Faroth-fae
Mikilos has set up the ballroom for the attendants. Which, being a ballroom, mostly means a quick dusting and turning on the lights. A large heavy table has been set near the center of the room, and smaller tables and chairs set along the wall with simple refreshments. And a keg of beer.
There is a lovely sildanyar standing in the corner of the room unobrusively. Long blue hair flows down from the head shading downwards into pale white near the feet. Shizin glances around the room with nervous lavender eyes, taking in the other people without actually approching anyone. At least until Mikilos is spotted. Then Shizin pushes away from the corner and makes delicate way toward the other elf. Once Shizin is within range to offer proper greetings the bard bows to Mikilos. "Greetings, I am Shizin."
Garak drifts inside, and looks around. He spots the refreshments table and nods slightly. He moves over that way and sets something down.
Networking is the key to breaking into any new profession! Jane is apparently an 'adventurer' now, so it pays to make professional contacts, right? She hems and haws about whether to bring her bow inside- does that seem 'cool and prepared', or 'gauche and aggressive'?- before ditching it and making her way in!
Poor farmgirl's never seen anything like this before, but she does her best not to look too impressed. Keep your eyes off the ensorcelled ceiling and on the people around you, darn it! Ambling over to the refreshment area, she leans against the table casual-like and glances over at Garak. "What are they, uh... what do you recommend?"
Even though there's only one kind of beer. Genius.
Zaxx waltzes into the space in reinforced boots and looks about. A crack of knuckles, then another far more silent one. His ears are drooping a little, but the baldie seems confident. The mul squints at the bar, takes the rumpled leather hat off, folds it and tucks the garment into his inner belt. Zaxx rolls his shoulders and clangs his way around to espy the artwork and reverent imagery. The unmistakable giant shape of the lyr wizard he spots with ease and thusly waves that way.
Mikilos smiles to Shizin, returning the bow. "Archmage Mikilostravia Abrioudelanarchie Mithralla, though just 'Mikilos' is fine. Thank you for coming." Glancing around a moment, the wizard gestures, a flare of blue light flashing from his fingers for a moment. "If everyone participating could please come to the center table. Those not participating, you're more than welcome to observe, but please leave some room around the table." The elf himself heads towards a side room, only to start slightly as a thought occurs. "Oh, and please try the beer. It's a new blend of hops I'm trying out, let me know what you think." Yes, he brews his own beer.
Garak smiles politely at Jane. He holds in his fingertips the stem of the bottle he set down and turns it so she can see the label - in flowing Sildanyari script. A moment later he translates, "Celebrerria Winery...apparently a very good year, although long before either if us were born, no doubt." He glances around for glasses and then continues, "I am Garak, a priest of the Serriel."
Shizin steps back with the greetings given, nodding once again to the mage as the other's name is given. Then there's a flash of magic and Shizin smiles a touch wistfully before falling back a little more. The sildanyar hovers behind Mikilos for a moment, only stepping forward at the other's insistence. Despite the bard's quiet demeanor it's clear that this particular elf does not mind the attention of being in the center of the room grants. Though those lavender eyes do flicker once around the room.
Jane eyes the bottle with obvious envy and appreciation, but her attention is pried away by Mikilos calling out towards her. "Oh! New blend, I..." (Really really don't drink beer?) "Will definitely give it a try!" So she pours some into her flask, while Garak's looking for glasses, and takes a sip. ... And promptly coughs profusely, like she inhaled it directly into her lungs on accident. "O-oh, it's. Aaah." Her eyes are watering. "V-very good!"
She wipes her face on her sleeve and makes her way over to the periphery of the central table, trying to give respectful room: not knowing what counts as a 'participant', she assumes she doesn't qualify. "Aaah, it's... nice to meet you, Mister Garak. I'm Jane, a fffffarmer." Almost catches herself in time- that isn't quite true anymore. Farmers don't wear leather armor anyhow.
