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Not a worry, GM - take care of life and all that important stuff, and come back to us when you can. Hope you and yours are safe and well. (And please PM me when you're ready to start up again, just in case I've stopped getting notifications on here.)
Still here, still hoping all's well!
Hey, just glad you're still around. Take your time - sometimes Life just happens!
Hey, no sense in letting a cake go to waste, amirite?
Damnit, you ruined it. *sulkily starts pulling down balloons*
"Be safe," Zache says shortly to Sal as she slinks ahead. And let's hope we're wrong about the undead!
"Right, we should." Zache's jaw clenches as he stands. "Let's hope we get there in time."
Zache's tense shoulders sag with relief as Sister Hera tends to Elizabeth. "Of course, Sister," he says with a short bow, trying to support Elizabeth but settling more for moving things out of the way, opening doors, and clearing off her bed as the others help her to it. After snatching a few glances at Ivan, his curiosity finally gets the better of him, and he asks, "What's got you so worked up? You look like you're going to twitch right out of your skin."
"Shoo! Shoo!" Zache hisses at the cat, waving an arm at it and stepping up to the pile of wood. He recoils half a step when he sees the foot, but takes a deep breath as he stares at the pile. "Someone give me a hand with this?" he asks in what is obviously a forced calm tone.
"Perhaps Kaede and Sal have found something useful," Zache sighs. "This would be easier if all Varisians did know each other, the way people assume!"
"She seems rather fond of him, yes," Zache says to Ivan. "I can go ask Belor. Anyone want to join me?"
"On it." Abandoning his breakfast, Zache starts flitting around the hall like a butterfly, casually slipping into existing conversations and asking if anyone heard or saw anything.
"Now that you mention it, it is strange that she isn't here," Zache muses, twirling a fork over his fingers. "Should one of us go check on her? I don't think Marcus and I would be allowed to go knocking on her door."
"Only good things, I hope," Zache grins, nudging Marcus in the ribs before before bowing somewhat awkwardly over his breakfast. "Zache Kovachi, wanderer and lover of tall tales, at your service!"
"Scarecrows come to life?" Zache murmurs, biting his lip. Seemingly lost in thought, he simply nods along with the conversation.
I FINALLY have a computer back! Now, what did I miss...
I've been without a computer for a few days and likely will be for a few more. It keeps going to BIOS and won't boot from my hard drive. I'll get back to this when I can - my phone keeps freezing too much to post reliably, and my tablet has several busted keys.
Zache flexes his fingers and scowls at the lingering curative magic that will likely go to waste. "He must have, if he turned like that."
Zache quickly mutters a line of verse, and his hand begins to glow with a soft, silvery light, not unlike the spell Marcus himself had cast not moments ago. He lunges for the creature that was Grayst, but fails to connect with the spell.
Zache picks up the rhyme from the shell of a man before him, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. I have heard many in my time, but not this one, he thinks, and his brow furrows as he tries to puzzle it out.
Shaking his head, he takes a half-step forward, just enough to place himself closer to Sevilla than the rest of the party. "Mister Sevilla," he says, keeping his voice keen and gentle, "We'd like to ask you what you saw the night of the murders. I'm terribly sorry for bringing it up, but please - anything you remember might stop such horrors from happening again."
"You're doing fine," Zache mutters. "Remember that. Would you like me to take the lead?"
"Truly, a matter of life and death," Zache adds, his grave face betraying his light tone.
Whistling, Zache shakes his head. "Certainly evidence worth handing in," he agrees. "Though I'll admit, I'm not terribly keen to go to Habe's," he adds with a shudder.
"With every twist and every turn
Using the steam coming off his bowl and a scarf pulled over his head to cast his face into shadow as props, Zache sets to work gathering information on the undead in a more unorthodox method to his teammates - by telling stories. He speaks of the legend of the Horse-Cutter Wight, of the Walking Bones of Hollow Ridge, and of many other old legends. Between his own short tales, he encourages others to share what they've heard, and what they know, and tries to sort fact from fiction in what he hears.
"Mr. Vinder, please," Zache agrees, adding his own voice to the mix. "We're not here to mock or gawp at you. We're concerned first and foremost with finding out what happened - and taking care of whoever's responsible." Or whatever, as the case may be.
"Yeah. I think we're done here," Zache mutters, unable to think of anything further.
"What's the connection?" Zache mutters, frowning. "Should we check the barn soon?"
Immediately after stepping onto the grisly scene, Zache takes a short, sharp breath and briefly fans his hands over his chest, one thumb behind the other, in a crude approximation of his goddess' holy symbol. "This is sick," he mutters, colour starting to drain from his cheeks. "Simply sick."
As the others begin poking around, he cautiously moves for the axe. Picking it up, he cautiously flares his nostrils and sniffs the putrid head of the weapon, before gasping, choking, gagging, and dropping it; it slams into the floor between his feet, narrowly missing a toe, and he wraps a scarf around his nose and mouth, coughing and sputtering. He was six, hiding under one of the wagons, trying very hard not to breathe, the dirt filling his nostrils but doing nothing to hide the stench, the overwhelming thickness of it- "I know what did this," he says with forced calm after his gagging and dry retching ceases. "You never forget that smell. We're looking for a ghast."
Dressed in blue and green, with his golden brooch pinned proudly to his breast (where it's stayed for the last few months), Zache's bright face turns to pale dread when Hemlock gathers the group into the stables. "A murderer?" he asks, his voice hoarse and disbelieving. "Killing for Tera?" He glances toward her as he speaks, but seeing the girls already pulling closer around her, makes no move.
