I swear I didn't know that it was impolite to try to murder players from the other game. I truly thought this was a PvP scenario. But, water under the bridge now.
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This is below my pay grade, darling. At least for the moment, since our competitors reacted poorly to my attempts to murder them. But mainly, its because arcane caster was the only hole missing from the party.
"It would seem that if the scholar is correct than this Azlanist -- Alzanaque? -- has someone rather enthused. Certainly the attack on this Kiss would lend credence to his wild story. The Tears (who ever they are) threatened me and our new friend but they are far too hapless to have summoned those creatures."
I haven't been reading this thread, but it has come to my attention that my character's channeling was poor form. I want to apologize for any offense given. I'm rather new to Pathfinder, and while I know that intra-party conflict is frowned on I thought that given the nature of competing groups that inter-party conflict was a reality (narratively and practically speaking). The Tears threatened Yolanda's interests, Yolanda attempted to resolve the threat. I'm not trying to justify any offense given, but explaining my initial thought process. Again, sorry for any offense I have given anybody in this regard. (I probably won't be checking this thread much since this is where the GM's talk.)
Yolanda will move to the exit.
"This old man is useful. Take him." Yolanda steps back.
Good help is so hard to find.
"Lovely . . . literally curs. Morris, darling, I tire of this venue. Bring our new friend with us to the next." Yoland will channel negative energy, excluding Stoll from the effect.
Morris will pick Stoll up.
The silent porter with an unfortunate skin condition grabs at the elven peasant violating aristoi serenity, but misses.
Smiling haughtily at the blue masked peasant, the otherworldy woman grows ominous as she says something that sounds vaguely like the buzzing of flies.
"I do not know who you peasants are, and frankly I do not care. You should not interrupt your betters. Now I must whip some curs."
"Leave us alone, peasant. I simply cannot abide when the hoi polloi try to interrupt their betters. Morris, darling, beat the peasant senseless if it tries to speak to us again." Tapping her luscious lips thoughtfully, the Lady Yll addresses her companion. "You were saying, dear?"
The otherworldy woman is tall with amethyst and golden eyes. Her bald head almost sparkles but not with sweat. She is rather well dressed. She laughs loudly -- but not too loudly; she has been enjoying her drink but she is still coherent. She is also leaning rather closely to the man she is speaking with. Perhaps she is more intoxicated than previously expected because it looks like one of her breasts grazed the mans arm as she leaned into whisper in his ear. Behind her chair stands a man. No part of his skin is uncovered. He appears to be standing at attention.
The Lady Yll responds to the man's ire with a coy smile, and reaches over to pat his hand. "Yes, aren't young people simply the worst? I prefer those with a bit more experience myself. Even in this fine establishment and at this late hour your erudition penetrates so . . . deeply. Tell me how did you come to learn so much of these matters?"
"What runelord was associated with Wrath? How do you suppose this murderer got mixed up in this cult business?"
"To whom were these murders dedicated then? And what made these people appealing sacrifices? I love a good ghost story as much as the next girl, but the fright is in the details." She laughs and orders another round for her immediate area.
"Maybe it is because I'm drunk, but you aren't making much sense. How do these masks connect the victims? Why do you think this cult has any connection to these murders?"
"I love a good ghost story. Terrify me. What happened before? I find wine is best for memory." The noblewoman gestures for another round.
"Oh? Do tell. I mean it's a tragedy, of course, but how is it worse than any other serial killer?" the Lady Yll drawls softly. Random murder is just a hazard of urban life.
As the Lady Yll sits and drinks, she knows that someone else besides for the murderer knows why all this tedious nonsense is going on. When more than one person knows a secret, it doesn't stay a secret long. So, she decides to abandon Kalam's plan and let her feet and her intuition guide her to new friends who are just itching to share.
Yolanda sets up shop at the designated inn to drink and eat until her skills, observant eye, or pleasing manner are required.
"I cannot imagine what I would need. Maybe a decent vintage?"
Yolanda is willing to help silence any witness you want, Kalam. Oh, you meant help . . . :-p
That's a fair assessment. Also, "only seventeen!?" The Lady Yll is also handy at sweet talking and murdering.
