Detect Adventure (AQ)

GM: Slinger
Players: Page
Synopsis: A Rating 4 Astral Quest for Page for Detect Magic.
Date: December 17, 2069


The Dweller


Page eyes the ceiling again. After that LAST mess, this astral quest is practically going to be a relaxing swim. He's had it up to HERE with Chinese spirits and Greco-Roman wrestling with Hearth spirits! He reaches overhead, snuffing the last candle burning, settling down into a deep trance as the soft scent of the perfumed candle wafts over him, projecting into the deep astral.

The tunnel of light and images — dropping you in a tranquil forest setting. There's harp or lute music playing in the distance. The scene is positively… idyllic. Daylight is slowly breaking over the horizon, just after the crack of dawn. A light chill is in the air, and mist drifts almost playfully through the trees.
That is your first impression of the scene, until you realize some things. First, the light hurts your eyes a little. And where the rays of sunlight touch your skin, it is uncomfortable — but more than anything, you feel cold. Chilled to the bone.
From behind you, a familiar scent, yet one that tickles your nostrils uncomfortably. Tobacco smoke. As you turn toward it, you see Slinger. It looks like him, except that the longish hair and T-shirt-clad young figure has been replaced with fantasy garb, and he is smoking a long-stemmed pipe.
"Welcome to Irgarth, Page," says Slinger, with a warm smile.

Page's eyes narrow slightly. He folds his arms one over the other, suppressing a shiver and raising his chin, eying the thing with Slinger's appearance before him with more than a hint of defiance. "Nice try," he says, "but I won't be fooled that easily, Watcher." He nods to the forest beyond. "Let's get on with it."

The Dweller cannot help but chuckle, and it matches Slinger's demeanor perfectly. He slowly walks around you, circling you. "Look at your hand," the Dweller comments. "At your hair. Your skin. Here, you aren't Jeffrey Page, enchanter. Your name is Page, all right, but you're different. You'll figure out how different pretty shortly, once they discover you."
He looks up at Page with that playful grin on his face. "You've got some serious trust issues. You know that?" he comments absently. "Might be a good idea to work through some of those. You can't go through life alone, using people like you have been. You think it makes you strong. Trouble is, you'll find out how weak it makes you /just/ when it's too late."
The elf takes a draw on his pipe, inhaling deeply. "You're gettin' colder. And sunlight ain't so good for your skin, in this form. Might be best to do something about that…" He gestures toward the group of people around the campfire, dimly seen through the trees — as suddenly, you might realize that you are nearly naked.

«Plot» Page says, "What's my hand look lke?"
«Plot» Slinger says, "Your skin is dark. Not inky black, but definitely dark. And your hair is longish, unbound, and silver-white. If you had to guess, you are a drow, from myth and legend. A dark elf."

Page lifts his hand for a moment, looking at one side, then the other as the Dweller speaks. He snorts a breath through his nostrils. "Gee, such wonderful, life-altering advice," he exclaims sarcastically. "I shall certainly reform my ways and be a good little boy from now on, trusting strangers with candy and men in alleyways." He eyes the spirit - coldly, in fact - and then eyes the campfire up ahead and the people around it, creeping up towards it. How much would you bet that their skin /isn't/ ebony? He keeps to the shadows as much as he can.

«Plot» Slinger says, "Roll me Willpower, TN 4 first."
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Willpower + Astral Pool: 5 vs TN 4:
1 1 2 2 3 4 4 4 5 5 17 = 6 Successes
«Plot» Slinger says, "3 extra KP for the Quest."


Place of Magic


You would not lose that bet. No, they are a mixed bag. A halfling, two humans, and a surface elf, chuckling and laughing and trading barbs, while the halfling strums on the lute, getting it in tune. Apparently, a group of travellers — though that is a /lot/ of weapons for simple travellers. Maybe an Adventuring party, whatever the hell that means. According to townspeople, a group of rogues and vagabonds up to no good, gallivanting around and generally creating chaos.
You manage to sneak closer — and there, drying on a clothesline, is the robe of one of the mages, hanging there temptingly within view. Completely dry, in fact, though the fabric is cold to the touch, having hung there all night losing its moisture to the cool night air.

