NPC The Man in the Mirror's page

Round Two, Bolded Figures have gone:
-Nishara
-Sage
-Raphael
-Dog
-Man in the Mirror
-Pathfinder
-Marcus
-Halcyon
-Seth

Raphael/Halcyon. When you enter, put yourself in whatever space adjacent to the mirror. If you use only a move action to enter, you can perform a standard action after you place yourself.

Half through the mirror, the first man stops. He leans his body back, head still within the Tail. He listens to Raphael, expressions hidden as he faces the rippling surface. He is still as the two others look toward him, and he remains silent as Raphael speaks. The room is silent for a few moments, but the tavern stirs with life outside. A chuckle breaks the silence. It turns to a hearty laugh, and the lead pillar on the man’s back knocks against his armor as he continues to crack up.

His voice breaks, and the gruff, gravelly, voice fades to one more genuine. He sounds soft spoken, gentle. Almost tremulous, with nervousness or suppressed glee. “Never was a good liar.” He twists his head back to Raphael, smile spread across his entire face. “See you soon, Raphie.” The man enters his mirror.

The surface shines for a moment, and the grinning face shows in the surface’s reflection. The image draws his dagger, pointing it towards those in the room. His other hand beckons, and he speaks, but the words fall on deaf ears.

The mountainous man takes a quick step through the mirror, ducking under its frame and keeping hold of the body on his shoulder. While the large one doesn’t appear in the mirror, the reflection of the first man leans his blade forward at his entrance. He recoils at the sight of a friend. The first man mouths something again, points in a direction, but keeps his dagger aimed at the room.

The silvery dog growls, aware of the changing mood. Pathfinder still has her hand in the bag, looking to the party cautiously while she inches to the mirror.

Honeymoon Suite Map

The first man sighs. When his smile fades, he appears as tired as everyone else in the room. He wipes a hand down the side of his cheek, spreading blood across half his face. “Stay down, Pathfinder. Leave me worrying ‘bout Charlie.” The first man turns to the mercenary. “No, don’t got no papers. Mission has no names, we agents of Roland tonight.” He turns to Marcus. “Only business I got here tonight is leavin’. Speaking like a nitpick, y’all brought me in here.” He taps his hand to the mirror. “Maybe it’s time to get to leaving.” He gestures to the larger man, beckoning him as the first man takes a step into the mirror's surface.

Marcus enters the room, Madeline behind him. The roar from outside fills the honeymoon suite. Marcus looks to the man, while Madeline looks past him, towards the mirror. Her familiar cocks its head.

The mountainous mirror man tries to identify Marcus, but the first visitor cuts him off. "Tamarin!" The first man calls out with apparent joy. Marcus' entrance seemed to have confirmed his idea about where they are. "Say a devil's name and they come-a runnin' I 'spose. Durendale Special Forces, won't be intruding much longer." The first man breaks his concentration on the party, looking around the room and taking it in for the first time. "Honeymoon, huh? Love to stay and flirt, but a job unfinished ain't much a job, is it?"

The first man twists the top of the lead pillar, this time in the opposite direction. The device is sealed once more. He heaves it over his shoulder with a groan, bringing his gloved hand to the mirror’s edge. “Funny. Said I’d buy drinks, and here we arrive in a bar. Shame really, wanted to bring y’all here too. Y’all’d love the owner, boys a real f**~in’ riot he is.” He touches the surface of the mirror, but gives his full attention to the others in the room.

MAP updated.

The first man laughs heartily. “Can’t a man skulk through his own mirror? What happened to our beautiful country?” The second man chuckles, giggles really. The man knocks on his breastplate proudly as he responds to Seth. “My Durendale duties. Savin’ this country from what the man above tells me. Ain’t a life of glory, but was is anymore?” He foot stops tapping, and the mirror ripples once more.

A third exits from the mirror, a young woman, perhaps a bit younger than her twenties. Her hair his short and her eyes are like large, striking emeralds. Her cloak is cut at the shoulders, and a hood rests behind her neck. The first man speaks to her as she exits. “Pathfinder, we off course. Think we in the Tail.” He looks to Nishara, but scans the others for some indication if he is right.

The man looks at her genuinely confused, his smile fades. "Galatians? Don't take kindly to bein' called a racist, Miss." He tilts his head to the body over his companion's shoulder. "Mercy, by the cut of your clothes I thought y'all'd have a lick of manners. What color hair that look like to you? Cause it look awfully f@@#in' black to me." He looks over to his compatriot. "Sage, back me up. How many Galatians we got on the list?"

