Sleepless in S-Ea-ttle
Log Info
- Title: Sleepless in S-Ea-ttle
- Emitter: Telamon
- Place: A14 - Society for Progressive Arcanists
- Summary: Telamon and Ravenstongue are in the library trying to research Telamon's dueling dreams when Randolf shows up, driven mad from his nightmares. Morgan, acting as the head librarian, tries to help, and the group discuss ways to solve Randolf's problems. Meanwhile, Pothy befuddles Auranar and Verna with his corvid antics.
-=--=--=--=--=--=<* A14: Society for Progressive Arcanists *>=--=--=--=--=--=-
The central courtyard of the Arcane Society is a large and sprawling affair within the heart of the city. Soaring marble pillars reach upward to the sky, four sets of three, evenly spaced apart as the massive columns form a rough circle, each trio of pillars warding a particular direction. Carved into the smooth stone floor within the center of the atrium is a massive circle within the ceiling itself, which opens always to the stars, in honor of Eluna, the Goddess of Light Magic. Taara, the Goddess of the Dark, is given no such honors.
The central courtyard radiates outwards into paths, leading through the exotic gardens of the Society. One extends to the Library, another to the College of Magic. Another path leads off to a small, rather plain looking building between the two colleges, most likely the dormitory for the students, and yet another for the famous Cafeteria. Numerous magi can be seen walking back and forth most hours of the day and night here, with familiars or other odder creatures roaming about, most of them in the latest styles, as dictated by Madame Gelfure, the a more social head than the Society has had in most of its history. Myriad scents and aromas can also be sensed, some delightful, others repugnant, others quite colorful as apprentices and magi alike go about their experiments. Arguments are not unheard of, and even the most "dignified" of magi might be seen from time to time, in a pique of anger, waving an agitated hand to teleport the disagreeable person to the top of the nearest tower.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Dramatis Personae =--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=- Auranar 4'8" 123 Lb Wild Elf Female A wild elf with dark skin and a red dress Morgan 4'10" 79 Lb Half-Elf Female Short pixy like half elf with fair skin Randolf 4'10" 280 Lb Mountain Dwarf Male A burly, well-dressed Khazad in wizardly robes. Ravenstongue 5'0" 99 Lb Half-Elf Female Short half-elf girl with violet eyes and black hair. Telamon 5'6" 140 Lb Half-Elf Male A platinum-blond half-sil man with dancing dark eyes Verna 4'5" 98 Lb Half-Elf Female Petite humanoid in bulky gray robes and cloak. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
The library is thankfully tranquil, save for the occasional hushed conversation or the sound of soft footfalls and books thudding into place. Even with the perennial nightmares, study goes on in the Arcanist's Society.
Telamon, for his part, sits sprawled in a chair before a table, rubbing his face. Stacked before him are a number of tomes, and a quill and parchment lie in front of him, heavy with notes taken from the books. He stretches, muttering to himself as he eyes the next book to review. "I wonder..." he muses aloud, brows coming together as he thinks.
"Got another one," Ravenstongue says as she approaches Telamon with a smile. She holds out a book to him. "Found one called The Void Between the Stars that sounded interesting to me. It seems a little like the author was... umm, let's just say his grip on reality doesn't seem like it's the tightest, but there might be something useful in there."
She takes a seat next to him and kisses his cheek. "Hanging in there?" she asks.
Pothy, meanwhile, has laid down in a nest of books on the table. "Snacks," he grumbles. It's been approximately thirty-two minutes and eighteen seconds since he was last fed. This amount of time is unacceptable.
Randolf lumbers up and down the courtyard, eyes wild and bloodshot, his beard an ungroomed frazzle. His hands tucked behind his back and his pipe clamped in the side of his mouth as he goes back and forth, puffing a steady series of little puffs into the air. "But the onieromantic array doubled an' wi' the focative engram leads only tae an arcanic hypercharge an' that won't do at all, no it will not. Aye, aye, an' merrily on an' on we go. The conjuction o' the Isocahedral Pylon wi' the Blue Star points only tae death an' damnation an' damnation shall be the end of us all. By two they come an' by two they go, an' they shall glorify the newborn king an' they shall bring him incense an' oils, but the king o' fools shall fool us all, end of line." He takes his pipe from his mouth and gesticulates wildly with it, his sightless gaze fixated on the court yard. "I JUST WANT TAE GO NIGHT-NIGHT!" he roars in a strangled tone.
