Kultari Think Tank
Log Info
- Title: Kultari Think Tank
- Emitter: Jinks
- Characters: Aryia, Paenitia, Pasithea, Seyardu
- Place: H01: Kultari Road
- Time: Thursday, November 11, 2021, 8:51 PM
- Summary: A waystation to the west of Alexandria is bound to get some interesting visitors. Exotic strangers encounter locals from the city to the east. What's the worst that could happen? Well, a mul'niessa, a sith'makar and a couple of luchts join an oruch, a gobber and an orphan, all of whom are acting suspiciously. Except the gobber, who is asleep. The Oruch is hiding something, the half-sil orhpan is sketchy, Pasithea is snoozing, Paenitia creaking around like an automaton. All despite the local luckbringer's attempts at hospitality. Paenitia congratulates the Oruch on escaping his slavery, which upsets him. The orphan uses this distraction to steal some horses, until he's stopped by Aryia. Seyardu and Paenitia determine the oruch has the Purple Pox. Worse still, he's in posession of some weird, Kulthian artifact that appears to hold a brain in a jar - and the brain doesn't realize it, well his, condition. The horses are saved, the Oruch instructed to go to the Soldier's Defense, and the Kulthian artifact with it's prisoner... they'll think about that one.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* H01: Kultari Road *>--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
From east to west, north to south, the Alexandrosian countryside weaves over hill, valley, and farmland. Kultari Road meanders through it at a comfortable pace. The roadside is lined with curbstones, their surfaces comfortably flat and warm, with sand pressed inbetween. At times construction meanders into dirt, and numerous pathways branch off here and there to different farmsteads.
Along this stretch is a waystation. Over its door is a carved marker with dual symbols of Gilead and Tarien, the patrons of travel and the meeting of wilderness-and-civilization, respectively. Not large, the waystation rests a comfortable ways from the main avenue, with a place for a firepit out front.
Towards the south, the sky and landscape darkens. The Felwood lies there, and an occasional screech from inhuman lungs may be heard.
Towards the east, the shining City of Alexandria.
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Paenitia 3'0" 34 Lb Halfling Female A Lucht knight, dark skinned in bold feathery finery. Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a tired look about her. Seyardu 5'6" 150 Lb Sith-Makar Female A friendly silver sith-makar with a perpetual squint. Pasithea 3'2" 38 Lb Halfling Female Tall female lucht, willowy, Hair dark as night -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= As the GM -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
The wind blowing in from the west is a lazy, cold thing that issues the occasional low whistle like some ethereal owl. The sky is a deep, powerful blue away from the lights of Alexandria, as if the whole world were trapped inside a sapphire egg with flecks of diamond sand standing brilliant against it. The clouds are scant but long, black brushstrokes pulling across the sky with tattered edges trailing behind.
The waystation is open, north off the cobblestone road and down a short, packed earth path. A glow rings the doorway and a fire rages in a pit before it as clear signal. Shadows pass occasionally across the slattered window facing the main road.
A goat, two horses, and a pony are tethered outside, watering themselves between braying and bleating and nickering idly.
Inside the humble building is warm and close; small compared to the taverns of the city but a welcome place to rest before making the final stretch down the road to the east-- or pausing to muster nerve to leave the civilized lands entirely behind. The small shrine to Gilead and Tarien sits behind and above a few votive candles, sprinkled with crumbs, berries, and a few coins.
A luckbringer minds the shop in a bright orange robe, hood up and face behind a canvas mask smeared with a painted, slapdash smile. The strum a lyre idly and lean against the wall, eyes squinting behind torn eyeholes in a smiling greeting as folks look their way. They sit next to a few barrels of fresh water and a sack of rolls; simple provisions for those in need.
A few others keep to themselves, scattered in chairs at the two common tables.
The waystation has reverted to its original purpose after being a hospital for the All-Faith's Temple effort the previous year.
"Right. Left. Twenty feet. Affirmative." Aryia is gesturing to herself with brisk motions, going over some things in her head as she takes an extended stroll out of the city.. She pauses and pulls her shades down some, looking up to the sky. Stopping to appreciate the view. <Merctalk>
There is no noise outside to warn of the impending arrival of one small, armoured knight. The solid steps and the doors swinging open announce her. She is in full plate, which gleams with a crimson coating. The helm is an odd affair, being wide-brimmed hat, a visor which is also the stylized face of a grinning man, and the rest of the helm to protect her head which somehow still allows the woman's curly black tresses to fall to her shoulders. The greaves, likewise, allow for braided fetlocks to hang to the back. Despite the soles of her feet being uncharacteristically shod and covered, there is no doubt the knight is a Lucht Siuil.
