"Indeed, if you have no objections we should make a point of checking on Varis, that casting must have taken a lot out of him." Karrain strokes his beard, half closing his eyes.
"Any practical dueling arena will suit me perfectly, one with an open roof would be the perfect choice."
He could still feel the tug of the prison at his Mana Body, despite the fact that it had long since lost its integrity...which meant that Sy'karios had intended for it to eventually dissolve, drwaing Karrain back not to imprisonment, but destruction. Assuming he didn't do something about it within the next hour.
The guard captain nodded, "I'm glad you suggested that, Seeker. With this affair I'm needed to reassure the populace that we are on the lookout... At least, going to step up to it. I fear that tomorrow isn't a good plan either... would you mind if it were in a tenday? Meet here in nine days to schedule this duel."
“Very well then,” DHarem said as it seemed he had taken over the job of scheduling this duel, “we will call upon you at Secondstrike on the Tenday from today.”
Turning to Karrain he gestured for him to follow, “Come along Karrain, we have business to attend to and you can satisfy your honor later.”
(Assuming Karrain follows)
“We must collect Thomas and find Varis,” he said as he leads Karrain towards the street vendors shop where he left Thomas a few minutes ago, “if he was injured as Bon said then he would have been taken to the nearest clinic.”
Arriving at the vendor’s shop he walks behind it to where he left Thomas (Assuming he is still here since it has only been a few minutes) he helps haul Thomas to his feet, hopefully with Karrain’s assistance, he pulls out 5 Electrum pieces and tossed them to the shop vendor.
“Thank you for your kindness.”
Hauling Thomas between them he heads to the nearest clinic; one to get Thomas some attention and two to find Varis.
(If Thomas is not there let me know and I will alter this post and change actions)
The group enter the clinic with a simple exterior, on the main square. The Scarlet Clinic.
They find before themselves - through a big, open doorway (to facilitate passage of patients) - a big, entrance hall area. A desk with a smiling, smartly-dressed woman sat directly before them, and two hallways on either side.
A sort of long bench lined the walls, and a small area was walled off with waist-high walls and a gap for passage, where they could see a group of emergency medics eating a meal. A few people were sat on the bench, seemingly waiting for something or someone.
One of them was familiar.
Bon was sat on the bench, with a couple of bags, presumably Varis' stuff. He nodded stoicly.
Suddenly, Thomas coughed loudly, spluttering a little.
He stopped, on the cusp of civilization's crush. Stepping for a moment from the road, in sight of the city gates, the man knelt down in the grass and ran his fingers through it, eyes closed, savoring the feel of something familiar, probably for the last time for a few days. His only memory, sharp and clear, was lying in a field of grass, staring up at a crystal clear sky. Feeling warm. And someone lying next to him. In the memory, he looked over at them, catching a glimpse of red before the memory faded to nothing.
Sighing, Walker rose once more. He was tall but not exceedingly so, just a whit above six feet in height. His light brown leather jerkin, was mismatched with the black brigantine worn for spaulders and bracers. The samesuch was worn on his upper legs, except one piece of the riveted brigantine was red and the other black. His plain, undyed cloth shirt and breeches were dirty from traveling, but the boots he wore, soft but sturdy, were of a fine cut and laced up to his knees. A worn brown knapsack slung over his shoulder swayed a bit as he walked now towards the city of Tithuana, and a hunting knife with a wrapped cloth handle swung back and forth in its scabbard sewn to the side of the knapsack.
Around his waist he wore a thick red belt, with another scabbard swinging from each hip. These were not tools for hunting - the sheathed blades were about a foot and a half long, and the wide basket handguards and hilts were plain down to the pommel, made with smutty iron so the metal was dull and nearly black. Beside each scabbard, a weighted knife for throwing stuck out, tucked neatly into the belt.
Walker himself would not have been as unusual as his attire, but for the tattoo. A silvery-grey disc around his left eye, with tiny arcs and circles creating an illusion of a shadow cast across a stone, drew attention as he even now entered Tithuana. When he closed his eyes for a moment against the dust, the tattoo was plainly visible even on his eyelid, about three inches wide from his eyebrow to slightly angular cheekbone. Aside from that, though, his face was handsome but not striking; a rich olive-bronze skin tone and shoulder-length dark blonde hair that was kept gathered in a tie behind his head. His big, round, grey eyes were interesting, but certainly not a dominating feature, like the tattoo. Presently he had no beard, but several nicks from shaving marred his jawline.
