Captain Cortez makes preparations on the Bane
Cortez listens to Wolffe's suggestion thoughtfully. "I suppose there's something to it - a certain ironic flair - with a few alterations. I don't trust 'im enough, even after what Ciera's done to him - to let him sit on a lifeboat by himself. But I've got no problems sitting on one with him. And I've got to get off these ships anyhow, so I might as well, eh? Captain of my own mighty lifeboat," he adds ruefully.
Toby's news is met with more concern. Shadross tries to shrug it off, but his anxiety is obvious. Cortez intervenes. "Well, this time Cap'n Harrin will get to deal with me," he states. "We'll put my lifeboat just off the side of the Serpent. Soon as he shows up on the ship, someone just has to sing out, and I'll be there to deal with him before you can spit. Anders," Cortez glances over at the psion, "if you're not busy, you might take up residence on the Serpent tonight as well, I imagine you could help with this ghost as well. Toby, thanks for the warning - you seem to know Harrin pretty well, you can do what you think best, of course."
Despite all this, Shadross' pale face still looks unconvinced. Cortez tries his best to be reassuring. "Don't worry Shad, this time you're not going to have to deal with him alone." Shadross raises an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything, and merely heads off back to the Demon Cutter.
After Toby and the captains have left, Cortez seats himself on a bench with a grunt, finally feeling his body's exhaustion after the events of the day. Viggo continues his dire warnings about the Inquisitor until Moriarun interrupts - but Cortez holds up a hand before Moriarun can continue. He rises and escorts Viggo away, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially to him as he does so. "Thanks for the heads up, mate. Don't fret too much -- I'll deal with this Inquisitor."
He turns back to the scrying sensor after Viggo is gone. "All right Moriarun. Let's hear the Inquisitor's terms."
Reckonings: Umberlee's Belly
-
MatthiasStormcrow
- Criminal Mastermind
- Posts: 136
- Joined: Fri Dec 17, 2004 2:28 pm
- Location: Watertown, MA, USA
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Moriarun pauses for a moment, then continues, "Here it is, Captain; he asked me to write the main points down. You can transfer the ships into his hands, if that is the solution you've resolved on... He's leader of the "church militant" and so he can accept warships as donations in kind, and can declare their crews to be in service under the blood chrism and responsible to him. He wants to know if that's acceptable. He says you can discuss it when you meet if you have...ah..."questions or reservations", was how he put it."
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
-
MatthiasStormcrow
- Criminal Mastermind
- Posts: 136
- Joined: Fri Dec 17, 2004 2:28 pm
- Location: Watertown, MA, USA
Cortez shakes his head, and says, "No, no, it won't work. Ciera specifically said that I couldn't just give the ships away - I had to accept their full value in payment, or it might not break the curse. That's the whole point of this! I can't just donate them to his church of what-have-you. Arcadius has the money on that ship, even if your Inquisitor doesn't, so it's no matter, but the curse is the important thing."
Cortez looks towards the scrying sensor. "Oh and Moriarun? Make it clear to the Inquisitor that he is buying ships, not men. Every man on every one of these boats is a free man - they choose to follow me, and they choose to accept what I can afford to pay them. Might be they'll choose to help him out, might be they'll choose to demand good payment from him for their work. Now, he helps me break this curse and he's doing me a great service, and I'll help him in turn; might be they'll choose to help him for it as well. But it's their choice, I've never bound a man to my service. He can keep his blood chrism and service under the church militant to himself, thanks - all he's buying in this transaction is four wooden boats."
Cortez looks towards the scrying sensor. "Oh and Moriarun? Make it clear to the Inquisitor that he is buying ships, not men. Every man on every one of these boats is a free man - they choose to follow me, and they choose to accept what I can afford to pay them. Might be they'll choose to help him out, might be they'll choose to demand good payment from him for their work. Now, he helps me break this curse and he's doing me a great service, and I'll help him in turn; might be they'll choose to help him for it as well. But it's their choice, I've never bound a man to my service. He can keep his blood chrism and service under the church militant to himself, thanks - all he's buying in this transaction is four wooden boats."
"You see, what you thought was a gibbering abomination from the pits of Hell was really just a fruitbat. We get 'em all the time in Salt Lake."
-Benjamin Dean, Doomtown Ep. 8
-Benjamin Dean, Doomtown Ep. 8
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Peregrine's reverie is interrupted by the reappearance of Moriarun's eye and the whispered, "Inquisitor Peregrine?"
"Speak."
"Captain Vandrokar insists that there be a commercial transaction, value for value; he's afraid that a simple donation will be insufficient to break the curse. If you don't have money sufficient, he told me that Captain Arcadius does here on the ship. Ordinarily I wouldn't spend his money on his behalf, of course, but I think this is a special circumstance."
Peregrine shifts his shoulders and mutters in reply, "Well enough, although if you spend Captain Arcadius' funds, and I assume command of the men, who then is the owner?...Better that I pay, if I can."
He pauses, then continues, "Of course, I have no idea what the value of a ship is, and only very little idea of what value my own possessions may have...it will have to await the morrow."
