Chapter 2: Lost in History

Gregorotto · February 22

As they move, the dust of ages seems to kick up about them at their feet, cobwebs blowing from the wind of motion that propels from their sudden illumination and sight of two strangers, one of whom is anything but to Armen. His wound is healed by Hrotha, and Iris prepares to search, her ear to the door to the north. There is nothing there, not a single sound, and the door does not fight her, though the sound is absolutely hideous: these hinges have not been oiled in perhaps an age. Even without the illumination provided by the glowing bow, Iris and Myrthe see a simple hallway to what appears to be a blank wall, though the hallway contains portraits and landscapes, scenes of battle with labels they could look into if they so wanted. The wall dead ends, however, with no sign of a door, secret or otherwise.

Back in the room, Greyrose notes an odd impression in the fourth bed, and checks it. Using his knife, he digs out an inelegant brass key, simple in its make without any garnish to speak of. Meanwhile, Armen begins to inspect the lockers, finding on the north-most wall a switch, simple and small. Flicking it, Iris and Myrthe hear something beyond the wall, like a sudden glow switching on, a hum that fades only because it is maintained; but the room they are in remains in darkness. Using the light of the illuminated bow, he checks the lockers, one by one: only the first one has anything. Within is a kit for grooming, in tact but very dated with its chemicals and materials; a change of clothes at least a millennia out of date; and a hand mirror, nothing special but it does show the craftsmanship of the Taldanes of old.

Out of Character

Even if we do move to a Roll20 model, I will update every time what the illuminated version of the map will show.

Blue Firebird · February 22

Iris Summerdew

HP 20/20 • Focus Points 1/1 • Hero Points 1

Iris devours the cheese, her eyes brightening with delight. "Mm, the perfect blend..." she says between mouthfuls, "...of sharpness and flavor. Delicious!" As she finishes the remaining bites, her mask settles in once more. Brushing crumbs of cheese off of her robe, she gives Hrotha a blank look. "To answer your question: it is not common. I believe that my people and Orcish kind spare little good will for one another." She shrugs and moves into the northern hall, though finds it disappointingly bare of answers. The Elf examines each of the paintings, hoping perhaps to find a clue.

"That alone is reason enough to do it. I'm afraid kindness isn't my strong suit."

At the doorway, she pauses and speaks back over her shoulder. "I am glad that you enjoyed the cheese, Hrotha."

OOC

-

Fletcher · February 22

Lady Myrthe

The way Armen turned away from Myrthe to further explore this 'barracks' before they proceed did not escape her notice, and as Iris presses open the doorway into the dark chamber beyond, her own words echo back in her head... You are hurt... She looks over her shoulder, watching the nobleman move across the room, engage his fellow agents. This meeting was admittedly unexpected, for all the vast throng that attended the celebration. It had seemed unlikely that she would speak with him, being close at hand to Lady Morilla and the Princess. She might have considered her words more, in anticipation. There was no way to have anticipated this being their fate. And it seemed like preparation might not have mattered, considering. A soft "Hm," escapes her before she reluctantly turns back to regard the curious other elf.

And curious is certainly a good word for Iris - to Myrthe, at least. It has been whole lifetimes of men that she has lived in Taldor and precious few of her own kindred interacted with her, a servant, on the rare occasion that they visited. Now, here was another of her kind and she had the rare feeling of... nervousness. Calm, composed, severe Lady Myrthe, feeling perplexed. There was nothing she could possibly have in common with her, was there? Even their wardrobes screamed the dichotomy. She was stealth and theft and murder and Iris was... sunlight and happiness and... cheese. Clearly she could never reveal that she'd never developed much of a taste for cheese...

While the others are rifling through lockers and cutting the bedding, their keen elven senses are focused into what turns out to be a dead-ended hall of sorts. A soft exhale from her flared nostrils reveals her consternation at having a door leading to, essentially, nothing. Memorabilia. Iris focuses on the paintings themselves for clues while Myrthe makes sure she isn't about to stumble into trip-lines or pressure plates... tensing suddenly as a switch flips and something sounds like it spins up and begins "running". "Armen," she murmurs, turning back to see that it is his doing. "That switch has activated something, here beyond the wall. There may be more." Abruptly, she strides back into the main chamber toward the closest doorway, eager to find what has been done.