Near the gate, some people recognized him from his first visit. Some crossed the street, others inclined their heads in acknowledgement. The attention didn't disconcert Walker; rather, he greeted quietly in return those who greeted him, and ignored the others. It was always best, that way. Sometimes, he stopped and asked a question, but always he walked on with little delay.
Weaving through the streets, he made a few stops, exchanging things from his pack, until he came to a very mean dwelling, in a rough state of repair. Without delay, he climbed to the roof and patched a hole as the roofer had instructed him, a simple matter in actuality. After, he clambered back down and entered the domicile with a short knock, bowing to an elderly man who resided within.
"Haman, the roof has been repaired. It was not very difficult, but I am glad I could help you." He sat with the man, and shared some dried meat, and spoke at length with him about simple things, asking questions and taking in the answers. After a time, when he heard three strikes resound through the city, he rose and bowed once more, and picked up a fine oilskin cloak from the table where Haman pointed. The cloak was green like the grass, the perfect shade. He tried it on, then took it back off and flipped it inside out, revealing a plain grey likeness of itself, with perhaps just a few green fibers, too little to notice, bled through from dyeing. He smiled and donned the cloak, grey side out, and left the hood down. Walker slung his pack back on, bowed to the old man, and exited with a farewell.
He intended now to go up a few streets and visit with the sickly girl whom he had sat with on his last visit, but as he stepped into an alleyway, he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Walker reflexively struck back with an elbow and lunged forward, spinning around into a defensive stance to see who stood before him, right arm across his body and left hand inside his cloak, already with a throwing knife in hand.
The man's hood had fallen back when he too had jumped back away from Walker, but he held up his open palms, showing he meant no malice. Walker narrowed his eyes in spite of himself - those who truly meant no harm to any did not wear masks, and that painted glass was peculiar. Nevertheless, he listened to what the man said, took the proffered item, before asking who he was.
"I do not," Walker began, "simply run errands for those who I do not know, with agendas hidden beneath masks. Explain yourself to me, and on your word you mean no harm to these three, I will acquiesce to your wish; not before."
The man's response made him narrow his eyes further, his fist tighten on the hilt of the throwing knife, still concealed beneath his cloak.
"Perfect? Balance is a facade, if a comforting one. I've argued with her a million times about-" He stopped, mid-sentence, brows furrowing. A memory had leapt to his lips unbidden, and he had no idea what. Her? Who? He shook his head and waved dismissively.
"I mean not to deride your goal. It is noble enough, but a fool's task when undertaken by mere mortals. I will deliver your message." He smiled. "Just know on which side of the scales I lie - if I find the blood of innocents is on your hands, we will meet again."
He dropped the twig into his knapsack and left. Sacrelarch. Where had he heard that name before?
It bore no consequence to him - but a sick child did. They would get their message, soon enough. He went to her, in another poor house, where the people were too poor for doctors. He sat with the girl, a little raven-haired child he had met with her mother, the younger leaning on the older, a picture of her mother but smaller, without the lines of time, pale from sickness. Walker felt her head, talked with the child for a time - she talked a good bit now that she had more energy, then excused himself a bit after fifth strike and walked the streets.
It took little enough time to discover what he wished, since the people had been at the midst of a tumult that had turned the city on its head. People were so shocked at the events, the recounting growing in the telling each time, by people he was less and less sure had actually been there, that nobody even stared at him, or looked uneasy when he walked up to them and asked them questions. Cathartic, he thought to himself, smiling a bit despite everything he heard.
Finally, he got a name. The Scarlet Clinic.
Walker's namesake came for a reason - he covered distance quickly. Soon after he bustled into the clinic, directly behind an unusual pair of people, one of them supporting an unconscious, badly burned man. He winced; perhaps he should spend some time at this clinic.