Moriarun clears his throat, the sound oddly distinct in the whisper-magic's hushed murmur. "With regard to commanding the men--Captain Vandrokar wished to ensure that you understood that the crew are not bound to your service, per se; the transaction is to cover the value of the ships alone, and the men will serve at their pleasure. I think the language of the "blood chrism" wasn't very pleasing to him."
Peregrine frowns and says, "This communication at second hand is very unsatisfactory--no fault for it attaches to you, Captain Moriarun, but it is difficult to negotiate the matter at hand in this matter. I think further communication must wait until we have more direct contact; if such becomes possible, please inform me immediately."
"Speak."
"Captain Vandrokar insists that there be a commercial transaction, value for value; he's afraid that a simple donation will be insufficient to break the curse. If you don't have money sufficient, he told me that Captain Arcadius does here on the ship. Ordinarily I wouldn't spend his money on his behalf, of course, but I think this is a special circumstance."
Peregrine shifts his shoulders and mutters in reply, "Well enough, although if you spend Captain Arcadius' funds, and I assume command of the men, who then is the owner?...Better that I pay, if I can."
He pauses, then continues, "Of course, I have no idea what the value of a ship is, and only very little idea of what value my own possessions may have...it will have to await the morrow."
Moriarun clears his throat, the sound oddly distinct in the whisper-magic's hushed murmur. "With regard to commanding the men--Captain Vandrokar wished to ensure that you understood that the crew are not bound to your service, per se; the transaction is to cover the value of the ships alone, and the men will serve at their pleasure. I think the language of the "blood chrism" wasn't very pleasing to him."
Peregrine frowns and says, "This communication at second hand is very unsatisfactory--no fault for it attaches to you, Captain Moriarun, but it is difficult to negotiate the matter at hand in this matter. I think further communication must wait until we have more direct contact; if such becomes possible, please inform me immediately."
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Moriarun's "eye" and whispered voice appear a few moments after his last communication with Cortez; the whispered voice says, "Moriarun here, Captain Vandrokar. The Inquisitor is willing to pay himself, although he needs to know the value of the ships and what you will accept in exchange; for the rest he wants to wait until you can speak directly."
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
-
Fuzzball
- Criminal Mastermind
- Posts: 104
- Joined: Sat Mar 11, 2006 1:14 am
- Location: A Constant State of Confusion
(OOC: This is a post from DeepShadow. Enjoy everyone. I did.)
Invictus spies on the Nightwalkers
[Note: this post contains adult content. See the disclaimer.
I'm assuming that Invictus is taking 10 to Hide in areas of shadowy illumination, which gives a base DC 25 to be spotted. Also, he's covering himself partially or wholly in solid objects via incorporeality, adding from +10 to +20 to his Hide check for a total DC of 35-45.]
Invictus phases effortlessly through the bulkheads and up onto the deck of the Nightwalker ship. Brief glimpses belowdecks indicate that most Nightwalkers will be found around the mess table, but the half-dozen lookouts spread out over the deck and rigging have the clearest perceivable agenda.
Quiet as death, Invictus slips between the sentries, allowing his magically enhanced senses to ferret out snippets of words in a dozen languages. What he mistook for conversation is actually a set of monologues--mnemonic exercises for men too poor to write anything down. Layers of slang and nuanced meanings underwrite every word, safeguards against the prying ears of neighbors (and interpretation magic like his own). Surely the Nightwalkers are not so plagued by infighting that they keep everything from each other...most or all of these lookouts must be from other crews!
From a few shared comments, Invictus manages to ferret out some common and understandable fears and hopes. The Smiling Serpent's freedom makes it a tantalizing prize, but the sheer enormity of getting to it is daunting, so watchers occupy themselves with comparing the signals of Cortez's flagmen to known maritime codes. They've noted the quarantine flags, but their own situations are as bad or worse, so they remain frightened of the newcomers. It still remains to be seen whether they'd prefer to steal the Smiling Serpent or parley for help freeing their own ships. Perhaps they themselves don't even know; the slimerakes probably don't make such decisions, but only collect information for those who did.
From the forecastle emerges a dark-eyed sailor, sallow and hatchet-faced but not quite as gaunt the others. He crooks his finger at a lookout, who slides his spyglass uncollapsed into a hip holster and follows the first man down the stairs into the mess area. Intrigued, Invictus follows them downstairs to where less than two dozen men gamble for scraps around one long table of what was once a cavernous galley. With night falling, heavy canvas curtains are being drawn to conserve heat around the small space, while beyond them the shattered corpses of the galley's other tables lie stacked about for firewood.
Invictus has little time to take stock of the varied currency--including strips of meat, flasks of water, dead birds, pepperweed, and something euphemistically called "rice"--before his quarries set off across the empty galley to the far end of the ship. The journey ends upstairs in the forecastle, a few yards away from where it began; it seemed silly at first, but Invictus has seen inside enough palaces to recognize an attempt at intimidating architecture. No doubt the leaders who carouse in feigned oblivion behind these flimsy wooden doors have watched the arrival of every guest from cracks and knot holes, just as the Chancellor and his knights took the measure of visitors using a crystal ball.