Ah… something that Page /is/ good at. /Patience/. Before too long, that halfling will get the music going and everyone will be distracted enough that he can … well… 'borrow' the robe, at least. Hopefully without them noticing. In the meantime, he listens.

The halfling tunes his lute, and indeed, he starts a jaunty ballad that is somewhat lewd and lascivious in its lyrics, and the others are joining in. Having a little ale to start the day — very light ale, of course, just barely enough to be safe to drink.
The others, though, are sitting in a circle, and one of the two humans is angled such that he can see in your direction. Patience is good, but you are starting to get colder and colder with each passing moment…

Well… one out of two isn't bad. Page just needs a moment's distraction, some reason that he glances away. And if he's not going to glance off before too much of the bard's song gets played… well, he can always find a rock to throw and distract the guy, right? Never trust luck when canniness will do.

You are getting colder, and the sunlight is starting to burn your skin even more with each passing moment. But then, fate seems to smile upon you, as the human belches, then gets up from the fire, scratching himself, and pads off into the woods to relieve himself — fortunately, heading in the opposite direction from the fire as you are. This is your chance! The others seem to be engrossed in the song that the halfling bard is singing. This is how they get up in the morning. Morning people.

«Plot» Slinger says, "Roll Stealth. You can use astral pool. TN is 6, which includes a +2 penalty. 6S Stun is essentially what you're resisting."

«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Athletics + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 2 vs TN 8:
1 3 4 4 4 5 5 5 10 = 1 Success
«OOC» Page says, "Don't have centering yet, but that's a good reason to start… ;)"
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Athletics + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 2 - 1 vs TN 8 for "KP 4":
1 2 4 5 7 7 8 10 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Athletics + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 2 - 3 vs TN 8 for "KP 6":
2 4 4 5 7 10 = 1 Success

Page counts mentally. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand… ten. Long enough that the guy isn't coming back immediately. Moving as smoothly as he can, he reaches up, pulling the robe free from the line as stealthfully as possible.

You do manage to grab the cloak. It's actually fairly soft, made of rather nice cotton, perhaps with other fibers woven in for warmth and softness. And more than anything it feels wonderful on your skin as you pull it free.
The clothesline rebounds, though, and there is the faintest tinkling sound — and the culprit is suddenly obvious. A set of windchimes has been hung from the line as well, and as it makes noise, people shoot their gaze toward it — all of them, staring for just a moment. But nobody sees you immediately.
Of course, now that you are covered, the relief from the pain of the sun is immediate, and you can already feel yourself beginning to warm up. But then there's the sudden shout. "Where in the Nine Hells is my robe?" one of the humans demands, standing up, staring at the clothesline where it was.

Page creeps further out into the forest, well away from the spot where he stole it before even trying putting the dang thing on. The last thing he needs to do is get caught with his robes around his ankles. Windchimes… yeah, that's a pretty cheap trick. He'll have to remember it. Might as well have dreamcatchers strewn up, though, for all the good it should do them. Once dressed, he sneaks away further.


Place of Charisma


The time you spent getting dressed, though, inevitably delayed you. It's impossible not to bask in the relief for a moment, before you turn to resume your course. And that's when you almost run into a sword held out, point right at neck-height. "You aren't going /anywhere/," a rough voice says. A human. /The/ human, and apparently the warrior, now that you are at close enough range to take in his powerful, muscular physique. "That isn't your robe," he adds, accusingly, as he shifts his grip on the sword. "Now. Maybe you'd best find way to pay for it, or take it off and be on your way. My friend happens to rather like that particular garment!"
It might occur to you that he hasn't seen you with out it — and cannot see your dark skin or your face beneath the cowled hood.