She also wears a cloak of peacock feathers, a gift from her rather large peacock-andalusian hippogryph that is waiting outside with the ponies, and will not nibble them.
"Hola, all is well?" She asks.
Seyardu had been looking into other establishments after running into Sabina in Wilderness Pointe, and another small building ran by a luckbringer was interesting, and perhaps she could find something of note.
And failing that, it was certainly an excuse to relax. Seyardu was at one of the tables with a plate of meat, cheese and bread, and she took a look around, happening on Aryia and Paenitia, who she offers a sharp toothed smile they were used to, and a wave. "Peace on your nests, I did not expect to run into you here. You are looking in excellent shape and spirits, Dame Paenitia."
Outside the Mask seems one of the brightest sets of stars, standing out especially against the deep blue sky. The grasping tips of the fire reach up, pushed to tilt and twist as the wind knocks them back down towards the humble dirt. Bits of the flames break off and ascend only to die out in a wistful blink. A roil. A flex. And the fire begins reaching again.
The mood inside the waystation is pleasant and restful, with only a hint of nagging mystery. (That sort of thing might be inescapable when your host is hiding behind a mask!) It's shelter and it's warm and the music-as-an-afterthought approach has lulled a road weary gobbery to sleep. The little yellow critter head dangles over the chairback, her mouth as wide as her eyes are shut, bits of bread still stuck between jagged teeth. A ratty cloak (or perhaps a horse blanket) drapes over her lap and hangs to obscure legs and feet below.
There's also a massive oruch hunched over the table and two fistfuls of bread; an overturned sandbag's worth of crumbs litters the ground around his chair. His brown cloak is for a smaller man, his square jaw, longchops, and tusks stick out from under the hood, his scarred forearms and calloused hands are bare red-brown skin but for simple, laced leather bracers. He hunches over and around the pack in his lap and gives the halfling a long, dark look when she steps inside.
Finally, a dirty half-sil sits across the table from the gobber, enraptured by the sleeping traveler. His features are still soft with youth with eyes the deep, dark blue of the sky outside. His skin is too dirty to pin down the particularly flavor of elf he shares kinship with and his clothes are wrapped rags, twisted, holey, and knotted in places to keep in place. Gnarled, medium-length hair is in need of a good, long wash-- it might be a blonde? Or shade of brown? They eat the roll slow, letting the bread get wet and soft before biting down, and carefully licking his cracked lips to make sure not a bit is lost to the floor.
Paenitia, who is completely encased in metal and masks, chuckles at the compliment and runs a gauntlet through her hair, "I find the spa that give excellent treatment. You are well, Friend Dragon, and also you, silent one?"
"I have been run Ramirez up and down the road, to see where we can charge. He is quite energized."
The long, dark look of the Oruch is returned with a cheerful wave and the grin of her Smiling Man visor. Much like her earlier protection, nothing of her shows except her eyes, and these are even more obscured. She laughs, "If you want the company, you only need ask."
She clanks on, past the dirty half-sil to the sith'makar's table. The sleeping gobber and pet get a glance, but no comment. There are little squeaks of her armour as she adjusts herself on a tall seat.
A waystation, like a roadside tavern but super simple. A single room that's out of the cold, with a second story barracks.
Aryia raises her hand in greeting to the two friends, her somewhat surprised at seeing them here. She slips in with the rest of them, her looking around with a raised brow. She gives a thumbs up at the question directed to her from Pae.
"You are aware of what I mean, Dame Paenitia." Seyardu chuckles. "I have never seen you without your armor, and the armor you wear now looks new, and in much better shape than the previous. Though perhaps the joints need some more oil?"
"I am well myself, more than usual. Things have been pleasant of late."
The luckbringer's eyes squint in a smile as they nod at the arrivals, long fingers distractedly teasing at the lyre. They lean back and rest their head against the wall, looking past the beams of the ceiling. A foot is raised to a higher rung of the stool, revealing a bit of light green petticoats below the orange robe.
The half-sil urchin glances surreptitiously between the new arrivals, blinking as he forgets the silently snoring gobber. He takes the last of the roll in one go, working it this way and that until his cheeks puff and he munches with puckered lips. The fingers of his right hand curl and he scratches at his oily, pimply neck. The grime smudges.
