The Tower of Uthlyn! [Open!]

[Echtronis]

((Care to join in? We're open! Share your plots, thoughts, and characters here!))



In the midst of a temperate summer of splendor
before thought of war came mockingly deemed civil,
the common folk would blissfully carry on their candor
and scholars merrily droned on in their dogged drivel.

But not all was as it should in Connlaoth's Uthlyn
as any born a mage would eagerly tell you anyway!
A wretched creature spied upon it with a lipless grin,
its greedy visage hungrily deemed the tower its prey.

Somewhere beneath the abandoned, ruined temple of Alainoth; a goddess long forgotten
Angsar's Day

"What are you doing?!" exlaimed the poor farmer, when the nightmare of an ogre came to release the bronze chains from their fastening to the wall, yet still bound the young man. The ogre said nothing, as it had since the past day when he was taken from his family's farm outside Uthlyn's walls. Never had Relt seen such a horrid thing. It was ogre, he surely knew that, but the beast had so many... things poking out of it, metal fixtures that would replace bits of flesh, and even one of it's hands seemed to meld into a wicked assortment of brown blades, and Relt had only been grateful in his trial here that they have not been used against his person. Still, that had not shook him from this nightmare, this alien place he found himself. The strange arches, the markings on the walls, none of it made any sense to the simple farmer. Even the metals he saw were strange, nothing iron, nothing familiar. Copper maybe? Relt's thoughts became chaotic as the High Winds while he was dragged down a corridor by this horrible creature. He caught a glimpse of it's face, the ogre looked upon him often. It said nothing, but gave a gurgling moan as if it was all it could to communicate. It was hard to tell; the ogre's face had been plated with metal from the nose down to the base of it's neck, with only that damnable, circular grating over where the mouth would be that allowed the chilling moans escape.

Many more thoughts raced through Relt's mind. His wife, his three sons, but mostly what on Earth was going on. Was this some Serenian dungeon? Serenity has never had too great of relations with Connlaoth, and oddities and the unnatural were known to be the specialties of the northern kingdom. The questions built on, but it wasn't until he saw this new figure that he only thought one thing: "I am going to die..."

"Smiles!" A screeching rasp wailed from the lipless mouth of the lich, Dhalekar, magical in origin, the skeleton with the thinnest weave of softer flesh coating it did not have the organs to provide speech, and so arcane means made a designed voice boom from it's coil. "Place him there!" A finger of bone and hints of sinew gestured to a corner with a table supporting a globular, claw-footed cage set before it - within it; a portly rat. The ogre did so, and with less resistance expected from the captured man, who seemed to have lost hope in either the sight of the lich, or the bone-biting cold that seemed to emanate from it. Dhalekar moved to another table, also full of scattered and various ancient machinae,  and twisted a few knobs and other  things. "Hair of two shades black, one of sand, skin of two quarters sun and approximate eighth of moon... Eyes of the forester..."

Relt had nearly gone mad at this point. The skeletal figure before him who's mere presence weakened him in body began uttering loud strings of words in a language that sounded both familiar and alien, yet nothing he could understand. He thought, for one moment of clarity, of rushing himself and his chains to the archway nearby in this room full of glass and metal, but the ogre loomed over, and the reality of his situation proved too heavy for him to lift. He could barely look upon the skeleton-thing, only catching a glimpse of it holding a strange, flat fork of only two prongs. A chime was heard, and Relt could only look upon the rat in the cage-sphere. How it recoiled in pain, toppled over again and again in what could only be pain, before the skin along its back split, and a bizarre cage of layered rings were pushed up out of its flesh, and began spinning. A sound came from it, it raised in pitch, and Relt began to feel his body quiver. It wasn't until the last cacophany of sounds did Relt knew that his thoughts now were his last. 'Imel, Garron, I love-'

And then there was nothing.


Uthlyn Commons
The morning after Angsar's Day

Jobias stared at his razor as he angled the blade upon the small whetstone on the counter in his shop. A gift from the smith woman down on Applewich Lane, and a fine one at that. He could not for the life of him remember what he said to her at her apprentice's, her daughter's, funeral, but he could hardly imagine it was anything that would warrant such a well worked piece of iron. Clearly her grieving had not effected her work; a testament to the resolve of the people of Connlaoth, Jobias thought.

"Ya think it may be sharp enough there, Mister Redding? I may not have the fairest of hair but in Angsar's name, ya'd think you were about to shave a troll!"

Jobias snapped out of his stupor, of course the blade was sharp enough. "Now now, Mister Shanke, there's virtue in good preparation, ask your dear wife before thanking her on my behalf for the beef shoulder she provided for the reading the other night, she'll tell you." He took a note on the man's remark, as he has never been the impatient sort, though admittedly Jobias was working that razor for a scratch too long. William Shanke, the butcher, or really, the husband of the butcher. A retired soldier who finds to make do with time working at the shop Mrs. Shanke established out of their home while William was off standing guard at Connlaoth's borders. A bored man, really, and according to a confession from his wife, Enri, useless with a cleaver, for all that soldiering. If there was something making the man impatient, it was lost upon Jobias.

"Aye, tell her yerself, she's not to part a sodding word ta me since that incident with the hare."

"Hare is expensive, Mister Shanke." Jobias had slipped the oak-backed razor into the pocket of his apron and took his badger-hair brush, mixing it in a small clay dish of ass fat from the miller and some sunflower oil he had wished to experiment with when he came across it in the foreign market. A bargain, he had hoped.

William scoffed and looked out the open door from his chair, a touch of contrition spreading into countenance. "She said I 'butchered' it, Jobias, butchered it! Isn't that what we're supposed ta do? Pah! That harpy is only worried that I'm taking a hand in the business, I tell ya Joby. You know, a man coming into the work!"