Eeep! Okay… time for strategy number three. (Number one and two were sneaking away and legging it, respectively.) "Please!" Page says in a quavering voice, his empty hands raised. "Have mercy on a humble priest! Surely, you would not harm an unarmed man of the cloth, reduced to violating his tenants and stealing … all by the bandits that beggar this road?"
Yes, that's right, strategy three. Lying through his teeth.

The warrior eyes you. Listens to your story. Listens to what you claim. A priest. Well, you're wearing the robe. His free hand scratches his head, and it might occur to you that Fighter here is not the brightest fruit from the particular tree that is this place. "Oh," he says. "Well… it's a cold morning, so you ought to come share our fire. We have alt — not the best ale, but it's yours if you want it. You could break bread with us." He lowers his sword, cautiously — he's not /that/ stupid — but then gestures with his chin back toward the camp.

"Oh, bless you," Page replies gratefully, "bless you for your kind offerings to this humbled soul. Even the slightest favor to those in need is hallowed in His eyes." And if he goes back there he's probably going to be in a great deal more trouble. "Please forgive me, I must pray for my repentance… do not let me delay your sup." Page sinks down to his knees, beginning to mutter a psalm in Latin.

«Plot» Slinger says, "Let's have an Etiquette roll, TN 4, +1 for being unfamiliar with the local customs and the like."
«Plot» Slinger hrms. I'll let you use Latin as complementary, how about that?

«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Etiquette + Astral Pool: 5 vs TN 5:
1 1 2 3 3 5 9 9 = 3 Successes
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Latin vs TN 5 for "Comp":
1 1 3 8 9 11 16 = 4 Successes

Fighter watches as you get down on your knees, and then rolls his eyes, reaching down to offer his arm. "You'll get Piotr's robe dirty, and then he'll be mad. C'mon." He holds his arm steady, easily, against whatever weight you might rest upon it, then wanders back toward the campfire. The halfling bard has finished his song about this time, and is in the process of lighting a small pipe — when he stares openly at the newcomer. Piotr — one of the other humans — glares instead of stares. "Why is my robe walking around?" he wants to know, crossly.
"This is… uh…" He glances at the robe, then at Piotr, and shrugs. "He's a Priest. Got nailed by bandits. He's all nekkid and stuff and needed your robe."

The elf is also eyeing you, his gaze narrowed just a little. "You could have approached us. We aren't bandits. They have an elf with them, if you needed evidence. Elves," says the elf loftily, "aren't bandits." He waves his hand with a hint of irritation toward the halfling. "Couldn't you stand downwind when you smoke that foul thing?" he asks the bard, who just takes a bigger draw of the smoke with a cheeky grin.
"I, for one, welcome you with open arms. Well, as open as they go," the halfling states. "I am Robyn Freewind," he says, scrabling to his feet and executing a bow. He looks young for a halfling — and slender, another thing that is seldom seen. He looks almost like a little kid, really. "I bet you're hungry."

"Oh, indeed," Page replies to Robyn in a grateful voice, "but I cannot accept your bread. I am fasting." He eyes the elf slidelong through a slit in the robe. Yeah, looks a teensy bit like Slinger. Definitely not trustworthy, probably has the whole us good/them evil thing going on like Slinger does.

Robyn, on the other hand, looks like… well, he looks like he likes to have a good time. And apparently, part of his idea of a good time is irritating the elf. He puffs up a massive cloud of smoke, then blows it toward the elf, deliberately. Said elf just gets up with a scowl and moves, huffing as he folds his arms.
Piotr rolls his eyes. "Get over it, Cryssan. You've been around worse in those places you hang out in." His eyes flick back to the Priest, whom he regards warily. "If you need the cloak, then it is yours. Call it my tithe," he says with a wave of his hand, though he's clearly not pleased about it.

"Surely I cannot accept it as a tithe," Page says to Piotr. "It is far too valuable. For certain, is not even a thimbleful of water worth a pile of gold to a man dying of thirst in a desert?" Yay, flattery. He pauses, then adds hopefully, "However, if I could but borrow it for a little while, until I can regain a Priest's proper attire…?"

