Agents of Apocrypha, First Assignment (Inactive)

Game Master pinvendor

The Forae Logos. The Wise House. The Library of Kortos. The greatest collection of written lore west of the Pit of Gormuz. The removal of a single page of text is prohibited without the unanimous consent of the High Council as established by the Founding Law of Absalom. This same law, written by the hand of Aroden himself, requires the library's scriveners copy every book ever brought into the city.

However...

Laws are seldom able to account for the vast differences of perception those reading them take from the same words.

Djavin Vhrest, Curator of Apocrypha, has seen a need arise as the result of works rumored and whispered to exist. Reports compiled from copies and transcriptions thoroughly read and examined by staff accompanied by tall tales and myths recited and sung by the couriers and messengers as their instructions dictated have proven there is more at stake than the simple acquisition and preservation of knowledge. Ever mindful of the danger of knowledge unchecked, the insidiousness of outsiders with agendas that span longer than mortal comprehension, and the gullibility of the innocent who only push for the next piece of "history" to learn, the Curator carefully listens for the stories of pieces d'arts that are not what they seem to be, but something all together more.

And when such a masterwork of art is found? Then so are summoned those Pathfinder Society members to whom his trust is given, to whom political intrigue is of no consequence, to whom only the absolute truth will satisfy their unrelenting pursuit of all things.

And these are the Agents of Apocrypha.

The Staff Lounge is never truly empty despite the absence of any visible intelligence. Appearing more like a private collection of art unimaginable, the Staff Lounge houses some of the most curious, unique, and dangerous works that had relegated to the mountainous shelves and warded displays of Forae Logos Apocrypha. Only a true fool ever assumed the Staff Lounge to be a place of rest and comfort. It was rumored amongst the other Forae Logos houses that the Curator of Apocrypha only selected candidates for his staff from those able to survive a night alone in the Staff Lounge, a tale no one in the Forae Logo Apocrypha ever denied but did not confirm either. Even more hushed were the tales of those who did not succeed this initiation...

Nonetheless, the Staff Lounge waited for all appearances empty. Soon, however the room would become full of more than just enigmatic paintings, mind-bending sculpture, complicated tomes, and insanity-inducing architecture. Soon, it would be filled with those that belonged to it. The air of the Staff Lounge was filled with a palpable tension. One would say it held its breath in anticipation, if such a thing is possible...

Soon..they would be here. Soon...

The woman in the unadorned black and white Nethys mask, with matching half-and-half robes, should not be so unobtrusive in such high-contrast garb. And yet, she is. Her intensity of focus blocks out her surroundings. Blocks her out, even, from the notice of passers-by. Until there is the crackle of a turning page, or the rustle of cloth. Like now.

As the sound of the creaking door fills the Lounge, in walks a cloaked figure. As the figure makes her way to take a seat she feels the presence of another in the room. Removing her hood, she reveals her disheveled locks and her tiefling horns and nods in greeting to Caorann Llythe as she takes her seat in anticipation for the meeting.

Caorann's attention is caught when the tiefling seats herself - not the behavior of staff or servants. "Hail and well met. Rikabarī, is it?" The priestess' wing-chair chair has been drawn up to a window, and she's taken a relaxed pose with sandals left on the floor and legs curled up on the seat cushion. The tome that rests across her knees was clearly penned by a scribe who believed in spikes.

A small calamity outside interrupts the relative silence of the lounge and a plaintive voice can be heard through the door "Ouch... why are you stopping? It's right there, we've gotta go inside." There's no answer to the voice "Hey, don't sit down." The voice continues somewhat strained as if talking through some kind of physical exertion "Oof c'mon move it... use your legs! Argh fine stay here then you baby. I'm going inside."

A young man who couldn't be taller than three feet pushes open the door to the lounge and lets himself in. Unlike Caorann, and despite his small stature, he's rather hard to miss. Armour covered most of the little guy's body, the metal bits clink and rattle when he moves. He notices the others were there once he got in. "Oh, there's already people here. Hiho strangers!"

A feminine drawl trickles through the door from outside. "Well aren't you a handsome fellow? Or a pretty girl. I can never tell. Frankly I don't care. Sit. Stay. Good, er, thing." The handle rattles and a lanky, dark-haired woman clad in overdramatically black gear and cape saunters in, staring around the room at its treasures while clearly not seeing the people there.

She chokes back a quiet laugh and mumbles as she wanders to peer at the treasures in some of the alcoves, pausing a moment before an empty one. 'Back home' indeed. As if you ever intended to stay... Right. Liar.

