Quest Of The Faceless: Act 2, Scene 13

Welcome one, and I welcome you all to the tale of a world called Thespia.

Here is the odyssey of one that clings to this world with no face of their own! In a place where magic is fundamental to all of creation, from the ancient origins of Leviathan seas and behemoth lands, zephyr winds, and phoenix fires. All things in this world has a life and voice. Yet they are only heard by those that listen.

The Faceless, a being of eldritch origins, arose from the bottom of a well. Many a folk tale in Thespia says that only two things reside at the bottoms of wells, "Evil and wishes."
Since returning to the surface land wearing the face of another, The Faceless has encountered many friends and foes in their journeys as they switch faces and live the lives of others.
The question that persists? Which face is his own? And where will his adventures lead as he twists the fate of this cursed world.

Traveling now as the Eternal Dancer, Belinda the Beautiful, the Faceless's party makes its way to Celes Prance, a Namour city built upon a lake.

The Twitter!
> twitter.com/Faceless_Quest
If you have questions...
>ask.fm/Dranzy

And a log of the quest!
>suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Quest Of The Faceless

And The Faceless!
pastebin.com/dDstf0SN

Cleptesse's sky remains a bit overcast after the prior night's storm. The smell of fish and a subtle hint of death lingers upon the fog that rolls in through the town through the morning, likely from the Kraken's silent visit to the city. The streets are lively as they were when you arrived late yesterday. Markets overflowing with slimy Drezhar traders and the buyers warring with them to haggle a price both parties deem a “steal.”

In some back alleys that you'd stolen away to, you revealed your secret to the knowledge-loving Victoria. The girl's eyes remain locked upon you as you walk through Cleptesse, her feathery antennae seeming to buzz with all the thoughts she must be having. You can only wonder to yourself if getting to meet a real-life impostor should really be such a big deal. Then again, she's not quite the ethical type.

Odette's eyes linger upon the girl for a time until finally she takes your hand and pulls a bit ahead to whisper into your ear, “Are you sure you should trust her? All she'd need to do is shout impostor and we're both on the chopping block.” Her voice is stern, yet measured.

“She's have found out sooner or later if I changed faces.” You whisper back, slipping a hand low around her back, finding your fingers giving an unconscious squeeze. You and Odette both blush as you realize that Belinda's playing at a bit of mischief again... The Makoh woman however gives your hand a gentle swat as she distances herself. Though you can tell as she turns away that she's smiling a little.

Odette clears her throat, “Speaking of that... Becoming the Reaper here...” Odette's eyes stare down the street and lingers upon intersections and alleys. There's not many people on this particular street yet.

“I haven't given it too much thought yet.” You admit with a little shrug. “No reason to as of yet and...” You think towards the Makoh face... When you looked upon it, the eyes stared back. The threads on the inside were writhing, strong and menacing... “Putting the other on here could be disasterous.”

You suddenly feel something bump into you, and then trying to rush past. Without thinking, your hand snaps out like an eagle's talon snatching up prey. Your fingers lock around the collar of a filthy little boy struggling against your grip, your purse in his grubby fingers- a pickpocket.
The Drezhar child looks back at you, fear filling his yellow reptilian eyes. “Let me go ye pissy hag!”

A wretched smile warps upon your face at the kid's horrible comment, a vein visibly throbs in your hand.

>[Reprimand the child and turn him in to the guards.]
>[Ask the child what would drive him to steal from such a beautiful woman.]
>[Take back what's yours and let the pickpocket go.]
>[Write in.]

>[Take back what's yours and let the pickpocket go.]

>[Reprimand the child and turn him in to the guards.]
Why do I have the feeling that the guards won't do much against a pickpocket?
Also nice to see you running on-time for once

>[Take back what's yours and let the pickpocket go.]

>[Take back what's yours and let the pickpocket go.]

>[Ask the child what would drive him to steal from such a beautiful woman.]

>[Take back what's yours and let the pickpocket go.]

>[Ask the child what would drive him to steal from such a beautiful woman.]

