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Delaria; A large town built on the banks of Caedryl Lake.
Topic Started: Sep 24 2013, 12:24 AM (790 Views)
Tasha the Gypsy
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Harma glanced around as she entered the busy market of Delaria. The people there were all focused on their on business, ready to pounce on the best bargain they could find. A new shipment had been delivered that day, and the milling crowds were even thicker than usual. Harma knew it was useless to try and make a way through the crowds, but she had to reach her destination by the appointed time, so she slipped into a back alley and melted into the shadows.
Edited by Amaurea, Apr 6 2014, 05:03 PM.
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Aegnies guided Caellahn through the streets of the city with slight mental nods towards streets and alleyways. With her as his guide, the passage was quick and they soon stood before the herb shop in the lower district, but much like the bird had warned, it was a dull, nasty place, and Caellahn couldn't help but feel uncomfortable there. He glanced at his hawk.

Are you sure this is the place? he asked.

The look Aegnies cast him could have curdled milk. Of course I'm sure. When have my directions ever been false?
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The Inkweaver
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A crew of fishermen standing at the docks of Delaria cleaned their nets methodically. Truly, there was nothing new under the sun. The timbers of the boats creaked, the water splashed against the pilings...

And with a ferocious heave, something very tall emerged from the water and landed heavily on the other side of the dock. The fishermen were rocked almost off their feet, and they murmured in surprise at the disturbance. They could see the form of a tall, extremely pale person sitting beside their boat. Curious, the men drew closer to investigate.

The newcomer had long, sleek hair of the most violent-deep red any of them had ever seen. She--it was a woman, but quite unlike any woman they had seen--stared out over Caedryl Lake in shock. When the men were not ten paces away, she suddenly turned. The men drew back in alarm--her eyes were a bright, strange green hue, like no other human. She wore a brown dress of a strange material. She hastily rose to her feet, rocking the dock furiously as she did so. That's when the fishermen knew that changes were coming to Delaria: this woman was nearly eight feet tall, and deathly pale. She pressed her lips without making a sound and turned to stalk into the streets of Delaria.

Fishing was forgotten as the men stared after the tall, red-haired woman who had (as far as they could tell) climbed out of Caedryl Lake.

Chanka had arrived.
Edited by The Inkweaver, Nov 18 2013, 12:37 AM.
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Amaurea
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Captain_Riposte
Oct 28 2013, 07:02 PM
Melchior laughed. "The question is not so much what I do here, but what will I do. I am curious that you have never heard tell of my little toy. It is, alas, a repellant of many friends, but more will be carrying these in coming days."

He lifted his musket to let the stranger get a better look. The long polygonal steel barrel once shone with the blued reflections of the surroundings its wielder traveled in, but extensive marching and use dulled the surface to a dull phantom grey. Foliate etchings ran along the oaken gunstock until the formed the image of a stag fleeing a wolf on the hooked end past where the wielder gripped the weapon. A scrolled lever, meandering beneath the stock like an iron ribbon frozen in time, served as the trigger. Melchior pulled this demonstrably, and an ornate clamp shaped like a vine stooped down to dip the tip of a long, coiling cord into a small pan against a steel plate. "This cord is called a coal," he explained, "in combat, both ends are smoldering and this pan will be primed with powder, and once the burning coal hits the powder, it creates enough of a burning blast to force the bullet from the barrel and to the enemy."

He held up his staff, crowned with a curved fork. I lay the barrel along this rest so that I can better aim and brace for impact." He patted the gun affectionately. She sure kicks like a mule when she breathes fire!"

Street travelers stared at Melchior as they passed, expressions ranging from fearful to contemptuous to admiration. "Unfortunately there are those that are not so fond of this. But there are enough in distant parts where I seek employment as a soldier or as a scholar of the mysteries of this new science. How about you? What brings you to these lands?"
Malachi's expression widened at the site of the musket, though, perhaps, not for reason Melchior thought. Such weapons weren't all together new to the Telekinetic. The face that he'd some how traveled to a completely different world, a world where it's inhabitants were just discovering the many uses of black pouter and firearms, fascinated him.

