The journey to your home town is relatively uneventful - you are just another traveler, abeit one who doesn't eat or sleep, which allows you to make good time.

It's odd. While usually you were coming from the OTHER side of town everything feels slightly off somehow on this journey. Of course, you'd never been as far as the previous city, and you'd never been dead.

Perhaps it is a matter of perspective: now you are really seeing things as they are, the decay and their resistance. Still, you do recognize the major landmarks, which is reassuring.

It takes several uneventful boring days, but you make your way to your old town. Like many spots in this area, it borders the desert, however, an underground spring makes the ground muddy and surprisingly fertile compared to most of the outlying regions, allowing the town to exist.

Silver Stream is somewhat paradoxically named - the river flows underground, and the clay like soil makes it difficult to dig. Still, the water does allow the town to build regular wells, though they have to be reconstructed regularly. The water is palatable enough, but even filtered, it tends to be a bit cloudy with clay and mineral deposits.

The clay houses stretch out in every direction, an endless parade of low brick buildings: at least all but the absolutely destitute do not long for shelter. Some houses have fallen, others have been raised since you've been gone: this is not surprising, as the clay houses generally only last a few years. At least building materials are readily available.

Towards the centre of town, the stone buildings rise a few stories up, constructed by richer people who could afford to quarry in stone from the mountains, or build by the community to store food and water.

As you approach, you spy a Silver Spur: having a low, broad town with muddy streets requires a fairly independent, freeroaming guard. They ride sure footed ponies, known for their hardiness and sure footedness, even when walking or the cracked clay streets during the punishing summer or the mucky clay mess when the rainy season hit.

You did not recognize the guard in particular. He approaches, and carefully sizes you up. He relaxes, a bit when he sees you are alone and unarmed. "Fair travels, my friend. Odd to be coming into town so late. Particularly alone." He does have a smile on his face. It wasn't very likely he was shaking you down: the Spurs were not known for their incorruptibility, but they generally simply charged a small tax to merchants. Spurs also operated alone or in pairs at best, so didn't like to antagonize too many people.
This message was lightly edited by the GM at 06:26, Tue 04 Dec 2018.

Upon seeing the guard on the distance, Plaga made an effort to look exhausted. It would be easier to sell her story that way.

"Greetings. It was not my plan to arrive at this hour. My horse gave up on me on the road, and I had to walk all the way to town. Could you point me to the nearest inn, good sir?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:57, Tue 04 Dec 2018.

"Terrible thing. Happens a lot up here. The ground isn't suited to most horses. I hope it didn't suffer."

He pays his sure footed pony, which doesn't seem to like Plaga much.

"There's a public block for visitors right up the main road. Turn left in two blocks and you will not miss it. It's probably late for a room, but at least you can enjoy the hearth and perhaps a meal. They always keep someone out to make sure us guards have a place to eat."

"I thank you, I'll head there"

Plaga did as she said, and headed for the public block. Perhaps she could hear some stories about what had transpired in the place during her absence, but anything she may hear in a respectable place was likely badly misinformed. If she wanted to know what was going on in the underworld, she would need to venture to the darker side of the place. But that was for later.

This late at night, in this area of town, the public block is mostly abandoned, with a single watchman (who ignores you). The large open block is surrounded by a wall and interior buildings, and serves as a market in the day, refuge and gathering place for travelers and the merchants.... and the Spurs, of course, who are far too spread out to really have a barracks.

The public house itself is a tavern, though you know from personal experience they tend to be abit more working class than most city taverns.

A stern looking older woman looks slightly suspicious of you... till she sees you can pay. Then you are shown to a seat and given tea and the local flatbread, with its familiar minerally taste and beverages as you like.

The place's occupants include a city workman slumbering in the corner (not uncommon, they have long hours) a passed out drunk, and a few young men. The dress style has changed a bit, but it's easy to identify them as criminals, or at least young men and women up to no good.

They give Plaga a breif glance, but seeing no threat don't seem to interested in messing with her, and instead seem more interested in the game of cards Infront of them.

Since she is not looking to draw any attention, Plaga pretends to focus on her food while he does her best to eavesdrop on what the young men may be talking about. If she feels that nothing of value can be heard without risking to be found out, she would simply find a place near the fire and pretend to sleep over there until early morning, when she would go and explore the part of the town she knows best. This time, with her mask on.

One interesting thing: Plaga does not look like a local, at all. And Silver Stream has a its own pastois that's very difficult to follow.

You can it's a little off from what you remember, but this is a different neighborhood.