Putting it out of his mind, he approached the first employee he could find in the front room and caught her attention, asking casually, but purposely loudly enough to be heard by all in attendance, "I have a message to deliver - where may I find the Seeker, the Bard, and the Sacrelarch?"
Walker's eyes looked down at the nurse, not really expecting her to know, and just waited, with his back turned to everyone else in the room.
Seeing Bon sitting inside the Scarlet Clinic DHarem realized this must be the place; they walked over still supporting Thomas.
“Varis is still inside,” he said in a manner that made it sound kind of like a question but then maybe it was a statement, “We convinced the Guard Captain to release Thomas and we need to get him some care.”
Thomas suddenly coughed again and then slowly stood up on his own and looked as if he wasn’t injured. DHarem gaped for a moment and then stuttered, “What?…. Ah.. How? Ah…???”
As he paused to gather his wits and try to make sense of this miraculous recovery of Thomas’s, he overheard someone say something that drew his attention… it was a man who had entered while they had been talking with Bon and he heard the man speak of a Seeker, the Bard, and the Sacrelarch?”
DHarem spared a glance at Karrain before he turned back to Thomas and said, “We will address this situation in a few moments but for now…“ he turned then to the man who had spoken and said, “Excuse me sir. I might be able to help you with that if you will pardon the interruption?”
“I am DHarem, a Seeker for the Great Library, and this is Karrain, a Sacrelarch,” he said introducing the man with him, “our friend Varis is a Bard and is within this very Clinic somewhere. I am not sure we are the ones you are asking of but the odds are in our favor.” He smiled slightly as if he had made a joke as he looked this newcomer over as if accessing any potential dangers.
“You said a message?” he asked the man, “would you like to wait for our friend to deliver it? If so I am sure we can find him shortly.”
(OOC: Very nice post Incognito. Ok so now cue Varis - entrance stage Left )
Posted on 2011-05-23 at 22:39:11.
Edited on 2011-05-23 at 22:39:39 by Mysterion
Walker turned slowly, expression impassive as he examined the Seeker. He listened to the introductions, then nodded at DHarem's suggestion.
"Very well," he said, "let us find a seat and wait. Perhaps you could spare me a favor, while we wait for your friend Varis, to satisfy my curiousity. I would like to know what a Seeker, a Bard, and a Sacrelarch are, for I am sure I do not know anymore what any of those things are."
(Walker goes into follow-listen mode until we hear from Karrain and Varis).
"Sacrelarch..." Karrain's head snaps up as he withdraws himself from examining his Mana Body situation, eyes focusing upon the lanky, stubbled, stranger.
"See to Thomas and Varis, I will speak with this man." With an apologetic bow he turns, straightening rapidly and striding over to Walker.
"Alright, something tells me we need to talk, something more important than my increasingly imminent demise or any of this City's petty polotics or customs." He motions for Walker to follow him (assuming that he does) as he strides outside, stopping as he exits and sidestepping to the right so he is out of sight of anyone from within. With a word of Anathemum, Karrain whisks a shroud of silence around the two, his eyes boring into the younger (I'm assuming that Walker's not eight-thousand and sixty-five or older) man.
"Alright, you can tell Sy'karios that if he doesn't show his face soon I'll be ramming that golden staff of his down his throat."
"Perhaps we three should all step outside; the Sacrelarch seems to have something important to say." (to maintain continuity)
He steps out of the Clinic with both men and over to a corner where it's less busy, apparently oblivious of Karrain's spell, then listens to his words, blinking. After a minute he smiles apologetically.
"If I am supposed to know who "Sykarios" is, I apologize; there are many things I perhaps ought know and do not. The man who gave me the message called himself 'Equilibriate'. I am unsure what, if anything, that name means to you two. Perhaps what we should be more worried about is this 'imminent demise' you spoke of, Sacrelarch? Perhaps you should be inside in the clinic?" Walker's brow furrows again as he examines the robed man, looking for a sign of damage, glancing at DHarem as well for any clues in his face as to what impending doom awaits the man.
(Hope that ties it all back together. )
Posted on 2011-05-24 at 16:07:05.
