Empty Spaces [IC]

[ylvathrall]

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

Or, at least, most can.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[stack]

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

[Bhaakon]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Hellbug]

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

Nothing, not even a scar.

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

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

[Segrain]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ICN]

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

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

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

Kiyanna uses the Suggestion Lesser Charm on the passerby, DC 18.
Skilled Casting Perform Dance check (DC 18): [roll0]

[TheOneHawk]

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

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

[ylvathrall]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Bhaakon]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ICN]

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

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

Triple Backflip, DC 30. Acrobatics: [roll0]

[The Hellbug]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The fox shakes her head.

"But you still want to help?"

The fox nods.

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

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

Soon, the Duskwarden Guildhouse looms in front of them.

[stack]

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

[Segrain]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[TheOneHawk]

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

[ylvathrall]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Hellbug]

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

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

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

[Bhaakon]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ICN]

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

[stack]

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

[Segrain]

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

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

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

[TheOneHawk]

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

[ylvathrall]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[TheOneHawk]

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

[Bhaakon]

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

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

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

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


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

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

[roll0]

[ICN]

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

[stack]

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

[The Hellbug]

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

[Segrain]

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

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

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

[ylvathrall]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Bhaakon]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[stack]

Empty stomach has never been conducive to proper thought, may as well stop.

What is happening to me? He stops in a familiar tavern, taking a seat and giving a nod to the owner he knew in passing.

[Segrain]

Istilia was not interested in what else the beggar boy had to tell to her; and mutual lack of interest, while somewhat surprising, was only welcome. Confusing as it was, she was trying to not think about it too much; the less she was going to be reminded about certain less than pleasant encounters, the better it was going to be. And yet, the strange voice in her head apparently considered their little conversation to be somehow important - and so far Istilia was willing to heed its cryptic words. This time, she was carefully listening to its description of her route through the city. And it helpfully informed her that the next piece that she needed was about to be given to her - and that it was... it was something weird. Being mostly ignored and dismissed by somebody whom she barely met was one thing; but simply not being recognised by somebody to whom she was paying quite an exorbitant amount of money for last week... just how literal it was?

Was there something wrong with her appearance? Normally that would not had been Istilia's first thought, but some of... things... in her visions had left quite an impression on her - and in Kaer Maga, even the weirdest looks barely turned any heads. Perhaps her death changed her in some manner that she had not noticed yet... with that thought, Istilia reached for her satchel, but quickly stopped herself. Of course, her hand mirror was left in her room - along with some other things that she was not carrying on herself, including, as she belatedly realized, the key to the room in question. In hindsight, she should had took it, and probably even used it to leave the room and the building through the door as any normal person, but the call of heavens was not for normal people. And if what the voice in her head was saying about not being recognised was as literal as she now feared, she was probably not going to get a key's copy from the innkeeper. But, perhaps, she could get something else?

"Looking for the room, I suppose", - her first words were honestly true; but the rest were going to be less so, and Istilia turned to look around the inn as if searching for someone, hiding her expression from the innkeeper. - "Maybe I am too late... ah, maybe you can help me? Had you seen today your lodger, the one from room number... seven, I think? We were supposed to meet for a performance, but now I am worried whether she is all right..." - with luck, reminding about her existence could lead to actually being recognised, and then she could pretend that it was merely a joke. More likely, she was going to at least hear innkeeper's side of things - and if mentioning the performer renting her room was not going to remind him about anything... then she probably had problems bigger than worrying about getting back her key.

[The Hellbug]

Diana's question about her name erases any small inkling of doubt as to the current situation from Rose's mind. "Rose Tosscobble," she says with a bow, "and I don't know exactly where I'll be staying yet so I'll just check in here periodically until I know where I'll be, if you don't mind. And thanks for that."

With Diana busy, there's nothing more for Rose at the Duskwarden Guildhouse so she again takes to the streets of Bis. She is soon interrupted, however, by a rumbling in her stomach. "You're probably hungry, too," she comments to Medea, "what do you say we find an inn, settle down, and get some food? It'll be good to sit down and try to sort some of this situation out."

Medea yips in cheerful agreement, and Rose keeps her eye out for the next suitable-looking establishment.

[ICN]

Eh? Kiyanna carefully scanned Aakif's face, but found no trace of recognition. Aakif wasn't that good a liar, there was no way he could fake it that well, especially after- Wait, the scarf! Kiyanna swishes a tail around to see the golden scarf still attached. The scarf must be cursed or something, that was the only explanation. She untied it, then paused before handing it off to someone. It was such a pretty scarf... Someone might be able to lift the curse, right? No sense in getting rid of it yet. There was still the matter of her drink to be taken care of though. Kiyanna narrowed her eyes and pointed at Aakif. "I'll see you later." She stomped her way out of the brothel and started readjusting her clothing. What had that blonde number he liked been? With a thought she shifted, and completed her adjustments to her ensemble. Scarves were still in evidence, but in a way that diverted attention away rather than gathering it. Kiyanna swayed back into the Foxy Scarf and up to the bar, leaning in close to Aakif. "Hey there fella, pour me a drink?" She slowly runs her eyes up and down Aakif's body. "Why don't you pour one for yourself while you're at it?"

[TheOneHawk]

Juma glares around himself at the voice's biting remarks, but still he can sense nothing through his symbionts. Indeed, it seems they cannot even hear the voice themselves and their growing worry can easily be sensed through the bond. Alive when he should not be, not recognized by those he's known for years and hearing a voice unheard by even those as closely joined to him as his blades. Something is very clearly wrong, but the only lead he has is the instructions of the voice so he bows his head and does at it says, heading towards Hospice.

[ylvathrall]

Naturally Mister Vanilla realizes, as he and Master Lock head in the direction of the market, that he will likely have more success if he couches his suggestion in a way which appeals more clearly to Master Lock's own interests. For instance, his employer clearly favors gaudy jewelry, although of course he does demand quality as well as appearance. It also occurs to him that the House of Chrysanthemums (a well-known theater and brothel within Hospice) is soon to permanently close its doors following the untimely death of its founder. As such, the House is currently selling all of its prop jewelry, much of which is quite valuable, at discount prices. Such an opportunity might well be of interest to Master Lock.

As Peregrin Ardoc enters the tavern, he notes that his familiar gesture is not returned by the tavern's owner. In fact, the man looks more confused than anything. Similarly, the other patrons do not seem to have any particular response to his entrance, including several whom he's certain he's seen here before.

"Room seven?" the innkeeper says, sounding vaguely confused. "I haven't had a lodger in seven in weeks. I think you may have the wrong room, miss. That, or this performer was leading you on."

While his words confirmed her fears, Istilia Ennira is unwilling to leave it at that, and decides to seek further confirmation that the room is unoccupied. If nothing else, she'd rather not leave her belongings there if she is no longer recognized as renting the space.

Before Rose can settle on a dining establishment (for of course there are a great many in Hospice, and newcomers are well-advised to take care in their selection), she sees an impeccably dressed human man waving to her from a table in an outdoor seating area. This table is associated with an uncommonly expensive and exclusive restaurant, a place which Rose has never before had cause to frequent.

"Good day! You must be the sorceress, yes?" the man calls, removing any doubt as to whether he is intending to wave to her in particular. "You're the first to arrive, well done on that. Please, take a seat. The others should be here...well, fairly shortly."

Indeed, only a few moments pass before a bleeding, mutilated wreck of a man approaches and is similarly waved over.

Aakif seems perplexed when Kiyanna abruptly leaves. When she returns, though, there is nothing ambiguous about his response; he flushes, looks away and steals glances at her when he thinks she isn't looking, and in general is the very picture of a somewhat bashful youth confronted with his own ideal of beauty. He begins to stammer an answer, then simply nods shakily as Kiyanna looks him over. He pours two small glasses of a strong, sweet-smelling plum liqueur and sets them on the bar.

The smell does remind Kiyanna that he hasn't eaten since awakening, and currently feels more than a touch hungry. He thinks it best that, after finishing its business here, they go to Hospice and find something to eat before further investigating the cursed scarf (since, while the Foxy Scarf is known for many things, its talented chefs are not one of them).

Upon reaching Hospice, Juma considers for a moment where he might eat. It is not so simple a question as it might seem, as even in Kaer Maga not every restaurant is pleased to have him as a customer, nor are they all able to provide his special diet. Before he can make a decision, though, he sees an impeccably dressed human man waving to him from a table in an outdoor seating area. This table is associated with an uncommonly expensive and exclusive restaurant, a place which Juma has never before had cause to frequent.

"Good day! You must be the martyr, yes?" the man calls, removing any doubt as to whether he is intending to wave to Juma in particular. "Well, it takes all sorts, I suppose. Please, take a seat. The others should be along before too long."

Juma notes that there is also a halfling in the area who, judging by the human man's attitude, is most likely one of these others.

[The Hellbug]

Rose looks back over her shoulder in confusion when the well-dressed man beckons, searching the crowd for the person whose attention he is trying to attract, but her eyes only fall upon the normal hustle and bustle of a Kaer Maga thoroughfare. She returns her gaze to the enigmatic man and points to herself, asking, "me?"

When he continues, Rose can only assume that she, indeed, is the diner's target. Medea looks at Rose and tilts her head to the side. "No, I don't know him," the sorceress answers her familiar's silent question, "do you have any idea who he is?"

The fox shakes her head.

The restaurant looks crowded enough so Rose assumes she won't be in any danger from the man. Furthermore, she is well-aware that the voice in her head's knowledge of her whereabouts is likely due to some sort of divination magic, and this man seems to have been waiting for her, like he knew she would be pass through this way. As she approaches the table, she asks, "Who are you? And you'll have to excuse me for asking, but if you've been waiting for me in particular, how did you know to wait here?"

[Bhaakon]

"But, Master Lock, what of the estate sale at the House of Chrysanthemums?" Mitch repeats the narrator's suggestion as if it were his very own, like a good middle manager, cutting the narrator out of any chance at credit.

"The what? That filthy brothel? Why would I wish to purchase prostitutes? Even if I had the inclination, I'd much rather rent them than be held responsible for room and board. Pimping, Mitchell, is not a business in which profit is accrued with ease."

"Ah, I suppose so, sir. But I was suggesting that we procure the jewelry, sir. I believe the house was famous for its, er...shows, with many many pieces of fanciful ornamentation. Perhaps some of the less cultured bidders will prove unable to tell the difference between the show pieces and the real gems?" Mitchell answers, hoping that the voice in his head wasn't once again leading him astray. It hadn't exactly been wrong, yet, but certainly improper. He rather needed to make a good impression on Master Lock after the morning's string of disasters.

"This dubious tip of yours had better prove fruitful, Mitchell, or we will have to revisit the matter of your Taxfest bonus. Though I cannot for the life of me figure out how you came to know the business details of a Hospice cathouse." Master Lock lets the threat hang ominously as he turns towards Kaer Maga's hospitality district.

[stack]

Peregrin takes a seat, perplexed. No one seems to know me...what could have happened?know arcana to guess at a magic effect that could cause mass amnesia using invocation to roll twice and take best [roll0][roll1]

[Segrain]

""Leading me on"..." - Istilia muttered, rolling her eyes with an irritated expression that she had to fake only to keep from turning into that of anger. - "In more than one way, I assure you. I... should probably go look for her elsewhere... goodbye..." - with that, she turned around and fled the inn before any of her real thoughts on the matter could make themselves obvious. Not that she had many coherent thoughts at the moment, but those that she had were not for anyone's ears. Except, of course, those of her weird observer, but if he goaded her into hearing that she suddenly had never existed, then he could deal with the consequences. Probably better than Istilia herself could - even though she somewhat expected such an answer, she had not actually planned anything in case of it being given. It was not a good day for any of her plans, anyway.

Besides, somebody else clearly had own plans for her. But even after willingly going along with some of them, Istilia only learned to take great care with following the voice's directions any further. And it wanted her to... somehow make sure that her belongings were untouched? Despite what some people - including, apparently, even the voice in her head - tended to assume, she was not that kind of a dancer. True, it was not really a theft to take what was already hers, but the distinction was not going to help her break into the room unnoticed or get away unpunished. It was just not worth the trouble; living on the open road, Istilia long ago learned the habit of wanderers everywhere to have what she truly needed on herself. Leaving behind spare clothes, some trinkets and no great riches was a loss, but it was not a disaster. Perhaps it was time to leave Kaer Maga and go wandering once again.

Not that she had any idea whither she should go. As long as Istilia could remember, her life of travelling was always following a certain lure - the same one that brought her to her visions and to her death, but that mattered little. She was not going to replace it with some strange voice in her head trying to give her orders. She just... needed some time to think. Maybe some place to sit down and ponder her situation again, maybe she was still missing something. Some place that was not that inn. She needed fresh air and open sky over her head, even if it was silent at the moment, - and so Istilia aimlessly walked down the Hospice's streets, trying to get her thoughts in order.

[ICN]

Kiyanna reflexively begins protesting the slight against the Foxy Scarf, then stops. That's right, she had been fixing the food's flavor magically for years now; she wasn't even sure what it actually tasted like at this point. But there were more pressing issues than food at the moment. Kiyanna gives Aakif a warm smile as she hexes his drink with a particularly disgusting flavor before raising her own. "I like your taste. To... 'new' friends?"

[TheOneHawk]

Juma pauses when the man calls to him. He was of course used to people calling out to him on the street for various reasons, many associated with his appearance, but this seemed different if only for the fact that the voice had remarked upon it. He had followed its instructions this far, might as well keep going. He walks up to the man and lowers his head respectfully. "My name is Juma, though I am no martyr. Who are you? I do not believe we have met."

[ylvathrall]

"I apologize if the term offends you," the man says to Juma. "You must realize, my knowledge of you is fairly limited. Now, while I'm sure you have many questions, I would ask that you please be patient just a little longer. The others will be here shortly, I think, and my employer would much prefer not to have to explain things more than once."

Indeed, it isn't long at all before another pair of people are beckoned closer. One is a rather average-looking human man, while the other is a human female who seems, more than anything else, colorful.

It does not take long at all to find the sale in question, and while Master Lock may question the providence of this information, he can hardly complain about the sale itself. There's a wide variety of goods on sale, ranging from jewelry and clothing to perfumes and even furniture.

As Master Lock is perusing these wares, Mister Vanilla sees an impeccably dressed human man waving to him from a table in an outdoor seating area. This table is associated with an uncommonly expensive and exclusive restaurant, a place which Mister Vanilla has never before had cause to frequent.

"Good day! You must be the guard, yes?" the man calls, removing any doubt as to whether he is intending to wave to Mister Vanilla in particular. "Glad to see you made it safely. Please, take a seat. The others should be along before too long."

There are two other people at the table with him, one a female halfling and the other a rather mutilated, seemingly human man. Presumably, these are some of the "others" in question.

That'll be an Appraise check from Lock to find the good deals at the estate sale.

Try as he might, Peregrin Ardoc simply cannot bring such an event to mind. It would surely require extremely powerful magic, something far in excess of what most spellcasters can muster, but he doesn't remember any occasion on which such a thing actually happened. Then again, considering the nature of what such magic does, he wouldn't.

With this troubling thought in mind, he finishes his meal and goes back out to Hospice.

As Istilia Ennira is wandering the streets, trying to clear her mind and settle on a decision, she sees an impeccably dressed human man waving to her from a table in an outdoor seating area. This table is associated with an uncommonly expensive and exclusive restaurant, a place which she has never before had cause to frequent.

"Good day! You must be the dancer, yes?" the man calls, removing any doubt as to whether he is intending to wave to Istilia Ennira in particular. "Glad to have you. I saw you perform once, you know; I'm told I quite enjoyed it. Please, take a seat. The others should be along before too long."

Istilia Ennira sees a female halling and a rather mutilated, seemingly human man already sitting at the table. Additionally, a rather average-looking human man is also in the area, and judging from the well-dressed man's attitude seems to be one of these "others."

"Oh, yes," Aakif says, trying and failing to sound interesting and seductive. "I love making...friends." He takes a drink, and a series of interesting expressions crosses his face before he settles on a choked smile, gagging down the drink.

[stack]

Hospice, there's an idea...

Why is that an idea? I never go to hospice? Why would I, I live on the other side of the city. Went there a few weeks ago for a commission, but its not like I have friends there.

Not that my friends remember me anyhow.

How could magic this powerful go unnoticed? And why to I keep thinking about myself in a strange voice, in the third person?

He shrugs to himself. Not like I have any better ideas.

[Bhaakon]

With Master Lock perusing the wares at the estate sale, there isn't a whole lot for Mitch to do but stand around trying not to appear bored. He'd be lugging around the purchases once they were finalized, of course, but the haggling could take quite some time. So when the well-heeled maître d' waives him over, Mitch humors him. Clearly a man who put that much care into his appearance wouldn't make a spectacle of himself if the matter was not an important one.

"Guard? Well, that's only one of my functions. I also provide consultation on matters of..." The trails off as the man indicates a table with a halfling and a scarified freak. "Y...you must be kidding, sir. This is hardly appropriate company for a meal, or even just a cup of coffee. Is 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' no longer the minimum standard for fine dinning?" Mitch pointedly inquires of the gentleman-waiter while staring down his nose at the mangled exhibitionist in tattered trousers and the pint-sized waif with stereotypically bare feet.

[The Hellbug]

"Your employer?" Rose asks aloud as she scans the restaurant's other patrons, but she doesn't expect to get a response. Her attention, however, is soon drawn to the other arrival, the mutilated mess of a man who was beckoned soon after her. Rose has been in Kaer Maga for a couple months, now, and there are somethings that may have disgusted her before that she has learned to live with, but this man isn't one of them. The symbols carved into his body, the blades emerging from his arms: this 'martyr' could never be considered normal even here. However, the worst feature is the sockets of his eyes, whose empty gaze sends an involuntary shiver down Rose's spine. The halfling almost opens her mouth to try to make conversation with the newcomer, but the words won't come, and she is left in awkward silence. If 'the others' are all like this, I may have to find a reason to excuse myself...

Her fear is soon assuaged by the arrival of the 'guard', whose appearance is far more in the realm of normal. In fact, Rose almost begins to introduce herself when he scoffs at the current company at the table. Medea's hackles bristle at his insults, but Rose is more embarrassed than anything, suddenly realizing how out of place she is. It's not for lack of means, as she could presumably afford any normal fare in the city without any trouble, but she has generally preferred more practical dining. "It's not exactly what I had in mind, either, but it seems we have a mutual admirer," she finally replies, gesturing towards her host.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma's expression remains impassive to both the shocked silence and disparaging comments. He's heard and seen it all before, very few were comfortable with this level of self mutilation outside of very select cults. It did hurt a little, perhaps more than it would have before with his dismissal from the church of Vildeis, but mostly he just feels numbed to it. Once the man has finished his miniature rant, Juma speaks again to the man who had invited him to join. "It is not that the term offends me, I merely feel it to be inaccurate. Is not the purpose of a martyr's death to inspire? I have already died and appear to have been more forgotten than anything else. Reactions like these," he gestures towards Rose and Mitch, "are all I ever seem to inspire in others."