Invictus spies on the Nightwalkers
[Note: this post contains adult content. See the disclaimer.
I'm assuming that Invictus is taking 10 to Hide in areas of shadowy illumination, which gives a base DC 25 to be spotted. Also, he's covering himself partially or wholly in solid objects via incorporeality, adding from +10 to +20 to his Hide check for a total DC of 35-45.]
Invictus phases effortlessly through the bulkheads and up onto the deck of the Nightwalker ship. Brief glimpses belowdecks indicate that most Nightwalkers will be found around the mess table, but the half-dozen lookouts spread out over the deck and rigging have the clearest perceivable agenda.
Quiet as death, Invictus slips between the sentries, allowing his magically enhanced senses to ferret out snippets of words in a dozen languages. What he mistook for conversation is actually a set of monologues--mnemonic exercises for men too poor to write anything down. Layers of slang and nuanced meanings underwrite every word, safeguards against the prying ears of neighbors (and interpretation magic like his own). Surely the Nightwalkers are not so plagued by infighting that they keep everything from each other...most or all of these lookouts must be from other crews!
From a few shared comments, Invictus manages to ferret out some common and understandable fears and hopes. The Smiling Serpent's freedom makes it a tantalizing prize, but the sheer enormity of getting to it is daunting, so watchers occupy themselves with comparing the signals of Cortez's flagmen to known maritime codes. They've noted the quarantine flags, but their own situations are as bad or worse, so they remain frightened of the newcomers. It still remains to be seen whether they'd prefer to steal the Smiling Serpent or parley for help freeing their own ships. Perhaps they themselves don't even know; the slimerakes probably don't make such decisions, but only collect information for those who did.
From the forecastle emerges a dark-eyed sailor, sallow and hatchet-faced but not quite as gaunt the others. He crooks his finger at a lookout, who slides his spyglass uncollapsed into a hip holster and follows the first man down the stairs into the mess area. Intrigued, Invictus follows them downstairs to where less than two dozen men gamble for scraps around one long table of what was once a cavernous galley. With night falling, heavy canvas curtains are being drawn to conserve heat around the small space, while beyond them the shattered corpses of the galley's other tables lie stacked about for firewood.
Invictus has little time to take stock of the varied currency--including strips of meat, flasks of water, dead birds, pepperweed, and something euphemistically called "rice"--before his quarries set off across the empty galley to the far end of the ship. The journey ends upstairs in the forecastle, a few yards away from where it began; it seemed silly at first, but Invictus has seen inside enough palaces to recognize an attempt at intimidating architecture. No doubt the leaders who carouse in feigned oblivion behind these flimsy wooden doors have watched the arrival of every guest from cracks and knot holes, just as the Chancellor and his knights took the measure of visitors using a crystal ball.
-
DeepShadow of FoS
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 2920
- Joined: Mon Dec 22, 2003 1:43 pm
- Location: Heinfroth's Asylum
Ciera listens to Cortez's discussion with Wolffe. "The lifeboat needn't be his prison, Cortez, merely a stop on the way. You'll recall that selling the boats doesn't cure the sick, only slow the spread of the disease. Just setting foot will bring the disease to the surface, where it will remain after he's been moved to whatever quarters we find suitable. It's a risk: even without the curse, the shrieks spreads quickly, through the air. On the other hand, I can't think of a better way to keep his spells in check."
The Avariel has borrowed wings,
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
-
MatthiasStormcrow
- Criminal Mastermind
- Posts: 136
- Joined: Fri Dec 17, 2004 2:28 pm
- Location: Watertown, MA, USA
Cortez looks thoughful. "A stop on the way to where, though? If it spreads through the air, we can't keep him around. But what do with him?"
He eyes the space in the air that had been occupied by Moriarun's scrying sensor moments before. "Hmm. You know, if the things Viggo says about this Inquisitor are even close to the truth, he might be just the perfect person to introduce this Draga to..."
He eyes the space in the air that had been occupied by Moriarun's scrying sensor moments before. "Hmm. You know, if the things Viggo says about this Inquisitor are even close to the truth, he might be just the perfect person to introduce this Draga to..."
"You see, what you thought was a gibbering abomination from the pits of Hell was really just a fruitbat. We get 'em all the time in Salt Lake."
-Benjamin Dean, Doomtown Ep. 8
-Benjamin Dean, Doomtown Ep. 8
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Peregrine sits on the deck of the Liberte turning Borrowed Time in his hands idly; to an observer it would surely seem the habit of many years, although the Inquisitor has had his heirloom less than a week.
When will the Keeper return? What will he bring with him when he does? What is this book? Do I dare to read it? Do I dare not read it? Who is this Cortez, and what does his curse mean for him and for me? What is the will of Ezra in all of this, and how shall I achieve it?
His thoughts soon cut themselves a groove, and he falls into reverie; then, suddenly, a new question:
What of that Mordentish woman, the one whose children I came to seek?...the ghoul said she had killed them, and he could not have lied, and yet she did not know they were dead. He believed his story to be true. Why does she not remember? Ezra's grace returns the shattered mind to wholeness...
Unless there is not one mind, but two.
