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.

Basic Dossier: Name: Julian Tuffin Gender: Male - He/Him Age: 23-25 Nationality: American Playbook: The Professional Course:  Law/Criminology Concept: You know that idea, that people who come from humble beginnings and are successful remain humble? Julian is the walking, breathing, challenge to that idea. A cocky, self-made and self-assured, FBI agent/monster hunter from America finds himself across the Atlantic all the way in Oxford. For two reasons. One because he's been meaning to finish out his education and two he really needs the paycheck. Music: OOC: Before I get to all of the music choices here, you have to understand one thing. This is not just a list of music I think fits Julian, this is what he listens to regularly. I say that, because I feel like it gives pretty good insight into his personality and the type of guy he is. "You gotta know one thing about me. Well, really you gotta know more than just that. But this is the most important. I don't chase monsters, I chase paychecks." 2 3 4 5 6 Appearance Julian's got the looks of a California surfer-bro. Lanky limbs, wavy sand blonde hair, and a slight tan to his skin. If he had a carefree smile you might be able to place him as that. But he doesn't smile much. In fact more often than not he carries a frustrated look on his face, like a man in a constant state of irritation. A look that ages his otherwise youthful face by a good number of years. Often making the 20 something year old look far older. He dresses in clothes that can be considered anything but casual. He's not always in a suit persay, but there's always a tie. One he often finds himself fiddling with in frustration. Personality Julian is a... self-assured man. He's a man who came from nothing, worse than nothing if you asked him. And you would be inclined to agree with him if you heard a couple of stories about his old neighborhood. Despite that however, he graduated from Highschool two years early and joined the FBI at the age of 23. The youngest possible age for any agent. These facts are the reason Julian has an ego and doesn't hide it. In addition, if you looked up the word workaholic in the dictionary you'd find a picture of Julian next to it. He's a professional and everyone needs to know it. Unprofessionally however, Julian has very little going for him. It seems like the only hobby the man has is doting on his car, which he lovingly refers to as the Firebird. Probably because of the huge phoenix painted on its front hood. On his days off, which are rare and dwindling, Julian can be found driving nowhere in particular int he Firebird. Blasting a mixtape of what he considers high art rock at full volume. Of course, this is just Julian on the surface level. There's more to him than just ego, cars, and bad rock. See how he talks to his little sister and that'll become apparent in an instant. The man has a soft side and is extremely protective of those close to him. Just... good luck with that.   Julian's one true love, the 1977 Trans Am Pontiac Firebird The Past Julian was born in a shitty town on the edge of California that will remain unnamed for now. Here's a hint though, it ranked number 17 on a list of one hundred U.S. cities ranked by the worse drug use. With a whopping 13.8% of the population hooked on crystal. Guess what was his Ma and Pa's favorite pastime? The details don't matter much. But you need to know that in the house Julian grew up in, he wore his shoes to bed for two reasons. One so he'd feel it if his dad tried to steal them and two so that he jumped out of bed in the morning he didn't need to worry on stepping on a needle. He only ever had one goal, getting the hell out of that house. For kids like him, who were only sort of clever and not a genius, that meant doing well in school and then shipping off to the military or police academy. He chose the latter. Though his focus wasn't on being some pig in blue, he had loftier goals. A spook. Every kid has their rebellious phase, when they go in the opposite direction of their dad or mom. Just so happened that Julian's was in a good one. Of course, it wasn't all just to piss off the old man. There was one other reason Julian needed to get out and get a job that fast. His little sister, June Tuffin. He wasn't about to sit back and let her rot in that place. So the second he got a job at 18 he got legal custody of her