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The town of Torch has long enjoyed a singular claim to prosperity-a violet flame that burns atop Black Hill in the heart of the town. This flame burns incredibly hot, and while it's usually the size of a bonfire, several times a year the fires spew up into the heavens in a brilliant beam of purple violence. Torch is one of the only locations where skymetal can be worked with relative ease outside of Starfall, and its entire economy has risen around these purple flames. Which is why, when the fires atop the hill suddenly go out, the town is in trouble
What You Know:
+ The violet flame that has burned atop Black Hill for over a century has gone out, leaving behind a strangely seeping pit of rubble and bubbling fluids.
+ Councilor Khonnir Baine, one of Torch's most powerful wizards, has gone missing during his second expedition under Black Hill, and the people fear the worst. They town has promised a 4,000 gold piece reward for the recovery of his body.
+ Khonnir Baine discovered the a submerged tunnel that revealed an unknown network under Black Hill. Before disappearing, he found a deactivated semi-humanoid automaton, which sparked public concern that something strange might be going on in the caverns. Several adventuring parties have gone missing in the caves, and Torch finds itself running short on new volunteers.
Additional Rumors:
+ Ratfolk bandits are becoming bolder on the roads to the east.
+ Some townsfolk are concerned that there may be a Technic League spy among them.
+ Garritt the Junkmaster found something a few weeks ago that emitted a powerful light comparable to the Torch. He has become withdrawn and quiet since then.
+ A remarkably beautiful woman with bright purple hair passed through town recently. She was seen a couple days before the torch went out, and hasn't been seen since.
The town of Torch is in disarray. The economy is at risk of collapse, Councilor Baine is missing, and all attempts to explore the Black Hills and learn of his fate have failed. The council is is offering a small fortune for a successful recovery of Councilor Baine or his body.
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They said to meet at The Foundry. They said - The Foundry. The guy outside said that this was The Foundry.
The long-haired Kellid rocks back and forth on his feet at the standing table just inside the door of the tavern, his eyes glancing up from his half-full glass of water to the front door as each new entrant arrives. It is obvious that he is awaiting someone. It is even more obvious that he is nervous, his fingers idly fiddling with the wooden medallion hanging from his neck.
"You want summat else to drink or eat, love?" the waitress walks slowly around the Kellid's table, her eyes taking in the polearm strapped to his lean frame, tied in place with a peace ribbon at the innkeeper's insistence.
"No thanks, no thanks," the Kellid replies, ignoring the growling in his stomach that argues against his answer.
They said The Foundry. Good work, they said. Good pay. They said to be at The Foundry.
"Is this The Foundry?" he suddenly calls out to the retreating waitress.
Rowland looks up from his table as the fellow Kellid enters the room. He tries to capture his eye, but the warrior is distracted by one of the comely waitresses The Foundry employs. Rowland turns back to his books, sprawled across the table. He feels that he is so close to making a breakthough and he wishes that Khonnir was here to help. But that is why he is here, to join with some other adventurers to determine the wizard's fate.
The tall, gaunt man pauses in the doorway out of the flow of traffic to apply a few stinging yellow drops to his jaundiced eye. He sniffs heavily and shakes his head, shoulders shivering as the sensations of the drops race into his bloodstream. He strokes fingers through his discolored hair and drops the small glass bottle back into his pouch, and absently smears the yellow tears across his cheek. When the shine of his eyes focus finally on the main room of The Foundry, he focuses on Rowland, and weaves through the tables to spin a chair and settle on it reversed, leaning his crossed arms across the back.
"You're the one that is Baine's apprentice, yes?"
The sound of Hallit will forever remain thick in his throat, and the fetish-cloaked barbarian jangles softly as he steadies himself on the seat. "I have confirmed several rumors... The first is this purple haired woman, I believe her to be one of the League's spies. I believe she may have stolen the power of the Torch. It is possible that the Junk Yard Keeper, the Junkmaster, has a comparable source of power we may use to repair it. It is possible that tunnels may enter the black hill through the Weeping Pool, the Junkyard, or even somewhere through the Warehouse district. Did your master ever mention a mode of ingress that might have led beneath the flame? Something that would lead to the heart of the magic the Technic League craves?" The sneer is audible in his voice, and he sniffs after the question, the corner of his eye twitching in restrained hatred at the memory of these agents of discord, these bastards of casual tyranny that ply their rule so cruelly from the Silver Mountain.