"That's got some prospects," Telamon replies with a smile. "I'm hanging on. It's... more frustration than anything. I feel like I'm missing something. This... entity doesn't match any servant of the gods, good or bad." He takes the book Raven offers him, opening it and flipping it to the table of contents. He pauses, though, as he cocks his head. "'Lana, do you hear someone outside shouting? I mean, beyond the usual arguments."
Morgan comes out of a office connected to the libary and then takes a seat at where the shifts custondens stay at if they are needed.
Ravenstongue similarly cocks her head. A beat, and then she says, "Oh, yeah--sounds like from the courtyard. You stay here and I'll go check it out," she offers, already rising from her seat. "C'mon, Pothy."
"Snacks, Pothy grumbles. But he flies onto her shoulder, and together, they go to a nearby window in the library, close enough to raging Randolf to see him.
Ravenstongue unlatches the window and pulls it up. "Randolf! Hey friend, you okay?" she asks, raising a brow. "You're kinda loud over there."
Randolf turns to look at Ravenstongue. He trundles over to her, reaching up to take ahold of her shoulders and leaning in close, hopping up on tiptoes until he's almost nose-to-nose with her. "I. Am tryin'. Tae protect. My mind," he says in a hoarse whisper. "I haven't slept in four sodding days. Every time I close me eyes, the dreams come again." He turns loose of her, starting to pace around again, gesturing wildly with his pipe. "Spiders. Spiders everywhere. Big ones. Little ones." He whirls around, jabbing a fingertip at his temple. "SOME AS BIG AS YER HEAD!!" He starts rampaging around again, curling his fingers into his hair. "Not even booze helps. Can ye imagine? Booze, doin' nae earthly good fer a dwarf! Och, Reos, Blessed Father, why have ye forsaken me?!" He pauses, then wheels back around. "Maybe I'm dead," he says. "Maybe I'm dead, an' all o' this," he says, sweeping his arms out wide. "This is all some kind o' hell I'm in!"
Morgan says as she opens a book "best thing I found was this ring." she holds up her hand to showing it off. "This ring lets me sleep 2 hours a day and I do not need to eat. But then I do not let dreams bother me that much." the half elf says calmly "But I have herd of things that eats dreams but that is not healthy."
Telamon puts the book down when he hears Raven call out, and Randolf's ragged voice in return. Getting up to join Raven, his eyes widen slightly at Randolf's appearance, and he shakes his head. "Good gods, man, you look like something an owlbear ate and shit off a cliff."
He offers a hand to Randolf. "Come on, Randolf. Let's sit down. I've got a vial of sopor venenum I picked up a while back, and you can take a little nap while I try to figure out what keeps haunting my dreams."
Ravenstongue's violet eyes are almost as wide as dinner plates as Randolf pulls her forward--then lets her go. "What Tel said," she says. "Come in the library and we can help."
She turns around and smiles to see Morgan, waving her over. "Hi Morgan!" she says. "I'm glad you're holding up okay, too. I don't think I've seen you since the whole business with my Grandfather."
Apparently the situation with the Feathered One had resolved for the best and... had earned himself a familial nickname. Either way, Ravenstongue looks happier for it, although she has some dark circles under her eyes, too.
Randolf's bloodshot gaze snaps to Telamon. "Sleep? Sleep?! Haven't ye heard a word I've been sayin', laddie?!" He starts pacing again, shaking his head hard enough to make his beard whip back and forth. "No no no no, I cannae go back. I cannae go back. The dreams will find me. Spiders in me beard. Spiders. In me beard. Oh, sweet baked confections! I marvel at yer deliciously cream-filled centers! Teach me yer ways!"
Morgan gives a smile to Raven as she makes a arcane hand movement and a little pouch floats to her. Once it comes close it would get the little birds notice "here are some candy grubs for our little friend." she then looks towards the dwarf "Remember dreams are just that and its not something to fear. But if you dont want a nap I do have a bottle of Sul wine if you want a glass of it."
