Book 1, Part 4: Redactions and Revenge

[ripleycat]

"You play tunes I haven't heard in ages, old halfling hymns and work songs from way out in the sticks. As much as we love our music, they've never been fashionable in Kintargo. Where did you learn them?" When you make your way back to the Wasp Nest, Laria is sitting in the entrance, trying to extend an olive branch to Blosodriette, who is perched on one of the shelves, sipping at a shot glass full of coffee.

"I... don't know. I've never thought about it. Haven't had anyone around to ask. I just remember them, somehow. I only learned a few songs on the material plane, and those were mostly what you would expect from high-and-mighties in Kintargo. Boring and terrible operas! Torture! I made my pipes to pass the time down in the old base. The songs are just there, like a mortal remembering faded things from childhood?"

"You remember them? That... That should be impossible. Right? I've picked up more Asmodean lore than I'd care to know, living here. Imps are created from hell-stuff, right? Wretched souls go to Hell, become lemures through endless torture and reshaping, greater devils eventually use them to create new beings, or new bits of the nine levels, or what have you. No individuality, no memories, they're more like, like, bricks and mortar than anything alive, not until they're shaped into true devils like, well, you. That's a bit rough and ready, but it's close enough to what we're taught up here."

"That's right, or close enough. But I still remember those songs. Strange, isn't it? Because you're broken! These flickers and bits of... something. You're right, they shouldn't be. One of them happened when I was summoned by Sarini for the first time, brought here. I had the clearest moment of recognition - Oh, Kintargo! I'm back in Kintargo! How could I remember somewhere I'd never been? Or how could a mortal memory survive the forces of Hell? Nobody's memories survive, Hell or no. Pharasma sweeps them away as sure as Asmodeus does."

"There's no getting out of the River of Souls, right?"

As if in (rather worrying) response, the vengeful corpse of Guy-Arist Lavigne clumps past, as the bitten and bloody Silver Ravens return to their roost. "Ah! Rexus is waiting, when you've caught your breath. More of his discoveries."

---

Rexus has been feverishly working at his translations, with the slightly doubtful assistance of his two small deskmates, who are of course the very picture of innocence. Despite his newly-enchanted quills flying around the Wasp Nest like little darts, and the replacement of his tea with a nice steaming cup of river sludge, he’s managed to make serious inroads into the enciphered records of the original Silver Ravens, and gathers everyone around to fill them in once time and energy allow.

“The Silver Ravens defended Kintargo from many plotters and would-be conquerors during the Civil War. Scheming local nobility - twice! A cabal of vampires from Nidal, an incursion of horrible sea monsters, and - so they claim - a blue dragon, the great warlord Rivozair! To say nothing of House Thrune’s forces, who finally cracked the city on their third attempt. After that, morale seems to have wavered, then broken. There’s lots of talk about fighting on, striking from the shadows, saying all the right things in here, but you can feel the spirit’s gone out of them, how weary they must have been. You can even see it. The last entries are written in a drooping, ragged hand, a far cry from the perfect penmanship of the first notes.”

“There was infighting, arguing, even violence between them. By the end, they knew House Thrune were going to win the battle, and that led to a splintering. Some went to ground, some tried to fight on. Others, a slim majority of the inner circle, hoped an honorable surrender would prevent Thrune’s legions from razing Kintargo to the ground. It’s still here, so maybe that terrible choice worked. It’s a sad and inglorious end, but they planted seeds that eventually bloomed into… us. I was wrong about this.” He taps the metal coffer. “It wasn’t left behind by chance. They left it as a time capsule of sorts, should their memories fade, or be wiped away by Thrune’s redactors.”

“And I did find something that might be able to help us… maybe. It’s incomplete, just hints, another mystery to stack on top of all the others we’ve found, but it’s most intriguing, and important, I think. The Silver Ravens had something they called “The Song of Silver.” They used it to defend the city. It seems immensely powerful, able to shield all of Kintargo and strike fearful blows at their enemies, but alas, there are no details in here. No mention of how it worked, or what it actually entailed. Magic, it seems, perhaps even literally a song, but all specifics are lost. Keep your eyes and ears open, would you? There could be hints hidden away, like these notes were. It’s a faint hope, but… well, that seems to be what we trade in, now. Nurturing faint hopes.”

As the days pass, Rexus remains in a glum mood. His health has suffered during his endless hours of translation and transcription. He seems to spend more and more time stewing in his doubts and regrets, on occasion bursting out of these doldrums to pursue some new idea with almost frantic energy, only to sink lower when confronted with dead ends and uncertainties.

