A Rose on the Grave (Open)

[jerk]

And so it was that he died and was laid to rest
On the steppes of Skavia, and his life's spark dimmed.
Life continued around him, and Sir Ardem was left behind;
Nought but a forgotten memory, and yet one sign remains:
A single rose, frost-blighted, resting upon the grave.
--Tornac Nehriss, "The Lay of Sir Ardem Nehriss"

Tirel was pretty enough, the way any town on the frontiers of civilization where one did not have to live was pretty.

Tornac lifted his mechanical right leg off the ground and flexed the knee joint - something he was required to do every so often in this harsh land, as the doctor had advised him. By doing so, he could keep the engines inside it running and keep the leg warm, or at least warm enough that it wouldn't chill the rest of his body. But that's the least of my worries, considering that it's cold enough here to freeze my balls off. Even bundled up in a thick sheep's down coat, fine woolen gloves, and a scarf wrapped around his nose and ears, the cold was like a malicious spirit that darted inside his clothes and nipped at his flesh with hooked steel fingers. A cruel north-easterly wind blew in from the harbour, lifting the tail of his coat and blowing his hair into his eyes in startling gusts.

Ordinarily, Tornac would not bother himself with such an insignificant outpost of barely a hundred thousand people. But he'd read the old tales, and knew what he was looking for. Ardem Nehriss had gone tramping off into Skavia one day - in search of what, the old bards could not agree - and died there. And what better place to begin a heroic tale than at its end? He set off along the seafront, the walking helping to keep his leg warm. If only my parents could see me now. Their only son, their heir to the pearl-diving fortune, tramping through the streets of Tirel to find information on a long-dead hero. He was sure they would probably die of shock if they did. His parents were not the most worldly of people. Despite declaring their support for the Empire and sending their son off to fight in the Empire's name, they'd darted off to Scara Brae as soon as the first echoes of war washed across Tylmerande, and still had not returned. All they care about is balls and wines. If they'd seen what I saw at the Battle of Underwood...

As he walked through the streets, looking for a library, he took stock of his surroundings. After all, if he could not find what he was looking for, he could be there a while. The harbour was lined with row after row of red brick warehouses with grey tiled roofs, all alike. The yards teamed with men, all bundled in furs, hauling crates around and barking orders. It was early enough in the season that the sea was not completely iced over, but it was iron-grey and chill all the same, and the violent crash of the waves against the harbour's wall foretold greater storms to come. The harbour was crowded with ships - not the sleek, elegant Coronian and Scarabrian carracks that Serenti's harbour paid host to, but big, ponderous merchantmen, decks crowded with stacks of pine boards, cured reindeer skins and crates of ore. There was also a scattering of whalers; Tornac grimaced whenever he walked past them, with their overpowering stench of rendered blubber and clumsy brick tryworks. The ships fit the feel of the place as well as anything else - utilitarian, unlovely, but hardy and reliable. And there must be something to it, if the Salvarans have carved out an existence here.

Eventually, Tornac fetched up outside an inn, which was a starkly utilitarian red-brick structure, like almost all of the buildings in Tirel. A battered painting of a bloody hand hung over the door. No words were written on the sign - because there was little education here, he supposed the sign would serve as the inn's name.

Inside, there was little more than a cramped front room, into which the proprietor had barely managed to cram half a dozen tables. All of them were occupied with groups of burly stevedores out of their furs, drinking, playing cards and laughing together. Tornac shoved ten Salvaran graces across the counter towards the proprietor - cheap for a mug of ale and a meal - but in response to his enquiry about a library, she merely shrugged. "A library? In Tirel? Not much in the way of libraries here. Not much call for it, you'll see. The best you could do would be the Thayne monastery, near the western wall. Maybe they'll have what you're looking for."

Tornac thanked her, and sat down at the bar, nursing his beer. Say what you would about the climate or the architecture, the Salvarans could brew a damn good beer. As soon as he'd eaten, he planned to head off to the Thayne monastery and see what it had to say about Ardem Nehriss. A lot, he supposed, given that he was said to have spoken with them. One of the more far-fetched myths of the Ardem canon, but one he hoped was true. A god on my side could be useful...

[Izayiri]

Libraries showed up in the strangest places, if one defined any collection of books and documents as a library. While a shipwright's private collection of hullplans, sailplans, and sundry treatises on seakeeping were rather jealously guarded, they were quite reasonably enough still accessible on a daily basis rather than, say, wrapped in oilskins, sealed in wax, locked in a brass chest, and buried nine feet under in a place known only by its relevance as a small 'X' mark on a poorly-drawn map of someone's vegetable garden. Wadderly's was little different, save that his offices were built immediately adjacent to two very busy slips and therefore was not near any vegetable gardens, flower gardens, or gardens of any description whatsoever.

Today, the office was mostly closed. The chief shipwright had come down with a mild case of pneumonia, the clerks were quite caught up on their work, and there hadn't been a single new customer appearing on the doorsteps all day. This was not unusual; shipbuilding here was hardly an exact art and most of the requests consisted of, "the same," "the same, but bigger," and "the same, but with less sinking." Both of of the young men were dozing at their desks after a heavy dose of roast pork's hock, thick bread, and mulled beer. The only sounds were their quiet snoring and the crackle of disintegrating coals in the well-fed fireplace.

Behind the locked door, the one that only Master Wadderly had the keys to, there was a soft snapping noise. The other mice scattered, leaving the tiny corpse to twitch in the steel jaws of the trap. Nobody on the other side of the door stirred. Coincidentally, space moved sideways and something happened to the Wadderly Documents.

