World of Warcraft - Interbellum (IC Thread)

[WindStruck]

The rest of the evening is a little awkward at Janene's. There's not much of a good way to describe Isaera's relation with the others, aside from her sister. Coworkers, colleagues, and perhaps even the words like 'companions' and 'friends' wouldn't seem to fit. Not yet anyway...

Isaera is mostly silent and reserved. If not just attentively listening and observing her surroundings, deep in thought.

On the way home she snarks, "You know, I thought you always complained the tale of Basilael Rainburn was boring..." Though she 100% knew this as a fact, not just a fuzzy recollection. Perhaps it really fit the farstrider shoes Aleeana was going to try to fill. Or perhaps, not many stories had come to her sister's mind, either.

*****

So they would be leaving for Ratchet in about a week. It was plenty of time to laze about, enjoy some of that hard earned silver, and prepare for the journey. Isaera certainly slept a lot for the first few days she returned from her harrowing trip. It was also good to know supplies would be sent to Brackenwall, and Zachary was leaving with the caravan as well. She at the very least, had to see him off.

Her family in turn was quite abuzz with the funds they had acquired, and the excitement of the journey and being backed by Jaina Proudmore herself (though technically not exactly true)! Aleeana couldn't be more ready to get out into the world and do her thing, and Tarien couldn't be more supportive. Her mother was in a constant rollcoaster of pride, excitement, and worry all throughout the days, but ultimately supportive as well.

This time, Isaera packed a number of things.. maybe too much, considering her sister was coming as well. She brought pretty much all her clothes, toiletries, magic tools, books, the portable alchemy lab, even a swimsuit, as ill advised as it may be to sunbathe or take a swim remotely near the goblin town. It was "everything but the bed and bookshelves" her brother joked.

In the days leading up to this, she also brewed up several doses of a medicine that would alleviate the effects of motion and seasickness. Isaera usually didn't get too sick, except when trying to read writing, but nevertheless, such a remedy could be handy for the benefit of others as well.

*****

Finally the day came, and the two girls combined had so many bags and luggage that they needed to call a carriage to pick them up. Hugging her mother, and brother, and cousins, she gave them a final farewell before embarking with her sister.

It may have seemed like they brought a lot of stuff, but the sailors who were very used to handling cargo had no problems loading or unloading bags. Maybe storage space in the hull was the problem though...

The crew in question was a unique bunch: people who were respectable in that they had studied - or attempted to study, anyway - magic and their rudimentary knowledge funnily enough helped them sail. On the other hand, they were perhaps at one point considered pupils, then rivals, but ultimately, the scourge united them through destruction and sorrow, like so many others.

So anyway, if Isaera could get along with trolls, orcs, and ogres somewhat decently.. and probably goblins in the future, these guys wouldn't give her a problem. Especially considering how she had them practically wrapped around her finger. It became obvious that the crew liked the company of the pretty girls, taking every opportunity to flirt as the majority of them lazed about the deck. While the subject of magic may have been more productive and fulfilling, it was far more fun just to mess with them.

After only about an hour of banal small talk, the whole situation aboard the schooner was crystal clear. The sailors had far too much free time on their hands. And so, after she'd been complimented in the cheesiest way possible for the dozenth time, Isaera politely excused herself to 'check something' in her luggage, before emerging on the decks in said packed swimsuit. Smiling smugly at the guys as a cheerful hello, whose trite chatter swiftly transformed into incoherent babbling, she acts perfectly innocent as if nothing is wrong, stretching, sunbathing, and lazing on the canvas chairs along with them, and making it a game to keep on a straight face.

She continues like this well into the afternoon, continuing with the small talk and merely smiling politely and nodding the next time they work up the nerve to flirt with her. And of course, their brutal attempts to undercut the others' credibility are met with feigned looks of shock and horror (not much unlike Marion's sarcasm) and sometimes accompanied by the occasional pun when appropriate. For example, when it was revealed one sailor accidentally turned his head into that of a ram's she commented, "Oh my! I bet you felt so sheepish after that!"

In addition to attracting attention to herself just by her scant attire, Isaera also made some quite silly requests like: asking if one of the guys could stand up and put their hand in a certain place because the sun was in her eyes, randomly switching chairs with another for barely justifiable reasons, or if someone could go and get some ale from the ship holds for her to sip only to change her mind because she was no longer thirsty. She also had, occasionally, gone on completely tangential full-scale lectures on magic theorem when a crew member happened cast a spell or bring up the subject of magic. Funnily enough, no matter how boring and dry Isaera tried to make the subject, it seemed that the Captain Schofield was the one who seemed to be absorbing her every word. To be fair, at least Isaera wasn't making up lies and nonsense on the subject matter.

As annoying and tantalizing as Isaera was trying to be, however, it all just about backfired when they had pulled into port and she still wasn't dressed. When the port of Ratchet came into view, she had decided she'd make it a point to take it a step further and delay the men as much as humanly possible without outright being a saboteur. While half the crew was beginning to unload cargo, she had the other half taking a crash course on how to properly cast the Featherfall spell, and then going on a wild goose for an earring that she 'lost'. It was perhaps not much time wasted in the grand scheme of things, but still some karma to realize that while she was so distracted by her own attempts at distraction - or simply having way too much fun toying with the men - her luggage had already been unloaded onto the pier...

dun dun dun

Spoiler: ooc

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Somewhere in all this mess, should Mor'Lag have ever openly complained about seasickness, Isaera would at least offer the remedy that she brought. It might still take one dose, or maybe all three, not sure...

Chances are, she'd have one of the guys fetch it though.

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari never quite understood the intricacies of displaying one's body in cultures outside of the inland desserts of Tanaris.
Being scantily clad could be used for displays of intimacy, aggression, confidence, or pride depending on context and attitude. Typically, the dessert encouraged loose clothing exposed to the air.

What was puzzling about this scenario was the arcane adept of the party who had faced down demons and raptors was now quivering behind cover due to her attire.
Such attire would have been preferred by Farraki attempting to hunt stealthily in the desert whose skin was the best camouflage in the dessert and needed as much skin as possible exposed to the air to cool them while they chased prey to exhaustion and heat stroke. Though they would prefer a more sensible brown than a vibrant red.

Luckily there were some members of the party who could identify with Isaera's plight better than Jakk'ari.

Marion, Aleana, we're heading out to the keep soon. Get Isaera to come out while Mor'Lag and I get some directions.
Marion would surely resolve this scenario. Given her lack of clear weakness when compared to Mor'Lag's temperamental episodes in the company of other ogres or Isaera's theatricality and lack adventuring experience.

Turning towards the squat green figure perspirating in the humid heat Jakk'ari and Morlag's shadows envelope the goblin hopefully providing relief from the heat instead of intimidation.
Good to see you sir. We are the ones sent by the Opal Collocation. We'll be ready to leave in just a few minutes. Don't worry about our luggage we pack light and can more than we need.

Jakk'ari gestures towards Mor'Lag to bring attention to Mor'Lag's asset of strength and size.

Spoiler: Jakkari's perception of the weaknesses amongst the rest of the party

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Jakk'ari remembers Mor'Lag getting angry at the tavern in Brackenwall or saddened by not being able to join the StoneMaul ogres. So he kind of sees Mor'Lag as the kid who got held back a few grades due to trouble at home but is a good deep down. He also remembers Isaera showing off at Janene's and on the boat as well as her bug bites from the first stretch of Duskwallow marsh. So he sees Isaera as kind of the youngest sibling of the group. He doesn't really know Marion's yet. Hopefully he will soon learn.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

The sailing trip had been rather easy for Marion. Surprisingly. One might expect a mountain-born girl like herself to find the seas to be rough, intrusive and irritating. But after having fled Azeroth and travelled for months upon a ship to the arcane lands of Kalimdor, Marion had well and truly found her sea legs by now. And so within the relatively casual atmosphere of the vessels hierarchy, the Warlock would tend to some minor studies and brainstorming within her allotted sleeping quarters - doubtless she shared a small room with the two elven sisters - and walking about the decks where she enjoyed the banter with the sailors.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Marion was only nineteen years old. Physiologically her brain had not yet fully developed, yet her experience with magic at Dalarn, delving into demonology at Southshore and Alterac, her tragic family history, her flight through the mountains from the Scourge, her status of persona no grata upon the discovery of her fel studies, her exile across the sea...all within the past six or seven summers during her most formative years. And so times like this where she could simply stand upon the deck of a ship, hands upon the railing and the primordial beauty of Kalimdors coastline stretching out before her were a welcome reprieve.

The flirtations of the sailors as well was not unwelcome. Whereas Isaera seemed to string them along, drawing out what services she could in exchange for a pleasant smile or a thank you, Marions interaction was very different. She did not indulge them too far, naturally, as she was a lady after all and not a tavern girl. But Marion still showed an impish, playful sense of humour and good sport about it all, returning quips here and jabs there when the words were risqué, but declaring the man a scallywag when he became too vulgar - much to the amusement of said sailor and his laughing comrades. If they wanted to dream and hope, they went to Isaera. If they wanted to trade back and forth borderline vulgar witticisms, they went to Marion. She kept her dignity, they had an outlet, and they both had fun. No harm done and a few happy memories.

With her companions Marion was characteristically tight-lipped, but not overtly so. She would speak little of her past, only allowing bits and pieces through here and there about where she had come from and why a teenage human female would come travel alone to such a dangerous place where she was just as likely to end up as lunch for some great beast as she was a slave to some brutal people. "I had some talent for the arcane, but I was no longer welcome in Dalarn," would be a curt explanation. "Parts of my homeland were ravaged by the Scourge, as were many others of Lordaeron. I can still remember being among the throngs of terrified, desperate refugees, fleeing through the dark woods of the Alterac mountains, the surrounding forest alive with the undead nightmares and horrors that pursued us doggedly..." would be another.



