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Old September 15, 2009, 05:36 PM   #1 (permalink)
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[Closed] Recruiting - Island Mage Hunters...Here?

39th Imperos in the Autumn of Era XVI.

OOC: Posting this up to get it moving, it’ll happen in some form or another but the precise form is waiting on my meeting with the Thane, still, thought I’d get a poll of interest with Ragman’s permission.

Altering the timestamp slightly on request.

IC:

Several of the local boys had been sent out to pin messages up around town for the best part of a cycle. The man sending the messages was sure he’d get a number of false hits, fools or idiots or worse…or just mercenaries looking for a quick coin without any reliability but if anyone was interested then Duncan Sythe had put aside his compunction about trying to protect everything and everyone from itself…people were responsible for their own decisions; he just tended to exclude people who didn’t know the decisions they were making.

Thus the letters said as follows and the man would be waiting as stated;

Quote:

Wanted: Bounty Hunters and Trackers, Preferably with Experience with Mages.

An interested party wishes to employ the services of experienced Mage investigators for a personal contract, details to follow.

The party in question will be at the Traveller’s Lodge on the 19th Imperos during the morning and afternoon to speak to those who wish to apply. He will be identifiable by the brown hat with a green feather by his table.

Serious applications only, others will be dealt with harshly.
It was of course not the most appealing or wondrous of notes and a little cryptic, but then the party in question was not exactly the usual type to hire such. Dressed in a white silk shirt, green waistcoat with dark green embroidery and brown breeches with worn black boots propped up on the table he sipped Arakmatian coffee acquired at some expense from somewhere and waited for those who answered, studying each inquiry with surprisingly soft blue eyes that were almost dismissive whilst at the same time focusing with avid attention where-ever they rested.

Black haired with a streak down his left temple, Duncan appeared as himself, with trappings to boot but no particular desire to make a big deal of who he was provided he got the right people to assist him. Despite the appearance of court fop however there was a golden-edged sword at his left hip and a dagger at his right that seemed a cut above a simple steel blade…along with a pair of amulets about his neck; one of which bore the symbol of Srennius.

He would however say nothing to anyone who came up to the table he occupied with the appropriate hat hanging from a chair next to him, instead waiting for anyone who came to make their proposal first…unknowing that they were being studied not only by Duncan’s eyes but also by his other senses, both Arcane and his new senses as a servant of Srennius…looking for connections that suggested the individual he was meeting might or might not be suitable for the purpose he had in mind.

He didn't expect much feedback of course but he had to make an effort on the island itself before he transported the same enterprise over to one of the larger ones... if only to fulfil his promise to the Thane and also didn't want many people, one or two would do.
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Old September 18, 2009, 02:34 PM   #2 (permalink)

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A slight chuckle drifted towards Duncan as the dark elf caught sight of the man that he could only assume put out the call for aid. He had already heard tale of trouble in the Acores Keys--scouts lost in the hunt for necromancers. While he had planned on looking into it, the dark elf had been having too much fun running around on his little witch hunt as Lord High Inquisitor Ducatte, of the Church of Faith. It was at a point in his crusade however, that Serion had managed to get some things in motion that would leave him free to galavant as himself for a while, leaving his two vysstichi companions behind to continue the ruse.

With this letter, the dark paladin figured he might be able to find some angle to boost the D'Rinishad name yet again--until he walked into the tavern to find that Mystic with whom he still owed for dropping him to the floor in Arconis (even if it was mostly due to his own inebriation). Regardless, Serion walks up to the liesurly sitting mage and nods his head with a smile. "So I hear you're in need of talent. What foolish venture might we be embarking on this time Mr. Sythe?"

Cocking his head a bit his grin widens a bit as he flicks the feather sticking out of Duncan's cap. "And whether you are wearing it or not...I must say that is such a ridiculous feather." Sliding a chair out to take a seat, the vysstichi glances about for any others that might be deciding to delve deeper into Duncan's request for service. "I was planning on making my way to the Acores Keys to look into the necromancer activity. This wouldn't have anything to do with that would it?"
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Old September 18, 2009, 06:52 PM   #3 (permalink)
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Punctuality had delivered the dark elf to Secyclion earlier than necessary, but his premature arrival had not hampered his desire to make the most of the distant journey. The brightenings at the Traveler’s Lodge had proven uneventful, inducing a boredom that the Prince of Har’oloth had not experienced in a long time. He was a creature of the road, bound to the same wanderlust that impelled itinerant prophets to proselytize from place to place. The only difference was that the young dark elf’s purpose for sojourning to Secyclion had not derived from religious obligation, but rather from his acceptance to a cordial invitation extended by Secyclion’s thane.

