Already did that, miss, first thing." Ira frowned, not sure she liked that the young lady had gone to someone else first. But she had to admit that Tanner knew more about the nuts-and-bolts physical workings of the Engine than she did.

"All right. I'll..." She was rapidly becoming aware that she was standing here in only a nightcap and nightgown; the young woman's frantic knocking had roused her from her bed and brought her to the door before she'd thought to dress. It was a good thick nightgown—Ira had no illusions about her body and had selected for warmth and comfort first—but still. Modesty aside, it really was rather chilly out. "... be there in a few minutes. Run along and let Tanner know I'm on my way."

The accountant took one last look at the bloody red horizon before closing the door. She had a bad feeling about that.

[Jade_Tarem]

12th of Bargenholt, Busted at the Library, the Whodunit

"Rehearsin' fer our act, of course." Claye responds, raising an eyebrow. "Don't tell me the Ambassador forgot to tell you? Famous act? Claye and Raina Hit the Town?" She gestures wildly at the elf. "She tells jokes an' does magic tricks, Ah sing an' dance, and at the end of it Ah smash a watermelon." She hefts the Big Iron and bounces it on her shoulder. "True story."

There's a moment of utter silence in the library. Azlian looked less than amused. Raina looked even less amused than that, and finally Claye stopped grinning too. "Fine. We're here investigatin' as per Ambassador Ghedim's instructions. We figured the best place t' start was the lethal apothecary that comes standard with every Rhetizian structure larger than an outhouse, since Ah've seen a man actually swallow that acid they use to etch durium and survive longer than Hieronymous did. We were just on our way out with 1001 Ways to Commit the Same Murder. We'll be sure to return it before the due date." Claye struggled to remember which house their new friend belonged to. It would be important if the worst happened...

[Nefarion Xid]

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale
Late Evening

Depending on the timing of Alf's last visit to the Vale, he might have noticed a new (or not so new) shop along the main road into the district. The distinctly red flame burning in the un-tinted glass lantern hanging outside broadcast the fact that this place wasn't like the other shops in the Vale. Since Boss Nessiel's takeover of the district, most vendors that dealt in anything arcane or just unsavory had relocated. Still, here it was, a distinctly magical flame proclaiming the establishment to and owner to be likewise. The tiny red fire was just enough to bask the entire facade of the building in a rosy light, turning it into a beacon in the gloom cast by the sorcerer's immense towers to the west. The quaint, painted signage over the door read, "Roxanne's Apothecary and Curios".

A pair of large feline eyes glinted from an alley way adjacent. They set upon Alf before slowly narrowing to a close.

The streets had just recently become deserted. After all, the good people of the Vale began the day early and had better things to do at sunset than mill about. Somethings, however, never sleep.

A lilting, if slightly off key and heavily accented tune drifted from the one open shop on the street and a blurry silhouette moved behind the wine colored glass windows, lighting candles.

[BladeofObliviom]

About two years ago
The Inner Chambers
Chiyome and Mikado


A similarly amused smile greeted Mikado's first response, as Chiyome understood the jest, barely managing not to physically wince at the thought of dealing with that armor in bed.

Politely sidestepping the first remark entirely, Chiyome took the second statement in a more socially appropriate manner.

"If you feel dissatisfied, then you should not need to simply sit and suffer in your place. That's what peasants and cowards do, not true men. If you desire your name, there is no reason that you cannot take it back. There are many men who would kill for your current position, after all: The Ninkyoudantai would not be left leaderless if you were to seek yet greater aspirations."

Of course, Chiyome quickly resumes her more playful tone, and says with a grin:

"Just don't leave me behind completely."

[VonDoom]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE ======
------------ IT BEGINS ------------

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

The quarantine had finally been lifted, with the application of a heavy harbor official's seal upon the elaborate, almost arcane writ that constituted the legal release of the ship known as, in a rough approximation of its Ikokuan name, The Pearl of His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku, or more concisely, the Pearl.

The ship had been in a buzz ever since they had been (somewhat belatedly, as officials are wont to do) informed of this auspicious fact, now that the Captain could finally send for a physician or two to aid those amongst his crew too weakened to walk. Never a culture for idle laziness, however, those that could were already tasked to prepare. To acquire food, to clean the ship, and to prepare so that honored customers might be received.

After all, if there was one thing Ikokuans merchants, who actually had valuable goods to sell, were not, it was petitioners. Their arrival had spread a wildfire of rumors in the city, a beehive of different opinions and claims that were only exacerbated by the deeds of the illustrous passenger that had managed to escape from the ship's quarantine before it was levied, one Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado.

And ever devoted to their work, it was very soon that the devastated ship managed to look presentable once more. And as such, the cargo hold was unlocked -- some choice goods taken and prepared, the more valuable pieces carefully spread out in the Captain's Quarters, the others laid out on quickly procured tables on the deck.

All of it was overseen by a small force of the city watch (all of whom the ship's captain, a man called Shigeru who lacked a family name to call his own, had wisely bribed with some pretty baubles so they would actually be inclined to do their assigned work), six men in all, armed with heavy halberds and looking grimly out into the world from inside their steel helmets, with faces that clearly bore a grudge for anyone who might cause them trouble -- or, for that matter, had a lot in life that was even by a small margin better than theirs.

Two plans, nailed together on the lower side for added stability, were finally lowered onto the cold stone of the pier the Pearl had landed in. With a heavy carpet carefully spread over it, it would serve well as a means of entrance for their esteemed future customers, hopefully soon to be relieved of large sums of gold for what a man might acquire for a quarter of the price in Ikoku itself.

The shop was open.

-------------
END ADVENTURE POST
-------------

About two years ago
The Inner Chambers
Chiyome and Mikado

Mikado briefly frowned in thought, changing his position as he slipped his right arm out from beneath the woman's shoulders and rubbed his chin. "You make it sound simple," he critiqued, turning onto his right side so he could get a better vantage point to look upon Chiyome, admiring her sleek form quietly yet without stooping to a buffoonish stare. Finally, he reached out to brush a strand of hair from the kunoichi's face.

"And yet all things are, once reduced to their essence. All I need to get started elsewhere is a paltry measure of gold -- and the Amagumo. The one thing I can truly call my own."

---

The Dragon Emperor remembered it well, as if it had been yesterday. And, in truth, it had not been all that long ago. The day that Muneyoshi of Clan Amagumo, its great and ancient head, had bowed before Mikado, the corpse of their treacherous former lord still warm at their feet. The day that Muneyoshi, jonin of Clan Amagumo, had sworn their fealty and that the life of each and every Amagumo ninja was Mikado's to use as he wished. The day that he had done so, to a man without an armor, with long black hair flowing freely -- to the prince of a fallen dynasty, Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, not the fierce persona of the Dragon Emperor that was both power undreamed of by many and burden heavier than equally as many could bear.

And what a glorious relationship it had been. The Dragon Emperor just as clearly recalled the first time he had met the wizened head ninja's daughter, the wound that an enemy's blade had torn into her face from nose to cheek fresh and angry, professing her shame and offering her life as recompense. A notion that he had quickly dismissed, recognizing the great skill and usefulness of such an agent -- declaring that she would serve as his own retainer, his body-guard and counter-assassin, now that she had been marked and was thus more easily recognized.

The privacy of a secret shared between them, a closeness that the mask of the emperor otherwise prohibited, was almost fated to lead to the next step. A step that they still persisted on, even to this day...

---

Abruptly, the lord's muscles tensed when he heard Chiyome speak her last comment, as he placed his hands against the ground, forcing his upper body into a more upright position. "Chiyome," he quickly commanded, his tone of voice entirely changed. That of the master speaking to the servant, his eyes burning with new-found determination. "A candidate for succession must be found," he proclaimed, "and prepared, in secret. Find me ten candidates amongst the lower ranks throughout the provinces -- they must be confident, smart, capable, yet not too direly missed once they disappear. Those who can be groomed for greatness; diamonds in the rough."

[the_druid_droid]

12th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Chambers of the Arch Magister, Levant Tower

When the Arch Magister silenced Garrin Fawkes, the predatory smile lurking in Tarin’s soul bled out for a moment, into a the ghost of a smirk on his thin face. The young Magister was well on his way to an early grave, and chances were good that the Inquisition would be there usher him into it.

Rising from his iron chair, Tarin bowed low to the man seated on the greatest of the ebon thrones, the red of the setting sun catching on his crimson robes and highlighting them until it appeared that he was cloaked in blood. “By your grace then, my Lord Arch Magister, I shall depart and requisition the supplies my men need to root out the stain which has descended on this city. As always, I am your - and the Emperor’s - faithful servant.” As he spoke the last words, the Grand Inquisitor glanced at Garrin - some might say accusingly.

Crossbow Mastery I (Tarin's Spies) - In order to further combat heresy and decadence, the spies of House Levant have been trained and equipped with light folding crossbows for field assignments.

21st of Bargenholt
Office of the Grand Inquisitor, Levant Tower

“Burned alive, you say?...” Tarin stood gazing out the arched windows behind his desk. From where he stood, the harbor of Taelarys was visible, first as a brown stain hugging the seaside slums and docks, and farther out as some vast aquamarine jewel that glinted and billowed faintly beneath the noonday sun.

“Yes sir; strung up from a lamp post and immolated. One of our men assigned to the district reported in just this morning. The method of execution seems grim, even for dock scum.” Revin’s attention remained focused on the back of his employer’s black cloak, most of the rest of the room, including Marcos’ looming bulk in the far corner, processed only peripherally.

“Then it looks like we’ll be killing two birds with one stone today, Revin.” The Inquisitor’s eyes tracked over the tangled sprawl of inns, merchant warehouses and heavy equipment that marked the piers; an eagle-eyed man might just be able to make out the white of bobbing sails from such a vantage point. “The ship from Ikoku has just been cleared by the government to open trade. It would appear that merchandise from that region has become all the rage lately, fueled by rumors about the ship over the last few days. I’m certain our House would be interested in any goods or information that might be found down there - of course, I want to hear about it all first, which is why I’m sending you. Learn whatever you can, about Ikoku or these murders, if anyone will talk, and if you see anything interesting either buy it or send word immediately. Who knows, we might end up paying our new Ikokuan acquaintance another visit.” With that, Tarin turned on his heel and gave the spy a brief nod, dismissing him to his task.

[Jade_Tarem]

All Aboard!
Xth day of Bargenholt

The Keeper watched as the passengers began to regain consciousness. They would no doubt become restless soon - organic beings typically did when given nothing to do. They would need some kind of interaction.

There were, however, some special cases. The injured, for instance, would need more attention, and the subject placed in the orchard, well...

It was time to fire up the volunteers (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9qeCxjzF7zU&feature=related). The Keeper willed a specific selection of pumps and fuel loaders to begin operation. In scattered locations throughout Actual, lights flickered into the eyes of the Family's faithful followers for the first time in hundreds of years, and they accepted their orders to move into Epsilon Barracks without fuss...

Raina

Cophi moans again, and mumbles something in sylvan about how she did her chores yesterday and would like to sleep in. A firmer shake brings her to a more lucid state, and Cophi looks blearily up into Raina's face. "Base... we brought you back to base..."

She struggles to get to a sitting position. "Thought... place might be haunted, or... malfunctioning. Nothing like that has ever happened before."

The other woman is prevented from elaborating any further by the door opening, and both elves look at the thing that walks in. In truth, they hear it before they can see it. Footsteps *clank* on the metal floor, and the soft chugging of some kind of engine can be heard. Steam hisses from its back for a moment.

It's vaguely humanoid in appearance, but it would never be mistaken for human. While reminiscent of a homunculus, it still manages to deviate from the standard arrangement for the Machinist Guild's constructs.

Despite its hunched-over appearance, the thing still stands over seven feet in height, which only emphasizes the slender limbs and torso. Highly ornamental and intricately detailed plating adorns each surface of the body, but it does not interlock perfectly enough to cover the mechanisms underneath, all of which appear to be made of bloodstained durium. It has four thin arms, but the most interesting feature is the face - appearing to be a curved-back sheet of durium in the relative shape of one of those theatrical masks, with no distinguishing features other than glowing red, monochromatic eyes and a mouth slit, the face still manages to be quite expressive - largely because it can move, mouth and all.

The slit in the metal twists itself into a smile, and in a surprisingly good approximation of the lip motions required for speech, it says, "Good Evening. How are you feeling?" The voice is a female one, raspy with age, with traces of the vocal mannerisms and accent of the Taelarys nobility. It stands as straight as it can with the hunch, keeping all four of its hands clasped behind its back, apparently genuinely waiting on a response.

Mikado

Elra responds by testing the door - the solid metal door - which refuses to open. "We are trapped. Prisoners within this room. I do not know why, and..." She glances up. "...someone has restored electricity to the entire base. I didn't know that was possible."

She shakes her head. "This has to be some kind of malfunction. There is no way that my colleagues would have left me in here with you. For that matter -"

She is interrupted when the door opens. A massive construct pushes its way in with a hissing clank, steam rising from its hunched back. Mikado had never seen a homunculus before coming to Taelar, and this one looked different even from those he had seen. It stood higher than he did, and had to mass many times more - not only because it was constructed of what appeared to be bloodstained durium, but because it was also bulkier than he was, bulkier even than Mikado had once been when wearing the armor of the Dragon Emperor. The plating on it is all highly detailed, much more so than the average Machinist Guild homunculus, and interlocks very tightly, showing virtually none of the mechanisms beneath. Most interesting is the face - the head is nothing more than a centurion's helmet (http://images.clipartof.com/small/28951-Clipart-Illustration-Of-A-Golden-And-Red-Spartan-Or-Trojan-Helmet-Part-Of-Body-Armor.jpg) with a pair of glowing red eyes inset into some machinery - but the front part of the helmet can move as though alive, allowing the eyes to become more expressive.

As it clomps into the room, it gazes at Mikado and Elra without malice. Raising the helmet ridge over one eye, it states in a booming baritone with a trace of the accents and vocal mannerisms of the north wastes, "You should make yourselves comfortable. You will remain here until the Keeper says otherwise. In the meantime, I need to collect some information for our records." It glances back and forth. "What are your names?"

Amandre

The assassin's surreptitious leap manages to let him look out over the area from a hidden position. Conditions outside are largely the same as in his little car - the yellow foamy stuff still falls from the ceiling, and the electric lights filtering through it are still casting a dim golden light everywhere.

Some things have changed since he last saw the place, though, besides the obvious hole in the roof of the baggage car that he inhabits. For one thing, there is also a colossal dent in the roof of the second passenger car - and what appears to be a mess kit and several devices remain embedded in it. More impressively, the boiler on the train's engine appears to have exploded - shrapnel can be seen stuck in the walls, ceiling, and floor.

There are no passengers or rebels anywhere - but the room is far from unoccupied. Some kind of homunculi that the assassin has never seen before - they are uniformly scarecrow-like in build, with slender arms, legs, and torsos, and the plating that covers them (reasonably well) is intricate and detailed, and appears to be made of durium, although it's hard to tell in the dim and tinted lighting. More obviously, between the heat sinks on their backs, a hinged dome rises, no doubt concealing the platinum core visible on most of the Machinist Guild models. They move about the room with purpose, either taking inventory or conducting repairs to the engine. None of them speak.

Intelligence/Alchemy/Machinist/Chemistry roll is possible here. If Amandre gets a 5 or better, he can tell that the yellow stuff is fire retardant foam, cooked up long ago by a joint effort of the Machinist Guild and House Ostrim. It is not inherently dangerous unless one spends a great deal of time working with it over the course of years.

Failure means that Amandre can only tell that it isn't some kind of poison.

Sevran

"Is it? We still have no idea what we're doing here." The old man keeps punching, apparently unfazed by Sevran's blunt assessment. "If you're missing anything, it's probably in one of the storage lockers against the far wall. That's where I found my armor and everything - except my sword. I don't know why they took that and not any of my other weapons, and I can't get anyone to answer the doors." He nods to the room's two doors - both of which are set in the same wall in opposite corners. "I found one other door, but it appears to lead to some kind of bathhouse, which ended up being a dead end. As far as prisons go, I've never been in one quite like this."

It's at that moment that the far door opens, and in walks a homunculus, but not as Sevran has ever seen one. The thing towers over him, easily eight feet high, and stands with a military straightness that will never be replicated so perfectly by a mortal creature. The proportions on the body are perfect, and the spotless durium plating is detailed beautifully. Steam hisses up from somewhere behind it. The head is the most intriguing feature, though - shaped as a decent enough representation of a bald human head, the face actually moves, the metal appearing to be alive, and the thing speaks with a heavy Lodarian accent. "Well met, lord-commander. For our records, could you please give me your names?" It turns to Sevran first...

Anselme

The Keeper examined the subject in the secondary orchard chamber. There was no question that the subject had to be isolated.

After all, it was an Anomaly.

By all of the preliminary scans, it appeared to be normal. It had all the right features for a human, blood flowed through its veins, brain activity fell within normal, if above-average, ranges.

But a closer look had revealed trace, tiny amounts of residue from... several alternate dimensions, including specialized areas of the Nether that had no business being on a standard railroad car. Isolation had seemed the right choice, but now the subject had to be questioned. And for that to happen, it first had to be normalized.

But that led to its own set of problems. Well, hopefully the subject would be cooperative enough for a pleasant conversation. If not... well... the defenses were all active, and in the worst case scenario the orchard was ultimately expendable...

Anselme is just finishing his apple when his eye goes dark. For whatever reason, every aura, magical stream, outline, or pulse that he could detect through his eyepatch vanishes with neither fuss nor flair. At the same time, a series of highly reflective posts, each about three feet high and one foot across, pop up from hatches in the visibly durium parts of the floor.

Int/Metallurgy/Machinist/Trade check of 5 or higher reveals that they are made of brightsteel.

One of the doors to the room opens and a figure clomps in, steam hissing from its back. It's a homunculus that obviously hasn't come from the machinist guild, and hasn't been made recently. Intricate plating covers the mechanisms within, although not so thoroughly as to hide them completely.

The face is nothing more than a sheet of curved durium, eyes glowing a dull red, with no visible mouth. The face does not move, but a tinny, somewhat feminine voice issues from it. "Good evening, traveler. May I ask who you are?"

[Nefarion Xid]

???
Orchard

Anselme cast aside his apple core and regarded the mechanical thing before him with a cold and calculating eye. "Fascinating," he hummed earnestly, folding his arms and cocking his head to the side.

With a practiced meter and the faintest hint of sarcasm he answered the homonculus, "You may call me Anselme."

His eye slid sideways to the polished posts protruding from the floor. Little mystery there, his arcane sight had winked out the moment they had appeared. Raina and he had been on their way to discuss the trade of the very metal. "Brightsteel?" he mused aloud, "How did you know I wasn't human?"

[Jade_Tarem]

All Aboard!
Orchard

The construct's face remains motionless. It pauses for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to tell you, and then the voice comes back. "The limited environmental variables present within Epsilon Barracks make it possible to isolate telltale traces of visits to other planes, that never truly fade away completely. It was determined, based on which planes you had visited, that no human could have survived all of them... at least, not while remaining human."

[Nefarion Xid]

All Aboard!
Orchard

"Ah! The scientific way to tell me that I smell a bit like sulfur. Polite too! Honestly, it gets in your hair and they say you can wash it out, but I told Lil..."

Gesturing to the metal pillars with an absent flick of his wrist, he asks, "Supposing I am the sort of creature you suppose me to be... you know this barrier is really more of an inconvenience, don't you? Hmph... then again, I suppose the others wouldn't have passed out like I did."

"You have other questions." It was a statement, not a question. Waiting on the machine's response, he scratched his chin. The greasy gears inside his head whirred around and he searched his memory for a stray bit of lore that would tell him where he'd ended up.

[roll0] (Intelligence II)

[Tebryn]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE ======
------------ IT BEGINS ------------

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

The quarantine had finally been lifted, with the application of a heavy harbor official's seal upon the elaborate, almost arcane writ that constituted the legal release of the ship known as, in a rough approximation of its Ikokuan name, The Pearl of His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku, or more concisely, the Pearl.

The ship had been in a buzz ever since they had been (somewhat belatedly, as officials are wont to do) informed of this auspicious fact, now that the Captain could finally send for a physician or two to aid those amongst his crew too weakened to walk. Never a culture for idle laziness, however, those that could were already tasked to prepare. To acquire food, to clean the ship, and to prepare so that honored customers might be received.

After all, if there was one thing Ikokuans merchants, who actually had valuable goods to sell, were not, it was petitioners. Their arrival had spread a wildfire of rumors in the city, a beehive of different opinions and claims that were only exacerbated by the deeds of the illustrous passenger that had managed to escape from the ship's quarantine before it was levied, one Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado.

And ever devoted to their work, it was very soon that the devastated ship managed to look presentable once more. And as such, the cargo hold was unlocked -- some choice goods taken and prepared, the more valuable pieces carefully spread out in the Captain's Quarters, the others laid out on quickly procured tables on the deck.

All of it was overseen by a small force of the city watch (all of whom the ship's captain, a man called Shigeru who lacked a family name to call his own, had wisely bribed with some pretty baubles so they would actually be inclined to do their assigned work), six men in all, armed with heavy halberds and looking grimly out into the world from inside their steel helmets, with faces that clearly bore a grudge for anyone who might cause them trouble -- or, for that matter, had a lot in life that was even by a small margin better than theirs.

Two plans, nailed together on the lower side for added stability, were finally lowered onto the cold stone of the pier the Pearl had landed in. With a heavy carpet carefully spread over it, it would serve well as a means of entrance for their esteemed future customers, hopefully soon to be relieved of large sums of gold for what a man might acquire for a quarter of the price in Ikoku itself.

The shop was open.

-------------
END ADVENTURE POST
-------------


21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

After a good days meal and an even better days rest, Takeshi certainly felt he could take on much more of the world than the previous day. His efforts had proven futile but perhaps with the Pearl now allowing him to access some goods from home it wouldn't be such a difficult time. Certainly those selling their wares would understand where he was coming from and not look at him like a crazy foreigner. The clack of his cane on the cobblestone and the jolt up his hand felt good, familiar. He liked familiar. His home on the docks gave him swift access to the Pearl, and though he wished not to have to see the blasted thing for a long time it had what he wanted even if it made his stomach curl in on itself and his bones ache. There was no help complaining as the ship came into view, it's crew working diligently.

"Ni hao ma? Wo hen xiang ni!"

He called out to the Captain, waving weakly as he supported his frail weight on his cane.

"Permission to come aboard Captain. At least so long as you won't be taking off for a while? I think I could go without another sea adventure for the rest of my life!"

[VonDoom]

All Aboard!
Xth day of Bargenholt
Mikado, Elra, Homunculus

"Your base is not, and never was, truly your own," Mikado concluded, keeping his sitting position while the former teacher examined the door that was notably missing any sort of keyhole. Still, when it suddenly opened, the man's eyes widened as the hulking creature beneath it was revealed and stepped into the room.

The Ikokuan's thoughts raced. For a moment, he considered the possibility that this might be a man in some sort of armor, but quickly chided himself for that foolishness -- this was clearly a homunculus, though none the like of which he had ever heard or seen illustrations of. The armor itself and the intricate design suggested either a measure of antiquity, or a very resourceful master of the craft at work.

"Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, first heir of clan Tatsudoshi," the so-called replied immediately upon the inquiry, his expression and tone stoic, in the manner so many of his native culture liked to adopt. While the mechanical wonders attention was focused on him, he quickly continued. "You are clearly capable of articulation. Before you continue your questioning, answer me two things, and we will cooperate: has a woman called Claye Kilnmir arrived with us and, if so, is she unharmed? The other: there was a man with us, likely found close to myself, with a slight cut to his neck. What happened to him, and why is he not with us?"

The black-haired man was, perhaps, a bit presumptuous to immediately assume to speak for Elra, but he had already anticipated that the woman was very likely to want to ask about the man with them. To inquire about her other comrades would likely take too long, as descriptions or a name list would be required, and Mikado thought it unlikely that the creature would be very forthcoming if they delayed its questioning for too long.

[The_Snark]

10th of Bargenholt, Slightly-Less-Early Morning
Warehouse 14
The Prognostication Engine

"... and you're sure nobody could have broken in?"

Villim Tanner shook his head. He was a nondescript man somewhere in his late 20s, clean-shaven, with close-cropped blond hair and blue eyes. "The lock is intact. We haven't found any evidence that someone forced their way in. If anyone was here in the night, they had a key."

"Oh. Well..." Ira frowned. The Guildmaster possessed a key, and it was possible she'd been lax with it, or lent it to someone else. She'd have to check. The rest were all accounted for, and their owners above suspicion: she knew she hadn't done it, didn't think Tanner would do it, and young Myra Vilnakovie was so distraught about the whole thing that Ira simply didn't have the heart to suspect her.

Besides, they both knew the Engine didn't always wait for someone to ask a question before answering. Cause and effect were a little... unhinged in the vicinity of the Machine, though nobody talked about it. Ira didn't even want to think about it. She wasn't sure why Tanner remained silent; that bland face was very good at hiding his thoughts. Maybe he was just as unnerved as she was, or maybe he was just too professional to bring it up first.

Today, though, they had more disturbing things to contemplate. Both turned to contemplate the pile of ticker tape lying on the floor.

"Really five meters?"

"Just about. The first few lines are the only ones of interest: error warnings with some cryptic phrases. After that, it degenerates into repeated phrases—'it comes' and 'repent', mostly—and gibberish. The last three meters are completely blank; we think the typeset mechanism stopped working at about that point."

"Ah. You've analyzed the source of the... malfunction?"

"Simple mechanical failure. I'd guess that it was running too fast and burned itself out. Most of its parts aren't made to stand up to high-intensity stress.'"

"That sounds fixable," Ira ventured.

"It is. We'll need you to put in the order for replacement parts, of course, and until I know why the machine decided to run that fast I can't say whether it will happen again. But it should be simple enough to find and replace all the damaged components. The storage drums weren't damaged, just the input/output mechanism and some of the processing gears, so we haven't lost any data either."

"Good, good. How soon do you think you can have it running again? Captain Besh is due to visit in five days' time. I hadn't finished running the last set of calculations and I don't want to put him off..."

Tanner looked thoughtful. "Two, maybe three days? You'll have to get us the parts first, of course."

"Of course. I'll see what I can do."

She got halfway to the door before remembering something else. "Oh! I've found you another person to cover the evening shift. Name of Eiko Shimang. Only a third-class Machinist right now, but very promising, so they tell me. She should be stopping by sometime in the next couple of days. I'm hoping she'll be able to help us analyze the Machine. She's a tengu," Ira added significantly. She wasn't actually sure of Eiko's mechanical skills, but everyone said that tengu had magic in their blood.

As usual, Tanner's face betrayed nothing, but in the instant before she turned away, Ira thought she glimpsed a flash of hostility in those ice-blue eyes.

[Jade_Tarem]

All Aboard

Anselme

The construct shifts in an almost human-like manner. "What are your intentions? I will accept your word on what they are."

Mikado

The large homunculus "blinks" - the lights wink out for a moment - and answers the questions in reverse order. "If the man was injured enough to warrant medical attention, he would have been taken to the infirmary. If not, he was taken somewhere within the dormitory or barracks chambers. Rooms were assigned based on proximity, and estimation of the probability of marriage bonds and family relationships, plus other factors. Your odds of being related to each other were staggeringly low, but the pair of you were found close enough together to warrant a joint room. If you can name an actual spouse, we will relocate one of you when it is feasible to do so."

The construct considers carefully before speaking again. "What is your relationship to... Claye Kilnmyr?"

[VonDoom]

All Aboard
Mikado

Rather than reply immediately, the Ikokuan turned his gaze towards Elra, briefly examining her reaction to that exchange and the continued presence of the strange homunculus.

"It appears your companions are safe, at least," he offered, though considering his utter lack of a relationship to them, there was little relief to his tone; it was merely a statement.

Mikado studied their new mechanical acquaintance for a moment as he put his thoughts into order, briefly evaluating how he might best approach this situation. Considering that they had no idea where they were, or how long they might be stuck in this prison, a long-term contingency might prove a good idea -- particularly with the thought of a potential relocation kept in mind. The fire sorceress would certainly be a valuable ally in any escape attempt.

Still, the man mused, with no idea as to any ruse he might attempt, claiming that Claye and he were married was unlikely to be successful. Perhaps an ambivalent truth might yet prevail, however.

"We are bound by oath," was thus Mikado's solemn reply. A true one, too, for Claye still had to hold up her end of the bargain they had struck back in the country of his birth.


14th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Eiko and Mikado

Previously, this room had been merely one of the surprisingly numerous guest chambers, but the new owner of this holding had ordered all furniture removed, destroyed and the remnants discarded. Now it laid all but empty, the only thing distracting from the cold walls was a rack filled with a small selection of weapons: two pairs of daggers, two regular broadswords, a staff and some throwing knives.

There had only been time to acquire so much, and getting proper Ikokuan weapons with an appreciable quality in Taelarys was far from an easy task. So, for the moment, it would have to suffice.

Smack-dab in the middle of the room sat Mikado in a cross-legged manner, hands calmly resting on his knees. With closed lids, the man concentrated on naught but the repetition of his breathing. Waiting.

[Swordslinger]

12 of Bargenholt
About the Same Time
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

Amandre followed a few steps behind Mikado and Anselme. When Jalyn and Tilyn started to accuse Golleon he felt like he should tell Mikado that probably just wanted Golleon gone by any means necessary. But it seemed that Mikado quickly caught on to it on his own. It was probably for the best to let Mikado take care of the talking, he seemed like he knew what he was doing. Instead Amandre watched the rest of the people gathered here, for a moment his eyes tracked Anselme that gone and talked to some of the other guests. He looked around but could not see the two women anymore; they might be off doing their own investigation. He made a small sigh, maybe he should go look around the embassy, at least it would appear like he was doing something useful. He left Mikado to it and walked off in a random direction at a slow pace.


All Aboard
Amandre

After memorizing as best he could the position of the various machines and the layout of the room he let go and dropped down to the floor again. No sign of passengers or rebels, just these machines which could be friendly or not. That people had been moved away from here could mean anything. He guessed that he could hide here for awhile; he might manage to dig up some food among the baggage her. Although that was by no means a solution. He walked over to the end of the baggage car and very carefully opened the door out between the cars. Hiding or moving, either could be just as dangerous. Yet he felt that now was not the time to sit still, maybe he could find other passengers or a way out of here. He would just have to stay out of sight from the machines and explore this facility as best he could. He let his coat fall to the floor, underneath he wore the black clothes he normally used when working, the large coat would just be in the way, it’s main function was just to hide the two Sais he wore crossed at his back. He watched the machines as best he could from his position then at the right opportunity he moved fast and silently out of the car and toward some cover he had seen earlier.

[Nefarion Xid]

All Aboard!
Orchard

Anselme beamed, having simultaneously ascertained his planar location and finding the automaton's reply bordering on witty. "I didn't know your kind of capable of that sort of humor," he sneered knowingly.

Straightening, he folded his hands behind his back. His ridiculously toothy grin never faltered. "In the name of the Prince and by the Deep Magic: I have no designs for this place nor its contents. I do not know how, precisely, or why we arrived here. I shall leave this place only with what I currently possess and for the duration of this visit, by no direct action, shall I cause harm upon a denizen of this plane. Honestly, I'm just along for the ride."

He glanced wryly to the brightsteel pillars and quipped, "There. Now they really are useless."

Moving to sit at the base of a tree, he added thoughtfully, "The elven woman with white hair, she's my friend. Is she all right? I would be loathe to leave without her... and I should be rather put-out to have to return for her."

Letting the implication hang thickly in the air, he stuck out his hand to catch the apple plummeting towards his head, almost as if he'd summoned it. He couldn't have known...

"I'll be here, figuratively sitting on my thumbs until you're ready to send me home. Ha! Well, you know what I mean, anyway!"

[VonDoom]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

Shigeru was currently quite busy barking orders into many directions, directing his crew to get this, put that over there and they better not break that expensive vase. The small, stocky man was Captain by grace of the feudal lord who had arranged for this little business venture, a daimyo called Yabu.

As the Captain he was in slightly better shape than most, yet his sunken almond-colored eyes and pale skin also spoke of a long period of exhaustion and starving. Still, he had briefly gone to land for a haircut, shave and bath so that he might present the wares of his Lord Yabu without bringing him shame. His black hair was now cut short, oiled and scented and he had chosen to take out a golden sash signifying his position on the ship for the day.

When he suddenly heard a familiar voice shouting at him in the western dialect, he perked his ears and turned around to take a look at the source of this new interference. But when he saw Takeshi, merely a fellow merchant who had paid for passage on his ship as far as Shigeru was aware, his expression brightened and he walked over to the railing with tired legs.

"Lord Izayoi!" he proclaimed loudly, so that his crew might hear. They had been on the ship for quite a few months together. Of course, Takeshi was no lord, but the politeness encountered in people from Ikoku had always been legendary. "Back so soon? Come, come aboard! We're getting everything ready for the customers. They'll come soon, now that we're no longer confined -- surely our ship must be the talk of day in this drab city by now!" He laughed a booming, amiable laugh.

[Tebryn]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

Shigeru was currently quite busy barking orders into many directions, directing his crew to get this, put that over there and they better not break that expensive vase. The small, stocky man was Captain by grace of the feudal lord who had arranged for this little business venture, a daimyo called Yabu.

As the Captain he was in slightly better shape than most, yet his sunken almond-colored eyes and pale skin also spoke of a long period of exhaustion and starving. Still, he had briefly gone to land for a haircut, shave and bath so that he might present the wares of his Lord Yabu without bringing him shame. His black hair was now cut short, oiled and scented and he had chosen to take out a golden sash signifying his position on the ship for the day.

When he suddenly heard a familiar voice shouting at him in the western dialect, he perked his ears and turned around to take a look at the source of this new interference. But when he saw Takeshi, merely a fellow merchant who had paid for passage on his ship as far as Shigeru was aware, his expression brightened and he walked over to the railing with tired legs.

"Lord Izayoi!" he proclaimed loudly, so that his crew might hear. They had been on the ship for quite a few months together. Of course, Takeshi was no lord, but the politeness encountered in people from Ikoku had always been legendary. "Back so soon? Come, come aboard! We're getting everything ready for the customers. They'll come soon, now that we're no longer confined -- surely our ship must be the talk of day in this drab city by now!" He laughed a booming, amiable laugh.
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

"It is as the great sage Zhuge once said Captain, home is what is familiar and my soul yearns for something as familiar as a ship where I left at least half of me! I come to take it back!"


Takeshi laughs, moving up the plank slowly, using his cane to support himself. He bows to the captain once aboard, smiling amiabley to the crew.

"Tell me then, how is business? Perhaps you could cut me a deal. Half does sound appropriate to me after all dear Captain. These westerners don't know the value of what you bring, you can always rip them off to make up for what you lose with me."

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
Early Afternoon
Alf

While the inferno death of the person in the marketplace was the main reason Alf had shut his shop down for the day, there was another important factor that interested him. He had heard about The Pearl opening for business from the wildfire-moving rumors that had caught him as much as the burned victim had. Alf did not hear much about Ikukuan merchants; of course they probably have not heard much about Alf himself. He knew it would be an interesting meeting seeing the goods on The Pearl. Hopefully it would not end in violence.

Still wearing his purple tunic and grey pants, Alf came to the ship with another sample of potions and scrolls, the potions being different from when he was at the marketplace. He had an effortless time lifting the black bag over his shoulder using one of his hands. If he wasn't a humanoid figure of thousands of spiders, he'd take a deep breath of air while walking.

As he approached the ship, he stayed out of sights for a few moments upon hearing the name "Lord Izayoi." While such an exotic name had been one Alf has never heard nor read of, he was aware on the idea of not to intrude in business of those in high standing unless they were being an interference in Alf's own line of business. As soon as the lord came aboard the ship, Alf walked up to the entrance, stopping just in front of it to calmly state, "Would you allow me to come aboard? I specialize in... Various, possibly foreign, alchemical supplies and skills. I would like to see about a possible business proposition that could be made."

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale
Late Evening
Alf

Alf hadn't been to the Vale in quite some time. He can remember his previous visit being before what he had become now. Seeing the changes was interesting. It showed an influence in the advancement of technology and mysteries that surrounded reality. The sign that said "Roxanne's Apothecary and Curios" caught Alf's eyes... Or what was once his eyes. He did not have time to sidetrack however, not when making a delivery of his own goods. The lack of civilians helped prevent him from being the center of attention like yesterday, but he was also a more noticeable target for those who might be awake.

Feeling a bit paranoid, Alf began taking a number of potions that his belt held on his side and began placing them in his body of spiders. In numerous ways, he had to be more careful when the potions were kept inside as they weren't as secure now as when held by his belt. The potions instead were hidden in him to make sure that they wouldn't get stolen. Alf made haste to the blacksmith's place, remembering the description of the place. Both inside and outside it was more like a workshop than a house; a wooden brown color gave it's look to stand out from other houses. Alf remembered the instructions on reaching the place and eventually hung a left turn to where the house was just about two hundred yards away. Alf expected the lights on and the blacksmith calmly and neatly at work inside.

[BladeofObliviom]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Chiyome

...Coming Soon.



About two years ago
The Inner Chambers
Chiyome and Mikado

Chiyome was slightly taken aback with the swiftness that Mikado moved at in his planning, but the shock quickly turned to satisfaction. After all, the man's decisiveness was one of the many things that she admired him for.

It was then that she struck. With the swiftness of the viper, the precision of a surgeon, she-

-planted a last, soft kiss on his cheek! Of course, this was just before fully sitting up and beginning to dress herself.

"It will be done as you command, master."

Probably scene end here, unless there's something more... :smalltongue:

[the_druid_droid]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Revin

There is a saying about the docks district in Taelarys: New day, new smell. Today, the streets along the harbor smelled like a mixture of brine, bird droppings and old trash, though beneath it all there was something else - perhaps the smell of burnt flesh?

Then again, that was probably just Revin’s imagination; the reports he’d heard of the unusual death from the previous night had been rattling around in his head ever since meeting with the Grand Inquisitor earlier that day. Normally, he would ignore such things and focus on his assignment, but the spy had always hated the docks: there were already too many entirely mundane ways to end up with a knife between your ribs in this part of the city, even without factoring in fire-wielding psychopaths. Hell, part of the reason Revin had worked so hard to get promoted to the head of Tarin’s spy network was to avoid just this sort of rookie assignment in the worst districts of the city.

Sighing and shaking his head to try and clear his thoughts, Levant’s chief spy dodged between the shambling forms of beggars and other dockside residents, regretting that in his semi-official capacity of the day, he wouldn’t be able to simply draw his cloak around himself and retreat to the shadows. Instead, the brown-haired man kept his eyes forward, scanning the waterline for the merchant ship he’d been sent to investigate.

In truth, the Ikokuan vessel was relatively easy to find - by this hour curious nobles and their retainers were beginning to swarm around The Pearl like flies, surrounded by a buffer of idle dockworkers that cast odd glances at the gaunt forms of the foreign sailors. With the ship in sight, Revin moved quicker, sliding effortlessly into the press of hangers-on and elbowing his way forward until at last he arrived at the makeshift gangplank. Without a word, the spy deftly climbed up it and cast his gaze around the deck, working to identify and categorize the assembled marvels of Ikokuan society.

[Swordslinger]

X of Bergenholt
A mostly demolished warehouse district
Amandre

He sat watching the hall the kidnappers was using as a hideout, it was large and the only building in the area. All other storage buildings had been torn down; apparently this was going to be turned into a residential area. He noted several guards around the perimeter; they would not be an obstacle for him. He started moving silently across the field, using rubble and left over equipment to his advantage. He soon reached the hall without being spotted and begun to climb the wall, years of practice running and climbing around the city made it relatively easy. At the top of the hall there were several windows, some of them broken. He took great care not to make any noise on the broken glass fragments as he moved into the hall. From up here he had access to the roofs support beams. And he could watch the entire hall without fear of being noticed. A few guards stood at the door leading out, a few others guarded a door to a small wooded building in the corner. That would be where they kept the hostage was. He crawled across the beams toward the corner with the house and climbed down to its roof. The roof was rather poorly made with several holes in it where workers had not bothered to finish. There was probably not many if any guards down there, he jumped down. And to his surprise, there was nothing there. No hostage and no guards. If not here then where would they keep the hostage, there were not exactly many hiding places in the empty hall. As he was wondering what he should do next when the door was kicked open, a figure in black dashed in toward Amandre. Pure reflex saved him, dodging the blade that tore through the empty air where his throat had been moments before.

[Toxin605]

21st of Bargenholt
Black Manor
Morning
Darius Black

Darius stared coldly at the broken man before him. Blood oozed from the crack in the debtor's skull like fresh honey from a tipped pot. The wrath demon on Darius' left began to drool hungrily. He turned to the cannibalistic demon and said, "You may not be a pride demon, but show some dignity! I do not employ the gluttonous."

He turned back to the bleeding debtor.

"Thank you for waiting. Now, you have two options. Option number one, and I do recommend that you choose this one, is to lay down your pride and declare me your new lord and master. It is a very generous offer, if I do say so myself. Alternately, you can choose option number two. To put it quite simply, I will kill you. Unfortunately, things are never as simple as they originally appear. Do not even think of attempting to contact the guard. Under Taelaryn law, you belong to me.

When the human started whimpering pathetically, Darius turned back to the wrath demon, and said, "I believe you may have knocked something out of place. Try to put it back."
Grinning savagely, the wrath demon raised his hammer and brought it down upon the bloodied debtor. He began showering blow after blow as both he and the debtor howled like dogs, one in agony and the other in ecstasy.

Another servant burst into the room. The sledgehammer froze mid swing."What is it?" Darius called out. "My lord, there appears to be some kind of merchant ship unloading and selling foreign wares on the dock!" Replied the possessed servant. Darius walked to the servant by the door and said, "Then let us make haste, so as not to miss a possible bargain. We shall bring some slaves to carry the goods."

As he walked out of the room, he called out to the brutal demon inside, and said, Finish up in here will you? You may end him as you wish." Then promptly shut the door.

He walked away calmly, swaying to the sweet music emanating from the manor. He smiled contentedly as he passed through the gates, and made his way through the bustling city (to the docks) accompanied by slaves and servants.

OOC: I would like to join in on THE FOREIGN SHIP AREA/THE PEARL quest please. :smallbiggrin:

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl, Early Afternoon
Aesthes

He disliked the direct light, favouring, as always, the shadows and darkness. It wasn't that it hurt or somehow ill-affected him. Merely that he disliked the light.

Either way, he was here to look at the foreign ship from Ikoku. History was his primary concern, although he doubted there would be any itemry that would interest him. No, he was here for a little pleasant conversation and to see if he could find a mention or knowledge of the ring he bore on his fingers. The accursed ring that gave him clues to his past, locked behind the lack of knowledge that came from his memory's blanks.

So the cloaked figure, who inside the hood seemed half illusion, approached the docks. Unlike the older man, he made no call of greeting, nor wave. Instead, he was silent as he approached... Instead he walked towards the ramp set out for coming aboard.

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Library

Azlian raised a single tapered eyebrow at Claye's explanation, her lips struggling mightily not to smile at the ridiculousness of Claye's claims. Leaning against the door of the library, she fixed the intruders with her golden eyes.

"While I admire your initiative, I think you'd agree that I can't simply let you walk around treasured Rhetizian cultural artifacts? What say we read the Theses here, just us girls?"

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

After Mikado ceased speaking, Jalyn and Tilyn stared at him for a moment as though he were some rare species of insect they wanted to scrape off their boots. A flick of their eyes, a silent nod of agreement, and the two nobles turned away from Mikado and walked towards the recently spurned Anselme.

"Sir, please, your prowess at the Arena has been the talk of the town, and your charisma will disarm any suspicion."

"You need only speak with Golleon for a moment to realize he is hiding something."

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

Anselme folded his arms while wiggling his jaw back into place and entertaining the sudden interest of the noblemen.

"No harm in having a visit with him. Ah, well whatever hurries along dessert. You... do still serve dessert after a murder? I mean, I understand we've set sail on the main course, but I heard some mention of black forest cake?" His left eyebrow danced around in an attempt to illicit a response from the pair, at least about cake. A moment later he'd given up and spun to go begin his interrogation of Golleon.

Throwing a backwards glance over his shoulder, he added, "Talk of the town, eh? You'll have to fill me in later."

Pulling over the chair from a nearby desk, Anselme perched by Golleon and leaned in close. In a hushed voice, he asked, "So, what do we tell these jackals to make them leave you alone? You didn't kill anyone tonight. Hmmm... not ever from the looks of you. So why do you look so nervous?"

[Jade_Tarem]

22nd of Bargenholt, The Vale, Late Evening

As Alf approaches the Blacksmith Shop, he begins to sense something off. It takes him a moment to identify it, before he finally realizes that the smoke isn't moving properly - it should have stayed in one place relative to the roof of the smithy - instead it seemed to be coming from behind the shop. For just a moment, it seems like it might be compound vision giving the alchemist difficulties again, but then he rounds the corner and comes face-to-face with what's left of the blacksmith.

The corpse is hanging from a lamp post, burning merrily and brightly, having been covered in some kind of pitch or tar prior to being set ablaze. And hanging from his foot, also burning, is a small sign. Impossibly cute handwriting reads:

Rule Number Seven of [burn smear] no safe places, no timeouts, and no do-overs. You [burn smear]

And speaking of black marks - a set of tiny footprints leads back down the road, fading as they go into invisibility. However, they do seem to point in the general direction of "Roxanne's" apothecary and novelty shop...

All Aboard! - Epsilon Barracks, Xth of Bargenholt

Mikado

The brow ridges on the helmet of the bulky homunculus seem to scrunch up for a moment. In a number of places, Mikado's answer might have been enough - but apparently the construct wasn't one for making assumptions. "What kind of oath?"

Amandre

Amandre manages to complete his dash for cover. From his new vantage point, he can see more detail concerning the engine - it appears that the automatons are replacing the boiler and every other damaged part, apparently having fabricated identical copies somewhere. At the rate they're progressing, the Engine could very well be whole again in less than twelve hours.

Beyond that, he can see the exits - the ones for the train, that is. Apparently this particular chamber can only service the one track - the engine will either need to back out or else move forward into the other tunnel. There is one set of person-sized doors, though, and peering through them reveals some kind of security checkpoint. Long divisions in the floor lead to choke-points. In what appears to be a running theme since he woke up, these are staffed by more homunculi.

A stealth-related roll of 7 or more gets you through. He can apply Agility, Assassin Training, and Shadow Jump

Anselme

The construct nods, and the posts retract. Once they have been covered again, Anselme's eye starts working properly once more - and now he can see the tiny black metaphysical strings connected to the construct's head, arms, hands, and legs. A moment's inspection is all that's required for Anselme to determine that there is no intelligence within the thing he's been talking to - his conversation partner is somewhere far away.

And apparently well-informed. "A white-haired elf was taken to the infirmary with a moderate flesh wound sustained when the train's boiler exploded, along with another elf and the legion captain, as well as a few others. She is conscious and mobile, and might soon be released from medical care if our doctor allows it. When this happens, do you wish to be quartered with her?"

[Kasanip]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Eris

Eris tried to smooth her hair. The name of the person is unknown.

But suddenly horror turns to a very angry fire feeling.
"The Alchemist's College?!" She said in angry surprise.

So he is a horrible experiment of the alchemists! Again they are destroying lives with their dangerous work!

I... I will have to destroy them again.

Eris thought. She bites her teeth and makes fists.

Alchemists are always causing trouble. This person's fate is worse than mine. If he is not lying. But maybe he was. Eris didn't know. Alfnierado's question was troublesome. Eris crossed her arms.

"If you are going to use fire to kill, you should understand how to use it's power. Fire is hungry. Fire doesn't like stopping. If you are a pyro-murderer, you should burn the body to ash. I don't know about 'spread them across the continent,' but this murder is insulting to fire. I think archers treat the bow and arrow with respect. A swordsman treats the sword with respect. But this isn't treating fire with respect.

It's just ugly. There is no refined atmosphere. It isn't even finished. Probably there was a lot of screaming. It's is like the killer just thinks of a game." Eris shakes her head. They are unusual words from a child of course. She would try to look with apathy, but it is impossible with spiderman here.

The crowd had become a mess in the morning. Probably soon the guards would come, Eris thought.

"If you do have the shop, I don't understand how you can have business." Eris admitted. "You're whole body is covered with the spiders!" She said, unable to stop herself.

[VonDoom]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

"Ahh, you know how these uncultured barbarians are!" Shigeru offered with a smile on his face that didn't match what he said as he spoke in the West-Ikokuan tongue Takeshi had greeted him in earlier, to prevent anyone from overhearing. "They're shuffling about, trying to figure out how to get the best prices before even seeing what they'll pay for." The Captain licked his lips, hands brushing through his thin beard.

When his fellow countryman spoke of prices, however, his eyes took a new shine to them and they looked surprisingly fox-like for a moment. "I'm afraid Lord Yabu has given explicit instructions regarding the sales of his wares. I couldn't possibly go against them."

Still, he quickly produced a smile and continued. "However, we do have some wares set aside from the main cargo. While Lord Yabu is far more generous than we deserve, some of our men, myself included, have put their earnings together in hopes of following his wise example. I will gladly show you what we have and make you a good price on it -- surely you understand that we will require some profit, but I'll make you a better deal on our wares than I'd imagine you'll get anywhere in these parts. Unless you want to buy cheap imitations, of course. I hear some nobles make collections of them." He laughed heartily at that absurd notion.

---

One of the ship's officers, as gaunt as the other crew, but dressed in proper-looking silk for the occasion, turned his attention towards Alf, though he obviously hadn't noticed that the man was a walking, talking colony of spiders yet. "You're a potionist, my lord?" he replied, with a heavy accent. "Come aboard, come aboard. I fear we don't have much useful to your work with us."

He thought for a moment, then added. "Some potions for sickn-." Then, he finally noticed. Apparently the nourishment deficits had tarnished his eyes a bit. Nevertheless, they grew wide and his mouth fell open. "Kumogashira," he whispered, stumbling over the word. Yet he was of Ikoku, and under the command of a powerful noble. The creature seemed peaceful for now and didn't bare huge spider-fangs at him, so he gathered all of his courage. Pale and suddenly rather sweaty, he added. "Please, honoured customer, come aboard."

The officer just hoped the ... thing didn't scare away other customers. Perhaps, he thought, all those rumors about Taelarys weren't as far-fedged as many of his peers had claimed.

---

Tebryn, if you could provide some NPC interaction for the_druid_droid's Revin and bladescape's Aesthes, I'd appreciate it. Work is keeping me on my toes today and our Christmas celebration is in the evening, so I don't think I'll be able to post much if anything for the rest of the day. Glad I even got this much out.

Toxin605, feel free to walk onto the ship at any time.

[Starsign]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Alf

Alf listens quietly to the child's words. It was clear he said something that had angered her. The creature of spiders took her reaction in stride, but was perplexed by her explanation of fire. "I do not quite understand why not burning everything is such a sin. Perhaps the person would have been chased off midway of burning the victim? I had figured all pyromaniacs would think of murder by flames as a game." He looks over at the body again. Eris could almost get the idea that there was a look of sorrow on Alf's face.

Upon getting called out on what he is, Alf moves back up to look at the child. "Actually it's not really being covered in spiders... It's more like I am the spiders itself. Is it really that discomforting?" Alf demonstrates by having his right hand split into three thinner ones by having the spiders move and attach themselves to other spiders to make the hands. "The Alchemist's College has agreed on a trade with me. I have knowledge of scrolls that lets one learn magic from it, or specialize in making them in potions. I am the latter. The alchemists appreciate my potions, as does the civilians that can accept a fair price of gold for what they ask for." He pauses again to wait on Eris's response.

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
Early Afternoon
Alf

If he could, Alf would smile at how well he was accepted onward despite his appearance. "Thank you sir," he politely says as he comes onboard, having a look around the ship without moving too far in case of entering a forbidden area. After a few moments, Alf turned around to the officer again. "You had mentioned something about potions. Are you in need of anything or were you going to mention about liquids from you own continent? I would be eager to know how the potions of Ikoku are made in comparison to my own." While it was hard to tell, the officer had a feeling Alf would be patient for his response.

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale
Late Evening
Alf

For a moment, Alf had felt empty seeing the roasted blacksmith hanged. It had happened so shortly before his arrival, Alf wasn't sure what to make of it... Then he quickly did what he could. Alf took out one of his potions, specifically a potion of wound curing, and poured the liquid on the blacksmith, letting the fires cool down and the tar to drool off the blacksmith. Alf checked the body, trying to remember what Eris had mentioned yesterday morning...

Alf wasn't sure how well the body was "burnt," but he had figured that if it was left like this, the body wouldn't have been fully burned. He doubted the idea of two "amateur" pyromaniacs on the loose; this had to have been the same person that also burned the one in the marketplace yesterday. Now Alf got the feeling that whoever was doing this was specifically targeting his customers... But why? Alf wasn't sure, the only thing he could do now was to move toward Roxanne's apothecary, fast. Alf made a run for it before stopping to a walk just before entering, trying his best to look casual.

[Mono Vertigo]

14th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Eiko and Mikado

Soon, the tranquillity of the place was disturbed by steps, heavy not by their weight but by the barely restrained energy behind them.
Way too ordered and impersonal. The Tengu's thoughts were rarely organized, and so were her actions. Minimalism was too unrealistic for her.
Well, she was there to learn to embrace the concept. Among others.
She automatically walked toward the only obvious object present currently: the weapon rack. With little regard for her master's meditation, she asked: “Are you proficient with all of these weapons?”

[Tebryn]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

"Ahh, you know how these uncultured barbarians are!" Shigeru offered with a smile on his face that didn't match what he said as he spoke in the West-Ikokuan tongue Takeshi had greeted him in earlier, to prevent anyone from overhearing. "They're shuffling about, trying to figure out how to get the best prices before even seeing what they'll pay for." The Captain licked his lips, hands brushing through his thin beard.

When his fellow countryman spoke of prices, however, his eyes took a new shine to them and they looked surprisingly fox-like for a moment. "I'm afraid Lord Yabu has given explicit instructions regarding the sales of his wares. I couldn't possibly go against them."

Still, he quickly produced a smile and continued. "However, we do have some wares set aside from the main cargo. While Lord Yabu is far more generous than we deserve, some of our men, myself included, have put their earnings together in hopes of following his wise example. I will gladly show you what we have and make you a good price on it -- surely you understand that we will require some profit, but I'll make you a better deal on our wares than I'd imagine you'll get anywhere in these parts. Unless you want to buy cheap imitations, of course. I hear some nobles make collections of them." He laughed heartily at that absurd notion.

---

One of the ship's officers, as gaunt as the other crew, but dressed in proper-looking silk for the occasion, turned his attention towards Alf, though he obviously hadn't noticed that the man was a walking, talking colony of spiders yet. "You're a potionist, my lord?" he replied, with a heavy accent. "Come aboard, come aboard. I fear we don't have much useful to your work with us."

He thought for a moment, then added. "Some potions for sickn-." Then, he finally noticed. Apparently the nourishment deficits had tarnished his eyes a bit. Nevertheless, they grew wide and his mouth fell open. "Kumogashira," he whispered, stumbling over the word. Yet he was of Ikoku, and under the command of a powerful noble. The creature seemed peaceful for now and didn't bare huge spider-fangs at him, so he gathered all of his courage. Pale and suddenly rather sweaty, he added. "Please, honoured customer, come aboard."

The officer just hoped the ... thing didn't scare away other customers. Perhaps, he thought, all those rumors about Taelarys weren't as far-fedged as many of his peers had claimed.

---

Tebryn, if you could provide some NPC interaction for the_druid_droid's Revin and bladescape's Aesthes, I'd appreciate it. Work is keeping me on my toes today and our Christmas celebration is in the evening, so I don't think I'll be able to post much if anything for the rest of the day. Glad I even got this much out.

Toxin605, feel free to walk onto the ship at any time.

"<Well, it is a shame yes...but all the better to steal from them. I am sure we have much to speak of...but your special deal would be appreciated. Please, lead on dear Captain. Perhaps in time as I establish my holds in this city you might come and work for me? I have...a grand plan to perhaps run by you. One that would get you front side seats to the selling floor. After all, the more we import the more these gaijin will buy yes? And if your name were to become well known you would stand to make yourself and Lord Yabu a good deal of money. I wish to establish...an Ikoku district but need the funds. If you cut me a better deal I will make sure your Pearl is the lead ship when the district is open for business. What do you say Captain? You certainly knew our meeting was fated.>"

Takeshi then turns to the strange....thing that had come aboard.

"Strange beings wander the lands certainly...ni hao young master of the western lands."

Takeshi bows to the unique creature, watching it carefully however.

"Come to sample the wares of my people? Perhaps I can give you some tips while you are aboard? Free of charge of course. <And cheap for you dear Captain>"

Will do when they actually get on the ship.

[Kasanip]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Eris

Eris pouted.

"You have some reasons. It is possible it is a pyromaniac. It is possible it is a game." She frowned and looked at the body.

Yes, it is possible the murderer is thinking it is game. But why you don't understand that is a bad attitude about killing? Being a spiderman must be difficult. She thought with annoyance. Eris crossed her arms again. And then she listened to Alf's explanation. But it was infuriating. The Alchemist College had created this monster, and it was trying to teach magic to civilians? That was very blasphemous. Even for Eris, who had been exiled by the Sorcerous Houses. Magic was special to those who had the power. To teach it to people who can't have the power... To sell it for money!

The alchemists had created a monster spiderman. They always caused trouble like this.
"Y-yes, it really is discomforting. I don't like spiders." Eris responded, trying to fix her hair. When Alf makes small hands, Eris shudders and steps back. Of course she thought it was a person who was wearing spiders. But it's not.

"The Alchemist College is unforgivable." Eris said with an angry voice. "How long have since you were created?"

One brave civilian walked towards them from behind Eris...

[Starsign]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Alf

As Alf chatted with the woman, he began to get the strange feeling that it wasn't just his looks that horrified her. "Well then our first step would be to find links in this murder. Has this been the first time someone was burned like so?" Alf was quite unsure what it was like to be burned in such a manner. Naturally he wouldn't want to find out.

"I will assure you my form is not contagious nor dangerous to be near of. Just do not try to attack me, I do not take that very well." He observed Eris again before responding, "I was never created actually. I was once a man, a regrettable, unwilling transformation I went through turned me into this. Eldritch magic has that effect." He snaps his arms back into one piece.

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf

Alf gave a small nod to the man. "Every world has it's own surprises and wonders. I am just one of the many. I imagine Ikoku is of no exception, correct Lord Izayoi?" Alf remembers what the young man was called back before he got on board, and stuck with using that to address Takeshi. The creature of spiders gets himself back up from his bow and makes sure his potions are all back into place. "If you don't mind, advice would be wonderful. I would rather not accidentally and unknowingly cross some boundary or rule you people uphold."

[hi-mi-tsu]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Library

Raina's eyebrow nearly matched the Rhetizian emissary's, at Claye's ridiculous explanation; when the woman extended an olive branch--of sorts--the elven woman sighed, and shrugged.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I simply was not willing to go sit amongst a large crowd of whiny, complaining, scheming noblemen-and-women. It's not my way. I honestly happened across this room completely by accident, but...I must confess an intense curiosity. After all...the poor man downstairs died a terrible death." Her lips quirked, again. "Despite my...admittedly poor taste in jokes, I can recognize that. Suffocation--or at least, something that looked like suffocation--is a...distinctly unpleasant feeling."

The smile slips, and the elven woman glances down at the book. Unpleasant memories...she shakes her head, just slightly.

"Perhaps three pairs of eyes--and three minds--will be sooner able to ascertain what, at least, was used. I certainly have no mind to steal the thing, if that's what you're worried about...though I understand their usefulness, I find poison...distasteful."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

13th of Bargenholt, morning
Fortress of the Rose, Living Quarters

"Silly!" The young woman laughs, amused. "We're just...us. We're not a pride or a den or anything. Just a group of people, fighting for a better cause."

When she's shown him around--and introduced him to the people that are there--Raina comes out of her office again and smiles, faintly.

"Murdok, if you'll come here again, please...just for a brief moment." When he does, she sets a contract down in front of him, pale eyes serious.

"Most of my Lions, those that come here and are not hand-picked by me, go through a probationary period. This is a binding document; you swear not to steal from another Lion, not to harm another Lion, to obey my requests and to follow the very simple rules. It's quite easy; I'll assign you a position--for right now, you'll be going out on third patrol, which is from four P.M. until midnight, where I need people the most--and you'll be reporting to your Patrol Captain, which is Darus. At the end of the shift, you'll report anything unusual to him...the rest of the time during the day is yours, unless I sound a call to arms. That is quite rare, but if it happens...you'll know. There will be runners sent to find anyone wearing a uniform and bring them back."

She pauses, tilting her head and glancing at the man. "Does that all make sense?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All Aboard!
Xth Day of Bargenholt
Raina

The elven woman had been about to snipe at Cophi that ghosts weren't real and ask, more forcefully, what in the nine hells was going on, when she was brought up short by the clank of metal against metal and the chugging hiss of steam.

The machine that presented itself to them was...well, in some ways--very few ways--it seemed like the homunculi built by the Machinists' Guild, the ones she'd come across when working as a guard for noble houses. But this was...bigger...and shaped oddly...and had a strange amount of arms, and the face--

Oh, she was not doing well with this thing. When it smiled at them, and spoke, she yelped and backed up into Cophi's bed, sitting down hard on the edge (and luckily not landing on the other elf) as she stared at it. The thing had gears! Exposed, bloody gears!

"Cophi, I am going to kill you--" The threat would have been more alarming, had it sounded even remotely threatening. Instead, it sounded mostly terrified.

"I-I...I'm fine. Thank you very much pleasegoaway." It wasn't true, and the machine would be able to tell; getting dressed and moving over to the other elf had been taxing, and the dull, throbbing pain in Raina's side did not bode well. But she didn't care, not at the moment. She just wanted the bloodstained...thing to leave!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

23rd of Bargenholt
Late Morning
The Vale

"There is no Paradise for us, in death." Elizabeth's words were quiet, in the carriage, and she fell uncharacteristically silent; her hand was limp in Turel's, and she too gazed out the window as they were driven to one of the fairest and most prosperous districts in the city. And she wished to go to the dressmaker's shop, first.

It was a gala of colors, bright and festive, that greeted her when she swept through the door; the vaguely uneasy feeling in her stomach disappeared, and Elizabeth beamed with delight as she rushed over to a crimson-red frock.

"Look! Oh, it's beautiful, isn't it? We could match, Annah, my duck, and have bright dresses for our very own! One in every color, like rainbows, and sunbeams...oh, it would be fantastic!"

The tailor hovered, a little nervously; the woman, beautiful and elegantly-dressed as she was, seemed just...a little unbalanced.

"Excuse me? Sir? Misses? May I help you with anything?"

"This dress (http://www.manycolor.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/red-prom-dresses-2011-1582.jpg)." Elizabeth clung to it, covetously. "I wish to try this dress on immediately."

"O-of course, madam, but please, be careful--" The tailor flinched, when Elizabeth's head shot up, when brilliant purple eyes locked onto the woman's face.

"Do not tell me what to do, I have worn finer fabrics than you have ever seen! Find me a dressing room, immediately!"

Outside, a cobblestone cracked sharply, and a carriage went lopsided at the sudden unevenness in the pavement. Elizabeth paid no mind, fingers running carefully over the tiny freshwater pearls and the ruffles of fabric.

"You're such a beautiful thing, to be locked up in this dim little shop...I'm going to rescue you, and put you on display for the world to see...Annah, you should pick out some new things too! See if you can convince your father to buy some other colors besides black and green..."

[Nefarion Xid]

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

The presumed owner twirled around with a beaming smile on her face. Upon seeing that it was only a customer, and not who she was expecting, the smile dimmed and she mouthed an unfortunately breathy and coquettish "Bon soir," to the newcomer. Until a moment ago she'd been carrying on a duet with the orange vial in her hand. Within the tightly stoppered bottle, a single light pulsed with growing intensity in rhythm with the clarion tenor song it sang. Indeed, the bottle was singing and it did so more beautifully than any man on a stage in Taelarys had in years. Roxanne pressed dainty finger to the lip of the bottle, literally shushing it before placing it protectively on a high shelf behind many others.

The woman wasn't beautiful, she was more the embodiment of all the tales by all the naughty bards of that woman, the sort of woman only fittingly described with either emphatic hand gestures. Red curls spilled down to her lopsided hips. Resting a hand on the flare beneath her corset, she titled her head to the side and looked clear through Alf.

"Well... you haven't come to by lotions."

???
Anselme

"Yes," he said tersely to the machine. Any concern he'd had for the elf seemed to have melted away and he lazily pressed his head against the tree behind him. "I hope you aren't implying we'll be staying here long. You can keep the rest for all I care, but I don't intend on staying long."

[Tebryn]

[B]21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf

Alf gave a small nod to the old man. "Every world has it's own surprises and wonders. I am just one of the many. I imagine Ikoku is of no exception, correct Lord Izayoi?" Alf remembers what the old man was called back before he got on board, and stuck with using that to address Takeshi. The creature of spiders gets himself back up from his bow and makes sure his potions are all back into place. "If you don't mind, advice would be wonderful. I would rather not accidentally and unknowingly cross some boundary or rule you people uphold."

