'Ola has been listening to all this stolidly, standing stock-still in that way that unnerves anyone who doesn't know him. At this last statement, though, he steps forward, his head cocked.

"An inquiry: What do you mean by 'bound for Cryen?' It sounds as if that refers to slavery of some kind, from your tone."

He stands still, though he glances sideways at Etz to broaden his friend in the group of people to answer the question. The concern over that prospect is written all over the young warrior's usually stolid face.

This message was deleted by the player at 03:48, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

"Among other things, if you look in the right places," Garland finally commented after a while without looking up.  He had always made it a habit to hold his tongue on matters, like magic, that were beyond him.  Politics?  Well, Garland had an entirely different reason to stay out of those discussions.    Crowns or clubs, guided thrones or shadowed hideouts; the rules of power never changed and so that wasn't entirely beyond his ken.  But the gilded blades tended to slide in a lot more unexpectedly, and more often from the back, than they would in the guild.  Say what you want about how the guilds did business; at least they mostly stab you in the front.

And so, as soon as the four walls of this job became clear the mercenary had shut his jaw tight until he had a better read of territory and how much of a lions den Sachea had thrown him into.  Nobles, politics, successions; these were the types of gears that ground men like him to dust without even noticing.  "Bigger problem is you just won't ever find them if they get there," Garland continued as he glanced to Manaolana.  "Too many holes to vanish down; to many ways to disappear from there.  Lovely place though; you should visit sometime," with a bit of dark humor.

Turning to Stefen, Garland stared for a long moment.  Lips thinning he didn't like the older man mentioning the Blades.  He didn't like anyone, mentioning the Blades. He didn't like the idea this job might lead down those paths...

"I can't think the Blades are involved in this," the mercenary finally brings himself to say, his voice hesitating only slightly before the reference.  "Not that they're above hurting kids," he conceded with a cynical smile, "there's just not enough profit from their end.  Or rather, once you put down the cost of bringing the palace down on your heads, that ledger doesn't balance well.  High Treason's like that."  It was logical and it made sense and still Garland wasn't sure whether it was fact or hope speaking.  There was one scenario where it made sense, but the man again kept his mouth shut.

Stefen waved a hand, though whether it was a gesture of apology or dismissal wasn't clear.

"It does seem out of their purview.  But a warehouse is a warehouse.  I don't know much about the Blue Sails.  As a business, I imagine that they'd contract with whomever pays their price."   He stopped for a moment, then nodded again.  "It's probably worth checking their ledger. Do you folks feel up for a little visit to the Blue Sails Warehouses?"

Ah, there we go.  I wasn't sure how I'd get you to the next scene...  but a little sneaking around to look at the ledger seems right in line with Etz's concept.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:52, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

Menkliia glanced at Manaolama, then back at Stefen, waiting for the old man to answer teh warrior's question.  After a long moment, he coughed.  "Cyren's an outpost city.  Rough.  Part of Kumlar, but not Kumlaren.  Sort of a ... protectorate.  In the early days, the Cyrenni let us build an outpost there to defend against attacks by the Ekwesh.  We lost the outpost, they reclaimed it.   It sucked balls, but better the enemy you know, right?"

Stefen grunted. "It was their island to begin with."

"Nonetheless, now it's a fuck-load of cutthroats and pirates."  Menkliia spat.  "In public, I wouldn't call them slavers.  Bu privately?"  Menkliia shrugged. <DarkBlue> "I wouldn't put it past 'em."


If you're familiar at all with Robin Hobb's The Farseer series (Assassin's Apprentice, et al), I'm envisioning the ancient stories of the Ekwesh to be much like the outislanders...  But it's all ancient history now. 
This message was last edited by the player at 13:57, Fri 17 Apr 2020.

Flashback:
Because I misunderstood Etzagith's posting, where he was and when he was doing it...

Before running off to gather Indigo for the second meeting in Menkliia's drafty little chamber, Etzagith had gone with Indigo to the boy's chambers.  While Indigo had the blessing of the College, the guards at the doors looked at Etzagith with thinly disguised  emotion:  distrust, perhaps, or disgust.

While Indigo had set about the ritual he'd need to sense the ebb and flow of magical currents in the room, Etzagith had performed a more mundane inspection.

The boy's had had food.  A plate of cheese and bread was still sitting on the little table, uneaten.  All in all the chambers looked undisturbed, as if the boys had just gotten up and left.  Had they?


