Chapter 2: Lost in History

[Gregorotto]

The appearance of Ka, apparently also known as Comet, is a new development for the intrepid spies of Martella Lotheed, but whatever the fate of Lorelei, they feel as if they can trust this Ka'mhet. An alliance is forged, a vanguard established, and Ka shall take the rear.

The front, however, is far ahead, as Myrthe and Iris give them their privacy and step forward, opening the door to the next room and having flipped on the light; before they can leave, the light above Hrotha, Greyrose, Ka, and Armen flicks on with a loud humming sound, illuminated. As far as they know, the light is delayed: but it comes almost a second after Myrthe has flipped the switch in her room.

Meanwhile, her eyes take in a darkened room. Stacked wooden crates cover the southern wall, and more crates occupy the northwestern corner. Wooden shelves fill
much of the eastern half of the room, each tier filled with dust-coated bottles, crockery, and glass jars. A storage room of some kind? Like the room they just came from, this one has two doors leaving the wider room, one north, one west, the latter of which Myrthe returns to, having just entered through it.

What secrets lie in it?

Out of Character

[DoNotFearToTread]

 

Hrotha Vinmark

---

HP: 30/30 | AC: 15 (18 arm/20 shl) | Fort: +7  Ref: +6  Will: +6 | H-Points: 1 | F-Points: 0 | Langs: Common, Orc, Celestial

---

Current Conditions: None

Active Abilities: None

 

Breaking Boxes

"Unbelievable!" Hrotha turns on a heel and strides with purpose to the next door and then through the tiny hallway and into the dark room beyond. All the while, she is muttering under her breath in a voice that is a horrible mockery of Comet's. "The crimson tide will flow like my endless nonsense words." That babbling really grates on her, and if she were to have the kind of self-reflection necessary she might connect that to the way so many in her social class use big, circular talk to make her feel stupid. And boy does it ever work. The flare of light and humming sound from the room behind pulls her attention back to it and she hisses a breath through her teeth, glancing over at Myrthe.

"I guess if you hit enough switches something is bound to happen." The other elf, and Hrotha immediately sees what Armen likely found appealing. The two of them could disappear into a dark room with their attire choices, and roast under the sun with their pallor. One might go so far as to call them a 'real match'. The fact that the woman can rival Hrotha for height somehow puts the half-orc at ease, yet another thing she lacks the self-reflection to understand. Moving through the room, she begins shoving crates to test their weight, and accordingly their likely contents. A storage room like this must have some sort of miscellany that they can benefit from in this situation. Searching through it also conveniently gives her a chance to blow off steam, shoving and tossing and punching the wood that stands between her and the contents of the boxes.

"This could take awhile." She calls it back over her shoulder, more to note her intention than anything. The room's darkness cannot hold her back, and in truth she takes some comfort in it. When her blood is hot and that orcish temper burns, she often takes to training to work through it. The options here are lacking, but beating up boxes in the dark is as good an option as any.

OOC Details

Search that room!

 

Edited March 3 by DoNotFearToTread (see edit history)

[Fletcher]

 Lady Myrthe

AC: 19 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +10 | Will: +8
HP: 22 / 22 | Hero Points: 0 / 3 | Perception: +8
ConditionsNone

---

 

Hrotha goes stalking past Myrthe, murmuring some frustration with their interaction with the Osirian-seeming woman and the elven woman arches an eyebrow in curiosity. Armen is also heading their direction, apparently convinced that the woman is an ally - at least for now - and she also follows the half-orc into the further darkened room. It grows from blacks to greys to full illumination in a few heartbeats and she immediately spies a door to the north... potentially circling around eventually to the original room. The fact that they may have stumbled upon some sort of provision or storage room makes her think this place had more purpose than an accidental landing place for people such as themselves. "In my experience, traps tend not to present themselves as... light switches. I suppose I shall be surprised when one proves otherwise." Myrthe regards the inside of the doorway they've just passed through (switching it if she finds ones) and proceeds across the room to the accompanying sound of scraping crates to see if the northern door presents such a switch.

