Rider Z

Valerian - Claw of the Undying Queen Human Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk 4 AC: 17 | HP: 31/31 | PP: 15 | Ki: 4/4 | Initiative: +4 | Languages: Common, Draconic, Abyssal, Infernal Valerian was alone in a strange land. That was most apparent to him throughout the meeting with Harpers and the Gauntlet Order all the way to the festival. It reminded him of a story he heard once upon a time. A lost boy deep underground, travelling blind in the underdark. In that story the boy stepped carefully to avoid the spider's web and shivered at every bump in the dark. Here, far above ground and under the light of the sun, there were webs too. And even here, they were invisible. He took the advice given to him freely and with little rebuttal. He did not give his name nor his affiliation during the meeting or after. He spoke very little in fact. Most of all he did was eat. Though that in itself was a sight. Valerian ate like a man starved and judging his stature, he very well might have been. Though there was plenty before him and the group, his focus seemed most on the lamb and the pheasant. They held pleasant tastes, ones somewhat nostalgic to him. Once the meeting had finished, with missions given and promises of alliances made, Valerian departed quietly. If anyone had asked why he had nothing to give and had been so quiet, not that he expected anyone too, he would have given them a sneer and said something about the specifics not mattering. So long as he was lead to the heretics. But there was another truth there. A deeper and simpler one. He was nervous. He was always nervous in cities. Too many people. It was like stuffed in an oven between a turkey and pig roast. Cooked between pieces of meat. The worst part was that it was closeness without intimacy. Valerian in the best of times did not like to be touched, or even in proximity with others. And when he was he expected it to be with those who he cared for and whom cared for him. Not that there were any of those left. In a city you were forced to brush elbows, to bump shoulders, and share all such little grievances with strangers. Unabated. It was nerve-wracking. Every time it happened Valerian had to fight his instinct to light his skin aflame and burn the offender, to let poison drip his fingers and wrack them. Usually, he would have kept himself focused with his mission. He had never been in a city without a target before, until now of course. He occupied himself with thoughts of the last mission he would ever receive from his order. His holy crusade, afforded only to him. Revenge. It was such focus that allowed him to move through the crowds without burning anyone, and brought him to a place alone. Where he could order his thoughts. He thought of revenge a lot that night of the meeting. It brought him focus, but no peace. The day of the festival had a familiar bent, yet was slightly different. Valerian's mind had steeled and some time alone, for the first time in weeks since he first entered into the group's service, had given him much strength. It was with this strength that he wandered through the city of Elturel. If he didn't like the company, he at least liked the food. That was one thing cities did alright, he could admit. There was a bevy of delicacies to taste, all that never seemed to fill the stomach. Or his stomach at least. He carried himself alone for a while, a long while. Stopping by the occasional stand to grab a treat, sometimes leaving coin and sometimes not. Before the contests had even begun Valerian had devoured a lamb's leg, three honeyed apples, and half of a sugared fig. It was as he was nearly halfway through the final item, that he stumbled upon one contest in particular. "How quickly can you sketch a shapeshifter? Find out today and win a prize!" The words hit him like an arrow. Specifically in his side, the side of his cloak where he carried a journal and pencil. Besides his clothing, those two things were his only possessions. The journal had been woefully neglected as of late, receiving few occupants among its timeless number. Valerian could only draw what he saw and he saw frightfully little these days other than... Before he could convince himself otherwise, Valerian found himself in the circle of artists who had entered the competition. Including Wendy, though he made no move to greet her unless spoken to first. He was frightfully out of sorts with the lot in truth, his grim demeanor otherwise clashing with the upbeat atmosphere. But he was a contestant nonetheless. His hand worked quickly with his pencil, sketching as the shapeshifter's form ebbed from one visage to another. By the time the competition finished he had something he was satisfied with. Valerian was always satisfied with his own work, no matter how poorly it came out. He supposed that was what separated him from a real artist and a hobbyist. Afterwards Valerian set off alone once again. His mood was indecipherable to others as always, a stone face that took the form of a snarl when his eyes met another's. But in truth, he was in quite a good sorts. He had eaten well and gotten a chance to sketch. There was little more a man could ask for in the world and little chance it would be delivered at all. Such was a nice day that he might even forget his grander purpose for a moment. And he did. Then the moment after he was overcome with shame. Another call came then. One far less inviting than the previous competition, more grim in nature. "Want to know when you'll die? Channel the essence of Kelemvor and see when you face judgment!" How would he die? In truth the thought had never occurred to Valerian. Death was an inevitability. A final respite for the dutiful and damnation for the unfaithful. Perform your duty and death was never a concern. Perform it well and death was a reward. That was how he always thought. But now? Did he think the same? He had neither performed his duty yet, or done his previous tasks well. So what was death to him? "A goal." He said lightly. Though the words seemed hollow. Like affirmations one says in the mirror. Ephemeral even in the moment. His eyes turned towards the tent that the voice came from. Likely it was some huckster angling to make a few quick coins off the grim curiosity of Elturel's young and old, -- Those in-between seemed to seldom think of death in Valerian's estimation -- but his interest had been piqued and Valerian seldom lost interest in things. He stalked slowly into the tent, enveloped by its dark interior. It seemed purposefully moody. He found his way through fine however and felt for a seat. He pushed himself into it, sitting cross-legged ontop of the chair as he always did no matter where he sat. "I would like to know how I die." He said, to whomever might tell him so.

