Union! Game Thread

"Oh good morning!" Thia would try and whisper in surprise when she'd realize Corti was awake before her. She'd smile happy to see her going through the book.

Thia would toss the last bit of dried fruit into her mouth and wipe her hands on her pants before sliding her bag from her hip onto her lap. She'd start muttering out loud to herself. "Now the meeting isn't until this evening right? Perhaps I have some time now to make an attempt at replicating a bag of holding." She'd start emptying out all of its contents and lay them out in an organized fashion on the desk. "This is my favourite bag..." Once it was empty, Thia would take a moment to really look it over. There were definitely some very questionable stains. "Let's play Blood, Stew or something new!" She'd muse to herself while she reviewed the obvious signs of wear and tear. "The perfect candidate!" Thia would hold her bag up for one last inspection.

Pulling out her calligraphy tools, Thia would make notes on her blueprints where she will stitch the silver thread to infuse into her bag. Her plan is to use the majority of the silver thread to reinforce the existing seams that make up the main structure, then repair old rips and tears for additional support. Once mapped out on her blueprint, she'd make small marks on the inside of the bag to guide her while sewing.

Now that the thread was mapped out, she still needed to flush out the last bit of her incantations. Thia would reach over to grab her notebook to review it. "'Any incantation woven or stitched into the fabric would have to open a path to the Astral plane, as well as specify the two end points of the connection, in order to be able to retrieve and store the items consistently.' This is key to a successful infusion..." She'd pour over her three examples written down. If any of them didn't specify an opening or closing to the Astral plane, she'd scratch them out, or revise the closest one to ensure it met the requirements. Thia would sit back in her seat and ponder for a moment, tapping a finger on her nose. She'd look to her notes, to the blueprints, to the bag and back again, trying to imagine each step. "Arcane Runes..." She'd lean back in to look through her notes and her blueprints for reoccurring runes from her studies. "I should stitch the runes as well..." and begin sketching on the blueprint where she could stitch a some runes with the remaining thread.

Thia would sit back once again to look over her studies, "I suppose this is where I take the plunge. I can theorize for days, but I won't get anywhere without trying it." she'd chastise herself before picking up her needle to thread. And with a deep breath, she'd begin reciting her incantations as she sewed, focusing on clear annunciation of its intended path from beginning to end. It is meticulous work and would definitely take some time, but with focus and tuning things out around her, Thia hopes to achieve a working result.

Tarian didn’t know what exactly to expect from Thorbek’s contact, and if anything, Thorbek was a perfect example of how the “typical” dwellers of the Souk were anything but. Nothing could have prepared her for the next few minutes however.

”Marcus’ Miscellaneous Merchandise” was a small ordinary store from the outside, with clear signs of gradual expansion over the last couple of years, with added layers and elements serving as a reasonably good indicator of how well the business had done over the years. For all the ordinary appearance on the outside however, the inside of the small store was crammed full with shelves, leaving barely enough space to move between. They were all loaded floor to ceiling with a great variety of curious and peculiar items and trinkets. One section was entirely filled with what seemed to be a collection of jewel-encrusted drinking goblets, another displayed a wide variety of porcelain dolls depicting idealised versions of Zhivarg halfling peasants and artisans engaged in their various activities. In a central display case, there were several beautifully designed and gleaming pocket watches, and tucked into the far right corner was an armoire filled with pendants, earrings, and necklaces.

What drew the eye immediately though was a ripped and torn battle-standard hanging right above the counter. It was white with torn gold brim, and displaying a black horse on a blue field. 

After spending a good few moments to take in the room, her eyes wandered to the spindly merchant standing underneath the battle standard. He seemed human, but small scars on his ears and the typical angular features betrayed his fey ancestry. Villamov had fixed her with his gaze, but he had remained silent as she was taking in the room, and even now just looked at her with his cold blue-grey eyes. 

Thia gets to work on her old bag, concentrated and precise, stitch for stitch. As she starts to work on the runes, she starts to feel a warm energy well up inside of her. Unsure at first, she hesitates, but then starts to channel the energy, focussing on the task at hand and letting the energy infuse the stitching. Almost in a trance, she notices how the stitching takes on almost a mind of its own, her hands instinctively knowing where to place the next stitch, and her work falling into the same rhythm as her incantations. After almost an hour, Thia makes the final stitch and ends the verse she had been murmuring. Tying off the stitching, she places the bag on her lap, feeling the last of the energy transferring to the item. 