Turning back to the room, now at least illuminated by Armen's long bow, the very faintest quirk of a smile finds the corner of her mouth and she says, "I am glad you have found more practical purposes for your tip, as well. Milord." It is impressive the amount of suggestion she can bury within the flat, disinterested tone that proceeds from her mouth. Teasing him, particularly in ways that poked at the degrees of separation between their stations, had been something of a pastime for the elf, whose sense of humor otherwise felt missed or misunderstood. Turning away from whatever stammering answer might come from him, she chooses to make a pass through the short aisles of shelving while Hrotha goes at the crates. Launching onward into more unknown feels unwise, at least until the rest of them have caught up.

"Lady Hrotha, that woman... she vexes you," the matter-of-fact elven woman observes to the frustrated woman. Her stormy eyes take in one shelf after another, weighing the value and contents by sight rather than by feel like Hrotha's method. With any luck, something of value to their... escape?... will reveal itself to them. "Is she - or is she not - an ally of yours?"

---

Myrthe searches for switches and valuables among the shelves...

Edited March 4 by Fletcher (see edit history)

[Kavonde]

---

Armen Lotheed | Human Bard/Cathartic Mage 2
HP 26/26 | AC 17 | Fort +5 | Ref +6 | Will +8 | Perception +8 | Hero Points 1
Focus Points 3/3 | Spell Slots (1st - 2/3) | Class DC 18

---

Armen follows Hrotha, preferring her company to Comet's just now. Sure, it also puts him in the proximity of Myrthe, but it's not as if he's ever minded her company. Hells, that's why her abrupt disappearance from his life upset him so.

"I'm sure nothing bad has ever come of randomly hitting switches one finds in an ancient... what would you call this? A lair, perhaps? It seems a bit lair-ish." He shrugs at Hrotha, then moves to examine the crates along the southern wall.

Myrthe's teasing observation makes him miss a step, and he has to catch his balance on one of the crates. Her ability to throw him off balance with a bit of innuendo had always honestly been one of his favorite things about her, even if it honestly did rattle him and leave him at a loss for words. For example, the best rejoinder he can think of is: "The whole thing is glowing." He immediately winces as he realizes what an obvious opening that is for her to exploit. "The bow, I mean. Not... you know what I... damn it."

Blushing furiously and annoyed at himself for doing so, he begins searching the crates. "You know," he says after a moment, "considering the only joy you seem to find in life is in teasing me, these last three years must have been rather dull for you."

Edited March 4 by Kavonde (see edit history)

[Spektor]

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 watches the rest of the group’s various reactions to her, noting that they seemed put off by her method of speech. Had she truly been sleeping so long? She had gathered what knowledge she could from Lorelei’s mind, noting the supposed year and location. She knew Lorelei considered Ka’s ‘home’ to be ancient, which was a troubling thought. Yet Osirion still existed. Not a great surprise, given how strong her nation had been during her time. But had it changed so drastically that Osirion and Ancient Osirion were specified as unique realms? Clearly so. Using Lorelei’s knowledge of language, she could easily speak the Taldan tongue. However, the translation was clearly muddled. She would need to learn to pattern her speech in a way that was more understood by these...future folk.

Choosing to remain mostly silent, Ka did as she had bid. She kept a distance of 10 feet from all others in the group and watched the rear for any signs of danger. After a short while she hears objects being bumped and pushed aside from within the darker room and she strides silently forward towards the opening of the door. It seems her patterns of speech have annoyed the orcish one. 

Prodding the latent unconscious of Lorelei within her, Ka puts forth a query about Hrotha. Whatever answer she receives earns a curious, almost-puppy-like tilt of Ka’s head. The mask only enforces the comparison. Feeling as if the room behind was safe, for the time being, she decides to slink into the darkened room, observing what she could see of Hrotha’s aggressive actions with a look that could almost be considered amusement. When she finally speaks again, there is a noticeable attempt to sound ‘normal.’ “I have earned the ire of the noble brute.” She pauses. “No, brute is not the correct word She tells me. She says this is offensive. I know it as a title of honor; spoken in admiration to indicate a worthy physicality. Alas, it-…I shall try again: Do my words cause you grievance? I have not been of this world in quite some time. Much has been altered. Though I know your words through Her, their meaning has…evolved.” 

