You find yourselves lying on a small mattress, stiff and uncomfortable. The walls are covered in flickering half formed runes covered in a thick layer of dust. The floor and ceiling are perfectly smooth and just as dust covered, moving at all will stir the dust up into a choking cloud for a moment. The air is dry, smells of dust and little else, but there is the tang of residual magic in the air . You are each wearing a plain grey tunic roughly long enough to reach your knees.
A voice continues to talk to you, seemingly from all directions. It is female, and speaking in a language you do not know, but for some reason understand. "i repeat, Greetings Ascender. Please make your way out of the recovery rooms to the large white marble platform opposite your rooms, I will address you all there."
Charlie blinked her eyes... then blinked them again, wincing slightly. Everything had been so... white. And worse was the recurring dream she'd had. Gods, she had a headache. And everything was fuzzy. She reached up to her face and ran her finger along the bridge of her nose. No glasses, of course not. She was asleep.
She patted the ground to either side of the mattress, looking for the spectacles, but only creating a thick cloud of dust, which gave her a coughing fit. Once the coughing was over came a rather significant high-pitched sneeze, then a sigh, as she climbed stiffly off of the bed. She started muttering beneath her breath as she rose.
She moved across the room towards the open door, everything slightly out of focus. She spoke more as she stumbled towards the pillar, stumbling slightly, as her leg was numb from the position she'd been in.
As she entered into the main room, her dark skin and dark hair stood in contrast to the tunic, while the tattoo on her eye matched it perfectly. She was quite short, and little more than a slip. Her hair was cropped short, and her hands were calloused, if well-maintained.
Alynthar looks around carefully. Could this be some trick of Fastar's? Alynthar shakes his head. He knew that Fastar had sent a Lightning Bolt in his direction, not a Plane Shift or similar spell. He stands up and examines himself. Upon finding his gear missing, he immediately concentrates on his spells, and is relieved to find them still in his mind. Frowning at his state of attire, he casts Prestidigitation to turn his tunic into a plain, but comfortable, black robe with a deep hood, then again to produce a pair of gloves, some plain leather shoes, and a blood-red eyepatch, which he puts over his mutilated right eye.
Now properly dressed, he makes his way through the door to see what awaits him.
|
Lying rigid on his back, as if on an operating table, Charles sense hone as if waking from a dream. His eyes pop open and instantly upon seeing unfamiliar surroundings, he flips his feet over his head and rolls backward. Ending in a crouching defensive position, fists clenched and ready to strike, he assesses the room while the thick dust settles. "Who are you? Where am I?"
Concluding there is no immediate threat, he stands. Seeing the others in the room walk through the door, he cautiously follows. Checking behind him every few steps, as if expecting an ambush at any time, he passes into the next room.
Conall gazed around the room in disbelief. It couldn't be...
He hiked his tunic up to reach for his stomach, and gave a start when his hand came across a barely healed gash in his gut. It had been no dream. And so he really was...
"Are you The First?". He began walking towards the nearest doorway, as the questions kept coming. "What happened to the Legacy? Where will my soul go? Are my ancestors here?"
A voice, different from the first responded, but it was strange. The woman had surrounded her with her words. This one was somehow closer, but faint, as though whispering with the barest breath into his ear.
"I hear you, my forefather!"
-
-
Tanque closed his eyes as the malevolent creature's maw closed in, not wishing to see any more....
And then...nothing.
For a long time? A short time? He did not know. He woke here in this place, with... the voice calling him.
Ascender?
So he had been chosen by the Darrein to be a Returner. And this was their sky-fortress?
He checked his body. He wore nothing except the strange raiment made of some unknown material and fashioned by some arcane method.
No choice I guess.
He called out:
"Syethsya kantal pikaya? Nahv to Darrein doorun?"
But there was no reply. He proceeded as the voice instructed.
As the group approached a form flickered into view, A gold translucent humanoid with a feminine face and voice. "There we go, much better. You have each been stolen away right as you were supposed to die. Your destinies were over, but your potential remains, I have need of it."
She turns and a globe appears beside her, with land masses more opaque then the oceans. All along the globe bright dots appeared.
"Each of you can still become stronger, greater, more powerful, you can rise in significance, thus you are called Ascenders on my world."
