When you received the summons from Teller Oriss, you all arrived as soon as you could. The bidding of a Saint's avatar is not to be ignored, especially because Teller Oriss is the closest thing to a leader the Talechasers have. There is not necessarily any formal leadership, just a few people highly regarded in the guild, both for their skill and time they have been devoted to gathering and telling tales. Both Soren and Xilbella are among the ranks of these highly respected individuals, due to the time they have spent with the Talechasers, as well as the unique skills they contribute to the guild. Dranon and Luna, both being relatively new, are respected for their skills but have not yet earned their stripes. Meriele is certainly promising, but as of yet has not shown herself to be incredibly exceptional, and is considered in the same light as Dranon and Luna.
The Athenaeum is not an impressive structure on the outside. It was originally two separate buildings that shared a wall, but holes were knocked through the wall and ramshackle doors installed. A few threadbare, faded blue banners hang from its walls, an attempt to give it a little more of a regal appearance, with middling success. It certainly isn't much compared to the great tapestries of the Great Library. The interior is no less depressing, the many shelves that line the walls only sparsely populated by books, many of them the Talechasers' own creations, rather than artifacts of the time before the Big City's current state. In the lower floors, the children are educated, and Meriele has fond memories of the place. Soren has such memories as well, but they are more faded, and much of his education was handled by his own family.
The upper floors, where you all head to, one by one or in groups, are where the more important tomes are stored. Whereas the lower floors have many gaps in the walls and holes in the ceiling through which curling vines and the ever-menacing damp may reach, the upper floors are dry and sealed off from the outside, not perfectly but as much as can be managed. No one would dare subject the books on this floor to the threat of rot or rain. You all head through the mostly empty shelves, toward the door that leads to the second, taller building. Up another flight of stairs, and you have arrived in the Saint's Study. Here, patiently, Teller Oriss waits for you.
His skin is thin, papery, like old parchment. When one looks upon him directly, his skin appears unblemished, but squinting or looking from the corner of one's eye reveals faint, dancing patterns that flit across his skin, surfacing dancing about and disappearing below the surface. His watery eyes are the color of black ink, as well as his thin lips. His proportions, like his skin, appear ordinary when seen directly, but each part that isn't focused on seems somehow... longer, greater than the man that stands before you. He brings with him a faint aura of uneasiness, though those of you used to speaking with him are less affected by it.
When you all are gathered, he smiles, revealing perfect white teeth that appear... chalky, in texture. The smell of fresh ink fills the air as he does so.
"Hello, hello. I assume you are pondric-wondering why I... we have convemb-summoned you."
Xilbella walks with a briskness to her step that belies her more than 200 years of life. Her hair is lush and ebony black, though currently, and most times, is tied back in a braid that reaches down to just past her shoulders. She wears studded leather armor and caries her rapier and heavy crossbow, as no one in the Big City goes anywhere without such things. A below-the-knee-length tunic is under the studded leather, the hem ending above the sturdy boots she wears, with a couple inches of her stockings visible. She bows deeply to Teller Oriss as she enters the chamber. "You do us great honor in calling us to this meeting." Xilbella says respectfully to the saint, as she straightens up from her bow. She has a no-nonsense manner to her, quick to the point and, rarely, smiling. She is known to be patient, strict, and a bit standoffish.
Soren drops off several books on his way up, including a few he had borrowed from Teller Oriss, and a new one he had created. As he enters Teller Oriss' chamber, he walks dutifully to a nearby bookcase and replaces one such tome. Then, respectfully, approaches Teller Oriss with another. "Wise One, I have concluded the updates to comparative compositions reports of the various stone types used in this part of Big City, the results are included herein with the prior wood-framing and metal materials analyses." He then steps back to where the others stand, nodding politely to them as he does. "How else may I serve?"
(Soren is older, at least in his late fifties, but he is unbelievably healthy and strong for his age. His light grey eyes retain a spark of curiosity and intellect rare to most. His hair is bone white and wild, with some places receding. His tan skin is still fairly smooth, with only crows-feet and laugh-lines betraying his age too much. His voice is calm and clear, but with a slight gravel to it, the after effect of a bad virus when he was a younger man.)
Meriele sweeps a scatter of rat droppings out of the corners of the shed before she stretches out the ropes to wring and then hang the wet linens. The sun is still only barely peeking its exuberant face over the decrepit towers of the Big City, but the day promises to be warm. Meriele's bare, calloused feet run back and forth with the water buckets, catching the streams of water as she wrings the linens. Save every drop! The perilous pre-dawn trek to the nearest canal filter that trickles from the Last River isn't something she wants to have to repeat until tomorrow morning.
"Meriele!" She hears her mother, Irina, calling her.
"Yes, mother," Meriele pants, as she pulls the ropes tighter. She steps back and counts the number of drops from the corners of the wet cloth. It's dry enough. She stretches the lengths of homespun out carefully across the ropes to dry, picks up the bucket, and scurries back to the house.
