062: I saw a shadow touch a shadow's hand

[Sierra]

<El-Cideon> "Is everyone alright?" Rosemund asks in the aftermath of the battle. "Does anyone need healing?" she adds (naturally before considering patching herself up).
<Steph> "I'm fine, dear." Stephanie sheathes her swords, and turns to peer back into the inky blackness. "Anything that lives here must have long since gone insane," she concludes.
* Franceska just floats around quietly.
<El-Cideon> Marina nods. "How easy it must be to believe yourself all of creation when there is nothing anywhere to see."
<Julia> "Nothing I can't fix up myself," Julia reassures Rosemund, applying a little bit of nice negative energy to sooth her ailments.
<El-Cideon> roll 1d20+16 spellcraftin' for Rosey heals
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 1d20+16 spellcraftin' for Rosey heals and gets 34."12 [1d20=18]
<El-Cideon> roll 2d10+14
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 2d10+14 and gets 25."12 [2d10=6, 5]
<El-Cideon> Rosemund frowns. "This world does not much approve of healing magic, either," she observes after experiencing some more than usual difficulty with that.
<Julia> "Well healing magic does come from the opposite plane, doesn't it? It's like fire and water."
<Steph> "I can loan out my amulet to those who need it," suggests Stephanie. "It seems pretty reliable."
<Julia> "Oh, and Rover go," she commands the zombie so they can get moving again.
<El-Cideon> For her own part, Marina summons up a reassuring aura of Mage Armor around her before proceeding. "Foolish of me not to have thought of that the moment we set foot here," she says. "Not used to needing such precautions on Arborea, you know?"
<Franceska> "Oh yes."
<Steph> "If Arborea has its horrible side," reasons Stephanie. "Then this plane must have a good side!"
<El-Cideon> Marina raises an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that really reasoning that you could apply to every world?"
<Franceska> "Or it could be all bad," Franceska reasons fatalistically.
<Steph> "Why not? They're all bloody huge, right?"
* Julia pops on some false life, pleased by how much more potent it is here. "I'm sure parts are at least less bad than other parts."
<El-Cideon> "A world that will not even let me help people in need must be wretched all the way through," Rosemund says as she follows along behind Rover as he drifts through the void.
<El-Cideon> You pass a couple more days in sheer blackness before anything at all cracks the illusion that you are indeed all that remains of life in the universe. No structures, no matter, not even any horrible bloodthirsty monsters interrupt the days of travel, just you and the end of all things eager to eat away at your very being the moment the slender protection of magic should lapse. But finally, something does break the oppressive gloom--off to the left a ways from Rover's direction of travel is a light. Several lights, actually, cold and blue and arranged in dimensions that appear to outline a doorway, somewhere out there in the darkness.
<Steph> "Rover, stop!" calls Stephanie, eager for distraction and peering towards the doorway.
<Julia> "Want to investigate?" Julia asks, rather keen for a distraction herself.
<Franceska> "Better than have whatever is there come after us."
<Julia> "We'll need to defend Rover though, and he can't follow us inside. Anyone have any ideas besides someone having to stay behind?"
<El-Cideon> Rosemund drags Rover along with you as you divert the group to investigate. The lights turn out to be magelamps outlining the entrance to what might once have been a temple--there's a suggestion of weathered frescoes around the archway, long since worn indistinct, and the cracked stone of the colonnaded front looks ancient beyond reckoning. A zombie stands by the door, dressed in a respectable servant's clothes. He looks at you blankly, but perhaps with a flicker of intelligence?
<Franceska> "Ah, of course."
<Julia> "Hello, are you a guardian?" Julia asks the zombie in case it can communicate.
<El-Cideon> Its mouth drops open and it mumbles through what sounds like a prepared script: "Cold-light Stay-shun. Safe lodg-ing & trade. Visi-tors mortal & dead." It stops talking and almost seems to smile in satisfaction of a job done.
<Steph> "I think that means we can go in," suggests Stephanie, walking towards it and reaching to push it open.
<Julia> "Well done," Julia tells it, smiling at how happy it seems for doing a simple job. If only her own zombies were so cheerful!