Once she was done, she held up the bag. Although it was empty, it felt significantly heavier than before, but the silver thread and the incantation gave it a beautiful shimmer as she moved it in the light. She carefully reached out for some of the library books and placed them inside the bag. They disappeared, but the bag didn’t feel any heavier. She reached inside, trying to feel for the book. At first, her hand doesn’t feel anything, but as she focussed more on the book, she suddenly grasps the hard leather cover, and she retrieves the books, still leaving the bag’s weight unchanged.

A large smile crept up her cheeks and lit up her eyes. She couldn’t help herself: “Eureka! I’ve actually done it!  I’ve made my own bag of holding!”

Corti, you notice two more patients, lying on cots close to the door, covered in woollen blankets to protect them against the draft outside. They seem to be in better shape than the people already here, but they still seem very weak.

The orderlies in the ruin of the church are at work as per usual, the “news” of the cause giving them a new vigour, as they perceived themselves to be closer to a solution, and most importantly, they could take care of their patients without risking infection themselves.

Arc was back in his uncle’s study. His father hadn’t been pleased with his experiments, to say the least. He rubbed his smarting cheek, as a reminder. As punishment for experimenting and for destroying part of the estate, he had been given house arrest for the next week. Volten had said that he’d only be allowed to leave the estate after making an appearance at the bimonthly Alvendale Ball in the Northward, something about actually doing something for the family name for once...

He had decided to use the time yo further his studies and look after his uncle. He hadn’t talked to him since he took him to meet Corti, but his uncle was one of the only people in his household that would understand him.

He hoped his uncle had a good day, as he hesitantly knocked on the door to his uncle’s study. 

“Yes? Who’s there? Come on in Lucius, come on in.”

Sighing and composing himself, Arc opens the door and enters, "Pardon me." Closing the door behind him, he gauges the room to see how his Uncle has been doing.

Thia would be beaming, excited to see theory come to life. She could feel the hit of adrenaline surge through her veins, feeling a bit more awake and motivated than she was an hour ago. Though, thinking back on it, the enthusiasm of a new creation would not be enough to get her this pumped up. No... it was the warmth of the energy she called upon that guided her through her task. Magic...

Not wanting to forget any details, Thia would begin making update notes in her journal on her success. Then, one by one, she’d begin putting away each item, book and tool. She’d place each one in the bag and then retrieve it to get the feel for using it. After some reorganizing and packing, Thia would gear herself up. She’d do a sweep around the room to ensure she doesn’t forget anything before walking out to the main area to check in with Wilfred, Alexis and then Corti. 

Brandt begins to take Mendraxes to the Veiled Valour, hoping that Thia is there as he begins to think up how he wants to talk about this.

Arc is surprised to find his uncle’s study clean and tidy, safe for the pile of documents and notes on the table. The curtains had been opened and for once the room was illuminated by the harsh Duskrock sun, rather than candlelight.

His uncle too had undergone a significant transformation. Washed and bathed, he stood before Arc not in a dressing gown, but in a business suit, with cravat. Upon recognising Arc, his feverish eyes shone even brighter: “Arc, what a pleasant surprise! I can use your help, I have big plans... new projects ... will put our family name out there, that’s for sure!... Oh my, how unthoughtful of me, do you even have the time to help me out?”

Thia stows all her items and tools, and to her pleasant surprise found that the bag remained at the same constant weight, slightly lighter than a satchel with three big tomes in them. That would have been useful during her studies...

Heading into the main reception area of the ruined church, Thia spots a few new patients, but they seemed to be in better shape than most of the others here. Good, either the poison is slowly being diluted, or the population is building up a tolerance to it, she thought. Alexis and Wilfred, working close by, followed her gaze, and as if they could read Thia’s thoughts, Alexis gave her a nod:

”Yeah, been thinking the same thing... and with our warning to not drink the local water or eat the local food, we should see fewer patients. Still though, you need to hurry and find us some ingredients, if we want to cure those already affected.” Wilfred gave a quick glance over to a hidden corner of the church, where This could make out two humanoid forms, one adult and one small, as if from a child, under a stained cloth, further victims to the poison. She winced, pushing the sadness welling up inside of her out of her mind. She had to stay focused if she wanted to help these people.

His shattered hand wrapped tightly with a dirty rag, Brandt is heading to the Eastern Fields with Melchior Mendraxes in tow. The cabbie gave Brandt a rather concerned look, but given the glare he received, thought it best to let the matter drop.

After a quick ride through the thickly congested Duskrock streets, Brandt and the kobold arrive at the old church, and Brandt immediately recognises the double chevrons of the Veiled Valour. 

Thinking about what to say, he knocks on the large oaken doors and pushes his way inside.

Before he can say anything he is struck by the dozens, maybe even hundreds of sick and dying Cyreans lying on practically every free bit of floor space, with the sickest resting on the few remaining pews. As he tears his gaze from the Cyrean refugees, he spots Corti and Thia among the orderlies.