One of the boys had been reading an illuminated manuscript of some sort.  It lay on the table beside the snuffed candle and the food.  Books were rare.  And bound books even rarer.  A piece like that, would have fetched a fair price on the black market.  Even to those who couldn't read.

It was just as Indigo had closed his circle and was doing some strange contortionistic dance, that Etz came across the  trigger-stone for the secret-passage.   A cool breeze brushed across his face as he looked inside.

Crumbling stairs led down, down down...  and Etz couldn't help but follow.  It was a series of passages he hadn't seen before.  But Etz hadn't spent a lot of time in the West tower.  This particular set of passages led to one of the pantries.  It wasn't the kitchen proper, but was probably one of the ones used to supply the keep servants...

It had been traveled frequently.  That much he could tell.    Probably the boys knew of it.

But what caught Etzagith's attention was an etching on the stone beside the entrance to the boys' chambers.    A rough circle scratched into the stone, with five radiating lines above it, and a wavy line across it's middle.


OOC: Indigo had failed to mention that the boy that went to the kitchen returned to the chambers by the secret passage...

Etzagith returned to the room where the others were already discussing their findings, and lack thereof.  When the Ember Blades were mentioned, Etz looked over at Garland, trying to read if he knew anything, but did not get anything from the big man.  I wonder if he's even still welcome on the Ember Blades' turf, now that he is out.  I'll have to avoid the Chameleon being seen with him, just in case it would spoil my welcome there.

The rogue felt shy in the group that was growing large, especially for the small room.  He didn't want to speak up and have everyone looking at him, but he did have some information to pass along -- information that might be important.  After a pause in the conversation, he spoke up.  "Yeah, I'm up for a little look around the warehouse.  Maybe you should let me go myself, first, so I can scout around for the best approach.

"But first I want to let you know what I found.  I took a look around in the twins' room and saw a few things that might be important."  He swallowed hard, clearly uncomfortable as everyone stared at him.  "The room looked too neat for two young boys to live in, even with servants that clean up after them constantly.  I suspect there was some sort of confrontation, and somebody cleaned up after.  There was bread and cheese on the table, but the chairs were properly pushed back where they belong.  What ten year old does that?"

Etz paused for a moment to let that sink in. "I found a secret passage from the room, leading to the scullery.  Clearly the boys knew of it, since it had seen a lot of use -- I'm sure they went down there for snacks.  Here's the odd thing, when I was returning to their room, I saw an odd symbol scratched into the stone right above the opening into their room."  He made a rough drawing of the symbol.  Looking at Indigo, he asked, "Does that mean anything to you?"

Cara's face was a blank stare at the mention of House Sood, betraying few of her thoughts on the matter.  Although the Great Houses did maintain alliances among themselves, such pacts were fragile things, dropped as soon as they were no longer convenient to one or both parties.    An Oathsworn of House Sood being within the capital was an unwelcome thing, one that almost inevitably would lead to further complications in Cara's life.  She did not need to fear violence, even this far away from the Dragon Emperor's Laws it would be the height of foolishness to take any action that might incur a Blood Debt.  Still, House Yisil had gained a considerable advantage in being the first to consider Kumlar ripe territory for the harvest, it was only a matter of time before the other Houses had taken note of their change in fortunes and begun circling about like vultures.  Of course they would choose now, when she was finally engaged in something serious for the Veiled Hand, to make their appearance.

She stepped away from the others at the table, and to a small side alcove along the wall.  It wasn't that she didn't want them to see what she did next, quite the opposite.  For all their vaunted secrets, the Oathsworn of the Great Houses made no attempt at obfuscation when they wielded their magic.  They wanted to be seen, wanted to be recognized for what they were, what they had dedicated their lives to accomplishing.  Only Loremage Indigo and Viscountess Oanna Martiness could really appreciate what she was doing, but it mattered not.  All who chose to would witness, and that was enough.

She drew the knife at her left hip, and then its sister at her right.  Both were massive things, more properly short swords than knives, except they were only bladed on one side.  The guards were thick and brutal looking half-circles of nubbed iron, chipped and dented, and looked to be more like knuckles for punching than proper guards.  To Manaolana's expert eyes, they were clearly brawler's weapons.  The sort of blades one might expect to find in a back ally turf war between rival gangs, or on the deck of a ship.  For all their wear and tear, they were well cared for, the black blades gleaming and sharp.