and moved them both as far away from California as possible. Over the next few years he worked his ass off to both raise her and achieve his own goals. Managing both by the skin of his teeth. In Julian's eyes, it was victory. But victory has a way of getting to a man's head. Julian's not so peachy personality made him butt heads with others in his department on more than one occasion, and there was only so much his impressive record could make up for. Eventually he found himself moved to desk duty, then worse. Transferred. All the way to the Department of Unusual Incidents, the DUI. Its name being the same as the crime was the focus of much laughs in his old office. Any agent working there would be a laughing stock, him included. It infuriated Julian of course and the only thing on his mind was how he'd get back to a respectable branch of the FBI. Of course, he'd have bigger worries soon enough.   Julian's teenage sister, June Tuffin The DUI The Department of Unusual Incidents was founded over one hundred years ago under the Lincoln administration. The specifics are classified, but reportedly the president had an encounter that spooked him so bad he made it a focus of his presidential powers to establish a department that could handle problems considered unusual. Of course the following Civil War took most of his attention and before he could focus on his passion project a bullet focused on the back of his head. So the DUI remained a mostly obscure and underfunded department at the fringe edge of the FBI. This would become a trend for the DUI. Over the years it became more and more forgotten by the rest of the administration to the point of neglect. Serving as a place where careers went to die and occasionally as a retirement home for agents who the agency just couldn't get rid of. This however, suited the DUI just well. As their jobs were well benefited by secrecy and being overlooked by others. Even if the lack of funding meant they only ever had half of what they needed. This continued to the modern age. Oxford and the DUI (OOC: A lot of the details I'm undecided on, and fully willing to work out with you. Same goes with details on the DUI in general actually. The following is mostly just a pitch) Some hundred years ago or so the DUI made contact with the Master's of Oxford. It did not go well. It nearly started a full blown war between the two groups, until cooler heads prevailed. They signed some documents stating a code of conduct between both groups, essentially stating that the DUI wouldn't touch anything in England and the Master's would extend the same courtesy for the USA. There was however, a small clause. Occasionally there would be a... "culture swap" so to speak. An Agent from the DUI sent to Oxford and vice versa. Originally both sides thought this would be an excellent way to keep up peace relations, in truth both groups ended up just sending their undesirables to the other in time. Not wanting to "waste" any of the good talent. This has lead to a constant decline in relations over the years, the atmosphere growing tense between both organizations. Most recently, Julian Tuffin has been selected to send off to Oxford. Officially because he's young and can play the part of student well, unofficially because his superiors were tired of dealing with his attitude. Crunch: THE PROFESSIONAL:   STATS: CHARM: -1 COOL: +3 SHARP: +1 TOUGH: +1 WEIRD: +0   MOVES: Bottle It Up - Flavor: Julian has been bottling it up all his damn life. Sometimes when the going is tough you need to put your head down and get to work. Even if it blows up in your face afterwards. And damn does it blow up. Unfazeable - Flavor: Man is the real monster blah, blah, blah. Point is, you don't grow up where Julian did without seeing some shit. And you certainly don't work in the FBI's drug department without seeing anything stomach churning either. Tactical Genuis - Flavor: When you're busting down the door with your swat and FBI buddies (or work acquaintances in Julian's case), its about one thing and one thing only. Getting the job done fast and efficiently. That was two things, but you get the point. Mobility - Flavor: The Firebird. Julian's one true love. Need I say more?   GEAR: Flak Vest (1-armour, hidden) Sniper Rifle Shotgun Big Knife (I know guns are risky here, but someone needs to have them and its really funny to me if its the American who does. Stereotypes as they are.)  