Irina is mixing a platter of green dough on a scarred and worn but solid table. She dusts a root powder into it and rolls it out. Meriele realizes she's hungry, though it's still early. These flat green loaves will be the family's breakfast before Sagan, Meriele's father, leaves for the day to help draft the maps the Talechasers use to catalogue the locations in the City of resources and materials.
Irina pushes an iron griddle onto her small cookfire and slaps a thin circle of green dough on it. "Meriele, you must leave before breakfast. Teller Oriss wishes to see you, immediately."
"See me? Why?" Meriele stops where she is and sets the bucket down, slopping it a little, startled. When she was younger, she occasionally tagged along with her father to meetings, but the Teller has never taken notice of her before, despite her long-held childish admiration of him.
Irina pulls the steaming flat cake off of the griddle, rolls it up, and hands it to her daughter. "I don't know, sweetheart, but you must of course go. Work never stops in the Big City, time is ticking, waiting, while history slips away. Go! And put some shoes on!"
Meriele holds the rolled up cake between her teeth while she straps her leather shoes on around the ankles, and munches on it while she makes her way to the Athenaeum. As the rising sun filters brighter light and more vibrant colors into the landscape, she smiles. With its musty smells of ink and books, and the hallowed, meditative air under its cozy ceilings, it has always been one of her favorite places. She spent hours and hours there as a youngster, reading the books.
She tiptoes up the flights of stairs to the Saint's Study, and is taken aback seeing two of the most important Talechasers already in attendance. The old elf, of course, and Soren, whom her father hails uncompromisingly as a genius. Why does Teller Oriss want ME here?
Stepping up, she curtsies deeply to the Teller. "I am here, Teller Oriss," she says. "What can I do for you?" Shyly, she keeps her gaze down and doesn't look at the very important people who were here before her.
Teller Oriss nods to Soren. "Bountific- thank you, crafter. I will make sure to classigi- I will have it sorted and shelved." The Teller bows in thanks, with the sound of crinkling paper, and turns to Meriele. "Ah, grantacu- it is good to see you, young Meriele. I trust your scholuiti- your education is advress- er, going well. You-"
The Teller winces, and that inky smell fills the air again. Soren's book open with a bang, and begins flipping rapidly through, before snapping shut again. The Teller rubs his temples. "I apologize. The Saint is excited. I think you should speak to him directly."
And just like that, Teller Oriss unfolds. Perhaps it sounds a little gruesome, but that's the best description that can be given. Like a small slip of paper, which uncurls into something greater. The face is still Oriss', as is the rest of it, but the skin is now not just papery: it is paper. His eyes don't only look like wells of ink: they are, leaking black trails down his face, which twist and turn into the words that now very visibly crisscross his body. As the body and face twist, change, taking on a new identity, sheaves of paper descend from the shelves, fold themselves into a crinkling cloak. When Saint Fabulam moves, he seems to do so in stop-motion, his features changing in tiny leaps like an image in a flip book.
"Tremarkable! I haven't been unconfettled for multitanible weeks, it feels merriffic to stretch my limbs. Now, then. I have soonishly received word of a cache of information sitlucated in the Inner City. A library, a bookseller, an archive, something of this genregory. How delerbious it is! I have assolocated you all to go there, secure it, and bring home whichatsoever you can acquire. Young Meriele, you have demonstricated interest in becoming a full fledged Talechaser, yes? This task will suffunction as a test. For the half-dwarf and the fellow with the bizuliar fashion sense, as well. I'm afraid I haven't caught your names, but if you wish to prove your devidelity and adequantinalness to us, you must complete this mission. You will be watchversized by Soren and Xilbella, some of our senior members, to ensure that the task is completed with profacity and celacrity. Directions will be supplied, should you accept. Do you have any queries, quibbles, or quonundrums?"
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
The half-elf, Luna, enters the room as soon as Teller Oriss begins his transformation. Luna has short, black hair and pale skin. He lifts up his stetson hat to get a better look at everything, his silver eyes glancing at each person in the room. Luna's outfit is bizuliar, as one man puts it, as it is something not available anywhere in the Big City. (In modern terms) His outfit consists of a black dress shirt, slacks and a vest accompanied by a fine tailcoat jacket. Strapped over his clothes are various leather-belt straps with holsters to hold various weapons and items, though they are all currently empty. He gives a smile and a nod to those in the room before turning to Teller.
Luna hides a slight grimace, he was still relatively new to the Talechasers and was not yet accustomed to Teller Oriss' transformation. "The name's Luna, and I accept this task. As a gutrunner, myself, I know that the inner city houses its fair share of dangers. In situations like these information is key, is there anything you know beyond its location? What the environment is like, if there are any known threats in the vicinity, if you have priority over certain types of information we may find over others?"