She rolled up the left sleeve of her long black and red coat, unveiling an iron vembrace that ended just before her elbow.  This she unclasped, revealing an arm covered in scars.  No, not scars, ritual scarification.  For glyphs and sigils were carved into her flesh in expanding circles of painful geometry and arcane power.  Something moved upon her forearm, something twisted and unnatural.  It opened, a gleaming eye like a hardened gem, violet and utterly inhuman.  The skin around it was angry and red, as if her body were trying to burn this violation of its flesh out.  It blinked once, iris constricting in response to the light as it tried to focus on the room, but Cara was already reacting. She pricked her fingertip upon the razor sharp edge of one of the knives, and with practiced reflexes flicked a drop of blood into the open eye.  The blood pooled and clouded within the iris, blinding it to the room around them.  There was a shift in the air, an oppressive sensation of frustration that could be felt but not described, coupled with an inaudible groan just at the edge of hearing.  It was madness, it was something beyond understanding  Yet it was there, undeniable.  They could reach out and touch it, if they dared.

From where she stood, Viscountess Oanna Martiness's face hardened in disapproval, but she said nothing despite the horrific act they had all just witnessed.  She had been present to this depravity several times before, and its shock was no longer so profoundly disquieting.  Cara ignored her, taking her bloody fingertip and smearing the blood upon both blades.  As she did, she whispered under her breath, drawing on the interwoven spells of her mantle to empower the blades through practiced Ritual.  The blood sizzled and smoked as it touched the iron, contracting and flowing along the blades to form sigils of arcane power.  The magic was foreign, the runes meaningless even to those skilled in such things, the utterly alien magic of the Khundari.  With a whispered hiss, Cara set the spell into place, sweat beading her brow at the concentrated effort of it all.  At least, she hoped she did.  Magic was a tricky thing at the best of times, and foreign magic most of all.  Weary from the effort, but moving quickly, she clasped her vembrace back into place and once again covered the sacrilege profaning her flesh.

Turning to the others, she sheathed her blades, the magic that she had woven into them invisible to all but those with with right kinds of eyes.  She looked briefly at the symbol that Etzagith had drawn, and shook her head.

"Something to look out for, while we are out.  Shall we?"

She arched a brow, daring any of them to comment on what she had just done.

---

OOC:  For reference



Describe the Action: Cara is using Ritual Magic to weave a spell of poison into her blades.

Roll the Dice 10:53, Today: Cara rolled -3 using 4 Fudge dice.  Lore (+4).

Total of (+1)

Choose an Action: Absolutely Create an Advantage

Well now, that roll sucks.  Considering it's such a bad roll, can I have that compel my Trouble of Foreign Magic in the Blood and have something go wrong with the spell when I try and use it?
This message was last edited by the player at 02:04, Sat 18 Apr 2020.

I'm willing to say Etzagith spends some time scouting the place, but let's do that in prose - metagame - so that we can go int o the next scene and not have any players sitting on the sidelines.

I'll continue that discussion (group discussion) in the OOC thread.

Manaolana's face becomes as stone again. "Understood. Lovely place for a spiritual retreat, then" he adds wryly. One can tell from his eyes, though, that the thought of young people in such a situation troubles him.



Manaolana's eyes become steely knots of green. "As I suspected. Thank you, Menkilla." He stares off into the distance for a moment.



Manaolana's eyes ease a bit at this and he nods quickly. A course of action has always been preferable to the young man--a personality trait that did not always sit well with his monastic family. In these situations, though, it tends to be an asset, in his still-limited experience.



Manaolana says nothing but his eyebrow shoots up at this. He waits for Cara to finish her offer before he clears his throat. "I would accompany you, Etz. I have some skill with stealth. At the very least, I can stand watch in the shadows outside as you investigate the place."

Her hawkish gaze fell on Manaolana as he spoke, evaluating him as she had Garland before him.  Whatever she saw in the hulking man, she kept it to herself, at last looking away to slip on a pair of thick leather gloves and tucking them into the sleeves of her coat.  "I could sit here and weave spells into my Mantle for hours in preparation, if you two wish to scout alone.  However, unless one of you is a skilled Waymage, we'd be committing serious time to something that is only a suspicion.  More so, If you got yourself in trouble, your reinforcements would be sitting around this tower playing games."  She moved to stride towards the door.  "Let's all go, and if you know the South End so well we will stand back and play by your lead."