Malachi briefly wondered what these people would think of his electric probe, resting on the top of his retractable pole arm. At present, the Calvadorian's sole weapon rested in its collapsed state, tucked away under his brown robes. He rarely went anywhere without it, even though he rarely used it. Even still, his curiosity peaked. How much did these people know already. With interest, his blue- gray eyes watched the gunman as he displayed his prize. The smile which came to rest on Malachi's tanned face was more proud than anything. The excitement of discovery had all but run it's course for his people. They had discovered space travel, visited strange new worlds, new people, and new civilizations. So, at least for the constant learner Malachi, this was a treat.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Malachi realized that the subject had shifted, from the weapon to himself, which begged the question, how did the Calvadorian end up here? For a moment, a completely confused and questioning look came to the man's face and he let his eyes wonder off into some distant realm between thought and reason. At last he figured there would be no harm in being honest with the man. Looking back to Melchior the alien spoke hesitantly and with much thought behind his telepathic voice.


<<Truthfully I am unsure how I came here. I am from a place so distant, that walking couldn't bring me where I stand now. I simply appeared here, in one of the ally ways, without cause or reason.>>

He paused. The man would probably think him mad, save for the sincerity in his words. For ever as heart of a man rarely belies his truest intentions, so the mental voice of a Calvadorian rarely fails to portray their feelings. After a few moments, to allow the odd news to settle, Malachi spoke once more, in a pondering manner.

<<Though a reason might present itself. I'm not one to believe in coincidence.>>

Suddenly the sun seemed brighter, and the sounds around him seemed louder than they should. The world moved off kilter for a second, and the Calvadorian instinctively reached out a hand for the nearest wall to brace himself. What ever had caused the jump through space or time, it had taken it's tole on Malachi's body. Uninjured, but tired, the Telekine peered at the ground for a moment to steady himself, and then stood upright once more.
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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The Inkweaver
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Chanka stomped over the rough cobblestones of the streets of Delaria. Each footstep jolted painfully through her body. How she wished she could just float through the air as she did through the water! Humans were such pitiful, ungainly creatures! And their bodies were so--lumpy... Chanka sneered down at the protrusion from her face that had replaced her gills. Lumpy, there was no other word for it. The body of a mermaid was perfectly suited for maximum speed in the water, sleek and slim. The human body, apparently, could take up as much air as it wanted. Chanka felt like a bulbous octopus on legs, so ungainly with her lumpy arms and lumpy face and lumpy legs and lumpy body. Then, too, there was the fact that she was naturally taller than every other human. As if her pale skin and long, sleek red hair hanging down past her elbows did not make her strange enough, her natural physique from her mermaid state made her a giant among them.

"If you were going to bother taking away my fins and gills," She muttered to the mysterious voice that spoke in the wind, "The least you could have done would be to make me short like them, too!" Her voice sounded hoarse and breezy, like the conch shell trumpets the heralds used. Chanka scowled at the noise it made.

I'm sorry; I could not tell how effective the method would be from this distance; I can only feel your connection and hear your voice, but I cannot see your appearance.

"You mean I have to walk through the human world like this?" Chanka spoke a little louder this time, and great cowfish! How her voice wailed like a porpoise! The very sound of it echoed painfully through Chanka's head. She reached up with her hands and covered her ears--yet another human feature she would have to get accustomed to. The sound had no tympanic membrane to soften it--every noise went straight through Chanka's skull.

There are far worse situations you could be in right now, mermaid.

Chanka snorted--then grimaced at the sensation in her nose and vowed never to do that again. "Such as what?" She hissed faintly--the only way to speak without the horrible shrieking sound.

