Of shipwrecks and dead men

For out-of-game events, wrapping up in-game adventures and rumours.
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Obsidian Sea
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Obsidian Sea » Mon Mar 13, 2017 2:05 pm

A glimmering mote seems to shine atop the masts as Fenneken urges her power into the world. It is the palest, most deathly shade of white, and it begins to lower itself through the air slowly to address the Half-Elf's call. To those standing with Fenneken, it is an intangible shape of colour, forever changing in shape like amorphous liquid despite following no logic of the wind or climatic forces that would play upon it or the adventurers as they stand along the coastline.

Perry Quietfoot might meanwhile find a chest half-buried in the sand, just as Lori Peveril left it. Whilst he is separated from the party to undergo this search, the talented little Halfling might swear he heard the sound of a wolf someways off the to west. On the coast? On paper, it seemed on odd concept, but then again he was no Druid or Ranger, and maybe there was a good reason for it. Still, it heralded the possibility of a nearby danger despite surely having very little to do with Lori Peveril's quest. It might be better that they do not spend longer than they need to at the site of The Sea Slicer's burial. Who knows how long Fenneken's witching might take, however.

Back at The Sea Slicer's rear, Fenneken begins her utterances with the strange entity that she seemed to have invoked. Nearby, Lori Peveril and Jonan Mard will stand by to witness a seeming nothingness of activity. Fenneken whispers, but it seems she might as well be talking to herself. Maybe she is? The mote of deathly light simply hovers next to her. Perhaps the employment of the Half-Elf's strange power would come to naught?

And at precisely the same moment Perry Quietfoot masters the lock on the chest in due time. He opens the lid...

//OOC: To be continued serverside at the next convenience of all involved players and the DM.
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Aryen Caladras
Tristan Thalavar

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Elizabeth van der Lowe
Nathaniel Askovar (retired)

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Obsidian Sea
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Obsidian Sea » Sun Apr 09, 2017 3:32 pm

"I beg your pardon: I will go beyond pleasantries rather promptly. So, why don't you tell me what exactly you know about what befell my jewel?"

Like from the waterfall spilling into Eldath's own spring, a honey-gold wine spills from the edge of a glass carafe to churn in Lori Peveril's goblet. Such is the decree that the Wizard's hostess makes of her waiter. Marble pillars hold together the dining room, which is spacious, albeit cold, in its décor. In the oldest province of the city tucked away in the streets beyond The Halls of Prosperity and The Threespires Laern, Lori Peveril sits at dinner with The Masked Lady of The Proserpine. Masked even now, it is promptly that the Lyrabaran mage realises upon entering the temporary abode of her hostess that this is none other than The Masked Lady of Selgaunt, herself.

For concealing her visage with such determination, The Masked Lady did her beauty more justice than the mandatory prettiness of the aristocracy can understand: the woman had turned her every measurement into an exhibit. The gracious inner workings of her mind and body seemed thrust onto that canvas, which long white neck and all the more significance of hue in her gowns articulated by the lack of a more human vessel to fill ones eyes. Yet it must be asked, and perhaps by Lori Peveril as well: who was this woman? Had The Masked Lady lived since the beginning of time, it would surely have been with her and no Goddess or fable that the mysteriousness accredited to their mutual sex had begun. In the devilish-holy, upside-down, backwards-forwards contradiction of her outspoken self-concealment, the woman had made her very existence a maze for all those graced by the reality of it.