Edited on 2011-05-24 at 16:10:40 by Incognito
His sudden urgency gone, Karrain relaxes slightly, refocusing with effort.
"Alright, sorry about that, I believe that I owe you an explanation, DHarem. It appears that my prison isn't quite as gone as I'd like it to be, at the moment there's a shard of alien mana stuck in me, continuously pulling my essence towards the malestrom that the prison has become...an experience I doubt that I'd survive."
"As for this man...there's something about him, I'd like to hear more, epsecially if it's got to do anything with your 'Equilibriate.' However if I could first find somewhere quiet to sort out my own problems I'd be much obliged."
Varis shook, sitting up from a bed that was starting to become familiar.
Varis tried to lift a hand to his face, only to have his arm react so much slower than he had expected. He frowned, grasping at tendrils of memory as he pieced together that he must have fainted, again. The nurse must have gotten help to drag him back onto the bed, though. No other attendants were anywhere to be seen, though.
Forcing himself to stand, yet again, his knees trembled. He had no idea if he'd been out for seconds or days. He was certainly hungry, that's for sure...
'Well, if Bon was - or is - here, as the nurse had said, then at least my equipment should all be safe. I can make a more solid meal from my travelling foodstuff.' Varis reasoned, his head so much clearer than before, if not his body. Stumbling to his feet, he forced his concentration on his surroundings, making sure he didn't faint without warning again as he walked towards the door at the end of the room.
'Because that would just be plain embarrassing.'
As Varis lay a hand on the simple wooden doorknob, about to make his way outside, he stopped.
That feeling wasn't there before...
There was...something. Varis Caese wasn't a particularly powerful mage by any standards, but is felt like there was some...thickness...some field of energy in the air that did not touch his skin, but the magic his body contained.
He felt it, deeply. It gave him strength, somehow, made his head clearer and push the aches from his body. It made him want to hum a tune under his breath, or write a ballad. It felt vibrant...valourant, even.
Posted on 2011-05-25 at 06:21:48.
Edited on 2011-05-25 at 07:16:29 by Celtia
DHarem does not accompany the two outside; instead he lets them go and turns to the woman there and inquires about the location of Varis.
He doesn’t know what Karrain is up to but this sudden change in his already strange behavior has put distrust into the Seeker. What secrets does this Sarcelarch have and what harm can it cause their group. The mage is new to them and while he has shown he has skills he has yet to garner the trust of the Seeker and such strange behavior as this will not move him in the right direction in the eyes of DHarem.
“Excuse me miss,” he asks the woman, “I am seeking a friend of mine. Varis, he was brought in along with the wounded Councillor I believe. If he is alright I would like to see him please.”
After listening to Karrain, Walker nodded, gestured back to the clinic.
"I am going to sit and wait to deliver this message to the others. You seem as if you have pressing business elsewhere, so I will share with you - 'Beware of the sorcerer. Khan knows'. A simple message, but important sounding. If you have any curiousities about the man I may satisfy, I will be having a sit, for I have been long at the road."
(assuming Karrain doesnt stop him, will edit if so) Walker stepa back in, located DHarem, and walks over to him to ask him a question as he waits.
"Tell me, if you mind not doing so, Seeker, what does a Seeker seek for this Great Library?"
Posted on 2011-05-25 at 13:09:15.
Edited on 2011-05-25 at 17:58:03 by Incognito
As Varis made his way down the corridor towards the main hall, Bon caught up with him with a bizarre smile.
Bon wasn't particularly a smiling sort of person.
He nodded at Varis, and led him towards the main desk, silently.
Meanwhile... “I am seeking a friend of mine. Varis, he was brought in along with the wounded Councillor I believe. If he is alright I would like to see him please.”
The receptionist frowned, "We don't tend to work on names, as most of our patients are unconscious on arrival. Unlike the private clinics found elsewhere, here at the Scarlet Clinic we treat whomever may come to us with an ailment."
She looked through some documents on the desk, and picked up a Runner quill pen, ticking off a few boxes down the way.
"He should be in room A34. Down that corridor to the left, you should find it very easily."
Then Bon and Varis arrived at the desk. Bon grinned from ear to ear. Quite unnervingly.