Emergence Game Thread

I am a bit drained from the will it takes to change form. After swooping through the air with a nearly constant changes in speed, I feel heavy, plodding, and tediously metronomic as I walk. The light hurts my eyes and it takes longer than usual to adjust. These echoes of my prior form are disconcerting.

I wander through the door and find Brother Harper, apparently just waking up. I feel a little exposed, thinking one as intuitive as him will see the changes in me at once, even in my typical bodily form. But as he looks up I see a much greater change in him. His look is less...haunted. He looks at me, rather than through me at some shadowy space in the corners. The darkness is still there behind his still-drowsy eyes, but he is here and present with me.

"Brother, you seem... well. "

In the days before I last saw him, I had mused that if one tried to touch Harper, one's hand would just go through him. He seemed a ghost. And now...

In spite of myself, I smile and pick him up in a bear hug. "You were missed, my friend!"

I'm a bit unsure how to respond to this bold display. Even Rhiv has learned tame his affections, and Hope only ever got so intimate. But I offer a sincere attempt at returning the hug, "Appreciated." And then an awkward pause. I break the silence by gearing up, with what little remaining equipment I have, for what I assume is a jailbreak. I grimace at the empty quiver on my belt, tucking away the crossbow, and breifly pause at the refreshing feeling of cold saber grip in my still-sensitive palm. "The rest of our - eh - team hasn't been back in over two days. I assume they are rotting in some jail cell or underguild's torture chamber and need me to spring them? Not surprising, really. You all were pretty helpless without me."

I had paused before telling Harper of the dire news that the Drow is on our trail, as his confidence, swagger and wit are refreshing. I sigh, and my tone darkens. "Brother Rhiv and Brother Therrien are safe at the Royal Library in the Upper Ward, while the Duke is in trusted hands at the Temple of Adonai in the Middle Ward. I checked on the young Duke Einrich less than an hour ago. But in another sense we are all in more peril than we realized. Thalnoth Ur-Quan knows of our search for him, and did battle with us... in the Library... but not in the library... rather in some phantom plane he conjured for the three of us. I have a strong sense that he was just toying with us; testing our abilities and inclinations."

I bring Harp up to date as quickly as possible with the most important points, namely our clash with the dark wizard, and the information I could remember about the Horn of Dorothir - and what the wizard may be looking for with the Horn.

"You can request a chaperone from the Temple of Adonai, they safely brought us into the Middle Ward, and promised to do the same for you. I believe this to be the safest passage for you, although we must take great, great care - a group calling itself Left For Red also seems interested in our activities. I know nothing about their motives or possible connections to the crown or Thalnoth. I cannot go with you; I must travel back to our in another form, for the City records place me in the Upper Ward, and I don't want to raise any eyebrows. If questioned, I am not sure how I will react; I have had a little difficulty controlling... finding balance..." I trail off. "Suffice to say I will try to avoid the City officials where possible for the time being."

I attempt to take all this in at once, but I am only able to anchor on a few key points, and I repeat them back. "It seems we aren't safe anywhere. It's likely best to stay together, so long as this wizard lives. But in the meantime I need to get some equipment, and some more information about Left For Red." I harrumph snidely to myself. That's a terrible criminal guild name, probably a bunch of amateurs.

"Thank you for checking in on me. You need not - worry - about me. For now. I'll meet you and the others at the library by sunrise." With that, I drop out of the window, and disappear into the shadows below.

I make a quick glance over my shoulder into the ruddy glow of the barroom. Jothan is not at the bar; maybe some lackey of his has taken over for the night. But no matter; I am on a mission.

My feet take me left out of the door, and then left again at the main street. Whether To'ot is watching from above I do not know. I feel old habits kicking in. My legs let me move with the shifting shadows and rapidly shrinking crowd, adrift in the current without causing a ripple. The waning light triggers a sensory awareness, even though it's my reflexes doing the work while my higher functions are mulling what To'ot told me of a wizard powerful enough to... transport someone to another plane? It reminds me of our transportation with the sand and the dwarf. Maybe there is a link there. While the gears of my mind hum smoothly, I find that my muscles need a bit of lubricant. Cities like this are lousy with evening and late-night corner food hawkers, and they'll toss in a pull of something strong if you ask nicely. Two more blocks proves my intuitions right, and my squeaky wheels get their grease.