At any time you wish, you may return to the water and resume your mermaid form--but then I cannot repeat the spell that changed you to a human, and your friend will surely die.

"You monster!" She forgot about subtlety and squeaked aloud.

Don't worry; as long as you are never submerged in water, you will retain your human form for as long as necessary. I am not forcing you to stay the course; you are on this mission entirely of your own choosing.

"That may be so," Chanka growled, "but you don't have to be so mysterious about it! Just tell me where the cure is waiting so I can return to saving my friend!"

All in good time, mermaid.

"My name is Chanka, stranger!"

Not on land, it isn't; people will not trust you if you give such an outlandish name as that. These days, it's only magic folk with strange names, and magic folk have little to do with common humans. Better give your name as Charlotte.

Chanka tried the name, "Char-lot?"

Hmm, oh dear; yes, I see your point. Would Chan do?

"Chan." It was only part of her name, but at least she could manage it easily. Chanka--now Chan--stiffened as she realized the precious moments she'd been wasting. "All right, tell me where to go!" She grumbled. Not far away, she saw two men facing each other. One was stocky and had thick brown hair and some sort of weapon in his hand (Chan's eyes glimmered at the sight as she thought of all the knives she left behind), and the other wore robes that glittered in the light of the setting sun. They seemed to be getting acquainted.

Listen carefully, Chan, and make sure you do exactly as I say. You don't want to attract too much attention from others.

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Tasha the Gypsy
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Harma glanced around as she and Colam were about to enter the city again.

"I want to go by the docks before we head back." said Harma in a quiet voice, "I left two people there, and I want to see if they are in the area. I've never seen them before, and they were... different somehow." she added.

Colam looked puzzled, but shrugged his shoulders.
"Whatever you say m'lady. Just remember, we need to get back to the shop soon or the item..." his voice trailed off as Harma shot him a dark glance.

A few minutes later, Harma was peering out of an alley towards the docks, he sharp eyes looking for the two men. Suddenly, she pulled back and flattened herself against the wall. The look on her face made Colam start.

"What's wrong m'lady? What did you see?" he asked anxiously.

Harma looked his way, and the expression faded quickly. She shook her head and looked again.

"It IS her." she muttered, more to herself, "But how...." her voice trailed off and her jaw tightened. "Stay here Colam, or better yet, take the merchandise and met the others. I'll be along shortly." she said to her companion. Colam was about to say something when Harma quickly raised the hood on her cloak to cover her face, and slipped out into the street.
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The Inkweaver
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Chan stalked into the marketplace of Delaria and stopped. Her feet hurt, her legs were tired--and she'd had just about enough of the voice in her head. She gazed enviously at the women who seemed to glide on their feet as easily as she had pushed herself through the water.
Chan turned quickly as she noticed a man standing next to her, gaping at her incredible size. She quickly stood up to allow him to move the barrel she had been sitting on, and her head connected with the canopy over the stall next to her. The merchant within cried out angrily at her, but Chan had no idea what he was saying. Humans spoke a different language than merfolk did. The uandino acted as a translating barrier, both for the words the visitor said, and also translating the vibrations of the merfolk's manner of speech into words the human could understand. She had none of that here; every sound was foreign.


What's taking you so long?

Chan shook her head. "I am trying to understand something--why can I understand you, but I don't speak the human's language?"

A breeze danced around her head, pushing her hair in a way that wasn't altogether comfortable. Her strange "companion" (if he could be called that) seemed to speak from the breeze, the voice reaching her ears with the blast of wind across them.

Maybe it's because we are communicating telepathically, which is a universal language.

Telepathic communication? Chan figured it was as plausible an explanation of the phenomenon as any. "But how am I supposed to gather the items if I cannot communicate with the humans who hold them?"

My contact in the herb shop will know how to help you. You'll need to find a street--Ratchet or Reacher or something like that.

"Genius!" Chan spat. "I can't read human if I can't speak it!"