Zaxx stomps away from the third alcove. He is a decent enough guest to get a small shot mug to sample. It is to honor the craftsmanship, too. The doubt is clearly mirrored in his eyes when the armor samples very carefully, doing so in the manner of a professional cupbearer. The mul presses for a smile which highlights the man's dour expression. "I am Zaxx, crafter, inventor and guide when I do not work for the guild of explorers." His voice is deep and booming.
Mikilos ducks into a side room for a few moments before returning and heading towards the center table, where he sets a large, wide silver bowl, the outside scribed with arcane runes. "Alright, I know different families have different versions of the Faroth-fea. I use this bowl for scrying, so it's attuned to divination magics. I intend to fill the bowl with water, and place a rod of aspen wood upon the surface, then smear a focus of the black phlegm upon the wood. Those participating, please touch the rim of the bowl, not the water nor the outside runes, and focus upon the problem in general. If there's not enough room, politely link yourself to someone who can reach. If anyone has additional suggests, I am very open to options."
Garak gives Jane a nod and an encouraging smile before turning his attention on Mikilos. He steps a few feet to the side so that he can keep a good view of the bowl. Then he stands with feet slightly apart and hands folded one over the other in front of him. He gives every indication of one settling in to watch a potentially long ritual.
Shizin hesitates, hovering in this spot by the table uncertainty before finally reaching out to touch the bowl upon its rim. The bard offers no word of advice to Mikilos, but the sildanyar's lavender eyes have a certain weight in them that suggests that something is known here. Whatever it is, it seems that it is not of enough importance to share.
GAME: Jane Fess rolls Knowledge/Arcana: (15)+3: 18
Zaxx switches to syldanyari, his words changing in tone to that of one born to af- and influence of his kind, but they lack the centuries of malignancy associated, "I am glad to oblige, Master Mithralla. A bowl of water is far better than anything I know." He smirks and marches forward to touch the bowl with a solemn look. "My suggestion would be to set a little float with a sample of the target at the center of the bowl, sir. You can then aim any further do..spells when contact is established." Ahem.
Jane almost tries to reach out to put a hand on Shinzin's shoulder, via the same social compulsion that leads people to say 'you too!' when the waiter wishes them a good meal. She feels the exact same embarrassment too as some half-remembered snippet of a book springs to mind, and she jerks her hand back and tries to pretend like she definitely already knew she couldn't participate.
"Ah... ha. Good luck?"
Mikilos nods, and pours clear water from a pitcher into the bowl, filling it to, but not over, the brim with practiced ease. He then carefully places a light wooden rod upon the surface of the water, where it can float and turn freely to point in any direction. One end on the rod has been sharpened to a clear point. Finally, the magus takes a small vial of Icky Black Stuff, and carefully blushes a small dab upon the wooden rod near the point, careful not to get any upon himself nor in the water, before carefully placing the vial away again and setting his own fingertips lightly upon the bowl's rim. He murmurs quietly in a language old even by elven standards, a soft hypnotic drone intended to aid in focus. "A sickness spreading through the city. A plague that defies healing. A source unknown. A source we will find. A source we will know. A source shown to us. A source becoming clearer." <mynsandraal>
Shizin's eyes widen at the utterance of such an old language, one which is unknown to the bard, but in the fashion that source languages can be familiar but terribly far away. Again the blue haired sildanyar chooses to say nothing, allowing Mikilos' words to guide the spell though Shizin knows them not. Like the others the focus is on the plague; the sickness that has been turning the city inside out. On the blackness besmirching the wooden rod.
Jane's eyes widen slightly as it finally clicks with her just what the black stuff on the rod is. She's heard about the plague, for sure- but she assumed that was tar, or coal-gum, or some other ritual component. This is safe, isn't it? If it weren't safe, would they be doing it?
Zaxx clenches his strong fingers to the edge of the bowl while he goes on murmuring (for his loud voice) in his bass, a rhythmic counterpoint to the towering lyr's recitation. He has the bulky boots set firmly to anchor himself when the mul adds his natural magical energies to the pool. He only nods very slightly at Jane, otherwise very much trained on the ritual.