'Joby?' Jobias thought to himself. William has never called him that before. Nor has anyone really. He approached William with brush and dish in hand, looking over the man's face in the light from the window and the open door. "That might be true to a certain extent, Mister Shanke, but I am sure Enri is only frustrated in not having full control of her routine anymore. It's been, how long were you garrisoned near Serenity; six years? It takes time to adjust to changes- same shave as before?"

William went on about certain intimate moments of discontent between he and his wife as Jobias began to work on his beard, careful to only inquire into his actions as result to his feelings, suspect that the man's unusual behavior might lead to confession of adultery. Using a towel, wet from the basin still holding yesterday's water, would clean the fat and oil and shaved hairs from the butcher's neck. William was proud of his wide bears, and only required little cleaning of the edges of his hair growth. Jobias soon armed himself with shears. "Your hair?"

"Aye, not just a trim today, see wot ya can do ta make me look like that bastard of Lord Wynn's; if that fop can look that tough without e'er working a day in his life, I think I could at least look the part! Haw!"

'Another change' Jobias thought. "I never took you for a man of style, Mister Shanke, no offense of course... I think I may know what you have in mind." There was definitely something on the man's mind. Jobias simply went to work as he mulled over how he could pry it from his neighbor and friend.

[Brisinger987]

Angsar's day was the day in Connlaoth that Xerordir despised to death. A day to celebrate the wiping out of a faction of magicians with power so awesome they could raise the dead?! And not to mention that he was looking for a lich. A dangerous undertaking in itself. Now he was looking for a Lich, for the sole purpose of allying with them. He must have been insane. But then again, he had watched his mother be hacked to death for not being suitable for a demon. And he had then driven a knife into his sisters throat.

He crept around Uthlyn most of Angsars day, being unable to use his dark powers. Nothing much happened.

But the day after was much better. He found the location of a temple, the one Senka had informed him of. Kirnardaz kept him updated mentally, now being separate, but telepathically linked to his former host. This gave him a database, as Kirnardaz lurked the libraries and colleges, feeding him information.

"Now, Xerordir, this temple is supposed to be abandoned, but from my realm, I have observed an undead troll wandering the entrance, and also dragging a suspiciously human body into the ruin. Exercise caution here. That troll will tear you in half if you get snuck up on. I will teleport to you if needed." The voice in his head was definitely Kirnardaz.

Xerordir acknowledged, and proceeded into the temple, remembering that this god was forgotten. This god had no power anymore, no-one prayed for her guidance. She was lost.

The ruin was dark, and Xerordir summoned a standard flame. It would be clearly visible, but worked as a light. He walked on, and saw that he was indeed walking in an inhabited ruin. The place had disturbed spiders webs, and a lack of dark-loving creatures, namely rats and bats.

"Hello? Anyone home?" Xerordir then decided that he might need an ally. He summoned a shade, making sure he knew which shade it was.

[Echtronis]

The ruined temple to the forgotten Alainoth, hidden in the valley ridge outside Uthlyn
The day after Angsar's Day

Xerodir may have been disappointed in what he had discovered. Though the temple was difficult to find (whoever it attributed to clearly had a tenant of exclusiveness; the place was effectively invisible until you nearly stood before it!), it seemed utterly devoid of presence; and even appeared looted, by the look of the overturned and broken ancient fixtures. There were statues, which lacked identifying detail, and nothing of any danger seemed to appear as the flame guided the way on.

There was a great, worn sandstone statue further into the ruins, of some sort of woman, assuredly the focus of devotion to whoever built and maintained this shrine ages ago. The statue was depicted with wings, four of them in fact, that stretched in ovular form, all but one were broken in some way. They looked more to be something of more insectoid wings than anything feathery and angelic, and depicted in each of her outstretched hands were great spears, half of one laying shattered on the floor with rats scurrying away as the light was directed upon it. Behind the statue, however, was something worth noting.

A large, round doorway was seen at the bottom of stone steps. The door looked to be made of some sort of metal, but it had been opened, and by an eye trained in observation, recently disturbed by the look of the dust about it. There were cryptic markings running all over the surface of the door, and at the bottom of them was... parchment? Indeed! Only lightly covered in dust, the scattered sheets had words more familiar, that of the current written language of Connlaoth. IF Xerordir had any inclination to inspect them, however, such an urge was swiftly cut short as the singing of a stray arrow flew by his head from the opening in the metal door, followed by another that panged loudly as it hit the door on it's way out. With the magical flame still lit, Xerordir could witness a form emerging from the darkness beyond the portal; a skeleton, animated into a mocking undeath, was draped in ancient looking, dangling bits of rusted brown metal, and came to the man with a heavy spear and a tattered shield that matched quality with its "armor". It was followed by another behind it, and even further down Xerordir would hear a stretching, creaking sound that could only be another arrow ready to fly. Perhaps the goddess the statue depicted was not only a recluse, but a deity of war as well...

[kleineklementine]

Uthlyn Commons
The morning after Angsar's Day

She was going to do it.

Right? Maybe it wasn't actually such a good idea... What would her mother think? Oh, she'd kill her. Disinherited. Disowned. 'Constance Carwick,' she could hear her scolding, 'do you even think at all about your place? Your responsibilities? How your actions reflect on this family? On this duchy?? By God, if I had to just have one child, you'd think Angsar would have seen it fit to send me a sensible one!'