The shadowed shape of Ka is like water in the darkness as she paces, watching the work of the others as they search the room. Still, those golden orbs peer from the darkness like a stalking predator. “I will try to make them more aligned to this future.” She states the words as simply as she is able, and considers the matter settled. “If your royalty remains in danger, the sands of time ebb ever out of favor. We should carry forth.”

[Gregorotto]

With the light glowing in the room they originated in, there is a cause for concern: pressing random switches in a series of chambers they scarcely understand might be a bad idea. It also might not be, as it does little to stop Myrthe in her search. As they begin to move into the storage chamber, suddenly all of them assaulted with speech, sounding quite distant now.

To those aligned with Martella, and indeed with Morilla, this is not surprising in the slightest: they recalled the senatorial aide badge's one-way message system. To Iris, however, this is completely new. This strange little magic item, which is the sole commonality between everyone gathered here, seems to allow communication: but with whom? Did they all hear it, or was it just Iris? Should she reveal she heard this voice, or just keep on as if nothing had happened?

Whatever the case, the storage room has plenty of them to dig through.

As Hrotha and Armen begin, they find a series of boxes that seem to have the mundanity of life in it: clothes of both traveler's fashion and noble fare that is so far out of date it almost looks fashionable again, moth-bitten and dusty but in great working order all things considered. There are others too, crates full of pickled vegetables in jars, particularly cucumber, onion, radish, and tomato. While there is salted meat too, there's no question that the salting process could only do so much: fortunately it only smells of pickling and salt. Beyond that, there is something useful: a series of toolkits of varying types, all in working order, with only a bare bit of rust upon them and dust besides on jars and salves.

In digging through the boxes, the duo, and Myrthe in time, move the boxes on the south around enough to reveal a secret: a fresco of excellent quality, preserved by time and tide. It shows an army of Taldane soldiers, in antiquated garb, marching against an army of dwarves, surrounded by mountains, some riding on boars and bears. The Taldanes are led by a well-groomed older man in silver armor, sitting on a horse and leading his people with a shining sword. A plaque at the bottom, barely turned to green bronze, reads: Noble Galitian Maramaxus, hero of the Fourth Army of Exploration, champion of Taldor.

Just how old is this place?

As the fresco reveals itself, Armen finds some boxes containing additional gear: three daggers, two longswords, a halberd, a rapier of excellent make, some fine throwing darts, and studded leather armor that has not aged a day in... how many years?

While he does that, Myrthe notices something: there are indentations on the fresco. Intentional indentations. But what are they?

Out of Character

On the Fourth Army of Exploration, the DC is 13. I'll let you lot decide an appropriate check.

[Fletcher]

 Lady Myrthe

AC: 19 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +10 | Will: +8
HP: 22 / 22 | Hero Points: 0 / 3 | Perception: +8
ConditionsNone

---

The Forlorn does not need to turn her keen gaze upon Armen to know she has flustered him, as was oft so easy to do. As she stands, then squats, then crouches, and repeats across the shelves in search of anything of value or assistance, she pauses to listen to his murmurings. And instead of taking delight in the fact that she can still bring playful discomfort to the younger, Half-Lord Lotheed... she frowns. "Beg your pardon, milord," she answers quietly. "I... have not been myself these last three years..." He truly had no idea...

There is not much time to consider that statement before Lady Morilla's voice comes through and she rises swiftly. "Gods dammit... We need to keep moving." As she sweeps out of the shelves, she notes the collection of weapons that he has come across and nods approvingly. "Arm up, milords and ladies. Where'ere we may be, we are moving onward into danger." As the blades are divvied out amongst them, Myrthe's eyes narrow at the fresco that is revealed in better light and shifted boxes.