The water in the bowl suddenly turns black, and a chill takes to the air. The liquid's surface shimmers faintly, with sparks of light reflecting. Mikilos frowns, but maintains his quiet droning, eyes watching the wooden rod as it continues to float on the surface....
Shizin's eyes widen at the change in the water, fingers tightening on the bowl reflexively. So far the pointer hasn't moved, but the change in the water... That's worth noting. If anything it makes the sildanyar focus all the more intently on what they're seeking information on.
GAME: Mikilos rolls perception: (3)+18: 21
Another arrival. A dragonkin steps into the room. He stumbles, and grasps hold of the doorway. Perhaps stays there a little too long before he can regather himself. Stand. Straighten. And lean oh-so-carefully against the wall. His horns shine, looking faintly lacquered or waxed, and his scales possess a smokiness to them. The mithral gorget around his throat matches the fine, silk threads of his clothing--clothing that scarcely wrinkles or bends as he positions his shoulders more--firmly--against the wall.
Then, lets his eyes slowly drift shut.
GAME: Atleti rolls perception: (7)+10: 17 GAME: Garak rolls perception: (13)+18: 31 GAME: Jane Fess rolls perception: (2)+4: 6 GAME: Zaxx rolls perception: (12)+12: 24 GAME: Shizin rolls perception: (9)+8: 17
Garak's monocle gleams. The glass lens seems to rotate ever so slightly. The cleric unclasps his hands and leans closer. "That black substance, on the stick. It's moving." He turns his gaze to Mikilos. "Your ritual would appear to be doing...something."
Zaxx's eyes take on a darker sheen, a dark fire burning when the divination ritual's mysterious ways manifest. He can see into the magical darkness, if any, as long as it happens inside the bowl because the reddening amber peepers only look there. Zaxx is busy to drown out any weird voices from his mind at the time, too. The dark man bites his upper lip, sucking it in which adds a mumble to his low murmur.
The water's surface suddenly stills, and images flash across the inky depths. Cold drops of rain plummeting from the sky. A brick tunnel, lit by dim manalights, a channel of water flowing down the center. (Local sewers, a sadly familiar sight to most local adventurers.) A massive cistern, surrounded by solid stoneworks and machinery, syphoning water up to aqueducts and pipes, a source for the city's water.
Mikilos falls quiet with a slow breath, still focused, but trying to take everything in. "Yes. Not expected, but... something."
The dragonkin looks over, his gaze focused on Garak--then flicking over towards Mikilos and the black substance. Something...oozes from his own muzzle. Something--a long, black line--like he'd taken a draught of molasses, and never fully digested it. He starts to open his muzzle, and closes it, instead. Click.
Shizin's eyes narrow on the images which... make no sense to the dawn elf. "We must need more focus." The first words out of Shizin's lips are soft and yet easily heard. The blue haired elf does as well as is suggested by those words, focusing even more intently on the black substance.
Jane, momentarily distracted by a nagging dry cough, glances up and looks around the room. Her eyes lock on the dragonkin- and on the black stuff dripping from his muzzle. She instinctively scoots a foot or two further from him, and says in a hushed but urgent voice: "Hey, uh, guy... are you okay? Is that, like, a normal thing you're doing?"
GAME: Mikilos rolls spellcraft: (20)+28: 48 GAME: Shizin rolls spellcraft: (6)+9: 15
Blue eyes flick that way, towards Jane. A hard stare before he jerks his look away. Oh-so-casually reaches up, and wipes away at the molasses. "This one is fine," Atleti says, his voice tight. Tight and controlled. He looks back towards the ritual.
As if to belie the...lie...he stands up straighter, and rolls his shoulders. More 'casually' leaning against the wall.
Zaxx recognizes the bricks and other stones, the mortar work, the shapes, the molds and fungal matters, the unmentionables, the otyugh tracks(?), and cants his head but does not speak. Something is up, but the dark man does not wish to break the ritual. Yet.