Or perhaps not eager. A subtle worry creases her brow and her motions - as Armentarius would know - are far less measured and intentional. She takes hold of the handle and moves directly through without even a mote of the caution Iris had shown before. There are important people depending on her, somewhere.

Edited February 22 by Fletcher (see edit history)

Kavonde · February 22

Armen doesn't actually expect anything to happen when he flips the switch he finds. Given the age and obvious disuse of this place, he thinks it unlikely for whatever it's connected to to still be operational. He continues his search through the lockers, illuminated by the glowing violin bow Greyrose holds. The ancient grooming kit and hand mirror he finds don't seem especially likely to be useful, but given their complete lack of other equipment and the unknown difficulties that lie ahead, he takes them and slips them into the pockets of his jacket. Perhaps the mirror will be useful for seeing around corners or under doors, and a straight razor might do for an additional blade in a pinch.

He turns from his work to see Iris and Hrotha enjoying the cheese that the red-haired elven woman produced. He frowns. He's never developed much of a taste for cheese, honestly. True, the idea of letting milk decay to the point that it becomes something new may be philosophically resonant with his worldview and worship of Groetus, and he enjoys experiencing new foods. But cheese? Anything beyond the most common varieties tends to be, in his experience, extremely unappealing in appearance, texture, and odor.

"Armen," Myrthe murmurs from the nearby doorway. "That switch has activated something, here beyond the wall. There may be more."

He looks up, immediately attentive upon hearing her speak his name. It takes him a moment to remember he's cross with her. "Odd. What could it have-"

To his surprise, she's already pushing the door open and moving past it. Myrthe, the woman who never passed through a doorway without checking both directions for ambushers. "What are you-?"

She's already through the door and out of sight. Armen turns to the others and spreads his hands helplessly. He considers remaining in this room and letting her wander off on her own, despite how dangerous she just told Iris that might be... but he knows damned well he can't. With a sigh, he reclaims his glowing bow from Greyrose and follows Myrthe out into the hallway.

Edited February 22 by Kavonde (see edit history)

DoNotFearToTread · February 22

Hrotha Vinmark

Current Conditions: None

Active Abilities: None

The Power of a Quick Snack

"So odd." A mutter to herself as Iris moves past her into the hallway. Hrota is left stunned and silent by the woman's bizarre addition to the conversation. Kindness not being a strength seems like something one wouldn't openly admit to and yet it is so matter-of-factly stated. Maybe elves are as strange as her father insists. With a tsk of tongue against teeth, she steps up next to Greyrose while the others move about the room in search of things and takes note of what he's dug out of the blanket.

"Okay, I'm not even gong to ask how you saw that." The other question that comes to mind, why one might sew a key into a blanket, isn't worth posing as the person responsible certainly isn't here to answer it. Myrthe returns to the room and then moves quickly through it, seeming to have taken note of something that remains beyond Hrotha's own senses. As Armen steps up to retrieve the light source from Greyrose, Hrotha lays a hand on his shoulder to arrest his movement.

"You know that woman? Can we trust her?" Now feels like the worst possible time to question people's motives but the two new faces are strangers to her and their arrival seems to out of place, alongside Lorelei's lack of. She releases the grip regardless of his answer, knowing they have little choice but to work together toward figuring out this place they're now in. Having Armen's confidence in this new companion would certainly put her mind a bit more at ease with it, though. Glancing back at Greyrose, she motions after Armen with a nod of her head.

"We're definitely going to need more light. Or rather, you are...I assume?" To be honest, she wouldn't be the least surprised if the spiritualist could summon up some ghost to gift him with sight beyond sight. For now, though, she'll stick by him in case her eyes are needed.

OOC Details

N/A

Edited February 23 by DoNotFearToTread (see edit history)

Spektor · February 22

Ka

Magus Vigilante (2)

HP: 26/26 | AC: 18 | Fort: +7 Ref: +8 Will: +6 | H-Points: 1 | Alt Languages: Azlanti, Osiriani, Ancient Osiriani, Varisian

The thing that controls Lorelei moves her head to the side swiftly to avoid another glancing blow from an Ulfen blade. By the time she has dodged, she is already twisting her form to riposte against her attacker. But her Kris only collides with armor and shield. She takes a moment to tactically retreat a few steps backwards, and instead of moving on pure instinct, she assesses the battlefield.

