Chapter I - Act II: Games of Chance

Gryphon173 · March 20

Shuistliel

Despite himself, Shuistliel utters a delighted sound as the butterflies whirl about and is transfixed when they coalesce into their winged mount. The look in his eyes is a mixture of longing and greed, and it is a feeling all of the Vislae understand at some level. Power is what they all seek, albeit for a variety of reasons and in a variety of ways. The power to do this particular spell might be forever beyond Liel, but he doesn't want it to be. Time and ability to learn all magic possible, that is what he wants.

"My friend," he says to Felicia, "are you quite well enough to proceed?" He remembered many in Shadow who had a fear of flying. "As Magister Kuros said, we have only until sunset to be either on the ground or very close to it." There is kindness and compassion in his voice and more than a modicum of patience, but underlying it is another quality, something that drags out the sibilant of "sunset" and "close" just a little. Securing the axe and cane both, but leaving the handles of each in easy reach, he pats his outfit's various pockets and pouches to ensure that everything is where he thinks it is.

Turning to Xanah, he sighs. "Given the seriousness of what's occurring, one might have hoped that Magister Kuros would have been willing to help us without recompense," Shustliel says with exasperation. "Felicia, Aldrion, and I appear to owe him five magical stones that will not be easy to acquire, paid in a reasonable timeframe; at least, he told us where to find them." He's clearly not happy about the deal, and he doesn't name the stones in case that triggers another espisode. He excludes Xanah from the debt because she was not there to shoulder the burden.

Aavarius · March 21

Xanah

Magister Lui's Sooth card had quite an impact on Xanah. She had a lot of personal faith in the nature of magic. It ebbed and flowed in a way that felt divine, so the divinatory quality of the Sooth Deck carried weight with her. God was the Prime Spell. The First Casting. She didn't know if the Magister's card choice was just his personal expression or was a function of actual fortune telling, but as arguments went, making your point with one of those cards like that was particularly convincing to Xanah.

So, when the others found her she was deep in thought, hardly paying attention to where she was going as she walked the precise footpaths. A bit more than meets the eye, she mused inwardly, still thinking about what Magister Lui had said before departing. Konstantin's warning wasn't lost on her either. Things must be getting bad if even senior Vances were affected. This wasn't just about animals.

When they finally got her attention, Xanah told them everything she had found out from Lui and Konstantin. When she explained the horribly painful side effect she herself had suffered trying to even say the word "truespider," she said, "I wonder if that might be the tell-tale sign of our culprit we should be looking for. The Magister said nons would be acutely attuned to it."

***

A while later, as they were preparing to take flight, she decided that she still didn't understand what she had been told about Felicia. "Odd" was the word she had most often heard associated with the Ainsworths, and this one seemed to fit the bill. Coming from a vislae, that was probably saying something. Still, Xanah wasn't actually worried about it. Getting along with people was her bread and butter, and Xanah suspected the oddness wouldn't seem so odd once they knew the full story of whatever was going on with Felicia. Clearly that was it: something had happened, there was a story, and Ms. Ainsworth wasn't comfortable sharing it yet. In Xanah's mind it was that simple. It was also a mystery to be investigated later, for they had more pressing matters to attend to.

She listened carefully when Shuistliel explained the favor they had to do in exchange for getting the service of this magnificent flying construct. "Oh, darling," she chided him playfully, "you shan't get rid of me that easily." The implication, of course, was that she would be joining them regardless. She didn't say that her motivation was partially to contribute to the debt of good graces she was in with some amongst their mutual order. It was probable that Liel already knew what had happened. It was no secret. Still, the Campus was large enough that it was at least possible he hadn't gotten wind of it, and Xanah wasn't about to poison his opinion of her if she could help it.

Character Arcs

Join an Organization

As an arachnophile, I'm being groomed to join the Cacophony, an association of spiders whose name only really makes sense to spiders. They seek to establish diplomatic ties with the Angular Serpentine.

Current Step: The decision to join
- For now, I remain ignorant that I'm being considered for invitation.

Aid a Friend

Aldrion Phect wishes to rescue his spouse from Shadow, but first he must Uncover the Secret of how such a task might even be possible. I'm too closeted a romantic to tell him I can't resist helping somebody reunite with their loved one.

Current Step: Agreeing to help
- I've agreed to help, but Aldrion and I haven't discussed it further.

Description

Appearance

Xanah and the possessions on her person lose color saturation in proportion to her amount of sunlight exposure. She's completely grayscale in broad daylight. She otherwise sports a head of medium-length red-brown hair, copper colored eyes, and a fair complexion. Xanah is of unremarkable height and build, a slim physique that belies a lifetime of overindulging. It's only her constantly moving workaholic ethic that keeps her in shape. Her clothing usually favors practicality and comfort, never one to indulge in fashionable fads. Ever conscientious of her habits, Xanah always smells faintly of cinnamon and spice.

Personality

Lives on coffee, cigars, and favors.
Fiercely individualist to a fault.
A tarnished heart of gold.
Tendency to overindulge.
A patron of lost causes, shooter of troubles, slayer of dragons, walker of tightropes, and runner with scissors.
Banned from kitchens across the Actuality for abject culinary incompetence.
Never met a stranger before but carefully chooses close friendships
A closeted romantic, almost disgustingly so.
Her sharp tongue and compulsion to kick hornets' nests and turn over rocks makes many enemies. In her Order she's been demoted twice for it.

Occupation

Xanah describes herself as "creatively entrepreneurial," which is to say she doesn't actually have a traditional occupation. As previously mentioned, she lives off favors. These keep her constantly busy juggling a tangled web of commitments, investments, activism, and odd-jobs that she's perfectly satisfied living in the middle of. Income can be wildly inconsistent, but she's never been one to require much in the way of creature comforts. She's just as likely to blow a windfall on a hopeless cause as she is to devote it to a strategic endeavor. "Money," she says, "is just a means to an end, grease for the skids."

She toys with the idea of running for office but talks herself out of it, saying that nobody would vote for her anyway. Despite her modest self-assessment, the growing network of contacts she's been developing suggests she might get more support than she realizes.

Dichotomies

Wealth or Fame - "It's all in who you know."
Friends or Family - "I don't make close friends easy, but the few I have are basically family."
Power or Control - "I'm the spider dead center in the web."
Introvert or Extrovert - "There's nothing I love more than good company."
Order or Chaos - "A little strategic chaos keeps the omnipotent busybodies from getting too comfortable."
Freedom or Safety - "'Live free or die trying', I say."
Society or the Individual - "Society is people. Make a difference for one and you make a different society."
Generosity or Greed - "You give a little to get a little. Sometimes, well...sometimes people need me to give a little more."
Moral code or Instinct - "Scruples are what separates man from the animals."
Ego or Id - "Can't honestly say I've ever been accused of temperance or self control."
Nature or Nurture - "Pro tip: Yes, it's your fault and you can do better."
Thought or Action - "I'm a make-it-up-as-you-go kind of gal."
Instinct or Knowledge - "My gut has never let me down about what the right thing to do is."
Charity or Self-sufficiency - "Everybody needs somebody sometime."
Home or the Road - "Give me a warm house and somebody to share it with on all the days that end in 'Y'."
Contentment or Challenge - "Look, I don't go crusading for lost causes. They seek me out. They know I"m easy."

Pools

Injuries: [ ] [ ] [ ]

Wounds: [ ] [ ] [ ]

Anguish: [ ] [ ] [ ]

CERTES		QUALIA
Accuracy: 3/3	Movement: 1/1	Sorcery: 5/5	Interaction: 4/4
Physicality: 3/3	Perception: 4/4	Intelligence: 1/1	Sortilege: 3/3

Hidden Knowledge: 12

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

Amora · March 21

Felicia Ainsworth

Whilst the gesture was appreciated regarding a potential out from their involvement in this debt they'd all incurred, the glance that the sole heir of the Ainsworth Clan gave to her last remaining blood relative said all it needed to. This adversity, this indignity, was not something that would stop her from helping them settle the score... but she would have to be far more careful about it than she thought she might ever have had to be. This left aside the lingering wound that such a near loss of control had inflicted on her. Both for the fact that she feared a further souring of the already... estranged relationship between she and Aldrion as much as any personal consideration. The Chorus seizing upon it like wounded prey before a predator with their taunts, barbs, and whispered suggestions of how futile it all was... The festering, sickly energy of their rage still coursing through her even then.