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 Oh gods. Was his brother here? Talk about harshing his mood, the Lord Varima had dashed it completely. He could handle one of his brothers, maybe even his father. But he couldn't handle any combination of the three. The thought of merely trying made a pit form in his stomach, one he swiftly sought to fill as he tipped back the chalice of wine and took a drink. "There was, for a brief sparkling moment. But then she became swiftly aware, I'm afraid. That is why I have been left askew, the only company on my arm now this fine wine." Juvenal shrugged exaggeratedly, spinning the wine in its cup slightly as he did. When he pulled his head back up his eyes turned to Lord Varima proper. A small smirk forming on the corner on his lips. "Though I suppose I always have hope for change, hm? At least that's what our dear Princess Eutropia would say." Before the implication of that sentence could be understood Juvenal continued speaking. "In truth I have little worry for my brothers or father. They might mumble and groan. But is decidedly un-Taldan to make a scene, hmm? And if anything they are very Taldan." That was when Juvenal's eyes were caught by the woman, and not in the usual way. Well, yes also in the usual way. But the more important bit was her moving towards the apiaries, and in a strange fashion. His eyes settled on her for a moment and just then he decided not to let her out of his sight. After all, it was very interesting. Though he try to keep his looking unknown as he spoke with the lord. "But if you see my mother, give me a warning will you? I'm sure she's already prepared an Aroden priest and an aspiring young lady for surprise ceremony the second she gets her hands on me." Juvenal visibly shivered at the thought. A bit of performance to be sure, but only a small bit. "How are you doing in such regards, Lord Varima? Settled on a match yet? Or do I still have a chance?" Juvenal smiled with the words, eyes almost fluttering. But then he stopped, out of the corner of his vision he saw the woman begin to fiddle with the apiaries. That was trouble. Juvenal loved trouble. "Oh my apologies Lord Varima! I forgot of a previous appointment made! I must be off or head really will roll. Please do take care, hmm? And give your mother my regards." Juvenal said as he absentmindedly pressed both the goblet and the wine pitcher into the hands of Lord Varima. He gave an extended bow as he took a few steps backwards, then slipped past two nobles. Hoping to obscure his approach on the woman by subtly slipping between people and bits of the topiary. Rolls Make an Impression on Lord Varima: 14

Artyver of Vogler AC: 14 | HP: 24/24 | PP: 11 | Lay on Hands: 10/10 | Languages: Common, Solamnic Jaqi's confusion lead to Artyver's confusion. What was she saying about stone and cloth and mothers? It mostly went over his head, but he did get out of it that Elves were born much the same way humans were. At least, that's what he thought Jaqi meant. That was one mystery of the elves solved, even if Artyver hadn't been wondering about it. "Right, well. Yes, he did save me that many times. Didn't even have to exaggerate like I usually do with a story." Artyver said, there wasn't a great deal of cheer in his voice but it still seemed somewhat upbeat for someone who had just attended a funeral. His mind had finally made out that he had been asked a question. Normally he likely he wouldn't have been very receptive to questions from knights. But the giant woman was being nice, only proper he was polit. "Old Greenshield was something like my guardian angel. Or nanny maybe. Pulled me out of more than one bit of trouble, he did." "As for what I said. It was nothing special really." Artyver continued as he fell to walk with the squires to the tower. Between them and the mages, he felt rather comfortable around the former. "Old Greenshield meant a lot to the people around here. Did a lot too. When a man as important to you as that dies, it'd be just be disrespectful not to speak. Sour their memory. And to not speak what you mean as well." Artyver's voice had reached its usual tone now. Lackadaisical despite the subject matter. "Least that's what my Pa says. And funny that, I don't usually listen. Best not make a habit out of it."

Lerris Ninthborne HP: 32/32 | AC: 19 |  Per: + 5 | Fort: +8 | Ref: +4 | Will: +8 | Hero: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Hallit, Skald "No fires." Lerris said sternly as he stumbled out of his tent. He rubbed sleep from his eyes with one hand and popped a his neck to the side with the other. So soon it was after his waking that Lerris still wore no clothes other than the pants he had slept in. "Unless you spend enough time beforehand and have clear understanding of the area. It never goes well. Too unpredictable." The grimace of Lerris face showed he was speaking from experience. Finally his eyes settled on Sija, however. "I feel like this is an awful lot to get to a solution that can could be had in a simpler way, but if its what we're doing then I'll commit." Lerris said, running another hand through his hair and letting out a sigh. If you were to ask him it was a bit too early in the morning for scheming, but other than night that was the best time to do it. "So what part am I playing again? Big scary man chasing the helpless lady?" An old reliable. There was a time when Lerris could play other parts, like the handsome young boy who had a leg trapped underneath a fallen tree. Such a time was long past now. He didn't frown at the thought however, rather smiled in instead as he remembered a word for this. "Suppose I got the countenance for it after all." "Who's going to be boxing them in? Best for the job would probably Thomas and you. Maybe Shardik as well, nothing like getting a man to run forward than a bear behind him. That would be my suggestion at least." Lerris lumbered over to the cart, grabbing his pack off it, and pulling a waterskin free. He took a drink, letting out a satisfied gasp for air once he finished.