Completely surrounded. Ulfen traitors closed in from all sides around her, and for a moment, that which controls Lorelei’s body realizes just how dire her situation is. Awoken from slumber after so long, only to have her vessel’s life cut short within days of inhabiting it. It is frustrating, but an inconvenience at most. Lorelei will die, and Ka will slumber again until it is found and put to use like the tool that it is. Ka will endure; Ka will always be.

A flash of light is the harbinger of a new environment and Ka immediately squats low to the ground in an attempt to blend into the newly formed shadows that surround her. A few seconds pass and she realizes the danger is gone — no, not gone, but distant. She has been transported, it seems.

Standing to her full height, that which is Ka scans her environment quickly, still holding the serpentine Kris that drips with fresh Ulfen blood. Her eyes settle on the items collected in a bathing apparatus before her, and were she a more mirthful tool, she might have smiled. The situation was inexplicable, but somehow she had been transported here along with the items she needed most.

She reaches inside the bathtub and retrieves a half-mask, exquisitely carved from black iron into the shape of a Jackal and engraved with a golden filigree. She brushes her fingers over the cold metal. For the first time since being overtaken, the one controlling Lorelei speaks with her voice. Though she is alone, she seems to be talking to someone. Her voice is still laced with Lorelei’s Taldan accent, but it is lower in tone, and it is confident, unfiltered by hesitance. “I have breathed your desires, and know what it is you want. Justice most of all, but also, Vengeance. Ka has measured your wants and has found them acceptable. I will be an avatar of your will, Lorelei Albrecht. Embrace your fate; Embrace Ka.” As she says the final phrase, she closes her eyes and lowers the black jackal mask over her face. When her eyes open, shadowed by the eyeholes in the mask, they glint with a bright, golden hue. Without further preamble, Ka retrieves the other items in the bathtub, including a draping black cloak that hangs heavy over her shoulders, and an ancient, thickly-bound book, covered in ancient hieroglyphs.

Within a minute, Ka has fully draped herself in the cloak and embraced her new form. Her gaze shifts to the nearby door where she had spotted the familiar flashes of light, comparable to the one that had brought her here. She grips the handle of the Kris with a hand that is hidden behind her cloak, and moves swiftly and silently through the doorway…

Edited February 23 by Spektor (see edit history)

BlackHat · February 25

Greyrose slowly rises and joins the others, inspecting the key as he goes. He has a lot of questions about the key but takes a moment to sense if there is any psychic resonance around the object. Keys were not usually sentimental pieces but this one was special or important enough for someone to conceal it where it wouldn't be found easily. Perhaps they had strong feelings about whatever it was they wanted to keep locked away. Perhaps that would give them a clue about the nature of the lock that this key is meant for.

Greyrose listens in on the conversations, saying little but making small mental notes about the two new women - at least for the parts of the conversations that took place in the common tongue. He nods at Hrotha's suggestion of a second light source. In the meantime, Greyrose had no concerns about sticking close to the others as they explored.

Kavonde · February 26

"You know that woman?" Hrotha asks. "Can we trust her?"

Armen pauses and looks at her, his dour face even gloomier than usual. "As an ally? Yes. She's steadfastly devoted to Lady Morilla, who in turn is an ally of my sister and loyal to Princess Eutropia. Lady Morilla is likely in the same situation as Martella is, whatever that may be, and Myrthe will want to rescue or avenge her lady."

He turns back to the door, bowing his head for a moment as he steadies himself. "Beyond that... well, that's a bridge to cross when we come to it."

Gregorotto · February 29

The group is coming to get to know the newcomers, though some already know others more intimately than others may realize, and there is a level of confusion and concern there. Can they trust Myrthe, as she heads headlong into the dark? Whatever the buzzing sound, they might as well investigate it. With the strange key found in the bed, there's got to be some larger mystery, and part of that mystery is where the Hell they are, how long it's been since anyone has been here, and where they're going from here.

For their part, Myrthe is already a driving force for where they're going from here, but they have to pause there: because another door opens, and out steps...

... something else.