It's poisonous influence resting with uncomfortable weight on her as she opened the door and was greeted with the sneering, narrowed eyes of the young vance.

Her own eyes only narrowed in kind and, with the intensity of one that was truly, utterly, dangerously, done with this particular moment in Actuality, silently challenged them to say it. Practically dared them to pick the fight. The raw audacity of it given the roles they found themselves in only amplified by the gleeful, hateful, malice that seemed to exist as both part and apart of her. What were six eyes, after all, to a thousand? A hundred thousand? Regardless, there was a satisfaction when the student backed down and retreated that wasn't wholly Felicia's own and that troubled her more than she was going to admit. So she passed them by in silence then.

By contrast, the hunt for their wayward peer was an utterly pleasant affair as she took the time to, once again, appreciate the various works they passed without falling too far behind. Her thoughts worked to now endlessly recite the mantras and run down the technical steps to achieve this or that effect upon canvas and page.

Which all culminated in the peculiar display of magic that would confer them the gift of flight. The glint of the silver sortir quickening the Maker's pulse as she considered the motions with an almost morbid familiarity before looking away out of instinct from the torrent of butterflies that issued forth. Some twist of memory or her now over-tired mind equating the fluttering mass with an unpleasant death by a thousand cuts for a strange and irrational moment. Shuistliel's question pulled her away from that worn to nothing thought with the question as to if she was well enough to proceed.

"I've been worse. I'm rather looking forward to speaking more with the Ravens, anyway." Felicia replied with a dismissive, graceful gesture of one pale hand and a composed, gentle smile that said all it needed to in regards to thanks for the concern. Her attention partially on her companions and the great insect that would carry them to whatever home in the clouds that the Unkindness made for itself. The notion of that home stirring up a certain dread among the Chorus and a bone deep curiosity as to the gossamer nature of it's forging... along side a small readiness for the disappointment that the Ravens might simply... spiral there in avian play rather than any more outlandish work of animistic magic.

"I'm glad we won't be losing your company so soon though a field trip into the Ruins will take some planning, I think." the Maker added with a more contemplative note to her voice. She was certain there was something or someone she might consult on the matter as there was more than one hazard to be wary of and knowing the calling cards, if nothing else, was the best path forward... Not that she intended to get close to the stones again, the very thought or mention of them quietly razing the hackles of the bolder of the Chorus. This all left aside that there was the distinct impression that said stones were not stones but rather something's eggs. A far more distressing concept in and of itself.

Character Arcs

Establishment - Current Step: The Need for Proof
Develop a Bond - Current Step: Getting to Know You

Description

Description

It's the eyes, really, that most fixate upon first. The hues of crimson and gold spinning, twisting, merging in their depths as they seem to give a clear window into the utter depths of Felicia's mind with their uniquely expressive quality. That there feels to be a thousand, a hundred thousand, pairs of eyes staring back from behind those initial windows to the soul only seems to cement the impression of something troublesome, something worrying to compliment the elfin quality of her sharp features and diminutive frame. That sensation of malice, of gleeful cruelty, welling up from somewhere in those depths even as she comports herself with nothing but cheerful, if stoic, mannerisms and inexhaustible impressions of attention to the minute aesthetics of every gesture, motion, and twist of both herself and the world around her.

In matters of garb, she tends to play to the company she plans for with blouses, dresses, and pants of riotous colors among the bohemian communes of Fartown to the carefully coordinated yet still somehow esoteric gowns and suits of high society galas and soirees. Each and every ensemble meticulously planned and coordinated like one of the great works of her brushes. The only break from this carefully crafted aesthetic seems to be her hair, pale and bloodless as her complexion. It's length healthy, glossy, and well tended but cursed with creative differences in how it curls and falls. Despite this, it seems always to blend, practically meld, seamlessly into any trim of fur or feather that might adorn a chosen outfit.

Like those glimpses of alien malice and cruelty in the depths of her eyes, there always seems to be a discordant element that shadows her. Whether it be a flicker of something other in the crimson depths of her eyes, the way her shadow seems to twitch and twist without her ever moving, or how her reflection never quite seems to be her... It becomes all too clear that her body and soul might be host to something besides merely the artist... Worse still is the careful and delicate work of brush and needle; whisking away bruises here, deep scratches or cuts there, all damning evidence of struggles with the self.

In the Guise of Immanis

The energies of the Abyss are, by its very nature, an instrument of the Dark and unkind as a rule to the essential fabric of whatever is and may be. It is only by the tempering elements of the Gold Sun that the taking in of such hostile energies is more than merely an elaborate form of suicide. The raw stresses of this are quite evident then when Madame Ainsworth invokes so terrible a spell. Her already pale skin grows to be a lifeless gray, gaining an unseemly translucence that is easily pierced by even the wane light of Fartown beneath the Indigo Sun. The lines and forms of every bone visible from just the right angles as they shatter, stretch, and mend with an agonizing rapidity to drag her up to a daunting height. Sinew, muscle and tendon all the while snapping, recoiling, and reforming to accommodate this new and predatory bearing. Veins and arteries, in kind, flow with noxious black as the corruptive energies swirl and take root, her eyes draining of that distinct crimson and gold hue leaving only a single prick of light nearly drowned in a sea of impenetrable black.

Were that these the extent of the horrors wrought by the invoking of the Eye of Immanis for one can't help but stare as razor-like teeth push aside whatever may block their way, twisting and gnarling the line of gum and tooth to pierce and part the flesh of the cheek revealing a hideous, too broad maw. A likewise change playing out in the hands as bones shatter and twist as tendons and sinew reinforce to accommodate the agonizingly slow-yet-quick emergence of seven inch talons, black as jet, that now adorn each finger tip. This final change marking the ultimate perversion, turning tools of creation to tools of abject and potent destruction.

Pools

Certes

Accuracy: 3/3

Movement: 3/3

Physicality: 1/3

Perception: 4/4

Qualia

Sorcery: 6/6

Interaction: 6/6 (+3 from Signature Item)

Intellect: 1/3

Sortilege: 1/2

Hidden Knowledge: 10

Injuries:

Wounds:

Anguish:

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

Edited March 23 by Amora (see edit history)

TheRaconteur · March 21

Chapter I - Act II: Games of Chance

Sooth Deck: The Enticing Jewel

Effects: Effective level of all Invisible magic is raised by 1, or Sorcery cost reduced by 1

Divination: "When the Enticing Jewel is turned, everything focuses upon it. Most of the time, this is one of the most positive cards that can be revealed. It indicates success in one’s endeavor. It suggests beauty and wealth. At the very least, even if not actual success, the Enticing Jewel is the potential for success, which in itself can be encouraging (because sometimes there is no possibility for success). Still, the card has a darker side, because it also suggests greed and a love of wealth, and the dangers of such things."

The trio might have quickly realized that Magister Kuros had not informed them where in the Ruined Expanses the "nest" might be located, as he'd assured them he would. The sudden arrival of a giant insect upon the campus lawn had drawn considerable attention, not the least because its large feet were trampling the grass. Their guide made a disapproving noise at the disruption, but otherwise kept her peace. Not so much the other students, as a voice rang out across the quad.

"Hey!"

Deep and filled with mix of irritation and aggrandized self importance, the voice was a stranger to three of their number. Less so to Aldrion, who unfortunantly was familiar with its bearer. The Vislae in question wore a checkerboard suit, the white and black squares surrounded with thick red lines. He marched along the walk-way with a look of fury in his eyes, thick red eyebrows bunched up in irritation. The Vislae glared at Aldrion as he drew near, taking a long puff from the cigar in his mouth and practically spitting the smoke in their direction.

"Figures you're the one making a mess of the lawn. If I'd known who I was to be surrendering this parcel too, I might have told the good Magister where he could shove it. Then again, maybe I should thank him, as with a little bit of luck..."