Piotr is watching Page, for the moment, and lifts a brow at the flowery speech. "You don't talk like a Priest from around here. What Faith is it you follow?" he wants to know. Regarding the robe, he waves a hand, eyeing the one inside the robe as best he can. But a dark face, cast into shadow, is well-concealed.
"We have a quest to undertake. So it might be we have to part company before that," Cryssan comments, crossly, waving away more smoke from Robyn's pipe. "Unless you could be of some use."

Yeah, think fast, Page. He liberally borrows some pages. "Yes, I am from a small brotherhood that worships the creator of our world, He who is a being which has every perfection." He pauses, considering. "I do not know of what use I could be of to you, unless you consider salvation to be a worthy goal. For surely adventurers are in need of salvation more than any of us in this place."

"What's Salvation?" wonders the fighter, the one who first caught you, invited you to come back. He sounds a little mystified by the word.
"Something they're selling, Thad," Cryssan pipes up swiftly, with a narrowed-eyed look at Page. "Something you shouldn't be buying. It's expensive, trust me."

"There is no price you can put on salvation," Page replies with a wave of a robed hand. "No coin can buy it for you, only right action and right intent."

"See? Exactly what I mean," Cryssan snorts. To Page, he says, "All right. So you've got no spells? No abilities at all? If you're that worthless, we'll just drop you off in the nearest town, and be on our way."
"I want to know more about Salvation," Thaddeus states, after a moment of thought. "Maybe we should keep him with us. In case we run into a monster that is vulnerable to it!"

Robyn draws on his pipe, then blows a row of smoke-rings in the air. "There is more to this Priest than meets the eye. He stays," he remarks, casually. But with a firm look at the others. Cryssan looks ready to object, but a look from Robyn silences him.
Robyn looks back at Page, and grins. Then he packs his lute away, and the camp starts to get ready to break up, after you are given some ale and food to enjoy. Robyn seems rather intrigued by the newcomer, and he even offers to share some of his tobacco. To annoy the elf, of course.

Page turns down the offers of food and the tabacco (Fasting!) but takes some of the ale, sipping it carefully. He looks about camp a bit as they're breaking up. In theory, he's looking around for things he can help them with. In reality, he's watching to see just how closely he'd being watched in turn. Especially by that other elf.

Cryssan is definitely keeping an eye on you. And when he notices you meeting his gaze, he tosses a bedroll at you. "Make yourself useful," he snaps, putting you to work.
"So we ain't gonna drop him off in Citadel?" Thaddeus wants to know. Apparently referring to a town nearby.
"Nope. He stays with us," Robyn states firmly. "There is more to that one than meets the eye."

Oh, great, a whole town named after a religious edifice. Well, this thing just became more complicated. Page takes the bedroll humbly, helping out wherever he can. Yep, and 'more than meets the eye.' That bard sees something in him - probably some prelude to a great song he'll sing about later, simple self-interest.


Place of Battle


Once the bedroll is bound up, Robyn claps you on the back. "C'mon. We'll load up the horses," he suggests. Of course, it's more than a suggestion, as he accompanies you along a path, toward a clearing where the horses are grazing. Robyn glances over his shoulder, then reaches out to make a grab for the hood of your cloak!

«Auto-Judge» Slinger (#69) rolls 4 + Combat Pool: 4 vs TN 4 for "Robyn making a grab for your cloak-hood.":
1 1 2 2 3 3 4 5 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge» Slinger (#69) rolls 4 + Combat Pool: 4 - 2 (succs) vs TN 4 for "Robyn making a grab for your cloak-hood. KP 1":
2 3 4 4 4 10 = 4 Successes

«Plot» Slinger says, "You can use Edged Weapons at a +2 penalty."