...

Pulling the child close with a twist of your hand you grab him by the wrist hanging on fitfully to your belonging. “Ow!” He cries as you're not gentle in the least, still wearing that wretched expression and try to maintain an air of false calm.

“I'll just be taking this back.” You say as you snatch the purse and toss it over to Odette. Still holding onto the boy, “Could you please count out our gems?”

“Let go a' me already!” The Drezhling tugs and pulls, even going so far as to bite at your hand. A flourish of your wrist and a puff of flame makes him reconsider gnawing you as he gasps with eyes wide. “A-Ah popper mage! Aw shite!”

Victoria swats the bratty Drezhar boy's hand with a harsh glare and her pointed Hylon nose upturned, “Mind your tongue! How dare you say such a word 'fore ladies!”

“What're you on 'bout ya tommly girl!? And you old 'ag! Lemme go already, ye got yer stuff back. Why're you gett'n all- ah, ah! That hurts!” The bow whines as you twist his arm behind his back by the wrist and press forward, forcing him down.

Odette finally finishes counting, jingling the purse of gems. “They're all here and authentic. Though I think we should turn this child over to his parents. His hide undoubtedly needs tanning.”

“What hide has he to tan?” Victoria's mouth goes into a crooked frown as the meaning of the phrase flies over her head, “We should take him to the guard. Certainly they'd love to deal with a pickpocket such as this.”

“Oi, Oi, Oi! Ye shitey harpies! Don't take me t' no fuk'n guards!”

“I don't really feel like getting involved with this brat. I say we just let him go.” You press down on him harder, leaning down so that your right beside his ear. “After all, then nothing will change for him... For better... Or for worse.” You let off of the kid suddenly and he falls to the ground as you let him go.

Scrambling away, the kid turns once he's put some distance between you and himself. “Ye- ye bloody popper... I'll show you! One day this city'll be mine! Not like the Captain's Council, but like Wesley, the King of Thieves!” With that, the boy runs off, disappearing into an alleyway.

“Wesley...?” Victoria puts a finger just below her lips in thought, “Wasn't that the name of the gentleman that took your previous purse?”

You furrow your brow, remembering it with a mindful discomfort, “Yes, that was him.”

“King of Thieves? Does that mean that he's a Hylon King?” Odette adds in, her voice suddenly growing a bit more stern.

“I don't remember a Wesley among the records of the Hylonic games. Though I refuse to partake it's still something that I'm obliged to go to as a noble.”

“Is it possible that a Hylon could become a king without attending these Hylonics?” You ask, walking again as the others follow.

“Truthfully, I don't see why not. So long as they have unshakeable pride in their field they can bear the title. However, should they be defeated in contest they forfeit their life and title.”

Odette chuckles bitterly at that,“To beat a king at their own game is to lead to their demise... What a quaint end that would be for a Hylon. Ironic even.”

“Haven't I heard that Poetic Irony is the strongest force in Thespia?” You add.

Victoria rolls her eyes, “When it comes to fate, it's a way that the threads tie into each other. Redundancies such as that allow the weave of Thespia to keep spinning and being spun. Poetic irony has its place in destiny and justice, sure, but it's not wholey correct to say that Poetic irony is a strong force. It's just what happens.”

“Calm down Bookworm, it's just a turn of phrase.”

Victoria blushes a bit, putting her head down a bit as she nervously touches what's left of her raven hair that's been hacked down to a bob, “I-I know that. And now you know that it's not entirely true. A-anyway. What are we doing now...” Victoria gets closer, wrapping her arm around yours in a possessive manner. Then says as just a whisper, “Im-pos-ter~”

>You no doubt have the money to cure Fuse and/or book passage on a ferry across the sea... It's more a matter of getting it done.
>If Wesley is indeed a Hylon King, you're on his turf in a way, although unofficially... Did he recognize you? And who poisoned Fuse?