Upon arrival at Ratchet, Marion is...not so much "less than impressed" as she is impartial. It was a goblin town. Remiss was the splendor of tall, well-built human walls and fortifications. In their place was the cobbled together, techno-gizmogery that passed for both decoration and urbane construction, but which was, honestly, with its whirring gears and lack of grace and coordination, an eyesore to one with both a taste for classic architecture and a mind for mathematical order. Who knew the Goblins, really? Minds as bizzare and twisted as the faces that they hid behind. Thank the Light for the gnomes at least. Little though they were, pleasant companions they be with a general logic whose thread one could understand if they were so educated.

Wishing the crew a farewell and safe travels, Marion departed the vessel alongside the others. A traveling girl so far, Marion carried everything she owned within a sack and a backpack that was slung across her shoulders. The Scion of the Mordis name, a familial lineage once firmly entrenched within the riches of well defended mountain towns reduced to one girl with a backpack. These were dark times indeed.

Unfortunately for Isaera, Marion only had two sets of clothing...and she was wearing one already, while the other was due for the services of a laundry very, very soon. It was doubtful that the elf, steeped in her pride and whose self-image would not stoop so low as to sully her elevated beauty with something as loathsome as 'used' clothing from a human, would accept such an offer. What a ghastly idea!

In such a case, Marion would shrug, her travel-ready figure moving down onto the deck, her eyes peering out around the new town that was going to be the next pit-stop of life.

"I can purchase some temporary garments in town for you, if you would like?" Marion spoke quietly to the elf.

[MrAbdiel]

“Boring? No - well, yes. I mean -” What Aleeana means, a mystery even to herself, is apparently written in the stars; for she glances up as they walk, purses her lips with a navigator’s scrutiny, then lowers her gaze again once she has denuded the heavens of their insight. “I didn’t understand it, previously. The value of it. We’ve all been exposed to no shortage of tragedy, but quite sheltered from a lot of [/i]challenge, I think. Don’t you think? I quite like the idea that I should become quite so resourceful in the face of doom. Do you think I could tame a strider?”

With that sharp segue, Aleeana pushes the conversation away from her recently adopted dreams and into more immediate speculation - such as whether or not she could take a beast to be her companion in the field. Isaera has never seen her tame something or show much interest in animals at all. This doesn’t seem to matter to Aleeana, who is more interested in if her sister thinks she is the kind of person who could do that, aside from any information that could deduce such a thing. The fact that there are no wild hawkstriders in Kalimdor, only the big, goofy walking birds the locals call plainstriders (and heavens, are they plain) does not seem to factor much into Aleeana’s burgeoning speculations on what she - no, [/i]they[i], two bold Runescribe girls together - might accomplish, stepping into the land that the elves (the real elves) hadn’t occupied in six thousand years, to find adventure and legacy in its now alien soil.

*****

Aleeana might be just as pretty an elf as Isaera; but she doesn’t luxuriate in her loveliness like her sister does. The elder Runescribe sister receives her share of the seamen’s interest, but she has less time for them than Isaera or even Marion. After the first round of peacocking, she selects one of the sailors who seems the most worldly - a red haired, sun-beaten young man called Michaelo, who is probably the least immediately handsome of those available - and spends the trip following him around the deck when he’s on duty, asking about… everything. Asking about rigging knots. Asking about the kinds of fish they catch. Asking about how they navigate. Asking about how much of Kalimdor he’s seen, and what he’s seen there. First this strikes Michaelo as miraculously fortunate - this beautiful elven woman is showing interest in him, right away - but he quickly fights kens the fact that Aleeana finds him useful, not necessarily attractive; and he settles for the simple pleasure of having made something like a friend.

Mor’Lag’s gambit pays off, and the lad they have drawn in - a blond young man named Bastival who has a good enough sense of humor that he’s willing to waive the offered bribe, and teach Mor’Lag a little junk magic just to be able to tell stories about how he taught a two headed ogre how to do magic. And the elemental spirits, whipping by on the sea, impart their peaceful whispers to Jakk’ari, some slowing in their movements to reverse and follow the ship like curious dolphins, fascinated by the sand troll shaman so far from sand. They whisper mysteries from far north - the sea around the red-earth peninsula brimming with more little ships every day, not loaded for war for for travel; of sleek scaled serpent folk beneath the waves, brooding and enacting their strange will closer to shore than normal; of a great burning conflict they have heard is taking place in the Firelands, with many princes scrabbling for a vacant throne...

*****

… And when they arrive in Ratchet, Aleeana is the first off the ship; springing with a superfluous twirl that flares the blue linen of her short mantle, and landing neatly on the chunky wooden planks of the pier. She draws in a deep breath, plants her fists on her hips, and permits the newness of the horizon to simply marinate her soul. Jakk’ari and Mor’Lag disembark while the deckhands make short work of the group’s supply, passing its custody off to a goblin stevedore who seems to understand the ultimate destination of the goods; and those bags and boxes - including Isaera’s clothes - embark on the first step of their exciting journey. By the time Isaera realizes where the needed garments are, conferring with Marion and Aleeana who boards the ship again to see what the delay is, the luggage is in motion. They have been loaded up on to a wooden pallet with wheels, and a long leather strap that leads forth to the grip of an unlikely possessor - a lime green murloc. The stevedore makes a gesture toward the long road leading through town and up the exiting road on the far side, pats the murloc on the back, and the fish-frog-man chomps down on a well-chomped bit of the strap, and begins running, body forward, arms flapping behind him, towing the bumping and bouncing pallet up the road with remarkable vigor.

Aleeana grimaces as they watch the murloc - who is apparently some kind of porter - take off with the luggage. “...Well, that’s … That’s singular.” For the second time, she vaults off the boat, and takes off after the murloc at full speed - which, even with the murloc towing a load, is a slow gain. Her departure blowing through the working crowd draws attention to the scene, and a couple of Ratchet Bruisers - the local security that passes for a town guard - take off after her, squawking ill informed protest. One passing goblin onlooker spots the swimsuit-clad sorceress, and lets out an almost instinctive wolf-whistle, truncated by the jealous slap of his wife who begins hustling him away from the scene for a more thorough henpecking. But this draws even more attention to Isaera’s predicament - workers on the dock begin peering up at the ship to see what’s going on, forcing Isaera to retreat back some, losing some visual access to the dock to deny some from it. It seems her only option is to wait for Aleeana’s return; but then another whistle sounds - this one not lupine, but walrus in its designation. The whistler is not on the dock at all, but on the deck of an sleek, black sailed elven destroyer docked next to the Antonidas’ Chagrin.

The whistler is a Quel’dorei sailor - or by his position high on the aftcastle while the ethnically mixed crew hurries about casting off, perhaps a captain. His eyes are the sharp, bright green that many Quel’Dorei have in this new reality; his hair a main of soot black that hits the right mark before the border of ‘unkempt’, suggesting not poor grooming habits, but only an ambient energy of wildness and freedom, and a rough harmony with things wild and free. His expression is stony, neither expressing amusement nor empathy for Isaera’s dilemna which keen eyes and ears appear to have enabled him to discern. But he shrugs from his shoulders the sailor’s coat, worn black leather with red and brass epaulets, and balls it in one hand. With one powerful arm - and they do appear powerful indeed - he tosses it in the air in a great upward arc, sailing between the aftcastle of his ship to the deck of the Chagrin, unfurling in the air just early enough to flap harmlessly onto Isaera’s arm, either outstretched to catch, or by self-preserving instinct against the projectile. Then he turns away, facing out to sea as the ship wheels away from the dock, and the wind begins carrying him from the bustling city.

Spoiler: ?????

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Down on the dock, Jakk’ari with Mor’Lag in authoritative shadow engage the well dressed goblin; who sighs in relief, lets the sign drop, and mops his brow of heat-sweat and, possibly, nerve sweat from the huge ogress looming over him. “Ah. Glad to meet you as well. My name is Kerwin; I’m an assistant to Mayor Gazlowe. It’s my task to make sure you have all you need to get settled in town. Schlep already has most of your bags, and the others will be on their way shortly. I… was told to expect five of you?” The goblin lifts an eyebrow, peering up at the deck of the ship without the height to spot Marion or Isaera, and glancing up to Mor’Lag, trying to guess if they count for one or two.

[Plaids]

There are five bodies amongst us. Though one of our ranks seems to have gone ahead. Another seems to still be on the ship. She'll be out shortly.

Hopefully Isaera's initial hesitance hadn't returned to her now that the party was well outside Theramore. Luckily it seemed unlikely given the presence of her sister who had just gone dashing into town.

Turning towards Marion the one had most closely associated with Isaera on the boat Jakk'ari asks her.
Marion, what is keeping Isaera? We are almost at our destination. Our guide and the crew have obligations to fulfill as well as we do.
Some frustration finds its way into Jakk'ari's voice now that much closer to home and accomplishing his task.

Was it too demanding of the party and bordering on curmudgeonly behavior? Possibly, but the party didn't seem to be acting as the dignitaries of a global league of peacekeepers.

Addressing the goblin.
Excuse me for a moment I'll be back shortly.

Walking back on deck Jakk'ari quickly spots Isaera given she was wearing some of the most vibrant fabric in the port.
What is delaying you Isaera? Everyone is ready to depart but you.

[WindStruck]

Well, this was...