But that was cycles away . . .

Perusing the mysterious solicitation clasped in his left hand, the dark elf shrugged and advanced into the Traveler’s Lodge. He was not particularly fond of sticking his nose in affairs that he could otherwise circumvent, but seeing as the Thane had deliberately gone out of his way to invite the dark elf to the occasion transpiring in Tempris, Faust felt obligated to return the favor in some form. Rumor had it, after all, that Secyclion was experiencing problems with a hostile group of necromancers. If participation in the hunt meant that he would not have to sit idly in his room for another few cycles and that he would be able to repay the Thane for his thoughtfulness, then it was an easy decision to make.

Faust had not, however, expected the company that he would soon be cooperating with.

Lord Serion?” He quizzically asked, his crimson orbs widening incredulously as he advanced towards a human’s table. His gaze only enlarged further when he realized that the human – and the letter’s author – was none other than Duncan Sythe. “Master Duncan,” He greeted, instinctively lowering the solicitation onto the table. “I didn’t expect to see either of you two here.

The confession resonated with palpable candidness. “What is going on?” He finally asked, his eyes pointedly maneuvering from the solicitation to Duncan and Serion.
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Old September 19, 2009, 01:40 AM   #4 (permalink)
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Kenkuroi was probably one of those fools, idiots, or one looking for a quick coin, whom got roped in by those cryptic little messages around Secyclion so into the Traveller's Lodge he popped, looking for this man with a brown hat and green feather.

Honestly he felt it had been pretty vague what the owner of the message meant with the term "experience with Mages", and he wondered if the man with the feathered hat, assuming he was the owner, implied something more specific or just in general. And it made Ken wondered too if he fit in the bill of being "experience with mages". Did he?

Well, daddy was a Master Bard, Uncle Larinor was a Master Thaum, Uncle Naloren was a Master Necro, half his kinsmen were either Bards or Thaums thus he lived the last two eras or so surrounded by most of them. He had picked a fight with a Master Elementalist living in Ieffreon, and got his ass kicked, severely. Recently he now knew how a Water Elemental looked like, and other Elementals for that matter. Oh and he himself was an Initiate Thaum, over-exposed to arcana given his family's merry band of mages. With that kind of exposure he could have been an arcane genius, too bad the half elf was just, very unmotivated to all things arcane, and all those nifty tricks mages can do had became so routine, it's boring.

Yup, he felt he fit the bill. And with that in mind, he approached the human warily, mindful of the other would be 'bounty hunters' and 'trackers' that came sniffing around, lured by the message just like him.

"Serale and Chairete, I'm here about the message," the boy greeted stiffly, using both the common and local greeting. The man didn't look at all like an Islander, but it shouldn't hurt to greet as so seeing as they were in Secyclion after all.

He appeared to be weaponless, and clad in a simple brown shirt, dark blue trousers, and the conventional leather boots. The pendant bearing the symbol of his House, and a smoking pipe lay exposed between his partially unbuttoned shirt. Apart from that, there was nothing else unusual about him, other than looking rather young and typical to elves (and some half elves), not endowed in the physical department, though the way he carried himself showed an air of someone who had perhaps thrown a punch one too many in his schola days.
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Old September 21, 2009, 03:52 AM   #5 (permalink)
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Old September 21, 2009, 03:54 AM   #6 (permalink)
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As usual, Alexandros begun in mid sentence as he greeted the others. The assumption of acceptance that seemed to hang around him showed an unnerving confidence not entirely in keeping with his background.

"Or more specifically, because I expect if you mainlanders expect to navigate Secylclion, you best have a native-son with you. Born, bred, built; else you'll find yourself eaten up by the bone lady."

The Secyclonian bowed lowly, his unshaven beard scratching roughly against his neck. Since his transformation by Kalendryas (a transformation which would have left perceptible traces by the arcanically adept), the man who had once been Z'kron shared no resemblance with who-he-had-once been. Indeed, his knowledge and vast experience with arcana had been buried almost completely beneath the personality of the Secyclonian cobbler. Yet, for those who would observe him arcanically- as he expected others might- he would show clearly the massive vis reserves of a master, enhanced slightly by a strange blue-rocky resonance. And even more peculiarly, he would appear as a master without a sphere- a freakish anomaly in the arcanic world as a whole.