But her mother wasn't here. That's why she was in Uthlyn, anyway, wasn't it? So she didn't have to be around her mother, and so her mother didn't have to be around her. (And, of course, so they could hide her away in the college until they'd find someone suitable for her to be married off to.) And anyway, that drunk jerk Rike Adain had bet that she wouldn't have the balls to do it, so to speak. The very, very last thing she wanted was to prove Rike Adain right, the macho idiot. Had his snide comment been at all brought on by the previous day, when she'd put him on the spot about his girlfriend dumping him for a soldier, a 'real man and not a college boy' in her words? Well, maybe, but that wasn't the point.

(And anyway, he'd brought it on himself. When he teased her that her Mark was the least of her worries, that no man would want to 'bed a woman with the figure of a little boy'... Well, she'd had no choice but to point out that she wasn't the one having trouble with being mistaken as a little boy!)

Anyway, forget Rike Adain. Forget her mother. She wanted to do this anyway, right?

"I want to do this anyway, right Dac?" she asked aloud of the large, shaggy gray Connlaothian Tracker at her side. The pair, girl and dog, were standing outside of Jobias Redding's barber shop, contemplating the very serious matter of going in. She'd had to come here - or somewhere like here - of course. The lady's maid who was normally responsible for her appearance - oh, there was another one who'd lay into her about this - would never consent. It was enough of a battle every day with her as it was. 'But your mother would say this. Your mother would think that.' Forget all of them.

Olive waved for the dog to go lay down and wait for her and, shoring up her resolve, entered the barber's shop. She was a skinny thing, with a straight boyish figure, and messy dark blonde hair that fell past her shoulders. You would never guess, looking at her, that she was the daughter of a Duke. This, of course, was intentional. The one thing you could tell at once by looking at her was what else she was. Stitched into her nondescript tunic was the symbol of the Church. She was a mage.

"Hello!" she greeted brightly. She could tell this was something of an intimate business. Probably a small shop with a small and regular clientele. And it wasn't lost on her that it was a men's barber shop. But still she had a bright and friendly smile. She'd learned early that, wearing the Mark, she had to be somewhat offensively friendly. Act nice and amicable before anyone had the opportunity to assume otherwise and turn their shoulder to you. "Do you, er, take new customers?"

OOC: Just for those who missed it in the plotting thread, I'm assuming this is before mages have been sent out of the city and up to the camps... / Pre-war times.

[Brisinger987]

Alainoth's Ruin
The Day After Angsar's Day

Xerordir didn't even have to try. The skeleton was easy to bend the will of, and, he did so. The summoner hadn't put too much thought into this skeleton, and now Xerordir had two bodyguards.

He followed the corridor down to find a room, full of intricate items, devices and runes on paper. He recognised some of the books on the desks and worktops in this room, some of them he knew word for word, others he had seen in passing. Perhaps a copy of his book existed here. He studied the room, and Kirnardaz fed him information.

"Whoever is running this place needs to improve their security. The skeleton archer wasn't a worthy challenge, enough to frighten off normal people, but not you. Perhaps the troll would have been more fun, eh?" Kirnardaz jested, safe and sound in his private realm. He could send Skalos to help if needed. Dumb demons were always good workforces.

"Re:hak'ton, see if their is anything indicative of this persons plans. I desire to understand them." The shade nodded back at Xerordir, and went off to find notes, journals, diagrams, other informative papers.

[Echtronis]

Uthlyn Commons
The Morning after Angsar's Day

Jobias found a certain calm in cutting hair, much to his surprise when he first awkwardly stumbled through learning to do it proficiently. The surgical part of the job, too, wasn't so bad. Hardly experienced enough to be fully trusted by the locals, there were certainly enough desperate folk who badly needed a tooth pulled, and once an amputation to save a poor soul from an infection in the humors after an accident with a drunken cart drover. Maybe it felt like purging to him, the removal of unwanted and sometimes even dangerous parts of people that pose a threat to livelihood. Even unruly hair can get in the way of a busy craftswoman, it was especially true with soldiers. He quickly shook the thought away as ridiculous; such pride in this simple work, as if it could possibly equal to what he was before.

"Listen, Joby, I er..." Mister Shanke spoke in a timid tone unbecoming of the man, justifying the barber's earlier suspicions. "There's another reason the wife's been off with me."

A swelling of stiff conviction played in Jobias' head, he knew what the footsteps to confession sounded like, and he wasn't too pleased with this extrafamilial monicker the butcher opened up with. Visions of the rough man running about with bored girls who've tired of waiting for their husbands to return from their posts came easy into his mind. It was a story as old as Connlaoth, and it always seemed to end in tragedy, especially for the women involved. Still, he was a professional, and listening was a big part of his current one as well as the previous, and Jobias kept a calm demeanor to guide William to what he were to say. "Oh? You sound nervous, Mister Shanke. Do not worry my good man, you'll find sanctuary in this chair." He said, with a loud snip of the shears that relieved the butcher of a small clump of dried animal flesh fused in his hair. "Purge your troubles from your mind, lest they fester."

William twisted his lip and chewed at his mustache before speaking. He let out a great sigh with a dismissing chuckle. He began to shake his head, but quick and stern fingers from the barber put that to a quick stop. "Sorry." A quiet grunt of acknowledgment came from Jobias. "Heh, I don't know why it's made me nervous, this isn't a confession, it's not like I've done anythin' wrong er anythin', nor Enri. Just a strange find in tha shop."