Juvenal de Ari-Cato Karthis HP: 19/19 | AC: 17 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +9 | Will: +5 | Perception +5 | Hero Points: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Osiriani, Kelish Juvenal had lazily pressed his torso against the balcony as Martella spoke. Leaning precariously over the edge, one hand resting half-way underneath his chin. It was a stance he often took when pretending to be bored, as he was now. In truth this was all growing rather exciting. Such delicate games of subterfuge, balancing subtlety on a pin as they ran against time. It was like something out of a copper-novel the beardless so liked. Of course that was only if Juvenal cocked his head, squinted, and exaggerated a good deal. But still, he was starved for entertainment recently anyhow. Juvenal gave a playful smile and wave towards Bartleby Lotheed as the man looked up towards him and his sister. Then he pushed himself from the railing and disappeared from sight. "As much as I hate sobriety, I fear retching from both ends to be far worse. I'll only sample from personal collection then." Juvenal said, stepping away from Martella's side and shaking a flask slightly with one hand. His special little stash for occasions such as these. "I hope our next encounter will end with less retching Lady Lotheed, but until then..." Juvenal gave a faint bow and then practically slid on his heels away. He had regained a lot more energy in his step, a distinct level of focus that hadn't been there before. It might have been because a bit of the wine in him had drained away when he saw the spectacle below. Of course, the truth was a bit more complex and simple at the same time. Juvenal had always hated being told what to do, despised it in fact. Indeed, most of the times he received such orders it was all too likely for him to do the opposite entirely. But on the rare occasions where he deemed such orders as fun and entertaining he might actually follow through. Especially if they came from a woman or man whom he found distinctly enamoring. That was why Juvenal did not take a sip from his flask as he stepped down the stairs and onto the senate floor. It was also why he cut straight the crowd towards the Countess Pace. Not stopping for any side adventure or other such distraction as he usually would. He figured between the Duke and Pace, the countess would prove far easier to deal with. Considering her proximity to his allies and her own flittering ambitions. As he rounded the bend of a group of nobles trying carry themselves up before they puked away both their reputations and lunches, Juvenal's eyes settled on Countess Pace. He could see the young lord Armen lock arms with Lorelei and away, something else in Lorelei's hands as they moved from the Countess. In a moment he concluded they were going for the fireball option, blackmail. A wondrous thing indeed! It did solve so many options. But he figured he should at least set some groundwork, likely they would be occupied by the Trant situation a little longer anyhow. "Countess Pace! How nice to see you!" Juvenal said as he came stepping up to the woman. It was a wildly mundane greeting for Juvenal, but that normalcy only lasted for a moment. In the next moment his hand had reached out to a tray that a servant was proffering towards the Countess, he took the goblet from it, and tossed its contents behind him. "You don't want to drink that." Juvenal's smile had not left during this strange act. It only became apparent as he leaned for a conspiratorial whisper. "It was from the Lotheed collection. Which by the way, I've heard that despite her announcement was not Martella's responsibility tonight. Moreso her brother's, Bartleby's. Sibling rivalry, hmm? Always nasty habit of spilling out, like wine out of a drunkard's goblet." Juvenal waved down another servant with one hand as he spoke and when they approached he grabbed a goblet from there tray and proffered it towards the Countess. "Recompense for the spilled wine, hmm?" He said as he offered it.

