Abel nods back to Bis'Marek as he begins looking for the trigger to open the door. And if he can do so, he'll attempt to open the secret door as quietly as possible. As he works, he whispers, "Yep. It'd be good to at least know what room this opens into... so have that scroll handy. We might just have some fun tonight after all."
As the door quietly opens, the light spills into the darkened room beyond. Octagonal in shape, it appears to be a storeroom of sorts, one rarely used. The footprints lead inside to a crate, where at some point another box once stood judging by the freshly disturbed outline on the crate below. Unlit sconces decorate the walls, the only ornamentation and that functional, with a sturdy ladder leading to a trapdoor in the ceiling above, the only other form of egress.
Cain spends a few moments looking around the room for anything interesting before he mounts the ladder and heads to the top, carefully checking for more traps or mechanisms. Once at the top, he once again works his head into a strange angle so his ear can rest agains the trap door or – more useful perhaps – at a joint along the trapdoor's edge. He waits there for a couple of minutes listening.
If he finds nothing in of his searching or listening, Cain hides the light in his pocket and tries to slowly and quietly raise the trapdoor to get a sense for where it lets out.
Quietly raising the lid, light spills into the storeroom from above. The room above is empty but has the smell of coal and worked metal. As Cain's eyes adjust to the light, he sees he's in an empty room, but one that receives quite a few visitors. Visitors during the day that is of this armory. On racks are twenty halberds, longswords, breastplates and heavy steel shields. All bear the marks of the Talirean military and are thus difficult to sell.
From this circular room, a set of stairs leads up higher to the next level and a set of days to the west leaves it, currently shut.
Cain gauges the level of dirt and dust on the armory's floor. he quietly climbs into the next room, stalks across to the door and tests it for a lock or any other security measures.
He spends a few seconds listening through the door before he retreats back across the dark room, heads down the trapdoor, and quietly returns the trapdoor itself to its original position.
Back in the dark, sub-armory store-room, Cain pulls his light back out of his pocket. He relays all the information he's found in a hushed tone as he looks at the multiple sets of new prints in the dust on the floor. "I was just gonna scrub the floors with my shirt to obscure all the tracks." He shrugs, "Not perfect, but hopefully in the darkness whoever's used to usin' this little rat-run won't notice the even disturbance... less you have a better idea."
If Fargo doesn't have any better suggestions, Cain pulls his shirt off and takes whatever time is necessary to kick up the dust on the floors throughout the whole room.
... an act he'll continue all the way back through the long tunnel and into the inn's cellar.
a dust-covered Abell quietly returns to his room, whispering to Bis'marek as they near their rooms. "We need to get word to the others about this. Make sure Shulme knows he struck fvckin' gold."
Teon keeps the bottle of wine, and takes a swig straight from the cask.
Abell and Bis'marek return to the Inn with little issues. The ground is swept to hide the tracks, the doors shut easily. Arriving back at the Lord's Dalliance, all seems as quiet as when they left, not a sound in the building or room. Returning to their room is met much the same.
It looked like the city was on fire.
The columns of black smoke rising from the interior of Aldencross had Alaric's hopes up as he approached the gates. He didn't lend credence to it and so it didn't let him down when he realized the columns were from the forges of smithies. The town needed weapons and armor to arm its soldiery, and the many smithies no doubt stoked fires of charcoal and coal. It made sense to him.
Would've been easier the other way, though.
He lugs an ornate chest over his shoulder, his four-foot long bastard sword strapped to his back. Full plate, especially his, would've been menacing: he went with leathers, interwoven with steel plates to explain the sound. Thick gloves to mask the size of his gauntlets. His helmet of course sat in his pack in case someone might try to touch his face. The small pack he wore with the cooking utensils hanging from rings on the straps helped in that as well. His short-cropped black hair was replaced by long windblown brown, drawn back into a short braid knotted with silver cloth. He'd seen farm boys with that hair.
