![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Melina looks about carefully. the potential consequences of misteps have been recently revealed, she once again reaches out with all senses as she queries of maggie "i'm still learning the basics of magic but i know there are offensive and defensive types. I find it curious that you were able to sense things a moment ago you could not before. can magic detection be actively blocked, much like an experience hunter can mask scent
Maggie nods once to Merrisol, her attention flashing back over the tiles once more before turning carefully to extend her senses the way ahead, scanning the stairs and the area around them first. She darts a glance to Melina, her head tilting slightly to one side, "That is a good question, I think that the simple answer is yes, but I do not think that is what is happening here. There are so many different points of magic here, and they are so many different types that it takes consentration to sort them out. I could not get specifics before because I was doing a scan for an overview first. I got more from the tiles when I crossed and after because I was focused on thewm more narrowly and was able to apply what I saw before to filter some of the points out."
Melina hms "So is that wall actually in front of us this time then? You're aurora's sister right?. Do you know Arcanis?"
Merrisol listens with interest and looks back over the tiles himself, but it is certain he cannot sense anything of what the others talk about, even Disillusion's sleuthing of the minute physical evidence. Turning back to study the wall without trying to touch it this time, he grunts, "Huh. If this isn't the real deal this time, I'll be looking into a pair of spectacles upon returning to civilization.." He pauses to hear a bit of Maggie's answer before doing anything as distracting as putting out a hand and falling through a wall into a pit of spikes or whathaveyou.
The back of the cave is reassuringly back-of-a-cave-ish... cold and hard and slightly damp to the touch. The slow dribble of condensation has become a thin puddle where the floor sinks into step-like depressions.
Turning her attention to the wall, Maggie inhales, sniffing at it a bit without touching it. "Hrm... I am Aurora;s sister, yes. I did not grow up in Pathi, but do know a small amount of Arcanis. I can..." She pauses, her gaze lowering to run carefully over the floor, "Wait. The wall is real, yes. But some of the floor isn't. We will have to be careful. Let me see..." She turns slowly as her eyes and other senses go to work with deliberation. Soon she lifts a hand to point to the puddles, "Look... See? The puddles are not really draining past the last step. It feels like an illusion of some sort." She pauses to inhale again, testing the flavor or scent, "It took a while to see. i am used to Quin;s illusions and this? This isn't the same thing. But, see? I think that there are more steps there. Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide them."
Melina nods "You go first as you likely have a better sense where to head without falling. What language that you are familiar with is it most like. I'm sorry that's like too academic for present circumstance isn't it. In any event less important than failing to run into a wall"
Merrisol frowns and squints while Maggie points out the presence of more magic, this time laid upon the innocuous dead-end steps. "I see." He doesn't! "Well, so long as it is a concealment rather than a trap," he remarks, with a quick glance at Disi as though daring the Artificer to impulsively leap on this one as well... except he can't because Merri beats him to it! He walks down the first steps, the dry ones, then sets his boot upon the surface of the water lightly enough to avoid splashing.
Maggie clears her throat a bit, her own gaze flickering between Merrisol and Disillusion, then over to Melna and Shiona. And he moves while she is distracted! She reashes a hand forward as Merrisol steps onto the dry stairs, "Wait, Beloved. I didn't say..." But he has taken that step of faith and she cringes within as her failure to be specific may very well have come home to roost. Moving forward, she prepares to... What exactly? Snatch him back if there is a kaboom? Possibly. Though she does not block his way should he need to take a leap back! Watching his foot and the stairs, she waits to see if what is concealed is another stair, a trap of a purely mechanical nature or... or a drop off.
The watery veneer had been like glass in the light of Melina's glowball, but the moment its reflective quality is disturbed, there's a juxtaposition of states of matter, separating from one another. The steps were thin layers of water, they were thin mirror slabs showing the rock ceiling, and they were thin air! The first sluices away over the sides of the second, which then dissolves into sand or silicone. Luckily, it's a relatively short drop down through the third, and Merri lands on the true steps below with a quiet thump. Spiraling steeply, the stairs recede several turns through the sort of partial darkness that suggests a light source can be found somewhere below.
Melina crouches, merri's tumble allowing her to take a more knowing step down to the top of the steep staircase "Having gone too all this trouble to conceal himself Mr. Fyador isn't likely to be pleased to have company and has shown some impressive skill with this nonexistant magic
Disillusion is almost beginning the thoughts to ready himself to head on down this path when Merrisol barges on ahead and beats him to the punch! "Heresy, you mean! This is not at all proper or becoming a Modern Begman!" Waiting his turn, he makes the hop down to the first step with both feet together, once again fanning himself with the violet stationary. "She loves me." Another hop to the second step. "She loves me not."
Merrisol looks over his shoulder with some difficulty due to the sharpness of the stair turns. His hand tattoo is alight, but muffled in his jacket, giving him adequate light to make out the steps just ahead, without traveling too far down the well. Subconsciously perhaps, as a result of all the sorcerer's precautions, the journey has become more of a stealthy operation. "Careful, Valentino," he mutters after enduring the whimsical mantra for several steps. "That one's single," far as he knows, "you might even wind up engaged." As for the magic they've witnessed so far.. "Maggie's correct about these illusions being unlike the sort of trickery Quinlan gets up to with his illusions," he muses. "He can make something from nothing... this is... more tangible, I suppose?" He falls silent after that attempt to speak of the limited sensory data he'd acquired, but offers a further, "Keep it down.. it's opening up down here.."
As Merrisol breaks through the illusory covering and falls to a stair below, Maggie's eyes widen in fearful shock. She darts forward, stopping only when her beloved has safely landed on a stair below. Both hands lift to stifle a cry and only a faint squeek eases past that guard. Breathing, she releases a faint exhallation as she moves forward. Steppuing off the edge to land on8 the stair behind the poker playing Begman, she looks down and ahead, seeking magical concentrations that might hint at traps. "Be careful going diown," she whispers. "It might be difficult to see anything magical from here." She ignores Disi's imprecations about magic and modernity.
Melina "Not Begman" she whispers more to herself than anyone else as she tiptoes carefully down the stairs behind merri "Do you mean it minipulates what is, rather than creating what isn't?
It must be that water. Yes! Surely it has interfered with Disillusion's footing! He is a simple city-dweller, after all. An urban playboy, unaccustomed to such things! There is the sound of shoe leather sliding upon stone, but Disi keeps his footing through it all and recovers himself through the whithering fire of Merrisol's harsh words. Pausing on one stone, he blinks and pushes away these notions of things he surely hasn't dealt with by running from a bride in the past, then takes another hop. "She loves me *not*."