>[Relax in the town and wait out Fuse's sleep for the week...]
>[Ask around for rumors and after Wesley. ]
>[Head down to the Undercity of Septic for Fuse's antidote. Sooner you leave the better!]
>[Write in.]

>[Head down to the Undercity of Septic for Fuse's antidote. Sooner you leave the better!]

>[Ask around for rumors and after Wesley. ]

>[Ask around for rumors and after Wesley. ]

>[Head down to the Undercity of Septic for Fuse's antidote. Sooner you leave the better!]

>[Head down to the Undercity of Septic for Fuse's antidote. Sooner you leave the better!]

>[Head down to the Undercity of Septic for Fuse's antidote. Sooner you leave the better!]

You decide to head down into the undercity to get a cure for Fuse. The way leads you to a wide tunnel with a gilded gate open wide to let merchant's caravans inside. The tunnels are lined with softly glowing torches capped with shining stones that let off enough more than enough light to banish the grimmest of shadows on your way to the depths.
Here and there sitting along the side of the tunnel are thespians of various sort, their sunken eyes and faded clothing tell of their status in the world. Their eyes watch the pebbles inlaid in the road, watching carefully for anything fallen from the caravans...

You notice a merchant with a swirl of arafleur around their ears reach into their caravan and toss a few gems to those that sit at the side of the under-road. Victoria draws near to you, “I've heard some merchants consider it good luck to pay tribute to those that find the Undercity hard to live in. Sometimes good luck can help you in the darkest of places after all...

>Do you give to charity?

>[If I were them... Gift a sapphire.]
>[Of course! Loose a few rubies.]
>[Just a little... a couple topaz.]
>[I don't believe in such superstitions.]

>[Of course! Loose a few rubies.]

>[Of course! Loose a few rubies.]

>[If I were them... Gift a sapphire.]

>[Just a little... a couple topaz.]

>[Just a little... a couple topaz.]

>[If I were them... Gift a sapphire.]

>[If I were them... Gift a sapphire.]
Seems to be most fitting for Beli

Reaching into your purse, you produce a sapphire. The second most valued gem of all and set it down at the side of the road by some of the beggars. Their eyes seem to shine as they acknowledge you and graciously thank you for you charity. “The Lady of Fortune looks our way... May she look yours as well.” An older woman whispers. Though Drezhar, her scales lack the green tint of so many others.

As you walk away, you feel a weight lift from your shoulders and feel that luck will swing your way for a time...

>You've been gifted exceptionally good Karma

You hear the rattle of gems from behind you as another merchant on their way to Septic tosses a few gems to the wretched. You turn to see that merchant bears no swirl or mark of Arafleur. Such a superstition is regarded even by the greedy, it seems.

The road downward steadily becomes more refined in a sense. The stones change from the paving of a traditional road to sleeker black rocks that almost seem to glisten with wetness from the firestone sconces. The distant sound of rushing water is heard echoing and tracing upon the walls, gilded veins of the stonework loop into elaborate designs that must have been the sum of a genius's work as it's threaded into more and more intricate work the further you descend. Victoria admires the work upon the walls, saying that they were done by a family of goldsmiths known as the Castlannes. They deducted a method to weave the threads of a metal as prideful and resolute as gold to create such work within the walls. “Undoubtedly, they are not remined either as that would be an affront to the guilds that use this path.”

The merchant in the caravan ahead looks back, hearing the echo of Victoria's voice as she explains the stonework. “Yer quite the smart lad, aren'tchya? The Castlannes created this work over a hundred years ago, before the Kraken forced this place t' end all it's piracy. It's a landmark and a reminder that the closer ye' are t' septic, the closer ye' are to wealth and home.” The merchant chuckles warmly, resounding the tunnel with his mirth.

Victoria wrinkles her nose, “I feel... discontent with being away from Sol.”

“T'is natural fer those that tend towards Hylios. Can't bring yerself too down int' the cities down un'er.” The merchant smiles kindly as he looks back from his coach, “T'wat ends do ye three travel to Septic?”

“Our own business.” Odette snipes as she glares back at the man pensively.