He removed the satchel from his shoulder as he spoke, and with obvious contempt hurled it at their feet. It was only when he saw Udula standing there with an unreadable expression on her kind features that his vitriol softened. Whatever further spite he was going to hurl died on his lips then, as he seemed to reconsider his actions.

"Ah, my apologies, Magus. I didn't see you there."

He sputtered, and quickly turned about and promptly beat a hasty retreat. Their guide eyed them all, especially Aldrion, and nudged the satchel with her staff.

"I think it might be best if you depart now, so as to not further disrupt the campus."

She suggested. Within the satchel, they located an ornate scroll case made of heavily embroidered and clearly hand stitched fabric, capped in copper. Opening it revealed a printed map of the entire district, illustrated and colored. All were familiar with Fartown, and so they instantly noted the black rectangle that had been drawn with a shaky hand in black ink at the bottom of the map as a new addition. A quick scan was all it took to realize that the Magister had not been entirely honest with them either. The neighborhood where he indicated that their search should begin was not so much within the Ruined Expanse as it was within the Bleed or at the very least at the liminal border between the two. The Ruined Expanses were dangerous, but the Bleed was something else entirely. Perception, space, magic, and even time could be twisted in those places. It wasn't suicide, but they were certainly taking a considerable risk.

They rolled the map back up into its case, and all four had the curious sensation that something was missing. They spent a moment in contemplation, and realized that for the life of them, none could remember what part of town the map had indicated they needed to go to. If they drew the map out again, they saw that nothing had changed. They could picture exactly where they had been told to go, and see the mark. Yet the moment the map went back into its scroll case, the knowledge was erased from their minds. Be it an effect of the map, the scroll case, or the place itself, only one among them knew.

They had a moment to comport themselves, and to discuss their intentions. but eventually there was nothing left to do but clamber aboard the summoned butterfly and go cloud chasing. As they drew near, the creature lowered itself to the ground so that they could easily access it, as well as climb up onto its back. Considering it was taller than any of them standing, they wouldn't have been able to mount it if it wasn't accommodating. As it appeared docile and accommodating, they didn't have any issues. It took a moment to get used to, but eventually the four of them found a way to sit upon its broad back, clutching the coarse hairs for purchase. The question became, how to tell their steed where they needed to go? They could still see the cloud above them, curiously resisting the usual stiff Autumn breezes, but they'd been provided no instructions...

.... with a rush of wind, suddenly the great summoning was airborne, massive wings sedately hurling them away from the earth. It was a gut wrenching sensation to those who had never flown before, the world dropping away from them in a rush of physics and magic. Normally butterflies were flittering things, jerking and diving as they gained altitude. Their steed was massive though, too large for such shaky motions, and so it carried them skyward with slow and sedate movements. The campus below them fell away, their mount seemingly guided by their collective will. It made a beeline for the stray cloud, passing over the inverted clocktower that rose beneath the campus, the shadow of what was rising high. In an instant, they were ingulfed in the chilling mist of the cloud, freezing water condensing on bare clothing and exposed flesh. The azure butterfly's wingbeats became slow, ponderous things. Yet they knew they were in the right place, for muffled through the clouds was the all too familiar sound of the unkindness.

Something raced past, far too massive, their steed barely avoiding it. Unhewn stone, a wall where there should have been nothing. Then they were over it, as astounding sight. A citadel floated before them, a fortress for ravenkind. It was beautiful in the mist, covered in grey, and everywhere the eye went there were ravens. They were perched upon the massive marble pillars, nesting upon the ornate domes, squawking and squabbling with one another upon the wings of the golden ravens that adorned every pinnacle. It was a marvel, a wonder, a jewel of Fartown.

And as far as they knew, they were the only Vislae who even knew it existed.

Threads

Go talk to the Unkindness
- Talk with Magister Kuros about flight
  - Accept the Magister's bargain
- Learn more about names from Magister Lui
Retrieve five Cordovin Stones from the Ruined Expanses

Edited March 21 by TheRaconteur (see edit history)

Amora · March 24

Felicia Ainsworth

Arrogance and a pale imitation of hate were an odd sound to catch wind of within the Halls of the Vance but there it was and now it had Felicia's and the whole of the Chorus' attention for just a moment as the gold in her eyes seemed to circle and tighten around her irises. The source of the sound was... decidedly in line yet out of line with the carefully curated order of the Campus. An order, admittedly, she and then the Magister had disrupted on two separate accounts but hat was neither here nor there. She had to wonder though if there was a story behind the checkboarding of the suit and the color choices. The fury in his eyes, though, had her quietly on bracing as she connected attack to target. The Chorus, in kind, bristling beneath the surface before the situation was defused by the presence of Magus Udula.

Evidently, he didn't want to pick the fight bad enough if he wasn't willing to follow through in the presence of his elders. As he beat his hasty retreat, the Maker glanced Aldrion's way.

"A charming first impression, that."

Her tone implying more than a small grain of self awareness and a small jab of droll humor. There wasn't much more room for distraction on that front though as it was suggested they best be on their way. A suggestion that Felicia couldn't agree with more as the aftershocks of her episode continued to tear at and exhaust her behind the mask of composure she'd managed to cobble back together. The Chorus was quieter but it was hardly silenced as it's members groused, complained, and pushed this matter or another. Her head still throbbing as a consequence of it all and, despite her awareness of her own pallor, leaving her feeling like she looked a smidge pale and wane given the questions of her wellness not a few moments before. She was not fine but there was an element of truth to the fact she had been worse. What injuries she'd done to herself were, at least, not as readily evident as her darker moments but that was a deliberately mild self assessment. She drew a breath then and focused on the curious map that was offered up to them, taking it from the satchel with a deliberate care as she noted the faint tremble in her fingers for just an instant.

"Agreed, it's a bit of unfortunate that good intentions has made us a nuisance after fashion." Felicia offered softly, deliberately apologetically in tone, as she unfurled the map with care and minded her manners with all the care of one raised in the upper classes. Her intuition as a maker told her all she really needed to know about the map that was given to them but she had to wonder as to just why the enhancements had been worked this way... and as to their range alongside any secondary effects that could be hidden under the slick trick. Those thoughts and questions became an annoyingly open sentence within the frameworks of her own thoughts each time she closed the map... Almost like the fog that obscured so many memories of her life and seemingly the memories of anything that had happened to her family. There was a thread there but one thing at a time... like considering just how in the hell they were to prepare for that sort of excursion and the deep, thorough agreement between the Chorus and herself that an ounce of the Magister Kuros' time was coming with an excessive burden of inflation. She had to suppose this was the cost of doing it fast rather than all the steps and checks she'd have had to take to do it herself.

Which was all to say, the Theater might have been the greener grass. At least she thought so anyway for the potential of having a little leverage there between a Raven's referral and her own bohemian connections.

At least the enormous, practically titanic, butterfly was well mannered in how it dipped to let them all clamber on, arrange themselves, and find a proper grip among it's bristling fur but the ethereal nature of such a thing had given the Chorus more than a few thoughts when it came to the sturdiness of it's wings. It's acceleration into the air and the sudden flattening out of her, their, stomach as a consequence. It was enough to break the mask with a sudden startled scream that was lost to the wind and the thump of it's gigantic wings. The initial terror of all the demons in her, psychiatric and metaphysical, subsided eventually only to have something enormous race past them and nearly claim their summoned butterfly steed in the process was enough to have her looking back to try and catch a glimpse of it before looking forward just as quickly as the slow dip towards this corvid citadel above Fartown. The caws, clicks, and coos of the Unkindness bring a charmed smile to the Maker's face as the many squabbles, word games, and communications back and forth managed for just a second to drown out the equally impressive cacophony within her soul and mind.

"I'll have to keep an eye and ear out for Broken-wing but the brace and harness should be easy to spot." Felicia said with a voice raised over the din of conversations at an ironically unkind volume. The wind only complicating the matter given that she was far more use to soft and conspiratorial conversations... Even if she'd had more than one occasion to raise her voice at one concert hall or another.