<El-Cideon> The main room of the station is high-ceilinged and long, obviously once either shrine or tomb. Whatever devotional carving might once have occupied the altar is long since cleared away, however, and rows of coffins occupy the far end of the room. The foreground has a few crude stone tables, and a handful of small side rooms--a couple doors are closed, but the vacant ones look to have a couple hard-looking pallets in each. (more)
<El-Cideon> In immediate view are several denizens: a human man dressed in armor, tall with a shaved head and skin of polished ebony, sits at one table flipping through a book while with his free hand he absentmindedly toys with a shard of utter blackness that floats in the air by his side; in a corner table is what *could* be a human woman, but it's difficult to say--a lithe female body is swathed utterly in bandages of red and orange that obscure everything but the black depths of her eyes, and she is presently engaged in laying out a series of cards, as if for divination; at the far end of the establishment a black-robed man with long sable hair, bearing the look of a desert-bred Prime subject but with an unhealthy gray tinge to his skin, closes up some group prayer with a gang of somewhat attentive zombie parishoners.
<Steph> Stephanie looks surprised. "Sure is popular for an inn in the middle of nothing," she remarks, walking over towards the book-reading man. "Yo. Know who we talk to for service?"
<El-Cideon> He looks up at you. His base expression is grave and solemn. "The master of the house would be Brother Montmorin," he says. The shard of nothingness by his side jags sharply towards the gray-skinned man, who is now carefully examining his zombie flock in apparent search for necessary repairs.
<Steph> "I didn't know zombies prayed," Stephanie remarks, glancing at the undead.
<Julia> "Thank you," Julia says, her smile growing brighter simply to contrast these other gloomy sorts. You don't have to be depressed if you're a necromancer! In fact you really shouldn't because it's fun. "If they have something they believe in, why not?" she muses, heading over.
<El-Cideon> "Yes, an unusual sort," he agrees, following Stephanie's gaze. "There's a rudimentary kind of intelligence about them, though I'd not credit them with much potential for philosophical discourse."
<El-Cideon> The black-haired man looks up from his work and smiles at his visitors. "Greetings, stranger," he says to Julia. "Do you find yourself in need? What might we do for you?"
<Julia> "Hello, my name's Julia," she introduces herself so she's not a stranger. "The sign outside mentioned trade? Do you have any food or drink available?"
<Steph> "It does make you wonder what a zombie has to pray for, mind," reflects Stephanie. "Their condition implies they ain't too keen on what the afterlives have to offer."
<El-Cideon> "Lijah Montmorin," the proprietor says with a modest bow. "We have basic provisions," he says. "I may not call our offerings haute cuisine, as I have yet to succeed in instructing the zombies to cook well or hygienically, but barreled water and wine we have, alongside a store of dried meat and other such basic fare. Additionally, lodging is one gold per coffin per night, four gold per room for night, and I do stock rings of protection against the negative energies and other such wares for those in dire need."
<El-Cideon> The bald man closes his book. "As to that," he says to Stephanie, "my experience with the undead is usually in more of a smiting capacity, but it appears to me that these cadavers have developed some shred of personality distinct from their former hosts. One wonders what would happen if the old soul should one day seek to reclaim its shell."
<Julia> "Oh." Julia says, briefly wondering why she expected anything better. "Any of that interest you ladies?"
* Franceska shakes her head firmly.
<Julia> "Well, we'll take a room at least," Julia says, offering over 4 gold coins.
<El-Cideon> "We could spend an evening with an actual roof over heads?" Rosemund ventures tentatively.
<Steph> Stephanie nods absently to Julia. "Magical daggers," she says. "Stuff that works well against the things we're gonna find here."
<El-Cideon> "Of course, of course," Brother Monmorin says, fishing through a knapsack and ultimately handing Julia a heavy black key. "The foremost room on the right," he says, gesturing to the front of the establishment. To Stephanie, he laughs lightly. "The natives would hardly look well upon me supplying visitors with all manner of holy weaponry," he says, before adding more quietly, "but I do have some small selection of silvered weaponry if that suits your purposes."
<Steph> Stephanie nods. "We'll do some business later," she suggests, before turning back to her fellow warrior. "Well, you know, possession is nine tenths," she reflects. "You think a body should belong to its original owner after they leave it?"