'Opening up' is a bit of a misleading phrase, it turns out. The stairs do lead them into a room, a great huge room, a sombre, wonderful, busy room! Not a cavern, but a fully-finished salon somehow sliced from whatever castle once housed it and inserted firmly through the side of a mountain. They must have gone deep enough that the room should be encased in rock on all sides, and yet there are arched window casements, through which the glow of sun or moon light touches the interior. Rich velvet brocade patterns of constellations on the wallpaper peek out from behind towering bookcases, flickering frosted sconces, and mounted oak cabinetry. Workbenches full of distillation tubes and beakers, writing desks spilling crumples of vellum, and bins full of baubles or skulls or scrollcases. An ancient, leaning grandfather clock grinding out the seconds too, too slowly. The warm gleam of large copper bowls and long copper coils between round glass bulbs and their gaseous sparkings, brass telescopes and measuring scales, an iron potbellied furnace, and wrought frames of gyroscoping rings twirling protectively around hovering chunks of precious stone. In the shelter of the fossilized wings of maybe a giant bat, glittering with blue mineral deposits and hanging with wire-wrapped crystals, a round wooden table with worn-down cracks and cushioned seating for nine.
The room, as stated, opens up. The stairwell does not. As the party comes down, they can take in the sights... from behind a glass barrier which seals in the steps even as they peter away to leave the group within a glass causeway. It snakes halfway across the room and ends at a box-like structure of polished metal. Doors like those of an elevator can be seen facing the room, but they are closed, and the interior is dark.
A hunched and wizened shape moves among the hodge-podge of eclectic trappings. Wearing a robe that looks a mockery of the pristine white lab coat of a Real Scientist, the fellow or femme is turned away from the stairwell while puttering over a cluttered table, grumbling in a peevish manner. Crisp, wiry white hair pokes out from gaps in the headgear sprouting equal amounts of magnifying lenses on posable armatures. Without looking around, the wizard waves a gnarled hand over towards the elevator box. "You are far too soon and I have not the time t'day for you! Just leave the parts and mind you removed all traces of the bedeviled engine this time!" A moment later, he pauses and tilts as multiple mirrored sources in the room at large reflect unfamiliar shapes, magnifiers notwithstanding. He spins around to stare first-hand, trailing a magnificent scraggly beard. "...Hell's Bells!"
One of the gazes that meet the startled, old wizard are the bright shining emerald eyes of the young solaris from whose mouth a bonafide squee that would leave Talia or Raphaela shaking their heads Books and scrolls and gadgets oh my. She peers about though at the exclamation, an automatic "Beg pardon, m'lord" comes from her lips with a slight blush
Being first to drop in on the astounding locale, Merrisol does stand agog before the scene, disregarding the presence of the glass to begin with, as he has no intention of blundering forth. He does shuffle aside when he feels Melina coming up on his heels and that is where he stays while the rest of his companions gather in the glass passage. Melina's squee more than adequately verbalizes his own fascination, though when he notices the figure in white, he reaches up to grab down his hat in an impulse of civility in the midst of home invasion.
Coming down the stairs, Maggie whispers, "You skipped one, Lord Valentine." Turning from him, she slows her decent as the glass glitters in the light. The room is revealed step-by-step, new tantalizing pieces revealed as she moves down and down. Her eyes widen with interest and she finds that she must close her mouth as each new wonder sparks new astonishment. A whispered, "Wow," escapes, the sound lost beneath the apparent wizard's exclamation. Trying to take it all in, she finally settles her gaze on the man himself and a faint echo of impossible yearning is woken within. A part of her wonders if this is what Dworkin looked like in his rooms. Dangerous, compelling, mysterious. She smiles, sublimating the images in favor of the here and now reality before her, "Good day."
Disillusion carries on, just as he had begun, working his way through the very Scientific Method for deducing Miss Violet Pringle's intentions. The final step gets yet another hop with both feet together and a relieved, "She loves me." Looking up from his feet with a very pleased sort of smile, he now notices the dramatic changes to their surroundings. Behind those complicated goggles, the Begman's eyes blink repeatedly. "Mirrors. It must be. Perhaps even projectors of some sort have been planted. Yes, I am certain of it." A hand goes up to adjust a sliding lever on the side of the goggled and his neck cranes forward to take in the individual they had gone through so much trouble to meet.
In that bent-over posture, the old codger clears five feet, so it might be guessed that in his heydey, the wizard stood as tall as six. His once brown skin is near-translucent except where it bunches in wrinkly folds around sunken dark eyes and the droop of his mouth and his gnarly finger joints beyond the hanging white sleeves, which flap as he adjusts the head-mounted lenses with stubborn meticulousness to bring the intruders into focus. A series of microstrokes have ravaged his facial muscles into a perpetual expression of offended incredulity, which happens to work very well for this particular situation. Pretty much everything else is obscured by white hair that looks to have nested several generations of nuthatches with all the whorls and spikes.
He tuts over the group's somewhat muffled greetings and remarks, then with a huff he sweeps all the lens arms away from his eyes and instead reaches into the air before him, and it... folds. In a millisecond snap of light, he slips into the fold and then slips out of a flash just five feet from the glass pass. He gives them all a good incredulous affronted onceover, then calls through the glass, "What have you done with Theodore then? Are you lot even Pringle? No, not a one of you!" That's what he seems to be saying, though he has a way of speaking that is definitely Auld, with the 'Fyador' and everything. His bulging eye fixates on Disi's goggles and he raises a pointing, quivering finger. "Dare you bring Artifice within the sanctuary!"
You paged Disillusion with 'With the Valentines being aware of the prominent Pringle family, one could cudgel his memory but not come up with a Theodore Pringle within living memory. Could refer to an ancestor, though.'.
RPG: You show a message to MAG-SE or PAT-IP (Maggie and Melina): The room is full of magic, as one might expect. Many instances of magic use contained within, from fading cantrips to the longer effects of ponderous rituals, to perpetual effects as a result of mind-bendingly complex ritual. When the wizard 'teleported', it smacked of manipulating properties of an on-going magic effect. In other words, it wasn't a teleport spell done off-the-cuff.
Melina looks to Merri. It's not as if she has nothing to say for she opens her mouth and closes it as if she has thought better of speaking out of turn or perhaps trying to coalesce the myriad of thoughts tumbling in her overwhelmed brain into speakable syllables
Merrisol had regarded the sorcerer warily before that trick of folding space, and afterward, he swallows with a dry throat and flat-out stares with the fine hairs raising up along his spine, setting newer scars to tingle. He attempts to utter his own burning question, "Uh, is... we are seeking one called 'Old El'. Would that happen to be short for 'Laitinen'?" The feller is giving Disi the hairy eyeball at this point, however, and Merri shifts a bit to glance between them, frowning. "Valentino.. your gear?" he prompts.
Maggie inhales slowly, seeking meaning within the myriad magical effects at play. When the man folds reality, shifting closer without moving much beyond his hand and exerting intent, she raises her brows and half-whispers, "Oh, interesting." Moving forward, she extends a hand, then lets it fall, "Did you get that, Melina? That was... what? A suspended ritual? Not quite, though ritual is involved." Keeping her voice low, she also glances between the elderly gentleman and Disillusion. As Merri handles the question of Artifice and gadgetry, she turns back to examining the active magic in that room and about that man. An eagerness is born within, the light of curiosity and an active imagination coming to bear and igniting the flame within her gaze. This could be fun. After studying the apparatus behind the man for a moment more, her enthusiasm shifts, "But there is more to this than the magic that I do. It looks delicate and complicated."