---

“You have a visitor, Ms. Volden.  Well, you all do, but if it’s who I think it is, he’s got something more to say to Kjersti and Maria.”  Laria is enjoying being coy. "Use the upstairs rooms, just in case."

The “mysterious, hooded figure in a dark corner” is rather difficult to pull off in the bright, cheery Long Roads dining room. The figure is tall and lanky, and he’s all scrunched up behind one of Laria’s halfling sized tables. He looks terribly uncomfortable, and jumps to his feet as soon as the crowd permits.

Why he’s decided to go hooded is clear once he takes it off in the relative security of Laria's worker dorm. The man’s otherworldly nature is impossible to miss. He has what Zea glibly calls the “deluxe package” of fiendish features. His skin is sky-blue, his eyes amber and catlike, while long horns protrude from his forehead. He has pointed ears, and a long tail with a barbed end.

He’s quite handsome, all the same, slim and angular, impeccably dressed, with a neatly trimmed beard and prematurely white hair that gives him the air of a proper silver fox, and an array of small scars that are more curious and dashing than concerning.

“I thought it was high time I introduced myself.”

“My name is Hetamon Haace, and I’m a tailor, the humble owner of the Devil’s Threads. Some of you, I recognize, have been clients of mine, and I hope my work has lived up to my promises. I’m also something of a neighborhood doctor, if you ever need those services.”

“And to a select few, I am the Rose of Kintargo.” Hetamon allows himself a smile and a crisp little bow in Kjersti’s direction. “I try to guide Milani’s faithful through these increasingly dark times, and give hope to the oppressed and enslaved, because our time will come. The Everbloom does not wilt. We will rise up, and break the chains suffocating our fair city and lands far beyond.”

“You Silver Ravens are something Kintargo certainly hasn’t had in my lifetime. Revolution!  There’s a powerful word. We work, I hope, towards the same great purpose, towards hope and freedom.”

“I heard about what you did for those in the Devil’s Nursery. Slaying monsters, turning away bandits, and rescue from the brutes who dance to Thrune’s tune.  You’ve proven yourselves several times over.  You care about the common folk. There is hope in what you do.”

“I have less to offer you than I would wish, obviously, but I offer our help all the same. My people are preparing, gathering what will be needed in the battles to come, and listening and learning about our common enemy. We have many eyes and ears. But for now secrecy and patience are our great weapons. The Lord-Mayor thinks we were destroyed on his Night of Ashes, but roses are rather resilient plants.”

His part said, Hetamon turns to Kjersti and adds a sad coda. “I’ve heard some terrible whispers and far too much silence from Whiterock. I fear we have more to talk about than well-wishes and clothing, Lady Volden. But that tale is yours to tell. I’ve learned the dangers of prying in my position.”

---

The final twist, and the end to this quiet period of much needed rest, arrives with a very perplexed Korva, returning from a walk around Alabaster Academy. She immediately seeks out Rexus and presses a parcel into his hands, as though it might burst into flame if it stayed in her possession any longer. “The most intimidating woman I’ve ever met gave me this, said to deliver it to you ‘as soon as practicable’. I’ve got no idea how she knew who I was, or you were, or that we’ve got anything to do with each other, but here.” 

Rather than being disturbed, Rexus perks up, brow furrowed. “...Describe her?”

“An elf? Forlorn, with those black sad eyes that look right through you. Dark hair. Tall and rigid. Stiff, hard and cold, like she was carved out of driftwood or ivory. Well-dressed, noble-like, but prim, proper. Like she was a professor there.”

“Ha!”

“She’s a teacher all right, but not at Alabaster Academy. You survived an encounter with Lady Mialari Docur. She runs Kintargo’s finest finishing school, Lady Docur’s School for Girls. She’s been running it for… oh, longer than everyone in this room has been alive, even the imp. Draws students from all over Cheliax and well beyond. One of my best friends while I was there was from Molthune. I never graduated - I stopped being eligible, for one thing, but she’s still quite fond of me. Let’s see what we’ve been given. Perhaps it’s old homework I need to redo.”
 

Quote

 

Rexus Victocora,

My dearest boy, I came across something of yours while cleaning out an old cabinet. It’s only right to return something so key to your education to its rightful owner. Poise and kindness serve you always, and do stop by when you can. Your company is no less charming simply because you’re not a student any longer.

