Treon invites Indrid to join him on his ship, the Hammerhead. It is a high quality vessel by Second Age standards, even weathered as it is by years of travel. Before it had fallen into pirate hands it had been quite the ornate vessel, but has since been hull-reinforced and streamlined for more martial use.

Black Reed has about half the crew assembled on board -- they look surprisingly solemn, actually, having anticipated more violent action, and only now begin to unwind. Hobnail looks fidgety as usual, while Sang scowls now and then, rubbing at his cheek. "Islanders..." he mutters, before Reed whacks him lightly on the head.

Tethia, on the other hand, stands with a deceptively idle stance, leaning nearby the unveiled implosion bow. She is an attractive woman with short black hair and aquamarine eyes, who regards Indrid (and his almost ostentatiously large hammer) with a typically guarded gaze.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:33, Fri 13 Feb 2009.

"It seems that what I feared has not come to pass," Treon says as he smiles about his crew.  "Thank you both for being alert and for your discipline in not starting anything," he nods at them, and then to Black Reed.  There would be a measure of rum with meal tonight.  As much because there hadn't been a fight as any other reason.

"Now, Indrid.  Welcome aboard the Hammerhead," he says.  I really should think up another name for her.  She can't have been launched under this name.

"If you'd like to accompany me to my cabin," he says, as he leads the man down below the decks, through the small corridors, and to sturdy door that marked his place on the ship.  He opened the door and stepped inside.  "Please, sit," he gestured to the spare chair he kept in here for talks with the crew when they came to visit, taking his own chair himself.  The cabin was well maintained and moderately opulent, at least by the standards of the Second Age.  From a brief inspection it was clear that Treon was a neat and tidy man, if his own appearance hadn't suggested that before.

"Thank you for agreeing to give me what aid you can," he says.  "Before we get on to what I intended to ask I have a question though.  What are the Amiliki?"

Quiet and stately, Indrid inspects the crew of the vessel in his brief wait for her captain to board. They are not the sort of crew he expects on the ship of a Dragon-Blood, but then the Dragon-Blood himself is far removed from expectations as well. Without uniform or livery, even standing somewhat out of order, they've the look of common sailors, as indeed he suspects they are. Their manners at both easing and unsettling at once, running hot and cold across the Amiliki as he tries to gauge their mood. The woman at the side of the weapon gives him most cause to think and wonder if there is some meaning in where she chooses to stand or if it is not simply whim.

Their eyes meet a moment, amber to aquamarine, and he feels inclined to wonder more of this lady. The captain arrives before he could hazard to broach a proper greeting however. Indrid inclines his head to the woman politely, then departs in the Captain's shadow.

"Tis of no surprise thou would not have knowledge of the title, prince of the earth," Indrid begins, at more ease with the Terrestrial out of the eyes of others. Formalities had their place in public, but in private audience he has always found the Dragon-Blooded more lax upon their demands of it. Setting Hanuman down upon it's head, he sits in the offered seat. Back straight and hands resting at ease upon the arms of the chair, his eyes look straight on at Treon. "I question not thine wisdom, yet tis a word of little use within mine own lands and doubtful one ever journeyed this far to thy own. Tis a title among the Dragon-Kings. One vested in near as much honor as the Exalted. Mortals such as I are given it only upon great displays of wisdom, cunning, and lore."

He speaks without bragging. It is simply the truth of the matter.

"Mine own, I earned when besting the salt god Wehimo Whitehair, a base villain whom for years prior sat as a burden upon the backs of those living in Bluefin."

Treon listens attentively as Indrid explains what it is to be Amiliki.  "That is a story I would like hear, although not today,"  he says with a little smile.  He had a fine appreciation of tales of daring and cunning--often the best kinds of stories, he thought.

"What do you know of the waters around here?" Treon asks.  "And more specifically of the region known as the Black Rock Chasm?"

"Little of these waters and naught of this place 'Black Rock Chasm' at all," Indrid confessed. "I am but a stranger within these lands, prince of the earth. Have only come to this place of late and served the lord Tomistoma a brief time. I have sought what knowledge I can here, though these lands favor more folk wisdom than the libraries and colleges of home."

Leaning forward on his seat, Indrid begins to carefully check the room. He makes certain most of all to note the location of any charts, ledgers, or other paper left in the open. Thankfully, the captain's inherent tidiness proves that little is laying about. "Yet there may yet be hope I can be of some aid to thee, if not from mine own widsoms, then from those held within the Consummation of Knowledge."

Indrid reaches towards the large book chained to his waist. His hands never actually touch it, but float some inch or two above it's masterfully worked leather cover. Ten faces peer out from the tooled white leather and the hollows of their eyes regard Treon with what can only be called a ravenous hunger. Vedas Arundi follows the motions of Indrid's hand. Drifting out into the air in front of him, the book stops above his lap as though laying upon a desk. With the soft sigh of rustling pages that nearly sound like spoken words, the book sits open before Indrid.