A sorcerer! In the flesh and looking like something straight out of the history books! Disillusion's posture straightens to that more appropriate a city-dwelling gentleman as he looks over this wielder of heresy and forbidden magics long and hard. The playboy fights the urge to shoot first and ask questions later, reminding himself there are impressionable lady-folk around and such violence would be downright unseemly. He'll have to play it cool, but still be on his guard in case this fellow might try to enslave them all for his foul ends! Clearing his throat, he gives a modest nod and gestures toward the goggles while removing them. "Indeed. The Mark 2 Light Enhancing Nano-engineered Spectacles. I would offer to sell you a pair, but I think you are in desperate need of a simple calendar. What year do you believe this to be? I'm afraid there hasn't been a Theodore Pringle in all my years."
The glass works as a smell barrier to the LENS's sensor array, but does still highlight the sources of noise which filter through, one of which is indeed the beardy elder stooped closeby. His cantankerousness fails to abate with Disi's obliging removal of the headware, though. "Now, dispose of its power source. Do this of all your meddlesome contrivances! And disabuse Eleniak not of these nor of Theodore's existence... I had seen him but a moon ago!" While he speaks, he looks again at Maggie, then Melina, and both once more, wondering over their intensity. From the additional wrinkles of tension that grow around his brows and mouth, he's coming to some decidedly negative conclusions.
Melina blinks "We mean no offense. I was hoping to learn something of begma's history in hopes of improving the present in someway, peerhaps fix mistakes of the past. You obviously have spent a great deal of effort into your craft. I have nowhere near as much knowledge but I'm quite serious about my studies"
Merri sort of deflates upon learning 'El' is not long for 'L' and therefore not in turn short for 'Laitinen'! Damn it all. He gazes at the wizardly curmudgeon in baleful thought, then shrugs slightly to himself and focuses on the developing situation at hand. It's not looking good. It is, in fact, looking squirrelly. "Careful," he mutters abruptly, starting to sidle in closer to Maggie, to do... he doesn't know what. That's the thing about magic, isn't it! "Is this passage likewise rigged with enchantment?"
Taking note of Disillusion's compliance with putting the gadget away, Maggie smiles his way before returning her attention to the enclosed gentleman. The man's further demands are heard and are left mostly unmarked other than a soft aside, "His house. His rules." When he looks her way, she inclines her head respectfully but does not comment. Her glance strays to her husband as he moves closer. A brow lifts as her frown deepens. Shifting her attention from the magician before them, she turns her attention to the passage itself. The earlier sniffing begins anew with the force of her knowledge behind it. "Give me a sec. I would certainly take that precaution, were it me."
RPG: You show a message to PAT-IP or MAG-SE (Maggie and Melina): Nothing about the interior of the glass passage seems to be active with spell or ritual magic, although it seems likely that the glass itself was forged magically. At the far end of the passageway, however, the dark elevator-like unit is chockful of enchantments.
Swinging his suitcase around, Disi sets to work at putting the goggles away, just as it happens. Meddlesome?! Contrivances?! Disillusion's head pulls back and his eyes widen as the Montevalnan temper gets the better of him for a moment. His Science has been belittled! "I will do no such thing, *sir*! Each and every one of my inventions is a priceless masterpiece. A triumph. A work of art and a marvel to behold. It would be a crime!" When Maggie takes his side, his head snaps over toward her with the fresh pain of betrayal evident. Once more a woman has planted a knife in his heart! With that, the poker face slips back on and he looks back to the EL-derly wizard perfectly composed. "That said, as a sign of good faith, I will stow my gear within my suitcase and leave it here near the entrance, if you prefer? As this is your home, I recognize how it could be seen as rude to carry these things about." Reaching into his jacket, he pulls his pocketwatch, checks the time to be sure it is passing normally in this place, then stows that as well in his suitcase.
The wizard listens closely to Melina's entreaty, bushy brows arching like caterpillars. He purses his shriveled lips in what could be due consideration... but then Disillusion's outrage bursts forth through the glass layer, and nonplussed attention reels his way for the duration. Sputtering lightly, he peers at the opened suitcase with a creeping dismay, fingers curling stiffly into fists, and his gaze darts to various places on the walls and floor, as though quickly checking for signs of contamination. He catches sight of the pocket watch as Disi makes to add it to the suitcase. "What is that then! No ordinary chronometer, that it should be cast into the box of misbegotten powers!" he accuses spitfully, his pitch rising along with his colour. And his glance finds Melina again as he gets back on track -- "Improving the present...!" Old Eleniak's scraggly 'stash and beard bristles up with the facial calisthenics he's pulling beneath them. "Fixing mistakes of the past...! Oh ho, yes, I see, I see..." He is starting to pace, or perhaps it's more like hobbling... sneering and tapping his thin flaccid nose at them. "You are not the first from the Ministry to come sniffing about Carcil! Oh, poor Theodore. Did you twist our secrets out of him with your twisted cranial tortures? Is his mind turned to mush? Nevermind, the Pringles are not the only allies of Magic!"
Melina peers "The what now? I come from amber, sir? What magic that remains there is weakened, breaking. Balance has been interrupted, somehow I don't yet understand how or why but i thought that if i learned what happened here. I might learn and restore it before it fades to nothing, yet even for a goal such as that i would not resort to torture. my greatest wish would be to live in a world where such knowledge can be freely shared without fear of those who would use it for wrongdoing. i know well such a thing cannot be and yet hope seves to guide my steps
Merrisol warily begins eyeing up either end of the passage, the stairwell to relative safety, and the closed chamber of unknowns. "We.. uh. We're kind of exposed in here." He starts to nod along with Melina's new attempt to reason with the paranoid sorcerer, but in the midst of growing concern and a sense of urgency in determining their defense and escape options, Merri finds a moment to headtilt doubtfully at Eleniak. "The Pringles are gadgeteers... engineers," he points out in honest bafflement. "Are you certain they're on your side?" Well obviously not, Merri, he's clearly a madman!
Maggie frowns slightly as her analysis comes to completion. Turning in time to catch the old man's gazes and where they light, she murmurs, "There is no magic that I can sense here, Kerf. However, there?" She lifts her chin to indicate the elevator-thing, "That contraption is riff with enchantments." She does manage to slip Disi a faintly apologetic look. See? She does not only call his inventions 'contraptions'. Merri gets a more thoughtful glance before she also nods to what lingers of Melina's entreaty. She stiffens at Merrisol's observation about the Pringles. Her imagination flares a bit, probably running off the rails. She closes the distance to her husband and almost whispers, "Darling? Is it possible that we have been duped? Could Miss Pringle have set this up so that we would find this gentleman, and perhaps Mr. Theodore for her?"