Jobias furrowed his brow as he stood behind William with shears and brush in hand. He believed William when he said this wasn't a confession to anything, but what worried Jobias was that this was exactly what people would sound like when they were about to talk about mages, and didn't want the mages knowing about it. "You found something? What-"

His attention was seized by the entry of another into his shop. His eyes immediately locked onto the mage's patch on his tunic. No, her tunic. Strange. He nodded to her friendly greeting, and answered her question with a gesture to a wooden bench that lined the wall opposite to him and Mister Shanke. "Of course, have a seat." He has had female customers for hair before, but most of the time it was for more a medical emergency. Yet this strange young lady didn't appear to be in any sort of immediate trouble. Jobias played the possibilities as his inquisitive eyes absorbed her. By her unusual sense of style, she didn't seem to be exactly one with the populace, perhaps an awkward servant to a noble, but why would she come all the way out here? There was something about her gait, too. Maybe not a servant, but someone with the low spheres of the church? No, that didn't quite fit. That was definitely the posture of someone who at least associates with the upper echelons of society. Which would bring the question... Oh. Jobias began to speak, to tell this young woman that the apothecary is who she would need to see if she was with unwanted child, but he graciously held his tongue. If she was someone important, the matter would be of great embarrassment if spoken of out loud. Jobias simply gave her a warm, if forced grin, and he returned his attention to Mister Shanke's hair, thinking of days as a Mordecai, when he gotten used to boldly keeping nothing 'hush hush'. "Almost finished, William. You were saying?"

William Shanke stared at the girl, obviously busying himself with his own preconceptions of the newcomer, though judging by his sour expression, they were far less neutral than that of the barber's. Still, he tried to give a nod to her, though again his head movement was arrested by Jobias' quick hands. "Sorry." He snorted, no matter if some twiggy mage heard what he had to say. "O'right, well that sodding hare cost us a bit, yeh? So as tha usual with a downswing, I'd sent one of the urchin lads on some rat catching ta get us by till the next meet with the rancher. Good lads fer tha work, I'm saying. Shame they'll never amount ta anythin', even the military turns em away, most lend ta thievery ya know. Anyway, So I'm up last night choppin' up the things-"

"On Angsar's Day?"

"Well I," William's tone was embarrassed, but pushed past it like a boar. "Well it wasn't the daytime like I jus' said now wasn't it? I already got to hear it from Mrs. Shanke, Mister Redding, let me tell you. Gaw! If she is going through the trouble of not havin' words with me, ya'd think she'd keep to it when it came to the scoldin', but no sir, on and on, not just about the rats, but doin' it on God's day, oh she'd make you a happy sort, Mister Redding, but I've got a business to keep runnin' and.."

Jobias let the man ramble on about his usual spatting with Mrs. Shanke, regretting interrupting him with that sliver of chastising about Angsar's Day, as clearly it strayed the butcher from the actual point he was trying to get to. His eyes returned to the girl. She seemed nervous in her own way. Jobias realized he was staring, and was sure the girl felt at least a little uncomfortable, and decided to cant his head to Mister Shanke with a smirk.

[kleineklementine]

Uthlyn Commons
The Morning after Angsar's Day

Olive wasn't put off by the cold reception. Or by the way both men stared at her. While it might not seem obvious to the average Connlaothian, this is what happened to every mage who work the mark. Every one. Every day. If Olive had let herself be too bothered by it, she'd have resigned herself to social isolation years ago. Of course, nobility also lent a certain degree of confidence and self-importance that helped in this regard. Not that Olive was particularly proud, but her upbringing certainly made it easier to not be concerned by the looks she got from everyday people.

So Olive gave a bright "Thanks!" to Jobias and flopped down on the wooden bench. The men seemed to be having a personal conversation, so Olive let her mind mostly wander. What would her mother think? Somehow, since she'd been sent away to Uthlyn nearly a year ago, her mother's disapproval had become harder to take than when she'd been home and fighting with her all the time. Secretly, though she'd barely admit it to herself, she'd hoped that by being away, maybe her parents would miss her and realize that they liked her fine how she was? Pah. What an idiotic thought. Unconsciously, Olive had been playing with her a strand of her long hair. Realizing what she had been doing, she stopped and stared at the dirty blonde lock. She was going to do this, right?

The realization had snapped her back to the present and suddenly she felt the barber's eyes on her. Her green eyes met his and she returned his gaze, not exactly defiantly, but unfaltering. She held his gaze until he turned back to the butcher. She followed Jobias's attention back to the butcher.

"Sorry," she interrupted, just realizing something that she'd heard the butcher say, "did you say you were butting rats to sell as hare?" Her tone was more curious and friendly than rude or insinuating (though, in truth, it also was a little surprised). But she continued, "But you wouldn't believe it. My dog caught the biggest rat I'd ever seen the other day. You could've sold that as a hare. Nearly as big as one!"

[Brisinger987]

Alainoth's Temple
The Morning after Angsar's Day

Xerordir was looking through the necromancer's books, but it was simply just boring. He had left nothing to indicate plans. Just devices to play with. It was pathetic. No seemingly good grand scheme. Nothing. Just items. Xerordir looked at the markings and runes. Not a language he recognised. Old by the looks of it.

"Re:hak'ton, burn this place to the ground, we have no use of it. It is simply useless." Instead of giving the shade a match, Xerordir threw the fireball straight at the shade, setting it alight. It ran around screaming in agony, knocking things over in it's painful death. Eventually it ran into a pile of papers, the Shade dying as it burned.

"Guess no-one will miss it. It is simply trinkets and toys. No doubt the product of a senile old man." Kirnardaz spoke approvingly, seemingly grinning at the fire which had started.