«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Edged Weapons + Combat Pool: 2 + Astral Pool: 5 vs TN 6:
1 1 1 2 3 4 4 5 5 5 5 8 = 1 Success

Page notices at the last moment, reaching up to try and grab for the hem - but, well, he hardly is fast enough for that sort of thing. He lets out a vague sigh, and then looks back at Robyn for a second. "Still more than meets the eye?" he wonders with a bit of an edge to his voice.

Robyn stares at the dark elf who gazes back at him, and then cannot help but laugh. "Oh. Oh, my," he says. "Come to raid our villages and steal our women, are you?" he asks, with a hint of mirth. "Dark elves cannot be trusted. Some would even kill your kind on sight."
He laughs again, then reaches for his pipe as he turns back to the horses. "If I were you, I wouldn't let the others know what you are."

"Funny," Page replies, "that's rather what I was trying to do. Are you finished laughing now?" He pulls the hood back up over his head, following Robyn to the horses. "For that matter, why are you laughing?"

Robyn cannot help but smirk, as he pauses to light his pipe again, drawing the smoke in greedily. "You certainly aren't a priest," he remarks. "So what is it you're looking for here, Page? If that is your real name," he adds, with amusement. And when you ask him he is finished laughing, he shakes his head. "I'm a bard," Robyn points out. "I never stop laughing. I just find it amusing, more than anything. A drow shows up in our midst, the feared and the hated, and the worst you've done so far is borrow a robe."

"I was cold," Page replies defensively, fitting the bedroll to one of the horses in what seems like a good spot, trying to do his best to tie it on or something. "And yes, it's my real name. What, are we supposed to /all/ have names like Moonspun or Nightstalker?"

"Usually dark elf names have lots of Z's and S's and things that are hell to rhyme or scan to," Robyn murmurs. He draws on his pipe as he ties the items down onto the horse. Then, he turns his gaze back to Page and extends his hand. "I now know your secret, though, Page. Betray me, and I'll tell the others." There's a warning in his voice.

Page fusses with the bridle while he listens to Robyn, loosing any tethers. "Yes, yes," Page says with a hint of irritation as he puts a foot in the stirrup, swinging his other leg up and over. "That's why I'm stealing your horse." He holds on tight and gives the horse a right good nudge of ankles.

"Hey!" is all that Robyn has time to say, before you are galloping away. He runs after you a few steps, but he's a smoker — and more than that, he has short legs because of his race. The horse gallops off into the distance, leaving the clearing behind. And there's time to pull the hood up over your head before you are out of the clearing and into the sunlight.

Page clings to both hood and horse at the moment. After about half a minute, he's had just about enough of this, and slows the horse down to a trot. No sense in tiring the thing out, either. Let's see, is this the road? If so, then there's bandit country ahead. He must be cautious.

A road! Indeed. Said road curves gradually around to the north — assuming the sun rises in the east — and consists of dirt packed tight by decades of travellers. It's a nice day — not the sort of day for bandits. But then again, you are likely to be pursued, and probably pursued this way. This must be the way to Citadel, though.

Somehow, Page doubts the idea of bandits being much like Robin Hood. And he doubts that the fairness of day will make it a less likely chance of bandits. But then he's a pessimist about that sort of thing. Still, it would be nice to be wrong for a change. He continues the horse at a steady trot, keeping a mindful eye out for trees. A thought occurs to him, though. If they do decide to pursue him, then they'll have been at a full gallop for some time, and his horse, at least, won't be as worn out as theirs. He can probably outdistance them for some time.

That's true, as far as it goes. Until suddenly, an arrow goes flying by, right in front of the nose of your horse, drawing the creature to a halt and making it rear up, panicking. The arrow came from your right — there's no way that any of your group got close enough to actually reach you this quickly — that much is clear. Not unless they have access to magics that you only dreamed of.


Place of Knowledge


«Plot» Slinger says, "Hrm. Let's do Athletics, +2 TN default. May use AP."