The Secyclonian chuckled, wiping his hands- which smelt slightly of alchemy and bat guano- on his leggings.

"Ah, hello again black elf, Sythe-man. It has been a while. Who are we tracking today?"
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Old September 21, 2009, 09:06 AM   #7 (permalink)
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Death was being demanded again.

With turquoise eyes uncovered and unabashed, Shiro stood silently before the posted notice fluttering gently on a sea breeze, reading the lines over and over again in a hope that repetition would lead to comprehension. Why was there so much tension here? His eyebrows furrowed as he slowly turned about to glance one way and then the next along the pounded streets. The Kemite had traveled here to faraway Secyclion in an attempt to remove himself from the pains of his past existence – what he had been, and, moreover, what he had become. Yet even here it seemed that the shadows of turmoil and the havoc it consequentially brought

Maybe he had brought it to the Red Isle himself as some whisper that echoed within the shadow of each and every step.

He sighed. A calloused, rough hand moved up across his face to run spread fingers through the overhanging thick tendrils of white hair still sprayed across his face. It was all so inevitable, so predictable, really. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Sending one last, quick look back over his shoulder, the boy turned forward again as his gaze scanned what it could of the city’s water-bound horizon. Maybe it was folly and maybe he had no place in these games of high politics and deep intrigue, but maybe he simply had to become a part, had to be involved – for the mere fact that it gave him something.

The boy shouldn’t have wanted it, but he did. The still-human pieces of what had remained of his mortality made their demands and, whether due to a weakness incurred from his extended stay within the Red Isle or the final return to what he had once been, Shiro still wanted something: a dead, cold, blank oblivion, and an escape. This, at least, heralded a chance to achieve that; hunting mages was far from the boy’s strong suit, in all reality. It was really, though, all that drove him – this deep, burning desire to end it all and in one moment, reunite his soul with his body and no longer stride the line between the alive and the dead.

But he was too much of a coward to see the act through.

Shrugging again, the boy’s pace picked up as he began walking down the street toward the painted sign for the Traveler’s Lodge. Green eyes focused intently on the swaying wooden plaque as his mind – finally – fell silent into mute acceptance of the actions of his body. There was nothing more to think about; he would, as he had been doing for ever so long, act on pure instinct and impulse. Potential consequences were completely irrelevant.

Entering the interior of the structure, Shiro’s fingers rose and tugged at the cream-colored hem of his hood, pulling it up and across his hair. The bulge of the hilt of his katana still stood up just above the horizontal level of his right shoulder, hidden behind the outermost layer of cloth. The shadow made his brilliant eyes almost luminescent in the dimness, shimmering as the only clear-cut evidence and distinguishing feature allowed across the entirety of his short form.

The lack of height made the task of locating the cap with the feather in its rim a bit difficult, but the boy slid from one side of the common room to the other until he alighted on the rather strange, collected gathering of Elfs and a seated male Human that looked conspicuously familiar. Shiro’s eyes narrowed as his lips pursed together – both evidences of the building pressure of his thoughts pounding inside his head. Yes, he had seen that man before – somewhere, at sometime – but he couldn’t quite place the details.

Moving forward just close enough to overhear but still content to wait silently as a shadow in the crowd, the boy continued staring at the dark-haired man with an eager and unkempt curiosity while his mind still raced to fill in the gaps. It wasn’t Shiro’s style to announce himself more than necessary, but the piquing of interest pointedly appearing in his face and the pressing location of his posture should have been enough of an indication to show himself joined to whatever venture was currently being proposed.

Why? He didn’t know – but at this point, he also didn’t care.
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Old September 26, 2009, 05:48 AM   #8 (permalink)
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Of all the people on Telath to arrive at summons to hunt Necromancers the D’rinishads were certainly not a pair he would turn down. They were not, however, the type he was expecting. Kenkuroi? Perhaps closer, Z’kron? Who knew what went on in that mind and the final figure that stared through the crowd?

Well, again, trying to make sense of his motivations was like trying to catch an oiled snake.

So in order of those that approached they were dealt with or at the very least addressed, Serion’s arrival and comment causing a dry smile to blossom on Duncan’s features as he recognised the man.