“Just asking a fellow trav'ler. Ye'll find wonders in Septic. One o' three undercities left in this world since Thespia cried 'round thirty years ago.”

Something hurts in your chest at the idea of Thespia crying... When did she... why can't you remember? “I'm sorry, when did she cry?”

The merchant shrugs, “Some war the Hylons started. Some time ago. Can't seem to remember who it were against... Must not'a been of importance. Though she cried all th' same. Like the chosen chiles of Hylios getting themselves all muckered and hurt.”

You shake your head, “No... No that doesn't sound right.” Unconsciously, you quicken your pace, pulling in front of the dopey mules pulling the merchant's cart.

“Ye alright miss?” The merchant asks, yet you ignore. Your heart's throbbing again, and you feel a cool sweat beading on your brow as you pass the man entirely. Victoria and Odette hurry after you, the Makoh touching your shoulder to check on you. Looking back a glance, you bring your own hand to your shoulder and lace your fingers around hers.

“I'm okay.” You say. Though the way you choke those two words out; you don't really mean it.

The torches increase in number as the road takes you away from the surface, away from Sol. Yet despite that, the air stays relatively warm, comfortable.

The three of you walk ahead of the caravans, increasing the distance between you and that merchant.

>[“Victoria. Who did the Hylon war against? Do you know?”]
>[Belinda, do you remember?]
>[“Odette, did any of that make sense to you?”]
>[Write in]

>[Belinda, do you remember?]

>[Belinda, do you remember?]

>[Belinda, do you remember?]
It's either Belinda or Victoria but I don't think the Hylon would have written it down and she's too young to have lived through it.

>[“Victoria. Who did the Hylon war against? Do you know?”]

>[“Victoria. Who did the Hylon war against? Do you know?”]

>[Belinda, do you remember?]

Still awake Dran?

You walk on in silence with the others, your fingers still interlaced with Odette's and Victoria at your side. Steadying your breath you ask Belinda, with as traveled as she is, with as old as she is...

{Belinda. Do you remember? Do you know what happened? What war is that merchant speaking of?}

Your skin prickles like chickenskin as she searches deep into her memories, recalling chilling details that cause you to shake just brushing up aganst them. (I wasn't there.) She finally says after a few long moments. (However, in my travels I heard the stories of the war. The war between the noble Hylons and a wretched Arche that sought Thespia's death... I can't remember the Arche's name, but they... They had warlocks.) Belinda gasps in your mind and you shudder as she realizes a particular detail, (The ones they warred against... I remember. They could hear the voice of all things. You... You're one of them.)

You stop walking, your fingers slip out from Odette's as you withdraw further into yourself. {I don't seek Thespia's death. The very thought that she would cry... It fills my heart with such dread.} You clutch your chest, visibly shaking. Odette looks into your eyes, she asks you something, but your ears can't hear her right now.
(Belinda, I need you to remember... But it needs to be more than rumor. What happened?)

The Dancer is quiet, seeming to search herself again.

{I was there for a part of it. Caught in the fighting. Shall I show you?}

(Please.)

Your body seizes as Belinda drags your consciousness inside of hers. You lose the line of separation between the two of you as you dive into the depths of her memories. Countless recollections flow past until you enter her eyes as she bears witness to the war of fifty years ago...

A fissure breaks open in the world, a moan beyond the realm of hearing penetrates through the beings of all present. Grass withers, the sky is torn the same with torrential wind flowing inward and out into the scaffos, a tear in the veil of fate.

This tear runs through two sides of a battlefield, upon one side with shining colors of gold a Hylon banner depicting a star looking down from the heavens with a crown beset upon its visage looking down upon all others. At the battlements stand righteous heroes of divine lineage and truth, that have mastered their fields and command nothing but respect from others. Yet beside them, masters of gilded scissors and manipulators of fate, weavers command the threads to their bloody ends. Rank and file no doubt are the Danhor sworn to follow those that have divine right to rule, dogs ready to kill and butcher for their glorious masters.

