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Mirandi blinks, and then laughs, a tinkling pealing laughter. "Well I guess I did tell you to insult me better, didn't I? I never said it was a safe thing to do though. If it will make you feel better, you can punch Kalvant on the chin to make up for it. It's his fault you got roped in anyway." Kalvant raises an eyebrow, but shrugs with a grin and sticks his chin out.
Mirandi's nostrils flare again, but she takes a deep breath. "You are correct, Connor. I truly am sorry this has happened, as I said, it's no fault of his own that he's here. But I will not countenance having the honor of my clan insulted again. If he can keep a civil tongue in his head..." She trails off, and visibly brings herself back under control. "Perhaps emotions are running a bit high all around. If your charge will watch his tongue, we'll forget that the preceeding happened. If he is willing to swear to keep his mouth shut about what he's learned, I'll give him one chance. He can leave now, or stay, but if he stays, he's your responsibility Connor of Clan McIntyre."
Kalvant's eyes fly open wide, and growl comes from his throat, the only thing that stops his foot from stomping Elrohir into the back of the couch is Mirandi's hand, which grabs his foot before he can snap it forward and shatter Elrohir's spine (from the front).
Kalvant stands there, on the toes of one foot, looking at Mirandi. "Now now, the last time you did that it took me six months to replace the books you ruined with blood splatter." She tells him gently, holding his eye until he puts the foot back down.
Mirandi's fist slams into Elrohir's face, snapping his head back. There's also a flash of purple energy as the fist hits. "I have had it with you, shtockbrain. If you insult me one more time, I'll personally disrupt every pattern in your body and feed what's left of you to dragonlings." She hisses, eyes flashing. "Clan Selstravi does not put up with such things! Do you understand me?" She steps back, nostrils flaring. "You can take him with you Kalvant, throw him somewhere deep and dark and with no windows." Kn(Psionics) DC 15:
Mirandi's likely wearing an Amulet of Might Fists (Ectoplasmic). Sense Motive DC 5: She's ready to kill him right now.
Mirandi bites her lip and looks pensive. Sense Motive 15:
She seems worried about Kalvant, and thanks to a glance at Selvan, possibly worried that Kalvant is going to physically harm the elvavian for some reason. "Hmm, I have already agree'd it's a regrettable situation, Elrohir. Not one I like. Do you think you can keep your mouth closed long enough to consider your options rationally? I'm afraid you have landed in a situation not of your own making." She glances at the rest of the assembled people. "That actually makes you unique in this group, every single one of them did something that got them into this situation. I've looked over the backgrounds on all of them. Some did something criminally stupid, some did something socially suicidal. You are the only one, from my reading, who actually hasn't done anything. Which of course, is why you end up being the one most likely to end up in a prison cell somewhere." She shrugs. "That's just how the fates are. So, are you interested in trying to stay out of prison, or are you more interested in insulting me? I assure you, I've been insulted by far better insulters than you. Ms. Ragypants? Really? I've had the head of the McIntyre Third Fleet call me every dirty name in the book, and believe me, she knows 8 languages." Her lips curve in a grin.
Mirandi rolls her eyes. "Oh shut up about her, if you'd let me blow her brains out on the Dawnflower, you wouldn't have to deal with her today." She turns back to Elrohir, and nods. "I'm sure you did, Elrohir was it? I have no joy in this, but what you have heard today,through no fault of your own, is classified. Just knowing it requires me to arrest you and put you in an isolated place so you can't tell anyone." Sense Motive 10: She seems genuinely sorry.
The female elvavian puts her fists on her hips, and leans forward, glaring at the male elvavian with a look that could kill. "You told me that the people at that address were the operatives you recruited, so I brought everyone at that address. You and your shtocking stupid spy games! Moron!" She glares at the man, then at the 7 sitting on the couches, and then sighs. "Much as I hate to admit it, and I'll deny it in public if you ever tell anyone, I think my husband may have a point. My apologies, you did accomplish a good deal, and I should be grateful. Please excuse my rudeness. I suppose I'm still in shock at both the amount of damage done to South Quarter, and that there's a traitor in the Magical Disposal Bureau." She sighs, and sits on the desk, facing the 7 on the couch. She looks pointedly at Elrohir. "You on the other hand, are a problem. I may have to arrest you under the State Secrets Act of 1238." She says with complete sincerity. Turning to the rest, she gives a sigh. "Well, you are not the people I would have hired, but you did get the job done. Now, please tell me in greater detail what happened, from the time you were recruited to the time you woke up here. And my apologies about how you got here..." She nods at the big man, who's now grinning. "... He insisted it was vital to your covers."