Stepping up close, she traces her pale fingertips across the ancient depiction, dropping into each divot with curious pauses. Something intentional? But that can wait - if it matters at all - and she turns toward the northernmost door. Sparing only a moment to peek through the cracked door, she draws it open and proceeds. Into yet another short corridor, she continues through the next, cursing quietly in her native tongue under her breath.

Edited March 7 by Fletcher (see edit history)

[DoNotFearToTread]

 

Hrotha Vinmark

---

HP: 30/30 | AC: 15 (18 arm/20 shl) | Fort: +7  Ref: +6  Will: +6 | H-Points: 1 | F-Points: 0 | Langs: Common, Orc, Celestial

---

Current Conditions: None

Active Abilities: None

 

Uncovering Secrets

"I like her. She's quick. " Hrotha gives Armen a side-eye as she yanks the top off of a crate, rummaging through spoiled foodstuffs. The way Myrthe left Armen flustered over his own words is something of a marvel. The Lotheed had always struck her as something of an expert with them and she wonders if it stings to have them fail. "Three years? Have you not seen each other in three years." Such a gap to still hold what is clearly a simmering pot of emotion. Maybe resentment, maybe guilt...definitely lust. These two were physical, she can feel the heat prickle across her skin when they speak. "Maybe that's not so much to an elf but that's a long time for someone like me, miss." She wants to know the why and the how of it, in great and sordid detail, but this hardly feels the time to pry so she hooks her upper lip behind one of the stunted fangs and swallows the follow-up. Myrthe's inquiry about Ka-Mhet brings color to the half-orc's cheeks as she plants a hard kick to the side of another crate, letting the contents spill onto the floor.

"No, that is not my friend. I don't know who that is." She rounds on Myrthe as she says it, narrowing her eyes on the doorway where the others would soon appear. "I don't understand her and I don't like not understanding." It's a fairly shallow attempt at explaining her anger, and another box gives way to her frustration only this time the contents reveal the gleam of metal wrapped in oil cloth. Her eyes widen and her lips curl as she grabs the grip of a longsword and slides it free of its wrapping. A step away and she holds it out at full extension, then spins it across her hand in a rapid rotation, tucking it up under her arm.

"Oh, now we're talking." A grin cuts across her face as she glances over to Myrthe and then to the throwing knife she's tucked into the sash-belt on her outfit. "Wouldn't mind holding onto something with a bit of distance to it, if that's okay?" The sword in her hand gives her a certain amount of comfort and her attitude takes a noticeable shift with it. A voice booms in her head and she glances around the room for a moment as if expecting Martella to be there, only for the nature of the communication to dawn on her. Myrthe's reaction is somewhat surprising and she gives the woman a glance back over her shoulder.

"Message?" She looks to Armen and Greyrose as if to confirm her suspicion that they also received the words from Martella. "She knows this is one-way, right? Why ask a question we can't answer?" Pulling the studded leather out of a nearby box, she holds it up for the others to see. She could wear it, but perhaps it would better suit another with less experience in taking a hit. "Anyone feel naked?" Her eyes slip inconveniently over Ka-Mhet as she says that and then jump to Armen in a decidedly forced manner.

OOC Details

Will take a longsword and the halberd, as it seems unlikely anyone else would use an axe on a stick. I can wear the armor but it might go better on someone with a smaller pool of health.

 

[Kavonde]

---

Armen Lotheed | Human Bard/Cathartic Mage 2
HP 26/26 | AC 17 | Fort +5 | Ref +6 | Will +8 | Perception +8 | Hero Points 1
Focus Points 3/3 | Spell Slots (1st - 2/3) | Class DC 18

---

"Three years?" Hrotha asks. "Have you not seen each other in three years."

"Actually, Lady Myrthe and I have seen each other on several occasions over the last three years, though she did her best to pretend that she didn't notice me," Armen replies with more than a little bitterness.