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

"I imagine so, perhaps one day you can travel to our humble island kingdom and see the Falling Stones of Pan Qu. Truly wonderful. I would be happy to offer my advice, I am quite knowledgeable of the many ancient secrets of Ikoku after all. Lord Izayoi Takeshi at your service. Perhaps when we are done here you can give me a tour of your cities more magically inclined regions?"

Takeshi smiles, glancing back at the Captain.

"After or work is done of course Captain."

[TechnOkami]

13th of Bargenholt, morning
Fortress of the Rose, Living Quarters

Murdok reviews the document himself as she gives her simplified rendition of how it will affect him. "The only thing which might be a difficulty is the injury of a fellow Lion... what if I accidentally, say, broke their arm or hit them so strongly in the shoulder that it breaks a bone or two? Other than that, everything is sound."

The pen in Murdok's hand hovers over the line for his signature, as cold, icy eyes rest their gaze on the elf-woman, waiting for a response.

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl, Early Afternoon
Aesthes

The half-worlders slowly came aboard, the shadowed figure chosing to slowly look around, gauging the other personages aboard the ship.

[VonDoom]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
=================================


Alf

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that question, lord," the officer offered with a regretful expression, though that last bit might have more to do with regretting that he had been the one to speak to the spiders-man. "As I said, we have some remedies, but that is the extent to which we can serve you with potions. We do not have an apothecary with us."

Takeshi

The Captain looked at his fellow countryman with a look that seemed a mixture of surprise and alarm, though with a brief glance towards the various people now beginning to crowd the ship quickly masked his feelings with a curt smile. "Please, my lord, let us speak in the local cant," he said in the common tongue. "Lest some may think we keep secrets."

"As to your generous offer, I will make certain to duly discuss it with Lord Yabu once we have returned." Shigeru briefly nodded, though he kept stealing glances towards Alfnierado as the man-creature moved onto the ship proper. "Assuming the sales quota he put forward is met within the month, we will return without delay. I already sent a small group of men to acquire provisions and tools for ship repair."

General

The ship slowly filled with all sorts of people interested in the wares these Ikokuans might hold. Most looked to be part of the upper class, dressed in fine silk and leather, studying the various things put on display: clothes of vastly different make than what one was used to around these parts, made from silk and hemp; light armor of expertly carved wood, extremely sharp swords with only a single edge right next to what at first sight appeared to be broadswords but which turned out to be flexible beyond anything commonly seen in Taelarys.

Of course, there was jewelry -- of green, black and even white jade, of silver and gold. Rings for both fingers and ears, bracelets and amulets. There were ceremonial items, such as highly artistic and stylized fans. It was a grand gathering of all sorts of goods, most exotic and strange, none cheap. Some people were already arguing, trying to push down prices to only be met with apologetic smiles and a polite, but firm rebuke. These merchant-sailors, with their guarded yet pleasant expressions, certainly were no pushovers.

"What! Seventy sovereigns for such a meager piece of silver! Outrageous!" A large and broad man, dressed in a motley of colorful lapses of taste, loudly proclaimed all of a sudden, pointing at a an intricate-looking brooch. "I'll have you know that you are speaking to Archibald Percival Theophrast, third seat of the Silver Boars! And I will not pay a copper more than forty! Insult me with a greater price, and I'll run you through, you thieving weasel!"

The man had his hand on the rapier he was carrying at his side, the grip of which looked to be coated in gold. The sailor he was speaking to, a rake-thin man with thin eyes and a recent scar across his right cheek, looked rather destitute. "Please, honored customer, calm yourself, it is not within my authority to-"

"Then GET me one with the authority! I am Archibald Percival Th-"

Feel free to jump in and interrupt him at this point, if you like. If no one takes it up, an NPC will in my next post.

Story Element - The Silver Boars

The Silver Boars are one of many merchant associations in Taelarys. They have a bad reputation for bullying and paying low wages. Its upper echelons count themselves among the wealthier citizens of the city who are in no way, shape or manner nobility, however.


======= END GM POST ========

All Aboard! - Epsilon Barracks, Xth of Bargenholt
Mikado

The Ikokuan glanced towards his cell-mate Elra briefly, then turned his attention towards the homunculus again. Taking in its very impressive sight, the man suddenly found himself glad that the creature was fairly civil. While he was confident in his own fighting ability, Mikado also knew his limits, and a confrontation with such a mechanical monstrosity with naught but mundane steel was not something he looked forward to.

"I saved her from an ignoble death, once, and restored her freedom to her." The Ikokuan was slightly annoyed that the homunculus had required specifics, but didn't let that disturb him. Clearly, this creature was not on the best terms with vague statements and implications. "She swore to repay me, and we have since been allies. I would see her as soon as possible."


14th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Eiko and Mikado

The Ikokuan prince kept his eyes closed and did not reply. At least, not immediately; just when the Tengu was about to add something, however, the man suddenly spoke in a calm, composed manner. "Most of them," he admitted, as he drew himself up from his lotus seat and finally opened his eyes.

Turning around to face Eiko, Mikado studied her briefly. He was wearing a loose silk robe accompanied by a pair of simple grey pants, to allow for easy and unrestrained movement. His instructions towards Eiko had been simple and straightforward, with little specifics -- to come here, for a training session.

"But you needn't be concerned with these weapons. They won't be needed today."

Shifting his posture abruptly, his black ponytail whipping around with the rush of his sudden movement, he placed one foot wide from the other, applying his weight for a good measure of stability.

"Attack me," he demanded, beckoning her with a wave of his hand.

[Starsign]

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

As Alf entered the apothecary, he tried to put on a genuinely charming mood to the woman. She seemed to take no mind to Alf's form... Which was a bit worrying for such a beautiful woman. Yet he didn't come on business for her looks. "Neither lotions or potions are my interest here today," he said in response, keeping himself as hidden as possible using his robe. "If I might ask, have you seen anyone arrive here recently, regardless of size or kind?" Roxanne could tell Alfnierado was not looking at her, but at the ground, looking for foot marks of some sort.

Of course of all things in the room, he did have his attention on one thing. "Must you hush the singing bottle as such? I was rather enjoying the tune." He spoke in his kind tone, but spoke a little colder than usual, clearly troubled by the burning of the blacksmith.

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

The creature of spiders nodded to Takeshi before taking out a potion of clear gold liquid inhabiting inside. "Alfnierado, or Alf if you would prefer the short form. He holds out the bottle to give to Takeshi. "This is a sample of alcohol I've made for you people to try in case you we're interested. I can show you around the rest of the city later... But I must warn, it is a... Uniquely dangerous place."

Alf then turned to the officer. "A pity you lack an apothecary. Would have been good to know if there is anyone specialized in Ikokuan medicine." He holds on for a moment before asking, "Now what kind of quota does your lord place in requirement? Would the ship being grounded for the previous time had caused a notable delay in your sales?"

As time goes on, he examines some of the clothing choices presented, eventually asking one of the officials, "May I ask your service in what would be the lightest-carrying silk outfits are sold here?" Alf had always preferred the light clothing, helps him stay on task without being burdened down by the weight of it. Of course the price would likely be hideous, but Alf wasn't all too worried on that. His needs that required gold we're only that to stay afloat in business at the Alchemist's College.

As Alf hears the obnoxiously loud person interrupt his conversation. The word "Silver Boars" filled Alf's spiders with a small dread. He wasn't keen on a member of that organization being on board today. "You need not say your name twice. Once is already enough to stench up the world," he irritatingly calls out on Percival. He kept with the normal kind tone however with the obvious irritation. The result was... Almost uncanny. "And I'd rather you not run anyone through on opening day."

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon


Takeshi nods at the Captain though says no more, returning to glance at the strange creature he had somehow come into amiable contact with.

"Oh? Well, I am one for drinking yes. Thank you greatly Honored Alf. You are in luck however, for though they do not have an apothacary I myself am as I have said quite well. I have taken a walk through one of your shopping districts but any assistance would be much appreciated Honored Alf. Perhaps you can show me where..."

He trails off at the loud commotion, stepping forward into the fray alongside Alf.

"Perhaps I am not one with such authority to change the prices on this ship but perhaps you have not heard who -I- am. I am Lord Izayoi Takeshi, Second to Master Feng Shi Hung, Grand Nephew of Guan Sue Hei. It would be most unbecoming to make a fool of oneself to potential allies in trade, would you not agree Gwai Louh? I am sure there are many other who would be more than willing to pay five hundred of your gold for such a fine piece of silver. Do you not know that brooch was hand crafted in Changhai, my home city? Look there at the crest! You would be making a steal with five hundred of your gold. We do not wish conflict, and certainly the city would not like such either. This would get back to the Emperor himself, a ji sih gwai louh insulting the fine Pearl."

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl, Early Afternoon
Aesthes

Drifting closer, Aesthes watched the conflict from a little ways away, pretending to survey the wares. However, anyone noticing the cowled and cloaked one wouldn't be hard pressed to notice that he was watching the conflict, and standing only a little way away himself.

[Jade_Tarem]

All Aboard

Raina - Infirmary

Cophi mumbles something about how she's very sorry that she stayed out past bedtime and that it won't happen again, but someone named "Halesche" was really cute and might be into her. The construct glances at the semi-conscious elf. "She is still suffering from the effects of a concussion," the machine croaks, "it is unlikely that she is aware of what anyone is saying, least of all herself."

It tromps toward the center of the room, examining the three within without even touching them - and yet Raina gets the feeling that it might be performing a more in-depth examination than any doctor she's yet seen. "I can understand your alarm. Durium, for all of its virtues, stains easily and the stains can never be removed. Naturally a surgeon made of it quickly takes on a nightmarish appearance, but I assure you that I am not only disinclined to cause physical harm, but have not injured anyone in over seven hundred years." The eyes flare out of sequence when it turns its gaze to Raina. "You seem to have recovered well. You were hit by debris when the boiler exploded, but no permanent harm was done. Reduce your usual physical activities, and try to avoid excessive bending, and you should have a speedy recovery."

As it continues its scan of the room, something near Captain Anaya appears to grab its attention. "What's this?" The figure clanks over to the pile of gear near the still form of the Legionnaire, picking up the sword and examining it carefully even as another plume of steam whistled out from its back. "Hrm... one of the Family's alright. I'll be returning this to the vault." Clutching the weapon in its lower hands, the automaton taps its non-chin with one of the other hands. "Well, you're clearly still trying to get acclimated, so I'll get out of your hair. It is my duty to remind you that this room is monitored for medical and security purposes. Please be on your best behavior. Do you have any questions?"

Mikado - Worker Dormitories

"Hrmm..." The hulking homunculus tries to scratch its chin, but the shape of the construct's helmet-like head causes the hand to pass through air. The thing appears surprised, the brow-ridges on the helmet shooting up. It would be comical if not for the situation. "Nrgh. Still not used to that after centuries. Well, it may be possible for you to meet Miss Kilnmyr, but the Keeper has questions for her too, so there may be a delay. In the meantime, it would be best if you remain here, and remain calm. A meal will be brought to you shortly. Do you have any other questions?"

"What are you planning to do with us?" Elra asks. "Why hold everyone like this?"

"I have no idea. The Keeper ordered it, and it's really hard to argue with the Keeper."

"Who is the Keeper?"

"That I will not tell you. Is there anything else?"

Anselme - Orchard 2

The machine nods. "Very well. In any event, it will be impossible for you to depart for the next twelve hours - not by choice, but because it is physically infeasible for you to leave before then. After that, however... the timetable and plans all depend on decisions and results that are not yet available. Please be patient."

It hesitates. "And speaking of patients... the white-haired elf is awake. I can direct you to her now, if you wish. And out of curiosity... where is your book?"

#############################

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, the Whodunit

"Sounds lovely." Claye says, grin returning. "In fact, you read it since neither of us can - Ah'm happy to look over yer shoulder at the pictures." Claye hoped Raina would play along. Trust but verify, her grandfather used to tell her. It would be interesting to see what the Rhetizian did with the alleged ignorance of her two guests... and if she saw through the lie, that was information too.

23rd of Bargenholt, Late Morning, the Vale

Annah bounces off to the back of the shop. There is indeed a fine collection of colors, and it isn't as though Master didn't have the money to spend.

Her eyes settled on a fantastic ensemble - reds and golds reversible into blacks and grays. Perfect for work or play...

[VonDoom]

All Aboard
Mikado - Worker Dormitories

The Ikokuan gave Elra a curious look as she posed her questions, though currently he was far more concerned with the homunculus in their room. He had read some of the legends about these creatures in one of the many tomes on Taelarys he had consumed during his time as the Dragon Emperor, one amongst which had noted that they were the creation of vile magics that bound one's soul into the eternal prison of a golem-like construct, to serve without question or choice, and suffer until the end of time.

Looking at the creature, these claims were perhaps slightly exaggerated, but it did give the impression of at least part of it being true.

"Yes," Mikado suddenly piped up, rather loathe to let the creature leave too quickly. There was no way to know that they wouldn't be locked in here for weeks, months or even years, after all. "I would request an audience with this Keeper of yours."

[Kasanip]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Alf

As Alf chatted with the woman, he began to get the strange feeling that it wasn't just his looks that horrified her. "Well then our first step would be to find links in this murder. Has this been the first time someone was burned like so?" Alf was quite unsure what it was like to be burned in such a manner. Naturally he wouldn't want to find out.

"I will assure you my form is not contagious nor dangerous to be near of. Just do not try to attack me, I do not take that very well." He observed Eris again before responding, "I was never created actually. I was once a man, a regrettable, unwilling transformation I went through turned me into this. Eldritch magic has that effect." He snaps his arms back into one piece.


21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Eris

Eris shook her head. It was unbelievable. If it was a human who unfortunately became like this... Alchemists would always be evil. Sorcerers could change. Sorcerers were born with power. But alchemists only desired to achieve power. And to make horrors like this is unforgivable.
Maybe the spiderman was lying. But it was easy to believe alchemists would do this. Probably it was true. Eris lowered her arms.
"I will believe you for now. But don't let your spiders around." Eris said.
She thought about the body. "Yes, but there are some rumors about murders and ghosts recently too. Murders happen too often in this city. I recently haven't been here for long. But it is the first time. If there are more incident of burning, of course it can be connected quickly."
Eris looked at the spiderman with suspicious eyes. "Are you planning to search for the pyro-murderer?"

[Mono Vertigo]

14th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Eiko and Mikado

Most of them? She expected no less from such a man. How pleasant.
And yet, she was even more satisfied by her own skills. Sure, she didn't know how to use a sword optimally, but that didn't matter when she could just take a chair, a table, a bottle or anything else to defend herself. No need for a prepared weapon; anything could make a decent one.
There were no such tools here however. Nothing to use but her own, hard knuckles. Eiko was fairly confident it would be enough, though. Fists were more than enough once the most vulnerable points were known: the neck, the eyes, and the groin.
Mikado, she thought, was disadvantaged there, but he wasn't stupid. He must have something in mind. What exactly? Not important. “Heh. As you wish, sir”, she replied with a soft chuckle, not entirely confident in his abilities.
She was in her favourite, casual outfit, something that, unlike her formal uniform, minimized hindrance, mirroring her employer's own in function but not form. Her wings instinctively folded firmly against her back, and she went to throw a punch right in the middle of his chest.

[Nefarion Xid]

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

"The voice if for sale. Of course, I doubt there's anything you'd be willing to part with that would pay the price. It's my favorite. They say only angels sing like that. But, they say a lot of things..."

Her bright sapphire eyes had been drifting mischievously higher all the while she spoke. They snapped back towards Alf's face (or as much of it as she could see) abruptly, the entire room growing dark in comparison. Radiant, but heartbreaking -- her eyes had seen too much over her life or saw now what they ought not. There was caprice there, pain and sorrow as well. For a moment, her sadness was palpable, sadness for the world, for the creature before her and most of all for herself.

Whisking away with a swish of ruby hair, she turned to the window and the gloom was suddenly lifted.

"You're asking me if anyone has been in my shop? Bien sur," she quipped, "But if you're looking for someone in particular, I'm going to need a little more of a description."

???
Anselme - Orchard 2

Picking himself off the ground, Anselme nodded towards the homunculus, entreating it to take him to Raina as promised.

He laughed wryly and smiled at the thing, musing, "If you were in possession of such a book... would you travel with it? Hell of a thing to explain to customs officers, don't you think?"

His laughter quickly turned dark. "You're still not sure if I am, are you? Well, I'll tell you for a price..."

[the_druid_droid]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Revin

Stepping lightly aboard ship, Revin began to wander around the deck, quickly taking stock of the opulent, and very expensive, Ikokuan wares. Certainly, there were some fine things to be had, and he had to admit to a certain trouble in tearing his gaze from the expert craftsmanship of the graceful foreign swords, although his willpower was decidedly strengthened by the look he imagined Tarin wearing upon hearing how much his shiny new blade had cost.

Unfortunately, nothing in sight above deck quite measured up to the stories that had sent him to the docks in the first place, in search of the most exotic - and possibly illicit - luxuries available. There had been rumors of entirely unknown drugs aboard ship, or perhaps even magical relics lurking in The Pearl’s hold - those were the sorts of things his employers would truly be interested in. Of course, just because he didn’t see them on deck didn’t mean they were non-existent; Revin’s time spent in the shadows of Taelarys had taught him that there was almost always a back room where such things were kept, although the real trick on this boatful of foreigners would be getting access to it...

With his preliminary survey of the ship completed and his objective firmly settled, the spy made good use of the sudden clamor produced by a pompous representative of the Silver Boars to discreetly approach a nearby deckhand. Catching the man’s eye, Revin began down what he hoped would be a productive avenue of inquiry. “It’s quite the selection you have here,” the spymaster began, “but for such a long journey I’m a bit surprised I don’t see anything more - surely the trip was very expensive to fund.”

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Library

With a smile that failed to touch her eyes, Azlian pushed off from the Library door and moved to take the book from Claye.

"Of course, Ms. Kilnmyr. Thought I'm surprised you don't speak our language - you certainly spent enough time with us to pick up the basics."

Azlian flashed a perfect, predatory grin at Claye before turning her attention fully to the book. Gripping its weathered edge, she opened it with a dull thud, and quickly began scanning the compact, spidery script.

"It won't have been a common poison - Hieronymous would have been inoculated against those. It had no scent, and if it had flavored the wine he would never have passed the goblet to Ms. Kilnmyr. That leaves a very select family of toxins to work with."

Dozens of pages flashed in an instant as Azlian flicked past them with practiced fingers, only stopping when she reached the last section of the book.

"The poisons of the masters. These are the rarest venoms we know of, and if our target is anywhere it is here."

A page was turned, then another, and with each Claye and Raina were treated to another dispassionate description of agonizing death. They saw a root whose tea would drive a man mad, a root from the far north that when properly aged would freeze a victim from the inside out, a silk worm that produced fabric that liquidated skin with a touch. Then, finally, Azlian's fingers stopped on a sketch of a twining, jagged-thorned rose. A rose, Claye saw, that only grew in soil corrupted by exposure to the Nether.

"Void Rose. The sap steals the breath from everything in the body - lungs, blood, brain. There is no antidote, no antivenom. Someone went to great lengths to kill our beloved Hieronymous. I have only ever known a handful of Mirzan masters that would be willing to use it, but that makes no sense! This is a weapon of vengeance, a poison to visit one of the worst deaths imaginable upon one's most hated foe, but Mirzan had nothing to gain from Hieronymous' death beyond a slight insult to Rastrim."

Azlian's eyes left the book and flashed between Claye and Raina.

"There is something more at play tonight than a simple murder."

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

As Anselme sat down before him, a slip of Golleon's fingers snapped one of the strings of his lyre with a high-pitched twang. The group of ladies around him sighed unhappily at the newest development, and a few even shot Anselme reproachful looks. But for every look of disapproval there was a sparkling pair of golden eyes that seemed to take great interest in the dashing stranger. Seeing his audience slipping from him, Golleon coughed.

"Ladies, I wonder if you might grant me a moment of privacy?"

With murmurs of unhappy acceptance, the women moved towards the various couches scattered around the room, leaving Anselme and Golleon in relative seclusion. Once again, the bard cleared his throat, before putting on an attempt at a charming smile.

"Ah, sir, surely you have dealt with the machinations of jealous rivals and protective fathers before?"

Golleon gave Anselme a wink that suggested they shared some delightful secret.

"But I assure you sir, while I am no stranger to violence I had nothing to do with tonight's tragedy."

[VonDoom]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
=================================

The mighty girth of Archibald Percival Theophrast, third seat of the Silver Boars, turned around in a huff, the man's face heated with anger as he looked at the scoundrel who dared interfere with his masterful haggling (which, some might contest, consisted more of heated threats and bullying, but Archibald had always dismissed such wild claims as poppycock, skilled conversationalist that he was).

"You better hold your tongue, sir, if you care to keep it! I'll not brook your insults!" He pointed a sausage of a finger at Takeshi. "And I'll thank you not to spout that foreign gibberish at me! I know what silverwork is worth, I know -- or else my name isn't Archibald Percival Theophrast!"

As he went on about this matter, some might get the impression that the merchant was rather fond of his own name.

Sneering at those two interlopers, the gallantly dressed Archibald began to squint at Alfnierdo, his slightly yellow-tinted eyes straining to study the alchemist's face. "Faugh! Go wash your face, man, it's black as soot!"

Meanwhile, a little off to the side and now quite comfortably away from the prying eyes of the many visitors browsing wares all over the deck, a young sailor looked up at Revin. The man sported the skin shade of his fellow countrymen, hollow cheeks like most of the crew, and a freshly shorn head. "My lord," he began with a bow and a greeting, stumbling over the foreign tongue with some difficulty.

"The wares are only for sale on deck," he offered, trying his best to explain in a coherent structure. "The Captain, he will go meet ... lords and powerful merchants ... sell spices." The last word took some thinking and he didn't look quite sure of it, but nodded happily enough when he got it out.

Please make a Perception roll for Revin. If the result is 4+, he will realize that the man wanted to add something, but either thought better of it or didn't know how to say it. If it's 6+, he'll know it's more the former.

========END GM POST=========

[Starsign]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Alf and Eris

Alf looked at the child with curiosity. He obviously didn't tell the whole story about him and she took what she could from what he told her. The creature of spiders nodded at Eris, "Of course I plan to search for the pyro-murdering madman that caused this. I'd rather not have him, her, it, or whatever continue with such a.... Hobby." The last word of his sentence was said with an obvious tone of mockery and disgust.

He switches to his more kinder tone almost immediately after."Now then let us get off my case for now and head our separate ways for the moment if we have no other leads." He gives a light bow before asking once more, "...Unless you might have something you wish to ask or let me know of. Any sort of possible advice would be wonderful." He holds on a bit more before the temptation to leave begins to kick in.

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Alf has sighed a little at the Silver Boar representative. Dealing with blokes such as this one was never enjoyable. Still, even if Alf had wanted to scream and fly into a fury, (something he hadn't done in forever) he knew it would make a bad impression, and be completely impractical in the process. "Wash my face? I must apologize sir, but this is a permanent effect. Of course this situation isn't about me..." He pulls out another potion from his belt, this one a colorless, clear liquid, and gives it to Percival. "Please now, we need no excuse for two people to fight. Please, have something to drink. I can see to about your issue in the meantime. Complaining about it only makes one thirsty." Whatever that liquid was, Alf's face wasn't telling anything.

This is indeed a potion of Alchemist's Fire Inferno Liquid I am asking Percival to drink. The basic idea of the potion is an alcohol mixed with a chemical so that the liquid instantly burns and goes up in flames in the presence of saliva. This is a diluted mixture though, it won't so much as kill as it will give you a nasty mouth burn (and heartburn if one decides to swallow it). The effects kick in VERY fast so swallowing even small parts of it is unlikely. Goes well with milk :smalltongue:

This will probably require a roll I can imagine. Because this involves an alchemical potion he made, I believe Alf's Alchemical Knowledge comes in play [roll0] If Alf's Inscrutable also comes in play, add +2 to the roll, not sure if it does though. :smallredface:

EDIT: Oh man that's not a good roll :smalleek:

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Alf holds on a bit before he responds. He could tell the tone of sorrow and pain in her voice. Yet as much as he wanted to try and be soothing in response, he wasn't interested in trying to get all emotional when one of his customers had already been killed. "People say many things. I wouldn't be interested in paying if it is too expensive, or if it is too important to you." Alf took a couple steps into the store, calmly but carefully.

"Now then... I wouldn't know exactly what the person looks like... But would you happen to have met anyone with burn marks that they leave behind on their feet? The person came from the blacksmith's place." He decided not to mention the state of his customer's place, though he wouldn't have been surprised if Roxanne already knew.

Eventually, after awhile, Alf tries a suave move. "Tell me now, do you enjoy hiding the mood with your cute smile?" Of course with his form and kind tone, it could have easily come off as creepy instead of suave.

[Kasanip]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Eris

The child looked like she was thinking about something very hard.

Eris was thinking the thoughts of At least the spiderman is not so bad in character. If he was truly investigating, then it was a good thing. The alchemists would be in trouble. That was another revenge to make a plan about. Though now she was in Ostrim again, it would be difficult. If she attacked the alchemists again, somehow it would probably just repeat history. Eris grimaced. She would think about a plan later. The pyro-murderer was first important.

"Advice?" Eris made a little laugh. It was a funny thought for a spiderman to ask a child for advice. Probably he was just patronizing her. Suddenly, the man who was approaching finally did come close enough to grab Eris' hand and start to pull her away.
"Let's go, child! Get away from that monster!" He said gruffly. Eris was pulled away sharply, and she struggled to make a graceful retreat. She looked over her shoulder and called out to Alf.

"Buy a disguise! And something fire resistant!"

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

Takeshi scoffs loudly, shaking his head at the loud and boisterous westernern.

"I hope not all of you gwai Louh are so foul mouthed and presumptuous or I fear that any attempts to trade with you will result in great difficulties. May you live in interesting times fei lo. I have other things to do with my time. Captain if you'd please show me to your hold? Perhaps Master Alf would like to come with me so he as well may be out of sight of this ji sih."

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Late Morning
The Vale

Turel chuckled in the waiting area as Elizabeth and Annah swept into the changing room, leaving the tailor blinking furiously in the middle of her shop. A string of vile expletives from a carriage outside shocked the woman out of her stupor, causing her to harumph vigorously before approaching the strange, grinning man in one of her best chairs.

"Excuse me, sir? Are you sure you want the leave the ladies alone in the back room? My dresses are not cheap..."

The transformation on Turel's face was a subtle one, barely more than the tightening of some muscles, the sharpening of his gaze, but as his eyes turned on the woman a chill went through her deeper than any she'd felt before. The purple in his irises danced in the light like fire, but his pupils were black, cold - icy mirrors that seemed to devour her. He held her unblinking as the seconds passed, until a whisper cut to her heart.

"You will show them every courtesy. I will pay your petty bill, but question my means again and I will extract a far greater payment from you than coin."

Turel looked away, the pall lifting from the tailor as soon as his unholy eyes released her. She coughed in the sudden chill, the sunlight streaming through the windows far dimmer and colder than it had been moments before, before fleeing to the back of the shop.

"How are the ladies enjoying the dresses?"

23rd of Bargenholt
Noon
The Sunlit Rose

People moved through Exentia street, going through the pleasantries of privileged life in the Gilded District with little thought given to the troubles of the lower districts. On one particular crossroads of that prestigious boulevard sat the Sunlit Rose, a coffee shop renowned for its sumptuous lemon pastries and peerless service. Passing by, one would have given little thought to the crowd gathered there for lunch, payed no attention whatsoever to the small family seated in a corner table bathed in sunlight. But had one passed that table, one would have passed under the eyes of monsters.

Cradling a steaming cup of darkest coffee in his fingers, Turel gave it a slight sip as he appreciated the delicate profusion of color clinging to the body of his beloved. Placing the cup deliberately into a thin saucer, Turel steepled his fingers as Annah nibbled on a lemon cake.

"I do hope you're pleased with the new dresses, darling. The woman was so very anxious to please you."

Behind his fingers, a cruel smile quirked at the corners of Turel's mouth.

"However, in case we encounter someone less helpful we should ensure that you can control your marvelous powers. Could you, perhaps..."

Turel's eyes left Elizabeth, scanning the crowd of smiling faces on the terrace. Eventually, his gaze settled on an ancient looking woman whose weathered face showed no sign of joy at the brightness of the day. Indeed, every line seemed set to bring misery on those around her, as the faces of her servers attested.

"Could you perhaps deprive that woman of her breath? I imagine it will improve everyone's day immensely."

[hi-mi-tsu]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Library

Raina's eyes narrow, a little, inherently distrustful of a woman who knows so much about poisons. She has no reason to be trustful of Azlian, who had discovered them snooping; for all she knew, this woman was the one who had murdered Hieronymous, and was only attempting to draw them into a false sense of security before doing the same to the both of them.

Not for the first time, she cursed this flimsy dress and its inability to hide any sort of weapon whatsoever--in her mind, of course. It wouldn't do to be cursing aloud.

"You seem to have known exactly where to look...and not only where to look, within the 'select few' potions that would kill the man, but exactly which of these few it was. I know that your people are practiced in this sort of craft, but...how can you be sure that this 'Void Rose'? How can you be sure that the effects you described are exactly what killed him? Limiting your response to this one thing will limit your suspects, it is true...but it might limit them too far."

(Responses to everything else to come a little later!)

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Library

Azlian leveled a cool look at Raina, eyes flicking to Claye with a quirk in her lips that suggested they shared a secret, some knowledge that Raina lacked.

"I realize that you may be unfamiliar with Rhetizian politics, Madam Nessiel, but I studied this tome for years in my adolescence. I could list a dozen toxins that would kill an Eladrin and leave no more trace than a heart attack. So could any noble Rhetizian worth the title, and Hieronymous may have grown old in Taelarys but he kept to the old ways. For a poison to have bypassed his precautions and gone unnoticed until it began to take effect it would have needed to be a very special toxin. Such toxins are grouped in one section of the Theses, a section shrouded in warnings and forbidden to neophytes. That, my dear, is how I knew where to find the venom that killed Hieronymous. But if none of that is enough to convince you, let me assure you that my affections for Ghedim would prevent me from engaging in such an obscene display. Poison isn't my style anyway."

With a flick of her wrist, a slim dagger appeared in Azlian's hand. For a moment, she juggled it between her fingers before sending it flying behind her with a casual flick that embedded it in the wall.

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

While Anselme questioned Golleon, his gaze seemed almost to drift towards the corner where Hieronymous' servant sat huddled, tending his bleeding nose. But while the man still wept, his eyes were fixed on Anselme, and the one-eyed man could discern a flicker of concern behind the teary eyes. His attention piqued, Anselme's nostrils quirked as he caught a faint scent coming from the corner, the smell of darkness and despair nearly faded away in the warm air of the drawing room.

Meanwhile, though Amandre remained distraced by the pair of vengeance seeking noblemen, Mikado also discerned Hironymous' servant's close observation of Anselme, and though the angle was wrong for him to catch sight of his eyes Mikado's training allowed him to discern a tensing in the man's neck, an intensity that spoke to great stress poorly concealed.

[Jade_Tarem]

All Aboard!

Anselme - Orchard 2

The construct tilts its head fractionally. "There are many degrees of 'certainty.' For now, I am certain enough that I do not need to barter for additional information at this time." It pauses for a moment, its mind literally far away. "The white-haired elf is ready for visitors. She reacted poorly to our physician - perhaps you will do better. This way."

Mikado - Worker Dormitories

The hulking construct nods. "As you wish. An audience can be held immediately, though the Keeper may not give you its full attention." With that, the large homunculus backs out of the room - and with only the shortest delay, his place is taken by a smaller, somewhat less intimidating construct - besides the change in size, the most notable difference in appearance is the head, which has exchanged the Legionnaire's helmet for a blank metal mask, with dully glowing red eyes instead of the brighter flare of the larger machine's.
"Your needs are being seen to. What do you want?" It asks, flatly.

################################################

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, The Whodunit

Claye raises an eyebrow at the dagger. "Eh... Ah once saw a gal from Ikoku kick a man's teeth out the back of his head. You'll have to do better if yeh want t' top that." She walks over to the tome and looks at the entry for Void Rose. Netherworld Exposure...

She speaks without looking up. "To answer yer question more directly, Miss Nessiel, there's a continual Shadow War goin' on at all times among the noble families of Rhetiz, an' each family has a preferred Method of Operation. The Rastrim family uses up-close bladework - that's the family our host belongs to, by the way. The Sudel family prefers to snipe unsuspectin' targets - there's a reason the embassy doesn't have many windows. An' then there's the Mirzan family, who use poison. An' these styles are useless in this scenario." Claye finally looks up. "Because there's a subtle difference between murder and the continuation of the Shadow War. As Anselme said, Embassies are supposed to be no-kill zones."

"An' if you're goin' t' break social etiquette an' do it anyway, yeh might as well use another family's trademark - unless yeh user yer own to throw off people thinkin' the same way. Wheels within wheels thinkin' predominates. For instance: Ah know that Ah can speak an' read Rhetizian, an she knew that, an Ah knew that she knew that, but we both let the lie slide to see how the other would react. The facade - what gets said, what gets done - isn't important... it's the details that have the real information." Clay grins. "An' now Ah know that you know why Ah left Rhetiz as soon as Ah could." The machinist thinks for a moment before gesturing to Azlian. "So when she says that the specific poison is important, she's right - Ah'm almost inclined to think that none of the actual Rhetizians here did it."

She looks at Azlian directly. "Because there's another reason why someone would use Void Rose. Fun an' profit. Or, as my grandfather might say, 's***s an' giggles.' It's easy t' forget that we're not alone in the world, an some of the creatures from other worlds like to cause pain just 'cause they can. What're the odds that there's an actual creature from the Nether here...?"

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room
Anselme aside with Golleon

Anselme's eye became stoney. Understanding and compassion hardened to something utterly cold and calculating. It was the look of a man who knows his hand cannot be bested, just before he turns over his cards. There was a brief shimmer of emerald fire behind his eye and his smile widened cruelly until one too-long tooth slipped over his lip. Leaning in with predatory mischief, he whispered to the man, "No, you had no hand in this."

He pushed away from his chair swiftly, virtually leaving Golleon hanging on the edge of his as if he were about to divulge a great secret or else damn him. The same mad eye fell on the sniveling servant and he took a great demanding step forward.

"May I help you?" he nearly shouted. His nostrils flared, but not in anger. Again he drew in the familiar acrid scent and drew nearer.

"Why do you look at me that way? You've been cutting glances at me all night. Tell me why!""

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Roxanne demurely hid her bemused smile with the back of her hand. "I hide many things. You don't want to know what's beneath the surface."

That line of thought was over instantly. Snatching up a smokey colored vial in a wink from the shelf behind her, she toyed with the stopper and gave brief consideration to Alf's request. "You mean you're looking for a man tracking ash? Just how far do you think that would leave tracks anyway? Ecoutes, if you're looking for an arsonist, just say so. Arsonists I can find. Men with dirty boots? Not so much!"

[daelrog]

11th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Tarin and Sevran

“That’s a dangerous bet, Tarin.” Sevran chuckled, genuinely. “I take it back. You’re nothing like my father. I can actually hold a conversation with you.”

Sevran had little else to speak of, at least anything important. A few family names and their respective illnesses, a few names of places in the Grey District where he like to hang out. The name of his personal dealer of the Dream, the narcotic he was hooked upon. The drug was actually only addictive psychologically, but to the noble, it seemed a better alternative to drinking himself into that much of a stupor. The Dream was quicker.

The Inquisitor could add one more feat to his reputation, the first man to hold a pleasant conversation with a sober and lucid Sevran d’Morn.

All Aboard!
??? of Bargenholt

It's at that moment that the far door opens, and in walks a homunculus, but not as Sevran has ever seen one. The thing towers over him, easily eight feet high, and stands with a military straightness that will never be replicated so perfectly by a mortal creature. The proportions on the body are perfect, and the spotless durium plating is detailed beautifully. Steam hisses up from somewhere behind it. The head is the most intriguing feature, though - shaped as a decent enough representation of a bald human head, the face actually moves, the metal appearing to be alive, and the thing speaks with a heavy Lodarian accent. "Well met, lord-commander. For our records, could you please give me your names?" It turns to Sevran first...

Sevran walks up, and tilts his head straight up. “Sevran Glavus Tarsere d’Morn, fourth in line to secede the Lordship of the Major House. Tell your masters, you know, the ones that have souls, that I’d like my freedom. At the convenience of course.” He gave a shallow bow, and stepped back. He was guessing it would be a long stay.

[VonDoom]

====== THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
=================================

"Drink?!," the merchant questioned with his loud, brash voice, looking at the alchemist as if the man had just made a claim most outrageous. "First you insult me, then offer me drink! Away with you, supplicant! I've had enough of this!"

With an angry huff, the tall Archibald turned his gaze towards the much smaller, both in height and girth, Ikokuan crewman. His gaze was harsh and filled with loathing, as a mighty boar might feel for a small piglet trying to challenge him. "Enough of this charade! I'll see to it that no Silver Boar spends even a single Sovereign for your overpriced dross!"

With a surprisingly speedy gait, the disruptive element of Archibald Percival Theophrast quickly removed itself from the ship, paying no heed to any protests as he shoved his form through the crowd and, finally, off the Pearl.

It was a good thing that he hadn't even bothered to take a closer look at Alfnierdo, lest further trouble might be on the horizon. Not only did the man move swiftly and without the effort one might expect from someone of his proportions, but as the Third Seat of the Silver Boards his financial mettle and influence was hardly anything to sneeze at.

Losing any potential business with the Silver Boars (and, as was their wont, likely proclaiming it so to force others to adopt the same stance) wouldn't mean disaster for the Pearl, as there were many rich lords and other merchant groups, but they certainly would have sold their goods in a more expedite manner had the man not been so alienated.

---

The Captain, throughout this entire exchange, had been quite distracted by a local woman. Fairly tall, she was quite the beauty, though cool and severe-looking; prominent cheekbones, golden hair tied into a bun, and clothes that gave her the appearance of a scholar. She had apparently developed a strange fascination for Ikokuan swordmanship and Shigeru had quite happily demonstrated a few sword strikes for her a little further away from the main crowd, showing off the rather flashy fighting style the man practiced -- a style that involved a lot of feints and fast bursts of movement.

Still, once he returned, he nodded compliantly towards Takeru and raised his hand towards the door leading below deck.

---

Apparently, it was time for a change of guard. Three of the six men assigned to the Pearl turned away and briskly walked off, halberds in hand. The remaining watchmen continued to survey the deck with stern expressions.

=========END GM POST==========

14th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Eiko and Mikado

Mikado's eyes narrowed as he quickly twisted his thin frame to the side, instantly taking a step closer to Eiko in a burst of sudden movement. His fingers twisted in a claw-like manner, uncomfortably close to the Tengu's throat for a moment before they suddenly relaxed again, with the man they belonged to drawing back from his sparring partner.

"Little hesitation," he noted. "Good. But your form is lacking."

Once again the Ikokuan took the same stance he had before, his brown eyes strangely reminiscent of an eagle as he firmly gazed into Eiko's own.

"Again," the master of the house called.

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, The Whodunit
Mikado

The Ikokuan visitor returned their stare with a stern gaze of his own, recognizing the look on their faces for what it was. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as Jalyn and Tilyn turned their attention away from him, almond-colored twin orbs showing nothing more than precisely measured indifference. A smile worked its way up to the former Dragon Emperor's lips, cold and entirely without any mirth to it as he walked towards one of the corners of the room, leaning against a close-by column. For some odd reason, Mikado looked very satisfied with his position there, now, keeping the entire room within his sight.

Too long, he thought. It had been too long since he had suffered such a dismissal. Any blade would go blunt if not sharpened against a wetstone, and success had come entirely too easy for him in this place. The way these two Rhetizian gentlemen had looked at Mikado reminded him.

I ought to thank them later, Mikado mused. He was not a petty man, but it would certainly add a measure of satisfaction to it when he inevitably would seek to take what made these two the most wealthy Rhetizians in Taelarys.

Idly, the black-haired man listened to the conversation Anselme had with this Golleon. He wasn't too interested, but while the evening lasted it might prove interesting. Plus, the rogue he had recently rescued from a wet grave was an amusing enough fellow, if perhaps a little too charming for his own good.

Truthfully, Mikado cared little that this Hieronymus had died. He had no aspirations of acting the investigator, but the strange way that one particular servant was acting caught his attention, the strange way he conducted himself and kept tensing up when, by all rights, the danger for him should have been over with a little pain. The Taelaryan custom of not laying the blame on unwitting servants ought to prove protection enough to reassure him of that, if that was all there was to it.

The Ikokuan drew himself from his current position, quietly stepping towards the servant; his cane easily held up in his hand, revealing that it was mere ornament and not necessity.

As Mikado came to stand right behind the servant, he acknowledged Anselme merely with a knowing look as the one-eyed scoundrel made a spectacle of catching the bleeding serf's attention. No word left his mouth, though. If the servant hadn't noticed his approach already, a silent watcher he would remain. The well-dressed foreigner wanted to see how things played out, this time, from close up.

All Aboard!
??? of Bargenholt
Mikado - Worker Dormitories

The Ikokuan inclined his head towards the side as he sat on the bed, folding his hands neatly together as he examined the new homunculus that had appeared before them. Either these creatures were far more efficient than he had thought, this Keeper far less occupied than one might assume, or something else was going on here. The nondescript, blank appearance of the creature added to that expression -- would a construct made to lead such an army of artificial men not look more intricate, more ceremonial? Unless the being standing before him was merely a proxy, or one of many. The name Keeper suggested that it kept whatever this place was and likely saw that everything was in an agreeable state. Assuming that this structure they were currently imprisoned in was a grand and large one, it would need many, many bodies to keep it.

Plus, there was that cryptic remark. 'The keeper may not give you its full attention'. Yet now, it was standing before him, red glowing eyes fixated upon his form, which, by all accounts, most would assume to indicate that they could call the subject of the remark their own.

"A timeframe," Mikado offered after a brief moment of hesitation. "If I am to suffer this imprisonment quietly, I will know how long you intend to keep us. As you may have noticed, we lack the luxury of an unaging physical form."

Something that he'd have to remedy at some point, while he was still in his prime. But Mikado certainly had no aspirations to the particular form of immortality the Homunculi enjoyed. He liked tactile sensations and was loath to give them up for cold machinery anytime soon.

Whatever their intentions for them, he would have to count on his servants to look for him if their current situation didn't change soon. Eiko knew where he had planned to be, and with some luck she would trace the train and its passing once she found out that it had disappeared.

[Starsign]

21th of Bargenholt
Markets
Morning
Alf and Eris

Alf looks in perplexity as Eris takes off. He whispers to himself quietly, "Is a disguise really needed?" He figured though that it would be best to bring a couple potions of fire resistance. If he'd be dealing with a pyromaniac, he would need to be all set for it. Alf decides to leave as well before he attracted any more attention.

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Alf watches in satisfaction as Percival barges off. "Well, worked out either way. I doubt he should be bothering with you people again." Depending on the kind of goods, Alf doesn't always get along with them, the Silver Boars being quite the example. Alf turns back to Takeshi, "Back on the original topic, what sort of goods would happen to be here? I wish for Ikokuan's lightest silk clothing for purchase." He puts the potion he took out back away in the meantime.

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Alf holds off from responding for the moment. He was suspicious that Miss Roxanne had her own agenda in this, but the lack of knowledge meant that he had no right to call out on it. "...Yes I am looking for an arsonist," he responds seriously. "The arsonist just recently burned down a blacksmith's place, one of my customers in fact." Alf had the feeling that he would be asked about his interest in it, he might as well mention it now. "This has, of course, not been the first time someone has died of burning, but whoever is doing this is making it very personal for me now." As he says this, Roxanne can notice numerous red dots begin glowing on his body.

[the_druid_droid]

11th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Tarin and Sevran

As his guest spoke, Tarin inclined his head slightly and smiled; the admission was likely the closest thing to a compliment he would receive from Sevran d’Morn. Satisfied that his suggestions had been considered and his work complete, the Inquisitor finished his dinner and desert, chatting politely about family, health, the city and its vices with his unusually sober guest.

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Revin

Well, that was spectacularly unhelpful The thought made the spy want to grimace, but he reigned in the urge and instead offered a half-nod, half-bow in poor approximation of Ikokuan courtesy as the foreign sailor finished explaining the absence of additional merchandise belowdecks. Making inquiries of the deckhands had been a calculated risk, and this time it hadn’t paid off; there was of course a chance that he might learn something more if he could talk to an officer of higher standing, but considering that he was practically a non-entity - the result of both practical and professional expediencies - any sort of private audience was unlikely unless he began to name-drop.

On the other hand, he might be able to learn something from the other customers present aboard the ship, and even if The Pearl was clean of contraband he might at least salvage the morning's trip by finding out something about the bizarre dockside murders. Marshaling what little optimism existed in his cynical soul, Revin began to survey his fellow bargain-hunters, looking for someone that might prove knowledgeable - or at the least, amusing to talk with.

OOC - If any other players want to talk with Revin, I'm open for interaction; alternatively one of VonDoom's NPC's could approach for another try at learning about the docks and/or the ship, or perhaps some other discussion, depending on what sort of events might be planned.

[Swordslinger]

All Aboard
Train, Epsilon Barracks, Xth of Bargenholt
Amandre

He kneeling by and looked past the door. A security check point, if he could get past it security at the rest of the facility would probably be lighter. The distance was quite long, but he should be able to jump past the checkpoint, he tried to study the hallways past the checkpoint, he thought he saw some cover over there. Some boxes and equipment that would cast a shadow behind them. It would be enough. He looked around him, no shadows in the immediate area. He ran back to his earlier hideout, there was a sufficiently large shadow there. As soon as he reached the shadow he closed his eyes and focused on the shadows around him, a gained a new awareness of the shadows around him, he could see them as clearly as he could see with his eyes, their form and location shone like a beacon to him. They were not mare shadows anymore, they where doorways, he focused upon a shadows that was in the general direction of the one he had seen. Unfortunately at that very moment a lamp that had been malfunctioning turned on and the shadow disappeared. The only shadow in that area now was very week one projected at the edge of the equipment that was outward toward the corridor. The disappearance of the shadows was not really a danger, once he stepped trough he would have been there practically instantly. However once the shadow disappeared he was just about to do the jump and before he could stop himself he jumped trough the other shadow.

It was too weak, it felt like had had walked straight trough a brick wall. He stood dazed for a moment his vision lost in the pain. It felt like an eternity had passed, yet it had hardly been a few seconds since he stepped into the shadow at the other side. That awareness and knowledge he had had over the nearby shadows slipped away like memories of a dream. He quickly regained his senses, he was now standing in the hallway beyond the checkpoint, and one of the machines was standing right in front of him. His body ached but thanks to hours of practice and great reflexes his hands nearly automatically drew the two sais holstered at the back of his waist, he spun them around in his hands as he took a defensive stance, the only sound he made was that of a single cough. He stood there somewhat resembling a cat ready to dart in any direction or strike anywhere, while a thin stream of blood flowed from between his lips.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

"I am not much for silk but I am certain I can help you with...what ever you need Master Alf. Tell me though, I am quite intersted in this drink you gave me. What exactly was the brewing process you used? I am quite fond of drink I must admit."

Takeshi moves a hand gently towards the "mans" shoulder though thinks better of himself, trying to move down into the hold to view the goods the ship he had spent his last few months upon had to offer.

"<This place makes me think of a tomb...>"

He mumbles under his breath in his own tongue, glancing about just a bit nervously.

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Alf watches Takeshi's movements as the latter moves down the hold, following him slowly but ready to stop in the case he ends up in an area the creature of spiders is not allowed in. He responds to Takeshi's question with a pinpoint, "So you are asking about my secrets?" He then shrugs in a somewhat comedic fashion, "Of course though, my business does require it to be known in order to work. I will give the short version."

Alf pulls out a scroll of sorts. The paper looked very ancient, not very regal-looking. It doesn't give the look of badly-aged parchment as much as it gives more of an exotic, ancient look. "It is quite simple Lord Izayoi. All one must do is to read the instructions described here, collect the required ingredients, and create the potion from there. An expert however can take liberties with the rules to make more versatile potions. That one in your hand is one such potion." He points to the potion he gave Takeshi. "I have added a couple spices natives to Taelarys, and then diluted the concentration to keep the extra flavor from overtaking the main components." Alf seemed rather confident of himself with his alchemy skills. If Takeshi looks at the scroll, he will notice the letters being in a very odd, alien language to him.

"Now then, what processes do the brewers of Ikoku use to make their potions?"

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Takeshi listens dutifully, his eye fixed on the odd entity though nods now and again until he's done. A smile creases his face, tapping his cane against the ground.

"I am afraid my...use of your language is not quite as fluent as I'd have hoped Master Alf. I was more asking, what is in it? Barley? Wheat? Sugar Cane? The color is quite unique, such an interesting golden hue. Is it a wine or a lager? But since you were so kind.

Alchemists in Ikoku study the ancient text of Wa Hue Feng the Immortal Sage of Yazhi. Potions and mixtures are brewed in various stages and locations to better facilitate their creation. For instance, a drought that would imbue you with the strength of the powerful Dragon Lung Feng must be brewed upon the mountain Suswo for it to be truly finished. Ritual and understanding the effects of what one takes into their body is just as important as the intended purpose of what you make. You of course must preform the ritual to ask the Gods themselves to allow your creation to work, and you must not step on anyone's toes for the Gods are fickle indeed Master Alf. I recall my Master teaching me how to make a potion to heal the sick but I forgot to ask for Mistress Appointed of the Cauldron Sonhui and it turned out the poor woman was not only stricken with boils but had also been turned into a cat! Oh the shame Master Alf I felt on that one. But with the proper ritual all was made right, and the Gods in their Heaven were pleased with my apology. As the ancient saying goes, Master Alf, it is easier to say I am sorry than to ask for permission.

[Jade_Tarem]

All Aboard!

Amandre - Checkpoint

The homunculus turns, startled, and lets out an inhuman noise (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2P5qbcRAXVk) of alarm. Another, identical homunculus rounds the corner, alerted...

Combat roll, all combat bonuses plus Intelligence and Machinist apply, save for shadow jump, which (If I'm reading your character sheet right), must recharge.

Result 9 or lower - Amandre is defeated and captured

Result 10 to 12 - Amandre cannot beat the machines, but is able to flee successfully

Result 13 or 14 - Amandre defeats the homunculi

Sevran - Fitness Center

"Oh-ho!" The towering machine actually smiles. "Be careful, talking about souls. Leave it to those who have seen one..."

It sketches a bow. "Well, I'm not entirely certain of the political makeup of the outer world at the moment, but we can afford courtesies to royalty, of course. You will be released - or not - at the command of the Keeper. In the meantime, you should find the amenities to your satisfaction, and we apologize for any inconvenience." The construct turns to the other man in the room. "Lord-Commander Laelius Oskard. I had a captain with me, she was injured..."

"If injured, she would have been taken to the infirmary. A visit could perhaps be arranged. But..." It pauses. "I need to ask you to surrender your sword. It is the property of the Family."

"You are mistaken. The sword is mine; it was given to me upon my promotion."

"I do not doubt that you obtained it honorably, it was, however, wrongfully taken before that. Surely you do not wish to use stolen goods in your endeavors...?"

Sevran can see the wheels turning in the older man's head. Clearly, he didn't favor his chances of keeping the blade by force. "No, of course not. If there is any way I could get it back..."

"Always!" The homunculus accepted the sword carefully, and held it like it knew how to use it. "If that is all, I have others to see to. If you need me, talk to the guards outside. My name is Trainer."

Mikado - Worker Dormitories

"Reasonable." The machine states, just as flatly as it did before - it seems as though its vocal range, like its face, is much less mobile than that of the hulking construct that came through before. "In truth, I do not know. The time of release depends on answers that we will obtain from... another. Soon." It pauses. "It is possible that you will be released within twelve hours. It is also possible that you will remain until a new Administrator takes over. Do you have any other questions?"

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl, Early Afternoon
Aesthes

A moment as he was distracted by the conflict, and then the half-worlders attention was brought back to the wares...

Or more the actual crew-members. Who here would be the best to ask about history? He mused to himself, his eyes scanning slowly through the other members aboard the Pearl.

Then, a flicker of thinned eyes, narrowing them as he focussed on one person. Someone that he thought he might have seen before...

But the recognition was gone, whoever it was. Perhaps a resident or visitor to House Levante....

Turning to the nearest hand, he pointed at the first carving that came to mind around him.

"Excuse me, can you point me towards someone who could tell me a little of the history of the creation of carvings like this?"

[VonDoom]

All Aboard
Train, Epsilon Barracks, Xth of Bargenholt
Mikado - Worker Dormitories

A small smirk crept onto Mikado's face as he listened, taking note of the peculiar way the homunculus phrased its words. It was too early to draw conclusions from them at this time, however, and thus it quickly vanished.

"Oh, yes. I would know where we are, and who the old Administrator ... was." The latter part was more of a guess on his end, but the previous construct had rather specifically named this Keeper as the one ordering their imprisonment. If there was such a position as an Administrator currently held, wouldn't the homunculus have deferred to the greater authority?

[Swordslinger]

All Aboard
Train, Epsilon Barracks, Xth of Bargenholt
Amandre

He saw the second creature in the corners of his eye. He had no idea what these creatures was capable of, nor did he particularly want to find out especially now in his current condition. But there was little choice in the matter now. The Sai in his right hand spun around and he drove it hilt first straight into the creatures chest at a point that would have left any human sprawling on the ground gasping for air. This creature however, hardly seemed to notice it. He took a step back, taking it out quickly was not going to work, and he heard the second one move into position behind him. He grabbed some of the equipment that was standing in the hallway, it was stacked quite high maybe waiting to be transported into the train hall. The homunculus saw what was happening and moved backwards. The equipment came tumbling down between Amandre and the homunculus, Amandre did not wait to see how the creature reacted but dove toward the second one. He was in no shape for something complicated so a simple maneuver would have to do, he grabbed the homunculus and used its forward momentum to send it stumbling forward into the ground while he ran onwards. He ran quickly knowing that the creatures had suffered no damage and would only be momentarily distracted. He felt faint, his vision was blurry but at least he was not coughing up any more blood which he took as a good sign. He rounded the corner and moved further into the complex as quickly as he could manage. Now the most important thing was to get out of sight and stay on the move.

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Alf keeps his face poised at Takeshi as he explains Ikokuan brewery. When finished, he nodded slowly. "A fascinating, if complex procedure Lord Izayoi. I would enjoy learning more about your continent's culture sometime, when there is time among the Ikokuan here." Alf made sure that all his potions were still in place as he wandered around. He wasn't too afraid of people stealing his potions, they are easy for Alf to make back. The problematic situation was how his potions might have been used due to no obvious symbol on each of his potions.

"As for what I used, you might call it a kind of wine. The procedure is very different, but the overall texture is similar. I will not say what I used, I must apologize." Alf lowered his head a bit. "Now if I may ask, I have heard of an Ikokuan from this ship that has been making a number of... Exploits here in Taelarys. Would you happen to personally know this man?"

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

"A shame...I will drink it all the same though I would love the recipe. Perhaps if all goes well with my business in the city I could arrange a trip for you. I have many contacts in my old city that would enjoy speaking with you greatly. Perhaps if you have time you would even be interested in the business venture I have to speak over with the Captain? It should net you quite a bit of gold and a place to work without prying eyes. I could even pull some strings and get you into contact with some of the Sages from Ikoku...teach you great and powerful things."

Takeshi beams, glancing at the golden fluid in his bottle for a moment almost wistfully though glances back at the strange man at the mention of another Ikokan making waves.

"Many Ikokan's came on the ship. Could you narrow it down for me please? The name of the man would help me greatly though if you could tell me what you've heard? That would narrow it down even more. A description perhaps? His companions?"

[VonDoom]

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
=================================

Revin

"Good sir! Excuse me, my lord!" One of the Ikokuan shipmen approached Revin, whose schooled eyes recognized him as one of those he had seen earlier, speaking to various customers -- always on his toes, that one, and something seemed a little off about the way he moved.

Druid_droid, you may roll another Perception roll. Spy or Cunning or Rogue and similar advantages will apply on this one.

Result 3+
The man obviously is quite sharp, and speaks with a much less pronounced accents than most of his peers, even the Captain from what little Revin had overheard. He moves nimbly and seems perceptive, moving between customers and intercepting where needed.

Result 5+
He had also watched the earlier outburst with a curious expression, making it obvious that he didn't interfere by choice. He also doesn't just move -nimbly-, he moves with precision. This man might well share Revin's occupation, or at least he might have been a very adept thief back home.


Result 7+
His movements, the quickness with which he had taken notice of Revin and the way he kept his smile pleasant ... this man definitely had spy, or even assassin training.

"Are you in need of assistance?," he asked, in a polite voice. "You look like a man who appreciates a fine blade -- would you care to view some of our finer cutlery? I have a selection you might browse hidden away from your average browser of wares."

---
Takeshi and Alf

The Captain, meanwhile, looked relieved that Takeshi and Alfnierdo had taken to a brief discussion, patting his former passenger on the shoulder and excusing himself for a moment -- he didn't want to disturb the conversation of two potential customers while they were talking, though his look ensured that he would be back within a moment or two to pick up again where they had left off. He had many people to attend to, after all, and if these two had gotten to talking, he oughtn't idle around and listen to a private conversation.

Shigeru quickly noticed that a young ship hand was being questioned by one of their visitors and pointing in his direction. He quickly conjured a jovial smile and approached Aesthes.

---
Aesthes

Aesthes had managed to get the attention of a young crew member, who looked at the scholar with a mixture of fright and perplexity. Whether it was for the fact that the boy scarcely understood the common tongue of Taelarys or that he was being addressed at all was hard to tell, but after a moment of intense looking around his distress turned into a relieved expression and he pointed towards a man of middle age.

This man was in slightly better shape than most, yet his sunken almond-colored eyes and pale skin also spoke of the long period of exhaustion and starving that had reduced his comrades to mere shells of their former selves. His black hair was clearn, though, and cut short, oiled and scented. He was wearing Ikokuan silk and looking quite the imposing figure, a golden sash placed around his belly that clearly signified a position of some sort.

"My lord," he greeted Aesthes, bowing to him before stepping close enough to talk with some measure of privacy. "I am the Captain of this vessel, Shigeru by name. How may I be of assistance?"

After an explanation his eyes gleamed and he nodded. "Why, certainly, I know a few things to tell. Is it this type of carving that pleases you, or the history of our country? We have some fine drawings of great and historic sites, as well -- the Imperial Palace as imagined by the blind scholar Ten Sparrows, more authentic and detailed than any other work that tried to capture its magnificence. A copy, of course, but crafted by a master artisan whose work has received only praise through all the provinces."

He finished with a broad grin, finally taking a moment to breathe. Though Shigeru also noticed that he had gotten a bit carried away. "Apologies, my lord, I greatly enjoy art myself. Tell me what you wish to know, and I shall gladly speak of it. And show, if it is among our wares."

======= END GM POST =======

Ikoku, some years ago
The Dragon's Throne
The Dragon Emperor, his Lieutenants and a certain kunoichi

The Dragon's Throne was not a comfortable place to sit in, a cold slab of solid steel as harsh and and unrelenting as its namesake, the man to whom the Ninkyoudantai must bow: the Dragon Emperor.

Even through the onyx eyes of his fierce armor, the mighty blaze of his divinity brought forth a purple glow in the twilight of the sparingly lit room, the shadows thus created only serving to enhance the presence of their leader, giving the mask ever more the impression of real dragon in human shape.

In the far back of the room sat the highest ranking members of the Ninkyoudantai, one oyabun for each province, and the komon who supervised them, all kneeling before their leader. Between them and the Dragon Emperor were two figures, a slim one standing, one sprawled out on the ground.

"You have committed the greatest crime," boomed the voice, deep and terrible as thunder, carried even to the farthest corner by the arcane power of the armor. "Treachery. What folly made you think you could escape my vengeance?"

The twin glowing orbs seemed to focus entirely on the beaten shell of a man before him, impossible as it was.

Guo Dong had been a gambler all his life. Naturally, it was not long before debt and carefree behaviour set him onto a path that lead towards the Ninkyoudantai. To his credit, the work required to repay his accumulated owings suited him well and he not only paid it back but earned a pretty profit. Soon he was leading his own gambling den, making it the most popular place in the entire Feng Province.

However, Guo Dong became greedy. Reassured by his continued success, he thought that shaving off a bit of his continually increasing earnings would go unnoticed, that he could use it to fill his own purse. And it did, for a time. But just as it was inevitable that the Ninkyoudantai would employ agents to prevent precisely such corruption among their ranks as it grew, so was it inevitable that they would root out poor Guo Dong.

But the gambler was quick-witted and fleet of foot. With a large sum of stolen money, he fled into the night. Thus had the Dragon Emperor decided to employ one of his shinobi agents to locate and bring the man before him without attracting any undue attention.

"You have succeeded well in bringing him here, kunoichi." The Dragon Emperor rose, a large figure in his powerful armor. No weapons were allowed in this room, but this steel monstrosity was a weapon in itself. "Guo Dong," he announced. "Just as success and loyalty has its reward, so does treachery and failure."

His right gauntlet clenched into a fist as he approached, looking down at the trembling man with contempt. For a moment it looked as if the Dragon Emperor might strike the traitor, but he merely stood over him, glowering.

"Did you bring back what he stole, kunoichi?" His voice suddenly rang out, addressing the masked woman standing behind Guo Dong.

I figured Chiyome would be wearing something to mask her identity at such gatherings. Feel free to flashback-inside-the-flashback to hunting him down if you like.

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

"Hmm, yes," Alfnierado responds calmly. "A trade among me and the Ikokuan would be an interesting idea. With what you have explained thus far however, I do wonder how your culture might think on my... Priorities." He paused in thought before deciding what to comment on. "It is however a deal I would enjoy. I will speak further with the captain before the end of the day. As for the sages, I'd like to avoid speaking with them for now. My interest now does not require them."

He spends a bit of time wandering about, noticing the captain busy with other people. "I do not quite know of this Ikokuan's name, nor his or her's companions or goals, just rumors and exploits; one of which I've heard to been an incident on a train that happened sometime this month. The exact date is lost, I've heard anywhere from the 3rd to the 17th of Bargenholt." Takeshi could hear Alf sigh at his lack of conclusive info.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Takeshi listens though swiftly glances aside to hide a look of annoyance. This one wouldn't be useful at all though...

"Master Alf...if you do not have that information would you at the very least know what the incident on the train was about? It occurs to me that if you do not know the gender, name, appearance, if they were acting alone or with help...I suppose I am uncertain on how to proceed with this information.

Captain? When you have a moment? Perhaps you can shed light on this issue? We were under lock down at the port over those dates. Who was allowed off the ship? I know there were a few that somehow got a pass while we languished. Could you produce those records? If there are countrymen who are spreading a bad name about us it could be even worse for business than that oafish man earlier. I would personally look into this matter, for your business and my business hopes."

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Alf gives a rather strange look before responding, "Well that's the problem. Rumors I have heard are... Absurd, to say the least. Heavily skewered or flat-out lies to say the least." Alf moves to a quieter location on the ship before explaining. "To my wit however, here is what some of the rumors that I know of. The culprits of the heist could have been anywhere from bandits, cultists, ghosts, and elves. Their acts range from stealing supplies, kidnapping for ransom, testing a series of homuculi warriors that are part of an 'invincible' army, and driving the train through a portal to the nether!"

The creature of spiders shakes his head for a moment at the sheet ridiculousness of the rumors. "However... One such rumor I've heard has sounded more believable than the rest, even if it does still seem skewered in a way." Alf lowers his head again in thought. "Apparently the attack on the train might have been an open revolt from Brightsteel. They were however driven off by several individuals, one with a very Ikokuan-sounding name. A Mr. Tatsudoshi no Mikado I believe." He turns back up to Takeshi. "Might you have heard of him Lord Izayoi?"

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi


“You are a wealth of information Master Alf...I am sure more information will come to light eventually. Do keep what passes for ears on you open yes? I am...honestly at an impass on how to refer to you. I do hope I am not being rude. I have in all my travels not met an entity like you. Though you must admit the absurdity of any situation compared to speaking with a talking mass of spiders surely...is difficult.”

Takeshi shrugs, tapping his cane against the boat timbers, glancing back at the name.

“Tatsudoshi no Mikado? Yes...yes that name is familiar. Do you know his current whereabouts? I would like to speak to this man. He is a noble of some standing, it is odd that he is assisting in the defense of a train though the past has shown it is within his nature to defend large moving vessels. It must be a hobby. Perhaps if I find his whereabouts you would like to join me? We can speak of business over...what do you eat Master Alf? Do you eat?”

[Toxin605]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Darius Black

As the skies performed their daily transformation from morning to noon, Darius Black and a small entourage of guards undertook their trek through the streets of Taelarys. They wound through the streets, turning and twisting through the poorly-designed slums until finally reaching the docks, where the prize lay: The Pearl and whatever cargo was adequately well-priced to purchase.