Everyone knows that knowledge is power, power is energy, energy is mass, and mass warps space; therefore, every collection of documents and every library was a node, a tiny pucker in space. There were some who realized that space, like the extremely well-aged bit of cheese on that mousetrap, was mostly made of empty; those people could travel between these nodes by going sideways in Library Space, or L-Space for short.

There was a ghastly, implied sound much like if someone took a half-mile-long sheet of new parchment and ripped it in half all in one go. A half-dozen mouse ears didn't quite hear it because it didn't quite occur here, in this place. A half-dozen mouse eyes saw a circular distortion in the air, reaching from polished wooden floorboard to rough-painted rafters above, which looked for a moment like endless aisles all filled with books all squashed together into a space that seemed simultaneously too small and yet too large. There was a few seconds of connectedness while someone stepped out and then the opening was gone.

The visitor resembled a human as much as the number of limbs, heads, and shape. Compared to a beginning pottery student's first studies on the human form, she was doing an infinitely better job of the whole business. Pinkish-red hair and bright red eyes suggested that she was perhaps a foreigner, in the broadest sense of the word. The enormous black-and-red wings sprouting from a point near her back certainly cemented the suggestion.

Whatever her eccentricities in form, Izayiri had the sense to dress sensibly. A black knee-dress, a white blouse, black hose and shoes, all splashed with a red necktie and a yellow hair ribbon. The visitor proceeded to spend the next dozen minutes riffling through the documents on the desk, in the desk, and in the cabinets. Her actions resembled a spy more than a burglar; she always made sure to put each sheet back into place exactly as it had laid before. The mice decided to stay in their hole.

The two clerks continued snoring when the bolt on the master's door clicked back and the door silently swung open on well-oiled hinges. Izayiri's small spectacles glittered in the firelight. Her steps found only one squeaky floorboard. She arrived at the front door, unlatched it, and pulled it open to explore the outside world.

Four seconds later, Izayiri pushed the same door shut behind her, safely inside again. Several thoughts struck her at the same time, most of them variations on that is really cold outside. One went, I think those two are waking up, from the cold. Another one went, coat rack! By the time that the first young man had rubbed the nap out of his eyes and looked around, there was no red-headed girl standing inside. All he had was the impression of cold air in the room and the terrifying confusion of seeing the master's locked door quite open.

There is the kind of looks that uncomplicated men and women give when they perceive a person with great big wings going down the street, and then there is the kind of looks that uncomplicated men give when they perceive a pretty face doing the same. Izayiri received the latter, having taken the possibly unwitting precaution of folding her semi-metaphorical feathers around herself and then wrapping the rather-too-large cloak over the top. It was an aged, yellowish thing stained with spots of tar and ink, but it served to keep the biting cold from her practical-in-a-fashion-sense ensemble.

A longshoreman made a remark that she didn't understand in a tone that she only foggily understood and Izayiri turned a tentative shade of pink; the wind was already whipping her face the same shade. She sought the first refuge that she could land eyes on - some kind of ugly little brick building with a rude sign of a red hand - and made all dignified haste for its doors.

The little brass bell over the inn's door tinkled. She stood there in the entry and made an excellent, though unintended, effort to draw attention.

"I am sorry to bother, but I am lost. Where is this place?"

[jerk]

Tornac sat in the inn for a while, grateful for the shelter it offered him. The owner had set a roaring fire in the hearth before he'd got in, and even though it was on the opposite side of the room, it warmed him immensely after the outdoor chill. He removed his coat and scarf and hung them over the back of the chair, before removing a sheaf of paper, a pheasant-feather quill and a bottle of ink from his rucksack.

Chronicle of the Corone War: A Study in Tyranny and Freedom, declared the richly illuminated front page. The lower half was mostly taken up with a rough sketch of Underwood burning, which he hoped to get coloured one day, as a grim reminder of where he had fallen in the war. Tornac flicked to the passage describing the leaders of the Rangers. When he was still in Corone, he'd hoped to get in contact with Letho Ravenheart himself. He'd heard all sorts of rumours about the man when he was among the soldiers - that he could kill with a single glance, that he could command anybody to do anything he wanted with his voice alone, that he had twenty times the strength of a normal man. Unfortunately, that was impossible. Letho seemed to have vanished into thin air, and Tornac had no idea where he could have gone. Shaking his head, he dipped his pen in the ink, and began to write, letting anything and everything he knew flow forth.

And so the last remnants fled from tyranny,
Deep into the forest's heart, and there became the Rangers,
The face of democracy, the face of freedom,
The last line of defence for the values of peace,
But, sadly, not strong enough.

The first was a mighty warrior, stark and humorless,
As solid as the stones of the Ahyark Mountains,
But intelligent and crafty, and an able leader,
Bearer of the banners of truth and freedom,
Hoping they could rise again...

No, that was no good. Tornac had made many an attempt to add to the Chronicle since he was discharged, and none of them had led anywhere. He was beginning to wonder if a mere pen and paper could capture the sheer horror and brutality of the war. Still, one has to try. How else would the other historians write their works? He shrugged, and went back to drinking his beer and making scattered notes in the margins.

He had almost finished his second beer, and was eating a bowl of thick potato soup and a few boiled pork dumplings that the owner had brought him, when the strange woman burst into the room asking where she was. Most of the room flinched back and stared at her hard, as if considering the best moment to strike. This was not surprising, considering the the stained yellow cloak that was far too large for her, or the unnatural red eyes that Salvaran folklore associated with demons, or the odd pinkish-red hair of a colouring Tornac had never seen before. Hell, Tornac suspected that he was doing a bit of gaping himself.