But the alchemist had been given a chance in this masked figure. The Prosperine was saved, and the Sembian aristocrat sat opposite clearly was willing to lend the benefit of the doubt to its saviour. Landlord, friend and accomplice Perry Quietfoot would just now be sitting down to a dinner that only a Halfling could do justice to back in his comfortable abode, 5 Shield Lane. The mysterious Fenneken was likely tucked away even now in the privacy of her cottage, nestled between trees and yet a stone's throw from Outentown. Their could-be convictions were withheld realities at present, all due to the clout of the woman that sat opposite Lori Peveril at that very moment, armed with bias and tolerance - the tools which Lori Peveril could only look upon with favour for the sake of herself, and those who had been complicit in her revenge plot against the foul, convicted Shrett. Now it was for her to tell her tale as fully or as falsely as she wished, and hope that the conclusion of her speaking would altogether commute the sentences of her allies, and spare any further disgrace that might lay low the Peveril name.
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Highlander
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Highlander » Sun Apr 09, 2017 9:50 pm

Lori's faint smile in return reflects her appreciation of a direct question, and the avoidance of the circles of introductory small talk that the wizard was more than capable of, but was content to have pushed to one side for this occasion. She gave a short pause, however, allowing a raising of the wine glass to the masked figure opposite, and a sip of its fine contents. A little sweet, perhaps, for the wizard's tastes, but she would not be voicing any complaints, and during the tale that followed would consent readily to the refilling of the goblet.

Lori's approach during the conversation was to speak openly on the circumstances which led her to Shrett. Not quite all the details, however; she skirted round the fate of the injured sailors on that remote shore, implicating the raiding gnolls in their deaths, and similarly there was no mention of Fenneken's commune across the veil of life. The role of her own impulsive indiscretion in the fall of the Peveril fortunes was also not mentioned - the episode had been the talk of the Lyrabar Traders for a short while until the next episode to grab the interest of the chatterers, but for this version of Lori's tale, she did not feel it needed to be raised, at least not on her initiative.

For the rest though, she was open and candid - this part of her tale was known to a few, and sat as no secret, even if it had only been recounted to those few. She started, with an apology for its apparent irrelevance, with her grandfather's tales of trips along the Golden Way, and of the setting up of the business of bringing the exotic east to Impiltur. She spoke of the items she recallled, the myriad of intricate jade and ivory carvings, the porcelain, the art prints, the jewllery boxes...a recalling of a golden era for her family, and Lori would metion, a casual remark almost, of her wish to see that trade resumed, and her family fortunes restored. An era that came to an end, of course, with the ravagings of the Tuigan, and from there the hope, and coin, that had been invested in that final fateful sailing under her family banner. She told of the remote coastal searches, and the final discovery of the grim remains of the pirate vessel; the tales of the survivor, the discovery of her brother's dagger, which she showed alongside her own identical copy.

The hunt for Shrett, and the discovery that he was headed for Sarshel to take the finest ship on the Fallen Stars - a desperate rush, to catch Shrett and the pirates he had acquired, and to the chaos and abruptness of the arrival on the dockside of Lori and her companions - was recounted, in its slightly sanitised version. "And so, my lady, it is a tale of revenge, yes. And one that has been handed to the hangman for its ultimate completion, but one that also stopped him and his crew from doing to you and your vessel what he did to my brother's those years ago. His actions have caught up with him, as he should have supposed they would, one day..."

A final sip of the wine, and Lori tries to gauge the mysterious woman's reactions..
Spoiler:
//Rolls if needed: Sense motive (while holding the dagger) 10+4 = 14; Bluff (for the omissions/alterations 20+5 = 25 - screenie available, if required
Lori Peveril: Enchanter
Ieriyn: Moonmonk
Azruphel Krathas: Kossuthan

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Obsidian Sea
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Obsidian Sea » Tue Apr 11, 2017 11:44 am

And the wine was sweet. Astute geographers might know that it is a typical opulent kind of white from Featherdale; those of religious inclination towards the Goodly Gods might have the knowledge that the viticulturists responsible are none other than members of a Chauntean Abbey located on the southern border of the dale. But for Lori Peveril there was only the rich, creamy maturation of porridge oats, with some pear and lime to infuse it with the sweetness that had overdone the final product for her.

The Masked Lady of Selgaunt was of a different substance. She was not delicately pushing about her substance like cream, but instead was like the mist. What powers of human perception the Wizard deployed against The Masked Lady yielded no certain results as to her motivations. But fortuitously, Lori Peveril was a manipulator.