Her meandering leads to a near-collision with the tiny cavalier, as her distraction and his stature combine to their mutual undoing. Reeling back a pace, she scrutinizes the short knight from head to toe with calculating eyes. "Hello! That creature outside must be yours, yes?" Her smoky drawl drops to a near whisper. More here? Oh, yes! Her eyes refocus on the others. She gives a careful nod to the black-and-white masked one, then breaks into a grin as she spots Rikabari.

"How delightful! A tiefling! What a boon to the men we'll meet. They just love horny women!" Her eyes hold Rikibari's as her grin turns a touch feral.

Note: Ciri does not have any of the usual tiefling tells of hooves, horns, or tail. She appears human as long as her clothing remains intact.

Green eyes flick up to acknowledge the knight - and then the collision. Caorann is silent, but her eyes are laughing behind the impassive mask when she returns the newest arrival's greeting. She offers the halfling a sympathetic shrug, one oft-unnoticed person to another.

"Most certainly!" exclaims a colourful individual, with his bright clothing that clings to his lithe form. Which enhances the fluid movements as he glides into the room with an unnatural motion - seemingly dancing to some music only he can hear. A broad grin across his refined features.

The little guy makes a valiant attempt to get out of the unobservant woman's way, but she's caught him off-guard, he wasn't expecting her to suddenly charge towards him. He zigged when he should have zagged, or maybe it was the other way around either way his attempts at evasion only made matters worse. He does manage not to crash directly into the newcomer, but is put off-balance, short arms wheel in the air for a moment before he ends up falling back into a sitting position with a small thud and clink of metal.

With a chuckle at himself for having fallen he answers Ciri"Well hello to you as well mi'Lady, it appears you've swept me off my feet already. Yes, the trusty steed waiting outside is with me, if you can call that good for nothing wolf trusty, he's too afraid to even come in to the lobby. It's the lobby for goodness sake, a place for us to rest, relax and mingle between assignments. I guess he's nervous about meeting new people or something." The young halfling shrugs his shoulders and picks himself up from the floor. "And unless my ears deceived me you call him handsome when you came in... there'll be no living with him now, he'll be bragging all day." Despite the plaintive words the tone betrays the small cavalier's affection for the beast behind the door.

"But where are my manners? Xaveer Littleknight, at your service, and of course the service of you all as well" the short knight gives a bow which is meant to include everyone present in the introduction even this curious new dancing fellow.

Ciri regards Xaveer again, giving him a short bow. "Ciri de Vicque. It is good to meet you, Sir Littleknight, and I accept your apology for colliding with me. You are as handsome as your faithful mount and twice as polite." Her wry smile and the glint in her eyes make it difficult to tell if she's joking or truly being polite.

The masked woman inclines her head to the new arrivals. "Caorann. Of Nethys." There's a smile in her voice as she declines to give a surname.

She regards Xaveer levelly. "Is your wolf unaccustomed to magic in general, or merely to the..." she trails off and waves a hand to indicate the various objects d'art, "special ones?"

Languidly leaning upon a bookshelf, with an artful nonchalance that initially seems overly posed - however with a second reflection is just his natural manner.

Upon hearing the introductions, he muses out loud; "What is a name? Names define us - form roles and responsibilities, categorise and dehumanise. However a nom de guerre is a seeming necessity, despite it's only use in third party conversations..."

"Zayn" he adds simply, not caring about his overly verbose and pretentious thoughts. Slipping a tome from the shelf, he lets it sit in the crook of one arm whilst flicking through it with a negligent air.

With a curious look towards Ciri Xaveer wonders if he did apologize for the girl who nearly ran him over, he decides it doesn't matter and smiles towards her "I thank you mi'lady for a moment I was worried he was the only one turning heads when we went by." Of course a rather large armoured wolf walking down the street with a halfling on its back is bound to draw some looks.

The short golden haired man turns his focus to Caorann when she speaks "Lady Caorann, honoured to make your acquaintance." he shrugs his shoulders at her question. "Oh Knibbles has seen some magic before, he's just being stubborn... or maybe he's nervous about the new people."

Xaveer furrows his brow at Zayn's question about names "On the contrary sir name is very important it links us to our family and joins us with our companions. How would we bring glory to our families without a name?"

"Your question is pert and true, though glory is fleeting and long forgotten. Hence we preserve it, bind it in the hearts and minds, bind it inside leather and upon paper." The sharp look at the halfling is a look of understanding and respect, that he agrees.

"That's why we're here, to preserve that which might be lost - whilst gaining our own honour?" he queries the room laconically.