Telamon looks a bit aback at Randolf's ranting. "Ah... Lady Morgan, I don't think wine is going to work on my friend here. Hence my suggestion of sopor venenum, as it puts the user into a deep, dreamless sleep." He emphasizes 'dreamless' for Randolf in particular. "I figured 'Lana and I might need it at some point, but... I suspect Randolf needs it more."
He rubs his forehead -- his face is a bit drawn, and he has circles under his eyes as well, though they're less pronounced. "Please, Randolf. Let me try to help you."
A new entry to the room, is a lovely sildanyari woman with rich dark skin, and black hair that fades to a lovely pink color at the bottom. Her eyes are also black, but redish where they ought to be white from constant rubbings. She yawns as she enters the room, her red dress slightly rumpled which would tell any that actually knew her that something was amiss, and she carries a massive stack of books in her delicate hands as she looks around for a place to sit down.
This quest for a seat is somewhat stymied by the dwarf in his rage, she stands there rather stupified, blinking at the sight and wondering if it's safe to enter the room after all.
Pothy's blue eyes light up as Morgan's little bag of candied grubs floats over to him. Ravenstongue takes it and opens the bag. "How sweet!" Ravenstongue says, smiling widely. "Pothy will--"
Pothy shoves his face into the bag and makes incredibly hungry little grumbles as he begins to shovel them all down his gullet.
Ravenstongue blinks for a moment. "Err, Pothy enjoyed those," she adds.
But then Pothy notices the wild elf. They've met before, briefly. This is cause enough for him to demand tribute--err, ask nicely for snacks. He lifts his head from the now empty bag of treats and flaps over, landing in front of Auranar. "Snacks," he croaks.
And then there were five. Six? Five point Pothy? Verna enters the room from the courtyard beyond, a morsel of wind slipping within in the process. Once within the walls, her hood is doffed.
Randolf looks at Morgan, shaking his head again. Whip-whap goes his beard. "Ye don't understand, the dreams," he says. "Oh, is there no hope? None at all?" But there's Telamon to the rescue. "Dreamless? Dreamless?" He beelines for the man, his pipe tumbling from his hands as he siezes Telamon's lapels and hauls him close. "WHAT ARE YE OFFERIN'?" he says with eyes wide as teacups. "Anything ye want! Me firstborn child? Me secret stash o' hundred-year-old whiskey? Me beard?! TAKE THEM! THEY'RE YERS! JUST LET ME GET SOME SLEEEEEEP..." The last word trails off into gut-wrenching, heart-rending sobs as he buries his face in Telmaon's chest.
Telamon looks slightly bug-eyed as Randolf grabs him by the front of his tunic. "Ack!" He waves his arms a little, before regaining his balance, and then he's confronted with the spectacle of his friend sobbing into his chest. "'Lana," he says to Raven, "there's a padded pouch in my haversack. It's the one stamped with 'deep slumber' in Sildanyari." He lets Randolf wear himself out, before carefully pushing the dwarf back a bit. "This is becoming a depressingly common occurence for me," he muses, before addressing Randolf, "There's instructions on how to use it in the pouch. Pull yourself together."
The appearance of Pothy is almost enough to distract from the dwarf... almost. Auranar blinks at the raven though, and then brightens. She does actually have snacks. She just has to get to them. She starts to set her books down only to realize that she's about to set them down on Pothy. So she stops and turns to set them on a chair behind her... And there's Verna!
Verna's actually a bit too-close and the books take a step back and Auranar stumbles on the awkardness of trying not to land on Pothy. Down go the books. Spilling across the floor. She sighs with only two saved in her hands shuffles them over to one hand and pats herself down. "I ah... Have some..." A slightly mashed bag of pastry comes out of her pocket and she stares at it. "Can ravens eat pastries?"
Morgan looks to the group "Well for this shift I am the head librarian do you all need help getting any books that are not restective books. I know where they all are."