“It is at least an identifiable feather Serion. Gods forbid I actually wear the thing, no, I brought it especially and it goes away when not being used as a sign of the outlandish.” He said before moving on to the man’s more salient point, nodding. “And yes, it appears the local authorities have lost at least a half dozen men investigating the Necromantic cult probably response, or related to, the kidnappings and other…incidents, so I decided it might be worth looking into it myself, your assistance is of course most welcome.”

Then Faust had arrived. “As is yours.” Duncan continued with a chuckle. “Unexpected but none the less welcome. Serion just offered to help me hunt the local Necromancer population, an additional mind as such would not go amiss, although I fear at this rate we need only Ioannes himself to turn up and we shall send them into eternal hiding…” He mused…

Thus it was clear when Kenkuroi appeared that the human knew the two Vysstichi and actually supported their arrival and involvement in the affair about to take place. But Duncan Sythe was at least polite once addressed, his banter with the D’rinishad’s replaced by rapt blue eyed attention on the local who had greeted him so stiffly.

“Chairete… yes.” Duncan said, folding his legs down from the table and crossing his arms. “My name is Duncan Sythe and I am seeking aid in locating the Necromancers who have been troubling the local islands; with the Thane’s approval of course. I take it you are interested in assisting?”

With the newest and most unknown member so addressed and whatever responses handled, he moved on to Alexandros the Z’kronian.

“Necromancers…if you would join us?” Duncan mused to the figure thoughtfully, studying him in Clara quite intently given his, well…habitual desire to be a little archaically strange to say the least.

Then there was Shiro. Duncan caught a glance of him across the room looking at the odd assemblage and looked back, blue eyes seeking something in the deathly pale lad, seeking and most likely failing to locate.

“Are you merely curious to see me again or interested in the letters I’ve put up?” Duncan called to him thoughtfully… this would be enough, Aeternia Serion or Faust alone would have been but he’d take the additional help to cover more ground as he considered that they could in fact form two groups at least; most likely with himself at the head of one and Serion the other with Alexandros – simply due to arcaic ability by judgement of those present – and split the others accordingly; not that Faust would have been incapable of such as much as Duncan knew of him after the Southern…trip, but Serion’s arcaic abilities were stronger and Faust seemed to naturally look to Serion regardless.
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Old September 26, 2009, 09:39 AM   #9 (permalink)
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Old September 26, 2009, 09:40 AM   #10 (permalink)
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"Necromancers. Hmm. Of course."

The image Duncan would see in clara would be an interesting one. A master still by unbinding, but apparently completely desphered; as if by soulstone but neater. It was as if he had been denatured and entirely restructured into a new form. No trace of natural plane energy was left in him; instead the last traces of arcalysis showed a lingering connection to the plane of time- as if the man had somehow interfaced directly with it, and the essence of the place had suffused and altered him.

For someone with as much experience with beings with extraordinary powers as Duncan, the possibility of some sort of higher intervention would be an obvious possibility.

Alexandros grinned, his Secyclonian visage shining in the ambient light. "Though, Master Sythe, I must admit a secondary intent here. I cannot shake the feeling that I know you from sometime past; in pre Secylclonian times- and a sensation that the name Z'kron you called me holds some relevance. That name, whatever it might be, has been hovering at the edge of my mind for some weeks now... like a rat in the back of my head, scrabbling to come out.. since"

His nose wrinkled ever so slightly. There was a slightly perplexed expression, as if reaching back through some sort of mental fog; or perhaps struggling against a compulsion. The voice was slightly farther away as he continued on.

"Since I found myself unexpectedly at the foot of a rather jagged cliffs, swimming for shore and with carrots attempting to talk to me, ants loudly asking why I hadn't brought them the food I'd promised, and a constant sound of ticking in my head. And seeing that you glow rather obviously in my vision... although I admit, Serion, you've got a fairly impressive ambience too.. perhaps you could assist?"
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Old September 28, 2009, 04:44 PM   #11 (permalink)
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Sounds like a dangerous bunch,” the younger Vysstichi said, responding to Duncan’s explanation concerning the necromancers. Practitioners of the dark arts were commonplace in Vortex; it was, after all, one of the few cities on Telath that openly welcomed such conduct. Not to mention, Har’oloth, which lurked beneath Vortex, housed hundreds of the unlawful mages – many whom, not surprisingly, belonged to the young Prince’s clan.