Garland turns swiftly on his heel as he follows Cara out.  He bites his tongue until he is far enough from Stephan that he feels, well not comfortable, but confident enough to speak.  "If we are going poking about with these people I'd rather my name not be brought up.  At all," the young man stated bluntly; the noticeable emphasis at the end making the statement seem less like an ask and and more of a direction.  It paired nicely with the unhappy crinkle to his eyes as he strode.  Garland spent as much time avoiding reminding Mira of his existence as he did anything else and roughing up associates of the Blades would be like spitting in her eye.

"I'll hang back just far enough to let the rest of you take the lead, but close enough to assist if necessary.  We should avoid violence as much as possible," he continued.  Thankfully there was more than just personal reasons to give that direction."They haven't done anything we can prove and we aren't acting in any official capacity.  Things get rough all they need to do is call for the local guards and we'll be the criminals attacking guilds-men in their own warehouse," Garland continued.  "And since explaining we are on a secret mission for the crown isn't on the table that ends with us resting our backside in a cell for a few hours.  Time being a commodity," he shrugs, leaving the rest unsaid.

Cara threw a backward glance at Garland, resting her hands on the pommels of her two sheathed knives without grasping the hilts.  "As I've only just learned the one name, what do you wish to be called by then?"  She asked as she stepped through the door and into the light, blinking a moment to adjust as she began to weave her way down the staircase that spiraled down the West tower of the Castle.  "And what is it about these people in particular that has you so nameshy?"  Cara lived and died by her reputation, and what a reputation it was.  Wanting to remain an unknown was an impossibility for any Oathsworn, and thus not something they ever tried to implement.  The stories that swirled about those who wore A Coat of Red and Black were woven as deeply into her identity as her Mantle of power.  It was who she was, and she'd never try and be anything else.

She led them away from the main gate, and through a narrow door set into the keep's inner wall.  A winding set of stairs led to a door of bolted iron with a guard standing next to it in his royal blue cloak.  The man's brown eyes widened when he saw the Oathsworn striding towards him, but he recovered his composure enough to throw the heavy bolt open and swing the door wide so that they could pass.  She ignored him utterly as she swept through, stepping out into a narrow alleyway at the base of the keep.  The guard quickly shut the door behind them, muttering a prayer under his breath, and revealed that the outside of the door was set with stone so as to look like just another part of the keep's outer wall when it was shut.  Cara walked down the twenty paces or so of the alleyway, the buildings on either side so close as to scrape against Ola's shoulders as he walked, and stepped out into the Merchant's Quarter.

"You know South End well."  It was a statement towards Etzagith, not a question.  "Is there a way to approach so that we don't have to pass through the main gates?  I'm sure that those we hunt will have Watchers there, and I'd rather not be made before we even enter the District.  We aren't exactly discrete. I have the capability to get over the District Wall without anyone noticing, but I wouldn't want to spend the sorts of resources it would take to get more than just me up and over."

--
Concepts introduced.

• Each District is separated by walls.
• Blue Cloaks guard the gates to each District.
• Gangs and various other factions keep Watchers on each gate, keeping an eye on who goes in and out.

This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 23:14, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

Etzagith looked at Cara with a new interest, pleased that she is concerned with not being spotted as we approach.  He resisted the urge to scratch where the black wig made his head itch, and just tugged on the heavy gold earring, instead.  "Well, it depends a little on who is watching.  We could go out the East side, head down the river to the docks, then come into the South side from there.  The wall kind of peters out at the docks, but watchers would know about that.  What they might not know is an underpass about three blocks in.  There are always homeless people hanging around there, and it is guaranteed that someone will pass word to the Blades that strangers are passing through.  But even if the Blades are in on this operation, we will probably be in and out before word can make it up the chain and down again.  At worst, it'll cause trouble on our exit.

"If it is the Duke and Duchess behind this, or foreigners, I doubt they'd know to have that entrance watched."
This message was last edited by the player at 21:34, Mon 20 Apr 2020.

Manaolana has been standing and listening, but again stirs, causing that disconcerting feeling in some that one gets when a statue moves unexpectedly. "Perhaps some of us could cause a distraction, some kind of misdirection, while others crept in." He cocks his head off-handedly, seemingly curious to see the reaction to his idea.