«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Athletics + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 1 vs TN 6 for "Mneep":
1 1 2 2 2 5 8 10 = 2 Successes
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Athletics + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 1 - 2 vs TN 6 for "Mneep, 2 KP":
2 3 3 3 5 8 = 1 Success
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Athletics + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 1 - 3 vs TN 6 for "Mneep, 4 KP":
2 3 5 5 5 = 0 Successes
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Athletics + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 1 - 3 vs TN 6 for "Mneep, 7 KP":
2 3 3 5 11 = 1 Success

"Whoa!" Page says, holding onto the horse with legs and reins. He nearly goes flying off. Mental note. Learn how to ride a horse. But let's see, his guess is bandit. And his first question is one of cover. Is there anywhere he can get this horse into someplace harder to hit than the middle of the road? If not - well, he might be better off talking this one through.

There's the right-hand side of the path, where the arrow came from. No, that's probably not a good choice. There's the left-hand side of the path. That is slightly better. Forward is another option, trying to just run fast enough to outdistance them. Or back the way you came. Those are your options at the moment, in terms of ways to go.

There are trees on both sides of the road here, perhaps 20 yards from the edge of the road.
Twenty yards. Page thinks. That's at least three arrows. He steadies the horse, glancing around, and then looks over to the right. "Come now!" he calls out. "Surely you don't want to take the chance of ruining such a fine animal over a few pieces of silver?"

The bandits slowly appear — cautiously — and eye the robed figure. "Yer surrounded!" calls a voice. "Get off the horse, and keep your hands where we can see 'em!" You can see one of them stepping out from behind a tree — and his skin is inky black like yours. And he has a bow — arrow nocked, aimed right at you.

Page glances left, glances right, then looks back at the figure stepping out. "Forgive me, but… how exactly can I be surrounded by a single person?" He contemplates it… but doesn't get down off the horse just yet.

Because, it becomes clear, that isn't the person speaking. The one with the bow slowly approaches, and then a voice comes from behind you. "Because he's not the only one." That's when you get whacked, hard, from behind, and everything goes black.

When you wake up, you are tied up, and your head hurts. A lot. Your bonds have your hands bound behind your back, but it's still light outside. The one you saw earlier, with the bow, is staring right at you. And as soon as you show signs of consciousness, he sneers. "What clan are you?" he demands.

Since he missed the chance earlier, Page says the first thing that comes to mind. "Ow." He tests the bonds on his hands, just out of spite, checks his ankles for hobbles. "Fine way to treat a fellow, you know that?"

The dark elf sneers once again, and the delivers a swift kick toward your exposed leg. "You didn't have a damned thing on you worth stealing. A bedroll. Even the horse isn't worth much. That robe is decent," he mutters. "You're a dark elf up here on the surface, and you're no friend of mine."
He smirks. "Give me one good reason not to kill you right now."

Page winces. But he's had worse. Usually when casting spells himself. "Because I know something you don't," he says, looking at the dark elf steadily. "Something that could make you quite a bit of money. Now, a friend… I could tell. But a bunch of brigands that don't know an opportunity when it drops in their lap, well. Might as well just keep all that money to myself."

The trouble with bad guys is that they're /very/ predictable. The dark elf eyes you, still with that sneer, though the expression falters a little. Just in case you're telling the truth. "And let me guess. If I let you go, you'll lead me /riiiight/ to that money, and not run off." He delivers another kick toward your leg, though with a little less force behind it. "I don't believe you."

Page winces again, but shrugs his shoulders lazily, as if he had not a care in the world. "Your loss," he replies, and settles back in his spot, falling silent.


Place of Destiny


«Plot» SlingGM says, "Gimme a perception check. Hearing, TN is 5 base."
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Intelligence vs TN 5:
1 2 3 3 4 9 = 1 Success
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Intelligence vs TN 5 for "KP … something":
1 2 3 3 5 5 = 2 Successes
«OOC» Page says, "Bah, hang on"
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Intelligence - 1 vs TN 5 for "KP … something":
1 4 5 8 10 = 3 Successes

The dark elf doesn't believe you. That much is clear. But he also isn't exactly up to making this particular judgement call. He scowls at you, then whirls around, and storms off, heading off in the direction of a flickering campfire. The way he moves is impressive, born of natural grace and agility that one might well envy. And then he is gone.
And off to your right, in the distance, you can hear the sounds of movement. "What in the hells are we doing here?" a voice whispers, very faint, almost incomprehensible. "After what he did?"