Darius was familiar with this area: It was the location of many homes, filled with despair and debt. Still, he had business. It was thus that Darius approached the gangplank of The Pearl, and attempted to enter the ship. Complete with guards, of course. It wouldn't do to go into a den of sailors unprotected, after all. Especially foreign sailors....

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Alf kept himself at ease at Takeshi's words. "I simply take heed at the rumors told, they are usually never accurate anyway." On the subject of his form, Alf simply remarks, "That is the usual circumstance Lord Izayoi. I would have been the terrified one if you actually did meet one of my kind before." He thinks back to his life before all this, before his job as an alchemist and a merchant, losing himself in thought for a bit before mentally coming back to the present time.

"I have no clue on his current location. I would presume he would be here on this ship or in careful hiding, only appearing when he desires. It would be good if we could meet him, but I would need to know a few things from that man before I may decide to work in coalition." He then chuckles at Takeshi's comment about food. "I've no need of normal food for substance. My spiders get their own when they like or need to; and before you ask, no they will not be an undesirable complication, their stomachs are very small and their mouths smaller." To Takeshi's right, he could see several of Alf's spiders separated from him, nibbling on the wood on the wall. However they only leave very small marks from their "meal."

[daelrog]

All Aboard!
??? Bargenholt
Fitness Center
Sevran

Sevran started to lay back down, to take a nap and rest again. Time flew by faster that way. "Nothing really. Just know Trainer that before all this is over, I'm going to kill you. Maybe I'll even kill this Keeper of yours." He wasn't smiling or gesturing. He might as well have been asking the homculus to fetch a glass of water by the way he spoke.

He said no more.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

“I don’t think this man would be intersted in my business proposition but perhaps he would. It was not my initial idea of speaking with him. Though I think he will be quite difficult to find quite honestly. He could quite literaly be anywhere on this continent by now I’m afraid. Finding him in a city of this size alone is...not likely. Though I must state Master Alf...I am hardly terrified of you. Quite the opposite really, I am fascinated. The world is a strange place, surely a man made of spiders is not the oddest thing this world has to offer the eye of a man such as myself.”

Takeshi chuckles, shrugging a little with a sigh.

“I suppose I should buy what I came for and get going. There is much to do. Master Alf, is there somewhere I can meet with you later? I would hate to have to hunt you down in this twisting maze of bodies and buildings. I will come by and speak with you in more private settings about the business I intend to begin within the city after I have spoken to the Captain.”


Ikoku
Year of the Rooster
Cell

Darkness, it clung to the place like a blanket of soft velvet. His face burned still, only hours before he’d been dumped into what ever passed as a holding cell within the Red Lantern Mage’s hidden complex deep under the city. It had only been a month and a half since he had been brought into the fold, caught picking the pockets of his now master. Their training had been harsh, any form of disobeidance was met with beatings with a bamboo stick. When they told him they would start the true teachings his old bruises ached. The rituals took days though the constant wine drinking was the worst of it. His small frame couldn’t handle such quantities and he’d blacked out a few times. Each time he awoke he had another tattoo or mark on him, brandings and fresh ink greeting his throbbing head. But today...along side the ever constant hang over was the burning on his face that told him this dark cell wasn’t a plane of punishment made for him. He’d felt his face, wet and sticky with what further investigation by taste would tell him was blood. His blood. He had tried to explore the darkness but his body was weak from days without food and the alcohol poisoning he’d been subjected to. Perhaps it was a grave though the lack of bones and the feeling of hard bricks seemed to suggest that this was in fact a well of some sort or had been before it ran dry. He’d screamed as loud as he could but no one came, no sound even seemed to escape the dank little circle that was now his world. When he managed to will even the little bit of strength left in him he had spent it clawing at the walls until his fingers bled. Perhaps he would die in this dark space after all.

[the_druid_droid]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Revin

You always recognize one of your own. Revin could tell from the way this newcomer moved, the way his eyes looked everywhere at once, the way he felt that the foreigner was more than just a deckhand - of course, he couldn’t be sure of the man’s actual role: he might be a thief gone straight, or hitman lying low...or something more. Whatever he was, going into a dark room full of sharp objects with him probably wasn’t advisable.

At the same time, there was a good chance that this man knew about the hidden goodies he was looking for aboard ship - if they existed at all. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he did have a weakness for good blades...

No sense turning down my only lead. Make sure to go in with eyes forward, though. Smiling as genuinely as possible at the mention of fine blades awaiting his discriminating tastes, Revin addressed the newcomer. “I am something of a collector, yes. If you have something unique and exciting from across the sea to show, please, lead on!”

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Alf took heed at Takeshi's words. "How you find me fascinating is rather... Intriguing to me. it does make me wonder what you have experienced on Ikoku." The country the foreigner spoke of became more and more interesting as he thought about it. "Well then I will be off as well then. I did come for a simple purchase but I'm glad my time here was worth more than I bargained for."

He begins to walk off to the captain before turning around one more time. "Oh, Lord Izayoi you may meet me at the Alchemist's College. It shouldn't be a difficult area to reach, just mind whatever abilities you might have while in there." Alf then turned back again and waited for the captain to find time to speak. Alf did have all the time in the world, so he would be patient. Though in the case that The Pearl would be closing soon, Alf would look for someone else instead.

[Nefarion Xid]

All Aboard!
Anselme and Homunculus Escort - Corridor

"You're certain there's nothing you desire? I'm hardly limited to my own reserve of knowledge. My kind is, after all, renowned for out ability to... acquire."

There was a briefly overpoweringly smug twitch to Anselme's lips as he glanced sideways to his metallic attache as they walked towards the medical ward.

"Honestly," the word was stale, "I'm surprised you're tolerating my presence. I know I've sworn to be a good boy, but..."

Anselme trailed off as he took a mischievous look around. There were so many wonderful toys here and honestly, he'd rob the place blind given the chance.

Rounding into Raina's room, he propped his shoulder against the doorway, just behind the homunculus and gestured with a gloved finger towards the woman. "Ah yes, that one. That's my elf! We'll be on our way now if you don't mind."

Lowly, he added, "You can keep the other one."

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room
The Confrontation

As Anselme whirled away from a confused looking Golleon, the eye's of the servant opened wide in panic. Trying desperately to avert his gaze, he took a step backwards, only to find his back to the wall. When Anselme asked his question, the man's eyes snapped back to his single, emerald eye. With a croak, he cleared his throat, wiping a thin trail of blood from his nose.

"I...I apologize, my lord. It's just...my master spoke of you before we came here - about your deeds at the Arena, your ties to the Lions. He said you were...dangerous."

As Mikado drifted silently behind the servant, the man's eyes remained fixed on Anselme. There was fear there, and panic, but behind it all Anselme sensed a base cunning that was rapidly growing.

"Yes, he said that you had no past to speak of, no connections beyond those you made in the river. He was most curious before we came here what kind of man you were."

As he spoke, the man's posture straightened, and by the second sentence his words were carrying across the room. He seemed transformed in an instant, no longer a sniveling worm - instead, a tall, proud man who spoke with firm conviction.

"Perhaps that is why you killed my master, eh? What did you want to keep him from finding!?"

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room
The Confrontation

A brief look of genuine astonishment crossed Anselme's face and the room was deadly quiet. His lip curled rapidly into a sneer before he spat out a nervous chuckle.

"Oh, I should be held in very high esteem by our Rhetizian hosts if I had the skill to do that. Poisoning a man across a table! Impossible."

He set a hand on his crooked hip, suddenly looking somehow bored or exasperated with the evening's turn.

"I've been rained on, slapped twice and accused of murder all in one night. I'm growing a little tired of this parlor game, so pray, allow me to level the playing field. The wine was uncorked at the table, thus the poison must have already been in the goblet... likely as a dried film that would have dissolved instantly with the wine."

Casting himself backwards into the overstuffed chair, he grinned diabolically. "Oh, but of course, Rhetizians sensibly wash everything before use. Hardly the first time this trick has been played. Glasses are, of course, dried by hand... so... the poison is on a cloth. Eh, either left behind in the kitchen or concealed on someone's person. Ah! But the kitchen servant who polished our deadly chalice didn't know what they were doing. That would be too easy and anyone in that kitchen could have offed the fat man ages ago."

Sighing, he cradled his chin in his hand and stared wearily across the room to Hieronymous's manservant. "Though, if the poison were applied that way, it would be spread on half the flatware as well. Only someone with the ability to briefly duck into the kitchen to lend a hand could have poisoned that chalice. That excludes all of our nobles here and all the guests. Doubtful that any of the kitchen staff are so knowledgeable to select an agent that dries quickly and is tasteless and odorless. Which leaves us with only one attending servant with both the reasonable access and knowledge."

Crossing his legs, he huffed impatiently, "That's your cue to search him!"

[VonDoom]

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
===========================================

Darius Black

The three guards who still stood in front of the ship perked up at the armed men in the rich man's company. One of them, an older-looking guard with a wiry moustache, held out his rather sharp-looking glaive to bar their way.

"M'lord," he began, acknowledging Darius. While the guard clearly didn't recognize him, the demon's clothes and bearing suggested a higher standing well enough. "Please leave all but one of your guard with us. We wouldn't want you unprotected with those bloody Ikokuans, but I'm sure you understand. People might get nervous."

----

Revin


The man smiled happily, his narrow eyes almost closing as he did, directing Revin towards what looked like a trap door leading into the ship below. "Allow me," he offered, pulling open the door with some effort. The spy immediately noted that oil lamps dimly lit the cargo hold, making a fight in such unfamiliar territory much less desirable than it might be elsewhere.

Still, the man exuded no menace as he went down first, waiting for Revin to join him down below. "They call me Wolf," he introduced himself as he stood there in the light shed by the lamp closest to the ladder. "Join me, and you'll have what you seek."

----

Alf and Takeshi

Coming up soon ...

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf and Takeshi

Takeshi glances back at Alf for but a moment before fixing the captain with his gaze.

“Nightmares and smoke. Master Alf.”

[Toxin605]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

Darius waved off all but one of his personal demons. He turned back to the lowly guard and icily commanded,"We have agreed to your terms, now would you kindly allow us to pass?"

[the_druid_droid]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Wolf and Revin

The foreigner was quick enough to comply with Revin’s request, and the spy followed him down, equal parts curious and alert. When he reached the deck below, he quickly glanced around, trying to orient himself in the dim light cast from the nearby lantern. For a moment, his thoughts strayed to the pair of blades concealed in his outfit - he regretted that he’d had to leave behind his crossbow.

At his companion’s introduction, Revin nodded, responding in kind. “I am called Revin,” he paused for a moment, giving the other man time to move ahead or give him some further direction, “I look forward to examining the craftsmanship of your countrymen. There has been a great deal of speculation about your wares ever since The Pearl arrived in the harbor.”

[Jade_Tarem]

New Year's Special: Hammered Down (Part 1)
If ignorant of both your enemy and yourself, you are certain to be in peril.
- Sun Tzu

30th day of Logiscae: 3814 of the Age of Tears
Horikawa 3, by the Ikokuan Calendar
Masurao Castle (Throne Room) - Night

Claye's body hit the floor (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUYJ2zk2WzE&feature=related) with a startlingly loud thump. The short woman was bound, arms tied behind her back, cloth tied around her mouth, and she split her time between glaring at the man who had brought her there and the man she'd been brought to. From what could be seen of her face and hands, she'd been in numerous fights since the last time she'd been in the castle - and from what could be seen of the circumstances, she had lost at least one.

Shigeru no Hideyoshi, son of the late Shigeru no Haruhiro, examined her as carefully as he could at a distance. Other than her clothes, which had been covered by traditional Ikokuan garb in the past few days, it was still the same sorceress. He walked up and nudged her form with his toe, the firelight glinting off her black bracers as she groaned and shifted slightly. He smiled thinly and looked up at the man who had brought her in. "I suspected that you would accept my offer. You're far too intelligent not to."

"True enough." The man bowed respectfully. "And while you are certainly no fool, I must urge you to take great care when moving her. She has been disarmed, of course, but she is also a fire sorceress, as you well know - and not, as it turns out, the kind that must chant and dance to use her gifts; even a simple gesture might be enough." He pushed back one sleeve, showing a wicked burn. "Failing caution, swift reflexes may suffice... but I wouldn't bet my life on it."

The new Lord Shigeru laughed easily. "So you say! I have no intention of taking any chances, especially tonight. Rest easy. I will uphold my end of the bargain." He gestured briefly, and the armed guards around the room relaxed slightly, the pair blocking the exit moving aside.

"As promised, you and your retainers are free to go. There will be no further pursuit, Tatsudoshi no Mikado."

6 days earlier...

"So there are three systems of writing, multiple regional accents that can actually change the meanings of the words, and there's no future tense..." Claye shook her head. She'd learned a little functional Ikokuan from her grandfather, but had not kept up with it out of a belief that she'd never find herself quite that far from the Taelarian Empire. While she'd picked up Rhetizian, Lodarian, and several other languages with little difficulty, Ikokuan was giving her fits. The worst parts were how the words shifted meaning based on the accent given to them and the given social situation - it was as though someone had designed the whole language specifically to torture her. "...Ah can't imagine how hard tryin' t' share technical data would be."

"No harder than in your language, where each rule has a thousand exceptions, and the precise same set of sounds can mean three different things based on context." Tatsudoshi no Mikado, out as himself rather than the semi-mythical Dragon Emperor, leaned back languidly on the mat, up against the wall. As the one in their three-person travel party who could fluently speak most dialects of Ikokuan and at least one of Taelaric, he'd been doing his level best to coach the two ladies with him in each others' language. Unlike the majority of his endeavors, it wasn't going well - he had literally had an easier time crushing the upstart Sugimato clan than getting Claye to speak any dialect of proper Ikokuan, or to get Chiyome - who, to her credit, was doing slightly better - to admit that she even needed more practice with Taelaric. Even worse, upon actually meeting each other some previously buried competitive drive had awoken in each of his companions, and things had been difficult ever since. Mikado was familiar with the concept of a 'personality clash,' but he had never before seen it so vividly demonstrated.

Mikado's original deal with Claye had not been intended to last this long - and it hadn't, but after the new Lord Shigeru had assumed control so rapidly and sent his warriors (and other agents that an honorable Ikokuan noble wasn't supposed to have) after them, they had agreed to travel together for mutual protection until they could shake pursuit. Chiyome hadn't objected, although Mikado could tell that she thought they could move faster and remain safer without an awkward, conspicuous foreigner in tow, and Mikado would have agreed under normal circumstances, but...

...but the new Lord Shigeru had taken over too quickly. Impossibly quickly. To Mikado's thinking, that indicated that the late Lord Shigeru's son had been planning on his father dying in the duel one way or another - perhaps he'd had these plans in place for a long time. And that put all three of them a step behind Shigeru's agents. Given that they could not outrun the wave of people hunting them, he preferred having the additional firepower Claye represented over the additional subtlety leaving her would have offered.

His other reason was tied to their first deal. Claye was the scion of a foreign house that had once arguably held the keys to more power - real, tangible "people will die" power - than any organization, family, or clan he had ever heard of, including the Ninkyoudantai. She claimed to be ignorant of how to access it, and he believed her, but there was no way to know what secrets or information he could get from her if he sent her away. Given his plans, he would need every advantage he could get as just Mikado - although the "Dragon Emperor" might find a use for such things too.

But first, they had to survive.

"We need to keep moving." Chiyome said in passable, if accented, Taelaric. Switching back to Ikokuan, she added, "Time is against us... Mikado." She had planned to end it with "My Lord," but the hitch was so small anyone unfamiliar with her wouldn't have caught it.

"Better to go, then. I am end. Done. I am done. With the drinking." Claye grimaced. She hated sounding like a prize idiot, but it was their country. She pulled the hood of her outfit up - almost useless as a disguise, since the Kilnmyr battle-mage outfit was still pretty distinctive, and got up.

Mikado rose too. "Then I will settle our bill. Excuse me."

"You need new clothes." Chiyome said, after he had left the room, in a tone that did not invite argument. "The clothing you have is too obvious. And too smelly."

"Nah, don't spare my feelings. Tell me what yeh really think." Claye didn't even notice her slip back into Taelaric.

Either not catching the sarcasm in Claye's tone or ignoring it, Chiyome added, "There is an expression in this country: 'the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.' You stick out, and because of that we stick out. This puts my master in danger."

Claye snorted. "The sentiment in my country is that it's better t' be the one doin' the hammerin'."

"Yes, and you feel that your fire magic gives you that capability. But we are pursued by a man with a much bigger metaphorical hammer than you will ever have. And speak Ikokuan, please - you won't get better if you don't practice."

"Yes ma'am." Claye said, wishing she knew a less polite way to phrase it. She settled for sounding surly, but the kunoichi might as well have been carved from a block of ice, for all the reaction she got. "Your boyfriend... at what time will he be back?"

Still no reaction. "Soon."

Masurao Castle, that evening

Lord Shigeru watched as the messenger sped away on horseback, soon lost into the growing shadows. He turned away and back into the throne room.

His throne room. Finally. It had seemed as though he would have to wait for his father - who had possessed vigorous good heath, great skill at defending himself, and a startlingly high resistance to most poisons - to die a natural death before he could take over. The Taelarian woman had been a godsend in that regard: she would break the rules of the duel and use her magic, he was sure, especially since he had arranged for the sabotage of the collar that would have kept her abilities neutralized.

That she would actually find someone foolish enough to fight for her, and that this champion would be some sort of kunoichi death on two legs and actually win... that had been unanticipated, but not at all unwelcome, where he was concerned.

The messenger now carried the news to his father's nearest peer, Lady Azami. He didn't trust her at all - like the foreigner, she was a sorceress, but her specialties lay in knowing all sorts of things she shouldn't. Her powers granted her insight into what was going on in faraway places, what had happened in the past to anything she could see or touch, and rumor had it that she could even see the future. This had gained her many powerful allies, and she had one of the greatest warriors of this generation, Ichimonji no Tanyu, on retainer as the leader of her forces. He served her out of a combination of gratitude for her saving his entire clan and excellent pay.

Well, she could look all she liked. The irony of the situation was that after all of his scheming, his father had died due to a series of events completely outside his control. His message had stressed that the letter of the law had been followed in all things and that the takeover was completely legitimate and straightforward, which it was.

His next planned takeover, however, would have a more... supernatural flair.

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of his new commander. Iwasa, while new to the employ of his clan, had made the right decision when it came time to choose where his loyalties lay. He was a curious contrast to Hideyoshi - while the lord was taller than average, thin, and had long dark hair and dressed in the bright red and orange of Clan Shigeru, his subordinate was short, stocky, bald, and dressed in far more somber and close-cut garments. "My lord," he began, bowing low. "We have finished translating the scroll. We have prepared everything we need for the ritual, except -"

"Except you haven't caught the foreigner yet. I know that, fool."

"A thousand apologies, but... there is good news. We now have her location, and plan to capture her as soon as an opening presents itself."

"Tomorrow."

"My lord... it would be better to wait until they are on the open road. She may very well be in a crowded area tomorrow, or take cover with-"

"You will capture her tomorrow, or I will find a new commander, Iwasa. And I have no reason to keep a useless commander around. Or alive."

"Y...yes, my lord." Iwasa was gone in a flash. Normally cautious by nature, he would have happily taken the man's advice, but these were exceptional circumstances.

It was said that the greatest gains required sacrifice, and in this case that was true in a very literal sense. Shigeru no Hideyoshi had been irritated at first when he realized that the summoning would require him to sacrifice someone with a destructive magical talent - where was he going to get one of those? - but upon further reflection he now realized that he should probably just be glad that the required cost of the spell didn't include anything he was going to miss.

His subordinates knew that he needed this "Claye" woman - and had still failed to capture her after his father's death due to interference from that shady "Mikado" man, if that was even his real name. Even worse, the ritual had a time limit. Whoever had created the scroll had put in several safeguards, probably due to the spell's... magnitude, and it could only be cast in the three days leading up to the New Year, which was just six days away. If they caught her tomorrow, they would get back just in time for the beginning of that period, and Hideyoshi wanted the extra time available in case something went wrong.

So he had given the order to attack prematurely. It would cause a stir, yes. In fact, people would likely be furious. But in three days it wouldn't matter how angry they were, or how young he was, or what Lady Azami thought she knew.

He returned to the window, watching his agents disappear into the deep shadows. In less than a week, no one - not even the Emperor - would deny him anything ever again.

The next day, 5 days before the Ikokuan New Year, at the Market

"Different country, different food, different language, same merchants." Claye said, grinning.

"I can only imagine what a market street in Taelarys looks like." Mikado raised an eyebrow, clearly hoping for elaboration.

"More gizmos, and more permanent structures." Claye's conversational Ikokuan was getting slightly better, as long as she didn't get flustered or excited. "But the merchants are exactly this pushy, and most of the wares look similar."

Chiyome, trailing behind them, tuned them out, instead turning her attention to the three men who had been trailing them since they left the inn that morning, and had followed them all the way into the city. She frowned slightly - the number was now up to four. As Mikado and Claye went about the business of buying clothes, and then horses, the number slowly crept upwards, eventually reaching twelve.

Not good. There was no more time to humor them, and certainly no way for Mikado to evade them with their Taelarian beacon in tow. No, it was time for damage control...

***

She had picked the order of her targets carefully - bypassing the nearest one and quickly slipping into the building of the one with the second-story vantage point. He went down quietly, a short blade through his throat preventing more than a gurgle. She relieved him of his bow, shot his counterpart across the street, and waited for a reaction.

There was none. She shook her head. Appalling situational awareness, really... The merchants and other innocents in the street could perhaps be forgiven - they did not expect trouble, and were not trained to deal with it even if they did, but her enemies had no such excuse. This was just sloppy.

Not one to complain, she left quickly, waited for Mikado to take a sudden turn through a more private side-street - something that he did from time to time to open up opportunities for her when he suspected he was being tailed; he really was a considerate master - and quickly dispatched his first tail. Hurrying to catch up, she began her approach on the fourth and fifth...

***

The new Lord Shigeru might not have any conception of a sane deadline, but at least the target was easy to track. While they waited for the attack signal, Genji and his partner Hanato passed the time with idle gossip. They were situated just out of sight of each other, in positions that would allow them to watch two streets at once.

"...so they called the guards in, and when they carried him away he was still screaming something about shadow clones."

"But that's just stupid. Why would any serious ninja wear bright orange in the first place? The best ninjas are the ones you never see coming, right?"

There was silence from around the corner. "Right?"

***

Chiyome heard a shout of alarm from back near where the first had been right after she finished off the fifth agent, and suddenly lost track of the other seven. No doubt they would regroup, and probably attack all at once when they had the chance. She needed to stay with Mikado now...

****

"A tent. I am a tent." Claye said, toying with what she'd been told was a hakama. This one was apparently of the riding variation, which was fortunate since that was exactly what they would be doing soon. The whole outfit looked overly decorative to her, but the style, arrangement, color, and so forth of the clothing had so many social connotations that her eyes had glazed over when Mikado had tried to explain them all.

"No, you are a traveler. A male traveler, at that. Don't forget the hanten or the hood. You won't be quite as obvious when we get to Syato." Mikado nodded. "Did you have any trouble?"

Syato, a port city, was their ultimate destination, the place where Claye would depart. Until then, she was disguised based on the idea that a close inspection would give her away regardless of what she was wearing, but a distant one would throw off people looking for one man and two women, one of them dressed as a foreigner...

Of course, Mikado had also told her to get rid of the Kilnmyr battle mage outfit, but she'd opted to wear it under the much looser native attire. It was one of her two last links to her grandfather, and she figured if someone was tearing off her clothes then either the attacker wasn't long for this world or she had bigger problems than staying undercover anyway. Besides, she knew for a fact that Chiyome had a more sensible outfit under what she was wearing.

Not that she hadn't pretended to go off and dispose of them. "No... I just had to dispose of some things. Garbage."

"As did I." Chiyome stated, appearing from the crowd behind them. "Mikado, we have a problem."

He raised an eyebrow. "How many and who?"

"Seven, all of them appear to be servants of the new Lord Shigeru, as we feared."

"I see." Mikado uncharacteristically hesitated for a moment, before reaching a decision. "When they attack, deal with them."

Chiyome nodded. Had they been in private, she would have grinned. It would make more sense to have fought them together, but Mikado clearly wanted to impress Claye - probably to help convince her not to break her end of whatever bargain they'd made. Seven would be a stretch - in fact, seven at once would be a personal best, especially since she preferred to take them one at a time, the way she had handled the first five. She wasn't worried - if the worst happened then Mikado and Claye would step in.

She wouldn't let that happen, though. Seven would come, and seven would die. It was as simple as that.

***

Claye watched the massacre unfold (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rkcow41HtI8&feature=BFa&list=FL5Qzp0mau2hQeXKYfRvnYbA&lf=mh_lolz), wincing slightly. Their foes were... competent. Sort of. They were clearly tired, and afraid of more than just the trio they were trying to capture, and they just weren't up to facing Chiyome.

The first had come too fast, and had gone down just as quickly, a swift blow to his neck and a sharp *crack* ending his life. The others hadn't quite attacked at the same time. This wasn't due to any sort of chivalry or sense of fair play, but rather due to poor coordination. Or maybe Chiyome had done something to throw them off, Claye couldn't tell. The kunoichi never held still, not even for a moment, moving in what appeared to be a fighting retreat until one of the six fell to an attack Claye hadn't even seen. Still circling, evading moves intended to trap the ninja between them, she exchanged blows and breaking attempts to grapple with her - Chiyome had muscle, but if all six grabbed her at once it would be over.

That never happened.

The next one took a nasty but effective blow to the throat and dropped, trying to suck air through his crushed windpipe, unaware that he was already dead. His partner took a small, straight-edged blade through the ribs a moment later. The other four finally managed to converge at once, prompting Chiyome to simply charge the one in front of her. She turned the momentum from his assault against him, sending him flying into one of the others. The other two she met simultaneously, exchanging the same hard-to-maintain blows as before, refusing to close completely. Claye saw her begin to lag behind, begin to be pushed against the wall of the building up the street, before the kunoichi hopped up on the merchant's stand propped against it and delivered a powerful kick that connected beautifully - the man actually was held upright by the force of it for a moment, and Claye saw little holes of light where light should not be - before landing and finishing off his assistant. The two others, who had picked themselves up off the ground and closed, were also shocked out of their chance of overwhelming Chiyome. The angle was wrong for the machinist to see what exactly happened, but both of them fell in a distinctly non-dramatic fashion, bleeding.

The kunoichi retrieved the weapons that she'd left in a couple of them, cleaned them off quickly, and rejoined Mikado and Claye.

"Excellent, Chiyome. Quite the spectacle."

The ninja didn't look happy. "Yes. A spectacle. We seem to make a lot of those since Miss Kilnmyr joined us."

Claye was still staring at the unfortunate number four. "You kicked his teeth out the back of his head."

Chiyome shrugged. "People lose teeth in fights all the time."

"Not like that, they don't! Up 'til now, the best Ah've seen is when that Ser Vicross guy beat Ser Jamee to death with his own femurs back in Lodaria."

"That doesn't seem physically possible."

Claye's expression was haunted. "That's exactly what Ser Jamee kept screaming. He kept screamin' it the entire t-"

Mikado raised an eyebrow as he interrupted. "While this is a fascinating discussion, Chiyome has a point. We are fully provisioned and ready to go - I suggest we do so immediately, before more reinforcements arrive."

The following morning, Masurao Castle

"This is not what I wanted to hear, Iwasa. Twelve men killed by one woman. And she wasn't the sorceress, so you don't even have that excuse."

"My lord, I have a plan! Hear me out, I beg of you!"

"You have seconds."

"We still have agents in the next town - the kunoichi, she answers to the man in their group, and from his dress he is some kind of businessman."

"I'm listening."

"I plan to dispatch orders, by hawk this time. Our agents there will lure the man and his ninja away from the sorceress, then one of them will take him aside, look him straight in the eye... and offer him a bribe."

Despite his own rage at the man's failure, Shigeru no Hideyoshi found himself grinning. "A bribe, you say? And what would be included in this bribe?"

"Amnesty, for a start - even if he somehow evades your agents and warriors forever, your wrath will still affect him. He will never be able to start a business, settle down, raise a family... your forgiveness is worth more than just life. It offers him stability and a future."

"Go on."

"And of course... we could pay him whatever amount you see fit. Once the ritual is completed, wealth will be easily obtained, among other things. It should probably be within reason, though, so as not to arouse his suspicions. Not only does this prevent him and the kunoichi from defending the sorceress, but turns them against her as well. We could catch her without losing any more of our people, restore morale, and complete your plan in this one move."

"And if he does not take the deal?"

There was a slight pause, but not a long enough one to indicate that Isawa had been caught completely flat-footed by the question. "He would be insane not to, but we could also increase the rewards. Once the ritual is complete, you will likely never want for resources again. If no amount can secure his loyalty, even temporarily, then we can go back to the original plan and attack the sorceress while she is separated from them."

"I'm impressed, Iwasa. Some men fall apart when their life is on the line, but that appears to be when you do your best thinking. See to it - wait. I have on final bit of advice. You don't truly believe him to be a businessman, do you?"

"Ah... you believe he has criminal connections?"

"I was right, you do think best in this state of mind. Goodness, yes - a lone unestablished businessman shows up out of nowhere, a ninja good enough to kill a twelve-man strike team apparently on retainer for him, and whisks a powerful sorceress away... he has to have connections to the Ninkyoudantai - highly placed ones, too. I wouldn't be surprised if he has actually seen the Dragon Emperor. You may want to take this into consideration, especially when baiting the hook you use to draw him away from Miss Kilnmyr."

"Of course, my lord."

3 days before the Ikokuan new year,
Mihoto Village

"I am new in town. Where is the market? Of traveling companions, I have two. Where is the outhouse? I am looking for a man named Mikado. Your prices are bad wrong-"

"No."

"Arrrgh. You are selling too tall - high. Selling too high."

"Better."

The trio rode into town, stabling their horses at the first opportunity. They had ridden as hard as they dared, and as fast as they could. Claye drew fewer stares this time.

They had spent their time during the journey swapping details on those martial arts that they had learned. Claye had finally managed her own surprise for the Ikokuans when she had proved to have a decent, if amateur, amount of knowledge of the subject. These talks were interspersed with Mikado filling in Claye on more Ikokuan history and tradition, Claye needling Chiyome openly and the kunoichi responding subtly, and Claye continuing to try to master the island tongue.

They arrived at the inn - one operated as one of the Ninkyoudantai's legitimate screen businesses - and introduced themselves to the innkeeper, who raised an eyebrow at Claye. "And who is she?"

Mikado looked pointedly at Claye, wondering how she would respond. The machinist spoke immediately, waving at Chiyome. "I am her..." And then she blanked. Claye couldn't remember the word for guest, employee, or ally, and she wasn't going to use the word 'friend' in the same sentence that had Chiyome as the subject. "...sister."

Mikado heard a sound that might, if Chiyome ever did such a thing, have been the ninja slapping her hand to her face in exasperation. Their host raised an eyebrow, as his voice dripped with amused scorn. "Yes... I can clearly see the family resemblance."

"Employer." Mikado shook his head.

"Employer! I have employed them. These people, they are guiding me."

"I'd never have guessed. A room for three, then?"

"Two rooms." Claye said. "Far apart."

"How considerate." Chiyome stated. "I was about to suggest that. My master needs his rest and you snore like a locomotive."

Claye scowled, slipping back into Taelaric. "You've never even heard a train before."

"Two rooms it is! And welcome to Mihoto." The innkeeper grabbed a pair of keys and tossed them to the group.

"Well! Now what? Get more supplies?"

Mikado shook his head. "Actually, Chiyome and I have some business to take care of. We have enough supplies to make the rest of the trip to Syato, so perhaps you should rest."

"Sounds good."

***

"What business are we taking care of?" Chiyome had finally relaxed, just a bit, now that she and Mikado were alone. "I didn't see any threats on the way in, just the usual town snoops."

"Your skills are as sharp as always, never fear. No, this afternoon we're being proactive. There's a man in town who fancies himself the Dragon Emperor."

"I've heard bad things about that man." The kunoichi grinned, just a bit.

"I suppose I walked into that one. No, someone other than me. Either he is Ninkyoudantai, and going against our policy - which he knows is fatal - or he is someone who isn't connected with the Family at all who plans to take up the name himself - which is just as fatal, although he may not know it. Either way, we owe him a visit."

"Ah. A fun errand, then. Do you want me to accompany you, or watch over our... guest?" It was Mikado's turn to grin, as he knew that she would prefer to ditch Claye entirely and return him to the seat of the Ninkyoudantai's power. "I am certain Miss Kilnmyr can take care of herself for two hours - especially with my own agents screening out Lord Shigeru's. The only thing to worry about is whether or not she'll make a scene."

***

Mikado sheathed his weapon and took a look at the reddened patch on his arm, where a man had swung a torch at him, perfectly timed with his partner's deadlier attack. There was still a strong burning sensation, and it would likely hurt for days, but it wasn't bad enough to debilitate him. Above him, he could hear the muted sounds of Chiyome beating the imposter's alleged backup senseless. "Now, about this identity crisis you seem to be having..."

The other man looked remarkably calm for someone who had just seen a pair of strangers take apart his entire organization in an afternoon. Mikado didn't like that - it meant the imposter knew something he didn't.

"Wait, please, before you attack. I have no intention of usurping the true Dragon Emperor. I never did - if you check, you'll find out that this scam only started a day ago - the rumors have been artificially helped along by my agents."

"I'm listening."

"I am an agent of Lord Shigeru's - the new one - and he wishes to make a deal: Amnesty and money."

Mikado had expected this, and was not impressed. "I am not lacking in material riches, and you would be surprised how thoroughly I can disappear. Money and forgiveness is not equal to what I can get out of the sorceress."

"Then what about power - raw, dangerous power?" The man countered quickly. Mikado's assessment of the new Lord Shigeru went up, if only a little. At least he might have something novel to offer. "Lord Shigeru needs the sorceress to complete a spell, a very large and complicated one, that will make him the dominant force in these lands. Having such a man on your side will only make the Ninkyoudantai stronger in the long run."

Aha. There it was. What the imposter appeared not to realize was that upheaval in general was bad for the Ninkyoudantai - the half-parasitic, half-symbiotic relationship that the Family shared with the happy and law-abiding part of Ikoku required the latter to be healthy and stable. "What makes you think Miss Kilnmyr will cooperate with the casting?"

"Her cooperation isn't required, just her presence."

Translated, that meant that they only needed something that could be taken from her by force - there were several possibilities, and none of them were pleasant, but if such a ritual did exist, he would need to know more about it. "Perhaps I will accept, but I would need to know more."

"I myself do not know any more, but if you bring him the sorceress, Lord Shigeru will offer you the money, the amnesty, and special consideration after his ascension. It is something to keep in mind, I think. And even if you are disappointed in the spell, the money is real enough. Surely the Dragon Emperor - the real one - would be pleased with that."

"Perhaps he would be, at that." Not if it meant tearing up the existing infrastructure of Ikoku, but if he could stall out Shigeru's agents it would give his companions and himself a much-needed break - and him a chance to figure out what the spell could do. "Very well, I will think on this."

"There is not much time - you would need to capture her and begin your travels back tonight."

"I see. Well, you will know by tonight, then."

***

Claye had found her way to a drink - she had gotten better answers from people when she switched her query to "adult beverages." She was nursing it along when she sensed trouble - too many footsteps moving up behind her, and not enough of them moving away. She turned around to face them, leaning against the counter of the second-floor room. It gave her a decent enough view out the windows, into the street...

...and of the eight angry faces glaring at her. Their apparent leader stepped forward. "You were present at Lord Shigeru's death?"

Claye's brows furrowed, but she saw no reason to lie. "Yes..."

"How did he die?"

"Badly." Claye struggled to form the sentences in Ikokuan. "The duel he wanted, it was unfair. Rules in his favor. Lord Shigeru was outmaneuvered, someone else cheated better. Then he died screaming while a woman about half his size stabbed him many times. It was not pretty." She looked at their reactions - if anything they seemed even angrier. Then, to her belated horror, she made the mental connection that she should have made before speaking. "Oh! Honor! Yes. He died with honor, and glory, and definitely not the way I said he did a second ago."

The leader narrowed his eyes, and the machinist knew she'd blown it. "Lord Shigeru was a very good friend of mine. I am curious, foreigner - what rules put the duel in his favor?"

Claye sighed and downed the last of her drink - some kind of rice wine. There was no help for it now. "Well... there was this thing I wasn't allowed to do, and..." She tried to remember the word for 'magic' and couldn't. "...can I show you?"

***

Mikado and Chiyome debated as they made their way to the inn. Given time to think about it, he thought he might know what the spell did. And getting at it might just be worth betraying the Taelarian.

Chiyome, for a wonder, thought otherwise. "It is a bad idea, going back to Masurao."

"In the short term, yes. But if this ritual is as powerful as it could be, then the damage to the Family would be severe."

"So we take Miss Kilnmyr with us. If he doesn't have her, he can't complete the spell."

"Or so we think. There is always the chance that he could find another sorcerer or sorceress to aid him in time. No, we have seen how volatile the new Lord Shigeru is. We need to relieve him of this advantage."

"And what if our resident Taelarian disagrees?"

"She won't. We can-"

He was interrupted by a rumbling explosion from up the road. The wall of a second-floor room exploded outward in a burst of flame, burning timbers and bodies hitting the road and rolling. A familiar woman jumped down after them, rakehell grin in place.

"...six, seven, eight." Mikado counted. "You have a challenger, Chiyome."

"She hasn't beaten them yet." The kunoichi said, with the closest thing to a huff that Mikado had yet heard from her.

But that's exactly what had happened. Four of them never recovered from the fall and the flames, their leader among them, and the rest decided that Lord Shigeru's honor wasn't worth dying for.

"Alright, she has power, yes, but she lacks skill, grace, and-"

"WHOO! Take THAT!" Claye crowed at the fleeing men. "I can has five-highs now?!"

"-grammar?"

"Humility?"

"Style?"

"We'll go with style for now." Chiyome shook her head. "I take back my reservations about turning her in to Shigeru. Let me beat some sense into her. Please."

Mikado considered it. "Very well. Here's what we'll do..."

[Jade_Tarem]

New Year's Special: Hammered Down (Part 2)
The expert in battle moves the enemy, and is not moved by him.
- Sun Tzu

Three days before the Ikokuan New Year, Night

"No! Provisions. Of these, I need three." Claye struggled again with Ikokuan. Mikado had decided that they needed more food after all, and had sent her out to get it, with Chiyome to watch her. It had been hard enough finding a merchant willing to sell after sundown, but she had finally managed. Now the street was all but deserted, and she couldn't get her point across to a man she thought was named Koizumi.

In fact, it was a little too deserted. Where had everyone gone?

For that matter, where had Chiyome gone? Claye knew, at a time like this, that she needed to act - more time always worked in favor of the people setting up an ambush. She called up fire, letting it blaze in her hand. "You. The trap, what is this thing?"

"P...please. The Ninkyoudantai man, he said..."

"There is no need to trouble the poor merchant." Chiyome's voice carried. She hated announcing herself like this, but Mikado had said to put on a show, to make it look good. Style, for the moment, was more important than substance.

Claye looked at her, ignoring Koizumi as he ran away and switching to Taelaric. "This was a setup. Why take me this far away, though? Unless... you're not workin' for Shigeru. Didn't want t' share the prize, huh?"

"Don't be silly. We were waiting for the right offer. Shigeru and my master finally reached an agreement on just what you were worth."

"And that is...?"

"None of your concern. Perhaps you should have tried harder to learn the culture and the language. There were warning signs. Remember what I said - the nail that sticks out gets hammered down."

Claye didn't snap back at her, which Chiyome found odd. Instead, she got a sad grin. "Didn't Mikado tell you?" When Chiyome shook her head, Claye went on. "Ah've got a bit of a family secret. A legacy of creation and destruction that makes me stick out wherever Ah go, in all the wrong ways. In Taelarys, my family is considered a treasonous one, due to events centuries past, and my power makes me a criminal. Everywhere else, my power makes me a threat and my family makes me an enemy. There's no fittin' in for me, an' everyone, includin' myself, wants to hammer me down. It hasn't happened yet." Her voice and expression hardened. "So come on, then, an' take your best shot. Better people than you have tried. But Ah'll warn yeh - havin' Mikado clear the innocent out of the street was a mistake. If yeh hadn't done that, Ah might've shown some restraint!" On the last word, the machinist hurled a small ball of light toward the kunoichi that exploded brilliantly once it reached its destination. Chiyome was clear of it already, though, closing the distance as fast as she could.

Claye had no desire to engage in close-quarters combat with the ninja. She wasn't unskilled herself, but she had never kicked someone's teeth out the back of their skull, either. To avoid meeting that unhappy fate, she decided to use one of the classics - a big stream of fire in a sweeping arc, usually sufficient to drive off or incinerate most attackers completely.

The kunoichi countered by vaulting over the fire completely and closing the remaining distance, weapons already out. Claye grabbed one of the support poles for the merchant's overhang, yanking it out to use as her own weapon - it was about the right length. Chiyome noted that she used it in much the same way as she had used the fire - trying to keep her away.

She waited for Claye to bring it up into a horizontal block before punching straight through the wooden pole, breaking it. Claye discarded the shattered halves and threw her arms up in a high block. "Not the teeth!" The subsequent blow to her midsection robbed her of breath, and sent her sailing through the window of the stables behind her.

"Mages are not as common in Ikoku as they are in Taelar, or as revered. Have you ever wondered why?" Chiyome asked calmly - then ducked back as a blast of fire shot though the window.

Claye struggled to her feet, recovering faster than the kunoichi had thought possible. "Ah'm supposed to think that it's people like you that made 'em scarce here, right?" For a woman still trying to suck in breath, she still manged to get some mockery into her tone. "Do yeh really think we don't have assassins in the Taelarian empire? Maybe our mages are just better."

The machinist scanned the darkened, empty, spacious stables, trying her best to stick to cover and shadows - Chiyome was already in the room, she was sure of it, but she couldn't see where, and the stable's acoustics were awful, throwing confusing echoes everywhere as the two began stalking each other (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdVZ-yWZ9N8&feature=related). "What Ah don't understand is why someone like you would spend what has to be countless hours of practice to become a super-ninja of death... and then hire out to someone like Mikado."

"Mikado is... more important than you think."

"Look, this isn't my first time dealin' with organized crime. He's a big shot with the Kinky-downtie, Ah get that-"

"Ninkyoudantai!" Even with the indignant hiss, Claye still couldn't pinpoint where the kunoichi was.

"Whatever. My point is, whatever he's paying you can't be worth this. Don't you have family somewhere?"

"You have it backwards, Taelarian. My entire family, my whole clan... all of us serve him. You can't buy or sell something like the services of the Amagumo clan. He saved us. He saved me, and I... we... owe him everything. He's not paying us. We're repaying him."

"So it's an honor thing, huh?"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand."

Claye grinned. She recognized this as the argument that they had started several times over the past few days, only to be interrupted - by attacks, by Mikado, it didn't matter. "Ah understand better than you think. My question is whether it's Ikoku's honor or your own."

"I don't know about Taelar, but here they are one and the same." Claye's grin broadened - not at the banter, but because she'd caught a new glint in one corner. She started to make her way toward it.

"For now. They used to be the same thing in Taelar too. It was founded by the god of justice. Seems like it'd be hard for that to go wrong, right? But it did." Claye paused. "My grandfather once told me that honor was doing the right thing even when no one was looking. That doing the most good for the most people wasn't good enough - that you had t' look until yeh found what was best for everyone. Somewhere in the past, though, the definition of honor got corrupted. Then it vanished entirely. The Empire of Justice became the Empire of 'Just Us' an' it's gone downhill ever since. Loyalty to the Emperor trumped loyalty to any principles. The only right thing was t' get by an' the only wrong thing was t' get caught."

"None of this relates to Ikoku. Our gods did not abandon us as yours did."

"Yeah, you've still got those dragon-gods prancin' around, Ah get that, but it's not just about your gods. Your whole clan is sworn to serve Mikado. What if he changes? What if whoever you serve decides to redefine honor and uses it to control you? What then?"

There was silence as Claye crept up into the hayloft. Then, "There is still a debt to be payed. And while it seems counter-intuitive, servants must also take control of their masters. We will guide Mikado even as he gives us his orders. The celestial bureaucracy, the strong traditions of Ikoku, these protect us from the kind of slip that you are talking about."

"If that's the case, why did your clan need savin' in the first place?"

"If this method is worse then the Taelarian way, then who saved your clan, and how did they do it better?" Claye had no answer that, and Chiyome went on. "Did anyone help at all?"

The ninja paused, Claye was almost in position to strike - she could clearly see the glint of one of the kunoichi's weapons. "When I say he saved the Amagumo clan, I do not mean from financial trouble or political humiliation. I mean he saved us from destruction at the hands of a very corrupt master - the kind you speak of. And he saved me, personally, from a failure that would have cost me my life. He is the single overriding concern in my life. My one goal is to keep him safe. And you've put him in danger again and again on this trip. Do you understand?"

"Heh. Ah've been tracking my grandfather for four years now. He raised me, protected me, trained me... Ah owe him everything. And Ah will find him. You're puttin' that in danger."

"So you do understand. Perhaps... we have more in common than I thought. It is a pity that it came to this. So I will tell you... I know where you are."

"Same here." Claye snorted, switching back to Ikokuan. "The bringing on. Are you doing that?"

She heard a sigh. "You first."

"Fine." Claye hurled a fireball - a true classic - straight at the glint -

- blasting Chiyome's weapon to kingdom come. Just the weapon - the kunoichi wasn't there. Claye swore in several different languages, some of which were made up on the spot, and whirled as the kunoichi came darting at her.

A furious exchange of blows ensued, and the machinist was quickly pushed to retreat. One of the ninja's moves, almost too fast to see, somehow pinned both of Claye's sleeves to the wall. Claye really hoped that the ninja wasn't planning to take out her teeth...

***

As Chiyome prepared to finish the sorceress, she noticed two things that were a bit off.

1) There was a black glint underneath the machinist's sleeves where there shouldn't be one.

2) Claye was grinning.

"Arright, so that's how it's gonna be..." Then the shorter woman brought her knee up, and the kunoichi was forced to dodge as a crescent of flame shot up (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGzJs49RIqc) near it. What in...?

Leaning against the wall, Claye started kicking repeatedly with the same leg, and bursts of fire followed each move, hurtling toward Chiyome and driving her off the loft and to the ground. Chiyome had fought and defeated many sorcerers, killing several, and none of them had ever been able call up their magic so quickly or with such basic movements. Claye's taunt about Taelarian mages being more dangerous came ominously back to mind.

She didn't miss that the other woman had freed herself - a short, blood-red blade had sprung from one of her bracers and sliced clean through Chiyome's weapon. She wondered if it might be made of the "durium" that the Taelarian had mentioned. The machinist didn't stop there, either - a gout of flame roared down at her, forcing her to roll clear. Claye leaped down after her, putting Chiyome on the defensive for the first time, using short blasts of fire to extend her range and prevent the ninja from trying to block.

Chiyome fell back on her greater agility, waiting for the moment between when the fire disappeared but before the machinist pulled her limb back, grabbing the shorter woman's arm, preparing to twist or even break it if need be. To her surprise, Claye let her. She heard a slight click, and then the woman's other hand came up, a small device in it. The kunoichi only got a short look at it before everything went white.

On instinct, she ducked, the realization that she'd been blinded hitting her even as Claye's next attack slammed painfully into her ribs. Purely on memory, she zigzagged and ducked back into the stables, diving behind cover as fire shot by...

***

Claye tossed aside the spent flare device. It was full of a substance that didn't burn very hot, but did burn extremely bright. She still couldn't believe how fast the blinded ninja had found cover - she couldn't have followed those evasive moves even if she'd known them in advance.

Twenty seconds... That was the minimum amount of time she had before Chiyome's vision returned. "You have the skill," the kunoichi called out, "but your tactics need work. You should seek and use cover. You should hold your magic until you need it, and use it as a surprise. Focus. Patience. You can't burn your way through every problem."

"Everyone here already knows Ah'm a sorceress, and Ah've been disappointed by cover before." Claye's next shot obliterated the barrel Chiyome had hid behind. "Sometimes yeh have t' meet a problem head on, usin' whatever leverage you can find." The ninja scampered up into the loft, and Claye realized that her twenty seconds were nearly up - in fact, some of the kunoichi's vision had to have returned already. "Speakin' of tactics, if yeh come at me from up there, you will get burned. Stop, drop, an' roll won't be enough to put the fire out."

"I am willing to... what was it you said earlier...? 'Take one for the team?'" Claye heard the other woman shift her weight. "No... don't try it, Chiyome. You ain't that good."

But clearly she thought she was. For a horrible moment, Claye wondered if maybe the ninja could somehow dodge in midair, but there was nothing else to do but defend herself. She sent a roaring stream of fire directly at Chiyome as she sprang, and watched the flames engulf her. Then something dark came through the fire and hit her squarely in the side of the head. Hard.

Claye had no memory of landing face-down on the floor. Whatever had hit her must have spun her around for her to end up like that, but she had no memory of that either. Also, she had been wrong in her earlier assessment that she was in a stable - she was actually inside several stables, all spinning around each other nauseatingly, and some bastard had stolen her knees and elbows when she wasn't looking and replaced them with some kind of gelatin.

She could see Chiyome, or several Chiyomes - perhaps one of the spare Chiyomes had stolen her knees? - but by focusing hard she could make them behave and be one Chiyome again. She watched the ninja dart over to the watering trough and empty it on her self, slapping at the patches still on fire until they went out. The steaming, smoldering ninja then turned her attention back to the machinist.

Claye knew she had seen scarier things, but couldn't quite recall when off the top of her head. Blackness had started to creep around the edges of her vision, along with a little voice that she identified as her common sense saying that it might be a good time to pass out. She'd never listened to that voice before, though, and damned if she was going to start now. She started to push herself to her feet.

She was helped partway up by Chiyome grabbing the front of her kosode. In fact, most of her weight was held up that way - it was really quite nice of the kunoichi to do that. Claye realized what was about to happen a moment before Chiyome said, in passable Taelaric, "Hammered. Down."

Claye tried to respond with an insult, something along the lines of Chiyome's mother being the most frequently hammered and nailed woman in Ikoku, but her tongue wouldn't cooperate. Then the kunoichi's fist blurred, and everything went dark.

***

Mikado already had the horses packed by the time Chiyome came out of the stables, staggering under the machinist's weight, which was draped over one shoulder.

Mikado rubbed his chin. "That seemed excessive."

"Our machinist has... more tricks than I gave her credit for." Chiyome slung Claye's body over the back of their third horse.

Mikado appraised her condition. "You're still smoldering a bit, there."

The kunoichi slapped at the smoking patch of her clothing. "I think you need to get a refund. The potion did not keep the flame away entirely."

"It is more likely that Miss Kilnmyr's fire is hotter and more consumptive than normal flame."

Chiyome mounted, doing a good job of hiding her discomfort. Mikado knew from the pain in his arm that she had to be hurting. "I suppose I should be grateful that you were able to find an appropriate protection potion in such a small town. I wouldn't have thought it was possible to do so in such a short time."

Mikado also mounted guiding his horse and Claye's. "You are correct. I took two of them from the Dragon Emperor's supplies before I set out to meet Miss Kilnmyr for the first time. I drank the first one before our first meeting, in case she turned out to be more volatile than I thought, and the second one I kept for an emergency."

"I see." And she did. "Do you think Lord Shigeru will keep his word?"

Mikado laughed, genuinely amused. "No, of course not. And being untrustworthy himself, he doesn't trust us. We are going to be watched all the way back to Masurao castle, so behave."

"I will behave on the road." She said, before giving him a speculative look. "But I promise nothing once we make camp."

"A delightful unspoken proposal, but do remember that we need to keep our strength up. It would not do for us to be less than rested when we reach Masurao Castle..."

"We will miss the meeting with my father. He's much older than we are; we can't expect him to keep up with us."

"I shall apologize to him on our reunion, of course, but Muneyoshi will have to wait."

One hour later
Mihoto Outskirts, road to Syato

Amagumo no Muneyoshi frowned. Mikado was now quite late to their rendezvous. It had happened before, but never without a good reason. Now, he had to figure out what that reason was, consider his previous mission scrubbed, and determine what he should do.

But not alone. His traveling companion, a tall foreigner with silver hair, a bushy mustache, and dark blue eyes was dressed curiously - a brown poet-shirt and dark brown pants were tucked into dark boots, fingerless gloves met black bracers, and a tool belt and loose cloak completed the ensemble. "It's as yeh thought," his companion said in perfect, if accented, Ikokuan. It was a commoner's dialect, but well-practiced. "A trio was spotted headin' north. An Ikokuan man, a woman, and a captive."

"Hrm. But where are they going?" Muneyoshi scratched his head. "Surely not all the way back to Masurao?"

"Why not?" His companion snorted. "If they decided that they couldn't evade Shigeru much longer, they may have chosen t' take out the threat at the source."

"Perhaps. If so, we will need to hurry to beat them there." Muneyoshi shook his head and sighed. "I am not looking forward to this. This is not a game for old men."

"Right yeh are, Mr. Amagumo." The blue-eyed man brought his horse around, gazing at the still-burning structures in town.

The elder Amagumo paused. "I think, after what we have gone through in the past few days, you could call me Muneyoshi. And I think I deserve to know your name."

The other man looked at him for a moment, and then laughed. "Alright then. My name is Tyras. Tyras Kilnmyr."

3 days later.
30th day of Logiscae: 3814 of the Age of Tears
Horikawa 3, by the Ikokuan Calendar
Masurao Castle (Throne Room) - Night

"As promised, you and your retainers are free to go. There will be no further pursuit, Tatsudoshi no Mikado."

The young man watched as Claye was taken away by what appeared to be an entire squad of guards. "You are most kind. Until we meet again, Lord Shigeru." Mikado bowed and took his exit.

As soon as he was gone, Shigeru no Hideyoshi nodded to Iwasa - the man knew what to do. Mikado was about to be unavoidably - and violently - detained. To the rest, he said, "Secure the sorceress somewhere near the study, prepare to-"

"My Lord!" A scout pushed through the door. "Many apologies for the interruption, but we have another visitor."

"I'm not taking any more visitors." Hideyoshi said coldly. He had a mere two hours before the spell's deadline. "Send them away."

"My lord... it's Ichimonji no Tanyu."

"What?" The flat growl rolled across the room. "What is he doing here?"

"He claims he is here to verify the transition of power and pay his respects to the new lord."

Hideyoshi rubbed the bridge of his nose. Ichimonji's timing was atrocious - or rather, it was extremely interesting that he would show up right at the moment that he was least wanted. Was this Lady Azami's doing?

But he couldn't turn him away. Not now. He calculated how long he would have to spend entertaining the man and answering his questions - an hour, minimum. That left him one hour with which to complete the spell - that was cutting it far too close. He could theoretically try again next year, but he had learned the hard way that an awful lot could happen in six days, let alone an entire year. No, he would do whatever he had to in order to make Ichimonji happy and then finish his spell - and then Ichimonji would be the first to fall to his new power.

He turned to the servant. "By all means, send him in."

[Jade_Tarem]

New Year's Special: Hammered Down (Part 3)
All war is deception.
- Sun Tzu

Masurao Castle, Central Balcony, Ikokuan New Year's Eve
Less than two hours before midnight

There was one floor to go (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lw5feAg_8Ec&feature=related), and Chiyome hadn't been detected yet. Working her way back into the building, she quickly located the stairs to the top floor.

She had been inside for some time already, and had learned from various incautious servants and guards that Shigeru's big spell was supposed to go off tonight. Rumor also had it that it relied on some complicated scroll. By process of elimination, she had found that the scroll was not in the throne room, armory, dungeon, vault, or even the main study. That just left the lord's own personal quarters on the top floor. Fortunately, Masurao castle had been built in a time of peace, and was more decorative than functional. It was a sturdy and defensible enough structure, but with more in the way of fine hardwoods, tapestries, and the like than stone bulwarks. Also, the architecture was designed, for various reasons, to provide for a central courtyard atrium as well as the main courtyard, and to provide a view of the far mountain rather than a way to effectively defend the pass that it was purportedly guarding.

She turned the corner and frowned. The short passage to where the scroll was being kept was the first real security challenge she'd encountered - there was nowhere to hide in the hallway, and what appeared to be a locked door.

But there was nothing to do but go for it. She was on a time limit, after all. Ichimonji, who likely didn't even know she existed, wouldn't distract Lord Shigeru forever, and the longer she delayed the more danger Mikado was in.

She tried the door, surprised to find it open. What was even more of a surprise, though, was the iron portcullis behind it. She stared at it for a moment. A particularly paranoid lord might install such a thing, but it was going to make her job more difficult.

She caught a shift in the shadows out of the corner of her eye, followed by a loud and heavy footstep. A moment later, a figure wearing heavy armor and wielding a pair of smaller blades stepped around the corner. In full regalia, including a mask, Chiyome couldn't see his expression, but the voice sounded amused. "The master knew you would be up here sooner or later. I've been told you're the one who killed my men."

Chiyome looked at him blankly. She knew who he was talking about, but she was trying to find a weakness in his armor, a way to get by him, anything that might help her - she doubted she'd be able to force a blade through the plating.

"You killed my men." He repeated, a trace of annoyance creeping into his voice.

"I've killed many men. And women. And more than one exotic creature or spirit."

"In Kanhu." She could sense his rage building.

"You're going to have to be more specific."

He growled. "You killed twelve of my best agents in the city of Kanhu, five days ago, in the market. You kicked the teeth of one out the back of his skull."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, those men. If those were your best, you have much bigger problems than avenging them."

"Not right now, I don't. It's time to answer for your crimes." Chiyome had hoped she would provoke him into charging her, but she had no such luck. The armored figure approached cautiously, intent on using his advantages properly...

Armory

Claye was, in a word, miserable. Her joints ached, her wrists were chafed, her bruises, while no longer swollen, were still many and various shades of painful. She was in the heart of a castle owned by a man who wanted at least a nontrivial part of her, bound, surrounded by enemies, and had no allies in sight. Really, it was just like the situation immediately prior to her meeting Mikado, except she was on the fourth-floor armory instead of down in the dungeon. At least she'd been fed.

Except she had a secret. Several of them, really, but the most pertinent one was that her Ikokuan captors had not removed her bracers as they had last time, probably due to the big rush everyone was in, and the spring-loaded blade that hovered under her right wrist could free her from her bonds at a moment's notice.

She found the perfect opportunity to do so, the exact moment when they tossed her in the corner of the armory and reduced, very slightly, the number of guards watching her. She twisted her wrist to release the spring-loaded blade.

Nothing happened.

She tried a few more times, eyes widening in horror. Myriad possibilities flashed through her mind - had Mikado or Chiyome removed it, leaving the bracers on as a sick joke? Were the ropes around her arms enchanted to resist even a durium blade? She rubbed against the wall to test something - she heard the slightest scratch, and relaxed slightly. The blade was still there.

The mechanism was broken, then. Normally, a small but very powerful spring deployed the blade with enough force to punch through everything up to moderately heavy armor. But... the spring and other little parts weren't made of durium, like the blade was. Something must have snapped or shifted during her fight with Chiyome.

But that didn't help her now, when she really, really needed it to work. Bound like this, she was an easy target for whenever Shigeru got around to dealing with her. She was wasting time now, and she had no time to waste...

Outside, Masurao Courtyard

Mikado passed by Ichimonji no Tanya, watching the man with interest - almost more than was polite, really. The other man was dressed formally in the blue and white of Lady Azami's clan and exuded dangerous competence. Like Mikado, he was in complete control of his appearance and had a commanding presence that was difficult to maintain and even harder to fake. And despite the fact that he had apparently left his iconic armor in Azami territory, he carried his famous sword with him. Rumor had it that the katana was over eight hundred years old, held the soul of an ancient Emperor in it, could cut through magic and steel alike, and might even be intelligent and aware of its surroundings. None of that was proven, of course, but what was historical fact was that despite heavy use, no one wielding it had lost a fight for at least the last century.

Fortunately, Mikado did not plan to test the weapon tonight. Indeed, he was counting on Tanya's presence to work in his favor. The visit by the noble samurai would stall Hideyoshi's inevitable betrayal -

"Stop where you are, please." Some thirty or so guards moved into the courtyard, surrounding Mikado. A line of archers on the wall set took aim at him. "Lord Shigeru is not done with you or your retainers yet."

- or not. There were contingency plans in place, but it would be better to drag this out to give Chiyome more time.

"That isn't what he said a moment ago. Perhaps you should check back with him."

Iwasa frowned. "You can't be that naive. Your Ninkyoudantai connections, your relationship with the sorceress, and your inexplicable funding are all of great interest to him." He then grinned. "We know about your kunoichi mistress, or whatever she is to you. We also know what she's after. She will not succeed. Whatever you have planned for tonight, it will not work. Our guards have been alerted to watch for a woman with a scarred face, even among their own number, you are going nowhere, and the sorceress is secure. But," He grinned again. "You can prolong your life by ending this farce and telling us what you were planning. It would be a big help."

Mikado raised an eyebrow. He still hadn't heard the signal yet, more time was needed. "Very well. It will likely make the most sense in reverse order, then. My plan for tonight was to subvert the defenders of Masurao Castle, placing them on my side -"

"With what, bribery? Magic?"

"Not quite, but I'm getting to that. Now, when Chiyome - the kunoichi you mentioned - and I approached Masurao, we saw Ichimonji no Tanya also making his way here, although I don't think he saw us. We decided to time our arrival to occur just before his, knowing that he was one of the few men in Ikoku that Lord Shigeru dare not turn away. But the good part of the plan began three days ago, when your agents in Mihoto made your appeal to the Ninkyoudantai, hinting at an unusual power that Lord Shigeru would possess as soon as he got the sorceress..."

Armory

"...this led to much speculation among our little group about what it could be. Fortunately, the Dragon Emperor is well versed in Ikokuan mythology, and demands that we be knowledgeable about it as well, for precisely this scenario..."

Claye was close to panic - in fact, she was about ready to try burning her way through the bonds indiscriminately. The problem was that this would involve setting herself on fire while bound and immobilized, which would likely not end well for her. Any fire not directly originating from her could burn her just as easily as anyone else, and in this case it would be her clothes and bonds burning. On top of that, she would be filling an enclosed area with smoke, which might kill her even if she could somehow avoid being burned.

Focus. Patience. You can't burn your way through every problem. Claye snarled as the kunoichi's words drifted through her head, and then, suddenly, calmed down. There was a way out.

The mechanism in her bracer was broken, but she had spare parts on hand, in the back pouch on her belt. Stretching, she could just barely reach it, and popped the panel open on her bracer. It would be a trick doing this without looking at the components, but if she concentrated, she could do it.

She got to work. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bivdxuY2dAQ)

Courtyard Balcony, Study Access Corridor

"...and it was then that I remembered the old story, the one behind the fall of Inmetsu, the Dragon-god of Destruction. It was said that it took a thousand samurai and spirits, led by the gentleman-warrior Masurao, to trap him, and that a thousand blades rested on his tomb with the weight of a mountain. Flowery language, of course, but the connection was obvious once I started thinking about it. Masurao Castle guards the Thousand Sword Pass, but not from human enemies. The purpose of its position is to watch the mountain under which Inmetsu is sealed away..."

Duck. Dodge. Bend. Sidestep. Deflect. Dodge. Dodge. Strike-

-it wasn't working. The man's armor was too thick, and despite his rage he was too cautious. Her usual style of fighting wasn't made for this, and she'd been caught out in the open. She went through her inventory of tricks and weapons, and found it running low. The sorceress had destroyed two of her blades, and she'd lost another three to this madman. She'd tried throwing powder into his eyes, but the mask had protected him. Her climbing gear and garrote were unlikely to be useful in the middle of a pitched fight.

Sometimes you just have to meet a problem head on, with whatever leverage you can get.

The Taelarian's advice seemed less than useless now, as fighting an armed and armored man head-one was how ninja wannabes got killed. Still, she couldn't help but feel that she was missing something. And a moment later, she saw it - the leverage she would need to kill a fully prepared samurai head-on.

Outside

"...and it stands to reason that Inmetsu could be unsealed as well, if one knew how. Upon revealing this to our guest, Chiyome and I offered to simply spirit her away. The odds of Shigeru finding another sorceress in the next three days were considered very small, but of course he could try again the following year." Mikado paused. "And upon hearing this, Miss Kilnmyr volunteered to 'take one for the team' and be offered as a sacrificial lamb so that Chiyome could gain access to the castle and steal or destroy the scroll, on the grounds that whatever sorceress Shigeru found next wouldn't deserve to be sacrificed to his ambition any more than she did."

"She's working with you?"

Mikado gave him a pitying look. "Of course she is. The way we captured her should have been your first clue, really. Had we been serious about it, we would have drugged her food or jumped her in her sleep - preferably both. But even that might have raised suspicions. Instead, they put on their little heartfelt performance and aired all of their grievances with each other-"

"The sorceress lit your ninja on fire!"