<El-Cideon> "I would say that vacating the premises typically relinquishes right of ownership," he says with mordant humor. "But not all who do so do it willingly, as I say from some experience as it's sometimes been within my professional practice to reverse the occasional undesired demise."
<Steph> "Oh? You're a priest?"
<El-Cideon> "Not in any official capacity. I possess the appropriate talents, but they found me rather than vice versa, yes?"
<Steph> "That's awfully convenient," replies Stephanie, wryly. "Unless it comes with demands."
<El-Cideon> "I have considerable experience in evading my divine patron's demands," he says. "It doesn't do to impress her favorably. She's an acquisitive sort, you see, and keenly possessive."
<Steph> "Hey, that's stealing! All the power, none of the responsibility!" remarks Stephanie. "Who is she?"
<El-Cideon> Rosemund sits down at an unoccupied table, looks around at the vaulted ceiling. "This is just what inns would all look like if Julia ran the world, is it not?" she observes quietly to those still by the door.
<Julia> "No," Julia says, going to sit next to Rosemund. "The food would be much better."
<Franceska> "And prepared by clean skeletons?" Franceska asks, sitting opposite them.
<El-Cideon> "Wee Jas, goddess of death and magic," the not priest says, "most preferably executed in collusion. For my own part I favor the latter as means of preventing the former."
<Julia> "Of course not," Julia scoffs, "Clean or not skeletons just don't have the right flair for cooking. No I'd need flesh and blood - and well trained chefs at my establishments."
<El-Cideon> "But, ah, do they not, do not the undead--" Rosemund stumbles over asking a serious question about habits of Julia's usually best left unimagined, "do they not usually retain none of their intelligence?" she manages at last.
<Steph> "Oh. Then you're not gonna like me," replies Stephanie, wryly. "I'm no mage, but I'm up to my arms in the former all the bloody time." She reaches into her bag and produces a flask, and then a pair of cups. "My stuff's fresh from the land of the living," she says, grinning. "Want?"
<Julia> "Yes. A skeleton can stir a pot or something that's rote, but it can't prepare a complicated meal. I am working on ways to have them retain their intelligence though - I have a spell that simply reduces it rather than eliminates it entirely, but it doesn't work on everyone," Julia explains.
<El-Cideon> "Sometimes killing is best done in prevention of the death of innocents," he allows. "If such sentiment motivates your profession, then I may charitably share a flask with you, yes."
<El-Cideon> Marina glances around the station and bravely approaches the bandaged woman on the other side of the room.
<Steph> "Charity? I'm the charitable one!" says Stephanie, pouring him a cup. "Name's Stephanie Sundown. I made the surname up myself," she adds, proudly. "So what brings you to this morbid little hell?"
<El-Cideon> "A desire for mastery over deleterious forces," he says, raising his cup. "Entropy has always been of significance to my talents whether I wished it or not. I thought this an obvious place for study."
<Steph> "How do you go about it?" asks Stephanie. "Far as I saw there's nothing there but black."
<El-Cideon> Rosemund struggles with this concept. "Er, if it has some of its old personality, is it not--is it not like a piece of that person's soul is still in the body, or--?"
<Julia> "No. It's like when I talk with the dead - the soul is gone, but the mind is still there. I just need to be able to animate them without the mind getting wiped clean, which is trickier than you'd think."
<Franceska> "Because it usually goes along with the soul?"
<El-Cideon> "Quite so," the man says. "This is the end state of all things. Man or empire, entropy lurks in wait to drag all of us down. My purpose is to prevent this reduction. In controlling nothingness, we might stave off its grasp. Ah, but forgive my manners, I fail to introduce myself amidst these expostulations. Zain Karmaghi." He extends a meaty hand for Stephanie to shake.
<El-Cideon> Marina sits down across from the bandaged woman, looks intently at the cards spread on the table and asks questions unheard by the other parties.