Here, let me try something...

Chan felt the sensation of hands and fingers stroking against her mind, and when she closed her eyes, she could see clearly an image of a certain alleyway from somewhere in the city.

The herb shop is on that street. You can't miss it.

Chanka hesitated.

Well? What are you waiting for? Go on!

Chan shook her head and began walking down the streets to find the alleyway. One thing bothered her as she walked: she could not help feeling that the list of items the voice-without-a-body had given her were effective at more than just returning a wounded creature to life--but what did he expect her to do wit them? All she could do was continue following along until she could figure something out.
Edited by The Inkweaver, Dec 1 2013, 02:21 AM.
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Chan reached the corner of Ratcher's Way and paused at an adamant puff of wind in her face.
"What?" she grumbled.

The breeze swirled around her.


I thought you might want to know... there's someone following you.

Chan glanced over her shoulder, mildly irritated that she had to turn her head to see behind her; if she had her mermaid's eyes, she would not have had to make such extraneous motion. She smirked. "I thought you couldn't see me--but you know of someone following me?"

You'd be surprised at the efficiency of wind manipulation. I can sense things on the breeze--and the person following you carries a specific sort of dagger, which I have been feeling on a person standing no more than fifty paces behind you.

Chan glanced down at her long legs. "Your pace or mine?"

Impertinence will get you nowhere. Take my advice, though: don't visit the apothecary just yet. There's someone else I want you to find.

Chan sighed and rolled her eyes. "What is it this time?"

I need you to visit an acquaintance of mine in the high court district. There is a certain item this acquaintance once borrowed from me that might be of use to you.

"The royal court, eh?" Chan snorted. "Tell me something; if you know this person, why can you not visit them yourself to reclaim this item?"

I'm not interested in reclaiming it--exactly. Besides, it would be easier to reclaim it from you.

"Why?" Suddenly, Chan wasn't so sure that following along with this man was such a good idea. "Is it difficult to collect?"

I regret to say that this acquaintance and I, ah... are not on good terms, said the breeze.

Chan shook her head.
"All right, I'll go--but tell me: with my appearance so strikingly different from all of humankind, how do you suppose I will be received in the court?"

You have a fair point, Chan. You might see a tailor when you get closer to the middle of town... or perhaps--

The voice broke off, but the wind intensified, and Chan was reminded of what it had been like to be in the center of the whirlpool as a cyclone of wind wrapped tightly around her. She felt a shifting of her garments, and when it died down, she wore a brown taffeta gown of considerably better quality than the one she'd had when she had first emerged from the water. Now she looked like she belonged at least to a middle-class, or the upper commonwealth.

Eh, the gentry might like to see you in something better, the voice-in-the-breeze mused, but that will do for now. Get on with you!

Chan was not sure about the surplus of clothing. Keeping the tender human skin protected was one thing--but did they have to wear so much? Chan raised a hand to her hair. It no longer hung straight; the wind had swept it up into a mass of curls that hung only as long as her chin. She sniffed and began striding away upon feet encased in brown leather boots, nearly invisible under her broad, full skirts. Very soon, she passed the hooded figure who looked to be the one the voice had warned her about. Outwardly, she gave no sign that she noticed, not even a slacking of pace. Inwardly, she steeled herself. If this person carried a dagger, it could mean trouble eventually.



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Tasha the Gypsy
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Harma saw who she knew to be Chanka stop for a moment, and she casually leaned against a wall as if she were some loiterer. Her eyes narrowed as Chanka was engulfed in a swirl of wind, and sudden her clothing changed. Harma immediately knew that someone, or something, was helping Chanka in whatever she was doing on the dry land, and quickly too a small vial of liquid from her pouch. She carefully turned it upside down so the cork would be wet with the substance, then removed it and ran the wet side of the cork down the blade of her dirk.