Disillusion's hand turns to face the wizard with his palm out to display the pocketwatch, "I had simply assumed that all science, of any sort, would be deemed objectionable here. How am I to know where on the spectrum you draw the line?" His thumb drops down to press the button at the top and reveal the face of the simple watch, dutifully ticking away to calculate the time, date, and phases of the moon. Snapping it shut, he tosses it on inside the suitcase and follows this with his umbrella and the pistol from his holster. The case is then snapped shut and belted for good measure after a bottle is retrieved. Rising back to his feet, the case remains on the ground beside him. "Technically speaking, his mind turned to worm food. Old Theodore has been pushing up daisies since before I was even born. On my word as a gentleman, I tell you that none of us have had anything but strictly adversarial encounters with government authorities of any stripe in Begma. The only reason I have any idea of who Theodore was is due to faint memories from my dealings with the Pringle clan when growing up in the East. We are here purely for academic purposes, just as the lovely Lady Melina has stated. Perhaps we could sort all of this out over a glass of wine?" Now the bottle is held up a bit higher as he says, "A small gift for a gracious host?"
The measured and reasonable responses offered by the visitors do cut into the hermit's revving agitation, making it a somewhat lopsided conversation. It highlights the divide between them further; tourists gawking through the bars of the monkeyhouse, puzzling and infuriating its hooting denizen with their inexplicable dependence on deodorant and pants. At some point during, he light-warps away to different spots along the outside length of the passage, inspecting the powder-filled grooves set in wedges of stone. Is there no end to the magics in this room? Perhaps he is still listening, but from his frequent 'tsk'ing, he is invariably displeased both by what he sees and hears. "I said they were allies, I did not say they were geniuses," he interjects once, retorting to Merri's comment first.
The glint of the wine bottle seems reflected in Eleniak's eyes, and the observant would lay money on the wizard's fondness for a snifter of port or a good red wine after a long day's ritual. Bottles repurposed as holders of candlesticks and briny oddities can be picked out throughout the chockablock decor. The magician licks his lips, his gaze swinging from the wine, to the suitcase, and then Disillusion's face, but it is Melina he speaks to next: "The wondrous magic of Amber, bleeding away through the cracks. Yes, we have heard. Doubtless, there is still plenty for those few who yet guard the old ways from the corruptions of young fools, such as yourselves!" He has since returned to his original position in front of a console table a quarter of the way across the room, on which jars and pots rest in a multicoloured haze of powder dust. Selecting a painted tin, he continues, "Although retreat and isolation have *preserved* our power, the *perversions*.." and he casts another withering glare at Disi's suitcase! "..have taken over the world, slowly clawing it out from beneath us! You are not here in the name of Tourism? You may as well be!" He waggles the tin at them for emphasis. "Now that you have come, now that you have witnessed the true magic, and have heard the truth about your precious Science, what will you do? You will run and cry to the Ministry, I have no doubt!"
OOC> Merrisol says, "https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mh0szDJ7CXQ"
Melina sighs "There is such a thing is keeping a secret to well if knowledge is not shared with the next generation who remains to bolster the foundation. change is enevitable but if the powers we possess are not used to better things why does it exist at all. duty is a sacred trust, a responsibility. i'd rather be responsible for a sin of commission than one of omission. i can't stand by and watch it bleed to nothing. but exactly what to do i don't know... i can assure you, not go to those who have branded me a witch. beyond that, i seek advice. it's why i've come"
Merri leans down to catch Maggie's quiet questions amid the ambient chatter bouncing around within the glass enclosure. His eyes stay with the sorcerer's every move.. well.. they lose sight of him frequently, to be honest. With every fold through space, the pirate grows more exasperated. At least the helpless frustration of being closed into a tube is mitigated by knowing they are not also in imminent danger. He glances sharply at Disillusion as the cardsharp reveals his hunches about the late Theodore Pringle, then turns his attention fully to Maggie. "Surely Violet knows of her own family tree and the significance of that name, Hotstuff," he mutters. "As for what she's up to.. can't be sure. She and her brother are always up to some mischief from what I've seen, but don't seem to have much to do with running the business. Perhaps their own family doesn't trust them.." Any further thoughts are put on hold when Old El's ranting takes off again, in order to monitor that discussion more closely.
Maggie does not lean into or against her husband, for they might need to be ready for anything. She nods to his observations on the Lady Pringle, either agreeing or acknowledging the logic of the same. A veneer of calm decends over her as her awareness, honed most recently during a variety of rather violent excursions, slips into place. And then she frowns, startling slightly. She surveys the salon once more, watching the way the man within moves from place to place. Watching what he does with the powders and placement. Then she turns to Disillusion. He is given a longish stare as though Maggie seeks some illusive knowledge within his brain. As though that knowledge should be written on the man's face. Turning slowly back again she seeks up into the glass eyes searching and searching. Probably to no avail, "I swear..." Finally, she looks back again, "The way the good gentleman moves reminds me of... Of the way images strobe when seen through moving fan blades. Or... Or when images are seen in a flip book. Or on old film reels. It is fascenating." And potentially useful to know. Stepping forward, she almost speaks to the old man... Then her gaze falls to Melina and she remains silent. Those are good and salient points so she fades back again into silent observation of their surroundings. Mostly.
RPG: You show a message to MAG-AM (Maggie): Giving extra study to the way Eleniak jumps from place to place hints at expenditures of energy each time, signified by those light expulsions. They seem to be a payment, or sacrifice, into the conditions of a very complex magic ritual laid out within the dimensions of the salon, leaving characteristics of the time and space within malleable and elastic. And it could be the energy expended is equivalent to or less than the energy it would have taken from the wizard's old bones to shuffle a dozen or two paces, so it all evens out in the end..
"You could certainly say *that* again." It can barely be heard as Disillusion utters it under his breath, all the while maintaining that disarming smile. Behind that unreadable exterior, his eyes dart about as he tries to keep tabs on the wizard's movements, all the while pondering if there's a pattern to track. And predict. Just in case. An eyebrow arches at another comment and he replies, "Perversions? Now, now. Let's not say things you can't take back." A hand gestures away these notions of Tourists as he sets to pulling a cork from the bottle, producing a corkscrew out of thin air for the task. The wizard isn't the only one able to pull off some magic! "I admit I'm enjoying the sights and now the show, but no. I don't make it a habit to discuss much of *anything* with the authorities."
The wizard is doddering along with that battered tin, rarely moving beyond two physical steps in any direction, preferring to skip past the journey to the destination. A pinch of powder over each glyph-etched wedge, a moaning phrase of Auld Begmanne to seal the deal: Remember well when you were the first stone. It has gotten so that his tongue has slipped all the way back into the ancient dialect now; which while still vaguely understood by the Begman novice ear, is ever so strange sounding. He pauses here and there, to peer back at the uninvited guests, as though intermittently finding interest in what they have to say... although it comes to feel more like encouragement. Yes yes, do go on! You don't say! They talk the talk, and he walks the walk, and meanwhile neither directly acknowledges what is really going on. Right?
Old El steps out of a flash almost directly in front of Melina, and he moues at the peaceful Solaris. "And should the secrets of the old ways be revealed to you, would you truly wish for your world to return to the way it used to be, before all the mistakes and all the abuses? Before, as you would call it, Progress?" He makes a gesture very much like air quoting, but it turns out to just be him sprinkling powder on a chiseled stone symbol on his side of the glass. "Tsk! The folly and hubris of neonates!" Uh-oh, that long white beard's a-bristlin' again... "What did the upstart tinkerers of Begma do with the secrets they stole from the Wizard Kings?" Three guesses where his beady eyes land again! The tinkerers put the secrets into suitcases, apparently!
