This log has been edited for clarity, brevity, and typos. It involves references and scenes of a violent nature, to include some that might now be impermissable under the updated rules. It required the CONSENT of all present. Please be forewarned.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"Greetings Lord Templar."
You contact the sable, scar-faced mul with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"Captain."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"I assume our agreement still stands?"
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"Of course."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"And what of the Borsail and the Byn? Are they still hunting me?"
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"I was quite plain with House Borsail regarding the arrangement. They know what hangs in the balance."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"Excellent."
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"I cannot speak for the Byn, but I gave explicit orders to the Gemmed."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"As per the agreement, I have my first tribute for you."
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"Very good. If you would feel more comfortable delivering it to one of my junior officers, or to my assistant, than to me personally, I will not take offense."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"Who is your assistant?"
You think:
"To reveal, or not to reveal. She can hardly be used as leverage against me, competent though she is...."
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"A woman by the name of Flay. She is generally not about at this time of the week."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"A junior officer then?"
You think:
"They did kill Takharion's assistant, but then, he was spying on them."
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"Sergeant Torgun is generally about. And he has a document for you, besides. Something to forestall trouble with authorities, should it arise in my absence, as per our agreement."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"Excellent."
You feel contemplative, cautious, but unthreatened.
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"I've spoken with a man named Nams. He's agreed to deliver things between us. Do you know much about him?"
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"I know that he is unlikely to be delivering anything. He met his end last week. Not at my hands, I might state, though he was apparently of a rogue persuasion."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"If he is agreeable, I'll use him. Bah, it's typical. Every fool that comes to Red Storm seems to die in a few weeks."
The short, hairy, burly man sends you a telepathic message:
"Suspected rogue or rogues on Meleth's, intervening now."
You stand up from a four-poster agafari wood bed.
A Sparse, Black-Walled Living Room [N, E, S, Quit, Save]
A thick wooden cask sits here, tapped and ready.
An embossed plain clay cask sits here, tapped and ready.
A carved bone winerack stands tall next to the black wall, here.
A bloodied grizzkt staff hangs on the wall behind the desk here.
A compact agafari desk sits here, its lacquered surfaces lustrous.
A glass paned case sits on an elegant stand here, its contents glittering.
A wyvern-pommeled, ivory and obsidian dagger rests proudly on the outside edge of the desk here.
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"I'll have someone pick up your tribute. It's a tamed gwoshi. Should make a nice gift to one of your allies if nothing else."
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"*with a faint sense of pleasure* Indeed."
[The spare, sharp-eyed templar makes his way to the scene of the incident, picking up some guards along the way.]
Meleth's Circle [N, E, S]
The short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak is standing here.
The short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak is standing here.
The slender, blonde-haired female is standing here.
The pale, fine-boned young woman is standing here.
The statuesque, black-haired woman is standing here.
The grisly, one-eyed brute is standing here, looking tired.
- he is carrying a large bag.
The half-giant soldier has arrived from the south.
The short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak steps forward, grabbing for the grisly, one-eyed brute's arm and swiftly stepping behind.
The short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak subdues the grisly, one-eyed brute.
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"Is it safe for me to walk the street of Allanak?"
Extending another handful of coins, the pale, fine-boned young woman says to the statuesque, black-haired woman, in sirihish:
"I'm certain that your brother will be fine, if he obeys the law."
With a jerk of his helm at the statuesque, black-haired woman, the short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak says to the short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak, in sirihish:
"Grab his sister. She gets the same deal."
The statuesque, black-haired woman glances at the pale, fine-boned young woman, and then at the short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak.
The short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak says to the statuesque, black-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Don't resist."
The short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak subdues the statuesque, black-haired woman.
The ropy, leathery-skinned man has arrived from the south.
At the short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak's words, the pale, fine-boned young woman retracts her handful of coins and shrugs her tattooed shoulders, stepping back from the scene.
Placidly and fearfully, the statuesque, black-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"Okay."
The slender, blonde-haired female hangs back and watches, lifting her hand to rub gently at her forehead.
Not struggling or resisting at all, the grisly, one-eyed brute says, in sirihish:
"Sure thing."
Tucking them away, the pale, fine-boned young woman puts her pile of allanaki coins into her jozhal-hide belt.
The short, hairy, burly man sends you a telepathic message:
"Kaya reports the man's either a rogue or in league with them. She'll have more information."
The ropy, leathery-skinned man draws to a halt as the circle becomes clogged with soldiers.
The short, hairy, burly man sends you a telepathic message:
"The woman is apparently related to him."
Lowering in an uncertain bow, the ropy, leathery-skinned man looks up at you.
The slender, blonde-haired female pulls her hands from her pockets and turns more to you, dipping into a quick bow.
Giving you a nod and turning the grisly, one-eyed brute to face you, the short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak says to you, in sirihish:
"Lord Templar."
The pale, fine-boned young woman looks up at you, stepping to the fringe of the scene and bowing politely.
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"Safe? Yes, it should be. It might draw a great deal of attention, however. I would advise you to keep a low profile, though you are under no such compunction."
The slender, blonde-haired female breaks a bit away from the group and comes up by the pale, fine-boned young woman, hands returning to the pockets of her cloak.
The spare, sharp-eyed templar purses his lips, glancing around the Circle.
Once more, the slender, blonde-haired female looks at the grisly, one-eyed brute.
The short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak grips the statuesque, black-haired woman tightly, by wrist and neck, facing you.
In a sing-song voice, the statuesque, black-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"I'm part of the party. I'm part of the party."
With a look of recognition, the ropy, leathery-skinned man looks down at the grisly, one-eyed brute.
Resting one hand casually on the hilt of your engraved, broad-hilted bastard sword, you ask the short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak, in sirihish:
"What is the meaning of this, Sergeant?"
The statuesque, black-haired woman bends her neck forward and down, twice, facing you, as much as her captor would allow.
Silvery eyebrows knit a bit as she leans in, the pale, fine-boned young woman whispers something to the slender, blonde-haired female.
Studying him with pale, unblinking eyes, you look down at the grisly, one-eyed brute.
The statuesque, black-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"Brother, I'm not so sure about this party."
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"As you wish. My thanks Lord Templar. I shall prove myself useful to you in Red Storm."
Giving the grisly, one-eyed brute a jerk up, the short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak says to you, in sirihish:
"Reported criminal, Lord Templar. Smuggler. Came up and the woman mentioned her being a sister, so I had her grabbed too."
Curtly, the short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak says to the statuesque, black-haired woman, in sirihish:
"Quiet."
The statuesque, black-haired woman asks, in sirihish:
"I'm guessing you didn't plan this?"
Glancing sidelong at the statuesque, black-haired woman, the slender, blonde-haired female whispers something to the pale, fine-boned young woman.
The slender, blonde-haired female whispers something to the pale, fine-boned young woman.
The short, hairy, burly man sends you a telepathic message:
"Kaya told me. Corra was here stalling them. I haven't called them rogues in public. Smugglers."
Suddenly falling off of her person with a thump on the ground, the statuesque, black-haired woman drops her tattered cloth bag.
The statuesque, black-haired woman says, in sirihish:
"Oh, shit."
The short figure in a jade-shouldered black dustcloak asks the short figure in a black, hooded militia dustcloak, in sirihish:
"Can you see inside that, Private?"
The sable, scar-faced mul sends you a telepathic message:
"Calm silt, Lord Templar."
The slender, blonde-haired female bobs a small nod, and then looks aside when a bag falls by the statuesque, black-haired woman.
You send a telepathic message to the sable, scar-faced mul:
"His Shadow, Captain."