<Julia> "No," Julia shakes her head. "At death the soul goes away. It's long gone. But the mind sticks around as long as the corpse has its head intact, which is why I can speak with even ancient cadavers if they're still intact. But the animating process wipes the mind clean or... it can't access it? Maybe that's more accurate. Anyway, it leaves the undead as a mindless husk fit only to obey simple
<Julia> orders, with none of the skill it possessed in life. But if I could make the undead shell interface with the mind, then it would regain the skills it held in life, if not the will - since that comes from the soul."
<Franceska> "So you don't think the soul brings your mind and memories with you when you die?" Franceska asks with morbid curiosity.
<Steph> Stephanie reaches out to firmly shake it. "'Expostulations'. That's a new one. You're an educated man," she observes. "Well, you oughta talk to Julia sometime," she says, glancing at her comrade. "She sounds a lot like you. Though she's more mage than priest, I think."
<El-Cideon> "Is that so?" he says with some interest. "And what brings your group out here to the edge of oblivion?"
<Julia> "It is my understanding that petitioners have no recollection of their earthly lives," Julia agrees. "Though I do think the mind-soul dichotomy is more complex than that. Ghosts for example do recall their lives, and they've quite conclusively lost their bodies and any minds that go with it. Rather, I think something about the transition to the afterlife wipes the slate clean, but otherwise
<Julia> the soul carries with it the knowledge of the mind. Or perhaps the mind is just a residue or imprint left behind by the now vacant soul? These are really philosophical matters!" she concludes with an interested smile.
<El-Cideon> Marina points to one particular card on the table, asks a question. The bandaged woman shakes her head. Occasionally she nods. Marina leans in very close to look at her for some reason.
<Steph> "Heard there's this woman down here, up to no good and posing as someone we know," she replies. "So we're off to look into that and see what's really going on."
<Franceska> It looks like Marina is getting swindled, so after a nod at Julia, Franceska stands up and makes her way over while Darrin remains to keep the rest of her friends' company.
<El-Cideon> "I should think it neatest if the mind is just an, ah, imprint of the soul," Rosemund says. "It would be very sad if none us knew each other anymore in the afterlife!"
<El-Cideon> "Most sorts you will find in this plane *are* up to no good," Zain allows. "There are few safe ports I have encountered outside of this establishment."
<Steph> "We haven't been here long. Might you tell us of what you've seen in your travels?"
<Julia> "But that does seem to be the way of things," Julia says. "And we'd all end up in different afterlives... except perhaps you and Stephanie?"
<El-Cideon> The bandaged woman looks up at Franceska. The only part of her at all visible is a narrow slit in the wrapping that permits her to see. Her eyes are solid, unyielding darkness--but curiously enough, so is the visible bridge of her nose in between them, as though she were all over sculpted of the same substance, and it is not a natural darkness of skintone but pure, solid shadow. "I don't think that she can speak," Marina says with some concern.
<Franceska> "Then how were you communicating before?" Franceska asks, sitting down next to her.
<El-Cideon> "Most of the undead you will find here are curiously animated by hungers," Zain says. "One might think such things extinguished with the flame of life, but vampires need blood, some even viler sorts lust for souls, and timeless enchanters quest forever after forbidden knowledge. Strange, is it not, that death should not mean an end to desire, but a perversion of it?"
<Steph> "Well, you've gotta want to stick around for something. Everyone needs a passion," reflects Stephanie. "And, um, if you've dodged death you really need to go all in on it. Or you'll get bored, right?"
<El-Cideon> "I am sure that I will find all of you again one way or another!" Rosemund insists.
<Julia> "Well it should be easy enough to find me, since I don't plan on going to any afterlife at all if I can help it," Julia maintains.
<El-Cideon> Marina points to the cards on the table. Turned face up are three images, not numbered or obviously ordered in any traditional divination set: the first is a ruined array of what might once have been a great ivory city; the second is a solemn, white-robed priestess with modestly downcast gaze; the third is a nebulous, ill-defined predator, all the more disturbing for the vagueness of the beast.
<Franceska> "Oh." Franceska looks up at the bandaged woman. "Hello."
<El-Cideon> "I suppose it would be too much to request that the undying indulge in less predatory passions," Zain says drily.
<Steph> Stephanie glances briefly at Julia, and then back at the man. "Still, when you think about it, doesn't the same thing happen when you die normally?" she says, suddenly. "You go to a plane that suits you, kind to the same sort of traits that define you..."