"Ok. So, we hit the shipment. How are we gonna fence it given the circumstances? Not like we can use our regulars.

We got Diego's guy. He's gone after this, right to the docks and out to who-gives-a-damn."

"But if they id us.. is it worth risking our lives just for money? If we piss off the Shadow.."

"Not just money.. a LOT of money."

"Yeah. We can ship out ourselves if this works, or just lay low. Besides, have you EVER heard a job this good?"

"Come on. You always say the reasons we shouldn't do this, Yon. But in the end you'll go along. You always do."

"Fine. I'm in. You'll all be the death of me. I tried to "

The 8 of them pour some venom (a very potent, milky white liquor) and drink to signify their pact.

It turned out that Plaga was luckier than expected. The enterprise of a gang clumsy enough to discuss their plans within earshot of passerbies was bound to fail, but if she followed them she may find out a little more about Shadow, who was apparently the one ruling the place now. It would be interesting to get to know who had inherited her territory. Perhaps if they were capable, she would recruit them instead of replacing them. After all, she had friends somewhere else now.

Whenever the men were ready to leave, Plaga got up and followed them, sticking to the shadows.

The gang make their way out through the public block, winding their way through endless rows of unremarkable clay and stone buildings, through closes, alleys, and streets. Following them is difficult: this area is utterly unfamiliar to Plaga, not surprising considering most of the clay buildings making the exterior of the city don't last more than a few years.

Still, they are 12 or so traveling, and Plaga knows enough of the city to remain unseen. Not ever getting winded helps somewhat, as does the darkness: Silver Stream has never properly been lit outside of the main throughfares and pueblos due to the frequent wind and torrential rain.

They travel for about 20 minutes, stopping briefly at a spot to pick up some packages, probably weapons, from some hiding place in a crumbling house, long abandoned.

Eventually, they stop at an alley. One of them adroitly climbs up to the roof of a nearby building and gazes over in the distance at a nearby small walled district. He nods down at his contemporaries, who do suddenly do a very good job of vanishing from sight to every available shadow. They seem to be waiting for something.

From the conversation and the apparent setup of an ambush, Plaga can deduce that what they plan to steal is gonna pass through the area. And as such, she also looks for a hiding spot in which to remain hidden. However this encounter goes, she is most curious to see it. How well does this Shadow protect his resources?

The door to one of the fortified blocks a while away opens, and a single small cart drawn by two donkeys makes it's way out. Driving on the cart is a single cloaked figure. The cart is plainly visible as there are two lanterns attached to the thing.

It doesn't look particularly ritzy. It's hard to tell what cargo might be inside the cart, but this looks identical to a hundred different carts that might make their way through. You always use small carts in this town, as you can never quite trust the ground.

Two guards look up the way, see nothing, and close the door behind them, and slowly, the thing makes it's way down the street. The figure on the cart retains a loose grip on the reigns and a smile on his face. He sings a common tune as the cart makes it's way up the road: the words come to Plaga.

"I'm bound for Silver, through the mud I slog.
May my pockets be filled and may my cart never bog.
For I've long to travel, and ride the muddy road alone
Though I'm bound for Silver, my treasure is back at home..."

It's a song sung by merchants who travel Silver's frankly awful roads, and a reminder to be careful as one travels, as there's family waiting at home. There are hundreds of one cart merchants and carriers who carry small cargos of grain through the streets and small farms on the edge of town.

The cart nears the ambush point. Not one guard is visible. It makes a certain degree of sense: you'd never expect a valuable cargo to be carried by a single unguarded cart merchant, and this would be a good way to avoid the guards. Of course, if someone found out about it, it would be a serious problem.

As it was clearly about to be.

[I figured I'd give one last pause before I start the robbery]

Plaga remains still hidden. She has no intention to intervene yet. Perhaps if she saw an opportunity, she would go out of his spot and seize it. But for now, she is curious about who is stronger: the courageous robbers or the loyalty of the people moving the goods.

They strike as one, and there is no warning.

The gang erupt from the shadows, and instantly two bolts strike into the back of the driver, who keels forward upon the ground, blood running down his mouth face. Two more quickly grab and calm the mule, placing a bag above it's head so that it will not overly buck or (perhaps more importantly) bray loudly.

Two more carrying short blades have jumped atop the cart from the rear and open the cargo inside, a large chest. Something inside glitters, but it appears concealed from Plaga's viewpoint.

The two look inside and smile deeply,

Their leader walks out from the shadows, smiling. "As planned. And you were worried. Lets grab it and lets go. We should be able to handle the cargo between us."