 

Along with the note, the parcel contains an aged but well-kept copy of the Azvadeva Pujila, much to Rexus’s puzzlement. “This isn’t mine. It’s not anyone’s. We never studied Irori’s teachings in school. They’ve been banned for decades… Wait. This is… Oh!  Oh, bless her soul! Korva!  It’s the key!” The little tengu squawks as she’s picked up and spun around in a delighted, delirious hug, dragged almost by force of nature into Rexus’s little corner of the storeroom, where he tears open a drawer and dumps the contents, a pile of letters, out onto a very indignant invisibly sleeping Vendalfek. Seizing one, he works with trembling fingers through the holy text.  “Please work… Yes!  Yes, this is making sense, it’s making proper sentences!” The man wasn't even this giddy when you agreed to re-form the Silver Ravens.

"This is the text the Sacred Order of Archivists used for their code. We can read these letters from my manor and the Thrashing Badger now! Find out where their base is hidden, rescue their work, maybe even... f-find survivors." He sets to it with a will, grateful for anyone who elects to join in.

OOC

And for convenience and length's sake, the contents of those letters will be in their own post, once your Downtime stuff is done. :)

 

[Fletcher]

Kjersti Volden

AC: 20 | Fort: +9 | Ref: +7 | Will: +9
HP: 36/36 | Focus: 1/1 | Hero: 0/3 | Perception: +7
ConditionsNone

---

Kjersti felt safe in the knowledge that Laria would not let just anyone know of their presence, nor offer the more private areas of her business for the purposes of meeting. Still, she took a moment to find Temperance in the area she had claimed for her own and leaned the long-handled hammer against the stone wall off to one side. "Be back for ya in a bit," she says quietly, knowing the heirloom is safer here than most other places in their base. Risking Temperance's ire by snooping around even brought a prickle to her neck, though it's accompanied by a smile.

Heavy boots resound as the redhead arrives in the bright dining area, gesturing that the head upstairs where their guest is finally unveiled. She leans against one of the big upright beams of the house and crosses her arms, expression both curious and wary as he reveals himself. Of the tieflings she has met or seen in Kintargo, he is indeed the most striking of them - as Laria's 'full package' echoes in her mind - and in fact is a man that she remembers, from their her visit to the Devil's Threads with Temperance. When he confirms that he is the Rose of Kintargo, she can't help but smile slightly. So that's how he knew who she was... Midway through his words, she almost unconsciously echoes one of his sentiments - "The Everbloom does not wilt" - spoken like a call/response of past days. The rest of his affirmations of their work so far are buoying, for sure. While he had admonished them to be careful about how much trouble they stirred up, trouble had come nonetheless... and they had sorted it. They had not sought out Thrune's people (at least, not as a whole besides Guy) but had given themselves and others proof that someone could punch back. When he asks about Whiterock, she goes quiet for a moment.

"These folks don't, uh... know much 'bout me an' Milani, I gotta admit," Kjersti answers after a minute. "Least, not the whole of it." She removes the fierce-looking gauntlet from her left arm and a small, flat symbol slides out with it - a carved rose within a ring of thorns - and a matching imprint is revealed in her skin where it sat, so deep it seems the impression is permanent. She regards the small symbol a moment before looking up at the 'spiritual leader' they had only heard of/from in messages many-times-removed from himself or his people. "Whiterock is dead. An' it's my fault. We trusted too easily an' were betrayed." She hesitates, looking for Maria briefly before continuing. "It's why we came up here, lookin' for the man who done it. It was Erick, my brother, sold us out. Came with them country boys that Thrune bought, found 'em an' murdered everyone, 'cept me. I was... I wasn't there."

Kjersti turns the small symbol over in her hands a few times, perhaps contemplating handing it over to Hetamon in some gesture of failure or penance or... something. "It is good to know we ain't alone in this," she finally adds, looking up with those crystal blue eyes. "Whatever we can do to help each other. We're gonna need all the friends we can find 'fore the end."

[ccanary]

Maria Callus

Maria Callus — Human Monk (medic)

Rexus

It was late as Maria moved through the Silver Ravens' headquarters almost silently. She was approaching the only sound she could hear apart from dripping water and creaking foundation of the building above, the relentless scratch of quill against parchment.

Rexus Victocora, ensnared in the web of duty and obligation, labored tirelessly at his workstation. Working, always working. Fatigue etched lines of weariness upon his brow. She knew the man was pushing himself too hard. He was going to break. She'd seen it many times before.