"Yes. That and the injuries they suffered convinced you that we were serious, didn't they? It seems preposterous that your enemies would launch a proactive plan that involves beating each other up and lighting each other on fire. Frankly, it is ridiculous, I'll admit, but it seems to have worked - and besides, Chiyome needed to let off some steam."

"...was that a pun, or..."

"We're getting off topic. Prior to that, of course, there was the realization that the takeover was far too fast for the new Lord Shigeru to be strictly legitimate or honorable..."

Armory

"...so I needed to find a way to ensure that, were I forced to return here by circumstances, violence, or for any other reason, I would have options available to me..."

The door opened, and Claye dimly became aware of an armored figure striding into the room, keeping most of her concentration on what she was doing. She grimaced; it would be yet another problem that she'd be unable to burn her way through - or would she? There was a way to beat him with her magic, although she'd never tried it before. She pushed that thought aside and focused on freeing herself.

She was close. She'd pulled out the broken spring and replaced it with a stronger one. She'd reset and rewound the mechanism, and was sliding the panel shut. She finished just as the huge man hauled her to her feet and pushed her out the door, and that's when she struck. With a *snnkt*, the blade shot out and sliced through her bonds, and she grabbed the man's helmet with both hands, channeling her power into the armor. The temperature inside spiked higher and higher as the man panicked and smoke started to rise from the joints. Only a couple of seconds later, flame shot out of the eye and mouth holes in the mask as he screamed, and she kicked his body over the fourth floor railing into the central courtyard.

Study Access

"...many would find the presence of a sorceress and a kunoichi on the inside to be quite an asset, but this is the hour at which Lord Shigeru is the most paranoid, the most cautious, and the most well-protected. Still, given the shady nature of his takeover, even if it was *technically* legitimate, he would need to quiet the dissent in the ranks of his guards. To do that, he would need to eliminate all suspected loyalists, and replace them with new guards and a new leadership hierarchy - including yourself, as I understand it. Which he has, of course, been doing since the duel...

Chiyome was in a bad position - the man had managed to surprise her, finally, by abandoning his weapons and grabbing her by the neck, trying to choke her. With little other choice, she brought her garrote to hand and looped it around his throat. The chain mesh around his neck kept anything vital from being cut, but it didn't prevent him from choking, or blood from being cut off.

To his credit, he didn't let go, probably thinking that he could last longer. And maybe he was right, but he was also wearing full plate. She was faster, more flexible, and perhaps even stronger than he was. She managed to hop up, wrapping her legs around his arms, and then pried his hands loose. To her surprise, he didn't unbalance and topple, although that worked out almost as well for her. In the same motion, and without letting go of the garrote, she flipped over his head and, with her arms crossed, hung from her weapon, he clawed at her and the wire, but in the armor he simply couldn't reach.

Taking as much of his weight as she could, Chiyome dragged him out of the hallway. Reaching the railing, and still hanging on to the garrote, she jumped off. Overbalanced and half-unconscious, he toppled over after her.

It was a five-floor drop, a danger even for her, and he was in no position to fall properly. The man landed on his head, his life over, and his agents unavenged - Chiyome had hooked her leg into the decorative bannister, and now pulled out the cords and hooks that would let her climb back up.

Central Courtyard

"...which is why I contacted all nearby Ninkyoudantai agents with orders to get themselves hired at Masurao Castle..."

Courtyard duty was a drag, Saito mused, but at least it was safe. Plus, if you had a good conversation partner the watch didn't seem to take so long.

The other guard on duty, Shiro, was finishing a fascinating story. "...the ambassador was found the next morning, naked and tied to a flagpole, the economy of the Sanji province collapsed, and the baker was never heard from again. And that's why Lady Azami doesn't make fortune cookies anymore."

"No kidding? But weren't the cookies a foreign tradition anyway?"

"They were, but they could have caught on, I think. Still, that poor cat must have-"

He was interrupted when a heavily armored man crashed down in the center of the courtyard. Looking up into the night sky, Shiro could make out a figure disappearing back over the railing.

"Good gods, is he dead?" Saito exclaimed.

Shiro gave him a look. "He fell five floors and landed on his head. I'm not sure it would be possible for him to be more dead. We-"

He was interrupted again, this time by an armored man, screaming and on fire, toppling from the fourth floor balcony, smoke and flame trailing behind him. He also hit with a sickening crunch, and blazed away.

"I stand corrected. We need to raise the alarm. And then call for backup."

"How much backup?"

"Well, the flaming guy was probably killed by the sorceress, which means that she's loose. And the other guy's death means that she has help, so I'd say... all the backup."

Outside, Main Courtyard

"...six days ago (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9T-rHl9zaUU)."

Iwasa had long since stopped grinning. "That's impossible. And either way, we still have you! Call off your agents at once or you will die here and now!"

"You haven't been paying attention, Iwasa." Mikado snapped his fingers. The guards around him shifted to an escort formation, and the archers on the wall shifted their aim to target Iwasa. "I said I didn't bribe the guards. I had no need to. The majority of the night-watch guards were mine to begin with."

"The other watches-"

"-are preoccupied, incapacitated, or trapped." Mikado shook his head. "I'm afraid I haven't been completely fair to you. I didn't answer your first question. You asked me what my plans were tonight, and though the answer should be obvious by now, I'll tell you - I'm stalling for time until I get a signal from within. Then I'm going to go in, seize the ritual scroll that frees Inmetsu, assuming that my other agents haven't stolen it while Miss Kilnmyr and Chiyome distract your forces, and leave. Exactly how much death and destruction is involved in all of that is entirely up to you and Lord Shigeru."

He paused when he heard a slightly muffled shriek. Moments later, an alarm went up. "And there's the signal. I understand that you were just following orders, Iwasa, and for that reason you haven't been killed yet. Some of my agents are going to take you a good distance away from the castle, and if you behave exceptionally well you'll live through the night and quite possibly for years to come."

"Your orders, Mr. Tatsudoshi?"

Mikado grinned coldly. It had taken some doing to convince the local Ninkyoudantai that he was a previously-unknown close adviser to the Dragon Emperor, but what he had known about the organization, the business, and the Dragon Emperor himself had finally convinced them. As alert as they had been for a trick, it had never occurred to anyone that the Dragon Emperor might impersonate his own fictional underling.

And even though Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado was as much fiction as fact at the moment, he did like the idea of leading such a large group in his own name. Men and women who, like the Amagumo clan, answered to him rather than a myth.

"Carry out the plan, but remember the contingencies. Don't get trapped within."

With his contingent around him, Mikado tied his long hair into a warrior's knot, drew his sword, and strode into Masurao Castle. The new Lord Shigeru was resourceful, and certainly ambitious, but he was now threatening thousands of innocent lives. More importantly, he had stopped playing by Ikoku's rules. As a tolerated (if not necessarily appreciated) member of the Celestial Bureaucracy, it was the Dragon Emperor's duty to see him appropriately punished.

A secluded room

Shigeru no Hideyoshi had been surprised two times too many tonight, and that was unacceptable. First Ichimonji had shown up, and then he had shown no interest whatsoever in staying the night, although there was no way for him to reach any other point of civilization at a reasonable hour. This suggested strongly that the samurai was up to something, but Shigeru couldn't imagine what it could be. The man was not a devious sort - and although his mistress could be a sneaky as she liked, there was only so much the samurai could do. He would not assassinate Shigeru, and he wouldn't attack the castle without an army that Hideyoshi's scouts would certainly have seen long since. Theft was even less likely. But he couldn't outright ask why he was *really* here. Ichimonji had already given his official reason, to ask again would be the height of rudeness - and worse, it would look very suspicious.

He was about to try a more oblique query when the alarm went up. He stiffened. There could be no alarms, not tonight. He excused himself and got up to see to the emergency.

***

Ichimonji no Tanyu watched him leave. His actual purpose for being here was a secret, although probably not the one that the shifty Lord Shigeru was expecting. He had the advantage of Lady Azami's wisdom, and remembered what she had told him days ago when he had set out from Azami territory.

Masurao Castle would burn tonight. Lady Azami's visions always came true. He had once questioned how that related to free will, and her response had been... interesting.

"Details," She had said, "Details which change what visions I might be granted next. Suppose I had a vision of the kitchen burning down. I let the servants know about it, and they take great care to not let the kitchen burn down. They are hyper-alert and watch for wild flames, but one of them, just one, gets careless, and a fire starts before growing out of control. Within minutes, the kitchen is consumed. But because the servants were alert, they escape before they are harmed. Now, the kitchen burned anyway - no one could change that - but now those who would have died are alive. Some things, like gravity, are written in stone, but what we make of them is not."

Lady Azami had assured him, though, that the act which set Masurao Castle ablaze would not be an accident. As Masurao guarded the dread Inmetsu, such a thing could not go unpunished, and she had sent him out here to deal with the person or persons responsible for the burning, with the full support of the other Lords and Ladies.

He knew there was a fire sorceress here. Given what was soon to happen, it seemed that figuring out who would be the one to destroy Masurao Castle would be one of the easiest deductions of his life. He had almost demanded to see her when he walked in, so that he could kill her and be done with it, but Lady Azami had also told him to wait until after the castle actually burned to deliver his judgment.

So the man who was arguably the greatest warrior in Ikoku sat and did nothing as alarms rang throughout the doomed building. With nothing else to do, he took a sip of his tea, and wondered what Shigeru was up to. The man was hiding something, and no doubt planning something as well, but would it survive the destruction of his ancestral home?

And would any of them survive the judgment he was required to make?

[Jade_Tarem]

New Year's Special: Hammered Down (Part 4)
Strategy without tactics is the slowest route to victory. Tactics without strategy is the noise before defeat.
- Sun Tzu

Masurao, Study Access Corridor

"You're a terrible bodyguard." Claye drawled, climbing up the stairs to where Chiyome was. "An' why is your outfit all scorched?"

Chiyome looked squarely at the machinist. "You set me on fire three days ago, remember?"

"Nnnnot really. T' be honest, most of that evening is kind of a blur. Did Ah light anything else on fire?"

Mihoto

Koshiro stared in horror. He'd only been away for three days! "My stables! How could this happen?!"

Study Access Corridor

"No," the kunoichi said quickly. "We should move on. Can you get through the portcullis?"

"Sure. Want me t' burn through it, or...?"

"That's a bit excessive, don't you think? I was thinking you could take out the bolts with your tools. You are far to eager to burn things."

"That's rich, comin' from the world's worst dentist. Look, Ah don't like burnin' things. It just happens a lot, that's all."

Chiyome stared at her, silently.

"Alright, Ah enjoy it a little."

Chiyome kept staring.

"You're damn hard to lie to, y'know that?"

The ninja nodded sagely. "I know. It's part of what makes me a good bodyguard."

Claye shook her head and started working on the portcullis. "Ah saw fireworks stockpiled in the armory. Lord Shigeru's already set up a little victory celebration."

"How presumptuous of him."

"Not only that, but this business with dragon-gods, well..."

"Yes?"

Claye grinned at her. "It sounds like he's plannin' t' stick out. Didn't you say that was frowned on around here?"

Claye couldn't see the kunoichi's mouth beneath the mask, but she saw the grin in the ninja's eyes anyway. "Indeed. And I believe you said that it was best to be the ones who hammer him down."

"So Ah did." The bars of the portcullis hit the floor. "Will that involve kickin' his teeth out the back of his skull?"

"Maybe."

***

A short time later, they burst into the study, and froze. The study was a beautiful affair, simply but elegantly decorated, with an open balcony view of the distant mountain and the Thousand Sword Pass. More importantly, though, it was packed wall-to-wall with guards.

Lord Shigeru stepped out from among them. "Thank you for joining us, Miss Kilnmyr. I was just about to send for you." He waved them in, and his guards bodily dragged both of them into the center of the room, and then up to the balcony. "Do come in, we haven't got much time."

Claye looked about, but it could very well be checkmate. They had hoped that Shigeru would be occupied longer than this, that it would take him longer to respond to the alarm, that the forces he had on hand might have been subverted by Mikado.

But they had apparently hoped in vain.

"I had a longer speech prepared, but since your antics have already consumed entirely too much time, we're going to skip right to the ritual."

He walked over to the room's main desk and picked up a long scroll wrapped around an ornate tube, as well as a ceremonial dagger that Claye didn't like the look of. Turning to face the mountain, he held up the tube and let gravity unroll the scroll.

Years later, Claye would admit that her single greatest regret concerning her trip to Ikoku was that, due to Shigeru facing away from her, she couldn't see his face at that moment. Because the scroll did not feature arcane diagrams, ancient incantations, or anything of the sort. In fact, only a single line of boldly-written Ikokuan text was visible, and the rest was blank.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, SUCKER (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fe1ki2Ul0Xk&t=0m34s).

"Find it." Shigeru said quietly, nostrils flaring. "Find the scroll. Kill whoever you have to." He turned around as some of the guards left to do his bidding. "The rest of you keep the sorceress under control. And kill that ninja." He left, leaving Chiyome and Claye pinned between the balcony and a room full of angry, terrified guards.

They started to advance, weapons out, but stopped when Claye stepped in front of Chiyome. "Through me. You will have to go it," she said, in Ikokuan.

"Just grab her." One of them said, and they moved forward again.

"It's a touching gesture, but I have a better plan," the kunoichi told the sorceress, dryly. The machinist's eyes widened as Chiyome pulled out yet another blade - Claye had no idea where she was keeping them - and pressed it against her throat. "One step closer and I kill the sorceress! Don't move!"

"Ah'll say it again. You are a terrible bodyguard!" Claye shouted.

"Claye." Chiyome said. In other circumstances, Claye would have questioned the ninja using her first name, but she was a bit distracted. The kunoichi bumped up the surprise factor a moment later by speaking Taelaric. "Claye, none of them understand your language."

Claye froze for a second as comprehension hit her. "And we do. What's the plan?"

"Where do you keep the... the... flashy thingies?"

"The flares? How do yeh even know about those?"

Chiyome rolled her eyes, even though the machinist couldn't see. "You used one on me."

"Three days ago."

"Right."

Claye felt her face heat up. Had she really gotten that carried away? Those were expensive. "Oh man. That fight got way off script, didn't it?"

"This is not the time." The guards were starting to creep around, to flank the two women. "Where are they?"

"Left side belt pouch. Make sure the clear end is pointed at them, and thumb the switch." She paused. "Are we jumpin' after that?"

"Yes, that would probably be best. And this would be the appropriate time to start burning things." The kunoichi fiddled with Claye's belt with her free hand, finally coming up with the device.

"Ah hear that. On three then?"

***

Mikado looked at the throne room. His throne room. Oh, he couldn't keep it, he knew that, but for now it was more his than anyone else's. It was also a decent enough place to coordinate from. "Report."

"We have secured the third floor. There is still no sign of the scroll, but Shigeru's remaining guards are searching frantically for it."

"Chiyome must have taken it." Mikado smiled. "All you have to do is find Chiyome and Miss Kilnmyr now."

The man bowed and began distributing the new orders.

***

Chiyome fell off the side of the balcony, hitting the curving roof and rolling, scrabbling for traction that would stop a more fatal plunge off the side of the castle. Above her, Claye actually jumped clear, hurling a tremendous fireball into the study, the blast pushing her out further than she intended. She landed above where Chiyome was rolling and bounced.

The kunoichi caught herself before sliding off, and barely managed to reach out and grab Claye's wrist as she went by. The momentum dragged both of them off the side, with Chiyome managing a final grab at the decorative edge of the roof.

"Ohhh... crap that's a long way down."

"Useful information, please!" The ninja's grip was already slipping.

"There's another balcony beneath us, but it's further in. Ah'll have to swing for it." Indeed, Claye was already twisting to move her center of gravity back and forth, creating a wider swing each time.

"Hurry!"

"Now!" Chiyome couldn't see what happened, but she heard a soft thump when she let go rather than a long, abruptly cut-off scream, which she took to be a good thing. Climbing down, she saw the balcony and managed to swing over to it herself.

Claye got up, brushing herself off. "That was fun. Let's never do it again."

"Agreed."

"So now what? Chase Shigeru down? Look for the scroll?"

Chiyome shook her head. "I don't have the scroll, and Shigeru doesn't have the scroll, so therefore Mikado or his agents have it. He may have just been using us as a distraction."

"That's gentlemanly of him. Did he-" She was interrupted as a burning timber crashed through the ceiling near them.

"Mikado said that your fire burned hotter and faster than usual. Is that right?"

Claye examined the damage. "Yup. An' if we have structural damage already, then Masurao is finished - they just don't know it yet." She looked at the kunoichi. "Time to evacuate."

***

It was easier said than done. Before too long, the entire fifth floor was on fire, and the guards seemed more interested in capturing Claye than getting out of a flaming building.

"Stupid Ikokuan loyalty!"

"They are likely terrified of what Shigeru will do if they let you escape. He seems the type to take it out on his underlings."


Claye set another group of guards ablaze. "This is still stupid. Who came up with this part of the plan, anyway?"

"You did." Chiyome idly blocked the attacks of another soldier, driving a knee into his chest.

"Three days ago."

"Right."

"Was this before or after yeh gave me brain damage?" Claye drove a flaming fist into a guard's neck.

The kunoichi finished off her own opponent. "Strictly speaking? After. In retrospect, it was not Mikado's brightest moment."

"...you're makin' that up."

"Of course I am. Watch out - there are two more hidden in that alcove."

***

Before too long, Shigeru was pinned between the fire, Claye and Chiyome, and Mikado's group.

Mikado stepped forward. "It is time to surrender, Lord Shigeru, or at least evacuate."

From the other side, Claye shouted in Ikokuan, The time to leave, it is now! All the things are burning!"

"That's more correct than you'd think." Chiyome clarified, as another burning pillar crashed down from the upper levels.

"I have many more soldiers-"

"Who are not coming." Ichimonji no Tanya stepped out from the antechamber. "I have freed the ones who were trapped or incapacitated before the fighting began, and gave them orders to get a safe distance from the castle. The Pass itself seems like a good place to meet, don't you think?"

"They took orders from you?"

"They took real orders from me to leave a burning castle over the nonexistent orders of a man who wants them to run back in for a scroll, yes." The samurai cleared his throat. "Are you really so bitter and petty that you wish everyone to die? Just leave Masurao before it's too late."

"Yes... and then we shall get this sorted out. Once and for all."

Ichimonji turned to regard each of them in turn - Mikado, Shigeru, Chiyome, and finally Claye. "Yes. We shall."

Bluff overlooking the Thousand Sword Pass, close to midnight, Ikokuan New Year's Eve

The soldiers of Masurao Castle - both Mikado's and Lord Shigeru's, were lined up in neat concentric semi-circles, but had been placed at ease. Those with the right viewing angle watched the castle burn, a spectacular but morbid sight. Those servants that had survived and escaped milled about in a tight huddle to one side.

And inside the smallest circle, a machinist, a kunoichi, and a businessman stood close together, opposite an enraged Ikokuan lord. Between these two groups stood a samurai.

"This is a great tragedy." He began, slowly. "Masurao Castle was of great cultural and tactical importance; its value was incalculable, and now we watch it burn." He paused for effect, and continued. "Worse yet are all of those who died within, whose lives are also of incalculable value, their potential lost to time, their deaths a terrible stain on the honor of the spirits and Ikokuans everywhere. Clearly, someone must be punished for this."

"Ah don't like where this is going." Claye whispered.

"Just wait." Mikado said, frowning. Either he had badly miscalculated, or else Ichimonji was a bigger ham than he had originally anticipated. He devoutly hoped it was the latter.

"And so we must ask ourselves, who is responsible?"

"Oh come now. This is hardly difficult," Lord Shigeru stated flatly, pointing at Claye. "The castle burned, she's a fire sorceress... must I spell it out for you?"

"I thought so too, on my way in. But I feel there may be more to it." He turned to Claye. "Why were you even here? What were you doing in Masurao Castle?"

Helped by Mikado, she gave him the whole story as best she could.

"She is lying, of course." Shigeru said, when she finished.

"You did not wish her captured and brought here?" Ichimonji raised an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, I did, but she was in collusion with that 'Mikado' man-"

"Irrelevant. Why did you send your agents out after her?"

"To... to avenge my father's death, of course."

The samurai shook his head, withdrawing a small sheet of paper. "In your message to Lady Azami, you very clearly state that the late Lord Shigeru's death was the result of a legitimate duel. No vengeance was necessary. No fuss, nothing."

"What's going on here?" Claye whispered again.

"Something beautiful," Mikado answered, "a thousand years of cultural inertia working in our favor."

Shigeru's jaw worked for a second. "We uncovered evidence of tampering soon after-"

"But sent no correction? No other message describing your sudden need for revenge on the Taelarian?"

"There was no time-"

Ichimonji's voice rose; the man was seemingly unafraid of cutting Lord Shigeru off mid-sentence. "There was a great deal of time. Six days, If you'll remember."

"An oversight, then. I apologize."

Ichimonji gave the lord a look he might reserve for an unpleasant substance he'd stepped in. "I think that you are lying to me. I have heard rumors of a scroll of terrible power, one that your guards and servants whisper of. I think that you had dark purposes in bringing the sorceress back."

"Ridiculous."

"Possibly. It does not escape my notice that it likely burned away with the castle, leaving me unable to prove its existence."

"True." Shigeru no Hideyoshi relaxed slightly.

"However, this same fire also consumed any evidence that the duel that claimed the late Lord Shigeru's life was somehow compromised. In fact, the only records we have concerning it all predate your assertion that it was a legitimate duel."

"But-"

"Which means that your demand that Miss Kilnmyr return here was illegal and unethical. An unsupported act of vengeance."

"That isn't true! I-"

Ichimonji's voice finally rose to loud, clarion tones. "This is what I think, Shigeru. I think that the sorceress somehow insulted your father out of ignorance. Rather than forgive the offense, he demanded a petty duel that ended with his death. Then you, for whatever reason, decided that you would rather have the sorceress here than let her go as you were legally constrained to. Did she have to escape your castle the first time as well? No matter." The man was pacing now, not unlike a tiger, Mikado noted - an alpha predator among a herd of lesser animals.

"She made a deal with the Ninkyoudantai!"

"That is none of your concern! She paid for the insult with the duel, and survived it by working within our laws. She will pay for Mr. Tatsudoshi's help in some other way that does not need to be made public. Your father paid for his pettiness with his death. Your clan paid for its poor leadership with the loss of their castle. Everyone has paid their debts and fulfilled their obligations." He turned back to Shigeru, a terrifying silhouette against the distant light of the burning castle. "Everyone except you."

"Wh.. what do you..?"

"I judge you to be responsible for the burning of Masurao Castle, due to a combination of poor planning, poor judgment, and poor leadership. You have brought shame to your entire clan. The will of the other Lords and Ladies as well as my own has been made plain - they wish for your death." He drew a small sword from where it was held at the center of his back, his other hand rested on the hilt of his katana. "You may regain some small trace of honor here and now. If you so choose, I will ensure that you do not dishonor yourself further, and record your last act properly, as is tradition."

Shigeru took the wakizashi with shaking hands and stared at it like he had never seen one before. Mikado watched him with interest. Every Ikokuan, at some point, wondered what they might do in this situation. If they had erred so badly that the only possible redemption was found at the end of a short, well-crafted blade, would they do it? It wasn't something most would dwell upon, of course, but still...

Lord Shigeru, apparently, would not. He instead lunged at the closest target - the man who'd offered him the blade.

What occurred next happened too fast to see, but a moment later the samurai was sheathing his katana again, and Shigeru was dead. "He died as he lived," Ichimonji stated, and did not elaborate further. There was no need.

Minutes later

Ichimonji took charge of the remaining members of the Shigeru Clan, having them set up a small camp with whatever supplies were available. It was a clear and unseasonably warm night - sleeping out in the open would not be a problem. Tomorrow, they would make the journey south to the nearest town.

Mikado, Claye, and Chiyome, watched the castle continue to burn. "That's one brutally fast judicial system, that's all Ah'm sayin'." Claye stated.

"Not always. In fact, he would have only been arrested had anyone but Ichimonji been sent. If, for instance, we had killed Shigeru there would have been a great outcry. Even an unpopular lord's death is very closely investigated, we would have been held up for months, secrets would come out... it would have been inconvenient to say the least. But because the known hero Ichimonji killed him at the behest of the other lords and ladies, there will be very little fuss about it. He will answer a few questions, and return to his normal life, whatever that is."

"Ah'll take your word for it."

*Fsssssssshhhhhooooooom! KAPOW!*

Everyone startled at the noise, then relaxed. There was some bitter laughter from Shigeru's soldiers. The stash of fireworks had finally caught fire.

"Well, that's appropriate. Happy new year to you both." Mikado said.

"In Ikoku, fireworks are part of the New Year's celebration." Chiyome offered, by way of explanation.

"Neat!" Claye said. "We have fireworks for New Year's in Taelar too. O'course, we launch 'em on time, an' not two months late."

Chiyome gave her a look that could cut glass, but Claye was facing the wrong way to see it. Mikado took advantage of that to kiss Chiyome, though.

It was, after all, traditional.

When they pulled apart, a thought occurred to him. "Before I forget, you should make sure the scroll is packed away securely, Chiyome."

She looked at him blankly. "The scroll? I thought you had the scroll."

Mikado looked at her, frowning. "I? No, I never got past the third floor. Didn't you have the scroll? I know Shigeru didn't..."

They both looked at the machinist. "Don't look at me. Ah didn't even know the Ikokuan word for 'sucker' before tonight. You heard Mr. Seppuku over there, it probably burned in the fire."

Further up the mountain

"Seems this is a game for old men after all, huh?" Tyras chortled.

"Indeed." Muneyoshi examined the scroll he held. "They are much younger than we are. We can't expect them to keep up with us."

"True... true... but that was still some fine work gettin' the scroll."

"Thank you. In case I did not say it before, it was a grand idea to leave the fake scroll behind, just to taunt Lord Shigeru."

"Sure, no problem. So... what are yeh gonna do with it?"

Amagumo no Muneyoshi stared at the scroll as the wind picked up around him. "The fall of Inmetsu, the construction of Masurao castle, the monuments near the Thousand Sword Pass... all of these are a testament to the fact that some things are better left buried." He tore the scroll to tiny pieces and let go, allowing the wind to carry the bits of paper toward the conflagration that had once been Masurao.

Tyras snorted. "Is that a subtle way of tellin' me that Ah shouldn't be tryin' to open the Dark Armory?"

"No." The Ikokuan said, honestly. "But it is something to consider, I think."

"Don't think Ah haven't. But the thing about things that need to stay buried is that someone had to bury 'em in the first place."

"Something else to consider. I do not envy the decisions you will have to make. Or the burden you plan to present to your granddaughter."

"What Ah'm givin' Claye is a gift. A future."

"She may not agree."

"Not at first, no. Later on, though, she will. Ah'm sure of it."

"Speaking of gifts, Lady Azami..."

"Lady Azami supports my plans. She's looked at Taelar, an' she doesn't like what she sees."

"Ah. I suspect that the Dragon Emperor will support them as well, and who knows - perhaps the Emperor himself will too, when the time comes."

"We can only hope. But Ah've got a lot of places left t' visit before any of that happens. It'll be another three years, at least, before Ah'm done."

"And when you finish your task, what then?"

"Then Ah return to Taelar. An' this," Tyras gestured toward the burning ruins of the castle, "will look like a picnic by comparison."

Three days later, Mihoto

The place was secluded enough that Chiyome could let her guard down, just for a moment, to hug her father. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"Ha! Don't worry about me. What did I miss?"

"We went to Masurao Castle. There was a big fight, a fire, an execution. It was all very dramatic. It's just as well that I don't do infiltration anymore."

"I see. And what are we doing now?" The old man squinted at her suspiciously - he could hear voices through the door to the kitchen of the little house they'd rented.

"Mikado has persuaded Miss Kilnmyr to attempt to eat with chopsticks."

Through the door, the frustrated voice clarified. "Fingers... do not... work! That! Way!"

"It's dinner and a show." Chiyome added, deadpan.

"Well, I wouldn't want to miss that." The two of them walked in.

Mikado waved them in. "Welcome back! I'm glad you're safe, it was terrible of us to leave you like that, but necessary..."

"No apologies are needed, my lord. I am fine. I would have arrived sooner, but I had trouble finding somewhere to leave my horse. Apparently, someone burned down Mr. Koshiro's stables."

"That's awful," Claye said, scowling as she lost her hold on the rice yet again. "Ah hope they catch whoever did it."

"No need to worry," Chiyome nodded, "the one responsible was beaten severely."

"Well... good."

"The other reason I was delayed was that I met a most fascinating man during my travels. A Taelarian, I believe." Claye froze.

"I didn't catch his name before he caught a boat out of Syato, but he was tall, with a big mustache, and he too was a sorcerer. His magic was different, though, it-"

Claye rapidly thanked Mikado for the food and jammed her feet back into her boots by the door. Letting out a string of invective, she bolted out into the street and was soon out of sight.

Not that she would catch her grandfather, though. Tyras had specifically asked Muneyoshi to avoid revealing his location and path until it would be too late for her to accost him. For her own good, as well as that of Taelar, she couldn't be allowed to reunite with him just yet.

Two days later, Syato, Morning

Despite her haste, Claye knew that catching her grandfather was futile. So she accepted Mikado's offer to escort her all the way to the Syato Docks.

"So this is goodbye, then?" She asked. "It was quite the visit, Ah'll say that."

Mikado bowed. "Very true. I hope it is not too forward of me to say that I hope you visit again."

"Not at all, if Chiyome will let me."

"I will, as always, do as my master commands." The kunoichi paused. "But I would not object to your return."

Claye smiled wrly. "High praise t' be sure. You're goin' soft."

Mikado watched as the workers moved the last of the supplies onto the boat. "And please do not forget your end of the bargain. I think it is fair to say that we have upheld our end."

The machinist looked at him, completely serious. "Ah won't forget. Ah'll likely end up in Taelarys again sooner or later. It's the tech capital of the world, they'll have a way t' get a message back. And if not, then..." She grinned again. "Ah found my way here once. Ah can do it again."

"Then until next time, Miss Kilnmyr."

"Goodbye, Mikado. And goodbye, Chiyome. Have fun hammerin' things."

The two Ikokuans watched the boat depart, sailing away in stately fashion.

Mikado was the first to break the silence between them. "I'd have thought you'd be glad to be rid of her."

"She was... interesting. Of course, she is also quite likely to die before finding her grandfather. The real wonder is that she survived childhood."

"On the contrary, Chiyome, I'm quite certain that we'll see Claye Kilnmyr again."

"Now that is a truly terrifying thought." The kunoichi scanned the crowd around them identifying several new threats. "We should go as well. The Dragon Emperor cannot stay hidden much longer."

"Yes, of course." Mikado turned about, contemplative. The Dragon Emperor was integral to running the Ninkyoudantai. He had already been gone for several additional and unplanned days. No doubt there would be a mess to clean up when he got home.

And he was tired of it, he realized. He was sick of adding to an anonymous legend, but always he was dragged back to it. The Dragon Emperor could not remain hidden much longer - and neither could Tatsudoshi no Mikado.

Deck of the Water Dragon

Claye watched Ikoku disappear beyond the horizon (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hw3aHQNxPOk&feature=related). It would be a long journey, although she wasn't going all the way back to Taelar. In fact, her destination was a little-known port in the northern wastes.

She had a lot of time to think, on the boat, and she did. The Kilnmyr family had once stuck out, and had been hammered down as thoroughly as a family could be hammered. She knew who was responsible. She knew that the odds of her father, her mother, and her siblings disappearing due to 'accidents,' as had been officially reported, were so low as to be nonexistent, to say nothing of her ancestors that had been overtly slaughtered. She even knew who was responsible - the orders to destroy House Kilnmyr had come from the very top, and had been maintained by the Imperial Family ever since. A family that thought they had the biggest hammer in the world.

And she would prove them wrong, because Chiyome had been mistaken. Lord Shigeru had never possessed more power than Claye could ever wield. In fact, Lord Shigeru hadn't possessed even a single percent of the sheer might that the Dark Armory represented. The mere possibility of seeing it had convinced the Ninkyoudantai to defy Hideyoshi's father and save her life.

And so, as she sailed toward whatever new chaos awaited her, she made a silent vow. As I live and breathe, I will *never* be hammered down again.

[hi-mi-tsu]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy

Raina's lip curls in distaste, both at Azlian's display and Claye's explanation--though she is envious of the Rhetizian woman's ability to conceal a dagger in a dress that looks as though it is barely there. To kill for entertainment, or even profit...she had never killed solely for money, and never for the "fun" of it.

"I do not know what sorts of people they breed in Rhetiz, but to find amusement in the murder of a prominent and well-loved statesman is...distasteful. Though I suppose murder for money is a common thing, in a land of assassins." Her distaste is clear, and she glances towards the door of the library.

"We should inform our host of what was used on his dear uncle."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

13th of Bargenholt, late morning
Fortress of the Rose, Living Quarters

The elven woman's eyebrow arches at the question, and she fixes the half-giant with a hard look.

"While I understand your strength is formidable, I would advise you to curb your attacks when sparring with mortal partners. I would not look favorably upon a broken limb that puts a soldier of mine out of commission. Especially as we are chronically short-handed as it is. However, considering your size, I likely would not remove you from the Lions if such an accident were to occur. ...Please try to keep it from doing so. Once you sign, you are free to do whatever you wish."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All Aboard!
Medical Chamber

A familiar voice comes to her from the doorway of the area she had found herself in; Raina's eyes lift to see Anselme, and for a moment--just a brief moment--the elven woman wanted to hug him. He was not a horrid, blood-soaked machine, nor some strange creation, nor a rebel...

"Anselme...where are we?" Her voice wavers, just a little, from exhaustion and nerves and tension; she doesn't like this place, at all. "Can we just leave...? They didn't seem like they were willing to simply let us go, not after separating everyone."

Her eyes glance down at the semi-incoherent elf next to her, and an odd sense of propriety wells up. "...I do not like the idea of leaving anyone here with these...machines."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

23rd of Bargenholt, Noon
The Sunlit Rose

Elizabeth was pleased with her new dress; there were several more that were being altered and shipped to their suite in the hotel, but those were far from her mind as she sipped at her own cup of coffee--not nearly so dark as her erstwhile husband's--and took dainty bites of the crisp salad she'd ordered to go with their luncheon. The main meal hadn't arrived quite yet, but she didn't mind lingering...

When Turel spoke, Elizabeth's eyes flickered up to the woman in question; she looked quite miserable, it was true, but she hadn't actually done anything to them. Violet eyes flicked from the man to the woman; there was a faint hint of a compulsion, there, but nothing with any power.

And she chafed, so, under his reins at times...

The woman choked, suddenly, and paled; the next instant saw her hacking and berating the ever-more-miserable looking attendant for dry bread causing her to lose her breath. And Liz opened her hand, and blew a lungful of stale, lemon-scented air into Turel's face.

"There, deprived breath. Only a little. It isn't very pleasant. Poor old thing...she must be very lonely." A glance at the woman, and then askance at the man.

"Or bitter. Imagine, what could cause that sort of bitterness? Ownership, perhaps. The plight of being a woman. I wonder if she was ordered to do distasteful things?"

[TechnOkami]

13th of Bargenholt, late morning
Fortress of the Rose, Living Quarters

"Very well."

With those words, Murdok writes his name on the line, pledging his service to and binding himself for the good of the Blue Lions.

"My blade is yours."

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room
The Confrontation

Silence descended on the room as the gathered Rhetizians stared stonily at the scene unfolding. None made a move towards the man, but as the moments passed and the tension became a palpable haze, the servant's bravado began to shrivel under a single green eye. Then, a cough from the door, and all eyes turned to Ghedim standing in the doorway. Fixing the scene with a cool gaze, he stepped forward flanked by a pair of his personal guards.

"That sounds like an excellent idea, Ser Anselme."

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Library
The Confrontation

Azlian refused to rise to Raina's needling, and though it was well hidden Clayr almost thought she saw a flash of amusement on the Rhetizian noblewoman's face. But then it became deadly serious once more.

You're quite right Ms. Nessiel, after you.

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room
The Confrontation

The mailed fist impacted the servant's midsection with a dull thud, just as it had for the past minute as Ghedim's guards "subdued" him. When the ambassador at first approached, the servant had seem almost calm, but that had melted away as soon as the armored men pinned him against the wall. Once more, the mailed fist drew back, only to stop at the slightest click of Ghedim's tongue.

"Now, let's try again. What did you use to poison my Uncle?"

"I swear, my lord...I had nothing...to do with it..."

"I might have believed you, had you not attempted to shift blame to Ser Anselme. Such a desperate move may have worked among the credulous and the ignorant - sadly for you, we are neither. So I ask again, what poison did you use?"

"We might be able to clear that up."

Ghedim turned as Azlian, Raina, and Claye strode into the room, the crowd watching the macabre spectacle parting before them.

"It was Void Rose that killed Hieronymous, Ghedim. There was no saving him once he drank from the cup."

"Fascinating. If I recall correctly, Void Rose is nigh undetectable...save by its reaction to fire."

Ghedim turned back to the servant with a look that froze the blood.

"Search him."

The guards were quick, and brutally efficient, tearing through the servant's pockets before beginning on his clothes. As the layers were peeled away, the servant's protests grew feebler, until eventually he was standing in his smallclothes, and the guards held a black satin kerchief far too grand for any simple servant to own.

"You have a very fine taste in accessories, my friend. Very...Rhetizian."

With a flick of his wrist, Ghedim threw the kerchief into the nearest fireplace. Before the fabric even touched the flame, a crimson miasma exploded from the edges, spreading a deep purple stain into the center of the cloth. As it burned, the very air seemed to scream with its passing, as a foul green steam erupted from the fibers, spiraling into the chimney on an unseen wind. And then, nothing was left but the pervasive scent of wet rot and burned flesh, and Ghedim turned a triumphant gaze to his uncle's man.

"It would seem that you are discovered, my friend. I'm sure you know what comes now, but I give you one chance for redemption - tell me why, and I shall ensure your death is quick."

A mumble, unintelligible save for a few muttered syllables, escaped the servant's lips. Cocking his head to one side, Ghedim took a step closer, obviously interested in this last, crucial piece of the puzzle. Again, a mumble, clearer now, mentioning a name. A final few steps brought Ghedim face to face with the servant, and as the broken man raised his eyes to meet the ambassador's they burned with long-contained hatred.

"Danielle."

"What?"

"Danielle Voisin, you bastard. Her death is on your head, and if you'd drunk from that chalice first she would have been avenged. But now..."

A manic laugh escaped the servant's lips, and the guards exchanged uncertain looks as Ghedim's face drained of color.

"How do you..."

"My name is Jaren Therill, first tenor of the Elmdore Theater, and I will have my vengeance!"

With a violent wrench of his arms, Jaren broke free of his distracted captors, lunging forward to wrap his hands around Ghedim's throat. For all his training, even the assassin was taken unawares, and he tumbled backwards under the weight of his attacker. Time seemed to slow in that instant, Azlian reaching for a knife, the guards reaching for their swords, Jaren's bloodshot eyes burning into Ghedim's pools of gold. Only those closest to the scuffle saw the knife spring from the ambassador's sleeve, before he buried it in Jaren's belly. A sharp gasp started time back to its normal speed, as Ghedim rolled and brought himself over Jaren. Grabbing the false servant's hair, he pulled him close, stabbing again.

"Fool. Your vengeance is naught but ash before the honor of Rhetiz, just like your beloved."

Another stab, and a bloody foam bubbled from between Jaren's lips. Standing, Ghedim released the dead man before turning his attention back to his guests.

"Everyone, I thank you for coming, but I think it might be best if we retire for the night."

23rd of Bargenholt
Noon
The Sunlit Rose

Turels nose crinkled slightly as the lemon-scented fumes assaulted his nostrils. Pulling a shimmering red kerchief from his sleeve, he gave a few flicks to clear the air before meeting Liz's violet gaze with his indigo.

"My dear, sweet Elizabeth, you wound me. It was your choice to join me in this marvelous adventure - indeed, there was no other way for the ritual to take effect. And while I have pushed you to certain actions, it was never to be cruel. Look around you, beloved, at this throng of humanity that you still identify with. Their lives are candles, guttering desperately against a dark they are not even aware of, and when they run their course they are consumed by the Nether, or any number of other nightmare traps. But not you. You are a star, my love, blazing so high and bright that these candles are no more comparable to you than ants. I am only trying to help you realize it."

Throughout his whispered entreaty, Turel held Elizabeth's gaze, the sussurus of his words piercing the noise of the crowd to travel to her ears alone. There was truth there, at least so far as it applied to him, and only a hint of the control she knew he could exert. Coming to an end, Turel gave a warm smile, reaching over to ruffle Annah's hair.

"And after all, I thought it might be nice to give Annah a little entertainment while we eat. You know how much she enjoys watching candles sputter out."

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt
Evening
Inside the Rhetizian Embassy Drawing Room

Anselme had remained sitting cross-legged in the overstuffed chair. His blond whiskers scraped over the back of his lamb skin gloves; his only motion the imperceptibly slow stroking of his chin. The emerald eye stared on impassive, unmoved as Ghedim stabbed the life from the assassin.

The moment the man had confessed, it had all been a charade. Anselme's heart had leapt to his throat and he was nearly sure the others could hear it pounding. Here was a man who was utterly false, a nobody with no name, no home and no cares. He was, until this moment, a happy vagabond content to let the world pass him by. The moment the name Danielle escaped the lips of that corpse, what peace he had shattered.

Slowly, so very slowly, he unclenched his fist. His eye darted left to right and then he let out a nervous chuckle that crescendo into sycophantic (and then sadly quite real) laughter.

Standing, he pressed a glove to his face and regarded Ghedim between his fingers. Between guffaws, he spit out, "Il Fornaio!"... a curious choice of words, consider he just yelled 'the baker' in Rhetizian.

Smiling dazedly, he explained, "In the opera Il Fornaio di Forti... the dinner scene. It is the host who drinks first from the communal chalice, not the honored guest. A little-known inaccuracy and a departure from proper Rhetizian etiquette."

He took a moment to self-consciously smooth out his hair before wagging a finger in Ghedim's direction. "You, dear sir, were very nearly murdered by an ill-informed thespian."

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

"If I find out anything, you're the first 'person' I'll tell. But, information isn't free." While information was one of the things she dealt in, Roxanne was hardly a street ear herself and was loathe to send one of her few contacts running after some maniac arsonist. Knowing the Vale, she'd be surprised if the Lions hadn't thrown his body in the river by now.

Propping her elbow on the counter and cradling her chin in her hand, she blinked wearily at her "customer".

"If," she repeated. "I'm not promising anything. Just leave your contact information so I can get in touch with you if I find anything."

All Aboard!
Medical Chamber

Anselme beamed at Raina and cooed snidely, "Oh, they'll let me leave. And I'm not leaving without you. The others though... well..."

He sighed and began to fiddle with his gloves. "We're not in a place I care to discuss while we're here. Understand? Nor am I certain how or why we arrived." His eye flitted towards the homunculus. "I can negotiate if you'd be kind enough to tell us why any of us are here..."

[hi-mi-tsu]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Drawing Room

Raina's eyes flickered away from the scene that they encountered, upon entering the drawing room, and stayed away out of an odd sense of respect for the man being so brutally stripped of his clothes. She would not wish to be violated in such a public manner, no matter what she had done...

When the fine kerchief was revealed, and flung into the fire, color leeched from the elven woman's face. That stench...rotting, burning flesh...the woman had to grope for a chair and fall into it, her own elegant lace kerchief appearing from where it had been tucked away in the bosom of her gown. How...horrible. How horrible these Rhetizian potion-masters must be, to have created such a thing! She felt as though she could barely breathe from the stench of it, and the murder of the man was missed entirely. It was only when Anselme began to laugh a strange, almost hopeless-laugh that she lifted her eyes, to catch his explanation...and it was an explanation that was pathetically sad, as her eyes traveled to the dead man on the carpet.

"...It is a pity for one who desired vengeance to remain unavenged, and to die a mockery." Her eyes were distant, for a moment, before she shakily stood.

"Though he hit the wrong target, his motivation is...understandable." A small pause. "He deserved a better death. ...As did your uncle. ...The rest of Rhetiz, I cannot say. ...Anselme? Will you be leaving with me?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

All Aboard!
Medical Chamber

The elven woman's patience had never been high; now, it was practically non-existent, and her back straightened in anger at the snide tone from the man. How dare he speak to her as though she were some sort of...of...idiot child?

"And why, praytell, will they allow you to leave but not the rest of us?" The relief in her voice was gone, and her tone was icy. "I have done nothing to these machines except be kidnapped by rebels who clearly lacked understanding of what they were getting themselves into. I demand an explanation!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

23rd of Bargenholt, Noon
The Sunlit Rose

Elizabeth's fingers clench around the elegant napkin on her lap, balling it up as Turel's words reach her ears; sometimes, he could soothe her, calling her things like his beloved, complimenting her. Sometimes. But not this time, not with the rush of fire and pain in her ears, the agony of loss in her mind, cradling emptiness where there should have been a child, abandonment...

"Pushed me?" The words were a hiss. "Pushed me? I am not myself inside my head, I am broken, and you did this! You did this to me! You waited, waited like a vulture, like a carrion-crow perched on a roof until I was sliced open and bleeding, waited to pluck out my heart when I was no longer in control! A man with the eyes of a beast who came to me and promised me safety, and who pulled me apart instead, who made it so my head is not my head and it's not whole and I am no longer safe--"

The tirade had been getting louder, and people began to stare; Elizabeth shoved away from the table, flinging her napkin down.

"You ordered me to be like this." The words were a hiss. "And I had nothing left, and I obeyed you, and now I am made of hollowness and lust. A desire I can never fill, and a pain I can never escape."

Turning on her heel, she stalked away; she only made it as far as the street before picking up her skirts and running. Behind her, chaos; ceiling-tiles began to drop, causing people to scream and seek protection from the plummeting pieces of pottery beneath their tables.

[Nefarion Xid]

All Aboard!
Medical Chamber

Anselme pursed his lips and screwed up his brow. Raising both hands in a frustrated, but very emphatic gesture, he strangled the air.

"It just kills you NOT to be in charge! Get it through your skull that other people may have things under control and that you, for once, don't know a damn thing about what's going on! It's a big world, captain, and it is filled with things you don't need to know."

Folding his arms he composed himself and calmly explained, "I seem to recall you stabbing someone for daring to be an upstart in "your" district. You'd do well to hold your tongue. They've gone to the trouble of patching you up, they're not about to harm you now. Just... show some respect for our hosts."

[Tebryn]

Ikoku
Date Unknown
Red Lantern Base

It was impossible to tell how long he had been down in that darkned cell, isolated and ignorant of the world above him. Every now and then a bright light of blinding proportions would shine down upon him, orders shouted and food lowered down to him. It would take him a while to adjust back to the darkness from the dizzying lights from above, eating as best he could in the silent velvet shroud he came to know as home. Burnt rice and filthy water, or sake though never, consisted the meal that would come that slowly counted out days and formed his calender in his own little world. The cell had grown wetter over the long period as well, water beading off the walls though it tasted like mud to his lips keeping him from gaining any reprieve even if it was slight. By the time they came he could feel the dried mud on his flesh cake off, his hair heavy with the stuff. But they took him to a land of light and sound, a place so different than any he could practically remember. In that darkness he’d lost a piece of himself, a part of himself that had forgotten the warmth of the sun or the taste of clean air. He had almost forgotten his time on the docks and the taste of salt on his lips and tongue. It was all to much to fast, those who had removed him from what he had accepted as his home worked over him for days, cleaning the left side of his face and shaving his filthy and matted hair until his head was smooth. The bath water was scalding to his flash, the soap used tore not only the filth away from his body but flesh from his form and screams from his lips. They scrubbed him raw and red, his second birth into the world from a frozen and mired womb, the mother the Earth itself. The first stage of the rituals had been complete, he’d survived the rebirthing from a simple rake to the steps of the secret order.

His eyes took weeks to fully adjust to the constant light of the world outside his pit, even when he could finally see motes danced before his eyes like drunken fire flies. But even that did not compare to eating real food once more. He had marveled at the sights they laid before him, even before his time in the hole he had never seen a feast of such magnitude. His mind could not process the bounty and before he could think of his error he devoured everything in sight as the Elders watched. He hadn’t even managed to swallow his next bite before his body rejected it all, vomiting until he was certain his stomach was the next to come up. Still through it all his Elders and Master forced the foul tasting rice wine upon him, more and more until his body rejected that as well. The left side of his face was cut and bruised though the stages of healing switfly began to repair the damage as soon as he could get real nutrition. Even with his rapidly recovering body his left eye was still damaged as if someone had covered his eye with a thin layer of cotton. His depth perception as well had taken a hit, he had to relearn where to move his hand if he wanted to grab ahold of his intended desire. The other apprentices, for he learned he was not alone, had taunted and teased him when he was finally allowed to join them though he ended that swiftly by beating a larger boy to death with their class stools. He had been punished of course, forced to fend off the rest of the students as they tried to help their friend but in the end he had made sure even if he were to be beaten and bloody they would all pay the same price. Their teacher merely watched on impassively for a Red Lantern Mage would have to be ready to fight any enemy at any time even if it wasn’t optimal. They had taught him that a friend was only an enemy that didn’t want anything you wanted as well. He would have to be ready to forsake any bond he made after he was released into his new life,

The life of a Red Lantern Mage was not easy, there would be days you might not be able to eat. Enemies may torture you with obscene torments. You would have to be ready they said to him in whispered words. When his body was strong enough to accept real food that was when the beatings started. Each day the Elders and Journeymen would enter his room as he slept or studied and would beat him about his chest and legs with bamboo staffs until he went silent. He had learned if he did not scream they would only beat him a little. They had said that to endure pain was the essence of life and that their enemies would cut his flesh and pull out his fingernails to get him to speak. He had to be ready. Eventually even the beatings stopped, leaving him to wonder what new horrors would present themselves but they never came. Not in a form he understood them as. His master, a man named Shen he had learned, had stayed by his side through the entire ordeal saying that his training had been augmented and extended due to his unsusual species and magical potential yet refused to specify how much time had passed or what methods they had augmented. For a week they had sat and spoken over the magics of Ikoku and what he would learn should he pass the second phase of his test. He would have to be ready.

[Jade_Tarem]

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, the Whodunit

Claye watches the spectacle unfold impassively, frowning. She wasn't as quick to put things together as Anselme, certainly. His deduction had been amazing. But...

But something was wrong. It was something about Ghedim, come to think of it... Claye's instincts were screaming it. As the party showed signs of breaking up, it finally hit her. There was a flaw in the logic. Two flaws, actually.

At formal parties, one generally tapped a fine glass with a fork to get everyone's attention. Lacking both, Claye rapped a copper vase with the Big Iron, producing a resounding *GOOOOONNNNNG.*

The machinist blushes at the stares directed her way. "Wow, Ah did not expect it t' make quite that much noise. Um... anyway, it's a ruse."

Silence for a moment. "A ruse. A red herring. Y'know, somethin' to throw us off the real track." The continued silence speaks volumes - an explanation is demanded. Claye nods at the dead man and proceeds down the entry stairs, eventually leaning casually against the bannister. "Right, so we have a vengeance-obsessed actor from the Elmdore Theater. He gets himself a job as Heironymous's servant, obtains Void Rose, somehow - not exactly an off-the-shelf item, even for the Mirzan family. He manages t' avoid all the crafty security measures Rhetizians use to keep this sort of thing from happening, an' in general just puts a lot of thought into this. Ah mean, the effort an' money required t' get the Void Rose an' get on the staff must've taken weeks, at least, if not longer. So then, after weeks of planning an' preparation, he somehow misses the fact that the ambassador tests his food for poison with a pet snake."

Claye gestures at the ambassador. "Even if Ambassador Ghedim had drunk from the chalice first, did Jaren seriously not watch the ambassador eat at least once before attemptin' t' poison him? Did he think that the snake's dramatic an' sudden death would be ignored?" The machinist's eyes narrow, and she pulls out her grandfather's pipe. "No... somethin' still doesn't add up."

[VonDoom]

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
===========================================

Alf and Takeshi

I was hoping bladescape would post and that the Captain could get the three of you together, but I don't want to make you two wait for too long. We'll solve it like this: bladescape's character only meets the Captain after you're done, and you're free to join him.

The Captain, obviously, recognized the name of his former passenger. "Lord Tatsudoshi? Oh, yes, of course I know of him. He played quite the jest on us! Clearly he must have known we would be put into quarantine, to head off so early, even before we were anchored properly." For a moment Shigeru looked a bit annoyed, but quickly replaced the sentiment with a shrug. "Still, he paid good coin for his passage and fought with us when it was needed, so I shan't complain."

"You're not the first one to ask about him today," the Captain noted, brushing an idle hand through his black beard, "for some reason these Taelarians seem to think we know about the things he did since we arrived better than they do."

"He's a prince, that one, third heir to a deposed clan. Must have had some rich patron, to buy passage and throw coin around as he does." The Captain sent an apologetic look towards Alfnierado. "Oh, yes, my apologies, a ... how would you put it? Excentricity of our tongue. We call customers 'lord', as well, though in Ikokuan it's a different, more polite form for proper nobles." He glanced towards Takeshi, satisfied that he had cleared any potential confusions as to his non-existant nobility.

"But, please, come now -- my quarters await. There are some goods I'm certain you'll appreciate."


Darius

"My lord," the right guard acknowledged, upon which both of the guards who were blocking their path briskly moved to the side. The path onto The Pearl of His August Personage, the Emperor of Ikoku laid open.

The deck was already bustling with mercantile activity, a dozen of different voices and accents filling the air with inquiries, haggling and sales pitches. Not many had taken note of Darius' approach, apparently, but at least one or two pairs of eyes set onto the grim-looking guard the disgraced lord had brought with him and likely decided that they would do their best not to wander too close.


Revin

Coming up in my next post...

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf, Shigeru and Takeshi

Alf was rather quiet at first on Takeshi's very short and very blunt response to his question. He gives it a moment before responding, "...An interesting coincidence," before turning back to the Captain.

"Well, if anyone knows Taelarys, they would have jumped ship the moment they hit harbor. Sounds like Lord Tatsudoshi knew such information beforehand," Alf remarks intriguingly. "They say that people of their own kind prefer to stay together, so them asking of that man doesn't surprise me." Alf didn't really know the Ikokuans well though, so he kept himself from speaking any more on that remark.

"You may address me however you wish Captain Shigeru, I personally do not mind." Alf sticks with his affable tone as he began to follow the captain. "I do hope there might be something of interest, even if I cannot pay for such a foreign item."

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf, Shigeru and Takeshi

Takeshi gives a hard stare to the Captain for a moment at his "helpful" clarification however remains silent otherwise while he speaks.

"Yes...I hope to find something of interst on this ship other than the thirty pounds I left around here somewhere...I suspect I won't have to pay for that. Onwards to the bargaining table however Captain. Perhaps though you would know where he is likely to be? I have many words to share with him. After all, we fought together. One can know the heart of another man if they have shared a battle."

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy

Taking Raina's arm, Anselme was silent (and appeared) contemplative when Claye spoke. When at last the party had reached the landing on the stairs, he purred, "Clever speculation, Ms. Kilnmyr, but even Rhetizians are capable of trust. At least they are after eight... ten years of loyal service? The wiry, dark haired corpse presently being carried out of the parlor is not the same manservant with whom Heironymous arrived. The old master had the man in his employee for years, not weeks. The kitchen staff has likewise worked for this embassy for years."

Drawing back his coat he placed a free hand on his hip. "It was the look on Ghedim's face that gave it away," he lied. "Until our assassin gave his real name, the ambassador believed that Heironymous's servant was the same man he'd known since he was a teenager. What you must realize, Ms. Kilnmyr, is that a man capable of acquiring Void Rose must also capable of a truly masterful disguise... that is, magical. And if you don't believe any of that, then... well, I suppose he just had the devil's luck to make it as far as he did."

Breaking off from Raina, he stepped towards Ghedim and extended his hand. "You have my deepest sympathies for the death of your uncle. I wish things hadn't turned out the way they did."

Rejoining his date a moment later, he concluded, "We should depart. I've nearly had my fill of death for one night."

[Jade_Tarem]

12th of Bargenholt, Rhetizian Embassy, the Whodunit

"The devil's luck is severely overrated, then." Claye belatedly catches Anselme's warning tone. Despite the pronouncement, the real murder would not be solved tonight. Because she didn't believe for a minute that the tragic hero of the evening had cooked up the entire scheme on his own and accidentally assassinated the wrong guy after being so careful to penetrate Rhetizian security.

But he wasn't the only one who could take a parting shot. "Ah strongly urge those here t' destroy any further samples of the Void Rose, if they're found, or else turn 'em in to the Machinist Guild's materials handlin' team. Dealing with the Nether, even indirectly, is extremely hazardous even for those experienced with danger." She looked around at the gathered Rhetizians, speaking for the benefit of whoever might have procured the dangerous flower. "It looks like yeh've got everythin' under control, but then one little mistake later, someone's dead."

The machinist hooks her big iron back on to the carrying strap and lets it hang down her back once again. Speaking to Ghedim in Rhetizian, she notes, "I'm honored by the invitation, and also wish things had turned out differently."

Outside, she does her best to catch up to Anselme down the street. "Horsefeathers and nonsense, pretty boy!"

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt,
Rhetizian Embassy: Outside

It was still raining as it had since Anselme arrived at the party, though at least now it wasn’t blowing sideways. He’d gone ahead of Raina to have their driver pull the carriage around to the embassy gate, the chivalrous thing to do since they lacked a vallet. Taking shelter in the shallow alcove of the perimeter wall, he pulled Claye to him, perhaps a little too close.

He stared into her eyes for a moment too long before asking, “Is that delightful country twang of yours authentic or do you just employ it so that everyone else won’t guess how smart you really are?”

Anselme sighed, his breath visible in the chill of the early springtime shower. “This isn’t a time to play games, Ms. Kilnmyr. If there’s more at hand here, do you really want to involve yourself? Or worse, let them know that you’ve got it all figured out?”

A glance over his shoulder assured him that there were no passers-by. “The Jaren Therill I knew was sixty pounds heavier, muscular with blond hair like mine. I saw him perform many times at the Elmdore. No… no magic was at play here. It was him: half starved and with dyed hair. But, as far as the Rhetizians are concerned, I didn’t know him. Understand?”

[Jade_Tarem]

All Aboard

Anselme and Raina - Infirmary

"If I may interject..." The tall, four-armed homunculus croaks, but it is cut off by the shorter and plainer machine. "There is no need, doctor." Turning to Anselme, it evaluates him for a moment. "Just as there is no need to flaunt your status or nature. The truth of the matter is that we do not know why you arrived, only when and how. One of your number used... there isn't a word for it in Taelaric, but an 'emergency key' would be the closest term. Whoever did that knows why you are here."

The machine becomes more uncanny as it talks. It doesn't fidget quite enough to be a person, and any motions it makes are extremely deliberate. No swaying, no shuffling - just the sharing of information. "However, the tracks that your train runs on are old and have not been maintained in centuries. Even attempting to walk down that tunnel might cause a collapse and a very long fall. Attempting to leave now, before there was time to check them, would be unnecessarily risky, to say nothing of the fact that we did not agree to let you leave."

Sevran - Fitness Center

"Kill me?" The machine muses. "Perhaps. It could be done." It spins in place and turns to leave. "But you will not kill the Keeper. It would be easier to kill the sky." With that, Trainer opens the door and walks out. A moment later the door *thunks* closed again.

Oskard gives you a look. "Any particular reason why you're antagonizing our captors?"

Amandre - Free Wheeling

Amandre passes a number of what appear to be doors, but they have no obvious handles, let alone locks, and do not seem to want to open for him. It isn't long before he comes to a large four-way intersection, which is surprisingly well labeled in old, flowery script etched into the ceiling.

<-- Dormitories
<-- Infirmary (Next to the etching hangs a sign saying 'the doctor is [in]')
--> Hydroponics
--> Observation
^ Actual (Gate E)
^ Security
v Fitness Center
v Arrivals and Departures (Everset Forest)

There is also a large hatch in the floor, set so that no one could trip on it, with an impressive-looking keyhole in the middle of it. Etched in a ring around it are the words "Maintenance" and "Emergency."

Mikado

The eyes of the construct dim for a moment. "That I cannot share with you. Not until it becomes clear that spreading such knowledge will not harm future administrators. But perhaps you could help me with that - I would need an accurate summary of events within Taelar with respect to the Empire as well as the capitol city itself. Would you be willing to provide one?"

[Swordslinger]

Rhetizian Embassy: Outside
Amandre

It had been a productive night, while the others had gone chasing a murderer he had spoken with the other guest about various business subjects and directed them onwards to House Darran for further talks. His masters would pleased. He slipped out of the embassy without a word to anyone and walked down the stairs and toward the street. He spotted Anselme and Kilnmyr talking by the wall some distance away. He saw them clearly despite the rain the darkness that had fallen although he gave it no thought. He turned and pulled a fruit he had lifted from a table out of his pockets, he took a bite while he walked out into the darkness.

All Aboard
Train, Epsilon Barracks, Xth of Bargenholt

Amandre looked up at the road sign, where to go now. He knelt down and moved his fingers across the keyhole in the ground. Downwards into maintenance would have been ideal, least risk of meeting something there he guessed. But even if he had tools to pick the lock he would not have had time to waste trying, especially when he was unsure if he could even succeed. He stood up and gave the road sign a further look. Backwards was impossible and likewise forward to security was not a good choice. For a moment the pain in his chest spiked, and infirmary was what he needed. But that was not an option, at the dormitories there would be a good chance to find the other passengers however the area would be guarded. He knew he could certainty not linger here at the crossroad, so he started to walk toward the observation, it sounded promising, although he did not recognize the other word. He would go take a look at this observation place and maybe he could learn something of this place and hopefully find someplace to recover a bit.

[daelrog]

All Aboard!
Fitness-Training Center

Because it's fun.

"Because I can." Sevran's eyes moved around the room. "I think it worked well enough on the train, don't you think?"

However, deep down something else was stirring. He was confused. What was going on? Who were these people who sent of men and women who had no idea what they were doing, yet commanded a homunculus?

[Nefarion Xid]

All Aboard
Anselme and Raina - Infirmary

"We don't have to ask for your permission to traverse planes, machine." The brief strain on the word 'we' would suffice that he meant his kind and not the passengers of the train. The hypocrisy of telling Raina to treat their guests with respect and then belittling them, nearly in the same breath, wasn't lost on Anselme.

"Since when were you under the impression that I wasn't capable of leaving on my own power? The sole reason I remain here is that I insist on returning with her. And if she is not 'granted permission to leave'," air quotes were in full dramatic effect, "I will be in contact with my compatriots before you can articulate the words 'what the hell have we done?'. Database query: What cuts through brightsteel like butter?"

[Jade_Tarem]

Anselme and Raina, the Infirmary

The machine responds without hesitation, and while the monotone persists, the phrasing and pacing of the words indicates that Anselme has finally managed to do what no previous visitor to this place has ever done - actually irritate the Keeper. "The intersection between planes, natural and otherwise, has been observed to cut through virtually all substances composed of matter or magic with no observable resistance. Primal energies have also shown a severely reduced response to the dampening effects of the metal. Sufficiently well-enchanted blades, by definition, would be able to do so, as would any sufficiently large force applied to a sufficiently narrow area. Your insinuation, however, is that the weapons and abilities of your companions and/or kin are effective enough that you do not need to fear the Brightsteel trap that I sprung on you earlier. Nor should you. Brightsteel is what we use to deal with uppity mages; it is not our last or best line of defense against extraplanar assault." There's a drawn out silence. "My query is why you are even wasting your breath trying to intimidate a machine."

The door opens on its own. "And no, you do not need my permission to travel between one plane and another under normal circumstances, but it is generally considered polite to ask someone's permission before entering or leaving their home and your kind claims to be somewhat classier and less petty than your natural neighbors and sworn enemies."

"If the last few centuries have taught me anything, though, it is that life is full of little disappointments. Rest assured that if you come here with the intent to wage a full scale attack you will not find our defenses as thin or as frail as your facade of civility, nor our defenders as woefully ignorant or unprepared as you seem to think they are. And yes, there are a select and specific number of your kind that could cause a great deal of damage regardless, perhaps they are even able to destroy Actual on their own. But if they would be willing to do so on your orders, then I question why you still seem to be bound by things such as nerve agents, gravity, and causality. Perhaps you are not as important to them as you think."

"In either case, I do not wish for this conflict to emerge, but if you plan to take the elven woman against her will, I will be constrained to call on you to prove your unspoken assertion that the forces of Hell themselves will rush to your aid." The smaller, plainer construct turns to Raina, to get her response. "What say you? Are you willing to leave with him, bearing in mind that he has by no means promised that his departure will leave you where you started. Do you trust him? Do you even know him?"

Amandre - Free Roaming

The assassin's stalking eventually takes him to an unlocked and unsealed room marked 'Observation.' Indeed, observation appears to be the only thing one can do there - the room is empty save for a curious device on the wall that appears to be broken, and a giant blister of a mostly-clear substance with a slight amber hue to it.