Melina shakes her head "Of course not. I don't know what was a mistake and what wasn't precisely. I have not the knowledge nor the right nor desire to make everything right. I'm hardly under the delusion that the past was some utopia but if we don't do something there won't be future generations to make new mistakes. i don't want what we do now to be done because we are ignorant of the past. if you want me to apologize for my ignorance fine. I'm sorry."she takes a few steps back and seats herself on the floor drawing a book,a stylus and ink from her satchel, dips the stylus and inscribes the cover carefully, then takes the book, rising to her feet and offers it glassward " Should you decide the neophyte is worth teaching and future generations worth the risk. You can reach me with that. I can't promise there will be no mistakes, nor will i lie about a desire to return to a past that will not come back, only that i treat knowledge with respect and care. i don't doubt that some measure of this progress was made with good intentions while others were lesso. for that is a constant in any time"
RPG: Melina declares that she has the Messenger Quill (CHA-MQ) gift.
When the sorcerer comes back to their close vicinity, Merrisol gazes at him with his head slightly craned and tilted, hanging with new interest upon the turn taken by the discussion. He steps aside a few paces to give Melina her space to sit and create, one hand remaining in contact with Maggie to draw her along with. "Drawing parallels between the plight of different shadows and Amber is nothing new," he remarks, more to himself and Maggie, than in a bid to get Eleniak's attention. "Still, the question of setting things to a subjective version of Right is always a kick in the pants." Also? The ominous protestations of Tourists. Why does it feel like each one is a spring being wound tighter?
"Now, now. *There* is the true folly of hubris. To think and assume that things could or *would* remain secret. Security by obscurity is no security at all, sir! The Wizard Kings were fools to hide such things away and lord them over everyone. Knowledge wants to be free, I say!" A pointed finger is out and gets a good shake in the air as Disillusion gets going! The bottle lifts, he shakes a hand to produce and expand what must be a collapsible cup, and then he is pouring for himself. A second later, he gives it a swirl, samples it, and savors for just a second before continuing. "There is no returning to that past and we all know it. To try and do such a thing would be a wasted effort. Focus instead on the future. What *is* the *obtainable* change you think might make a difference? Hmmm? Be pragmatic, man! Be honest with yourself! Are you looking for a return to power or are you looking to bring balance back to this world?" Again he swirls the wine around in the cup and again a sip is taken, this time very visibly savoring it before the wizard. "You know, it really is something. A shame this glass is here or you might be able to see for yourself..."
RPG: Disillusion declares that he owns this token:
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ G1n ]----
Author: Disillusion Held By: Disillusion
Date: Wed Jan 9 21:44:43 2019 Focus: 3
Title: Bayle Special Reserve: Charisma!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Created via The Bayle Passion (PAS-BA): bonus-token special token-0 token-3
Gift description:
Wine is the passion of the Bayles. Everything related to it, from growing the grapes to building the casks to tasting the finished product receives intense scrutiny and loving attention. On the off chance that the character is ever in a conflict related to wine (except in avoiding drunkenness), the character receives a significant bonus.
The character is capable of producing wines of excellent vintage, with a host of excellent qualities. Wines of this caliber may be represented as zero point tokens.
Lastly, the character can also produce wines of a unique vintage, a secret known only to the Bayles. They bottle the very passions that drive their winemaking into a dark, rich wine of unique taste. To consume this wine is to be filled with its motivating passion. These wines are created as a three point token which, when consumed, fill the drinker with the passion of the brew (as detailed in the token) granting them a bonus to a conflict where that passion may aid them.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Token Description
From the very moment the cork is popped, this wine aims to please and grabs attention with a magnetic presence. It is the rare sparkling red wine that dares to say such a thing can be done and done well! An unusual blend of grapes come together to create an intoxicating base of savory earthiness, tempered with tart raspberry. A variety of aromas dance out of the glass and draw one in, seeming to be different to each person who samples it. Is there smoke? Is that fruit? Do I detect something floral? Keep sampling and let's find out. One more sip and I'll have it! Before one even knows it, they have fallen head over heels through an entire bottle!
(OOC Note: Drink during or before the need for greater Charisma to aid in social endeavors and likability! Yes, these bubbles *will* go straight to your head and those around you!)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Maggie fades back with Merrisol to give Melina room, but also to observe the man beyond the glass. She moves with fluid grace, remaining within the range of her husband's touch. Her voice is soft, though not so soft as to be exclusively Merri's to hear. "He might not be able to let us in. I can't fathom the intricacies of his ritual, or spell without a lot of time to study it, but... Every time he moves, he donates energy to the whole. Whatever the ultimate goal of the entire working, it has left time and space maliable. He... Might not be entirely in synch with our here and now. So, a month might have passed within while years have gone by out here. The spell might not allow for anything from the present to be introduced within the confines of that room. Which may be why he was reinforcing the seals between the glass and his room. And may be why he saw Mr. Pringle a month ago." Her voice takes on a wondering curiosity as though inviting a critique of her observations and assumptions. She darts a glance up to Merrisol, pity and a measure of sorrow in her eyes. What a way to live. To preserve... a way of life? She looks back to study the wizard who won't live forever, even with magic. Merlin to Miriam's Vivian?
While Melina frames her response through glass, Old El rubs his powder-pinching fingertips together gingerly to return unused particles to the metal container, then covers up the opening. Nothing she says seems to surprise him. He might not even be really listening to the words themselves. The Chantris woman's phrases are like popular melody to him, appropriately enough. He can hum along! And he's already done and back at the table of jars by the time she is ready to show off her handiwork. The tin is tucked away, and now he pulls a larger glass vase, with some effort, into his arms. Maggie's side-speculation with the big lunkhead may or may not be getting through to the wizard, his frowning glances at M&M being par for the course, this visit.
What's that, though, what's that! Wizard Kings, fools?? Slowly he wheels to see Disillusion chiding him with digit and teasing him with tasty grapejuice at the same time. "Ohh, you... you egg!" he fumes through his whiskers. It is doubtful he can reap the wine's additional benefits, smell-wise, so to him, the man is an /egg/! He hears Disi out a bit longer, stooped and looking about ready to fold entirely in two with that average-looking jar clutched in his hands. And he looks more unsettled than usual over the egg's line of rhetoric. "*I*?? What do *I* look for??" Sputter, wheeze. He can't lift and breathe at the same time. The taunting with the wine just makes the frothing worse! "Return to power?! Balance?!" He glimpses the book in Melina's hands in passing, oh dear, she wants his autograph... "Others may wish for these things. Old Eleniak knows them to be hopeless fantasy! What my kind have been reduced to in the story books... the ones with pictures! Pictures!" To be fair, the artist renditions of raving old magicians are kind of accurate at this point.