Character Arcs

Establishment - Current Step: The Need for Proof
Develop a Bond - Current Step: Getting to Know You

Description

Description

It's the eyes, really, that most fixate upon first. The hues of crimson and gold spinning, twisting, merging in their depths as they seem to give a clear window into the utter depths of Felicia's mind with their uniquely expressive quality. That there feels to be a thousand, a hundred thousand, pairs of eyes staring back from behind those initial windows to the soul only seems to cement the impression of something troublesome, something worrying to compliment the elfin quality of her sharp features and diminutive frame. That sensation of malice, of gleeful cruelty, welling up from somewhere in those depths even as she comports herself with nothing but cheerful, if stoic, mannerisms and inexhaustible impressions of attention to the minute aesthetics of every gesture, motion, and twist of both herself and the world around her.

In matters of garb, she tends to play to the company she plans for with blouses, dresses, and pants of riotous colors among the bohemian communes of Fartown to the carefully coordinated yet still somehow esoteric gowns and suits of high society galas and soirees. Each and every ensemble meticulously planned and coordinated like one of the great works of her brushes. The only break from this carefully crafted aesthetic seems to be her hair, pale and bloodless as her complexion. It's length healthy, glossy, and well tended but cursed with creative differences in how it curls and falls. Despite this, it seems always to blend, practically meld, seamlessly into any trim of fur or feather that might adorn a chosen outfit.

Like those glimpses of alien malice and cruelty in the depths of her eyes, there always seems to be a discordant element that shadows her. Whether it be a flicker of something other in the crimson depths of her eyes, the way her shadow seems to twitch and twist without her ever moving, or how her reflection never quite seems to be her... It becomes all too clear that her body and soul might be host to something besides merely the artist... Worse still is the careful and delicate work of brush and needle; whisking away bruises here, deep scratches or cuts there, all damning evidence of struggles with the self.

In the Guise of Immanis

The energies of the Abyss are, by its very nature, an instrument of the Dark and unkind as a rule to the essential fabric of whatever is and may be. It is only by the tempering elements of the Gold Sun that the taking in of such hostile energies is more than merely an elaborate form of suicide. The raw stresses of this are quite evident then when Madame Ainsworth invokes so terrible a spell. Her already pale skin grows to be a lifeless gray, gaining an unseemly translucence that is easily pierced by even the wane light of Fartown beneath the Indigo Sun. The lines and forms of every bone visible from just the right angles as they shatter, stretch, and mend with an agonizing rapidity to drag her up to a daunting height. Sinew, muscle and tendon all the while snapping, recoiling, and reforming to accommodate this new and predatory bearing. Veins and arteries, in kind, flow with noxious black as the corruptive energies swirl and take root, her eyes draining of that distinct crimson and gold hue leaving only a single prick of light nearly drowned in a sea of impenetrable black.

Were that these the extent of the horrors wrought by the invoking of the Eye of Immanis for one can't help but stare as razor-like teeth push aside whatever may block their way, twisting and gnarling the line of gum and tooth to pierce and part the flesh of the cheek revealing a hideous, too broad maw. A likewise change playing out in the hands as bones shatter and twist as tendons and sinew reinforce to accommodate the agonizingly slow-yet-quick emergence of seven inch talons, black as jet, that now adorn each finger tip. This final change marking the ultimate perversion, turning tools of creation to tools of abject and potent destruction.

Pools

Certes

Accuracy: 3/3

Movement: 3/3

Physicality: 1/3

Perception: 4/4

Qualia

Sorcery: 6/6

Interaction: 6/6 (+3 from Signature Item)

Intellect: 1/3

Sortilege: 1/2

Hidden Knowledge: 10

Injuries:

Wounds:

Anguish:

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

Gryphon173 · March 26

Shuistliel

Apparently, snakes can fly in Fartown, Shusitliel thinks as the creature takes them up into the air, relieved that he hadn't inherited a fear of flying along with all of the other changes in his existence. His relief, however, is short-lived as he spies the location of the stones on the very magical, very troublesome map.

"Somewhere in the Vancian rules, I remember reading something about acting honorably towards other members of the Order," Liel says with a sardonic tone. "It's a pity it's not put into practice—or rather, that, such expectations don't go uphill as well as down. Xanah and I are mere Postulates; of course he was going to give us the short end of the stick.

"Given that we've been tasked with something that might be much more dangerous than the enemy we're seeking now," he goes on, "you're free to reconsider, Xanah. The three of us are stuck with this, and your help might be crucial to our success or failure, but you didn't know any more than we did that we'd have to head into the damned Bleed to fetch his goodies." He tossed his head and looked around at the others.

"We could seek the law's intervention," Liel said with an unhappy frown. "He was clearly dishonest with us about the location of the stones, even though that could be argued. It makes us a guaranteed, lifetime enemy if we do that, however." Liel looked at each of his companions in turn, letting them weigh in.

TheRaconteur · March 26

Chapter I - Act II: Games of Chance

Sooth Deck: The Enticing Jewel

Effects: Effective level of all Invisible magic is raised by 1, or Sorcery cost reduced by 1

Divination: "When the Enticing Jewel is turned, everything focuses upon it. Most of the time, this is one of the most positive cards that can be revealed. It indicates success in one’s endeavor. It suggests beauty and wealth. At the very least, even if not actual success, the Enticing Jewel is the potential for success, which in itself can be encouraging (because sometimes there is no possibility for success). Still, the card has a darker side, because it also suggests greed and a love of wealth, and the dangers of such things."

With a wide sweep of wings, the summoned butterfly came to a rest at the edge of the walkway, scattering a dozen or so Ravens who had taken to perching there. They fled before the much larger insect with a chorus of discontented croakings, and Felicia was subjected to the experience of learning what turns of phrase corvids considered to be curses.

There was a wide marble walkway leading to the main structure, within which were beautiful murals depicting fanciful heroes of Ravenkind engaged in inscrutable events. Save for where they had landed, the walkways were mostly kept clear, with the birds themselves primarily roosting in the grass, the roofs, or the many exposed pillars of the citadel. For that's what it was, and giving it any other name felt hollow. It was a beautiful structure, its intent and purpose as mysterious as its builders (for surely none of the croaking, cawing birds about them could have fashioned such a place). Yet from the golden sculptures of ravens triumphant that adorned every high place, there was no doubting for whom it had been built. Even more curiously, it wasn't covered in raven's shit. It seemed the birds went to great lengths to keep it clean, or else some enchantment was woven into the structure to keep it and the surrounding grounds pristine.

Of Felicia's broken-winged companions, they'd as of yet seen no sight. However, none of the birds challenged them as they made their way towards the main structure. Several drew close and hopped along with them, but kept their thoughts on the matter to themselves. Considering the massive host of Ravens resting upon the structure itself, the scant escort seemed strange. They could only guess at the purpose of the buildings, but as they looked to their right they could see the building there was open to the air. Within stood a massive table, upon which could be seen a vast host of Ravenkind devouring what surely must be a feast. It was from there that most of the noise was emanating, a wall of sound from the birds who flew in and out of the vast dining hall. Through the marble pillars and upon the raised platform of the hall, it was difficult to see what exactly they were eating, but the Vislae were pretty sure they made out a platter piled high with small rodents, and birds could be seen leaving the structure with all manner of foodstuffs.

At last, they made it to the wide doors of the main structure, though these were shut. Though there were wide windows over their head, they could see no birds flying in or out of them. Indeed, it seemed the Ravens respected the sanctity of the building. Instead, several dozen of them hopped about on the marble leading up to the door, making anxious sounds that Felicia alone was able to decipher.

At last, she spotted Broken-wing, standing in front of the door and pecking gently at it every few minutes. It was from them that the final words had come, and they repeated them with another distressed gurgle.

Threads

Go talk to the Unkindness
- Talk with Magister Kuros about flight
  - Accept the Magister's bargain
- Learn more about names from Magister Lui
Retrieve five Cordovin Stones from the Ruined Expanses

Ganurath · March 26

Aldrion Phect

Felicia's willingness to deal with the stones despite, well, everything spoke well of her. Still, he wasn't sure on whether or not she was one of the Ainsworths that his mother had had in mind when she set up her little trick, even if she was the only one left that it'd impact-

"Hey!"