Isaeara sighed. How could she have been so careless? It was one thing to be toying with these sailors out on sea, but it seemed she took it a bit too far. Thankfully her sister seemed to have her back, dashing off after the pallet with all their belongings. Gods bless her!

And now she waited.. keeping out of the crew of the Antonidas's Chagrin's way. Still with a smile, but much more shy than before. She had retreated back aboard when it was clear she was getting more unwanted attention. But even this didn't hide her from the eyes of the.. captain aboard an adjacent ship. A tall, muscular, mysterious, and quiet fellow, he tossed her his coat before his ship sailed away.

The whole situation was almost surreal. Going from something that might play out in someone's nightmares to just meeting the hottest guy you've ever seen. "W-who is that??" Isaera asks one of the crew, pointing at the ship that was beginning to leave port.

When Jakk'ari returns to ask her what the delay is, Isaera whirls around, almost having a heart attack and fearing it was someone else. "Ah! You see, uh, all my clothes was in my luggage, and apparently it was already loaded, and some.."

She nervously balls up and scrunches the fancy jacket in her hands before deciding maybe it was a good idea to cloak it around herself. "Well, I don't think I should be walking into Ratchet like this. So.. I think Aleeana is chasing after our belongings to find me something to wear."

[JoyWonderLove]

=On a Lonely Ridge above Rachet=:

Emilia’s bored gaze raked across the arid landscape from the middle windowsill of the tower, taking a light sip of her flask against the yearning to gulp. The sun was still high like the over-proud banner of some celestial high lord that had all of no mercy for pale mortals, or those with an appreciation for strong spirits. Her tabard had been used to dab away the light sweat swordplay had built up, but the efforts had been abandoned after only entertaining the basic stances. It would little do to meet new acquaintances when sweatier than a repeat criminal before a disgusted judge.

“A silver tongued shaman and dune of skin, Jakk’ari prone to herbalism. But blonde and fair and of bookish rite, Isaera an investigator of Daeden’s might.” Emilia had made up and started reciting the rhymes only a day ago, but she hoped Thomas would be proud. Her youngest older brother, he had been only too keen to tell her how mages in Dalaran had many memory techniques to learn difficult and demanding considerations. One of the most simplistic of which were memory rhymes, for rote memorization was a fine path to burnout, he insisted. Another swig was taken as she wondered irritably if these people had become victims of heatstroke. Tardiness befit only royalty and imbeciles, and these people were meant to be neither.

Drumming the fingers of her sword hand on the rough stone, had Emilia a warhorse and the grounds-keeper present, she would have rode out a little to confirm hungry wildlife hadn’t become bold while the goblin held the fort. But Scuttleswipe was relieved of his duties, and she had no destrier on hand, let alone any idea if her absent colleague’s ship had gone off course. All there was to do was wait and prepare, until they arrived, or it was revealed that something had gone amiss.

“Two heads betwixt the close quarters queen,” Emilia grumbled to the world outside the windowsill. “Know Mor’Lag brilliant in alchemical sheen. Yet Alterac boasts a heroic line, Marion unblemished despite a fel-adled mind.”

It was a wise gambit, allowing a warlock among the guild leaders. Anything untoward that the Burningblade cult left behind would be noted immediately by Benthan’s granddaughter, and Emilia could tell in one look what some rangers missed in their companions of a hundred miles. Between them and Isaera, the cave system would be swept swiftly and expertly to confirm everything was safe and fit for their operations. She hoped to convince them to it before any interviews.

“A former corporal rounds them out, Zackary Black – Lordaeron native, marksman, scout.”

Another swig was rewarded her, for surely no sign of the strangers did.

Spoiler: ooc

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Mostly trying to make my own fun with not enough alcohol or duties to entertain.

[MrAbdiel]

On the lonely clifftop…

The squire’s solitary watch is broken up by two sudden arrivals, and one sudden departure. A bright green murloc, arms flapping behind him as he pulls a wheeled skid of bags and trunks, comes charging up the hill with the vigor of a manic sled dog. He comes to a halt, looks up at Emilia with big googly eyes, then resumes his frantic work: spitting the bit from his mouth and unhitching the leather ‘bridle’ from lugs on the side of the pallet with movements so practiced they almost don’t seem like the goofy capering of an inelegant amphibian.

The second arrival is an elf - green of eye, black of hair - that comes racing up the slope after the murloc, finally catching up with him at the loss of her breath. She leans forward with her palms on her knees and watches in confusion as the creature dumps his goods and turns, tireless, to resume his zoomies back down the hill. The elf’s goal appears to have been the luggage, not the creature, and she snatches a bag of embroidered ray skin from the pile, then leans against the tower for a moment to rest. It’s then that she noticed Emilia - giving her a cursory eyeballing, and making the intuitive leap that she, and the tower, are connected.

“… Who are you, then? Hired security?”

[Plaids]

Now it became clear. Though he could not intuitively know or innately understand the discomfort of being scantily clad outside in public. Sympathy for the diplomat could be achieved though through prior experience while communication and understanding could be achieved like an astute observer assessing the situation and choosing the correct manuscript to recite phonetically. It was still rather unusual to see such a shift from flirtatious and flaunting to shy and hesitant. Though Jakk'ari could understand the discomfort of being regarded as a fascinating oddity in a distant land far from family.

Jakk'ari scratches the back of his head and averts his gaze to the horizon before once again facing turning his eyes to Isaera.
Oh.. I see. Well, it seems that half the problem is solved at least.

The jacket was a new sight. A stylish but substantial coat with colorful fringe that could either be a dapper elven design or a flamboyant human one. The coat easily could have been Isaera's if it hadn't been several sizes too large for the slender elf.

Well if you like you could borrow one of my garments...
But given the absence of his own luggage now likely carted off that was likely not going to happen. There was also past to experience which made it abundantly clear now that even a destitute person outside of the Faraki clans would forgo clothing that had recently been doffed from a troll's body.

Well guess that won't do...
But there still other options.
Perhaps this might work.

Pulling out an obsidian arrowhead and a flat rock freshly rolled in pungent pollen the stones collide singing the yellow spores. With a short prayer and an aromatic offering local water spirits soon congregate forming a wispy fog covering everything between Isaera's ankles to her navel.

This should last until reach the hilltop. Provided the pollen is reapplied.

Spoiler: Mechanics

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Jakk'ari is using "Environment Control" to reduce the visibility on the area below Isaera's waist. Though this is not concealment it does reduce perception of everyone who looking at the covered area.

[JoyWonderLove]

=On a Not So Lonely Ridge above Rachet=

Emilia eyed the murloc turned sled dog with wary curiosity, for it was not at the head of a warband, and utterly unarmed – before he dumped his trash and rapidly dashed away before she could voice any protest. The elf that had chased him up here was outright glared at, for she absolutely was not dune of skin, or blonde of hair. She had exactly one too few heads, and no Quel’dorei the squire had ever met claimed themselves a Marion or Zackary. This was an expat or shyster, at the kindest turn.

“Am I securi...” Emilia groused quietly, eyes rolling at the elf below. “Clearly I am the Light incarnate; come to absolve you all your sins! Quickly, childe! Unto these hallowed halls lest the Void take you!” came the sardonic proclamation from her vantage point in the tower.

Emilia had the hatch opened, and huffed her way down the ladder. By the time she touched down on ground level again, the scene had been reviewed in her mind’s eye, and her annoyance was blunted some. Her former mentor, deceased as she was, had always warned against letting anger route her sense. Rage often stole the balance needed for each stepping stone to heaven, or so Danica insisted. Forcing a deep breathe, and letting go any immediate biting remarks, the heavy oak door was unlocked again, for she would never have left it open that some hatchet man would find easy purchase. Her family had enemies, and she had made her share on the northern continent besides. She stepped outside again.

“I was not made aware of any porter service,” Emilia began with a tone all faux sweetness, her own arms folded while looking over the leaning elf. There was the slightest hint of an accusation. “And sans the very people I await, no less. Who are you, exactly?”

Spoiler: Well-Informed/Investigation (20+) and Intuition, minor question of positioning

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Sometimes I wonder why I play anything but Skilled characters, when I like them the most. I imagined there might be a window in the middleish of the tower, so not in the sunlight directly, but still allowing a few of the approach. But if I’m wrong I’m wrong. We can always amend this post.

Well-Informed/Investigation (20+) on random elf. Doubt I can get anything, but you never know.
Well-Informed/Investigation (20+) on random mrglglglglglgl. He’s a local celebrity, so hopefully?

Intuition/Assessment (24) on random elf. Trustworthy? Honourable? Any real threat?
Intuition (24) on random mrglglglglglgl, hopefully before he takes off. Trustworthy? Honourable? No need to check his threat level because he’s seemingly long gone.

[MrAbdiel]

At the Dock...

Jakk'ari's coaxing of the elemental spirits produces a tasteful, dress-shaped misting of vaporous droplets that wink in the sunlight. The spirits even have the sense to leave the spectral dress slashed down the side of the right calf. On a less comely creature, this combination of oversized naval coat and supernatural skirting would be a clashing jumble, drawing more attention to the wearer's dilemma, rather than less. In Isaera's case, her elegance conspires with these options to produce a fetching outcome: a look like some exotic beauty who had stepped off the ship wearing a gleaming, diamond dress; a strange loveliness that seems protectively framed rather than smothered by the borrowed mantle cast into her hands. "Who was what?" Asks the last lingering sailor, a chap named Yancy who had made his comically insufficient advances at Isaera, come to terms with his failure, but who has not lost a willingness to be useful one last time. He follows her indication, and squints out at the black sailed ship. "I think that's the Sara'nairah, by her sails and slip. That's Captain Skyflash, then; out looking for trouble again, I guess." Yancy glances to the coat in Isaera's possession, eyebrows raising a little as he makes the connection, and offers her an expression that is equal parts impressed, and carefully distanced. "I'd not lose that, if I were you!" And then he's off, vaulting over the edge of the ship's railing, using a trivial amound of featherfall to glide to the dock and jogging to catch up to his fellows.