Upon the other side in defense of a townstead, a coalition of all Thespians from Drezhar to Arafleur, Stella, to Danhor, and even unaffiliated Hylon of mixed identity along with many others stood. Tired, bloody, and losing handily, yet still they resist even as the fissure opens.

From across the expanse, a man crowned with a jewel that shone like a star plucked from the Scaffos itself roared across the expanse, “It is because of your wretched existence that the mother tears herself apart! The behemoth bellows in agonia with the zephyr winds screaming in despero! With our light, we shall banish the foul warlocks and witches that lead you astray from the holy kingdom!”

The haggard lines of defense part as a figure clad in long black robes with threads of starlight woven through, giving the velvet the appearance of a night sky. Among the chaos surrounding the fissure, those fallen in and those battered by the whirlwinds, this figure approaches with an undaunted walk.
You stand among the defenders in this vision, seeing only the back of this person as they pass.
Latent thoughts flow through you, thoughts of not wanting to have been here, the million ways that you could think of escaping from all this, from the end of the world...

The Golden Hylon from across the rift continues to shout things now lost in the wind as it picks up. The figure wearing the robe of starlight reaches out, touching at the gales and settling them in the merest of moments. Nearing the expanse, the torrential gale flowing everywhere but around this person... This sage. The Sage kneels down to touch near the broken earth and the whirlwinds slow, the behemoth ceases to wail, and the earth begins to close, yet remains open enough to keep the armies at bay.

Folding back the hood, the sage looks back to the defenders with silver eyes shining in the twilight and deep black stains beset like tears running down their face. With the saddest of smiles, the sage walks forward to the expanse. “My life, for theirs.”

“Die Niflelf. Your kind stain the Supreme's lands.” The Golden Hylon roars from across the expanse.

The Niflelf sage turns to the people he's elected to protect, “Live on and prosper everyone.” As he steps forward into the rift, you feel your own heartstrings tugged with the act. You don't understand why, but a really sad thing just happened... Like someone that really understood- someone that really knew you just vanished.

As the sage falls, so does the rain. The clouds in the sky cries and the fissure rumbles shut as though reluctantly accepting the offering and only doing so with the heaviest of hearts.

The armies of the Holy Hylon Empire however gleam with victory against the gloom. Their commander stands fast, staring on among the defenders as they look defeated in more ways than one.

“Where is the next one?”

Unable to bear it anymore, you run away. Fleeing as far as you can from the city and t he feeling that felt torn away from you. You'd have to bury this truth, bury it as deep as you could...


You return to your senses, finding your face wet with tears as you sit by the side of the under-road. Victoria's kneeling right in front of you, reading your face with intense scrutiny.

“Ah, you're awake!”

“So... I am.” You say as you wipe away the wetness from your face. Despite apparently having slept you feel a hundred years older.

>You were a Niflelf...

“Are you okay Becca?” Odette holds your arm, looking into your eyes as well.

You aren't really sure what to tell them... You feel all twisted up in knots right now.

>[“I'm fine. Let's go.”]
>[“No. I'm not sure what I am.”]
>[“...What's a Niflelf?”]
>[Write in]

>[“No. I'm not sure what I am.”]
huh

>[“...What's a Niflelf?”]
Now this is interesting

>[“I'm fine. Let's go.”]

>[“...What's a Niflelf?”]
I need to know more

>[“...What's a Niflelf?”]

...

Lost the update or why did you post a blank?

“What...” You blink slowly to gather your thoughts and ward of the sadness overtaking you from that memory. Even Belinda trembles within you...
(How could I have forgotten...? They were always so kind...)
You reaffirm your thoughts again, “What is a Niflelf?”

You feel a hush run through the tunnel, as though the gilded stones of this road have even taken notice of that word.

Odette smiles to you with concern, “A what?” She says. Clearly, the word holds little meaning to her.

Victoria however continues staring before sitting down all the way, thinking. “A Niflelf... Could that...” She closes her eyes.