During breakfast Yolanda orders -- literally -- one of everything. You suspect that perhaps dark pacts and fell rituals are what help her keep her figure. When the servant girl comes for them, the Lady Yll stands and toss her napkin down. "Passable."
So, she does it really well, but needs a sandwich and a nap?
Yolanda runs the tip of her nail down his bare chest. "I know exactly what I want, and I'm insatiable when it comes to acquisition." With her other hand she hooks the buckle of the big man's breeches and draws him gently into her new room. "Morris, darling, man the door. I don't want to be disturbed."
The Lady Yll places a hand on the massive man's arm. "Thank you. I'm sure you have much to show me."
Toying with the pin, Yolanda opines, Silver, how fetching, I'm sure it will go with so many different outfits."
"The greatest tenet of my goddess is living well. I doubt you will have us swearing off the finer things to live lives of sobriety, chastity, and poverty. Therefore, there can be no possible conflict of interest."
The Lady Yll responds to the two questions succinctly. "Phenomenal, ever-flowing wealth. Everything." Kalam, the sweet gosling, dearly loves the sound of his own voice, but he does make an excellent stalking horse with all his chatter.
The Lady Yll gracefully sits on one of the offered chairs her silken gown clinging to her form like water. Today she had gone with something high necked and creamy, but it did little to conceal her charms. Her lipid, golden eyes taken in the luxury and the woman who owns it. A meritocracy, I see. Not as good as an aristocracy, but we aristoi are used to demonstrating our excellence even among the masses. And as they say, cream does rise to the top. No doubt she will prove far more competent than some I have had to deal with recently.
"How thoughtful," Yolanda purrs.
"Oh, how lovely, the Iron Scepter is a yurt in comparison, darling, a yurt!"
Pity about the blood. It suited him.
Yolanda approaches Annabelle, "Thank you, darling, you made a trying day that much less tedious. So professional! I'll be sure to recommend you to all my friends. And if, you ever need a little more zest in your life, do call on me we can have a philosophical discussion. Oh by the by, I'm going to borrow that rug in the red room to transport my parcel." ******* The Lady Yll pats Kalam's cheek, "My dearest man, the hours of my new pet's life are numbered, but one does not stint the gods so abide in patience. I will be staying at the Iron Scepter." Kalam knows that the Iron Scepter is more of a fortress than an inn, and it caters to the wealthy and their questionably legal tastes -- privacy and circumspection are their watchwords -- and they have the security force to ensure it. . . . What other? Oh, you mean that poor lamb? He had completely slipped my mind, but I doubt Morris can carry two rugs to the carriage. Ta-ta-darling." The Lady Yll will then repair there to perform her (sexy? unspeakable?) rituals to her goddess.
Yolanda meets Ursus' gaze, giving him a radiant smile before lowering her eyes demurely. "Oh, it almost slipped my mind, but I really must commend the professionalism of the mistress of the Kitten. She definitely . . . lubricated our investigations." With that -- Yolanda gives him a gracious nod of her head and sways out of his office. Upon returning to the Kitten, the Lady Yll motions Kalam to join her in the room where she has been entertaining the capp. "That glorious man approves of how we have handled the situation. He would like us to return tomorrow to the counting house."
Yolanda bites the tip of her index finger considering Ursus' shimmering torso. "Hmmm? The Kitten? Oh, yes. All manner of things are coming to light. Lamm, bless his heart is a terrible liar. First he tried to tell me that the demand for whores had fallen. Eventually it became quite apparent that your revenues have been dropping because he has been spending them to buy drugs from some peasant rabble. I thought it wise to confirm these suspicions; the darling, Kalam quite ably assisted my porter when we waylaid some of these said peasant rabble when they came to sell more of their wares." She takes a moment to lay the drugs and the identifying markers on his desk in a dramatically appropriate fashion. "After some gentle exhortation, one of the surviving peasants told me that they belong to 'the Gallowed' -- some forty to fifty member rabble running out of a warehouse in Rag's End . . . (She supplies the other details gleaned) It was at this point that I felt it most appropriate to return to apprise you of our findings."