As he cuts through the town towards the Lord's Dalliance, he catches the gaze of everyone who looks and returns it with a smile. "Afternoon," he says, multiple times, giving multiple waves of his hand. It didn't hurt to be friendly, especially to the guards. He spent a moment considering an apple from a vendor, watched a pair of girls washing clothing, kicked a ball back to a pair of children. It wasn't like he was disallowed a moment's respite after his travels-- after what he'd had to do last night. He was certain he still had blood under his fingernails. That man had put up a fight, and he held his grisly trophy in the chest. What Thorn had wanted him to do with it felt a bit too personal-- Alaric didn't mind biting a man's ear off if it was for his Father, but when it came down to it, he didn't think this was for his Father. It was just violence. It didn't sit right with him.
Oh well.
He enters the Lord's Dalliance with a cursory glance around the inn-- not disapproving, but with a grin and a nod, like he hadn't seen a barroom in years. Alaric sets a course to the nearest person who doesn't look like they're here to drink, eat or be merry-- the most likely person to work here. He sets the chest down on the nearest surface-- bar, table, chair, Alaric doesn't notice-- but doesn't remove his palm from the top of it.
"Another traveler. Welcome to the Lord's Dalliance, my friend. How might I be of service to you today?"
He liked that word.
Might.
"Afternoon, sir," Alaric-- Eric-- says, and lays it on thick. He'd spent close to five years in the boondocks of Talingarde and had earned an appreciable skill at mimicking their accent. That it partially came from his own upbringing was something he wasn't willing to admit. "M'names Eric, sir-- pleased to meet you-- and ah've come on business from Sligo haulin' cargo for-- was's name-- Bis'marek, sir. Heard a tale he'd be located in this fine establishment awaitin' this fine box," he says and gives the chest a thump. "So, may'n I inquire as to his location here, sir, and if it's no mind perhaps he could be alerted to my presence? If the sun rose today he should know that I'm comin'." Eric smiles throughout, a pleasant tone in his voice.
It hurt to speak this way but it was simple and comfortable. The only other skin he could wear to hide his armor would be a paladin or a soldier, and he wasn't sure if his Father would suppress his strictness upon a return to old ways, no matter how superficial. Not like he'd be wearing this skin for long, anyways.
Bis'marek had spent the day working on his cover. He visted third eye again, checking on the order for the quiver and inquiring about scrolls. He had only had the chance to discus his dream with Cain so far. Reaching the inn that afternoon, he was greeted by Bellam and told of the man waiting for him.
There is a man that came in and said that he was looking for Master Bis'marek. He seemed to know you would be here. I trust he was telling the trust that you was expecting him. If not, I have have the watch here in two shakes
Indeed, he was expected. Thank you Master Bellam. I hope that he has good news for me. If you provided him with any refreshments, make sure to add them to my tab.
Come along there you, and you Able.
Bis'marek lead the way up stairs with the overly tall newcomer following, Cain bringing up the rear.
This must be the new ally that Thorn mentioned in the dream. If it is not, getting rid of the complication will be messy. I almost hope he is not. He looks like another tall idiot who thinks the world should bow down before him.
Fargo gestured to the bed You may place the chest on the bed As soon as the man mountain had turned his back to put down the chest, Fargo nodded to Cain, who drew the bolt on the door. Fargo reached and right next to the man appeared a lemur. Fargo whispered as he drew his morningstar. Now, you had best start talking, and if what you say does not please the both of us, then we will be left with the annoying but not difficult task of explaining your body.
Alaric waits for a moment. He didn't move for his sword, but he gave an empty smirk.
"Done?" he asks and scratches his face. It was nice to talk in his own voice, but he kept it low. "You have a bit of candor."
When he spoke, he made sure not to break eye contact with Bis'marek-- and his face became stone, businesslike. "Cardinal Thorn sent me, along with coin. It's in the chest. Two are for Kalina and Gwyndolin, along with a new task. I'm their replacement. You must be Fargo. I don't think I'd know those names if Tiadora and the Cardinal hadn't said them in my presence." Having spoken names aloud, he glances about the room to see if the shadows move.
Alaric noted that there was a lemure standing beside him but paid it no mind as it had none. He flickers his eyes across the two, looked at them through the lens of the Father and did not find they required judgment. Good.
He presents the key from his pocket, extending a long arm to hand it to Fargo. "Check in the chest, if you're suspicious. I have a hand for someone as well, but whose it is I have no idea. Thorn is chronically vague and a bit morbid. Don't touch the glowing ones."