The priestess had returned to her book, but looks up to study Zayn instead. "That's a curious jump, from glory to honor. They are not at all the same." She adds in an amused tone, "Since I have not misplaced my honor, I have no need to gain it. - But what of yourself?"

"Interesting that he assumes the rest of us have honor to gain. Very revealing, is it not?" Ciri inquires of Caorann with a mocking smile at Zayne.

"Glory...honour, I suppose jumping to honour - must be a natural state." he says with a wry tight smile.

"Revealing....? Maybe? Am I projecting or do I just believe that one can never be too honourable. That it's a state of being in constant flux, to be continually paid for with your actions." He shuts the book softly, his sapphire eyes glinting with enigmatic luminance.

"With such an unstable measure, no wonder it preoccupies you so." Her tone suggests recognition of someone else's problem, even if she stops short of recommending a way to fix it.

With a chuckle to himself, he replies; "And with such pendantry, you must be a scholar. Though the eyes behind the mask imply the soul of a poet?" Clearly enjoying the light barbs, even if they do not quite hit the mark.

Xaveer looks curiously at Zayn trying to gather understand the metaphors then shrugs his shoulders when the others pipe in. "Certainly glory and honour are not one and the same, though one can gain glory through acts of honour... or is it honour through acts of glory? Anyway they do appear to have a proportional relationship to a certain extent"

The little halfling takes Zayn's question about never being too honorable seriously rather than rhetorically "Hmm I do not know... I don't believe I've met anyone who was too honourable." He can't decipher the riddles this man speaks in but decides he must need help. "Well do not worry sir, stick with me and I'll make sure you gain your honour, but ahh that isn't quite why I'm here."

The young knight watches as Zayn closes Caorann's book "The first steps towards honour are quite simple and start with a great respect of others. Lady Caorann may not have been finished with her book sir, you should ask permission before closing it."

Offering the leather-bound book across to Caorann; "Quite a good read, I'm sure you'll find it informative." He adds wryly, before gliding over to the rich polished desk and opening a decanter. Into the faceted tumbler he pours a drop of burgundy liquid, before holding up the glass in askance - in case anyone wishes to join him.

Ciri picks up a stemmed glass and holds it out to Zayne, then offers him a toast. "To me." She drains the glass and examines the others.

"We've all been summoned here? Does anyone know precisely why?"

Caorann accepts the book with a chuckle - it's hers, but not in the way that would be obvious. It's a chronicle on Osirion that she contributed to, and left nearby today for reference purposes. "I'm glad you think so."

She declines the offered glass with a small shake of her head, relaxed in the armchair where she's been for some time. Ciri's question, she answers with a shrug. "I was, but I expected to be here anyway." The chestnut-haired woman shifts the tome she's been reading by way of explanation.

A small cabinet under one of the displays opens and a scrawny creature with a bulbous head emerges. His ivory pupil-less eyes are enshadowed by two twisting horns which function somewhat like eyebrows on other races. His Staff Apocrypha uniform indicates he is not a monster loosed by a wayward artifact. His name is J'thaalz'nder, and he is a servant of the Curator...at least that is what everyone assumes.

"Master Vhrest will be here...imminently. While you wait, may I bring you any...refreshments?" The bound outsider seems to speak each word breathily with a particularly, almost explosive, exhale on the last word. J'thaalz'nder's milky eyes seem to glare at the glasses in Zayn and Ciri's hands, and he sniffs. "Not that all of you appear to have the courtesy to...wait for an...invitation."

Ciri smiles and licks her lips. "Oh, but I was invited..." She waves a languid hand towards Zayn.

J'thaalz'nder sniffs disdainfully at Ciri's pronouncement. He quirks a browhorn at the room's other inhabitants to see if anyone responds. If not, he will pull out a quill and a journal. Taking these he will begin to inspect the books, sculptures, and other forms of art periodically writing something down in the journal.

The sudden sound of rain hitting glass presents itself as drops begin to appear on the lattice window adjacent to Caorann's chair. In the distance, through the rain, a tower of dark basalt and iron towers several hundred feet above the earth. Its outer walls are festooned with spikes, hanging chains, giving the tower a darkly grim appearance. The angle suggests the view is from a hilltop outside the ruined city just visible at the tower's base.

Strange whispers seem to be heard coming from a few of the room's objects in response to the sudden rain. J'thaalz'nder looks up and frowns...more.

One thing that's immediately apparent however is that the view from the window is not Absalom. For today Saranrae has blessed the sky with sunlight, and no place on the island has a tower such as this.

Ciri applauds slowly. "Oh, good trick. Well done." She gives J'thaalz'nder a slight bow.