"Yes," Pothy says, mimicking Raven's voice. Then he mimics both Auranar and Ravenstongue, blending their words together: "Pothy can eat pastries. As a treat." His tail wags up and down in anticipation of the pastry delivery vehicle that is Auranar's hand holding the most beloved and golden of all things in this world: snacks.
Fortunately for Pothy, Ravenstongue is quite distracted and cannot rebuke him for his eating habits. "Right!" she says to Telamon, and she scampers back over to Telamon's haversack. She roots around in it for a moment and then finds the vial pouch, returning to Telamon with it. "Here you are," she says.
Then she looks over to Morgan and nods. "We were actually originally here to research star entities! I think I've found some books, but it'd be great if you knew of any others."
Randolf lets himself get pushed back. He really is a miserable sight. His face awash in exhaustion, his beard in desperate need of grooming, his clothes all rumpled. There's a loud crack as he steps away from Telamon, making him whirl around in a panic. "Me bones! Now they're after me bones!" He looks up, down, and all around, and finally sees the source of the crack--he'd trodden on the bowl of his pipe, cracking it cleanly. "Oh, you gods-damned miserable misbegotten PIECE O' WEEK-OLD OGRE SHIT!" he roars, going from the verge of sorrow to red-faced fury. He stoops and snatches up his pipe, tearing his wand off his belt. "I'll fix you!" he hisses, eyes wide as he poises his wand over the broken bowl. He snorts a couple deep breaths through his nose, then makes a little twiddle, casting a Mending. Thank the gods that cantrips are easily remembered--in his state, it's not at all out of the realms of possibility that he might have casted a fireball instead. With a shower of silvery-blue sparkles, his pipe is remade, good as new, and he stuffs it back into his pocket. "So ye mentioned a potion o' dreamless sleep?" he says to Telamon.
Telamon hurriedly takes the pouch from Raven, giving her a thankful smile. With Randolf in this state, he's a bit concerned about his capacity to cast spells, so he watches nervously as Randolf mends the pipe. "Yes." He hands the padded vial pouch to Randolf. "Follow the damned instructions -- this stuff is potent, and the last thing I want to hear is that you've poisoned yourself."
He grips Randolf's shoulder. "This is all real, Randolf. Focus. Use that dwarven endurance you like to brag about. You can make it through this." His shoulders slump a bit, and he looks rueful. "Hopefully, so can the rest of us."
Morgan hmms and looks to Telamon "well I know Telamon is of a high standing to go to the private book area. Look for Path of the stars, and celestial homes that might help you." She looks to the Dwarf. "and becarefull in here, last guy that made a mess was turned in to a Donkey and I let him lose in the woods."
Verna startles at... well, numerous happenings. The sudden cascade of books in her vicinity; the yelling khazad; the hungry ra-on second thought, that portion is not unusual. "Are you alright?" The inquiry is first directed to the now-more-apparent Auranar, though extends to the more-dour-than-typical Randolf. As for the books, she promptly crouches to begin retrieving some of them.
Auranar blinks at Pothy's answer, but she has no reason to refute him. She sets the little bag of pastries on a clean portion of table and opens it enough that he won't have to fight the bag to get to his treats. Then she starts dutifully cleaning up the books, eyeing Randolf the whole time. "Do you think he'll be alright?" She asks Verna in undertone of the dwarf.
Pothy is more than happy to eat pastries. It matters not to him if they are of the most immaculate quality--in fact, he seems to enjoy that they're slightly mushed in the bag. Has no one ever written on the divine culinary wonders of mashed pastry, the raven wonders to himself--a mystery that no one ever has!
But yet Pothy, for all of his talents (and talons), cannot write.
...Unless...
"Pencil," he demands from Auranar and Verna. It's urgent, judging by the look in his eyes. There are important revelations that must be recorded!
Ravenstongue is still completely unaware of the absolutely silly things that her familiar is getting into. She just pats Telamon on the shoulder and says, "You've been especially brave and strong recently, Tel." She smiles at him. "For that, I'll be forever grateful." Then she looks thoughtful, ruminating on the book recommendations Morgan's given. "Path of the Stars. That sounds helpful. You hear that, love?"
Verna gives Auranar a long glance, and a noncomittal lift of her shoulder. She could hand the tomes she retrieved to the syl, yet appears to serve as improvised storage for the moment. "I presume that rest shall relieve his .. current state. Should he achieve such."