Saint Fabulam moves over to Luna. He doesn't exactly float, but neither does he walk. He sort of... tiptoes in great, even strides. His tiptoes, however, are a little too long to be exactly comfortable.
"It is neighboracent to the wall, almost borders on it. I surmecture the only reason it hasn't been plundacked by anyone else is that they don't care. As for threats... it is close to the Museum on the contrapodal side of the wall, but I don't believe the ingresstrance the Curators use is particularly nearhaps. Still, I would survaze your surroundings with the utmost vigilarity. Our scouts reported some minor Denizen activity... mostly goblins, I surmecture. But you should hopefully be able to eschoid them. And, of course, there are the Weeds. There were some enscapulizing the area, you may need to fight. Use your own discretion when it comes to retrovvering information. I trust you all. Well, mostly Xilbella and Soren."
As usual in these sorts of meetings, Xilbella has settled into the background, content to listen and watch. As each of the others came in she would give them a slight nod in greeting. The transformation into the saint has been seen enough times that it doesn't phase her overly much any more. A sleight smile would curve up her lips as Luna asks their questions, maybe a bit of approval in her eyes, for Luna, as Xilbella listens to the saint's response.
"Does anyone else have questions for Saint Fabulam?" Xilbella asks then, her voice soft but carrying. "We know the general location, the dangers are what would normally be expected anywhere not on the very outskirts of the city, and there is little reason to expect others might wish to beat us to this cache." She waits to see what the others have for questions, looking to each with a raised eyebrow to prompt them to speak up now if they have any.
Dranon enters the Saint’s study, only a few paces behind a half-elf.Considering his own appearance as somewhat unique, he finds the half-elf’s garb even more so.Stepping through the doorway with a quietness contradicting his frame, he says nothing, recognizing the meeting has already begun.As the Saint completes his transformation, Dranon slowly lowers the cowl of the sleeveless robe covering his darkened half-plate, revealing his face.Those taking notice see the chiseled jaw of a grey skinned half-dwarf with light steel-blue eyes. And, the tattoo of a black crescent moon on the inside of his left wrist. Listening carefully, Dranon gives a respectful nod to the Saint when their eyes eventually meet.
[Standing 6’3”, 260lbs, Dranon has an intimidating physique.His lean dense musculature, obvious even under his dark tactical-looking armor, hints strongly at his half-dwarven lineage.As does his warm-toned, light grey skin and the fleeting hints of dusty silver in his short dark hair that sometimes appears in certain light.His light steel-blue eyes are an obvious and thankful gift from his human barbarian heritage.This overall combination, and the fact half-dwarves are so uncommon, especially those of Duergar parentage, sets him apart more than he cares for.And, more often than not, leaves people pondering.Be they intrigued, intimidated or even aggressive.
Although not entirely bereft of color, Dranon’s armor and his gear leans towards drab, appearing more tactical and conducive to shadow.But, there is also a hint of something more.Something cerebral. Those with keen perception will notice tinker’s tools and similar under his robe. On his back appears to be a firearm of a unique nature, as well as a bastard sword. Secured firmly in his belt is a large dagger and, to his waist, a sturdy hand axe. Like his garb, all of his weapons appear darkened. As if purposely blunted from light and reflection.]
Looking at Xilbella, Dranon responds plainly, “Just one. When do we leave?”
When Dranon speaks it is genuine, with quiet confidence and casual authority. All of which are reflective of his full nature. He does not suffer well fools, the selfish or rules for the sake of.
"Thank you, Teller Oriss, I hope I do well,"Meriele says breathlessly, even though she's actually terrified. Of course she knows the families of the Talechasers are born and bred for this, putting their lives on the line to preserve every vestige of knowledge that they can in a dark and barbaric society that no longer cares. Her father, Sagan, has gone out with the Gutrunners more than once. But Meriele has never been. Mother will be proud.
As the two newcomers to the guild arrive, Meriele folds her hands in front of her and stands properly, her head bowed respectfully and shyly averting her gaze. From the glimpse she has of them out of the corner of her eye, Meriele thinks they're both intimidating, even frightening. All business and hard edges. But Xilbella and Soren will show them how it should be done. Meriele is sure every Talechaser has lost count of the number of times these two have gone into the Inner Walls, and returned victorious.
Meriele looks up to smile at Xilbella, looking slightly awestruck as if speaking to a childhood hero. "I don't have any questions, Xilbella, I will do as you instruct."
"Thank you for your wisdom Saint Fabulam. I will do my utmost for this sake of this guild and in the name of knowledge and restoration," Luna turns to look at Soren and Xilbella, "It will be most reassuring to have you two accompany us." Luna then gives a wide smile to Meriele and Dranon, "I look forward to working with you, let's ace this task and prove our worth."
Xilbella waits another beat or two, making sure no one else has any further questions or requests, then she bows to the saint in respect again. "It will be our honor to perform this task for you." She says as she straightens again. "Please confer on us the directions you mentioned, then we will collect what we need and be off to do as you have asked." She waits for any further directions, information, or words the saint wishes to gift them with, then would be ready to leave his presence.