The dots on the map constantly winked out and reappeared, sometimes whole groups vanished and then appeared again scatter across the globe. "Ascenders are vessels of mana, what you dreamed is a short history of my home world. My creator found a way to tap into the worlds mana, to steal it and seal it away into items of power that granted mundane men unimaginable power. Power regular men were not meant to have. Only Ascenders, the heroes and villains of fate are meant to wield it, and in so wielding return it upon their deaths."
She waved a hand and the globe started to dim. The dots began to disappear faster then they appeared, until they were all gone.
"My creator learned how to nibble away at the worlds potential. For fame, glory, and recognition he showed others the power he had attained, and for a time he got what he wanted. He was unwise in his choice of allies and advisors, once they had power of their own they turned on him. He was forced to create more and more of the artifacts you saw. The mana, the potential, of the world faded away. Less and less Ascenders were born, until there were none left."
she twitched her hand and the globe zoomed in to a skyward view of a continent, it slowly began to die, the trees falling with no new ones growing. The larger animals dying off first, then progressively smaller ones. "The world supports its intelligent life first. Though Ascenders were no longer being born, humanities population didn't decline in the beginning. The largest and power powerful animals died off, then the smaller ones, then the oldest and greatest trees and plants. Only when our fields no longer yielded did the power-hungry humans take notice. They refused to believe their artifacts were the cause, they jailed my creator for trying to warn them and in doing so, they doomed my planet to the lifeless husk it is now."
She waved her hand again and the planet was now dark, nothing but dirt and rock remained. Even the water was still and stagnant. "This is why I have brought you here. This citadel is the last remaining habitable part of my planet. The hubris of man doomed my world, and i'd like man to fix it. Through out this citadel or the remanents of those artifacts. They won't function any longer, but if I you can bring them to me and I can pull the dregs out of them. I can get the citadel up and running enough to send you out looking for more."
She turned back to them, a wry smile flitting across her face. "you may be asking yourself, 'why should I care, what reason have I to help?'. Each of you were about to die, the Flair of your mana, what some see as their life flashing before their eyes, is what enabled me to lock on to each of you and bring you here. If you help me, you will become stronger, tougher, more powerful. Ascenders ascend as they are tried. Once I no longer have need of you, if you wish, I'll return you to your world, right at the moment I took you. Strong enough to make a difference, to be a leader, a warlord, a savior, a true hero or villain. What would have killed you before will be insignificant once you are done here."
She suddenly grinned wickedly a flash of red in her otherwise golden eyes. "of course if you're still not willing to risk your lives for me, i'll happily send you back now. So ask your questions, i'm sure you have some. Oh by the way, I have added a key rune to each of you on your left hands, which i'm activating now. You will be able to understand any spoken language."
There was a flash of blue from each of their hands, and a glowing rune that looked like an upside down R with a dot between the legs appeared on their hands.
Tanque blinks as he takes in this information. Most of which he acks the knowledge to comprehend.
Is this a trick of the Darrein? If so, better to play along...
"What do we hail you? I am Tatu - though you can call me Tanque. I am...was.... a warrior. My... Flair... had failed, and I was about to be eaten by a great beast. Where is it now? Where am I? And if I am to undertake this...these manifold tasks - how will I accomplish them? I need to...I do not know how to say...uhm... I need to Lock and Load. Gear?
She blinks at you for a moment parsing what you're saying. "The beast is back on your world, moments away from eating you, and will remain so until you are done here. The name of this world is long dead, you can call it what ever you want. I will create equipment for you once every ones questions have been answered."
Alynthar considers this, then smirks as he considers the irony of the situation. Really, it was about what he'd come to expect from the universe by now.
"So, you're saying that the fate of your world depends on a handful of poor bastards who couldn't even save their own asses? You have my sympathy."
"Based off your potential. I don't care how pathetic you think you are. You can be great. If you don't believe me I don't mind putting you back and pulling some other less self deprecating soul." she raised an eyebrow questioningly.
Alynthar frowns. That wasn't what he'd meant, really. He knew he could have been great, some day. He was able to learn magic while enslaved and tortured- if that didn't spell "potential" he didn't know what did. And he certainly didn't want to go back to his own world just yet. Going back now would mean his death. Going back to Fastar as a powerful mage, however...