Spoiler: {Fluff} Expertise: War, elves, history, or similar; or else just being an elf. DC 13.

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Sara'nairah is the name of one of the twelve daughters of an ancient highborne prince, known to posterity only as The Prince of Pyres. There is a complicated legend about the Prince's political escapades, which usually involve dispatching one or more of his twelve daughters, each gifted in the sorcery of flame, to immolate a rival, or enemy, or predatory monster. The name is also significant for another reason: during the build up to the Second War, while King Anasterian was still hedging away from full commitment to the alliance, he had the sense to begin preparing for war anyway. He commissioned twelve ships, the Thas'Serrir, or Fangs of the Forest, each which integrated into their keels a splinter from Thas'alah, the ancient mother-tree which bonded to the radiance of the Sunwell when it was established in Quel'Thalas. This noble and mystically powerful tree represents the weaving of arcane magics with natural ones - indeed, it is this tree which acts as a kind of anchor for the elven runestones that historically shielded Quel'Thalas both from troll invaders, and demonic observers. The capacity to foil the latter is a triumph of high elven history, and a sound argument that the Quel'dorei were right to rebuke Malfurion Stormrage, and his hysterical abandonment of all arcane magics which were known to attract the Legion. Demons cannot be attracted by what they cannot detect, and Thas'alah validated the decision of the progenitors of the High Elven race to break from their highborne ancestors come to the Eastern Kingdoms where they could be free to pursue their magical studies unhounded.

The twelve ships commissioned prior to the elves' involvement in the second war were named after the twelve daughters of the Prince of Pyres. Five of those ships were sunk in the second war; two were confirmed destroyed in the third. The other five were lost to any who recorded such things during the wholesale collapse of the elven nation. But if that is the real, actual Sara'nairah, then this elven captain operating out of Ratchet is sailing around in a genuine relic of elven history, and one imbued with a shard of Quel'Thalas's magical heart, with all the great hosts of nebulous magical implication that the imagination might spin off from it.

Spoiler: OOC: Jakk'ari's Elemental Skirt

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Technically, this isn't a valid use of Environmental control - the power's meant for pretty sweeping environmental changes, and even the Visibility obscuring use of that power is more about adding a vague misty haze rather than anything that really covers or conceals. The Selective extra lets you mix and match effects within your range, but it's really more like "I warm the ground undernear everyone's tents"; manipulation on that scale. Under normal circumstances, to do something this much of a push from the power itself, it would require spending a Victory Point to stunt it. But on the other hand:

1. We're in a narrative portion of the story, not one where I'm really dispensing or taking VP.
2. I dig the idea that one of Jakk'ari's elemental acquaintances would make a shimmering water-skirt for Isaera; and I reserve the right as storyteller to make your efforts more effective than they mechanically ought to be if I think it'll be cooler!

* * * * *

On Top of a Soon-To-Be-Crowded Cliff...

Aleeana gives the squire's sarcasm a lifted, long eyebrow, a drop of the other, and the faintest charitable smirk; a look that suggests she is not impressed with the brash rejoinder, but also implies a kind of reassuring condescension that she's simply too far above it to be irritated by it. Once the would-be-Paladin and would-be-Farstrider are united again at the ground floor, she lilts back a detached response. "I'm sure one could fill many librams with the list of things you are not aware of, human. The porter service, troublesomely overzealous as it was, seems to be complementary." She looks for a moment like she might continue being obtuse; but a glance down the sloped road back into town shows a small party approaching at a leisurely pace. A pair of kodos are pulling a pair open wagons up the hill. In one, behind a suited goblin driver, sit a human, an elf, and a troll, matching more closely the descriptions you've been given. In the other wagon is a two-headed ogress, the 'sole' occupant of that vehicle driven by a much younger goblin lad with a certain amount of family resemblance to the first.

"...In any case, I expect these are the one's you're waiting for. I just mooched a ride on their ship." Deciding that Isaera has obviously found a solution to her dilemna, the elder Runescribe sister gives her a wave, raises the bag she was preparing to run back to the dock as if to assure that help had been on the way even if fortune hadn't provided another option, and then sets it back on the pallet with the other gear. She trades it for a much leaner bag - a framed backpack of the kind used by experienced hikers, wayfarers and rangers on their journeys. This one, however, is conspicuously undamaged. "Just into town to find a test or two for my skills, and to be reimbursed for the trouble. Nothing as exciting as all this." She gestures to the tower, and by implication, the whole Opal Collocation thing. She does a good job of radiating aloof disinterest; especially since, a couple of weeks from now, she'll be sitting inside that tower on the other side of an interview table trying to nonchalantly wrangle a job out of all this. "Al diel shala, oh radiant theophany. Tell my sister I'm going to fetch something for dinner." And off she dashes into the high grasses, into the bright wilderness of the Barrens, with all its perils and promises.

A few minutes later, the wagons arrive, and pile out their occupants. Kerwin, sweaty-suited assistant to Gazlowe, and Kerwin's nephew, Rankle, pause to feed and water the kodos. The older goblin rounds off the rather dry, routine welcome to town if there's anything you need speech he gave the group in transit. "Once again, the Broken Keel acts as a post office here, so that's the easiest way to get word to me if there's anything you need from the land council. Otherwise, it's all yours. I believe the young lady there has the keys." The young lady to which he gestures, of course, is Emilia; who unbeknownst to the rest of the group, has been reciting her mnemonic devices for just this moment.

Spoiler: Emilia: Rolls And Such

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Well-Informed on Aleeana: This elf either isn't famous enough to have a reputation, or not remarkable enough to resemble it.
Intuition Assessment on Aleeana: She seems benign enough; radiating the boisterous energy of a tourist, more than the ranger she's dressing to be. Your instinct, surface level as it is, is that she is genuinely excited to be out here, and that excitement contains no con or hidden agenda that you detect.

Well-Informed on Schlep: This murloc is Schlep. You heard about him when you arrived in town, though you hadn't seen him - apparently, as upstanding a citizen as a forward hunching frogfishman can be. He has been adopted by the town and apparently appreciates the favor, and repays it to Ratchet with simple labors performed with his peculiar enthusiasm.
Intuition Assessment on Schlep: While you've been assured in the past that from time to time murlocs can accrue intelligence close enough to humans (they have mages and priests after all), the truth of the matter is most murlocs seem to have an intellect closer to that of an impressive dog. You just don't think this creature has the depth to be anything other than what he appears - a happy little fish, with a mouthful of shark teeth.

Spoiler: OOC: Everyone!

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I shuffled the scene along a little, just to get everyone together so introductions can happen. If you have something your character wanted to do or say on the way, shout it out to me in the OOC; I can always shuffle this post down after your thing. I am keen to get the party grouped and situated, and to start feeding you adventure hooks though! So now would be a find time to introduce yourself, express skepticism, or what have you. Following this introduction scene, we'll have a time skip of about three weeks, after which your staff will have been recruited, and your various rooms will have been set up as per your discussions. So consider how your characters are going to adjust to each other over this time. Emilia's the new girl, but the rest of you have only known each other for a couple of weeks anyway. A three week period of living together is longer than Jakk'ari, Isaera, Marion and Mor'Lag spend on the road together, so this is the time that opinions about each other are going to mellow out and smooth - or, possibly, sharpen to a fine point. I wouldn't ask you to not 'play your character', but do bend them towards cooperation if you can!

At that time skip, I'll give you a chance to describe what your characters were doing during that time - starting their businesses, doing research, or what have you. But that comes later. For now, it's introduction time, and any poking and prodding at the Tower you want to do.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


Marion, what is keeping Isaera? We are almost at our destination. Our guide and the crew have obligations to fulfill as well as we do.

"A wardrobe malfunction or such..." Marion uttered, craning her head about t try and ascertain Isaera's location while she spoke with the weary resignation of a mother wondering what their mischievous child was up to now.

When he spotted the extent of the, ahem, problem, Marion immediately drew her pack off of her shoulders and rummaged through for some clothes. No sooner had she withdrawn an item of clothing that would protect the elfs dignity from the lecherous eyes of the vouyeristic degenerates of the town, that a miasma of mist coalesced from the ether and coiled itself about Isaera's figure like a shielding cloak. Furrowing her brow in confusion, Marion's attention was caught by the gesticulations of her troll companion, and the warlock quickly put two and two together.

Exhaling and shaking her head, Marion tucked her clothing back into her sack, closed it and drew it back up and across her shoulders.

"A wonderful first impression for our new neighbors, Isaera," Marion commented, the hint of disapproval lurking in her tone.

"Before Jakkari rescued you from your...unfortunate state of dishabille, were you planning on just walking through the town? Skipping perhaps?"

What a tart. A lady would have waited in private until her state was remedied, rather than sashaying out into public view, the warlock thought to herself, the highborn aristocrat within her appalled at the lack of propriety and dignity.

oOo


Marion swayed back and forth in rhythm with the lumbering kodo upon whose broad back she was seated. One hand on the beasts hide to steady herself, the warlock was taking the time to peer across the landscape that stretched out before them, the creeping sensation in the back of her head warning her that, despite her desires, she had coincidencely brought herself closer to the orcish dogs that now inhabited this blasted land.

Green bastards, Marion mused gingerly to herself, before the sight of the tower caught her attention.