A lip print glowed with Pale light on Aldrion's forehead as he turned to face Victor von Verdict. Behind his goggles, his eyes flicked toward Udula. He likely wouldn't do anything overt with her here, and he was too proud to be subtle. The glowing mark faded as Aldrion composed himself, letting the hostile Vancian rant and rave until he got enough awareness to leave. Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long.

At Felicia's sarcasm, Aldrion found himself grateful for the goggles as he rolled his eyes. "His best introduction to date, that I've observed."

With that said, Aldrion shifted focus to mounting up and riding what by all appearances was a giant butterfly. Still, he spared a glance over his shoulder for the woman whose presence had provided a check against the man who likely played a role in the 'Excommunicado' designation. "Hope the rest of your day goes well."

He didn't want to speculate as to whether or not she considered it to have gone well so far.

Flight wasn't an entirely novel experience for Aldrion. He had vague childhood memories of his mother levitating him, growing up before The War made a blurry mess of things. If anything, it was being mounted that was a new experience for him. It was probably for the best that his first such creature was more likely a creature-shaped construct. He wasn't sure how well he'd do with a willful animal. Especially at this height.

Liel's offer to Xanah was a good distraction, at least. "If it comes to that, I think it'd be to our advantage to at least make an honest attempt first. I also have some personal curiosity; I've got about as strong an affinity for these stones as Felicia has an aversion."

Aldrion patted the coat pocket where he kept his magic stone, for emphasis.

The view of the estate that the Ravens kept, however, was a better distraction than any conversation. Definitely seemed more welcoming than... the place where Liel was staying. Hmm. The name situation was annoying. Hopefully it'd be resolved sooner rather than later. That was what they were here for, though, wasn't it? Aldrion followed along with the others, letting Felicia take point due to her linguistic edge. He'd stay close, though, in case it became necessary to leave in a hurry.

Character Arcs

Uncover a SecretThere is knowledge out there that you want. This
arc is a great way to get one of the secrets in the
chapter Character and House Secrets that the GM
has said aren’t readily available. Likewise, it could
be an attempt to find and learn a specific rare spell
or ritual. This could also be a hunt for a lost magic
word or key that will open a sealed door, the name
of a devil, the secret name of an important person,
or just how the arabast fashioned their windows in
ancient times.

Cost: Seeker. You pay a cost of 2 Acumen.

Opening: Naming the Secret. 1 Acumen reward.
You give your goal a name. “I am seeking the lost
martial art of the Khendrix, who could slice steel
with their bare hands.”

Step(s): Research. 1 Acumen reward. You scour
libraries and old tomes for clues and information.

Step(s): Investigation. 1 Acumen reward. You talk
to people to gain clues and information.
Step(s): Tracking. 1 Acumen reward. You track
down the source of the secret information and travel
to it.

Climax: Revelation. 2 Acumen reward. You find
and attempt to use the secret, whatever that entails.
A successful resolution results in 1 Joy. Failure
results in 1 Despair.

Resolution: 1 Acumen reward. You contemplate
how this secret affects you and the world. - Current Step: Seeker
CleanseSomeone or something has been contaminated,
probably by foul magic, and you want to rid them
of such influences. This might be a curse, a
possession, an infestation, or something else.

Cost: Becoming Aware of the Need. You pay a cost
of 2 Acumen.

Opening: Analyzing the Threat. 1 Acumen
reward. You determine the nature of the
contamination.

Step: Find the Solution. 2 Acumen reward.
Almost every contamination has its own particular
solution, and this likely involves research and
consultation.

Step: Getting Ready. 1 Acumen reward. The
solution probably involves materials, spells, or other
things that you must gather and prepare.

Climax: The Cleansing. 3 Acumen reward. You
confront the contamination. A successful resolution
results in 1 Joy. Failure results in 1 Despair.
Resolution: 1 Acumen reward. You reflect on the
events that have transpired and what effects they
might have on the future. How can you keep this
from happening again? - Current Step: Analyzing the Threat

Description

Aldrion prefers to cover up, as his time in the Shadow working in repairs instilled him with an appreciation of proper protection. He has a scar over one eyebrow, presumably from a narrow miss taken during the war. He favors a style that mixes plain colors with the odd splash of supernatural hues, often in shades of or near indigo in representation of his newfound appreciation for the truth.

Pools

Certes

Accuracy: 2/2

Movement: 3/3

Physicality: 2/2

Perception: 2/2

Qualia

Sorcery: 8/8

Interaction: 3/3

Intellect: 2/3

Sortilege: 3/3

Hidden Knowledge: 11

Injuries:

Wounds:

Anguish:

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

Aavarius · March 27

Xanah

It wasn't a lack of desire to intervene that kept Xanah's mouth shut when that checkered Vance fellow strode forward to accost Aldrion. No, it was a those P's and Q's that she needed to mind whilst standing on Campus. She had enough trouble on her plate as it was. Better to watch this one from the sidelines--though she certainly watched with interest. There was obvious history there between the two men.

Her comment on the location indicated on the map was to softly swear, "Bollocks," irritably. Going into the Bleed was more than she had expected. She looked towards Shuistliel as he spoke to her and then admitted to him, "I may have leaped before I looked." She heaved a small sigh, chewed on her lip, then added, "Well, we can sort out that disaster later. We have at least until this neighborhood crisis is resolved before we have to think about getting lost in time and space."

Further afield--higher afield, specifically--Xanah was understandably impressed by Chateau de Corvid or whatever this magnificent citadel was called. She got the impression they were entering the feasthall of some half-world king to beseech a boon before his throne. It was probably best to continue to mind her manners while here as well, though at least now she had the benefit of not being under the baleful eye of a cadre of senior colleagues while in this place. At this point, her reputation was hers to lose.

She sidled up next to Felicia and asked quietly, "Can you still understand them, darling? What are the chances we can get an audience?"

Character Arcs

Join an Organization

As an arachnophile, I'm being groomed to join the Cacophony, an association of spiders whose name only really makes sense to spiders. They seek to establish diplomatic ties with the Angular Serpentine.

Current Step: The decision to join
- For now, I remain ignorant that I'm being considered for invitation.

Aid a Friend

Aldrion Phect wishes to rescue his spouse from Shadow, but first he must Uncover the Secret of how such a task might even be possible. I'm too closeted a romantic to tell him I can't resist helping somebody reunite with their loved one.

Current Step: Agreeing to help
- I've agreed to help, but Aldrion and I haven't discussed it further.

Description

Appearance

Xanah and the possessions on her person lose color saturation in proportion to her amount of sunlight exposure. She's completely grayscale in broad daylight. She otherwise sports a head of medium-length red-brown hair, copper colored eyes, and a fair complexion. Xanah is of unremarkable height and build, a slim physique that belies a lifetime of overindulging. It's only her constantly moving workaholic ethic that keeps her in shape. Her clothing usually favors practicality and comfort, never one to indulge in fashionable fads. Ever conscientious of her habits, Xanah always smells faintly of cinnamon and spice.

Personality

Lives on coffee, cigars, and favors.
Fiercely individualist to a fault.
A tarnished heart of gold.
Tendency to overindulge.
A patron of lost causes, shooter of troubles, slayer of dragons, walker of tightropes, and runner with scissors.
Banned from kitchens across the Actuality for abject culinary incompetence.
Never met a stranger before but carefully chooses close friendships
A closeted romantic, almost disgustingly so.
Her sharp tongue and compulsion to kick hornets' nests and turn over rocks makes many enemies. In her Order she's been demoted twice for it.

Occupation

Xanah describes herself as "creatively entrepreneurial," which is to say she doesn't actually have a traditional occupation. As previously mentioned, she lives off favors. These keep her constantly busy juggling a tangled web of commitments, investments, activism, and odd-jobs that she's perfectly satisfied living in the middle of. Income can be wildly inconsistent, but she's never been one to require much in the way of creature comforts. She's just as likely to blow a windfall on a hopeless cause as she is to devote it to a strategic endeavor. "Money," she says, "is just a means to an end, grease for the skids."