Artyver of Vogler AC: 14 | HP: 24/24 | PP: 11 | Lay on Hands: 10/10 | Languages: Common, Solamnic Don't freak out. Artyver began to think to himself as the mage spoke to him. Or if you do, don't bloody show it at least. He had never spoken to a proper mage before, never even seen one. Apart from in his nightmares of course. So having one invite him to a mysterious dinner wasn't exactly good for the boy's heart. But still, it was just an invitation. A platitude. One the boy could turn down if he wanted. And likely should considering who and what he was. But then she mentioned a gift from Greenshield and Artyver's demeanor shifted. If the old wanted to give something for him... then who he was he to say no? "Aye, sure. Suppose I need a meal anyhow." Artyver gave a simple nod towards the mage, before turning his attention to the squires. For Jaqi his eyes had turn up of course, which as the tallest of the Vogler boys his age was something he was not used to. "Pleased to meetcha then! Bastion and Jaqi. I'm Artyver. Was something like old Greenshield's apprentice, I suppose." "Blood and bloody ashes you're a a big one, aren't you? Though maybe you're just average and they make all elves that tall." Artyver shrugged as his eyes saw Jaqi's ears. He'd never met any of the fair folk before, so he couldn't say much. His da and his mum had, but they never gave clear stories about them. Only angry mumbles. Though as far as Artyver was concerned that was a better endorsement then his Da had ever given knights or mages.

Artyver of Vogler AC: 14 (without shield) | HP: 24/24 | PP: 11 | Lay on Hands: 10/10 | Languages: Common, Solamnic Before the knight spoke, before the mages, and before any of the villagers. Artyver spoke. That was always Artyver. The first one stepping forward. Whether it was to speak at a funeral, to take a dead man's remains, or to pull someone out of a burning building. Always Artyver. He stepped up to the front, taking his hat off in the process. His eyes were heavy, heavier than a person his age had any right to be. But they didn't waver with close tears or show any red. All that had been left behind in the boat. Like a proper fisherman. "I don't remember when I first met Greenshield. I was just a babe. And I suppose that's the case for most here. But when it comes to mine in specific, he’d just pulled me from my mum, safe and sound when all the midwives had been out on schedule to the nearby villages. I would have died that day if it weren't for him. Maybe my mum would of too." "I would of died too if he hadn't lent my da money and horses to ride to the capital during that winter years back, when I was laid up with a chill that still makes me sniff today. Would of died a third time if he hadn't known how to treat burns. And the fourth if he hadn't pulled that splinter out of me after me and my da's boating accident." "Some people might have been mistaken him for a guardian angel, he did so much saving of me. Of all of us. But that's what he was. A daft old man who told stories and jokes one night, and saved lives in the morning. I guess... in that time we might have taken him for granted. Its like... its like waking up everyday and seeing the sun rise. You just can't ever imagine it staying down." Those last words were said without all of the strength the previous had. A faint quiver of the voice that departed quickly. Artyver had to say this without faltering. The old man deserved that at the very least. "Well... one day this sun did stay down. And I'll be honest. I'm a bit scared there won't be light again without it. All I can do is hope old Greenshield gave me enough strength to make sure there is. Gave us all enough strength I guess... That's what he always liked being called after all. Not a knight, not a mage, not a savior or anything like that. Just a teacher... a teacher and a friend." Artyver hushed then, eyes turning downwards. He didn't feel like he had said enough. How could enough ever be said about someone like Ispin Greenshield? But try as he might, no more words came. Squarely he put back on his hat, eyes turning back up. Then he marched back his seat, head held high just long enough for him to sit proudly.