"Exactly how powerful will we become?" he asks. "My master is... not an insignificant opponent himself. To make a difference, as you put it, I would have to survive his wrath."
she reached up to tap her chin as she thinks. "depends on how long you stay. Probably not strong enough to kill a tarrasque, but definitely take on an adult red dragon. That's assuming you stay until I no longer have need of you, and you live through it all."
Conall stared forward with reverence as the golden woman appeared, but as she continued speaking, his brow furrowed with thought. By the end, he threw his arms up, as triumph swelled his chest and he let out a bellowing laugh, half relief, and half excitement.
"My time has come! The First has guided me to this moment, and paved my path to glory! I'll show those assassins when I return. Tamra, wait for me, but I guess it won't be long. Everything will change when I return."
He leveled his gaze, and the typically dour Conall didn't resist the grin that now split his face.
"Angel of the First, I accept your quest. You have chosen well.
Conall regarded the creature that was dressed differently from the rest.
"We will succeed. Even if you think we won't, we will!
Either they are all as mad as I, or they are figments of the Darrein.... Mayhap this is all... truly real.
Tanque listened, learning quickly. He was not on his world, and the Darrein were...not here. He was...safe. For the moment.
He smiles at the positive insistence of the brutish looking creature. Tanque nods and turns to the golden figure.
"But....Angel...of the First [here looks at Connal for reassurance] - what is your name?"
Charlie was quiet as she listened to the woman, and then to the others talking. Different worlds fit the established belief within her home, different planes, in fact, was precisely at the core of the ferrous theory. She was glad her people were right on those lines, as apparently the white flash was death. It also explained why her hand was so stiff, and slightly singed. She flexed it slowly. At least it still worked.
She made notes as the others spoke as well, mental notes.
Tatu... Tanque... was smart enough to ask the important questions. A first step in any endeavor was a name. A name self-chosen was worth significantly more than a name granted. As such, finding the spirit's name was an important first step in diplomacy. It gave a measure of control to her and hers. The failure of the spirit to share it was either an oversight, or an intention. She would ensure it was an oversight.
Alynthar was some sort of slave. Probably similar to the Mistfolk then. It sounded as though he lived in a magocracy, anyway. Which was quite unfortunate for him. He was also cheeky... which explained his probable death.
Conall was obviously from a Flamer group, given his invocation of 'glory' as if it were something important. Honor certainly was, and success as well. But the two together was certainly the earth-aligned's ideals, not those of her people. He would be resigned to 'simplistic' until he proved otherwise. Burning out was a definite fear.
She began to open her mouth as Tanque, once more, spoke up, requesting a name. Well, that skipped that question.
She would wait for the answer to the name debacle, before asking her own questions... or reinforce it if it were once again ignored.
After a moment, she failed to repress a giggle as her hand moved to cover her mouth. Another internship. For a spirit, no less.
"Mana. Mako is what you are speaking of, yes? Form, Mass, Matter, Energy, are the things it controls, yes? Scientific and measurable Preselection of destinies and possibilities for any given creature. Influence of a creature obvious from inception, yes?" Her syntax was clearly different from many culture's. An emphasis was placed on nouns and objects at the head of sentences. "Mana, your attempts to control it ended badly, yes? Mistakes, they are preventable, yes? Mako as part of a natural order... destruction can be prevented if properly guided, yes? Proper guidance, prevention of destruction, alignable concepts, yes?" Worse was that the syntax for queries was entirely wrong. Another linguist might gather that this is because all statements were to be considered queries without base assumptions being held as statements of fact.
Alynthar snorts when Tanque calls the being "angel of the first."
"This is no 'Angel of the First.' She speaks of her creator as a man, not as a god- she isn't a divine being, but some form of construct, blessed with intelligence or some semblance of intelligence. We were not selected by any god, but by the creation of a mortal. The gods have no part in this task, and may not even have power in this realm, for all we know."
And a blasphemer. Alynthar was also that. Good to know. It would be best if he weren't allowed to speak to any of the Whispers, Flamers, or Verdant... if she could help it. He'd quickly ruin any attempts at reaching mutual dissatisfaction in agreement... and lead them towards mutual dissatisfaction in casualties.