Valerian - Claw of the Undying Queen Human Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk 4 AC: 17 |  HP: 31/31 |  PP: 15 | Ki: 4/4 | Initiative: +4 | Languages: Common, Draconic, Abyssal, Infernal The Hooded Boy Valerian's return to Greenrest with his new "allies" was surprisingly uneventful. It seemed in fact he did everything in his power to keep it that way. He walked with the hood of his cloak up, his head down. It was a well practiced demeanor, likely for good reason. He was a cultist after all, unrepentant and proud of it. It was unlikely that there was any place from the Sword Coast all the way to Thay that would accept his kind. This truth did not change during the remainder of their time in Greenrest. Especially not on their last march out. He made special point to walk far behind the group as they showered in praise and love by those they had saved. It would have been a rather sad sight if anyone had noticed. The lone member of the victorious few who was given no love and seemed content with that. It was his victory as well? Was it not? Even if lesser so. He had claimed a part of the vengeance he so desperately sought. And yet it seemed he received nothing for it. No flowers, no cheers. And that was only outward. Inside... Well, the work was not done yet and he hadn't even received the killing blow. There was little time no reason for him to bask in the afterglow of justice won. So he kept his eyes forward instead and dulled his hearing so as to miss the brunt of the incessant cheering from the people of Greenrest. His one eye stayed down to ground, content and unfeeling. But then something curious happened. Valerian's hand shot out to the side, catching something that flew lightly through the air towards him. His eye immediately tried to trace the path back, but Valerian was distracted before he could finish the trail. Something pricked his finger. Curious, he looked down at his hand. Cupped inside of it was a small rose, one thorny protrusion tipped with red blood. A flower... for him. Too deliberate to say anything otherwise. His eye remained on that flower for a long time. All through the remainder march outside of Greenrest, past the rolling hills, and well after the sun had set on their first day of travel. He was transfixed on it, eye trailing the pink hued bud, down to the green stem, and finally to the red covered thorn that had pricked him. What a curious sight indeed. A rose for a killer. If he had been asked why his attention held on the flower for so long, he could give no answer. It was simply one of those small things that men occasionally stumble across. A detail that their mind would catch and simply could not be tugged from. The silly type of thing that they'd remember decades later and still be just as puzzled then as they once were. Its hold on Valerian would end however. As the stars above began to shimmer and the all too familiar sound of quiet surrounded him, he let out a brief sigh and tore his eye away from the rose finally. "Foolishness." He said quietly to himself. Then he closed his palm around the stem, a small flame erupting and burning it away. That would have been the end of it completely, if the bud itself had not survived. Somehow, someway. Eventually, it would find itself pressed in-between the pages of his journal. Marking two particular sketches. One page consumed by two lines of people, cheering at procession walking between them. The other page, consumed by a simple rose. "Foolishness indeed." Valerian whispered to himself as he closed the journal, then blew out the candle that sat next to his cot. After finally damning both the flower and the day to the oblivion of memory forever after, the cultist laid himself down to rest. Not true rest, however. There would be time for that after his vengeance. Elturel Bound Valerian was no trouble. That was likely the first and most surprising thing that stood out about him as the party made their journey to the Shining City. Despite his allegiances and his poisonous words, he remained true to his promise. No harm came to any of the group by his hand. More than that he seemed to be mostly out of the way for the trip. He always walked, never even taking a moment to rest on Wendy's freshly bought wagon. An act that seemed like it would be particularly painful, considering the cultist's lack of shoes. Such a lack of basic amenities became apparent in the trip. He had no personal belongings beyond his clothes, bandage wraps he used for his feet, and the journal he occasionally produced. It was memorable sight. Likely to remind those more religiously inclined of a monk on pilgrimage, one who had taken a vow of poverty and abandoned all earthly possessions. Indeed, slotting him in such a role would not be entirely unfounded. If not for the newly found gold in his possession. Which he had only taken upon Daniella's insistence that he deserved a share of the gold they had taken from the hatchery. An action he found most curious, especially would done in conjunction with her consistent mockery towards him. The latter act he seemed relatively used too. As a member of the Cult of the Dragon, insults were commonplace to him. From both enemy and ally alike. In fact if anything the constant mockery seemed to put him at ease. A noticeable tense in his shoulder soon lessened on the trip, his eye lost some of its sharpness and suspicion. At least when speaking to Daniella. Around others, specifically Rahnur and Wendy he seemed just as suspicious as their first meeting in the cave. Aralim, or the Morningson as Valerian seemed insistent upon calling him, was an altogether different beast. If Daniella's mocking had the strange effect of making Valerian at ease, Aralim's attempts at helping