Page remains silent, tilting his head to the side as he closes his eyes, listening and focusing his attention on the distance voice, separate from the crackling of logs and the wind in the trees.

There is a whispered voice in response… and you actually recognize it. The halfling. "Look… I don't even care about the damned horse. We can't let them kill him, all right? Now hush!" More sounds of movement — had you not been listening for them, you would not have heard them. Growing closer.
And there — a silhouette against the fire. The dark elf is coming back — and he doesn't look happy. Not at all.

Page keeps his expression calm as he hears those. Either he's been out longer than he thought, or they're a lot faster. Resourceful, though, he'll give them that. As the dark elf returns, he lifts his head, looking up at the brigand with a bored expression.

Said brigand is definitely scowling as he returns. "All right," he says, as he pulls out a sword, and brings it up toward Page's throat. "Talk." He says that, low and dark, hissing the words. He definitely is unhappy about something, and it shows in the way the point of the sword slips toward your throat. "Where is it? You give me details, or I will slit your throat for causing me aggravation."

Page leans away from the sword. It's just instinctive, it is, especially these days when he doesn't have to shave anymore. Not used to having sharp blades near his throat anymore. "Hey…" he says, trying not to swallow, "just because your boss wants to know doesn't mean you have to be pushy." He smiles slightly. "And hey, since your boss wants to know - I'll tell him. /Not you/."

There is the faintest sound of someone moving closer. The drow pushes the sword a little further into your neck, and it's starting to hurt. A lot. "You will tell /me/," he hisses. "And I decide whether it's worthy of telling my 'boss' as you call him. He told me I could do whatever I like to get the information. Or not, if it turns out you are lying. Now. Talk," he states. Even though that is likely to be difficult."

"Alright," Page says quietly, trying pretty hard not to move. "But you're not going to get that if you kill me, so just ease off a bit, okay? The horse… I stole it from some adventurers."

The drow starts at that. "Adventurers. Where?" he asks, suddenly, somewhat warily. The sword does ease off just a little bit. And in the woods, any sound that you were hearing has stopped, utterly, completely. You might get the sense that everything hinges on what you say next.

"Two days back," Page replies. "They're looking for an ancient treasure… the map's in the saddlebags. I posed as a scholar to get my hands on it. They needed the glyphs deciphered, you see." He smiles slightly. "They're in a dead language of the elders." Woo, spinning bullshit!

The drow looks warily at Page, listening to him spin the tale, and then pulls the sword back, leaving you tied up on the ground. And then he turns away from Page. "I saw no such thing. But I will look again. Perhaps a hidden compartment. Easy enough to verify your story."
He whirls and departs, leaving you utterly along in your small clearing.

«Plot» Page says, "Is the moon out?"
«Auto-Judge» SlingGM (#669) rolls 1:
13
«Plot» SlingGM says, "Yup. Full moon."
Page calls out to his back as he goes, "It's hidden in what looks like an ordinary piece of paper. You can only see the gylphs by moonlight, when there isn't any other light around."

There is silence, definitely, and then a whisper. "What's he talkin' about? We ain't got a map." It's Thad, from the sound of that voice. Which is shushed a moment later. And then, quietly, there is a movement from the shadows, the sound of a presence behind you. The subtle shift in sound that heralds the presence of another.

Page falls silent as well, thoughtful, though he tests his bonds once more, seeing if he can stretch them out just a little bit, enough to get his wrists apart slightly.