"Beliefs. These are something that we all adhere to, yes?" she asked, trying to cut in before fights broke out. "Spirits, Deities, Power, Family, Honor, Knowledge, all are important to one or another, yes? Faith's source, this is unimportant, yes? Fervor and Mettle, these are the things that are more important. These are things that help to solidify who we are, regardless of our background. These are things that can be respected, even grudgingly, yes?"
"I did not mean to imply that the man's faith is misplaced- only fools doubt the power of the gods. I meant only that this being is not a servant of his god. I accept faith, and respect it, to a point. I was simply stating that whatever this being is, it is not divine in nature, nor is the task it has for us." Alynthar explains. Privately, he does think that Conan is a fool, but he says nothing. In his few months of freedom, he has learned that many people cling to their faith as a lifeline, hanging onto it in desperate belief that their gods will save them from the pathetic suffering of their lives. In his opinion, the gods likely care very little for the mortals who follow them, and the only true way to improve one's life is through one's own power.
Charlie nodded slowly as she also had to decipher everyone's strange syntax. "Back home... I am needed as well. Learning there is much to do, though. Returning only to die is a poor option, yes?" It seemed despite her way of speech she was agreeing that they needed to return... but from her perspective it could clearly come later... "[Spirit] suggested we will return with no time passed, yes? Powerful magic, Powerful magic to gather at all." she shrugged. Or perhaps it was science...
She simply nodded to Alynthar's statement, still having difficulty making things work in the context of everyone else's speech.
"My name is Reya, my creator was a human. I would like to say a very smart human, but in hindsight, not so much. The basis of my construction was a permanent image, linked to a modified awaken spell, then so linked into the environmental, control, and defensive runes of the citadel. Thus putting me in control of the towers magic. The reason you are breathing air right now, and standing on the ground instead of floating around, is because I have siphoned mana from other systems into the environmental runes of this room."
She looks over Charlie for a moment. "it is powerful magic, but it's more to do with how the multiverse works. Time flows differently between universes. A life time here would only be a heartbeat where each of you is from. This was a conscious decision on the part of my master, to take those who needed a second chance and offer it to them."
she looked to the over-eager man. "your first objective is to let the others ask their questions, and then, when they are done tell me what gear you will need so I might reproduce it."
Alynthar looks thoughtful for a moment, then speaks. "Hypothetically, would it be possible to bring somebody here from one of our worlds, but in a way that would leave them completely helpless? Possibly in some form of stasis? If not, I am prepared to begin."
She raised an eyebrow. "only if they were about to die, otherwise it would be like trying to pick a silver strand out of a silver tapestry, on a silver wall, from a mile away."
"Damn. In that case, I have no further questions."
Conall visibly bristled at Alynthar's words, but remained silent during the prolonged exchange between the rest of the gathered 'Ascenders'.
The woman claimed to be no angel, but instead an illusion. He could remember some of the minor lessons on recognizing magic that the Royal Bloodmage tried to teach the guardsmen. Barely. Still, it was possible, even likely, that the First Mortal had directed these events, even if in a subtle way. He hoped.
"Alright, then I will need armor; the heavier the better, as well as a shield of stout make. Also, a longsword would be best. Choice survival equipment, which I guess you'd know, would help alot, and-"
The voice from before whispered into his mind again,
"And...'a tome of magical fundementals, and a tome of diverse lore.'"
Conall's last words came out awkward, as though he was reciting.
"We should get to know each others' abilities. We're working together, right?
He stopped after that, and began to subtly regard each of his fellow Ascendors:
The brown haired human who spoke of injustice struck him as an incredibly noble fellow; just being near him made him want to stand straighter, and puff out his chest, just to stay relevent.
The dark skinned man seemed uneducated, but then again Conall himself was no scholar. He was genuine however, and seemed careful rather then simple.
The dark skinned woman however, she was a scholar. Foreign for certain, but he found himself getting lost in her flurry of words and odd pauses. Still, she was open minded it seemed, trying to placate both himself, and the demon amongst them.
Speaking of the demon; he was a dick. But then again, he was a demon, right? Better a dick then a rampaging monster. Still; he seemed confident about what he was talking about. Or was that a ruse? According to the chaplains in Wyrmgard demons were liars. Still, his ancestors were telling him to learn from the demon. But was that a good idea?