Soon enough, he broke the silence by speaking to the woman. "Tirel. It's a port town on the east coast of Salvar. I'll be happy to tell you more, if you sit down here." He knew he would probably attract some unwanted attention by speaking to her like this, but the woman really did seem like a fish out of water in the small Salvaran port town. Besides, he was looking for some company on his journey - those who wandered off into the steppes of Skavia alone almost never came back alive.

[TheOnlyGhost]

He removed his coat and scarf and hung them over the back of the chair, before removing a sheaf of paper



Lol! A sheaf of paper. :p

Thanks for letting me join btw ^.^



Thayne Monastery is of special importance for its architecture, its mosaics, its wall paintings, and its impressive craftsmanship work. It is not simply a monastery: it is a center of science, magic, and education.

The monastery belongs to the 'golden age' of Althanas, a period of political strength and economic growth between the reigns of King Pyiel Redhira and Queen Thayne. Buildings were added to the monastery throughout the centuries, but there ensued a period of foreign invasion and internal feuds which resulted in much damage being incurred, culminating in the destruction by fire of the Thayne Monastery. Restoration work began shortly after the Thayne Monastery escaped a demon invasion.

Travelers must climb a small mountain near a cliff where a winding stone bridge and stone staircases lead to it's entrance. The monastery itself (on the outside) is also made out of stone, a white stone that used to be rarely found in Althanas, the strongest one known to the land, it is now no longer in existence which makes this monastery the most unique yet. The roof is made from magic infused red colored metal to protect it from future invasion of both good and evil that have the wrong intentions of entering it.

It was here that Alicia (Prolicio Prolixi) now stayed, forever expanding her knowledge of all things Althanas related that she could get her hands on. It's not like she was going anywhere, not to mention travelers haven't visited for at least 250 years. She wanted someone else to return though, for she is looking for some help to get revenge on the beings that did horrible things to her. Perhaps she could help them in return? Only time will tell.



Here is an image of the monastery I found on google and borrowed for our use:

http://static.environmentalgraffiti.com/sites/default/files/images/http-inlinethumb18.webshots.com-45009-2992615950104181437S600x600Q85_0.jpg

[General Quintet]

In the corner of the common area, a group of five was singing in pianissimo with their ties and bow playing that as well

“We could go to the monastery on the hill.” Sara sung in opera key C.

“We could also find that Treasure that we heard about.” Sam rapped.

"I don't think it is wise to go out in this storm." James sang in his gruff country voice.

"I say it is so true, so true, that this weather's not, for me or you, but we must do something tonight." Cain sang with a swing of his cane.

"We could all get together talk about the weather and what we think it's gonna do, we can look at the sky and try to figure out why and state our point of view. But we waist the gift of precious time, the weathers gonna change come snow or shine, and midnight's about to chime. Let's talk to everyone, in this place. Lets talk to everyone, in this play-ace. For we can meet people we haven't before. So I shall tell you guys once more. Lets talk, talk, talk to people, in this play-ah-ace." Tracy sung in his bass voice.

The other's looked at him then joined in. "Lets talk to everyone, in this place. Lets talk to everyonnne in this play-ace."

"For I know we can meet somebody new. Though most of them do, look rude." Tracy sang.

"Well let's talk talk talk to people in this play-ah-ace." Everyone sang

"First the man who invited the girl. He seams nice for this world." Cain sang as he stood up

"So let's go and meet him today-ay-ay." They all sang as they walked towards the man who invited the girl to sit.

Of course they would wait to talk to him until after he was done talking to her. They just walked past to the bartender and sat down in seats waiting for him to be done.

[Izayiri]

Wilting a little under the accusatory glares of patrons disturbed in their drink, revelry, raconteuring, or other entertainment of choice, Izayiri slid as best as she could within the net of passages between tables full of drink, food, and glaring patrons. Her progress was slow and roundabout owing to a peculiarity of her cloak; it didn't hang limply over a feminine form underneath but rather had a distinct bulk to it much like what many artisans hoped to do with wires, wooden struts, small children, and other forms of architecturally-inclined fashion. She had to wind her way through the biggest channels because there was the distinct possibility of brushing against someone who might protest in the same way that cats protested brushes in baths.

A hubbub of unspoken conversation swelled up in the crowd, exchanged through the direction of looks, the pinching of brows, and the twisting of lips. The conversation said: There's something not right about that girl and Foreigner and other bits of possibly-justified xenophobia. Izayiri tried to ignore it, but all she got for her efforts was an itching sort of sensation that crawled around her back much like the feeling during her first molt many years ago. It was similarly unpleasant. She hurried the last few yards, her librarian-trained footfalls resolutely silent in the soundless din of nonverbal conversation behind her.

Tornac received a grateful smile as she settled into the seat next to him. When she pushed her cloak over the back of the seat, rather than sit atop it, he saw that it was apparently lined with the feathers from probably several dozen unkindnesses of ravens. It wasn't unusual to see feather-lined clothing in lieu of fur-lined clothing, but those were inevitably the short, fluffy down feathers rather than the big, stiff flight feathers that he saw beneath hers. It still wasn't polite to stare.

Tirel. Izayiri was itching to go and find just what had been written about place, now that she had the name of it. A few months ago, she would have immediately done so, but time spent among the humans had tempered her immediate reactions somewhat. This wasn't Tenger Jerhal anymore. People didn't react well to seeing others do un-people-like things such as taking a peek into the abyss of the sum of all written knowledge in order to find out more about this wonderful 'chocolate' stuff. So, she resisted the urge and tried to recall what she was supposed to do when meeting a stranger in a bar.

A long-fingered right hand came up out of the cloak and presented itself palm-down in front of Tornac. To Izayiri, it seemed about right that she accompanied this with an introduction, which ran thus:

"I am Izayiri of Tenger Jerhal, Grand Councilor, Former Monitor of the Book Stealing Committee. It is nice to meet you; I am grateful to you for telling me about this place. I had become lost when traveling in Akashima. Please, take good care of me."