She moved into Rexus' room, startling the man when she put a hand on his shoulder, Maria looked down at him, a pleasant smile on her face but her gaze unwavering and her voice like tempered steel a caring presence but one that left no room for argument. "Rexus," she intoned, her tone a blend of genuine concern but with an edge of stern authority of a woman who had been a nanny for eight unruly children, including Kjersti. Rexus didn't stand a chance.

Startled, Rexus jumped and straightened up, turning from his work, a feeble attempt at a smile faltering upon his lips.

"Enough for tonight, Rexus," she declared with a kind tone but with an unyielding firmness to it. "You work yourself to exhaustion, and you will be no good to anyone. There are limits even to your dedication. Come with me." Her words were a command

Rexus opened his mouth to protest, to offer feeble reassurances, but Maria silenced him with a look. "No more excuses. I've made a meal. Come." she asserted, her voice carrying the weight of authority born of genuine care.

For just a moment it looked like he would protest, a flare of defiance in Rexus' eyes, a vestige of pride clashing against the force of Maria's resolve. But he knew she was right. And that she would not relent in insisting he came with her. And truly, he was grateful for the invitation.

With a resigned sigh, Rexus relented. "Very well," he acquiesced, his voice a whisper, a smile he really didn't want to show growing on his face.

With measured grace, Maria guided Rexus towards a secluded alcove. There, amidst the flickering glow of candlelight, a simple meal of cheeses and pastry from above, some smoked salmon, nothing extravagant but a thoughtfully set table nonetheless. Maria's nurturing spirit shone through every detail. She stood beside her chair and waited for him to pull it out for her, staring at him while he took more than a few moments to formulate the thought. "Thank you, Rexus," she replied with a radiant smile when he finally worked it out, sitting and letting him take up the seat across from her.

As they shared in the humble meal, Maria softened her stern body language. He did most of the talking, going on about details he'd learned of the Silver Ravens. Truthfully she didn't follow all of it, but she enjoyed herself regardless, soaking up the aura of his passion and enthusiasm for his research.

With the meal done, she rose and announced, with a smile peeking through the stern expression she was trying to keep on her face, "And now you will go to bed. No arguments. I will be checking your study in ten minutes." She raised her eyebrows to make the point.

 

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[Mister Doctor]

Dead Guy - Character Sheet

---

KAC: 20/19 Fort: +11 Ref: +6 Will: +7
HP: 59/59 THP: 0/7 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +7

---

The corpse hardly seemed to pause as it moved past Laria and Blosodriette but it's eye swung towards them to regard the pair with a hollow glance. 'Getting out' did not seem to be an apt description as to what had happened to the mortal remains of Guy-Arist Lavigne. Instead, it was more as though something had filled up the space where the person had once been with rage and pain and let it rattle around his remaining memories in grim parody of the man. If that was the price for whatever measure of freedom from the River of Souls that had been gained, it might just be better to let the currents wash away the dead entirely.

---

The corpse was still very much the corpse. It kept its own council and followed its own schedule, showing up in the Wasp Nest fairly early in the day and then departing as night fell to return to the ruined shell of the Lavigne residence to plod through the ashes and stare at corpses that had not arisen as it had. To those inclined to try and read something into its comings and goings, the corpse felt even more distant than its abominable state usually entailed immediately after the rescue but this passed with time.

There was little doubt that the corpse was keeping busy when it was not in the company of the other Ravens. More than once it showed up to the Wasp Nest with new injuries that hardly seemed to inconvenience it in the slightest. They did not last long, sealing and fading within a day or two until only intense scrutiny could find any sign of them. Whatever twist of unnatural forces kept the corpse on its feet seemed invested in returning it to the state in which it first arose. It was easy to imaging the creature stalking its chosen prey regularly and now it was all too clear what that entailed for the prey.

The times where it was present at the Nest were, perhaps, a little more tense than what they had been previously. If it had picked up on the increasing concern about what making use of its single-minded rage meant for those putting it to work, none of that seemed to register on its face. Granted, not much seemed to register on that face outside of the more powerful emotions. The desperation of the early days was starting to fade.

It still let itself be put to work from time to time and seeing it awkwardly assisting the Fushi sisters with chores or hauling something with Crowe and Morgar under Laria's direction was a fairly common occurrence. Of course, it only took one occasion of telling it to 'mop this room' and returning to find the corpse stubbornly attempting to mop the ceiling for a simple rota of minders to be established. It worked best when there was someone doing the task alongside of it for it to ape, though finer work was well beyond its abilities. Much like the incident with the mop, it only took one incident of it accidentally sewing a shirt it had been trying to patch to its own thigh for certain other tasks to be taken off its hands. No one wanted to find chunks of the corpse's finger in their soup because it had been told to help chop vegetables.