From the southern-most room emerges a figure in dark clothes, a mask on her face, yet with an air of familiarity about her. Is the mask a fox? a wolf? a jackal? There is a kind of air about her, a mysteriousness that's a consistent in visage and in aesthetic. Who is she? How did she get here? Does she serve a senator?

Myrthe, already in the hallway for the next room, sees there is a door to another chamber, and like this one, there is no light. Where does it take them? With no sound or light, there's no telling.

Out of Character

Spektor · February 29

Ka

Magus Vigilante (2)

HP: 26/26 | AC: 18 | Fort: +7 Ref: +8 Will: +6 | H-Points: 1 | Alt Languages: Azlanti, Osiriani, Ancient Osiriani, Varisian

The darkly-dressed figure slides into the room, nearly silent were it not for the opening of the door. Immediately upon seeing other figures in the room, Ka drops low into a squat with one leg extended and her blade raised offensively, like a predator ready to pounce.

Within seconds, she recognizes most of the figures as allies to Lorelei. The coiled tension in her form slowly releases and she stands to her full height. The split in her cloak reveals a promiscuous outfit made almost entirely of thin, silver chains that drape over a mostly nude form. It is an outfit that Lorelei would never be caught dead in, yet she had felt a pulling - a need - to purchase at Thread Rare before the Gala. Now she knows why.

Thankfully, most of what might be considered inappropriate stays hidden behind her long cloak, which slides across the ground behind her as she walks further into the room with a casual gait. Beneath the hood, one could catch glances of orange-red hair bound by a single chain into a loose, braided ponytail. In a low, monotone voice, she speaks, “Ancient breath upon my form, hear now the decree of the masked one, she who dons the Veil of Ka’mhet. In her bidding, ye, companions in arms, are to be met with grace, and in her shadow, I am to linger, a sentinel in our quest for retribution. Of these edicts, but one does the Fates require me to heed. Thus, the scythe of Fate’s hand, the very essence of Ka, shall abide with thee, an instrument wrought for ruin, till such time as its purpose is fulfilled and its presence no longer commanded.” The Taldan accent is noticeable, and anyone who has spoken to Lorelei in length might recognize the timbre of her voice, even if the inflection is altogether off.

The golden orbs behind the dark mask flick between the two individuals that Lorelei did not recognize. “In shadowed counsel of She who is shrouded, there stand two whose visages are veiled in mystery to her sight. Thus, Ka, bearer of the mask’s will, inquires of their essence: Are these souls to be clasped within our fold, embraced as kin in our sacred quest? This spirit, entwined in Her guise, ponders the riddle of her own being; for by the ledger of time and fate, her breath should be as sand upon the wind. Yet here we stand, adrift from the realm of the living. Whence comes this passage? How have we been ushered unto this eventide realm?”

Ka looks to those who Lorelei has deigned as allies, expecting them to understand her odd speech patterns and answer her queries. Her expression is neutral, but determined. She appears almost completely rigid, to the point that she may be mistaken for an odd and out of place statue. Yet there is an ever-present readiness within her, like a coiled serpent, ready to strike.

DoNotFearToTread · March 1

Hrotha Vinmark

Current Conditions: None

Active Abilities: None

Forget the Cheese...This Lady's a Real Snack

"So where..." The sound of a door drawing open silences her inquiry and her instincts move her forward, between Greyrose and the new person suddenly among them. She is ready, knife in hand, but the sheer oddity of the person's appearance holds her in place until the talking begins. Hrotha's brows tighten as her eyes narrow and she studies the new arrival. The cloak, the mask, they look like things that Lorelei would have hanging up for study in her space at the museum. Osirion, Katapesh, Vudran, Qadira...she knows these names but could never point them out on a map. Ancient places steeped in history that in no way directly impact her life in this time. Such things don't find easy purchase in the athlete's mind, and when the woman before them speaks the confusion on Hrotha's face becomes a truly palpable thing. Her features shift between bewilderment, a good faith effort to comprehend, frustration. When the woman turns her attention to the elves the motion is enough to reveal the glint of metal underneath and her eyes are drawn there in search of armor, but what she sees turns those eyes immediately up and away as her neck warms and she sucks in a sudden, surprised breath. This is going to be a long and trying exploration if beautiful people continue to become less-clothed.