Yon walks over to the cart but keeps a fair distance. The one who had doubts looks surprised, like he expected that doom had been certain. "I'll keep an eye out. Four on the chest to get it to the ground."

Two of the gang make their way to the back of the cart and kick down the back end. They looked up at the chest and smiled.

"Close that thing and lets get moving. Lets get back so we can divvy that up"  Said the leader. Yon took a step back and kept his crossbow ready.

The two on top of the cart looked over at the leader as he made his way to the side of the cart to supervise.

"Nah" Said one of the men on the cart, and he dove at the leader from above, stabbing him with his blade.

As the leader fell in a bloody gurgle, an anguished scream broke out from one of the crossbow users, who shot his treacherous comrade, putting a bolt into his leg.

The remaining ones on the cart began fighting as the entire gang broke out into a senseless fight to the death. Yon turned away and backed into the shadows as the loyal members rushed out. There was just no sense to it.

The driver transporting the goods was slain, and Plaga let it be so. The senseless fight out of greed took it's toll of dead men, and Plaga let it be so. However, when the treachery started and the leader was stabbed, Plaga didn't have it that way. As the leader fell mortally wounded, Plaga decided that he would live today to tell the story. Specifically, to tell the story to her. She waited for the fight to be over, and approached whoever was still standing, if any.
She considered giving them an explanation of what was about to happen, but treason was not something Plaga tolerated. Putting them out of their misery, Plaga unleashed her eldritch powers upon them.

12:12, Today: Plaga, The Doctor of Death rolled 17 using 1d20+4.  Lich Queen Gaze.
12:13, Today: Plaga, The Doctor of Death rolled 3 using 1d10.  Damage.

Once the street was empty again, she didn't bother with the one that escaped, at least for now, and went instead to take a look at the contents of the chest.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:14, Sun 16 Dec 2018.

One of them fell to Plaga's death beam. The few still posessed of any sense backed off slightly, wondering what the hell was going on.

The chest opened, and a man rose dramatically from a pile of silver inside. He wore robes of coarse hemp, and he looked like he'd never gotten quite enough to eat. His teeth were crooked, and he wore a long straggly beard. His arms were covered in scars that had never received proper medical attention.

His voice echoed the song of the merchant.

"Bound to silver, slaves until they die.
Folly and failure, in the muddy strets they die.
Free of want, they travel death's path alone
What did silver cost them, friends and family left at home."

He looked over at the situation, and chutted.

"I forgive you your folly. May you know peace in death and rebirth, in the name of THE RULER." The last word caused a slight reverberation in the air  like the shimmering of an oasis, and Plaga could feel a weird reflection in the words, a pale echo of what she felt when using her own powers.

Those near the cart began coughing up silver and copper coins.. and then blood.
Those nearest the chest, those who had first committed the treachery, still reached in death to the chest, now empty.

Between the sudden onslaught, only two of the gang survived - one crossbow user who had shot the man who killed the leader, and Yon, who had fled the scene. She ran over to the leader of the gang, stabbing the one who had stabbed him for good measure, gripped by utter rage and anguish. The leader was clearly dead.

The man shook his head and had an expression of pity before turning to Plaga.

"What a waste. And who is this spectre that has happened upon my midnight jaunt. Did you lead these poor children into my path, Eldritch one?"

"I have not. I happened to be around, and was intrigued by the scenery and upset by the treacheary. As such, I attempted to spare him".

Plaga points her gloved finger at the dead leader.

"But it seems you had other plans. I must say I'm most surprised. This looked like a robbery, not a rescue mission. Albeit I feel that if you didn't free yourself before it was because of your own will, seeing how easily you dispatched the traitors. May I continue being a spectator to your story? I'm most intrigued by the events that are unraveling".
This message was last edited by the player at 18:07, Sun 16 Dec 2018.

The odd man, still standing in the chest, nodded, and stepped out.

"Your choice of words is quite astute. That is exactly what this is. Very well, but I would have words with you, afterwards."

He stepped out of the chest and down onto the road. If any of his wounds or the fact he was ancient bothered him, it was not apparent. The merchant who had been shot vanished, as though he was never there in the first place, only a slight bit of blood remaining on the cart.

He looked over at the remaining gang member, a woman who was crying over the leader, dead from a combination of knife wounds and then fatally injured by the coins. She was whispering 'wake up' to the leader who still had coins pouring from his mouth.

He approached, and as he did so she drew a knife and looked at him with hatred on her face. His eyes were soft.

"Be at peace. He is gone, child. You are the price he paid to greed, and he is yours for the same. I promise you, all who fell here will receive the proper rites, that you all may meet in another life."