For a moment Peregrine feels something flickering deep within his own consciousness; instinctively he reaches for the Sword of Ezra, and, taking it in both hands, he rises to a kneeling position and puts his forehead against its crossbar. Ezra be with me, he prays, and he hears the answered whisper, I am with you always.
What shall I do? he asks, but to this there is no clear response.
Standing, he turns to Rast Tellwith, Jethlil, and the other sailors from the Wake and gestures to them to gather . "Master Tellwith," he says quietly, "I must return to the ship to speak with Captain Moriarun. I place you in charge here until I return, which I intend to do before full dark. Jethlil, you are to stand as second. I do not anticipate any untoward event, but keep at the ready; the Keeper had archer skeletons as servitors, and it is not impossible that they will attempt a ranged assault. If there is an attack I will know if it as soon as any of you are injured, and I will return immediately; get those unarmed below and return fire to best effect. If you cannot match their rate of fire retreat below and hold them off until I return. Again, I remind you that I feel your wounds, even if you do not; so do not be foolhardy on that score! Master Tellwith, stand forward."
Tellwith does so, bowing his head slightly as the Inquisitor raises his hand in benediction. "As leader of this group I lay upon you a blessing of strength, that the ravager shall have no power over you; those with you shall be supported by your steady hand.* To all of you who defend this flock Ezra gives this blessing, that the eye of the dead shall not detect you until you raise your hand against them.**" So saying, Peregrine touches each of the six on the forehead. He walks to the edge of the deck, his form already growing indistinct as he steps off and hurries toward the Rogue's Wake.
*magic circle against chaos
**hide from undead--this also affects Peregrine, in case it comes up.
BTW, this post assumes that it won't be really, truly dark for another half-hour or so--if that's not correct, especially if it's dark already, Peregrine may not risk going.
When will the Keeper return? What will he bring with him when he does? What is this book? Do I dare to read it? Do I dare not read it? Who is this Cortez, and what does his curse mean for him and for me? What is the will of Ezra in all of this, and how shall I achieve it?
His thoughts soon cut themselves a groove, and he falls into reverie; then, suddenly, a new question:
What of that Mordentish woman, the one whose children I came to seek?...the ghoul said she had killed them, and he could not have lied, and yet she did not know they were dead. He believed his story to be true. Why does she not remember? Ezra's grace returns the shattered mind to wholeness...
Unless there is not one mind, but two.
For a moment Peregrine feels something flickering deep within his own consciousness; instinctively he reaches for the Sword of Ezra, and, taking it in both hands, he rises to a kneeling position and puts his forehead against its crossbar. Ezra be with me, he prays, and he hears the answered whisper, I am with you always.
What shall I do? he asks, but to this there is no clear response.
Standing, he turns to Rast Tellwith, Jethlil, and the other sailors from the Wake and gestures to them to gather . "Master Tellwith," he says quietly, "I must return to the ship to speak with Captain Moriarun. I place you in charge here until I return, which I intend to do before full dark. Jethlil, you are to stand as second. I do not anticipate any untoward event, but keep at the ready; the Keeper had archer skeletons as servitors, and it is not impossible that they will attempt a ranged assault. If there is an attack I will know if it as soon as any of you are injured, and I will return immediately; get those unarmed below and return fire to best effect. If you cannot match their rate of fire retreat below and hold them off until I return. Again, I remind you that I feel your wounds, even if you do not; so do not be foolhardy on that score! Master Tellwith, stand forward."
Tellwith does so, bowing his head slightly as the Inquisitor raises his hand in benediction. "As leader of this group I lay upon you a blessing of strength, that the ravager shall have no power over you; those with you shall be supported by your steady hand.* To all of you who defend this flock Ezra gives this blessing, that the eye of the dead shall not detect you until you raise your hand against them.**" So saying, Peregrine touches each of the six on the forehead. He walks to the edge of the deck, his form already growing indistinct as he steps off and hurries toward the Rogue's Wake.
*magic circle against chaos
**hide from undead--this also affects Peregrine, in case it comes up.
BTW, this post assumes that it won't be really, truly dark for another half-hour or so--if that's not correct, especially if it's dark already, Peregrine may not risk going.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
OOC: This post, obviously, is contingent on the previous one; if it is already too dark for humans to see attackers with darkvision Peregrine probably won't go.
IC: The mire of Saragoss spins away under Peregrine's misty feet as he hurries toward the Wake, the night fog gathering around him as the temporary clarity of sunset is replaced by choking mist.
Within minutes he flashes over the Pteryons; between the darkness and the mist he goes unnoticed, save perhaps as a darker mist soon lost in the evening gloom. A minute more and he steps onto the deck of the Rogue's Wake, becoming corporeal again even as he strides forward calling for Moriarun.
"Captain Moriarun!" he says.
"What? Oh, it's you, Inqui...er, Shepherd Wayfarer," Moriarun says. "I didn't expect...is everything all right?"
"I hope so," Peregrine replies, his voice low. "The woman I brought back earlier--where is she?"
"Belowdecks in the captain's cabin," Moriarun says, puzzled. "Since I wasn't expecting you I thought it a good place--as big as any we've got, and she'd have some privacy."