"Just in case." Harma muttered, sliding the knife back into it's place on her belt as she saw the tall mermaid turn around and walk back down the street she had come up. Chanka passed her, not seeming to notice her, but Harma sensed that she was more on guard than before.

"Hold on a moment my friend." Harma called to the retreating figure. She had made sure no one was on the small street before she attracted the attention of the now, apparently human, giantess.
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The Inkweaver
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Chan heard the voice and whirled around, nearly stumbling over her own legs in the process. It had a different quality when not muffled by uandino, but she had definitely heard that voice before!

"You!" She hissed shrilly. She saw the gloved hand straying toward the dagger, and everything that had happened since the pirate's departure from the underwater realm came rushing back. "We are not friends!" Her voice shrieked gratingly, but Chanka did not care. All she could think of were Gondu and the precious moments she wasted. "Tell me, pirate--how far did the pearls and coral get you? Still hanging about the humans begging for more?" She squeaked a loud bark of scornful laughter. "You land-dwellers are all alike: greedy to the core! Begone from me!" She stretched out a long arm and pointed a finger at the woman. "Because of you, my friend is dying! His blood be on your head!"

A blast of wind whipped around her, pulling at her hair, but not undoing it. Steady on there, Chan, the whistling breeze whispered, I had no idea you two had already met. Is she a problem?

Chan scowled and thought, If you can keep her from following me, do it.

A favor for a favor. Her mysterious guide sent a thundering gust of wind down the narrow corridor. Chan felt the entirety blow past her, and she felt it settle between her and Harma the pirate, tossing crates, barrels, and flour sacks like chaff, and rolling piled cannonballs down the road like ninepins--but it did not impede her in the least. Chan stalked away and reached the main thoroughfare that would lead her to the center of the city, where the court of Terrarum resided.

The wind returned to caress her.

I could only keep up the contrary wall of wind until you were out of sight. She might find you again.

Chan pursed her lips and glared grimly. "Let her try; all that matters now is getting your medallion and saving Gondu. I'd forgotten that, but no more."
Edited by The Inkweaver, Dec 12 2013, 10:51 PM.
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Tasha the Gypsy
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"Chanka, wait" Harma called as Chan stalked away after her shrill remarks. Harma started to follow the woman, but suddenly felt more than saw a wall of... Air? How was air blocking the way?! Harma tried to push forward, but gusts of wind began whipping around her, tossing barrels and crates in her way. She dodged to the side as a pile of cannonballs fell and rolled in her direction.

"Chanka! Chanka!! What are you doing?!" Harma almost shouted, but Chan was out of sight by then.

Harma dodged again as a last crate fell, then all was still.

"What... How..." Harma muttered to herself as she looked around at the havoc in the small street.

She was hemmed in by crates, sacks, barrels, cannonballs, even a few fishing nets. Only the small space she stood in was clear of anything. The piles were built up almost like walls, as if someone had built them with their own hands. Harma's jaw tightened as she drew her short sword and began trying to break through.
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The Inkweaver
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Chan reached the center of town. She paused next to the alley that would lead her back to the shores of Caedryl Lake. Over a great distance, she could see the two men from before--the silver-robed one and the man with the metal weapon--still standing there, staring at each other.

"Where to now?" She sighed under her breath.

A distinct gust of wind like a pointing finger swept over her head and upward. Chan heard the snap of fabric. She looked up to see a flag unfurled by the wind, depicting a peculiar crest.


On the other side of the city, there is a castle called Aldra. That is its crest, and that is how you will know it. The person I'm sending you to find will be there tonight.

Chan felt the uncomfortable rush of heat that meant blood was flushing through her skin--this was how the humans felt anger and frustration. This particular emotion arose from the constant tone of self-assurance and smugness the wind-person continuously communicated.

"How can you be so certain?"