the cultist seemed to push in the other direction entirely. The first morning when the priest had kindly put out a pair of sandals for Valerian, his reaction had been revulsion. He didn't exactly throw them in the face of the Morningson however, even Valerian wasn't that uncouth. Instead the pair of sandals were simply set afloat down the River Chionthar that night. The next day when he had found his clothes cleaned, one could swear his one eye would pop out of its socket it bulged so much. That day Valerian went hunting. Bringing back a rabbit that he had only chased through the tall grass to find, his clothes freshly dirtied during the chase. This was mostly a usual occurrence for Valerian however. He hunted and gathered for himself, not accepting any offered rations or such. This was a habit seemingly not born out of suspicion however, more duty. Occasionally he'd leave in the morning after his daily meditations, only to return with a half scorched rabbit, plover, or other such small game. If he did not return with anything, then he did not eat that night. As simple as that. Other than those necessities, Valerian kept himself busy in other ways. He did not volunteer for any chores or such outside taking care of his own things. Though he take watch at night if allowed. It seemed protection was an important enough duty that he allowed himself to share in that, at least. Finally however, when time slowed and Valerian found himself with no important tasks to keep his hands busy. He'd settle down and pull that little journal from his cloak. It became apparent rather quickly that it was a habit of his, or maybe a hobby. If Cultist's could even have hobbies. Every day he'd eventually find himself sitting in that cross-legged position, eye staring down at the pages of the journal and writing. Occasionally, his eye flicker away to something and then turn back to the journal. Movement indicating that he drew as well. What sort of mad ravings and drawings could reside in a Cultist's journal was anyone's guess, but by the frequency of it and the thick nature of his book, they were numerous indeed. So in these ways, Valerian mostly kept to himself. Not bothering others with talk apart from Daniella, as she often bothered him insults anyhow. There was however, one incident when he spoke. Specifically when Aralim took Rahnur aside for a word and two conversed on whether the half-drow would remain with the group. Sitting just next to the fire, idly tending to it. Valerian spoke suddenly and uninvited. "Leave if you have no business left here. I do not enjoy the idea of a half-hearted bowman behind my back." He said rather matter of factly. Eye still focused on the fire. Then it drifted, landing upon Rahnur. An air of seriousness in its gaze. "But especially if you have a family. It is your duty as the strong to protect them. And you have seen first hand that the weak will be in much need of protecting in the coming days." Then Valerian's eye turned back to campfire as he grew silent once more. Those were his most notable words on the trip and likely only ones. Otherwise it was the dullness of it all that made him most strange. At the end of the day, whatever assumptions were made originally because of his affiliation. Valerian walked, worked, and slept like any other man. This routine might have eventually become comfortable even. If not for its interruption with the groups arrival at Elturel. Cities mean danger. Especially for him. "I'd argue that all cities are pompous in their own ways, Daniella. Bastions of perceived law and order, while in truth merely being fortresses for rotting ideals and sundered ambition." Valerian scoffed as well, eye looking over the city as the arrived at Elturel's outskirts. His hood went back up as they drew closer. His scars were in blessing in more than one way. When someone saw a hooded man they grew curious, always. When they saw a hint of the scars underneath however, usually their curiosity drained. Replaced by understanding, or embarrassment, or other such foolish emotions. Either way it worked well for him. Especially with the goblin nearby. Valerian grew appreciative of her presence now, if only because it drew attention away from him. That was needed after all. In his past he tried to avoid cities as much as possible. But when the Cult gave a target, he answered no matter how difficult the task. That often meant bodies left in alleyways if he was quick and his face on a poster if not so quick and just a little bit careless. Luckily he could not remember any corpses he had left in Elturel in recent times, though there was always the chance of posters spreading. Such a chance is what lead Valerian to walk at the back of the group once again. Though much closer this time. Best if he was lumped in with the whole rather than examined as the one. Even if that left a slight mark on his pride. Valerian made no great attempts at subterfuge as the group moved through the lines of refugees trusting that the confusion more bodies brought would earn them an easy pass through. If not that he was sure the Morningson and Daniella would combine their greatest weapon, privilege, to get them a free pass through anyhow. It was only when the guard mentioned an inspection of goods that he did any slight action. Subtly putting himself slightly in beside the case that contained the dragon eggs, as the draw attention. He had advocated against bringing the eggs. It was a foolish idea founded on faulty assumptions and shoddy ground. But when it came to dragons, he considered at least partially responsible. He was Tiamat's chosen after all. Her favorite champion on the mortal coil. If not his duty exactly, it was at least a concern of his faith if nothing else.