Jane stares at Atleti a few seconds longer than could possibly be polite, before finally reaching into her belt and pulling out a well-worn handkerchief. With a bit of effort, she tears it in half and offers the sith-makar the other half (with her very-much-gloved hand, mind). "The spring does that to me too," she says weakly.
Garak shifts his gaze towards Atletl. He gestures at Jane and moves towards Atletl. The priest takes one of his arms, by the elbow and hand, just enough to offer gentle support. "Perhaps you should sit down," he murmurs in a lowered voice.
Mikilos's eyes flick towards the sith, but, yeah, sith do weird things. Ask about Svarshan's average BBQ some time. The elf maintains his focus on the bowl and the wooden rod.
A rod which suddenly spins, turning one way, then other other, before straightening to point due north. The images upon the surface shift once again, brightening to a blinding white for a moment, before resolving to a swirl of snow and ice. In the center of the image, a pure white tower stands.
"Thank y--" the sith-makar begins to say to Jane. He lowers his muzzle as he speaks--though that same muzzle snaps right back up at the shaman's approach. The eyes shine, though dully. "One will sstand," he says, placing a heavy emphasis on that last word. He starts to jerk his arm away, and then coughs instead.
A cough he barely lets out. It echoes in his chest, instead. But he's /standing/. How long, tho? ...how long can stubbornness hold out? This close, the gemstone sheen of his scales is otherwise dulled. There are scratches in the laqueur, where things are not quite...perfect.
Shizin shifts back and forth, staring intently at the image and blinking when it changes suddenly. It resolves into a tower that is not recognized by the dawn elf. "A tower..." The words are a thoughtful murmur.
GAME: Mikilos rolls perception: (9)+18: 27 GAME: Garak rolls perception: (11)+18: 29 GAME: Jane Fess rolls perception: (5)+4: 9
Zaxx cocks his head to the other side, earlobers up while the cursed sil stares at the bowl. He looks confused with the puzzle's parts before him and the solution obscured. A grunt and a crinkle of the nose, but then, "I could list the things I identify, but it would take another to place the imagery..." He scowls. The fighting man's reply to the bard is, "What tower, please? Can you define any banners?"
GAME: Zaxx rolls perception: (17)+12: 29
Atleti'd held the first cough in. Pride, willpower. Whatever provided enough--just enough to hold it in. The second? Third?
The force of the second cough, then third in rapid succession, the dragonkin stumbles forward. As he does, he drops his arms around his chest. Soon enough, his stomach heaves, the muscles sucking inwards with the effort and he lurches forward, the muzzle opens, falls...
...the molasses makes its way to the floor. It thickens, becoming more weighty as _something_ forces its way upwards from his throat, from his lungs. Slowly, slowly...that ropish goo is dropping, dropping, and falling to the floor. He takes another step, another. Still another, a quicker one-two combo that takes him closer to Mikilos.
By now? The molasses is a small pool on the floor. His foot smears it. Another one's coming. Falling like a long, slender rope from his muzzle. Huaaaaagh! Huhg--! "Sshut. It off--!"
"SHUT IT O--" Huuuaaaagh!
Mikilos shakes his head. "Far north, Dran maybe, but I don't recognize it." He frowns. "...it think the material link is drawing energy..." He considers a moment, and clarifies. "The black stuff is... growing?"
The sudden clattering forward of Atleti is enough to startle Shizin whom begins to obediently drop fingers away from the bowl…
Mikilos blinks at the Sith, and steps back from the bowl. "Back! Everyone back!" The magus barks a quick word of power, a wave of arcane 'static' pouring over the bowl, disrupting the magic there.
GAME: Mikilos casts Dispel Magic. Caster Level: 11 DC: 21 GAME: Mikilos rolls 1d20+11+8: (6)+11+8: 25
Zaxx lets go with due speed after a quick nod to the accomplished mage. He frowns and produces a flask with a hammer and anvil embossed on it to look around. The moment he notices the pool on the floor, the mul stage whispers a prayer to Reos and empties the vial on the puddle.