<El-Cideon> The strange woman rapidly thumbs through her deck of cards and withdraws one: it is an open door, sunrise dawning above an open road beyond. She gives Franceska a respectful nod.
<El-Cideon> "That is the going theory," Zain acknowledges. "I cannot personally vouch for its accuracy, of course."
<Franceska> "Do you like it here?"
<Steph> Stephanie taps the table. "It seems like people don't remember when you bring them back," she says. "That's kind of unnerving. Why is that?"
<El-Cideon> Rosemund frowns. "Do you have, um...do you have a plan for that? I have always been a little afraid to ask," she admits.
<El-Cideon> The woman sweeps the cards away, then quickly withdraws two more: the first displays a person's hand, wounded but carefully being mended by another; on the second, a weary traveler struggles to find his way on a fog-shrouded road.
<Franceska> "What might your destination be?" Franceska inquires.
<El-Cideon> "It is possible that the powers that be are jealous of their domain and wish us not to retain knowledge of their designs which we ought not have in life to disrupt their plans," Zain speculates. "But it may also be the trauma of death and the shock of resurrection that jars the senses around these events," he adds with a shrug. "I have seen my share of both and it is always a jarring transition for those affected."
<Julia> "I do!" Julia smiles brightly. "You see, rather than just going all out in one big ritual, my body is slowly changing into a compatible state - you've noticed how knives and claws have trouble getting through my skin yes? Well, I'm still a long way off, but eventually I'll simply transition into a lich and transfer my soul into a suitable container for safe-keeping. After that even if my
<Julia> body gets torn to pieces, my soul will be fine and able to manifest a new body over time."
<Steph> "I wonder..." Stephanie leans back. "There's powerful resurrection spells, right? Spells you can use to bring someone back even if it's been a thousand years?"
<El-Cideon> The woman rifles through her deck again: the ruins and the menacing beast make another appearance; she slaps one atop the other and slides them across the table, far from her. Then she lays the priestess card atop the lost traveler and taps them both insistently. After some thought she locates a depiction of a great wheel and sets it aside the latter pair. She looks up at Franceska with what might be interpreted as a defeated air.
<El-Cideon> "Such are quite beyond my ability yet," Zain says, "but they are known to exist. For myself, I am yet unable to restore life without losing some part of the subject in transition. The inferior Raise Dead spell, yes?"
<Steph> "Hey, it's miracle enough for me. Even if someone dug me up and tried to bring back, if it was a thousand years from now what's there for me to care about, you know?"
<El-Cideon> "You may find yourself in a world that bears no relation to that which you had known," Zain points out. "Much could happen in that time. Kingdoms might rise and fall. Of course, the latter is the ultimate subject of my inquiries."
<Steph> "Are you trying to save a kingdom?"
<El-Cideon> Rosemund nods worriedly. "Yes, Julia, I suppose that is fine if--if you do not have to perform any horrible sacrifices or any of that sort of thing which you hear people doing to live forever. Oh!" Something occurs to her suddenly. "You must have to hide that container very well, though. Adventurers are always finding them and getting up to mischief in stories!"
<Franceska> "Am I to take it that you are running after your home was destroyed, and at present you are devoid of destination?"
<Julia> "Oh not to worry, I have plans," Julia says with a little wave of her hand, "It's not going to go in some big treasure-filled dungeon I'll tell you that. But yes, it's a slow and ongoing process which won't be complete for some time."
<El-Cideon> The woman recollects her cards, then produces one more: a woman's face, eyes closed, deep in contemplation; above her, the sun shines brilliantly. The bandaged woman holds the card up before Franceska and nods.
<El-Cideon> "I-I suppose that all of us change as we grow older," Rosemund concludes awkwardly.
<Franceska> "I see. I think." Franceska tilts her head. "Would you like to tell me my fortune while I consider your dilemma?"
<Julia> "It's a fact of life," Julia agrees. "Fortunately we're still young and in our primes!"
<El-Cideon> "In the abstract," Zain says. "My own has long since consumed itself. How do we prevent tragic recurrence of this in other lands? This is my perplexion. In lieu of greater understanding, I seek to improve my own capacity to alleviate individual misfortune and hope that collectively these deeds might prevent woes of greater scale." He grimaces. "A vain hope, perhaps, but one ought have goals."