"What sort of distractions are you capable of that won't violate the nameless one's preferences about violence, Manaolana?" She paused for a step, as if considering things, then turned and inspected him again.  "You certainly have the build for it."   She had yet to actually introduce herself to him, evidently relying purely on her reputation to convey her identity.  It was a particularly bold move considering Menkliia hadn't had a clue as to her identity and talents.  It seemed Viscountess Oanna Martiness had been extremely effective at sidelining her away from the rest of the Veiled Hand, with only the disappearances of the royal heirs evidently being enough to disrupt her entirely warranted paranoia.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:28, Tue 21 Apr 2020.

Garland continued to stare straight ahead as he strode with the others.  In answer to Cara's earlier question the man just shrugged nonchalantly. "I may have hurt someone's feelings once," he answered wryly.  As the conversation turned to the best ways to enter the District he frowned and shook his head.  "Let's be careful not to make this too complicated," he cautioned.  "A lot of people pass through the districts on any given day.  So those eyes have to be selective on who they watch and whether they care."  Turning to face Cara and Manaolana his brow crested inquisitively, "unless you're going to wear a sign that says Agent of the Crown, are they going to pay that much attention?  Does anyone there have reason to care about why you might visit the docks on any given day?  Maybe together, but we can use different entrances."

She favored him with a wolfish grin that twisted the edges of her black stained lips, but did not quite reach her brandy colored eyes.  With the sharp cut of her brows she could not help but look angry, and so even her smile seemed to have a razor's edge to it.  Perhaps it was not her face at all, but simply the knowledge of what lurked beneath.  The memory of the sensation of that utterly alien thing infecting her lefct arm.  "I am wearing a sign that says 'Oathsworn to a Great House,' to any who knows the tales."  She straightened the high collar of her Coat of Red and Black, before returning her hands to rest on the pommels of her duelist's knives.  "So a bluff will be required.  Let us take Etzagith's underpass. Manaolana and I will pass through, making sure that we are seen, and providing the distraction for you and Etzagith to slip by undetected.  I will find the Watchers, wherever they may be, and insist that they take me to speak with the leaders of the South End.  House Yisil can have business with them, if it suites me.  Manaolana can ensure that they don't get any clever ideas, and we will keep them nice and distracted while the two of you do the real investigation."  She paused, evaluating him.  "Do we have an accord?"

Something remarkable happens: a big smile breaks across Manaolana's face, which reveals that he can be rather handsome when he isn't pretending to be a statue. "It would be my honor," he says, bowing. "Precisely the kind of thing I had in mind, but your plan is better than what I thought. I agree."

Etzagith nodded to the big man when he suggested travelling separately to the Blue Sails.  "I'll just saunter along the docks, looking too obvious to be anyone that needs paying attention to.  I've done it a thousand times.  I'll get a few stares, looking like this," he grasped his fake breasts for a moment, "But no one will even give me more than a minute's thought.  I'm too potentially dangerous to be a mark, and too obvious to be a worry.

"There's a rum joint just two blocks east of the Blue Sails, we can meet up there.  It's a sailor bar, so be careful, they're easily angered."

"So spoken, so pledged."  The Khundari said ominously, turning away from the main street and towards the river as Etz had instructed them.  Sticking to the river meant a fair amount of trudging through the mud, as the path quickly wove its way behind inns, fine residences, workshops, warehouses, and other establishments along the banks.  Despite her fine leather boots, the Oathsworn didn't seem to mind the muck, instead keeping her eyes upon the sights about them.  She seemed to swallow it with her gaze, as if she couldn't resist but take in every inch of it.  In less than a half hour, they were Dockward.   As Etz had promised, looking ahead they could see the District Wall there petered out near the bay, so that it wasn't quite clear where the Merchant's Quarter ended and Dockward had begun.  "This is where you pull your vanishing act."  She said to Etz and Garland, watching them with keen interest to see what they did next.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:54, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

"Vanishing isn't something I do," Garland replied with a shrug.  "I know who I need not to be seen by though; so if I get spotted, I'll deal with it.  Best not get involved.  You don't need to be connected to me," he continued after a moment before he turned to Etzaith.  "Ladies first," he offered wryly, "I'll follow in five."

Etzagith grinned at Cara's comment about vanishing.  She'll see that soon enough, but not now.  Taking on the bad-ass swagger of a dangerous pirate, he (she) strolled down along the docks like she owned the place.  She did not look back, but instead paused a moment at any boat loading up cargo, as if estimating whether it would be worth hunting this ship down.  But she moved on from each boat before anyone had a chance to notice and comment.