There were a lot of things wrong with that introduction, but her red eyes only held honesty, trepidation, and a great pressure to hear more from Tornac. It also had a reflection of Tornac, but that doesn't count.

[jerk]

Tornac may have offered to have the strange woman over at his table to find out what was going on with her, but as she sat down, he began to get suspicious. She didn't take her cloak off like the other patrons had before entering the inn, instead hanging it over the back of her chair while still wearing it. That, in itself, was not cause for suspicion, and nor was the fact that it was lined with feathers. But these were not the right sort of feathers at all - stiff, black feathers like a raven's, rather than soft down. How she had gone around wearing that and not frozen was beyond him. He stared at the feathers with narrowed eyes for what seemed a long time - there was something strange about them, something unfamiliar - before he was snapped out of it by Izayiri laying her hand on the table and introducing herself.

He clasped her hand reluctantly, as if he could get an electric shock by touching her. "Tornac Nehriss, of the Imperial House Nehriss of Corone," he said pompously, deliberately exaggerating his cut-glass Coronian accent and putting the stress in the sentence on his family name. Bye leaning on his aristocratic background, he hoped to give himself some weight. Yes, the wealthy pearl-diving House Nehriss, was the unspoken sentiment behind his sentence.

"Firstly, madam, I have no idea how you could have got lost in Akashima and ended up in Salvar. You're almost as far from Akashima as it's possible to be. Secondly, where is this Tenger Jerhal place? I can assure you, I have studied the lore of Althanas extensively, and I have never heard of it. Thirdly - " he swept his hand through the air over the table irritably, scattering a few pages of the Chronicle as he did so, " - could you take that ridiculous cloak off? It's only making you stand out more here." All this made no sense. Tornac was beginning to suspect that Izayiri was a supernatural creature of some sort. He'd had few dealings with those, aside from those insufferably superior elf houses who worked the Tylmerande pearl-diving business alongside his father. The last thing he wanted was to get mixed up with some unfamiliar creature in this remote place. Perhaps it will lead to a heroic tale of my own. After all, is not a chance encounter with an unfamiliar person how all the tales start?

[Izayiri]

"Oh! Certainly!" Izayiri turned her cold-pinked face downwards to attend to the serious business of unfastening the few wooden buttons that clasped the cloak around her. The stubborn things gave away reluctantly under her fingers and the garment slid off under its own weight to form a semicircular clump on the floor around her seat. Several theories about the idiocy of lining a cloak were proven incorrect in that moment.

The feathers hadn't come off.

For a long moment, Tornac was looking at the same woman now wearing a cloak - no, a shawl - of exquisite worksmanship. Neatly lined in rows upon rows were feathers whose size rivalled those of great eagles but which were a shimmering pitch black in the fashion of ravens. The spacing and the layering of these were so well-made that he couldn't see any sign of the threads, stitches, or glue that bound them to their backing. They looked, for all purposes, like two truly massive wings hugging the woman from behind. It was an example of showpiece fashion, though the designer could afford to be more creative with colors.

Then the shawl twitched and the moment was broken.

In the span of a few seconds, the entire assembly unwrapped itself from around Izayiri and folded itself neatly into two long bundles on her back. The elbows were higher than her head and the tips ended not so far from the floor; the whole unfolded thing was probably ten feet per wing. Other oddities abounded. They were clearly sprouting from her back and yet there were no holes in her blouse or dress. They had clearly dropped a feather or two in the process and yet there neither evidence on the ground nor a gap on the wings. They seemed, if the light hit just right, to have the faint traces of crimson-colored writing on each feather.

Izayiri was looking hesitantly expectant at Tornac, seeking the smallest signs of disgust or fear. Her hand was still under his, laying as still as a rabbit unsure if thing that just showed up was going to be all hugs or all teeth. The itching feeling of stares on her back intensified.

"It is uncomfortable to keep things confined." She said quietly, "Tenger Jerhal is not in any writings of Althanas. It is... elsewhere. I can show you some drawings of it, if it would please you."

As to the question of getting lost in Akashima and arriving in Salvar, she gave no answer. It is difficult to describe the connectedness of libraries to those who had not seen the passages and most are not quite ready for it.

[hoytti]

"It's freezing up here," Sorish commented to Roxi slowly. It's been four years since the day they had first come up onto land. Thy had decided to see how far north the people here live. He no longer calls them "King's of Above" since he found out a year ago that they are just like him just more advanced. Now he was in Tirel and he was starting to freeze. he would soon fall asleep.

"We are both cold blooded so this is especially harsh," she replied sluggishly. "Most of these creatures are lucky to produce their own heat."

"We have to get inside before we fall asleep," he said moving towards the nearest inn.

As soon as he reached the door he opened it and ducked inside, The door was not made for a 16' person. He was greeted by stares that most people would cower from. The ceiling was made to the height of 20' so that no one would even come close to the ceiling. The innkeeper was surprised to see the man made out of coral. He had heard the stories from many travelers but he never actually believed them.

"Sorish," Roxi said surprised and nervous, "There is another fairy here. We have run into many of them. The first one was nice but most of the other's have been mean. we should try to avoid her at all costs."

"I agree but most of the other tables are taken maybe we should go to that bar over there and sit down." Sorish replied then moved over to the bar before she could answer. He sat down next to the siblings who were there talking to the bartender and ordered hot chocolate due to the name being hot. He knew coffee was hot but he really didn't like the taste of it. As soon as the bartender put it in front of him he took a sip and it ran down his throat warming both him and Roxi making their bodies speed up. "That is much better" he said after finishing the drink. He then ordered what he normally would, a glass of their best wine.