(since I don't yet have a map so far, just... assume that Saint Fabulam gives you some really cool instructions and says a bunch of made up words. No further instructions.)
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"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Luna's shoulders droop down and his posture relaxes once the group receives directions and leaves the building, "That was the first time I've seen Teller transform up close. Definitely something that will take time getting used to. Still takes me a while to completely understand what he's saying too, the saint's got a peculiar way of speaking."
Luna remembers the existence of Soren and Xilbella and he immediately corrects himself, "Ah, I mean no disrespect to the Saint though. I wholeheartedly want to see this city restored from its current condition, and I think Saint Fabulam's got the right idea on how to do so. Ahem, well I have everything I'll be needing already on me so I'm ready to go when y'all are. In case you missed it, the name's Luna and it's a pleasure to be working with y'all."
Dranon nods, acknowledging Luna’s statement. He looks at Luna, as well as the others, as he speaks. “Same. It was certainly a unique experience. The name’s Dranon.”
Xilbella nods to the others as they exit the chamber. "In case anyone does not have everything they need, or simply wish to say farewell to family or friends, I suggest we meet up by the main exit in fifteen minutes." She glances around at the less-proven members of the group. "I know some of you have traveled more inward than others, but this is not going to be a normal run. Make sure you grab extra sacks and such, as we will have books to carry back with us, not simply whatever we can fit in during a normal run, but are going for as many books as we can retrieve. Let us be prepared to carry a good many back." She holds each person's eyes for a moment then nods again. "I have those I must speak with prior to leaving, so I will meet you all again in fifteen minutes." With that she sweeps off, heading to speak with family, friends, as well as other high-level Tailchasers.
As the group exits the Athanaeum into the light of the rising sun, Meriele can barely contain her nervousness. She nods to Xilbella, meeting the elf's gaze. "I... I must go and get ready, too. I will meet you at the gate in fifteen minutes!" She nods to the others, although she keeps her eyes downcast, and then rushes back home through the choked streets and alleyways.
"Mother!"Meriele bursts into her home, out of breath. "Teller Oriss wants to prove me, to send me into the Inner Walls... on an important mission! With Soren, and Xilbella!"
"By the Saint, child!" Irina looks up from her mending, dropping needle and tunic (one of Sagan's) into her lap. She gets up quickly and sets them in the wooden seat, coming over to her daughter. "Long have we waited this day!" But Irina's eyes are fearful as she takes hold of her daughter's shoulders, looking into her eyes. Looking for... what? Meriele is puzzled. Then her mother hugs her tightly and smiles again. "Take your staff, Meriele, and, I've got something special for you. It will help protect you."
"What's that, Mother?" Meriele asks.
Irina doesn't speak but shuffles her daughter into the second room of the house where the sparse beds are made up. A wooden chest sits against the back wall, and Irina goes to it, taking a key from her pocket and unlocking the solid lid. From it she pulls a quilted tunic, and then a ringing cascade of interlocked metal links. And then, a gleaming shield, small enough to hold in one hand. "These was mine," she explains. "A gift from a dwarf smith in my youth, who wished to keep me safe."She blushes. "I was always a bit spindly to bear the weight, and being a Gutrunner was not in my future, but you're a strong girl, and on your first run... this will help you."
Meriele's eyes sparkle at the glinting metal. She holds out her arms for her mother to pull the quilted gambeson over her head, complete with padded hood over her knotted veil. Then the chain mail, gorget, and the belt, and a pair of metal handguards. It all is heavy, but no heavier than the water buckets Meriele daily hauls in her hands, over her shoulder, or on her head.
"Now here," Irina says, handing Meriele her staff and the shield straps over her left arm. The girl grasps both protectively. "What else do you need?"
"Xilbella said sacks, to carry books back in. But, I've got to meet them at the gate in 15 minutes," Meriele says.
"Well, go, then, my child!" Irina embraces Meriele again tightly, clumsy this time around her armor. "I'll have a good hot dinner ready for you when you get back! Take this backpack with you. Here, put the waterskin in it. You don't know what kind of pace you'll have to move at, and you might need water! Don't worry, I'll haul another bucketful if I need it. Go!"
Meriele, feeling solid and important, tramps out of the house and towards the Inner Wall gate to wait for Xilbella and the others. I hope I don't look too silly, actually...
When you received the summons from Teller Oriss, you all arrived as soon as you could. The bidding of a Saint's avatar is not to be ignored, especially because Teller Oriss is the closest thing to a leader the Talechasers have. There is not necessarily any formal leadership, just a few people highly regarded in the guild, both for their skill and time they have been devoted to gathering and telling tales. Both Soren and Xilbella are among the ranks of these highly respected individuals, due to the time they have spent with the Talechasers, as well as the unique skills they contribute to the guild. Dranon and Luna, both being relatively new, are respected for their skills but have not yet earned their stripes. Meriele is certainly promising, but as of yet has not shown herself to be incredibly exceptional, and is considered in the same light as Dranon and Luna.