The amazonian beauty forces her way through the crowds in the tavern, walking with great pride. Pale in hair and skin she catches many an eye as she takes a seat. A greatsword hanging from her back, dressed in fancy black cloth and equally black leathers studded with metal, she speaks with confidence permeating her every word.
If those rumors of a Technic league spy are true, our path is clear. Though i find myself low on coin at the moment, crushing the spirit of some bandit's would fix that and the spy most likely isnt going anywhere, not yet.
Zane entered the Foundry, his shoulders drooping from the days and weeks before of hard travel. Whilst walking through town he had heard several rumors, some promising, others full of disturbing news. The so-called Technic League had every reason to try to subjugate the town of Torch, and taking away its lifeblood of commerce would certainly fulfill that agenda. It would only be a matter of time before the people, in desperation, turned to the only true power in this land for help. Zane thought it likely that the Torch would miraculously rekindle soon after such an arrangement was made.
That was a thought for tomorrow, though. The weary young man walked up to the bar, holding his hand up to get the barkeep's attention. After giving the man his drink order, the sorcerer turns his attention to the Foundry's other occupants, first settling on the two warrior-types in discussion at a table, the one strangely poring over some books. Another powerfully-built man asked if this indeed was the Foundry, causing Zane to grin a bit. The man was having a good night if he was so into his cups he couldn't recall where he was. Then his eyes were drawn to the pale beauty weaving her way through the patrons, a huge sword strapped to her back and black leather and cloth accentuating her movements as she looked about with confident eyes.
As the woman moved closer, he spoke to her, blue eyes curious and mirthful, "My lady, perhaps if there is a spy we should not advertise that fact so as to cause him or her to go into hiding." He grins at her before continuing, "I myself have heard of these bandits, but the reward offered for Councilor Baine's return is too enticing to ignore."
The rumors are all over the town, i'm hardly the first to mention. She responds casually, leaning back in her chair So the lights out, i'm right in assuming that doesn't happen right? The girl, the purple haired one she was here when it happened and the left suddenly. I'm thinking more thief or saboteur than spy.
"I never heard she left suddenly..." The bleached Kellid looks Illya up and down with a curious kind of appraisal. His people, the people of this land, are almost universally of dusky skin and dark hair, of hard features and solid build. Something about her is as off as it is about him, and it draws the intensity of his sallow eyes.
"In fact, I'd be willing to put coin on her waiting for us somewhere in the hill, where the heart of the Torch lies. He'll also nod his quick assent, agreeing with Zane "Four -thousand- gold coins is a powerful sum. Split between us it's still enough to keep us in food and lodging for nearly a year, and a good life at that. One share of that would buy a small house..."
Fishing at his belt, he fumbles one of the pouches up and digs out a gold coin, holding it in his loosely cupped hand. "My hunch lies with the Junkmaster holding a replacement that will repair the torch even if the original heart is taken." he shines the gold so it catches the torchlight [b]"These bandits... they'd be carrying one coin to the rest of my pouch of coins, when you compare it to the value of the town's bounty on Khonnir Baine. Are you so low on coin, beautiful, that you'd take this one over the promise of a fat purse later? And a chance to piddle in this violet haired cow's soup, as well?"
I care little for the gold beyond what i need for a good meal and lodging, i happen to enjoy breaking inferior opposition. I'm more in it for pleasure, the gold is just a nice benefit. The girl She hasn't been seen since, one can assume either's she dead or gone. Though she was cute from the few times i've seen her around, playing with her could be fun if she's still alive that is. The Junkmaster having that device seems suspicious as well. She remains casual, speaking as if her assumed actions mean little .
She sighs audibly, brushing her dull grey hair out of site, We could investigate the rumors of that spy, i'm willing to bet Khonnir Baine being missing is involved with that. All joking aside, if it involves The League i'd rather look into it. It'll be fun picking them apart,
Zane gives Pasquot and Illya a scrutinizing look, absorbing their words. The words of the man were self-serving, his interests being the gold involved with finding the councilor. The sorcerer didn't know what to think of the woman and her comments, although her statement about the Technic League did draw his approval. He wasn't from this area, but he knew enough to know that the Technic League was the source of most of the wrongs in the region.