The Ring of Control was a clever servant, and did not so much as gleam as it sat kissing the stem of the goblet against which Lori's hand was placed whilst she weaved her truths with her omissions, and told of bloodthirsty Gnolls and the victories they wrought for themselves. To do the reputation of a Gnoll an injustice was hardly a sin, was it? The reputation of those monsters could hardly be saved anyway. Lori's, however, might be. For what she lacked to know the intentions of The Masked Lady, the Lyrabaran merchant's daughter compensated for in her own cunning. Maybe both women were throwing up their poker faces at the table that day, but the other was never to realise it.

"I can respect an ambitious woman. And the woman that spared my ship from treason? All the more. So," continues The Masked Lady, setting her own bejewelled hands upon the table - were these rings of magic also? A fanciful thought, but it was unlikely of course. The lady leans forward, the left portion of her faceguard revealed all the more burnished in brass hue by the light of the candle near to which it was thrust. "Allow me to do away with any allegations against you - and yes, these interesting accomplices of yours that you speak of too, if that is what you wish. That much is in my power and shall be your reward. Frankly, I think you could be called a heroine, but this world will not see it so. This world is a man."

Adjourning from dinner, it is more in Lori Peveril's interests (one presumes) to depart early, for a Wizard has pressing duties and a dogmatic schedule to attend with her own spellbook. But the woman is stalled for a time at least to answer inquiries from The Masked Lady of Selgaunt about The Golden Way and what is upon the far side of it. The hostess takes a grand bit of interest in these fanciful foreign pieces which Lori Peveril can attest to having seen in her own home and among cargo being transported from her father's ships on the grand Lyrabaran harbour. And would it be folly to think that this faceless aristocrat were an ally to Lori Peveril's ambitious? A kindred spirit, certainly, but that likeness did not always speak "friend".

When the time must come for farewells, The Masked Lady of Selgaunt does so with clutching hands. How could one kiss a cheek so masked, after all? But she has mastered her compensations, and it is the perfect pressure with which she elongates her arms to clutch at the Wizard's hands. A final thanks is exchanged, and offers of dinner once again in Selgaunt should the path of progress take Lori thither. The Masked Lady does not mean to stay in the city long enough to witness the consequences of Shrett's gambit, and does not so much as mention his name after dinner has been concluded and they sit in the drawing room. She seemed to have washed her bejewelled hands clean of any involvement with the man. Had Lori Peveril done the same? Only she could know for certain.
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Highlander
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Highlander » Fri Apr 21, 2017 2:56 pm

Lori had the rooms at Shield Lane to herself this night, by design, excuses were made, customers, visitors and suitors were put off with the ever ready wizard's excuse of "working". She was going to need all the depths of her mind tonight, in venturing into a realm of the arcane in which she was no true expert. And so, in her room, lit by the flickering fire and the pale glow of her ring, she did pull, with a hint of theaticals, a black velvet cloth off an object on her desk. The perfect glass sphere that had been revelaed sat on her desk on its silver stand, reflecting the flickering light, but not, as yet, revealing anything itself. With some incantations and flow of the weave, she opened her own mind, fortifying it and increasing its already potent abilities, as well as some of the divination magic she knew, that would enable her to see the unseen and also to sharpen her eyes and senses
Spoiler:
//Fox's cunning, Owl's wisdom, See invisibility, Clarity, Clairvoyance; Int boosted to 23, Wis to 16, Mind save to 13
She turned her attention then to the red leather bound tome on the desk next to the crystal ball, a rather battered tome on the matters of divination and scrying, and one in which she hoped her research would bear fruit.
Spoiler:
//Knoweldge arcane 9+16 = 25
She then arranged five crystals of divination around the crystal ball, attempting to copy exactly the pattern she had uncovered in the red tome and which she had presumed was the most powerful combination of the available components to carry out this divination
Spoiler:
//Knowledge: arcane 13+16 = 29
and began to focus her mind on the crystal ball...This is not finished, you and me Shrett...Where are you - are there landmarks to guide me to you? What are your surroundings? Can you be reached? All those swirled in her mind, as she continued to focus on the ball, and whatever it may reveal...
Spoiler:
//Spellcraft rolls x3: 19+18 = 37; 3+18 = 21; 17+18 = 35 Perception x2 14+13 = 27; 7+13 = 20; Will save 15 +8 = 23, +5 vs mind spells = 28.
Lori Peveril: Enchanter
Ieriyn: Moonmonk
Azruphel Krathas: Kossuthan