An errant breeze swept around her ankles and lifted her skirts a fraction, dancing around her calves with its cold fingers. Chan shoved down on the billowing tucks; she had never felt so naked in her scales as she did with the large dress, in the wind thus. She could almost hear the chortle in his voice as the wind said, My dear Lady Chan, tonight your contact is expecting a very important person to arrive. I have gathered that much from the breezes that have swept through there today. There will be a gala, and you will be in attendance. When the time is right, you will strike, and you will acquire the medallion.

Chan caught her breath, "And then I can save Gondu?"

And then you will have done more to help him than you would have otherwise been able to, The voice hedged.

Chan felt the rushing blood again.


Keep doing that, Chan, the voice egged her. You look far more like a hearty Northern Amazon and less like a giant pale golem. That way, if you do get caught, people might find you more attractive and less terrifying.

"I don't want to be attractive to these--these.... guppies!" Chan seethed. "And do you honestly expect me to walk all the way to this castle of yours in a single evening?"

I never said you couldn't avail yourself of any other kind of transportation.

The wind pushed from behind, causing Chan to turn. At the same moment, a small black carriage pulled by a large bay horse clipped up to her. A gust of wind raised her hand--and her skirts. Chan clutched at her dress as she raised her hand to signal the driver. Recovering her composure, she commanded haughtily, "Take me to Castle Aldra!"

The driver nodded, and the footman hopped off the running board at the back to help her into the carriage. The ceiling was only five feet high--short enough for a woman, doubly so for an ex-mermaid who stood head-and-shoulders over the tallest man. When she eased herself onto the cushion only two feet deep, her knees bumped against her nose, even with her feet propped against the other side. The carriage took off at a steady, bouncing pace. Another playful breeze tugged a lock of hair out of place and down over her face to tickle her nose.

Are we more comfortable now? The voice teased her. Of course he could tell how packed she was; the wind swirled around the empty spaces, testing how narrow they were.

"When we meet in person," she thought, "I will enjoy bruising your face."

A particularly savage bump sent her knee crashing into her face, threatening to leave a mark of its own.

Temper, temper! You'll want to keep that hot blood of yours under control, Chan, if you want to make a good impression before the Count tonight.

Chan maneuvered her body to avoid folding on herself again.

"Count?"
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Captain_Riposte
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Melchior eyed the foreigner curiously as he told his tale. It was strange, talking of suddenly appearing in a random place without intention. Strange, too, was the telepathic communication he was experiencing; that fact alone checked Melchior from dismissing he man as a fool. Instinctively he leaned forward to catch the man as he stumbled, but he caught himself.

"I know a tavern by the docks," Melchior said. "Let us there eat and rest. We can talk more there."

He shouldered his musket and clutched the firing rest in the supporting hand; he offered his free hand to Malachi for support should he stumble again.
Edited by Captain_Riposte, Dec 20 2013, 10:24 PM.
"Truth is truth to the end of reckoning." ~ William Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure" V.I.4
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Amaurea
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Well, At least people were accommodating here, at least this one anyway. Malachi suddenly became aware that he was not only in the presence of a being from another world, but one who had a mind to change the course of this world. These history shapers, were few and far between, and they seemed to become less and less as time went on. Even Earth had plateaued in it's expansion discoveries. With the way they were going, he'd be long past before he had the chance to interact with Earth's inhabitants.

Slowly, the Calvadorian nodded, his excited thoughts still brimming within his mind. To say the man wasn't curious would be a lie. This world had greenery he'd never seen on his own planet of Calvador. But the prospect of food and drink rested well with him... very well in fact. With agreement behind his expression, and a carefulness to his now slightly wobbly stride, the Telekine followed the gunman expectantly.


~I would appreciate that. It seems my... rather unexpected journey has taken more strength than I bargained for.~

As they passed buildings, streets and people strolling about, Malachi seemed overly observant. The more he could learn about this world, the better he could figure how to get home, because, as interested as he was, his homeworld beckoned to him loudly.