In any case, mages were generally troublesome, and irrespective of their spheres, they could be trifling to contend against. Of course, the dark elf knew from personal experience that necromancers tended to deviate from the norm as far as sanity went, but that would not inhibit him from aiding Duncan and the locals from pursuing the alleged cult. His loitering at the inn had nearly driven him insane with boredom while he waited for the Tempris Ball; the smell of the road would be more than welcomed.

He turned slightly to regard the other newcomers: a half-elf, a strange man who seemed to know both Serion and Duncan, and a young human. Faust was unfamiliar with the three, but he nevertheless imparted the usual respect, which manifested in a slight nod to each of them. He was particularly surprised that the half-elf had approached notwithstanding Duncan being surrounded by Vysstichi, which led Faust to suspect that the light-born was no stranger to the dark-skinned people. It was arguable, however, whether the human’s timidity was the result of the Vysstichi present or some other latent factor. Duncan’s comment suggested the latter.

So how do you propose we do this, Master Duncan?” the Prince of Har’oloth finally asked, crossing his mythril-gloved hands over his chest and underneath the sapphire mantle that rode his shoulders and backside. Given the nature of Duncan’s solicitation, it was likely that the mystic already had a plan formulated or at least some lead as to the whereabouts of their cultish quarries.

The areas where the local authorities had disappeared seemed like a good place to start. Regardless, Faust had learned to trust in the mystic’s judgment, especially as he always seemed to be thinking two – no, maybe even ten- steps ahead of everyone else.
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Old October 7, 2009, 11:02 PM   #12 (permalink)
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He wasn’t enough of a fool to assume too much on bonds of familiarity better left forgotten, but the subtle light of realization had unconsciously begun to wash itself across his face. Shrugging and lightly turning eyes back downward away from Duncan’s gaze, the boy managed an awkward shuffle before landing both arms carefully folded across his chest. Shiro grunted something akin to a returned air of recognition before his eyes began rotating nonchalantly across the rest of the gathered crowd with the disinterested air of one not intending to find any meaning in such a place.

A half-smirk curled its way through the boy’s olive cheek as he shrugged again – this time more pronounced and direct as his eyes still streamed idly across the assortment of elves and humans littering the room. “Sure,” the Kemite returned noncommittally, seemingly more fascinated by a far corner of the room than actually fulfilling the demands of propriety and meeting Duncan’s gaze. Of course he recognized the man now – that same pushy, curious, irritating, strange old man from the docks at Narim. Shiro never did collect the man’s name – then again, the boy also didn’t care. He was, and had been, thoroughly annoying. Only a fool would assume that now would be any different. Shiro wasn’t about to give the old man the satisfaction of hearing any of his reasoning; he could be left to make his own suppositions out of his overwhelming ignorance.

Significantly shorter than the pressing humanoids about him, the boy became painfully aware of just how outnumbered he seemed to be in this particular crowd. He didn’t have much experience with elves; as far as Shiro knew, the long-eared types didn’t have much time for anyone not gifted with their glassy eyes and perfect hair and were content enough to let all alone. Still, the boy knew well enough to not trust the dark-skinned types; the horror stories had been engrained along the darkening nightmares of every young child throughout the entirety of the Kingdom. Despite this, Shiro knew well the race’s capability of, at the very least, being even-handed. He had worked under the tutelage of one of the Vysstichi kind during his last stretch of time in Narim, yet he couldn’t complain of ill-treatment. Then again, it hadn’t been entirely fair either.

The boy shrugged again as his face quirked into a strange expression of pinched lips and pulled cheeks. Brilliant turquoise eyes swam over the collection of elves as nothing more than observer, being quite content to allow the conversation to proceed however pushed by the others gathered about him. He arched a bleached eyebrow toward the one who had seemingly sprung a leak for a mouth as his face contorted back into clearly displaying is annoyance. That one talked too much to be of any use. Shiro shook his head as his eyes wandered back off to the side, opting to spend his time studying the other figures.

The sounding of one of the Vysstichi’s question toward Duncan caught Shiro’s attention, bringing the Kemite boy back to the one that was apparently to blame for the appearance of the rest. The boy’s eyes narrowed briefly on the speaker – nothing more than yet another black-skinned elf – as he found himself oddly surprised that the words held none of their kind’s typical flounce and swirled uselessness. At least this one seemed capable of directness. Whether it had any profitable consequence still remained to be seen.