[Segrain]

After being treated as if she had never existed at all, being called by somebody was just like a breath of fresh air: coveted, refreshing and, ultimately, of no help whatsoever in her circumstances. That was not a friendly expression of recognition; all that the unfamiliar man saw in her was a dancer - a description that, despite certain disagreements over its more nuanced meanings, Istilia never refused to accept in its true sense. Normally she thought herself somewhat above the level of some street "artists", barely worth of such a name, who could be called with a snap of fingers and dismissed with a wave of hand; but at the moment, she had to swallow her pride. Her coinpurse could use some filling after the loss of everything that was paid at that inn's prices, and this place did look expensive enough to be worth her time. For once, the day started turning to the better.

Of course, it did not last long. Approaching the table, Istilia quickly realized her mistake: whomever could those people be, fellow performers they were certainly not. Was she being invited to join some party in a place of such stature as a guest? That thought did not even cross her mind at first - but, she had to agree, at least some of those people looked as much out of place as she did, if not more. In fact, Istilia could not help but stare at the scarified man, only practice of years of dancing saving her lightfoot stride from tripping when she recognised what she saw. Scars of battle were a familiar sight, even if usually not so plentiful; but those marks were something else. An already prepared question died before it could escape her lips, and she was not yet willing to give voice to other words that were so swift to come to her tongue.

Befuddled and silent, Istilia just stood still, watching the exchange between the others. A group of complete strangers, it seemed; and though she had shared many a bonfire with those whom she had never met before, at least people of open road knew to be friendly to each other. Still, there was no use to intervene in somebody else's arguing - and so she turned to the man who called her. "Told by whom ?" - she finally managed to enunciate, remembering what confused her in the first place. If everybody else forgot her, what made that man so different? Of course, entire compliment could be a lie of flattery, as she at first assumed when she thought it merely an attempt to arrange a performance, - but it was worded too weirdly, and the scarified man's words about his own death seemed to imply that there was far more to it. And, whatever it was, she was willing to listen.

[ICN]

Kiyanna gives Aakif a delighted smile as he downs the drink. "Excellent. Care to share another with me? And you must tell me how this establishment got its wonderful name." After the second attempt at the same trick, Kiyanna leaves Aakif with a wink and a promise to stop by again sometime. Alright, she had taken her revenge for Aakif's transgression of forgetting her, it was time to deal with the 'mysterious' voice. There was obviously a trap in Hospice, but smashing straight through it would force Sila to finally admit to Kiyanna's superiority. She spent a moment considering a proper form, then shifted into a burly, grizzled male half-orc. An adjustment here, an adjustment there, and Kiyanna was swinging off to Hospice.

[ylvathrall]

"This is certainly unorthodox," the man says. "But then, the circumstances are quite unusual as well. Please, just wait a moment more; I assure you this will all make...if not sense, precisely, as close to it as we can come under the circumstances."

Shortly after exiting the tavern, Peregrin Ardoc sees an impeccably dressed human man waving to him from a table in an outdoor seating area. This table is associated with an uncommonly expensive and exclusive restaurant, a place which Peregrin Ardoc has never before had cause to frequent.

"Good day! You must be the craftsman, yes?" the man calls, removing any doubt as to whether he is intending to wave to Peregrin Ardoc in particular. "Glad you could make it. Ah, I'm sure you hear that one all the time, forgive me. Please, take a seat. Only waiting on one more now, it shouldn't be but a moment."

Peregrin Ardoc also sees several other people already at the table, ranging from a colorfully-garbed Varisian to a rather mutilated man with blades in his arms. It isn't entirely clear what any of them might have in common.

Aakif looks rather horror-struck at Kiyanna's suggestion, but manages a shaky grin and pours another round of the liqueur. He gags while drinking the second glass, and seems barely able to keep it down, but after a moment has his feeble attempt at a fake smile in place once again. "The name?" he says. "Well, that's an...interesting story. We, um...we have dances here sometimes, yeah? And then there was this time that a fox snuck in and it took a nap in the box of scarves one of the dancer was using. She pulled it out without realizing it, and she didn't want to stop the show, so she just pretended it was a part of the dance."

This story is, of course, entirely false, and Aakif clearly has no idea what the actual reason for the Foxy Scarf's name might be. He seems utterly delighted by her parting words, although his ability to express this delight is somewhat limited by the fact that he now feels somewhat nauseous.

Having arrived in Hospice, Kiyanna has no difficulty finding the location it was sent to, as soon after entering Hospice, he sees an impeccably dressed human man waving to him from a table in an outdoor seating area. This table is associated with an uncommonly expensive and exclusive restaurant, a place which Kiyanna has never before had cause to frequent.

"Good day! You must be...ah, 'the crazy fox bitch,' yes?" the man calls, removing any doubt as to whether he is intending to wave to Kiyanna in particular. "Put your real face back on, if you please. It's impolite for only one person at the table to be wearing a mask."

As the half-orc (who, apparently, is also some sort of fox?) makes his way to the table, the man who beckoned you over clears his throat. "Well, we're all here, so now we can begin. Apologies for the wait; this sort of thing is difficult to coordinate, as you might imagine. Now, this conversation does call for somewhat more...discretion than can be had here, so if I can trouble you to wait just a little longer, we should move this inside."

Naturally, all of the guests are wise enough to follow him inside without complaint.

Inside, the man whisks the guests through the restaurant quickly enough that you can hardly appreciate the quality of the establishment. Some of the staff do look askance at some of the guests, but evidently the host has enough influence here that such indiscretions are forgiven, because none of them stop the group.

In a private (and extremely well-furnished) room, our heroes find the person whom they were evidently brought to meet, sitting at a large table. This table is covered in an enormous and highly varied spread of food, containing everything from slices of raw meat to delicate pastries. There is something unique about the person waiting, though, for none of those present can distinguish anything about the person's appearance beyond a vague impression of extremely tasteful dress (or, at least, if they do discern anything more clearly, this is all that sticks in their minds when they look away). Furthermore, it does not even occur to them that this lack is in any way noteworthy or remarkable; they do not even realize that it is the case.

"Good morning," the host says, in a resonant voice. "I'm sure you have many questions, but for the sake of convenience, perhaps it would be best to start with a round of introductions?"

You can make a DC 15 Will save to realize that there's something odd about the fact that you can't perceive this person in any meaningful way. Note that this doesn't actually let you perceive them, it just makes it so that you realize it's going on before the voice tells you so. This is a mind-affecting compulsion effect.

[Bhaakon]

Mitch communicates his disapproval of the entire situation with a tight frown and a rumbling *harrumph*, but bites his tongue and follows along. The promise of this entire situation making some modicum of sense was too much to pass up over ill company. It was positively amazing what a reasonable man could force himself to endure under the weight of desperation.

The first impression of their host is a positive one. Well dressed and polite, two points in his favor. And clearly this man--Mitch assumes it's a man, because why wouldn't he be--had taken great pains to not be recognized. Even that damnable voice in head couldn't provide a clear identity beyond pointing out the way his features seemed completely unable to leave a lasting impression. Mitch understands completely, even feels a twinge of jealousy. If only I'd been able to take such a precaution before being seen with these...undesirables. Sigh.

"Journeyman Mitchell Vanilla." Mitch introduces himself to their host with a respectful--but not subservient--tip of his head. "Of the Widdershins Vanillas." An important distinction. The other branch of the family was not one to be associated with.

[The Hellbug]

Rose silently thanks the gods that the rest of the arrivals are less odd-looking than the eyeless man, especially since she is embarrassed by his pointing out of her reaction to his appearance. That, alone, is enough to keep her silent until the man who waved them all over invites them inside. Rose follows him deeper into the restaurant curious at who would have summoned such a strange group together. None of them seemed to recognize the man outside either, though he recognized each of us in turn--the only person, I might add, who has recognized me at all since I woke up, and I've certainly never met him before at all. What could be the meaning of this? the halfling ponders, but she gets no help from Medea, who mostly seems to be concerned that the pair's original intention in perusing the district might go forgotten.

Their host is a strange one, or, at least, that is what the voice in Rose's head says. She, for one, doesn't see anything wrong with the woman, though she does have a voice that puts the halfling at ease. She feels that Medea is somewhat concerned, and Rose also can't fathom the fox's feelings, given that her previous worry seems to have been entirely misplaced. In fact, the spread on the table looks wonderful, and, if she's counting correctly, Rose hasn't eaten in several days, making it look and smell all the better.

However, there are their hosts wishes to attend to first, and Rose gives a slight curtsy with her introduction, following on the heels of Mr. Vanilla. "I don't have any fancy titles like that, and I doubt you've heard of where I've come from," she tells the rest, "but I'm Rose Tosscobble, and this is Medea. We're in Kaer Maga, here, following inquiries into arcane practices." She keeps it short, for now, hoping to get these introductions out of the way as quickly as possible so that she can find out why their host has brought them here.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma silently follows their host into the private room and seats himself towards the foot of the table, empty eyesockets cast towards the floor. He could see his surroundings easily through his symbionts and he had found most people were averse to making what would normally be eye contact with him. When called for an introduction, however, he instinctively turns his empty eyes towards the host and speaks in a soft voice. "My name is Juma. I am a devotee of Vildeis and until recently resided in her temple in the the Warren."

[stack]

Well, first person to recognize me, so perhaps I can get some answers here. Peregrin follows, perplexed and nonplussed, taking a seat.will save [roll0]
"Peregrin Ardoc. Of...well, you know. And what magic is veiling that woman?"

[Segrain]

Istilia frowned at the lack of any answer to her question, but stayed silent. Whatever was the reason behind gathering such a strange group, it was better to be worth having to deal with all the weirdness. Not that she had anything better to do at such an early hour, other than trying to piece together the mystery of her current situation - but even if this meeting could provide any insight into that, it was not happening yet. At least, the group seemed to be complete... although she could only roll eyes at the form of addressing used for the halforc. Surely, he was not the one with the fox?

It did not get any better once the group moved inside, either. She felt out of place somewhere so expensive, and being in a company so weird was not making it any better - and neither was leaving what in Kaer Maga passed for open sky. It better was to be worth it - and the appearance of their host made her doubt that optimistic expectation once again. What was it that she just heard about being the only one to wear the mask? Apparently, standards of the servant were not applied to his employer - and she did not like what it implied about their place in the scheme of things.

Still, it was only right for the group of strangers to introduce themselves. That made many things easier; at least, she could understand the look in the eyes of the man from Widdershins, and the... lack of such of Vildeis's servant. Pondering that somewhat familiar name, she almost missed that it was her turn to speak. "Istilia Ennira", - she said simply, and even that was too much. The voice in her head seemed to be fond of referring to her with full name, but normally she only introduced herself to strangers like these by name alone, giving the surname only to fellow Varisians who could turn out to be of some distant kin... that thought brought her mind back to the unsolved strangeness. Hopefully, their host was going to explain something; but it was not a good day for hopes.

[ICN]

Kiyanna snorts. "'Crazy fox bitch'? And you call me impolite. But I suppose a concession may not be too much to ask." He pulls a fox-shaped scarf from his sleeve and sets it around his neck, then gives the man a toothy grin. "There." Kiyanna hesitates before following the man in. Six people was a lot to handle... But one of them was mostly dead already; clearly Sila had been scraping the bottom of the barrel with her recruitment. The others wouldn't be much better. Kiyanna focuses for a moment, then follows the others inside the building, one of his scarves fluttering more than it should be.

When Kiyanna enters the room with the mysterious individual, he snorts again. He says nothing, but pulls another scarf from his sleeve and ties it around the fox's head as a mask. This was all getting very strange; it would be interesting to see where it all ended up. In the meantime, he starts in on the food on the table. When Kiyanna's turn comes, he stands up with a flourish. "I am Kiyanna, though I'm sure you all already knew that. Shall we begin?"


Kiyanna uses Telekinesis on his bladed scarf and maintains concentration.
Skilled casting check: [roll0]

[ylvathrall]

"Indeed," the host says to Kiyanna's question. "I am called Uncle Guden, and this is my steward, Andra Vallos. You will, I hope, forgive the veil; I go to rather considerable lengths to maintain my anonymity. Now, before any other questions, there is one additional thing you all have in common, but which none of you mentioned. Each of you is, or rather was, dead. You now seem to be...removed, perhaps, is the word? Any mark you may have left on the world has been wiped away, any memory someone might have of you gone. As of this moment, the person you just introduced yourself as? That person only exists to the people in this room. As such, Kiyanna, I strongly suggest that you not attempt to kill your fellow guests."

Uncle Guden is one of the most prominent residents of the city, sometimes referred to as "the best man in Kaer Maga." This reputation comes from his habit of extreme generosity, as he's known to provide all sorts of assistance to almost anyone in the city.

Despite this prominence, Uncle Guden is also one of the most enigmatic figures in the city. It's not clear what, if any, he gets out of his philanthropy, since he never asks anything in return. Furthermore, he never appears in person, instead acting indirectly or sending intermediaries. As such, everything about him (including his gender, which is simply presumed from the title of Uncle) is a near-total mystery.

[Bhaakon]

"Of course, Uncle Guden." Mitch begins, immediately recognizing the name. The man's love of privacy was legendary, but completely reasonable in this city. His philanthropic efforts were...well, some eccentricities were to be expected from the rich and powerful. At least he hadn't dones something silly like gouge his eyes out. Still, there were...

Wait.

"Er...I can assure you, sir, that I am very much alive." Mitch argues, tone loud and indignant. "Certainly I could see the argument that some of us are less than entirely whole," his gaze shifts to Juma breifly, "but not I."

[stack]

Peregrin steeples his fingers and stares intensely at the table. "Powerful magic is evident in this entire affair. For myself, impeding death was evident prior to waking in a distant location unharmed. The breadth of the effect lends credence to the tale, numerous minor and significant acquaintances failed to react as expected. What one who is capable of such enchantment needs from anyone else is highly pertinent. And suspect. So, are you the cause of this, or something else? To the point, what is going on?" At the end, he looks up at their host intently.

[The Hellbug]

Attempt to kill your fellow guests? Rose surveys Kiyanna intently. He could be a killer, and Vallos had certainly given him a strange title...

However, she is able to relax somewhat when she realizes that she has heard the name of Uncle Guden before, just rumors, of course, and the halfling had taken those with a grain of salt. But if this was, indeed, Uncle Guden (for it could easily still be a body double, given the man's reputation, and how would anyone tell, anyway?), there would be no violence at this table without his approval.

Rose doesn't know if it would be polite to start eating yet (though she can see Medea eyeing the raw cuts of meat) so she merely listens along with the Ardoc's line of questioning, nodding to herself in agreement with him. Uncle Guden's claim would normally be remarkably far-fetched, but Rose could still almost feel the dagger in her chest, and her own experiences this morning had mirrored Peregrine's, apparently. When he finishes, Rose, in a somewhat more accusatory tone than she had intended, adds, "and one more thing: if you aren't responsible for this 'removal', how do you recognize who we are, and how were you able to gather us here?"

[ylvathrall]

"Well, as you may have guessed, I am a...rather talented wizard," Uncle Guden says. "Not remotely enough to manage such a thing myself, but it seems my defenses were sufficient to prevent my mind from being affected. It took some time for me to realize what had happened, myself. As to how I was able to gather you here...well, that was a complete stroke of luck. Each of you has a very unusual magical aura. The lingering effect of your resurrection and removal, I presume? In any case, I was able to show my steward how to detect it, and he invited you in as he did. Frankly, I'm astonished it took as little time as it did.

[stack]

"Which leaves the question of who or what did do it, which you have not spoken of. As for why us, that remains entirely open unless we just happened to be the ones who died at some fortuitous instant, which seems improbable."

[Segrain]

The man knew a lot about her - their - situation. More that Istilia herself understood yet, in a certain sense. That was not much of a surprise; after all, even some voice in her head seemed to be more aware of her circumstances than she herself was. And that actually was suspicious. One stranger holding some mysterious power beyond her comprehension taking a sudden interest in her existence was bad enough, but two at once? Even if there was no connection between them, it was turning more and more like one of those situations in which all instincts of a vagabond screamed to leave it all behind, flee somewhither far away and never return. And yet... if the name that the man gave was truly his own, then, just maybe, his company was somewhat preferable to that of anybody else whose attention could be attracted by the happening weirdness. And the company of others, however strange they were, was probably safer than trying to deal with it alone could be.

Not that they were particularly helpful so far. In no rush to speak herself without some thinking first, Istilia listened to what others had to say with attention; but what they were saying was not making a lot of sense. It was useless to deny that something happened to her - and if it was not death, there was no other word to describe it. It was not much better to question the motives of such an act - even if it was somebody's act, there was no way to guess who was it. Pondering the reasons behind their gathering was a step in right direction... but, as Istilia learned too well in her past life, following the right path was not enough until the very end of it - and the answers that could be given along the way were not enough to prepare for what was awaiting at the destination. No, it was not the alleged reasoning behind their meeting that mattered.

"No. Not "how". Wrong question", - Istilia shook her head, looking at the halfling, and turned to their host. - "If you are the man whom you claim to be, then it is not surprising how you were able to gather us. What I have to ask is: why? What goal are you trying to achieve, that even a man of your power sees some need in gathering us so swiftly, despite the... time that it took to realize? What is the purpose of bringing us all together?" - her voice indicated more curiosity and confusion, but behind the mask of trying to make her questions sound politely, Istilia was worried - and afraid. She did not trust the man, no matter how respectable a name he pretended to have, and she could only guess his reasons that he kept to himself; and her random guesses were not making it any easier to trust.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma mostly simply sits silently and listens to the exchange. So everyone in this group had undergone something similar to his own... experience. That was certainly interesting, if it were true. How similar were their situations really, though? Did they awake with daggers, did they hear the voice? This last question seems like it could be quite informative, so he speaks quietly. "Does anyone else hear a strange voice directing their actions since the event?"

[Bhaakon]

Mitch bites his tongue, somewhat irked that the eyeless man seemed to share the same narration. That he thought to ask about it first was simply salt rubbed in the wound. Still, he wouldn't give any of them the satisfaction of seeing Mitchell Vanilla distressed. He calmly reaches down to the table and grabs a cream puff, and if he proceeds to stuff the thing into his mouth in an entirely unseemly manner, quickly followed by a second, it's only because they're so delicious. It's absolutely not a textbook case of eating to relieve stress.