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Obsidian Sea
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Obsidian Sea » Wed May 10, 2017 11:40 am

It is a slippery practice, that of Divination. A practice which many Wizards deign to dabble in, but few investigate to its true potential. For Wizards deal in the precise and exacting details of the craft, and only at the end of years of study can any mage hope for exactitude in the grandest exploits made possible by this school of magic.

The crystals sit in their sequence around the crystal ball - such added implements are crucial to Lori Peveril's success in this task. Her preparations steer her true, and the whole commitment of a day's study has calibrated her mind to self-enhancement. More keenly does she perceive things with her mind; more honed become the senses of her body; and things unclear - both abstract and tangible - gain more solid shape as the preparatory magicks are invoked to urge her progress.

One of the divination crystals begins to wobble upon the desk and then. It travels to the crystal ball and makes contact, melting upon the surface of the implement and in doing so causing a bleed of blue colour that begins to spread in the sphere. The amorphous ink endeavours to take shape, but there is an ethereality to it still. A second crystal rises to serve necessity, bleeding into the sphere to provide texture; a third provides colour, and so the details of the image contrive to make themselves known to Lori Peveril. It is only three crystals that paint the scene, and now it is for Lori Peveril to step into it.

Did she think of her allies then? Those with whom she had gained friendships since first arriving in Sarshel? The curtain is drawn back on a word of suggestion and glyph - the world of Divination - and for a moment it occurs to Lori Peveril that by sending her mind into it, she also momentarily departs the world more known: a world known, and yet full of unknowns to even a Wizard. Here in her mind, attempting to command some understanding of what the present holds and what the future might, a moment must be given to acknowledging her purpose. Family; revenge; the constants of her principles and her ambitions to be achieved by any method, even those disavowed by her companions - even by Fenneken, nevermind the High Dawnlord, and those other companions she had travelled with who upon their breast bear the badge of goodness for others to see.

Towards the old quarter does her vision take her, meandering past the homes of the Vlasta Slasher and the High Dawnlord. Perhaps Shrett languished in the very same cell that the Vlasta Slasher had rotted in, being the first to take up that lodging since Merney Valroc was released to serve? But he had been transported from the barracks now to where he would languish at extension awaiting judgement. The means of gaining entry were several, but it was not for Lori's spell to instruct her in the wisest path, only to inform her of its presence - its presence, and the presence of so many other paths all branching one and the other way. Pressing forward through the watery image, Lori Peveril might step up towards the terrace and south towards the city militia's headquarters. As she attempts to move through the door of the austere building, her entire image momentarily collapses and when she picks herself up she is in a more severe setting than ever. It is the cells. How did she get here? Turning to look back towards a door or a staircase, the image simply diffuses and shows nothing. Some part of her progress from the front door will have to be improvised (if that is the routed she so chooses to take, of course).

She hears the sound of dripping water; a man, bemoaning his innocence; and then the sound of a bucket being tossed - something sloshing, and then the squeak of a rat. All comprehensible sounds, but arriving all at once they confuse the distinctions in a scene which already takes the medium of a resting liquid. Every step taken and look one direction or the other causes the medium to move slightly in reaction, distorting just a little.