Both groups drop off some notes in one of the drop points, one they haven't used yet. Two days later, while asleep, some highly trained operatives sneak in and toss some contact sleep poison on everyone. When they wake up, all 7 people find themselves in the same room, all sitting on uncomfortable couches. An elven woman is sitting behind a desk, with the two cases sitting on it, and she's fuming. As everyone begins to wake up at the same time, with moist lips (counteragent?), she goes into rant mode. "What the shtock did you lot of insane morons do?! You brought down a magical firefight in the middle of the shtocking city?!?! Do you know how much damage was done? How much panic? And rotting skinned bodies flung 5 blocks! Five blocks! Some of them landed on a clinic! And some on a school!" She stands up, her bat like wings fluttering in anger. Then she slams her fist down on the left hand crate, making the table shudder. "And two crates of magical items! From the vaults of the Magical Disposal Bureau no less! And no serial numbers on them! But the contents were sent to ash no less than 2 months ago! I know, I sealed the shtocking things up myself in a Scourge Chest!" The woman, who still hasn't introduced herself, is absolutely livid, in a towering rage. "These crates are the only shtocking reason I haven't had the lot of you tossed back in whatever jail they dug you out of!!!!"
Having finished her report, she melts a bit of wax, focuses her mind on it to leave her psychic imprint in the psychic wax, and completed it by pressing her seal into the psychoreactive wax. "Mivani! Mivani! Get in here." She yells out to her assistant, and the Strix comes in, his pale white pupiless eyes expanded in surprise. "Yes, Sera Mirandi? I did not realize you were back from the incident yet. My apologies, shall I bring you tea?" The assistant asks, his head tilting in query. Mirandi opens her mouth to berate him, then stops, and she sighs. "Yes, Mivani, that would be welcome. My apologies, stupidity shortens my already miniscule temper." She laughs derisively. "Please see this is sent to Ser Vallin immediately, then get us both some tea. And, after that, draw up an authorization for employment and have it posted in the squares within the city, in all Enclaves. I need a handful of new recruits. There's been entirely too much magic smuggling, and the idiots have gotten familiar with all my usual personnel. I need some new faces. File a request with Ser Vallin for a Senior Administrator to do the initial screening, and I'll sneak away and interview their picks." "Very good, Sera Mirandi." The strix nods, taking the report. "I'll see to it immediately. Shall I also arrange for...that..." He points to the chest with an expression of distaste. "...to be sent to Ash?" Mirandi nods. "Yes, immediately, if not sooner."
Mirandi enters her office, carrying a 75 lb metal chest against her hip, heavy thick chains wrapped around it, and multiple locks holding those chains closed. The chest itself has 3 locks on it, and the whole thing is covered in runes. She grunts with the effort needed to lift it up on her desk. "Morons." She hisses in Elven, annoyed with the effort to move the thing around. As she moves around her desk to take her chair, she eyes the chest like she would a viper, something dangerous that should not be on her desk. With a sigh she takes her seat and leans back, looking up through the skylight that her position entitles her to, seeing the arching capital city thousands of feat up the mountain. The spires and arches flickering in and out of sight as the early morning cloud cover stirs, like a ghostly mirage. So beautiful.. from here. What a mess up close... The woman thinks, with a cynical grunt. She adjusts her wings, the draconic leathery things an oddity in her clan, and one of the only things slowing down her advancement in rank. From here it looks like a fairy tale city, like out of those silly books the grubs write for children. She snorts at the thought. The city is a sprawling mess, built in a hap-hazard manner over 50 mountains and hundreds of square miles, each clan having it's own Enclave, and each clan expanding as much as they can. The smaller clans already locked in, and thus having to build up or down within the mountain strongholds they already have. It's a nightmare to keep straight, from a legal perspective, each enclave having it's own laws. At least Mirandi only has to deal with the Port rules. From a physical standpoint, it's also a nightmare of architectural styles, each Enclave built in it's own style, over centuries, with changing tastes. It grates on the nerves of anyone who likes order, and Mirandi is very much a believer in order. From a political standpoint, it's a never ending source of intrigue and chaos, and Mintakia does it's best to keep that pot from boiling over. Not that we succeed as often as we like to think we do... Mirandi thinks to herself, snorting again, this time in amusement. Which brings her back to the task at hand. She returns her chair to it's upright position, and glares at the box. "Stupid dragon shtocking idiots!" She glares at the chest again, then pulls out a fresh piece of parchment and begins writing up her report. -----------------------
There have been two deaths by magical misadventure. The first occurred at approximately the 4th bell, just about sunrise. One Murcoth Warbred, a half-orc surfaceborn cargo handler was working in the Cailath Warehouse, helping load boxes. Murcoth was apparently either drunk, or severely hung over, reports are conflicted, and he lost his balance and fell off the upper landing. The fall might have killed him, or it might not have, but it will never be known. Murcoth had a forbidden magical device on his person, which he activated when he fell. This device was what the surfaceborn call a 'magical feather token'. Unfortunately, Murcoth's activated during a high instability period, and it detonated on activation, spreading Murcoth over an area roughly 300 feet in diameter. The explosion also damaged the warehouse wall, and the concussion blast knocked over a stack of crates which toppled over and crushed a dock supervisor. The dock supervisor was killed instantly by the crates. The supervisor was Saldragan Bonewrack 'tel Sintisa 'tel Mengartha 'tel Sinestrada. His clan, and ally clans, have been notified of his death, and the circumstances around it. Searching Murcoth's quarters, a stash of 11 more forbidden magical devices was found. The devices have been secured within a Scourge Chest, and will be sent to Ash for disposal within the day. Mirandi Selstravi 'tel Mintakia, Facilitator, Adamantia Port |