<El-Cideon> The bandaged woman hesitates, then carefully unwraps the covering of her right hand--as one might expect, an appendage of pure, articulated darkness. She extends it tentatively to Franceska, but also withdraws one card which she taps with a significant warning glance: bordered in red, a man clutches at his heart as if stricken with great pain.
<Steph> Stephanie seems contemplative. "I think it's the small things that count the most, in the long run. If that makes sense," she says. "Big changes come with a lot of, um, troubles? Unintended troubles, no doubt, but..."
<Franceska> Somehow, the darkness is more comforting than rotting flesh. Franceska reciprocates, reaching back.
<El-Cideon> Zain nods. "Small sufferings, left untended, may accumulate, and wreak unforeseen havoc upon our grander designs. It is the nature of entropy to bring about our undoing through such small hurts, so perhaps we do best combat decay through persistent small efforts."
<Steph> "It takes months to build a house and a few minutes to set it on fire. One stone at a time and all that," replies Stephanie. "First you have to not be hurting people, right? If you think you can make things better as long as you kick a few poor people out of the way, something's wrong. I reckon."
<El-Cideon> The woman lightly grasps Franceska's hand. Her skin (for lack of a better word) is perfectly smooth; neither hot nor cold; it is a shape which simply exists. From this moment's brief touch, however, negative energy courses through Franceska's body as images are cast into her mind: a shining, prosperous city of marble temples; the view from an altar as alms are passed out to a stream of humble petitioners; an infant suckling at her breast; a black sun; a house on fire; harried flight from monstrous shadows--then the strange woman releases her hold. With an apologetic look for Franceska, she sets to work shuffling her deck.
<El-Cideon> roll 1d6 negative energy Fran
* Hatbot --> "El-Cideon rolls 1d6 negative energy Fran and gets 3."12 [1d6=3]
<El-Cideon> "Conquerors often think themselves men of great will, yes?" Zain says. "But I think we'd agree that peaceful cooperation can be a task of much greater difficulty."
* Franceska takes a few moments to compose herself, frowning as she mentally sorts through the images. They seem to make even less sense than she expected out of divination. "Can you exist on the Prime material?" she asks then.
<Steph> "I suppose we can't forget that every empire you might try and preserve was founded on conquest, mind you."
<El-Cideon> The woman hesitates and then nods as she draws out several cards in sequence: the first is a bold, proud traveler striding upon a rickety wooden bridge that almost visibly shudders beneath his feet; below this, the woman places an image of a roaring inferno; she slides them aside and sets down the image of two weathered hands, clasped together in a solid handshake; next to this, the dawn of realization card reappears; then two crossed swords, which the bandaged woman considers turning upside down but leaves uncertainly sitting on its side; ultimately the line ends with a traveler on a hill overlooking a homey cottage and then one more card--a stranger, with an indistinct, blurry form but a strangely knowing expression.
<El-Cideon> The bandaged woman looks up at Franceska.
<El-Cideon> "This is an important caveat," Zain admits with an air of dismay. "But having seen the dissolution of one nation, I may say that their decay breeds more misfortune than any other human act."
<Steph> "Mmm. After all the strife involved in forging one, you're just kind of ignoring all those sacrifices... unwillingly made as they might have been." Stephanie grimaces. "Nobody picks where they live, either."
<Franceska> "Some of it is like my dream," Franceska muses, tapping the crossed swords. "I'm not sure where this comes in, but violence always seems to find a place. What about the last card, the stranger? Does it represent yourself?"
<El-Cideon> The bandaged woman vigorously shakes her head.
<Franceska> "It wouldn't be that easy. Do you know who it is, and why she is sending me these dreams?"
<El-Cideon> At first she shakes her head, then a strange trance overtakes her and she sweeps most of the cards away. The handshake remains, to be bracketed by: a mirror, reflecting the same enigmatically smiling stranger; and a broken chain.
* Franceska glances over at Marina, admitting, "She lost me now. I don't know where to go from there."