She hesitated momentarily, on the edge between fear and hate.

"You may have a moment with him, but leave with your life and your memories together."

He kept a distance, and began ringing a bell he produced from his belt, commonly used by wandering priests. It was quite loud.

She did not seem willingly to uselessly attack the man, either because of the softness of his words or some sense that it would be utterly useless. She kissed him once more on the cheek and ran into the night.

Plaga considered briefly raising back the fallen leader, but she decided against it. The strange man seemed quite wise, and he had a point. This men knew the risk, and payed it with their lives. Since they didn't seem immediately useful to her own plans, Plaga saw no reason to bring them back from their eternal rest.
However, the living involved did interest her a great deal. Quiet as before but not hiding this time, Plaga followed the godbound, curious as to what he wished to accomplish with his display.

[OOC - Remember, Godbound are a very rare things. There are angels, made gods, paraiste gods, bizarre strifes and weird creatures with countless abilities, but Godbound are not a thing in this version of the world (well they are, but they are a NEW thing that haven't been seen before.]

The last of the gang members held fast for a few moments. The approach of two guards from the fortified block that the cart had left from and a priest caused her to make her decision: she took a broach off the dead leader and made for the alleyway, defeated.

The guards took a look at Plaga suspiciously, weapons ready, but the man in the cart waved them off.

"No. She was not involved in this. Just a concerned bystander. Such concern should not be punished, but rewarded. Brother Anardi, I leave you to your holy work.

Guards, please return the wagon once I am done."

He walked over to Plaga. Being around him set Plaga at unease. Not terror, but she didn't quite feel as home as she did around her peers.

"I suspect you have questions, as do I. But I this conversation should not interrupt last rites."

He gestured down an alleyway where they would not be as overheard as easily by the guards or the priest, who had assembled an portable altar and holy water. He had quite clearly been prepared for this.
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:47, Mon 17 Dec 2018.

There was something off about the man. Other than he had made a group of people cough coins until the died, that is. But being uncomfortable had never been a strong enough detriment to stop Plaga's curiosity, and as such, she headed for the alley willing to hear who he was and what he was doing here in town.

They arrived in an alley way between two fortfied barrows where they were unlikely to be overhood. The strange man leaned against one of the large walls, though he did not appear tired in any way.

As he stepped away from the guards and other survivors, something dark smouldered behind his eyes. As he spoke, the words remained for a moment, echos and whispers that would gnaw at one's soul. It was like you could feel reality slightly warping with every word he spoke.

There'd been a hint of it, something like divinity but different. There'd been traces of his voice when he'd spoke earlier, but that had been hidden, and now the facade had crumbled.

"As the fires rise and take the world, it will give an awful, blinding light that will blind the world. We Shepard the Shadows where we can, and douse the errant sparks before they can take light.

In this town, hear and now, I am known as the Mendicant. Though if you have another name for me, I will not take offense.

By what name would your actions be judged? I am unfamiliar with your form and works."

This did not feel like someone trying to intimidate you. There was no malice or challenge in what you could read from his expression or tone of voice. It was more like he'd taken off a mask.

"With this mask on, i'm the Doctor of Death. I give rest to those that need it, raise the ones that are not ready to go and enact punishment on those i judge unworthy. I have been reborn recently, and I'm still rediscovering both myself and the world i've awakened to. Without the mask, I'm Plaga. Former member of the Merciful Hand, necromancer and drug dealer."

It felt like there was no point in hiding things from this "man", and rather than risk offending him by trying, Plaga decided to speak with the truth. This was not someone Plaga wanted to make an enemy of.

He paused.

"Interesting. You do not prevaricate. Real, truthful conversation is so rare. Your profession.. even your situation is startlingly close to my own.

I'm afraid I may not be quite so forthcoming, but I'll try and be as truthful as I can to respect to your honesty... and professional courtesy, for I have been reborn as well, in a way, and judgement is my profession."

He leaned against the wall, and there was a slight dent where he did so, for the first time appearing weary.

"When I was younger, it was simpler: those who stood before me were clearly guilty, and I did not have to consider the implications. Now, every judgement must be carefully measured: how will it stave off the flames? Will it create greater injustices.

This whole morality and ethics thing is confusing. I'm honestly not sure how people manage."

He shook his head.

"I am curious. You say you punish you judge unworthy. You struck those who betrayed their gang. What brought you to this decision to do so?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:35, Sun 23 Dec 2018.