He waits for an answer to the questions, reaching for a cup of coffee to wash down the pastries.

[ylvathrall]

"I would think that would be self-evident," Uncle Gulden says in response to Istilia. "I brought you here because this is one of the most significant magical events in recent memory. Quite frankly, I'm at a loss to explain what happened here, and that is not something that I say often. I was hoping that you could provide some explanation as to why you might have been affected by this. A great many people die in Kaer Maga, after all. It seems like there must be some reason why you, specifically, were selected, but I've no notion what it might have been."

[ICN]

Kiyanna studies Uncle Guden as best she can through the enchantment. Huh. It seemed like it was telling the truth. Kiyanna sat down heavily. It was possible that he had no idea whatsoever about what was going on. A living corpse, one of the Ardoc brothers-his fingers twitched-, the normal, if slightly portly, stuffy man who was now gorging himself, the quiet girl with excellent dress sense who seemed about to jump out of her skin, and the halfling with impeccable taste; they seemed chosen at random, with no overlying theme or motive at all. And now Uncle Guden had gathered them together for a personal meeting. Maybe Kiyanna actually had died, maybe this all wasn't some elaborate revenge scheme by Sila Rulthric. This was all starting to get to be a bit much to handle. Kiyanna pulls a few scarves from his robe and holds them up for the table to see. "Anyone want a scarf?"

[The Hellbug]

Rose frowns at Istilia's dismissal of her question but decides to remain silent for the moment, instead taking the opportunity to fill her plate from the exquisite spread before her.

'How' is certainly important, she thinks to herself as she chews on a pastry, we were all summoned off the street by a stranger. When you don't even have to make an effort to pass as a stranger to everyone you've ever known, aren't the methods of the one person who can pick you out--that you've never even met, mind!--important to know?

Juma's question piques her interest in the conversation again, though. Loathe as Rose is to appear less than sane in any company (as hearing voices in her head would make her seem, especially when particularly associated with one such as this Juma), her curiosity at the nature of the voice proves to be the stronger motivator. "I have," she answers the acolyte of Vildeis, forcing herself to look at him where his eyes should be and turning to face Uncle Guden as she finishes, "but I confess, I had assumed that our host was responsible as soon as I heard that he was trying to collect us here."

[stack]

"I too have heard a voice. I thought it very unusual. And...a scarf? Why would...in our current situation? Anyhow, what do we do now?"

[Bhaakon]

When hte fox-orc-whatever it was offers up a scarf, Mitch readily accepts. "Ah, thank you." He used it to dab the crumbs from the corners of his mouths before speaking at length.

"Yes, a most boorish voice, truth be told. I don't suppose you have any idea how to be rid of it?" Mitch agrees between sips of coffee. "If you think it will be any help, I was keeping watch in my office the other night when I must have nodded off--most embarrassing--because I swear that someone grabbed me from behind and slit my throat. Clearly it was merely a blackjack, though, as I woke in an alley across the city. Rather dreadful to imagine how I got there."

[Segrain]

"No. Not what I meant..." - Istilia shook her head and turned to fellow guests, seeking any agreement with her reasoning. Apparently, nobody else shared the same concern, and she was not getting a lot of supporting looks, but that was far from unfamiliar or unexpected. With a quiet sigh, the Varisian continued: "I understand wherefore our... circumstances are interesting enough even for somebody such as you to gather us here as you did. What I am asking is why. If, as you say, you were somehow protected, if you can remember - and know at all - who we are well enough that your steward can recognize us by your description alone, then surely you know that at least some of us are no wizards. I am certainly not. Nor do we know each other... or we do not remember knowing each other even if we had. What explanation of all the wizardry involved can we give that somebody of your talents could not divine without troubling himself with our presence? Unless you intend to hold us for some kind of experimentation... I do not understand why are we here."

That was way more words than she was going to say, certainly more than she ever wanted to say to some mysterious wizard who had "invited" her in quite suspicious manner for purposes that were not making a lot of sense. But if nobody else was going to question those purposes, Istilia had to do it - it was not like she could rely on anyone else's contribution to the conversation. After all, the next words out of anyone's mouth were... something about scarves? Blinking in confusion, the dancer pondered for some time whether it was some remark towards her own clothing or just pure nonsense that it seemed to be. At least, its sheer absurdity kept her silent for some time - and when others started discussing the voices in their heads, she said nothing about her own. Instead, Istilia's attention returned to their host - useless as it was to look at him, perhaps he had something to say on the subject too.

[ylvathrall]

"I will take a scarf, thank you," Uncle Gulden says; his (or her, or its, but if she wants to call herself an uncle we may as well go along with it) tone suggests this is more as a favor to Kiyanna than anything, but isn't actually patronizing. A few moments later, while the precise appearance of their host is still ambiguous, the impression of tasteful dress now includes a scarf tastefully arranged upon his shoulders.

"This mention of a voice is interesting, and no, Rose, it's not my doing. Perhaps some lingering mental trauma from the process...?" He sighs and takes a light meat pastry from the table. "I'd hoped that one of you might be able to explain this, or at least explain why you were affected. Sadly, it seems that I was mistaken. Irksome."

Naturally, our heroes realize that this entire situation is incredibly suspicious, and that they should not in any way take Uncle Gulden's statements at face value. Furthermore, they wisely decide that further discussion of the voice they hear is counterproductive at this time, and they should go along with his guess that it's simply mental trauma. Similarly, they silently agree that any mention of the odd items they found on their persons when they returned to life should wait until he is safely out of earshot.

[stack]

"Bloody conspiratorial head trauma." "I mean really, what are we supposed to do? My cousin was ready to beat me bloody just for going home!"

[Bhaakon]

"How interesting." Mister Vanilla comments as he balls up his napkin in his non-coffee hand to calm his nerves. "The voice seems rather insistent that we not talk to you further, Uncle Gulden."

As for the odd coin...well, maybe it had a point about that. Who knew what value that might hold. Certainly Mitch would have to have it appraised by an uninterested party before handing it over. He was no sucker, after all. No sane businessman simply handed over potentially valuable goods without doing some due diligence.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma nods at the proffered scarf, taking one and wrapping it snugly around his empty eyes. Normally he avoided hiding his scars as they were a show of devotion to his Lady, but this seemed to be a fairly consequential meeting and there was no cause to be disturbing the other guests, especially since he hadn't been able to begin his rituals anew since his death and resurrection. When the rude man mentions the voices current topic, and it matches Juma's, he speaks up again. "That is an accurate representation of what I heard as well. It seems our voices, at least, are linked in some way." He smiles thinly at Mitchell, the effect being rather less than friendly with the scarred nature of his face. "It seems you may have to put up with me longer than you'd anticipated, Mister Vanilla."

[The Hellbug]

Rose ponders for a moment what to do next. The voice in her head's protest at further discussion of its nature, despite the obvious allure of such a discussion would have, in front of Uncle Gulden is fairly convincing evidence that the philanthropist is not responsible for it. Furthermore, there is the question as to whether the disembodied voice in her head is the same as what the others claim to be hearing. The guard's and scarred man's recent comments, at least, seem to indicate that they are hearing the same thing as Rose is. The colorful Varisian is right, though, this meeting seems like a lot of work for Uncle Gulden to go through for just idle curiosity. Perhaps it would be best if she follow the voice's instructions and not reveal the puzzle box in her pack. On the other hand, the voice in her head is at least as untrustworthy as her host; at least she almost has a face to connect to one of them...

The halfling begins to look around the table more closely at her present company. They certainly were a motley assembly, but what reason could someone have at snatching each of them away from the moment of death? She decides she will need to speak with each of them further, although it wouldn't hurt to do that in a more private location. Before that can happen, though, Rose waits to speak for Gulden's answer to Istilia's question.

[ICN]

Kiyanna glares at Mister Vanilla. "Now wear the scarf." Ungrateful oaf. Even the mutilated barbarian could get it right. Kiyanna shook his head pityingly, then turned back to their gracious and attractive host. Turns out these other miscreants could hear the voice as well, which pretty well ruled out Rulthric. Speaking of, the voice didn't want him to reveal his scarf to Uncle Guden, but all the voice had ever gotten him was a face full of mud. Kiyanna pulls out the golden scarf and waves it in Uncle Guden's direction. "Hey, you're magic, right? Can you tell me what's so special about this?

Scarf wearing command is a simple suggestion, DC 18 to resist, lasts three hours if save is failed.

[Bhaakon]

Suddenly compelled, Mitch quickly unfolds his wadded scarf and holds it up to his face as he turns away from the others. The sneeze was unexpected, and he nearly fails to cover his mouth and nose as completely as propriety demands, but--thankfully--no one of any importance is in the direction of the blast. Which is to say that Uncle Guden was in no danger of being splattered with snot. Mitch cleans himself up with the scrap of cloth and discretely discards it.

"Ah, excuse me. I don't know what could have come over me. I swear I hadn't the faintest tingle until right then."

[stack]

Peregrin gives the scarf-monger a dark look. "Now you better not try anything like that again. Throwing around compulsions is rude at best. We are in dire straights, it seems, so I will simply tell you not to attempt to do any such thing to me or any of us here without a blasted good reason. So keep your bloody scarves to yourself and contribute or be silent."

[ylvathrall]

Uncle Guden examines the golden scarf for a moment, then shrugs. "As far as I can tell it's just a scarf," he says. "Pretty, but that's all." He is, of course, incorrect; clearly, the scarf is important in some way. But for the moment it seems wiser not to insist.

"Would you stop that?" he says a moment later. "Is it really that hard to carry on a simple conversation like civilized people?"

[Bhaakon]

"Mmhmm." Mitch relays his agreement with Uncle Guden. He didn't have any idea about magical compulsions being thrown around, but he wasn't terribly surprised that such a thing might happen among this disreputable group.

Bravely, he tries to break the tension by powering forward with the conversation. "So we all hear this strange voice, but do we all hear the same one? Mine just said, and I quote, 'He is, of course, incorrect; clearly, the scarf is important in some way. But for the moment it seems wiser not to insist.'" Mitch does his best to mimic the voice's superior tone, then takes another sip of coffee--an outstanding brew, really. He'd have to inquire as to the source of the beans after this pow-wow was over.

[stack]

"Sounds about right."

[TheOneHawk]

Juma nods at Mitchell's parroting of the voice. "So we are hearing the same thing. Curious."

[ylvathrall]

"Fascinating," Uncle Guden says. His voice is a little softer now, as though he is speaking more to himself than his guests. "Some form of communication, then? That must be how he's been doing it...odd that I didn't notice. Perhaps a more vigorous examination might detect it?"

Our heroes do not in the least care for Uncle Guden's tone as he says this. It sounds inquisitive, but in a way that does not sound entirely pleasant for the subject of that curiosity. In fact, while our heroes have ignored some entirely reasonable advice in the past, they now wisely come to the conclusion that they should get out of this room now. In fact, they suddenly realize that if they don't do so, they're likely to have a spectacularly bad time, and it would be simply tragic for them to return from death itself only to die again in such a messy and painful manner so very soon after their resurrection.

[The Hellbug]

Peregrine, Mitch, and Juma's agreement serve to confirm what Rose had suspected mere moments before. Meanwhile, their host's mutterings put the halfling on edge; from the sound of it, Uncle Guden knows more than he is letting on, and Rose doesn't exactly like the way he said 'more vigorous examination'. That, of course, only adds to the list of suspicious behaviors in the sorceress's mind: the knowledge of her death (and apparently of these others'), being able to find her so easily when no one else recognized her, and, finally, the refusal to put a reason behind gathering this group other than idle curiosity.

Then, the voice in her head begins its narration again, and Rose almost drops her spoon when it mentions a messy and painful death. Though she can't, in actuality, judge whether or not death was preferable to her current situation (a strange thought, really, since Rose doesn't have any recollection of her time spent dead) instinct alone causes her to look for a way out of the current situation. It is still possible that the rest of the people sitting around the table are lying about hearing the voice, but there's not much Rose can think of to do for them if they are, as any method of warning them would likely let their host know of their suspicions. For now, all she can do is give a concerned look to her neighbors and lean down to Medea, who is not sure as to the nature of her master's stress. "Medea," she whispers to the fox, "I think we need to get out of here as soon as we can. Any ideas?"

The fox is silent for a moment, looking wistfully at the small dish of sliced meat in front of her but eventually decides to go along with her master. Medea stands up and heads towards the door the group entered through and pushes her head against it urgently. Rose immediately catches on to what Medea is doing. "Oh of all the times to..." she announces as she hops out of her seat and follows her familiar, "I think it's getting a little stuffy in here for Medea. I need to take her outside for a moment, get some fresh air."

[stack]

Having examined this vigorously in the past, Peregrin is in no hurry to be on the receiving end of such tests. Well voice, you better know what you are doing. "I think I will step out as well, I need some time to digest all of this." He stands, giving their host a polite nod.

[ICN]

There was the voice again, always worrying. It was starting to sounds like it came from Widdershins again. But it prompted the others to start moving, which would provide an adequate distraction. Kiyanna fishes some string out of his pack, then telekinetically sends it under the table to tie itself around Mister Vanilla's ankles. The attempt made, he turns back towards Uncle Guden, one of his scarves still fluttering more than it should. "More vigorous examination? What do you mean by that?"

Sense Motive on Uncle Guden; taking 15 for a 29

[ylvathrall]

"I apologize for this rudeness," Uncle Guden says, speaking more clearly again. "But I'm afraid I can't let you leave without discussing this in just a bit more detail. You'll be glad for it in the end, trust me." This is, of course, something that is generally only said by those who are not in the least trustworthy.

Uncle Guden does not seem inclined to leave this to the discretion of our heroes, though. Several of them are already feeling somewhat sleepy, and it isn't a coincidence which of them are affected. Furthermore, his steward (silent since he met them outside) bows his head and recites a mournful poem which resonates with arcane potency.

You want to say that Uncle Guden is lying, but you don't think it's that simple. You get the impression more that he thinks what he's saying is true, but he knows that you would disagree.

Everyone who ate or drank from the table (looks like at least Kiyanna, Mister Vanilla, and Rose, probably Medea as well) has to make a DC 15 Fortitude save or go unconscious; this is a poison effect. Peregrin has to make a DC 15 Will save or be paralyzed; this is a mind-affecting enchantment (compulsion) effect. (It's hold person, so you aren't permanently paralyzed or anything like that.)

[ICN]

"What?!" Kiyanna struggles futilely for a fleeting second against the poison; it's soon apparent to him however that the only choice left is how to fall. His eyes flick across the table once, then focus on an enormous bowl of soup between him and the boorish oaf. Kiyanna's eyes widen, and he begins his fall, a desperate plan racing through his mind. He no longer doubted he had died; they would've been of little interest to Guden had something abnormal not happened to them, and Kiyanna's own memories backed it up. The important thing was that Kiyanna had been in a different spot after reviving. If he could die here, say by drowning in soup, he'd escape whatever it was Guden was planning. And there was the... other benefit of this plan. With an enormous splash in Mister Vanilla's direction and a smile on his face, Kiyanna completes his fall into the soup bowl. With a final unintelligible gurgle, he is still. "Checkmate, Guden."

[The Hellbug]

Rose feels it from Medea first: a moment of vertigo and confusion, followed by fear, and then, as the fox slumps to the ground, nothing. "Medea!" Rose shouts as she rushes to kneel next to her fallen familiar. When the sorceress puts her hand on the fox's side, she can still feel her rhythmic breathing but nothing else. She begins to scoop up her familiar as she stands when Kiyanna's head hits the bowl of soup with a splash.

"What's going on here!?" Rose demands fearfully as she turns back to Guden, then looking from each guest to the others, but she doesn't get much further than that. The world spins as she tries to take a step. It takes all of the halfling's effort to hold onto Medea as she takes a few more stumbling steps back towards the door. What is the meaning of this? is her last thought as the floor comes up to meet her, leaving the unconscious halfling and fox collapsed in a heap.

[stack]

Peregrin stumbles slightly under the psychic onslaught, then throws up a hand. A stream of steel flows from his palm, forming a solid wall separating him from his now inhospitable host before he makes a break for it. Creation, expanded material for steel, burning lore to boost CL +3 to 8, huge object. Not sure the exact geometry of the room, but he wants a wall from wall to wall between himself and Gulden and Co. 10' x 10' x 1" wall is 'small' and he can make 8, stacking the thickness if possible. Steel is hardness 10, 30 HP/in, objects take 1/2 damage.

don't have lengthened creation. Bugger. have to concentrate.

move action the heck away, looking for a place that will break line of sight that he can hide in once the wall drops.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma spends several moments frozen in indecision as the scene develops in front of him. Uncle Guden was a respected person in Kaer Maga, he had heard of his philanthropy in the temple on more than one occasion, but the voice was urging him to flee and now people were falling over, seemingly for no reason. When Peregrin summons the wall and makes for the door, Juma stands up from his seat with resolve. Something was wrong here, for certain, whether or not Guden meant these people well in the end. The normally quiet symbiont blades are humming with excitement at the prospect of combat, hissing "Attack" into his mind, but he resists the urge and instead hefts the half-orc who splashed into the soup onto his shoulder. Perhaps they would talk with Guden at a later time, but this was not the proper way to have a discussion. This was taking away their freedom, which Juma could not accept.

[Bhaakon]

Mitch's coffee cup wiggles in his hand. Rather lively for an inanimate object, but only to be expected under this strange circumstances. No, wait, that wasn't an animated cup. It was his own grip faltering. He tries valiantly to set the coffee down without spilling, but it's too late. It falls from nerveless fingers as he slumps forward onto the table, all of his fast-fading attention focused on the soupy tsunami looming over him. Mercifully, he blacks out before the wave of broth crashes down.

[ylvathrall]

Istilia, having also sampled something of the spread, collapses silently a moment later. Or, at least, she doesn't say anything; falling from a standing position is somewhat more dramatic than simply slumping forward onto the table, and when she lands on an elaborate confection, everyone in the room is splattered with meringue.

"Bother," Uncle Guden says as the wall of steel forms in front of Peregrin. "Send someone around to fetch him, and...oh, for...another one still up? Andra, deal with this nuisance." The steward, head still bowed, recites: "In this world of dew, the snow and the sakura alike must soon fall."

Outside the room, it seems the restaurant has emptied out. Peregrin Ardoc sees no other customers, and the staff seem to have made themselves scarce as well. There are a number of private rooms he might hide in, or one of the employee-only areas. He sees, however, that the exits are very firmly closed.