After all, it was the old man talking. He had a skill for creating absolutely useless roundabouts out of conversation. But Shiro had chosen to come here, had chosen to take part – and for now, he would allow the pieces to fall to see where the picture might point.
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Old October 8, 2009, 10:10 AM   #13 (permalink)
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The latest addition came in the form of a Euensian man garbed in typical fashion of the leather feyenella and an abolla covering the top part of his body. He perhaps looked in his mid-thirties, but given how Eunesians mostly looked irritatingly young compared to others, he was likely older than he looked. Secyclionian, judging from the coloring -- dark skin with curly dark hair and brown, intuitive eyes. His smile had the quality

Encolpius, the rogue of Secyclion, wanted in several provinces for numerous larceny offenses, but has never been apprehended. Unknown to the mainlanders, he was somewhat of a celebrity or... notorious figurehead on the Island, some of which who celebrated him as a figure who had managed to overcome mainland bureaucracies. There were rumors that the Thane had begrudgingly allowed him to return to his hometown on the promise that he would not cause mischief, to which Encolpius 'reluctantly' agreed after being dangled inches away from the Thane's famed shark pool.

"You the one who posted the advertisement?" He pointed a thumb toward Duncan, still wearing the hat to retain his identity should any other sought him out. His voice and accent was typically Eunesian, though he seemed fluent enough with Common, unlike some of the other Islanders that those gathered would have inevitably come across. Even without having seen him in action, he gave people the impression that he was extremely agile and nimble, and just... downright... slippery.

There was a cunning twitch to the way he smiled, and if anything, he would remind people of an extremely... twitchy... cat. Around him, several others instinctively reached for their money pouch, as if making sure it was still there before moving as far away from the man as possible. Murmuring in Eunesian, they seem to be jesting or mocking the people that Encolpius was talking to, as if they didn't know better.

"Oh come on, now." The man threw up his hands in protest, but then grinned again, as if pleased with the reaction, before deftly placing himself on top of a table, eyes never leaving the man who had posted up the notice. Duncan could see the man sizing him up, as if ascertaining if it was worth his 'trouble' associating himself with a man like Duncan Sythe. Finally satisfied, he spoke again, this time having a keyx cup in his hand even though no one would have seen how he managed to sneak it into his hand as he downed the liquor with a quick gulp.

"I take it you're interested in the Hunt. Which particular one are you thinking of going for? There's a couple, you know?" A sly smile on his cheek, indicating perhaps that he had inside knowledge and would be inclined to share if it suited him to do so.

OOCApologies for the delay

Last edited by Ragman; October 8, 2009 at 10:15 AM.
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Old October 9, 2009, 09:41 PM   #14 (permalink)

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Serion chuckles as he gives Faust a wink. "Hanging out in Secyclion was meant to be a minor vacation for me, Faust. You know how relaxing these little jaunts can be." Turning his attention to the gathering, the dark elf couldn't help but shake his head though.

An overly cautious mystic, an odd man that spoke of haunted carrots, two dark elves and a couple of strapplings. How could this sitcom possibly get any better, one might have asked. For those that did, enter Encolpius. Serion had to admire the mans style. He had a similar affect on people in his younger days before deciding that such activities were best kept secret, but this of course didn't mean he let his skills rust away into nothingness. No, every now and again he would let Myst run free and cause all sorts of good old fashioned mischief. With Encolpius around, Serion would at least have someone to compete with--before Duncan melted the mans brain out of sheer annoyance of course.

The reaction from the crowd told Serion everything he needed to know about the newest arrival, but the lack of knowledge on Shiro and Kenkuroi made the swordsman slightly uneasy. The blade of a known enemy was always easier to deal with than one belonging to unsteady hands. Perhaps their first necromancer encounter would reveal more answers about his soon-to-be companions. And of course there was Alexandros. Serion couldn't quite place the man, but the off handed comment on carrots seem to nag at his memory. Perhaps he hadn't regained everything after his stint with the Illuxian? Either way, the man seemed to know Duncan as well, and the mystic wasn't being edgy, so perhaps the man was safe.