"Well, until you showed up, I was thinking that whoever was victorious on that encounter would be a good ally for me. And traitors simply made poor allies. I believe ruling by fear, while efficient in the short term, is much harder to maintain. I'd rather have servants that respect my power on top of fearing it. And that if my authority is challenged, they won't choose whatever side sounds more promising at the moment."

She pauses for a moment, as of recalling the event.

"I must also admit i personally don't like traitors. I felt like killing them."

"I imagine that you are not familiar with the recent past of the city? If you are, I can't help but feel a bit dissapointed that my name has already been forgotten. Whoever struck me down must have done an amazing job at erasing every trace of my influence here if that is the case..."

"We have had to learn so much in the short time since we arrived here.

I miss many of the small things, the little details, stories.. things natives of the city would know, stories, legends: it is likely yours is such a tale. Perhaps others will know of your name and works."

Something close to anger came on his face. Perhaps 'purpose' was a closer descriptor: his eyes hardened with resolve.

"But, the Merciful Hand IS known to me." There was a certain level of disgust in his words. "A number of them were judged. Larger numbers would have been, I think, if doctors were not already so rare. So they were.. encouraged, instead. It is an ongoing project."

He calmed quickly and listened carefully to Plaga's answer.

"Interesting. There may be hope for you, or you may be damned. I do not know. I'm not sure exactly what you are, other than a pragmatist. And that is what we have all been forced to become.

He sighed.

"Are you here for vengeance"

There was no judgement. It would be pretty hypocritical for him, after all.

"I suspect your feelings towards the order are similar to my own. The Merciful Hand is nothing but a scam. I figured that out the hard way".

When prompted with the question, Plaga took a second to think.

"Hmmm... you could call it that. But vengeance is simply a pleasure that comes with my real objective, wich is to take back what was taken from me. This place was once my home, and I had many allies I could trust. Some I could even call friends. I wish to learn if any of them managed to escape their fate, and are still alive somewhere. But of course, while old allies is what brought me here, I'm open to the idea of new ones. Your motives are yet obscure to me, but perhaps we could reach some sort of agreement".

"Possibly. Our concern is with the effects on the world. It frequently stays our judgement against the guilty.

If your actions will cause a great deal of distress, harm and evil to be unleashed on the world, the Shadow is bound to oppose you, however justified your actions.

If your actions have a more a neutral or positive effect, it is not."

He considered.

"I think we will observe how you handle this situation, and ask questions about your history, before we speak again. We are not difficult to find. You see the block where the wagon departed from - I can be contacted from there, or you can send messages to me through the nearest church."

"Ah, so my suspicions were correct. You properly own this place and it's people. If that is the case, we shall meet again. I do not wish to hinder your influence of this place whatsoever, is not the place that is important to me. But I would love to have a chat about how you got hold of it, and perhaps you can enlighten me with the bits of the story that i'm missing. Farewell"

With a deep bow, Plaga left the place. Truly, this was unexpected. He had somehow imagined that whoever deposed of her had taken hold of the area. But it appears that her killers were not motivated by that, but had some other intention. Unless, of course, that the Shadow had a hand on her death, or in deposing whoever came after Plaga. Whatever the case, conversing with the stranger would likely clarify some things.

During the remaining of the night, Plaga will continue exploring the darkest paths of Silver Stream with her mask on. New organizations, dealers, purse cutters; Plaga wanted to learn everything, one person at a time. Only when she was familiar with the new Silver Stream, and if she had failed to find any of her former followers, she would reach out to a church to arrange a conversation

Asking around, Plaga asks about her known associates from when she was running her own organization. The hideouts have all vanished and been replaced with new buildings. Still, it's not difficult for her to find the place where criminals hang out.. the rows of clay houses and farms are broken up by the public blocks, and it's easy for Plaga to notice which ones have criminal activity.

The public blocks, the large fort like areas that serve as shelter against the rain and wind and contain the markets for people in the area are good natural meeting places. The fence/peddlers, weapon merchants, harlots and the like do not seem to know the names she gives.

But in the third public block she tries, Plaga has a remarkable stroke of luck: a seller of soups reacts to a name Plaga gives. Xaro Dervinter, known as the Strangler, was the guild master who had owed her a favor many years ago, and likely one of the ones who had betrayed her.

He apparently lived in a permanent suite in a ajoining building. He brought the soup in routinely to the place on his rounds. He had not seen the man, who seldom left the three story building (making it significantly more well put together than most of the cities in the Stream) and the place was frequented by n'aer do wells, but you didn't forget a name like that.

Plaga recalled that Xaro had been foreign born, a refugee from some other country. He'd been quite a brawler in his youth, and had graduated from a fighter to thuggery and then when circumstances went the right way, up the criminal chain of the city.