"Just leave us this carved out space, this pure, unsullied space! It takes all vestiges remaining us to hold back extinction, extinguishment! Even so, Carcil is advancing beyond our control, ever so slowly! Yes, Artificer, yes, rejoice in your victory!" The wizard lurches to one side then, and the light snaps him away. It isn't instantaneous this time, the transport, but he does reappear, further away, just in front of the smallish chamber enclosing the end of the glass passage. It opens for him, though he doesn't lurch through. The air within, though, chuffs out at him. But is it fragrant with both assorted adventurer musk and Charisma? Just what is that elemavator box for?
Melina peers at the wizrd's movements curiously but instinctively takes a step back and also instinctively takes a step closer to Disillusion did he just agree with her. She blinks, gaze caught by the glint in the glass. The glint in his. Following the swirl of the liquid.. round. round..
Merri nods as Maggie attempts to describe the strangeness of the environment Eleniak inhabits, mostly able to wrap his mind around it, though he points out, "Except for his peculiar way of getting around, we appear to be in synch, timewise.." He hasn't been similarly swayed to pity for the wizard, but one look at that look from his wife has him squeezing her arm reassuringly. Loud enough for his voice to carry through the glass, he says, "There's no need to intrude further on his abode, uninvited. We mean him no harm, him or his way of life." Around this time would be when Merrisol gives Disillusion a skeptical glance, for knowing what he does of the Grandmaster Artificer's devotion to Begman craft and modern values, this willing acknowledgement of the realm's magical history and said phenomena's continued existence is.... Well, it's entirely reasonable, isn't it! It proves that Merri hasn't given the gentleman's intellectual character enough credit. The submariner smiles curiously at Disi, in that it is curious that he is smiling at all under the present circumstances, nevermind that it's aimed at the slippery playboy. There's a mad sorcerer bringing a jar of unknown mystical content to the other end of the passage currently occupied by his group, after all. Stepping to the glass, he cautiously touches it, testing its solidity, while calling out, "Hold up there a moment, Eleniak.. are you acting against Carcil City in some manner.. and with the help of your allies, the Pringles?"
Maggie remains near Merrisol, her gaze flickering up to him, then back around to the wizard. She nods slowly, but a thoughtful frown touches her brow none the less, "Yes. And, maybe? I'm not sure whether he is in synch with us or not. Or... maybe just not all the time. I can't get a clear idea of how that movement thing works. But I am sure that space and time in there are not entirely steadfast. They feel... fluid? Malliable? Like... clay before it is fired. Sort of." She watches him move to test the glass, her senses keyed into what happens if he touches the surface. Her focus is entirely taken up with that touch. So much so that when he calls attention to the old man's movement to the elevator, she blinks and turns to look that way. Out of the corner of her eye she spots Melina and... Is that Lord Valintino? Her gaze slips quietly toward him, settling for a lingeringly warm while that includes a nearly shy smile. How could she have doubted the man's intentions? Surely they are only the best, as befits a gentleman of his stature, his honor. Why they are all enriched in moral fiber for his presence. With a renewed sense of purpose, she turns toward the door to the box, gaze a-sparkle with emerald vigor.
RPG: You show a message to PAT-IP MAG-AM (Maggie): There's no active spell magic to do with the glass. It was made with magic, but that spell smell is long gone. Its solidity and unmoving nature might be due to the wedge stones holding it in place or it might somehow be a thickness of the ritual magic that is affecting the rest of the salon. Can the atmospheric differences between the presence of magic outside and the absence of it within the tunnel be creating an effect similar to hydrostasis upon the passage? Begman magic is peculiar indeed.
Disillusion snorts bemusedly at this notion that he ought to be celebrating some manner of victory in something he hadn't even known he was doing! "Disappointing. Here you are, short-stacked at the table. And what? You plan to just roll over and accept it all? Pay the blinds hand after hand, bleeding yourself until you reach the only possible conclusion of that path? Hide away until this all is little more than a mausoleum?" Now it is the Artificer who tsks as he shakes his head with disapproval. Looking over toward Merrisol, he nods in agreement with the initial point on leaving and then starts wagging that pointed finger over in his direction on the bit about the Pringles, "Not such capable allies, I dare say. I might even suggest a new front entrance to your home as a precaution, given the latest generation wants to distance themselves from all this." Rapping a knuckle against the glass, he begins to look about and now notices such details as the smile on Merrisol and the shy counterpart on his wife. Oh, he knew this day would come! The back-slide! Curse his fatal allure! He must be strong for the both of them! At least while her husband is around... Clearing his throat, his eyes resume their wandering and narrow at this elemavator box. Taking a sip of wine, he savors while pondering the possibilities of purpose that lie there and his feet begin carrying him onward. "But still, yes, what is this about holding Carcil back, hmmm? Do you have some hand in keeping the East stuck in a state of dust and mud?" His voice trails off as brainpower is diverted elsewhere. Surely it's the elemavator!
Eleniak indulges in a short cackle, arms stretched and straining with the regular glass vase with what looks like a good heap of potter's soil within. There's even a sprig of something sticking up from the mound, like a malignant fiddlehead shoot, hoping to one day be unfurled. Oh dear, he's too old to be lifting such paltry weights around! But wait, his putting it down might be equally dangerous at this point!
"No, no hands. Well, yes. Some fingers, here and there," he reveals in a distracted mumble. "I am assured a 'sound marketing strategy' has been the trick in keeping the encroachments of Progress at a manageable low. They do not realize how much the parts are helping. Things breaking. Just enough ore production to service the big city, with little left over for development in Carcil. These are not just strokes of whimsy!" Perhaps one more cackle? Why not! Then Old El notices that Disillusion is not where he used to be. Disillusion is moving. With a jerky, geriatric leeeaaan that is his version of hurry! the sorcerer bends into the open doors of his side of the elemavator and there's the sound of the vase clonking and cracking on the floor.
"Remember well when you swarmed the first mines..."
Melina returns her attention to the glass as what seemed about to end with a peaceful departure has taken a new turn. Her hand unconsciously rests on Disillusion's arm "I wouldn't want anyone to be harmed for our curiosity" As Eliniak speak speak, she frowns deeply "Why does everyone do things that way. Content with your passive agressive stalemate. Nothing moves forward. Nothing moves back. As long as we stymie the enemy were winning and everyone else who cares. Magic is supposed to help people not hinder them"
The glass is solid but the knuckles go thunk-thunk on it, instead of tap-tap. It's either much thicker than it looks or it is up against a dense sort of backing. But surely the air out there isn't that soupy.
After giving the wall an experimental shove and not being able to budge it at all, Merrisol draws back again, following Disillusion's actions attentively. "I agree with Lord Valentino, there's no trusting the Pringles, this generation or last," he directs words through the glass. "Perhaps you had a better understanding with the family founders, Eleniak, before the profits of marketeering turned the clan's intentions. They're using their monopoly on gadgets to bully the smaller families.." He glances at Melina for a moment, listening. "If it's true that the old ways of Magic are going extinct, this would seem to be his idea of self-defense, of survival.." he points out, but then his gaze shifts between Disillusion and the sorcerer again as the advance of the former panics the latter. "Carp.. that's not good."