It was...nice. It had potential. With some nice touches it could become a comfortable place to live. And, as Marion drew a small cloth up to her forehead to wipe away the sweat that had gathered in response to this damn sun, the warlock hoped it would provide respite from the natural elements of this land.

Hmmm, the tower was tall...perhaps a series of vents could be created, vents that funneled the winds across the surface of water to provide a constant flow of cool air? Such a renovation would require several building implements...

And so Marions mind wandered again, until the kodo's ponderous halt snapped her back into the present.

Smiling politely and nodding to the goblin, if someone offered Marion accepted their help down from the kodo, before brushing herself off and rolling her shoulders within the straps of her bag. Drawing a hood up around her silky locks to cover her scalp against the sun, Marion stood with the others as the unassuming one as her eyes took in the scene before her.

Another human: Emelia. What should be a welcome element of familiarity instead filled Marion with caution: something was off about this one. Call it female intuition or the sharpened antennae she possessed for detecting when dangerous and overzealous agents were nearby...something was just wrong about her.

[Plaids]

The town was pleasant enough. For the locals on mundane it must be quite pleasant. Thankfully the carts moved fast enough for them parties to not become idols upon parade floats to be fascinated over. Though the party attracted a fair share of attention with a bifold ogre, a sand troll, and Isaera in unusual attire all drawing eyes. Though the vaporous skirt was diaphanous due to its components Isaera seemed fine. The bright sun also was reflected off the vapors seeming to hide what she didn't want revealed. Jakk'ari knew small indignities could pile causing people to slough through routine activities. Which was something Jakk'ari didn't want any of his companions to endure.

Hopefully a troll wouldn't need to face heightened scrutiny and suspicion here. The other trolls going about their daily routines seemed to affirm that for Jakk'ari.
The goblins on the other hand jittered Jakk'ari. While diminutive escalation always seemed to follow them. From further expansions into the dessert to conflict in the streets of Gadgetzan pitting communities against one another and workers being swung about in with were referred to as "rackets". Whatever that meant. Chaotic expansion always seemed to precipitate trouble when goblins were around.

Arriving at the ridge the towers came into sight alongside the party's contact. The woman before them was young, wearing armor identifying her as one of the Argent Dawn, with her hair neatly tied behind her head. Why were there so many youths adventuring nowadays? She seemed well practiced what with her seeming to find a comfortable posture while standing in her armor.

Jakk'ari steps off the wagon to introduce himself to their partner. Though what kind of character the newcomer would be hard to tell. There had been plenty opportunities to observe practitioners and followers of the light outside Tanaris. Much like Farraki shaman there were many different types. The first were strict and zealous following scripture closely and forgoing dancing and games with a pension for saving "errant" souls but meant well.The second followed the guidance and motto of the light much like the wise Brother Bright who followed the spirit of the scripture and not the full letter of it. Others who were still developing their understanding of their relationship to light but knew nothing else beyond their devout upbringings. They were earnest but often lacked tact and experience causing awkward interactions with those outside their cultural sphere. Then there was the fourth group. The witch hunters, flagellants, and divine papals beyond reproach. It was best to avoid the fourth group.

Judging by her age and affiliation to the devout Argent Dawn it was probably safe to assume she was closer to the third group and finding out how varied the world actually was. It would probably be best to break the ice and engage her in her comfort zone.


Thank the light we finally made it. Greetings dawn warrior. You must be our contact from the Argent Dawn and Opal Collocation. I am Jakk'ari of the Farraki. Mor'Lag, Marion, and Isaera are right behind me. It looks like you met Aleana as well. So how is our house on the hillock?

[Feathersnow]

"Oh great, the Argent Dawn. What we needed was a lightwielder. Try to be polite" Whispers Mor.

Wait, aren't they altruists!? A crazy lightwielder, not just some priest who wanted power and decided to draw it from suspicious sources thinks Lag.

[WindStruck]

Isaera is none too happy at Marion's chiding. The situation was hardly her fault! Except kind of the part where it partially was... but still!

Not many people in Ratchet had seen her and she was still technically on the waters... ugh, better just forget it and move on.

"...were you planning on just walking through the town? Skipping perhaps?"

"No. I was thinking more of a sashay, or perhaps I could perform the Elven Waltz of Solidarity up the main road with Jakk'ari," she responds, equally as sardonic and indignant.

But yes. That little hullabaloo was all behind them now. Isaera kept silent and to herself as they rode up the street on their wagons, at once wishing the mist Jakk'ari summoned was actually something else, something more substantial, but also hoping it wouldn't disperse at just the wrong moment.

With just the right amount of haste to dismount from the wagon, not so much to convey urgency, but just enough to promote efficacy, Isaera plops down and maintains a coy smile for their new contact, vaguely in tune with the conversation about them while moving slowly to her bags.

She waves timidly. "Yes. I am Isaera. Aleeana is my sister.." For a moment Isaera turns to gaze off into the grasslands. "And I've no idea where she ran off to or why." She shrugs, beginning to open up one bag of her luggage, where she had placed her dress on the boat.

[JoyWonderLove]

=Of hunters and church mice=

Emilia squinted incredulously at the lithesome woman disguised as a ranger, arms still folded, mouth pressed to an unamused line. She looked pointedly at the trash dumped on their property the elf had exhausted herself over, and back at her. “Yes. And no doubt these librams are much akin to chasing your other quarry then:” Her tone came out as well-measured as any chapel. “Junk.”

But the absence any further accusation spoke loudest to the lack of the elf’s sales pitch. Schlep was a dedicated but simple peasant, from all accounts. Tricking the innocent creature into dumping stolen goods on their property, in some mistaken impression of playing porter, could easily have had any actual huckster claim tragedy that these damaged-but-still-fine items had to be sold at a much reduced rate. Two kodo-led wagons thankfully appeared at the foot of the hill, bearing personnel much closer to expectations. When the dark haired, verdant eyed supposed hunter waved a bag at them, her innocence was altogether self-evident. The incident wasn’t choreographed.

The shapely expat carried on a showing of nonchalance as she donned a mint rucksack, despite the subtle shine in her eyes and undercurrent of excitement when gesturing at the tower. Emilia only frowned when the comely nuisance revealed herself Isaera’s half sister, and disappeared off into the brush. Wonderful. I now owe apology to a self-proclaimed mooch, and half-sister our arcanist at that. So it stands. Unable to smooth out the knicks with the not-poacher for now, she cracked her neck free of tension.

The kodo wagons still a wanting distance away, Emilia turned away from them and pulled her sword to take her measure in the reflection. Checking that her fishtail crown styled hair was very much still in place, the tabard drying nicely, the chain mail and shoulder pads not having picked up any dirt in tickling the tunnel’s mouth. Satisfied, she backed into the tower’s shade, and quietly recited the rhymes to herself again, like whispered prayers for a good first impression.

=On a near crowded clifftop=

Many would be intimidated in the face of meeting a crowd of strangers, even a small one, but the youthful woman with a fishtail crown braid, polished chainmail, and a new tabard appeared eager to enter the social breech. But when the goblins gave her cue, the desert troll caught her flat-footed by speaking first. Cordially, peaceably, despite the overeager murloc and sluggish uphill crawl. A half smile answered his prostrations of the light, doubting very much a caller of the elementals cared overmuch about the Light and Void, but the appreciation touched her eyes all the more.

“Emilia. Your liaison and requisitions officer. If you require anything to accomplish our great work of unifying creeds and cultures, as per the Opal Collocation, never tarry to ask. Any of you. Serving Azeroth with people so promising is a blessing.” The others were caught in a deliberate glance before refocusing. A hand was extended to the exotic troll man that spoke common remarkably well, her grip only ever as firm as she judged he could manage.

“I will spare pelting you with questions as Chief Diplomat before you have settled, Jakk’ari, but how can I be of service to your other talents? The land is sterner than a warden by half, and near entirely new to me. What seeds would you need as a herbalist? How might I preserve my own Light practice, while ensuring no offence to the elements? ”

With just the right amount of haste to dismount from the wagon, not so much to convey urgency, but just enough to promote efficacy, Isaera plops down and maintains a coy smile for their new contact, vaguely in tune with the conversation about them while moving slowly to her bags.

She waves timidly. "Yes. I am Isaera. Aleeana is my sister.." For a moment Isaera turns to gaze off into the grasslands. "And I've no idea where she ran off to or why." She shrugs, beginning to open up one bag of her luggage, where she had placed her dress on the boat.

Emilia appeared suddenly struck when Isaera was truly considered, and then stunned. Gold-spun hair, twin emeralds eyes, and an ephemeral ice dress held together by impossibly invisible string. Timid words and gentle gestures only made her seem ever more otherworldly, and entirely too likely to evaporate under the Kalimdor sun. The squire cleared her throat, as if some to reclaim herself, but only managed to fold her arms again defensively. A spectral owl gliding on invisible winds to teach her its knowledge and wisdom hadn’t prepared her for a princess stepping out of dreamscape. She nodded to cloak some of the sudden awkwardness.

“Yes. Welcome. Aleeana – she is hunting. Will return, soon.”

Emilia wore a self-conscious frown now, entirely sure she sounded like she had been given elocution lessons by Schlep. She looked over at Jakk’ari, a novice actress seemingly floundering for lines, but started glaring at him, and then back at the strange elf of her dreams. This was not how the introductions were meant to go, and it started to feel an uphill battle to redeem herself.