[Moonberrycat]

Iris shivered and walked along the path, she was moving only to keep warm at the time. She just visited the orphanage nearby, to bring some food they desperatly needed, the poor children had enough troubles already, they didn't need to be worried about food! She was looking for a warm place to stay, just long enough to thaw out. Before she knew it, she was to tired to countinue her search, she crouched against a wall, it was a nice warm building at that, inside, she could faintly hear sounds of laughter and talking. One of the voices was almost familier. Wait a sec....is that who I THINK it is....? She then sneezed and rubbed her nose. Nah, it can't be....

[jerk]

((Wow, this thread just attracts people or something, heh))

Tornac had to admit, the cloak of shimmering black feathers that Izayiri was wearing was really quite handsome. That had to have cost a pretty penny somewhere. But he was truly unprepared for her unfolding her massive twenty-foot wings - solid black, with traces of faint crimson writing on them. He gaped at her unashamedly, eyes popping out of his sockets. He suspected he looked like an utter fool, but he didn't care. Everyone else in the inn was looking at Izayiri with entirely the same expression. A fairy. Good gods, a fairy in Tirel. They're dangerous creatures, all the tales say so. What should I do?

"Well," he said, quite inarticulately. He truly had no idea what else he could say. The Lay of Sir Ardem Nehriss? No. No, this is the beginning to the Lay of Tornac Nehriss, Accidental Freak Magnet. "That certainly, uh... that would seem to make sense..."

He was interrupted at that moment by the entry of... well, a man was probably entirely the wrong word. He was a giant of a being, at least ten feet tall, and appeared to be made entirely out of blue and green coral, with a huge crown of it growing out of the top of his head. His eyes were round, reflective, and sickly pink, and he appeared to have bluish veins popping out in his neck. At least most of him was covered up by a white robe. He was sitting at the bar, casual as anything, drinking a glass of wine. Turning his head away from the creature, he caught another strange sight - five people who appeared human, but were all dressed identically in black suits (except for one woman in a black dress), staring at him and Izayiri intently.

"Gods. Does this inn just attract freaks or something? I swear, I live in the centre of the universe, with absolutely nothing unusual happening to me in all my life, and then I go up to the back of beyond and I get swarmed with... things from beyond the veil!" Tornac took a swig of his beer, hoping to numb the shock of it. His manuscript lay on the table, quite forgotten.

"Well, I suppose I might as well say what I am doing here. I was hoping to go up to the Thayne monastery, just outside the western wall on the mountain. Perhaps the lot of you might find sanctuary there, because you certainly won't get it here. They're not too accepting of... your kind in a place like this."

[hoytti]

Sorish turned to the man and thought, Great, I have to return to the cold again. he then turned back to the bartender then looked over at the menu then noticed a strange word next to the coffee and the hot chocolate. "What is this thermos that is on the menu?"

"It keeps the drinks hot when you are out in the cold," The bartender replied.

"Perfect, I would like 2 thermoses of hot chocolate please," Sorish said. As soon as he got it he stood up and walked over to the man who spoke. "Lead the way please."

[General Quintet]

"We guessed it as soon as we entered this place, that no one here was friendly." Tracy sang then motioned to the others to stand.
"Please(Tracy)...Please(Cain)...Please(James)...Ple ase(Sam)...Please(Sara)... lead the way." they sang together.

[Izayiri]

Some people are impossible to read because they carefully kept their thoughts from reaching their face. Others are impossible to read because their face was entirely saturated with a single thought and all the smaller, more important ones struggled to survive with that cuckoo. Tornac spent such a long time staring that Izayiri actually reddened, withdrew her hand, and fidgeted with the hem of her skirt while thinking of something to do.

"I'm... I'm sorry." The apology came out of nowhere and for not apparent reason. She raised a hand, half-lidded her eyes, and plucked at the air. The atmosphere filled suddenly with the same oppressive feeling that one perceives when wandering between the towering shelves of great libraries. A mixture of the smells of paper, ink, leather, wood, glue, and candles permeated the room suddenly much like a surprise punch to the nose. Tornac could even convince himself that his ears momentarily heard the sounds of the inn echoing as if coming through a great deal of distance, of stone floors.

That instant in time passed and the sensations began to dissipate like a dream in the morning, losing details with every second. What was not dissipating was the inch-thick book now sitting in Izayiri's hand. The thing was as long as Tornac's forearm and bound in some kind of reddish-brown leather, but the implied legerdemain wasn't the interesting part. The interesting part was the gold-letter title embossed onto the cover and the spine. The title was: Tornac Nehriss

The fairy gave an unsure smile in his direction and set the book down on the bar with a very real-sounding thump. She flipped right to the last page and started to read aloud softly.

"Tornac had to admit, the cloak of shimmering black feathers that Izayiri was wearing was really quite handsome."

A small sound of delight escaped Izayrir and she threw a much happier smile his way before continuing.

"That had to ... But he was truly unprepared for her unfolding her massive twenty-foot wings - solid black, with ... He gaped at her unashamedly, eyes popping out of his sockets. He suspected he looked like an utter fool, but he didn't care... A fairy. Good gods, a fairy in Tirel. They're dangerous creatures, all the tales say so. What should I do? ... to the Lay of Tornac Nehriss, Accidental Freak Magnet."

She stopped and turned towards Tornac, locking her red eyes with his grey, "Is that what you think of me? A freak?" There wasn't anything accusatory in the tone, just the sound of someone looking for reassurance. Reassurance of what wasn't entirely clear.

On the current last page of the Biography of Tornac Nehriss, Izayiri's last question wrote itself onto the page.