She toys with the idea of running for office but talks herself out of it, saying that nobody would vote for her anyway. Despite her modest self-assessment, the growing network of contacts she's been developing suggests she might get more support than she realizes.

Dichotomies

Wealth or Fame - "It's all in who you know."
Friends or Family - "I don't make close friends easy, but the few I have are basically family."
Power or Control - "I'm the spider dead center in the web."
Introvert or Extrovert - "There's nothing I love more than good company."
Order or Chaos - "A little strategic chaos keeps the omnipotent busybodies from getting too comfortable."
Freedom or Safety - "'Live free or die trying', I say."
Society or the Individual - "Society is people. Make a difference for one and you make a different society."
Generosity or Greed - "You give a little to get a little. Sometimes, well...sometimes people need me to give a little more."
Moral code or Instinct - "Scruples are what separates man from the animals."
Ego or Id - "Can't honestly say I've ever been accused of temperance or self control."
Nature or Nurture - "Pro tip: Yes, it's your fault and you can do better."
Thought or Action - "I'm a make-it-up-as-you-go kind of gal."
Instinct or Knowledge - "My gut has never let me down about what the right thing to do is."
Charity or Self-sufficiency - "Everybody needs somebody sometime."
Home or the Road - "Give me a warm house and somebody to share it with on all the days that end in 'Y'."
Contentment or Challenge - "Look, I don't go crusading for lost causes. They seek me out. They know I"m easy."

Pools

Injuries: [ ] [ ] [ ]

Wounds: [ ] [ ] [ ]

Anguish: [ ] [ ] [ ]

CERTES		QUALIA
Accuracy: 3/3	Movement: 1/1	Sorcery: 5/5	Interaction: 4/4
Physicality: 3/3	Perception: 4/4	Intelligence: 1/1	Sortilege: 3/3

Hidden Knowledge: 12

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

Amora · March 28

Felicia Ainsworth

"Did the blush give it away? They've taken a rather vocal exception to our entrance." the Maker quipped back in response to Xanah's first question before glancing away from the other woman to the lonely figure of Broken-wing pecking at the doors.

That was the real question wasn't it? What were the odds of getting an audience with something greater than them that had lost it's name and, arguably, it's power after a fashion? Would it even trust them if the perpetrator was vislae? If anything the imposed isolation seemed to imply that it had lost all faith and trust in just about everything. All that beside, the sight of Broken-wing so despondent in so splendid a surrounding left an impression all it's own that sat with unpleasant heaviness on her chest even as the Chorus, sensing such sympathies, scrabbled and battered at the fragile barriers between she and them. A cannier few whispering of how such attachment was just asking to be hurt, to invite injury, and that if she just listened to them they could avoid it all... Or better yet, turn the proverbial knife back on the world. Somewhere deeper in the midst of all that was a little spark of inspiration that made it all too clear she'd be losing another night of sleep.

"I won't say it's good odds if the Unkindness can't get past the doors, either. They're all eager to talk with whomever is inside and poor Broken-wing is confused as to why they're alone." Felicia concluded with a composed tone that lent itself to a few hints of helpless over-consideration and, perhaps, an appreciation of the situation that touched on the personal. She offered a sidelong glance Xanah's way then and a shrug before making her way over to Broken-wing, settling into a well balanced squat beside the bird and slipping into the utterly bizarre trick of speaking raven.

"How long have they been alone? Do you think they'll speak with us or, I'm sorry, will we have to intrude to try and get everything set right?" she asked with as soft an inflection as she could manage in the caws, clicks, squawks and other myriad sounds that comprised the tongue of the all too clever ravens. She didn't want to trespass if there was some other choice but if she had to violate some convention or tradition to remedy the situation... Well... She was rather all too willing to be about that business. She preferred civility and a certain order to things but, if nothing else, the churning chaos of the Chorus within her and her own creative pursuits had made it clear from time to time that you just had to do something and break way from conventions or good manners to send the message or make the point.

Character Arcs

Establishment - Current Step: The Need for Proof
Develop a Bond - Current Step: Getting to Know You

Description

Description

It's the eyes, really, that most fixate upon first. The hues of crimson and gold spinning, twisting, merging in their depths as they seem to give a clear window into the utter depths of Felicia's mind with their uniquely expressive quality. That there feels to be a thousand, a hundred thousand, pairs of eyes staring back from behind those initial windows to the soul only seems to cement the impression of something troublesome, something worrying to compliment the elfin quality of her sharp features and diminutive frame. That sensation of malice, of gleeful cruelty, welling up from somewhere in those depths even as she comports herself with nothing but cheerful, if stoic, mannerisms and inexhaustible impressions of attention to the minute aesthetics of every gesture, motion, and twist of both herself and the world around her.

In matters of garb, she tends to play to the company she plans for with blouses, dresses, and pants of riotous colors among the bohemian communes of Fartown to the carefully coordinated yet still somehow esoteric gowns and suits of high society galas and soirees. Each and every ensemble meticulously planned and coordinated like one of the great works of her brushes. The only break from this carefully crafted aesthetic seems to be her hair, pale and bloodless as her complexion. It's length healthy, glossy, and well tended but cursed with creative differences in how it curls and falls. Despite this, it seems always to blend, practically meld, seamlessly into any trim of fur or feather that might adorn a chosen outfit.

Like those glimpses of alien malice and cruelty in the depths of her eyes, there always seems to be a discordant element that shadows her. Whether it be a flicker of something other in the crimson depths of her eyes, the way her shadow seems to twitch and twist without her ever moving, or how her reflection never quite seems to be her... It becomes all too clear that her body and soul might be host to something besides merely the artist... Worse still is the careful and delicate work of brush and needle; whisking away bruises here, deep scratches or cuts there, all damning evidence of struggles with the self.

In the Guise of Immanis

The energies of the Abyss are, by its very nature, an instrument of the Dark and unkind as a rule to the essential fabric of whatever is and may be. It is only by the tempering elements of the Gold Sun that the taking in of such hostile energies is more than merely an elaborate form of suicide. The raw stresses of this are quite evident then when Madame Ainsworth invokes so terrible a spell. Her already pale skin grows to be a lifeless gray, gaining an unseemly translucence that is easily pierced by even the wane light of Fartown beneath the Indigo Sun. The lines and forms of every bone visible from just the right angles as they shatter, stretch, and mend with an agonizing rapidity to drag her up to a daunting height. Sinew, muscle and tendon all the while snapping, recoiling, and reforming to accommodate this new and predatory bearing. Veins and arteries, in kind, flow with noxious black as the corruptive energies swirl and take root, her eyes draining of that distinct crimson and gold hue leaving only a single prick of light nearly drowned in a sea of impenetrable black.

Were that these the extent of the horrors wrought by the invoking of the Eye of Immanis for one can't help but stare as razor-like teeth push aside whatever may block their way, twisting and gnarling the line of gum and tooth to pierce and part the flesh of the cheek revealing a hideous, too broad maw. A likewise change playing out in the hands as bones shatter and twist as tendons and sinew reinforce to accommodate the agonizingly slow-yet-quick emergence of seven inch talons, black as jet, that now adorn each finger tip. This final change marking the ultimate perversion, turning tools of creation to tools of abject and potent destruction.

Pools

Certes

Accuracy: 3/3

Movement: 3/3

Physicality: 1/3

Perception: 4/4

Qualia

Sorcery: 6/6

Interaction: 6/6 (+3 from Signature Item)

Intellect: 1/3

Sortilege: 1/2

Hidden Knowledge: 10

Injuries:

Wounds:

Anguish:

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

Edited March 30 by Amora (see edit history)

Aavarius · March 30

Xanah

Xanah figured Felicia's initial response was rhetorical, perhaps even sarcastic, but she didn't really know. She had no way of knowing if Felicia's magic was still working or not, so it had seemed like a good idea to ask. Whatever the case, she had her answer and stood there quietly among the cawing and flapping waiting for the business of translation to be over and trying not to be impatient.