Too long spent within the Divination will only lead to new inaccuracies, and with her intelligence - heightened or no - Lori Peveril comprehends this fact. She uses the boons made prior to the ritual to discern more of what these sounds portend: one, surely, that there is entryway into the cells for rats, and other small vermin. Two, that water runs nearby - perhaps the moat, or maybe the sewer below? This is for the Wizard to dwell more upon should she deem it necessary. Thirdly, she is alerted to the presence of some fringe male figure in the cells. A witness? She knows this peripheral noise to be the specification of another's presence within the cells for why indeed would the very focus of her arcane search be proven to her in such an unfocused way? Now, she had to find the man himself.

To this particular focus of the ritual, magic bends to her will. Lori feels herself being ushered from where she begins within the cells, first going forward and to the left. She passes by two cells, but nothing is shown to her of who dwells within. Out of this first chamber she goes and, ignoring the hallway that leads off towards the right, she pushed forward into the next set of holding cells. It is then upon her right that she turns, promptly to see the ragged Shrett slouched up against the wall of his cell, solitary and grim. For a moment he seems so real that she might take her revenge there and then, but the Divination turns again. Stepping forward towards the cell, the fragmented image of her brother suddenly materialises before her - another spell crystal shatters, thereby to destroy this interloping image. A mage's memories and their own emotions can betray them in this place; they were dangers of which Lori Peveril was acutely aware of, for being aware of this weakness in others is the art of an Enchanter. Here in this place, however, half the dangers were within the one who weaved the spell. She had seen her brother, but it had been a split second only, too little to even be sure if his image had been painted alive as she had loved him, or dead as Shrett had killed him.

Slowly, the pirate lifts his head. Those cold, defeated eyes would in a moment land upon the Wizard's own.

The fifth crystal shatters. The spell ends, and Lori Peveril is pulled out of the dream. And perhaps just in time.

The crystal ball loses all colour, and becomes inert. If it will work again then it will not do so today. But the Enchanter that put it to task requires it to no longer. All that it can show her it has, and slightly too much more than that as well. Her blood seems quick for a moment, though her limbs are not shaking and she is quite stable in the corporeal world. Perhaps it is her mind that races more than anything else? But she has seen the cell in which Shrett languishes, and the Divination is complete.
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Highlander
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Highlander » Wed May 10, 2017 6:54 pm

Lori's mind did indeed race, and it was for an unknown time that she sat and stared at the now inert glass sphere, the swirling images of the divination replaced by the swirling thoughts in her mind. Finally, she rubs her temples, and rises slowly. The options had been weighed, as far as she knew, and for now she did not like them much. A margin for error that seemed too great combined with the consequences of failure almost turned her from the thoughts of personal revenge. Shrett was defeated, after all, and that was clearer in his eyes than any words could tell, and his death was surely but days away anyway. What she was contemplating, she knew, flew against the laws of Impiltur, and she did not relish taking his place in that cell, nor relish the second fall from grace of her family name, which had only just begun to creep its way back up the social orders after the saving of the Prosperine. But still, she was not done, and while this pursuit could be regarded as bordering on an obsession, the years she had spend with a slow burning desire to be the one who ended Shrett's life..that desire had not faded, and she looked back at the crystal ball, knowing that while it had showed much, there was much to learn yet before she would contemplate this action, with the desire for her own fate outbalancing the desire to be the bringer of Shrett's.

So it would be for now a return to the mundane that would inform her path. With a few purposeful steps, she was by the wardrobe, and in short order had changed from her tunic to a fine dress, one suited to a spring evening promenade among the merchants of the Old Quarter. Past Merney's house she went, ignoring it entirely, and then past Artemis', which she spared a look, hoping at least this once not to be seen by the occupant. A casual stroll among the merchants, all polite smiles and good evenings, followed and took her to the water inlet under the militia building. She frowned some at the small, wet gap, and mentally noted the directions and distances to the militia building from the entrance. She was not done yet, however, and the evening promenade continued which took her past the forbidding front door of the building, shut and windowless, with no ways in that she could see. The promenade continued, with more polite smiles and good evenings, which took her eventually near the side of the building. There. At street level, a barred window which appeared to lead directly to the basement of the militia buiding. She turned from the dead end, and with a brief beweildered look asked of a passing merchant the directions to the nearby bookshop. A gracious thank you to the merchant for guiding a lost merchant's wife who was seeking the newest romanitc poetry, except of course she knew exactly where the bookshop was, was not a merchant's wife and had no time for romantic poetry, and as she made her way to the bookshop she once more checked the distances, this time over the rooftops towards Shield Lane. A half hour in the bookshop, for the sake of appearances, and she returned home, with a tome of Emmanuel Szoska's Romantic Ballads under her arm.