As Brandt enters the room and sees all of the sick and dying Cyreans, he very quickly slips on his gloves, pulls out a cloth of his own and covers his mouth with it. He also stays as far as he can from the diseased as he attempts to wave Thia and Corti over to him and Mendraxes.

Arc is almost shocked into place, taking a moment to analyze and investigate the immediate surroundings. 'Is this an illusion? A trap? Was Uncle replaced with a changeling or illusionist?' After a moment he looks back at his Uncle at shakes his head, 'No. It's him.....somehow.'

Not letting the chaos of his thoughts show, he walks over letting it seem like it was business as usual, "More than enough time, Uncle. Your brother has placed me under house arrest after my latest...explosive venture....Regardless, how can I be of help to you and the family." Looking over his Uncle's desk and body for immediate signs for what he could be planning, he locks eyes with him, "Does it have something to do with the factories or the project being pushed to the family by Mr. Sparks?"

Thia would nod to Wilfred, “We will be setting out today. I also now have the inventory available to be able to haul back more than enough ingredients.” She’d flash the most encouraging smile she could while walking by the sick. She’d say a few encouraging words to the orderlies she’d pass, even picking up and handing back a rag that had fallen from the full arms of an assistant. As she was making her way over to Corti, the large oak doors of the church open to reveal a rather familiar silhouette with a very unfamiliar one.

Thia would squint in their direction while her eyes adjusted to the light pouring in through the doors around the figures. “Brandt?” She’d question aloud as her eyes started to adjust and begin approaching the pair.

"Hey. I need your help with something. This one's hand got messed up pretty bad and I'm trying to see if it can't be treated so that we don't have to cut it off. I see that you're pretty busy, but you're the only person I know in this city with medical skills."

Thia would look over Brandt quickly as he speaks to verify that he has no injuries. After clearing him, she’d lean in, speaking low so only Brandt could hear, “You need not worry. These people are not infectious. There are some developments I will discuss at the meeting this evening that could be related.” And she’d return to a normal distance away from him to take a look at the Kobold he brought in. “I’ve done all I could for these people, so you’ve actually caught me at an okay time.”

Her eyebrows would raise when she’d spot the bloody rag wrapped around the kobolds hand. “Follow me.” Thia would turn and gesture for the two to follow her to a workstation. She’d wave down the same assistant she helped earlier to bring her fresh water and dressings for cleaning the wound. While the orderly gathers the requested supplies, Thia would pat the table, “Hop up.” She’d direct her her new patient. “So I can take an assessment.”

“No need for hostilities there, friend,” Tarian began. She raised both her arms, showing her open, empty hands to the presumed shopkeeper. “Appearances aside,” she looked down toward her sheathed arming sword at her hip, but kept her hands up and visible, “I’m not here for a robbery or a shakedown, or anything of the like.” She took a couple steps toward the shopkeeper, her hands slowly lowered. “I’m here by way of one Thorbek Oakleaf. I’m trying to find someone who can tell me about a piece of jewelry that’s recently come into my possession. I’m trying to find its owner.” Tarian’s fingers slowly slipped into her coin purse, and pulled out just enough of the pendant’s chain to be recognizable as jewelry. “I’m told someone named ‘Villamov’ might have some information that could help me. Might you be him?”

“I’m him. Show me the piece, maybe I can help.” The man spoke in a raspy voice, which reminded Tarian of the sound of fresh snow crunching under a boot when walking. She couldn’t help but shudder a little. Everything about Villamov was cold, even his demeanour.

As she got past the initial impression though, she realised that the man seemed to be completely at ease like this, as if he was in his natural state. If the flag was anything to go by, he was Zhivargo. She hadn’t spent too much time studying other cultures, so what might seem cold and distant to her might just be another culture.

The battle standard kept poking at something in her mind, it was there, at the tip of her tongue, but when Villamov spoke, the thin wisps of the memory blew away. She might have to ask one of her friends for help on that one.

"Good to know." Brandt replies back in a low voice, stowing his cloth away as he no longer needed it. He follows Thia and assists Mendraxes in getting up the table.

Mendraxes did as asked, and struggled onto the table. As Thia unwrapped the shot and shattered wrist, Mendraxes fainted, the sight of his hand, the pain, and the blood loss simply being too much to bear. 

Thia was taken aback. She hadn’t seen wounds such as these since she worked on some of the Dusker veterans, and most of them had wounds that were  already largely healed. This was fresh, and unmistakably caused by a firearm of large calibre. She couldn’t help but throw a quizzical look at Brandt.