Jane leaps away from Atleti as he barfs up black ooze, landing on her butt and pushing herself a few feet further back with her legs. "Aaah, you're- damn it!" She rummages around in her belt for a flask of alchemist's fire, grasping it in her hand- but hesitates when she sees what Zaxx is up to. Maybe he's got a better plan than 'burn the stuff'?
The blackness that spilled out of Atleti begins to shift, it collects itself into a puddle on the ground. Unswayed by Zaxx's holy water. Then it forms into a ball. So rapidly does this happen that no one has a chance to react before it suddenly lashes out at Mikilos!
Oh, no. NO. When a person's in pain? The focus, most of the time? Is on STOPPING that pain. Atleti stares at the bowl in a kind of fever--his eyes glinting, almost, with how bright they are.
He reaches for the bowl, just as Mikilos disrupts it, or attempts to.
...the mage? The mage is _fast_. He's left, standing there with his hand outstretched. More black goo oozes down from his muzzle.
Drops to the floor. Blup. Blup. ...the sith's muzzle aimed at the floor. ...he stares blearily at the ball. At the ball as it rolls towards the mage.
"Do you need me to do ssomething about that, sshaman?" he asks, his voice barely a voice at all, as he stares at the rolling, attack-ball. Not tracking. Not at ALL.
"Mikilos? What the hell is the meaning of th--..."
Sandy has stopped dead. "Oh, you son of a bitch," she tells him. Then there's a broader look around from her at what's going on here.
Mikilos flinches, but wasn't quite ready for -that-. As the... goo... hits him, the mage tries to grab at it with his hands, rapidly muttering spidery arcane phrases.
GAME: Mikilos casts Break Enchantment. Caster Level: 11 DC: 23
Jane's eyes flit between the sith-makar, Mikilos, and the ball of black goop. He's got this handled, doesn't he? He did say 'archmage', or something to that effect! So if priority one is secure, then priority two is...
Her eyes drift to the black-stuff still on the floor. Infection. Needs to be sterilized. What sterilizes? Alcohol and fire. With a heave of her shoulders, she lifts up the beer keg and opens it over the dark smear, then tosses her flask of Alchemist's Fire onto it! It ought to be a controlled enough fire not to threaten anything else- especially with the floor being polished stone- but hopefully it'll burn hot enough to render that stuff harmless.
"I'm sorry about your beer! Really, I am!"
Garak stirs himself from his shock and steps forward. He comes up alongside Atletl and glances at him quickly, then looks at the ball of darkness that - as unfathomable as it seems - formed out of what came out of the Sith. "What is the meaning of this?" he looks sternly at Atletl. "What have you brought to this place?"
With the elf grasped, grasping the ooze it slides over him, the liquid seems to have distilled it somewhat, but there's still enough to clamor over Mikilos...
A flinch, yet a lifting of muzzle. "One thought there would be a--a cure." Atleti heaves again, and near stumbles. Almost, almost the sith-makar ends up on his knees. Almost--as though a great hand were forcing him downwards.
"There was no trouble--" he forces out, "--until that! TOWER appeared!" Well. He'd been a lot better earlier. He had been. He'd been able to stand upright, instead of going to his knees--
--like now.
Zaxx watches the non-result of his actions and sees the flying mess. He tucks the empty bottle away. Elune moves on, if only a little. He looks for a metal bowl and booms, "Somebody put the evil ball in a... Taara's rancid gowns! Maybe one of you can teleport the mage without moving the evil dirt?"
GAME: Jane Fess used a Alchemist's Fire.
Mikilos flails a little. His spell didn't do what it was supposed to! Magic has failed him! ...he's really not sure how to deal with that.
GAME: Mikilos rolls fort: (6)+9: 15
Garak tears his attention away from Atletl and then moves towards Mikilos. "Serriel doesn't grant me the power to teleport, but there are other ways to escape an enemy's grasp." He reaches for his holy symbol.
GAME: Garak casts Freedom of Movement. Caster Level: 11 DC: 18 GAME: Atleti rolls fort: (19)+13: 32
"...the fuck is going on here?!" Sandy yells. She had no idea what she was talking into, hands going to her hips. Seems SOMEONE lured her here under false pretenses. That'd be Mikilos' fault.