RPG: You show a message to PAT-IP MAG-AM (Maggie): There's no active spell magic to do with the glass. It was made with magic, but that spell smell is long gone. Its solidity and unmoving nature might be due to the wedge stones holding it in place or it might somehow be a thickness of the ritual magic that is affecting the rest of the salon. Can the atmospheric differences between the presence of magic outside and the absence of it within the tunnel be creating an effect similar to hydrostasis upon the passage? Begman magic is peculiar indeed.
Maggie has been watching and listening and trying to see with her senses as much as with her eyes with greater or lesser success depending on a variety of distractions. Moving closer to the glass when Merrisol touches it, she inhales to see what she can find of magic or to get right in there should mayhem ensue. Probably not intentionally, but there you go. After her analysis, she reviews what Melina has said to the wizard. The talented young woman is given a smile and a quick nod, "Well said." Her attention shifts back to the glass and she studies it briefly once more before speaking to her husband and those nearby, "There is no active magic on the glass, Kerf. Though I am sure that once there was. I think that spell work made the glass. Whether ritually or not, though, I can't say for sure." She glances back at her husband, "I cannot tell if the glass stays in place because of a natural, physical reason... or not. I have seen people use wedges to keep vertical things in place, so it could be something like that. Or..." Her eyes track back to the salon, flickering here and there as though seeking something specific. Seeking, but not really seeing it, "Though, I suppose it might have something to do with the magic at play within. As though magic is used to augment or... Or determine the properties of the physical world. Like... What is it called, Beloved? Hydro-something... When water pressure causes something to hold its shape? Though if that is the case, wouldn't changing the pressure cause the structure to collapse? The magic here is strange. I do not understand it." As she speaks, her eyes refocus on Melina, spotting the old gent just as he gets spooked and darts within the elemavator. As... quickly as a potentially ancient codger can dart, that is. Hearing the clonk and crack she straightens and turns from the glass, "Oh, no." Moving toward the box, she calls a bit more softly, "Sir? Are you alright?" Curmudgeon he may be, but they did sorta-kinda invade his home. "Do you need help?" Slowing as she nears, she does that hunting hound sniff-a-sniff again to see what may come of breaking crockery with dubious foliage growing within.
Sound marketing strategy?! Disillusion's ear twitches upon hearing this term he is so very fond of. His very own sort of strategy! Turned against him! By a heretic! "They never were strong on the social skills. A relationship such as that requires attention." The playboy stops in his tracks as Melina's hand rests on his arm and his head turns in her direction to listen while his eyes stay on the surprisingly spry wizard. Nodding, he says to the Chantris wordmancer, "I would do no such thing. Why, I'm completely unarmed." Leaning in closer, he whispers, "It was never the way of the Tyrant Sorcerers to help. *Still* hasn't learned the folly of his ways." Straightening, he downs the remainder of his cup, clears his throat, and wields the elocution he had spent far too long working at in mirrors. While also practicing card tricks. Multi-tasking! "You, sir, need a new horse in this race! A new team. A new set of resources. Most assuredly a new entrance that the Pringles know nothing about, given how they sold you out to us in a heartbeat. Probably even a new strategy to work. This one is all sorts of wrong, I say."
Eleniak shuffles backwards again, hunched over and waving back a cloud of dirt, even as the sparks going off within the cloud branch into webs of electricity inside the elemavator. "Wreow!" He coughs and sputters while sliding the doors shut again. "Neophyte error, there! Five steps back, always!" The dust seems to have dissipated from his person, but his beard is alive, wriggling with the struggles of a small bat-like creature tangled up in long tufts. Ignoring it, the wizard swivels his gaze from the dark enclosed chamber to the intruders and back again, with crotchety anticipation. Hrm. Won't be long now. He goes back to staring at Disillusion and Melina, his countenance cramping into scowly wrinkles as he catches up more or less with their criticisms. "What you appear to be suggesting is that I now have truck with one from the foremost ranks of Progress! Would you give up your life's work to champion magic, your standing among your peers to parlay with wizards? Your precious golden gear??" he sneers. Within those last moments, the creature has puffed out to the size of a large raccoon, bristling all over with black spines and flapping leathery wings. It drops loose from the beard and scampers crazily across the room before taking flight towards one of those deep window arches. BONK. Eleniak ignores that, too; he's on a roll! "As for you, young woman, it is astounding you have come as far as you have through Begma without knowing how magic is scorned and feared, its existence thoroughly denied by the powers that now be!"
The elemavator doors leading into the glass passage are snugly closed, and still as can be. But the sounds of more such critters, snarling, grunting and whuffling, can be heard.
Melina chuckles slightly at the arrival of the critters " One of my great flaws, sir is that I dwell far to much on what should be versus what is. I have read something of how that came to be, but history belongs to the winner as they say, so tell me why you think it is that magic is so poorly regarded. It is a tool is it not. a powerful tool. a potentially dangerous tool one that can manipulate it's user, i seek knowledge, balance to use it while pushing against. i may not know your magic but i have already given to it and it has already taken fro me
Merri watches the goings-on near the elemavator with concern and misgiving, convinced it will amount to nothing good. He spares glances between the speakers in his group here and there, alternating between comical confusion and impatience for all the things they still have a need of saying to this magical hobo! There's also a doubletake for Maggie, as all the side speculation about the technical features of the room's spell layers sinks in; 'cause Darlin', you done puttin' some science in your magic, there... Presently, though, he nudges forward, eyeing that closed set of doors emanating those ominous sounds, and attempts to break into the communications to state: "Call me bonkers, but I do believe there's now only one way out of here, and we should consider taking it..." He tries a true cowboy move and spreads his arms to sweep the others back the way they all came.
Maggie blinks in surprise when she spots the fellow ducking back out of the box on his side of the glass. She blinks and sniffs when she sees the creature wriggle out of his beard and take abortive flight. She turns with sudden understanding and nods to Merrisol, "Agreed. He is about to send one or more of those things out here, unless I miss my guess." Whirling, she faces Old El for a moment, "It is a shame. Magic thrives elsewhere. A different sort of magic, it is true, but magic nonetheless. But enough." Turning away from him and the elamavator, she motions for her companions, "Kerf is right. Let's be quit of this place."
Science in magic? Or magic in science? Maggie darts Merrissol a quick smile for his cowboy ways and does not resist being gathered up and herded along. Time to go. Yippe-ki-yi-ay, Old Wizard.
"Expect them to be the first of many." Confidence! It is the name of the game, always and he pours it on now! Disillusion makes a small, dismissive wave before he replaces the cork in his bottle of wine and sets it down. Foremost ranks of Progress! "Thank you for the compliment. But. Who better? And, no, I'll carry right on with my work, the same as I ever have, and hope to only *improve* upon my standing. But it doesn't mean I'm averse to hindering a few others." Ducking Merrisol's swol arm in a sudden display of graceful reflexes, he steps closer to the glass. Snapping a finger in the air, he conjures up a calling card, licks it, and slaps it against the glass to stick it there. Prof. Disillusion Valentino -- Grandmaster Artificer. "The alternative is that we work in opposing directions and I assure you that I would bury you." Turning, he follows along with the group, tossing a friendly wave and a winning smile as he sweeps a hand down to scoop up his suitcase. "Tarry not! I can be called upon at the Broadstreet!" Changing tones, he says to the others, "Lead the way!"