<El-Cideon> "Nations needn't be forged only in bloodshed," Zain points out to Stephanie. "The necessity of cooperation is a valuable binding force whose influence on our history we should not overlook. It is certainly among the first virtues to be lost when order decays."
<Steph> "Do you know of a nation that wasn't formed in bloodshed?" replies Stephanie, pointedly.
<El-Cideon> The bandaged woman admits her inability to impart further clarity with a defeated slump of her shoulders.
<Franceska> "I don't suppose you can write? I have writing utensils with me."
<El-Cideon> Marina shakes her head. "I'm not exactly sure what any of it meant, except things began looking unpleasant and got better later?" she guesses.
<El-Cideon> The bandaged woman again shakes her head. She slips out the dawn of realization card, turns it over and forcefully slams it face down.
<Franceska> "Well yes. But if it follows the dream, I'm either dead and in Hell, or wishing to be dead after being captured in Hell. Just about anything would be better by comparison." She frowns, before reaching for the cottage card that was swept away. "Do you want to stay here instead?" she asks, presenting it to the bandaged woman. "I have a house much like this on Prime."
<El-Cideon> "There are rural and tribal peoples that exist without need to resort to war in order to secure their daily livelihood," Zain says. "But, I must admit, they aspire to lesser glory than do empires, and oft see their freedom taken by them." He frowns. "Your suggestion that war is the only possible basis of the state is not one that I take in good spirit."
<El-Cideon> The bandaged woman hesitates, then withdraws the lost traveler card and places it atop the wheel card with the broken chain. Then she moves the traveler atop the cottage and instead accompanies it with the shadowy beast.
<Franceska> "The beast will come after you?"
<El-Cideon> She nods.
<Franceska> "Is the beast something undead?"
<El-Cideon> She hesitates, then produces the image of a globe and nods.
<Steph> "Have some more liquid spirit instead, then," offers Stephanie. "Problem is, war is fundamental. If you've got a weak country and they all live together and sing songs and don't aspire to grow or fight, then some other, nastier state will show up and conquer them. Sooner or later. Only way to stop that? Being able to beat 'em in the field."
* Franceska looks at the globe curiously, if without much comprehension. "Does the beast represent this plane?" she asks uncertainly, and after giving her plenty of time to respond, asks next, "Is the beast here, on this plane?"
<El-Cideon> She shakes her head to the first point. To the second, after an exaggerated, dramatized show of looking over her shoulder and into the far corners of the room, she also shakes her head (if with less evident certainty).
<El-Cideon> "The ultimate logical conclusion would be that one state for the world constitutes the most peaceful possible existence for the individuals within it then, would it not?" Zain concludes.
* Franceska follows her gaze to see if something might be hiding there after all.
<Steph> "Pity things aren't that simple. I mean, a huge country is still formed out of fiefdoms and counties and whatever mini-states you wanna call it. Forge a giant empire? I'd wager the substates would just start squabbling amongst themselves," replies Stephanie, with a shrug. "Think about how much blood is gonna be in that, too! It'll leave behind a lot of hate, a lot of pain. We're not even
<Steph> talking about other planes getting involved..." She pours them both another drink. "You figure out how to solve that riddle, and I'll sell you a bridge. But hey, that's what you're studying, huh?"
<El-Cideon> Franceska doesn't see anything obviously looming in corners, ready to strike.
<El-Cideon> "I prefer to maintain a more sanguine outlook where solutions might be possible," Zain admits, taking a sip.
<Franceska> "The beast wouldn't be something ridiculous like a representation of Queen Auranelle? Or one of her lackies?"
<El-Cideon> Even with the woman's expression hidden from view, she positively radiates incomprehension.
<Steph> "I just do what I can. Leave the thinking to princes," replies Stephanie, though she blinks. "I could buy nobility," she muses. "Then I could marry in..."
<Steph> She laughs. "Nah, they'd never sell it to a tiefling!"
<Franceska> "If you can take care of yourself, which any who come to this plane really should, then you can certainly come along," Franceska offers. "Once our business on this plane has concluded, I can bring you to Prime. And I'm certain Stephanie would take care of your stalker for you."