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 "Oh yes, Armen was particularly ravenous, with how he bit at the High Strategos! A good show indeed!" Juvenal exclaimed as Lorelei spoke on Armen's performance. There was great deal of pride in his voice. Which was odd as pride wore awfully on Juvenal usually, but quite good when it was in something other than his own decadence. He might gave worn that expression a bit longer had Lorelei not spoke again. There was the briefest instance of faltering in Juvenal's typical wry grin. A quick shift from appeasement to dismay, and then finally all the way back again. All in the few brief moments before Lorelei had finished the sentence announcing her leave. "I resent that Lorelei dear, I have already done an exacting and precise job of ruining my reputation all on my own. But if you wish to be off, be off nonetheless." Juvenal readied himself to be released then, but for some reason Lorelei stalled. Then she smiled up at him. And against his own good reason he found himself smiling back, like mirror reflecting her genuineness. Then she stumbled over her words a bit, ruining the moment, before finally giving a proper goodbye and pulling away from his arm. A motion he mimicked. "Right here, at this very spot then." He nodded to Lorelei's proposal of where to reconvene, then another smile spread across his face. Far more wry and cunning. He lowered himself into a big bow there, proper too. One hand moving upwards and the other daintily resting upon his art. "Until that moment Lorelei dear. Know that I will count myself bereft of three things! Half the stars in the sky, half the music on the wind, and half the joy in the world!" Then Juvenal kipped up, his heels touching together with a small clack, and turned. Ashamedly, the moment wherein Lorelei was both out of his sight soon entered another thought. One he had desperately been craving ever cresting the stairs of this place. A tool by which he had been using to soften the awful dullness of Politics since he was fifteen. A little bit of- "Wine!" Juvenal said as he plucked a goblet off the plate of a hurrying servant and then pitcher there after. Using it to pour himself a nice helping. "Why thank you, my good man, thank you. You're just in time, I was absolutely parched." "Ummm, actually. Milord... that was for Lord-" The somewhat panicked servant only got as far as that before Juvenal cut off him. "Yes, yes. Lord Juvenal de Ari-Cato Karthis. Like I said you're right on time!" Juvenal interrupted as he continued sauntering off. Finding himself moving towards the nearest group of preferably men who seemed to speaking in a terse and tense manner. Likely those who would be still speaking well of the High Strategos despite his recent embarrassment at the hands of Lord Armen. "My good fellows! Tell me now, what's your opinion on women who wear pants. Because I for one have quite a bit to say on the topic." ACTIONS/ROLLS - Make an Impression to (loudly) help boost Lorelei's reputation as the two part - 25 Perception to find good marks for Juvenal to make fools of - 16 Some good old fashion High Class Taldor needling with Diplomacy - 12

Lerris Ninthborne HP: 32/32 | AC: 19 |  Per: + 5 | Fort: +8 | Ref: +4 | Will: +8 | Hero: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Hallit, Skald "I don't think we got the specifics on that from Happs and his. But just based that... err what's the term judge?" Lerris turned to the Judge, expecting a little bit of help, but after a few moments of blank staring he spoke again. "Right, focus group, I'd say most are human. That's usually how it goes anyhow." Lerris ran a hand through his hair, thinking on the next encounter to come. Despite how he may look, he was used to thinking out his problems. The only bandit who survived long was the clever. Of course the real clever ones weren't bandits for long and Lerris supposed he only really survived on account of luck and his strong neck. But he chose to ignore that for the sake of his minimal self-confidence.  "I think this thing with the fake merchant has legs. And I think I could be mighty convincing guard. Thinking about it I am getting to that age were most reasonable sellswords just start guarding caravans..." He rubbed at his chin. As if seriously considering the prospect of entering into the semi-retirement of being an overpaid guard. But then he shook his head out of it. "But I was thinking. Maybe we could consider a bit of more outright diplomatic approach. Think I'm using that word right." Lerris spoke idly. His thoughts had crossed back to something he had never heard outright, but remembered nonetheless. No lies, no cheating. "I think we proved well enough back at Oleg's place that the approach works. Was quicker and benefited us more even then pulling swords or hatching some cockadoodle plan... not to say this one is of course. Just, seems to me like the best way of dealing Stag Lord isn't gonna be putting all his goons to the sword. Rather, making all those goons point a sword at him." "Though, and also, I do think we need more info. Scout the place out a bit. Both the terrain and the people. Right now we're putting ourselves on the line without knowing if there's sturgeon or shark biting. Ought to know what we're dealing with. Course we can't be having all of us trouncing through the woods, would need to be just couple who can get in and out." Lerris ran another hand through his air, eyes idly off in the distance as he spoke absentmindedly. Then his cheeks colours as an expression of embarrassment ran across his face. He tusseled his hair again, this time putting on a sheepish and sorry grin. "Apologies, ran my mouth a bit there. Know I'm not exactly the ideas guy here, just my two copper."

