|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2013 5:58:10 GMT
No one had ever told him that letter-writing would be an important skill for his trade. The Guild had taught him the finer arts of stabbing things--things that bled--and it just so happened that steady hands made him a respectable calligrapher. Each letter had been delivered as discreetly as possible. He'd been spotted on a few occasions, a shadow in black, but for the most part, he'd delivered the letters without drawing undue attention. Some of these people had been damned hard to track down too. Luck had them congregating in Greyhollow--or maybe that was fate. The letters were uniform, save that the opening addressed the recipient specifically by name (and some names were harder to track down than the people themselves) and perhaps some customization. Most esteemed So-and-So, To the great Insert-Name-Here, or even My dearest Somebody--whatever was appropriate. The parchment paper was flawlessly white, crisply folded in half to fit a long envelope, and the message written thus in darkly silver ink: Pleasant tidings unto you. I hope this note finds you well.
I write to you in hopes of establishing a working relationship. There is a great task involving a rare artifact that requires undertaking. I require the assistance of those with talent such as yourself as I am no great adventurer myself. Payment will be granted post completion of the quest in the form of your heart's desire. Alternatively, I offer four hundred coins of dwarven gold.
Details will be available at the Temple Forlorn at moonrise on the Eighth Day. I hope to see you there. If not, then I wish you a long life and good health in my absence.
Sincerely yours,
C.M.
Now, it was moonrise on the eight day of the month. The Temple Forlorn was about as forlorn as it always was, except now a man dressed in black graced it with his presence.
He was late for the meeting--except he wasn't, he just wasn't in the temple. He waited on a precipice on the temple rooftop, not entirely obscured. If anyone noticed him, he didn't mind a light hello, how do you do, followed by, "Pass time in the temple, if you please. There are others yet to arrive, but in the meantime, the Forlorn texts are fascinating to peruse if you fancy a taste of their mad prophecies. My apologies for the delay, but the moon didn't want to wait."Taking up to 5 characters for this thread. Alternative plot hook for the prologue can be found here. FYI, he will be a little more honest and straightforward--yet deliberately obtuse--compared to Fiona Witherfox, but not really by that much.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 6, 2013 10:19:58 GMT
a dead person made no difference in a bed of forgotten gods. the gods have since lost their power along with the diminishing faith of the people, and not even those who remained were able to sustain them.
now, they were there. just there, like words of years long past and engraved in the memories of those who still remember their wreak and wrath.
the temple was an odd choice to bury a dead man, it thought, as it felt the musty air cramp its lungs. the gods were there to watch over the poor soul, yes, but they no longer had the strength to protect the graves. whatever little of it that they had, they wanted to use to strengthen themselves for their return.
or so it thought, anyway. it was probably a while since the monster had ripped a hole through its body, and left it to die. it did, and now --
-- it lay amongst the fallen. ah, the irony, it thought, and punched the roof of the coffin. it wasn't sealed all that tightly; the wood gave into soil spilling in from the top.
fresh air seized its lungs, and it crawled out of the coffin and into the darkness. it discerned the shape of the moon, determined that it had been three weeks, maybe a month since it was buried.
it cracked its neck, eyed the note on its grave, and read it.
it was funny how things fell together.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 7, 2013 4:11:53 GMT
KEYS FOR OPEN DOORS. The Forlorn's papers are as thin and neglected as the gods they worship. The parchment is faded and worn, the letters inked upon it almost completely illegible, and dust rises into the air each time Ellorian turns a page. There's no discernible system to how the myths and rites of the cult are ordered--perhaps that's what she would have expected. Perhaps she would have been disappointed if there were a system. She's the first one to arrive, it seems. The man on the rooftop had been polite and distant. Ellorian turns a page. And it shall come to pass that what men made shall be shattered... How very morbid, and how very dramatic. There's a sharp crack from behind her, and Ellorian turns, shutting the book of the Forlorn. The smooth marble floor stretches out into darkness. She listens carefully, ears twitching. She stepped forward, and walked out of the light. LAIKA OF GS!
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 7, 2013 8:10:10 GMT
the scriptures on parchment wasn't hard to read and comprehend at all. it nodded in greeting to the man on the roof, and entered the temple, trailing after a small, but familiar figure --
it didn't expect her to immediately detect its presence. it stopped moving, until it stood quite in the trajectory of her path. taking a step back, it raised a hand in a sharp, curt greeting.