[Echtronis]

Alainoth's Temple
The Morning after Angsar's Day

That day, beyond the broken seal of the door in the forgotten goddess's temple, deep beneath a twisting labyrinth of catacombs, Dhalekar had been been celebrating his early, minor victories over the past few weeks, months? It was impossible for him to tell, for now, time was only an ingredient to the deathless wizard; a component for stewing with his many projects and designs and experiments, to be stowed on a shelf until it was needed again. From the stealing of life from the unknown occultist that broke the seal to his dungeon, to the plentiful rats and vermin that paired nicely with all his tools and materials he had taken with him (oh how his old servants were blessedly quiet now, their bones working tirelessly upon the forge further below. The hatred in the faces they once had now only a distant, fuzzy memory, now replaced with the mirthful grin we all eventually bear as death's countenance.) The capture of the ogre had been a pleasant surprise, and Smiles, though perhaps reluctant, was an invaluable slave, and made most of his further projects possible. He was surprisingly quiet for his size, and never seemed to be followed as he snatched unsuspecting victims from the surrounding rural areas, one by one, well, sometimes two. His smaller creations had worked beautifully, through their single bronze eyes, wired to their spines, Dhalekar had been able to infiltrate and observe the city beyond his lair, the name yet unknown, as transferred vision were his only accomplishment yet. The deadlier rats had been almost completed, the test against "Relt" yesterday had proven that. Things were going almost perfectly for the ancient wizard, and in his celebration, he worked on a special arrangement, a work of art in the truest sense. It had no design for ambition against his walled prey, no, this was simply to prove he could still express beauty in this new form of life beyond life. He had parted with the display to return to one of his more personal labs, the ones Smiles was not even allowed to enter, where through mechanical and arcane design did he take the final steps to finish an object that would let him activate his artistic piece.

Then something suddenly felt very wrong. A pulling upon his essence. It only took a click in his mind to feel out the source. The skeletons at the broken seal, remains of those pitiful fae clerics that guarded the temple when he first arrived so so long ago, had been stirred. He felt that their will was being pulled from his near-dormant control, and in almost thoughtless reaction he felt to tear his hold over them as if to pull a rug from under this mysterious force challenging his domain, if only for the mere impudence of the interloper, but Dhalekar had not. The very nature of the energy that played in this small inconsequential moment was something familiar. Unless times have changed so drastically, not any hedge mage could just steal the control over another's animations. Could this be necromancy at play? Were there other survivors from that Wicked Angsar's holocaust? And could this fellow sense it to, in a sort of wispy handshake? Well, no matter the case, Dhalekar was not thrilled at the idea of anyone just wandering into his lair he worked so hard to obtain. He let this new force take slide the skeletons from his ethereal grasp, though with thought of devious guile, the lich left a tiny, tiny seed of his essence within the bones of the old temple guards before they were taken away. He had another idea.

The thin layer of frozen flesh that coated the bones in his feet grated against the stone floor as his form pushed itself to another chamber. Smiles was in the corridor, the dumb beast  putting flowers in the farmhand's scalp from yesterday the ogre kept as a souvenir. "STOP THAT!" His screeching magical voice sent a shudder through his slave as the lich moved on.

Dhalekar found himself in one of his larger chambers, full of spinning gyros and mirrors and a collection of bizarre arrangement of alchemae that were either impossibly ancient in design, or imagined by the lich himself. An observation room, it was from here that the wizard spied upon Uthlyn. Grasping his sickly metacarpals around strange rods protruding from a metal sphere upon the large stone center table, Dhalekar exhaled a purposeful breath from his maw, and looked upon a gyro adjacent to the rod-sphere, as slowly an image would appear after pops of energy sparked its rings to spin at dizzying speeds.

Somewhere above Dhalekar's tomb, in the labyrinth beyond the broken seal, a tiny crackly of energy pulsed, and a tiny heart began beating. thin, metal legs ending in hooks began to creak into life, and under the impulse of its creator, the strange object began moving in the darkness along the ceiling, a metal "lens" vibrating quietly and pointed forward as it moved a quick journey of twists and turns to the seal.

Dhalekar watched through this lens, just as his metal pet had slinked into just to witness some shadowy form burning the research that foolish explorer left behind before unwittingly awakening the lich's lifeforce. Who was this fool? What was his intent? The skeletons were still there, apparently guarding the lone invader. There was a look of curiosity on the man's face, but it didn't seem surprised by his surroundings, more disappointed really. A pulse of excitement and curiosity played in Dhalekar's mind, and turning his stealthy remote observer to look upon the wall, the lich found one of his own blood runes, and with another cold breathe, activated it while focusing his sight through the lens.

Xerordir would suddenly hear a shrill, unsettling shriek from almost everywhere around him. Through it, a number of layered voices seemed to pull away from the pitch into their own separate frequencies. They spoke as one. "WHO DARES ENTER THIS PLACE?! ANOTHER FOOL SERVANT OF THE FAE-BITCH, ALAINOTH?!" Dhalekar spoke, in the old tongue, the name and common title of the goddess that was once known in this land, ignorant that she, and his language, had faded under the sands of time even beyond just rural uneducated farmers.


Uthlyn Commons
The Morning after Angsar's Day

"Peh! Suppose I should of paid you then, witch?" William bitterly remarked after Olive had interrupted.

"That will be enough of that, Mister Shanke!" Jobias gripped the man's shoulder with a force that caused the fat butcher to wince with mouth agape, grasping at his shoulder as Jobias let go. "She's a customer here, and I won't have you chasing off any business of mine, sir!"

"Alright, alright!" William gave a reluctant eye to the girl. "Eh.. sorry miss."

Jobias quickly retook the reigns of the conversation. He nodded to the young woman. "You'll have to forgive Mister Shanke here; lost a brother to sorcery you know."

"A  better brother than you anyhow, Joby." William rubbed his face slick with the oil from the shaving cream, inspecting his hair with a turn to the mirror hanging on the wall behind him. "Gave better haircuts to his sheep, too."

"Oh will you stop calling me that." Jobias looked to the girl, and with a sigh, shook his head from the nonsensical distractions as he helped the butcher from his chair. "You said your dog found a large rat? William what was strange about your rats?"