Seeing that his was apparently the last question to be asked, Alynthar speaks. "I will require, in addition to basic gear, a proper robe, a spellbook, at least one flask of acid and one of oil, a crossbow and ammunition, a dagger made of cold iron and, if possible, another of silver, an amulet or similar item which is capable of channeling my energy, and, assuming we have a few days to prepare," Alynthar grins "the corpses of four relatively weak creatures, preferably wolves."
"Err, right. Clothes for me as well. And javelins! And-"
Conall's breath caught as the demon asked for his last piece of 'equipment.' Blasphemer! He shouldn't have been surprised...Hopefully his ancestor did not mean to learn THOSE evil arts...though if some of them were orc shamans...
Charlie seemed to think for a moment, brow scrunching in thought.
Her speech was stilted now, but the syntax was proper.
"I need paper. For formulae. I need glasses. Distances blur. Protective gear, lighter if it is possible, yes?" she slipped for a moment, then corrected once more. "I will require a thin stabbing blade. A side-bag, iron vials, lots of water... preferably in canteens. A mechanist's kit, and a chemistry lab. Matches, chalk, glowing ink... and clothing with lots of pockets. And something to keep myself presentable. Any amount of scientific supplies, or writing supplies would be welcome." She seemed to pay absolutely no mind to the dead creatures. Knowing about what you may face was of significant value.
She closed her eyes and light began to flash along the far wall, creating the things they asked for. aside from the wolves. "nothing I make will be usable for your necromancy. even living creatures I might create are merely constructs that act as animals until they die and return to component parts. perhaps you will find still living things in the far parts of the citadel, living in the sections I am unable to access."
She waited for them to get dressed and organized. When they were ready she continued. "First I must teach you a work-around for the depleted runes through out the citadel. Until I can fix the damaged sections certain areas may not have gravity, or may lack an atmosphere, or may be filled with water or even poisonous gas. I will teach you what the environmental runes look like, and then I will show you how to activate them."
she began to draw out the runes. an S with a line through it vertically.
"This rune scrubs the air clean."
an H and a T combined at the center "This rune will drain the liquids from a room."
and an F against a P. "this rune will reset the gravity to normal."
She looked at each of them seriously. "as Ascenders you have mana within you and you can access it through your blood. You must cut yourself and trace the rune and it will run off the mana in your blood. The amount of blood you spill will determine the duration. The minimum to complete the rune will last one hour. You will be losing more then blood though, using the runes in this way will nibble at your potential, lessening it until the blood fades and the runes deactivate once more."
Charlie had ducked back into the room that she already considered her own to change clothing. When she came back out, the tunic had been replaced by a suit of sterile-white leather armor, covered in black belts which dangled several gray pouches and bags. A half-dozen pockets lined various parts, and a gray bag with black strap hung over her shoulder. Her hair had been combed and spiked slightly, and glasses now rested on the bridge of her nose. She was filing her nails absent-mindedly as she returned to the room, a rapier dangling opposite the bag. A white lab coat hung over the whole ensemble... and she'd probably taken longer than anyone that wasn't donning heavy armor to get all of this finished.
"Is blood... necessary for this? If so, I would request some alcohol and something sterile as well to go with my collection. I do not believe that everything we cut will be... us-friendly."
she cants her head at Charlie. waves and a first aid kit appears where the other things appeared.
Alynthar frowns at the knowledge that his necromancy may be useless here, but proceeds to the pile of equipment. Shamelessly stripping without bothering to go to the other room, he removes his transformed robe and dresses. As he removes the robe, numerous scars of all types are visible on his body- in particular, a long, jagged cut across his chest and a large burn covering the lower left side of his back stand out. With the hood off of his head, the stumps of two horns show just beneath his dark brown hair.
Once he is dressed, Alynthar is wearing an open black robe over a black shirt and brown pants. Across his chest is a bandoleer from which hang the acid and oil flasks, as well as a few other items, and an amulet of a skull with rubies for eyes hangs around his neck. As he reaches up to adjust his eyepatch, his gloves show that they now have a golden silhouette of a skull with chopped off horns and a scarlet eyepatch. As he slides the daggers into their sheathes and slings the crossbow over his shoulder, he grins viciously. It's time to start working towards his life goal- power and revenge.
