Velryssa's page

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♜ Port of Golsifar | Elber’s Last Tavern
♜ Dawn
♜ 20 Lamashan, 4714
♜ Partly Cloudy | 65°

♬ Drogan

Dramatis Personae
> Velryssa - Fixer on the Landless Gentry (Human)
> Agidor - Guitarist (Human)
> Rorber - Red-haired, wiry owner/bartender of Elber’s Last (Human)
> Minsie - Head Barmaid (Human)
> Ramona - Barmaid (Human)
> Taks - Cook (dwarf)

Despite the gravity with which she'd entered the room, Velryssa grins at Drogan's jest. A second later, she gives herself a shake and spins around to throw the kick in the door. Over her shoulder she says, "I've a long and sordid history, Master dwarf..." She spins back, eyes surveying the room then settling on Drogan. "...and like most pasts, mine has caught up with me."

She strides across the room, scooping up Agidor's pants and throwing them at his head as he lingers a bit long in the buff. Her steps carry her to the window where she throws it open. "He was a footman in the Phalanx when I met him...and subsequently used him to relieve a garrison of its treasury."

Turning back to Drogan, she shrugs. "Now he's an astarte and assigned to this pond of a town."

Outside in the hall laing from the stairs, all three can hear a few booted steps approaching. Knowing that there are 8 doors on the second floor, they may have some time while the men search. The muffled shout of an angry man can be heard. "Lorena!!"

Velryssa winces at the name and nods. "Yeah, that's me."

There's the doorway out to the hall, left is a long halfway leading to a back exit to the stable. Right leads to the lower level and the common room. Then there's the window which drops to a roof overhang, then a drop to the ground.

Velryssa grins at the dwarf and chuckles, a musical thing. "I find the arrangement satisfactory, Master Drogan. Please walk along side and we shall converse. But dispense with the 'Lady', I don't pretend that which I'm not." She lift the pack and slings it deftly over her shoulder, the move pulling back the long, roughspun coat of reds and blacks and grays. At her hip are paired short swords and a brace of throwing knives at her thigh. She winks at the dwarf. "Though I've trained on the courtesan arts of my homeland, I've never been a Lady."

If you're keeping an eye out, don't forget a roll or two for Perception or even Sense Motive if available.

Valryssa chuckles a bit, deep in her throat like a cat purring. "Not to fear, master elf. Surprise meetings are my specialty." She turns from the table, a simple motion to be sure, but Karthan can't help but see a dancer in the movement. A soft chair along the wall receives her, her hands somehow full with a rolled cigarette and a tindertwig for lighting. "When you're ready to see him, let me know. You can get in touch with me through the Captain here once we reach the city and part company."

She lights her cigarette and reclines in the chair.

Appraise: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14

She shakes her head, face an unreadable mask. "I'm not seeing a keyhole in the journal." Beneath their feet, they felt the booming shudder of the Slip's guns loosing a salvo. Valryssa arches an eyebrow towards the captain. "We'll have to go on faith that we're not sending whatever it goes to down to the depths..."

"I won't tolerate another incursion upon that doomed ship. Give it over to Karthan and let him take the investigation where it leads him and his group." Onura places her hands upon the table, indicating her words were not a suggestion.

"As you command, Windsinger. But if I may offer my services should they require them when we get landside. I would enjoy the challenge." She hands the key to Karthan, watching it and drinking in the memory of it before ceasing contact. "Puzzles are a hobby of mine." She purrs softly. "As I said, I can steer you towards an encounter with Wendell at the Clockwork Academy...perhaps the key has significance to him?"

Valryssa smirks in response, then adds in a mocking downcast tone. "Hmm, the downside of working for the good Captain here and thereby the Harbormasters is the stipend I've been asked to subsist upon."

"A substantial stipend, you swindling web-weaver." Onura frowns for her own part.

"Naturally," Valryssa answers with a shrug. "One so blessed with such talents as I possess soon find that legitimate employ is a surprising source of proper remuneration." She stretches her back and returns her gaze to the journal, checking the cover and spine. "Besides, I meet all the interesting people in this line of work."

Perception: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (15) + 10 = 25
Disable Device: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (14) + 16 = 30

The spine along the journal responds to her touch, a small section of it coming loose and nearly falling to the table top if not for Valryssa's quick reflexes. "Hmmm, what have we here?" She replaces the journal on the table and turns the small section - a thinly made wooden container - over in her hand.

Out of it emerges a small key, brass with tiny inlays of gold.

After offering her knowledge of Wendell Velsurian, Valryssa lets her arms drop a bit as she traces along the wording in the journal, one hand toying with a medallion at her belt. "Slimes are nasty business. I've seen a small town in Ustalav overcome by an incursion from a nearby swamp. You did well to bring only the caskets over."

She glances over to Karthan, searching him with eyes given wisdom by a long history of exploration, barter and deal crafting. "What else did you bring over?" Her eyes narrow.

It's easy to tell she's searching you for a lie.

Varyssa eyes the goings on from her perch on the bow. The world is a study for the Tuan. It had been when she’d been a cutpurse for Master Ip so many years ago. It was no less now that she found herself aboard the Lucky Slip and attached to her current employer. She drew a breath, inhaling the potent smoke of her cigarette; tobacco from eastern Ustalav which gave off the heady aroma of applewood and jasmine.

At the summons of the Windsinger, she tosses the cigarette over the side, musing that her keen ears could hear it hiss in the waves below then slips her way from the bow and across the deck. Her steps are fluid while her almond eyes are unfocused so she can take in her surroundings and avoid the mechanism that was the ship’s life.

Once at the captain’s quarters and the officer’s room, she closes the door behind her and smiles darkly as she leans cat-like upon the table. ”How may I be of service?”