"My name is Alaric Crosael. Draw a weapon on me again and I'll make you eat it." Despite his words, he smiles. "I like you. Twice your size and you were going to bludgeon me with that?" he says and gestures to the morningstar. He lacked any sort of guile or sarcasm-- legitimately, he was impressed at the overt threats as if they were a red carpet welcome. "Very interesting."
"And who are you?" he addresses Abel-- the other man, though he doubted Abel was his name.
Lounging in the common room of the Lord's Dalliance with a tankard of ale, Cain had noted the big man's entrance. It had been hard to miss, really. The man was a mountain. Cain had toppled mountains before, but this man also moved with the practiced, measured, confident ease of a trained fighter. Wolves with a few winters behind them tended to have a sense for when a real threat walked into its territory. Had it not been for Fargo telling Cain about his strange dream and left instructions to watch for a newcomer, this man would have kicked all of Cain's hunter instincts into overdrive.
As it was, Cain had simply watched the man from over the lip of his tankard, waiting for Fargo to make contact. When Fargo had ordered it, Cain had followed, taking a trailing position behind the new tall man. Watching. And as Fargo and the newcomer began their conversation, Cain found a spot next to the door to lean and continued waiting… just watching. Measuring. Dream or no, letter or no, Cain would be cautious until he knew what he was dealing with… and so far he knew this tall man was confident to the point of arrogance, physically powerful, martially capable, and smart enough to be trusted for this job by Thorn.
"Twice your size and you were going to bludgeon me with that?"
Cain grunts, a sound of half-amusement. "He'll surprise you," he mutters without looking up from picking at a fingernail with a dagger, "Well, actually, Fargo probably aint likely to beat much of anythin' with that mace. The big guy, on the other hand, is likely to enjoy eating whatever weapon you try to jam in his maw and kindly ask for seconds..."
"And who are you?"
Cain finally looks up. "Name's Cain." He pulls the strip of leather off his bald head. The strip of leather instantly reverts to its natural metal circlet form, and Cain reverts to himself, though still shaved bald. His yellow-gold eyes lock with Alaric's own. "But the folk of this town know me as Abell. Mind you remember that, if yer stickin' with us." His tone indicates he's still skeptical of the man's claims, regardless of dreams, notes, or whatever.
He lazily replaces the circlet on his head, and his facade returns. Green eyes stare at Alaric where moments before yellow-gold ones did. Otherwise, Cain maintains his casual lean against the wall. Anyone with some experience with fighting men would recognize the smalls signs, though. Signs of an ever-readiness… like a coiled spring. An arrow in a taut bow-string. A wolf in a city full of curs and mutts.
"So, Thorn thinks you can replace Jakes and Gwyn, huh?" He quirks his half-smile, "You're certainly pretty enough."
Fargo snatches the dangling key, trying to hide a look of furry and failing. Stand there Alaric. Do not move. Cain has taught me that the prey is flushed, but the predator is still until he chooses to move.
Fargo makes eye contact with Cain trying to convey one simple thing: I do not trust him.
Fargo moves to the bed and inserts the key in the chest, through it open.
Cain nods, continuing to pick at the grime under his nails with the blade.
Cain finally looks up. "Name's Cain." He pulls the strip of leather off his bald head. The strip of leather instantly reverts to its natural metal circlet form, and Cain reverts to himself, though still shaved bald. His yellow-gold eyes lock with Alaric's own. "But the folk of this town know me as Abell. Mind you remember that, if yer stickin' with us." His tone indicates he's still skeptical of the man's claims, regardless of dreams, notes, or whatever.
"I'd return the favor," he begins, and finishes with an implied shrug. Fargo told him not to move. It would just be pointless to ignore him; he had nothing to prove.
"So, Thorn thinks you can replace Jakes and Gwyn, huh?" He quirks his half-smile, "You're certainly pretty enough."
"I wouldn't think for an instant that I'd be able to match beauty with two women, especially those two, by Thorn's description. My strengths lie in the foundation of my conviction to the Father, my mind, my arm. I hope to prove each to you, in time." Alaric doesn't shift, but he watches Fargo go through the chest. "You knew about the hidden compartment? I was beginning to feel that Thorn forgot to mention me."