Conall smirked slightly as the dark skinned woman ducked away from the others. Such body shame was very different then a typical Valan's body pride. Varpendicean, certainly, but his time since immigrating to Valforge had changed his perception of these things.
The magically generated clothing was just like his guardsman's uniform from the Wyrmgard offices, right down to the gray tabard's Hammer and Anvil of the nation, and the Helm and Sword of The First Mortal. His scale mail fit perfectly, the kilt flared minimally, and the steel shield had a nice, familiar weight to it. All perfectly functional and even comfortable. He took a few experimental swings of the fabricated sword and nodded approvingly.
"Good." he muttered, but his eyes also looked down at the tomes his ancestors had told him to request. He cracked one open, and saw diagrams of obviously magical symbols, and pictures of hand gestures, and words. Most of it was gibberish to him, but some were strangely familiar; as though he had read them a hundred times already, and practiced them as readily as his sword maneuvers.
"When you're done in there, my coy lady, would you mind helping me out with this? Mathematics has never been my strength."
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"The same items I had on me when you kidnapped me here would be the least you could provide for this." "Shield" runs a checklist through his mind, "Basic military uniform, web belt with pouches, bandolier harness, canteen (waterskin), first aid kit, survival knife (dagger)reinforced leather body armor (lamellar leather armor), heavy metal round shield." "I believe that was all of it. Would it be too much to ask for an AK-47? Possibly a Humvee with a .50 cal? No? Tank?" "Shield" thinks sarcastically, "Some ALL powerful entity this is. Pffft. Well, this trusty basic issue has never let me down before. I'm sure it will get me through THIS weird mission."
"Alright people. Let's get the formality out of the way. Shield they call me. It's actually Charles Gossamar." Shield points to a vertical bar and strange looking insignia woven into his chest armor, "1st Lieutenant, US Experimental Spec Ops. My home is a place called the United States of America and I INTEND to see it again! It would seem we are meant to work together. Better get to know each other. I lead a special operations tactical unit. I received some 'augmentation' that amped my strength, speed, reactions, ect. I'm proficient with many weapons, but I've always had a fondness for the shield. A rather archaic item from our history, but surprisingly useful. It's even been the reason I can still say no soldier has died under my command. I DON'T intend to break that record with any of you, got it!?" Shield relaxes a bit, and scans the new "unit" assembled in front of him. "If y'all would be so kind, feel free to speak up. Let us know your name, or what you would like us to call you, and any bit of background about yourself." Shield backs down and hopes the new party will follow his lead in breaking the ice.
"It's not really kidnapping, you know, if the guy is dead." Alynthar points out, then shrugs. "But I'm Alynthar. I am, as most of you have likely guessed, a necromancer. If you object to that, get the f*** over it. It's a skill I was born with, and I'm not gonna work with one hand tied behind my back just because you object to using a pile of rotting flesh to do something productive. I'm also an escaped slave to a far more powerful necromancer. I managed to pick up most of my magic by watching him while he was experimenting on me."
"I knew I saw another military man in front of me. I'm city watch, named Conall, and my bloodline is O'Kanis. I am of Valforge. I've never heard of your land before, but your warriors seem proud. It's a good trait. My officers told me I have a skill for improvisation, and my orcish blood gives me great strength. I won't let our enemies hurt us.
Conall flexed his arms and grimaced as he felt a strange stiffness in his body. His flexibility was lacking now, and he felt rigid, like his bones had grown heavy. "Since we were taken here, I feel slower; but I won't hold us back either."
"It's not really kidnapping, you know, if the guy is dead." Alynthar points out, then shrugs. "But I'm Alynthar. I am, as most of you have likely guessed, a necromancer. If you object to that, get the f*** over it. It's a skill I was born with, and I'm not gonna work with one hand tied behind my back just because you object to using a pile of rotting flesh to do something productive. I'm also an escaped slave to a far more powerful necromancer. I managed to pick up most of my magic by watching him while he was experimenting on me."
"It's your soul to worry about, when the First puts you into Laughing Death's maw..."
she raises an eyebrow at 'Shield.' "Actually I can make those things, but with my current reserves of mana i'd need about nine tenths of your life force. If you don't mind dodging mosquitos to survive i'm willing. unfortunately for everyone else when you do die, which I imagine would be quickly, you're potential would stop circulating through the items and they'd cease to be as well."