The Athenaeum is not an impressive structure on the outside. It was originally two separate buildings that shared a wall, but holes were knocked through the wall and ramshackle doors installed. A few threadbare, faded blue banners hang from its walls, an attempt to give it a little more of a regal appearance, with middling success. It certainly isn't much compared to the great tapestries of the Great Library. The interior is no less depressing, the many shelves that line the walls only sparsely populated by books, many of them the Talechasers' own creations, rather than artifacts of the time before the Big City's current state. In the lower floors, the children are educated, and Meriele has fond memories of the place. Soren has such memories as well, but they are more faded, and much of his education was handled by his own family.
The upper floors, where you all head to, one by one or in groups, are where the more important tomes are stored. Whereas the lower floors have many gaps in the walls and holes in the ceiling through which curling vines and the ever-menacing damp may reach, the upper floors are dry and sealed off from the outside, not perfectly but as much as can be managed. No one would dare subject the books on this floor to the threat of rot or rain. You all head through the mostly empty shelves, toward the door that leads to the second, taller building. Up another flight of stairs, and you have arrived in the Saint's Study. Here, patiently, Teller Oriss waits for you.
His skin is thin, papery, like old parchment. When one looks upon him directly, his skin appears unblemished, but squinting or looking from the corner of one's eye reveals faint, dancing patterns that flit across his skin, surfacing dancing about and disappearing below the surface. His watery eyes are the color of black ink, as well as his thin lips. His proportions, like his skin, appear ordinary when seen directly, but each part that isn't focused on seems somehow... longer, greater than the man that stands before you. He brings with him a faint aura of uneasiness, though those of you used to speaking with him are less affected by it.
When you all are gathered, he smiles, revealing perfect white teeth that appear... chalky, in texture. The smell of fresh ink fills the air as he does so.
"Hello, hello. I assume you are pondric-wondering why I... we have convemb-summoned you."
(Feel free to intro your characters now)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Xilbella walks with a briskness to her step that belies her more than 200 years of life. Her hair is lush and ebony black, though currently, and most times, is tied back in a braid that reaches down to just past her shoulders. She wears studded leather armor and caries her rapier and heavy crossbow, as no one in the Big City goes anywhere without such things. A below-the-knee-length tunic is under the studded leather, the hem ending above the sturdy boots she wears, with a couple inches of her stockings visible. She bows deeply to Teller Oriss as she enters the chamber.
"You do us great honor in calling us to this meeting." Xilbella says respectfully to the saint, as she straightens up from her bow. She has a no-nonsense manner to her, quick to the point and, rarely, smiling. She is known to be patient, strict, and a bit standoffish.
Soren drops off several books on his way up, including a few he had borrowed from Teller Oriss, and a new one he had created. As he enters Teller Oriss' chamber, he walks dutifully to a nearby bookcase and replaces one such tome. Then, respectfully, approaches Teller Oriss with another. "Wise One, I have concluded the updates to comparative compositions reports of the various stone types used in this part of Big City, the results are included herein with the prior wood-framing and metal materials analyses." He then steps back to where the others stand, nodding politely to them as he does. "How else may I serve?"
(Soren is older, at least in his late fifties, but he is unbelievably healthy and strong for his age. His light grey eyes retain a spark of curiosity and intellect rare to most. His hair is bone white and wild, with some places receding. His tan skin is still fairly smooth, with only crows-feet and laugh-lines betraying his age too much. His voice is calm and clear, but with a slight gravel to it, the after effect of a bad virus when he was a younger man.)
Meriele sweeps a scatter of rat droppings out of the corners of the shed before she stretches out the ropes to wring and then hang the wet linens. The sun is still only barely peeking its exuberant face over the decrepit towers of the Big City, but the day promises to be warm. Meriele's bare, calloused feet run back and forth with the water buckets, catching the streams of water as she wrings the linens. Save every drop! The perilous pre-dawn trek to the nearest canal filter that trickles from the Last River isn't something she wants to have to repeat until tomorrow morning.
"Meriele!" She hears her mother, Irina, calling her.
"Yes, mother," Meriele pants, as she pulls the ropes tighter. She steps back and counts the number of drops from the corners of the wet cloth. It's dry enough. She stretches the lengths of homespun out carefully across the ropes to dry, picks up the bucket, and scurries back to the house.
Irina is mixing a platter of green dough on a scarred and worn but solid table. She dusts a root powder into it and rolls it out. Meriele realizes she's hungry, though it's still early. These flat green loaves will be the family's breakfast before Sagan, Meriele's father, leaves for the day to help draft the maps the Talechasers use to catalogue the locations in the City of resources and materials.