Levels (Will clean this up later): Level 4: (1d8(5) + 2) : + 7 HP ASI ---> +2 Dexterity Features: Slow fall

Valerian - Claw of the Undying Queen Human Way of the Ascendant Dragon Monk 4 AC: 17 | HP: 31/31 | PP: 15 | Ki: 4/4 | Initiative: +4 | Languages: Common, Draconic, Abyssal, Infernal "These are my words." These are my thoughts. These are my actions.

Valerian - Claw of the Undying Queen "Faith is not measured by hope. By believing in a god who refuses to answer your prayers. To believe in such faith is to believe in vanity. It cannot be meaningfully divorced from selfishness, believing that your way is right. No matter what others do, no matter what they say. You must be right, simply because you believe it harder." "This is wrong. Unnatural even. Faith is measured by one thing. Strength." "The strength given to you by your god. The strength you've carved out of nothing. The strength you've EARNED... The strength you can use to protect those you hold dear. I had it all.. my faith is strong. I was am strong..." "So why are all the people I loved dead?" Character Concept: A lone assassin is spurned by his own church in the midst of a religious schism. Finding his family ripped apart by the very people he loved most, this heretic himself on a quest for revenge. One that might even lead him down a path of redemption against his own will. Origin/Past is Prologue: Once upon a time there were was a brother and sister. They left their home and went deep into the woods for some firewood. It was to be a safe trip, one unmarred by the many dangers of the world. And so it was. But once they returned home, they returned to chaos. Where once had been a cottage, there was now only a frozen over waste of land. They saw the culprit soon enough, a great Dragon. One with silver scales that glinted with the sunlight. They ran together, ran all the way past the hills and the horizon. But the brother was weak and fell during their run, never to be seen again by the sister. Soon the sister was consumed by the image of that dragon day and night. Haunted by it. Goaded by it. She needed to rid herself of the fear. To conquer that terrible image. So she sought strength, and she found it. Strength unbound and great in nature, all she need do to gain such strength was pledge herself. Pledge herself to the cause of the Dark Lady and her followers. And so she did. And so in turn did her descendants. Or so the story goes. To his knowledge that is how Valerian's family came to serve the Cult of the Dragon. But far-fetched tales from generations long dead did not matter to him. In fact only one thing mattered to Valerian, claiming the strength the Cult promised him. As the eldest child it was his burden to undergo a process called Metamorphosis. A terrible trial to allow a man to gain powers that slightly resembled a dragon's. There was one problem however. Valerian was a weak child. From an early age he was sickly and weak. Seemingly damned to a life of complete ineptitude due to a bad roll of the dice. But even as a child, he couldn't accept such a fate. He worked himself harder than any slave, was a trained more cruelly than any animal by the acolytes, and in the end blossomed more full than anyone could have imagined. Molded into the perfect form, Valerian set out to do the Undying Queen's work. His job brought him to many different places, allowed him many different tasks. More often than not, it was a simple job. He was a killer. An arrow made to pierce the flesh of those who had wronged dragonkind or had the misfortune of descending from those who did. It was a task he performed most ardently and with great competence. In his wake he left scores of dead, both those of his targets and the unfortunates who put themselves between him and his duty. It was nearing the end of Valerian's latest tour that something most curious occurred, communications from his home ceased. So he had the only rational choice. He returned. In truth he had been looking for this opportunity. Though he would never admit it, he longed to see his family once more. His home. He would get his wish, but twisted in the most cruel way possible. They were slaughtered, all of them. Mother, father, brothers, and sister. All killed in gruesome fashion. Not by enemies, but by kin. For a man like Valerian, who valued nothing than the bonds of family and loyalty it was the greatest betrayal. A betrayal that might break lesser men's spirit or faith, but not him. It only tempered Valerian. Forged his anger and hate into sharp spear, aimed directly for the heart of his betrayers. He spared no time for tears, no time for wallowing, or confusion. Only one thought prevailed, vengeance. This time not for dragons, but for men. Loyalties: Valerian's loyalties still most remain to the Cult of the Dragon, but as it was before. Not as it is now. He is a heavily devout man, convinced that the current Cult are all heretics opposed to Tiamat's true will. But those are just rationalizations that might be proven false. Once they are... well who knows how a man might react to his broken faith. Is Might Right?: "Strength, power, might! Might is right, might is good, might is just! Fools in their cities might convince you that the only good might be found in rule of law, in ironclad taboos enforced by scale. They are wrong. In the end laws are only as good as the sword that enforces them. Fools of false faith might tell you that good might be found charity, in kindness to the small. They are wrong. They have convinced themselves that being weak is noble, that failing to become better is some form of higher ideal. It is all lies, lies told for one purpose! "To distract you from the truth, that might is the only way to break free from the shackles of false gods! That through might there is enlightenment! That might leads you to the truth. That the Dark Lady is the strongest of all gods, and that through her honest rule we will all be saved! That by the might of the Dragon Queen the false gods shall be banished for our realm and we will once and bask in the glorious truth chains unbound and eyes unclouded!" Deity: Tiamat. I cannot stress this enough. Though he is wavering slightly ultimately he is still a devout follower of Tiamat. At least of the belief and dogma he was taught, which differs from the current Cult of Tiamat as he is so readily is willing to point out. This difference in dogma with other followers is what is going to allow him to work with others whom he would normally find himself at odds with. As even though they're non-believers, at least they're not filthy heretics. Music:

Juvenal de Ari-Cato Karthis HP: 19/19 | AC: 17 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +9 | Will: +5 | Perception +5 | Hero Points: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Osiriani, Kelish Juvenal stepped into pace with Martella, using blowing up a floof of his hair as she asked him her question. It was so hard to keep it in that stylish place in-between unkempt and well kept. "Not even a hello how are you? You wound me Martella. I had thought us close enough to at least warrant false bits of care when meeting." Juvenal whined, as he so often did. But to his credit he did so for much less time than his usual waffling. "I've been making acquaintance here or there. Doing my best to charm those inbetween votes onto our side. Though its awfully boring, so I'll tell you the exciting part." Juvenal leaned in slightly to whisper. A movement he was well accustomed to. "I got a good look at the woman who released those bees a while back. Couldn't quite catch her, as I was being chased down by a coterie of stingers. But I should be able to recognize her again given the opportunity." "As for Trant." Juvenal said as he pulled back from the whisper and then his expression turned curious. "No, I'm afraid she didn't. I presume you called me here to tell me what manner we will be harpooning such a political leviathan? Or perhaps you've called me here for a more... singular task?"

Juvenal de Ari-Cato Karthis HP: 19/19 | AC: 17 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +9 | Will: +5 | Perception +5 | Hero Points: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Osiriani, Kelish Why wasn't Martella responding? That was the question residing in the back of Juvenal's mind as he moved through the crowd whispering there, gossiping here, and dazzling everywhere. "Martelllllllla, don't ignore me. You know my feelings shatter more easily than a Tian vase." He whispered into the pin as he took a moment to himself in-between conversations. That was when he spotted Lorelei. A bright smile flickered across his face as he watched her walk up to him, then noticeably dropped when he recognized her head shake in noticeable disappointment. The smile drifted up again as she lectured him, sheepish like a farmboy who was just caught laying in hay rather than tending to his chores. Then a drooped down again when she spoke her last few words. "Let's try and have you accomplish something this evening." "To be fair to myself! I did only promise to not drink while we were walking together." Juvenal called out to her in his own defence as she walked away. He regretted the action immediately. He was an expert on breaking promises on technicalities, but for some reason most people usually didn't seem accept such reasonings. He was among those people, if speaking truthfully. Which he never did. Once again finding himself bereft, Juvenal sighed. He looked down to a wine cup he idly held in one hand, its swirling ichor dancing just beneath the lip of the cup. Suddenly he felt just a bit more sober. A dramatic man might ascribed that to Lorelei's swift and precise lecturing. A wake up call. Juvenal knew it was simply because year's of drinking gave him a high tolerance, and the stuff noble's served at party's was always swill. Still, he let out a sigh and placed the cup on the table he leaned next to. It was a rather forced action. And if anyone was watching they'd be able to tell it took a great deal of strength from him. But that was the tragedy of it, no? No one ever looked at Juvenal when he was doing the right thing. "Fine, then." Juvenal said a she brushed off his coat. He took another moment check his reflection in the wine cup, parting his hair a bit. Then he turned. "Martella wants to see me then. Best not keep her waiting then."

Juvenal de Ari-Cato Karthis HP: 19/19 | AC: 17 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +9 | Will: +5 | Perception +5 | Hero Points: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Osiriani, Kelish Gods it was maddening. Go here, do that, target this person. Martella Lotheed somehow found a way to make court more droll than it already was, by making it work. Juvenal hated work and just above that he hated being told what to do. But by some hellish design he'd managed to get caught up doing the three things he hated most. What he was told, work, and talking to nobles. Absolutely maddening. These were the thought swimming through his head as he made his tongue swim through wine. He was feeling a buzz now, a small dance in his step as he moved along. That was good. Being drunk always made the worst of tasks at least somewhat bearable for him. Hadn't he promised someone something about drinking tonight? Oh promises, promises, promises. More fickle than a star in the morning light. But he always kept his, at least so he said. It was the only reason he hadn't split the senate yet, left to find some more entertaining party downhill where he could stick his head in a wine jug and his bottom half in a- His thoughts stopped when he heard those voices coming from the badge on his lapel again. People. People who he could stomach for the most part, even if they couldn't stomach him. And could he blame them really? Martella had hired six people for a job, a mission, five of them were succee- Well not succeeding actually. Lorelei had fumbled the Duke and Hrotha had cocked up the Trant situation. But at least they were trying. What was he doing? Stealing wine pitchers from servants who likely were soon to be yelled at by irate lords and ladies. As always, it was a decidedly pathetic outing for him. And as always, he drowned that thought away with another drink of wine. But then his wine cup was empty and was instead filled with reason. Why was he moping? He hated moping, it didn't look quite good on him. There was an easy solution to his problems... just act like they didn't exist. A revelation to shatter mankind's understanding of turmoil, to be sure. But he was an expert on it. And as soon as he tossed away his wine cup and strutted forward all of the self-loathing left him. That was Juvenal's greatest weapon after all. Treating his problems like they were a cat and he was a mouse. "Maaaaaaaartelllla, my one true love." Juvenal sung into his communicator. There was still a little bit of drunkenness still in his voice. But there being only a little bit was far and away an improvement for Juvenal. "You always dance best when you choose the music. So I'm going to work the room a little bit. Warm the waters to Princess Head Butt. So that way Trant and Pace and whoever else we want to choke like a Chelaxian- abandoning that metaphor actually, a bit too saucy for a gala- Anyone we want to choke doesn't have someone to pull them out the pool." "Anyways, any chance I could get some play-by-play info on whom I'm talking to when I talk to them? Usually I do my research beforehand before flattering or embarrassing someone. But this is all a bit last minute." In-between his status update and request to Martella, Juvenal dove into the crowd of lords. Doing what he did best. A mixture of schmoozing and infuriating. All while trying to subtly inch the room towards the princess' favor. Whether that be by luring others onto his side or prodding other's until they were forced to choose the princess.