[Toraka_Stormheart]

Temperance - Sheet

---

AC: 20 Fort: +8 Ref: +11 Will: +7

HP: 38/38 Rebel Points: 4/3 | Perception: +7

Ammunition: 20/20 (40 Reserve) | Alchemy PreparedAlchemical Cartridges: 20
Tanglefoot Bag: 1 | SpotterKjersti Volden | ConditionsNone

---

The Rose of Kintargo

Since returning from rescuing the de facto leader of the Cloven Hoof Society, Temperance seemed to be working tirelessly on something. She made several trips outside of the Wasp's Nest (It needs a new name...) and the Longroads Coffeehouse, returning as quietly as she left. Whatever time she spent was more often in her workshop on some task or other, personal or for the Ravens. Otherwise, she was practicing and training with whomever occupying their base would permit, or running up what is likely the largest tab of coffee, hot cocoa, and baked goods that Laria has ever seen (if she is keeping track).

The biggest observed trend from the others, though, is that with each progressive day, the nephilim seemed to be in an increasingly sullen mood, growing quieter and more withdrawn with time.

When Kjersti dropped into her workspace to drop her weapon off, the strange three-barrel pepperbox Temperance had recently unveiled lay in pieces on the work desk, the nephilim currently running a cylindrical brush of brass through the bore of one of the barrels. Quirking a brow, the wordless exchange was enough to let the blonde know she was needed, and donning her longcoat followed the redhead upstairs.

Her spectacled yellow eyes peered intently as the figure revealed himself, and the introduction caused her to quirk a brow. This was a familiar face...this is the same man who designed the threads that she was wearing at this very moment. Straightening her white vest, Temperance also straightened her posture, dipping her head in a respectful nod. Hetamon was definitely a unique Hellspawn, and it made a Pitborn like her feel a little less out of place.

"You put the tailors of Westcrown to shame. You have me as a patron for certain" A flicker of a smile lit her features before the topic turned to more serious matters.

While most of the party was assumedly present (those that comprehended the conversation), even Temperance understood that the weight of connection lay with Maria, Hetamon, and Kjersti. Her eyes peered between the speaking parties, absorbing the weight of what was being shared, but keeping herself quiet.

Her mind turned as the information was shared, various revelations giving the blonde nephilim pause. "We will not forget this offer, nor will we back away from a need you request. We know where to find each other"

 

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[ccanary]

Maria Callus

Maria Callus — Human Monk (medic)

Rexus and Maria

It wasn't the last dinner they had together like that. As the days went on, when it seemed Rexus was pushing himself too hard, he could count on a stern but beautiful visitor late at night. Always the same story, taking him, insisting he join her for dinner, listening to him talk and then putting him to bed and returning to clear up the table.

She participated in the conversation, of course, but mostly she listened. He took up what could have been awkward silences, filling her in on his research, and she absorbed what she could, mostly just absorbing the man's brilliance, passion and joy in his work.

Until the night after he'd gotten that note from Korva. That night she had a question for him. "Rexus," she spoke into one of the silences, smiling warmly at him. She reached out and took his hand gently.

"I don't mean to pry. Please don't answer if you find the question inappropriate or unpleasant but, I couldn't help but notice. When that note came in with Korva, you said it was from Lady Docur. You said she runs a school for girls in Kintargo. And you said you were her student. Why would you be a student at a school for girls, Rexus?"

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[ripleycat]

Rexus was closer to his beloved parents than many scions of the high nobility, but there was still a veritable laundry list of teachers, tutors, nurses and nannies present for all of his upbringing. One gentle but uncompromising word was all it took.

He never stood a chance.

"Hm? Oh! Oh, yes, of course. Apologies, madam. Please." His belated realization that Maria is waiting for him to be a gentleman brings some color to his cheeks, not for the last time that evening, but he does know the steps of this dance, in the end. "You know, it's actually been quite a long time since I've sat down to a proper meal like this. I've been... I mean, I may be a bit rusty. Please excuse any slips of etiquette."

It's easy to get the resident linguist and scholar to start talking. It requires a firm hand like Maria's to get him to shut up, but Rexus is a kind heart, and he does not talk over others, at least not intentionally, and his genuine interest in others encourages Maria to share her own stories and unusual background, and to bring him up to date on things. As enthusiastic as he can be, even Rexus will admit that battles and rescues are rather more exciting than decoding pages of old parchment.