He "hmm"s in wordless agreement with Hrotha's assessment of their new companion, Comet. He doesn't know what to make of her or her strange proclamations. She seems to be some sort of ancient creature entombed here for centuries, even millennia. Of course, that might place her before the age of Taldan's great Armies of Exploration, one of which this mural is likely depicting. Perhaps his brave ancestors removed her from some ancient Osirian tomb and placed her here, instead? Of course, if that's the case, she seems rather friendly for someone who was sealed away for the gods only know how long.

When Martella's telepathic words reach them, Armen can't help but feel relief at the knowledge that his sister is still alive. And if she escaped, it's possible that Bartleby and Princess Eutropia did as well. Of course, he can't help raising an eyebrow in wry amusement, and Hrotha is clearly thinking the same thing he is. "Message? She knows this is one-way, right? Why ask a question we can't answer?"

Armen gives Hrotha a weak grin. "She may be a bit flustered from that whole coup d'etat affair, my lady."

When he catches her staring at Comet, he smirks at her before turning back to the fresco. He notices the placard at its base for the first time. "'Noble Galitian Maramaxus, hero of the Fourth Army of Exploration, champion of Taldor.' The Fourth Army, eh? Gods, how long ago was that? Three, four centuries?" He ponders on this, trying to recall his childhood history lessons.
 

OOC

Rolling a Society check at +4 to Recall Knowledge about the Fourth Army of Exploration and this Gelatinous Miramax fellow.

[BlackHat]

Greyrose follows the others as they explore deeper into the hallways but he appears far more fixated on Ka than on anything that they discover in the side-rooms. When they discover weapons, in usable condition, he turns his attention from Ka to the rapier. "Perhaps any one of you might put this blade to better use than I," he draws the weapon from its sheath and inspects the edge, "... but, if it would only collect dust, otherwise...." He concentrated on the rapier's psychic resonance, hoping to glean some impression left behind by a previous owner.

[Spektor]

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 watches Hrotha closely after entering the room and declaring her half-apology at her odd speech patterns, but no response came, causing the golden eyes to narrow behind the shadow of the mask. Given her origin — before she had become…what she is now — Ka is not used to being ignored, and it surprises even herself how much it sparks her own ire. 

But she is a tool, now. No longer what she once was. Now she is the mask; now she is the Pharaoh’s Whisper into the ear of those whose hourglass dropped its last grains of sand. She would swallow the anger and channel it into the next fool that earned the edge of her blade.

She does, however, notice the look as Hrotha mentions feeling naked and holds up the armor. She does not think of it as an implication that her clothing is less than appropriate, and considers it from a functional approach. “You may gird your own loins with the weighted skin of the dead; I shall endeavor to avoid being struck at all.” 

Just then, the voice rings through her mind and within half a second the Kris darts out of her cloak and is ready to attack. There is a moment of confusion before she looks down at her own form, considering something. She seems to have a silent conversation in her mind that puts her back at ease.

As the others collect weapons, Ka watches them like a curious animal; the mask highlights the comparison, and given the local fauna, may be comparable to that of a fox trying to learn the meaning behind the strange actions of the society-dwelling humanoids. Throughout her scan, her eyes settle on Greyrose and she notes that he is staring at her. The corner of her lips twitch slightly upward, almost tauntingly, at him. But she says nothing. 

Preferring to stay towards the back, Ka waits for the others to follow in Myrthe’s path before shadowing them at a short distance. As she walked by, her eyes scanned over the fresco. If this place was as ‘ancient’ as the others said, perhaps she would know something about it. Barring that, the one whose body she currently inhabited seemed to have a wealth of knowledge on historical subjects. Whether or not it was pertinent to their current course remained to be seen.

[Gregorotto]

The fresco has many secrets, but the most obvious is just how long it's been.