He enters the conversation again, his manner guarded, "Perhaps the woman with the violet hair is responsible for the Torch going out, or perhaps she is a spy. Although a spy that stands out that much is bound to be a poor one. Regardless, I think finding this missing Councilor is the most pertinent order of business. Not only is he a large piece of the government and a powerful mage, he also probably has the most knowledge of what is going on below the Torch, if he is indeed still alive."
Zane takes a pull of his drink, wiping the foam away from his lips with the back of his hand. This scenario wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he had decided to come to Numeria, but it certainly was an interesting first step.
"I'm not interested in having -fun- with the League." Pasquot draws his thumb across his throat for emphasis. "I have more than a week's worth of food in my pack, too. With the way the Weeping Pool fills, it's a safe bet to assume that there's a spring below this town with sufficient water to access from anywhere under the hill. She could be down below, still. With friends. Or smart enough to wear a hood after making an impression like she did."
Dragging the curious, dark-grey shard of metal off his back, the bleached Kellid lays it across his lap before rummaging through his pack to find a whetstone. The fine grain of the slate makes a satisfying hiss as he draws it across the piece of star-metal alloy, sharpening the last foot or so all along its single edge. "Likewise, bandits don't interest me. They're not likely to serve as much of a challenge at any rate. Not against the likes of these big swords." He gestures idly at the collection of blades slowly amassing in their group. "The only place I can think of to start looking for that agent would be beneath the Black Hill.
"We're all new to working in a unit, it seems. Lots of strong opinions. Do we elect a leader? How will we deal with coin and star-metal we draw together in our endeavors? Everything in its full value to whoever takes it? Bids? Assignment? -Con-signment? ... Votes? Now seems as good a time as any to bash this out." The soft rhythmic scrape continues as he works the stone along the edge, pausing once to add a few drops of something from his bandolier onto the stone, the thick green bottle stoppered again quickly and returned to its assigned pouch with a familiarity and speed that belies drilling to know exactly where every loop, button, and snag is on his ratty gear.
Good then, are definition's of fun are very similar. Illya comments now directing her full attention toward the table rather seriously, We will split coin evenly, loot will be sold or distrubuted to whoever can best use it. Star metal is another matter, i am not from this land i have little knowledge on it. She immediately attempts to take command of the small grouping, sitting straight instead of leaning, We maintain loyalty to each other, and or goals and we will succeed. A leader should be chosen by who is willing to make the tough calls, not the strongest nor smartest. Though we do not need a leader to work, it would help. That said, i volunteer.
Zane lets Pasquot's characterization of the purple-haired woman as an 'agent' pass, thinking that little would come of arguing the point. The woman very well might be...but they had coincidences only to go off of as of now. The sorcerer's eyes widen as the two others start to speak of their table as a unit, but then Zane internally agrees. Most of the parties who ventured under the hill hadn't returned, so forming a group seemed a natural thing to do.
As Pasquot and Illya start to hammer out the details Zane hides his amusement well. Right to the meat of the matter, these two were. He can't resist a small chuckle as the grey-haired woman makes her peace with her gracious offer to volunteer as leader.
At a pause in the discussion he interjects, "Splitting coin evenly and the loot being sold or distributed based on utility sounds like a good suggestion to me...I didn't come here to get rich. As for star-metal..." Here he meets Illya's eyes for a moment before looking at the sword Pasquot seems to be oiling or something. "I know little of it, except that it has value. Unless someone here is a smith, sell it, then split the coin, is my opinion."
He gives Pasquot a questioning look, as if asking for more clarification on the star-metal, before looking at the lovely woman of the group, leaning back in a relaxed manner, "Making the tough calls is not the same as making the correct calls, my lady. You are full of zest and zeal, I do not doubt, but you also appear reckless and headstrong. If you'll pardon any offense that might be taken. I would prefer no leader...if a small group can't make a decision quickly, then its members probably shouldn't be traveling together. Everyone has a skill to contribute to the group and knows what to do to work together. Or will in short time, at any rate."
"Abyssium, Adamantine, Djezet, Horacalcum, Inubrix, Noqual, and Siccatite." He pats the blade in his lap with a dull *thunk* "And of course Glaucite."
More quick agreement from Pasquot to Zane "I would prefer a single point of leadership. A good leader knows how to take the ideas of his companions to make the best of knowledge, intuition, and creativity."
