These events take place five days after the departure of the Cecelia.
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:35, Mon 24 Feb 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 1):

"...and that's how King Bodacles the Lame won the 50-meter dash."

Having finished his final story of the evening, Boreas returns to his quarters -- alone, since Rachel and Oliver seemed intent on sampling at least one glass of each beverage in the building before turning in for the night themselves.

He had just settled himself on the edge of the bed and begun to contemplate a third nightcap of icewine when he noticed the window was open.

Strange.  I do not recall opening it...

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 2):

The empty cup sitting on his bedtable floats as if on its own accord, and flits over to the crystal decanter on the nearby chest of drawers.  The faceted crystal swirls in the air as well, as if lifted by an unseen hand.  Liquid pours unbidden from the opening as it inverts itself, filling the still-floating cup.  The decanter then returns to its place, making nary a sound in the process, and the cup comes to rest at Baldwin's hand.

The bard takes it, looking at it with apprehension before setting it down on his bedside table.

"Perhaps I've had enough," he says softly, glancing back at the window. "Perhaps I should..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:36, Mon 24 Feb 2014.

In reply to DM (msg # 3):

"Sit," a voice interrupts the bard, its owner shimmering into existence on the other side of the bed, within arms reach of the decanter.  He holds a small black pearl in one hand, tossing it up and catching it idly.

Up and down.  Up and down.

"Hello, Baldwin of Blakehaven,," the man says, his voice silky smooth, his eyes holding no trace of warmth.  "My name is Darris, and I believe we share a mutual interest in the worlds beyond our own."

When Baldwin struggles to stand, the slurred words of a half-formed spell on his lips, Darris hurls the pearl directly at the bard's chest. It detonates on impact, creating a blinding burst of magical energy.  When it fades, Baldwin finds himself encased in a shimmering translucent bubble.

"Manners, Baldwin," Darris continues, picking up the cup of icewine that is now beyond the bard's reach.  He gives it a careful swish before taking a satisfying sip.  "Ah. Much better."

In reply to Darris (msg # 4):

The bard attempts to stand, but cannot, due to the confines of his newly formed prison.  His mind races as he goes through the various spells and songs that might free him, but his memory is so fogged by the haze of icewine, the exhaustion of another full day's work, and the adrenaline hammering through his old veins that nothing seems to make sense.

"What do you want?" he manages, regaining control of his faculties at last.

No point in breaking free until I've learned something, at least.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:33, Mon 24 Feb 2014.

In reply to Baldwin (msg # 5):

"Just a small thing," Darris replies.  "A trifle, really."

When Baldwin does not respond, the cloaked figure continues.

"I want you to know that you've gained a rather rapt audience with the juggling act you've been performing all these years. So many young heroes, dashed against the rocks of your folly."

The figure moves closer to the shimmering sphere, tapping on it as if it were a pane of glass.

"And I want you to know that if you're here to collect another sorry lot of adventurers for your hopeless cause, we will be watching."

He drains the icewine, and tosses the cup carelessly onto the floor.

"It's not that we're concerned you might actually accomplish something," Darris adds, his eyes crinkling with cold mirth as he slowly fades from visible sight.  "It's just damned fun to watch. Be seeing you."

In reply to Darris (msg # 6):

Baldwin winces as the window slams shut, secured by an unseen hand, then gazes longingly at the far-off decanter. A few minutes later, the shimmering bubble dissolves around him, and the bard is free.

He rushes over to his books and withdraws a binder very much like Filbert's.  In a steady hand, he writes the following: "Met Darris, or a man who claims to be him.  He knows of my quest, but does not seem aware of your presence. Be careful -- he may well be involved more deeply than we know."

The bard then grabs the decanter, drains what remains in a single go, and marches down the stairs.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:39, Mon 24 Feb 2014.