Mikilos is innocent. And covered in Icky Black Stuff. Theses are not related.
H-heeeeave! The ooze coming out of Atleti's muzzle is so thick now as to be its own creature. A child of Cuddles, maybe. A living, amorpeous slug that slips from his maw and onto the floor.
Heeeeeeave! More of it vomits forth. More of it crashes onto the floor, until there's enough of it--that it's a full third the size of the sith-makar.
--a sith-makar who's now falling backwards, onto his ass. His chest is heaving--though it's deep, deep breaths, now. DEEP breaths--
There's fire and alcohol everywhere. There is a pile of goo which is quickly collecting itself. Forming into a singular body. It crawls toward Mikilos with deadly intent, and thus also Garak who being close by is also grasped for.
Jane swoops in behind Atleti and tries to grab him under the arms. "Here, get over here- I'll help you..." Nervous promises she has no idea if she can keep. If he'll allow her to, she'll place him in a recovery position on his side, near enough the roaring fire that he'll be able to throw up directly into it if anything further comes out!
DEEP BREA--Atleti coughs, as he's lifted. The sith-makar doesn't argue /now/. The look in his eyes says he wants to--desperately wants to. That he'd rather stride and strut, rather poise his head just-so.
Eeeuuuhh!" he coughs. Then, takes a breath. A DEEP breath. "I can breathe," he says, not--not yet comprehending the words. Not yet comprehending them.
Except--the body does. The body reacts faster, and he's struggling to stand from Jane's hold.
Zaxx keeps an eye out for cover in case of a broadside of heavy duty magics. Sandy shoots from the hip, after all. This can only be a peripheral musing, of course. There is a thought to draw arms, but that might not be smart. The evil goop possibly multiplies. Baldie clearly is about to pose a question then, darts closer to Mikilos to stab the doom puddle to maybe slow it down.
"H-hey, hey, you really ought to..." Jane's words trail off into indistinctness as she lets go of Atleti, taking a step back. She probably ought to keep him lying on his side, for his own respiratory health- but she's not terribly interested in wrestling with a dragonkin right now, and something about the dissonance between his words and actions instinctually unnerves her.
Mikilos is trying not to panic. Little hard when The Icky Black Stuff is comming for you personally. "It's moving. It's crawling. It.... it's alive? It alive. Fine. Live as a frog." Plan of action chosen (perhaps poorly), the wizard rapidly chants the words to another spell. Because all of life's problems can be solved by throwing enough spells at them.
GAME: Mikilos casts Baleful Polymorph. Caster Level: 11 DC: 23 GAME: Atleti rolls spellcraft: (16)+10: 26 to Aftershock
So. There's black goo and more going on. Sandy is eyeing the icky black stuff. Jane's words are certainly noticed. She doesn't know her and she's definitely giving her a once over since she's in the middle of this to boot. Then her eyes go back to the icky black stuff.
"Should I just lightning it?" she asks, dryly.
"Water--S-ssoap--" the sith-makar's arm draws a sword with greater fluidity than his stammering mind. He stands, half-staggered. Half--
Halfway not tracking. "Water--hit it with water, or ssomething blunted!" He brings the sword around, the motion fluid. It's clear to anyone that body and mind aren't tracking--not together. Not in unison. Not completely.
The black stuff is still after Mikilos, seemingly undeterred by the spell thrown at it. If anything it seems to have gotten /larger/. It whacks at the mage intently, trying to bring him down and preferably into its body...
Zaxx deftly draws a dark blade which faintly gleams with a silvery hue of enchantment. There is a streak when the mul operates the trademark stabby device and leaves a dent by poking into the viciousness in a spot on attack.
Mikilos is a few steps closer to panic. Magic has failed him more than once now. "Sandy, just don't hit -me-.... Please."