“Regardless. You will all,” She said, half-way daring them to discover otherwise. “Find the tower sparsely furnished, and serviceable. The floors are interconnected by rope ladders, and the previous tenants were the Burningblade cult. Of that, a concern demands the efforts of Miss Runescape, as our Resident Arcanist, Miss Mordis, as our Expert against the Dark Arts, and I, to attend. The matter is best not approached casually, but should not require immediate investigation. A good light source is a must, as well.”

Emilia’s bunched shoulders and face had started to relax the more she spoke of her duties, and what she knew of them and the tower. The temptation to put her back to the enchantress for greater ease was easily parried. It was one thing to falter, quite another to intentionally add insult to it. “Truly, I would be happy to help any of you with luggage. Madams Mor and Lag, as Elite Infantry, I little presume either of you require my strength. But I am available if the corridors and hatches prove constraining. Miss Mordis, I am equally available as you need. Have any of you questions?”

[WindStruck]

"Runescribe," Isaera said with a hint of annoyance. "The name is Runescribe," she repeats as she continues rummaging through her bag, pulling out a pair of dainty sandals and slipping them on as well.

The elf mutters something under her breath but appears to be saying it in another language.

Spoiler: A high perception and Thalassian

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If she botched that I could only imagine her failing to pronounce my actual name in our language...

"Um, I'm sorry. What demands our attention, exactly?"

Burning Blade. Burning Blade..

"Ah. So you think there may still be a Fel presence there?"

[Plaids]

now this was an impressive youth standing at attention. A portrait of Emelia would have been most misleading. The fresh face devoid of any signs of misfortune or affliction and an immaculate uniform would have suggested someone freshly enrolled in training or a noble assigned a regiment seeking bolster future opportunities in statecraft. Something which could be observed in several cultures across Azeroth.
But the respect and attentiveness she had shown was just downright charming. After all the mysterious mercenaries or bulldozing warriors on the road it was nice to see someone invested in contributing to the team and not stepping on someone else's toes. Things were looking up for Jakk'ari.

Well, it's pretty early to skin our Zevra before we catch it.
Considering the party Jakk'ari shortly ponders what would best serve the party.
Given Isaera's, Marion's, and recently Mor'Lag's interest in magical study perhaps there could certainly be many late nights in their future. Doubly so if there was any deliberation to be done in the future.

Perhaps some tea plants or chiles. We will probably have some late nights in our future.

As for the elements don't worry about it. If you listen, you will learn in time.

Spoiler: Roll to detect prejudice.

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If a timeskip is going to happen soon I would like to roll for Jakk'ari seeing one of his companions caught in the act of disliking a group or individual for a reason he would not deem as being justified. I am using the awareness stat bonus. Either, Marion, Isaera, or Emelia I think. Jakk'ari knows Mor'Lag's issue with ogre clan membership but maybe not their issues with the horde (1d20+3)[19] Feel free to roll to contest the action.

As Jakk'ari concludes with his encouragement he allows the others who have now come to a standstill and ready to introduce themselves.
Seeing Emelia address Isaera first Jakk'ari quitely watches passively. Hopefully Emelias strengths would complement the elves and get Isaera to focus her impressive talents. Some of the best apprentices of the elements in Sunscar village began their journey with a friend who helped push them out of their comfort zone or confront their deficiencies.

JoyWonderLove:She nodded to cloak some of the sudden awkwardness.

“Yes. Welcome. Aleeana – she is hunting. Will return, soon.”

Emilia wore a self-conscious frown now, entirely sure she sounded like she had been given elocution lessons by Schlep. She looked over at Jakk’ari, a novice actress seemingly floundering for lines, but started glaring at him, and then back at the strange elf of her dreams. This was not how the introductions were meant to go, and it started to feel an uphill battle to redeem herself.

“Regardless. You will all,” She said, half-way daring them to discover otherwise

That was odd. Isaera's second name is Runescribe. Though such a minor mistake would correct itself over time as familiarity between party members increased. And then the change in her introductions cadance and stiff posture. Well no one was perfect. Shyness came with uncertainty and awkwardness that could come emerge in young recruits. Maybe a little of Isaera's natural gregariousness and theatricality might rub off on her.

Regardless, there was a new task at hand. Exploring the vacated tower and confirming the absence of any dangerous remnants.

If you need a light, I can provide one. I will follow your discretion in this task.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


While the troll, the elf, the ogre and the human exchanged pleasantries, another figure watched from the shadow of a Kodo beast - Marion.

She could sense the light on her, she knew it! For months Marion had been hounded across the remnants of Lordaeron by the agents of the Silver Hand and other authorities who believed her to be in league with the Scourge (could one imagine such a ghastly thing?) or that she were a concubine of the infernal forces that had only recently been driven back from Kalimdor. That wasn't to mention the patrols of the Scarlet Crusade...

Though it was fortunate that no one had died during the arduous trek and ceaseless hounding, the experience had made Marion...less that favorable towards having someone of similar inkling lurking within her own abode, walking about while she was asleep in supposed safety.

Marion would have to ensure the locks and fortifications for the entrance to her quarters were of the highest quality available, and Vargheist would need to be posted to sentry duty every evening just in case the physical barriers proved inadequate to halt the efforts of the righteously zealous. This routine would need to continue until her absolute security against some frothing, boggle-eyed fanatic could be assured.

"The Burning Blade are fond of rituals and ceremonies..." Marion finally spoke up, her soft but firm voice penetrating the circle of conversation as the camera panned over to the human standing in the shadows, her hands clasped together authoritatively before her.

"They often use them as conduits through which they channel their affections and worship for the demons beyond our realm. They unfortunately have human elements within Lordaeron..."

Who still inhabit my beautiful homeland, the Warlock thought bitterly about the Argus Wake.

"Thankfully, their practical knowledge of Demonology and skill with which they apply it to their ceremonies are amusingly basic. Thus, rituals of exorcism and cleansing should be sufficient to draw a sponge across the residual spiritual filth that such dangerous amateurs have left behind."

[WindStruck]

Isaera looks up from her bag and toward Marion. Her concerned countenance raises a brow, accentuated by their telltale elven length.

"There are a number of adjectives one might ascribe to the Burning Blade. But I think that typically, if one wishes to keep their head attached to their torso, they would not use the word 'amateur'..."

An ominous beat of silence. The concerning part here was Marion did not appear to be her snarky self.


"Well then! It's a good thing Jaina Proudmore recommended you, and we have a member of the Argent Dawn to watch you, I mean, watch over you..."

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

"There are a number of adjectives one might ascribe to the Burning Blade. But I think that typically, if one wishes to keep their head attached to their torso, they would not use the word 'amateur'..."

"And yet I have not lost a foot in height" Marion gently returned, gesturing to her pretty head which was still very much attached to her shoulders.

"One must not mistake knowledge for lethality. The Burning Blade are dangerous, but they are a cult that attracts the detritus of society: people who did not have the dedication or skill to make something of themselves in their respective civilization's, with those few exceptional members who are worth recruiting. The result is an organization that is dangerous, but whose knowledge of The Craft among its members is the summation of a single semester for a new student: rudimentary. With a few exceptional outliers. They would have been much more successful in their schemes were their rank and file equipped with greater skill."

[Plaids]

OOC: While the discussion of the presumedly absent Burning Blade threatens to pivot to an exchange cushioning pride the camera zooms out. The focus remains on the three medium sized women now in a fully body shot as Jakk'ari out of focus but identifiably by silhouette briefly interjects. Having seen an opportunity to speak after Marion's contribution on the subject of the cult who had vacated their new headquarters.

With a few exceptional outliers. They would have been much more successful in their schemes were their rank and file equipped with greater skill."

Well that's good to hear. Sounds like the Burning Blade couldn't hold a candle to what we've faced. If you find anyone still hanging around try to leave them in one piece for me, you three. I'll be taking taking the luggage inside and unpacking my things if you don't need me.
Mor'Lag? Are you going to unpack or go after those "Burnt Butter Knives"?


Jakk'ari begins assessing the currently luggage discerning which casing belonged to who and which may have the most fragile contents.

[JoyWonderLove]

“My apologies, Miss Runescribe. I – am unused to being enchanted.
” Her arms remained crossed as Emilia became more centred. After a pause, she added. “Your tailor truly is exceptional. Though I am rarely fond of dresses, your garment is nothing shy of unique. We might well have need of such immense talent when it comes time to produce guild uniforms. Who created it? We might be able to negotiate a deal in bulk, when more established. Although that single piece alone appears a small fortune.”

Removing a now even gaze from the body of work, and thankful years around Claudia and her mother – both far more deft hands at saving face and politicking than her as the youngest – had not been entirely squandered, Emilia watched as a disagreement brewed between their warlock and arcanist. Her frown returned, and she found they came easier even after escaping Lordaeron. Her betrothed, as it was a touch right to still claim Eric, had already kindly chided her before that the lost northern continent had taken entirely too much from entirely too many, and not to let it steal more. The paladin interjected when there was a lull in the disagreement between them.

“There was once a saying among the Silver Hand: beware the judge, but behold the jury.” Emilia stated, mostly to Isaera. “Miss Mordis would not be present, were she a threat to the Opal Collocation mission, or its personnel. Indeed, her outward integrity, deep knowledge on overcoming the fel, and noble etiquette besides, have altogether been laudable enough that she was invited to help bring forward an Azeroth-wide, just and fair society. I need not watch her any more than I might any of you.”

Emilia weighed the warlock openly on that note. “Still, Miss Runescribe is well noted for her skill in investigation, and the blood of Daeden and are said to flow strongly besides. She is easily as qualified as I am, if not more so, to raise concern when your chosen albatross weigh entirely too heavily. Do not hesitate to turn to us when creatures born and shaped of malice and Void behalf precisely like it. Regardless of whatever The Craft proclaims of itself, as your fellow guild leaders, we are each of us, still your best choice for a just society.”