One might be expected to wonder why the designers of the place would even bother with such a thing, but the view beyond the blister resolves any such questions before they are asked. A small but nonetheless substantial metal city stretches off into the distance - but not to the horizon. There is no horizon. Instead, the reddish sky simply plunges beneath the buildings and is visible in the space between walkways and corridors below them, the change in hues suggesting an ellipsoid with definite boundaries, and the entire construction appears to hang motionless inside the ellipsoid bubble formed. Also hanging motionless is a tiny but extremely bright white sun, suspended over the area. Enormous black ribbons stretch in every direction, starting at one side of the bubble and twisting their way to another point. Several of them pass through buildings.

All told, it is completely unlike anything Amandre has ever seen or heard of. The only thing that is immediately clear is that the area he's been scampering around in is, at best, a tiny extension of the whole facility, and that there is absolutely no way that he is still in the world he was in when he boarded the 803 Express that morning.

Sevran - Fitness Center

"And it worked spectacularly here, too! I think I saw his knees trembling on his way out." Oskard's lighthearted tone manages to be sarcastic without actually being sarcastic. "Seriously, though, he has skin made of durium. You're going to need more than a garrote and some harsh language to kill something like that. Now if you're quite done, help me look for a way out of here."

[daelrog]

Sevran
Fitness Center

Sevran gave a small bow. "Certainly, my lord." Sevran matched the Lord-General's tone, the sarcasm mostly drowned out by his general like of the suggestion. Perhpas the man was right, and mocking a machine would bring no good. For now. Sevran meant to live up to what he said, and if the machine took even a moment to remember his words would it came to blows, it owudl be all worthwhile. If not... what harm could it cause? Truly?

[roll0] for looking for a way out.

[Nefarion Xid]

Anselme and Raina, the Infirmary

Something like a mix of anger and delight crossed Anselme's face or possibly some unknown emotion. It looked as if he'd been kicked in the shin by someone he'd been glad to see.

"It seems pointless to install brass testes on a machine, and a bit crass. I wasn't aware your kind was capable of arrogance or bluffing."

Finally turning to address the homunculus, he prods it in the chassis with a very accusatory finger and fixes an unmoving and evidently unimpressed eye on the machine. His next words are in a language that would cause most scholars to scratch their heads, "Your kind was forged by human hands, mine by suffering. Even if the Prince refused to aid me, I could loose havoc on this place with just the forces at my disposal. Do you know what they call me where I am from? Followup database query: Azrilim."

Anselme smirked and went to lean against the wall. Switching to Taelaric, he said, "For all your blustering you've missed the fact that the insignia on my uniform is the same as the one on her rapier's scabbard. Of course we know each other. She's my employer you aggravating automaton."

A moment passed in silence. "She doesn't pay me to be nice... just right."

[Swordslinger]

All Aboard
Amandre - Free Roaming

That complicates things. Amandre stood watching the metal city and its surroundings for several minutes, he finally tore his gaze away and with his back to some machinery he sat down on the floor. Travel to other worlds was something he had barely heard whispers of from stories. His own world often surprised him, how was he to deal with this. He breathed out heavily; it would not be simple to escape from here. He should rest, only for a little while, his eyes felt heavy and slowly closed. No. he stood straight up and pushed the weariness away. The situation was dire, he had next to nothing in terms of equipment and he was now trapped in the observation room like a rat. He had no time to rest, as he had no food or water attrition would quickly be an issue. Not to mention the machines knew he was here and might start to systematically search for him. His best chance right now was to find someone else from the train, if and hope they knew more of this place than he did. If any was still alive he guessed the best chance would be the dormitories or past security and into Actual. But last time he had attempted to bypass a security checkpoint things had not actually turned out well. Did the machines even need dormitories? He guessed not, if none of the passengers here there maybe he could find someone that worked here and persuade them to give him some information. He moved down the hallways, he could only hope the crossroad was still clear.

[Jade_Tarem]

12th of Bargenholt, Outside the Embassy, Raining small mammals

Claye ignores the question about her accent, and listens to what Anselme has to say. When he's done, she responds, "Ah understand just fine. An' you're right - Ah don't want to get involved with the Shadow War." She irritably brushes back increasingly soaked hair from her face. "But you know - or should know after the Lord's Arena fiasco, if yeh didn't before - is that Ah fix things for the Guild, an' those things aren't always mechanical. Ah fix everything from bad infrastructure t' bad situations t' bad attitudes. If the Rhetizian aristocracy wants t' throw down within their embassy, fine, that's their business. But bringin' Void Rose into Taelar? Oh no, that they can't do, diplomatic immunity or no diplomatic immunity." She pauses. "The Big Book of Poison said that it was created by growin' a flower in soil corrupted by the Nether, an' because of that the fact that there was Void Rose t' be had worries me more than who had it an' what they used it for. An' that is what Ah'm not gonna let drop. The worst an irate Rhetizian noble can do is kill me. Whatever caused the Void Rose can do a lot more than that."

All Aboard!
Infirmary - Anselme and Raina

The machines listen as Ansleme offers his counter-threat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3tnF_QGXLmo). When he's done, the "Doctor" says, with some disdain, "Oh. You're that one."

The shorter, plainer automaton turns its head briefly. "There is no need to be rude, doctor." Switching to Anselme's curious language, it responds. "I fully understand what you are implying, and we do not want an... infestation any more than most would. But our cooperation is still contingent upon the elf's. We will do whatever we can to keep you from taking her against her will." The monotone finally shifts, just a bit, becoming drier. "And yes, the similarity of dress was noted, thank you. But it seemed extremely unlikely that you would be in her employ if she knew who and what you really are. Your sudden shift of language confirmed that suspicion. For now, though, let us see what she has to say."

Fitness Center - Sevran

Oskard and Sevran divide the area up and quickly get to work, looking around. As the search progresses, Sevran notes how impossibly neat everything is - even in the most well kept houses, there are tiny smudges, little bits of dust, things not quite in the right place, and all the other hundreds of signs that humans might live in a given place. No such signs remain here, though.

Hours pass, and finally Sevran notes something interesting: a row of lockers - just one row - that aren't as big on the inside as they are on the outside. While the walls are made of Durium and seem to be completely indestructible, the lockers are made of much cheaper metal, and bending and prying at it reveals the first real trace of human habitation - hidden compartments full of goodies. Sifting through the stash reveals a number of personal effects - love letters, dessicated snacks, some kind of drink that's gone so bad that Sevran wouldn't touch it on the worst day of his life, and a curious little device that looks like half a crank.

Upon showing the device to Oskard, the older man frowns. "Hold on, I think I saw a hole with that shape somewhere..."

The hole turns out to be in the shower. Oskard stops before trying to use the device, though. "Now, if we're lucky, there won't be more homuculi after us for doing this. But we need to think about what we'll do if there are."

Amandre - Free Roaming

The dormitory hallways seem largely abandoned (and unlike the Observation area, there isn't much to see), but with more of the homunculi guarding them at each end. One door, however, is open. There is another homunculi apparently conversing with one or two people within. There is no way to tell which of the other rooms might be occupied.

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt, Outside the Embassy

Anselme sunk his hands into his pockets and sighed, reclining his face into the drizzle, having ceased to care. Returning his eye to Claye, he hummed, "Your humanitarianism is commendable. But, I take it you're not capable of scaling the perimeter wall in the rain, evading detection by the three crossbow snipers and entering the embassy via the fifth story balcony?"

A pause. "Alas."

He turned abruptly and took one step down the street before glancing over his shoulder. "Take our carriage 'round to gather Miss Nessiel. Your shop is along the road to the Vale. If she asks where I've gone, do tell her that I think it's a lovely night for a walk. Uh... do put a pot of tea on, Ms. Kilnmyr. I can't imagine you'll fall asleep straight away and I'll be by the shop in about an hour. Good evening."

[Jade_Tarem]

12th of Bargenholt, Outside the Embassy

Claye's face remains impassive as Anselme lists the Embassy's external defenses. "The wall is a problem, yeah," is all she says about it.

Distracted by the prospect of sneaking in, she acknowledges Anselmes instructions with only half her attention, rounding the corner and getting halfway to the carriage before stopping short, now soaking wet. Speaking to no one, she asks, "Did he... did he just make me his valet?"

Turning in the approximate direction of where he'd disappeared to, she shouts, "A real man would have at least given me his coat!"

Minutes later

The carriage bounces up to the gate with far too much alacrity, coming to too swift a halt. The driver, wrapped in a heavy hooded travel coat, jumps down and opens the door, turning to look at Raina expectantly through the doorway of the Embassy.

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes and Shigeru

"It is the history itself that interests me. I must admit to finding myself quite intruiged by history itself, merely for the lessons and wisdom that can be learnt from both the mistakes and successes of our ancestors.

Though this carving is also quite a spectacular piece." He didn't really like social contact, he admitted silently to himself. Though Shigeru eased that dislike a little, if only for the fact of the shared interest.

[Swordslinger]

All Aboard!
Amandre - Free Roaming

As suspected there were more of the machines here, however it did not look like they were a part of an active search for him. He heard muffled voices from an open door. That was an opportunity he had to make use of. If he just got within hearing distance he might gain some much needed information. He silently made his way toward the door.

[VonDoom]

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST===
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
===========================================

Alf and Takeshi

"Well," the Captain began somewhat reluctantly; a reluctance which, to the trained eye of Takeshi, clearly indicated the typical nervousness of a man put on the spot and thus clearly demonstrated his ignorance. "I cannot say I know his exact address, this Taelarys is more labyrinth than city to me."

The Captain looked suitably apologetic, but then a gleam returned to his eyes as he remembered something that might prove a suitable lead. "Oh, come to think of it. I understand that he has been mentioned in those little paper messages that are being sold throughout the city, bearing news. A ... 'newspaper', I believe? Something about acquiring a haunted house, I think. Find that and you'll find him, I'm sure." He chuckled.

Aesthes

"Ahh," the Captain voiced agreeably, nodding. "It is a good thing to see a man of Taelar interested in foreign culture! Or, from my humble perspective, a foreigner interested in our history."

"I fear, though, that today I must attend those more interested in the wares of our country," Shigeru noted with a look of regret on his face. That look was quickly replaced by a wide smile, though, as the Ikokuan man stroked his full black beard and waved the scholar closer, with a conspiratory look.
"But I cannot let a fine man such as yourself leave empty-handed. I will gladly present myself to your household and answer any questions you may have, though you may find the two passengers we carried a better investure of your time. They, after all, intend to stay. Lord Tatsudoshi and Izayoi Takeshi. One of whom is on this very ship right now. I can introduce you." The Captain lowered his head, looking up at Aesthes with eyes that expected a response.

Revin

Once Revin had descended down the stairs, the man who had introduced himself as Wolf still made no move to menace him, rather keeping his distance.

Yet, the situation was very different. Once they had moved out of sight, below deck, his bearing changed completely. Where before he had a sly, sneaky edge that the spy had caught onto, now he stood straight. Calm, confident, no doubt ready to jump at the Inquisitor's agent and apply about a different killing techniques with naught but his bare hands. "We are now out of sight. Let us dispense with the pretenses." Even his voice had changed. The smooth, pleasant tone was gone, replaced with a rough, grating voice that seemed to suit his changed demeanour far better.

An unpleasant smirk sat upon the Ikokuan's lips as he casually reached behind his back, pulling a small knife from his belt that had apparently been hidden there. Casually, he flicked it to the side, earning them the soft squeaking noise of a dying rodent. "We had no rats before we arrived here. Quite the city you have. Plagued with pests of all sorts." He chuckled, his gaze traveling towards where he must have hit the rat -- yet, no doubt, still was he aware of any movements Revin might have made. This man was no mere low-rank spy smugged away on a trade ship.

"You are a spy," he offered plainly. "That much is obvious. I'll make it simple for you. For reasons of my own, I can no longer remain in Ikoku. The fact that I managed to fool every single of these sailors into thinking me one of them should tell you something of my ability -- especially with those two sneaky bastards, Izayoi and Tatsudoshi, on the same ship."

"You will find no records of my existence, nor any rumors you might trace. But I need work. And you will help me find it. If you're unwilling, well." He grinned, then. It was an ugly, vicious grin.


============END GM POST====================

All Aboard
Mikado

At that, finally, the lean martial artist rose from his sitting position, standing tall as he sized up the construct. "I can provide you with a detailed analysis of the current status of Taelar, Taelarys, and a summary the events in recent and past history."

"That," he confirmed, "I can do. I have, after all, spent quite some time extracting precisely that from various personal accounts, writings and more. The better question, which you already asked, is: will I?"

The former Dragon Emperor crossed his arms in front of his chest, studying the emotionless faceplate of the homunculus before him intently with piercing eyes, as if he expected to find something there. "And the answer is yes." Before the construct could react, however, Mikado's voice quickly cut in once more, pre-empting a response. "But not in this cell. If I am to actually aid you, my so-far-pleasant-enough captors, I will first see that Claye Kilnmyr, whom you also hold detained, is unharmed, and provide your information in more appropriate surroundings. Not with me in a detention cell and my captor standing in the door-frame."

Rhetizian Embassy
Mikado

Light steps led Mikado away from the site of the murder. His expression was calm as he walked to the entrance door, his thoughts not particularly bothered by the event he had just become witness to. Certainly, the sight of a fat man turning purple and choking for his life was an unpleasant one, but when one had caused the very same effect by wringing the very life out of another with his own hands the perturbing effect such a death might normally have became somewhat less impressive.

That Taelarys was a den of corruption and demonic taint was of little surprise to him, as had been the reveal of the cause of death. Already the first significant thing he had experienced in this city was a man possessed by a host of demons, with the dead rising in his wake. Without much shock value contained in the reveal, pretending ignorance as to the implications was hardly a difficult feat and Mikado had merely sat back, playing the role of an uninterested dullard.

Yet much had already been revealed this night. And much of it, he could use. As much as it had irked the former Dragon Emperor, the utter lack of reaction to his presence by those two, who now competed for the title of richest Rhetizians in Taelarys, could prove just as much a tool for him to later employ.

An unpleasant smile worked its way up to his lips as he spoke a few words with the attendant who had lead him to the large door and was quickly handed a black umbrella, which the black-haired man took with an appreciate inclination of his head.

With a click and a brief shove the smooth mechanics of it allowed the umbrella to open, proving an effective defense against the large drops threatening the integrity of his fine suit. When his keen eyes noted the thin form of Claye Kilnmyr trying to find her way around the courtyard, he hastened his steps and approached her with a curious expression on his face. Quietly, however, and suddenly the woman would find that the rain from above had stopped, as a shadow widened on the ground beneath her -- the umbrella, held by the gloved hand of the foreign schemer.

"Such a keen mind, once again amply demonstrated," he noted, flashing white teeth with a smile. "Yet you didn't think to request an umbrella. Heedlessly running around in the rain." A disapproving sound escaped his throat, though the expression on his face made it obvious that he wasn't actually berating the mechanist. "Were you looking for me?" His head inclined to the side in a mock gesture of being abashed, Mikado continued: "I'm flattered."

Mikado had actually noticed that Claye and Anselme were talking just a little further away, but cheerfully pretended ignorance.

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes and Shigeru

"Thank you for the kind offer. I would be most pleased to meet them." He replied smoothly. There may have been a slight tightening in the face at the words 'household', but it was momentarily there, gone within a moment.

[TheDarkDM]

12th of Bargenholt
Midnight
The Rhetizian Ambassador's Private Balcony

A peal of thunder rolled over the city, shaking the windows of the mighty and shifting the roof tiles of the low. The storm had only intensified after the guest had departed, the clouds growing so thick that even the hellish glow to the west was obscured. In the skies, lightning danced in mad arcs, and every strike awakened the roaring hunger of the sky. Any sane man would have retreated to bed, to weather the storm in warmth and silence, but Ghedim braved the storm as though it were no more than a spring shower, leaning against the carved marble of his balcony as his clothes fought desperately against the tearing wind. Another wave of thunder, and the dancing flames locked safe within the outside lanterns revealed the troubled look in Ghedim's eyes, as he stared blankly down into the black abyss of night. Hieronymous had been a distant cousin, to be sure, but his importance in Rhetiz was inarguable. With him gone, it would be all Ghedim could do to maintain peace between the fractious Rhetizian families in Taelarys, and more than likely Hieronymous would soon be joined in death by more of his peers.

Ghedim breathed deeply, absorbing the scents of the city released by the cleansing rain. The fragrances of the garden below mixed with the cleansing purity of water, drawing in the trace vapors of the city in turn. Ghedim detected cinnamon, pepper, even an unusually strong trace of cloves, and as he released the smells he felt purified. Things would surely look brighter on the morrow, and if it took a year, he would ensure a lasting peace between his countrymen. Standing straight with a pronounced cracking in his back, Ghedim stretched in the pounding rain, before turning to return inside to a warm bed and warmer company. He took a step, a single step, before a flash of lightning painted the wall of the embassy in stark relief, revealing a dark figure hurtling towards him, dagger in hand. Immediately, Ghedim was pivoting on the balls of his feet, maneuvering himself clear of the incandescent blade, but too late. The flash faded, and as thunder followed Ghedim felt warmth blossom along his right side, blood mixing with water in the dim night. His attacker landed hard, obviously having intended to pounce on Ghedim rather than past him, but recovered quickly into a kneeling position. The purple lantern-light turned the bloodstained dagger black, with only the slightest glint as it moved hypnotically back and forth, each man staring at the other's shadowed eyes. Another flash of lightning, and Ghedim discerned a single, emerald eye as he sent a pair of throwing knives hurtling towards Anselme.

Anselme dodged the attack with a simple roll, but by the time he regained his feet Ghedim was on the move, bounding up the external stair to the roof landing. Gritting his teeth, the one-eye man followed, paying no mind to the slanted purple tiles that disappeared below into an umbral haze. Reaching the roof, another lightning strike revealed no trace of his target, though the warped shadows of the embassy's gargoyles held untold threats. Anselme took a careful step forward, and as the light faded caught a glimmer of light from his right. Snapping his arm upwards, he blocked the thrown blade, sending it tumbling away in a shower of sparks. He had saved himself, but at the cost of his footing, and as he staggered a shadow detached itself from a nearby gargoyle and charged. Two curved knives flashed towards Anselme's face, and only a wild swing from his own dagger brought their approach to a halt. He crouched, on the defensive, but already Ghedim pressed the attack, sliding around his singular blade to strike his extremities. Anselme managed to catch a single knife upon his dagger, only to realize his mistake as the blades locked, and the second knife came whistling towards his eye. A knee to Ghedim's groin sent the knife off course, but it still managed to find flesh, biting into the sin of Anselme's cheek and cutting a ragged line down his face.

The combatants separated, Ghedim wheezing to reclaim his breath, Anselme desperately wiping splattered blood from his eye, and for a moment the two were still. Coughing in repressed pain, Ghedim yelled above the wind and the rain.

"What is the meaning of this, Anselme!? I've done nothing to you!"

At that, Anselme convulsed, his body wracked with humorless, unceasing laughter that was both mad and maddening. Nearly doubled over, he tore his eye patch away with his free hand. The emerald eye had a ruby twin, black all around and lit from behind by hellfire, a dismal beacon in the night. It was a blight on his good looks; he was handsome still, crying, mad, shaking, drenched and with his burnt gold hair clinging about his face, beautiful and pitiable and terrifying.

"No..." the pause in his laughter was startlingly sudden. "You took everything from me."

He straightened and brought up his bloody dagger to examine the color in the scant moonlight before the rain washed it clean.

"Danielle Voisin was to be married in the autumn. She and her husband-to-be both loved the fall colors and wanted to be married beneath the red-leafed oaks. They chose the 13th day of the 10th month because it fell directly between their birthdays... and to be slightly gauche. Everyone joked it was unlucky. They knew it was a joke because nothing tragic could ever happen to such a happy couple."

His arm went limp and the hand clutching the dagger fell sadly to his hip as if the will to fight had left him. "He must have been an unlucky man. His first wife had died five years prior giving birth to his daughter. And his daughter had been the only light in his life until he met Danielle..."

Anselme paused, biting his lip for a moment, "Danielle died quickly; gods rest her. Cynthia... she was backstage when the fire broke out. She was one of the few survivors that night, Ghedim, but she spent her remaining two years in terrible pain because of it."

His chest heaved and his fingers tightened on the blade. "I'm going to kill you, Ghedim. I'm going to plunge this knife into your chest and hurl your lifeless body from the roof. If you tell me who set the fire that night or who employed you, I shall endeavor to do it quickly. If you do not or cannot... I will visit on you a fraction of hell I have endured."

All through the broken man's diatribe, Ghedim's eyes had narrowed, his expression growing ever grimmer. At the conclusion, he bowed his head for a moment, giving a soft chuckle.

"I am an assassin, Anselme, not a monster. I do not know who set that fire, or why they felt the need to burn your life down around you. And truthfully? I do not care. So come, monster."

A twist of his wrist and Ghedim released a coiled chain from his arm, allowing it to slack against it's connection to his knife's pommel.

"I have faced your kind before."

A range of emotions passed over Anselme's face, rage, despair, pity, hatred. But in that hellish eye there was naught but resolution, and purpose. His whisper should not have carried over the storm, and yet it found Ghedim's ears all the same.

"No. You haven't."

And then Ghedim's blade was flying towards Anselme's chest, released like a striking viper from Ghedim's hand. Anselme blocked, sending it flying into the night, but as he moved to attack a slight whistling was his only warning before the blade returned to rake across his chest. Then, it was back in Ghedim's hands, and he was barreling towards his would-be killer. Anselme saw the first stab coming, foresaw the predictable backhand by the free blade, and so declined to block, grabbing Ghedim's wrist and rolling over him to land a hard kick to his lower back. The assassin went into a roll to absorb the shock, and as he regained his feet the chain-blade whipped towards Anselme again, a wide slashing arc to his shins. He leapt into the air, but rather than land with the force such a desperate maneuver demanded he floated safely to the ground. Cracking his neck with a grin, Anselme flexed a pair of small wings that seemed to have sprouted directly from his shoulders.

"I wondered when they'd be back."

Water flew from the puddles on the roof as Anselme launched himself into the air again, beginning a gliding run that was faster than any man had a right to be. The chain-blade came again, but this time he intercepted it, catching the knife's hilt with his free hand while bringing his own dagger down on the chain with shattering force. Ghedim stumbled back, unbalanced by the change in weight, only to see Anselme rushign towards him, his devil eye burning in the night. Without a word, Ghedim rolled back, throwing several black spheres from a hidden pocket beneath the oncoming abomination. Instantly, Anselme was engulfed in a choking green vapor, the smoke so thick that even the light from his eye was invisible in the cloud. He went to one knee, flapping his wings feverishly to dissipate the gas, his task aided by the tempest above. It was only moments for the smoke to clear, but in that moment Ansleme sensed more than saw Ghedim move around him, only to appear overhead, knife raised. Anselme rushed to meet the attack, and both man and devil buried their blades deep, Ghedim in Anselme's shoulder and Anselme in Ghedim's thigh.

They parted once again, both men bleeding profusely, their blades invisible for their gory coating. They circled, one man limping, the other holding an arm close, eyes never straying from each other. Each knew now that they faced a master, each knew that defeat meant death, and each knew what fate awaited them should they be forced to embrace the void.

Lightning struck again, and as it began its long journey to smite the impure ground the two men charged, trading blows so quickly their blades became a blur. Sparks flew from razored steel, and every new cut was marked with nothing more than a new spray of crimson upon the wet battleground. Once, twice, thrice, they passed each other, inflicting bloody ruin but never finding their true mark. Then, a fourth pass, and Anselme saw the new glint in Ghedim's free hand, saw the gamble the assassin had made in engaging so close. Dagger met knife, electricity burned through the night sky, and the hidden punch dagger came sailing towards Anselme's throat. The approach was perfect, high above his dagger's defensive reach, and so Anselme did the only thing that remained to him - he abandoned his weapon. Ghedim's main hand cut a searing wound across Anselme's stomach, but already he realized his error, as Anselme caught Ghedim's alternate hand and directed the punch dagger deep into Ghedim's neck. The assassin grunted as steel cut through muscle, and in a single smooth motion Anselme retrieved his dagger and plunged it into Ghedim's chest. Ghedim coughed, releasing a spray of black blood, but rather than collapse, his hands shot out at Anselme's throat. In Ghedim's eyes, he saw a fire similar to his own, as the assassin used his dying strength to push Anselme closer and closer to the roof's edge. A step, a single, tortuous step, and Anselme felt the void behind him. Gasping for breath he only barely registered the chain still hanging from Ghedim's wrist, but it was enough. Grabbing the blackened steel, he wrapped it around the assassin's arms, breaking his grip and hurtling him over the edge into darkness. He heard a splash, Ghedim's body landing in the embassy's river access channel, and with a last roll of thunder the world went silent.

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf, Takeshi, and Shigeru

"A haunted residence you refer to?" Alf questions in interest at the thought of it. "In what way is it considered haunted? I am imagining this person is less the kind to let people meet him and more the kind that simply goes to who they meet." The creature of spiders gives a small shrug. "Still, probably worth the attempt to visit. At the very least a trip of that sort might at least give me his interest." While he was hiding it, the word "haunted" gave a chills in the numerous spiders that made up of him. If he were to be going there, it wouldn't be the first time... Definitely never the first.

"Do you happen to have that newspaper still here, or at least the possible location of this place?" Alf wanted to be sure to know where he was looking before he even dived in another search. He was already going in blind trying to find a certain pyromaniac, didn't need another chase for an invisible goose.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf, Takeshi, and Shigeru

Takeshi nods a little, frowning at the lack of information. Even this "newspaper" sounded like a futile lead but when it was all one had, even a cold trail was the best to follow. It would at the very least lead to something.

"I have experience with Ghosts and Oni, we may go together Master Alf. A suitable banishing charm should negate even the most obnoxious of entities from beyond. It is a shame we could bring no miko with us but such is the life of a traveling man yes? If he is there then all the better. He certainly knows the risks. I would suspect if it was true he did purchase such a place...there's something inside to make it worth is while. Wouldn't you agree Captain? But enough talk of this man. I said I had business to speak with you and while it is in earshot of those two who are interested.

It has come to my attention, and as you so wonderfully placed it, that this city is beyond foreign. It lacks the gentle charm of any city of Ikoku. It also lacks anything we'd call a familiar haunt. If you'll excuse my wording. I came here for business it is true but I am no mere merchant. I am here to step up a place where, in time, our culture would be recognized as worthwhile and our goods desired. A bath house at first, a place for even the poor to go and relax. In time however, with perhaps your Lords aid dear Captain and with your business Master Alf...it could in time be a place where East and West can meet and trade all while being able to relax. A...all encompassing market. As it were."

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf, Takeshi, and Shigeru

Alf's face shifted slightly at some of Takeshi's words. "Oni? Miko? Do those refer to fantastic creatures or would those happen to be specific titles represented in Ikoku?" Alf certainly had a long way to go in understanding the culture; by the way the conversation was going, Alf would need to learn more about it soon. "The idea of goods and culture connecting as a worldwide marketplace sounds incredibly ambitious. I will say myself that such an idea is something I would be appreciative of, as Taelarys is not the most welcoming of places through my experience." Considering how things have been, Alf was lucky at all that he managed to work for the Alchemist's College.

"...Of course, it is the execution that is important," Alf adds in after a moment. "I consider it vital that my customers remain happy and not living in oppression of troubling prices and seemingly random murders; not to the degree that life remains easy, but not to the degree that living is a hell in itself." He pauses for a moment to wait and see if either one would cut in. "This is a far ways away of course, a fantastic speculation even. Lord Izayoi I would not mind you coming along to the house if we would be able to find it. Such ghosts and creatures shouldn't be an issue even with a 'banishing charm' as you call it; I can imagine only the most hard-willed of supernatural specimen would try and playfully scare someone as I." He gives a dark, low chuckle that is difficult to tell if it is supposed to be menacing or joking.

[Nefarion Xid]

12th of Bargenholt
Midnight

Staggering, with one hand staunching his stomach, Anselme retrieved his lost eye patched and carefully fit it in place. Next he retied his hair with the green ribbon, sitting nearly doubled over on the back of a gargoyle. The irony of his misplaced sense of propriety wasn't lost on him. The blood from the gash on his cheek coated half his face and he clenched his lips to keep the taste out of his mouth. Surely, his breathing and heart slowed and so did the bleeding. Assuredly, he'd had worse. Still, it hurt like hell.

Now that he was alone on the roof, and victorious, it was suddenly cold and miserable in the rain. Of course, it was his curse to never truly be alone.

"Have you come to point out the shortcomings in my style or merely the ironic resolution wherein I throw a man off a roof into a river?" he asked of the night.

Serafino pulled back his coat as he stepped from behind the central chimney and slipped a thumb into the pocket of his crimson silk vest.

"You've broken my rules, Anselme," was the non sequitur baritone reply. The man seemed unfazed by the downpour and rightfully so as the rain appeared to evaporate as it impacted his person.

Anselme stood, his forgotten bat wings shrinking away without a trace. A useful trick if his coat hadn't already been slashed to ribbons and stained with his own blood. For a moment it seemed as if he was about to launch into another battle of doublespeak and veiled insults, but what escaped his lips was something entirely unexpected and definitely crude.

Serafino's eyebrow elevated slowly. Even in the poor light, the gesture would universally be understood as, "What the hell did you just say to me you piece of detritus?" Even the Prince of Hell could be caught off guard.

"Go on then," demanded Anselme, throwing up his bloody hands in defeat an exasperation, "Send me back. Or strip me of my powers. Or... whatever it is you do to rule-breakers. Though! Though... sending me back to hell is rather like returning a man to a jail from which he already knows how to escape. And stripping me of my powers is... well, that would be contingent on you having ever given me a damned thing."

Mephistopheles's lips pursed ever so slightly.

"You said I couldn't raise my hand against a mortal unprovoked. Your rules never applied to me, did they? I'm not like the others..."

The tremendously brief lapse in the Prince's composure was over. "And it only took you... how many years to deduce this? Want a muffin?"

"Why am I different? I signed my name like the rest..." Anselme hissed.

"Ah," the Prince's normal countenance returned and he beamed, "But Anselme, you won't be any entertainment to me at all if I tell you now. Besides, you're so clever; I'm sure you can figure it out without me just giving it away."

A moment passed in silence. At long last, Anselme wiped the blood from his lips with the sleeve of his ruined jacket.

"Does... this mean I can lie?" he asked hopefully.

"Hardly."

"Damn. What about holy places?"

"Please, we're not even bound of that one. 'Holy' is such a throw-away term and gods care so little for them."

"And my book?"

"Functional, I assure you. Consider it a parting gift. You are relieved of your position."

"'Fired' is the obvious pun."

"Hardly. Fire was what got you in to this business, Anselme."

"Does this mean you'll stop stalking me?"

"It shan't be as easy now that you're aware of your situation. But rest assured I shall spare an eye for you."

"Because... I'm a threat?"

"Hardly."

Anselme was left batting away the sulfurous smoke before he could manage a witty response. It was just as well as he had nothing.

Twenty minutes later...

Three polite, if slightly too loud, raps sounded at the door of Claye's shop. Anselme arrived as promised, though considerably more haggard and pale than hoped.

"... two sugars, no milk," was all he could whisper as the door opened.

23rd of Bargenholt, 12:05
Down the street from the Sunlit Rose

A moth to a flame.

Elizabeth might have bowled him over if not for the color of his eye. While most people were moving safely away from the fury of the scorned woman, Anselme was dumb enough to dash away from his business in a nearby alleyway and interpose himself directly in her path... and all with the timing to appear completely nonchalant about it.

Reading the panoply of emotion wash across her face, he offered, "Those really aren't the shoes for jogging."

[Jade_Tarem]

Rhetizian Embassy, Claye and Mikado

"Ah was actually lookin' for Raina Nessiel. Ah'm supposed to be givin' her a ride, an' Ah don't want to leave her in the embassy any longer than Ah have to. She's managed t' insult the whole group of 'em three times tonight, an' there's a reason Rhetizian social events always have fewer party favors than guests." She pauses. "Although Ah think that might just be a rumor."

[VonDoom]

Rhetizian Embassy, Claye and Mikado

"Nessiel?" An eyebrow shooting high. "She didn't look the sort that needs protection," Mikado opined, keeping his wide umbrella over both their heads in an effort to ward off the dirty city-rain.

"Still, I believe I saw her heading towards the main gate." Indicating towards the right direction with a nod, the Ikokuan seemed determined not to deprive Claye of the portable rain shelter he carried and walk along.

As they did, he calmly undid the thin red string holding his long black hair together, shaking it free with a quick twist of his head. Suddenly, Mikado spoke up again, his tone quiet -- different than it had been since their renewed acquaintance, more like it was back in Ikoku. "The corruption of this place is seated far deeper, and not so easily removed as with the death of a single man."

[Jade_Tarem]

Rhetizian Embassy, Claye and Mikado

Claye stops, and looks squarely at the Ikokuan, wishing he'd chosen less ambiguous language. "What, here? It's an extension of the Shadow War, that's all... with a Nether-based twist that Ah'll be lookin' into." She manages to find a heavy coat at last, snagging it from under a pavilion and swinging up onto a carriage. "Unless yeh meant the Empire, in which case you're out of luck. The corruption isn't deep-seated... it's ubiquitous. S'what happens when you don't have magic dragons electing your rulers, I guess."

12:20 a.m., Claye-Potts Machinery, 13th of Bargenholt

Claye takes in Anselme's haggard appearance. Honestly, he'd looked better after being dragged out of the river. "Do Ah want t' see the other guy?"

She gets his tea anyway, though, and lets him settle in on his own. "Is it too much t' hope yeh found some kind of lead at the embassy?"

All Aboard!

Mikado - Worker Dormitories

The Ikokuan man is left with the distinct impression of a raised eyebrow, despite the fact that the machine's 'face' is completely immobile. A trick of the light, perhaps? "And what surroundings would you consider more appropriate? This is a residential area. The surroundings do not get significantly more pleasant."

"Maybe he just wants t' bask in my sunny disposition."

The homunculus stands aside, and Claye is escorted through. "They say you've been pretty insistent about seein' me." The machinist looks fairly frazzled, but does not appear to be injured or even particularly worried. "Afraid of missin' somethin'?"

Amandre - Free Roaming

Sorry, I should have mentioned it earlier. If you want to go sneaking about the dormitories, I'll need another stealth roll.

[VonDoom]

All aboard!
Mikado - Worker Dormitories

A thin smile appeared on Mikado's lips at the response. This already told him quite a bit; first, that this was no actual holding facility, and that escape might not prove as improbable as it seemed a little while ago. Second, that wherever they were, this place either had been designed to house actual, living things that were not homunculi. Whether it had done so in the past, was currently (aside from the people who arrived unintentionally just a little while ago, just as he did), or would at some point wasn't clear yet.

The Ikokuan was just about to make a quip in response, intending to get out more information than he just had, when he suddenly heard Claye's voice, followed by her stepping through the door with a small attaché.

"Why," the tall man noted with a sly smile, "we're surrounded by strangely talkative machines who certainly seem to harbor human souls. Something I hear is quite uncommon nowadays outside of ancient legends." The former criminal mastermind's eyes. narrowed a little as he continued. "I wished to consult a knowledgeable mechanic on how best to proceed. You happened to be in the vicinity." There was no need to inquire as to the young woman's health and waste time; a quick look already told him that she hadn't been injured or mistreated. Despite his nonchalant words, there was little humor in his eyes. More of an unspoken question -- the situation was still a little too vague for his liking, but the Taelarys-born woman might be aware of further details he wasn't.

House Kilnmyr had been the Keeper of the Dark Armory, a place that supposedly held a veritable army of Homunculi. While the Ikokuan had no reason yet to suspect that they might have actually found part of the legendary realm through sheer happenstance (though he had no reason to exclude the possibility), he at least knew that much: if anyone had access to some hidden records about such creatures still, it was the fire sorceress right before him. Plus, in the unlikely event that it should turn out they had located the Dark Armory, his vague hints could conceivably give the impression that he had known all along. Knowledge presumed by others was almost as good as actual knowledge, after all.

----

Rhetizian Embassy
Claye and Mikado

Not missing a single beat, Mikado quickly closed the umbrella and stepped right onto the running board at the side of the carriage. Without bothering to ask the nice lady getting onto the rider's seat whether his company was welcome, he clicked the black-lacquered door open and slipped right into the cabin.

A slight bump could be heard as the uninvited drag-along dropped onto the seat closer to the front. Slightly muffled, his voice then came from inside, though he spoke loud enough for it to be clear while no horse-feet clapped against the hard stone yet. "While I fear my study of Taelarian did not include the term 'ubiquitous', I can guess its meaning well enough. And I was talking about both, though ultimately the second also includes the first. Ubiquitous, as you said. This empire already is a corpse that doesn't know it's dead, rotting from the inside."

A smirk, hidden in the darkness of the coach. "The time to let it know may come sooner than expected."

[hi-mi-tsu]

All Aboard!
Infirmary

Raina felt, somewhat, like a ping-pong ball being bounced between two paddles. The words being bandied about were mostly clear to her, but some veiled references did not make sense, not entirely...and she was still smarting from essentially being told to sit down and shut up. Especially considering the language the man was currently using with these odd...things. These...homunculi, she supposed, though they were still unfamiliar.

All of this was inherently unfamiliar, and she did not like it.

But the machine asked her if she trusted Anselme, if she was willing to leave with him; she opened her mouth, instinctively, then closed it again and breathed deep. She...had trusted him. But there were insinuations being made on both sides that he was...not all that he appeared.

Plus there was the potential dangers of traveling. And all of the innocent people that were still stuck here, bystanders on a train that had dropped into a place that shouldn't even exist. How could she, in good conscience, leave these people behind?

"...No." The answer is slow, and she pauses, then shakes her head a little. "Not that I do not know him. And not that I do not trust him. ...But I can't just...go. I can't leave these people here. And this discussion has made things...confusing."

Another pause, and Raina glances at Anselme; her pale eyes are troubled.

"What...are you? What have you been talking about? I would...I am not demanding an answer. But I would...very much appreciate one, all the same."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy

The elven woman had been uncommonly quiet, hugging her wrap--picked up from the entryway--a little tighter around her shoulders as she watched the rain pouring down from right outside her little dry area. When the carriage pulled up, she took a half-step towards it, then paused...she did not see Anselme, and her eyes narrowed a little in suspicion.

Given the other events of this night, she wouldn't be amiss in suspecting some sort of setup.

"...Where is Anselme...? Why were you driving so swiftly?"

A pause, and then a minute widening of eyes at the notice of the...unexpected addition to the carriage.

"...Mikado?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

23rd of Bargenholt, afternoon
Down the street from the Sunlit Rose

"....Stray....?" A step, and a half-step, and the woman was brought up short by the man planted so firmly--and yet so nonchalantly--in her path. Eyes wild and only half-there stared up into his face, trembling fingers lifted to touch his cheek.

Then she jerked her hand back as if burned, cradling it close to her chest, and shook her head.

"N-no...no. Wrong. You don't...you aren't the same. Don't smell the same. Look the same, but different, not truly, I can't--he was--no, I'm sorry." A stream of words, and she cut them off abruptly, biting her lip and shifting her weight. He was right, these were not the shoes to run about in; it was only luck, really, that had ensured she hadn't tripped, or twisted her ankle, or any number of unpleasant things.

Something about this man was at once intimately comforting and intimately unsettling.

"...I'm sorry. I. I think I just need to return home--not home. The hotel. I can't remember--" An expression of dismay. "Empires? I am not quite...it is not right. I think. Something...was I in your way? I was not paying attention...I...excuse me. I thought you were...someone else."

Pain, for a moment, in that vaguely-trembling, unsettled, manic voice. Eyes that looked up, and then slid away from a face that was so...it was like staring into a marred painting. So similar, and yet not the same at all, and an arm curled almost subconsciously around her stomach.

"Yes. Well. I. The streets are different but I can find my way. I am...you shouldn't talk to me. Things--no. It is all right. I will be going now, goodbye."

He would be angry with her. Even when he said he would never be angry with her, or hurt her. Of course he would. She was cursed. She stepped to the side, intending to go around Anselme, intending to go...somewhere. Where was she going? She couldn't remember. This wasn't the same place...this wasn't Bastion. She couldn't go home. She did not have one, and she paused mid-step, confusion and dismay crossing her face.

Where was she? She couldn't...remember.

[Jade_Tarem]

Embassy Court/Gate, Claye and Mikado/Raina

Claye grinned grimly, although no one could see it in the gloom and rain - least of all Mikado, who was now in the carriage and facing the wrong way. "Well now, if your crash course on Taelarian entertainment taught you anything, it should be that dead, nasty corpses can still be dangerous."

Claye then jolts the horses into motion, everything about her handling of the carriage attesting to the fact that this is probably the first time she's done it in her life. The vehicle comes to a bouncing, sickening, sudden halt right in front of the embassy gate. Claye's voice wafts down, somewhat faint. "An' speakin' of 'sooner than expected,' we're, um... we're here."

Moments later

Under the hood, Claye snickers at Raina's comment. "Oh, Lady... the evenin' plans are all shot t' hell. The guest of honor got murdered, his murderer got murdered, and both of those were the fallout from another murder. Your date stood you up to go on a walk an' had me drive - an' this 'gentleman' invited himself along. Hopefully chivalry will be the last thing to die tonight." She lets that sink in for a moment, although she seems more amused than angry. "If you were lookin' for a reason not to go to dinner parties with men fished from rivers, this is it."

Once Raina identifies Mikado, Claye adds. "Also, Ah'm required by Taelarian law t' inform you that Ah have no idea how to drive this thing. Please keep your hands an' feet inside the cabin until the vehicle has come to a full an' complete stop." She pauses. "Am Ah waitin' for Chiyome t' show up or what?"

[VonDoom]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy
Claye, Raina, Mikado

"So we are," Mikado agreed, offering no commend on the mechanist's warning. "A fine evening for a little ride, don't you think?" It seemed Claye's somewhat unusual (and possibly extremely dangerous) acquaintance was intent on staying.

--

Inside the carriage, the Ikokuan man was leaning against the right corner from where the mercenary queen entered. With the rain outside and the sun setting, only scant light made its way by the slim opening to the sides of the curtain opposite from the entrance, illuminating his face just so in the otherwise drab surroundings, a stark contrast to his black Taelarian-style suit and the equally raven-colored hair running down his shoulders.

"Ms. Nessiel," he offered, inclining his head in greeting. "We haven't had the opportunity to exchange words at this chicanery of a dinner, so I invited myself. I hope you don't mind." A smile came to his lips briefly, though his attention wandered when Claye called out from the rider's seat and it quickly faded when he heard her mention Chiyome.

The foreigner raised his head slightly, speaking to the small opening on his left designed to facilitate communication between coach(wo)man and passenger. "There is no need," he noted, his tone coming out a little sharper than he would have liked. The former Dragon Emperor wasn't particularly keen on the existence of his personal kunoichi becoming a known fact, particularly when she hadn't even arrived in the city yet as far as he knew.

Mikado softened his tone when he realized that had come out a little harsher than intended, and added: "She wouldn't enjoy such a cramped conveyance much, even if I had brought her along."

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Afternoon
The Sunlit Rose

Turel watched impassively as Elizabeth built herself into a rage, paying no heed to the other patrons, allowing her wrath to wash over him. He sat impassively as she stormed from the terrace, finally taking a sip of his coffee as the first ceiling tile fell inside. A glass shattered at the table beside him, and suddenly the patrons were running from the Sunlit Rose, screaming as they were pelted with shards of glass and ceramic. Only Turel remained unmoving in the chaos, apparently relishing the steaming black liquid, any when the cup finally left his lips it revealed a thin smile that could only be described as predatory. Looking to the floor where Annah had begun toying with a razor shard of clay buried in the floorboards, Turel sighed.

"Annah, go after your mother. Make sure she gets back to the hotel safely."

As Annah leapt to her feet, Turel caught her shoulder.

"And no distractions on the way back. I'm not in the mood to deal with a murder in broad daylight today."

Noting the small demon's crestfallen look, Turel took hold of her chin.

"Don't worry, dear heart. When I return, I'll be bringing gifts. And with them, we can have all the fun we want."

Annah scampered off into the crowd after Elizabeth, and Turel returned to his coffee in the deserted cafe. That display had been a testament to the strength his Liz possessed, and though her empathy remained a problem stealing the old woman's breath suggested she was capable of remarkable control when in the proper frame of mind. Once again, he chided himself for waiting so long to arrange her miscarriage. It had been an inexcusable lapse not to think it would result in long-term damage, but it seemed he would be forced to make do. Eventually, he knew, her fractured pyche would repair itself around her new amalgam soul.


*****

Another Time
Another Place

The deer's carcass lay steaming on the cave floor, viscera spilling from the gaping hole in its belly. The man who had once been Turel Andiam hunched over the animal, its black blood coating his naked body. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd eaten, how long he'd sat alone in the cold dark, but when he'd seen the outline of life at the cave mouth he'd leapt forward without a moment's hesitation. The doe had died with his teeth around its neck, a grip he never would have been able to maintain had he still been human. The though caused a spasm of pain to shoot through his back, the phantom memories of a twisted, broken spine, and Turel pushed it aside. Tearing at the raw meat with his teeth, the blood brought warmth for the first time in recent memory, and with warmth came memories.

Sitting with her by the fire, reading one of their master's many tomes.

Lying in the grass next to her, hands intertwined.

Silken sheets in the secret of night.

The flush of embarrassment as she fled the derision of his peers.

The fever of rage.

The touch of burning brands upon young flesh.

His father's study, sprayed in blood and fouler things.

"Enough," cried the stricken man, his appetite forgotten in the flood of pleasure and pain. His attempt to stand only sent him stumbling back, to collapse by the fetid pool that had been his fountain and his lavatory until he'd forgotten the pull of thirst. Alien eyes stared back from his reflection, burning, purple things that held a hunger that demanded far more than raw meat.

"Let me out."

The voice! Always, the unceasing voice! It was his, and yet not his, a sibilant whisper that held untold promise and untold terror in equal measure. He had to keep it inside. Had to keep it hidden, because...because...

The man grasped desperately for an answer, for a memory that had long sustained his violent agony. The guilt of...something. A murder. A foul, unforgivable thing that would forever stain his soul. But who had he murdered!? Father, mother, master, lover, all whirled in his mind, all fading, all falling, falling to the hunger of the voice. He collapsed into a fetal position, then, rocking back and forth as he wept tears that would not come.

"Let me take your pain away."

A promise. It seemed such a simple thing, to be free of pain. So many times he'd refused, clinging to the rock of his shame, and yet now the thing that had once towered as a mountain had shrunk into the horizon, almost beyond his sight. The wracking shudder ceased, and with desperate eyes Turel Andiam spoke to the dark.

"What are you!?"

The voice was closer, now, if only barely, and it spoke faster than before.

"I am everything that was promised. An end to pain, to fear, to guilt. I can remake your life into something glorious."

With every word, the voice seemed creep towards him, and as he lay on the ground Turel peered to the far edge of the cave, swathed in shadows, as though he expected to see its source.

"But why?"

"Because I am you! I am who you were meant to be! Powerful and whole."

A memory of pain, again. Lying in a chair in the cold light of winter, his broken fingers desperately trying to keep hold of a crystal glass. A spasm courses up a crooked arm and the glass goes flying to the floor. In the window pane, an old man stares back at him, one eye a charred ruin, the other a faded blue already going milky from trauma. His hair had nearly all been burned away in the torture, leaving naught but wispy white strands falling to hunched shoulders.

"No...."

The voice was beside him now, in his ear, crouching over his comatose form like a beast from legend. Yet, for all the dark intent he could sense behind its words, the voice was warm, and familiar.

"There is no need for you to dwell on the terrors of the past. You have suffered and struggled so hard to reach this point - do not throw away your chance for happiness now!"

Hesitation. A single moment at the precipice. Had he remained strong, he could have pulled back. Had he still seen the faces of his loved ones burning in his mind, he could have pulled back. But Turel Andiam was tired, terribly tired, and instead of pulling back he slipped forward into oblivion. His feet left the bedrock of sanity, and suddenly he could remember all of it. His father, collapsing from his drugged tea. The tortuous burning in his muscles as he dragged him from the dining room to the study. The knife, black and old as sin, rippling in the firelight. Blood. Pain. He opened his mouth to scream, to shout against the coming night, but not a sound escaped. A blink of his burning, indigo eyes, and Turel Meresin stood from the filth of the floor, popping his back with a luxurious stretch.

"That took entirely too long."

[VonDoom]

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST=======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
===========================================

Aesthes

"Excellent," Shigeru replied with a smile. "Allow me a moment to confirm if Lord Izayoi will meet you – I will be back with you in a moment."

And indeed, after not much more than a wait of five minutes, the friendly Captain returned with a pleased smile on his lips. "Come, come, my lord. Please follow me."

As he walked the Ikokuan shipsman stroked his black beard, helpfully leading Aesthes towards the back of the ship where the entrance to the Captain’s quarters was. As well as both Alfnierdo and Izayoi Takeshi.

Alf and Takeshi

"I fear I cannot aid you there," the Captain noted, a frown on his face. "But actually, there is someone I promised to introduce to you, Lord Izayoi. If you’ll tolerate one further slight delay, I will fetch him momentarily. He looked to be a learned man, so he may even hold knowledge of this ... 'paper'."

Shigeru bowed to Takeshi, apparently assuming that he would indeed tolerate it right off the bat, and walked away for a moment, only to return together with a scholarly, pale-looking man: Aesthes.

Aesthes, Alf and Takeshi

"There we are," Shigeru announced. "May I introduce Izayoi Takeshi, one of the passengers who sought fit to grace my humble merchant vessel with their presence." The Captain was just about to introduce Aesthes, when he stumbled in his words, realizing that he had no clue as to the shadow mage’s name.

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

"A pleasure to meet you. I am called.. Aesthes. Of the Sorcerous House Levante." He paused on his words for a moment, considering whether or not to give a false name or his true one. Finally deciding on truth. His eyes, however, are immediately drawn to the alchemist...

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

"I am Alfneirado, merchant of the Alchemist College. Call me however you wish." Alf gave a slight nod and focused on the mage as he did to him. "So you are a sorcerer then? Have you ever known or met a young sorceress child? Well-versed in the ability and knowledge of fire?" He meant about Eris, who he had barely known. "What might have drawn you to this Ikokuan transport?"

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

"I usually do not use the term 'sorcerer', but yes, I could be described as such." Of course, he usually described himself with 'scholar' or 'historian' or somesuch title.

"I can't say I've met this person you seek information about. As for coming here, I'm a scholar by trade, and I'm always interested in history, whether it be of this or another nation."

[Swordslinger]

X of Bergenholt
A mostly demolished warehouse district
Amandre

How had they known he was here? The question flew though Amandre’s mind just as me dodged another swing of the man’s blade. The man was masked, dressed in black and wielding a short sword, Amandre knew a fellow assassin when he saw one, or more precisely fought one. This man skills was a far above the other thugs which was evident that the guards that had come streaming to was just standing outside looking confused. The only action they took was guarding the way out and yelling some encouragement to the man in black. Amandre was sure this was a trap, they had been waiting for him, and there probably was no hostage here. But how had they managed to fool House Darran’s investigators in such a manner. They had only exchanged a few blows, Amandre had not even had time to draw the two Sais holstered at his lower back. The assassin was stronger and a more skilled fighter if not as fast as Amandre. In the end there was no point in risking himself in a drawn out fight that he would probably lose, best to get out. Unfortunately the door was guarded several thugs, luckily Amandre had other means of escaping if he could just find an opening. The assassin stabbed at him however Amandre grabbed his arm in a martial arts move and gave him a kick in the chest. The assassin softened the blow my jumping backwards on his own. But the distance was all Amandre needed. In a single motion he drew and threw a slender knife, the assassin dodged to the side easily. But that was all the time Amandre needed to step trough a shadow.

The cold evening air hit him as he appeared outside the warehouse. He wasted no time and immediately dashed over the empty field toward the nearest city district.

Rooftops somewhere in Taelarys.

The uneven rooftops of the city were of no hindrance to him, he had run around up here all his life. He heard the small noise of something moving through the air behind him as he reached the end of the building. He turned around in the air as he jumped across the narrow alleyway between buildings. Metal stroke metal as he brought the Sai in his hand up with a swift movement knocking the knife streaking toward him out of the air. It fell down to the street blow as he his feet again found solid ground on the next house. Amandre had scarcely believed it when the assassin turned up again a few hours back. It should have been impossible to trace him. However Amandre had managed to get away from him again, only to be found again a short time later. This was the third time the assassin had found him. Amandre could only conclude that some sort of magic was at work here. And if that was the case than he had no other choice but to fight the assassin, the sooner the better. As he already started to feel exhausted. Amandre came to the end of the roof and jumped to the next roof that was a floor down. The moon was shone brightly in the night sky, however the light did not fully reach him, the other building was obstructing the light casting a shadow down upon the building below. Amandre stood at the edge of the shadow, right at the border of light and dark, the border between worlds. Soon he heard footsteps.

The assassin reached the end of the roof as he felt something behind him, but that was impossible as he had made sure that his pray was not hiding in any corners as he ran part them. He turned and all he saw was the glimmer of metal, than he fell toward the street below, blood streaming from his throat.

Amandre stood at the edge of the rooftop looking down at the corpse below, behind him bathed in the moonlight stood a chimney.

Darran Manor

He climbed the perimeter wall and walked across the garden toward a back door into the manor. Often he would just jump right to his room in the cellar but tonight he felt exhausted after running through the city for hours and using Shadow jump so often in such a small time frame drain him a lot. Not that it mattered anyway, he would have to go a report what happened tonight immediately. No time to lay down for a rest. It was late and the manor was quiet, yet it was light on in large parts of the manor, which was odd. He was on his way to his master, Banyn d’Darrans’s bedroom when he passed the doors to the dining hall. He heard voices within, who would be up and about at this hour? He opened the door and walked in.

“Ah you are back, and found your way here on your own no less”

His master was seated at the table. As was several other men he did not recognize. As they stood up several spears was pointed at him and the doors was closed by guards standing behind him. One of the guards stepped up and removed the two Sais he had at his waist. Amandre did not resist them but spoke instead to his master

“What is going on here”

Banyn looked bored as he spoke “You have become too well known lately, while that was of some benefits initially it won’t be long before people start questions about the many murders and illicit activity that can in some way be connect to the house over the years. And if you were captured some would now be able to recognize you and your connection with the house, it would be even worse if your abilities came to be known. In short you have become a liability”

Amandre could not manage anything else than standing there speechless, his head refused to work.

“We devised a scenario where you would die while trying to rescue a child held hostage, the House would have seen a lot of good publicity over that. Unfortunately you managed to survive, but that was not unforeseen, you are after all very good at surviving unfortunately there will be no way out of here”

Amandre found that he could not move, no matter how much he struggled his body remained motion less as if his whole body had frozen. This was bad, he had not noticed earlier but the soldiers was wearing the emblem of one of the Sorcerous Houses, than those other men with Banyn was sorcerers and they were keeping him in place with magic.

“So it would be best you disappeared, my old friend here” he made a gesture toward the oldest of the other men. “has need of someone like you for his experiments”.

“Upon receiving reports about illicit use of magic at the Darran House we were sent to investigate, and we happen to come across an ritual to summon a demon”

Spears were pointed towards Banyn.

“How dare you!”

“Apparently House Darran never sized being a part of the Crimson Cult and was an instrumental part of the recent appearance of a demon at the Lords Arena. I don’t think anyone would find that to unbelievable. And who better than our House to seize all of House Darran’s holdings to make sure they are clear of Demon filth. Your days are over Banyn, my old friend”

Banyn seemed remarkably calm. Suddenly he looked up and made a shattering roar. Amandre did not understand what was happening, it seemed so out of place. Everyone in the hall looked surprised except for the old sorcerer who for some reason had a hint of a smile and stepped back from Banyn. Banyn grew larger and his clothes tore, his skin became gray and large razor like claws grew from his hands. He no longer looked anything like a human.

“I thought you acted odd after the last meeting all those years ago, so I was right. Now perish demon”

Green fire erupted from his hands and rammed into the demon, it howled but did not seem to take very much damage. Than before anyone else in the room had time to react the demon leapt into action, faster than it seemed from the size it slashed up two of the younger sorcerers with its long claws before turning on the guard who just now pointed their spears and swords toward the demon. One of the slain sorcerers and apparently been maintain the field that held Amandre locked in place and with it gone he know found himself able to move again. He dove into a tumble toward his Sais who now lay on the floor, dropped by a guard who found it more important to draw his own weapon. He sheathed them and ran to the door. The room was bathed in light from the magic being cast by the old sorcerer and the one other surviving sorcerer. He ignored it and burst through the door. Soldiers from the household guard were moving up the hallway. Amandre barely dodged a body being thrown through the doors and into the hallway. The body lay there broken with a longsword still in hand. A longsword would be more useful right now and he picked it up. As he begun to run down the hallway ignoring the soldiers he heard someone stepping out through the door. He turned and saw the old sorcerer standing there looking into the dining room, he looked annoyed. The sorcerer raised his hands, a blinding flash emitted and he was gone. Amandre turned away and focused on running, he heard the demon stepping trough the door and moving down along the hallway crushing anyone in its path.

First he had been betrayed by his master, and that it turned out his master had become a demon. Or rather, had been a demon all along. Amandre felt tired and confused, his head and emotions was a mess. But he knew, that he would put an end to this. He stood in the middle of the entrance hall watching the big class doors leading out. Behind him was the stairs leading to the second floor. The demon burst forth from one of the hallways and now stood at the top of the stairs. It howled as it spotted him. Amandre did not react, his hands rested upon the hilt of the long swords that stood before him, tip resting against the floor. Banyn, had always been cold and calculation but now he in his demon form he seemed to have lost all reason. It ran down the stairs toward Amandre, perhaps it did not notice where Amandre was standing, or maybe it just did not realize the danger. The Demon reached the end of the stair and stormed forward, huge claws swept down. However the claws only cut trough empty air, it’s pray had disappeared.

Amandre fell from a shadow beneath the roof, the demon stood there not understanding what had happened. Not until it was too late, Amandre fell down with the blade in his hands, tip pointing downwards. The blade passed by the back of the demons head and sunk down past it shoulder blades and deep into its body. Amandre hit the ground as the demon begun to trash about, he dodged out of the way but not fast enough. With wild strike the demon hit Amandre with backhanded strike and sent him flying through a window.

Slowly Amandre got up to his feet, clothes was torn and he was bleeding from several cuts. It was not that bad, he had survived worse. He took a look within the house, the demon laid thrashing on the floor, making a lot of noise. Death throes, the demon would die no matter what happened now, at least he thought so. The last demon he had slain had also taken its time in dying. He stood watching for a moment, feeling a lot of mixed emotions. Then he turned and walked around the house toward the back, he stopped by the wall and loosened a stone hiding a small space in the wall. He retrieved a small bag from the hidden room and secured it to his waist, then he removed the bracelet he had kept around his upper arm. The bracelet Banyn gave to him before he left in the job, he said it would grant him magical protection; magical tracking was probably the truth, that was how the assassin could find him no matter where he went. He threw it away and climbed the wall.

A rooftop somewhere in Taelarys.

He was unsure what to do now; he had no place to turn to. And he hardly knew anyone outside the Darran house. He was once again homeless, well things were different from when he was a child. He would not starve at least. While most of the money he had earn was on book in one of the banks and now that Banyn was dead it would be out of his reach. But he was not moneyless, over the years he had stored a fair few high value coins in a bag in the yard, just in case and his skills and knowledge opened up many possibilities and paths that had been out of reach when he was young, but he now felt like he had lost his purpose. The real question was not what he was going to do from here on; it was why he would do it. Well, he would have to think more about it tomorrow, now he was tired and needed to sleep. He took a look up at the sky, a feeling of nostalgia appeared; he was once again sleeping underneath the night heaven. And so at the top of a roof hidden in the shadows of a chimney he entered a restless sleep filled with demons and the deceased.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

"A miko is a priestess Master Alf, born of grace and beauty they are like cranes on a pond, snatching the foul carp from underneath the waves with delicate precision. Oni are...they...they are like your demons Master Alf."

Takeshi starts before glancing at the Captain.

"A shame C-..no I really..."

He glowers at the back of the Captains head as he moves out of the room to grab the man he spoke of though the look fades swiftly when they return.

"A pleasure. A Sorcerer you say? I am quite interested in your Western Magic. Perhaps we can speak of this later? I am afraid that I have a great many things to do in this city already but if it is a lesson on our history you wish I would be happy to oblige. Somewhere not on this ship however. I have had my fill of the scent of ocean and salt for one day. Perhaps we may take this to a tavern Master..Aesthes was it? You can tell me all about the Sorcerer Houses in exchange?"

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

"A scholar, are you?" Alf asks Aesthes in a point of interest. "Tell me, what does a scholar like yourself do? Do you transcribe or translate words and parchments of incredible lore and uniqueness?" He had wondered if Alf's scrolls might be readable by the scholar. "I have much to do as well, but first. Captain, please show me Ikokuan's finest and lightest silk clothing please."

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Alf gave what might have been considered a stare in curiosity at the woman. "Hmm... Contact information..." He thinks to himself for a bit before nodding and beginning to walk up to the table, taking out an empty piece of parchment paper and writing on it:

Alfnierado, Merchant of the Alchemist's College. Enter through the front door and take a left. Look for shop with great amount of potions and scrolls.

Once done he calmly hands it to Roxanne. "Apologies for not signifying where this place is. I'm not quite at liege to state that." He folds his spider-made arms and waits patiently for a response. "Can I assume you will be able to find your way with those instructions?"

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

Turning to Takeshi, he considers the foreigner for a moment before inclining his head slightly in acknowledgement of the return of greeting. "I could indeed discuss such at another time. Not in a tavern, however, I find myself uncomfortable in such atmospheres.

However, I'm quite open to such a meeting for mutual information trading. At a time that is convenient for all, of course. Do you have a specific time available that you have in mind?"

Finishing talking, he turns his head to regard Alf again before replying. "I do translate and transcribe, but I prefer to learn and catalogue all information on the subject I can find. You are welcome to join Lord Takeshi and I if you are available at the time."

[Nefarion Xid]

23rd of Bargenholt, afternoon
Down the street from the Sunlit Rose

After some length of babbling, Anselme folded his arms polite behind his back and waited for Elizabeth to make some sense. When she'd finally decided on 'goodbye', he asked the question he'd had for nearly a minute.

"A stray... what?" he said, inclining his brow towards her sympathetically.

Masked beneath the patch, his devil's eye flickered over Elizabeth's shoulder. A second one (something else with a curious aura like hers) was coming down the street from the same direction. With an unseen flick of his wrist, he gestured for the creatures watching from the shadows of the alleyway to make themselves... useful.

"You seem out of sorts. Let me get you a drink. Not coffee."

Moments later, closer towards the Sunlit Rose, a wagon carrying several sacks of four inexplicably lost its rear axle. The bags, having been gnawed open just prior, impacted the ground one after another and exploded in a 'smoke screen' two stories high.

All Aboard!
Infirmary

Still leaning against the wall, Anselme drew open both sides of his coat and hung his thumbs in his pants pockets. He glanced between the machines, to Cophi and finally settled his eye on Raina.

Sighing, he began, "I'm a very well traveled man, Ms. Nessiel. I have walked the planes and dealt with all manner of creature. I have made powerful friends and even greater foes. I know more than some have a right to and still less than I should like. I have been to the heart of the Nether and I have left it with fewer demons than I found it. The language you heard earlier is a niche one, though common among some of the shrewder planeswalkers. I admit I was curious if the machines would understand it; it has sufficed to conclude our negotiation in private."

Turning back to the first machine he gave a dry, if genuine and winning smile. "I do apologize for my terseness. Can get a bit touchy when implications are that I might be detained indefinitely. The same grace extends to my friends. You can sympathize, no?"

Shrugging away from the wall, he went to Raina and extended his hand. The poor thing had been through a lot and the least he could do was show her a modiucm of physical comfort. "I am your friend, Raina," he assured her. Over his shoulder, he asked, "Is anything that I've said that is untrue?"

12:20 a.m., Claye-Potts Machinery, 13th of Bargenholt

Anselme did a good job of holding his bleeding gut while stripping from the waist up in the middle of Claye's kitchenette. He had a curious sort of build now that he was out of his fine clothes (what was left of them). He was too broad on the shoulders, too long in the arms and his waist tapered in dramatically. Certainly he was more muscular than Claye would have guessed.

Positioning himself at the table, he took a few ginger sips from his cup of tea before asking wryly, "Is it too much to hope for first aid?"

Before she could dart off, he added hastily, "A candle and a blade. I don't do stitches..."

While she was up he began to explain, "No. No lead as such. But, no witnesses either. We'll call it a draw!"