"Jus' the one," William spoke as Olive opened her mouth to answer. "But lookie 'ere." He retrieved a strange network of tiny wires that ended in a bulb on one end. "T'ought it were strange I couldn't take the bugger's 'ead off. This was why; attached along the backbone with that ball-end where it's eye should be. A stench ye wouldn't believe. Look, just take the damned thing, I was goin' ta take it to the college, but didn't want them snoopin' 'round the shop with a mind to find more. Yer a sensible sort, Jobias, if a bit addled!" William stepped away towards the door, as if relieved to be away from the bizarre object. "Thanks fer tha cut, I'll save some flank for a stew fer ya!"

"Mister Shanke!" Jobias called out, but the man kept going. The last sound of him in the form of surprised exclamations on the sight of the massive tracker outside before moving on. Jobias looked at the strange object for a moment, noting the tiny carvings along its surfaces, before snapping his attention to the present lady. "Oh! I, ... My utmost apologies, my dear!" He quickly brushed the loose hair from the barber's chair. "That was highly irregular, I assure you. Please have a seat, are you here for a summer's trim, miss...?" He stood in presentation to the chair as his voiced trailed to inquire her name. The metal wires still in one hand, a storm of vague questions rolled through his mind, and hoped the lady might have something to add with her mentioning of her dog's large rat, but Jobias knew that any prodding now would only scare the poor thing.

[kleineklementine]

Witch?! Olive lost her composure for just a second a look that was both stricken and angry flashed across her face. It passed almost instantaneously, but the expression left on her face was harder and prouder than it had been when she came in.

"I don't know any more about 'sorcery' than either of you do," was all she said. Even if she was used to it, she was always amazed by people who assumed that wearing the mark meant you were a magic-user. What kind of idiot would wear the mark if they intended to ever actually use magic? It just didn't make sense.

She watched the butcher storm out, smiling to herself at the exclamation when he ran into Dac. Served him right. She had to keep the smile from turning into a laugh, though, when Jobias apologied. Highly irregular, my ass, she thought. If the man thought that was highly irregular, he should spend just one day wearing the mark on his clothing. He'd realize pretty quick that there was nothing irregular about it.

Summer's trim?

Oh.

Olive had momentarily forgotten why she was here, and her hand rose almost protectively to her hair. She did want to cut it. It would be an exciting change and she wouldn't have to spend so long every day with her maid fussing over it. But the image of her disapproving mother loomed in her head and... Hey wait, what was that the butcher had handed over to the barber?

"Olive, my name's Olive. And, er, sort of," she answered distractedly, but when she stopped short of the barber's chair. Olive paused close to Jobias, looking at the mess of wires. Suddenly this seemed very important! "That's very odd," she said earnestly, gesturing with her eyes to the wires. "He found that in a rat? Can I see it? Dac, my dog I mean, caught a rat - geeze, it really was nearly the size of a hare. But I, um, didn't butcher it..."

[Brisinger987]

Xerordir felt offended at the idea of being mistaken for the servant of a "fae bitch". "Not very interesting work here. Merely magical contraptions, and children's playthings. I have made more devious experiments in my time. Show yourself, for I am a necromancer, like the one who raised these skeletons. I wish to meet the sad tinkerer living here, and change him." Perhaps hurting this man's emotions would cause an issue. It was still better than trying to figure out was going on from these minor trinkets.

He looked over at Re'hak:ton's burning corpse. Which had smouldered out. No great fire to burn this wreckage to ash. Just a small campfire made of Shade. Pathetic. Perhaps this "fae bitch" had cursed this place, and everything in it, to be pathetic.

"I had a thought, which was incredibly dangerous of me, how about I send Skalos to meet that troll? No doubt, they are intellectual equals, haha!"

[Echtronis]

Alainoth's Temple

Dhalekar wondered what this insolent being was going on about. Was it talking about the dead explorer's equipment left behind by the broken seal? He began twisting some nearby knobs in his laboratory. "Hair of black, eyes of blood..." he whispered to himself. He considered granting this intruder audience, admittedly surprised that his tongue was understood by this creature, and it claimed to be a necromancer as well, but precautions would have be made first. Dhalekar was no fool, and even among the Collegiate there was always treachery that came easy for those who were hungry for the secrets of another.

Xerordir was suddenly flashed by a bright light in the darkness of the catacombs. The heart-powered mechanized observer clattered to turn on the ceiling, relieving him of the glare. "Follow the drone!" the walls would cry.

Should Xerordir indeed follow the strange thing, he would be led through a maze of catacombs, most stripped of their remains. Rats were a common sight, though they seemed witless and stuck in a sort of stupor despite their apparent labored breathing, like pumps more than possessing the natural breath of life. "Be you from the Collegiate of Nosferti?" Dhalekar spoke of his, now ancient, institution of magic and science, his voice echoing from particular smears of dried blood upon the cold stone walls. "Did the foul wizard-slayer, Angsar, fail in his ill-conceived crusade?" Now there was a name that would be familiar to Xerordir. The mechanical drone still clattered upon the ceiling, guiding the young necromancer without hesitance.


Uthlyn Commons

"Mmm" Jobias gave an uncommitted grunt to Olive's question as he looked at the strange spine of wires. There was something particularly eerie about the engravings in the metal, nothing he has ever seen in his career as a Mordecai anyway. It was a disturbing mess, especially to think it was surgically implemented in Mister Shanke's rat. In his curious wandering of thought he had thoughtlessly let Olive take a look at it, but he quickly pulled his hand away, setting the awful thing on the counter and placing his hat over it. "In a moment, I'm more interested in you right now." He reached a hand to her shoulder, which with the gentlest of firmness, encouraged her to sit down. Jobias, already with a brush in hand, moved to examine her hair.