Reaching out to the girl, you touch her shoulder.Though she recoils at the touch, she looks back into your eyes. “I need you to tell me what you know.” You say with a quivering reverbration.

Victoria averts her eyes, frowning a little. “In all I've read, I only recall one tome that mentioned that word. It was an old book, though it conflicted with more circulated publications for the kingdom... It referred to a twelfth Arche... One that was, apparently the first which most Hylons would find laughable.”

“Laughable? Why?” You ask, searching the young scholar for answers.

“Well,” She blinks, “There's no one like that... And Hylon were the first loved by Thespia.”

“What if... They weren't?” Odette whispers, petting your head affectionately. You scoot closer to her for warmth and comfort.

“If they weren't.” Victoria considers the implications, “It would mean that there've been a lot of lies.”

“History is written by the winners.” You whisper.

“I.” Victoria stands, her eyes buzzing with a number of thoughts about this new information, “I need to think. This conflicts with my prior knowledge. Much of what I've read about history must be flawed, incomplete, or outright lies. The girl shakes her head, “I hate non-empirical information, just confuses things.”

It takes you some time to recoup, and Victoria's still lost in thought after all that. However you eventually get back on your way down to Septic. Eventually, you reach the gates after what must be about another hour or so.

Borne of spiralling silver and Gold beset with glittering diamonds, there lies the undercity of Septic illuminated by Firestone sconces. The guards at the gate regard you with a nod and a wide smile, “Welcome travelers to the great city of Septic, enjoy yourselves and spend many gems.”

Beyond the gates the tunnel opens up into a vast underground chamber with a great amount of flowing water rumbling throughout the expanse. Many buildings of stone, metal and wood riddle the walls of the chamber. In the center of the ceiling a massive cluster of firestones shed light upon the entire area, canals and aquaducts sparkling with the subtle glow of the luminous rocks. The city itself is like nothing expected of the name... while it's dark, it's also beautiful, the firestones sparkling like a subterranean night sky and the buildings are the same beautiful and warm in their own right, in fact, you can see a market center below the sparkling stone cluster more than three times the size of the market in Cleptesse.

Asking for direction, you go through auxiliary tunnels to the alchemist's ward. Seeking out the chemist, Oleandre, you find her establishment in a stone and wood home sprouting strangely colored and glowing mushrooms from the roof and a garden around the side. You hear her talking inside.

“Yes, yes. You want a good potion for love and getting loved or something, is that right? This is good for that. Here you go. Take it, go, go."

...

An all too happy Namour man slips out from withom. Nearly running into you, holding a bottle sparkling with pink fluid. Stopping suddenly, he looks you up and down blushing intensely, “Oh, uh... Hello.” He presents the potion to you, “I'd be honored to share this beverage with you m'la-”

Odette slaps the potion out of the boy's hands, shattering the glass on upon the stone and crossing her arms, staring at him jealously.

“Wh-wha” the Namour trembles at the loss of the potion and under Odette's harsh glare.

“No refunds!” The Chemist calls out from her shop.

“Bu-But!”

“You heard her.” Odette stares unrelenting, “You should go.”

As the Namour runs off, you can't help but chuckle to yourself at Odette's instant denial of the boy's attempt.

“Hello, hello there. Person, or persons. How are you doing? What can I do for you, or yous?”

“She talks in a strange manner...” Victoria sniffs, wrinkling her nose.

“Strange to normal, but not estranged to strange. Knock it off. What can I do for the delightful customer?” Oleandre, a Drezhar of hazy purple scaling and a stunningly good complexion for what you intuitively know as an older woman. She looks almost as young as you actually...

>[“Do your love potions really work?”]
>[“We need a cure for Comatoma poison. Enough for a dire wolf.”]
>[“You really are an odd lady...”]
>[Write in.]

Trying to post too fast.

slow down there Dran, you're eating up your own words.

>[“We need a cure for Comatoma poison. Enough for a dire wolf.”]

>["A story of a legendary king of thieves"]
>[“We need a cure for Comatoma poison. Enough for a dire wolf.”]