Artyver of Vogler AC: 14 (without shield) |  HP: 14/14 |  PP: 11 | Lay on Hands: 5/5 | Languages: Common, Solamnic   Hours before the funeral, hours before his chores, and hours before anyone was up for the day proper. Artyver was awake. How could a man sleep on the eve of a funeral? How could he rest his eyes and soul, knowing that soon a whole other set of such things would be put to rest forevermore? Boys could. A boy could sleep through a storm that took of their roof. The fact that Artyver was awake now proved that he was at least somewhat past being the boy he was just a few days ago. Of course where he was somewhat hampered that thought. Instead of preparing for the days chores with his early awakeness, he had grabbed a pole and the fishing boat his father and him shared. He pushed the boat onto the water and rowed out on those calm waves. Rowed all the way into the Vingaard River where he could not see the shore as the early fog rose, and so surely none could see him. Once out there Artyver did as he always did on the water. Attached some bait to the end of his pole, threw out the line, let the pole set in place, and laid himself down in the boat. That was the beauty of fishing. Most of the time you just had to wait. Wait and think. When he was younger he never saw the appeal, despite his father trying to beat it into his head for more then a decade and half. That was because boy's liked to run away from their thoughts, not let them catch up. But here and now, lying on that boat. All those thoughts finally caught Artyver. They took shape in the form of memory. The old dwarf's laugh when Artyver had something clever, his lectures that seemed to go on forever, the tales of the old days that he always told so vibrantly, and every other small moment that Artyver had always ignored but never really forgotten. Eventually all those thoughts and memories coalesced into two things. The first, words. "What am I going to do without you?" Artyver said as the second form they took began to fall down his cheeks. Dripping silently into the boat, tears that fell upon the old wood. Artyver was there for a long time. Longer then he should have been, likely.

Lerris Ninthborne HP: 32/32 | AC: 19 |  Per: + 5 | Fort: +8 | Ref: +4 | Will: +8 | Hero: 1 | Languages: Common (Taldane), Hallit, Skald "I think they've got more than a good shot." Lerris said he crossed his arms and Antonia leaned against him with that elbow, seemingly unmoving as he was used as a wall to prop herself up against. "We're not being charged for murder, which is a damn good start. Oleg and Svetlana don't seem to want your heads either, they just don't want to be bothered." "So if we angle at a plea deal or a settlement, which I really recommend, I figure you fellas won't be having to spend any time in a cell at all. Just some er... community service, like Antonia said. Which and trust me, is far better than living in a cell." Lerris finished. And he wasn't just trying to assuage them, genuine he thought this had some merit. At least from the barebones law explanations he'd gotten from Zakon, he still wasn't sure he was using all of the terms correctly. "And speaking of things you said. Don't go teasing me now, Antonia." Lerris looked down at the woman as she leaned against him, running four fingers through his hair. He took special care to not grunt in pain as she elbowed him in the chest. He was just tall, not made out of stone after all. "I much suspect Aroden will come crawling out of his grave before anyone calls Lerris Ninthborne their baron." "But, anyways. Here's what I suggest as plea deal. Admittance of guilt of course. Some time spent working to put at ease your debts and crimes, I'm sure sure the judge will be come up with an accurate and fair number. No more than a few months likely." Lerris explained his idea to them plainly and honestly. He wasn't going to sugarcoat it, say that all would be forgiven with no work or effort on their part. He knew that wasn't case after all, besides. Anybody who truly wanted to move on from their past would understand such deal wasn't free. He had. "And finally, and most importantly, complete cooperation against the Stag Lord and any of his crew. No one will be expecting you to run at em' with swords and sticks, but information and such." "Put all this together and we're looking at a really good deal. A proper second chance. The only issue that might present itself is well... putting it frankly. You." Lerris finished as his brown eyes softened and turned to each of the bandits in turn. They weren't judging, far from it. Understanding rather. Even when they finally fell upon the one who tried to run. "I'm going to say something you've probably heard before, so don't just write it off. But I understand, I really do. Take a look at my face and hands and you'll know why. Things haven't been easy for you, they never have been likely. And I'm not telling you they magically will be if you listen to me. But they can be better at least. You can walk with your heads held high and shoulders up, knowing Pharasma's gonna send you some place nice when its your time." "And that all starts right here, right now. By trying a new way. If I could do it, so can you." Lerris' eyes finally fell upon Happs, he held a hand out towards the man. Inviting. "So, what say you? Willing to take a second shot at the honest life?"