In the meantime, she quietly asked of the men with her, "What do you think, if this venture fails to yield any information, do we try the tr--" Xanah coughed unexpectedly. Out of an abundance of politeness, she covered her mouth, but it was too late. A little mote of warmly colored, sweet smelling smoke had already escaped her lips. The magic of whatever had happened to the truespider was still preventing even generically naming the creature. She waved it away, cleared her throat when the discomfort of it all passed. "My apologies," she muttered. "Do we try speaking to the, ahh...victim of the theft?"

Character Arcs

Join an Organization

As an arachnophile, I'm being groomed to join the Cacophony, an association of spiders whose name only really makes sense to spiders. They seek to establish diplomatic ties with the Angular Serpentine.

Current Step: The decision to join
- For now, I remain ignorant that I'm being considered for invitation.

Aid a Friend

Aldrion Phect wishes to rescue his spouse from Shadow, but first he must Uncover the Secret of how such a task might even be possible. I'm too closeted a romantic to tell him I can't resist helping somebody reunite with their loved one.

Current Step: Agreeing to help
- I've agreed to help, but Aldrion and I haven't discussed it further.

Description

Appearance

Xanah and the possessions on her person lose color saturation in proportion to her amount of sunlight exposure. She's completely grayscale in broad daylight. She otherwise sports a head of medium-length red-brown hair, copper colored eyes, and a fair complexion. Xanah is of unremarkable height and build, a slim physique that belies a lifetime of overindulging. It's only her constantly moving workaholic ethic that keeps her in shape. Her clothing usually favors practicality and comfort, never one to indulge in fashionable fads. Ever conscientious of her habits, Xanah always smells faintly of cinnamon and spice.

Personality

Lives on coffee, cigars, and favors.
Fiercely individualist to a fault.
A tarnished heart of gold.
Tendency to overindulge.
A patron of lost causes, shooter of troubles, slayer of dragons, walker of tightropes, and runner with scissors.
Banned from kitchens across the Actuality for abject culinary incompetence.
Never met a stranger before but carefully chooses close friendships
A closeted romantic, almost disgustingly so.
Her sharp tongue and compulsion to kick hornets' nests and turn over rocks makes many enemies. In her Order she's been demoted twice for it.

Occupation

Xanah describes herself as "creatively entrepreneurial," which is to say she doesn't actually have a traditional occupation. As previously mentioned, she lives off favors. These keep her constantly busy juggling a tangled web of commitments, investments, activism, and odd-jobs that she's perfectly satisfied living in the middle of. Income can be wildly inconsistent, but she's never been one to require much in the way of creature comforts. She's just as likely to blow a windfall on a hopeless cause as she is to devote it to a strategic endeavor. "Money," she says, "is just a means to an end, grease for the skids."

She toys with the idea of running for office but talks herself out of it, saying that nobody would vote for her anyway. Despite her modest self-assessment, the growing network of contacts she's been developing suggests she might get more support than she realizes.

Dichotomies

Wealth or Fame - "It's all in who you know."
Friends or Family - "I don't make close friends easy, but the few I have are basically family."
Power or Control - "I'm the spider dead center in the web."
Introvert or Extrovert - "There's nothing I love more than good company."
Order or Chaos - "A little strategic chaos keeps the omnipotent busybodies from getting too comfortable."
Freedom or Safety - "'Live free or die trying', I say."
Society or the Individual - "Society is people. Make a difference for one and you make a different society."
Generosity or Greed - "You give a little to get a little. Sometimes, well...sometimes people need me to give a little more."
Moral code or Instinct - "Scruples are what separates man from the animals."
Ego or Id - "Can't honestly say I've ever been accused of temperance or self control."
Nature or Nurture - "Pro tip: Yes, it's your fault and you can do better."
Thought or Action - "I'm a make-it-up-as-you-go kind of gal."
Instinct or Knowledge - "My gut has never let me down about what the right thing to do is."
Charity or Self-sufficiency - "Everybody needs somebody sometime."
Home or the Road - "Give me a warm house and somebody to share it with on all the days that end in 'Y'."
Contentment or Challenge - "Look, I don't go crusading for lost causes. They seek me out. They know I"m easy."

Pools

Injuries: [ ] [ ] [ ]

Wounds: [ ] [ ] [ ]

Anguish: [ ] [ ] [ ]

CERTES		QUALIA
Accuracy: 3/3	Movement: 1/1	Sorcery: 5/5	Interaction: 4/4
Physicality: 3/3	Perception: 4/4	Intelligence: 1/1	Sortilege: 3/3

Hidden Knowledge: 12

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

TheRaconteur · March 31

Chapter I - Act II: Games of Chance

Sooth Deck: The Enticing Jewel

Effects: Effective level of all Invisible magic is raised by 1, or Sorcery cost reduced by 1

Divination: "When the Enticing Jewel is turned, everything focuses upon it. Most of the time, this is one of the most positive cards that can be revealed. It indicates success in one’s endeavor. It suggests beauty and wealth. At the very least, even if not actual success, the Enticing Jewel is the potential for success, which in itself can be encouraging (because sometimes there is no possibility for success). Still, the card has a darker side, because it also suggests greed and a love of wealth, and the dangers of such things."

The others could see that the titular "Broken-Wing" bore a beautiful contraption upon one wing, serving as a splint. It was clearly a Maker's work, more akin to a piece of ornamental jewelry than a proper cast. Yet evidently it had been sufficient, for the Raven had made it up here on its own power. A fine meshwork of hammer shaped silver, hand crafted to provide support without overburdening the bird with weight. It hoped about in agitation, pecking at the door here and there and making gurgling noises. As far as they could tell, the door bore no lock or key. Unless it was barred from the inside, there was nothing preventing them from just pushing it open save the fact that it looked quite heavy. Far too heavy for a bird to manage, though the whole Unkindness could surely coordinate if they so chose.

It chittered and shook, almost as if choking, clearly unable to speak. Finally, it looked at Felicia, gave a single irritated caw, and flew away.

Threads

Go talk to the Unkindness
- Talk with Magister Kuros about flight
  - Accept the Magister's bargain
- Learn more about names from Magister Lui
Retrieve five Cordovin Stones from the ~~Ruined Expanses~~ Bleed

Edited March 31 by TheRaconteur (see edit history)

Gryphon173 · March 31

Shuistliel

Shuistliel frowns when Xanah suggests speaking to the truespider. "You should all know that I have never spoken to the being that lets me live in the Bastion," he says, having found it easier and easier to talk around the namelessness. I hope that doesn't mean that it's getting closer and closer to being permanent, he thought. No, it's just me getting used to the restriction. "In point of fact, usually it just walks through me on a different dimensional level." It was a little embarrassing that for all the magic he'd learned and the potential he carried with him, that the truespiders were more than an order of magnitude more than he was. More powerful, more experienced, more everything, almost without exception.

He turned to Felicia. "Were it me," Liel replied, "I'd be willing to entertain the devil in my parlor if I thought I'd get my name back. Hopefully, the nameless ones are desperate for help instead of looking for a scapegoat. That goes double for the beings whose number include my home's host."

He cocked his head. "Of course, the ravens or the truespiders may be so grateful for the help that they'll help us fill the Magister's requirements."

Amora · April 1

Felicia Ainsworth

The Maker's expression remained deliberately neutral as Broken-wing took to the air and only reiterated that that they could no longer name the thing they were so pitifully concerned about. She could understand the pain, understand it in a very real way for the fact of her own circumstances, but something about that irritated caw and flight from her company scored a wound that the Chorus was all too eager to dig at and remind her of their early advise; to not get involved, to kill, to give the mercy of release from one iteration of existence. This left aside the many more morbid suggestions that had been uttered that only helped to turn her stomach and force her to close her eyes and draw in a deep, steadying breath.

She looked then to the other ravens that roosted nearby.

"We want to help but we need to know if any of the Unkindness might have seen something? Otherwise, I'll have to see if we can talk to the victim themselves." Felicia asked of the other Ravens with a measure of a sincere plea in her tone or the best she could manage anyway with the strange structure of the croaks and caws that she only really had an imparted, instinctual grasp of rather than a nuanced fluency.