Okay, Peregrin doesn't have distant creation, and given that he was already leaving, I think he'd have to be closer to the door than the rest of the party. As such, I think the wall is between them and the exit as well.

Juma has to make a DC 14 Will save or fall, as the "Fall" application of command.

[stack]

Seeing to way to maintain the wall while making good his escape, Peregrin moves to the nearest window that is safely out of sight from the table he started at that he can easily climb out of, then calls up a ball of energy into his hand and hurls it through.

gather energy + destructive blast, full round for [roll0] bludgeoning damage

[TheOneHawk]

Seeing the wall dissipate as quickly as it appeared, Juma grabs the halfling in his other hand and gives a wistful look towards the half orc and fox, wishing he had hands to carry them before bolting out into the restaurant.

[ylvathrall]

Hefting the unconscious bodies of his fellows, Juma races out of the room. Outside, the restaurant appears to be empty, even deserted, but he sees Peregrin vanish out of a nearby open window. The window appears to be broken rather than merely "open," but the distinction seems rather immaterial at this time. With a bit of work, Juma manages to heave his burdens out and then follow, leaving behind nothing but an ominous silence...and, of course, two of his fellows. Three if you count Medea, and naturally we do, so three.

An hour thereafter (and having surely made the reasonable decision to put a considerable amount of distance between themselves and the restaurant), the escaping heroes finally notice movement on the part of their fellows.

Rose and Kiyanna awaken a few moments later with splitting headaches and the strong taste of plums in their respective mouths. It only takes them a few seconds to notice two important things, the first that they seem to be in a safe location, and the second that not all of Uncle Guden's guests have made it out.

Two hours later, Mister Vanilla awakens in an exceedingly uncomfortable position. He is lying naked on his back on a steel table, with his arms and legs manacled to the table underneath him. The room is well-lit, but from his current position he can see only an unmarked stone ceiling. He has a splitting headache and the strong taste of plums in his mouth, but otherwise seems unharmed.

Naturally, he rapidly decides that if he would like to stay in that condition, he would be wise to get out of this room and, preferably, rather far away.

[Bhaakon]

What, exactly, are you doing here, Mitchell?

"Hur?"

That's not an explanation. It's barely an utterance.

"B...boss?"

Still not an explanation, but at least it appears in a dictionary. So let's try again.

"Uh...ate some bad pastries. No...wait, poison! I remember now. Uncle Guden invited me to his table while you were at the estate sale. He..." Mitch shakes with rage, rattling his chains softly. "He poisoned the coffee, Master Lock."

AHA! The scoundrel! Yes, well, it's a good thing that you employer has the connections to mount a rescue. We can discuss the details further once we...one you're free. For now, close your eyes and concentrate very hard on something calming. Like me. Think about me. Standing right here next to you.

"But, why do I have to close my eyes? Aren't you here?"

Yes, yes. But you're entirely unclothed. Do you want to endure the shame of seeing me seeing you in your altogether? My judgmental stare? My brow furrowed in disgust? Save yourself the indignity and close your eyes.

"Oh, of course, sir. Thank you." Mitch closes his eyes and concentrates hard, imagining the comforting image of his employer looming over him.

"That's quite enough, Mitchell. You can stop now." Lock commands, now quite corporeal.

"But I'm still...immodest, sir."

"Yes, but my disgust is quite exhausted, so there's nothing for you to see." Lock responds. He waggles his fingers out of habit, and frowns deeply when there's no comforting click-click-click of golden rings colliding.

"Oh, alright then." Mitch opens his eyes to find his employer frowning, his hands distressingly unencumbered by jewelry. This development was nearly as alarming as the whole naked-on-a-slab situation.

"I will search for keys." Lock announces, the edge in his voice a reminder that being forced into so menial a task was intolerable. He'd almost certainly dock Mitch's pay for this.

Master Lock's Perception: [roll0]

[stack]

"Well, that was unpleasant." Peregrin states, surprised that the others followed. "Sorry about the wall, kind of panicked a bit there."

[The Hellbug]

This marks the second time in the same day that Rose awakes in an unfamiliar location. This time, though, she is not alone. She blinks a few times and gulps at the poison's aftertaste in her mouth as she examines her surroundings. She recognizes the mutilated man and the Ardoc from the restaurant, and the big half-orc appears to just now be waking up, too. "Where are we?" the halfling asks no one in particular as she sits up groggily.

[stack]

"Far enough away to catch our breath, hopefully. What happened back there? I thought Uncle Gulden was supposed to be a good guy, if that was him."

[ICN]

Kiyanna groans as he regains consciousness. Dying had gone much better the first time. He blearily opens his eyes to see where he'd ended up this time. He blinks, confused, noticing the others. "Did we escape then?" Kiyanna sits up then, stifling another groan. He really should've gotten his previous injuries taken care of before visiting Hospice. Between the face plant and the poisoning this just didn't seem to be his day. Kiyanna fishes a canteen out of his pack and takes a swig before responding to Peregrin's question. "Whatever it was, it did think it was doing the right thing, just not for us."

[stack]

"I ran. You got carried. Not be me." Peregrin nods to the others benefactor."As for the right thing, I have my doubts. Feel free to go back, but I don't intend to."

[TheOneHawk]

"My only regret is that I was unable to carry everyone. A conversation is one thing, but that was quickly turning rather sinister. I won't stand by while people are taken hostage against their will. We still lack many answers for our shared affliction, however, and I do not wish to leave the others behind if we have an opportunity to rescue them. Will any of you assist me in such an attempt?"

[stack]

Peregrin's eyes widen. "Go back? Are you mad? We barely escaped as it was. I hardly shook of whatever spell they tried to put on me, I don't fancy walking up to their door and asking them to cast a few more! No, I'm sorry they were captured but really, I'm not some rambling adventurer to go charging off to save people I've just met. I would report everything to...well, okay, our city isn't that big on proper authority, but..."

[TheOneHawk]

Juma nods his head at Peregrin's refusal "I understand your fears and do not blame you for your decision. I do believe we should remain in contact with each other in any case, since there are so many unanswered questions about our situation." Turning towards the other two escapees, he asks again. "What of you two, will you aid me in this or must I make the attempt alone?"

[ylvathrall]

Naturally Mister Vanilla is quick to react, and correctly determines that a swift escape is the wisest choice. Unfortunately, however, Master Lock does not immediately find a way to escape. The room is a simple cube of stone with no notable features beyond the table on which Mister Vanilla is restrained (and which holds nothing else), and a single wooden door. The door is locked, and has a small, barred window. Through this window, Master Lock can see what appears to be a well-stocked alchemical laboratory. He also sees a table on which, it seems, Mister Vanilla's belongings have been placed. Each item has been individually set aside, and neatly labeled. Another large table holds another set of belongings, and two other barred doors can just be seen opening off the laboratory.

[The Hellbug]

Rose continues to try to make sense of her surroundings as Juma launches into his plan to go back for the others. I was at the restaurant, Uncle Guden asking about the particulars of what happened to us all, then that voice started saying it wasn't a good idea to stick around so Medea and I...

The halfling looks around frantically seeing no sign of her familiar. "Wait, what happened to Medea?" she suddenly asks, heedless of interrupting the others.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma hangs his head in shame. "I assume Medea is the fox companion of yours? I was unable to bring her along so she remains with Guden. I apologize."

[Bhaakon]

"Ah, excellent, I believe I see..."

"My things!" Mitch exclaims, the proximity of his material wealth (and clothing) a palpable comfort in this trying time.

"Yes. How did you know that?" Master Lock considers his hireling with suspicion, brow knitted.

"The...er...the voice, sir."

"You mean to say that wasn't mere a hallucination on your part? Or--dare I suggest--a ploy to garner sick leave?"

"I fear not, sir."

"Hmm. Perhaps I was hasty in pressuring you to have this...affliction remedied. There might be some profit in listening to your premonitions."

"I'd really rather not, sir. If it's all the same to you."

"It most certainly is not. There are expenses to be remunerated. Absolute geysers of red ink in your ledger, Mitchell. You're wages will be garnished for quite some time to make me whole after this escapade." Lock turns away to hide his covetous grin. "Now, let me see...yes, this door is open just a crack..." Lock passes through the portal with ease. Quite literally through. As in he transcends the door's physicality to travel into the next space. But that, of course, would be ridiculous. No, he just cracked it open and darted through while Mitch was blinking.

"Anything to get me loose, sir?"

"A moment, Mitchell, a moment. Let me find a key. Failing that, perhaps those vials of acid you carry around everywhere are strong enough to dissolve your bonds." Master Lock speculates as he begins searching for keys, adamantine hacksaws, or freshly harvested rust monster antennae.


Take 20 for 26 perception, if possible. If not:[roll0]

[ICN]

Kiyanna snorts as Peregrin trails off. "Consider if that was Uncle Guden; do you really think anyone would believe us? Or that we could hide from him somewhere in the city? If you're going to run, you'd better get out of the city." With that, he slowly stands up, wincing slightly. He looks down at his clothes, a corner of his mouth twisting in disapproval before a sweep of magic cleans the garments. Kiyanna looks up sharply as the familiar is mentioned, and starts growing increasingly animated as he speaks. "The fox? It's time for a rescue operation then. A bold and daring incursion to take our vengeance and save the ones we've lost!"

[stack]

"Discretion is the...nevermind. What makes you think you have a chance?"

[TheOneHawk]

Juma tilts his head curiously at Peregrin. "I do not care for the odds of success. I will not leave them imprisoned without so much as an attempted rescue. You may assist or not at your discretion."

[The Hellbug]

"How? I had her right here..." Rose continues as she looks forlornly at her empty hands. She is silent for a few moments as she imagines what the fate of her familiar could be but eventually looks to Kiyanna and Juma. "She might be all I have left besides my life. If you're going back, I will be at your side."

[ICN]

"Alright, it's settled then, we're going after them. What can you all do anyways? I myself am an amateur vigilante." Kiyanna strikes a pose that he thinks looks heroic, then catches sight of an arm. "Oh wait, that's not right." His form shifts to that of a similarly muscular half-orc, but with a noble rather than a brutish demeanor. A couple of quick adjustments later and Kiyanna is back to posing.

[stack]

"Well, I, hum, sort of make things. Temporarily. And animate then too. You know; that kind of thing."

[ylvathrall]

Mister Vanilla is naturally heartened by this display of how deeply his employer cares for his well-being. Were he not still so completely confined, he might well perform some manner of joyous dance. As it stands, of course, he does not.

Meanwhile, Master Lock sees that the other table contains a set of belongings every bit as impressive as Mister Vanilla's, including a set of attractive scarves. He also sees a vial of fluid extracted from a rust monster. This potent corrosive agent (contained in the third vial from the left on the table directly opposite from the cell within which Mister Vanilla is imprisoned) should be able to etch through the manacles in short order.

Master Lock also sees the other doors more clearly from this vantage. Behind one of them, Istilia Ennira is lying on a table similar to that Mister Vanilla is currently occupying. Behind the other, Medea the fox is held within an unpleasantly small cage. But of course neither of these entities is of any particular relevance to Master Lock's goals, and thus he pays them no mind.

Having made the quite gallant decision to rescue their comrades from durance vile, our heroes are faced with the difficulty of finding them. Of course they cannot simply go to Uncle Guden's manor; to keep prisoners there would be of extreme detriment to his carefully cultivated reputation. No, he will have placed them in a location which isn't readily traceable to him. Unfortunately, there are many such locations in Kaer Maga where no one would question such happenings at all.

Of particular irony is that the actual location of Mister Vanilla and Medea is, in fact, quite nearby. Only a few blocks away, in a backwater of the Warrens, a seemingly abandoned building is currently playing host to the captives. Though usually entirely anonymous, this hidden laboratory is currently more obvious than usual, due to the pair of guards standing outside. Hardened mercenaries, they look quite ready to kill anyone who seems too curious about the building, likely because they are. The duo aren't all that bright, however, and were hired more for their discretion than their initiative.

Alas, our heroes have no way of knowing any of this. Thus, they can only wander at random through the city looking for their associates, and will thus surely arrive far too late to rescue anything at all.

[stack]

"Okay then, voice, if you know so much why don't you tell us how we can do this and more importantly WHAT IS GOING ON!"

[TheOneHawk]

Juma shrugs and smiles a little at Peregrin's frustration. "Be grateful for the answers we receive, even if they are not to the questions we ask." With that, he turns and begins walking towards his best guess at the location of the anonymous laboratory mentioned by the voice.

[Bhaakon]

Paying the caged canid and tied trollop no mind, Master Lock dives into the goods arrayed on the tables. His mind works smoothly, tabulating the value of the items before him. The scarves would fetch a fine price, infinitely better than the garishly dyed rags typically doled out by tasteless street people. There was always a market for weapons, as well. The rest of it was high enough quality that some might even turn out to be magical.

But first things first.

"Ah, finally." Lock exhales, now bedecked in jewelry plucked from the second table. A tad delicate for his taste, perhaps, but the cool comfort of gold on one's flesh, however ethereal, was not to be underestimated. "Most agreeable."

"Is there anything useful, sir?" Mitch calls out, well knowing the answer on account of the voice in his head. "The vials, perhaps? The third one from the left?"

"Don't rush me, Mitchell. All in due time." Master Lock snatches up the vial and reads the label, confirming its contents. Then he switches another chemical into the empty place. "It's a good thing I'm here, Mitchell." He calls back. "This third vial from the left appears to be some sort of airborne purgative. This rust monster extract was in another spot entirely."

Lock returns to the door and passes through it again. He makes his way to Mitch and applies the corrosive agent to the manacles. "Hopefully there will be enough left for the door. It seems to have...er...accidentally latched behind me. No doubt some cunning trap."

"Most insidious, sir." Mitchell answers, rubbing the discomfort from his freshly freed limbs. "What about that woman?"

"What? Oh, Mitchell...I already told you that the logistics of that business are simply exasperating. One of the few instances were renting is preferable to ownership, really."

"No, sir. We should release her."

"Oh! Er...quite, yes." Lock reluctantly agrees. "She'd be quite indebted to me. Perhaps a second employee would be of use. You do have an annoying penchant for sleep."

Once Mitch is loose, they try the remaining extract (if there is any) on the lock. Only when Mitch is dressed do they attempt to free the woman and retrieve the caged fox. "Which would make a fine stole, once we're out of here." Master Lock observes. Mitch suspects that the halfling he'd met might be willing to pay a hefty reward for its return--well beyond what it could be sold for--but says nothing.

[The Hellbug]

But we need to find them first. There has to be a spell I could use. A quick visit to the Promenade may get us what we need...

The voice in her head, however, provides Rose with a different solution: that the captives are, in fact close enough to rescue immediately. While she finds Peregrine's outburst understandable, there's no time to waste, and the voice has proven accurate in the past. With how Guden was musing about 'additional experimentation', Rose is anxious to follow the directions and steps in behind Juma. She then answers Kiyanna's question. "I don't know what you would call what I do, but recently been following an interest in Thassilonian ruins, and I have a fair piece of magic at my fingertips."

[ICN]

Kiyanna levitates a scarf next to himself, then falls in behind the others. "Watch out for poisoned weapons; the voice has a poor record with identifying poison."

[stack]

Peregrin looks at all the others departing. "...Fine. Going to all get vivisected. Just lovely." he mutters, then follows.

[ylvathrall]

Our heroes, by some incredible and unforeseeable stroke of fortune, happen upon the building in question within an hour of waking up, having made only a very few wrong turns on the way there. Once they find the building in question (a quite rundown, even derelict structure by appearances), they do indeed see guards outside, strongly suggesting some manner of nefarious activity within. There are two of them, hard-looking men garbed in leather and carrying a sword and shield apiece. They look like the sort of men who live to crush the dreams of others, and would stab a child for a mug of ale. This impression is, of course, not entirely false. It is notable, however, that the one on the left (a middle-aged human man called Boris) has a remarkable soft spot for puppies. His coworker (a half-elf called Augustus) always treats his whores kindly, and once intervened when a newcomer to Kaer Maga was being pressed into slavery.

"Oi," Boris says, as he decides that our heroes are paying him too much mind for his preference. "You lot, move along."

[TheOneHawk]

Juma shakes his head at Boris's command and walks directly up to the two men. "We require entrance to this building. I do not wish to harm you, but I will not abide by the imprisonment of those who have done no wrong." Reaching up, he removes the scarf hiding his lack of eyes and stares directly at Augustus with the empty sockets. "I do not suffer enslavement, and you have struck a blow against it in the past. Do not let your actions today destroy the good you can do. Allow us to enter and you will not be harmed. Stand in our way and the wrath of Vildeis will cleanse this world of your presence."

[ylvathrall]

Augustus licks his lips nervously. "How do you know...." he begins, and then trails off under the force of that sightless stare. "Look, I just work here, yeah?" he says after a moment, sounding somewhat shaky. "Didn't know what the job was, you know, and then the pay was...I have a family, all right?"

"Get a hold of yourself, man," Boris says, sounding somewhat disgusted.

[ICN]

Kiyanna steps forward, his floating scarf setting itself around his shoulders again, and puts a hand near Juma. "Please, let me handle this. It requires some finesse." Kiyanna turns to... huh, he'd forgotten his name. It was probably Ralph, there were a million Ralphs in the city. "Puppy Ralph, if you let us in, I'll give you this!" With a flourish, he pulls a puppy shaped scarf from his sleeve and telekinetically sends it scurrying around. A touch more magic and it nestles up to Boris, whining softly with an authentically chilly nose.

Craft check: [roll0]
Skilled casting check: [roll1]
Diplomacy check: [roll2]
If the puppy scarf fails for some reason, Dancing Lights.

[ylvathrall]

Boris looks indecisive for a moment, but in the end the astonishingly lifelike appearance of the scarf is simply too much for him. "I never saw you," he says, snatching the scarf away from Kiyanna. "We clear?" Without waiting for an answer, he wanders away, nuzzling his face against the scarf and cooing softly.

"I'm just going to pretend I never saw that," Augustus says, staring after Boris with a slightly disturbed expression. "You...just go on inside, all right? I'm going to get somewhere far away from here." He turns and begins walking swiftly away from the building.

Inside, our heroes find a large and well-equipped laboratory. Their attention, however, is more quickly caught by another sight, as they are distinctly not alone here.

The rust monster extract is quite sufficient to eliminate both the manacles and the lock on the door, though doing so requires the full vial.

Once out in the laboratory, however, his attention is quickly caught by another sight, as he and Master Lock are distinctly not alone.

Our heroes at once realize that they have been reunited, and naturally are quite glad at this realization. They are, however, somewhat distracted by the sight of two closed doors, each locked and with a barred window in the door. Behind the first is Medea; the fox is in a too-tight cage, cold, hungry, scared, cramped, but fundamentally whole.