Three or four centuries is what comes to Ka, getting hints from books of centuries and centuries. This is where it confuses Ka: there are centuries between the core Armies of Exploration, and Ka knows well what an Army of Exploration is. Taldor, with the divine support of Aroden, the Last Azlanti and God of Humanity, explored the Inner Sea with great vigor and excellent resources. It was during these expeditions that Taldor expanded to encompass much of Avistan and parts of Casmaron and Garund, bringing the first hint of civilization since the Starfall in some cases. What Ka gets wrong is the distance and number: there have been six Armies of Exploration, ranging from the first in 499 to the latest a century ago, before the disappearance of the Last Azlanti which sent them far from their intended goal, instead founding New Oppara in Tian Xia. Armen has the right of it, remembering in key detail what his father sagely taught him of their family history: how the Lotheeds were involved in every single army, leading several, and the Fourth was no exception. Taking place in 1638 AR, the Fourth Army of Exploration saw Taldor expand north from what is today Andoran into the Five Kings Mountains, reaching the first bit of military conflict with the dwarves of that region. Despite this initial rough patch Taldor maintained good relations with the Five Kings for millennia thereafter, but the Fourth Army was a rough start but seen gloriously as it set up the groundwork for what would become Andoran and parts of now dread Cheliax, led by Galitian Maramaxus who helped the army survive despite overwhelming odds and dwarven cunning.

This fresco celebrates an event from three thousand years ago. Yet the style of art, Armen notes, is much more recent.

While banter and relationship troubles emerge, Greyrose emerges into the room and notices there is something off about the fresco: it's more than just a fresco, but an initial look is not particularly useful. Nothing indicates what makes it special, but there is something amiss.... But what?

Whatever the case, Myrthe moves onward, avoiding further drama by heading north. The doors open keenly, and like before there is a short hall that opens into another room. Heavy wooden bookshelves line the walls of this opulent bedchamber. A posh chair sits in the northwestern corner alongside a small circular table. A massive bed and an adjoining table rest along the eastern side of the room. An open bathroom fits into the southwest, with a bathtub matching the room’s opulence, but adding an ignoble odor. Doors exit to the west and south, whence Myrthe came. Despite the dust, this room is an extravagant time capsule, with most everything preserved... at face value, at least.

But at least there's a place to be alone with her thoughts and feelings.

Out of Character

Unfortunately there's not much you can do with the fresco initially, there's a bit of a mystery and a puzzle to be solved here, but Greyrose's nifty ability susses out neat things like that.

Edited March 19 by Gregorotto (see edit history)

[Kavonde]

---

Armen Lotheed | Human Bard/Cathartic Mage 2
HP 26/26 | AC 17 | Fort +5 | Ref +6 | Will +8 | Perception +8 | Hero Points 1
Focus Points 3/3 | Spell Slots (1st - 2/3) | Class DC 18

---

It hits Armen that the Fourth Army of Exploration wasn't three centuries ago, it was three millennia ago. A frankly ridiculous amount of time, given human lifespans. He tries to do the math on how many generations of Taldans would have lived and died between then and now and gives up once the numbers start to get too large. He can't imagine the Taldan he knows surviving for so long. I suppose things must have been different when the God of Humanity was this nation's patron. It's likely easier to imagine a stable, continuous future when you have a god on your side.

"The Fourth Army made first contact with the dwarves of the Five Kings and established colonies in Andoran and Cheliax," he says aloud to his companions. "This was all around three thousand years ago. But nothing here appears to be that old. I don't think this style of painting even existed yet. Still, wherever we are, it hasn't been touched in decades or longer."

He looks back over his shoulder at his companions and notices Myrthe slipping out the door to the north. Armen grimaces in frustration. Damn it, Myrthe. Don't get yourself hurt. Holding his glowing violin bow aloft again, he follows her into the well-preserved bed chamber, peering around it through the dust. "We know Morilla and Martella are alive," he tells her, a mild amount of annoyance evident in his voice. "You don't need to go rushing off into the darkness. If this was some sort of safe house or secret lair, there may be traps or more madwomen with knives and animal masks."