Irina pushes an iron griddle onto her small cookfire and slaps a thin circle of green dough on it. "Meriele, you must leave before breakfast. Teller Oriss wishes to see you, immediately."
"See me? Why?" Meriele stops where she is and sets the bucket down, slopping it a little, startled. When she was younger, she occasionally tagged along with her father to meetings, but the Teller has never taken notice of her before, despite her long-held childish admiration of him.
Irina pulls the steaming flat cake off of the griddle, rolls it up, and hands it to her daughter. "I don't know, sweetheart, but you must of course go. Work never stops in the Big City, time is ticking, waiting, while history slips away. Go! And put some shoes on!"
Meriele holds the rolled up cake between her teeth while she straps her leather shoes on around the ankles, and munches on it while she makes her way to the Athenaeum. As the rising sun filters brighter light and more vibrant colors into the landscape, she smiles. With its musty smells of ink and books, and the hallowed, meditative air under its cozy ceilings, it has always been one of her favorite places. She spent hours and hours there as a youngster, reading the books.
She tiptoes up the flights of stairs to the Saint's Study, and is taken aback seeing two of the most important Talechasers already in attendance. The old elf, of course, and Soren, whom her father hails uncompromisingly as a genius. Why does Teller Oriss want ME here?
Stepping up, she curtsies deeply to the Teller. "I am here, Teller Oriss," she says. "What can I do for you?" Shyly, she keeps her gaze down and doesn't look at the very important people who were here before her.
Sagan and Irina: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/34/70/bf/3470bfbea8a9315aa571631827cf50a8.jpg
Meriele: https://i.pinimg.com/originals/f2/28/47/f228476b330125f67816f9027535ee7f.jpg
Teller Oriss nods to Soren. "Bountific- thank you, crafter. I will make sure to classigi- I will have it sorted and shelved." The Teller bows in thanks, with the sound of crinkling paper, and turns to Meriele. "Ah, grantacu- it is good to see you, young Meriele. I trust your scholuiti- your education is advress- er, going well. You-"
The Teller winces, and that inky smell fills the air again. Soren's book open with a bang, and begins flipping rapidly through, before snapping shut again. The Teller rubs his temples. "I apologize. The Saint is excited. I think you should speak to him directly."
And just like that, Teller Oriss unfolds. Perhaps it sounds a little gruesome, but that's the best description that can be given. Like a small slip of paper, which uncurls into something greater. The face is still Oriss', as is the rest of it, but the skin is now not just papery: it is paper. His eyes don't only look like wells of ink: they are, leaking black trails down his face, which twist and turn into the words that now very visibly crisscross his body. As the body and face twist, change, taking on a new identity, sheaves of paper descend from the shelves, fold themselves into a crinkling cloak. When Saint Fabulam moves, he seems to do so in stop-motion, his features changing in tiny leaps like an image in a flip book.
"Tremarkable! I haven't been unconfettled for multitanible weeks, it feels merriffic to stretch my limbs. Now, then. I have soonishly received word of a cache of information sitlucated in the Inner City. A library, a bookseller, an archive, something of this genregory. How delerbious it is! I have assolocated you all to go there, secure it, and bring home whichatsoever you can acquire. Young Meriele, you have demonstricated interest in becoming a full fledged Talechaser, yes? This task will suffunction as a test. For the half-dwarf and the fellow with the bizuliar fashion sense, as well. I'm afraid I haven't caught your names, but if you wish to prove your devidelity and adequantinalness to us, you must complete this mission. You will be watchversized by Soren and Xilbella, some of our senior members, to ensure that the task is completed with profacity and celacrity. Directions will be supplied, should you accept. Do you have any queries, quibbles, or quonundrums?"
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
The half-elf, Luna, enters the room as soon as Teller Oriss begins his transformation. Luna has short, black hair and pale skin. He lifts up his stetson hat to get a better look at everything, his silver eyes glancing at each person in the room. Luna's outfit is bizuliar, as one man puts it, as it is something not available anywhere in the Big City. (In modern terms) His outfit consists of a black dress shirt, slacks and a vest accompanied by a fine tailcoat jacket. Strapped over his clothes are various leather-belt straps with holsters to hold various weapons and items, though they are all currently empty. He gives a smile and a nod to those in the room before turning to Teller.
Luna hides a slight grimace, he was still relatively new to the Talechasers and was not yet accustomed to Teller Oriss' transformation. "The name's Luna, and I accept this task. As a gutrunner, myself, I know that the inner city houses its fair share of dangers. In situations like these information is key, is there anything you know beyond its location? What the environment is like, if there are any known threats in the vicinity, if you have priority over certain types of information we may find over others?"
Luna (outfit reference):
Ro Aleron (Ro the Red) -> Illithid, Wizard 8 (Chronugist) // AURYN
Saint Fabulam moves over to Luna. He doesn't exactly float, but neither does he walk. He sort of... tiptoes in great, even strides. His tiptoes, however, are a little too long to be exactly comfortable.