Finally having a lead, Plaga thanked the soup vendor, leaving a few coins for his troubles, and moved directly to her target. Xaro had been an important piece for her once, and if he was indeed one of the traitors, she will make sure he pays dearly for it.

Eager to see her old  acquaintance, Plaga moved to the building the soup vendor described.

Buildings in Silver Stream came, generally, in two varieties. The first were the clay houses - which tended to be large, ranch like buildings that would not last more than a few years before needing to be rebuilt in the rain and wind (but were quite easy to construct) and the larger ones made of stone and wood that were brought in from afar. These tended to cluster together in small public or private blocks.

The building in question essentially was an apartment building - something that would be occupied by Silver Stream's lower middle class. It was made of proper stone and wood and was old. It had been rebuilt many times, but it was starting to become apparent that a rebuild would be needed soon. In short, the place wasn't inhabited by peasants, mostly those who were well off but not too well off.

It was not a public building.  Entering the building was simple - the place had a door that would simply be closed at night, but was open for the majority of the day.Of course, locks were expensive, and guards more so, and security was frequently very... informal.

In this case, it took the form of about half a dozen young toughs. The exact gang wasn't known to Plaga, but they rarely lasted more than a few years. All of them in this case wore thick waxxed leather jackets with bone and metal studs common to the city, and openly carried "walking sticks" used to discourage fools. These gangs lived by providing protection services and minor acts of petty thuggery.

In this case, they loitered and "guarded" the entrance of the building.

For the visit, Plaga chose to wear the mask. If the word spread, she would like for her to be identified as the Doctor of Death rather than Plaga. And on top of that, the mask had it's own benefits. For starters, the keen enhanced vision the mask provided would make it so no thug could remain hidden in her presence. However, she didn't want to be hostile, at least not from the start. After all, the possibility of Xaro being innocent existed.
She walked directly up to the thugs, and flashed one of her drug bags. She chose silver, as it had been quite popular in Silver Stream before. She was also curious about the reaction the thugs would have. When Plaga's empire fell, a lot of addicts would have been left without a supply. Were Plaga's killers interested in taking over her region? Or perhaps they wished to abolish drug consumption all together? While it won't be confirmation, a hint to the truth would lie among the type of people that buyed her product in the past. And this thugs certainly played the part.

"I would like to go inside. May we reach an agreement?"

He eyed the Silver and raised an eyebrow (or maybe that was just her appearance). "Nice stuff lady, but there's no one in here who's gunna buy, and we're not interested."

Several others continued to play some kind of card game inside the place, but now were looking at her through the corner of her eye as they did so.

"Place is for residents and the owner, only."

Kind of unusual for thugs. Maybe these people had orders?

The man continued to lean against the building, stretching out his rather impressive arms.

Plaga pocketed the silver without saying anything. Things have truly changed around here, huh.

"Alright then, I'm not in the mood for playing around. I need to see Xaro. Either bring him here or let me through, because I'm not going without having a chat with the man".

"Residents are not to be disturbed. The orders are very clear."

There is a subtle change in demenor from the men. The game behind them stops, and hands go inside jackets.

"It's gonna be this way then".

Through the mask, Plaga's gaze poses on each one of the thugs, but she must be distracted as it doesn't seem to have the desired effect.

19:10, Today: Plaga, The Doctor of Death rolled 5 using 1d20+4.  Lich Queen Gaze.
Yep, that's a nat 1

[OOC - You are point blank to them and they are lesser foes, and surprised. You may roll fray, and then a second action]

Ah, forgot about fray die.

15:39, Today: Plaga, The Doctor of Death rolled 22 using 1d20+4.  Lich Queen Gaze.
15:40, Today: Plaga, The Doctor of Death rolled 4 using 1d10+3.  Damage.

15:39, Today: Plaga, The Doctor of Death rolled 6 using 1d8.  Fray Die.

15:39, Today: Plaga, The Doctor of Death rolled 8 using 1d8.  Fray Die.

1+2+2= 5 damage

Also, if any die, im keeping them alive with Withholding the Mercy
This message was last edited by the player at 18:42, Sun 06 Jan 2019.

The thugs are quite willing to give her a hard time, but when a bunch of them quite literally start dropping dead from her gaze, they break, and immediately begin bursting out the back door, screaming obsenities and prayers in equal measure.

The Riders didn't seem to be in the immediate area (not surprising.. Stream was a large flat town that covered a lot of ground), and it was not certain that the thugs would even bother reporting to them, given they were likely tied to the place's underworld. They would probably report what happened to SOMEBODY, but that would not be nearly as swift as a call to the guard, at least not in this neighborhood of this town.