He continues to scrape softly, reserving his judgement for a moment as he regards Illya curiously, the deliberate, conscious stress of his actions making him seem either overly serious, or just slightly stoned. "I am Pasquot of the Bauga. Almost a decade ago, the Bauga were wiped out by the Technic League for daring to settle in one of the star-mounds, in the fields of fire. We found a small god there, and made it ours, and it made us strong. I was a very young man, and I was not able to fight to save my people when the League came. I could only cower, as I listened to those I loved and rely on die, screaming. Not even Katrull's great metal arms could defeat them. This..." He touches the sword again, reverently, the cobbled together thing a makeshift weapon so well worn it functions like it was crafted for war "... was a piece of our sky fortress. I have devoted my life to learning these Skymetals, and the years since my orphanage testing how they affect my body in any dose, solution, or tincture I can manage. The Noqual has done the worst. Rotting flesh white and staining my hair, burning my eyes and making me vomit blood. I have recovered, time and again, but I have never discovered how to reproduce Katrull's great metal arms, or the legs of Quick D'bagi. But one day I will..."
Scraping the stone along the metal again, his voice rasps like the coaxing whetstone, sharpening his words and his resolve "And when that power is mine... I will carve the Black Sovereign from the Silver Mount, and slay every gearsman, murder every metal magician who wears the gear of the League. I will avenge my brother, and my mother, my father, and my grand-father. I will see them rest easy, at last. Is that a burden you can shoulder? Is that an oath you can remember? Can you walk ahead of me knowing that I can see that goal, and will never stop marching towards it, and will never let my pursuit end? That I will carve a life out of sand and blood and nothing, and a destiny out of sinew and Skymetal?"
Pasquot makes a little cut on the back of his thumb and hisses softly, frowning at the sharpened blade in his hand. "And will you do all the bothersome talking so I can focus on my study?" he pops his thumb in his mouth and suckles the shallow cut, his brow furrowed in annoyance. The sword is probably sharp enough now.
Illya smiles genuinely and with kindness, her nature calming down at having found someone she could called kin We are similar then, Pasquot. I am Illyasviel Nym, the creation of the arch shadowmage Archae. My blood is that of a dragon, vampire, and many others, i am strong physically, magically, and adept at manipulation. Though with those bloods comes...side effects. I recognize my faults, being headstrong is one them. She chuckles briefly, at her self deprication. Her eye's flash with hatred for the man she calls ″Father.
This part is difficult to describe, but my body is breaking down, though i hide the effects well. My father seeks to... dissect me, the League had a hand in my creation and are allied with him thus i want them dead as well. She explains, maintaining a calm but quite serious tone, I enjoy a fair bit of blood and violence, though it will not interefere with the decisions i make. I protect the lives of those loyal to me, It might not seem it but we should have a lead. there is a reason militaries do the same.
Zane listens with a certain amount of disinterest as Pasquot names off what the sorcerer assumes are types of metal. He knew adamantine was, at any rate. If they found any of this scarce metal, it would be good to have the strange warrior along to recognize value when he saw it. At the man's preference for a group leader, Zane nodded his understanding. There was value in such a thing, after all, to prevent squabbling.
As the bald man told his story, the sorcerer sipped at his drink, listening to the sad tale. Such single-minded pursuit could be an issue, though if it could be channeled correctly it would be a valuable asset to the group. Pasquot's tale convinced Zane even further that this land was where he belonged, at least for the short-term, as this was the sort of tyranny that the young man had decided to fight against.
The sorcerer's eyes flit to Illya as she tells her own story, fascinated by the woman's words. Was she a creation of a wizard? Zane's brow furrowed as she mentioned her curious disease (at least he thought it was a disease), wondering if it was contagious. She certainly seemed to have a specific enmity against the Technic League, as did Pasquot. Zane's own desire to see the League fail seemed trivial now. Still...
He first turned his attention back to Pasquot, "I don't see that those desires will split our paths any time soon, friend. As for talking...I doubt you'll be doing much studying beneath the Torch." He grinned good-naturedly at the bald man before swiveling towards Illya.