She may be intent to say more when Pothy demands the unfathomable: not treats. Worse, a writing implement. Verna eyes him. "Given the collection of materials in the vicinity, parchment, first." She was not aware that he could write, nor can she fathom what he might write. Verna is, however, quite confident of what he shall not write upon.
Randolf takes up the vial Telamon hands it, holding it in both hands as though he'd just been given the holiest of holies. "Oh bless you, laddie. Bless you!" he says, sounding like he's about ready to bust down crying again. He squints blearily at the vial. "Three drops... water or tea... aqueous suspension tae increase absorption through the gut linin' an' begin catalyzation upon entry intae the bloodstream..." He starts pacing back and forth again as he reads over the instructions again. "Wait. Water. I need water tae make this work. Och, where the hell am I meant tae get water? At this time o' night?!" He curls his fingers into his hair again as he starts to look desperate. "Could use whiskey. Form a tincture. Alcohol dialates perforeous tissues an' stimulates follicle growth an' health in khazad species..." He stops in his roaming and bellows at the top of his lungs. "I NEED A GLASS O' WATER!!" Turning, he takes off for the kitchens as fast as his tubby stride can carry him.
Auranar blinks again at Pothy before handing over the last of the books to Verna. Then she begins to pat herself down again. "Ah!" She pulls out one of the books from the stack carefully and reveals that it is a notebook with a pencil included! She then places both before Pothy and... stands back. She of course has no doubt that a familiar would be wise and intelligent enough to write if they were so inclined. And this one seems so. Though in truth her experiance with familiars is... somewhat limited. "You don't think he'd have written in a BOOK do you?" She asks of Verna, just now realizing the implications of the other woman's words.
Telamon opens his mouth, then just watches Randolf charge off bellowing. After a long moment, he says weakly, "Uh... you're welcome." He glances over at Raven, and nods, gifting Morgan a smile as she heads off. "Path of the Stars." He exhales slowly. "Let's go look at that one next..." He pauses, looking past Raven at where Pothy is gorging himself. Heaving a deep sigh, he says, "He's hitting people up for food again... and... a pencil?" he adds, now looking utterly flummoxed at the tableau playing out between Pothy, Auranar, and Verna.
Fortunately for Verna (and Auranar?), the Mourner is well-trained in the tome-hefting arts. She adjusts the stack(s) slightly so that she can continue to observe. She shakes her head. "No, I am most certain that he would not." Most certain. After a pause, she inquires, "Is there a particular theme to this collection?" A glance from Aura to the books, then to the others, in case it was a group effort, and finally back to Pothy in preparation for possible penman(bird)ship.
Pothy abandons his snacking.
That sentence alone is nigh-blasphemous. Even as Ravenstongue turns her head to witness this scene, her mouth opens.
"Pothy--" she says, but she is interrupted when Pothy takes the pencil in his beak. He lifts it...
And then he begins to scribble frantically, dragging the pencil across the page. Long strokes pile on top of each other, then little ones, and then--
It's just a pile of lines. Pothy drops the pencil onto the page and he just throws his head back into the air. "FUCK!" he screams, emulating Randolf's cries of pain.
Pothy has just realized that he doesn't actually know how to write.
Auranar is... not prepaired for the tension of the moment waiting for the bird to write his message. Nor... is she prepaired for his failure. Espeically not the dwarven explitive that leaves his tiny beak as loudly as it had left the dwarf not moments before. She blinks and carefully steps forward. "Um... I could scribe for you?" She offers hesitantly. There's still bits of pastry left. Surely not for long, but for the moment they are a bitter testament to Pothy's efforts.
Verna startles again, this time from the latest exclaimed expletive. Not enough to dislodge nor topple any of the books held, of course. "Intriging," she notes of this development. "Perhaps Randolf's remedy is applicable here, as well? I expect that a khazadi serving of whiskey would be rather effective."
Telamon boggles as Pothy unloads with that bit of frustration. "Well, there's something you don't hear every day." He decides to quickly slip off and grab Path of the Stars, before something else happens that diverts him. Nodding hurriedly to Verna and Auranar as he passes by them, heading into the stacks and returning with another heavy volume.