[Moonberrycat]

Iris's eyes were shutting, she knew she couldn't hold out much longer, even against the warmth of the building. Just as her eyes were about to close, and about to fade into darkness, she saw someone familer leave the building. Is that....? Yes, yes it is! Oh please don't recognise me, oh please, please don't! She begged to herself, oh no, not that he wasn't nice, it's just the fact she didn't want to be actully recogonised in this situation.

Her eyes shut, taking deep breaths to keep herself awake, even if it is for now

Her eye starting to sting, and she felt tears coming. Oh gosh, not now. Of all times, NOW?!?! She brushed some hair out of her face as she glanced around. She only wished she found a place to stay, before THIS happened.

[jerk]

The smell of ink, old paper and leather permeated the room so suddenly that Tornac barely had time to react to the beautiful harmony that the voices of the five suited people made, or to the fact that they seemed quite unable to talk normally. And why was Izayiri apologising? She had nothing to apologise for. But the question caught him off guard, as it appeared to have come out of nowhere.

"Hm. Perhaps 'freaks' is too strong a word..." He caught himself short as he realised just what he was reacting to. It was strange enough that Izayiri appeared to have conjured a book out of thin air, but stranger still was its title: Tornac Nehriss.

He snatched the book out of her hand and began to leaf through it frantically. There it was - his whole life, committed to ink and paper. Everything seemed to be there, from his sheltered childhood on an estate in Serenti listening to the tales of Sir Ardem Nehriss, to the incident at the burning of Underwood when he took a spear in the leg. He flipped to the last page. The level of detail was certainly impressive, considering that even as he read, an invisible hand seemed to be writing, "He snatched the book out of her hand and began to leaf through it frantically..."

"I think," he said softly, "we should start heading for the monastery." He closed the book and gave it back to her, and started putting his coat and scarf back on and packing his manuscript away. He took his time walking out the door of the inn and letting Izayiri, Sorish and the General Quintet follow him, still trying to digest what he had just seen.

"Well. As I was saying, freaks is perhaps too strong a word," he continued when he was outside. "I've had a rather sheltered upbringing among the nobility of Corone, you see. Magic still seems like something out of a storybook to me." Wait a minute... storybook... now there's an idea!

"Hold on a minute," he said to Izayiri. "Perhaps you could do me a favour? You see, I was heading for the monastery to look for information on Ardem Nehriss. He was supposed to have died on the steppes of Skavia, but nobody can seem to agree where. I was hoping Tirel might make a good starting point for my search..." He snapped his fingers. "But perhaps I won't need that after all. Izayiri, could you conjure up one of those books, but this time on Ardem Nehriss? And one on each of us, just so we all know none of us have malicious intentions."

Tornac left the motley group of companions after that, hoping that the fresh winter air would clear his head. But of course it was never that easy. Just round the side of the inn, he saw a fit-looking girl with masses of strawberry-blonde hair and bright blue eyes, leaning against a building and crying. Mundane, compared to the things that've just appeared in the bar. Still, best be tactful. Putting on what he thought was a tender expression, he knelt down on the frost-covered street next to her. "Are you alright? What's wrong with you?"

[Moonberrycat]

She nearly jumped when she heard the voice. She looked and saw a man, she had her bad expirances, and thought it was best to be careful. "Yeah umm, i'm fine." She said, trying to seem calmer then what she really was. More or less, she actully wasn't crying, it was the bitter cold stinging her eyes, making them water up and leak, but still, it's not like he would know the differance. She blinked and thought of something else to say, to make it seem less awkward.

[TheOnlyGhost]

Frantically going through what seemed to be thousands of books in the Thyane Monastery finding answers on the secrets of Londo Ruins, Alicia came across several unusual ones. The ones of interest were made out of flawless diamonds, gold, silver ... all the precious metals and jewels you could possibly imagine all in one book, the others were similar. The things strange about them is that they simply had ancient numbering of the Romans as their title, nothing more ... not even an author. "I, II, III, IV, V, and VI? That's it?" She continued looking at them in wonder and then started to open the "I" book when she noticed what lay behind it's beauty.

Inside the first page was a swirling picture, almost like a vortex of what seemed to be another land. At the bottom of the page it read "Linking book I." She temporarily put it down to the side as she looked at the others. They were of the same thing, yet different swirling pictures and vortexes "Linking book II, III, IV, V, and VI?" She set those down and picked "I" up again careful not to touch the swirling picture in case something happened.

She read several pages of the book as it described another world in great detail, a very peculiar book. It was so descriptive of the world, for every sentence described the next, it was a true masterpiece and she could tell it took ages to write, especially with nothing but an ink pen. She skipped to the end of each book as they finally gave away the name of the world it described.

"Skavia (Book I)? Corone (Book II)? Salvar (Book III)? Undying lands (Book IV)? Pirates Cove (Book V)? Althanas Treasure Cave (Book VI)? None of these will do me any good with what I am looking for."

She threw them on the floor in disgust as she continued looking for the information she craved. "I doubt it is here, but it has to be SOMEWHERE!"

[jerk]

((Leaving for a week and won't have Internet access in all likelihood. Tornac will be NPC'd during that time))

[hoytti]

Sorish had been talking to the Quintet when he heard the voice, he knew it from somewhere. "Iris?" He asked surprised then ran over to her. She was in her attire from Fallen. The only difference was she wore a sack that really didn't help to keep her warm. "Iris, what are you doing here? Salvar is far away from Fallen. Your freezing, please drink some of this. " He said handing her a thermos of hot chocolate. Taking a sip of the other to keep his movements from slowing down and to show that it was okay to drink.