Paenitia earns a tight little nod but the oruch doesn't stop scowling. He turns back to his snack and takes a bit from each roll before glancing at the Alexandrian trio and hunching tighter over his pack.
The gobber sleeps.
Aryia shoves her hands deeper into her pockets as she makes her way to Seyardu's table, her casting a few torch-lit glances towards the folks in the small establishment. She slides into a chair and rolls her shoulders, looking to the whitescale. "... hey," she offers simply. This place felt... lazy. <Handspeech>
She props her feet up on a table.
Splendid.
"No, the oil smell, the fish oil worse than the flower oil, but it is distinct. The beeswax is better for the sneaking. I should get some, yes." Paenitia says, resting her arms on the armrests of her chair. "It is good you get the pleasant things happen!"
The little lucht looks around, glancing once more at the oruch. His body language screams that he's hiding something, and doesn't want to be disturbed. The little knight stares, an unnerving gaze, she's almost like a statue or a golem with her singular fixed expression. When unmoving, it's clear what has her attention. She thinks over recent wanted posters, or local rumours she may have heard.
Of course, he could simply be an adult orphan, missing his new adoptive parents and having a scowl as his sad-face.
GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (19)+5: 24 GAME: Paenitia rolls sense motive: (3)+13: 16 GAME: Paenitia rolls knowledge/local: (3)+11: 14
A sack in the corner of the room moves slowly only to stop. A few moments later it moves again and a hand, small, comes out of the side of said sack. A sack that is a cloak rather then sack at all. Another hand emerges from the others side and the being gets to their bare feet with a stretching yawn.
Sleepy eyes turn towards the room and all the new commotion. "I heard.. a familiar voice. I heard.. " The female lucht speaks in a soft voice, wobbling in between her words as she dozes off time and again. Talented enough to remain on her feet.
The oruch's bag is almost entirely obscured by his bulk but there is some rather fancy-looking, spheroid gadget between the bag and flap. Brass hinges and some kind of gem or glass face. He also has branding inside of his right forearm he's trying to hide with the bracer. Some kind of mark of ownership, a slave or ex-slave.
"Wax from bees? Ah, like the covering on honeycombs, right." Seyardu nods. "I have not seen it used for such before. But yes, it is always good for there to be more pleasant occurrences, they feel like a rarity at times. And hello, Aryia, it is good to see you."
The shifting from the corner of the room garners her attention, and Seyardu waves. "Ah, peace on your nest, Pasithea! It is good to see you, and has been some time. Unless you were referring to Dame Paenitia? I know not if the two of you are acquainted."
"Of course! All lucht siuil know each other. You did not hear?" Paenitia laughs, "We have adventure together the many times, and swap stories. Ramirez is such the gentle ride, she is rocked to sleep often."
It may not be the hippogryph's fault.
Paenitia glances at the Oruch once more. It's rather obvious when she does. There's a >squeeeeeeak<. Her head turns. The happy face of Anarchy is presented towards the Oruch. It remains fixed on him. There is a >squeeeeaak< as she turns back.
Not immediately this time. "Congratulation on your freedom!" She says encouragingly.
>squeeeaaaaak< Now the grinning mask faces Seyardu and Aryia.
>squeaaaaaaak< and Pasithea.
Aryia is vaguely familiar with the sleepy Lucht, her raising a hand in greeting once more to her before it stops halfway and cringes. Her eyes shoot to Paenitia, her about to mention something but her face contorts once more. She sighs, putting her hands over her long ears.
Being sensitive to light and sounds was a pain in the ass sometimes.
The gobber with the yellow skin shifts in her chair, head turning enough that a little rope of spittle starts stretching down towards the waystation floor from the corner of her mouth. An arm rolls out of her lap to dangle to her right. Her hand is tattooed red with loops and doots, her nails painted a matching color.
It's under the paladin's continued scrutiny that the oruch shifts. He's quite clearly nervous about something. When Paenitia shouts it startles a coughing fit from the muscleman. A roll drops to the ground and he raises a fist to his tusks. It might've been conjured by surprise and a crumb down the wrong pipe but the coughing finds inspiration and takes a life of its own. A bit of purple phlegm ends up decorating his red-brown knuckles.
The excitement is getting to be too much for the urchin half-sil. The youth slides out of his chair and skulks towards the door while the orc impersonations a wild dog trying to eat bones.