The same cannot be said for the person behind the other door.

The woman who introduced herself as Istilia Ennira lies manacled to a steel table at wrists and ankles, though she can barely be recognized. She is naked, and then some, cut open and examined with the same dispassionate thoroughness as her belongings. Her skin is sliced, peeled away, and pinned back while still attached to her body; one her left side the muscles have been removed to show the bones and organs. Her throat has been neatly slit and similarly pinned open. Perhaps most horrifying of all is her face, for she doesn't seem to have one, but merely a wet red ruin. Even her hair is gone, cut away with the top of her skull.

And yet still, she lives. She breathes. As she hears movement in the laboratory her unblinking eyes (for her eyelids were removed with the rest of her face) focus dimly at the sound.

Needless to say, our surviving heroes find themselves quite glad not to have been the subject of additional experimentation as they see this.

This probably goes without saying, but Istilia's condition is well beyond any healing magic short of regeneration.

[The Hellbug]

Rose had followed Juma's lead as they wandered through the city streets, wracked with anxiousness at Medea's plight but spurred on by the fact that she can, in fact, feel that the fox is close by and doesn't seem to be in excessive pain. The wandering is stressful, but she and Kiyanna use the time to begin planning for ways to get past the promised guards, and they eventually decide on using their combined magics to fool them into allowing the group entry.

However, when Rose and the others arrive at the warehouse, something altogether unexpected happens. As the two guards leave, Rose already begins promising herself to, like the guards, just forget this ever happened.

"Medea!" Rose calls out once the door is closed firmly behind the rest of the group. The fox's familiar vocalizations (distressed though they are) lead Rose right past Mr. Vanilla to the pair of doors without a second glance. In fact, her relief that Medea sounds okay is enough to momentarily distract her from the dire news delivered by the voice in her head. Though she is not tall enough to see through the bars, Medea's yip leads her to the correct door, and the halfling, in vain tries to open it. Locked, of course. "Come on!" Rose frantically asks of her new-found companions, "someone help me with this. She's right on the other side"

[stack]

Bewildered by the scene at the door, Peregrin mutely follows. Upon finding the state of their former companion, his cry of shock is cut short by emptying any contents his stomach held into the corner in a prolonged session of retching.

Once he has expunged and traces of his recent meal, Peregrin adopts a more practical demeanor, putting on the mien of the detached researcher. "She is alive, but cannot remain here for our former host to complete his studies. Hmm, unbolting the table will be simple enough. After that I can have the table follow us. We will need a powerful healer..."

He looks at the caged familiar. "I could attempt to break the lock, but I suspect others can force it more quickly."

He draws an odd shaped tool from his pocket and sets about freeing the table form the floor.

[Bhaakon]

Mitch pushes open the door as the lock finally gives way and hurries through, desperate to retrieve his clothing from the table just beyond.

Then he turns right back and retreats back into his cell, cheeks turning a shade of crimson usually reserved for those foolish enough to nap in the mid-day sun without a shade.

"Ma...Master Lock, would you be so kind as to fetch my outfit." He stammers, utterly scandalized by the entire situation.

Lock's first inclination is to remind his employee of the natural order of things. Boss commands underling, now and forever, unto the end of time. But then he, too, spots the interlopers. Needless to say, it would be most improper for his representative to prance around in front of others with his bits waving in the wind. "Of course, Mitchell." He says in the honey-smooth voice he saves for potential suckers...er, clients.

And he does so. And Mitch quite possibly sets some sort of record for speed dressing, if there was someone who bothered to track such things. But then this was Kaer Maga, so there probably was.

Finally Mitch emerges to collect his other personal items. "Oh, fancy meeting you here. I was just leaving" He greets the pack of oddballs, pretending--nay, believing with all his heart--that they hadn't noticed when he flashed them just a moment earlier.

If that were bad enough, he then sees what has happened to Istilia and very nearly swoons on her behalf. That poor women, exposed so completely. The indignity! Oh, and the pain! And she'd seemed so normal in comparison to the others

"Master Lock, you simply must do something for her! This situation cuts propriety to the very quick!" Mitch implores his benevolent employer. Well, employer.

"I...er...I don't see how I could do anything, even if it were my responsibility." Lock replies, a bit flustered. He shuffles his fingers, new jewelry (taken from Itilia's goods) chiming. "I can't disagree with you, but she is behind a door."

[TheOneHawk]

Juma takes no more than a moment to glance into each of the windows before opening Istilia's with force. It takes a few attempts, but before too long he smashes his shoulder through the door. "She needs to see a powerful priest immediately. If any of you have a way to get her safely to a major temple, now would be the time to do it." He then leaves her care to the others and opens the door to Medea's room with similar finesse.

[stack]

Peregrin finishes with the bolts, then lays his hands on the table. "Animus." A pulse stirs dust through the room, then the table seems to shift slightly. "Follow. Gently."

He turns to the others. "Transportation secured." The table steps gingerly to remain at his side, legs flexing unnaturally.
burning lore to boost CL to 8 for a large object [roll0]
2 SP for animate object with deep enhancement

[The Hellbug]

When her companions set their sights on the other door, Rose is slightly irritated. "Come on!" she demands, "someone help me out here. What's happening over there?"

Her question is almost immediately partially answered, though, by Peregrin's reaction to peeking through the window. As the the initially-reluctant rescuer empties the contents of his stomach in the corner, Rose backs away from Medea's door with a sense of dread waiting for Juma to finish bashing into the other cell to get a good look at it's contents. As the wood finally splinters under his efforts, Rose gets her first look at what has become of Istilia. She gasps and cups her hand over her mouth at the sight. The world begins to spin, and the halfling is reminded of the sensation of her recent poisoning before her legs turn to jelly and she falls to her knees.

Though she first thought the Varisian woman dead, Rose eventually notices that her chest is still rising and falling shallowly. A dozen thoughts race through her mind, but the now watery-eyed halfling can only manage to bring one to words. "What kind of...monster...could do something like this?"

[stack]

"The kind we want to be AWAY from. Let's grab everyone and GO." Peregrin urges through teeth clenched in fear.

[ICN]

Kiyanna recoils upon seeing what remains of Istilia. A hand reaches up to clutch a faded blue scarf in a white-knuckled grip as he takes a deep shuddering breath. But the smell, it was so thick in the air he could almost taste it. Kiyanna staggers out of the building and falls to his knees. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He spends a minute outside, panting and slowly gathering himself back together before heading back inside. This time Kiyanna maintains his calm, though a hand never leaves the scarf. Tentatively he reaches out with what magic he had, doing what he could to ease Istilia's pain. "Closest temple that we could get a regeneration at is Calistria's. Grab her things, we may need them."

Take 10 for an 11 on a telekinetic Heal check.
Skilled Casting: [roll0]

[The Hellbug]

"Yes...yes," Rose mutters in agreement with Peregrine, but she doesn't manage to find her feet until Juma has almost reduced the second door to splinters. The sight Medea, cramped and softly whining in a cage that would be humane only for an animal half her size, spurs the halfling to action, and she scampers past Juma to pull back the cage's bolt and releases the fox from her confinement. Medea bolts straight into her master's comforting embrace as Rose frantically looks over the fox for signs of material harm. Luckily, besides the aches of her confinement and the lack of her scarf, Medea is totally unharmed.

Medea, eager to get away from the warehouse, soon turns her gaze to the door. "Sorry, I think we're ready now. The temple of Calistria, you said?" she asks her companions now that Istilia's table is mobilized and Medea is freed.

[ylvathrall]

Our heroes, being such fine and upstanding people as they are, waste no time in removing Istilia from the laboratory. Fortunately Peregrin Ardoc has retained his talent for the animation and control of objects, and indeed his control has grown finer and more precise since his revival. The steel table picks its way delicately across the laboratory and out into the street.

The group attracts some stares as they make their way across the city (Istilia, by now, has lapsed into unconsciousness, which seems it can only be a good thing; certainly being aware as the table under her moves, in her state, would be excruciating). No one, however, seems inclined to approach them about it. They look threatening, after all, and this is Kaer Maga. It isn't their business. Istilia is a stranger, one more in the City of Strangers, and why should they care? Hers is a face they have never seen before and will never see again, too many thousands between them

This is Kaer Maga, a harsh, cruel, unloving thing, a city bought with blood, carved from the stone with gold and lies, cold, beautiful, unyielding, and cruel. This is the song the city sings, the spell it weaves.

Speak a curse on Kaer Maga, as cold and cruel as the city itself. Speak damnation upon the cruelty of strangers, speak a curse on the unkindness of the unfamiliar. Let all who are strange be afraid, let all who are alone be left alone to their fate.

Hundreds of citizens see the broken body of Istilia Ennira on her slow parade through the streets. Not a single man or woman raises hand or voice to help her.

Damnation upon this city.


Most of the temples in Kaer Maga are in Tarheel Promenade. The center of Calistria's worship, though, is in the district of Hospice. This is where the goddess's work is done, where those who serve her are at home.

Like most such temples, it is a quiet place, at least on the outside. The stone building looms over its neighbors, none of which can compete with it in size and grandeur; it has stood since long before them. Statuary and stained glass windows on the walls depict scenes of the goddess's worship in both passion and vengeance, quite shamelessly so. Here and there a clear window provides a live view of similar acts, for some who come here wish to be seen, and neither Calistria nor Kaer Maga deny anything one wishes.

Inside, there is no receptionist, no line of petitioners waiting in an orderly fashion to be seen; Calistria isn't that sort of deity. But there are some people loitering in the entrance room, priests of Calistria or casual followers, lounging in various provocative poses. As our heroes enter the temple, one of them sits up straighter. "You must be the one they told us about," he says, in a slightly dreamy voice. "You need a regeneration spell, isn't that right?"

There is a brief, ominous pause, and then the man smiles. "Come right in," he says. "Everything is ready for you. We've just been waiting on the patient."

[stack]

Peregrin allows the others to enter first, not terribly familiar with their destination. At the priest's greeting he pulls up short. "Who told you we were coming?"

[ylvathrall]

"Oh, Uncle Guden sent word that you'd be along," the priest says. "Something about an accident with a bandsaw? Tragic, really. Got to keep the metal bits under control, right? But it happens to the best of us. I remember one time I was playing with a knife and this boy was...well...it got messy." He smiles dreamily. "But Uncle Guden was nice enough to tell us we should expect you. He even paid for the spell in advance. It's amazing how much work he does for this city, really."

The man is obviously rather intoxicated, having been overindulging in opium recently. He seems coherent, though, and it doesn't seem likely that he could lie if he wanted to in his current state.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma frowns at the revelation that the very man who had inflicted the wounds was offering to pay for the healing, but perhaps it was for the best. This would not make up for the evil he had done, but at least it was perhaps a beginning. "Is Uncle Guden still here, then? We would like to... thank him in person for his generosity."

[Bhaakon]

"Yes, you do that." Mitch mumbles at the scarred man. He's had quite enough of the eyeless barbarian AND Uncle Guden. "The rest of us should, perhaps, hurry along to the Bank of Abadar? I had an appointment there at a quarter past three in the afternoon, anyway." Mitch retrieves his pocket watch from his hastily gathered belongings and checks the time. Something he really should have done the moment he had the timepiece back, but the circumstances at the time were most distracting.

"Ahem." Master Lock clears his throat. "I made that appointment for you, Mitchell. I'm one more beginning to think you'd better use it."

[stack]

Peregrin furrows his brow, entirely out of his depths. "Well, then, ah, shall we have the spell fast and be on out way? The , uh, patient, hum, can't really wait. You see."

[The Hellbug]

The small group's parade through the streets makes Rose uncomfortable, to be sure. The staring of all the strangers would be enough, but the voice narrating their journey is another thing altogether. It focuses in the halfling's attention on the fact that, behind most of the strangers' stares, there is nothing nothing but apathy towards Istilia's situation, pure-and-simple. Additionally, if Guden was right, there was not a single person in the world that personally cared for the dancer's fate.

Rose decides to start changing that. She and the dancer and the Ardok and the guard and the scarf-lover and the scarred-man are all alone, but perhaps they can be alone together.

The halfling pulls herself up onto the walking table (actually a harder task than she had imagined) and sits, dangling her legs over the edge. Then she takes one of Istilia's hands (carefully, as her condition is precipitous at best) and cups it in her own. It's all Rose can do, but, perhaps, if Istilia wakes up for a mere moment, she may at least realize that she's not alone.

________________

Rose dismounts from the table as they reach the temple. The priest's greeting takes her as much by surprise as everyone else, and Medea begins stealing glances back towards the temple's entrance. Rose strokes the back of the fox's head to calm her (though, in fact, the halfling is no less uncomfortable) and agrees with Peregrine, telling Juma, "let's just see what they have for us, let them cast their spell, and get out of here, okay?"

[ICN]

Kiyanna's mouth twists into a line of displeasure as the voice monologues. It sounded just like some of those uptight Paladins that occasionally passed through the city, passing their judgement on the residents without bothering to understand the story. Kaer Maga was unique, a city with a place for anyone and everyone, monsters and self-righteous narrators alike. If someone didn't like the price, they were more than welcome to leave.

Kiyanna's bristling is interrupted by the halfling climbing onto the ruin's table. Eh? Well, whatever works for her I guess. If it weren't for the walking corpse, Kiyanna may be in the same state as the wretched soul on the table. He's have to thank the man for that at least. Though there was the question of how. Sometimes, people didn't seem to know if he was serious or not. A brief grin flashes across Kiyanna's face as the answer leaps to mind. A song would do the trick.

_______________

As the man dreamily approaches, Kiyanna gives him a searching look. He didn't know all the minor priests here, but he thought he recognized this one. Raymond, that was it. As far as Kiyanna could tell, Raymond wasn't trying to deceive them in any way. What did that mean about the story though? More information was needed. Kiyanna moves to the front of the group and waves an arm at the priest. "Lead the way, Raymond."

[ylvathrall]

Naturally Mister Vanilla, being a punctual sort, thinks to check the time. He sees that it is currently thirty-six minutes past two o'clock in the afternoon, allowing him a considerable amount of time before his appointment.

"Uncle Guden didn't come himself," the priest says, seeming inordinately amused by the thought. "Just sent a note and the money with that steward of his a few hours ago. Anyway, follow me. The table's a squeeze, but we can make it."

If he finds anything odd with the notion of a moving table, it doesn't show. Fortunately, he's also too impaired to notice Kiyanna's slip. Raymond is, in fact, not among the crowd in the front room of the temple, as he is spending the day with his sick aunt in the Warrens. The priest our heroes are speaking with is, in fact, Mathias Falcone. The child of a Widdershins family, Mathias grew disaffected with his home district at an early age, and became enamored with the vivid, immediate creed preached by the residents of Oriat. This bohemian lifestyle rapidly pulled him in, until he forever quit Widdershins and embraced the passionate, hedonistic life he craved. Naturally, his family does not speak of the whole affair.

He leads our heroes to a back room that smells of sweat and blood and perfume, where a senior cleric of the Savored Sting is waiting.

[stack]

Peregrin follows as bidden, cautiously. Will the spell take long?"

[Bhaakon]

Mitch snaps shut his timepiece and glares down his nose at this...creature serving as guide to the group. The voice was proving more and more reliable, if utterly indiscreet. "We have plenty of time to make my appointment at the Bank." He says, not taking his eyes of the shiftless Mathias Falcone. "There are plenty of capable healers there whose integrity can't be bought...and not just because they have none."

"Sir." He adds, obviously addressing the Calistrian directly. "Your mother weeps."

Master Lock--utterly unaware of the cleric's dire indiscretions--sputters as his subordinate runs his mouth. "Mitchell, apologize immediately. There's no need to burn bridges here--especially here--even if we can't trust this Guden."

"No, sir, I will not." Mitch replies, indignation adding some steel to his backbone. "The Falcones are a Widdershins institution, and this man mocks their name with his...his...his odious non-conformism."

[ylvathrall]

"If I were sober, I'd be inclined to beat your face in for that," Mathias says on the way to the chamber prepared for this spell. The man's voice is quite mild and cheerful; a person might go so far as to describe it as charming. "As it stands I'll settle for saying that my mother can rot in Hell for all I care, and take the rest of Widdershins with her. The spell shouldn't take more than a few moments, and then you can take yourself to Abadar's house as you please. Perhaps you'll find the rarefied air there more to your liking."

[Bhaakon]

Eyes narrow as the Worm speaks. Mitch can barely hear him through the thundering pulse in his ears. "HOW DARE YOU, SIR!" He roars, launching spittle at Falcone. "Your mother birthed and raised you with health and privileged, and you've tossed it all away to wallow in a cesspit! She slaved on your behalf, you fool, and you've spit in her face! I've half a mind to bend you over my knee and tan your hide in her place for speaking so impertinently!"

Then a sudden calm comes over Mitch. Like a straining tether had snapped and dropped him into free fall--still and terrible. He feels mildly nauseous, with a stinging pain in his temples. Most unpleasant...but not as unpleasant as Mathias is about to feel.

Master Lock smirks.

Inflict Pain on Mathias, DC 15

[ylvathrall]

Sparks of light flicker in the air around Mister Vanilla as he casts a spell (and rather a noxious one, it must be said; there can be little argument that its casting is an unkind act). He may be ignorant of what he has done, but the same can hardly be said of those around him. That a spell has been cast is clear, and those informed in such matters might well recognize it.

Mathias, certainly, is aware of what has happened. The man grunts, grimaces, but he has experienced worse, and he seems to take the pain in stride. "You want to go there?" he asks, fingers flexing at his sides. His voice is strained, but clear, and loud; surely others must be hearing it. "Then let's go."

The Calistrian's mouth opens wider then, throat straining. It seems he must be screaming, but all is silent, the sound strangely absent. Except, of course, for Mister Vanilla, who can hear that scream only too clearly.

Mister Vanilla takes [roll0] points of sonic damage and is dazed for one round; a DC 14 Fortitude save halves the damage and negates the dazed effect.

A DC 17 Spellcraft check identifies the spell Mister Vanilla cast as inflict pain. A DC 16 Spellcraft check identifies the spell Mathias cast as ear-piercing scream.

[TheOneHawk]

Seeing the beginnings of a fight breaking out, and his own companion by all accounts starting it, Juma quickly steps to put himself between the two combatants. When he speaks, his voice is quiet but leaves no room for interpretation that disobeying would be a grave error. "Vanilla. Stand down." As he speaks the blades that emerge from his forearms seem to take on a life of their own, growing out past his hands in a matter of moments and each slicing into Juma's arm at their base as they expand, dripping blood down his hands to splatter in small pools upon the floor. In his mind, their voices grow with their size, whispering thoughts of vengeance and destruction of the unworthy in the shadows of his consciousness.