"That is well," Peregrine replies, moving to the gangway and going below as he speaks. "I will be up directly."
Knocking on the door of the captain's cabin, Peregrine says in High Mordentish, "Madame, may I enter?"
IC: The mire of Saragoss spins away under Peregrine's misty feet as he hurries toward the Wake, the night fog gathering around him as the temporary clarity of sunset is replaced by choking mist.
Within minutes he flashes over the Pteryons; between the darkness and the mist he goes unnoticed, save perhaps as a darker mist soon lost in the evening gloom. A minute more and he steps onto the deck of the Rogue's Wake, becoming corporeal again even as he strides forward calling for Moriarun.
"Captain Moriarun!" he says.
"What? Oh, it's you, Inqui...er, Shepherd Wayfarer," Moriarun says. "I didn't expect...is everything all right?"
"I hope so," Peregrine replies, his voice low. "The woman I brought back earlier--where is she?"
"Belowdecks in the captain's cabin," Moriarun says, puzzled. "Since I wasn't expecting you I thought it a good place--as big as any we've got, and she'd have some privacy."
"That is well," Peregrine replies, moving to the gangway and going below as he speaks. "I will be up directly."
Knocking on the door of the captain's cabin, Peregrine says in High Mordentish, "Madame, may I enter?"
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
-
DeepShadow of FoS
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 2920
- Joined: Mon Dec 22, 2003 1:43 pm
- Location: Heinfroth's Asylum
Ciera Returns to the Bane
Day 5, 5:45 PM
On the deck of the Bane, a lookout spots the flickering flame of Ciera's flying horse, and prayers ascend to Tymora in gratitude for her safe return. Whispering through her scrying field to Cortez, she tells him she will circle until he has made his final decision about where to put Draga.
"The disease is in the breath," Tarr repeats to no one in particular, "but we can't take away his lucky rock, because he'll suffocate--not that I've quite figured out why we care." He rolls his eyes at Shadross and rubs his forehead. "Ciera, you say he breathes water; will the disease spread that way--I mean, if he was infected?"
Ciera blinks. "No...no, underwater, the disease would be blocked, at least until he touched someone. Were you hoping to infect the sahuagin?"
"No," Tarr mutters, "I'm not quite sure m'self where I'm going w'this--"
"Swamp a lifeboat," Wolffe offers. "Chain him up, stick'm in it, and swamp the sucker. It'll still float--'specially in this muck--but he'll be stuck inside, his own little fishbowl."
Ciera nods. "If the sides of the boat stay out of the water, it might work. Of course, if we go that route we needn't hamper him with the disease, when Balin's anti-magic shackles can do better."
Tarr shrugs. "If that's not enough, these ships have double hulls, and the space between is often flooded. With him in those chains, we might could throw him in there and kit it out as a special brig just for him. Without his rock, he'd have to stay in there, right?"
Sariel shifts uncomfortably. "Are we certain we should use those shackles on him? We couldn't go near the Sea Dragon without losing all our own magic. Perhaps we should use one of the binding spheres, and keep the upper hand?"
Ciera sighs. "The choice is ultimately yours, Cortez. Just let us know what we can do."
Day 5, 5:45 PM
On the deck of the Bane, a lookout spots the flickering flame of Ciera's flying horse, and prayers ascend to Tymora in gratitude for her safe return. Whispering through her scrying field to Cortez, she tells him she will circle until he has made his final decision about where to put Draga.
"The disease is in the breath," Tarr repeats to no one in particular, "but we can't take away his lucky rock, because he'll suffocate--not that I've quite figured out why we care." He rolls his eyes at Shadross and rubs his forehead. "Ciera, you say he breathes water; will the disease spread that way--I mean, if he was infected?"
Ciera blinks. "No...no, underwater, the disease would be blocked, at least until he touched someone. Were you hoping to infect the sahuagin?"
"No," Tarr mutters, "I'm not quite sure m'self where I'm going w'this--"
"Swamp a lifeboat," Wolffe offers. "Chain him up, stick'm in it, and swamp the sucker. It'll still float--'specially in this muck--but he'll be stuck inside, his own little fishbowl."
Ciera nods. "If the sides of the boat stay out of the water, it might work. Of course, if we go that route we needn't hamper him with the disease, when Balin's anti-magic shackles can do better."
Tarr shrugs. "If that's not enough, these ships have double hulls, and the space between is often flooded. With him in those chains, we might could throw him in there and kit it out as a special brig just for him. Without his rock, he'd have to stay in there, right?"
Sariel shifts uncomfortably. "Are we certain we should use those shackles on him? We couldn't go near the Sea Dragon without losing all our own magic. Perhaps we should use one of the binding spheres, and keep the upper hand?"
Ciera sighs. "The choice is ultimately yours, Cortez. Just let us know what we can do."
The Avariel has borrowed wings,
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
There is the sound of movement beyond the closed door, and then the woman's voice says uncertainly, "Yes, come in."
Peregrine opens the door and comes in, half-bowing to the woman. It is obvious she has been weeping; her face still shows the mark of her tears.
Peregrine seats himself in a chair and says, "I bring news, madam."