The lyre music stops and the luckbringer sits away from the wall. Their masked face tilts to one side as they watch the oruch; deciding if he needs assistance.
Pasi looks from face to face to face..and so on. A blink between each glance and at least one fully asleep moment during the inspections. She smiles, shuffling towards the group she knows. "Sayardu... Lady Paenitia... Aryia." She stumbles near the coughing one but manages to stay upright. Then pauses as the youthful one passes by her on the way out. Her eyes closed she takes the last few steps to join them. "How fair you all?"
GAME: Seyardu rolls sense motive: (18)+8: 26 GAME: Paenitia rolls heal+4: (16)+13+4: 33 (+4 for 1/2 cav)
The Purple Pox!
"Hola Pasithea, I have been help the farms, so much." Paenitia says eagerly, she has an agricultural streak. Perhaps growing up in a barren wasteland has made her appreciate plants.
It allows her to recognize something else. "Wait! Sirrah!" The Red Knight addresses the Oruch, "I recognize the signs. I see this in Isobar, the Iron Baron declare the workers sick actually having the illegal strike, and jail them all. The suffer. It not the Blue Flu, it is the Purple Pox. You have the early stages!"
Immediately, she gestures towards Seyardu, "And the great luck! We have the Friend Dragon of Althea here, who does much curing. I am also the Paladina of Tarien, and can lay on the hands."
"I am doing quite well, I would say." Seyardu replies to Pasithea, offering them a smile and a wave. Though she pauses to look over at the one vacating the premise, and she squints a bit more. "Though I worry about the half-sil leaving, they may be doing something at the moment, perhaps with Paenitia's distraction, unintentional as it may be?"
The Purple Pox was what the bloated fella had in that Fungal Farmer plot. Where Eustagine was trying to use him as a dowsing rod strapped with a bomb.
Aryia raises a brow at the coughing and Paenitia's declaration. Wordlessly, she reaches into a pocket on her jacket and don's a half-face mask, one that covers her nose and mouth. She nods towards Seyardu, her subtly getting to her feet and keeping an eye on the half-sil leaving. She intends to follow them. Quietly.
The half-sil's eyes go wide with surprise when he and Seyardu manage to catch each other's eyes. He's startling young and, yes, also up to something. He stands up and folds his hands behind his back, trying to whistle but just going 'phbbbt' before dashing out the door.
Simultaneously, the oruch jumps up and away from Paenitia, holding his pack to his chest protectively. "Jail. No. No jail!" He takes a deep breath and his form almost seems to bulk up as his teeth grind nervously. He takes another quick step back and topples the gobber.
She squawks startled complaint-- "REOS GREAT ARSE!"-- and goes tumbling. The winds knocked out of her with a wheeze.
The luckbringer stands, holding up both hands to calm the room. "Be still, now. There's no need for alarm," comes the aged, feminine voice.
From... somewhere? There's a distant, confused, and tiny voice. "What's happening?"
GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (14)+5: 19 GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (16)+23: 39 GAME: Paenitia rolls knowledge/local: (8)+11: 19 GAME: Aryia rolls knowledge/local: (17)+2: 19 GAME: Pasithea rolls perception: (19)+6: 25 GAME: Seyardu rolls perception: (15)+5: 20
Both the oruch and the small voice have a Charnese accent.
There is a weird multi-sided, expensive-looking gadget in the oruch's backpack, about the size of the watermelon."
Pasi is going to speak when the chain reaction occurs, sending peoples this way and that and voices to speak from nothing.
She blinks, slightly more awake and looking about. "The person is in.. the backpack?" She steps back and away from the commotion. Trained from years of being small in a room filled with larger beings who never seem to realize she's there. Her eyes close and she stands there in a safer space. "Need ..calm..."
Aryia blinks at hearing the Oruch speak. As well as... whatever it was they had in their grasp. She snaps a finger at Seyardu to get her attention. "Oruch's a slave, treat him nice," she mentions before briskly leaving the establishment. Wherever the half-sil was going, Aryia was already right behind him. The fleet of foot mul'neissa whistles sharply at him. "Don't you steal one of those I will drop kick your ass off that!" she gestures rudely at him. <Handspeech>
"Please relax sir, there is no intention of doing so." Seyardu speaks, as gently as the makari could. "If what Paenitia says is true, you may need healing. That is what you spoke of, yes?" She asks the Lucht-knight.
