The spymaster shakes his head. "Northern forests. Leave what remains of me there."
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Luc appears confused by Guillaumine, as though he understands her, but doesn’t grasp why she doesn’t understand. He acknowledges his stomach now with a point of his finger. “Taken. Root.” He shakes his head. “Know that I know nature. It's taken root, we wait for my time, waiting until nature decides I return.”
The spymaster stops reciting questions he was asked by his torturers, senseless questions about mundane facts, historical figures, plants. His eyes are wide, voice melancholic. “Nature will reclaim their servant. It's roots have already taken ahold of me, grasping, calling for their son. In time I return. In time, in time. That's what he told me.”
Luc speaks to himself as the doctor speaks to the bishop and Mirabelle. When Guillaumine asks her question to him, it is lost in almost poetic rhetorical musings. “Does your wind still whistle through your knots and twisted branches? Is your soil still compact from my steps on the trails I walked for hundreds of years with you? In death will I still feel the touch of-” Both his thoughts and speech is interrupted by Guillaume's medicine. The spymaster pauses, seeming to know well enough to take what he is being given. His voice turns somber, weaker than before. “He asked, asked questions, countless questions. But my answers were never right. Questions. Thousands. Meaningless. Answerless. Scattered questions.” Luc’s hand retracts to his stomach. Guillaumine: Close now, and with more time to inspect a calmer patient, you believe that the poison has now run its course through the spymaster. It appears as though his condition is no longer deteriorating: what damage the poison has done will go no further, and should only improve with time.
While you can’t identify what had afflicted him, he seems to be suffering in both the mind (WIS) and the body (CON), in addition to a general fatigue and weakness from a combination of starvation and dehydration.
To Halcyon:
You feel a pull towards the northeast as you attempt to visualize the mirror Luc may have entered from. You know that you’ll be able to follow this effect for around eight minutes, at which point the ring’s effect will end. As Guillaumine approaches the spymaster, she finds that both Mirabelle and the Bishop appear more grave than concerned as they hover over Luc Gardinier. Jean-Christophe rises to his feet, a great task for the older man. The sylph remains still, listening to spymaster’s babbling like a child to a bedtime story. “-burned to ashes, spread in the wind until they land in distant soils, returned to the Green. All of us will return, mark my words, child of the wind, you among them.” The elf’s head twists, looking up the doctor. While the spymaster is not well by any means, he seems slightly more coherent and with a bit of color in his face. When Luc bends his mouth into a smile, it even gives hope that he might get better. His words betray his improving health. “No burial, no cremation. Leave my body to decompose in the northern forests. That is how I wish to return.”
It takes minimal effort for Seth to trickle the potion into the man’s mouth. Dropping down on his knees and grabbing the man’s head, the only difficulty lies in waiting for the pauses in his babbling. “The Green no longer listens.” a bit of the potion pours down the elf’s mouth during lull. “No, It listens, but it answers with silence.” Seth gets the last of the vial’s contents into the elf’s mouth.
The spymaster doesn’t seem to notice the mercenary moving behind him. Lying down on his back, he stares up at the ceiling of the warehouse. He tightens his grip over his stomach, nearly tearing at the cloth. When he rambles, it sounds as though he ignores the question of the doctor. “Nature abandoned me. It betrays me now.” He shakes his head, sounding somber. “Did you not think I’d recall your presence? Did you truly believe I forgot my vows?”
To Marcus:
To Halcyon:
The Spymaster begins to panic as the doctor approaches once more. He turns to his knees, and crawls across the stage slowly. “C-Can’t, Can’t escape! Run! Run! B-before, before they arrive, run!” It takes only a moment for the doctor to reach the weakened elf. He twists onto his back violently, extending his arm towards her as the other caresses his abdomen. Luc’s face twists into a snarl, eyes shining a brilliant emerald green. His voice is filled with clarity now. “Afíste tin na sapísoun - Maraínontai!” He closes his spread-out fingers into a fist as he stares at the doctor. Druidic. No one knows it, but feel free to open:
”Let her rot away - Wither!” Spellcraft DC 23:
The Spymaster is casting Finger of Death at the doctor. Casting this spell is against the law, as is preparing the spell. It is one of the most powerful known spells banned following the Crater incident a year prior, and the most powerful Necromancy spell the world has known. His eyes cease to glow. Whatever spell he attempted to cast appears to have failed. His arm falls slowly to the ground, defeated at his failure. He is still now, head lowering to the boards of the stage. “P-Please. Run...” he whimpers. "Please..."
Luc scampers back as Halcyon approaches “Away! G-Get away!” He doesn't seem to react to his title. He backs up into the clockwork servant, an item to be auctioned. His expression turns terrified when he twists back to look at the construct, and his new-found horror has him recoil into Halcyon’s hand, into her spell. Thick gashes alongside his arms and legs begin to close, as if several weeks worth of rest passed in mere moments. His wounds are gone, mere scratches remain. Luc calms slightly. He is still, though continues to breathe heavily. The elf looks starved and panicked, and grips his stomach as if the arm around it was all that held him together. His eyes frantically look around as he speaks up. “G-Get away! She’s watching! He is coming! They- They-” His other arm wraps around his abdomen, tightly hugging the cloth. The elf’s teeth are clenched in apparent pain. To Halcyon, DC 20 Heal to those on stage or very close: Halcyon’s cure spell should have nullified most of the man’s pains from his wounds. Whatever afflicts him still seems beyond the effect of such spells. A poison may be passing through his veins, he may have some sickness, it could all be mental. He only seems to experience the pain in his stomach though.
An older, elven man passes through the reflective veil, thin and tall, stumbling onto the stage. His black hair is frayed, hanging over his gaunt face, draping against the floor. Sharp, pale ears pierce through his dark strands. He falls in front of Halcyon, flailing wildly, drawing arcs of blood upon the stage as he flings his arms about. Cuts line all over his arms, across his face, carving into his mouth and eyes. As he kicks about on the floor, his arm finds the mirror’s surface. He braces himself against it, rising slowly, one hand over his stomach. He breathes loud uneven breathes, with eyes wide in fear as he looks to the remaining crowd. Pale frail hands peek out from simple garbs of blood-stained wool, each nail on each hand stretches long, almost an inch past their finger. He turns to the mirror he leans against and lurches forwards, almost falling once more, though catches himself on the podium. He heaves, though nothing comes out. After several breaths, he turns, now noticing the host, bodyguard and oracle nearby. He falls, and in a panic, rushes crawls backwards across the stage, an arm still gripping at his abdomen. His mouth opens, and after several failed attempts to speak, manages to let out a pained, single shout: “A-AWAY!” DC 20 Local, 15 Nature Check: Despite the wounds and apparent starvation, the elf appears to be Councilman Spymaster Luc Gardinier.
He is known to be a druid of great power. |