"The children," she breathes, her face lighting up. "Are they well? Did you bring them? Are they here?"
"No, madam, they are not here," Peregrine says quietly. "I did not find them. You are certain they were on board the ship?"
"Yes...I...but...my children!" The Mordentish woman dissolves into anguished weeping; moving to her side, Peregrine says, "Ezra bless thee and give thee strength, my daughter," making the sign of the Sword adn Shield and touching her lightly on the shoulder.* "They are passed to a better world; it is cold consolation, I know, but the worst did not come to pass. They rest now in the embrace of our protectress, and the Lady of Tears surely knows how to console you in this dire hour."**
Peregrine leaves the grieving mother's side for a moment to open the chest in which he stowed his own possessions; bringing out the soul searcher, he raises it to his good eye and concentrates, letting his gaze fall first on the noblewoman, then scanning the rest of the room.
*protection from chaos
** Diplomacy 35
Peregrine opens the door and comes in, half-bowing to the woman. It is obvious she has been weeping; her face still shows the mark of her tears.
Peregrine seats himself in a chair and says, "I bring news, madam."
"The children," she breathes, her face lighting up. "Are they well? Did you bring them? Are they here?"
"No, madam, they are not here," Peregrine says quietly. "I did not find them. You are certain they were on board the ship?"
"Yes...I...but...my children!" The Mordentish woman dissolves into anguished weeping; moving to her side, Peregrine says, "Ezra bless thee and give thee strength, my daughter," making the sign of the Sword adn Shield and touching her lightly on the shoulder.* "They are passed to a better world; it is cold consolation, I know, but the worst did not come to pass. They rest now in the embrace of our protectress, and the Lady of Tears surely knows how to console you in this dire hour."**
Peregrine leaves the grieving mother's side for a moment to open the chest in which he stowed his own possessions; bringing out the soul searcher, he raises it to his good eye and concentrates, letting his gaze fall first on the noblewoman, then scanning the rest of the room.
*protection from chaos
** Diplomacy 35
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
-
DeepShadow of FoS
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 2920
- Joined: Mon Dec 22, 2003 1:43 pm
- Location: Heinfroth's Asylum
Sorry you have to push the thread along yourself, Nathan! I was working on stuff, but you beat me to it. Here's your post with some alterations on the "before" and the "after."
Peregrine on the Rogue's Wake
Peregrine's knock is answered with a bloodcurdling scream as Marta awakens out of a terrifying nightmare:
"The children...no, too hot...I'm the only one. Josephine! Josephine"
(Peregrine may enter at this point; if not, Marta collects herself and opens the door after some unintelligible mumbling)
Marta's pushed all the furniture and other belongings into alcoves, preferring the bare wood floor as a bed. All of Arcadius's continual flame lamps have been shuttered tight, except for one next to her wrapped twice in a blanket. The resulting room is not quite so dark and cavernous as the hold she slept in for so long, with enough light to see she's alone in the dark. As she said, the light meant they were coming for her.
She may prefer the blanket wrapped around the lantern than herself, but Peregrine's relieved to see that Marta has recovered a small sense of modesty: even in her disorientation, she draws her robe close about her and fumbles to tie it.
[Peregrine seats himself in a chair and says, "I bring news, madam."
"The children," she breathes, her face lighting up. "Are they well? Did you bring them? Are they here?"
"No, madam, they are not here," Peregrine says quietly. "I did not find them. You are certain they were on board the ship?"
"Yes...I...but...my children!" The Mordentish woman dissolves into anguished weeping; moving to her side, Peregrine says, "Ezra bless thee and give thee strength, my daughter," making the sign of the Sword adn Shield and touching her lightly on the shoulder.* "They are passed to a better world; it is cold consolation, I know, but the worst did not come to pass. They rest now in the embrace of our protectress, and the Lady of Tears surely knows how to console you in this dire hour."**
Peregrine leaves the grieving mother's side for a moment to open the chest in which he stowed his own possessions; bringing out the soul searcher, he raises it to his good eye and concentrates, letting his gaze fall first on the noblewoman, then scanning the rest of the room.
*protection from chaos
** Diplomacy 35]
"The worst?" she repeats to herself as Peregrine's gaze scans the room. "My children were not...taken, as I was...they died before...in the fire. The Lady of Tears...did Bastion Secousse send you? I've never known her to...send people. But then again, my sister can be persistent. How long have I been here?"
Some of her questions are directed at Peregrine, others at herself, or perhaps the shadows of the room; she expects no answers from any of them.
Peregrine's gaze through the crystal catches the aura of his blessing and lingering auras of Ezra's healing magics, but nothing supernatural about Marta herself. The alcoves are choc-a-block with other auras, and the ship itself has a few protection magics, but there's nothing to explain Marta's continuing gap in memory.
[In addition to the above, Marta detects as Lawful Neutral]
Peregrine on the Rogue's Wake
Peregrine's knock is answered with a bloodcurdling scream as Marta awakens out of a terrifying nightmare:
"The children...no, too hot...I'm the only one. Josephine! Josephine"
(Peregrine may enter at this point; if not, Marta collects herself and opens the door after some unintelligible mumbling)
Marta's pushed all the furniture and other belongings into alcoves, preferring the bare wood floor as a bed. All of Arcadius's continual flame lamps have been shuttered tight, except for one next to her wrapped twice in a blanket. The resulting room is not quite so dark and cavernous as the hold she slept in for so long, with enough light to see she's alone in the dark. As she said, the light meant they were coming for her.