Aryia nods when she sees the mul'niessa tearing off. "I had no intention of not doing so. Let me know if you need assistance." She calls over. "I do not have any magic prepared for treating diseases, do you perhaps, Pasithea? Otherwise, you are welcome to come with us to the Soldier's defence, there is healing from the clerics there for those in need."
Ramirez squawks a 'hello' as Aryia bolts out of the Waystation after the half-sil. He is being social, he recognizes a fellow horse. Yes.
"Friend Oruch," Paenitia says, holding her gauntlets where he can see them. "Yes. No jail. I am a knight of the pillar, with vows to help the low in society. We will treat you for the sickness, no questions ask."
There is the small voice from the object he's hiding, "Okay, the few questions."
GAME: Paenitia rolls diplomacy: (10)+9: 19 (Aid Another -> Seyardu) GAME: Seyardu rolls diplomacy: (11)+13: 24
Pasithea shakes her head without opening her eyes. "No. I have.. no healing. Only the power... to ease someone... into slumber." She yawns and leans on a nearby table. "If that is helpful.. I will cast the spells."
"Hello? Zhag'un?" The distant, tinny voice continues to speak from... well, yes, it would seem to be coming from the backpack. It switches to Yrch-Speak, halting and guttural. Then back to Trade, "I think I hear voices..."
The oruch flinches when Aryia speeds past, nearly stepping on the gobber-- who's now scrabbling across the floor on hands and knees to hide behind the bag of rolls. Behind the luckbringer where it's safe!
The luckbringer, for her part, lowers her arms and listens. She glances at the shrine, the sky, and then back at the large orc. Perhaps her lips move in silent prayer behind the mask.
The identified-slave listens, chest heaving in near panic as he tries to understand the unfamiliar accents in a foreign language. He shakes his head tightly and squeezes the bag tight. Finally, something about the gestures, posture, and tone are enough to make him relax a bit. He coughs behind closed lips. "No jail. Free," he insists, rolling his shoulders forward and feinting in empty threat.
By the horses the half-sil goes still at the whistle. He already has one tether wrapped around his forearm and was trying to undo the loop of the second horse. Slowly-- oh, so slowly-- he turns back to look at Aryia, eyes widening at the hand movements. "Without failure," he begins in broken Sildanyari, "are mine this would be. Celebratory night."
"No jail, free. Yes. Zhag'un? And Zhag'un Friend?" Paenitia repeats slowly, sounding calm. Her expression remains unchanged, her mask's wide grin. "We can help."
There's a squeak as she looks at Seyardu, then turns back, "The Soldier's Defense may have the questions, Friend Dragon, or the guards on the way there. The temples, the city, it is strange about things lately."
She laughs, "I still have not work off my public service for finding the corrupt, bribe-taking guards."
Aryia couldn't help but feel an... odd sort of comradery overtake her. One of the urchin's horses would have been his, but with him reaching for the second one? She couldn't let her fellow runaway be empty handed. She knew how hard it was to get out of that and get yourself situated.
She strides forward, her face set in a scowl as she reaches swat at the hand going for the second horse. "N-. N- c-l-br-ti-n," she hisses out in the same tongue. "St-l th-s- h-rs-s -nd - br-k f-ng-rs" <Sildanyari>
"Yes, we do not wish for you to go to jail. You are Free, Zhag'un." Seyardu agrees, Taking a step back for Paenitia to speak. "Your magic likely will not be necessary, at least not here. But thank you for the offer, Pasithea."
"There is a voice from your bag, and we mean no harm. "Please, feel welcome to speak openly to us, perhaps we can help?"
At the admittance from Paenitia, Seyardu sighs. "I am not an unknown face with the Altheans, but I understand. I can prepare magic to assist, but I would need a day to do so myself. And I do not know how serious this illness you speak of, is."
Pasithea takes her weapons from her belt and lays them on the table, moving the way a sleepwalker might. She yawns again and then shuffles forward towards the freed slave in a manor that can only be described as a five year old up in the middle of the night. She yawns again, trying to pry one of her eyes open to look up at the scared man. "Peace. Friend." ,is all that she says. Giving off the vibe of a teady bear looking for a hug.