From somewhere within the Arcanist's Guild, a triumphant bellow can be heard. "YES! YES! AND NOW... I SLEEP! GLORIOUS FREEDOM!"
Pothy hangs his head. He has failed in his quest to provide knowledge. Now none will know the exquisite culinary qualities of slightly mushed pastry. The world will forever be unaware.
But then Auranar steps forward. His eyes light up again. A true believer in the cause of knowledge? His tail feathers start wagging up and down like a happy dog--
And then Ravenstongue snatches him up onto her shoulder. She reaches into the bag and offers him the remains of pastry with a sigh on her behalf. "Pothy, you are such a ham," she says. "You can actually talk to me through our connection, you realize that, right? I could write anything down that I want you to write down."
Pothy looks up at Ravenstongue and nods. So she picks up the pencil and he whistles to her. This translates to speech, and she writes... only one sentence.
"I like mushed pastries, because they taste really yummy in my little bird tummy."
Ravenstongue just looks at him with a deadpan expression. "I don't believe for a moment that you have a little bird tummy," she says. "Also, all of this for one sentence? Really?"
She looks at Verna and says, "I think I might need that wine now."
Auranar is utterly prepaired to assist Pothy - having assumed that Ravenstongue was otherwise preoccupied - but the woman picks up her familiar and assists him and Auranar finds herself smiling and nodding approvingly at the adorable scene of woman and raven. When the words so important to Pothy are revealed she doesn't even pause, nodding sagely at this advice. Only to stop and stare at the bird. Well. He's a bird.
Auranar turns to Verna and takes a portion of the books. "I picked up everything that I could find on sleep, nightmares... well... All that's left is poetry, but I'm hoping there will be some prophesies mixed in there. Goodness knows that wizards can't tell prophecies from fruit."
The woman sighs and looks around the room once more. "I can't leave with them, so I'll have to do my research here. You want to help Verna? Or were you just passing through?" She eyes her pencil - still in Raven's hand but doesn't ask for it back yet.
Verna just stares at Pothy for a long moment and exhales a breath. "Perhaps a bottle can be delivered, with several glasses." The flat minor annoyance becomes pursed lips at Auranar's explanation. The syl receives a look of concern. "It is widespread, then?" A redundant inquiry, perhaps.
Still, she counters that shift with a flicker of smile before her expression evens. "I would say you need but ask, dearest, but even that may be unnecessary. Of course I will aid you."
Telamon wearily hauls the tome back to the table he's been working at, sitting back down. "Alright," he grumbles, pulling it open and starting to make notes on the parchment he left there. "Entities found in the stars..." He glances up at Raven, and smiles at her as she manages her familiar. "Everything under control, darling? This one looks promising but it's going to be a bit before I can draw out anything useful."
Ravenstongue smiles at Telamon and kisses him on the cheek as Pothy feasts on the remains of pastries that she holds up to him. "Yes, I think he's fine now. He got what he wanted to say--err, write--out of his system."
She looks over to Auranar and Verna and smiles. "Sorry for disturbing you," she says, and she returns the pencil back to Auranar. "I was so occupied with making sure Randolf was okay that I hardly noticed Pothy getting into mischief. Everyone's been having bad dreams and..."
She shakes her head. "We'll all get to the bottom of it. I'm sure of that."
Pothy looks up from the bottom of Raven's palm, now empty of pastries. "Snacks," he complains. He's already gotten to the bottom of it. He needs more food.
Auranar accepts the pencil back with a nod that is very serious to Ravenstongue. She sits in one of the chairs and sets the pile of books down beside her with a smile for Verna. She's wordless as she slips the first book off the top and belatedly picks up her notebook. The page with Pothy's scribbles is dutifully turned over and she starts to take notes from the book in her hand.
They'll get to the bottom of it. She's sure of that too.
Verna nods to Ravenstongue as she sets the other books down at the table. She then takes a seat at the same, adjacent to Auranar. "I expect that we shall, given the great minds at work upon the issue." Her head tilts briefly in a side-nod at Auranar.