"Did anyone get all that?" She shifts uncomfortably, twisting at the hip to scan over the faces of those nearby. "Of all the times for Lori to go missing. She'd definitely understand..." A hand waved in the direction of the masked figure, eyes averted up and past the woman rather than set upon her. "...all this." Whatever this woman just said in that mile-long monologue, it doesn't seem aggressive. The way she stands, though, wound tight in the shoulders with feet apart...Hrotha knows that stance. A fighter's stance, held by one accustomed to and ready for a fight. Who she is and why she is here are both less of a concern to Hrotha than what she intends to do next.

"Everything is good here, right? Nobody's spilling any blood?" She really, really wants that to be true.

OOC Details

N/A

Edited March 1 by DoNotFearToTread (see edit history)

BlackHat · March 1

Greyrose studies the masked stranger carefully before his eyes alight with an intensity he had not shown all evening. "The Veil of Ka’mhet!" He steps forward and bows before the entity, "Then know me as 'Greyrose,' and - if what you say is true - if this is her will, I pledge to help you with your unfinished business. If this is not her will..." With a flick of his wrist, a pale blue arc of magical light flashes across the palm of his hand. Those familiar with sanctified magic would recognize the soul-energy which can damage spirits even those that take possession of mortal bodies. To his companions - including Armen, who was closest with Greyrose - this was a magical aptitude that Greyrose had never been revealed so obviously, before. "... the abhorrent tools of exorcism are, regrettably, at my disposal." He then narrowed his eyes at 'Ka' looking for some assurance that their friend was a willing host. "Will you allow us to speak to her, directly?"

OOC

Greyrose will cast a Divine Lance cantrip at nothing, just to emphasize his conviction.

Edited March 1 by BlackHat (see edit history)

Fletcher · March 1

Lady Myrthe

The almost simultaneous opening of doorways means Myrthe steps through into the darkened chamber while the cloaked figure takes her place in the room from the other direction. Even with her keen elven eyes, she is beholden to the faint shred of light from the bard's bow to see what is within. Hesitating, particularly after just having advised Lady Iris not to proceed alone, she considers what she sees and decides things are clear. After all, she was used to this sort of work where the other elf seemed less so. If she stepped through into a trap or a foe, she felt confident to deal with it. Less so that Iris could. But perhaps she could be surprised. Magic was a resource unknown to the rogue - much to the chagrin of anyone named Lotheed... Except Armen.

Voices begin to echo weirdly into the room - one new and strangely foreign one in particular - but the sounds of weapons or stabbing do not follow so she takes the few steps across the room to the next door. Thinking that perhaps there were more functional mechanics yet to find in this place - like the device or switch Armen had found in the previous room - Myrthe presses her pale fingers against the wall gently and searches the dim wall near the door, rather than continue straight through. And indeed, her searching does reveal one. Holding her breath, the rogue flips it...

...and nothing happens. "Hrm."

Eyes narrowing, she regards the ancient switch with not-so-ancient ire and turns on her quiet sole. Once at the prior door, the fell one of the two elves quirks an eyebrow at the newcomer and her... unexpected... attire. A sidelong glance shifts to Martella's agents, the hesitance they show at who this figure is who takes a threateningly defensive stance before them. It certainly wasn't anyone she had seen earlier. Myrthe's fingers gently grip the device that releases her blades... but relax as Greyrose approaches. His instincts seems to have served well thus far, so she watches his curious engagement with the animal-person patiently.

"Our company becomes curiouser by the moment," she murmurs to herself in elven, perhaps loud enough for Iris' keen ear to hear. Then, abruptly, "There is a doorway through here. Though likely through there, as well." She gestures faintly towards Ka's entrance.

Kavonde · March 1

Armen raises the glowing bow of his violin defensively as the strange woman appears with her blade drawn. He steps a little closer to Hrotha, ready to assist her as best he can should this come to blows.

Fortunately, it doesn't. The vaguely familiar woman--and she is definitely a woman, as her scandalous outfit reveals--speaks in words that sound Taldan yet utterly foreign, but Armen is able to piece together at least some of it. Her name seems to be Ka, she seems to regard them as potential allies, and she seems to be as confused as to how she got here as the rest of them.

"Everything is good here, right?" Hrotha asks. "Nobody's spilling any blood?"

"I don't think she means us any harm," Armen assures her, putting subtle emphasis on the word "us."