"Pre-emptive courtesy. For I knew you would offer us refreshments....it's only polite. Thus why not save you the trouble of asking?!" he tips his glass to the unusual creature, trying to keep the amused smile from his visage.

"Not so sunny outlook today, then. A pity, a frolic in the sun would have been fun. I hope everyone has their coats with them?" Zayns voice is deep and filled with a rich timbre.

Caorann ignores J'thaalz'nder; she currently has no need of its services.

She does, however, tap a knuckle against the window and address it. "Somehow I doubt the Gallowspire is relevant to our business."

"Costumes? Not all of us are jesters, sir," Ciri responds to Zayn, "The Gallowspire, eh? Maybe it is our new business. Anybody bring climbing gear?" She yawns, eyes heavy-lidded and apparently bored.

J'thaalz'nder's oversized eyes and frown regard Ciri again. "I do not know any...tricks. I simply...catalog," he exhales.

He turns to look up at the window through which Caoraan peers. "The Gallowspire today, is it?" The creature sniffs and returns to his work writing something in his notebook.

"Gallowspire?" Zayn has a impressed chord to his voice, though whether of Caorann's assessment or the teleportation itself - it's uncertain.

He ponders Ciri's question; "I have some rope...." with a pause, thoughtfully. "though it may not be appropriate, especially without pitons, footwear, gloves and the correct hammers."

Ciri laughs with a bit of unpleasant edge to the sound. "I wasn't serious, though you may climb it if you like. I doubt it's related to our task for today." Oh, sure, it *might* be, she mumbles to herself.

"I'll try and climb anything - the more precarious the better." he adds looking towards the window. "It promises to be quite a day, I wonder what we will end up accomplishing?"

Xaveer watches the curious scrawny figure writing in its journal, the creature seemed somewhat unpleasant at first seeming to be scowling at everything, but he was courteous enough, even offering refreshments. The blond halfling didn't want a drink now any more than when Zayn offered earlier, which apparently wasn't his to offer, it was going to take a lot of work to make him into an honorable man. "Well sir" he starts addressing J'thaalz'nder "I'm not very thirsty, but I only had one breakfast today if you've something to eat I don't think I would turn it down"

Looking out the window at the changed scenery which everyone is talking about "Gallowspire? What's a Gallowspire? and what's it doing there?" Looking towards Ciri and shrugs his shoulders "Well I'm up for climbing, but somebody will have to carry Knibbles, I'd do it myself, but our agreement is that he carries me, we tried it the other way around, but something just wasn't quite right."

Caorann tilts her head at Xaveer, curious that such a piece of military history has escaped the knight's memory. Her aristocratic Taldan accent is unusually strong when she replies: "The Gallowspire. There is only one of it, and may it please the gods that we should not need more. It was built to imprison the Whispering Tyrant, who ruled Ustalav from roughly fifteen-hundred years ago until the Shining Crusade brought him down, just under nine-hundred years ago." She adds in the tone of someone prompting a student, "You might recall that the nation of Lastwall was founded to make sure he cannot rise to power again."

A door opens off to the side of room between two plinths holding unique sculptures, and a man enters the Staff Lounge. The man is tall with dark hair and wears a deep blue scholar's robe which carries gold fringe on the hem indicative of his station. His linked chain of office rested about his shoulders, draping down the front of his robes. The link above the Forae Logos Apocrypha medallion stating simply "Curator" without preamble.

"Knowledge of Gallowspire is not expected to have any bearing on your assignment, but naturally one can never assume," the Curator says, his deep voice resonating with authority. He seats himself in a comfortable chair near an unlit fireplace across from the window and facing Caorann's perch.

J'thaalz'nder snaps his little journal closed and approaches the cabinet where Zayn had withdrawn the beverages. Bringing out what appears to be a tea service, the little creature swiftly brings it over and pours the Curator a cup of hot tea. All this despite the tea service being succinctly out of proportion for his Tiny size. J'thaalz'nder then offers Xaveer a small plate of biscuits which were also on the tea service conveniently enough.

After adding some cream and a sugar cube, the Curator looks over the room's other inhabitants as he idly stirs the cup's contents.

"I see curiosity in all of you. This is good. It proves you are suited for my tasks. However, we wait for but one more of you to arrive. In the mean time, I am available for your questions regarding anything you like. Choose your questions wisely." The Curator smiles displaying perfect white teeth, and then he sips his tea.

The man enters the room without flourish. His hat pulled low on his head, his mouth and jaw only visible. You might assume he was human if not for the hint of green color to his scarred skin. Simply clothed with a satchel hanging to one side.

" I'm here." he offers, making no move to apologize for his tardiness.