He's amused, and just a tiny bit miffed at being told to go to bed. "Am I to wash my face and hands as well?" He doesn't dare refuse, though, and ends up doing just that. The exhausted man is fast asleep long before Maria's ten minutes passes.

---

The evening dinners quickly become a restorative, and something he obviously looks forward to. His attempts to help are well-meaning, but Rexus's cooking skills are distinctly "dirtbag bohemian student hovel" and not "pride of the Greens", and quickly become limited to helping with setup and cleaning, for everyone's good humor (and health).

Rexus, to his credit, takes the very personal question in stride with an airy wave and a smile. "Oh! Well, I was a girl at the time, of course. Lady Docur is not the exception-making sort."

Realizing that probably doesn't explain things as well as Maria expected, he continues. "I was raised for years as, admittedly, a rather fiery and exuberant young lady, thanks to the circumstances of my birth. As I grew older, it felt a bit hollow, wrong, clothes that didn't fit, but my parents grumbled all the time, about all the grating aspects of noble life, and the oppression and lockstep of life in Cheliax keeping them from doing as they really wished, so I thought it was simply how things were for everyone. Nobody's happy. Bah!"

"I finally put words to how I felt, finally realized my future was far more moldable than I'd ever considered after meeting a new music tutor. They were an elf, a Shelynite, who migrated between genders as other people might migrate between nations. That insight led to a 'growing up' I’d always coveted but never imagined was really practical or possible for someone in my position. Knowing a number of talented mages did bear some real benefits."

"But, I was half right. My parents embraced their newly revealed son immediately, bless them, but the news absolutely scandalized their stodgy social circles. Well, that's unfair. The ones worth staying close with, like the Jarvises, were lovely about it. Lady Docur was the soul of kindness, but of course, did point out that I would need to transfer to the Alabaster Academy now. The others... well, I don't have to tell you what most proper, diabolic, nobles in Cheliax think of such things. Lost a great many contacts and friends who had never been anything of the sort, and started down the long road to... well, here." He waves his hands about to indicate they were having dinner in the underground base of a militant revolutionary cell, after all. "I started very softly. Generic good feelings, I suppose. I wanted nothing more than for everyone else to experience the relative safety of an aristocratic upbringing. No one should ever worry where their next meal would come from, or whether walking home by night would be a life-ending mistake."

"But discarding Nahia Victocora and living as Rexus meant discarding much of my social circle, and picking up a new and much more interesting one. Musicians, servants, students, street urchins. For all their energy and thoughtfulness, my new friends endured worse on a daily basis than any insecurity I'd been exposed to. And that was intolerable. What exactly I could do about it escaped me for a long time. I was an intolerable dilettante in my adolescence and my Academy days. I must have stumbled through a dozen different causes with a dozen different ideologies. I finally settled on the one that had been sitting in front of me the whole time, the Sacred Order of Archivists, as my parents had. It had barely been a week since I'd informed them of my intentions. I came over for a family dinner, and I saw the smoke in the distance..."

"Barzillai Thrune has made most of my decisions rather easier now, though I couldn't have imagined they'd have led me here, or here." He indicates the little table and Maria with his second 'here'. "The Silver Ravens have proven to have silver linings. Maybe with some fortune, we'll all come out into a better place in the end."

Edited April 21 by ripleycat (see edit history)

[Mister Doctor]

Dead Guy - Character Sheet

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KAC: 20/19 Fort: +11 Ref: +6 Will: +7
HP: 51/59 THP: 0/7 Hero: 1/3 | Perception: +7

---

"Hrrk-Aye-de-olo-gee," The corpse parroted around a mouthful of crusty bread that it was steadily turning into a fine paste. It still did not seem to consider the more traditional foodstuffs served by the living to the living as truly edible, but it seemed to like to be included at meals. A good chunk of gristly meat or the thick heel of a loaf of bread was enough to keep it entirely happy. "Nnrn-Iddy...Iddyolgy."

Its head swiveled to regard Rexus. His long story about a journey to becoming comfortable in his own skin seemed a bit lost on the corpse... as were most things beyond the immediate. The corpse did not have much in the way of judgements to pass, especially when it came to the difficult points of the experiences of the living but something was rattling around in its skull for a moment, single eye squinting as it reached for something. "Hrm-Ideology..."

The moment passed and the corpse returned to placidly chewing on the bread, crumbs tumbling down its front as it lapsed into about as 'contemplative' a silence as it was capable of.

Edited April 22 by Mister Doctor (see edit history)