The orphan (or runaway?) makes an 'o' shape with his mouth, looking between Aryia and the second horse. The horse, Aryia. The horse. Aryia? He finally releases the looped tether and holds up his hand. "Greater than... after suppertime," he nods, fishing for the response. He turns to the horse and struggles, awkwardly, to take the saddle. A good couple of tries and he's finally up and seated, clicking and getting the reluctant animal going. It's a nice horse, its caparison clearly of orange and green stripes when he rides past the fire. At the end of the post a raggedy, old, and tired-looking pony with a ratty blanket for a saddle watches the young half-sil go.
"I do hear voices!" Says the backpack. It says another string in the Oruch's language and Zhag'un looks unsure. After some thought the oruch sighs, looking immeasurably sad. He scoops an arm down and lets the pack fall, revealing a dodecagon of artifice. Dark green glass sides are etched with crimson runes and framed in brass. There are a few plates and patches as well as sections of thin wire mesh. The oruch holds it gingerly and takes a chain dangling with blue crystal, setting the latter into an empty socket.
"Ah! Much better!" Comes the accented voice. "I'm sorry about that. Zhag'un and I just escaped and incredibly cruel master. He says we've crossed the sea. Unfortunately, whatever spell has crippled me is still in effect. I cannot feel my body or see you but I can hear and speak, obviously!" The contents of the twelve-sided artifice shift and the liquid within moves, a naked brain can be seen floating in the brine within. "I am Nantuilith. Did you say you have magics?"
The luckbringer is taken aback, whispering a quiet oath.
The gobber 'ooohs' and pulls out a jeweler's eyepiece, walking back over to have a look at the gadget.
The oruch, Zhag'un, coughs and nods. "Sick," he admits as he wipes more phlegm from his lips.
Aryia groans silently, rolling her eyes to the back of her head before she takes, one, two, three strides forward, and is already at pace with the beast of burden. A scarred hand reaches up, the elf gives a little hop, and the reigns are yanked out of his hands. "St-p. N-w," she hisses, her jabbing a finger at the pony and gesturing for him to get off the horse. She... doesn't look happy. <Sildanyari>
Then her hand does more precise motions. "Get off the horse or I will do it for you." <Handspeech>
This poor kid is having a roller-coaster of emotions. First Aryia doesn't want him stealing. Then she lets him steal one. Then she doesn't want him stealing again!
There's a squeak as Paenitia moves, gripping her chair. The advantage of her armour shows itself again, whatever else her reaction might be, it is hidden and obscured. No shock, no horror, no eager tinkering glee, nothing can be seen past her ever grinning mask. If she is startled, impressed, or amused, her only notable reaction was a readiness.
She speaks when she's ready, with an overly cheerful voice. "Ah my friend! I see you have had quite the journey and circumstance. You do not get seasick at least, you are in your own ocean."
"Your friend, Zhag'un, he have the unpleasant disease which should be treat before it get worse. He will not be in the state to help you much if it do."
GAME: Seyardu rolls heal: (13)+8: 21
Purple Pox is a disease that's caused by the spore of a myceloid. It's caused by exposure to spore and part of their reproductive process. It's not contagious at the moment.
"Ah, peace on your nest, Nantuilith." Seyardu greets, thankful this moment for a neutral voice to hide her surprise. Yes, we are capable of magic, and will do what we can to assist your companion, here."
Seyardu squints, and pulls out a few tinctures from her bag, which are mixed together into a small glass. "Drink this, and make sure to swallow all of it. I have heard a bit of this purple pox, it is from a type of sentient fungus, the spores. This will stunt the growth."
Seyardu turns to the owner, and nods. "It is not contagious for the most part, but this table should still be wiped down with strong spirits, and this one can request a few hearthguards to stop by if needed, as well."
Pasi leans up against where the new being has been laid. She stares, when she's not asleep, at the multi-sided one. "What.. type being are.. you?" She asks it and then falls sleep. Deep enough sleep to snore while she stays on her feet.
"Yes!" The brain-in-a-jar, Nantuilith, answers cheerfully. "We managed to steal a dinghy and come to land free of our master's clutches! Well, I say we, but I have been paralyzed for some time. Our master was upset with me and promised to punish me for refusing to help him further his research into Kulthian horrors. Fortunately, brave Zhag'un was able to liberate us both before he could enact any permanent cruelties; I think I'm getting feeling back in my toes, already!"
There's a good-natured laugh at Pasi's question. "Why, a Highborn man, obviously! I'm sorry if my ratty clothes make that hard to believe. My sisters didn't want competition for the family's holdings and I'm afraid I never was very good at the business of being a cutthroat noble. I was more interested in academics... and then they sold me into servitude. But it hasn't been all bad; I've read some fascinating books and now we're free again!" Clearly, the brain is clueless.