[Moonberrycat]

Oh crap... "Oh, um, thanks Sorish." She mumbled, taking the thermos. She took a sip, then smiled. It was hot chocolate, and it certaintly did the trick. She then went to answer his questions. "Ok, so i'm here because....scratch that question, i'm not answering it, but for the record, I just took some food over to the nearby orphanage." She took a deep breath. "Yes, I also know that Salvar is far away from Fallen." She forced herself not to add anything snide after that, she didn't want to seem mean, she was just a bit ticked by the concern being shown.

[hoytti]

Sorish could sense that Iris was angry so decided to change the subject. "Everyone here is headed to the Thayne Monastery," he said. "Do you want to join us?"

[Moonberrycat]

Iris smiled, glad the subject was changed. "Sure, why not? I've got nothing else to lose." She got up and streched.

[Ashla]

Wow. Salvar was sure cold! Ashla shivered, holding her cat Fireleaf tighter than usual. She shivered, she had never been in a place this cold before! She looked ahead to see an inn, "Thank goodness!" She ran towards the inn, and went to the door. She had barely any money, but maybe she would be lucky to stay here without paying- but that was of course, very unlikely. She cautiously opened the door. She looked into the inn and saw someone she recognized immediately, "Iris?! Is that you?"

[Moonberrycat]

"Ashla?!? Your here as well?!?" She exclaimed. She was seriously starting to think that she'd be meeting up with everyone again. "We were just heading to the Thayne Monastery, maybe you want to come with us?" She grinned, she knew Ashla would be confused by the 'we' so she thought she'd better explain. "If you don't remember Sorish, Ashla, i'm going to konk you on the head" she teased, hoping the name brought some familiarity.

[Ashla]

Ashla laughed at Iris's joke, of course she remembered the coral person standing in front of them! Ashla's laughing made Iris laugh as well. They knew each other as trustworthy friends. When their laughing finished, they smiled at each other, "What are you doing here, Iris?" Ashla asked.

[Moonberrycat]

Iris sobered up when she asked the question. "Well, I was just at an orphanage, I took some food over, what are you doing here, and hows Fireleaf?" She smiled, it was great meeting up with Ashla again.

[hoytti]

"I hate to brake up the chit-chat but I think we need to head to the Monastery as soon as possible. I'm cold blooded after all." Sorish said lazily. He slowly opened his thermos again took another drink. It warmed him intently making it possible for him to move again.

[Izayiri]

Quite some distance ahead, Izayiri walking by Tornac's side in a deeply possessive mood. There hadn't been anything remotely discernable as affection when she first dragged him away from the quasirandom, shivering person outside of the public house. He hadn't wanted to go until she pointed out that, apparently, everyone else in the list of 'freaks' were already acquainted with the person in question and there was unlikely to be another meaningless death of exposure today. It was good that she had pointed this out, too, because Tornac was rather strong and resistant to hem-tugging and arm-tugging.

The fairy's cloaks were back on again, both the black, feathery one and the big, yellow one. She kept up an energetic pace for trying to lose the preoccupied gaggle of tag-alongs and the more practical reasons of generating warmth. When Tornac quickened his pace to match hers, Izayiri allowed a small, mental nod of approval and finally inflicting silence on the poor scholar.

"No."

"No?" Tornac was quite puzzled, having lost context.

"I am not going to do magic for you. I am not an entertainer."

"It's not entertainment! It's very important. Ardem Nehriss was-" Tornac cut himself off. He had spotted a glint of mischevious light in the other's eyes, a core of laughter underneath that impassive expression. He remembered several warnings that he had heard regarding interactions with supernatural beings and, with some effort, overrode them with the desire to know more about Ardem. "- what do you want?"

"Nothing."

That wasn't how it went in the warnings. It was always that the fairy would ask for something innoculous and then that something innoculous would prove to be the downfall of the foolish person who struck the deal. Tornac thought on this as his boots crunched through the light snow. In the distance, the faintest blot of unnatural stone appeared. The Monastery was in sight.

"Tornac, I am going to see what kind of scholar you are. Maybe I'll decide to help you. But it is not magic. Is it magic for you to read?"

"That's not magic, that's just knowing things. You conjure up books that nobody wrote!"

"Everybody writes their own book on those shelves. That was a bad example. Hmm..." Izayiri tapped a finger on her chin, then tried again, "Is it magic for you to walk?"

"What kind of- everybody can walk."

"Fish don't."

There was a pause as Tornac processed this insane line of thinking. It became a little less insane once he thought about it and hazily saw the shape of what his companion was getting at.

"So... it's not magic for you to conjure books, because you can do that. It just looks like magic to me, because I can't do it?"

"Right! It's not conjure, either. I just take it from the shelf."

"... what shelf?"

"The shelf that it is on. It's everywhere."

"I still say that it's magic." The monastery's doors loomed up, driftsnow piled against the bottom.

[hoytti]

Sorish stopped as soon as he saw the monastery. It was huge as well as beautiful. The stones were cut so that they fit snugly together without any kind of adhesive. The gate was enormous and had many carvings on it. What amazed Sorish the most was the fact that it was built on top of a cliff and sat there snugly as if it was apart of it. Sorish couldn't stop gawking at the beauty of it all. In the forest behind them some people started to sing.

[General Quintet]

Tracy turned around upon hearing the singing, it sounded like four men and six women. They were all singing the same song.

I have finally found you,
my great love.
I have finally found you,
thank the one above.

Your hair is beautiful,
all can see.
Your hair is beautiful,
and it's all for me.

I have finally found you,
my great love.
I have finally found you,
thank the one above.

Your eyes are so lovely
looking on me.
Your eyes are so lovely.
trust in me.

I have finally found you,
my great love.
I have finally found you,
thank the one above.