"Cain, Cain... that name sounds familiar," Alaric mulls over it for a moment before a look of clarity crosses his face-- Cain, Price's hand. An acolyte had told him about the man, his wild look and cannibal's grin. Werewolf. He'd also been there-- Alaric had written Cain's name down on a long-lost sheet of parchment at the beginning of all this. One of the thirteen. "I think you and I have something to discuss once this conversation winds to a close," he says with a seriousness in his voice he had been lacking until just then.
It withers away replaced by arrogant aloofness when he asks Fargo: "Everything in order?"
"I think you and I have something to discuss once this conversation winds to a close,"
It's Cain's turn to shrug, "I'm not goin' anywhere." He lapses into silence and stashes his blade in his belt as Fargo finishes his business with the chest.
My strengths lie in the foundation of my conviction to the Father, my mind, my arm.
Oh Xanos is going to love this one Fargo holds up the severed hand, careful not to spread blood any where but with none of the squeamishniss he might have once shown. He continued to pitch his voice as he reached back and the lemure was gone. First, do you know who this belonged to. Secondly, do you bring any other instructions?,
My strengths lie in the foundation of my conviction to the Father, my mind, my arm.Oh Xanos is going to love this one Fargo holds up the severed hand, careful not to spread blood any where but with none of the squeamishniss he might have once shown. He continued to pitch his voice as he reached back and the lemure was gone. First, do you know who this belonged to. Secondly, do you bring any other instructions?,
"Some soldier. I think his name was Dai. He died. I asked Thorn why it was him specifically and he told me 'it was a bit of fun' and that the hand is sending a message to one of you. Someone will understand the humor, I hope," he says.
"You're my contact and I'm aiding you in your task. I wish he was a bit more thorough; I know what the task is. Beyond that, I'm woefully oblivious."
Fargo finaly drops his threatening act. I am sure that the gold is meant to aid us in some way, but Thorn gets to much pleasure out of being cryptic to just tell us. Given the dream I had and him instructing the walking recruiting poster over here to stop the messanger, it also apears he is keeping tabs on us. Cain, can you fill the golden boy here in on things so far. I am going to go let Xanos know so we can start to get everybody up to speed. And take him this. Fargo wraps the hand in another handkerchief so as not to stain is clothes and slips past Cain, out of the room.
Checking to make sure that the hallway is empty, he walks down the hall and taps lightly on Xanos' door, keeping is voice low Father? It is Bis'marek. How is your health?
The door closes, leaving just Cain and Alaric. Cain looks up, "In case it ain't obvious, you don't have to stand there like a statue no more." He gives another bark of a laugh as he shakes his head, "Plus, Thorne did a right decent job'a makin' sure you were tied to us. Dai was carryin' a letter meant to verify the story one of ours told him to get into the keep. Her name's Price. You'll meet her later. We were plannin' to do that same killin'… you just gave us all rock-solid alibis and gave us a scapegoat in case you do decide to turn on us." He shrugs as if to say, so there's that.
Cain gives a fairly simple review of what they've done since arriving in Aldencross. None of the finer details of any one effort; just enough to make sure Alaric is up to speed and capable of performing as one of the group. He even fills in some of the broader points of thier travels from Thorn's place. The voyage. The bugbears. Killing the sailors.
Seems as though Thorn is keeping a close watch on us anyway, Cain thinks, refusing to touch the circlet he suspects is the instrument of Thorne's scrying. Tall Man here probably already knows all the details, anyway.
Cain finishes with a brief run-down of everyone's skillsets, as well as what roles they've generally performed in the group so far. Again, giving the man enough information to know who to ask for help in any given situation without giving any real details about anyone away.
"So there it all is." He smiles a cold smile, more a baring of teeth. "Some in the group may not like that i told you all that. We like to keep our secrets, usually. But here's the deal. If Fargo had left me alone with you and I didn't think you were really gonna work for us and keep our little confidences… only one of us woulda walked outta here, bub. You're a big guy and if I don' tmiss my guess, you know a thing or two about swingin' a blade." His grin becomes genuine. A wolf's smile, "… and i'da loved every second of killin' ya if it came to it. As it stands, I'm eager to see ya put those same talents to work for us."