"Tooool? There, even your base comprehension is faulty! Magic is magic, just as life is life!" Old El has his hands in stiff fists for some creaky shaking about to punctuate his ranting, but they drop slightly when the group begins their motions of retreating from the passage. He just snorts at the parting shots made by sundry, then peers at the card Disi leaves sticking to the glass. He casts about as if looking for a spatula, before his eyes fall on the great round table and those nine empty seats. "...I shall leave *that* up to the others. Although..." The wizard chews toothlessly over a thought for several moments, and it's just when his 'guests' have started up the spiral steps, that he seems to remember he had something for them. "For the present, *this* needs must be addressed." He starts to hobble back to the elemavator but ends up light-snapping himself over to the glass passage where it meets the walls of the enclosed chamber. He drags a switch located there down in an arc, and the inner doors to the passage chunk open with a palpable shock to the quality of the space throughout. Like when the eardrums go pop, only for this it's some place deep in the gut.
And through the doors surges a dark, snarling, bristling wave of winged troglodytes, literally spilling and crashing along the floor until individuals break free and gain their pattering clawed feet. Hopefully having attained their fully reconstituted measurements at a varied two-and-a-half feet, they gambol and leap and in some cases flap along the length of the bent corridor in a mad bipedal rush. If the inscribed book was dropped, it is snatched up rather than trampled, to be flung between many pudgy mitts until it sails into the elemavator from whence they came. Any discarded item tends to be subjected to the same treatment, although it's difficult to predict whether it would apply equally to warm, living bodies.
Up go the wizard's gnarled fists again, and he resumes his shaking diatribe, even though he can no longer be certain of being heard as clearly. "Think you this as my life?! It was not always so diminished, nor was my magic! What you now see is near the end, and you cannot fathom the beginning! Magic, a tool?!" And so on. You'd better believe there's a round of hoarse cackling thrown in, too!
Melina drops the book she'd been holding swiftly to the grounf and bolts down the corridor after merri, stealing glances over her shoulder half in wonder, half in terror calling back " I think we can agree to disagree" as she makes for the exit barely avoiding her foot becoming tasty snack for one of the ghastly pursuers
Run for the exit ahead of Melina? Merri would never! It's more of a staggered run, pulling ahead to keep up the hectic pace, lagging behind to be sure no one is being left behind. Once the scope of the critter flood is realized, his hand slips to his belt. "Aahh, guns are back in the saddlebag..." he groans, bunting a chomper back with his boot. The self-recrimination is short-lived as he abruptly recalls something of Maggie's speculations. "Careful with the glass, could all collapse in on us if it breaks!" He takes the stairwell.
A generally silent companion to the group, Shiona's contribution to the debate about reality with the wizard consists of a significant number of little 'hmmph' and 'hmmm' and the periodic noncommital sniff. Although about half the time that is followed up with a daub from a hankie, so perhaps she's just got a bit of a sniffle. She watches, not just the sorcerer, but her companions as well. A silent witness as she tucks that handkerchief away up her sleeve again. Her attention flip flops between Disi and the sorcerer, a step slightly back, letting others head for the exit first. She has no qualms about drawing her Sword of Orderly Doom (tm) and attempting to assist Maggie in ensuring that they all retreat in an orderly fashion back towards the stairs.
For her part, Maggie lags back a bit to try and be sure that her companions reach the stairs. "Go!" Her cry is unlikely to be headed, though. "I do not know what elemental magic will do down here." Should she? She slides her Beloved a glance, "Magic out here might change the balance..." And so, with that, she abandons the idea to kindle her fire. The look she gives the raving wizard is both reproachful and angry. She longs to give him a piece of her mind, but the very idea of what he might do with it is nightmare fuel. Drawing her sword, she slashes at one of the troglodytes. For once, she is not using her flame-sword. Instead, she has been carrying a particularly fine cutlass. This is a blade with a name and a history.
RPG: Disillusion declares that he has the Quicker than the Eye (STY-QE) gift.
RPG: Disillusion declares that he has the Thrown Weapons (SKL-TH) gift.
Making up for that stolen moment, Disillusion is shuffling much more quickly. Not quite running, of course, because that would just be unseemly! As he goes, he works at the buckles on his case and has the clasps ready to pop. A glance is cast over his shoulder and his eyes widen at the oncoming advance, instigating an immediate change of priorities. One hand slips the shoulder strap for the case over his head as he begins a turn with his next step. His other hand comes up with a few playing cards held between each of his fingers. The concealed weapons (Surely they came from his case! He said he was unarmed before and he is a man of his word!) catch a bit of light at the edges, reflecting in a manner to hint at their metallic nature as he sweeps around and lines up his throws toward the lead creatures, taking into account which ones Maggie and Shiona are focusing on while also looking through the targets to be sure there are no friendlies left behind. Without even stopping his motion, his hand flicks off all four cards and then he is turned back around to continue on up the stairs. All in all, it takes no more than a second for him to wield the cards, categorize the threats, line up his throws, engage the target, and then disengage smoothly!
The squat critters are rampaging at a rate that easily overtakes those who hesitate in the retreat, namely, those who turn to fight. The batwings, upright hedgehog bodies, and snouty human faces are the dead giveaways that they are not to be found in the master list Compendium Animalia kept in Begman U. No, this oddity would have been condemned by the biological science community as unclean mutant hybrids, smacking of unsanctioned breeding programs by enemies of Begma's righteous sensibilities and aesthetics. They would be rounded up, and euthanized, or at the very least, disappeared to some fabulous dissection facility. What one wouldn't ever suggest is that these beasties might actually be denizens from a Magical-er time in Begman History.
Also, that they resemble costumed toddlers who have consumed their weight in sugar would be a comment strictly labeled as Xeno-Sympathetic.
The first troglodyte to swoop at the group meets with Maggie's sword in a scattering of bloody broken quills and a surprised snorkle. The dimensions of the passage don't allow for wide swings, but Shiona's sword cleaves through the forerunners who don't manage to spill to either side of her in their furious hustle and hurry. Those that do, go clambering up skirts and leggings alike, snorting and snarling in their efforts to ransack pockets and belts for things to chew with their sharp little teefs and dismantle with their grasping paws. No doubt it is unnerving to be pawed and chewed by one, if not several at once! It should come as a relief, however, to find that one can still manage to totter upstairs even while being grappled by the crazed critters.
It becomes fairly clear that Disillusion's S.U.I.T.C.A.S.E. is collectively sensed to be the real meal ticket in this frenzy. The Precious! They wants it! A small crowd blitzes the Artificer, however they don't get anywhere near the prize before blinding streaks of bladed plates whicker between their spines and into their vitals, dropping them. Two such cards strike in such a way that they shear across throats and spin off into different troggos entirely! The resulting carpet of prickly bodies creates a short speedbump for the rest of the undeterred munchkins.
From somewhere in the wizard's salon, Eleniak might still be heard, shouting after them. "Are they not wonderful for chasing away pests! The early miners thought so as well!"