"it's me," it deadpanned.
being buried was an interesting experience, to say the least of it, but it was also an experience that it didn't want to experience a second time. it'd rather haul itself to a deserted cave for its imminent return.
"how long did it take you." couldn't have been easy. "... the burying." it had been a something trapped between man and monster. a lukas, it called itself back then. himself? yes, a him-self.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2013 13:14:25 GMT
KEYS FOR OPEN DOORS. Ellorian put a hand on the dagger that hung from the back of her belt. Not that it would really be useful at all, if she chose to fight, but if this was a simulacrum or an impostor they wouldn't know that, hopefully. Although if it was someone trying to kill her and they knew enough about her past to assume the form of this particular dead man, they most definitely knew she was a mage. Unfortunate. She highly regretted leaving Dog at home. "Not as long as you'd think," Ellorian said. "I had nothing but time. How long did the un-burying take you? Probably longer." He looked as he ever had. Maybe there was a fine coating of dirt on one shoulder, maybe not. The temple of the Forlorn was not known for being well-lit. Still, a remarkably accurate likeness. She felt a twinge of admiration for the talent of whomever had created him, and underneath that a note of excitement, the same spark that fed her magic, that cried out incessantly show me, show me, I want to fight.LAIKA OF GS!
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2013 13:59:26 GMT
the him-self took a while to adjust to its new, reborn state. and so, it stood rather awkwardly in the moonlight; it glanced from her hand on the dagger to her visage, then decided to wisely take a step back.
people were always suspicious of those who had risen from the dead. the once-living ought to never walk again, and those who did were always returned to ash by fire. it was a funny thought, because she could breathe cones of fire and set things ablaze with just a sharp, stern gaze.
it was at the tip of its tongue to mutter a couple minutes, but it decided against it. that wasn't a normal answer. a him-self would never say that. instead, it said, "fifteen? twenty. i don't keep track of time."
and that was the truth, because no-one did when they lived forever.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 8, 2013 23:34:41 GMT
she had not received her own letter. it had been addressed to mikhail, with an addendum detailing that she was invited as well. he had read it to her, of course, and so she was at the indicated place at the indicated time.
she glanced up at the figure on the rooftop, dimly lit by moonlight, at the two already within whom she was not familiar with, then at her surroundings. there was nothing particularly important, she decided.
so without a word or even a look of acknowledgement, she leaned against a pillar and waited.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2013 1:04:27 GMT
 HEARTS REST BETWEEN BEATS ❀ |
the first thing that had grabbed mika's attention was the fact that the letter had made it at all. he should really have a word with the innkeeper that he had bribed to keep quiet about their stay.
regardless, the letter was not entirely unwelcome. after mika had gotten over the initial annoyance at how much moongrass he could have bought with all those coins, the man realized that anyone who had the means to pay four hundred coins of dwarven gold could probably be of some help to them. if the letter was to be believed, of course.
the letters 'c.m.' did not match up with the many prolific, reputable employers in the city. a signet ring may have also helped to offset his suspicions.
mika left it up to himself to deconstruct a few of his concerns. after explaining the plan to zhenya, he had snuck off to the temple forlorn a little earlier than scheduled. a little reconnaissance never went amiss. if this turned out to be a waste of time -
hopefully this 'c.m' was a little smarter than to make this a waste of time. mika has been here for long enough to watch the man in the hat arrive and stick a letter on one of the coffins.
mika certainly didn't expect anyone to be coming out of the coffin, but he dissipates his surprise quickly. after all, zhenya expects him to be in some control of the situation. he can't do that if such a trival thing is able to catch him off-guard.
the buried man and the she-elf are allied, or acquainted in some degree. mika files the knowledge away in his head and continues observing from behind a dividing wall that not even the moonlight will touch.
|
LAIKA OF GS!