She may prefer the blanket wrapped around the lantern than herself, but Peregrine's relieved to see that Marta has recovered a small sense of modesty: even in her disorientation, she draws her robe close about her and fumbles to tie it.
[Peregrine seats himself in a chair and says, "I bring news, madam."
"The children," she breathes, her face lighting up. "Are they well? Did you bring them? Are they here?"
"No, madam, they are not here," Peregrine says quietly. "I did not find them. You are certain they were on board the ship?"
"Yes...I...but...my children!" The Mordentish woman dissolves into anguished weeping; moving to her side, Peregrine says, "Ezra bless thee and give thee strength, my daughter," making the sign of the Sword adn Shield and touching her lightly on the shoulder.* "They are passed to a better world; it is cold consolation, I know, but the worst did not come to pass. They rest now in the embrace of our protectress, and the Lady of Tears surely knows how to console you in this dire hour."**
Peregrine leaves the grieving mother's side for a moment to open the chest in which he stowed his own possessions; bringing out the soul searcher, he raises it to his good eye and concentrates, letting his gaze fall first on the noblewoman, then scanning the rest of the room.
*protection from chaos
** Diplomacy 35]
"The worst?" she repeats to herself as Peregrine's gaze scans the room. "My children were not...taken, as I was...they died before...in the fire. The Lady of Tears...did Bastion Secousse send you? I've never known her to...send people. But then again, my sister can be persistent. How long have I been here?"
Some of her questions are directed at Peregrine, others at herself, or perhaps the shadows of the room; she expects no answers from any of them.
Peregrine's gaze through the crystal catches the aura of his blessing and lingering auras of Ezra's healing magics, but nothing supernatural about Marta herself. The alcoves are choc-a-block with other auras, and the ship itself has a few protection magics, but there's nothing to explain Marta's continuing gap in memory.
[In addition to the above, Marta detects as Lawful Neutral]
The Avariel has borrowed wings,
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
-
DeepShadow of FoS
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 2920
- Joined: Mon Dec 22, 2003 1:43 pm
- Location: Heinfroth's Asylum
Invictus among the Nightwalkers
Day 5, 5:35-5:40 PM
[Note: this post contains adult content. See the disclaimer. Seriously this time.]
Invictus has spent enough time around humankind to remain aware of senses he doesn't have; as he peeps in on the "leadership" of the Nightwalkers, he's thankful he lacks a nose. This room is lit by a trio of dead birds wired together, their downcast faces blackened into featurelessness by the sooty orange flames that emerge from their mouths. A wide oval table swells across the room, its walnut and cherry inlays stained almost as black as mahogany. Beneath it, begging mutely for scraps, lounge two naked men, mangy and vacant-eyed. Around the table, gleaming silver plates and brilliant gold goblets grace the hands of a dozen men with rags barely cleaner than their servants'. The result is a grotesque mockery of nobility; Invictus cannot shake the memory of twelve nobles around another table who laid a charge on their nation's heroes, five days and a lifetime ago....
For men who have probably never seen true nobility--and who have no use for putting on airs--their reception of the petitioner follows many of the pragmatic protocols of a proper council. The modes and forms of address are strictly established, and many of the "chairs" (as they call themselves) are well-practiced false advocates, taciturns, sand-baggers, and devil's advocates. After several minutes of dizzying doublespeak, the slimerake hands over a coil of silk rope and two coils of thin cord. The chairs test all three before allowing the slimerake to hand over bottles from his pack, which they fill from a water-barrel and return to him.
A flicker of anguish passes behind his eyes as the fourth bottle is filled to overflowing, and the precious water dribbles to the filthy deck, like diamonds crushed and scattered by a millstone on a windy day. He accepts the bottle wordlessly, but keeps it in his hand as he retrieves and stows the others; every so often he slips a few precious droplets to his lips from the bottle's moist exterior. So this is what becomes of Cortez's gift of fresh water: yet another commodity to be milked for all it's worth.
After the slimerake leaves, the chairs relax a little and begin congratulating each other. From a rear room another naked man is pushed forward on all fours, and during the meager festivities he pads over to the table and begins whispering to one of the beggars underneath. A clandestine conversation could have escaped the ears of those nearby, but to the newcomer's horror, his "old friend" bays loudly like a hound and barks at him, drawing the attention of the chairs. A scarred, moon-faced man, silent until now, kicks the newcomer in the ribs and whips a length of cord around the man's neck, cutting off his breath. He leaves off just short of throttling the man unconscious and drags him back into the ajoining room, while another chair gives the mangy "friend" a mouthful of pepperweed mash for his treachery.