[the_druid_droid]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Wolf and Revin

After quickly examining his surroundings and listening to the foreigner speak, Revin nodded, a trace of a smile showing on his face. “Taelarys has all manner of pests, rodent and otherwise... I am a spy, as you say, employed by one of the Sorcerous Houses to remove the pests that vex them most.” As he spoke, wheels began to turn in the Revin’s mind; Tarin had sent him to find out about contraband or drugs, but bringing back a living, breathing, and talented spy from across the sea would almost certainly pique the interest of his employer more than any mere goods or information.

“I have no doubt of your skill,” here he glanced toward the dying rat, “and if you’re looking for work, today may just be your day. My employer is always on the lookout for skilled individuals who are willing to act where others hesitate... I believe he would be very interested in your abilities. Arranging a meeting would be extremely simple, and it’s quite possible that you already have information he desires, merely by virtue of traveling on this particular ship.” Although the spy was nonchalant in his offer of work, a part of him was desperate to see how an interview between this man and the Grand Inquisitor would go.

“What do you say?”

[VonDoom]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Wolf and Revin

"I say you are a fool," Wolf replied with a smirk of his own. "Or you seek to entrap me." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, the athletic man leaned back against a wooden crate, suddenly once again holding a knife in his hand.

"Too eager to accept," the shinobi elaborated. "I could be an assassin sent to slay your master, or just here to spy on your country. Perhaps to cause as much chaos and upheaval as I can. But I shall tell you this: I am none of these things. And I have this for you, for your master."

The Ikokuan produced a small letter tube from his right sleeve, held it up for a moment and then flung it towards Revin. "Give him this message, and perhaps he'll find my offer agreeable. An Ikokuan shinobi working for an outsider is almost unheard of -- an honor for any man."

Suddenly, a loud creak could be heard as someone from above deck was stepping close to the trapdoor and reaching for its handle.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

Takeshi nods, offering a polite smile as he bows. These blasted Westerners were slippery without even knowing it while being utterly clueless. A tavern was a safe place to meet for the both of them but if that was the way this was all going to play out.

"Perhaps tonight? I would much prefer a tavern...I find they offer up a good look at the local culture but if you are adverse to them than perhaps a library? They are quiet and afford a great deal of privacy if one knows where to sit? Would that be adverse Master Aesthes? I have difficulty with your writting I must admit, from left to right is such an oddity on eyes. And so few letters, it is a wonder the people that use such an alphabet can convey their intentions so clearly. A marvel of authorship I must assure you. I also long for the taste of a well made meal after having been stuck on this boat for so long. As much as stale congee and fetid water satisfies I would like to taste a little meat. Perhaps in your next voyage Captain you will remember to stock emergency provisions over your wares?


He glances at the Captain, giving him a polite bow as well. It was a shame such a nice man had to be smeared but between blowing a potential cover and forcing some skittish mage on him for a mere history lesson his patiance and love of the man had worn thin. On top of it all he had passed up his business venture which made him competition. Even he wasn't aware of who he slighted...he would have to pay.

[hi-mi-tsu]

All Aboard!
The Infirmary

A moment of hesitation; the elf takes Anselme's hand, then leans into him, a display of humanity unlike any he'd have seen from her before. Normally, she was...reserved, if not always cold; she had shown him very little affection, though she had made it clear that she trusted him and respected him. This...this was different. She was in desperate need of familiarity, right now, and though his answer was not entirely satisfying, it was good enough for her to accept, for now.

"How are we going to get everyone out of here...?" Her voice is quiet, and faintly muffled against his shoulder. "I don't even know where 'here' is. I'm injured, Cophi's injured, that soldier is injured...more people are scattered about in gods-knows-where rooms in this place...I don't even know how many were on the train. ...Or how many survived. ...I do not..."

A pause, and her eyes flickered, went bleak.

"You are right. I am not in charge here. I...do not know what to do. I do not like...this feeling."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy

Raina pauses, and then her lips curve up in a wry grin, at Claye's words. She finds herself growing quite fond of the bluntly-spoken machinist; it was a pity she probably couldn't recruit her. The Lions could use someone of her skills, certainly...if the heavy machinery she'd been packing at the banquet was anything to go by.

"Hm. Your words ring true, Claye. This night has been a complete shambles, hasn't it? How...obscene. And one wonders why I do not often come to these things..." Lifting her skirt, she climbs into the carriage, and cannot stop the low chuckle at Claye's disclaimer.

"Just keep the horses going at a steady pace, my dear machinist, and try not to win any races. It is a sturdy carriage." A pause, and she glances at her unexpected traveling companion. She hasn't heard much of this Mikado, but what she has heard makes her interested...and suspicious. Wealthy, genteel, foreign...she does not trust him.

"So...Mikado. What was it you wished to speak about, that you did not get to discuss with me at that farce of a dinner party?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

23rd of Bargenholt, afternoon
Down the street from the Sunlit Rose

"...His name was Stray. Is Stray. But he is not here, he is somewhere else. You don't...you look like him. I'm sorry, I..." A pause, and a glance over her shoulder. He was watching her, somewhere. She knew he was, he was always watching her, like a hawk, like a ghost.

The not-Stray man was asking to take her somewhere, to get her a drink, and his voice was...sympathetic. Kind. But voices were lies, weren't they? She should go...back. Back to him. But...no. No, he was a lie, his voice was the biggest lie of all and even when she needed him, she hated needing him.

"I-I...shouldn't. Go with you. But I...I do not...want to go back." A slow clearing of her eyes, a return to the world she was in now, and her cheeks flamed as she ducked her head in shame. How long...? How long had she been standing here, babbling like a lunatic at this man...?

"You must...think me mad." Her voice was low, and a weak, helpless laugh bubbled up.

"You should. I am. Mad, I mean. ...My name is Elizabeth. What's yours?"

[VonDoom]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy
Claye, Raina, Mikado

Truth be told, before this fine evening the illustrious Ikokuan had not heard much of Raina Nessiel, either. Nor had he even recognized her before her name was put into the room, though her bearing had caught his eye right from the start. That, and the company she kept.

The Blue Lions, however, were a notable mercenary company and their name had come up quite a few times during his various inquiries about Taelarys. The fact that these sell-swords were actually running a rather impressive protection racket had not escaped Mikado, who knew the ways of such things all too well. The Ninkyoudantai, after all, operated in a similar fashion, though on a much grander scale -- and thus, were less disciplined and far more fractured than these so-called Lions would be.

All this Mikado knew as his brown eyes met the silver of the Eladrin before him, his gaze even and confident, for neither her obvious beauty nor renown intimidated him. "A few things," he opened, straightening his position a little as he sat up properly. Having judged Raina as a woman who had little taste for tiring banter and the art of talking around what you actually wanted to say, the Ikokuan opted to get right to the heart of the matter. "But first, let's talk business. As this evening has once again so amply demonstrated, Taelarys is quite a dangerous place. First half-drowned men in need of rescuing, then demons and the walking dead, and now assassins and poison." The former Dragon Emperor watched Raina attentively, particularly interested in her reaction to the 'half-drowned men' part of his little list.

"I'd like to hire the services of the Blue Lions. You keep a tidy house of good repute, and even in my short time here I've heard them mentioned once or twice." Mikado's residence was not in the Vale, of course, but that was hardly a problem a little extra money couldn't overcome, he was sure.

[Kasanip]

A White Witch Story
20th of Bargenholt, Evening
Ostrim
Eris

There was a murderer in the city, but it was not easy to find. Eris walked silently on the street with her cloak around her. Today it was a gray sky, and so also a gray mood.

Of course Eris had dark thoughts from some time to time.
When she had returned to Ostrim, there had been some thieves displayed. They had been foolish to attempt to steal. But when Eris stared at the bodies, she had thought quietly.

Until recently she maybe could have been there. But Kyranis and Liella had changed her mind.
Eris walked back inside the Ostrim castle.

The marble floor made a cool sound to her boots, and the soft voices were like water. But Eris didn't pay attention. She was following unconscious desire.

The intuition of a witch is a dangerous thing.
Eris went in the library. A tall and round room, the further within, the more secret and restriction.
She put her hand up to the seal. There was a chime sound and the barrier disappeared. The gate opened to her hand, and she continued in. Even she had not seen what was on the center circle. Probably only the Arch-magister and council had access to it.

Now she would too. She of course had a plan to access it. The forbidden magic knowledge was necessary for her revenge. Even if the revenge wasn't going to happen, the knowledge was still there. It was a good opportunity.

But not this way. Eris didn't walk to the next gate. She walked carelessly around the circle halfway. To the other side, there was another gate. She put her hand to this seal. Another barrier disappeared and the gate opened for her.

Eris smiled and glanced back lazily. No one had noticed. It was late now. Most would sleep.
Another barrier was passed.
There was the center ring. And there was the next ring. Both were restricted. Both were in front of her. The rings of course were named "First Testament" and "Second Testament."

For this next seal, Eris took a paper with runes and held it between her hand and the seal. There was the chime, and the barrier disappeared. Eris tried to open the gate, and frowned. It was heavy. Very heavy. She looked at the white metal.
She wasn't going to give up now. Eris pushed and pushed until it opened just a little. She started again, and pushed, enough so she could enter the ring. And then, the gate shut behind her with a click.

Eris paused, a small alarming thought. Was it a trap? Or just to protect? She waited for a minute. But no alarm happened. The wild grin came to her face again. This was First Testament. Rare archives and spells- knowledge as old as she was.

There were some books here she came to find.
The Heartstone book of dragons. Eris searched the circle of books until she found it. A large ruby was in the cover, and in the faint purple lamplight, it shined and reflected her face. Like the rubies in her hair. It was not different, that was always the symbol of Ostrim.

"Fyr" she muttered. The fire appeared in her other hand, and she could read the page in it's glow.

She read the page. It was just a glance, but suddenly her whole attention was there.
And then she started to laugh.
The First Testament echoed with her laugh.

[BladeofObliviom]

Ikoku, some years ago
The Dragon's Throne
The Dragon Emperor, his Lieutenants and a certain kunoichi

The Dragon's Throne was not a comfortable place to sit in, a cold slab of solid steel as harsh and and unrelenting as its namesake, the man to whom the Ninkyoudantai must bow: the Dragon Emperor.

Even through the onyx eyes of his fierce armor, the mighty blaze of his divinity brought forth a purple glow in the twilight of the sparingly lit room, the shadows thus created only serving to enhance the presence of their leader, giving the mask ever more the impression of real dragon in human shape.

In the far back of the room sat the highest ranking members of the Ninkyoudantai, one oyabun for each province, and the komon who supervised them, all kneeling before their leader. Between them and the Dragon Emperor were two figures, a slim one standing, one sprawled out on the ground.

"You have committed the greatest crime," boomed the voice, deep and terrible as thunder, carried even to the farthest corner by the arcane power of the armor. "Treachery. What folly made you think you could escape my vengeance?"

The twin glowing orbs seemed to focus entirely on the beaten shell of a man before him, impossible as it was.

Guo Dong had been a gambler all his life. Naturally, it was not long before debt and carefree behaviour set him onto a path that lead towards the Ninkyoudantai. To his credit, the work required to repay his accumulated owings suited him well and he not only paid it back but earned a pretty profit. Soon he was leading his own gambling den, making it the most popular place in the entire Feng Province.

However, Guo Dong became greedy. Reassured by his continued success, he thought that shaving off a bit of his continually increasing earnings would go unnoticed, that he could use it to fill his own purse. And it did, for a time. But just as it was inevitable that the Ninkyoudantai would employ agents to prevent precisely such corruption among their ranks as it grew, so was it inevitable that they would root out poor Guo Dong.

But the gambler was quick-witted and fleet of foot. With a large sum of stolen money, he fled into the night. Thus had the Dragon Emperor decided to employ one of his shinobi agents to locate and bring the man before him without attracting any undue attention.

"You have succeeded well in bringing him here, kunoichi." The Dragon Emperor rose, a large figure in his powerful armor. No weapons were allowed in this room, but this steel monstrosity was a weapon in itself. "Guo Dong," he announced. "Just as success and loyalty has its reward, so does treachery and failure."

His right gauntlet clenched into a fist as he approached, looking down at the trembling man with contempt. For a moment it looked as if the Dragon Emperor might strike the traitor, but he merely stood over him, glowering.

"Did you bring back what he stole, kunoichi?" His voice suddenly rang out, addressing the masked woman standing behind Guo Dong.

I figured Chiyome would be wearing something to mask her identity at such gatherings. Feel free to flashback-inside-the-flashback to hunting him down if you like.

Ikoku, some years ago plus a day
Countryside, Province of Feng
A Certain Kunoichi

It was the dark of night, and one could practically smell the man's fear. Chiyome was barely visible even to a trained eye against the midnight blue skies, and the moonless night didn't exactly help. Guo Dong may have been a thief, but he lacked the tuned senses of the common type.

He seemed to think himself hidden in the Cherry Blossoms above Chiyome, and she indeed was unsure how he managed to drag himself up the trunk so quickly, especially while carrying such a large bag of gold. Really, she wasn't even sure how he was able to run with that sack. Still, he clearly wasn't as clever as he thought, sitting there, eyes darting over the landscape from the end of a thick branch.

He didn't see Chiyome as she ascended the bark of the tree. He didn't hear her soft footsteps as she crawled onto the branch. He didn't even feel the slight vibrations amplifying down the branch due to his own shivering in the chill of midnight.

However, he did notice the shoe suddenly planted in his spinal cord with significant force, Chiyome's wiry strength triumphing over Guo Dong's rather pathetic effort at hiding. A brief scream of terror, punctuated only by a loud thumping noise as he hit the ground along with his gold, was the only sign that anything had happened.

His ankle seriously sprained by the fall, Guo Dong brandished a dagger wildly at the branch that he stood on only seconds before, only to recieve a harsh blow to the wrist from Chiyome's other foot. A blow to the head from a convenient fallen branch finally ended the rather one-sided confrontation, as the man collapsed into unconsciousness.

A length of rope and a piece of cloth repurposed as a gag finished the job.


Ikoku, some years ago
The Dragon's Throne
The Dragon Emperor, his Lieutenants and a certain kunoichi

Of course, the Dragon Emperor's question was more a formality than a true question, as the large sack of gold coins was rather visible in Chiyome's hand. Of course, formality was a great part of a tribunal at the Dragon's Throne. The Kunoichi lifted the bag to about chest height, the ease with which she lifted such a heavy bag giving a hint as to her true physical strength.

"Of course, my Emperor."

In a mild departure from tradition afterward, she dropped the bag at the feet of the Dragon Emperor, followed by the expected bow. While dropping the bag was normally acceptable under such traditions, simply because bowing while carrying such a thing could throw one off balance, Chiyome's true purpose in doing so was slightly otherwise.

A groan emanated from the beaten, bruised, and barely conscious figure of Guo Dong as the large bag filled with extremely heavy metal landed squarely upon his shoulders. Chiyome found his conduct disgusting, after all. Honor is important in Ikoku, even to an assassin.

[daelrog]

All Aboard!
Sevran
Fitness Center

"You can do the thinking Lord-Commander. If one of those things shows up I'm either running away or killing it. Depends on my mood." With that, Sevran was moving. He was in a very poor mood. He was tired of being sober, but throwing himself back into the Dream sounded even worse. This strange world he was in was not to his liking, and he wanted to tear it down.

[VonDoom]

Ikoku, some years ago
The Dragon's Throne
The Dragon Emperor, his Lieutenants and a certain kunoichi

The tension in the room was nigh tangible, the various bosses and underbosses dutifully attending the ceremony were in varying states of discomfort; the stale air and the overpowering heat from the oil lamps illuminating the room took their toll.

The Dragon Emperor towered over the kneeling form of Guo Dong, who was shivering despite the heat and mumbled incoherently beneath his breath, teeth chattering as he did -- the poor wretch was so distraught, he barely noticed as the heavy weight of the gold he had stolen fell onto his back.

With a nod and an affirmative rumble, the armored figure took another step closer, bringing him right to the side of their captive. The overlord's shadow now cast onto the traitor, shifting angrily in the light of the ever-moving flame behind his back.

No more words left his mouth as their divinely imbued Emperor pulled his arm back and clenched it into a fist, the claws on his gauntlet now jutting forward from above his knuckles.

A moment of silence followed, breaths held. Then: a spray of blood, a rasp and the ugly sound of a fresh corpse sagging to the ground as grim justice was exacted. A sack with coins now ripped open, its contents spilling onto the floor and mingling with blood as a pair of blazing black eyes surveyed their handiwork.

"See that the bereaved receive his ill-begotten gains," their iron-clad leader instructed, breaking the silence as was his prerogative. "He has paid their price."

One of the komon's eyes widened at this declaration, staring at the sheer amount of coin Guo Dong had gathered. A trivial sum by their standards, of course, but still a significant amount of money. The balding man looked like he was about to object, but a brief glance from the Dragon Emperor caused a hush of silence to fall over the assembled men.

"Remember this lesson," the deep voice boomed, "lest it befall you as well. The Ninkyoudantai will suffer no betrayal, and as always you will answer to the Dragon Emperor for your actions. All your actions."

---

After the Ceremony
The Dragon Emperor

With a somber expression, Mikado stood. He was still wearing the armor, but had removed the helmet. These large ceremonies always exhausted him, even if, unlike the men they had made wait for his appearance, he had only suffered the unpleasant atmosphere of that room for a little while.

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

Alf seemed to give pause during the conversation. With Alf's structure as he is, it is hard to identify if he is in thought or lost due to uninteresting knowledge. Eventually however he again spoke up. "Well then after this day I can see about coming along if you wish. I have the feeling Lord Izayoi and I share common interests that him and I may want to delve further into." He tilts his head slightly at Aesthes, as if piquing interest at him. "...And I would be most interested in knowing if you are able to transcribe a couple scrolls of mine. A few of them are of... Unique lettering that almost everyone else I know of cannot read."

He adjusts himself carefully to try and make sure that the others see him in a calm posture. An antagonized Alf isn't the best of people to discuss with, and he wanted to be sure that the others here didn't see him as a easily-angered creature. He never was though provided one didn't intentionally try to anger the creature of spiders. "I do not enjoy such atmospheres like taverns either. The Alchemist's College is of poor choice as well with them being very wary of sorcerers. What other options are available?"

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Three Blocks North

Turel leaned against the cold walls of the alley, his dark clothes melting into the shadows of a long-forgotten alcove. He'd been waiting for a quarter of an hour, unmoving as his eyes scanned the activity in the nearby street, waiting for his delivery.

He'd spotted the boy and his sister rooting through an alley across the street from his window. They were ragged, emaciated things, the children of Taelarys' forgotten. On any other night, they would have passed beneath the notice of even the meanest of guardsmen, but Turel had need of a courier, and there was no guarantee of secrecy better than the bond shared between children of the gutter.

He'd followed them that night, padding atop the rooftops like a predatory cat as the siblings made their way from the flawless stonework of Exentia down into the grimy dank of one of the many slums. Cobbles turned rough and broken, and Turel was forced to mind his steps lest a loose tile send him falling into the waiting night. The siblings never looked up, so accustomed were they to scrounging amidst the refuse of their betters, and so they came to their ramshackle shelter without an inkling of the danger that dogged their heels. The house was partially collapsed, barely worthy of being called a lean-to, and abducting the girl had been a simple affair. Once her body was lying cold and limp atop a far-away roof, Turel had settled in to wait, watching Aldus Balen sleep as a serpent watches a mouse dangled before it.

Aldus had begun their conversation in a panic, as Turel had expected, but he quieted as soon as Turel assured him his sister was alive, and would be returned after he performed a service. Lies, of course, but young fools are all too eager to believe lies when the alternative is too horrible to contemplate. He'd given the boy the notes that would be required, sketches of terrible blades and frightful masks, as well as the coin to expedite their making. And then, finally, an ultimatum - to have them ready in three days, or to find his sister in pieces.

The stroke of two at a nearby bell tower, and the ragged figure of Aldus appeared at the mouth of the alley. He'd cleaned himself as well as he was able, all the better to deal with smiths accustomed to noble business, though the effect was lessened somewhat by the numerous parcels that weighed him down. Cautiously, he trudged into the alley, watery eyes alert for any sign of the strange man that had stolen away his sister. Turel waited until he was well within the shadows to call out, a whisper that reached only Aldus' ears.

"Do you have what I desired?"

The boy stopped abruptly, almost losing his grip on the precarious pile of armaments in his hands, his eyes failing to pierce the gloom that shrouded Turel.

"I do, my lord. Do you have my sister!?"

A note of panic in the air. Turel breathed deeply, allowing the fluttering terror to warm his breast before responding.

"She is safe. Only yesterday, she told me how she looked forward to seeing your face again. You can find her in your old hiding spot - the hollow beneath the Adderline Bridge."

The girl's spirit screamed at the back of his mind, protesting futilely against the violation that had ensnared it, and in the dark Turel allowed himself a smile. The boy's eyes had grown wide at the mention of the place only his sister would know, his wariness banished by foolish hope. Taking another step, he placed the packages on a clean patch of ground.

"Everything is as you asked, my lord. M-may I go?"

"Of course. Go join your sweet sister."

Aldus spun around, shocked to hear Turel's voice behind him, only for an iron grip to close about his neck. He tried to scream, yet only a rattling his emerged.

"Poor boy. Your sister had such hopes for you, and you disappoint her by dying alone in an alley. It's sad, the state of the youth in this city."

A miasma seemed to seep from Turel's palms beneath Aldus' skin, as flesh paled and veins turned black as midnight. Slowly, the light faded from his eyes, until there was nothing in Turel's hands but a puppet of flesh, breathing, living, yet utterly soulless. With a chuckle, Turel tossed the refuse further down the alley, and knelt to examine his orders. Black steel rippled in the scant light, and Turel's smile only widened. The smiths in Taelarys had not disappointed - the tools for his cherished family had been faithfully recreated.


*******

Another Time
Another Place
Two Months Later

The doctor's demonstration had drawn a large crowd, both noble and merchant alike. Turel felt out of place among so many golden-skinned Hefrizians, but they paid little mind to the pale foreigner in their midst, focusing all their attention instead to the master upon the stage. The backdrop was an intricate sketch of a human hand, and for the past two hours Doctor Aselmeph Zhirad had entranced his audience with a detailed dissertation on its functions. Muscle, tendon, bone, all were revealed and discussed with the same precision with which a watchmaker might speak on his craft. Yet even that might not have impressed, had it not been for the singular beauty the doctor had chosen as his demonstration. She lay, drugged, as the doctor inserted the thinnest of needles into her open palm, causing her hand to motion and jerk as though it had a mind of its own. As he reached the conclusion of his lecture, her fingers held the needles holding them in place, displaying the tireless endurance of a statue.

"And so we see that the body is not some forbidden mystery, but a painted canvas that waits only for the light to expose it. If we only have the courage to draw aside the curtain of mystery and distrust, we may even manage to add brush strokes of our own. Thank you."

A standing ovation for the good doctor, yet curiously his eyes were focused not on the adulation of the gathered crowd but on the singular stranger who remained seated, clapping politely with head inclined. Turel had not come to see a medical lecture - no, he'd come for its presenter, and his applause were for an entirely different performance. Ever since he'd arrived in Hefriz, he'd felt the slight traces of another demonic presence moving within civilized society, and almost on a whim Turel had decided to follow them to their source. There, on that stage, basking in the cheers of those infinitely it's lessers, the demon was revealed. He had recognized Turel with all the speed he had recognized him, and now both waited for the privacy necessary to conduct their business.

Slowly, the crowd filed out into the bloody sunlight of the Hefrizian evening, leaving two monsters staring at each other across the body of a comatose girl. Tentatively, Turel stood and gave a slight bow.

"Your presentation was truly magnificent. Not a one of them suspected what you truly were."

"I might return the compliment, were it not for your nature. I know of your kind, Abomination - what business brings you to me?"

"I have sensed you since I arrived in Hefriz. Now, upon learning of your deserved mastery of anatomy, I find myself curious. Might I see your true work?"

The doctor's eyes narrowed, his mind working furiously to discern any artifice in Turel's request. Yet, for every misgiving, he returned to the fact that this stranger was a more feared and hunted creature than even himself.

"I cannot refuse such a polite request. What might I call you, stranger?"

The doctor turned on his heel, gripping the handles of his demonstration's gurney. Springing to action, Turel hastened down to the stage.

"My name is Turel An-...Turel Meresin. And yourself?"

"Zhirad will do."

"You use your own name among mortals?"

"Why not? So long as I avoid creating suspicion, the name means nothing to them beyond the obvious."

Turel paused for a moment before hurrying to catch up to Zhirad as he pushed through a curtain to the backstage. Moving with practiced motions, he wheeled the gurney into a wooden lift and began working the crank. With a jerk, they began to descend, the basement opening up below them beneath a dusty shroud. The underworks of the theater were cavernous, towering crates of props and forgotten costumes sending jagged shadows across the ceiling as Zhirad led Turel towards a single guttering flame. They eventually reached a thick wooden door, opened but a crack, that Zhirad pushed through gingerly before relinquishing his cargo. As Turel entered, the door swung shut behind him.

The room was lit by a grand collection of lanterns, their impeccably clean panes flooding its grisly occupants with warm light. In one corner, a corpse was strapped to an inclined table, the flesh of the torso pinned aside to reveal the organs beneath. The redness of them revealed the body to be very fresh. Lining the walls were body parts of every kind suspended in formaldehyde, more than a few contorted in what could only have been extreme pain. Below the floating gallery was a veritable treasure trove of shining vials of every shape and size, each labeled meticulously. Turel recognized only a handful of labels, but even his slim comprehension revealed toxins and narcotics of every stripe. But what drew the eye most was the center table, where a neat collection of six amputated human forearms was lined up, the skin peeled away to reveal various layers of tissue. Turel regarded the macabre collection with fascination, noting the amputation cuts seemed even fresher than the dissection, only for the clatter of the gurney against the wall to wake him from his reverie.

"Does she ever awaken?"

"Eventually her period of inactivity will have destroyed any useful muscle groups. I estimate another month of use, at least, but eventually she will need to be put to another use."

Zhirad gave a pointed look to the dissected corpse on the table.

"Until then, she remains asleep. Now, Meresin, tell me why you've come."

Turel turned his full attention to Zhirad, only to find the erstwhile doctor holding a foot long surgical knife lightly in one hand, his eyes flat and deadly. Giving a remorseful smile, Turel raised his hands, palms open.

"Please, I did not come here for violence. Quite the opposite, in fact. I'd like to make you a proposition."

"What kind of proposition?"

"Why, the life changing kind, of course. How long do you think you can maintain this ruse? Already, your mortal peers must wonder how you make such startling innovations in their field - eventually, someone will come asking questions, and the entire enterprise will crumble. And for what? To better the lives of these wretches? To bask in their fleeting praise? I have felt your power, and it could be turned to far greater ends."

"Your ends, you mean."

"Yes. By my own design, I have gained the power to rule, but even the strongest of emperors cannot rule alone. I require counsel, and loyal service from those who know how to be discreet."

"I have heard such words before, uttered by other Pride demons too caught up in their own glory to see the noose tightening. What do you intend to do? Assemble an army of half-formed demons and try and topple the world?"

"Hardly."

A single word, but it sent a chill through the room as Turel's eyes came alive.

"There is power in this world, hidden away from the eyes of the worthy by those who fear their betters. But hidden knowledge can be recovered, hidden power reclaimed. With patience, and cunning, we could reshape the world."

"You weave an enticing image, Meresin. You at least have the wit for subtlety. But why single me out? And why pretend that I have an option? I feel your nature - you could compel me if you wished."

"A simple reason, Zhirad. A servant driven only by base compulsion will spend half their efforts looking for a way to break their chains. I need true loyalty, and that can only come through choice. Besides, I'm confident you will accept."

"And why is that?"

"Because I offer the one thing you lack - vision, and the will to carry it out."

[Nefarion Xid]

23rd of Bargenholt, afternoon
Down the street from the Sunlit Rose

Anselme beamed for a moment and rocked on his heels, hands folded neatly behind his back. "Well, Elizabeth, you seem to be in the habit of making the acquaintance of men who operate under pseudonyms. You may call me Anselme."

He gave the woman a reassuring, snake's grin. A brilliant actor, he had the same admiration for her as one might have for a garden spider -- beautiful, but still a spider. There was something hidden about her. His devil's eye had seen her veiled nature from a mile off (rather, the veil itself), but it revealed nothing under continued scrutiny. Skin deep was the appropriate term and he'd only put himself in her way in the hopes of unwrapping her. That, and despite what lurked beneath, her skin was beautiful.

The intoxicating and sweet smell of cloves filled the air quite suddenly as he turned his head towards nothing, abruptly feigning nervousness. Falsely abashed, he lowered his eye a calculated few degrees. Whatever bravado there had been about him seeped away and for a moment Elizabeth was afforded a glimpse at a gentle and kind man who was dreadfully out of place and so very far from home.

"I'm a bit mad myself," he sighed truthfully. "And, like you, this place, this city, is... somewhere I shouldn't be."

He returned his good eye to meet her concerned gaze. It too softened and allowed itself to be pierced.

"Forgive me if it isn't my place but... if you don't want to go back. Shouldn't you... not... go back?"

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

"I would prefer a library. Privacy much more afforded than a Tavern." Aesthes speaks quietly. A small frown worked it's way onto his half-transparant face as he considered the foreigner. The impression that the other wanted privacy, but also wanted a tavern, was an odd one. He knew that it was so easy to listen in to someone's conversation, no matter how much care they took, in a tavern. So little security for the words spoken...

"If that is agreeable to both of you. I would certainly be interested in these untranslated scrolls, Alfneirado."

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

Takeshi bows again, eyeing the other mage before glancing at the spider creature carefully.

"Then I shall eat before hand. Tonight then. Which Library shall we journey to? This city is astoundingly ill convinced in its design and I am afraid that I will get lost if left to search high and low through out the city. While I am not worried about thieves and less savory aspects of the city, I would hate to stall you all in our meeting."

[hi-mi-tsu]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy
Claye, Raina, Mikado

The elven woman laughs, then hides it behind a delicate hand; the overt mention of a half-drowned man...really? Did he think she was so easily startled? Most of what she knew of this man, she'd learned from Anselme...and it wasn't as though how he'd arrived was some grand secret. Many people were familiar with Anselme, and he'd been the talk of the town for at least a week. It wasn't every day that a man seemed to drop out of the sky into the river, after all.

"Oh, my good sir. Taelarys is home to a decaying, despotic emperor-god and a multitude of humans who have the sole goal of destroying each other. ...No offense, of course." A pause, and then she sighs.

"My Lions are in short supply at the moment, Mikado, but we have been rejecting guard jobs as of late. With the...somewhat tumultuous political situation that had been going on, I felt it was best to not appear to favor one particular noble house over another. I'm sure you understand. However, as you are a wealthy foreigner who has not--as far as I am aware--embroiled himself in any of these ridiculous feuds, you should be a safe affiliation. How many guards are you looking to hire?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

23rd of Bargenholt, afternoon
Down the street from the Sunlit Rose

She was not made of stone; one might say that Liz felt more than most average people, and Anselme's calculated reveal of weakness and gentleness did exactly what he'd wanted it to do. She dropped her guard, relaxed her muscles; instead of looking as though she was about to flee, she seemed incredibly inclined towards staying.

"He always...makes me go back, eventually. But...he is not watching me, right now. Perhaps..." A pause, and she places a delicate hand on his forearm.

"Perhaps, for right now...you and I can be in the wrong place, together. I...I confess, it is easier to hold on to the pieces of myself that I like when I am around someone new. Sometimes I just want to let them go, to flutter away like paper on a strong spring wind, but...I always try to gather them up again, in the end. And when...when I am making conversation with someone, a new someone, it is easier to keep the little shreds of the good bits of me all marshaled up and facing together."

A pause, and Elizabeth's lips quirk, faintly.

"I cannot seem...to talk straight. Even when...it is what I desire. I am...sorry, if I am too...long-windedly mad. Perhaps we should go for that drink, if only so that you may have a turn at speaking while my lips are occupied with something that is not my mind pouring out of them piecemeal..."

[VonDoom]

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST=======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
===========================================

Let us examine this situation a bit.

Currently, atop The Pearl of His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku were more than a dozen potential customers with varying monetary means at their disposal, inspecting goods, haggling prices or simply marvelling at the foreign goods and melodious accents of the Ikokuan culture and men.

Before the door of the Captain's cabin stood three fellow guests; a scholar of history, a rather unique alchemist who some might call an amazing man-spider of sorts, and a magically-inclined criminal who recently arrived on this self-same ship. Next to them stood the Captain, Shigeru, who lacked a last name but did have this ship and its crew at his disposal, a smile upon his bearded lip as he blissfully failed to react to the barbed tongue that his fellow countryman lashed at him; whether this was on purpose, to keep the spirit of the day a gentle one, or from lack of wits was not so clear at the moment.

In the cargo hold stood a spy, now alone, deserted by the now-vanished shinobi agent that had made contact with him when someone had opened the trapdoor leading down below. As the blinking face of an Ikokuan crew-member staring down in confusion, wondering what Revin was doing in there without anyone else to accompany him, attested, as his expression began to turn into one of irritation.

At the entrance to the ship had stood three remaining watchmen. After half of them had been called away, only three of the original six remained on guard. About two minutes ago, however, all three of those remaining guards had decided to relocate, disappearing behind a couple of conveniently located cargo crates.

---

Right now.

---

"AVAST!" a loud, rough voice suddenly called, cutting over the noise the crowd was making. The origin was easily located: right in front of the entrance stood a stocky man of advanced age with rough stubble on his face and an eye patch over his right eye. Actually over that eye, as it was flipped back and there was no empty socket to be found. The man held a chipped cutlass in his hand and had three further men surrounding him. Just like their obvious leader, they all were wearing what appeared to be a bad mummer's impression of a pirate.

One of them had what was obviously a stuffed pigeon on his shoulder. Another, wielding a crossbow, wore a three-pointed hat so large it looked more at home on a clown. The biggest of them, at least, called an authentic piece of pirate paraphernalia his own in the shape of a hooked hand.

The surprise (and absurdity) of the situation wasn't lost on at least some of the guests, two of which actually burst out laughing. When the four invaders moved onto deck proper without interference and a large number of men who clearly were on their side and had been blocked from view until now followed right after, however, the ridiculousness of the situation suddenly became far less important. One particularly brave Ikokuan tried to jump in their way with a dagger of his own and was, quite summarily, dispatched with a quick cutlass thrust right through his thin stomach.

"Yarrr!," the 'pirate captain' proclaimed. "Ye landlubbers be givin' us yer gold freely, or everyone'll be sportin' peg-legs tomorrow!'

Bloody pirates.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi...and sudden;y Pirates!

One more interruption. The shouting up deck had not been lost on him, not at all. First the Captain, then the..."Sorcerer" as he called himself and now pirates or should he say pirates once more. They'd done a number on his travels already and here they were seeking to do so again even if unknowingly. His otherwise polite smile all but shattered on his face, his eyes growing hard as steel as he moved for the door.

"It seems we'll have to discuss location once the fools above are dealt with. Are you coming gentlemen? A sorcerer and an alchemist would be quite helpful about now. I am but a simple merchant and have little ability to fight these men off alone."

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

As the sounds from above reached those below, Alf gave off a shrug and a mild sigh. "By the hearing from above, sounds like the clown has given up it's profession." The alchemist brings out a hard grey-colored potion and shakes it a bit. "Lord Izayoi... Didn't I recall earlier that you said you weren't just a simple merchant? If that were so, I'd imagine you'd rather stay in safety here; yet the assistance will be greatly appreciated." After a moment of shaking, Alf opens the potion and spreads it's contents over his arm and forearms. The liquid turns his spiders on the selective areas a grey color rather than the black that they naturally look. Any of the liquid that spilled on the ship turned grey as well.

Once finished, he carefully puts the potion away as he comments, "An interesting thing about alchemy..." He then pounds his fists together, the sound echoing not as a biomass of spiders, but as rock-hard material smashing like cement against stone. "...Situational experimentation is rewarded with the best kind of experience." He then moves to the door back up where these so-called pirates are.

[hi-mi-tsu]

23rd of Bargenholt
The Vale--and other places

"Ah," he smiled in an earnest way now, "You're already becoming coherent. Your voice has dropped nearly half an octave. You're not... heaving as much as you were." Anselme allowed himself to be caught in a somehow flattering downward glance towards his own boots where he let his eye linger for a half second on her cleavage. While his timing and mock abashment were impeccable, he was also handsome enough to get away with such a play.

"Come," he chirped, "You'll find out that I'm exceedingly good at not only being not found, but evading watchfulness altogether. Eh, after all, whomever you wish to avoid isn't looking for me, and I'm the one who's spiriting you away for tea."

Securing her hand gently on his proffered forearm, he led her down the street towards the Vale district... though any leading was done with the glint in his eye and not his arm.

Elizabeth was quite content to follow Anselme, however he was leading her; he was...different than Turel, and closer to her once-beloved Stray. Perhaps, in her heart of hearts, still beloved...it was a thing she could not dwell on overlong, however. Thinking of Stray made her think about other things, sadder things, heartbreaking things...

"So! How long have you been in Taelarys...? I came from...very far away indeed. It is a strange place, but...there is something about it that is beautiful, even underneath the grime...like a child, waiting to have its face cleaned by its mother..."

"I'm quite well versed in far away places. Like you, I'm just recently arrived here. Nineteen days isn't a terribly long time, but it has certainly been eventful. Would you believe me if I told you I fell from the sky?"

"Oh...I suppose so." Elizabeth's eyes darkened, a little, and for a moment grew faraway again; she looked on the street without seeing it, and her voice dropped.

"I came here on crimson winds, buoyed by their vibrancy. But then they were orange, and blue, and then they were black, and they sank away forever. They called her cursed...she was beautiful, but no one knew."

"I believe you," he said flatly, truthfully.

"...You know...I think you do." Elizabeth slowly came back to herself, and her eyes were almost...pleased. "I think I could say anything my mind could think of, could trip pretty words all the way down to the end of my tongue and out into the air, and you would listen to every single one of them and nod as though they were the wittiest, most brilliant things you'd ever heard."

"I'm not a sycophant," He scoffed suddenly. "And you'll find I'm quite incapable of lying. Elizabeth, endearing as I am, I, in fact, loathe most people and tolerate them only insomuch as to avoid trampling some social norm or getting myself arrested. I wouldn't be walking with you now if I didn't genuinely find you fascinating and I wouldn't be speaking with you if I didn't care what you had to say. If I wanted pleasant, dumb company, I'd flutter my good set of eyelashes at some doe-eyed young thing..."

"How, on this or any earth, can you find me fascinating?" One elegant eyebrow arched, and the half-elven woman glanced over at Anselme. "You know little and nothing about me except that I seem to spout nonsense off the top of my head, and constantly lose track of myself. I do not think it is only my mental...'assets'...you enjoy, Anselme..."

A pause, and a low, brittle laugh. "Why would you care what I say, anyway? I am a woman without cause, without connection, not noble nor important nor recognizable."

He paused mid stride and set his eye on her firmly. Appraising her for an instant, he melted into a self assured grin and explained, "It's not nonsense. You too speak only the truth. You play no games and say only whatever comes to your mind as it does."

Anselme swept his gloved hand towards the cityscape, "They all lie. Constantly. And mostly to themselves. Somewhere in this city a woman just whispered a hollow I-love-you and he convinced himself that she really did."

He bowed his head briefly. When his gaze returned, he'd screwed up his brow in concern and realization. "And I think it's been a long time since you've had someone actually listen to what you had to say. I thought I'd do you that kindness at least when you first started babbling at me."

Elizabeth paused in her step, and stared up at Anselme—first, like he’d grown a second head, and then like he’d said something…amazing. Sometimes, she felt as though it was true…Turel claimed to love her, but he did not often seem to listen to her. Of course, she couldn’t exactly blame him. Given the option, she would not often choose to listen to herself, either.

“I…thank you.” The words were belated; she blinked, and then resumed her steps as Anselme did. “They are mindless, but I suppose…they are truthful, the words that find their way out of my head. Sometimes the words in my head are true too…but they don’t want to come out. I think they’re shy. Can a word be shy? …Sometimes they are too loud, too. And sometimes they are words I do not want to come out…sometimes they are words I do not like.”

A frown, and then she sighed. “You haven’t told me about you, very much…just letting me babble endlessly cannot be very entertaining…”

Anselme spared a knowing glance to the Blue Lions and led Elizabeth abruptly through an obscured archway into the nearly private garden adjacent to the tearoom. The imperceptible nod would assure they wouldn't be disturbed. If not the the favor he curried with Raina, the mercenaries were warm blooded men themselves and would oblige to ensure Anselme's privacy with the breathtaking woman. He pulled out a chair for Elizabeth before seating himself not-quite-opposite of her on the small round table. Propping an enormous boot into the air, balanced on his knee he laughed gently, "I told you: I fell from the sky. Before that I was... am (I suppose) a sort of... dignitary. Very minor royalty in a manner of thinking. Before that? A steward. And before that an entertainer... though after that? A very doting father..."

"...A father...?" A wistful look crossed the half-elven woman's face, and an arm curled subconsciously around her stomach once more. "...I was almost...a mother. The man I told you about...Stray...he was not my husband, but he was the father of the child I bore in me, the life I made...but it was ripped from me. I...the baby died before it was even truly alive."

The last words were filled with a deep grief, an aching, bitter loss; Elizabeth had not taken it well, when her child had died. It was part of the reason Turel had been so easily able to manipulate her, after all.

"...But now I have...a daughter, of sorts, though she is...adopted, and I am not sure she thinks of me that way yet. ...I do...care for her though...very much."

"Adopted? Not the daughter of your... other half?" He thought better of saying 'better'.

"I..." Elizabeth's eyes flickered. "Not...entirely, no. She is...like me, I suppose."

Oh, the words wanted to fall, to tell this strangely compelling man everything...and yet...and yet.

The whispering sussurrus of disapproval in the back of her mind, the voice murmuring No, you can't, you can't ever tell him, you can never let anyone know, we'll stop you, we'll kill them, just give in to us and everything will be fine—

She shook her head, violently, squeezed her eyes closed. No. No. No.

She did not realize she was murmuring the protests aloud.

"Yes... I see," said Anselme flatly. He didn't take either of his eyes off of her as he accepted the tea from the startled waitress.

"There are more like you, then? Arrived on crimson winds?" His voice was humorless.

"Not...not like me, none of them are like me, no..." Elizabeth shook her head again, sharply, hands clenching in the fabric of her dress.

"They're worse. And better. They're what they're supposed to be. I'm not...I'm not what I'm supposed to be, they keep telling me, it does, she does in my head, tells me I should be something else, but I don't want to, I don't want to--"

Elizabeth stopped, as though a hand had clamped down over her throat; she shook her head once more, unheeding of the startled looks.

"I-I...I'm sorry, I've offended you, my tongue, going wild again, like me. You mustn't listen to the things I say--I'm mad, you see."

Nonplussed, Anselme stared at his tea as he gingerly plunked two sugar cubes into it and gave it a lazy stirring.

"All the fascinating people are," he smiled briefly, politely before becoming interested in the climbing white roses on the trellis.

"Ah, well you know what makes a person funny, don't you? Humor, eh, virtually all of it, stems from some diffusion of anxiety in an ultimately lethal world. We say to one another, 'oh, not dead yet?' and have a good chuckle about it. So, of course, the funniest people are the ones who've come closest to death. I say, if you want to become the life of the party... get beaten half to death!"

Sucking on the backs of his teeth, he reconsidered the moral of his story and nodded, vaguely and unduly satisfied with his explanation.

"I'm not what I thought I'd be either. Still... it does have its perks."

"..." Belatedly, the young woman noticed her tea; one sugar cube was scooped up with hands that trembled--but only slightly--and a dash of cream was added.

"I...I suppose. I don't...find myself very funny, though. I...hear things in whispers, from the wind, or the stars, they tell me things that...that are not very pleasant, sometimes, and I listen, but I can't..."

Another pause, and a low laugh. "I can't listen. I can't. I...I'm hanging on to myself, clinging to it with both hands, and if I let go to listen to the whispers then I'll lose me. Forever."

Anselme gave a knowing, sympathetic nod. "They do say that idle hands are the devil's plaything. Perhaps what you need it something to.... well, occupy your hands."

He added hastily with a bit of a cough, "Piano! I bet you've played piano. You have the hands for it!"

"Ah..." Elizabeth looked startled, fingers wrapping around her teacup. "A little, I suppose, when I was a child. My parents insisted. But I...became more interested in reading than piano-playing, and they let me cultivate that instead. I had...a beautiful library, Sir Anselme...vast and paneled in dark woods, organized alphabetically by category, thousands upon thousands of volumes. Rare, first-edition works, some of them were...and precious books from my childhood. ...Some were from Stray. He always seemed to know...exactly what to get me."

"Smart man. The way to a woman's heart is through the head, of course. Though, most women don't have much in the way of... blockage; so it's a short trip!"

The half-elven woman nearly choked on her tea; a true laugh, startled but delighted, sprang from her. It was the first time she'd laughed, honestly laughed, since her child had died...she stopped a moment later, one hand pressing lightly to her throat.

"Oh...I...thank you." Her voice trembled, slightly, and she looked down into her cup as though it held all the answers in the world.

"I haven't...done that. In a very long time..."

He beamed. "Oh, don't laugh. You'll only encourage me. And that promotes the delusion that I'm funny..."

"Well...you are, Sir Anselme. You are...a very odd...and very interesting man." Elizabeth's lips quirked up, a little, before she took another sip of her tea.

"I haven't...spoken so freely with someone in...oh...a long time. It feels almost...strange."

"I do encourage speaking your mind whenever possible. It's often hard to get me to shut up and, as I told you, I'm just incapable of lying. Liberating to say what you mean and mean what you say..."

"Why are you incapable of lying?" Elizabeth glanced at her odd companion, head tilting slightly. "I have met many a creature who is not fond of lying, and many who, conversely, take great pleasure in the deed. I suppose I fall more towards the former than the latter, as lies are often...irritating, to deal with. And yet...never have I met someone who says they are incapable of lying. What holds untruths from falling from your mouth...?"

"Oh, it's just not in my nature," he quipped. "And by confiding in you, you confide in me. Do you hear how easily you're speaking now?"

"...I..." She paused again, and blinked, slowly. "...I am...aren't I? How...strange. I wonder why. Everything is going...the same direction, for once. A curious anomaly. Perhaps it is because you are a stranger...? I don't...have to prove anything to you."

He sipped his tea and regarded the woman over the rim of his cup. "That is a possibility. You seem a bit more like the woman you were before... before, well, unpleasant things that we needn’t discuss during afternoon tea. I'm guessing, of course, but I dare say whoever Elizabeth was back then, well... we liked her. And she isn't gone. Perhaps she just needs someone to listen to her."

"...I was...good, before." Elizabeth smiled, weakly, and idly twisted the cup in her hands.

"I do not...think...I am good, any more. I was never one to believe in heaven, or eternal paradise, or any of that sort of thing...but were it to exist, I don't think I would go there."

Anselme was silent for a moment, before musing, "I don't want to go to heaven. It's been suggested there's no sex there."

"Do you think there would be?" Elizabeth smiled, faintly. "I don't know that there would be. Aren't you supposed to be some sort of...spirit?"

"Damned if I know or care. At least in Hell you get a body... a spectacular one if you're lucky," he hastily swallowed his tea to add, "One imagines. Oh, you know the naughty images in the corners of old manuscripts..."

The half-elven woman arched an eyebrow, eyes speculative as she gazed at the man sitting not-quite-across from her.

"...You are a very strange man, Anselme. Do you know this?"

Nodding thoughtfully, he replied, "I've been told many times, yes. With some regularity."

"I wonder if it is something you enjoy being told..." Elizabeth smiled, a little, and set her tea down.

"You certainly seem to cultivate an air of the absurd. Which...likely seems absurd, coming from someone like me. But I...cannot help but realize it."

"I prefer life more that way. Things seldom go as planned and we always have such lofty expectations... and we're always upset when things don't go our way. The key is being happy is to assume you're likely to plummet to your death and die in a crippled mass on the street... that way you're always pleasantly surpised when anything else happens."

Another startled laugh, and the half-elven woman shook her head a little. "You really are...something else entirely than what I'm used to, Sir Anselme. My husband was so...formal, and very straight-laced. He was never as free with his speech as you are."

"Yes, and I'll wager he wasn't as handsome either. I also get that a lot in case you were wondering."

"Which, the contrast that you are more interesting than a particular woman's husband or that you are more handsome?" Elizabeth's voice was amused, and she leaned forward a bit on the table. "Or both?"

"I'll leave my engagements with married women and their boring, plain-looking husbands to your imagination."

"Hmn...you know, I'm not married right now." Elizabeth's voice was musing. "We say we are. For appearances. But we aren't."

"Wonderful! Then I won't feel ashamed for stealing glances at your cleavage. Not that I would otherwise..."

"You should, you know, had you any true decency at all." The half-elven woman's tone turned teasing, and the smile on her face softened the words further. "You're quite a scoundrel, you know. ...You do remind me of Stray. I think if you had met, you would have gotten along famously."

"Shame is for people who have considerably less fun than I do!" He'd long since finished his tea, but kept gesturing with the empty cup. In the spirit of distracting her from the topic of deceased lovers, "They're not embarrassing are they? I mean if you had some hideous scar I might feel a little guilty for looking at it. Of course if you really, truly didn't want men to ever look, you'd wear something far more modest. It's a mean little game your species plays..."

"I...used to." A flicker of confusion crossed Elizabeth's face, as she looked down at herself. "Wear...more modest things. But now there are pieces that want you to look at me. Want...everyone to look at me. ...And it is a very pretty dress, you know."

"Yes, it is a very pretty dress. I just wonder what the seamstress did with all the leftover material!"

"Likely made other dresses, of course. What a question! Isn't that what dressmakers do?" Elizabeth finished her tea, and her lips quirked once more.

"So. What do we do, now that we've finished the formality of tea-drinking?"

"...Chess?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late in the afternoon, the 24th of Bargenholt
The Vale

A woman wanders idly down the street, shoes dangling from her fingers. Her hair is a wild disarray, and her dress is rumpled. One might think that she was mad, were it not for the beatific smile on her face; her eyes are wide, and for a moment they are guileless. She is...happy, and the glow of the joy pours out from her. Arguments stop, in the wake of her path; babies quiet their crying. Tired laborers feel as though they are less exhausted.

Such is the power of a manipulative creature, when the manipulation is a pleasant one.

"And in her heart bloomed a red, red rose, and in his hands a bower..."

[Toxin605]

21 of Barganholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

Darius glanced disinterestedly at the flamboyant pirates that were threatening the crew. He turned to his guard,"Kill them; would you?" The brute nodded and smiled coldy at the pirate with the eyepatch. He then raised his sledgehammer menacingly and winked.

Combat Roll[roll0]

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes, Shigeru, Alf and Takeshi

Nodding swiftly, Aesthes did nothing for preparation as he too headed for the hatch. "You'll have to forgive me, I do not specialise in... Direct combat. But I will aid to the best of my ability."

Smiling, the shadows of the below deck seemed to gather to him as he reached to go outside...

[Kasanip]

If one desires the power of a "god," one must achieve such a state called "perfection." And to achieve it, one must understand.
So, one must master understanding of the path to this end.
This is the study of immortality.
The study of the creation of the world.
How to recreate and gain mastery of it.
And through it, gain mastery of self, and the body.
To transform to perfection.
This is the meaning of "Alchemy."

From Alchemy and Magic, A lecture from Abyn ir Ostrim, 3617 Age of Tears
~*~


"In the world there are fundamental rules. That is the meaning of "nature." To have "law" and to have "order" that must be obeyed. And if rules are known, then they can be merited, and in that harmony greatness is achievable."

The cold feeling of an icy wind, fluttering cloak and boots echoing on the ground.

"So it is the way of the sorcerer to seek perfection in order, with study and sacrifice. It is the way of the alchemist to make perfection through Reproduction and understanding."

A pounding heart, and clenched fists. Nervously, her hand rose to her hair.

"Perfection from harmony within self, and with order. That is 'Sorcerer'. Perfection by understanding without, and breaking order with rules, that is 'Alchemist.' That is the paradox, that is the chaos. That is the evil. That is why we are not the same."

A small confident smile passed from a friend. Reassurance as it brushed across her face...


"Far the Atelier"
Scene I: Markets of Taerylis
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon

Eris blinked and looked around. A cool breeze blew from the harbor, but the market today was busy as normal. Trades and the sound of money, of friendly talking and aggressive bartering. Crowds of people hurrying to buy, or casually looking. Of casual conversation and of whispered gossip. Friendly music and loud advertising. Eris found herself standing here this afternoon and shook her head and put her cloak hood up to cover white hair. The cobblestone suddenly seemed nostalgic. But the memories she was lost within were more nostalgic. And bitter.

"Abyn. " She whispered. Pain, but acceptance and exhaustion. A name that belonged only in her memories now.

In a market of a myriad colors, dreams and hopes, Eris walked in contemplation. She avoided a man carrying a box of apples. She ignored some small kids tugging on her sleeve. And the dark whispered conversation of grim mercenaries she avoided carefully. She paused to look at the forbidding stone wall that was visible above the store roofs nearby. But she didn't stay to look, and continued to walk, lost in thought.
Why had that memory returned today?

OOC: Thank you for interest in playing! :smallsmile:
Setting of the scene, it will begin in the market. Anyone who is interested, please post about entry to the market. Of course theme is [reflection] so if you would like, thinking about some of your backstory you would like to tell can also be included. Maybe some stories can be told during the adventure! When everyone has posted or met, I will give the plot.

If you need help, please send me pm or ooc mesage! :smallredface:

[Starsign]

25th of Bargenholt
Marketplace
Early Afternoon
Alf

The marketplace today was rather as normal as it has been for Alf. He came today in a robe of very light weight. The material was like that of silk in colors of blue and yellow. The cool breeze shifted the robes to blow in the wind against Alf's body, but he himself gave little notice. With how being made of thousands of spiders is like, Alf never had thought about the temperature or climate. Going back to his old schedule, Alf came to purchase supplies for the day before retiring to set up his shop. He had run short on herbs and flasks yesterday, so coming to stock up was a requirement.

While Taelarys was never really anything short of exciting, these last few days have been quite the upkeep for Alf between the people he had met and the various situations. He had never seen such things since... A time he wanted to forget. He hadn't bothered to reminiscent much however; such things in times such as these are mostly a waste of time. Still, he had sometimes lapsed into such a memory when he feels like it...

23rd of Bargenholt
Alchemist's College
Mid-Afternoon
Alf

This time of day has been the usual for Alf; the afternoon is often the busiest of times in his shop. The merchant had a small, simple, yet noticeable stall one might see if they take a left upon entering the Alchemist's College. As per the rules he agreed on, Alf is to have his place set up inside the college, however away from the workplaces, library, and testing rooms to avoid interference. With potions normally forced to be kept in secret chambers in the threat of numerous risks, including spontaneous combustion, corrosive meltdowns, or sudden explosions due to improper care, It was rare for potions to even be visible on sight from people who enter, much less up for sale.

Alf's stall had a metal counter at the front, behind where he would normally be are a few items for show behind glass. Usually what was there are the potion or scroll with a short explanation of the item and it's price on paper. Those items were just for show, however he had the same items held safely for him to sell. The ones for sale are just to show his repertoire. As he ran out of Stone Skin Alf took the last copy that was for sale and placed it away, signifying that he is out of stock for that particular item. With a look that was somewhat stoic yet a pose willing to greet, Alf checked the time and saw that he had a few hours still before it was time to pack up for the day.

[TechnOkami]

Markets of Taerylis
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Murdok

Murdok stood but for a moment, taking in the scent of salt upon the air as the rolling breeze of the sea wafted over him. Murdok still wasn't accustomed to this vast change in temperature, so the fresh cool breeze, however brief, was a welcome relief to the large man. Slight perspiration forming on his brow, which he quickly wiped away with his hand. It was uncomfortable, yes, but not unlivable.

"Tch... this is nothing like the north..." the towering man spoke to himself, as he walked above the heads of the entire crowd, who for their own safety and self assurance walked around him. He had a slight annoyance on his face, walking around the market stalls with a piece of paper in his hand, where hand-drawn directions scrawled upon its surface started to blur where he held it, the sweat form his hands penetrating into the paper itself.

Wherever he was headed, and if he eventually found it, there was supposedly a local merchant who imported a special drink distilled and manufactured somewhere to the far south, where heats easily mirroring those of a desert could be found. This drink, according to the Blue Lion who told him this, said that it's properties would cool down the body, and enable it to withstand high heat. The sound of this was music to Murdok's ears, and now he trudges down the city street, in search of this elusive merchant he has yet to find.

I wish things were colder here, like they are in the north...

[DoomHat]

It seems people have been acting strangely all over town.

Madam Ginger, from the red-light district, has been acting strangely. Normally a coarse and bitter woman, who takes to drink and treats her girls harshly. But that all changed a few months back. She went out for a night on the town, a couple of her favorite thugs in tow. The next morning she’d come back alone, behaving almost like a different person.
She had some extra money too it seems. In almost no time at all her creaking, miserable bordello has become a charming little “massage parlor”. She’s a much kinder mistress now, and she’s bought in some new (foreign liking) girls to teach the others a lot of strange techniques. Weird stuff about ‘simulating the inner breath’. All the girls who weren’t any good at it started disappearing, so they all starting trying extra hard to learn.
Her customers couldn’t be more… pleased… with the new techniques. Madam Ginger’s reputation and customer base grows everyday. But some of the more frequent clients are starting to find that they can’t… ‘enjoy’ themselves with anyone BUT one of the Madam’s girls. Not long after that, they have a hard time functioning without routine visits.
These customers are given very special treatment. Often they’re not allowed to simply pay cash any longer. They are asked to do little favors. But that’s okay, they’ll do anything… anything at all…

Machinist 2nd Class Rupert d'Morn has been acting strangely. Like all members of the d’Morn family, Rupert has a sickness. Fits of sorrow specifically. He’s taken all manner of pharmaceuticals, changed is diet this way and that, all under the instruction of one quack or another. None of it worked.
But then, a miracle happened. He’d heard a rumor of a apothecary in town who’d radically revised his methods to great effect.
He was sold a strange smelling brown potion, difficult to drink down, but almost immediately he was happy! Happy like he’d never been before. For a full weak he reveled in it. But then it began to fade, and was about to go back the visit the doctor again when there was a knock on the door. The doctor had come to HIM. He explained to Rupert that money would no longer be exceptable compensation for the potion.
He was worried at first, but it turned out to be all very simple. You see, Rupert is in charge of waste management for one of the city's largest industrial parks. All the doctor wanted was for Rupert to divert a hand full of specific types of byproduct to some friends of his, rather then having it burnt or tossed in a river.
Rupert doesn’t know what they use it for, but he doesn’t care either. He has been happy ever since.


Centurion Fitch d’Ruul has been acting strangely. The day before a duel of honor against a superior foe, with death closing in on him, he was approached by a fellow officer. He was offered a way out.
The next day, he took the pill and found that his opponent moved in slow motion. It was exhilarating, nothing could stop him.
He asked this fellow for another, for no other reason then to feel the thrill of it again. He obliged.
He asked for another, and was obliged.
He asked for another, and was obliged.
He asked for another… and was refused
…
But here needed another…
Yet he was refused.
But here needed another…
Yet he was refused.
BUT HE WAS DIEING FOR ANOTHER…
So he was brought before a nobleman, named val Styversant.
Sometimes he regrets breaking his oaths of loyalty to the Empire, but then he takes another pill, and finds that his opponents are moving in slow motion. It’s exhilarating, nothing can stop him.

All kinds of people, all over town, are acting very strangely.
The Twisted Hand grows like a cancer, and touches all things in time.

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf

Coming up on the deck, Alf could get a quick look at the situation. Between the fallen civilain, the brute with a clean spear, and the pirate with the bloody cutlass, it was easy for Alf to guess that it was the last of those three that struck first. With stone-hard fists in hand, Alf moved up to the pirates, right up with the one with the cutlass. "Excuse me," his tone darkened now, clearly displeased with the show displayed here. "I'd like to show you how irrational manners such as this do not work here."

The moment Alf finished speaking, he was already on move, grabbing a hold of the cutlass man's sword arm with one of his own hands, holding still the pirate's neck with his other arm, and using the spider-creature's hardened arm and flexible biological body to twist and drive the man's own cutlass into the pirate. During the maneuver, Alf takes careful positioning in avoiding the arrows, or even better, using the pirate as a shield against projectiles.

Rolled a result of 10, from here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=12632849&postcount=430). I tried to be descriptive with how Alf fights, or at least one way he does; if my post happens to have any problems of any sort, please let me know. :smallredface:

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Takeshi

Takeshi sighs, shaking his head. Did no one understand the virtue of not repeating things said in private discussion? It was unlikely he could use his magic, not on the ship full of people who knew the legends of his kind. That would be a vastly bad idea. Espcially with the demonstrated inability to keep their mouth shut. Word may reach Mikado or much worse places within the city that a Red Lantern Mage had somehow got out of Ikoku. The other Ex-Pats might get worried. Not something he wanted.

"Very well...I will do what I can. Protect me however if things get bad. It's your fault after all Master Alf. I expect you to take responsilibty for my frail form."

He winks though follows after the creature above deck. His eye scanned the deck swiftly...already one man engaged in combat with the pirates and Alf seemed quite eager to engage them as well. Bloodshed when it wasn't needed was hardly his cup of tea but as he pulled out the odd golden liquid the spider man had given him early he only considered his options on this fools errand.

"I do hope there's nothing wrong with this Master Alf."

He breathed before downing the draught, shaking his head a little to clear it before adopting his favored form his master taught him so long ago before moving across the deck as he drew his hidden katana to strike at the crossbow wielding pirate.

Markets of Taerylis
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Murdok

The events of the last several days had been greatly accelerated, at least for Takeshi. The docks had been abuzz with young men and women looking for work, eager to learn and even more eager to please a "Lord". Even a few down on their luck mages had joined up which had given the newly minted group. Those without the skills of magic were given jobs running hot meat buns to earn money for the organization while most of the mages were tasked in overseeing the workers at the docks. However there was work to do deeper into the city and taking a few out to see the inner workings of their leader might not be a bad idea and with the newly created food delivery service there was plenty to do. It was for this reason that Takeshi and two of his followers were at the markets that day.

Takeshi decided that it was perhaps a better idea to dress in more formal clothing while in public with his students. They all dressed in black hakama with gray kimono as their geta clacked against the streets loudly. Takeshi wore the mask he had been given by his master all those years ago, a single eye hole in the shape of a mitsudomoe gracing the otherwise featureless piece. The other two wore similar masks though granting they had both their eyes still were afforded two eye holes. A striking trio to be sure, especially as they shopped around for spices and other stable goods to further their cooking enterprise. It didn't take long however for Takeshi to pick out the odd shape of Alf out of the crowd, waving him down.

"Master Alf! A pleasure and happy coincidence to have found you in this location! Come come, meet my friends yes? What are you doing in the market this day! Ni hao ma? Wo hen xiang ni!"

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Bellegrim's Fine Jewlery

"And what would the gentleman like to see today?"

The pretty girl behind the counter let slip a dazzling smile as Turel perused the crystal display cases. The miniature starscape of gems and metal glinted off his eyes as he returned a slight grin of his own. He remained silent for a moment, fingers sliding lightly over a wealth of delicate treasures, before stopping abruptly.

"I fear I've gravely offended my lady love, and I was hoping to find something that could help repair my blunder."

A knowing smile. The girl thought him unfaithful, or a boor, yet her eyes did not judge. She had been trained well.

"And what does the lady enjoy?"

Turel thought a moment. Even in the beginning, Elizabeth had been fond of many colors, and her transitional state had turned that diverse taste into a blazing desire for a riot of colors. Yet even in her conflicted madness, there were points of stability, flashes of the Elizabeth he'd hoped to create.

"Rubies, my dear. Rubies as bright and beautiful as flame."

Another Time
Another Place
Three Years Later

The northern wind was birthed in the far mountains, forced from the womb of secret valleys by the insistent pull of mortal breaths. Sweeping from tall fastnesses that still remembered a time before the steps of men had marked stone, the whistling breeze devoured a thousand scents, caught a hundred whispered secrets, and continued ever onwards. One particular gust swept eastwards, towards a sprawling wood filled with life, only to stumble across a pair of riders before the arboreal gates.

"It seems we'll be sleeping outside again tonight."

"Thank you for that astute observation."

A gust of wind ruffled Turel's cloak, filling his nostrils momentarily with the fresh scent of approaching spring. Its passing sent ripples through the black smoke that hung miasmic in the air, revealing even more of the charred village. He and Zhirad had ridden hard for three days to reach this northern kingdom, one of the many free states that changed lords and borders so often as to lack any official name. Their departure from Vivexia had been hasty, after the Imperial Scribe had been found alive, and he'd hoped to acquire supplies at this once-charming waystop. Scant hope for that now.

"We cannot go much farther in this condition. The horses require food, and rest."

There was the accursed truth of the situation, and yet they dared not linger in the open any longer than they had to. The Vivexians had a surprisingly low tolerance for torturing one of their revered scholars, and there was almost certainly a division of hardened Imperials less than a day behind them. Not for the first time, Turel reminded himself of the need to find a better hiding place than a cave the next time they required information. Regardless, they needed a reprieve.