Zache continues listening and nodding along, occasionally glancing at Tera to see how she's composing herself (or not). "Maybe something will turn up here," he sighs. "I'd hate to see a second Unpleasantness."
Sitting in one of the trees near the gate, picking idly at an ink-stain on his fingertips, Zache looks up as the carriage approaches. Squinting into the distance to see if his hunch is correct, he beams and waves to the girls before dropping from the tree and jogging over to wait with Marcus and Kaede. "How wonderful to see such rays of starlight return to our dreary skies!" he grins. "It sounds as though your time has been far more eventful than ours - well, most of us anyway," he adds, glancing at Marcus.
I'm going to push in a vote for option #2, and start setting alarms on my phone to post more often.
Okay, so, checking in on my own life here, so y'all can get a feeling of where I'm at. Life stuff:
Still unpacking from the move. Still stressed financially (we need to buy a washing machine, and at least three more large bookcases so we can finish unpacking). Dropped PFS due to poor decision-making from three of my four state VOs (including VAs). Convention this weekend. Work is hell (literacy intervention is mentally and emotionally draining, and I work with some very disadvantaged children). Actually feeling depressed over the changeover to Pathfinder second edition (which I don't like) and the fact that there'll be no more first-party support for what is honestly my favourite RPG (meaning fewer groups, and, even if I chose to go back, no 1e PFS). Losing myself in video games to cope. Playing in an Exalted game that runs all day Saturdays and leaves me feeling like I've just eaten a large Christmas dinner (exhausted and satisfied). Losing my job in a few months, right before Christmas, with no idea if I'll get it back next year, or even if I *want* to - and if I don't take it, what the hell will I do? Game-wise... I'd love to stick around, I'm just feeling a bit lost right now. I lost my steam at the end of book 1, and then the forum issues made it *impossible* for me to pick it back up again. I'd like to try being better at this, maybe when we pick up book 2. I'm just sort of floundering at the moment.
Site's up and I'm in a rut, sorry everyone :(
Life happens! I had a con recently, and am back at work, so I've been pretty drained while I try to adjust. The weapons are really cool! I'm definitely planning on naming mine; just gotta think of something wanky enough because, really, Zache would *totally* go for wanky...
Zache takes grim pleasure in destroying the trappings of the Lamashtan chapel, and greater joy in preparing the area for its reconsecration. He remains quiet through the chant, listening in stunned silence to the sounds of the temple echoing back; more than once, he paces restlessly, glancing at the chapel doors as if planning to throw them open, but every time, he stays himself. Instead, he resumes pacing, stopping now and then to lean against a wall, drumming his fingers on his arm, or, at one point, lightly squeezing Tera's shoulder before resuming his pacing. On the way back to town, he's in somewhat lighter spirits, occasionally humming a few bars of a tune before trailing off, or putting a small skip in his step as if moving to some unheard music, or moving his lips silently in rhyme - all deliberate plays to distract himself from what he's seen and done. Back in town, he hugs Sister Amet'Ra tightly, stifling a yawn at her mention of the word "sleep". After bidding brief well-wishes to his fellow Marked, he staggers to his bed, collapsing across it before he can even take off his boots. If he noticed the better of his two knives winking strangely in the light, it doesn't show.
Very busy few days. Post coming in the morning. Very sorry.
"What?" Zache asks, stopping his verse short as the creature vanishes. "What?! No!" He waves an arm through the air where the horned man stood, checking for an invisible throw. "We had him!" he yells in mingled frustration and despair, turning to throw his knife against the far wall, but catching himself just in time and clenching his fists in impotence instead.
"And disregard his charming smile
Continuing his rhyme through gritted teeth, Zache swings out again, spinning both weapons at once and landing a solid blow in the fiend's back.
"Fear not the truths he claims to tell,
"For venom drips from forke'd tongue,
However, he overestimates his balance and has to correct himself against the wall.
"... For as he learned that fateful day,
And then, spinning a starknife across his knuckles, he opens another poem. "Fear not the beast on cloven hoof
Sorry for the absence, folks; turns out I'm moving house. It all happened pretty immediately. Boyfriend was given two months' notice a week ago because the landlord is demolishing the house, and we signed a rental lease at a new place last night. Things will be spotty for a few days while we move and get set up.
Zache steps quietly into the room, watching Tera closely as she kneels in supplication. I hope you know what you're doing, he thinks, glancing back up to the winged figure and hoping his face shows the appropriate amount of shock.
Zache chuckles, hefting the strange device and shaking his head. "As is narratively suitable, the heroes find that the simplest solution is the correct one," he muses, gripping the object by the handle and placing it in the door.
Against all better reason, Zache picks up the star and begins looking it over, trying to ascertain its purpose.
"I have a feeling we'd be better off talking to the crab," Zache comments, spinning a knife around his hand before readying it.
"We could try to get the helmet out, but I'm not sure how," Zache shrugs. "These carvings, though..." He runs a hand over the images of the spires. "Does anyone recognize this place? It looks almost dreamlike."
"I'm as clueless as you are," Zache mutters, "but those sarcophagi give me a bad feeling." As the shadows emerge from the sarcophagi, and Tera and Salomae reveal what they know, his eyes widen as he runs through his mental checklist of gear. Realizing he has nothing much to offer in the fight, he begins, as he always does in such occasions, to speak, his voice resonant and bell-clear in the chamber. "A darkness lurks in every ancient hall,
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