<El-Cideon> She stands up and makes a show of wrapping her hand up before once more proffering it. Namedropping inspires a quizzical tilt of her head.
<Franceska> "Franceska Durant," she introduces herself, before gesturing to the side. "And this is Marina." She shakes the bandaged hand, further elaborating, "You may think of Stephanie as my minion."
<Steph> "Fuck you and die, bitch!"
<Franceska> "A crass one."
<El-Cideon> This time, contact incurs no pain or strange visions. The woman curtsies respectfully. Then, with a somewhat irritated fidget, she marches over to where Stephanie and Zain sit and waves to get the dour man's attention. Having done so, she points one finger at her chest. "Eh?" is Zain's confused response as he looks up.
<Steph> "I think she wants you," drawls Stephanie, sizing up the woman. "Hey, don't listen to Franceska too much. She's depressing and has a hierarchy complex," she adds, loudly.
<El-Cideon> "I doubt that very much," Zain says. As she repeats the gesture, understanding seems to dawn. "Ah, I see. Lacking introduction, our host with some jest decided to call her Midnight Alice. She has not obviously objected to the name, so I suppose that it must do." He frowns.
<Steph> "Hey, Alice. What's going on? Do you drink?"
<El-Cideon> With a helpless air, she shakes her head.
<Franceska> "You should tell Stephanie what lies in her sad future," Franceska says, coming over.
<Steph> "My future might be sad, but at least my past was happy."
<Franceska> "So your life is all downhill from this point on?"
<El-Cideon> "You have no idea whether her future might be sad or not," Rosemund chides Franceska. "Anyway we are all together to make sure that it will not be, are we not?"
<Franceska> "There is only so much we can do, Rosemund."
<Julia> "I'm certain things can only get better, considering where we are," Julia pipes up from beside Rosemund.
<Steph> "I'm pretty sure they can get worse. That's life for you," replies Stephanie, pouring herself another cup. "Who's drinking to my terrible fate?"
<Franceska> "Always a cause I can drink for."
<El-Cideon> OOC: while folks rest, make your fort roll, Fran?
<Franceska> roll 1d20+12+8 hero!
* Hatbot --> "Franceska rolls 1d20+12+8 hero! and gets 29."12 [1d20=9]
<El-Cideon> With a truly heroic effort of digestion, Franceska manages to assimilate the magical essence of the enchanted diamond found on Air. When she wakes, her skin is tougher and more resilient than ever! (OOC: +2 natural armor, carries to whatever other forms you might adopt, and DR 2/-.)
<El-Cideon> "So, ah, this woman is coming with us?" Rosemund says quietly to her companions in the morning, with obvious regard to Alice. "Do we actually know what she is?" As ashamed as Rosemund is to be talking about someone behind their back, she's also worried.
<Julia> "Despite the bandages I don't think she's a mummy," Julia says that much.
<Franceska> "Yes, and no. Ah, I do suspect that she could heal Julia with a touch?"
<Steph> "Is she paying us?" asks Stephanie. "What kinda trouble is she bringing with her?"
<Franceska> "Help her out of the goodness of your heart," Franceska deadpans.
<El-Cideon> "Well, that is the best reason to help a person," Rosemund admits.
<Julia> "I'm sure she'll be formidable in a fight and lend strength to our party," Julia says hopefully.
<Franceska> "Probably. No, definitely. Yes, I'm sure you're right."
<Steph> "I'm sure nobody has any idea about who she is or why she needs help," drawls Stephanie.
<Franceska> "How silly. I know perfectly well that some manner of undead is after her."
<El-Cideon> "She appears to believe that monsters are chasing her," Marina guesses. "That was the gist of it, wasn't it, Franckeska?"
<Franceska> "Oh yes."
<Steph> "Great! So we're unpaid bodyguards. For someone who is really strong. Strong enough to help us out and survive on her own around here," continues Stephanie. "Did you... reach some kind of agreement? The goodness of my heart is for the helpless; everyone else gets conditions."
<Franceska> "Complaining, always complaining."
<El-Cideon> "I suppose that it will be fine," Rosemund admits. "After all, we have a great deal of experience killing monsters."
<Franceska> "Rosemund! You know just what to say!"
<El-Cideon> ~