"Just as I thought...!" Which he did think, the girl was enough of an oddity for him to consider as well. "Your hair is cared for, young lady. Hardly a split end." He stepped to the front of Olive, examining her in more detail, and not exactly being subtle about it. "I am Jobias Redding, Miss Olive. You have a lovely name, and yet so simple. Especially simple for one with healthy hair, and does not smell like the alleys in the morning." He took a glance at his hat that sat on the counter behind her. Had she somehow have something to do with that thing Mister Shanke left behind? This girl had the Mark, was it magical in some way? He felt he would still need to play a gentle hand in this, however. "What I mean to say is, I'm not sure exactly where you'd like me to trim, especially after it's been so carefully done by another?"

[kleineklementine]

Uthlyn Commons

Olive was just starting to get a good look at the strange wiry object - and were those inscriptions? - when Jobias took the contraption away again. "Hey!" she began to protest, but before she could he'd pulled the wire object away and 'gently' forced her into the chair. Her eyes blazed defiantly, but...

"In a moment, I'm more interested in you right now."

Well... there was something compelling about an older man pushing her into a chair and telling her that he was more interested in her than the obviously-more-interesting-strange-rat-contraption he'd just set down. Even if he was a butcher. At least, compelling enough to settle her for a moment.

Olive didn't protest as he examined her hair, even as her eyes strayed to the weird rat skeleton... thing. Really, it was more interesting than whether or not she wanted a hair cut, wasn't it? She wasn't losing her nerve, she was just genuinely interested in the bizarre inscribed wire skeleton from a rat!

"Lots of girls take care of their hair," she countered. She glanced from him to the rat wire and back as he studied her. There was something strange about it. Like he was looking through her, not at her. She felt very exposed. Almost like she imaged... if she did use magic, and was caught by a Mordecai.. Hadn't she only come in to cut her hair? She was about to say something about how she was a student at the college, had an academic interest in that wire, and how not many college girls smelled like 'alleys in the morning' when Jobias asked...

Olive's mouth fell open.

"'Where?!'" she repeated, obviously shocked and offended. "Look, sir, I don't know where you get on about... But that's not the sort of business..." She fumbled the words, trying to get up and out of the chair.

'Where!'

[Echtronis]

Uthlyn Commons

'What?'  Jobias, a noble-spirited fellow, for one who would hunt and kill others, was visibly confused by Olive's reaction to his question, lost on the implication she had apparently received. With a trained alacrity of deduction, however, the barber thought two things. Either she was hiding something worth knowing, a thought that troubled him most after denying the mage, or she really had taken his question to a meaning that would even embarrass himself to imagine having suggested it. To the latter, he really couldn't have any girls that weren't street urchins running around giving the ladies of Uthlyn the impression that the local barber was a mad pervert with shears and collected trinkets from strange rats. No, he did a fine job enough eliminating potential prospects himself, thank you.

His face hardened to something more stern, and another encouragement to sit back down was made. "Calm yourself, Miss Olive!" He did not shout of course but there was something subtly commanding to his tone, as if he had training in such a thing.

'Oh, did she mean...?' Alacrity in deduction, indeed.

Jobias, though he never tried, could not think of the last time he blushed, if ever. He did feel his face change however, and realized that could not of been helping with his negotiations of presence to keep Miss Olive put. He slid the shears from his apron. "You hair, miss!" He cleared his throat and calmed down his own tone. "Sorry, I meant, how would you like me to cut your hair?" Smooth. It's a wonder he survived hunting magic-users with that sort of top shelf empathetic correspondence.

[kleineklementine]

"Get your hands off of me." Olive tried to push Jobias's "encouraging" arm away, "And you can drop this 'miss' business!"

But she was - after all - much smaller than him and hardly used to being manhandled (as it seemed to her). So Jobias succeeded and Olive was "encouraged" back into the chair with a bit of a flop.

The girl glared back up at him from the barber's chair. Her expression changed just a little from fierce to suspicious, but she clearly wasn't ready to glibly chat while he cut her hair either way!

"Sure. I bet it's 'highly irregular' for you to get girls in here who you can look over and examine and then make lewd suggestions to, right?"

[Echtronis]

"I- Are you suggesting that-" Jobias could hardly believe the implication, it disarmed him. "Mis- My La- Look here, Olive, I can see how- no. No! I would never allude to, that is to say, something so lewd to you, or even think of you like- not that I couldn't, you're a fine young lady- Oh by Angsar that is not what I meant!" He tossed the shears onto the counter as he stepped a few paces from the chair. How foolish he felt, not only to be so misunderstood, but even more so for this gibbering lack of sense he was spitting now. He felt a strong urge to turn back around, point a strong finger and tell her how she would be wicked to dare force the idea into him, perhaps in attempt to distract him from the mage to get her hands on the strange thing Mister Shanke thrusted into his possession. However, he did not. 'That was another lifetime ago, Jobias. This is not how the common world works.' He thought to himself.

No, this was just a mere girl, and he had just made a total ass of himself. He reached a hand to the back of his well-groomed head, and rubbed his scalp a moment. 'Did I really just force her into that chair?' Jobias supposed it was more of a paternal instinct, she was being rather a brat, and needed to sit down. Right? She was nervous, and needed a firm hand to control the situation... His feeble justifications, though quick in his mind, just fell like a straw bridge.

He turned to her, and opened his mouth to say "Miss" again, but stopped himself with an inaudible scoff. In any case, apologizing again didn't seem like it would come across as sincere by itself. He knew he was an honest man, and so did many others that he has called neighbor, but this Olive did not know him, nor did she seem quite from around here. No, he couldn't rely on reputation here, only a good foot forward. If not for her business, then at least for peace of mind for both of them.