[stack]

"Indeed, I fail to see how the caster's moral standing is relevant since we are here and it is paid for. We can scarce afford to move her elsewhere. Cease this nonsense and let us finish our transaction. Mr. Vanilla, please keep watch outside if you please."

[The Hellbug]

The worship of Calistria had never much appealed to Rose so it is unsurprising that she spends her time while following the procession through the great temple's halls reflecting on her current situation, instead of paying much attention to the group's surroundings (though, for Medea, caution of the word of the day as she carefully minds their path and keeps watch for anywhere that could lend itself to a quick getaway). With a little bit of further thought, the fact that Uncle Guden had preempted their plan was even more disturbing, since he either predicted their plan with uncanny accuracy (nothing a skilled diviner couldn't do but not a pleasant thought nonetheless), or he had received word from someone else about their plans; perhaps that was the reason the lab's guards had been so willing to leave. The halfling hopes that is the case since the alternative is that one of her current companions was involved in Istilia's vivisection.

Rose is just (despite herself) thinking about which of her companions could potentially be Guden's agent when the conversation with Mathias takes a turn for the worse. Juma jumps into action before the halfling can say a single word, and she gasps as the blades emerge from his arms. The eyeless man's display seems (to Rose at least, as she certinaly hopes it is just a display) enough to halt the violence between Mitch and the priest so Rose merely adds her voice to Peregrines. "Please, there is a life at stake," she pleads, "she'll die without our help. Would you really want her death on your hands?"

[ICN]

Kiyanna stares, dumbfounded, as the oaf attacks the priest. Who could possibly be idiotic enough to attack a Calistrian inside their own temple? Unless... Vanilla must be working with Uncle Guden. Vanilla had been found unchained and completely unharmed with Istilia, while it was obvious that anyone who had spent more than a minute with the two would've vivisected Vanilla first. And now he was trying to bring down the wrath of a temple of Calistrians on them. All this combined with his deplorable stance on scarves made it obvious. Kiyanna would have to act swiftly if they didn't all want to become a part of the curriculum for aspiring priests. He sends a net whirling towards Vanilla and cries out, "he's a double agent!"

Net attack roll against touch AC: [roll0]

[Bhaakon]

Mitch's hands grab at his ears as the traitorous dog's spell does its sinister work. It's all he can do to maintain his balance and hold down those delicious (and, regrettably, poisoned) cream puffs as a thin trickle of blood seeps out from his ear canals.

Which makes it all the more embarrassing when Kiyanna's net flutters short and wide. No technique at all. An utterly pathetic display of net tossing worthy only of derision. Which is exactly what Master Lock provides.

"I've seen better throws from a drunken, amputee dog catcher." He mutters, shaking his head as he wallops Mitch with a painful back-handed slap.

"Allow me to apologize for my employee's grave error in judgement." He says to Mathias. "Surely we can negotiate some sort of reasonable restitution for the insult. I assure you that this was merely the aftereffects of a trying day and residual toxins from a poisoning this morning."

"Uhnnng" Mitch grunts, now rubbing his bloodied nose and ears.

Diplomacy? [roll0]

[ylvathrall]

"Negotiate restitution?" Mathias says, his tone incredulous. "What do you think I am, a bloody merchant?" He opens his mouth, presumably to cast another spell.

Before he can do so, the door in front of our heroes swings open, and another Calistrian pokes her head out into the hall. She (Kayla Anara, half-elf, female by choice rather than birth, aged seventy-nine and three tenths years, enjoys chocolate, violin, and the sound of her enemies screaming) does not look pleased in the least. "Leave it for later," she snaps, her tone sharp and imperious. "I want to get this done, and I see that the urgency of the situation wasn't exaggerated. Hurry up now."

[stack]

"Indeed. Let reason and haste prevail." Peregrin releases the energies he had begun to gather, hopefully no longer needed.

[The Hellbug]

Thank the gods, Rose thinks as each of the combatants is chided by his superior. With Mitch no longer spoiling for a fight, the halfling follows the animated table through the doorway. "Thank you, and, I'm sorry for my companion's behavior," she apologizes to the priestess, "I don't know what got into him."

[ylvathrall]

"Well, it's settled now," Kayla says to Rose, sounding vaguely dismissive. This impression is not wrong, as she has already dismissed the halfling as a well-intentioned but ultimately irrelevant bystander. Rose's very normalcy is, perhaps, playing against her here; next to the vivid appearances and extreme behaviors of the others, Rose is easy to forget and easier yet to overlook entirely.

Kayla escorts the group (table and all) into the room in which she was waiting, as Mathias returns to the front room with a parting glare at Mister Vanilla. A small, dimly-lit private room, it has an intimate, cozy feel to it, leather-upholstered couches and beeswax candles. Clearly, it is commonly used for activities other than healing spells; it smells of sweat and sex and perfume.

The priest reassembles Istilia. This is more difficult than it sounds, particularly since Kayla is not particularly medically inclined. She has a number of skills, but surgery is not one of them, and this shows. In the end, she gives up and simply removes a few flaps of skin rather than try to get them back in place.

Once Kayla is satisfied, she places a hand on Istilia's chest and recites a short prayer to Calistria, touching a simple wooden holy symbol with the other. The results are swift and dramatic, as wounds close, missing pieces are restored, and the grotesque damage inflicted upon Istilia's body is repaired. Within a few minutes, she looks entirely whole.

That was a regenerate spell.

Okay, Istilia is healed and conscious with [roll0] hit points.

[stack]

Unacquainted with the divine forms of magic, Peregrin can't be sure of the spell beyond it results. "Welcome back."

[ylvathrall]

"What just happened?" Istilia says, opening her eyes and checking her restraints. "I...don't understand. Am I dead?"

As the minutes roll along and questions are asked and answered, it becomes clear that Istilia knows very little of what happened. She was, apparently, vivisected by Uncle Guden, or at any rate by the same entity that introduced itself as Uncle Guden. It's not entirely clear whether he was alone; indeed, Istilia's memories of the event are unclear at best. It's not entirely clear why this might be, whether it might be the result of magic or of simple trauma. She does not know quite what was done, or why; Uncle Guden did not explain his motivations. The only thing she seems clear on is that he kept apologizing throughout the process, seeming almost to feel guilty for what he was doing.

Kayla leaves as this is recounted, informing our heroes that the room is theirs until evening.

[stack]

Once everyone is caught up on current events, Peregrin looks around the room. "So...now what? Gulden probably knows we are here by now or will soon. We have none of our friends or acquaintances to help us and the most powerful man in the city wants to cut us to pieces. I have to admit that I am rather at a loss."

[Bhaakon]

It was hard to tell which was more disconcerting. The pounding pain and vague nausea from the damaged ears, or the sharp sting, nascent tears, and simple indignity of Master Lock's public rebuke. Mitch ponders the question for a few moments in silence, but he never really decided upon an answer. Thankfully, the passage of time quickly dulls both injuries, and renders the question moot.

By the time he's feeling up to speaking again, Istilia is back on her feet and the Calistrians have left the group to discuss the matter among themselves. Or, more likely, left to secretly spy upon the group as they decided upon a course of action.

'The group'? By the First Vault, I've somehow associated myself with this pack of freaks.

Before he can voice his displeasure, though, Master Lock cuts in. "We should see the Abadarans. My employee's appointment should still be good. They might offer an opinion that hasn't been bought and paid for by a third party."

[ICN]

As the healing takes place, Kiyanna finds a seat and leans back, humming softly to tune everything else out. So far this hero thing hadn't been working out at all. First he died, then everyone forgot about him, the embarrassing incident with the net in the foyer, he was clearly doing something wrong. Was it the outfit? No, that was ridiculous. It was probably the lack of a theme song. That, and the odious man had been throwing him off his game.

Kiyanna refocuses as the group begins their discussion. The strange spirit-thing's response draws a snort from him. "You want an opinion of your man that hasn't been bought and paid for?" Lowering his voice to a stage whisper and feigning secrecy, Kiyanna says "he's lost his wits, taken leave of his senses. I may have a solution, however." He pulls a scarf from his sleeve, one that would match Mister Vanilla's current ensemble exquisitely. "In times like these, a small, soft, portable object has shown to have great effectiveness in anchoring the subject's mind to reality. A few days of wearing this and you're sure to see some improvement in your employee's deplorable condition."

Scarf Bluff, taking 15 for 29.

[Bhaakon]

Master Lock frowns at Kiyanna and the proffered the scarf. "If you want my employee to tote a security blanket, it had better be fashionable and valuable enough to reflect properly on his employer. I can't have my man flouncing about in rags."

He reaches out to take the scarf, examining the materials, the qualify of its weave, originality of design, the presence or absence of gold thread and jewels.

Needless to say, he doesn't find what he's looking for.

"What is this? Are you trying to wrap my footman in bandages, like a cut-rate Osirioni embalmer?" Lock balls the scarf up and throws it back in Kiyanna's face. "Cotton? Preposterous. And it appears to have been woven by an ill-trained macaque. No, no, no. Nothing less than the best for my representative, you understand? This wretched bandana isn't even fit for a bindle."

Mitch sighs in relief.

Appraise Check! [roll0]

[The Hellbug]

"What could the Abadarans even do for us, though?" Rose asks pointedly, "the only person we know that has any idea what's going on is Uncle Guden, and we couldn't touch him even if we tried. He started a step ahead of us, and he's stayed there all day."

Her lack of helpful input does nothing to refute the voice's comment that Rose is easy to overlook, and, truthfully, this very comment cuts to a sensitive spot for Rose. In fact, Guden's preemptive solution to Istilia's condition has Rose feeling somewhat helpless yet again, a feeling that the voice in her head is somehow well-aware of.

"Wait!" Rose suddenly exclaims, "at Guden's the voice mentioned something about odd items..."

The halfling frantically digs through her pack until she finds the puzzle box. She holds it out for the rest of the group to look at. "I think it was talking about this. I've never seen it before today, and I woke up from...whatever happened...with it in my hands. Have any of you seen anything like it before?"

[ICN]

Kiyanna barely glances at Rose's box before dismissing it. "It's a puzzle box, there are thousands like it in the city." The matter safely settled, he resumes his glare at the detestable duo. "You do have the look of someone well acquainted with bindles, I will defer to your extensive experience on the subject. Who are you anyways? Why do you even remember Mister Bland there?"

Intimidate check for glaring: [roll0]

[TheOneHawk]

Juma shakes his head at Rose's question, before producing the Cicatrix lookalike from his own pack. "Not what I would call alike, but I also awoke with an unexpected item in my possession." He holds it out for a moment so any interested may look before returning it carefully to his pack without another word.

[stack]

"I have a music box as well." Peregrin produces it, turning the handle gently to demonstrate. "Haven't had a chance to examine it thoroughly though. Might be time."

[ylvathrall]

"I think I had something like that," Istilia says hesitantly. "A harrow card. But I don't have it anymore." She pauses and shakes her head. "I think I need to leave," she says. "After this...I need to get away. Out of Kaer Maga."

Naturally, while our heroes are sorry to see her go (if only because she knows of them and thus belongs to a group small enough that her loss cannot be casually ignored), they recognize that they should allow it. Attempting to keep her in Kaer Maga after the experience she had would be cruel, and can only end poorly.

Thus, they will surely bid her a regretful but understanding farewell, and then resume their business. As there is no obvious pattern among the objects with which they awakened (and which, they recall, are important and should not be advertise to others), they decide to move on to the next course of action. The next place to look for a pattern would seem to be in the circumstances of their deaths. There are secrets to be found there, among the monks of Oriat and the bardic college, in a long-abandoned warehouse and at the pillars of dreaming, in the workshops of Bis and, yes, at the Bank of Abadar.

[stack]

Peregrin gives the sky a sour look. "Could just tell us what the clues are you know? My family will have my fingers if I get caught breaking in. One of them murdered me in the first place!"

[TheOneHawk]

Juma gives Peregrin the barest hint of a smile and a sad shake of his head. "Whatever this voice is, it has proven itself to be anything but straight forward. Perhaps we should leave your house for last, however, in case we need not actually break in."

[Bhaakon]

"See, I told you there would be answers at the Bank of Abadar." Mitch huffs, vindicated by the helpful and informative voice. Notably he has not volunteered to show his fellow afflicted the coin secreted in his pack.

"Quite." Master lock answers. "We might as well head there first, since we've an appointment. Perhaps there's enough time to procure a stole? I believe this...person's advice was near the mark, if the specifics were off. A ragged scarf! Harrumph, I say. A proper bit of fur displays the right amount of sophistication, I think. Perhaps mink or, no...fox. With the head, of course."

"Er...are...are you sure about that, sir?" Mitch whines, clearly not a fan of fashion accessories in general.

"Don't question your betters, Mitchell. It's rude."

[The Hellbug]

Rose looks at each of the other items and can't help but agree with the voice: they don't seem to have anything in common. She fiddles with the puzzle box for a few moments as the others converse but makes no progress before being drawn back into the conversation.

When Istilia announces her decision to leave, Rose doesn't know what to say. After what she's been through, it wouldn't exactly be a good idea to argue with her, after all, and leaving Kaer Maga is a totally reasonable response to the dancer's situation. The best the halfling can muster is a, "good luck," as the woman leaves the room.

Rose, however, can't just run away from this. Where would even go, anyway, if no one in the world remembers her? No, the thing for her to do is dig into what the cause of all this could be. In that vein, she is very much in agreement with Mitch's plan. "I think the Bank of Abadar sounds like a good place to start," Rose concurs, "it certainly sounds like the safest place for us to start, at least."

However, her attention turns to Master Lock when the Medea lets out a swift bark to let her presence be known at his comment about scarves. Rose shares in her familiar's annoyance as she scolds the phantom. "You think that's rude, Mister? Maybe you should think about the present company before you let your mouth run like that, hmm? Who do you think you are, anyway?"

[Bhaakon]

"You can't talk to Master Lock that way." Mitch interrupts the halfling, insinuating himself between her and his employer.

"Now, now, Mitchell, that's quite all right. I think it would be better if both me and...er, this little lady call off our junkyard dogs." Master Lock asserts in his most reasonable-sounding tone. "Besides, the more I think about it, the more I think that you don't need such a thing. Scarves, stoles, bah. Crutches for weak-willed souls. You'll just have to build up some callous. We'll call it a character-building exercise."

Yes sir! Mitch can't hide his relief. Scarves...preposterous.

[ICN]

Kiyanna stands up and walks towards Master Lock, a bright smile devoid of any actual warmth on his face. "Stop dodging the question. Who are you?"

[stack]

Peregrin shrugs. "Seems unlikely the bank is forthcoming with information, but I suppose it is as good a place as any to start. If we can make it there without excessive bickering. Though adding on who was not at our initial meeting does raise valid questions..." He trails off, waiting for Locke.

[Bhaakon]

"I'm Master Lock, a merchant, moneylender, and factor in good standing." The phantom answers, rising up to his full height, clicking his new jewelry, and straightening his outfit to cut his most imposing figure. "Who, beyond an impertinent scoundrel and pusher of inferior apparel, is asking?"

[stack]

"Peregrin Ardoc. Yes, those Ardocs. Arcane researcher and golem-smith. Also recently murdered, which is proving rather inconvenient in unexpected ways."

[ICN]

Kiyanna snorts as Master Lock's feeble attempt at a lie floats to his ears. It seemed pointless too, what reason would the thing have to lie? Unless... Kiyanna rounds on Master Lock and points a dramatic finger. "If you won't tell him, I will. Kiyanna's expression focuses for a moment, then his form shifts into someone that looks a great deal like Master Lock as he turns to Mister Vanilla. "Mitchell, I was the one who arranged for your death. You saw... something you shouldn't have. Additionally, you're ugly and smell terrible, so I was doing everyone a favor really."

Taking 15 for 29 Bluff.
Disguise: [roll0]

[Bhaakon]

Mitch's eyes widen at the half-orc's startling admission...until he rambles off into the realm of nonsense. Rolling his eyes, the actuary answers. "Sir, may I ask you something?" A rhetorical question, of course, and Mitch carries on without pausing for a breath. "Are you merely a dealer in scarves, or do you snort them as well? Because that ration of nonsense leads me to believe that your skull is a full of cheap cotton weave as your outfit."

"Mitchell!" Master Lock turns to Kiyanna, apparently aghast. "That's...that's almost a pertinent question, but I'd be more interested to know, sir, who are you, and what asylum you escaped from?"

[ylvathrall]

Fortunately for everyone involved, both Kiyanna and Mister Vanilla realize that they are behaving like foolish children and stop before the discussion becomes even more comical. This is, of course, because they're both entirely wrong. Kiyanna's accusation is wildly misplaced; Master Lock is lying to and manipulating Mister Vanilla, but did not and could not arrange for his death (the responsibility for which lies primarily with certain other parties at the Bank of Abadar). Neither, however, is Kiyanna an escapee from a mental asylum (though it could perhaps be argued that she...or he, as the case may be...is currently an inmate in one, Kaer Maga being something of a madhouse at the best of times).

In any case, and even if they are willing to let this extremely silly and pointless argument divide them further when they are already in such a precarious position, there is another consideration which will surely prevent them from continuing it. To wit, they're currently discussing extremely private matters in the Temple of Calistria, with an unknown number of unknown persons potentially listening in and taking notes on their respective statements. As such, they naturally realize that this is a discussion best had elsewhere if at all, preferably on the way to a location where they can actually do something useful to better their understanding of their situation.

Additionally, after the day he's had so far, Mister Vanilla undeniably smells unpleasant.

[stack]

Peregrin gives the ceiling another annoyed glare before looking at the others. "Obnoxious, unforthcoming, and snide but not entirely wrong. Let us leave this place presently."

He turns to the table. "Not really a reason to bring you along, attract too much attention. Stay."

[The Hellbug]

Rose had been about to make peace with Mr. Lock when when Kiyanna cut in with his line of questioning concerning Lcok's motives. She can only watch helplessly as the accusations become more ridiculous until the voice in her head tells its side of the story and Peregrin speaks his mind on the matter. Rose can barely agree with the Ardoc fast enough, eager to avoid Kiyanna's uncomfortable questioning in such a place. "Yes, let's" she announces as she makes her way towards the door, a somewhat placated Medea close on her heels. The halfling keeps the voice's advice in mind, waiting until they are outside of the temple a ways before discussing their destination in detail. "The Bank of Abadar, then?"

[Bhaakon]

"Yes, the bank." Mitch answers Rose, pointedly turning his back to Kiyanna's ridiculous form.