And blank.

"Show me," Indrid speaks to the silent tome, his voice modulating like an incantation. He reaches to the collar of his shirt and pulls a small silver pin from the cloth. Pricking his finger tip, he lets a single drop of blood splash onto the page. "Show me all you know of the place called Black Rock Chasm."

Pages begin to flip. Sheet after blank sheet slip past the Amiliki's fingers. The air from their passage fans Indrid, tossing his hair and pulling at his clothes. First one way, then the next, as if the book were hunting for something within itself. Impossibly, the blood splatter is repeated on every single page. Soon, too, it begins to grow. The bright red dot stretches out from where it sits in hair-line fractures across the page. Curling and coiling, it begins to form words, even illustrations, some crafted by the hands of a master, others a mad man.

"Black Rock Chasm."

--------------
OOC: Attempting Int + Occult or Lore roll to research anything on the place, with Vedas Arundi's +2 research bonus.

The pictures and phrases that form on the pristine white pages of Vedas Arundi tell the vivid story of the pelagials from a First Age perspective.

Their original forms were beautiful, seafaring humanoids, one of the many created races of the distant ancient times before the Primordial War. With hair of blue, green and purple hues, flawless skin, perfectly proportioned bodies and siren-forms (often mermaids, but sometimes cecaelia as well) that allowed them to swim and survive underwater, they ruled the western sea at the Primordials' behest.

When the War happened, they sided with their masters and paid for it dearly, as they died in great numbers with their patron. None, not even Indrid's tome, remember the name of that Primordial who supported them, as that name died with it. The pelagials may very well have gone extinct at this point, but (so the story goes) another one of the Primordials took mercy on them: the Machine God, Autochthon. He reshaped them so that they would survive in the deep water and thus escape most who would attempt to genocide them.

In doing so, though, their forms became twisted and mutated. The pelagials were no longer beautiful, but misshapen blubbery things, half humanoid with the lower body of a giant seal or manatee. Their hair turned thick like seaweed, their eyes pits of deep black, and their hands webbed to help them swim swiftly through the deep ocean. They kept to their deep sea territory, developing throughout the First Age a vast underwater empire, which at its height stretched from the distant Southwest to the deepest rivers of the East. They collected and storing countless numbers of artifacts discarded or lost after the Primordial War, and became increasingly indolent until the later Fair Folk invasion heralded the end of their glory days.

Even so, many pelagial cities and colonies survived. The greatest of these is known as the City of Shining Reefs. Its exact location is unknown, so far as the book's knowledge can recall, but it would definitely be somewhere in the West where the pelagials' empire was strongest. Vedas Arundi also indicates that the Shining Reefs were once a surface city: all white marble and verdigris, lit by glass and adamant towers, a glorious masterwork of architecture. That city still exists somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.

Finally, with all that background information built up, the book sketches a theory as to what Black Rock Chasm may be. The image it displays to Indrid appears to be a watercolor of an underwater chasm of pure black jade (or so the caption states). The Chasm is very likely one of the pelagials' surviving outposts, a location for mining black jade deep underwater -- and an ideal place to hide the ancient artifacts they have developed a habit of hoarding.

[Private to Indrid Cold: Well, 10 successes. I figured you'd find out a lot.]
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:47, Tue 17 Feb 2009.

Uncertain if Treon will understand the words written in the book or not, Indrid reads the information to the Dragon-Blooded captain instead. His soft voice paints the tale of the pelagial's rise and fall in melodic tones. It is a story he himself has never read nor thought to seek after about a peoples he knows only passingly.

As the story draws to a close, the book closes itself and drifts down out of the air, resting onto Indrid's lap.

"Tis all that t'was said or written of this place and it's peoples," Indrid finishes, a touch apologetic. "So little of the place itself t'was spoken, though the book clearly knows it to call forth the knowledge of it's builders."

Treon doesn't recoil in fright at the book with its strange visage, but he does definitely pay much closer attention.  Especially at the method of 'feeding' the book.  He watches as the book sets out its tale of the pelegials, relayed by Indrid.

"That is an ... impressive," he searches for the correct adjective, "book you have there, Indrid," he says after the tale is finished.

"Well, that would seem to explain why someone might disappear within the chasm," he says, as he tries to absorb the rapid history lesson.  Also why my former Empress might be so interested in their artefacts.

"Thank you for that information, savant," he nods, making it a title of respect.  "If your lord is amenable to such, and yourself too, I think I will ask him if you can accompany me there.  Do you think he might agree to such a thing?" the smile and the tone of voice encouraging a fuller answer on the Lord himself, rather than merely the question that was asked.

"Though we should talk of this as we walk, I would prefer not to be late to our host's meal..."
[Private to Indrid Cold; Storyteller: Editted to get us moving towards the meal]
This message was last edited by the player at 20:29, Fri 20 Feb 2009.