[Fletcher]

 Lady Myrthe

AC: 19 | Fort: +4 | Ref: +10 | Will: +8
HP: 22 / 22 | Hero Points: 0 / 3 | Perception: +8
ConditionsNone

---

The conversation behind Myrthe recedes into distorted echoes through the narrow passageway she quietly trods. The next doorway seems to lead to the "master's" chamber - whomever that might have been - still furnished in anticipation of someone's arrival after however many years. It's possible she is even familiar, for as long as she has served in this place... depending on the longevity of the bloodline, that is. She remains in the doorway, the glimmer of light only revealing so much.

And then the grey begins to spread as the light bobs along in her wake, telltale of Armentarius following her footsteps. Her head turns, the rare view of her pale, bare neck and dark hair pulled up in a ponytail something only he, and perhaps a few others, has seen. Very casual, for Lady Myrthe. Or very distressed. She looks sidelong as he arrives beside her and speaks.

"I thought I was the madwoman with knives," she muses, turning her cloudy gaze back toward the barely-visible Ka... or whoever. "She... is one of yours, no? The pretty one with the red hair...?" Myrthe may have been occupied by remaining at Lady Morilla's - and by extension, Princess Eutropia's - side, but her keen gaze had not missed the once-or-twice close interactions between the tall bard and the scholar. "I would say I approve, were it not for this... curious division."

Now that the light reveals more, she moves forward on silent boots until she can lay a gauntlet upon the old dressings of the bed. "My Lady informs me that your sister is in hysterics over your disappearance - though she, too, seems similarly distressed over mine. She reports that the Princess' life is at stake, which is cause for both concern and impatience with this confounded tomb we have found ourselves in. There are-" The oft-dispassionate elf stops, clenching down on what seems to be a glimmer of emotion - anger, anxiety, panic - and takes a slow breath.

"There are people of great importance to us, Armentarius," she murmurs again, not looking back at him now. "That need caring for, whether they know it, desire it, or not. I cannot fail... not again."

[Kavonde]

---

Armen Lotheed | Human Bard/Cathartic Mage 2
HP 26/26 | AC 17 | Fort +5 | Ref +6 | Will +8 | Perception +8 | Hero Points 1
Focus Points 3/3 | Spell Slots (1st - 2/3) | Class DC 18

---

"I thought I was the madwoman with knives."

"Yes, but you don't have an animal mask. Crucial distinction."

"She... is one of yours, no? The pretty one with the red hair...?" Myrthe asks. "I would say I approve, were it not for this... curious division."

Armen looks at her, confused... and then it finally hits him. The glimpses of red hair. The references to some mysterious She who "bestowed her Shape." Armen gapes, then turns back to look in the direction of Comet and the others. "Wait, that's...? What?"

Bloody hells, has Miss Albrecht been possessed?!

He hardly hears Myrthe's next words, so wrapped up in his sudden swell of concern for Lorelei. What had happened to her? Had the spell that teleported them done this? No, he thinks. He remembers how she was fighting in the moments before they were spirited away. This thing, this Comet, had already taken control of her by that point. To protect her? To mete out justice against those who turned their blades on Princess Eutropia?

She's an ally, then. But that doesn't sit well with Armen. He may not know Lorelei Albrecht especially well, but he appreciates her intelligence, her courage in stepping so far out of her boundaries of comfort in the name of a worthy cause, and, of course, her undeniably appealing physical attributes. He doesn't like the idea of this strange spirit, ally though it might be, controlling her body. And forcing her to wear things that he's fairly certain Lori wouldn't choose to be seen in if one held a knife to her throat.

"There are people of great importance to us, Armentarius," Myrthe says quietly, the words bringing him back to the present. "That need caring for, whether they know it, desire it, or not. I cannot fail... not again."

"That's why you shouldn't rush off alone," Armen says. He considers stepping forward and putting a hand on her shoulder... but no. The wounds there are much too raw. "Those counting on us need us to return alive, and our best chance of that is to work together. Let Hrotha scout beside you; she can see in the dark even better than you can, you know." He hesitates a moment before adding. "I don't want you to disappear again."

Edited March 19 by Kavonde (see edit history)