The half-smile returned, if at a struggle. “Which brings us to my earlier request: There is a tunnel system below the tower. It has nothing of natural or esoteric light to guide by, and escaped my due diligence for it. Even after all this time, there might well be a lingering fel influence, by way of rituals, and only the foolish attempt to build castles on shaky foundations. I would have us find a light source today, and ensure all is as it should be. There is some sense in doing so before rooms are fully chosen and settled, but I appreciate we have all of one location for a headquarters, and your journey was long. Jakk’ari, allow me to help.”

With that, the paladin unfolded her arms and set about helping with luggage, asking who had a preference for which room. She little hesitated to state she preferred one on the highest floor.

Spoiler: actions

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Go and help with luggage, and later on organise with others to get a light source and check out the tunnel below.

[WindStruck]

Isaera smiled, an air of mirth upon her face. "You have already spoken to the tailor of this outfit. However, I fear it does not sustain itself for very long, and I would not recommend it for mass production, nor uniforms..."

The slight elf grabs just one of her bags, either content to let others carry the rest for her, or, well, she'll get around to carrying them one at a time. "All the more reason to change out of it and don some more.. normal attire. I would have to see the rooms before I feel like I could choose any. I am sure they are most comfortable," she says dryly, now some doubt certainly in her voice.

"But for now, I suppose any will do, if only to put our things inside and have a few moments alone."

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


"“There was once a saying among the Silver Hand: beware the judge, but behold the jury. Miss Mordis would not be present, were she a threat to the Opal Collocation mission, or its personnel. Indeed, her outward integrity, deep knowledge on overcoming the fel, and noble etiquette besides, have altogether been laudable enough that she was invited to help bring forward an Azeroth-wide, just and fair society. I need not watch her any more than I might any of you.”"


A likely story, Marion thought to herself cynically.

“Still, Miss Runescribe is well noted for her skill in investigation, and the blood of Daeden and are said to flow strongly besides. She is easily as qualified as I am, if not more so, to raise concern when your chosen albatross weigh entirely too heavily. Do not hesitate to turn to us when creatures born and shaped of malice and Void behalf precisely like it. Regardless of whatever The Craft proclaims of itself, as your fellow guild leaders, we are each of us, still your best choice for a just society.”

"It's we already?" Marion asked, "Knights of the Silver Hand do move quickly, as they say."

The Warlock was already carrying all the luggage she had in a backpack that was slung over her shoulders. The material seemed stretched and bulging, doubtless containing a mixture of clothes, books, a little bit of food and...something else? Whatever was deforming that rugged material also made its presence felt in its train upon Marions back, as the Warlock would periodically grit her teeth as she drew the straps back up around her shoulders, sometimes even holding them there manually with her hands, lest they slip and her possessions clatter across the floor. Her sandy-golden hair as pulled back into a soft ponytail while her eyes peered out from beneath the cowl of her coat that protected her skin from the harsh touch of this blasted sun. Stepping forward, Marion made a move to enter the tower.

"Let us take a look at this place then, shall we?" she asked, venturing forth.

[Plaids]

The keep all things considered was quite nice at first glance. Sturdy floors, stones and tile absent of large chips and cracks, and a manageable amount dust and soot. Certainly, would disappoint a disappoint a paladin who were keen on maintaining immaculate sanctums but quite comfortable for this shaman. Once unpacking commenced a steady rhythm formed alongside the comfort of handling and situating familiar objects. A bandolier of spices here, effigies of the four cardinal elements there, and a crude table in the freshly swept corner.

After establishing a comfortable corner for himself Jakk'ari turns to his companions first spotting Marion. The young woman had brought more than Jakk'ari causing a more burdensome load to be hefted inside. That along with her hood seemed to be causing some sweat along her brow. Once she lowers her luggage Jakk'ari begins their conversation.

"Looks like you brought your fair share of items. Anyway, what do you think of this place? A bit dusty and worn but a decent place provided the previous tenants didn't leave us anything. You handled yourself well on the ship. You didn't get sick, and the men didn't sweep you off your feet. "

The young woman had likely spent a fair amount sailing. Likely as a passenger given the lack of callouses on her hands.
After the small talk Jakk'ari proceeds to his request. The real subject of his discussion.

" Well, I have a request for you. Since I probably can't do it all on my own. It's about Emelia. I've seen some of your spells and you might get antsy around a light wielder who might bring down the hammer. But I think we have a fresh-faced greenhorn groomed since their first lesson to command. I wouldn't be asking you this if I thought you couldn't do it. But if you have the time could you help show Emelia the ropes? You saw her start to stutter once we all approached her right? I've seen young trolls in position before, groomed by their elders to command, they're confident but once it's time to lead they can quickly become doubtful, overwhelmed, and withdrawn. I think she could learn a lot from you, and you could learn something from her too. I ... also don't want a repeat of what happened with Felix."

Jakk'ari breaks eye contact briefly his eyes darting the corners of his eyes as he remembers his time with Felix on the battlefield.

"So, can I count on you? "

Spoiler: OOC Request summary

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Hey what do you think of this abandoned cultist compound? Pretty good right? I know you might be suspicious of this new person but I think she's alright. Could you please be a good older sibling and watch her back?
Note: Jakk'ari is not aware of Emelia's crush on Isaera or Marion's suspicion of Emelia but is making an assumption on the later given the spells he has seen Marion cast.

[MrAbdiel]

After introductions are made and belongings hauled inside, the goblins take their kodos and head off back down the slope to the town proper. Most of the party gets their first chance to really once-over the tower's interior.

There is one large room on the ground level suitable for a private quarters, in addition to some reasonably open living space, the crusty remnants of a potbelly stove, and the ghosts of ambitions to have some semblance of dining and common area. The private room here is an easy give to Mor'Lag for their own for one reason: the ladder and hatch that leads up to the second and third floors will simply not accommodate a creature of her size. Until there is redress, the ogress is unlikely to progress toward the roof access. The second and third floors are identical plans - a cross-shaped corridor intersection with four corner rooms. The ladders and hatches are all settled against the south wall at the end of that terminus of the intersection; the pipe of the stove, with its theoretical promise of a little comfort-heating on cold nights, is settled against the north wall's end. This makes the rooms on the north-east and north-west corners of both floors the ideal choices for rooms for the rest of the party - though there's nothing stopping them from seizing on the 'colder' rooms on those levels, and leaving the others for alternative function. With a little furniture and creativity, these rooms are liveable. And with a little more, the rest of the space in the tower may well become useful too.

Before this, the party makes its expedition to the cave below. This, too, is a journey forbidden to Mor'Lag - the rope ladder will certainly not take her weight, even if she can make the uncomfortable, claustrophobic squeeze down into the darkness. Yet it turns out, fortunately for everyone involved, she was not required.

With a fluttering aura of elemental motes gently orbiting them like fireflies glowing in the gloom, the rest of the party descends down a hundred yards of rope ladder secured to the walls by heavy pitons every twenty feet. From the bottom, the shaft turns into a south-east-eastward tunnel for another two hundred yards in perfect black over uneven rocky floors until finally it opens into a darkstone cavern with a crummy old jetty and numerous burned-out lanterns in wall sconces. There might once have been fel magic conducted in this place - Marion's attuned senses follow the faint scent of it to a place where all four of their disciplines - arcane, shamanistic, lightweilder and fel-handler - report the kind of muted signs of a scarred magical essence. But those rituals are long gone. The Theramore marines did a good enough job dismantling this den, leaving only the odd wax-drop from confiscated ceremonial candles and some stained rocks where the spilled blood cannot be easilly chipped away - things that are spooky, but not demonic. It seems what you have is a private bay, even if it's in bad repair, and you could not launch more than a rowboat or one with a collapsible mast from such a low ceiling. As you watch, a large red snapper lunges from the water, tries to eat one of the elemental mote 'fireflies', and then splashes back into the water, hungry and confused. After a thorough inspection, nothing more dangerous than that fish presents itself to you.

The next three weeks pass swiftly, with everyone set to their own work establishing their rooms, pursuing their own goals in the city, becoming acclimated to the dryer, warmer Barrens, and making their inputs into the development of the tower. After it's decided they can afford a number of staff members, no less than ten individuals of varying backgrounds present themselves to be considered for the direct employ of the Opal Collocation. Some are familiar faces; some are very odd faces indeed. But after protracted discussion on the matter, and several nights of negotiation, the long-term image of the Opal Collocation's Ratchet branch begins to take shape...

Spoiler: OOC!

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Alright, gang. Time to do a couple of things: settle on that those 3BP for the base will be used on, and give us a post describing what your character gets up to in the next three weeks. Training, schmoozing, recruiting manufacturers for a burgeoning bug-repellant empire - anything's possible.
During this time you end up recruiting your staff too, but they're already picked and set, so they're good to go. If there's anything you want to do in the downtime that you think might need a roll, go ahead and roll; but this is a bit of a narrative interlude, so I'm unlikely to sweat it unless you're really swinging!

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari's and Marion's discussion ends not with a plan or tangible product but something just as important. A promise to help the newest addition in the party. For now that was enough, plus if someone began slouching there would be precedent for nagging reminders if need be.

The state of the new headquarters now took priority. The yard was decent if viewed from the front a tall grass lawn with shrubbery dispersed about. But a walk around the perimeter revealed hastily placed bricks and lumber too worn to be considered worthy of being salvaged. The rooms were fine though they would need to be furnished. Then was the hiring of staff. Now it was time to get busy.