Every city is the same, really. Once you know your way around a city, you can find your way around all others. They key is not to follow signs or sidewalks: it's to follow people. And people are the same. The trouble occurs when you meet someone truly different. They disrupt the city's flow. If you get enough truly different people in a city, then that makes a culture. Which makes everybody the same again. It's the sameness that makes a city safe. It's the differences that make it dangerous.

But this city is no different than the others, not as far as I can tell. My senses tell me if I were looking for anything in this city I could find it before dusk was through: a piece of knowledge, a mark, a true friend, a desperate man. A companion. But tonight I need none of those things. I ride the current to a quiet district, under the spectre of towers against the blue-black sky, into a darkened corner of the lower ward. Even without To'ot's descriptions, I could feel that we were in a rougher section of the city. There are no truly quality goods to be had here, no meat for sale better than fatback or gristly beef, no fine craftsmen's shops to be seen. But plenty of pawn shops and plenty of city guards. All the honest fletchers will have gone to bed by now, a notoriously finicky and routinely bunch, but it's no matter. All I need is one purveyor of assorted sharps, and there is nearly one a block.

Halfway down a rapidly-darkening alley is an especially suspicious-looking storefront declaring its proprietor a bone-collector/speciality weapons dealer/antique enthusiast/military historian/curiosity purveyor. I enter through the still-unlocked door, and address the middle-aged goateed gnome behind the counter.

"30 perfectly normal and curiosity-free crossbolts, if you don't mind, my good sir."

His demeanor puts me at ease while also setting me on alert. Friendly pickpocketing competitions betwixt recently acquainted coves are not unheard of, but I have business to attend tonight. I take the offered hand, and shake it firmly once, and release, with a half-smile. "Aye, a friendly cove. And friendly met. But tonight it's just the bolts as asked." There is a brief pause while he appears to be getting my wares together. "Might you know any crossbow masters with a fair tip or two? I'm looking to improve my aim." I keep all the conversation above-board so he knows I'm direct. But in the event I need a tip, I know where I can go. My instincts rarely steer me wrong.

I stroll out into the rapidly-cooling night. Two grown, dirty-looking men huddle around an open fire on the side of the street, one-upping each other with battle stories and bedroom conquests, generously modified. I untie the twine to preserve it for later use, and toss the paper onto their fire. They do not notice.

I slide the bolts into the flat quiver against my back, my jacket flapping in the breeze. The feel of them against my back is familiar, and good, and balances the firm holster on my left hip and the dancing scabbard on my right. I feel the wind cut a little deeper against my left leg, and I think that I must still have a hole in my trousers. But no, the temperature of the blade pierces even the sheathe. I've never noticed that before. I'll have to remedy that. It may paint me into an unfortunate corner...

The horse falling off the edge of a cliff lost me all of my kit, except what I've got on me. And although I travel light, I like to have a bit more cushion for my work and my lifestyle than skill and experience. Although I can make do just those two things, a little pocket money goes a long way, and a lot of pocket money goes around the world. I'm running a little low, having lost some coin in the accident. My heart sinks a bit, thinking of the heirloom instrument that I'll never see again. It's not an open wound anymore, but there's a scab there I'm sure I'll be picking at a while. Scars make for better stories anyway.

Quality tools cost money, as does information and someone looking the other way. I'm after all three, so money it is for me. Which brings me to The Suicide King I say to myself, under my breath. The sign above my head is well-lit, and the interior looks welcoming enough for all types. Honest types, even, who don't mind loosing an honest coin.

I buy a honey whiskey, and the rest of the bottle, and find a promising table. I spend the first hour playing perfectly straight, if a bit under-speed. The place gets more crowded, and louder, as the night goes on, and the hall smells of mutton and beer and sweat and smoke. There is one fellow at the table who knows his way around, but I see no evidence of elite subtleties or players schooled in spotting cons. I start to speak loudly so other tables can hear, and gesture about the grand game we have going on. Indeed, much money has changed hands, mostly back and forth between two of the stronger players at our table. I attempt to coax a perfume-scented, well-heeled woman to join our game, and her companion, a youngish, smiley chap with a perfectly tailored jacket and excellent shoes.

I welcome the new player into the fold, and continue to play straight for another half-hour to size him up. I perform a series of second deals to gauge the perceptiveness of my playing partners, including the new one, which (if successful) should get me back to where I started the night, money-wise, and maybe a little more.