"Good. Very Good. I'm going to leave you with a friend. He might ask you some more questions. Answer him with the same alacrity with which you are answering me now and you will not share the same fate as you brave and noble captain." The Lady Yll glides gracefully from the room. She goes to find Kalam and relays the information she has coaxed from the mewling peasant. She then goes to instruct Morris. "Should any attempt to free this man, kill him while he is still immobilized and escape to find me, darling." She will then collect some of the product and any identifying marker the capp possessed of his affiliations before hiring a coach to go report back to that fine specimen of a man at the Aspis headquarters.
"Oh, that sounds delightful. Tell me of this Jaster, sweet lamb. What are his strengths? What are his weakness? How many men work for him? How are they organized?" She strokes his hair and gives him some more wine. "You are doing so well."
"Oh, simple things, sweet lamb, where is your base of operations, how many of them are you, where do you keep the product. Tell me all about your friends."
"I can speak with him. Give me a moment with this peasant and I will attend to the next." After Kalam leaves she will remove the wax from the capp's ears. "Remember, my pet, we can stop at any time you choose. Just tell me what we want to know, and you can go to the Boneyard. Morris, darling, watch over my new pet. If he gets too rowdy, then tickle his anus with one your boney digits." She leaves the capp blindfolded. On her way to the other prisoner, she collects two cups of wine. Upon entering the room with the other prisoner, she drapes herself on his back and lets him drink some of the wine. She leans in and whispers in his ear. Your captain is such a brave man. He chose the Harvest of Seven Sighs over betraying your compatriots. Isn't that noble of him? Oh, have you not heard of the Harvest of Seven Sighs? Well, my goddess is jaded and hungry. She has experienced so much that it takes something . . . special . . . to get her attention. The Harvest of Seven Sighs is a ritual to draw her close. You take a man. A strong man. A brave man. A noble man. Then you slowly -- oh so deliciously slowly -- drain him of seed, life, and spirit until there is nothing left -- no life, no afterlife -- just nothing. Usually, by the third night that man is no longer so brave and noble. He begs. He begs you to stop. He begs you to never stop. You see they grow to love it -- all those little deaths coming before the great big one." She pauses to gently tease his earlobe with her tongue. "So tell me. Are you a brave man? Are you a noble man? Or, perhaps, would you prefer to tell my friends what they want to know?"
"Have Abramov do it. I have things to do here with our friend. Though if you insist on staying here you will have to acquire the assistance of the matron of the house. Make her aware that the Aspis do not allow rivals to poach from their territory. Remind her that there are things her best kept in the shadows. Also, you might want to promise her Lamm's job. He seems like dead weight anyways, and people work best when they think they have something to gain. Be diplomatic; the poor gosling is no doubt dying of fright. Also, here is a list of things I will need for this interrogation, can you have someone acquire them for me?"
"The Aspis do concern themselves with results. But they also prize information and the appearance of loyalty. Even if we do nothing more than apprise them of the situation that is good for us. We have initiated hostilities with a band of uppity peasants. Think, Kalam. Informing our contact in the Aspis shows that we are not rogue agents -- that we think of the organization. Even if they know everything here, how we respond and work with them is being judged as well. We need not ask for help; indeed, I think it is unnecessary, but there are many avenues in which we must display competence." "I will accede to your wishes to remain stationed here, but either you or I must report back to update them."
Taking a short break to give the peasant some water, the Lady Yll turns to Morris. "Be a dear and fetch Kalam." When Morris brings Kalam, Yolanda will blindfold the peasant and stuff his ears with softened candle wax. "Kalam, darling, I think the time of us not reporting back to the Aspis has come to an end. They must be apprised of what we have discovered. Our current efforts to restore their profits. And, also, the fact some peasant crime family is soon to get even more uppity. There is also no way that those peasants won't send other rats looking for this rat. Instead of volunteering information, he has volunteered to be a sacrifice to my goddess. Though of course he is free to change his mind at any time. In any case, we are relocating. While Morris delivers this package to more secure quarters, I was going to go talk to that fine specimen of a man. I thought you might like to come with me." |