Fantasy RPG Forum - Standing Trials

Fortify your mind. The mortalborn thought to himself. He knew something of Yvithia’s capabilities, having dealt with at least one of her marked, and lived in the city for a time. He used his penchant for saying one thing and meaning another to apply them to his thoughts. Perhaps it would work. If so, Yvithia wouldn’t have any of his actual meaning in thought or intention. Although she was the Immortal of Communication and Intelligence, she was not omniscient. The man walked down the gangplank, as he beheld the fortress for once in the summer daylight, which shone brightly and glistened in icy rivulets down the stone edifice of the city, carved into a mountainside.

Whatever happened to you, Llewellyn? Was it Yvithia? Some chance slip in Emea, and losing your tether? The cowled figure mused to himself, remembering the other mortalborn that had drawn him here once upon a time. There were other acquaintances that had crossed his path that belonged to this city. Sybil Malach, and then the Augustins, who were now either dead or missing. It was well known enough that Padraig had been the Champion of Yvithia. While Woe didn’t imagine he condoned what Yvithia had facilitated on Scalvoris, was he not sharing some of that blame by dint of giving Yvithia comfort?

Questions best not dwelt on, lest his cloak of lies melt while the freezing winds billowed across his face. He wore the totem of Bill, as a man named Swill, blended with Anima's features. That was part of his disguise, so that he would not be recognized. Not that physical appearance was ever simply enough. Wrinkles and crows feet marked his eyes, making him appear more aged than usual. As for his clothing, he wore the simple garb of a traveler who was not accustomed to leisurely life.

He declined to pay a carriage to take him to the city, but shivered as his back bent to conserve the warmth in his core. This was all for appearances, as the mortalborn was more or less immune to cold weather. Thus the disguised son of Sintra walked down the way, unaided by any conveyance.

Eventually he came to the one gate that led into Viden. He was questioned, and gave answers that suited his self-appointed task, his mission. He was a simple brewer and trader out of Winter’s Reach, looking to make business ties with the Merchant Guild in Viden. No he did not possess any magic that he was aware of, unless one counted the ability to whip up a mean lemon hot toddy.

So having assured the guards, given his answers and established his lies, he ventured into the city itself, following the stone courtyard’s walk to the entrance of the lower prisms.

The immaculate corridors and passages of Viden Fortress were so sterile. There was perhaps truth to what Bill had said to the wolf. That a place so clean could only stay that way by flushing the filth down river. He was paraphrasing in his mind, but Swill thought it profoundly true. Viden dealt with its 'problems' in a brutal and efficient way, owing to that their agents' purported ability to read minds. Whether this was bravado meant to cow people into mental silence and caution in everyday life, or if it was a part of the mark she gave her chosen agents, one must needs be careful regardless.

Not that many of them were a match for Swill's fortified thoughts, controlled and kept close to his chest as he wandered to the Prism occupied by the workmen of the city. He didn't want to deal with the Mariners Union itself, not the officials or their sycophantic attaches to the authorities. But the people who worked the docks, the ships, the warehouses. People who handled the merchandise, so to speak.

As he travelled incognito, Woe wondered what his patron thought of his penchant for ofuscation, his deceptive manner and inability to be honestly himself with almost anyone. While he'd had his considerable lapses in the past, the more Woe lived, the more the deception came naturally to him. The more opaque his reflection. Every arc tarnished the looking glass a little more, until he couldn't recognize the person looking back at him. Whether literally or figuratively.

Chamadarst held himself to the highest standard of clarity, like pure, unadulterated glass. Yet, glass could be opaque as onyx, and commerce occurred on every strata of the underworld as much as it did in the light of day. So did his patron hate liars and thieves as well? Woe thought the truth more complex than that. Being one thing, Chamadarst probably didn't give a care if any of his followers happened to be what they chose. He was neutrality. People were what they were, and he'd chosen Woe for a reason. Perhaps Woe was his filth, sent downriver with his mistakes, refuse, and castoff followers. Chamadarst at his core didn't care, and people could take care of themselves through commerce, and if they minded their own business, so much the better.

This of course was not Swill's first experience of Viden. Woe had been there before, and was known to the authorities. He'd been implicated in a particularly vigorous sparring session in the fitness club of the Academy. Probably still looked for, even beyond Viden's borders. Perhaps it was paranoia on Swill''s part, but he thought he noticed eyes on him across every corner. As if Yvithia's agents were trying to get a bead on the new man in their fortress. He almost expected them to and assumed as much.

And yet, Swill defied the urge to act suspicious by looking over his shoulder constantly. Such overcaution would only compromise his cover. He instead did the most likely thing for a travel-weary haggard adventurer would do upon entering civilization. He headed right for the first hospitality establishment he could think of. A place he'd been before, although his purpose was born out of curiosity more than seeking the familiar. The North Star, in the Amber Prism was one of the larger facilities for accomodation in the city. People staying there spared little expense, unless availing themselves of the very lowest and least private rooms. But no, Swill had some nel to throw around, and that lent him more credibility than he'd enjoy otherwise. He went up to one of the finer windowed suites in the Star.

This place had belonged to Llyr, although who knew who ran it now. Probably one of the mage's alter-egos, if Swill was being cynical, or just realistic in view of his knowledge of the uncannily hard to find mage.

After finding his room, availing himself of a hot bath and clean clothes, he set out to the barber services within the hotel. There, he got his face shaved of Bill's old whiskers that had born out through the totem. Idly, he wondered if every time he transformed he'd have to shave. Well, no matter. He had a letter to write.

He wanted to get in touch with Doran, as one of Llyr's former contacts and lovers. He would be seeking to read up on and connect with all of the associates of Llyr, all known ones anyway. Coming here was a manner of finding out about the ones he wasn't aware of. If he could find just one, that would prove a treasure trove of potential intelligence on Llywelyn. And perhaps he'd find out if he had any connection to what was going on in Emea, with the disappearance of Dolizar's daughter, and the sudden appearance of a young girl in his dreams.

He penned the letter, using a simple crytographic cipher, replacing each letter with one letter to one cipher each. It was a simple and easy cryptograph to break. Anyone could given enough time. It was mainly intended to dissuade the casual snoop. Thus having penned the letter, he brought it to the front desk.

He smiled at Thelma Anmorar, and showed her the letter face, which was sealed with wax. "I need this sent. Do you have any good couriers available?"

Thelma nodded, and smiled back at Swill. Then she flipped through a ledger, which he followed with his own eyes, taking note of the names written down there, trying to discern any oddness about any of them. One name stood out as he observed the pages flipping by. One name stood out among the others, as prominently featured in many such entries. G G GG? He didn't know what it was about that name, whether it felt familiar, or if it was just an oddity to have initials. Seemed to imply she was familiar to those working there, and they were inclined to anonymize her. It signalled that she might be important, or at least a privilieged courier. This was all guesswork, of course, but a gut feeling told him that GG was important somehow. The name drew attention to itself.

Thelma thumbed through the ledger, licking her finger every so often to turn a page. Then she laid her finger down on an empty schedule point "Yes, I have a courier. I will give this over to them. Who may I ask is it going to?"

Swill nodded, and smiled, "Professor Thetys, if he's in the city."

She looked oddly at him for a moment, and he could, read the suspicion on her face. Or perhaps it was a hint of hope, of wondering about the man in front of her. Did she think he could be Llyr? He somehow doubted he could put on airs as well as the archmage.

In the end, she took the letter, and so Swill was free to roam about the city, looking much cleaner than he had before. He needed to know who this GG was, and if she was assigned to deliver his letter, he would shadow them.