Ramoska Arkminos's page

"Well, if the high priestess is not going anywhere, do you think we could post guards on the doors to her demesne and then see about recharging ourselves a bit?"

"If you're so certain the rest of her followers will not strike at you in the night, be my guest." Ramoska audibly stifles a snicker as he walks away.

"That's a good question, Ser Dwarf." Ramoska growls. "Mayhap you should ask your Queen."

He starts walking towards the door, pausing briefly to point at a set of levers across from the operating table. "Oh, and if you wish to release him, just turn all the levers to the left."

With that, he takes his leave. He makes no noise as he walks out the door.

Ramoska sweeps the gold coins into his sleeves and grins. "My thanks, mortal ones. Glad you've decided to be reasonable."

He turns and raps once on the western wall, causing it to shift to the side. Several open trunks spill piles of books across the dusty room beyond. Stacks of tomes, some apparently quite old, stand in orderly stacks and haphazard heaps, surrounding nearly every foot of floor space except for an elegant black-canopied bed. A table of beakers, burners and other alchemical tools stands against the north wall.

He disappears into the room for a minute before re-emerging with a sheaf of papers. He presses them into Lyla's hands. "Here--these are all the notes I've taken regarding the development & refining of the plague. I'm sure someone of your intelligence will find some use for them."

"Out of curiosity, how did that one end up on your table? Oh, and any idea why some Varisians are immune to the plague?"

"Blind luck, mostly." Ramoska pokes the now-unconscious Yargin. "He was but one of several Varisians with a resistance to Blood Veil. Normally, I wouldn't have given him much thought, but his lack of complaining intrigued me. All the other subjects wailed, cursed and screamed for their freedom. He kept quiet."

"Part of me wanted to know why he was being so quiet. So, in between experiments, I used some magic to read his thoughts." His tone takes a sharp turn for the spiteful. "And I was... revolted... by what I found. I decided to continue my work on him and him alone. Let Cardin & Rolth handle the other cases... I felt like making him suffer worse than his victims did."

"But I digress--I've come to a conclusion as to why certain Varisians possess an immunity to this plague." Ramoska taps a taloned finger on the operating table. "I believe these people share a common ancestor--one who originally possessed an immunity to it, likely through magical exposure."

"The Blood Veil Plague was refined into a new strain from this parent disease: my handler called it 'Vorel's Phage'. I'm not certain as to why."

"Oh, I assure you, if it were up to me, I'd never have set foot in this... pit of a city." Ramoska snorts. "I don't intend to ever return here."

"Why, my notes on the Blood Veil Plague, of course." Ramoska arches a decrepit eyebrow. "Cardin, Rolth and I all kept separate notes on the development of the plague--I imagine at least one of you adventurous sorts would be able to do something with them. Perhaps... devise a cure for it? Eh? Eh?"

"Nothing much--a simple alchemist's lab and my spellbooks, really." Ramoska pokes the operating table. "Nothing so elaborate as this over-designed contraption." He snorts, glaring at the three iron bands holding Yargin down.

"I believe 1,000 gold pieces would be enough to ensure my passage home with my equipment." The vampire *clicks* his claws together in his sleeves. "I'll even let you walk away with that wretch there..."

"...along with something else I think you'd be very interested in."

"If that's all that's in the way, what do you need from us? Money? Someone with a pulse purchasing you a spot in a cargo hold somewhere?"

"More or less, yes." Ramoska shrugs. "That, and my equipment would need to be relocated as well."

"...which is where you come in." He grins, revealing a row of sharp fangs. "I'm certain we can come to an arrangement that will benefit us both equally."

Ramoska chuckles. "Oh, believe me, I'd be more than happy to step aside and let you cut the uppity bastards apart."

"It's just that... well, there's the small matter of securing passage home, first." The vampire shrugs and walks over to the western wall of the room. "Do you have any idea how far Ustalav is from Varisia?"

"Hmm." Ramoska nods in agreement. "Of course, that's assuming you actually manage to kill her."

He glances down at the man on the table. "Do you know this one?"

"You would."

"Hmm. That's a bit of a relief--the fools never could bring themselves to stop bothering me with trifles."

"And from what I've gleaned, you're the lead researcher into the blood veil, though I haven't fathomed why yet, exactly. From what I've learned, you've no love for the Pallid Princess, so why work for them?"

Ramoska's face twists into a scowl. "It's quite simple, really--my master owed the high priestess here a favour. And he sent me here, against my wishes, to repay it."

"He was quite... insistent that I stay until whatever business the cult had here was concluded." The vampire starts pacing restlessly around his operating table. "He even went so far as to foist some of his spawn off on me to ensure I wouldn't run away."

As the vampire paces, the party gets a better look at who it is that's been strapped to Ramoska's operating table. The moaning, barely conscious wretch on the table is none other than one Yargin Balko.

"Hey! Ramoska?"

"Might we come in?"

"Yes, yes, go ahead. The door's open." A gravelly voice replies.

As the party opens the door, the overcoat-clad figure turns to face them. The man's features are sunken and a deathly pale grey, with wrinkles lining every inch of his face. His ears sweep away from his skull before tapering to points, and his red eyes are filled with irritation & exhaustion in equal measure.

"Ah... I wondered who it was that was causing all that ruckus. Am I correct in assuming all the other priests are dead?" He asks, folding his wickedly-sharp claws into the sleeves of his coat. His voice sounds like a dog growling while its throat is filled with gravel.