"Quite." Lock adds. He can't hear the narrator, but the crimson shade of his employee's face is enough to make an educated guess at the content of its commentary. "Though perhaps with a quick stop at an attorney's office for advice on a matter of identity theft and defamation of fashion." Which were, of course, completely spurious charges in general, and particularly in this city (unless, perhaps, he managed to trick Kiyanna into a certain neighborhood).

[ICN]

A triumphant smile spreads across Kiyanna's face as the voice backs him up. It was possible that it wasn't so bad after all, and the touch of an Oriat accent he could detect now would back that up. Secure in his victory, Kiyanna flags down a priest on their way out and purchases a healing spell.

Once outside, Kiyanna makes himself useful. It was regrettable that the consensus decided to go for the Bank of Abadar first, but Kiyanna could make do. He falls into step behind Mister Vanilla, and, when he's not looking, takes his face. Kiyanna proceeds to make rude gestures at everyone they pass, switching back to his Master Lock Disguise if Mister Vanilla looks back.

Caster level two Cure Light Wounds:[roll0]

[ylvathrall]

Fortunately for everyone involved Kiyanna's behavior on the way to the Bank of Abadar goes largely unnoticed. Or, rather, it is clearly noticed, but those observing it do not seem to interpret it as slanderous; instead, it seems to be regarded as a harmless eccentricity. Indeed, the entire group might easily be mistaken for some odd sort of performance art.

At the Bank, another stroke of fortune arrives. Apprentice Chalmers, whom Mister Vanilla had so grossly offended earlier, is gone, having returned to her rooms (shared with a pet cat and an exotic whore from Garund, whose presence Serena Chalmers would likely not tolerate were the whore in question not the only reason she could afford to live in such a pleasant neighborhood) to recover from a trying shift and continue the slow collapse of her life. Instead, our heroes are greeted by Apprentice Josiah Sharal, a man so utterly dedicated to his work that even the other Abadarans have been known to wonder whether his work ethic might represent some quiet insanity.

[stack]

"Well, Vanilla, its your show. Lead the way." And try not to make us look more foolish than we already do... His words are followed with a glance to Locke, expecting Vanilla would do nothing without his input.

[Bhaakon]

If Kiyanna had hoped to get some sort of response from Mitch with that immature display, she is mistaken. Unless the reddening ears and twitching eye are to be counted, and, really, they shouldn't. That could easily be explained by the caffeine withdrawal and side-effects of being poisoned.

As they arrive at the familiar precincts of the Bank of Abadar, Mitch naturally slips back into his usual role and seeks to introduce his employer to the laudable Apprentice Sharal. It takes some effort to ignore the voice's commentary on the poor woman he'd met here just this morning. Either the things was an atrocious gossip monger or a fabulist--probably the second, given the extravagant and unlikely detail of Miss Chalmers's personal life.

"Ahem" Mitch clears his throat. "Apprentice, I am Journeyman Mitchell Vanilla. I have an appointment Vaultkeeper Erickson. If you wouldn't mind showing us to his office?"

[ylvathrall]

Apprentice Sharal's response is immediate (it goes without saying, of course, that he knows the full schedule of appointments for the day without so much as having to ponder it). "Your appointment is with Vaultkeeper Ferron, sir," he says crisply. "Follow me, please."

He then proceeds to lead the group upstairs, and through the entirely regular halls of Abadar's Bank, to an unassuming door in the northeastern quadrant of the fourth floor of the building. This wooden door looks quite like any other in this building save for the addition of a plaque labeled Vaultkeeper Ferron, its simplicity belying the fact that this office belongs to one of the more highly-ranked priests of Abadar in the city.

Continuing in, our heroes find that office to be much as would be expected from such a place. The furniture (desk, one chair on the opposite side, two chairs closer to the door, bookshelves) is all simple, though of excellent quality. On the desk are metal trays for the many documents which cross this desk each day; the receptacle for incoming files is empty, while that for paperwork which has already been dealt with and is ready to continue on its path is overflowing. On the desk stand a collection of pens beside a pot of black ink, six inches away and forty-five degrees from a collection of pens beside a pot of blue ink, which in turn is six inches from a single pen and a small vial of red ink, for those words which merit being written in red. Aside from this the desk is empty.

More notable, and the only real mark of personality inscribed upon this office, is the contents of the shelves. They are packed full, not so much as an inch of space between books, with weighty tomes on weighty matters. One bookcase contains a complete copy of the Manual of City-Building, with of course certain adjustments to compensate for the fact that the city in question is Kaer Maga. One bookcase (seldom touched, the covers of the books showing a fine layer of dust) contains the holy texts of other religions, from the prominent to the exceedingly uncommon. And, of course, there is a set of shelves devoted to books on the history of Varisia, from the time of Thassilon to the present day. This is Vaultkeeper Ferron's particular interest, and he is quite possibly one of the more educated humans in the city on the topic.

The Vaultkeeper himself is behind the desk, and also looks much like he might be expected to. A thin human man with fingers stained by ink, dressed in the heavy robes of his office, he does not look to be an imposing figure. This impression is of course false, as a single word from one of those pens is capable of accomplishing more than a hundred swords might, to say nothing of the considerable clerical magic at his command.

He is, as the door opens, reading a thin file (which contains the information relevant to Mister Vanilla's case, though of course our heroes have no way of knowing this). "I am told you are experiencing hallucinations, Journeyman," he says crisply, not looking away from the paper.

[Bhaakon]

"Right, Vaultkeeper Ferron. Excuse me." Mitch nods and follows the precise apprentice. Clearly the stress of the day was taking its toll. Why, normally Mitch would preide himself on being just as exacting as this fine, you man.

The Bank was just as he'd remembered, as well engineered and predictable as a fine pocket watch. Sure, some of the cogs had changed since his time here, but fit into their slots seemlessly, and the mechanism ticked on as ever. Truly a heartwarming sight.

Even Ferron's office is a pleasant surprise, though it was unusual for an apprentice to spend much time here if they weren't in trouble with the Vaultkeeper. Most of the higher clergy used the apprentices to clean their offices, but the layer of dust on the stack of non-Abadaran holy texts showed that Ferron did not. The man was notoriously jealous of his library, and wouldn't let a soul into his office without escort.

He was also quite to the point. "Yes, Vaultkeeper, that was case when I made the appointment, but now it seems there may be more to it than that. For one thing, the voice I'm hearing provides certain...insights that I believe a simple hallucination would not. That is to say, it knows things that I do not. Additionally, I've come across a handful of other--let's call them 'people'--suffering from the same malady. In fact, they seem to hear precisely the same voice that I do"

Mitch clears his throat for the next part, leaning close an whispering. "Also, most distressingly, I believe this voice might be able to impact the physical world more directly. I would suggest you ward yourself, sir, as it I'm quite certain it cast some sort of magical spell to protect me from a most impudent Calistrian."

[stack]

Peregrin stands back and attempts to look respectable, letting Mitch speak. Failed to mention that no one remembers us.

[ylvathrall]

Mister Vanilla is, of course, incorrect. Any disembodied voice which he or his associates might be hearing is wholly incapable of the sort of direct protection which he describes. Its only ability to provide our heroes with meaningful assistance comes in the form of advising them on their situation, which obviously means that when they ignore its advice its ability to assist them is extremely limited.

Vaultkeeper Ferron, however, takes the words in stride, merely nodding and making a note (in black ink, of course, this not meriting the blue and most certainly not being so drastic an action as to entail the opening of that red ink so feared by the junior clergy of the Bank) within the file. "I see," he says. "Pardon me for digressing a moment, Journeyman Vanilla, but at what church did you complete your novitiate?"

[Bhaakon]

Mitch blinks in surprise. He expected contrarianism from the voice, but from Ferron? No, there had to be a simple explanation. Perhaps the man was going senile? It happened to the best of us, after all.

"Er...here, Vaultkeeper. My graduation was a few years ago, but I'm sure the records are easily found."

[TheOneHawk]

Juma breaks his silence when Mitchell asserts this as his home church, quietly stepping behind him and murmering in his ear. "Have you forgotten, Mister Vanilla, that those of us who hear the voice appear to be wiped from the memory of all those we knew?"

[Bhaakon]

"I've observed no such thing." Mitch snaps at the scarred man. Hardly a reliable source, that one.

[ylvathrall]

"I thought you might say that, Journeyman," the Vaultkeeper says. "So I drew the records in advance." He reaches into a drawer of the desk (one which usually sits empty, but occasionally holds materials needed for various appointments, for Vaultkeeper Ferron does so love to be prepared) and withdraws a large book, grunting with the effort of hefting it. He places it on the desk and, with reverent delicacy, opens it to a marked page. "See for yourself," he says, turning it to face Mister Vanilla.

This is, of course, only one small part of the church records, which in their entirety occupy an entire library within the Bank's vaults. It is, however, the book which would contain his information as an initiate of Abadar's clergy, and it's plain to see that it does not. There are other Vanillas (the family has a moderately long history within Kaer Maga, after all, and close ties to the Bank), but obviously none are him. Every entry is simply incompatible, inaccurate in age, rank, or in the case of one precocious and moderately scandalous cousin sex.

The notion of him having altered the records is, of course, one that can immediately be dismissed. Vaultkeeper Ferron is no paragon of virtue, but he is a devoted historian, and it's hard to imagine that he would ever willingly alter the Bank's records. Not only that, but the page does not look altered; it simply has no entry whatsoever for Mister Vanilla.

[The Hellbug]

Magic that could alter memory is something Rose has heard of, though obviously not on so large a scale as what she and her companions are experiencing, but a change in the physical records as well? This kind of thing should have taken time (if Vanilla has indeed been telling the truth, though Rose suspects that this is the case--it is the man's master that has come across as far more suspicious) especially if it were being done here in one of the largest temples in the city, and dedicated to a god who holds record-keeping in such high regard. Rose doesn't quite get a useful look at the book (she wouldn't know what to make of it so quickly anyway), but she takes the Vaultkeeper's word. "Is there anyone who could have changed these records?" she asks, "our friend Vanilla, here, seems pretty confident that he has worked for you."

[ylvathrall]

To say that the Vaultkeeper's reaction to Rose's comment was impassioned would, technically, be accurate. But that fails to convey the intensity, the depth of this response. Say instead that removing his finger with an axe would get less of a reaction; this may not be as strictly true, but it conveys the reality far more clearly.

Vaultkeeper Ferron draws himself up to his full (though still rather unimpressive) height and simply stares at Rose for a moment, physically shaking with rage. "Miss," he says, his tone making the term more cutting than any of the slurs tossed about in a bar of ill repute, "this is an official record of the Bank of Abadar. Do you think that one may simply waltz in and vandalize our records? That we are so cavalier with our logs as that?" His tone is more clipped now, anger making the words sharp and precise. He shakes his head, once. "No. Your 'friend' has already admitted to hearing voices and is likely delusional, while this is a church record. Of the two, I know which I believe."

[stack]

Results consistent with previous observations. Not surprising, but the test needed to be done. If these records can be altered as well as the minds of everyone we know then...well we already knew extremely powerful magic was at work. "I suspect we will have little else of interest by pursuing this avenue of inquiry." Peregrin says, giving the cleric a polite nod.

[ICN]

Kiyanna shakes his head as they walk through the walls of the church. Such a depressing place; everything was so dull and ordered. When the group begins its meeting with the priest though, a smile breaks out onto his face again. Kiyanna could almost see Mister Vanilla's world crumbling, and it was a beautiful sight. For the time being, he sat back and watched the story play out.

[The Hellbug]

Rose opens her mouth to reply, but no words come out. She hadn't expected Ferron to be absolutely ecstatic about that line of questioning, but the sheer venom of his response might as well have caught the halfling completely off guard. As she stands there trying to gather her thoughts, it is only a nudge from her familiar that finally get's Rose talking. "I didn't mean any offense," Rose finally stammers out to the record keeper, "I wouldn't believe it either if I weren't in the same situation as your man here."

[Bhaakon]

"That's...I..." Mitch gawps, utterly unable to stitch together an understandable sentence. "Impossible...no...but...receipts! Degrees!"

"I believe my employee is attempting to articulate that he was some sort of evidence proving his graduation among his personal effects." Master Lock interprets.

"Y...yes!" Mitch finally clears the stubborn constriction in his throat. "I still have my book of tables from my final year of apprenticeship, and the silver key." He produces his well-used actuarial codex and the holy symbol he received upon attaining journeyman status. "I'm sure my mother still has my certificate of completion framed at home! Surely this is just a filing error. Perhaps I'm listed under 'Mitch" or "Michelle"? Or the year and month were transposed in the log somehow?"

"Be that as it may." Lock continues. "Perhaps you could complete the magical examination this appointment was for? The outcome may well put to rest any question of a clerical error before accusations are tossed around publicly."

[ylvathrall]

"You have the files right there," Vaultkeeper Ferron says, nodding at Rose in a somewhat conciliatory manner. The Vaultkeeper is not a man inclined to social graces, but this is a genuine attempt at reconciliation and even at apology, though it might seem lacking from her perspective. "If you can find any record of yourself, please do. I looked extensively earlier today and I found no such evidence."

He then addresses Master Lock. "I can certainly cast the spell," he says. "A restorative spell may be enough to eliminate the problem, depending upon the nature and source of the malady. However, without evidence that the patient is affiliated with the Bank, I would have to insist upon the full tithe being given in payment. I would estimate that to cost not less than five hundred and eighty gold pieces, including filing costs and appointment fees."

[stack]

"A moment to confirm with my...companions, please?" Peregrin asks.

To the others, "Fair bit of cash that will cost. I suspect all of our funds are somewhat limited. We can manage, I am sure, but we risk being insolvent with little hope of normal recovery for an answer I suspect we can anticipate form other data."

[The Hellbug]

"If that's the case, then that's the case," Rose replies to the Vaultkeeper, "I never meant to imply that I doubted your knowledge of your records. I'm sure I won't be able to find anything you didn't."

She then joins Peregrine in discussing their situation. "I'm not so sure whatever the Vaultkeeper has planned will help. He only thinks we're not right in the head, but, after Uncle Guden's? I think there's more going on than that."

[Bhaakon]

Frustrated and, it must be said, verging on angry, Mitch snatches up the files and begin pouring over them. "I believe I will have a look." He say, belatedly, once his nose is already buried in the stack of papers.

Master Lock, of course, focuses on the bottom line.

"I'm rather too leveraged to support that level of fee." He hisses, frowning. "I was expecting a steep discount for church members in good standing, but if my employee has exaggerated his qualifications..." There's no need to elaborate. The fate of resume cheats goes without saying.

Mitch's paper shuffling intensifies. Then becomes frantic as he fails to find what he's looking for on the third time through. "This is...I...must be a mistake..."

[ylvathrall]

"If this is a mistake, I fail to see how it occurred," Vaultkeeper Ferron says, his tone quite implacable. "The notion that you could have completed your novitiate here without having any paperwork on file is patently absurd. The possibility that all of our records could have been altered without our knowledge is similarly laughable. And that is to say nothing of the fact that you would have had to have started your studies well after I arrived here, and I've never seen you before in my life. I even spoke to Madeline Vanilla, one of our apprentices here, and she doesn't know of any member of her family who fits your description."

The Vaultkeeper pauses, as though allowing Mister Vanilla to process this information. It seems unbelievable; while he and his cousin are not on the best of terms (Madeline is rather unorthodox, at least by the standards of the Vanilla family), she should at the very least be aware of his existence. Everything about the Vaultkeeper's delivery, though, suggests that he's telling the unvarnished truth. "It would appear that this is an enormous delusion," he says at last. "That explanation is far more parsimonious than any other that I've come up with."

[stack]

"Time to move on then? Shouldn't waste any more of the man's time." Peregrin suggests with a shrug.

[Bhaakon]

"But...I..." Mitch blubbers, finally giving up and setting the files down. "That's...quite...quite..."

He draws in a deep breath, holding it for a ten count.

"...Quite a waste of your time." He finishes, suddenly calm. "I don't believe that I can afford your suggested treatment, and clearly I'll be receiving no loan or other consideration, so I suppose there nothing you can do for me, Vaultkeeper. Good day."

But it's not a good day. It's a very, very bad day. Someone has clearly managed to not only alter the sacred records of the Bank, but suborn one of its most prominent officials. Conspiracy of unimaginable magnitude, apparently directed against a simple clerk. Truly Mitch would not have believed it if the facts weren't laid out before him. No doubt orchestrated by the same cabal of jealous superiors who had seen him shunted off in buried behind a corner desk in a minor branch office. The only question is why they would bother to involve these other...weirdos.

And what was the voice getting on about with the inability to defend itself. What, was it implying that Master Lock had done it? Truth be told, Mitch didn't know all that much about his employer. It bore consideration.

[ylvathrall]

"I regret that the situation is such that I can't help you," Vaultkeeper Ferron says, in a tone of clear dismissal. "I suggest you look into the services which the Bank provides to the community for help with your mental health. Loans are available to those in need at very reasonable rates."

Being turned away in this manner must surely be disappointing to our heroes (and most particularly to Mister Vanilla, of course), but they take heart in the knowledge that this appointment wasn't wholly a waste of their time. If nothing else they've at the very least learned more of the extent to which all trace of their existence has been erased, which is significant.

There are still answers to seek in the Bank of Abadar. Mister Vanilla's hunch of corruption within the church is accurate, although Vaultkeeper Ferron himself isn't party to the conspiracy which arranged Mister Vanilla's murder, or even aware of it. Ferron's books contain information which, if one were to understand the implications, would hint at the existence and nature of the conspiracy. Ferron, though, is in some ways an innocent, lacking in the sort of cynicism that would give him cause to interpret the words in that manner, and disinclined to suspect his fellow clergy of wrongdoing. These qualities, so far, have been enough to keep him safe.

But the answers are there, in part. Mister Vanilla's untimely death and inexplicable return, the history of Kaer Maga, Abadar's prominence within the city and the Bank's oddly close relationship to the Church of Asmodeus, Vaultkeeper Ferron's profound disturbance at the notion of the annals being altered...all of these mysteries and more are connected, and the missing link that ties them together is nowhere else than within the Vault of the Bank of Abadar itself.

[stack]

Peregrin turns away from the priest and rolls his eyes. Could have started with that little explanation. Turning back and giving a bow respectfully to the priest, "Please excuse us, I believe we know the way out."

[The Hellbug]

Rose follows Peregrine out he door, disappointed at the lack of answers they had received at the bank. As the group emerges onto the busy streets, she considers the voice's words. "Well, behind the doors of the Vault means useless to us, unless, by chance, one of you is a match for whatever enchantments the most powerful priests in the city can manage," she says, frustrated at their current impasse. Still preferring to put off heading to the place of her recent demise, she looks to the others for a suggestion. "Where next, then?"