Jane scatters out of the dragonkin's way, clearly nervous- and, glancing over at Sandy, reaches for a heavy bottle. "I don't... know. It's doing funny things in response to magic. Maybe don't be direct?"
Sssoap--mage. Mage, where do you keep the soap?" the sith-makar turns to stare at Mikilos. Atleti looks at him with the gaze of a man on an island, who'd found the last leg of chicken. Of delicious, delicious chicken.
"We fought it with ssoap, before!" he rasps. One hand holds a blade--but he's not striking with it. The hand around the handle is tight. The tendons stretch, stand out. The hand shakes. "We FOUGHT IT, and NEARLY WON! Where'ss the ssoap! Mage!"
Of all requests Mikilos has from guests, it's probably not for his secret llyranesi scented-soap collection.
Garak steps back instinctively to keep from the thing's reach. There is a time for physical contact, and a time for spells. When Atleti mentions water his expression turns to one of wonder. Could it be - could the simplest of blessings...?
GAME: Garak casts Create Water. Caster Level: 11 DC: 14
Water pours forth, created by a simple blessing, dowsing Mikilos and the part of the ooze attacking him melts away into a puddle of defenseless water. There's still more of the ooze though, and it is towering over the two men; over Mikilos and Garak. Reaching forward to grasp them as best it can. Mikilos sputters. "Soap? I have -magic- for that!" He sputters a few moments more. "South wall, third door from the right, supply closest. No promises, I don't remember what's stored!" To be fair, he has a big icky thing trying to eat him, and Sandy maybe tossing spells. Plus now he's wet. His focus is not great.
Mikilos got gooped once. He's doing a fairly decent job avoiding it happening again, all things considered.
"Uh, right! I can do that." Jane drops the wine bottle she was unsubtly holding like a club and sprints out of the room, following the- wait. This isn't the south hall, is it?
She takes out her compass and consults that real quick.
Now in the REAL south hall, she bursts into the supply closet, grabs everything that looks even vaguely soaplike in both arms, and dashes back into the hall, dropping custodial objects behind her as she runs. "Here! Take something!"
The sith-makar's eyes dilate at the scene. As though trapped in slow motion, Atleti stares at the mage, at the shaman. When Jane takes off, he barely glances her way--then looks forward again. He stands there, frozen, until the other warrior returns--none of this--it's not his proudest moment--but her reappearance seems to kickstart the brain, again.
He grabs some of the bars of soap, and brings them down on the goop's uh, mass.
EAT SWEET LAVENDER SCENT, DEATHPLAGUE!!!
So there's ale, and black goop, and now a whole bunch of random chemicals all over Mikilos' ballroom floor. "...why does this happen for the groups I don't get a security deposit from?"
It takes all of your efforts. The water being summoned. The soap? Who knows if that is actually helping or not. Either way the ooze is growing smaller. And smaller. Worn away... And then suddenly it explodes, throwing bits of black goop in every direction. The room is ruined.
SO MUCH SOAP. Poor Jane. Amazing Jane. Atleti's grabbed most every bar and is 'force feeding' it to the amorphous black goop with no mouth. Eventually, thanks to that (or probably the water), everything explodes.
Looks sort of melted raisins, only less disgusting than raisins. Or like exploded slugs. Only less disgusting than raisins. "That...that went well," says the lavender-scented sith-makar. Who is totally not covered in raisins.
"I..." and he decides then, it's best if he just stops talking.
Jane, in total deadpan silence, offers Atleti the other half of her handkerchief.
Mikilos sighs, and sits down right where he is on the floor. It's not like he isn't already soggy. "...on the plus side, we got a couple leads out of that. I had sort of been planning to follow up with some other divinations, but all things considered, think I'll wait until tomorrow." He considers a few moments. "Sandy? I'm blaming you for this. I know it's not your fault, but I'm blaming you anyway. I know you'd do the same for me."
Talking. Yeah, overrated. Looking INCREDIBLE, though? The sith-makar kind of...numbly...accepts the handkerchief, and begins daubing at the sad, melted raisins.
Still smells like lavender. Daub. Daub daub daub.
-End