He leans back against the wall once more, "So, you had somethin' you wanted to talk about."
Alaric crosses his arms and finds a place that's comfortable to stand in the room, listening to Cain speak at great length about their actions, trials, journeys. When it drags, it's a bit touch-and-go, but Alaric manages to stay sharp until the end.
"I don't intend to turn on you. I hope you feel the same-- respecting our First Loyalties," he says in an unnecessarily explanatory manner. "But I agree. Only one of us." He gives Cain a smug look. "I'm glad someone is happy I came here. After the warm welcome I just received I'm very curious what the rest of the team will do when I introduce myself. Perhaps there'll be knives?"
"As for what I wished to discuss: I also have some things I found lying about on that Dai fellow's corpse that might be of use for us-- don't know how much you might be needing a Talirean soldier's uniform and the accoutrements of his profession, but they're squirreled away in the woods not too far from the gate. I also have the letter you just mentioned-- "
Alaric felt conflicted. His redirection was a bit shallow, but he had sprung ahead too quickly. Would it be easy to ask him if he had betrayed the convent right here? Yes. Would it be easy to kill him if he had, right now? Cain thought it wouldn't be, and he paradoxically thought Fargo was a 'big guy'. Plus, it sounded like others were near. Shouldn't even consider it right now. But part of him wanted to.
He shrugged that part of him off of his shoulders and kept speaking.
"Do we have a plan concocted yet? So far I know I'm going to head downstairs and rent out a room here, but beyond that... I was hoping to spend some time chatting with some of the prettier pieces of scenery, but if my talents are needed I'll do what I can."
Alaric's smile darkened. "If there's a way into the keep, I used to be a Talirean soldier. I might be able to pass as one within reason. Hell, give me a day or two-- and I can be Dai. If we have a competent forger in our influence. My voice isn't as deep, but," he taps the ribbon in his hair, "magic should be able to make us look the same. The only problem is hiding my conviction from those who can sense it with the aid of their god or magic. Perhaps someone else, then?"
"After the warm welcome I just received I'm very curious what the rest of the team will do when I introduce myself. Perhaps there'll be knives?"
"You expected anything else?"
Cain pauses for a second, then shrugs and answers. "Was good thinkin' to bring the letter and the outfit. Those'll be handy, though someone else'll have to mess with the letter. Ain't exactly my area of expertise."
"There's a rough plan comin' together. I reckon we're still ironin' out the details. So go grab your room and chat up your pretties. And be ready to put those talent to good use… ain't no shortage of bloody work to be done. And since your cover connects you to Fargo, I'm guessin' you and me are gonna get to work close for a bit… which should be fun."
Cain listens to the bit about the tall man's ability to pass for a soldier. "I guess I can see that, now that you say it… and that's gonna be a handy bit a work in the next bit of our plan. Make sure to mention it to the others." He shrugs, "Plannin' and stategizin' aint really my bit. I'm more the 'get sh!t done type', if ya know what I mean.'
Cain follows Alaric out of the room and into the inn, retaking his seat to watch the general comings and goings. With nothing better to do in the short-term, getting to know the heartbeat of the Lord's Dalliance might be handy.
The door opened, but the good Father was at the small desk at the other side of the room. An unseen force gently nudged Bis'marek and shut the door behind him.
On a the table were a row of satchels with markings stitched into them. A wolf's head. A coin. A star. A pair of crossed swords. A rose. A scepter.
"My health is fine for now. The necrosis is staved off by my acolyte's aid and careful cleaning. I should have my research on a suitable replacement done before it becomes life threatening."
He turns and gestures to the table with his good hand.
"I believe I am finished with my preparations. Please distribute these to the others. Their contents should be most useful in our coming endeavor."
A thought occurs to him.
"A shop was mentioned that sold arcane trinkets. At the time I was preoccupied, but now I find myself with an unexpected surplus of time. Would you be willing to barter in my stead for scrolls?"
A shop was mentioned that sold arcane trinkets. At the time I was preoccupied, but now I find myself with an unexpected surplus of time. Would you be willing to barter in my stead for scrolls?"