~Perhaps, soon, a reason behind my untimely transport will present itself.~
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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The Inkweaver
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Gustave wandered the streets of Delaria, lost in his own thoughts.
Lady Kerrigan had contacted him that morning and given him an ultimatum: If he did not find the Treestone, she would persuade someone else to do it.
Gustave grimaced; he liked having the power that the Skystone gave him. The thought of that power being torn away--and attracting the wrath of Lady Kerrigan, besides--was too much to bear.
He took a moment to get his bearings. He seemed to have meandered into a secluded area of town. Smashed crates and broken barrels blocked the path on one side, as if the villagers had attempted to fashion a barricade. Gustave turned to head back into town--

KkkRACKKK!!

The sound of splintering wood and a female voice's salty curses made him return to the barricade. A long blade suddenly jutted from among the rubble, followed by a hand. There was someone trapped behind the mess! Gustave didn't hesitate to begin pulling boards and canvas away from the mound.


"Hello there!" he called. "Who are you?"
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Amaurea
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He'd had a decent rest and a good meal. Time seemed to be going a little faster, at normal pace once more. For the silent telekinetic, the day had begone to look brighter. Maybe it was just the sun. Maybe it was the planet no longer spinning around him. What ever the case, Malachi felt it rude to take up more of the gunman's time, so, with a dismissal wave, he bade Melchor farewell. Thankfully, his new found friend had helped him receive accommodations, and a small room had been prepared for him upstairs. All it took was a bit of gambling, and just a hint of mind reading. Though the first was never a fashion of Malachi's, -his people didn't gamble, there really wasn't a point to a bunch of telepaths trying to outsmart each other-. The second, however, proved to be a strong point of his.

Standing to his feet, the somewhat tall man looked toward the staircase longingly. Something dissuaded him approaching them however. A loud sound, followed by several minds shooting out in shock and horror, caused Malachi to whirl about and spring for the establishment's exit.

With robes billowing in his wake, Malachi reached the pile or rubble, noting at least one other person frantically pulling wood planking and other such debris aside. Without much thought of the repercussions of his actions, the Telekinetic began latching onto large sections of rubble, wordlessly searching it for any signs of life. If he didn't find anything he cast it aside telekineticly. With a flick of his outstretched hand, Malachi began chipping away at the pile, rather quickly and all together silent. As if all others around him didn't exist, the hooded man focused on finding the consciousness, trapped with its body, under the mass of wreckage.
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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Gustave blinked and jumped back in surprise. One minute he was prodding at beams to see if any of the rubble would move, and the next, the whole pile seemed to magically disintegrate under his hands.
He realized quickly that he was not alone. A man stood by him, staring intensely at the pile. The man's hair was shaved so close to his head that Gustave would have assumed he was bald but for the shimmer in the sunlight cast by the remaining stubble. It took the slow-witted young man a moment to realize that this stranger was moving the rubble with his mind.


Oh dear, Gustave thought to himself as he backed away. More magic people! I shouldn't wonder if he doesn't have a Stone like mine. Let him dislodge the lady, then. I have other matters to attend to. I wonder if the mermaid has found my medallion yet. I need to find somewhere private where we can meet.
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Amaurea
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Andolla
Mermaid? What in the worlds was a mermaid? Momentarily distracted from his current task, Malachi effortlessly tossed the clump of rubble he was mentally holding, to the side and turned his suddenly curious eyes toward the strange man thinking so loudly. It took a few seconds for the Calvadorian to realize that Gustave wasn't talking to him. People didn't communicate with each other mentally here, and Malachi figured he'd best get use to that. The question still brimmed on his consciousness though, and the man had spoken of magic also- or thought of it at least. Magic didn't really exist, though Malachi figured that if these people weren't use to seeing someone as telepathically adept as himself, they might misconstrue his talents as 'magic'. The thought made him smirk somewhat. A small hint of amusement flashed in his bluish gray eyes. How much could he get away with before these people became afraid of him, or started thinking him some great powerful being. The thought made him shake his head. Best not to meddle with such ideas. Playing it safe would get him farther he supposed.