Once she was comfortably past the river quays and walking by the piers on the ocean, she walked until she saw an old sailor sitting around doing nothing.  "Come on, old timer," she said to him.  "You look just like my Papa, dead these six years now.  Lemme buy you a drink."  She turned and headed to the bar, grinning at the old man and taking his arm once he caught up with her.  As they walked, she chattered amiably, "He was an old tar, and a terrible rummy, but he was always good to me.  He gave me this." She indicated one of her earrings.  She continued the chatter until they stepped down the stairs into the dark bar.  She spoke to the bartender, "Two shots -- the real stuff, not grog."
This message was last edited by the player at 18:27, Wed 22 Apr 2020.

Manaolana watched Etz and Garland head off. He turned to Cara, a wry smile on his face. "These are fascinating companions. That is for certain. Shall we?" He proffers his muscled arm to the lady and nods, flashing his big green eyes at Cara.

Cara turned to Manaolana, one sharply angled brow raised above the other as she inspected his proffered elbow.  "The three of you are the strangest Kumlari I have ever ever been fated to meet." An odd colloquialism, and certainly not one employed by the locals.  She'd already encountered one fool this day who was utterly unaware of what she was, and even the revelation of the alien preversion of her flesh had not drawn so much as a bead of sweat upon the forehead of the hulking man who now stood before her.  Either he was supremely dangerous in his own right, or delusional of his own talents.  Should her reputation continue to fail to proceed her, she would likely find out soon enough.   She could feel her own Mantle, and sense the magics she had woven into it.  She was ready for a fight, but far less than she would have been had she paid Grain Mother Huarta Patil or even little Trilee a visit.

Her gloved fingers tightened around the pommels of her knives, and she turned without taking his proffered arm.  "I hope you are sharp eyed and swift, and well as large and strong." She added, vaulting over a ruined section of the District Wall with a slight stiffness to her movements.  She landed on the other side, and surveyed Dockward for the first time.  The District was considerably run down, at least in comparison to the Merchant's Quarter, but it was not a slum.  Although many were in need of repair, there were no obvious holes in the red tiled roofs of the the buildings about them.  Mostly warehouses, with the occasional inn or even family dwelling placed in between.  There was some wealth here, and no shortage of magic, though all was significantly less polished then that which might have been born of the will of a College Mage.

Sure enough, a trio of Watchers were perched on the roof of the nearest warehouse, staring down at them.  No larger than house cats, each was an elemental manifestation of the art of the Ritualist who had created them.  Two were Thoughtforms, more ethereal than material, whisps of emotion and logic barely perceptible in the misty morning air.  The third was a Waterwyrd, its form more distinct even if it was barely more composed.  It held the hunched implike appearance of all Watchers, even the Thoughtforms, though its body was comprised of the same muddy brown waters of the river where theirs was the pale indigo of the psyche.  Condensation dripped from its serpentine body, making the brilliant jade of its eyes gleam.  The only solid part of the Thoughtforms were the diamonds that comprised their own eyes, brilliant and reflecting as they stared.  Cara raised her gaze to capture them, her voice loud as she projected it out into the morning air.

"Tell your Masters that the Oathsworn of House Yisil would speak with them."

She announced, the words barely leaving her lips before the Waterwyrd and one of the Thoughtforms twisted and took off at high speed along the roof.  They did not fly, only the Windwraiths could do that, but they glided almost as if not touching the tiles beneath their indistinct feet.  The Thoughtform was so much swifter than the Waterwyrd that it was almost instantly lost, the much more exorbitant cost in its casting obvious in the efficiency of its movement.  The third Thoughtform remained watching the path they had taken, unspeaking and unmoving.  That made it that much more likely that they were witnessing the magic of two incommensurate powers, and not three.  Cara crossed her arms over her chest and leaned up against the wall of the mirroring warehouse, waiting for whatever response her words brought down upon them.

---

People & Things Introduced:

Watchers - Small manifestations of elemental power, Watchers come in many shapes and sizes.  The constructs are mindless things, manifestations of their creator's consciousness, but are capable of  imparting that which they see and hear directly to them.  There are many different types, each made by a different ritual depending upon the specialties of the Mage, and the quality of materials invested in the spell.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:30, Fri 24 Apr 2020.