There is warm behind you, the brush of cloth. "Say nothing," hisses a voice in your ear, and the accent is that of the surface elf, Cryssan. Nimble hands are working on your bonds. "This lock… this is magical," he murmurs. "There is no way to crack this. We need the key! We'll kill him when he comes back…"

Page murmurs softly, "I doubt he has it, if they've any brains. The leader would." He pauses, then says, "He'll be taking some papers away from the fire. See if you can take him out then, and I'll do some talking to the others."

There is a whisper in your ear. "Robyn seems to believe in you, for some stupid reason. Even after you stole his horse. You had best not be deceiving us, dark elf. Robyn is… well, he is sometimes naive. And the rest of us, don't like seeing him get hurt."
And then he is gone. The dark elf suddenly appears again, just a moving shadow — as he stands near the fire — but apparently, the paper is blank, as you said. And, staring it it, not paying attention to his surroundings, he slips away from the fire, his attention on the paper as he heads away from it, into the surrounding darkness.

Page steadies himself, listening to the sounds of the darkness, letting that guide his thoughts for the moment. Hmm. What would Slinger do? Well, if he was stripped of all his magical abilities and tied up in general? Now there, is an amusing thought.

Slinger isn't into that, actually. Slinger would trust the good guys, probably naively. On the other hand, it seems strangely to work out for the kid, for some weird reason. Like he led some sort of weird charmed existence.
The dark elf disappears from view. And then, you hear a grunt — perhaps the beginning of a startled cry — something that might well be dismissed as an animal. No stirrings from the camp itself.
And then, the surface elf is back, holding up five keys, carefully, spread apart in his fingers. "You're supposedly a Priest, right?" he whispers. "So which key is it? The wrong one is going to probably hurt you. A magical trap." He holds them there, before you…


Place of Fear


«OOC» SlingGM says, "Lemme have a Willpower roll, TN 4. AP refreshed, D physical damage…"

«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Willpower + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 2 vs TN 4 for "Sense the power of the force…":
2 2 3 3 3 3 4 4 4 4 5 5 8 = 7 Successes
«Auto-Judge» Page (#1269) rolls Willpower + Astral Pool: 5 + Karma Pool: 2 - 7 vs TN 4 for "Sense the power of the force… KP 4":
1 2 4 4 5 9 = 4 Successes

«Plot» SlingGM says, "You know which one. Pose it. It sort of /glows/ to your magical sight, as you manage to detect a different /kind/ of magic from that one."

It takes Page an effort of will as he looks at the keys to focus and let his mind loose, ignoring the aches, pain, twinges, and general humanity that is everything a mage leaves behind for his craft. He extends his senses, letting in the rest of the universe that most people simply surpress. "… the brass one," he says after a moment, nodding to it.


Citadel


"Really?" The elf scowls at it, and then back at you, warily. But then he slips behind you. Touches the key to the lock… and the bonds fall away from you — just as there is a shout from elsewhere in the camp. "Come on!" he encourages, grabbing your hand, giving you a fierce pull to your feet, and half-drags you out of the clearing.
That's when strong arms grab you, and Thaddeus pulls you up into the saddle with him, even as Robyn rides toward the group, and past, on the horse that you stole from him, at a fierce clip. "Come on!" he calls, keeping his voice low — just as there is a flare of light behind you, the silhouettes of tents suddenly bursting into flames…

Page does his best to get up along, stumble along, and then hang along as he variously unmanacled, manhandled, and treated as so much of a bag of rice. Well, hey.. it beats being tied up and tortured, eh?

The group rides on at a fierce gallop for a while, until finally the pace slows. And Cryssan slowly rides up alongside the horse you are sharing with Thaddeus. "Huh. Guess you are actually good for something. Even if you aren't a Priest," the elf-thief grudgingly admits. Robyn glances over his shoulder, grinning as he lights up his pipe in triumph. "Not only that, we got a good amount of loot from the brigands. Perhaps you're our good-luck charm, Page. Or whatever your name is."

And with that, you can feel yourself slowly being pulled back toward the physical world, pulled away from this body, from this place, and toward your mundane — and yet, magical — existence.

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