"Then let us search this ruined husk of a town. Perhaps we'll be lucky, and find a portal to paradise."

A rueful, doomed smile passed between the two demons as they dismounted and led their uncertain mounts between two piles of melted slag that must once have been the foundations of watchtowers. The main road was a grey soup of mud and ash, clinging to everything it touched, and both Turel and Zhirad 's cloaks were thoroughly filthy by the time they reached what remained of the village green. Across from them loomed the blackened superstructure of what must have been and inn or trading post, support beams thrusting into the sky like the bones of some dead behemoth. The other houses were little better - some walls were intact, but despite their distance from each other every house seemed thoroughly gutted. Silence reigned in that dim, grey wasteland, and even as their eyes searched for any sign of life they both noticed something entirely peculiar.

"Zhirad?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You wouldn't happen to see any corpses, would you?"

"Not a one."

The wind picked up again, but any trace of Spring scent was crushed by the charred air. It recoiled against movement or life, closing in on the wind, sending it screaming through jagged cracks until it was but an anguished whisper.

"Could the survivors have gathered the bodies once the blaze had run its course?"

"If they did, they were far better neighbors than any I ever met. No, I think something sinister is at work here."

Turel strode towards the inn, followed silently by Zhirad. Their horses stood, disconsolate and terrified, too afraid to move from where their reins had dropped. An exhausted whinny escaped one, only to be swallowed by the smoky silence.

Reaching what remained of the threshold, Turel pushed aside a splintered char that might once have been a door beam to enter what remained of the common room. There, lying neatly in a row, were the remains of four humans and a dog, their blackened skulls open wide in a perpetual scream. Stalking forward cautiously to be sure of his footing, Turel knelt beside them.

"Zhirad, what do you make of this?"

Immediately, the demonic physician set to work, delicately probing the remains, working with the manic precision of a spider building a web, until his fingers halted on the corpses' arms. Reaching beneath the bones, he pulled a twisted length of chain from the ashes.

"They were bound."

"More than that. The dog's throat was cut before being placed here. It is curious."

"Curious indeed. And I'd wager we'll find similar bodies in all these other houses."

"What is your wager?"

Turel snorted.

"Considering our current lack of means? Why not our choice of destination once we escape our desperate situation?"

"I'll accept that wager."

Eager to settle their latest bet, the two monsters departed the inn for the nearest thing identifiable as a house. While the only remaining structure was a jagged chimney, it was sufficient landmark to draw the eye. Just as before, bodies were laid out in what must have been the living area, only two here, back to back, only a few fibers speaking to the ropes that had bound them. Leaning against the chimney, Turel pulled his sole remaining cigar and lit it in a fit of consternation.

"Bodies arranged before the burning, yet no signs of a true struggle? And once the fires started, anyone unbound would have fled. How would you ensure every person in the village was bound without risking alerting a night owl?"

Zhirad paced among the remains of the house, stepping gingerly over the cinders that marked dividing walls.

"It must have been someone they trusted. There is no other way they could have gained access without a sce-"

A creak beneath Zhirad's feet, and suddenly eyes green and purple turned to the floor beneath him. Kneeling down, he swept aside a layer of soot to reveal a trap door, blackened but whole.

"A root cellar?"

"Only one way to find out."

To Turel's surprise, the trap door swung open easily, revealing a ladder leading into darkness. With a shrug, he descended, followed closely by Zhirad. While it had appeared utterly black from the outside, as they passed beyond the reach of the sun both monsters noticed a slight glow from the walls, phosphorescent fungus growing in trays cut into the living earth. They stood in a room near as large as the house above them, but what piqued their interest was the series of tunnels leading away from the room, to other points in the village. Even stranger, the smell of burning only increased as they left the light, now tinged with the pungent odor of seared flesh. Making a circuit of the room, he stopped at a particular entrance before whispering to Zhirad.

"The scent is coming from down there."

Together, they crept forward, guided by the same luminous trail that had served the villagers when they sought shelter from the grip of the deep winter. Gradually, the path widened, and they became aware of a vast chamber opening before them, a chamber that could only have been constructed beneath the inn. Passing between two great beer vats standing guard at the entrance, Turel's attention was so fixed on the surroundings that he did not notice the toy beneath his feet until it shattered under step. Leaning down, his brow furrowed at the sight of a doll, crude but much loved before its arrival in that sorry den. He reached out to examine it closer, only for a timid gasp from across the room to seize his attention.

"Please don't hurt me."

Peering in the murk, Turel discerned a wide pile of disparate clothes and furs, shoved into what may have passed for a bed. Taking a step forward, he discerned the glint of two eyes staring from beneath the tangle.

"Have no fear, child. We mean you no harm."

Turel began to wonder if they hadn't found supplies after all, even as the mass of furs shuddered and parted for the hidden body beneath. But as they parted, a wave of noxious fume assaulted him, and comprehension dawned in his and Zhirad's eyes. Arm outstretched, he called a twining flow of hellfire to his palm as the vision of a small blonde girl froze it its motion.

"Do you take us for fools!?"

"Very clever, to hide your aura among the scents of the dead. Even a Hunter would not have identified you."

A flexing of his wrists, and Zhirad suddenly held a pair of wickedly sharp knives, their foot-long blades gleaming in the scant light.

"But we are no simple Hunters."

The childish eyes widened, flashing into a burning red flame as the girl rose fully from her hiding place. Even as her gaze flicked between Zhirad and Turel, her form deformed under her dress, limbs lengthening as jagged twigs grew from virgin flesh.

"GO AWAY! This is my place, mine! You can't make me go back to the cold!"

"Cease your childish ravings, Wrath Demon! They will not deceive us!"

A torso composed entirely of burned matchsticks heaved, and flame began to leak from blazing eyes.

"I said LEAVE!"

Eyes narrowing, Turel took a step forward, even as he motioned for Zhirad to lower his weapons.

"I don't believe her childishness is a ruse, Zhirad. Tell me, demon, what is your purpose here?"

The demonic face contorted into something approximating a pout, as it spit forth a reply.

"My name isn't "demon!" My friends call me Annah, but you can call me Candleman!"

"Alright, Candleman - what is your business here?"

"I came to be WARM. The other places, they stopped being warm when the fires went out. I hate it when the fires go out."

"So you did all this...to be warm? However did you convince these people to let you into their homes."

"Oh, that's SIMPLE. No one suspects a little girl of being the cause of the mysterious deaths. And they had these wonderful tunnels, and I thought, why not set them all on fire at the same time? I've never seen an entire town burn."

Turel relaxed back, turning to give Zhirad a look. A look that clearly said "we can use her." A look that Zhirad clearly disliked, though he said nothing.

"Tell me, Candleman, what are you planning to do when the fires go out here?"

The intensity of her eyes dimmed - she was curious.

"I don't know. Find another town, I guess. There's always more kindling for the fire."

"And after that?"

"Well...another town!"

"And after that?"

Her voice rose, curiosity shifting to anger.

"ANOTHER TOWN! Why do you care?"

"Wouldn't you like do burn something more than little towns and simple peasants?"

"What do you mean?"

"Candleman, I could take you into cities filled with people beyond count, filled with wondrous scents and screams. I could show you countryside bristling with kindling and driftwood, and fields of wheat as far as the eye can see! And I could take you to places where the cold never touches, and it is warm and dry every day of every year stretching into eternity."

With every offer, the fiery eyes grew wider, the mouth a little more slack, until the thought of lands where cold never touched unleashed a stifled gasp.

"But why?"

"Because you are the only Wrath Demon I've seen capable of subterfuge in the slightest. Because you burned an entire town to feed your needs. And because I can't help but like you, I suppose."

Zhirad sighed in defeat as a smile spread across Annah's face, which quickly resumed its human mien.

"I...I would very much like to visit places that were always wa-"

The jangle of harnesses above, and the rasp of armor. The Vivexians had caught up at last, though their confused cries meant they'd only discovered the horses.

"Who is that!?"

"That, Candleman, is but the first in a long line of exotic tinder for your fires. Tell me, would you like to play a game?"

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Aesthes

Coming on deck, the Shadowed mage raised his hands, calling forth to the power within. Weaving his symbols in the air, dark tendrils seemed to suddenly materialize in shadows nearby, attempting to grab and bind as many of the lesser pirates as possible, so as to reduce the numbers facing those who have chosen to defend the ship.

[VonDoom]

12th of Bargenholt, Evening
Rhetizian Embassy
Claye, Raina, Mikado

A small smile played on the edges of Mikado's lips, apparently quite happy with her lack of reaction to his implications. He had actually predicted that the Eladrin would not give anything away so easily, yet it was good to have confirmation.

"Oh, none taken," the Ikokan offered, "it's very different from my home country. I suppose having actual celestial guidance does make a difference." Not one to elaborate needlessly, he left it to Raina to interpret the two-fold meaning of his statement. A sarcastic remark about their emperor? Perhaps. A reference to the Ikokan Celestial Bureaucracy? Most assuredly. "Though I will admit to knowing little of your people. You'll have to tell me how you came to live in this wretched hive of villainy someday."

Apparently he wasn't looking for an answer to that interest of his quite yet, however, as he immediately changed the subject and returned to his original query. "Oh, I don't need many. One or two, if you can spare them. Ideally big and intimidating." The Ikokan man crossed his legs, studying the elf sitting on the opposite seat bank while steepling his hands together. "I'll be frank with you, Raina. I don't really need protection. But a man may think twice to draw his weapon in the presence of one of your men, when otherwise I'd be forced to deal with him."

A frown briefly crossed the man's face, as he unlocked his legs quickly. "That reminds me," he announced, reaching for the walking cane he had put aside. "I have a gift for you. It might come in useful if you're invited to one of those Rhetizian occasions again." Mikado smiled. "While I'm not too fond of these, I find carrying weapons openly makes some people around here rather nervous. And I mislike poison more." He gently handed his walking stick -- or rather, the sword cane -- to Raina. Perhaps it didn't occur to the Ikokan (or he trusted Raina enough that it wasn't a concern), but he had just handed the elf the only weapon he carried on him.

The cane itself was expertly made and likely had cost quite a hefty sum. The wooden mantle had been carved from ebony and further blackened and polished to a delicate, smooth surface with a silver lining that wouldn't look odd in even the most courtly surroundings. With a brief twist and a click, the mechanism keeping the knob-like handle safely attached would come free and reveal a fine blade much like a slightly shortened rapier.

Mikado: half-quoting Star Wars like a boss.

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Vale Garden Plaza

Down a shrouded alley, past a forgotten fountain of ancient glory, lay the ancient plaza of the flower merchants. With the light of the sun, weathered cobbles played host to a vast maze of wooden stalls, each painted in intricate patterns of vibrant hue. Yet even the finest craft of men paled in comparison to the ocean of colors that emerged each day to greet the sun, flowers from every corner of the world gathered together in a tempest of heady perfume. Into that raging sea of pastel and shadow walked Turel, the first part of his apology secured inside a carrying case of graven ebonwood.

For a time, he allowed himself to float between the stalls, becoming purposefully lost in the dizzying manmade garden. He followed his nose, first to the tropical flowers of the south, rising broad and magificent. Then, frail blossoms from far off Ikoku and hearty Lodarian wildflowers, orchids and lilac vying for dominance. But none of these were to his liking, and he found himself drifting to darker climes, to the cool narcotic scents of roses grown beyond the sight of the sun. There, sitting on a push cart of scarlet and gold were the deep purple blossoms of the Rhetizian rose, their scent to faint that they were nearly lost in the press of aromas. Yet the slightest whiff, and their narcotic fragrance would linger in the mind for hours. Smiling, Turel claimed a bouquet for his beloved and continued on his way.

Another Time
Another Place
Five Years Later

"Can someone please remind me why we have to dress like this?"

Keller tugged at the high collar of his servant's uniform, once again fidgeting in the loose-cut fabric. It was not so much the clothes themselves that he disliked, but the implication of the heraldic crest stitched over his heart, the crest that was displayed prominently on the noble jacked Zhirad was currently wearing. They were in the halls of one of the great Celandish lords, and while Zhirad strode with honor through the assembled ranks of minor nobility Turel, Annah, and Keller were forced to follow behind as loyal retainers.

"Because, Keller, this strange affliction that has struck down the Count's daughter has eluded the expertise of a dozen of the finest doctors in the West. If Zhirad can get us close enough to study it, to harness it, we shall have a potent weapon at our disposal."

"And then we can start playing with the people here?"

Annah was forced to hurry to keep stride with the two larger men, but her face remained jubilant nevertheless. Joy always suffused her being at the promise of one of their many games, though of late they'd taken to combining them into one great amusement to help wile away the hours.

"Yes Annah, then we can play to our heart's content."

A sharp hiss from Zhirad cut the conversation short, as the coterie arrived at the gilded doors to the Count's private apartments. Flanked by fluted marble pillars, the door held scenes of arboreal splendor, though the grandeur was dampened by the shadow of a father's grief. There standing before the door was the Count himself, his shoulders hunched beneath thick sable robes. Raising shadowed eyes at Zhirad's approach, the Count surveyed the honored retinue before him.

"Welcome to my home, Lord Sevellas. I hope you bring better tidings than those who have come before you."

Sweeping his arms out in a low bow, Zhirad lowered his head before the noble. Though he'd grown more accustomed to back alleys and isolated caves since his time in Turel's service, the good doctor was still more than capable of blending in with polite society.

"Many thanks, my lord, for this gracious welcome. I shall endeavor to cure your daughters ailment with the fullness of my skill, and even if there is but the slightest hope I swear she will be cured."

The Count's frown deepened. Doubtless he'd heard many such oaths in the weeks since his daughter's illness had begun, and had grown short of hope or kind words.

"Carry on, then."

Bowing once again, Zhirad led them through the heavy doors and into the noble's private chambers. Portraits of honored ancestors lined the walls between curtains of hunter green velvet. Most of the doors lining the corridor were closed, the isolation of a hospital ward, save for the farthest door on the left. Firelight flooded into the hall through the merest crack, betraying the smothering heat lying in wait. All was silent, until Turel spoke.

"Though I realize it is secondary to our interests, I must admit this case has piqued my curiosity. Do you have any theories, Zhirad?"

Before the doctor could reply, Keller sneered a reply.

"Perhaps dear daddy slipped up and got the sweet girl preagnant."

Both Turel and Zhirad sighed in exasperation. While Keller had his uses, wit was not one of them.

"I'm inclined to doubt something so simple as incest is the cause, Keller. By all accounts, the girl is languid to the point of exhaustion, barely able to consume food, let alone speak. All with no forewarning. No, there is something special afflicting the girl."

"Maybe she played too hard?"

Turel chuckled and ruffled Annah's hair.

"Perhaps, sweetling. Whatever the situation, we'll have the truth soon enough."

They pushed through the door, revealing an opulent bedchamber. One wall was dominated by a marble fireplace well supplied with lumber, while braziers filled with sweet herbs burned on the other three walls. The bed was massive, draped in sky blue silk, and in the center lay the Count's daughter, unmoving save for the faintest stirrings of breath. They approached, circling the bed, but as Zhirad leaned close to examine her unblinking blue eyes he froze, and recoiled back with a Hefrizian curse.

"Why is it the first truly interesting phenomenon we find proves a complete waste of my talents? Did I offend a divine as a mortal?"

The other three shot him strange looks before reaching out with their supernal perception. It was but a moment before their tensed bodies relaxed in exasperation. Moaning in disappointment, Annah collapsed next to the body on the bed, while Keller stalked away, shaking his head, only to grab the nearest flask of wine and take a deep swig. Leaning against the bedpost, Turel looked to Zhirad.

"Sloth Demon?"

"Of course, what else!?"

Leaning down to look the Count's daughter in the eyes, Turel snapped his fingers just enough to produce sparks.

"Come on out, now. We've promised the Count a cure, and we'll have it even if we have to burn you out of her."

The girl blinked, and suddenly blue eyes were replaced by a serpent's yellow. With the moan of unused muscles, she sat up in a shot, only collapsing back when a thick mist exploded from her mouth. In seconds, the mist had congealed into a woman, her lithe frame tightly wrapped in a dress of green-black snakeskin, ebon hair tumbling to the small of her back, casting shadows over glowing yellow eyes.

"Alright, alright, no need for threats!"

Thin lips painted black quirked in a half sneer.

"And what brings a pair of Envy Demons, a Wrath Demon, and an Abomination to my doorstep? Surely you weren't moved by tales of this poor girl's plight?"

"No, surely not."

"Silence, worm!"

"Oh, now he's mad."

"Do you realize how many resources we've wasted in pursuit of an unprecedented contagion? There is a laboratory waiting, filled with equipment that will never be used! And you have the gall to mock us!?"

With a wrenching motion, Zhirad sent a dagger hurtling towards the Sloth Demon, only for her to blink out of existence as it passed through open air. From the mantle came a lilting chuckle as she dangled a single leg.

"Temper temper. Surely there's no need for violence."

Turel's coterie blinked collectively at her sudden relocation, sharing a glance amongst themselves before turning all attention to the Demon on the mantle.

"How did you do that?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know? Float in the Nether long enough, and it will reveal its currents."

Turel smiled.

"As a matter of fact, I very much would like to know. Tell me, do you have any plans now that the girl has been "cured"?"

She smiled.

"Not yet, but I might be joining a handsome stranger on the road, if he's as charming as he seems. What should I call you, handsome stranger?"

"Turel. A pleasure. And you are?"

"Siras. And the pleasure is all mine."

[VonDoom]

24th of Bargenholt
The current residence of Izayoi Takeshi
Late Evening

An envelope found its way into Izayoi Takeshi's room, lying innocently right on his bed-side table . There was no indication as to who might have brought it, no trace of a forced entry. No hints that would suggest the use of poison, or magics upon it once carefully examine.

Once opened, the strange letters on it are immediately recognizable. A distinctly Ikokan hand, the secret writ of the Ninkyoudantai. It looks somewhat archaic, though, the way an older instructor might shape the letters; or perhaps someone cut off from Ikoku to whom the way to write had been handed down for some generations.

If you like, we can roll opposed Cunning. If you win, Takeshi would recognize that the brush strokes were made to look like that intentionally. How would he recognize that? Uhh ... mad Ikokan skillz. Yeah. Cunning: [roll0]

Little brother,

be welcome and know that we are aware of your coming and your reason for being here. Take heed in Taelarys and be careful what you imbibe. Ancient enemies have spread their cancer in these streets. Begin your search in the red-light district. The establishment of one Madam Ginger has recently grown very popular. A word of advice: Do not taste its fruit.

The Dragon's Claw

The Dragon's Claw. A name? If it was supposed to be a title, Takeshi had never heard of it. It was obvious that the writer possessed knowledge that no outsider would have, however, and the title or pseudonym is clearly a reference to the Dragon Emperor himself. Perhaps some sort of secret spy, much like what Takeshi was supposed to be according to his orders? It would certainly explain the way he had been addressed, though it might merely indicate seniority in general.

[Tebryn]

24th of Bargenholt
The current residence of Izayoi Takeshi
Late Evening

The whole thing reeked. People even knowing he was here was strange to say the least, especially if they had been here long before him. It could be a trap, it was most likely a trap. The drop had to have been done by a fairly competent person however, getting past the large sprawl of Half Elves that had taken up residence in his cramped apartment was astounding really. There was little do about it however, go or not go the person or people could get into his home without a trace. He supposed that the only option was to delve deeper into this and travel to this "Madam Gingers" home. He supposed taking a few of his newly recruited men and women would be wise but it might alert them if he took an army into the Red Light District. Asagi would be able to pass under the new uniform as living, avoiding the ban on raising the dead and perhaps the young man who had taken the name Hiisagi for some further magical support. It was decided then.

The familiar feel of his cane jolting in his hand again made him recall old wounds and scars from back home as he walked to the Red Light District, the scents and sights behind his mask made him yearn for the docks he knew so well. Asagi moved impassively to his right, his bow held ready all the same while Hiisagi glanced about in wonder. Was it the way for old to teach young? To pass down their baggage to the younger generation when the burden grew to great to bear? Or was it only in this underworld of human filth that the youth had to bear the scars of their elders and themselves. He was jostled from his own mind by the young boy as he pointed out this "Madam Gingers" establishment. What more was there to say or do when you were at the front of the tigers den? He stepped through the door slowly, his fellows immediately after.


No cunning for me so can't beat a seven

[DoomHat]

23rd of Bargenholt
Far Beneath the grey marble halls of Chateau val Styversant
Musical Accompaniment (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i5S0dkLZoTg)
A great and terrible machine rumbled screeched like a tortured demon. Bellows, pumps, and gears work in time, siphoning precious fluids form recumbent human forms, strapped in place by leather harnesses. Beneath it, two Ikokuan doctors of the Twisted Hand work franticly over a single patient. Their art is strange indeed.
They inject him with fluids generated by the hellish device above. One slices open the patient’s belly and with swift precision replaces worn tumor riddled organs with fresh ones, plucked from a warm bloody vat. While the another waves an alternating set of censers over the patient, exposing his innards to light medicinal smoke. The belly is sutured closed. Needles are driven into then periodically removed from the patients muscles with ritual timing.
The patient is then washed and massaged with special oils. The machine is powered down. The two back away, slowly and with reverence.
The stout toad-like one removes his cotton facemask and uses it to wipe the sweat from his brow. The other, a younger woman with mismatched eyes, idly rubs the metal plate that appears be bolted to her left temple. They wait.
The procedure they have just preformed has an estimated survival rate of 11%. The average recovery time is three years. This patient however is The Saint of Poison Water. He is standing under his own power within three minutes.

24th of Bargenholt
Madam Ginger’s Massage Oasis, Vice St., The Red-light district
Late Evening

The night is anything other then dark on Vice St. at night. ‘Over stimulation’, is far too mild a term, what you face is ‘Sensory Obliteration’. Painted tarts caked with potent perfumes idle about looking for johns. Traditional musicians compete with sona-phone tubes to see who can cause the more eardrum slipping din. And then of course there’s the customers. Tourists and regulars, the masked and the brazen, singing drunkenly and haggling with pimps add only more chaos.
In the midst of it all is none other then Madam Ginger’s. The largest and most architecturally impressive, her booming business has allowed her to buy out her neighbors and expand. Mysteriously, she’d been able to hire expert architects (who’d normally never be caught dead working on such a project) to connect the buildings into a solid whole and craft a marvelous facade. It stands out for its clean new look, among its surroundings (decayed with abuse).
It is made to resemble one of the iconic domed palaces known to the faraway desert kingdom, Temujinstan. It’s walls are painted with scandalous murals of partially naked girls (they are wearing veils) making ‘inviting’ gestures toward the viewer into pools of clear water in the midst of desert sands. Just above the open grand arched doors is a logo, featuring slender feminine hands caressing a stylized heart.
The instant Takeshi and company are within they are assaulted on both sides. Pretty girls wearing Temujinistani harem costumes embrace them. One carries a censer which emit’s a potently dizzying incense.
Ikokuan Medicine Vs. Some kind of fortitude or chemical resistance.[roll0]
“Ooooh! Looks like we‘ve got some shyyy ones,” coos a tall one, in semitransparent purple, as she playfully tugs at young Hiisagi’s mask.
“Hehe, don’t woooorry, we’re nothing if not discrete,” says the redhead with a husky voice as she snakes her hand under Asagi’s shirt…
Ahead of them in the foyer sits large heart shaped desk, inside which sits a smirking middle-aged woman with huge set of… lower back problems. Her voice is melodic and calming as she says, “If you'd like an appointment for tonight boys, I’m going to have to ask you to check in your weapons. You understand don't you? Its for our comfort, while we comfort you… doesn’t that sound niiice?”.

[Kasanip]

"Far the Atelier"
Scene I: Markets of Taerylis
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon


The afternoon's normal pace is quickly changed by a sudden disruption.
A woman screams.
Quickly frightened murmurs spread through the crowd as a young man's voice can be heard above it.

"Help! Someone? Anyone?! Please help me!" The crowd seems to part from the young man, revealed now to be stumbling and clutching his side. His clothes are disheveled, and he couldn't be even 18 yet. His brown hair is matted with sweat, and a closer look can see his vest is colored red at the side he is holding. He stumbled into a nobleman, who ruffly pushed him off, and the poor young man fell on a table where a group of mercenaries in black cloaks were eating.

The boy muttered an apology of some kind, and repeated his plea. "Please, help me! They took my sister!" The mercenaries shouted angrily at the boy and their leader tossed the boy onto the ground behind him. This time the young man didn't get up. He groaned and curled into a ball holding his side.
"Someone, help me..."
The mercenaries stood up around the boy. Their leader, a gruff veteran with scars on his face, looked down mercilessly at the boy.
"You're in more trouble than your sister now, boy." He growled.
There are seven mercenaries around the boy, with their leader.

Murdock

You haven't been with the Blue Lions for too long, but you have learned some about the mercenaries in the city. This group is "Black Dog" - they are a rival group. But rumor is that they do many dirty things like [money extortion], [slavery], and [racketeering]. With your height you can look across the top of the crowd, and see there are 3 more mercenaries around the area. They seem to be watching the crowd. Maybe to protect their friends in case of trouble.

Alf

The mercenary cloaks look familiar. You know you have seen them before. But you also noticed that the poor boy has a painful injury. Looking at the crowd, you can see he must have stumbled from the south streets.

And as you at the disappearing path as people begin to back away from the mercenaries, you do spot a short, cloaked and familiar girl.

Though Takeshi's calling to you, and the masks and your own appearance has left some people nearby staring at you instead of the mercenaries.


Takeshi

Many people who are not distracted by the incident have been giving strange looks at you and your two students. Some people stare for some time. But several must think you are street performers or an acting group and stop being interested quickly. Most people are trying to get a better look at the mercenaries and the boy. You can hear one woman muttering to another gossip.
"That poor boy, he's run into the Black Dogs. Nothing is going to save his sister now."
"Those Black Dogs always pick on the weak. I wouldn't be surprised if they are the kidnappers! How horrible!"


OOC:

Sorry, I know some dialogue was wanted between characters. But I thought to start the plot scene now. Of course you can describe conversation before the incident if you would like. :smallredface:

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Afternoon
The Alleys of the Vale

Walking back from the Garden Plaza, Turel passed beneath buildings so old and accustomed to each other that roofs seemed almost to meet. The shadows were deep in the old parts of the Vale, and as he passed a few detached from the ambient gloom. A misstep, and a single scraping footfall announced Turel's new followers. Turning, he must have seemed a ridiculous mark, flowers in one arm and an obviously expensive box in the other, so much so that the two men who'd set their minds on robbing him began to visible pant. Wiping the drool from his lips, the larger man stepped forward.

"Now, let's 'ave your baubles and your coin purse. No need for this to go bad."

Appraising the bandits, Turel gave a slight shake of his head, setting the flowers and case carefully down on a nearby crate. The bandits smiled and made to move forward, only to stop as he spoke.

"You know, you really shouldn't trust appearances."

The lead bandit frowned and drew a wickedly curving knife as Turel began to walk towards them.

"For example, I am far more than some simple mark."

The lead bandit had time to scream once before he was immolated, though his bubbling cries of agony and those of his partner lasted for some minutes before they finally expired. Yet there was no one to hear in the darkness of the alley, and Turel allowed himself a jaunty whistle as he collected his purchases and continued on his way.


*******

Another Time
Another Place
Two Years Later

The Inquisitor's boots pushed resolutely through the snow covered street that wound to the very center of Brightwall. Though winter had arrived scant weeks ago, the windows flanking the street were coated in a heavy frost. It was an ill omen, fitting for a time when war seemed to be sweeping across the entire world, yet even in the face of the cold dark the Inquisitor could not help but feel a lightness in his step, a weight removed from his back. When the few citizens still on the streets gave him a polite bow, he smiled back with genuine warmth, appearing to all the world as the ideal soldier of the Bright Inquisition. For he had finally slain his quarry, a foul demon that had polluted his homeland for far too long, and while many struggles lay ahead they were the struggles of healing.

Pulling his thick white cloak closer about him, the Inquisitor marveled at how his home seemed unchanged despite his months away. Brightwall Keep still stood atop the town's tallest hill, a proud beacon of granite bathed in continual firelight. The scents of roasting meats and fine ale still lay heavy on the wind, a blessed respite from the stale bread and boiled water whose taste still lingered on his tongue. True, the high-peaked houses may have had their measure of grime, but to his eye the city was perfect, and with each step he took closer to home it seemed more so.

A few short blocks from the entrance to the Keep, the Inquisitor finally stopped. Before him stood a fine house, almost a manor, light poouring merrily through cloudy windows. On the door was engraved the crest of his fathers, a dozen generations sworn to safeguard mankind against the depredations of the Nether. It was a holy trust, a bond to the land and its people, and beneath its gaze all weariness seemed to melt from his legs. Taking the remaining distance in a few bounding strides, the Inquisitor threw open the door with a roaring laugh. For while his wife and his daughter had been informed of his coming he still wished to see their earnest attempts at surprise, hear his daughter's gay laugh as she rushed to his arms, feel the warm touch of his wife's hand as she searched for new scars, new hurts that needed tending. Aye, t'would be a marvelous homecoming...if only they would respond.

He stood on the threshold a moment, his eyes clouded with confusion, before marching inside and allowing the door to swing shut against the cold. Shrugging off his cloak, the Inquisitor called out their names once, twice, yet still received no response. His brow furrowed, he pushed open the door to their parlor, where a merry fire was blazing in front of his chair. He took a step forward before the mumble reached his ears, and he saw his wife and daughter bound and gagged on the sofa. Time seemed to slow for an instant, and before his hand could find the hilt of his sword he felt twin lances of fire shoot up his legs as daggers severed his Achilles tendons. He almost managed to stifle his scream, though it was cut short as a pair of childish feet took him in the small of the back and sent him to his knees. The landing was hard, but it shocked him enough to push pain from his mind, to force his hand towards a sword belt that was no longer there.

A throaty chuckle came from the archway leading to the dining room, as a woman draped in snakeskin and wearing a silver mask seemed to materialize from the shadows, his sword belt in hand. He tried to yell, to call for help, only for his head to be forced to the ground as a little girl slid from his back, heels digging into his skull. As she scampered towards the woman in snakeskin, she was joined by two men stepping from behind him, their blades slick with his blood. As they joined the two women, a low clapping cut through his family's muffled screams, coming from his own chair before the fire. The source of the clapping stood, a dark figure in charred finery, with burning purple eyes.

"Welcome home, commander. We've been waiting for you."

The Inquisitor's reply died in his throat as the figure's face entered the firelight. It wasn't possible! He'd burned the creature's inn, set guards all around to keep anything from escaping! His own mystics had felt the passing of Nether energies returning to the void, and yet still...

"How..."

"Did we survive your little ambush? Please, do you think this is the first time we've needed to slip away from hunters? Your order is skilled, but not so clever that we could not elude them. But you cost me a perfectly good copy of Thezian's Necromundae. I must admit, you've managed to anger me."

The monster started walking towards him, slowly, almost casually, and despite his best efforts the Inquisitor could not move to defend himself. Even as he tried to move his arm, his vision blurred, and every muscle was as lead. It was all he could do to track the approaching Demon with his eyes.

"You've poisoned m-"

Without warning, the Demon brought his boot sweeping into the Inquisitor's jaw, sending him tumbling backwards with a *crack*. Yet the Demon's stride was hardly interrupted as he knelt beside the prone Inquisitor and grabbed his face in one hand.

"That's enough talking for now."

With a single arm, the Demon lifted the Inquisitor and brough his head crashing down on the hardwood floor, splintering the beams and leaving the Inquisitor stunned. Standing, the Demon dragged his prey with him, sending him flying into an oaken book case that promptly crumbled beneath the impact, sending parchment flying.

"Siras, the curtains."

And then the silver masked woman was no longer among the others, but standing at the far wall, drawing thick velvet curtains across the parlor's bay windows.

"How did you..."

A heel to his sternum was all the answer he received.

"I said no talking. Keller, Zhirad, prepare him."

Once again, the big man was tossed like a rag doll, this time at the feet of the two men with daggers. Responding only with evil smiles, they pulled a hemp bag from beneath a nearby table and produced two lengths of black iron chain. With a toss, one was sent over a thick rafter and locked into a carved opening in the dining room arch. Then came the manacles, and soon he was hanging upright, his legs securely bound by the other length of chain. Staring into the parlor, he watched the Demon pull a long steel rod from the bag of chains and begin twirling it fast enough that it whistled in the air.

"Alright, now we may speak. You have questions?"

Spitting out a mouth full of blood, the Inquisitor stared defiantly at his captor, maintaining a stony silence until curiosity overwhelmed him.

"What are you?"

"How typical of a Demon Hunter. So focused on the hunt he doesn't even bother to check what he's hunting."

Without warning, the steel rod lashed out, shattering a rib. The Inquisitor choked back a gasp of pain even as his body contorted, but the Demon continued circling him nonchalantly.

"I am no Demon, Inquisitor, though I do keep their company. I am what your kind might call an Abomination, if you've bothered to safeguard the old writings."

The color drained from the Inquisitor's face. He knew of the Abominations, nightmares from the past that had plunged entire nations into fire and blood.

"Ah, I see you have heard of us. Excellent."

Another impact, this one dislocating a shoulder as his body strained against the chains to absorb the blow.

"My name is Turel Meresin, and were it not for you I'd still be happily instigating my little war. But no, your order had to involve itself in my business, had to send you to spoil my plans."

He saw the third blow coming, a low arc that slammed into his belly and sent vomit shooting up his throat. But this time the blows did not stop, and soon the vomit was gone and the Inquisitor was coughing up blood. Taking a deep breath, Turel pulled back for a moment, composing himself before resuming his circuit around his prey.

"You must be wondering why you're still conscious. It's quite ingenious, really, this poison we've given you. The first part paralyzes the muscles, but that of course would dull the pain, so the second part stimulates feeling while maintaining the paralysis. And yet, your body is so spun about by the combination that shock refuses to set in. It is truly brilliant work, Zhirad."

One of the knife wielders gave a slight bow as the Inquisitor coughed, trying desperately to remain stalwart in the face of disaster.

"So you intend to torture me? To use me for your amusement!? Then go on, do it! I shall endure whatever barbarism you can muster, Abomination."

Turel fixed a long, slow look on the dangling Inquisitor, a small smile on his face.

"Oh, but Inquisitor, why should I torture you when I have your entire family to play with. Keller, bring the girl."


***

The scent of burning hair and flesh hung heavy in the air. Dawn had come and gone, yet fatigue refused to touch the Inquisitor's eyes. He'd screamed himself hoarse hours ago, begging desperately for Turel to turn his attentions to him, yet he remained untouched. His daughter lay at his feet, her back irrevocably contorted from the desperate thrashing that had come from the bloody runes Turel had carved into her with a burning knife. Even now, the child Demon played aimlessly with his daughter's hair, touching a burning brand to her scalp every so often just to watch an agonized shudder rock her broken body. Nearby, his wife lay upon a low coffee table, cradling the mangled remains of her hands and whimpering soundlessly as Turel finished carving the last of his runes into her cheeks. Plucking a six inch nail from a much diminished pile, Turel considered a moment before plunging it into the base of her spine. Somehow, miraculously, he remained untouched by the blood of his victims, though he still took a moment to consider his cuticles before driving his well-used knife into the nearby wood.

"Well, Inquisitor, it seems I've exhausted you wife and daughter's hospitality. I suppose you're curious as to the purpose of this?"

Turel indicated downwards, to a bare patch where his minions had carved an elaborate circle of runes. The Inquisitor recognized it as a summoning circle, and beyond that he had little care any more. Taking minutes to reclaim the merest rasp of a voice, leaned towards Turel.

"Please...I'm the one you want...let them go..."

Turel laughed, a jolly sound that nevertheless cut straight to the soul.

"You do have the right of it sir - I have a proposition for you."

Leaning in close, Turel whispered conspiratorially, as though he and the Inquisitor were old friends.

"I find myself in need of someone who knows these lands much more intimately than those in my company, and your attempt on my life reveals a deplorable lack of understanding the Demon Hunter Orders on my part. I intend to summon a demon to that circle, and if you consent, I shall bind it irrevocably to your soul and make you my loyal servant."

"WHAT!? I'll never agree to such..."

The steel rod impacting his leg cut short the Inquisitor's protests, as his shin splintered.

"Now now, you didn't let me finish. If you refuse this arrangement, I shall leave, and take your family with me. You'd be amazed at how skilled my physician is in the healing arts - indeed, with a few weeks of care from him your wife and daughter will be almost as hale and healthy as they were last night. Once they recover fully, I'll torture them again, perhaps experiment with my technique a bit. But I won't kill them. No, I'll allow them to recover again, and again. The destruction of your family's humanity will become a monthly event, and with every session their sanity will slip further and further away. Eventually, their only sensation will be pain, both fresh and remembered. They will forget their life here, their loving father and husband, and become my creatures entirely, hunched broken things whose only desire will be to please me and stave off their night of utter torment for a few minutes more. And after a few years, when I have exhausted my imagination, I shall sell your wife to a grotesquerie, so she can endure the spite and feces of the common man as she is paraded as a freak and a monster through the slums of this world. And your daughter? I shall take care to safeguard her beauty, and when she comes of age she will become my whore, a plaything whose only cognizant memory will be how I lifted her from a life of constant torment and allowed her to serve my *every* desire. I shall do all this, and leave you alive to brood on it. I shall break you so completely that your only function as you live out your days will be to soil yourself and think on the degradation I have brought to those you love most. And in the end, when you have become old and blind I shall return and have your daughter slit your throat."

The Inquisitor's eyes were fixed squarely on Turel, the sheer horror of what he was hearing overwhelming even the rising fury that compelled him to try whatever he could to slay this monstrous thing before him.

"Or, you could accept my offer, swear eternal and unyielding fealty to me, and I swear I shall not lay another hand on your family."

A whisper from the Inquisitor, barely audible, yet Turel's smile only widened.

"Alright. I accept."

"Excellent."

Turel gave a slight nod to the waiting Zhirad, and the Inquisitor was quickly freed from his manacles. He crumpled under his own weight with a gasp of pain, the lack of support revealing the extent of his own injuries, forcing Keller to drag him bodily into the center of the summoning circle. A purple flame engulfed Turel's hand before leaping into the furrows in the floor, igniting the circle in phantom light. Slowly, he began to speak in an ancient tongue, the words tearing though the air like flame through a forest, rising steadily in volume and speed. With every syllable, the circle drank in more light, leaving the room in umbral darkness despite the daylight outside. At the heart of the shadows, misty figures began to emerge, twisted monstrosities pulling against the invisible currents of the Nether. Turel's voice rose to a crescendo, and the misty monstrosities began to whirl above the Inquisitor, the purple flames of the summoning circle reaching out to ensnare them. Looking down at the Inquisitor, Turel shouted above the sudden wind.

"Hate me!"

The Inquisitor looked up through the curtains of flame, feeling the burning fury in his heart, yet still the spirits above swirled aimlessly.

"HATE ME!"

Reaching into a hidden pocket, Turel pulled forth a small glass vial and threw it at the Inquisitor's daughter. It shattered on contact, spilling acid over her legs, and despite her prior torments she wailed in pitiable agony. Mad, blazing wrath leapt into the Inquisitor's heart, and as he tried to push himself to his feet, to hurl himself at Turel, he was forced down by one of the Demons above finally diving into him. Pain gripped him then, a transcendent agony that froze time and space as his body and soul were remade, his tortured limbs made whole. And as his eyes flooded with a bloody light, a rage undreamed of spread through every part of him. Then the flames winked out, leaving a panting animal at the center of a circle of cinders. Swiftly, Turel moved forward, kneeling down to grasp the new Abomination's head and force him to meet his gaze. The animal eyes stared in terror and in anger at the unrecognized face, but as his fingers touched temples a dark current began to spread from Turel.

"Arise, Marcoth, my son. Arise and greet a world unprepared for your majesty."

Turel stood, and Marcoth followed, a puppet attached to Turel's fingers.

"You will serve me well, and loyally, and I shall lavish such rewards on you. But first..."

Turel turned to look at the comatose bodies of the two females, unrecognized by the new born monster in his hands.

"Kill this anchor to your imperfect past."

Without hesitation, Marcoth leapt forward, plunging iron hard fingers into defenseless throats and slaking his thirst with blood. Days later, the madness would leave him, and he would rage at Turel, clinging desperately to the belief that the slaughter had been forced. But in that instant, that primal moment, no order was necessary. And Turel smiled.


*******

23rd of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Border between The Vale and The Gilded District

Turel was almost back to the hotel when he felt it. Pausing mid-step with no regard for the crowd around him, he turned to look intently towards the Gilded District. Picking up his pace, he stopped by the doorman of the Imperial Towers long enough to order the flowers and case delivered to his room. His burdens lessened considerably, Turel flagged a passing coach and ordered it towards the richer districts of the city. As they passed through smoothly paved and meticulously cleaned streets, he directed his driver according to seemingly nonsensical whims. But with every turn, Turel grew closer to what he sensed, the unmistakable sense of a Nether presence. It was the first time he'd felt an unknown demonic presence in the city, and he'd be damned if he allowed an amateur possession, or gods forbid a nascent cult, to claim Taelarys as its territory.

Eventually, the coach came to a stop before a tastefully appointed mansion, its gates firmly closed against the detritus of the streets. Sticking his head out the coach window, Turel addressed his driver.

"Tell me, whose house is this?"

"This'd be the honorable Darius Black's residence, my lord. His fortunes are legendary, but it is whispered that he is less than reputable."

Turel turned his attention back to the mansion. At the very least, this demon knew to keep a low profile, and if it was an established presence it might even manage to make itself useful.

"Excellent, just the house I wanted to reach. Please wait for my return, and I shall make it worth your while."

The driver tipped his hat as Turel exited the coach, sauntering up to the gate cane in hand. Seeing a bell handle, he gave a sharp tug, and was soon rewarded with a surly giant of a guard that stank of anger. Stifling a smirk, Turel gave a nod of recognition.

"Good day. I'd very much like to speak with you master. I have a business proposition I think he will find most intriguing."

[The_Snark]

13th of Bargenholt
Late at Night
Warehouse 14

The wire slipped, and drew blood.

"Ow!"

Myra Vilnakovie carefully set her copper spool and wire-clippers down on the floor beside her before putting her wounded finger in her mouth. It was the second time tonight she'd cut herself while replacing fused wires, and the first time she had not thought to do this; the spool had landed badly, rolled across the floor and pulled loose of the Engine, ruining half an hour of work. She didn't intend to make such a mistake again, even though there was nobody around to see this time. The last shift had ended three hours ago, and even Tanner and Askerton had gone home close to midnight.

Myra was proud of the fact that Mr. Tanner trusted her with the key to the warehouse. She was young for her role, barely 20 and with only four years of Guild training under her belt, and she was no prodigy. But she worked hard, and she had worked hardest of all on this particular project.

It wasn't as though she had a home to look forward to. She stayed at one of the Guild's residence halls. Her mother had born seven children and didn't have the time or the temperament to deal with all of them, and her father had been even more distant; busy with work most of the time. He'd run off with another woman a few years back, and never bothered to visit. Her mother had since remarried, in what Myra had cynically thought of as a sort of socially respectable prostitution. She actually liked her stepfather, a mild-mannered tailor who owned his own tiny shop down in the Vale, but she couldn't imagine what had possessed him to marry into her family.

No, she didn't mind working long hours at the Guild. The Machinists were her family these days. They were the ones who had taken her in, fed her and clothed her and told her she had value. She had been so excited the day Vassily Bupkoff asked her if she'd be interested in helping him and his small team on a new project. Her! Out of all the third-class machinists in the Guild! In sixteen years of growing up, she had never been singled out for anything.

And she loved the Prognostication Engine too, for all its strangeness. Perhaps because of it. It was without a doubt the most interesting thing she had ever worked on, and she felt privileged to be allowed near it. There was something about the Machine that made you feel you were in the presence of something great: the faint sound, barely audible over the noise of ratcheting gears and whirring wires, of destiny in the making. Or so she fancied. She would not have dared to say so aloud to anyone outside the project team, for fear of being mocked.

But she knew the others heard it, too, Tanner and Askerton and all the rest.

Myra threaded the wire through the last gear aperture and sealed it with a tiny lightning brand, creating a seamless whole. There. If she'd done it right, the last storage drum was connected. She moved to the interface and entered a single request: retrieve SD-4 Ishmom-22 predictions

The Prognostication Engine clicked and spun into life.

Selected Excerpts from the Writings of the Prognostication Engine

recalibrating dimensions

please wait

.

.

.

Processing new input. The □□□ has created a rift. Estimated time until closure: 97 hours

analyzing birth information: Firothe? 24, 1142 [local calendar, equivalence to Taelaric year unknown]

All the actions of mankind stem from three base factors: ambition, fear, and the indulgence of base physical desire. Of these three, ambition is the noblest, and the only one not also found in beasts and birds. It was gifted to Man by the divine. See also

the opposite of pride is not humility but shame; humility is merely a neutral state, while shame is an expression of negative self-worth

the soil churns . . . fertility . . . . . . . . excessive disturbance will damage the seeds

collect data, minimize further input by force if necessary

hello, worlds

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Near Midnight
Underneath the Vale

A cloaked man knelt in a long abandoned cellar, a jagged chunk of crystal floating before him. At it's heart, the polished stone pulsed with energy, energy that sent whirling reflections glinting off Turel's eyes. He stared unblinking into the heart of the Void Stone, and with each moment that passed, the pulsing became a little stronger, a little brighter. Yet even as the light began to touch the furthest corners of the cramped room, the shadows seemed to multiply and deepen. Soon, every retraction of light left a void that denied all sight, until Turel knelt in an endless waste of darkness and silence punctuated only by the rhythmic heartbeat of the Nether made corporeal. Slowly, the purple irises of his eyes began to flicker and grow, the color catching fire and spreading to the rest of his eye. In moments, all humanity had fled from his gaze, replaced by two whirlpools of indigo fire swirling into the flat abyss of his soul. Then came the brightest pulse of all, and Turel thrust a hand forwards.

This time, the light did not fade, instead concentrating into a single point directly before his outstretched palm. As the wispy threads of luminescence coalesced into a ring, the Void Stone faded from view, hidden behind an opening hellscape contained within the ring. The Nether breached the world, a vast unbroken ocean of fire and darkness held back by but the thinnest line of luminescence. Turel pondered the portal for a moment, his face marked by uncertainty, hid back tense with fear. But he had never turned aside from risk if the promise of power was dangled before him, and so with no more hesitation he reached through the portal to extend his will to the twining Nether. Immediately, the plane recoiled against him, fire and darkness pulling away like the tide from the shore. Turel stretched forth his perceptions, to the utmost limit of his abilities, and picked through the chaos of sensation and madness in search of his goals.

He sat there for minutes that were as hours, as the tide of madness approached again and tendrils of sinful energy began to entwine his arm. Turel knew that is he maintained the search for too long, the Nether would never release him, but he was close, so close he could - there! In an instant, he had them, three spirits floating unshackled in the vast morass. And even as he became aware of them, they saw the shadowy hand outstretched, promising salvation from their aimless purgatory. Turel grasped the spirits of his court and pulled, pulled against the grasping desires of the Nether even as it became aware of his blasphemous presence, the very plain recoiling against the Abomination of mortal and demon that dared to plumb its depths. Yet the realization came too late, and even as razored maws leapt newly-born from the depths of hate Turel withdrew from the Nether and released his hold on the portal.

Collapsing back in the sudden dark, Turel watched the three spirits slowly coalesce, memories of form and function returning ever so slowly. Yet, even as he watched, one of the misty forms seemed to wink at him before speeding through the ceiling and into the night air. Turel did not even have the energy to call out, though he managed a ragged smile of welcome as Zhirad and Marcoth returned to the mortal plane.

"My friends. It is good to see you again. It would seem Siras is far too interested in this new world you join us of yet, but I do not think you shall find this city a disappointment."

Groping in the dark behind him, Turel pulled forth his convert parcels from earlier.

"Let me present you with your inter-dimensional relocation gifts. I do hope you like them."

[VonDoom]

Sheesh! With all those excellent rolls, I feel bad for not having you guys wipe the floor with the pirates immediately!

Darius: 4+2=6
Takeshi: 5+2=7
Aesthes: 4+2=6
Alf: 6+4=10

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST=======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
===========================================

A curious thought might occur to Darius at this moment, as his remaining guard raised a powerful sledgehammer and slammed it right into the tall pirate in front of him, bones crunching sickeningly as the demonic servant barely felt the tip of a sable cut into his right flank, one last quick attack from the slain foe as he sunk to the ground with a disbelieving gasp.

Where had his other rage demon-possessed minions gotten off to? Had these fool robbers actually dispatched them already?

Luckily, no arrows made their way towards the spider-alchemist as he brutally killed the pirate; half-strangulating him with his newly hardened arm while digging into his innards with the man's own cutlass. The man let out a high-pitched wail for a moment, but was quickly silenced.

A bolt narrowly passed by the Ikokan's right ear as he charged for the cross-bow wielding 'pirate', but it did nothing to dissuade him; with a clean, precise strike the bothersome fool stumbled back briefly, fell down and gurgled his last breath; without ever spilling a single droplet of his blood onto Takeshi, only a thin sheen of crimson on his blade a reminder of what he had just done.

Aesthes, being a smart man, of course is aware that shadow magic is a practice frowned upon (and far more recognizable in these parts than Takeshi's own Red-Lantern Magic) and as such employed a rather subtle means of restraining these hooligans -- small tendrils of shadow snaking out from the shadows beneath their feet, hindering their movements.

The pirates certainly hadn't expected such heavy resistance, all rather overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught they were facing. They still had the superior number of combatants, however, and thus had no intention of fleeing in terror just yet.

A look of panic crossed the face of the fake-Captain as his sword-hand briefly trembled, but rather than back down, the desperation drove him further onwards. "Yar! Put these thrice-blasted dogs to the sword, me hearties!," the Captain boldly proclaimed as he charged towards Takeshi, cutlass at the ready. A quick glance at his stance revealed that this man was actually quite well trained and moving with discipline. A little too well for a common brigand.

The moves of the large man with the fake hook-hand, which he was actually using as a weapon, were quite slowed down thanks to the shadows clinging to his feet, but still did he attempt to slam his large frame into Darius' man, raising the claw in an attempt to rake deeply across his chest!

Strangely, after that earlier display, none of the pirates seemed particularly motivated to get close to Alfnierdo. Nor had any noticed what Aesthes was doing and thus regarded him as a non-threat for the moment.

Some of them actually began to engage the few people amongst the crew who were in any fighting shape: among them, Captain Shigeru, who easily proved to be the most successful at warding off their attacks. "Blast it!," he cursed loudly, "protect the people! With your life, if need be!"

And so they did. Luckily, none of the pirates actually went about attacking the customers, so the odds of these crewmen surviving were fairly good.

Please roll again for combat; if your result is higher than 4, feel free to narrate dispatching two opponents. If higher than six, three. If you want to attack their leader, don't narrate killing him or anyone else, just roll and narrate the manner of attack.

[Nefarion Xid]

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Roxanne tucked the card safely away in a desk drawer and nodded absently. Actually finding people was neither her concern, nor specialty. Frankly, when you're that smart and that good looking, you don't really need to be good at anything else.

"Worry not. The man I have in mind should have no difficulties locating the uh... one with all the potions and scrolls? 'e is an idiot, but 'e's very good at this... job." She very nearly reconsidered the last word.

"You'll be the first to know when 'e finds something."

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Takeshi

Takeshi glances at the “Captain” of the pirates, dancing forward to place a sharp kick to one of his cohorts throats before twisting around to slash across his throat before taking a final stance clearly to mock the Captain.

“Are we going to fight now Captain? The Dragon Emperor will roast your bowels over the coals for centuries for your inability to take even a docked ship. A thrice damned dog I may be...but it’s better than being the son of gutter trash that you are.”


Scene I: Markets of Taerylis
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Takeshi

Takeshi glances at the market goers but seems if anything to rather enjoy the strange looks. The shouting however gains his attention swiftly, moving swiftly with his fellows towards the boy.

“Ara ara...let the boy alone please? He’s clearly wounded, let me pay for your food and I will take the boy off your hands. There is no honor is beating a wounded child.”

He slowly moves his cane above the boy, glancing behind the mask at the leader of the black clad men.

“It would be unslightly...for the guards.”

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
Early Afternoon
Alf

Taking note of the current situation, Alfnierado left the cutlass in the pirate he killed and used the lack of attention towards him to move down to the back where the other pirates had thought they were safe at. The inhuman alchemist used his agility and flexible body to shift past two opponents, using the sudden placement advantage to bring both fists down on a weak point behind one pirate, breaking the back and incapacitating the pirate instantly.

When the second pirate reacted to the fall of the first, Alf had himself comfortably in position already, grabbing the blade with his stone-hard hands and used the momentum to snatch it. Alf then gives off one quick slash to the neck of the pirate, downing him without much fuss. Alf didn't make any sort of sound or comment, just dead silence as he kept removing pirates in a consistent fashion.

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Alf relaxed, just a bit, as Roxanne spoke her confidence. "I see. Very well then. Thank you again for the assistance." He begins to move to the door now, keeping an eye on Roxanne in the meantime before he asks one more thing. "Tell me, The Vale, what is it like from your experience? I can't see that it has a grasp on first impressions if it is trying to win over the populace." Alf hadn't need to say much more about his first time here; he wanted to get straight back to the College after his conversation is done.

[BladeofObliviom]

((Sorry for not continuing the flashback scene, VonDoom. I'll try to fit it in next post.))

Scene I: Markets of Taerylis Taelarys
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon

Well, these mercenaries were about to have a very bad day. Amagumo no Chiyome is present within the crowd, clad in her civilian clothing: A vibrant, blue kimono that she kept a hold of on the ship that she stowed away on. Of course, this too was a ruse: she was carrying at least ten or so bladed weapons hidden in the folds of the outfit.

With the distinctive blade-scar across the center of her face, her obviously Ikokuan features, and dark, shoulder-length hair, she would likely have seemed a bit out of place if it were not for the large crowd.

That said, she's very aware of her surroundings and notices the mercenaries. Still, she's not too hasty: She takes a careful look at her surroundings to determine if there are snipers, or incoming backup. The presence of those things would change her actions significantly...


Detection roll: Cunning II and Spy III applied: [roll0]



23rd of Bargenholt
Near Midnight
Underneath the Vale

Zhirad was mostly dormant in the Nether. After all, what would he accomplish by doing anything there? He knew that Turel escaped, even if he had been banished by the hand of an impudent mortal who got a lucky shot. All he had to do was to wait, and he would return to the prime material with little difficulty. And finally, the grasping hand came for him.

The Alchemist, somewhat elated at his new manifestation, moved to stretch his form, before realizing that he didn't have one quite yet. Well, that put a damper on things.

"I see. Do these parcels by any chance contain relatively intact corpses? Incorporeal forms do tend to be ineffective at virtually all junctures. I suppose that I could follow you with naught but astute observations and subtle humor, but I understand you have need of my medical expertise?"

Well, that's to be expected. Welcoming gifts are quite nice, but not so useful without a body...

[Jade_Tarem]

23rd of Bargenholt, Near Midnight, Underneath the Vale

"AwwwwwWWWW!" No sooner has Zhirad finished speaking than a whine comes from near the door. Even Annah knew better than to wander in and disturb Turel while he was working, but that didn't stop her from watching, or commenting now that he was done. "He's just as boring as before! Where's Mr. Keller? He was funny!"

12:20 a.m., 13th day of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery

Claye flushes slightly, "If yeh say so." First aid... first aid... there. Claye fumbles with a case underneath her workbench and pulls out a surprisingly large medical kit. She finds a candle and almost reflexively lights it without matches before stopping herself. She spends a little too long looking for her matches before finding one and lighting the candle. "What's hurt an' where?"

All Aboard

Fifteen Minutes Ago, Gate E

Claye had suspected what was going on when the transdimensional gate had opened up in front of the train. Those suspicions had been magnified when the homunculi came and got her from the infirmary. They had increased again when she noted that she'd been singled out from all the other passengers.

Now they had solidified into certainty. She stared at the massive durium blast doors, the Kilnmyr crest and family motto deliberately stained on them in crisp, blood-red marks. The massive and well-lit corridor leading up to them seemed large enough to allow a small army passage, but judging from the thickness of the doors and the strength of the wards on them - spells powerful enough to make the machinist's teeth buzz - there was no way to get in by force, and sneaking in was right out. No, to get in, you had to be authorized, and you had to have a key.

She did not have a key.

"Well... this is awkward." The strange homunculus that had come through the door snarked. Standing well over fifteen feet high, the machine-being had the upper body of a humanoid (although done in largely the same style as the other homunculi) and the lower body of an enormous, mechanical spider, complete with bulbous "abdomen." The voice was distinctly feminine, but frequently tinged with boredom, sarcasm, or mockery.

The construct, that had introduced it(her?)self as "Net," was not happy. "The first of the Family to show up in how many generations, and you've lost the key? This is the biggest disappointment since the last administrator made us stop throwing people who complained about workplace safety into the blast furnaces."

"Ah didn't lose the key. Ah never had it t' begin with." Claye kept calm. If the armory was sealed forever, then the status quo could come back. There would truly be no more reason for anyone to be hunting her down.

The construct's next words shattered that happy fantasy. "Must be with the other one, then. Brilliant. You're just the wrong Kilnmyr."

The machinist's eyes narrowed. "The other one? What other one?"

Net disinterestedly examined the machinist in front of her. "Hrm? Tyras. Tyras Kilnmyr. Let me check.... yes, your maternal grandfather."

"But he's..."

"Dead? Try again. That man's been everywhere since you stopped following him." The machine grinned, the metal twisting unnaturally to accommodate the expression. "By the way, I can monitor where all members of the Family are at all times, as well as their physical status. Probably should have mentioned that earlier."

"Where is he now?" Claye was too stunned to be aggravated.

"Moving toward Taelarys. Quickly. Presumably he's on a train, although it's a railroad line that didn't exist the last time our maps were updated."

Claye blinked, trying to absorb all of this. "So... he could open the Armory?"

"Yes and No." When the machinist just looked confused, Net added, "Look, the seal Gaius and Gea Kilnmyr placed on the armory clearly specified the last adult of the line, probably so that the royal family couldn't find and suborn some distant cousin to do their bidding. So until you can con a guy into revving your Von Neumann engine -"

"Hey!"

"- that would make you the last direct descendent. Tyras can get in and out with the key - in fact I think he already has - but he can't bring the Armory out of its dormant state. So until we can get you and the key here at the same place and time, the Dark Armory will remain literally dark."

Claye paced in front of the door. "An' what happens if Ah don't want the armory?"

"Then the remaining homunculi stay here and learn exactly how long it takes for Durium to break down. Given that the estimate is measured in millions of years, it's not a wait I'm looking forward to."

"Really? A guilt trip from a machine?"

Net crossed her arms. "We're more than machines, Claye, as you well know. What was the phrase? Something about the sins of the fathers? Well, no one will make you pull us out of purgatory, but I just wanted you to know what the consequences of your decisions are."

Claye's fists balled up. She wanted to shout that they hadn't been her decisions, but despite being technically correct, it would also be pointless.

"So then, what's yer brilliant plan for convincin' the hundred or so people on this train that they haven't been t' the Dark Armory?"

The machine leaned forward, looming over Claye impressively. "They still do not know. They have seen rebels, and homunculi, and maybe one or two strange rooms. We can stage a 'rescue.' It can be arranged."

"Yeah, but what about the inquisitors an' other imperial agents? Someone, somewhere, very soon, is gonna look at where the train disappeared, the eyewitness accounts, and an old map of Taelarian infrastructure - an' then they'll put two an' two together and end up with twenty-two. And they'll be right."

"You will need to hurry. That is the only solution." The Keeper's distinctive non-voice rang out as a 'standard' homunculus clomped into the corridor. "I've been informed that certain passengers have already broken free of confinement; we can build this into a plausible scenario that will allow the passengers to believe that they have escaped from a vast and well-equipped rebel installation."

She spun. "The rebels will know that's a lie."

"They will not object. Their stated goal is to prove that the Empire is vulnerable. The story we are giving them will aid them in that purpose. In addition, we will offer them the continued use of this specific part of the facility."

"You realize Ah'll probably get killed, right?"

"Again, the logical course of action would be to hurry. Your grandfather *is* coming, Claye Kilnmyr. Get the key from him and make your choice, or someone else will make it for you."

Net looked at her, expression shifting to a wry grin. "We're used to dealing with improbabilities, anyway. Now, about this 'escape...' we've already talked to certain rebels..."

Raina and Anselme - Infirmary

The unmoving face of the more 'standard' homunculus... actually shifts, one eye widening and the other rising. "Very clever. No, nothing you have said is untrue. Nor is it the whole truth, but then... that is always the case."

It turns to Raina. "In any event, the aforementioned tests were completed during our little discussion. All of the passengers are to be released... although the experience is not one they will remember as pleasant. If you wish to accompany -" it pauses "-Anselme, then you need not fear for their safety. Nor was anyone killed, despite the unfortunate reaction at platform E."

Mikado and Claye - Worker Dormitories

"Well, when outnumbered and surrounded by armed and armored beings, it's generally considered best to remain polite." Claye states. "Besides which, this isn't, specifically, what we're lookin' for."

"Bottom line - if we don't want t' spend the rest of our lives dodgin' imperial interrogators, there's a plan we need t' stick to. There are over fifty homunculi in this part of the facility, but while they're strong an' fast an' nearly impossible t' kill, they can't be everywhere, nor will they be tryin' to be."

"Indeed." The keeper adds. "It would be best if the exact nature of where and what we are was kept secret... a little longer. Those passengers such as yourselves that have been in greater contact with Family forces will need to become part of a final deception. The people here must be permitted to escape, but must not know what it is that they have escaped from."

Amandre - Free Wheeling

The assassin is tackled into an alcove right before a homunculi clomps by, seemingly from nowhere, and Amandre finds himself face to face with Morris, the older rebel from the train. He holds up his hands to forestall a counterattack. "Hold it an' listen, kid. We got into this mess to send a message to the Empire, but it's gone too far. I can see that, even if Wainwright can't. You an' me can spring these people, if you're willin' to help. What do you say?"

Sevran - Secret Passage

The passage takes the two men around what seems to be a large, circular area, then up and over something incredibly noisy - and it's there that they encounter an obstacle. A pair of the standard homunculi work in the passageway, maintaining machinery of unknown purpose that takes up large chunks of space and turns the corridor into a labyrinthine, twisting hall. Given that the passage is a one-way escape, there is no alternate route to take. However, the cluttered confines and background noise could allow someone to sneak by... or attack, perhaps.

Oskard takes a look at Sevran. "Well, the time to pick is now, then. Run or fight?"

[Nefarion Xid]

12:20 a.m., 13th day of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery

"Look for the red holes," hissed Anselme, snatching a scalpel from Claye's kit to hold over the flame. His eye rolled back in his head and he let out a measured sigh through the nostrils, composing himself. "Apologies. I get snippy after being stabbed."

Something disturbingly close to pleasure crossed his face as Anselme slid the searing blade along his open wound. The unflinching deftness was a dead giveaway that he'd done this before, and certainly on himself. It might have surprised Claye... if anything about the man could surprise her anymore. Still, curious for a man to do that to himself without hesitation when he lacks any scars.

With his most grievous wound closed, he picked up a forgotten teacup with bloody fingers and smiled politely, relieved, at Claye.

"I've had better nights."

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Roxanne nodded politely to Alf as he left and offered only a breathy, "The Vale has its charms. They're hidden beneath the gloom of the city... it makes all the more remarkable."

[Jade_Tarem]

12:22 a.m., 13th day of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery

The machinist snorts and picks up a cup herself. "No kiddin'. Do you do this kind of thing often?" She squints at him, trying to pick out any scars, but finding nothing.

[Toxin605]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

Roll!
Combat roll for Wrath Demon[roll0]

23rd of Bargenholt
Black Manor
Afternoon

A wave of dread washed coldly over Darius. He knew what unholy creature stood at his door, and it froze the blood in his ersatz veins solid. He composed himself. He realized that this was very well likely to be his last day on this pitiful planet, so he sat down at his desk, poured himself some imported tea, and called to his guards,"Allow him passage."
The door to Black Manor creaked open, ushering in the being of pure Nether into Darius' office.

[TechnOkami]

Serpent's Caress

"My king, that was no accident. We all saw for ourselves the snake which appeared when his cup was spilt; this is clearly an assassination attempt upon the life of your so-"

The human king of the north picked up his adviser by the facets of his furred collar, throwing him head first against the ancient oak walls of his longhall.

"You think I don't know that?!?"

Guards rushed to the adviser's aid, who lay on the floor in fetal form and half conscious, covering his blood gushing head in skull throbbing pain.