The gobber is underneath the 'orb,' looking up with her eyepiece and tapping on a lower facet with a fingernail. She gives another squawk of complaint when the oruch roughly pushes her away with a well-worn boot.
"Men plant," the oruch tells Seyardu, trying to relax during the sith's inspection. Then he tucks his upper lip behind his bottom teeth and goes "fssssss" to imitate the sound made, likely.
The luckbringer nods as the adventurer's do their best to help the oruch and mutilated-man, reaching down and steering the gobber back away from the business at hand. She plucks the eyepiece away and hands over a roll instead, "(you can have it back if you behave,)" she scolds quietly. Then she nods at Seyardu's instruction. A luckbringer and spirits? Easy-peasy.
The half-sil frowns at Aryia, confused and frustrated now. "Fabricate above... your -thinking-place-!" He manages, tapping his forehead for emphasis. A petulant child. He throws down the reins and looks left and right off the horse, sighing. A rough rub of the face in frustration and he holds his hands out towards Aryia's shoulders, fingers grasping. He needs help down.
The battered pony neighs, almost amused.
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+6: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (5)+23: 28
"Of course. I make the mistake, the clothes are not the noble clothes appropriate to the station you describe, Nantuilith." Paenitia says, her voice taking on a measured tone, "It is the very fortunate thing, that you were not subjected to the Kulthian horrors. Imagine what might have happen."
He could have been turned into a brain in a jar.
The little lucht leaves that possibility unspoken, turning her grinning mask towards the oruch. She nods slowly, creeeak, creeeaaaak. "Let the Friend Dragon do her work, you will be happy after."
"The cleaning too, is advised." She adds. Pasithea's unexpected nap draws no comment. The Dark Lucht is familiar with those.
Aryia blinks. He needs help down? And he had an attitude? Sure thing bud.
The mute leads the horse back to its resting spot before tying it back off before turning to help him down.
The elf pauses as she holds the half-sil. Then she pulls him real, real close. Both hands shifted to grip the wrists that tried to be sly. "Listen here, dumbass," she whispers in his ear, speaking in Trade. Voice lacking any sort of timbre, as its all whispered winds. "I told you not to steal anything. And yet here you are. Stealing more. From me. Big mistake."
After reclaiming whatever it was that was swiped, she leads the half-sil back to their pony by the scruff, and throws him on it.
She quickly ties the reins around his waist, unhitches the steed, and gives it a good slap on the rear.
No one was going to steal from a fellow runaway. She makes her way back inside, dusting her hands off.
Pasithea falls asleep. She counts sheep.
"Yes, with strong alcohol, that is ideal. Thank you." Seyardu calls back to the owner, before she turns back to the strange group there. "That is certainly the story, and those that would misuse the knowledge of the Kulthians, they are terrible people, and it is good you are away from the."
"You should be good for today, but I will do what I can tomorrow to eliminate the disease fully. And, as for your companion and their lack of limb feeling, they may need to see some clerics, or those at the artifice guild to resolve that."
Aryia's hand comes away dirty and gross, smelling of unwashed adolescent and in need of more than a good dusting. The half-sil was a squirmy one but admits defeat when Aryia takes her coins back and tries, poorly, to maintain some dignity as he's manhandled onto and strapped to the pony. He abandons his broken attempt at the elftongue when it's clear the shared heritage didn't earn him much in the way of sympathy. He's taken off into the night shouting a long "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuc--' but loses his indignant expletive to an 'oof' when the pony hops into a trench and goes stumbling.
Inside, the macabre conversation continues with a curious coating of cheer. "No, please, no harm!" He rebuffs Paenitia. "Why, if we let life's little upsets drag us down into the glum-slums imagine how poorly we might end up whenever true misfortune finds us?" The Kulthian device housing the remainder of Nantuilith keeps in high spirits. "Yes, my lady," he agrees with Seyardu, "once we're back in civilization I can obtain a small loan and have this paralysis removed and then offer my service to all manner of colleges. With a bit of luck I might even find a patron interested in sponsoring my own private studies..."