Another slimerake arrives to beg for water, and the chairs take their parts again. Only when he is gone do they finish eating and set half-empty plates on the table. The dog-men each scramble for a mouthful, and three women emerge from belowdecks at an unspoken invitation. One chair sings out, "Where's m'nickel dog?" and a woman eagerly responds, "Where's m'nickel?" The chair holds a long strip of meat just out of reach as the woman approaches, dangles it over her like mistletoe with one hand even as he loosens his belt with the other. Her eyes locked onto the meat, she's nearly oblivious to where his hands are sliding in the loose pleats of fishnet hanging around her thighs. Through what could only be a marshalling of tremendous mental energy, the two proceed to satisfy their separate animal urges while remaining only dimly aware of the other's presence.
[This concludes Invictus's tour among the Nightwalkers. Let me know what else here you wish to investigate, and then head back to join Cortez]
Day 5, 5:35-5:40 PM
[Note: this post contains adult content. See the disclaimer. Seriously this time.]
Invictus has spent enough time around humankind to remain aware of senses he doesn't have; as he peeps in on the "leadership" of the Nightwalkers, he's thankful he lacks a nose. This room is lit by a trio of dead birds wired together, their downcast faces blackened into featurelessness by the sooty orange flames that emerge from their mouths. A wide oval table swells across the room, its walnut and cherry inlays stained almost as black as mahogany. Beneath it, begging mutely for scraps, lounge two naked men, mangy and vacant-eyed. Around the table, gleaming silver plates and brilliant gold goblets grace the hands of a dozen men with rags barely cleaner than their servants'. The result is a grotesque mockery of nobility; Invictus cannot shake the memory of twelve nobles around another table who laid a charge on their nation's heroes, five days and a lifetime ago....
For men who have probably never seen true nobility--and who have no use for putting on airs--their reception of the petitioner follows many of the pragmatic protocols of a proper council. The modes and forms of address are strictly established, and many of the "chairs" (as they call themselves) are well-practiced false advocates, taciturns, sand-baggers, and devil's advocates. After several minutes of dizzying doublespeak, the slimerake hands over a coil of silk rope and two coils of thin cord. The chairs test all three before allowing the slimerake to hand over bottles from his pack, which they fill from a water-barrel and return to him.
A flicker of anguish passes behind his eyes as the fourth bottle is filled to overflowing, and the precious water dribbles to the filthy deck, like diamonds crushed and scattered by a millstone on a windy day. He accepts the bottle wordlessly, but keeps it in his hand as he retrieves and stows the others; every so often he slips a few precious droplets to his lips from the bottle's moist exterior. So this is what becomes of Cortez's gift of fresh water: yet another commodity to be milked for all it's worth.
After the slimerake leaves, the chairs relax a little and begin congratulating each other. From a rear room another naked man is pushed forward on all fours, and during the meager festivities he pads over to the table and begins whispering to one of the beggars underneath. A clandestine conversation could have escaped the ears of those nearby, but to the newcomer's horror, his "old friend" bays loudly like a hound and barks at him, drawing the attention of the chairs. A scarred, moon-faced man, silent until now, kicks the newcomer in the ribs and whips a length of cord around the man's neck, cutting off his breath. He leaves off just short of throttling the man unconscious and drags him back into the ajoining room, while another chair gives the mangy "friend" a mouthful of pepperweed mash for his treachery.
Another slimerake arrives to beg for water, and the chairs take their parts again. Only when he is gone do they finish eating and set half-empty plates on the table. The dog-men each scramble for a mouthful, and three women emerge from belowdecks at an unspoken invitation. One chair sings out, "Where's m'nickel dog?" and a woman eagerly responds, "Where's m'nickel?" The chair holds a long strip of meat just out of reach as the woman approaches, dangles it over her like mistletoe with one hand even as he loosens his belt with the other. Her eyes locked onto the meat, she's nearly oblivious to where his hands are sliding in the loose pleats of fishnet hanging around her thighs. Through what could only be a marshalling of tremendous mental energy, the two proceed to satisfy their separate animal urges while remaining only dimly aware of the other's presence.
[This concludes Invictus's tour among the Nightwalkers. Let me know what else here you wish to investigate, and then head back to join Cortez]
Last edited by DeepShadow of FoS on Sat Aug 19, 2006 12:40 am, edited 2 times in total.
The Avariel has borrowed wings,
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
The Puppeteer must cut the strings
The Orphan Queen must take the throne
The Queen of Orphans calls them home
-
Fuzzball
- Criminal Mastermind
- Posts: 104
- Joined: Sat Mar 11, 2006 1:14 am
- Location: A Constant State of Confusion
Invictus
Invictus has seen enough. He pulls back into the darkness and floats silently toward the Bane. Seeing Ciera’s glowing mount brings him great relief. Joy would be the word to use if he understood it, but his undead soul can’t quite grasp the meaning. He dives down into the water to take make one last round before returning to the surface to be present for Ciera’s return.
Invictus has seen enough. He pulls back into the darkness and floats silently toward the Bane. Seeing Ciera’s glowing mount brings him great relief. Joy would be the word to use if he understood it, but his undead soul can’t quite grasp the meaning. He dives down into the water to take make one last round before returning to the surface to be present for Ciera’s return.
"Okay Mark, it's your turn. What do you do?"
"I commit suicide."
"I commit suicide."