"It is neighboracent to the wall, almost borders on it. I surmecture the only reason it hasn't been plundacked by anyone else is that they don't care. As for threats... it is close to the Museum on the contrapodal side of the wall, but I don't believe the ingresstrance the Curators use is particularly nearhaps. Still, I would survaze your surroundings with the utmost vigilarity. Our scouts reported some minor Denizen activity... mostly goblins, I surmecture. But you should hopefully be able to eschoid them. And, of course, there are the Weeds. There were some enscapulizing the area, you may need to fight. Use your own discretion when it comes to retrovvering information. I trust you all. Well, mostly Xilbella and Soren."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
As usual in these sorts of meetings, Xilbella has settled into the background, content to listen and watch. As each of the others came in she would give them a slight nod in greeting. The transformation into the saint has been seen enough times that it doesn't phase her overly much any more. A sleight smile would curve up her lips as Luna asks their questions, maybe a bit of approval in her eyes, for Luna, as Xilbella listens to the saint's response.
"Does anyone else have questions for Saint Fabulam?" Xilbella asks then, her voice soft but carrying. "We know the general location, the dangers are what would normally be expected anywhere not on the very outskirts of the city, and there is little reason to expect others might wish to beat us to this cache." She waits to see what the others have for questions, looking to each with a raised eyebrow to prompt them to speak up now if they have any.
Dranon enters the Saint’s study, only a few paces behind a half-elf. Considering his own appearance as somewhat unique, he finds the half-elf’s garb even more so. Stepping through the doorway with a quietness contradicting his frame, he says nothing, recognizing the meeting has already begun. As the Saint completes his transformation, Dranon slowly lowers the cowl of the sleeveless robe covering his darkened half-plate, revealing his face. Those taking notice see the chiseled jaw of a grey skinned half-dwarf with light steel-blue eyes. And, the tattoo of a black crescent moon on the inside of his left wrist. Listening carefully, Dranon gives a respectful nod to the Saint when their eyes eventually meet.
[Standing 6’3”, 260lbs, Dranon has an intimidating physique. His lean dense musculature, obvious even under his dark tactical-looking armor, hints strongly at his half-dwarven lineage. As does his warm-toned, light grey skin and the fleeting hints of dusty silver in his short dark hair that sometimes appears in certain light. His light steel-blue eyes are an obvious and thankful gift from his human barbarian heritage. This overall combination, and the fact half-dwarves are so uncommon, especially those of Duergar parentage, sets him apart more than he cares for. And, more often than not, leaves people pondering. Be they intrigued, intimidated or even aggressive.
Although not entirely bereft of color, Dranon’s armor and his gear leans towards drab, appearing more tactical and conducive to shadow. But, there is also a hint of something more. Something cerebral. Those with keen perception will notice tinker’s tools and similar under his robe. On his back appears to be a firearm of a unique nature, as well as a bastard sword. Secured firmly in his belt is a large dagger and, to his waist, a sturdy hand axe. Like his garb, all of his weapons appear darkened. As if purposely blunted from light and reflection.]
Looking at Xilbella, Dranon responds plainly, “Just one. When do we leave?”
When Dranon speaks it is genuine, with quiet confidence and casual authority. All of which are reflective of his full nature. He does not suffer well fools, the selfish or rules for the sake of.
Baseline image of: Dranon
"Thank you, Teller Oriss, I hope I do well," Meriele says breathlessly, even though she's actually terrified. Of course she knows the families of the Talechasers are born and bred for this, putting their lives on the line to preserve every vestige of knowledge that they can in a dark and barbaric society that no longer cares. Her father, Sagan, has gone out with the Gutrunners more than once. But Meriele has never been. Mother will be proud.
As the two newcomers to the guild arrive, Meriele folds her hands in front of her and stands properly, her head bowed respectfully and shyly averting her gaze. From the glimpse she has of them out of the corner of her eye, Meriele thinks they're both intimidating, even frightening. All business and hard edges. But Xilbella and Soren will show them how it should be done. Meriele is sure every Talechaser has lost count of the number of times these two have gone into the Inner Walls, and returned victorious.
Meriele looks up to smile at Xilbella, looking slightly awestruck as if speaking to a childhood hero. "I don't have any questions, Xilbella, I will do as you instruct."
"Thank you for your wisdom Saint Fabulam. I will do my utmost for this sake of this guild and in the name of knowledge and restoration," Luna turns to look at Soren and Xilbella, "It will be most reassuring to have you two accompany us." Luna then gives a wide smile to Meriele and Dranon, "I look forward to working with you, let's ace this task and prove our worth."
Ro Aleron (Ro the Red) -> Illithid, Wizard 8 (Chronugist) // AURYN
"You leave as soon as you are desireal to! If no more preparisitions are required, I will provemble you with your directions."