Jobias sighed and reached for his hat to set it aside, uncovering the skeletal arrangement of wire that he had hid underneath it. His words were softer now. "Truly, my apologies, Olive. I, this thing has me quite bothered. I used to be an investigator, of sorts, you see." He stepped back to the chair but kept a comfortable distance for her benefit. "I won't stop you if you wish to leave, but, have you seen anything like this?" He presented the eerie thing to her. "I surely have not, and I find it quite troubling."

[kleineklementine]

Olive crossed her arms and sat back skeptically as Jobias flustered through his response to her accusation. But as he went on, her furious indignation was slowly turning into amusement and she couldn't keep a smirk from growing on her face. "- not that I couldn't, you're a fine young lady -" Oh boy. He really had a knack for communication, didn't he? Maybe that's why he worked in a barber shop, the sort of place where his clientele would be almost exclusively men: To make up for his total ineptitude at talking to women.

Well, maybe she'd caught him off his guard. He certainly didn't seem smooth enough to be a liar, anyway. Olive chuckled as he tossed the shears aside and paced away from the chair. Now she was seriously considering forgiving him, and believing him, and was thinking of a jab to use about how he thought her 'a fine young lady' when he turned around and offered his real apology.

The smirk disappeared from Olive's face. Her blood ran cold. 'An investigator, of sorts.' That could only mean so many things. But she was pretty sure it meant one thing. And here she was, in a shop full of... sharp things, alone, with no one really knowing where she was. Well, Dac was here. He was bigger than either of them. Olive swallowed. She wasn't one to run away, and she didn't want to now. But her concern was clear on her face. She almost always wore her heart too much on her sleeve. Her eyes followed Jobias's to the wire. It was strange. Everything about this day so far was strange.

Slowly, Olive got up from the chair and walked over to the counter where the wires were, standing close to Jobias to see it well. She wasn't very good at gaging personal space, even - or especially - in such awkward situations. Still, her heart beat a bit fast. She was wearing the mark and she was alone with no indication of who she was. Normally 'who she was' protected her and she knew it wasn't unheardof for mages to run into trouble once they were spotted. Not for doing anything provacative, just because they were marked.

Olive kept her eyes on the wire contraption. She reached out to pick it up, but her hand stopped short. What were those marks? Why didn't she want to actually touch them? "No, I haven't seen anything like it before." She glanced sideways up at Jobias, testing the water. "They don't teach us about wires in 'sorcery' class."

[Brisinger987]

Xerordir listened to this person's interrogation. Was he just insane?! These things had crumbled long ago.

"The Collegiate no longer exists. It fell hundreds of years ago. Angsar died, and is now a Connlaothian god. You need to catch up old timer... Necromancers are scarce... Me and you are a dying breed..." Xerordir followed the drone.

[Echtronis]

Uthlyn Commons

Jobias felt an unexpected pang of discomfort as Olive came near to inspect the strange item on the counter. It had been some time since he was with the Mordecai, and after witnessing on a handful of occasions such strange events to occur when a mage comes into contact with esoteric little oddities like this engraved wire, he felt a bit exposed. Though his innate ability to keep magical energies from sparking to life nearby him, all he could think of in that moment was when he sold his beautiful armor. A full suit, masterfully crafted. He received the coin he needed from it, but how many times had his old steel cage saved his life after the magic was gone? Then Olive made her remark, alluding to his rather rude use of the word 'sorcery' and its association with her being a mage. A shock of embarrassment coursed through him, but, staring at the wires and absorbing the sheer cheekiness in her tone, he couldn't help but let a rough release of airy laughter escape his mouth, as if a great pressure had been relieved from in him.

"No, I imagine they didn't..." the corner of his mouth twisted to a grin. Normally even joking about involvement with an institution of magical teachings would be no laughing matter, but even Jobias wasn't so much a stiff as to not see the humor in it. "Though I wish they had," concentration came to his brow.  "I can't make anything of this." Jobias pointed out the etch-work in the metal. "The metal looks to be something like a copper or bronze, but the markings; It almost immediately looks like old Serenian runes, but they're not right, too round... I think." He really wasn't sure; despite his studies in identifying magical things, and he could think of no other purpose to stick a metal skeleton inside a rat, he was lost on the nature of the markings before them now. "Did they teach you cryptography at least?" Playing along with her joke, though his tone was more serious than mirthful. Jobias still had yet to deduce where this girl came from, and was at this point grasping at straws.

[kleineklementine]

Uthlyn Commons

"Honestly, I only ever study hard enough to do better than the boys," Olive answered his question matter-of-factly, her eyes still on the contraption, "and they're all shit at languages. I mean, obviously -"

But she caught herself. She was going to say something about having obviously learned something of runes and ancient languages during all her years being tutored, but that was the last thing she wanted to admit! In fact, she now wondered, had she even said before this that she was a student at all? Sloppy. The last thing she wanted was for Jobias to figure out who she was. She wasn't really sure what was going on here, but whatever it was, that'd ruin it. It usually did.

So instead she turned the focus back on him. She turned to look up at him, then took a step back so she could look at him proper. Her gaze was scrutinizing, examining him as he'd earlier examined her. "You seem to know an awful lot about this for a barber," she observed guardedly. "Or even for a former 'investigator... of sorts.'" She raised her eyebrows, as if challenging him to deny her unspoken assumption. If she was being rather bold, she didn't stop to think about it. Really, she never did. It was on the long list of the traits that a young lady shouldn't have that she was sure her mother could repeat by heart. (But a trait which, nonetheless, probably had its roots in the privilege of nobility). "Or is it always this exciting in your shop?"