>[“Do your love potions really work?”]
>[“We need a cure for Comatoma poison. Enough for a dire wolf.”]

This
And now it's time for bed for me

“We need a cure for the Comatoma poison...”

“Oh, well I can get that ready right-”

“Enough for a dire wolf.” You add.

The chemist looks to you blinking slowly, a stupendous smile spreading across her face. “Oh, well that's a mighty large order. Are you really so keen to never sleep again?”

“I'm serious, it's for a dire wolf. I own one in a sense.” You shrug, and slide a lock of your fiery red hair behind your ear and further into the hood of your cloak.

“Owning a monster, that must mean that you're monster yourself. Oh my, what terrible 'ventures you must have. Mucking about the world, what could a terrible monster such as yourself bring?” The Chemist rambles on her musings as she walks around her shop, collecting all the necessary reagants for the concoction.

“We don't appreciate such nonsense comments.” Odette states dryly with arms folded, clearly not amused by a crazy woman speaking ill of you.

“Nonsense comments are only such to those that can't make sense of them. So, what well did you crawl out of monster? A well of dreams, or a well a' wishes?”

“How-” You stare at the woman intently, betraying the truth she so casually touched on. Regrouping yourself, you casually cross your arms and adopt Beli's normal haughtiness, “Well a well of wishes of course.”

“Aye, aye, but even wishes are evil things when it's the wish of an evil man.” The chemist throws a few grasses in a cauldron as she throws a thread into the stones underneath, enchanting them with flames. “Even a wish becomes an evil thing, is that not true?”

“A wish becomes whatever it will be. As they say, one should be careful what you wish for.” You return.

“What a delightful little wish.” The chemist stirs her pot as it comes to a boil. “Out to save the world, are you?”

Something about this woman... It's as though she's either mad or truly does see right through you.

“Tell me” You say, “A story of a legendary king of thieves.”

The woman chuckles, leering at you with one of her perceptive eyes, “Caught the eye of little Wesley, have you? He's called Rodin now or somesuch as his Hylon name.”

Victoria's jaw drops, as her face turns into a scowl, “How- how do you know that? I didn't even know that!”

“It's called having a bit of wisdom little Stella. You'll learn that bit soon enough you will.”

“I- I am a Hylon!” Victoria blushes furiously, clearly upset at being called after the wrong Arche.

“Well, right now you are. That's not where you should be. You know that deep in your heart that Hylon are not bound to be the wisest or most cunning of us. Their Arche is an empty pride of mostly lies and misguided feelings. A few of you lot know that true pride should be in who you are and what you've been through, not something that you're born into. Your life is only getting started.”

Odette stares at the woman that seems to see right through the three of you and suddenly turns 'round to leave, fearing coming under the woman's scrutiny.

“Ah, don't you go walking out like that, Makoh. You're still a Guisi until the month comes around for you to make that transition. Wonder what name you'll choose, should be interesting.”

Odette leaves the establishment post-haste.

“Here's your antidote. It'll work so long as it's applied within a week. Pour it in the beast's mouth and rub its throat, careful that you don't lose a hand.”

“How much?”

“Free.” Oleandre smiles, “You're an interesting lot and I'm more Drezhar for my brain than my greed. Not about to charge heroes out to save the world and all that such. What kind of person would I be?” Oleandre chuckles to herself and you can't help but stare on in silent wonder at this crazy-woman.

>End Scene

How're y'all doin?

Now I want to ask her about the Kraken.

She could actually give very good insight on that.

What COULD we pay Oleandre, if it came to it? Sounds like she's kind of set on money.

Well, the anticoma potion is free in part because it's very cheap for her to make.

If you had to pay her regular gems would suffice for potions. Beyond that, rare reagants, favors, stories, or simply being good company chould amuse her enough. She's highly eccentric however. Her payment could change on a whim.

Should definitely ask her about love potions.

Thanks for running.
It's been a while

No problem. I'm sorry that it took so long to get back. Life's been happening.