(OOC - If you really want to try chasing them down, that's doable, just let me know).
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:18, Mon 07 Jan 2019.

Plaga considered the implications of letting the thugs run away, but ultimately decided it was not worth the bother of chasing them. Even if they notified someone that could mean trouble to Plaga, it was bound to happen sooner or later. She was tired of playing with a low profile, it was time for the world to learn to fear the Doctor of Death.

Now without guards, Plaga would go into the building, looking for someone that seemed scared enough to answer her questions but not much so as to run away at her sight. If noone was around, she will look for Xaro herself.

(Note: You do have a bunch of thugs that are incapacitated thanks to withhold the mercy)

The place is not particularly large.. truly big buildings required large amounts of stone that had to be brought in expensive. Even a fairly simple three story stone building was difficult to maintain given Silver Stream's shifting sands, wind and rain during the monsoon season.

A winding interior staircase made it's way up the central room, and the residences were clearly marked. You hear at least one of the doors on the highest floor slam shut so fast that the candles and lamps in the place flicker momentarily. Not surprising: no one wanted to tangle with who or whatever had just overcome "security" in the place.

Typically that is where the best rooms are, of course. There are a number of regular sized suites on the second floor, but only 4 on the third. One of the doors is marked with a bell. Their suite is on the third floor, but is fairly small (and is likely the owner or building manager from what you know of such places). There are several other small suites on the third floor, one of them clearly marked with warning signs.

There are a bunch of rooms on the second and first floor that seem otherwise unremarkable.

I assumed that the thugs that went down were taking a nap. If Plaga can interrogate one of them, she would do so

Plaga will approach one of the thugs, and ask very calmly.

"Now, you want to tell me the truth here. Because I have plenty of people around to ask, and I hate liars. Where is Xaro?"
This message was last edited by the player at 10:55, Mon 07 Jan 2019.

At the very least, Plaga's command over the near dead is enough to get an answer, though he's on the edge of consciousness. The thug, terrified, simply looks at one of the doors on the third floor and weakly points at it.

Plaga nods, and lets the terrified thug continue sulking in his despair, walking to the door the thug pointed to.

Plaga knocks on the door, and wait a few seconds. If she has no response, she would announce herself.

"Xaro, don't make me come get you... you wouldn't like that option, would you?"

If after all that she still has no response, Plaga will go out of the building, to check if Xaro may be trying to escape through a window.

There was some noise from from inside, but no actual movement after nearly a minute.

"Alright, ready or not, here i come"

The ground would start shaking outside the building, on the street, and the next thing you know a group of 10 skeletons is marching up the stairs, joining Plaga and toppling down the door for her. After that, they clear the way for the godbound to go through, and swiftly (or as swiftly as a skeleton can muster) follow behind her, as she goes inspect the room looking for Xaro or any leads as to where he may have gone.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:25, Wed 09 Jan 2019.

You burst in. The room is rather spartan. There are a number of cleaning supplies here and there, as well as medicinal ointments and herbs.

Lying in bed is an old man in a simple cotton nightgown. He is clearly quite invalid from his palid complexion, the way he's been secured to the bed, and from the medical devices scattered across the room, which Plaga recognizes, of course.

And speaking of recognition, the man's eyes dart across the room and he sees her. Already terrified from undead bursting in, he begins making a piteous, wheezing attempt at a scream and clutching at his heart as he sees her, for he knows it is Death, come to take him.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:10, Wed 09 Jan 2019.

"... Xaro? What... how long have I been dead? Has it really been that long, or perhaps...?"

Plaga had seen men age quite a few years in an instant not too long ago, after the deals with the balance for life years were made. Perhaps she had truly been dead for several decades, or perhaps it was something else. Whatever the case, the old man in the bed looked quite a lot like his former associate.
Plaga went closer to the bed. In this state, the man would hardly be of any help.

"Kill yourselves".

While she say this looking at Xaro, the order was directed at the skeleton army, that proceeded to bash their skulls into the walls and furniture of the room, in a chaotic frenzy. Once there was only a skeleton remaining, Plaga freed him of her control and proceeded to finish it off herself with her eldritch gaze.
If the old man had somehow not died from a heart attack by now, Plaga would go even closer to him.

"That is the power i hold. Answer me Xaro, or I'll summon your soul from the beyond and force you to do so. I'm the Doctor of Death, and you better think very carefully if you want to lie to me or not. I was chased down, and assasinated. Who did it, Xaro? And why?"
This message was last edited by the player at 12:38, Wed 09 Jan 2019.