Charlie moves across the room, putting the nail file into a small pack in the bag, before taking the book that's being proffered. She opens it up and tilts her head slightly. She flips a page... and tilts her head a little further. She does this a few more times, then shakes her head to him. "I can see all of the colors, and the angles are interesting... but it's all gibberish to me. I could probably teach you about my chemistry, but this is all alien. I could probably try to decipher the book using the geometry in it, though... but it would take some time."
She's doesn't seem to be paying any attention to Shield as she reads, or possibly doesn't... but then speaks up. "Charlie." she says simply, "I chose to be called Charlie."
She takes a moment to look over at the necromancer. "Offense could be taken if one knew what that was, yes?" she paused for a moment. "If it is sexual, I would ask that you use your room, or do so in private, otherwise I can think of few things a person could do with a dead body that would offend me... besides perhaps eating it raw. Especially were it humanoid as we."
Then her attention returns to the book or perhaps the rune glowing on the back of her hand, that she's tracing through the book. "I can't really promise I'll live. Death... Is something I already experienced once, yes?"
She paused for a moment. "I learn quickly. I know more than the average person amongst my people. I can also make elixirs that use my Mako... mana... to infuse my body. I went to school for four years to study chemistry and mechanical engineering, though I minored in a few other things. My people are required to take self-defense courses in our youth. It was determined I should stick with a lighter-weight fighting style." As she speaks of her magic, her hand touches a pair of iron vials dangling from tiny clips on the bag-strap, as she speaks about chemistry and engineering, she touches the bag, and as she speaks of self defense, her hand moves back to the rapier... then her hand is turning pages once more.
Tanque tries to keep up with the young woman's comments or the discussions of Angels, orcs, Humvees and is completely at a loss when Reya explains the rune-blood system. He decides he is better off watching and learning, much like his people did when the Darrein invaded.
He explains to the strange avatar-woman what he needs, and upon receiving the apparent facsimilies changes out of his strange grey tunic and dons his strange scale armor that looks to have been ripped from some sort of bio-mechanical monster and similarly fashioned weapons - a businesslike great axe, rather formidable looking bardiche and (again, vaguely biomech-organically styled, perhaps from the ocular components) throwing rings. Finally he straps on his pack and bedroll. If only he had a dazzler-arm, jagger or stun-probe. The small lighttube, foodpacks and shocknub would have to do.
When Shield speaks Tanque recognises the mien of a captain or leader. His brother had led Raiders, before he was taken.
"Well met Shield, Alynthar, Charlie, Conall. Ah....I am Tanque...as I....already said. I'm a warrior. Mostly I hit things...and run away to live before I am killed. Generally in the forest, though sometimes in the .... scorchlands. Though I guess that doesn't mean... much... to ay of you." The young man looks to each of the assembled with an open countenance, and shyly shrugs and half smile. He steps back, as if his introduction were the most taxing public speaking he has ever attempted.
Alynthar bristles at the implication of necrophilia. "I specifically said that I use the bodies for something productive, thank you very much. F%*#ing them is not productive, not to mention being repulsive."
"Different cultures." She shrugged, seemingly not paying any real mind to Alynthar's brazen linguistic choices.
"Scorchlands... deserts? Wastelands? Blasted lands?" she tilted her head, still flipping through the book.
She crosses her arms. "this citadel is very large, the last of humanity gathered here to live out the last of their lives. I have been systematically shutting down non-essential areas to keep the rest running for almost two hundred years. Recently I lost access to the sensory runes in a storage area deep beneath the citadel, most of the systems should still be active. Within there is a crucible that draws mana from those artifacts that aren't connected to primary systems."
She waved a hand and a floor map of the room they were in appeared in the air. to the north of the chamber was a small corridor that leads to a long tube going directly down. the more advanced of you recognize it as an elevator shaft. "you'll have to decide whether to re-activate the lift rune or climb down on your own. the walls have small lips at each level you could probably drop to until you reached the bottom, but one slip is a long fall. Remember the minimum duration of a reactivation is an hour, and you don't know what you may need to reactivate down below."
She actually looked up from her... Conall's book, snapping it shut. "I understand the geometry, and I think I might be making headway, let me work on it more later." she held it out in his direction. "What's the symbol for activating the shaft. A Grannark, I am not, yes?"