Brushing a hand over his pants leg, as if dusting it off, Serion makes a point to rattle a coin purse that he often carried on his belt. Knocking his cloak back so that it stick out in the open, he crosses a leg over his knee, leening back in his chair. "I like this guy Duncan," the dark elf says with a knowing smile. "I say we see what he has to say. He's obviously a trustworthy type of fellow."
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Old October 10, 2009, 04:56 AM   #15 (permalink)
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“Carefully.” Was Duncan's reply to Faust's inquiry as he stood up from where he'd been lounging to look at Z'kron more carefully. There was something Z'kronlike about him and something unZ'kron, as if bits were missing and the weavings were nothing if not...complicated.

Fingertips removed a slim black glove from his right hand and he raised it, thumb touching his chin, forefinger across his lips as his eyes narrowed on the man. He didn't do this often. Serion would notice and comment, Z'kron? He might notice but not before it had served its purpose.

“Ticking?” A whisper of a word, a thought. The mind soared upward, soul and Vis caught and Ara tugged inward like being consumed by a void. The transition between here and there, from Meditation to the Astal Plane? Inconsequential.

Meditation after all, filtered, the Astral Plane? It had no time, no sense of distance as he tugged at the Psionic essence and filtered it back into Material; taking a deep breath as he shaped the spell, a form of Reveal, and wove it slowly into Z'kron's mind, each movement gentle, careful but...forceful.

Minds, after all, did not like being invaded and one had to push.

Not only Psionically divined mana but also Duncan's consciousness travelled along that thread – albeit ready to be pulled back at any moment – it searched for the source of the ticking, a pulsation in the Vis...in that tangle that seemed so unnatural. He figured it was tied most likely to the man's personal Vis and his soul, not to the material body, it was a modification of self, of perception not of actuality.

Having poked however he withdrew quickly and focused his attention on the newest arrival who had spent the proceeding few seconds staring at him, sparing a thoughtful glance to the Kemite before turning back to the slippery man and nodding as if whatever Shiro had said was satisfactory.

Then, then came the slippery one. The well dressed Duncan Sythe turned on him as Serion spoke, sparing a smile for the Vysstichi that would speak volumes of how much he trusted Serion...at least in terms of the pair keeping each other alive, and a fingertip flick toward the man to suggest that maybe he wanted to make sure he would not leave... not that Duncan would have trouble catching him if he tried to, but it would have been overly dramatic. Their motives sometimes differed but the venture South had created an odd connection between the two Vysstitchi and himself, in that none would be alive without the others.

Except for perhaps Serion, but that had just been bad luck and the man didn't seem to bare a grudge for the fact he'd been turned into some kind of parasite by accident.

Those eyes then flicked from Serion to the crowd around, it was pointed; he could see their unease and marked it. Then. Then he turned his full gaze back on Encolpius, soft blue eyes deceptively calm like the sea. Soul sucking, consuming and forgiving.

“Maybe.” The word slipped out silklike as Duncan came too close to the man, his hands at his sides but slightly forward. He was shorter than the Eunesian perhaps, but Serion and Faust at the least would recognise how his right foot had slipped back and his center of balance shifted. Sometimes Mysticism was unnecessary; and Duncan was not incompetent without it.

Appropriate use of power after all, not that the man warranted being on the floor yet, but a certain measure of...display, helped if the man was going to continue being sneaky so close to him. He was close for a reason though, so that the next conversation was between them and not the group, his voice lowered for just the Eunesian.

“Or maybe I just want to kill an Archsorcerer who stole my wife.” Words became whispered, the eyes...were far too soft for what came next, he believed had no issue with what he'd done. And was not at all mocking. “The last took a while, he decided to get up again after I slit his throat.”

The poor rogue had picked the wrong person to try and swindle or intimidate and he would not get away as Duncan stepped back again as if he'd not just whispered to the conman. “As you can see I already have several willing volunteers, maybe you would like me to buy you a drink and we can discuss the ones involving Jorelites? Or better yet. Give me the options.”

Why be so public about it? Well, it was a challenge in a way, a challenge and a warning. Of course they could all flee to the mainland but that was overly complimentary of the group he'd assembled... no, he figured they would at least rise to the challenge once before being stung, wanting to show the flashy man and his strange associates that they were not to be trifled with.

The trick was catching them all at once or moving fast enough to get them before they scattered.

And on islands, there was not far to run. For now though, the conman would be drained for knowledge they could proceed; Duncan would be most disappointed if he proved to be nothing more than a shyster without substance.
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