Some hours later, in the small hours of the night, she stood on the Shield Lane rooftops, looking over the sleeping city towards the militia building, each roof noted as a landmark along the way. She had always liked this rooftop, its use curtailed during the long demonwinter, but now holding more fond memories of evenings in congenial company, but now it sat silent in the darkness, ominous almost of the task she was about to undertake. This would be done quickly, Shrett would not die tonight, but she would know more of how that could be done. A transmutation first, so she could see as if it were daylight, a shrouding of invisibility, another transutation to speed her flight, and then the final one to a tiny winged fey, which sped over the rooftops towards the barred window at the level of the quiet streets. The fey dived down, as quickly as its hasted wings could take it, and plunged into the darkness under the building.
Lori Peveril: Enchanter
Ieriyn: Moonmonk
Azruphel Krathas: Kossuthan

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Obsidian Sea
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Obsidian Sea » Sun May 28, 2017 9:37 pm

The would-be Fey's journey takes her beneath that which is her target however, and a miscalculation of architecture and purpose condemns her then to wandering in the sewers beneath the city. A diseased place and - should rumours have even a shred of merit - hardly the place that one would expect to find a Fey, so that even a beggar would question the legitimacy of the little sprite now racing to find her way up into the dungeons of the building. Yet in her premonition, Lori Peveril has heard all tell-tale sounds of rats in the dungeons and it stands to reason that it is from here that they make their journeys. Exposure to the filth of the sewers may severely detriment Lori Peveril's health. The longer her search for an entryway takes, the worse the consequences might be. If she seeks to take this path at all.

//OOC: Roll Search & Fortitude checks thrice each. Until/if a Search roll proves successful for Lori Peveril to find her way above, all Search and Fortitude checks taken thereafter will be negated. Please provide the results in a PM to the DM, with an attached screenie to show the order of the rolls (or wait until the DM can join you serverside to observe the rolls). Apologies for all delays!
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Aryen Caladras
Tristan Thalavar

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Elizabeth van der Lowe
Nathaniel Askovar (retired)

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Obsidian Sea
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Obsidian Sea » Mon May 29, 2017 7:21 pm

The spell wears thin, and soon Lori Peveril begins to lose grip upon this invocation. Another might disguise her form again for the escape should she choose to press forward in her reconnaissance and enter the bowels of the militia headquarters, for eventually she finds her means of entry. Or she may turn back before fully exploring the dungeon and hope that protracted time spent in the sewers will not incapacitate her from making a return journey due to fever, or more ... unpleasant symptoms of illness.

What does she do?
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Tristan Thalavar

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Nathaniel Askovar (retired)

Highlander
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Re: Of shipwrecks and dead men

Postby Highlander » Sat Sep 16, 2017 2:44 pm

Having come thus far, Lori does not feel inclined to turn back just yet..she still holds the ability to transform herself two more times, and can shroud herself invisibly and hasten her escape, so the reconnaisance remains her priority tonight, although she would not recklessly endager herself more than she has to. Unless the circumstance turns agains her, she presses on into the headquarters, intent to obtain the exact location of Shrett for a later "revisit", although she holds in her mind the means to conclude her business tonight if circumstances permit or demand.
Lori Peveril: Enchanter
Ieriyn: Moonmonk
Azruphel Krathas: Kossuthan


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