The pale, diminutive maker spared a glance back towards her fellow vislae as she waited for any hint of a response from the Unkindness.

"Let's not mention devils. It's clear enough that the poor thing in there is likely isolating to try and figure a way through it on it's own or worse... just ruminating in some perception of powerlessness. Either way, if the Unkindness doesn't want to or can't share anything of what could've happened... We'll just have to forgo some decorum." the Maker said with a considerate tone and inflection to her voice, one that given the prior episode suggested a potential mote of experience with regards to both devils and trying to solve one's own problems without the many hands held out to it. She glanced back up to towards the many set of black eyes that surrounded and watched them, the many flecks of gold in her eyes spiraling and tightening around the iris of her eye before turning to the door in kind.

A hand rising, balling into a fist, and ready to knock as she counted the heart beats to allow the Ravens one last chance before a certain respectful propriety was removed from the table leaving only executive action in it's place.

Character Arcs

Establishment - Current Step: The Need for Proof
Develop a Bond - Current Step: Getting to Know You

Description

Description

It's the eyes, really, that most fixate upon first. The hues of crimson and gold spinning, twisting, merging in their depths as they seem to give a clear window into the utter depths of Felicia's mind with their uniquely expressive quality. That there feels to be a thousand, a hundred thousand, pairs of eyes staring back from behind those initial windows to the soul only seems to cement the impression of something troublesome, something worrying to compliment the elfin quality of her sharp features and diminutive frame. That sensation of malice, of gleeful cruelty, welling up from somewhere in those depths even as she comports herself with nothing but cheerful, if stoic, mannerisms and inexhaustible impressions of attention to the minute aesthetics of every gesture, motion, and twist of both herself and the world around her.

In matters of garb, she tends to play to the company she plans for with blouses, dresses, and pants of riotous colors among the bohemian communes of Fartown to the carefully coordinated yet still somehow esoteric gowns and suits of high society galas and soirees. Each and every ensemble meticulously planned and coordinated like one of the great works of her brushes. The only break from this carefully crafted aesthetic seems to be her hair, pale and bloodless as her complexion. It's length healthy, glossy, and well tended but cursed with creative differences in how it curls and falls. Despite this, it seems always to blend, practically meld, seamlessly into any trim of fur or feather that might adorn a chosen outfit.

Like those glimpses of alien malice and cruelty in the depths of her eyes, there always seems to be a discordant element that shadows her. Whether it be a flicker of something other in the crimson depths of her eyes, the way her shadow seems to twitch and twist without her ever moving, or how her reflection never quite seems to be her... It becomes all too clear that her body and soul might be host to something besides merely the artist... Worse still is the careful and delicate work of brush and needle; whisking away bruises here, deep scratches or cuts there, all damning evidence of struggles with the self.

In the Guise of Immanis

The energies of the Abyss are, by its very nature, an instrument of the Dark and unkind as a rule to the essential fabric of whatever is and may be. It is only by the tempering elements of the Gold Sun that the taking in of such hostile energies is more than merely an elaborate form of suicide. The raw stresses of this are quite evident then when Madame Ainsworth invokes so terrible a spell. Her already pale skin grows to be a lifeless gray, gaining an unseemly translucence that is easily pierced by even the wane light of Fartown beneath the Indigo Sun. The lines and forms of every bone visible from just the right angles as they shatter, stretch, and mend with an agonizing rapidity to drag her up to a daunting height. Sinew, muscle and tendon all the while snapping, recoiling, and reforming to accommodate this new and predatory bearing. Veins and arteries, in kind, flow with noxious black as the corruptive energies swirl and take root, her eyes draining of that distinct crimson and gold hue leaving only a single prick of light nearly drowned in a sea of impenetrable black.

Were that these the extent of the horrors wrought by the invoking of the Eye of Immanis for one can't help but stare as razor-like teeth push aside whatever may block their way, twisting and gnarling the line of gum and tooth to pierce and part the flesh of the cheek revealing a hideous, too broad maw. A likewise change playing out in the hands as bones shatter and twist as tendons and sinew reinforce to accommodate the agonizingly slow-yet-quick emergence of seven inch talons, black as jet, that now adorn each finger tip. This final change marking the ultimate perversion, turning tools of creation to tools of abject and potent destruction.

Pools

Certes

Accuracy: 3/3

Movement: 3/3

Physicality: 1/3

Perception: 4/4

Qualia

Sorcery: 6/6

Interaction: 6/6 (+3 from Signature Item)

Intellect: 1/3

Sortilege: 1/2

Hidden Knowledge: 10

Injuries:

Wounds:

Anguish:

Rests: 1 round, 1 round, 10 minutes, 1 hour

TheRaconteur · April 1

Chapter I - Act II: Games of Chance

Sooth Deck: The Enticing Jewel

Effects: Effective level of all Invisible magic is raised by 1, or Sorcery cost reduced by 1

Divination: "When the Enticing Jewel is turned, everything focuses upon it. Most of the time, this is one of the most positive cards that can be revealed. It indicates success in one’s endeavor. It suggests beauty and wealth. At the very least, even if not actual success, the Enticing Jewel is the potential for success, which in itself can be encouraging (because sometimes there is no possibility for success). Still, the card has a darker side, because it also suggests greed and a love of wealth, and the dangers of such things."

More and more of the Unkindness had joined them as they'd stood outside the main doors. Most were milling about on the railing towering over them, their numbers growing as more and more joined. Others busied themselves flying back and forth between the nearby pillars, landing briefly on the grass, and just generally flitting from one place to another.

They croaked and gurgled at each other, and at the gathered Vislae, black eyes always watching. At Felicia's question, countless heads turned in her direction, countless throats voiced a reply. There were too many words for her to catch them all, too many thoughts interrupting one another. Instead she could only catch the themes, catch the feelings of what the Unkindness was trying to convey.

The din grew even louder when her hand rose to knock, hundreds of avian voices expressing frustration, anxiety, and irritation. Yet none flew down to assail her when her knuckles struck the door, no dive bombing her to peck and scratch at her eyes. Stranger still, the door was neither locked nor barred. When she knocked upon it, it opened easily, despite the fact that it was nearly twice as tall as she was. The Unkindness perched above it let out a louder racket still, wings beating and black throats screaming protest, but none moved to stop them from entering.

Within was a beautiful atrium, filled with dappled sunlight from above. Within the center of the atrium was a large, upon which one would assume a statue could be placed. While there was a beautiful golden sculpture of Raven's wings there, it was a comparatively small thing, clearly secondary to the main occupant of the plinth. This was a large tree, the source of the dappling from the sunlight streaming in from above. This was not filled with Ravens, as they might have expected. Instead as they looked they saw that it held a single massive nest, easily large enough for two of them to lie down in comfortably, resting perhaps fifteen feet over their heads. Within that massive nest, something stirred and peered over the lip at them.

They could only see part of it, its head and shoulders they guessed. It was a human silloutte, the same size and shape of each of them, but that was where the similarities ended. It had no flesh that they could see, no solid form within that silloutte. Instead, it was filled with objects, creatures, faces, swirling clouds. A constantly shifting planescape of images. They saw ravens there, and a spider's beautiful web, and two shapes that were beautiful to behold and yet so much less than they should have been. Avatars of Ravenkind, of spiderkind, and yet diminished and less. It had no eyes, but they could feel it staring at them, feel the ominous weight of its gaze. It did not want them there, did not want them looking at it, did not want them intruding in this space.

"Is it too much to ask for a little peace and quiet....."

The voice was a whisper, a threat, a promise.

"... after I went to all that effort to drive those damnable birds out?"

It tisked, and with an unnaturally languid motion began to move out of the nest.

Threads

Go talk to the Unkindness
- Talk with Magister Kuros about flight
  - Accept the Magister's bargain
- Learn more about names from Magister Lui
- Discover what has invaded the Nest
Retrieve five Cordovin Stones from the ~~Ruined Expanses~~ Bleed

Edited April 1 by TheRaconteur (see edit history)

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Chapter I - Act II: Games of Chance

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