But there was still someone trapped under the significantly smaller pile of lumber and splintered wood. Indeed, he could see her figure now. Just one more trick. With a small flick of his wrist and his consciousness, the last few pieces of wood flung away and the woman was free. Malachi didn't sense any reaction of great pain within her thoughts. Perhaps she didn't brake anything. Indeed, it seemed like she could stand quite quickly, and so he turned his attention back to man who had caught him in the act of telekinesis. With a sheepish, silent smile the Telekine reached back, this time with his hand, and pulled his hood up over his head. He attempted to act normal, but suspicion had already played it's part and Malachi knew there was no explaining his way out of discovery....

Especially sense he couldn't speak.
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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The Inkweaver
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Gustave stole a glance over his shoulder. Blast! The man followed him!

This won't do, he thought. I've got to lose him somehow. Curse those magic people! Why are they always after me? What have I done to deserve such attention?

Making his feints as obvious as possible, Gustave waded into a thick part of the crowd and ducked around a towering wagon. When he was sure there was no way the man could have followed him, he wriggled through an opening and into a narrow alleyway on the other side of the square.

Safe at last! he thought, glancing back over his shoulder for the hooded man. Unfortunately, there were many hoods in the square; Gustave wasn't observant enough to remember quite which color hood he was looking for. Since none of the hoods seemed headed in his direction (as far as he could tell), he assumed all was well. Now to the docks to await contact from Chanka! he mused to himself.
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Amaurea
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Andolla
Perhaps even more unfortunately for Gustave, a sudden paranoia had settled over Malachi, such that he felt compelled to follow the only other untrusted man who knew of his gifts. And, true to his Calvadorian upbringing, he did so absolutely silently. Most others hardly even noticed him because he masked his mental presence quite well. Now, he wasn't invisible, mind you, but even subconsciously one can gather who's round them simply by a strange felling. Some people call it a sixth sense, that prickly feeling you get when someone's watching you, or that odd tension you might feel when you know you're not the only other person in a room. Malachi simply caused himself to be so mentally microscopic that no one really payed attention to him, or cared to. A few times people even bumped into him, but only brushed it off and kept going. For Malachi, the chase was on.

And contrary to the man's thoughts, Malachi could pin point him perfectly. They'd made eye contact. The Calvadorian knew his target's mind far too well to forget it within the next few moments. It took a matter of moments for Malachi to track Gustave down and pursue him. Just who was this Chanka character? Was this man going to divulge his secret to her? With a minor flick of the wrist, a slat off the wall of a building, quite close to Gustave, quavered, flinging itself off the building and straight for the fleeing man's legs. It didn't matter of Gustave saw him, Malachi would catch up to him. Just a quick erasing of memories leading up to their meeting, and nothing else would be said or done about it. Malachi would be safe, and then he could go look for the gunman.
"In sleep dreams embody our hopes and our future, but when dreams escape into reality, they become nightmares"
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The Inkweaver
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Gustave fidgeted as he stood on the corner next to the market. The docks were ahead. There was no doubt that he would be able to see Chanka coming before she saw him.

Suddenly, a roof tile crashed to the ground behind him. Gustave yelped and whirled around--

But there was no one there. The man quivered. It seemed as if everyone around him stared at him with those same disturbing, glowing eyes that the silver-scalped man had. His mind suddenly felt bare and on display. More than that, he felt that whoever wanted to torture him in this way was standing right behind him. Slowly, Gustave turned around.

A goat stood in the pen behind him, calmly staring unblinking as it languidly chewed a sprout of some sort. Was it just the paranoia, or did Gustave actually sense some higher intelligence behind the square-shaped pupils of the animal? Could this mere creature actually have the ability to communicate to humans with its mind?


Hello? He thought.
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