The king's steps rang through the hall, each stride filled with a rage boiling over, until he stopped to look at the damned chalice spilled across the table. Snakes of gold wove around its silver frame, with ruby eyes aglow in the firelight. He grasped it in his hand, his anger squeezed around its neck, until from the depths of its vast basin came a single snake. It coiled inside the crevice, until a single serpentine head poked out. It's ethereal body begun to break its corporeal limits, as it phased in and out of the cup, instead coiling around it. The snake looked directly at the king, it's eyes pits to the great void, until it found itself thrown into the fire, chalice and all, where the snake let loose a ghastly hiss as it dissipated into the flames.

"Damn that snake witch, damn her to hell."

Guards carried the tossed man by his legs and shoulders, taking him to the medical facilities where he could be treated more appropriately.

The king sat with a resounding thud, his hand coming together to rest his head upon, where upon it sat his collar, his slaver's chain to the kingdom he ruled.

"We're going to find her. I'm going to find that damned woman and rip her head from her shoulders."

As the king declared his actions to himself, the sound rattled dishware and table slamming back to the floor as a sword of unwieldy size was wrenched free from the top, leaving in its place a large, frosted over gash. The ghostly remains of a nearly split serpent now faded from existence, it's middle dissipating to its head and tail separately. The sound of rattling reverberated through the air as the last traces of its existence faded into a puff of nothingness. A large man held the sword by its frozen blade, inspecting where it had penetrated the wood. Not a scratch scathed its pristine surface.

"Murdok, come here."

The large man said nothing as he fixed his sword to his side once again, walking up to the king with a pace befitting himself. He looked down at him, but not in scorn, but in size. His raven hair was flung about his head, and behind the black ice lay two azure eyes, whose focus was on the man.

"How would you like to go on a snake hunt?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Markets of Taerylis
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Murdok

Murdok overhears shouts and cries, especially those of a young boy saying something about his sister. He turns to the situation, and finds himself watching as he crashes into a table of Black Dog brutes. Murdok watches them as they surround the kid, seemingly about to pummel him into a pulp. The usually cold half-giant suddenly finds himself empathizing with the boy, because he didn't do anything wrong, he was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. But if I get tangled with another Mercenary group won't that tarnish the Blue Lio- and then it hit him: he's wearing his old clothes, and doesn't look like a Lion.

Well, that left him more free to choose, and given he'd only been in Telarys for roughly a week, the underground circles likely don't know of him yet.

I guess today was as good as any to get acquainted.

Murdok moves through the crowd, until he looms over both the boy and the thugs surrounding him, letting them soak in his inhuman size.

"Hey, leave the kid."

[Starsign]

22th of Bargenholt
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary
Late Evening
Alf and Roxanne

Alf did not respond much to that. Taelarys in general had it's charms underneath the view of the naked eye. However the difference was whether "charms" meant for a beautiful term... Or for a more unique, twisted format. "Hmm... Right. Well if you find anything, I'd appreciate being known. Take care then." With that, the spider alchemist nods and begins out the door, heading back to the Alchemist's College in haste.

25th of Bargenholt
Markets of Taerylis
Early Afternoon
Alf

Alf had only noticed Takeshi for a few moments, nodding to him while paying for the supplies he would be needing for the day. After that he went to Takeshi, or at least had planned to. The cry of the young boy had caught his attention first. Inbetween the boy's injury and the mercenaries' displeased look, Alf was rather self-obliged to assist, especially with Takeshi already on the task. He only took a glance to notice a young sorceress, one he had met a few days prior in the same area. It was enough to tell who she is, but at the time she wasn't Alf's concern.

Considering a large amount of people had his eyes on the spider alchemist, Alf decided it would be best to not display an immediate aggressive stance to these mercenaries. Instead he took ignorance at the mercenaries and walked up to the boy, taking out a small flask he had taken along for safety. "Don't strain or struggle now," he tells the boy in a stoic, but soft tone. "An injury shouldn't be left out in open sight; infections are rather hazardous after all." He carefully takes out the cap on the flask as he pours the lime-green colored liquid on the boy's injury. "It will take a moment or two, but the pain should be nullified shortly." Alf kept those salves just in case of immediate aid, even if they were hardly miracle potions. These salves mostly dulling the pain and slowing blood loss.

Afterward, Alf looked at the clothing the boy wore and took off a loose part of the disheveled legwear and used it to try and patch the wound as best as he could. He wasn't an accomplished doctor at all, so routine first aid wouldn't suffice for an injury like one that the boy suffered from. He had hoped that the large man and Takeshi would keep the mercenaries occupied at the time, however Alf was willing to interfere in case of a fight breaking out; he had no care for pacifism, even if he preferred to avoiding fighting in the first place.

[daelrog]

All Aboard!
Sevran

A glimmer passes Sevran's eyes, a terrible thought corssing his mind. However, he scowls it off. He whispers to his new companion, "Those two have have never troubled me, and this place is tiresome."

It was the closest thing he'd say to run away.

To speed things up, IF a roll needs to be made. Not sure what culd be used for sneaking besides his cunning II, so here we go.

[roll0]

[TheDarkDM]

23rd of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Black Manor

Turel walked without concern past the sullen Wrath Demon, stalking through the well appointed manor and into Darius' office. Seemingly unaware of the tension in the air, he draped himself over the most comfortable looking chair before fixing Darius with an amused look.

"No offer for a drink? Relax, Lord Black, I have not come to kill you, or depose you, or whatever horror your imagination has conjured as my purpose here. I meant what I told your guard - I have a business opportunity to discuss with you, one that I hope shall prove immensely profitable for both of us."

23rd of Bargenholt
Near Midnight
Beneath The Vale

Giving the wraith of Zhirad a wry smile, Turel made his way over to a shadowed corner of the cellar. Hefting a tarp-covered load from its resting place, he deposited the still-breathing corpse of a comely man at the Demon's wispy feet.

"Please, Zhirad, what do you take me for? When have my preparations been anything short of immaculate?"

Stretching his back, Turel made his way to the cellar's moldering door and flung it open, revealing Annah's childish form.

"Annah, my sweet, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay with Elizabeth."

24th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
The Vale

As Elizabeth meandered through the streets spreading bliss, a bouquet of flowers sat unheeded in a crystal vase beside a necklace of fire chained in gold. The room they sat in was empty, its inhabitants brooding in a dark carriage that flew along the crowded streets. His brow furrowed, Turel stared into nothingness, concentrating on the spark of radiance that drew him towards Elizabeth. He had been unable to sense it for hours, terrible, endless hours, but it had finally reappeared. He was quite curious as to the reason for its disappearance. Seconds passed for the separate pair of Abominations, one in darkness and the other in light, but then the carriage rounded a corner to enter a street market that had suddenly fallen from cacophonous chaos into a civil murmur. There, unnoticed in the throng, stood his Elizabeth, and before the carriage had even stopped Turel leapt from the door, pushing through the crowd to reach her.

As his hands touched her shoulders, Elizabeth felt electric heat radiate through her body. It was intoxicating, an incredible gravity that drew the dark voice in her head closer to the surface. She tried to turn away, but his eyes ensnared her in an instant, carefully roving up and down her body, seeking injury, remembering their first sight of her perfection.


*******

Another Time
Another Place
Thirty Years Later (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yv980B5lb9E&feature=related)

The room was alive with the memory of flame. Far beneath Bastion's streets, in a sanctuary long prepared, Turel Meresin stood at the center of a triad of great braziers that roared with scented fire. The walls were slick with moisture captured from the cistern a level below, the cistern he'd taken such care to fill with the blood of thousands of innocents. All in preparation for this day. From the darkness came a drumbeat, like unto the beating of a heart, and at the far side of the chamber a lantern flame appeared in a hidden opening. Zhirad crossed the threshold first, his leather coat put aside for flowing ceremonial robes, and behind him came Turel's beloved. She still bore the signs of her pregnancy, the swell of life that had been tragically cut short, but Turel was unperturbed. The accursed godling had been purged from her womb, and now, finally, she was within his grasp.

In a fugue, Elizabeth entered the light, glassy eyes blinking in surprise at the sudden brightness. Realizing fully where she was, she cast a fearful look about the arching chamber, only for her eyes to fall upon Turel. Turel, who had remained by her side even through her terrible loss. Turel, who had drawn for the poison that was her husband and cast it into oblivion. Turel, who at once seemed so kind, yet whose soul hid such darkness. A saner woman might have run, abandoning the fell sight before her, yet Elizabeth had no one to run to. The father of her child had disappeared into the night months ago with no explanation, leaving her to face the agonizing void on her own. Yet here was the chance to no longer be alone, to find someone who would not abandon her for the siren call of the sea. Almost in a trance, Elizabeth stepped between the braziers and approached Turel.

Turel...what is this?

"Only what was promised, my love. A way to free you from your terrible pain."

Miles away, in the deepest dungeon of the Royal Castle, a ragged pirate sat chained to the wall. He hadn't heard another human voice in weeks, not since Turel had spoken to him from the dark. Spoken of his child, and his beloved Elizabeth. Spoken of how they would all be torn from him, how the demon-made-flesh would claim his love forevermore. But now, as he sat in timeless fatigue, the pirate heard his beloved's voice. His head whipped up, scanning the darkness desperately, only to fall on a glimmer against the shadowed wall. Then came the voice of his enemy, and the twinkle in the wall turned to blinding flame. A crystal had been crudely wedged between weathered masonry, and even as Stray struggled against his bonds with renewed strength he heard Turel's taunting predictions come true.

Back in the ritual chamber, Elizabeth had surrendered her cloak to Zhirad, leaving her shivering in a cold chill despite the fires around her. Giving her a reassuring smile, Zhirad withdrew, and as she turned back to Turel, Elizabeth saw him retrieving a book from a hidden alcove. As he removed a silk covering, the flames in the braziers leapt ever higher, yet the chill intensified. It was unlike any book Elizabeth had ever seen, the cover stitched from jagged black scales that seemed to slip in the light like oil. Its fastenings were bronze, old and dark, that seemed to hold a fire of its own beneath its sheen. Slowly, reverently, Turel released the catch on the tome, sending a hissing whisper reverberating through the room. Placing the book on a nearby podium, Turel turned back towards Elizabeth. Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders, dipping his head to meet her gaze.

"Are you ready, Elizabeth."

"I..."

In a sudden move, she tore herself from Turel's grasp, turning her back to him even as she seemed to shrink into herself.

"I do not know! You make such tempting promises, but this place...these preparations. Something dark is lurking here, Turel."

"Elizabeth, I swear to you, what we do here shall not harm a single soul walking the streets of this fair city! I have no intent other than providing you respite from your terrible loss."

He stepped forward, embracing her lightly as he did so. She stiffened, but did not pull away.

"I swear to you, I shall not abandon you as he did. There is no woman, no vice, no promise I would pursue if it brought you pain."

At the merest mention of Stray, Elizabeth's rigid body melted into Turel's arms, until he was afraid she might be unable to stand. She had loved him with all her heart, even in the face of Turel's strange magnetism, and he had abandoned her. What right had she to question Turel's motives, when he was the only one who hadn't hurt her, hadn't abandoned her? And the void in her belly...

"Please...just take the pain away..."

Turel led her to the point of intersection between the three braziers, lowering her slowly into a sitting position with a whisper.

"I shall do my best."

He moved swiftly then, opening the Codex on the podium with a scream as its pages cut the air. Elizabeth barely listened as he began to recite long forgotten words, words not made for any mortal tongue. Slowly, the air in the room began to move, swirling inexorably around Elizabeth. Soon, the fire followed suit, and as Turel's words rose to ring through the room he and Elizabeth were surrounded by a curtain of flame. Still chanting unceasingly, Turel watched the moving wall of fire like a hawk, a hawk with eyes of fire. Elizabeth had scant time to register the maelstrom in his gaze before he thrust a hand towards the curtain of flame, forcing it apart to reveal a roiling red sea behind. The ground beneath them screamed, then, the gallons of innocent blood bursting into phantom flames that surged harmlessly through the floor to explode along the ceiling as dim forms began to inch towards them in the bloody abyss. One shadow in particular seemed to fly with great urgency, and despite its speed the merest glimpse of it nearly overwhelmed Elizabeth with its forsaken loveliness.

Suddenly, it seemed the shadow spotted the portal, its taloned fingers clawing desperately at the hateful nothing around it in futile protest. Inexorably, the Desire Demon was drawn into the world, and as its essence touched the air all resistance vanished. It sped into Elizabeth's breast like a loosed arrow, the impact lifting her violently to her feet. Suddenly, her benumbed mind was set afire, urges and desires long forgotten and suppressed surging back to life. She opened her mouth to scream, yet all that escaped was a throaty laugh that only intensified as her body shifted in demonic metamorphosis and her eyes became a mirror to Turel's twirling fires. The flames surrounding them began to collapse in on the portal to the Nether, closing it against any interference, and as the firestorm threw her newly ruby hair into disarray Elizabeth found Turel before her, embracing her in a kiss that promised never to end. And as he held his queen, Turel exulted. In the distance, he could almost hear the tortured melding of coyote's howl and man's scream, the intoxicating certainty of his victory surging through his veins.


*******

24th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Beneath The Vale (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEeEUPrIDao&feature=related)

Held in Turel's eyes, Elizabeth struggled to hold on to her rapturous joy. Yet even as the voice in her mind screamed at her to exult in his company, to greet him with joy, the sunlight faded from her eyes. His brow crinkling in confusion, Turel leaned closer, and his nose wrinkled at an all too familiar scent. Cloves.

A spasm seemed to go through Turel, pushing Elizabeth away from him as he staggered backwards holding his head. The pirates accursed, mocking laugh echoed in his mind, mixing with the half remembered voices of shadowy demons with burning knives. No. No! He'd won! He'd shattered that damned man's chances for happiness and stolen away unharmed. He'd won! And yet still the memory of that meddling fool continued to mock him. He would not have it! It would not stand!

A scream escaped Turel's mouth, a scream of indignities suffered and pains repressed, fifty years of unanswered affronts pouring out of him at this final breaking point. And as he screamed, a wave of hellfire exploded outwards in a ring, shattering wooden stalls and sending the afternoon shoppers to their knees in a wave of heat and unmatched hatred. Then the scream faded, and all was silent for a moment, before the ring of flame came hurtling back, exploding around Turel in a twining pillar of hellfire that pierced the very heavens. The malefic energy poured from his hands, his mouth, his eyes, and as reality screamed the pillar split into a pair of serpents, their gaping mouths dripping with fiery venom. They smashed among the market, tearing apart the buildings on the street as though they were kindling, incinerating stalls like paper. People burst into clouds of ash as the beasts passed, and soon all the world was afire save the Shadow Court. The other Demons, even Marcoth, huddled away from the insane display, while Elizabeth stood stunned. Yet, even as she watched the flames leap uncontrolled from Turel's body, she knew how to stop him.

Within Turel's mind, hate warred for supremacy over pain and remembrance, while all the while his rationality struggled to regain its feet. The soft touch upon his arms went almost unnoticed, but as familiar lips closed over his own his mind became blissfully still. Elizabeth and Turel stood, surrounded by flames once again in an endless embrace, and when they finally opened their eyes the madness had passed. Looking over the collateral damage through the swirling ash, Turel grimaced.

"Come, let's away from this place."

Plot Ticket

Destruction in the Vale:

On the 24th of Bargenholt, a strange magical phenomena ravages a popular street market in the Vale. The body count reaches into the hundreds, yet no one seems able to explain the cause of the disaster. There are no survivors.

[bladescape]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl, Early Afternoon
Aesthes

Moving silently through the shadows, keeping out of the sight of the casual passers and anyone watching, Aesthes moved quickly into the remnants of the extra pirates, watchers would see a figure moving out of the shadows, crouching as they smashed the first pirates head into the next with strength, creating somewhat of a gruesome sight.

In reality, the whip of shadows did the work, as the mage himself had not the prowess to do this. Stepping back and crouching, he touched the blade inside his cloak, not wanting to draw it, but knowing his powers were not strong here, especially with the added difficulty of avoiding notice.

[VonDoom]

All Aboard!
Claye, Mikado

"To be continued later, then," Mikado noted with a chuckle as he drew himself to full size; his hints regarding the Dark Armory were little more than speculation, but that reaction had told him all he needed to know for now. The final comment by the keeper only cemented it further. After all, why else would this so-called 'keeper' defer to her?

"I assume those ranks include all of the rebels." The Ikokan glanced back towards the teacher who was still there in the room with them, listening to everything they were saying. "As well as some extras from those kidnapped."

"It would help, yeah."

"Obviously we'll want attention as far away from you as possible," he noted to Claye. "So whatever role you play must seem a minor one."

"Well, if Ah could keep a relatively low profile, that would be great, but remember that we have t' get the train out of here too. Havin' the 803 Express disappear would be a dead giveaway, an' you'll need me to drive it."

"To drive, yes," he confirmed. "But I think we'll need to keep your other appearances to a minimum." The black-haired man inclined his head a little to the side, studying Claye with a strange hint of humor in his eyes. "Perhaps reliving some of our good old memories is in order; how do you feel about another performance as the damsel in distress? Perhaps, this time, with less explosions?"

"Never fully count out the possibility of explosions." Claye quips. "But Ah'm not sure we even need to give the damsel routine a workout. Just stuff me in one of these rooms an' free me with the others."

Mikado smirked, rather pleased with her response. "You already know me so well. Miss Elra, how do you feel about a new cellmate?" With the last question, he turned his head back towards the middle-aged woman.

"... if we all go free and unharmed." She noted, looking intently at the Keeper.

"Excellent! Alright, I'm sure you already mapped out who we need to talk to, so I suggest we split the workload and get to our little play-act before anything goes awry."

[Swordslinger]

All Aboard!
Amandre

Slowly Amandre relaxed the defensive stance he had taken. So the rest of the passengers were alive after all, that was good news. He took a quick look around the corner, nothing. There should have been a search going on for him right now, but there was no sign of activity, the machines that had just passed did not seem to be searching either. But he did not know anything about how the machines worked; they likely had very limited capabilities and where not meant to work without human oversight. Either way, best not to wait around too long. He sheathed the two knifes that had found their way to his hands as he turned toward the rebel. “Very well, I will assist you in rescuing the passengers” it was the best idea he had at the moment anyway. “Tell me what you know of this place”.

[Nefarion Xid]

24th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
The Vale

Anselme was on the scene minutes before any of the Lions. Such a display of magic was like a beacon in the night to those able to see at all. Still, the flames were tinged violet, their origin betrayed by his hidden ruby eye. The distinct, however incredibly faint scent of sulfur stung his nostrils. At least, brimstone is what you'd call it if you'd never smelled distilled malice.

In vain, Anselme searched for the source, but it was long gone. Finding the pinprick of light that was Turel and his entourage was impossible when surrounded by the unnatural fire. Elizabeth had passed this way, he was sure of it. But this magic... it couldn't be her. Only a demon could have done this, and any thought that Elizabeth was one of them was hastily pushed aside. No, this was the work of a proper demon to be sure... one in a great deal of pain.

He made no attempt to stifle his mad laughter.

24th of Bargenholt
Night
The Vale: Roxanne's Apothecary

A fine layer of ash caked on with sweat coated Anselme and his formerly blue coat as he approached Roxanne's shop. Nonchalantly, he traced the invisible symbol on the door which swung open with prompt obedience. Passing inside, his diminutive bat wings unfurled and his spaded tail slithered out beneath his coattail. Roxanne, dressed in her uncharacteristically frumpy night clothes and wearing dark rimmed reading spectacles, greeted him from the landing of the aged wooden steps.

"Late night snack?"

Anselme's eye traced a figure eight around the woman's hourglass figure. He considered it, but remained silent.

Roxanne's dark eyebrow shot up and she thrust out an accusatory finger. "You got lucky," she declared.

"Jealous, are we?" heckled Anselme, making his way towards the closet.

"Was it that uptight Eladrin bitch? She could use it!"

"My sex life is none of your concern!" Anselme snorted. Seeing the slightest pout form on Roxanne's lips, he thoughtfully added, "You're better. Years of practice! Now please, I need to use your closet."

Unsure whether to be offended or flattered, Roxanne crossed her arms beneath her protruding chest and smirked, "What makes you think it's in a closet?"

"Because if your bedroom door was the portal to Hell, that would make too much sense!"

Silenced, Roxanne extended a single finger towards the broom closet at the far end of the shop. With a mock bow, Anselme threw open the door and dashed inside without hesitation. Smoke trickled out from beneath the door as it slammed shut behind him.

The heretofore unnoticed imp perched on the banister tilted his head towards Roxanne and in a sing-song voicen declared, "Heee's baaack!"

12:22 a.m., 13th day of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery

Anselme sipped his tea in silence while Claye tended to some of his harder-to-reach gashes. He could feel her eyes on him and knew her unspoken question. The thought had occurred to him the moment he'd removed his shirt. His keen mind would have arrived at the same place... and he was afraid Claye was nearly as smart as him.

"I've been the beneficiary of powerful magical... repair. Without it, you wouldn't recognize me. With it... well, as you can see... good enough to remove even scars."

His eye fell towards the diminishing pool of amber in his cup. "These... these I think I'd prefer to keep."

[Kasanip]

"Far the Atelier"
Scene I: Markets of Taeralys
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon

Takeshi, Murdok, Alf

It looks like the leader is about to start to beat the injured boy, but Takeshi's cane intercedes. The mercenaries mutter angry words, and the leader looks at Takeshi's mask with a predatory glare. It's a cautious and dangerous glare. Even if the mercenaries seem like thugs, this man at least is wary about this strange, masked man and his disciples.
"No, there is no honor beating a wounded child."
Then he gives a small, evil smile. He has ugly teeth.
"And it would be unsightly. Except we, the Black Dogs, are the guards here. This is our territory. Incidentally we have a new law to protect. We don't like foreigners. We don't like disturbances. This boy caused a disturbance, and you're a foreigner."
There is the sound of knuckle cracks and metal clinking. The men are wearing armor, leather and chain mail. It seems like they're starting to press in around Takeshi, when Murdok introduces himself.

The group makes room for the half giant, and of course there are some cursing. One mercenary starts to draw his axe, but their leader stops him with a gesture. He looks up at the half giant with a narrow gaze. Clearly he is trying to figure out how to deal with this. He makes an ugly face and then repeats.
"...Like I said. We don't like disturbances. And we don't like foreigners. Go run home now, or you might get hurt. I've fought bears that look tougher than you."
Even though it is a strong boast, some of the mercenaries are nervous. But a few laugh, strengthened by their leader's words.

While Murdok and Takeshi have been talking though, Alf makes his way to the boy. The boy groans in pain at first, but the medicine seems to help quickly, and he seems to recover from the pain some too. The closest mercenary happens to look back at the boy when he groans, and he sees Alf.
"Hey! Get away from him!" He shouts, and other mercenaries turn as well. The mercenary aims a kick at Alf, aiming to drive him off.

"They just don't learn do they? Don't interfere in Black Dog business!" The leader shouts, drawing his sword. The mercenaries draw their axes, swords and knives as well.
"Teach them not to mess with the Black Dogs!"

Including the leader, there are 8 mercenaries, all quite close to the three. The poor boy, is still close to where Alf is kneeling and where Takeshi is holding his cane. Probably Takeshi's acolytes are nearby also. Murdok seems to be getting a lot of attention however. The leader and three mercenaries start to surround Murdok, the other four move towards Takeshi and Alf and the disciples!

Chiyome:

You notice that there are three people in Ikoku clothing and masks who approach quickly to the front. The leader of that group seems to be pointing above the boy with a cane. There is a tense discussion, and a very large man approaches as well as a cloaked figure.

More importantly, there are seven mercenaries with their leader. And you have seen in the crowd that the other three mercenaries are pushing to get in. One pauses to whisper to the other two, and then steps back. Light shines brightly off of something he is holding for a second. He has knives. You watch as he starts to move, towards the back of the large half-giant man. Probably he will throw the knives.

There are some shouts now, and weapons are drawn in the mercenary group. The crowd gasps and starts to push back, to try and get a little more distance. There are some stalls nearby that could be useful to get over the crowd however.

"Idiots." You hear a child in robes mutter as she passes you, and struggles to see above the tall people. As you look at her, you notice one of the mercenaries disappears into the alley. Maybe he will alert his leaders? The last mercenary seems to be moving behind the Ikoku people. He has throwing axes in his hands.

For now, you haven't been noticed.



OOC:

It is the first combat turn!:smallsmile: The mercenaries are not so strong. A roll= [6] will defeat one (you can make them unconscious or kill, it is your choice.) If it is desired, roll [#] can be divided to attack several people. If you have special plan or idea, please send pm or ooc thread comment! Of course [combination attack] is ok too!

Leader is stronger, but only roll=[7].

To make it easy for me,
Mercenaries are A,B,C,D,E,F,G,H,I,J,

A, B, C (and Leader) are attacking Murdok
D, E, F, G, are attacking Alf and Takeshi and disciples.
H has throwing axes. Only Chiyome knows where he is.
I has throwing daggers. Only Chiyome knows where he is.
J is disappeared into the alley. Only Chiyome knows where he is.

(To make sure, people aren't attacking same target, or if it is desired to attack same target, please add spoiler to end of post to say which person! Sorry it is very ooc style. In IC post of course you don't need to say "Mercenary C" or such a thing. :smallredface:

[TechnOkami]

Markets of Taerylis
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Murdok

Murdok unlatches his sword from his side.

"If you lust for battle so greedily..."

He begins to swing, the strength of his arms and his legs pushing all their might into the relentless blade.

"...I, will oblige."

Without a word, the impossibly large sword flies through the air, and men with heads suddenly find themselves without.

The roll against the Leader was a 10, by the way. And I actually understand the rules for hitting multiple targets now, and I don't quite have enough to take out any others, so that 10 is fully directed onto the Leader.

[BladeofObliviom]

Far the Atelier: Markets of Taelarys
25th of Bargenholt
Amagumo no Chiyome


Seeing the three auxillary mercenaries making covert moves, Chiyome takes advantage of her own abilities to covertly transport herself toward the one with the knives, ignoring Eris as she passes.

Attempting to avoid being picked out in the crowd, the kunoichi slips from panicked group to panicked group, in the general direction of the mercenary...

And when she reaches close to him, when he is likely to be focused on lining up a knife throw to even notice her, she strikes with a pair of blades hidden in the folds of her clothing, silent knives that take lives as easily as lungs take in air, before darting away in an instant and surveying the result.

Assuming success, she then begins making her way toward the Axe-wielding thug, and attempts to put a knife through his heart before darting away once again.


Okay, so Chiyome tries to take down Mercenary I, but just to add some actual risk despite Chiyome's absurd combat bonuses, she tries to do it without being spotted. Or, since going completely unspotted is improbable due to the crowd, to at least do it without the Mercenaries realizing what's happened. Thus, I've included both a stealth roll and a combat roll.
Stealth: [roll0] (Spy III, Cunning I)
Combat: [roll1] (Spy III, Martial Arts III, Agility I)

...It's a bit sad that I can probably justify no-contesting these Mercenaries in combat.

[Nefarion Xid]

Where else?
24th of Bargenholt

Anselme's thick rubber soles thudded along the granite slab that assuredly wasn't there beneath his feat. Striding along at a rapid gait, he drew nearer the singular light in the infinite darkness, leaving the In Between behind him as swiftly as he could without breaking into a run. It whispered to him still and tugged at his coattails. It pleaded with him to turn around and acknowledge its existence. The journey here was never an easy one, no matter how many times you'd been.

As he stepped into the light of the streetlamp, smoke seeped from his exposed skin and billowed out from his jacket. He gave one violent shuddered to rid himself of the insidious crawling feeling and gingerly touched a hand to his cheek and tugged off his gloves for confirmation. As suspected, he'd been wrapped head to toe in black and green linen bandages spare for his good eye and most of his hair. As his curiosity got the better of him, he peeled away the wrappings on his arm to reveal an inch of pale skin. His self-satisfied chuckling was interrupted after a long moment by the sudden appearance of a monk stepping out from behind the skinny light post.

"You're cheating," scolded the monk, drawing back his sackcloth hood and twitching his absurdly bushy mustache at Anselme.

"That's how we all got here!" he laughed back.

"Hmph. Nearly didn't recognize you without your wrappings. You look good for someone who died in a fire."

"I'd say it was a pleasant surprise, but I was always this handsome," scoffed Anselme. "And I didn't die in a fire, I died when I hit the sidewalk."

"Rough night."

Anselme nodded matter-of-factly. "Well, it's been fun catching up, Old Monk Who Inexplicably Stand Beneath the Streetlamp in Hell for Eternity, but... oh who cares. I got what I came for; I'm leaving!"

"Don't be so hasty, Imp King," called the monk before he could dash away into the blackness. "Take a slow walk. There are some new arrivals you'll want to see."

Anselme spun on his heels to see only the streetlight and the featureless gray granite beneath. Snarling, he whisked back on his original course with his eyes tightly shut. He counted his footfalls back to Roxanne's closet and reached out to grasp the doorknob he could see so clearly in his mind.

[Tebryn]

24th of Bargenholt
Madam Ginger’s Massage Oasis, Vice St., The Red-light district
Late Evening
Takeshi and Co


Takeshi takes a step back at the womens advance, placing his cane into the air to hold them at bay however the smoke swirls about them all the same. The taller of the three seems unphased however Hiisagi inhales loudly in surprise unused to such heavy drugs. So it was a trap? They clearly didn't know who they were dealing with or they wouldn't have used drugs right out of the gate. A strange turn of events but one he couldn't take risks with. The boy would have to return just in case there was more to this smoke.

"<Asagi. Take him home.>"

He barks in his native tongue though made certain not to use his home dialect, the clothed undead sweeping the boy up into his arms before whisking him off. Asagi could always be resummoned should things become more complicated. With that threat out of the way he took a quick scan of the room. If you'd been in one brothel you'd been in them all really. For all the glit and glitter and money spent to make the place look appealing there was no confusing what the place was. Echoes of men who had long since lost the battle of wills versus their pants echoed in his skull almost like a home coming song. As much as it made his skin crawl he could remember his time as a youth on the streets of Hok Mein City and the various Madams who had taken him in for the night and given him a bite of food. But now wasn't the time to look back at such pleasant memories.

He takes a single bow to the woman behind the counter, keeping his cane up to ward off the young ladies all the same.

"I'm afraid your merchandise isn't to my tastes. My name is Qiu Feng, I am from the Nanman Province of Ikoku and was hoping to speak with Madam Ginger. I'm not on any reference documentation...I'm sure you understand how these things go."

He resettles his mask on his face, giving another bow to each young lady before producing a wrapped meat bun from his sleeve to each.

"Please take these with good graces my dears. I hope you get rich clients tonight. Kouun wo inorimasu my darlings."

[Starsign]

Markets of Taeralys
25th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Alf

Not taking much notice, Alf quickly takes a kick to his head while mending the boy. Surprisingly, he shows little reaction at first. The spiders in his head flew out from the blow, however they quickly started coming back to assimilate into the mass of spiders. A harder blow, or perhaps a sharper weapon, would likely be more effective. Unfortunately for the mercenary who kicked him, he couldn't really tell that Alf would not simply ignore an attack as such, especially with Murdok being on the offense as well.

With a sudden movement, Alf took hold of the mercenary's leg with both arms as he uses his body's unique anatomy to twist and break the mercenary's leg, leaving him no longer a threat as the mercenary falls over, crippled to the point of being unable to stand. With Alf now in conflict with the rest of the mercenaries, he takes out a special, ice-coated alchemy potion that he throws at a few nearby mercenaries. Upon breaking through hitting the ground, the potion's contents quickly spreads and breaks open a small icicle field that chills the ones lucky enough to avoid the spikes... And skewers the mercenaries that were unlucky. During the move he quickly tells the boy, "Hide, now!" Having an injured boy in the middle of a battle wasn't an ideal situation to be in.

Okay, attack roll: [roll0]

Alf will take down Mercenary D and then split the rest of the results on the other mercenaries nearby Alf and Takeshi.

[Toxin605]

23rd of Bargenholt
Black Manor
Afternoon

Darius felt the tension in his nerves release as soon as he heard 'business opportunity'. He poured another cup of tea for his guest, and reclined in his luxiuriously over-the-top chair. He fixed the demon with an unreadable stare and said,"You seem to have caught me at a disadvantage. You know my name, and apparently where I live, but I know nothing of you. So, before I hear you proposal, may I at least hear your name? Perhaps a good story of what you are doing in my city?"

[DoomHat]

24th of Bargenholt
Madam Ginger’s Massage Oasis, Vice St., The Red-light district
Late Evening

The attitude of the woman behind the counter soured perceptibly. The girls, in their own incense addled hazes, looked to her for permission to take the offered treats. A stern look and a slight shake of her head gave them their answer. They parted waited for the next potential customer to come through the door.
The woman waved ‘Qiu’ closer to the counter with one hand as she pressed a button on the bottom of her desk with the other. An electric current ran from the hidden button to a small grim backroom, causing a bell to ring over the heads of a group of four large grim men. They moved quickly but quietly to a set of screen doors leading into the lobby, but did not enter. They listened patiently for their cue.
The woman sniffed condescendingly at ‘Qiu’ before saying, “Now you listen here, Chew Fang. I don‘t know how they do things back in E’Coco, but around here people don’t typically strut into legitimate businesses, with faces covered, armed, and demanding to see the management without an appointment. Now if you can give me a reason she might wish to waste some of her precious time on your sketchy up to no good little brown ass, I’ll think about penciling you in. You have two minutes to make your case or clear the hell out. You get me?”.


24th of Bargenholt
Night
The Vale, Crater's Edge

His Lordship val Styversant stood atop a heap smoldering rubble. Though he was near motionless, something ineffable in his silent vigil bespoke a murderous rage. Most onlookers politely assumed this was a result of grief strictness, a desire for vengeance on behalf of uncounted victims.
His humble legion of ‘volunteers and concerned citizens’ scrabbled about round him. Some carried lanterns and water buckets. Others carried stretchers to and from the triage tent set up by his personal staff. The reputation he’d built up over the past few month as a philanthropist and operator of affordable clinics was being put to full use.
A squad of Blue Lions attempted to block them initially but val Styversant’s tile, reputation, and frankly alarming presence helped to cow them into accepting the aid.
“I will not stand idle in the midst of a humanitarian crisis,” he had said with a voice that poured evenly and burned like a cup of warm acid, “if your Captain Nessiel has a problem with that I’ll hear it from her. You may help or stand aside, but you will not stand in the way. Do I make myself clear?”.
He turned suddenly at the sound of baying hounds, another hidden survivor found. All the scrounging through rubble and triumphant rescues help greatly in disguising the Twisted Hand’s true interest in this disaster. Sure the survivors themselves were useful. A hand full of them would be declared dead and whisked away to undergo ‘the path of enlightenment*’.
But the truth of the matter is that one of the buildings collapsed by the blast was Indoctrination Center #5. It was a respectable apothecary, servicing the well to do. A major source of revenue and valuable thralls, not to mention housing a huge amount of rare medicinal substances and difficult to replace equipment. Materials and equipment that needed salvaging, quietly, in public, somehow.
Sister Yogo, a ranking member of the cult, approached His Lordship carefully.
"Report,” barked Styversant without turning to acknowledge her.
She made the strange broken trilling sound she used in place of laughter, then said, “Its all going well enough yes it is, though most of the salvage is unsalvageable so they say yes its is, chiiie’ie’ie’ie,”.
She reached up and adjusted one of the bolts driven into her temple before continuing in more level tone, “However, we have scrapped up a hand full of promising acolytes, and our archaist thralls believe they have identified the nature of the culprit…”.
Styversant made the slightest movement of his head, indicating for her to continue.
“A demon!” she whisper excitedly, “a kind of barbarian’s akuma! Seems a few of the half-charred slugs we‘ve uncovered were witnesses! Yes indeed, so very true! Our thralls independently confirm their testimony. The damage is not consistent with any of the ‘Five Flames’ of their barbarous sorcery. We have a description, somewhat sketchy, of the creature in its human guise yes we do chiiie’ie’ie’ie! He skittered way, skittered away with someone in tow! More details forth coming, and goin-”.
“Silence,” the val said with the force of a cleaver.
He reach out and twisted violently on the bolts in her temple, causing her face to contort with apparent pain. After a few more quick adjustments she seemed to have stabilized. She stared forward with the serenity of a statue.
He pulled her close and murmured into her ear, his words trickling like blood, “You have done well. However, more is needed. I need to know where this thing has gone. I need to know what it wants. I need to how to neutralize it. And if possible, for my own peace of mind, I would like to know if it possesses any anatomical quirks that would prevent me from playing its nerves like a biwa until it begs to die,”.
He released her and she moved way in a dreamy haze. With that, he closed his eyes, breathed in the smell of smoke and human suffering, and returned to his quiet seething.

*a process of extended torture and brainwashing that begins the process of recruitment into the Twisted Hand.

[The_Snark]

19th of Bargenholt
Morning
Machinist's Guildhall

Ira turned over a scrap of paper in her hands, and read it again:

on the 17th the beast of man will be loosed in the streets

"No riots?" she asked plaintively.

"None."

"Public spectacles, like that execution a couple weeks back? High-profile robberies? Feuds between, um, criminal guilds spilling over into the streets? Er... guard brutality?"

Tanner raised an eyebrow. "Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Hm." Ira tapped her fingers on the desk. "I suppose, if it happened in one of the outlying districts, the news might not have reached us yet…"

Tanner said nothing.

"… come to think, I don't think the Engine ever specified that this prediction referred to the streets of Taelarys. Or that it meant Bargenholt 17th, as opposed to, say, Logiscae."

More polite silence from Mr. Tanner. Ira mused that they couldn't even be sure of the prediction's intent; for all they knew, it was prophesying that a dog that would slip free of its master's leash and run off into the streets. She and Tanner had decided—well, she had decided and Tanner had not contradicted her—that the Machine was predicting some dire and highly conspicuous atrocity on the 17th, the brutality of man unleashed. Riots, rebellion, a massacre on the docks, that sort of thing. Something that they would hear about, that might confirm one of the Engine's hazy predictions. Evidently she'd been wrong.

Or maybe she'd been spot-on, and it was the Machine that was wrong. It wouldn't be the first time.

Ira realized she'd drifted off into her own thoughts, forcing Tanner to wait. He was radiating a sort of polite readiness to listen, saying (without anything so crass as words) that he was at her disposal if she needed anything, but if she didn't, he had other things to attend to and would she be so kind as to excuse him? By way of apology, she coughed and continued.

"Well. Anything else? No more unexpected breakdowns or anomalies?"

"None. A couple of gears took too much heat stress a weak back and were starting to crack, but the Machine identified them before they could do any real damage. They've been replaced. Storage Drum 2 is disconnected right now, but it should be online again by the end of the day."

"Ah." Ira frowned. "You know, I'm not sure I like this business of relying on the Prognostication Engine to predict its own breakdowns. It seems like there's an inherent flaw in the process: if a mechanical failure impedes the machine's ability to detect mechanical failures, you'll never find it, and the whole thing becomes vulnerable. It could mean total systemic failure. And the Engine's track record is hardly, um, perfect, you know."

Tanner shrugged, unapologetic. "We haven't stopped checking for faults manually. And so far its predictions with regard to itself have been remarkably accurate. Aside from the meltdown on the 10th, there are only one or two errors that it didn't catch. We feed it all the specs on replacement parts, so it has plenty of data to work from."

Despite herself, Ira was interested. "Really. Are there any trends in which suppliers produce the most reliable parts? That sort of data could be very useful to the Guild."

He had to stop and think. "No. Not right at hand, anyway. I don't think the suppliers are entered into the database, but if you can give me the purchasing records we can feed it that information as well."

"Yes. Yes, let's do that. I'll have the files for you in a day or two. Make sure you enter the source of all parts you use from now on."

He nodded, and this time she nodded back: that will be all. He took his leave, and she turned her attention to the sheaf of papers he'd left on the desk: the day's portents and predictions. Maybe she could make some sense of this lot.

Selected Excerpts from the Writings of the Prognostication Engine

The shadows draw near. Wind from another land brings death. The way is shut. The way is shut. A candle devours the light. Estimated time to nadir of interdimensional activity: 16.4334892319023481 hours

a clear trend is observed in the availability of whale oil and sealskins from the Arlute Coast. Suggested causes (% likelihood): declining whale populations (59%), piracy by native Arlute tribes (14%), loss of ships to hull-boring barnacles (10%), loss of trade to Rhetizian ports (9%), conspiracy among merchants to drive prices up by hoarding goods (5%), armed resistance by sentient whale and seal populations (3%). Investment in Arlute whaling expeditions not recommended.

hull-boring barnacles have never been observed but logically must exist. The mathematical proof is as follows:
1. {P(Ϩ) ˄□˅x[Ϩ(x) → ψ(x)]} → P(ψ)
2. P(⌐Ϩ) ↔ ⌐P(Ϩ)
3. P(Ϩ) → ◊ Щx[Ϩ(x)]
4. Barnacle(x) ↔ ˅Ϩ[P(Ϩ) → Ϩ(x)]
5. P(barnacle)
6. ◊ Щx barnacle(x)
7. Ϩ hull x ↔ Ϩ(x) ˄˅ψ {ψ(x) → □˅x[Ϩ(x) → ψ(x)]}
8. P(Ϩ) → □P(Ϩ)
9. Barnacle (x) → barnacle hull x
10. E(x) ↔ ˅Ϩ[Ϩ hull x → □ Щx Ϩ(x)]
11. P(E)
12. □ Щx barnacle(x)
therefore we conclude that barnacles exist and may possess the property of hull-boring in all possible worlds

Fire is the killer's weapon, and by fire the killer will fall. Mirrors. The child is the key

spiders mark the path

[Tebryn]

24th of Bargenholt
Madam Ginger’s Massage Oasis, Vice St., The Red-light district
Late Evening
Takeshi

Takeshi slips the meat buns under his sleeve with a flick of the wrist though his eye darts to the woman. He tsks softly, his eye narrowing. So it had come to this...what was really going on here? Was she going to try to call the men in even after he had clearly resisted the drug? Or was this really not a trap...what was the letter all about then? Things were no longer adding up...and that distressed him greatly.

"I was nice enough to put my weapons away ma'am, please don't make this violent by calling your friends in here. Let them go back to their gambling yes? My mother worked the pillows back in my old home...I'm afraid I know how the business runs. There's no need for bloodshed this day, unless you want there to be. I don't want there to be."

I'm not certain how things work here in your neck of the woods but when a man comes in offering food it's a sign of peace. Now, should that man be coming in armed and covered it's probably a wise decision that your local grunts aren't going to be of much use either. I was asked to come, I don't know by who. The handwriting was Ikokan and implicitly asked me to speak to a one Madam Ginger. I have information she may find useful about some unsavory elements that will more than likely try to push in here. Ask her if The Family rings a bell. She may want to make time for a "brown assed" stranger."

[Lady Serpentine]

19th of Bargenholt
Morning
Machinist's Guildhall
Further Excerpts from the Writings of the Prognostication Engine

A pattern has emerged within one mile of the point designated on Imperial surveys as 51, 9, Sorcerous House surveys as Nexus 17, commonly known* as Lake Haldman. Suggested causes (% likelihood): magical storm (52%), alteration of magical currents and nexi by Brightsteel mining and distribution (20%), magical experimentation sanctioned but concealed by one or more Sorcerous Houses (15%), magical experimentation not sanctioned by the Sorcerous Houses (12%).

Likely effects of each cause (% likelihood): if a magical storm, varied effects commonly known as Spontaneous Magic (73.5%), disruption of magic use within 200 miles (16.5%), both previously listed results (10%); if alterations due to Brightsteel mining and distribution, a magical storm (49%), eventual collapse of Nexus 17 (40%), both prior results (11%); if magical experimentation, whether sanctioned or unsanctioned, insufficient data; results are dependent on exact nature of experimentation.

*Data indicates that less than 0.113% of population within one hundred miles (281 people, most at the extreme boundary of the zone) are aware of the existence of the lake; fewer than 0.21% of those that are are aware it has a name, and only 0.38% of those are certain and correct as to what it is.

Magic twists the threads of time. Sleepers see the future in the waters of the lake. Shining metal blocks open the gates of the mind.

19th of Bargenholt
Noon
Machinist's Guildhall
Kyranis, Liella, Ira, Assorted Sword-Servitors

Through the Machinist's Guildhall, an unusual, and likely disquieting, sight is progressing. A troop of ten guardsmen, well armed and armored, with the symbol of House Ostrim, inside a strange sigil, enameled on their breastplates, to be precise. But that, in and of itself, is not necessarily strange; the rune is unusual, but otherwise, they could easily have been sent to pick up a particularly valuable device. What makes it so odd is that they're surrounding a young pair, male and female, obviously protecting them. Which means that, though the man's head, unlike that of most mages, isn't shaved, the most likely explanation, especially as the man has the same mark surrounding the ruby of Ostrim on the guard's armor, a Sorcerer and his Bond-Mate have found some cause to visit the Guildhall.

Worse, they appear to be going not towards the stockrooms and laboratories, but heading for the offices, and, to be specific, one office in particular, and not the one used by anyone who might have sold them something, thus ruining whatever fragile hope remained that it was simply them taking something the House didn't trust only slaves to guard.

Upon their arrival at the desired office, the Sword-Servitor at the front of the party raises a mailed hand, and knocks sharply on the door, likely announcing to Ira that she has a visitor of some sort, and not one who likes to be kept waiting, judging by the force with which the blow was delivered to the wood.

[The_Snark]

19th of Bargenholt
Noon
Ira Kershwin's Office

The knock caught Ira halfway through her review of the latest Guild finance reports, jolting her out of her work like a fishhook dragging some monstrous leviathan of accountancy up from a sea of numbers. She carefully laid her pen down on the desk, and checked her schedule for the day. No appointments, unless Roala Bardine had decided to show up three hours early to discuss the details of the loan she wanted. Ira thought that unlikely; the one time you could expect machinists to be absolutely on-the-hour punctual was when they wanted money from you.

At least she could be sure it wasn't Tanner bringing news from Warehouse 14; his knock was much lighter, a perfunctory rap of the knuckles before he opened the door anyway. That was a relief.

"Come in!" she called, lacing her hands together on the desk and putting on her best Austere Professional face.

[Lady Serpentine]

19th of Bargenholt
Noon
Ira Kershwin's Office
Kyranis, Liella, Ira, Sword-Servitors

The formation around the Sorcerer parts, as he steps forward, opening the door much less forcefully than one might have expected from the force of the knock, and steps inside, followed by his Bond-Mate and three of the Sword-Servitors.

"Hello. You're Ira Kershwin, correct? I'm Kyranis ir Ostrim," he says, extending a hand to her, presumably for purposes of shaking. "In any case, to business. Apparently, you're in charge of a machine that predicts events, and it started spitting doomsday prophecies nine days ago. Yes?"

Meanwhile, as he speaks, one of the guards that remained outside pulls the door shut, and takes up a position in front of the door, along with the other seven, quite clearly guarding something inside.

[DoomHat]

24th of Bargenholt
Madam Ginger’s Massage Oasis, Vice St., The Red-light district
Late Evening
Takeshi

Initially she met Takeshi’s words with a heavy lidded stare of indifference, but as he went on she seemed to grow increasingly amused. She put a hand to her mouth, suppressing a giggle at his expense.
When he finished, said gushingly, “Oh, you poor thing. Hehe, it sounds like one of your little friends is having a joke at your expense. Honey, this is a respectable business, not some rancid little cat house like you’ll find across the street. We don’t have nobody here that knows how to write in that Ching Chong Ting Tong language of yours either.”
She struggled to keep in another giggle fit before continuing, “But it’s sweet of you to warn us about the big bad scary gang or whatever. I’ll be sure to mention ‘The Family’ to the Madam when she has time. If its something more serious then any of the other dozen or so outfits that’ve tried muscling in on us, well, we‘ll get in touch with you, make you some sort of appointment,”.
She then gestured toward the door and concluded with a sigh, “But right now we‘ve got paying costumers that take priority, so its time for you to scoot along deary.”

So it was a that pair of men stood in the doorway, enthralled by the greeter girls with their supple forms and mind blurring incense.

[The_Snark]

19th of Bargenholt
Noon
Ira Kershwin's Office

Ira's Austere Professional face slipped as her visitor introduced herself as a sorcerer. The extended hand went unshaken. Guards, yes, he must be a nobleman, and that was the ruby sigil of House Ostrim on his robes—Ira wasn't an expert on pageantry like her sister, but she could recognize most of the prominent ones. Surely nobody would dare claim one of those names falsely.

It slipped again as he went straight to the thing she least wanted to talk about. "Haha, well, I wouldn't say prophecies," she said weakly, attempting a laugh. Did she sound as nervous as she felt, she wondered? "We don't deal in, um, that sort of thing, that's your field, haha! ... um. It's strictly an analytical device, a complex variation on the common abacus, if you will. Predicts the likelihood of events based on statistical data. I can see how people might be superstitious about that, hah, but it's really nothing more than, um, applied mathematics."

As she spoke—babbled, really—her mind raced. Ira did not consider herself a quick thinker; she liked to mull things over before she made decisions, preferably while sitting in a comfortable armchair with a cup of tea to stimulate her thoughts. But now her mind lurched into high speed like an elderly hen who'd just smelled a fox in the coop. Was it safe to lie to this fellow? Was he reading her thoughts even now? Maybe not, but if he was—or if he guessed she was hiding—no, she couldn't afford to risk offending him.

"But it's true there have been some recent, ah... anomalies," she added, glancing down at her desk. Thankfully, she'd already filed the papers containing the morning's predictions. "Starting, well, nine days ago. The Machine suffered a breakdown sometime on the night of the 10th, we're not sure exactly when. It wrote some, um, very peculiar things before going offline. Nothing very coherent."

"Are you investigating the events of that night, er..." She came up blank when she tried to recall the proper title for a sorcerer, and settled on a safe-sounding "Lord ir Ostrim? The red sky, and so on?"

[Lady Serpentine]

19th of Bargenholt
Noon
Ira Kershwin's Office
Kyranis, Liella, Ira, Sword-Servitors

The hand dropped back to his side once it was clear that Ira had no intention of shaking it, probably due to how flustered the Sorcerer's visit appeared to have made her.

"Just Kyranis, please. I have no wish to stand on ceremony; I find that it tends to cause needless disruptions in what would otherwise be perfectly pleasant conversations. And yes, I am investigating the events of that night...", the mage replies, pausing for a moment, as he debates how much to tell Ira about why. If she didn't know, then there was no real need for her to, but if she did... Best to tell her everything relevant. No sense in putting her off, or giving her information of a different sort - namely, what House Ostrim wanted hidden - if she had found out somehow, perhaps from one of the other Sorcerous Houses. "Not only is the phenomena almost certainly caused by magic, it affects the abilities of anyone who fights with spells, as I've seen myself. And yes, I did get confirmation of it from another, who uses a different form of such magic. I am not fool enough to think that my own experience with nothing else to back it up constitutes a city, or even House, wide effect. But there's no denying that my ice magic is more effective, if newly hungry, as is her fire, and probably the rest of the types as well."

Meanwhile, his fingers have been moving constantly, in complex, hard to follow patterns, as have Liella's; Ira, depending on her familiarity with such things, may recognize it as a form of sign language.

"I don't like how much of a panic we've sent her into, Kyranis... Be careful."

"Sorcerers are feared, you know. And not necessarily without good reason; sometimes their own Bonded are terrified of them. She's probably just jittery because of our reputation. I know I've never given you reason to feel that way, but you must admit, there are some that do."

"Yes, but if she's doing something with that machine that she's not supposed to be, I don't doubt she'd do anything to stop us finding out - I'm fairly sure she has no desire for a career in statuary, especially ice sculpture. And showing that much fear just because we showed up makes me think she might be."

The mage nodded thoughtfully at that, the last part of an exchange that had been going on since his hand dropped, though Ira is almost certainly unable to tell exactly why he's nodding, as the form of sign language they're using is unique to House Ostrim, and continued to speak out loud.

"In any case, what exactly did it write? Was there anything about ice being hungry, or cruel, or the same for fire? And what was the cause of the breakdown?"

[Tebryn]

24th of Bargenholt
Madam Ginger’s Massage Oasis, Vice St., The Red-light district
Late Evening
Takeshi

Takeshi taps his cane against the floor as he listens to the delightfully abrasive woman speak, his eye narrowing more.

"So it would seem. Forgive my horrible tongue for my inability to communicate with you, I will take my business across the street where they can understand me. A good day."

He takes his leave of the den of ill-repute more confused than before but with lots to do on his plate all the same. He would check on the young boy and make certain any member of the Tomodachi steered clear of that particular whore house until some of this haze could be cleared up. But that was not the only thing on the ticket this night. He'd procured one of these "news papers" from one of the young boys on the docks and while the read was difficult with the strange letters of the Taelaryin alphabet he had gathered enough information to know where he needed to go.

The travel to Mikado's house was refreshing after having to deal with these simpering and fated calves of such a decadent society. Even the grand Imperial City would blush at the city around him. Ruled by Demi-Gods perhaps the power of the upper class enforced such a total lack of simplicity and humility. One of these days he would simply have to break one of their faces and give them a nice speech about their hateful lives. That's what he'd have to do...the rudeness within the city was simply abhorrent. But his musings where broken when the came before the "Haunted" House, a hand curling tighter about his cane handle as he moved up to knock on the door.

[Nefarion Xid]

What Fresh Hell is This?

Only Anselme's preternatural reflexes saved him from having his arm torn from his body. The rattle of chains preceded the snap of teeth by an instant. Between the snarling and gnashing, a voice echoed in his mind as he shuffled away, prone in the blackness.

"I can smell you! I followed your stench across the planes! These chains won't hold me forever... I will find you..."

Anselme clutched his chest as he staggered to his feet, reconsidering if his kind were capable of dying from fright. Confident he was out of reach of whatever was on the end of those chains, he fumbled in his breast pocket and produced a miniature jack-o-lantern which sprang to life and cast the entire scene in warm orange light.

"Ah... wrong door," he mumbled dumbly. Behind him was the locked door of a prison cell and outside a cliched dungeon of infinite despair. He would have sighed at the lack of creativity in the captor... but the thing before him deserved neither pity nor disdain. Twisted and wrapped in barbed black chains was an enormous dusky grey coyote. The barbs dug deeper every time he tried to lunge for Anselme and soon enough he collapsed in panting, bleeding heap and whimpered. Someone had neatly wrapped a black silk scarf around the beast's eyes.

"You have her scent..."

"You don't belong here," interrupted Anselme.

"I got lost. I was searching for her in the forest..."

"So you recall. Who's the girl, hmm?" Anselme grinned beneath his wrappings and leaned in dangerously close.

Moments passed. The coyote only whined sadly.

"You've forgotten..."

"No! I'd never forget her. I'm just... I'm so tired. I've been running so long..."

"You mistook me for someone."

Fighting to recall a name, the coyote settled on a single nonsensical descriptor, "The smell of burnt coffee!"

Anselme consented that it was better than nothing, though wished he had the sense of smell the beast possessed.

"And... why are you blindfolded? Do you remember who did that?"

"I've been blinded you idiot! They stabbed out my eyes when they dragged me down here! They..."

In a wink, Anselme was dangling the silk scarf in front of the coyote's fully functional bright green eyes. He quickly stuffed it into his pocket before the beast could protest or thank him.

"What, is this some sort of costume party?" The coyote blinked, looking up an down Anselme's curious choice in attire.

"You're a talking dog. You don't get to judge."

"I'm a Fey Prince!"

"Yes, and this is my impressed face." Anselme's finger shot upwards in a definitive gesture. Spare his good eye, he was inscrutable beneath the green and black bindings.

With a flicker of his wings, Anselme did an about-face and put a hand on the door as if he'd suddenly become bored with the prisoner.

"Wait! Aren't you going to free me?"

Squinting his good eye, Anselme asked, "And why would I do that? Even if I were inclined, I'm incapable. You have to free yourself. Those aren't just the rules... it's the only way."

"How!?" begged the stray.

"You wouldn't believe me." The dungeon door flew open with no key and a mere nudge of Anselme's finger. "Now, be a good boy while I'm gone!"

The howling followed Anselme long after he'd passed back into the darkness in search of the lamppost. Back in the coyote's cell, the little forgotten jack-o-lantern seemed to frown before its light went out.

[VonDoom]

24th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Late Evening
Takeshi and Mikado

As Takeshi stepped closer to the supposedly cursed mansion, the sheer size of it was quite a surprise. Certainly, the paper had used rather magnanimous words for the place, but that could easily have been little more than sensationalism.

The manor stood large and foreboding, surrounded by a wall of stone and steel; the stone bulwark was clearly old, covered with a generous foliage of ivy, but that aside not in too much disrepair. It stood higher than a man and ended in a steel railing that was crafted into an elaborate, almost web-like pattern, with wicked-looking spikes protruding from wherever its creator thought a man might find a convenient hand-hold. The rail, on both ends, flowed smoothly into the design of the front gate itself, though the bars that blocked access didn't look nearly as harmful, blessedly lacking steel thorns of its own.

A narrow path paved with white stones lead from the gate to the entrance proper, where presumably one might find its illustrious new resident. The front lawn was actually full of various pieces of furniture at the moment, all looking quite opulent and expensive. Small shields with various names on them proclaimed them goods to be taken away, as apparently they did not please the mansion's new master. As a fellow Ikokan, Takeshi could likely see how these furnishings might displease someone with a more tasteful outlook, but it was also notable that all of them looked like antiques in their own right, probably over a hundred years old. Could it be that 'Lord Tatsudoshi' was superstitious?

Whatever the case, that Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado had managed to procure himself such a place in such short time was quite impressive.

The gateway safely passed and in front of the door, a set of knocks set Takeshi onto the path of meeting the mansion's master.

---

After about half a minute, the door of polished ebony opened. Not particularly wide, just enough to get a glimpse inside and at the attendant who had responded. It was an older man, with a prominent beak-like nose and a finely trimmed beard who briefly glared at the late visitor through a thin pince-nez, looking rather puzzled by the masked guest before a look of distaste appeared on his face. "I'm sorry, Sir, but we're not interested in joining any cults. Quite enough trouble of that sort lately. Now if you'll please remove yourself from the premises?"

Clearly the man had confused Takeshi for some religious nutcase, or some other kind of weird person due to his wearing of a mask. Perhaps a more careful approach was in order?

[Tebryn]

24th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Late Evening
Takeshi and Mikado


Takeshi of course waits patiently, one could not rush when dressed as he for certain. When a servant answered the door he only could perk a brow, clearly Mikado had some cash at hand not only to buy the house but the service with it.

"Ara ara....forgive me. I'm not here to recruit for a cult or anything crazy like that. Forgive the appearance but the night has eyes you see. I'm here to speak to the master of the House in fact, we traveled together on the Pearl and I am coming to pay a visit. Tell him a Lord Izayoi would like an audience with his august personage."

[VonDoom]

THE SHIP FROM IKOKU ADVENTURE GM POST=======
21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
===========================================

As their numbers dwindled down within mere moments, the would-be robbers began to waver -- between the shadow whip, courtesy of Aesthes, and the swift yet brutal attacks from Alfnierdo one pirate after the other went down; two of them opted wisely to jump ship when the spider-creature came close to them. Those who fell prey to the shadow-mage had no such easy recourse, as his was a subtle magic and his approach not so easily detected. One of the pirates came close, raising a scimitar with which he intended to pierce right through the scholar's chest -- but a swift swipe with the whip sent him careening over the guard rail with a pitiful wail.

"Arr! Fight, ye dogs! We can't lose here! Damn it!", the Captain sounded with rising panic, swiping at Takeshi in fury, and impotence as his feints were ignored and attacks quickly parried, as his accent slipped more and more. "Oh, be quiet you insufferable monkey! No one here cares about your Emperor!"

The pirate captain jumped forward with a powerful flourish, sending his blade straight at the Red Lantern Mage ... only to suddenly let go of the handle, causing the cutlass to catapult towards the Ikokan man! The Captain himself, however, quickly stopped his movement and turned around, running at full speed towards the entrance plank!

Takeshi: A result on a combat roll of 3+ is enough to kill him, 5+ is required to capture him.
Aesthes: You may attempt to capture the Pirate Captain as well, with a difficulty on Shadow Magic of 4+.
Alf: You're wrapped up with the last pirates and without any ranged capacities at the moment, so you're not getting a roll.

Anyone not going after the Captain, feel free to describe killing/dispatching the last of the pirates in your post.

[Tebryn]

21st of Bargenholt
The Docks, Foreign Ship Area
The Pearl
Early Afternoon

Takeshi takes a single step to the side as the cutlass slices through the air, narrowly avoiding it with all the best of his training. His master would certainly be proud if liver failure hadn't done him in years ago. With the grace of a brick to the face and all it's subtelty however Takeshi moves forward to hook his cane around the ankle of the fleeing Captain, bringing him down to the deck. Another swift move and he'd sliced his tendons on the back of his legs so he'd never move again.

"None are safe from the eyes of the Dragon. Learn this worthless scum while you dream of walking the soil that never belonged to the likes of you."

[BladeofObliviom]

23rd of Bargenholt
Near Midnight
Beneath The Vale

A grin manages to crack Zhirad's face as this occurs.

"Ah, Turel. You haven't changed one bit. Good."

A small spasm rocks the unconscious body as the wraith simply seems to disappear entirely. Soon, the body moves to stand, even as a small groan emanates.

You've outdone yourself this time: There isn't even a will to subvert or subjugate here. Also, there is a minor obstruction within the lung, probably ash. Perhaps a smith?

And as an afterthought:

"Oh. Hello, Annah."

((I'm assuming that this body is the unfortunate blacksmith. If this is not so, please do alert me and I'll fix it.))


24th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Early Evening
Chiyome

A certain Kunoichi stood outside the wall, staring at the manor within. So, this was the residence of the Ikokuan man who had taken the culture of Taelarys by storm. There really were no other people that could do such a thing in such a short time, and certainly no others that had any reason whatsoever to be in Taelarys, so Chiyome came to the logical conclusion.

Of course, the logical choice would be to enter through the front door, but where's the fun in that? Besides, she knew that she needed the practice. So it was that Chiyome came here, just after dusk, clad in the indigo garments that would help her blend into the darkness, and began to scale the wall...


Stealth Roll to sneak into Tatsudoshi manor, mostly for amusement: [roll0] (Spy III, Cunning II)

[Starsign]

21st of Bargenholt
The Pearl
Early Afternoon
Alf

Alf hadn't taken much notice to the captain of these pirates back on the ship, instead focusing on removing most of the remaining pirates. One of them coming up to strike at the spider alchemist, Alf calmly deflects the blow by grabbing the blade of it with his stone-hard arms and slashing the neck of the pirate, felling the foe quickly. Alfnierado then takes out another alchemist potion and throws it at the closest two pirates nearby; the contents shatter upon contact and set ablaze the two pirates. They wisely choose to jump for the water rather than die by flames. Alf only wondered if they knew how to swim.

Relaxing now, Alf stood back to a casual pose, standing straight with his arms to his side. "Well now, I suppose that should resolve this little problem," he says once he sees the remaining goons dealt with. He notices how tidy Takeshi took care of the leader. "For a simple merchant Lord Izayoi, you certainly have the ability to fight in conflict," he responds in an impressed tone.

[VonDoom]

24th of Bargenholt
Tatsudoshi Manor
Early Evening
Chiyome

Mikado had found quite the place here, that much was apparent as Chiyome swung herself over the spiked metal railing in a feat of kunoichi acrobatism that its poor craftsman could never have predicted.

A quick dart through the garden was faciliated by the various pieces of furniture strewn about rather conveniently. It was obvious they were there because they had been sold, but they also provided an excellent cover for her approach.

Getting into the actual building proved a bit more difficult, as all the windows were protected by metal bars and using acid to burn through was out of the question. Patience, however, as always in the shinobi business paid off as after awhile Chiyome managed to spy out one single unprotected window at the very top of the manor, likely leading into the attic if the building was actually scaled and the window used as an entrance. It was rather unassuming, but her trained eyes immediately locked onto it when an old man wearing a pince-nez opened the wooden window shutters, the soft illumination of a candelabra behind him.

Of course, for the premier kunoichi of the Amagumo clan, getting up there proved about as tiring as a light sprint in the morning. There was a brief moment of tension when Chiyome first looked through the window and saw that the servant was still there, cleaning. And looking in her direction.

But, luckily, the combination of the settung dusk and Chiyome's quick reaction spared her from discovery and after about ten minutes of, quite literally, dangling about the opportunity to slip in and right by the butler presented itself.

Luckily, besides the old man, the mansion was staffed rather sparsely as of yet and the ninja had little difficulty advancing further.

And if she knew Mikado at all (and she did), the man had definitely chosen to use the ground level for most daily activities, allowing quick and easy entry as well as departure.

--

Just as suspected, the last scion of Clan Tatsudoshi, the former Dragon Emperor of Ikoku, was currently located at ground level. He had chosen a small room, likely a former walk-in closet, as his current residence, likely so the rebuilding and rearranging outside wouldn't interfere with his activities, nor his with them. His attention was currently not on the various books and scrolls strewn about on the desk, nor on the city map that had various markers and pins stuck onto it.

Rather, Chiyome found her master playing some sort of board game by himself. It was neither Go nor Shogi, so likely of local make, with various figurines, some of which looked identical, some different. Mikado was moving a black piece, then a white piece, always in succession of each other.