Fargo's train of thought is obviously derailed. What, yes of course. Let me know what you need and if the halfing that does not shut up does not have it, he can probably have it in a day or two.
I came in here for another reason. We have a complication. Not sure yet if it is good or bad.
Fargo brings the hand out and puts it down in front of Xanos, leaving it for him to unwrap.
First, I know you are going to want to know that Thorn has been keeping track of us. I had only had time to tell Cain but I had a dream last night...
As you walk, you come upon a weed among the flowers. Reaching down, you attempt to pluck the weed from the ground. But as you do, one of the Gladiolus's suddenly lashes towards your hand, cutting it. Recoiling you turn to look around you, more weeds coming up, strangling the flowers. You try to stop the weeds, but even as you do the flowers attempt to ward you off even as they themselves are brought death by those they try to save.
You continue to struggle, against them until suddenly thistles begin to sprout around you. They come forth, slaughtering the Lilies and Weeds alike. As they spread around you bringing death, yet where they come a strange sense of order is left behind. Eventually the entire field is covered in flowering thistles, giving it a strange beauty, yet a sense of security not felt by the lilies. As you turn to gaze you see a familiar sight, a mansion behind you. But not just any, this is the mansion of Cardinal Adrastus Thorn.
You enter, instinctively knowing where to go. Following the steps up to the third floor, you approach the office door to find Thorn sitting behind his desk as usual. He beckons you to sit.
"Fargo, or should I say Bis'marek. I bring you fortuitous news. I send a new ally to come greet you, one whom I am sure will be of great use. He goes by the name of Alaric, and will greet you by the name you have taken, one of your guards sent to deliver goods to Sligo. He shall return with a box of gold, one you may check in public view. But take care to not search to deeply into the box until hidden away."
"Alaric will come with further instructions. You are to heed his words as though they have come from me. Be warned he too has signed the contract as have you all. He will aid you well. Now AWAKEN!"
This afternoon a man was waiting for Bis'marek when we returned to the inn. Cain and I took him upstairs and searched the chest he carried. It had eight sacks of 100 gold pieces, two of which glowed red, and this, is a hidden compartmentFargo gestures to the wrapped hand on Xanos' desk.
This Alaric says that it is Dai, the soldier sent to confirm Miss Price's story. Thorn told him to bring it. Given the dream and the fact that he already knew who we were and what we looked like, I think he is who he says he is. Otherwise, we would already have been rounded up.
I know you are going to love him. Real gung ho about the man downstairs. Anyway, I left him with Cain.
Xanos listens in his usual still, focused way, nodding at the end.
"The best slaves are the ones who are willing. So long as his loyalties do not hinder his ability to work with us toward our common goals, he and I will have no conflict. Ms. Price is not the first, nor the most zealous Asmodean ally I have had over the years."
Unwrapping the hand, he looks at it, a brief moment of annoyance passing his face. "Thorne is attempting to ingratiate himself to me. Or perhaps he is simply looking for a reaction to better gauge me with."
He sets it back down again. "If he were even half as clever as he thinks he is, he would already be ruling this sad little kingdom."
"What can you tell me about the previous owner of this hand?"
"Plannin' and stategizin' aint really my bit. I'm more the 'get sh!t done type', if ya know what I mean.'
Alaric nods along. "Good, good. I'll look forward to our time working together in Aldencross, 'getting sh!t done.'"
Cain follows Alaric out of the room and into the inn, retaking his seat to watch the general comings and goings. With nothing better to do in the short-term, getting to know the heartbeat of the Lord's Dalliance might be handy.
Alaric first re-introduces himself to Bellam Barhold, though he declines to go for a handshake. He requests a room in the Lord's Dalliance, pays the gold charge and then heads to his room. Inside, he strips from the full plate hidden under the glamer of the iron circlet, leaving the leathers and traveling clothes underneath; He changes the illusion to match his change of attire to exactly what he's wearing. He leaves his pack in the room, and slips the pieces of his full plate underneath the bed. His long sword still on his back, Alaric-- Eric-- descends into the tavern.