Spoiler: three-week montage actions

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I don't know if all of these can be done but here is what Jakk'ari will at least attempt. I'll beautify the post later. I divided Jakk'ari's actions projects between guild actions and personal actions. It looks like we are just going with whatever system you want so long as it follows a pattern that could be easily replicated by another player.

Week 1:
Guild: Start building the guild facilities with a focus on the herb garden. Hopefully a guild staff member can help him with that.
Personal: Try to mentor Emelia by giving some leadership tips and pointers on elemental shamanism. Jakk'ari is glad to mentor or help anyone else if they want.

Week 2:
Guild: Begin interviewing new hires. Accompany candidates on creative interview tasks. Such as taking them out to a restaurant and observe. Do they order alcohol before 1PM, order the most expensive or cheapest thing, do they treat waiters well? Or go shooting arrows at clay pigeons.
Personal: Try to contact Sun Scar village whether it be by messenger pigeon, crystal ball, or fox person caravan. So long as he doesn't have to leave town himself.

Week 3:
Guild: Go into town to build a good repour with the locals and gather rumors. If possible, the destination would be the nearest gambling den to play a bit but most importantly learn how the town operates and gather some rumors and street knowlege. If any time remains, then the new hires will be brought up to speed by Jakk'ari.
Personal: Try to find out where the local trolls hang out to try ease the homesickness. Jakk'ari doesn't know where they are, but he will investiagate.

Feel free to roll or decide the outcomes of the events. Each one of these could have negative consequences, positive ones, or minimal effect on Jakk'ari and the guild.

Some basic herbs would include but are not limited to the following. Maybe some blood clot promoting herbs for healing like yarrow, some aromatic herbs like lavender for ritual offerings, some tea herbs like ginger, and cooking herbs like garlic.
Jakk'ari will be taking one of the warmer rooms on the first floor if possible.

Still planning on updating to justify where the 4 character points end up.

[JoyWonderLove]

Emilia levelled an arched brow at the warlock seemingly challenging the notion of a unified guild, a we. The warlock was odd, as all their kind had to be, but this one had an awkward withdrawal for a crime unproven one moment, a flowing confidence when talking about her speciality the next, and an unusual cattiness not long after. One swipe at a left spaulder answered it all, as though batting off an unpleasant stain on otherwise polished armour, and Emilia turned away. The luggage needed moving and the paladin lacked an interest in touching the emotional ones just yet.

Spoiler: tl;dr 3 Week Plan

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Spoiler: on duty

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Emilia essentially is keen on three things. Doing justice to the mission she accepted (and by extension the Argent Dawn), doing justice to the duties she accepted for that mission, and doing justice generally in the world itself. She accomplishes this through certain actions.

Actions,

1) Emilia wakes very early, and works six days a week for the Guild. After exercise/reading/prayer, she tolerates making coffee, herbal tea (whatever is available), and a ‘quick’ breakfast (Cooking 15) for everyone; one that roughly appeals to such different palates as sand dune diplomat, airy fairy princess, bratty bookworm, and the Mountain That Grinds. So porridge, with various fruit pieces cut up into it, vanilla and honey and whatever else is healthy and adds flavour. This is offered daily (except her rest day) because they only have one stove and an army marches on its appetites.

2) Emilia, as a first order of business, (and she is not shy about being the one to call a 10 minute meetings after breakfast; if anyone listens is another concern) restates what the Opal’s mission is, what her rank as liaison and requisitions officer entails broadly, and asks all of them what items, connections, or hobby supporting actions you might need, from her, to make their guild a lasting success. She then prioritises getting anything semi-reasonable (& Inscription ink for herself) after. The point that the guild name sucks, and to consider ideas to vote on by the end of the month, is also raised.

3) Emilia defers to Jakk’ari in this, but she wants to do a charm campaign on Rachet. She first writes calligraphy-esque letters to thank relevant people for the welcome (Inscription: 20 to make them all something and slip that into their envelope as well). Thank Gazlowe for the well-organised welcome, Kerwin & such for the wagon journey, Scuttleswipe for taking care of the tower, and Schlep for the enthusiastic porter service. Well-Informed to guess what they might like. So on.

3b) Second, she writes to the major businesses (Well Informed Routine Check: 20+) to raise the guild’s reputation in the local area. This including details about what their guild’s goal is, when they intend to become operational, and know which of a list of times and days are agreeable to discuss how what the Opal Collocation is trying to achieve can benefit both sides. Depending on response (say if the Blacksmith writes back they could really use an Enchanter, the information could be passed on to Isaera, if an architect is needed, then Marion) we can coordinate from there.

4) For face to face meetings that require her, Emilia typically defers to Jakk’ari as the Chief Diplomat, and largely supports him before (Well Informed), during (Persuasion + Teamwork) and after (Inscription to write another letter, if appropriate). But her ambition insists she signs most letters (first name and assumed rank) and is present for meetings with anyone seemingly important.

5) In town, Emilia personally tries to build ties with the Lawbringers (or any official guard type organisation), local farmers (these people are going to give cheap ingredients for breakfast so…) and the local Chapel. She also gathers information in town about any Burningblade movements (Investigation: 20+ so I can get Specific information) and reaches out for a mentor in sword work and strategy (hmmm, who could that be?), to qualify for higher Argent Dawn ranks.

6) Emilia also tries to get an Inscription going on her fellow guild leader’s and fighter’s armour (citing that the Opal have too many high profile backers not to have its equal in enemies), but she only offers weapon inscriptions for the fighters (Mor’Lag, herself, Felix, purple pointy ears lady).

Spoiler: Night time

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To make up to Aleeana (Persuasion check 15), an offer to cook whatever might be caught on the first day is offered, so she and her sister can enjoy it. If they accept, her Cooking 15 is a Tough result to match. After that, feeling the debt paid off, she’s uninterested in cooking further for anyone at night, unless the poacher (whom she occasionally calls exactly that, or ranger-mooch, because who even crashes in their sister’s room more than once when Rachet is right there seriously come on) gathers enough for the group itself, and sometimes not even then.

Otherwise, she spends her evenings alone in her room, tinkering with how to make the best alcohol concoctions she can, or she’s outside improving sword play / with a teacher, or she’s reading on Light work (no teacher yet?). She is generally uninterested in talking with guild leaders beyond work or self-improvement, it seems.

Spoiler: Three Days Off, aka What Happens in Rachet...

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Emilia has a sacrosanct day off every week! Only emergencies or paladin sense pinging can change it. She does not make anyone breakfast. Work related questions are ignored and told to slid a letter request under her door for tomorrow, unless it’s an emergency. She spends time in town, ‘by herself’, and only ever wearing casual or noble worthy but impartial attire that’s fairly masculine or unisex. Because shut up.

A good breakfast or afternoon restaurant with refillable drinks (and I don’t mean sparkling water) is a must, much like an afternoon trip to the local chapel / Light service. Then in the afternoon or evening something interesting! Watching gladiator arena fights, horseback riding lessons, war art gallery, more drinks; this is her style. In the evening, she’ll normally stay in town overnight. For one thing, stumbling to the guild drunk looks bad. For another, she might have company she doesn’t care to reveal to guild leaders. A flimsy line between private and personal, but it exists.

[b]Week 1[b/], 1st Saturday evening rest day, she gets into a physical fight in town:

(1d3)[3]
1) That she started, because what kind of idiot spills my drink when you’re not even drunk yourself.
2) That she innocently defended herself in, as the bartender will agree.
3) That witnesses insist no one was innocent in.

In the end:

(1d3)[3]
1) She introduced her assailant to the business end of a longsword and sobered up in a jail cell, because Rachet gets enough of this crap already.
2) She persuaded authorities that it’s unjust for her to be jailed, as she honestly believed her assailant hurt themselves more than she hurt them.
3) She took a pretty ugly injury that demanded the attention of a healer ASAP, so a jail cell option got written off for her.

Week 2, 2nd evening rest day, she met someone into her in town:

(1d3)[2]
1) That she met at the gladiator arena viewing, and then there were a lot of drinks.
2) That she met at the local Light chapel, and then there were a lot of drinks.
3) That she met at a museum showcasing Alliance pieces, and then there were a lot of drinks.

In the end:

(1d3)[2]
1) Her paramour was only passing through Rachet, and disappeared in the morning. Oh well.
2) Is local, but is probably uninterested in anything long term or serious? Can’t remember much.
3) Was mysterious about the whole thing, which was part of the appeal. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

Week 3, 3nd evening rest day, her ambition really rears its head in the wrong way:

(1d3)[2]
1) She forgoes her rest day and decides to overwork. Inscriptions, cooking, training, everything!
2) Writes a concise letter to her parents stating where she is, what her assumed rank is, all the stupid decisions THEY made, and how high she’ll soar without even a single favour from them. Count it.
3) Attempts to learn a technique from her mentor that’s way above her current level, because don’t baby me and stop stringing this out you money-grubbing coward let’s get to the actual lessons.

In the end:

(1d1)[1]
1, 2 & 3) If above is 1, she collapses and is effectively useless to anyone for a day afterwards. If above is 2, she gets a sinking feeling in her soul but now knows she really needs to make this all work out. If above is 3, she takes an injury that puts her training back a week at least without a healer, and that’s with the mentor going exceptionally easy on her, but being rather annoyed.

[Feathersnow]

Mor'Lag is overjoyed, her own room! She decorates her room, making it warm and cozy.

That accomplished, she starts trying to study to be a mage in between brewing potions. She studies the garden for what is on offer to make potions with. Her magical studies focus on mastering the two spells she knows, "defenestration punch" and "counterspell"