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Xilbella waits another beat or two, making sure no one else has any further questions or requests, then she bows to the saint in respect again. "It will be our honor to perform this task for you." She says as she straightens again. "Please confer on us the directions you mentioned, then we will collect what we need and be off to do as you have asked." She waits for any further directions, information, or words the saint wishes to gift them with, then would be ready to leave his presence.
(since I don't yet have a map so far, just... assume that Saint Fabulam gives you some really cool instructions and says a bunch of made up words. No further instructions.)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
Luna's shoulders droop down and his posture relaxes once the group receives directions and leaves the building, "That was the first time I've seen Teller transform up close. Definitely something that will take time getting used to. Still takes me a while to completely understand what he's saying too, the saint's got a peculiar way of speaking."
Luna remembers the existence of Soren and Xilbella and he immediately corrects himself, "Ah, I mean no disrespect to the Saint though. I wholeheartedly want to see this city restored from its current condition, and I think Saint Fabulam's got the right idea on how to do so. Ahem, well I have everything I'll be needing already on me so I'm ready to go when y'all are. In case you missed it, the name's Luna and it's a pleasure to be working with y'all."
Ro Aleron (Ro the Red) -> Illithid, Wizard 8 (Chronugist) // AURYN
Dranon nods, acknowledging Luna’s statement. He looks at Luna, as well as the others, as he speaks. “Same. It was certainly a unique experience. The name’s Dranon.”
Xilbella nods to the others as they exit the chamber. "In case anyone does not have everything they need, or simply wish to say farewell to family or friends, I suggest we meet up by the main exit in fifteen minutes." She glances around at the less-proven members of the group. "I know some of you have traveled more inward than others, but this is not going to be a normal run. Make sure you grab extra sacks and such, as we will have books to carry back with us, not simply whatever we can fit in during a normal run, but are going for as many books as we can retrieve. Let us be prepared to carry a good many back." She holds each person's eyes for a moment then nods again. "I have those I must speak with prior to leaving, so I will meet you all again in fifteen minutes." With that she sweeps off, heading to speak with family, friends, as well as other high-level Tailchasers.
(If no one has any preparations to make, goodbyes to say, etc., I can move things along)
"Ignorance is bliss, and you look absolutely miserable."
As the group exits the Athanaeum into the light of the rising sun, Meriele can barely contain her nervousness. She nods to Xilbella, meeting the elf's gaze. "I... I must go and get ready, too. I will meet you at the gate in fifteen minutes!" She nods to the others, although she keeps her eyes downcast, and then rushes back home through the choked streets and alleyways.
"Mother!" Meriele bursts into her home, out of breath. "Teller Oriss wants to prove me, to send me into the Inner Walls... on an important mission! With Soren, and Xilbella!"
"By the Saint, child!" Irina looks up from her mending, dropping needle and tunic (one of Sagan's) into her lap. She gets up quickly and sets them in the wooden seat, coming over to her daughter. "Long have we waited this day!" But Irina's eyes are fearful as she takes hold of her daughter's shoulders, looking into her eyes. Looking for... what? Meriele is puzzled. Then her mother hugs her tightly and smiles again. "Take your staff, Meriele, and, I've got something special for you. It will help protect you."
"What's that, Mother?" Meriele asks.
Irina doesn't speak but shuffles her daughter into the second room of the house where the sparse beds are made up. A wooden chest sits against the back wall, and Irina goes to it, taking a key from her pocket and unlocking the solid lid. From it she pulls a quilted tunic, and then a ringing cascade of interlocked metal links. And then, a gleaming shield, small enough to hold in one hand. "These was mine," she explains. "A gift from a dwarf smith in my youth, who wished to keep me safe." She blushes. "I was always a bit spindly to bear the weight, and being a Gutrunner was not in my future, but you're a strong girl, and on your first run... this will help you."
Meriele's eyes sparkle at the glinting metal. She holds out her arms for her mother to pull the quilted gambeson over her head, complete with padded hood over her knotted veil. Then the chain mail, gorget, and the belt, and a pair of metal handguards. It all is heavy, but no heavier than the water buckets Meriele daily hauls in her hands, over her shoulder, or on her head.
"Now here," Irina says, handing Meriele her staff and the shield straps over her left arm. The girl grasps both protectively. "What else do you need?"
"Xilbella said sacks, to carry books back in. But, I've got to meet them at the gate in 15 minutes," Meriele says.
"Well, go, then, my child!" Irina embraces Meriele again tightly, clumsy this time around her armor. "I'll have a good hot dinner ready for you when you get back! Take this backpack with you. Here, put the waterskin in it. You don't know what kind of pace you'll have to move at, and you might need water! Don't worry, I'll haul another bucketful if I need it. Go!"
Meriele, feeling solid and important, tramps out of the house and towards the Inner Wall gate to wait for Xilbella and the others. I hope I don't look too silly, actually...
Heeding Xilbella’s instructions, Dranon finds a quiet place on the grounds for some last minute preparations before meeting up with the others.