"I understand the reasons to have a leader, my lady. In this case, however, I believe it should be more of a facilitator. None of us should be held above the others...this is just a role, just as 'point' or 'rear-guard' would be. We already should have a plan for loot distribution and watch, so the so-called leader's role should be very limited. That said, you both seem emotionally invested in ways I am not...therefore, I can offer the most aloof, rational decision-making."
Rowland intejects, trying to move the conversation away from leadership. "We rescue Khonnir Bain, or find his body. That is the first objective, I think everything else will follow." He starts collecting his books. "Pasquot, I am Rowland of Torch and if we rescue Khonnir, I will help you inflict untold pain and suffering upon the League. Illyasviel, if we rescue Khonnir, I will help you to destroy your father and protect you from his predations. He hasn't caught Zane's name yet, but he turns to him. "Khonnir is the best hope of determining what has happened to the Flame so please. Let's make that our priority." He then adds. "Dividing the loot is fine with me and I have been experimenting with various processes using skymetal that seem promising. I may be able to forge any skymetal we find into weapons and armor."
Fixer, having watched from the shadows long enough, cleared his throat.
"If you're up for rescuing Khonnir...I'm with you. That man has done me more kindness than I can begin to repay, so even beyond what he means for Torch, I wish to see him safe. As far as loot, well, yes, we can divide that up. But my first priority is saving Khonnir. Ah, I'm Fixer, by the by. Clever hands, clever head, and a big ol' blade. Which is, in no way, a euphemism," Fixer said, indicating the Elven Curve Blade strapped to his back.
"I don't care much about leaders or anything like that. I'd just like to see my friend safe. However you all need to organize to feel good about moving forward, I'm all for it, as long as we get moving quickly."
Zane nods agreeably to Rowland, "Well spoken, sir! Councilman Baine should certainly be our priority." The sorcerer holds his tankard up to the barbarian in a mock toast before draining the remainder.
As Fixer joined the conversation, Zane listened as he set the empty tankard upon the table, the dull thud as the vessel hit the tabletop his only interruption. After the man has said his piece, the sorcerer chuckles, holding out his hand to whomever will shake it. "Zane Lovallis, a pleasure to meet each and every one of you. I think we can all agree on the fact that we need to find the Councilman and get to the bottom of what put out the Torch's flame. I think maybe...hey! You! Big fella over there! Care to join us?".
Zane's eyebrows raise interrogativelt as he looked at Jerrek, gesturing toward a nearby chair.
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"Hey! You! Big fella over there! Care to join us?"
I don't want any trouble. I don't want trouble.
"Um, no, thanks. I'm waiting for someone." The tall fellow thinks again. "Hey, um, this is The Foundry, right? It's just - I was supposed to be meeting someone."
I don't want trouble.
The Kellid looks openly nervous.
Fixer raised a brow.
"Be at ease, man, we are all friends here! Who are you meeting here? Perhaps I can help."
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The human's eyes go wide as Fixer moves into view and addresses him.
"Oh!...I'm here to meet YOU." The long-haired Kellid moves straight for the half-elf, a three-fingered mangled hand extended. "I'm Jerrek....of Nex," he adds with a pause, followed by a rush of words. "I've asked around about you and Master---Mister Baine, and they told me that you would be here, that there would be work. Good work," he finishes, his hand still extended.
Fixer takes the proffered hand.
"Ah! Well met, then. Indeed, this would be the work. Khonnir is a dear friend of mine...and he's missing. A reward is offered for his rescue, and I'm quite sure he'd be willing to hire on those that proved stalwart in his rescue. I might have such need myself!"
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Ok. Now we're getting somewhere.
"I'm Jerrek of Nex," he repeats a few times, shaking the hands of the others, almost immediately forgetting all of their names apart from The Fixer.
The Fixer will know how to fix it. That's why that's his name. That's his name. The Fixer.
Jerrek stands near the half-elf and nods when he speaks.
"I think we should try to find Mister Baine as soon as possible. That's what I think."
He continues to sip at this glass of water, eyeing the others closely.
Fixer grinned.
"In that, we are agreed!"
He first turned his attention back to Pasquot, "I don't see that those desires will split our paths any time soon, friend. As for talking...I doubt you'll be doing much studying beneath the Torch." He grinned good-naturedly at the bald man before swiveling towards Illya.
Pasquot barks a sharp laugh at that, and smirks bitterly but he tosses his hand up and bows his head, lank hair hanging around his face. "You have me there."