He spends his time eating, drinking, chatting with the locals, homing in on pretty women and plying them with genuine compliments and polite conversation. Occasionally, he nods or speaks to Cain in passing, always keeping a familiar tone, as if he were a fresh-faced apprentice seeking his master's approval.
"What can you tell me about the previous owner of this hand?"
It is supposed to be Dai's hand. The solder who was supposed to be checking up on Miss Price. It was a loose end we were going to tie up in the next few days. Neither Cain or Jakes has to deal with it now.
"Interesting. Normally I collect from those of more significance, but I suppose having a surplus of available parts could be useful."
Xanos opens his trunk and tosses the hand inside. Some strange thumping and scraping sounds come from within, then it is still again.
Farogo eyes the trunk, then shrugs and dismisses it.
Alaric, or Eric as he is calling himself, I hope no one is looking for him, also said something about Gwyn and Jakes being given another mission. He said Thorn had not given him any further message for us. Maybe there is something in the coin pouches. I have not had a chance to search them thouroughly yet. I will makes sure Jakes and Gwyn here about all this. Can you tell Shulme and whoever can get a message to her first, Shulme or Cain can let Miss Price know.
Fargo turns to the door, but then hesitates and turns back, appearing to have made up his mind about something.
When we were on the boat, I overheard you and Gwyn talking... Talking about power. And about becoming more than Human, to the point where humans are simply prey.
Xanos nods. "For most, humans are already prey to one degree or another. What Gwyn and I discussed was how to become a more effective predator. I suspect her motives are much the same as yours were when you first sought your other half."
Probably. But, sometimes I feel I still need to do more. I can wrap myself inside another creature, but Fargo is still subject to the same frailties. While I have no intention of abandoning Teon, I need to change myself, not just cocoon myself away. You know I can use Magic, but I do not think I will ever have the skill with it you do. I feel like I mostly fumble along. I need to do something.
"Recognizing your limitations is the most important part of your existence. It is good that you have realized these things. Gwyn had ideas about how to overcome the things she was dissatisfied with about herself. Do you?"
The pysical is less of a problem for me. Wrapped in Teon, I have destroyed all my old enemies and have left no new ones behind me. I am still frail without him though. My biggest need I think is to increase in guile and command. I need to stop thinking of myself and the one getting pushed around by the neighborhood bullies and make sure that no one else sees me as such. I do not want to become the bully, but I want... I want to be the thing that they whisper about while they huddle around the fire, to scared the face the darkness. I want them to teach their children that it is only right that I should be feared.
"There is quite a difference between base intimidation and inspiring actual fear."
"Intimidation is only effective under tangible and immediate threat. Fear works best without such things. The idea of what may be is often far more frightening than what is, assuming there is a sound base for a story to spread from."
"Humanity has many fears built into it's cultural subconscious. You simply need to find the one that suits you best, and make it your own. Certain sacrifices may be necessary, depending on what you choose. Unlike Gwyn, I would not imagine you to be particularly squeamish about that idea. Instead, you seem more concerned with mitigating any inherent vulnerabilities you possess. Such things are sometimes the trade made for power, but it does not always need to be the case."
"Tell me, what are your thoughts on the pleasures of the flesh? Food. Narcotics. Women."
Fargo clearly looks confused. I enjoy food. A good meal it quite satisifying, but I do not think about food much unless I am hungry. I, I do not really have any experience with women. Mostly when I try to talk to a pretty girl, I say stupid things. When I was first trying to reach other planes and contact Teon and those like him, I had to use some drugs. I moved past the need for that though and have not bothered since. My mind might not be as good as some, but I like to keep it in its normal state.
"Many of the ways I know of to remake you would necessitate the loss of such dalliances. Even vampirism, the change which is closest to human in overall state, is greatly diminished in the ability to enjoy such things. I understand they instead gain pleasure and satisfaction from other pursuits, but are rather unique in that regard."
"You must understand that the help I can offer in removing the frailties of life comes at the cost of life itself."
"Gwyn decided on a compromise between the two. I was going to try to lessen the effects of the myriad of weaknesses that such a state causes. I could do the same for you, but it seems that you would rather give up more to have fewer overall limitations. Is that correct?"