[TheOneHawk]

Juma muses the situation for a moment before responding. "I can't help but feel we are being led on something of a wild goose chase. We learned far more in this visit from the voice than we did from actually coming here. Obviously, however, the voice will not give any more information without us going to each site in turn. My own is on the other side of the city, in the Warrens. It is a strange question to ask, but which of you died the closest to here?"

[stack]

"Bis for me. Not that we would have any better chance getting into my family compound than we would at getting in the vault here."

[Bhaakon]

Shocked into silence by the revelations, Mitch staggers sullenly after the others, unable even to summon the energy for a properly polite goodbye to the Vaultkeeper. This was...shocking. Unexpected. Beyond belief. Erased. A conspiracy of the faithful. Too much for one poor actuary to process.

"You're pale as a ghost, Mitchell." Master Lock observes. "Some strong coffee, that will put some color back in your cheeks. Then we can get back to earning coin. One day, I'm certain, you'll be able to afford to figure out this mess."

"Y...yes." Mitch mumbles, finding some comfort in the familiar routine of setting up his portable stove and percolator. "Or...you say none of us could penetrate the wards?" Mitch turns to Rose, his manic eyes flashing a touch too much sclera. "But we do know someone who might..."

[The Hellbug]

Rose's expression turns to one of disgust as she guesses at Mitch's suggestion. "Uncle Guden? You can't seriously be thinking about him, right?" she asks in disbelief, "after he drugged us and what he did to Istilia? Not a chance I'm trusting him again--not as far as I could throw him."

She then reluctantly answers Juma's question after shaking her head at Mitch. "It happened to me in Oriat, and I doubt anyone involved has been back to the place, given the circumstances."

[stack]

"Gulden is not an option." Peregrin agrees vehemently.

[TheOneHawk]

"I would not rule him out so quickly, but for the moment I must agree that Gulden is far from our ally and certainly not someone to turn to without substantially more information than we have." He takes a moment to look over the group, his empty, sightless eyes staring at each one for a moment. "Well, since nobody else seems to be willing to share the location of their death, Bis is closest. We must simply trust that either the voice knows a way in, or we will discover information without needing to seek entrance to your family compound, Master Peregrin. Please, lead on."

[stack]

Peregrin's face gets pale. "My cousin was going to kill me if I didn't turn around. My family...they are not always NICE." He shrugs, taking the lead if the others persist.

[The Hellbug]

Perhaps following up on the Ardoc would not be the best place to start. Rose takes a deep breath before offering an alternative to help Peregrine. "Like I said, last place I was at was an old building in Oriat," she offers, still not exactly comfortable with uttering any word like 'death' or 'died', "as far as I could tell, the place was mostly abandoned." She doesn't add that that is the reason no one likely heard her scream.

[stack]

"Old building sounds much easier to get into than a bank vault or...home."

[TheOneHawk]

Juma grunts his acceptance of the altered plan and gestures to Rose indicating that she should take the lead towards Oriat.

[Bhaakon]

Still shocked by the events of the last hour, Mitch can't even think up much of an argument, let alone form the words. He simply follows the others, brooding over what he'd heard from the Vaultkeeper and read in the records. For the moment he can't even raise up the initiative to fetch himself some coffee--though he hasn't had a cup since the ill-fated meal with Guden.

[The Hellbug]

With no one else offering any alternatives, Rose slowly takes the lead of the group, cutting through the busy streets towards Oriat and the place of her demise. At first Medea merely follows her master, but, as they get closer to their destination, recognizes the maze of streets and takes her side by her mistress.

[ylvathrall]

With a collective sigh at the vagaries of fortune, our heroes abandon the Bank for the time being and continue their slow circuit of the city. Their next destination brings them to Oriat, the district of artists. Even more than Hospice this is the wild side of Kaer Maga, the home of drink and dance and feverish hedonism, where the deliriously happy and the utterly hopeless rub shoulders as they wander the streets in a haze. Oriat is a place of life lived without limits, where every coy smile and sidelong glance carries the siren song of seductive promise. This, they say, is a place to forget the bounds of civilized life, drop the reins, and let it all out.

And if there's a darker side to this festival? If there's an edge of desperation to the laughter, a hunger darker than lust in the dancing, a quiet urgency in the hands that grip the drinks? If the celebration is born as much from fear of tomorrow as joy in today?

That's expected, acknowledged, unremarked. See the addict collapsed in a stupor at the side of the road, heart pounding fit to burst, his last rocket blazing across the sky inside his mind. See the girl crouched in the mouth of the alley, feeling sick and dirty and walking the streets again anyway so she can find a meal come night. See the dancer on the stage, the adoring crowd throwing gold and flowers at her feet, and all she can think is how her legs ache and the lights burn her eyes, all alone in the midst of the crowd and none of them even know it.

See all these things, but don't look, don't stop, don't say a word. Because this is Kaer Maga. This is the City of Strangers, and it's not your problem.


The building Rose was murdered in is right where she remembered, in a relatively quiet backwater of the madhouse that is Oriat. Tucked away behind an apartment building, it's a small and unremarkable sort of building, not obviously different from any number of others that our heroes passed on their course to get there. Even a cursory glance, though, can see something out of place. The door is broken, kicked in and clumsily repaired; the walls are scorched, the floor burned black. It's not hard to guess that a fight happened here in the relatively recent past, though it seems quiet now.

[stack]

Looking over their destination, Peregrin turns to Rose, "So, what can you tell us of this place, since our all knowing voice is too occupied with social commentary to tell us anything useful?" He spares a dark glare at the sky, no better target presenting itself.

[The Hellbug]

"Honestly, you probably know just as much as me," Rose replies, glancing around nervously at the sights the voice in her head points out. Medea, for her part, pays them no mind, though Rose wonders if the fox would be the least bit more worried if she had a narrator to point it out to her. "I didn't spend too much time here, myself. I was more chiefly interested in what lay under the city than in it so I spent more time in Bis, where I could get at the Duskwardens. I only came here at all because I got word of someone who was interested in a cooperative investigation into those depths--a monastic order by their admission. I met with them in what I had assumed they thought would be a safe place, but a fight broke out and...well, you can guess the rest, I think.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma nods as Rose explains the circumstances of her death, his sightless eyes staring towards the wreck of a building that had been indicated. "Doesn't seem likely to break out into a fight now, let us hope our fortunes are more favourable than your last visit." He begins striding towards the building and gestures to the rest of the group to follow, pausing as soon as he has passed the ruined door to examine the interior through his symbiotes.

[ylvathrall]

The interior of the building is much the same as the exterior, which is to say that it's a very normal building in which some very abnormal events transpired. The signs of violence aren't as dense as they might be in, for example, a battlefield, but they're still noticeably present and unmistakably fresh. The patterns hint at stories only they know: the dent in the wall where someone's skull impacted it with more force than its owner might have preferred, the long bloodstain that describes the arc a blade made in the air, the scorch marks where a magical flame seared the stone. Curiously, though the evidence of lethal wounds is plentiful, there are no actual bodies to be seen.

There is no obvious trail in these signs to follow. Luckily, Rose can remember exactly how to reach the precise location of her own demise. Down the hall to her left, into a small room full of bedrolls, down the stairs in the closet and around the corner. That, she knows, is the path which will take her to the small underground room. The extensive stains there mark the spot where she poured her life's blood out onto a dingy table, and realized too late that she might have been better off baring her heart metaphorically than literally.

Tragically, Rose was at that time too new to Kaer Maga to have learned that this particular monastic order is known for seldom traveling on the surface of the streets. Had she known that particular tidbit, she might have had a better idea of what to do when the violence started. Perhaps she could have avoided her untimely death...but then, perhaps not.

[The Hellbug]

Rose has no idea what to expect upon reaching the building in which she died. Her heartbeat quickens as she walks down the empty halls, leading her companions past the signs of the bout of violence that took her life. Apparently the monks weren't concerned with covering evidence of the brawl, as the halfling can hardly take a dozen steps without seeing some new evidence of carnage, though someone (or perhaps both sides) had cared enough to come back and reclaim their dead. The scene is very much one of the quiet on an uninhabited former battlefield.

When she reaches the final door, she pauses suddenly. "Hold on one moment," the halfling says, unsure of what she's going to find behind it. A single terrible thought has her imagine opening it to unveil the sight of her own lifeless corpse on the floor. "Here we are," Rose announces as she takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. She is relieved to find the room empty, though the fact that the bloodstain, her own bloodstain, remains where she fell still sends a shiver down her spine.

"I guess I don't know what I expected to find here," she begins as the voice finishes its monologue, looking around at the empty room, "I still know almost nothing about the people I was dealing with here. All I knew is that they were offering me what I had been working to get, and that they had some knowledge of the ruins beneath the city."

[stack]

"I guess we can look around more. Not sure what we are supposed to learn here, other than that the voice will continue to dole out tidbits as a reward for jumping through hoops." Peregrin scowls.

[ylvathrall]

A cursory examination of the room exhibits nothing of particular interest, but luckily our heroes are far too clever to stop at a cursory examination, and so they continue to search the area of Rose's death. After two minutes of inspection, both Mister Vanilla and Juma spot something quite unusual, a section of the wall which doesn't quite appear to be a wall at all. To the contrary, it's evidently a door of some sort, meant to be opened by a cunning mechanical device. After a moment they see that the trigger for this secret door (which is really quite well constructed, certainly not something that most people would be able to locate) is a small stone on the floor nearby. When this stone is twisted, the section of wall slides into a recessed slot, revealing a dark tunnel entrance leading off beneath the streets.

Naturally our heroes realize that this is almost certainly an entrance to the tunnel system used by the monks beneath Oriat's streets. Furthermore, they're certainly wise enough to recognize that they would be well-advised not to continue unless they are ready (by one means or another) to deal with said monks.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma shakes his head with a bemused expression as the voice reveals his discovery to the rest of the group before he even can himself. "Well, the voice is correct. I am always prepared to bring justice to those who have wronged the innocent, so unless any of you object I would gladly open this door."

[stack]

"Onward and downward." Peregrin scowls, unaccustomed to such endeavors.

[The Hellbug]

Rose pauses momentarily as Juma opens up the hidden door. While this kind of prodding is almost certainly the kind of thing to put her in harm's way again, she can't think of a faster way to get to the bottom of the reason behind her murder. Last time, though, her assailants had taken a single halfling entirely by surprise, while this time she would be the one with the initiative. Plus, she has her newfound companions. If those monks don't take one look at Juma and run the other way, I'll be surprised.

"Well, this may explain how all that could have happened without anyone outside noticing. Juma, I'm after you," she says, producing a sunrod from her pack and striking it on the ground to light it up.

[ylvathrall]

Continuing into the tunnel (and, of course, taking a moment to close the hidden door behind themselves, as would be the only logical thing to do), our heroes promptly find that the tunnel expands into a larger tunnel complex, which must cover a major portion of the area immediately under the streets of Oriat. Luckily for them they can hear voices coming from the north, and they realize that following the noise will likely lead them to the most immediately interesting thing in the area.

Being rational creatures, they will surely follow that noise. Upon getting close they will clearly realize that it sounds like a large group of people are discussing plans of attack for assaulting some fortified location. Continuing to approach, they will find themselves just outside of a rather cramped room in which thirteen people are standing or sitting and debating these plans, though none of them sound particularly hopeful. It doesn't look like any of them are aware that they're being overheard.

[TheOneHawk]

After listening to the conversation for a moment, Juma concludes that the likelihood of this attack being for good cause after their previous actions is negligible and allows his symbiote blades to fully emerge from his flesh before stepping directly into the room and announcing his presence. "Monks of the Oriat, you stand accused of murder and conspiracy to commit murder. How do you plead?"

[stack]

Peregrin glares at Juma's back as he heads in. "Oh yes, lets announce ourselves. Very tactical." He stays a bit back, uninterested in the idea of melee combat.

[The Hellbug]

Rose is taken aback by the directness of Juma's accusation (or his announcement of her own accusation, technically, she is sure to remember). Either way, there were a good handful of monks involved in the fight leading to her death, and they were fighting among themselves, mostly. Having absolutely no idea if these are ones responsible for the attack, Rose can only mentally prepare herself for the worst while hoping for the best--she won't be caught unawares again.

Mostly waiting on any sort of response from the monks before doing anything rash.

[ylvathrall]

The leader of the monks (for this is, indeed, a group of monks) turns to look at our heroes. An oread, he looks only slightly inhuman in his features, grey and hard. A man past his prime, he looks worn and dangerous, a broken man with a jagged edge. He looks like a specter, a shell of himself, hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, sweat on his brow and blood on his hands. He's nearly as scarred as Juma. Some of the marks even show on his skin.

Perhaps, then, it is a sort of recognition of kinship that makes him look at Juma with respect, and incline his head in the slightest of nods. "Guilty," he says, in a cold voice that fills the room and has not a trace of guilt in it. "Of that and worse. I do what must be done to protect the seal, whatever it takes, as my order has done for ages of the world. And today may be the day that we fail." His eyes harden. "Come what may, I will not allow that to happen. If you think to stop me, I will end you."

It would be easy be to dismiss the man's words as the bravado of a desperate old man. But there is something in those flinty eyes that warns our heroes not to take his warning lightly. This is a man who has done awful things because they must be done. This is a man who looks at the world and sees black white black white black white black white black white grey. This is a man who has long since forgotten how to count the horror he's seen.

This is Urtar Blackhands, who for one hundred and forty-three years has carried the thankless burden of protecting Kaer Maga from a threat that it doesn't know exists.

[TheOneHawk]

Juma pauses for a moment as the voice expounds the virtues of the admitted criminal before shaking his head and replying to both at once. "Your actions are evil, regardless of motive. The sentence is death. All those who lay down arms and surrender may be pardoned."

[The Hellbug]

Rose breathes a sigh of relief as the monks' leader teeters into diplomacy rather than immediate violence. However, it is short-lived as Juma immediately vindicates Rose's discomfort with his brand of introduction. "Wait!" she interjects, stepping up to Juma's side (though Medea, for her part, sees no reason to put herself up in harm's way). She then turns to the devotee of Vildeis and lowers her voice. "Hold on, we don't know anything about these people. We don't even know if they were the same monks who attacked me. Put those blades of yours away and let's just talk for now, okay?"

[ICN]

Kiyanna peeked into the room one more time, almost vibrating with anticipation. The voice had been telling the truth after all, there were monks here. With a final tweak to her outfit, Kiyanna dramatically burst into the room, bravely planting herself between the monks and Medea as a scarf whirled through the air around her. "Never fear, the Bandandit is here! Foul villains, cast down your arms or perish!" Kiyanna pauses, tilting her head in consideration for a moment. "Or we can give you the fat one if you'll leave Oriat out of your little squabbles. Now choose!"

Diplomacy: [roll0]

[stack]

"Wait, what seal? Bloody...lets talk for a minute before we start bashing each other into hamburger."

[ylvathrall]

The man called Urtar Blackhands sighs low and soft, the sound of a man who has grown to expect disappointment and is seldom surprised. "One day I will face judgment for the sins I carry," he says to Juma. His voice is that of a tired old man who has carried his dark burden through too many years, and would like nothing more than to lay it down. "One day. I would rather not count your death among them. But we cannot stop now. We cannot fail. And we do not have a surplus of time. If your blood must be on my hands, so be it."

The monk is standing loose and relaxed, his hands empty at his sides. At a glance he could be expecting nothing more than a casual day at the market, save only for his eyes, which are tired, and dark, and cold.

Well, if you are starting a fight, the initiative looks like this. Not sure who's coming down where, so I'll just list the full order:
Blackhands (already took his turn)
Kiyanna
Mister Vanilla
Other monks
Peregrin
Rose
Juma

[Bhaakon]

Mitch shuffles along a step behind the other, to busy with madly racing introspection to really care about what was going on about him. And the more he plumbed the depths of his situation, the less he fathomed. And the less he fathomed, the greater the deeper his rage grew. Like a pressure cooker forgotten over the fire, he silently bubbled away in the background.

Something the monk said, though, got through. Judgement. Face judgement. Yes. His life was over, after all. Judgement was all that was left. Someone was going to face it. Right now. The Oread was full of himself. He needed humbling first. Somehow, Mitchell knew just how to do it. Robed idiots like this one always prized themselves on their mental cultivation. Mitchell would steal that from him.

Master Lock isn't any more talkative. The jig was nearly up, and he wasn't about to push his landlord one inch closer to the right answers. So when Mitch instructs the phantom to close with the stone-faced monk and deliver the spell, Lock does it without complaint.


Wish I'd taken a more...damaging spell. this will have to do, I guess.

Standard to cast Touch of idiocy, to be delivered by Lock.

Lock's touch attack: [roll0]
[roll1] penalty to all mental stats for 50 minutes, no save

[ICN]

"So be it!" Kiyanna shifted into a combat pose and began singing the inspiring Bandandit theme song (mark I), then sent her scarf whirling out at the heinous monk.

Starting Inspire Courage (+3 to hit and damage, +3 to saves against charm and fear effects), then moving the telekinetic bladed scarf to an easy flanking position for whomever wants it before attacking with it.

Attack: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]

[ylvathrall]

Kiyanna, thinly disguised as some sort of masked (scarved?) vigilante, throws a scarf at the monk. It seems like that's what ki (to be frank, the mess of hes and shes and its was getting tedious; simply assigning ki kir own pronoun seems so much simpler) intended, at least. Given that the fabric catches on the wall and flops harmlessly to the ground at kir feet, it's hard to tell for sure.

Far more interesting, in any case, is what happens in the room proper. Master Lock moves in and reaches for the monk, surely going to deliver a debilitating burst of magical energies...except that he doesn't. The monk slips away from the reaching hands easily, and lashes out with a quick strike of his own as he does. Those who are watching closely might perhaps see that his hand is a little darker, his skin a touch more glossy, than it was before, and that the air around it almost seems hazy. Not for nothing, after all, do they call him Blackhands.

The other monks stand, and move to support him. Most of them look exhausted, and many are injured, but all of them have steel in their eyes, and it does not look as though any will be backing down.

Okay, Lock gets attacked. The actual sequence of the attack is a bit convoluted, so I'm laying it out step by step.

First, the actual attack: [roll0]
On a hit, this does the following damage: [roll1] + [roll2] acid damage.
On a miss, it does [roll3] acid damage.
Either way, Lock has to make a DC 18 Reflex save or be staggered for one round. A successful save does not decrease the damage.

If the attack hits, the monk makes another attack against Lock.
Attack: [roll4]
Damage: [roll5]