He makes a piteous sound and grasps his heart, but it's not quite his time to go quite yet. Still, he palid clammy flesh, sweat and puffy skin were clear markers to Plaga: he'd be dead of heart failure soon enough.

He looks up, at Plaga's eyes.. as much as he's seen through the mask.

"Plaga.. impossible they said... I guess you were a necromancer. Huh. They were right."

He spent a few times catching his breath.

"It was Redactors. Said they'd divined that you were going to be a liche queen. They came in with the old cardinal.. what's his name? Ordo? And the cloaked assassin. She was cloaked."

He held up a hand that was a bit malformed with a long ago healed injury. Xaro was a big guy, and had been quite strong in his youth who'd made it a habit of strangling his enemies to death with his bare hands.

"She crushed it. Grip like steel."

The church.. backed with the redactors themselves, and a LOT of money

[OOC - He absolutely had to make a save vs fatal heart attack for that]

"Between the might of the church and the redactors, sorry, I gave you up."

He spent a few seconds coughing and hacking, into his hand with a pained expression. After a few moments, he wiped away the blood and plemgh with a hankerchief before continuing.

"Your organization got folded. Not much to the story after that. A couple years ago I started dying and got pitched out of leadership. Tried running a tavern, but couldn't even do that after a few years. Some agent of a noble arranged this room for me."

"A self-fulfilling prophesy, eh? By killing the to be lich queen, they created her. I like it, it has a taint of bitter irony to it. I was concerned with your betrayal, Xaro, but I now know that you had no choice. I forgive you."

Plaga stood up straight. She was furious. She now knew the names responsible for her fall, and didn't want anything more than storm the church and make an example of Ordo and his followers... but it was not the time yet. She was powerful, yes, but she needed to be even more so to complete her revenge. And, as fate would have it, her rebirth had presented powerful potential allies to her. She didn't need to do this alone. She couldn't do this alone.

"Xaro... you served me well in the past. It is because of that service that I'll give you three choices here. One, perhaps the most simple, is letting you be. You will agonize for a few more days, perhaps even weeks, and die when your heart can't keep up anymore. The second option... I can make your death less painful. You will die peacefully, in a rush of ecstacy. Neither of this two options i feel is a fitting end for Xaro, The Grappler. Dieing of old age, on a bed... if you really want to go like that, you may choose so. But there is a third option. I can tie your spirit to your body once more, before it departs to the afterlife. Your heart is failing you, so I can make it so you don't need it anymore. You will feel no pain, and the grappler of the old days will return. The choice is yours, Xaro. I'll respect whatever you wish".

"I was alive longer for more years alive after you left then before. Time, it can change you. The weight of years.. it is a powerful thing.

That man, Xaro, "The Strangler".. he is gone. Were you to restore these hands to their strength, I would not live as I did before."

He weakly shook his head.

"No.. I thank you for your forgiveness, but there are countless others that I hurt that did got get the chance to forgive me. Crimes and betrayals committed before and since that were far worse than.

I am ready to pay for those sins, I think. Be it by your hand, or letting time finish it's job. I leave it in the hands of the divine, through your work or nature's.

Do as you will, Doctor."

He gave a rapid cough and lay back.

While she had found valuable information, Plaga had to face the realization of all her hard work being truly gone. If Xaro was any indications, the remainings of her former glory were now broken and weakened, and would no longer serve their purpose.

Before leaving the room, Plaga gave Xaro a final gift. The man will feel truly relaxed, as he hadn't felt in years. The pain was completely gone, and he didn't find himself trapped in an old and broken body, but he was his old self. Expect his hands. The hand he hands were not the one that had been Xaro's proud on his all days, and his cross to bear on his dying bed. He had the hands of a baker. Of a doctor. Of a father. The hands he had now were not meant to hurt others, but to give love, care and life. Seeing this beautiful and peaceful hands, Xaro passed away, the eldritch might of Plaga doing quick work of him.

"Goodbye, Xaro. I hope you find in death the peace that was denied to you in life"


Ordo. And the Redactors. Those were responsable for her fall. They were her enemies, and they would learn that destroying her organization was a mistake. But not yet. Plaga had just awakened, and even if she was more powerful than ever before, she was yet too weak. There were monsters in this world that were above what she could handle, she knew that now. No, she couldn't do this alone. She needed to gain trustworthy allies. And she just happened to know where to start looking.

Turning her back to Silver Steam, Plaga started heading back to the city.