Greyrose seems far less hesitant about the newcomer. He seems to recognize her, calling her the "Veil of Comet." Perhaps she's a member of some obscure occultist order that the investigator is familiar with? He wonders who this "her" he wishes to speak to directly could be.

"Miss, ah, Comet," Armen offers, "as to where you are and how? I'm afraid we don't know, either. Though if you have one of these," he indicates the Senate Aide badge still pinned to his jacket, "it might offer an explanation. Though I've no idea where you could be, ah, hiding it."

He's distracted from the woman's revealing costume by Myrthe's return. He nods at her. "Then, if we're agreed that we're all aboard the same boat, I'd suggest we start trying to find a way out of whatever this place is. Miss Comet, I don't suppose there were any armories packed with swords and breastplates back the way you came, were there?"

Edited March 1 by Kavonde (see edit history)

Spektor · March 1

Ka

Magus Vigilante (2)

HP: 26/26 | AC: 18 | Fort: +7 Ref: +8 Will: +6 | H-Points: 1 | Alt Languages: Azlanti, Osiriani, Ancient Osiriani, Varisian

Ka looks to Hrotha with a glint of amusement in her eyes, but she does not smile. Her expression is more of an appraising one, as if she was trying to decide how she might respond to something the Half Orc had said. But when she asks if there will be any blood shed, the voice of Ka is less monotone, and the amusement is noticeable in her inflection. “Lo, the crimson tide shall rise, yet not upon this ground. Not upon thee. Not in this fleeting moment.”

Ka goes to stride forward to join her new allies, but immediately stops as Greyrose kneels in front of her. She stares down her nose at him and quirks an eyebrow at his recognition of her mask. Yet the threat of exorcism — a threat she seems to know is quite possible — causes her nostrils to flare in anger. It is visible to him in his current stance, as his gaze allows him vision just beneath her mask. When she responds, the anger is not apparent in her voice, and it has once again become more monotone. “The Pharaoh’s Whisper imposes not its dominion upon the souls it encounters. The tapestry of destiny unfolds as it must, devoid of mortal choice. Yet, She has bestowed upon me Her shape, a covenant sealed. She concedes, Her consciousness both impotent and averse to the deeds that Fate demands. Thus, Ka shall enact the rites of retribution — a harbinger of Her wrath.” He questions if he may speak with Her, and Ka’s response is simple. “No. To forsake the Veil of Ka’mhet while peril treads near is a foolhardy venture. Thine utterances, should they bear the weight of necessity, shall pierce the veil and find Her ear.” She watches Greyrose for a long time, as if wary of his capabilities. To be ousted from this form after such long slumber would be…frustrating.

As Armen speaks up, Ka looks in his direction with unveiled antipathy. “Ah, behold. She lingers still amidst thy shadow of despair — the minstrel of doom. Speak. Why wage this war, if the marrow holds no promise in thine eyes? Thy-…’your’ skepticism, cloaked as prophecy, belies a heart bereft of resolve. Her plea shall still Ka’s tongue, bidding it hold its scorn. For Her sake, I shall abide, yet the sands of patience ever fall, Jester.” With a flick of her wrist, Ka produces the senatorial aide badge and displays it for Armen to see. Her stare is less spiteful, but remains ever piercing. “Yes. So this…is the catalyst of our journey? A newborn sorcery, unknown and fresh to our ken.” Another flick of her wrist causes the item to disappear. “No blade nor shield did cross my eyes. Upon th- Upon your own prowess must you lean for survival; the burden of your breath rests not upon my spirit.”

With all questions addressed, Ka finally moves again, but not without keeping a close eye on Greyrose. She follows at a distance towards whatever direction they wish to go. The handle of her blade remains clasped in her hand, even as it disappears beneath the cloak. “You shall command the vanguard; forge ahead. I shall guard the shadowed rear.”

Text_1	Text_2	Text_3	Bold_1	Accent_1	Mood_1
Warm_1	Warm_2	Warm_3	Bold_2	Accent_2	Mood_2
Cool_1	Cool_2	Cool_3	Bold_3	Accent_3	Mood_3
Bright_1	Bright_2	Bright_3	Bold_4	Accent_4	Mood_4

Chapter 2: Lost in History

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Iris Summerdew

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