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 9, 2013 2:22:21 GMT
A hundred names
a thousand faces
The letter had come in for a certain prestigious E. L. Vinless, a woman known as much for her secrecy as her works. Of course, a large portion of that secrecy was due to the fact that she didn't exist at all. Nonetheless, the letter had been of enough interest to the woman who'd invented the fictional counterpart for her to decide to investigate further. Cloaked in a glamour, Galya showed up at the specified place, trying not to fidget uncomfortably with her clothes. Elisara was a woman of finery, and, she'd decided, of far richer colors than Galya herself typically wore. She'd had something new made for the occasion, but unfortunately, her choice of fabrics was still stiff and scratchy at the seams. The royal blue, however, was hard to miss, and that was good- she wanted to make an impression. Her glamoured eyes were nearly the same color, though to her regret, she'd found it too risky to turn her hair the same shade. Instead, she'd gone for a dirty-blond, long enough to cover her now human-appearing ears and then some. She strode up to the temple in a swift, business-like manner, cleared her throat, and waited. tagged
|
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2013 6:57:23 GMT
"...And that makes four," he muttered when the lovely lady entered. He paused and frowned, a moment of confusion crossing his face. He counted again, not the people that'd passed him but the number of heartbeats within the Temple Forlorn. For a moment, his jaw clenched--honest-to-god frustration--but that moment passed, and he was as ineffable as ever. He corrected himself with a sigh: "Five. I should've paid more attention to maths as a child."
Except for the soft sound of displaced air, he was silent as he jumped down from the rooftop the the temple's entryway. He knocked on the doorframe with his knuckles, cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Good evening. We'll skip the introductions, if that's acceptable to everyone present. It'd take too much time, and your time is precious to me, after all."
He glanced from face to face, didn't seem surprised by the people that he didn't see going through the front door. It was an interesting crowd, to say the least.
"First, allow me to explain my limitations. Regarding your heart's desire: I cannot bring back the dead. You'll require greater powers than I have access to for that," he said, and to his credit, he didn't give so much as a second glance to Lukas as he spoke. "I do not deal in manufactured love, and I do not deal in refunds. I also have a certain sense of civic duty and responsibility; that is to say, should your heart's desire result in calamity for the world as we know it, I'm afraid I will not grant it."
He cleared his throat again, just to mark a change in topic. "As for the quest, it's not far. It's in the city, or rather, it is under the city. I apologize for a slight deception as well. The artifact in question is a person, not an item. Should make no difference to you, I hope.
"You don't have to work together, but there's no reason not to. I cannot split your heart's desire into fifths, and it would be four hundred coins to each of you, should you succeed." Sorry for the delay.
Ellorian and Galya (MAG 6+) noticed him use spell to ward against scrying.
Ellorian, Mika, and Galya (INT 7+, PER 7+) noticed that he has a very subtle Akarthian accent and recognize the emblem "II" on his signet ring to mark membership in a prestigious assassins guild: the second order.
|
|
|
|
Post by Deleted on Aug 14, 2013 15:40:29 GMT
I'm here to work, I'm not here to fuck around  It was a strange request that brought him here. An eerily white sheet of parchment lying on his tavern bed-dresser, it's unknown method of intrusion into his room disturbing in of itself. He fiddles with the sheet idly between his fingers as he strides into the temple grounds. He notes the gathering of individuals already here, his gaze jumping from one person to the next. All strange individuals, all people whom he's never worked with before. His attention turns onto the man in black just as he leaps down from the temple with an uncanny lack of noise. Echion doesn't recognize him nor does he seem the type who would be involved in the type of work he was usually hired for. A stray though crosses his mind, a question as to whether this job was of the more morally ambiguous variety. However, he has little to go off, so he places his thoughts to the side and focuses on the man's words.
Echion's eyebrows quirk in a vague mask of surprise and skepticism at the queer task and reward he's given them; the search for a missing man underground and the reward of their heart's desire. A deeply naive part of him, the fire of optimism that helps him tolerate an endless crusade against all that's unjust in this world, leaps at such a reward, instantly thinking of some grand wish to bring peace. He quickly crushes that inclination. He focuses on the client's offer and reward instead. It would take an astronomical amount of gullibility for him to buy the possibility that this man possessed such power, to give whatever the heart desired. Surely, this must've been a metaphor of sorts. More importantly, even if the man could deliver on such a thing, it made Echion wonder whether he should even be dealing with the man. He often found that those with so much power tended to be the one's he liked least.
"Why should we believe for a second you can actually offer us our desire?" Echion states slowly, his eyes locked onto the man in dark, as if trying to see through him. "The gold, I believe. The wish? Not so much." |
LAIKA OF BTN!
|
|