He carefully stows his whetstone and draws the sheathe from around his back to strap the glaucite blade back down, letting it hang in easy reach for a side-draw on his right side. Once the sword is stowed his hands move almost reflexively, unfastening one of the loops across his chest to retrieve another bottle. The mason-stopper is levered off and hangs on the side as he takes a little swig, and then digs in his pack for another piece of accoutrement, a flattish wooden case bound in leather that he unfolds to reveal rows of glass jars, one of which he swirls and holds up to the light to reveal a honey-like ooze in the bottle, some unidentifiable bits floating within. He goes about levering the wired lid on that as well, and produces a small strainer from in the case, which he uses to strain some of the thick plasma into the original green glass bottle he wore on his chest, refilling it bit by bit but keeping whatever debris is in the main jar out of whatever he'll be drinking.
By the time he has put it all away, he's missed shaking hands with Zane (but given a salutory wave at any rate) but had time enough to catch a few details about the others gravitating towards them. Adventurers. He nods at Fixer "Ah, you'll be Val's boyfriend then? Cal?" He smirks and quirks a thin brow at the Half-Elf "When I was asking about Councilman Baine's circle of friends she spoke about you with great affection." He's wry and dry, but is that sarcasm or teasing?
He watches the somewhat dim Nexian go around the table with his introduction and repeats his name and clan for him, before settling on another adress. "For now, Illyasviel, I think we need a single leader, and Zane has my vote. And Rowland has the right of it. The bounty on Councilman Baine is too high to ignore, the town is desperate, we need to keep them from folding under League rule." He flicks his yellowed eyes over Rowland "I don't suppose one of those books tells you how to get us beneath the Black Hill?" and to Fixer "Or that Baine told you how to get below the Torch? Our first question is simply how to manage our ingress."
Fixer is out the door as soon as he recognizes the voice. His blade is in his hand, and he is heedless of his own safety. He makes for Khonnir's house, running as fast as he can.
Pasquot doesn't immediately register the scream, or seems disinclined to move from his spot. When Fixer finds his feet and is already moving, though, the alchemical warrior packs his things, lagging behind by the time he's left the tavern.
Rowland exclaims "That sounds like Val." He quickly slaps a silver onto the bar to pay for his drink and appears to be racing Fixer to get there first. He doesn't draw his sword, but looks around warily for the source of the screaming.
Illya sighs, Very well then, for the purposes of leadership Zane will take the role. Having not unpacked or bought anything Illya is quick to get up and give chase when she see's others do so . Rowland, This Val is important?
The sorcerer nods his assent at Illya's withdrawal. He intended to have as light as touch as possible...they were all in this together.
Zane wasn't sure who this Val was, but a woman's scream in the night always deserved an investigation. He gathered his things quickly and followed the others out into the night...
Stepping carefully to avoid the broken glass, Fixer moves quietly over to the window, utilizing all his skill to avoid making noise as he slips into the familiar dwelling.
Illya sighs, Very well then, for the purposes of leadership Zane will take the role. Having not unpacked or bought anything Illya is quick to get up and give chase when she see's others do so . Rowland, This Val is important?
"Val is Khonnir's daughter. She was who I was going to suggest we visit to determine the circumstances behind his disappearance." He bends down and picks up a wrench amongst the broken glass of the window. "Hmm...this looks like it was thrown through the window from the inside." He steps through the thrshold of the home and calls out. Val! Are you alright?"
Illya sighs, Very well then, for the purposes of leadership Zane will take the role. Having not unpacked or bought anything Illya is quick to get up and give chase when she see's others do so . Rowland, This Val is important?
"Val is Khonnir's daughter. She was who I was going to suggest we visit to determine the circumstances behind his disappearance." He bends down and picks up a wrench amongst the broken glass of the window. "Hmm...this looks like it was thrown through the window from the inside." He steps through the thrshold of the home and calls out. Val! Are you alright?"
Thirty seconds behind, Pasquot finally catches up with the group at a jog, with the screaming and the broken window, though, he unleashes his blade and holds it down at his side, tip lowered but the sharpened piece of metal ready and waiting. He -says- nothing, but keeps his wits about him and his eyes sharp, looking for trouble as he makes his way through the front door to back Rowland up.
There's a strong possibility she's been taken as well Illya draws her blade, We should look around, maybe someone's still here