Xaveer listened with as much attention as he could to Caorann's short Gallowspire lecture, and managed fairly well only getting distracted once by trying to peer in through the mask she's wearing to get a better look at her eyes. "I see, thank you for the explanation mi'lady. So if he's been imprisoned in there for nine hundred years he musn't be more than a pile bones by now."

The armoured halfling bows to the curator as he enters and takes a seat "Greetings sir." When the man offers to answer questions Xaveer furrows his brow a bit "Begging your pardon sir, but if you're willing to answer any questions why must we choose them wisely?"

The Curator looks at the halfling knight and replies, "Choosing your questions wisely is always an investigator's greatest skill. Something I like to remind everyone." Then he winks at Xaveer.

In the clouded light of Ustalav, Caorann's eyes appear to be the cool grey-green of lichen. With a wry smile, she inclines her head to make clearer eye-contact with Xaveer: "If only it worked that way."

When Vhrest enters, she places the embroidered ribbon bookmark into the book that lies open on her lap, greeting him with only the word "Curator," but in a tone that could warm even the scene out the window. In the voice of someone offering a playful challenge, she inquires, "How did Aroden pass out of the world?"

Curator Vhrest looks at Caorann with an amused smile. "Common history tells us it was the Starstone that allowed him to transcend this mortal world. However, I fully suspect you truly mean to ask something else."

The Curator starts to say something else, but a large tome leaning up against one of the room's many mismatched columns of various art styles opens up, and a small child emerges from within its pages. Her simple yellow dress looks a little ragged and there's some dirt smudged on her face. Her shortish chestnut hair is tousled and was obviously cut by an unprofessional hand. In her arms is a worn stuffed bear with only one glass eye, its twin long since lost. Her face is sad, and her eyes seem large and voluminous. They almost seem luminescent in the dim light of the lounge.

Raising an eyebrow, Curator Vhrest says softly, "Arielle...it has been a while since you graced our illustrious halls." Vhrest pauses and watches the girl who stares back at him with naught but a sad expression. He glances around the room at his staff, and raises a slightly placating hand. "Do you need anything?" he asks the child.

Raising an eyebrow at Caorann's teachings, the harlequin's poise changes when the curator enters. A stance of attention, there's just a hint of sardony and irrepressible humour that emanates from his core.

However at the entrance of the young girl he clicks his heels together and bows floridly, enjoying the unusual sight.

For a time the young girl is quiet, during which she glances around the room at the other occupants. As her gaze passes over everyone, the feeling of something just on the edge of memory —a tickle of near recognition— is felt but fades as Arielle's eyes move on. As her gaze settles on Ciri, she pauses and tilts her head to one side as a curious expression briefly takes hold. She starts a little at Zayn's unexpected bow and her eyes go even wider than they seemed. She shyly waves at him in response.

Returning to face Curator Vhrest, Arielle says softly, "I left a ribbon here. I am going to retrieve it."

Vhrest nods in acceptance. "I hope you will find it." He points to the main door. "J'thaalz'nder will show you out to the Stacks and give you any assistance."

J'thaalz'nder sniffs and nods his head gesturing to the door.

"Thank you, Master Djavin," the young girl says. She casts one more mysterious look at Ciri and begins to follow the gangly creature which is J'thaalz'nder.

Ciri opens her mouth to join in the banter but snaps it shut as the young girl enters. Arms folded, she stiffens and gives the child a tiny bow and smile, but remains uncharacteristically silent and serious.

Contorting one elbow, he does a little cheeky wave to the youngster. He always seemed to have a way with kids, as if they can sense his inner mirth with the world. However he does push a finger knuckle into the centre of his brow at the tickle of recognition.

Ciri relaxes at the conversation between the Curator and the child. As the girl gives her a look and walks away, she seems to be unable to stop herself. "Arielle! How... how are you?" she blurts, strange expression fliting across her normally composed face. "You and Bubbles. Is everything good?"

Arielle stops and turns to face Ciri completely, her expression pleased and sad all at once.

"Bubbles is good. He's still scary sometimes, but he loves me. I haven't seen Ragnar in a long time. I miss him, but I don't know if he misses me. I haven't been able to find Corrie though..." Tears well up in her eyes.

She sniffles and wipes at her tears with one hand. "Master Djavin is a good man. He doesn't mind it when Bubbles and I come here. He will take care of you, Miss Ciri."

Suddenly the girl runs to Ciri and hides her face in the leg of Ciri's pants. With one hand clutching her bear, the other clings around Ciri's thigh. Softly, Arielle says, "Thank you for remembering me. I will stay here in the library for a while. Maybe I will see you again one day."