Juvenal de Ari-Cato Karthis HP: 19/19 | AC: 17 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +9 | Will: +5 | Perception +5 | Hero Points: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Osiriani, Kelish "Egads!" Juvenal exclaimed as the bees bursted forth from the apiary, their fluttering wings making that incessant buzzing noise their kind was oh so famous for. Except in their excessive multitude, their buzzing combined into a cacophony that might rival a storm. Juvenal, for his part, was not at all in the mood for rain. Ignoring all rules of conduct when confronted with bees, he startled and moved away quickly to the inner buildings. "I expect you to take full responsibility! Otherwise they'll blame me for this, and its not even funny enough to be me!" Juvenal called out to the servant woman as he exited from the opposite direction. His heels stepping along the grass and then clicking on the marble floor as he backed up into the emperor's hall. While he was usually just fine with taking the fall for such pranks and mishaps, this one ranked a bit too destructive for him. And direct. It was not nearly ironic enough for him to take credit for. But still, as Juvenal retreated into the protection of antiquated hall he regained his composure. That task of which being done easier as he plucked a goblet of wine from the tray of a servant fleeing from the wall of bees as well. He took a long drink of it, feeling the sweet liquor light up his belly and clear his mind. And then he turned on his heels to continue walking face first, instead of in that drunken and backwards way of his. Just in time to catch the site of Greyrose, obviously moving to run after the servant responsible for such anthophila alarm. "She's rather easy to startle, like a deer at the end of a lord's crossbow, so take care hmm? And have the hairy boy give me a call should you need back up." He said in passing to Greyrose as the two walked past one another. He was completely content to leave the task to a psychic sidekick. Especially if it meant he didn't need to risk navigating a sea of bees. Otherwise, Juvenal was left to his main task. Which was... well it was rather ill defined in truth. Everyone else had such well defined concrete tasks, his seemed far more mercurial. Martella might as well have just said "Juvenal just be you." Which in truth suited him just well. So he stepped idly through the Emperor's Hall, stopping once to get another top up of wine, before making his way into the Senate Floor. There he posted himself up, ears prickling to hear any gossip or conversations he might inject himself into. As all nobles were truly want to do.

Lerris Ninthborne HP: 32/32 | AC: 21 (Raised Shield) |  Per: + 5 | Fort: +8 | Ref: +4 | Will: +8 | Hero: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Hallit, Skald "Right. Taking care of their bowman ought to be pretty high on priorities, nothing kills faster than an arrow or bolt." Lerris said as he slipped his longsword back into its sheath, then he crouched over one of the bodies. Taking a moment to give a small prayer for the man and his fellows. "But... we've got there number eight to four right now. Two to one. I reckon if we show that, we might be able to finish this up without any more bodies. Which if you ask me is always the best outcome." Lerris said as he stood up fully from his position of prayer, eyes turning towards the camp.