The laughter is manic, the excitement palpable. Thankfully, the Eldanar doesn't seem to read the room. "Hah, ahem, well, yes... Zhag'un appreciates your help. As do I!" The oruch speaks, looking past Seyardu at the dodecahedron and rumbling his way through a series of matter-of-fact sound phrases. "Oh, yes. A good idea. Zhag'un suggests he help you find where the spore cloud came upon us. So the watch can deal with these fiendish creatures!" A pause, "Perhaps after I am remedied? I would be of much more help standing on mine own two feet with with mine own eyes to see. I can offer many a helpful observation on the classifications and biologistic factoids of many animal, plant, creature, and construct!"
"But should we go now to this city of yours? My good gods, I am so excited to start this new chapter. How fortunate are we, good Zhag'un!?"
GAME: Seyardu rolls knowledge/arcana: (15)+5: 20
Aryia enters to the... strange scene before her. She just got done taking out the trash and... there's a... brain? In a glass thing? She looks between all, and the atmosphere is vaguely calm. "...what...?" she gestures, confused, pointing a finger from the hip at the oruch and what they had in their lap. <Handspeech>
She's properly weirded out. So much so she shifts along the back wall until she back with her friends, looking... unnerved.
"Indeed, you speak much like the follower of Tarien, to find cheer in all circumstances and greet adversity with laughter." Paenitia says encouragingly. She's sounding a little insane as well, it's the grinning mask of hers. Everything might be a big joke, anything she says may not be serious. "It will be the smallest of loans, I am sure, and if not the bankers will marvel at the size."
Paenitia makes a small squeaky nod in Aryia's direction upon her return, holding an armoured finger up to the grinning mouth of her mask. The 'shhh' is implied and unnecessary.
She faces Zhag'un next, telling both him and Nantuilith, "I am on the quest to find the most miserable man in Alexandria. But! It is not you, as you are not in Alexandria, and you are of good cheer. Even if one of you have the Pox."
"Much glad, that you will show where the spores come from, so the guard or the adventurers deal with." The little lucht continues, "I will escort for you, if you need. This is the knightly duty. It is only for you to ask."
"We will do what we can, and if there is these creatures nearby, you are correct, they may be a danger to others." Seyardu adds, the smile there, but unseen by the construct it seems.
"Yes, we will do what we can to assist you in recovering your senses. And Zhag'un, I do not know if you will have plans on where to stay, but I can see you tomorrow about treatment. And if your breathing gets worse before then, to the point it is difficult to move or breathe then you are to seek out the Soldier's Defense, with assistance if needed. is is in Alexandria, on the west side of the city. In the garden district. But that should not be necessary."
Aryia squints at the housing on the brain thing's cage. She... recognized some of the inscriptions. Wait. Holy shit! She recognized some of it! All that flirting paid off! She takes out her journal and scribbles the matrix down, but then she frowns. And shows the page to Seyardu. Aryia puts a finger to her lips in a universal gesture of silence.
"The cage says something like "Torment the mind. Emotion is energy. The victim is battery." Don't say anything about it."
"A day of excitement! Alexandria? So this is Alexandros! I had thought so from the plants described by my friend here. My goodness," the Eldanar laughs. The brine burbles and the wire mesh issues a yawn. "Oh, my, Zhag'un. My earmuffs? I think I need a nap." A few grunted words in Yrch-speak and the oruch pulls the chain, loosing the little gem from its socket. When Nantuilith speaks again, his voice is distant, tinny, and tired, "... thanks, friend..."
The oruch bends and picks up the pack, gingerly sliding the contraption down into it. When he stands the luckbringer is there, dropping the coin offerings from the small shrine into his calloused palm. It's not much but it'll likely buy a room and meals for a couple of days. Zhag'un looks momentarily confused but grunts his thanks, nodding. The red-brown-skinned brute looks across those in the small room and wonders, "City?"
The brute carries the horrific bundle carefully, like one would a child, and makes his way outside for the horse tethered there. Probably best not to wonder where he found that; it didn't come from the boat on the dinghy with the unlikely pair. Maybe it was just lost.
Back inside, the luckbringer tosses the jeweler's eyepiece back to the gobber, tutting and shaking a finger before they can take to their goat and follow the oruch.
OOC
<OOC> Jinks says, "Some day there needs to be a scene of Verna, Vaera, Pasithea, and Paenitia. Cuz I want my eyes to go cross and stay that way."
<OOC> Paenitia says, "heee. you need perhaps Venom and Percy in that too. :)"
<OOC> Aryia throws and Aryia, Aria, Aya in ther etoo
<OOC> Jinks says, "Strike and Spike"