His foot continues to hit against the floor. He seems to be counting seconds. He twists the top of the pillar, rotating the top inch of it ninety degrees while the rest of it remains still. "Best impressions, says the mirror thieves..." The man chuckles, smiles and puts the crossbow over his back, holstering the device. He shows his palms to the party, wiggling his fingers lightly in some measure to show good faith in the company. His hand falls to one of his daggers, still wary of those in the room. "Varianna, right? Usin' like a relay. Hop in, get our target here, hop back to 'telligence. Hopefully ya didn't put us outside range. Where we exactly?"

The larger, less equipped man looks around the room. The man is almost seven feet tall, a head and a half above than his "boss." As he reaches to scratch his head, the large man almost hit the ceiling. He looks at the two he doesn't know, Halcyon and Nishara, trying to see if he can remember who they are with a bit more studying. He blushes as he stares at them. Valentina slowly puts her hand into her pocket, gripping the necklace that Agatha gave her.

The first man mostly eyes Halcyon now, though the gaze switches between her, the construct man, Seth and Nishara. "Well, saves us something strange. Durendale Special Forces, Homeland Infiltration division. Normally give my name, but 'structed not this evening. Don't be alarmed, we got 'nother coming through shortly."

“None on the list?” he asks, still tapping. His hand rests on top of the pillar, but the crossbow is still held in his hand at his hip.

"Open that door and we have trouble. And this already ain't been a pretty night." The man from the mirror taps his foot rhythmically. He looks to Raphael, lowering the crossbow down to his side. His smile fades and he does not put away his weapon. He waits a moment longer, tapping his foot. “Kind offerings, Raph, but it don’t need a patching.” He doesn’t give his name in return to Raphael’s. He twists his head to Seth, responding to him while looking at the mercenary’s gear. “Yeah, yeah, my mirror. Speaking of...” He stops tapping his foot.

The mirror ripples once more, and a large figure emerges. The man’s bald head rests atop a mountain of muscle and fat. The goliath doesn’t wear much for armor, just a few pads of leather. He looks surprised as he exits, but finds comfort in his armored compatriot.

Over the large man’s shoulder is a frail, limp figure in brilliant green and brown robes. The earthly colored garb is stitched with plants and flowers along its hems, and seems to be a very well made outfit. While their face is buried into the back of the man, they have long black hair that almost reaches the floor, and an amulet peeks from the strands.

The first man from the mirror speaks. “Sage, names, if you will.” He begins tapping his foot once more as he takes the large lead pillar off of his shoulder, placing it beside him. He sighs with relief as he takes it off.

For a bit, the women and men in the room are quiet. The same cannot be said of those outside the room. The hundreds of patrons in the bar seem to show no signs of ceasing their joyous cries and festivities. A loud cheering roar from outside bellows. Nishara wonders how much extra gold the bar will make this evening as she closes the door in a poor attempt to lower the noise. Valentina takes a seat on the bed, her platinum hair glowing a soft pinkish hue in the lights. The construct goes to her side.

The mirror ripples. A man emerges from the reflection of the room. His head emerges first, brunette hair slicked back with dark liquids. He has thick and angular eyebrows. His eyes are a brilliant hazel, and dash from figure to figure as he emerges from the mirror. He looks to be in his early thirties. A deep red stroke stretches across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Blood drips in three streams down the gash.

He wears an assortment of piecemeal armor. One of his arms is lined with platemail, thick sheets of lusterless metal, scratched, torn, punctured. His opposite arm is largely bare, though its shoulder holds a thick slab of a silverous material. On his chest is a breastplate that may have once belonged to a general or noble. It is lined with intricate metalwork, cracking, dancing arrangements of vines and ivy. The flag of Roland is sloppily painted over the breastplate: the vertical tricolour stripes of blue, white and red. Slung over his shoulder is a four foot long gray-black lead pillar held to him by a wide leather strap.

Few parts of his attire are matching. The man’s gloves are have a strange reflective quality like that of quicksilver. One hand holds a small repeating crossbow. His brown boots would be identical if one was not drenched in blood. Two daggers are held on his belt, and six iron bolts line each of his legs.

The man appears surprised, but his face shapes into an almost charming smile. His voice is gravelly and deep. “Ganelon’s left f~&!in’ nut, what we have here?” The smile persists, and he speaks as if he just accidentally opened the door. “Be kind and gimme a second, will ya?” The man takes a pivot perpendicular to the mirror but does nothing to it. He still looks at party, pointing his crossbow to the ceiling. He keeps returning his gaze to Nishara.

PLACE YOURSELF ON THE MAP. Initiative rolls are for precaution's sake.