Juvenal de Ari-Cato Karthis HP: 19/19 | AC: 17 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +9 | Will: +5 | Perception +5 | Hero Points: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Osiriani, Kelish "Now, I know there isn't exactly a sign that outright says 'don't feed the bees.'" Juvenal said as he slipped to the side of the blonde haired woman, face leaning down in that indiscreet way of his as a hand lifted to the open door of the apiary. Not quite closing it, but seemingly ready to. Subtlety was the art of Taldor, the beuatiful method of social fencing perfected over the course of a thousand years and more. Juvenal, of course, was not a traditional artist. Not in the slightest. "But I suspect its rather implied, hmm?" His head cocked, a fluff of hair falling over his face as he gave that smile. The one with his signature mixture of playfulness and feigned innocence. It often found use in functions such as these, but usually when he was on the receiving end of an interrogation. Rather than where he found himself now, as the inquisitor. The role reversal was most entertaining to him and it shone through in that smile. "Though, mayhaps, I am mistakened?" His hand on the door stood up, his fingers dancing up its side slowly. His eyes still stared at the woman. Smile and head still cocked. "Perhaps you know more than me? Perhaps even I am making a fool out of myself, accosting the Mistress of Apiaries here in the Senate Hall. Am I?"

Hmm, if there's no room for a connection between the DUI and Oxford before hand then no need to shoehorn it in. We can drop that completely. Also I like the 21st jump street angle a lot, so I'm down with doing that. Especially because it's going to lead to a very interesting way I'll have to play Julian. It also just makes sense that he'd be chosen for this job. He's a relatively young man (so I'll keep the age as is) who has both expressed interest in furthering his education and is very much capable of it. I imagine most DUI agents as the standard middle-aged, jaded, monster hunter types. So they'd stick out like a sore thumb. With Julian he's at least only jaded. Regarding whether he's there illegally or not, I'm thinking he's there fairly officially. Getting in was probably the easy part actually, like I said earlier it just makes sense when looking at him from the outside. The only thing they'd probably have to do is scrub some of his connection to the DUI in specific, which I imagine would be easy enough. As for the specific reason that he was sent, regarding the case or however. That's interesting to me as well. Whether it shakes out as apart of the main plot or a b plot I like the idea a lot.

Artyver of Vogler AC: 14 | HP: 24/24 | PP: 11 | Lay on Hands: 10/10 | Languages: Common, Solamnic "Guess I really was his favorite then." Artyver said as he heard the knight's explanation of the shield. A small smile quirked up on the side of his lips, though it was easy to see it was not at his joke. His hand ran over the wood of the shield, feeling it. One last gift from the old man then, one last story. He'd heard Greenshield tell a thousand stories, but never the one of his namesake. He'd wished no that he had heard that one. His fascination with the shield remained, even as the rest moved on to other conversation. Like more important conversation. His eyes focused down on the old man's gift. Only absentmindedly explaining Vogler's history when question's were asked. Though his eyes turned up eventually. Finally taking in the importance of what was being said around him. The implication. "Aye, we ran off something the other day. Scratched me bad before going down though." He added to Heather's explanation, then winced. Not at remembering the pain, but at the fact that he admitted he was wounded. A mistake. If anyone saw where the wound should be now... he absentmindedly pushed his sleeve up his arm. "Hmm, all day and night depending on who you ask and how respectable they are." Artyver nodded. He wasn't so sure about all of this. As far as he was concerned it was mage and knight business but then again. So long as it was happening here it was Vogler business. And there wasn't exactly anyone here to represent the town. "I'll help. Might be able to drag this thing out on stage at the Kingfisher after I knock it over the head. That'll be something to remember"

Lerris Ninthborne HP: 32/32 | AC: 21 (Raised Shield) |  Per: + 5 | Fort: +8 | Ref: +4 | Will: +8 | Hero: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Hallit, Skald He wasn't acting. That was the one thought going through Lerris' mind as he chased after Antonia  Claire, yelling obscenities and threats at the woman. "Come back here Miss! I just want to talk! Lot worse you can run into hear than me." He waved his sword after her, his eyes greedily looking down to whatever pouch or such things she had on her. It wasn't acting. Just being himself, the self he was trying not to be anymore. It worried him how easily it came back. "Oi! You two!" He shouted as he saw the two bandits come forward, cursing just as Claire disappeared behind some rocks. "You're in luck, easy pickings ahead. Just needs a couple more sets of hands. Give me em' and we'll split it even like." He said, half command half invitation. Spineless men often listened to commands no matter where they came from, especially if there was promise of coin at the end of it. His eyes shifted then, catching Sija as she stalked up from the side. "What are you waiting for? Come on! If you don't hurry it up then she's gonna-" A few more words, just long enough to keep their attention as Sija came running up and put her blade into one of them. His words dropped then, so did his stance. And he went running forward to catch the bandit that Sija hadn't attacked. His sword, which a moment ago had been pointed towards Claire, now angling to cut into him. Unfortunately as he ran up the strike went wide, the sword flying through the air rather than flash. Apparently he was mimicking how piss poor he used to be at fighting as well. Those missing fingers on his hand reminders of that. "Damn." He grunted as he pulled back slightly, bring his shield up between him and the man.