With lips so soft,
come to me.
with lips so soft,
kiss me.

I have finally found you,
my great love.
I have finally found you,
thank the one above.

As they sang their spell started to be cast on everyone. The men who where in a dashing suit, almost like a prince, walked up to the ladies as they sang while the women, who were in a princess gown, walked up to the men. They wrapped their arms around their victim as they sang putting them into the Trance of Love. They kept repeating the Song as they lead the quintet into the forest.

[hoytti]

Roxi knew instantly what was going on. They were Sirens. She knew that Sorish was in danger but didn't want to leave the others on their own ether. She decided that she would wait patiently for the right time to strike. She settled into his neck as he was led away.

[Ashla]

The ladies sang the love song with such talent. Ashla instantly liked it- except for the mushy stuff... "Nice song..." Ashla stated, "but I don't like "love" music that much..." But Fireleaf seemed to like it, for he started to go up to them, "Stupid cat... Fireleaf, get back here!" And she chased the silly feline around.

[Moonberrycat]

Iris giggled into her hands as Ashla chased Fireleaf. "Yes, lovely singing, but...I don't do mushy music either." She did a mock-gagging face directed towards Ashla. She picked up Deer to make sure he didn't start going after the singing ladies. "I'm sorry Deer, but I don't feel like chasing after you, though....it seems like everyone else likes this stuff...." She watched as the others followed the singers. Should I follow, shouldn't I...so many choices, so little time.

[Izayiri]

Izayiri had no idea what was going on. Fairies, as a rule, did not understand the concept of love. Oh, certainly, some of them have heard stories about it and there were even occasional plays in the theaters about it, but they were just that: stories and plays. The most that a fairy did was decide that they suddenly fancied another and then go to moderate lengths to carry through on the relationship. On some occasions, the feeling was even mutual.

Fortunately (or perhaps unfortunately) for the sirens, words do not make the spell. Perhaps there was a distinct lack of smitten written across Izayiri's face and altogether too much bemusement, but she did let herself get carried away by a member of the ensemble. It probably wasn't the intended member, seeing that she put a vicious stamp into the man's foot and subsequently intercepted the gown-wrapped hook that was trying for her walking-companion's arm. There was a very good reason for this.

Tenger Jerhal was where all the little aspects of Mother Nature went to incarnate as fairies. As such, the population was overwhelmingly female, if the word 'overwhelmingly' could be made to say the equivalent of 'I have some suspicions that there is an exception, somewhere, but I haven't seen it yet.' This led to some strange practices, including one that inspired a song that is similar to but entirely unlike the Trance of Love.

Raven-haired Iphaena was mucking out the Tsu one day
when he heard a great shriek from the nearby stall.
Said he to poor Irno, who was hugging her loins,
"Ah, the hedgehog, dear girl, can't be buggered at all."

Roll them all over and turn them around,
The hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

The sheep is a classic, as well you may find,
the llama's all right if she isn't too tall,
the donkey's a danger for standing behind,
but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

Roll them all over and turn them around,
The hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

You may pounce on the cat as she walks by her lone,
the mole has a hole into which you can crawl,
The platypus lurks in the muck of her pool
but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

Roll them all over and turn them around,
The hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

As a friend to the wee ones, commend me the Yak;
she's perfect to start them on when they are small,
for they cannot slip off of her very broad back,
but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

Roll them all over and turn them around,
The hedgehog can never be buggered at all.

To futter the bat you must take to the air.
She'll flutter her wings and go into a stall
and pitch you off into God-only-knows-where,
but the hedgehog can never be buggered at all.


And so on, with record performances lasting well over a week and going through a sizeable fraction of the animal, plant, and mineral kingdoms. Of course, the Trance of Buggery was not known to be part of any creature's predatory habits, even when one counts fairies as creatures.

So Izayiri walked off with one of the alleged princesses, leaving Tornac to spend a few awkward moments with the spurned prince.

[Ashla]

Ashla sighed; she was getting tired of chasing Fireleaf! The music started playing into her ears again; the young girl found that she was unusually attracted to it. She looked over to them, it was so memorizing…

Forget the freaking love song, Ashla! A part of her told herself, but she couldn’t resist. She walked towards them.

[Moonberrycat]

Iris saw her friend walking over to them. The song then hit her ears and she saw a young handsome boy moving her way towards her. Her legs felt like they were stuck, yet somehow she was moving towards him. She felt his one arm go around her, usually she'd be smacking any stupid dude by now, but she was enchanted by his smile and amazing voice. He then took her hand (with his other arm) and started leading her away. She tried to break her thoughts away, but all in the end, it was in vain to try, the spell was to deep, it was nearly impossible to break away.

[BlackGhostofSeaside]

Lonely, hurt, lost. That was what the young boy was. Julius sighed as we walked across the pure white snow that only reminded him about how impure he was. His collie was up ahead sniffing out something; it was then that he heard it.

Music.

Beautiful music! The song that was playing into his ears drew him into a lulling trance, he couldn’t resist! He walked towards them. He was being led into the woods, where these wonderful women were. He didn’t know anything about them except that their song was the most beautiful thing he had heard or seen in a long while, he was drawn into it, they lured him into the forest...

[Ashla]

OUT OF CHARACTER: Could somebody please help continue this thread? Thank you :)

That song drew her in, the wonderful women drawing them into the forest Where do they go? Ashla didn't know, all she wanted now was to hear even more! The young girl saw them going away, and she ran after them, "Wait! Let me hear more! I love that song! Please?"

She didn't know that this was a trick.

While she ran on after them, she bumped into a boy about her age, "I'm sorry! I just have to hear their song..." And she continued on... to what could be her very fate...